#and he wakes up to a horrible hangover
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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 4/4
König x F!Reader
Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Word count: 10 k
Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant.
A/N: Another long chapter, but it's the last one, so... Enjoy! ^^
The next night, you dream awake.
You didn’t want to sleep with your back turned against him, and König didn’t even need to scoop you into his arms. You went there by yourself, completely willingly. You were disappointed when he didn’t even try anything; he just fell asleep like a baby after the hangover that left him weak.
Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart, as you listen to his soft snore. It’s like the whole world has shrunk into this bed, like your entire life suddenly consists of him. You can’t even hear the birds, the occasional gust of wind, or the pair of sandals outside the tent going to a nightly pee. The only thing you can hear or see or feel is him.
His heart under your palm. His chest against your cheek. The slow, steady rise and fall of it, the push and pull of it like a tide. His leg, draped across your hip, enclosing you under a heavy body that clings to you like he never wants to let you go.
And…
No.
It’s too stupid.
“Love” is something bards sing about. There’s no time for it in the real world; lust brings people together, and they multiply like birds and beasts. They simply flock together for warmth, food and survival. Love is the property of dreams and songs, something that happened at the dawn of time but now only occurs in tales and plays. Surely, a mountain giant knows nothing about love… He just wants to stuff his cock inside you and alleviate the burn of his loins.
But his words still linger.
”I have fallen in love with you.”
You repeat them over and over again in your head, snuggling even closer to him, your heart flaring into a small bonfire when he squeezes you in return through sleep. The warmth spreads across your chest, it makes your toes tingle, and the tingles rise up to your head like ale, bringing tears to your eyes.
Why does he have to be like this…?
There’s a sudden crack of thunder outside, and it makes you startle and clutch him tighter. It’s soon followed by a downpour of rain, the weight of it like a blanket spreading across the land. The drops beat the tent with so much noise you fear the whole abode will collapse from the force of them.
Another crackle sends you to grip him with fear; a violent rip of lightning makes you bury your head in his neck. König mostly wakes up to your distress rather than the sounds of thunder and hail, rumbling softly to the crown of your head and drawing you closer to him. You’ve always been afraid of thunder because nothing can compete with the fury of the Sky Father. You whimper as another roar shakes the bed, the very earth beneath you, and the rain begins to beat the tent in full.
“Don’t be afraid, little one,” König mutters, unafraid and clearly about to fall back to sleep again. “Only sky father making love to his woman...”
His explanation of the horrible display of the sky god’s power wipes your mind blank for a moment. He uses the same name of the god as you, but the viewpoint is thoroughly foreign. Is this the sound of lovemaking to him?
“Safe here,” he squishes you against him until it’s difficult to breathe. Your heart is still beating in your chest as König falls asleep, the arms around you relaxing just enough to allow you to breathe again.
In the morning, you try to correct him on his strange thoughts about Sky Father. You tell him your people believe he’s fighting his enemies when it thunders, not… making love to anyone.
“Fighting or fucking,” he only shrugs. “Same noise.”
You open your mouth to explain the difference between fucking and lovemaking next, then decide it’s no use.
The weather is warm and the land is lush after the abundant rain. König takes you to a small stream and you risk to take a dip, delighted and relieved to have the opportunity for a quick wash. When you threaten to gut him when he sleeps if he takes a peek, König only laughs. Probably thinks it’s an exciting threat. Then he sits on the bank to work on a small piece of wood while you have your cold bath. He’s been carving it for a few days and has refused to show it to you, no matter how “nosy” you’ve been. It’s an unfinished piece, yes, but it still feels silly that a grown man is so secretive about a chunk of wood. You only now begin to understand that perhaps the statue of the Great Mother is not stolen. It’s not bought, and he hasn’t had it made. He carved it himself.
Shocked, you forget to keep an eye on him while you scrub and rub yourself in the stream. You never thought of him as a sculptor or even a carpenter, but apparently, some soldiers spend their leisure time in other activities than fucking and drinking and gambling.
Your hands meet the leather string of the necklace as you wash your hair, and you remember your vow. It makes your heart sink: it’s a beautiful day, the first of summer, and you have to let go of the loveliest thing König has ever given to you. You peek a glance at him: he’s looking so peaceful while carving the small figurine, with that signature smile his that always reveals itself through his eyes, warm and jovial, like he’s just a hunter or a fisherman having a break from a day of toil.
You strip yourself from the necklace and release it with a sullen breath. The spirits accept it hungrily, pulling it underwater the instant you let it go. The current carries it far away downstream, and you find your chin trembling, and not from cold. You have given your moonblood to Mother many, many times, but this gift is infinitely more valuable. Still, the most important thing is that the man you prayed for is alive and whistling happily on that bank.
And you’re not an oathbreaker… But König is.
When you rise from the water, he steals a glance. Actually, he stares at you like you’ve particularly asked him to never rip his eyes from you.
You pay the adoring beast no mind and rise from the stream with the pride of a queen, only to have it all robbed from you as you notice there are flowers placed there where you left your clothes. The crazy giant has actually plucked flowers for you.
It’s an odd thing to do because in your land, only children pick flowers. Usually, people give flowers to the gods. Or, mainly just to the Great Mother... It’s because She appreciates them.
And you also notice your old dress is not where you left it.
“Where is it?”
He extends his hands to the sides and shrugs, faking innocence so poorly that you don’t know if you want to shove or kiss him. You’re desperately trying to cover your womanhood from his searing stare – an attempt that, of course, makes your tits press together even more cutely than before. König doesn’t even know where to look when there’s so much of your sweetness on display.
This man is so stupid and childish and simply unbelievable; hiding your dress the instant you are vulnerable and in your thoughts. You look around you, then up, and notice that he’s thrown the dress over a pine branch far above your reach. Of course.
“You’re a bully,” you turn your accusing gaze to him, hands now slowly curling into fists by your side. You’re not even angry: you’re just feeling... hot, and frustrated, and embarrassed, having to stand here in bright daylight, dripping wet and about to have another tantrum while naked. You’re starting to suspect that he probably enjoys it when you get in a pet. Maybe it makes his cock hard: to watch you stomp your foot at him, especially if you do it without clothes.
“Bully?” His eyes smile at you like he’s the son of Sky Father himself.
“It’s someone who… who tortures people,” you blurt, a bit more dramatically than you initially meant to. He bursts into laughter and laughs for a long time, either because you just called him precisely what he is or because you called him a torturer for doing a silly prank.
“Ach… Well, you are pretty,” he says after surviving something that was veritably not meant as a joke. As if you being pretty is some kind of an excuse for doing this stupid, childish stunt...
His stare sweeps over you like you’re merely property, his eyes darting between your pouty face and the glistening sex between your legs now that you’ve blessedly moved your hands out of the way. Then he notices that something’s missing, that there is no necklace resting above your breasts anymore. He takes a step and raises a hand, and for the first time ever, you wouldn’t even dream of shying away from his touch. He brushes your bare neck with a silent question and brief hurt in his eyes.
Gods, he can’t think you got rid of it because you despised it, can he...?
“The river took it,” you explain quickly and with genuine regret. It’s a lie, but you can’t tell him the real reason it’s gone. You can’t confess that you had to sacrifice it for his safe return.
“I really liked it,” you whisper while looking him straight in the eyes, stomach heavy with both lies and the horrible, sweet truth. König recuperates surprisingly fast and nods slowly, the caress rising to your cheek to console you.
“Don’t worry. I can make you a new one,” he promises stoutly, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right there in front of him. “With wolf claws, if you like?”
“I don’t know… Sounds dangerous.”
“Hah. I kill my first wolf when I was fifteen.”
Your heart is bursting inside your chest – the songs of the bards never tell about someone being so goofy that you want to hug them until they stop speaking silly things.
“I’m sure you did,” your lips quiver with a whisper of a smile. König takes in every crumb of your affection like it’s a blessing from the Mother below: his shoulders draw back everytime he senses you are appreciative of him or admire his strength. He’s even more proud when he presents the small carving he’s been working on.
You’re now absolutely, vehemently sure that he has made the statue of the Great Mother himself. Because what you’re looking at is very similar to that statue, only far more detailed. The breasts and hips on this figurine are more proportional, and you could almost swear that the statue he just gave you is trying to depict you. It has your hair and your face, or then he has tried to capture the slightly pouting face of some other ungrateful woman. But you can’t shake the thought that you may very well be looking into your own eyes.
“For you,” he says above you, and you swallow tears for gods know how many times today. He even winks at you, incredibly playful, like this statue is now a cute little secret only you two know about.
“It’s–I didn’t know you… Uh. Thank you,” you stutter like a fool. You can’t ask if it’s you – you can’t ask a simple question because to hear his unabashed, proud answer would mean that you won’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him.
You are starting to feel like… an idol of worship, almost.
He lavishes you with gifts and flowers, he feeds you grapes and wine, he brings you his bloodied loot and asks you to bless his sword. He honours your purity and respects your wishes not to be touched and pilfered.
What else are you if not a goddess?
Even the Mother in his satchel doesn’t get such fevered attention. He even carved a new statue for you. Of you.
Your senses become eagle-sharp as you realize just how much your suspicions are proving true. You think about the way he is always at your tits, as if calling forth good luck and abundance when he squeezes them every day and night. It’s almost like a ritual. Or how he tries to dress you in fine clothes, not just to show you around, but to make you feel appreciated. The way he protects and shelters you and lets you – no, demands you to – ride his horse while he exhausts himself on the road. How the selecting of the necklace now seems like a test, to prove whether you are a true goddess who favors a gift of bone and blood and amber over the pathetic shiny trinkets of men.
And the way he hasn’t touched other women all this time; no, because he doesn’t keep other goddesses...
Just you.
Only you.
…
He knows your tongue so well that you don’t practically need the translator anymore. König sends him away after you whisper in his ear that you don’t like him.
It’s another lie because what you really don’t like is how bothered he looks when forced into the company of you two. You don’t like the deep sighs and the weary looks he gives both you and your supposed lover who always insists that you sit on his lap even if there are other people in the tent. You don’t want to make the poor man uncomfortable, so you come up with a reason for König to send him away. It's quite apparent that you could ask for the moon and stars, and he’d figure out a way to give them to you.
When you ask him why, for the love of all the gods, does he even want to keep a Roman slave, he says it amuses him. You always thought it was an odd thing to do because you’ve never seen König spend time with his soldiers. He never gambles with them, never eats with them, never hunts with them. By separating himself from them he keeps up an illusion of himself as a walking, fighting myth who has forced half the world to its knees, and whose quirks are to keep a Roman slave and, now, a foreign fairy in his tent.
You start to understand that it's because he doesn’t feel like he belongs.
He doesn’t even want to belong. He doesn't make an effort to be a Roman even if, legally, you suppose he’s a citizen or at least a free man. You wonder if it’s his only weakness: being so different from everybody else.
You walk in and out of camp like a free woman with him. To the forest, to the stream, and one day, to the ocean, not too far from where you used to gather clams. If you walked the shoreline long enough, you would end up near your old village.
You spend your entire day there, collecting pink and white shells, giggling as König takes a dip in the shivering sea. He even throws the hood away before walking into the foaming waves. You have to hold your breath as he comes out because his face is the complete opposite of what you thought you would see. He has stern features and some prominent scars above his lip and crossing the bridge of his nose; there’s one above the left eye, and his nose has been broken at least two times. He looks mean and dangerous and suffering, it’s true, but you’re not scared at all. In fact, your embarrassingly wet while he furrows his brows and looks down at his feet, otherwise proud and happy in his skin but now suddenly concerned that you might not like what you see.
“Ugly?” He asks bluntly, with such distanced but sharp pain that your breath leaves you entirely. The vision of him might have frightened you on the first night, it’s true, but now, you only think he’s handsome. In a crude way, perhaps... But still handsome.
“No,” you shake your head slowly, never taking your eyes off him. König takes in air as if he has been granted a pardon from a horrible crime, and your heart hurts – is this the reason he has clung to that hood? To conceal some old scars and to appear more menacing to friends and enemies?
He’s stronger than ever as he walks to you, unclothed and smelling of seabreeze and salt, like he was just born from there, sired by the ocean and the wind. You ought to pray to Mother but you know it will do you no good. It’s a rotten joke to want a man who has massacred your people, the ones you used to call friend and neighbour and kin. You feel like you’re betraying the memory of your whole village by wanting to sleep with the enemy. The enemy who worships you; who looks at you like you’re a goddess when you lean back to watch the night sky come alive with indigo and stars. The enemy who teaches you their names in his own tongue...
He points you to the Head of the Serpent and the Smith’s Street, then to the Nail that holds the sky in place. You have your own names for the stars but you like it when he introduces them to you, clumsy and excited. When he shows you the long cock of the hero your people call Hunter, your cheeks heat up. You try to repeat the name in his tongue (whatever lewd, brash northern hero it may be), and it makes him happier than ever to hear you speak his words.
“König,” you ask him when he's shown you all the stars he knows. “Why do you fight…?”
He turns to look at you, perplexed, and you word the question differently.
“What do you want?”
“...What do I want?”
“Yes. In this life.”
His brows furrow as he starts to think, and your love for him only grows. Has no one ever asked him that before? Has he ever even given it a thought...?
He grabs a handful of grass and rips it from the ground, absentmindedly and deep in thought. He fiddles with it for a while, then throws it away, looking somewhere to the distant, generous sea.
“I want…children,” he says. “I want a home.”
König turns to look at you, so stern that it forces you take support from the earth beneath you.
“Home. Richtig?”
“Yes,” you whisper, “A–a home.”
But it can’t be...
It can’t.
It’s simply too crazy that the brutal, callous giant has been searching for a home all along. That the man who cuts off heads and spits out the flesh of his enemies is simply someone who has lost his home and has yearned back ever since. It’s too wild a thought that the Titan wants to raise a family and have many children.
“Don’t you have a home somewhere in Rome…?”
“It’s only a house.”
He fidgets with more grass, then turns back to you again with honest curiosity.
“Do you want children?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Fee. You would be a good mother,” he determines right then and there, saying it so casually that you have no choice but to believe it. You want to change the topic, and quickly, now tugging at the grass yourself because you're feeling shy.
“König… What is Fee?”
“Fee is… They are small women? Live in trees. Or flowers. Or everywhere,” he gestures vaguely all around you.
“You mean fairies,” you whisper, and he shrugs. If you say so. But you know you're talking about the same thing: curious little earth spirits, lively and wild.
Your heart is burning; it’s scorching until there’s nothing left but sweet molten gold. Usually, this kind of burning has stirred in your chest when some old crone has told a good story at the fire during the turn of the year. Usually, you’ve felt this kind of thrill when you’ve heard the piper play for the forest during springtime, lulling the devious spirits back to the trees so that they wouldn’t enter lambs and goats and make them sick. You’ve only felt so alive when you’ve walked at the beach during midsummer with a desperate aching between your legs because you’ve felt so alone and yet so, so alive.
“They said you were a Titan,” you whisper, another hushed question on this night of nights. You feel like you’re having a conversation of the ages, even if it’s clumsy and plain. The night sky is blooming with stars, the sea is whispering its secrets, and there are so many unsaid things between you two, finally washing up on the shore. König is ripping out more tall grass, but only because he’s searching for the right words.
“No. No titan. Just king,” he shakes his head as if sorry that he has to disappoint you. “I was the king’s son. Before Rome came…”
He’s suffered the same fate as you then, a long, long time ago. You wonder where his people are now or if they are even alive anymore, if he is the last giant standing, the last remaining man of his folk from the mountains. If the ruins of his proud house have already turned to dirt and dust and soil, if his father’s head was left to rot on a Roman spear, his riches and wealth taken back to Rome as spoils and exchanged for wine and whores and slaves.
You can only imagine the fury and despair when a tall boy’s future and dreams crumbled into dust, to blood and tears and screams, to a tale that no one ever told.
