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neptuneiris · 5 months

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Behind the Scenes (03/05)

Behind the Negotiation

pairing: actor!aemond × fem!reader

summary: knowing that you can't run away from your past forever, you receive unexpected visitors in your home that make you fear for your son's future.

word counter: 8.9k

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warnings: angst, arguments, language,mention of abortion.

guys, I'm sorry for the delay, with this chapter a lot of unexpected things came across my way, but I've finally finished it and I'm satisfied with the result, although I'm not sure if you will like it, it might bore you but I don't know, please let me know :)

without more to say, enjoy it and thanks for all the support, really! let me know your comments too, I'll be waiting for them!

You still remember it all too well.

You remember how you accepted Aemond's terms, the terms of his agent Criston and also of his entire team.

You agreed to keep the existence of your child a secret, to hide in the shadows with him and to keep a low profile until it was "safe" for Aemond's career to publicly and legally acknowledge the baby.

But you only accepted to take that worry off everyone's mind and especially his, so you could run away. Although the reality is that you were scared.

At first, Aemond's power, influence and connections kept you paralyzed, thinking about the consequences of breaking all ties with him.

And running away from him, disappearing from his life along with your son was a decision you had to make carefully and then had to live with in fear and dread of being found someday.

And the fear of possible legal reprisals for your escape and uncertainty about the consequences were present at every turn. But you did everything to live in freedom, not to destroy Aemond's career and to protect your son from all public exposure.

You always knew that Aemond with his celebrity status possesses power, not only in the entertainment industry, but also in the media and social sphere, that was obvious, just like any other celebrity.

So finding you could be as easy as snapping his fingers.

So to prevent Aemond from tracking your movements so he could find you, you began by discarding any means of transportation that could be easily monitored or tracked.

You avoided airports and bus terminals, opting instead for small train stations and local buses, always paying with cash. You left King's Landing and the entire state, going all the way to the Iron Islands.

In Pike, with the money you had left over, you were able to rent a room to yourself in a cheap hotel, then quickly began to look around for a job in the surrounding area in search of an opportunity that could provide you with support and stability.

You knew you couldn't get a job like the one you had before, on a recording set with a big salary. So downtown, you found a job at a beauty salon.

Not only does she own a beauty salon, she also owns a few small apartments in the city and offered you one of them at a lower price, considering you were just starting out with a new job.

The owner of the place, Becca Waters, a kind and understanding woman, saw potential and also the need in you.

Knowing your condition and that you practically came to live in a place where you knew nothing and no one, she also offered you a place to live and be safe.

Mrs. Waters became a fundamental support for you, providing guidance, encouragement, flexibility and stability in your financial need and also in your pregnancy.

With her you felt completely safe and supported at a time when you needed it most. After all you had gone through to get here, leaving your life behind and pregnant, she was your reward.

But still nothing was easy after that.

Your pregnancy process was a roller coaster of emotions, challenges and moments. Facing motherhood as a single mom was an overwhelming reality.

On the one hand, even though the baby was unplanned, you were excited to know that you would soon be holding him in your arms, but on the other hand, you also felt fear and anxiety at the responsibility of raising a child alone with no knowledge of anything really.

The first few months of pregnancy were especially difficult.

You experienced pain, symptoms and discomforts that you had no idea about and had to endure, as well as a slight state of depression and anxiety about dealing with all of this on your own.

But through it all, Becca was your pillar of support at all times, who became your confidant, giving you comfort and encouragement in difficult times. And she was the one who helped you throughout your pregnancy and also the one who was by your side when you gave birth to your child.

And even though you didn't want to, being in a very vulnerable state, you couldn't help but feel lonely and miss Aemond, just as you missed everything you once used to be.

But remembering everything that happened the last time you saw him, even though the feeling disappeared, you also couldn't help but start crying.

And to protect yourself emotionally, you decided to stay away from news about Aemond.

You avoided social media and any content that could remind you of your past with him. Your determination was great to be able to raise your child alone, without relying on Aemond's presence or acknowledgement.

And the day your son finally came into the world, it was a moment of joy and wonder that could not be compared to any other moment in life, filling your heart with indescribable happiness.

However, the birth also brought with it a torrent of new worries and challenges.

Childbirth was exhausting and intense. Nothing you've ever experienced before. And in the days that followed, the constant care of the newborn, the lack of sleep and the adjustment to your new life were heavy challenges that pushed you to the limit many times.

But in spite of that, every smile, every little gesture of your son filled your world with immense love, as well as Mrs. James' help in guiding you in practical aspects of motherhood increased your unwavering determination to go forward for him, being your driving force.

Although also the arrival of your son into the world increased your fear in you.

The fear that Aemond and his team might find you and take your son away from you was a constant worry. But despite this, there were moments of uncertainty when you thought too much about it.

You wondered why Aemond would bother looking for you and your child. Clearly the baby was a risk to his career and he didn't even want to support you from the start, only accepting it later because that was your decision.

You knew he wouldn't but you were still afraid.

Would Aemond really seek you out after he initially supported the idea of abortion?

Would he really seek you out after he supported your decision even if he didn't want to but in the shadows, avoiding any public acknowledgement and hiding you and your son?

But just when you had gotten used to it, had found stability with a job and a permanent refuge in the beauty salon with Mrs. Waters, a few months after the birth of your son, Mrs. Waters was forced to close the salon due to unforeseen financial problems.

That place that had been your refuge and where you found support and friendship, suddenly disappeared, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness, uncertainty and nostalgia.

Mrs. Waters would have to leave town and although you didn't want to, you also decided to do the same, convinced that you would be safer with your son in a place you knew well, avoiding at all times the places you used to go with Aemond and where you knew you could meet him.

So after looking for a job, with your resume and previous excellent references, in the city where the entire film industry resides, you got a job as a makeup artist in a different recording studio than the one you had worked in before.

There was no way you could meet Aemond, or so you thought.

Previously the TV network was BBC, now it was HBO for whom you would be working on a new TV show, so you really had nothing to worry about, especially since the pay was very good and you could survive just fine on that for you and your child.

But right on your first day of work, life decided to surprise you.

And now you are here, in your new apartment where you were planning to live temporarily until you find a better one, but now with you running away on your first day it means definite dismissal for sure, so you have no idea how you are going to pay for a better one or how you are going to pay for this one next month so you won't get kicked to the street.

But you can't even think straight as you are still shaking, your emotions are running high, you have no idea what really happened, it was all very fast between talking and remembering the past.

And the only thing that gives you some peace in the midst of your own thoughts and everything you're feeling, are the sounds of Aenar's toys and babbling in the living room, playing on the floor and touching everything he can.

His silver hair shines from the sunlight coming through the windows and he giggles as his colorful toys bump into each other, showing a world of happiness and innocent curiosity, completely filling your heart but you still feel that sharp ache in your chest.

You move towards him with a soft sigh and take a seat next to him, keeping a small genuine smile on your lips but with some melancholy, when he starts showing you all his toys and asks you between babbling and giggles to play with him.

You move the toys back and forth, ask him questions in honeyed tones and he laughs, making you laugh too, but you continue with the tumult of your overwhelming thoughts.

You think about what you will do now, that you should probably look for a job at a new beauty salon, which is what you should have done as soon as you got back, find a subtle job instead of going back to what you were doing before so suddenly.

However the paycheck was what made you take it and you need it too much, so you'll have to look for other alternatives.

You find yourself thinking about it when you suddenly hear the sound of the door completely interrupting your thoughts and also your game with Aenar.

You look towards the entrance, confused, with a strange feeling growing in your chest, immediately giving you a bad feeling. For who would come knocking at your door?

No one knows you're back… except Aemond.

Oh Gods.

The thought makes you paralyzed, feeling your whole body tense up, your heart starts beating fast and fear invades you completely.

Could it be him?

You wonder, struggling to stay calm, even though there's no way he could have figured out so quickly where you're living.

Or has he?

The thought leaves you completely paralyzed, with a mixture of anxiety and fear flowing inside you.

The knocking on the door becomes more insistent and you carefully get up and leave Aenar still amused in his game on the floor, then walk towards the door feeling a lump in your throat and a growing uneasiness.

You reach for the doorknob and as you turn it to open, your heart skips a beat when you find Aemond's agent standing in front of you, Criston Cole.

A trace of surprise and confusion flashes across your face, feeling your body tighten further and the fear linger.

How did he know where you were?

What is he doing here?

Criston returns you a serious but understanding look, beginning to feel the tension between the two of you, while you feel the fear invade you again because of the old memories and being him one of the main reasons why you decided to run away.

His mere presence triggers a series of emotions that take you by surprise. With no trace of Aemond or anyone else around you, yet your mind races.

Nervousness invades every fiber of your being, while your heart beats faster and stronger than usual. A sense of discomfort invades you and you also feel alert, afraid, unable to control it.

"Y/N."

He pronounces your name with a slight nod. His tone tries to be reassuring, but confusion and bewilderment wash over you.

You say nothing for a few seconds, feeling unable to speak and unable to formulate any words, barely trying at that moment to process the situation. Anxiety creeps through your chest, as he gives you and respects your space, aware of your unease.

"I understand that you're surprised by my visit and I don't want to make you uncomfortable, I really don't. But we need to talk."

The confusion inside you increases and so does the fear, to watch him completely bewildered and on the verge of collapse.

"H-how—

You try to ask with your voice cracking in the midst of all your emotions, but he interrupts you in response, knowing what you're going to ask.

"My team," he lets you know, "They handled finding you."

He tells you seriously and with that touch of professionalism in his tone, but his response only surprises and puzzles you more, to which Criston notices.

You feel the questions pile up in your head, but you barely manage to articulate a word, besides all the emotions you're feeling, fear mainly.

"Aemond informed us of your return," he adds, "After he didn't find you again, he asked us to look for you," he tells you calmly, trying to make his eyes convey an attempt at empathy for you.

But you don't believe that one bit. Not after what happened the last time you saw him and his entire team.

You feel a surge of vulnerability wash over you, leaving you suddenly helpless before him. You don't have the slightest idea how you will be able to cope with that situation, how to get away from them again now that they have found you, especially him.

"What have you really come for?" you question, not hiding your distrust.

Criston keeps a serene attitude and look, seeking to soften the tension, but notices your demeanor and posture, of fear and alertness altogether.

"Just to talk," he tells you softly, "Believe me the last thing I want and Aemond too is to cause you trouble. We just want to talk and nothing more," he explains, but you are having none of it, "He was going to come himself, but he had to film some scenes. But he'll come as soon as he can."

This just adds more weight to the anxiety and nervousness you're already feeling, so it triggers an alert in you that makes you feel completely freaked out, definitely not wanting that.

"No," you try to retort with a firm tone, but your vulnerability shows in your trembling voice and nervous expression, "Please leave."

Concern flashes across Criston's face for an instant, unconsciously taking a step towards you.

"Y/N–

"Please," you plead, "Just go away and don't come back, none of you, not even him."

"Y/N, please, just let me—

"No," you interrupt him again, more desperate than before, "Please," you repeat.

The atmosphere is filled with a silence full of tension, where your words, full of desperation and longing to get away from the situation, float in the air, also asking for urgent distance and tranquility.

And Criston lets out a sigh.

"Just a few minutes," he says, struggling to find some control in the situation, "Just-let us talk to you, Aemond and me."

"If it's to talk about his career and his son, I'm not interested," you say firmly, but your trembling voice gives away your emotions, "We've talked about that before," you say with some bitterness and sadness in your tone, "You can go now. I don't plan on staying anyway."

Without having let go of the door frame, you try to close the door, ending all of this, but he instantly speaks again, stopping you.

"Please Y/N, Aemond is very worried and wishes to speak with you," he insists, "He hasn't been the same since you left, you should know that," he adds in a persuasive tone.

You let out a snort in disbelief and with some bitterness, as you look away from his gaze for a moment.

"I highly doubt that."

"Y/N—

The sound of Aenar's innocent laughter while playing with his toys catches Criston's attention, stopping his words, who unconsciously catches a glimpse inside your living room where Aenar is playing and also catches a glimpse of his small figure on the floor with his characteristic silver hair.

This immediately triggers your concern and increases your protective mode and you quickly close the door a little behind you, blocking his view, while your heart is pounding.

This is what you meant.

You don't want anything bad to happen to your son, in any way. And you will do anything to protect him, because they decided everything except to protect you and now you will not allow them to intervene in your son's life now that they know he is here.

"Y/N," he calls to you in a softer voice, watching you completely intently and desperately asking you with his gaze for a moment.

"Please don't," you plead with him, at the point of collapsing from worry and frustration.

Again you enter the apartment as you hold the door frame tightly to close it, but Criston stops you again.

"You must understand the gravity of what happened," he tells you seriously, "Your disappearance put Aemond's relationship with his son in danger. There are legal implications for you to consider, such as custody," he says and your heart flips, "I can explain all of this to you and resolve it in the best way possible," he looks at you in insistence, "But only if you let me in so we can talk."

And there they are again. Your greatest fears.

The word 'custody' repeats over and over in your mind, like a loop, causing you greater fear, worry and pressure than before, the gravity of the situation and the looming legal implications being clear.

The air weighs on you, heavy with uncertainty and intense tension, as well as you are overcome with the urge to cry because of your doubts and fear.

"Wh-what-" you try to speak in a whisper, your voice cracking and your heart in a fist, "Custody?" you repeat under your breath.

Criston watches you with some pity and understanding, then lowers his gaze, lets out a sigh and watches you with that sympathy and also a little expectant.

"May I come in?"

Try one more time and maybe it's because of his words that your mind is in a state of alarm that makes you recognize that you can't run away again or else things will get worse. And you don't want that. You are afraid for yourself and Aenar.

Feeling more of your anxiety, you finally allow him to enter and Criston at this thanks you with his gaze and moves carefully, noticing your visible discomfort and also your fear, not wanting to alter you any further with absolutely nothing.

And once the door closes, you immediately stand in front of Aenar with a weak and vulnerable posture trying to look strong, this catching his attention and feeling something warm in his chest at the presence of the little one.

But he also knows exactly why you react this way and he doesn't blame you for it, much less does it bother him because he understands you.

"I'm very honest when I tell you that we really don't want to create more trouble, Y/N," he tells you in a soft tone, "Aemond…. he really is very worried. And since he is my client, we don't want any legal implications or further conflict."

You try to keep your composure, but your thoughts are a storm of confused emotions. The very idea of dealing with legal issues, especially regarding your son, is overwhelming to you.

"Why now?" you ask in a trembling voice, your gaze searching for answers, "All this… why?"

Criston exhales slowly, trying to find the right words.

"The situation has changed, basically since you left. Aemond was wrong at the time and I admit I was too, so now he's willing to acknowledge your son, in every way possible."

You can't help but look incredulous and bitter once again.

"It's already too late for that, don't you think?" you ask him in a bitter tone.

Criston looks down for a moment, his expression one of compassion and understanding towards your perspective.

"Yes, we know," he nods to you, "And that's why we're here, trying to keep all this from becoming a bigger problem. But please Y/N, understand that Aemond doesn't want to hurt you or cause you any more trouble than he's already caused."

"And until now you say that?" you inquire sad, worried, fearful and indignant, "That's what I needed to hear before when I was scared, because I was scared too Criston, not just Aemond," you let him know, with tears in the corners of your eyes, "But you treated me like a problem you needed to get rid of, you and him."

Criston listens to your words with a gesture in his eyes that reflects the heaviness of the situation, just as you see shame and regret wash over him, suddenly seeing him as the vulnerable one and you as the strong one compared to years ago, the roles reversing for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. We didn't mean to make you feel that way," he says in a regret-laden tone.

"Sorry doesn't change anything," you say, fighting back tears.

You watch him with your hard stare and sad eyes, feeling several tears fall down your cheeks, making you remember once again.

And once again without letting it drown you, you force yourself to push those memories away, all your moments of uncertainty, fear and pain, to brush your tears away from your cheeks with a strong look of determination.

"I will accept any legal consequences if there are any," you say suddenly, trying to keep your composure, "If there are legal actions, I'm willing to face them. But for now, I just want to be left alone, please."

"Y/N," Criston calls you cautiously, "I just want you to understand that we want to do the right thing now. And what we want to do is find a solution that works for you and for Aemond regarding him," he points to Aenar with his gaze behind you, "Something that guarantees your privacy while not damaging his public image."

Then all the effect of his words completely disappear on you.

You feel a surge of frustration, annoyance and despair at the realization that still the main concern remains Aemond's career.

"Do you still think about his career?" you ask with disappointment and resentment in your tone.

"Y/N—

"The most important thing here is my son," you stand strong, "But he seems to be only one aspect of Aemond's image, doesn't he?"

"Even after all this time that has passed, Aemond's career is more successful and even promising than before, that is something that neither you, him nor I should forget, let alone ignore," he tries to explain to you, "Aemond wants to fix things but his career must also be contemplated, please understand this Y/N."

"Then why do you say you want to do things the right way now if that is not true?" you inquire.

"Yes it is true," he clarifies, "But within all of this, his career must still be contemplated."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to believe it.

"You say a lot of things Criston, but it's clear what matters most to you," you say with no emotion in your voice, "And sure, why shouldn't his career matter most to you? After all… you don't know what it's like to get pregnant, without support and go through the whole process by yourself, and then raise a child on your own, without the support of his father."

"I don't mean to—

"Please go away," you plead once more and this again alerts him.

"Y/N—

He tries to speak but the sound of the door echoes throughout the living room, drawing your full attention and Criston's as well.

The atmosphere again becomes heavier than before, as well as all your confidence disappears, already knowing who it is and you are confirmed by the fact that the person behind the door knocks more insistently, sounding desperate.

With your fearful gaze and your whole body tense, you quickly move towards Aenar, who is still playing completely oblivious to everything that is happening on the floor and you take him in your arms with haste but also care.

You hold him tightly against your body, as a way to protect him from everything outside and also from all people especially while trying to contain all your emotions.

And Criston, who also knows who it is, rushes to the door to open it.

And there on the doorway, the figure of Aemond comes into view, with all the desperation and longing in his gaze, the worry and anguish too, as you muster the courage to be able to look him in the eye again, holding Aenar a little more firmly against your chest.

But your son's body is visible to the eye and that's what makes Aemond completely paralyzed at the sight of you with his son in your arms.

Surprise is completely reflected in his whole look, immediately followed by a bunch of emotions that start to pile up in his whole being and want to come out, as he feels his whole body tense up and a feeling in his stomach invades him.

This leaves him and you in a state of momentary restlessness, where time seems to stand still and the silence is too loud. You, with your gaze fixed on him, try to keep your composure with a mixture of fear, insecurity and some determination to protect your son at all costs.

It didn't take long for Aemond's surprise to turn into a moment of awe and a surge of overwhelming emotions. The mere sight of you with his child in your arms triggers disbelief, pent-up longing and a feeling of suppressed joy.

"Y/N," Aemond calls your name in a whisper, his tone laden with surprise and visible regret, where his gaze can't tear away from you and Aenar.

You say nothing, just watch him back without saying anything, with all your emotions reflecting in your eyes.

The moment is just the three of you, so Criston turns away completely, not interfering and saying absolutely nothing, while you continue in your protective mode and Aemond is still processing this whole moment.

With excitement clashing against the surprise in his eyes, he tries to process the reality of having his son before him for the first time.

He searches for the right words to speak, but his stuck mind won't let him, nor will the lump in his throat and stomach as he continues to watch the scene in front of him; you with his son in your arms.

He tries to say something, but his lips barely half open and the words won't come out, feeling his heart beating too fast and hard.

And you with your gaze full of expectation, fear and caution, Aemond finally looks at you again, aware of all the emotional charge you feel, just like him, as well as your fear and distrust after everything that happened.

"C-can… can I come closer?"

He finally asks cautiously, his voice with a tone of longing and nervousness barely contained.

You hesitate at that moment.

Feeling the weight of the situation and the emotions that are triggered at that moment, despite everything, you feel very vulnerable and you also feel his vulnerability, also that longing to touch Aenar and hold him.

And despite the way he acted with you almost two years ago and also the way Criston and all his team treated you, you don't feel able to be as cruel as they were with you back then.

You don't want to be like them and also aware that this day would come sooner or later, you watch Aenar for a moment, leave a soft kiss on his forehead and again watch Aemond, then nod in his direction with a barely perceptible gesture.

You allow Aemond your closeness and he with extreme care begins to approach you slowly, as if fearing that a sudden movement could fade the magical and longing moment.

Aemond's heartbeat echoes in your ears as he finally stands in front of your son.

Aenar, completely oblivious to everything, senses the nearness of someone else and raises his curious gaze to Aemond, watching him with those bright blue eyes.

And upon seeing that man with the same hair color as his own, his eyes light up with a gleam of curiosity, lightly waving his arms and also his body.

With his teary eye, he watches you for a moment, to again focus on Aenar and with a mixture of excitement and awe, he extends one of his trembling hands towards his small, delicate face.

And when the touch of his fingers against his soft skin of his cheek makes itself felt, Aemond feels an unfamiliar sensation invade him completely.

A sad but honest smile full of melancholy appears on his lips as he gently and carefully traces his face, running his hand up to his silver hair, gazing intently into those blue eyes just like his own as Aenar watches him with that playful innocence but also just as curious as his own.

You, unsure of exactly what to feel or think, watch as he carefully reaches out both arms and begins to hold his body, feeling the warmth and weight of his small body now resting in his arms.

That unfamiliar, overwhelming feeling from before comes over him even more strongly as he holds his son for the first time, when Aenar lifts one of his hands and touches his left cheek, where his scar is.

The emotion makes his breath hitch as he struggles to hold back the tears of restrained happiness that will come at any moment.

It was a moment he had imagined countless times, but had never believed possible until this instant.

Aenar, captivated by the newness and warmth in the arms of Aemond, his father, laughs innocently, his eyes dazzling a happiness as he notices the familiarity in that new face above him. And at his gesture, Aemond lets out a choked laugh, completely captivated by him.

And unable to contain himself any longer, the first sob escapes his throat and the tears fall, instantly pulling his son's face to his chest, embracing him with gentleness and that security that makes him feel so vulnerable when Aenar settles perfectly in his arms.

Guilt, sadness, joy, emotion, everything invades him in that moment.

And he lets out more tears for the comfort that Aenar gives him in his arms, that feeling of protection and even… love, that makes him feel even more vulnerable.

And you are still there, close to them but giving Aemond his space, watching everything attentively with your heart in a fist and feeling sensations you had not felt before at the scene, with tears also wanting to slide down your cheeks.

After a few more seconds, Aemond slurps his nose and looks over Aenar's small shoulder at you with all the vulnerability in his gaze.

"I-I know I don't deserve this," he says with his voice cracking, trying to control himself but he can't.

And he is about to say something else but you watching his expression, a mixture of regret and deep sadness, you step forward to speak.

"In spite of everything, he deserves to know his father," you murmur with your trembling voice and teary eyes, "Aenar deserves this," you assure him, accepting it as you watch the scene of the two of them.

Aemond nods, unable to articulate words, still feeling the lump in his throat, his face reflecting pain, regret and a sadness you have never seen in him before, as his tears continue to fall as he embraces his son.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, unable to contain the emotion, turning to him and to you. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't know how to face it…how to be there."

Silence again settles throughout the apartment, only being filled by Aemond's soft crying, as you silently weep and continue to watch the two of them.

A few minutes have passed since Aemond and your son met for the first time.

Aenar laughs with delight as Aemond plays with him with one of his toys. They are both immersed in a little world of fun where it's just the two of them, surrounded by Legos blocks, small plastic cars and puppets.

You watch everything, or almost everything, without interfering and giving them both their space, watching your son enjoy a special moment that on another occasion, could have been a daily routine with a different life.

Criston doesn't say or do anything either, he at all times stands in the corner watching the whole interaction, letting Aemond have his moment with his son, genuinely feeling happy for him.

And even though the scene makes you feel warm in your heart, being a scene you longed for before, you still still feel insecure, afraid and overwhelmed by this whole situation.

This doesn't really change anything. You have only given Aemond the opportunity to meet his son because your son deserves it, nothing more.

Inside you are still just as scared and in expectation that at any moment this whole 'beautiful' moment will fade away. And that's exactly what happens when you hear Criston's voice all over the living room.

"I wouldn't want to ruin the moment, truly," he says seriously and honestly, "But it's important that we talk about all this so we can resolve it properly."

This immediately catches your attention and also Aemond's, with whom you exchange a quick glance, again feeling your whole body tremble and out of the same nervousness you are overcome with the impulse to take your son in your arms to feel safe.

"It is important that we talk about the child, about what you are going to do now," he turns to Aemond, "Custody is important and all that goes with it."

"I don't understand why you keep talking about custody," you look at him nervously and annoyed, "I alone have cared for and raised Aenar all this time."

"I know this is complicated and sudden, Y/N," Criston tells you, "But we need to approach this whole thing responsibly."

"Responsibility?" you repeat incredulously, "What responsibility are you exactly talking about?"

"Y/N," Aemond immediately interjects, "Listen to me, please," he gets up from the floor leaving Aenar playing alone and walks towards you, "It's not my intention to take our son away from you, truly. But we must make sure we have legal rights to be in his life," he explains to you, "You were the one who ran away, who disappeared without a word. I didn't know what happened to you."

You look at him uncomprehendingly, with your hurt and desperate gaze.

"You talk about custody and rights when in the beginning that was the last thing on your mind, Aemond," you observe him incredulously, "And you keep reproaching me for running away when you know perfectly well that I did it so I could live and so I wouldn't ruin your career, which was all you were thinking about."

Regret again invades Aemond's face, as the atmosphere becomes denser, full of mixed emotions where fear and anger resurfaces with everything else.

Any trace of calm and peace, has ceased to exist, only being perceived by Aenar, who continues oblivious and innocent to all this in his games.

"I-I…" Aemond tries to speak, "I'm sorry for everything, Y/N. But back then...

His sentence hangs in suspense, not knowing what else to say, trying to find the right words without wanting to generate more tension, but that's what he involuntarily does.

"Back then," you repeat, your emotions running high, "Back then you were too busy taking care of your public image, supporting the idea of an abortion without consulting me, then supporting the idea of hiding me and my child as if we were a problem, which in fact we were and as if it was my only option, leaving me with no alternatives," you express with frustration and pain marked in every word.

Regret remains in Aemond's facial expressions, looking visibly affected by your words, grief-stricken and with a regret throughout his body that affirms to him that you are absolutely right, each word being like a dagger straight to his heart.

"Y-you don't know how much I regret and blame myself for all of that, Y/N," he tells you with vulnerability in his tone, "And I know I don't deserve it, any of this, not even that you allowed me to meet him and that I'm now in the same place as him," he says with regret, "But I want to find a solution that works for both of us," he whispers sadly.

The room is again consumed by silence, except for the sound of Aenar's toy movements, which is what catches Aemond's attention for a moment to smile a little more melancholy.

The situation becomes increasingly complex as your emotions continue to run high between anger and sadness, with the memory of past times still latent, but also with the uncertainty of the future.

And Criston, trying to keep calm, intervenes again.

"I understand that you both have different perspectives on what happened. But now we need to think about the future, of your son," he says seriously, "It's not just about custody, it's about finding a way to strike a fair balance, but… thinking about your career too, Aemond."

You let out a disbelieving, ironic snort again, shaking your head.

"His career,'" you repeat with a bitter tone, your voice a mixture of sarcasm and disappointment.

Aemond, watching you sadly and remorsefully, speaks in a calm but regret-laden voice.

"I don't want you to look at this that way, Y/N—

"That's just the way I see it," you interrupt him, serious and sad, "This is exactly why I left. This is why when I saw you again, I decided to run away again," you say hurt, "Now that you've met him, you want to be in his life, but you still prefer to hide us. This kind of life is the one you wanted to give us at the beginning and now you still do too."

Your revelations Aemond had already heard, but at that moment, again that sharp pain in his chest becomes present, as well as guilt, remorse and regret at seeing your sad face with such honest words.

"All I want is to come to an agreement, Y/N, please—

"You're not going to hide us," you interrupt him firmly.

"Aemond," he calls him seriously.

"No, that's not my intention—

He insists desperately but Criston intervenes.

"Don't," Aemond interrupts him instantly, turning serious and with an annoyed expression towards him, "We can't hide the truth anymore, Criston. Things must change."

"Look, I understand that this is difficult for you," he begins in a serious and cautious tone, "But still, we must consider the consequences. There's a lot at stake here, your career," he reminds him, "You have numerous job offers. Your show on HBO is the most famous show on the platform and the most watched show on television so far. How do you think people are going to react when they find out about your son?"

The room sinks into another silence, as you watch him with your hard, sad face, frustration, annoyance and irritation inside you, watching as Criston continues to treat your son like he's a problem.

And it hurts you.

Because Aemond doesn't even say anything.

"We can find a way to handle all this without putting at risk everything you have achieved, Aemond. And if you get a share of the custody, your son will be under your protection without harming your image," he proposes with an insistent look, seeking his approval.

You look away again, completely incredulous and with helplessness all over you.

It's not Aemond, it's Criston.

It is he who continues to manipulate Aemond to prioritize his career over his son, so that everything revolves around public image and fame, diverting attention from the well-being of your son.

And what can you really do there?

