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tremendum · 1 year

Text

Mr. Miller’s House

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her, use of the word girl)

rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.)

word count: 7.6k requested: yes summary: “Joel was a mean, mean man. and you eat it up like a woman starved for months.” warnings: mentions of food/eating, drinking alcohol, age gap (unspecified), Jackson era, Ellie gets a splinter, Joel is honestly rude to Ellie in this and reader is judgy about Joel’s parenting practices lol. but really, this is just filthy smut (PiV, unprotected), dirty talk, sir kink, use of the word slut a LOT, one use of the word bitch, humiliation/degradation, hints of masochism, choking, exhibitionism, public smut, rough sex, dom!Joel, mean joel, lots of fighting/anger, cumplay, dirty talk, ass spanking, pussy spanking, mentions of blood (reader gets scraped knees), throat/facefucking, rough oral (m!receiving), overstimulation, dacryphilia, multiple orgasms. lmk if i missed any please lmfao

notes: okay jesus fucking christ!!! i wrote this so fasst lol but it was fun and highly requested. hope yall like it. as always reblogs/asks/comments are always great motivations :’) this is not reread because as i have said before im lazy and INSANE!

[this is a sequel to Mr Miller. part three other Joel fics: fever landmines ]

★

this was a mistake. you shouldn't have done this....this was a terrible idea.

fuck.

the chair is stiff beneath you. there's a hard coolness about it that is welcomed on the skin of your bare legs, the shorts you wear helpful in the heat of summer but futile against the slick of sweat that sheens your skin. the chair is hard, but yet still strong, sturdy.

you swallow dryly, heart beating fast. it's the same chair you sat at just a few weeks ago, signing the log with Joel leaning over your shoulder, before he-

you look away, around, anywhere in order to avoid the memories, hot and boiling and clawing at your mind and suffocating you until you stop breathing- and then your eyes settle, they glue themselves across the kitchen table.

they glue themselves to him.

fuck.

Joel's already staring at you; his lips are downturned in that permanent grimace he always sports, the muscles of his torso rigid with immobility - perhaps he thinks if he's still enough, the ground will just swallow him whole and he won't have to do this.

you yearn for that escape as much as he does.

then, out of the silence; "see, this isn't so bad."

speak for yourself, Ellie.

both heads in the room turn to the speaker slowly, the girl watching between the two of you, more than willing to ignore the obvious disdain in the air. she's grinning like a damn devil.

this girl's going to kill you.

it is that bad, contrary to Ellie's statement.

it'd been days of her begging you, with a tug on the hand, a punch to the shoulder, and countless pleads and threats until you finally caved in and accepted her proposal to have her and Joel over for dinner.

no matter how much you detest her guardian, you just can't resist those big puppy-dog eyes, or that gigantic, youthful smile.

for the last few months, Ellie has grown to be quite the little farmhand for you; though you like to keep to yourself on your days in the gardens, it was nice to have the girl buzzing around you and the other gardeners, pollinating each person she sees with questions like what really happens in germination and is this ripe? can I pull it?

it's cute, how excited she is to show Joel all of the crops you've grown with her in the last few months. but what isn't cute, is that it's him that has to be here. of all people, why did Joel have to be the one Ellie chose as her father?

because.... things weren't okay between you and Joel.

you're not sure if you were childish for expecting for him to warm up to you after - well, after the time he bent you on this table and fucked you stupid - but you hadn't been prepared for the coldest shoulder you've ever gotten in your measly life for the last few weeks.

it didn't help that the summer was kicking up and you needed more crops than ever for the commune; your patrolling had dwindled into maybe one or two every week or so, usually with Maria - so you didn't have to face Joel, really, at all.

but he avoided you like the plague when in town or on your street (though, he did that with everyone) and even at the Tipsy Bison, where your presence would clean him from the room before a drop of condensation could even slide down his glass of whiskey.

hell, maybe he even put a word in with Maria and Tommy that the last patrol together didn't go as planned; you'd even considered doing it at one point. you're not sure, but it just made you all the more irritated when you'd catch glimpses of their porch in the afternoons, Joel holding a guitar around Ellie's chest, chuckling as she strummed horribly. as if everything was okay. like you didn’t exist.

the anger and hatred grew awful.

it festered, grew when Maria mentioned off-handedly to Tommy that some woman, Dahlia, had taken a liking to Joel. you'd nearly shattered the glass you were holding in your fist at that; Joel, with Dahlia? that grumpy piece of shit, taking a liking to someone sweet and kind like her?

you ought to punch his fucking face.

you're zoned out when Ellie suddenly comes into your line of sight; reaching over your chest to grab a slice of the fresh bread you'd picked up earlier that day. you blink back into reality as Joel grunts, "E-Ellie, hey." he's shaking his head as he gestures to her arm, "use your manners."

he sounds almost embarrassed; annoyed. your mind betrays you as it whirls back; when Joel had you pinned down on this very table, commanding you in a different way, his eyes dark with delight as you cried and writhed for him.

but at his chastising, you send Ellie a sneaky look, rolling your eyes when Joel's looking down. the girl chuckles at that and an untrusting Joel stares daggers between the two of you. Ellie clears her throat with a smirk, "sorry. can you please pass me the bread?"

you grin, "why, yes, ma'am." you hand her the basket, "thank you for asking." you add to the girl on your right, your eyes on Joel's. he stares back harshly, hand grabbing for the glass of wine that sits in front of him.

another few moments of tension before Elie decided to take it upon herself to introduce as much of the food that sits on the table in front of you as she can remember.

peas, spinach, lentil and cabbage stew, beet salad, goat cheese and roasted carrots, cauliflower mash. fresh bread.

proteins from animals are scarce and are typically served in only the dining hall, so you decided to skip the meat and serve roasted artichoke instead. Joel doesn't look too thrilled about that as Ellie explains. you hide your scoff behind a sip of your dark wine.

"-and, look, I planted these beets." Ellie points to the bowl on the table which houses arugula and beet salad; you smirk down at the plate as Joel hums as if interested. his eyes flicker to yours from across the table as Ellie delves in on a tangent about how bloody beets look, those dark pupils flickering over your face before flitting back to the young girl. his eyes were swimming with something else, something.... seductive.

a shiver runs down your spine.

does he ever think about it?

you do. you think about it every night - how his hands felt, rough, unforgiving; the look on his face, that dark smirk when he'd made you beg for him to ruin you... the frenzy in his eyes when he'd ‘taught you some goddamn manners,’ when he'd taken you apart brutally and quick. Joel was a mean, mean man. and you eat it up like a woman starved for months.

your name calls you back to Ellie, whose eyes are wide and tracing over a rough, splintered notch in your table, "the hell is this from, is it-" her fingers jolt away at the rugged piece that slides into her skin, "shit!" she yelps, shaking her hand.

your brows furrow, rising to help her as Joel pulls her hand towards him. "I have tweezers." you mutter, disappearing into your bathroom to pull out your tweezers, returning to see Ellie smiling in embarrassment and Joel sitting with his arms crossed, amused irritation lacing his face. his beard is growing in more recently - you can hear the noise of the short bristles scratching his hand as he rubs his knuckles over his jawline.

nodding, pleased that Ellie's discomfort has subsided, you set your tweezers on your right, spearing some salad on your fork as silence cradles you three yet again.

it’s only tense and silent for a moment. then Ellie speaks, and it’s just tense.

"why is there a notch like that in your table?" she finally wheezes, as if she'd been summoned to be silent until she couldn't handle her curiosity anymore.

you don't have to look up to know that a pair of dark eyes pin you to your chair, daring you to say something about it.

your throat dries as you swallow your mouthful of salad, coughing a bit.

a rip in your flannel, the grazing of your soft skin with the blade. a hand pulling hard to dislodge the knife from its home against you; the thick slide of Joel as he drags his length through your destroyed, spent core.

"um- I-I" perhaps it's your panic, of the knowledge that his eyes are glued to you, but soon your eyes meet his; unwavering. "well. someone likes to threaten people when they can't find patrol logs."

"Joel!" Ellie hisses, smacking his arm, "you fucking stabbed her table and didn’t do anything about it?” she’s grinning.

"yeah, Joel," you smirk, swirling with desire as his hawkish gaze pins you to your chair, "you really should use your manners. you've ruined my table."

"shut the hell up right now." he snaps at you, hand slamming his fork down harshly onto the plate. you and Ellie both jump at the sternness in his voice.

you listen, for once.

and honestly, ten minutes ago feels like heaven compared to the tenseness of this silence.

several minutes go by, the sounds of scraping forks and knives and the meager attempts by you and Ellie to salvage a decent dinner conversation ringing soft in your kitchen.

at least you and her are trying.

you ignore the notch from the knife like a wildfire and pretend Joel isn't even with you; Ellie is more than enough life and laughter for you, and your playful disposition matches hers perfectly despite the joy-damper of a man sat across from you.

he's stewing. arms crossed, chewing on food here and then, mostly listening and sighing, brushing off Ellie's jabs or playful questions or stories. he won't do anything except eat and glare at you.

the wine bottle is nearly gone and you're not sure if it's his fault or yours. probably both.

you snap when he just outright ignores Ellie, shaking his head with a sigh and taking another bite. the audacity.

"-she asked you a question, Miller." you snap, fed up with his dissociative disposition. you don't even intend to say it; even Ellie looks up at your words, surprised.

his head turns to face you too slow to be safe. his eyes are fucking furious as he mutters, "excuse me?"

"hey, guys-" Ellie's hands are out in front of her, but you can't take your eyes off him.

"I'm just saying, you could at least try to pay attention." you spit, crossing your arms defensively, "we made this dinner, we're just trying to have a conversation, the least you could do-"

"you don't tell me what to do." he states, calm and cool, pointing at you. his nose flares as he breaths heavy, your own breath quickening. arousal rushes to your center and you shift on your seat.

"-listen, maybe this was a bad idea. I knew you weren't the best of friends, but this is-" Ellie starts again, eyes flickering between you both. "this is too awkward."

"no, Ellie, I'm sorry-" you start to say, breaking.

you don't want her to be caught in the cross-fire of your problems with Joel; it's unfair. the further this goes, the more she'll be put in a position of mediator, so you figure it should just end now.

"Ellie, go home."

Joel growls the demand, eyes looking to her, his hand falling gently to her shoulder. her eyes widen, as if asking him if he's serious.

"what?" she asks, "no! you'll-you’ll fucking stab each other or something."

yeah, you think. you might.

Joel's shaken off her shoulder but he's resilient, "go on, go see the kids for the movie. I'll come later. we just need to sort something out." he mutters, eyes falling to you at the tail end of his sentence.

shivers roll down your spine; fuck, fuck - a flood of arousal hits you again, and you swallow, willing the feelings to go the fuck away.

Ellie's scowling, but still has the decency to thank you for dinner before slamming the door hard on her way out of the threshold.

Joel's eyes stay locked with yours until her footsteps are gone.

it’s silent for a moment before he speaks.

"do not fuckin' disrespect me like that in front of her again." he snaps.

you narrow your eyes, "you're concerned that I- what, I undermined you in front of your girl?" you hiss incredulously. "come on, that's pathetic."

"I don't like you." he snaps, shoving his plate away from him in an almost childish act of defiance. it’s shocking, the immaturity of his words so sudden. barely prompted.

it's clear he intends to continue this little confessional of his, but you have no intention of allowing that.

you roll your eyes, "big fucking deal. what do you want me to say?" you hiss, "sorry that I was rude, Mr. Miller! let me just cook you fucking dinner and invite you over to make up for it."

his nostrils flare, "never wanted to do this in the first place." he mutters.

you nearly rip out your hair in frustration. "obviously you didn't! christ, why do you always act like everything you do is a goddamn chore?" you snap, "Ellie wanted to have a nice night and show you what we've been doing- what she's been doing for this community. and all you can do is sit here and act like a fucking asshole because you don't know how to enjoy anything. it's a miracle she's still around with you, when you treat her like that."

his jaw clicks in anger, "you have no fuckin' clue what we've been through together." his voice is close to a yell, "you don't know how much that girl means to me."

"then why won't you show her!?" you yell.

it quiets the room for a moment and a fleeting feeling of pride is squashed when he speaks again.

his brows raise, a look of realization creeping onto his face. he nods his head, "I see what this is," he lets out a bitter, mocking laugh. "you want me to tell you how much I love your food? y'trying to prove to me that you're not a bad influence on her, after all?"

you stare at him, anger clouding your sight; are there tears of frustration rimming your eyes? you hope he doesn't notice.

"-newsflash, darlin', I don't fucking care about you." he finishes, scowl dark. "you're a nuisance. don' know why Tommy took you in, anyways. you're a foul-mouthed, untrustworthy, pathetic little slut- and jus' because you can't stop thinking about my cock doesn't mean I owe anything to you. no dinner, no fuckin- cordial neighborly attitude, nothing."

thinking about- what?

oh, fuck him. your face burns; your jaw unhinges. of course he thinks this is about you and him. your eyes spare a quick, fleeting glance to the notch in the table before you glare, "well I don't fucking care about you either, Miller. don't be so fucking conceited."

he laughs, shaking his head as he downs the remainder of his wine before slamming the glass down, but you're not finished. you can't let him think he's won.

"you’re delusional. I haven't thought of it once." you spit, aflame at his accusation. you feel flustered, still caught off-guard. if anything, it was him who was obsessed with it - you see the way his eyes can't leave you; the way he adjusted his jeans earlier when you leaned over to pull a bowl from your cabinet.

"really?" he spits, brows raised. his chest moves with the exertion of your yelling and you resist the urge to hit him or stomp your foot or anything. "yes, really." you defend, face heating up under the scrutiny of his knowing gaze.

"anyone ever tell you you're an awful liar, sweetheart?" he drawls, raising his brows at you.

you fume, standing up, pointing to the door, "get the fuck out, Joel."

his eyes light ablaze with the same anger that rages in your heart as he stands, throwing his napkin on his plate, "gladly. food was great." he spits, storming out of the house with no other words.

your scowl doesn't leave your face for the entire rest of the night. what- what the fuck was that? how dare Joel assume so much about you- he doesn't know you, at all.

your eyes fall to the bottle in your hands.

ellie left her water canteen at your place. you were so angry, so mad earlier, that you hadn’t realized she’d left it until a few minutes ago.

she doesn't need it, right? she could get it next time she comes round. yeah. she'll get it next time, you don't have to go over. right?

no.

you have to go over.

the anger within you festers just as much as the slick that plagues the apex of your thighs in the aftermath of your spat with Joel; it's a vicious cycle where you think about his tone, how condescending it was and then you get mad - but some sick part of you wants it to consume you; wants him to consume you.

you’re fucking obsessed with him. you hate him.

you need to hear him yell at you again- if-if anything, to get your ten cents in on the argument, and also maybe to get some good content for your wet dreams tonight. jesus christ.

god, you're so fucked up.

christ.

so once you finish cleaning from the remnants of the meal, your legs are carrying you over to his house with Ellie's canteen in your hand before you can second-guess it.

what the fuck are you doing?

you're standing on their porch in mere seconds, your breath heavy with wrath. what if Ellie opens the door? well- you suppose, if she does, you'll give her the canteen and talk to her. probably apologize for acting the way you did. no business with Joel, then. yeah. that’s... that’s fine.

fuck. why do you want Joel to answer so terribly?

you know where the answer lies - a coiling beast of arousal, consuming and muddling your mind, just at the apex of your thighs.

Joel is a fucking asshole. you need him. now.

your knuckles slam so hard and unforgiving against their door that there is no possibility of them assuming it's anybody else but you at their porch. their light is flickering and dim above you as you stand, canteen in hand, eyes trained forward in determination.

the door swings open in an air of irritation.

your face jerks back as Joel Miller stands, staring at you with the disdain of a thousand lifetimes swirling around his eyes.

"y'here for more?" he snarks.

your momentary hesitation melts away when his words drip from his lips. a glare pierces him through the eyes when you shove the canteen into his hands, "I'm here for Ellie. she left this." you spit.

he lets out a chuckle, humor absent from the ring as he scratches his nose, "right." he mutters. "well she ain't home. went to the movie in town." he clips, setting the canteen on the table just inside the house. "y'need me to pass any more of your words of wisdom on to her?" he asks, voice clipped and prickled with sarcasm.

you glare. "yeah. just do me a favor, tell her I'm sorry her dad is being a hypocritical, neglecting asshole." you snark, sending a false smile up at him as he leans with his arms crossed at the doorway.

you don't miss how he leans into it, how he's not slamming the door on your face. he wants to argue, too. "-and you can suck a dick, Mr. Miller." you add, intending to whirl away on your heel.

he scoffs, a deep and condescending noise. "thanks for comin' all the way over to return a little canteen. g'night, darlin', hope you don't make too much'a mess when you cum all over that table again tonight thinkin' of how much I hate you. glad y'got your ten cents in."

your face burns hot in embarrassment, and at the irony of him using the same phrase you’d thought.

the door moves quick to shut, but your arm moves quicker.

your hand wedges is just before it shuts, leaving you far too close to Joel than you'd like - gunpowder, pine, and dark amber whiskey surround your senses. again.

so you shoot another fist forward, aiming for his left jaw; aiming for it to hurt.

he’s going to fucking hurt.

it doesn't make contact with the warm skin, though: no, his hand has caught your wrist in an iron-tight grip, wrenching your arm down hard.

you let out a gasp of surprise as he shoves you off of the door and away from him before you can blink.

but instead of the door slamming in your face, his rough hands are pushing you hard up against the side of his garage. the door behind him remains ajar as he pushes himself into your space, growling at you as your mouth falls open in shock.

"did you just try to hit me, girl?" he whispers, voice deadly serious. you swallow, arousal rushing down to your heat; you swear you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy as he stares hard at you, but your eyes trail down to his jeans.

you hide your smirk as you take in the stretch of the rough denim, the outline of his own arousal evident even in the dim light. he’s hard because you were going to hit him.

your body aches as you remember the stretch of him inside you, splitting you open. your eyes flicker back up to his where he breathes heavily, expecting a response.

you give him one.

"yes, but you already knew that." you smirk, cocking your head as you boldly gyrate your hips forward slightly, your clothed cunt clenching in desire as you graze his hard-on. "or are you not hard right now, Mr. Miller?" you purr, your voice laced with seduction.

his rough hand shoves your hips hard back against the wall, a growl slipping his throat. "y'got a dirty fuckin' mouth on you." his breath hits your cheeks in a warm reminder of the wine you'd both had for dinner.

"so it wasn't because of that?" you ask, blinking in a false sense of innocence, watching as his eyes swim with an animalistic hunger. you've got him right where you want him. "was it from thinking about me touching myself? or, from remembering the last time we were together in my house?"

his momentary lapse in recovery allows for you to go in for the final kill, "Mr. Miller,” you coo, “do you think of my pussy when you fuck Dahlia? d'you wish it was me?" you spit, smirking up at him as red splatters his furious features, "you can talk all you want, Mr. Miller, but I know you're just a greedy, desperate man who loves to pretend you have any power over me." you whisper into the shell of his ear, palm roughly grabbing the outline of his cock boldly.

his next movements take your breath away: the shock of his fists slamming hard against the wall on either side of your head makes you jump, and his hawkish, angry eyes bore into yours.

"get your fuckin' hands off of me. now."

his voice is... scary.

the blood leaves your head as your damp spot of your pants floods with desire, the fear spiking a real excitement in you. you are smart enough to follow his orders; the look in his eyes suggests you do so.

your hands shakily fly back from his crotch to hang by your sides as you stare up at him - nervous. excited, ready.

his eyes are narrowed, stern as his brows are furrowed low. the permanent scowl on his lips is intimidating as he holds your gaze with fierce intent. "you're gonna be real fuckin' honest with me, now. okay?"

you swallow dryly, staring up at his face, how he's boxed you in with arms on either side of your head. you feel cornered, small; prey, hunted by predator.

you nod smally, startled into silence, unable to speak as the ache between your legs becomes unbearable. your legs clench, searching for relief only to be disappointed at the dull sensation.

he stares at you for a few moments, unmoving except for the flaring of his nostrils and the rising of his chest as he breathes just as heavy as you.

"are you wet?"

your face flushes with heat. christ, Joel is going to kill you. (if you don't kill him first). your legs feel weak, desire driving your heart rate up as you nod meekly, voice cracking out. "y-yes."

he nods, seemingly pleased with your honesty.

"how long have you been walkin' round with ruined panties?" his head tilts down slightly, angled down at you as if chastising you. you flush in shame, genuinely taking a moment to remember the exact moment you first noticed your underwear dampen.

you can't admit to him that you woke up this morning with his name on your lips and a wet patch on the seat of your sleep shorts, can you? (and certainly not that it happens every day.)

"s-since-" you take a sharp inhale, glaring at him for humiliating you like this - outside, no less. anybody could walk past or look out their window and see Joel and you like this. "dinner."

his brows raise, the look darkening on his face. you can tell, he loves the beginning - the teasing, the arguing, the embarrassment - just as much as the end. "dinner? s'like, two hours." his frown immodest, tempting. judging.

you nod, biting back a snide comment about Joel being an excellent time-teller, your face burning in embarrassment as you break eye contact, staring at your feet.

"d’you like being a slut?" he asks, then. you nearly whimper at his words, the aching in your cunt burning, pulsing and clenching around nothing as you stare at him in desire. fuck Joel Miller.

"'m not a slut." you say, but the defiant words come out more as a whine than a sharp argument. one hand falls from the wall on your left to grip onto your jaw, holding your cheeks hard as he forces your eyes back up to him.

his nails dig into the soft flesh of your cheeks as you gasp, your own hands in fists as you resist pulling him into you.

"that's not what I fuckin' asked, now, is it?" he sneers. you blink up at him, shaking your head after a moment of contemplation. "no, sir." you whisper meekly. you don't miss the tightening of his grip at the honorific as it falls sultry from your lips. he hums.

"do you want me to touch you?" he asks next. you can't even have the decency to stop your whine as you nod, "yes, please."

his other hand falls from the wall, eyes just as angry and unforgiving as he undoes the button on your shorts single-handedly. "good. don't you fuckin' look away from my eyes, y'hear me? hands down, eyes up."

this is twice now that he hasn't let you touch him - your brows furrow, but just as he snaps in front of your face, you let the thought melt away.

"y-yes, sir." you nod, your palms sweaty, heart thundering as he shoves his hand down the front of your shorts, breaching your underwear easily as fingers slide through the deft curls that lie just above your heat.

"gotta warm y'up for me this time," he mutters, eyes sharp as he watches yours, ensuring they don't do as much as blink.

it's delicious, almost too much as two of his thick fingers part the seam of your lips, your wetness spilling and coating his fingers immediately. you burn in shame, thighs starting to close over his hand.

one ruddy, thick thigh slides to kick your leg to the side, widening your stance as he shoves you harder up against the side of the house. the tip of his finger prods at your aching hole, leaking with desperation for him.

there are crickets outside, a steady but low staccato of music filling the summer Jackson air as one finger slowly slides into you, curling unforgivingly as you gasp, rising on your toes as he stretches you. "fuck," you whimper, throwing your head back against the wall behind you.

the thud is dull, but it echoes around the street and it calls your attention to the very public space you're in.

"hey." Joel snaps, one hand swatting your cheek lightly as your eyes close, "don't look away."

you blink back at him as he pumps lazily for a few moments, watching your every micro-expression, the way your chest stutters with his motions. the noise of your arousal is humiliating against the pleasant summer breeze.

you can't help the low moan of his name when he adds a second finger. the stretch is nothing like when it's his cock inside of you, but the strokes, the curl of his fingers start to coax a simmering coil in you that you know will explode soon.

your eyes are still on his obediently when you nearly whisper it.

he hears it, though, and smirks, "what was that, darlin’?"

you groan in irritation but it splinters into a sharp moan when his fingers pick up their pace, fucking into you as you lie slack against the wall, legs trembling.

"just- fuck me. fuck me now." you wheeze, the desire a burning snake that coils around your chest and squeezes at your heart.

"no." he decides, eyes glaring, "can't have y'whining like a bitch again, darlin'. gotta open you up on my fingers first." the sting of his words are cushioned by the lust that swirls around his voice, the languid was his thick fingers pump up into you, holding you up against the frame of the house with a dark smirk.

you nod, hissing in stimulation when one finger slides to start rubbing your neglected clit with just enough pressure to curl your toes; your chest is slick with sweat, fingernails digging painfully into the meat of your palm as you hum, lips sealed tight to avoid yelping out.

your eyes flicker from his once more, scanning the street just feet away from you, paranoid of the possibility of a neighbor seeing you.

Joel notices, of course. "what, baby, don' want the neighbors to see?" he hums, eyes cutting into you as your face flushes with heat, "y'seemed to want everybody to hear me fucking you stupid last time, didn't 'ya?"

you groan, "fuck you, Joel."

his hand stops its ministrations just as cold ice pours down your spine. oh, shit.

his hand slides out of your pants, face furious.

you shake your head, eyes welling with tears; you hadn't meant for it to slip out like that. "n-no, wait, 'm sorry, didn't mean it." you whimper, voice choked with the loss of his hand.

he just huffs a cold chuckle, wiping his hand over his face, the other one glistening with your juices under the light of the porch.

your panicked, desperate babble of apologies is stopped with one look from him.

"get on your goddamn knees now."

you shiver with excitement, tears drying slightly as you swallow, complying quickly. the cement is rough and cold under your bare knees, your hands held still together on your thighs as you stare up at him in wait. he stands tall before you; the shroud of the flickering porch light emboldening him, making him look like a god - an unforgiving one, at that - as he pulls his thick, pulsing cock from his jeans.

your mouth waters as he starts to pump it languidly, the tip a red color from arousal, leaking precum.

he doesn’t have to ask you to open your mouth for him, your own desire to taste him spurring you to stick your tongue out flat in wait for his dick.

"I'm going to ask you again." he says, tapping your tongue with the weight of his length, the slapping noise flooding your underwear as you ache to feel him again. "do you like being a slut?"

you swallow, tongue sliding along the bottom of his head as you do, muttering a slight, "yes, sir."

"'s right. you love being my slut." he nods, your mouth open and ready for him as he thrusts his whole length into your wet, warm mouth; you gag almost immediately, his hips unforgiving as he immediately starts to fuck into your throat. you try your best to breathe through your nose, gagging as his tip pokes the back of your throat - you know there'll be a bruise that will make it painful to eat, drink, speak - you fucking love it.

he lets out a grunt of arousal, nodding as his hands gather your hair from your face, gripping your cheeks and pushing your head back against the side of the house.

two thrusts, a few tears from your eyes as you choke, your lungs burning for air.

he pulls away, you suck in air with a strangled gasp. your saliva links you to his heavy cock, a chain that holds you in his grasp. "tell me you love being my slut."

you burn at his words and in your brief hesitation, his cock is slapping at your mouth, his impatience bleeding through his actions.

"I-" your voice is wrecked after only a few seconds of him in your mouth, but you swallow as you gasp for air, "I l-love being your slut."

he slides himself through your slick lips again, hips a punishing pace as he fills up your mouth, your throat tight and wet. his groan echoes through the street; in the corner of your eye, you swear you see a light turn on in a bedroom window. shivers of desire run through you as you resist the urge to touch yourself.

you can't breathe; your nose brushes against the course hair at the base of his shaft, the scent of him surrounding you as his hips try to smash you against the side of the house.

he holds you there, hands rough on your cheeks, slapping your right cheek as it bulges with his length. you choke, gagging as you try your hardest to keep eye contact. his face is harsh, his sneer cold as he stares at you, "'s right, choke on your fuckin' words, darlin'." his hips press forward slightly and you cough around him, it's too much - tears slide down your cheeks as you try not to gag more.

"you gonna disrespect me again?" he asks, tilting his head as spit trails down your chin, tears meeting the trail of saliva as it drips down onto your chest.

you can only hum a nuh-uh around his cock, hoping it's enough to satisfy him. you feel yourself throb and fucking burn with need, your knees sore from the cement under you.

you cough and sputter when he pulls himself away from you, mouth sore, jaw aching and throat wrecked. his eyes flicker over to the house across the street before he grips your shoulder, tugging you in your aroused, dazed state up to your legs.

"oh, darlin', you're bleedin'." he coos at you, thumb swiping your cheek as you stand up. he's right: your knees are just scratched enough to speckle the skin with dark splotches of blood. you feel a tingling sensation of arousal as he hums, "let's get you inside, hm?"

you stumble to keep up as he storms through the threshold of the house, the door swinging shut after your shaking frame falls inside. it's dark; there is only one lamp turned on in the other room.

Joel is almost a shadow as he surrounds you, your hands falling onto his large, stiff shoulders as he pushes you against the door frame.

your legs give out from desire soon and the two of you tumble to the ground, a mess of grunts and shoves, tearing at clothes as you whimper in desire, his own lustful groans echoing the empty house. as his pants are shucked off and your shorts are thrown across the room, your hips are shoved and flipped over until you're ass-up for him, one of his large hands moving roughly to grab a handful of your plush behind.

your hands and knees ache, but you wiggle your ass slightly in need, not daring to speak to him. the anger that radiates from the two of you is a grenade; you can feel the tension bubbling behind your desire and so you just move back until you brush against his hard length, the fabric of your panties completely soaked as you grind against him.

his moan echoes as a hand falls hard to slap against the skin of your ass. you let out a strangled yell, the pain stinging through you as you keen forward. you know there will be a handprint branded into you, you know it'll be sore to sit and you'll have to think of him each time. he'll consume you for days.

you love it.

his fingers tease the wet material that's glued to your pussy with desire, tracing over your lips lightly over the fabric. "pretty cunt, just for me." he mutters; you shake with desire when you realize it was more a mutter for him than an intentional phrase for you to hear.

