#this show giving me enemies to lovers realness? sign me the fuck up!

[holly-mckenzie]

I swore I'd kill you if we ever crossed paths again. How can we trust each other? By the blade. We have a chance if we do it together. To the end. To the end.

Éile & Fjall in The Witcher: Blood Origin (2022)

#the witcher: blood origins #witcher: blood origins #thewitcheredit #witcheredit #witcherdaily #thewitchersdaily #tvedit #usertelevision #cinematv #sophia brown #laurence o'fuarain #Éile #fjall #fjall x éile #mine* #this show giving me enemies to lovers realness? sign me the fuck up!

[k2ntoss]

Omg omg omg

Pls do “shit— do that again” and “this is so wrong” with dickie grayson pretty please

(The second prompt gives enemies to lovers vibes SO MUCH, so if it’s included the better.)

— ❤️‍🩹 xx

SECOND ANON WITH AN EMOJI, LET'S FUCKING CELEBRATE!! first of all, thank you so much for this request, i have an idea buzzing into my head and if i don't post it i'll go insane (i'm already insane) and second... i'm listening to the weeknd so yeah....

“do that again- shit, just like that, right there.” + "this is wrong... so wrong." (plus enemies to lovers trope omg yes please!!!)

dick has never been known to be a bad detective, his partners adore him and so does every kid and person he helps, he does his job so well everyone is aware that whenever he's got a new case he will be at it all the time but there is just one person that doesn't really agrees with that, dick knows it and it gets on his nerves because it's always just his cases and investigations the ones that you observe and deny before they reach the court.

he really hated the moment he had to go present his case to the prosecutor, mostly when it was you who was assigned to it and what's worse it's that dick knows that you take it personal because there's no way on earth you let mobs or criminals to pay for justice and that is pretty much clear when you have an amazing percentage of cases won where criminals end up getting what they deserve.

"you have to be joking," at this point is almost a routine. dick arrives to your office with a folder filled with documents and reports from the officers and his own, a box full of evidence he picked up and sent to check to the labs, all the signed paperwork and the hope that you won't send him back to re-do all the work from zero "everything is in that folder!"

"detective, would you lower your damn voice?" you'd ask him, the snark on your tone is upsetting and dick has to take a deep breath to cool down a bit "there are several forms you haven't filled, how do you expect me to work like this?" and it was true, paperwork was important even if everyone hated doing it.

"you can't return the whole investigation for a couple of stupid papers! it's a big case, if you return it to the station we'll have to let the criminals go because the time runs up." dick is starting to lose every trace of patience and good will he has, hands gripping the fabric of his trousers and his hands clench a little more when you look at him, unamused and with any intention to help him.

"i can't help you if you don't bring everything in order, not to say that there are so many things that don't make sense on your files," you say, reading through some pages "this doesn't looks like a real detective's work, how do you expect me to do anything with this?" you leave the folder down, looking at him with your arms crossed over your chest and leaning back on the chair behind your desk.

dick is about to scream, you're telling him his work sucks and sending him back to do it all over again when he is sure there are cases pilling up back in the station but he has to hold it back. it's weird that the person he despises the most isn't some villain he fights at night but a prosecutor that he desperately wants to shut up for once and for all.

you are way too cocky for your own good and since the first case you dismised from his hands he has wanted to show you why he had the reputation he had, he's fighting his rage right now because he knew that in this case you were right and it would be stupid to keep pushing but he was too stubborn and a little too lost on how much he liked to get in your nerves.

"there's no way you can't help me with that case," he says and dick's voice is now an indicator of how upset he is feeling, not only because of you dismissing his work but also because this time he wasn't right (not that he has been before, he always forgot a paper or the whole background of a piece of evidence because he was too distracted on thinking how jolly the moment would be when you'd had to accept his work) "you just don't want to do it and that's bullshit, you should be dismissed from all the station's cases because this is personal."

"detective grayson," you warn him, if it was on your hands you'd help him just as you always tried to help but as a prosecutor you had to stick to the rules and make sure your coworkers did just the same "i'd suggest you to lower your tone and keep your emotions in check, the fact that i can't work with this investigation it's not my fault." you said, letting the folder fall back on your desk before standing up.

there went the last string of patience and good will dick had, he stood up but stayed still until you started walking your way to the door and he'd be lying if your figure wasn't distracting him a little bit with the way that greenish button up shirt hung a little loose on your shoulders but gave a hint of your figure. he had to shake his thoughts away and as soon as he saw your hand reaching for the door he darted towards you, pushing the door closed shut again and standing a little too close to you.

dick is hovering over you, looking down as his eyes fix on yours and there's no way to hide the surprise of the sudden outburst that causes you to flinch a little.

"you think so high of yourself, y/n," dick hisses as his eyes narrow, he leans in closer and it sends a spark that danced between anger and pure expectation from what he could do "you think that you make the fucking calls and that is just so upsetting, i wish i could just bring you down from that cloud and show you just what you are." he points at you and it's distracting because dick grayson has always managed to keep his anger in check.

"keep your emotions in check, detective" it was another warning, it came throught gritted teeth and narrowed eyes as you stand still ready to snap back at him on the first chance "am i the one that thinks too high of themself? let me break it to you, grayson, at least i'm trying to do my job as i have to."

the banter between you two has always been a little more snarky and less heated, not to be taken so serious because what you wanted to do was to push dick to do his absolute best so you could also help people to be safe out on the streets, living their lives but this time was just different because there was something else fueling the words.

there's a spark that ignites inside of dick as soon as your words hit close to home and next thing you know is that you're being cornered against the door of your office and he managed to inmobilize you; he grabs your shoulder to turn you around, his right leg between yours and his face right next to yours.

"you think you're better than the rest of us just because you get to take the credit of putting the bastards we catch behind bars but you just have to sit pretty here," he speaks lowly into your ear, his tone making it clear that he was letting it all out, months of bottled up frustration flowing out of him "you do nothing but talk, that's all that mouth of yours can do and it was just time someone put you in your place."

"richard grayson, you better back the fuck up now or–" you start, the warning hanging in the air and interrupted by a low grunt that just escaped your lips when he pressed a bit more against you just to mess with your nerves, causing his thigh to press a bit more between your legs and sending a jolt through your spine that mixed with all the emotions "do that again– shit," and even tho he is surprised and a little taken aback by your reaction he complies, moving closer until he could feel his leg pressed up against your clothed core and he decided to grind it teasingly "just like that, right there..."

"that's all it takes to turn off your brain?" he asks mockingly, his hand pressed between your shoulders as his lips brush against your era and it's easy to hear the smirk on dick's voice "pin you against the door and let you grind yourself against my thigh? it's pathetic how a smartmouth like you turns to a puddle when someone touches your cunt like this."

yeah, it's pathetic because he managed to shut you up without even trying and he's proud of it. his hand trails down your back until it reaches the lower part of it making sure to hold your body in a way you couldn't move your hips to grind on his thigh.

"go on, why don't you move?" he asks teasingly, his hand pressing harder when he felt the jerk of your hips and an amused laugh escapes his throat when you grunt frustrated "who would have thought that miss great prosecutor was such a desperate little slut." and he could have stopped there, make you help him because you'd be too embarrased to deny him anything after putting this show for him but dick decided to lean in and press a lingering kiss on your neck that made your breath catch on your throat.

"dick– fuck, don't be such an ass" you say in a hoarse tone, looking at the ceiling as you try to rock your hips once again, feeling yourself able to do so when dick's hand wanders from your back to your stomach and then up, resting between your breasts as he breathes you in.

"pretty fucked up, isn't it?" he asks against your neck, nibbling on the side of your neck as his fingers start undoing the buttons of your shirt while you grind against his thigh and everything feels so forbidden, one of your hands moving to lock the door because there was no way you'd let yourself get caught being groped by the detective you've told all your department you hated.

it wasn't news for your coworkers that dick and you had a long history of not getting alone but truth be told, you just wanted to make dick give his best because that would also allow you to give your best. it was a win-win, if only he saw it that way because you weren't trying to buy more time for the criminals to make up evidence or build new alibis or get fake witnesses.

dick gets your shirt open, his hands messily working on pulling your bra down and growling lowly when he saw your breasts spilling out against the door, his eyes moving from your chest to the way your features contorted from the way you were getting yourself off like this. with every jerk of your hips he could feel your ass pressed against his cock, the bulge inside his dressing pants now hard in a way you could feel it againt your body.

he lets go of you, turning you around and ignoring your grunt when you were left without that pleasurable feeling on your aching pussy. his hands gripping your hips as he presses a hungry kiss on your lips, demanding and bruising between the smirk it draws from him when you kiss him back with the same need as your hands undo his shirt, pulling it away from his body as he manages to walk until he is sitting on your desk with you sitting on his lap.

the messy making out is only interrupted when the clothes come out of your body, heavy breathing as he squeezes and gropes your flesh into his hands in a rush of pure lust that's fueled by the way your wetness feels when pressed against his hard on as he moves you to tease your pussy, his shaft moving between your folds and the wet sounds are only muffled by the low moans and growls you both try to keep as low as you can.

"this is wrong..." you say breathlessly, feeling how dick picks your body up with his arm around your waist as his free hand lines his tip with your entrance and he grunts into your neck when you are the one that slides down on him with your eyes closed shut "so wrong, god."

it's not much when your body moves on its own, going up and down on his cock as he looks up at you, hands gripping your waist to hold you as his lips are around one of your nipples, sucking and licking at it while your nails sink into the skin of his shoulders.

you'd never set yourself into this kind of situations but there was no time to think about how wrong this was when it felt so good, the way he filled you up as you rode him slowly, teasing him to grip your hips in order to set the pace to make you bounce on him.

"you look so good like that, fuck," he whispers against your chin when you start grinding on him, his hands on your hips so hard that his fingers bruise your skin as he thrusts deeper into your pussy "so desperate fucking yourself like a bitch in heat, you think you're using my cock for your pleasure but you're nothing but a pretty toy."

his words work as a turn on, the way he looks at you with hunger and need as he pounds harshly inside your cunt makes you moan without care on who could hear you.

"you look so pretty like that, so tight around me" he grunts into your ear and it's right there when he takes the lead, setting a fast pace as he holds your hips to make your body bounce "you like it like this? when you're being used like a dirty whore, sweetheart?"

"i like it so much, fuck–" you whine and the sound of your voice makes him chuckle, this was pretty bad because the degrading words were making you needier and the way you couldn't hide it made you appear more like a slut for him, clenching around him the closer you got to your climax as he hit all the right spots with each thrust he gave.

it was hard to talk for you, between moans and whines of pure delight that came after each stroke dick made as he kissed your jaw but he had no problem on doing it while his hand moved and reached that space on your pussy.

his thumb pressed against your clit made you shiver into his arms, whinning pathetically as he played with your sensitivity with a wide grin "look at the little mess you are, always so collected and now you're here with your legs all spread for me to fuck you into a brainless slut."

"dick– i'm close" you say, eyes teary and voice broken as your face finds a place into the crook of his neck but it's not too much time until he finds your gaze, leaning in to press a reassuring kiss into your lips before he pulls back and nods, thrusting in a faster pace and with deeper strokes.

"c'mon, cum for me, sweetheart." he growls against your ear, both hands holding your waist as your movements become sloppier and erratic, the tension on your belly building more and more until your orgasm hits your whole body making your walls clench tighter around him "that's it, that's a fucking good girl... i'll pull out now, yeah?"

and he doesn't wait for your response, knowing you won't be able to think straight while you were still on your high and with you still straddling his lap dick moves, strocking his cock until he is throbbing into his fist before he reaches his own climax, painting your stomach with those milky white streaks.

maybe, just maybe now he could find a way to fix his work without feeling so upset about it.

#⭒ 📬 ⭒ #❤️‍🩹 anon #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson smut #dick grayson blurb #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x fem!reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x female!reader #dick grayson fanfiction #dick grayson #nightwing smut #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n #nightwing x fem!reader #nightwing #dc comics reader insert #dc comics imagine #dcu #dc comics #dc universe

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Top Spies Part 5/8

Okay, now I'm happy! 😄

Ruben and Reader are super spies, who have to pretend to be a married couple on vacation as a co-signed mission. A enemies to lovers fic, very sweet and funny!

Enjoy!

Things weren't awkward between you and Ruben since your little rumble in the sand, they were just different.

"So what are your plans for today?" You asked. Ruben was just returning from his morning jog, shirtless and dripping in sweat. You sat on the villas front balchony, enjoying a light breakfast.

"Not much, you?"

"Alejandro has invited us to play golf with him and his family this afternoon."

Ironically you and Ruben had settled in quite well with Alejandro and his family. They would often insist that you join them for a day on their yacht or a day kayaking in the sea. Ruben would usually try and come up with excuses why you shouldn't go, but Alejandro and his family kept insisting.

"What did you say?" Ruben asked.

"Well I said that you weren't much of a golfer and that it would probably be just me."

"Bet Alejandro liked that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You frowned.

"The guy is clearly into you Y/N. He's just waiting for me to let you out of my sight."

"And will you?"

The scent of man invaded your nostrils as Ruben stepped up to you. For a moment you thought he was going to bend down and kiss you, however he paused as his lips hovered above yours.

"Never."

He snatched a grape from your plate. You admired the way his back muscles moved as he headed inside to shower. A part of you wanted to drop your skirt and join him. A very dominant part of you imagine what it would be like to fuck Ruben. Would he be gentle or rough? Handsy or tough?

Your guess was a bit of both.

********************************************

It was very obvious that Ruben wasn't much of a golfer, that he had never even held a club before. He was fine leaving you to it. Alejandro's nephew was eager to show him his collection of torphies instead.

"That's alot of golfballs." You acknowledged.

Arriving at Alejandro's golf course there were several piles of them overflowing the ranch.

"I'm thinking of expanding the resort with four more courses across the island, all with a view of the coast." He said.

"And for that you need more golfballs, makes sense." You nodded. "You should ad some more obstacles to the course, like a pond."

"No. Sand is fine. With water it gets too complicated with the golfballs."

You understood what he meant. It really was a hassle fishing golfballs out of the water, most of them got lost forever.

"Have you ever played golf professionally?" Alejandro asked. He was observing the way you picked your next golfclub, carefully weighing it in your hand, giving it a light swing.

"I stopped in the junior categories due to lack of funding from my parents."

"A shame. I would have stepped up as a sponsor if I knew you back then."

"Well that's very kind of you to say."

You learned that Alejandro supported alot of youth golfers in Portugal, including his nephew. You truly shared the passion for the sport, him a bit more since he was willing to invest in many young players careers.

"If I may ask, what was your maiden name before you got married?"

"It's was....."

You almost said it. You almost blew your cover revealing your real name.

Alejandro noticed your hesitation, tilting his head in curiosity. "I'm sorry for asking so many question but it feels like I should know who you are based on your merits. I've been on the board for the junior championships for over fiftheen years."

"No need to apologize. My junior career isn't somthing I'm really proud of. It basically eneded before it started."

"I see. And your maiden name was....?"

"Y/N!"

Thank god for Ruben. He interrupted you and Alejandro just in time.

"Yes?" You asked since he looked to have seen a ghost.

"Our reservations.... "

"Our what?"

He looked over your shoulders where Alejandro stood and that's when you realized that somthing was definitely up.

"Right, our reservations." You played along.

"You have reservations?" Alejandro questioned.

"Yes, to the spa." Ruben said.

"I'm sorry." You apologized. "I totally forgot about it."

Alejandro shook his head. "It's no worries. I can have Beatrice rearrange the reservations for tomorrow."

"That's very kind of you." Ruben said, already dragging you along with him. "But my wife and I need to relax today."

You left the golf course but did not stop at the spa nor the villa. Ruben drove you all the way to the marina before you finally asked him. "Whatta fuck?"

"There is a submarine." He said, a bit exhilarated about the fact.

"A what?"

"Alejandro's nephew told me that his uncle has a very big boat, like a whale. A whale that can dive underwater."

"What should we do?"

"Report back to Captain. But by then it might be too late. If the Drugs are here on the island I'm sure it's getting ready to get devided and split up in more portable amounts."

"I don't know Ruben, sounds like you want us to make the bust ourselves. I don't think that's such a good idea."

He turned to look at you, seeing the concern in your eyes.

"We won't do anything to jepordize the mission let's just assess the situation and gather evidence."

There was somthing in his eyes. He really wanted to do this.

"Fine, let's find this submarine of yours."

It was later in the evening when you choose to search the bay for a 100 meter submarine, lurking in the calm waters, however with no luck of finding it.

"They can't hide it underwater, another ship might run into it." Ruben said. "But what place could be big enough to hold a submarine, let alone hide it from an island full of tourists?"

"The caves at the golden cliffs!" You exclaimed. It's where Alejandro's family had taken you kayaking a couple of days ago. You never entered the dark caves with the kayaks, but surley they appered large enough to hide a submarine.

"Fuck Y/N, what would I do without you?"

You and Ruben traced the submarine to a hidden cove on the coast of the island, where it was anchored deep in the water.

"I can't believe it." You laughed. Ruben was right all along.

"We'll have to report back to the agency once we get our hands on the evidence. Call captain Harlow and tell him to prepare the team to demand a warrant for the arrest of Alejandro Martinez."

"Ruben your seriously not thinking about going down there are you?"

He looked eager to investigate further.

"Y/N, entering the ship is the only way I'll get a hold of the evidence that we need. Trust me, I won't be long."

Trust wasn't the problem, you thought.

Ruben took notice of this too, how your steps altered, your expression indecisive. All because you didn't want him to enter the ship and leave you behind.

"Hey." Ruben closed the gap between you, letting his hand stroke your cheek.

"Ruben I don't want you going down there."

"I know. " He nodded. "But I have to, it's our chance to finally put this guy behind bars."

"I know but..."

"You won't lose me Y/N. We're partners, remember?"

You smiled as his thumb swiped across your bottom lip. Either it was you who tilted your head up to kiss him or the other way around, him tilting down to kiss you. Nonetheless, you were kissing, a real kiss, soft and sweet.

You lips parted with the echoing sound of the cave, Ruben's forhead knocking against yours.

"Wait for me here." 

You nodded. "Okay."

As you made your way closer to the submarine, you suddenly heard the sound of footsteps behind. You and Ruben turned to see the shadow of a burly man, sneaking up on you.

"You're not supposed to be here!" The man growled, pulling out a gun.

He stepped into a spring of light, revealing his face. It was Andrés, Andrés Fierro.

"Alejandro won't be happy to know that you're here."

You and Ruben acted quickly, drawing your own weapons and taking cover behind a nearby boulder. You exchanged a quick glance, and then Ruben nodded.

"Ready?" he whispered.

You nodded, heart pounding in her chest. "Ready."

The battle was intense, with bullets flying through the air followed by the loud echoes exploding in the distance. You and Ruben had Andrés Fierro cornered. But as you made your way closer to the submarine, you suddenly felt a sharp pain in your shoulder.

"Ruben..."

You crumbled to the ground seeing the wound from the stray bullet.

Ruben saw the look of shock on your face and rushed to your side, pulling you behind a nearby boulder.

"Y/N, no!" he shouted, his voice filled with panic. "You've been hit!"

"Don't let him get away!" You said through gritted teeth. "He'll blow our covers."

Ruben looked conflicted, but he knew there was only one right thing to do.

"I'll be okay," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Just finish the mission."

Ruben nodded, his eyes filled with determination. He knew that he had to get to the submarine. With a fierce cry, he charged forward. You heard two gunshots and the crumbling shouts of a man. The cave fell silent, however you were never in doubt, Ruben had killed Andrés Fierro.

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst

[queenimmadolla]

Hellguard spicy headcanons?🌶

Oh man, imma give you spicy and somewhat sweet.

Hate sex.

Except it’s hate sex in that they’re super into each other, like crazy in love and they hate that so they fuck it out on the regular. Pretend it doesn’t mean anything even after they’re sweaty, sated and plastered to one another on his shitty mattress and his fingers are stroking over her skin, nose nudging her sweat soaked bangs out of the way so he can press his lips to her forehead or when he’s kissing her wet shoulder after they’ve just gone at it in the locked showers at the pool, helping her get back into her swimsuit since she can barely stand on her shaky legs. Anytime they have a snarky interaction in public—guaranteed to be fucking afterwards. True enemies to lovers.

Eddie also goes to the pool during its open season to rile her up with both antagonistic comments, and his lack of a shirt. Knows how much of a sucker she is for his tatties, can still feel her tongue tracing over them—even when she’s posted on the lifeguard chair. And god—does her swimsuit fuck with him. He tries to stop by to mess with her (and mess around with her) a couple of miles a week, but he can only see her in that red swimsuit so many times and not fuck her in public. He is only a man.

And billy—oh Billy’s a fucking problem. Eddie has never wanted someone dead that badly before because he knows Hargrove has no real interest in Heather, she’s pleasant to him (as she is to anyone who isn’t Eddie) but he doesn’t really talk to her. Unless Eddie’s around. Eddie knows he’s trying to provoke him, trying to get Eddie to punch his fucking face right into his skull for looking at his girl, who’s not his girl. That’s when Eddie has to whisk her away for a quickie that’s so rough, Heather will still feel him inside of her the following day. She’s always a little off of her game afterwards, still dazed and cum dumb, so Curtis might be under the water for a sec when he gets that cramp after over exhorting himself from dunking people into the pool since Heather had been too busy thinking about the way Eddie pressed her into the outside wall of the community pool building—on the side hidden by trees and rarely ever passed by if the overgrown grass was any sign—and held up as Eddie fucked into her with hard thrusts that sent her sunglasses flying off her head, ruined her high side pony, and had her crying out in pleasure while salivating against Eddie’s palm to keep them from being discovered. When she snaps out of her daze, she’s jumping in to save Curtis (he’s always fine, gets yelled at by Heather for dunking people’s heads in the first place and sometimes he pretends to drown just so he can get her attention).

Heather hates and loves it when he makes an appearance at the pool. Loves that he gets to see her showing some skin—she’s grown out of being insecure, something about wearing the lifeguard bathing suit and the fact that she’s an authoritative figure at the pool fills her with confidence, Heather also knows Eddie likes what he sees whenever he looks at her, and it makes him mad because she’s got such a smart ass mouth on her, and she loves how that makes her feel─hates that she has to watch the few girls brave enough to approach him in public, hates seeing him flirt with them because he knows she’s watching from behind her sunglasses. He’s trying to make her jealous and she HATES that it works.

My gorls hit me with some good headcanons too, Heather teaching a water aerobics class for the elderly and Eddie signing up because he’s the devil in her life (he wants to be around her). Eddie intentionally tries to annoy her, keep that back-and-forth banter they’ve been doing their entire high school careers going to ensure she knows summer break is for a break in school and not a break with him. It works, Heather’s annoyed but the elderly can see things neither wants to acknowledge. It took a while for some of the older ladies to get used to him, always making comments about his metal like appearance—but when he’s a sweetheart to them, helping them out of the pool, he’s got all the golden girls ready to go up to bat for him—or rather, ready to help him get the girl (the gorls have also decided our golden girls try to hit on Wayne through Eddie and some even try to flirt with Eddie themselves lol). But now whenever Heather is going around to make sure they’re all doing good forms, they’re chatting her up about how sweet Eddie is, how much of a catch he’d be and Heather, dear, you wouldn’t happen to be seeing anyone would you?

I see Heather as trying her hardest to be taken seriously, to keep that feeling she got a taste of during her first summer as a lifeguard, so she pursues class politics and campaigns for class dances and their attached monarchy (she will be prom queen one day, mark her words) and we all have an inkling to what Eddie does in response to everything she does. He’s the fire to her water. They shouldn’t get along and that’s ingrained in them, so they don’t know how to handle it when all of their moments together prove that while they may be opposites, they compliment each other in ways they cold never have imagined.

(Eddie always votes for her in anything and everything she does, has the Hellfire club do it too, This shit bites but if we gotta do it, might as well get Holloway up there so she can publicly choke during her speech—would pay BIG bucks to see her run off that stage, he lingers in the back of the crowds, small smirk on his face when she effortlessly makes her way through public speaking—because she’s good at it even if he knows she’s shaking in her shoes and rehearsed a billion times before. He’s proud.)

I can literally go on and on. You know what Hellguard does to me!

#this was so nice to rant about lol #hellguard #headdie #Eddie munson #Eddie munson headcanons #giving eddie head(canons) #Heather Holloway #Heather Holloway headcanons #Eddie munson x Heather Holloway #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things 3 #stranger things headcanons

[horizon-verizon]

HOT TAKE:

Rhaenyra x Alicent

Rhaenyra x Harwin

Rhaenyra x Daemon

Daemon x Laena

Rhaenyra x Aegon II

Criston x Rhaenyra

Aemond x Lucerys

Criston x Alicent

Viserys x Aemma

Aemond x Helaena

Aegon II x Helaena

every single ship/couple on the show is either VERY problematic or toxic, so fans picking and choosing who is better is stupid. every single male character in the show has done something problematic and I mean EVERY single male character. The day the fandom just admit that every ship/couple is problematic/toxic is the day the HOTD fandom will know peace and the day shippers just admit that they only give certain male characters a pass because they find them attractive is the day we'll know peace.

*EDITED POST* (4/28/24)

i do agree that some male characters are given a pass when they shouldn't, however there are some who people acknowledge are bad, amoral, morally ambiguous, or just plain evil but ship them with certain people bc of various reasons. The human experience is not just about being "moral" 100% of the time, or being "rational"; other times, it's about fun and thrill and empathizing with a feeling, etc.

There is also reason why some ships are canonically real and lasted with little internal conflict between the couple (w/o there being an external intervention not of either their faults) and why some did not...

And why are "fucked up" people's relationships/love in fucked up or dangerous situations not "real"? Or valid?

I consider it to be a sort of miracle when this does happen, so I tend to positively fascinated! Because they tend to be more passionate, even thought they may not always be the most dramatic. Two (or more) people find each other and come to trust each other despite the odds or what could never or not as likely happen anywhere else? Sign me up! (except parent-child, grandparent-grandchild incest; physical abuse; emotional abuse; teens with 40 yr olds, and I'm sure i'm forgetting some things)

A)

I find that this growing protest against any fictional relationship that is not the ideal healthy one that real-life people dream of in of itself indicative of being out of touch with reality, specious, and tedious. As if it is not "healthy", then it doesn't deserve to be fictionalized and distributed to be read.

There is frustration with stories like Romeo and Juliet, Wuthering Heights, and the enemies-to-lovers trope itself...as if the writers of those stories expected you to copy their main characters 1:1 and take their tale as their own personal ideas in the first place. It is a protest that criticizes romance fiction/general fiction for not being 1:1 to what we should go for, or what we are taught to, in reality for the sake of morality teaching, censored. That fiction writing, especially romance, should only show fluff or as little conflict or high stakes between couples as possible because people are not discerning enough to always tell what is abusive behavior and what is grey behavior.

Like with Romeo and Juliet, people think R&J is an endorsement of this sort of relationship or they conflate the relationship with suicide for one that you love bc there's so many iterations and people going "I wish my love was as dedicated as Romeo to Juliet/vice versa" bc it speaks to their desire for passion in romantic relationship. But again, they conflate, they forget, or never knew that this story is really about the pressures put on vulnerable people's who merely wish to have love and peace in their lives but can't bc their families/communities refuse to abandon a cycle of hate or forcing their children to marry or limit their own ways of thinking for the sake of obedience. How the only relationships that matter are those made b/t the couple and not those constructed by ambitious forces who do not care the amount of blood they spill or lives wasted unless it's to gain more power and gain more "glory" in these hierarchial systems. Romeo and Juliet's love (no matter how you feel about it) is meant to be the direct contradiction to the hatred, and their suicides are meant to be seen as tragic bc they could have bene prevented if the adults aroud them got their heads out of their asses. But bc people are going, "oh, those kids are so stupid" all the time, this point is entirely missed!!!

Or rather, I say, people tend to misunderstand the value & appeal of some ships...canon or not.

No people, they write characters for ideas and philosophical concepts. Innovative, new or familiar and already developed, or something in the middle. We also don't read fiction stories to just be educated into copying behaviors, otherwise, we'd read nonfiction. Fiction is for emotional reality, speculative/philosophical thought, and creative thinking skills, again, they are for exploration of taboos, urges, ideologies, historical propaganda, narratology, mythology, some mysteries that run in the back of ones mind but aren't discussed sometimes because we do not know what sort of consequences we'd have if shared for whatever reason, but for some some of these reaaosn include oppressive structures. And emotional realities, set in a world with its own laws and facts as ASoIaF is, are still important to write in to realize what one feels in their everyday life and have others take a peek into that. But it also doesn't always have to be so damn apocalyptic either, because these characters are playthings of emotional reality, narrative, and philosophy which are all examinable. We as readers can/learn to examine or spy on the trajectory and themes of the fiction and leave the rest to the story as we go about your day.

It is related (not the exact same but there is a relation) to giving horror stories to children--stuff like Coraline--things some adults repeatedly wonder today why we/they were exposed to some films or stories. Some things they can should not be for kids: kids love to be scared, too but more than that they can get scared, get thrilled, get sad in a controlled environment while still familiarize themselves with stuff that one may not be able to articulate in just human conversation or is deliberately removed from them. It also promotes empathy in them bc they get familiarized with how people cause each other pain or the depth/process/development of different types of human suffering.

It is related (not the exact same but there is a relation) to giving horror stories to children--stuff like Coraline--things some adults repeatedly wonder today why we/they were exposed to some films or stories. Some things they can should not be for kids: kids love to be scared, too but more than that they can get scared, get thrilled, get sad in a controlled environment while still familiarize themselves with stuff that one may not be able to articulate in just hunan conversation or is deliberately removed from them.

Problem is that they don't grow some reflexes to avoid, say, predatory behavior, which Coraline shows through the Beldam.

And if I hadn't read stuff like Anne Rice's novels--which people make the mistake of thinking Louis was sexually abusive towards Claudia, when it's really that they are getting that sense from how Louis "stole" away her childhood and humanity in his own horror at his immortality (eternal isolation from the beauty of change that is inherently human), at his horror at his never being able to have experience, that access to that beauty then I have more trouble understanding the value of myself and my fellow human and how that can get mucked up by societal exploitation of the fear of death (religious institutions and their teachings). Yes, his relationship with Claudia is almost mirroring that of a pedo, bc like a pedo he "took away" her childhood for his own lack of self control at his not being able to understand the ramifications of being a vampire and the predator of humanity/enemy of God. And he keeps talking about her beauty and seductiveness (her visual and tactile features like coloring and smoothness of skin, her ability to draw in her adult prey to feed on them). with what we know of him being able to suck her blood out of her body and the oral imagery that can psychologically parallel the sexual, it seems an utter troubling of the innocence we credit to children, baptism did that. That's what Rice wanted you to feel and understand, vampirism and forcing eternity into a child is inherently wrong! no matter how much you yourself are trying to reinforce you own existence's meaning by getting close to "beautiful" things and people. Remember that this is exactly how she, just losing a daughter and w acting said child back and definitely feeling the urge to imagine a way she could have her forever while also going through religious trauma herself. But it is not the thing (pedophilia) itself.

B)

Why do you bother to instruct others to not analyze when you yourself refuse to give a good reason why one should not?! When you claim that you are bringing an "analysis" that is so "simple that it must be genius?" Why do you even make a moral/ethical argument ("we would all benefit from recognizing that all these couples are 'toxic'" as if we don't already know that?!) if it is to tell people to not think?! To not name their own ships and analyze the text/context/subtext to understand what is even happening below the surface of "magical dragonriders"? You yourself did it -- how is it an issue when others do? You don't need to like these things, or to ship specifically how others ship. Just consider why and how shipping and how the "factionalism" in this fandom happens for each ship before you go barreling over telling people that they are amoral for not thinking exactly like you.

If you want to ship a couple just based on the feeling or understanding of what would be good for people's psyche in real life...that they would have both a happy, satisfactory and safe life together in real life based on your own personal preferences or the already agreed upon rules for a healthy relationship....that's fine.

But I, as a Daemyra and Jonerys shipper (these two always depend on the story where Jon and Dameon are politically subservient to these women, not even "equals": Jonerys specifically only if Jon is not her co-ruler not a situation where she is his Queen Consort. He should only be her consort if he becomes her husband and she out ranks him bc as brideoffires on Twitter pointed out, we see that a male partner is highly dangerous for Dany, Jon being the worst for his lineage), argue that the healthier and happier relationships are already RhaenyraxDaemon and JonxDany because of their respective circumstances, cultural/sociopolitical contexts -- their world and personal backgrounds. I not only look at what people say is "healthiest", I want to consider what the people themselves want in a partner, and let's be for real, Rhaenyra's desired partner was Daemon, not HArwin. She loved Harwin, that's for sure. But she wanted Daemon and part of it was for the assurance that he could protect her. (Jonerys is merely for the idea, even though I feel this is ship is more crackish with each passing day). And I do not judge every single piece of fantasy, romance, or romance part of a story by how well it conforms to that image of the realistic, healthy relationship. That's not what I and other shippers go for, including some of those who ship Rhaenyra with Harwin, etc., (since even Harwin is not the ideal modern choice for a woman he little started sleeping with when she was 19 (show) or 17 (book) while being not that far from either Daemon or Criston).

If you are going to use "incest!" and the misapplied "grooming!"/"pedophilia!" arguments to just conclude that every single relationship of ASoIaF is "toxic" (and nothing else) and thus we shouldn't care about who survives or wins or how.....then you also say we should ignore particular aspects of how in spite of the incest, some characters found ways to actually build good enough trust and bonds and when they didn't it wasn't bc of incest but bc of gender political imbalances and sexism (Jaehaerys and Alysanne) and not care about the sociopolitical events, ramifications, and philosophical questioning about identity, sexuality, power, gender, etc. that does go on in ASoIaF. Again, you're saying I/we should not think, that nothing matters at all in this universe, nothing matters. But then, those very things put into question makes this series! It seems like you're saying that the Dance doesn't matter at all...but then why are you here, watching the show and/or reading the books if you did not think the Dance mattered in some way?

And not every shipper ships what they want in real life for every story they create ships for. Ships are made for how well it appeals, and the appeal exists from how/what subtexts one interpreted from the text. Sometimes the conclusions they make are just wrong, other times not very informed or fair. In thise instances, where they et certain lore facts or characterizations completely wrong, fine, criticsims may be even necessary. Other times it's colored by or processing their own traumas, or it's about what shaped the possible/canon relationship that actually inspires the shipping, in which case, I don't think it's worth it to criticize their preference unless it leans into complete delusion that misrepresents the character/story and/or bigotry. The ship shipped is alluring, charismatic, enchanting, and/or engaging and tickling for one reason or the another.

You may argue that realistically, uncles and nieces can't be in healthy relationships -- of which there's no point to this argument in-universe as a serious criticism because this is a series where literal magic-blooded, dragon-riding people marry siblings, uncles, nieces, aunts, nephews in order to maintain that power within their respective bloodlines or that Daemon is a one-dimensional evil, evil person, no cap (he's violent but not crazy evil), and we all already know that obviously this sort of shit shouldn't happen. But these characters are contained within a world they must navigate, and of all the options that Rhaenyra had, Daemon wasn't so bad as us to say he was her doom. Once again, he's been the most loyal to her, which is what she needed.

In other words, Watsonian versus Doylist.

C)

We saw:

Rhaenys and Aegon I -- no known quarrels

Jaehaerys I and Alysanne (pre-Quarrels. It was rather Jaehaerys' misogyny and Alysanne's need to empower herself but also feeling the need to conform in some ways that broke them up but if you are in the habit of not looking past the incest, you wouldn't likely understand that and how it came to be that way with them)

Rhaena and Aegon the Uncrowned -- reasonably harmonious

Jaehaerys II and Shaera [Aegon V's kids] -- no known major quarrels

so we can't even argue that in-unverse, these couples went through their traumas just or only because of incest specifically. Aegon IV-Naerys and Aerys II and Rhaella: these couples' problems were feudal/monarchial/patriarchal problems of the man having too much power over his wife/subject. and going by how the Starks ruled for nigh 6,000-8,000 years....feudalism in some form in this world is going to be here for long after even Dany dies.

So we focus on the revolutions and changes that Dany and Rhaenyra's reigns could have or would have brought for this system.

Back to the Targs, they and Valyrian dragonlords are one only a step ahead of the Westerosi lords, who the Faith allowed, can, and often married their first cousins. As Tywin Lannister did. Yet I have heard/seen nothing about how Westerosi marry their cousins and often. One of Sansa's arranged marriage options was with a Arryn/Vale first cousin.

The prime reason why sibling-marriage is considered taboo amongst Westersoi is because the Faith of the Seven rules that the gods say it so. That's it. There is an absence of logic where some Targ anti claim there is when it comes to why Andal Westerosi reason why incest is bad but still do cousin marriages.

There are even two uncle-niece marriages in the Stark family: "in the north, Serena Stark had been wed to her half-uncle, Edric, while her sister Sansa Stark had been wed to her half-uncle Jonnel Stark (AWoIaF; "Incest in the Seven Kingdoms")". One of these marriages produced children, and neither were ever ruled as sinful by the Faith, nor are the Starks ruled as being all seeds of "abomination".

So.... something is going on here that is more than just "it's incest!" These kinds of questions, not "is this my idea of healthy", are the ones that actually give you answers to how people think, how much does culture influences and where, train you to practice empathy, etc.

D)

It is also Westerosi/medieval/ancient history and general practice to marry what we Western moderns see now as older children (15-17-year-olds) to other teens adults. Real European societies (one of them Westeros was adopted from) still preferred marrying at least 15-16 year olds minimum out of fear of messing with their humors and the girls' physical safety--still delaying consummation.

[Removal of past statement about GRRM and tone for age-gap relationships in story, he has many large-age gaps in the more romantically-told relationships of ASoIaF]

Westerosi custom has the age of majority of 16, but still, both genders can marry or get betrothed way before their 18th nameday. And girls who had their first period were considered safer to bed. It's considered "perverse" to bed a girl who hasn't had her period yet. The incongruence of GRRM's habit of featuring relationships (or suggested intimacies) b/t people w/large age gaps and real life medieval attitudes and practices regarding marriage is a relevant topic, but to claim that basically none of these people felt love or cared about their partners and ignoring how they interact in-text that proves otherwise is fallacious and dumb.

These are screenshots to the link about maidens and the Westerosi age of majority:

That means that from even younger ages, both Westerosi girls and boys understood that they might inherit adult responsibilities and political power, as well as get to be married or betrothed younger than what we'd like them to. And we can expect that since the entire world is modeled after ancient/medieval cultures the people we call teens also experienced this. And even 15-year-old nobles understand that they will be arranged to marry and have sex with (to reproduce) whomever their authority figure chooses, for that's the practice. Because 15-year olds can and do sometimes become lords and ladies with the power to order armies. Fifteen-year-old boys have been trained to use the sword and other military weapons (ahem, Daemon became a knight at 16, Aemond trained under Criston since he was 10, Jon was 14 in the beginning of the ASoIaF books and became Lord Commander around 16-17, etc.).

To call them all automatic forever victims-from-child-brides, etc. is to completely erase/the/does:

Removal of past points about people dying earlier being the main reason for earlier marriages, it's actually more complicated than that, which I simplified in second point below.

ignores that even medieval nobles in real life and in Westeros do try not to marry their kids too young for the girl's safety -- with the first also believing that to have sex too young would deplete your humors (that they themselves did express real care towards their children)

ignores, reduces/makes less significant/important/thematic how Rhaenyra and Dany, for example, actually gain back autonomy by being with Daemon, Harwin, Daario Noharis (Not the HotD, Fire and Blood/canon. They show how fucked that messaging up in relation to how it sets up a cultural presence against the female chastity model of this society by making her the possible aggressor towards Criston....what happens between them also cannot be made 1:1 to a modern capitalist boss-employee relationship).

And you end up dismissing, even not understanding, the bigger stuff of this series, taking for granted how power is imbalanced and different from how it would be in the real, present-day worlds. Like how some people claim Dany abuses Irri when that is far from true; even going so far as to claim this proves she will go mad like in the show...another way to demand her progress and character and misinterpret all the Azor Ahai symbolism tied to her. Misogyny.

If you wanted relationships with absolutely no age gaps, teens marrying each other or adults and uncomplicated fluff and that's it...I'm sorry to let you know that you stumbled onto the wrong place, anon. Even if GRRM decreased the number of prominent age gap relationships, there would have to be one or two within the Targ line because the truth is also that real medieval peoples did have age gap marriage that were early-consummated and a few 12-year olds getting married and having that marriage consummated, even if it was uncommon and frowned on. "Uncommon' reveals that it still happened and that were was enough room for it to happen.

END

Don't pretend as if none of these relationships somehow got you to buy in and be emotionally involved!!!!

I've asked this before: not that there is no such thing as a relationship being unhealthy, but when it becomes about shipping=promoting or always saying this is the exact sort of relationship, 1-1, that people should have in real life, what does "toxic" even mean anymore?

What is this such a catch-all term as if it perfectly encapsulates "evil"? We throw that word around as if people know exactly what you mean 100% of the time in a specific case whenever spoken when that's far from the truth or even truth-seeking. What are you specifically talking about when you say RhaenyraxDaemon or AemondxHelaena are toxic? These are all very different people and GRRM never stays with such black-white thinking.