He is his agent, the person who has positioned him where he is now, making him famous, relevant, telling him what roles to take in movies or TV shows that are going to ensure one more success to his career.

"If you listen to him…" you begin to say in his direction with a trembling but firm tone, "If you do what he tells you, I swear I won't care what I have to do, even go into debt to get a good lawyer," you warn, "I will fight for the custody of Aenar and when I get it, I assure you that you will never see him again, ever."

Your words slip from your lips with a determination that completely surprises Aemond, surprise and concern visible on his face, watching you hurt for a moment, his mind a complete mess.

But it is not he who speaks, but Criston who takes the floor once more.

"If that's what you want, Y/N… that's fine," he tells you seriously, his gaze cold and calculating. "But let me warn you, we're trying to come to an agreement—

"The two of you or you specifically?" you snap at him.

"That doesn't matter, Aemond is my client and my job is to secure and protect his career," he tells you seriously, "And if you'd rather take this to fighting for full custody of Aenar, then so be it," he nods at you, "But I assure you, you're going to end up losing."

"That's enough."

Finally, Aemond's voice rises from where he stands, aimed directly at Criston, with a serious, hard stare that reveals a newfound determination.

"We are talking about our son, an issue that concerns her and me, this has nothing to do with you," he declares, his tone firm and his posture defiant.

"Your career has to do with me," he clarifies to her also serious, "You must think about what you are going to sacrifice. Your future, your career, the opportunities that await you-

"I said that's enough," he spits back at her, serious and annoyed, watching him with a hard stare, taking Criston by surprise.

And before he can say anything else, there is another knock on the door, drawing your full attention and making you feel completely alert, especially when Criston is the one who again goes to open the door, as if he knows exactly who it is.

And as you open the door, just like that day, Aemond's publicist, an assistant and the PR people enter your apartment.

Surprise flashes all over your face, watching with your eyes wide open the unexpected arrival of that group of people, whose intentions are not good.

"Thank you for coming," Criston tells them as he closes the door behind him.

"Of course."

Their eyes flick to you for a moment and then focus on Aenar, watching them back with curiosity in their gaze, while you feel confusion and fear completely take over you.

Despair, fear, your future, Aenar, everything mixes together in a horrible way that makes you want to vomit, letting out a couple of tears to quickly turn to your son and hold him in your arm, turning your back to them and starting to cry silently.

And Aemond, seeing your reaction, equally as surprised as you, quickly turns to Criston, his gaze full of confusion and annoyance.

"What is this? Why have you called them?" he inquires with his voice full of restrained anger.

And Criston, unabashed and uncaring of his actions, responds with a calm but calculated determination.

"We are not going before a jury to settle this, Aemond, it will be a waste of time and she will cause us more trouble," he says regardless, "This is necessary for your career, to address this whole issue strategically to protect your image, whether she likes it or not."

Aemond's expression transforms to one of frustration and helplessness.

But before he can intervene, his entire team begins to act.

"We need to establish an immediate plan, now," Criston says.

"Will the strategy be to minimize the impact on the media?" asks the publicity man.

"No, I want it hidden," Criston clarifies, "The approach must be careful and calculated. The priority is Aemond's reputation and career."

"I suggest we limit the exposure of Y/N and the child in public."

"We could create an alternative narrative to deflect attention by highlighting Aemond's professional accomplishments and minimizing the focus on his personal life."

"This must be handled with discretion. We cannot allow this situation to interfere with Aemond's career opportunities," Criston says firmly.

And so your entire living room fills with the sound of all those voices, each voice contributing ideas to control the situation, the problems, Aenar and you.

The tension intensifies, as everyone meticulously plans how to run the public narrative, completely ignoring Aemond's and your personal needs and concerns.

Tears slip down your cheeks silently as you hug Aenar tightly to your chest. This instantly catches the attention of Aemond, who steps worriedly towards you, placing his hand on your shoulder, positioning himself in front of you, but you abruptly pull away from him, watching him with an expression of pain and anguish amidst your tears and suffering face.

"Y/N—

"Why are you doing this? Why are you allowing this?" you ask in your broken, desperate voice.

"No, I swear to you I had no idea that he—

"I left, Aemond," you remind him with your voice cracking, "I left to save your career. And everything was fine, with you and me, our lives," you sob, "Why did you ask Criston to find me? Why do you care and insist on saying you want to be in our lives, when your career is still the most important thing?"

Pain and confusion echo in your words, lingering in the mind of Aemond, who in his gaze reflects a mixture of guilt, bewilderment, pain and sadness.

But everything hurts him more the moment you turn away from him, with a defeated gesture, turning your back to him and your whole body trembling in fear, Aenar in your arms being what gives you strength not to fall apart at that moment.

"We can prepare official statements to control the leaking information to minimize any negative impact on his public reputation."

"Rest assured that we need to maintain full control of this situation. We cannot allow any details to slip out," Aemond hears Criston's voice.

And that's when something snaps inside him.

Every repressed feeling bursts out in a whirlwind of emotions that were fighting to get out, your worry, the anger at himself and the guilt that invades him.

Everything explodes and ignites into a fury that he can no longer contain, seeing your state, causing him anger and feeling completely guilty.

Because everything is in fact his fault.

So without waiting a second longer, he walks to the center of the living room and with a hard, serious, completely annoyed look on his face and with his jaw clenched, he acts.

"Get out of here, all of you, now!" he exclaims, instantly drawing everyone's attention and yours as well.

For an instant everyone watches him and nothing else, slightly surprised and expectant, Criston too, unmoving and doing nothing, causing you a wave of despair.

"I said everyone out!" he exclaims in a firm voice and his gaze full of determination.

And it's only then that one by one the team finally leaves your apartment, except for Criston.

"What are you doing?" he inquires with a touch of disbelief in his tone, challenging Aemond.

"You get out of here too."

He orders him annoyed and with irritation, his voice charged with a frustration that has already reached its limit.

"Aemond, this is important, you can't just—

"I need to talk to Y/N alone," he interrupts her with his tone in a mixture of anger and determination, "I'm warning you, Criston. If you ever do anything else again without consulting me and interfering with this, I'm going to seriously consider firing you, which is what I should have done long ago," he shoots back at him with his defiant stare.

The pulse of the room beats with unbearable intensity as Aemond and Criston hold a duel of intense stares. However, in the face of Aemond's firmness, Criston finally resigns himself with a serious, annoyed look, full of frustration and resignation.

And finally he heads for the door, his footsteps sounding in the room as he leaves the apartment.

Aemond watches him leave with a mixture of relief and exhaustion, no longer feeling his shoulders tense. The silence expands once more as soon as the door closes and he turns to you with a gaze filled with a quiet, worried intensity.

The silence lingers for a few moments longer, a dense atmosphere charged with unspoken emotions. When he takes a step toward you, hesitantly.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice ringing with sincerity and regret, "What happened, my insistence… none of this was my intention, much less to cause you pain and hurt you," he admits with his vulnerability again reflected.

And even though it's just you and him in your apartment, your fear lingers.

"P-please don't take my son from me," you plead between sobs, your voice filled with anguish and fear.

Aemond's heart contracts in suffering and worry at your words, his gaze instantly reflecting it.

"What? No, no, Y/N… that is not what I want to do, it is not my intention to take our son from you."

He tells you instantly insistent but in a serene and sincere voice, taking a few more steps towards you, placing himself in front of you, trying to reassure you. But tears continue to slide down your cheeks.

"This is why I left, so I wouldn't cause you any more trouble, so I could live and keep our son safe," you repeat with your voice cracking.

"I know, Y/N, I know," he tells you sympathetically and with a soft tone, "And you don't know how much I hate myself for having been the cause of you deciding to leave, for having hurt you so much to the point of having made that decision," he says sincerely, his eye beginning to tear up, "And this is not just about him, about our son," he tries to explain, "Yes, it is important, but it is also about us," he speaks with a longing, "Since you left, I never stopped thinking about you, and I-I...

He hesitates, unable to fully express his feelings, as he stands in front of you and wants to hold you, you and your son, as he faces his deepest emotions, feeling a tear run down his cheek and looks at you with all the sincerity and pain in his gaze.

"I love you," he finally says, in a completely vulnerable whisper, trembling, lowering his gaze, unable to look you in the eye, "Despite everything, despite my mistakes, despite my work, despite everything that happened…. I-I still love you," he declares in a whisper laden with longing and regret, "And our son too."

His words get stuck in your mind.

With your heart clenched by the surge of emotions, your eyes watch him back with a mixture of surprise, pain and longing. Aemond's sincerity and vulnerability... it's all too much and makes you feel completely helpless, definitely not expecting that.

You can't speak, your words get stuck in your throat, your heart fluttering with the intensity of the moment, your surprise.

And Aemond completely understands your silence.

"I understand that you don't love me anymore and that you can't love me again, I also understand that things can't go back to the way they used to be because of my job. But please… don't keep running away," he pleads quietly, "We won't fight over custody, there will be no legal repercussions, I'm not going to do any of that," he assures you, "Just…" he lets out a long breath, "Just get back to work and let's face this together."

He proposes with his voice full of fragile but hopeful determination, unexpectedly causing you to feel a relief and a warm feeling in your chest.

"I just want Aenar to be okay and let's consider his well-being as the most important thing," you say quietly, while Aemond listens attentively with his face full of longing, regret and understanding, "But we need time and patience. Also that no one else interferes."

Aemond nods, with a slightly more relieved expression, but keeping in mind that there is much to resolve, to heal and to build.

"I understand that and… I'm willing to do whatever it takes… for him and for you," he says sincerely.

You nod too, as silence takes over again, but this time it is permeated with a shared understanding and a determination to face whatever is necessary for Aenar's well-being.

And finally after so much, you feel calm and fortunately, this time with the support of Aemond, who hesitantly leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead and another on Aenar's forehead, taking him back into his arms.

taglist:

@imaegonstargaryenswife0 @bellstwd @gibbsgirl7 @toodlesxcuddles @imsoshygirl @croatianprincess @gemini-mama @a-little-roony-mara @mysteris-things @zenka69 @at-a-rax-ia @fan-goddess @duds31 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @eternally-passionate @bellaisasleep @ttkttt @aemshaircare @mellowdreamlandpost-blog @noodle81937 @mooncalvin @queenofshinigamis @n4tforlife @vexladin @dixie-elocin @wotcherpeak @watercolorskyy @shiny-trashs-blog @strangersunghoon @elysian0612 @skzenhalove @iloveallmyboys

next part taglist:

@anehkael

#aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x oc #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen angst #modern aemond #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewan mitchell fandom #ewan mitchell characters

731 notes · View notes

murdrdocs · 10 months

Text

thinking abt being the one that always bails hobie out of jail.

gn!reader

he hasn’t been arrested many times, mostly because he just hasn’t been caught, but there were a handful of times that his senses weren’t working like they should’ve been, or the pig literally came out of nowhere (hobie could never figure that one out) and suddenly he’s downtown, making his one phone call to a number he knows will always answer.

what ensues is hobie sweet talking you, buttering you up for what you knew would put another dent in your pockets.

“come on, sweets, ‘s the last time, yeah? and i’ll make it up to you. i always do.”

which, he does. he really really does.

but even if there wasn’t a form of repayment coming your way, you would still slip on a pair of pants and a sweater (usually what you wore earlier in the day), lace your shoes, and come down to the station with a tired look in your eyes and your bag balancing on one shoulder.

hobie walks through, face still hidden by his mask (he’d made sure of it), but there’s a small smile beneath it.

“good to see you, babe,” his arm slings around your shoulder and he pulls you into his side, your signature ending in a long line as you cuddle into him, your frustration towards the situation melting away. “and i’ll see you lot later.”

he waves to the cops, turning both of you around with a murmur of “pigs” under his breath.

you get a slice on the way home, or a breakfast sandwich from a place that definitely isn’t open but either of you “knew a guy” (depending on the time), and just before you go your separate ways, hobie pulls you towards him, kissing you once, then walking off with a silent are that is encouraging you to follow him upstairs to his.

and you always do.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown #celeste writes mcu #hobiesworld!#spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you

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katyswrites · 27 days

Text

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 3 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, alcohol use, recreational weed use, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n, not quite smut but we're getting close folks

Wordcount: 4.3k

Playlist

You love WAMC-Hawkins, Indiana’s top college radio station. It’s your safe space, your niche. It’s where you’ve made your friends, your favorite place to be when the rest of the world gets to be just a bit too much. Well, with one exception.

Steve Harrington is a thorn in your side. And just as well - he thinks you’re a royal pain in the ass. But in your senior year, you’re both on the e-board, so you have to work together. You love to hate him. So why can’t you get him out of your head? And, why do you find yourself going to see his band, each and every weekend?

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 3

You don’t see Steve for nearly a week after that - you hang around the radio station quite a bit, as you usually do, but never manage to run into him. You should be thankful for that - for how peaceful it is. It’s not even like you want to see him - no, why would you? He’s a pain in your ass, and you should be thankful that you can do your job in peace.

No, it’s not actually at the station that you see him next - though, it’s tangentially related. You’re at perhaps your second-favorite place in the world - Varsity Vinyl, the local record shop downtown. It has some of the best selection you’d seen, and you always find yourself there - buying for your own growing record collection, or rooting through the used and discounted bin to help stock the station’s vinyl library. It’s where you find yourself on a Saturday afternoon, flipping through records while figuring how much money you actually realistically are able to spend.

You don’t see him, not at first. He’s standing further down the aisle, and when you finally look up and spot him, you nearly jump - he’s just staring at you, eyes wide. You straighten up, just holding eye contact - you feel like two wild animals sizing each other up, deciding whether to run or fight. You’re truly deciding between those two options when he clears his throat.

“Oh - uh, hey,” he says, quieter than you had expected.

“Hey.”

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, a beat of silence passing between you. Then, you both find yourselves speaking at once:

“Your party was fun the other night -”

“Are you okay -”

You both pause, and you awkwardly laugh.

“Sorry, uh - the party was fun last weekend. Thanks,” you say quietly.

Steve shrugs.

“Oh, yeah - glad you came. You… you seemed like you were having a good time.”

Like I made an absolute fool of yourself, more like, you think to yourself.

“Oh! I mean - I guess. Sorry if I got a little - uh -”

“It’s fine, don’t worry - we’ve had worse,” Steve assures.

He hasn’t said anything about bringing you home. Part of you is convinced that Eddie was misinformed, and Steve didn’t actually bring you home that night - that is, if it wasn’t for that stupid note. The note you probably should have thrown out, but stuck into a desk drawer instead - to refer to later, just to make sure you weren’t crazy, you had reasoned.

But now, Steve is standing in front of you, more quiet and withdrawn than you’ve ever seen in the past four years of knowing him.

“So, uh - thanks,” you say quickly, almost mumbling.

“For what?” he asks, confused.

“For, um, getting me home safe - I don’t really remember it, but -”

He waves you off. “Oh, that - don’t worry about it. The hardest part was getting you to tell me your address,” he says, laughing. “You were wasted.”

You groan. “That’s…embarrassing.”

He smirks. “Honestly, yeah, a little bit. But most people were gone by then, so… your secret’s safe with me.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“I mean - I’m surprised you didn’t tell everybody - how I was, you know, throwing up all over your apartment, being a drunk idiot -”

Why didn’t he? It’s leverage - a way to make people lose respect for you, and gain more for him. A part of this stupid, pointless power battle you two seem to always be involved in, seeing how far you can push one another. His response is unexpected.

“You don’t actually think that little of me, do you?”

You don’t really know how to answer that.

He scoffs. “Look, it’s not my fault that you can’t hold your alcohol for shit. But, I’m not going to go around telling everyone that, okay? Christ -”

He trails off, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re welcome, though.”

You suddenly feel like a bit of an asshole - Steve is used to you throwing insults his way, but this time, it seems to have struck a chord with him.

“I was in a really bad way, wasn’t I?” you ask quietly, avoiding eye contact.

He nods. “Honestly? Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. You really don’t remember?”

You shake your head, face feeling flushed with embarrassment. He just sighs.

“What do you remember?”

You rack your brain for a moment, biting your lip absentmindedly as you think.

“Um - I remember playing Kings with everyone… and, uh…”

I remember you coming in from the porch with what’s-her-face on your arm -

“-and it gets fuzzy after that,” you say quickly.

“Oh, okay - wow, that’s pretty early on. Well, you did some shots with Eddie and Robin - you got on the kitchen table at one point ... I think you threw up over my balcony… and after that I, uh, hung out with you in the bathroom while you threw up some more, and brought you home.”

You freeze. “Wait - you babysat me, like, the whole time? I thought that was Eddie -”

“No way, Eddie was too high to help anyone. I was stone-cold sober by that point, thanks to you.”

“Oh,” you say, wishing you could sink into the floor. Steve fucking Harrington knew what you looked like keeled over a toilet and puking your guts out… dammit.

“It was pretty gnarly, but… it’s fine. Really, it’s okay.”

For maybe the first time in his life, it sounds like Steve is being sincere with you. Another beat of silence passes, then he’s clearing his throat again.

“So… you have any big plans tonight? A repeat of last weekend, maybe?” he asks casually. You furrow your brow, confused.

“Um - do you actually care?”

He shrugs. “So what if I do?”

“Well - no, after last weekend I’m not sure if I ever want to drink again -”

“The most famous lie ever told,” he cuts in, grinning. You just roll your eyes, and pretend to be interested in perusing the records as you return to flipping through the crates.

“-but it just so happens that I do have plans tonight,” you say quietly.

“Hot date?”

You scoff. “I’m going to Fuze Box. Nancy’s covering some bands for an article for the campus paper, and I figured I’d check out who's playing tonight.”

WAMC has a long-standing relationship with Fuze Box, a small music venue for local artists and college bands. A lot of students and station members play there, and shows at the Box get advertised a lot on the air. You try to go to local gigs as much as you can - though, you haven’t made as much of an effort lately, too overwhelmed by other responsibilities as station manager. Nancy’s article is a good excuse to go, for the first time all semester.

“So, you don’t know any of the bands playing tonight?” he asks, leaning against a shelf and crossing his arms.

You shake your head. “Nope - just figured I’d check it out, go in blind. Maybe I’ll even put some of the bands in my radio slot next week, if they’re selling CDs or something.”

Steve grins mischievously.

“Right - well, have fun, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname, and know that any semblance of an awkward peace between you two is gone - the Steve you know and love (to hate) is back. You turn to make a clever retort, but he’s gone, having stalked off to a different aisle.

You’re not sure what he’s up to, but part of you now has a sneaking suspicion that he might show up at the venue tonight just to piss you off - it’s such a Steve move.

As you go to the checkout, you do your best to shake it - after all, what’s the worst that can happen?

*****

“Thank you - we’ve been Lime of Decision - goodnight!” the lead singer shouts, a collection of hollers and applause following. The lights go up a bit, some venue staff coming out to the stage to adjust the equipment for the next band.

“Lime Of Decision is… a choice,” Nancy says, scribbling something into her notebook.

“Yeah, that’s because their name is literally meant to be a joke,” you say absentmindedly.

“What?”

“Jason, the lead singer? His ex-girlfriend is in a band called Lemon Of Choice, so it’s like…funny. I think.”

Nancy chuckles, shaking her head.

“Which band is better?”

“Definitely hers,” you say immediately.

You and Nancy both stare at each other for a moment, and break into a fit of giggles.

“I’m going to get another drink, you want anything?” she asks.

You shake your head, holding up the cup of beer you’re still nursing from the beginning of the last band’s set.

She disappears into the crowd, and you sigh, taking a drink as you once again survey the room. If Steve actually is here, you haven’t spotted him yet - maybe he decided that getting on your nerves wasn’t worth actually paying the cover at the door. Or, maybe he actually had more important plans - maybe even with that girl he was all cozy with at the party -

You stop yourself - why do you care? If anything, it should be a good thing that he doesn’t seem to be here.

There’s two more bands left to go - you had glanced at the flier on the way in, but only recognized Lime Of Decision in the lineup. So, when Nancy returns with a new drink and the lights begin to dim again, you just hope the next band is better - it can really be hit or miss at these sorts of shows.

Darius, the radio station’s tech engineer, is emceeing the show. He steps out on stage to introduce the next band, earning a smattering of cheers and hollers thrown in his direction.

“Alright, alright everyone! Settle down - that includes you, Hagan - Jesus Christ, okay - can we give it up for the amazing bands we’ve heard so far tonight?”

You clap along with the rest of the crowd, rolling our eyes at the sound of particularly rowdy hollers from the back that you just know comes from Eddie and the rest of Corroded Coffin.

Darius’ eyes narrow.

“Dammit, Munson - when I said a month-long ban, I meant it -”

You glance back to see Eddie flipping Darius off - famously, Corroded Coffin got a temporary suspension from Fuze Box for smoking weed in the green room. But, the ban actually being enforced… not likely.

Darius rolls his eyes, struggling to get the room back on track as he taps the microphone.

“Okay, okay - everyone, can we please - if you all can shut the fuck up - okay, whatever. The next band up tonight - you guys know and love. They’re a Fuze Box favorite - and no, they are not promising anything with the name. Give it up for Free Beer!

You can’t help but laugh at the band’s name - you instinctively turn to Nancy, who is doing her best to stifle a giggle as she writes something on her notepad, squinting in the dark.

It’s during those few seconds while you’re looking away that the band takes the stage - which is why, when you glance back, you freeze as you see who’s standing front-and-center.

Steve stands at the mic stand, an electric guitar slung over his shoulders as he smiles at the crowd.

You freeze. Other band members - including Robin and Argyle, who you know all too well from the radio station - come out onto the stage behind him. But you’re just staring at Steve, dumbfounded.

You knew he had a band - scheduling them to perform on the air was always a nightmare for you, which you knew Steve did on purpose. So, you had never learned anything about them on-principle. You hadn’t heard a lick of music, didn’t know who else was in it, or even the goddamn name - until right now.

Nancy’s eyes are on you, you can feel it. You turn briefly to look at her.

“Do you want to leave?” she asks, glancing at where Steve stands on stage. You shake your head.

“God, no! I - I’m an adult, I can be in the same room as Harrington,” you say, laughing nervously. You’re not sure how much you believe yourself. She stares at you for a moment, then just nods, turning her attention back to the stage, where Steve is stepping up to the mic.

“Hey guys - we’re Free Beer. I’m Steve -”

A few feminine voices cheer from the back. Your eyes roll so far to the back of your head that you’re worried you’ll go blind.

“Thanks, ladies, love the enthusiasm. So - let’s just get into it. Ready to hear some songs?”

There’s an eruption of cheers through the audience - one of the biggest reactions of the night so far.

“Alright - this one is called ‘Closer,’ I hope you enjoy.”

From the moment he plays the first chord, something shifts in the room. The crowd becomes less rowdy, less chatty. No - everyone is really listening. Some are even singing along - how the fuck do this many people know the words?

You want to hate it - you want the set to be something you’re tolerating, something that makes you look forward to the next band coming out. But, despite your efforts, that’s not what happens. Because the band is good. Robin is killer on bass, and Argyle is a formidable drummer, despite his perpetually laid-back persona. And Steve - it’s like he was born to do this.

Aside from having a pretty good voice, and being an excellent guitarist, he’s actually a good frontman. He’s charismatic, knows how to work the crowd, and somehow, he makes the tiny stage of the Fuze Box feel as exciting as Live Aid.

You want to scream - of course he’s good. You catch yourself moving along to the music every now and then, and immediately stop yourself, hoping nobody sees. At one point, you swear Steve sees you. His eyes land on yours - or, at least, in your direction. You think you imagine it - it’s a big enough crowd, and you’re far enough back that he probably can’t see past the first few rows. That is, until he smirks, in the way that you know he reserves only to taunt you, to challenge you.

Fuck.

*****

You find yourself heading down the hallway after Steve’s set - you’re looking for the bathroom, shouldering through the bodies packed into the narrow passage. Part of it is because your beer has finally gone through you, and more so because you need a minute of peace and quiet, just to stare at yourself in the mirror and talk some sense into yourself. Steve’s band can’t be good - that would be a problem. If you didn’t know who was part of it, they’re the kind of band you would buy records for, keep a spare CD in your car, and even include as part of your radio show. But…it's Steve.

You had purposely never gone to any of his shows - you never listened to any in-studio sessions they did at the station, and God knows you would never ask Steve about his music. What the fuck?

Part of you also wants to smack him - of course he was performing here tonight - he looked you in the eye at the record store today, heard you were coming here tonight, and said nothing. Next time you see him, you decide, you’ll ignore him - you won’t even acknowledge that you saw him perform. If he asks, you’ll tell him you left the show early, long before he came on stage. You won’t give him the satisfaction of thinking you sat through his whole set, let alone enjoyed it.

You can’t exactly remember where the bathroom is - was it all the way at the end of the hallway? None of the doors are really labeled, which tracks for Fuze Box.

You knock on a few doors and jiggle the handles - one is an electrical closet, the other is locked and seemingly empty. You finally reach a door at the end, and give it a gentle knock - nobody responds. You try the knob, and it gives way. After shouldering your way inside, you wish you hadn’t.

Apparently, instead of the bathroom, you’ve managed to find the green room - although, to call the backstage area of the Fuze Box a green room is generous. It’s really a tiny room with a worn out couch, a cracked glass coffee table littered with ashtrays, and lighting so dim that you have to squint to figure out exactly where you are as you slip through the door.

It’s only once you’re inside, when it’s too late, that you realize you’ve walked in on Steve.

His back is turned to you, but he jumps slightly and turns when he hears the door open. He’s wiping his brow with a towel, and he grins when he sees you.

“Hey, sweetheart - wasn’t expecting to see you back here.”

You stand in the doorway awkwardly - why couldn’t the rest of his band be hanging out here with him? That way, you could throw out a blanket ‘you guys were great’ statement. But now it’s just him, staring at you, his face saying why the fuck are you here?

“Oh - sorry - I’m in the wrong room,” you say quickly, your face feeling hot as you start to back away.

“Okay - sure you are,” Steve says sarcastically.

“What does that mean?” you ask, stopping your retreat.

He shrugs. “Don’t know - you just seem to always conveniently stumble into me, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Try to stop me.”

There’s a moment of silence, and you just groan with frustration, taking a few steps towards him.

“Jesus, I - I don’t know if it’s like, a weird sick game to you, or you’re just always trying to piss me off - or if you just can’t help and flirt with everyone -”

“You think I’m flirting with you?” he asks, grinning mischievously.

You stop, folding your arms in indignation.

“No - I mean, kind of, but probably as a joke - I know what you’re up to, Harrington.”

“And what exactly am I up to?”

“This bullshit you keep pulling,” you say, gesturing between you two. “This - like, always sabotaging my shit, and getting in my way - but then like, this stupid nice-guy thing, where you drive me home when I’m drunk and don’t tell anyone, but then like you trick me into watching your stupid band perform -”

He scoffs. “Trick you? Be serious -”

“You knew I’d be here tonight - you knew, and didn’t say anything -”

“Well given your track record, sweetheart, if you had known I’d be playing, I’m sure you would’ve been front row!”

You stop mid-sentence, mouth hanging open as you try to search inwardly for a reply. Your face feels hot all of a sudden.

He’s smirking now, just like he did on stage. As always, he’s too confident, too sarcastic, too Steve. He’s taken away your ability to even come up with a halfway decent retort. It pisses you off.

“I - that’s not -”

Your blood is rushing to your head, roaring in your ears, too enraged to even let you think straight anymore. You’re marching right up to him now, prodding his chest with your finger.

“I don’t like you,” you say.

“You don’t say?” he drawls, still smiling. Why is he smiling?

“Stop doing that -”

“Doing what?” he asks, feigning innocence.

“Stop distracting me -”

“I distract you?”

You want to kick yourself.

“I - well - only because you’re so -”

“Devilishly handsome?”

“-fucking annoying.”

He cocks his head, like you’ve only mildly piqued his curiosity instead of insulted him.

You sigh. “What?”

“It’s just - you didn’t seem to find me very annoying last weekend when you tried to kiss me.”

A beat. You just stand there, jaw agape as his words hang in the air between you like smoke on a hazy summer’s day.

“That’s not funny,” you manage to say.

“Does it look like I’m laughing?”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are to him - the next band has started outside, a distant din that should be distracting. But all you can focus on is Steve - the beads of sweat on his forehead, the way you’re close enough to smell that he had just had a cigarette.

“I didn’t -”

“Sweetheart - right before you puked your guts up in my bathroom, you tried to stick your tongue down my throat. Don’t worry - I didn’t let you. I really thought you would’ve remembered, until I saw you in the record store - then I realized you didn’t remember jack shit.”

You feel like you’re making this up. He’s just saying this to get under your skin - he must be. It’s the only explanation. Because you’d never -

“You’re lying.”

But he’s just staring at you, and you’re starting to get the sickening suspicion that this isn’t a joke.

“You’re lying,” you repeat, though it sounds more like a question this time.

He’s taking another step towards you, shaking his head.

“You know what they say, sweetheart - in vino vesco, or whatever. You know - how people say and do what they’re really thinking when they’re drunk -”

“Veritas.”

He stops, furrowing his brow.

“I - what?”

You can’t help yourself - you just can’t.