"think you're ready for me, baby?" he grunts, his fingers pulling your underwear to the side, exposing your puffy, glistening cunt to him.

"I'm so re-ready sir, please, fuck me." you beg, reduced yet again to nothing but a writhing mess for the worst man you know.

he gives no warning, no teasing - he breaches you swiftly and rough. you scream.

it cracks, it echoes, it's painful as you yell out, his cock heavy and huge and aching as he slides into you, sheathing you fully within a few seconds. Joel's moan reverberates on your skin as his hands grip so hard at your ass you think his fingers will remain there for days.

he immediately sets a pace that has you squirming under him, breath choking up in your chest as you slide against the hardwood. the smell of the house is Joel - sandalwood, whiskey, pine. sex.

your arms are tugged roughly.

panic rises in you when you think you're about to slam your face against the floor, but as Joel pounds hard into you, he pulls your hands tight to your back, holding you up to you're suspended with just his cock working you open can keep you from falling.

it's bliss. it's sharp, this angle; he hits into that spongy spot inside you as his cock drags against your pulsing walls, your hands clenching as your breath leaves you.

one hand sneaks over your front, grasping at your tits as he reaches up into you deeply. then it snakes lower, rocking you forward as he swats at your clit, the sharp smack of his palm causing you to squeeeeeze around him, trapping him in your aching desire. he lets out a grunt, "fuckin'- jesus christ, girl, you're s-so tight."

the noises of your arousal swallowing his dick echo around the room in a sickening chorus.

"dumb girl, lovin' it when I yell at her," he mutters to himself, chasing your high as he feels it spasming close around him. "gonna be o-obedient and thank me for each orgasm, 'kay?" his accent is thick in the throes of passion, you notice.

you nod, unable to speak, unable to think as you feel the crest of something incredibly blissful; you let out a wheeze of ecstasy. "y-yes, s-sir," you choke, your voice croaking from the remnants of his dick wrecking you.

you barely realize you're cumming until you’re screaming, a white-hot, searing arousal streaking your vision. tears are resurfacing on your eyes as he hums, "say it."

you swallow, shakily squirming as he pounds into you, unforgiving in tone and pace. "than-thank you."

it only takes a few more minutes and his thick hand squeezing your throat before you cum for a second time, your hands pulling at his hips, trying to escape the overstimulation of his long, dragging thrusts. the floor is slick with your juices, and so is his pubic bone.

"thank you, s-sir." you slur out, his hand holding you by the throat against his chest, his heartbeat slamming just as fast as yours.

soon he drops your arms, their shaky muscles barely stopping you as you fall to the floor. his chest follows you until he's smothering you, thrusts becoming weak with his own nearing orgasm. you cry, the overstimulation causing you to shake. "'s too much, too much."

he hums, "you want me to stop?"

"no!" you scream it, wail it; no, christ, don't stop. never stop.

he chuckles; a dark, brooding noise. "an' you wonder why I think you're such a bad influence." he mutters into the shell of your ear as he pushes further, deeper into you; "lettin' an old man fuck you into the floor. lovin' it."

he chuckles as you let out a whine, eyes screwing shut at the bursts of pleasure coursing through you. your knees ache.

"'s dirty, isn't it? and you love it, pretty girl."

you let your cheek drop onto the hardwood at his ministrations, spent from your previous orgasms; the pet name makes you flush, arching your hips back. he's so deep, you feel him in your throat. each thrust pushes his tip into your cervix, a dull ache with a swirl of pleasure and ecstasy. you let out a groan, "love it, love it s'much. love it, sir, thank you." you whimper, your brain empty except for Joel Joel JoelJoel-

"good m-manners, sweet girl." he hums, pressing a hot kiss to your spine. goosebumps form in his wake, his words echoing in your brain. sweet girl.

"you're gonna cum one more time." he orders, the thrusts of his hips grinding you down, melting you, tearing you. you nod, "yes, yes-yes, fuck, gonna-gonna cum again." you whimper, the painful overstimulation of his cock drilling through your spent, swollen folds.

your third orgasm has you wailing, shaking your head as you convulse in pleasure, his strong grip holding your hips down as he hits your spot repeatedly, the noise of him fucking into you echoing through the foyer.

there's tears on the floor as you shake, colors exploding behind your eyes as he whispers things you cannot hear into your ear.

when you come to, he's still ravaging your body.

you're limp, ecstasy flowing through your very being as his cock spears through you, hands smacking you, gripping you, grunts leaving his mouth as he nears his own orgasm, having pulled three from you.

"where are your manners?" he whispers into your ear. you let out a broken half-laugh, half-gasp. "fuck- thank you, Joel, thank you."

he hums in satisfaction and you swear you feel his cock twitch inside you as you utter his first name.

he's back in your ear in seconds, surrounding you, swallowing you whole. you love it.

"this is my pussy. mine." he grunts, "never think 'bout any other pussy. jus' this one. always." his voice is laced with desperation as he swats your ass, thrusting into you a few more times as you squirm, sobbing, throat raw.

yours, you whimper in a chorus, body limp as he uses you; his thrusts are sloppy. he's so close-

and he cums just as he's pulling out of you; you gasp at the loss but also as his cum shoots hot spurts across the plush curve of your ass, a bit onto your spine - most of it over your ruined pussy, streaking you in white.

you pulse around nothing, shaking as your legs give out. he groans a deep thing, fingers falling to spread you open, the lewd noise soft and slick.

you jolt and he shushes you with a soft caress of your back. "jus' wanna see it, baby. wanna see how I ruined you."

you swallow dryly at that, nodding as you tilt your hips, eager to feel his eyes over you, over all of you; eager for him.

a finger smears his spend over your juices, pressing lightly at your puckered hole, pushing some of his cum back into you. "fuckin' christ, girl."

you set out a laugh that turns into a cough of pain at the ragged state of your throat.

he stands and leaves you on the cold floor, covered in sweat. you try not to let your heart deflate when he’s gone.

but he returns with a rag and hands it to you before shucking his jeans on; you pull your underwear back on with shaky hands once you’ve wiped yourself clean, your body exhausted.

you sigh. even the thought of making the trek just a few houses down to your own place is daunting as your eyes flutter. something in his eyes glint in understanding when your gazes meet each other, and he seems to get it.

so if Joel gathers you in his arms with a grunt and a short complaint, you don't think too much about it.

(you hate him. he hates you.)

and if he holds your head to his chest as he starts the walk back to your house, it’s not a big deal to you.

when brings you up into your bedroom instead of leaving you at your front door as he finally carries you to your house, you chalk it up to you being nearly asleep. you must be delirious when he tucks you into your mattress and pulls your blankets up. you swear he mutters something about dinner and nice and good job.

(what a cocky asshole.)

it's probably a dream, when a hand caresses the sweaty skin of your forehead, brushing hair away gently before footsteps disappear through the doorway.

. part three .

requests open

#joel miller smut #joel x reader smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #Joel Miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #the last of us smut #the last of us x reader #the last of us #tlou spoilers #tlou fanfiction #the last of us (hbo)#the last of us (tv)

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disneyprincemuke · 6 months

Text

midnights, 3 * mv1

max just won his third championship, but the sinking feeling starts to settle in

pairings: max verstappen x fem!reader

warnings: alcohol

notes: yall i have like 3 different drafts of this, i got no idea what's up with my writer's block... i've also rewritten my fem!driver series like 3 times based on a request like what is going on

(prev) // (next)

max verstappen wouldn't give anything up for the third title he's just won. but he would turn the world upside down if it meant having you around.

the interviewer had caught him off guard earlier, congratulating him for winning on a saturday evening. and then suddenly bringing you up and noting how strange it is that you have not been around for a while.

he had to tame his shock, arguing with himself in his mind about the privacy of your relationship. on one hand, he hasn't had to talk about you openly while he's still in mourning. but on the other, everybody just assumes you're too busy to attend races and they bring you up nonchalantly.

he has to go around pretending he doesn't want to break down in tears at the mention of your name.

christian had brought the team into a nearby bar to celebrate, not forgetting to remind everybody that the main race is still tomorrow.

max knows that he misses you. he recognises it in the way his hand reaches out for nothing when he walks into the paddocks by himself and looks out for your face in the crowd when he's on stage. he just tries to push it away as much as he can.

but it hurt the most when he jumped out of his car at parc ferme after the sprint, marking his third title in 3 years. he searched desperately for your face within his team, wanting to share the championship with you.

he wants to share this with you, truthfully having you to thank for his all that he's achieved in the past 3 years. at the end of all this, he just wanted to stumble back into you and celebrate quietly.

max had been the centre of attention, taking his mind away from you for about an hour. he was singing and dancing, drinking and having fun until the sinking feeling started to eat him away.

now he's tucked away at a corner booth of the bar, his fourth glass of gin and tonic on the table. he's staring blankly at the table, the bass from the speakers thumping away in his chest.

"mate, congratulations again." he looks up to meet daniel's eyes, who is now sliding into the empty seats opposite him. daniel puts his drink down and leans back to get comfortable. "shouldn't you be celebrating?"

"already did. this is my fourth," max grins forcefully, tapping on the rim of his cup. he leans forward to rest his elbow on the table, drawing shapes on the table with the droplets of condensation from his drink. "just a little tired, that's all."

daniel doesn't answer right away. he just nods understandingly then looks around briefly. "so where's (y/n)? she's never missed a championship weekend." max's eyes trail up to meet him again.

the mention of your name forms a lump in his throat. max wishes he knew where you were, then maybe he'd have the courage to find you and take you into his arms once more.

"did you split up or something?" daniel follows up immediately, raising an eyebrow at max.

the dutchman blinks, tears quickly swelling in his eyes. realistically, only victoria knows of the split. he's more shocked that alexandra and kika have kept it so lowkey that the news hasn't flooded the media and gossip sites.

for that, he's truly thankful.

"yeah, in singapore," max shrugs. he picks up his drink, taking a big gulp to wash your name off his tongue.

daniel nods and sinks into his seat, not asking max to further elaborate. he appreciates that as well. he's not in the spot where he's ready to talk about it either.

he tried to with victoria, but it only ended with him in a sputtering mess of tears before he fell into a deep slumber. he woke up that morning on the floor by his couch with victoria not very far off.

"have you talked to her since?"

max shakes his head dejectedly, lips pouting into a genuine frown. his eyebrows furrow as his frustration starts to grow.

why hasn't he reached out? more importantly, why haven't you?

"i think she hates me, mate."

"why would you even say that?" daniel tilts his head, raising his eyebrows to encourage max to elaborate. he's quite curious on this one, truly.

daniel had never seen a love like the one you shared with max. the privacy of your relationship made whatever he witnessed all the more special and he loved watching you both grow with the relationship.

he heard of the fights from his girlfriend who was suspiciously more aware than him, but he could have sworn that you two would have made it out of the great war. he hadn't seen you since saturday night in singapore and he simply thought you'd taken a break.

his guess that you'd split up was random, but he never expected max to confirm it.

max shrugs. "we were fighting all the time. we somehow lost each other. we were too far gone to save, i think."

"you asked for the split?"

"she did," max confirms with another sigh. he presses the cold glass onto his lips, "i didn't say anything, she just walked out."

"mate, you didn't say anything?" daniel exclaims in disbelief. he drops his drink on the table, watching max calmly sipping on his gin and tonic. "why didn't you?"

"i don't know," max answers with another shrug, running a hand through his hair roughly. he tugs at the roots and drops his drink on the table with a thud. "i don't know, maybe we're better off not together."

maybe. maybe, maybe. and maybe if he'd just fought for you that night, you would be here celebrating with him.

that, or you'd still be fighting every 3 days over every little thing. he recognises the toxic cycle, but he'd honestly rather have that with you around than be in this position.

max shakes his head, finishing whatever is left of his drink. abruptly, he crawls out of the booth seat. he hears daniel scrambling after him.

max holds up a hand and turns to face daniel with a frown. "i'm heading back to the hotel. i just want to be alone. please."

taglist: @merchelsea (comment to be added)

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #max verstappen x you #f1 x you #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke midnights

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winterchimez · 11 days

Text

Tornado Warnings | Eric Sohn

SUMMARY: you have sworn that you would never get involved with the campus fuckboy, Eric Sohn. however, you have decided one day that enough was enough, and you would sacrifice yourself and ignore all of the tornado warnings that were clearly tearing you apart.

PAIRING: fuckboy!Eric x f!reader

GENRE: angst, suggestive, slight fluff

WARNINGS: nc-17, frat parties 😃, alcohol consumption, the sexual tension here is strong yall oops, fuckboy Eric...need i say more than that 😁, he is flirty af, he is umm shirtless at one scene 😀, cheating & playing with one's feelings (don't do that irl folks), petnames (babe, princess), name-calling (again, its horrible don't do that), reader walks in on Eric making out with someone at one point 👀, kissing, making out, teasing, arguments, slight manipulation, reader ignores her own feelings/well-being for months but eventually faces them

WORD COUNT: 3,604

A/N: back with another release for the emails i can't send fwd: series with @sanaxo-o, and this is written for @mosviqu ✨ happiest birthday bar, i tried my best and i really hope you liked this!! 💓 thankiew my dearest 妹妹 @sungbeam for giving me ideas & helping me beta (along with @drunkdrazed emma & sana) i love yall always 🥹💗 also tagging other eric mooties for this 👀 @itsbeeble @kimsohn

This will be the last time I’ll ever do this again.

You have been repeating that to yourself over the past several months, constantly reminding yourself that you will never get into a messed-up relationship again. At least, that’s what you thought about before you were brought back to reality, where you’re standing on the front porch of a party location for the night.

Why exactly was that? Frankly, you had no idea yourself.

But there was only one way to find out: to enter the frat party that catered to the seniors for the night. You pretty much knew most of the people here since they were students who belonged to your batch.

Instead of carrying out your usual routine, go to find your deskmate in psych, who was the one who often dragged you out from your bubble to parties like this, and have a couple of drinks before passing out on one of the couches towards the end of the room; you decided to do the complete opposite tonight.

You walked straight towards the outdoor pool area, where most students were holding their glasses of cocktails and dancing around the pool. Some were enjoying their time playing in the waters. You had one goal in mind: to walk straight towards the other end and to find him.

Sure enough, he was there lying on one of the sunloungers with his favourite whiskey in hand while a few girls were hovering around him, touching his bare chest. You couldn’t care less about that since you already knew this was his norm.

But now it was your time with him, and you boldly made your way towards him, standing right before him before he ushered the other girls away. He allowed you to crawl up to him before settling down on his lap, and he rested his free hand on your waist.

“Hey babe, I have been waiting for you since forever,” he grinned before leaning towards you while resting his fingers on your chin.

Instead of giving him a reply, you stared deeply into his eyes before wrapping your arms around his neck, making the male rest his thumb on your lips to part them. “Look at you, already missing my touch so bad. We’ve only just bumped into each other this morning on campus.”

Once again, not a single word left your mouth, but eventually, you decided to lean in to close the gap between you both before sealing your lips with his. The kiss was messy, and you were slowly savouring the leftover alcohol that was on his lips, slowly getting drunk by the way his lips moved against yours as if he knew exactly which spot to get to.

You have lost count of how many times you have made out, and Eric Sohn knew you from A to Z, especially when it comes to playing around with your feelings and emotions.

He was the campus fuckboy, after all.

Flashback

“Y/N! You won’t believe what just happened.” Your roommate Naomi came rushing through your front door, not even bothering to close it before she frantically entered your bedroom.

“Woah, what’s up? And why exactly is your face flushed red?” You asked.

“What else would it be? Obviously, it’s about the guy we all hate to the depths of the earth’s core!” She yelled, placing both hands on either side of her hips before she began rhythmically tapping her feet.

As soon as you heard the word “guy,” you knew exactly who she was referring to—someone you had sworn to never get caught up with again.

Eric Sohn.

“Let me guess, he had a one-night stand with one of our acquaintances,” you announced with crossed arms.

“Not just an acquaintance, Y/N. It’s Stella-”

Upon hearing that name, you immediately stood up from your chair, dropped some of your lecture notes, and made a mess on your tidied-up bedroom floor. Anger began rising rapidly within you, and you had to try your best to contain yourself and not make a scene before your neighbour started complaining about your specific unit for the nth time this month.

“Not Stella,” you fumed.

“Oh yes he did, Y/N. And things are not looking good right now.”

“Please God, tell me she’s alright,” you pleaded with Naomi, shaking her shoulders. But it seemed your roommate wouldn’t spill the tea that easily.

“It’s best if you check it out yourself,” your roommate silently mumbled before you dashed out the door and grabbed your coat frantically to go see whatever mess he had done this time.

And you hoped that it wasn’t as bad as the previous one.

You were now supporting Stella upright as she tried to position herself directly in front of the sink and calm herself down after having too many drinks than her usual intake. You absolutely hated how your friend—well, former friend—got Stella as messed up as he did to the other girls.

You and Eric went all the way back to kindergarten, where you had always known that there was this little boy who would often cry every single day all because he knew that he wasn’t going to see his parents for a couple of hours, and would try all sorts of methods to convince that he wasn’t fit to enter the school’s compound.

Naturally, everyone knew and labelled him as the “crybaby” and just didn’t really know how to interact with him much.

In the beginning, you reacted the same way with the other kids, thinking that he would eventually grow out of it and decide to mind your own business. However, it came a day when the kids were paired up for a little mini-activity, and that was when you got the infamous boy himself.

Contradicting what the others said about him, he was a jovial and happy-go-lucky kid. In fact, he was the one who helped bring you out of your bubble and made it easier for you to go around meeting new friends. He would often link his arms with you as you walked down the school halls daily, which made the other kids label you two as a couple.

Frankly, you didn’t mind all that because you enjoyed his company. In reality, you often looked forward to being paired up with him again for another activity or sport. After that experience, he would often make his way towards your desk, eat his bento boxes with you during meals, and show off the pretty animal-themed meals his mother had made especially for him.

You often giggled at how he would talk about himself all the time, and it was just mesmerising to see the joy and look on his face whenever he spoke of himself. Adding on to that, he was definitely taught well at home with the way he would go all-out to make friends with others during school hours and help them out in any circumstances possible. He was no longer the “crybaby” that everyone once labelled him as.

Things were going well until one day, his family decided to leave for the States. To say that you were sad about your friend leaving would’ve been an understatement—you were devastated. Not only was he the very first friend you made in kindergarten, but you also felt as if he was your soulmate since he knew everything about you and had never once done nor said the wrong thing that made you upset.

During that time, Eric couldn’t say much either since you were both still young, so he had no choice but to leave with his family. On the very last day when he was in Seoul though, he made sure to give you the tightest hug and place multiple pecks all over your face, promising you that fate would reunite you both someday.

That day eventually came, but you never would have expected to reunite with him the way you did after all these years.

You were both 22, casually entering your second year of university before you encountered the man himself. You were shocked, to say the least, when he first stepped into the lecture hall—his hair was fully blonde, he had several tattoos all over his body, and every girl swooned over him.

He was now a hot mess.

The Eric Sohn you once knew was far gone because the one here was nowhere near the little boy you admired back in kindergarten. Word often spread quickly in college, so you frequently heard about his little date nights with multiple women and his so-called “flavor of the month.”

He was one of the wealthier students on campus, hosting house parties almost once every month. These parties attracted quite the crowd, causing a more ever-present distinction between them and students like you and your roommates—the goody-two-shoes who prioritised studies more than drinking and making out with different people in one night.

That was until he got involved in your affairs.

It all started with him dating one of the girls within your circle, and it ended horribly, to the point that the student herself decided to cut all ties with everyone and isolate herself either in the library or in the comforts of her apartment all the time.

It took you a while to figure out what happened before you could get the girl to talk it out. He was toying with her throughout the relationship, and there were no fixed boundaries or respect while they were together. He seemed unable to settle down with just one girl, and cheating was prominent throughout the entire relationship.

Unfortunately, he didn’t stop there. Multiple exes followed after that, and you’ve seen the heartbreaks he had caused throughout campus. You couldn’t believe it, or rather, you didn’t want to think this was the same soulmate you once had way back in your childhood.

It just didn’t add up.

That was until it happened to Stella.

You couldn’t believe your ears when you found out that your best friend had decided to date with your former friend. As much as you wanted to pull her out of the mess, she knew what she was getting into; who were you to judge or have a say in someone’s decision and relationship?

However, now that you’d witnessed your friend’s downfall in person, you could no longer sit back and watch your former friend continue on his sick, twisted games. So you stomped right out of the bar and walked all the way to Eric’s apartment. Thanks to Stella, you also knew his pin number to unlock the front door, and you wasted no time and quickly barged into the compound.

Sure enough, you found him making out with another girl on his couch, and both of them were definitely surprised to see a random girl going into his apartment without prior notice. The girl under your former fried began grilling him some questions, but all Eric did was stare back at you, eyeing you from head to toe.

In the end, he kindly dismissed the girl for the night before closing the front door and walking straight towards you, now standing a few centimetres away from you.

“It’s been a while, Y/N. To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you been alright?”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Sohn. You know exactly why I’m here,” you spat, trying to contain the anger and fumes that were slowly rising.

Instead, your reaction intrigued the man, and he returned the favour by smiling at you, one that you knew wasn’t going to end well.

“What does Stella got to do with you, hmm? Unless you’re jealous-”

“Jealous? Don’t make me laugh; I’m here to put you right in your place, mister.” You stomped right towards him and shoved him against the wall, cornering him with both your hands beside his head. “I don’t know what the hell happened when you were in the States, but I surely did not anticipate such behaviour from you after all these years.”

Eric quietly stared at you for a few moments before he lifted his thumb and rested it on your lips, which made you twitch at the contact. “You know, Y/N. There’s this joy in seeing how so many people around you want you. It’s fun and quite thrilling if you ask me.” He was now smacking his lips, and you knew he would make advances if you didn’t stop him there.

Hence, you smacked his hands away before grabbing onto his collar. “Your time playing with innocent girls is up, Sohn. Leave them the hell alone,” you snarled.

“Hmm, what makes you think I’d listen to you?”

You were now put in a bind spot. There was no denying those words that Eric had just spat right into your face. You had no control over him, and hell, even if you were part of the student council, you couldn’t do anything since he wasn’t posing as a threat to the other students.

Another factor was that he was well-loved by the students, particularly female students on campus since he was the guy that everyone wished they could elope with after all. It must be a joke for the fuckboy to listen to your proposal, thinking that you’ll ever have hopes of changing the guy.

But something in you snapped, and you couldn’t care less about the methods you would try to pull off.

Even if that meant sacrificing yourself.

“If I were to date you and meet your needs, you leave the other girls alone.”

That came as a shock to Eric; never in a million years would he have thought you would suggest something like this. You have always been a goody-two-shoes from kindergarten until university. He was well aware of your group of friends: the library was where you would visit most frequently, and you would be back in the dormitories by ten at night.

It took him a while to respond properly, and you weren’t just going to stand there and wait all night, so you did the impossible and pulled him down towards you.

You locked your lips with his.

It all happened so fast, and the anger and frustration prevented you from rationalising your thoughts and making you do what you had done. If you would’ve told yourself that you would lose your first kiss to your former friend turned campus fuckboy, you would’ve immediately jumped off the nearest cliff off campus.

As soon as you pulled away, a smirk appeared on his face, and he quickly turned the tables so that you were now pinned against the wall, his hands travelling down to your waist before licking his lips once again.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

This whole situationship went on for months, and you were slowly losing your sanity each day. Eventually, you slowly began to give into his urges, playing along with his little games if that meant keeping your friends safe.

Nobody understood why you did it, especially your roommates and circle of friends. Naomi would constantly remind you about all of the horrible things that he did, and you would one hundred percent regret getting involved in his affairs. But if that meant keeping your friends safe and unharmed, you would do it ten times over.

Hence, there is a change in your daily routine: meet up with Eric every day after lectures and accompany him either to the local bars or the comforts of his apartment, and stay the night there whenever it gets too late for you to return to your own. You really didn’t mind it at all since you had a roof over your head and you were safe in his arms.

At least that was what you convinced yourself it would be.

His fuckboy demeanour didn’t stop there, and he would often be seen hanging out and flirting with the other girls. But there was a drastic difference this time: he knew exactly when to draw the line and chose not to advance further than that.

As much as your circle of friends would constantly remind you about all the terrible things Eric had done, you convinced yourself that if he doesn’t see them, then they probably didn’t exist after all.

But one question still remains: Are you really okay with everything unfolding in front of your eyes?

Was lying to yourself about your actual feelings worth it for the sake of your friends? And was going into this despite ignoring all the tornado warnings worth it in the long run?

End of flashback

“Hey babe, is everything alright?”

You were brought back to reality with Eric rubbing off a little teardrop that flowed down to your cheeks, not realising that you had been consumed with your thoughts so much that you actually cried in front of him.

You were at a loss for words and couldn’t pinpoint why that was either. All you did was gently touch the area he had just wiped off before you felt your eyes begin to water again.

This time, Eric genuinely seemed concerned and cupped your face gently with his hands for the very first time since you both started this entire messed-up situationship months ago.

“I don’t know…I don’t even know why I’m here tonight, Eric,” you began sobbing but tried to hide your tears by choking back them. Why am I like this? Why do I keep doing this with you, knowing my feelings are not validated or ignored? Why did it have to be you?”

You couldn’t care less if people around you began giving you the side-eye, seeing that a girl was sitting on top of Eric in the midst of the frat party sobbing uncontrollably. You have held it in for far too long, ignoring all the warnings your friends have constantly tried to ingrain in your mind.

You got yourself into this situation; you should’ve known that you were getting yourself into trouble when you proposed that idea to him. You should’ve known that you were going to get your heart broken-

Before you could continue with those thoughts, you felt a little peck on your forehead, only to open your eyes to see that Eric had left a little mark right there, closing his eyes to cherish that short moment before pulling away.

“Did that help?” He asked, once again rubbing your red puffy cheeks with his thumbs.

“Eric…why would you…” you sniffed.

“I realised something, Y/N. While I was with you for the past several months.”

“W-What exactly was that?”

“I’m well aware of the things people call me. I know all about the red flags people say about me; frankly, I’ve done some screwed-up shit and brought myself into this messy situation. I know you decided to date me for the sake of your friends, and it’s very brave of you to do that, despite knowing the hurt and harm that would prevail when getting together with me. But that’s not my point-”

He cuts himself off by positioning himself upright on the sunlounger he was lying on, now holding both sides of your shoulders before taking a deep breath to proceed with what he was about to say to you.

“Y/N. You’ve shown me how friends would stand up for each other in a situation like this and how all of these games that I’ve been playing for so long aren’t going to last forever. Emotions are something that shouldn’t be taken lightly, and you shedding actual tears in front of me proved more than enough for me to make my final judgement,” he huffed, knowing that it wasn’t easy for him to get those words off his chest.

Eric began mumbling a few words before he finally decided he was ready to say them out loud to you. “Y/N, will you teach me how to love?”

Your eyes widened upon those words coming out from him; it felt as if you were looking right at the same boy back in kindergarten, your soulmate and childhood best friend. The sudden wave of nostalgia came rushing over you, and you tried your best to hold those tears back as you needed to properly hear him say the words you wanted to hear for the longest time.

“What are you saying, Eric?”

“it is exactly that, Y/N. I’m…trying my best to muster up the courage to say that out loud to you right now. I know you’d probably laugh at my face,” he chuckled. “A guy like me asking the girl who he's been taking advantage of to teach him actual love? Yeah, I’m insane for all of that, I know-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you sealed his lips with a kiss, pushing him back down the lounger, savouring the taste of his lips. Eric returned the favour and deepened the kiss by wrapping his arms around you, his fingers running through your long, wavy hair while he was at it before pulling it apart for some air after a good minute.

“W-What was that for?” He stammered.

With that, you finally gave him a genuine smile for the first time since reuniting with him here on campus. “Welcome back, Eric Sohn.”

In the end, you both burst into laughter, enjoying that little moment together before resting your forehead against his. “So, I’m taking this as a yes? That you accept my proposal?”

You chuckled before ruffling his hair with your hands.

“Maybe if you take me out on a skateboard date the next time, I’ll consider it done, Mr. Tornado Warnings.”

emails i can't send fwd: series masterlist

main masterlist

taglist: @deoboyznet @kflixnet @k-films @flwoie @zzoguri @kyusqult @tinkerbell460 @cheonsafics @sulkygyu @jaerisdiction @vernyangel @fylithia @stealanity @lngwayup @daisyvisions @djidfk @mosviqu @itsbeeble @kimsohn (join my permanent taglist here!)

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no-name-publishing · 3 months

Text

Kill the Director by erikschampion

My part in a gift exchange taking place in Renegade's California satellite server. This was a lot of fun and very experimental for me. My idea was to pursue something a little grunge, a little smudged, to go along with the early 2000s Brit punk vibe that the fic gets its title from. Spray paint, screen printing, some blood, some tears, and it's to its new home. Glamour and process shots under the cut!