“You’d make a great king,” you say, meaning it with all your heart. His whole face lights up with a smile; the sorrow is still present in his eyes, and you know the depth of its roots now. But the Romans never managed to kill his will to live.
“If I was king… I would choose you for my queen,” he says softly, and you thank the wind for drying an escapee tear that rolls out. Fate is shaking your ribcage like a rattle; the wind steals your tears like they’re a long-withheld gift.
He tells you his tale under the safety of the vast starry sky. It's only bits and pieces, but you understand enough from his clumsy words.
He tells you how he was brought to Rome as a slave, sold to the pits and how he rose to manhood and fame there. He fought in the great arenas you’ve heard so many gruesome tales about; he fought until he could buy his freedom. He forgot his people, his revenge, that he was a king. Not knowing what else to do, he took up arms again and became the thing he hated the most: a Roman soldier.
He tells you about a woman who can see things that have not yet happened. He asked this seer if there was anything else for him in this life but death; he would give any offering that was needed if only he could find more life instead. He had already given money and offerings to all the fertility goddesses of Rome, to no avail. He had carved a statue of Venus to attract love, but it didn’t work. So many times he had wanted to throw it in the sea. Until the woman who sees told him he would find what he was looking for in his next campaign. When he promised he’d come back to kill her if she lied, the old crone had only laughed at him.
The next day, he was discharged from his old unit and separated from those who spoke the same language as him. Everyone was afraid of an uprising that would have a giant at its head, so he was offered money and whores, even a position in politics, and lastly, a place in an elite unit with a better wage. They told him the troops were about to leave for the harsh frontier: a new campaign to bring glory to Rome. He chose the latter option immediately.
He turns to look at you. Bloodless, thin-lipped, shivering you.
“She said you would be pretty. Like a fairy.”
You hear the distant rumbling of the sea, endlessly soft. You feel the wind suddenly passing through the field, filling the cloak of a northern king who came all this way just for you. Even the stars are waiting for your next move.
“I…” you start, already breathless. “The necklace… König, I’m so sorry. I had to give it to Mother.”
“Mother?”
“To the gods. So that you wouldn’t die in battle.”
Realization dawns on his face, driving away all doubt and confusion. He’s just as pleased as the day he gave you all those gifts, if not even more so.
“You make sacrifice for me?”
“Yes,” you whisper. You can’t help it: a sob wrenches out of your chest as the first tears fall. “I’m sorry. I really liked it... I’m so sorry–”
König rises immediately, only to come to you and fall to a crouch. He draws you against his chest, your weeping face soon held right against his heart.
“Never say sorry,” he kisses your head, over and over again. “Never say sorry…”
The wind surrounds you both, soft and warm, as he rocks you back and forth. You hug him with all the strength a little fairy can muster, then raise your chin to look at him. You’re probably the most pathetic creature he has ever seen – you could swear there is no woman alive feeling as weak as you feel now. König cups your face gently, the look in his eyes that of a hunter who has finally caught up with his prey. Warm, merciful, loving.
“Fee… I can still taste you,” he says.
“I can still feel you,” you whisper back. A deer, felled. “But I don’t… I don’t like biting.”
“Biting…?”
“Teeth.”
“Ja. I noticed.”
It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You would let him bite you anywhere and everywhere now. You would actually kill for it if he only laid his mouth on you...
You laugh with leftover tears in your eyes, and your giant smiles back at you, so endearing that you feel like it’s the first day of the rest of your life.
“Do you like bath?”
…
You ease into the warm, almost too warm water with a sigh.
The slaves have had to toil the better half of the evening to heat such a large body of water, and you can’t even begin to imagine where König has gotten the pretty little clay bathtub. It’s the largest pottery you have ever seen; far too small for a giant like him but just enough for a fairy woman like you.
You wash yourself languidly, feeling like the queen of the whole wide earth. Someone has even poured some of the scented oils into the bath, and you could cry from happiness as the sweet scents envelop you. You wonder if the wife of any chieftain has ever experienced such luxury and warmth.
König has the most pleased smile on his face when he sees how much you appreciate yet another gift of his. He pampers and spoils you so much that you threaten to turn into an overripe grape, too soft and sweet and juicy, unable to keep intact anymore. But there’s a price to be paid, apparently, as he watches you from across the tent, sitting in his chair and pulling back the tunic to reveal the the erection between his legs. It’s the biggest cock you've ever seen, and already standing tall and proud, like a soldier about to go to war.
Your lips part on their own; heat shoots between your legs so fast it knocks the breath out of you. He seems to love your attention and awe, because his cock gives a few pulls just from you staring at it. Pearl-white seed leaks out of the tip as he grabs it inside a strong fist and gives himself a few unhurried strokes.
“König…?”
You’re breathless, but he’s not: he’s breathing heavily in that chair, powerful thighs spread wide, stroking the thick weapon between his legs while you feel like fainting in your bath.
“When will torture end?”
He's dark, dark and done with patience, and you don't know how to answer such a question. You don't even know where to look.
“Hm? You like to torture men?”
“No,” you whisper, cheeks hot and cunt ridiculously wet.
“Yes you do. A little bully, hmm?”
“König–”
“I’ll show what happens to bullies.”
He lets himself go and rises from the chair. Your mind is of no use to you now: all you can do is stare at that thing between his legs, pointing towards you like a road sign.
He walks to you, cock and gaze equally heavy, and gets rid of his tunic. Then he gestures for you to rise from the tub. You’ve spent enough time there in his opinion, and the water is indeed turning unpleasantly cool – but if you go to him now, you won’t be able to fight him. Not when you’re in such a pleased, lax, purring state. Perhaps that was the whole idea...
You rise slowly, then step out carefully, taking support from the edge of the tub and from his shoulder – and still almost collapse all over him as you try to remain on your feet. He holds you upwards while you try to avoid the murder weapon between his legs, but your giant is not as shameful as you: he grabs your butt and guides you flush against him. You meet his chest with a gasp, the length of him now trapped between you two.
“Wait, I’m—I’m still wet,” you try to peep, but it’s no use. He sweeps you off your feet, no doubt with the intention of carrying you to the bed.
“I will lick you clean,” he looks at you like you’re already trapped, caught, and bled: such a weak little creature in his arms, trying to beg for mercy with its last dying breath. You cling to him as such, that’s for sure.
“Just... No biting. Please?” You whisper as he lays you on the bed.
“No biting,” he gives his valiant promise, accompanied with a confident flash of a smile.
Gods…
If he’d gotten rid of that stupid hood earlier, your legs would’ve been pudding. They would’ve been as far apart as the two villages east and west of here. That smile would have allowed him to infiltrate everything in between. Perhaps it’s a good thing he is not that clever…
“Oh gods–” you gasp as he shifts down and lowers himself for worship. His breath hits you first, and the next thing you feel are his lips – still smiling – then the gods-forsaken beast gives you a kiss.
“Oh–”
There is a sudden silence following your moans, then you hear soldiers bursting into laughter outside your tent. They’re warming themselves by the campfire, no doubt, sharing stories about war and women, and now they’ve heard the first mewls of surrender from their hero’s tent, after weeks of quarrelling.
Your cheeks heat up as one of the soldiers utters a hurried sentence and mentions König’s name, after which the merry crew booms to laughter again.
Gods take the Romans and their stupid, lewd jokes...
You try to concentrate on the warmly lit burgundy ceiling as König carries on without paying any attention to what’s happening outside. They could march into the tent and try their best to rip him off your cunt, but you doubt if they would get him to move an inch. He's simply that drunk on your taste.
You wonder if his chin is already covered in your juices because his kisses are open-mouthed and hungry – he even tries to push his tongue inside you. The man has absolutely no shame when he's buried down there, groaning with approval as you roll your hips. You're rutting his face as shyly as you possibly can, and it makes him purr and rumble with bliss. The noise he makes is enough to make you sing too, so filthy that it earns you a whistle from outside.
Shit... They probably think he's fucking and hurting you with his cock – a scary prospect, yes, but you'll have to cross that bridge when you get there – and they couldn't be more wrong. If they only knew what their champion is doing to his slave, lapping and sucking his disobedient woman like a starved dog...
“You like mouth?”
It’s hungry, so dark, the way he asks if you like what he’s doing to you. It’s not the mad lust of a drunken man from a few nights ago; it’s sober, fierce greed with a clear purpose behind it. Your fingers find his hair and tug at it weakly, not to cheer him on, but to take support from something relatively stable.
“Yes… Yes, just–"
“Gut,” he grins into your folds, coarse stubble scraping you deliciously raw. “I like this too. After I lick you enough, I will fuck you.”
Your fingers curl around his hair, giving him another involuntary tug.
Gods, make him stop talking... Just tie his tongue or something, make him shut up.
Please…
“I will bully you all night with cock. I know you will like. Hm?”
He prattles more nonsense in your cunt, and you can’t hear the men outside anymore. You can’t even see the lamps. You’re in a womb of pleasure, which is funny because there’s a grown man between your legs, dragging his tongue over your slit until you're shaking and crying on the bed. Yes, if this is a womb, you never want to leave...
And he’s not eloquent; you don’t even know what he is trying to do to you. He probably doesn’t know it himself. He’s not trying to fish for cues on what you like: he just does what he feels like doing, which is everything. He tries every single thing. He’s just happy to be down there, flicking and circling his tongue over your nub until you can’t take it anymore.
You're dangerously close, and rise halfway to push his head away because it’s just too much; it’s too much pleasure in one go. He gives you a husky laugh and fights your weak attempts to make him stop, the damned bastard. You’re too frail to resist him, and he knows too much already, repeating the torture until your hips buck up.
“Gut... Like that...?” He asks again, so eager to please that you have to stifle a sob.
“Yes... Yes, just like that,” you sigh while trying to stay in one piece.
“Guide me, little fairy,” he demands, excited like a young, hot recruit. Apparently it's no big deal for him to have his head tugged and shoved and dragged just for a woman's pleasure. It doesn't take away an ounce of his power to be your toy for a moment. Your sharp tongue has left you completely; it is you who is humbled as you guide him back to the right spot, jerking when he licks you just the way you wished.
It’s bad enough that you make a mess on his bed and moan like a paid woman, giving everyone in this camp a taste of what it sounds like when a giant bullies his fairy to the full. But can’t he keep his stupid, lovable mouth shut...
He’s making so much noise that you can both feel and hear him. His moans are hoarse, needy and deprived; they echo somewhere in your core, somewhere inside your most sensitive, aching place, just before he finds it, the right spot, and pushes his tongue inside you.
“Wait…” you gasp, convulsing on the bed now. What the hell does he think he’s—
“Wait—I’m…”
And then you cum, right into his mouth, with an arched back and quivering thighs, with such lewd sounds shooting out of your mouth that complete silence follows outside.
Whatever those soldiers had thought to happen here tonight, they clearly didn't expect to hear that… Nor the cries that follow, so nasty and wanton that König doesn't withdraw, not before you have clenched and cried your fill. He enjoys your peak to the last tremble, but you barely get to catch your breath before he leaves you. He doesn’t even give you a chance to caress his head as thanks for what he just did to you.
His mouth leaves you empty and cold as he rises, watching you like you're his best conquest. His cock is so hard it juts out, immovable like a rock and so intimidating that you stop breathing for a moment.
And he doesn't allow your breathless, shocked state go to waste: he grabs that horse cock and sets it on your flush, soaked lips, and pushes the head inside. More than just the head inside.
“Oh gods, oh fuck–”
Your legs are completely useless, falling to the side as he eases himself into you. He looks at you curiously, tilting his head when he hears you curse for the first time in his presence. More than just amused, he goes deeper still, delighted that he made you say a naughty word with his cock.
You can feel the stretch; you can feel every ridge, every vein, all his thickness filling you with purpose. You can do nothing but flutter your eyes as he takes you, finally, as his own.
And it must be some cruel joke of both Mother Earth and Father Sky that it prolongs whatever bliss he just gave you with his mouth. Your body won't stop having its pleasure; it welcomes him with a string of helpless whimpers. Even your cunt starts to squeeze him like it's the best thing in this world.
And he sees it. He feels it.
“Ja, little one. Time to fuck.”
He continues his journey inside, one massive palm landing on each side of your head as he leans over you.
“Einfach so… Trust me. Hmm?”
You only nod, completely silent and tame, waiting for him to give you more gifts. Mother knows this man is your downfall: your heart and soul are about to burst into flame when you look at him. You want him with your whole being; you want his love and praise so much you could cry.
“You want cock?”
“Yes,” you look up at him, eyes surely shining like stars. “Yes, yes, yes–”
“I will give you. Don’t worry.”
You sob as he withdraws, pulling the long, delicious cock almost completely out. He returns immediately when you whine from the loss. He feels so good, and so, so big… Fulfilling you entirely, every bit of you that was hollow and empty, every little space that needed loving is now his and filled with love.
“Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng,” he huffs and looks down as if to check if it’s true that he’s finally inside you. It could never fit in fully; you both probably knew that. But he’s trying his best.
“What does that mean?” You pant, impatient that he stopped moving.
“Too small... For me...” he laments. Or brags.
“Any woman is too small for you,” you mope underneath him, thinking about whether he has had women who have been able to take him fully in. Women who haven’t been “too small”.
König raises his eyes to you and smiles, revealing a row of white teeth, the scarred lip making his grin look pure and sweet even if he is a menacing man.
Stupid mountain giant… He's just proud of not being able to fit inside you. Your lower lip juts out with a pout, and the cock inside you responds immediately with a pulse. You can feel it — he's fucking excited about you getting angry at him again.
There is a flash of mischief in his eyes – darned bastard – just before he swoops down to attack your neck. Your tits get crushed under a solid chest as he nuzzles close to your ear and gives you lots of love and little bites. He starts to fuck you slowly, and there's nowhere you can escape now, nowhere you can flee his mouth or teeth or cock.
“König, you promised–”
“Aber… You are more tight this way?”
The breathless laugh that follows leaves you blinking. Of course he can feel the way you tighten around him every time he gives you a little bite.
“Gods, I hate you…” you whisper on his shoulder, thinking about biting him there in return. König laughs in your neck again – your threats of hate have long past lost their intimidating nature and are more like love confessions to him now. And perhaps that’s what they are.
He makes love to you hard and good, and it’s embarrassing, how you're about to cum again around his cock. You were supposed to have your revenge by showing him you have teeth too, but find yourself biting your lip instead, trying to tone down at least some of the filthy sounds that try to escape you.
He's not too rough, at least not yet, happy with listening to the poorly stifled whimpers that follow his every thrust. You thought he'd rail you like an animal, but he seems to settle for making love to you while biting and groping you all over. He savours every thrust like he savoured those grapes you fed him: slowly and intently, with passion instead of greed.
You're squeezing him with everything you have as he rocks you back to the edge. His grunting only make it all worse: he doesn't even try to be quiet and decent, and it's driving you to madness. Why does he have to be so noisy? Why does he have to fuck you so that everyone can hear just how good you feel?
Every soldier in this camp can hear both your moans, his hoarse ones and your weak ones, merging together until you do sound like animals in heat... You’re so wet that some of the men must hear the music of that, too. You never knew your cunt would be so hungry and needy, least of all for a man like him. You grip him as the waves approach, rich moans turning into pathetic little cries as his cock works you open.
“Again…?” He smiles a surprised laugh on your neck. The waves hit you before you can tell him to shut up.
The noise you make is even more obscene this time, and you barely catch a glimpse of his drowsy, victorious stare before your head falls back. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to take in the most powerful orgasm and the most powerful cock of your life without having to see that stupid, happy face of your lovesick giant.
“Nein,” he grabs your jaw inside a huge but gentle hand. “Eyes open.”