Politics is the activities associated with making decisions in groups, or other forms of power relations among individuals, such as the distribution of resources or status. Shipping has a political interest or consciousness. ASoiaF is politics and magic and exploration of social relations as well as psychological development, which doesn't always mean that we need to "slove" bad relationships. Sometimes it's fun to indulge. Shipping can indicate what the person thinks of what should and should not be prioritized, but is not automatically an indication of moral success or failure because the characters are not JUST models of morality....they are explorations of humanity and psychology. If you cannot reason that a problematic ship should not happen in real life, you need better critical thinking skills instead of censoring people and stories that serve to make people aware.

You are basically saying people who read speculative politics should not speculate.....you've lost the battle anon. Shipping is more about liking the story or one or a few particular aspects of the ship (created by the specific circumstances that made this ship) than its canonical reality or its "healthiness" because of the implied possibilities that one speculates from it. Why would I shut all that creative thinking down for the "healthiness" of people who don't even exist, for patting myself on the back for liking the "appropriate" relationship that is closest to the real life one real people should have?! I don't need that badge.

#hotd neutrals #shipping #asoiaf shipping #westerosi age of majority #asoiaf writing #hotd writing #asoiaf asks to me #fantasy fiction #fantasy writing #fantasy vs reality #anti neutrality #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #hotd #asoiaf fandom #fandom

[faytalepsy]

Tag Game

Thank you so much for the tag @veritaserum07 and this time I even included the actual post! Great right?!

Rules: How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

-10 -> very dissuaded

0 -> don’t care either way

10 -> very enticed

nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged.

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional

Age Gap: 0/10

Can be really good….can also be really creepy…I feel like I only like it in a fantasy setting because in real life it’s somehow more creepy to read. I don’t think it affects my choice whether to read or not read a fic very much.

Codependency: 0/10

Strongly depends on my mood and the characters/setting/everything around it. Love it for my poor traumatised ships.

Enemies to lovers: 10/10

Always a good one.

Enemies With Benefits: 0/10

Again really depends on the characters tbh. Neutral opinion here. I don't care much about hate sex usually.

Fake Dating/Relationship: 0/10

I don't have much to say here. It's just not really my thing although I do like it in small doses for example just pretending for a certain event or certain situation (like kissing for cover lmao I'm so simple)

Found Family: 10/10

It's found family...

Friends To Lovers: 10/10

YES YES YES GIVE ME THE PINING AND THE LONGING AND THE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BUT I DONT WANT TO DESTROY THIS FRIENDSHIP IN CASE YOU DONT FEEL THE SAME AND AGAIN PINING PINING PINING

Friends With Benefits: 0/10

Only in connection with Friends to Lovers trope or the Friends with benefits but fuck I caught feelings damn it.

Hurt/Comfort: INFINITY/10

YES ABSOLUTE S-TIER HERE. This is my kryptonite. It never ever fails me. I feast on the pain and whump of the hurt and then bathe my soul in the comfort it is the God of all tropes.

Love Triangle: 0/10

Just not interesting to me.

Mistaken/Hidden Identity: 0/10

I'm not sure what this trope means so I put it on neutral.

Monster Fu… Relationship: -10/10

Not my kind of trope.

Obsession, Possessiveness, etc: 3/10

Entirely dependent on mood and if it's done right. I have very specific things I like and very specific things I don't like in regard to that trope so it's always a bit of an hit and miss.

Opposites (like grumpy×sunshine, etc): 0/10

Neutral really. As long as thr characters have chemistry I really don't care whether they are opposites or have the same vibe.

Poly: 0/10

I always feel that for me it's hard to get interested in a poly ship really. I can show a handful of examples maybe but none if them I read fic for. Not an outright no because U might give it a try depending on who the characters are.

Pregnancy: -10/10

NOPE. I really don’t see the appeal of this at all and I will reluctantly read it whenever it’s a small part of a bigger fic but if the whole fic is about pregnancy then it’s a nope for me.

Second Chance: 10/10

YES. Having to add Skyes comment here....especially when something forced them apart but they never lost feelings. COUGH Silrah teenage love then separation because of the war and Rosalind COUGH

Sex To Feelings: 0/10

I'm really into the pining aspect and that includes the desire building up so sex to feelings kind of takes part of that away so it's not my favorite.

Slowburn: 10/10

YES YES YES YES YES. As I mentioned before I adore the pining aspect and slow-burn has a lot of that so. YES.

Soulmates: 0/10

Not really my thing. I live for the angst and uncertainty in terms of love and the soulmates kind of takes away part of the “choosing you as my partner” . I don’t like instant love at all and too often soulmates incorporates that. But when it’s more angsty and dark then sign me up.

Tagging: @eves-da-best @crazycatfaery @rxnefairs

#ask games #trope ask #ask me

[jemmo]

reveal your watch & rewatch drama list

ty to the always lovely @snimeat for tagging me and letting me rant about the gays for a hot minute (bc let’s be real what else do i watch) 💕

watching:

21 days theory - i picked this one up bc it was there and i have time to fill while i’m off work and it was enemies to lovers so… gotta say so far im not hating it and i think the leads are cute, i just don’t care for any of this side character straightness i feel happening, hoping there’s less of that going forwards

even sun - still haven’t finished this bc what even is this show. it’s just such a weird watch and i still am not fully sure what’s going on but hey bounprem are on screen and doing stuff??? i guess???? but if this was to tide me over until between us, it didn’t work

his man - this i didn’t expect to get into bc im not normally a reality tv fan but man am i invested. something about how shy and almost awkward they all are around each other and now slowly becoming more comfortable and getting closer, it’s just so fun to watch and i cant stop my stupid grin the whole time. also changyu supremacy

mama gogo - this is one of the first non-bl gmmtv shows I’ve followed week to week and omg am i glad I have. It’s just so much fun, the characters and their storylines are fun and interesting, the dancing is cheesy but you can tell they’re just having the best time and i have cried at multiple eps. just so much heart in such a fun series, i love it here

merry queer - very behind on this but it’s an interesting watch and i just wanna support what it’s doing. but also hani

minato shouji coin laundry - oh my beloved. this show has wormed its way into my heart and set up shop there. i might just be a little bit obsessed with shin and his bold, forthright flirting and how he can go from so confident and driven to so hurt and in need of love and attention. and i think the story they’re telling is very interesting, esp with minato and how he shows this post-high school queer experience that we rarely ever see, and how those experiences affect you going into adulthood. plus it’s just cute and soft and the vibes are so welcome, it’s a show i wanna snuggle

the eclipse - what else needs to be said. confident rebel gay meets uptight golden-boy gay panic in a enemies to lovers plot shrouded in supernatural mystery and system oppression. sign me the fuck up. can’t wait to see first and khao act their asses off and have their moment to shine.

vice versa - whenever im watching this show im just having the best time and that’s what i love. jimmy and sea are just the most adorable pair to watch and the series has such lovely styling and cinematography and a vibe that’s so considered and adds to the atmosphere and story so much that i can’t not be in love with it. and im so ready to dive deeper into what this story is gonna give us

war of Y - this is kind of messy but it’s too early for me to tell if it’s in a good or bad way yknow?? i didn’t watch scoy nor do i know much about it but the mains seem to have good chemistry, but also we’ve kind of just been thrown in to this world where stuff is happening and it’s kind of hard to understand what everyone’s deal is, esp when you can’t read any of the texts and such

extraordinary attorney woo - back in kdrama land! watched ep 1 a couple of days ago bc my sister wants my mom to watch it and it was cute, so yay for a good family watch

bad buddy - i can’t believe we’ve made it to this point, but both my sisters only have ep 12 to watch now and then the big bad buddy rewatch and experience for them is over. it’s been so much fun sharing this with ppl and reliving everything I felt for those 12 weeks through them again. god i miss it so much and this show will never not impress and move and amaze me, you wonderful creature

my only 12% - this was a cute surprise actually. i have no clue where the story is going bc I’ve gone in blind but santaearth have a fantastic dynamic and act so naturally with each other that it’s just fun to watch even when nothing is really happening.

starting soon:

the only thing i’ll be starting soon is whatever i try to get my sisters to watch after bad buddy. the current candidates are probably blueming, to my star and maybe kinnporsche if i can handle watching that content with someone else (but my sisters are both smut fic writers, it’s water off a fucks back to them) but any recs or votes are welcome lol

i know im late on this one but I’ll just tag @seeking-moonscapes @talaypuens and @dribs-and-drabbles so i can peek at what your watching and your thoughts on them bc im nothing if not nosy 😁😁

#i should rlly start tagging these game things but I’m so lazy with that kind of stuff #ugh #tag games #i guess #but also I love having so much to watch at the moment #and I’ve been re-binging stuff bc I have free time and it’s just like #i love being in my cozy queer media bubble

[weepingvoidpenguin]

Unfortunately Yours

Summary: When you and Bucky successfully infiltrate a HYDRA auction, you’re told to stay another day due to max capacity on the jet. But how are you going to survive a night alone with this insufferable Super Soldier? Especially considering the miniscule size of the room and the obvious dilemma presented; who gets the bed?

Warning: S M U T , the smuttiest thing I’ve ever written, language, spit kink, daddy kink, ptsd symptoms, slight voyeurism, slight exhibitionism, hate-s e x, rough, more like enemies-to-lovers kind of thing, gagging, m!receiving, f!receiving, lots of receiving lol, 18+, M

Word Count: 10.6K (Whhhyyyyy)

   Your body burned with exhaustion and the sheer weight of your extremities felt enough to drag you to the floor and mirror a coma with the length of your hibernation. You no longer had the minimal strength required to pick up your feet properly which resulted in the sound of shuffling to fill the small, and by small you meant miniscule, room you’d been assigned to. 

   Well, you and Bucky had been assigned to.

   You’d both played your parts well enough over the course of the last few hours. You’d sauntered into the ran-shacked looking bar with Bucky’s arm tossed lazily over your shoulder, his distaste for the assignment evident on his face, but he’d cleared it away the second his foot crossed the threshold. He pulled you in tighter to his body and raised his chin into the air, emitting the energy of a man not to be trifled with. You’d portrayed your role as a damsel just as, if not more, convincing as Barnes’ opposite. Your shoulders hunched over and your steps were small and quivering, the wig on your head a tool used to curtain the hair in your face. 

   You were the lamb to this White Wolf.

   Word had traveled through the dark and twisted grapevine that a certain showing of sorts took place tonight and a high-ranking target was rumored to be amongst its audience. You and Barnes were on the first flight to Germany within minutes.

   Bucky had pulled you through the crowd moving along to the thundering music in the background and halted at the edge of the bar. His grip on your shoulder tightened once he’d caught the man’s attention and you winced, his fingers digging a little too deep for your liking.

   The bartender scanned you over and took in your frame, making you feel smaller than you had already displayed yourself to be. It took him a while to conclude but when he took in Bucky’s domineering gaze, a look as if to say Deny me, I dare you, he nodded once and wrote something down on a napkin, sliding it over to Bucky.

   Scum. All of them. 

   You nearly blew your cover trying to throw Bucky a look but you refrained from the hellfire clawing its way out of you. You had to be perfectly in control, emotions and beliefs aside. You were a damsel and you had to make certain they believed that. You knew they were watching; they always were.

   “Relax,” Bucky hissed, pulling you under his arm and bringing his lips to your ear.

   “When you pretend you’re the one being put up for auction, then you can tell me to relax,” you muttered, never looking up from the ground.

   “I have been.” When you paused your movement, he pulled away to scan the room, “Nothing’s gonna happen to you. I promise.” He led you backstage and turned the corner to a dimly lit hallway, barren of any decoration in sharp contrast to every other section of the building, “Besides, once they realize how insufferable you are, they’ll be begging me to take you back,”

   He opened an iron door and pushed you into the room, sending you tumbling down onto the carpet. He tsked, stepping over you and not looking back after shutting the door behind himself. You counted thirteen pairs of feet and judging by the way some of them were turned towards you, they had to be watching. You observed your hands for a second, counting slowly until you figured you’d stalled long enough and sent your trembling gaze to the exit. Bucky let out a low chuckle and clasped his hand around your upper arm, launching you back onto your feet and twisting your body to face him.

   Oh, darling, German fluently escaped his tongue and you nearly rolled your eyes at the condescending tone settled in his words, You know better than that, don’t you?

   His hold tightened and you winced, holding back the whimper in your throat. If you saw any hint of a bruise forming on your arm, you would give him hell later . . . and possibly even if you didn’t.

   You bit your tongue and let him lead you towards a leather chair before he pulled you swiftly down onto his lap where his hand remained on your thigh, brushing the inside softly. Had you not been so annoyed, you’d have been humiliated at all the stares devouring the scene unfolding before them. 

   Good girl, he drawled and pressed your back flat up against his chest where he could put you on display.

   You knew you should’ve been annoyed, or at least settled so into your role as his temporary whore-for-sale that the sensation coming alive between your thighs shouldn’t have made an appearance. But sometimes, the way Bucky brought his voice down real low and cooed an insult or jest your way just had an affect that your body would not deny. It kept you awake a lot.

   Instead, you swallowed hard and let yourself be splayed against him. You ignored the scent of sandalwood in his cologne.

   Your body trembled from the cold breeze floating around in the room and you shifted in Bucky’s lap to block everyone’s sight from the way your chest reacted to the change in temperature.

   Don’t be shy, he murmured and removed your arms from your breasts, letting the thin, practically see-through fabric show you to the world.

   “Buc-” You started, your panic creeping through the cracks at the cheshire sneers sent your way, but at the first sign of your discomfort, he retracted his hands and twisted you around gently, throwing your legs over the side of the chair and spreading them but forcing your upper half to face him. Effectively, cutting your chest off from their line of sight.

   You trembled out a sigh and he grabbed your face tightly, drawing your eyes to his. He examined you, his hardened gaze shouting words he couldn’t currently say. But you understood. He could be a jerk, but he wasn’t a bad man.

   Your body instinctively leaned into him for warmth as another breeze engulfed you, resulting in a shiver that made its way up your spine. “Are they still looking?” you inquired and he gripped your neck with a ferocity that made you squirm in his lap. Fuck.

   He pulled your ear to his lips and licked the helix. You whimpered. “No,” he whispered, running his thumb along your jawline, “But if you don’t quit fucking squirming you’re gonna have a problem, Doll,”

   You opened your mouth in question when you felt a sudden twitch on your backside and you swallowed. Hard. He never broke eye contact with you, instead choosing to raise a brow in mocking. Your chest heaved up and down and how you could feel his breath grazing on your cheek almost had you rubbing your legs together for some form of desperate friction. No, you had to keep yourself composed, keep the act going. But he’d seen it. All of it.

   You nod your head and slowed your breathing down until he released his grip around your throat and turned his attention towards the dim stage. You leaned back into him and followed suit, making sure to keep your attention downcast and appear disheveled. 

   “There,” Bucky whispered after a few minutes and you lifted your head only to find the man you had come all this way for walking straight towards you.

   Like a moth to a flame.

   “How much?” The older man inquired, his grotesque gaze settled on your spread legs.

   Bucky looked up at the balding man as if this was the first time he’d noticed his presence, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you?” 

   The man lifted his brow, or what would’ve been, and smiled wickedly, “I’ll give you double your price if you give her to me now,” he offered, his eyes slithering up to the apex of your thighs and this time you didn’t have to fake the shiver running up your spine. 

   A small smirk formed on Bucky’s face and he waved his hand dismissively at him, “Get in line,”

   The old man sneered but Bucky was right, most everyone had their attention fixated on what was happening currently and it was apparent there was, indeed, a line. 

   Bucky rested his gloved hand on your upper thigh and gripped tight, whether to refrain from hitting the guy or just to touch you, he wasn’t sure but he couldn’t keep you away when the man said, “I’ll give you four times the asking price but I want her now,” 

   Bucky’s grip on your thigh tightened and you squeaked at the pain, jumping slightly in his lap. “How about I give her to you for free for ten minutes and you tell me if you can handle her,”

   You jerked your head towards Bucky and furrowed your brows. Free? Dick. You nearly scoffed.

   The man gripped onto your calf and you shifted to kick his hand away when Bucky’s own shot out and and ripped his off of you, “Don’t touch my stuff,” he spit and the man let out a yell but that only spurred Bucky on and he tightened his fist, “Until terms are agreed upon, she remains mine to do with as I please. Understood?”

   The man nodded hastily and Bucky threw you off his lap when he stood up. “Anyone else?” Bucky shouted to the room, daring others to test his limits when it came to you. After a few moments of silence Bucky scoffed, “I didn’t fucking think so,”

   Bucky’s grip on the man remained and he stared down at the hunched figure, “Now, you,” he addressed and the room remained silent. This was allowed here. 

   Normally, merchandise couldn’t be touched until it was purchased. No buying before the auction, no discussing what you’re offering, no negotiating but most importantly don’t try to steal from anyone. These are criminals and that being said, they handle things amongst themselves. They know the rules and the risks they take breaking them.

   So, when Bucky drags the poor bastard away, you follow right behind him. Not a protest to be heard. Bucky throws open the door we entered through and finds the nearest room before chucking the HYDRA agent inside and locking the door behind you. 

   The room was brightly lit, with all four walls a dull cream color and dark brown couches strewn casually about. There’s no real order to this place. All cement corners and LED bulbs. Pure business. 

   “Let ‘em know,” Bucky orders and you turn around to argue only to find the man pulling a gun out of his jacket pocket.

   You jerk suddenly and kick Bucky square in the stomach, launching him towards one of the couches just as a shot rings out. You blanch at the sound, the noise filling your head and drowning everything else out. You hear yelling but you can’t make out the words, only the panic intermingled within them. Your hand reaches out around you and you grip the small button lined into your thin clothing, pressing it four times how you’d been instructed.

   Everything moved slowly and people began filing into the room. How did they get here so fast? No. It wasn’t possible, they were a quarter mile down the road, there was no way they were your backup. 

   Hands began flying in the air and you were picked up and dropped multiple times, each time landing harder than the last. You tried to blink back the spinning but the blows landing on your face and torso made it all the worse. 

   Instinctively, you threw your hands up to protect your face and fought to find some footing to help. Bucky was good but he wasn’t a God, he would need help. When the first blow met your forearms you reached out to grasp the hand and used your other to drive your fist right into the person’s nose. The bone crunched under your blow.

   You took a hit, then another when you managed to analyze the enemy’s fight pattern and waited until he left himself open before driving your knee into his rib cage. He bent over in pain and you grabbed him by the hair, hearing another crack when you shoved your elbow upwards against his nose. 

   You heard a shout and whipped your head over to see Bucky on his back, a looming figure with a gun aimed straight towards him. You galvanized towards them and threw yourself in the air, using your weight to kick him off of Bucky when another shot rang out. 

   Bucky shot up and crushed the gun with his metal arm. You scoured the room for the familiar HYDRA agent but found him nowhere. You shot out of the room, knocking into an opposing wall as you turned the corner and ducked when the sound of a bullet whizzed past you. 

   This is not going good. You had lost your target and rummaged through room after room until you’d become lost. Fuck. Where the hell did he run off to? You winced after breaking out into a sprint but pressed on, not allowing yourself to slow down. There was no way you were going to fail this mission, especially after coming so close to success.

   Sweat trailed down your face and your muscles screamed at you to halt, their exhaustion beginning to wear you down. Your breathing grew rapid and your vision blurred and just as you went to lean on a wall to rest, your shoulder exploded out in pain and you collapsed with a cry.

   “Dirty whore,” the HYDRA man seethed, a cane raised over his head. He brought it down and you spun to the side, feeling the air breeze past your ear.

   Your hand latched onto the cane and you shoved it into his gut, pushing him away. SHIELD wanted this guy alive, so alive they would receive him. That didn’t mean he had to come in one piece though. 

   You tore the walker out of his hand just as he tumbled onto his ass. You stood up, grunting along the way and hovered over his body, fear sprawled along his features. 

   “You can either stay still or get beat with your own cane, it’s your choice,” you offered, aching to bring the walker down onto his face. “Please test me. Please.” You begged.

   His gaze shifted between you and the weapon and he brought his trembling hands up in defeat. He must’ve been an agent of some Intelligence branch because his fighting abilities were evidently subpar at best.

   You sighed, sad to see the opportunity go but brought the cane down none the less. “That’s unfortunate,”

   You turned your attention to the sound of running coming around the corner and moved to drag and hide your captive in a nearby closet only to roll your eyes when Bucky came ‘round. You tossed the cane back and forth between your hands and smiled proudly towards the agent on the floor.

   “Look who I caught,” you toyed and were met with a grunt.

   “Only because you let him get away,” he retorted, pulling the balding man up to his feet.

   Everything began to slow and the hellfire you’d kept under mounds of ice had finally melted through its freezing cage. “What?”

   He turned his back towards you and trudged the hesitant man behind him towards the exit.

   “I said,” you hollered, not caring how the halls carried your echo, “What?”

   “I heard what you said,” he called back to you, not bothering to turn around.

   And there you were left, frozen and dumbfounded for five solid minutes before you could pull yourself together enough to stomp your way back towards the rendezvous point. You remained hazy for the most part while debriefing. You tried to recount everything but the way your anger engulfed you in its flame obscured your memory so you kept it short. 

   It was quickly brought up that SHIELD captured more HYDRA agents than expected and were gonna be at max capacity so you and Bucky had to stay at a base a few miles down the road. You grumbled in compliance but Bucky didn’t respond, not even a godforsaken grunt.

   What SHIELD had failed to mention though, was that this bunker was clearly meant for one. It barely counted as a room. There was a small bathroom in the corner just big enough for a shower and toilet. No sink. And a small counter with just enough space for a stove, microwave and radio. If you were to lay down vertically or horizontally you’d nearly be touching wall each way. Not to mention the singular bed.

   And that’s how you got to where you were now. Miniscule room. Exhausted body. Drained mind. Patience long gone. 

   You huffed and dropped your bag in front of the entrance before walking to the bathroom and turning to slam the door closed. You turned the faucet on and ripped the wig off, discarding your clothes in a pile before stepping into the shower. The warm water was nice and welcoming but your body already felt aflame so you twisted the knob and held your breath when the cold stream trickled down your body. It was difficult to breathe at first, but your body soon adjusted to the temperature and you began wiping the muck off your skin with the bar of soap supplied. But that’s all the was supplied. Clearly, this place was meant to be a quick pit stop. 

   You sat on the hard floor as the water streamed onto your body. You could nearly fall asleep to its rhythm; It was only when your head hit the wall that you realized you were so you begrudgingly stood up and shut off the water. You grabbed the only towel in the bathroom and pat yourself dry, noticing just then that you left your clothes outside.

   You let out a long sigh and twisted open the doorknob to find Bucky toying with the radio on the counter; not even purposefully, just looking for something to do while he waited. 

   You opened your mouth to ask him to hand you your bag but after what he said to you earlier you’d sooner eat hot coals than ask him to do anything for you. You stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped neatly around your chest and you bent over to open your bag. The shuffling on the radio stopped. 

   “You could’ve at least left me some warm water,” he grumbled and you rolled your eyes.

   You searched in your bag for the fresh clothes residing there only to turn around when you found them and have the bathroom door shut in your face. 

   “Are you fucking kidding me?” You shouted, pounding your fist against the door.

   You could hear the water running and you groaned, pounding harder. The door opened for a split second and you were hit in the face with the clothes you’d left inside only for it to instantly be slammed shut again.

   You punched the door with all the frustration built up over the past few hours and felt the wood crack with your force. Why did this man have to be incredibly baffling? You were not nearly paid enough to deal with such an unbearable partner. He would have you bald from stress before you knew it. 

   You spent the next few minutes grumbling to yourself after you changed and scribbled your frustration onto a small notebook you took with you everywhere. It was only when you heard the water shut off did you remember something. You still had the only towel. A villainous smirk tugged at your lips and you placed the folded towel on the edge of the bed, away from the door.

   Then you heard the creak. “I will walk out naked if you don’t give me the towel,” Bucky threatened.

   You shrugged despite him not being able to see you from your position on the bed, “I’ll just laugh at your dick,” 

   “You weren’t laughing earlier,” he shot back.

   Oh. So he did remember. Good. You thought he’d gotten amnesia within the past few hours, maybe he was just too ashamed to mention it.

   “Too disgusted to insult. Plus, I was playing a character,”

   “Fine,” he responded and quickly came into view, haughtily sauntering over to your side and you shouted.

   “Dear God!” You held the towel up to block your sight of his barren body. It was disgusting. He was all wet, hair dripping onto his muscled torso, water gleaming off his taut skin, 5 o’clock shadow drenched and straight out of a wet dream. Jesus.

   “Prude,” he commented, snatching the towel from your grasp and wrapping it around himself. 

   “Respectable,” you corrected, crossing your arms and shoving him away. “You get the floor,”

   He lifted his duffle off the ground and rummaged through it. “Then I get the blanket,”

   “You get fuck all,” you stated, flipping off the lamp beside you and snuggling into the warm cot.

   When the shuffling stopped and the bathroom light was shut off, you shut your eyes and let the wear of the day grab at you, lulling you into the beginning of slumber. That is, until the blanket was hauled from around you, damn near throwing you onto the floor. You shouted out and caught yourself last minute. 

   “Barnes!” You yelled, steadying yourself and reaching over the edge to grab the blanket back. Your hand fisted at the faux fur and you pulled with all your might to no avail. 

   He swatted you away as though you were a pesky fly and reached over to turn the light of the lamp on. You glowered at him and stood, wrapping the blanket around your arm and pulling upwards. Your arm strained to its capacity but the man on the floor didn’t budge. Only turned his back to you and shut his eyes. You reached over yourself and flipped the switch of the lamp, once again immersing yourself in the comforting darkness. 

   Bucky stiffened and opened his eyes then turned and froze you in your spot with his stare. He reached around and lit the lamp, slowly retracting his arm and daring you to turn it off again. So you did.

   He yanked the blanket from your grasp and threw you back onto the bed, bringing light into the room. “Light stays on,” he growled.

   “No! You’ve had your goddamn way since you stepped foot into this room. Light goes off and I get the blanket!” You shouted, not concerned about anyone else hearing considering the room was soundproof.

   “No. You get the bed so I get the blanket. Tell me how that doesn’t make sense,” he countered.

   You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that it did, in fact, make sense. The floor here was wooden and clearly uncomfortable, plus he hadn’t even argued about the bed situation. 

   You retreated, “Fine, light still goes off,”

   “No,” 

   “Yes,” 

   Silence fell between the two of you but you weren’t budging. Barnes had faced plenty of monsters, he could handle the dark. 

   “I need the noise to fall asleep,” he admitted and it was then you could hear the slight hum the bulb emitted.

   You didn’t speak for a while but reared back and pulled out your phone, “What do you want to listen to?” You scrolled through a few sounds you had stored on your phone, “We’ve got: nature sounds, frequencies, guided meditations, etc. You name it, but I’m not sleeping with this forsaken light on,”

   Bucky studied you, his expression changing a mile a minute but the one of indifference conquered, “Rain,” 

   You nodded once and selected the audio, placing the phone face up on the nightstand and turning the light off for the last time. Hopefully. You hunkered down into the thin mattress and reached down, grasping at the thick blanket. When you pulled, there was some give. He’d let you get just enough needed to cover your body if you laid at the very edge and your hand hovered in the air when you laid your arm over the side.

   Minutes flew by with your eyes shut and the exhaustion slithered over your body but your mind ran wild with the events from earlier. You tried not to get angry or sad or . . . bothered. Your breathing deepened when you began to succumb to your body’s fatigue and you drifted inch by inch into the welcoming void lulling your name.

   You didn’t hear when he shifted, only managed to register the faint tracing of his fingertips on your hand before finally giving out.

   You weren’t sure what time it was when you opened your eyes for the first time that night. This regularly happened. You’d wake up multiple times during the night to shift positions or throw off the sheets, no matter how insignificant the desire, your body always found a way to wake you for it.

   You opened your eyes slowly to a hazy vision and blinked at the sitting figure on the floor, “Bucky?” You croaked, bringing a hand up to wipe at your face, “What time is it?”

   “It’s almost one, go back to sleep,”

   “What are you doing?” You persisted, ignoring his demand and sitting up slowly, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

   “Couldn’t,” 

   A heartbeat. Then another. And another. He didn’t care to elaborate.

   “Do you want the bed?” You offered, stretching yourself out and already placing yourself down on the floor, “It’s too hot up there, anyway,”

   His attention turned to you for the first time but you’d already began closing your eyes, not really having the energy to argue with him. You could hear shuffling from his spot and the ground disappeared below you, strong hands grasping your body and lifting you up to place you gently back onto the cot.

   “I prefer the floor,” he insisted, wrapping the blanket around you, “Besides, you’re a horrendous liar,”

   You didn’t hold back the singular chuckle, your haze still enveloping you. “Then why aren’t you sleeping?”

   He sat at the foot of the bed, his hand hovering over your leg in hesitation, “It’s complicated.” He dropped his hand to his side.

   “Isn’t the rain helping?” you mumbled, your sight now adjusting to the dark.

   “Yes,”

   “Then what?” 

   “I just . . . don’t want to wake you,”

   “Well, I’m already awake if that makes you feel better,” you jeered, a small smile forming on your lips.

   “It doesn’t,”

   “Nothing does,” you retorted, the inevitable annoyance you always felt when conversing with him already made its way up into your tone.

   He scoffed and stood from the bed, placing himself in the same spot on the floor with his head leaned up against the wall and his arm resting on his perched knee. 

   “Oh, so now you can’t handle a little attitude,” your tone came out incredulous, “You didn’t have any issues earlier when you blamed me for that guy’s escape. Which, he didn’t even get to do, might I add,”

   “I was projecting,” he replied, gaze still focused on the door opposite to him.

   You blinked, “Are you so tired that you’re actually admitting to being a dick?”

   “I know I can be a dick, but you threw yourself straight into the line of fire twice today. So I don’t really give a shit if I was mean to you,”

   “I only did that because you almost got shot twice today. Don’t take your anger out on me for your incompetence. Just say ‘thank you’ and move on already,”

   “Incompetence?” His head jerked in your direction. “What was incompetent was that you couldn’t keep yourself composed,”

   You sat up. “What in the hell are you talking about? My behavior is what got our target to basically give himself up to us! It was me that trapped him, not you!” His composure tensed and you crossed your arms over your chest, “You’re just mad your dick got hard so if anything you’re the one who couldn’t keep their compos-” His hand was wrapped around your throat and you were pinned to the mattress before you could finish your sentence.

   “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed at you, his face mere inches from yours.

   “Why?” You spoke hoarsely around his tightening grip, “Does the Big Bad Wolf not like that he was turned on? Who’s the prude now?”

   “Turned on?” He spat, his free hand resting by your head to cage you in, “You think what you did earlier turned me on?”

   You grasped at the hand around your throat and pried slightly to speak, “Fight me or fuck me, Barnes. But stop lying to yourself, it’s getting old,”

   The room seemed to freeze over and Bucky paused. His hesitation was enough to elicit the fire from earlier and your legs squirmed a little underneath him. God, you hoped he chose the latter.

   Then his lips crashed against yours. 

   You squeaked at the sudden onslaught but threw your arms around his shoulders and pulled him in tighter against you. He dropped when you intertwined your legs, his full weight pressing against you deliciously. You ground up against him, your core aching from the previous hours and the small friction elicited a moan from the both of you. 

   “So impatient,” he scolded, bringing the hand from around your throat down to your hips and pressing you into the bed. “What a whore,”

   His breath danced along your cheek and you mewled at his words. Gods, he was going to be the death of you. Or the beginning. 

   You breathed in deeply, his sandalwood scent intoxicating you in a manner that alcohol never could. When you drank, you were just drunk. But when you took a sip from the tall glass that was Bucky, it brought you to life. Your body sang melodies wherever you were plastered against each other and your skin burned with need.

   Touch me, your body screamed, touch me.

   “Fuck off,” you groaned and Bucky jerked your head to the side, exposing your neck for him to scavenge.

   The goosebumps that danced across your skin when he ran his warm tongue up from the curve of your neck to the bottom of your ear brought an arrogant smirk onto Bucky’s face. You ran your fingers through his hair and tugged when he reached a particularly sensitive spot that had your legs shaking when he kissed it sloppily. 

   Your mouth hung open in silent pleasure and your breaths were short and rapid, your body betraying all forms of control you previously had over yourself. The hand that wasn’t residing in his hair trailed down his muscled arm and you gripped at the brawn this man possessed. His skin reminisced lightly of silk despite the rough texture of his hands. 

  The same hands that now made its way into your hair and tugged at the strands at the base of your neck, jolting your chin higher into the air. Your grip tightened around his biceps and the strength they emitted sent a pool rushing to your core. You continued hunting until you found the hem of his black, cotton shirt and you made your way up his taut abdomen. You let out a sigh and he jumped lightly at the sensation of your cool fingertips across his scorching skin. It was a nice contrast for him. 

   You gripped at the shirt and hastily ripped the cotton upward. Bucky broke away from his descent down to your chest to let you remove the fabric and you’d suddenly wished you’d turned the lights on first. He mimicked your action and tossed your shirt in a deserted corner of the room to potentially be abandoned. You gasped when the cold air of the room grazed upon the perked mounds of your breasts. 

   His lips returned to their spot on the dip of your neck and his tongue slithered down in between your breasts. Your breath hitched when his wet muscle made its way up to the apex of your chest. His right hand mirrored his tongue and swirled around your nipple, his teeth pulling eagerly every so often and you hissed at the delectable pain. Your eyes devoured the scene unfolding on your chest and you reached over to flick the light on, desperate for a clearer image.

   Bucky halted and his metal arm reached over to switch the light back off but you swatted his hand away and he backed up lightly, his irritation evident on his face.

   “I want to watch,” you grumbled and shifted up to bring your lips back up to his. He let you. He pushed back lightly with his own lips and leaned in sync with your movements. He parted his mouth slightly and you followed suit, letting him lead his way into yours with the same muscle he’d just had flicking across your breasts.

   The light went off.

   You pushed him away and shot towards the switch but metal met your wrist firmly enough to keep you in place. “Bucky.” You wrestled against his hold and turned your full attention back to the figure hovering above, “I want to see you,” 

   Despite the darkness, you noticed his mouth twitch but his grip on your wrist remained solid. You sprawled back onto the bed and wrapped your free hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down onto you, pressing his surprisingly soft lips onto yours. You broke apart, his lips a hair’s breadth away from your own. “I want to see you,” 

   He didn’t move, only scanned your face over a few times and you brought him back down into a kiss. This one wasn’t like before. This one was warm, soft, patient. A ballet compared to its previous mosh pit. He danced along with you, an admission hidden somewhere in his tenderness.

   You hadn’t realized you’d been freed of his hold until you were wrapping that arm over his shoulder and the sound of a light humming began.

   “Fucker,” you jeered and the previous gentleness dissipated.

   “Shut up,” he ordered, pinning you back onto the bed and resumed his ministration on your breasts.

   The moan slipped past your lips at the sight and your chest heaved upwards, desperate for more stimulation. You licked your lips at how his mouth encased your nipple, his tongue flicking against the perked skin and you dropped your head back, shutting your eyes. You centered all of your attention anywhere that his bare skin touched your body and rubbed your aching clit against his v-line. 

   Your chest was pressed against the mattress before you could register what happened and the hard smack that met your ass evoked a yelp. Bucky pressed fully against your backside and he ground his dick down into your ass. He groaned at the sensation and you raised your ass onto him. You yelped again when Bucky ripped your leggings down and smacked the exposed skin on your ass.

   “Try something like that again and I’ll gag you around my cock ‘til you’re crying,” he growled, “Understood?”

   You nodded, wide-eyed and a mewling mess from the threatening promise of this God. 

   “Good girl,” he cooed, rubbing at the raw skin. “Now stay still for Daddy,”

  Bucky’s hand lingered on your reddening ass and the mattress dipped when he shifted to your side. He traced gentle circles onto your backside and pressed his lips on your shoulder blade, the butterfly kisses making their way down towards your spine and then lower. Your breathing grew uneven from the sheer amount of restraint you displayed. Your grip on the edge of the bed tightened when his tongue dragged from the point where your thigh and ass met all the way up to the bottom of your spine.

   “Fuck,” You shuddered, white-knuckling the blanket beneath you.

   Your skin blazed when you were met with another harsh slap. You mewled at the sensation, loving the fire that spread across your flesh and relaxed when his metal hand cooled the area. 

   Then his teeth bit into the cooling flesh and you jerked away despite yourself. Bucky tsked lowly and you chuckled at the hint of fear sprouting in your chest; you did not want to see whatever sinister expression resided on his face. 

   A strong hand gripped the roots of your hair and hauled you up. You followed his direction and knelt onto the ground between Bucky’s sprawled out legs, settling in your new position.

   “Oh, Doll,” he chastised, “you were so close,”

   “That shouldn’t count,” you retorted while Bucky pulled the blanket off the bed and lifted you up with his metal arm, shoving the barrier between your knees and the hard ground.

   “But it does.” His hands dove into his underwear and sprung his cock out onto your lips. “Now get to work,”

   Your eyes widened at the sight before you and you had to physically hold back from gulping. You were ashamed to admit your mouth watered in anticipation. You lifted your hands from his sculpted thighs and wrapped them around his length, enveloping just the tip past your parted lips. Bucky sighed and twitched in your mouth.

   You welcomed him in fully, or as much as you could anyway, and got straight to work, not bothering to act abashed at your desire. Your tongue swirled around his tip and you leaned into him until he hit the back of your mouth but you continued on, gagging around him when he’d gotten inside your throat. Bucky groaned when your throat tightened around him and he threw his head back, using his flesh hand to guide you up and down his shaft, showing you what he liked and didn’t. 

   “Fuck, Doll,” he groaned, “Just how I imagined your mouth would feel,”

   You pulled off him to comment when he shoved you all the way down to the hilt and you threw your hands up onto his thighs to hold yourself back. He used his metal arm to hold himself up and thrusted up into your salivating mouth desperately. He continuously hit the back of your throat and thick saliva coated his cock. Just as he promised, tears prickled at the corners of your eyes and he didn’t stop until your cheeks were drenched in the liquid.

   You let your jaw hang open, your tongue no longer swiveling around meticulous spots that you knew would make his legs buckle. No, you let him have the reigns. Let him fuck your mouth ‘til your throat grew bruised and jaw ached with fatigue. You committed his cries of pleasure to memory, the sounds euphoric to your ears. 

   He lifted his head and stared down at you with half-closed eyes. He was in heaven and you knew it. He watched you, how the tears trailed down, how your hands gripped at his thighs, how you stuck out your tongue just as you’d made it to the base of his cock to lick his balls in the most intoxicating way. Fuck. You were the intoxicating one. You brought out this side of him. This carnal desire that became him until he’d had to step out of the room just to compose himself. And he didn’t like being out of control. That’s why he always kept you at an arm’s distance.

   But now, watching as you sat between him with your mouth agape like the good girl that you were for him, he knew he’d never deny himself this pleasure again. Especially since you were so fucking good at it.

   He groaned, pulling you off his cock and grabbed tightly at your cheeks, nearly pinching your mouth together. “Tongue out.” He growled, waiting for your compliance.

   Your jaw ached with exhaustion but you managed to stick out the wet muscle as he pulled you closer into him and watched when he parted his lips above you, letting the saliva trail down from his mouth into yours. 

   “Swallow,” he ordered.

   But it was already done, and you left your mouth hanging open for more.

   “Jesus fucking Christ,” Bucky grumbled, putting his face right up against yours and feeding you once again; this time with a sloppy kiss that coated both your mouths in saliva.

   He brought you up from the floor and tossed you onto the bed before settling between your legs. The excitement in your eyes grew and he indulged in every minute of it. Bucky’s hand trailed down from your lower abdomen right above your pubic bone and pressed his palm into your neglected clit. The cry you let out was the unholiest thing he’d ever heard. 

   He slid his finger under the waistband of your underwear and flitted his gaze back up to your eyes, “Can I?”

   You nodded eagerly, dumbfounded that he would even ask and fought the temptation to grab your phone from the nightstand and record everything that was about to unfold. 

   At the first nod, Bucky slid your underwear down your legs and made a show of bringing the material up to his face. Your own went red hot and you hid behind your hands, poking through every millisecond to shamefully watch. He threw the panties into his open duffel and you squirmed in anticipation.

   “Remember the rules?” Bucky asked, brow lifted and already descending to your inner thigh.

   You nodded again.

   “I need to hear it, Doll,” he mumbled, kissing the inner part of your thigh, each placement closer and closer to where you needed him most.

   “Yes,” you whimpered out, “I remember the rules,”

   Bucky wanted to dive right in, he really did, but the way you sprawled yourself out so vulnerable for him, it incited a new pace that he wanted to follow. So, he did. He looked at you for a few moments, watched how the anticipation danced in your eyes, how your legs shook in wait and how you were already so goddamn wet for him.

   “This all for me?” he teased, mesmerized at your desire for him.

   You dropped a hand down to your side, near where his hands were wrapped around your thighs to keep you in place - and against his face. He cocked his head to the side, waiting for your answer.