“The phrase is in vino veritas - it means truth. I think vesco means food or something, you’re missing the whole -”

“Shut up,” he says. “You’re always such a -”

You don’t let him finish. Instead, you’re kissing him. You don’t mean to do it, you swear - but he had gotten so close, the heat radiating off of him too much to ignore. And, he was really pissing you off - you didn’t need to hear another word out of his mouth.

You fist your hands in his t-shirt, your lips on his, messy and desperate, like you’re trying to prove a point. And he’s kissing you back.

Steve kisses the same way he argues - he’s aggressive, his hands coming up to grab your face and pull you closer. He tastes like cigarettes and cheap beer, his aura hot and desperate as it envelops you.

The band plays out in the venue, the audience cheering and singing along - but, all you can hear is Steve’s labored breath against your lips, your own heart thudding in your chest.

The kiss was all teeth and tongue, another argument you were both desperate to win. But, right now, you’re losing. Because he’s guiding your body, and you’re responding, stepping backwards until your back is hitting the cinderblock wall.

No words are spoken, just breathy moans and the sounds of your lips moving in unison. It’s not remotely romantic - it feels more like fuck you, I’m trying so hard to hate you, why can’t you let me -

One of his hands has traveled down to your waist, gripping it firmly enough to tell you that he wanted more. You feel his hand start to move, slipping under the hem of your shirt and gently brushing the warm skin of your lower back. His hands are calloused, rough against the softness of your skin. You let him start to explore, unable to stop yourself from quietly moaning against his lips.

You know you should stop - but you can’t. It’s addicting, the way he’s still fighting with you as his tongue enters your mouth. Is this really happening? Maybe this could’ve gone on for hours. That is, until -

The knock on the door makes you both jump, pulling apart as quickly as you had crashed together. Steve is staring at you, breathing heavily, his pupils blown and lips a bit swollen. You imagine you look similarly. He takes a step back, separately himself from where you’re still frozen against the wall.

“Yeah?” Steve calls, voice rougher than before.

“Are you decent?” a voice asks from the other side of the door, barely audible over the sound of the band currently on stage.

Steve looks like he’s fighting laughter, but he just shakes his head, back facing the doorway.

“Nope - you’re good,” he says, his eyes meeting yours again.

He doesn’t need to say it - the look he’s shooting your way is enough.

Not a word.

Robin enters, grinning.

“Hey, we were just going to - oh, hi.”

She’s spotted you, and you just know she has questions.

“Hey, Robin,” you say quietly. “I, uh - I was looking for the bathroom. Ended up in here - I was just telling Steve how much I liked your set.”

Robin beams. “Thanks! It’s fun to see that you came out - haven’t seen you at a gig in a while!”

You nod. “Oh, yeah - I’ve been trying to get myself out there more -”

Steve scoffs, and you want to slap him. If Robin notices, she doesn’t say anything.

“- but, um - I should go.”

Robin nods.

“Yeah - I was just coming to find Steve, we’re all going to head to WT’s for a drink - uh, do you want to come?”

She’s probably just being polite. But, you shake your head vigorously.

“No, I’m good - sounds like it’s a band thing. I should get going anyway - I’ll catch the end of this set,” you say, gesturing towards the sound of the band on stage echoing from down the hall. You still haven’t made eye contact with Steve, not since Robin entered the room. So, you just give her a curt nod, and do everything in your power to head out the door without looking like you’re bolting. You’re screwed.

author's note: thanks for your patience y'all! I'm going away to Ireland on a work trip for about 3 weeks starting tomorrow, so I'm hoping to do some writing while I'm there, but no promises! As always, reblogs and likes are appreciated!

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ohisms · 10 months

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↪ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 , 𝑰'𝑴 𝑨 𝑭𝑬𝑾 - ᶰᵒ ᶠᵃᵐᶤˡʸ ˒ ᵗᵒᵒ . 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑎𝑚 𝑖 ? ( a series of sentence starters from season 1 of “ orphan black ” . adjust phrasing as necessary . will be updated ! )

i wanna see [ name ] .

well , that's not fair , is it ?!

oh my god , you look like crap .

i didn't miss your birthday , did i ?

something really weird just happened at the train station .

what the hell is wrong with you ?

listen to me , [ name ] , i'm only gonna ask you this once .

oh , i'm fine by the way , thank you .

get in the car .

when you don't give a damn , i get pissed .

you'd better be ready . are you ready ?

you're sure as hell overdressed . what , were you out all night or something ?

this shit is as hard as it gets . but you've gotta stop making it worse .

i panicked , what do you want me to say ?

i'm kidding . where's your wit gone ?

you don't have to babysit me , dipshit .

i know this thing's got you all twisted up , but try to forgive yourself .

[ name ] , open the goddamn door !

yeah , the last thing i am is special .

[ name ] , where have you been ?

where have i been ? uh .. long story .

oh , jesus , are you alright ?

you have a few words , [ name ] ? anything you want to express ?

plead your mercy & your pity .

love is imperfection itself .

say it . go ahead , say it's my fault .

who the hell are you ?

of course not . you think we'd let that happen ?

i'm at home , you've got it all wrong .

you know what ? don't . i'm going to ignore that .

i'm worried you're losing the plot again .

sorry , i've got ... i've got a lot of work to do .

i mean , what am i supposed to do ?

you don't have to take this on .

i can't keep waking up every night , checking your breathing , worried you're mixing your meds , booze ... god knows what else .

i knew it was too good to be true .

why would you help such a stupid plan ?

i'm not going to play [ name ] in the middle .

i'm not dirty , i just freaked out .

if there is another version of this story ...

walk me through it again . so i know you won't crack under questioning .

you're making me nervous .

finally ! where have you been ?

who am i speaking to ?

how did you find me ?

idiot . do you even know who you're talking to ?

i don't care who you are .

nope , that is not my responsibility .

go , & wait for a call .

what i'm trying to do is move on .

we have known each other for awhile now , [ name ] .

i nailed it , man . every detail .

come on , [ name ] , give me a little love here !

you know , my skin just breaks out every time i leave downtown .

whoa , hey , [ name ] - you always do this to me !

i don't do backup , i don't even know what backup is !

i got stuck , i was running from my own shit .

i'm not giving you shit 'til you give me some answers .

don't ! do not shoot me , please !

seriously , it's life or death .

am i going insane ?

#doing an ob rewatch ..#thought i might as well ??#rp meme #rp inbox meme #rp inbox prompt #rp prompt

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thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 3 months

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This may be my grief (but it's you who's made a mess of it)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.7k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

warnings: reader has a panic attack, there's a lot of blood but it's the clean-up part, Jason is riddled with self-hatred and guilt but he's making progress

a/n: ok enjoy kiss kiss <3

Your heart lurches as you stare at the television, your hands clutching the couch cushions on either side of you as you listen to the presenter on the news station that you'd idly turned on for background noise. He's talking about a current fight, some scuffle between some vigilantes and Two-Face downtown. He mentions Redhood - mentions that he was seen going down during the fight and wasn't seen getting back up again.

Suddenly, the walls of your apartment feel small - too small, closing in on you as the air leaves your lungs in a punched-out gasp. He's not getting up. He's not getting up and he's gone again. You stand abruptly, knocking the TV remote off your lap and letting it clatter to the floor as you begin to pace back and forth in front of your couch, trying desperately to keep listening to the news anchor and what he's saying about the current situation.

Maybe he's wrong, you think desperately. Maybe he's alright and no one really knows what they're seeing. Maybe he's… dead. Maybe he's dead again. Maybe you'll never ever see him again. Maybe you'll have to bury him again.

You drop into a sitting position on the floor ungracefully, leaning against the couch as you reach blindly for the remote, suddenly needing desperately for the news anchor to stop updating you on the situation. You fumble with it once you have it, your hands cold and numb as you turn the television off.

The silence, you realize immediately, is worse

The thought of having to mourn him a second time, you realize, might be more than you can handle.

The city moves outside, cars honking and pedestrians shouting - the normal turmoil of Gotham. You fit right in, you suppose, amongst the panic and the pain and the death that permeates this city. You almost, almost wish you'd left all those years ago when Jason became Robin - when you told him it was a choice that would kill him and you threatened to walk out.

And now, in the dull silence of your apartment, your gaze level with your coffee table that has two empty mugs, you wish that you really had left all those years ago… and you wish that you had never come back.

The thought punches out whatever air is left in your lungs as guilt, cold and heavy and choking, settles in your gut. You bring your hands to your face, digging the heels of your palms into your closed eyes as you try to get a hold of your rattling breathing. You had, at times, considered what your life would be like if you'd never met Jason, or if you moved on and gotten over him after his death - his first death. The thought makes nausea roll through your stomach. Of course, you'd thought about it. But you'd always come to the same conclusion - you were lucky to have met him and to have known him as you did. Even if it meant carrying his ghost with you for the rest of your life, you were blessed to have been loved by him.

Now, though, it doesn't feel like a blessing. Now, it feels like a rotten, undead curse, something dragged up from some unholy pit to pull him away from you again, and again, and again. There is nothing lucky in this life and there is nothing lucky in this love.

A clattering on your balcony rips you from your spiralling thought as your head snaps around to see Redhood heave himself up over the railing, stumbling with fatigue and obvious injury. You lurch to your feet, desperate to get to him, desperate to know he's alive, desperate to stop him from seeing you on the floor of your home, grief-stricken and terrified because of him.

No, you think. He doesn't need to know about that. And fortunately, he's dazed enough from whatever god-awful fight he was in that he doesn't seem to really notice anything beyond the way you rip the door open and pull him inside, your hands flitting over his armour to gauge his injuries. Not at first, anyway. He lets you sit him on the couch, lets you shush his worries about staining the fabric with his blood. He doesn't consider the fact that your soul is already stained from him. Not yet, at least.

It's not until his armour is off, sitting in the bathtub and dripping crimson blood onto the white porcelain. It's not until you've checked him over, the large gash along his side cleaned and the blood flow staunched. It's when you begin stitching him up, your hands trembling ever so slightly in a way that sends concern shooting up his spine. It's not concern for himself - he's had you do this countless times, and he's done it to himself with much less finesse even more times. But something wrong - something must be wrong for you to be unsteady, for your shoulders to be tense and your eyes to avoid his. The pain from his side is nearly blinding, but there's nothing that sobers him and centres him as resolutely as you on your knees in front of him and afraid.

"Baby?" his voice is quiet, the breath leaving his lips in a tired sort of sigh that he can't help.

"Don't distract me," is your only response.

"Talk to me," he pushes in that gentle, guiding way of his.

But you say nothing. The silence drips between the two of you as you tie the last stitch, cutting the thread and rubbing your hands with a towel. Jason makes a mental note to buy you new ones as he watches the white fabric blooming red as you try to scrub the blood off your hands.

But your skin doesn't come clean. There are places where the blood - his blood has dried around your fingers and you rub the towel on your palms until he reaches out, worried. Then, and only then, does it hit Jason, and he's not sure if it's blood loss or fear and guilt that makes him feel lightheaded.

It's his blood on your hands. And they're not coming clean.

He takes the towel from you gently, tossing it onto the other end of the couch before he grips your hands in his own. He's not sure who's trembling more between the two of you. He's not sure who's more blood-soaked.

"I saw it on the news," you say quietly as you rub your thumb over the knuckles of Jason's hand. "They said - they said you were dead." Your breath hitches. Jason huffs, tightening his hold on your hands.

"Those reporters don't know what the fuck they're talking about most of the time - you know that, baby. They always get it wrong." He soothes, his voice low as he looks down at you. He's still sitting on the couch while you kneel before him, like an altar of violence that you pray to.

"I know, Jason. I just -" You take a deep, shuttering breath.

"What, baby?"

"I thought I'd lost you… again. I just - I couldn't take it. I couldn't bear it." You laugh, then - a humourless, hysterical sort of thing. "All this time you've spent trying to protect me and you're the thing that ended up hurting me the most and… no, I - Jason, I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that, I was just scared."

But Jason's already lurched away from you, letting go of your hands as if you've burned him and pulling back in a way that stretches his stitches and makes him wince. You, on the floor in front of him, made the infamous Redhood flinch, made him recoil in fear and self-hatred and pain.

"I didn't mean that, Jason," you say again, a firmness in your voice as you surge up onto your knees. Your hands aren't trembling now, he notices distantly, as you lean forward to take his face in your palms and press your forehead against his.

"I hurt you," he says numbly.

"No," you respond instantly. "Life hurt me… life hurt us both. That's not your fault. It's never been your fault."

Jason sighs wearily, letting his head fall forward so that his forehead is resting on your shoulder as his eyes slip closed. There's a dull, throbbing pain in his head and his side aches and he's choking on too much hatred to stop you when you press kisses to his palms and his knuckles and the side of his head that you can reach.

There is too much weariness in him to stop you from loving him.

"Let's… go to bed," you say quietly, feeling the way he slumps against you as the fatigue begins to take its toll on him. "Come on," you coax. He lets you stand, takes your outstretched hand willingly as you guide him to bed. He lets himself sit on the edge of the mattress heavily, slouched over himself as you sit in front of him, a damp towel in your hands.

Jason thinks of the irony of it all as he watches you take his hands in yours, wiping the blood from them that you left on him. Granted, it's still his blood, but you're the one who made a mess of it. He thinks of that as you finish cleaning him up, listens to the sounds of you scrubbing your own hands in the bathroom sink as he falls sideways into bed, haphazardly tugging the covers up around him.

When you finally slip into bed next to him, reaching out so that you can cling to him like a lifeline, he wonders if maybe the blood on his hands isn't such a big deal, after all. Maybe it's the blood loss talking, maybe it's the post-fight dizziness muddling his judgement. Or maybe there is something to be said for the two of you cleaning the blood off each other's hands… again and again and again.

#smsn.writes #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd fluff #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd oneshot #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood fluff #red hood fic #red hood fanfiction #red hood imagine #red hood x you #red hood x y/n

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cowgurrrl · 2 months

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Tall Boy

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Author's note: I didn't go into writing this thinking I would write a little bit of spice so please be nice (poetry fr)

Summary: Fireworks, Uber Calls, Confessions, Oh My! [3.6k]

Warnings: consumption of alcohol, drunken shenanigans, Joel and Tommy being the only Texan men I would trust with my drinks, so much goddamn yearning, oh what's happening with Andie and Tommy??, Joel the Menace makes his return, smutty thoughts and actions (I've made them wait nine chapters they deserve to be a little horny. as a Treat.), getting caught, preparing you for Sleeping on the Blacktop

You don't get to cut loose very often as a teacher. You're almost always worried about lesson plans, grading, assignments, supplies, money (or lack thereof), politics, student's mental health, and a million other things that plague your mind when you try to sleep. Sure, you have a drink or two sometimes, but never anything close to like when you were in college and would end up back at your apartment at four in the morning just to get up three hours later for a lecture at eight. You weren't always going to be a high school teacher, and your past reflects that. And Andie has waited a long time to get a little bit of that spirit out of you again.

New Year's Eve starts easy enough with a nice dinner in downtown Austin with a glass of wine or two with the food. You and Andie got all dolled up in short, curve-hugging dresses and makeup and decided you would take yourselves out if nobody else was going to. "But we're not gonna get arrested like we did in high school, right?" You asked over dinner, but she just shrugged with a mischievous look in her eyes.

"We'll see where the night takes us."

You bounced from bar to bar, sipping drinks and half-flirting with whoever approached, hoping for a free drink. Lucky for you, nobody is immune to Andie's charm. You lose track of how much you've had to drink once the room starts spinning pleasantly, and you can barely hear yourself over the loud music. You dance with beautiful strangers, sing along to the music, and even steal a cigarette from a willing accomplice outside. It feels good to act like your own age and not everybody's mom.

By the time midnight rolls around for the Central Time Zone, you and Andie are drunk, leaning on each other and butchering the lyrics to Aud Lang Syne. "We should call an Uber!" Andie yells in your ear, and you nod. You stumble outside and squint at your phone, giggling at your fleeting thought.

"I've got a better idea than Uber."

You and Andie are sitting on the curb outside a gas station right off of Sixth Street, sharing a tall boy and following instructions to "stay put," when his truck pulls up next to you. Joel looks sleepy but not mad, while Tommy looks like he just walked up on a small miracle.

"I thought teachers weren't supposed to be fun!" He laughs as you hand Andie the beer and somehow get yourself to your feet.

"You, obviously, didn't have the right teachers."

"I reckon so." He says as you dig your keys out of your purse to hand to Joel. He nods gratefully as Tommy helps Andie off the curb. They start talking about something, but you can't hear them over the way Joel's looking at you. Like he did at the gallery, his eyes linger on every piece of exposed skin he hadn't seen before. Something akin to worry clouds his vision, but you catch him looking at your legs and smack his chest.

"Eyes up here, Mr. Miller," you call him out. "See somethin' you like?" You ask, and he chuckles at how southern you sound when you drink.

"You look very nice." He says, and you smile. For some reason, you step into him and rest your head on his shoulder. He's so warm, and you're tired and just drunk enough not to care about the rules. You feel him freeze for a moment before his hand comes up to your waist to help keep you upright. "Let's get you home, hm?"

Andie refuses to leave Tommy's side now that they've gotten into an argument about the best musician of all time, and she decides to ride in your car with him while you climb into the truck with Joel. The second you're alone in the car with him, you just start laughing to yourself. Joel laughs a little, too, as he turns the ignition over.

"What's so funny?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"Just you." You say, giggling a little more.

"Me?"

"Yeah, you."

"What about me?"

"A few weeks ago, I thought I'd fucked you over, and now you're picking me up 'cause I got too drunk on New Year's Eve," it's not funny, but you laugh anyway. "You're a much better person than I am." You say. It's quiet in the truck as your words settle like dust on the dashboard. The only sound is the engine running and the distant sounds of fireworks popping in nearby neighborhoods. He takes a deep breath and rests a hand on your headrest to reach around in the backseat, producing his large jacket and pulling it over your body to protect you from the cold.

"I think you're a good person. Definitely a world better than me," he says as he puts the car in drive. "And, for what it's worth, you didn't fuck me over."

"No?" You ask, and he shakes his head, glancing at you as he pulls onto the road.

"No." He says, and you hum. You pull his jacket closer to you and cling to the smell of pinewood, leather, and hints of his cologne. If they sold this smell in a candle, you would go into debt just to have it linger in every room. The thought presses on a bruise you forgot was there, and in your inebriated, vulnerable state, you can't stop yourself from staring at his profile as yellow streetlights and bursts of fireworks reflect across his face.

You study him the way you've been dying to for months. Your eyes study how his eyebrows move with minute emotions and muscles. The way his big nose curves perfectly. The way his jaw clenches and unclenches when he's nervous or unsure what to say. You wish you had a piece of paper and a pencil to sketch his side profile as it comes into view between headlights. You don't believe in muses, but you believe in inspiration. Especially when you look at him.

"Thank you for comin' to get us. I know you'd rather be sleeping." You break the silence, and he nods.

"I'd rather know you're safe than anythin' else," he says. "How much did you have to drink?"

"I don't know," you groan, absentmindedly rubbing at your face and no doubt smearing makeup. "People kept buying us drinks, and I'm so fucking broke, I'm not gonna say no to a free drink."

"People? What people?" He asks, his interest suddenly piqued. You shrug and put your feet up on the dash. He glances at them but doesn't shove them off.

"I don't know. People. Men people." You say.

"Different men or the same guy?"

"Does it matter?"

"No," he says a little too quickly. "No, it doesn't matter. As long as you had fun." There's something off about his tone, but you can't place it. At least, not until he puts the final nail in his own coffin. "D'any of 'em try to get your number?"

"Oh, my God!" You squeal excitedly as you sit up and put your feet back down. "Are you jealous?"

"No! Why would I be jealous? We're friends."

"Yeah," you scoff. "'Friends.'" You say with intense finger quotes, and he furrows his brows as he looks at you.

"Are we not friends?"

"Joel, c'mon. I liked you from the second you walked into my classroom. We were never gonna be just friends." The confession comes loose before you can swallow it back down. It wiggles between you like a fish out of water, and you want to take it back. Not because it's not true but because you weren't ready to tell him. Things just got back to normal after the winter showcase. You're not ready to lose him again.

"You're drunk," he says softly as if he's reminding himself more than anything. Maybe he thinks because you've been drinking, you don't mean it, but you do. You really, really do. It's too late to take it back, but you can try to bring levity back. You can try to backpedal a little.

"You're drunk." You counter. He drives in silence for a few more miles, and the rumble of the car and the tequila weighing your mind down lull you to sleep— narrowly avoiding another hard conversation and worst-case scenarios.

You wake up on the first day of the new year hungover, sore, and in a bedroom you don't recognize. Bright sunshine bursts into the room and forces your eyes open in a squint. You almost jump up when you're greeted with a bottle of water and Tylenol on a nightstand that's not the white one on the right side of your bed. You sit up a little and look around at the cozy, if not a little cluttered, room.

The walls and the soft sheets are a nice, comforting blue. A few posters and pictures hang on the walls, and even a landscape painting hangs above the bed. Still, there's a little laundry strewn on the floor, and you recognize the closet full of flannel and button-up shirts next to you. You guess that's where your oversized, burnt orange Texas Longhorns shirt and black sweatpants came from. Snippets from the car ride and stumbling into the house fill your mind, and you groan in embarrassment.

You remember Tommy calling Joel and telling him Andie got sick on the way to your apartment, and he didn't want to drop you off alone where something could go wrong. They offered to take you to their house, and in your drunk and stupid state, you said yes. You remember gentle hands holding your face as a cold, wet makeup wipe swiped across your skin, and thank God for that. Otherwise, you would feel worse than you already do. You remember hearing Andie and Tommy's voices outside the bedroom door, but you don't remember how you got into the room or the shirt. A light knock on the door pulls you out of your memories, and Joel walks in with a cup of coffee and a sympathetic smile.

"Good mornin', sunshine," he says, the right amount of mocking. "How're you feelin'?"

"Like I got hit by a truck." You say, and he laughs as he hands you the mug and sits on the bed.

"I figured. I've got breakfast goin' downstairs. You need all the food you can get to soak up the alcohol." He says as you take a sip of the bitter coffee. You sigh into the cup at the (somehow) magical effects it has on your body, and he smiles. "That good, huh?"

"Yes, thank you," you say. "Thanks for everything. I know it probably wasn't fun trying to wrangle us last night."

"You weren't lyin' when you said how much trouble you and Andie got into together." He says. You think you could crawl into a hole and die at the embarrassing gaps in your memory.

"Oh, God. What happened?"

"Well, first of all, she wouldn't stop talkin' to you bout Tommy even though he was right there, but it was all good things. Then, you almost fell asleep on the couch after demanding’ Whataburger, and I had to carry you up the stairs. And then, Andie locked us in here and told us to figure our shit out."

"I'm gonna fucking kill her."

"I'm pretty sure she almost fell asleep in the hallway waitin' us out. Tommy parked her in Sarah's room and slept on the floor in case she needed somethin'." He says. You knew the Miller men were kind and selfless, but this is a whole new level. You owe them a fruit basket or your kidney or something. You rub your temples and take another sip of coffee before taking two Tylenol.

"And where did you sleep?"

"You don't remember?" He asks, chuckling. At least he's not mad. If he was, you think you'd climb out the window and walk all the way home. "I tried to sleep on the floor, but every time I tried to lay down, you laid down next to me. You wouldn't even close your eyes unless I was next to you, so I built a little pillow wall and slept in bed."

"Are you serious?" You ask, and he nods. You can vaguely recall getting into a hushed argument with him about kicking him out of his own bed and falling asleep against his chest, vindicated and content. You groan and bury your head in your hands. "Please tell me Ellie isn't here."

"She spent the night at Dina's house, none the wiser." He says. You almost say something about Ellie spending a lot of time with Dina recently, but keep your mouth shut. If something's going on, you doubt she wants her teacher to snitch on her to her dad.

"I'm so, so, so sorry, Joel."

"Don't be sorry. It was funny. I didn't know teachers partied so hard," he says, and you laugh a little. "Besides, it made me feel better knowin' you two were safe." You look up as he speaks and take a deep breath at how sweet he is. He smiles, and you scoot close enough to him to cuddle into his side. He welcomes you by tucking you under his arm and resting his head on yours.

Your head is pounding, and your stomach is in knots, but the coffee and his presence help ground you. His hair is a little damp and smells like Ellie's shampoo. The thought of them sharing products makes you smile, and you rest a hand on his chest. Worn in, soft fabric cushioning your fingers as they rest over his heart.

"Can we add this to our list of inappropriate secrets?" You ask quietly, and a puff of air leaves his nose in a laugh. He lifts his head from yours and looks down at you fondly. He doesn't look particularly well-rested, and you're sure that's your fault, but you also can't get over how beautiful he looks in the morning. His eyes are still heavy with sleep, his beard is a little unruly, and his shirt is crumpled, but the light streaming in makes his brown irises look amber and the grey in his hair silver. He's beautiful like this. He's beautiful all the time.

"Course," he mumbles as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers on your jaw, fingers caressing your cheek, and your hand slides from his chest to his shoulder to keep him close. "D'you get a New Year's kiss, at least?" He asks. You purse your lips as you stretch your memory back.

"'M pretty sure I kissed Andie."

"Nice." He says, too impressed, and you push at his shoulder.

"What about you? You get a New Year's kiss?" You're walking the wrong side of the line, and you both know it. He smirks anyway.

"I was a little busy takin' care of these two drunks."

"One time," you say. "I go out one time, and suddenly I'm a drunk."

"That's all it takes." He shrugs, and you laugh.

"Apparently," you say. "Well, I'm sorry again. Didn't mean to ruin your chances of getting kissed."

"Nah, you didn't."

"No?"

"No," he shakes his head as he leans in and kisses you, tilting your face up to him so he can control the angle. Two months. It's been two months since you last kissed Joel, and you can feel all sixty days of want in the searing kiss. He's not shy like he might've been in the past— waiting for you to make this first move— he's commanding and steals your breath out of your lungs when his tongue slides against yours. It's different, and so, so good. You wind your hand into his hair and lightly tug when his hands roam down your body and grab at your hips. You take the signal and throw a leg over his hips to straddle him, gasping when he presses into the small of your back and pushes you against him.

Now, you're awake. Fuck the coffee.

You're dizzy when his mouth dips from your lips to your jaw, biting the sensitive skin there, and his hands wander below the fabric of your (his) shirt. His fingers are soft when they graze against your sides, skimming up your body until he squeezes your breasts. Both of you groan as you arch into his touch. He's barely touched you, and you're already soaked.

"Missed you." He whispers as his lips blaze a trail down your neck while his fingers lightly pinch your nipples. You grind your hips into his, desperately searching for friction, and he hisses like you hurt him. His hips canting up reassures you you didn't. "You gonna disappear on me again, sweetheart?" It doesn't come across as mean, but there's a new authority in his voice that you're not used to hearing. The dam isn't just broken. It's in fucking shambles at the bottom of the river.

"'M not going anywhere." You breathe. "I promise." You think you mean it. You think you want to mean it. You think you're done caring about optics and what's "right." You want him, and based on the way the bulge in his sweatpants prods under you, he wants you too. He pulls away from your neck to kiss your lips again, wraps an arm around your back, and lays you on your back on the mattress.

You tug at the back of his shirt and greedily let your hands roam over his chest and back when he throws it across the room. He's all broad shoulders and strong arms, and you can finally feel the muscles and warm skin you've thought about since way before that night in the bar. When his fingers trace patterns into your inner thighs, you moan into him and grip his forearm hard. "Joel, I need-"

"What? What d'you need, baby? Tell me." He asks, his fingers dancing closer and closer to where you want him. It'd be so easy for him to slip his hand under the waistband of your sweatpants and feel how desperate you are, but he hesitates. "C'mon, use your words."

"Fuck, I-" You start to say when the door creaks open.

"Joel, do you want— woah!" Tommy yells before you hear the door slam shut again and his feet rushing down the hallway, no doubt to tell Andie about what he just saw. Joel groans and buries his face in your neck, and it takes everything in you not to laugh.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him."

"I'll help you hide the body."

"Finally!" Andie yells from downstairs, and this time, you do laugh.

"They're never gonna let us hear the end of this, are they?" You ask.

"Probably not," he says. He's unmoving over you, and you sigh as you kiss his cheek. He lets his body weight drop into you, and you play with his hair while he rests his head on your chest. His hands rest under your body and press you closer to him, smothering you together. His broad shoulders expand and contract with every breath, and you count them as you scratch his scalp. "I have to go get Ellie soon." He mumbles into your chest.

"Then, we should probably go." You say. He groans and kisses your sternum before pushing onto his forearms. He kisses up your chest to your neck, forcing a shaky breath from you when he nibbles at your earlobe.

"I want you in my bed all the time," he whispers in your ear, making you shiver. "Wearin' my clothes, makin' all those pretty sounds, not havin' to worry bout Tommy or anybody." His chest rumbles against yours as he speaks; all you can do is squirm under him. His fingers picking up their previous patterns don't help either. "Wanna feel you come over and over again. On my fingers. On my tongue. On my cock. Wanna make you feel so good." His middle finger rubs against your clothed pussy, and your nails dig into his shoulder as you try to suppress a surprised sound. You're so wet, you'd be surprised if he couldn't feel the damp spot on your underwear. "You gonna let me make you feel good, baby? Huh?" He bumps your nose with his, subtly asking for attention when all you can focus on are the lazy circles he's drawing over you.