The yellow base is a plain linen bookcloth that's been coated with acrylic. The pink accent color is a combo of spray paint and smudges of pink Golden Fluid acrylic paint. The endbands are sewn with Gutermann polyester florescent sewing thread, and the endpages are my attempt at an italian vein marble with pink, yellow, and black paint.

Some shots of the typesetting, and a video showing the book as a whole. The fic has some exposition written in a script format, so I typeset that to reflect. And it's always fun to include text message bubbles and emails and stuff.

The graphics on the case were done with screens and waterbased screen printing ink! I went through a few iterations and even tried to set my kitchen on fire in order to get it right before settling on the screens. I'm very very pleased with the result. (The fire was from my DIY attempt at making my own gelli plate with gelatin, glycerin, and rubbing alcohol. All the instructions were telling me to be careful about how many bubbles I was stirring into the mix but I was like, it'll be fine. I'll use my heatgun or a lighter to pop whatever bubbles are there. It works with resin so it should here. Yall alcohol is flammable lmao. Why did I do that. I put my lighter up to those bubbles and lost my vision for a moment at the flash of light. I've never done something that stupid)

The freshly marbled paper hanging up to dry in my kitchen; the screen for the front of the case; my practice piece including the spine design; the case drying on my shower rod (along with some pieces of fabric for another project lol). I have fewer process pictures than I thought lol.

The graphics on the front and back were also partially designed by hand. I printed images of the characters then cut them vertically, and alternated the slices. Copied that, then did the same horizontally. Scanned that, and then did some cleaning up digitally on my computer. Here's some shots of the steps and the pieces themselves.

The third picture shows my first attempt, as I actually did this process twice. The first time I didn't feel like the first pass was pixelated enough, so I cut it again both vertically and horizontally and alternated them once more. This was a mess, and ultimately I didn't like the finished result. Round two (second image) was the final round, and what wound up using in the project instead.

Thanks for looking!

#fanbinding #fanficbookbinding #bookbinding #succession #kill the director #erikschampion #no name publishing

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creepypastalover97 · 1 year

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K time for another creepypasta au headcannon

Today’s headcannon is going to be about

Clockwork

Ok time for the headcannon

. Honestly?

She didn't go to Slender for protection, Slender went to her.

. Her first encounter with the Pastas was when her and Masky got into a " little " scuffle that resulted in Tim having multiple stab wounds on his torso, and Natalie with a bruised, empty eye socket. This was before they had introduced themselves. - She was pissed that she had to get a new clock.

. Slender came to her multiple times, although she refused. That is, until he took her by force with he help of Jeffery, the Proxies, and Eyeless Jack.

. She hates all of them. Masky and Jeff especially. Except toby. She loves toby.

. She's incredibly reckless with almost anything she does. The first few times she went on missions, she had to be watched to make sure the cops didn't show up, and that she didn't decide to have a death match with them.

.Aggressive as fuck, she loves to argue and debate and is super competitive too. She has no boundaries or filters when arguing and doesn’t care if you cry, sorry

. This girl is straight up Doja Cat Tia Tamara vibes. She don’t give a fuck about nobody! Except Toby. She does care about him.

. She swears way too much. She owes too much to the swear jar.

. Other than in fights she’s pretty chill though and she has a fantastic laugh, it’s deep, loud, throaty, and super contagious

. Natalie while she enjoyed drawing and such before eveyrthing happened, she never really wanted a career out of it

It’s more of a hobby, something too pass the time rather then something she practices

. Janey Janey Janey Janey—

They are best friends :>

They are so freaking loud together omfg. They scream laugh and run laps in the mansion when one of them tells a joke. It’s ridiculous.

. She doesn’t really get along with Circe , but she’s doesn’t hate her in any sense. They have a few quarrels here and there, but they are never enough to damage their relationship

. Her and Toby have thought about getting married and settling down. They aren’t too sure yet, though. Even though they’ve been together for 6+ years now. Speaking of which, yall have been together for 6+ years and yall STILL yell at each other and accuse each other of farting in the bed?? 🧐 seems sus but okay

. Her face got really infected from the eye and the stitches, so EJ helped her out. Now she owes him like $100 still. 😬

. She had the clock taken out since it kept getting infected and had it replaced with a glass eye

. Somehow she has managed to evade all pop culture knowledge. You could say ‘oh look! There’s Chris Hemsworth!’ and she’d have no idea what you are talking about. The only celebrity she knows and respects is our lord and savior, Bill Nye.

. She is always the first to lose at monopoly. She’s also the one who throws the board at the end of the game

. She likes the forest and goes on walks a lot. She collects pretty flowers and presses them in between pages in her sketchbook

. She got a new giraffe plushie. She sleeps with it :)

. She hates smoking, and she hates all alcohol except ice-cold vodka.

. Clock absolutely has washboard abs, my girl is ripped as fuck and could probably tear a phone book in half if she wanted to

. really good at card games and gambling, though half the time she is confused sure if the other pastas even know what they’re playing the same game, Circe on the other hand just rolls with it

Circe, setting down a card: Ace of spades

Ben, pulling out an Uno card: +4

Toby, pulling out a Pokémon card: Jolteon, I choose you

Natalie, extremely fucking confused: What are we playing?!

. she has a german shepherd dog named Luci

. Bitch needs to drink some water, she’s surviving off of monster and 7/11 coffee

. She’s interested in shooting or knife throwing, learning something long ranged but ya know, no depth perception

. Lactose intolerant, but still has dairy anyways

Whenever she gets sick it’s 50/50- too much to drink or she chugged milk earlier that day

. Is a huge twilight fan. Owns all the moves and books. When she found out about Circe’s love for her books and book collection, well it went like this:

“Wow,circe really like books”- clockwork

“ Yes, she sure does”- slenderman

“do you think she read twilight?”-clockwork

“Oh god!clockwork don’t!”-slenderman

Circe throws bible at clockwork

“I’m not trashy enough for that shit”- Circe

. Owns a motorcycle with a side car for toby

. She, like Brian, has a few stick and poke tattoos from when she was younger

. Has a few piercings too, is scared too get more after the piercing gun she got online got stuck and wouldn’t unclamp from around her ear

. Collects dream catchers

. She doesn’t go by Natalie anymore.

Overall clockwork is a bad bitch,with a heart♥️

P.s none of this is canon, so don’t take seriously if you don’t want to, so don’t hate,if you do take it somewhere else. Thank you, bye 👋🏻

P.s.s. Go check out Circe’s origin story on archive of our own. It’s called rabbits are not what they seen.

#creepypasta world building #creepypasta au #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #clockwork #natalie ouellette

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bigprincess-energy · 4 years

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#hadestown #hadestown meme #amber gray #reeve carney #orpheus #persephone #oli.creates #more like settle for alcoholism but like yall get the idea

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cookiewrites · 2 years

Note

Hii im just spilling thoughts rn HAHA.

sooo you and changbin had a thing going on when u were younger,u stayed friends w his whole group but just kinda had beef w bin after it,n yall always bark at each other and just rlly are like mean to each other but behind closed doors yall do the nastyyyy

hate sex? yes please.

i can totally see this with binnie though, he seems like the kind of guy to hold one hell of a grudge - and even if you hadn't done anything wrong he'd happily blame you for it because it's easier than admitting how much he wants you. it may have been a legitimate reason to break things off when you were younger but the idea of you seeing other people makes him sick; you were his and will always be his.

but the poor man cannot communicate this for the life of him, so he settles for shoving you into cupboards at parties to make you choke on his cock, and calling you at three am to belittle you as he makes you cum on his fingers so many times you cry; because no one can make you feel like he does.

for binnie it isn't hate, per say, it's this primal need to show you no one will ever replace him and how dare you believe otherwise; so i see overstimulation far more than edging, and he wants to see you cry, he wants to see you sorry. and for you; well it's just sex, the best sex you've ever had.

sorry I've been absent and this has took me so long, i haven't been doing great, but this is my longest piece to date so please enjoy <3

say sorry

wc: 2.7k

cw: hard dom!changbin x afab sub!reader, unprotected sex (don't do this), slapping (face and genitals), dirty talk, degradation, little bit of dumbification, names (sir for changbin, princess, slut, bitch and hole for reader), dacryphilia, no aftercare described, no explicit consent, alcohol mentioned, sex in a strangers bedroom, chan is there and talked about, idk it just feels very intense so heads up

depending on who you asked, various people could be blamed for the fact your red wine ended up all over changbin's white shirt, staining him with you.

changbin would swear it was your fault, your glass, your attitude, your fault. you walked over and had so confidently dangled it in front of him, threatening him with it as you screamed at him.

'i don't fucking belong to you seo changbin'

'how fucking dare you tell anyone any fucking different'

'just because your pathetic ass can't get laid doesn't mean you can stop me from getting some'

'you obsessed possessive pathetic excuse for a man'

and next thing everyone knows his white shirt is now red.

you would blame changbin, you never would have wasted a whole glass of wine on ruining his pale attempt at a party outfit if he hadn't told chan you were unavailable. you were plenty available and were extremely interested in being available to him; going home with someone was the only reason you came tonight. knowing the charming australian would be there, and changbin had gone out of his way to tell your mutual friend that you were seeing someone. a fucking lie.

chan, of course, would blame himself. he should never have told you what changbin said when you approached him and asked why he was ignoring you; he knew it was a bad idea to mention his friend around you. but here he was, watching you pour your drink all over changbin and suddenly wanting to leave.

'what the fuck y/n?!'

'you're so desperate you're screaming about it to the party, such a classy act'

'shut up changbin! this is your fault, you selfish asshole, i can't believe you-'

your shouting continues, the pointing and gesturing fading into the background as changbin looks down at his top; he could see how ruined it was, the dampness making the fabric stick to his skin, it felt disgusting. and it was your fault. before he realises it, he's grabbing your wrist, fingertips wrapping themselves around and holding on far tighter than he has any reason to as he drags you into the first empty bedroom he can find; slamming the door shut.

'what the actual fuck was that y/n?'

'i could ask you the same thing changbin i was really looking forward to-'

looking down at the connection between you, the skin of skin so electric it almost shocks you, this always happens when the two of you touch, almost setting you on fire, the spark is so strong; fueled with mutual desire and disgust.

'-forward to what, princess? forward to chan trying to work out how the fuck to make you cum he has no idea what he's-'

'that's your fucking friend you're talking about changbin, you dick'

'and for fucks sake let me go'

and he does, throwing your hand down as he storms towards whoever's wardrobe it was, looking for something to replace his ruined t-shirt with.

'i know he's my friend, and that's how i know he wouldn't be able to please you'

'i would have liked to find out for myself'

'you'd like a shit fuck?'

'shut up changbin'

slowly the shouting between you becomes a rumble, an annoyed diffused conversation as the two of you calm down. peeling the wet t-shirt off his chest, he used the dry sections to wipe the remaining wine off himself, laughing.

'if you are so desperate you can just come and beg me to touch you, i always make you feel good'

'beg for you? i'd rather go home to my vibrator than do that'

'and yet you're staring at me like you want to eat me.'

you were, but you'd never admit it, instead, you scoff at the idea, turning to leave.

'come here and clean it up.'

clear and distinct, changbin wasn't messing around. this wasn't a question or a request, it was an order, said in the exact same voice that he used when he would instruct you to cum. the exact voice that made the submissive part of your brain scream at you to obey, to go clean him up.

'that sounds like your problem binnie.'

he was walking towards you now, throwing the ruined t-shirt on the stranger's bed, until he was face to face with you.

'stop being a fucking brat and clean me up.'

'no.'

and suddenly the hand that was harshly holding your wrist minutes before was grabbing your hair, pulling your head to the left, a loud whine leaving your lips before you can even think to stop it. leaning forward changbin now whispered in your ear, hot breath fanning down your neck in a way that set you alight.

'now, princess, i am going to tell you one more time what i want you to do, and you're going to be a good fucking slut and do it, okay?'

silence, and another hard tug on your hair, prompted you to respond with a weak;

'yes sir.'

'oh, so you can behave?'

'knees. now.'

he said before shoving you down, forcing your knees to slam onto the floor, cushioned only slightly by the carpet. you look up at him and you already look ruined; cheeks flushed bright red from a mix of alcohol and arousal, makeup smudged slightly from a night dancing, hair a mess from changbin's forcefulness. however, changbin plans to ruin you so completely you barely recognise yourself when he's done.

'you always look your prettiest on your knees for me, princess'

'always ready to be a useful fucking hole for me'

'so what you're going to do is let me use that mouth of yours, make it good for something more than begging chan to pity-fuck you, and if you're a good toy i might let you cum, only if you're really really sorry for being such a bitch'

'so, princess, i'd start apologising now'

'say fucking sorry'

as he started to undo his jeans, pushing them and his boxers down you whisper out a 'sorry' that you yourself could barely hear.

'oh no, princess, i need you to say sorry.'

'actually, i need you to scream it, let this whole party know how fucking sorry you are for misbehaving'

'that's the closest chan will get to fucking you, hearing you scream how sorry you are through the walls' he laughs.

'sorry changbin' you say again, a bit louder, the embarrassment making the red flush further down your chest. but it isn't that that makes you gasp. what makes you gasp is the clear, loud, firm slap across your cheek; changbin smiling wildly as he does it.

'again.'

'sorry changbin'. another slap, this time on the other cheek, at least he was being merciful enough to spread them out. the pain making tears spring to your eyes, threatening to fall.

'again, fucking mean it.'

'sorry changbin!' louder this time, a cry. another slap. back on the first cheek again, and it really hurt this time. you hang your head, partly in shame, and partly to hide from his assault; which he won't let you do, of course, pulling your head back to make you look at him again. tears now running down your cheeks, soothing the now sore skin. changbin always found your wet glassy eyes so pretty.

'and what are you sorry for, princess?'

's-sorry for a-asking c-chan to sleep with m-me'

'not bad, but not quite what i wanted. say sorry for being a slut, nice and loud for me y/n'

's-sorry f-for being a s...slut s-sir' you say, far louder than you would ever hope to say those words, but you were hoping it was loud enough for changbin to take pity on you. the laugh you hear above you is cold, and embarrassing, making you even wetter than you already were.

'god, you're so fucking desperate, barely need to do anything to make you obey, such a fucking whore, thinking just with that hole of yours.'

the spit that lands on your face shocks you, but you're almost grateful for it, the way it cools your cheeks is almost nice.

'open up princess, be a good hole for me'

and you do, and you are, letting him assault your throat, immediately fucking himself in your mouth slightly too deep; just to make you choke on him out of spite; your gagging and gasping making him smile. seeing you punished for trying to whore yourself out was always satisfying.

but soon it wasn't. as pretty as you looked crying your mascara off, eyes rolled back into your head, as he mindlessly fucked himself into your throat, he wanted more. he wanted to remind you why you'll always come back to him. so he pulls out, letting go of his hold on your hair and letting you catch his breath.

'where are your manners princess? did they disappear when you chose to play the slut?'

't-thank y-you sir' you managed to say, although far raspier than before, changbin's use of your throat clear on your voice - and fuck does it turn you both on. changbin ignores you for a moment, stripping himself of his remaining clothes and sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at you; noting how you had not dared to move.

'behaving now i see' he says, wrapping his hand around his cock to lazily touch himself.

'get up off the ground, you're not a fucking dog' although he catches himself, laughing, before adding; 'you sure are a bitch though y/n'

'strip for me.'

you did, of course, peeling the skin-tight dress off to reveal the lack of any underwear; partly because of the dress you were wearing, but also because you didn't plan on needing any. what you thought was once a smart idea, was now another reason for changbin to continue this punishment; sitting silently staring at your naked body for just long enough to make you a little uncomfortable before saying something;

'couldn't even get dressed properly i see'

'you'd have let anyone at this party use you, bend you over and fuck you'

'apologise again, you sound so good begging for forgiveness'

'sorry for being a slut sir, please, i'm sorry'

he hums, continuing to stare, watching the way your arms tense as you tried to ignore the urge to cover yourself; knowing that would only anger him more and whilst changbin was so hot when he was mad, you needed to behave if you wanted any help with the throbbing between your legs.

'on all fours on the bed, princess' he instructs as he moves out of the way, allowing you to crawl your way on top of the covers. he marvelled at your obedience, particularly enjoying the way your arms shook from anticipation as well as holding yourself up.

what made you shake more though was the sudden feeling of his palm on your ass cheek, making you whine loud in the room. changbin stood back, enjoying the blooming red handprint mark you, knowing how sore that skin will be. he ignored the temptation to run his hand over the mark, soothing it.

this time he didn't even need to prompt your apology, as you sob out another beg for forgiveness. he smirked as he heard your voice, broken with hiccups, as he realises how far gone you are already.

silently he matches the handprint onto your other asscheek, seeing the way the force threw you forward and was followed by another apology as you steadied yourself, bracing for another impact.

instead, changbin surprised you, as he always tended to, and climbed behind you on the bed. lining himself up he rubbed the head of his cock up and down your cunt, spreading your wetness around as you whined for more.

'f-fuck me s-sir please!'

'princess i already know how desperate you are, since you wanted to whore yourself out to the whole party, so don't worry, i'll get there. i'm just enjoying myself.'

'...please' you whisper, unable to hold your needs inside you for a moment longer, not when he was this close. your inability to follow instructions the final straw of changbin as his anger bubbled up to the surface again.

'god do you ever shut up?! maybe i should go back to shutting that mouth up and leave you making a fucking puddle on the bed!'

's-sorry sir! sorry! sorry... please! sorry!'

and suddenly changbin fully seated himself into you, the stretch simultaneously delicious and painful. pulling himself fully out before bottoming out again, over and over, changbin's pace was nothing short of punishing.

'shut. up.'

'fuck y/n you're so fucking annoying'

'only good for this pussy of yours, i swear, just a fucking hole - ugh'

he continues to berate you as he filled you over and over again. if changbin was anything, he was a good fuck - always reaching all these perfect places inside of you, places you could never reach alone, or with anyone else. it's that, mostly, that always made you come back to him. no matter what he said to you, he always felt too good to forget. and as harsh as he was, once he'd broken you, he'd stay for as long as it took to put you back together again before you'd make him leave - something he never wanted to do.

'chan could never fuck you like this, ugh, could never fill you up'

'see how dumb you get for my cock, princess, only. ever. mine.'

'fuck, turn over, want to see that pretty fucking face'

you did just that, shakily moving and then sinking into the mattress, your mind floating away as you spread yourself for changbin to seat himself back inside you. his arms, veins on display, as he held himself up, hovering over you as he restarted his brutal pace.

'you're such a fucking mess princess, won't be able to walk out of this party without people knowing what a fucking slut you are'

'my pretty little slut'

'fuck - say sorry, you're so pathetic when you're apologising'

this last order was accompanied by a firm slap to your exposed clit, sending a pleasurably painful electric shock fire through your body. the way you screamed in response made changbin's cock twitch inside you, making the scream turn into the loud moan, which in turn became repeated apologies;

'sorry sir, f-for being a s-slut sir, s-sorry sir, sorry, for b-being b-bad, i'm s-so s-sorry...'

grabbing your chin with slightly too much force, changbin saw a new wave of hot tears break their way out of your eyes as you continued to beg for forgiveness and he realised it was time to let you cum, he was close enough to finish as soon as he entered you, he'd been holding on this whole time. this didn't mean he wasn't pissed anymore but he felt like you really were sorry for trying to share what was his; has always been and always will be.

'if you can cum for me princess, i'll forgive you'

'show me who this pretty cunt belongs to'

'y-you changbin! y-you!'

'yeah, princess, it's all mine, now cum for me'

you wanted to, so badly, but changbin just felt so far away, so you reached up and grabbed him by the hair forcing your lips to connect for the first time tonight. it was far too much teeth and tongue and aggression but it was what pleasure was between the two of you; biting and venomous and angry. it was exactly what you needed to start spasming around his cock, moaning his name between your attempts of kisses and somehow trying to catch your breath.

he pulled out and soon followed, cumming over your stomach as the once bitter kiss began to turn sweet - changbin always struggled to keep ahold of his anger once he finished. suddenly wanting to bundle you up and relax.

pulling back from the kiss he looked down at you, makeup nowhere near where it was meant to be, fresh tears threatening to fall over flushed red cheeks. and he thought you looked beautiful.

's-sorry b-binnie, s-sorry'

'shush princess, i forgive you, i'm always happy to remind you that you're all mine'

'y-yours.'

#stray kids smut #stray kids #skz imagines #skz smut #skz x reader #skz hard thoughts #stray kids drabble #changbin #seo changbin #changbin x reader #skz changbin #stray kids changbin

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littlemisslipbalm · 4 years

Text

“it’s not that important”

Summary: Y/N is in Harry’s band and one night they have a drunken hook up. One thing leads to another and they find themselves engaging in a friend’s with benefits type of situation. spoiler: it is important

AKA: A friends with benefits to lovers story :) with some angst in there

This is for @stylesharrys fallinharry10k celebration so my trope is friends with benefits! prompt is “you have no goddamn idea what you do to me. when i’m around you, i have no control of my emotions or my thoughts” and the tenth picture ^ i kinda just used it in the beginning to descripe what he was wearing - i got really carried away with this story but the prompt is in there !! lol, not proofread tho but would love your feedback !!!! :) love y’all very much

oh boy i’ve had this done for agesss but i hadn’t written the smut until today so now we’re here i dont even remember what happens - i vaguely remember not loving the end but I hope yall enjoy

Word Count: 15.4k (longest fic to date) | Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, alcohol consumption? i dont remember but i dont think theres anything too heavy in here.

“Hey Harold!” You smile as you easily hop over the side of the couch and settle beside your bandmate.

Harry groans, yet can’t keep the small smile off of his face when he sees it’s you. “How many times have I told you to never call me that?”

Your eyes narrow at his faux glare. “And how many times have I told you, I simply do not care?”

You reach a hand out and tousle his already disheveled, unstyled brown hair. Despite his lack of styling, his hair still looked perfect. His chestnut hair fell into a middle part when he did nothing to it and you found it endearing. It made him look far younger than he truly was, like a boy you might have pursued when you were in your early days at college. The waves slightly framed his prominent cheekbones and chiseled jaw that was sporting a tiny amount of stubble.

He moves his arm from around the back of the couch to pat at his hair, trying to put it back in its nondescript position you had just messed with. After he’s satisfied, he uses the same hand to push up his glasses on the bridge of his nose. They’re chestnut brown Gucci frames that match the natural highlights in his hair. You can safely assume that’s why he bought them. The lenses are clear, but you know they don’t hold any prescription. He looks incredulously at you from behind them still.

“Nice glasses,” you mention offhandedly as you reach out to the coffee table to grab the drink you had left there earlier.

Before Harry had arrived, you had been taking up residence on the couch, in the spot he had actually taken up. You had ventured to the restroom for a moment and gotten held up in a conversation when asked your preference for the Beatles. Having to defend your staunch stance for the Beatles and against the Rolling Stones, you had gotten swept up into an argument with Adam. He believed that because the Rolling Stones toured for longer warranted them the title of best rock band. While you countered that despite their long touring and production of music, the Stones had a rotation of members. The Beatles maintained the four of them and held such a large impact even though they were barely together for a decade. They were one of a kind, or at least the first of their kind, you’d allow. You weren’t really in the mood for intellectual conversation tonight, so upon seeing Harry taking up your seat, you had told Adam you’d continue the discussion at a later date and returned to your spot.

“Thanks,” Harry mumbles as his gaze flits around the room. He wasn’t sure if you were actually complimenting him, but he would take it as one either way.

The rest of your friends are all up and about, drinking, talking, dancing. It was the usual house party scene: a relatively intimate gathering, music you all actually liked, some friends of friends feeling slightly out of place. There was no pressure in this type of gathering but still Harry wasn’t necessarily in the party mood tonight. Usually, Harry was the one instigating these types of get-togethers with his friends and bandmates. He liked to be the life of the party, but as the tour loomed closer and closer, he felt some tinge of longing for quiet and solitude. He knew he wouldn’t have much quiet while on the road, which mostly didn’t scare him. He loved the stage and the high he received from performing and the gratification he felt from all the people in the room being there to see him. But there was also that other part of him that liked the quiet, the privacy. As the lack of alone time nudged itself around the corner, he had been hoping to enjoy solitude, or at the very least peace before he was on the road. Some sort of blissful state before technical chaos ensued. When Charlotte, the host of tonight’s soiree, had texted their group chat about tonight, Harry had politely declined. Then came the slew of private texts from Charlotte giving him all the reasons he should come tonight. He tried to say no again, but had shown up after the continued begging from her.

His appearance mirrored his expression, choosing a not perfectly fitted white t-shirt and random trousers rather than picking something he really loved, like usual. You could tell something was up and as his friend you were wondering what was wrong with him.

“Don’t sound so excited, Harry, someone might mistake you for somebody who’s happy to be here.” You stick your tongue into the side of your cheek, gauging his reaction.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re not very funny?” He quips, green eyes flashing to meet yours.

Your banter is probably how the pair of you communicated the best, never really falling into the whole serious side of friendship. You never shared those late night talks about the future or your fears. It was a fun friendship, so you didn’t fancy yourself one of his closest confidants. When it came to music, you and Harry were a bit more serious which formed a sort of paradox because the music you would share with each other gave a far greater insight into your souls than you probably realized. As a member of his band, you would discuss his music and what was going on with that sort of business part. But the sharing and discussion of other music that you did was part of your friendship, even if you didn’t see it like that. Because of the countless albums you had recommended to each other and the specific songs you had made note of, Harry and you knew each other much better than you thought you did. Music connects to something deep inside yourself and you have to like it enough and know the other person well enough to believe that they will also enjoy it to recommend it. As much tongue and cheek that you partook in with Harry, deep down, unbeknownst to either of you, you were that friend he shared his hopes and fears with, through the way he knew best, music.

“No, most people find me hilarious...”

You take a sip of your drink, trying to cover up the sting that his remark actually left. Most of the time you were great at keeping up with anyone’s banter, especially Harry’s, but tonight you weren’t feeling it. His tone had sounded so harsh it almost sounded like he meant it. His features soften when he sees the way your face falls, despite your sarcastic tone.

“‘M sorry. I’m just not in the best mood tonight. Didn’t want to come, but Charlotte…” He shifts to face you, arm retracting slightly around the couch, landing his hand at the edge of your shoulder. His fingers fiddle with themselves absentmindedly, he turns his rings around his fingers and they ever so slightly brush against your shoulder. You don’t mind, you know its his nervous tick that he did whenever he didn’t have something to clink them against.

“Yeah, same here, actually.” Your tuck an out of place hair behind your ear, returning your gaze to Harry, who’s tilting his head at you curiously. “But might as well make the most of it, though. After all, this is our last week before tour starts.” You raise your glass and tilt it towards him before taking a sip.

You really didn’t have a plan, you were just trying to make him feel a little better. It was seldom you saw him so solemn at this type of gathering. He usually was the one bouncing from group to group, entertaining everyone with his dazzling charm and quick wit. Sometimes he would bring a date and spend the night with them in the corner, but that was usually at bigger parties than this. At these types of gatherings you often found yourself talking with Charlotte for most of the night. You were both new additions in the band and you had clicked immediately. You would travel in a pair between different groups and talk with everyone. Sometimes you would tell a humorous anecdote about your life and everyone would laugh wholeheartedly. Your ability to retell a story and make it hilarious every time seemed to be your secret talent. You could make any experience into a ten-minute retelling and it always sounds like the funniest moment of your life. It ranged from your embarrassing audition for Grease as a tween to your supermarket run in with an old acquaintance or B-list celebrity the day before. It didn’t matter what it was, it just always had the entire circle of people laughing and wiping their eyes with joy. You’d laugh a little with themselves, but usually you just had a triumphant smile on your lips for the rest of the night.

He nods, sipping his own drink for the first time since you had settled down beside him. “Well, I’m all ears.”

“What?”

“Give me your suggestions on how to make the most of tonight.”

“Drinking, mostly, was my plan,” you laugh nervously as Harry continues to stare at you intently.

“Mostly?”

“I mean, what do you want me to say? I didn’t think to pack my bouncy castle, my bad.”

He bites back a laugh but lets some air escape his defined nose, before staring with a deadpan face at you.

You like to tease him. You simply liked him. Harry was different from other men you knew. You were pretty sure most people could say that though. Harry was just different. It seemed like no one could not have some sort of affection for him. With the playful friendship the pair of you had, you always skirted the edge of flirtation. But you also didn’t particularly ever want to cross any lines with him. He was the employer of you, technically. He had brought you into his backing band and you wouldn’t do anything to harm that position. As well, at the end of the day you knew Harry. His tendencies and the choices he made.

When you were around him at parties like this, you had to try really hard to keep him at an arm’s length. Because on one hand, you would drink and suddenly the boundaries you put up didn’t seem that important, instead his lips started to look rather inviting, but on the other, you knew that he was extremely emotionally closed off to any relationship that was more than either friendship or a one night stand.