He won't even let you cum in peace, but you do as you’re told, finding him watching you like a stormcloud or a god. He watches your every tremble, every whimper, every sigh. He sees the full-blown love in your eyes, and you wonder… Is this what the bards sing about in their stupid songs?
…Weakness?
Because your heart hurts and your eyes sting, your thighs tremble and your cunt is far too wet and open for him to plough. If this is love, it hurts; it burns far too sweet. It leaves you utterly weak.
“Little one is needy,” he comments softly on your second downfall.
“You’re the one who’s needy–”
Your already weak argument ends in a gasp as he reminds you who you belong to with another good, deep thrust.
“I will put a child in you,” he rumbles, a threat or a promise. “If we do this every night… You will have my child.”
“Then let’s do this every night,” you whisper beneath him, your own purr of a threat. As if you didn’t know how babies were made… To your silent joy, König stops to catch his breath or your words; you’re not entirely sure which. You decide to up the stakes, just to make him fall with you.
“And every morning too?”
“Ach, du kleine–” he crumbles, voice turning to dust from your innocent suggestion.
If you thought he was a little too in love with you before, the look on his face now is worth all the gold in the world. You could swear that your kind question is the sole reason for this man cumming on the spot. Perhaps your body is to blame for it too; he couldn't keep his paws off when you were being sulky and difficult, so how could he take it when you're pleased and loving and all puffed up?
You see the brief flash of vulnerability, the mortal fragility in his eyes just before he shoots his load with a painful-sounding groan. The sound that leaves him is a mixture of desperation and release – even giants can cry, you think as you watch how beautifully he comes undone. He makes sure his seed is sent deep inside you by burying his cock into you, as far as it can go; the intention behind it is so clear that you wouldn't be surprised if you got heavy with a child after this first time.
He falls on top of you after, drained and spent and body heaving from exertion. There’s no other sound in the night but the satisfied panting of you two: the soldiers outside are rendered silent by the sounds of true lovemaking, even the wind spirits are hushed tonight.
You’re completely filled, and with his cock still inside you, he’s preventing any precious seed from escaping. You’re only glad he’s too weak to move because you’d happily keep him here forever, inside and on top of you like this.
“You are pleased…?” He turns his head a little, sounding worried enough to make you hug him tight.
“Yes. Very much,” you whisper, and he moves to rise and look you in the eyes.
“Gut.”
It’s cute to be nose to nose like this with him, eyes locked together, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. He looks so intoxicated and happy without even being drunk that you break into a small laugh, eyes brimming with happy tears, the washing away of relief. He smiles too, then laughs with you.
The soldiers outside might think it an odd business: to make a woman moan and laugh with a cock. You were brought to this tent screaming, and he made you scream again, just not the way they thought.
The sound of your mutual laughter rises in the tent, up towards the heavens, surely making even the Sky Father smile above.
…
You do it every night, and every morning, too.
Sometimes, you do it during the day after bathing in the stream. After washing and playing in the water, you rush to the shore together, but König is always faster than you. He throws your dress away or holds it up above his head, far from your reach, smiling like the most innocent man in the world. He's far from innocent, though: his cock hangs heavy between his legs, swelling just from seeing you angry and flustered and wet.
“Bully,” you accuse, utterly in love and out of breath, earning you another attack of a love-hungry giant. You forget the dress when he kneels on the grass, kisses your stomach and your thighs, keeps you in place for his mouth with two strong arms and a love that turns your whole body weak.
“Pretty,” is the only thing he breathes as an answer before he scoops up your leg and spreads you open for his mouth.
Your head rolls back with a choked sigh, the drops on your skin dry on their own. Somehow, you end up on the grass with his mouth glued on you. The sun plays in your hair; it dances on your face as he gives you more and more until you know, you just know that if you do this every night and morning and day, you will definitely have his child.
He tells you his real name, his true name, the one his mother gave him. You moan it in his ear just before you cum around his length. Sometimes, it makes him purr; other times, it makes him grunt. Once, you hear a soft, pitched whine.
He’s more rough when you’re on your knees. You’re shy and wet when he commands you to prop yourself on your elbows and show him your cunt. He licks you from front to back, feasts on you until your breaths turn to shivers. You squeeze your eyes shut from how obscene the scene must look; you hope to all the gods the Roman slave won’t come to ask his travel guides back when König finally rises and takes a wide stance behind you. He sets himself on your opening and pushes in, fat and greedy.
You can only whimper as he starts the thrusts, starved and slow, picking up the pace and holding you in place by the hips when you approach the brink of another collapse. You fear you will lose your mind if he keeps doing this to you every day. The only thing you hear are the breathless, warm grunts of encouragement behind you.
“You can take it. You can take it. Already took it, little one…”
He won’t stop, not even as you cry out loud, the cock hitting you in places that make your legs nearly give in. He won’t stop even as tears brim, not even as you start to sound like a tortured animal; no, he just tightens his grip on your waist and pounds you harder. You cum with a moan that would make Roman whores blush, but your lover doesn’t mind at all. He cums right after you, with a roar that could raise the reverend dead from their mounds.
Afterwards, he’s gentle again. He gathers you in his arms like his most valuable possession, caressing and breathing you in, giving you a soft kiss behind your ear.
“You’re... mean,” you try to remember how to breathe as he gives you more of those hungry kisses. You already know he likes it when you’re so spent you don’t have the strength to squirm or fight him.
“Ja. And you become more nice when I bully you,” he whispers in your ear. “More calm… Less difficult.”
“Well, you don’t,” you turn inside his hold, eyes shining brighter than the stars or even the sun. “Crazy man…”
“You have robbed me of my sword and shield, it’s true. Robbed my heart too. Little thief.”
“Thief? You’re the one who stole me…!”
“And I’ll never let you go.”
You wriggle a hand to cup his face, meeting his eyes with such helplessness that it’s not even funny anymore. If he’s joking or playing with you now, you’ll kill him with his own swords.
“You promise?”
“I make a vow,” he declares ceremoniously, with a hand on his heart. But you doubt that he’s playing any games; you wonder if this man is even capable of lying or deception. You hug him so tight that he has to let out a grunt – surprised and pleased – after which you have to bury your face in his neck so that he won't see your tears.
“I am in love with you, Fee,” he whispers in your ear while caressing your hair, ever poetic for such a simple man. “Tell me. Do you like me too…?”
“Yes,” you breathe a half-cry, half-laugh in his neck. “Yes, you crazy giant. I like you too.”
You rise just enough to kiss him. It’s hungry and delivers everything you can’t say. You can’t tell him you love him; you simply can’t. You’re not ready for the painful happiness it would bring forth. He stabs you full of it anyway.
“I will never let you go. Never. Not when I finally found you, little one...”
…
Summer comes.
The camp moves lazily to its next destination, but when the next battle comes, König refuses to fight.
His soldiers blame you, of course. You have bewitched him with your softness, making him soft and spineless as well. It is unheard of that a warrior like him would fall like this: out of some woman’s underhanded spell rather than dying gloriously in the field by a barbarian blade or two. Even poison is considered better than this.
No one understands that there is no hex. The war is still being fought, this time inside his soul. It’s not just you preventing him from taking up arms; it’s something else, something old and deep-rooted you've managed to stir in him. Something ferocious, something that has been asleep for a long time, something that is far from all things soft.
You two sneak out from the camp after the bulk of the army has marched away. He takes you to the seaside again, to a wild, roaring shore. You laugh and bask in the sun, swim in the sea and eat the first berries of the season. You lie on the tall grass, naked as the day you were born: it's simply too hot to wear anything except your glowing skin. König starts to ask you peculiar questions while tracing the soft line of your spine.
He asks what kind of house you would like to live in, and tries to find out in a roundabout way if you would like to live in a forest or in the hills. You treasure the sound of waves, and König likes the sound of the wind in trees, but you both love steep hills and the open view of plains. You get the idea that he may want to retire somewhere in the near future.
He tells you he is not a good fisherman but can hunt everything that moves. He is good with a spear, with traps and the bow, and he’s tired of hunting humans who only wish to live in peace. The arena he could understand, but the war on foreign lands, not. And if you begin to swell with his offspring, the Roman encampment at war is the last place for a sweet little fairy like you. He asks what kind of village you used to live in and is somewhat sad to hear all the things you tell him. He says it sounds like home, the one he was taken from many years ago.
When you return to the camp, it’s like you two are a different species altogether, two wild animals who sneak from the gates back to the flock, back to being human, back to being caged and tamed and stunted. The grumpy, tired soldiers witness your wildness and happiness with sullen distaste. To them, your appetite for freedom is the filthiest, most treacherous thing in the world.
The commander of the troops summons König at his feet and threatens to flog him if he ever skips a battle again. He’s told that only barbarians ignore orders like this: at the turn of a whim or a woman or wind. If he doesn’t remember who he is, not the reckless murderer of his youth but a man reborn, a noble Roman citizen, he will risk descending into apathy and greed again. Was this the case, Rome will guide him back to fold again by the crack of a whip if it has to.
That night, you tell him that you love him. Wherever he goes, you will go. That night, when you’re lying in his arms, sweaty and spent and thoroughly happy, he speaks words so wild it shakes the whole tent with a wind.
“If I kill the soldiers, will you come with me?”
It’s only a mutter, a murmured, careful whisper, but it makes you rise to sit and place a hand on his chest for extra support.
“Kill the soldiers? You mean… Kill the Romans?”
“Ja. All of them.”
The shock quickly makes way to disbelief. Can such a thing even be done? He’s a giant, but he’s still just one man. But König doesn’t look restless at all; he looks like a man who has finally made a decision he should have made years ago. He looks like someone who is at peace with their soul.
"Where would we go?" You whisper weakly, unsure if he has given this enough thought or thought at all. It’s now the wanderer in him who speaks, the adventurer who fears nothing because he has already lost everything – and found the most precious, essential thing.
You. Himself…
Free will.
“Wherever you want.”
“What if you get killed…?”
“You take treasure and horse and go.”
…
Your mother always said that it's useless to sway a man if he has chosen to stand up and fight. She told you that the best you could do is go grab a sword and join him.
That is why you give him your blessing – your full, ardent blessing.
It makes him stronger than ever: were he to go out there with nothing but his skin, he would be victorious. The oak that hears your magnificent spell shivers from fear above you as you call down earth, fire and wind.
You call the spirits from below to guide his feet and make them swift and silent as a feather in the wind. You call down the lightning from the sky to accompany his sword as he deals his blows. You cloak him with the fury of the dead; they will smite down his enemies when they catch even a glimpse of him. You shroud him with the Mother's blessing so that he will be untouchable, unstoppable, invincible as he deals death among the Romans.
It’s a terrible spell; even the moon withdraws into a cloud when She hears it. Not even the lady of silver twilight dares to reveal this giant to the Romans as he’s about to descend upon them.
He rises with the power of fifteen men and gives you a kiss that nearly topples you. He smiles before he leaves you, and never looks back as he goes to do the deed of a legend.
You watch the massacre up from a hill. A safe distance from the camp, but close enough to see how König destroys a whole cohort by himself. The plant you mixed into the “reconciliation wine” he gave his soldiers and the commander before nightfall makes it laughably easy because most of the men are still half asleep when they burn inside their tents. The oil spilt on the dry dirt and linen roars aflame now with the help of the wind and earth spirits as König torches the camp. The occasional few soldiers that rise to meet him with fear in their stare are already broken by your spell before his swords impale them.
The old translator is the only Roman who wasn’t given a cup of foxglove wine because he was König’s slave, and now he can see that he is blessed among men. The God of War faces him with swords pointing to the ground, fury planting his feet wide, and it takes the old Roman a while to understand that he’s the only man who gets to walk out of this camp unharmed. As grumpy and unsociable as he is, you wish him good fortune on his future journeys, even utter a quick protection spell to shroud him as he leaves towards his destiny on enemy land.
The slave women, sober, confused, and free, run amock to gather weapons, cloaks, food, and valuables before escaping the camp. König doesn’t even notice them, and they pay little mind to the enraged god ramming through puny mortals because they’re too busy getting out of the burning castra.
How fitting it is that the only people escaping the hellfire are a few beaten women and an old, weak-calved Roman – every able-bodied soldier burns inside his tent or meets their end at your lover’s blade.
The wind spirits help spread the fire so eagerly that you begin to fear that König won’t make it out in time. You whisper prayers into your fist, curled around the Mother who has already given you so much. She has also taken away everything; like seasons, she has reaped and sown, but if she reaps your lover now, you will walk into the sea.
Mother is merciful and returns him to you, unharmed and glorious. He's the same ferocious beast you saw half a moon ago, and also the same ferocious man who was inside you this very morning. You see a god of war, and he sees the mother of life and death, perhaps, because his first words to you are a ripe offering.
“I avenged them all,” he says when he reaches you, thrumming with victory and smelling of smoke and ruin and blood.
He has been born again; he has walked to a new dawn through fire and death and returns to your arms like you two have known each other since the beginning of time. You’re not sure if he talks about his fallen ones or your fallen ones, or everyone who has fallen to these particular Roman spears. You’re not sure if this is his downfall because what you’re looking at is only the downfall of the Roman campaign on your lands. You and König are very much wild and spirited and free. If this is a downfall, it feels like being lifted towards the sky. You see in his eyes that he feels the same as you.
The whole world is new as you leave towards a new life. Sun rises, and takes years off your backs. You wash him in the sea and kiss the salt away from his lips, and it feels only right that he takes you on the grass after slaughtering your enemies.
You bury the statues and the bronze sword in your old village, long abandoned and thoroughly looted. The old woman is in her hut, dead as a stone, and she finally looks happy, with a calm little smile on her face and flowers in her hand. She looks like a young girl, almost, ready to meet the spring of her life.
"Ready for adventure, little one?" König smiles as he raises you to his horse. He takes direction from the sun while you look down at his happy, golden form – your god, your life, your love.
Your new beginning.
...
Translations:
Richtig? - Right?/Correct?
Einfach so - Just like that
Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng - Damn… Gods, you are tight
Aber… - But…
Ach du kleine… - Oh you little…
Scheisse - Shit/Fuck
#könig fanfiction#könig x reader#könig x you#könig x female reader#könig x fem reader#konig x reader#konig x you#historical au#Roman soldier!König#könig smut#könig fluff#könig imagine
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𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕭𝖊𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑
Summary: After your night with Farleigh, you wake in the morning to deal with the new, altered state of your relationship. You know for certain that you want more with him, but you have no idea if he wishes the same.
Warnings: 18+ content, minors DNI. AFAB, usage of 'good girl' . Sex in front of a mirror, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering. A bit of fluff. American reader. Not proofread.
Notes: 12.1k words. This probably won't make sense if you haven't read the first part. A big shout out for those of you who commented on the first part of this. Ya'll really slutted me out with all of the compliments and motivated me to write this second bit. Banner by @saradika-graphics
𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦 - 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦𝔦
Everything is warm. Cozy and inviting with a soothing, syrupy kind of heat that saps into your bones and flesh. You don't want to move. The possibility of having to seems like the worse possible inconvenience that you could even face. Your mind is slow to gather itself, caught up within the hazy drag of sleep, reluctant to wake up - outright fighting of the surge of consciousness, in fact. And irritably, you wonder why you're gradually being pulled from the dredges of slumber. Why the comforting threads entangling you is beginning to slip. What could possibly be waking you up right now?
And that's when your hazed over brain notices that band of light glaring into your eyes; bright and tinged orange from behind your eyelids. It's awful. Horrible even. Where is the light even coming from? You never leave your lamp on, and you always make sure to draw your curtains shut every night before sleep.
But despite your curiosity, you can't bring yourself to open your eyes. You know that it'll be game over if you do. There's no way that you'll be able to fall back asleep once you get up to check the origin of that offensive glow. But you can't fight the low, tired groan that erupts from your chest in annoyance while you blindly grab at the comforter snuggled around you, sliding it up higher until it's draped over your face and blocking out the light.