"Please." You whimper, but you're not sure what you're begging for.

"I know, I know," he murmurs. You know you can't get away with anything with Tommy and Andie waiting for you downstairs but you want him to make good on his promise. You want him. You have for so long it's burning you from the inside out. And yet, he pulls away from you with a smirk. "I'm gonna take all the time in the world with you next time." He says as he rolls off of you, and you're left lying there, shocked and flushed.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You ask, sitting up, and he just shrugs as he pulls his shirt over his head.

"I've gotta go get Ellie."

"Don't pull the Dad Card right now." You sound a little petulant, but honestly, you don't care. He worked you up to just walk away? This is cruel and unusual punishment. He presses his knee into the mattress and leans over you again, kissing you chastely.

"You'll have to get me back later." He says, and you sigh, shaking your head at the amused look in his eyes.

"I'm gonna make you wish you were dead."

"I'll believe it when I see it."

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @marantha @cosmoscoffeee @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia

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alphabetboyluvr · 10 months

Text

throttle │ jjk - two

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - just a littleeee (read: mostly) smut... fingering, titty sucking (his fave <3), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms (female), creampie, post-creampie-pussy-eating, cum swapping, a little spitting i guess, titty worship, ?? more, maybe ??, idk, you get the idea. oh, and also dangerous driving and jk being down bad within like 5 seconds flat

word count - 13.4k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

Jungkook's cheeks are red, his nose blushed from the chill of the wind by the time you reach his place. It's just on the outskirts of town, past the jewellers' district and out towards the station, and it has you wondering why he's always getting fuel from your neck of the woods. It seems inconvenient, and if you were sober, you'd be questioning it.

Sober, you might have even made assumptions about it.

Hell, you know you would be making assumptions about it.

But you're not sober, and he's got a hold on your hand like you're one of the priceless jewels in the windows you've just walked past.

You're gold dust; a diamond in amongst the rough of downtown Daegu.

In fact, he's holding you so tightly that it's almost as if there's a price on your head, and he wants to be the one to reap the rewards. No sharing. His, all his.

He doesn't loosen his grip on your hand as he begins to punch in the code to his apartment door. It's steel, and robust, hiding everything that Jungkook is behind it. You don't know him, not really - not like you want to - but there's something so painfully intimate about being invited into his space. Has you thinking that maybe you'll get the chance to know him. For a few hours, at least.

The lock beeps, a mechanical whir sounding as the bolt retracts, but he pauses as he puts pressure down on the handle.

"Can you, like, close your eyes?" He grimaces, glancing back around at you. His tongue is tipsy, about to make admissions he never would do sober. "I left in a rush, and there are clothes everywhere 'cause I couldn't decide what to wear and I-"

"Wait, wait, wait," you grin, eyes centred on his. "Did someone get pre-date nerves?"

Jungkook presses his eyes shut, smiling as he rolls his head back. He's never nervous. Always cool, calm, collected - but he can hear your little drunk giggles, and his heart rate is up, and shit, he thinks he might be nervous.

He knows he was nervous before he left.

"I just-" he says with a frustrated groan, too exasperated to finish his sentence before he starts laughing, too.

You're both a little tipsy, swaying, drawing closer to one another. It's innate, the way your body leans into his, with zero resistance from Jungkook as your hands grip the front of his coat for support.

"Shuuuush," he whispers, all giddy and coy, holding his index finger to your lips. It's almost as if he gives a fuck about his neighbours.

He doesn't.

He's just using it as an excuse to get closer to you.

"You shush!" You whisper back, mirroring his actions and holding your finger to his lips, too.

His smile is so big that his dimples are on full display. They're as deep as his eyes are dark, and you just know he must have broken his fair share of hearts in the past. His hands cup your jaw, thumbs resting on the edges of your smile as if he's framing a work of art. He'd argue that he is.

You look so dainty in his hold, and he finds himself overwhelmed with the need to savour your pretty little laugh. It'll taste just like his, but he doesn't care. Thinks it'll be sweeter coming from your lips.

And, so, somewhere between your simpering laugh and his darting eyes, as a flickering light in his hallway beats in unison with your hearts, his lips find yours.

He's still telling you to shush as he does so, and you tell him it back - but neither of you actually shush until your tongues are in each other's mouths.

He fumbles the keypad of his door again, getting you both through the threshold and into his tiny studio before you can even look at the mess of clothes everywhere.

The nerves he once had are gone, because he's confident about this; about you.

The movements of your bodies bleed into one another, neither one of you taking the lead. Instead, it's as if you're a pair of figure skaters gliding through his apartment, eyes closed - not that it makes much of a difference. The lights are off, and a string of fairy lights left up since Christmas provides the only source of illumination.

Jungkook hadn't entirely planned on stumbling home drunk with you, but he knew he'd be stumbling home in some capacity, so leaving them on had seemed like a good idea at the time. He's proven right.

And even though this night hasn't gone exactly how he had planned, he's not complaining. Especially not when your hands begin to fumble with his jacket. You undo it, push it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

Casual arrogance graces his lips as he smirks against you, unbuttoning the top of your skirt.

"I don't fuck on first dates," you tell him, but you don't stop him as he pushes the black denim over your hips and lets it fall to the floor. In fact, you're kind of giving him mixed signals as you reach for his belt, sliding the leather through its buckle.

"We've had, like, 300 GS25 dates," he mumbles into your lips between kisses, so casually that it's almost believable.

He pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it to the floor, and grabs your face just to kiss you again as soon as he can.

It's about now, just after he's finished evaluating your 'dating' history, that you notice the pressure of two small metal balls flicking against your tongue. They're evenly spaced across the centre of his own tongue, and the mere acknowledgement of them has your legs clenching together. The lip ring was bad enough, but a tongue piercing? Fuck.

He smiles as you moan into his lips, and assures you: "I think it's okay if we fuck."

Your hands are in his hair, his gripping onto your waistline before he rids you of your sweater, and all you can do is nod. Playing hard to get is a game for fools, and you're not really sure why you tried it in the first place. You're gonna be winning either way.

"Yeah, you're right," you mumble into his mouth. "We're basically married."

He laughs, and for a second you think that he must have been made by the Gods. It's the only way to explain how a human could be created so heavenly, even when they're about to commit enough sins to send them straight down to the pits.

"Happy honeymoon," he smirks, assisting you as you begin to push his jeans past his ass and down his thighs. Teamwork makes the dream work, after all.

You're both in your underwear, yet neither of you have even looked at the other's bodies yet. Too preoccupied. Too eager. Too consumed by the overwhelming need to feel one another.

His skin is warm, but the ridges of his torso are so hard that you'd be forgiven for thinking he's carved from stone.

Nudging his parted lips against yours, you gasp as his fingers curl in your hair. Jungkook just claims your breaths as his own, pressing his lips firmly shut against yours.

One hand clasps your throat, keeping you secure, as the other trails up your thighs.

"Sure you wanna consummate this marriage?" He asks a little breathlessly, playing on the narrative you built up for this moment, just checking before he does anything he can't take back.

But you're impatient, and you don't think you could be any clearer even if you tried.

"Oh my god," you whine. "Just finger me already."

Your words have him laughing all over again. He likes this, likes that you're not afraid to ask for what you want. He hadn't expected anything less, but it's satisfying to have his assumptions proven right. He kind of gets why you like making so many of them, now.

He fumbles about a little bit, not bothering to turn on the lights. It's not his first rodeo, and he doesn't think it's yours either - in fact, he knows it isn't. You wouldn't be so bold if it was. He doesn't embarrass easy, and knows that there are lessons to be learned with every new woman he acquaints himself with. You're no exception.

"Gotta tell me what you like," he notes as he presses a kiss against your neck, the smell of your perfume so divine that he thinks you must be some kind of lorelei. It's like a meeting of black cherry and vanilla, but when his nose nestles into your hair, he can smell gasoline - and he thinks it might just be the hottest thing about you.

You hum a response, the anticipation causing your heart to beat a mile a minute. He pushes the lace of your underwear to the side, his middle finger running between your folds. You're slick from his kisses alone, but so is he is. As you palm at the bulge in his pants, you can feel the wetness of precum leaking from his tip. He wants this just as much as you do.

"You can do better, little miss clutch control," he teases you. "Speak up."

Part of you wants to kick him in the balls. He's so sexy but so fucking annoying - he can hear how much you're enjoying his touch. He doesn't need confirmation - he just wants the gratification of hearing you say it. It's a power trip for him. You don't like giving men power.

"I like it when you shut the fuck up," you reply, hands in his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. If your words won't do it, then at least your lips will. The vibration of his laugh hums into your mouth, before he pulls away - only by an inch or so.

"That's more like it."

His lips return to yours, as quickly as they left, while he continues to roam. His fingers stay in your underwear, the very tip of his index finger mapping you out. Your body shudders when he brushes your clit, the direct contact a little too much.

He dips down to your entrance, pauses, and says "been thinking about this since the moment I met you," and then pushes two of his fingers into your cunt.

Your walls are tight and hot, but oh-so fucking wet. There's nothing about your pussy that he doesn't love. His thick knuckles are celestial inside of you, just as cosmic as the reflection of his fairy lights in his eyes, and you find yourself thinking that maybe those tattooed hands of his are something special, after all.

"Bra off," he husks, and you do as you're told. He'd have done it himself, but his hands are a little preoccupied.

He adjusts the pair of you as your bra hits the floor, encouraging your legs around his waist. Hoisting you up before you really have a chance to comprehend what he's doing, you're pretty certain that this is just an excuse to display his strength. You're impressed, so it's working, but you're also unable to really think about anything other than the way he feels inside of you.

Your back is against the wall, the weight of his body keeping you pinned in position as he fucks his fingers into you. There's no real calculation to his movements, just an awareness that he absolutely cannot fuck you yet. He'll simply finish too quickly.

It's not that he doesn't enjoy a quickie - truth be told, he finds them far more convenient - it's just that it would be mortifying.

He's not sure he'd actually be able to show up at the gas station ever again if you heard him whine like a little bitch and unload himself in five seconds flat.

Equally, he doesn't want you to dread his car coming into the forecourt.

He wants you daydreaming about him, all hazy-eyed, like you are when you're drunk, waiting for his car to roll in. He wants you musing about the way his tongue feels against your neck, and your coworker asking why you're smiling so much. He wants you blushing as you try to think of a justification, and he wants you excusing yourself to go to the bathroom to sort out the wetness pooling in your underwear.

So, yeah. A quickie simply won't do.

He grips onto the side of your neck with his spare hand as he sinks his fingers into your pussy again. The way you gasp is like music to his ears, every single one of his senses overrun by the entity that you are.

It's mutual though. You're consumed by everything that he is; his scent, the sound of his laboured grunts, the taste of his tongue and the feel of his hands all over your body. The only sense he isn't violating is your sight - but it's only 'cause he's making you feel so good that your eyes are forced to rest shut.

Jungkook, on the other hand, exclusively watches you. He marvels at the way your head leans back against the wall, neck exposed for him to leave a trail of pretty purple bruises. He knows he shouldn't. Knows he shouldn't leave a single mark on your skin. Knows better than to leave evidence of his crimes, but it's a sin he thinks he'd quite like to commit over and over again.

You're pretty good at faking it. A string of careless lovers, of whom you used to entertain prior to learning your worth, had helped you to perfect a moan. You can manipulate your body, make your chest heave with exertion, your pussy throb around their fingers, their cocks. You can make it leak, get yourself looking like a fucking mess for them, as if it's because of them. It's a fine art.

Botticelli would admire you, you think. His Venus couldn't compete with you. Femme fatal; a kisser of jaws, a killer of the men you have to let down gently because they fall too in love with you for your liking. Understandably, given what you can do. You've mastered it. Mastered men.

And it's for this reason, that you don't fake anymore. If someone isn't pleasing you, you let them know. You view it as a way of helping humanity - or their future girlfriends, at least. Why waste time letting someone else think they're getting you off, when it's you doing all the hard work?

You'd gone into this prepared; ready to remedy what would inevitably be a disappointing shag with a near stranger.

But you're not throbbing around Jungkook's fingers - you're trembling. There's no self-made stutter in your chest, but there's one a little lower down, one that you've got absolutely no jurisdiction over. Y'see, the way you're gasping, like you're struggling against a riptide, caught in the wave that is Jeon Jungkook, can't be faked.

It's what has him smirking as he puts pressure behind the kisses he's placing on your neck. It's the fact that every time you try and speak, even if it's just a curse or the sound of his name, it's cut short. You've no control. Fuck all. It's all on him, on account of him being inside you. If he's learnt anything about you in the short time that he's known you, it's that you're never speechless. Always getting that last word in.

But you can't even formulate one now, his fingers pumping into you at such a speed, that the lewd wet noise is almost louder than your moans. Almost.

Jungkook isn't a jealous kind of guy, especially not when it comes to casual hookups - but he kind of thinks he's jealous of his own fucking fingers.

Every single part of him wants your pussy; his tongue, his cock. You feel so good around him that he regrets not making a move sooner. Should have asked to fuck you as soon as you started talking about his car on his first visit to the gas station. Lord knows he thought about it.

His lips are on yours, not really kissing you, resting open, his breaths heavy and laboured. The way he's pushing into you, deeper, deeper, has you mirroring his expression, small moans pouring into his mouth. He wants to eat them up, devour them, use them as fuel.

You loosen the grip you have in his pale hair, gripping onto his neck with one hand, the other falling to his bicep. He likes the scratch of your nails against his bare skin, but there's a distance between you both that he wants to close. He pulls his hand from beneath your ass, relying on his core strength alone to keep you pressed into the wall, and reaches for your fingers. Intertwining them, he places his hand, with yours beneath it, back against the wall, above your head.

The change in position has your chest lifting, almost as if your tits are begging to have his lips around them - and who is he to refuse?

His tongue finds your nipple, flicking against the hardened nub before sucking it between his lips. The vibration of his studs against your sensitive bud has your back arching. He sucks you further into his mouth, tongue lapping against you, before he releases your nipple - but it's so puffy, and wet, and perfect, and fuck- he can't help himself, teasing at it again with his tongue.

So fixated on how you feel in his mouth, he's forgotten that he meant to be fucking you. His cock throbs beneath his boxers, as his fingers are kept warm by your walls, slick wetness creaming around the base of his knuckles and dripping down his palm.

His apartment is small, so it only takes him a moment to move you from the wall and toss you down into his sheets. There's a waft of his fabric conditioner as he does so, floral and soft. It's hard to imagine a man so broad, so handsome, so god damn irresistible, paying any attention to laundry - but you suppose it must just add to his charm.

"C'mere," you whine, as he takes a moment to take in the sight of you. Missing the way he feels, you pull him down onto the bed - but he's scared that even just rutting against you will have him spilling himself all over your stomach. Instead, he places himself beside you, and gets to work.

There's a familiarity now, his mouth taking your nipple again, wet and wanting, as his fingers toy with your pussy. He's not sure which he prefers, your pussy or tits, but he's more than happy to play with them both. His thumb presses on your swollen clit, and you writhe beneath him. "You like that, huh?"

You try and respond, but his thumb begins to rub languid circles against you. If you couldn't muster a word before, then like fuck can you speak now.

"Huh?" he teases, teeth grazing your hardened nipple, now. His finger strokes at your walls as he sinks into you once more, on the hunt for something that no one has ever been able to find, except you. The way your legs are tensing lets him know he's close.

"I asked if you like that." He's only a knuckle deep, stroking pretty little circles against your walls. Closer. You whine. "Don't go all shy on me now, doll."

Your body writhes beneath his, toes curling, teeth digging down on his shoulder in a failed attempt at keeping quiet. He hopes you'll leave a mark. His thumb presses a little harder against your clit, encircling it with pressure so deep that you're almost certain you'll die from his touch.

"Don't stop," is all you can manage. "Don't stop- fuck."

"Better," he says, pressing a kiss into your neck. You can feel his precum leaking onto your thigh, and the idea of him dirtying you has you insatiable. He can tell you're at his level now, so close to finishing that it won't be embarrassing when he's done in five-seconds-flat - but the way you're putty in his hands has him unable to stop himself. He's gotta make you cum. Needs to.

He presses his thumb down, fingers up, as if he's pinching them together, and then he's stroking and - "Oh, fuck it. Right there. Right fucking there." - he's found it.

He's fucking found it, the little ridge in your pussy that up until now has been just for you. You've lied before, told guys they've hit your g-spot and faked a little something that convinces them of it - but it's never been like this. Ever. Not even when you find it.

Jungkook follows your commands. He won't stop, doesn't stop, not even when your nails grab at his wrist because the pleasure is so unbearable, so intense, that it fucking hurts.

"Like that," you encourage, knowing your grip probably says otherwise. "Like that, fuck."

He does as he's told, and keeps like that, lips latching onto your nipple, sucking just as hard as his fingers are massaging. The slickness of your walls compared with the texture of your g-spot has him going insane. He doesn't think it's his first time finding such a sacred spot, but it's never been this easy, and the reaction has never been this good.

You moan out his name, 'cause he's all you can think about. Any and all articulation of your pleasure goes on him.

"Yeah, baby?" he asks, forgetting that he doesn't know you nearly well enough to be addressing you like that, but he doesn't slow down. You just moan. He can call you whatever the fuck he wants at this point. It's too good. Too much.

"Kook, I-" you try, but your hips are bucking, and there's fuck all you can do to stop it.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises you.

He will make you cum. Will do whatever it takes, if needs be. The tip of his cock is red and leaky against your thigh, ready to fuck into you, but he doesn't give a shit. Your walls are hot. Burning hot. And then they're throbbing, and your torso begins to tense. You whisper his name like a secret prayer, legs trying to close around the welcome intrusion of his hand.

"That's it," he keens. "Cum for me, doll. All over my fingers. That's it."

You're fucking mewling as your body shudders against his. There's no dignity left in your body. It's pooling in the palm of his hand, slick and slippery, just where he wants it.

"You're unreal," he hums, drawing the last of your little death from you. "Fucking insane, babe. So fucking hot."

Turns out the Grim Reaper had made an appearance that evening, just in the form of a 6-foot adonis, who knows his way around a pussy like he does a bloody electric switchboard.

You're panting, and so is he, his lips curving against your skin. Neither of you speaks for a minute, both casually aware that it - this, the night - isn't over yet.

And then Jungkook just thinks to hell with acting coy, or playing it cool. You're naked in his bed, and so is he. No point in beating around the bush (unless you're into it).

"Wanna eat you out," he says as he presses a kiss into your neck, placing himself more centrally over you. Your chest is still heaving, and the thought of cumming again makes you feel all dizzy. His elbows are rested by your head, cock stiff against your tummy. You wrap your arms around his neck, toying with his pretty blonde hair. "Wanna fuck you first, though."

There's a logistical step to be taken there. You're on birth control, and the subject of regularly testing had come up during a particularly suggestive conversation over dinner. You both know he'll be fucking you raw - which means he's finishing raw, too.

"But-"

"I don't care," he mumbles into your lips, a little rough, claiming them as his own. He really doesn't give a fuck if it means eating his own cum. Not like he hasn't done it before. He's probably just gonna spit it into your mouth, anyways.

He pulls his hips back to line himself up. The tip of his cock nudges into you slowly, gently, and then he eases himself forward. It burns, the thickness of his shaft spreading you in a way that his fingers couldn't. It's bliss. Divine. Heavenly, and yet absolute sin.

He revels in the way you feel, for a moment, letting your walls stretch before he sinks into you fully. You curse as he does so, the pain overridden by pleasure. His hips begin to pick up pace, eyes on yours to make sure that you're okay as he ploughs into you.

It's like he's digging for diamonds, almost. Funny thing is, when you gasp, eyes all wide and focused on his, it's looks like he's found them in your eyes. It's just the reflection of his fairy lights, but the illusion fools him.

Looking at you is too much for him to handle, so Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. He really wasn't kidding when he figured he'd finish in no time at all. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls.

"Gonna make me cum," he drowsily mewls, fucking himself into you like it's where he belongs.

His body is clammy against yours, stamina impressive but dwindling. His thrusts are getting sloppy, and so are his kisses, but you kind of love it like this; Jungkook so out of control he isn't even trying to keep a pace anymore. The rhythm of your body beneath his, the way he fits inside of you, how soft and warm your tits are as they pillow against his chest, it's all too much for him.

He's so deep he's practically kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock, and yet he still hooks your leg over his elbow. He needs to be deeper.

"Gonna make me cum so much. You want that, huh? Wanna be the reason I cum?" he grunts, and then his words become needy. "Tell me you want it, doll. Tell me."

He licks into your mouth, toying with your tongue before you even get a chance to respond.

"Don't want it," you pant, his harsh thrusts interrupting your words. He's about to be offended, all needy and pouty while he's buried inside you, but you're biting down on your lip and - oh, god - he's obsessed. "Need it. Cum for me. Want it so bad."

He smiles against your cheek as his hips move languidly between your legs. One of his hands comes down to your hip to help him control himself, but he can't. Not when he can feel you smiling, too. He laughs a little, soft and mellow against your skin - and when you do the same thing back, Jungkook knows he's absolutely done for.

"I'm gonna-" he rasps, unable to finish his sentence. "Where? Where do you want me?"

You don't say anything, just tighten the grip of your legs around his waist. You're a fucking mess, mentally, physically. He's ruined you in every sense of the word.

"Sure?"

"Sure," you pant against his skin, before repeating your earlier claim. "Need it. Need you."

It's a lie. You don't. You barely know him - but you feel so in tune, so aligned, when he's inside you that it feels like your pussy is the only place his cum deserves to be. It'd be wasted on your tits (though Jungkook would definitely disagree).

"God," he groans. "Don't say shit like that."

Jungkook has severely underestimated just how much of a little bitch you can be.

"Like what?" you pout as his thrusts get even sloppier, his skin slapping against yours. "What can't I say? How much I need you?"

He curses your name, lips showering you in pretty kisses. His tongue finds its home inside your mouth, but it's just an attempt to shut you up. A pretty good one, in all fairness. The way his studs feel against your tongue has you dripping around the base of his cock.

You can hear it; Jungkook slipping in and out of your soaked pussy like you're fire and he's ice.

"Need you," you simper again, just to fuck with him a little more. "Need to feel you fill me up."

"You want it that bad, huh?"

He pulls himself back a little, sitting up on his heels, holding onto your hips as he fucks himself into you. Your tits pillow on your chest, bouncing in time with his thrusts, hypnotising him, almost. You're smiling as your forearms cover your eyes, a little shameful of being caught in such a compromising position, but loving it nonetheless.

"Looking a little shy, there," he says, but his tone is so low it almost sounds like a growl. You pull your arms away, and he's amazed that you can still manage to raise a brow and throw him a pissed off glare even when he's balls deep in you. Truth be told, it just makes him want you even more. He's fond as he smiles at you. "There she is."

Even if you can't fake your orgasms for him, you can still fake annoyance.

"You gonna cum, or what?" You sigh, and then he's laughing, sinking back down, elbows either side of your head as he kisses you. "All men do is lie."

"Not gonna cum," he says, and you're right - it is a lie. "Just gonna keep fucking you forever."

"I have work tomorrow."

"Fuck if I care," he sinks his tongue back into your mouth, briefly, just to remind you who's really in control here. "Said I'll fuck you forever, so forever it is."

There's a bell chiming in your tummy, and you're not able to convince yourself that it's just another building orgasm. It's still him, though, in a round about way.

"We're not allowed to bring our pets to work," you deadpan. "No can do."

Jungkook stops thrusting, and pulls his head back, almost to look at you in disbelief. He's smiling, and he's so desperately turned on that his balls fucking hurt, but he's never been more perplexed in bed. You're equal parts a siren and a little shit.

You're grinning too, pleased to have rendered him speechless. "What is it, huh? Cat got your tongue?"

He smirks, now. "Nah. Not yet. But it will."

And then he's back at it, hips erratic, building such a pace that you can't even think, let alone come out with some dumb remark.

"Still need it, huh?" He recites your words back to you, voice raspy and hushed, so close it feels like his body could give out at any second. He's edging himself, trying to make it last just a little bit longer, but it's so wet, and you're so fucking tight, and he's throbbing, and grunting and - fuck - it's so fucking good he might just die.

"You're gonna look so pretty when I fill you up," he moans, before correcting himself. "Already pretty. So fucking pretty."

His hips slap against yours, once, twice, and then it's happening.

He buries himself in you, body tense as a shiver runs down his spine. Your nails dig into his back, a hushed whine escaping from his mouth and getting lost in your hair.

His cock unloads thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy, coating you with the very essence of everything that he is. It's overindulgent and unrestrained. Fuck if it isn't the most full you've ever felt, ropes of thick cum spurting into you like he was built to fucking breed.

He pumps himself gently inside you for a moment or so, just to ease the remainder of his hot cum into you. The sound is lewd as he adjusts, his job very much done.

Neither of you speak for a moment, hedonism taking heed. The way his heart beats in his chest is unlike anything you've ever felt before. In fact, you're almost in a state of shock, and so is he.

Only for a moment, though. He's not actually done yet.

Your first orgasm was cute - but there's no way he's letting you see him that pathetic, that weak, without making sure you end up in the exact same state.

He presses a few kisses to your damp neck, laughing softly. "Get what you wanted?"

Looking at you, brown eyes all big and sparkling, he pulls his torso back up, ass resting on his heels, before checking the state of his cock as he withdraws himself.

You're smiling as you watch him stare at where the pair of you meet with such devotion that it's hard not to feel a little enamoured with him. Even if it is just a casual fuck.

"Got what I wanted." Your voice is light and airy, like you're a Disney princess waking up from centuries of slumber. Might not have had true loves kiss, but you bet none of them has ever had a fuck like Jungkook.

You pout a little when he finishes pulling out, sad to have lost the feeling of fullness. He catches your expression, and smiles.

"Cute," he says a little mindlessly, articulating a thought that wasn't meant to be shared.

"Shut up," you reply, embarrassed, but he doesn't mind. Not in the slightest. In fact, he loves that you didn't want him to leave. Kind of wishes that he could have kept his cock buried inside you, instead.

But Jungkook is a man of convictions, and a firm believer that he'll simply die if he can't eat you out.

You sort of think the moment has passed, that it was something he said in the heat of the moment. Figure now he's orgasmed, he's finished - but Jungkook is an endurance athlete, not a sprinter. There's still a hurdle left to jump.

He presses your legs apart so that he can look at you. Your hole is creamy and fucked out, his load slowly seeping out of you with every beat of your heart. His fingers dip just beneath your entrance, collecting his cum on them, before he pushes it back into you. He doesn't look at you, just your cunt, as he says, "told you you'd look pretty full of my cum."

The way he's staring at you, like a man who hasn't eaten for days being presented with a three course meal, has you feeling all hot and bothered.

You're satisfied. The sex you just had was enough. More than enough - but you're getting weak at the knees again, his desire infectious. You can't remember a time you've ever wanted someone as badly as you want him. Not for any deeper reason than the selfish fact that he makes you feel good. It's pure lust, no romance about it.

His fingers continue to push his cum into you, stroking up and down your walls, applying just enough pressure to let you know he's there.

He moves his body back, keeping his fingers snug inside you - and then he lowers his body, just a couple of inches from you. His breath feels cold against the slick wetness covering your pussy.

"Also told you I wanted to eat you," he adds, as if you need reminding.

His spare hand strokes down the inside of your thigh before it reaches your hot core, and he begins to toy with your pussy. He spreads your lips open, just like he did your legs, and then he's studying you. Figuring out ways he can get your squirming.

The first initial contact is brief; the tip of his tongue licking across the top of your clit. A parched moan escapes your lips, and he smiles. "There?"

"There," you moan, eyes closed, head pushed back into his pillows.

He does it again, tongue a little flatter, a little firmer. You feel his piercing against you this time, smooth and hard. Your clit is snug between the two studs, like it was made to be there. He does it again. Wetter, deeper. And again. Slower, harder - and then his speed builds.

He licks up and down across your clit, rolling it beneath his tongue, once, twice- and then you lose count, so lost in ecstasy that all you can think about is his tongue lapping at your cum-filled cunt, plugged with his fingers.

Occasionally, he sucks gently on your clit, just to earn a little extra moan from you. It works every single time.

You're leaking around his fingers at this point, so close to cumming again that it's impossible to keep your legs open. He feels the pressure of your thighs against his head, and it only serves to encourage him. His speed builds, both his tongue and his fingers meeting with your pussy at such divine speeds that you're sure you'll cum in such an undignified manner that'll he'll perhaps regret his choices.

As your muscles begin to tense, his head in a literal death grip, he smiles, dimples deep and lips pretty against your pussy. Jungkook is utterly enthralled with how it feels to have his face between your thighs.

He keeps his eyes closed, letting himself experience the sensations of your body completely unadulterated. If he could see you, he'd be so obsessed with the view that he might not savour you in the way that he wants to. He wants to taste you, to smell you, to feel how soft and warm you are. If he wasn't obsessed before (which he was), then he definitely is, now.

The pressure builds, his tongue lapping against you, one of your hands tangled in his messy blonde hair, the other holding one of your boobs for a little moral support.

You're too far gone to even let him know you're about to come undone all over again. He knows, though. He can feel you pulsing, and then you're gasping, and panting, and mewling and fuck, he loves the way you sound.

