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redclercs · 1 year

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DELICATE✰ CHARLES LECLERC.

ix. i'm so sick of running as fast as i can

— the one where they painted you out to be bad (so it's okay that you're mad).

warnings: fair warning you're going to be pissed, foul language, this one has more media between text and it's a little long. 2.3k words (+articles and a very long youtube thing!!)

currently playing: it's time to go by taylor swift!

masterlist ✢ next

By Alana Blake

YOU read it here first, friends. #YNCHARLES is still going strong even after the mess y/n found herself in during the Spanish Grand Prix weekend.

Rumor had it that after y/n's declarations where she said 'it was not serious' and 'she was just having fun', the Monegasque heartthrob dumped her immediately. This was fueled by the fact that we didn't see any pictures of them together during such weekend.

But sources have come to the rescue, letting us all know they're not broken up! "They talk every day for hours," our source said, "Both are still trying to keep it fun but more lowkey after everyone found out about the cheating."

RELATED: Victoria Presley's top five beauty hacks.

You would think that after a partner refers to you as a 'toy', dumping them is the best course of action, but apparently that doesn't apply to Mr. Leclerc who has "nothing but good things to say about y/n".

"He's excited to see her in New York before the Canada Grand Prix, they have it all planned out since she has her apartment back." The source added.

One thing is for sure, if we see y/n at the next Grand Prix, that's the big confirmation that they are together, since they blew their Elix cover by forcing them to end the contract.

SEE ALSO:

→ Victoria Presley's inauguration after party at the Grand Havana Room, you just had to be there.

→ Taylor Swift defends y/n y/ln: ''All of you have learned nothing!"

→ Aidan Kim on Charles Leclerc: "Never heard of him until my girlfriend cheated on me"

𝙂𝙊𝙏 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙊 𝙎𝘼𝙔? 𝙇𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀 𝘼 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙈𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝘽𝙀𝙇𝙊𝙒!

You're seeing the top comments.

Anonymous – 4 hr ago

They're both so shameless! and charles was liking tweets saying they were friends like he could really trick us.

kollhha – 3 hr ago

I hate her, Charles dump her ass for the love of god.

adriennewells – 40 min ago

no but seriously what is it about y/n that has men brainwashed?

Anonymous – 10 min ago

They WOULD be cute together, i don't think they're dating though.

June 10th, Los Angeles, California

You fit your life for the past months into two suitcases, and a carry on. Your room at Vic's house is messy and it feels strangely empty without your discarded shoes and dirty laundry on the floor. But it's time to go, you cannot impose your presence in this enormous house anymore. You have felt like an intruder since you started traveling to Formula 1 and coming back every week like this is your hotel and not your best friend's home.

"Are you really going back to New York?" Vic asks from behind you, voice low with sadness.

"Yes, Vic, I have to." you sigh, turning to meet her. She's dressed up in her fucsia workout gear, holding a light ring in her left hand and her phone in the right. Your flight leaves in the evening and you were hoping to have a meal with Vic before parting to the airport, but it looks like she's all booked.

"No you don't," she argues, entering the room. "Hollywood is here, y/n why do you need to go back to New York? You're an actress!"

You feel like a lot of things, except for an actress right now.

"I don't think Hollywood wants me right now, Vic," you say, going back to the unmade bed to lie down. You asked the cleaning lady if she could leave your room for last so you could finish picking your stuff up, and she agreed gently. "Plus, I really miss New York."

"y/n you haven't even visited my store, you can't go!" Vic's tone changes in octave, and it's not her whiny 'please don't do this' tone you're so used to. "I asked you for ONE favor and you're running to New York and you can't do even just that?"

"Woah, Vic, what the fuck?" you use your elbows as support to lean up and look at her. "Calm down. It's okay." you know her tantrum comes from the fact that she truly believes you could boost her beauty line sales and make her store a 'hot spot'. And it would work, for the wrong reasons. You don't want Vic being dragged down into this mess too. Mati and Charles are enough casualties.

"NO IT'S NOT!" Victoria is full-on yelling now, the light ring has been tossed aside. "I have given everything you've asked from me in the past months since your life started falling apart. I think I deserve something in return."

You ignore the bite of her words. She's angry, which is understandable to some level. She doesn't mean it, right? That she always expected something in return.

"Vic, listen, I know how important your store is to you. But I promise you, you don't want the attention I'm bringing to anyone close to me right now."

"Oh, so you're doing this for my own good now?" she scoffs, ponytail flying in the air as she turns around. "Are you fucking Charles Leclerc for his own good too? Or do men's reputations don't matter?" she spits.

You halt completely, halfway out of the mattress. "What did you say?"

"Oh, please y/n. You really want me to believe you don't want to be seen with me to 'protect me'" she throws the quotations in the air, "And yet you went on your pretty vacation with that bitch Matilde, and you talk to fucking Charles Leclerc every day!"

"Victoria, stop," your brain is a mix of anger, sadness and confusion. You’re having trouble catching up to the where the conversation is going. "That was different, Vic. In case you haven't noticed, things can't stop getting worse. My life is not good right now." You choke on the last words, because it's the first time you say such things out loud. You have never been more miserable.

Victoria scoffs yet again, and it’s a tear in your heart. She's really not backing off. "Of course your life isn't good y/n wah, wah. You have money and beauty and a pilot boyfriend, it sucks so much to be you!"

"Why are you so bothered about it? Why is Charles the main problem here?" you wipe the tears from your cheeks, scratching the skin with one of your rings. "Why the fuck are you acting like this?"

Everything was alright this morning at breakfast, when you reminded her you were leaving and your luggage was almost done. When you thanked her for taking you in and told her you could never really repay her support.

"Because you get everything you want all the time!" Victoria stomps to you, her face inches away when she stops. "You always get what you want no matter what. It didn't even matter that I said you view him as a fucking piece of meat! He still went after you."

The world moves in slow-motion as her words cascade on you. Your lungs close and your throat tightens again, and you want to fight the panic attack because you just know Victoria is not going to help you. How could she? If she's the one who betrayed you.

"How–Why–" you stutter, the hem of your shirt on your fist. You can fight this. "How could you do this to me?"

Victoria finally comes to the realization of what she let out, and covers her mouth. "y/n no– look–"

"Who told you about the ring?" your jaw is locked and you're trying not to lose focus. "How could you tell them about the ring?!"

"How could you not tell ME?! I'm your fucking best friend, you bitch!" she's raising her voice again, her surprise pushed aside because you're still fighting. "I had to find out through Aidan, months later."

The Cannes party. Of course.

You thought about asking her about it. Telling her it hurt you that she hung out so happily with Aidan when he was the reason you arrived at her house one night in February, frightened, sad, and confused. But you didn't because you trusted her. You would have trusted Victoria with your life at some point.

"It really is you, then," tears are streaming down your face again.

You feel stupid because only yesterday, in another rage-scroll through Twitter, you noticed people were already making theories about how it was Victoria who was selling information about you. And you felt so offended, how could they think your best friend would do that to you?

"How could you, Victoria? How could you make all that shit up?"

You talked to Victoria about the articles. You cried and told her you were sorry you didn’t let her in on the failed proposal, it was something you were still processing and couldn’t bring yourself to talk about, still wondering if it had been a mistake every now and then. You told her how sorry you felt to Charles because he just wanted to hang out with you—to be friends with you—and people marked him down as a home wrecker when he had nothing to do with it.

“It was definitely Mia though, wasn’t it?” She said as she rubbed your back and passed the box of tissues to you. “She always hated you, so weird. It was like she loved Aidan in a fucked up way.” Victoria even shuddered exaggeratedly, trying to make you laugh.

“Yeah I’m sure it was Mia, Aidan just won’t admit it.” You let her wipe your tears and smooth your hair down. Nobody could convince you that your ex-sister-in-law didn’t run to People and spewed shit. It was the most logical conclusion that Aidan was protecting his little sister.

This had been three days ago, she lied and made fun of you, to your face.

"So now I'm a liar? You are fucking Charles Leclerc! Or what, you expect me to believe all you do is hold hands and peck each other's cheeks?"

Again with Charles, it infuriates you.

"You told the press I'm a cheater! And I am NOT with Charles, God you're so stupid!"

"How would I know whether it's true or not? You never tell me anything anymore, do you? You don't care about me! I'm your best friend. I deserve to be your priority!"

"You deserve to rot in hell, you lying bitch." you don't even raise your voice anymore, "How could I ever love you?"

Victoria laughs, and your heart finally shatters. "I would do it again, y/n, because it's what you forced me to do."

The apartment is a mess, and you know it's on purpose. Your clothes are everywhere, the dirt from the plants you kept on the balcony is all over the floor, the coffee table is broken and your room looks like a hurricane passed through. Your coffee maker and your Specialty coffee both lie on the floor of the kitchen, and there is a horrible smell coming from the fridge. Aidan hasn't been gone long enough for things to rot to that extent, especially because every appliance is plugged in.

You don't want to look at the rest of the house, or your belongings. All you do is lean down to pick up your Moka pot, and make time to think, but you're unable to stand straight again. It's like the pain is pulling you down. How did your life become this?

A ruined apartment, a rejected engagement and a backstabbing best friend are things that happen in the movies. You would know. This wasn't supposed to happen to you.

Crying in that ruined kitchen, holding a Moka pot like it's your greatest treasure and not some piece of trash that you will never be able to use anymore, you get angry, furious. Because this is not your life and it was never supposed to be. And it's about time you start doing something about it.

You are sick of running. Of having people question you for not 'defending' yourself when you have no reason to be attacked in the first place. Relationships die, and yours had been past its time to be buried. Saying no is not a crime. And it never will be.

Victoria had burned her own thread with you in the worst way possible because you didn't make her the only person in your life. And you had overlooked every time you felt used by her, unloved, and tossed aside. Friends can break your heart too, and Victoria had ripped yours out of your chest.

Nobody has to tell you who you are, because you know. And you are nothing of what you've let tabloids, netizens and reporters say. You cannot keep running and you cannot keep hiding, and though you wish you had understood that earlier. It's never too late to pick yourself up.

Mildred and Walter are going to be pissed, but their advice was that you remained lowkey for however long it took Hollywood to get their next big scandal. Weeks, months, years.

And you're not about to scurry away into darkness like a rat.

FROM “JUST WATCH THIS” POSTED IN Y/N Y/LN'S YOUTUBE CHANNEL POSTED JUNE 12TH

[y/n,minute 01:30]: ❝...So I've finally decided to come here and tell you everything that has been happening for the past months. It's the truth, but whether you believe it is a personal choice.❞

[y/n,minute 05:56]: ❝It was a three-year dead-end relationship. You cannot, and should not, have a future with someone who laughs at your dreams, and tells you how you should behave and how to look to exalt him.❞

[y/n, minute 07:15]: ❝I said no. And I have not regret it for one second. I didn't tell anyone because I respect Aidan, although I don't think that is reciprocal by now.❞

[y/n, minute 10:01]: ❝I never cheated on him, and I know the source of those rumors. It breaks my heart to know that someone I trusted made up stuff about myself, and a part of my life that was so important to me. I am not telling you who it was, however, I will take legal action against them if the defamation continues.❞

[y/n, minute 14:54]: ❝Aidan decided to tell this person about our failed engagement, and I do not know if his intention was that this all became public. But I wish he'd been mature enough to handle it privately, like the adults we both are.❞

[y/n, minute 16:59]: ❝I started attending Formula 1 races because of an Ambassador contract I held with Elix until three days ago, when they decided to rescind it.❞

[y/n, minute 18:07]: ❝That's where I met both Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz, back in April. Since they are the drivers for Ferrari, we spent a lot of time in the same place, which led to us becoming friends.❞

[y/n, minute 19:04]: ❝Charles Leclerc is my friend and we are not romantically involved, I urge you to stop making stuff up about him too. He never messed with my past relationship, we did not know each other.❞

[y/n, minute 21:55]: ❝When all of this started, I believed—naively— that it could just die down on its own. I am an actress. I was not only 'Aidan Kim's girlfiend' and I am not only his ex-girlfriend now. I am y/n y/ln.❞

[y/n, minute 23:31]: ❝I should have spoken sooner. I should have shut everything down the moment I started feel miserable and out of control. But I also know, I was being crucified so badly because I am a woman.❞

[y/n, minute 26:00]: ❝You have made me feel miserable and anxious, I have suffered from panic attacks and sleepless nights. And I'm not saying this to make you all feel bad and regretful, because the one thing you lack the most is empathy.❞

[y/n, minute 28:45]: ❝But I want you all to think that, if it had been the other way around and Aidan hadn't wanted to marry me, you would have said 'he wasn't ready' and you would have let him move on and find "The One" in peace.❞

[y/n, minute 31:35]: ❝If it was Timothee Chalamet—whom I also have a deep appreciation for—doing RomComs and nothing more, you would call it 'his specialty' and never question his talent.❞

[y/n, minute 33:17]: ❝If I was a man, this wouldn't have killed my reputation.❞

[y/n, minute 36:21]: ❝I will not remain quiet anymore while you step on me and diminish my work. I do not owe anything to Aidan Kim except for the drama the past months have brought me.❞

[y/n, minute 38:11]: ❝I'm going to focus on the future. And I am well aware this will be continue to be a topic of conversation, but I am not scared anymore. Because I know who I am and who I can count on.❞

[y/n, minute 40:12]: ❝If it weren't for my fans, who have been fighting my battles so hard, I wouldn't be here either. They're here for me, and I can never repay such pure love.❞

[y/n, minute 42:22]: ❝If you watched up to here, I'm sure you're wondering whether you should believe all of this, and like I said, it's all up to you❞

[y/n, minute 44:50]: ❝I will not be speaking about Aidan Kim again, so I ask you to refrain from asking about him. It's all been said and done, and I'm eager to move on.❞

[END]

You are looking at the all the comments.

aidanbabes WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BITCH EVEN ON

flowerbedkim Oh so now Aidan forced her to be with him? Bullshit. You are never saving your lying ass y/n, fuck you!!!!!

thatbitch123 You are absolutely right y/n if you were a man this wouldn’t have happened it's so sad

ynbabes2 my queen i waited for you to speak for so long!!! WE HAVE TO MOVE ON FROM THIS

leclercstar you all have made this girl's life absolute hell, i hope you never find peace!! I'm glad she's friends with Charles and Carlos.

presleyvibes wait and you thank people but not Vic who let you stay at her house? you're an ungrateful bitch

albstappen I saw her pic with Lily Muni and I just knew she was one of the good ones

ynmybeloved EVERY TONGUE THAT RISES AGAINST YN SHALL FALL

kim41d4an IT'S YOUR WORD AGAINST AIDAN'S YOU CHEATING WHORE

June 12th, SoHo, New York.

You are trying to clean the mess around you as best you can. And although you could call someone to help you, sweeping and scrubbing keeps you busy and distracted. The first message you received after posting the video was from Mati a 'proud of you xx, tell me all about it later please!' text that made you take your first deep breath of the afternoon. You made an appointment with a doctor first thing in the morning, you want the panic to go away, you need it to.

Thoughts of how they're destroying you again, calling you a liar and a whore, swarm your brain and you try to toss them in the trash along with your ruined Dolce & Gabbana coat, mysteriously cut up with scissors. You told the truth, and not even the whole of it.

The video is being shown everywhere, you're sure you'll see it tomorrow in Good Morning America where they'll dissect every single move you make and every word that comes out of your mouth.

It's almost 9 pm when you finally stop wiping the apartment down, trying to get rid of every sign that Aidan Kim was ever inside it. It's not true that he paid for the apartment, you picked it yourself and made it a home and then he chose to come and live here, paying the rent once every three to five months. This is your home and you are reclaiming it.

Your phone rings and you take another deep breath before picking it up. Mildred and Walter have resorted to communicate with you through email, so you wonder who it is. Victoria called a few times during the weekend, left voicemails and text messages until you blocked her. Each of them with a new excuse and a more creative way to pin all of what she had done, on you.

It's a FaceTime call from Charles.

"Charlie!" you greet with a smile, before the image of him loads completely. "It's 3 am in Monaco, what the hell are you doing awake?"

Charles shrugs and you notice his bare shoulders, he's shirtless. You're suddenly self-conscious about the way you look. With your hair sticking up from the sweat, your greasy face and ragged shirt. It's a silly worry.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says, and you know he's tired. "I saw your video earlier, but I was doing something else."

"Oh, you saw that."

"I'm proud of you y/n, you are brave for speaking your mind like that. I know it must have taken some effort." Charles moves again and you see his chest, he's already in bed.

"Charles, go to sleep, we can talk about this later," you chuckle, heat is rising to your face.

"I wanted to see you y/n, it doesn't matter what time it is. And I really wanted to tell you I'm glad you posted that video."

"Thank you, Charlie. I should have done it sooner."

"The only one who knows what timing is right for you, is yourself."

"Yeah, I guess so." you sigh, you're exhausted too and you blame it more on the rollercoaster of emotions you've been through than deep cleaning your apartment.

"Are you tired?" he asks, suppressing a yawn.

"No more than you," you retort, but can't help yawning as well. It's a scientific fact that yawns are contagious. "Go to sleep, we can talk tomorrow."

You talked yesterday too, and the day before, and you cried so much on the phone again you thought he would eventually hang up until you calmed down. But Charles soothed you through the phone at 1 am Monaco time and told you to let it all out, and listened without interrupting you once how you called Aidan and Victoria every name in the book.

"Fine," Charles says, rubbing his left eye carelessly. "Will you give me a tour of your apartment tomorrow, then?"

"Yes! I finished cleaning it today!"

Charles laughs softly at your excitement. “We’ll talk tomorrow then, just because you need to sleep.”

“Sure I am the sleepy one,” you roll your eyes and Charles smiles, both dimples showing. “Goodnight Charlie, sweet dreams.” The last part you say it in a slightly mocking tone but Charles doesn’t take it as such, smile widening.

“Goodnight soleil,” he says and waits a few seconds for you to react to your newly given nickname before hanging up, anxious but satisfied.

─── team principal radio: ❝thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and are liking the story so far. We're slowly getting to the y/n redemption. Once again, i really appreciate all of your interactions they mean the world to me. Also check out the series playlist if you haven't♡❞

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tinytennisskirt · 2 months

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Cottage Culture

Art x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader, Art, and Patrick have been best friends since fourth grade. Older now, the three of them spend some time at reader’s cottage and it’s a few nights of buildup, a few nights of drinking, a few nights of misplaced tension until it all unfolds in Art’s favour.

Warnings: they all flirt with each other casually (it’s part of their dynamic), casual touch, mentions of sex, mentions of physical arousal, suggestions of masturbation, smoking, drinking, lots of fluff but also a lot of suggestive material… slowburn. unedited from my notes app.

They say trios never last, but yours managed to for years. You, Art, and Patrick had been close since grade four on and were still as strong as ever. Finally, after a month of planning, the three of you pulled up to your (now deceased) grandparent’s cottage that your parents maintained. It was mid-July and the heat was at its peak with hot days and warm nights with cool wind. The plan was to spend some time up here kayaking, swimming, playing pool, paddle boarding and fishing.

You each hauled a good amount of stuff from the car and began unpacking it. Everyone was tired from the drive, there were a few words spoken but hardly any altogether which was rare for the three of you, but once things were away there was less to worry about the next day and the three of you crashed on the couch.

Patrick sighed heavily as he sat down feet on the floor, arm draping over the armrest like a rag doll. “I’m out of my mind tired,” he yawned. “Since when does driving five hours count as a lullaby?”

“I think it might have been having so much fresh air with the open windows,” you said, sitting next to Patrick, body slightly turned. Patrick shoved your head and you only grinned, leaning back against him. Art followed suit, falling over the other arm rest, his head landing perfectly in your lap. He shut his eyes. You placed your hand right on his forehead and he smiled.

“He’s dead,” Patrick said. Art opened his eyes and tilted his head back to look at Patrick.

“Not dead, but dead tired,” he said. “I think it was the fresh air.”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been so tired after driving up here and I know we all slept well last night.” You said, resting your hand on Art’s shoulder. He placed his hand overtop yours. “But at least we know we’ll be fine tomorrow. No way I’m not falling asleep in the next twenty minutes.” You sighed. “If I can get off this couch.”

“That sounds like so much work,” Art groaned.

“Too much,” Patrick groaned just the same. You all shared a small chuckle, too tired to laugh. “Plus I can’t get up until you two do, I’m stuck here.”

“I’m never moving,” Art groaned. You smiled at his closed eyes, long eyelashes resting on his cheeks.

“That means I can’t move. Sorry Patty.” You shrugged. Patrick just groaned and covered his eyes and with a mighty push he unwedged himself from the couch arm and you tipped a little without someone to lean on.

“What? I’m strong,” Patrick said, flexing a little. You and open-eyed Art both grimaced at him, fighting a shared smile. “But that took the rest of my energy. I call dibs on the bedroom by the kitchen.” He said, walking away, you followed him with your head turning.

“Goodnight, Patrick!” Art called.

“Goodnight, Art!”

“Goodnight, Patrick!” You called back.

“Goodnight Y/N!” He yelled as he shut the door. There was a lot of yelling involved when these two were around. You sighed, tipping slowly so your head could rest on the arm rest opposite the one Art’s legs were draped over. You looked at him, his eyes shut again, his head still happily in your lap.

It was just you and him. They say a trio never works because there’s always a duo, but for the three of you, every duo had its purpose. From an outsiders perspective, Patrick and Art as a duo were best friends, pals, tennis freaks who shared their passion and worked together. Fire and Ice.

You and Patrick were something else. Some people would say something like you and Patrick had a love-hate relationship but it was all love and all hate all of the time. Little quips and jabs at each other, debating things all of the time.

And from an outsiders perspective there was no way Art wasn’t completely in love with you. There just wasn’t a chance that he wasn’t. Nobody ever looked at you and Art and thought first that you were only friends. You didn’t act like friends much. You were usually touching in some form but it was like that with Patrick too, but admittedly not as much.

You stayed still a while and you were pretty sure that Art had fallen asleep on your lap. “Art,” you whispered. Nothing. He was asleep. You wondered if you ever looked so peaceful when you slept. You felt terrible leaving him there but you were nifty in replacing your thighs for a pillow, not even making him stir in the slightest. You grabbed him a blanket, covered him up and turned out the lamp. “Goodnight.” You whispered, heading to your room. You flopped down on the pillow and it was lights out.

Falling asleep at nine thirty had the perks of helping you wake up early. You woke up quietly, still in the clothes from the day before so you changed into your jean shorts and a big t-shirt, brushed your hair and did a little bit of makeup- cottage style because you didn’t need much out here.

The boys liked to sleep in, so you knew they’d be up a little after you, given the time they all fell asleep. You got up and walked past Art, still fast asleep on the couch, curled into a ball. You quietly started on breakfast, chopping peppers, cutting pre-sliced ham, cracking eggs into a pan. He was far enough away that it wasn’t too loud and he stirred on his own. You heard him get up and turned to face him.

He cracked his neck as he stood up and walked wordlessly over to you cooking your omelets. He yawned before he spoke, stretching his arms up into the air, a peek of the v in his waist and happy trail just barely showing. He dropped his arms to his side. “Good morning,” he said, yawning again. He put a hand on your shoulder as he passed you, trailing it over to your other shoulder as he opened the fridge and grabbed the juice.

“Good morning,” you replied as he grabbed two cups and poured the juice into both. He slid one over to where you were cooking. “Thank youuuu.” You smiled. He kissed your shoulder and slid past again.

Patrick opened the door of his bedroom, “I smell food.” He said. It wasn’t like him to say good morning anyway. His eyes panned to the stove, then you.” Oh hey housewife.” Patrick said, walking into the kitchen and stealing the cup of orange juice Art had poured you. Art took a seat at the table just behind where you were cooking.

“Hey househusband,” you said, giving Patrick your spatula, swapping it out for the juice and taking a seat next to Art. “Oh you don’t like cooking? Too bad.” You said.

Patrick fake-sneered at you before smiling and finishing up the eggs. You looked at Art and clinked your cups of orange juice together. Art cleared his throat, “I think we should play scrabble and head down for a swim after breakfast. Thoughts?”

“What about snakes and ladders instead?” You pitched, Art’s eyes widened and he grinned a yes.

“Sounds good,” Patrick agreed. “Though you know I’ll kick both of your asses. I’m really good at snakes and ladders.”

Art chuckled, “You can’t be good at snakes and ladders, buddy. It’s a dice game.”

“What can I say?” Patrick said, swinging the spatula around. “I’m good with dice.”

“Uh huh,” you nodded sarcastically, sticking your tongue out at Patrick. He stuck out his tongue right back at you and you turned, tongue still out to Art, who tried to nab it, but was too slow.

Breakfast was good, the morning into afternoon plans set. Patrick, of course, came last in snakes and ladders. You all went and changed into your swimsuits when things had digested. You brought a book and a towel down to the little beach of the cottage but you knew you wouldn’t be reading it. You took pride in being faster than the boys because you did get to sit in your coverup for about five minutes, just you and the water and the roar of boats on the lake. Your grandparents owned a boat but you’d take it out later, probably.

The boys didn’t just come down to the beach, they came rolling. Patrick shoved Art right into the shallows, splashing you and your coverup. Time to yourself was over, but you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re an ass!” Art called from a few feet in. Shirt off, blonde curls soaked down. He slicked his hair back. “I’ll get you back for that, I swear to god.”

“From there?” Patrick laughed from the boat dock. “You’re going to get me from down there?”

“No, but I will,” you said, shoving Patrick into the water from behind. He fell from the dock and right into the shallows, splashing Art. You and Art couldn’t contain your laughter watching Patrick blow water from his nose.

“It burns,” he said, chuckling and wiping water from his eyes. You and Art kept laughing like you were mad. You, planning on jumping in, dropping your coverup on the dry deck and you kept laughing, but neither of the boys did. You didn’t notice, though.

They, however, noticed you. Being friends for so long, they knew what you looked like, but they were still boys. You in a bikini was a treasure neither of them could pass up on for themselves. If anyone asked yeah they’d deny it, but they both thought you were quite hot from time to time…. Art, more so.

Patrick nudged Art twice in the arm as they both, open-mouthed watched you walk to the end of the dock into the deeper area. Neither of them took their eyes off you, Patrick grabbing Art’s arm for some form of support like ‘you’re seeing this too’ for the new bikini moment.

Art was seeing it for sure. The bikini. You. He was seeing you for sure… You turned at the end of the dock and both boys had to pretend like they weren’t staring. “Are you coming?” You called. Both boys snapped into it and started swimming as you jumped in, splashing them both.

You surfaced and it turned into a full blown splash fight, all of you treading and swimming around trying to avoid each other swimming underwater. You went a little more shallow where you could all touch and it was worse then, gaining the ability to dodge better, stand and fall.

Wordlessly, Art and Patrick called a truce and both turned on you, Art holding you like a shield as Patrick used all the force of his arms to splash you. Art let go a little early so you wouldn’t feel how he was feeling about so much of your skin against his. He couldn’t help it- it was you

“Okay! Okay, please! Truce!” You yelled above the sound of churned water, spitting lake water from your mouth. You held your hands in front of you and wiped the water from your face, moving your wet hair from your face. Patrick obliged, his arms were tired. You started laughing, finally able to breathe, standing up in the water, your bikini in full view again, you in full view. “Oh my god, you’re ruthless.” You sighed, hands on your hips.

“Only what’s deserved for that stunt on the dock,” Patrick retorted, stepping forward and tapping you under your chin. He was in your face, you stuck your tongue out and got his nose. Patrick lunged for you but you leapt back into the water to escape, back toward Art who was quietly hyper-fixated on how your the sides of your bathing suit were only tied in a bow…

You swam around behind Art and wrapped your arms around his neck, wet skin on wet skin. “You have to save me,” you giggled in his ear and he was glad you were behind him instead of in front. Instead, Art just tilted himself backwards, dunking you under the water.

After an hour of swimming, you were all sitting in the wooden lawn chairs near the beach, surrounding the fire pit. Patrick and Art were engaged in some conversation about their last tennis game and you got to lay in the sun, eyes shut, body stretched out.

Patrick kept his voice low, “You see the bows on the side?”

Art’s eyes widened, “Yes! Yes I saw them.” He nodded enthusiastically. “Do you ever forget what she looks like?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” Patrick nodded. “I usually see her the same way I did when we were in grade four, but sometimes I wonder about it and you have to admit, she-“

“Looks great. Yeah.” Art agreed, glancing over at you sunbathing.

“How many boners do you have left, goddamn,” Patrick teased Art, shoving him a little from his chair. Art just laughed.

Come dinner, you changed out of your bathing suits and into comfier clothes. You sat around the fire and roasted hot dogs. Patrick ate an entire pack shamelessly and you and Art each had two. You debated zombie apocalypse survival tactics and you and Patrick were getting a bit heated and you both ended up standing up. Art just watched, leaned back in his chair. You were passionate.

You huffed when Patrick won the debate, not listening to your side of reason and you decided it was better to just sit on Art’s lap. He didn’t expect it, but it was somewhat normal. You had your legs sideways over the chair and you in your shorts was sitting on him. Naturally, one hand of his went against your back and the other rested on top of your thighs. He was praying to god you couldn’t feel the seventh boner of the day. “Realistically, don’t you think the apocalypse would die down? They’re rotting people, they’d probably decompose anyways. Your theory sucks.” You said, finalizing the argument.

Art nodded, shrugging. “I think she’s right.” He nodded.

“You’re dick-riding,” Patrick told Art. “Tell me it wouldn’t be cool to have a bunker anyway.”

“It would be cool to have a bunker,” Art reasoned with you, looking up at you from under you.

“It would be cool, but necessary? Probably not.” You said. “Plus it’s not about being cool, it’s about being alive.”

Patrick shook his head, “I think being cool and alive are both important.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. The crickets chirped and the sun set and you stayed out there until the mosquitos became too much. Patrick put the fire out and you all headed up for another few board games and rounds of crazy 8’s until you were yawning.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” you said. “I’ll see you two in the morning.” You passed by Art, kissing him on the top of the head and by Patrick, roughing up his hair. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight!” Art said, following you with his eyes as you slipped into the far bedroom. Patrick echoed the goodnight. Art put his head in his hands immediately. “She’s insane.”

“I was going to say-“ Patrick said, voice down. “That lap move was crazy. You in your swim trunks too, man that has to be hard.” He chuckled at the double entendre. “I would be too.”

“It was so bad,” Art groaned, rubbing his face. “I’m just pretending she felt nothing.”

Patrick grinned and slapped him on the back, “I would too, buddy. I would too. Good luck.”

“Gee, thanks,” Art said. Patrick stood up and turned a few of the lights out. “You heading to bed?”

Patrick grinned, his dimple crawling up his face. “Ehh… something like that.” He winked and said goodnight, shutting the door to his room. Art wondered if he should do the same, considering. He chose against and just went to bed… hard again.

You woke up first again. The morning was chilly and the clouds covered the morning sun. You had packed a sweater but it was thin and you still shivered in it as you made up the pancake batter. You swore Patrick slept in just to be off of cooking duty…

You shivered over the stove, but Art’s big Stanford sweater was draped over the back of the couch. God, you were so glad. You pulled off the thin one and put on the big sweater with your comfortable leggings. It was much better. Your hair was still messed and wavy from the lake water, but you’d managed to clip it up again before pouring the batter into the pan. Like clockwork, Art was up.