   You nodded sheepishly and when he lifted an eyebrow in mock confusion you said, “You. Just you,”

   Like music to his ears. Just him. You weren’t for anyone else. He thought he felt his heart palpitate.

   He lowered himself down to your core and kissed your lip, drawing a desperate plea from you. You couldn’t wait anymore, couldn’t deal with the teasing. You were wet enough, needy enough, ready enough to take him, all of him. You’d been ready damn near the moment you first laid eyes on his arrogant smirk.

   “Buck - please,” you cried, drawling out the final word.

   The first kiss placed upon your soaked cunt erupted a sigh of relief and you laid back on the pillow, your eyes closed and mind gone with the sensation of those sloppy kisses blessing your needs. He flattened his tongue on your lips and licked upwards, stopping when your hips twitched into his mouth.

   “Sorry!” You apologized, fighting the desire to grind into his wet muscle. He’d just gotten started and you certainly didn’t want it to end so soon.

   He lifted his gaze up to you and you bit into your fist at the view, using the extremity to hold back your moans. He flicked his attention down again and repeated his motion, lapping at your fluids ‘til his beard was soaked in it. He shook his head into your cunt and his nose rubbed along your clit. The mewling that left your mouth urged him on and when you felt his muscle prodding at your entrance you threw your head back.

   “Please, Bucky.” You begged, bringing a hand up to tease your nipple.

   He prodded some more, his tongue gliding up from your clit and back down to your entrance, poking through enough to frustrate you. He wanted you to break for him. To lose all composure and control and just let him. He wanted you to submit to him but it wasn’t just that, it was more that he wanted to destroy you for any future experience you may have without him. He wanted you to come back to him, to need him, to beg for him and leave you with the understanding that nothing - no one - could compare to him. He wanted you. To himself. 

   So, when he could no longer refrain and had to use his metal arm to hold your hips down from squirming beneath him, he slipped two thick, rough fingers into your begging cunt. And the sound you emitted caused that carnal instinct to claw at the barriers caging it in.

   Your hand shot down, tangling itself into his hair and pushing him harder against you. He allowed it. Your thighs held him in place, crushing him with your soft skin and he groaned at the warmth you gave off. You pulled your hand away from your mouth and grabbed at his metal one resting on your pubic bone, pulling it up to your chest and wrapping his fingers on the sensitive bud for him to tease. He slowly retracted from your chest and brought it back down onto your hips and you huffed in annoyance. You looked down at Bucky but his eyes were shut, completely engrossed in the feast before him. You bucked when his fingers glazed across that sensitive spot inside your velvety walls.

   “There!” You cried, your fist tightening in his hair when the all-too-familiar wave of ecstasy began to pool together, waiting for its release.

   Bucky complied, dragging the pads of his fingers up against that spot over and over again. Your legs caged him in tighter as his tongue swirled over the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves and you cried out at the way your body tensed.

   “Fuck,” you cried, your hands desperately grasping onto Bucky’s metal wrist and tugging at the roots of his hair. Bucky’s groan of pleasure was what tipped you over the edge.

   You gasped when the pool building released, your body shaking with euphoria and the flood crashed down onto you. And apparently, onto Bucky as well. He pulled his mouth away but continued rubbing at your clit when warm liquid squirted onto his face and his expression of surprise mirrored your own.

   When Bucky looked up at you, your face burned with embarrassment and you threw your head back, using your hand to cover your countenance. Not to mention the sight of him with your juices all over his mouth was one of the hottest things you’d ever witnessed.

   Bucky chuckled at your sheepish apology and removed your hand from your face, bringing his soaked mouth up to yours and having you taste yourself. You devoured each other, your arms wrapped tightly around the other, pulling so fiercely at the innate desire to become one in shared pleasure. He could feel his pride swell at your hidden confession. You’d never squirted before and he was lucky enough to be the one to give you that experience for the first time. 

   You clawed at him, divulging in the warmth his body radiated and intoxicating yourself in everything that was Bucky. You couldn’t get enough of it, of him. It was nearly too much.

   His hand trailed up to your gaping mouth and he inserted his fingers, “Clean them,” he ordered.

   Your hand gripped his wrist and pulled his fingers deeper into your mouth, never breaking eye contact with him, loving the way he ate up everything he was seeing. You noticed the way he swallowed.

   He retracted his hand and wrapped it gently behind your head so you were resting on him. He brought his full weight down onto your body and a warmth emanated in your chest when he brought his lips up against your forehead, each kiss closer and closer to your lips until they met their destination. When you parted your mouth against his, it wasn’t merely an action of carnal desire, it was like you were exchanging life forces. Merging and meeting in a manner that had your body exploding and crying out for more of the faint familiarity. Like seeing an old friend for the first time in years.

   Bucky looked down between your bodies at where you were about to connect before staring back up at you, taking you in as if he would never have this opportunity again. His thumb brushed your cheek and came to a rest on your bottom lip. “Ready?”

   You chuckled, “Fuck me,”

   He shoved inside in one clean motion and a breath of pleasure slid past both of your lips.

   “Fuck,” he groaned, his hand tightening slightly around your neck and he pulled out slowly then shot back inside and you moaned.

   You were still so sensitive from your previous climax that every brush against your clit sent you into a whirlwind of pleasure, the sensations shooting through every nerve in your body. 

   “Bucky,” you whined when his pace quickened and the sheer force of his thrusts drove you deeper into euphoria.

   He filled you just right, his girth and length impressive and you wondered why you hadn’t tried to screw him earlier. He slid past your tight walls, each thrust causing the room to echo with the sounds of skin slapping and moans of ecstasy. 

   He kept his actions controlled, not wanting to build up to something so intense just for it to fall short and end fast. No. Despite how good you felt wrapped around his aching and swollen cock, despite how warm and welcoming you were, how you spread yourself out for him to consume, he had to leash himself. This was going to be just as good for you as it was for him. 

   He kissed you one last time before gripping the back of your knees and bringing your thighs up to your chest, a shout of praise falling off your lips. He was drunk on the sight of his cock going in and out of your cunt and he threw his head back with a groan.

   “What a fucking pretty pussy,” he breathed out and you whimpered, biting your lip at the welcome profanities.

   At this angle, he was fucking against your g-spot and using his pubic bone to rub against your clit and watching the thin layer of sweat sheen off his skin was all too much to keep yourself put together. His eyebrows scrunched together and you caught him taking in your form, watching how your pleasure displayed itself on your face for him to bear witness to. Only him.

   He growled at the intrusion of thoughts that came to him. He pictured someone else in his position, someone else witnessing you so vulnerable and open to them, someone else fucking you and making you beg for them. It disgusted him. He brought his torso down and latched his teeth to your neck, biting down hard enough to have you tearing up.

   “Mine,” he growled into your ear and lulled his head forward when you tightened around him.

   A sinister smirk came to his face and he licked the shell of your ear, your breathy moans feeding him, “You like that?” He asked, pistoling further into your cunt and you shouted at the increase of pace, “You like when I tell you who you belong to?”

   Your mouth hung agape and the one arm wrapped around his shoulder pulled him closer to you, your desperation for his warmth taking control. “Fuck . . . off,” you hissed between breaths.

   He pulled out and yanked you up by your hair, twisting you around and pressing your torso into the wall but keeping your ass propped up for him to admire. You hissed at the pain when a sharp smack met your ass and your hands gripped at the wall for any way to ground yourself and prevent from becoming putty in his hands.

   Another hard smack met your ass and you lurched forward to get away from the sting. Bucky kept your head pinned to the cement, his hand holding your cheek from scraping the wall but applying a pressure that had your tongue lolling out of your mouth. 

   You moaned at the intrusion in your pussy and he plummeted in and out, a mix of your grunts and groans bouncing around the room. His pace constantly changed. One second it was fast, the next it was slow but filling, going so far as to hit your cervix a few times and leave you a crying mess under his hold. Your shoulder scraped along the wall and you fought to push away only to have your chest slammed harder against the cement.

   You brought a hand out, reaching behind yourself and grasping for Bucky’s hip, pushing him deeper into you when he slowed. Your nails dug into his flesh and the sound of his hiss shot straight to your core. 

   “What a goddamn whore,” he spat, bringing his teeth down onto your neck and you gripped at his hair.

   You laughed at his statement, “You’re the one that can’t get enough of this pussy. Why so desperate to claim it? Afraid I'll fuck someone else?” Bucky pulled you back and slammed you against the wall with vigor, causing you to flinch

   He stopped his thrusts altogether, “My patience only goes so far, Doll,” he threatened, tugging at your hair and you bit back a cry, “Choose your words wisely,”

   You nodded hastily, the rough texture of the wall digging into your cheek and splitting skin. You wriggled up against him to continue moving but he retracted completely and flipped you over so he was laying on the bed and you were straddling him.

   “Move,” he ordered, his hands digging bruises into your waist.

   You leaned over, pressing your chest against his to lift your hips up and down on him but he pushed you back up and held your arms behind your back to keep you in place. You whimpered but the cry quieted when you rubbed your clit against him and your pussy clenched at the friction. You moaned out a breathy fuck and swiveled your hips around his, noting how much deeper he filled you in this position.

   “Buck-” you huffed, eyes glued to the glistening abs beneath you. “I’m gonna cum,”

   “Already?” He jeered, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

   You’d lost all energy to sneer at him, your focus solely on how the sensation grew and began pooling in your cunt. “Cock . . . so good,” you breathed out, barely able to keep yourself from melting into him.

   “What was that, Doll?” He stilled your movements and you groaned in annoyance.

   You wriggled in his hold and you could tell by the furrow of his brow that he was fighting to keep control as well. You leaned over him, your lips hovering over his, “Mine,”

   His grip flew to the back of your neck and he crashed your lips onto his, giving you full reign again. You bounced your hips on his dick, slamming down vigorously and rubbing your clit in effect. It didn’t take long for your climax to build again.

   “’M gonna . . .” you whispered and Bucky placed you back up, gripping your hips and swiveling you around how you were earlier.

   “Cum, Doll,” he allowed, “Cum all over this cock,”

   You cried out, your toes curling as the dam in your core snapped and your climax washed over you. You hadn’t realized your fingers were intertwined with Bucky's until you came back down from your high, your chest heaving for breath.

   He sat up slowly and pressed his lips against your neck. “You’re beautiful,”

   Your body tensed at his words and you pulled away to give him a look of confusion. But he didn’t take his statement back, only slipped his hands around your back and gently placed you onto the bed, hovering over you.

   He moved with caution, like his gentleness might scare you off if he touched you too tenderly or stared too long in admiration. But he couldn’t help it, he did admire you.

   He spread your legs open and nestled between them, pushing into you slowly until your hips met and you both breathed out. His movements weren’t nearly as brutal as they were earlier, these thrusts were slow and deep and full of intention. He brought his torso down onto yours and you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him closer to you.

   He ran his hand, the only one he allowed himself to touch you affectionately with, through your hair and stared down at you, waiting. His gaze shifted between your lips to your eyes and he ran his thumb delicately along your mouth.

   You looked at him then, really looked at him with fresh eyes and your heart leapt into your throat at the realization. “Kiss me,” you whispered and he lowered himself onto your lips, setting off an explosion in your chest.

   “I’m yours,” he whispered, not able to bring himself to look at you, “I’ve been yours,”

   You opened your mouth to respond but he silenced you with a deep thrust and a moan erupted instead. He quickened his pace, watching where you connected and pushed deeper and harder, your cries of pleasure driving him. He had to fuck you, he couldn’t love you, he couldn’t make love to you, just fuck. That’s it. He couldn’t allow himself to replay your look of shock at his confession, though the scene would surely be on loop for the next few days until he could get over it. Just fuck. Nothing more. Not with that look of disbelief on your face.

   He held himself up with his forearms but you pressed him against you and wrapped your legs tighter around him. “Harder,” you whispered and he complied.

   He groaned when your tits bounced and brought his mouth to a nipple, the faint taste of sweat lingering on your skin. You brought his metal hand up to your chest and made him grip the flesh there but he pulled it back and placed it beside your head instead.

   “Bucky,” you whimpered and grabbed his hand again, bringing his open palm up to your lips and placing delicate kisses on the metal. “You can feel with it, right?”

   He nodded, hesitance sprawled on his face.

   “Then touch me,” you urged, bringing the hand down between your bodies and pressing the cold metal against your clit, “Feel me,”

   His brows furrowed slightly but the look of your certainty forced him to dismiss his own perceptions of his body; or rather, that arm. And when he began rubbing circles into your bundle of nerves the expression on your face made him hate it a little less. Only a little.

   You stared up at him, his pace growing erratic and sloppy and you knew he was close. “You wanna cum?” 

   He nodded, his hot breath coming out haggard and strained. You placed your hand on his cheek and brought him up to your kiss.

   “Then cum,” 

   He shook his head, “You first,” he swirled his finger around your swollen clit and you gasped at the force of his thrust.

   Your body tensed and you centered all your focus on his ministrations, “A little more pressure,” you directed and he quickly found a pressure that had you wobbling in the knees. “Close,” you murmured, gripping Bucky’s side and bringing your lips up to his neck to pepper the skin there.

   He groaned and judging by the way his dick twitched inside you, you knew he wasn’t far behind. 

   “Bucky,” you whispered, pulling his attention towards you and his gaze brought you closer to the edge, “I’m yours,”

   He blinked and his pace faltered for half a beat. He examined your facial expression, like he didn’t believe the words you’d spoken. Not like he couldn’t believe them, but like you’d said them just to appease him. 

   You placed your forehead against his, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to center yourself in the haze of this fucking. “Yours,” you repeated, all the emotion residing in your chest poured into the singular word. 

   And then he was back to drilling you into the mattress, a new vigor fueling his thrusts. You cried out and Bucky pressed his sweaty torso flat against your own and it felt like the essence, the being, in your chest intermingled with his own and all the climaxes you’d previously experienced couldn’t hold a match to the flame, the intensity, the rawness of the one that washed over the both of you in that moment.

   Bucky moaned out, his hips bucking into yours and you rode out both of your highs. The sensation consuming and overwhelming and welcome on both ends as it flooded through your bodies, meeting at your point of contact.

   His arms flexed above you with the ferocity of his climax and the display had you writhing beneath him, already desperate for more.

   “Buck,” you whispered when his breathing evened out after he collapsed onto you.

   He didn’t respond, afraid it had all been a dream, a trick, despite still being inside you. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to shatter the perfection of this moment. What if you’d only said that to get him to finish faster? What if you’d only fed him what he wanted to hear? What if-

   “Buck,” you repeated, pulling him from his daze and he lifted his head only slightly. You gripped his chin lightly and forced him to look you in the eye. “You’re . . . mine?”

   He wanted to shake his head, to tell you that he got caught up in the moment but instead he said, “Yours,” because he knew anything else would be a lie and he was tired of lying.

   You studied him and nodded, “Yours,” you stated, already rolling your eyes from the smirk forming on his face, “Unfortunately,”

   He brought your face to his and planted a tender kiss on your lips. He started shifting his position and grabbed the underwear he’d been wearing earlier before pulling out and using the cloth to clean the mess pooling out of you. But not before taking a mental picture, of course. 

   After a few minutes of laying together, his hand playing with a few strands of hair, you felt the warm welcome of sleep beginning to drag you into its embrace. You opened your eyes groggily and looked up at Bucky who was already looking down at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

   “I know about your night terrors,” you whispered and his actions halted momentarily before returning to brush through your hair, “I hear you sometimes. And I understand why you don’t want to go to sleep but,” you sat up slowly and placed the thick blanket down on the floor, dragging the pillow down with you and patting the open space beside you, “you should rest. I’ll be here to calm you or stay up with you. Whichever one you need,”

   He didn’t move at first, his ears drowning out any thought he could have while processing what you’d said. He’d stayed silent so long you’d thought you’d crossed a line.

   “I can always sleep on the bed if you’d prefer, though,”

   Bucky shook himself from his thoughts and edged closer to the floor, slowly descending into the available space and wrapping the blanket around the both of you as much as he could. “No,” he said, “I want you here,”

   You hummed in response and snuggled into his waiting arms, lightly wrapping your own around him, making sure to kiss the part of himself he hated the most before fatigue swept you up into its clutches. Bucky followed soon after. 

#SMUT #bucky #Bucky Barnes #barnes #james #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #james buchanan barnes #the winter soldier #the white wolf #fluff #enemies to lovers #love #hate #one-shot #one shot #imagine #imagines #x reader #x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x imagines #the winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier #yn #y/n

[lemonjoonah]

The Garden Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Word Count: 9.3K Genre: Hybrid AU, romance/drama/comedy, enemies to lovers Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral sex (fem. rec.), they get down and dirty outside but no one else is there to see them, cum play? (just a little), there’s also a bit of mud (sorry, but also not sorry, they’re outside what do you want from me?!?!), referenced hybrid neglect and oppression (hybrids are wrongfully deemed as pets by law and the majority of society).  

Summary: Your beloved vegetable patch has once again been victimized by a hungry thief in the night. The prime suspect? Jeon Jungkook, your neighbour's rabbit hybrid. But when you finally confront him, he pleads innocent, and proposes a plan to clear his name.

A/N: I wrote this fic’s premise and opening scene for the ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Game’ that I played oh so long ago and now I’ve finally finished the tale!

...

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again!” You swear upon seeing the leafy green remains of several carrots lying in your garden, inches from where they used to be buried. This maddening mystery of the vanishing vegetables has been playing out all summer. You’ve set out deterrents for every possible garden pest, rolling out chicken wire and spraying natural remedies to repel anything from bugs to small rodents. Yet you still wake to find that your garden has been robbed in the night. The only possible suspect you haven’t been able to protect against resides just next door, in fact—

You squint up at the boarded fence, spotting a pair of long dark ears peeking out over the posts. “Jungkook, is that you?”

The ears immediately disappear, ducking down behind the barrier. The sound of his hurried footsteps trailing away are followed only by the slamming of a door.

You rush into and through your own house carrying the wilted carrot greens. Exiting out the front, and over to the house next to yours, where you repeatedly press the bell.

The entry whips open on the fourth ring to reveal Jungkook. His face is flushed, beads of sweat racing down his brow, and a shirt that one would normally use to cover their chest, is instead thrown over his shoulder. “Something wrong neighbour?” He asks with a carrot stick in hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he taunts you with a bite and crooked grin.

“Is-is your caretaker home?” You stutter trying your best to swallow your nerves. Concentrating hard on his face, you plead with your eyes not to wander down. That’s exactly what he wants, a reason to put you off your mission, to make you so flustered that you have to walk away. He’s always trying to use his allure against you, and you hate how often he succeeds doing just that...  

“No, he’s at work.”

“When will he be back?”

“Not sure, maybe a week, or two? He’s on a business trip.”

Your gaze falters in it’s determination for a brief second as a drop of sweat descends from his neck to his chest. Holding your breath you watch it’s path, tracing the valleys between his muscles. When Jungkook finally wipes it away your brain catches up and scolds you for your weakness. “And he left you here, alone?”  You ask, while trying to recollect your dignity, reminding yourself of how much grief he has put you through.

“Of course.” Jungkook’s smile grows. “I’m not just some common pet. I know how to behave myself.”

The statement makes your brow twitch, enraging you enough to overcome his tactics. “I know you haven’t been here long, but you should know, people typically don’t like it when someone steals from their yard.” You lecture him, waving the carrot tops in front of his face. “So stop treating my garden like your own personal snack bar!”

“Now why would I take from you? I have plenty of food here, even got another delivery this morning.”  The hybrid kicks at a box next him filled with a vibrant collection of fresh produce and grains.

“I don’t know why. I just know it was you.”

“Prove it.” He prods, while taking the last bite of the vegetable from his hand.

The loud crunching gnaws on your composure, stripping you of any patience you may have had for the hybrid. “This all started when you moved in, and I’ve ruled everything else out!” You shout, but as good as it might feel to finally vent your anger, you feel as though you’re somehow playing into his hand.

“That doesn’t seem like very good evidence. It’s circumstantial at best. If you want to find out who the real culprit is you should have a stake out.”

“A stake out?”

“Yeah, you know, watch over the garden for the night, catch the criminal in the act. I could even help if you’d like.”

You scoff at the ridiculous notion. “You really think I should invite you over to guard my crops?”

“I do, so I’ll come over tonight? Say around seven?” You open your mouth to object, but the rabbit hybrid jumps from one statement to the next casually inviting himself into your own home. “Perfect. See you then.”

“I didn’t-no wait, that was sar-” The door closes between you before you can finish. Leaving you baffled and alone on the doorstep. You ready to knock but stop just before your knuckles hit the wood. Trying again right now is a lost cause, it’ll just play into his game. So why waste your breath when you know it’ll just end the same way? Tonight then, as he suggested, that’s when you’ll be ready to hit him with some hard evidence that he won’t be able to refute.

Admitting defeat for now, you retreat back to your garden to pick the surviving vegetables and contemplate the encounter. You wish your could have just spoken to Jungkook’s caretaker—fuck what was his name again? You’ve only seen the man a couple times since they took the house, but at least he doesn't give you a nervous knot in your stomach, or leave you confused and speechless like his hybrid does.

It’s been three months since they moved in. You were excited at first, to have new neighbours in your almost vacant cul-de-sac. Buyers don’t seem to be interested in the old houses with large lots in your area. Too much work to maintain, and not enough good job prospects to go around. So when you saw the sold sign go up you were beyond thrilled. Greeting the new residents with a fruit basket and a smile.

The rabbit hybrid you now know as Jungkook appeared rather shy at first, you did your best to welcome him. Always greeting him when he was outside, trying to engage him in small chat, but the first time you caught him during his workout everything changed. Until that point you had not considered him as anything but a prospective friend. You were stunned to see him in such a confident state, throwing around his weights like they were nothing. In that moment, with you too nervous to admit that you found him attractive, you became the anxious and blubbering fool in his presence, and he, unfortunately, took note. The once quiet and cute rabbit, became a flirtatious and bratty bunny.

And since then, whenever you would work in your garden he’d be on the other side of the fence grunting and panting. Staying close to the gap in the divider, a missing panel you had yet to replace. On days like today you would often look up from your radishes and accidentally lock eyes with the hybrid, drenched in sweat and showing off his skills.

Out of respect and self preservation you tried your best to not to pay attention, to keep your nose buried in your garden, but as the weeks went by the vegetables under your care started to disappear. The ample crops you tended to in the evening, lessened by morning, with only the refuse remaining to indicate it’s former presence. You didn’t want to point fingers immediately, but today was the final straw, and tonight no matter how hard he tries to distract you, you will find him guilty.

After harvesting the choice crops for the day and watering the rest. You dust yourself off, settling inside and in front of your computer; opening the visitors page for your place of work, the city's greenhouse conservatory. To help promote the centre in the community the staff all take turns writing articles revolving around their own projects or home gardens, and you’re up next in the rotation. You stare at the blank document for several minutes trying your best to concentrate on the task, but you are unable to think of anything other than the mischievous hybrid next door.

Embracing the topic of your aggravation, you start the post off with a title sure to catch the eye of any reader, ‘Garden Thieves.’

‘We’ve all been there, finding a tomato just about to reach its peak ripeness. We give it another day to grow into perfection, only to find it missing later on. In your absence something else has taken it into its own clutches. I myself have been dealing with a vegetable thief for several weeks, so if you are struggling like I am, here are a few things that might help. ’

You proceed to outline several garden pests uploading photos of their damage, along with quick remedies to deter their presence. Netting to block the sparrows, raised beds and fences to keep out most rodents or mammals, and a caffeine solution to stave off slugs.

‘I hope this may help you all in your efforts to keep your plants safe, but I must add a disclaimer. Unfortunately nothing here is completely foolproof. Even if you do follow all of these steps you still might lose some of your crops to a crafty critter. But I wish you the best of luck on all of your backyard battles. I myself plan to face off with my own long-eared menace tonight.’

You finish your post with a smile. Sending it off to your coworker Namjoon to get his approval before you make it public.

He calls a few minutes later, his laughter carrying through the speaker. “That was easily the best article you’ve written all year. You should definitely post it.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle, hitting the submit button. At the very least feeling a bit relieved to have one less task weighing on your mind. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I take it you’re still having trouble with that hybrid neighbour of yours?”

“Yeah,” you groan. You’ve complained to Namjoon about the issue several times in the past month. It must have been all too easy for him to read between the lines and see what set you off to create this specific entry.  “But he refuses to admit it was him. It’s like he’s trying to make me question my skills as a gardener and I hate it! I went over to talk to his caretaker but he’s away on business for a couple weeks.”

“He left him alone for that long? What about food?”

“He’s been getting deliveries. By the looks of it, he has a healthier diet than I do.”

Namjoon pauses on the line giving you only a simple, “Huh...” in a long break.

“What?”

“Well it’s just-” A loud buzzing sound erupts through the phone line cutting off his answer. A noise you know to indicate someone is at the back door. “That’s weird. I didn’t think we were supposed to get anything delivered today. No one else is here.... did you have anything scheduled to come in?”

“No.” You double check the calendar sitting on your desk. “I shouldn’t have anything until next Monday.”  

Namjoon puts you on hold while he checks on the reason for the interruption, returning only a minute later. “It’s a delivery all right, but are you sure these aren’t yours? I’m seeing a lot of tropical species on the invoice. Combretum rotundifolium, Heliconia angusta, Myrciaria dubia-”

You mouth a swear as Namjoon carries on with his list. It’s obvious they are indeed the specimens of your expected batch. You're in the process of redesigning one of the tropical habitats. The lead director was adamant that the conservatory host a butterfly exhibition in the next coming year, and in order to support the grandiose endeavour you are required to introduce a vast amount of new flowering species over the next few months. “How many in total?”

“About two dozen. Looking pretty rough from the journey too.”

You’re not surprised by their current state. This summer is already one of the hottest and driest on record, and all the stock you had received this season was excessively wilted and near death because of it. “Do we have any holding houses with humidifiers available?”

“Not at the moment,” There’s a clatter in the background as Namjoon sorts through what must be the slack of clipboards. “But I’ve got the inspection chart here and your last delivery did just finish it’s quarantine. No signs of pests or illness, so they’re clear to plant. That should free up some space for you.”

“That’ll have to do. Thanks for checking.” Standing up from your desk with a sorrowful sigh. You mourn the loss or your afternoon off as you start to dress for a day of hard labour. Throwing on your work-issued overalls over your t-shirt and shorts. Unfortunately you can’t just leave the new stock to sit out under the beating sun. With little humidity outside and no protection they’ll be burnt to a crisp if you delay too long. But the worst part is that your planting staff isn’t scheduled until later in the week, and that volume of work will put you well into the middle of the night before you complete it. “I’ll be in soon to deal with it.”

“That’s a lot of planting to do on your own. I can help if you-”

“I can’t take you away from your trees, isn’t there a bonsai exhibition next week you have to prepare them for?” He’s been agonizing over this showcase for so long you couldn’t possibly inconvenience him now with your own troubles. “It’s fine, really. I’ll call to see if anyone else is willing to come in today.” You hang up letting Namjoon return to his tasks, and work your way down the contacts for the gardening staff as you prepare yourself to leave. Though as expected, all of those who answer have prior commitments and won’t be able to assist.

Grabbing your badge and plans for the updates to the garden you slip back out into the noon-day sun, so strong it’s turned your car into an oven on wheels. You’re just about to pull it into reverse when you spot the blinds shift in your neighbour’s window. Prompting you to recall the plans he had made for tonight.

With all the work you have, it’s doubtful you’ll be back home for seven. You return to Jungkook’s door to give him the news. He has it open before you can even knock, his usual smirk crawling across his face as he greets you.  

“About tonight... something has come up at work and I really don’t know how late I’ll be.”

His ears perk up. “You’re going into the conservatory?”

“Yeah,” you respond, somewhat shocked that he remembered where you work. It’s been a couple months since you mentioned it while introducing yourself to him and his caretaker. “An order came in earlier than expected. I’ll likely be planting all day and night.”

“I can help,” he offers, already stepping out to join you, and locking the door behind him.

“You want to help?”

“Of course, isn’t that the neighbourly thing to do?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want it or expect it from someone who terrorizes my own garden.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook corrects. “And wouldn’t you rather have me with you, under your supervision, than here, all alone with only a measly fence between me and your impressive bell pepper harvest?”

“Stay away from my peppers!” You scold, pointing your finger at him. “Even if I wanted to take you, what about your caretaker? Don’t you need his permission to leave and work?”

“He’s never paid attention to my whereabouts before, and it’s not work if you don’t pay me. I’ll just be a volunteer. You have people volunteer all the time right?”

“Yes but-”  

“I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright, fine.” You finally agree though with a heavy dose of reluctance. Namjoon often brings his own hybrid in so it shouldn’t be a problem. “But if I see you nibble on even a single leaf, you’re coming straight back here.”

“Deal.” He rushes past you straight to your passenger seat and buckles himself in. Practically bouncing with excitement beside you as you pull out and head towards the conservatory.

The minutes pass and you try your best to focus on the road but you’ve never been so close to Jungkook in such a small space. And with his built frame taking up most of the car, he’s hard for you to ignore. His ears folded against the roof and his shoulders so wide they brush repeatedly against yours.

“Ever been to the conservatory before?” You ask, trying to divert your mind from the battle which builds inside you. A wavering war between frustration and attraction, with the former trying it’s best to pin down the latter, a move which only arouses the latter more...

“No, I’ve wanted to go ever since you mentioned it but my caretaker hasn’t had the time.”

“Oh.” A sense of pity joins the ranks of your emotions, nudging at you as you pull into the lot. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Why are you sorry?” Jungkook asks in a low whisper, snapping back to his flirtatious behaviours. His mouth turns up at the corner as he leans into you, so close that his drooping ears graze the top of your head.  “Would you have taken me earlier if I had mentioned it?”

“N-no,” you choke out. Placing your hand on his solid chest, you push him back and away. As tempting as his advance might be to accept, you know his forwardness to be nothing more than an act to make a fool of you. Why else would he try to both seduce you, and steal from right under your nose?  “You’re only here today because I am in desperate need of help, and I can’t trust you to be alone.”

...

You lead him through the unoccupied greenhouses. The conservation is closed to the public today (as it is every Monday and Tuesday); which usually allows for some time off, but at least now it’ll give you a chance to work unimpeded by visitors. Your own curated section is located in the most humid of all the houses, set in such a way to mimic the tropical environment you are attempting to represent.

The first stop is the holding house where the carts of new stock wait just outside.  Grabbing an empty trolly you enter and start to load up those that are ready to plant. Jungkook following your actions does the same, easily lifting the heavy planters that you yourself struggle with. “Thanks,” you whisper as he relieves you of a particularly burdensome tree. To which he smiles in return.

After making the switch, by placing the recent delivery in the house for it’s quarantine, you lead him to the supply closet. Where you collect a couple shovels, trowels, and two pairs of gloves. As you continue to scan for anything else you might require, Jungkook pops in behind looking at the shelves with a sense of curiosity. He reaches up and over you to a spray bottle labeled ‘slug repellent.’

“We won’t need that, it’s for the outdoor gardens,” You explain. “It’s just a mixture of ca-”

“Caffeine and water?”

You snap your gaze to him. “How do you know that?”

He bites his lip as a snicker starts to escape. “Just a bit of morning reading. I found an interesting article with that particular tidbit. One which also happened to reference the exploits of a long-eared menace.”

“Y-you read the conservatory blog? You read my post? No one reads that, there can’t have been more than ten views!”

“Which is such a shame.” He goads you. “I’ve found your work to be both informative and comical. You really have me rooting for you in your quest to catch your thief.”

You groan in utter fury. “Why must you be so-so-”

“Handsome? Funny? Caring?”

“Antagonizing!”

“Because you seem to take more notice when I am.” Jungkook answers, with a turn of his heel, his tail poking out from under his shirt as he starts to walk away with the cart. “And I like seeing that perplexed look of yours. Your nose is cute when you scrunch it up like that.”

You remain in the shed, your traitorous heart beating erratically over the fact that he called a part of you cute. While your more sensible side grabs your nose and smooths out the wrinkles he referenced.

“Should we get to work?” He calls out after you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go home and expose that bandit of yours.”

You roll your eyes and follow him out, before taking the lead to your tropical glasshouse. The air sticks to your skin the moment you enter. Jungkook lets out a long exhale behind you tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Is it always like this in here?”

“It’s a bit warmer today, but not by much. Are you already regretting your decision to help?” You tease him.

“Nope,” he answers, slinging a shovel over his shoulder. “Show me where to dig, and I’ll get to it.”

Pulling out your plans for the new exhibit arrangement, you select a couple species placing them on the empty plots of garden as directed, careful to allow for future growth. Jungkook follows behind digging out their new homes faster than at least three of your staff members combined.

You stare at him for a second, unable to believe the pace at which he’s going. “Something wrong?” He asks, pausing to lock eyes with you.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d be so quick at digging.”

“I’m part rabbit, what did you expect?” Jungkook boasts with a chuckle and a raised brow. “I share their strengths. Especially when it comes to burrowing and fu-”      

His words are cut short when a fresh breeze from the outside washes over the both of you, a  sure sign that someone must have entered the greenhouse. Your neighbour goes rigid, his nose lifts into the air and his ears fall back flat against his head. “Jungkook what’s-” Leaping up he closes the gap and grabs you. Tucking you into him with his chin resting on your head, where a  warm and earthy scent envelopes you.  His breaths are quick and deep, causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall against your back.

Namjoon’s voice calls out to you. “... are you in here?”

“Over here!” You yell out in reply, before turning back to the hybrid who still has you locked in his clutches. “What the hell Jungkook? Let me go! Now’s not the time for your games.” Sure it might feel nice to be wrapped in his arms, to get lost amidst his aroma. At any other time you might even consider taking a moment before chastising his boldness. But here? Now? And with Namjoon coming to greet you? No, this is too much.

You try to push him away like you have before, but this time it’s as if he’s set in stone, and not registering you at all. He focuses only on the direction your coworker's voice hailed from. “That scent, he smells like-”

“There you are.” Namjoon interrupts stepping around a flowering bush and into view, looking surprised by your guest. “Oh, hello there.”

The point of Jungkook's chin rubs against your head as he grips you even tighter. Embarrassed and confused by the hybrids embrace. “Jungkook, this is Namjoon.” You introduce your coworker while delivering an elbow to Jungkook’s gut. He finally snaps out of his trace and lets you go though he continues to hover behind. “He works with the bonsai of the conservatory.”

“You must be the neighbour I’ve heard so much about, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Namjoon extends his hand to the hybrid, but Jungkook ignores the gesture, choosing to glare instead, with his nostrils flared and his ears pinned back.

“Jungkook?” You whisper trying to chase him from his mood.

Namjoon gives him a nervous smile. “You probably smell my hybrid, on me don’t you?”

“A hybrid?” Jungkook confirms, his eyes narrowed at Namjoon.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. I’m sure the scent of a predator, especially a tiger, is a bit of a shock. He’s harmless, I promise.”

“Is Taehyung here?” You ask, hoping to see his affectionate part-feline companion.  

“Nah, he’s with a friend today. I needed to get some work done and he’d be more of a distraction than a help... but it would seem that didn’t stop him from scenting my shirt before I left.” Namjoon explains, and then turns to your neighbour again. “Jungkook would you mind if I borrow her for a second? I need help with one of my tropical species.”

Jungkook gives a solemn nod. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks frightened, and somewhat hesitant to release you over to your coworker.

Worried by his current disposition, you reassure him with a squeeze on his arm. “Just keep digging where I’ve placed those pots and I’ll be right back.”

Namjoon leads you into the adjacent greenhouse where you can continue to keep watch of Jungkook through the pains of glass. But the instant the doors close between you, Namjoon starts bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long has it been going on? ”

You take a step back having been caught off guard. “Tell you what?”

“About you and Jungkook! Is the feuding neighbours just a cover story?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide and hopeful as he carries on, not letting you fit a single word in. “Don’t worry, I won’t inform anyone you're together. I know it’s not easy having a human-hybrid relationship out in the open. But I think you should be careful about going out into public because he’s far too obvious about it.”

“We’re not- we’re not a couple. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because the way held you, he looked like he was marking you with his own scent. That’s what rabbits do isn’t it? They rub their chins on what they want to claim as their own.”

“They do what?” You ask, stunned by the possibility, before the realism settles back in. It must just be Jungkook’s idea of a joke. “No, that’s not what he’s doing, our connection is nothing remotely like that. Don’t get me wrong he’s very attractive, and he knows it.” You mutter the last part under your breath. “But-”

“But you really are having trouble with him. It's not a cover?”

“You think I would keep something like that from you?” Namjoon over the years has come to be your closest confidant. A good friend and coworker, you would never dream of hiding something like that from him.

“I suppose not.”

“Is that why you brought me back here, to question my relationship status?”

“Not entirely.” Namjoon shakes his head with a small dimpled smile and changes the subject. “I do actually want to get your help with one of my new acquisitions.” He points out an unusual tree on his work bench, much too big for the pot it’s currently situated in. It’s extensive roots spill out over the top and threaten to swallow the pot whole. “A Ficus microcarpa, far from the most sought after species when it comes to reputable bonsai, but I couldn’t pass this one up. It has such good character.”

“What made it grow in such a way?” You examine the plant and it’s container with care, prying between the roots and taking note of cracks starting to form in the terracotta.

“The last owner neglected it for far too long. It sat hidden in the back of a commercial greenhouse, still under the watering and fertilizing system, but since it was confined to such a small space it tried to root it’s way out. If I were to guess, it probably hasn’t seen a new pot for at least five years.”

“It’s a miracle it survived.” You nod impressed by the tree’s determination. “What’s your plan for it?”

“Give it what it wants, let it leach out. I doubt I would be able to pry it out entirely without causing significant damage to the roots that are gripping the sides, so instead I want to put another bellow to catch it and give it the fresh soil and room it needs.” Namjoon lays the tree and pot down on the table, and asks you to hold and support the trunk, while he taps and pokes at the bottom of the vessel with a metal trowel.  Enlarging the cracks, but not breaking the pot fully. It’s a tedious process. The small chunks of clay are removed piece by piece, giving him access to see and free some of the tightly bound roots inside.

While your coworker continues his task, your eyes are free to wonder. You check on Jungkook through the glass, as he kneels in front of the garden bed digging even faster than before.

Namjoon appears to notice your distracted state. “How's he doing?”

“Fine I guess.” You whisper. “He’s acting stranger than usual today though. He stole from my garden again. Invited himself over to my house, then here, and you saw what he did back there.”

“Huh...” Namjoon mutters, trailing off the same way he did on the phone.

“What is this ‘huh’ you keep giving me? You know I don’t like games Namjoon. If you have something you want to say, say it.”

“It’s about what you said earlier, how his caretaker leaves for extended periods of time. Usually if an animal is alone for too long they look for ways to stimulate themselves and resort to their natural instincts, scavenging and such. But he’s a hybrid and therefore part human, so if you were isolated and restricted to your house what would you do?”

“Probably look for the closest person I could find. So he’s acting out in my garden and teasing me, because he’s lonely?”

“I think so.” Namjoon responds as he extracts another root, freeing it from its confines.

“But why?” You ask, worried for the answer to come. “Why wouldn’t he just say something?”

“There could be a number of reasons. He might not understand what he’s doing on a conscious level, or he might be afraid to show any sign of weakness to you or anyone else. Jungkook is part prey animal, and humans are all too often predators.”

“If that’s the case...” You curse yourself for not realizing it sooner. The fury you held for him slowly fades away as you replay every encounter in your mind. He was literally jumping at the chance to spend time with you, to help you with your work, and you were to blind to see it. Your anger over your missing vegetables is so trivial in comparison to what he must have been going through. The loneliness he must have felt, and the inability to admit it, you can’t imagine how he suffered through it alone. “What can I do to help him? I have no legal claim to him Namjoon. What can I do within such limitations?”

He looks down at his work in progress. “The way I see it  you and he, like this small tree, have three options. You could maintain the status quo, leave him be, but how long will he be able to survive like he is? Creeping over the edge but grasping on to nothingness?”

You shake your head vehemently rejecting the idea while Namjoon continues.

“You could report his caretaker for neglect, breaking the container entirely, but that too could be very damaging to him, tearing him away entirely could put him in a state of shock, and in a home that is no better for him, while the legal battle is decided. Or...” Namjoon grabs another container, slightly wider than the one in which the plant is seated. Filling it with substrate he takes the tree clinging to it’s partial pot and places it on top. Pressing the newly freed roots down into the soil.

“You could support him, give him a better home just outside of his own where he can be himself and access what he needs. I personally think it’s your safest option for now.” Namjoon leads over inspecting the bonsai and lowers his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Until the day, when it is possible to fully cast the pot aside.”

You nod, though now left to grapple with what you could possibly have to offer the hybrid.  “I’m not sure I would be the best person to care for him.”

“I think Jungkook would disagree. He was already trying to scent you. That to me, implies his desire for something more in the realm of an intimate relationship.” You choke on your breath as Namjoon comes to an additional conclusion. Upon seeing your distress he makes a suggestion. “Of course you could keep it strictly to friendship between the two of you and I’m sure that will improve his situation, but his other needs will need to be met for him to feel completely at home...”

“His other needs? You think he wants to be with me? Intimately?! No! Surely he would have acted differently if that was his intent! He’s done nothing but tease me when he catches me even remotely looking in his direction.”