Harry doesn’t give you a response, just swings back his drink. The pair of you sit and drink in silence. Before you know it, Harry and you are five drinks in, finally talking after the second. The pair of you decide to move to the balcony outside and continue your conversation there after the third. After the fourth, you're getting really handsy and by the end of the fifth, Harry’s arm is wrapped tightly around your waist and you're laughing breathlessly into his neck. It looks like he’s just shielding you from the cold night air, but both of you seemed to be enjoying each other’s embrace for other reasons.

Finally catching your breath, you lean back and pant softly as you meet eyes with Harry. His pupils have blown out from the alcohol and dark light. The emerald green barely surrounds the black and you swear there’s flecks of gold or maybe brown in them. Your brows scrunch at the revelation and Harry asks what you’re thinking. You don’t respond, too entranced and drunk to even hear him.

“Oi,” he bops your nose, “What is goin’ on in there, little lady?”

Your hand reaches up and widens Harry’s eye manually. His inebriated state has no qualms about you doing such an odd thing. “Why’s your green not actually green?”

“What?” He asks before moving your hand away from his face, it instead falls to his chest. The pair of you shift until your caged between his body and the balcony’s ledge. You pout as you stare up at him. His skin looks soft and taught over every inch of his face and neck. The urge to kiss him keeps nagging at the back of your mind. The idea keeps creeping up closer and closer and the drunker you are the less likely you are to suppress it.

“Do you want to fuck me?” You blurt out.

“Sure.” Harry isn’t taken aback. He had been thinking about asking for a while, so he was glad you had asked first, made it easier for him.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He takes you back to your place, the pair of you catching a cab the short distance between yours and Charlotte’s flats. No one blinks an eye at the pair of you leaving together. Everyone watched the pair of you sulk all night about being there and only enjoying the other’s company, so they weren’t keen on either of you staying. Charlotte was simply glad the pair of you had stayed for as long as you did.

The two of you walk casually until you’re inside your bedroom. Once inside, Harry throws you on the bed and fucks you. Hard. He’s got you spread out in more ways than you had ever thought possible. He’s got you saying things you had never even dreamed of saying. And he’s got you cumming and screaming more than you could have ever wanted. He enjoys himself as well. He loves the way you feel around him and the way your eyes look up at him while he fucks you straight into the bed. He loves the way you sound whispering dirty things and screaming his name. He loves the feel of your soft skin all over your body as he pushes deep inside you. He loves the way you’re able to rip a guttural moan from him every time he cums. And he cums three times that night. While it wasn’t quiet, he did find that blissful state he had been in desperate need of.

After the third round, Harry feels spent. He brings himself into a sitting position, legs hanging off the edge of your bed. You’re lying in your bed, completely overstimulated, cumming at least twice as many times as Harry. He scratches at the top of his head, his bicep bulging as he folds his arms around himself.

“That was fucking good, Y/N. Just what I needed.”

You can only hum in response.

Then he takes your blanket and lays it over you. After that he begins to stand up, getting ready to grab his things and go.

“You don’t have to go…” your voice raises when you realize what he’s doing.

“Yeah, I do. This was just a one time thing, yeah? I enjoyed it, but you know...”

“Erm, I guess?” You rolled to fully look at him, he was pulling his t-shirt back on now, his marked chest disappearing beneath the white fabric. “Do you really not stay over at your one night stands?”

He thinks about it as he begins with his shoes and his glasses at the same time. “Yes? Usually I don’t know the person and I don’t particularly want to sign an autograph when I leave in the morning. Best to leave immediately afterwards.”

“That was exactly why I wanted you to stay...Shit! No chance you’ll give me an autograph now? Could sign my tit, right next to your hickies.”

He laughs, automatically in a better mood after the catharsis of having sex. It was also a relief for him that you didn’t seem to be weird about the hook up. “Shut up!”

“You’re a twat, Harold.” He groans instinctively at the annoying nickname, not caring about the ‘twat’ part. “But be my guest, you can freeze your arse off while waiting for your cab outside at this hour.”

“Rude..” He mutters, standing in your doorway now. “You wouldn’t actually make your employer stand out in the cold at this time of night. I haven’t even got a jumper. Could get a cold and ruin my voice. ”

“You’re the one who says it’s best to leave immediately. Get on it, mister.”

Your hand makes a shooing movement, but he doesn’t budge. You sigh as he makes a puppy dog face - eyes wide and a puckered pout with his flushed cheeks and lips - playing into your actual kindness, that he knows is somewhere. Your sweetness that you were keeping hidden from Harry right now. Nothing was serious between you so it made sense that you were trying not to let your innate ability to care show as he’s about to walk out on you.

“Ugh, fine. Stop looking at me like that. Just grab one of my coats from the bottom right, they’re all oversized so one should fit.” He doesn’t relent on the face. “And you can stay inside until your cab comes.” You sigh and throw one of your pillows at him. He catches it easily and throws it back, much softer than your throw. “Also never pull the employer card on me again when I’m naked in the bed you just fucked me in,” you call as he looks through your closet.

Returning with a patchwork coat you had thrifted tight over his shoulders, he looks at you seriously, “Yeah sorry about that part. Definitely wasn’t trying to exert my power over you, it sounded better in my head. Meant more like you could ruin my voice and both of our jobs.”

You nod and chuckle slightly, finding how inarticulate Harry could be as an endearing trait. His explanation didn’t actually make it sound better. “The jacket fits.” You say, choosing to move forward from Harry’s weirdness, knowing he didn’t mean any harm from his initial statement.

“Yeah, thanks. I think my cab is here,” He glances at his phone, “So I’ll go...See you?”

“I’m sure.” You smile, “We do in fact work together and will soon be touring the world. Would be a bit weird if I didn’t see you.”

“Right.” He nods and adds a peace sign before he walks out of your sight. You know he’s gone when you hear the door click shut. What an interesting night.

Love on Tour had just started and Harry couldn’t lie. He couldn’t keep his mind off of you. You were both his most recent partner and the best he had had in a while. He found himself rubbing over the spots on his neck and clavicle that you had given particular attention to during the night you had shared together. When he went to bed it was your body he pictured to get himself off. So, after the first show he’s beelining to you at the beginning of the after party. He’s got an adrenaline high and he needs a release. You’re the solution. He’s whispering in your ear, asking if you’d like to meet him in his dressing room. Your eyes study his face when he pulls back and they widen slightly when the realization of what he’s implying dawns on you. Then you’re nodding and excusing yourself from a random conversation five minutes later.

Inside Harry’s dressing room, you find Harry already unbuttoning his shirt. He grabs your face and shoves his lips onto yours once you lock the door. As he kisses you he tries to make one thing very clear, “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Got it.” You begin to finish Harry’s job of taking off his shirt.

He pulls back to look you in the eye, “Are you okay with that?”

“Jesus fuck, yes, Harry, just shut up and fuck me senseless again!”

He listens to you and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. His open-mouth kisses leave a searing trail across your skin. He settles on a spot at the base of your neck and begins to suck and nip at it with vigor. You set to work on finishing his job of unbuttoning his shirt. Then you pull off your own shirt, reaching behind you to untie the bows at the back. The new skin exposed grabs Harry’s attention and he moves down to suck over the cleavage of your tits. He’s happy to be back with his ‘bosom friends’. You smack his head when he says it and he chuckles darkly, only sucking harder on them causing you to moan louder than you would like.

Once you’re both in only your underwear, you find your back pressed up against the mirror behind the dressing room counter. Harry’s body is nestled between your spread legs as he kisses down your skin. His fingers dance along the line of your thong as he looks up from beneath his lashes for position, you only push his head closer to your heat in response. He laughs mischievously before tugging them down off your hips.

“Missed this pretty little cunt...All I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout,” He mutters as he begins to latch onto your dripping core.

Your brows shoot up at the thought that Harry’s mind has been stuck on you for the past week. You definitely had thought about your drunken hook up a bit, but hadn’t thought it had left a lasting impression on Harry, you assumed he had that lovely of a night with every person he chose to spend intimate time with. These thoughts are forgotten when Harry’s warm tongue is lapping at your swollen bud. You’re already panting for Harry and now you’re heaving with moans and whimpers leaving your mouth with every lick and nip of his expert mouth.

“Fuck Harry, feels so good,” you whine as his tongue travels down your folds and swirls and dips into your hole.

He moans at your words and the way your legs squeeze at his head. His hands move to spread you open wide to maintain his control and he smirks at the way your body rolls due to the friction of his voice against your pussy.

“Be a good girl f’me,” he growls still pressed against your wet heat.

Your body rolls again as you get closer and closer to your first release. Your bite your lip trying to contain all of the sounds that are trying to escape your mouth. Harry notices the new silence and glances up seeing how you’re trying to behave. As much as he likes you obeying his words, he also wanted to hear how he was pleasuring you.

“Tell me how you feel, princess,” he demands.

“So-so good,” you hiccup as his fingers caress over your folds now as he looks you in the eyes, his lips wet with your slick. He kisses you hard, his tongue diving into your mouth and you kiss back passionately, loving your taste on his tongue.

He pulls back and your hands trail down his chest, swirling around his familiar tattoos and hair that grace his lower torso as you move. He grins, enjoying the feeling of you on him and how he was affecting you.

Soon enough, his cock is finding its way back to your glistening folds, wet with your own liquids as well as his saliva. His mouth waters at the sight. He only pushes into you a few times like this. Then he catches sight of himself in the mirror in front of him and can’t resist. He pulls out and flips you over, your squeal leaving your mouth before you can stop yourself. His dick finds your entrance once again, not wanting to be without the wonderful warmth for any longer than he must.

“Ahhh,” Harry groans when he slips back inside.

Your head throws back on your neck, the feeling of him as well as the sight of him gripping your hair in one hand and your fleshy hip in the other. His rings dig into the skin as he’s able to slam more forcefully in this position. You gasp and whine at his motions. The sounds coming from between your legs are turning you on even more and they seem to make Harry happy too. He picks up the pace and drops the grasp of your hair for a second. Your head falls down as you try to keep yourself up on your elbows.

Gripping both of your hips, Harry growls, “Look at me while I fuck you. C’mon now.”

You moan in response and tear your eyes open to see your reflections in the mirror. One hand goes up to hold onto the mirror to give yourself more traction, causing your back to arch even more. The new position has Harry’s cock slamming into you deeper.

“Fuck!” Harry practically yells and can’t keep himself from landing a harsh slap on your ass. You jump forward at the sting but his other hand keeps the pace steady. He keeps burying himself into you all the way to his base, his balls slapping at your now slick spread thighs. He rubs over the red handprint he had just left on your ass. You whimper and bite your lip, truly enjoying the sensation.

Still staring into the mirror as Harry commanded, your eyes water slightly and Harry makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You smile widely and he grins back. “This feels so fucking good. Your pussy takes me so well. Fuck…” Harry babbles, still pistoning into you. You had noticed how vocal he was the first time you had fucked, but thought it had just been the alcohol. Apparently not. But you didn’t mind, you much preferred it to partners who barely spoke or didn’t even moan. Like how were you supposed to know what was going on in their minds? With Harry, you knew he was having a good time.

A few more heavy thrusts and you felt yourself nearing the edge. Your panting was getting faster, exceeding the speed of Harry’s thrusts and he could also feel you were close. Your cunt began squeezing him tighter so he hooked a hand under your knee and brought it onto the table. He hunched over you slightly and snaked his hand to your clit. “C’mon darling, I know you're close. Can feel that little cunt putting a choke hold on my cock.” He rubs at your clit with the vigor of strumming a quick paced song on the guitar. It’s enough to overtake your senses and the laugh that had bubbled from his words turns into your orgasm moan. You try to muffle it into the arm that is holding you against the mirror to avoid a full on scream because it feels that good. You felt like you were having your first ever orgasm, it felt that new to you.

A few more thrusts and you’ve come down from it, but Harry still hasn’t finished. It’s your turn to be the partner coaxing the other to get off. “Faster, Har. Want you to cum too.” He grunts, picking back up the pace. He had slowed to let you ride out your stay. “That’s it...want you to cum in me. Your cock feels so fucking good.” You whine, meaning every word. He smiles again at you and closes his eyes, focusing on chasing his high. You watch as his smile widens to that open mouth grin, “Fuck,” he almost whispers. And there it is. There’s a twitch in his hips that mirrors his expression and then he’s pulling out and cumming on your back. His voice is now even lower and raspier than before as he babbles how good that was and how tight your pussy was. It was sweet nothings, but extremely explicit and you sighed heavily, feeling a small orgasm wash over you again. His final thrusts and voice pushing you off the cliff again easily.

The two of you take a minute to bring your breathing back to normal and Harry goes to clean your back off.

“So..how do you feel about maybe doing this regularly?” Harry asks sheepishly as he begins to pull his pants back on.

“Like a friends with benefits kind of thing? Or bandmates with benefits, rather.” You laugh breathlessly at your not really funny joke, but you’re now truly exhausted. From the show and the fuck, you felt thouroughly worked out.

“I guess that’s what it is, yeah.”

“Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”

“You’re honestly so chill, Y/N. It’s fuckin’ hot.”

You laugh and flip your hair dramatically. You’re only in your bra and panties right now and Harry licks his lips, finding your playfulness to be a turn on. “What can I say?” You laugh.

“But like I said before...it’s just sex.” He’s buttoning up his shirt and looking at your reflection through the mirror now. He watches you slip the pants you had been wearing back on.

“Oh, Harold, I know.” On cue, he groans and turns around to face you after fixing his mused hair in the mirror. Interrupting yourself, you turn your back to Harry, “Can you tie this, sorry it’s hard for me to get the -” Harry walks to you without any hesitation and begins tying the silk ribbons on the back of your shirt. “Thanks. Anyway,” you turn to face him when he’s finished and you place both of your palms on his chest. “Trust me, I know you’ve got your issues and I’m not looking to be the girl that tries to change you. I know what this is. I only ask that you let me know when you sleep with other people, because once you do, you won’t need me.” Harry nods and you pat your hands against him. You both smile and go your separate ways when you leave the dressing room.

Harry and you fucked almost every night on tour. Sometimes it was right after, on the counter in his dressing rooms. Sometimes it was later in the evening in his hotel room or yours. He stopped leaving immediately after your hook ups. He never kicked you out of his room so he decided it was fine for him to stay in yours. Especially because you weren’t a stranger who would be weird with him in the morning. He also didn’t like trekking through the hotel halls late at night.

The first few times you stayed in the same bed, the two of you stayed on opposite sides of the bed, not touching after you were finished engaging in your sexual endeavours. Rigid bodies against the edges of the mattress. Then one particularly long night, filled with multiple rounds, Harry was so exhausted from his performance on stage and off that he collapsed on top of you. He fell asleep there and you didn’t particularly mind. It felt nice to be slightly compressed and held. He shifted in his sleep and when he woke up he wasn’t upset to find you nestled into his side with his arms wrapped around you. After that, cuddling sort of became part of the routine. After you were done having sex, Harry or you would get up to clean up and bring back waters. Then you would settle in his arms. Sometimes in a spooning position and sometimes you cradled softly into his chest. You didn’t talk about it, it just happened.

One night it was your head directly on top of his butterfly tattoo, one leg thrown over his lower torso and your arm snuggly wrapped around his middle. He liked to pet your hair when you laid against his chest in that way. His fingers would fiddle with the strands and you liked it because he usually took off his rings before he would do it and his hands felt so soft and delicate against you. Harry liked the way he felt when he would hold you afterwards. It was calming to fall asleep against your soft skin and feel your fingertips trace lyrics to songs he wasn’t sure the name of against his own.

No one knew about how your friendship with Harry worked. To the rest of the world, you seemed to be someone who had become another close friend in the band. You were similar to Mitch in many respects. Except for when Harry winked at you during a show, it wasn’t a friendly wink, it was a ‘this song makes me horny and I can’t wait to relieve the pressure by fucking you later’ kind of wink. You knew this because Harry had gone over and whispered it in your ear during a quick break, when you had only looked at him weirdly after he did it.

Before the show tonight, you pulled Harry aside, “So what are we thinking tonight? I feel like I might want to ride you...Haven’t been on top in a while.” In the darkness of the backstage, you crane your neck to take Harry’s earlobe between your teeth. He groans softly and grips your hips to guide them against his for a second. “Sounds fuckin’ fantastic, love.” You twitch back, releasing him immediately at the word. You always told him not to call you that and he tried to reason with you, that it was just something he called people. But you disliked it a lot, adding it to the growing list of rules the pair of you had for the do’s and don'ts of being friends with benefits with each other.

“Harold,” you groan and he steps back at that pet name. While he hated this, you refused to let him put it on the list because it didn’t cross any lines with your physical arrangement. Not that there was any physical list to put it on, it was more of a theoretical list that the two of you would speak of occasionally.

“Sorry.” He says eventually, “Didn’t mean it.” You both laugh.

You think about how other relationships were sometimes desperate to hear their partner express their love for them and you believe you’re grateful for the simplicity of your arrangement. The term relationship regarding what you and Harry were doing was also in the ‘don’t’ category on the list. If either of you were being honest, there should be no need for a list and you should be questioning yourselves why you felt the need to set boundaries if one part of it was physical and the other part was your friendship and job. If it truly was just physical why were boundaries constantly needing to be set and followed? But right now honesty was not in the cards.

After the show Harry gets delayed with press or fans or something that you don’t really care about. You barely read the text that he sends, only caring about the ‘sorry got held up’ and the ‘be there in thirty’.

You let yourself into his room and wait on the bed, flipping through your phone, completely unbothered by the rest of the world. When you hear a knock on the door, you don’t think twice about getting up and opening the door. You only realize your terrible mistake when it’s Mitch and not Harry standing at what you’re also just realizing isn’t your door, but instead Harry’s.

“Shit!” you say under your breath as Mitch looks at you confused.

The room is dark behind you because Harry would have just entered and gotten down to business. He might turn on a side lamp, but you hadn’t felt the need to have light on while you waited. Forgetting all of that, you had just gone to the door and opened it.

Mitch tucks some of his hair behind his ear as he stares at you. “Is Harry here?”

“Er..No?” It comes out as a question. You rub the back of your ankle with your foot, feeling nervous.

“Is he actually not here or?” Mitch trails off, narrowing his eyes at you.

“No, no he’s really not here. I’m waiting for him, too.” You rush your words, but try to remain calm.

“You have a key to his room. And you’re waiting in the dark.” He says. They’re not questions and you’re not sure just how guilty you look.

“Yeah!” You try to come up with a non suspicious response, hoping there’s a way to still salvage your’s and Harry’s secret, “He gave me his key because he wanted to talk about something and I kept it dark because my eyes always hurt after shows. Kind of like a migraine.” You scratch at your head and smile, trying to convince Mitch. He seems to believe you as he nods slowly and opens his eyes more.

There’s a little bit of an awkward silence and Mitch shifts his weight between his feet, looking at you still. Just as you're about to invite Mitch to come wait inside with you, Harry steps out of the elevator and begins to walk down the hall. His key card is already in hand and your eyes widen. Harry’s expression mirrors yours when he realizes Mitch is standing outside of his door and that you are standing with him. “Mitch!” Harry says, placing his hand on Mitch’s shoulder and sliding his key card into his back pocket with the other. Mitch turns to Harry without seeing him put away the other key card and you look at the pair of them.

“I was just telling Mitch how you gave me your key card so we could talk about...that thing.” You interject, flicking the lights on in Harry’s room as casually as possible. Harry shoots you a look about how you couldn’t come up with an actual reason for being there. You shrug your shoulders helplessly.

Mitch looks between the two of you and feels some weird tension and he’s not sure if it's always there and he’s just noticing or if something is going on right now.

“Yeah, well, I came to stop by to talk about the riff in Canyon Moon. Something is wonky with it.”

“Oh! Sure,” Harry nods to Mitch and then glances at you, “Y/N, we can talk about that other thing later. It’s not that important anyway.” His tone is so casual and nonchalant. You stare at him, thinking he can’t be serious. You had been almost sure he would send Mitch away, but instead you were being kicked to the curb. When he doesn’t say sike or anything of the sort, you nod. “Okay,” then you mumble a ‘good luck’ with figuring out the problem with the song. Mitch walks in the door, but Harry’s eyes stay fixed on your figure retreating down the hallway. He watches you disappear and is only pulled from his thoughts when Mitch calls his name from the couch in the room.

After reaching your floor, you key into your room and get ready for bed. Just as you’re about to drift off to sleep, completely alone for once in a long time, there’s another knock. This time you check the peephole, a habit you realized you were going to have to get better at. It’s Harry. You open the door and walk away immediately once he’s entered the room.

“Why are you here?”

“Thought we could still...” He follows you into the room, trying to make out your face in the darkness.

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” Your tone gives away your annoyance. You couldn’t hide that you were mad at Harry for sending you away. It made you feel weird. The way he did it so easily made you feel like you were extremely disposable and unwanted.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs as he lays down beside you. You turn to face him when he places a hand on the small of your back. You’re face to face and your noses are almost brushing. It’s not really possible to see each other’s features, but after months of hooking up you knew each other’s faces pretty well. You could reach out and pinpoint all of Harry’s freckles and moles on his face and neck right now and be correct. He could likely do the same. The theory is proven correct when he reaches out and his hand dances down your cheek. “Just thought it would be less suspicious if I didn’t get rid of him. Couldn’t make him wait either…”

“I know,” your voice is small and soft, just above a whisper, “I forgive you.” You scoot closer to him and Harry instinctively wraps his arm around you, bringing you tightly into him. You sigh into his neck and he shivers at your warm breath on his slightly clammy skin. When you lick your lips, they brush lightly against his skin. He laughs at the feeling, so you decide to press an intentional kiss to the hollow in his neck. In response, he presses a kiss to your hairline, his lips slightly chapped after the concert.

The kisses are tender, filled with that thing neither of you dare attribute to anything the two of you did in the dark. The word you told him time and time again to not call you. So is just about every touch and word that has been exchanged in this room since Harry entered it. You fall asleep wrapped up in his arms, a soft smile resting on both of your faces. Neither of you seem to mind that you didn’t actually have sex tonight or anything even close to it.

When you wake up you feel especially well rested. You shift around and realize your bed is empty besides you. It depended on the day, but it was always a toss up between Harry being there when you woke up or not. However, lately, you had found it was usually the former. You would linger longer and so would Harry in each other’s rooms, lounging in each other’s embrace under the soft glow of the morning light peaking through whatever windows the room had. Today you were cold at his absence. Then you look up and realize you aren’t completely alone. Harry is standing at the end of your bed, staring down at his phone, smiling.

“Hey.”

You wait for his reply, but he doesn’t look up from his phone. “Hey, Harold,” you repeat. His head snaps up, a grimace on his face at the name. He slips his phone in his pocket and ruffles his hair. “Hey.” He finally responds. “I’m gonna head out.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you seem to find it necessary to talk about what happened last night. Harry definitely seemed a little off to you this morning, but you try to shake it from your thoughts. There was no reason to be upset with him being quiet. He didn’t owe you anything, you hadn’t even slept together last night, so if anything it was weird he stayed as long as he did.

It was the second night at the Forum in Los Angeles. This means no travelling necessary. No day off either, tomorrow you’d have a day off before the third and final show at the venue though.

Harry and you were talking normally at the venue, mostly about the setlist - him and Mitch had changed something for whatever reason last night, which was fine. Your banter was to a minimum, but you were trying to convince yourself that nothing was off. Even though it felt like something was different, you couldn’t place your finger on what it was, so you thought it was best to ignore it.

When Harry is about to go out on stage, you don’t pull him aside and when he introduces the members of the band to the audience, he doesn’t say anything fun or silly about you. He doesn’t wink or come up to you at any point in the performance. It’s so unusual the rest of your bandmates are giving you funny looks. Charlotte looks at you from across your keyboard in a way that she’s asking if you’re okay. You shake your head at everyone trying to signal that you’re fine.

Mitch goes over to Harry and whispers in his ear to check in with him, Harry looks at him with a bright smile on his face and says “of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Mitch looks between the pair of you, thinking back to last night and how weird the pair of you were being then. Maybe it dawns on him then what might be going on between the two of you, but if he did, he wouldn’t mention it for a long time.

You falter a bit on your back up vocals tonight. You’re trying to give it your all, like always, but for some reason your voice isn’t sounding the way you want it. About halfway through the show, when your voice comes out the exact opposite of how you would like, Harry finally gives you a second glance. His face practically emotionless, save for the single arched brow. He’s concerned, but not concerned enough where he would go over to you. He just doesn’t understand why you keep missing the right note tonight. You make a shake of your hand to say I don’t know either. He just shrugs and turns back around to continue the show, his lively smile returning while he turns his head.

After the show, Charlotte, Sarah, and you are all checking in, going over what had happened during the show in general. They’re both worried about your voice and you’re simply trying to tell them that it was just an off night. Nothing was wrong. As long as you told everyone else that, then it might turn out to be true.

“It’s fine, maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night,” you fib, having gotten more sleep last night than most other nights on this tour. They both nod, seeming to take that as a reasonable answer.

Then Charlotte gets quieter as she whispers to the three of you, “Did you guys notice anything weird with Harry? He was super lively, but he barely interacted with you, Y/N, which is so unlike him...”

Sarah nods while you look skeptically on. Sarah adds, “He kept looking up to the boxes, too. More than usual at least. I don’t know though…” She trails off and you cross your arms over your chest, not really enjoying the conversation topic. “I mean, what do you think, Y/N?” Sarah adds.

Your eyes dance between the two women, your fellow bandmates, your friends. You sometimes wished you could share with them what you were doing with Harry. The secret was fun, but it’s also nice to be able to share with your girlfriends about the guy you’re seeing, even if it is a casual thing. The friendly gossip of it all is something fun to share, but sadly that was another thing you couldn’t do. You sigh, “You never really know what’s going on in his mind, y’know. He’s just Harry.” Your response is half-assed at best. You figure they’ll both give you shit for the non-answer you just supplied, but instead someone else speaks for them.

“I am in fact, just Harry.” He says and you swivel around to find yourself almost chest to chest with him. Charlotte laughs while Sarah simply smiles. Your eyes are huge as you stare up at him and you hope your blush doesn’t come out too strongly after being caught talking about Harry by himself. “Enlighten me on when I was being ‘just Harry’ though?” You bite your lip and take a step back from him, forming more of a line with the other women. He shrugs when no one offers a response, laughing lightly.

“Oh and Y/N, I can’t talk about that thing again tonight, I’ve got-”

“A date?” Charlotte asks, trying to understand why Harry was acting a little different tonight still. The part that Sarah had mentioned about him looking up into the boxes had given her the idea that he might have plans with someone after the show. Harry scratches his head, his hair slightly wet with sweat right after the show. He’s taken off his coat so he’s just in the almost completely unbuttoned, sweat soaked shirt he had been wearing underneath. It sticks tight to his skin and you can make out all the muscle lines that hide beneath the fabric that you usually get to caress. Your eyes flit from his body back to his face when he speaks again.

“Erm, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that...but yes, I suppose, it’s a date.” He says finally, he avoids your eye contact and you look at him very confused, trying to hide the hurt. He shoves his hands in his pockets trying to look and sound as casual as possible and ignore the strain he sees on your face. Is that what had held him up yesterday? Making plans with someone else? And he hadn’t told you until now? The past twenty four hours stung a little bit more now that you knew why Harry was being so distant. It simply felt icky finding out this way and it didn’t even seem like he was going to tell you it was a date.

“Okay,” you say simply and walk away. You hear Charlotte asking him details about his date, but you try actively not to hear any of it. Sarah watches you walk away and sees the way you wrap your arms around yourself to comfort you. She feels a twinge of sadness as she watches the scene unfold, seeing something she hadn’t realized was there before.

Harry doesn’t text or call you that night. You hang out with everyone else for a little while in Charlotte’s room before heading to bed, saying you think you need an early night tonight. Before you’re able to walk out of the door, Mitch stops you. “I heard Harry blew off whatever conversation the two of you have been trying to have again. Just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” You try to smile but it comes out as more of a grimace. There is no conversation Harry is blowing off, it’s simply you. “It’s fine. Like he said yesterday, it’s not important.” Mitch nods, but still looks at you with concern. What he had seen last night, then on stage today, and what Sarah had told him about your interaction after the show it all strung together in his mind. It didn’t seem unimportant at all. But he didn’t know how he could tell you that. He felt like he should talk to Harry about the way you looked when you left Charlotte’s room tonight, but he didn’t know how to bring it up to him either.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you're in the elevator, and it’s slowly rising to your floor of the hotel. You’re only one level up, but it feels like an eternity in there. You already weren’t a fan of elevators, but this ride felt impossibly worse. The walls are all made up of mirrors and you see yourself in the reflection, but you don’t exactly recognize the girl in there. Your eyes are tired from the show, dark circles already formed. Your hands are aching, clenching and unclenching on their own accord. Your body is slumped against the back wall, likely leaving a slight imprint from the smoke residue and dust on your clothes. Worst of all are the tears running down your face, smudging at your makeup, the black mascara you had applied dripping down in sinister raindrops against your skin. The sad girl stares back at you as you sniffle slightly, confused at what you’re seeing. “Why are you crying?” you ask yourself, your voice creaking and then breaking at the end as you struggle to get out the word ‘crying’ before a sob wracks through you. You roll your eyes when your reflection offers no explanation for itself. You laugh at your own patheticness and try to shake the feelings you’re experiencing.