Your muscles throb as he brings you to orgasm. It's so undignified that you're certain you'll never cum like this again. Your abdomen flexes involuntarily, making sure your orgasm is signed, sealed, delivered to you. He pushes your legs apart again, glancing up towards you as he licks one final stripe up your exposed mess.

You ignore the slick on his fingers that's now coating your thigh as he spreads them apart, too busy with the fact his chin is soaked, hair a mess, nose blushed. He's watching your entrance seep; a mixture of himself and you.

It's hard to know what belongs to who, but as he dips down and licks it up with the tip of his pointed tongue, the ownership is clear. It doesn't matter whose is whose, because your pussy belongs to him, now.

It's all his.

He gathers the creamy slick on his tongue, and then he pulls on your hand to encourage you into a sitting position.

You're putty in his hands, doing whatever he tells you, which is albeit very little. In fact, he doesn't say anything - just looks at your lips, then your eyes, and clasps your jaw.

He opens his mouth and pools his tongue, letting the mess that you've both made sit prettily in his mouth, dancing over his studs. He nods gently, moving his thumb from your jaw to your pillowy bottom lip, pressing down on it.

Open.

He's insatiable. Wants his cum on your tongue, but wants yours on his, too.

You spread your lips apart, eyes exclusively on his. Your tongue flicks against his thumb.

And then you nod.

Please.

Jungkook is slow in his approach, tentative as he holds your jaw, bringing your closer to him. His tongue licks into your mouth, swiping against yours, swapping his cum between the pair of you. It's a languid exchange, slow and sensual, neither of you caring for the boundaries that are being crossed.

He pulls away from you, hand gripping your jaw again. You open your mouth instinctively, just like he wants you to. Neither of you pay any attention to his phone, which is flashing on the floor next to his bed.

Spit gathers in his mouth, rinsing himself of the pair of you as he draws you closer to him, your mouth still resting open. He spits directly into it. You whimper a little as he does so, his grip on your jaw keeping your mouth open for him to observe just how messy it is; all thanks to him.

"Swallow," he tells you, easing his grip, and so you do.

Lips closed, you swallow everything; his spit, his cum, your cum, all of it. When he grips your jaw again, you know the drill, but it doesn't stop him from commanding you.

"Open."

He's pleased when you do, mouth all pretty and clean for him to ruin again - but instead, he just kisses you softly, hands on your cheeks, pushing your bodies back down into his sheets. There's a tenderness to the way in which he touches you; as if he realises you sacrificed a little dignity for him, so he's trying to restore it.

He's hard again - had never really softened, in all honesty - but he's too sensitive to do anything about it.

"Stay," he mumbles against your lips. Your hands are in his hair, keeping him close, as your legs wrap around his waist. "Stay the night. Wanna wake up to this."

You moan into his lips. His cock is firmly pressed into your stomach, his naked body warm against yours.

There's something about the weight of his body, the firmness of his muscular chest against the soft pillow of your own, that is unrivalled by any other sleeping arrangement you could think of.

And despite knowing exactly what he's saying, and being far too skeptical to think he means anything other than sex, you still choose to toy with him a little.

"Wake up to what?" You purr into his lips, aware that your hips are languidly rolling against him again.

He kisses down your neck, laughing softly to himself. His smile vibrates against your skin, and, for a moment, it's your favourite feeling in the whole entire world.

"To you."

You're pretty sure he can feel the way your pulse skips a beat in your neck. But again, you're difficult. And this arrangement definitely isn't anything more than just sex.

"You mean to my pussy, right?"

He presses pretty little kisses back up your neck, along your jaw and into your lips. They're cute. Kind. Romantic, even.

"Oh, a hundred percent," he grins against your lips, and then you're laughing too.

"You're so mean," you pout, as if you weren't the one to put the words into his mouth. There's a dimple etched into his cheek, eyes all hazy and sparkling as he shakes his head. He thinks you look adorable when you pout. So damn cute. He steals another kiss, and protests.

"Made you cum twice," Jungkook says, and has the audacity to scrunch his nose, acting all cute and shit. You're embarrassed, bringing your hands from his hair to cover your face, which you just know is flaming red. "I think that's actually pretty nice of me."

He pulls one of your hands away from your face, and kisses your knuckles. His smile matches yours - because while yes, you're embarrassed, you're still riding the post-fuck high, too.

"You also spat in mouth," you remind him, and then he's cringing. Jekyll and Hyde have nothing on Jungkook when it comes to him and, well, him in bed. "That's not very nice."

He covers his eyes with his hands, but his teeth are still on show, smile prevailing. "Shut up."

And then he's kissing you again, 'cause fuck it, he just can't stop himself.

It's been a while since he last got like this. In fact, he probably hasn't been this giddy post-fuck since he was a teenager. He's normally in the shower by this point, ridding himself of whoever he's been inside - but he doesn't have the compulsion to do that with you.

He knows that when he breaks from the spell you've cast upon him, he'll be back to reality. The fairy dust will settle on the ground like ashes, and the magic that once was will become nothing but malice.

There's a bridge to be crossed.

Jungkook has been fixing it up - repairing the cracks, making it sturdy - but he's not sure he wants what's on the other side, anymore. Not when you're in his bed, not when he can feel your chest wobble with every little laugh you do, and not when your nails are tenderly scratching at his scalp.

See, he likes being on this side of the bridge. Likes being with you.

But if he doesn't cross it, the trolls beneath it will inevitably come for him.

And so he asks you to stay again, but this time he says it like he means it.

"I want you to stay with me," he speaks quietly, rolling off of you and curling up beside you, reaching for the duvet that ended up at the end of his bed. He brings it back over your bodies, as if he's locking you in. You have to stay now.

You turn to face him, curling up too, mirroring him. Your fingers delicately tuck strands of his beautiful blonde hair behind his ear, ignoring the way his eyes are focused on you. Instead, you watch your hand as it moves, curiously touched by the fact he wants you to stay. You don't peg him as guy who often wants a girl to stay.

You're right to assume that.

Right to assume that he normally doesn't do this.

One night stands? Yeah, sure. He's had a handful - but never at his place. He doesn't like inviting people back to his apartment. It feels too personal. He likes being able to leave. He doesn't do the whole waking up together thing - no matter how much he likes morning sex (of which he does ( a LOT)).

But Jungkook's thinking about that bridge again.

He's thinking about the fact he knows shouldn't be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact that you should be at home right now.

He's thinking about the fact his phone is on silent, and that Namjoon is probably cursing him out on voicemail right now.

But then you kiss him, and for a moment, he forgets again.

"I get grouchy when I'm hungover," you warn him, giving him an out, just in case he wants to retract his offer.

"Mhmm," he hums, pulling you into his chest. Your legs intertwine as he squeezes you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You're grouchy when you're not hungover."

You laugh, cheeks plump and full, resting right where his heart is pumping a little faster than usual.

"You're lucky you're a good fuck, or else I'd be out of that door ASAP."

It's a lie, and you both know it.

"Thank god for my cock," he says, grinning like an absolute twat.

He decides that he's still really drunk. It's the only way to explain how his body feels all disjointed but perfectly together at the same time.

"Thank god for your cock."

────────────

You're still awake as the sun begins to rise. He's mumbling, saying something about how a town in Alaska has a cat for a mayor, while your head rests on his bare chest.

He's a little clammy, the smell of sex stuck to him. Neither of you have showered yet. You enjoy the way your bodies are a little sticky, skin on skin, as if you're made for his bed; for him.

Every now and again, his hands roam out of the realm of safety, and you find your breath hitching, toes curling, lips parting. It's always accompanied by the sound of an airy smirk from Jungkook.

You learn that he's obsessed with your chest. Your tits, more specifically. So pillowy, so soft. A gift bestowed upon you from Venus herself, he thinks, or at least he would, if he knew who Venus was.

He just wants to hold them forever. In his hands, in his mouth, he doesn't care. He'll put his dick between them too, eventually. Another time. He's too sensitive right now. But definitely one day, and definitely soon.

A little sunlight pours in, and you watch speckles of dust as they dance around in the air. When he laughs, soft and serene in the hazy atmosphere of a post-fuck come down, it's nice. You imagine that you'd quite like to do this again. You hope he feels the same.

"Just think it's funny," he says, toying with your fingers. "How a cat can do a better job than fully grown men."

"Pussy power," you smile, and so does he, before he presses a kiss into your hair. It still smells like gasoline and he still thinks it's the sexiest thing in the world. It's funny, 'cause if you knew it smelt that way, you'd feel insecure about it. It's why he doesn't mention it. Doesn't want you withdrawing from his touch.

He nestles down, shifts his naked body beneath his duvet but keeps you close. His legs interlock with yours and his lips find a home on the curve of your shoulder. "I'm really glad you said yes."

The comment seems out of the blue, but it's not. Your thoughts have been echoing in his mind, too. It sounds a lot like vulnerability. To him, it feels more like he's laying down a safety net. Making his intentions clear. Doesn't want you second-guessing. Not this, at least. He knows the way you like to theorise.

"You didn't really give me a choice," you rib, as if that chime isn't back in your diaphragm.

He squeezes you tightly. "Don't say that. You could have said no."

You shuffle down, tilt your head, and press a kiss into his chest, just between his pecks. Sweet like honey, your lips trail across, placing delicate kisses in pride of place.

His firm muscle; one, two. His dark nipple; a flick of your tongue, one, two. Just above his beating heart; one, two, three.

Your lips feather across his collarbone and land where tattoo leaks ever so slightly onto the top of his chest. You sign the art with your kisses like the ultimate thief. Stolen. Yours, now.

"You'd have still shown up regardless."

And you're right, he would have done.

Not for any grand romantic gesture, nor to coerce you into something you didn't want. He's just got a job to do, that's all.

He doesn't respond, but you don't really notice.

By the time you're dressed and leaving his apartment, the 503 is running. He offers to pay for your fare, but you tell him that it's fine, and hop on the bus as if your insides don't burn. It's been a while since you had a workout that vigorous.

There are a few old women and a middle-aged man in a business suit taking the same journey as you.

Your cheeks flush crimson when you start to think about the ache in the pit of your stomach, right beneath that little chime that likes to ding every now and again. That feeling? The one that made you quietly gasp as you sat down? That's Jungkook.

The acknowledgement ruminates. It's insidious. Has you feeling all dirty.

You wonder if they know. The people on the bus, the one's sat around you. They couldn't possibly know, not really, but you brood over the notion that you give off an aura; one that says you've just been fucked by the most beautiful man you've ever laid eyes upon.

You wonder if the old ladies glance at you and long for the days when they'd go home with strangers.

You wonder if the middle-aged man is responding to the pheromones you're releasing without realising it, cock a little plump in his pants.

It's a morbid curiosity, but one that makes you feel all hot, and sticky, and sordid. Makes you feel good, too. A little dangerous. A little bit like you wanna get off the 503 and leg it back to Jungkook's place.

It has you reaching for your phone, pulling up kakaotalk and clicking through on your most recent contact. There's still a message at the top of your thread, warning about spam, or fraud, or whatever it is. You don't read it. Too busy typing away.

You're about to press send on a poorly thought out message when your phone vibrates in your palm. You pause. Cringe. Are aware that Jungkook will have seen how quickly you read his own message that's just come through to you.

꾹: i wanna do that again.

You: the galbi or the sex?

꾹: both.

꾹: mainly the sex, though.

꾹: the galbi i can take or leave.

Your legs press together, and realise you're squirming in your seat. It's subtle, but anyone who's looking at you must know.

You: funny, im the opposite.

You: id die for the galbi.

You: sex was alright.

꾹: wow, a glowing review.

꾹: can i add it to my tinder profile?

Like fuck you can, you think to yourself. If he's still active on tinder after the night you had together, you'll do the reasonable thing and learn witchcraft just so you can hex him. You tell yourself you're just joking, but honestly, the idea is tempting.

You: uh-huh.

You: you can put it right beneath a bullet point where you let them know how much you like eating your own cum :)

꾹: technically, you ate it.

꾹: i just delivered it :)

You: thank you for your services.

꾹: any time.

You: tonight?

꾹: please.

And so he arrives at the gas station just before nine, hood up, angelic strands of blonde hair tickling over his eyes. He's got a mask on, like he usually does, a black turtle neck resting prettily around his throat. An earth-toned flannel shirt peeks out from the bottom of his jacket, where the hem meets a pair of black jeans. He has a charm about him that makes the world stop turning for a moment when you first look at him.

He's not really sure how to greet you. With a kiss? A high five? Neither of these seems like a good idea, so he just does an awkward half-bow, which leaves cringing.

"Just gotta cash up," you smile from behind the kiosk. "You walked?"

He shakes his head. "Parked around the corner again. Didn't wanna block the forecourt."

It's a reasonable enough excuse, even if a little weird. You finish what you're doing, cash up, give Jieun the keys (and ignore the way she's grinning at you) and then toss your jacket over your shoulders. He walks beside you as you leave the store, popping your hood up again just like he did the night before. "It's windy."

The forecast said it would rain, too, but Jungkook doesn't know this. Doesn't actually give a shit about the weather. Just needs excuses to put your hood up.

"So I've been thinking," he says as you make your way to the side lane.

"Dangerous," you quip, but he ignores it - though he does nudge you a little. You let your body move in accordance with his, swaying back into him slightly. Like a swinging pendulum, you're about to recoil, but Jungkook's arm drapes around your shoulders, keeping you close. The scent of his clothes is a mix of fresh cotton and WD-40. It makes you laugh, how much a walking juxtaposition he really is.

"I've been thinking," he reinforces, and pauses just in case you're planning on interrupting again - but you don't. You want to hear his thoughts. All of them. No matter how big or small. "What if... What if we skip the sex tonight?"

You don't respond immediately, walking around to the passenger's side of his car. He clicks down on his key, opening up the locks. The lights flood your features, illuminating you in warm hues, reds and oranges, as if to send Jungkook a warning: she's dangerous.

"Skip the sex?" You raise a brow, ignoring the butterfly atrium that has spontaneously constructed beneath your ribs. "You lured me here under false pretences, Mr Gimbap."

He doesn't question the nickname. Figures he'll find out its origins this evening. After all, all he wants to do is talk.

Talk about you, where you come from, where you plan on going. He wants to know more; what makes you tick, your favourite chocolate bar wrapper joke, if you really meant what you said about not fucking on first dates. Wants to know if he's special. Wants to know if he gets to you the same way you do to him.

He'll ask you about your favourite Shakespeare play, and he'll hope that you'll say Romeo & Juliet. It's the only one he's read.

You'll tell him that it's not a representation of love, and he'll say he knows. He doesn't - he just won't want you to think that he bases his idea of romance on such ill-fated endeavours. Thinks it's about stars-crossing, illicit affairs, love that prevails. Shit like that.

He isn't really sure what it all means, but he's seen the Baz Luhrmann adaptation, and that's enough.

You'll say that Romeo is an ass, and he'll feign offence and tell you that you'll never be his Juliet. It'll earn him a laugh from you. That's fine; you never wanted to be her.

You're a Beatrice in search of her Benedict, after all - and the way that the pair of you bicker, it seems like you might have just found him - even if he does think he's a Romeo. Twat.

"I didn't," he laughs in response to your earlier statement. "I just like to know the girls I'm sticking my dick in, that's all."

"Ohh, romance," you whistle through pursed lips, throwing him a coy smile.

He nods towards the buckle by your seat and tells you to do the belt up, as his key turns in the ignition. There's a small rumble, his exhaust rattling as fumes begin to bluster around the end of the pipe. He's listening again, revving the engine ever so gently, foot on the throttle.

The way he cares for his motor makes you laugh. He's so temperate, so careful - but you know he abuses the engine like no tomorrow whenever he races it. He treats it almost as if it's a racehorse; something with actual feelings.

You do as you're told, clicking the belt into place, and remind him to do the same.

"The girls?" You question as he passes you the aux. "Multiple?"

There's a static click as you plug it into your phone, before your playlist starts up again. His hands move like machines, smooth and automatic as he slips into first gear.

"The girls," he echoes, eyes flicking up to the rear-view mirror, and then over his shoulder to check the blind spots, before easing onto the main road.

"Charming," you say dryly.

It's not like you hadn't assumed this already. You had already decided that he at least had a friend with benefits lurking about (even if she had become too clingy (actually, no, especially if she had become too clingy)).

You'd figured that it was where he had been on the night that he was a no show - but then he'd shown up all apologetic and shit. You had let his innocent eyes win your skeptical mind over.

"Guys aren't really my thing," he follows up, sensing your discomfort. He knows he's beating around the bush, not giving you the answer that you want - and he also knows that you're getting in your head about it. Knows you'll be questioning what he means, and if he's sleeping with anyone else. He'd be within his right to. You barely know each other. Where he sticks his dick isn't really any of your business. "And I'm hardly a virgin, am I?"

"Gasp," you say. "You're not?! Could have fooled me."

He's smiling again.

You like how much he does that around you. Wonder if he's like that around other girls, too.

"Was I really that bad?" He flirts.

Jungkook knows how to fuck. He's been given enough positive reviews to know that he's anything but bad. Although... he kinda is. But in a good way. In the way that you want him to be bad.

"I've had better."

Liar.

"Ouch," he laughs as he presses down on his indicator for the next left. "Guess I'll just have to keep practising."

City lights cascade over the pair of you as his car rolls through the quiet streets, splintering like refractions of a mirror ball. He hates that he has to keep his eyes on the road. Wants to drink in the way you look almost as much as he wants to drink up the way you taste again. The night is dark, the moon hiding behind a fluffy cloud that looks like charcoal cotton candy beneath its radiant light. Jungkook loves nights like these; likes them even better with you in his passenger seat.

Green flashes over your features as he passes beneath a traffic light. You cross your legs, adjusting your posture. It's so subtle that you don't even realise you're doing it - but Jungkook does.

"On your other girls?"

There she is, he thinks. It's what he's been waiting for. Confirmation that the idea of him fucking other girls irritates you. He reaches across and taps your knee. He enjoys the predictability of you.

You resist the gentle nudge of his hand, the pads of his thumb and fingers resting on your kneecap. Your legs remain crossed, just as his hand remains on your knee. The stretch of road you're on is straight, requiring no gear change for a little while. He can play this game, if you really want him to.

"No," he says. There's pressure beneath his fingertips now. "Be a waste of time, wouldn't it? Everyone's different. If I wanna get better at fucking you, specifically, then I gotta keep fucking you."

He's not wrong. You can't fault his logic, and in all honesty, the way he's talking is so abrasive, so raw, that it's got you feeling all hot and bothered again. He may as well be stroking your pussy, not your knee, with the impact he's having on you.

His grip tightens, then pulls your knee back over. Commanding, not requesting. Your legs part for him, because of course they do. There's something about knowing he has options, knowing that he could be with someone else, but is choosing to be with you that gives you a little ego boost.

"Maybe I've changed my mind," you feign indifference, but Jungkook knows there's a handful of feelings beneath your words. "Maybe I don't wanna fuck you anymore."

He strokes his broad palm along the inside of your thigh. It's warm, wrapped in the sheer nylon cover of tights, and he'd obsessed with the way they feel. So smooth, so soft, so perfectly pristine. He wonders if you're making a mess of them. Hopes you are.

"I don't like maybes," he says. "Either you wanna fuck me or you don't."

"I don't like fucking boys who fuck other girls."

"Who said I was fucking other girls?" he smirks, and lets his hand trail a little further up. He squeezes the flesh of your thigh, getting a feel for you.

"You did."

"No," he corrects. "I said I've fucked other girls. Past tense. Never said I'm currently fucking other girls. You really gotta stop making assumptions, little Miss Clutch Control."

"I hate you," you say with a smile, and you really do mean it.

"I like girls who hate me. Makes the sex so much hotter."

"Despise you."

"Ugh," he grins, as he lets his hand reach the top of your thigh. He squeezes again, and you hum a little moan for him. "Doesn't sound like you hate me."

You giggle, soft and serene in the safety of his car. Reaching a junction, he pulls his hand back to change gear. You're at a four-way intersection, the light only just hitting amber, so he reckons he has a least a couple of minutes to toy with you.

When his hand returns to your thigh, just like you hoped it would, it's beneath your skirt. Right at the top. Right where it belongs. The pressure beneath his palm is firm, fingers sinking into the softness of your leg.

"But I do," you say, voice quiet, anticipation lacing your breath.

His pinky finger stretches out a little, just to stoke over the mound that rests between your legs. He can already feel the heat, but what surprises him - and excites him - is the slick that's seeped through your panties and onto the outer side of your tights.

"Doesn't feel like you hate me, either."

"No?" You toy. "Feel again."

And so he does. He points his index and middle finger, and holds them flat against you. They're instantly met with a slippery mess. He slides them up and down, once, twice, three times, and then cups your pussy with his palm. You're fucking pulsing in his touch.

"See?" You speak as if you don't wanna whine his name. "Loathe you."

"So you do," he mumbles as he presses his palm tight against you, inhaling sharply as he does so. One glance at his lap and you can tell he's just as turned on as you are. His cock is solid beneath his trousers, jeans tight, keeping him concealed. Part of you feels a little bad. Looks painful. He's too big to be confined by such unforgiving material.

"Still wanna skip the sex?"

Jungkook presses in index finger against where he can feel your entrance is. You're so wet that his fingers are already coated in everything that you are. He wants more. Wants your tights gone. Wants his fingers inside you.

But he's a stubborn asshole, and hates being proven wrong.

"Sex?" he pulls his fingers back, and rests the heel of his palm on the top of his steering wheel. They're covered in your juices. He considers licking them clean, but figures that might be a bit too brash - and then thinks fuck it, and does it anyway. There's a sweetness to your taste, one that has him holding back a moan. Absolutely fucking divine. You don't even realise that you're staring at his hands - the way they sink into his mouth - until he pulls them back out. He looks at you. Shrugs. "Yeah. Not really in the mood."

"Thank god," you say, not skipping a beat. Even when your need to fuck him is so intense that it manifests into a physical form and leaks onto his passenger seat, you're still able to bicker with him. It satisfies him like nothing else. Makes his cock so hard. "Me either."

The light turns to green, his hand is back on his gear stick. You stick to looking out the window, not favouring looking at him. The temptation to palm his crotch is overwhelming, but you're just as stubborn as he is. If you've said you don't wanna fuck, then you're damn well gonna act like you don't wanna fuck, until you simply can't take it anymore.

"Glad we agree," he says. "So let's talk."

You half wonder if this was his plan all along. You actually do think you hate him - but only cause he makes you feel weak. You don't enjoy that feeling, but you enjoy him.

"I'm an open book," you lie.

He flicks his eyes to the rearview and mutters under his breath, "shit."

"What is it?" you glance over your shoulder, noticing a pair of headlights flashing Jungkook. You can't make the car out. Its lamps are on full-beam. Blinding.

Jungkook leans over, the fingers that had been stroking against your pussy now pressing down into your buckle. There's a click as it releases, before he moves down and pulls up on the lever by the front of your seat, dragging you forward.

"Get in the back," he says, as if he isn't still driving. You go to question him, but he cuts you off. "In the back. Now. Middle seat."

You stare for a second, until he glances over to you, jaw tense, with no hint of a smile. "Don't argue with me, now. Middle seat. C'mon."

"Kook-"

"Now."

And as unsafe as it feels, you find yourself twisting, hands gripping onto the back of the passenger seat as you bring your legs up to crouch.

"Quickly, babe," he says, his hand reaching over to tap your ass gently. Your back is to the windshield, and Jungkook's terrified that the fucker behind him isn't gonna wait for a respectable start - but he's also anxiously aware of the fact he isn't explaining himself to you, and that it's gonna make you hesitant. "Please. Trust me."

And so you do. You wobble a little as your leg dips over the centre console, his hand still on your ass to keep you stable.

"That's it," he encourages. You make your way into the back, a little squeal as you leap soundtracking the move. "Seat belt. Now."

The leather of the backseat is cold against your tight-covered thighs, legs pressed together, feet firmly on the raised centre of the footwell. You do as you're told, all rather quickly.

"Hands on the seats," he tells you again, and you don't question it, even though it's all that you want to do. There's a time and a place for bickering with him, and while it's the perfect place, the urgency of his commands suggest that now isn't the right time. You grip onto the seats in front of you, and Jungkook reaches up to feel your hand, just to make sure it's where he wants it. His hand is clammy and warm, safe against yours. He lingers for a second, not wanting to lose the way your feel against his skin. "Hold tight."

He slows to a near stop, and you almost laugh when you realise where you are. That fucking bridge, again. The car behind you pulls up beside him, but it's hard to make it out through his back windows. They're so intensely tinted that all you can figure out is the rough shape. "Is that-"

"Yep," he cuts you off, knowing what you'll ask. "Car from the last time. It's cool. I got this. I will warn you, though, he's a little pissed with me at the moment."

"A little?"

You can hear the engine revving. Sounds more than just a little pissed.

"We're friends. It's okay."

Friends is a loose description. It would have been the right term, once. Jungkook thinks of him more as a colleague these days. A pain in his ass.

"Doesn't sound very friendly."

"I'ma need you to be quiet, babe," he says, voice soft. He isn't trying to be rude, he just needs to concentrate. Needs to win this. Needs to get Namjoon off his back. Needs to get you away from, well, here.

"Noted."

Jungkook watches the lights. It's how races like these work; the impromptu kind that first got him acquainted with Namjoon. They wait for the lights to shift, throttle teasing on amber, rubber-burning on green.

His gaze is on the lights and the lights only. The leather binding of his wheel almost squeaks as he grips against it, shoulders rolling back ever so slightly. Glancing over to the black SsangYong, he nods, and then his eyes are back on the lights. The lack of a flagger has never bothered them. In fact, Jungkook prefers racing without one. Fewer variables. Less chance of things going wrong. He knows the time of the lights. Trusts them. Trusts his muscle memory to do the hard work for him.

You can feel that chime in your stomach again - but it's different this time. It's a warning bell. The kind that tells you to get out of the situation you're in. Fat fucking chance.

There's a purr as the lights flicker into amber, Jungkook's rev count building. The sound of the SsangYong rips through the windows, letting you know just how powerful it is. Ain't no way Jungkook's fucking Pony is beating it. His grip adjusts, foot sinking further down onto his throttle. He builds it, 2, 3, 4 - and then the light is green.

The way Jungkook moves is as if he's at one with his car.

His movements are slick, well-oiled.

There's no hesitation, just an innate understanding of what needs to be done. His car tears from the starting line, and you forget all about the SsangYong he's racing.

It's hard to think about anything at all, in all honesty. Hard to comprehend the speed he's built so quickly; the control he has. There's a rush pulsing through you that you haven't felt since, well, ever. You don't enjoy racing, not really. You hate it whenever Yoongi rags his car about, but you trust him.

And you find yourself trusting Jungkook, too.

Maybe it's because you've already seen him tame his car when it's been out of control, or maybe it's because you've already trusted him with your body, so what difference does your life make?

His tyres are almost silent, moving at such a pace that there's no chance for anything to reverb. He grunts a little, pushing the car up to fifth, building, building and then -

"Corner," he braces you.

You're pretty certain you're going to throw up.

It's a route that Jungkook knows well, just a short circuit, over the bridge, sharp left out along the riverside road until they reach Kang's. Same every time. Hasn't yet thought about what he's gonna do when he gets there. Just knows he has to get there first to buy himself a little time.

He knocks the car into neutral, clutch down, brakes too, and then he's turning the wheel just a little. Not too sharp. Doesn't wanna oversteer. He coasts it round the bend, knowing better than to be in neutral, but he isn't thinking about that right now. He's thinking about the fact that Namjoon's car is fucking faster, and he needs every gain he can get.

Your hands grip into the padding of his seats, desperately trying to stop yourself from toppling over. Elbows locked, it's hard to determine the sheer amount of force you're putting behind your bones.

There's a screech as the tyres burn against the road, no doubt leaving thick black streaks on the tarmac. You're so used to seeing them on your way to work that you never really consider how they get there. Now you know.

He pummels the car forward, knocking it back into third, and then up into fourth. It's a miscalculation. Should have jumped right up into fifth - but he can lament that later.

He corrects his mistake. Strikes it into fifth. Namjoon is trailing. Jungkook has got this.

Eyes hard against the horizon line, Jungkook has no time to think. He flicks his eyes up to the rearview, catching sight of the SsangYong's bonnet. He's miles ahead.

Well, no. Not even a metre - but it may as well be miles. He just needs to keep up this pace.

Foot to the floor, he's tanking it. The shops you dart past become a blur of neon lights, nothing for your eyes to absorb other than the chaos of light beneath a dark sky. In the distance, you see Kang's.

"Shit," he hisses as the light at the intersection ahead begins to flash amber.

"Hold on," he says, as if you've even thought about letting go. Hands clammy from nerves, you adjust your grip. Tighter. So tight, your nails will leave prints in his leather.

He pushes further, further, further, but the lights are flashing quicker, quicker, quicker. "C'mon, beauty. C'mon."

He hits the junction line.

The lights are still amber.

And then he switches from gas to clutch. Easy does it.

Jungkook pulls the handbrake up. Clicks it into place. Pulls the car round with a single hand on his steering wheel.

He has full control over the vehicle as it roars into position right in the middle of the cross-section.