He did a double take when he saw what you were wearing. He didn’t mind, but he had to admit he liked that you were wearing it. It smelled like him, you noted. “Hey,” you greeted him.

“Good morning,” he replied, his hair a mess of blonde curls, perfect bedhead. You hated how boys could just wake up gorgeous, it wasn’t fair. “How did you sleep?” He asked.

“Like a baby,” you replied. “You?”

“I don’t even think I rolled over once,” he said, smiling. He started to set three plates on the table along with the cutlery. “My sweater?” He teased, tugging at it as he went by.

You grinned, “Yes I stole it, but it’s freezing this morning. I needed it.”

“Hey, I’m not mad,” he shrugged. “Looks better on you than me.”

You played the pancakes. “Really?”

“Yeah. Keep it if you want, honestly. Lend it to me now and again, but you can have it.”

Patrick opened the door to his room, yawning. “This is why you’re my favourite,” you spoke up, eyeing him in his doorframe, loud enough so Patrick could hear. Art laughed watching Patrick’s expression change.

“I thought I was your favourite,” Patrick said, arms up in the air in mock-disbelief. “You just go around telling every guy that?”

You tossed Patrick a pancake like a frisbee which he caught. “Nice try. It’s only Art.”

“Is it?” Art said, grabbing the syrup. He looked you in the eyes, pretending to judge. “I’m okay with Patrick and I being sisterwives. We’ve been sisterwives before.”

“Y/N and I are the only sisterwives here,” Patrick said, mouth full of pancake. “Both married to you apparently. So are we day drinking today or what?” He sat at the table.

You laughed, extending your legs so your calfs rested on Art’s lap like a human footrest. You and Art chuckled, “I think that’s something for tomorrow.” Art said. “I want to take the boat out.”

“And you don’t want hard lemonade on a boat?” Patrick gasped, leaning in and putting both hands on the table. “Boring!”

“Okay, maybe,” you nodded. “But we have to have one night dedicated to being drunk that’s why I brought what I did.” You grinned. “Gotta save the supply.”

“Good plan,” Art agreed.

A day spent on the boat was fun. It was a lot of laughter and card games and maybe a hard lemonade or two. You wore a one-piece this time that had shorts built in so it was a little easier for Art and Patrick. Patrick wasn’t afraid of any seaweed and jumped right into a patch and Art found it cute how you could barely look down at the water in the seaweed patch. Seaweed grossed you out.

You and Art sat thigh to thigh almost the whole time aside from when you’d gotten up to twirl a bit to the music on the boat’s radio. He watched you in your bucket hat and sunglasses sway and spin and you were so gorgeous…

Sunset burned red in the sky and you headed back, having spent the whole day either in the shade or the sun on the boat. You were tired, more tired than either of the boys, you leaned against Art in the driver’s bench of the boat as he steered the boat back to the dock. He was acutely aware of your eyelashes as when you blinked with your face smushed against his arm he could just feel it. It was sweet. Patrick anchored the boat and Art scooped you up no problem from where you sat.

“I’m not that tired,” you complained, but you secretly liked it. Patrick smacked you in the foot that was raised in the air from the way Art had you. “Hey, stop it!” You called. Patrick stole you right out of Art’s arms and your tiredness faded for a moment as you fought him- Patrick nearly fell in the water. “God you’re such a freak!” You called out as Patrick hopped up the steps to the cottage. “Art, help!” You called out.

Art just grinned and followed. Patrick did set you down and you went and showered the day off in the shitty little cottage bathroom. You came back out after your shower in just your shorts and Art’s sweater. He could tell you didn’t have a bra on. It was cute.

He took his turn to shower, leaving Patrick with the cold water shamelessly. He complained, but it was funny. You and Art laid on the couch, this time your head rested on his leg. Art gently traced the brighter bits in your hair, just the pieces that shined a little extra while wet, with a gentle finger. You were tired. Art pulled your hair back from out of your face, “Let’s get you to bed, hm?” All your dancing and swimming and boating and sun just about wiped you out. This time, Patrick in the shower, nothing stopped Art from picking you up and taking you to the room you’d claimed. He awkwardly but surprisingly was able to move the blankets back with his foot and he set you down gently on the sheets, making sure your pillow was under your head. You were hardly awake, the way you were so completely and utterly exhausted. He moved your hair from your face just once more and pulled the blanket over you, but as he got up from the edge of your bed you stopped him.

“Just one more minute,” you said. It didn’t make much sense, one more minute of what? But how could he say no?

He left when you were fully asleep and intended on going to bed himself but Patrick challenged him to a game of cards and he obliged. Patrick grabbed Art’s knee. “You’re looking at her way too much, man.”

“Uh huh and you don’t? I see you stare just as much as I do,” Art smirked, playing his good cards. “She’s pretty, it’s hard to see past that.”

“A little too pretty. I wish I brought a porno just so I can remember that she’s not actually all that.” He didn’t mean it in a mean way, he meant it as in you weren’t the only girl in the world. He said it, but it was part of the loving insults he liked to throw out.

“Mmm,” Art nodded. “We should head into town tomorrow for some cigarettes.”

“Good idea,” Patrick said, squeezing Art’s knee and grinning wide. “I need that and a few shots at the local bar and the sight of a woman. ’m sure Y/N would like a few hours to sunbathe.”

Art grinned too, “Yeah, I think so.”

And the next day rolled around just the same. The boys explained their plan and you were more than on board with a few hours to yourself. They headed out and you went down to the beach to sit under your umbrella and read.

Patrick grabbed Art’s leg in the car as they pulled up to the local bar. “I don’t even care who I see, I just need to remind myself there are other women in the world.” Patrick jogged in and Art decided to wander to the nearby convenience to pick up some cigarettes. He grabbed those and some red liquorice, knowing it’s one of your favourites. He also grabbed some more matches and a lighter just in case, paying for it all and walking back to the car. Patrick stood outside it, looking a little sulked.

“Not a single woman in there. I give up. Had two shots though,” he grinned. Art held up the cigarettes and Patrick brightened right up. They shared one and got back in the car for the trip back.

You went swimming again, so you showered in your bikini and were walking around in it when the boys came back. Your coverup draped and tied around your waist. You had a plum in one hand, your book in the other and you were visible at the side of the house where the boys had parked the car. The two of them were coming out of the car when they both laid eyes on you at the same time, both instinctively putting their arms out to stop each other in their tracks. Patrick’s arm across Art’s chest and Art’s arm across Patrick’s.

Their arms dropped simutaneously. “Fuck.” Patrick said.

Art nodded. There wasn’t much else to say.

You didn’t notice them until they walked in, Art holding the new lighter, cigarettes and some red liquorice. You grinned. “That was fast. You were gone, what? Two hours?”

Both boys were a little dazed. You put your book down, wiping your lower lip of the juice from the plum, but it was on your chin, dropped onto your chest. They both just watched you, mouthes a little open. You looked down, confused. Immediately both boys went separate ways.

You shrugged, tossing the pit of your plum out the window and into the garden.

Dinner was nice, by the fire again. You’d broken out the hard lemonades again and vodka and orange soda. Unfortunately for Art and Patrick, you’d stayed in your bikini and skirt-like cover up. It was hard to not be.

Patrick shook his head, “At what age did you guys start finding girls attractive?” He questioned, raising his can in question.

“Twelve,” you replied faster than Art did. Art and Patrick raised their eyebrows.

“Uh… Twelve, yeah,” Art agreed, taking a sip of his drink, eyes on you. You just smiled.

You finished your drink, “I think that’s around when Patrick taught you that neat little lesson.” You teased, reaching over and rubbing Art’s shoulder.

His head fell into his empty hand, “Please, no. Not that.” He groaned, but he was smiling.

“Teach a man to fish,” Patrick said, trailing off and cracking you another can, exchanging it for your empty one. “You can never say I’m good for nothing on that one, Art.”

“Okay, well who was doing it first?” Art questioned Patrick, tossing a stick he’d been fidgeting with.

“Me, I just knew from an early age,” he grinned. “I’m curious though, when did that happen for you?” He asked you, shifting a little in his seat and grinning directly at Art, who shifted just the same.

You bit your lip thinking, “I think around thirteen, maybe. The shower head.” You grinned. Art hid his face. “I was a little bit creative.”

“Does that even count?” Patrick said. “If you’re not putting in the work yourself.”

“I think so,” you replied. “That followed soon enough after.”

Art adjusted himself again. Patrick was watching him squirm, teasing indirectly. He knew the effect this conversation would have on him. You brought it up anyway, it wasn’t his fault.

“First kiss at sixteen,” you sighed. “Was not fun.”

Art turned to you, “I thought it was fifteen?”

“Sixteen. Bella James. Then I kissed a guy for the first time about a few months later.”

“I forgot about that,” Patrick said, huge smirk on his face. “I still have that photo of you and Bella somewhere in my room.”

“Shut up, you do not,” you gasped, grabbing the arm of the lawn chair. “Art-“

“He’s seen it,” Patrick nodded.

“It’s true.” Art cringed. “Hot, though.”

“Was it?”

“Oh yeah,” Art smiled over at you. You rolled your eyes at both of them, standing up. “Where are you going?”

You shook your head, “To get my watermelon vodka.” You stated. “I need something stronger.”

Both boys watched you go up the steps to the cottage, shamelessly. The second you were inside, Patrick moved from his chair over to Art. “That was too good.”

“It was not,” Art groaned. “She’s too much.”

“It’s not just me, then,” Patrick said, leaning into Art, crouched next to him in the chair. “I should have picked up a magazine when we were out earlier.”

You returned down the steps and Patrick returned to his chair. You’d changed back into Art’s sweater and a skort. You had a shot on your way down the steps and sat right back in Art’s lap like the day before.

Patrick laughed out loud and clapped but Art death stared him into silence. You three drank until it was hard not to laugh at simple things and Patrick and you got back into another debate about which flavour of sour patch kid is best. Art sided with you because nothing beat the blue one.

You were standing up, thank god Art could fix where his dick was in his boxers while you yelled at Patrick over the orange sour patch kids. Art just leaned onto his hand, watching you, watching Patrick. It was the stupidest thing.

Patrick got in your face as per usual and you stared right back. His intimidation would never work on you. “Orange tastes like ass,” Patrick said, voice lowered now.

“And you’d know, bottom-feeder,” you chuckled with a smirk, getting closer to Patrick’s face. Art grinned. You were so perfect.

Patrick narrowed his eyes, looking down at you with the heat of the debate in his expression. “At least I actually get ass and don’t just have one.”

You laughed, “That’s supposed to offend me? That’s a compliment, Patrick. A good attempt, though.”

He rolled his eyes, “Nobody said it was nice.”

“Art will testify,” you said, nodding back at Art. His eyes widened. “Tell Patrick it’s nice.”

“It’s nice,” Art obliged.

You turned back to Patrick, “See?”

“You made him say it,” Patrick shrugged, tapping the side of his own nose. “If he meant it he’d say it for himself.”

“I hear what you say about me behind closed doors, Patrick, and I think you do think it’s nice.” You taunted him. Patrick’s smirk only grew bigger and he tapped you under the chin again. Art sat up. Heard them? That wasn’t good…

Patrick, half-lidded, looked at you like a meal. Art, who was adjusted well enough, got a handle on your hips and pulled you back away from him and back onto his lap. You thought nothing of it, just getting comfortable back on Art’s lap like it was the simplest thing on earth. Your arm around him you played with the curls at the back of his head. The debate was over, it had gone a little too far.

Patrick, hard, sat back in his chair and mumbled, “I still think orange is the worst out of all of them.”

“Dead wrong,” you mumbled as well.

Art huffed, his hand on your arm, thumb rubbing up and down your skin. You looked him in the eyes, a bit of a pout to your lips. Art wondered if you’d heard what he had said about you, wishing maybe he’d phrased things better, wondering if they bothered you. He stared back, looking at how the flickering flames danced across your face.

“I’m going to bed, I’ve had too much.” Rare words from Patrick, but it was a debate you both lost this time and maybe it was a little discouraging. Patrick was a big drinker so of course he stumbled up those steps. “See you guys tomorrow.” He said.

“Goodnight!” Art called.

“Goodnight,” you spoke, attention back on Art. You and Patrick were a few drinks deeper than Art, it’s why the debate was a little much. You looked back at Art, your hand still playing with his curls, twirling them, pushing his hair behind his ear. One of his hands rested on the back of your arm, thumb still rubbing over your soft skin and the other hand resting on your knee, doing the very same. “You’re quiet.” You hummed, pushing your fingers through his hair gently.

“You’re drunk,” Art replied with a small smile. “I’m just thinking.”

“Mhm, what about?” You asked, eyes still locked on his. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes still bright and matching his small, sweet smile.

He looked at you, over you, softly. “Just you.” He replied.

“What about me?” You prodded, hand still gently twirling his curls.

“You’re pretty,” Art told you. You grinned and pressed one hand over half of your face shyly. “And I think I like you a lot more than I knew... Or would admit.” He admit slowly, but he grinned.

You grinned right back, but you shook your head a little, “I hate that I’ll forget this. You have to tell me again tomorrow so I remember.”

He laughed, “I will, I will.” He didn't want to- he didn't know if he could. And he looked at your perfect lips in the orange glow. He could have kissed you, but he would have hated for you to forget it. Your lips pulled with that same smile and Art patted your leg twice. For now, I think we should get you some water.”

“Do you really think my ass is nice?” You asked him, climbing off of his lap. “Just since we’re on the topic, I mean.” Art nodded and it seemed to be the right answer. He put out the fire and helped you upstairs. After a glass of water, you thanked him at the door of your bedroom. “Goodnight, Art.” You said. Your arms wrapped around his neck and his arms went perfectly around your torso and he squeezed you tight. You kissed his cheek to say a final goodnight.

“Goodnight,” Art told you. He went to bed after that.

Art and Patrick had a moment alone the next day. They knew you were out of earshot for sure this time, watching you down by the beach, pulling out the kayaks.

“I’d have her babies,” Patrick said, looking at you. “Please tell me something good happened after I came up here and passed out.”

Art couldn’t tell Patrick what he’d said last night. “Mmm no. We only talked a minute and came back up here. You guys need to chill out on the debate stuff, that’s all I know.”

“Oh you wish you were in on all that. She’s in my face, Art, you saw it. It’s so easy to rile her up, you should try it.”

Art shrugged, “Maybe, yeah, but come on, she said she heard what you said about her behind closed doors. We can’t be objectifying her just because she’s the only girl around.” He said.

Patrick twisted his mouth to the side. “I don’t know, I thought she liked it.”

“Maybe, but I mean… can’t be too safe.” Art shrugged again. “I just don’t want her uncomfortable. Not with us.”

“She couldn’t be, come on. It’s us. She’s used to it by now I’m sure.”

“Just ease up,” Art said. “Make sure she’s far out of earshot otherwise.” They were both men, they knew how they acted when a woman was hot, but Art was a little too worried.

The day passed and it was good. More swimming, more eating. Patrick ate four burgers, buns and all like it was nothing. You had an afternoon nap on the couch, Art falling asleep with his head on your stomach, arms wrapped around your legs. Patrick chuckled to himself as he passed it- it was a sight for sure.

Dinner was simple, then it was over. Art wondered if you remembered what he’d said. He guessed not, taking your drunken word that you hadn’t remembered. You were in the kitchen talking to Patrick about your watermelon vodka and he was leaned against the marble, face close to yours. Maybe it bothered Art how close he was to you. It wasn’t anything new, Patrick liked to lean into whoever he was talking to.

Art had to remind himself you hadn’t said anything to him last night after he said what he said. He usually watched you and Patrick talk because it was funny, but this time something in Art’s chest tightened.

Maybe it was the fact you were the only girl around, he thought. It wasn’t though. Art has liked you for years upon years without admitting it to anyone, hardly to himself. You were just best friends, that’s how things were. Yeah, he thought about kissing you. Yeah, he wondered what you’d look like under him. But he wouldn’t admit it. It wasn’t the fact you were the only girl but rather the fact you were the only girl. If that made any sense.

Art walked over, standing beside you. You instinctively put your arm around his waist and leaned against him like a pole and it brought some ease to Art’s moment of jealousy as he draped his arm around your shoulder. Patrick and Art locked eyes and with a furrow of his brow, Patrick narrowed his eyes. “So are we drinking again?”

“If you want,” you shrugged, handing him the bottle. “Art?”

“Sure, yeah,” Art nodded, looking at you. He liked the way your hand rested on the opposite side of him, around his torso. “Let’s not start debates tonight though, mkay?”

“Oh yeah,” you chuckled. “What was last night’s?”

“Sour patch kids,” Patrick said, opening the vodka and taking a swig. He passed the bottle to Art, who did the same. “That’s so good, what.”

Art nodded, “That is good.” He passed you the bottle, but you only had a sip. You weren’t looking to not remember the night again. Plus waking up in the morning was hard enough. “Not drinking?”

“Not much,” you nodded.

“That’s okay,” Art nodded back.

The night went forward and the boys were getting drunk and you only the slightest bit tipsy. Part of you knew that both of them drunk meant babysitting so they didn’t try and reach for the boat keys and die.

You sat on the coach the drunk boys had dragged outside and only the back porch of the cottage- you stopped them from bringing it down the stairs. Patrick sat next to you pulling you in and messing up your hair. “Hey- come on,” you laughed. It was impossible to mess up a boy’s hair, especially when it was curly. “That’s not fair.”

“Alls fair in love and war,” Patrick replied.

You laughed harder, “Where did you hear that?” It was so weird to hear from Patrick’s mouth. “You’re so weird.”

“I’m weird?” Patrick said, letting you go but keeping you close. His hand fell to your thigh. “If anyone here is weird it’s you.”

“Uh huh?” You smiled. “Me? Not you who decides to bring a couch outside? Not you who ate an entire pack of hot dogs after saying you weren’t hungry?” You smiled and twisted into sitting on your knees, facing him.

Art came back from the bathroom, rubbing his eyes, opening them to see you and Patrick the way you were. He was drunk, more so than the night before and that was a bit much. Patrick did the thing he’d done forever, tapping you under your chin, but your faces were so close…

“You have so many freckles,” you observed. “You can hardly see them if you don’t look.”

“You’re really ugly up close,” Patrick retorted and you hit him upside the head playfully. Art stood by the screen doorway. “Okay, I’m sorry! You’re really pretty!”

“Oh you think I’m pretty?” You questioned as if it was something to challenge. Patrick, half-lidded tapped under your chin again. Art felt sick. If there was something to be jealous about it’s that you would probably remember Patrick calling you pretty, not Art.

“Maybe,” Patrick leaned closer and he was going to kiss you, but he didn’t, not yet. Art swallowed hard. Your faces were inches from each other’s. Even through the alcohol Art felt the twinges in his chest and stomach.

“Patrick,” you started, slowly backing away. “You’re drunk.”

“Maybe to that too,” he shrugged. You backed away more. Art couldn’t do it, he opened the door and stepped out back onto the porch. You turned your head and grinned at his reproach. Art didn’t say anything, he just grabbed the vodka and took what looked like a painful two gulps.

“Oh-“ you started, but Art wiped his lip and sat back down on the couch next to you and you rearranged the way you sat immediately to be closer to Art. Art didn’t even look at Patrick, instead, he just pulled you onto his lap. This time, it wasn’t of your own volition. You didn’t think anything of it. Patrick just used the extra space on the couch for his feet.

The conversation was fine. Civil with a lot of laughter, Art could get into it but the extra vodka he’d had was being pumped around his bloodstream without a doubt. Instead of his hand resting on your upper knee, it rested on your thigh and his thumb grazed back and forth like it did the night before. He was lucky to have a moment to adjust himself because even with the amount of alcohol he’d had, his body still held enough attraction. You were smiling, so beautiful, Art thought.

Patrick knew he’d fucked up but the alcohol helped to make him not worry about it too much. You pat Art on the cheek, “You and Patrick have kissed, right?” You asked out of the blue. The two looked at each other.

“Uh- hm- yeah,” Art said, clearing his throat, looking at Patrick.

You smiled, finishing a can of point five alcohol. “Okay so I have a question. Would you guys call each other a good kisser?”

Art and Patrick shared another look and you just giggled. They both didn’t know what to say- Patrick shrugged and Art opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t. Both boys went through a few stages in a matter of seconds and Patrick let out a strangled sort of, “Yes?”

“Yes?” You gasped, turning to look at Art.

“Sure?” Art shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t really… remember. It was two years ago.” He slightly slurred.

Patrick agreed. “It was a while back.” You giggled again, Patrick shrugged. “I mean, you’ve kissed Art for fun, you’d know if he is or not.”

You gasped a little, “Oh that’s right! The spin the bottle in senior year, I totally forgot about that!” You turned back to Patrick, “It was only a peck, though. Just a quick kiss.”

Art hadn’t forgotten it. Today he was thinking that would be the only time he got to kiss you. He stared at your lips now, their colour perfect, so soft, he was a little dazed. You and Patrick talked about how you only joked about being sisterwives, but it was more true than you remembered. Art just stared, his hands moving over your hips and wrapping around your waist, looking up at you. God, you were so perfect and he was very drunk.

He felt oddly at ease with how you’d been with Patrick earlier. You’d refused him, backing away when he got closer and Art could be happy with that. You didn’t mind Art’s hands around your waist. At first it was positioned like a hug around the waist but now it was just hands, his grip. The curve of your waist was so perfect, you were so perfectly structured. His finger slid across the hem of your shirt and touched a sliver of your skin and you were so soft, too soft. Art, sweet, no matter how much he drank, no matter how much he felt, fixed your shirt so that he couldn’t feel your skin anymore. You bent from where you sat and kissed the top of his head.

There was a shared cigarette amongst friends and you got up from Art’s lap and trailed your hand across his cheek as you went inside to get your sweater on. His sweater. It was the first moment Art and Patrick were alone since the morning.

“You like her,” Patrick said, taking a drag off the near-end of the cigarette and handing it over to Art. Art, dazed, drunk, nic-buzzed, just nodded. “Thought so.”

Art inhaled, exhaling the smoke and passing it back, “Might just.” He said, a bit slurred, rubbing his face with his hands. “I’m so fucked, hm?”

“Maybe, yeah,” Patrick chuckled, leaning forward and ruffling Art’s hair. Art flushed a bit, turning just the slightest bit pink. It was a sort of unspoken apology for getting so close to you, is what that action meant.

“This sucks,” Art mumbled. He admit it, somewhat, out in the open for the first time. Art closed his eyes and the world spun around him and he flopped backward on the couch. Your hands are what woke him- he’d passed right out, so tired.

You pat him on the cheek, “Hey, let’s get you some water and to bed.” You said. Patrick helped Art to his feet and he leaned against him walking into the house. “That was a lot of vodka.” You said, giving him water. You held it with him just in case he dropped it. You made him drink the whole cup.

“Mmmhhm,” Art smiled. You were so pretty, so sweet, so caring. “You know you’re a remarkably beautiful woman.” He said, slurring. He said it very matter-of-factly. You chuckled at his choice of words.

“Thank you, lovely,” you smiled, helping him to bed.

“Goodnight drunk Art,” He heard Patrick like an echo. Patrick left the room. He didn’t say goodnight back. He was focused on the lovely part.

Art took his shirt off, throwing it across the room and immediately fell limp on his pillow again, you’d stayed. You put your hand on his chest and he grabbed it. The last thing he remembered was saying, “I’m so fucked.” Before it was suddenly morning.

Art groaned and rolled out of bed, not even caring that he rolled onto the carpet on the floor. He just picked himself up and rubbed his eyes, leaving the bedroom. No headache, just super groggy.

He opened the bedroom door and you and Patrick were sitting opposite sides of the coffee table, different couches. It had been moved back at some point. Art was a little relieved to see how far apart you were. He remembered most of last night, to his dismay. “Hey, sleepyhead,” you said, getting up. “How are you feeling?”

Art was so glad he had hit or miss hangovers. “Gross, but fine.” He replied. You walked into the kitchen and poured him a cup of coffee from the pot, making it exactly how he liked it. You put it in his hands, “Thank you.” He smiled.

“Of course,” you smiled back. You both went to sit on the couch and the conversation about the day included plans of swimming and going back out on the boat once Art was feeling better.

The day was good, warm. The same as any. Art felt better about noon. You were on the boat yelling lyrics to an Avril Lavigne song and Patrick was unabashedly singing along. Art felt so much better, clapping when you shoved Patrick right off the boat at the chorus. You raised your hands above your head triumphantly and jumped a few times.

Art, of course, helped Patrick get back onto the boat, only to get pulled into the water. You couldn’t stop laughing but it was only a matter of time before both boys manage to wrangle you into the water with them, Patrick throwing seaweed at you as you screamed. You clung onto Art in the water as if he was a stable point. Your eyes met, eyelashes wet and you fought your smile as best you could.

Dinner was hot dogs again by the fire and it was followed by s’mores. All day you hadn’t been able to get your mind off of the way Art had held your waist last night. You knew he was out of it, he called you ‘remarkably beautiful’, but in every moment you had to yourself you were trying to relive the feeling, almost like the ghost of his hands were still there. You thought about when his hand slipped under the bottom of your shirt and touched your bare skin…

Patrick snapped in your face. “Earth to Y/N. I’m beat, I’m heading up to bed early tonight if that’s okay.”

“Oh yeah, that’s fine.” You said. “Goodnight!”

“Goodnight!” Art called.

“Night guys!” Patrick went upstairs and turned the lights out. That left you and Art down by the fire alone.

You stood up, pulling your hair over your shoulder. Another night in Art’s sweater and your shorts. “You coming?” You asked. His eyes narrowed.

“Where?”

You shrugged, “With me.” And you smiled just a little, walking down the dock. The moon reflecting off the lake was the brightest light around. It was warm, yellow, nearly. Warm July moonlight, chopping itself up in the gentle waves. Art followed you, why wouldn’t he? “I don’t think I want to go back to the city after this.” You sighed, sitting on the edge of the dock. Art sat next to you.

“Me neither,” he chuckled, moving some hair from your face. “Patrick might go stir crazy, though, so if you planned on keeping us with you, don’t.”

You grinned, letting him tuck the hair behind your ear in the soft wind. He stayed focused on every move of your features, the way your eyelashes moved when you looked up, then down, then back at him. “You think you’d miss tennis?”

“I probably would eventually,” he said. “But this week, no. I don’t miss it. It’s good to be away from training and practicing and all the pressure and just be with friends.”

You nodded, “I understand. It’s been good to get away from things. Reminds me of when we would spend the summers in the forest, before tennis, before work, before school. All that.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think Patrick misses that a lot. He lives in the past a lot, thinking about when things were ‘better’. I mean he doesn’t do much aside from tennis at all so I get it, but he’s very hung up on it. Misses it.”

“You don’t miss it?”

He met your eyes, “I do miss it. But like in a fond way, not in the way where I wish I was still there.” He shrugged. “I don’t particularly enjoy thinking about how I looked when we were running around those forests.”

“Braces and buzzcut,” you smiled. “I remember.”

“You shouldn’t,” Art laughed. “How could I forget about the three tank tops you layered on top of each other?”

“Fashion statement versus buzzcut…” you hummed, teasing, leaning your head into his shoulder and rocking back. “I miss it.”

He looked at you with everything he thought about you resting on his tongue. You, here, moonlit in the night, so perfect. He smiled, only the simplest, most fond things filled his mind. You narrowed your eyes at him, but you knew. “What’s on your mind?” You asked.

Art took a moment to answer. He was too sober to tell you, you were too sober to tell. It was you, just as it was the other night. You on his mind- his best friend, one of his closest friends, keeper of his boyish secrets, one of two people in this world who could read his mind. He wondered if you could read his mind right now as his heart beat hard in his chest over the question. You could, but he kept wondering.

You took his sweater off and underneath was only your bikini top. You stood up from where you sat and rid yourself of your shorts as well. Art was confused until you jumped into the water. Gracefully, easily. It was dark aside from the moon and nearby fire and for a second or two you were gone, but you resurfaced, hair wet. “You coming?” You asked again, the other question postponed. Art smiled and took off his shirt, already in his trunks, and jumped in after you.

You were in the middle, so you were both just up to your waists. You cupped water in your hands and poured it right over his head. You were so cute… he slicked his hair back and grinned his crooked grin. It was exactly what you’d been looking for. “Mhm?” Art said, wiping water from his eyes. “That’s how it is?”

“Mhm,” you replied. It was only a matter of seconds before he grabbed you and took the both of you underwater. You came up laughing and wiping your eyes. “Really?”!you said, lunging forward at him in the water- the intention was to do the same to him, but you really just wrapped your arms around his neck and stopped, dead in your tracks.

The pause was only seconds, a full action became a full stop, his eyes met yours, and not even a second later, your lips met. You kissed him, he kissed you, mutually, with the same force. Your hands moving from around his neck to his jaw and his hands on your waist. You’d kissed before but it was nothing like this, it couldn’t have been. This kiss was years in the making, subconsciously wished for, teased, thought about late night, thought about in quiet moments… and not just by Art.

His hands slid over your wet skin, over your back as your fingertips met the roots of his wet hair. He pulled you closer, his hands at the crook of your waist. From an outsiders perspective it was always supposed to end this way- and from an outsiders perspective, some would say it wasn’t just a kiss without any way to explain exactly just what it was, because they weren’t you. And they weren’t Art.

And they couldn’t ever be able to understand just how it felt when it was just you, just Art, alone in the shallows with a kiss that was strong and heavy with the weight of years and compiled collections of casual touches.

He hummed into it and you both smiled with every breath between. It was perfect, it was magic, it was sweet. The air warm, the water cool. God, you were perfect, you were so perfect and it was all Art could think about as your hands moved down and his moved up, taking his turn to cup your face between his hands and kiss you harder than before as your hand slid down his chest, across his bare stomach. You giggled at the way he kissed you harder and it made him smile but neither of you stopped for a moment, neither of you missed a beat. He pushed your wet hair behind your ear when you eventually pulled away, keeping his face close, just hovering.

Lips wet, sweet breath, a mutual sigh, that lead to a shared laugh. Art, hands still on either side of your face, kissed you again, just because he could. You kissed him back just the same and he pulled away gently once more. This time you kissed him again, like it was a newfound addiction. He chuckled and pulled you closer once more and the kiss went on a while longer, not hungry, not desperate, just easy. Waited for.

Eventually it did end and you decided to get out of the water, it was with knowing smiles that you collected your clothes and dried off again. You pulled a towel off the clothesline, drying your hair, “I have to admit I’ve wanted that for longer than you know,” you admit, fighting your lips from pulling upward.

Art, with the largest crooked grin on his face, moved closer and grabbed his own towel from earlier. “Really?”

You nodded, “Mhm.”

“Me too,” he said, sheepishly. Art was reduced to a boy the way you looked at him, your lips pink from the kissing, semi-wet hair still just blowing in the wind. Gentle. He dried his own hair and threw the towel back on the line. “How long?” He pulled you in by the crook of your waist again, batting away the fact that he as a grown man had butterflies. You just smirked.