The relief is immediate, and you find yourself shifting in an attempt to burrow yourself deeper into the plush support of the mattress, breathing in a satisfied, deep drag of air. Taking a lungful of something sweet and earthy with hints of something spicy too. It's familiar; comforting and it has you subconsciously drawing in another breath. It smells like Farleigh, you think contentedly.
That does have you perking up a bit. Some small part of you becoming hideously awake, like it's trying to remember something that you've forgotten. But you're still actively fighting off the urge get up. You just aren't ready for it. There's some tension in your skull and your mouth feels dry and dehydrated. It's not the worse hangover you've ever had. But then again, the one that you had woken up to on the night after graduation had been near crippling. Honestly, you hadn't thought that you were ever going to survive it. It felt like someone was striking down on your skull with a hammer, trying to split it down the middle. This one was more than manageable, nothing a glass of water and an aspirin couldn't clear up.
But even then, the urge to get up out of bed to shuffle around in the bathroom was less than thrilling.
You shift around again, rolling from your back and onto your side, hoping that maybe this position will actually help you in falling asleep again. But you pause when you feel your knee brush against something firm and warm. And a curious nudge from your foot has you coming to the realization that you're prodding at another leg. Someone else's leg.
It makes your stomach jolt, and the shot of adrenalin combined with the cloud of sleep still seeped across your mind has you squirming in place, while your arms jerk uselessly. It feels like minutes have passed before you're clumsily tossing the blanket from over your head and propping yourself up to look at whoever is lying across from you.
It's the head of dark curls that you notice first before your gaze lowers, tracing over a pair of closed eye lashes and the set of a familiar pout peeking out from the cocoon of the comforter. It has your brain chugging along sluggishly while it scrambles to catch up. And then last night is rushing towards you in waves. Of running into Farleigh, your shared whispered confessions up on the balcony, and the fervent, relieved fucking that came after it.
Heat prickles at your skin at the memories. Of the desperate, broken moans that had left his shuddering chest, the feel of his writhing body underneath your thighs, how he had pressed his face between the apex of your legs and -
Nope, not right now. The last thing you need to be is hungover and horny.
But that was right, you weren't in your room. He had invited you to spend the night with him afterwards. It had been sweet, and domestic. The two of you had spent the first twenty minutes just soaking in the bath together. And a decent majority of it had been the both of you just leaning into each other. The actual bathing that you had done had been somewhat rushed and done out of necessity so that you could spend the rest of your time leaning against the cradle of his chest. Enjoying the feel of skin-on-skin contact and the other's presence. You stayed in the water until it had gone cool, and the only source of heat was coming from your bodies. And even then, you both were reluctant to leave the tub, basking in conversation and gossip, catching up on the few years where you had never really allowed yourselves to just talk to each other.
And once the water became too chilled to bear you were quick to get out of the tub and slip into the comfort of his bed. He had been quick to tug you into his arms once you were settled down underneath the blankets. He was practically glued to you since your entanglement on the balcony - not that you were complaining.
You had all but melted against him for the entire night, laughing and scolding him with no real scorn whenever he had judged or quipped at the movie you were watching in between the kisses he was scattering across your neck. It was disgustingly soft, and light years away from anything you ever imagined yourself doing with Farleigh. If you had told the past version of yourself from yesterday morning that you would be lying his bed and actually enjoying - wanting - to be near him, you would have scoffed. You would have passionately denied the sheer possibility of it.
But now here you are, admiring the way that he looks underneath the soft pale champagne glow of the morning sunlight with nothing but fondness in your chest. He looks peaceful like this. Relaxed. It's somewhat strange to be able to see him like this. All vulnerable and soft while he's unable to dish out sarcasm and insults.
"I can feel you staring, you weirdo," he speaks suddenly without opening his eyes. His voice is low and a little raspy from sleep, and the way that it affects you is entirely unfair. A full body shiver runs down the notches of your spine at the smoky quality to it and you try to subtly shift to hide it, but something tells you that he may have noticed with the smirk that's begun to perk at the corner of his lips.
"Admiring, " you correct, and you shuffle onto your back like you're lifting yourself to get out of the bed, shrugging the blankets off. "But if you don't like it then I can just leave."
He moves way too quickly for someone who just woke up, slipping his arms around your middle and tugging you back into the warmth of the comforter. But you don't put up any semblance of a fight. You let him take you and you can't hold in the laugh that breaks from your chest when he settles you with your back pressed against him, keeping you trapped with the strength of his hold.
"You're not allowed to leave, " he grumbles pettishly. It's so different from all of the interactions that you two usually share and a part of you still hasn't caught up to the sudden shift in your dynamic. You feel just as lost as you do happy, but as much as you'd like to start firing off questions you still can't bring yourself to. Not yet at least. And luckily Farleigh is speaking, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Why are you awake so early?"
"Because someone has very thin curtains that he decided to leave open," you grouse with no real bite.
He tucks his chin over the crown of your head and hums tiredly. You can feel that way that his abdomen vibrates against your back with the sound. The heat radiating from his bare skin is soaking into yours from the barrier of your borrowed shirt, and combined with the scent of his body wash and the left-over remnants of his cologne it has the temptation of sleep beginning to weigh down your limbs. "You could have closed them."
"Hmm . . . I'm kinda glad I didn't," you admit, snuggling back into his chest as much as you can. "You're so pretty when you're sleeping, and your face isn't all twisted up in a scowl."
The reprimanding bite that he nips at the junction of your neck catches you off guard, making you jolt with a small, surprised yelp. You can't find it in yourself to even mildly irritated, but you kick at his shin regardless in a playful warning of your own.
"I'm always pretty," he scolds.
Then a silence falls across the room. Not uncomfortable but still. Peaceful and light, and the buttery summer breeze pouring from the open window just amplifies the sense of calm. And you smell the dulcet, earthy scent of pollen and fresh morning dew on the air. There's a bird singing from somewhere outside, declaring the rise of the early sun in a gentle coo. And for a moment, it almost sounds like a mourning dove.
You just allow yourself to relax and lounge in the tranquility of the moment. Idly scanning the contents of his room from the comfort of his bed. Glancing over at the shelf in the corner, stocked full of novels; everything from old literary classics like The Portrait of Dorian Gray, Dracula, The Great Gatsby, a couple of books on mythology, a few Harry Potter novels and you even spy what also seems to be a copy of one of the Sex and the City stories. A few of shirts were discarded in the corner near a small laundry basket like he had thrown them and missed, forgotten on the floor.
And it suddenly strikes you that this is the first time that you've actually been inside of Farleigh's room. You've gotten glimpses of it of course, typically during brief confrontations while standing in his doorway. Usually, when Felix or Elspeth would send you to his door in their stead to retrieve him or remind him of a mandatory affair. And it's a reminder of the step that you had taken last night. The way that you both had singlehandedly altered the trajectory of your relationship with each other.
Not even the uncertainty in your gut is enough to disrupt the ease in your bones. But is still there. Unignorable. It isn't awkward or uncomfortable, but it is foreign. This entire situation is new and fragile. The ground that you're treading is something that you've never even grown close to traversing with Farleigh, and with it there is a sense of something delicate and brand new, like eggshells. And a part of you is worried that if you handle it too harshly that it might break.
But you know that despite your hesitance that a conversation needs to be had. Boundaries and intentions need to be laid bare and the more you hold it off the more confused and distressed you're going to become.
"Farleigh?" You say softly, and for a moment you think that he's fallen asleep again, but then a questioning hum is purring out into the air in response; you feel it more than you hear it.
And now there it is. That awful nervousness fluttering at your gut like a ball of panicked, nauseating butterflies. "What are we exactly?" You nearly wince when you ask it. The dryness in your throat doesn't help anything, and your words nearly catch on their way out. "I know we were both drinking and partying last night, so I just want to make sure that we're both on the same page. That I'm not . . . assuming anything."
There's another bout of silence. But this time it is distressing, and you wish that he'd just speak. Even if it's just to reject you or say that last night was just a one-time thing. At least, it would be ripping the band aid off. Setting a boundary and cutting you off. As much as it would hurt it would give you closure and let you move on to pretend that it never happened. It would be awkward, tiptoeing around the estate and pretending as though last night - this morning, didn't take place - a beautiful, haunting dream - but you could do it. You would have to. You could still fake all of those old glares and scathing remarks if it meant that a sense of normalcy would remain intact. You could pretend to forget all of his soft touches, and the way that he had called you gorgeous. How he had held your gaze and looked at you like you had hung the moon up into the night sky. You could forget all of it, you swear you could.
But it's just quiet, and the anticipation is killing you. Letting you choke on your own worry.
Farleigh shuffles back from you and for one terrifying moment you think that he's leaving the bed, too irritated or indifferent to even try and have this talk with you. But instead, he's softly nudging your arm to guide you to twist around onto your opposite side; making you face him.
There's something gentle is his eyes, something vulnerable too. And it makes you hopeful that he feels the same way as you do.
"Well . . . " He starts but then a pause takes over like he's trying to collect himself and find the proper words. You can feel the way that you subconsciously begin to clam up, seizing and waiting to be torn down and told the ugly truth. You brace waiting to have to put on a fake smile and nod before you have to slip from his bed and head to your room in a walk of shame with rejection stabbing inside your chest like glass shards.
"I was hoping that you'd be my girlfriend."
The relief that floods through you nearly makes you breathless. And for a moment you think that this is what it feels like to be engulfed in the sun; swaddled in a warmth that reminds you of the nostalgia of a fond, distant memory. It's the joy of a day free at the beach, the repose that comes after holding your breath for a long stretch of time, the exhilaration from finding the answer to a mystery that's eluded you for years. But you can't articulate any of that, can't find a single word that properly conveys your emotions while under the cloud of sleep.
"Okay," it isn't an eloquent response, by any means. Even just saying 'yes' probably would have read better. But that didn't mean that it wasn't said with any less intensity and enthusiasm. And you can tell that Farleigh must be able to pick up on the true scope of your emotions bleeding through because he doesn't look offended or disappointed. But his eyebrows do lift as he levels you with a look that's purely amused and a little happy.
"Okay?" He echos with a light chuckle.
"Okay, " you reaffirm, sliding closer until your noses touch. "I'd love to be your girlfriend."
The look in his eyes is soft and relaxed, and they're shimmering lightly in the morning glow with hints of amber and a rich brown. And then he's peppering kisses across your face like he's mapping out your features with his lips, trailing them across your forehead and cheekbones and jawline. It's unrushed and slow, like you both have all of the time in the world. Like the sun is permanently fixed in the lavender horizon and isn't due to rise up and give way to a full day. But here and now, it's just you and him, curled up in the covers and one another.
It's still so strange to be the object of his affections. It's a complete one-eighty from the way that you've interacted for years. Sure, now that you've had your little epiphany last night, you've been able to realize (and come to terms with the fact) that there's always been a kind of attraction and even fondness brewing underneath every one of your little spats and encounters. But never would have thought that you could say that that want, and affection went both ways. That there had ever been anything thing other than animosity and annoyance on his end.
"What are you thinking about?" Farleigh ask, nuzzling against your cheek to get your attention before he pulls away to hold your gaze.
"I guess, I'm just a little surprised, is all." You admit, though it is a little cryptic. "I just never got the impression that you liked me all that much."
Something in his expression sobers, and for a moment you worry that you've said something wrong. That you've accidentally nudged something that he wasn't ready to disclose.
"That was the point," he confesses, making your eyebrows pinch in confusion. "Of all of the teasing and fighting. For the most part." He pulls back, settling back against the bed and you settle on the flat of your stomach, supporting yourself on your elbows to observe him easier. "Though, I do just genuinely enjoy teasing you. You always get that cute little furrow, right here whenever I do."
He lightly pokes at the point between your eyes with a smirk. And you swat at his hand, playful and relaxed before his features smooth back into that serious look. You can tell that he's briefly deflecting, trying to drag his explanation out more than it needs to be, and as much as your curiosity is burning at you like a hot ember, you don't make any means to rush him. His gaze skitters around the room with something akin to defeat and exasperation while he tussles with whatever conflict is warring around inside of him.
Your fingers hesitantly reach for his own, clasping lightly just in case he wants to pull away, and you take it as good sign when he doesn't. Instead, he's threading your fingers together and squeezing, stroking at your knuckles with his thumb. "Felix, " he says suddenly with something like a grimace. "They always pick Felix. The golden boy. And I thought, 'why even try?' "
The clarification is a little vague and scattered. But you're still able to piece together a mental timeline with the little bits and pieces that he's given. And it finally answers the question as to why your otherwise cordial relationship with Farleigh had seemed to take an abrupt nosedive after Felix's visit to the States all those years ago. Why your interactions went from playful to subtly meanspirited. He was jealous. Envious of his cousin all because he had assumed that you had a crush on or would eventually develop a crush for Felix.
Sure, you weren't blind. Felix, for all intents and purposes was an attractive guy. And he's has always been a dear friend to you, protective and caring but you can genuinely say that your feelings for Felix had never developed past the platonic sense. Not even out of curiosity.
And it is a little aggravating to know that all the years of animosity between you and Farleigh was because he wasn't able to sit you down and have a conversation with you. That he had decided to act like a middle school boy who tugs on the pig tails of the girl that he likes because he can't properly convey his feelings. But you also know that that assessment isn't fully fair either. You're aware of the fragile standing that Farleigh has with the Catton's - his own family, and that he no doubt, often feels like a guest in a home that should be considered his just as much as it's his cousins.
And Felix, whether he realizes it or not, has always been able to achieve and get whatever - or whoever he wants. Usually, from his family's social or financial standing. And so, it wouldn't be the wild for him to assume that you'd be attracted to all of those things too. Especially, considering that you yourself, like many people, don't come from a wealthy family. It's a part of human nature, to gravitate towards the things you can't have. To try and see what life is like on the other side, where you're hand fed from a silver spoon and your every whim can be taken care of by an everlasting stash of money. So, Farleigh's insecurities weren't unfounded by any means, but regardless, it did still hurt to some degree that he felt like wasn't able to just talk to you about the way that he had felt. About the emotions that he had silently been harboring for all of this time.
"I really did try to hate you. " And when he looks at you his expression is naked and honest. " I tried to push you away, but it didn't work. It never worked."
He looks vulnerable. Like he's waiting for you to get angry or irritated and he's bracing for an argument. But you don't even contemplate doing anything even close to that. Instead, you're scooting yourself up on your knees to gently swing yourself across his lap, and he welcomes you by gripping onto your hips. You can't feel his skin directly. Not while you're both wearing a pair of boxers (he had lent you one of his to wear for bed last night) but you could still feel the heat of him against underneath you. And it serves to ground you all the same, pulling you into the moment and holding you here. And you take comfort in the sensation of his body against yours.
"I've never hated you either, " you say, swallowing around the nervousness in your throat. " I thought I did. But I don't think I ever really could, not even back then. I'm mean don't get me wrong, you were arrogant, and rude and some days you made me want to slam my head into a wall . . . But I never hated you."
There's something akin to relief in his eyes; hopeful and soft. And then he's saying two words that you thought you'd never expect to hear coming from him.
"I'm sorry."
It takes a moment for your mind to even register what he had said. But once the apology clicks into place, it has something fuzzy and warm growing in your chest, and you couldn't hide the soft smile pulling at your lips. It's bittersweet. You're remorseful for all the time lost between you but you can't even bother to dwell on it for too long, not now. Not with him gazing up at you, hopeful and waiting.
And the truth is, is that you weren't entirely blameless, either. Yes, Farleigh had been the one to initiate the friction and enmity between you, but you were also quick to respond in kind. Instead of even trying to take the high road and figuring out the root of his animosity, you were quick to jump on the offensive. Forgoing any ideas of reconciling in the desire to try and get even. You just gave it all up, the months' worth of a gradually cultivated fellowship in the trade of trying to tear him down like he had done to you.