There's a blaring horn sounding behind you - but it's not directed at the Pony.

It's directed at the SsangYong, which has screeched to a halt. The oncoming traffic has been set free, lights fully changed. Jungkook made it just in time.

"He's stuck," you tell Jungkook, head over your shoulder, making sure that the SsangYong hasn't moved. "Can't get past the traffic. You're good."

You expect Jungkook to ease off the throttle, but he doesn't. He takes a sharp right instead, and begins to tunnel down back allies. Right, then left. Then left again, and another right. Takes so many rogue turns that you don't even know which direction you're facing in by the time he comes to a stop. It's been nearly five minutes since you lost the SsangYong - and yet he just won't ease off the gas. Not until he's certain Namjoon isn't lurking in the shadows of his exhaust fumes.

By the time he does eventually stop, his chest is heaving. Breathless.

You're down a back alley, across the other side of town. You don't recognise it.

Pressing down into the buckle, you undo your belt and clamber forward into the passenger seat again, feet up, body facing towards him.

He doesn't look at you for a while. Just stares ahead. Inhale, exhale. You can see his jugular vein beating.

"Hey," you reach out to his wrist, and stroke on his arm gently. He doesn't respond instantly. Just lets his eyes close. It's nice, the way you're so gentle with him, he thinks. So nice. So soothing.

And then his body acts before his mind does. He pulls on your wrist, grip firm, as his other hand pushes down the lever by the front of his seat. Weight on his feet, he pushes himself back, making space for you in his lap.

The way you clamber over the centre console is less than elegant, but he doesn't care. Just needs you on his thighs. Needs to suffocate in the scent of your gasoline tainted hair, and taste the sweetness of your tongue in his mouth. Needs to remember everything that you are, so he can forget who he is.

His hungry lips find yours, a hand in your hair, the other on your cheek.

There's really not enough room, your legs straddled over his, trapped by the door on one side, the gear stick on the other. It's tight and claustrophobic, but he likes it. Likes how ensnared he is by you. Wants to be even more trapped.

He licks against your lips and begs for permission to enter - as if you'd ever refuse. His tongue strokes against yours, the studs you'd (somehow) forgotten about making you whimper. He's rough and aggressive with his kisses, the adrenaline manifesting itself in the form of intimacy.

"I lied," he says breathlessly. "About the sex. I want it. Let me fuck you."

He wants to lose himself in you. Needs to.

"Backseat?" you moan into his lips as he begins to encourage the movement of your hips against his painfully hard crotch.

"Backseat."

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

599 notes · View notes

daisynik7 · 1 year

Text

Out of Time Nanami x f!reader

Part Two out now!

Rating: Explicit (because of part two)

Word Count: ~5.7k

Summary: Two nights before your thesis is due, you decide to take a break at your favorite bar. Meanwhile, Nanami, after a week’s worth of exhausting missions, is desperate for a drink. By chance, the two of you meet and spend an unforgettable night with each other that ends just a little too soon. cw: language, drinking, kissing, suggestive touching, switching POVs (reader is in second person, Nanami is in third), eventual smut, original female character (Gina). Author's Notes: Inspired by The Weeknd's Out of Time music video, because I think Nanami + karaoke is always a fun idea! This is part one of a two-part series. Reader is in grad school, mid-twenties, Nanami is around the same age. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thanks for reading! Divider credits to @/cafekitsune.

With your final statement typed out on page forty of your thesis, you save it, shutting your laptop closed and immediately groaning into your hands. All that’s left is to proofread, cite your sources, and you’ll be ready to submit. Finally.

It’s been a six-month long journey, and at last, you’re seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. In two days, you’ll be rid of the dreaded thesis statement, and in two weeks, you’ll be the proud recipient of a master’s degree. Two years of the most rigorous academic challenge you’ve ever faced in your life, sealed with a piece of paper that you might not even benefit from in the future. This still calls for some celebration, right?

After another minute of grumbling, you take your phone out to text your best friend Gina, who should be off her shift by now.

You: I need a fucking drink.

Gina: highballs at Kanpai?

You: YES

Gina: I’ll pick you up in 15

The Kanpai Cocktail Bar is your favorite downtown. That’s where you first met Gina, who was a bartender there at the time. After she left to work for another establishment, the two of you still frequent Kanpai, the perfect spot for tasty drinks and entertainment, mainly in the form of people-watching.

However, this past semester, your trips there have lessened significantly, too preoccupied with this goddamn thesis. You need a well-deserved break, something to fuel you for the next two days before you click submit.

You quickly get ready, throwing on a blouse and a pair of jeans. Once you receive Gina’s text, stating her arrival, you swing a tiny purse over your shoulder and head outside, greeting her with a hug.

“Did you finish your thesis?” she asks, linking arms with you, starting the walk to the train station.

“For the most part.”

“Good. We can get drunk tonight,” she says, a devious grin on her face.

“Not too drunk, I still have some work to do. I just need to take the edge off.”

“Fine. We’ll get buzzed, maybe find some cute guys to dance with, and call it a night. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agree, unsure about the cute guys part. It’s been a while since you last danced with, or even encountered, a man. With your priority being this paper, you haven’t had time to date or hook up with anyone. You predict that tonight will be no different.

Five stops and you’re downtown, strolling towards Kanpai, which is already packed. Luckily, you find a table and flag a waiter down to place your order. Minutes later, they deliver the first round of cocktails and a plate of fried chicken karaage. You and Gina cheers, feeling relaxed for the first time in months. Halfway through your drink, you notice Gina eyeing something, or someone, in the distance.

“What are you staring at?”

“There’s this really hot guy at the bar. Like, really hot. I’ve never seen anyone like him before.”

You turn to the direction she’s looking at, immediately knowing who she’s referring to. He’s tall, well-built, with strikingly white hair, almost blinding in the dim lighting of the room. The most intriguing thing about him is the black blindfold around his eyes, and a naughty smirk on his face. Leave it to Gina to spot an attractive man instantly; she’s always had excellent radar for that.

“I’m going to invite him to our table,” she announces, sliding out of her chair to stand up.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. He’s hot. And we have space.”

She’s right; there’s two empty chairs, one beside the both of you. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t invite him, so you don’t question it any further, watching from your peripheral as she heads towards the bar, leaving you momentarily alone to sip on your highball.

You’re almost completely finished with your cocktail when you hear the distinct click of Gina’s heel’s approaching. Craning your neck to face them, you’re surprised to find not two people, but three, standing next to the table. Another man, a tad shorter, similarly well-built, blonde hair, and dressed in a tan business suit. His eyes are also covered with spectacles that resemble steampunk glasses. The spotted tie he wears is interesting, adding a splash of pizazz to the otherwise normal outfit.

You greet them, introducing yourself. Gojo, the one with white hair, happily shakes your hand while his friend, Nanami, maintains a stern expression. They take their seats in the chairs next to you and Gina, Gojo on her side, Nanami on yours.

“Should we order another round of drinks?” Gina suggests, glancing around to catch the waiter.

“Sure! But I’ll have a Shirley Temple. I don’t drink alcohol.”

“You’re at a bar, but you don’t drink?”

“I don’t; he does,” he answers, pointing his thumb across at Nanami. He simply grunts in response.

“What’s your drink of choice?” you ask, tilting your head to face him.

“Sake,” he states, focused on the center of the table avoiding anyone’s gaze. He’s cold, standoffish, and stoic. The type of person you’d typically avoid.

“Should we order sake then?” Gina suggests. “And a mocktail for you, Gojo,” she adds, nudging him flirtatiously.

“I’ll have a little bit,” you say. “I have to finish my thesis, remember?”

“Are you a student?” Gojo inquires, leaning forward, elbows propped up, chin in his palms.

“Grad student. I’m almost done, thankfully.”

“Good for you! This round will be on us then, right Nanamin?”

He shrugs silently, gaze unmoving. What an odd fellow. He’s showing absolutely no interest in socializing, which you don’t entirely blame him for. Maybe he was dragged here beyond his own will. He’s opposite of Gojo, who oozes charisma from every crevice. You can’t expect him to match that type of chaotic energy.

Gojo fetches the waiter, ordering sake and his virgin drink. Him and Gina chat amongst themselves, no doubt flirting excessively. You sit next to Nanami in silence, slurping on whatever liquid remains in your glass, basically water from the melting ice. You want to pull your phone out to have something to distract you, but your neighbor continues to stare at the table, frozen in place, not speaking. Hands tucked neatly in front of him.

You attempt small talk once more, gradually losing hope that this will lead anywhere. “What do you do for work, Nanami?”

“I’m a salaryman.”

“Is Gojo a salaryman, too?”

“No.”

“How do you two know each other?”

“From high school.”

“Neat.” You glance around the room, wishing the alcohol would arrive sooner. His answers are curt, as if you’re pestering him. Even behind the steampunk glasses, you can tell he’s uncomfortable. He clearly doesn’t want to be here.

You tune out whatever Gina and Gojo are discussing, not wanting to eavesdrop on their privacy, remaining silent as you twiddle your thumbs beneath the table. The drinks arrive, which you’re ecstatic about. Gojo smiles as he sips on his mocktail. Gina does the honors and pours the cold sake into each small glass, passing it to you and Nanami. With a cheers, you each down your shots, refreshing and bitter down your throat.

“So, do you ladies have any single friends you can set Nanamin up with?” Gojo asks.

Beside you, Nanami tenses up. “Gojo, I don’t want –”

“Don’t worry, buddy! We’ll find you a nice girl! Nanamin here is so shy, poor guy needs a lot of help when it comes to the ladies – ”

“Gojo,” he warns, sterner this time, Gina unable to contain her giggling.

“He’s an attractive guy, right? If it weren’t for the stick up his ass, he’d for sure be a catch.” Gojo smirks, finishing the rest of his drink.

Gina elbows him, grinning. “Don’t be so mean to your friend. Not everyone has to be in a relationship. She’s never been in one and she’s totally fine.” She points at you, much to your dismay.

You’re reminded how loose Gina’s lips get whenever she indulges in alcohol. While it’s nothing to be ashamed about, you still feel heat rush into your cheeks from embarrassment, having a personal fact about yourself revealed so casually in front of two strangers. “I’ve never had time for a relationship,” you explain. “Been too busy with school.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with being single! I’m just trying to help this poor guy out, he’s always complaining to me how lonely he is, but he never puts himself out there!”

The table rattles suddenly and Gojo yelps. “Ouch! Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” Nanami has his arms crossed tight over his chest, foot flat on the floor after kicking his friend in the shin.

Rubbing his leg, Gojo changes the subject, talking about his latest travels somewhere, to which Gina is absolutely enthralled by. You listen passively, swirling your fingers around the ring of the glass. It’s getting late and you should head back to your apartment soon, knowing your thesis is stuck in your laptop, waiting to be submitted. You don’t want to leave until Gina is done working her magic on her new friend, so you wait, not bothering to converse with the guy next to you. He seems equally as unenthused as you do, now tapping one of his feet impatiently.

Gojo eventually calls the waiter to pay the bill. After giving him your thanks, the four of you walk out of the bar together, ready to say your farewells. Or so you think. Once outside, Gojo and Gina look at you with guilt on their faces. You’ve known your friend long enough to predict where this is going.

“So, Gojo and I are actually going to hang out a bit longer.”

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, smirking. “Yeah, Nanami and I have a room at the hotel across the street. I want to give Gina an exclusive tour. We should be done in about an hour or so.”

Nanami makes a strangled noise in his throat, clearly distraught. He can’t formulate a sentence, so you do it instead. “What are you really trying to tell us?”

“Well,” Gina starts. “We thought that since the two of us are hanging out, then the two of you can hang out somewhere else. Just until we’re done. With the tour.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed by the euphemisms, more irritated by the fact that you’re being temporarily stranded out here with someone who wants nothing to do with you.

“Please keep my dear friend company. I promise, we won’t take too long. But definitely not too short either,” he adds under his breath, him and Gina giggling like naughty schoolchildren.

Nanami is still stunned, probably shocked that his friend would dump him like this. Before he can formulate a response, Gojo and Gina turn their backs, walking in the direction of the hotel. “Have fun! I know we will! We’ll call you when we’re done!” Gojo yells out, waving. Gina blows you a kiss before holding hands with him, leaving you two dumbfounded.

You stand beside Nanami in silence, unsure where to go from here. You’re familiar with this location, and you know there is plenty to do at this hour. But you have no clue what this guy likes. Does he like anything?

Clearing your throat, you say, “Well, I guess we have to kill time somewhere.”

He does the same, coughing into his forearm. “I suppose we have no choice.”

“There’s a nearby bakery that’s always open late. Do you want to check that out?”

Focused on his shoes, he shrugs. That’s a good enough answer for you.

You start heading down the familiar street, the shop being only two blocks away from the bar. The two of you walk in silence, Nanami trailing behind you, arms swinging slightly at his sides while you have your hands placed in your pockets. When you arrive to the bakery, you notice one of the workers you’re acquainted with, Susie, waving from the counter. You return her greeting with a warm smile.

Nanami seems intrigued, browsing through the assortment of baked goods. He reads each label carefully, head moving up, down, side to side, inspecting each pastry intently. “Their bread is amazing here,” you comment. “Perfect for sandwiches.”

He hums in response, leaning closer to the loaves of sourdough on display. This is the first you’ve seen him with a more relaxed expression on his face. Without the scowl, he actually seems friendly and approachable.

“The croissants are also really good. My favorites are chocolate and almond,” you suggest, pointing through the glass.

To your surprise, Nanami ends up buying the chocolate one, per your recommendation. Susie, always a cheery smile plastered on her face, rings him up. She eyes you playfully, brow raised, but doesn’t say anything. When it’s your turn, you order two hot coffees, a spur of the moment decision. You have no idea how long you’re going to be stranded out here, so a nice pick-me-up wouldn’t hurt. You explain, “Coffee and croissants go perfectly together, don’t you think?” He looks at you, confused, then shrugs, walking away to find an empty table.

Susie passes you the coffees, as well as creamer and a few packs of sugar. “Hot date tonight?” she asks quietly, a sly smirk on her face.

“No. We’re just stuck together for the next hour or so.”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind being stuck with a fine man like that,” she winks. “Have fun the rest of the night. Also, here.” She opens a small brown bag and sneaks an almond croissant inside. “On the house. You both should enjoy a tasty treat together.” She gathers all of your goods on a tray and slides it towards you, grinning.

Nanami is seated in a corner of the shop, hands placed neatly on the surface, one on top of the other. When you arrive, you set the tray down, sitting in the chair across from him. “Here’s some cream and sugar for your coffee, in case you want any.”

He nods in acknowledgment, removing the lid to pour in two creams, two sugars. You do the same. He remains silent, brows in a tight knit, concentrating on stirring his coffee. It’s almost endearing the way he’s so focused on the most mundane tasks. Grabbing a napkin, you take your croissant out, ready to bite into it. Before you do, you offer, “Would you like to try some of this?”

Behind his specs, you can see surprise in his expression. He clears his throat, muttering, “Sure.” He takes his chocolate croissant out and begins to tear it in half. “We can split both of them and share.”

You grin. “Good idea.” His lips twitch, as if he wants to smile.

You trade halves, first taking a bite into the chocolate before sipping on your coffee. You let out a satisfied, “Yum!”

This time, there’s no mistaking it; he does smile. “That’s a good sign,” he comments.

“I’ve had this plenty of times, but it’s always so good.”

He removes his glasses and folds them neatly into his breast pocket. You have a clear view of his eyes now, which are much kinder than you expect. He takes a bite, then smirks, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin.

“Well?”

“You’re right. This is definitely deserving of a yum.” The corner of his eyes crinkle. It feels like you’re finally getting through to him.

“See? I told you it’s good!” you say, moving to the almond croissant.

“If I knew you wanted one, I would have bought both of them for us.”

“Susie actually gave this to me on the house, so it all worked out.”

With a brow raised, he asks, “Do people usually give you delicious pastries for free?”

You laugh. “Ha, I wish. Just here. We’re friends.”

“That must be nice.” He nibbles on the rest of it, sips of coffee in between.

“Why are you talking to me all of a sudden?” Maybe it’s the sudden rush of caffeine surging through your body that makes you decide to be bold and ask him straight up.

He’s caught off guard by your bluntness, clearing his throat nervously. “I wasn’t really in the mood to be social earlier this evening.”

“But you are now?” You rest your elbow on the table, hand tucked under your chin, studying him.

He chuckles softly, wiping the other corner of his mouth with a new napkin. “I guess so. The croissants and coffee help.”

“So the way to your heart is through your stomach? Good to know,” you tease him, smirking.

“Is that something you’re interested in? Winning my heart?” He gives you a small grin as he meets your gaze.

There’s a flutter in your belly, a skip in your heartbeat. It’s obvious he’s an attractive man; you were focused so much on his off-putting demeanor, you didn’t really think about it until now. Cheeks warm, you respond, “I’m trying to get to know you. We’re stuck with each other for tonight, might as well be friends.”

He nods, agreeing. It’s one night. All you’re doing is killing time together while you wait for your friends to finish their little rendezvous. The chances of ever seeing each other again after this are unlikely. Might as well make the most out of it.

The two of your finish your pastries in a comfortable silence. Only half an hour passes, and still no word from either of your friends. Suddenly, you remember that on Friday nights, street food vendors set up shop down the block from your current location. “Nanami, do you like street food?”

He meets your eyes again, smiling. “Absolutely.”

~~~

Nanami was desperate for a drink tonight.

Him and Gojo are out of town, having completed a strenuous week of exorcising curses from several areas of this city. All he wanted was to consume alcohol, enough to get a good buzz going, then eat a late-night snack before heading to bed. He didn’t expect to find himself at a street food festival with a total stranger, having been rudely abandoned by Gojo. Though, he doesn’t mind his current situation. Anything involving food is something he always delights in. And the company isn’t so bad either. She’s actually quite nice.

Nanami doesn’t like opening up to people. Ever since he went back into Jujutsu Sorcery, he made a promise to himself to never date, not wanting to subject any potential spouses to the horrors of the world he lives in. He keeps himself closed off on purpose, especially to strangers. It’s easier this way. Sure, it comes off rude and cold. And maybe he does get a bit lonely at times. It’s for the best; that’s how he justifies it.

Yet, somehow, this woman is slipping through the cracks. He finds himself enjoying his time with her as they stroll through the street of food vendors, selling all types of delicacies: meat skewers, noodles, varieties of desserts. They even share a serving of Takoyaki because what kind of street food outing is it without a taste of that?

They casually exchange bits and pieces about each other: hobbies, interests, favorite foods, the standard. Nanami has to remain especially cryptic about his real profession, a complicated topic to explain to normal civilians. Besides that, their conversations feel natural. Effortless. There’s no need to be closed off, considering they’re doing this for the time-being, until their two friends finish whatever fling they’re partaking in at the hotel. Their time together will end soon, going back to being strangers, never seeing each other again. Maybe that’s why he’s loosened up; all of this will be over as soon as it began.

After having walked through the vendors once more, they rest at a table off to the side. Nanami finishes off the last piece before tossing the little tray into the trash can. He hasn’t checked his watch since they arrived, occupied with food, and chatting. It’s been about an hour and a half now, still no peep from either Gojo or Gina, though he isn’t anxiously waiting to hear from them. He tries thinking of something else they can do, besides sit here, and watch the clock.

Before he can start suggesting ideas, she beats him to it. “Nanami, do you like karaoke?”

Again, he smiles at her, similar to earlier at the bakery. Chest swelling with an odd, but pleasant sensation. “Absolutely.”

Minutes later, they’re in a small private room at a karaoke bar, ordering a round of cold sake before the singing starts. She volunteers to go first, choosing a well-known pop hit, not at all embarrassed to belt out any high notes. Her voice isn’t bad, enough to carry a tune and to make Nanami, who is as tone-deaf as they come, not feel ashamed about singing in front of her. Halfway through the song, the sake arrives, and he pours it into the two cups, waiting for her performance to be over before passing her the glass. They cheers, then throw it back. She hands him the mic, teasing, “I expect a breathtaking performance.”

“Prepare yourself for disappointment, then,” he smirks, entering the number on the remote. He picks another popular song, one that he always like to start off with whenever he’s doing karaoke with Gojo and Shoko. In fact, he can’t remember doing karaoke with anyone besides his close friends. This is definitely the first in a while; he doesn’t feel as shy as he thought he would. The strobe lights in the dim space create an atmosphere where Nanami isn’t embarrassed to put on a show. He removes his coat and loosens his tie, to which she whistles playfully at him, causing him to laugh. “Don’t encourage me.”

“Oh I absolutely will encourage you,” she responds, leaning forward for a better view. “I’m so ready for this.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol taking its effect, though it wasn’t much. Or maybe he’s genuinely having a good time. Whatever it is, as soon as the melody kicks, he swings his hips to the beat, barely bothering to read the lyrics on the screen because he already has them memorized. From behind, he hears her clapping to the rhythm, giggling and singing along quietly, hollering when he nails a particularly hard note.

The marathon continues, sake flowing into their mouths between songs until the bottle is empty and they’re both on their feet, dancing to the music. Mics in hand, they serenade each other, swaying to the upbeat tempo, smiles open wide with glee. Nanami tosses his tie to the couch, unbuttoning his shirt a quarter of the way down, sweat beading on his forehead, body hot from his buzz and merriment. Their playlist ranges from ballads, alternative rock, R&B, even a few classic Disney hits Nanami secretly likes to indulge in. At some point, Nanami offers his hand to twirl her, not letting go as he swings his arms with hers, grooving to the beat. Their fingers interlock, fitted to each other naturally. There’s no second guessing or doubts in his head that he wants to do this with her. It just feels right.

A worker comes in with a cold pitcher of water, informing them they have five more minutes left of their hour. Nanami is surprised how fast that hour flew. He swears they still had more time left. He can’t help feeling disappointed that it’s over; he still had more songs he wanted to sing before the night ended.

He notices her checking her phone, probably waiting for that text from Gina, hoping that whatever this is ends soon. There’s a tightness in Nanami’s throat, and not from all the singing. He hasn’t bothered to check his phone the entire time they were here, hoping not to see any type of message from Gojo. He realizes in this moment that he doesn’t want this night to end.

To his surprise, she sets her phone back down on the table, attention at the worker. “Can we book another hour?”

For the third time tonight, Nanami can’t contain his smile.

~~~

To say you’re surprised by this recent development is an understatement. You’re actually shocked that this is the same man you attempted small talk with just a hours earlier, only to be treated with the cold shoulder. Now, he’s spinning you around this small room, disco lights twinkling in each other’s eyes, laughing, carefree and happy. It’s contagious, and you have no choice but to join in on the fun.

It’s not until there’s five minutes left of your reservation that you remember the reason you’re here in the first place. Checking your phone for any updates from Gina, you almost audibly breathe a sigh of relief, seeing no new messages. On a whim, you request another hour, not wanting this to end yet. You wonder if he feels the same way.

Halfway through your second hour, the two of you finally take a break, letting the preloaded list of songs you selected play in the background. You sit beside each other, closer than you’ve been all night, thighs touching, body heat radiating. From your peripheral, you observe him, watching his throat bob with each gulp of ice-cold water he takes, emptying the remnants into his mouth. Before he catches you, you look away, sipping on your own drink, suddenly nervous to be so near him, despite dancing with him the past hour and a half.

He chuckles softly. “This was really fun.”

You turn to face him. “It was. You’re quite the performer.”

“I could say the same about you.” He stretches his arm behind you, setting it on the couch. The rolled-up sleeves of his polo graze your neck, making you more flustered. You remind yourself that this is totally normal, not a flirtatious response or anything. Just a guy casually resting his arm behind you, no big deal.

“I feel like I’m going to lose my voice. But it was worth it,” he mentions.

You face him again, beaming brightly. There’s an expression on his face you haven’t seen all night, as if he’s getting a proper look at you, studying you like he hasn’t seen you clearly until now.

“Totally worth it,” you reply. Before you know it, you blurt out, “I don’t want this to end yet.”

At this, he blinks a few times, startled by your statement. “Really?”

You giggle, leaning closer to nudge his arm. “Yeah. Really.”

In an instant, your lips meet, mouths still cool from the ice water. He kisses you gently, both hesitant and sure of himself. He breaks away to ask, “Is this okay?”

You nod, sliding your hands to his nape to close the distance again. His arm slips behind your waist, hand gripped loosely on your hip, pulling you in, kisses getting sloppier. Tongues pushing past lips to swirl around each other.

You can blame this hasty decision on the alcohol, but that wouldn’t be accurate. You’re tipsy at best, and you would bet money that he’s in the same state as you. This isn’t fueled by sake or by the sappy love song playing in the background. This is pure, unadulterated passion, building up the moment you shared those croissants together in that bakery.

You giggle into his mouth as you swing your leg over his lap to straddle him. He has both hands on your waist now, peering at you with a naughty expression. “What can you possibly be giggling about right now?”

“I was just thinking about how I was right earlier. The way to your heart is through your stomach. Admit it; you fell for me as soon as I split my croissant with you.”

He pulls you in closer, nuzzling his nose against yours. “Okay, I admit it. You won my heart.”

His grip is tight on you, guiding your hips back and forth on his lap, his lips scattering delicate kisses along your neck, your hands messing up his hair as you run your fingers through it. There’s not enough time to process that this is actually happening. All you want is to feel him on every inch of your skin. His palms glide underneath your blouse, reaching for your bra, squeezing at your breasts. With his mouth now hot on your ear, he whispers, “I want you.”

You’re not thinking properly when you grab the hem of your shirt to hoist it off your body. Before you strip, there’s loud knocking on the door, startling the both of you.

“We know what you’re doing in there!” a voice yells from the other side. “Cut it out before we call the police!”

Immediately, you remove yourself from him, unsuccessfully ignoring the obvious bulge in his pants. He’s reluctant to take his hands of you, giving your tits another loving fondle before relenting, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. Quickly gathering your belongings, you head towards the door, ready to do the walk of shame. Before you turn the handle, Nanami spins you around, kissing you once more. You melt into his mouth, fists bunching his dress shirt, his heart pounding through his chest. If it weren’t for the threat of the cops being called, you’re certain the two of you would go at it right here in this karaoke room.

Another angry rap on the door snaps you both back to reality. You slowly exit the room, staring at the tile floor, avoiding eye contact with the disgruntled worker, crossing their arms at you. You pay for the room, then walk outside into the brisk night air. Nanami holds your hand, fingers entwined seamlessly, a perfect fit.

Despite having spent the last few hours with him, it feels like the beginning of the night. You lean in to kiss him once more, craving his mouth on yours. He places his coat over your shoulders, surrounding you in a snug embrace, resting his chin on the top of your head. You stay like this for what seems like forever until it’s not enough, your phone vibrating in your purse, his ringing in his pocket. Gina’s name is displayed on your screen, and Gojo’s on his. That’s your cue; the final scene of the night.

The two of you take your time walking back towards where your little adventure first started, holding hands like a couple familiar with each other. At the end of the day, you’re still strangers, one night not enough to establish a relationship. You’re certain neither of you wants this to end, not with the way he touches you, the way he gazes at you. There’s no doubt something’s there. The both of you are cowards, too afraid to admit these intense feelings to someone you hardly know. It’s easier to enjoy it in the moment, letting it fizzle out as midnight approaches, leaving it behind as a fond memory.

That’s the problem, though. In the short amount of time you’ve spent with him, you’re already sure that you want to make more memories with him.

In the distance, you spot Gina and Gojo, standing outside the bar, chatting as they await your return. You’re about to call out to them, but Nanami tugs you into the nearest alley, your cheeks between his palms, kissing you deeply. His thumb grazes your skin tenderly, sending a shiver down your spine. He pulls off, breathing staggered, forehead pressed against yours.

You don’t want to say goodbye; this is what it is, right? Back to the real world. You have a thesis due in less than forty-eight hours, one that you forgot about until now, and Nanami is from out of town, soon to be back to his own life, which doesn’t include you. That’s just the way it is.

Without a word, you shrug his coat off your shoulders, handing it to him with a gentle smile. He stares at you, wary, accepting it anyways in his hands, hanging it on his forearm neatly. He reaches for your hand, leading you back to the pathway under the streetlights, letting go as soon as you approach your friends.

Seeing you, Gojo yells out, “Hey!”

Gina waves, hair slightly disheveled, a satisfied grin on her face. Gojo asks, “So, did you two have fun tonight? I know we did.” Gina snorts, kicking him lightly at his ankle.

Nanami clears his throat. “Yes. We had fun.”

Surprised, Gojo replies, “Really? Nanamin actually had fun? I’m in awe!”

Gina looks at you. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes. I had a lot of fun,” you answer. You turn to face Nanami, giving him one last smile. He returns it, nodding slightly. This really is the end of it.