“Too long,” you said, slipping out of his grasp and running up the steps. You spent a moment apart to get changed properly and quietly, as to not wake Patrick. He met you on the couch again, unable to stop thinking about you in any capacity. You, fully clothed, comfortable, tired, lack of makeup, hair still damp, were the most beautiful person he had ever seen and he just wanted to stare at you the way he always had, but this time knowing.

He chuckled as you leaned against him without words, draping an arm around you as you settled in against him. No more words were needed, there was not much more to say. You ended up talking until you both somehow fell asleep.

Patrick woke up before you, having gone to bed first and seeing you laying on Art’s chest, both his arms around you, one of your legs draped over his lower half, he knew.

It was the difference in distance that told him- when one of you fell asleep there was always enough respect to have levels. He got himself a cup of orange juice, came back and he knew, chuckling to himself. They say trios don’t last, but it wasn’t the end of it when you and Art got together after that trip. Just meant you and Patrick were even closer sisterwives and he was fine with that. Art was fine with that. You were fine with that.

From an outsider's perspective, they would have said nothing changed.

#art donaldson #challengers #patrick zweig #art donaldson x reader #challengers x reader #challengers fic #art x reader #art donaldson fic #art donaldson fluff #challengers movie #challengers fluff #tinytennisskirt

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princessmisery666 · 7 months

Text

Just Say You Love Me

Summary: Dean is trying to embrace his emotions and look to the future. Part 3 of 3. Part 2 - The Right Guy On Paper.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: fluff, mentions of cheating.

W/C: 4,901.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Mentioned: Jody Mills.

Pairing: Dean x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity).

Bingo: @jacklesversebingo Square Filled: ”Would you please, shut up, I’m trying to confess my love for you.”

A/N: Obviously this was supposed to posted on a certain day (you'll get what I mean when you read) but it just wasn't where I wanted it to be at the time so I waited. Two-ish weeks later ain't bad though.

Graphics: made by be on canva. Dividers by @talesmaniac89

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

Pulling off the highway, Dean grumbles, “This is stupid,” to himself again. Yet, he had called Jody to make sure you weren’t working, made the two-hour drive, and hadn't veered off route to the nearest bar.

It’s been a few weeks since he saw you at Jody’s cabin. You’ve spoken on the phone a few times and met him halfway to Kentucky to give him a lore book Claire had borrowed. But no in-depth conversations have been had, which he’s okay with because one, it’s a conversation to be had in person and not while he is neck deep in a case, and B, he doesn’t know what to say or how to tell you what he wants because he’s still not sure himself.

So, in the safe confines of Baby, he asks himself again why is he driving to your house on Unattached Drifter Christmas or ‘Valentine’s Day’ for the schmucks?

Before he can do a little soul-searching and find the answer, his cell phone rings.

“Hey Sam, what’s up?” he answers.

“Why are you in Sioux Falls? Something wrong?”

“Everything’s fine. Wait, how do you know where I am?”

“You were way too vague about where you were going. You always have a plan for today,” Sam explains, “figured you were up to no good and better keep an eye on you in case you get into trouble like last time.”

“Last time was almost five years ago, and for the hundredth time, I didn’t know she was married,” Dean snarks.

“Plus, you didn’t turn off your GPS,” Sam says as if he hadn’t heard Dean’s argument. “So why are you in Sioux Falls on Unattached Drifter Christmas?”

He falters for a second, thinking of an excuse, and before his pause becomes suspicious, he blurts, “There’s a new bar opened up. Wanna try it out.”

“This bar called Y/N’s, by any chance?”

“What? No!”

Sam laughs, and that all-knowing chuckle reminds Dean that Sam is onto him and there’s no point in denying anything. “It’s a good thing, Dean,” his brother assures him. “You may not have told her outright, but she’s smart. She’ll recognize you showing up today, of all days, is your way of telling her you want…” Dean waits, hoping that Sam will impart the answer that eludes him, but huffs in defeat when his brother adds, “Whatever it is you want.”

“This is stupid,” Dean grumbles, “I’m being stupid.”

“No, it's not,” Sam scolds. “I’m sure today will be tough for her. So, just being there for her is a good thing. It doesn’t have to be deep conversations. Showing up and supporting her is enough.”

Dean considers that Sam is probably right, but it doesn’t make him feel any less insecure. “Maybe.”

“Have fun,” Sam says before hanging up.

Five minutes from his final destination, his phone chimes, alerting him to a text message.

Jody: She’s at Lucky Shots, fifth wheeling it.

“Dammit, Sam!” he snarls, but he’s not really mad, saves him a trip to her empty house.

The break at Jody’s cabin was revitalizing, and the feeling has stuck for the few weeks you’ve been back in your routine. It probably helps that you removed every trace of Luke from your life the moment you got home. The confrontation with Dean was cathartic, too. You’ve analyzed what he’d said about not wanting you to meet someone new and that he missed you, and asked Jody for her opinion, too. She’d wistfully smiled as if aware of something you weren’t, “Maybe you gave up on him too quickly.”

You didn’t want to admit that Jody was probably right. Yet you had made assumptions, choosing to believe that he didn’t want anything serious, and after admitting to yourself that you wanted something more, you had decided to go out and find it somewhere else.

That realization turned out to be at the forefront of your mind today. You're thankful to your friends, Laura and Sara, for the invitation and for not allowing you to stay home and eat your emotions. Being the fifth wheel isn’t the issue. It doesn’t bother you, even on Valentine’s Day. They chose a lowkey, casual games bar, not some romantic, candlelit restaurant, and for that, you are eternally grateful. The issue is Luke is there. It could be worse. He could be with her, but fortunately, he’s with two of his buddies.

The bar has darts, beer pong, pool, skee ball, knock down a clown, and a few other amusements. You're locked into a tight game of girls versus boys beer pong - the beer having been replaced with tequila shots - and you can feel Luke’s every glance as if he’s waiting for an opportunity to approach.

It’s the last thing you want, and your friends were kind enough to offer to leave when he arrived, but you stubbornly refused. You had no reason to leave. He should be filled with so much shame and regret that he can’t bear to face you, but he has the audacity to look like a wounded puppy, and that makes you angry.

The game is down to the wire, and the final ball is down to Chris and Dylan, your friends' partners. Dylan massages Chris’ shoulders, “Come on, buddy, you got this. For the win!”

You all hold your breath as Chris releases the ball, and the boys celebrate the victory with loud cheers as it lands in the cup, having barely touched the sides. You, Laura, and Sara shoot another round of tequila. The sourness of the lemon you suck on adds to the disapproving look you catch Luke throwing your way.

Asshole. How dare he judge you!

“I demand a rematch!” Laura declares.

You agree. “My turn to buy the drinks.”

Sara escorts you to the bar. Though she masks it as helping you carry the drinks back to the table, you know she’s doing it to protect you from an unwanted visitor.

“I need the bathroom, but I’ll meet you back here,” Sara tells you, “if he comes over before I make it back, stomp on his foot and poke him in the eye.”

You laugh, really belly laugh, because she’s totally serious, and it’s also hilarious to think he’d have the balls to actually approach you.

“Who’re we looking out for, honey?” the elderly woman beside you asks, lips pursed and looking sassy.

Sara tells her, “Other end of the bar, tall white guy, blond hair.”

“Green shirt?” she asks for confirmation.

“That’s the one.”

“Uh-huh,” she tuts, “I know the type, handsome as an angel, spirit of the devil. You go on to the bathroom. I’ve got your friend until you get back.”

You don’t doubt the lady’s confidence. You wouldn’t mess with her.

“Thank you, Miss…”

“Call me Beverly,” she introduces, and Sara shakes her hand before skittering off to the bathroom.

You wait your turn to be served, listening to your protector tell you all about her first husband, “the devil incarnate.”

If only she knew.

You face forward, not even side-glancing in Luke’s direction, not wanting to give him any inclination you may want to talk. You don’t. Beverly turns and rests her back against the bar to see the whole room without looking over her shoulder.

“Oh, sweetie,” your new friend says, “there’s another one of those handsome-as-an-angel men walking this way, and I think he’s looking for you.”

You still don’t turn, but look up into the mirror behind the bar and see him. Dean maneuvering around people and tables, coming straight toward you.

Unintentionally, you gasp, a sheepish smile creeping in as you lock eyes with him in the mirror.

“From that reaction, I don’t think you need help with this one,” Beverly says, sweetly taking a step to the left to make room for Dean.

“Hey,” he says, a half smile making him look a little awkward.

“Hey,” you say as he leans in to kiss your cheek, and when he’s close, you whisper, “Everything okay?”

He pulls back, nodding with a slight frown as if the question was offensive or something. “Yeah, everything is fine, just passing through and wanted to say hi.”

“Passing through?” you ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

His frown deepens, clearly trying to sell the lie, pretending to be confused by the suspicion.

You smirk. “Just happen to be passing through on Unattached Drifter Christmas?”

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “How much do you and Sam talk?”

“A lot,” you confess, “emails, phone calls, memes, and then there’s the weekly newsletter.”

“Busted.” He laughs, and it shakes off whatever anxiety he was feeling.

The bartender comes over and takes your order. You add on whatever Beverly is drinking for the rest of the night, which reminds you Sara has been gone a while. You turn around to look for her, and Dean looks over his shoulder. Sara’s back at the table. All of them are staring at you but quickly and comically turn around as if they weren’t when Dean finds them.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, “they’re just looking out for me cause Deputy Dick is here.”

“Shit,” he grumbles. “Is me being here going to be a problem?”

“Probably, but that's his problem.”

Dean laughs, and you really have missed it. The easy relationship you had seems to be a thing of the past, but you want it back. Maybe not the sex because you’ve realized that's where the problem lies. You want more from him than you'll ever get, but at least the friendship could be mended.

“But don’t waste your Christmas on me, Dean,” you say. It's subtle but enough to tell him that hooking up is off the table.

That disgruntled frown appears again, and he looks genuinely offended. “I’m not here ‘cause I think I’m gonna get laid.” He explains, shrugging. “Running into you isn’t a coincidence. I was on my way to your place because I didn’t want you to be alone tonight. Jody told me where you were.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to take from that?”

“Take it for what it is,” Dean suggests. “I’m trying.”

You can work with that. Trying to be friends sounds like just what you need. No pressure or expectations from either side, so you quickly squash the thought that it means something deeper that he’s choosing to spend time with you instead of finding a warm body to lie with.

“Okay.” You smile, trying to look as sweet as possible. “Well, can part of that trying be helping us win at beer pong?”

“Girls versus boys?”

“Obviously.”

He scoffs, “Absolutely not! And you get an extra shot for asking me to rig a sacred game.” He hands you a shot off the tray of drinks, and you knock it back.

He watches you, grinning the whole time, and you shake your head as if it will shake away the taste. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“Don’t try and soften me up, Winchester,” you warn, “I’m not gonna take it easy on you.”

He shrugs, “Was worth a shot,” and walks away with the tray of drinks.

Chris and Dylan merrily call his name as he approaches, and you follow, smiling fondly.

“Now the odds are even. Prepare to go down, ladies,” Dean says, taking off his jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbow.

The games continued; the boys won at Beer Pong, but the girls won two rounds of darts. Once Chris and Dylan had gushed over the Impala, you said your goodbyes in the parking lot. Each of your friends hugged you. Dean got a kiss on the cheek from the ladies, and the guys gave him a firm handshake before pulling each other into a one-armed hug. It looked natural and easy, and you love how well Dean slots into the group.

You realize you’re staring as he drives, and he glances over when he feels your eyes on him. “Are we still social distancing or something?” he jokes, reaching a hand over to tug on your leg, requesting you get closer.

You oblige, sliding over the leather seat, and he slips an arm behind your shoulders to rest on the seat back. “Thank you for that,” you say, kissing his cheek.

“For what?” he asks.

“Pretending like you couldn’t hit that bullseye with your eyes closed.”

“Well, I’m supposed to be a mechanic, right? Not sure a mechanic would have perfect marksmanship.”

“If you’re not sold on the mechanic thing, you can always tell them you’ve changed your profession,” you suggest, and with a teasing wink, add, “but they all already know you’re good with your hands.”

“Would you, for once, get your mind out of the gutter?” Dean jests, “I already told you, no sex for you.”

“Sorry, Mr Winchester, sir,” you joke, “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

He laughs but looks out at the road. His fingers lightly brush your neck. You aren’t sure he realizes he’s doing it. When you were sleeping together, it became a thing - absentmindedly, he’d lightly stroke your skin while watching a movie or falling asleep. It's familiar and comforting, and you lay your head on his shoulder the rest of the ride home.

Dean follows you up your path, and while you search your bag for your keys, you notice him looking to the left, eyes squinting, trying to see something too far away.

“Wanna come in?” you ask, distracting him from whatever has caught his attention.

“It’s not a good idea,” he says, giving you his full focus, “I meant what I said, Y/N. I didn’t show up cause I was expecting to get laid.”

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t considered throwing caution to the wind and jumping into old habits. And you're surprised by Dean’s rejection. He could have followed your lead and taken you to bed without any objections.

“Presumptuous much?” you counter, smirking.

He smiles, all charm and smug joy, because he knows he’s right. “Don’t try and pretend you weren’t thinking about it.” He steps closer, crowding your space and gripping your hips to pull you against him. “You’ve been flirting with me all night.”

“I can stop,” you threaten, but it falls flat as you wrap your arms around his neck.

He grins, “No, you can’t,” against your lips, kissing you before you can claim otherwise.

The kiss is not hesitant; it’s deep and long, but you feel him holding back. His hands don’t roam, remaining wrapped around your waist, but he takes his time, savoring the shared warmth, each brush of your tongues, every breath shared.

Dean is the first to pull back. “I gotta go,” he swiftly kisses you again. “I told Jody I’d be there before midnight.”

“Gonna turn into a pumpkin, Winchester?”

He laughs, pecking your lips again, but then his features soften, something close to pleading, “I’m trying,” he grumbles, but you're not sure if it's to remind you or himself.

He doesn’t say exactly what it is that he’s trying, but you know he means he’s trying to do things the right way, and that’s enough. “You're doing great,” you assure.

He kisses you harder, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip, and you let him in. He walks you backward until your back hits your door, and he groans when he presses himself into you. “Nope,” he scolds himself, pulling back and comically jogging away down the path, but while you're still laughing at him, he turns back. “Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?”

You smile, and it widens to a knowing grin. You spare him the OMG shock when the realization hits you, but you do ask, “Are we dating?”

“Only if you say yes?”

“Pick me up at ten.”

He winks, unable to contain the boyish grin, and just as he opens his mouth to say something, a siren blasts, and a sheriff’s car pulls up to Baby’s bumper.

You walk a few feet to stand beside Dean as Travis, the rookie, and Luke, in plain clothes, step out of the vehicle.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean says.

Luke and Travis stand beside each other on the sidewalk but don’t approach you.

“Ten out of ten for dramatic flair,” you snark, clapping once.

“But should have done it while I was kissing her,” Dean adds, “would have been way more dramatic.”

“I think you meant douchier,” you suggest with a confused frown.

“You’re right,” Dean clicks his fingers as if you're right on the money, “I meant douchier.”

“Funny,” Luke says. “Travis, this man has been driving under the influence. Please breathalyze him.”

You put a hand on Dean’s arm to keep him in place should he decide Luke deserves another punch to the face. After all, he’s not in uniform. Travis is wise enough not to move. You're his boss. Luke has seniority over him but not over you.

“Really?” Dean sneers. “That's all you got?”

“Go home, Luke,” you tell him, “you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“So what if I am,” he says, “I just wanna talk.”

“We’ve talked,” you remind him. “You talked, I listened to your piss poor excuses, and it changed nothing.”

“We were going to get married.”

You raise your voice, “That was a reaction to your cheating! You only asked me because you felt guilty, and I only said yes because…” you cut yourself off, but Dean looks at you, knowing what you had been about to say.

“We were good together,” Luke says, seemingly oblivious to the silent conversation that passed between you and Dean. “He’s just a,” Luke sneers at Dean. “What did you call it? A situationship.”

Dean tenses under your grip, and you know the comment had the intended effect. You’ll have to address it later.

Clenching his jaw, he briefly looks away before leveling a glare and taunting, “Dude, have some dignity. She’s already told you it’s over.” He practically growls his next words. “So leave.”

Luke ignores Dean, looking directly at you. “You're angry, I get it. But don’t make any rash decisions, please.” he implores.

“I was angry,” you agree, “I was furious, but now I’m indifferent. You were a rash decision, Luke, and I’m not saying that to be cruel or get back at you. It’s the truth.”

Saying those words aloud drives home your previous thoughts of why you started dating Luke. Getting engaged was a reaction to your feelings of rejection from Dean’s honesty about commitment. You release a breath as Luke’s face drops, finally seeming to understand.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

He shakes his head, blasting out a breath filled with disbelief. “We were never going to work out,” Luke realizes aloud, “you were too hung up on him.”

“Travis, I’m sorry you were dragged into this,” you sigh, “but please take Luke home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Luke stares for a second longer, but chooses not to say anything further, allowing Travis to usher him into the car.

Dean doesn’t move, watching the car disappear from view at the end of the street. Your heart pounds in your chest; you’ve just gotten to a good place, and now that might have all been unraveled.

Though you suspect not a lot of it is surprising to Dean. The day you told him about Luke, he’d begged you not to tell him you loved him and he was right for the assumption that you did - or do or might. You can not say it even reject the idea if anyone suggests it, but you can’t deny it to yourself. You sought out Luke to replace the emotions you felt weren’t reciprocated by Dean.

“Maybe I should take you to breakfast,” you suggest, with a nervous chuckle, “to make up for that. I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head, giving you a small smile. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he assures you, but he’s looking you over like he’s trying to read the emotions behind the words. “You okay?”

Quickly, you reply, “Yeah, of course.”

“You sure? You look like a bit of ‘deer caught in headlights’.”

“I’m okay,” you sigh, taking a deep breath. “Just a little worried that's undone all the progress we’ve made.”

“It hasn’t,” he tells you, slipping a hand on your hip and pulling you into him. “This situationship can handle an ex-situationship.”

You grimace, “I’m sorry.”

He laughs, nonplussed, “Don’t be. I’ve been called worse.”

He silences your next apology with a deep kiss and slowly, seemingly reluctantly, pulls back. “I’ll pick you up at ten for breakfast.”

You're rambling again. Since Valentine’s Day, it’s been happening a lot. Dean knows why you're doing it. He can see it in your expression every time you catch yourself and stutter over the words, changing it to something else and hoping he doesn’t notice.

The first time it happened, a few weeks ago, Dean thought he misheard you. You were both breathing heavily, your thighs pressed against his ears, holding him in place, writhing while you rode his tongue. He watched your face as much as he could, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your body twitched, and your climax coated his tongue and wet the sheets, “I love yo…when you do that.”

Three days ago, after a double date with Sara and Dylan, Dean woke you up in bed with coffee and French toast. Still in the haze of sleep, you smiled contentedly, and it almost slipped out. “I love…” you coughed to cut yourself off, correcting it as you sat up, “I love French toast.” But he could see it in eyes, the adoration tainted with the fear of saying it aloud.

‘I love you’ is on the tip of your tongue, and it almost escaped a moment ago.

A car accident had kept you late at work, so the dinner reservations had to be canceled, but Dean wouldn’t let it ruin the night. He’d ordered pizza, knowing you’d be starving when you got home, run a bubble bath (with the ulterior motive of joining you), popped open a bottle of your favorite wine - he hated it, thought it tasted like vinegar - and was waiting in the middle of the living room for you with the glass in hand.

Taking the glass from him, you lazily kissed him. He could feel how tired you were. Listlessly, you mumbled, “Oh god, I love yo…” but had stifled it so quickly that the rim of the glass clinked against your teeth.

Clearly unable to think of an alternative, you began rambling about your day while unnecessarily blitzing around the already clean kitchen with a dishcloth.

He wants you to say it. He figured out how he felt about you when it finally sunk in after you’d told him you’d met someone else. It was more than physical, and it always had been. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have hurt so damn much when you told him about Luke.

He hasn’t said the words to you, but you have to know that’s how he feels. He told you he’s trying. Although, there haven’t been any conversations about exactly what that entails. He’s been more communicative. He’s made future plans - okay, only a week or so ahead at any given time, but that tells you all you need to know, right?

But the way you keep avoiding the phrase sets off a little ripple in his heart. Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you’re afraid he’ll hightail it out the door like last time if you say it aloud. Maybe he needs to expand his communication skills. He says your name softly, but you either don’t hear him or pretend not to, afraid of what comes after.

“I should get you a key cut,” you blabber in. “Save you having to pick the lock next time I’m not home. Don’t want the neighbors calling it in. Mrs Brooks next door is always twitching her curtains.”

He tries again, “Y/N,” louder this time.

“I need to put a load of laundry in,” you say, striding into the laundry room.

“I did it already,” he calls after you.

“I’ll put it in the dryer then.”

He follows, trapping you inside the smaller space so you have no choice but to turn and face him.

“The laundry is done and folded in the basket in your room.” he continues, speaking to your back. “The kitchen is clean. Pizza is on the way. The bath should still be hot.”

You finally look up at him, and there’s that apprehensive smile again, but your eyes are aglow with the words you chew your lip to suppress.

“Just say it,” he sighs, trying to hide his smile.

“Say what?”

He steps closer, crowding your space and using a gentle touch to tilt your head up to keep your eyes on his. “You know what.” He smirks, teasing, “You can’t bite your tongue forever. So just say you love me.”

“I wasn’t biting…” you stammer, “I never…I only meant I was going to get a key cut for you. I didn’t mean anything….”

“Would you please, shut up?” He silences your rambling with a hard kiss, grabbing your hips and hoisting you to sit on top of the dryer. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you sigh placidly, but he pulls back and grins, “I’m trying to confess my love for you.”

You drop your gaze, avoiding eye contact. “Please don’t.”

He notes your avoidance of looking at him, and panic sets in that maybe he’s got it wrong, again. But he hopes he’s right, so he chuckles, “giving me a taste of my own medicine.”

You shake your head, “No. I don’t need to hear it, and you don’t have to say it ‘cause you think it's what I want to hear.”

“That’s not what…” he tries, but you raise your voice to speak over him.

“Dean, please!” you wait for him to close his mouth. “I like how things are now, and I don’t want to jinx it or have to watch your ass run for the door again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, “it will be different this time.”

“We’ve been through this already. I don’t want promises, and we don’t need to open old wounds.”

“I get why you’re…”

The doorbell interrupts him, and you use the excuse to push him aside as you jump down and scurry out of the room.

He leans against the doorframe facing into the kitchen and listens to you thank the delivery guy. You must have given a generous tip because he thanks you multiple times as you say goodbye to him.

The click of the door closing echoes, and he waits for you to appear, but you don’t. He imagines you standing in the hallway, trying to calm yourself.

He waits, counting the seconds in his head with the promise that he’ll go find you if he reaches thirty.

At fifteen, you enter, eyes glued to the floor, pizza balanced like a cocktail waitress. “I’m gonna go take that bath,” you tell him. “Hopefully, it's still warm.”

You’re assuming the conversation is over. Only it isn’t. At least, not for him. He hasn’t been working up to it. He’s never had a grand plan for the first time he says it, but now he knows he needs to say it so you understand and believe him.

Silently, he watches you put a few slices of pizza on a plate - so he presumes he’s not invited to the bubble bath. The stopper gives an audible pop when you pull it from the wine bottle, like an exclamation point on his thoughts.

He clears his throat and proclaims, “I love you.”

The only indication that you heard him is your frozen state, bottle tipped, ready to pour into your glass.

“It took me too long to figure that out, but I do. And saying it or not saying it out loud isn’t going to change a damn thing.”

You continue to pour the wine into your glass but don’t turn to face him, recorking the bottle and resting against the countertop.

You haven’t run away, so he continues, “I always knew we were good together, but now I see that we have a whole future of being good together, not just the here and now.”

Hesitantly, he stalks closer to you, watching you take a large gulp of the red liquid. You must hear his approach because you turn around but jump slightly at his proximity.

“I’m ready to move forward,” he confesses, “and I want to do it with you.”

“Are you done?” you ask, finally looking up at him with a teasing but joyful smirk under a shy gaze. “You’re on a roll there. I just want to be sure before I say anything.”

He laughs but shakes his head once, “Nope.” He takes the glass from your hand and puts it beside the bottle. “One more thing,” he leans in closer, tilting your chin up, lips whispering over yours, “I love you.”

You chase his lips as he pulls back, “C’mon, you know you want to,” he teases, making no attempt to hide his smugness. He’s got you right where he wants you. “Just say you love me.”

Tags info

/ @alexxavicry / @b3autyfuldisast3r / @deandreamernp / @deanwinchesterswitch / @fandom-princess-forevermore / @foxyjwls007 / @jc-winchester / @justagirlinafandomworld / @katbratsupernaturalwhore / @leigh70 / @letsbys-library / @lyarr24 / @mrswhozeewhatsis / @nancymcl / @shanimal87 / @stoneyggirl2 / @waywardbaby / @wildbornsiren / @writercole / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @pank0w / @kmc1989/ @deans-spinster-witch / @spnbaby-67 / @roseblue373

Master Lists: JAcklesVerseBingo / Dean Winchester / Main

#dean winchester #jacklesversebingo23 #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #reader insert #female reader #dean winchester angst #spn fanfic #angst #spn fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fandom #dean winchester x you #you x dean winchester

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chishiyae · 1 year

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— HIS LOVE FOR YOU ! [𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜] e42! miles morales.

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ a ten headcannon summary on what it’s like being the prowlers girlfriend. a man whose demeanor is cold but heart is warm.

a/n. — pretty sure it’s been…what? five months since i’ve last been on here? damn that was a long time ago, but i’m back and after restarting my layout and things, i’m writing 🤍

E42!MILES, will never tell you how he feels about emotional matters in your relationship. and by this, i mean that if you were to lay on his chest one day knowing he's had a rough day, instead of saying thank you or how much he loves you (or anything like that), he'll massage your back and close his eyes in contentment. he's been more reclusive to himself than ever since he lost his dad. and, as much as he loves and appreciates you, it's difficult for him to be so honest. so, he does that slowly…but even then, he holds a few things back. because he can never just show you all of his love.

when it comes to “i love you”, he takes that phrase very seriously. he believes it’s more than just a catchphrase and hence only says it when the situation really calls for it. that way you feel the meaning. like when he's leaving to do his duties as prowler, not knowing if he'll return. there have been a few occasions where he’s said it when the situation "didn't call for it" — by few, I mean less than five. although, as the relationship progresses, he says it more frequently than he normally would.

don't let him not saying it all the time mislead you for rejection. he fills that hole with a plethora of reassurances ranging from presents to nicknames. looking at "ma," "mamas," "baby," and "princesa," and you'll know he's serious when he uses your real name.

in arguments, he has a small tendency to forget that you have feelings. not to the point that you wanna end the relationship, but enough that you need to ignore him for a day because if you tried more than a day, he wouldn't be able to handle it anymore. you each have a day to chill out and that's all. he values communication. always has been — even before his father died — but now that he's allowing another person into his life, his priorities are shifting and you’re definitely in his list of people to cherish and protect. so he does everything he can to talk things out and apologize. arguments don’t happen often.

he’s not possessive, but rather protective. I mean, can you blame him with this fucked up city? every time you two go out, it’s either holding hands or him putting an arm over your shoulder so no one messes with you. if you’d ask him if a revealing outfit you're wearing is okay, he'd answer "doesn't matter, I can fight." for sure.

for your safety, he never includes you in prowler-related activities, talks, or general topics, but of course he told you about him being the prowler. he told you the instant he realized he loved you. and only tells you he loves you after you’ve accepted that reality. disregarding his uncle's advice not to tell you anything. communication is key right? and that’s a big part of his life.

just like physical touch. he loves kissing you. your forehead and neck especially. passionate kisses are his favorite, slow and sweet. his kisses always aimed at determining what you ate or placed to your lips prior so he could get a taste and guess. regardless of how horrible or delicious it tastes because it's a tiny game he made. did that have anything to do with wanting to kiss you longer? yeah. but what did the first headcannon have to say about his emotions? plus, he liked it after the first time he tried it, and now it’s his favorite portion of any day.

meeting his mom would almost certainly be by coincidence. he wouldn't have planned for you to meet her for at least three months, so he knows it's serious, but she’d meet you sooner. you'd walk by her house and she'd say something like, "i've seen you around miles before," knowing he doesn't let many people in. and is curious about you. she'll naturally ask you as many questions as she can before miles interferes, but even if she likes you, don't address her by her first name.

it doesn't matter when, but whenever your finger is in his way? he’s gonna bite it. there’s no hesitation. as well as engaging in play fights with you whenever possible.

and last but certainly not least, encourages you to do things he’s never done. no elaboration. just gonna let you think on that one.

#「𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐀𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒」#well look who’s finally back & writing #and in her astv era #don’t be scared to send request i’m opening it up rn #「𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐘𝐀𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 𝟏𝟎 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐎𝐍」#across the spider verse × reader #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse × reader #spiderverse spoilers #into the spiderverse x reader #into the spider verse #miles morales earth 42 × reader #earth 42 miles morales × reader #miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles morales #miles morales × you #miles morales x yIn #miles morales

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nvrsaidiwasinurcloset · 7 months

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im not sure if youre necessarily comfortable with this, so feel free to ignore this if you're not, but GOOODDD i just thought it was the cutest idea ever. possibly a series idea?

imagining reader finding out she's pregnant with ethan's baby after the costume frat party, due to quinn's suspicions bc of how sick reader was for almost two weeks then. though being unable to tell ethan, due to the whole ghostface thing pretty much ruining whatever chance she had to tell him, especially bc the group were SUPER suspicious of him and wouldn't leave him alone with her (prob bc reader told the group during the whole dinner before ethan, as gf attacked the apartment but left reader alone) but time skip a little, ethans put in a psych ward for a couple months to deal with the trauma from his dad & just being pressured into being ghostface, and he decides to go back and visit his girlfriend because he didn't really have anywhere else to go, but when he arrived at her front door, the last thing he was expecting was to see her with a small baby girl in her arms. (in this essay, i will expand more on my girldad! ethan landry age-) BUT reader doesn't necessarily trust ethan around her at first, and for good reason to, considering he literally tried to kill her and the core five (reader was apart of the woodsboro group, was possibly dating amber??) and ethan has to pretty much work his ass off to regain her trust again. just fluff, to angst to fluff again

I hope you like this!!!!!💕

Flames - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This is going to be a series! It'll definitely have a lot of angst and fluff for those kind sweet souls that have been asking me for it:)

Part 2, Part 3

Warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of death, suggestion to sex(but not graphic:)

Summary: After surviving Woodsboro, attacks are happening again to your friend group in NYC.

It’d been a little over a month since the infamous Halloween frat party. That night was crazy, especially after Sam tazed some loser’s balls. When the night was cut short, you decided to go back to Ethan and Chad’s dorm while Chad was going with Tara. You hadn’t had much alone time with Ethan, so you had to take advantage of every opportunity you got.

When the condom broke that night, you went out to get a Plan B the next morning, knowing you and Ethan weren’t ready to be parents yet. What you didn’t know was that you were ovulating at the time, and that the future-saving morning after pill wouldn’t work.