"I'm sorry, too," you say truthfully. And the last bits of that tense, worried energy that had been tainting the air finally vanishes, carried off on the gentle breeze pouring through the window and out into the courtyard. Its absence welcomes back the playfulness that had been present earlier. "But if we're being honest, I've always enjoyed our little fights."
The way that he grins in response is the kind that would have concerned you at one time (only just a few hours ago - Jesus, you can hardly believe it still), all cocky and entirely too satisfied. "I know, I clocked that from the very start."
You can't resist the urge to roll your eyes, and there's a retort on the tip of your tongue, ready to tease him back but instead your mind decides to take a detour and it swerves back around to a different train of thought completely. Making you pause in place, lips slightly parted with the preparation to speak but the initial remark is gone. Leaving to assess your new realization with a bit of confused wonder. The realization that you didn't become acquaintances with Felix until months after knowing Farleigh. And that would mean that he caught feelings before- "Wait, " you pause, squinting at Farleigh questioningly. "You said that you weren't going to even try because of Felix. Then when did you . . ?"
He sighs lowly, stroking your thighs in a way that seems more absentminded than intentional, like his brain needs a distraction. "The first day that we met there's was something there. It was small. Intrigue, mostly. I didn't think it would go anywhere, and for a little while it didn't." It's matter of fact, not meant to be rude or harmful, just honest. "There wasn't some pivotal moment that changed things. I don't have a specific date to give you; all those feelings were suddenly just there, and I didn't know what to do with them."
It was the same way for you, you suppose. It wasn't like in the movies where the protagonist shares one defining moment with their love interest that just abruptly opens their eyes to their newfound affection and they immediately fall in love. The build up to your feelings had simmered and climbed up over time. It just sort of snuck up on you so stealthily that you hadn't even recognized that you had them. And even worse, your own hubris had kept you from even acknowledging the little shreds of emotions that managed to sneak by and slip under the radar. You always had an excuse for yourself.
That fuzzy, tingling feeling that would bubble in the pit of your gut whenever you had seen Farleigh smile back in the past, candid and genuine, that wasn't affection, that was disgust, surely. That searing burn that would scatter across your flesh when someone would lean up against his side and openly flirt with him, coquette and unabashed, it was just your irritation for him, not jealously.
Your emotions had always been there. Right under the surface and raging, but you had never let yourself see. Had never let yourself indulge. You were so out of touch with them, that honestly, you wouldn't be able to track whenever they had begun to manifest. It could have been from day one for all you know. And maybe it was. Right on that April evening, during the middle of a heatwave that had come in and choked out the otherwise agreeable spring air. The sun had the city in a violent grip, beating down on the concrete and asphalt until it was sweltering. And in an attempt to escape the unbearable temperatures, you and Graham, like many of the other tenants, had taken to the crystal waters of the pool to cool off. And when Graham had asked you if one of his friends could swing by, you had no qualms on the matter. You were honestly intrigued, considering that the said friend was apparently the mysterious Farleigh, who Graham had grown to be quite fond off, with the both of them having met from running with similar crowds. Socializers and party goers.
When Farleigh had showed up to the pool, you hadn't missed the somewhat disgruntled way that his lip had curled while he eyed all of the people splashing about in the water as he followed Graham over to your seats on the poolside. Like they had offended him by being there. But you could only find yourself being amused by his apparent dislike for the public, and when he had neared you were quick to sit up in your lounger, lifting your sunglasses from your eyes and onto your head to assess him better.
"You must be the famed Farleigh," you had greeted before extending your hand for him to take, introducing yourself with a smile.
"That would be me," he had replied, laying back on the chaise beside yours like he had always been there; relaxed and unbothered. Like he had known you forever. "But 'famed,' huh? Does he talk about me often?"
"Enough for me to be intrigued." You admitted, folding the corner page of the book you had been reading in a dog-eared marker before shutting it closed so that you could freely turn your focus onto him instead.
"And what has he told you about me?" He asked.
Your lips lifted, and for a moment you glanced around the pool, observing the colorful array of plastic floaties and limbs playfully kicking up water. "That you're trouble."
But it was told without any bite, your tone airy and impish. He didn't necessarily return your smile, but there was a kind of mirth glinting in his eyes. Intrigue as well. He let himself relax into the cradle of the chair without removing his gaze from yours, and you could see his open amusement. And somewhere in the near distance a child squealed in open delight and the laughter of their parent closely followed, but neither of you had so much as glanced away from each other.
"So, he told you the truth." That had been his response.
Charming, that had been your first thought of him. And it was one without ire or sarcasm. It was the truth. He had been charming then, and the both of you had spent a good twenty minutes talking to each other after your introduction. Divulging in common interest and gossip. Mostly from you sharing the scandals of your fellow tenants, like how your neighbor from 2E had been cheating on her boyfriend with the guy from 1F or how the elderly woman from down your hall had traded her husband's ashes for a pound of weed.
But regardless of when your feelings for Farleigh had begun, it didn't change the fact that you were so ignorant and blind, that literally everyone else had taken notice of your attraction before you had. And all of the teasing from Venetia, and Felix, and even Graham hadn't been enough to make you recognize them.
"And then one day, I couldn't stop thinking about you. " He admits. There's an intensity in his gaze, and that open vulnerability is still in there too. It threatens to steal your breath, and you have to force yourself to inhale. But it just makes you take the scent of his shampoo; the fresh, delicate fragrance of the detergent and his cologne on his sheets and it just makes the warm haze seeping back into you so much worse. "With your thrifted sweatshirts and bitchy attitude."
"Oh, I'm the bitchy one?"
You aren't sure what changes it. What causes the shift. If perhaps it had just been there the entire time and you had been too preoccupied to notice it with your thoughts and heart to heart conversation. Or if maybe it was just from the way that he's looking at you now. With an unmistakable type of want. With a sultry type of need that's hauntingly similar to the fervor that had glinted in his eyes just last night. And the feel of his heated palms gripping your thighs and the pressure of his lap nestled between your legs doesn't make it any easier. But the low heat rising in the room seems to amplify the desire that's beginning to storm inside of you, building up from the sun that's ascended a few more degrees into the morning sky. And combined with the light golden hue casted over the bed, it makes you feel as though you're being incased in a vat of heated honey. Saccharine, hazy and torrid.
You have to chase after that feeling. Following after it like a flower tracking the suns path across the sky and it leads you to Farleigh. Making you tilt down towards him like it's your purpose, brushing your lips over his and breathing in his air. And all the while you don't break eye contact once. You couldn't. You won't.
The hold of his finger's flexes on you, like he's trying to ground himself. His anticipation almost seems like a physical thing; like it's brushing up against your body and hanging heavy in the air. And it could be your mind playing tricks on you, but you're certain that he's stopped breathing while he eagerly waits for you to do something.
It has you lifting a hand up to cup his face, delicate and almost devout in the way that you press your palm against his cheek and his eyelashes nearly flutter from the contact. He looks content like this. No doubt still a little addled from the sleep that's probably still clinging to his brain. But the way that he appears to be so peaceful and fulfilled with something as little as your touch has this insatiable thing growing inside of you, and it feels as though it could grow a will of its own and possess you. The weight of it would have scared you once, if you weren't already so utterly swept up in it.
You can't help but to trace his skin, idly sweeping your thumb across the jut of his cheekbone before dragging it down the fullness of his bottom lip. And it surprises you entirely when he drops his jaw open to take the digit into his mouth. You have to hold back a gasp at the sensation of his tongue brushing over your skin and sucking. And the impish gleam in his eyes almost seems like some kind of dare. Like he wants you to make a move.
You just press your thumb into his mouth with a bit more pressure and the delicate, airy sigh that leaves him is a reward all in its own. The glide of his tongue, the heat of his mouth, the way that he's looking at you, it's all so blissfully overwhelming. You wish that you could just stay here indefinitely, under the cover of the blankets with his body against your own.
But . . .
"You're a brat." That's all you say before you extract your digit from between his lips and swing yourself from his hips to climb off the bed. You have to glance over your shoulder when a surprised "what the fuck?" rises out from behind you as you pad over towards the open doorway of the adjacent bathroom. And the outright pouty and exasperated way that Farleigh rolls over onto his stomach and slams his face into the plush of one of his pillows is the last thing you see of him once you cross the threshold, and you can't fight the amused chuckle that leaves your chest.
You can hear him grumble something, but it's inaudible from your place at the sink, muffled by the walls and distance. You try to ignore those torrential, gushing emotions that are rising up inside your chest but it's hard to fight the smile on your face, and the sight of your reflection in the mirror is humbling almost. You're beaming and your eyes are sparkling with an unhidden mirth. God, you look like a lovestruck idiot. You can hardly recognize yourself like this, but as completely taken as you are by your feelings you can't even find it in yourself to be embarrassed by them. It feels good to just embrace them after years of fighting and lying to yourself. And you finally feel at peace.
It's like relief, being here with him. By wearing his clothes and spending the night in his bed. The toothbrush that you're using was one of his spares. It had still been tucked away in the rigid plastic and cardboard of its packaging when he had let you use it last night. He had been the one to suggest that you take it when you had been fully prepared to swing by the neighboring bathroom near your bedroom to collect you own. But he had told you that you didn't need to bother. That you could just take one of his. And after you had used it, you had placed it in the caddy beside his own for the night. They were all such small things. Tiny minute gestures but they made you feel so wholly wanted.
When you lean over to spit out the frothy toothpaste into the basin of the sink a pair of arms slip around your middle and press you into the expanse of his front. He hooks his chin over your shoulder to look at you from the reflection of the mirror and you struggle not to make eye contact with him as your rinse the bristles of the brush off underneath the tap.
"Come back to bed," he says, nuzzling his face into the junction of your neck. "Breakfast isn't for almost another two hours."
You just hum in response, tapping your toothbrush dry on the edge of the sink before plopping it back into its place in the caddy. "I will, " you promise. "Do you have anything for headaches? I have a little bit of a hangover."
"Bottom drawer on the left," he directs, and slackens his hold on you for you to slip free. You crouch down to slide the drawer open and rove your eyes over the contents before you single out the white safety lid of a bottle of ibuprofen. Once you have it, you're opening it eagerly and plucking a tablet into the palm of your hand. The throbbing in your skull is still dull, more of an annoyance really. But regardless you're still more than relieved to get something to finally knock it out.
You drop the sealed bottle back into its place before nudging the door closed with your leg as you rise to stand, and you put the bitter, acrid pill on your tongue. Farleigh is already in the process of brushing his own teeth, and instead of shuffling over to the opposing sink, you're leaning over into Farleigh's space and cupping a bit of water streaming from the tap into your palm to drink up; using it to wash down the tablet.
He doesn't look peeved in the slightest though, that he has to shift back just a bit on his feet to allow you closer as you toss the pill down. Instead, there's an amused smile on his lips while he watches you. Though you're too busy roving your eyes over your own features to notice, and you can't help the slight exasperation that shows when you spot a few fine pieces of glitter that are still stubbornly clinging to your skin; glinting from your collar bone and the ridge of your left cheek. You'll probably be finding remnants of it for weeks at this rate, in your hair and on your clothes.
Though you suppose that you can't be all that mad about it, with the way that it serves to be a reminder of last night. Of the balmy satin breeze and the pleased moans that it had carried. You can already feel your body thrumming in response and the depth of your reverie keeps you from noticing that he had finished brushing his teeth and had placed his brush in the caddy until you see his reflection shuffling around and he's suddenly standing behind you, securing his arms around your waist once again.
You all but melt back against him with a happy hum under your breath. It still surprises you a bit, the way that he seeks you and your affection out and clings to you. Though, you suppose that it really shouldn't be all that much of a shock. He has always been a very physical sort of person, even with those that he has a platonic relationship with. Even in the past, he always seemed to have someone touching him, whether it be by having a person clinging to arm, or sitting in his lap, he was always sharing his space in some kind of way. So, it isn't that farfetched that he'd crave physical intimacy in a relationship just as much. And you're all too eager and willing to fulfill that want.
Though you suppose that the surprise still comes from how new and raw this all still is. You've had your dynamic solidified with Farleigh for years. And it persisted that way, unshifting and constant until it had been swiftly uprooted and altered by a simple exchange of words. And a part of you still has yet to come to terms with it yet. That you're here with him and so completely, and wholly content. That you're happy with the person who had made it his mission to taunt your every waking moment. It is jarring and strange but no less sweet and captivating, and you don't think that you could imagine being with anyone else right now and experiencing the same breadth of joy and tranquility.
Your body almost goes lax against his, settling underneath the comforting heat radiating from the plains of his chest and abdomen. It's all peaceful and unrushed. Just two people enjoying each other's company without the threat of any responsibilities or tasks looming ahead to move you apart. And for a moment you think that you could fall asleep like this, standing up while cradled in his arms.
But then one of his hands begins to wander, shifting from its place around your middle to slip underneath your (his) shirt. And you can't help but to smile, basking in the subtle shift that weaves over the privacy of the bathroom. It's simmering and low and it already has a delicate heat blossoming between your thighs. His fingers trace up your stomach, leaving a buzzing trail across your skin in their wake and when they reach the swell of one your breasts it has you gasping.
"Open your eyes, " he purrs in your ear, smoky and sonorous and it gives you no choice but to comply. You hadn't even realized that you had closed them until they're fluttering open and meeting Farleigh's in the mirror's reflection. And the smoldering want alight within them has you breathless and thrumming with anticipation.
His other hand starts drifting, but it isn't slipping up to join the opposing one near your chest, it's traveling down low until his fingers are teasing at the band of your boxers that hang from your hips. He lets his thumb glide underneath the fabric to sweep teasing glides across the skin of your pubic mound. And you find yourself trying to lightly grind against his hand like it might get it to move lower to where you want him. But he doesn't budge, and the only thing that greets you is a condescending chuckle against the side of your head as he plants a kiss into the plush of your hair.
"I'm going to fuck you with my fingers, and you're going to watch."
That just about nearly makes your knees go slack. And the warmth blossoming in your stomach is thick and heady already. He doesn't even have to ask if you agree, you beat him to the punch, eagerly nodding in response with a quick yes. And it's then that his hand finally moves. Your mouth drops open when his fingers slip in between your legs, parting through the heat of you and gently grinding against your clit in heavy, teasing glides. And the fingertips on your breast softly pluck at your nipple in time with each circle around the sensitive nerves at the apex of your thighs.
It has you becoming aware of how wet you already are, but you can't focus on the embarrassment for long because the sheer intensity of Farleigh's gaze has you in a grip. He only breaks the contact to briefly admire the shape of his hand jutting out from underneath the fabric of your boxers before it sweeps back up to your face, making you focus on yourself. There's already a glazed over sort of gleam in the reflection of your eyes, and your chest is rhythmically rising and expanding to release low, airy gasps.
It has heat prickling at your cheeks in a self-conscious response and you can't help it when you look away from the image of the both of you to train your gaze onto something else. It wasn't seeing him that made you feel awkward, it was seeing yourself like this that was so strange. You couldn't watch yourself like this. So, you pin your gaze onto the golden trim of the mirror instead, tracing the shapes of the cherubim and flora carved into the wood as some kind of distraction while your hips chase after the sultry simmer that's lowly building within the cradle of your hips.
But even with that pleasure, you can't help the way you whine when the hand stroking at your breast suddenly leaves. Though you can't voice your frustration before it's slipping from underneath the shirt and taking ahold of your jaw, guiding you to tilt your head back. The cradle of his hand is almost light despite the firmness behind it, more of a suggestion really, but you find yourself yielding to it regardless. Allowing your head to loll back on your neck until it's pressed against him.
And the angle makes you see yourself in the reflection. You want to glance away again and save yourself from the awkward prickling at your skin.
"Watch," Farleigh orders softly, nipping at your ear like it was a kind of reprimand.