Inside your room now, you flop on the bed and stare straight up at the ceiling. Your arms spread to your sides and your legs lay limply below you. You think about every night before last, every night since the tour started. Every night where you weren’t alone, where you were with Harry. Your mind flits to last night, how Harry’s lips had ghosted over your skin after his apology. How you had told him you forgave him and it had felt so peaceful, so simple. It was all so easy. Thinking about him and the things the two of you did together brought a smile to your face, unbeknownst to you. When you realize it’s there, your face drops immediately, deciding not to think about Harry.

But trying to not think about Harry makes you only think about him more and what you think about him now most definitely doesn’t bring a smile to your face. You’re thinking about him out on his date with some person you chose to learn nothing about. Maybe out of fear of what is happening right now. By knowing nothing about the person, you can’t compare yourself to them. Can’t see what’s different about them that would make Harry go out on a date with them. But it doesn’t matter who they are or what they look like because at the end of it all you know one thing for certain. They’re not you. You correct yourself, you know two things actually, because you also know that Harry chose to be with them instead of you tonight.

You fall asleep with tear stained cheeks that night and absolutely nothing positive on your mind. You want to sleep but know it only brings whatever is bound to happen tomorrow, which doesn’t seem very promising.

It’s noon when you wake up and you wake to a knocking on your door. You grumble and throw a sweatshirt over your body to hide the underwear you slept in. Not remembering your new habit, you swing the door open without any hesitation to find Harry. He looks wide awake and happy, the way he almost always looks, a fresh beautiful flower of a man. You look at him groggily, “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Because I was asleep?” You tilt your head and look at him incredulously. “What about this,” you gesture to your appearance, “looks like I just went for a 3 mile jog for fun and I love the morning?”

“Can I come in?” He ignores everything you just said and enters the room when you leave the door to get back in bed. You often did that with him, you don’t know why, but when he asked to come in the room it was just simpler to let him in then say anything. He knew what you meant.

He sits at the edge of the bed as you reclaim your spot in the middle of it, tucked slightly under the covers, but still sitting up. “How was your date?” You try to sound nonchalant and it seems to work. Harry doesn’t notice your tense figure, but you notice how he tenses up when you ask.

“Good…Her name was-” You don’t let him finish, you already know the answer to this next question and you don’t need her name in order to ask it, “Did you fuck her?”

He’s silent, green eyes staring straight at you. You meet his gaze, your eyes almost burning holes into him. His eyes are begging you to not make him answer the question, he doesn’t want this to end, even if he also didn’t want the commitment he had felt himself exhibiting the other night.

When he had come to your room the other night after Mitch had almost caught you, he knew he shouldn’t have stayed. He didn’t want you to feel bad so he had come to apologize, but when the pair of you didn’t have sex, he should have left. But he didn’t, he stayed and it wasn’t for you, it was for himself. It was for him to hold you in his arms because he liked to. But when he woke up the next morning he knew he needed to leave. Solely cuddling wasn’t part of your arrangement together. It’s probably on the list of don'ts that the pair of you had. So after he realized the line he had willingly crossed with you, he quickly sent a text to Jeff who had tried to set him up with a model they were acquaintances with the night before - the reason he had gotten held up. Harry had initially declined, not very interested in seeing anyone else but you. But looking back on that choice in the light of day seemed to solidify what this relationship was - a relationship - and Harry didn’t like that. The commitment wasn’t part of the plan, so he told Jeff to set that date up for after the second show at the Forum and give the woman a ticket. That’s why he was smiling at his phone the morning after only cuddling with you, that’s why he didn’t joke around with you during the show, and that’s why he wasn’t in your bed last night.

You watch him expectantly, silently waiting for his answer, your veins cold as ice. He finally starts his answer and he wants to make it clear that it wasn’t as good with the other woman, but he’s not sure how to work that part in. He’s not sure how to explain to you it meant nothing if your arrangement also apparently meant nothing. You barely even let him get in a sentence. “Yes, but it was just a one time-”

“Alright.”

“What?” He doesn’t understand what you mean when you nod your head and cut him off.

“I told you at the beginning, Harry. Tell me when you sleep with someone else because when you do this is over. It doesn’t matter if she’s the love of your life or a one night stand. I will not be a backup plan, so if you’re able to find other people to sleep with, you don’t need to be sleeping with me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, his jaw dropped open slightly. He’s unable to keep it shut as his mind races about what to say. “Are you mad with me?”

“No, I’m fine. This was just sex. Charlotte will be happy that I’ll be going out with her more.”

Harry’s brow furrows as you shift away from him on the bed, grabbing your phone and beginning to flick through it. You feel numb and you’d like to not think about why.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks because he does care about you, worry is written all over his face. He just can’t commit, not now.

“What would I be mad about, Harry?” You look up and your eyes widen at him, silently asking him to truthfully say why you should be so upset about this revelation. You always knew it would eventually come to an end, you just hadn’t expected so soon. You hadn’t known the last time would be the last time and it broke your heart even if you knew it shouldn’t.

He shifts to reach his hand out to touch your exposed knee. You move away from him and he sighs, looking exasperated. “I- I don’t know. It just seems like we should talk about this.”

“You didn’t even think it was necessary to tell me you were going on a date last night, so I think it’s best if we just left it at ‘it’s fine, see you around’.”

He spreads his hands out across the sheets, examining his rings and painted nails thoroughly. You’re right, he doesn’t really want to talk about this. Well, more so, he’s conflicted. He would like to talk enough that you want to continue your arrangement but he doesn’t want to talk about feelings or emotions. Even if he has those feelings and emotions, they’re just not part of the things he’d like to talk about. “But-” You set your phone down at his first word, “Were you even going to tell me you fucked someone else today if Charlotte hadn’t asked you if it was a date last night? Would you just have come to my room tonight and acted like nothing had changed?”

“I would have told you.”

“Sure.”

“I swear I would’ve. I would never break a promise to you.”

“But you would make a decision that affects the both of us without telling me until afterwards?” Your voice breaks a little and you beg yourself not to cry right now.

“I thought you said this was just sex?”

You laugh humorlessly, in disbelief, “Of course it’s not, Harry! And it hasn’t been for a long time and that’s why you got scared and went and fucked someone else.” He looks at you blankly, unsure what to say, knowing you’re right. You continue, “But I also told you at the beginning of this, that I wasn’t going to try to change you. So this is me not trying to change you.” You sigh when he still says nothing, his expression completely unreadable, even to you. “Why couldn’t you have left it at ‘it’s fine’?” You say finally, barely above a whisper.

He blinks a few times after your final question. He flexes his hand one more time and then stands up from the bed. He adjusts his clothes and stares at you. You feel helpless, but you’re still trying to look pulled together, even after your outburst. You stare back. A thousand words floating through your heads, all the things you want to say and likely never will.

“I know, I’m…” he pauses, trying to get himself to say it, but he can’t. He can’t admit that he’s completely ruined whatever messed up paradise you had created together. “I’ll see you later.”

The apology or lack there of hangs in the air as he walks silently out your door. You don’t move, you barely even blink, still staring at the spot he had just occupied. Your breath finally escapes you, a large sigh. Then some nervous laughter. It was over...just like that. But things like this, left like this are never really over.

It’s awkward for a good amount of the rest of the tour. You hang out with your bandmates more and Harry rarely ever comes out with them after the shows. He either hangs out with Mitch on his own or is going out with random people he knows on the road. You and him speak, but it’s never a lot or about anything relatively meaningful. It’s not the fun back and forth of before or the fiery heat of sneaking around. You try to be normal with him, act like his casual friend and bandmate.

He does his best to do the same, but it’s difficult for him. He doesn’t know how to talk to you anymore. He misses being with you, but can’t bring himself to fix it. He doesn’t do much to right his wrongs with you. He also doesn’t even know what he would want if he did apologize. It scared him to think about the step that came after ‘sorry’ so he saved himself the trouble and never did that part either. One night he texts you: “I’m trying, it’s just hard.” and that’s it. You don’t give him a response, he doesn’t need one. You know he’s trying and he knows you know.

Near the end of the tour, he comes out with the rest of you for drinks one night. Only Mitch is between the two of you in the booth, so you feel closer to Harry than you’ve felt in a long time. The group of you are chatting and having a good time. You somehow get onto a story from when you were still in college. You explain how you had narrowly avoided getting Chlamydia right before your Christmas break junior year. You act out the conversations you imagined would have happened at all your Christmas events if you had indeed gotten it. Your impressions of your mother, father, and sister have everyone laughing the most. Harry is shaking with laughter from your story and you smile at him in appreciation when he says, “That is the funniest story I’ve heard in a long fucking time.”

The rest of the night goes really well, for the most part. No one bickers or is short with each other. Everyone is laughing and drinks are flowing. Eventually Mitch gets up to go to the bathroom and you feel Harry slide back into the booth closer to you after letting Mitch out. Your hand had taken up residence next to your thigh, resting on the vinyl of the booth. You sense something next to it now and notice Harry’s hand is resting close beside it. He shifts his hand closer when he sees that you’re looking down at it. He’s almost touching you and you look up to his eyes, wondering if he’ll close the distance. He makes an imperceptible shake of his head, but you know what he means. As you’re about to shift your hand so that your pinky connects with his, Mitch returns and your head shoots up to his figure. You instantly remove your hand from the vinyl and shift closer to Charlotte. Harry gets up, but doesn’t sit back down once Mitch is settled. He instead walks off to get another drink, risking one last look at the table where he makes eye contact with you, but he doesn’t come back. Mitch informs everyone that Harry went back to the hotel because “he was tired” after Harry doesn’t return and Mitch gets a text. You roll your eyes, sure that you saw him slip out of the side door with a woman he found at the bar after he had gotten his drink. If that’s what ‘tired’ looked like on Harry, it was fine.

You start to speak to Harry on a more regular basis after that night out. It’s not funny or lighthearted. It’s just ‘I saw this song the other day, thought you might like to listen’. It went back and forth, it wasn’t everyday but it was something. The last text between the two of you before you began sharing songs again was his ‘I’m trying it’s just hard’ text that he had sent randomly one night. Then after one of you would listen, you would see each other at sound check and mention the song and what you thought about it. It can be noted that it was Harry who sent the first song.

For Harryween, Adam couldn’t be there. He has some family emergency the day of and doesn’t come with the rest of you to Madison Square Garden or the hotel you were staying at. Thankfully, Charlotte also plays keys and you can play bass. The band had to shift around some things on stage and make minimal changes to the setlist since you weren’t rehearsed on the covers Harry was doing. You spent the whole day running through the chords of those songs with Mitch, trying to memorize them so you didn’t mess it up during the show.

It was weird because for Harryween the setlist was switched up a little from the regular set for Love On Tour. Harry was playing the entire new album as well as half of the first album, Medicine, some of his other unreleased stuff, and about six covers, including old One Direction songs. It was going to be a long show and a challenge for you.

Before the show, Harry pulls you aside, to a dark corner backstage, and your mind flits back to the last time you had been in this type of position. The last time he had called you ‘love’, the last time you bit his earlobe - which always drove him crazy, the last time he ground his hips against yours, those and more and you had no idea that it was the last. By then you had already had sex with Harry for the last time, kissed his lips for the last time. It made your heart race to be so close to him and so alone once again. But it’s nowhere near the same as it once was. You shake the memories from your mind and look up expectantly at him.

“Have you got this?” He asks seriously, tone concerned. Of course it’s a music question, nothing more. Like it always was now.

“Yeah, of course.” His stare is unwavering and you try not to falter from it.

“I can get someone else to cover tomorrow, it was just such a short notice today. You know bass really well too, it made sense.”

“I’ve got this. Seriously, don’t worry, Harold.” You pat his chest lightly and for once Harry smiles at the sound of your nickname for him. You had stopped using it after the end of your arrangement. It never felt right to use when you were talking about music, and that was about the only time you had been talking. In this moment though, it felt right. His warm, large hands held your upper arms as you stared up into his big eyes. You missed staring into them, the shimmering emerald of his irises were constantly intriguing. You instinctively reach up to move back a curl that has fallen onto his forehead. He doesn’t shy away from your touch and continues to smile down at you.

“Y’haven’t called me that in forever.” He grins, his lips a shiny pink from the lip balm he had on.

“No, I suppose I haven’t. But where was the groan? The whole point is to annoy you.” You smile coyly. He tips his head back and laughs, releasing your arms from his grasp as he laughs wholeheartedly.

Then he does a soft groan, a playful sound, “How was that?”

“Eh. I’ll give you a four out of ten. Not enough emotion behind it.” You slide from the area the two of you have been occupying and make your way onto the stage to start dealing with the bass you would be playing. You hear Harry call out to you, “I think I deserve at least a five, maybe even a six!” You turn back for a second to look at him with an unimpressed expression and shake your head no. He laughs again and you hear him even when you walk out onto the stage. You smile to yourself as you pick up the bass.

When he introduces the band, he waits to talk about you last. “And sadly this evening Mr. Adam Prentergest, our usual fabulous bassist, was unable to attend our fancy dress party! However! Our lovely Y/N L/N is also a superb bassist and was kind enough to step into his place. - Anything to add?” He saunters across the stage to you and you laugh kindly, feeling at ease in this part of the stage even though you were usually on the opposite side and further back from the crowd. You nod at Harry and he leans his portable mic towards your lips. You wet them quickly and eye Harry before turning out to the crowd. “Just please go easy on me if the bass sounds a bit wonky. It wasn’t on the job description that I’d be playing songs I didn’t know, with a few hours notice, on not my main instrument.” You say this in a kind of list format, holding up your fingers as you tick off all the ways that this was out of your comfort zone. You scratch your head dramatically after you’re finished and the whole crowd laughs and cheers. The rest of your bandmates chuckle along and Harry nods and smiles at you.

“You’ll do great, love.” He leans into your ear and says without the microphone. Then he winks and turns to go back to the center of the stage. You press your lips together to contain your smile, both happy and concerned about the flip your stomach just did.

The show is going great. Harry is killing it with the crowd. Everything is electric. You’re entirely focussed on your bass playing, but Harry has been coming over every so often to do something fun or have you tell a joke.

“She’s truly the funniest person I know! And I know a fair amount of people I think.” Harry says as he walks over to you have you tell another joke. Mitch has been looking at you and Harry interacting all night and he’s sure that it isn’t your different position that has him coming over and talking to you so much tonight. Something has definitely changed once again. First the pair of you were always together and having fun, then it was silence and stolen glances that neither of you realized you were taking, now it was back to the beginning.

“That’s because you think puns are part of the top tier levels of comedy.” You say easily, “Here, I can guarantee Harry will love this and the rest of you will likely groan.” Then you stop and act as if you’re thinking for a little, everyone’s waiting expectantly. “Sorry, thinking...Well, I’ve got some skeleton puns I could do, they’re very humerus or y’know classic vampire ones..eh but those ones kind of suck. What do you think, Harry?” You look out at the crowd, face deadpan, as Harry laughs beside you. You roll your eyes playfully and push him back to the center of the stage. Leaning into your own mic now, you say, “I told you.” That’s when everyone laughs. Harry throws another look at you over his shoulder and laughs a little more, his smile wide and eyes bright.

A little over half way through the night, it’s time for ‘to be so lonely’. You already knew the bass chords for it before today and you were confident in yourself by now. It wasn’t as hard a song so you were happy for the little break. This song allowed you to not be looking down at the notes you had stuck to the floor in front of you. Harry’s voice comes in after Mitch’s intro and you watch the way his lips move against his mic. You laugh a little as you watch the crowd yell the first “arrogant son of a bitch” line. You used to not particularly like when people did that, but after it had ended with Harry you had started to enjoy it a bit more. Having those people yell the words you couldn’t, but truly felt about him sometimes, was cathartic. Tonight you weren’t angry with him, but you enjoyed the energy in the room when everyone said it. We’ve all got our own ‘arrogant son of a bitch’ that we want to scream at sometimes. Tonight yours wasn’t Harry for the first time in a long time. The song moves along and Harry takes the microphone off its stand, he walks towards your side of the stage. When the lyrics get to:

“I miss the shape of your lips, your wit, it’s just a trick, this is it so I’m sorry”

Harry isn’t looking at the crowd, he’s looking straight at you. You don’t understand the way he’s looking at you. Or maybe you don’t want to understand it. This song, its lyrics, explains Harry really well. You saw the relationship you had with him in the words. Maybe not precisely, but a part of it was in it. Harry had unknowingly foretold your lives with his words. You know he has trouble connecting and committing, you know his issues, and you accept them. But you knew what had happened between the two of you was far more serious than meaningless sex and you knew Harry couldn’t bring himself to be that serious. He ran off and that was fine, but the face that he couldn’t even apologize hurt you the most. But the song lays it all out for you, he’s not one to be able to apologize quickly. The fact that he looks at you and means the apology he sings in the song for you, it’s a big step, but it’s not enough. The banter, the technical apology, it was all a good start, but it’s just that - the beginning. If Harry wants to make things better with you, a lot more needs to be discussed. So when you sing backing vocals for the following chorus you mean the words for Harry completely.

“Don’t call me baby again, you got your reasons, I know that you’re trying to be friends. I know you mean it, but don’t call me baby again it’s hard for me to go home and be so lonely”

His eyes flick to you again and see your lips moving around the words as you play the bass. He sees the emotion in your face and understands what you’re saying. It’s hard for you to go to your room at night and be alone while he’s out with someone else. It’s hard for him to act like everything’s all fine and perfect, back to normal, because for you it isn’t really. He can’t call you ‘love’ and tell the world you’re funny and expect it to be enough. He can’t sing his sorry that was initially for someone else to you and expect you to accept it. And he knows it, too.

After the show everyone decides they’re exhausted and need to rest before tomorrow. You all planned to celebrate the whole day and you knew it was going to be a wicked Halloween. Knowing this, you’re surprised with the knock on your door after about an hour of being back at the hotel. You’ve given up the habit you had once hoped to cultivate and swing the door open haplessly. Truly having no idea who to expect, you are still surprised to find the man standing before you.

“Mitch.”

“We need to talk.” He stares down at you, his shoulders slumped from tiredness.

“Come in,” you usher him in when you hear the urgency of his voice. He saunters in before you and you close the door. You move to the small couch in the room and sit down. Your hands gesture for him to sit as well, but he shakes his head. He stays standing and brings a hand up to smooth his hair back on the right side. His eyes staying on the floor and flickering up to you every so often.

“What is going on with you and Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh come on Y/N. You’re seemingly best friends with him for a good portion of tour, then you’re barely on speaking terms for the second half, now you’re joking around again. What is going on?”

You sit there in a stunned silence, “I don’t know what to say.” Your arms go to hug your body, feeling anxious about being confronted about this topic.

“Were you seeing each other?” His voice is soft, eyes taking in your body language and knowing it’s a difficult topic.

“I wouldn’t put it like that…”

He holds back the ‘I knew it’ statement because of how sullen you look, b..ut in his mind all of the pieces he had watched unfold came to fit in a perfect puzzle. He decides to sit beside you when you don’t say anything else.

“We were having sex,” it felt weird to say it out loud, no one but you and Harry had actually known, “But it ended. I don’t know what today was...but it felt different than how it’s been.”

“Why are you so sad if it was just sex?” He places a hand on your shoulder and your tear-filled eyes meet his. “Oh…” He knows why.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” You sob at his apology because he’s not the one who should be at your door apologizing. You sniffle and lean your head into his chest. He takes you into his arms and holds you as your cries become muffled sounds in his shirt.

You cry without words for a few minutes, Mitch coos some soothing words, his voice soft and kind. He was always a good shoulder to cry on for all of your bandmates, he was extremely strong and you made a mental note to thank him thoroughly when you actually were capable of forming coherent thoughts. “I’ve never told anyone before. It feels so weird even saying it out loud,” you say as you pull back from Mitch’s embrace. You're thankful his shirt is black, no tear stains can be made out.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks gently, gauging your reaction. You wipe at your eyes and nod.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to start from the beginning. “Do you remember the party Charlotte had a week before we left for tour?”

Mitch nods and his eyes widen at what you’re saying as he remembers the night. “It started back then?” He’s unable to contain his incredulous question. He had suspected something, but hadn’t thought it had been going on for that long. He was truly astounded. You nod, “Well sort of,” then you go on to recount the last couple of months. All the way up until the Forum shows. “That night, when I opened Harry’s door and it was you standing there...Harry and I didn’t have anything to discuss. It was just…” Mitch nods again. He hadn’t spoken much since you had gotten into the story, wanting to let you be in charge of what you were saying and believing he could probably ask questions at the end. “Then the next night he blew me off for his date with that model and I cried in the elevator because I knew what was going to happen next.”

“So that’s when it ended?” Mitch asks when you don’t speak for a rather extended period of time.

“Yeah, the next morning he came over and I asked if they had sex and he said yes so I told him it was over.”

“But I don’t get why he went out with that model. He had told me she wasn’t his type the night before…” Your eyes shot up and looked at Mitch. His eyes widened when he realized what he said.

“What?”

“When we were talking about Canyon Moon, he mentioned that Jeff had tried to set him up with some woman but he had declined. Said he wasn’t interested. I don’t get what changed between then and the next morning.” He figured it was best to put all the cards out on the table right now. You’d be going your separate ways for a while, now that the tour was over and he had seen how unhappy both you and Harry had been over the last part of the tour.

You shift your leg to have it folded beneath you as you continue to stare at Mitch. “He came over after you and him had your meeting,” you say quietly. Mitch hums, waiting for you to continue this time.

“He apologized for choosing you over me to talk to. Then we slept together, but we didn’t have sex...I think that’s what wigged him. It had felt too real, sleeping in the same bed with me without having sex beforehand made it feel like something more than just two people fulfilling needs.” Mitch nods and sighs heavily. He looks around the room and then back to you, taking in your full appearance. Again he feels terrible for you, how he had felt the second night at the Forum even though he hadn’t known the full story yet. “Now we’re here.”

“Tonight, it felt like he was trying,” Mitch finally said and you smiled sweetly, thinking back to Harry’s behavior. No matter how far from him you were, all those good feelings you associated with him never went away.

“Yeah, it’s been getting better. He texted me once saying he was trying. Then he came out with us one night and it almost seemed like that would be the night he’d apologize, but then he didn’t. Then we started sharing music with each other again. Then tonight… was tonight. It’s just confusing. He’s confusing.”

Mitch smiles sadly and brings you in for another hug and you’re actually so thankful he

showed up at your door. It was your first time telling anyone all of this, because Harry didn’t even know how you felt about some of these things. It felt amazing to be heard and to be told it was okay to be feeling like this.

Pulling back, Mitch says, “He’s definitely different. But his differences are what make him special and that’s why I think he clings to them even if they sometimes can hurt other people. The fact that he’s trying is a good sign. I hope he can find it in himself to make it right between you two because I had never seen either of you happier than when you were apparently together. Especially those few weeks leading up to Los Angeles. Sarah had kept asking me why Harry was so smiley back then. When I had asked him, he had just said “have you ever found something and realized you wanted to keep it with you forever?” I had no idea what he had meant, but I feel like he meant you now.”

Your awestruck at what Mitch has just told you. He was right about the first part about Harry trying to change, but the last bit, that’s what had left you speechless. You turn your body to face the rest of the room and put your chin against your hand as you think.

“Mitch...I have to go.”

He understands what you mean and you walk out of the door with him. He walks down the hall to his room and you walk quickly past the elevator and opt for the stairs. Before you know it you’re running up the stairs, taking two at a time even though you’re not the most athletically inclined. You can’t stand to wait for the elevator and your mind is racing.

You knock on the door that is Harry’s after reaching his floor. It swings open and reveals a confused and sleepy Harry. Thankfully he’s still fully dressed because that would have been a whole other problem you would have if he hadn’t been. You push past him and walk straight into his room without any invitation. He follows behind you, still unsure of why you’ve come here.

“Have you ever found something and realized you want to keep it forever?” You ask him, repeating the words Mitch had just told you.

“Pardon?”

“You told Mitch that about me before we ended things. If that’s how you felt, why didn’t you do what you said?”

Harry sighs as the words register in his mind. The memory of when he had smiled at Mitch so giddily and asked the vague question, his thoughts only of you as he asked it. The shit-eating grin he had plastered on his face after Mitch had looked at him confusedly flitted across his mind. As well as the way he had gone to his dressing room and had a quickie with you after that conversation.

“It’s not that simple…”

“It is, Harry! Why can’t you just be honest with me for once?”

“Okay, fine. You want me to be honest?” you nod at his harsh tone. The two of you standing only a few feet apart. “You have no goddamn idea what you do to me, when I’m around you, I have no control of my emotions or of my thoughts. I pushed you away because I didn’t like feeling out of control. I got out because what had started as a fun time had turned into me longing to be with you every waking hour. I found myself not caring what we did as long as I got to hold you and be around you, but that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Plans can change, Harry.”

You step closer to him and he meets your eyes. He had left his music playing softly on his phone before he had opened the door so now as the two of you stared at each other, he must have been playing his Etta James playlist because her voice faded out of the song “I’d Rather Go Blind” and straight into “A Sunday Kind of Love”. Harry had shared her At Last album with you over the Christmas holiday of last year and you had decided to listen to her entire discography afterwards, so you knew the songs. The transition was a little too on the nose and you wondered if Spotify ever listened to your conversations.

His emerald eyes examine your face and take inventory of your features, measuring whether anything had changed since he had looked at you this close up. Your hand goes up to cup his cheek and he nuzzles into it, dropping his head closer to you ever so slightly and closing his eyes at the feeling of you.

“I am sorry,” he whispers earnestly as he reopens his eyes.

You can’t take your eyes off of him even if you tried. He looks so soft in the moment, so vulnerable in this light as the music swells in the corner of the room. Etta sings about how she needs a love that is going to last as the pair of you inch yourselves closer together.

“I forgive you, Harry,” you whisper back.

He nudges his head further down and your lips finally press together, slotting back together after months apart. Your lips are eager to press back against their favorite companion. You oblige them, but pull back for a second, just far enough to say, “I will always forgive you, so long as you tell me when you’re scared so we can work through it together.”

He nods, “I promise to never let you go again.” Before taking you back against his lips and gathering your body up in his arms. His lips missing yours just as much.

6K notes · View notes

jangofctts · 3 years

Text

As You Are (Bucky Barnes x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, light choking, brief thigh riding/grinding, vaginal fingering with them metal fingies, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on sam’s couch

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent bUT YKNOW WHAT WHO CARES EKJHEJHKEJH this is my first fic for marvel and AH I hope I did Bucky justice. ENJOY YALL

This had been a terrible idea.

Right from the minute you tailed after he and Sam to the Baron’s extensive vintage car storage. Bucky had explicitly withheld any and all information regarding this little excursion to protect you but of course you’d shown up—none too jazzed about the little stunt Bucky pulled regarding the Baron. Fair.

You were right—Bucky should have called but that overwhelming guilt of dragging you into another one of his problems stopped him from pressing that little call button. He never wanted to be the reason you ended up back on the run again. Though judging by the way things were going, it was more than likely you’d be in prison by the end of the week.

Luck had your back in that sort of regard—too bad it could never rescue you from your own stubbornness and grief regarding that damn shield.

You’d taken a devastatingly hard hit from Walker—a fractured orbital, a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. All preventable—if only Bucky kept better track of you before you showed up in that warehouse alone. Left to fight the shadow of what was once a symbol of hope for some—another man playing dress-up in something that will never belong to him.

It was just their luck Bucky and Sam arrived in time—preventing you from becoming another red stain of violence splattered over that shield.

James Buchanan Barnes is not afraid of much—but fuck. Seeing you crumpled over the concrete floor, all bloodied and struggling to raise a hand to protect your face… It was the same feeling as injecting his veins with a pure shot of adrenaline and anger shrouded in fear. He promised Steve he’d look after you…

And as Sam carried you out of that warehouse you had the gall to tenderly tell them that you were just fine—as if your mouth weren’t full of blood and a face blooming with patchy bruises. The jealousy that sparked through Bucky’s chest when you clung to Sam’s chest did nothing to help that dark festering pit inside his ribcage he’s attempting to suture back together.

Bucky clenches his jaw. At least you’re asleep now. Curled up against the window, holding your injured arm in a way that limited the turbulence from jostling it. It’s the first time Bucky would describe you as fragile. He know’s you’re anything but that—stubborn mostly—yet most of all brave. It’s what Steve admired most about you—what Bucky loves most about you too. That vibrant spark flowing through your blood and how you’re not afraid to shout along to your favorite songs despite the odd looks you get. Bucky envies how self-assured you are, how you’ll never lose yourself because you know just where you’re headed. He wishes he still had that sort of drive instead of all this uncertainty and guilt clouding each muscle and fibre in his body.

Bucky doesn’t realize the jet has landed until Sam stands and and places a large hand over your shoulder. Your face scrunches as you whine and curl further into your seat. “C’mon, kiddo.” You grumble something inaudible. “You want me to carry you?”

The delicate plates of vibranium clink together as Bucky’s hand tightens into a fist, jealousy flaring hot and bright. He quickly stands, too fast to be considering anything less than awkward. Sam’s brow quirks. “I can do it.”

“It’s cool, man,” Sam says as he scoops one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “I got her.”

Bucky bristles. Whatever.