When you started to get sick every day, Quinn started to pick up on it. She had her suspicions and asked you to take a test. Your heart sank when you saw the plus sign, but you had no idea how to tell Ethan. Especially when Mindy was so convinced that he was one of the prime suspects in the most recent killings happening around campus. You didn’t know what to believe, especially after your ex-girlfriend was one of the people killing off your friends in Woodsboro the year before. She even tried to kill you, but you were saved after getting stabbed four times.

As you sat at the table with your friends, you couldn’t keep your secret any longer. Quinn already knew, but you had to tell the rest of them.

As Chad started his “Core Five” speech, and Sam confessed to her fling with Danny, you decided it was the right time to let it out.

“I’m pregnant,” you blurted out, the room instantly getting silent.

Everyone exchanged glances as your cheeks turned red.

“Wait…what?” Chad asked, his shocked expression very similar to everyone else’s.

“Is that why you keep getting sick?” Sam asked, before Mindy spoke up.

“Okay, this is one of the main rules. You aren’t supposed to have sex!”

You rolled your eyes, “It’s a little too late for that advice. Shouldn’t that rule be updated, though? Everyone is sleeping with someone.”

“But you’re the one sleeping with a killer,” she smirked, “Sweet, dorky Ethan is Ghostface. Just like Amber.”

“You don’t know that,” you said, as she scoffed.

“Where is he right now?” she questioned, everyone’s eyes landing on you again.

“He’s at Econ.”

Everyone’s phones started to chime. It made you all feel uneasy, your heart pounding as you saw the picture of Ghostface with Quinn.

You all jumped up, standing outside of her bedroom door. You were hoping it was some sick prank, but after the events that happened in Woodsboro, you knew it wasn’t.

You didn’t have much time to think of a plan before the masked figure threw Quinn’s body out of the room, resting against you before she fell to the floor. When Ghostface charged out of the room, you were in the direct path, but they went around you. You noticed Chad and Tara running out the front door, following them to what would hopefully be safety. The second you made it out, the door slammed behind you, and you heard the numerous locks on the door click.

“Fuck, guys!” you yelled to Tara and Chad who were a few sets of stairs down from you. “They’re still in there! The door just got locked!”

They ran back up, the sounds of Chad’s fists banging on the door and the screaming coming from inside the apartment echoing off the walls.

“I don’t have my keys or my phone,” you panicked, tears flowing down your cheeks.

“I don’t either,” Tara said, pounding on the door and screaming for Sam.

After a few minutes, the screams became fainter. You started to lose hope, thinking that all your friends inside were dead. The three of you were crying outside of the door, before Chad spoke up.

“I need to get you two somewhere safe,” he said, nudging you and Tara towards the stairs.

When you made it outside, you bumped into Sam, Mindy and Danny. Mindy was sobbing, and Sam’s face was somber.

“Where’s Anika?” you asked, as Mindy cried harder. Your eyes went wide, “No…”

“Anika and Quinn,” was all Sam could get out before getting choked up.

You all cried as you hugged each other on the sidewalk when the cop cars pulled up. Everyone was questioned before Detective Bailey arrived. He was closest to you because you were the closest to Quinn. He treated you like a daughter, regularly taking you and Quinn out for dinner. You tried to comfort him as he cried, but you didn’t know how to. He’d already lost one of his children in a car accident, and the other was murdered in the room next to yours.

When the ambulance arrived, they kept trying to find the source of your bleeding. You started to feel faint as you tried to explain that it was Quinn’s blood on you, your vision getting spotty. You dropped to your knees, unable to keep your balance. When Sam told the paramedics that you were pregnant, they put you on the stretcher and monitored you as the sun started to rise.

“I’m okay, really,” you said, after an hour of laying there. They were in the process of giving you an IV, hoping the fluids would help with your extreme dizziness.

“The bag’s close to empty. You’re almost done,” the paramedic said, hooking you up to the machine to check your vitals for what felt like the hundredth time.

You watched Mindy get her stitches, completely unfazed. She was so heartbroken, and you just wanted to hug her and tell her everything was going to be okay. You could only imagine what it would’ve felt like if you were in her position, and Ethan was the one laying under the tarp.

As your IV was finally getting taken out, Ethan pushed through the crowd of people and lifted the caution tape to walk over towards everyone. Chad jumped up, having a heated exchange with Ethan as he shoved him against a car.

“I had Econ!” you heard him yell, his eyes scanning the friend group. “Where is she?”

“Ambulance,” Chad said, as Ethan’s eyes connected with yours. He ran towards you, before Mindy stopped him.

“Stay the fuck away from her, Ghostface,” she snapped, as Ethan looked back towards you.

“Jesus Christ, I had Econ!”

“It’s okay, Mindy,” you mumbled, as she moved so Ethan could join you in the back of the ambulance.

“Baby, are you okay?” he asked, grabbing your hand. His eyes were filled with panic.

“I’m okay, I just got really dizzy earlier.”

“Thank god, I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” Mindy scoffed at his words, thinking about Anika.

After checking out the abandoned theater, and Gale getting attacked, you decided that you needed to head back to Woodsboro. You needed to be with your family, and as much as you wanted to be there for your friends, they were all supportive of you going home. You didn’t have just your own life to think about anymore, so you needed to be somewhere safe.

Ethan was really sad when you left, crying as he said goodbye to you at the airport while the rest of your friends watched. They didn’t trust you alone with him, they all had their suspicions that he was the cause for everything that was happening.

“Please be safe,” you said, hugging Tara.

“You too. Let me know how everything goes after you get back home,” she said, alluding to the current situation, not wanting Ethan to overhear and wonder what she was talking about.

“I will.” you said, “I love you guys,” you waved, walking towards security.

You couldn’t tell Ethan about the baby, even though you were terrified that something could happen to him, and he’d never know he had a child. There was this awful feeling in the pit of your stomach. It could’ve been the trauma from your relationship with Amber, but you had no idea she was behind the Woodsboro murder spree, when you thought you knew everything about her. You thought you knew Ethan, but now you weren’t so sure.

When your plane landed, it felt surreal. Woodsboro was never a safe place to be, and now it was. When you made it to the entrance of the airport, your mom was crying, so happy that you were okay. You hadn’t told her about the baby yet, not wanting to send her into shock. She wanted to take you out for dinner, which you agreed to. The lack of food over the last couple days made you feel weak.

“Do you have anything special you want to do when you get home? Do you want to watch a movie or something?” she asked as she sat across the table from you.

“No, I really just want to sleep. Maybe tomorrow,” you smiled, taking a bite of your food.

You pulled out your phone to see a few texts from your friends, all of them checking to make sure you made it back okay. Then you noticed one from Ethan.

Ethan: I love you so much, and I miss you already. I can’t wait to see you again.

You: I love you too, baby

“You okay?” your mom asked, noticing the sad expression on your face.

“I can’t stop thinking about last year…about Amber. How could I have been so wrong about her?” you sighed, your mom’s sympathetic eyes meeting yours.

“She was sick, baby. I’m not trying to downplay it, because she killed two of my friends…and I know you were devastated when Wes and Liv were killed. She just had issues and needed serious help.”

Your mom got sad every time she talked about Dewey and Judy, you did too. You hated when she mentioned Wes because that was the death you took the hardest. Liv was the one Mindy suspected last time, and she was wrong then. You wanted so badly for her to be wrong this time, too.

When you made it home, you went upstairs and crawled into your bed. You felt safe with the alarm set downstairs, and your parents close by. You were finally able to get some much-needed rest.

Your mom woke you up the next morning, wanting to make sure she told you the news before you woke up and saw it yourself. Your heart broke as you listened to her speak about the few details that had been released. You checked your phone to see a text from Tara.

Tara: We’re okay, Chad’s in the hospital…but Ethan was in on it.

#ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #scream

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daydreamingyuta · 10 months

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Baking Christmas Cookies | Mark Lee

summary: fluff, boyfriend!mark surprises you by planning a baking Christmas cookies date wc: 1,351

Spending your first December with Mark as your boyfriend was already better than you could have imagined. On December 1st he surprised you with an advent calendar he made for you. You felt like a little kid again because as soon as you woke up, you couldn't wait to see the little present Mark has gifted you today.

You hop out of bed and throw on your fuzzy socks to keep you warm before you go downstairs into the kitchen. You make eye contact with the advent calendar that's sitting on your kitchen table, begging to be opened. You resist though, deciding to make some coffee first.

Your coffee machine whirs as it pours into your mug. You add your creamer and sugar and just as you're about to take your first sip, you hear your phone ding. You pick it up from the counter and see that it's from Mark.

Mark: Good morning :) did you open day five yet? Y/n: I'm just about to!

As soon as you hit send, you head over to the calendar. Mark is clearly excited for you to see what's inside, so you knew it had to be something good. It takes you a minute to find day five, as all the days are jumbled and out of order. You finally find it though and notice that it's the smallest box out of the whole calendar.

You wonder what could possibly be in the tiny box, and are only left more confused when you do open it. All that's in there is a piece of paper folded up about ten times. You unravel it, expecting a note to be written on it and you were correct.

"We're baking Christmas cookies today ♡"

Your heart jumps at the idea of baking with Mark, an activity you have yet to do with him. You immediately grab your phone and text Mark about how excited you are.

Y/n: There's nobody I would rather bake Christmas cookies with Mark! Mark: 🥹 samee

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

Hours go by as you two both complete your tasks for the day, the thought of baking getting you through your work. Mark had informed you that he already had all the ingredients ready so all you had to do was come over to his place.

You were ecstatic about all the things Mark has been doing for you recently, but a part of you couldn't help but feel slightly bad. Since the advent calendar gift was a surprise, you didn't make him one. It felt wrong that he was showering you with gifts, while he won't get any until the 25th.

You decided to solve this issue by going into the store real quick before you left for his house. This last minute gift wasn't going to be extravagant or anything, but at least he would have something fun to open tonight.

You scoured the department store, Christmas music blaring in the background, until you spotted the perfect gift. Even though you had never baked with Mark before, you knew him well enough to know that he was more than likely going to end up spilling flour all over himself. So, the forest green apron with hand-stitched poinsettias all over was what you were going to get him.

Luckily, you had given yourself enough time to go home and wrap the gift before you actually have to leave.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

As the sun was starting to set, it was getting progressively colder out. You dressed yourself in a red off-the-shoulder sweater and a cream skirt with tights to keep you warm. You would usually just bake in your pajamas, but dressing up for Mark was always so much fun, especially since his compliments were always so sweet and left you with the biggest, goofiest smile on your face. Plus, Mark happened to really love this sweater on you, considering how he reacted the last time you wore it.

You hide Mark's gift behind you, as you knock on his front door. Almost like Mark was already waiting right by the door, he opened up right away. He was about to bring you into a hug, but then takes a step back as he notices your cute little outfit. He tilts his head at you and gives you his little smirk. "C'mon..."

"Do I look nice?"

He takes a step closer to you and cups your face into his hands. "Honestly, y/n. I have never in my entire life seen someone as beautiful as you." He squishes your cheeks and gives you a quick kiss to show just how much he adores you.

He un-squishes your cheeks and pulls you into a hug, rocking you back and forth like he always does. His eyes must have been closed because he hadn't noticed his present until he pulled away from the hug and you pulled it out. "For you."

"babyyy, I'm supposed to be the one spoiling you with gifts."

"We can both spoil each other." You say, leaning in and offering him an invitation to give you a kiss. Of course he happily takes the offer, pulling you in by your waist to get you closer.

Mark had suggested opening his present after you baked cookies, but since the gift was going to be perfect to wear while you were baking, you convinced him to open it now.

Mark tore into the present, revealing two Christmas aprons. He immediately puts it on and poses for you so you can judge how it looks and, of course, he looks adorable. "You're so cutee Mark."

"This is perfect for today! You got yourself one?" Mark say, pointing at the second one.

You nod your head and Mark helps you put it on. You grab the string so you can tie it around your waist, but Mark moves your hands away, wanting to do it for you.

Once you're all set, you finally start the activity you've both been looking forward to all day. Mark had already put out all the ingredients as well as put on the Christmas music, so you got started right away.

You two mixed all the ingredients together, following the recipe closely, wanting the cookies to turn out perfect. Just as you had expected, Mark had managed to spill some flour all over him, making a mess of the apron.

"Thankfully, I have the most amazing girlfriend who got me this apron so I didn't make a total mess."

"You're a lucky man, Mark Lee." You say, playing along.

"I really am y/n." Mark says, serious all of a sudden. "Like actually I am the luckiest guy in the world to have you."

Your heart melts because you know he means every word. You feel yourself start to tear up, so you bring your attention back to making the cookies. Never has anyone made you feel more loved and more special than Mark does.

Feelings of unworthiness cross your mind, but you quickly shut them down knowing that those thoughts would be heartbreaking to Mark if he ever found out.

Instead, you coat your fingertips with leftover flour and flick it at Mark for making you emotional.

"Woww. Here I am like pouring out my heart to you and this is how you act?"

"Because you're gonna make me cry!" You laugh, now feeling slightly back for flicking flour at him. You go to wipe off his face, but you use the hand with flour still on it and end up smearing more onto him. "I'm making it worse." You say, laughing harder.

"You're doing it on purpose." He says, wrapping his arms around your waist as he takes a few steps backwards. You lift your sleeve up to his face to fully get the flour off. "All clean?"

You nod your head and Mark pulls you into a kiss. You melt into him, your heart so full it feels like it could burst. "You know, some hot chocolate would go perfect with our cookies."

"Then we have to stop getting distracted and actually make the cookies." You say, not moving from his grasp.

"but you're my favorite distraction, baby."

#mark lee #nct 127 #nct #fluff #k-pop #drabble #imagine #nct dream #nct scenarios #fanfiction #fanfic #established relationship #mark lee x reader #mark lee x y/n #mark lee x you

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toddxhavez · 11 months

Text

Love In The Dark

Pairing(s): Jenna Ortega x reader, mentions of Victoria Pedretti x reader

Summary: A nice night out at a movie premiere doesn’t go as planned for Jenna when she runs into her ex-girlfriend there.

Warning(s): Female reader, angst, mentions of drinking and past drug use, that’s all I think but feel free to correct me!

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: This takes place sometime in the future, reader is the same age as Jenna in this story which is 29. I’ll probably give more background on their relationship in part two but the song I had in mind for the reader in this story is Love In The Dark by Adele you’ll know what I mean after you read it. Sorry for disappearing but I was having trouble feeling confident and comfortable about my writing! Not proofread there might be some mistakes. (Gif is not mine, the credits belong to the user right below it!)

The biggest problem with working as an actress in Hollywood definitely had to do with the public, when they loved you they loved you sure but climbing the ladder of popularity came with consequences, all it takes is one interaction taken out of context to make them angry.

The interaction in question took place at a movie premiere. Jenna’s agent Owen received her formal invitation and asked her if she’d been interested in attending, she agreed since it was for a horror film.

If only she said no, she wishes she said no.

When Jenna arrived to walk on the red carpet, a staple feature that came with just about every movie premiere, she’d gotten there only minutes before you did. One of the many purposes of a movie premiere is to generate excitement and raise awareness about the film but right now one of the only things the media outlets are focusing on about last week was Jenna’s interaction with you, her ex-girlfriend of five years.

You’d think growing up as an actress your entire life would mean that it’s easy to walk the red carpet, Jenna wants to say that she’s used to it but she’s not.

Thankfully nobody would be able to tell the difference.

She takes a deep breathe and tries to push away that this walk in particular is turning into another stinging reminder that you’d always been here with her the times she’s felt truly at ease and comfortable, slowly but surely these resurfacing thoughts of you would fade away right?

Jenna continues walking past the numerous shouts and flashing lights, offering them a kind smile and occasionally stopping where one of the coordinators of the red carpet asks her to. There’s one photographer in particular that has a camera that could light up a whole town on his own that momentarily blinds her, while the coordinator reprimands the man she takes five steps forward and hopes for the best but ends up crashing into somebody anyways.

“Are you alright?” The person says and they grab her elbow lightly as a way to steady her from falling, but all she can do is blink rapidly as your face slowly comes into view.

“Yeah I’m fine.” Jenna says trying to grasp the fact that she ran into the one person she’d been dwelling on about less than five minutes ago.

What kinda’ve game did the universe plan on playing today?

“Are you sure? You still look a little dazed.” Victoria questions with a look of worry, you’d unintentionally shielded her from Jenna’s view and now she’s realized that you’d come to the movie premiere with her as your plus one after catching a glimpse of the other woman’s arm interlocked comfortably with your own.

A harsh game it seems. But why?

“Oh wait I know why,” you say and it spooks Jenna, how’d you know what she was thinking? If you could still read her as easily as you once did- would you really be diabolical enough to showcase her concerns in front of others? She wills herself to calm down with the reminder that you’ve never been the type and that’s really only worst case scenario.

“It was because of that photographer huh! I thought I died and saw god when he took some pictures of us.” You continue with a laugh unintentially dispensing out another grueling thought to replace the other because the only thing that stands out to Jenna in that statement is your use of the word “us”.

“I think I need glasses now.” Jenna says making Victoria and you laugh, she knows that it’s because of her joke but seeing you do it with Victoria rubs her the wrong way.

“It’s been so long, how are you?” Victoria asks excitedly reaching out to hug her, Jenna internally scolds herself for feeling this way about someone who’s without a doubt happy to have run into her.

“I’m doing really good… what about you guys?” Jenna lies copying Victoria’s movements and reaching out for a hug too.

Before either of you can answer and continue the conversation a coordinator steps forward to apologize for interrupting but mentions that you’re all required to move along because of the influx of people arriving on the red carpet.

“It’s alright I’m sorry about that sir,” you say before focusing on Jenna once more with a smile that’s warm and gentle enough to drown out the rest of the world around her, “we’re doing good too, it’s really nice seeing you again.”

And with that you’d left her.

The breakup happened about a year and a half ago, but whatever the both of you did apart from each other was still talked about widespread and analyzed through the lenses of “In separation, what and how are they doing now?” Or “Why’d it happen? And whose fault is it?”

The latter one being the worser of two evils because it overpowered fact with fiction of how it really ended.

Jenna broke up with you but a year ago the popular release of your hit song made the people think otherwise, the reality of this was that they actually painted you in a bad light because of it.

‘It happened because Y/N didn’t love Jenna anymore, so it’s her fault.’ But that was the furthest thing from the truth, and yet this belief diminished your reputation, Jenna felt guilty about it. She didn’t know what to expect when she’d heard you’d both been going viral after you released a song, but after listening to it she realized you wrote it from her perspective during the breakup, not yours.

The media crucified you because of these speculations, any mistakes that you’d made in the past were brought up and used to pick your image apart.

The worst one being that drug use played a part in the breakup.

You’d grown up as a child actress same as Jenna, but unlike her you were never given the choice to quit. You were forced into this life by greedy parents and discouraged from doing anything else. You were miserable and there’d been a time where you used drugs as a coping mechanism.

So of course, they accused you of falling off the wagon.

“Are you sure about this?” Owen says carefully pulling Jenna out of her thoughts.

“Have you seen the headlines? I’m sure.”

“And you’ve talked to her about it?” Owen questions offering her a sympathetic smile, but it only confuses her.

“Why would I talk to her about it? It’s the truth and it’ll help her with these assholes.” Jenna asks narrowing her eyes at Owen.

‘Help her but hurt you.’ Owen wants to say but he bites back the comment, he knows Jenna’s making this announcement to stop the public from condemning you but there’s a reason you’d never done it yourself.

“Nothing, I was just wondering.” Owen responds turning around and away from view to organize the mountain of papers on his desk, Jenna wants to press him for information but she already knows he won’t give her any.

“Did you like the film?” Owen asks walking towards the bar in his office to fix himself a drink, when Jenna doesn’t answer he takes a quick glance at her and sees that she’s back in her own little world again.

“Yeah it was… good.” Jenna trails off not wanting to admit that she missed about half of it because she’d been focused on you, well you and Victoria Pedretti.

The premiere didn’t have assigned seating but she’d gotten there a bit late- and not that long before Victoria and you did, that unfortunately meant you both were seated about three rows ahead of Jenna. At the beginning of the film you kept whispering things to one another and quietly laughing, the half that Jenna missed happened to be after Victoria rested her head on your shoulder. Jenna couldn’t stop thinking about close she was to you, the way your body softly shook with laughter whenever she said something to you, her bright smile merely inches away from your neck.

“For what’s it’s worth, I don’t think the rumors are true.” Owen comes back with two glasses of his expensive tequila, setting one of them right in front of Jenna and taking his own with him to his seat across from her.

“I know she’s sober.” Jenna thanks him with a nod, appreciative for the man who’s been akin to a protective father to her and you alike.

“Without a doubt, but I’m not talking about that.” Owen says with a pointed look, of course he’d know.

“That’s none of my business.” Jenna responds but the way she picks up the glass of tequila and downs it in one go says otherwise.

“You’re still in love with her.” Owen says and Jenna’s about to deny it but Owen’s one of the few people who knows her well enough to see through her lies.

“It’s not a crime to still feel some type of way about a person you share history with,” he continues getting up from the comfort of his chair to refill her glass once more “you never did actually tell me why you broke up.”

“Can you just have Emilia make the announcement already?” Jenna quips at him trying to change the subject, he merely hums immediately doing what’s been asked of him.

“It’s… complicated.” She finally admits when he hangs up his phone after calling her PR agent. Since she’d the one to break up with you, she felt as if she was in the wrong for being upset about the idea that you’ve already moved on and now here she was accidentally snapping at Owen for something that’s not his fault.

“We’ve got time.” He shrugs passively setting her freshly poured drink down in front her.

“You’ve got any limes?” Jenna asks downing the glass, Owen laughs going to cut up some limes and deciding it’d be better to just bring the bottle of tequila for the rest of this conversation.

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n

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jamneuromain · 2 years

Text

Straight-A Student

Andy Barber x You / Reader

Warning: Smut, Fluff and Smut, a lil angst?, Alternate Universe - College / University, Teacher-Student Relationship, Professor!Andy Barber, Student!Reader, Student!You, Pet Names (sweetheart, baby, sweet girl, sweet thing), Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, spanking, talking about Dom/Sub, implied Dom/Sub, authority kink, choking if you squint, possessive Andy Barber, rough sex

Word count: 3k

Summary: You argue with Andy, during your ninth date.

A/N: Part of the conversation came up by @rogerswifesblog <3

Dancing in the Daydream M. List

“Hey,” Andy breaks your kiss, lips tracing your forehead, muttering your name. He is panting because of the passionate kiss you shared, “… I should probably drive you home.”

You wish you could contain your anger. You really wish you could.

“What the HELL, Andy?” You snap, swatting away his arm around your waist, “WHAT THE HELL?”

To be fair, you have every reason to be angry with him.

This is the third time when he pushes you away during a heated kiss, either saying ridiculous shit about “driving you home” or waving you goodbye in front of your apartment.

This is the ninth date! NINE fucking dates and two months. That’s where you are, kissing.

And only kissing plus something PG-13.

“Is there something wrong with me? Or…” something’s wrong with Andy, but you didn’t say that out loud, “are we a thing?” You ask, unable to understand why the second before sex he’ll push you away, “why’d you do that?”

Of all the boys you’ve dated, no one made it past the fourth date and still didn’t mention sex.

Apart from Andy, apparently, who is not just any “boy”.

No, he is your fucking professor from last semester. And since classes are over, one encounter in the pub turns into more, which turns into dates, which turns you head over heels for him, which leads you to this precise moment.

Andy tries to hold your hand. Judging by your hurt expression, he lowers his palm to your knees. “N-No! I mean we’re…There’s nothing wrong with you.” He licks his lips, stuttering to explain.

“Then what the hell Andy? I like you and want to have sex with you.” You sigh in frustration, looking down at the short sundress barely covering half your thigh.

It is a cute sundress, light blue, with white daisies patterns. You choose this dress tonight with sex in mind-why else would he ask you to come to his house “for dinner”?

Now you despise your own interpretation of his invitation.

“For dinner” actually means “dinner” and no sex.

Har Har. Joke’s on you.

Andy massages your bare skin with his palm gently. He doesn’t even attempt his hands to go a bit higher under your dress, only warming your knees with his hand. “It’s not you-please,” he trips over his words, “I-I like you too, it’s just…”

You’ve had enough, “one last chance, Andy, or I’m walking out of this door.”

You set a ten-second countdown silently.

Nine.

Eight.

What’s the worse that could happen? He has erectile dysfunction?

Seven.

He visibly gulps, looking more nervous than before.

Six.

Andy? Nervous?

Five.

Four.

Looks like you are walking out of that door after all. You glance at your handbag, planning for an exit.

Three.

Brilliant. You will never date anyone older than you ever again.

Two.

You are only making yourself look bad by pushing him.

One.

Great.

“I-” “I have… needs.” You and Andy speak simultaneously. His voice lower, hesitant. He realizes he’s cutting off your words, mumbling a quiet “sorry”.

You are perplexed, to say the least. “Needs…? Sure. What needs?”

Andy looks like a balloon, full of air a minute ago when you were kissing, but now, the air drained, “I… I like to be dominant during sex. I like,” he swallows a lump down his throat, unable to meet your eyes, “holding my partner still, I like telling them what to do.”

The words are weighing him down, instead of up. The more he speaks, the more his heart dies.

“I like going rough. Leave marks on them. Bruises.”

Every sentence feels like torture.

“I want to discipline my partner.” The proper word is, “…spanking. I want control.” He winces.

Silence.

He knows he is going to regret it by the morning, when the headline of the university news would be “Professor Andy Barber, A Sadist in Life AND Sex”.

You are completely awe-struck for a minute.

You weren’t expecting this.

Not even a little.

But damn didn’t what he confessed make you feel things.

Good things.

First, you need to make this clear, “you are into BDSM … stuff?”

“Dom/Sub and bondage. Yes.”

More silence.

He is ruined.

He is completely over.

He messed up the chance with you.

Andy buries his face in his hands, hoping it could make things easier if he doesn’t see you walk away.

“Spanking, as if, the kind of spanking we get as a kid?” You swallow thickly, feeling your pussy clench with his response.

“Yes.”

It takes your whole body not to shake at his words.

“Can we… umm, try that?” You whisper.

Andy raises his head from his palms, turning to look at you, “I’m sorry?”

This must be a dream.

He is dreaming.

He pinches his wrist to make sure he is in the real world.

A sharp pain nearly has him yelp.

For Christ’s sake, you are asking him to spank you.

He returns your question with another, “you tried spanking before?”

Honestly? No.

You’ve had sex before, that’s for sure. Plain vanilla. Sometimes you have to fake your own orgasm to protect their fragile ego.

There’s nothing wrong with vanilla. It’s fine. It’s only a bit dull. Like there’s something missing. Something you’ve read about, “la petite mort”, dying a little. You’ve always wondered what’s it like.

No, you have never tried spanking before. But your unsettling heartbeat in your ears tells you it might be the solution to what you are looking forward to. To be put down. Maybe a little fight and struggle. To be taken.

“No, but I want to give it a shot.” You admit shyly. You blush from head to toe. The air in his apartment suffocating you. Heating you. Wrapping a hand around your neck – no, wait, that’s Andy. Andy caresses your jawline with his thumb, his blue eyes blown wide, and he nods, “before we get anything started, you need a safe word. It can’t be ‘no’ or ‘stop’, that could confuse me with you actually wearing out. Pick something short and irrelevant to sex. When you say it, it means a full stop to whatever I’m doing. Something you can remember and pronounce clearly. Something like fruit? Apple?”

“Yeah, apple sounds good.”

“Okay.” He pecks your lips, then orders you with a soft voice, “lie across my lap. On your stomach.”

He holds on to your shoulder to help you lie down. His jeans feel rough, even with a thin piece of dress between your body and his.

You don’t know where to put your arms, when he rubs the back of your neck and tells you to get comfortable.

You put your arms above your head, touching the soft material of the couch.

He moves your body slightly, for your ass to perch up.

“It’s all about relaxing.” He runs a hand down your bare thigh, warming the cool skin under his palm. He explains calmly what he is going to do, when the muscles on your waist are no longer tense, and your body gains a rhythmic speed of breathing, “I’m going to spank you ten times. Start with a small swat, and I will go harder. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes.” You reply shakily.

“Shhh. Don’t be scared, sweet thing.” He lands a kiss on your spine, his hand still massaging your thighs, his other hand spread over your upper back, giving you the soothing warm you need, his voice dropping to a whisper, “you can always safe word when it’s too much.”

Your body melts to his touch.

“One more thing.” He mutters, “could you be a good girl for me and count your spanking?”

The first slap is nothing more than a small pat on your right cheek. Even so, you count as he asked you to: “One.”

“One, Sir.” He corrects you, flipping the thin piece of dress to your waist as you unmistakably feel his shaft hardens under your soft stomach.

Bet he didn’t see your black lacy panties coming, huh?

“One, Sir.” You repeat what he says, biting your lower lip to stiffen a giggle.

The next blow comes harder to your bare flesh. A smack with no actual force. There’s not even a sting.

“Two, Sir.” You breathe steadily as he trails his left hand up and down your spine.

Somehow, you know the next blow is a real spanking instead of the last two playful swats.

A patch of sting blooms on your right cheek when he lands the third smack, dissipating quickly into your skin.

You let out a small squeal, “three, Sir.”

Your clit is aching for some touch. You press your thighs together for some comfort, but he stops your squirming with a warning pinch on your thigh.

“None of that.” He tuts, a hint of dominance in his voice, “getting needy, are you?”

Your whimper turns into another squeal when the fourth smack meets your cheek. The sting leaves for a longer period of time, still not truly painful.

“I asked you a question. I expect you to answer, sweetheart.” Andy squeezes your cheek with his fingers, kneading your ass as the pain grows fainter.

You grab onto the smooth sofa surface. The tinge of pain blooms into your wetness down your core. You crave something more at your entrance. Something stronger. Something harder.

“Four, Sir. Yes, Sir.” Your face flushed-red, abashed by your confession.

You yelp as the final blow to your right cheek paint your ass pink, even only for a couple of seconds. You forget all about counting his smacks as the buzz of pleasure leaves your body. Andy’s palm massages your tender skin slowly, turning you around to face him, “is that too tense for you, sweet girl?” His eyes nothing short of worry and concern, cerulean blue orbs filled with warmth.

His action speaks more than his words: Did he hurt you? Does he need to stop? Do you need to safe word?

“No. I’m good.” A shy smile hanging on the corner of your lips, “Sir.”

Andy closes his eyes and groans, “you’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.”

He flips you over with one fluid motion, delivering the next five smacks on your ass as promised. He watches as your skin blooms with pink traces of his spanking, clenching his teeth when you count each one. His cock strained in his boxers, painfully hard. He wants to paint your pink ass with his cum, the milky substance drips down your thigh, making a mess on…

“Can I have some more… Sir?” You look over your shoulders, lifting your body from his lap slightly, “a little harder, maybe?” You chew on your lower lip, in anticipation of his answer.

You crave more, after your spanks. His blows are not enough. You want his hands to come down just a little harder. And deep down, you can tell he is still holding back. Probably because he’s afraid of scaring you.

Yet you want it.

You want him behind this façade. You want him for all he is. You want to see the worst he can do to you.

You are so excited about his unfiltered dominance.

Andy chokes on your request, but huffs out a laugh.

They were married for ten years, and Laurie refused his dominance for ten years.