“So you have been looking at him!” Namjoon taunts you with a massive grin. Apologizing a second later when you proceed to glare at him. “But to answer your question, no, not necessarily. You have to remember most of society deems him a lesser being. He could be feeling a lot of guilt and pressure not to engage with you in that way. Though he might not outright say it, I bet his instincts will continue to shine through. I’ll even prove it to you.” Namjoon takes off a glove and rubs your head. “I bet this rabbit of yours will take less than a minute before he tries to replace the smell of my hand with his own again... trust me.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I should probably get back to him.” You are just about to step away when your thoughts return to the long neglected plant. “Where do you plan to house that when you’re finished? Ficuses naturally belong in a more tropical location don’t they?”

“They do, especially if I want to give it a better chance. It’s going to need a place far more humid than this space.”

“Was this all your calculated way of guilting me to store it in my greenhouse too?”

“The thought might have crossed my mind.” Namjoon gives you a sly grin.  “But my logic is still sound in regards to Jungkook. He needs someone, he needs a better home... and it would seem he’s chosen you.”

...

You wander back to your greenhouse, still full of doubt. Finding Jungkook to have finished most of the required digging.

“Sorry for leaving you.”

“You-you okay?” He asks, upon seeing the dazed look on your face and then scowling in the direction that Namjoon led you.

“Fine, he just needed help with one of his plants. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t think you’d be affected by the scent of his hybrid, Taehyung is rather sweet though, you’d like him.”

“You trust him then?” Jungkook grumbles as he pierces his shovel into the ground. “You trust Namjoon and his hybrid?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it wasn’t just a tiger that I smelled. He’s been around a lot of hybrids. Every scent on him told me to run, all of them put there by dangerous predators.”

“Oh,” you shoot back in surprise. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Taehyung is rather popular, he has a lot of friends and Namjoon often caters them at his place. You don’t need to worry, you're safe here.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.”

Jungkook inches closer as you crouch to place the plants in the holes he dug. His nose twitches as he takes a deep breath, his eyes watching while you bury the root ball in the warm soil, firmly securing the trunk of the young tree.

While you are leaning down, Jungkook reaches across to the other side of you. Grabbing the trowel to your right despite the fact that the same tool can be found on his left. The bottom of his chin grazes the top of your head and lingers for a spell. Your heart stops in that moment while questioning his motives. Though Namjoon said he’d do just this, you still can’t be entirely sure that it proves him correct; Jungkook might just not have seen the other option available to him, and he’s never bothered about invading your space. This could be nothing, though there’s a small growing part of you that wants it more and more to be something.

“He’s a good guy,” you promise, returning to the conversation so as to not dwell on his actions. “He even suggested that I should bring you along more often, if you’re interested in spending some of your days here.”

“He did?”

You nod.  A small white lie, but not entirely incorrect, and if it gets him to accept Namjoon easier you’ll all be better for it. “I wouldn’t expect you to work, but you're more than welcome to just hang around. The staff here could always use some company and I’m sure it would beat staying at home alone all day.”

“I would like that. I would like that a lot, but would you want me to keep you company too?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“No, I need to know if that’s what you want.” He looks over to you pinning you down in his line of sight.  

“I suppose I would....” You answer and turn your head, unable to bear the nerves that his gaze brings. The both of you fall quiet. Knowing what you know now, being free of your anger for him leaves you vulnerable, open to his persuasion, and now you are no longer certain of how to act. So you start to rely on what has made him comfortable in the past, and interject with a new condition to bring an end to the awkward silence. “As long as you treat this garden better than mine back home.”

Jungkook lets out a long laugh. “I have nothing but the highest respect for your garden.”

...

When planting is finished your clothes are entirely saturated in sweat and your muscles aching from use. It’s hard to believe how much you’ve both done in such a short amount of time. While carting up the supplies, Jungkook’s eyes catch on something behind you. You look around spotting the newly potted bonsai on a back table. Namjoon must have dropped it off while you both were busy.

Looking at it now you can’t help but notice how even the shape of its leaves remind you of the hybrid’s ears, long, pointed, and reaching up to the sky. You consider your friend's words one more time and while Jungkook leans over to inspect the tree. Reaching out to his back, your hand shakes with hesitation before setting down on a spot just below his shoulder. He softens under your touch, a low hum leaving his lips. His attention turns from the plant to you. With your hand still in place, your arm is now wrapped around him, leaving only an inch between the two of you. You stand there fixed and unmoving, but content in the knowledge, that you seem to have left him speechless this time. His eyes darting away from yours, to your lips, your neck, and finally the hand you place upon his chest.  

Only to have the moment broken when you can hear and feel the rumble from his stomach. His nervous laugh follows as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear.

“Hungry?”

He nods in response, his eyes wide as he remains unusually silent.

“Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.” You offer as you turn him around to head to the car.

...

You both settle on a take out spot, and return home to wash up and eat.

After finishing your meal and tearing off your overalls, you both settle down on the hammock in your yard. With Jungkook’s legs long enough to touch the ground, he slowly rocks the seat back and forth.  He’s been near silent since that close moment together. He’s never had a problem with banter and flirtation, but now you’ve come to notice that any attention which can’t be passed off as a joke causes him to flounder.

Laying back in the hammock, both full and content, your eyes threaten to close after the long day as Jungkook continues to sit beside you. The sound of crickets lulling you to sleep. “Keep an eye out for that thief of mine will you?” You may not like games but if it makes him comfortable, and keeps him talking, you’ll continue to play this ruse with him.

“You trust me to keep watch without your supervision?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”

“No, it’s just a lot more credit than you usually give me.”

“I think you’ve earned it.” You whisper as you finally drift off.

It feels like only a few minutes of rest before the sun sets and the air turns cool. Jungkook’s chin comes to rest on the top of your head like it did back in the greenhouse. He shifts his weight, burrowing his arms around and behind to cover you as he takes deep breaths. You lean into him seeking the warmth of his chest. No longer restricted by your childish anger to enjoy his company is a welcome relief, you only wish you could relinquish him of any of his own troubles and doubts.  And then, you feel it, a drop of cold rain hitting your neck. The hammock moves again as he adjusts, the back of his fingers running across the damp spot. Another finds your cheek and he wipes that away too, your skin shivering in response.

But when a speck lands your mouth he stops. You wait, a second, then two. Your anticipation grows with face heating up and your chest tightening as you continue to crave his touch. You want him to wipe it away, to touch you, to act on whatever desires he might be keeping. You part your lips with the desperate hope that he will take the hint. Rejoicing when the warm pad of his thumb spreads the drop across the delicate skin.

He comes down on to you, his mouth catching any and all remains of the droplet as he encases your lips. Jungkook places a hand on your neck while the other grabs the ropes of the hammock, his legs straddle your hips. The scattered rain turns to a downpour as he remains fixed to your mouth, even his form isn’t enough to shield you from the current washing down from the sky.

As your hands reach up to his own damp and curling locks entwining your fingers in the strands he moans and nips. But as quickly as it started, so too does it end. When Jungkook snaps up as though jolted from a dream. His ears point back as an apology flows from him. “I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Jungkook,” you call out to him but he ignores you as he tries to detangle himself. When one foot hits the ground. You grab his waist and try again. “Jungkook, you don’t have to be sorry.” But instead of stopping he merely pulls you off and along with him, sending you both to the muddy ground, but this time with you on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks the loud pouring of the rain forcing him to raise the volume of his voice.

You chuckle at his concern considering he’s the one flat on his back. “I think I should be asking you that question instead.” You pause as he mirrors your grin. “Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He looks up at you, his brow furrowing. “You did nothing wrong. It was me. I was the one acting on my instincts. I shouldn’t have done that when I know how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you...” You explain, trying your best not to be drowned out by the water cascading down. “The things you did might have annoyed me, but I get it now. I’m just sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“Notice what?”

“How fucked up your situation is. For not realizing how alone you must have been. How caged you must have felt. I’ve been so focused on my own little world that I didn’t realize what was happening or why you were acting the way you were. I like you, a lot, but I was too wrapped up in my frustration to say how I felt...”

“It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head. “I am not innocent in this. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Then pay attention to me now.” He begs with his round eyes shining up at you.  

“But in what way? As a neighbour, as a friend, or maybe something more?" Your voice cracks in desperation, trying to find his needs while also hoping they are the same as yours. “Is that why you were always teasing me the way you did? You wanted something more?”

“You really want to know?” Jungkook’s tone is low as it grips on to his every word. “I did it because it was the only thing that could distract me from my incessant need for you. Seeing your reactions and having your attention kept me in check. I’m very different from you and I’m aware it could cause a problem. I wasn’t sure if you could ever fully want me because of that.” He reaches to rub around the base of his ears. “But every day that I looked over I wanted to hold you, to claim you, to take you right here on this very spot. So often I dreamed of jumping the fence and coming for you instead of...”

You smile down at him, noting his near admission. “Instead of?”

“Instead of watching from a distance.” He smirks, catching and narrowly fixing his statement. Pleading guilty only to his longing for you.

“Then do it.” You demand of him.

He groans from his position beneath you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not. You weren’t the only one peeking through the fence Jungkook.” Reaching up to your collar you tug off your shirt. He follows your lead with his own to reveal his sculpted chest he’s taunted you with so many times. “I don’t care if we’re different from each other. I don’t care if it causes a problem.” You shift back on his body traveling from your seat near his stomach down to his hips, his clothed dick firm and pressing against you. A moan escapes his lips, confirming that you’ve made your point. “There’s no one else nearby, so if you want me so much that you’re willing to fuck me out here, in the rain and mud-”  

His hands come to grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off, maneuvering out from underneath, to fall into place behind you. From there he pushes you down to your hands and knees, his body bent over yours. “You have no idea how much I want to.” He whispers with a kiss to your bare shoulder damp from the rain that continues to pour.

He takes off your bra before his face moves down your back, nose trailing against your skin and pausing at your shorts. Unfastening the button he pulls them down, freeing you of your underwear too before they are both cast aside. “I want to smell you, and taste you.” Jungkook takes in a deep breath, wrapping an arm around your legs, and barring your thighs. He buries his face between your legs, his tongue reaching out to deliver a long lick to your folds pausing after every lap.

Your palms dig into the ground, the cool mud coming to the surface to meet them. You buck against his tongue but the forearm holding you remains firm, sending your squirming downward to bury your elbows in the soggy grass too.

Jungkook chuckles as you inadvertently give him a better angle. From behind you can hear the zipper of his own shorts. Rubbing the head of his cock against your damp folds, he covers it with the slick of your slit, and with a long groan he eases it inside. He’s slow at first, letting you savor the girth and warmth of him. So you start to edge back and forward on his cock. Taking the time to enjoy every inch, along with the sounds that leave him. But when he returns to take control, the first thrust is so powerful, his thighs hit your ass with a loud clap, and every jolt of his hips after, drives you further down each time.

A stuttering groan escapes him as he fills you. Thinking he’s finished you lean forwards and until his cock pulls out, but in response he grabs your waist. Turning you over, back to the ground on top of the discarded clothes and facing him.

He lowers himself pressing his chest against yours. His fingers reach to grab your chin and take a kiss. His cock, despite having come only moments before, is hard once more and poised to enter once again.

“How are you-” You manage to squeeze a few words in the gaps between his kisses as he draws breath. “Ready for more-” Another pass of his tongue. “Already?”

“You have my hybrid traits to thank for that.” He moves to nibble on the side of your throat. “I have more to give you, if you want it.”

You nod unable to emit any noise other than a gasp as his mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck. His dick forges in again, your slick and his cum dripping out of you as he fills you with himself instead.

You’ve avoided touching him with your own hands as they are patched with mud, but as his thrusts grow more powerful than even before, you’re forced to grab on his arms and chest. Leaving behind streaks of dirt which display the path of your grip. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact looks rather encouraged by your touch, and the marks you leave him.

“What a dirty woman you are, and getting me all messy too.” He scoffs while admiring your handiwork. “Can I return the favour?”

“Help me come first and you can do whatever the fuck you want.” You gasp on the brink of your climax.  

His ears perk up and a grin streaks across his face. “Close are you?” He grabs your calf and wraps your leg around his back, the other follows suit and his hand comes to rest on your lower back pushing you up and into him effectively grinding your mount against him.

You gasp and flinch with the sudden pressure, but he holds you firm as your back arches to meet him.

His hips beat on at a rapid pace, a small whimper escapes him as you reach the peak, tipping you over the edge. The chilling rain can in no way can douse the searing heat that spreads through you. You're still gasping when his jaw clamps down hard, his teeth poised upon your skin. The first pulse of his cock comes inside, but on the second he pulls out to splatter your chest and stomach with the rest. His hand comes to clutch his shaft, spilling more out and on to you with each stroke.

After every remaining drop has been cast on you he smiles, dragging his fingers across the rain drenched mess of mud and cum on your skin. “Never thought I’d ever see you so thoroughly soiled.”

You giggle at his remarks through your deep breaths. “And now that you do, what do you think?”

“I think it suits you, the dirt, the rain, and me...” He lowers himself down onto you, with his head now resting upon your shoulder. “It’s too bad though. Now I just want more, but we’re both far too filthy to carry on like this.”  

You turn to whisper at the base of his ear. “Who says we can’t continue in the shower...”

...

You wake early the next morning with the sun spilling into the room, lighting up your bed, and the hybrid sleeping next to you. His ears and nose twitching as he continues to rest. Slipping out from the covers, and into a set of clean gardening clothes, you exit the room with as little sound as possible.

On the tile floor of your hall, muddy footprints trail from your backdoor to your bathroom.  A smile pulls at your lips as you recall the events which brought them there. Jungkook had been so excited to keep going he picked you up and rushed you inside.

The feeling from the warm water and hands in contrast to the cool rain was enough to bring back the waves of pleasure. He was so thorough in washing you down, you might have to ask him to join you for another this morning and repay the favour.  

Outside in the garden you find all your harvest from the day before present and untouched. You’re pleased by this new development, but it’s not the fact that your crops are intact which makes you happy, it’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook didn’t feel the need to take them.

A few minutes later the hybrid in question comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling with him a blanket he took from the bed to cover the both of you. ���Morning.” He mumbles, as his nose finds the crook of your neck where he exhales with a deep and relaxed sigh.

“Morning.” You respond, enjoying the tickle of his breath before you turn around to better see him. “It seems the thief didn’t strike last night. ”

“I guess they found a new garden to plunder and devour?” Jungkook suggests, giving you a sly grin, before he opens his mouth again. It’s easy to see that he’s getting ready to confess, his face shifts to a stern expression as he looks down at the ground, the guilt weighing heavily upon his brow. Placing your index to his lips you stop him. No longer needing to hear those words of admission, you offer a new proposal instead.

“Maybe, but that was just one night. The thief might still come back. So if it’s alright with you I would like you to stay here. Until we can be sure they won’t return.”

Jungkook lets out a satisfied chuckle, pushing aside your finger and pulling you tighter into his warm embrace. “You’re right, I suppose it would be safer if I stayed.” His lips plant a kiss on the top of your head where he then rests his chin. “A temptation as enticing as this, shouldn’t be left alone and unattended.”

...

#jungkook smut #hybrid jungkook #bts hybrid au #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts the garden thief #bts smut #jungkook x reader

[themand0lorian]

BEHIND THE MASK // 2 // FLATTEN THE CURVE

Summary: Tempers run hot between you and your new client.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (no Y/N)

Rating: Teen

Words: ~4200 (AO3)

Tags: enemies to lovers, miscommunications, lots of Pandemic talk, Dieters a big douche, reader dishes it back, sexual situations, Dieter insults reader

no movie spoilers (unless unintentional)

Notes: Decided I’m ignoring what I think is the premise of the movie which is that something nefarious is going on and theyre being held there against their will. This is a real, normal movie set but the pandemic makes them stay!

“Hear me out before you murder me!!” Nick is practically cowering in front of your fuming form. After Bravo’s disgusting display, you and Nick were dismissed to finish up paperwork, your actual first day under the asshole slated for tomorrow. You glare at him, fists clenched, face screwed up, but when you don’t immediately slap him, he continues.

“His last three PA’s have either been dismissed for sleeping with him or quit after he makes their lives hell. We’re desperate, and you—you’re our only hope!”

“Gee, thanks,” you deadpan. “What makes you think I won’t sleep with him or quit?”

“You’re different. All those people—they wanted to break into the industry. Your resume shows you aren’t desperately looking for your next big break. You won’t fall into his arms just because he’s Dieter Bravo.” You huff in contempt. “Plus, as you may remember, I heard you deal with your landlord. You’re the only person who can dish back exactly what he gives.” You narrow your eyes at him.

“Listen. You can say no and go on your way. But you’re capable, you’re honest, and you don’t tolerate shit. I can tell. And I think that’s just what he needs to get his ass in gear so we can make this damn movie and get out of this fucking bubble.” You seem to mull it over, taking Nick’s compliments in stride. They were all correct; you knew how to be brutally honest, how to dish what Bravo was serving. If anyone could punch the wind from his sails, whip him into shape, it could be you. You did it at companies all the time; come in, call them on their bullshit, set them straight. You could do it for a man, a brand in himself. And then the pandemic would end and you’d go back to consulting and he would be on to terrorize the next up and coming actress turned PA.

“Fine,” you mumble, and Nick’s face breaks into unadulterated glee. “On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“I won’t get fired if I talk back to him.”

“I encourage it,” Nick jokes. “He deserves it.”

“And if I don’t like it, I can leave, and you guys will give me a great recommendation.”

“I’ll tell them you saved my life from a burning building and rescued ten puppies from a well.” You glare at him, turning more playful than angry. Despite his business attitude, you think you have similar senses of humor. And of justice.

“I accept,” you begrudgingly sigh, and Nick happily ushers you back down to the first floor to sign on the dotted line.

After signing your life away—and getting the results from your test when you first arrived, negative—Nick shows you to the living quarters. The bottom floor is entirely offices, kitchens, meeting rooms; things that make the business go. The second floor is the housing for, what you would call, “the help.” This is where your quarters are, along with other PAs, maids, chefs, some crew members, and other non-movie-star people are staying. You have a bedroom with an attached kitchenette, as well as a bathroom, but down the hall is the full-sized kitchen available to use, as well as laundry, a gym, and some other service rooms. The room is tiny, barely enough room to fit the queen-sized bed, but comfortable nonetheless. Nick tells you the floor above yours is, essentially, the famous person floor. This is where Bravo’s quarters were, as well as the rest of the stars, filmmakers, directors, producers—anyone with recognizable names. You only saw Bravo’s dressing room, and that alone is as big as your quarters, so you imagine they’re really living the high life. The top floor is the movie set; the entire space is cleared other than a few smaller rooms for indoor sets and storage, but most of the walls and floor are covered in greenscreen paper, with equipment, cameras, and props set up as they are needed.

The vibe on the crew floor is much homier than the first floor, and more friendly than the famous floor. People stop by to introduce themselves, chat about their careers or attempt networking, or in the case of Hailey, the PA who lives next door, to drop off some fresh cookies she snatched from the chefs down the hall, and you voice your delight.

“These are amazing,” you gush. Hailey has immediately sat in bed with you, clearly looking for fast friendship as you get to know each other. She started trying to be an actress, moving to Hollywood from Texas, but quickly fell into the PA role, and now dedicates most of her time to it, claiming the work behind the scenes is more fulfilling in a charming Southern twang.

“Pete has a way with cookies,” she mumbles around the crumbs. “And a way…with…other things, ifyouknowwhatImean,” she giggles, making you laugh.

“Man, is everyone sleeping with everyone around here?” Hailey nods.

“Pretty much. Bubble and all that.” You roll your eyes.

“I guess that’s why my guy has had so many assistants ‘dismissed,’” you mumble, finishing your cookie. You’ll need to meet this Pete and give him your thanks.

“You’re Bravo’s new assistant?” Hailey practically screeches. “How’d you swing that?!”

“Uh—I cursed out my landlord?” You answer sheepishly. “I don’t know. Nick just said he needs to be put in his place, so—here I am.”

“Oh, this will be fun,” Hailey schemes. “The last few—they had nothing up here.” She taps her temple as she speaks. “Fell for him immediately. But you—we can have some fun with this.”

“I don’t want to have fun,” you rebuke. “I want to do this job, get paid, and by then hopefully the pandemic will be over and I can go back to consulting. Hailey snorts.

“What?!”

“You can do all that—and take him down a peg. Trust me, everyone here would thank you.” You shake your head. “You know he refused Pete’s cookies! Said there were too many calories!”

“The audacity,” you fake scoff, and Hailey falls into giggles. You feel at home with her, the whole experience almost like a college dorm. Eventually, after giving you a few basic pointers, you say goodnight, and let yourself research your new client.

Articles upon articles of Dieter Bravo’s asshole behavior fill Google. You click on the first few, becoming increasingly disheartened. Denying eager fans a chance at an autograph—or worse, one where he signed some choice words instead of his name—ordering waiters around like servants, thrown cell phones, crashed cars; his behavior ran the gamut. You began to make a list of things to remember as to avoid some of these public freakouts.

Room at 69 degrees

Don’t let glass get below half full

No chewing gum

No whistling

No red candies of any kind

No cookies from Pete

You huff at the last one. Bravo was just a guy. He had money, sure. But how could a human make requests like this on the regular? And surely there were some that hadn’t even leaked. You drew a vertical line on your page, starting a new list of your own requirements.

No demeaning women

No personal info should be shared

No cleaning up after him

Don't let him get under your skin

Pete’s cookies always allowed

No getting involved

You huff at the last one, trying to imagine a world where any of these would even be met, before closing them in your notebook and heading to bed.

You wake up early the next day after a restless night’s sleep, first day jitters amplified by your situation. You manage to snatch a few more cookies—left in the communal kitchen with a “Please Take” sign—before heading up to the celebrity floor, pausing at the top of the stairs to take a deep breath and move into consultant-mode.

You do this all the time. Dieter Bravo is just another company; but the only employee has an attitude problem. You can do this. Nick said you could leave whenever. You can do this.

You let yourself into the dressing room from the day before, as instructed on the itinerary left outside your door that morning. Bravo’s private quarters presumably lock from the inside, so you go about the room, setting things up as the instructions dictate; pull certain labeled outfits, pin today’s schedule to the mirror. Start the coffee dripping. Aside from the mirrors and costumes, there’s evidence that Bravo uses this as general living quarters; old wine glasses with red rings line the small table, one with lipstick on the edge. Some more hardened tumblers, still half-full of brown liquid, dirty plates and coffee cups and remnants of a powder you don’t want to identify scattered on the counters of the small kitchen. You move about to clean what you can, getting the dishes in the sink and sealing the half-eaten bag of chocolate chips you found, then wiping down the counters before vermin start living the Dieter Bravo lifestyle. When you remember one of your rules—no cleaning up after him—you pause short of actually doing the dishes, leaving them in the sink. You look around at the somewhat cleaned space, eyes finding a bowl of candy, freshly set out—all colors included—wavering a moment.

The ledger you were given didn’t confirm the red candy thing. Maybe if you take them out, he’ll know you’re serious. You did your research; you can anticipate his needs. That’s what works for the companies—it should work for him.

You startle when the door to the private quarters opens, pausing like you’ve been caught red-handed. But instead of Bravo, a young woman, her shirt on inside out and her shoes in her hands, tries to sneak out, only to be caught by you, surrounded by piles of candy separated by color. She looks at you blankly for a moment, seeming to flounder, so you try to help.

“I don’t care—just go. I won’t tell anyone.” She nods, scampering to the door before addressing you on the way out.

“Please—tell everyone.” You roll your eyes, going back to separating your candies. You hadn’t heard the door open again as she made her escape, and jump when someone interrupts your concentration.

“What is this, like an OCD thing?” Bravo stands against the doorframe ahead of you, smirking. He’s wearing sunglasses inside, his hair in all directions like they had their romp immediately before she left, but he at least has the decency to be wearing sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt, which you assume actually cost extra to make them look distressed.

“Oh, uh—no. Good morning, Mr. Bravo,” you try, starting to shovel the candies back into the bowl inconspicuously, but he walks over, halting you with a hand around your wrist as you burn in embarrassment. It’s not harsh, easy to pull away from, but you freeze, meeting his eyes.

“You did your research,” he smirks, and you breathe out for the first time since he entered the room. He smells nice; certainly not like someone who just rolled out of bed after spending the night with a rando. Like sleep, pine—and maybe a hint of those chocolate chips you found earlier. You pull away from him finally.

“Y—yes. I always research my clients before I start a job.”

“Been a PA long?” He questions.

“Uh—no,” you offer, remembering your rules. No personal info. “No, I’m new to it.”

“I can tell,” he grins, and you fight your recoil response. “Celebrities plant stories like that on the internet. Gets publicity since it’s strange, and differentiates who does their research and who…doesn’t.” You want to melt under him. You were supposed to be putting him in his place, but he was sending you into a downward spiral, crowding your space.

“Oh—okay. Sorry, I’m—I’m new to the industry.”  He smirks, nodding, and making his way over to the coffee pot.

“So what is it you’re looking for, sweetheart?” He asks it sweetly, but he doesn’t even turn to look at you, making his coffee. “You think I’ll help you get your next role? You want money? What?” He looks smug, like he’s figured you all out. “Or you just looking to get some…experience.” You know he’s not talking about work experience; the experience of the young woman earlier likely from his tone.

“Nothing,” you seethe. “I—I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Bravo.” He hums like he doesn’t believe you. “I am here to do my job, just like everyone else.” With that, a few people from hair and makeup—including the young woman from this morning, who now looks much more put together other than her sly smirk—come in, getting ready to get started on the man in front of you. Your eyes follow her as you speak, realizing, maybe, not everyone was here to just do their job. He seems to understand your thoughts, choking a laugh before moving to the makeup chair, ensuring to pass through your space and whisper lowly to you.

“Everyone wants something from me, sweetheart. Trust me.” You meet him nose to nose, not backing down, as he seems to search your face.

“Sorry to disappoint, Mr. Bravo.” When you don’t wither under him, he sneers, moving to the chair, but you stop him with a hand to his wrist just as he did to you. “But I can assure you—I have plenty of experience.”

He sputters as you move to the door, on to the next call, before moving to his chair. “I’ll see you on set in 30, Mr. Bravo. Don’t be late.” He rolls his eyes as the women swarm him, primping him and his ego all at once.

Bravo makes it to set fifteen minutes after the rest of his coworkers and crew, script in-hand. He’s in a red puffer jacket and his hair is styled nicely, looking altogether more put together than when you saw him this morning, and Hailey makes a face at you as if to say “Wow! You got him dressed!” He sits in his chair, embroidered with the name Bravo along the back, still reading his script as everyone gathers for a kickoff meeting.

The director and producer drone on for a bit, but you can’t help but to notice that Bravo isn’t even paying attention. When a gangly man starts talking about “sweet eyes at each other,” you discreetly move through the crowd, trying to get Bravo to pay attention by slapping the back of his chair with your clipboard. He looks affronted for a moment, but then smooths it over into one of his signature smirks when he recognizes you.

“You’re supposed to be paying attention,” you whisper, the man speaking moving on to, what you can only assume, are important virus protocols.

“Don’t need to,” Dieter mumbles, looking back to the script. “Need to learn today’s lines.”

“TODAY’S?!” You hiss, appalled. Luckily for the douche in front of you, the gangly man is done, everyone dispersing to start filming for the day. Dieter puts his script on his seat before giving you a bright, fake smile.

“Until later, sweetheart.” With that, he traipses on to set with some other actors; you recognize some, but most are unknown to you, except for the various Cliff Beasts memes you’ve seen on the internet.

You expected movie making to be something magical. Big theatrical productions, booming sounds, impressive lighting. Instead, you watch as the actors jog lightly across a treadmill, surrounded by green screens. Two men hang suspended in ridiculous costumes, which you assume are the titular beasts. You haven’t forgotten what Bravo said about learning his lines, but you’re relieved to see there aren’t many—or at least none of substance. You count seven separate times he just yells in that stupid, unidentifiable accent.

You and Hailey get some moments alone, where you probe her for more information on the hairstsylist from earlier. A young thing, same as most of the others on set—trying to get her big break. Figures. Hailey assures you, Dieter Bravo never has the same woman in his bed twice, and by tomorrow, the hairstylist would be gone, her name in tabloids but her presence erased from set.

Everything Hailey said was true. The hairstylist, who you now know as Sophia Steele—a stage name somehow more obvious than Dieter fucking Bravo—does not appear again the next day. A new woman is brought in, no one mentioning the loss, and you later see Sophia’s name trending on Twitter. You hold Bravo’s phone while he does scenes, and several texts from “hair girl” come through, though the messages are locked behind his password and seemingly, go unanswered. You don’t want to know.

What you do want to know is the other texts he seems to get regularly—someone labeled “Lina” with the couple emoji (a man and a woman side by side) next to it. You decide not to press the issue; Lina surely knew what she was getting into with him.

You make it through the first week mostly unscathed. You’re able to drop off Bravo like a kid at daycare at 5 o’clock, and the second your foot hits the steps, you morph into a different person. At night, the crew all has family dinner, a chance to unwind away from the uppity actors and just breathe. You get to vent, get to celebrate victories and gossip about others. You get to just be you, to get to know Nick and Hailey and the others, to enjoy Pete’s cooking. They all praise how well you deal with Bravo, though you insist you aren’t anything special, and quickly move the conversation to Hailey or her actress. Overall, it’s the highlight of your week.

The lowlight is the mornings. After the red candy incident, mornings mostly go the same. You set out his wardrobe, throw his dishes from the night before in the sink. Someone seems to come by daily to clean, as he always seems to produce more by the next morning. Start the coffee pot, pin up the schedule. Watch him emerge from his cave like a bear out of hibernation, sunglasses on, leg of his sweats pushed up from sleep, a robe over his shoulders. You exchange some barbs; you about his expensive shoes designed to look dirty, him offering to sleep with you or pay you extra to just leave him alone.

You never do.

Then the stylists come, and in no time, he becomes Dieter Bravo again, making his way to set to learn his lines three minutes before filming them.

The first few days, he tries his charm. Calls you sweetheart and beautiful, lays it on extra thick. He acts extremely polite, all pleases and thank yous—so you know he is capable of politeness, but chooses not to express it unless he has a goal in mind. Even if he hadn’t insinuated his lack of desire toward you the first day, you could see through him like a window. The mornings always end the same.

“Okay, Mr. Bravo. I’ll see you on set in 30.”

“How about we take a break today sweetheart? We could just climb back into my bed—it’s right there. You deserve it.”

 “A man your age? We could climb in and still make it on time." You mumble, and he immediately frowns. "But no thanks. Thirty minutes, Mr. Bravo!”

When he realizes his charm won’t work, he almost flips a switch. You haven’t heard a please or a thank you in weeks. He scowls perpetually, downs coffee like it’s going out of style. His new tactic is making leading comments—never quite vocalizing the insult, but letting you connect the dots yourself, especially when he found you did something unsatisfactory. You try to remember your rules.

“There’s a gym down the hall. You know—if you ever wanted to use it.” Don't let him get under your skin.

“I know a really good dentist, he could probably get teeth whitening covered under your insurance.” Don't let him get under your skin.

“What was it you said you did before this? Consulting? And you were…successful at it?” No personal info should be shared.

“Did you go to college? And you…graduated?” No personal info should be shared.

“Don’t you want to leave the bubble, go see your friends…or whoever?” Don't let him get under your skin.

He knew how to come at you from all angles; physical, personality, intelligence. You always let them roll of your back; the opinion of Dieter Bravo—or any other attractive male movie star--wasn’t allowed to matter to you. You know you do a good job, feel comfortable with the other crew at crew dinner, got to FaceTime your mom once a week. Payments were still going through on the apartment; you hadn’t heard from Todd once. And a paycheck hitting your account wasn’t too bad either.

It didn’t stop you from internalizing them, though. Waiting until the 5 o’clock whistle, dropping your adult sized toddler at his door, and making it down one step until an errant tear streaked down your face. Picking and prodding in the mirror at night, or staring at the ceiling when you should be asleep. Being surrounded by beautiful Hollywood types 24/7 certainly didn't do anything for your self-esteem. You know he’s doing this on purpose—trying to get you to quit. And the best revenge is not to give in.

Even if you want to.

So you continue. You ignore his snide comments to his face, like he hasn’t even said them. You hum instead of speaking with him, just to avoid the silence of it all. You get him where he needs to go, when he needs to go. And you smile while you do it, letting his petulance, his arrogance, his—him—fester inside like the rotting carcass of a Hollywood star he is.

You’ve watched them film this scene eight times now. The whole main cast is there, each reciting their lines to perfection—except your Dieter. The first three takes, he forgets them completely. The next few, he stumbles through the line, tripping up with his ridiculous accent. The last one, he says “beats” instead of “beasts,” and everyone groans. With a roll of his eyes, the producer dismisses everyone, telling them they’ll reshoot it tomorrow and to change costumes, as they’re behind schedule now. The cast glares at him, but Dieter seems unconcerned, grabbing his things before walking off set.

Still, when he makes his way back to his room for his break and to change, you follow along dutifully, ready to call him out once you find out the truth.

“Do you die in this?”

“What?” he asks, not looking up from his phone as he walks down the stairs. Several people are forced to swerve out of his way; you apologize to them, rolling your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him in weeks about something other than timetables and he can’t be bothered to even pay attention.

“Do you die at the end of this movie? Your characters have a tendency to die gruesome deaths.” He stops a moment to take you in.

“You did do your research.” You shrug noncommittally, rage beginning to grow as you enter his living space. “Don’t know, haven’t gotten that far. I only read what’s on for today.”

“You don’t memorize your lines?” You ask him incredulously, and he only pins you with a stare. “Don’t you think that you messing up wastes every one else’s time? Or that it ruins your performance?” He shrugs, settling with another cup of coffee.

“Nope.”

“Of course,” you huff under your breath. “The world revolves around Dieter Bravo. I forgot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” He replies angrily, and you practically snarl, everything you’ve internalized finally bubbling to the surface.

“Ever since I’ve known you, everything has been all about you. You show up late! You sleep with people to get what you want, or you pay them off. You get off on making people embarrassed or uncomfortable. I bet you don’t even know my name!” He sputters, and you realize you hit the nail on the head. “God, you—” He stands, making his way to you in anger, presumably from being called out. “You’re a pretentious, stuck-up, selfish douchebag with his head so far up his own ass you can practically see out of your mouth!”

“Well you’re a self-righteous ball-buster who doesn’t know her fucking place!” You both seethe at each other, breath heavily and mingling, chests practically touching. "I'd say I’d feel sorry for you--but I don’t." Your voice gets low and even, and would be barely heard if he wasn’t in your space.

“That may be true, Mr. Bravo—but after all this, I get to go back to my real life. With people who care about me and like me for who I am—something you can’t say. So it’s you who I feel sorry for, not me.” With that, you twirl away, stomping out of the room. “Be back on set in ten.”

TAGS: @i-love-movies @frasmotic @justanotherblonde23​ @nicolethered​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @scorpio-marionette​ @songsformonkeys​​

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x y/n #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo fanfiction #the bubble #the bubble fanfiction #behind the mask #btm

[slut4buckysarm]

I Don’t Hate You.

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT (praise kink, multiple orgasms, enemies to lovers, thigh riding, no protection, d in v), language, angst.

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—

“Fuck you, Chris!” I yell across the set.

“Ya’know what? Fuck you too!” Chris spits back.

All he had to do was focus on the script. Now we’re both being scolded by the director and we’re both being forced to rehearse our lines for the 40th time.

I grab my pencil out from behind my ear and flip it in my hand.

“Oh, you gonna hit me with that?” he taunts.

“Only if you keep speaking to me in that tone” I reply.

“Well then…” he brings his arms up. “Gimme your best shot”.

I get up from my seat and throw the pencil towards him. It hits him in his head and he gives me a look of offence.

“Bitch.” He speaks while putting his hand to his temple.

“Real mature Evans” I mutter.

“And you throwing a pencil at me was mature?” he chuckles in shock.

“Yeah well next time make sure you memorize your lines before showing up to film.” I say sarcastically. “I’m so done with your shit-”

“Oh you’re done with my shit?” He interrupts. “I have to work with you every single day and you make this job a living hell”.

That’s enough to make my temper rise. I grab another pencil off of the table and raise it, ready to throw.

“That’s enough!!” David, our director yells from the other side of the room. “Put it down Y/F/N”.

I don’t budge.

“I said put it down!” his tone is demanding and I know better than to carry this further.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought” Chris smirks and I throw him a glance.

“You two have great potential and fit your roles perfectly. I would deeply regret having to fire you both and sign another pair of actors, so you guys can stay here until you find a way to work together!” David instructs as he starts walking out of the filming room.

“But-” Chris and I speak simultaneously.

“Find a way to work together!” David interrupts as he locks the door behind him, leaving me and Chris alone.

“Oh well this is just great” Chris utters, taking a seat on the directors chair.

“Seriously? There’s one chair and you’re not even going to offer it to me?” I ask.

He shrugs, leans back, and puts his feet on the table. “I just don’t care enough to”.

“Yeah, well it’s called common courtesy Evans”.

“Yeah, well I guess it ain’t that common Y/L/N.” he laughs bringing his hands to the back of his head.

I hop onto the table and shuffle through the actors files.

Where is it? Where is it?

“Ah, Christopher Robert Evans.” I say with a smirk.

The mans expression drops. “Put that down”.

I flip the page.

“High School dropout”.

“Stop”.

His tone should scare me but he’s the reason we’re in this mess. He deserves this.

“EVN Film Studios”

“I said stop!” Chris yells walking towards me.

I watch as he towers over me. His nostrils flare and I can feel his hot breath on my lips. He grabs the file out of my hand while maintaining eye contact. Chris then throws it onto the table and walks back to his seat.

“It’s a good schoo- What’s wrong with you?” I ask noticing him squinting.

All he does is stay silent and place his left hand onto his temple.

“Rub it. That’s what my mom used to do whenever I got hurt.” I tell him.

He doesn’t move.

“Are you going to-”

“I don’t need to”.

“You clearly do. I mean, it was a wooden pencil. You cant tell me that it didn’t hurt.” I speak, getting a blank stare as a response.

I hop off of the table and start walking towards him. “Fine”.

“What’re you doing Y/L/N?” Chris asks confused.

“Well if you’re not gonna do it…”. I speak mostly to myself.

I try to find a way to easily rub his temple but Chris being in a chair shifts our heights. He pats his thigh and I sit on it with both my legs on either side.

He slightly bounces his leg and places both his hands onto my waist and I can feel myself becoming wet. A hundred dirty thoughts run through my head but I throw them aside.

Rolling my eyes, I gently press my thumb to the side of his head. He squints, and hisses through his teeth in pain when I move closer to where he’s hurt.

“Shhh, I know, I know.” I grab his face instinctively for comfort.

After I finish the massage I move his hair out of his face.

“There.” I say, trying to get up as fast as I can but his hands ground me.

He tightens his grip around my waist, so much so that his knuckles start to turn pale.

“Chris-”

“Chris? Two minutes ago it was Evans darlin.” he interrupts, his electric blue eyes focused on my Y/E/C ones.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I have to go.” I say breaking eye contact.

“Don’t fight it.” he says, still staring.

“What’re you talking about?” I chuckle.

I know damn well what he’s talking about.

“Come’n Y/F/N. I know how bad you want me” he smirks. “I can see how bad you want me”.

My eyes widen as i’m taken aback. “Chris we’re just friends if even th-”.

The man leans down to my ear. “Say the word friend one more time and I’ll fuck it out of your vocabulary.” he whispers.

I stare him in his eyes and a sudden boost of confidence awakens.

“You’ve been thinking about me, huh?” I chuckle, placing my hands onto his chest.

“Only when I need to come.” he replies.

That’s all it takes for my lips to smash into his. Chris swirls his tongue in my mouth and bites my bottom lip. We fight for dominance but I give in knowing that he won’t.

I moan into his mouth and he starts moving my hips. The friction of his jeans feel unbearably good on my cunt and I start to move my hips faster as Chris tangles his hands into my hair.

“Fuck Chris. Right there!”

“That’s it sweetheart, make yourself feel good.” he speaks on my lips.

I throw my head back in pleasure and he trails his sloppy kisses to my neck. I feel the knot grow tighter in my core and know i’m close.

“Chris fuck i’m so close” I moan, my hands grabbing the back of his hair.

“I know you are darlin, come for me. Make a mess all over me”.

That’s all it takes for my to release onto him. My wetness pools on his black jeans creating a dark spot.

“That what you needed?” Chris questions.

I nod in answer, too exhausted to speak.

“Oh I'm not done with you just yet Y/L/N”.

He hoists me onto the table and runs his eyes over my body.

“Won’t be need’n this…” Chris mutters ripping off my tank top. “…Or this.” he finishes, pulling my pants down my waist.

He then pulls his pants down along with his boxers. His cock springs out once free, tip covered in a white liquid. He spreads his pre-cum onto the rest of his dick and lines himself up with my entrance.

Chris moves the tip of his cock up and down my slick and looks up at me, waiting for an answer.

“Chris…” I speak out of breath.

“So eager”.

I nod my head over and over again, desperate to feel him inside of me.

“Words,Y/F/N. I need words”.