It’s not like you and him have anything together. A one sided plague of affection that you’ll never know about—he wants to tell you. Fuck, the words burn through his tongue and collect like ashes between his teeth and yet they are never voiced from self sabotage. There’s no possible way to voice how you’ve haunted his thoughts and his dream since the moment his eyes met yours. How he’s memorized the lines of your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps. Bucky would know you deaf, blind, numb, in this world or any other twisted reality.

He had said that he wasn’t afraid of much, but that’s not entirely true. Eternity, oblivion, crowded rooms, being alone too long. And you. You terrify him. You have the power to pluck at the very strings of his soul and unravel him completely until he’s no more—and you don’t even know it. Bucky Barnes is less afraid of dying than he is of loosing you but that fear never once provides him the courage to tell you. You may not be a scribbled name in his book, but he still hopes that one day he’ll earn the chance to strike his cowardice and put to rest the wretched ache in his heart that he feels for you.

He wishes he told you in Wakanda, after the Blip, Riga, and right this instant. He watches Sam carry you out of the jet—what’s a little more time?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun is beginning to melt into the horizon, turning the expanse of water into molten gold and shimmering blues. The hazy humidity from the late afternoon heat collects at the back of Bucky’s neck and the light breeze does nothing to cool. Bucky sighs and swipes at the bead of sweat creeping down his forehead with the back of his hand—he glances up.

A ghost of a smile creeps across his lips. You’re exactly where he and Sam left you three hours ago. Surprising to be quite honest—you never did like to stay in one place for longer than ten minutes. You’re a pain in his ass, simply said.

But now—now you’re haphazardly splayed out on the lawn chair you were forced into, a juice box loosely held in your good hand while the other still remains in the sling. He can’t tell if you’re asleep—Steve’s sunglasses do an excellent job of hiding your eyes. Yet as Bucky wanders closer, your head rolls to your right in greeting.

“It’s rude to stare, y’know,” you grumble, lifting the juice box to your mouth. Your lips purse around the plastic straw. “And before you ask—yes, I have a very important job I’m currently overseeing.”

Bucky quirks a brow. “What—hogging the lawn chair?”

“No—“ You huff. You gesture with your juice box at the large cooler your sandaled feet are propped up on. “I’m the booze master. God of the ale, destroyer of sobriety—“

“Alright, Booze Master,” Bucky interrupts with a snort. “Why don’t you bestow upon me a beer, your majesty.”

You tap your index finger over your chin as a lazy smile fixes itself over your lips. “Granted.”

You slide your legs off the cooler and with a pained grunt you shift forward. Bucky shoots his arm out and steadies you back against the chair by your shoulder before you get any further. Your face pulls into a grimace.

“I got it, kid. Relax.”

Bucky pops open the cooler and fishes out a beer and pops the cap off between his left index finger and thumb. You watch with a frown, “I could’ve done that for you.”

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes a seat on the cooler. The bitter fizz floods his tastebuds as he takes a sip of his drink, a tangible silence blanketing the space between you. He gets it—people like he and you can never settle for complacency. As if the rest isn’t deserved despite the bloody knuckles and the shattered glass that slices through skin—the bruises and the broken bones. None of it is enough—not worthwhile to preserve yourself when other’s so desperately need your help.

Or maybe it’s penance.

Bucky sure as shit finds himself swallowed by the black maw of guilt each and every day. Battling the never ending shadow of doubt that clings to his soul like glitter to a an old carpet. Bucky believes it’s safe to say that you’re the same—every good deed you do added to the imaginary scale weighing against the bad despite it feeling hollow and insurmountable. Paying in blood to equate the amount you’ve spilled. A hopeless battle you both insist on fighting.

Bucky sighs through his nose, bends at the waist and collects both your ankles in his left hand. You let him lift them both and settle your legs over his knees. You shiver, an eruption of goosebumps rushing up your skin at the cold metallic shock of Bucky’s vibranium thumb scrapinh over your bare flesh.

Bucky’s lips tilt down ever so slightly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” you rush to say before he has the chance to flee. “S’just cold.”

His hum reverberates low in his chest as those cerulean blue eyes fall to his hands. You clench your jaw until your teeth ache as his left thumb continues to stroke over the delicate skin covering the joint of your ankle. This is…new…

You’d been close with Steve and Sam, and by proxy Bucky—in some weird adjunct way. Compared to Sam’s teasing bumps of the shoulder and that infectious laugh far more addicting than the golden liquor of the sun, Bucky is frigid. Still attempting to shake off the whole Winter Soldier thing that’s molded onto his bones like stubborn permafrost. Touch had always been tricky with him—even a friendly pat over the back or a simple tap to the harm had him tensing under the touch—muscle and steel bunching to prepare for a harsh blow that would never arrive. Never from you.

Bucky rarely sought out your physical comfort—you were always the one to initiate those friendly touches even if he was the type to just sit and ignore you like a grouchy old cat barely clinging onto that ninth life. The first time he breached that fragile barrier was in Wakanda—something in Bucky cracked and split into a cavernous ravine of nebulosity. Stitches shred apart then stapled back together as he grabbed your arm and wrestled you into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t need to ask to realize he cried the entire time, gripping your shirt like a lifeline while he shuddered and sobbed into the crook of your neck. To him everything from the rain to silk sheets felt like shrapnel and the stars tasted like old blood and the past of things long gone—yet you were familiar.

A comfort for the much needed healing of the scattered pieces of a man. You don’t mind helping him pick up the tidbits and reattach them with veins of silver. It’s the least you can do.

The second time occurred after the loss of Steve. Some part of you had been wrenched out with his departure and he never bothered to return it. It doesn’t matter anymore—the hollow ache had been soothed with the Winter Soldier clutching you to his chest until you drifted off into a fitful sleep. A tether to a new reality you both partake in.

Which brings you to now. There’s no cathartic reasoning behind his touch…it’s simple…a risky leap of faith into unknown territory. Bucky’s eyes lift to meet yours—curiosity swimming in those icy irises. You don’t mind—in fact you quite like the calloused warmth of his hand and the opposing chilly metal one tentatively exploring your exposed skin.

“You have a scar here,” Bucky murmurs, skimming the thumb made up of flesh and sinew over the mottled skin occupying the crease of where the top of your foot meets your ankle.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I fell on barbed wire.”

“Clumsy,” he chides, quirking a dark brow.

Your shoulders bounce with a huff. “I was like—twelve when it happened, James.”

His mouth quirks in a half smile, quite liking the validation of his name in the way your mouth speaks it. He wonders if you know the weight of granting you that leeway of calling him that. Shit—he doesn’t care what you call him, everything sounds lovely when you say it.

There’s another silence—holding your breath until something splits and shatters into a million pieces. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want anything more than just friendship with Bucky but fear of rejection is a tricky thing. You take the easy way out and offer him the chance of something more on a silver platter.

“Bucky?”

His fingers whisper up your shin as he inclines his head.

“I’m tired. Drive me back to Sam’s?”

“Sure thing, doll.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bucky holds the door open for you as you stumble in, escaping the hazy southern heat. He disappears into the kitchen as you make a beeline straight for the couch, sighing loudly once the plush cushions meet your back. You lazily lift your head once you hear his familiar footfalls nearing.

With him he brings two Otterpops, one blue raspberry and the other cherry. Once he hands it to you he takes a seat on your left, close enough that his thigh and shoulder bumps against yours. “Don’t tell Sarah’s kids that these were the last ones.”

You roll your eyes and promptly stick the Otterpop into you mouth. “‘M ain’t no snitch.”

His low chuckle reverberates through his chest. The silence that follows isn’t an awkward one as you enjoy the cold treat—it’s filled with the humming cicada bugs outside and the breeze through the wind chimes. Comfortable with the normalcy—just a couple of regular old people enjoying life for a suspended amount of seconds.

Once you finish the Otter Pop, you crumple the plastic up and rest it on the coffee table. He does the same—hints of the blue syrup sticking to the cracks of his plush lips. You force yourself to avert your eyes. You cheeks heat with a flush as you rush to occupy your mind with anything but wild fantasies of Bucky’s mouth. You lean forward again, pointedly ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes track your movements as you shuck off your sling, the prickle of unused muscles and bruised ligaments rushing through the limb. You wince as you slowly roll your shoulder.

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenches. You sigh—he’s still blaming himself for your injuries. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not everyone has freaky healing powers, Buck,” you snort. You rush to appease him when he frowns. “It’s getting better though. Still can’t sleep on it—but eh.”

“I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you tell him he’ll never believe you. That’s something only he can fix. Doesn’t stop you from telling him anyway. “Stop blaming yourself for my idiocy. I made my choice and paid the price for it.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to his hands. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Steve told me to look after you.”

Your heart constricts within your chest like a fist. You inhale and reach out to rest your hand over his wrist. “Funny—he told me the same thing about you.”

It surprises him—his dark brows furrow as his mouth parts, but nothing comes forth. Grappling with the right words that fit with what he feels. He’s still learning how to give his soul a name that fits. Learning how to take the dark, twisted bramble of his heart and make it into something that doesn’t ache each time it beats. He’s still learning how to look himself in the eyes, point to himself and say that there’s nothing frightening in there. Not anymore. No more.

You suck in a breath and muster up the embers of courage. Here goes nothing—

You cup Bucky’s cheek, the scrape of stubble welcome against your warm palm as you gently turn his face to look at you. His eyes drift to yours when the mumbled syllables of his name tumble from your lips. His eyes are framed with dark circles of wildflower bruises, his small smile a moonbeam stark against battered skin. You’ve dreamt so many times of swallowing it whole and pressing him close enough that your heartstrings become entangled with no hope of separation. But that’s something for him to decide.

You drop your hand cradling Bucky’s jaw, but before your hand completely falls Bucky surges forward. His large hands rush to cup your face, swallowing your noise of surprise as his plush lips fall onto yours. The syrupy flavor of a Blue Raspberry Otter Pop he stole from Sarah’s freezer lingers on Bucky’s mouth, mixed in with the smell of old leather and cracked cardamom. Bucky nips at your bottom lip, tugging once and then rolling it between the blunt enamel of his teeth. Despite all the bad jokes regarding his age and senior citizen status—fuck he’s a damn good kisser. Compared to him you feel clumsy, sloppy, but no matter how hard you search for his distaste he doesn't seem to care in the slightest—if anything he’s pulling you closer.

Bucky’s kisses may taste like the middle of June and a first love, but desperation lines every action like a wound with jagged edges. It’s a slow process learning to be free, but one day he’ll transform into starlight—and instead of a kiss like fire, it’ll be like touching your lips to a constellation’s aureate mouth.

When Bucky pulls away, sucking in air and resting his forehead on yours, you catch a whiff of his hair. Freshly washed and smelling a bit like Sam’s shampoo. Your lips quirk. You’ll make sure to keep that a secret from Sam.

You pull back just enough to meet his eye, resting your palm over his vibranium hand that still cups your cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve kissed since the stone ages?”

His lips pull into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, skating your palm down the front of his shirt, the heat of his skin near searing through the fabric. “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Bucky’s lips smother your small moan as he drags you into another kiss. You can feel his smile as he murmurs his agreement between desperate kisses and the enticing warmth of his tongue skimming along yours. The next time you part for air, Bucky drops his strong hands from your face to instead wrap them around the curve of your hips. He tugs you over his right thigh with ease and breathes a gentle sigh of your name, beginning to pepper kisses over you cheek and down the slope of your jaw.

Bucky reaches your ear and carefully nibbles the cartilage, his voice a warm scrape in your ear. “I want you.”

It’s such a simple phrase…and yet…it tears through you and pools like a heavy weight right to your center. “Then take me.”

Quick as a strike of a match, you’re tipped backwards, cradled right between the arm of the couch and the back of it. Heat rushes through each limb and gathers in your cheeks as Bucky’s vibranium fingers skate up your chest and curl around the column of your throat—that hardened soldier he’s tried to bury bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. You don’t care. You gasp into his mouth as he squeezes ever so slightly while he pushes a firm thigh between your legs. Shit—this is how you’re gonna die—grinding on Bucky’s muscled leg while he’s got a hand around your throat.

What a way to go.

With his other hand he grips the meat of your thigh and pulls you higher, grinding the rough material of his jeans covering his crotch into yours. You whine and arch into him. You need more.

You both stay here for a good while up until it feels like you’re ready to burst at the seems if you don’t have him now. Bucky is no better—cheeks flushed as he fumbles with the zipper to relieve the noticeable bulge straining against it. Impatient and needy, you shoo away his hands and do it yourself, easily sliding your warm hand down his navel and over his boxers to palm at his cock. Bucky’s hand twitches around your neck, a sweet groan filling the air when you softly squeeze him through the elastic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna…” Bucky trails off and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna make me cum in my pants if you don’t—don’t stop.”

While the thought is tempting, you want this to last just a little bit longer. Rush after the glorious high of just being near him, his kisses, everything about him. Bucky grunts at the loss of your hand and mouths a wet trail of sloppy kisses up your neck and returns to your lips. When you part he sweeps a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind your ear. He smiles softly.

“Can I try something?” He breaths. Before he can even tell you what his idea is, you’re happily nodding along. “Wanna taste you. Been thinking about it ever since Wakanda.”

Oof. His words shoot straight your center. “Bucky—why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His mouth quirks. “You make me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes you plant a kiss on his forehead and grant him his simple desire. Bucky sits and slides to the floor, close enough that he’s still able to hover over you. You lift your hips as Bucky tugs your shorts and underwear down and off your legs. Besides the general anxieties of being half naked in front of an incredibly attractive man and performing something so sinful on a friend’s couch—there’s a strange stroke of pride that alights through each of your vertebrae. A powerful man willingly dropping to his knees to please you.

Bucky shoots you a smile and slides his hands around your ribcage, bends forward slightly and captures you mouth in a deep kiss. He parts and nips down your jaw and over your throat, sliding his tongue over the marks he leaves with his teeth as if to soothe the slight sting. You whine and arch into him as he slides lower, leaving an obvious trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake until he reaches the collar of your shirt. Bucky moves his palms under the fabric to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples that peak through your bra. You suck in a shaky breath when Bucky catches the pebbled bud between his forefinger and thumb, the hard vibranium of his fingers scraping over it. A low hum rumbles through his chest as he leans forward to playfully nip at your collarbone.

“I wanna see you naked.” Bucky admits as he slips his hands out of your shirt. You shiver as those chilly metal fingers gently come to rest on the outside of your bare thighs.

“Not here, Buck,” you sigh. “T-they—fuck—they can come back any minute.”

Bucky quirks a brow, eyes dropping between your legs, then back up with a smirk. His plush lips part, yet before he can disprove your silly point—that your bare ass is already out and taking off the shirt would barely make a difference—you interject.

“Shut up.”

His shoulders bounce with a chuckle. “You have such a way with words, y’know that?”

You make a noise low in your throat and reach out to sharply tug his ear. He easily bats your hand aside, hooks his hands under your ass and hauls until you’re all but hanging over the edge of the cushions. You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core as Bucky lowers himself and wedges his shoulder between your thighs. He slides his hand over your calfs and wrestles them over his broad shoulders—earning a perfect view of your pussy. You’re already wet—worked up and running on borrowed time. You roll your head back onto the back of the couch and clench your jaw. You don’t want to rush him but Christ—you really don’t want Sam or Sarah to find you like this.

It feels like ages before Bucky’s lips touch your belly and then your navel with his warm tongue. With a grunt he shoves your shirt up to your breasts and circles your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue—his enhanced strength easily pinning you down as you jerk and giggle.

Bucky picks up his head and grins. “Try and hold still, doll.”

No sharp retort comes to mind. Fuck—he’s already got you so expertly wrapped around his finger.

Bucky hums, satisfied with your weak nod and continues on.

Bucky’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver that rushes through your body. They tickle towards the apex of your thighs and settle close enough to reach your aching center. He pauses for a moment and while you know he’s there, you curse when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They gently work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction as your body adjusts to the feel of flash and vibranium. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch.

Unsatisfied with simply touching you, Bucky shifts his weight to better reach your core. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”

There's a moment just before Bucky swoops down, face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, warm breath fan across you inner thighs. Anticipation grips your heart with an iron hold, and then— Bucky licks a broad stripe from the base of your cunt all the way up to your swollen clit. His mouth is molten, tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his hair. Bucky grunts against you as you drag him closer by the short strands—greedy for any and all touch he gifts you. Bucky’s mouth slips around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as a quiet moan wrenches free from your vocal cords.

He trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your soaking entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your cunt, skips over it completely to catch the wetness before it leaks over the couch. Bucky opens his mouth wide and groans in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. Desperation lingers on his tongue and all you are is the honey sweet taste of salvation.

“Shit—Bucky,” you cry, throwing your hips forward in search of more friction.

It's perfect. So fucking delicious.

You tense as the vibranium tips of his fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The chilly digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. With a self-satisfied grin, Bucky thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and imperceptible metal plating dragging along your walls pure torture. Fuck—he’s going to be the death of you—

Bucky’s mouth dips down a second time and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than a fucking freight train. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Bucky continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Supernovas implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jet fuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Bucky murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue.

Your brain swims in hazy bliss as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it damn near hurts. You're too sensitive. Nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. Bucky is all too happy to remain between your legs—takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his hot tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a vibranium razor against bare flesh. Your thighs shake around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves. You cry out as an orgasm floods through you veins, rupturing each cell in your being with molten pleasure. Your core pulses around Bucky’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease to a fading throb. You whine and push at his forehead because he's still going. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick.

“Feel good?” Bucky purrs, resting his cheek on your thigh.

If judging by the way you thighs still quiver and your chest heaves—then yeah—it felt good.

Cheeky bastard.

“Get up here—“

You grapple with his shirt, fisting the thin fabric, but he’s heavy and your entire body feels like jello. Your grip strength is all but laughable at the moment as Bucky clambers back onto the couch and grabs both of your legs, slotting his narrow hips between them. One leg is stuck against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, foot skimming the hardwood floor to accommodate Bucky. Not the most comfortable but fuck it—who cares.

Bucky grunts when you lift your hands and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them halfway down his legs with a sharp yank. Already a dark patch of wetness stains the fabric of his boxers, the impressive bulge straining against the elastic and begging to be released. Your eyes meet his icy blue ones as you slowly pull his boxers over his cock. It bounces up towards his navel, thick and beautiful just like the rest of him.

Impatient, Bucky’s fingers curl around your wrist and presses your open palm against his cock. He’s thick and heavy in your hand—perfect. The bead of precum that pools at his flushed tip smears against the inside of your palm as you experimentally roll your wrist, fascinated with the feel of his foreskin rolling over the steel heard flesh with each stroke.You give his a cock a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears.

A sharp hiss of hair passes through his clenched teeth as you lightly tug on his cock. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the throbbing flesh, flushed and pulsing and all for you. His cock bobs when you let go—he huffs out a disappointed noise. “I need you, Buck—please.”

Your previous two orgasms did seemingly nothing to soothe the growing ache for him. It prickles up your spine and singes through every nerve and bone—you whine and arch your hips, trying to touch your slick cunt to his cock. Bucky growls your name and pins your hips to the couch with ease.

With his left hand, Bucky firmly grips your jaw, his stare folding into something serious. “You sure?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip. You grin. “Do your worst.”

Bucky curses and readjusts your calf slung over his hip and grips the base of his cock. You shudder as he runs the blunt head through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and arch. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s certainly not small in any way shape or form. You’ll feel him for days afterwards as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline. Shit—he’s gorgeous—struggling not to loose control the moment he’s buried inside of you. You allow yourself to adjust for a moment but your own impatience rakes down your spine with claws of scorching arousal. You rock your hips in curiosity and squeeze around him.

“Fuck—“ A ragged moans severs his words as your gentle rocking tilts into abrasive jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. His left hand shoots to your throat, the chilly metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. You dip your head back, exposing more of your supple skin—all his for the taking.

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his shoulders—tempting him into fucking you already. You’ve waited long enough. Bucky snarls your name, hooks one hand under your ass and pulls his cock nearly all the way, out only to slam back in with devastating force. There’s no time to adjust or gather your obliterated thoughts before Bucky sets a pace, desperate and feral. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what seems like a millennia—and maybe it has been. Bucky shifts, widening his knees as much as he can to sink lower onto your body—his soft hair tickles your cheek as his choppy exhales burn hot over your skin.

Bucky turns his head to steal a kiss, open mouthed and catastrophic. No words are exchanged as he fucks into you with brutal strength aided by that damn super-soldier serum—there’s no need for them, not now anyway. You complete each other without the spoken utterances—still both a work in progress. Though most things are you suppose—constantly remaking yourselves, but instead of smashing the haphazard pieces back together alone—you have one another. You bury your hand in his hair and cry his name.

You choke out another groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter and damn—you really hope nothing gets on this stupid couch. You don’t want to explain that Sam.

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, blazing through each and every vein with the brilliance of a wildfire escaping the edges of the forest. This is gonna ruin you. Bucky’s hand reaches between your bodies and rubs tight, controlled circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a calamitous surge of warmth that sweeps your very soul off its feet. Your nails dig into Bucky's back as you shake and fumble for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor.

You have no time to recover because he’s still going. Thrusting into your pussy with violent slaps that echo through the room and will more than likely leave bruises against your ass. Through the pressure of his hand over your windpipe—threatening to cut your air off completely—you garble out his name. Bucky drops his head to his chin, the weight of his gaze landing between your legs, watching the way his entire length disappears inside of you. When he raises his head he molds his mouth to yours. The soft, wet kisses rapidly morph into pricks of his teeth, his gravelly moans so pleasing to hear.

You arch and tilt your head back as he presses you harder into the couch. The vibranium hand latched onto your jaw, works it open and slides a thumb past your plush lips. You lave your tongue over the digit—the metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. “Good girl—m’close. A little longer.”

Bucky’s panting breaths mingle with yours as his pace turns vicious. Chasing his high that he so desperately needs. Overstimulation bites at your nerves, but with a gentle tug to the soft strands of hair on the back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, Bucky bursts. His moan jumps up an octave, eyes slamming shut as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums. He’s shuddering in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You whine and tilt your hips up to prevent it from spilling onto the couch.

Finally he slows to a stop, ragged breathing filling the air as the heat and weight of his body becomes a welcome comfort. Eventually that warmth grows stifling. He lazily pulls away, observing gaze drinking in each inch of bare skin exposed—the marks and the light sheen of sweat. You hiss as he curiously drags his thumb over the bite mark lingering just above your collarbone.

He parts his plush lips but before he can apologize, you interject. “Don’t—I like the reminder.”

Bucky shakes his head and drops down to tempt your lips into a lazy dance. “You’re a weirdo.”

You smile and cup his cheek. “I’m not the one with a staring problem. You know that you can’t kill people by glaring, right?”

Bucky kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then the dip of your throat. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?”

You shudder as his softening cock twitches inside of you, another coal of desire flaring in the pit of your stomach. You flash him a coquettish grin. “Maybe if you give my mouth something to do, you’ll finally get some peace and quiet.”

Something dark and dangerous flickers within those eyes. You shiver as one hand returns to your throat while the other draws teasing patterns over the outside of your thigh. He draws in close, nips at the shell of your ear and chuckles darkly. “You’re on.”

#weLL here we are in a marvel hole kwejrkwejhr #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #tfatws #the avengers x reader #my writing

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teklarn · 3 years

Text

𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓬𝓻𝔂 𝓽𝓸𝓸, 𝓲𝓯 𝓲𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾

character(s): izuku midoriya x gn!reader (x katsuki bakugou)

a/n: gosh i love angst (quick note!! i edit to the best of my ability, however it’s easy to miss things, and i type 100 words per minute, so im sorry if i miss some things!) this ain’t a poly relationship btw, i don’t feel like i could write that well (no shame to people who do!! personally i feel like i would butcher it)

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

based off the song: it’s my party by lesley gore

summary: y/n realizes going to katsuki bakugou’s wedding was a mistake

genre: angst all the way shawties

warnings: light cursing, heartbreak, alcohol, one-sided pining (reader), aged up/pro-hero au, sad reminiscing bc ahaha bakugou made us sad :’) and a crap load of references to the song, friend zoning (eesh)

word count: 2,566

ik yall are waiting for a part 2 of brutal and part 3 of you’re not my boyfriend but this idea just struck i had to get it down pls

- - -

“let’s raise a toast to our finest lovebirds, my best friend and his wife, katsuki bakugou and ochaco uraraka!” kirishima took a sip of champagne.

you lifted your beverage in unison with the others seated at your table but did not drink. you blinked down at the fizzing beverage.

“we wish you all the best,” kirishima said. “you and your best buds have no doubt you two’ll be known as some of the most indestructible symbols of peace.”

another wave of applause passed among the crowd. the last toast was finished and the music resumed. your entire table left you sitting. it wasn’t like you knew anyone here, anyways. nobody except for the few classmates bakugou was still in touch with.

those people consisted of izuku midoriya, who was sitting at the table across from you, as well as across the dance floor.

the lights twinkled up again, red, blue, and green flashing along the floor.

you couldn’t deny it. bakugou in a red suit, uraraka in a wedding dress fell just above her knees, a red bow tied around her waist. you did not doubt that if you were to be sold as a healthy person on the black market, that dress would still be worth more than you.

the only comfort you had was midoriya, who had greeted you when you came in, but the two of you had exchanged no further words. but he looked equally as miserable as you.

uraraka and bakugou were perfect together. they looked happy. and you were happy to see bakugou happy. happy to see uraraka happy with him.

bakugou dipped his newlywed wife to the beat of the music. her back arched perfectly into his large hands.

what hurts the most was that, while you wished it was you instead of her on that dance floor, you knew it wouldn’t work out.

not that you and bakugou wouldn’t have worked out. the two of you were a perfect couple!

what hurts the most was that it was a wish, and in every near universe, you still didn’t have that ring.

uravity and dynamight simply looked...happier.

you stormed out, shaking. why was your katsuki kissing her? holding her when it should have been you?

deep down, you knew you had no right. you and bakugou were barely a couple. throughout his years at yuuei, he’d calmed down immensely. so much that he could strike up a conversation with nearly everyone. as it turns out, introverted katsuki bakugou was a shameless flirt.

the two of you exchanged flitting glances from time to time, but it was never anything serious. at least to him, it wasn’t.

you knew he’d never taken the flirting seriously, and you also knew about his aching feelings for uraraka. how he covered his mouth whenever she walked by. how his voice raised just a bit, and how soft his eyes got.

you shouldn’t have been surprised. he never even hinted that he might have had romantic feelings for you.

the entire room erupted with applause as he kissed her. the katsuki bakugou, kissing someone? pfft, only in dreams.

for some, the dream would be good. like uraraka, who had shamelessly kissed him back.

for you, it was a complete nightmare.

the blaring music, the lights, the balloons, the ‘happy graduation class of 1-A!’

you drowned it all out. you curled your knees to your chest. you had no right to be hurt. not at all. they were his emotions. you had no control over them.

loneliness clouded over you. your chest screamed with longing. a longing to be held. be wanted by him.

you were alone. nobody was coming to comfort you. nobody was-

the door opened, clicking shut just as quickly. someone sniffled.

your eyes flicked up from your knees.

“y/n? i...i’m sorry, i had no idea anyone was out here...i can leave...”

“it’s alright, izuku.”

izuku took a swig from a bottle containing something much heavier than champagne.

that same tug in your chest came about. you were tired of seeing the billboards, the magazines. tired of seeing the unquestionably perfect relationship, perfect love bloom right before you.

dynamight and uravity this! dynamight and uravity that!

the music was loud enough, the lights were busy enough, and the people were ignorant enough to neglect your crying figure.

this was supposed to be my party. he loved me first.

“you okay?” you asked, swiping your nose.

izuku looked back at the graduation party. “no, y/n. i’m not.”

“then we’re both absolute shit.” you let him help you up. “why’re you crying?”

“just...just uraraka.”

“for me it’s just bakugou.”

just as bakugou had calmed down during his years at yuuei, izuku had earned a sense of sarcasm. “are they just oblivious or stupid?”

“goodness, izuku,” you joked, pressing a hand to your shuddering chest. “calling uraraka stupid?”

he gave you a sad side-smile. you listened in silence as the upbeat music played on.

“i guess we’re the stupid ones.” he sighed, chest heaving a little.

“i guess,” you agreed. he pulled you into a hug, and you let the tears flow. your sobs corrupted your chest as you curled into his arms. “why? why did it have to be her?”

“not all heroes end up happy, y/n.”

you looked up at him, eyes puffy, sniffling. “why can’t we be part of that small portion of heroes who are?”

izuku looked up, trying to neglect the water pooling in his own eyes. “i guess...well, not to be a narcissist—” he let out a breathy chuckle, “―but if you noticed, all the greatest heroes die with some kind of regret.”

“maybe i don’t want to be a good hero.” you ignored his efforts to lighten the mood.

“heroes don’t always get to choose whether they’ll be good or not. some things just happen.”