Laurie never wanted any of this. Laurie never liked any of this. Laurie thought BDSM was sick.

Not like young people saying skateboards and weed kind of “sick”.

The other kind.

The bad kind.

So, he hid that side of him away from her, tucked it into a dark corner in his mind, locked it, and threw away the key.

While you.

You found the key.

You unleashed the beast inside him.

Feeding it more of your given-up control.

He nudges your elbow to have you lie back in place, and mutters, “since you’ve asked so nicely… three each. Be a good girl and remind me of your safe word, will you?”

“Apple.”

“God you’re perfect.” He combs your hair to the side, rubbing circles on your back, planting a small kiss on your lower waist.

A loud smack has your body spasm, your nails bite into your palm, and you wince for the first time.

This is exactly what you need. What you want. What you crave.

“One, Sir.”

The sharp pain spreads with the numbing sensation. The shade of dark pink stays on your skin. Pain blend into pleasure, shooting sparks down your core. Andy kneads your ass until it doesn’t hurt anymore, which is only a matter of seconds.

Smack.

“Two, Sir.”

He could see the palmprint, covering the previous spank, leaving a beautiful pink imprint. He doesn’t wait to deliver the third blow.

“Ah-Three, Sir.”

Your ass is numb. Smack overlapping smack is both pleasure and torture to your delicate skin.

Three more smacks on your other cheek, and you know your core is leaking. The wet patch of lace clings to your soaking pussy, making you want to squirm.

“Fuck.” He pulls you close to sit on his lap, devouring you in a searing kiss, “fuck, you’re so good for me baby.” Andy rests his forehead with yours. Your pussy grinds over his bulge, when his hand kneads your ass. “I want you, Andy,” you moan into his mouth, your lips burning for his beard, but that’s what you want, “I want you, Sir. Please.”

Succumbing to his needs. Succumbing to his wish.

He makes it all so easy.

He makes you thirsty for more.

Andy wants to take you, right here, right now.

Rip you to pieces just to put you back together.

But no. The Couch isn’t the nicest place to take you.

“Bed.” He pants into your hair, kissing your temple, “bedroom.”

A tangled mess of limbs, groping, and kissing brings the both of you to his bed.

You are out of the restraints of your clothes in no time, eager to pull him down for more kisses, dragging him down, grasping the base of his neck, clawing his back.

Even if you are occupied with his kisses, your hands tell you all about his body.

He is built. Strong. Muscles flex under your touch. He has pecs, but you don’t bother counting them with your fingers, reaching for his shaft. Pumping it in your hand.

His thick girth twitches, oozing pre-cum, damping your palm, when he looks you in the eyes. Lip swollen, pupils blown, Andy gazes into your eyes, breathing out one single thing: ”Safe word?”

“I’m good. No need.” You giggle to pull him to your lips again, when he flips you over single-handedly, his shaft pressing against your ass. The pink shade on your skin long gone.

He puts a condom on, before covering your body with his, your back to his chest, “fuck, I want to spank your ass sore till you can’t sit on a damn chair without thinking about me.” He pushes himself into your tight channel entirely, hissing, groaning, kissing your shoulder and neck.

It is a fucking dream come true.

You pinned under his large frame, taken, fucked. Fisting the sheets, the pillows, his arm, his bicep. Your hips arched up, being pounded into. His balls smacking your clit. His hand sneaks around your throat, holding your chin so he can kiss your neck easier. His other hand holding your waist, gripping so hard it might bruise.

He doesn’t care.

No, he cares. He wants bruises. He wants you sore. He wants you pumped full of cum.

Slick runs down your thighs, gushes out of your pussy.

You have never been fucked this hard.

Tears slide down your cheeks, dampen your hairline, as you are being rutted into. His tip brushes your cervix. Ramming you into the mattress.

Rearranging your guts.

“Jesus. Fuuuck-” You moan into the sheets – his hand when he starts losing grip. When your bodies are slick with sweat. When his hand slide to your chin.

You didn’t mean to dart out your tongue, but you taste the salty sweat in his palm. Engulfed in his cologne.

You suck on his finger. His thumb, to be precise. Toying it with your tongue and swollen lips. Biting it when he rams into you.

He sputters a curse, “fuck, you’re trouble.”

Andy smears your saliva on your lips and your chin, pulling out his thumb so that he could hear your moans and whimpers, “poor pussy will be ruined tomorrow.” He rasps into your ear, “tell me, who’s making you feel this good?”

“You, Andy.” You choke on a scream, “you. Sir. Professor. You.”

He rams into you harder every time you squeak a new word for him, for all of him.

He bites your shoulder and rubs harshly on your clit, his dick twitching, cumming, shooting ropes of cum into the thin piece of rubber. Your walls pulsate. Creaming his dick. White hot pleasure burns to the very tip of your nerves.

He quickly throws away the condom before climbing back onto the bed with you. Panting. Breathing rapidly. Having an arm around your shoulders as you flip yourself over on your back.

“You did great, baby.” He murmurs to your hair, kissing the top of your head. He knows it probably doesn’t bother you anymore, but he has to ask, “does your ass still hurt?”

“No.” You rub your chin on his bicep, looking into his warm blue eyes, “not bad yourself, Professor Barber.” You smirk, teasing him a little, “you make a great teacher. Even outside of class.”

He chuckles at your words, capturing your wandering hand for a kiss, “well, I’d give you a B+ or even an A. Though we should probably work on your-”

You smack his arm, “ANDY!”

“OH, okay. B then, for your attitude.” He raises his brows to your “challenge”, earning another playful smack.

You push yourself up on your elbow, hogging most of the sheet because he annoys you, “is there any chance to…” your fingers circle his chest in a seductive way, “I don’t know… argue my marks?”

Andy pulls you down for a kiss, grinning in contentment with you in his arms, “lemme see your efforts. Perhaps I’ll change my mind for my favorite straight-A student.”

#andy barber #andy barber smut #andy barber x you #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #defending jacob #professor andy barber #student reader #possessive andy barber #andy barber fluff #andy barber fanfiction #dancing in the daydream #straight a student

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

"Did you ask about my sandwich?" is the first thing Robin asks him when he falls through her window. Only after the question has been asked does Robin turn on the lamp beside her bed.

"Ow," he replies, because he's landed on her shoes. One is digging into the center of his back and the other his buttcheek.

"I'll take that as a no," she swings her legs off the side of the bed, sitting up to look down at him. "You know, with the amount of noise you just made, you might as well have used the front door."

"We both know your parent's know I'm here, anyway. The use of your window is to avoid conversation with your mom. She always asks if I'm planning to propose before you go to college, or after you graduate."

Robin gags. "Don't remind me. Now get off the floor and tell me when I'm to expect lunch delivered by Eddie to Family Video?"

Steve does haul himself off the floor, then, because the shoes are painful. He joins Robin on the bed, shoulder to shoulder, and leans against her. "Sorry. I forgot to ask about your sandwich."

"I forgive you. Now, to the secondary issue of the night. Show me your knuckles."

"What!?" Steve usually prides himself at being able to keep up with Robin and her random thoughts, but this is so out of left field.

Robin just grabs the hand closest to her for inspection. It doesn't take her long to drop it and reach across him to grab his other hand. "Hmm. No signs of physical damage. Did you smother him to death with a pillow instead?"

Ah. "Har har. No. There was no violence of any kind. There was some yelling, at first, and I got the last word in-" "the most important part of any argument." "-because I screamed fuck you and then ran to my room but then... then he looked so sad about it. I even tried to a pick a fight, twice!-" "Yes, yes, your self-destructive tendencies." "-but Eddie really seemed upset by it all, which, he should. If he hadn't been a dick then I wouldn't be holding a grudge. But..."

"But you were also a dick back the rest of high school, so maybe the hurts can like... even out and go away?"

"Well, we didn't word it like that but that was the, like, ending we came to, yeah. Dustin was right. He's a dick, but like, in the same way I am, I guess."

Robin leans away from him so she can sway her body back, bumping her shoulder against his. "So, to summarize...?"

Steve shrugs. "We talked it out, I told him about Christopher and like, glossed over my parents leaving me alone all the time but I think he picked up on it. Especially after I told him your theory about why I was so attached to a cousin I saw for three to four weeks once a year."

"Hey, don't do that. Don't downplay how you're feeling or smack talk your own emotions. Those are my jobs and I'll not have you leaving me unemployed. Now come on. Let's lay down, and you can be the little spoon, and tell me all about it."

"You just don't want to see my ugly cry face."

"I don't want to see your ugly cry face," Robin parrots back as she clicks off the lamp before they lay down and do exactly as promised. Steve retells the whole night in as much detail as he can remember and Robin does spoon him, patting at his head and giving his stomach a little squeeze every time his voice goes watery.

Eddie left Steve's house with his entire worldview shifted. He hasn't felt this rocked about events since learning monsters were real. And the thing that has rocked him the most isn't learning that Steve had essentially been abandoned by his parents when he was fourteen, or even learning about the tangled web inside Steve that consists of his love for fantasy, curiosity for DnD, and grief for the loss of his cousin.

No, what has rocked Eddie, what worldview has shifted, is his perception of himself and how he has been viewing the world. Him and his fucking Munson Doctrine.

It had served him well, back when he'd first learned the word 'doctrine' in sixth grade and made his own then and there. It let him draw clean and clear lines between what hurts and what doesn't, what keeps him safe and what didn't. Befriend the lost sheep, avoid the jocks. Flight was the superior fight or flight response.

And he had made changes over the years; as a rule, don't tell the cops shit about anything, ever. Make yourself the target to help the little guy (if you're the weirdest kid in school, the others might get overlooked). Slash the tires of everyone who dunks your head in a toilet.

Those kinds of changes.

Around junior year, Eddie started selling because they needed a second income. He'd put in application around town, first, but hadn't received a single call back. Hell, four the places he applied straight up told him they wouldn't hire him so he could quit checking in on his application. He knew Reefer Rick wouldn't turn him away. Not when Eddie could get to the high-schoolers Rick knew would pay too much for too little a hell of a lot easier than Rick could.

It came with the added bonus of bullying ending for him, when the same people who used to shove him around or knock things out of his hands ended up wanting to buy some drug or another, and instead of finding Reefer Rick waiting at the picnic table in the trees out of view, they found Eddie.

This added a new point to the doctrine: charge jocks double. He'd held to that until Chrissy, who had seemed so much more like one of his sheep than a jock.

And, well, everything after Chrissy should have ended the Munson Doctrine completely. Because he'd used it to put people in nice, little boxes that made sense in his mind and that was fucking blown to pieces.

Nancy Wheeler, badass gun-owner who he watched make a sawed-off shotgun? She'd in a box labeled 'Priss, Prim, and Proper' and wasn't that a fucking lie.

Robin Buckley, who he knew withstood Russian torture and willing walked into Hell to save the world? He hadn't ever even given her a second thought. She wasn't a jock, a nerd, or a customer, so she just didn't really exist. Which is so shitty of him to realize.

And Steve. Steve fucking Harrington, who ripped a goddamn giant bat demon apart with his bare hands after biting it and then spit the blood out like every horror movie fans wet dream? Like Eddie's wet dream. Well, he'd been a real dick most of high school. That was a fair box to place him in, at the time.

But because of that goddamned Munson Doctrine, he'd been a dick to Steve first. He'd ruined any chance at even being Steve's friend.

Or he had, before tonight.

It's a really fucking humbling thing, to have your own biases thrown in your face. Don't get him wrong, at first it absolutely made him livid. It hurt, and made him defensive, when Steve didn't just accept his apology. He'd instead shot back, something about him not being wrong about who Steve turned out to be and then Steve... Steve had said 'lashing out at me first, at my reading ability, and mocking me for not being quick at math' and Eddie had felt his stomach drop.

He hadn't remembered that day, not nearly as clearly as Steve did, but Steve's words had brought the moment back to him. He couldn't recall exactly what he'd said but he remembered the feeling of satisfaction at humiliating Steve some random jock that day. Satisfaction at flipping the script and getting to be the one who wasn't hurt. He'd laughed at Steve with the other people who had gathered to watch Steve struggle to do simple addition. He'd retold the story to everyone in Hellfire after school and they'd all cheered about it, told Eddie he was right to do what he'd done.

What he remembers even more, though, is coming home to Wayne and bragging about it. Thinking of the responses he got from his friends. But Wayne didn't congratulate him. Wayne had nodded softly along with the story and then said, 'you can't be the one to hit first, Edward. You throw one to many punches and soon enough yer knuckles don't feel the pain anymore.'

Eddie had puffed up, defended himself, yelled at his uncle for defending a jock and Wayne had interrupted him there.

"He mighta been the jock, but you were the bully."

That had hurt almost as much as every punch his father had ever thrown at him. And did Eddie even learn from it?

No. He doesn't think so.

Eddie had a shit life until his Uncle stepped in, stepped up, and showed him that love was unconditional.

And he's just spent the whole evening learning about Steve, and how the love of his parents had always been conditional. (And never in a way Steve could achieve. Not that Steve had said their love was conditional, but you don't abandon a kid you love at fourteen.)

Steve's every decision until the Upside Down had happened was based on what his parents would think or want. Trying to earn his dad's respect or some shit.

Steve's dad might not have hit him, but Eddie knows an unloving father.

Jesus, all this thinking makes Eddie want a cigarette. He drags himself off his bed and to the window, which he yanks open and leans half out to smoke because this is a new trailer and Wayne asked him to smoke outside when they moved into it.

He left Steve's house feeling like they could be friends, which is great. Way more than Eddie expected. It was just also... a lot to process. A lot to take in.

Jesus. He'd never expected Steve to really be willing to play 20 questions to get to know him, either; that he was willing to set his grudge aside and try, even with his anger at Eddie wrapped up in grief for Christopher. Eddie wouldn't have been able to do it.

Not with his Doctrine in the way.

He doesn't need to change everything about himself, but he definitely needs a deep dive into who he is verses who he wants to be, or has thought himself to be. Steve admitted to bettering himself and Eddie wants to be a person worthy of being around Steve.

And being honest with himself in the quiet of his room, Eddie wants be a person worthy of being with Steve.

He's allowed to be a little delusional about it all, he thinks.

#steddie #my fic #what's eight plus seven?#a little pov flip so we can get some insight on Eddie

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 2 months

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Who is My Heart Waiting for? | Park Jimin One Shot | Teaser

Summary: Getting closer to one of the staff on tour didn't seem like such a bad idea...that is until Jimin realizes that his feelings for her are more than just platonic. Pairing: Rockstar!Jimin pov x Staff f!reader (Strings is her nickname) Warnings: Explicit language but that's about it at this point (I'll add more when I post the full version) a/n: This is my first Jimin fic and my first fic that's written from the idol's pov so hopefully you guys will enjoy the switch up this time. Not sure when I'll post it but I wanted to see if I have an audience for it since I mostly just write for Jungkook 😅 p.s. It's not a surprise that this is based on the lyrics from 'Who' by Jimin because holy shit that song is incredible so I had to write something about it. Hopefully you guys'll like it 🤞🏼

"Come on loser let's go! I'm hungry" she says and I scoff, jogging over to her. "Hungry? From what?" I ask and she glares, looking me up and down. "From taking care of you guys. What else would I do all day?" she asks. I know she works hard but it's fun to tease her like this sometimes.

"Sit back and relax while admiring me" I say and she rolls her eyes, so much so that I would be concerned that they would get stuck at the back of her head if she tried to do it again.

"More like running ramped and being at all of your beck and call. Do you know how difficult it is to take care of five man childs and one very strict overlord" she grumbles, the last part in reference to our manager.

"Man child?" I ask crossing my arms and she nods her head without hesitation. "You sure you there's five of them? And all this time thought we were friends" I say, feigning offense and she doesn't give in.

"What would you call what we're doing right now?" she asks, sitting down at the booth that the waitress leads us to as soon as we walk in the diner.

"A date?" I say with a smirk on my face and she shakes her head and starts looking through the menu. "More like feeding a whiney hangry baby who needs my help to survive" she say and now I'm the one rolling my eyes.

"I swear your favorite insult is getting a little bit tired isn't it?" I say and she smirks. "Well what would you call that thing that you do when you're singing?" she asks

"A cry or sometimes a growl depending on the song" I tease, throwing an arm around the back of the booth leaving her sliding away from me to create some distance between us but I slide towards her to keep her close.

"Why do you feel the need to be so close to me?" she grumbles, accepting defeat once we're almost all the way at the other end of the booth with one good scoot, if she had taken it leaving her falling on her ass.

"Because I like being close to you. Plus you're always mumbling whenever we're in public so this is the only way I can hear you" I explain, making excuses and she scoffs and mutters something inaudible under her breath.

"See I couldn't even guess what you could've possibly said even though I'm this close to you" I say to prove my point. "Because it wasn't for your ears dumbass. Now figure out what you're gonna eat before I let you starve" she says, shoving a menu towards me.

I chuckle and flip through it and eventually we're giving the waitress our orders and I turn to face Strings once she's gone.

"Why do you always treat me like I'm a nuisance when we're out in public?" I question and she takes a very long sip of her water to avoid answering right away.

"Because you are" she answers and pulls her phone out to check a message that just came in and when I see the name 'Alex' pop up on her screen I get a little disheartened for some weird reason.

When she unlocks her phone I catch a quick glimpse of their conversation and it's full of messages planning for them to meet up. "Who's Alex?" I ask and she locks her phone immediately.

"A friend, not that it's any of your business" she replies curtly and her pointed answer kicks me in the gut. "What kind of friend?" I ask, trying to get more information before making assumptions but she gives me nothing.

"Just a friend alright?" she says and takes a drink of her water and I let out a sigh, scooting back and giving both of us some air to breathe.

She takes it as a chance to respond to the messages and when more come in I catch a hint of a smile and I scoff.

"What?" she asks, clearly confused with my reaction. "Seems like they're a lot more than just a friend from the way you're smiling at their replies" I nod towards her phone and she locks the screen again and places it in her bag.

"Fine, happy?" she says, showing that she'll give me her full attention now in hopes to change the subject and before I have a chance to the waitress comes back...

Okay that's all you're getting for the teaser because I couldn't find a good stopping point but comment down below if you'd like to be tagged!

#jimin fanfiction #bts jimin #park jimin #jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin bts #jimin muse #bangtan #jimin ff #jimin fic #jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin x oc #jimin and oc #jimin and you #jimin and y/n

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jooniperbonsai · 3 months

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Thanks for the Sub (ksj) | Chapter Five

Pairing: Camboy!Seokjin x Gamer!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 17.1k

Release date: June 26, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, camboy au, gamer au, comedy, crack, slow burn, coworkers/boss/friends to lovers, an exploration of adults in their late 20s/early 30s

Summary: A miscommunication has you bitter about your relationship with Seokjin. Will meeting one of his friends be enough to change you mind?

Chapter Warnings: swearing, miscommunication, Mingyu + Jungkook bff, Jungkook rides a motorcycle (that is a WARNING), masturbation (f+m), sex toys, pornography, alcohol, y/n is a messy drunk, a lil jealousy, SPOILER WARNINGS: oral (f,m), strength kink, spanking, slight brat behaviors, pet names, bigdick!Seokjin, slight exhibition kink, dirty talk, slight praise kink, unprotected sex, insecurity, traffic light system, consent, they're so stupidly down bad for each other, a little crying during sex moment, creampie

a/n: hello! finally, the moment we've all been waiting for! I appreciate your patience with this. I originally planned on a much shorter chapter, but I wanted to give our couple some time to really dig into their feelings for their first time, especially since they have so much at stake with each other. Just a reminder I'll be taking a short hiatus from TFTS to work on other creative projects, so I hope you treasure this chapter! -h

Seokjin fucked up. Right now, with everything so delicate, he should have known not to dive back into streaming. Not because of the awful energy last night, but because of his stupidity. When he stripped last night, he’d left his phone in his pants pocket. And in further stupidity, that pair of pants went through the wash this morning when he realized he had nothing clean to wear for work.

He’d cradled the dead phone in his hands like it would have mercy on him and turn on. But it was too far gone. It hadn’t just been washed; it also went through the spin cycle. The screen was shattered, bits of glass echoing in the drum amongst a heavy thunk being the only thing that made him realize what he’d done.

He didn’t have time to go get a replacement. Not with it being installation day for the new dishwasher in the restaurant. His phone would have to wait. He could wait. So long as he could get in contact with the delivery people on the phone in the manager’s office, he’d be fine.

So he went in early, taking care of the next set of problems, one after another after another. The delivery people were late after taking the wrong turn, which meant the kitchen staff was handwashing all the dishes. That, plus the nice weather of spring seemed to have drawn more people in than usual. The restaurant was so busy, he barely saw you from open to when your shift ended. Whatever time that was.

By the end of the day, as one of the part timers loaded the new dishwasher and peeled the protective film off the stainless steel front, everything seemed like it was finally in order. His father somehow found a fax machine on that cruise ship, which was boggling. Who was still sending faxes, much less on a cruise ship? And there was still a fax number associated with this place?

Regardless, the contract work was finally settled and scheduled. No more stacking of appointments or missing payroll. He had gotten them back up on the cloud, and contacted the accounting service who luckily had stored everything from invoices to direct deposit information. Once he plugged everything back in, Seokjin realized things would be alright.

He wanted to celebrate. Wanted to kick back with a beer and unwind from how stressful all this was. If he could make this transition smoother for his parents when they returned, leaving them with a much more efficient system and updated restaurant, he thought he could leave it behind a little easier and return to how things were before.

A tightness squeezed his chest. What before would he be trying to return to?

Would he go back to streaming more often? Is that how he wanted to keep paying his bills? In the time he’d been off, he’d felt like he was finally healing, finally good at something. Whether it was cooking or managing the restaurant’s problems, he had to give it to himself: he was a fair negotiator and probably not the worst manager that there ever was.

Because he cared. When he worked in corporate, there were so many faceless names that he always delivered bad news to. No stories to anchor them to bodies. Just emails and phone calls. That doesn’t create much of a person to care about.

But now, he knew each story, from one of his parents and why they decided to start a restaurant to the regular customers who always ordered the same thing to his employees. Every person was a person, and that made Seokjin care so much more than he’d ever thought he could.

The idea of leaving that behind wrenched something in his chest. Did his parents know that the elderly white lady who came in and ordered mul naengmyeon even in the middle of winter did so because it was easier on her gums? Or that Mr. Lee was closing his vacuum repair shop because no one thought to repair vacuums anymore? The more Seokjin thought of all those familiar faces, the more he began to feel panicked. What would he do? Where would he go?

What about you? Barely into the first year of your graduate program and already you had to take a break. Did your parents know this?

Seokjin didn’t know much about this part of you, to be honest. He never wanted to push, though he noticed how you would talk around them and lead the conversation away from your family whenever you got the chance. Your parents were both still alive and married, he knew this. He knew you were an only child, that Wonwoo and you were childhood friends.

But, did you have other friends? Now that he thought about it, he didn’t remember you ever mentioning anyone else that you spent time with. You weren’t from here, and that must have really tampered with the friendships you had back home.

God, how had he been so clueless to not notice before? If you weren’t working or at school, you were streaming. You really didn’t take much time off from anything. And that was really sad.

Especially because you were so great. You had the type of personality that his friends would love. He could see you and Namjoon talking about books. You had so many in that apartment, and while many of them were clearly romance novels, you had the classics too.

You’d met Taehyung a few times when he came to mooch off of Seokjin for a free meal, and his puppy dog pout and awful jokes still drew laughter out of you.

Hoseok, Jungkook, Jimin. They’d like that you always put Seokjin in his place, never afraid to make fun of him or challenge him.

And Yoongi. Yoongi would probably adore you the most. How gentle you were with others, yet protective of what you loved. How you were fighting to be the best version of yourself regardless of the challenges you faced. How you were thoughtful and filled the space with words that had a purpose, not just pointless chatter. You remembered the same faces in the restaurant as Seokjin, stepped in to help, to be part of a team. Those were things Yoongi always valued.

You should meet them, he decided. He’d invite you to hang out with all of them in neutral territory. Let his friends see how great you were. And then you’d have friends here, in a place you could maybe learn to call home.

Even if Seokjin was gone.

His brother sent him the posting a few weeks ago. A major restaurant management company was looking for a financial consultant who would help develop new and repair existing restaurants’ financial strategy around the world. He’d sent in his resume without really thinking about it. And in the mess of today, he’d seen he received an email requesting an interview.

Maybe Seokjin would leave Worldwide Handsome to go worldwide himself. He didn’t hate the idea. An excuse to leave streaming fully behind would be a nice end to things.

What he hated, though, is that your time together was limited, and that job, if he was offered and took it, would shorten the window further.

Once you started up with classes again, it would only be a matter of time. Summer would come. His parents would return. You’d drift apart further.

Which is why he needed you to meet his friends. Needed to know that there was something he could do for you.

He looked at the faded clock on the wall of the office. It was too late to go to the store and get a new phone. Hopefully no one had anything urgent to speak to him about. For the meantime, he knew his parents were resting on their cruise ship off Thailand? Italy? He couldn’t remember. His brother and sister-in-law and nephew were probably asleep now even though the sun still had left some lasting streaks of pink and purple in the sky.

You were…well he didn’t quite know. Probably at home with your nose stuffed into a book. He could live with that. He could live with everyone being in the places he needed them to be. The world could turn to night once more without him being glued to his phone.

Seokjin locked the doors of the restaurant. He watched the glow of street lights kick on. He’d get everything into place. Life goes on, right?

Fuck Kim Seokjin. Fuck him and every stupid fucking man on planet Earth. How can he ghost someone he works with? Does he seriously just want you to quit?

You’d spent the following day waiting for an explanation. Seokjin is a man of many words when necessary. God knows you’ve heard him rant. So what was so goddamn hard about being upfront and honest? He spent all day running around in a frenzy, which you get, but he couldn’t even say hi? He couldn’t even text back with a “sorry I can’t make it”.

That was two days ago. Your date was Friday. And you’ve gotten nothing in the form of a response. When you came to work today, he wasn’t there. You showed up early this morning to see if he was around so you could finally confront him, and sure enough, nothing.

Now, you’re trashed. All thanks to a “Happy Hour is Every Hour” A-frame outside of a gastropub near your apartment that makes their drinks strong and cheap and handed out bar nuts and a bottle of water the second you sat down.

That was four drinks ago. Now, the word has a soft fuzzy glow to it, and if you’re not sitting here pissed off at Seokjin, you’re two seconds from calling him up and confessing how obsessed you are with him. And that also makes you want to cry.

You’re not sure how long it’s been since you started drinking. What you do know is there’s chicken and beer being shuttled over to your table and the wait staff keep staring at you.

“Thank you,” you slur as you reach for the piping hot rib meat before your server can even set the plate down.

“Ah, no be care–”. But it’s already too late. The hot oil touches your fingertips and you jolt, throwing the fried food onto your table as you reach for your water, uncapping it and pouring it onto your hands, and consequently, the tabletop.

You try to apologize, the words glooping together into some string of nonsense as the gossipy waitstaff veer over to the table, whipping white towels out of their aprons and wiping up your mess.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter again, but you know they can’t hear you, too busy tutting at you and pointing at the steam rising from your food. They don’t say it, but you can understand the tone: you should know better.

You’ve now caught the attention of just about every other after-work Happy Hour goer, all flushed from the alcohol but more composed than you probably appear (and are).

You resolve to try pulling yourself together, guzzling down the remainder of your water and taking occasional sips of beer between bites of juicy chicken. Though, how much worse can having a big fat crush on your boss–who is also a gay camboy yet straight– be? Surely the people who run this place have seen worse.

Shit, you’ve seen worse and Seokjin’s family restaurant isn’t even a major hub for after work drunkards! One time a woman in six inch stripper heels and a Tina Turner wig came in asking you if you’d found a loose pig. You stood there speechless as she called for him. And what’s stranger is that it wasn’t even a pig. It was a man on a leash with the word “P.I.G.” written on his shirt. On the back, the shirt said “Pussy is God”.

Therefore, overhearing your drunken blubbering is, in your opinion, the least chaotic thing that can happen to these people tonight.

You pop a pickled radish into your mouth as you take in the crowd around you as they finally turn away and go back to the bubbles they live in. None of these people know what you’ve gone through the last few days. How the sharp sting of rejection paints every decision you make with a shade of insecurity.

You want to talk to him about it. You want to sit in your apartment with him and cry over how he treated you. You want him to apologize for being an asshole and prove he’s not just like other guys.

But there’s a sinking fear that he really is this way. That these behaviors are intentional, and you are actually wrong about him.

And how fucking dare he if that’s intential. What a classless and petty thing to do. Someone should put him in his place. Maybe you should put him in his place.

With that stroke of genius, you dial his phone, impatiently sighing as you are immediately redirected to the voicemail. The beep instructing you to leave a message pours you a shot of confidence.

“Hey, it’s me…..Y/N. Listen, you can’t just keep ignoring me. How stupid and cruel of you to just agree to go out with me and then ghost me afterward and at work? Fuck you dude. Seriously, have some fucking class. Honestly, how hard is it to say no? ‘Oh sorry, Y/N I can’t’ is all I needed.” You drop your voice to mimic his.

“Seriously, we work together. I really thought you would be different about other guys and have some decency to just be honest. And maybe that’s what’s missing here is honesty! So let me just be honest. I know you are a camboy. And at first it was weird yeah but like…I don’t care. Because I liked you. And you liked me right? Well, maybe not. I guess I was wrong. God, alllllll you men are the fucking saaaaaame. And you keep getting away with this shit! But I’m done! I’m so done with it all! You know what? Don’t bother getting back to me. I quit!”

You hang up, satisfied, and dig into a chicken wing. As you suck the meat from the bone, you see a tattooed hand tap the table.

“What,” you ask, annoyed. You really don’t have it in you today to deal with some douche bag hitting on you. When you look up, you see a guy in a black baggy T-shirt and jeans. His big doe eyes and rounded nose look down at you with a glint of sympathy.

“Uh, Y/N?” He says softly.

You squint at him, trying to place him in the sea of people you know. Is he one of your classmates? Or does he know you from streaming? He’s not a regular at the restaurant is he? He doesn’t register as familiar at all. You open your mouth to speak, but before you get the words out, he’s talking again at rapid speed.

“Sorry! I don’t want to bother you. Um, you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of Seokjin’s.”

A hot prickle of anger and embarrassment punches your gut. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Uh, I don’t want to bother you, but I noticed you were really upset and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He glances over at the empty glasses on the table.

“I’m fine,” you say reflexively. “Just been having a bad weekend.”

“Ah,” the stranger says, furrowing his eyebrow. “I can understand that. Do you uh…do you want to talk about it?”

He shifts onto his heels, rocking back and forth slightly. It makes you feel dizzy just looking at him.

“No, no I’m good.”

“Got it, sorry. I know that might be weird. Just thought maybe you’d need somebody to talk to.”

“And what gives you that impression? A random stranger who is disrupting my night sure seems to know so much about me for no particular reason.”

“Oh, I have a reason. Hyung–uh, Seokjin– he means a lot to me.”

You wait for him to go on, but instead he bites at a piercing on his lip.

“I don’t really see how that’s relevant.”

“Ah, yeah. Sorry. Um, I…you know what? Never mind. So, listen. My uh, my friend is the owner of this restaurant. And they don’t want other people to have a bad experience here.”