“I need you, Chris” I say with a pout.

That’s all he needs to push into me with full force. My velvet walls flutter contacting with Chris’ vein.

“Oh my- fuck yes!” My moans are music to his ears.

“So. Fucking. Perfect huh?” Chris mutters into my ears, thrusting with each word.

All I do is bite my bottom lip and nod, agreeing.

He grabs ahold of the edge of the table behind me and the cheap wood cracks with the pressure of his fist, but he doesn’t stop and God I don’t want him to. He keeps rocking his hips into mines over and over and over again.

I can feel Chris’ hands dig deeper into my hips. He moves his right one to my mouth and rubs a finger on my lips. He then trails his hand down to my right boob and starts playing with my nipple. He twists, turns, and squeezes the bud, and I throw my head back in pleasure.

“Yes Chris! Right there!”. I moan his name like a prayer.

Chris then moves his left hand lower and brings it to my cunt. Every circle that his thumb makes sends electric like currents through my body and I shut my eyes tight.

“Don’t you dare look away. Keep your eyes on me darlin’.” Chris groans on my lips.

I open my eyes again and kiss him back.

“That’s it sweetheart. You’re doin so well for me”. His dirty talk brings me closer to my edge.

I feel his cock spasm inside of me and that’s all I need to reach my climax. I let go onto him screaming his name, and he follows behind me.

Chris’ body falls onto mines, but he catches himself with his forearms. He pulls himself out of me and tugs his pants up.

“Guess we just found a way to work together.” he chuckles, watching a mixture of our juices run down my leg.

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#cevans #chris evans #chris evans / yn #chris evans drabble #chris evans fluff #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot #chris evans smut #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #bucky barnes enemies to lovers #bucky x female reader #bucky barns imagine #bucky barnes angst

[songbirdstyles]

screw my brain (’till it hurts)

summary: you and harry are spies on an assignment to pretend to be a married couple in order to take down a drug trafficking ring. the only problem? you two can’t stand each other.

warnings: smut (18+), hate sex, knifeplay, breathplay (choking), slapping, fingering, phone sex (sort of); enemies to lovers, one bed, fake dating 

song inspo.: death on two legs (dedicated to ...) - queen / back chat - queen / you’re so vain - carly simon

word count: 19.5k 

You can practically feel Harry’s anger simmering beside you, and you’re tired of it.

He’s been acting like a child since you got on the plane, his eyes narrowed and venomous and steam practically blowing out of his ears as though he’s on the verge of throwing a temper tantrum, and you’re sure if looks could kill you’d be dead a million times over again from all the staredowns he’d been trying to initiate. And you’re used to this, for the most part, but it doesn’t make you feel any less annoyed as he huffs beside you, flicking through the file on his lap.

And - look. You don’t like Harry. You can hardly even tolerate him, most of the time, and the only times you manage to be near him without gagging is when you’re on missions. Usually he’s the same way, pushing aside the mutual disdain you’ve shared from day fucking one when there’s goals to be accomplished and targets to take down but he’s just sitting here like an angry log, thumbing noisily through papers as you swipe through your phone.

He’s looking for attention, Mark would tell you - your boss is the epitome of coolness, desperate for you and Harry to get along because of his tendency to force you together on missions - and that is true. You’re just as pissed as he is and you aren’t making a show of it. No, he’s an attention seeking crybaby, and you won’t give him what he craves. Won’t even look at him.

The plane dips a bit, then, and your stomach lurches, grabbing at the armrest in between you two where Harry’s elbow rests, and he jerks it into his side as though you’d burned him. You scoff, then, the pretense of faking casualness abandoned as fast as you’d stuck to it, and you can sense him rolling his eyes at the noise.

“For Fuck’s sake,” you huff, leaning to the side so you can stare at him as you roll your eyes pointedly, and he mimics the movement. “What are you so whiny about?”

“M’not whiny,” Harry insists in a tone that’s strikingly similar to the whine he claims he doesn’t have, and you sigh before reaching over, snatching the file off of his lap. “Hey - I was readin’ that!”

“Really?” you inquire, shifting so your back is to the man next to you and he can’t read the words on the page you’re squinting at. “Could’ve fooled me. Thought you were just sitting there huffing and rolling your eyes like a baby.” After a moment where he doesn’t respond, you risk a glance backwards and are met with the back of his head full of curls as he stares out the window at the passing sunset as you whiz through the sky. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, hmm? Did Mark not put enough into the budget for hair gel and dirty shoes?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says in a wildly mature way of response, and you can hardly resist the urge to smirk at it. “F’the record, m’mad that I have t’do another mission with you.”

You nod, trailing your finger along the line of words detailing aspects about the target you know you’ll have to utilize later - he has four cats. He and his wife are on the brink of divorce. He has two daughters, and he doesn’t speak to either of them. His name is Vincent Carfield, and, boy, does he sound like a real catch - you’re so focused on reading about him that you hardly register that Harry’s started speaking again.

“Wish Mark would realize m’good enough to do shit like this on my own. Don’t need you t’come around an’ pretend to be my - my girlfriend. S’stupid.”

“Well, if you were good enough, I would be at home with cucumbers on my eyes right now instead of reading about the leader of a drug trafficking ring -”

“God, you’re a bitch -”

“And you’re an asshole -”

“Fuck you - m’calling Mark.”

You snort, leaning back in your seat as Harry fumbles in his bag at his feet for his tablet, and he shakily sets it up on his lap, tapping through the screen until he gets to the FaceTime app. “Real mature, Har, going to tattle to Mark.”

“God, not everything’s about you, narcissist - half hour out, need a debrief.”

You crane your neck to lean in front of him and look out the window, and - sure enough - you can already tell that you’re getting closer, plane dipping slowly lower and it wouldn’t be perceptible to you if he hadn’t told you. Harry’s always been a tad bit more observant than you, though you wouldn’t confess that to him if your life depended on it.

Mark answers Harry’s call within mere seconds - he’s always on high alert when you guys call, especially when you’re off on missions together - part of you suspects he’s always waiting for a call that one of you killed the other. “Hello, lovebirds,” he chirps, the pure image of relaxation as he adjusts his tie, shifting in his seat - you and Harry both roll your eyes at his nickname for the pair of you. “Surprised to see you haven’t clawed each other’s eyes out.” “Wish I did,” you mutter beneath your breath, and Harry glares at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Anyway,” Mark says, and you know he heard what you said judging from the ghost of a smile on his pale face, but he brushes past it. “When you land, you’ll have around an hour to get settled into the hotel before dinner. I’ve sent you the address to the restaurant - the target is eating there with his wife, most likely to discuss their divorce, so he’ll be feeling vulnerable and insecure -” “And that’s where I come in,” you finish, trailing your nail across the fine printed page which holds the plans the three had deliberated over for two weeks prior - compared to most of your missions it was an extraordinarily short amount of time to plan but none of you could foresee this one going anything other than disgustingly easy. If you pull through, you could be home by the end of the weekend.

“And that’s where you come in,” Mark affirms, thick rimmed glasses mirroring the image of you and Harry that he’s seeing on his screen. “Find any way to touch him - pretend to trip - and plant the audio tracker on his jacket.” You nod, and Harry drops his head against the seat with a soft sigh that nearly makes you turn and throttle him but you hold back, fingers tensing as though itching for a throat to grab. “Then you guys go back to the hotel, hold back from slaughtering each other, and listen in - he’s staying at the room next to yours.”

If this situation were occurring a year ago in your first few weeks of working as a spy perhaps you’d marvel at the seeming coincidence of Mark just happening to get you a hotel room right next to your target - but your one-year anniversary working has just come up and, as it so happens, you know he can make just about anything happen by pulling the right strings. And staying in the same hotel, on the same floor, is the perfect talking point for dinner - you’re already storing it in the back of your mind to bring up in conversation when you manage to get the tracker on his jacket -

“ - and, look, guys, I know you don’t particularly like each other,” Mark is saying when your attention snaps back to him, and Harry snorts. It’s the understatement of the century - you almost want to laugh with him. “It’s just really important that you sell yourselves as a couple. I don’t care what you have to do - share a drink or hold hands - but he needs to see you as a couple. All of his mistresses have been seemingly happily married - he’ll be more inclined to get closer with ____ if he sees you’re in a good relationship. Then, Harry, of course, can explore his hotel room - snuff out anything suspicious.”

You nod but Harry seems less convinced - his brow arches as his arms cross over his chest, and you glance over at him with confusion written over your features. “M’confused,” he says, and you raise your eyebrows. “She’s gonna fu - have an affair wit’ him, then?”

God, we fucking talked about this, you want to shout at him, to shake his shoulders until he’s dizzy. If you paid attention while we planned instead of sitting there whining that you don’t go on missions by yourself because nobody goes on missions by themselves unless they’ve been here for nearly 10 years and you’ve barely scraped three -

Mark is more patient. He just shrugs, fingers tapping away at the keyboard connecting to his screen. “Maybe - maybe not. Depends how vulnerable she can get him without resorting to sexual means.”

“Don’t think I’ll have a problem with that,” you can’t resist saying, popping the ‘p’ in problem as you smugly smirk, scratching your nails against the smooth paper you’d been reading as Harry glares at you, seemingly affronted. “Only had to resort to getting down and dirty with a target once - that asshole mob boss - everyone else is just dying to tell me their juicy little secrets. Guess it’s a perk at being good at what you do, right, Har?”

“Oh, you’re such a -”

“Children, children,” Mark interrupts the beginning of Harry’s speech about what a cunt you are, holding up his age-worn palms with mock exasperation as he stares the two of you down. “Stay civil. I’ve just booked your reservation at this Italian restaurant called Fucina’s - it’s for 7, under Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson. Vincent Carfield and his wife have a reservation for 7:30 but have a tendency to arrive early. They requested seating in a more private area, as did I, so you should be able to hear their conversations -”

The conversation rolls on for another few minutes until the pilot announces that you’re landing in ten, and that’s Mark’s cue to sign off - with a fleeting inquiry about any questions the pair of you may have he’s gone, wishing you good luck and making you promise to call him after dinner once you’ve set up the tracker and begun listening to your mark. You don’t suspect you’ll forget to - you and Harry generally can’t be in an enclosed environment together for too long without having overwhelming desires to take each other out, and Mark balances you out. Eases the two of you, calms you down, even when you’re so angry at Harry you want nothing more than to stamp your feet on the ground and scream.

It’s how you feel now, a bit, as Harry shuts his tablet and shoves it back into his bag with a dramatic huff after Mark has signed off. He’s angry about something again, surely relating to you and the mission and how he constantly feels snubbed by Mark but, truthfully, as the plane dips lower and lower to the Earth, you find that you really, really, don’t care.

 ~~

 The hotel room is, for all intents and purposes, fairly large. It’s nicer than a significant portion of the ones you two inhabit on missions and you should be grateful, toeing off your boots in the entrance of the suite, that it has a functioning kitchen and a bathroom with a door that closes and an L shaped couch facing the television (based on the description of the suite Mark had sent), but your mood has been entirely soured by Harry’s sore attitude during the drive from the airport to the hotel.

He drops his suitcase against the carpeted ground of the entrance, and it slams onto the ground so close to your sock-covered toes that you jump back, glaring at him as he pointedly ignores you and descends further into the hotel room, peeking his curly head into the kitchen and the bathroom. You watch him as you rest your suitcase against the wall, nudging his closer to the wall with your foot before following him, already tugging your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check for any new texts from your boss when -

“You’ve got t’be fucking kidding me.”

You arch your eyebrows, tilting your phone into your chest as you turn the corner into the main living area. And it’s nice, eyes wandering over the couch that Mark had told you about, and the TV mounted to the wall with a Roku connected to it that you’re sure you’ll take advantage of later tonight. The carpet is soft beneath your feet even through your socks, and the bed is nicely made, pillows fluffy and looking soft -

Bed.

Shit.

What a bastard, Mark is - booking a room with only one bed? And not even telling you two about it? God, you could kill him. You really could, and you will, as soon as you get back to headquarters and see his stupid bald head in person - you’ll throttle him. Or shoot him. Hell, you’ll even stab him.

“You’re taking the couch,” you tell Harry, and before he can protest you take a running start to leap onto the bed, plopping onto your back and tucking your arms beneath your scalp. “Looks real comfy, doesn’t it? The bed - not the couch. Couch looks like it’ll kill your back.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry practically snarls, voice all venom and teeth, and he sits at the edge of the bed anyway, hands going up to loosen at the black tie wrapped tight around his neck. “So entitled - I’ll take the fucking bed. Been here longer than you, y’know - just ‘cause y’like t’act like you’re so good -”

“And yet,” you interrupt, bringing your foot up to kick at his side, and he turns around and glares at you, “I’m the one getting put on assignments with you, even though I’ve hardly been here a year. Oh, yeah, what’s that Mark told us? I was put on duty the quickest than anyone else after finishing my assignments?” You screw up your eyes as though trying to fact check yourself before nodding, smiling at the positively hateful expression on your partner’s face. “Guess I am good.”

He opens his mouth to reply and perhaps he assumes better of it - he simply rolls his eyes, pulling his tie off of his neck and dropping it on the ground beside him. For a moment you simply stare at him as he peels his jacket off, littering it on the floor in a similar fashion as his tie, until he’s merely donning a white button down and his black dress pants, hair messy and face light red. 

Sometimes you do that - you watch him - because it’s nice to see him look so peaceful and silent when you’re used to spewing hatred back and forth. You could even be into him if he kept his mouth taped shut and promised to never make a single noise, but he would never comply with it - and you’re sure you’d find a reason to get pissed off at him if he didn’t speak.

You hadn’t realized how long you’d been staring at him until he turns around, and your gazes lock, and you lift your eyebrows.

“Don’t stare at me,” Harry demands, backing up on the bed until his head rests on the pillow beside you - you turn your head to stare at him, affronted. “Told you - m’taking the bed. An’ m’gonna take a nap f’a half hour- already set the timer on m’phone - so you can either take the couch or sit here right beside me.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, glaring down at the man beside you who closes his eyes (rather smugly, you’ll add) and mimics your own previous position, arms tucked beside his head. “You dickhead.”

“Mhm.”

“I’m not moving.”

“Fine by me.”

“I’m gonna nap too -”

“Go ahead -”

“And I stretch out a lot when I sleep.”

“How ever will I handle it?”

You’ve seem to run out of responses, furrowing your eyebrows as Harry’s face settles into an expression of slight comfort and you wonder if he really has gone to bed, resting in the button down shirt and dress pants that he’s always itching to get out of at the end of the day. You’ve had to watch him undress with absolutely no shame in front of your far too many times for comfort, shoved into small hotel rooms together but at least they had two beds - you can hardly control your heart rate as you stare down at him.

(Because you’re angry, of course. Whenever he’s acting like a dumbass your heartbeat quickens to match the pace of a fucking freight train, and that’s nearly every time you’ve ever had to talk to him.)

After a moment you rest back on the bed beside him, head dangerously close to the center of the two pillows where you can feel Harry’s curls, spread upon his pillows, brushing against the sides of your temples. With every feel of his hair against your skin you feel your anger rising, and you exhale softly, pressing your palms to the top of your stomach as you listen to his steady breathing beside you.

He sounds too peaceful.

You wait nearly ten minutes before beginning your plan of attack, not nearly as meticulously planned as the ones you and Harry will employ later - you slowly begin to spread your legs out, feeling your calf brush against his foot, and your arms follow in a similar pattern. They stretch outwards, forearm thrown across his neck, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing against your skin but he doesn’t take the bait - doesn’t even move a muscle, and you can feel his even breathing against your arm.

For a second you wonder if he really is asleep. You’d be surprised.

It’s uncomfortable sleeping on your back and that’s your justification for rolling over onto your stomach, body halfway on top of Harry’s, chest pressed against his and face buried into the pillow beside him so your nose presses into his hair, softly inhaling the fruity shampoo he uses. Your arm lazily throws itself across his torso, leg nudging his until they fall off the bed, and he grunts.

“What th’fuck are y’doing?” Harry questions gruffly, voice just raspy enough to make you consider the very real possibility that he truly had fallen asleep, and you don’t respond. “Get off me, dumbass - tryin’ t’sleep.”

You remain silent. You work on steadying your breathing, faking sleep in the way that you’ve mastered over the past year (and a half, if you count the six months of training you’d done before beginning work) - on one of your earliest missions you’d pretended to be passed out in the back of a work party you’d seduced your way into with a tape recorder taped to your underboob and you’d been able to get enough recording of a conversation between two sleazy old men to support your hypothesis that their paper company was a front for a sex trafficking ring. You suspect this case should be likely the same, albeit easier and likely without the work party, and you’ll breeze through it like nobody’s business if it requires fake sleeping like you’re doing now.

“I know you’re not sleeping,” he correctly deduces, lifting his arm to slam it against your back entirely too hard and you nibble on your bottom lip to keep from making any type of noise at the slight pain the motion brings. “Get off me. Go t’the couch - stop being so stubborn.”

You mumble something incoherent under your breath, digging your face further into your pillow just to hear the way he hisses as you (un)intentionally tug at his hair. You feel his hands dig into your sides and before you can pull off of him he pushes you away with as much force as he can muster, and you’re send tossed to the other end of the bed, grappling at the duvet to stop yourself from slipping over the edge of the bed onto the carpet.

“Fuck,” you hiss, pushing yourself to sit out with your legs stuck straight out in front of you. With a glare directed towards the man opposite you you pull your legs back and push them towards him sharply, kicking him directly in his thigh, and his legs tumble off the bed, forcing him to sit up to maintain his balance. “Take that, dipshit.”

“Can’t you do better than that?” Harry questions, tone so mocking and condescending that you push yourself to his knees just as he rises to stand, the top button of his shirt mercifully coming undone, and you resist the urge to glance at it every so often. “C’mon, babe - if you’re gonna be a bitch -”

You push yourself to stand on top of the covers, taking a leap towards Harry where he stands on the other side of the bed, and your legs hook around his torso, effectively catching him by surprise as his hands immediately land on your waist, tugging you off of him and throwing you onto the bed with an ease that shouldn’t surprise you after this long of knowing him but it still knocks the breath out of you. His body hovers above you, pinning your arms above your head but you won’t have that - hook your legs around the back of his thighs and force him onto his back, throwing your legs over his torso as you mimic the position he’d trapped you in.

“1…” you begin counting tauntingly as you stare down at his face, reaching down to grab his wrists and hold them above his head, watching as he wriggles beneath you, his stomach tensing against your core. “2 … not even gonna put up a fight? What an agent you are -”

He practically growls at that, jerking his hands upward until they slip out of your grasp, nearly whacking you in the chin before he pushes himself up. You’re slammed into the headboard before you can even stop to think of your counterattack, back slamming into the wood as you drop your head forward to ensure you don’t knock your head into the wall, and Harry kneels in front of you with an exasperated, smug smirk, reaching up to press his forearm over your throat.

He’s not pressing hard - not enough to constrict your breathing at all, merely to hold your head in place - and after a second he begins counting just as you had - “1 … 2 … 3.”

You struggle uselessly against him until he reaches the final number, and a satisfied smile etches itself across his face before he pulls away, resting back on his knees to watch you huff before him before he begins crawling off the bed. “An’ I think that means that you, m’lady, have t’take the couch -”

You deliver one final swift kick to the back of Harry’s needs, and he tumbles off of the bed onto the ground with a cry, knees dropping onto the carpet and hands instinctively pressing to the wall he’d nearly slammed his head into. His position becomes one similar to a prayer, dropping his head forward against the wall with a dramatic groan.

“I won,” you tell him, flopping onto your back on the bed with a satisfied hum. “Get on the couch - reckon we still have a good 10 minutes left of our nap.”

Harry pushes himself to his feet in the blink of an eye, turning around with a look on his face that’s so serious you nearly want to double over in laughter, and as he plants his knees on the edge of the bed to resume the fight you’d had earlier, a sudden noise from the wall opposite your bed causes you to hold your palm out to him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

“Shh!” you hiss, pushing yourself onto your elbows as Harry furrows his eyebrows, craning his neck towards the wall as though it’ll help him hear better. “D’you hear that?”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, pondering the muffled noises coming from the hotel room next door. “Wha’?” Harry questions after a moment, voice hushed and soft, and you wait a moment before responding.

“The shower -” and, sure enough, just as the thought crosses your mind and the words leave your mouth you know that that’s the noise you’re hearing - the sound of water streaming onto the buff body of Vincent Carfield or perhaps his wife - “what time is it?”

“Uh -” Harry scrambles off the bed, digging through his backpack thrown on the ground until he can pull out his tablet, and the light shines on his face as he turns it on. “6:34.”

“Shit,” you hiss, rolling off the bed and practically darting out to the entrance hall where your suitcase rests against the wall, and you knock it to the ground and unzip it quickly. “Vincent’s already getting ready - we need to be at the restaurant soon. How fast can you get ready?”

“Pretty fast -” by the time Harry’s made his way into the entrance hall to dig through the suitcase he’d attempted to hit you with earlier you’ve peeled off your clothes, dropping them in a pile by your feet until you’re clad in only your bra and a pair of lace panties that leave entirely too little to the imagination, holster holding your knife firm against your thigh, and he freezes. “Christ. Can’t y’get a room f’that?”

“Oh, says the one who strips naked in the middle of the room every single night!” You shake your head, digging through your suitcase until you can find the black dress you’d packed specifically for dinner - it’s folded and mercifully wrinkle free, and you unzip the back to begin stepping into it. “Get ready. I’m going to do my makeup.”

“Make sure y’put a lot on - don’t wanna scare him off -”

“Shut up, Harry!”

 ~~

 Fucina’s is dark and fancy, with hosts dressed in all black and waitresses in a similar fashion. You would almost feel out of place, your arm hooked with Harry’s as you’re led through the main dining room towards the back where your table is, but it’s not any more elegant than any of the other expensive restaurants and galas the pair of you have infiltrated together, and with your tight dress and his suit, you look like exactly the couple to eat and afford a restaurant like this.

“The pasta’s $65,” Harry murmurs, trailing his fingertip down the laminated menu that you can hardly see in the dim light of the restaurant. You squint down at the page, bringing your head closer down to confirm that, yes, the fettuccine truly is that fucking expensive, and - not for the first time - you’re immensely grateful for the headquarters-mandated debit cards that you’ll use to pay for this. “Y’see that? The fettuccine?”

“Yeah,” you nod, though you’re not looking at the menu any longer - your eyes scan the restaurant behind Harry’s back, and of the three other tables in the private section Mark had requested for Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson to be in, none of them are occupied except yours. You and Harry had gotten there ten minutes late, much to Mark’s chagrin when you called him in the taxi, and the Carfields still hadn’t arrived. “Think I’m just gonna get a salad - not too hungry, anyway.”

“Me too.”

The conversation drains into a weird sort of silence - not awkward, and not malicious, either, as all of your silences usually are typically the result of one of you purposely ignoring the other. It’s harder to air out your disdain for each other when you’re supposed to be a couple that’s hopelessly in love in a high class restaurant, and you find that you don’t have much else to talk about with your partner besides discussing either the mission or whatever he’s doing that may be pissing you off at the moment -

He actually looks nice right now. Calm, collected - if you didn’t know better you’d say he looks like a pretty stand-up guy. The kind you’d take home to your mom.

“Why are y’lookin’ at me?” Harry questions, then, glancing up at you, and you internally curse at yourself - you always tend to forget how good he is at identifying someone staring at him. 

“Just thinking about how much I prefer you when you aren’t speaking,” you tell him, voice dropping lower as a host clad in black leads an older couple into the area, sitting them at a table towards the window as Harry rolls his eyes. You lift your water glass to your lips, taking a slow sip as you attempt to inconspicuously decipher if the couple is your target -

“You’re being so obvious,” Harry hisses, voice soft like a breath and yet still retaining all the venom his words always tend to hold. “Is it them?”

“No,” you decide, resting your glass back on your coaster as you slide your chair further into the table, foot accidentally kicking his ankle as you do - his face contorts in both annoyance and pain as he repeats the motion to you. “No - Carfield’s wife is young, isn’t she?”

“27.”

“Yeah.” The wife currently settling into her seat, draping her jacket over the back of her chair, is decidedly not 27 - add 50 years, or so. “Not them. They should be here soon, though.” 

“Good.”

In another moment your waitress has come to take your drink orders - you get a bottle of red wine just to hammer in the notion that you’re a young couple on a date night, even if you really prefer white wine, and you’re sure Harry would rather have a beer, but Mark always tells you to go for red when you’re out to dinner on missions. And - well - you’re not necessarily complaining. Wine is wine.

The wine arrives at your table with two tall glasses and Harry takes it to pour with a faux cheerful grin that has the waitress flushing in the dim light of the room - you tell yourself the tinge of jealousy at her clear adoration for the man currently uncorking the bottle to pour for you is simply because of how in character you are in terms of your fake marriage - and if you were someone else, perhaps you’d get angry at her for clearly flirting with Harry, though he doesn’t seem to notice.

Strange. You’d always taken him as the more observant one of the two of you, but he’s paying no mind to the waitress’s blushed face as he pours wine into your glass and she pulls out her notepad, ready to take your order.

“I’ll have the caesar salad, please, without chicken,” you tell her, giving a tight lipped grin as she scribbles it down onto her page. When Harry’s rested the bottle of wine back on the tablecloth-clad table, you reach over and rest your hand overtop of his, feeling his veins jump beneath your touch. “What about you, honey?”

If he’s confused, he doesn’t look it - just gives you a warm smile that feels entirely wrong coming from him, and the waitress looks positively affronted as he orders a large Mediterannean salad, and when she’s tucked her notebook back into the apron tied around her waist and left the private area, he furrows his eyebrows at you.

“Y’jealous?” Harry inquires, leaning his head in with a mocking grin that makes you roll your eyes, though you make no effort to move your hand from his - it looks better for appearances, anyway. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“In your dreams,” you insist, straightening your posture once a different hostess leads a couple into the room. The man is old, bald head shining in the dim light and donning a suit jacket that clearly hasn’t been tailored to his proportions, and his wife is significantly younger, pale face flushed red and wearing a black dress that looks as though she’s attending a funeral - you suppose she is, to some degree, mourning her marriage, so perhaps it’s fitting.

Harry can tell by the way you straighten up that the new couple sitting at the table behind him is the Carfields. Vincent sits with his back to your table, his wife on the opposite side, and immediately they lean their heads together, surely speaking in hushed tones about - prenuptial agreements and custody of their two girls and the like.

You need to be a couple. Mark had insisted on it, that it’s the most important part for you to get closer to Vincent and make him susceptible to your manipulation - he needs to see you as some sort of forbidden fruit - a married woman with a seemingly happy husband. It’s a control thing for him, and one you need to play into if you want to take his drug ring down.

It would sound like an ambitious goal if you weren’t as confident in yourself and Harry - because even if you hate him, he’s a damn good agent.

Your eyes meet Harry’s across the table, and he raises an eyebrow. You nod, jerking your head up and down before wrapping your manicured fingers around the stem of your wine glass, lifting it up and giving your partner a soft smile - one that he’s rarely on the receiving end of, if you’re being truthful - and you nod your chin towards his glass. Harry follows your lead, lifting his glass and raising it to clink against yours.

“Cheers,” he murmurs, and both of you sip from your glasses before resting them back down on your coasters, the rim of your glass decorated with a generous pink stain from your lipstick. “Happy anniversary, honey.”

His voice raises in volume just a bit, and from the table behind him you can see tears fill Mrs. Carfield’s eyes at the sentiment of a happy couple, and Mr. Carfield’s head tilts to the side though you don’t watch him long enough to see if he’d heard Harry - you simply smile - lift your intertwined hands in the air and to anyone else in your private area you’re sure you simply look the perfect part of a happy couple, celebrating their marriage anniversary. Two years together. Mr. and Mrs. James Robinson have been married for longer than you’ve known (and despised) Harry - surely there’s irony hidden in there, deep enough that you can’t see it.

It’s easier than you’d like to admit to fake a meaningful conversation with Harry. Mark generally gives the pair of you a list of things to talk about so people get the impression that you can tolerate each other but you typically don’t even need it - it’s easy enough to talk about your faux plans for the rest of your marriage.

It’s almost fun, even. Not in a way you’d expect - but it’s funny, talking about whatever the pair of you would imagine married couples would discuss - mortgages and trying for babies and politics - keeping your voices loud enough so the couple behind you can hear but quiet enough so it doesn’t seem intentional.

“D’you think we could turn the guest room into a nursery?” Harry inquires, lips quirking upwards as he lifts his wine to his lips, and you nibble on your bottom lip, pretending to contemplate the question.

“Of course,” you respond faux-thoughtfully, leaning forward just a bit, and his eyes flicker downwards for hardly a second before rising to meet your eyes again. “Or perhaps the office.”

“Yes, that’s a bit bigger,” he says seriously, and you nod, reaching for your glass of wine to take another small sip. It’s bitter and leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you’re determined to drink the entire thing - it’ll soothe the nerves that you’re sure will arrive when it’s time to plant the bug on Mr. Carfield. You still haven’t figured out how you’ll manage to do it smoothly. “Then perhaps we could save the guest room for the second.”

You nod, hardly able to keep the small smile off your lips, and Harry leans forward, reaching for the stem of his glass - perhaps he miscalculates the force needed to pick up a glass, or maybe he’s beginning to feel the effects of the first glass of wine he’d downed - but his hand knocks into the glass, sending it toppling forward onto your arms, sticky red liquid coating your skin. You jerk your arms back as though he’d burned you, watching him hiss as he reaches for the glass before it can spill any further onto you or the white tablecloth now stained with redness.

You swallow the urge to snap at him - that’s counterproductive, and it’ll blow your cover - so you merely inhale, willing the anger down as you reach for your napkin to begin to mop up the mess. “Should watch what you’re doing, honey -”

“My bad, darling - didn’t mean to -”

And the moment of you beginning to like Harry is gone as fast as it had begun, feeling the simmering anger that’s ever-present beneath your skin already beginning to bubble into existence. He’s looking at you with his eyebrows raised as if this is your fault that he can’t control his own glass, like you’re the nuisance, and your desire to retort snarkily is thwarted only as Vincent Carfield’s head turns just slightly to the side, and you can see him and his wife watching the pair of you in what’s clearly an attempt to be subtle.

You rest your palms on the table as Harry sets his glass back on the coaster, and you can feel the similar waves of annoyance rolling off of him that you’re sure you’re mirroring. “I’m going to go clean myself up,” you tell him. “Excuse me for a moment, sweetheart.”

“Take your time, princess.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you push your chair back with a tight lipped smile, standing up and resting your napkin on the table before your seat as you push past the table towards the bathroom you’d passed when your host had lead you to the table.

The restrooms are nicely decorated, with large mirrors and sinks and two singular stalls - entirely too fancy for the thoughts racing through your mind as you lean over the sink, turning the faucet on and shoving your sticky arms beneath the flow of warm water. You’d managed to clean most of the wine with your napkin but you still just need - perhaps just a moment to yourself, without Harry’s eyes piercing into you in a way that makes it impossible to feel like he doesn’t want to throttle you.

And you want to throttle him, too. That’s why your relationship works because it doesn’t, because you hate him as much as he hates you - and yet, while you were drinking wine and messing around and pretending to be a couple you didn’t hate him. Not even a bit -

Until he spilled the wine. It’s a forcible reminder of why you want to shave off all of his hair when he sleeps, sometimes.

The water has gone cold on your skin when you finally shut the faucet off, picking up a small stack of paper towels to dry off your arms. When you’ve chucked your trash in the wicker-basket garbage bin you take a moment to simply stare at yourself in the mirror, black dress hugging your body just enough to leave very little to the imagination - you adjust the fabric to hide the bulge where you have your knife holstered to your thigh. The cut of the dress dips low into your cleavage - and then you recall how Harry’s eyes had briefly dipped downwards when you’d been talking earlier -

A smile twitches at your lips. You’ll have to remember to use that one against him later.

Just before you turn to leave you pause - stick your hand down the front of your dress to the small audio device you’d hidden in your bra. The bug is small, barely the size of your pinky nail, one side sticky enough to hold onto Vincent Carfield’s tan suit jacket -

You hadn’t thought too much about how you’d manage to subtly get the device on him, but there’s no time like the present, is there?

You leave the bathroom, then - nearly run into your waitress as she stares down at her notepad, and you’re not sure if you’re imagining the dirty look she shoots you - and climb the two short steps it takes to get to the private area you’d been seated in. Harry’s back faces you, curls looking particularly messy and head dropped forward to surely stare at his phone, and you can see Vincent leaning in to talk to his wife with narrowed eyes and a hushed tone.

You inhale and begin your walk over to the table, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and Harry’s head tilts to the side as he hears you coming. Vincent’s eyes rise to meet yours just as your heel slides a bit on the floor and you slip forward right beside their table, and the plan falls into action just as you’d planned in the thirty second walk it had taken to get from the bathroom to here.

Vincent’s arm sticks out instinctively to catch you, wrapped around your stomach for just a moment too long as his other hand rests on your back, and you use the opportunity to reach up and grab his shoulder as a way to steady yourself. Harry jerks around in his seat to watch you, and the concern in his eyes almost makes you revive your brief moment of liking him but it’s overpowered by the pride you feel - if he can’t immediately snuff out that the fall was a fraud, then it had clearly looked realistic enough that the Carfields wouldn’t be able to tell, your hand with the bug pressing to his shoulder

Boom. Planted. Your grip presses the bug against the back of his shoulder as he helps you to your feet, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes trail up your body - his poor wife looks affronted at the clear display of attraction.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” you apologize, trailing your finger down his arm as he drops his hands back to the table. “I’m so clumsy sometimes -”

“No worries,” he assures you, and perhaps he would seem like a kind, well-adjusted man if it weren’t for the way his eyes zero in on your chest like a magnet - Harry shifts in his seat, watching the two of you, and his wife picks up her glass of wine and downs it in one sip. “Always glad to help a pretty girl in need.”

A blush works its way up your cheeks and before you can flirt back - it raises bile in the back of your throat to do it - Harry intervenes, leaning forward with a goddamn award winning smile and absolutely stomping on your chance to ensure some sort of relationship with Mr. Carfield as he says, “Did she wrinkle your suit at all? We’ll get the laundry bill, if she did.”

You grind your teeth together through a smile as Vincent shakes his bald head, sending Harry a warm smile which your partner gladly reciprocates. “It’s fine - are the two of you married?”

Didn’t he hear you two loudly celebrating your anniversary? Perhaps he just needs to confirm it - nothing wrong with it - but, God, he’s forward.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, and you step away from Vincent to walk back to your table - Harry reaches for your hand and pulls you to him, and you suspect the motion would look awkward if done by anyone else but it feels entirely too natural for you to be bothered. “It’s our two year marriage anniversary, actually. That’s why we’re here - on vacation.”

“That’s lovely,” Vincent says, and his smile stretches wider until it makes you uncomfortable to look at so you busy yourself gazing down at Harry’s head as though you’re so smitten you can hardly stand to look away. Then he holds out his hand, and you grab it, letting him shake it vigorously before he moves towards Harry. “It’s Vincent Carfield,” he tells you both, and Harry jumps in to introduce yourselves by your false names. “How long are you here?” “Just th’weekend,” Harry responds, nodding as Vincent does. “We’re staying downtown.”

“Really?” Vincent leans forward, and you lean your body back just a bit - not enough for him to notice, thankfully. “What hotel?”

And Harry gives him the name and Vincent acts as though it’s the wildest coincidence in the world that you both happen to be staying at one of the nicest, most popular hotels in London but you’re glad he overreacts, in a way. It’s important to establish some sort of relation between the two of you and maybe this’ll make Vincent feel like he’s destined to start some sort of affair with you - sure, it’s stupid, but he’s insecure and you’re ‘married’ and that should make him feel a bit more in control, knowing there’s a man waiting for you when you’re with him.

The thought could nearly make you gag. You hope beyond hope that it doesn’t have to get to it - that maybe the two of you could just sit and talk while Harry searches his hotel room - but, judging from the way he’s practically salivating as he stares up at you, you don’t think that’ll be the case.

After another moment of chatter your waitress arrives with a large plate of salad in each hand - you let go of Harry’s hand with one last departing wink to Vincent Carfield as you walk around the table to your seat, pushing your seat into the table just as your salad is placed before you.

Vincent’s wife glares at you - you’d feel bad in any other scenario. But - hey - at least they’re getting divorced already.

You pick up your fork, stabbing into a crouton and a few pieces of iceberg lettuce, and you raise it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully on your food as Harry mirrors your actions. The two of you eat in silence for a minute or two, and you occasionally lift your wine to take a sip - he hadn’t poured himself a new glass, for which you are extremely grateful - before he leans in, curls flopping around his ears in a way that would be adorable if you didn’t have any sort of niggling annoyance for him still lingering.

“Good job, Mrs. Robinson,” murmurs Harry into a forkful of lettuce before shoving it into his mouth, and you scrunch your nose at his sloppiness.

“It’s what I’m best at,” you respond in earnest, and you relish in the way he rolls his eyes.

 ~~

 Harry takes forever in the shower.

It’s an indisputable fact at this point and one you should have gotten used to but it never fails to amaze you as your fingers type away at the headquarters-issued laptop resting on the carpet in front of you. He’s already been in the bathroom for nearly 20 minutes - you can hear his music playing, old hippie music that’s always blaring from his earbuds on plane and car rides, and steam billows out of the crack in the bottom of the door - and you’ve been picking up where he left up setting up the audio transmitter you’d attached to Vincent Carfield so you can hear what he’s saying, wired earbuds plugged into the computer preparation for when you start the audio.

Harry hadn’t done much at all to set it up - you can’t imagine what he was doing in the hotel room while you were showering if he wasn’t working on the mission, but you’d come out after your shower and hardly anything was done.

They should come up with better technology for this, you think as you drum your fingernails against your laptop, watching the small loading bar inch across the computer screen, transmitting the audio from next door to both your laptop and to Mark, back at headquarters. You’d texted him briefly to ask if he still wanted you to call him and he told you to merely connect the audio to him and there would be no issues - well, that’s fine by you, even if you’d largely counted on him coming between you and Harry when you’ll inevitably want to kill him later tonight.

The water shuts off. You roll your eyes for a good few seconds as you hear the shower curtain being shoved open from inside the bathroom, and you lean further into the computer before you, squinting at the loading bar that hasn’t progressed further since the last time you examined it. You sigh - push yourself off of the floor, arms stretched above your head and the sleeves of your t-shirt slide further down your shoulders. You’re simply donning a worn college shirt you’d gotten when you were in high school and still had dreams of attending a typical university - dreams that, evidently, you had squashed in the years to come - and a pair of sleep shorts, their waist just a tad too big on you and you’ve tugged them up further than they should rest.

It’s decidedly chilly in the hotel. The steam dissipating through the room from Harry’s shower serves as the only way to heat you up, humid air warm on your skin, and you hate the way you almost appreciate him for taking such a piping hot shower - but the thought doesn’t have to linger too long before the bathroom door opens with the force of a fucking bullet and Harry walks out, towel tied around his waist and hanging low on his hips, sopping curls brushed and resting on his shoulders, droplets from the strands rolling down his chest.

Your stomach flips. 

“Christ,” you say as a way of hiding the way your skin suddenly feels like there’s a fire lighting it from the inside out, burning your insides with it. “Don’t have any clothes to put on?”

He rolls his eyes - you swallow thickly, perching yourself on the edge of the bed as he takes a moment to stop and glance at the computer on the ground before turning back to you. “Changing in the bathroom is gross,” and - well, yeah, you have to agree with that. “Y’practically stripped naked in front f’me earlier, y’know.”

“You did it first,” you mutter, pulling your legs to cross beneath you as Harry crosses the room to the full length mirror mounted on the wall, fingers running through his wet curls, and you tear your eyes away from the water dripping onto his bare skin with only mild difficulty. “The audio is loading.”

“I saw that, believe it or not.”

Dick. You bite your tongue, though, and resist the urge to retort that he’d clearly not even started to set up the transmitter while you were showering, because the loading bar has moved nearly to the end of the screen while you’d been conversing with Harry. You climb off the bed, kneeling in front of the computer as Harry looks down at you, and you distinctly feel a drop from his hair land on the top of your head.

“S’done?” he inquires, and you glance up at him to reply but he’s already plopping down next to you, leaning over you to squint at the screen so you get a nice whiff of the hotel soap he’d used and his own distinct scent of shampoo - it’s fruity, mixed with something musky you can’t decipher - maybe tobacco? It’s hard to tell - he smells good. You wonder if he’s noticed how still you’ve gotten but then he pulls away, leaning back on his arm while you clear your throat and lean forward, tapping the mousepad on your laptop a few times in quick succession. “You’ve got it hooked to Mark?”

“‘Course,” you say, if only to regain your composure and keep your pretense of light annoyance with him. “Probably why it’s taking so long.”

“Ah.”

Then he stands, crossing to the entrance hall where his suitcase is opened, clothes folded meticulously because he’s nothing if not a freak for his clothes - out of the corner of your eye you see him pull out a pair of pajama pants and only a pair of pajama pants, and when his head turns to glance back at you, you’re quick to avert your gaze back to the computer -

Which has loaded. Hooray!