“i’m sorry, izuku.” you swiped at your eyes. “you’re hurt just as badly as me. i don’t want to make it—”

“hey.” izuku gently pried your hands away from your face, fingers ghosting over your wrists. his emerald eyes gleamed as they stared into yours. “don’t invalidate your feelings just because of me. we’re both hurting, but that doesn’t mean i won’t listen to you.”

your sobs came back again, and you fell into his chest.

bakugou spun uraraka, laughing gently as she twirled in his arms. his eyes lit up whenever he saw her. they twinkled. he sparkled. his smile was dazzling. and he was everything you never had.

you were a heartbroken mess, even after all these years. there was a list of all the reasons you were mad at him, and yourself.

your sobs were almost uncontrollable, and at this point, you were shocked nobody came to check on you. not that you cared very much. even if you were making a small effort to hide your face, it still would have been nice to feel a touch on your shoulder, someone perhaps shaking you gently to make sure you were awake.

not that you’d tell them what was wrong. you just wanted to know somebody cared, and to have the option to talk to somebody if you needed to do so.

but here you were. cheesy, upbeat fifties music echoed along the walls of the room. bakugou had secretly adored artists from back then, and you’d often catch him dancing and singing along to long-forgotten oldies.

if you weren’t his best friend, you would have blown off coming here and binge-watched ‘my best friend’s wedding’ and sobbed.

your head was down, forehead leaning on the backs of your forearms stacked upon each other. tears were streaming down, your shoulders shuddering with each weak breath sucked in and released.

until bakugou chose you, you had no reason to smile. at least not now. by no means were you desperate. love sometimes did that to people. made them look needy, look unwanted.

you’ve had plenty of options in the past, but the one person who you wanted didn’t want you back. didn’t even care.

since the graduation party, uraraka and you had been a bit tense. a part of her felt like she knew how you felt, and how bakugou mattered to you more than anyone in the world.

after the first year, she began abandoning izuku and ignoring his emotions towards her. after she and bakugou found each other, they had already known they would settle with one another.

you and izuku had never been close, but you were both good friends and were there when you needed one another.

he had walked you through your pain of senior year, and you’d helped him reach a lot of his goals, too. but bakugou just didn’t seem to care anymore. not even about becoming the number one hero. he looked at uraraka like she was his goal, his new dream, the reason he was happy. he looked at her and saw that he had the world in his hands and wanted to keep it that way.

you? you were pluto. exiled from the rest of the planets. exiled from the rest of his options, when you used to be his first.

“y/n?”

you and izuku backed away from each other. you’d both been crying for quite a bit. how long it had been, you were both unsure.

uraraka now stood at the door. you peeked into the window, leaning back a bit and catching glances of the blonde, who was currently being clapped on the back by his friends, congratulated for ‘getting the girl’.

“are you guys okay?’ uraraka asked.

“would you cry, uraraka?”

she tilted her head. “what?”

you pushed yourself off of izuku. “do you think you’d cry if you saw me kissing him, too?”

“what’re you―”

“you would cry, too! you would be sobbing!” you stabbed an accusatory finger at her. “you were my friend! you knew how i felt, and you’re kissing him?”

uraraka’s eyes widened. “i...i’m sorry. it all just happened, and i—”

“shut the hell up, uraraka. you ruined this party. for me and izuku.”

perhaps you went a bit far, but in your heart and your mind, you knew she deserved it. she knew. uraraka had known.

izuku gave uraraka a sympathetic look before pressing a hand to your back and leading you away.

it still came as a bit of a shock that uraraka had let bakugou invite you to their wedding. gosh. little, domestic bakugou, sealing invitations and batting his eyes at his oh-so-sweet wife so he could invite his best friend.

little domestic uraraka sweetly kissing her fiance on the cheek and pouting as she said, “how can i say no?”

it was disgusting, and everything you wanted to have with him.

you allowed yourself to be selfish this one time. after all, you deserved it. you’d endured hours of bakugou blabbering on about how sweet uraraka was. everything you weren’t.

you took the bottle to champagne. your ankles were aching as you stumbled out of the room. your vision blurred, becoming foggy with tears. not one person stopped you. you guessed because nobody noticed.

like graduation night, you slumped down right outside the doors to the party, the music, lights, and laughter muffled. the only difference was that you had a bottle of champagne and the man of your dreams was gone. for good, this time.

“i wish she noticed me. it was like, after first year, the uraraka i knew just vanished.”

you nodded. you and midoriya were wandering the streets, cool air brushing down your neck and on your face as cars passed.

“uraraka was so sweet, but she lost feelings so fast and...ugh.” midoriya ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his curls. “i’m still a bit...baffled. i know people change, but she and kacchan both switched up so fast.”

“i don’t want to say they’re jackasses, but they’re kind of jackasses.”

izuku rubbed your shoulder as you leaned on him while the two of you walked. “don’t say that.”

“sorry,” you breathed.

“no more being sorry. being sorry all the time leads to shit like this.”

you chuckled. “yeah, it does.” you sniffed. “did i take you away from the party? you can go back if you want.”

he shrugged. “’s all right. i don’t mind.”

“do you want to be here or would you rather be in there?”

“out here with you. i can’t be there right now.”

“me too.”

“let me guess.”

you looked up and scoffed softly.

“this was supposed to be your party?”

you nodded. “my party, my groom. i’m not supposed to be crying at my party, am i?”

your friend shook his head. “not at all. cheer up, y/n.”

izuku slid down the wall, sitting beside you. he rested his arms on his knees, twisting open his own bottle of champagne. “you look like a mess.”

“and you look like you need anger management.” you smiled.

he grinned back. “do i now?”

“yeah, you do. you should have seen yourself sitting there. all alone, the one person drinking something that wasn’t the fifty-thousand yen drinks.”

“54,795.75 yen, to be exact.”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re insane. you kidding me? why do you know that?”

“i was the weird kid who took notes on everyone in the class. of course i would know this. i’m offended you think i wouldn’t.”

you tilted your head back in laughter. “gosh, izuku.”

“mhm.”

there was a pause. comfortable silence filled the space, broken by you sigh after gulping down your drink. “so they’re gone?”

“i’d rather not dwell on it.”

“how old are we now?”

izuku gave a breathy chuckle. “twenty-five.”

you smiled. “really, now? and i thought i would be married by now.”

“me too. ‘s a shame.”

“how about, if we’re both still not married by the time we’re forty, we get married to each other, adopt three children and we become hot parents.”

“three?”

“yeah, we can have a mini hero agency.”

“that’s horrifying. but i agree. having a mini hero agency would be pretty amazing.”

“i’m glad you agree with me, izuku.” you brushed a curl from his eyes.

“can’t wait until i’m forty,” he smirked.

“me neither.”

“maybe by then we would have forgotten all of this?”

“we’ll be fighting a villain, and we get our memories erased, and then we fall in love because we wake up beside each other in the hospital. we’re both equally confused.” you peppered him with jokes. “it’s a journey we will go on together.”

“can’t wait until my memory gets erased.”

“do you wanna get out of here?”

izuku shook his head. “it’s their wedding. we can’t. we shouldn’t.”

you gave him a silly look.

“you’re always such trouble, y/n.”

“if you hate it, then wipe that stupid grin off your face.”

izuku’s features softened. “maybe i like it. but only sometimes.” he took your head and lead you out, leaving his drink behind while you took yours.

a single tear rolled down your cheek. he didn’t erase all your pain, nor your feelings for bakugou. it wasn’t what you needed, no.

you just needed a friend. a real one. one that wouldn’t steal your dream from you. and that’s what you knew you had right now.

besides, things could happen in the future, right?

you smiled, and let the cold air touch your skin.

208 notes · View notes

soulwillower · 3 years

Text

tozier (vii)

(tozier!reader smut)

requested: okay so once regular requests open, here’s my idea. so the reader and richie are siblings and they absolutely hate each other and to get under his sisters skin, he fucks her best friend. so in sheer anger she decides to fuck all of his

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, also minor violence, bit of blood, sub reader AND dom reader, BOTH baby, light choking, mild mild cumplay, oral (fem recieving)

part 7 of the tozier series [ i ii iii iv v vi ]

guys!! finally the last part, thanks for all the love on this series :) this was rly so so much fun to write for yall, pls let me know how u feel about this/the series in general

(losers and reader are 20+ and in college in this)

4.5k words

♡

"i fucked your friends, anyways." you say with a grin.

"funny, y/n. as if any of them would settle for you." richie snarls, smirking as if he's proud of what he'd said. it makes you smirk, shaking your head. if only he knew.

"richie, i don't think she's joking." ben speaks up. everyone's eyes turn to ben, and your heart pounds as you bite your lip. you look at each of the others quickly - ben's gnawing on his lip and looking at richie uncertainly, mike is staring at the ground in thought, eddie's staring at his lap with an amused grin, bev is smirking between the two boys with her eyebrows raised, and bill is looking at ben with a small look of realization.

your eyes land on stan, who's staring back at you intently, a suggestive look on his face as he tugs a small part of your underwear from his front pocket as he thumbs it with his finger. you send him an intent look back, trying to beg him not to do it.

when you look at richie, he's shocked, mouth agape. "what?" richie says quietly. "you fucked my best friend. it was only fair." you say with a shrug, smiling at him. he looks like he might punch you.

you stifle a laugh, trying to keep a straight face but failing. richie looks furious as he walks up to you, the two of you standing in the middle of the make-shift circle the losers formed in the living room.

"which one?" he says through a clenched jaw.

"all of them."

the room is silent as everyone's jaws drop except yours, bev's, and surprisingly stan's - the latter of whom are smirking. richie looks like he's in utter disbelief. it's silent for a few moments, until someone breaks the quiet.

"who was the best?"

you turn bright red at that.

"shut the fuck up, eddie!" richie yells, no sign of joking on his face; he's red as he stares you down. you don't cower at all in front of him - in fact, you're definitely the one with the most power in this situation, and you smirk.

"so... a-all of us slept with y/n?" bill says in shock. everyone looks around and you're just smirking, your brother furious. "i can't fucking believe you. this isn't funny at all." richie snips.

"this isn't any different from what you did, richie. c'mon, it was just some fun. it's not like it meant anything more to any of us." mike says. you're shocked that they're all taking it so well.. you never expected them to find out, but they seem to be on your side. thank god.

your eyes dart to stan, who's still sat on the couch. he meets your eyes and doesn't back down, his gaze piercing and intense. his eyes course over your figure and you feel a twinge of emotion as you remember his hands on your skin, his lips.... you clear your throat as you look away, hoping to god nobody will notice your lace undies sticking slightly out of stan's pocket.

"-why are you taking her side?" richie hisses, shoving everyone away. his eyes barely leave yours, his fists clenching down by his sides.

"because you are in the wrong, richie. you cannot possibly be mad at me for this." you say with a grin. "sorry, you're just overreacting. plus you're not just fucking cecily, now you're actually dating her. which is way more shitty. and clearly they all wanted me, richie. i'm an angel."

bill snorts from where he's standing, "yeah r-rich, you're the one who always says that girls who suck fingers without being told to go to h-heav-"

richie throws his empty cup towards bill, missing by only an inch as he yells, "can it, denbrough! shut the fuck up!"

you're bright red from bill's words, looking from him, to richie, and then catching stan's eyes again. you swallow, throat dry.

"-wait, who was the best?" comes from bev this time. you bite your lip, watching as richie shoves her lightly. you grin, "well, ben was the sweetest, but mike was the most surprising-" "you better shut the fuck up right now y/n." richie mutters. you shrug, "you talk about cecily all the time to me!" you yell. "plus, i'm not finished. eddie... well, that was the dirtiest." you smirk at him and he grins at the ground, richie moving towards you. you back up swiftly, still talking. "-eddie fucked me in your bed, you know."

richie shoves you hard, looking the angriest you ever have seen him. everyone else gasps or rushes towards the two of you, but as your back hits the wall near the fireplace you barely wince, laughing. "then there was bev... that was the hottest. you were in the other room." you wink.

bev gives mike knuckles out of the corner of your eye and you almost laugh, watching richie as the others tug him back from you. "y-y/n, stop. we get it, r-richie's gotta calm down." bill says as he holds back richie's seething form.

you tilt your head, grinning at bill. "what, you don't want richie to know that you have the best dick game?"

everyone stops, and richie freezes in bills arms. "wh-" bill starts with a cocky smirk, but then richie's wrestling bill to the ground, and your eyes are widening. "richie, knock it off!" bev yells, laughing as richie shoves bill's head and bill just laughs on the ground.

mike and ben get him off of bill, who's sitting up with a disheveled shirt and smirking. "jesus, richie." stan mutters, still on the couch seemingly unbothered.

you feel the need to make it worse, just to rub it in. "richie, it's okay. he felt bad at first, fucking me in my bedroom while you were asleep next door-"

"shut up y/n!" richie yells, loud enough that you think the neighbors could have heard. stan laughs from the couch, and richie turns to stare at stan, who's lounging as if nothing's happening, looking entirely amused and unbothered. it’s hot.

it's quiet for a moment, and it seems like everyone thinks you're done. you mutter, "but stan was the most recent, like ten minutes ago, actually." stan doesn't even really react to your words, he just grins devilishly at richie, dimple popping in his cheek.

you clench your thighs.

richie turns to you again. "you're a fucking bitch. you’re so disgusting, it's no wonder you couldn't get any of my friends to want to date you. so you just tried to fuck them all instead. you're embarrassing." richie spits. your eyebrows draw together and you almost quip back but a movement makes you look to your left. stan rises as he states, "richie. shut up." you and richie both look to stan, as do the others.

"i don't want to hear shit from you, uris. fuck you, i've told you for years to keep your paws off my sister." he spits, and stan tilts his head.

"she's a grown up, richie. she's not just your sister. if she wants me to go down on her in the backseat of your car, why the hell would i say no?"

and then richie's swinging at stan, punching him hard in the face.

"richie!"the others call, bill and mike pulling him away and holding him firmly this time, shocked that he really did it. "stan?" you call, moving toward him as he flexes his jaw and holds the side of his face. he stands all the way up and licks his lip, a smear of blood leaking from the fresh split on his lip. richie's shaking his hand, face bright red under his glasses.

"fuck all of you." richie hisses, turning and shoving eddie and ben out of the way as he grabs his car keys and storms out the front door.

it's quiet after richie leaves, and everyone decides that he needs cool off time before he comes back or before anyone tries to talk to him. so they then get the message to trail out and head to the basement in groups of two or three until just stan remains. "stan, i'm sorry." you say weakly, offering a hand. he lets you lead him to your bedroom upstairs, silently looking at the ceiling as you re-enter the room with a shitty first aid kit.

stan is impossible to read as you tear open a wipe to clean around the cut. your hands shake as they rise to his face. "i'm sorry." you whisper, the guilt getting to you.

you jump a bit as one of his hands lands on the bare skin of the back of your thigh. you meet eyes and stan stares directly at you, "i'd do it again."

you smile shyly, looking down and swiping across his bottom lip to collect the blood. "i never meant for this to happen, i guess. i was just so angry, and i- yeah."

it’s quiet again.

"when did you and bill fuck?" is all he asks after the silence. you blink at him, thinking. "um... a few weeks ago? when we went to kiera gross's party."

he hums, his hand still rubbing your bare leg and making you feel weak. his fingertips graze the skin of your ass before moving back down, making you exhale shakily. you feel like you want stan to know that you don't have anything going on with bill - but you're nervous. "i promise, i- god, would you stop fidgeting?"

your hand grabs his jaw, but he jerks his head away and he tosses you a glare. "i'm fine." he mutters.

"i don't have to be doing this, i can just go back downstairs." you snap, crossing your arms.

"yeah, perfect, why don't you go let bill fuck you again?" stan quips. "he was the best, right?" you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you look at his pouty lips. "stan, come on. and tilt your head up."

it's silent again and stan's staring up above you, avoiding your eyes as you wipe a bit of alcohol over his busted lip. "y'know, i hate to say it, but this is kind of hot." you whisper.

he stares at you dryly. "you think your brother socking me in the face is hot?"

you laugh, "no, i think me telling you what to do is. you take directions well." his face blooms light pink at your words and you feel proud. he’s watching you carefully, "really? that's cute coming from you. i seem to remember you begging for me to tell you what to do not even an hour ago."

you swallow, cheeks going red, but you notice his are too. "maybe you just need to be put in your place, stan." you whisper, leaning forward to capture your lips together. he winces slightly, his busted lip tender against yours, but his hand grips your ass immediately, tugging you towards him.

you slide onto his lap, straddling him easily. the kiss starts slowly, but quickly heats up when he pulls you down to grind on him, causing you both to let out shaky moans of pleasure. then you gently push his shoulders back, “wanna feel you inside me.” you whisper, noticing his knowing smirk as he lays back, propping himself up on his elbows to watch you.

you slide back on his lap, undoing his pants and sliding them down his legs. his cock springs up and you bite your lip, hand wrapping around his base. you pump slowly, watching as he bites him lip and tilts his head back. you're filled with desire as you take in his size, desperate to feel him. then you're pressing a kiss to his lips, balancing up on your knees and teasing him against your slit, spreading your wetness. he groans, bucking his hips up but you shush him, kissing him again.

he pulls off your shirt, and you quickly do the same to him, taking in his toned torso. you silently thank whoever made stan so goddamn good at baseball. he groans as you place his hands down and off your body, gently sinking down onto him.

you both let out loud groans, relishing in the feeling of him stretching you out perfectly. his head falls onto the wall behind him as you start to move on top of him, stabling yourself on his chest. “fuck, y/n.” he groans lowly, eyes shut in pleasure.

he looks so perfect under you and you move yourself quicker, loving how he fills you. one of your hands slips into his hair, pulling and making him groan, his hips stuttering. “stan…” you moan as he places kisses on your neck and chest, moving your hips as you bounce. his teeth nip at your skin, his hands rising to grip your ass, hiking up your skirt.

leaning forward, you find a new angle and bite your lip to keep from screaming at the feeling. stan's biting his own bruised and split lip, his face flushed and chest heaving. he’s hitting deep inside you and you feel full, moaning as you bounce up and down. you moan into his skin, sucking dark marks up and down to column of his throat,

you lean to press your hands against his chest, changing the angle again. “fuck.” he mutters and you moan, your legs burning but the pleasure flowing through your body. he all but growls, his head falls against the wall again with a groan of pleasure, his hands raising to your hips and fucking up into you, eyes scrunched. his hips are stuttering and he’s flushed, looking like heaven under you. "stan," you moan, "you feel so good, fill me up s'good." you whisper, unable to stop yourself as you moan.

through breaths, he's whispering into your ear. "sorry, who did you say fucked you the best?" he asks as you clench around him.

"shut up." you whisper into his ear as you bounce on him, your hand rising to his throat.

his eyes lace shut, screwing with lust as he moans, hands hard on your hips as he fucks you down onto him. you squeeze his throat lightly, feeling him swallow under your palm. your lips meet and he bites down on your lip hard, moaning at the feeling of your hand on his neck.

"who fucks you this good?" he says, and you can feel his voice vibrate under your palm, his lips in a sexy grin as his eyes flutter shut. "shut up, stan." you say again, "don't make me leave and let you finish yourself off." you whisper in his ear.

he moans at that as you move your hips, your hand still around his throat.

his hand rises up your back, palm sliding over your bare skin and then gripping your breasts, starting to thrust up. you moan loudly, forehead falling to his shoulder at the new angle as stan stretches you and hits perfectly deep inside you. your hands fall to his chest, clenching around him as you whimper.

your legs burn and it's almost like stan can tell, because he's lifting you off him and then swiveling you so that your back falls onto the mattress. he hums, "no, you won't leave."

you raise your brows as he grabs your legs, pulling you down towards him on the bed. "what makes you think i won’t just get up right now?" you ask.

but then he's sliding into you, one leg held by his hand and the other behind him. he fills you up and makes your toes curl and your vision cloud in pleasure with one stroke. and then he's thrusting, your whole body bouncing as he pounds into you, hitting your g spot perfectly and making you gasp sharply in pleasure.

"because," he whispers into the shell of your ear, "nobody can make you cum like i can."

you let out a shaky breath, the last ounce of dominance gone from your body as he fucks you into the mattress. he slips his thumb into your mouth and you wrap one hand around his forearm, sucking on his thumb and swirling your tongue over the tip of the finger as he stares into your eyes.

he bites his lip, grinning. "what was it bill said? that girls who suck fingers without having to be told go to heaven?"

you blush at that as he thrusts into you, and he coos as he slips the finger out of your mouth with a light pop. "yeah, guess he's right. you are my good girl."

and then he's rubbing your clit gently with that thumb, his hips rocking into yours and making your legs shake. you moan loudly, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut.

he hums, "you'd better be quiet or everyone's going to know who's really your favorite." he whispers cockily against your lips, and your eyes roll back as you moan quietly.

he smiles at you, other hand smoothing your hair. your eyes fall to the marks from your fingers around his neck, and you get shiver of pleasure knowing the effect you have on him. "you need me. say it." he whispers against the skin of your chest.

you let out a strangled, "n-need you, stan... i n-need you." you rush out, feeling dangerously close to your second high of the day. he smiles, kissing you sweetly as he thrusts deeper than before, making you moan into his mouth a low whimper. the aching need is becoming almost unbearable, and you pull him closer to you, clenching around him as you near your high.

"it’s okay, i need you too, babylove." he whispers into your ear, kissing your hairline as he tugs your leg up more, hitting a different angle. the new sensation pushes you over the edge and you're moaning his name in ecstasy, eyes screwed shut as you pulse around him. you feel euphoric as he rocks you through your orgasm, kissing you softly.

his name falls from your lips as you hold him tight, your nails leaving small half-moons in his skin. you come down from your high and stan's right behind you, only a few more thrusts until he stills slightly, his breath shake as he props himself above you.

he pulls out and pumps himself, biting his lip as a bit of blood lingers from the split. you're breathless as he cums in spurts on your stomach, enthralled by the sight of his beauty. "god, y/n." he whispers, the david star charm on his necklace glinting in the light against his bare chest.

"didn't want to cum inside you." he whispers against your lips, but you pull him closer, "it's okay, i'm on the pill anyways." you whisper. he swallows, sighing in relief as he collapses next to you. "good girl." he whipers breathlessly. you smile into his neck as he pulls you closer to him, your naked limbs warm against each other's bodies. you lay there for a few moments, listening to his rapid heartbeat calm down as he plays with strands of your hair.

he gets up suddenly, though, and pulls on his own underwear and then pulls your own from his pocket of the pants on the floor. you swallow, watching him as he slowly slides your underwear up your legs slowly. he watches you, too - "did you fake it?" he asks.

you blink at him. "no, actually." you admit, face red. "never with you."

he smirks, kissing your bare legs as he makes his way up your thighs. you swallow, heart beating quick. "wh-what are you doing?" you ask. he shrugs, "you look so beautiful when you cum. i want to see it again."

your throat dries up as you try to swallow to avoid choking at his words, shock coursing through you along with desire. holy fuck. "but your lip-" but he shakes his head, "-don't care." he says, eyes already focusing on your heat.

"o-okay." you say shakily, "god, please," you add, looking at him as his breath hits you. he watches you as his tongue sticks out, licking a stripe up your pussy before swirling on your stimulated clit, making you gasp in pleasure.

the feeling is sharp and pleasant as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks lightly, tongue running over your folds. his hands move to hold your thighs as he delves in, your moans quieting as the pleasure increases after already being so overstimulated.

you're already shaking. his mouth moves on you expertly, his tongue sliding to fuck up into you and making your hips buck, his nose brushing against your clit. you tug on his hair and he groans, sending vibrations through your body that make your toes curl. "stan, f-fuck," you say quietly, whimpering.

its soft as he looks up at you, his tongue working you so well that within a few minutes, you know you’re already about to cum. your fingers tug his hair hard and then he's reaching to cup your face.

his thumb presses against your lips and you kiss it softly, making smirk in between your thighs as he kitten licks your clit and draws a gasp from your lips. “stan, oh my god, i’m so close.” you sigh out, overwhelmed by how good you feel, by the pleasure coursing through you and the affection for the boy you’re with.

he just holds you tighter to his face, lapping your juices up and flicking against your clit before sucking, your thighs tightening. “stan, please, i’m gonna-” and but yourself off with a high moan, hand covering your mouth as you hit your high. you cum for the third time on his tongue, your legs shaking as you ride it out, your fingers combing through his curls. you sigh in bliss as you come down from your high, full of affection and need.

stan rises from between your thighs, pressing a kiss to each before pulling up your lacy underwear and kissing your lips.

he's wordless as he leaves the room, coming back moments later with a warm washcloth to clean himself off your stomach. you watch him the whole time as he smiles, your handprint fading from his neck. your stomach flutters as you pull on a sweatshirt and press a kiss to his nose.

but the door opens and shuts from downstairs and you both share a look: now is not the time to test richie.

stan looks to your window, then back to you, "i'm going to go. it's probably best."

you pretend not to be disappointed. "y-yeah. makes sense." stan stares at you for a second with a gentle smile before standing and quickly getting dressed the rest of the way.

you watch silently with an aching heart as he pulls his shirt on, grabbing his shoes and then leaning to kiss you quickly. "hey." he says softly, and you meet his eyes. "i'll... see you soon."

"okay." you whisper as he slips out your window and down to your roof.

you don't see stan for almost eight days after that. he doesn't phone the house, the losers don't come by much, stan not at all. richie doesn't speak to you, only in passing and only micro aggressions. it's lonely.

it's almost sunset when the door knocks, and you take your time walking to open it.

you swing the door open and do a double take as you see the boy standing on your doorstep, hands in his pockets. he looks nervous, but when his eyes catch your figure, his face turns red.

stanley uris looks devastatingly gorgeous in the dying light of the afternoon.

"-oh, i thought..." he clears his throat. "i thought richie'd be here." he says, swallowing. you raise your brows, "he's at work right now, actually." you respond, toe drawing circles in the ground. "why did you even try to come and talk to him? he's a nightmare right now, he'd definitely try to beat you up again." you say softly. he chuckles a bit and your heart keels over and surrenders to him.

stan shrugs, "he's been my best friend since we can remember. it's not as bad as he seems to think, i know we can get through this."

you nod, heart then deflating as you realize that stan's intending to apologize to richie and beg for him to forgive him - of course friendships are more important than hook-ups, but after last time... and the way stan had stood up for you when richie was being mean... you'd hoped things would be different with him.

because you think you've loved stan for a long time.

"anyways, he has to learn to accept that i have feelings for his sister. i'm not going to sacrifice my happiness just because he's acting like a child, or that he's mad that i spend all my time thinking about you."

your head snaps up to him and your eyes widen, heart soaring at his words. "wh-wait what?" you ask, suddenly shy. "you-" you just smile, not knowing what to say. stan shrugs, as if it's as simple as saying the sky is blue.

"i think about you all the time, y/n. i like you as more than a friend, more than just a good fuck. i want to be yours, i want you to be mine. always have."

you smile so big you think your face may split in two. "i think about you too, stan. haven't stopped in a few years. i missed you last week."

"then can i take you out?" he asks boldly. "promise i'll hold your hand and buy you dinner."

"he'll kill us." you say, looking into stan's bright honey eyes. they're full of confidence and mischief and you think he's absolutely irresistible. stan's large hand finds purchase on your waist lightly as he smiles, "has that ever really scared you, y/n?" he asks.

you smile as you take his hand. "of course not."

he kisses your forehead as you step towards him, his arm pulling you closer and releasing hordes of butterflies in your stomach. "think we should go visit him at work? order a shake with one straw and make out in the corner booth?" stan asks, the light catching the purple and yellow skin of his fading bruise.

you laugh as you walk towards his car, shoving him a bit. "you're an asshole." you say, butterflies rampant. his laugh makes you warm and he leans towards you. "you can say that all you want, but i know you've had a crush on me since we were kids." he teases.

you roll your eyes. "you're really testing me, uris."

"it's okay, tozier. i think you're beautiful even when you're mad." he says, pecking you on your nose. "well you better get used to it, i guess." you mutter, and he chuckles a bit as he kisses your forehead.

"i will never get tired of you, no matter what you do or what your brother thinks."

tag list:

@gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @sft-core @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @psykronium-cube @ruefulposts @letmereid @topper-mostofthepopper-most

#stanley uris smut #stanley uris x reader #losers club x reader #losers x reader #richie tozier x reader #beverly marsh x reader #mike hanlon x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #bill denbrough x reader #ben hanscom x reader

823 notes · View notes

quirklessidiot · 3 years

Text

title : cigarettes and parfaits [2] pairing : older!nanami kento x younger!reader [13 year age gap, ft toji fushiguro] Genre: romance, fluff, josei, mild angst, comedy, strangers to lovers au

Summary: you’re pretty sure you’d remember marrying a man 13 years older than you, right?

Warnings: alcohol, smoking, mild smut, y/n making stupid decisions, everyones a human-au so yeh non-canon stuff and everyone’s happy (periODT) Notes: tbh idk how marriage works in japan, all i know is that once you have both your signatures in the marriage registration certificate with one witness then you guys r married skdjssks anyways onto the story- also might i add this is happy story?? i promise yall, all youll see is cute stuff in this story bcos fuck angst (ok maybe lil angst since you know plot development) but i stand by that nanami kento deserves that trip to malaysia under the sun with his lover! before i forget to add, the age dynamics is that y/n is around 25 and nanami is 38. no power play and all that, just two healthy consenting adults! sorry for the early delete had some minor corrections :(

Izakaya-informal japanese bar

Masterlist || taglist || [prev ; next] [updates; every friday yay!]