You blink at him. “That’s..great?” What does this guy want from you? Why is he sharing this?

“It is! And so um…” he holds up a take out container. “He wanted me to bring you this.”

“Okay? I’m not finished yet, though. I was going to finish this beer first.”

He nods and you see a blush color his cheeks. “Sure, but you see, some people have complained. And he just. He would like it if you finished your food at home instead.”

An awful silence rings out between you and you glance around. Other patrons of the restaurant are glaring at you. From behind the checkout counter, you can see a very tall man standing with his arms crossed, wearing a pained expression. He, too, is blushing.

You glance back at the doe-eyed man. “He…you are kicking me out?”

His eyes go wide and he starts waving his hands in front of him. “Ah, um! No, no one is kicking you out! Mingyu is a puppy, he means no harm. He just…last week someone stole all the change in the drawer and now things are really tight for him and he can’t afford to lose business.”

Mingyu, you now know he’s named, drops his head into his hands and sighs.

“Got it,” you say through gritted teeth. Jesus, can today get any worse? You stand up, and suddenly the world is tipping sideways and being pulled out from under you.

“Whoa, whoa!” The stranger says. You close your eyes, ready to hit the tile floor. But it never happens. Instead, the weight of your back is being held by something sturdy, and your wrist on your right arm is clamped onto tightly. You open your eyes and see him beaming down at you, his eyes wide. “Careful there.”

“JK!” Someone calls out. “You know where she lives?”

“Nah and Hyung isn’t answering whenever I try calling him,” the stranger shouts back. Your right ear is ringing, sensitive to the loud noise.

“SHH! God, right in my ear! Jesus! I’m fine. I can get myself home! I’m not some weak damsel in distress.” You slap his hands away and find your footing on the sticky floor.

JK, you assume, holds his hands up in surrender. “Noona, I’m not saying you are. But you are really drunk, and I can’t let you leave when you can’t even walk.”

You snort. “So I need to leave but I can’t? What kind of riddle is this for me to solve? Are you a troll that lives under a bridge? I can’t leave until I solve your riddles three?”

He chuckles. “No, more that I am going to take you home. Here, get your food in this, I’ll get my keys.”

“Don’t bother,” you say, scooping the still-warm food into the container. A part of you is mourning how soggy this is going to be later.

“Please, Y/N don’t fight me on this,” JK says softly.

“I’m not,” you insist.

“Then let me drive you home.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Then why–”

“Because I live like two blocks that way.” You point.

His tight jaw slackens as he follows your hand, peering out toward the direction of your place.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, and scoop up the container, glancing down at the empty drinks. In a last minute decision, you lift up your glass of beer and chug the rest of it down.

JK sighs and shakes his head when you deposit the empty glass into the nest of the others. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” you reply, walking toward the cash register. JK walks through the swinging kitchen doors, you assume to grab his keys.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mingyu says, waving his hand.

What? No way. You try to do the mental math, but at this point, you’ve lost count of how much anything costs. One thing you know: this meal wasn’t cheap.

“No! No, I want to pay. I’m sorry I was so disruptive. Please let me–.”

JK reappears, carrying a leather jacket, backpack, and motorcycle helmet. “Ah, Noona, don’t worry about it. I already paid.”

He what? Who the hell is this guy?

“Oh,” you say awkwardly, glancing up at Mingyu. “Well..thanks.”

“Yeah. Uh, you’re welcome. Get home safe. Maybe drink some water when you get there.” He steps away from the counter and grabs a gray plastic bin, shuffling over to your table to bus it.

“Ready?” JK asks and you nod, following him out the door.

“Are we really going to take your motorcycle a few blocks?”

He laughs. “Why? Are you scared?”

Yes. “No. Just feels like a waste of gas.”

“Sure. But I also was probably going to go to Seo-somewhere after this so it would make sense to take it. But if you’re nervous about it, we can walk.”

“I’m not nervous. It’s just a waste of gas.”

“Okay, Y/N.”

“Okay, JK,” you mock. He begins walking along the sidewalk in the general direction of your place and pauses at a shiny black Harley, scooping up a second helmet from the seat.

“That’s not my name.”

“Then what is your name?”

“Jungkook.”

He looks at you and smiles, holding out the helmet he had in the restaurant. You stare at it, not making a move to grab it.

“No? Well, I guess we’ll walk.”

You’re not sure why you grab the helmet but do. You’ve never been on a motorcycle; they have always terrified you how they weave through traffic and tight alleyways, zip through intersections and rev themselves at lights in some grand show of ego. But Jungkook doesn’t look like any of the biker dudes you’ve seen with long beards and bandanas. He looks almost like an innocent kid. But with tattoos and piercings.

His smile widens as you scoop up the helmet and plop it onto your head, letting Jungkook adjust the chin strap’s tightness.

“Are you sure I’ll fit on this?” You ask, eying the incredibly small passenger “seat” off the back of the bike. Who even fits on these? Children riding illegally?

“Huh?” He looks between you and the bike, scanning your body up and down as he tries to do math.

“Yeah,” he decides and nods. “Yeah I don’t think it’ll be an issue.”

So you hoist yourself onto it, trying not to tip the heavy machine over in your jolt. Jungkook clips his helmet on and hands you his backpack. “I’ll need you to wear this though. Otherwise it’ll squish you.”

You loop the straps over your arms and reposition yourself. Jungkook easily navigates his leg over to the other side, using his left food as a grounding while he holds the bike up.

“Okay, let’s go!” He says enthusiastically and you chuckle before realizing he has no idea where you’re going.

“Oh, uh you’re going to head that way for about three blocks. Then turn right.”

He nods and then inserts the key into the ignition, turning it on. Wordlessly, you wrap your arms around his thin waist, and as you whip down the main road toward your apartment, the chill of the spring air on breezing across your arms feels a little bit like freedom.

When you arrive, you do the polite thing and invite Jungkook in to prove that you are not so inebriated that you’ll aspirate and die in your apartment. You even drink an extra glass of water to ensure he believes you when you say you’re fine. You’re mostly tired now, the exhaustion of the week and Seokjin’s rejection heavy on your body.

“Well, thanks,” you say, signaling it is time for Jungkook to leave.

“You’re welcome. And Noona, I’m sorry about Mingyu, he really didn’t mean any harm.”

“I understand, I was kind of a lot.” You say, the haze of the restaurant fading into the night. All the things you were mad about are starting to seem quite immature. You pause, realizing something.

“God damnit! I left my chicken there!”

Jungkook laughs and shrugs. “Well, it’s a good thing I know the owner. I can always get you a fresh order if you want it?”

You mull it over for a second before shaking your head. “It’s fine. I probably don’t need it anyway. It was just comfort food during a bad week.”

“You mentioned you were having a hard time. I hope you feel a little bit more at ease now that you ate and got more water into you.”

You sigh. “No, not really. I am starting to feel a little stupid for the phone call I had earlier.”

“Oh yeah, I overheard a bit. So what was that all about? Mad at a friend or something?”

“Yeah,” you say and Jungkook’s smirk drops.

“Hyung? What did he do?”

“It’s…it’s not a big deal really. He just…we were supposed to…hang out the other night, and he blew me off.”

“Oh, that’s not really like him. I’m sorry that happened.”

“Not your fault,” you say, smiling up at Jungkook.

A beat passes and Jungkook sniffs, glancing around at your place. “So, about Seokjin-hyung.”

You raise an eyebrow in question. Where exactly is this going? When you don’t say anything, Jungkook looks over at you.

“Well, h-he’s not a bad guy. Really. I hope you know that.”

“Why are you doing this?” You ask.

“Doing what?”

“Building a case for him. All your friends really. Trying to mediate on their behalf.”

Jungkook glances down and sighs. “I don’t know. But we aren’t talking about me right now.”

“Are we even talking about anything? We’re strangers.”

“Have you considered that people become friends instead of strangers by sharing things about themselves?”

You wince. “I don’t like you.”

Jungkook splits into laughter and you can’t help but chuckle in response. He’s charming, but you don’t need him to know that.

“Fair enough. I’m just saying, Seokjin he…he’s really a good guy. Practically raised me. Although sometimes I think I’m more mature than he is. But he’s had a rough time lately with all the stuff happening with the restaurant and his family coming back soon. I think he’s just not entirely sure who he is, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you.”

You sigh, defeated.

“Take care, Y/N. I hope to see you around.” Jungkook walks toward the door, turning the knob.

“Hey, wait,” you say. You feel a little guilty as you sober up. You’ve been bratty all night to the poor kid; you could cut him some slack.

“Thanks for helping me out tonight,” you say sheepishly.

“Anytime. Really. Although maybe we can avoid making this a habit. I’d like to meet you again when you aren’t drunkenly shouting at my hyung over the phone.” Jungkook picks up his spare helmet off the floor and waves, and then slides through the door and into the dark.

For a few minutes you stand there, trying to balance the scales of the weekend, from the ghosting to the drunken calls to running into one of Seokjin’s closest friends who drove you home on the back of his Harley. Your head feels like it’s spinning.

What are you supposed to do about any of this? You’re not sure. Jungkook told you that he was basically raised by his friend, and that touches something really soft within you. You’re not surprised. Look at how good of a mentor he’s been to you in the kitchen staff? It’s not common for bosses to take time out of their schedule to train you, especially before the place even opens.

But that’s Seokjin’s dedication. He cares. And that’s also why this rejection hurts. Because you know that if he’s being this way to you, it can only mean that you did some unknown thing that has driven him away from you. And it has to be big enough for him to ignore you all day?

What if he’s seeing someone? What if he’s trying to create distance with you? Your head spins with all the ideas and you need any details. Anything.

You practically run to your computer, typing in Worldwide Handsome’s website address and searching the performer tab. You don’t have to scroll long. He’s one of the top streamers of the year, and you see that he has a stream that happened Friday night on his replay list, but it’s blocked behind a paywall. Did that asshole seriously stream on Friday instead of hanging out with you?

You pause for approximately two seconds before you begin typing your credit card information in. You need to be sure. In a matter of seconds, all of Seokjin is everywhere; there are photos of him, clothed and naked. Some are crystal clear in quality, looking almost professionally taken, every ridge of his hard cock portrayed through pixels. You feel heat creep into your chest and cheeks, almost like you’ve just taken three shots of vodka.

As it turns out, the alcohol’s effects paired with Seokjin’s own hotness have you pulling the fabric of your shirt away to try and get some proper air. After a moment, you decide you’re done wrestling with it and strip it off. It’s your apartment, you have a right to walk around topless if you want. And pantless. You feel the cool air wick away some of the heat from the back of your knees as you slide the pants down. Much better. You probably smelled like fried chicken anyway.

You look back at the screen, your entire monitor displaying an HD photo of Seokjin in the middle of an orgasm, his neck thrown back, Adam's apple bobbing as he squeezes the head of his cock. His hands and stomach are messy with a milky, somewhat translucent load of cum. You squirm a little in your seat, feeling the heat that was once flushing your body send a sharp flicker of desire to your core. What is it you’re supposed to be doing?

You blink a few times at the screen before exiting out of the photo gallery and heading into the video playlists. Ah, you remember when you see the most recent stream. Research. Because he’s avoiding you. A sharper, more painful throb stabs through your chest, carrything with it the sting of anxiety.

You need to know how you can fix this. You take a deep breath and load in the video.

“Hi Everyone,” Seokjin says, a lazy wave fanning into the shot. “It’s been a while.” You study his face, he seems sad and upset. Is this really the same Seokjin you saw at work two days ago? He seemed a little stressed, sure, but not like this.

Seokjin greets some of the names of people who must have responded to his chat. After a few minutes, he smirks. “I needed this. I missed you guys, too.”

Has he not been regularly streaming? You never really thought to look again after you stumbled upon him a few months ago. Okay, that’s a lie. You’ve definitely thought to check on him at least a hundred times, but you promised yourself that you wouldn’t peek. He deserves privacy.

But now as you’re learning, he hasn’t been consistently online in months. Where has he been? Have you really been taking up that much of his time with your own streams? Your chest follows the sharp pain up to your throat, where guilt nestles itself in.

He’s seeing someone. He’s got to be. Pulling away from streaming makes all the more sense if he’s dating someone. All that horny, intimate energy has to be directed somewhere? It only makes sense that he would direct it onto someone.

Jealousy sours your stomach. Maybe he realized that you were intending for this to be a date on Friday and didn’t know how to let you down. So he just did this instead? Why does none of this make sense?

Seokjin has a few more conversations in the next few minutes, but nothing really stands out. He seems guarded. Sheesh, how lovesick is this guy?

As he wraps up his conversations, you see his face fall in between words as he reads the screen that is determining what type of toy he has to use. Eventually, it is decided upon a vibrating cock ring, and you watch curiously as he places the device down his shaft and balls, snuggly resting at the base. As people donate, the ring vibrates.

You don’t feel like this is going to give you what you need. It’s certainly hot to watch at first, but it also isn’t helping you understand him better. Even still, you don’t click away, and for the next hour, you watch the recording, his tired eyes becoming all the more lifeless as he approaches his orgasm. Honestly, it feels a bit sad. Not long after he cums, he ends the stream.

This is not like the one you’ve seen before. In that stream he was passionate, domineering, and direct. Now, you’re not even entirely sure if he was turned on. You begin cycling through older streams, trying to find a date of when all this started.

How long has he been seeing her? How come you were too stupid to realize it before? You study each video for clues, looking for moments when he might mention something that shows around the time he started closing off to his audience. Nothing promising.

Until this one, one where he’s softer than usual, more submissive. He goes soft a few times even in this stream, despite the fact that he’s engaging with his audience, he’s giving them everything they could ever want. You watch as he grinds down on a pink dildo, gasping for air, little moans popping out of his chest.

If you didn’t know him as well as you thought you do, you might believe it. You’ve watched enough of his videos now (including the one you caught live), to see how Seokjin looks when he’s turned on versus when he’s performing as Jin.

A little buzz comes over the speaker and Seokjin’s eyes look past the camera, presumably toward the source of the sound. Then, like a switch, something happens, and he grows harder in his jerking hand, a flush creeping up onto his chest, his rhythm changing to form a steadier, lighter grind on the toy. But what lets you know that he’s truly, really turned on, is that his moans are not high pitched at all. They’re deep. Fuck.

“Fuck,” he mimics, a low chuckle coming out of his chest. He’s closed his eyes, more invested in his fantasy.

Shit, this is getting hot. You squirm a bit in your seat again, trying to focus. You’re looking for clues, remember?

“Yes, yes, that’s it. Right there,” Seokjin groans. You rasp a breath, which has become more erratic as the head of his cock becomes deeper in its blush. You can’t help it. This is what he does, how he affects you. He could be completely clothed or fully naked in this moment, and you would still be just as wet as he’s making you from using that voice. You reach down between your legs, trapping your hand in between to relieve some of the pressure.

“Fuck, Y/N.”

What?

No. There’s no absolutely no way. You must be imagining it. Your stomach does a little flip out of hope anyway.

“Mmm, I’m close. Fuck!” He changes the tactic for stroking himself, now flicking his wrist and squeezing his tip. You can see the bead of precum that is leaking out.

You must still be so drunk that you’re running away with your fantasies. No.

“Y/N,” he says again, clearer. And then, Seokjin orgasms, lifting his hips so his cock can thrust into his hand, droplets of cum spurting from the tip, dappling his thighs and stomach.

“Oh my god,” you say as the information all starts to click into place. “Oh shit.”

“Hyung, open up!”

Seokjin rubbed his eyes, trying to understand what the hell was going on. What time was it? When he glances at the clock in his dark room, it says 1:43AM. Which is weird, because didn’t he go to bed last night after the sun came up? Maybe his clock was wrong and it meant 1:43PM instead of AM.

But that was the least of his worries. Instead, he was heading toward the door, where one of his dongsaengs was beating on his door like he was intent on breaking it down.

He pulled it open, and found Jungkook standing in front of him, his hair sticking out in weird places. He looked like he just had sex.

“What are you doing here, Jungkook-ah?”

Jungkook’s eyes looked anxious and he nodded. “Can I come in?”

Seokjin moved away from the door frame, holding out an arm to let his friend in. “Is everything okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? I’ve been trying to call you all day and your phone is off.” Jungkook said as he stepped into the apartment and unlaced his boots.

“Ah, that. It went through the wash this morning. I think I’ll leave here soon to go get my new one.”

“Are there phone stores open this late?” Jungkook asked, furrowing his eyebrow.

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that it’s almost two o’clock in the morning on a Monday. I don’t think someone is going to be open to sell you a new phone.”

“It’s not Monday, it’s Sunday.”

“I think I know the seven days of the week, hyung,” Jungkook scoffed and pulled out his phone, showing the display to Seokjin. He was right. It was Monday.

“Holy shit. That means I slept through my entire Sunday! I was supposed to get a new phone today!”

“Well, I guess your body was in sleep debt or something and you needed the rest. Anyway, as much as I love being Father Time and all, that’s not why I came here. I need to tell you something.”

He couldn’t help it, but as he heard his friend speak, Seokjin’s pulse increased. Nothing ever came from that sentence. But before he could even begin to think about what life altering event happened that would change him and Jungkook’s friendship forever, the youngest was already walking over to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water.

Jungkook unscrewed the cap and took a long chug. “Sorry, thirsty. It’s been a long night. Listen, I was just at Y/N’s.”

Of all the things Seokjin was anticipating Jungkook to say, that wasn’t it. His stomach dropped as he further took in the rumpled appearance of his friend.

“Wh-what? You were hanging out at her house at 1 in the morning? H-how did this happen? I didn’t even know you guys knew each other.”

Jungkook blinked at his friend for a moment, realization dawning on him. “Oh, no, nothing like…intimate happened hyung! I met her tonight. I was at Mingyu’s and she was there!”

“Well that makes me feel so much better now!”

“What? You don’t think I would sleep with her, do you?”

“Well you really weren’t holding much back a few months ago when you saw her streaming!”

“I…okay so she’s really pretty and I did give her a ride on my bike back to her place but that’s the most we touched! I swear!”

The sickness of jealousy pulled at his stomach.

“Hyung,” Jungkook said lightly. “I would never betray you like that. You’ve been interested in Y/N for a long time. And I know that.”

He was right. And Seokjin knew that, too. He took a deep breath.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Jungkook smiled softly, and then sighed. “I just want you to be happy, hyung. Which is why I came over here right after I dropped her off. She was trashed. Mingyu kicked her out, and you know he’s too chicken shit to ever kick anyone out. But she was on the phone yelling about something and I recognized her. She had drunk herself under the table and was trying to finish a 4-person platter of chicken by herself.

“And that’s not all, either. Uh, when I started talking to her, I learned what she was really upset about. Hyung, why did you blow her off about your date?”

“What? We didn’t have a date planned.”

“Are you sure? Because I heard her leave you a voicemail saying that if you didn’t want to go out with her, you should have said so instead of blowing her off two nights ago and that you have ghosted her.”

Seokjin furrowed his brow. It didn’t sound like you to behave so erratically. Did you get that drunk that you were thinking of things that never happened? When was it that you’d even spoken last?

He retraced the past three days, from him washing his phone this morning…or yesterday morning to work, to the Worldwide Handsome letter, to two days ago when his father began the chaos by sending over half the forms needed. That full day of sleep really was throwing him off. He’d talked to you that morning, hadn’t he?

About going to that restaurant you’d wanted to try. He’d gotten a late reservation. That he completely forgot about because of everything else.

“Fuck,” Seokjin said, running his fingers through his hair.

“What? Oh, hyung, Don’t tell me it is true.”

“I–it completely slipped my mind. I was supposed to take her out to dinner. It was going to be maybe our first step toward dating. God, I didn’t mean to forget! I was just so overwhelmed with everything that when the time came I was streaming instead.”

“Well, I’m not sure how she’s going to really be understanding about you spending your Friday night jacking off for a couple hundred people for cash instead of taking her out.”

“She doesn’t know I stream.”

Jungkook coughed on the water he had just swished into his mouth.

“What? Seokjin-hyung, why not? How has it not come up in the last few months of you helping her with her stream?”

“I don’t know! Because she somehow sees the qualities I possess while streaming in me as the manager. And besides, I am the manager. Which means I’m her boss and talking about me ‘jacking off for money’ as you choose to call it is inappropriate for a work environment!”

“Are you having conversations about this in the work environment?”

“No, of course not!” Seokjin said. “What kind of manager do you think I am?”

“That’s not the point,” Jungkook said. He sighed. “The point is if you aren’t having those kinds of conversations at work, then why are you so bent out of shape to not tell her? And also, you won’t be her manager for much longer.”

Jungkook had a point. “Look,” he said. “I fucked up. I forgot to take her out, and now I need to apologize or something.”

“She was really upset,” the youngest said, eyes flickering a bit in the dim kitchen light. “Like, I think she really really likes you.”

“How do you know that?” His friend had always been perceptive, but Jungkook was also sometimes a little naive.

“Well, when I finally convinced her to leave and let me give her a ride home, she seemed really responsive to what I told her.”

“What did you tell her?”

“To cut you some slack. That you probably didn’t mean to blow her off. That you care a lot about everyone and everything and have been going through some stuff.” His eyes softened, and he carded his tattooed hand through his overgrown hair.

Seokjin felt his chest tighten. Jungkook had always been so good to him. It didn’t matter that he was the youngest; his heart and eyes were always big with love and wonder, ready to receive all the love in the world and give it all back tenfold.

“Thanks, Jungkook-ah. That means a lot.”

Jungkook hummed thoughtfully, chewing on his lip ring. “I just want to see you happy.”

“I know. God, I know. And I like her so much. She’s so funny and sweet and beautiful. Sometimes I’ll come over to her place and we will just sit quietly around each other not talking. And then sometimes we talk for hours about everything. I have really started to…maybe fall for her.”

“Oh, hyung, have you told her any of that?”

“No, I…I thought it might slip out of me soon enough. And I guess it did, just she’s not here to actually hear it.”

“I think you should start there and tell her how you feel in your apology. Otherwise what else are you going to do? Be miserable?”

Seokjin thought for a minute about how agonizing the last few days must’ve been for you. You’d been around him at work and he was too busy to talk. You not getting a response from him for the last few days was probably incredibly confusing and he didn’t know if he could wait until later this week when your shifts aligned to talk to you.

He walked Jungkook over toward the door, grabbing his car keys off the hook near the entry.

“Actually, I’m going to go over there. And then I’m going to beg for mercy.”

You keep replaying those two parts over. Watching closely as Seokjin calls to you from the edge of arousal before tipping over into pure bliss. For now, you have it paused on the moment right before he says your name again and cums.

He wants you. Or he did at some time. Which means it could very well still be true. Seokjin masturbates to you. He fantasizes about you. You turn him on as much as he turns you on. The vibrator you have suctioning your clitoris buzzes deeper as it scoots over the bud, making a lower groan when it finds a part of you that’s more wet than the rest.

“Shit,” you say as you feel yourself getting closer to cumming. You pluck at your nipple with your free hand, continuing to move the shoved bra cup out of the way so you can enjoy the prickle of desire pulling toward the surface of your skin.

You clench around nothing as you watch Seokjin pump his thick cock with one hand. You’re aching to be filled, but you also are too far gone now to move. You will have to orgasm this way,

getting at least some relief before the next. You have time now, the haze of alcohol fading from your bloodstream. It’s almost as if becoming horny made you sober up faster.

You adjust the settings on the vibrator, upping the intensity.

So close. You’re almost there. All you need is–

“Y/N?” You hear Seokjin call from somewhere. Your eyes flit to the screen, expecting to see the video unpaused. But that Seokjin is frozen in time.

A knock echoes through your apartment.

Oh god, Seokjin is here? Right now?

You quickly flip off the vibrator, chucking it to the floor in your pile of sweaty clothes from earlier. You exit out of the screen, noting that it’s almost 2:30 in the morning. What is he doing here so late?

You adjust your panties back into place and pull your bra back over your breasts. In a panic, you throw the first thing you see long enough to cover you up and head to the door.

When you open it, Seokjin is real and standing right in front of you, face flushed and panting.

“What are you doing here?” You whisper-shout. Now is not the time you want to disturb your neighbors.

“Please, can I come in?” Seokjin asks urgently, and you nod.

He steps through the door, closing it behind him carefully.

“I-I fucked up.” He says.

You wait for him to finish. He doesn’t.

“Oh, um, with what?” Playing nonchalant doesn’t serve you.

“With what? With you. And I’m sorry. Y/N I completely forgot about our date. I honestly have been so overwhelmed with all the new things happening at the restaurant that it slipped my mind. And I haven’t had a phone the last few days, so I haven’t been able to text you.”

So that explained his ghosting. And him streaming.

“Oh.”

“I just. I’m going to come out and say it. I like you. A lot, Y/N. And I do want to take you out to dinner. And I’m also so sorry for not communicating with you. A lot’s happened in the last few days. But I need you to know that I’m sorry.”

Seokjin looks at you, eyes shimmering, a little wet like he might cry. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“You like me?”

“Yes, I thought it was obvious.”

“What do you mean you thought it was obvious? You’ve done nothing that would make me think that!”

Seokjin blushes. “I-I’m sorry. I have been so nervous for a long time that I swore I wouldn’t make the first move until you did. And I’m sorry if you don’t feel the same, I promise you I’ll get over it. But I like you.”

Seokjin likes you.

Your brain immediately wants to refute it. No, you couldn’t possibly like me. You’ve mistaken me for someone else. Someone else with my name. Not me.

“I…”

Ask if he has a fever, if he’s drunk. There’s just no way he could be serious about this. Is this a joke? Please don’t let this be a joke.

“Oh, uh. God I’m such an ass, I should’ve known. Never mind. I…I should maybe go.” He looks you up and down, and you see his cheeks go beet red. Your eyes follow his gaze down to your ensemble.

Oh, that’s right. You’re standing in front of him wearing some ratty panties and a bra…and his shirt.

Seokjin’s eyes go wide, and he casts his gaze away. “Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“No! No, it's fine! You can look!” You say quickly. “I mean, no, don’t go. I…I’m sorry I just am so not good at this and am having a hard time processing it. You like me. Me. Right?”

He nods, eyes still not looking your way.

“Okay. Okay. Great. This is good! Um, fuck. I like you too. Sorry, I maybe should have led with that.”

His head snaps in your direction, eyes now fixed completely on yours. “You do?”

“I thought it was obvious,” you say, repeating his own words back to him. A huge smile blooms on his face.

He closes the distance between the two of you, pulling your arms you were using to shield yourself for a bit of decency away from your body. You happily concede, wrapping them around him for a tight squeeze.

He feels like home. There’s no other way to describe it. Security, safety, as if he fits in with the mismatched shelves in the living room. His scent floods into your nose, and you revel in it. It’s long since left his shirt you now wear, and something about it embedding into your skin has you sighing in relief.

You both stand there for what feels like forever and also not long enough. His fingers gently caress the length of your spine.

“Y/N?” he asks quietly.

“Mm?” You force yourself to let go enough to look up at him.

“Can I kiss you?”

“You’re asking?”

“I feel like we probably should have asked each other the first time it happened.”

“Yeah…you’re right.”

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s more patient than anything else.

“So is that a yes?” he asks lightly, a tiny bit desperate and you laugh, looking back into his deep brown eyes.

“Yes,” you say.

Seokjin moves slowly, carefully, almost like every single move he makes is marked with thought and consideration. He lifts your chin with his index finger, rubbing his thumb across your upper lip tenderly. Then, lightly, his hand expands along the length of your cheek, guiding you closer to him. On instinct, you close your eyes. When you feel his lips touch yours, you’re unable to get over how silky and soft they feel. Has this man never experienced chapped lips once in his life?

You think to tease him, to pull away and ask, but then he’s parting your lips with his, the taste of him enveloping you as his tongue moves into your mouth. God, you’d forgotten how good he tastes.

You lean deeper into him, letting your exposed stomach collide with the fabric of his pants, your breasts resting along his ribs. Your hands wander along the expanse of his strong, broad back.

When you nip the bottom of his lip with your teeth, you hear him gasp a little bit.

He pulls back, his eyes dark, lips a little red and swollen.

“Don’t start something you’re not going to finish,” he warns.

You cock an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He chuckles softly and drops his hand from your cheek, stepping away. He not-so-subtly adjusts himself in his pants. The air feels cold between you, and like a magnet, you move to close the distance again, craving more of him.

Seokjin raises his eyebrows in surprise, but he doesn’t dismiss you, instead leaning down as you cup your palm around his neck, and you begin to kiss him again, only this time you venture downward, leaving little pecks along his jawline. As you reach his neck, you test the waters again, sucking the skin between your lips. He moans.

“Fuck, Y/N, what are you doing?”

You know the question is rhetorical, but you decide to give him a response anyway, licking along his neck and swirling your tongue in his collarbone.

God, you can’t believe any of this is real, that he’s real, but you refuse to let the disbelief ruin this moment for you. Instead, you allow your other arm to start shifting down his chest, resting playfully at the waistband of his pants.

Suddenly, Seokjin rips your hands away from him, and before you can even question what’s wrong, you’re being scooped up and carried across your apartment before being tossed onto your bed.

“What did I tell you?” he says, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Mmm, not sure.” This game is getting to be a little too fun.

“Bad girl,” he mutters and you feel a thrilling rush of desire back to your center. You’ve been wet because of him for so long tonight, and still no relief. But with him here, what more can you really ask for?

You grin, going to move back toward him, to tease his chest this time when you find you’re landed flat on your back with your arms pinned above your head.

He clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Only good girls get to touch.”

Heat, so much heat in your body. Seokjin is resting slightly over your hips. If you angle yourself just right, you might be able to relieve some of the pressure. You buck up, but to no avail. He already saw that move coming and has created distance between you two.

“Ugh,” you cry in annoyance, but Seokjin laughs.

“I promise it won’t be so bad, princess.We do need to take a step back anyway. I need to know more about how you’re feeling about this. What you want. And if you keep doing that I’m going to fuck you on this bed right now and will not be able to control myself.”

You gasp at the response, still squirming under him. After a moment of locking eyes with him in the silence, you can’t take much more.

“Please,” you beg, but over what exactly? You aren’t sure.

Seokjin knows, though. Somehow he knows exactly what you mean by this.

“I know. Don’t worry. I’ll give you what you need.” Something in that sentence is so reassuring and you force yourself to relax a bit under his hold.

He smirks. “Okay. But first, we need to talk.”

You nod in agreement, and Seokjin releases your wrists, instead tracing his fingers down your arms, past your armpits and over the swell of your breasts. He hums thoughtfully, but continues his exploration down your sides and hips.

“First of all, what do you want from this?” He gestures between the two of you.

God, what if you are honest and it isn’t what he wants? You’re about to say whatever you want but as you study his face, you can see that Seokjin is also nervous. His hand is shaking slightly. You reach up and lace your fingers in his.

“I don’t know what to call it, really. But I want to do this. To spend time with you away from all the everything that can be reality. I want to explore things together. To learn more about you. To build our own world that feels nice to walk around in. It always has felt kind of like we step into something just for us when we are alone. I like when you come over and sit on my couch and do nothing. I want more of that. And,” you guide his hand down unlacing it just as you place his hand over your breast. “I want you to touch me. Especially like this.”