“It’s done,” you call to him, a decibel too loud and you’re quick to lower your voice with a small glance to the wall separating you and the Carfields. Earlier, you’d heard their door slam when they got home from dinner and you could make out their faint voices arguing if you focused hard enough - you don’t want them to hear you. “Get changed and we can listen.”

You pick up one of the earbuds connected to the laptop and shove it in your ear, fiddling with the volume buttons until it’s loud enough that you can hear their conversations as Harry ducks back into the bathroom. Clearly the coat with the bug has been folded in such a way that it muffles their voices but hell, it’s a strong bug, and you can still manage to hear them fine enough.

You send a text to Mark, and he confirms he can hear it too - you toss your phone to the side, letting it slide across the carpet as you lean in, adjusting the earbud in your ear.

Vincent’s voice is what you hear first - he’s talking fast, as though he’s in a rush, and your brows furrow.

“The new shipment isn’t set to come in until the first,” he says, tone hushed and soft, and you can’t hear his wife’s response after a moment of listening, and then he continues. “Think, you idiot! She’s trying to milk me for everything I’ve got - everything we’ve worked for -”

For a brief moment you wonder who she is, but after another few moments with no response you figure that he isn’t talking to his wife as you’d expected - he’s on the phone with someone, speaking of his divorce. A business partner - of course. The bathroom door opens, and your eyes shift to Harry’s figure as you hold out the available earbud for him.

Fuck. He’s gonna fucking kill you - not with his hands or with his gun but with those fucking pants, so low on his hips you can see the trail of hair leading beneath the plaid fabric, the tie done loose and casual. He’s not wearing a shirt, tattoos on full display for you to ogle if you had the time to, and you don’t, of course, but it doesn’t stop your eyes from roaming over his torso, throat feeling suddenly dry as he pads over to you on the ground, dropping to his knees beside you.

“Are you checking me out?” Harry questions, a soft smirk dancing on his lips and you roll your eyes, dangling the earbud for him to grab and he finally takes it, placing it in his left ear just as Vincent begins to speak again.

“Never,” you murmur, and if that isn’t the furthest from the truth you could get to you’re not quite sure what is. “Listen to him - I’m going to the bathroom.” And, as you push yourself to stand and walk towards the bathroom, you swear you can hear him murmur slacker beneath his breath but - well - you don’t need to respond to everything he says sometimes.

Truthfully, yes. You did have to pee. And when you’re done with that you turn on the faucet to wash your hands and you stare at the bathroom mirror that’s still damp from the steam of his shower, edges still frosted with the humidity, and it makes your reflection fuzzy as you look at yourself.

What the fuck? Seriously - what the fuck?

There’s a pressure in your lower stomach and a neediness between your thighs that you can only assign to Harry’s freshly-showered, no-shirt-low-pants appearance and it has shame bubbling under your skin mixed with some other feeling you don’t care enough to figure out. You’re feeling very strange things for Harry - things you’ve never felt for him, ever, in the entire year of knowing him - and you’re almost completely positive he doesn’t feel the same, doesn’t have the same desire to bend you over this sink -

Almost. But almost is very close to absolutely positive.

You feel embarrassed for yourself as you glance around the sink. His hairbrush sits on the counter, and there are so many assorted beauty products scattered across the surface that you can’t tell which ones are yours or his.

The lotion is his, you decide. You don’t use unscented lotion - but you reach for it anyway, squirting a dollop onto your palms and rubbing it in for a reason you’re not entirely sure of. When your hands are as soft as they’re going to get you glance at yourself in the mirror again, shirt baggy and long, the ends of your shorts peeking beneath the fabric.

You reach up, pulling the waistband of your shorts up until they aren’t visible beneath the ends of your shirt, exposing your legs until it appears you’re wearing no sleep shorts beneath the shirt. It’s more comfortable like that, anyway, you tell yourself, which isn’t quite true, before pushing the bathroom door open and walking back out to where Harry’s perched on the floor.

He turns to look at you, and you don’t miss the way his eyes crawl up your legs but he’s a bit more subtle about it than you’re sure you were - his bottom lip looks a deeper shade of red than the top and you wonder if he’d been biting it.

You decide not to repeat his retort about checking you out, even if you’re almost entirely sure he was.

“How’s it going?” you inquire, picking up your earbud to begin listening again. The wire connecting the two buds is short and you shift closer to him until the tip of your kneecap brushes his - you’d expected him to jerk away like you’d fucking stepped on him but he doesn’t, surprisingly. “Got anything juicy?”

“Jus’ vague references t’shipments and goods - they’re trying t’trace his call, see who he’s talking to.” You nod, resting your chin on your palm as Vincent drones on about exactly what Harry had said - the only substantial piece of evidence you have pointing to his business being a coverup for a drug trafficking scheme is references to obscene amounts of money he fears losing to his ex-wife that he would’ve never been able to obtain working at a privately-owned tailory. 

For ten minutes Vincent’s phone call remains as a bit of a drag and, truthfully, a rather large waste of time in your opinion - this is stuff you’d already known, including the shipment coming in a week’s time that you know headquarters will be able to intercept - and you’ve just begun to pull out your earbud to retreat to the bathroom once more to brush your teeth when Harry’s arm jerks towards you, fingers wrapping around your wrist and effectively preventing you from rising.

“Jesus hell,” you hiss, dropping back down onto the ground as you shove your earbud back in, “what -?”

But then Vincent is speaking again.

“ - look, buddy,” he says, voice suddenly dropped lower so that Harry reaches out, tapping the volume button a few times until you can hear him properly, “met this girl at dinner tonight, out with Bonnie. Real cute - body like a fuckin’ goddess.”

Your cheeks flush as a small smirk spreads across Harry’s face.

Vincent pauses, clearly awaiting his business partner’s response to this shocking bit of news, and when he speaks again he sounds more annoyed. “Fuckin’ done with Bonnie - I’m a free agent, Jules.”

You snap at Harry, but he’s already fishing for his phone, pulling up the notes app and jotting down the name Jules in a fresh page.

“Can fuck whoever I want to, now, and I swear, you’d die if you saw her.” You can practically picture the scumbag’s face as he says it, all smug and arrogant - as though you’d ever give him the time of a day if you weren’t being fucking paid for it. “Staying at the same hotel too, with her husband.”

Another pause. “Jules, do you think I give a shit about husbands? Remember Mia, in LA? The one married to that big fella? She was all over me.”

Your lips quirk up into a smile even as your stomach continues to churn in disgust, and Harry exhales softly, resting his phone on top of his knee. Clearly, Vincent’s conversation with Jules has turned from fighting for nearly fifteen minutes about shipments and payments to you and it’s entirely less important but it still piques your interest more. The gritty details of their shipping is for Mark to handle back at headquarters - you need to make sure you can distract Vincent long enough for Harry to search his room.

“ - and, man, you should’ve seen the eyes this girl was giving me - and her husband was all over her, too, checkin’ her out but she was still looking at me -”

You nearly choke at that, head whipping to the side to look at Harry, and he’s doing a sufficient job of furrowing his eyebrows and looking entirely confused at Vincent’s words but you don’t believe him for a moment. Checking you out - God, and you had the nerve to feel embarrassed for your desire for him. A month ago you may have been truly annoyed at Vincent’s observation but it only fuels the fire igniting in your core as Harry puts on his pretense of adjusting his earbuds, tips of his ears bright red as he pointedly avoids your gaze, and you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning.

“I’ll let you go. God, don’t sound so pretentious - didn’t you hook up with that French chick who was married to the boxer? - Yeah, that’s what I thought -”

You’re much less interested in Vincent’s conversations now, pulling your earbud out and standing up, arms stretched high above your head as Harry stays, leaning against the ground with one arm. After a moment, though, Vincent must have ended his phone call - Harry shuts the laptop and pulls his earbud out, standing up, and your gazes meet for a moment.

“Vincent’s an idiot,” he tells you, flush creeping up his neck, and you nod.

“Is he?’

“Y’know he was just saying that so he seemed cool, right?”

“Said what?”

Harry rolls his eyes, then, and you can’t stop the smirk from gracing your lips once more as he crosses across the hotel room, collapsing onto his back onto the bed, and you furrow your eyebrows as you watch him. “Didn’t check you out.”

“I didn’t say you did.” He doesn’t respond, and you sit yourself on the edge of the bed, glaring down at his slumped figure. “You’re not getting the bed.”

“‘Course I am. We fought it out, remember?”

“And we didn’t finish.”

“We absolutely did,” and then he pushes himself to sit up, leaning against the headboard, and it takes more willpower than you possess to keep your eyes from roaming his body but you resist with everything in you - you’ll just about die if he calls you out for checking him out. “I beat you. I had y’against the headboard.”

“That was inconclusive.”

“Get on the couch.”

You narrow your eyes at him and he narrows his right back, staring into his fucking soul because you’ll be damned if you sleep on the couch, even if it makes logistical sense because he is taller than you - but, no. You’re the one who could possibly have to fuck Vincent Carfield in all his glory. You deserve the bed, size be damned.

In the end, you blink first, and come bedtime, you’re nestled on the couch with blankets you’d found in the hotel wardrobe.

You hate Harry.

 ~~

 The couch is extremely uncomfortable. It’s what you’d expected but your back still aches in pain when you wake up at 3 in the fucking morning, blankets dangling off the edge of the cushions you’re bundled on top of, and the pillow your head was resting on has slipped off onto the ground.

The room is pitch black as you groan, the noise purposefully loud, reaching down until your fingers graze the edge of the pillow - but your grip is slow, tired, and as you pick up the pillow to throw it back behind your head it slips from your grasp, dropping onto the ground and bouncing against the carpet until it’s resting a solid six feet from the couch.

Do you really need a pillow? You’re not sure, but you desperately don’t want to have to get up and get it because you know your sleepiness will melt away before you can even think about it, and, more than anything, you desire going back to sleep in order to try and be well rested for tomorrow. 

You reach down and pull your clump of blankets back up over yourself, pulling your knees further against your chest so the entire area of the blankets coats your body. Your head rests against the flat cushion, pillow be damned, and you shift again until your back is rested flat against the cushion as well, legs sticking straight out in front of you, the couch creaking at the movement.

The blankets don’t cover your legs - you push one of them down until they’re situated onto your feet, collectively covering your entire body even if it isn’t necessarily warm. At least they’re blanketed to some degree.

After ten minutes of trying to go back to bed, you pointedly decide that yes, you really do need a pillow, and immediately. Your neck already aches with the uncomfortable position and your ears feel chilly without being pressed into the soft pillow you’d snatched from the bed Harry is currently sleeping on - the bastard. He’d practically suffocated you with his smug gazes before he fell asleep, curled on top of the bed that he’d (rightfully) claimed as his after an arm wrestle, rock paper scissors game, and a half-hearted second attempt at a wrestling match - you’d lost all three.

Whatever. You’d been determined not to sulk at your losses before returning to the couch, trying not to let Harry see you mope but now you wish you’d made a bigger show of your disappointment - perhaps he’d have caved and taken the couch, but you’re sure he’d have stayed firm no matter what.

You slowly push yourself off of the couch, creeping across the room towards where your pillow rests on the ground, and you pick it up, clutching it tight to your chest before returning to the couch. You press it against the cushion, punching it a few times to attempt to soften it before huffing softly, lying yourself back down and tugging your blankets tight back up against you.

The next ten minutes goes by much as the night had previously - you can’t find a good position, turning onto your side and your back and your stomach until you’re hardly sure which way you’re facing, at this point, face buried tight against your pillow. You long for not much more than a soft bed for your back to rest into and you’re sure you’ll be a sore, tired disaster tomorrow when you manage to find Vincent Carfield in the hotel.

You turn to your side, the couch squeaking beneath the shift in your weight, and your body tenses when you hear a soft groan from the lump wrapped in covers on top of the bed, his silhouette illuminated only by the moonlight streaming through the window into the hotel room.

“How much longer are y’gonna move?” Harry grunts, voice low and raspy and you swallow when you hear it - if you close your eyes and listen to him speak, you could almost imagine him sounding like that in a very different scenario - “Keepin’ me up.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” you retort, voice soft and crackling with your yearning to sleep. “If you’d like to take the couch so I stop tossing and turning, I’d much appreciate it.”

He exhales softly, the noise sounding so deep and pornographic it makes your stomach flip. “In your dreams.”

You narrow your eyes as you stare at him, duvet pulled up to his chest and head turned to the side towards you - in the dark you can’t tell if his eyes are shut or if he’s looking at you. For a moment you decide not to say anything, hands crossed over your stomach, and then you shift loudly onto your back, couch creaking, and Harry sighs just as you’d anticipated.

“Please,” he begins, tone low and pleading, and you cut him off before he can continue.

“Not my fault the couch is loud, Har.”

“You’re doin’ it on purpose.”

“Of course I’m not,” you tell him, shifting again so another noise permeates the air of the hotel room. “The couch is just noisy - and uncomfortable.”

There’s a rather pregnant pause after that and you keep your eyes on Harry, watching the way he shifts onto his back, opening up a rather small sliver of space beside him and your heart practically leaps at the sight but you don’t say anything else - simply roll back onto your side, the couch creaking as you do, and he sighs again.

It seems like he sighs a lot.

“If I invite you into my bed,” Harry begins, and a small smile begins tugging your lips upwards even if you want to groan at his usage of the word my, “you’ll promise t’be quiet an’ go t’sleep?”

God, he sounds like your mother. “Yes,” you tell him, clutching the blankets wrapped around your torso. “I promise.”

Another pause. “Then - then y’can come. We can share.”

You try not to look too eager. Masking your emotions is, perhaps, the most important aspect of your job and yet you’re sure you look just as excited as you feel, pushing yourself to your feet with your blankets wrapped around your body, pillow stowed beneath your arm. Your feet pad across the carpet, toes sinking into the plushness of the floor before you make it to the bed, and Harry’s staring up at you, face contorted in a mixture of emotions you can’t decipher.

“Not gonna scooch over, then?” you question, resting your pillow against the bed and hitting it a few times. 

“Y’have room, don’t you?”

And the answer is that you don’t, of course. When you lie yourself down on the bed your legs knock into Harry’s, head so close to his you can feel his curls grazing your face, and the duvet you pull up your chin smells like him, distinctly. His elbow juts into your side - your cold foot rests against his warm one - you don’t think you’ve ever touched him this much outside of a mission.

You drape your clump of blankets over your body, partially resting on top of Harry, smoothing your palms over the fabric with a contented sigh. Your back is thanking you for the switch in sleeping spots and your neck sinks into the pillow and mattress, aches already beginning to alleviate themselves.

“Still need me t’move?” Harry asks, and you shut your eyes, nearly missing the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary before he rests himself back against the bed.

“No,” you murmur, and there’s another moment of silence before he mumbles his affirmation. Tomorrow you’re sure you’ll regret this - sleeping beside him, even if that’s all you do - feeling him pressed against parts of your body you’d never expected to feel his touch on.

Well, you’d rather deal with the tinge of embarrassment (and pride) than an achy back and lack of sleep - you smile slightly.

 ~~

 The next morning comes entirely too soon for your liking - sunlight peeking through the windows permeates your eyelids until you’re groaning awake, palm pressed against your eyes to block the light and face burying itself back into your pillow.

Your alarm hasn’t gone off yet. If your alarm doesn’t go off, then it’s not morning. Surely you have a few more hours of rest before you need to get up - even a couple more minutes will do -

Just as the thought crosses your mind your phone blares its alarm, the loud noise jolting you up like a bucket of ice water, and, from behind you, Harry grunts into his pillow.

Behind you.

You’re quick to silence your alarm - another nine full minutes of peaceful resting, if you’re lucky, before you’re disturbed again, though you’re sure you won’t get back to bed now that you’ve remembered the events of last night. 

Harry’s arm is heavy, draped over your midsection, the soft surface of his cheek buried intently into the crevice between your neck and shoulder - you can feel his soft breathing against your skin, the air a warm and gentle sensation. One of his legs has wedged itself between yours, thigh pressed entirely too high in the crevice between your thighs, and with every moment that passes you can feel the rise and fall of his bare chest as he snores behind you.

What a fucking sight, you think, sitting up slightly to look down at him. God, if he were awake, you’d tease him until he cries about what a position the pair of you had worked yourselves into but you have the foresight to see how that would backfire on you - technically, you’re just as to blame as he is, even if he’s the bigger spoon right now.

But you’re most decidedly not to blame for the hardness pressing into your lower back, tearing a sleepy groan from Harry’s throat when you shift in your position.

The bastard. He’s hard as a fucking rock from pressing against you while you slept, and a sleepy smirk spreads across your face as you glance down at him. In any other circumstance you think you’d poke him awake just to make him aware of it but there’s a certain air of desire you’re feeling as well that makes you feel - well, not as though you’re in the appropriate position to make fun of him for his boner.

Slowly, you disentangle yourself from his body. His leg drops to the mattress when you swing your own off the edge of the bed, his arm falling until it’s resting in your lap, palm pressed against a certain area that makes your breath hitch, furrowing your eyebrows as you glance down at his hand. There are still fading, pink indents from the rings he takes off every night and before every mission, save for the fake wedding band the two of you often have to don on missions, and you scrunch your nose as you admire it.

Married. You don’t think so. The only time you think of him with anything other than hatred is when he’s asleep, like this - or shirtless.

You stand up, shaking your head to wipe those thoughts from your mind. Harry’s hand drops onto the mattress and you can tell it’s the push he needed into consciousness - you glance back at him to see his eyes cracked open, and they shut when your gazes meet.

“‘Morning,” you tell him, voice louder than you’d intended, and he winces at the noise, shifting onto his back - it’s as though you can see the exact moment he realizes his little problem mixed with the realization that you would also know about it, pressed up against him during the night - his eyes widen ever so slightly, and he pushes himself to lean against the headboard, bundling his duvet onto his lap. 

“Um - g’morning,” Harry replies, voice raspy like it had been the night prior and your stomach turns - you shift on your feet. “Y’goin’ t’the bathroom?”

“You can go first,” you say, and he nods, bringing fists up to rub at his eyes. And then - because you just can’t help pissing him off when you have such a golden opportunity - you add, “Think you might need it a bit more than I do.”

His face reddens.

 ~~

 Earpiece. Knife. Boobs.

You go through the things you need on a mental checklist as you pick up your forkful of scrambled eggs, chewing thoughtfully on the bite. The hotel restaurant is nearly completely full, couples and families packed into the small tables as they feast on their complimentary breakfasts, chatter filling the section. You’ve been sitting eating (truthfully, delicious) breakfast for the better half of an hour, bringing your plate up to the buffet to refill your platter of eggs, fruit, and toast.

Realistically, you would have eaten and left had you not been waiting for a very specific somebody to walk in and catch your eye. You and Harry had plugged back into the bug in Vincent’s room to hear him planning to go down for complimentary breakfast - the only clue you had as to how he wanted to spend his day - and it was the only opportunity you had to find him. Get him out of his room - talking, if possible - so Harry can search it.

It’s such an easy plan, you could practically do it in your sleep.

“Is he there yet?” inquires a crackling voice from your earpiece, disguised as an earring dangling from your lobes.

“No,” you murmur, voice soft as a whisper, and you’re sure he can’t hear your response until he sighs.

“Takin’ his time, isn’t he?”

“Mhm.”

You pick up your glass of orange juice, raising the cup to rouge-stained lips as you take a sip. When you rest it back down on the table, there’s a light red stain on the glass - you wipe it away with a manicured thumb, leaning back in your seat, legs crossed. Your eyes scan the restaurant again, lingering on any newcomers leaning against the wall in case you can pinpoint the man you’re searching for - wide frame, untailored suits, bald head that shines in the artificial light.

(Complimentary breakfast ends at 10, and it’s 9:48. It’s safe to say that you’re getting nervous.)

Your nerves, however, are soothed just a bit when a familiar figure makes his way into the dining hall - tall and haughty, phone pressed to his sweaty head, Vincent Carfield is the image of a stressed businessman, recently divorced and searching for a young, married woman who’d given him eyes last night. His suit is baggy, buttons of the jacket undone and his white button up has sweat stains spreading from the armpits, visible with his arm lifted up to his ear. Instinctively your back straightens, tugging down the top of your lace top so that the top of your cleavage shows - it seems to be your greatest weapon, dealing with a man like Carfield.

You lower your gaze to your phone clutched in your hand but you can still sense exactly the moment his eyes land on you. In your peripheral vision you watch him straighten up, lips moving quickly before his phone is shoved into his pocket, weaving his way between circular tables until he’s standing beside you, and you pretend not to notice the way his eyes never meet yours - his gaze stays on a point eerily similar to your chest.

“Is he there?” Harry questions, and you clear your throat - it’s the symbol you’d decided on to mean yes if you can’t speak.

“Vincent,” you begin, faux smile spreading across your face, and a similar one lands on his features. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, watching him press chapped, dry lips to the back of your palm, and the urge to scrunch your nose at the feeling is almost overwhelming. “It’s so good to see you.”

“And you,” he says, and you drop your hand back to the tablecloth resting on your table. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” you reply, and he pulls out the empty seat across from you, resting with a soft grunt. “Breakfast ends in a few minutes, though - you’re welcome to have some of mine, if you’re hungry.”

He obliges, reaching to pull your plate to him, and you watch as he picks up your buttered toast, taking a large bite and smacking his lips as he chews. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”

You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And why is that?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Vincent tells you, and in your earpiece, Harry snorts at his words - you hope you didn’t jump too hard at his sudden noises in your ear. “I hoped I wasn’t getting the wrong idea at dinner, last night -”

“What idea were you getting?”

“That you were interested in me,” and you tilt your head to the side, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth - if Harry could see the act you’re playing right now, you’d be humiliated. At least he can only hear it. “I saw the eyes you were giving me - not even worried ‘bout your husband seeing?”

“He’s too dense to notice,” you say, a smile tilting your lips up as Harry groans - from his side of the earpiece you can hear bustling mixed with the sound of a door opening, and you assume he’s just entered Vincent’s apartment. He needs at least a half hour, Mark had told you - breakfast ends in nearly five minutes, and you need somewhere else to take Carfield. “You know, Vince - is it okay if I call you Vince?”

“I don’t think he cares what you call him,” mumbles Harry, so quiet you’re sure he’s hardly even intending for you to hear it, “as long as you have your hand down his pants in the next ten minutes.”

Your cheeks flush as Vincent smiles, leaning back in his seat as he finishes off your toast. “Call me whatever you want to,” he tells you, and you can practically hear Harry rolling his eyes through your earpiece.

“Alright, Vince - breakfast is ending in a few minutes, and I desperately hope we can keep talking.” He nods along with your words, leaning in as he pushes his plate to the center of the table - all that’s left is the fruit and the remnants of your eggs. “Do you think we could go up to my room? My husband is off visiting some family members across London - he won’t be home for hours.”

“Hours?”

“Hours,” you confirm, nodding as you take another sip of your orange juice - this time you don’t wipe the lipstick stain off of your glass, and you watch his eyes follow the mark as you lower the glass back to the table. “Can we go, Vince?”

Clearly he isn’t thinking clearly enough to question how curious it is that you’d had similar feelings for him without much trouble at all - instead, he smiles like a boy on Christmas morning. He practically knocks the table in his rush to stand up - you watch a red blush creep up his neck to his ears as he grabs it, steadying the wobbling surface, and you pretend you hadn’t noticed when he holds his hand out for you. You allow him to take your hand in his and he pulls you to your feet, wrapping a secure arm around your waist, palm stretched across your hips so his fingertips creep up the hem of your lace shirt.

“Are you going to our room?” questions Harry in your ear, and there’s a few scuffling noises on the other end that makes you internally cringe as Vincent begins weaving the pair of you between tables that are now emptying as complimentary breakfast reaches its end. “____? ‘Y’goin’ t’our room?”

You clear your throat once, and Vincent glances over at you with an amused glance on his face as the two of you make your way out of the restaurant. “Are you okay, darling?”

The pet name makes you cringe internally and you give him a soft smile as you approach the hallway full of elevators, available to take you to any of the available thirteen residential floors of the hotel - Vincent presses the button to go up, and you wait for the doors to open. “I’m great.”

“Make sure he doesn’t want to stop in his room,” Harry mutters, and you swallow, your smile not faltering. You want to tell Harry to make sure he’s completely quiet in his endeavors in Vincent’s room but you’re sure he already knows - you can’t risk Vincent hearing a strange noise while you’re attempting to distract him.

The elevator doors open, and Vincent pulls you inside with a grip on your waist like a vise. He glances at the array of buttons available to press, and looks at you with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s floor 13,” you tell him, and he smiles, pressing the button until it glows.

“Floor 13? That’s where I’m staying, too,” he says, and you nod in mock-surprise -

“What a surprise,” Harry snorts in your ear, and you can’t stop the smirk from spreading across your face.

 ~~

 There’s a thick thigh pressed between both of yours, sweaty palms slid beneath your lace top, and you don’t think you’ve ever found a man’s touch less desirable in your  life - and, for whoever may be keeping a record, this job has required you to get up close and personal with more skeevy men that you’d expected when you’d applied.

The only thing keeping a blissed out look on your face is your focus on the soft noises coming from the other end of your earpiece as Vincent lands wet, open-mouthed kisses to your throat, tongue laving over your skin - hearing Harry’s occasional quiet breathing and muffled noises as he searches the hotel room next to yours makes this entirely worth it.

Against your throat, Vincent moans, and the noise is throaty and loud - you can hear Harry stifling a laugh directly into your ear, and the noise sends a chill rolling up your spine. Clearly, Vincent thinks your involuntary movement was for him - his hands grasp on your tits entirely too hard to be pleasurable and you bite back the urge to tell him so. “Such a dirty girl,” he tells you.

You rest your head back against the wall he has you pressed against with a moan that sounds entirely fake from your throat. You can almost imagine how Harry’s going to make fun of this when he sees you next, and your stomach turns when you think about it for a reason you can’t quite decipher. “Fuck,” you say, forcing your voice to a near whine, and you swear you can hear Harry’s voice hitch through your piece but you’re not sure. “Feels - so good.”

The lie sounds natural off of your lips as Vincent’s knee jabs into your clit - the pressure is a pain rather than a pleasure and your breath hitches as you try not to cry out. He chuckles against your skin, clearly taking your soft sign of pain as an emblem of pleasure, and you shut your eyes as his teeth graze the veins in your neck.

“No way,” breathes Harry, and your ears perk up - had he found something in Vincent’s room? “S’he actually good at that?”

You want to snort at that. Of course he isn’t good but the thought of Harry listening spurs you on more than it should - you roll your hips against Vincent’s thigh with a soft moan, higher pitched than your last one, and the man on the other end of your earpiece exhales.

“That sounded fake,” Harry says, voice soft and light, and you want to slam your head into the wall so he knows that he’s starting to piss you off from next door. “So he’s not makin’ y’feel good?”

You practically freeze. If Vincent wasn’t tugging your shirt up to expose your tits to the cold air of your hotel room, you’re sure you would have forgotten where you were completely. Those words from Harry’s mouth mixed with an edge of venom isn’t what you’d expected him to say at all - on the contrary, you’d think he was fucking with you, trying to work you up to embarrass you if you couldn’t hear his little moans that he’s clearly trying to silence.

Is he worked up? Because you can work with that.

You drop your head back to whack against the wall with a loud moan as Vincent’s clammy lips press to the fabric of your bra. Your hand goes up to press to the back of his bald head, fingernails scratching against his sweaty scalp and you wish - not for the first time - that you were feeling thick, chocolate-toned curls beneath your fingers instead, tugging on them as his tongue lavished you. Though, in your mind, it’s more teeth and grit and anger because you’re sure you’d find a way to be angry with Harry even if his mouth were on your tits - it’s one of your special skills - in every fantasy you’ve had of your partner it’s violent and harsh.

“Fuck,” grunts a voice from your earpiece, and hardly a moment later Vincent groans a similar noise as you rock your hips against his thigh. Thankfully he seems to be getting a decent amount of pleasure just making out with your boobs like a teenage boy and - maybe, if Harry is quick enough in his search of his hotel room - you won’t have to fuck him at all. It’ll be a Christmas miracle (a month early, but a miracle nonetheless.) “Are y’fuckin’ him?”

You whimper, Harry’s voice shooting from your ear directly down to your cunt and your clit and you feel wetness soaking your knickers, pressed against Vincent’s thigh though it may as well be the arm of a couch for how it affects you - the only pleasure you get from Vincent’s hard body against yours is the urge to close your eyes and imagine it’s Harry.

“No, you’re not,” says Harry, and there’s a soft clatter in your earpiece - surely he’s dropped something from the room next door and you tense. Surely Vincent hadn’t heard it, teeth still gnashing against your bra, and he seems too distracted to pay attention to it. “M’hard as a fuckin’ rock, ____ - thinkin’ of you, gettin’ off on my voice, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you exhale, and Vincent glances up at you, thick brows furrowed in confusion. You swallow, focusing on giving yourself a satisfied expression, and he turns back to your chest, seemingly convinced of your pleasure. “Yes - making me feel so good.”

Harry groans in your ear, and you wonder, suddenly, if he’s jerking off - if he’s leaning against Vincent Carfield’s bed, hand pumping up and down his cock as he listens to you. Maybe he’s in the bathroom, or leaning against the wall like you are, his breathing picking up as sweat drips down his forehead - 

“Gonna fuck you,” Vincent mumbles against your boobs, and you scrunch your nose. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Just -” you swallow, and Harry snickers in your ear, the soft laugh breathy and groaning. “Just wait, feels so good -”

“Don’t fuck him,” says Harry, and there’s a few more jostling noises on the other end mixed with another soft moan - you have a sudden image of him, digging through Vincent Carfield’s possessions with a firm hand around his cock and you feel the result of that imagery stricken straight down to your clit like a fucking lightning bolt until you’re crying out, and your orgasm is on you so embarrassingly fast you could sob in embarrassment. “I’m almost there -”

You’re not sure if he means he’s almost about to cum or if he’s almost found something to convict Vincent - you’re not entirely sure which interpretation you’d prefer. 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, the words sour on your tongue as Vincent glances up at you with a wicked smile, jolting his thigh further up into your clit, and you furrow your eyebrows at the pain the motion brings. “Fuck, H - Vincent.”

“Y’were gonna say m’name,” Harry hisses, and you squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins. You almost fucked everything up. “Cum. Let Vincent think he made y’cum - go ahead - do it.”

And - fuck. Who are you to disobey? You grind your core down on Vincent’s thigh with a throaty cry, and your orgasm rushes over you with an embarrassing waterfall of pleasure and shame. Never have you cum so easily and it wasn’t even Harry’s touch - simply his voice, his groans as he listens to you come undone - and, in the end, the only thing to pull you from your high is Vincent’s eyes boring into yours, eyebrows raised and lips parted as he pulls his face from your chest with a most satisfied expression on his face.

You want to smack it off of him - if you hadn’t already cum, that look would’ve stopped you in your tracks. As it is, it slows the aftershocks of your release into dull nothingness while Harry moans in your earpiece, his noises a mere backdrop to the sudden growing sounds of scuffling and jostling, and his sharp gasp is loud enough for Vincent’s head to snap up.

“Did you hear that?” Vincent questions - Harry curses into your earpiece.

“I found something,” Harry tells you, voice dropped to a low whisper. “I found - s’under his mattress - m’calling Mark!”

A small smile spreads across your face at his words. It’s done. He’s found something worthy enough to convict Vincent Carfield, and that’s enough for you to press your palms to his chest, pushing him away from you so forcefully that he stumbles over the carpet, back slamming into the edge of your bed as he falls to the ground. His expression is so confuddled as he stares up at you that, for a moment, you marvel at his lack of self awareness - in an instant you’re reaching up the hem of your skirt to the knife in its holder strapped to your thigh, and you pull the blade out to point at Vincent Carfield, in your ear a myriad of Harry’s delighted cheers of, “I’ve found it!”

 ~~

 Wrapping up a mission isn’t nearly as speedy as you’d like - there’s debriefs and paperwork to complete once Vincent is done and arrested, phone confiscated along with the drugs found in his hotel room by your partner, and physical evaluations to determine whether you’d been hurt, and a long phone call with Mark where he congratulated the pair of you.

Not only for taking down Vincent Carfield, your boss had said, his voice booming and cheerful, but for making it out without killing each other.

If only he knew.

Your plane is set to leave tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn, and if you were more reasonable perhaps you’d heade Mark’s advice to go straight to sleep and set an alarm for 3 AM but you’ve never been too bright in that regard. You finish your last debrief in the hotel restaurant, Harry working diligently beside you, and it’s at nearly 9 PM that the pair of you pack up your work and begin to head upstairs.

The elevator ride is silent when Harry reaches to press the button for your floor. Your room had been closed for you to visit for the better part of the afternoon until Vincent’s had been properly searched, though Harry had gladly given the authorities everything he’d found without a moment of hesitation. Tiredness creaks at your bones but here - standing beside Harry, feeling his gaze boring into the side of your face - you desire nothing less than to go to sleep.

“Good work, Mr. Robinson,” you tell him, and he raises his eyebrows when you turn your head to look at him. “Fairly easy mission, wasn’t it?”

“For you,” he says, and you arch your eyebrow, frown tugging your lips downwards as the elevator begins to move up. “Gettin’ off on Vincent’s thigh was the hardest part - I had t’search the room.”

For a moment you wonder if he’s kidding and certainly he’s only teasing you but you still roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as heat creeps up your cheeks. “Didn’t seem too difficult, moaning and crying ‘bout how hard you were. I bet I could’ve found the drugs in half the time it took you -”

“You couldn’t have,” Harry says, and you exhale sharply. 

“‘Course I could -”

“Wasn’t hidden in plain sight like everything you find.”

“So where were they?”

He pauses, and you smile down at your shoes - surely you’ve got him now. “Hidden in his computer,” Harry says, then, and your smile is wiped away in an instant. Shit, you wouldn’t have found them. “Not so smart now, are you?”

“Oh, you dick -”

The elevator doors open to your floor and Harry pushes himself off the wall, stalking out of the elevator and you jump to follow him, picking up the pace to walk beside him as he begins down the hall towards your hotel room. It’s entirely too easy, falling back into an arrangement of bickering with him as though nothing had happened - as though you hadn’t cum with his voice alone, and you’re nearly positive that he had, too.

He stops in front of your hotel door, digging in the pockets of his pants for the room key, and you cross your arms over your chest. “I don’t know why you’re actin’ so high and mighty,” he tells you, voice biting as he shoves the key card into the door’s slot - it beeps red, and he tries again. “As f’you didn’t cream your fucking pants jus’ listenin’ t’my voice.”

“I’m not acting high and mighty,” you retort, praying the burning sensation in your face isn’t visible to him but you doubt you’re that lucky. “You don’t have to be such a douche all the time - and, by the way, you came in your pants, too, didn’t you.”

It’s not a question, and Harry flings the door open, letting you walk in before he follows. In an instant, before you can march into the bedroom area to huff at how pissed he’s getting you - it is what he’s best at - there’s a tight grip on your wrist, turning you around so fast your head spins, and before you can object, Harry has you pressed against the door, hands caging you in on either side of your head.

His face is so close to yours you can smell the alcohol on his breath that he’d had while you two worked, mixed with the scent of his mint toothpaste and his shampoo, curls dropping into your face as he wedges his leg between both of yours, thigh pressed against your cunt. It’s just as Vincent had done but so different, so much better, and it tears a whine out of your throat right off the bat.

Your urge is to lean in, clash your lips together in a fury of tongue and teeth but you don’t want to make the first move - Harry can take the lead and you’ll follow, and that’s more than enough for you. So you simply drop your head back, breathing heavy as you stare into his eyes, nearly cross-eyed to meet his gaze. 

“Fuck you,” you tell him, and the words lack the venom you’d yearned for. It’s filled with more desperation and neediness than you’d anticipated, and you feel your stomach flip-flop at the smirk that spreads across Harry’s face. “Fuck you.”

His hands drop from against your head and for a moment you fear he’s going to pull away, that he’s doing this just to fuck with you but then his hands are on your legs, fingertips dancing up and down your outer thighs, fingering the hem of your skirt, and you jolt under him. “You’re so responsive,” he tells you, and you roll your eyes, dropping your head back against the door. “I love getting y’worked up.”

“Shut up,” you groan, feeling his fingers working your skirt up your legs, and the fabric brushes over the edge of your knife, still fastened to your thigh. 

“Like makin’ y’angry.”

“Shut up,” and finally Harry leans in, mouth slamming against yours until your teeth grind against his and your lips part with a shocked gasp. His tongue slips between your lips, your hands reaching up to bury in his curls and hold his face to yours. His palm slides up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist and your cheeks burn as the cold hotel room air assaults your skin, goosebumps popping up in their wake. You whimper into Harry’s lips and he pulls away, palms smoothing up and down your thighs before you feel his fingers hook against the top of your knife, and he tugs the blade out of your holster.

You watch with wary eyes as Harry brings the blade up to his eyes, examining it with narrowed eyes, his other hand still resting on your thigh, fingertips rubbing circles into your skin harsh enough that you’re sure you’ll find bruises tomorrow in the shape of his hands. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him and his eyes turn to yours, smile tugging his lip up.

“Y’look a bit excited, there,” Harry says - an acute observation, because you’re practically creaming your fucking panties. “Like seein’ me with your knife?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and Harry flips the knife in his hands until the blade is just an inch from the spot between both of your eyes, your orbs crossing to see it. “What are you -”

Before you can finish the question Harry presses the knife forward, the sharp edge of the plate pressed to your cheek, and you inhale sharply, swallowing thickly as he increases pressure against your skin. Fuck, this shouldn’t excite you - he’s not half as good as you are with blades - and you’re sure if he keeps going he’s going to slice you either by accident or on purpose, and it disturbs you how much that thought turns you on.

The blade drags down your skin, tracing along your jawline with pressure light enough to feel like a breath and hard enough to catch yours in your throat - Harry’s watching it with darkened eyes, watching as he lowers it down your throat, tracing it along your neck and the veins.

You drop your head back against the door with a thud, feeling the cool metal on your skin, sweaty from being pressed against him and the heat that encompasses your body until it’s all you can feel, and Harry’s just watching, watching the knife run across your skin.

Your eyes, fluttered shut, shoot open when a sudden burning sensation overtakes the top of your chest - you glance down to see Harry pulling the knife away from you, the tip decorated with just a smudge of dark, red liquid that’s mirrored on your collarbone.

“Did you -?”

“Oops,” Harry says as you bring your fingers to the small nick he’d given you, wiping away the drops of blood that spread on your chest. You raise your narrowed eyes to glare at him and you’re trying - trying so hard - to be furious with him, to get angry, to push him away and yell at him - but, fuck, feeling his thumb rub across the cut on your chest only increases the ball of pressure in your lower abdnomen as you look at him.

Your lips clash once more, more intense than before as you whine into his mouth - Harry’s free hand hoists your thigh around his waist, and when his lips move down to bite at your throat, the hand still clutching your knife pulls back before he slams the blade into the door next to you, surely taking a few of your stray hairs. You yelp, jolting your head back as you whip your head to the side to stare at the knife stuck in the door barely an inch from the side of your head, and Harry lifts his head with a smirk.

“You assho -”

Before you can finish Harry’s hand is wrapped around your throat, cutting off your ability to speak and you can’t help but moan at the pressure even if the noise is choked and gasping - Harry grins, moving his other hand down to your hips until he’s helping you to roll against his thigh, clit rubbing against the fabric of his pants. You tighten your thigh’s hold around his waist, pressing his torso closer to yours, and he, in turn, tightens his grasp on your neck.

“Y’like m’hand on your throat, hmm?” Harry questions, voice low and raspy like how it had been in the middle of the night except more, better and intense, and you whimper in affirmation. “Can’t even talk - can’t even say anything.”

When he finally loosens his hold on you, you gasp for air and bring your arm up to wrap around his neck again, fingers scraping through his scalp to tug his lips back to yours. Your other hand drops to the front of his pants, palm smoothing over his bulging erection before your shaky fingers begin tugging his zipper down.

“Can I tell you something?” says Harry, then, as you fumble to undo the button of his pants until you can shove your hand into the fabric, fingernails dragging along his cock through his boxers - his hips jolt into your hands.

“Yes,” you murmur in response, hand jerking up and down his dick and, even through a layer of fabric, he grunts into your lips.

“I didn’t cum,” he says, and you move your head from his, furrowing your eyebrows. “Didn’t cum, even when I heard y’with Vincent -”

“You -?”

“Didn’t wanna cum when I wasn’t buried in your cunt,” and you gasp sharply as his hand on your throat slides down your body until it’s shoved into your panties, cold fingertips dragging along your soaking folds that drip your ambrosia into his grasp. “Even f’you sounded so good, moanin’ for me - almost pathetic -”

You tighten your grip on his hair until he’s crying out, fingertips pinching your clit in your panties and you jerk your hips into his grasp at the sharp punishment. “Don’t call me that -” you moan, trembling hand pulling his boxers down over his cock while he smirks.

“Pathetic -”

“Fuck you, Harry -”

“Whimperin’ like a baby -”

You move your hand from his hair to his face, grip bruising as you grab his chin in your palm. Your fingertips squeeze his cheek as you force his head to stare at you - the lazy, cocky smile that adorns his features makes you want to throttle him, and your fingers flex against his face.