*13 hours earlier; a night before at some random Izakaya in Tokyo*

You sat in front of your phone and three bottles of saki, despite your friends advising you countless of times to lay off drinking too much, all sense and warnings are thrown off the window tonight.

You’re clearly far from sobriety as you recall the video chat with your otosan not looking too good and bright, “Why don’t you move back home? It’s not like the teaching job at tokyo is all that great! You’re alone there and your obachan and I don’t like that a lot…” your father’s words haunt you again and again.

Just what was wrong with living alone? And excuse your otosan but you definitely had a very good job at Tokyo High (It was a prestigious academy that paid well, best job out there that you still didn’t know how you landed). You mumbled a few curses underneath your breath, Oh, how much you love that oaf of a father and worrywart of a grandmother but could they lay off the idea of settling down? You were a responsible and good child who never had stepped a toe out of line. Wasn’t that enough already? You immediately downed the drink and let the saki burn your throat down.

“Oh ho, slow down there.” You hear someone say, “You’re all alone and it seems like you have no one to help you back home.”

It seemed like the men on the opposite side of the bar had noticed you.

“I can take myself home, thank you very much.” You mumbled, loud enough for them to hear. Unlike older men who liked to prey on you for your innocent stature. The men who sat across you in the Izakaya didn’t really exude that sort of energy (what can you say, you had a knack of experiencing that, unfortunately).

“Are you sure? We can ask the owner to call a cab for you. She’s a woman and she’s a friend of ours.” the other one in robes pipes in, wait, was that a Buddhist monk?

“No, I’m good. It’s just…” You paused before letting out a long sigh, “A bad time so I need to stick around for a bit.”

The white-haired stranger tilts his head just a bit, “Seems like you and a friend of mine are both going through some rough patches.” he replied, pointing towards his blonde company who you didn’t notice until now.

You wordlessly shifted your gaze towards the office worker next to the Buddhist monk, you hadn’t noticed the blonde man until now. It seemed like he was going through a rough time too since the pair was loud and boisterous enough to conceal his silent presence.

You notice how out of place he looks with his crisp and clean suit, hard gaze, and silence. It made you wonder what sort of man hangs out with two contrasting personalities, “You’re wondering if he’s our friend or our boss, aren’t ya?” the white-haired man asks.

You immediately turn red in embarrassment, were you that easy to read? You try to stutter out an apology but the monk waves it off, “It’s alright, we get it all the time. Contrary to popular belief, Kento is two years younger than us and is our junior from high school.” He smiles.

“Ah,” you nodded mutely, “Sorry. It definitely wouldn’t make sense to see a boss and his subordinates at an Izakaya.”

“Oh, Kento-chan doesn’t usually go out drinking but he couldn’t resist. After all, he’s a father with two very emotional teenage boys.” The white-haired man teased in a sing-song voice. It seemed like the three were close, with the way they were carelessly lounging around the stoic and kind-of scary man.

“I’m starting to wonder if he gets that teasing attitude from you.” The blonde man, seemingly out of his trance, called out his friend. Contrasting to his aloof features, he didn’t mask the annoyance in his tone.

“Oh, uh, do you need help?” you quietly asked, tilting your head to the side in wonder. The blonde man’s head snapped to your direction and quirked a brow.

“And you are?” he seemed to be calculating and observing you from head to toe. It suddenly made you a bit self-conscious because this older gentleman had no business being this good looking and scary at the same time.

“Oh, I’m Y/N by the way. I’m actually a high school teacher.” You introduced yourself sheepishly, “I’m always surrounded by angsty teenagers.”

His gaze narrowed just a bit, it seemed like he’ll be giving you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was a bit desperate since he was getting advice from a drunk stranger in an Izakaya out of all places, “So what seems to be the problem, Ojisan?”

He’s still quite hesitant so it’s his white haired friend who speaks out for him, “You see, Kento-chan here just moved last week because of a promotion from Kyoto.” he grins, telling the story for his friend, “His kids aren’t very keen with the moving, well one of them is outright showing it and the other one is well keeping it in since he’s just the sweeter one.”

The white-haired stranger keeps babbling on about how his friend had regretted taking the work promotion because it feels like he shouldn’t have done that. You peerlessly observe the older man’s reaction while his friend talks about his problems to you. He remains stoic.

It didn’t look like it but it seemed like this man had such a soft spot for his kids.

How nice, his wife must be proud of him.

“... and before I forget to add, Kento-chan is very much single.”

You almost choke on your saliva, this friend of his sure knew how to run his mouth. It suddenly dawns upon you why this man had been very worried, he was a single parent who only wanted what was best for his boys but he didn’t even know how he should proceed now.

“Um, ojisan?” You quietly call out, “I think you’re doing great.”

Silence lingered in the air for a bit, you cringed at your rather awkward and forward approach, “Excuse me?” the older blonde man asked, clearly dismayed by your response.

“It’s just…” you ears turn red, not from the alcohol but from embarrassment, “You wouldn’t have moved in the first place if the pay wasn’t better than your old job, right? Plus you’re alone and raising two kids. It definitely isn’t easy to provide for everything alone but I can see that you did some careful reevaluation on the whole thing. Obviously you can’t avoid the fact that they feel bad but you can sit them down and talk to them about how the whole thing was beneficial not just for you but for them too.”

You spoke way too quickly that you wondered if the man could understand you.

The blonde man holds his breath for a moment, “I know…” he mumbles, “I just don’t really know how to talk to them.”

“Well, maybe you could take them out?” You advised, “Spend a whole day with them for a while and just move around with them. Help them get acquainted around their new school or something!”

You watch him silently look at his glass and think it over. Man, if this guy wasn’t older, your obaasan would outright agree and tell you to go out with him since she was never fond of how men weren’t as calm or laid back as he was.

“That sounds plausible. Thank you, Y/N-san.” his voice turned a bit softer and you feel your stomach turn just a little queasy by his tone. God, was the alcohol this bad?

“Well, would ya look at that.” the white-haired man grins, placing his drink up as if he was signaling everyone to cheers with him, “I told you drinking at an Izakaya would solve all your problems. For that, we should drink here again next week!”

The man glared at him yet again, “No. I should be heading home now. I can’t be anymore away from S-”

“Ah, ah. You promised that you’d stay until 2 am.” The white-haired man hushed, “Or I’ll be pestering you for a whole month.”

You could definitely tell that a vein popped on his forehead and his blood pressure was shooting up. Man, you were really starting to doubt that white-haired man was older than everyone in this room. He sure had the mental age of an elementary student.

“You also said I could leave after five drinks.”

“That’s only your second.”

“Satoru…” the Buddhist monk dangerously hovers over his white-haired friend. Wow, middle-age men sure were amusing, “You don’t even drink that well and he has to drive home…”

“Tit for tat, I’ll hire one of my personnel to drive you home after five drinks and I’ll leave you alone for a wee-”

“Please just leave me alone for my whole life.” the blonde man deadpanned.

Unlike you, he wasn't such a bad drinker. Four bottles for him and one more drink for you later, you're both kind of woozy and you had gotten on even friendlier terms with the three men who you now know as Geto-ojisan, Gojo-ojisan, and finally, Nanami-ojisan. Nanami was well into his late thirties while Geto and Gojo were in their forties.

If you were sober, you wouldn’t be making friends with older men. With stories of how easily young people are taken advantage of in the big city, you’d swerve away from them. Luckily, it seemed like they were a good trio and not once did they invite you to sit on their table so you had some good distance between you four and so far, they hadn’t tried anything funny or uncomfortable.

Geto is currently a lawyer, Gojo’s apparently some swanky businessman of god knows what you heard jewelry or something and Nanami was an accountant. A job that he described was ‘dead-end’ and ‘fucking boring’.

“...What happened to your wife, Nanami-ojisan?” you ask, the alcohol slowly shedding your shyness away.

“I told ya, Y/N-chan. He never was married. The way he got the kids was just complicated!” Gojo Satoru frowns, splaying his long limbs in the air, for a man so enthusiastic with drinking, he sure got drunk pretty quickly.

“Really? Didn’t you have a hard time? Wow…” you whistled, “I have such high…” you raised your hand as high as you could, “...respects for like, single parents!”

“See? See? But he can’t get a partner because of that Y/N-chan.” Gojo pouts, “...We’ve been setting him up on dates and such but he keeps bailing on them!”

“I have kids.” Nanami deadpans, narrowing his eyes.

“What my friends are trying to say, Kento has a number of opportunities to bring a partner into his life but he likes to use the boys and his work as an excuse.” Geto surmised, it seemed like the lawyer was also starting to feel the effects of the alcohol since he had become more talkative.

“He’s good-looking, right Y/N-chan? If he probably didn’t act like some fossil from the Triassic period, he wouldn’t have a problem sometimes about the boys having a mother figure!” Gojo rants, making Nanami flick his forehead.

“Idiot, must you tell this stranger all my problems?” Nanami harshly interjected.

“Well, you do know that to actually get a partner, you must get out there, right ojisan?” you try to calm him down, you didn’t want a bar fight to erupt.

“I know.” he rolls his eyes, “But the kids-”

“I know.” You try to smile, “You aren’t very interested in bringing just anyone in your life, right? The boys need a permanent figure and you think dating around is going to help.”

“Holy shit, Y/N-chan.” Gojo exclaims, “I thought you were a teacher? How come you know all this shit?”

“It’s basic, Gojo-san.” you smile, ready to take another swig of your saki, “You should take into consideration that Nanami-san isn’t just anyone who’d settle for less. He needs stability since he’s technically a parent.”

“That makes you a perfect pair, don’t you think?” Geto nonchalantly replies, “I mean, you need a stable man in your life who has all of it figured out and wouldn’t hold you back at all while Kento here needs a person who could not only be a good parent but also be as understanding.”

“That’s…” you chuckle, he technically was right, “That’s definitely odd how all our problems will be solved if we both just went out together.”

“... looks young enough to be my child.” Nanami rejoined, “why would Y/N-san like-”

“I mean, you’re good looking.” you shrug, rather shamelessly, “I wouldn’t mind going out with you. Heck, I wouldn’t mind if I married you.”

Gojo spits out the saki he was drinking all over the table and that makes you cringe in disgust, “As long as he doesn’t get invited to the wedding. I’d marry you. If you’d like we could even get married right here, right now.” you proudly proclaim.

The blonde man is thrown off by your statement yet he’s too drunk to even sip in the seriousness of your words, “Well as much as I agree on not inviting Gojo to my wedding, I don’t know-” he tries to explain.

“You know what, isn’t Geto-san a lawyer? He could have it notarized and all that right now then we could get married. I’ll be a great mom and help you out then you could help me get my family off my back. You scratch my back, I scratch yours!”

Geto is definitely in shock, how odd was it that he even had a marriage registration certificate in his briefcase back in the car too?

You both could just sign it and Satoru could sign it as your witness and he could have it officially notarized since he had his seal back there too.

Solved.

“So, Nanami-san, what do you say? Wanna marry me?”

Oh god, were you shameless.

Who in the right mind would marry a stranger, one who was thirteen years older and a father?

One thing was for sure, your friends were right. You definitely needed to stay away from alcohol.

taglist [if crossed out, i can’t tag u ; - ;]

; @coldbookworm ; @frankenstein852 ; @neavil ; @shephard17895 @kristineyoshaii ; @airybnb ; @okachansenpai ; @amortentiaxo ; @rinvtaro ; @franko-pop ; @kozutenshi ; @kaldoesthings ; @moonlitdabi ; @chococroissant ; @bleepop ;

@Kurok1717 ; @hcn421 ; @shinhiromi ; @airybnb ; @katshuya ;

#jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you

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annwayne · 2 years

Text

The Red Logs: Return to the Temple

Chapter One: Something More

Next Chapter ->

Fem!OC X Crosshair

Word Count: 3590

Fic Summary:

There are benefits to owning a clone bar. Underworld lords don't threaten you to pay for protection. Clones are great company. And the drinks taste great. However, there are also risks to owning a clone bar. Like, for example, becoming the fuck buddy of a special clone task force member so your life gets threatened when a Separatist puts out a bounty for your capture in order to use you as blackmail. Also your sleep schedule get's wrecked. But Anya Tougt is a little more capable than an average bar owner.

Ao3 Link Here

Warnings apply to whole fic:

Canon typical violence, descriptions of panic attacks, alcohol, swearing, 18+ themes (eventual smut), trauma, religious trauma parallels, mild gore

Authors Note:

Um, hi. Haven’t been on tumblr since 2016 and decided to return with a shiny new blog. I don’t see a lot of OC’s in fanfics here but I hope yall can still enjoy this! The events of this fic take place shortly after the Clone War started, so Echo has not yet joined the Bad Batch. Also Ao3 is ahead of tumblr for chapters so if you want more....

37 BBY. Only four more cycles before Master Yoda will take us to Ilum for the Gathering. After a few of us caught Master Qui-Gon in the level 3 refectory we convinced him to tell us about his experience in the Crystal Caves. All of the masters have such intense experiences they overcame. How are we supposed to face our fears when we have no idea what they are?

“Jesus, fuck, Crosshair can you not give me a heart attack after I just woke up?” In the mirror’s reflection I caught a small smirk from him. I turned around and threw the hand towel I used to dry my face at the slender clone.

With ease he caught the towel and took a step further into the bathroom. “What, I can’t watch while I wait my turn?” His coarse voice hid a hint of amusement. After returning his grin, I stepped aside to give him access to the sink.

As per my morning routine, I began braiding my hair at the crown of my head. “I thought you had already left.” Even though I didn’t need it, I looked back at the mirror to excuse my lack of eye contact. “Like you usually do.” When did casual fucking turn into mornings together in the bathroom?

Now that I was out of the way, Crosshair approached the sink. “Don’t need to check into the barracks until late tonight.” He plucked his toothbrush from the small cup holding our brushes and toothpaste. Suddenly I became aware of all the little things he had begun leaving behind out of convenience. “Is that a problem?”

“No, not at all.” Usually I braided my hair all the way down to the ends, but I wanted out of this tiny bathroom. So I settled on braiding just the front bit and twisting the rest of my long hair into a messy bun. “Try not to leave behind a mess this time.” I teased him as I stepped through the doorway. Before he could respond I was already picking out my clothes for the day.

In the full length mirror beside my wardrobe I held up two shirts against my chest. Comfortable and plain or cool and exposed? Both looked great against my pale complexion. It was a matter of what I wanted to deal with today. Clones interested in women were almost always throwing passes my way. At least, if it was their first time in the bar. Was it the red hair or my thick curves? A small smirk crossed my face. After imagining the full outfits, I opted for the navy halter top. I loved showing off the freckles on my shoulders. As I got dressed my thoughts ran through a checklist of things I needed to do today. We were low on candied nuts and there was still a whole shipment of drinks sitting in the hall that needed to be organized. Jayas would be in around 15:00 to start interviews for a new bartender. I’d need to be nearby to hear them, so sorting the drinks could happen then.

“That’s different.” Crosshair’s voice cut through my thoughts.

I turned back to see him standing, damp with only a towel wrapped around his hips. My eyes traveled up from the towel along his fit body up to his face. Those chiseled cheekbones could cut steel. His coppery complexion seemed to shimmer in the light. Or maybe that was the lotion. Either way, his features caught my eye and he knew it.

Before he could tease my lingering gaze I rambled. “You’ve got lucky timing, only showing up on days I dress more for comfort than style.” The joke didn’t land apparently, as he only moved to grab his uniform off the ground.

Before he would leave almost immediately. Then he started to feel comfortable enough to wash up in the mornings, but still, he wouldn’t wait around if I ended up waking up before him. Today was a first. Maybe this was the first time he’s ever had such a late return time to the barracks?

“Anya.” My head snapped up at his voice. “Where are my pants?”

“Huh?” I blinked a few times.

“My pants, Anya.” Crosshair stood up fully from where he had been searching at the other side of the bed. In his arms he held every part of his uniform but his pants.

“I don’t-”

A loud crash interrupted me as an orange blur ran through the bedroom doors and circled around my legs. “Stinky.” My tooka had been up to some mischief.

While I was searching behind the fridge Crosshair stood beside me holding it up from falling over. “Aren’t you always going on about being strong, why aren’t you holding up the fridge while I look behind for my pants?”

“Because I don’t want you to see how rarely I sweep back here.” I mumbled as I pulled out a few pet toys I thought were lost to time. “Besides, I’m done.” He pushed back the fridge and let out a sigh. “No pants.”

“Wonderful.” He remarked sarcastically.

“Honestly, you should be glad they weren’t back there.” Crosshair crossed his arms while I walked over to the other side of my kitchen. From the designated junk drawer I fished out a small torch. “Come on, you can hold the light while I look under the couch.” As usual, the clone caught the object I threw his way.

While holding the light Crosshair spoke up. “Hunter’s going to be pissed.” From my angle the clone looked more exhausted than upset.

No missing pants were in sight. A small huff escaped me as I dusted my knees off. “Cross,” I looked into his eyes once I stood up fully. “We’ll find them. Stinky can’t leave the apartment! So don’t worry, okay?” For a moment I held his cheek in my hand and gave him a soft smile. When he didn’t respond I led us to the next room. It wasn’t often Stinky hid things here, but it was the last hiding spot.

“The laundry?” Crosshair questioned.

“There’s a small cupboard I made up for Stink when I first adopted him. It was his safe place when things were loud or scary. While he doesn’t spend as much time in here as before, he still stashes his favorite things here.” Surely enough, as I opened up the cupboard doors long black cloth revealed itself.

Crosshair pulled out the pants and inspected them. “Some fur, but otherwise it’s fine.”

“See? I told you not to worry.” A wide grin covered my face.

While he went to get dressed I headed to the kitchen. With everything going on this morning I had forgotten to eat. As I cut up some fruit Crosshair entered, now fully clothed and armored up. He held his helmet at his hip as he walked in. The dark armor accentuated his shoulders and sat just the right way on his chest. Damn, clone armor looked good. Once I remembered I was cutting things with a knife, I quickly looked back down at my hands.

“Anya?” His helmet clanked against the counter top.

“Mhm?” I kept cutting my fruit.

“Thank you… for finding my uniform.” Crosshair drawled out his words as if he was thinking carefully about what to say. The hairs on my neck raised as he leaned down to kiss my cheek. It was short and chaste. When has anything between us ever been short and chaste?

Heat raised up to my ears as a massive blush covered my face. A new kind of shyness caught my tongue. “Uh, well, yeah. Of course, you know.” Maybe if I kept my sight on the cutting board he wouldn’t notice? How dumb. “So, I assume you’re heading out?” I handed him a cut piece of fruit once I felt my temperature fall.

“Actually no, I don’t feel like going to the barracks yet and it’s not like there’s another bar I want to visit.”

My heart skipped a beat. “Right.”

Downstairs Jayas was interviewing potential employees while I sorted through the crates of booze. Some were specialty drinks that were sold with no alterations, but others were ingredients to make mixed drinks. Those needed to be sorted and put in the correct place for ease of access. Outside the employee only doors I could see Crosshair sitting. He was just sitting, messing with his data pad occasionally and twirling his toothpick, but otherwise content to wait. I was supposed to be listening in on the interviews to later help Jayas trim down the selection but all I could focus on was this morning. The way Crosshair’s eyes lingered when he first saw me in my skirt and halter top. How gentle his lips felt against my cheek. Feeling his desire to stick around, even if he covered it up with boredom and a need to spend time away from his brothers. How was a woman supposed to think about new hires when a man like that is showing interest in more than just fucking?

“But he’s a clone!” I hissed to myself to snap the thoughts out of my head. “Clones don’t do relationships. That’s the deal, that’s the way it is.” Arguing with myself seemed the only way to regain sense. Once again I glanced out the windows in the employee only doors to see the man responsible for my heightened heart rate typing something out on his data pad. Maker, why was he so hot?

Suddenly I yelped and jumped back when something stepped through the double doors. A young blue twi'lek staggered at my surprise. “Oh, Miss Anya, are you okay?”

I chuckled as she hovered over me. “I’m ok Lyn. I guess I was really zoned out and you spooked me out of it.” Another laugh escaped me. What was I doing? Crosshair couldn’t take up all my thoughts, there were things I needed to do.

“If you’re sure, Miss Anya. There’s someone outside asking for you.” Lyn softly informed me.

I nodded my head and grinned. “Of course, thanks for getting me Lyn.” As I stepped out the doors I half expected Crosshair to be standing at the bar, but instead he sat at his spot, staring until I caught his gaze. The person Lyn meant was a regular customer. “Komm!” He gasped when I hopped over the counter to give him a hug. “Haven’t seen you for a while, I was getting worried! What can I do for you?”

He shuffled uncomfortably before looking back over his shoulder at a group of clones watching from one of the booths. “Ah, well actually Anya,” My eyes narrowed. Usually when something like this happened the clones watching looked a little more entertained. “I wanted to ask if you understood who that was over there.”

My face twisted in confusion. I was right this wasn’t an awkward attempt to charm me into sleeping with him. But I still didn’t know what it was. “Understood? What are you talking about Komm?” The question came out more sternly than I meant.

Beside me Komm leaned closer and talked in my ear. “You see the defected clone by the window?” The reg flicked his head in the direction of Crosshair. “He’s dangerous and shouldn’t be here.” With each sentence the group of clones at the booth inched closer to hear our conversation. “He can’t be trusted. Everywhere he and his bad batch of clones go, they cause trouble.”

Time and sound stopped as I stared at the floor. My mind raced as I processed his words. Anger welled up inside my chest. Crosshair had always been weary around regs and never hid his disdain for them, but he never told me about this. Either most clones don’t share this viewpoint or the ones that visit my bar knew better than to ask me to kick out one of their brothers- defective or not.

“Get. Out.”

Komm was now backed up by the clones who were previously eavesdropping. Their armor shuffled against each other as they mumbled varying reactions. Only once I lifted my head and they saw my expression did they shut up.

“Grab your helmets and leave. Your commanding officers will be hearing about how well you play with others, and I don’t mean clone officers boys.” Poison laced my words as one by one the clones realized their mistake. A few left immediately, but a handful remained determined to change my mind.

Komm spoke up again, this time giving no effort to keep his voice quiet. “What the fuck Anya? Do you even know him? Do you know how many of us he’s hurt?” His hands gestured wildly. I glared back. “Never mortally and never unprompted.”

Another clone I knew as Pocket chimed in. “He put Crye in the infirmary for five cycles!” Behind them I spotted Crye rubbing his neck awkwardly.

“It’s time to leave boys, and you aren’t welcome back.” I turned to leave, naively trusting they’d follow my instructions, but instead was stopped when one of them grabbed my arm.

“Miss Anya-”

“Don’t call me that, you don’t get to call me that. Let go of me!” I hissed at Pocket.

“Please, listen to us-” His grip tightened around my wrist.

Before the clone could say another word I twisted his arm back and flipped him over me onto his back. From the ground Pocket exhaled sharply. “This is the last time I ask nicely, get out. All of you.” My eyes landed on Komm and Crye.

Finally, the trio snatched their helmets and ran out the bar doors. A deep sigh escaped me and my shoulders relaxed. When I looked up Crosshair’s eyes met mine. He was standing close, about where the furthest upset clone had been standing. Silently he closed the gap between us.

“That was…” A second passed. “You didn’t need to do all that. A simple scolding would have sufficed.”

“And let those fuckers stay in the bar? Hell no.” Anger colored my words.

Beside me the unique clone took a moment to think. His eyes darted between me and the exit. Eventually he spoke. “You’re going to lose a lot of customers once they start talking.”

“Maybe, but I trust clones to make their own choices despite any rumors that begin.”

“You’re putting too much faith in regs, Anya.”

I waved Crosshair’s pessimism away. With the exit of that group the bar was practically empty. A few rare non-clone patrons enjoyed their drinks before the afternoon rush. Lyn was back behind the bar putting away some of the drinks I was supposed to be organizing. With a heavy sigh, I walked through the double doors into the back. Crosshair followed. While he wasn’t a rare sight back here, usually it was under different circumstances.

“Want a drink?” I grabbed a particularly strong bottle out of one of the containers.

“Please.” Gravel was the best word I could find to describe his voice. Warm gravel.

Since Jayas was still using the office as interview headquarters I led Crosshair to the tiny kitchen we rarely used.

“Don’t think I’ve seen this before.” He commented as we passed through another set of double doors.

“All the food on our menu is prepackaged, so we only use the kitchen for dishwashing at the sink.” One hop later I was sitting on the counter swinging my feet above the ground. “Gonna join me?”

At my invitation he hoisted himself up onto the counter beside me. Our hands touched while he got comfortable. I took a swig from the bottle in my hand. “Fun.” He rasped.

“Always.” For a short while I smiled again. Then I handed the bottle over. I watched him as he gulped down the drink. My gut caught up and turned from the encounter with Komm. “Hey, Cross?” Our arms brushed as he turned to look at me. “I can’t promise the regs that come in here will be polite or even nice to you,” This time he purposefully placed his hand on mine. “But I can guarantee the moment they try anything with you, they’re out.” There was a clank as he put down the drink.

Gloved fingers closed around my hand. With his other hand he lifted my head up from its intense stare at the gray tiles that made up the floor. “Look at me,” Care rang through his voice. “You are not responsible for any shithead regs who want to start a fight, ok?”

Again, my gut flipped. How many regs had given Crosshair shit for being in my bar? Did I even know my patrons like I thought I did? My hands began to shake as worst-case scenarios flooded my mind. “I’m so sorry. I never doubted the things you told me before but-“

He cut me off by pressing his lips against mine. All those thoughts washed away as he gently kissed my lips deeply. Our bodies shifted to be closer. One of his hands cupped my cheek. I reached out towards his shoulder. Soft moans escaped me between kisses as I felt waves of calm and relaxation overtake me. When he finally pulled away I was left with the phantom feeling of his lips against mine. “I never told you the worst things Anya.” Crosshair kept his hand on my cheek and his head close. “Besides,” Hot breath brushed my neck. “Why would regs go to you about me? Always figured they’d come to me directly if they had a problem.” He lowered his head further, now leaving a trail of kisses along my neck to my shoulder.

Shivers ran down my back as his kisses turned into light nibbles. With his free hand Crosshair teased at my thighs. Apparently he had noticed the slit in my skirt, as he was taking advantage of the easy access to feel my bare legs. Background noises faded away as the man beside me became my sole focus. After leaving a few visible marks along my neck he returned to my lips, ready to satisfy the hunger in his eyes.

“Anya, Crosshair!” A boisterous voice slapped my senses back in place. Still hovering over my lips, Crosshair sighed. We exchanged awkward smiles before I moved off the counter. “I have been looking all over for you Anya,” Standing at the kitchen doors was the closest person I had to family in this galaxy, my assistant manager, Jayas. “I’ve just finished up with the interviews. Weren’t you going to stick nearby to overhear them?” He raised a graying eyebrow my way then glanced between me and Crosshair.

“Oh so you didn’t hear the commotion outside?” Unfortunately this wasn’t the first time Jayas had walked in on me with a clone. In fact, this wasn’t even the first time with this clone. “Like always, something happened and I had to go take care of it.” I shifted my weight between my legs. Didn’t make it any less awkward though.

But apparently only I found it awkward this time, since a goofy grin plastered Jayas’ face. His umber eyes lingered between me and Crosshair. “Mhm.” With his left hand he fiddled at the spot where ebony skin and silver metal met on his right arm. Whatever he saw only made his grin wider. “And taking care of it included snatching a bottle of,” He stepped towards the counter top and picked up the open bottle of alcohol with his mechanical hand. “Oh wow, that’s an expensive one.”

“Believe me, it did.” Out of habit I messed with the loose bits of hair that had fallen out of my braid.

Jayas took a sip from the bottle and promptly coughed at its strength. “I understand the clones having such a high tolerance, but fuck Anya how do you drink this stuff?” For such a large man he had trouble keeping his liquor down. He passed the bottle back to me, still recovering from his coughing fit.

“Grow up eating what I did and you’d understand.” Words slipped out before I even registered what I had brought up.

Crosshair, who had previously seemed uninterested in the conversation perked up at the mention of my past. “And what exactly was that?” His eyes remained locked on me studying every bit of my body language.

I shot him a knowing smile. “Probably a lot like those ration bars you clones complain about, honestly.” His eyes narrowed at my vague answer. But I didn’t have time to convince him my past was boring. “Jayas, you got the time?”

In response to my question Jayas glanced down at the clock built into his cybernetic arm. Once he registered how close to the evening rush it was his eyes grew wide. Without saying anything he ran out of the room, no doubt to prepare for the oncoming rush.

“Things are about to get much louder in here, aren’t they?” Crosshair twirled a toothpick between his fingers. He wasn’t much for crowded spaces, in fact I’m surprised he ever entered my bar to begin with considering how busy it was the night I met him.

“You guessed it.”

Before I could turn to leave Crosshair grabbed my waist and pulled me against him. “Hold on, isn’t there something you forgot?” Being pressed against his armor made me forget a lot of things.

“What?” That sounded more breathless than I wanted it to.

He answered by taking out his toothpick and leaned in for a kiss.

Dividers by Djarrex

#the bad batch #sw tbb #fem!oc #tbb crosshair #The Red Logs: Return to the Temple #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars the clone wars #sw clone wars #clone wars fanfiction #clone force 99

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