He keeps his hand still but does not remove it.

“Can you…tell me what you want?” You feel somewhat embarrassed to ask, despite the fact that he just asked you the same thing.

“Mmm,” he hums. He begins exploring the silkiness of the bra with his fingertips. You can feel the skimming of them over your nipples. It’s not enough to make them hard, but the promise of it makes you shiver, and that does. His fingers work along the band of the bra, a few of them snaking their way under it and touching the tender flesh on the side. Fuck, he’s torturing you.

“I think I like the sound of our own little world,” he finally says. “It would be nice to feel a bit more…free.” As Seokjin finishes his sentence, you feel his fingers slink forward, brushing underneath the cup of your bra and lightly plucking at your left nipple.

You inhale sharply, glancing up from where his fingers roam to his face, which hosts a sexy, lazy smirk. But his eyes are a different story, honed in on you like you’re some kind of prey he’s hunting.

“Can I take off your bra, princess?” he asks. Fuck, there he goes again with that pet name.

You nod, but Seokjin shakes his head, clicking his tongue.

“We are going to need to work on you using your words, aren’t we?”

It’s a rhetorical question, one without any bite because Seokjin still moves to the clasp on your back, unhooking your bra. Which maybe was a bad move, because you’re still in his shirt, and the straps are beginning to pull away from your shoulders without the weight of your boobs to fix them into place.

But Seokjin doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks even more aroused somehow, exhaling through his nose heavily when your breasts drop out from their cups with a little jiggle. You move to begin taking the rest of your clothes off, but he’s already beating you to it, gently slipping his (or now your) shirt away from your shoulders, his hand supporting each arm as he peels away your layers carefully, like he’s opening a Christmas present and wants to preserve the paper.

It’s when he’s chucked your bra and shirt to the other end of the room that he finally looks at you: chest, stomach, and all.

“Fuck,” he groans and he leans back, trying to shift his very obvious erection around in his slacks with no success. “So beautiful.”

Your eyes are fixed on him as he pushes down on his cock with his palm. You know what it looks like, how big it is, but that’s just on a screen, where the size of everything can be hard to compare.

“Seokjin,” you say breathlessly, and his eyes snap away from your breasts as you lean forward and place your hand on his thigh.

His breath is just as erratic. God, both of you need to get it together. He looks at you, trying to read your expression with his own concern.

“I’m fine,” you reassure him, and the wrinkle between his eyebrows softens. “But can I touch you? Please?”

You’re whispering. Like what you’re doing is some secret. And maybe it is. You hope it’s not, but only time will tell. Seokjin reaches to the hand that you’ve rested on his thigh and moves it up to the heat of his hard length.

“Touch me wherever you want, princess. I’m yours to play with.”

Shit. “Shit.”

His gaze is scorching. He wets his lips and watches you as you explore him, slipping your hands up his abs under his shirt, which he graciously removes when you complain that you’re more naked than him. You remove your hand from his clothed cock and watch him spin into equal desperation as you, a somewhat annoyed look taking over his face as if to ask you what you’re doing.

You stun him then, tilting your head just so that you can lock his lips with yours. Enough talking. More feeling. Isn’t that what you two do all the time anyway? And if anything it pushes you two further away instead of guiding you closer. He’s yours to play with, and hopefully soon he realizes you’re his to play with too.

You let your kisses become messy, weaving your tongue through his mouth before sucking on his neck again, feeling a light spank on your butt when you do.

“Hey,” you say. “That hurt!” It didn’t. Not even a little bit. If anything it makes you squirm more, wanting to grind down onto him but you’re not in the right position for that. Next time, you promise.

He laughs lightly. “Don’t test me. I’ll make it hurt.”

“So many empty threats. I recall you saying you were going to fuck me?” You readjust your position so your ass is in the air as you trail your tongue down Seokjin’s chest, teasing his nipples on the way down to his navel.

“Watch your tone, Y/N.” He warns again. This time there’s a little venom behind it.

“Mm, okay. Sorry. Maybe we need to establish a safe word.” You pop the zipper of his slacks and look up at him.

He nods. “We’ll use the traffic light system. You know what that is?”

You scoff. “Of course I do. I read.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry for asking.”

“You’re forgiven,” you say, pulling the zipper down. He’s wearing black briefs, but you can see a tiny damp spot from where his erection pushes against the fabric. “Can I?”

“Yes, baby. Go ahead.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, you’re tugging downward, whining when the pants don’t budge from how he’s sitting.

“Here,” he laughs, and lifts his hips so you can tug. As you do, his cock springs free, tapping your wrist as you pull.

Fuck. Seokjin is huge. You know this. You’ve seen hundreds of photos now and watched numerous videos, but that didn’t prepare you for reality. His tip is that same angry red it is when he’s incredibly aroused, and it’s glistening a little with precum. Your mouth waters. How would he taste? Will he let you taste him?

“Shit, Y/N. Look what you do to me,” he says.

You blink at him. God, that’s right. You did this to him. He’s this turned on because of you.

“I didn’t even do anything. You just took my shirt and bra off,” you say.

“And you think you haven’t gotten me rock hard while fully clothed? God, do you remember that day in the kitchen a few months ago when I had you practicing cutting carrots and you hit your head? Did you not feel anything when you brushed your perfect ass up against me?”

With that, Seokjin slaps your ass with one hand, the smacking sound ringing out in the room. A slight sting forms under his hand and you can’t help it, you moan.

“I thought…I thought maybe you were hard but I didn’t know why. I just…I don’t know…I buried it in my memory because I didn’t think it would be true.”

Seokjin rubs where he slapped, the warm sting soothed by his soft palm.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve fucked my fist to the memory of you bending over and showing me your tiny little panties. Oh, shit, and those pajama shorts you always wear that ride up your thigh. Fuck. I almost came in my pants that one night you wore those to bed.”

“I…I didn’t know,” you say weakly. Seokjin sighs and taps your side, pushing you into a sitting position. Your hands still rest on his thighs, right around the base of his cock.

“Listen, Y/N, I know that I haven’t been the most clear on my feelings from the start, but I’m trying to rectify that now and hear me out. I like you a lot. And I’ve liked you probably since we first met, honestly. I dream about your thighs resting around my face as you sit on it. How sweet your wet pussy must taste. Every time I see you I have to try to think of morbid things to stop myself from popping a boner in public because I’m picturing you naked and waiting for me in my office, my tie in your pretty little mouth to silence your moans as I fuck you on my desk. I want to fuck those overthinking, stressful moments out of you and then feeding you delicious food after as we sit on the couch watching Netflix.

“You have absolutely no idea what it’s like for me to feel like a horny teenager again the second you walk into a room. But god, I want to show you some amazing, dirty things.”

You squeeze your legs together, your clit throbbing for attention now that it’s been promised.

“Then do it. Fuck me. Show me amazing dirty things.” You take his hot length in your hands and give him one long stroke.

“You are such a tease,” he scoffs, which turns into a hiss as you lean down and take him into your mouth.

God, he’s big. The edges of your lips are struggling to stretch to take him into your mouth. With a flick of your tongue along the tip, though, you wet him enough to slide more fully in. You taste the light tang of precum on your tongue and it makes you salivate more, allowing you to bob up and down as you hollow your cheeks.

When was the last time you did this? You don’t even remember honestly, it’s all lost in the fog of shitty date nights, of trying to force yourself to take more than you could to prove something to yourself or the guy you were with.

You know better now; Seokjin is too big to take all of; unless some porn star with no uvula or teeth is sucking him down, there’s no way to shove him all in without it hurting either of you. So you do your best, popping the head of his cock out of your mouth and dribbling some of your saliva around the shaft, laving your tongue along it as you pump him with your wet fist.

The slick sounds of your hand movements are accompanied by soft little groans as you try to repeat all the things you’ve seen him do before.

“Fuckkk Y/N. Yes.” You squeeze him a little harder and lick lower, then lower still until you’re making a little figure-8 around his balls. When you pop one into his mouth, he jerks.

“Shit, fuck, fuck. Hold on, if you keep going I’m going to cum.”

You hum a little and then you feel your hair leave the nape of your neck and a sharp tug. You gasp and detach yourself, leaving you coming up for air with strings of your spit dripping down your chin.

Seokjin holds your hair looser in his fist now, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“Were you trying to make me cum in some insanely short record?” He asks.

You can’t help but laugh. “No, why? Am I doing a good job?”

He also laughs and then wipes your chin. “A little too good. My refractory period isn’t that short. And you are still wearing these.”

Seokjin tugs at the waistband of your panties, and you suddenly feel shy. Why did you decide to wear your most worn out pair today of all days?

“Oh,” you respond, and just as you move to take them off and never speak of them again, he slaps your hand away.

“I didn’t tell you to take them off, did I?”

“Uh, no, but–”

“Are you attached to them?” He asks and you shake your head. “Good.”

Within seconds, Seokjin rips through the worn out material, tearing it away albeit unevenly, which snaps the elastic to your thighs.

You hiss a little, the tender area of your inner thigh not enjoying the pinch.

“Are you okay?” And just as easily as Seokjin exudes that sexy dominant self, he’s also light and considerate, something you haven’t witnessed in his streams.

“Yeah, just got whipped by the elastic right here,” you say and rub at the invisible wound.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and pulls your thigh a little wider, bending down to take a closer look. You open your mouth to tell him you’re okay, but before you get the chance, he’s kissing it delicately, poking his tongue out to just graze your skin and dampen it before pursing his lips and blowing.

Cold air taps your thighs, which admittedly, are already damp from how turned on you are, and as your skin prickles with goosebumps, you can tell Seokjin takes notice. He glances up at you, ever focused as his tongue begins to explore further inward, lapping at your inner thigh further toward the center. His arms reach out and quicker than you can react, your knees are resting over his shoulders, locking his head between them. He pulls back and winks before licking his plush lips and diving back down, and that’s when you feel him gently pulling your labia into his mouth as he suckles. You never knew that could feel so good.

A whimper escapes you and that only seems to spur him on, as he detaches from them and laps upward, this time sharply sucking your clit.

“Fuck,” you moan. You feel him chuckle, but he doesn’t remove himself, instead devouring you more intensely, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thigh as he pushes himself further into it.

“Goddamn,” he says after a moment, and when he pops up, his eyes are burning, a wicked smile on his face. There’s a sheen of wetness along his cheeks, nose, and chin, and he continues to lick it away. “You’re so wet, princess. Is all of this for me?”

That nickname again causes warmth to dip down through your core. How is it that he can even stay focused now? You’re so desperate for him your brain can hardly form words.

“Yes,” you manage to choke out.

“Mmm, well thank you. I’m eating well.” He kisses the top of your thigh. “I could do this all night.” He begins to dive down, but you throw your hand out, sinking your fingers into his hair.

“No!”

“No?” He raises his eyebrows and tries to read your expression.

“I need you,” you say. That’s an understatement. If such a word exists that is greater than need, that’s what you have for Seokjin right now.

“But I wasn’t done with my meal,” he teases. He runs his fingers through your wet heat, rubbing at your clit. You buck at the direct stimulation, the pressure acting as a welcome relief. “This pussy tastes so good. I don’t know if I’m ready to give it up.”

With that, Seokjin sinks a finger in. God, his fingers are long, finding the rough patch inside of you and stroking at it. You clench around his finger.

“Hmm, do you think my cock will fit into this tight little cunt?” He asks, and you feel a rush of heat head to your cheeks. The way he can just flip like a switch, to taunt you devilishly, to crack a few jokes and then be so dirty is not just impressive, but so incredibly hot. He begins to retreat his finger from you, which draws out a whine. It feels so good to be filled.

“Answer my question,” he prods. Everything but the tip of his finger has pulled out. You reflexively clench again, trying to urge it back in. “Is my cock going to fit in here? Or do I need to fuck it open a little bit?”

You want to answer, you do, but you can’t seem to form a legitimate response besides the first thought that comes to your head.

“Wanna cum,” you say stupidly.

“Then what do you need to do?”

“I need to answer your question,” you gasp as he pinches your clit with his other hand.

“And what is your answer?”

“I…I need you to fuck me open with your fingers.”

“Mmm, and why?”

“Because my pussy is too tight for your big coc–fuck!”

Two fingers sink in, pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. You can feel Seokjin curl his fingers toward him as he touches your g-spot. Closer, you’re getting closer.

“Ugh,” you whine, and as if he can tell what’s bothering you, he latches his mouth back onto your clit, flicking it with his tongue.

The pressure in your stomach dips, and now you’re clenching firmly around his fingers as they scissor you wider. The slick sounds of him fucking you only add to your arousal. Your hips try to help, but you learn quickly that you’re not helping, you’re edging yourself away from your orgasm.

“Y/N,” Seokjin says.

“More,” you respond, not caring if he’s scolding you or even concerned. You need more. Now. “Please, more.”

He replaces his lips with his other hand, rubbing and pinching your clit within his own rhythm.

“Good girl. You’re so fucking beautiful. Look at you. All for me. All mine.” He bends down and pulls a nipple into his mouth. And that’s when you cum, your hips bucking into his hand as he strikes your g-spot head on.

You can feel your heels tingle as they try to get the blood back into them. Seokjin massages your thighs as he places your legs back down on the bed, helping ground you in the swimming intensity of whatever the fuck just happened. The tremors of the orgasm’s aftershock rock through you, though not for long, as sure enough, he’s lying down on the bed next to you, pulling you close to him as you come back down. You tilt your head to let his lips find yours.

He tastes like you, and there’s something impossibly hot about that.

When he pulls back, you can tell how flushed he is, and when you glance down, sure enough his cock is so red and possibly harder than it was before.

You reach down to relieve some of the pressure but Seokjin shakes his head.

“We don’t have to tonight,” he says.

You blanch. “What?”

“If you don’t want to. I’m glad you came. That was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life. And I wanted to make you cum. But you’re under no obligation to go further.”

Is he fucking serious right now? “Did you not just see me choke on your dick? Shall I give you an encore?” Seokjin laughs and you shake your head. “Don’t be diplomatic about this. That looks painful. Fuck the shit out of me like you said you would.”

“I didn’t say I would fuck the shit out of you.”

“Fine then I’m saying it. Seokjin, I have wanted you to fuck the shit out of me since you walked into my interview at the restaurant and asked me if I knew what the difference between scallions and chives are.”

“You’d be surprised how many people don’t know the difference! I didn’t want an idiot on my staff to have to mentor.”

“You’re missing the point.” You laugh, leaning in and nipping at his shoulder. “I have wanted you since day one. I am the definition of down bad. Every book I’ve read in almost a year has me picturing you as the love interest who absolutely destroys the pussy of the main character. You’ve been haunting me for months. Now please make good on my fantasy.”

“Wait wait. What’s the best fantasy?”

“I don’t know!” You say. But he knows you’re lying.

“Tell me,” he urges.

“No,” you say. “I don’t know!”

“Is it one where I’m some giant alien with a huge blue cock that only has the urge to breed you?”

Head floods your face. “What? No! First of all, how do you even know about that book?”

“I’m chronically online,” he deadpans. Ah, you realize. Of course it’s come up in his other profession. “Enlighten me then. What is the fantasy?”

He laces his fingers with yours and pulls your fist to his mouth. Then he begins his strategy anew, giving soft, tender kisses along your inner arm as he makes his way up, pausing to kiss your shoulder and clavicle before delivering a scorching kiss on your lips. You feel yourself melting into him, eagerly trying to get more and more of him.

“Your secret is safe with me,” he whispers in your ear before lightly nipping at your earlobe. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. I would never make fun of you for having a fantasy about something, especially if I’m involved.”

You sigh, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. You hide your face in his broad shoulder. “It’s…it has to do with the pet name you started calling me recently.”

“Ah…princess?” A shiver runs down your spine. “Do you like it when I call you that?”

“Yes,” you mutter. A hum rumbles through Seokjin’s chest. He shifts, sitting up on the bed. And then you feel him use that insane strength to pull you up with him, fixing you to sit in his lap. His cock is right against your pussy and you have to fight the urge to grind against him.

“What do you like about it?” He asks and you pause, trying to not show all of your cards. He’s your friend, and possibly is becoming something more. But you’re not sure what you want to tell Seokjin about your past.

You choose your words carefully. “I like the idea of being precious to you. To be seen as important enough to be royalty. Powerful enough.” You pull back and look at him. “And I like the idea that I have power…you never have used that over me. Except maybe once but you were so responsive to my feedback when we talked back in February about me streaming and school. Like, no I didn’t want you telling me what to do. But I liked that you respected me enough to back off and let me figure things out. That means a lot to me. You always let me figure things out.”

“Well, yeah. Because it’s your life. You have a right to choose for yourself. No one gets to decide what choices you’ll make on your behalf. And making choices doesn’t make you a bad person or a good person. You just are, Y/N.”

Tears well up in your eyes. “Thank you for saying that. It hasn’t always felt that way.”

Seokjin curls his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. “In terms of power, this is how things are supposed to be. You shouldn’t feel powerless around me. Especially not here. Just because I’m assuming a role that’s more dominant doesn’t mean you’re not in complete control. Just because in some places in my life I’m ‘in charge’ doesn’t mean that I decide what goes on here. You’re in complete control of what you want and how you want it.”

You bury your face into his chest. If you could hold onto a moment forever, this would be it. After a few moments of silence, you hug Seokjin close to you, and then pull back, looking up at him. His eyes are so warm and tender as he gazes back down at you and you feel a tug in your chest. This, this is what safety feels like.

He begins rubbing your back and you stifle a nod, but he catches it. “Do you want to go to bed?”

You roll your eyes before rutting against him. He grunts. “I want to tell you about my fantasy,” you decide and he laughs.

“Okay, princess. Go for it.”

“Okay so we’re in the throne room. And I’m sitting on the throne. You’re my loyal knight. You’ll do anything to please me.”

“Mmm, doesn’t sound too far off from the truth.” You pinch his side. “Yah! Stop it.”

“Don’t interrupt me. So you’ll do anything for me. Slay beasts, accompany me on my journeys, defend me to the court. You’re my friend and my backup for when shit hits the fan. Anyway, after a long fought battle where you know, you pine after me for a while, you snap. And you decide you need me and you need me now.”

You begin to rock against his length, and Seokjin grins, starting to follow your movements. “Tell me more,” he says, his cock sliding between your wet lips.

“So after this long, arduous journey, you decide you need to claim me. Maybe it’s jealousy that I’m being promised to some king in a far away kingdom or something. But after meeting with me in the throne room, you get down on your knees and force my legs apart.

“‘Princess’, you say to me, ‘I’ve learned in this world that time is not promised, and because time isn’t promised, I need you to know now how I truly feel. I am on my knees, letting you know I need you. Please, let me worship you,’ and being the diplomatic princess I am, I open my legs for you and you begin eating me out like your life depends on it. And then, ah…it gets kind of kinky,” you say, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“Hmm. Are you curious about kink? Or have you been part of kink communities?” Seokjin asks thoughtfully.

“Definitely curious. Not really experienced,” you offer.

“Noted. Continue.”

“So, you decide to crawl under my skirt, eating me out like your life depends on it, but then my chambermaid or someone comes in and says I have a meeting soon I need to prepare for.

“But I’ve kept you under my gown, really well hidden because it’s so annoyingly big, and all the while you’re still teasing me. Trying to test and see if I’d cum with others around.”

“And do you?”

“Sometimes in the fantasy I do, yeah. And usually by that point, I get discovered and you keep going, so unbothered by people watching. Or sometimes we don’t get caught, and the second the others leave I’m riding you naked on my throne wearing only my crown.” You are panting now, your slick body fully stimulating Seokjin’s cock, which is leaking precum again.

“Mmm, I like that. A little exhibition kink in there. So desperate to be fucked you don’t care who sees. That’s pretty hot.”

“Uh huh. So, so desperate.”

“Is your pussy that needy in your fantasy? Or is that how it is now?”

“Fuck, Seokjin.”

“Yes princess?”

“Please.”

He leans down, claiming your lips as you two continue to rub your bodies against each other, sliding skin against skin with delicious friction. When his cock slides at a particular angle, you feel it rub straight over your clit in a way that has you moaning.

Seokjin rips away his lips from yours, instead latching onto your neck for a deep suck that you know is going to leave a mark. But you don’t care. God not even a little bit.

“Such a good girl for me, aren’t you? My girl is so needy for my cock, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Please, more,” you respond, shifting your hips to try and get him closer to where you need him.

“Not even patient at all, are you?” You know this is him playing it up, because the way he’s breathing suggests he, too, isn’t very patient. He slides a little more, grinding his hips into you.

“I need you. I need it,” you whine, and Seokjin slows his grinding for a moment, a thought clearly crossing his mind.

“Oh, shit. I don’t have any condoms,” he says weakly. You grind down again, a bit harder this time.

“I’m on birth control.” Your next appointment for your birth control shot is in a month. You should be fine.

“I’m clean,” he offers, hands going to your ass and shoving you further into him, the weight of his large hands on your hips making you dizzy.

“I would hope so. I put your cock in my mouth earlier. We probably should have established that sooner,” you copy his previous movement and suck on the hollow of his collar bone, hoping you’re marking him as he marked you.

A strained laugh leaves his chest. “You’re right. And you’re clean too?”

“Yes, sorry.” You stop gyrating. You know you need to be more serious about this. “I’m clean. And…I also haven’t had sex in a long time so I’m sorry if I’m not good at this.”

He sighs. “Pause.”

Oh shit, you think. Does that turn him off? What if he doesn’t want to have sex with someone who has been so obviously horny and lonely for a while? It’s not like you’re a sex god like he is. You can barely even say what you want and where you want it. Maybe he doesn’t want to have sex with someone who needs this much direction. After all, what fun is it when you have to instruct your partner how to make you come because they have no instincts?

You are about to break down, to call it all off, and then you look at Seokjin again, feel how hard he is under you, see the perspiration dotting his hairline. He said only a few minutes ago that you almost made him cum with your blowjob skills. He admitted he likes you.

You know he wants you, regardless of how many times you’ve had sex in comparison to him. There’s proof right in front of you that this man wants you. You take a deep breath. “Sorry. I…I don’t know why I’m apologizing actually.” You force a nervous laugh.

His eyebrows twist closer together. “You don’t…need to apologize for your sex experience. It’s not being graded.”

“I know, I know. And I also know that sex is different for every single pair of people. It’s less about being good and more about listening to your partner and figuring it out together. If you were treating me sexually the same way as you treated other people you’ve had sex with, it would probably be…maybe not as good? Because we might not like the same things.

“But I guess I just…I’m a little insecure; that’s all.”

“Okay. That’s ok. I feel a bit insecure too. This is all really vulnerable and I’m terrified I’m not going to know what you want or pay enough attention to check in.”

“Why?” You ask. You’re surprised to hear Seokjin is insecure about anything.

“Because I want you so much, Y/N. I have never felt such intense, deep desire like this and I’m afraid that once I get a taste of you I’ll just want more and I’ll start bending the rules for my own sick pleasure.”

“Has….has that ever happened before? Where you crossed boundaries?”

“Never. And that’s why it’s so terrifying. I’ve never felt so out of control before. You look at me a certain way and I get so hard I swear my dick will fall off. I’ve always been so collected but with you I feel scrambled and like if I’m not careful I’ll, I’ll–”

“You’ll fuck the shit out of me?” You tease and you see Seokjin’s concern wash away as you giggle. “Isn’t that what I told you to do anyway?”

He grins. “Yeah, you did.”

“Well then let’s remember what you said before. Traffic light system when it’s needed. Or, for now, maybe we can just trust that if we are uncomfortable we’ll say something? Since this is so new…Stop means stop for now. A color if we feel like we aren’t being taken seriously. Just to be sure.”

Seokjin nods, then tenderly kisses your forehead. “Okay, I like that.”

“Good, because I am so wet and if you don’t fuck me soon I might explode.”

You both laugh at that, but your laughter is turned into a tight moan when you feel Seokjin’s hand slip from around your back and down to your clit. You hum in delight.

“Feel good baby?”

“Yes,” you say, clenching as he rolls his thumb around your nub.

“You’re so wet. Shit.” His hand moves to his cock, jerking it in his fist a few times before gently tapping your thigh so you push up a bit away from his lap. He adjusts the angle, brushing his cockhead against you to gather some of your arousal. And then, he’s inside.

Holy shit. You can feel him stretching you, testing your limits, your body spasming around the girth of him as he nestles deep in you, making you feel exceptionally full.

“Oh god,” you moan, grinding down to the hilt.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N. You’re so fucking tight.”

Both of you take an exasperated breath and you can’t help but giggle at your dual reaction. “Damn, where have you been hiding that thing?” You joke and Seokjin hisses.

“Ah, ah, careful. When you laugh you squeeze around me and you feel so good. But to answer your question, either you’ve been oblivious every time I’ve popped a boner around you or you know damn well where I’ve been keeping it.”

He tests the waters, rolling his hips a little. A gasp escapes from you. Seokjin grins at you devilishly and you cock an eyebrow before clenching down in retaliation. His eyes widen. “Y/N,” he warns.

You bat your eyelashes innocently. “Sorry, but you did this,” you say, echoing his earlier sentiment back to him. “You made me this way for you.” You shove your hips back, causing him to grunt.

“I don’t know how long I’ll last, it’s been a while.”

“I don’t care. It’s fine. Cum whenever you want. Just, god, don’t stop.”

A dark look casts across his face. “Alright. Just remember this is what you asked for.”

Seokjin pulls out. What? How is this supposed to be what you asked for? You make a pathetic noise at the loss, pouting at him as he lays you down softly onto your sheets.

He clicks his tongue at you. “So needy.” Maybe he’s trying to sound condescending, but he’s also smiling. He leans forward to push some of your hair out of your face, his palm resting on your cheek. “So beautiful.”

Something in your chest clenches, and you take a deep breath to try and break apart the feeling. But it’s still there, so deep in your chest you don’t think anything is going to make it go away. And you’re also not sure you want it to.

You lean into his palm, pecking it with your lips before glancing up at him. He swallows hard. Seconds pass as Seokjin follows the lines of your body with his eyes, as if he’s trying to memorize you. As if you might just slip away. He breathes unevenly, and you see his eyes glistening in the dim light of your room.

“Hey,” you say hoarsely, reaching a hand over to his thigh and poking it. “Come back to me.”

He blinks a few times and takes another breath, this time a steadier one. “Sorry, I was getting lost in my thoughts.”

“Are you okay?” You ask. “Do you want to stop?”

Seokjin shakes his head. “No, no I’m fine. I was just thinking about how long I wanted this. And maybe longer than I even realized. But I’m okay.”

You get it; for some reason the energy between the two of you is so intense, charged with waves of emotion you didn’t even know you can feel. “Okay,” you say, and you reach out your hand for him to lace with this. “How do you want me?”

This seems to refocus things. Right now you’re lying flat on your back, your legs slightly open, and you know that’s not how Seokjin planned to position you. He grins and takes your hand, leading it to the back of your thigh that he lifts. You follow his lead, spreading your legs so that you’re grasping behind both your knees, incredibly open and vulnerable for him once more.

He reaches behind you and puts a pillow under your neck before grabbing the other. With a simple lift of your hips, he scootches the pillow under your hips, creating an angle for your back to rest more comfortably and clearly, allowing him to reach deeper.

From this angle, you can also see better as he strokes his cock a few times before positioning himself between your legs.

“If for some reason this hurts at any point, tell me and we’ll find something more comfortable for you, okay?” You hum in agreement, staring down at his length, clenching as you ache to feel it filling you once again.

He snorts. “Verbal agreement please, Y/N. Remember our rules.”

“Yes,” you say eagerly and without any more conversation, he takes himself in his hand and fucks into you.

“Jin,” you breathe. Did he get bigger? You know that there’s no way that can be true, that it’s probably due to how you’re angled for him to reach deeper, but each stroke is deliciously dizzying.

Seokjin responds with a concentrated grunt and then he pulls out completely.

“No! No please,” you beg and feel him sheath himself back into you, harder.

“God, such a pretty little pussy you have, don’t you?” He rocks his hips back, kissing against your cervix, which elicits a deep moan as he begins to thrust harder, the slap of his balls against your wetness sounding so incredibly filthy. “Taking me so well, princess.”

Seokjin groans but doesn’t relent, instead leaning more of his weight onto you, forcing your legs to tuck in closer to your chest. At this angle, he rubs directly against your g-spot, sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh my god, there! Please!” Thank god he listens, snapping his hips with short, hard thrusts. You’re so close.

“You gonna cum for me?” He pants, sweat now thoroughly beading down his temples and blooming on your chest. You nod. Words aren’t forming in your head.

“Poor baby, did I fuck you stupid? Cum for me princess. Cum on this cock.” You don’t need much more convincing, and you feel yourself shake as you orgasm, clamping down on him. Your hands go loose on your thighs, fingers tingling so much that they can no longer hold on.

“Good girl. That’s it baby, just let go, I’ve got you.” He intercepts your legs before they close, pushing himself forward and angling you back as he continues to thrust. Maybe it’s the feeling , or his sweet affirmation, but your vision blurs and you feel yourself blink away a few stray tears that leak from the corners of your eyes and down your cheeks.

“I’m gonna cum,” Seokjin says, teeth gritted as he thrusts again. And again. And again. You feel your muscles tighten as you brace yourself for another orgasm, and find enough strength to reach down to your clit and rub it. The sudden pleasure spikes once more and you’re falling again, this time your body quaking roughly as Seokjin finally cums, his cock twitching as a pleasurable warmth spills into you.

You study his face, fascinated how you’ve seen it before, yet it feels so different to witness it in person. The tendons in his neck protrude, and you feel the energy of the room sink into blissful exhaustion as he rolls the both of you onto your sides while still connected.

He sighs and then closes his eyes, his dick twitching a little here and there, but overall beginning to go soft inside you. You feel the flood of cum beginning to leak around it, but you don’t care right now, no.

Right now you are studying Seokjin and perhaps doing what he was doing to you before: memorizing everything about him in case it’s the only time you’ll see him this way. Any minute, he could decide this is a huge mistake, and he’ll flee out the door apologizing. But for the moment, you are studying the moles and freckles that dot along his neck and back, counting them so you can commit the number to memory.

“What are you staring at me for?” He asks, though his eyes remain closed.

“I’m just thinking,” you say.

His eyes flit open. “You don’t regret it, do you?”

“Not at all, I just…I’m thinking about where we go from here. I don’t want this to be the only time.” You shake your head and smile shyly. Everything feels so tender right now. But you know honesty is needed more than anything.

Seokjin shifts, and you hiss a little as you feel him slip out of you, wetness dribbling onto your sheets. You’ll definitely have to wash these tomorrow.

“It doesn’t have to be a one time thing if you don’t want it to be. Like I said before; I like you, I want to date you.”

“We kind of skipped the first date and had sex instead though,” you chuckle and Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“Yes, well, we aren’t really playing things by the book right now anyway. This can be our first date.”

“It’s not though! We didn’t go on a date, we just talked and had sex.”

“Yah! It was not just sex. It was great sex! I think that counts for something. Do dates require any more?”

“Usually eating something, leaving the house. Two things we’ve failed to do.”

Seokjin suddenly rolls away, standing and searching for his clothes, gathering them in his hands.

“Where are you going?” You ask, shifting yourself up in the bed.