“What?” Harry questions, tone mocking and it fuels the anger in every crevice of your body as you glare at him. “Gonna hit me?”

Yes, you want to say - before you can even open your mouth, though, Harry leans in, teeth nibbling on your earlobe as he exhales, his words low and breathy, “Do it.”

Who are you to disobey him?

You bring your hand back and smack it down on his cheek with a satisfying slap that reverberates through your hotel room. His head is slapped to the side, exposing his side profile to you, and you smooth your palm over the red mark already blooming on his cheek in the shape of your handprint.

“You like to be hit, do you?” you inquire - for a moment, just a second, you feel some semblance of control over the situation, wrapping your fist around his cock once you’ve pulled his boxers down over his length. He hisses, dropping his head back, lips parted in a silent cry when your thumb sweeps over the weeping tip of his cock, precum dripping down his member. “Never would’ve guessed.”

And you do it again, bringing your hand up to slap his face and it tugs a louder grunt from his mouth, pressing his body further into yours until all you can feel is him, chests pressed together and cock rubbing against your cunt through the fabric of your lace panties. You bring your hand back to give him another slap but then his fingers are pulling your drenched knickers to the side, bulbous tip of his cock nudging through your folds for only a split second before he pushes himself inside of you, sheathing the entirety of his length until he bottoms out, balls pressed tight against your skin.

You can’t help but sob out. It’s, really, not your fault - you can tell how it spurs him on, but before he can keep fucking you like how you’ve dreamt of he’s pulling out completely, taking a half a step away from you, cock tall and leaking. The emptiness you feel is overwhelming, even if you’d only had him in you for a few seconds at best, and objections immediately rise in your throat.

“What the fu -?”

Then he’s grabbing your throat, using his grip as leverage to force you around, cheek smushed against the wooden door frame and back pressed to his chest. His palms smooth up and down the globes of your ass, pulling the cheeks apart until the pressure burns and you throw your head back with a cry. Then he pulls his hand back - lands it back against your ass with a cracking slap that makes you jump against him - and he doesn’t give you a second to beg him to fucking do it again before he’s sliding his cock back into your folds.

“Fuck,” he practically shouts, the noise crackling and broken with arousal practically dripping from the syllable, and you drop your forehead against the door with a cry. “Fuck, so tight - knew y’would be -”

“Move, please,” you beg, tone sobbing and desperate, and Harry obliges without another second to spare - pulls out and thrusts back in, pace brutal and desperate right off the bat until you’re quivering, legs trembling when he’s only been going for a half a minute.

Oh my god. Holy fuck, it feels so good, better than you could’ve ever pictured it, his hand smoothing over your ass before landing periodic slaps to the plump skin - his hand landing on you hardly overpowers the sound of his hips smacking against your ass, filling you until you’re crying for it before leaving you empty and diving back in. You can’t do much else other than stand there on quivering legs that feel incapable of handling your weight and take it, pushing your hips back into his with every thrust until you’ve worked yourselves into a rhythm that makes your fucking head spin.

“Harry -” you gasp as he grabs hold of your hips, pulling them upwards until his cock is slamming into the sweet spot buried inside of your walls that makes you sob out, cheek slamming into the door over and over with the force of his pounding. “Harry - God -”

“What?” he practically hisses, the word full of desire and contempt in the most delicious way possible, and your knees would give out if not for his bruising grip on your hips, keeping you flush against him. 

“Har - choke me, please, want you to - to choke me -”

He stutters a groan at that, moving one of his hands from your hips - he delivers one hard smack to your ass before he’s trailing his hand up your back and around to the front of your throat, squeezing your neck once experimentally just to hear the way you moan at it before he tightens his grasp. Your resulting whimper is caught in your throat, pressing your palms to the door you’re leant up against as Harry just fucking laughs from behind you, thrusting himself into you like he was fucking born for it.

“You’re fuckin’ filthy,” Harry says, then, and he almost sounds in awe as he squeezes your throat tighter, tight enough that your vision goes fuzzy and your head feels light. “So filthy - knew y’would be - an’ so - so - fuckin’ - tight -”

With every word he punctuates his meaning with a particularly hard thrust into your cunt, and the hand on your hip slithers around your body until he’s pressing two fingertips to your clit, rubbing shaking, hard circles against the sensitive nub that has you jolting, arms shaking as you attempt to keep yourself up. “Oh my god,” you practically cry, and the voice sounds far away as he briefly releases his hold on your throat - a firm slap is delivered to the side of your face as you’d given him, the motion forcing your head to the side, and you sob out harder. “Fuck - do it again, please -”

He obeys you, bringing his palm back to slap your cheek again before he wraps his hand back around your throat. “M’gonna cum,” he tells you, words throaty and laced with neediness - you push your hips back against his, a loud, long whine bursting from your throat as his fingers never give up on their assault to your clit. “M’gonna fill y’up - y’want that?”

“Yes!”

“Want me t’fill you up?”

“Yes, Harry, please -!” You come undone around his cock just as his hips stutter to a close - there’s a ball of pleasure that bursts in your core, spreading warmth and euphoria through your body like a wildfire attacks a forest. Your forehead slams against the door with a moan that borders on a scream, nails scratching against the wood as though searching for something to hold onto, to ground yourself, because surely you’re far away - in fucking space - because there’s no way on Earth you could feel this good.

Behind you, Harry’s hand on your clit wraps around your waist, holding your body taut to his as you feel him spurt ribbons of cum inside of you, his release filling you up and it only prolongs yours, aftershocks rolling through you mixed with his warmth spreading through your body. His head drops against the back of yours, breath ruffling the hairs at the back of your neck, and when you finally regain the ability to breathe you’re fucking heaving, gasping for air, the once-simple process labored and desperate.

“Fuck,” Harry groans, and then he pulls out of you - you can feel his cum beginning to trickle down your inner thighs, and that mixed with the sudden emptiness in your cunt makes you exhale a low whine. Your pussy flutters around the sudden air invading it, the loss of a certain appendage filling you up glaringly obvious, and you slump against the door. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, and your knees are shaking when Harry unwraps his arm from around your waist, leaving you to fend for yourself as you try and steady your body. “Fuck.”

You hear, then, Harry walking away - surely stalking deeper into your room, perhaps lying on the bed, kicking off his shoes and beginning to tug off his shirt. You feel sudden embarrassment and heat coursing through your body as you tug the bottom of your skirt down over your ass and the tops of your thighs, walking on shaking legs into the bedroom area of your hotel room -

(Your knife can stay in the door until morning. It is, for all intents and purposes, the least of your priorities when you can’t even think straight.)

Harry’s eyes are on you when you make your way into the bedroom section, leaning up against the doorframe to hide the quivering in your legs, and you hope it looks decently natural but you’re sure it doesn’t, judging by the way his lips tremble upwards as he glances down at the shoe he’s focused on untying.

“I’m gonna shower first,” you tell him. Your throat burns with the energy of speaking after screaming your lungs out and your voice is crackling and raspy - you cough into your elbow, hoping it makes your voice sound a bit less fucked-out than it is, but you’re sure you’re not that lucky.

“Fine by me,” Harry says, kicking his sneakers off onto the ground, and he collapses onto his back onto the bed with a sigh. His pants are still undone and are pushed down his thighs, boxers pulled up over his cock, and you feel - decidedly strange, watching him post-coital, at the way his eyes shut, limbs spreading out over the mattress with a grunt. “M’takin’ the bed, though.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “What -?”

“Y’can hardly walk from how hard I fucked you. I think I deserve it.”

And - well - you can’t quite argue with that logic.

~~

TAGLIST (crossed out urls meant they didn’t show up)

@nineteenfiftyone​ @harryslilkat​ @galacticferns​ @ficrecrry​ @morethanamelodyy​ @hoeeforstyles​ @bunny-munchkin-luvs-music​ @mintchipstyles​ @sstarkme​ @thecitiesintheseas @harry-styles-l​

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #one direction smut #one direction writing #spyrry #holy shit #i can not believe how long this took to write i'm so glad to finally post it

[dovechim]

lonely hearts club (m)

➾ 11k

➾ summary: jeon jeongguk has annoying little brother energy™. you know this deep in your bones. wedding after wedding, you keep running into him at the goddamn singles’ table, and he just won’t leave you alone. until you start to wonder... is he your ticket out of the lonely hearts club? 

tdlr: enemies to lovers

➾ warnings: hate sex, public sex (in a photobooth lmao), impregnation role play, oral (f receiving), jk has intensely annoying energy, it gets unbearably cheesy towards the end

➾ a/n: wow, addie is back???? finally??? gosh, even I can’t believe it. please enjoy, and thank you for waiting :)

The first few times, it was lovely. Watching your friends find their partners and get married in holy matrimony, their faces filled with bliss as they walk down the aisle together towards their happily ever after. You tell yourself that you are truly happy for them, and you are. But you can’t deny that deep seated feeling of envy buried within you, and the sense of dread every time you receive a new wedding invitation.

Why’d all of your friends have to be so good at getting their shit together?

Which then begs the question, what are you actually doing here?

Other than celebrating your friend’s wedding, obviously. You crane your neck to look around the large, luxurious ballroom for any sign of Kim Seokjin and his husband, and you think you spot them at one of the tables up front.

You scan the attendees at your table surreptitiously. It goes without saying that anyone can see that this is the singles’ table, it’s obvious enough by the way no one talks to each other and how the host has made the painstaking arrangement to alternate the genders. You have no idea where this tradition of a singles’ table came from, and why you’re relegated to it at every single wedding you attend.

You sniff in indignation as you take a sip at the flat soda in your glass. For all they know, you could have a secret celebrity boyfriend hidden away somewhere. The both of you have decided to keep your relationship under wraps so as not to risk the wrath of the public, so that’s why you can’t bring him to events like this. There. Let that be your saving grace.

It’s embarrassing to be at the singles’ table at a wedding, even more embarrassing when you realise that the faces at the table come and go, all except for yours. In fact, you spot a few familiar faces integrated into other tables, drinking and laughing happily with their significant others by their sides, while you remain a permanent resident of the singles’ table.

This is your fifth wedding in as many months; and at this rate it seems like you’ll never graduate from the singles’ table.

A sudden movement interrupts your moment of drowning in self-pity, and you glance to the side only to realise that the empty seat beside you has been filled. All night long the empty seat had been mocking you, reminding you of what could have been a lovely night in with a few bottles of soju and some chicken, but now it presents you with a new contender to the singles’ table.

And God damn, you can feel the women at the table perk up at his presence, some of them shooting you envious looks because you happen to be seated next to him. The girl on his other side seems to be swooning already, but you staunchly refuse to react. Refuse to even look at his side profile.

Two singles matching up at the singles’ table is practically every host’s wet dream. So much so that you refuse to let it happen. No matter how good looking he is, you won’t let yourself stoop so low.

Are you bitter? Yes.

But are you willing to admit it? Most definitely not.

“No way- Jeon Jeongguk?” The gentleman on your other side stands with his arms spread in what can only be the bro code. “What are you doing here? God damn- I never thought the day would come when I meet Jeon Jeongguk at the singles’ table!”

Wait, why does that name sound so familiar? You can hear the smirk in the newcomer’s voice as he stands as well, and the two men embrace each other in a manner that involves a lot of back slapping and chest bumping.

It’s only then that you unwillingly catch a glance of his face, and immediately an unwanted thought occupies the front of your mind persistently. He is most definitely, without a doubt, the most eligible single man at your table right now.

Jeon Jeongguk looks like the kind of man who is aware that eyes are on him at any given moment and milks every single second of it to show off. His broad shoulders are the first thing that catch your attention, he fills out the jacket of his dark blue suit just right, and yet the tapering of his torso into an impossibly slim waist has you questioning if he’s even real. You stop yourself from going any lower.

His face is a whole other matter, a cocky smirk pasted onto his face, charming doe eyes that lock right onto yours as he sits back down.

“Well, for my first foray into the singles’ club, I can’t say I’m disappointed,” he lowers his voice so that only you can hear it.

Scandalized at how he’s already prepositioning you within minutes of meeting, you make the mistake of turning to face him, witnessing how he adjusts his suit jacket as he makes himself comfortable in his seat, spreading his muscled thighs under the banquet table.

“For someone who’s sole hobby is the gym, I’m surprised your vocabulary range is better than a five-year old’s,” you shoot back at him, immediately annoyed by his very existence itself.

“So you admit you think my body is nice?” He raises an eyebrow and leans into your personal space, causing you to cross your legs and angle your body away from him in response. “You aren’t wrong there, but I could give you a much better idea of what’s under these clothes.”

Your hand tightens around your glass, getting ready to swing your entire body and drench his stupid good looking face with flat, lukewarm soda, but a loud burst of laughter ruins what could have been a perfect moment of humiliation.

“Ah, _______! Jeongguk! I see you two have met!” Kim Seokjin, approaches with Kim Namjoon on his arm, and the two of them look like they are glowing with happiness. “It’s about time, I can’t believe you guys are finally here!”

Finally? What is he on about?

You stand and Seokjin gives you a warm hug, a kiss on the cheek and you immediately feel slightly better, and more than slightly guilty at almost having caused a scene at one of your closest friend’s wedding. Namjoon greets you with a bright smile as well, holding out his arms and embracing you tightly.

Having always been the more sensitive of the couple, Namjoon holds you at arm’s length for a moment. “You alright there?” Namjoon’s gaze wanders over to the table behind you, and it’s like an epiphany strikes him. “God, I’m sorry! I wanted to put you at the table with my parents, seeing as you’re already like a daughter to them, but Jin wanted you to have another chance at…”

“Love,” you grimace as you complete his sentence for him. “I’m used to it by now.”

Namjoon looks like he’s about to say something else, but then Seokjin gets your attention, his arm slung around Jeon Jeongguk’s neck.

“______, as I was saying, I can’t believe you guys only met now. Jeon Jeongguk, meet _____. The sole reason why I managed to graduate from university on time. And ______, meet Jeon Jeongguk, the reason why I almost couldn’t graduate on time.”

Jeongguk snickers and elbows his hyung in the ribs, and you stare in shock at their camaraderie. Seokjin takes in your frozen expression and gestures wildly to get his point across.

“Hello? Remember Jeon Jeongguk?” Seokjin waves his hand in front of your face. “He basically lived in our dorm for a year without even attending our school because he wanted to see what university was like. You always complained about him leaving his cereal bowls in the sink!”

No fucking way. That snot faced brat became… this?

“How you doing, _____?” Jeongguk has the audacity to wink at you. “I see you’ve grown up a little.”

You eye him up and down in shock. From what you remember, Jeon Jeongguk was a scrawny little kid who shadowed Seokjin everywhere, to classes and even to the washroom. He was just a wide-eyed high schooler who worshipped both Seokjin and Namjoon back then, and cowered at your very presence.

“I see you haven’t,” you reply coolly, inwardly praising yourself for thinking of a comeback that quickly. You will not let this stupid brat intimidate you with his looks. Just because he grew up a little and got some muscles doesn’t mean he isn’t the same person who begged to carry your books to class for you.

You remember how he basically lived as a parasite in your dorm that year, irritating the hell out of you with his messy living habits, puppy dog eyes and basically taking turns to follow you everywhere you go. Now the memories are coming back, and so are the teasing laughter from your friends who thought he was your cute little younger brother and doted on him every chance they got, not aware that he’s actually the devil incarnate.

“You guys are getting along right?” Seokjin grins from ear to ear, likely already more than tipsy. “My two bestest friends, and my husband, all in the same place. This calls for a toast!”

“We’re getting along amazingly, aren’t we, ______?” Jeongguk says with a sickening grin as he passes you a champagne flute. “In fact, she was just complimenting me on my workout routine, and I was about to tell her that I’d be more than glad to incorporate her into my home workout too-“

“Toast to the happy couple!” You immediately cut him off, feeling your cheeks burn at his insinuation, raising your glass and avoiding Jeongguk’s gaze. “Congratulations Mr Kims!”

The happy couple moves off, and in your wealth of experience, you know that the night is coming to an end, and so is the event that you dread. You start to gather your things just as everyone starts to rise from their seats to gather in the middle of the ballroom, where a space has been cleared out. Instead of making your way with the crowd, however, you go the opposite direction, ready to make the practiced and unnoticed slip away out into the night.

But this time, a hand on your wrist stops you. It’s Jeon Jeongguk, a slight frown on his handsome features.

“Hey, where are you going? They’re about to do the bouquet toss.”

You pry your arm out of his grasp. “I know.”

And without a single glance back, you slip out of the back entrance of the ballroom, unnoticed by all except one.

*

The next time you see Jeon Jeongguk, it’s at Kim Taehyung’s wedding.

It’s a lovely wedding, a little abstract for your tastes, but totally Taehyung’s style. Expensive paintings worth more than your entire lifetime’s earnings adorn the ballroom, the menu is Italian cuisine, and the wine is exquisite. Him and his blushing bride are gorgeous, the night is perfect, were it not for one tiny little…

“Nice dress, bet it’d look nicer on the floor of my bedroom, though,” Jeongguk eyes your navy blue halter dress that shows off your shoulders.

The two of you are once again reunited at the singles’ table, and the fact that he’s seated right next to you has you in a foul mood.

“Why don’t you just slither off back to whichever hole you came from?” You hiss at him, finishing your third glass of wine for the night. “I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing you again.”

“And leave you all sad and alone at this miserable singles’ table?” Jeongguk grins. “I don’t think so. In fact, I can’t imagine how you managed to survive all these weddings without me. Why do you even hate me that much?”

What a question indeed. There are a million and one reasons as to why you hate Jeon Jeongguk, number one being his cocky personality, number two being his unfair glow up, while you’re still stuck looking pretty much the same as you did back in the first year of uni, if not more tired and world-weary.

“Oh, I managed alright,” you say through gritted teeth. “Not that I’m curious or anything, and I’d hate to give off the impression that I care even one iota about your existence-“

“Don’t worry, you can ask anything about me and I’d be more than happy to indulge,” Jeongguk says with a maddening smile.

“… why don’t you just get a girlfriend and graduate from this sad little island of singles? It’s not like you don’t have a ton of girls falling at your feet everywhere you go,” you roll your eyes as you witness the girl on the other side of him leaning over so far to show off her cleavage that she nearly falls off her seat. “It should be so easy for you.”

“Why would I do that when it’s more fun to stay here and annoy you instead?” He grins, topping up your wine glass, and that’s the only reason why you hesitate from smacking him on the head. His arm lingers on the back of your chair in a manner far too intimate for your liking, but if you were to smack him it would mean you have to touch him, and that’s a definite no-no.

Today he’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, showing a hint of his toned chest. His jacket features a dark grey floral print that matches nicely with the abstract, artsy theme of the whole wedding.

You’re saved from having to reply when it’s time for the couple to cut the cake. In true Taehyung fashion, he smears a dab of wedding cake on his bride’s cheek, causing her to gasp in shock and everyone around them to coo in adoration. Photographers are snapping away, capturing the perfect moment.

“I’d want to get married on my birthday too,” Jeongguk remarks off handedly beside you as the applause dies down. “You know it’s Taehyung’s birthday today, right?”

“Of course I do, what kind of friend would I be?” You roll your eyes at him. “And in response to your other statement: I don’t care.”

But Jeongguk continues as if you haven’t said a word. “I bet they’ll be spending lots of time in their birthday suits tonight.”

“Ew!” You can’t help but react as you turn and smack his arm. Just the thought of imagining Taehyung, your best friend since childhood, naked and doing… those things…

Jeongguk grins salaciously. “First contact: success.”

Still trying to stave off all the unwelcome images of Taehyung, you frown at him in confusion. “What?”

“It’s a rule I personally go by. No matter how interested I am in a girl, I always keep my physical boundaries until she breaks the touch barrier by initiating physical contact with me first.”

Hmm, who’d have thought the bastard would have a sense of morals?

“Well, you’re completely wrong because I’m not interested in you at all,” you turn your head away from him. “And if you think that one touch from a girl entitles you to do all kinds of lewd things, then you’re sorely mistaken on what it means to be a gentleman.”

“Who said anything about lewd?” He leans in, and you smell the sweetness of the tiramisu on his breath that is oh so tantalizing. “I think you’re the one who brought it up first.”

Snagged, you reach for your wine glass to take another chug, hoping that it might explain away the redness on your cheeks.

“You know, most people become more relaxed the more they drink, however with you I think it’s the opposite.” Jeongguk comments, swirling his wine in his glass casually as he studies your side profile.

You can’t help but get a little flustered at his attention. You can see the envious gazes of the other women at the singles’ table, and once again you are reminded of how very eligible Jeon Jeongguk is, especially amongst the rest of the males at the table.

“What would a guy like me have to do for company for his lonely heart?” Jeongguk turns his sparkling doe eyes on you, and at the same time, the lights in the ballroom dim as Taehyung directs everyone’s attention towards the ceiling.

While everyone looks up at the now bedazzled ballroom ceiling, amazed by the projection of multicoloured galaxies and shooting stars, you find yourself unable to look away from Jeon Jeongguk.

Then, while the lights are still off and everyone’s attention elsewhere, he leans in closer until you can feel his breath on your cheek. When you don’t make a move to push him away, Jeon Jeongguk places a hand on your chin and coaxes you those last few inches towards his lips, and you find that you don’t exactly hate the feeling of kissing this obnoxious brat.

His lips are soft, and the kiss is more demure than you’d expected it to be, judging from his fondness for dirty jokes and double entendres. You taste a slight bitterness from the coffee powder in the tiramisu on his tongue. He takes it slow, exploring every inch of your mouth with his, and it’s obvious that he enjoys kissing.

Jeongguk draws away just before the lights come back on. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you jerk away from him in a panic, just as the emcee calls everyone together for the bouquet toss and hightail your way out of the ballroom.

* “Why do you always leave before the bouquet toss?”  

“God, you have such annoying little brother energy,” you sigh, taking your eyes off Jung Hoseok’s grinning face as he dances and sings on stage, with his bride standing off to the side.

“Do you still think of me like that?” Jeon Jeongguk looks a little taken aback at this statement, though he recovers quickly. “My sources tell me that we aren’t far apart enough in age for you to be calling me that.”

“I don’t know who your sources are, but they’re wrong,” you shoot back at him. “Wait, are you stalking me now?”

“I hardly think asking around constitutes stalking,” Jeongguk says defensively. “And is that all you think of me? An annoying little brother?”

“What else could you be to me?” You cover a yawn with one hand as one of Jung Hoseok’s relatives comes on stage to make a speech.

“I highly doubt you kiss your younger brother like that,” Jeongguk smirks, one hand brushing your hair off your shoulder to expose your collarbone. “Unless…”

“I don’t,” you hiss at him, half annoyed at him, and half at yourself for letting him wind you up like this again. “You’re like… an annoying little punk who thinks he’s a man.”

To avoid any further conversation with him, you get up and head for one of the photobooths hired for the occasion, fully intending on getting a photo to prove that you’d been here, say your congratulations to the happy couple, and get out of here as soon as possible.

Jung Hoseok has chosen an outdoor wedding, and the venue is nothing short of spectacular. It’s a starry night, Shakespearean theme, and the décor is absolutely gorgeous. Having attended ballroom weddings for the past few months, this is most certainly a breath of fresh air, but you’re a little worried about how you’re going to get out of here, seeing as it’s quite literally a field in the middle of nowhere.

You’d better leave after this photo and try and call an Uber outside.

However, much to your consternation, Jeon Jeongguk follows you into an empty photobooth, planting himself right next to you on the tiny little loveseat, with his solid thigh against yours. He draws the curtains shut, and since the photobooth is automatically set to go off on a timer, it means that the two of you are currently very much alone in a confined space.

Inwardly you curse Jung Hoseok for having even the photobooths built for two.

“What are you doing? Get your own photobooth!” You growl at him.

“Not until you tell me why you’re running away from me,” he persists, crowding you on the small seat so that you’re nearly on top of him.

From this close up, you feel your resolve weakening, he might be a jerk but he’s a damn good looking one.

“I can feel you want me.” Jeongguk says with his lips pressed against your ear. “Don’t fucking deny it.”

Oh fuck it. It might be the folly of those earlier shots at the bar that makes you grab his collar and pull him into you, your lips crashing together in a clash of tongue and teeth. Unlike last time, the kiss is anything but gentle, and your touches are anything but demure as the two of you grope each other like animals in the small confined space.

“I fucking hate your cocky little mouth,” you hiss at him, biting down hard on his lower lip and eliciting a delicious little whine from the back of his throat.

Jeongguk responds by grabbing your waist and pushing you onto the seat, just as he swivels to end up on his knees. He’s tall enough so that he’s able to kiss down your neck, sucking and leaving behind bruises on the way.

“mhm… show you what this cocky little mouth can do,” his muffled voice sounds more like a threat, growing bigger by the minute as he kisses his way down your throat, to your collarbone as he pulls down the sweetheart neckline of your dress to mark the top of your breasts with his lips and teeth.

There is a moment of hesitation as his fingers pause at the top of your glittery black dress, just shy of exposing your bra. You answer his unasked question for him by pushing it down yourself. Once your breasts are exposed to his reverent gaze, he doesn’t waste any time in cupping them with his large hands, rolling your nipples expertly with both hands, pinching it every so often to make you wince.

“I hate your stupid, gorgeous hands,” you gasp at a particularly hard pinch. “And I hate your fingers.”

It’s those very fingers that are currently travelling up your bare thighs, your dress having ridden up from sitting down. You can feel the cool metal of his rings on your heated skin. Jeongguk doesn’t respond to your declarations of hate for him, instead he’s far too interested in exploring what lies between your thighs, in finding out whether the noises you make are the same as what he’s been imagining all these nights with just his hand for company.

You hate how he leaves you feeling, desperate for his touch and just to feel him everywhere. Hate how exposed he makes you feel, dress and bra pushed down inside a photobooth in the middle of a wedding.

“Could someone with little brother energy make you feel like this?”

With a surge of strength you hadn’t expected, Jeon Jeongguk pulls you to the edge of your seat so that your thighs are draped on his shoulders, legs spread to his liking. He has a front row view of how your panties are already soaked. Pushing the saturated material to the side, his tongue explores your folds eagerly, lapping up every drop of you and teasing the hell out of your clit.

It’s all you can do to keep silent, other than cursing him and his stupid mouth over and over again as he eats you out. His fingers dig bruises into your inner thighs as his lips start to suckle at the most sensitive part of your body, tongue flicking in and out. This for sure isn’t his first rodeo, for he adds his fingers into the mix deftly. You can feel yourself completely drenching his face, and a part of you would be embarrassed had you not already thrown your pride away when you first let Jeon Jeongguk kiss you with that filthy mouth.

“Oh my god,” your arms flail out in search of something to anchor yourself with and find purchase on his hair. Taking pleasure in messing up his perfectly styled hair, you urge him not to stop, both with desperate tugs on his silky black locks, and egging him on with every insult you can think of. “Don’t fucking stop, I swear to God…”

“Like my cocky mouth that much?” Jeongguk grins as he takes a breather, resorting to his slim fingers as he glides them in and out of your drenched cunt. “How about my fingers? Or my cock?”

“Shut up and make me cum,” you dig your nails into his scalp, making him wince a little. “Your fingers are probably the only part of you that doesn’t disappoint.”

His eyes darken just a smidge before he re-doubles his efforts, flattening his tongue against your clit and licking until you are near tears. With a final thrust of his fingers inside you, he sends you over the edge, relishing how you tighten deliciously around him as your body tenses in orgasm.

Jeon Jeongguk lazily thrusts his fingers in and out to help you ride out your high, pulling out to lick your essence from his fingers when you push him away.

“Well, doesn’t seem like you hated that,” he grins in a self-satisfied way that immediately irks you once more.

You close your legs and pull your dress to cover yourself, ignoring the fact that your thighs are still shaking from that orgasm. “I guess you aren’t that bad at going down on someone, which is a blessing considering that disappointment you’re packing in your pants.”

The dark gaze that you caught a glimpse of earlier comes back into view again, and just as your standing up, straightening your dress and gathering your wits about you, Jeon Jeongguk slides his arm around your waist, pulling you against his body in with a sudden movement.

“Does this feel disappointing to you?”

You can feel him pressed up against you, the considerable bulge right against the swell of your backside has your words caught in your throat, and you can’t bring yourself to refute his claim.

Jeongguk gives a low chuckle that sends shivers down your spine. “Didn’t think so. But don’t worry. I won’t fuck you here. Only good girls deserve my cock.”

He finally pulls away, and the space in between the two of you allows you to breathe and get your senses back once more. Throwing a disinterested glance over your shoulder, you bend over to collect the pictures that have dropped into the little slot on the machine, well aware of his eyes jumping from the curve of your ass just exposed to your chest still marked with the imprint of his lips.

You toss him one strip of the pictures, along with a parting shot.

“Who said I wanted to be your good girl?”

*

If you thought that weddings were bad, that was because you hadn’t experienced baby showers yet.

It hadn’t even been more than a month since you attended Kim Taehyung’s wedding, but the baby shower cum announcement invitation shows up in your mail anyway. You highly suspect that this wasn’t the result of their wedding night, but you all knew that Taehyung was the most eager out of all of you to start a family.

Right, back to why baby showers are even worse than weddings.

There isn’t even a hint of a singles’ table here at baby showers. Everyone here is happily married at least, some of them are pregnant, but either way they are more taken than your sad, single self.

“_____! So glad you could come!” Taehyung approaches you with what looks like a diaper stuck onto the front of his suit. “Ah, sorry about this, I was playing pin the diaper on the diarrhea…”

It’s all you can do to stop yourself from grimacing as you intercept his full-on bear hug with a side embrace instead. You can see Namjoon and Seokjin off to one side, laughing and proudly showing off scan pictures of their surrogate baby. Jung Hoseok and his wife are grinning happily just behind them, tanned and blissful having just returned from their honeymoon trip, and judging from the way that his wife has one hand protectively on her lower belly…

“Did you manage to get a drink yet?” Taehyung grins, an arm around his suddenly very pregnant wife. You have no idea how she managed to appear svelte and slim at her wedding just a few months ago.

“Ah, no, I was wondering if there was anything… stronger,” you grin weakly, holding up a glass of orange juice.

“No there isn’t,” Taehyung says with an embarrassed frown, reaching to scratch his neck. “I thought since this would be mostly couples who were kind of starting a family themselves…”

You force a smile onto your face at the confirmation that there isn’t a single drop of alcohol at this god forsaken baby shower. Surely the rules don’t apply to Namjoon and Seokjin??

“It’s fine,” you wave away Taehyung’s embarrassment. “Congratulations, by the way! Do we know if it’s a girl or boy yet?”

“Not yet,” Taehyung’s wife giggles, exchanging a look with her husband. “We want it to be a secret.”

You smile awkwardly as husband and wife exchange a loving kiss, but glance at your watch to see how much time has passed. Off handedly your thoughts suddenly stray to one Jeon Jeongguk, and you wonder if he’s here.

You have to say that having him present at one of these events really makes them a lot more tolerable, and you are feeling the effects of his absence, especially so without alcohol. It’s not that you like him, god forbid, but it’s just… he’s become somewhat like your partner in crime at events like this. He may be annoying, but his stupid jokes and handsome face helps pass the time quicker.

You suddenly find yourself wishing Jeon Jeongguk were here.

“Miss me?”

And the devil speaks. You whirl around to find Jeon Jeongguk dressed down in a pair of ripped black jeans and a white shirt with a casual blazer thrown over, hair grown out a lot longer than the last time you saw him. It frames his face in slight waves, giving him a far more carefree look than the last time you saw him, sharply dressed in a suit with his hair pushed back off his face. He looks even more annoying with his long, unkempt hair like this, and you have a great urge to just tangle your fingers in it and pull till he cries.

“No,” you say just to spite him. By now, Taehyung and his wife have wandered off to another group, so you feel safe enough to say your next words. “This party was a bore. Just looking for a semblance of intelligent life.”

“And alas, I come when called,” Jeongguk smirks at his double entendre, placing a hand on the small of your back to lead you to a small corner of the garden party. His touch sends shivers down your spine, brings your mind back to the last thing you did with him.

“I’m afraid I’m still looking,” you retort without any real heat in your voice. Bickering with him has become normal now, it’s comfortable with him like this.

Jeongguk feigns being stabbed in the heart, then takes a swig of his drink. Judging from his reaction, that is most certainly not plain soda, and you grab his hand, bringing his glass to your lips for a taste.

Definitely not soda.

“Where’d you get this from?” You hiss, feeling like a druggie on withdrawal.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Brought my own. Y’know, since this is supposed to be a baby shower and all, I cam prepared. You’d obviously come expecting virgin drinks.” He takes out a cleverly concealed flask from his blazer.

You help yourself by uncapping it and tipping it into your half full drink, sighing when you take a sip and the alcohol burns on the way down. Jeongguk watches you with an amused smirk, thinking how there isn’t any other girl who gets him just like you do.

“What?” You catch him staring at you, finishing your drink with one more gulp.

“I was thinking…” Jeongguk starts with a slow drawl.

“Oh wow, that’s a first for you-“

“… why haven’t you jumped me yet? You and I both know I’m the most eligible man at the singles’ table. Being here only strengthens my argument, I’m the most eligible single man here.” Jeongguk is enjoying riling you up, likes watching you spit insults at him and exchange banter like there’s no tomorrow. Just for good measure, he throws in a last jab. “Judging by your age too, I don’t think you have much time if you want to pop out at least three of my children.”

For a moment your eyes narrow in your annoyance. “I have plenty of time left, thank you very much. I’m still on the right side of 25-“

“-not for much longer,” Jeongguk helpfully throws in, gleefully delighting in the way you glare daggers at him.

“- and who said I want three of your children?” You cross your arms, stopping just short of stamping your foot. “Maybe I’ll go and be Namjoon and Seokjin’s surrogate!”

“Be my guest, I’d very much like to see how you look when you’re swollen and pregnant,” Jeongguk lowers his voice as he crowds your body with his, and you realise how much taller and broader he is. “Preferably if the baby is mine too.”

“W-why’d I want a baby who’ll grow up to be as insufferable as you?” You know your comeback is weak, but you find your mental faculties really at a limit especially when he’s this close. “He’d have the mentality of a five-year-old for his entire life.”

Jeongguk gently takes your empty glass from your hand and sets it down on a nearby server’s tray. Taking your hand, he leads you into Taehyung’s house, where much of it is empty as compared to the garden party outside.

“He’ll at least be as handsome as me,” Jeongguk offers with a hopeful grin, closing the door behind him to ensure no one accidentally wanders in. “So, do I still have that annoying little brother energy after what happened last time?”

At this point you’ve gone too far with him to straight up deny it. “Fine,” you admit. “You might be half decent at oral. But my theory that you have small dick energy still stands. You’re just a little brat who thinks with his dick and is used to girls dropping their panties for him-“

“I seem to recall you spreading your legs for me just as easily,” he hums as he traces a finger down your covered thighs, slightly displeased at your choice to wear a longer dress today.

“You’re just asking for it, aren’t you,” Jeongguk tsks under his breath, his tattooed fingers coming to rest on the front buttons of your modest midi dress. “Pretending to be all demure and modest like a good girl when in actual fact you’re a slut who lets random men eat her out in photobooths.”

“You’re not just any random-“ the words slip from your mouth before you realise it, and Jeongguk looks up sharply at you.

“What was that, babygirl?”

You cover up your own slip by bursting into slightly exaggerated laughter at his pet name of choice. “Babygirl? Oh my god. You’re the kind of guy who likes to be called ‘daddy’ in bed, aren’t you?”

Feeling slightly attacked, Jeon Jeongguk’s sky high confidence dips a little, and you spot the tell-tale signs of his eyes widening in shock, giving you a glimpse of his younger, more vulnerable side.

“Wh-what’s wrong with ‘daddy’? It’s a classic.”

“Only for those who actually fit the bill,” you say, placing your hand on his cheek and trying your best to ignore the sharpness of his jawline. “For your information, I only use ‘daddy’ when it comes to real men. Not stupid young punks like you.”

His eyes flicker with anger, jaw clenching even tighter so that a muscle jumps in his cheek, and the sight of it sets off a thrill in your lower belly, your heart racing in your chest, and it makes you feel even bolder.

He attempts to take back control of the situation by grabbing your waist with both hands, pushing you up against the wall and supporting your entire weight as if it’s nothing. Jeon Jeongguk obviously likes to show off his strength, and while you are indeed impressed, it’s not like you’ll ever show it, not unless you want to stroke his already inflated ego.

You loop your arms around his neck to keep your balance, feeling his hands on your ass and thighs and his bulge right against your centre. Taking advantage of your proximity, you lean in to suck right under his ear, leaving behind a red mark.

“’Daddy’ is only for men with big dick energy,” you whisper, breath hot against his neck. You draw back to take in his reaction, and he does that thing with his tongue against his cheek that tells you he’s really pissed off.

“Shut up,” he growls, one hand on the front of your dress as he tears the buttons open, exposing your bra in one movement. “I’ll fucking show you what ‘Daddy’ is.”

Another rip and your bra falls open, exposing your breasts to him as he harshly bites and marks you, enough to replace the fading marks from last time. While doing this he also grinds into you, letting you feel how hard he is through his jeans.

“I’m gonna fuck you right up against this wall, with all our friends just outside,” Jeongguk breathes into your neck, taking one hand off your ass to push your dress up. “Gonna rip your panties off so you’ll have to go home with no underwear like the whore you are.”

“Do it, if it makes you feel more like a man,” you urge him on, and that bastard really does rip your underwear, tucking it into his pocket for later like the pervert he is.

He ignores your jibes at him to push your body weight against the wall with his own, one hand supporting you as he slides two fingers against your core to find out how wet you are. They come away soaking, and it boosts his confidence further as he licks his fingers.

“Could anyone but a man make you this wet? Even without touching you?” He smirks, using one of his thighs of steel to support you better as he starts to stroke your clit with his thumb, plunging his fingers into your tight cunt to stretch you out.

“Still so fucking tight for me, creaming all over my fingers like a dirty girl,” his words are getting filthier and filthier the more you egg him on, and you are indeed coming all over his fingers embarrassingly quick. You bite into his shoulder to conceal your moans, and he hisses a few curses under his breath.

“You’ll be calling me Daddy by the time I’m through with you,” Jeongguk casts you a dark look as he struggles with the zipper on his jeans with one hand.

You throw your head back with a laugh. “Go ahead, baby boy.”

The nickname only infuriates him more, and he spanks your clit once, making you dig your fingernails into his arms. Already overstimulated from the first orgasm, Jeongguk doesn’t let up as he continues to rub your clit until you weaken in his arms, only then does he feel like he’s got the upper hand once more.

You have to say that you’re impressed with his strength so far and you help him out by unbuckling his belt, tossing it to the side and lowering the zipper on his jeans. He pushes it, along with his underwear, down to his knees, and while he’s doing that you take the opportunity to push his shirt up, exposing his rock hard abs that make you want to grind against them.

“Like what you see?” Jeongguk is smirking, he knows all his hours at the gym pays off well.

“I’ve seen better,” you say with a sniff, but you’re lying and the both of you know that from the way you can’t keep your hands off his chest and abs.

Jeongguk pushes his underwear off, and his cock slaps against his belly, the head an angry red and fully erect. At the first sight of it, you’re tongue tied. While some men are blessed in girth and some in length but not both, he seems to have the best of both worlds, and his entire length spans almost three quarters of your forearm.

“Cat got your tongue, baby?” He presses a suckling kiss against your collarbone, pushing his sticky cock against your inner thighs.

He’s left with a satisfied smirk when you really do have nothing to say, instead reaching down to stroke him. The feeling of your small hand on his cock makes him swear under his breath, sweat dripping off his forehead as he thrusts forward into your grasp involuntarily.

“Have protection?” You remember at the last minute, placing a hand on his abdomen to stop him from thrusting into you bare.

“I got a vasectomy,” Jeongguk answers, and you nearly choke on your saliva.

“Wha- whe- I-“

“I knew it! You want to have my babies,” Jeongguk snickers at your reaction, but not for long when you grip him tighter and he groans. “I’m kidding. Don’t worry, I’m as fertile as a bull in the china shop.”

“That’s not how the saying goes- you know what, just shut up and tell me if you have any condoms. You’re a lot more attractive when you aren’t talking.”

“In my blazer pocket,” he answers, and you reach for it, finding a foil packet and tearing it open, rolling it over his cock.

You note how the packet says extra-large, and in your mind, you can already imagine his cocky little self walking up to the pharmacy and fucking asking for the extra larges even though there is stock on the shelf.

Jeon Jeongguk is just that kind of cocky little bastard.

“Big dicks aren’t everything, Jeon,” you say at last, guiding him towards your centre. “Not if you cum after the first three strokes.”

“I’ll fucking show you what stamina is,” Jeongguk growls as he surges forward into that delicious, warm heat, your pussy tightening around him despite having been stretched out earlier. You cry out against his shoulder as he fucks into you, having mercy enough to give you shallow thrusts at first before building up to sheath his whole length into you.

“Haven’t cum yet? I’m surprised,” you mock him, tightening your core around him and feeling his steady rhythm falter.

“Fuck you,” he grits his teeth, using the power in his thighs to fuck up into you.