Your friend links arms with you, announcing, “Well, we should head home now! This girl still has a thesis to finish.” With that, Gina steers you in the direction of train station, waving farewell to the two men.

~~~

Nanami begrudgingly follows Gojo back to the hotel room. He gives his friend an abridged version of tonight’s festivities, to which Gojo seems thrilled about on his behalf. “You had almost as exciting of a night as I did! Almost. That Gina is a real firecracker.”

He sits at the end of his bed, only now realizing they didn’t even exchange contact info. In the heat of the moment, it didn’t cross his mind, too focused on her soft lips and gentle touch. He leans forward, burying his face in his palms, groaning. “I forgot to ask for her number.”

Gojo chuckles, patting his shoulder. “How can you forget that?”

“Everything happened so fast. We ran out of time.”

The realization of it hits him hard. This can’t be it; there’s no way it can be. He won’t accept that this is the end of them, not after what happened. He’ll do whatever it takes to see her again. Fuck the vow he made to not date; whatever this is, it’s worth it.

“I don’t know what to do,” Nanami muffles through his hands, defeated.

Gojo sits beside him, massaging his shoulders, something Nanami usually hates, too distressed to shove him away. “Well, my dear friend, lucky for you, I have Gina’s number.”

At this, Nanami turns to his friend, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

With a cocky smirk, Gojo says, “Let’s go get your girl.”

--------------------

Tagging @liliorsstuff-blog, another fic of our husband, hope you like it!

Stay tuned for part two!

#nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami fanfic #nanami smut #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #kento nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #nanami fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut

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ariisheresstuff · 10 months

Note

Hiii i have a Javier Pena request if thats ok?🤍

I was wondering if you could do something where like Javi is a bit dismissive of the reader, but also not mean just ignores them or talks over them and they think he doesnt like them..

then shes on a mission and she gets injured and hes panicking back at the office. Shouting at steve to know where you are etc. then you come into the office like bruised and bloody and he rushes to you, protective. And he takes you to his and cleans you up, eventually leading to fluffy romantic smut and ending with cuddles and admitting his feelings for you

Scared Feelings

Pairings: Javier Peña x fem!reader

Genre: Angsty + Smut

Warnings: Blood, mentions of dying, cuts, wounds etc. MINORS DNI sex, cursing, naked, cum, you know the drill

MasterList

A/N: Ty for this lovely request! Enjoy! <3

You have been working with agent Peña and agent Murphy for some time. Ever since you three have been on with this Escobar case. This was probably the most serious and risk taking cases you have been on since you started working as a DEA agent. Murphy was a sweetheart around you, being a gentlemen and making sure you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing. Javi on the other hand, let’s just say you guys don’t talk that much. You wouldn’t consider yourself friends. Sure you two greet each other but it’s very awkward and the tension is very sharp for no reason. Steve tried asking you what’s been the issue between you and Javi but you can’t seem to know why he doesn’t like you. You brush it off mostly, not wanting it to effect you so much.

It’s been months since you guys haven’t caught Escobar and everyone was getting frustrated.

“If we don’t find this son of a bitch, we all are going into a shithole.” Steve gritted out through his teeth.

“We tried everything, nothing. His guys are talking, what else is there to do. He’s too smart for us.” You said as you took a drag from your cigarette,

“Then we outta risk it.” Javi said making you and Steve turn to look at him,

“Then what? Have us die and make shit more complicated here?”

Javi scoffed at Steve’s remark, “This is our job Steve, we’re meant to risk our lives.” You said making Steve sigh, he ran a hand through his mess blonde locks as he shook his head. “Fuck it.”

You were assigned a mission downtown where apparently one of Escobar’s closet henchmen was meeting up with someone relative to Escobar. Unfortunately, Steve and Javi were ordered to stay back at the office and signal out radio stations to get any phone call information from Escobar. You assigned with other DEA agents, you just wished you were with Steve and Javi even though Steve was most likely better to be around in these types of situations. “Currently downtown, no signs of any suspicion yet.” You said over the Walkie-Talkie to Steve

“Copy that.”

“You think she can handle this?” Javi asked as he took a drag from his cigarette

“Of course she can, you think she can’t?”

Javi shrugged “Just saying, she’s never done it without us before.”

Steve smirked as he looked at his partner

“What?”

“You like her, don’t ya?

Javi choked on the smoke from his cigarette “The fuck? What’s your problem?”

Steve just wheezed as Javi was turning red “Aw, come on man, I know you do. Is that why you’re always quiet around her?”

Javi sighed as he leaned back in his chair giving Steve the finger “Shut the fuck up man.” Steve just shrugged as he continued to snicker making Javi grumble.

“He’s on the move.” You said into the Walkie-Talkie as you got out of the vehicle and crouched as you slowly made your way over to the guy, Steve jumped at your voice “Copy that kid, stay hidden.”

“On it.” You signaled the other agents to go in different directions and to follow your lead no matter what. You noticed the guy giving the dude some clear bag with something in it. You couldn’t tell what. “Target in sight.”

“See? Piece of cake for her.” Javi rolled his eyes as him and Steve continued on getting any radio signal but also keeping the lookout for you. You were about to stand up but to only feel someone yank you to the ground. You yelped in surprise as you tried to fight back. Apparently you were tricked. The guy had more of Escobar’s henchmen surrounding the area you were at watching. “I’m down! It’s a trap!” You managed to say in the Walkie-Talkie while confusing to get the guy off of you. Javi’s eyes widened at that as Steve stood up grabbing the Walkie-Talkie. “Y/N! Hey! Kid! What’s going on!” You didn’t have time to answer as you were struggling with some guy on top of you with a gun.

“Perra estúpida, ¿crees que nos engañaste?” Stupid bitch, you think you outsmarted us? The guy said while punching you in the stomach making you yelp in pain, you tried to grab his fist but he was much more stronger than you. You quickly grabbed the Walkie-Talkie trying to respond back to Steve

“Send backup! Send backup!” You yelled as the man grabbed the Walkie-Talkie as started hitting you in the head with it before breaking it.

“Y/N! Hey! Y/N answer me! Shit!” Steve quickly got up to and ran to his and Javi’s office to grab his gun

“The fuck is happening?” Javi asked while also grabbing his gun

“She’s in trouble, it was a trap.”

“Fuck.” Javi said quietly, him and Steve exited the office was about to exit the building when Messina blocked their way

“And where do you think you two are going?”

“Y/N is in trouble boss, she needs backup.”

“I will take care of that, you two aren’t going anywhere.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Messina gave Javi a look

“Yes I am Agent Peña. We need you two signaling in the radio room right now.”

“But Y/N is in serious trouble right now Messina.” Steve said as he was getting frustrated knowing you were in danger.

“I understand that agent Murphy, but we are sending backup right now. I ordered you both a job, correct?”

Javi shook his head as he sighed “Yes Ma’am.” Messina nodded her hand

“Fantastic.” She dismissed them both as they walked back to the radio room.

“Fucking bullshit, she’s in trouble right now and she isn’t doing shit to help her. Fuck!” Javi slammed his gun down on the table harshly as he bounced his leg,

“Javi, calm down. Y/N is a strong one.”

“Anything could happen to her Steve.”

Steve gave Javi this look, “Who Are you and what you have with Javier Peña?”

“Fuck, I don’t have time for this Steve.”

Steve bit down a smile “Knew you liked her man.” He whispered knowing Javi couldn’t hear him.

“Ah!” You yelped as the guy that was broke your Walkie-Talkie slammed you into a wall. Where is Steve? Where is Javi? You kept thinking they weren’t coming. Tears were clouding your vision, you never been in this type of situation before for any mission you were assigned.

“Suéltame pedazo de mierda!” Let go of me you piece of shit! Your nose was bleeding as well as the side of your head from being pushed down in the cement of the sidewalk, you had bruises everywhere. The tears started to fall as you prayed for someone to save you. You jumped at every gunshot that rang around your surroundings, event DEA agent that was working with you was either dead or saving themselves. The guy grabbed you by the throat as he began to block your airway. You gasped for air as you grabbed onto the hand that was around your throat, punching at him to the best of your ability.

“Hora de morir perra DEA.” Time to die DEA bitch his other hand reached down to his gun as he aimed it towards your temple.Your heart was racing as you thought about the last seconds of living, you closed your eyes as the tears began to fall harder “Please…” you gasped out as you felt the coolness of the gun stick harder into your head when all of a sudden a long bang rang through your ears. You body jolted as you felt to ground. Blood splattered all over you as you froze. The guy was laying dead with a gunshot to his head. Your breathing was uneven as you couldn’t process what just happened. You heard the sirens and saw flashing lights appear to view. More DEA agents were sent as they were helping you and the others settle everything. One of them helped you into another car to drive you back to the station. You were shaking the whole and couldn’t even speak with how traumatized you were from the scene.

Javi was pacing around the office while Steve watched him. Javi went through at least two packs of cigarettes in the last few hours. That’s how scared he was for you. He couldn’t even believe he was showing how much he cares about you.

“Dude she’s fine. I’m sure she’s ok-

“How the fuck do you know that Murphy?” Javi snapped at him as his hands started to shake, “it’s been three fucking hours since we heard anything. You call that okay?”

“Javi, the more you think this, the worse it becomes for you.” “I need to know if she’s safe or not or so help me—

he was interrupted by the door opening, he jolted up to see Messina. “We got her.”

Javi and Steve sprinted to the entrance of the office to see you wrapped in a blanket all hurt and scared. You looked up at the two men with tears falling down your face and your bottom lip trembling. “Gosh kid.” Steve muttered as he was the first to pull you into a tight hug and he rubbed your back and shushed your whimpers to calm you down.

“I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know—

“Stop. It’s not your fault. None of this is Y/N.” He gave your shoulders a squeeze as gave you a small smile as you sniffled. You then turned to Javi who had a worried look on his face. Your smile faded as you looked into his brown eyes. He walked up to you slowly before he wrapped his arms around you as he hugged you as well. You body tightened as you froze. Javi never hugged you before.

“I’m glad you’re okay cariño.” He whispered into your ear making sure Steve and the others didn’t hear him. Your body relaxed in his touch as you hid your smile in his chest as you hugged him back. You both pulled away after a few seconds as you gave Javi and Steve a smile making them smile back at you. You all turned towards the entrance as you watched all the men that attacked in handcuffs be sent away into rooms. You felt the heavy weight on your shoulders release knowing that you were safe. Steve was first one to break the silence.

“Well, it’s time for me to head home. Got a wife and kid to deal with.” He said with a snicker making you smile.

“Tell Connie I said hi.”

Steve nodded as he brought you into one last hug for tonight

“If you need anything, you call me. Anything.”

You nodded at Steve as kissed his cheek as a way of saying thank you. Steve smiled as he squeezed your shoulder as a way of saying bye before waving off Javi and telling him about seeing him tomorrow. Now it was just you and Javi. You swayed around as you looked at your fingers. Too shy to start conversation.

“So you heading home or…”

you jumped lightly at his suddenly voice before looking up at him.

“Oh, um I walked here this morning. I’m fine with walking my apartment isn’t far—

“Like hell you’re walking home after what just happened. Come I’ll take you.” You didn’t have a chance to respond as you shrugged before grabbing your things from your desk before walking up to Javi.

“This isn’t my apartment Jav.” You looked out the window to see his and Steve’s apartment, he turn off the car before stepping out and helping you.

“I know, just figured you needed a drink after tonight. Besides I have stuff to help your wounds and shit.”

You couldn’t help but feel your cheeks tingle at that face that he wants to help you. You didn’t say anything before walking up to him as he lead the way to his apartment. You both made it to his floor as he got out his door keys before opening up the door. He stepped to the side as he gave you a small smile “Ladies first.” You giggled as you stepped into his dark apartment

“Why thank you kind sir.” You teased back making Javi chuckle a bit. You looked around his apartment. “Nice apartment.”

“It’s nothing.” You sat down on his couch as he went to the kitchen to get you a drink. You winced as you felt your bruises becoming worse. You sort of forgot about them. Javi came back with a glass of whiskey. You thanked him as he set his own drink down before going down the hall. You drank the strong liquor in silence as you enjoyed the strong bitter taste. You licked your lips as you set the cup back down as Javi came back with a first aid kit. “Javi, I’m fine really. You don’t need to do all of this.” He shook his head

“I know, I just feel like it’s best to see you in good hands rather than suffering.” He sat next to you as he grabbed out a few cotton ball and peroxide. You sighed before nodding

“Thank you.”

“No need to thank me cariño.”

Cariño

Something about that name made butterflies appear in your stomach and your cheeks became all red.

You winced as the peroxide was stinging your open wound that was on your cheek. “Sorry.” Javi said as he quickly cleaned up the cut

“It’s okay.”

He set a bandaid on your cheek before giving you a soft smile “You’re all patched up.” You smiled, happy that it was over.

“Wow Javi. Maybe you should be in the medical field instead.” You teased as he shook his head while chuckling. You watched him as he put away the first aid and came back with more whiskey. You watched him fill up both of your cups with golden brown liquid as he took out his cigarette packs. He lit one up as he laid back. You both sat in silence for a while before you spoke up. “Javi?” He hummed in response, you sighed as you felt your heart appear in your throat. “How come you never spoken to me?” Javi felt his heart skip a beat as he looked at you, it caught him off guard. So you did notice it. He thought to himself. He set down his cigarette on the ash tray as he rubbed his hands together.

“Listen. It was nothing about me being against you. No hate towards you or anything like that. It’s just… ever since you came around, I’ve felt nervous being around you.” You gave him a frown making him panic “Not in a bad way, it’s just— fuck— you make me feel these types of things I never experienced before.” Your eyes went wide as you felt your heart tighten,

“W-what do you mean.” Javi sighed as he felt himself getting hot and sweaty. It’s now or never.

“I have these feelings around you. Like deep feelings.” You mouth went dry as you understood what Javi was saying, you swallowed.

“You like me?” Javi looked down as he rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“Yes.” He said quietly but for you to still hear, you froze. “I’m sorry if you felt like I didn’t like you or seemed disrespectful around you. I was just nervous about messing up around you and you thinking I was some dick or something.” You but your lip as you tried to hide the smile appearing on your lips watching him ramble on. “Steve was teasing me about liking you and shit. I’m just a dick for telling you earlier I’m sorr— you cut Javi off as you grabbed the side of his face as smashed your lips on his. It caught Javi off guard as he made a surprised noise and tensing up. He then was brought back down to earth before he relaxed as he wrapped his arms around you to pull you closer. You sighed as your hands traveled to his hair as he cupped your face bringing your face closer and deeper. Javi groaned as you moaned lightly. You both pulled for air but not enough to where your lips were still touching. You both were panting as you both looked into each other’s eyes.

“Was that enough to answer?” You said as Javi chuckled. You leaned your forehead on his as he started to slowly kiss down your neck.

“Hmmm, I don’t know cariño. I think I still don’t understand. Maybe you should show me.” He growled as he started to nip at your neck making you jolt and whine slowly. You crawled into his lap as you started to grind your hips on his already hard cock. Javi groaned as he yanked off his shirt and pants and helping you out of yours. His mouth watered as he stared at your bra. He looked up at you with permission making you nod as you continued to grind on him and moaning.

Javi’s hands were shaking in excitement as he took off your bra with one hand. You looked at him with wide eyes as he smirked at your expression. “Javier you naught menace. How in the hell do you know how to do that?” You nipples hardened at the cool air,

“I may have some experience.” You shook your head as he chuckled lowly. He continued to kiss down your neck before trying to find your sweet spot. You moaned as you rain your fingers through his hair. Hickeys and bite marks scattered all over your neck. Your body jolted as you yelped. “Mmm found it.” You cum right then and there as Javi helped you roll your hips on his hard bulge.

“Javi.”

“What’s wrong baby?”

“N-need you.” Javi chuckled

“Oh you need me?” You nodded as you watched him move down to your tits. You moaned a bit louder as he started to squeeze each tit like a stressing hall. “Words baby.” You whined

“Yes, I-I need you Javi.” He smirked as he continued to play with your boobs. He leaned down as he brought a nipple in his mouth “Oh fuck, Javi.” You moaned as he swirled his tongue over the hardening bud.

“Beautiful. The most beautiful tits ever baby. Gosh, you’re so fucking hot.” You felt yourself getting more wet at his praising.

“Oh fuck! Javi!” You yelped as Javi switched positions with you. You were now laying on the couch as Javi hovered over you. He leaned down as he smashed his lips on yours. You both moaned as you both were grinding your hips together.

“Bet that pussy of yours is all wet for me.” You furrowed your eyes-brows as you nodded at him making him smirk. “Bet you want me to fucking eat you out till your screaming my name Hm?” You quickly nodded at him

“Please Javi, I-I want you to eat my pussy. Please baby I’ll do anything.”

“Good girl begging like the good princess you are.” He leaned down to kiss you as he shoved his tongue in your mouth. You moaned as you wrapped your tongue around his. Spit coming out on the sides of your mouth as your teeth were clanking with his form how rough your make out was. Javi released the kiss as he started to kiss down your body. You shivered from his kisses as he praised you with words

“So beautiful, so sexy, you’re all mine cariño. All.Fucking.Mine.” He growled as he got lower, he kissed around your belly making you whimper as he got to your thighs. Your thugs started to shake making Javi hold them as he kissed your inner thighs so slowly making you squirm.

“Javi please, d-don’t tease me.”

“But where’s the fun in that baby?” He continued to tease you for a while before he started to go to where you needed him most. Your body started to shake from excitement. Javi licked his lips as he admired your lacy panties. He dragged a finger over your lips making you jolt, he then slowly started to rub your clot through your underwear.

“Oh! Fuck!” Javi licked his lips

“Gosh you’re so fucking sexy squirmy for me like a pathetic slut aren’t you mi amor?” You felt butterflies coming in your stomach at the nickname. He then leaned down to press the softest kiss to your clit making you cry out. He dove his nose into your slit as he inhaled your scent. He groaned. “Gosh you smell so good and sweet baby. You want me to taste you?” You nodded quickly making him chuckle. “Don’t worry baby, I will be tasting you.” In a split second he ripped off your underwear. You didn’t even care at this point. He didn’t give you a warning before he dove into your pussy. You moaned so loud it echoed around the living room. Your fingers dove into his messy locks as you grinder on his face.

“Oh shit! Oh my god. Javi you’re so good. Oh my god- baby!” Javi hummed into your pussy as he entered in two fingers into your slit. He then started to kiss your clit multiple times before he sucked on it. Hard. You felt yourself get dizzy as you felt your orgasm coming.

“Shit baby, the most wettest, most beautiful pussy. You gonna come cariño?”

“Yes! Fuck yes!” He felt You tightened around his fingers. He started to finger you more faster as he continued to suck on your clit.

“Let go for me baby. Cum all over my face.”

Your legs shook as your fingers yanked into his locks. Your eyes rolled back into your head as you saw white.The coil in your tummy snapped as you felt your orgasm wash over you. Javi helped you ride out your high as he continued to kitten lick your clit and slit. You jolted as he continued to lick your clit. You whimpered as you pulled him from the back of his neck back to your face, you smashed your lips on him making him groan. You whined as you tasted yourself on him, you plunged your tongue into his mouth making him growl as he cupped your face. You both pulled away with a string of spit connecting your lips. Your hands were reaching down to take his cock out of his boxers, he then stopped you as he grabbed your wrist gently before shaking his head as he smiled at you. “Not tonight baby, I need to be inside you.” You whined as you smirked at him before pecking his lips twice. You laid back down only making him shake his again. You gave him a frown. “I want you to ride me baby.” You felt butterflies again at his low tone making you smile before nodding at him. You quickly got on his lap as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You admired how toned and sort of buff he was. You smiled as you started to touch his shoulders and biceps making him chuckle. “You like what you see cariño?” You giggled as you kissed his neck

“Never realized how strong you were Javi.” Javi smirked at you as he aligned his cock to your entrance. His hands were on your hips as you stared into his eyes. Him staring back at you.

“You ready?” He asked quietly as you nodded, he nodded with you as he slowly started to sink into you. Your body jolted at the feeling before you let out a surprised moan. Javi groaned as his grip tightened on your hips. “Oh fuck, you’re so tight mi amor.”

“O-oh, fuck— Javi, you’re so big.” He chuckled as he helped you move your hips slowly.

“Feels good baby?” You nodded as you started to bounce on his cock, “Need words cariño.” You whined

“Y-yes Javi, feels so good. Fuck! Don’t stop.”

“I’ll never stop. Never.” He growled as he kissed and sucked on your neck. Your bouncing got faster as Javi moved your hips. Your fingers tugging onto his hair. You felt hot and sweaty. You’re moaning got louder as so did Javi’s.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna fucking cum. Can I cum inside you mi amor?” Javi groaned out. You looked down at him as you started to feel tears form in your eyes from the overstimulation. You nodded your head rapidly.

“Please!please! Please cum inside me Javi! I wanna feel your cum.” Javi smashed his lips on yours hard as he helped you grind harder and faster on his dick. Your moaning picked up as the tears fell down your red cheeks. Javi slapped your ass making you jump.

“Cum with me baby. Fucking cum.” You cried out as your body started to shake. Your mouth was open with no sound coming out. You both paused your movements before you both moaned and groaned together. Your bodies started to shake uncontrollably. Javi groaned loud and deep in your neck as you wrapped your arms around his neck to bring him closer.

“Oh shit, mmmm fuck.” You moaned out, Javi panted in your neck as his hands rubbed your back.

“Shit.” Javi muttered out. Your legs felt like jello as you stayed wrapped in his arms with his cock still in you. You kissed Javi’s temple as you ran your fingers through his hair to calm him down. You’re bodies all sticky and hot. Javi then pulled out of you making you whine at the loss of contact and making Javi whimper at the coolness hitting him. He jolted as he calmed his breathing down. He reached over to grab his pack of cigarettes before lighting one up. He laid down with you on his chest. You sighed as you stared up at him, admiring his bare chest and him smoking. You both laid there in silence. You rested your head on his chest as you relaxed at the sound of his heartbeat.

“Javi?”

“What’s wrong cariño?” His voice rumbled through his chest making it vibrate. You looked up at him to see him staring back at you. It only made you smile.

“Nothing. Just… does this mean something?” Javi exhaled a fog of smoke as he gave you a smile

“What do you think mi amor?”

“I’m assuming maybe?” You teased making him roll his eyes at you before chuckling. You chuckled back as you sat up to be closer to him. You took the cigarette from his hand as you inhaled, you stared into his eyes as you exhaled. Javi hummed as he cupped your face. You finished the cigarette before placing it on the ashtray.

“You are something, you know that?” You shrugged at him as you played with his hair,

“I’ve been told.” Javi smiled at you before pulling your face closer to his as you both shared a loving, long kiss. You sighed as you wrapped your arms around his neck, him wrapping his around your back. You both continued the kiss as you snuggled into his warm embrace. Slowly falling asleep in each other’s touch.

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deans-queen · 1 month

Text

Love Or Die 💜🔪

Mini Series

Paring: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (Y/N) -> story will be told mostly in Reader’s P.O.V.

Plot: Reader (Y/N) can’t stand Dean Winchester and everything about him, but she has a secret and that is: she’s madly in love with him.

Inspired by the song: Can’t Hold On Forever by Laura Marano

Part 1 - Reader’s P.O.V.

Warning: Language

I have been hunting since I was 18 (I’m 25 now) but I’ve never worked with anyone as cocky, annoying and arrogant as Dean Winchester. I started hunting with him, his younger brother Sam and my Uncle /Godfather Bobby Singer since my parents died. Uncle Bobby has been looking after me the past year and I couldn’t be more grateful. He’s always been like a father figure to me. But Dean on the other hand….was a huge pain in the ass. I couldn’t stand him, and I made it pretty well known. But… I had a secret. A secret that no one knows. I'm also unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him. It all started last month, when he saved me from getting kidnapped by a witch that wanted to suck the life out of me to make her more youthful. He was so brave and took care of me, like a knight in shining armor. Since then I’ve had to hide how I felt….It wasn’t too hard to act like I didn’t have feelings, but it was at the same time. Under all that arrogance and self-confidence, he was so damn hot. He was tall, muscular (not like a body builder but his body was toned) and had short brown hair. He had a jawline so sharp and perfect that it could cut you in half. His hands were strong but also calloused, I imagined the way they would feel on my body. His lips were perfect. Looking soft, plump and kissable at the same time. I wanted to kiss them so damn much. And to top it off….he had the most amazing, perfect smile and GORGEOUS emerald green eyes. When I looked into them, I could melt like a popsicle on the 4th of July. There were days when he would be casually walking around, acting nonchalantly and I would find myself staring at him. I would snap out of it when he would say “Take a picture, sweetheart it’ll last longer.” Then I would have to fire back a snarky remark like, “In your dreams, Winchester.” And I’d roll my eyes. On the inside I was screaming, I don’t know how much longer I could keep this up.

The Next Day

We were working on a case, with a bunch of ghosts haunting this old abandoned New Orleans type esque mansion. This group of teenagers heard about it being haunted and wanted to check it out. And of course one of the girls winds up murdered. Her name was Jessica. What a bunch of idiots. Don’t they know it’s frowned upon to mess with haunted places. Anyways…while Sam and Uncle Bobby stayed behind to do research on the house, Dean and I went downtown to the police station to interview the teenagers. One of the things I loved about being a hunter was dressing up as an undercover FBI Agent. I always wore a black pencil skirt, with a white buttoned up blouse and heels. It made me feel like a bad bitch. Dean was wearing a suit and tie, which he looked so handsome in. Once we got there, the boyfriend of the girl who was killed was in an interview room. As we walked into the room, I noticed this kid was drooling over me, which Dean noticed. “Mr. Montgomery, I’m Agent Smith and this is my partner Agent Parker.” Dean said firmly while we both flashed our badges. “Alright, Mr…” I said while taking a seat at the table, trying to sound professional. Dean took a seat next to me. “Mike, you can call me Mike.” He said, interrupting and winking at me. “Okay, Mike.” I said, clearing my throat. “Why’d you go down to that haunted house?” “Look, I already talked to the cops about this. Why is the FBI questioning me now?” “We’re just doing our job Mike,” I said. “Now please, tell us what happened.” “Jess, my friends and I heard the stories about the house being haunted and we wanted to see if it was true.” He explained that when they walked through the house, they could feel the cold air around them. They heard strange noises, silent whispers, and objects flying out of nowhere. Warning them to stay away. “And don’t you think going in that house was a stupid idea?!” Dean said, shouting at him. I mean he wasn’t wrong, it was a very stupid idea. “Well - I - uh…” he said, stuttering. Dean was making him so nervous that his palms were clammy and sweat was beaming on his forehead. Mike finally looked at me and said, “I didn’t think anyone was gonna get hurt! Especially Jess.” He said. “Too little too late for that one buddy.” I said while crossing my arms. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for this to happen. I thought it was stupid and all a joke!” He shouted “If I could take it all back I could.” He said softly, putting his hands in his face. I sighed and looked at him. I was in his shoes once. I used to believe that all this supernatural stuff was a joke, but then my parents explained to me that it’s all real. The ghosts, monsters, everything. I got up and put my hand on his shoulder, I could tell that he was being sincere. “Listen, Mike I know it’s hard not to believe this stuff, but believe me when I say this: it’s all real. And uh, I know how hard it is to lose someone you care about. It can be tough but you’ll get through it, I promise.” “Thanks Agent.” He said while flashing a smile at me. Dean cleared his throat and I removed my hand. “Okay well that’s it for today.” Dean said, and he handed out a business card to Mike. “Call us if you find anything else.” And then he rushed out of the room. “Bye,” Mike said quietly. I gave him a small smile and a quick wave before heading out the door. “What the hell was that Dean?” I said sternly while catching up to him as he walked towards the Impala. “That kid was totally giving you googly eyes, Y/N” he said, climbing in and slamming the door. Is he for real right now? “And why does it matter if he was, it’s not like I can do anything with him. He’s a teenager.” I said, going into the passenger seat. He started the engine and drove off. “It doesn’t matter. He’s 17, probably thinks more with his dick more than his mind.” “Oh and like you don’t either Dean??” I said. He looked at me coldly, gripping his hands on the steering wheel. He continued to drive down the road. “Are you jealous??” “Uhhh no, no no no.” He said, shaking his head. “Whatever Winchester.” I said, looking away from him.

And we continued our drive back to Uncle Bobby’s house in silence.

Authors Note:

Hope you enjoyed this story!

Feel free to let me know what you think!

Like & follow for more !! Xoxo

Check out my other stories!

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ghostkennedy · 1 year

Text

I’m Your Prize

~sub! Leon Kennedy x Gender Neutral! Reader~

Word Count: 2555

This is my writing for @trevor-belmonts-whip ‘s ask that I have copied below:

Ghosty, darling, you don't know me but I also VERY MUCH enjoy the Leon S Kennedy man and I have an idea... a request, if you will. This idea came to me recently when I played pool for the first time, and I thought to myself "damn, playing pool involves a lot of bending full over a roughly waist-height table." So. Possibly. RE2 Leon, in a no zombies scenario, he's a police officer man and after a long shift, he's hits the bar downtown him and the other stations boys frequent. He's having a drink, and he locks eyes with a sweetheart down on the other end of the bar (omg it's us, it's Y/N). You two hit it off, and you play a little bit of pool together. Maybe you're new to the game, he teaches you some stuff, but your a natural as it turns out, and maybe you have a friendly little bet. And you know what? I feel like you've got the rest, you can take it from there. I'll leave this prompt in your highly capable hands, do what you will with it 😌.

Content warnings: drinking alcohol, flirtatious teasing, submissive leon, dominant reader, blowjob, praise, sharing cum while kissing

!!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!!