“Get dressed,” Seokjin says, pulling his slacks up his waist. “We are going out to eat.”

“It’s 4am! Isn’t everything closed?”

“Not the convenience store. We are going to solidify this as a date by having post-sex 4am ramyeon and kimbap and maybe some dessert. And then I will walk you to your door, kiss you goodnight and you’ll invite me in to hang out. Then we’ll have sex again until you kick me out and decide the first date is over.”

He reaches into the pile of laundry in the corner, grabbing your bra and tosses it to you. As you begin to pull it over your body, you notice Seokjin has frozen over another pile of your strewn laundry.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, latching the hooks into place.

He shifts a little, pulling whatever he was looking at from the pile. Embarrassment floods through your stomach as you realize what he’s holding.

“Do you normally toss your vibrators into your laundry or is today my lucky day?”

He holds the purple clitoral vibrator in front of you and you hide your face behind your hands. “Ahh no! This is so embarrassing!”

Seokjin laughs and walks over, pulling your hands from your face. “What about this is embarrassing? First, you stream raunchy pornographic games sometimes to thousands of strangers. And second, I just spent a good chunk of this last blissful hour with my mouth serving as your personal sex toy.”

“I know, it’s just that. This is different somehow. Like now you know!”

“Know what? That you masturbate? Well, yeah I kind of figured you did. Do you think I don’t?”

“I know you do.”

“How?”

Shit. You can’t tell him you’ve seen him do it on his channel. “Um, well, you said so earlier you do.” Seokjin chuckles and then begins rifling through your dresser across from your bed, grabbing you a fresh pair of panties since he destroyed the last pair you were wearing.

“Touché. But anyway, it’s good that you masturbate. It’s healthy. And also, it’s none of my business if you do or don’t. Unless you want to show me sometime, which I would beg to see, whatever you choose to do when I’m not around is your business.”

He gathers together a large, baggy t-shirt and some joggers from your closet. “One sec,” he says, telling you to pause as you begin to maneuver into your panties, the stickiness of your combined arousal beginning to dry between your legs in an uncomfortable way.

He returns a few seconds later with a damp washcloth and instructs you to lie back, opening your legs slightly to wipe away the mess.

“You don’t have to do this,” you insist but Seokjin continues anyway.

“I know, I want to. I want to make sure you receive proper aftercare.” When he finishes, he kisses your kneecap. “Okay, let’s go.”

You groan, fully content to just lie in bed, but your stomach says otherwise. It ekes out a deep gurgle and Seokjin smiles smugly.

“Ugh, fine. I’ll use the bathroom and get dressed. But just know if they don’t have the ramyeon I like there, I’m making you drive around town until we find it.” You flop out of bed with your pile of fresh laundry and head out of the bedroom toward the bathroom.

“Sounds great,” he calls behind you. “Sounds like the perfect first date.”

#bts smut #bts fanfic #seokjin smut #seokjin x reader #seokjin #kim seokjin #jin smut

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wanderingaldecaldo · 4 months

Text

WIP Whenever on a Wednesday

I am terrible at keeping up with tags in general but I am aghast to see my oldest WIP Whenever tag was from nearly 8 weeks ago. I completed a couple of things since my last one, namely the sock garters and the boots, and added quite a few more projects to the list than I scratched off. 😩

Tagged by (and tagging back) @fly-amanitaa @streetkid-named-desire @ouroboros-hideout @aggravateddurian @luvwich

@ghostoffuturespast. Also tagging with the usual zero pressure @olath124 @dustymagpie @medtech-mara @corpo-cunt-couture

@merge-conflict @blackrevell @fereldanwench and YOU reading this! Share and tag me!

Modding

Shocking that it's still my main focus 🙄 but the first one is in support of a couple of VP project:

Presidential Props which include a variety of flags and the NUSA medal with box. The flags are part of the VP set below, though I didn't actually show them here.

Featuring: five different flag varieties with five appearances each; medal box in multiple states, plus the medal itself; and the presidential coin, scalable and with multiple appearances.

SlutWear, a new line of clothing that will tell NC just how slutty your V is. It will be gender and (smaller) size inclusive. 😊

Does Val really heart NC?

An update of my tee framework for dynamic AXL just in time for Pride, though there are no interesting pics to share. Sorry!

However, in support of the previous two items, a modder's tool: a CodePen to generate instances for the yaml. Both the SlutWear shirt(s) and the custom logo tees will require a lot of instances to get all of the color and logo combinations that are possible through dynamic AXL. There's still a little work to do, but it's already been of great use to me, as it wrote 220 lines of code for me. Let's not discuss how many lines of code I wrote to save those 220. 😂

Me using the tool to generate instances for the custom tees yaml. This will remove the limit on colors available to the user, so they can have any color with any of the logos!

VP (and Writing)

A glimpse at a set I took last week for inspo in the presidential PWP that's been stalled out at 5.7k words. More on it in a minute...

Even though the pics are cropped, they're still on the risque side, so I'm sticking them and the rest about the PWP behind the cut.

Not shown: Johnny both rolling his eyes at V and enjoying the show

I've been working on a PWP that was unrelated to the President's Merc AU for months now, but have been stuck because, well, I don't know how to wrap it up. I posted about it a little ways back and someone helpfully suggested that I just have to keep going until one of them passes out. Which, is what does happen, but I don't have that kind of patience to write it out and nearly 6k words is already well longer than my usual PWP, so I went in game to set the scene and possible prompt some ideas for a potenial ... climax to the scene.

It worked! I have a plan, and I think it won't take more than 500 words to reach the end, plus a few more touch-ups to help set up everything, then a rewrite or two for cleaning and polishing.

In the meantime, as I've been working through this version of Val and how she responds to Rosalind, it's the perfect prologue to The Tower story that I've been writing longhand. Val is going to leave this encounter fully loyal to Rosalind and will turn So Mi over with only a moment's hesitation. She doesn't have any attachments in this universe other than Misty and Vik, and after she wakes up to what Night City has become, it's easy for her to walk away from it forever. Especially when it puts her closer to Rosalind.

What about you? What are you working on? 👀

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk modding #wip wednesday #wip whenever #tag games #cw flashing #mods i made #coding things #valerie vermilion #streetkid!val #rosalind myers

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merrybloomwrites · 8 months

Text

You Can Start a Family (Extra: Mitchrry Reunion)

Summary: A couple days in to their Italy vacation, Mitch & Harry reminisce on their time in Jamaica, and reunite with Sarah and Y/N by their side.

AN: Just a smutty little extra that was sitting half done in my drafts for a while. Hope you enjoy!

Previous Chapters:

Main Story: One ; Two ; Three ; Four ; Five ; Six ; Seven ; Eight ; Nine ; Ten

Sickfic Part 1 ; Part 2

Mitchrry Prequel

Fan Reactions

Holiday Blues

Word Count: 1.4K

CW: smut

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The post-tour Italy trip was turning out to be the best decision ever made. You, Mitch, Sarah, and Harry have been enjoying every minute together. The amount of quality alone time you’ve had is allowing you all to build a strong foundation to the relationship. Plus, the warm sun and beautiful beach is a wonderful backdrop for all of these memories you’re making.

It’s halfway through the week, and you’re all sitting together at the end of the dock overlooking the water. You’ve been there since sunset, and though it’s nearly 11PM you have no plans to head to bed any time soon. Earlier at dinner you had read through the public’s responses to the news of you and Harry dating. The feedback was more positive than you all could have hoped, leading to a feeling of relief and even celebration for the rest of the evening.

You’re all sharing sangria that Harry made earlier, and you feel pleasantly warm and tipsy. You look at your legs dangling over the water, then to Sarah’s next to you followed by Harry’s and finally Mitch’s.

You notice that Harry’s legs are kicking gently back and forth, and you try to match yours to his. When you can’t quite get the same rhythm you start to giggle, pulling Sarah’s attention to you. She gives you a fond smile before leaning in and pressing her lips to yours. It’s a brief kiss and leaves your lips feeling tingly.

“You know what this reminds me of?” Harry asks, turning to Mitch. “It reminds me of that night in Jamaica” he continues.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” says Mitch before crashing his lips into Harry’s.

You’d see them kiss before, of course. You all had done a fair amount of kissing in the last couple of days. But for some reason this time is different. You’re captivated by the way they move together, how their lips slot against one another’s and the flashes of tongues you see as they explore each other’s mouths.

“Should this night end the same way that one did?” Harry asks. You can’t see his face, but you can practically hear the smirk he’s no doubt wearing. You can however see Mitch’s face, his lips plush, his pupils blown wide. He simply nods in reply to Harry’s question and the two suddenly jump up, heading back towards the house.

Just as you and Sarah share a look, they turn back and Harry says, “You girls coming?”

The four of you make your way to your shared bedroom, practically giddy at what is about to happen. Clothes are quickly removed and thrown to the floor. You sit back against the headboard and Sarah sits with you, her back eating against your front.

Mitch is next to you, Harry straddling his lap so they can continue making out. Sarah turns her head to look at you and finds your lips in a lazy kiss. You break apart when you hear Mitch say, “Turn around for me.”

Harry hesitates for a moment and Mitch asks, “What’s wrong babe? We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, I definitely want to,” Harry quickly replies. “It’s just been a while.”

Mitch presses a soft kiss to his lips before saying, “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

Harry smiles and reaches into the drawer of the bedside table. He passes Mitch a bottle of lube before turning around and settling on his hands and knees.

You reach out to hold his leg that’s closest to you, reassuring him during this rather vulnerable moment and you see him relax at the touch. Mitch opens the bottle and pours the lube onto his fingers, warming it before bringing his hand to Harry.

He pushes one finger inside, going slowly so Harry has time to get used to the feeling. As promised, Mitch gently opens Harry up before twisting his hand and angling his finger just right. Harry keens loudly and his arms drop so that his chest is pressed to the bed.

“I’m ready,” he says breathlessly.

“You sure?” Mitch double checks.

“Yes, please, Mitch, I need you.”

“I’ve got you,” he replies, pulling his fingers out and climbing to his own knees to slot himself behind Harry. He grabs the lube and spreads some along his length, making sure it will be as pleasurable for Harry as possible. You note how Mitch squeezes at the base for a moment, and you know he must be incredibly turned on. The sight of Harry spread open like that has all of you feeling dizzy with desire.

Sarah’s hands absently stroke along your legs, and you press kisses to her shoulders, neck, anywhere. Anything to relieve the tension coursing through your own body at the erotic scene in front of you.

Your eyes are focused as Mitch begins to slowly push inside of Harry. They each let out noises of pleasure, Mitch groaning deeply while Harry releases a whine. It takes some time for Mitch to enter him fully but together they sigh in relief when they are finally flush to one another.

Harry turns his head to look at Mitch and you see how blissed out he already seems to be. He nods, subtly, and Mitch begins to pull out to the tip before thrusting in once again. It’s faster than the first but not a quick pace by any means.

“Harder,” Harry breathes out. “I can take it. I want it.”

Mitch leans forward to press a kiss to Harry's lips. When he pulls back you see a glint in his eyes, so you’re not surprised when he listens to Harry and begins to thrust into him much harder and faster than before.

From an outside perspective it almost looks too rough. But you see how much Harry is enjoying it, and how Mitch never takes his eyes off the man beneath him, constantly watching for any signs that he needs to let up.

But no signs come. It may have been years since they were last together like this, but they obviously remember their time well and know how to please each other. Just before Harry can start to beg, Mitch slides his hand to wrap around his previously neglected cock.

It only takes a few hard strokes and Harry is painting his stomach and the bed below him in his come. He melts even more into the mattress as he rides out the intense waves of his orgasm. Mitch’s hips start to stutter, and he comes just moments later.

Mitch lays on the bed, maneuvering Harry so that his head is now resting on the other man’s chest. As they begin to relax into their shared afterglow state, Sarah suddenly turns in your lap.

She moves you so you’re lying on your back, and she’s on top, one leg perfectly placed between yours. As she leans down to meet your lips in a dirty kiss you’re reminded of the tension that’s flowing through your veins. Your own need had been dormant for a while, your mind too focused on the men next to you, but now it’s back and demanding attention.

There’s no finesse, no build up, no teasing. Your mouths and lips move in an uncoordinated but passionate way. Sarah grinds down on your leg, her clit rubbing against it just right to get the friction she needs. She makes sure she’s angled right to bring you the same pleasure.

You’re both so turned on that it doesn’t take long to reach your peaks. She moves her head and leans down to gently bite into your shoulder, and you cry out. You continue to slide together, slower, less frantic than before, and ease your way through the aftershocks.

Everyone catches their breath, and the two pairs turn towards each other. No words are spoken, but the four of you don’t need any. Kisses, gentle touches, and meaningful looks are shared. Sarah’s the one to get up and grab washcloths to clean everyone up tonight, as Mitch is currently unwilling to let go of Harry, who seems seconds away from sleep.

The four of you settle into bed, cuddling in a mess of limbs, which seems to be the new normal. Sarah had opened the window, and the cool night air is welcome after the intensity of what just transpired. The sound of the waves lulls you into another night of peaceful sleep surrounded by the people you love.

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AN: Thank you so much for reading! Let me know if you have any requests for this story!

Taglist: @akkatz @pandeebearstyles @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite@theekyliepage@numafarawayglxy @booberry019-blog @hillzrry@ssareidbby @gem1712 @acesofspadess@houseofdilfs@shaquille-0atmeal-1@kissitnhekitchen @amateurduck @poguestyleskye@n0vaj3an@snwells@drunk-teens-doing-drugs ; @fdl305@creativelyeva@daphnesutton@selluequestrian@lovingfurypanda @stardream14 @tbsloneely@eversincehs1@boomitsallie1@rose-garden-dreamz @fictionalmensblog @buckybarnessimpp

#harry styles x reader #mitch rowland x harry styles #mitch rowland x reader #mitch rowland x sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x reader #sarah jones x mitch rowland x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you

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romanoffsbish · 2 years

Text

Please Come On, and Stop… This Madness

WandaNat x Fem!Reader

Warnings: PCOS discourse: Blood(<c>lots of it), Moodswings/Depression, Hospitalizations, Pain, Meds-potentially ineffective, did I say pain?

Confused/ Concerned/ Misguided girlfriends, Angsty past argument/Implied Cheating. Subtle/unintentional gaslighting | 3,863 Words

Another day, another mood swing am I right?

You woke up to cold, tainted sheets yet again. As you stared blankly at the ceiling, a surge of pain rushing throughout your body you were trying to figure out how you felt about it; a part of you was relieved your lovers would not have to see you like this, the other part of you was beyond desperate for some form of comfort, and the other, other part was furious and you’d no idea what for. Well, you had an idea but you believed you’d mentally moved passed it, but the angry tears falling down your cheeks and onto the pillow suggested otherwise.

————

When you felt a sudden warmth between your legs, and beneath your thighs you knew it to be imperative that you get to the restroom, but the motivation to move just wasn’t there for you. After another warm rush was felt you sighed, reluctantly pushing yourself up into a sitting position you felt your heart begin to race as if you’d just ran a marathon, and you had the mind to just lay back down and close your eyes. Not wanting an even bigger mess for later was the only thing that got you to even stand up.

The bathroom was only about three steps from the bed, but in your condition it was more like a mile run, every step you took was terrifying, missions where landmines were a possibility never even scared you this much, and though that’s pathetic, it was your unwavering truth. Sighing as you looked back to see the floor free of mess you walked the last couple of steps to the toilet, you laid a throwaway towel down, then dropped your soiled clothes onto it before slipping into the shower as quickly as you could which proved to be a mistake when the world began to spin, and you violently fainted.

Up until about two months ago you’d had this all under control, your girlfriends of five years hadn’t even known of your lifelong diagnosis, and for the most part they still don’t, but they have definitely noticed the changes in you, and they were displeased to say the least, confused was their middle ground and fed up their truth. Natasha was an incredibly doting girlfriend, and Wanda had been much the same at first, but over time her sympathy had run out.

After just a month of your antics she had began to think you were just being dramatic, she has periods every month too, and so in turn she’d convinced Natasha much of the same. Though you’d definitely expected more understanding, you also couldn’t really fault them since you’d never given them the entire truth to begin with. Suffering in silence had always been the name of the PCOS game anyways since most medical professionals had no real long term solutions.

Birth control, and half baked articles about extreme diets were all you had to run with, and even then nothing was ever 100% foolproof. Still, after you started bleeding one random morning in July you realized you’d fucked up. You’d never dialed a number faster than you did when calling up your OBGYN and trying to set up a birth control consultation as you knew how dire it would be if you didn’t stop this now. Sadly you were left to manage it on your own until the second week of August rolled around.

Bewildered you began to backtrack to when it all went so wrong, you’d been so good, you’d kept up with your shots for so long it was a bit shocking to you that this had happened at all. You realized you’d just gotten too comfortable, no periods had been a luxury you had taken for granted; with the stressful wedding planning for Tony and Pepper you’d been hired for, plus with your own plans to propose to your girls you had become distracted.

Somewhere along the way the stress of it all had just caught up to you, throwing you into an unwelcome menstruation, and here you were back to bleeding profusely; it was as if an ever flowing waterfall now resided between your legs, and if you were extra lucky the rocks would flow right on through your stream too.

Even with the implementation of your chosen birth control it didn’t get better, if you were to be honest you’d say it actively only got worse. After a months time the clots never decreased in size or occurrence, your body only growing weaker with all the blood you were losing, and the prescribed necessary supplemental iron only really served to make you feel even sicker. The strangest side effect thus far though had to have been every food you once loved becoming nauseating, so to your body’s total disservice you found yourself skipping most meals, and the cycle of pains were only ever magnified.

Anemia was the perpetrator of your current state, it’s the reason most of your free time was now spent laying down; debilitating exhaustion having overruled your once functioning body, but somehow sleep still managed to evade you. When not trying to sleep one would say you were glued to the toilet, your aching muscles due to the prolonged hours spent sitting on the rough O shaped plastic was proof of that.

The fainting was new though…

—

Natasha was biting her nails while Wanda paced around the quinjet, they missed you so bad, but they also knew they royally fucked up. Last time they say you—two weeks, five hours, and ten minutes ago to be exact—they’d picked a fight with you, and it had been the worst yet.

•~~~~~~~~~~•_•~~~~~~~~~~•

You were curled up on the couch of your apartment under a mountain of blankets, it might’ve been Summer but you were freezing. An empty liter of orange juice sat on the glass table along with your unfinished bowl of soup. Laying on your stomach had become your only means of slowing the flow of symptoms, and you’d take any bit of reprieve possible.

The only light or noise in the room was coming from the TV where the Golden Girl reruns were playing, you mindlessly watched as the women sat around the table eating their cheesecake in their mumus. They complained about the simplest of problems, and their normally funny discourse didn’t even bring you to smile, you just continued to stare until your eyes began to droop closed.

The sudden shuffling behind the apartment door hadn’t even caught your attention, which proved just how exhausted you truly were, but at the sound of keys clashing with glass your eyes were flying wide open, and you were groaning as you brought yourself to sit up., “Hey Natty, Wands.,” you greeted, a bit lackluster for not seeing them all weekend, but they’d become increasingly used to it so that wasn’t even what upset them.

“Moya lyubov’, what’s with the blankets? It’s still 80*F.,” Natasha started in with you, and something in her tone told you it was only the beginning., “I’m cold Natty, sue me.,” Wanda’s eyes narrowed when you chose to be snarky., “It was a simple question Y/N, there was no need to be rude.” She quipped rather angrily. You tried to apologize, but it was too late, the fight they were always going to pick with you began, and there was no sign of it stopping.

“So what? We’re just wasting food now, and leaving messes behind for me to inevitably be forced to clean up?” Wanda barks out, you immediately defend yourself as you’d gotten sick and you just couldn’t handle another bite., “Oh stop it! It’s always something with you nowadays isn’t it?!,” Wanda harshly spat out, and Natasha followed her up with a groan, then she began to list off your usual ‘excuses’ in an obnoxious tone meant to mock you.

“Sorry Natty, I’m just not feeling this dinner tonight.,” she pauses to laugh bitterly., “but you’ll eat a whole pint of sherbet right after I toss out the pasta.”

“Sorry Wands, I was just so tired, I promise I’ll clean up in a bit…” the way she looks at you with pure contempt has you shrinking in on yourself., “But then an hour later the mess is still there, and you’re wide awake watching these stupid shows while Wanda, who’d worked all day, runs circles around you to clean it up.”

“I’m not in the mood guys, but I can take care of you two if you want…” Natasha’s inflection was that of an insecure lover, and it hurt you to think you’d made them feel so othered, but before you could even think to explain this whole mess away Wanda was angrily chiming in.

“If we want?! What does that even mean Y/N? Are we not good enough for you anymore? Tell us detka, are you out there getting it from someone else while you take all this time off from work? There has to be some reason for you to be so lethargic since you clearly do nothing around here all day long.”

Everything stopped when the words flew out of Wanda’s mouth, her angry muttering in direct response to Natasha’s mimicry was something you’d all registered as her going too far, and in a clear panic she’d immediately scrambled to undo it.

“Detka…,” she quietly whispered the pet name while hurriedly approaching, but you jumped up and away from her—much to your bodies upset, but you’d deal with the consequences later., “Don’t you dare fucking touch me…,” Nat tried to approach next but you further recoiled from her touch, and her heart was beating against her rib cage at the sting of your obvious rejection., “Moya lyubov’, please, she didn’t mean it.,” she pleaded but you shook your head, the fallen tears shaking onto the carpet, and you brushed right passed them.

They thought to give you some space, Natasha was making your favorite cookies, Wanda was cleaning up the mess without complaint. Both of them looked to the hallway when your shared door flew open, they were thrilled to see you after twenty long minutes had passed, but their hearts sank as you were in new clothes with a bag slung over your shoulder.

“I’m staying at Maria’s tonight, don’t try to follow me, and don’t think to call me, I’ll be back when I’m ready to talk but not a minute fucking sooner.” Wanda ignored every word you said as she flew into your body, and the way your body reflexively caught her had you really pissed off., “Wanda, get off of me now.,” she shook her head ‘no’ against your chest, and Natasha slowly approached to hopefully defuse the situation if she could at all.

“Moya lyubov’, please don’t go… We’re sorry for snapping at you, it was a rough weekend, we only wanted to come home to cuddle you. Obviously it’s no excuse but we were just so residually angry that it came out at you.,” Natasha was on the verge of tears as she spoke because your normally forgiving resolve was gone, and instead she was faced with this angry, almost bitter version of you.

As angry as you were you refused to yell again, because deep down you planned to forgive them, especially since this is partially your fault for leaving them in the dark for so long, but tonight wouldn’t be when you did, probably not tomorrow either, but eventually.

“If this was a once over I’d believe you Nat, but it’s been weeks of this offensive bickering. It’s like you two don’t actually seem to care about what it is that’s affecting me, not once have you guys tried to reach any deeper than the surface, you’re clearly only concerned on how it displaces the both of you, and your precious orgasms. So no, I am not staying.”

Natasha shakily nodded in understanding, she even reached out to help you with Wanda, but first she wiped the tear from your cheek and you naturally leant into her touch, the comfort you’d been craving all weekend was finally there, but with the words still fresh in your mind you couldn’t bring yourself to accept it.

•~~~~~~~~~~•_•~~~~~~~~~~•

While Natasha was worried about the fight Wanda had a deeper pit of concern building, she had always had this sixth sense when it came to her loved ones, and right now it was completely flaring off the charts., “Friday, how long until we land?”

“Ten minutes Miss Maximoff., Wanda sighed, it’d be another twenty to get back home to you., “Okay, change of plans, please detour to the field by our apartment, put the jet in incognito mode.” Natasha looked up to her with frantic eyes when she heard her concerned voice, only then did she notice the way she clutched her abdomen in pain, she knew then that her nails weren’t going to survive the next five minutes.

Once they sprinted through the door they could hear the shower running, Natasha’s shoulders fell as she visibly calmed, but Wanda’s only tensed further as the pit grew, so she rushed passed Natasha, and the redhead followed. “Detka? We’re home…,” Natasha announced, but as the door flew open she was perplexed, your bedroom was beyond steamy, and then her eyes fell to the mattress painted in sizable splotches of a deep crimson red.

“Fuck.,” both of them were rushing into the bathroom, the drops of blood on the floor, and the massive clumps of it on your clothes were all a bit confusing to the former assassin, but she ignored her need for answers, climbing into the tub without so much as shutting the water off so that she could press her fingers to your neck to check for your pulse., “She’s still alive, but she’s cold to the touch, and she doesn’t look good at all Wands.”

When glancing up she noticed Wanda was visibly shaking, tears were welling up in her eyes, and Natasha just didn’t have time for it., “Not right now Wanda, go get some warm clothes and meet me at the bed!” Wanda whimpered but did as she was told while Natasha was quick to pull your limp form out of the tub, the freezing cold water and bruise already on your face telling her you’d been her for at least an hour if not longer, and it was taking every bit of her training not to lose it.

After you’d been slipped into the sweat suit they rushed you onto the quinjet, and though you were unconscious your body was shivering. Nat was flying the jet while Wanda sat with your frigid hand in hers, sobbing out pleads for you to just be okay, and in an attempt to keep you warm she encased you in her powers. She had nothing more to offer you at the moment, and when Dr. Cho who’d only ever treated you for mission wounds was asking questions, that neither of your girlfriends could answer with total certainty, it had made them even more frustrated that they’d let so much evade them.

“She’s severely anemic, her hemoglobin is barely above seven and that’s nearing critical any idea on as to how this came about?,” They’d been initially stunned into silence, and before either of them could attempt to answer Agent Hill was approaching., “Back up idiots, my sister here has PCOS, and is currently in a horrible flare up. To answer your other question she got the depo shot last month but it’s not working fast enough, and she’s on a shit load of supplements listed on this paper.”

Cho nodded, then immediately got to work, she attached you to an IV for the accompanying malnourishment, then she got you started on a blood transfusion before running a plethora of tests while your girlfriends were forced to watch from outside of an operating room., “Why didn’t she tell us?!,” Wanda squeaks just as loud as her shoes do when she paces around the hall., “I don’t know..” Natasha sighs with her head in her hands as her formerly held back tears are readily flowing over her cheeks.

“You two are incredibly dense.,” Maria groaned as her fingers rubbed circles against her temple to alleviate the stress this has brought her., “She thought it would resolve like it usually does after she gets back on birth control, but when it didn’t you’d already started giving her the cold shoulder, and her hormones were all over the place so she closed off to the idea.,” Maria rolls her eyes at their incredulous expressions, and deadpans., “You’d think with a trained spy, and mind reader for girlfriends you’d have both been made aware long ago.”

“You three can come in now.,” Dr. Cho murmurs without looking up from your test results, and they all rush in, your ashamed lovers stopping to see just how different you looked after nearly three months of suffering through this alone, and before they were breaking down again they tuned into Cho’s important readings.

“We ran an EKG because her pulse was a bit too high for our liking, and fortunately it came back without any means for concern. However, she suffered a concussion from the fall, so even with all our current measures to raise her levels it might take a bit longer than normal for her to wake up but that’s not meant to cause concern. Y/N’s pretty lucky, the IV was able to warm her body back up, her shivering had ceased within ten minutes of receiving the fluids, and in an hour we’ll start her on another round of both fluids and blood, and hopefully we’ll bring the life back to her currently lackluster skin.”

All parties attention was back on you when she’d left the room, Maria the first to approach your side, settling a kiss to your cheek before glaring at your misguided lovers., “I’ll be upstairs in my office giving you three space, but I expect hourly updates, are we clear?,” content with their nods she left the room.

Wanda and Natasha sat there for hours in bitter silence, neither having much to say as they relived through the last few months with you., “This is all my fault…,” Wanda eventually cuts through the thick silence, and Natasha just stares at her in the hopes for her to elaborate., “She tried to tell us in the beginning, but I brushed her off as being dramatic, and then I convinced you too. She had nowhere else to go, and we just made her even more miserable, hell, I even accused her of cheating on us.” Natasha brokenly hums in agreement., “Yeah, we both made our share of mistakes here, and we’re all definitely paying for it, she wouldn’t even see us before we left for out mission, and now she’s the one in the damn hospital.”

“Do you think she’ll forgive us?,” Wanda cries, and Natasha reaches over you to hold her free hand., “It’s Y/N/N, I can almost bet you she already has, I even kind of saw it in her eyes before she left that night that she was trying to. We have a lot of apologizing to do Wands, but I think for now I’m just going to watch her sleep and be grateful she’s still alive to forgive us.”

Natasha took the first session in staying up, Wanda had been far more drained from the mission anyways so it was only fair, plus, she couldn’t imagine not being awake when your eyes finally fluttered open. Alas, her eagerness to stay up faded fast as the adrenaline from the day had worn off, so while Wanda was cuddled up next to you, snoring away the Widow had also fallen asleep with her head lying over your abdomen, and her hand was firmly in yours.

—

When you finally came to you were beyond disoriented, a heavy weight on your stomach, and against your side only furthering your confusion, but a waft of cinnamon, and vanilla told you exactly who was occupying your space. It took all of your energy to do it, but you had managed to open your eyes, and just as you’d expected you were in the medbay.

Natasha’s face was smushed up against your stomach, her lips in a parted pout, and you even saw a little drool layering your nightgown. Wanda had the benefit of the better position, so her appearance was far more put together, but the loud snoring in your ear leveled them. With the gentle stroke of your hand over her face Natasha jolted up, relief filling her when you smiled at her, but then she was nearly back to crying when you completely dodged her kiss.

“You’re all drooly…” You teased, she smirked, then began to litter your face with the nastiest open mouthed kisses, your nose hairs burning when her morning breath wafted their way, and your exaggerated gagging had her pulling back to glare at you, but then your pout melted her back down, and she gave you a proper kiss. Wanda waited for the moment to end before clearing her throat, and looking to you with glazed over eyes, and so you laid your forehead to hers., “Oh my sensitive witch, what is it?”

Natasha snorted, then left to collect breakfast and the doctor, and left the two of you with a chance to talk., “I’m so sorry I dismissed you detka, you deserved so much more than we were giving you.,” Wanda’s body shivered as your still cold to the touch hand cupped her cheek to pull her in for a gentle kiss., “No, I think I should apologize first, because had I just been honest from the start then none of the rest of this would’ve happened honey.,” Wanda repeatedly pecked your lips, and a warm smile met her when she finally pulled back., “I think it’s safe to say we’re all sorry.”

You nodded thoughtfully, but then as Natasha reentered the room you smirked., “However, I do have the excuse of hormonal imbalances on my side… What is it you two had hm? HIBS?” Natasha looks to you with a challenging brow, knowing you’re likely to say something stupid, but Wanda just looks at you with confused eyes., “Horny insufferable bitch syndrome?”

“Good to see you’re feeling better…” Dr Cho greets, and you hide your face into the cackling witches neck., “Your 7AM check in had come back with normal levels, you’re all free to go.” Then she was gone just as fast as she had arrived after helping to detach you from the machinery, and Natasha was even faster when she scooped you up, and carried your giggling form all the way to the car.

The drive back home was reminiscent of the way things usually were between you three, all present parties hearts beaming with joy, and you realize then that all you ever needed to do was tell them the truth. Open communication is the foundation to any relationship that’s wishing to outlast the end of time…

————————————————————

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