And you can't look away now. Not with the sound of his command still ringing in your mind, all low and raspy.
"Good girl," he purrs. Then one of his fingers is slipping inside of you and even though he had just fucked you last night, you can still feel your walls slightly stretching around the thickness of it. A ragged moan tears from your lips at the feel of it and your body mindlessly jerks against the sensation, making you unintentionally grind against the rigid heat of his cock pressing against your backside. You can hear the soft sigh of pleasure that leaves him at the feel of you rocking against him, and his eyebrows pinch close with a near rapturous type of wince. Like it already felt too good.
It gives you a sense of satisfaction to know that even while he's pumping his finger into the heat of your cunt and working you into the throes of a syrupy, saccharine pleasure that you could still affect him. You can tell that he's noticed the slight smirk that's begun to tilt at your lips if the way that he glares at you from over your shoulder is anything to go by. And never to be one to back down from a challenge, he's gliding a second finger in alongside the other and curling them in deep.
Your hands reach for the counter, grabbing onto the edge of the sink for some stability. For something to anchor you while pure liquid heat pours over you like melted wax. But you don't stop fucking yourself on his hand, you don't stop grinding against him either, desperately rolling the swell of your ass against the rigid press of his cock; eager to see that near wounded look that crosses his face whenever he's in pleasure.
And it feels like a reward when his own jaw drops open with a moan. But then he's biting onto the junction of your neck like he's trying to silence himself, and the mere thought of being deprived of his voice has you whining out. Not this again . . .
"Farleigh," you keen raggedly, almost hiccupping around the steady, repetitive thrust of his fingers. " Please, I want to hear you. Let me hear you."
There's a brief bout of silence, and for one horrible moment you think that he's going to deprive you and leave you wanting, but then he's removing his teeth from their hold on your skin and nuzzling his nose against your head. Thankfully, he doesn't try to quiet himself. He lets his lips remain parted, allowing that gorgeous, low panting to escape, pushed out by the way that he's started to grind up against you, meeting the thrust of your hips with his own.
He looks gorgeous like this, with his eyelids settled low over his eyes from an intense type of want and desire and you think that you can see a fine dusting of sweat already glittering over his skin from the low, golden light projecting from the bedroom behind the both of you. And even with the heavy grate from the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit and the pulse of his fingers building that consuming fire in your gut, you honestly think that a large portion of your pleasure is coming from just seeing him.
And you think that it might be the same for him. His gaze is fixed onto you with an almost enraptured sort of quality to his gaze, like he couldn't bear to look away from you. And with the way that you're both working yourselves against each other, it's apparent that you're just blatantly getting off on seeing the other becoming worked up and clouded over with desire.
The sounds of your joined moaning and gasps are amplified within the cradle of the bathroom walls, and it just makes your body burn all the more hotter. Your eyes nearly roll back when his fingertips brush against that debilitating spot inside of you, and your back arches involuntarily, drawing tight like a bowstring.
"Right there, huh, baby?" He coos a little condescending, but you couldn't care less. Not with how he's working his fingers so well. Threatening to tear you apart and make you unravel with a few more well-placed swipes. And you just nod. Anything to satisfy him and have him keep going. To nudge you closer and closer to that wonderful, tempting edge and guide you over it.
"You really want to cum, don't you?" There's a taunting quality to his voice that easily would have tipped you off if your mind wasn't fogged over with lust but right now you're too caught up in feeling to even focus. It takes everything to even reply to him, though it comes out as more of a breathless huff of pleasure rather than an articulated response. And he's got that satisfied grin on his lips. Like he has you right where he wants you. "Then go get on the bed."
That's the only warning you get before he's slipping his fingers from your cunt and cruelly stepping away from you. The glare that you give him is full of hurt and scathing, and you can feel the dull rise of your approaching orgasm fading into a taunting, warm pulse between your legs and your walls flutter around nothing. But he doesn't appear to be guilty in the slightest. Instead, he's lifting the hand that he had used to fuck you and places his fingers onto his tongue to suck the gauzy sheen of your cum from them.
It has that desire flaring again and whatever quip you had at the ready extinguishing before you could even try to get it out. And you're quick to turn on your heels, trying to ignore the way that your knees slightly quiver with adrenaline and anticipation as you make your way towards the threshold of the bathroom. Though, you can't stop yourself from shooting Farleigh a look when he plants a slap on your ass when you walk past him to the bedroom.
But regardless of your frustration, you're doing exactly as he told you and crawling back onto the plush mattress of his bed as soon as you cross the wooden floorboards. You move up on your hands and knees until you reach the pillows, and then you twist around onto your back to get comfortable, swallowing around a shaky breath.
It takes you by complete surprise when Farleigh sweeps over you, urging you to fall onto the inviting warmth of the bedding as he climbs over your body. You hadn't even realized that he was following that closely behind, but you don't even have time to think on it before his lips are connecting with your own, urging you into heated exchange that completely siphons the oxygen from your lungs.
And his hands are everywhere, like he's trying to feel every groove and notch of you to collect it and put it away for safekeeping. Like he's trying to memorize your body. He tastes sweet, like peppermint and ice, no doubt from the toothpaste that he had just used a bit earlier. But there's something earthy on his lips too that you gradually come to recognize as your own cum, and it has you moaning into his mouth brokenly. It prompts you to claw the boxers around his waist just like he's doing to your own, the both of you are desperate to get the pieces of fabric from your bodies so that you could finally just feel each other.
You both separate yourselves from the kiss just long enough for you to prop yourself up to tear his sweater from your body and you don't miss the way that his eyes immediately rove down to your exposed breasts. And as much as you'd love to feel him touching them, you still need to taste his lips on your own. It has you cradling his face in your palms and dragging him down to reconnect your mouth to his in an exchange of tongue and teeth.
You're both moaning into each other, taking in the others air and gulping in it like it's your own. The atmosphere surrounding the room is thick and charged with something so frenzied and wild that it feels like electricity is getting ready to spill over you. It has you reaching down for the boxers that he's wearing and tugging at them like they've offended you personally. And right now, they kind of are, covering him up and keeping you from properly feeling him. Thankfully, he understands what you want, and he shuffles back just enough, rising on his knees to hook his thumbs into the band secured around his hips to work them down his legs.
For a moment you can't help but admire him once the length of his cock springs out from the cloth of his boxers, but the outright desperate whine that leaves him when you stopped touching him for too long is quick to spur you into action. And you follow after him, reaching to help pull them off, but you have to nudge him on his chest, silently directing him to fall back onto the mattress. And he lets you, settling down so that you tug them past his knees and then off his feet to toss them carelessly across the room.
But then he's on you again, quicker than you can even blink, and now you're the once again the one laying with their back against the bed. He looms over you with something hungry and eager burning in his eyes and it has your body involuntarily writhing to press up against his own. Distraught with the need to just feel him. He's quick to tear your boxers off with an equal fervor, but he doesn't wait for you to try and help him. He practically rips them off of you, nearly dragging you down the bed when they briefly catch on one of the heels of your feet.
You spread your legs to let him fully settle between their cradle and the weight of his length pressing against the wet heat of your cunt nearly makes you sob out loud. But unfortunately, despite the frenzy that had overcame him before, he still seems to be in the mood to tease, at least somewhat. Because instead of offering the both of you the relief that you crave and just fucking you, he just settling himself over you, leaning the brunt of weight on his elbows as he ducks his head down low and takes one of your nipples into the sweltering heat of his mouth.
You cry out when he sucks at it, tracing it with the tip of his tongue and gently tugging at it with the barely-there scrape of his teeth. It makes you grip onto his shoulders for some sort of tether. Anything to keep you from just floating away from your body. But he doesn't give you any sort of reprieve before he starts to grind against you, dragging his cock through the slick warmth of your cunt and nudging the swollen, sensitive bud of your clit with the head of his length.
Your fingernails drag across the skin of his back, but it doesn't hurt him if the way that he groans around your breast is any indication. You can't do anything other than just lying back and taking it. And as impatient as you feel, you can't deny that it feels good to try and endure the sweet torture of him making you wait. And you just allow yourself to fall into the melted, sugary haze filling up your skull.
Your legs fall open wider when his cock slips across you and brushes over your entrance, and for one blessed moment you think that he might actually fuck you. But he doesn't. He just continues to grind steadily; increasing that stifling, profound heat in your body, and it trickles down the individual notches of your spine until it's pouring between the cradle of your hips and settling between your thighs like something molten and inextinguishable and fluid.
His lips leave your breast with an audible pop but he's fast to shift over and take your other nipple into his mouth, moaning around your chest and teasing the rigid, sensitive skin with the suction of his tongue. It makes you whimper, a little pathetic and certainly needy, and you can feel the vibrations of his smug laughter dancing across your skin.
It pisses you off, the outright way that he's teasing you and as good as this is, as good as it feels, you need him. You can't keep yourself from removing your hands from the expanse of his back and taking his face back into your hands to move his head from your breast to look at you. Something flickers in his eyes, it could have been a mild form of irritation, but you aren't exactly in the best state of mind to be sure. It melts away just as quickly as it had been there, shifting into something satisfied and fond at the sight of you and there's a dazed sort of quality to his gaze too. And you're pretty sure that you look just as drunk on your lust as he does.
"Farleigh, please. " You beg shamelessly, panting against his lips as you press desperate, pronounced kisses against his lips. You can feel the way that he's smirking underneath each peck, but you can't find it in yourself to be mad. You're too worked up, and the constant, languid drag of his cock against your clit is doing wonders to evaporate every single coherent thought from your brain. "I need you. Please, I need you to just fuck me - please -"
"Yeah, you do need me, don't you?" It's said such a matter-of-fact way but even with that haze stuffing your head, you swear that you can see something pass over his expression. Something that almost looks vulnerable and maybe even insecure. It reminds you off his earlier confession. How he had admitted that he'd always assumed that you had a crush on Felix, or that you would eventually come to develop one at the very least.
It reminds you of your own jealously that you had felt every time that you saw someone with their arms wrapped around his neck or exchanging a flirty set of words. How it had always threatened to choke you with the searing, ugly heat. It hurts you to think that he may still carry that pain now, even while he's wrapped up in your embrace.
"I need you, " you agree. And you do your best to pour all of your emotions into it, to telegraph to him that it's so much more than sex talk. That you want him to know that you do actually need him. That it's been him. That it's always been him. "I need you, Farleigh. Just you."
And it must work. The scope of your emotions must show across your face because something affectionate and tender melts over his features and he confirms that he's heard you with subtle nod.
"I've got you, " he says, pressing a long, wanting kiss to your lips. "I got you, baby."
And he lifts one of his hands down to take ahold of his girth while he softly rotates his hips, grinding the head of his cock around your clit one last time before he's finally guiding himself into your heat. The moan that leaves you is punched out and ragged already, and your walls clench and flutter around him as he splits you open, gradually feeding you every glorious inch at a time. Letting you feel all of it as it slips inside until he's physically stopped by the press of his hips against yours.
He's panting already too, groaning lowly from the way that your pussy won't stop pulsing around him as it adjusts to his length. But you can't help it. Not when he feels so good. And your eyes fix onto the delicate necklaces draped from his neck, focusing on the pendants dangling from them to try and keep yourself present.
You don't even have to beg. He's drawing back until it's just his tip inside of you and then he's thrusting forward in a way that leaves you breathless. But it isn't rapid or ardent like it was last night or even just a little earlier, instead it's unhurried and savoring. The both of you seeming to come to the conclusion that you don't have to scramble zealously. That the both of you already have each other. That neither of you are going to leave the other and you could fully relish in your bodies and presence completely unrushed.
Your hips lift on their own, instinctively rocking to meet the languorous pattern that he's set, and it has your head rolling back. But even while you're fully basking in the rapturous drag of his cock, you can't pull your eyes from him. The burning, smoldering fog taking over you can't keep you from admiring him and the way that the golden sunlight has highlighted the flecks of a rich bronze and even some faint glints of copper in his hair. There's a thin layer of sweat perspiring on the warm shade of his skin and that pinched furrow between his eyebrows is back, telling you that he's enjoying this just as much as you are.
And the pleasure is washing over you like heated butter, making your toes curl and fingers twist into the sheets for something to keep you roped here; from drifting off from this moment and getting lost. The breathless moans leaving his chest just work you up even more, making you desperate and wanton.
He's ducking his head down to mouth at your exposed neck, taking advantage of the way that your head is still tilted back. And he reaches down to grip at one of your thighs, notching it up higher around his waist and it somehow makes you feel all that closer. Eliminating just a few centimeters worth of space between the two of you but it's enough to have you gasping.
"Farleigh," you cry. And you reach one of your hands up to clasp his upper arm, feeling the muscles underneath flex with each shift from his hips. He grinds into you with each thrust, rolling his hips in a way that has his pelvis grinding over your clit and liquefying your brain into useless mush. It almost feels like too much. It's lighting you on fire and scorching you from the inside out. And the sweet kisses that he's peppering across your skin doesn't help your case. It just helps to make you feel even more adrift, lost in a seizing current and frothing waves.
You can distantly feel him tenderly nuzzle his nose between the valley of your breast, and the sensation of his tongue trailing across your chest quickly follows, tasting the salt of your skin. And the head of his cock brushes against that spot within you that makes you squirm and sob, and you can tell that the way that you've begun to helplessly jerk underneath him is just the reaction that he was searching for, judging by the feel of his smirk against your body. That he's absolutely reveling in the way that tears have begun to prickle at the corners of your eyes from the pleasure ravaging your body; threatening to spill.
And as cocky as he may be, you can tell that he's not doing much better. The shameless way that he's moaning out gives away as much; airy and debauched.
God, he sounds so hot, it has that fluid warmth steadily rising up again, just threatening to tip over you and sweep you away. It has you fucking yourself against him with ardor, whimpering at the persistent cant of his hips. And you keep tightening yourself around the shape of his length, determined to drag him down with you, to feel him come undone and spill over.
You can tell that he's getting close with the way that his breath his hitching. That you're both hanging off the precipice of something extraordinary and debilitating and it makes you cling to him harder, swinging your other leg around his waist to hold him closer, to try and ground yourself. But the air in your lungs keeps getting choked out, and you're barely able to get your warning out from your lungs. "Farleigh, " you moan, gasping. " I'm gonna cum. Farleigh - "
He just nods against your chest, huffing and panting over your skin. "I know, baby, I can feel it."
One of your hands blindly searches around, scrambling for his own that he has somewhere above your head. And he seems to take notice of your unseeing pursuit because soon his fingers are slipping between your own and clenching your palm in a soothing, reaffirming gesture. It has pure devotion blooming within your chest, so strong that it feels as though you might fall apart and burn alight with it.
He lifts his head from its place on your chest, subtly shifting forward without disrupting the pace that he's set so that he could settle his forehead against yours, using the angle to look into your eyes. And the warmth reflecting in them makes you feel like the only being in the world. Coveted and adored and you can only hope that he's able to recognize the same reverence and affection in your own gaze. That he truly understands how much you actually care and want for him.
And the sheer breadth of your feelings, of his, of this moment has that all-consuming chasm opening up underneath you and threatening to swallow you whole. But you just need something. Just something small to finally tip you over.
"Farleigh, " you beg. And it's like he can just sense it. Or maybe he can just feel it in the way that your muscles have all coiled up and tensed in anticipation. Because you don't even have to ask or clarify before he's reaching down between your bodies and swiping his fingers over the slick, swollen bud of your clit in brushes that have your jaw dropping open.
"Farleigh!" This time you all but scream it as your body seizes almost violently, sweeping you underneath a blazing torrent. It's like being scalded by the sun in an exquisite burn, like breathing after drowning. It's pure pleasure. Complete ecstasy. And the entire time, you're fully aware of feel of Farleigh's body against your own. The way that his thrusts have gone choppy and lurching. You can still hear the way that he's moaning and whimpering even though it sounds muffled and distant and miles away while your brain goes blissfully blank from the brunt of all molten elation pouring throughout your limbs, making you go limp.