“That’s what I’m trying to do, but you’re gonna cum too soon aren’t you,” you coo at him, petting his cheek and babying him, all of which you know by now he absolutely hates. “Cute little Jungkookie’s all grown up.”

“Don’t fucking call me cute when I’m pounding my cock inside you,” Jeongguk leans forward to bite your lower lip in a harsh, punishing kiss, effectively shutting you up as he pistons his cock in and out at an unforgiveable pace.

Since you came once already, you thought your second orgasm would be way far off, but you’re proven wrong especially when Jeongguk buries his cock deep, limiting his thrusts so that he’s just grinding his cock against you, his pelvic bone rubbing against your clit just right. He then shifts so that his arms slide under both your thighs, opening you up even more for him as he fucks you against the wall with his incredible strength, and you feel yourself tightening around him again.

When he smirks against your neck you realized you must have called out his name when you came. But in this position you can’t do much other than wrap your arms around his neck as he gives you the pounding of your life.

“Ready to call me daddy yet?” Jeongguk pants against your neck, leaving his cock buried so deep that he can feel your cervix.

“No fucking way,” you refuse to relent.

“Then how ‘bout you make me a daddy instead?” He proposes, pulling out suddenly to the tip and slamming back in, making you whine his name again. “That’s right baby girl, I saw all your envious looks at all the couples out there.”

“Wha-? I…”

“Don’t fucking deny it. You’d look so much better swollen and pregnant than all of those women out there. You know you want to, especially when I started teasing you about getting too old. You want a baby, you want mybaby fucked into you.”

You don’t know what kind of roleplay this is, but all you know is that you get even wetter around his cock, and all you want is for him to fuck you against this wall until you forget your own name and you can’t walk tomorrow.

“Fuck… keep going. Tell- tell me more,” you pant against his neck for more as Jeongguk starts fucking his cock into your pussy once more, every thrust ending so deep that it taps your womb.

“Gonna fuck a baby into you at our friend’s baby shower,” Jeongguk grips your thighs hard. “You want that? Hm? Then next it will be our turn to have a baby shower. Though I think we’ll have it before our wedding, where everyone will see you round and swollen with my baby.”

“Wh-who fucking said I wanted to marry you-?” You can barely get your words out of your mouth as you dig your fingernails into his shoulders. There’s something about how primal his thrusts feel when he talks about fucking a baby into you, and you want more.

“I can give you a baby right now and then you’ll have one more reason to marry a cocky little bastard like me,” Jeongguk smirks against your neck as he lets one of your legs drop to rub your clit, and you squeeze around him again, crying out into his neck.

Your thighs are quivering, cunt clenching around his still pounding cock as Jeongguk grunts. You feel his cock twitching, and even though all of this is make believe- the condom wrapper on the floor reassuring you… you wouldn’t exactly hate it if it were all real. Being with Jeon Jeongguk… doesn’t sound that bad after all.

Feeling him close to his orgasm, you wrap your arms around him tighter, legs around his waist as you feel his desperation soar.

“Give it to me. Your baby, I want it,” you whisper against his cheek, not knowing how much of it is just for the heat of the moment, and how much of it isn’t. All you know is you love his reaction to your words, the way his thrusts stutter in rhythm and he lets out a deep groan.

He moans your name in the most beautiful way as he spills his load, continuing to thrust to ride out his orgasm, his hips pinning you against the wall as his hands encircle your waist.

The both of you remain like that for a moment, his harsh breaths against your neck as you find yourself stroking his back and leaning your cheek against his broad shoulders. Gingerly, Jeongguk puts you down so that your feet are once more touching firm ground, and he slips out of you in the process.

It’s slightly awkward now that everything is over, and Jeongguk turns away, pulling the used condom off his softening cock. While his back is turned, you start to straighten your clothing, realizing that the bastard has really ripped all your underwear and even your dress too.

Cursing him loudly enough so that he hears it too, you stuff your now useless bra into your bag, trying the best you can to button your light blue lace midi dress back together again and failing miserably. You cross your arms as you glare at his broad back, until Jeongguk feels the weight of your glare and turns around.

He disposes of the used condom in the trash, and has the gall to check you out, particularly lingering on your half exposed chest.

“Quite a number you did on my arms… this’ll last for a while definitely-“

“You fucking ripped my dress! How the hell am I supposed to get out of here?”

Jeongguk can’t keep that stupid smile off his face as he shrugs out of his blazer, coming towards you and draping it across your shoulders so that it covers you adequately. Despite being pissed off at him, you can’t help but notice how much bigger he is- his shoulders stretch as he assures his blazer is securely on you and the concentration furrows his brow as he buttons it up.

“There. Like that. I think you look much better, to be honest.” He takes a step back, smirking in satisfaction before he turns you around with one arm around your shoulders. “Look. I am a gentleman. I’ll even walk you out so that we can call a cab together.”

“Are you crazy?” You shrug his arm off violently. “We can’t go out like this together! Everyone will know we just fucked!”

“Well, we just did…” Jeongguk has a stupid grin on his face as he states the obvious, and it makes you want to smack him.

“You stay in here for five minutes then come out. Look like you just came in here to piss or something,” you shove his chest in an attempt to get him to stay, trying to ignore how firm his pecs feel under your touch, and how he barely even moves.

Jeongguk has an amused smile on his face as he watches you arrange your hair, check your makeup for any smudges before gingerly stepping outside, all while oblivious to that fact that you wearing his blazer is the biggest telltale of all.

Truly, he’s never met a girl like you.

*

Jeon Jeongguk’s goal is to get you to stay for the bouquet toss just this one time.

More specifically, he wants to find out why you always leave before it happens. Personally, it’s his favourite part, aside from the free flow booze and food and cake. He particularly likes seeing the women’s faces when they spot him, and then see how desperate they are to catch the bouquet later on especially when he’s in the crowd.

But today he’s more interested in seeing one particular person’s face when the bouquet goes sailing through the air.

Jeongguk rubs his hands together in glee with a devious smile on his face, peeking around the corner to find his best friend Eun Woo and his bride at the center stage, taking pictures with guests.

“Bro! So glad you came!” Eun Woo greets him with a wide grin that reaches his eyes, spreading his arms wide to embrace Jeongguk.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Jeongguk grins back, slapping his friend on the back a few times before pulling away. “You remembered my request, right?”

Eun Woo clasps Jeongguk’s hand cordially. “Of course man. Just point her out to me and we’re good to go.”

Jeongguk steps back to let Eun Woo go back to his bride and entertaining his guests, all the while keeping a close eye on the door. You hadn’t showed up for the wedding ceremony nor the dinner that followed, and Jeongguk knows from sources that you’d been invited to this wedding too. He fidgets anxiously, wondering when, or if, you’ll show up.

After what seems like forever, you slip in quietly, alone as always, wearing that same light blue midi dress that he had the pleasure of ripping off your body.

You weave through the crowd in order to get to the front, wanting to get it over and done as quickly as possible. When you catch a glimpse of Cha Eun Woo dressed to the nines, smiling and laughing with his bride, you feel a small little pang in your chest, considering that you had a crush on him once.

In fact, that was the main reason why you decided to only show up at the end. When you received the invitation, it wasn’t like you were shocked or anything because you knew the two of them had been dating for a while, but the same old blues just crept up on you, and you don’t think you can bring yourself to sit through another wedding and watch another couple find their happy ending, when all you wanted was to find it yourself.

So here you are, forcing a smile on your face as Eun Woo springs to his feet once he sees you, engulfing you into a hug for old times’ sake.

“I almost thought you weren’t coming,” he says with a pout, and your heart almost melts.

Eun Woo just has this way of speaking that makes anyone feel incredibly important to him. It’s the way his voice softens to an intimate tone and his eyes focus on you entirely. He holds you at an arm’s length to really look at you.

“Long time no see,” you laugh, extricating yourself from his embrace, all too aware of his bride standing beside him looking a little out of place. “Congratulations, brat. I’m so happy for you.”

Eun Woo grins, a heart-achingly handsome smile directed just at you, and damn if it doesn’t make you feel special even when you’re here attending his fucking wedding. Your moment of regret is interrupted by a slight shove to your back that puts some distance between you and Eun Woo, and you turn your head in annoyance to see who it could possibly be.

Jeon Jeongguk sure knows how to ruin a moment, for he steps in between you and Eun Woo, bro hugging him generally making a lot of noise. Before you can quickly slip back into the crowd, however, Jeongguk grabs your arm, tucking it into the crook of his elbow.

“Did you meet ______ yet?” Jeongguk says, winding an arm around your shoulders tight to stop you from escaping. Slippery little minx you are.

Eun Woo hesitates for a second, and some kind of unspoken communication goes on between the two men, and you roll your eyes, wanting to just leave now that you’ve shown your face.

“______?” He says your name with such surprise in his voice, and his eyes widen, as if seeing you for the first time, taking in Jeongguk’s arm around you. Then he coughs awkwardly and tries to play it off smoothly. “Dude, we go way back since uni, my partner in crime when it comes to project work,” Eun Woo shoots you a fond little grin, and you feel your heart flip.

Jeongguk catches this little interaction and frowns.  “Wait, you guys… know each other that well?”

“Yeah. We even-“ you cut yourself off, realizing that this isn’t the best time to bring it up.

“Oh, you can say it, Eun Woo told me and it’s all cool,” his bride grins, casually looping an arm around her husband. “I know you guys used to date for a while.”

You can feel Jeongguk’s grip tightening slightly around your shoulders. “Um… wow. Okay. That was… uh, unexpected.”

You shoot him a sharp glance, wondering why he’s being so weird and saying such weird things and trying to figure out if he’s trying to be funny and embarrass the both of you. But Jeon Jeongguk seems genuinely flustered, the tips of his ears growing red.

“Anyway, uh, congrats you two,” you clear your throat and give them a slightly subdued smile. “Wishing you guys happiness always.”

Eun Woo reaches out to grasp your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Thanks, ______. I really appreciate it. You guys, stay till the end of the event, ‘kay? We have something really special planned.”

The two of them are soon dragged away by another group of friends, leaving you and Jeon Jeongguk alone in the crowd of strangers.

“Okay, what was that?” Jeongguk demands, folding his arms across his chest.

You’re still staring somewhat wistfully as Eun Woo and his wife as they wrap their arms around each other. “What? It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You were practically making love eyes towards him!” Jeongguk points out indignantly.

You roll your eyes and start to head for the refreshment table, figuring you should at least get something to eat and drink while here. “It’s all in the past. We used to date for a while, that’s it. Maybe there’s still some lingering feelings for him. Maybe I’m feeling a little bitter while attending my crush’s wedding. What’s it to you?”

Picking up a flute of champagne, you down it in one gulp, feeling much better once the alcohol hits your system.

Feeling the urge to outdo his best friend, Jeongguk steals a chocolate covered strawberry off your plate and pops it into his mouth, making sure his lips wrap around the strawberry. He sucks it for a moment, making eye contact with you to capture your attention before he bites it off, closing his eyes as the sweetness bursts on his tongue. Jeongguk has to make you forget about your long lost crush.

“Stop it!” You hiss at him, at the way he licks his chocolate covered fingers obscenely.

“What?” Jeongguk shoots back, eyes wide and innocent. “I’m not doing anything!”

It’s ironic, the way practically everyone here is dressed for a black tie event, and here Jeon Jeongguk is, bow tie and suit, licking chocolate off his fingers like a five year old. But strangely, rather than irritate you, it’s kind of… endearing.

You like how he’s not afraid to make a fool out of himself even at events where everyone seems to be doing their best to pretend they’re sophisticated adults. He makes boring, stuffy old events like this more fun, and you realise… you want him in your life.

“You’re an idiot,” you say without any real heat in your voice, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“I see you’re wearing the same dress,” Jeongguk comments with a glance down your body, and you fold your arms protectively.

“Yes, because washing machines are a thing,” you roll your eyes at him. “Sorry I don’t earn enough to debut with a spanking new dress every time one of our friends decide to get hitched.”

“God, you’re so defensive,” Jeongguk attempts to pry one of your arms loose. “I was just thinking that perhaps I didn’t do a good enough job of tearing off your body. How’d you even get it to be in one piece again?” Jeongguk watches the way red blooms across your cheeks. “So, am I still little brother energy?”

Judging from the way the cocky little bastard grins, he already knows the answer, but he just wants to hear you say it.

“No… but you’re far from daddy,” you add the last bit just to stop his ego from inflating so much that he can’t walk out the door later. Doing him a favour, really. You take your plate of cakes and pastries and find a seat somewhere in the ballroom, in a nice and secluded corner where no one will notice you stuffing your face.

Jeon Jeongguk follows you, grabbing more glasses of champagne along the way and handing them to you once you’re seated. “You said you had feelings for Eun Woo.”

“Yeah. Key word, had,” you clarify. “Past tense.”

“And me?” Jeongguk holds his breath in anticipation. “Do you… have feelings for me?”

You let the plate rest in your lap for a moment, considering how to best word your emotions. As much as you want to deny it and say he’s just an annoying little punk… it’s gone too far for you to do that. “I guess… yeah. I do. Don’t get me wrong though, you’re still annoying as fuck and you irritate the hell out of me sometimes, but I guess somewhere along the way… I stopped minding it so much and even started to miss it when you weren’t there to annoy me. It’s not just because we fucked or anything like that, but… having you beside me at all those weddings made me see how happy everyone around me was, only because… you kind of made me happy to begin with. Attending all those weddings by myself and seeing everyone get their happily ever after… I was kind of lonely, but now I’m not anymore.”

Embarrassed at your sudden show of emotions, you glance away, nearly spilling your glass in the process, but Jeongguk saves you by taking it away from you. An insatiable grin is on his face. “So… you’re saying I make you happy by annoying you?”

“And your dick is pretty nice too,” you grumble under your breath, in an attempt to distract him from how raw your emotions are feeling.

“I know,” Jeongguk steals a monster bite of your cake without asking. In the midst of his chews he sneaks a kiss on your cheek so that he leaves some cream behind. “I like annoying you too. I want to keep annoying you for the rest of my life.”

Just when you’re about to smack him for being so cheesy and disgusting, a voice comes over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our lovely bride and groom will now be preparing for the bouquet toss and the garter throw. If you would kindly gather, please.”

Jeongguk takes your plate and puts it aside before grabbing your hand securely in his, but there’s no need to, because you’re not going anywhere without him at your side. There was a time where you would have rather died than witness the bouquet toss, see the bundle of flowers being thrown into the air and hoping against hope that you’ll be lucky enough to catch it… but this time, with Jeon Jeongguk by your side, all you feel is warm and content, like you’ll be happy as long as he’s with you.

Jeongguk guides the both of you to a prime spot at the front, where you see Eun Woo’s bride seated in a chair, and Eun Woo on his knees before her. Realising you’re about to witness what’s called a garter toss, your eyes widen in shock when you see Eun Woo dive under his bride’s skirt. The crowd reacts with giggles and wolf whistles as Eun Woo seems to struggle a little, but a few minutes later he emerges, hair ruffled, but victorious with a lacy band between his teeth.

“We’re so gonna do that at our wedding,” Jeongguk murmurs under his breath with a squeeze of your hand.

“Getting a little ahead of yourself hmm? I never said I’d marry you,” you reply with a half-smile.

Eun Woo stands up, holding his wife’s garter high in one hand before he extends his other hand towards her, and together they turn their backs to face the crowd. You can see his wife’s beautiful bouquet of pastel peonies, tiger lilies and baby’s breath, held over her head.

The crowd is holding their breath with anticipation, and you can feel the people around you jostle slightly in their eagerness. You see Eun Woo lean down to whisper something to his wife, and she giggles, nodding in return before casting a glance backwards at the crowd behind her.

Eun Woo does the same, and his eyes lock onto yours before shifting slightly to beside you. Then he turns his back, and with a count of one, two and three, husband and wife toss their respective items high into the air.

For the first time, you see the bouquet sailing in the air towards you, and it’s as if everything is in slow motion. The crowd around you disappears, miraculously no one is pushing or shoving against you, and… could it be? The silk wrapped bouquet looks like it’s actually going to… this is impossible. The chances are so slim, there are so many people here…

And yet, your arms move of their own accord, the bouquet lands in your grasp, and you smell the sweetness of the flowers immediately as the sheer size of the entire silk wrapped bundle blocks your vision entirely.

Then, time unfreezes and sound filters back in. People around you are cheering and clapping, they’ve given you some space now. You start to shy at the attention, lowering the bouquet and half-panicking over what Jeon Jeongguk will think- will he take this as a sign that you’re a psycho who wants to marry him even though it’s this soon? What if he’s scared off by this?

But as you lower your bouquet, you realise that Jeon Jeongguk isn’t empty handed either, he’s holding a lacy garment in his hand, grinning from ear to ear with that annoying little smirk of his that tells you this went exactly as he planned.

Welcome to the lonely hearts club: table for two, please.

#bts #bts smut #btssmutclub #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #I can't even remember what networks im a part of anymore... #ksmutclub

[heartofholland]

tom recs <3

hi guys! here is a fic rec list i made of all the fics i’ve loved. personally, i consider myself an avid fic reader so i have read a shit ton of fics. these are just my highlights. let me know if you want more like this! and if you do end up reading any of these please make sure you REBLOG them to spread the goodness. these writers work their ass off and deserve all the credit in the world. enjoy! <3

SERIES

riding my by @worldoftom this fic is barely started but i love everything this writer puts out. very smutty, very hot. innocence kink check!

breaking curfew by @wazzupmrstark ASSHOLE TOM! my weakness. enemies to lovers but make it FWB. what I wish my summer camp was like instead of my thighs sticking to chairs and lice outbreaks.

eighteen by @angelic-holland corruption/innocence kink! basically all smut but damn do i want bad boy tom.

the situationship by @fairytelling can’t say enough about this fic. the definition of falling in love with your best friend. if my relationship isn’t like this i don’t want it.

happiness is a butterfly by @blissfulparker soft mob!tom and they’re forbidden soulmates! updates are WELL worth the wait!

i only feel you by @stuckonspidey the first time i read my watch thought i was working out for how high my heart rate was. shit keeps you on your toes. there is a sequel fic but just a heads up you will want to unstan tom on multiple occasions.

make me love you by @mrs-hollandstan frat boy player tom turned soft. mans does a whole 180. fuck dom.

perfidy by @peeterparkr couldn’t be more obsessed with this fic. they’re both so fucking stupid but too afraid to get hurt. also the social media posts are so fucking cute and crucial to the story 

eloped by @worldoftom getting married to tom in the most beautiful vacation spot? sign me the fuck up

you. by @txmhoelland i think there’s definely worse men to be set up with as a PR stunt.

erotas by @farfromparker i have definely read this fic for more days than i’ve been on this earth but every time i lose my goddamn mind

dare you to move by @starksparker-archive the best version of FWB tom is when you’re his roommate…

gone by @dahliaspidey this one… hurts. but i just know it will bounce back.

take me out by @angelic-holland warning this one is really dark. like serial killers. but it was so fascinating i am completely obsessed with the psychology of it all. jake is featured and please don’t imagine the mr. music the entire time like i did </3

single all the way by @heyhihellowhatsup0 i read this whenever i need a lil christmas pick me up

sweetener by @keepingupwiththeparkers cute awkward relationship. it is so real i feel like it could actually happen to me.

ex on the beach by @heyhihellowhatsup0 THE ANGST GIVES ME LIFE

SMUT

bartender by @t-o-m-holland tom happens to own your favorite bar. your subtle flirts aren’t working. the banter between reader and the fam makes me wish i didn't have social anxiety.

siren by @rosyparkers don’t get me wrong i will scream ACAB til the day i die but police officer tom could definitely get it.

best of three by @mrs-hollandstan one of the 3000 threesome fics i have saved. imagine not getting one of the hottest men but TWO.

roommates by @hollandbaby what a coincidence we both want to fuck each other! this checks all the kinks my man. i’ve read this probably no less than 100 times.  

that was that by @moorehollandplz dom!tom but something flips and he’s never been more gentle. mans got both sides of the playing field covered.

know your enemy by @angelic-holland short but sweet. hate sex is always hotter behind the scenes.

wasabi by @angelic-holland literally everything about alice is phenomenal but this is on of my faves. when i read this it makes me feel smarter. also body shots.

say good night by @madmadmilk this writers work never fails to blow me away but this time she managed to encapsulate my entire life. (minus the execution with a very hot and experienced best friend).

buwygf-ib by @hholyholland just ignore tomdaya for a sec and take in the hottest dom!tom i’ve ever witnessed.

cocky by @sykoxartist yeah he’s an asshole but he’s your asshole. at least that’s what he thinks.

sovereign by @farfromparker sub!tom is so hot. man will beg for DAYS.

summer vacation by @kidney9-9  when is hate sex ever like…. not hot as fuck?

ride by @tomhollandsstan face riding. period.

coincidence by @starshinebucky actor!reader and tom fuck… at least they’ll have good chemistry next time.

skin by @hollandbaby dom!tom is not ok with being a sub. unless it’s for you.

you can bet on it by @kiwi-bitchez all of this writers smut makes my pussy throb. this is my fave. just wait for the twist.

a rose blooms by @cornacopicimagines prince!tom drives me wild. but wait til he finds out you’re not a virgin.

begging by @raewritesfiction tom makes you beg for it.

self reflection by @stuckonspidey this is actual proof tom has a praise kink.

minor inconvenience by @angel-spidey toms an idiot but at least he can get you off.

flesh by @starshinebucky cocky tom kills me.

keeping him nice and warm by @marvelouspeterparker mob!tom the gif itself to sends me.

after hours by @cornacopicimagines never had sexual tension with a teacher but this will do.

ANGST

josslyn by @multiharlot messy situation but reader handles it like a champ. if your heart isn’t broken enough, the last line will make sure it’s unfixable for days on end.  

moral of the story by @kelieah listen to the song while you’re at it to make your cry sesh take a turn for the worst. 

cherry by @xoluvx this one hurts real bad. so does the song. 

a complicated love story by @samhollandssweaters an emotional rollercoaster for real.

he dies in the end by @allfandomxreader ignore the title and just cry your eyes out with me.

eighteen by @fancyxholland you’ll be confused why it’s in the angst category but trust me.

all the lies by @peteywillproceed getting cheated on but the girl is toms gf, how do you tell him. 

memories by @nycparkers i sob to this whenever i need a good cry. 

don’t be a fool by @nycparkers breakups that dont end messily make me so fucking jealous.

FLUFF

kiss currency by @madmadmilk borderline smut. confused and oblivious harrison. dialogue inspires me to talk to males.  

plank all over me by @waitimcomingtoo FILRTY TOM! THE BANTER! i really am a whore for well written dialogue. there’s additional parts but i won’t spoil.

 playing cupid by @marvelobsessedteenager you set everyone else up but wait a damn minute how did you forget about tom?

 little flirt by @webslinger-holland oh to flirt with tom while he’s sweaty from intensely dancing for the lip sync battle.

pour it out by @rhapsodyparker i don’t know what it is but famous!reader going on talk shows or having interviews and they ask the reader cheeky questions about tom might be one of my many kinks…

hubby by @t-holland2080 it’s the small things that make me want to bawl my eyes out for being so lonely.

going live by @redrebecca the dialogue makes me cry of happiness! tom doing a live (what a concept).

paddy’s crush by @tom-holland-is-spiderman jealous tom but of his younger brother.

 wannabe by @sailingintothenight the cliffhanger at the end demands a second part.

flawless by @missnxthingg  tom is a simp.

you and me by @sunshinehollandd best friend tom makes me soft.

dick appointments. web shooters. the duality of a man. by @porterporker  it gets a lil steamy but man is “web shooter” a funny name for a dick.

best day by @thollandss dad!tom gives me baby fever even though i am a virg.

 tom asks your dad by @blissfulparker can i just skip through the bad boyfriends and just marry the love of my life already.

baked chicken by @waitimcomingtoo there isn’t a category for awkward but if there was this would be in it.

lover boy by @starshinebucky  tom being so oblivious you like him that you need to call for backup.

afterglow by @wickedholland i wish someone would treat me like this when im drunk instead of leaving me to hold my own hair back.

#tom holland #tom holland fics #tom holland x reader #tom holland series #tom holland smut #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland fic #tom holland writing #tom holland reader insert

[pastxlscorp]

Bully! Mitsuya Fanfic (pt.2)

Chapter II: Exigence

✿ Word Count: 2.6k

✿ Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

✿ Topics covered: (Eventual) Enemies to lovers trope, Mitsuya POV, tsundere-Mitsuya, bully! Mitsuya, fem. reader, manga spoilers, slight angst + smut

“You look so pretty while you’re sleeping.”

The tender voice-- so gentle, so sweet-- it began to echo within his mind. He, at first, had thought he was dreaming but that voice-- oh that beautiful voice, it tempted him so dearly. He began to chase the voice, following it through the mess of his mind, his thoughts, firmly clasping it and--

It isn’t you.

He opened his eyes, closing them instantly again as the light burned them intensely. He waited a few seconds before trying again, his eyes beginning to readjust as the light became calmer and more bearable. He was face to face with a woman-- he couldn’t seem to recognize her. Her voice, her pleasant voice… it had sounded too similar to your own, he could’ve sworn it was you, laying beside him naked with your head drooping over him as you admired him sleeping. Looking closer upon the woman in front of him, he recognized her as one of his classmates and member of his Home-Economics club. It began to come back to him slowly, how exactly he ended up here. It was just the usual after all, sleeping with women to satisfy his needs-- or rather, his suppressed desires.

He happened to only share one class with you-- of course, it was Designer-101. In this class, the professor would instruct and teach you about the most trendy styles going on, or some older styles that were coming back in fashion and how to incorporate them into your works. It was a very intricate class but you both were determined to accomplish your dreams, even if it meant passing this dread of a course. However, as hard as it might be, Mitsuya fully enjoyed every aspect of the course because it was fun to clash styles, colors, and fabrics just to accomplish the final design. He had noticed you took great pride in this class, too, and even incorporated these color schemes into your lighting and filter ideas. While he’d never admit it to your face, his heart fluttered seeing your eyes gloss over your masterpiece and grin, taking a few moments to admire your work. He rarely bothered you in this case for this exact reason, although he couldn’t help the occasional tease, just to see your squirm.

┃ “Y/N, dear, are you alright? You seem to be struggling a little bit with this embroidery pattern.”

┃ “Sorry, Professor! I’ll get the hang of it quickly, I’m sure, just a small obstacle!” You reassured him, giving him the warm smile Mitsuya mourned losing and wished he could see from the receiving end just once more.

Unbeknownst to you, Mitsuya had eavesdropped on the entire conversation table next to yours. You had attempted to choose a seat that was far away from him, but he picked up on that quite quickly and decided, just out of spite, to sit the table directly horizontal from you. Desperately yearning for a small scrap of your attention, he quickly stepped besides the Professor but composed himself before saying

┃ “Professor, if I may… since Y/N seems to be having a rough time, I can help them out. If that’s with your permission, of course, sir.” He said with that bastardly shit-eating smile that made your stomach turn inside out while wrapping his arm around your shoulder. It was the smile that captivated teachers with it’s innocence and purity-- if only they knew that it was the mischievous smile that you were accustomed to seeing after he was done with you.

Before you could offer a rebuttal, your professor smiled genuinely and nodded, thanking Mitsuya before walking off and mumbling how he was such a good kid. As soon as your Professor had made it to the other side of the enormous classroom, Mitsuya turned to you, shit-eating grin beginning to form into a devious smirk as he finally had some alone-time with you.

┃ “Hey baby~” His voice came out smoothly like butter, words falling out of his mouth as if this was the entire script planned out in his head. Little did you know, it was.

┃ “You’re only helping me figure this embroidery pattern out, that’s it, no rebuttals, nothing more. Got it?” You spat harshly, making that smirk on his face quickly turn into a scowl as you once more rejected any flirtatious opportunity he threw at you.

He scoffed, not acknowledging your question with a nod or even the common courtesy of a reply, but he moved off to the other side of the table to grab the needle that was engraved in the cloth you were attempting to sew on. Even though he moved on pretty quickly, your words had stung him deeply, as it made it clear to him any romantic opportunity he had with you had been reduced and diminished into nothing. He placed it in front of you, motioning his hand for you to continue what you were doing before folding them over his chest. You growled, assuming that this was him punishing you for not reciprocating his flirts. However, it ended up being the exact opposite, as he intently observed your stitch, attempting to pinpoint where you were going wrong. Your accuracy was fine, your hands enwrapped the needle firmly but gently as you intertwined it within the cloth and there, he had picked up on what you were doing wrong. He carefully set himself behind you, having his chest press against your back as he wrapped his arms around you to hold your hands. The surprise caught your breath and made it hitch, feeling his ice-cold hands gently coddle your warm ones, balancing out the heat. Catching on to your growing flustered state, he smirked but his voice disguised it perfectly as he explained your mistake to you while beginning to guide your fingers through the cloth.

┃ “Your accuracy, your grip, all of that is perfect, sweetheart. Your mistake is you pull the needle out too early before allowing it to catch proper depth within the cloth. That’s why the final design comes out messy.” He explains, his words sounding almost like a textbook, professional, informative, while also comforting your tensed shoulders with his velvety voice and pet names as he continued to guide your hands until you reached the end of the segment.

Subconsciously, you had begun to relax in his grip, leaning your back into his chest as you finally perfected the technique with little help from his assistance as he withdrew his hands and allowed you to continue without him, setting his hands on the table and caging you in. He took the moments of silence to indulge in the warmth of your back pressing against him, a moment that came so rarely yet drove him insane every time your skin happened to graze him. You, on the other hand-- your mind was far from relaxed. You questioned why he was being so tender with you when he was so rough with you earlier, unprovokingly shoving you to the ground and humiliating you in front of your classmates. You opened your mouth to question him, but reluctantly closed it once you realized you wouldn’t get a real answer if you questioned him. After all, after being so kind the next day he’d return to normal as if nothing happened-- as if there was no spark between you both. He awoke you from your thoughts by placing his fingers below your chin, softly lifting your face to meet his own.

┃ “Cat got your tongue? Or maybe I will, soon~” he giggled to himself, grinning down at you, this time a genuine smile that expressed pure delight.

┃ “What happened to us, Mitsuya?” You bluntly asked, causing him to tense, his smile forming into a poker face as he contemplated your question carefully.

Months-- months ago, you were standing there after school after one of their club meetings next to the campus entrance, waiting for someone as she told him. He offered to wait with you but you told him it was okay-- no, you shooed him off, giving him some excuse as to why he couldn’t wait with her. A little arrow pierced through his lovestruck heart but he nodded and walked away, however he did not leave. He remained across the street hiding in the corner, far enough for her to not notice he still remained on campus grounds but close enough to still see her patiently waiting. He insisted his duty as her club president was to watch over her and ensure her safety, of course, there was nothing special about that. Any club member would do a little spying just to ensure their kohai’s well-being. She was pushing him away, that wasn’t normal, so surely something must be wrong. That was when that little shit Takemichi came along and his mouth fell open, in shock she knew a loser like him. Hanagaki Takemichi did not attend their university, however, he was a part of Toman, which was still growing in power. Takemichi had only joined recently but he had quickly won the hearts of Mikey and Draken, therefore anyone would think Mitsuya liked him too. How far from the truth that statement was-- Mitsuya despised Takemichi. His dumbass couldn’t fight for shit-- no brains nor brawn. During the fight with Valhalla, he was tasked with saving Baji and couldn’t even do so. Thankfully, Baji had survived his stab wounds, although the doctors informed Mitsuya and the others he was very lucky to have lived. On lesser issues, Takemichi also shows no signs of respect-- going as far as to punch the recently appointed 3rd division captain, Kisaki Tetta. What the fuck were you doing with someone like him? He watched your interaction so diligently, taking every note of laughter, smiles, and nods you gave Takemichi until Mitsuya began to feel himself clutching his knuckles so tight they looked like they were about to pop right out of his fists. Was everything you had gone through for the past few months nothing more than a game? Had he misunderstood your feelings-- was there really no spark between you both? The thought of this made his stomach drop, hitting him like a truck. No no, that was clearly the case, there was no other reason why you'd giggle so much around Takemichi, smile at him so fondly, or gaze at him as your eyes began to sparkle whenever he got enthusiastic about whatever the fuck it was he was talking about.

The next thing he knew, he was yelling at you after club hours the next day, shouting about how much of a dumbass you were, and how you failed to pick up on social cues around you. Many other insults came flying out his mouth, hitting you like bricks, piling up and causing the tears to build up. Truthfully, the entire situation was an entire blur to him. All he could remember was the close proximity of your faces as he yanked your chain when you attempted to talk back, which is when he noticed the tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to fall if provoked any further. You were released from his grip instantly and in a calm voice, he allowed you to exit, a loud sniffle accidentally slipping out of your lips as you ran out of the room before he could see you cry. He stared at you blankly, reminiscing before releasing your chin from his gentle fingers and backing away from you as he replied:

┃ “I could ask you the same.”

You remained looking at him for a few moments, before deciding it wasn’t worth engaging with him. He watched as you carried your project back to your designated locker, locked it, and put on your backpack before asking the professor if you could leave since it was time to go. Glancing at his watch, he announced class was dismissed and you quickly rushed out before bumping into Hakkai directly outside the door to the left, who was waiting for Mitsuya. You apologized to him instantly, to which he smiled and patted your head. A conversation ensued between the two of you and as Mitusya walked out, he saw the two of you engaging and laughing. It almost identically mimicked the way you acted with Takemichi, innocently smiling and staring at him so adoringly. He envied the comfortability you both shared in your relationship, the air bubbling with chemistry. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s staring until one of his club members taps his shoulder, greeting him and complimenting his outfit.

┃ “Hey, Kashi! Love your jacket, is it new?”

Now he’s here, back at his place with one of his kohai’s as he pushes her into the wall, roughly kissing her and quickly unbuttoning her shirt as she unzips his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and soon the rest of their clothes follow. Moans and groans fill the room, although most of them are hers. He’s painfully silent throughout their session, too frustrated to really focus on her-- however, she’s too accentuated on her own pleasure to notice he’s simply using her as a stress reliever and nothing more. There’s nothing wrong with her, she’s beautiful, she’s skilled, talented, kind, but she’s simply not you. She looks nothing like you but her voice, oh god her voice, it sounded almost just like yours. Her moans made his skin heat up, imagining it was your warm silky hands embracing him, you begging him to love you more. It was enough to satisfy him for now, just enough to pretend the woman he was pleasuring so much was you. She moaned his name and he bit his lip, using all of his might to fight the instinct to moan out your name instead. His slams grew harsher and tougher, releasing all of that pent up desire and anger in single strokes. The rest of the night was a blur, as soon as he pulled off the condom he went to sleep, bored of her.

┃ “Kashi~”

He sighed, remembering his idiocy of yesterday evening and how he’d now have to gently reject this girl without letting her know he simply used her as a distraction. He spent a good minute contemplating her name before she spoke to him again.

┃ “Kashi? You alright?”

┃ “Mmh, sorry... just tired.”

┃ “Ah, it’s fine sleepyhead~ you know, yesterday was really fun, we should do it more often. How about a date tonight?.”

┃ “Awh...dear… that’s awfully sweet of you… I’m just not looking for something serious right now. I’m just into one-night stands at the moment.”

┃ “Oh… oh! Maybe we could be sex partners then?”

┃ “Ah, Sure… sure.” He privileged her with a smile of pure pity, relaxing his head back on the pillow, hoping to drift back to sleep so once he awoke she’d be long gone. The plan was if she ever reached out for sex again, he’d just come up with some excuse on how he was busy finishing a project. His mind drifted off, thinking about seeing you in class, only to remember it was a Saturday and that meant he didn’t have class with you-- in fact, Saturday’s were a relatively free day for him. He booked himself with classes every other day and decided he should have at least one day off. You know what that meant? He’d have to fucking dread it with this chick until she took the hint and left. The faster he fell asleep, the sooner this day would be over. He didn’t bother to listen to the woman as she continued speaking to him, closing his eyes as he censored her out and slowly drifted back to sleep.

tags: @haiq-trash, @blackmysticalsimp @the2ndl @bren-heron

a/n: f in the chat for anyone who thought bully! Mitsuya had healthy coping mechanisms, also you should check out @darenimo if you already haven't because she helped me proofread this chapter and gave me all of her commentary while reading it and I sobbed for a good 10 minutes straight. I love she.

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[astrobydalia]

Astro observations🎁🎄

Wishing you guys happy holidays, happy age of Aquarius, happy Capricorn season, happy solstice and just happiness all the way❤️

Credit: Tumblr Blog @astrobydalia

🎁 People with Mercury or Gemini in the 10th tend to have multiple accounts on social media

🎄 Unless the rest of the chart says otherwise, planets in the 12th house conjunct your ASC can make you an introvert specially if your first house is empty, cus those planets pull the energy of the ASC inward.

🎁 People with Venus harshly aspecting Moon can be low-key manipulative but in a way that is so sweet it’s hard to notice. They’re the type to innocently throw a “suggestion” which comes across as them looking out for you when what they’re really doing is telling you what they want you to do. People with this aspect also get offended TOO easily, you have to walk on eggshells with them. They can go so far as getting scandalized when people say curse words (to anyone that has this aspect, sorry not sorry for this observation cus ik y’all get offended when people call you out)

🎄 Those with Venus-moon hard aspects also tend to get very insecure if they don’t receive constant words of affirmation and constant displays of affection. They basically need their loved ones to constantly tell them that they love them, constantly give them kisses, etc. They could be needy or clingy bc of this

🎁 People with Saturn conjunct moon are so fucking DRY and I mean DRY. They are the type to tell you “omg this is the best day of my life” with a straight face or hardly putting emotion to what they are saying. These people are reluctant to showing vulnerability so even if they are saying how they feel with a straight face they usually mean it.

🎄 Also my heart goes to anyone that has this Saturn-moon conjuntion y’all just really need a warm sincere hug. Every single person I’ve seen with this conjuction (or Saturn in the 4th) have a very turbulent or toxic backstory/family. It’s usually hard for them to find good things to say about their family/mom even if they love them. They were somehow raised feeling like their feelings and needs were far from a priority and so they grow up learning how to “block” or restrict their feelings or emotional expression

🎁 In synastry, when someone’s moon falls in another’s 10th house, the moon person will highly admire and almost idolize the house person, but unlike the 12th house synastry, the moon person will have good realistic reasons to admire the 10th house person. The moon person will likely hype the house person up. With this overlay I’ve noticed however there’s some emotional distance, the connection can feel too “formal” if that makes sense

🎄Virgo+Gemini = FRIENDS

🎁 Cancer placements are obsessed with kawaii stuff or anything that looks cute, tiny and cuddly. They’re also obsessed with chubby looking stuff? (They tend to have round faces themselves or chubby cheeks) They are the type of people to use UwU, 🥺 or literally make those faces in real life.

🎄 Pisces moons are very elusive people, not necessarily mysterious, but more like very distant people. I hate saying cliche things about astrology but they really do feel like they’re not fully here in the present moment and therefore it’s sometimes harder to fully “get” them. Everywhere they go or any situation they put themselves in they always low-key want to leave

🎁 People with Cancer/moon in the 8th are said to want an emotional connection when it comes to sex but I’ve seen that they go through phases in which they are reluctant (or scared) to make such emotional connection and can indulge in casual sex or casual dating

🎄 That energy of someone that likes a good challenge usually associated to Aries is more of a Scorpio/Pluto thing. Scorpio placements are very aware of all the hardships and challenges they have accomplished/gone through and really take a lot of pride in how much they’ve grown from it. They are not afraid of going through hell and back. It doesn’t mean they like harships (I mean, nobody does), but they just love the feeling of surviving something hard.

🎁 Scorpio Suns are fucking comedians in disguise I swear to god. People that made me laugh the HARDEST were Scorpios Suns. Their parodical and satirical humor is just on point and they don’t even try

🎄 I once read an observation that said Sagittarius placements have a thing for bangs and I can confirm this is 100% true, you can also look at many celebrities with this as well

🎁 A lot of astrology freaks have Gemini placements and they got into astrology bc initially they just got “curious”

🎄 Be careful with Scorpio rising in the composite. Those connections never end well and the two people could even become a bitter burden to each other. It can have enemies-to-lovers vibe and be great in that case, but when it’s the other way around (lovers-to-enemies)... it’s no bueno

🎁 Has anyone else noticed that SO MANY famous people and public figures are Sagittarius Suns?? It’s incredible

🎄 Virgo placements tend to be teachers’ pets

🎁 Scorpio/8th house or Taurus/2nd house placements tend to be very street smart

🎄 People with Capricorn+Aquarius placements exude so much respect. They have that vibe of someone you wouldn’t want to judge you or someone you would REALLY want on your side. This combo really exudes that vibe of someone that will be a great loyal friend but won’t hesitate to cut you at the first sign of bullshit and that’s why they have this intimidating and respectable energy.

🎁 If you have the ruler of a house in that same house then this house will be very important to you and will be one of the most important parts of your life. For example if Leo is ruling your 11th house and you have the Sun (ruler of Leo) there, then the 11th house is very important for you regardless of the sign in which the Sun is. This could be a house where things naturally go well for you, tho placements, aspects and even transits can say otherwise.

Credit: Tumblr Blog @astrobydalia

#astro #astrology #zodiac #astro notes #astro observations