It was a ritual at the Racoon City Police Department; they always brought the rookie out to your bar and made an absolute fucking scene. It was super obnoxious, but it’d been a long time since they’d gotten a new recruit. You watched silently as nearly the entire police force filed in through the doors and you were so thankful it was your co-owner running the bar tonight. You were merely here because your job had honestly become your entire life, so of course you hung around here after hours. There was always some sort of work to do, something to clean, some networking to do.

You couldn’t complain too much about it though, they bought so much alcohol and tipped really well and it’s all business at the end of the day. You wondered what kind of prematurely balding, fresh out of the academy, egotistical maniac rookie you’d spend the night hoping didn’t try and make a move on you. They always did. Wanted to show off for their department and bang the hot bar owner. Marvin never warned them that it would never happen, you two had a running joke on what sort of things they would try to get into your pants.

“Marvin! It’s been forever, fresh meat for us finally?” you asked as the older man walked over to your stool at the bar and gave you a side hug, squeezing your shoulder.

He laughed before speaking quietly for just you to hear, “You’re gonna love this one.” He looked around the crowd before spotting who he’d been searching for, “Hey rookie! Get over here!” A man with a dirty blonde fringe, wide blue eyes, dressed in light wash blue jeans, a blue button up, and a big jacket over top made his way over to you two. “Alright rookie, this is Y/N. Y/N this is rookie. They own half this bar so you’d better be real nice to them,” Marvin introduced you two, patting the rookie on the shoulder before stalking his way back over to the other officers.

“Rookie, is it? Big coincidence on the name or?” you asked him, raising your eyebrows while smirking at him. You noticed the light blush sneak up on his cheeks.

He laughed softly as he shook his head, “I’m Leon Kennedy. It’s nice to meet you.” He held eye contact for a whopping five seconds, before he shyly averted his gaze. You couldn’t help but find him adorable. You’d like to believe you were big and intimidating, but deep down you knew it’s probably just the way he was.

“So, what are your plans for the evening, big boy? Get piss drunk and make a fool of yourself?” you asked him, trying to make some small talk.

“Uh, not really. I was probably just gonna play some pool and then head out when everyone else is too drunk to notice. You play?” he asked, clearly trying to invite you to play pool with him. You couldn’t deny that you found him so pretty, just down right attractive. His innocent personality is definitely doing something for you, you’d never admit it though.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you asked, toying with him further. You felt accomplished with yourself when he blushed even more. “I’m just fucking with you. I’m shit at it, but I’ll give it a go for the brand new rookie of course,” you took the last swig of your drink before grabbing his hand and leading him back to the pool tables.

You grabbed two cue sticks and handed one over to Leon. The last people who played on this table must have been raised with good manners because everything was already set up and ready to go for a game of 8-ball, which is fucking rare around here.

“You wanna go first?” Leon asked, gesturing you towards the table.

You rolled your eyes and gestured towards the table, “Not a chance, rookies go first.” He laughed, but didn’t argue. He bent over and positioned himself, hitting the cue ball and breaking the balls apart. You weren’t really paying attention to his movement, more focused on the way his cute little ass was sticking out.

None of the balls made it into the pockets, so Leon turned to you, “Solids or stripes? Make sure you think long and hard about this, it is a life changing decision.” You pretended to think super intensely about it, squinting your eyes and running your hand down your face. You ultimately chose stripes.

Hours go by and you two definitely play the game wrong, but Leon doesn’t mind you making up rules in the middle of the game, he finds you endearing. You’d ordered random drinks on the house for the two of you. No matter how many times he insisted he should pay for himself, you weren’t having it. You two weren’t anywhere near drunk, but Leon was definitely tipsy and had loosened up quite a bit.

“I wager you a bet, rookie,” you told him, causing him to raise his eyebrows. “If I win, I get a prize of my choice and if you win, you get a prize of your choice.”

“Isn’t the bar closing in like,” Leon looked down at his watch, “5 minutes?”

“Leon, I own the mother fucker. I can keep you here as long as I want. Agree to a bet or I’ll never forgive you,” you said, pouting at the man.

“We can’t have that,” he said, throwing his hand over his chest, “what do you want if you win?” You hummed in response as you set the game back up.

You turned to him, “You stay here with me as long as I want and I get to keep you at my disposal.” You wiggled your eyebrows at him suggestively and he couldn’t stop himself from blushing yet again. You’d gotten him to blush over and over again since he’d first arrived.

“Alright,” he said, avoiding your gaze, “I’m not sure what I want as a prize.”

“You won’t win, so it’s not necessary for you to pick anyway.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Fine. Your prize can be me,” his heart skipped a beat. His mouth fell slightly open as he stared at you, waiting for you to tell him you were fucking with him again. “I’m a prize, dammit! You don’t think I’m a prize?”

“Um, well, of course I do, I just,” he became more flustered as he watched you bend over, clearly sticking your ass out for him overdramatically, as you got ready to break the triangle of pool balls. “Fuck it, okay. I agree to your terms.”

“Atta boy.”

Your coworker had finished cleaning the place up and had headed out a while ago. The game was so intense, both of you taking it super seriously, both wanting your prize. You were lined up, the only ball left to sink in the pocket being the 8-ball. You were head to head, Leon leaned over right next to you, watching you line up with the cue ball intensely. Right as you went to shoot, his hand suddenly stuck out and poked into your side while he made a loud sound, causing you to jump and mess up your shot.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you whipped your head to look at him as he was laughing like a maniac. “You mother fucker! You’re disqualified for cheating,” you narrowed your eyes at him and he shrugged.

“I’m okay with that, worth it,” he said leaning back against the pool table, arms braced on either side of him as he smiled over at you.

You slowly walked up to him, leaning over him, causing him to lean back over the table as your hands covered his. “Then I get my prize, right?” you asked. He gulped nervously, slowly nodding his head as he stared into your eyes.

You ran your hand up his arm and to his collarbone, lightly dragging your fingers over the sensitive area, pulling a shudder out of Leon. Happy with his reaction, you slowly ran your fingers down his stomach, feeling it tense beneath your touch. Your hand grazed over his belt, fingers ghosting over his quickly hardening dick. He bit his lip to hold back a whimper.

You brought your fingers up to the top button on his shirt and looked into his eyes, “Is this okay?” Leon couldn’t find the words, his mouth gone completely dry. He quickly nodded as you undid one button. “Talk to me, Leon. I need you to tell me what you want,” you continued slowly undoing the buttons until they were all done, pulling it open to expose the white t-shirt he wore beneath.

“Fuck,” Leon whispered, clearing his throat before trying to speak again, “I’ll take whatever you wanna give me.” His voice was so sweet and so needy, it sent a thrill straight to your lower stomach. You smirked at him before pulling his button up off his shoulders and down his arms. You could see his little abs through the thin, white fabric and he looked fucking delectable.

Your fingers went down to his belt buckle, slowly running them along it and looking up at Leon. Raising an eyebrow, silently asking for permission. “Please,” he said in that same tone of voice that had you wanting to throw him back on the table and devour him. Your patience was wearing thin as you quickly loosened his belt and undid his jeans. You pulled the pants down, getting them out of the way so that you had a perfect view of his dick pressing up in his boxers.

You brought your hand to his dick and palmed him firmly through his boxers, causing him to buck his hips up into your hand and a moan to slip through his lips. “You’re such a good boy for me. Do you want me to suck your cock? Think you deserve it?” you asked him as you dropped to your knees before him.

“Please,” he looked down at you with big, watery eyes. He really was putty beneath you.

“Please, what? What do you want?”

“Please, suck my cock. I wanna feel your mouth so badly,” he said, reaching his hand out and running it through your hair. How could you tell him no when he looked so hot like this?

You slipped his boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free and sit perfectly before you. You couldn’t help but stare at his pretty cock. He was so big, so long and had a perfect thickness to it. The tip was leaking precum, it looked so good that you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and running your thumb over the slit. This caused Leon to buck up again, he was losing control and leaving himself entirely at your disposal. Just as you wanted him.

You brought your hand down to his base and slowly, but firmly pumped him, his precum acting as lube. He was struggling to keep his eyes open, but he forced himself to keep them open. He didn’t dare miss a second of your pretty face just inches from his cock, your hands wrapped firmly around him perfectly.

You stuck your tongue out, slowly running it up the underside, from the base to the tip. You made a big show of rolling your eyes into the back of your head and moaning. Leon could’ve come just at the sight of you alone, he’d never seen something so erotic in his life. A whine left his lips as more precum slowly pooled at the tip of his cock.

“Please,” he pleaded with you as you looked up into his eyes. A tear spilled out of one of his eyes and you almost laughed to yourself, thinking how easy it’d be to ruin him completely. The thought quickly passed as your eyes went back to his cock. Your mouth was watering at the sight and you couldn’t wait any longer to taste him. Plus, he was begging so nicely, of course you needed to reward him.

You ran your tongue over his slit, letting the taste of his precum envelop over your tongue. He tasted almost as good as he looked. Although, you weren’t sure anything could taste as good as Leon looks.

You finally wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, gently sucking it. Leon threw his head back, a loud moan escaping his plump lips. You started to bob your head up and down his length. Leon couldn’t stop whimpering and whining as you sucked him deeper each time you slid your mouth back down his cock. If your jaw would allow you to, you could suck him all day. He was so hot like this, the taste amplifying his appeal even further.

You grasped his length with your hand and pumped him in time with your mouth. Drool was spilling past your lips and soaking his pubes. Everytime you pulled your mouth up his length, you’d give a hard suck on his tip, before moving your mouth back down. Each time, his cock hit the back of your throat and you fought the need to gag as tears poured out of your eyes, adding to the sloppiness of the blowjob.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, if you don’t stop I won’t be able to stop it,” Leon rushed out, he was so fucking close. Another few seconds of your movements and he’d be a goner. You hummed in response, speeding up your motions. “Is that okay? Can I cum?” he asked before he bit his lip hard, trying to hold himself back. You replied with an “mhm” as you looked up at him.

His eyes met yours and with one more firm suck on his tip, he was cumming hard. His loud moans were borderline whines as he filled up your mouth. You watched his mouth fall open, his wet lips panting, drool slightly spilling out, eyebrows scrunched together, and his eyes closed tightly as he came. It was hands down, the hottest thing you’d ever seen.

You pulled your mouth off of him, standing back up and looking at him as he struggled to catch his breath. Once he opened his eyes to look at you, you were wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and pulling his mouth to yours. His mouth instantly fell open for you since he was so out of breath and you pushed his cum into his mouth with your tongue.

After he came, you hadn’t swallowed it, but rather held it inside of your mouth so that he could see how good he tastes. He moaned as his cum flooded his mouth, slipping back and forth between your mouths, before you pulled away from him and you each swallowed some of his release.

You ran your thumb over his bottom lip as he lazily wrapped his arms around your waist. “What do we say?” you asked him.

“Thank-thank you,” he stuttered out as he stared at you.

You ran your thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away the tears he’d shed during his orgasm. You brought your thumbs to his mouth and forced it open, his lips instinctively wrapping around them. “Good boy."

~masterlist~

444 notes · View notes

katyswrites · 3 months

Text

put on your records (and regret me)

PART 2 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: asshole!Steve, rivals-to-lovers, swearing, HEAVY alcohol use, recreational weed use, getting drunk/blacking out, descriptions of puking/hangovers, no use of y/n

Wordcount: 3.7k

Playlist

Underground basement concerts, spinning old records, and screaming matches in the vinyl library with the boy you love to hate. An enemies-to-lovers college radio station 90s AU.

TRACK 2

You don’t truly decide to go to Steve’s stupid party until the last possible moment. You already know that spending more time with him than necessary is a recipe for disaster. But, you reason, you probably should show your face. It actually does seem like nearly everyone from the campus’ music scene would be there - it would look bad if you didn’t show up. The radio station’s funding is always on the chopping block - half of your job is networking and being friendly with practically everyone on campus to keep it alive.

Still, as you start getting ready, you consider backing out about 50 times. Is Steve actually expecting you to show up? Is it a pity invite? Or, a challenge?

Knowing him, it’s probably the latter.

Throughout the course of getting ready - which mostly involved throwing on some makeup while intermittently feeling like you had nothing to wear every time you looked in your closet full of clothes - you chugged a bottle of wine to help yourself relax. It had been on the door of the fridge, so God knows how long it had been there, but it’s good enough. Then you’re out the door and catching a bus downtown, shivering a bit in the crisp October evening air. You pull your jacket tighter around you as you hop on board, forever thankful that university students get to ride the city’s buses for free.

It’s packed full of other college kids, mostly freshmen undoubtedly on their way to frat parties downtown. You had outgrown that phase after sophomore year, opting for friends’ house parties and going out to bars as you got older. You can’t help but look at them fondly - somehow, despite being peers in all the ways that matter, you feel so far removed from them; the girls in their mini dresses and crop tops, boys carrying six-packs and sporting unbuttoned flannel shirts, loudly packed onto the bus like sardines on their way downtown to make bad decisions.

Hamilton Street is in the heart of the downtown area, where a lot of students live. You hop off the bus with nearly everyone else, droves of kids filling the streets, chugging beers and smoking cigarettes as they make their way to various frat houses. You follow the groups, the other students slowly peeling away until it’s much quieter - it seems like Steve’s place is one of the last ones on the block.

You had purposely left late enough so that you could guarantee you wouldn’t be in the first wave of people to arrive - it was closer to 11 than 10 at this point. The autumn evening air was chilly enough that you’re walking briskly, jacket pulled tightly around your shoulders. You nearly turn around approximately six times between the bus stop and his house - yet, against all odds, you find yourself standing on his front porch.

Like most student rentals, the house is old and a bit rickety - you can hear the din of chatter and music inside. A good sign, you suppose - part of you had been worried he’d purposely given you the wrong address. You wouldn’t put it past him, not when it comes to you.

You take a deep breath, and open the door. The smell of beer, weed, and sweat hits you like a wave. The small living room is hazy with smoke, the house immediately a bit too warm from body heat. A few heads look up as you enter, followed by an uproar of greetings.

Look who decided to show up!

Hey babe!

Everyone hide, mom’s here!

You roll your eyes, laughing.

“I do have fun sometimes, guys.”

“Oh, I know,” a familiar voice says, Eddie lifting himself off of the couch to give you a big hug.

“I was there at that party freshman year when you nearly fell off of Mikayla Hodder’s roof-”

“Shut up,” you say, face flushed with embarrassment at the (fuzzy) memory.

“Can I get you a drink?” the shaggy-haired boy asks.

You nod, following him back through the house towards the kitchen. You shoulder your way through bodies, saying the occasional hello when someone you recognize catches your eye.

Eddie is rooting through the fridge, pulling out a beer and extending it to you. You accept it gratefully, pushing the fridge closed with your hip as he leans against the counter.

“So…I wasn’t expecting you to be here tonight,” Eddie remarks, popping his bottle cap off with an opener screwed into the wall.

“And why’s that?” you ask casually.

“Well… I mean, please tell me you know whose house this is -”

“Of course I do,” you say quickly, taking a swig of beer. “Harrington invited me.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“Really?”

You nod. “Is that so unbelievable?”

He just shrugs, staring down at his bottle.

“Dunno. I know he’s not exactly your favorite person -”

“Maybe so, but a lot of my friends are here, so… who's to stop me?”

Eddie grins, clinking his drink with yours.

“There you go - I was hoping you’d come out, to be honest. Sometimes I’m worried you don’t let yourself have fun anymore.”

You scoff.

“I - I have fun.”

“You used to. This year, though, you’d been so…”

“So what?” you ask defensively.

Eddie’s face starts to turn a bit red.

“Well - you know - I know you’re stressed and all, managing the station, but… you can be a little…uptight.”

You roll your eyes.

“I’m not uptight -”

“Look, trust me - I’m saying that with love, as your friend -”

“Yeah, whatever - I can be fun.”

“I know - I’ve been there with you through it all. Just… I’m glad you came. I guess that’s what I’m trying to say.”

You don’t really respond, crossing your arms as you glance around the kitchen a bit.

“What are you looking for?” he asks.

“No one,” you respond absentmindedly.

Eddie smirks.

“Yeah - okay.”

Steve is nowhere to be found. Perhaps that’s a blessing - it’s busy enough here that you ma be able to avoid having a conversation all night.

It’s around then that Eddie’s bandmate Gareth is stumbling into the kitchen, stopping himself for a moment before breaking into a grin when he sets eyes on you and Eddie.

“Thank God - me and Jeff need someone for pong!”

That’s how you find yourself partnered with Eddie, letting yourself forget about Steve as you play beer pong. You’re a competitive person, and arguably more so when you’re drunk - that’s how you and Eddie kick ass two rounds in a row, leading a fed up Gareth to declare the game totally bogus before storming out to the back porch to smoke with Jeff.

You high-five Eddie on your way back to the kitchen to grab another drink. You’re properly tipsy now, probably on your fourth drink in less than 2 hours. Your tolerance did used to be better than this - maybe Eddie was right, about you not being as fun as you used to.

The kitchen is empty, which you’re thankful for - it’s tiny to begin with, so more than a handful of people makes it feel cramped. You’re a bit hot, working up enough of a sweat during the game that you had shed your jacket already. The refrigerator light is nearly blinding in the dimness of the room, but the cold gives enough of a relief that you bend over and lean into the fridge. You hang there for a moment, sighing. In the distance, you hear the sound of a glass breaking, followed by a series of aw, mans - you decide it’s not your problem to worry about, and stay there another moment. You then root through the fridge for a moment until you find a bottle of something you like.

You slam the door shut and turn to head back towards the rest of the party, only to nearly jump out of your skin when you realize you’re not alone.

Steve Harrington leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and wearing a smirk.

“Jesus - you scared me. Why the fuck are you just standing there like that?”

He shrugs.

“Just enjoying the view, sweetheart.”

You scoff, popping the cap off of your bottle and heading right towards him, hoping he’d move out of the way to let you through. That, of course, is wishful thinking.

“Can I get through?” you ask, bristling as he blocks the doorway.

“You decided to come,” Steve says, looking down at you with a grin.

“Well, you did invite me.”

“I know - I’m glad you actually showed up, though.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” you mutter sarcastically, shouldering past him and back towards the living room.

Eddie’s lounging on the couch, eyelids heavy as he passes a joint between himself and Argyle.

“Got enough to share?” you ask, plopping down next to him. He nods, passing it over to you. You take a long hit, letting the smoke settle into your lungs as you sink further into the couch.

“You good?” Eddie asks.

“Mm, yeah. Just want to chill here for a little bit.”

He nods, paying you no mind as he takes a deep inhale. Your eyes follow Steve as he crosses the room and heads out to the front porch with a girl you don’t recognize. You feel your brow furrow, your eyes trained on the front door. It’s not too long after that that you manage to help Eddie finish the joint. You chug your beer, starting to feel lightheaded, the world around you moving a bit more slowly.

You fall into a comfortable crossfaded lull there for a while, with Robin Buckley eventually placing a beer can in the middle of the table and calling for a game of Kings as she shuffles a deck of cards.

You open another beer as she does, sitting forward a bit to half-heartedly play the game. You find yourself getting stuck taking a drink quite a few times, your reflexes slow and your wits not quite about you. A few more people filter in, sitting criss-crossed around the coffee table and pulling cards from the deck and doing what it dictates.

“Six is chicks!” Eddie cries out, flashing his six-of-spades card to the group. You roll your eyes as you take yet another drink, reaching to grab your own card as Eddie sticks his under the can’s pull tab.

You glance at it, and giggle.

“Jack - what’s Jack again?”

“Never Have I Ever,” Robin says, holding up three fingers. Everyone follows suit, and you think for a minute to start it off.

“Okay, um… never have I ever done a drug harder than weed.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Eddie asks.

“What do you think it means?”

“Alcohol is technically more powerful of a drug than pot,” Steve pipes up across the table - when did he get here?

“Shut up Harrington, you know what I mean -”

“Yeah, like acid and coke and shit,” Argyle adds.

“Well fuck,” Eddie concedes, putting a finger down.

You laugh, expecting nothing less of him. It goes around the circle for a bit - things ranging from never have I ever broken a bone to never have I ever had a threesome, followed by a series of laughs or groans as people put down fingers and down drinks. You only have one finger left by the time it gets to Steve.

He thinks for a moment, humming to himself as he does - you can’t help but think that there isn’t much he hasn’t done. After a few more seconds pass, he smirks, and locks eyes with Robin.

“Never have I ever hooked up with someone in the vinyl closet at the station.”

“Not fair,” Robin exclaims, smacking Steve on the arm. He laughs as his friend lays into him. She’s blushing, and officially out of the game. She glares daggers at him as she takes a drink.

You can’t help but notice that Steve gets quite a few people with that - Eddie being one of them, caught in a cascade of groans and fingers getting put down. You feel your mouth fall open in disbelief.

“Whoa, wait - is everyone fucking around in the vinyl library?”

Robin stares at you for a moment, dumbfounded, then laughs.

“Wait, seriously? You didn’t know that?”

You feel your face flush with embarrassment, all eyes on you.

“Well - um, no, this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

Eddie just grins, and gives you a playful pat on the back.

“You seriously don’t know your own radio station at all, huh?”

“I - I guess I’m not that surprised that someone has, but - all of you?”

“Not all,” Steve chimes in.

“Yeah, wait - how have you not?” Robin asks.

Steve just shrugs. “I don’t know… I have things like, I don’t know - a bed, in my own home, for starters.”

Robin rolls her eyes. You meet Steve’s eyes for a moment, and quickly look away.

You stick the Jack card in the pile under the beer can’s pull-tab - only to hear a pop followed by a hiss.

“Uh oh, Madame President broke the seal!” Eddie declares, pushing it towards you. “Looks like somebody’s got to shotgun it.”

You take it begrudgingly and stare at it for a moment.

“I need to borrow someone’s keys,” you finally say, earning some whoops and hollers from the group. The last thing you vividly remember is popping a hole in the can, and downing the whole beer in a manner of 30 seconds.

******

You blink awake groggily - enough sunlight permeates through the curtains that you know it must be morning. You groan, your mouth dry and tasting distinctly of alcohol. A turn over towards your bedside table makes your stomach feel all wobbly - fuck.

You reach for your alarm clock, squinting at it - nevermind. It’s not morning - more like the afternoon. Well into the afternoon.

A pit of dread settles into your gut - when did you get home? How long were you asleep? You never sleep this late, not even on weekends - a late lie-in for you is 11 AM. You’re definitely in your own bed, which is a positive - still in last night’s clothes, though. How?

You don’t remember much after the game of Kings - though, you were definitely doing shots at some point… with who? You remember being in someone’s car - maybe. Or was it the bus again? If you actually managed getting the bus home while blackout drunk, you’re actually quite proud of yourself. But that somehow doesn’t seem too likely.

You pulled yourself to sit up, only to immediately regret it. Your stomach is now churning like a stormy sea, and your head is starting to throb. You’re an idiot.

You hadn’t gotten drunk like that since your freshman year - it was a rookie mistake. You just hoped you didn’t make a complete idiot out of yourself in front of everyone.

After finally pulling yourself out of bed, you stumble over to your bedroom window and open the curtains. The bright afternoon sunlight hitting your face made you realize what a horrid mistake that was - you’re practically blinded by the light, and your head is properly pounding now. And now…

You barely make it to the bathroom in time, keeling over the toilet to puke up all of last night’s mistakes. The second your knees hit the cold tile floor, you begin coughing everything up, regretting anything and everything you’ve ever done to lead you to this moment. You don’t even hear Nancy approach behind you, not even aware of her presence until you’ve flushed and fall back against the wall, feeling disgusting.

“I was going to ask how you’re feeling, but it feels like a stupid question,” she says, leaning against the doorway with her arms crossed.

You glance up at your roommate, feeling so small.

“Ha ha,” you say sarcastically. She offers a hand to help you up, which you accept gratefully. She waits until you’re hunched over the sink, brushing your teeth and gargling water to clean the taste of sick out of your mouth, to speak again.

“So - it was a fun night?” she asks cautiously.

You laugh dryly. “Um, yeah, I guess the night was fun. Right now… not so much.”

“Aww, poor baby,” Nancy coos teasingly. “You’ll be alright - just chill out today, yeah?”

“Mm - yeah, that’s the plan. I think I’m going to take a shower… and lie down for a little.”

Nancy nods. “Yeah, good idea - maybe I can go down to Blockbuster, rent a couple of movies, get some snacks?”

You offer up a small smile. “That’s nice, but you really don’t have to -”

“No seriously, it’s fine, I think they have some new stuff I want to check out anyways. I don’t have plans anyway - let’s just do a girls’ day, maybe get takeout later -”

“Sounds great, Nance. Thanks. Maybe hold off on takeout, for a bit… let me see how all of this feels,” you say, gesturing to your stomach.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll head out - take a nice, long shower, it always helps.”

“Sure thing - and hey, I don’t know who called you, but thanks for coming to get me last night.”

Nancy furrows her brow quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I - didn’t you bring me home last night?”

Nancy shakes her head.

“No - no, I was asleep. I think I heard the door open at some point, but I assumed that was just you coming home - you don’t remember?”

You shake your head, properly confused now.

“No - I don’t. I - think maybe I took the bus back then?”

“I thought they stop running those after like 2AM? I didn’t hear you get home until around 3, I think.”

She’s right - then how did you get back?

You bite your lip, thinking for a bit.

“Maybe it was Eddie. I’ll call him and ask.”

Nancy nods. “Alright, yeah. Either way, you got back safe. Sorry about the hangover, though.”

You wave her off. “It’s my own fault - I went too hard last night. I’m just going to try to sleep it off, I guess.”

After Nancy leaves, you take a nice, long shower - you feel utterly disgusting, still in last night’s sweaty clothes and smudged makeup. You let last night’s bad decisions cascade down your skin and into the drain, sighing as the shower semi-revives you.

By the time you’re out and drying off, your stomach has settled a bit more. The headache has only gotten a bit worse, though. You open the medicine cabinet, only to find the bottle of Ibuprofen missing. Did Nancy use it and forget to put it back? You don’t want to go rifling through her room, so you trudge back to your bedroom, praying she can find it when she gets back.

Pulling on a baggy t-shirt and pajama shorts, you reach for the phone on your bedside table - you punch in Eddie’s number, sitting on the edge of your bed as you twirl the cord with your finger. He picks up almost straight away.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Eddie - it’s me.”

“Whoa! She lives!” he cries out, laughing. You wince.

“Can you not yell, please?”

“Uh oh - are you feeling a little… delicate?”

“Fuck you,” you murmur, falling back onto your mattress.

“I’m only teasing -”

“Yeah, whatever. Listen - did I make an idiot out of myself?”

“How much do you remember?”

“Uh - I remember playing Kings… and not a ton after that. I remember little things here and there, but… were we dancing?”

“You were dancing. On the kitchen table, if I remember.”

You groan, letting your head fall into your free hand.

“Oh God -”

“It’s all good, listen - people thought it was fun, I swear.”

“Yeah, if you say so… did I throw up?”

Silence on the other end.

“Oh fuck -”

“Only actually in the toilet, though - well, someone’s Solo cup at one point. Then it was all the bathroom after that, I swear. I really don’t think a lot of people saw that part though, the night was kind of winding down.”

“You swear?”

“Positive. Even I was leaving at that point. Don’t know if you got worse after that, though.”

You sit up suddenly, despite your body’s protests.

“You - what?”

“Listen, I didn’t want to leave you, but Argyle’s buddy Jonathan offered to drive us, and he didn’t want someone who might get sick in his car -”

“But wait, hold on - how did I get home? I thought you got me back -”

“Oh - you really don’t remember, huh?”

“Well - no.”

“Don’t get mad, but -”

“But what?”

“It was Steve. He drove you home.”

You pause, opening your mouth a few times to say something, but not finding the words.

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Harrington only had like, two beers all night, so he said he could take you back.”

“I - oh.”

What you wanted to say was, why the fuck would he do that?

“So… yeah. Sorry about that. But, I’m glad you made it back okay.”

“Yeah - mm hm…” you murmur absentmindedly. You hear a shrill beeping sound through the phone, making you wince.

“Sorry - fuck, Gareth set off the fucking fire alarm again. Sorry, I -”

“No, it’s okay. Go deal with that. I just… wanted to make sure you knew I’m alive.”

“Glad to hear it,” he says, and you can practically what your friend’s grin through the phone. “Gotta go - drink water, eat some fries, bye -”

Click.

You sit there in silence for a few moments, brow furrowed - Steve? Did you really make a drunk fool of yourself in front of him? You groan - he’ll definitely find a way to use this as leverage. How did he even get you inside? Did you throw up in his car - Christ, you hope not.

Worst of all… now you owe Steve Harrington, of all people.

It’s as you’re making peace with this horrible realization that you finally spot the Ibuprofen - there it is, in plain sight, on your bedside table. The bottle is conveniently right there, somehow, with a glass of water. You hadn’t noticed it in your hungover stupor earlier - when you reach for it, you realize it’s sitting on top of a note with untidy scrawl that reads:

Take some of this - you’re going to need it, sweetheart.

-Harrington

You stare at it dumbfoundedly, then scoff.

Motherfucker.

author's note: I'm back! I took a bit of a hiatus, but I'm back in the swing of writing. I wont lie though... this is barely proofread. So, please be kind. This is a slow burn, so don't expect real smut for a few more chapters. But, let me know your thoughts, and I hope you enjoyed!

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