But even throughout all of the overwhelming pleasure taking over you, you hardly allow your eyes to flutter closed; desperate to see him come undone. You can tell that he's close. Just seconds from spilling over and getting swept up just as you had. And it has you squeezing yourself around him, desperate to urge him closer to his orgasm, despite the raw, sensitivity clinging to your nerves.
"I want you to cum, " you say breathlessly. His face twists up in response, and his hips twitch with just a bit more vigor. "Please, baby, I want to feel it. I need to feel you."
And that seems to be enough to tip him over the edge, because his body goes rigid, nearly curling in on itself while a torn, frayed moan rips from his lungs and the heat of his cum fills you. His breath catches while he uses you to ride out the rest of his orgasm, and his muscles shudder while he grinds into you with weak, uncoordinated thrusts before he goes lax with a strained gasp.
He lets himself go boneless on top of you, sinking into your body with a light, satisfied sigh. But the weight of him isn't uncomfortable. It feels good, and you have no desire to make him or yourself shift while you soak in the afterglow. Everything is hazy and comforting, and it feels as though all of the energy has been sapped from your body, but in the best way.
You can hear the birds outside again, singing and jovial, and the scent of the sweet summer air is still drifting through the window. It's pure peace, with the feel of his form up against you. All of the chemicals moving around in your brain make it difficult to focus, but even then, you're aware enough to notice him briefly reaching down to gather up the comforter, which had shifted in the mad scramble of your bodies to pull it up over the both of you.
And you can hear yourself moan quietly when he rotates you both without pulling himself out from the heat of your body. So now that you're the one tucked into the cradle of his chest, but all you get is a gentle hush in response. And with the heat radiating from his skin and the cushion of the blankets cocooned around you both it already has you slipping into the hold of sleep as you both settle. But even with the lull of unconsciousness threatening to spill over you, you can't hide from the volume of the emotions welling up within you. It all feels unexplainable. All-encompassing and bright. Like it might burst. Like it might eat you alive. But not violently. It's soft and delicate and fiery, and the sheer gravity of it has you struggling to grapple with it.
You know what it is. What you're feeling. But that's another step to take entirely.
"We've still got some time to catch up on some sleep, " you hear him mumble above you in a gentle rasp. "I'll wake you up."
You just hum in response, but not without placing a small peck onto his chest and nuzzling against him, purely content. And you think that you feel him place a kiss onto the crown of your head in turn and you're unable to fight the smile that curves at your lips.
You fall asleep in his arms with that single, world altering word on the tip of your tongue. A small, otherwise harmless but no doubt powerful word that sounds a lot like love.
#farleigh start x reader#farleigh x reader#farleigh start smut#farleigh saltburn#farleigh start#farleigh catton#saltburn fanfiction#saltburn x reader#saltburn movie#saltburn
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Fake texts au- pt.8 bffs with the rookies+ The Hangover
Lando being Lando with .jpg and Max and Charles are now involuntary babysitters
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lando.jpg
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Tagged: @/alex_albon @/arthur_leclerc @/logansargeant @/oscarpiastri @/its_y/n_love
lando.jpg "we will never drink again" just look at em lie
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landonorris i dont even know how y/n is alive rn
logansargeant fr I don't even remember getting back to the horel
its_y/n_love I DRAK TEQUILA FOR YOUR UNGRAEEFUL ASS SMH
arthur_leclerc WHY AM I IN A SHOPING CAT???
oscarpiastri why are we sleeping on the road?
its_y/n_love damn slide 5 logsn stole my bikch 😥
oscarpiastri more importantly why am i little spoon? hello?
logansargeant cause I'm built diffrnt 😤
maxverstappen Never get them near alcohol. ever again.
charlesleclerc atleast you didn't have to CLIMB UP A BUILDING TO GET ARTHUR AND LOGAN OKAY
maxverstappen THATS BECAUSE Y/N AND OSCAR KEPT RUNNING ONTO THE ROAD!!
alex_albon ... why am i crying im slide 4
oscarpiastri cause you weer flirting witn lily and she told you shee had a bf
alex_albon understandable
username omg not them drunk answering in the comments 😭
username ong what did they drink ?!?!?1
username tequila apparently
username girl ain't no tequila doin all that
username WE FINALLY FOUND HER GUYS
username lando.jpg coming in clutch 💪
username not her endangering the driver's life by sleeping on the road and pushing arthur in a shopping cart 🙄
username fr like this isn't funny they should stop being friends with her look what Max and Charles said
username can yall leave the poor girl alone! they're all adults it was their friends first point ofc they're gonna party ion see yall saying shit abt max and his redbull parties 🤨
After your wild night, it was Oscar who came through first, groaning at the awkward position he was sleeping in, his neck sore with a horribly tough and warm pillow under it. He tried shoving it off but was only met with soft groans and a 'fucking stop', well that was enough to wake up the Aussie.
He turned around to be face-to-face with his childhood best friend, he let out a small yelp and pushed himself off the small sofa they were sharing, waking up the others.
"Oh my god, please shut up," came the hoarse voice of his friend Y/n, from the other side of the bed, on which Alex was the only one sleeping, his phone still on Facetime with his girlfriend, Lily.
As Y/n began pulling herself up, a deep Monganesque voice protested, "Y/n, stop moving," making the young woman's eyes widen as she pulled her hand away from the shirtless f2 driver's chest.
"Why aren't you wearing your shirt?" She asked looking at the boy still lying down on the floor, head clutched in his hands, "actually, Albon, why don't you have your shirt either?" she asked pulling herself up and lending her hand to the struggling boy next to her.
"I can answer that," came a woman's garbled voice through Alex's phone making him jump up to grab it, "Arthur fell off the bed onto you and when you pushed him off he used his shirt as a pillow," 'oh, that's why my ribs hurt' the younger woman thought, throwing a look at her friend, "and Alex was 'literally on fire and going to kill whoever messed with the AC'" she said with air quotes, making her boyfriend turn red.
"Thanks, Lily, I'll call you later, love you." he spoke and cut the call, "Remind me to never ever drink with the four of you again."
"Oscar, you kick in your sleep," Logan complained as he sat up, exploring all the black and blue bruises on his body, "why do we look like we were in a fight club?" he asked out loud making the others look at themselves.
Oscar had a few scratches on his knees and arms, Arthur had bruises and scratches littered all across his palms and hands and a nasty hand-sized bruise on his back, Y/n had a swollen nose, with a deep-ish cut along her eyebrow, the only unscathed on was Alex.
They all got dressed not bothering to change, knowing whose room they were in and walked to the private buffet that had been set up for the driver staying in the hotel, courtesy of Paris Hilton's soft spot for Lando.
As soon as they walked in, they were greeted by Lando, smiling and laughing as he recorded with his phone.
"Merde, I'm going to die, shut the lights," the youngest Leclerc said as he threw himself on the chair, closest to him, letting his head fall back. Y/n was next to accept the defeat of being conscious, sitting and immediately letting herself slump over her head smacking the wooden table with a loud thud, the woman would have been hurt if Logan hadn't moved his hand under her face, letting it bear the brunt of the impact. The blonde wasn't in any better shape, throwing one of the table napkins on his face to block out all light and noise. Oscar was the last to sit, simply clutching his head in his hands, almost pulling out his hair, at the massive headache he had.
Soon after, the unwilling babysitters followed, scowling at the sight of the supposed adults who were in no condition to be awake.
"All four of you, delete my number from your phone," the Dutchman spoke as he sat down next to his British friend, "eighty-two calls of all of you singing Barbie girl at 2 IN THE MORNING," he yelled slightly making the four whine.
"Please for the love of god shut up," the Aussie spoke up surprising the three sober men.
"Arthur mate, what did you all drink?" his brother asked laughing.
"Last I remember were the shots," he answered in broken French and English.
"So you don't remember when you all ran out of the club and went to Costco?" Lando spoke with a smirk, "And Y/n pushed Arthur around in the parking lot in the shopping carts,"
"What?" the pair asked, the girl sitting up, letting the blonde take back his hand.
"Oh, that is not even the worst part," Charles continued, "You and Oscar stole traffic cones, put them over your head and began tackling each other, and slept on the road," he chuckled making the duo look at each other with wide eyes.
"Oh and let's not forget when Logan and Arthur climbed up a building," he said knudging the brunette next to him. The two in question looked sheepishly at the older men and back onto the table.
"I am never going to drink, ever again," Y/n groaned as she tried to keep her eyes open.
"Yeah right, let's see you in Vegas," The youngest Leclerc sniped, making the girl throw the napkin of Logan's face on Arthur.
"Hey, guys," Lando called out bringing everyone's attention to him, the six waited as Lando's eyes widened and widened, "WHY IS THERE A TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLAR CHARGE ON OSCAR'S COMPANY CARD?!"
oof this one was long af 😭 but I hope yall like how chaotic the boys get when they're with Y/n, cause we menaces frfr.
Taglist:
@dark-night-sky-99
@cashtons-wife
@i-wish-this-was-me
@thehufflepuffavenger1
#f1 x y/n#formula 1#f1 x you#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1#max verstappen#charles leclerc#lando norris#alex albon#alex albon x lily muni#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#arthur leclerc x reader#arthur leclerc#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant#fake texting au#fake text#fake texts#f1 smau#smau#social media au
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could i get jason, percy, and leo looking after an overly affectionate drunk reader (fem pls)
Drunk Reader (Fem)
Jason Grace
-The second he realizes you’re a bit too drunk he decides it’s time to go home. You were clinging to his neck making Jason hold your waist to ensure you wouldn’t fall.
-”But Jason I don’t want to go yetttt.” you complain to him slurring your words. Jason huffs a little fondly at that as he sweeps you off your feet carrying you bridal style.
-”Not even if we binge your favorite show and I cook you some breakfast?” he suggests. That was all the convincing you needed as you grumbled something into his chest, pressing yourself as close to him as you could get.
-Jason gives a goodbye to the rest of the group as he gets you home, carrying you the entire way. When you get home he works on making breakfast, but he has to work around having you right in front of him, since you could still be close and cuddle up with him.
-Even with that challenge he manages to get breakfast done, thanks to some cooking classes from Leo of course. You had been really thankful for that because Jason’s cooking was awful before…
-He gets you over to the sofa getting on your favorite show, while making sure you get plenty of water and eat a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, and plenty of toast to help with your eventual hangover.
Percy Jackson
-Everyone knew that you were clingy while drunk, it worked out sense Percy was just as clingy if not more. He’ll cling to you like a koala bear while the two of you take turns telling each other how much you love each other.
-The two of you were just having the time of your life dancing to Poker Face, which made you nearly cry laugh since Percy had told you about the whole Lotus Casino incident.
-You had plenty to drink and we’re busy drunkenly arguing over who loved the other more. “I love you to… To the bottom of the ocean!~” you huff unhappily at that crossing your arms as you were competitive. “Well… I love you to the moon and back!” That went on longer than you’re willing to admit.
-You both enjoy the night until the end of the night partying, drinking and eating plenty of food. You have to use each other for support and thankfully have Grover drive you both home. Though it was a bit of a struggle to get you away from Percy long enough to get you buckled up.
-When you get home you both crash into bed, knowing well that you were going to suffer a horrible hangover the next day. Which you did.
-Thankfully Percy was nice enough to make you pancakes in the morning. You were too hung over to care that they were radioactive blue.
Leo Valdez
-Ever had someone explain to you how a mechanical dragon works in less than an hour? Well you sure had now. Leo would go on longgg rants about things he was working on and different things that annoy him during his project.
-Not that you mind you were just contently snuggled up into his arm, enjoying your buzz as you listen to Leo rant. You decide you want to cuddle more and shift into his lap to cuddle up into his chest.
-He nearly catches you on fire but he quickly pats himself out, putting his arm on the top of the chair. “you uh, come here often?” he says, trying to play it off. You can’t help but laugh at that as you snuggle into his chest.
-He smiles lovingly and softly as he wraps his arms around you “I’m so lucky…” he mumbles as he presses a kiss to your head. “So damn lucky… Promise you won’t leave…” his voice was soft as if this was a secret between the two of you.
-”I promise…” you muttered softly as you were starting to nod off into the warmth of Leo’s arms. And just like that you were out like a light. It didn’t take long before Leo fell asleep soundly too, holding you close as if you’d leave him in his sleep.
-The other seven had to work on carrying you both out, since you both were out cold no matter how hard they tried to wake you up.
~Masterlist & Rules~
Like my writing? Please consider sending me a Ko-fi! ☕
#pjo#hoo#pjo x reader#hoo x reader#percy jackson#pjo fluff#hoo fluff#leo valdez x reader#leo valdez#jason grace x reader#jason grace#percy jackson x reader
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Humbly requesting the stay the night prompt of “wait…you’ve been here all night?” Pairing whatever. Just wanting to see this written out 💜
When you wake, the world feels like it’s trying to hammer you back unconscious.
“Shit…” You say immediately following your groan, pressing the heel of your palm to your eyes to quell the horrible pulsing pain there. The headache feels like it’s trying to carve inside your skull, and you can taste bile still on your lips, tacky in your mouth.
The hell happened last night? You think blearily, blinking in the brightness of late morning sunlight that filters through your curtains. It’s too bright, but when you twist to try and draw them closed your body aches in protest.
You try to recall the evening from the night before, recalling your giggling laughter as Soap slung an arm around your shoulder and dragged you over to the dance floor of the club. He and Gaz had belted out the lyrics to the songs, muffled by the pump of the speakers, had stumbled over to the bar and ordered more drinks. The rest is a dizzying haze of color and light, but judging from your clothes crumpled and the foul taste in your mouth, you can judge it didn’t go well.
“Fuckin hell…” You groan at a fresh wave of throbbing at your temples. Yet your stomach rumbles, empty and biting at your insides, and at last it forces you from bed, stumbling down the stairs of your flat towards the kitchen.
Yet as you enter inside you’re startled to find a gigantic, looming figure in a dark hoodie, mask bunched around his nose as he sips from a mug that seems far too small for his massive hands.
“Ghost?” You squeak in surprise, bracing in the doorway with shock clear across your face.
Ghost looks up at you, dark eyes not smudged with paint and clear behind his plain black balaclava. He doesn’t look surprised to see you at all, unlike you.
“Was beginning to wonder if you were dead.” He remarks flatly, holding your gaze for a long moment, just enough to make your cheeks burn. You’re still dressed in your clothes from last night, hair messy and makeup likely smudged to shit. Yet Ghost appears entirely nonplussed, at last turning towards the kettle.
“You don’t remember.” He observes, and when you shake your head you groan, the motion far too much for your hangover headache. He glances over his shoulder at you, nodding with meaning towards a chair at the kitchen table.
“Where’s Johnny…Gaz?” You ask as you gently lower yourself down, cradling your head in your hands.
“Probably still bollocksed.” Ghost declares, turning and leaning on the counter as the kettle simmers behind him. “They were bog-faced by the time they called me. Said you were fallen from grace, from what I could make out.”
You knew that much, can tell from the way your stomach distantly rolls with discontent. It doesn’t explain why he’s here.
“So what?” You ask, rubbing your temples. “You helped me home?”
Ghost shrugs, mouth quirking with a hint of amusement in a rare glimpse of his expression. “Held your hair while you got sick, made you drink some water, kept you from texting your ex…joking.” He supplies at your aghast expression. “Settled down on your couch to make sure you didn’t wander out into the streets.”
You blink at that, raising your head from your hands and snapping to look at him. “Wait…you’ve been here all night?”
Ghost shrugs again, but this time there’s a strange ounce of guardedness to it, like he’s reluctant to admit he kept watch.
“...and Soap and Gaz?” You venture, and that makes the wry, barely sinister smile return.
“Told ‘em to bugger off. Might have to go hunting in some alleys for them later.”
You aren’t sure whether to laugh or be horrified with the dryness of his tone, half-convinced he’s telling the truth. Before you can ask, the kettle whistles behind him and Ghost turns, pouring the hot water into a second mug.
“Bloody sergeants.” He sighs, a little irritated. “Should have never let them take you out. Can’t be trusted when they’re sloshed.”
There’s a tone there that’s frustrated, and rather than it sitting unhappily in your chest it instead makes you smile.
He was worried.
Ghost turns, sets the mug of tea on the table before you, his hand covering the top. Yet when you reach for it he doesn’t move, and you glance up to see his severe stare leveled down at you.
“No more getting pished.” Ghost tells you severely in a low murmur, and you grimace, duck your head in a rightful amount of shame.
“No more drinking with the sergeants.” You recite dutifully, and Simon huffs a sound that almost feels like a chuckle.
He stands over you, arms crossed as you blow at your tea, watches as you finish it, and you feel warm under his gaze.
#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#ghost x reader#ghost x you#simon riley x you#stay the night writing prompts#OK BUT I REALLY LIKED THIS ONE#I love Simon's sarcastic and kind of biting humor it's so fun to write#drabbles
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thinking about Simon taking care of reader when they're hungover :(
cw: sfw, gn!reader, possible ooc (but it's my writing so i do what i want), hangovers, vomiting, fluff
a/n: his was originally supposed to be a poly!141 x reader but I made the beginning too simon centered and then changed my plans lol
You woke up in the morning feeling like complete and utter garbage. You knew it was a bad idea to drink as much as you did the previous night, but Simon had just got back from a mission and you missed him. Now, you're suffering from a horrible hangover. Your head felt like it was about to explode and you could feel your stomach gurgling, a feeling of nausea building up in the back of your throat.
"Oh no," you mumble, quickly getting out of bed and rushing into your bathroom.
As soon as you reach the toilet, you lift the lid and proceed to empty your stomach of all its contents. It was a nasty sight and an even worse feeling.
Simon heard the commotion and made his way to the bathroom, where he saw you hurling into the toilet. He quickly kneeled beside you, holding back your hair and rubbing your back.
"There you go, let it all out," he says gently, watching as your stomach convulses, forcing the liquid out of your body. "You're alright. I've got you."
When you finished, you flushed the toilet and leaned against the wall, completely spent. "I'm not feeling so good, Simon," you say weakly.
"You're just hungover, love. Been a while since you last drank like that, yeah?" he says as he pulls you closer to him, not bothered by the remnants of vomit around your mouth. "How 'bout I draw you a nice bath and wash you up? Then, you can rest for a bit."
You nod your head in agreement. He gets up and starts to fill the bathtub with hot water.
When the tub is full, he helps you undress before undressing himself and climbing into the tub with you. You lean your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and breathing in the scent of his soap.
"How're you feelin'?" Simon asks, his hand gently splashing water on your chest.
"Like death," you say quietly.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Do you want some tea? Maybe that'll help settle your stomach."
"Mhm," you hum, still keeping your eyes closed.
"Alright. I'll get you some after we're done here," he pauses for a moment, before adding, "Love you, y'know."
A small smile creeps onto your face. "Love you too, Si. Sorry for making you take care of me after getting back home."
"I wouldn't want it any other way. I'd do anything to spend time with you," he replies as he kisses the top of your head. You don't respond, but based on the way you nuzzle your nose in his neck, he assumes you heard him.
After you're done with the bath, Simon helps you dress in a pair of his boxers and one of his shirts. He wraps his arms around your waist and leads you back to the bed, where he tucks you under the covers.
"Stay right here," he tells you before leaving the room.
You curl up under the blankets, pulling them tightly around yourself. The headache has returned with a vengeance, causing you to whimper.
Simon comes back into the room with a mug of steaming hot tea. He sets it down on the nightstand next to the bed. "Drink up," he says softly.
You take the mug from him and sip it slowly, the warm liquid soothing your aching throat. You drink half of it before setting the mug down. "Thank you," you say softly.
Simon climbs into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close to him. "Get some sleep, sweetheart. I'll be right here when you wake up."
You nod your head, letting yourself relax against his body. He runs his fingers through your hair and presses gentle kisses to your forehead, until eventually, you drift off to sleep.
#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost call of duty#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley imagine#simon riley fluff#ghost fluff#ghost imagine#simon riley x you#ghost cod#ghost mw2#ghost x you
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LOVER BOY ⠀,⠀ george clarke.
synopsis ✩ what it’s like dating george clarke!
warnings: mentions of sexual behavior.
authors note: i have had so much muse and inspiration to write for george recently. love our silly guy so bad! i also have tried to write more sexual content for my thirsty folks out there so i hope it lives up to expectations. arthur next ;)
• love language is either gift giving or psychical touch!
• is the type of boyfriend that will randomly pick up things from the shop for you without you even asking.
• “want anything?” “no, i’m alright.” and then he comes back with your favorite snacks and a stupid little trinket.
• a big lover of hugs from behind + adds little kisses on your neck and shoulders when he does.
• will not let you be the big spoon ever, im sorry mates.
• he always has to be the big spoon. i have a feeling he definitely likes feeling like the more masculine person in the relationship.
• but LOVES to lay his head in your lap and let you play with his hair.
• kisses your thighs sometimes when he does because he knows it gives you butterflies.
• leaves hickeys there where only he can see them.
• doesn’t mind pda, but doesn’t overdo it. when youre out he will hold your hand and put his arm around your waist, but isn’t one to kiss you in public unless it’s an appropriate moment.
• his go to nicknames for you are probably “darling” and “love”, he’s pretty simple.
• likes to be dominant in bed, but also doesn’t mind when you ride him and pull on his hair slightly.
• always sends you the stupid black cat and white cat memes, but they are so accurate.
• loves when you tag around with his friends. bonus points if you do content creation, he likes when you all film together.
• he jokes about loving arthur(tv) more than he loves you, so you joke about also loving arthur more than you love him! have to keep that shit even
• but at the end of all the jokes he knows he loves you more than anything and you appreciate him the same.
• probably a jealous boyfriend though, wont lie.
• not in like a “don’t ever look at her!” way, but in a “im gonna give you hickeys all over your neck to show you’re mine” kind of way 🤭.
• secretly a massive sweetheart though.
• if you ever come home wasted from a night out with friends, he will clean you up and help you get changed.
• “you take such good care of me😌” and he just starts laughing about how absolutely GONE you are.
• and in the morning when you’re suffering from a horrible hangover he will bring you water and little snacks while you rest!
• might not be the best cook, but will attempt to cook your favorite foods on little date nights.
• even if it goes terribly wrong, you still appreciate it nonetheless.
• falls under golden retriever category alongside chris and ginge of course!
• super super giddy when you get home from wherever and he just gets to spend the rest of the night with you.
• dare i say baby i’m yours - arctic monkeys cover is the song you listen to and think of him.
• the type of boyfriend to wake you up at 4am to go watch the sunrise from a hilltop or the beach.
• love’s spontaneous little adventures like that!
• definitely books little trips on short notice just to surprise you.
• always always up for an adventure. you two have definitely faced your fears together with activities like rock climbing, bungee jumping, etc.
• prefers to go out for dates rather than stay in, but loves to have a lazy night with you where you two watch films and have snacks.
• would be hesitant to raise a dog or cat with you due to the responsibility, so he’d settle for a lil fish.
#george clarke#george clarkey#george clarkey x reader#george clarke x reader#chaos crew#chrismd#sidemen#callux#ksi#miniminter#sidemen fanfic#calfreezy#chrismd x reader#fanfic#arthurtv#arthurtv x reader#arthur frederick
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@KAELOHVER☆
DRUNKEN CONFESSIONS
Summary: In a drunken state, you confess your romantic feelings to them (possibly ooc for Nikolai)
•CHUUYA NAKAHARA
Chuuya chuckled, passing you some more wine as of your request whilst you recalled something from earlier in the day to him.
You’re both in the Mafia so one day you decided to ask Chuuya if he’d like to drink together at a local bar.
Of course, he’d only really seen you at work, (which somehow still solidified his feelings for you) so he was quite discreetly happy at the invitation.
Eventually, you found yourselves in a routine of drinking at each other’s houses atleast every 2 weeks (it’s usually one but work can be rather long and tiring) and frequently texting or chatting in other ways.
Which is how you found yourself getting rather drunk at Chuuya’s apartment.
Despite Chuuya’s love for wine, he’d declined drinking for a moment so he could finish off a report to Mori due tomorrow.
He hadn’t meant to be so late with finishing it but by the time he had, you’d been drunk already.
"Oi, Chuuyaa…" You whine, hiccuping briefly as you stare at the finger in front of you.
His eyes widened at your whining before a small smile appeared on his face, “What’s up?”
“You—You’re up~” You giggled, smiling at him with a flushed and drunken look.
He didn’t breath for a second, your giggle replaying through his mind over and over again.
"Hey, I haven’t even started drinking yet and you’re already drunk.. Wait next time, would ya?” He huffed out, crossing his arms jokingly.
You giggled even more at that, “Ehh, Sorry, Chuu!”
He paused for a moment before he blushed and turned his head away, muttering about how you had no idea what you do to him.
"Hey, Chuuya.. Wanna know who I have a crush on?” You suddenly questioned, seemingly unaware of your drunken blubbering.
His eyes widened once again, he knew he really shouldn’t but he supposes it wouldn’t hurt if you probably wouldn’t remember the outcome…
So, he nodded and watched you excitedly begin talking.
“M’kay! He’s ginger, he has r—really great fashion sense and is a Mafia executive!” You exclaimed, unaware of how obvious it was in your current state.
For a third time that evening, his eyes widened, much more than the previous times. He’d never really seen any other male Mafia executives with ginger hair with a good fashion sense (which, in his opinon, he had).
He wasn’t aware of any Mafia’s around here and it’s not like Mori thinks they ought to involve ourselves with any…
“Oh? And what name does this man have?” He asks, tilting his head in false confusion.
"Chuuya..” you mutter, hiccuping twice.
His mouth opens for a moment then shuts again before opening again, “..Ha?”
You nod excitedly, immediately chugging the rest of the glass of wine you’d been given earlier.
He doesn’t say anything, too flustered to reply and too worried that you’ll forget in the morning.
Very surprisingly, he decides not to touch his wine and instead offers to have you sleep over at his house in a guest room.
You agreed happily despite your hesitation to get up and go to the room a while later.
He did end up drinking a lot whilst you slept…
You did eventually go to sleep in the guest room, waking up with a horrible hangover the next day and ending up not going to work.
You did, in fact, not remember in the morning.
So Chuuya took the chance to plan a romantic confession for another time!
•OSAMU DAZAI
Dazai groaned as the doorbell went, getting off his couch and opening the door reluctantly.
He’d expected Kunikida or some package that was meant for his neighbours but instead got delivered to him.
Instead, he found you in a drunken state.
“Oh? What pleasure do I owe for you to come to see me at this hour?” He asked, smiling teasingly.
“B—bastard, you’re… a bastard” you immediately start, hiccuping between sentences.
He sighed at that, it truly reminded him of Chuuya when he drinks.
Except you seem less generally angry and more emotional.
"Now, now, that’s very rude!” He dramatically replied, putting his hands on his hips.
You groaned at that, accidentally stumbling into the brunette’s arms.
He tilted his head at you when you didn’t move, seemingly too drunk and unable to move.
“Woah, it seems like I’ll have to carry you inside!” He exclaimed, not giving you much time to process before picking you up bridal-style.
You squeaked at that, burying your face in his chest.
He smiled for a brief moment before he muttered something you couldn’t understand in your state, “cute..”
You said nothing, suddenly feeling incredibly sleepy once he put you down on his couch.
He noticed that and decided it would be better for you to be around another person when you were drunk, even if it meant being around him.
You could hear Dazai complaining in a dramatic way along with him muttering a goodnight before you said something unknowingly.
“Love.. you, ‘Samu..”
He paused for a couple minutes, watching you fall to sleep with a blush on his face.
First of all, you said his actual name and second of all, you told him you loved him.
He is so gonna tease you about loving him jokingly before asking you out.
•NIKOLAI GOGOL
You and Nikolai had decided to have a night where you drink together every month out of pure boredom, which usually landed on a Friday.
So, today was one of those days and it was going pretty normal up until Nikolai suggested whoever gets drunk first would have to share a big secret with the other.
You, wanting a secret off of Nikolai, felt pretty fine with the arrangement.
What you didn’t think of is that he’d trick you into losing.
Of course, Nikolai tricks everyone, but you weren’t really thinking properly at the time.
So, here you are now, extremely wasted and clinging to him.
“Woah, it seems I’ve won, dove!” He excitedly revealed, relishing in the frustrated facial expression you wore.
"Ehh.. Nikolaiiii, it’s not fair!” You complained, stumbling a bit as you attempted to get off the bar stool.
He simply snickered, helping you get off the stool and walking with you to the taxi he had arranged not long ago (he was definitely going to blackmail the driver if you didn’t pay).
The walk was weirdly fast, with you falling in and out of conscious due to the alcohol.
When you did finally get into the taxi, you and him sat at the back.
“Hey, dear, what do you say to doing this next Friday?” He asked, smirking in victory.
“Hmm… No c—competition” you muttered tiredly, leaning onto his shoulder.
He whined at that before hesitantly nodding, “Fine!”
You didn’t properly reply to that, instead watching the cars go by outside the window.
“Alright! Enough silence, tell me your crush!” He suddenly shouted, making the driver awkwardly turn up the radio.
You huffed before accidentally muttering “Nikolai.. I think”in a drunken haze.
He is silent for like 2 seconds before he’s harassing you for not saying it earlier whilst you were sober…
Eventually, you fall asleep on him, much to his delight.
He doesn’t care whether you remember or not, he’s going to tease you endlessly.
If you really don’t then he might confess to you before telling you about your revelation, he also might not though.
#kaelohver🎋#bsd x reader#bsd x you#bsd x gender neutral reader#bsd x y/n#dazai hcs#dazai headcanons#dazai x reader#dazai x y/n#chuya x reader#chuuya x you#chuuya headcanons#chuuya x reader#nakahara chuuya x reader#chuuya hcs#nikolai x reader#nikolai x you#nikolai headcanons#Nikolai hcs#nikolai gogol x reader
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One Night Stand
Bucky Barnes x Reader
A/N: I don't know if anyone's noticed, but Clint Barton is my muse and he runs the cult...that I'm...in (I hope we get the reference or I sound insane). I just like writing silly Clint into my silly stories, I just noticed that theme.
TW: cursing, mentions of glass, mentions of injury,
Summary: You wake up the night after one of Tony Starks' biggest parties. And you're not in YOUR bedroom.
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Tony Stark x reader (platonic), Bruce Banner x reader (platonic)
You wake up, light streaming through the blinds onto your face. You groan. This is why you got rid of the blinds, light always came through them.
...wait a minute.
You already got rid of the blinds.
You shot up in your bed. The bed. It wasn't yours. This pillow wasn't yours, this black comforter wasn't yours, and these clothes...
Holy mother fucker of Odinson.
You weren't wearing any clothes.
"What the fuck?" You say, out loud and clear. Something stirs in the bed.
You look over in horror, and an unidentified lump is hidden beneath the covers.
Okay, you think. Nows your chance. Nows your chance to be a reasonable adult, and talk this out with this person.
(Within seconds you have gathered your lost articles of clothing and dashed out of the strangers room).
You were lucky in a sense, the sense being that this person lived in the tower that your best friend owned. Him and all his avenger friends lived here, and he gave you a room on his floor that you used sometimes.
Oh shit.
You slept with an avenger.
And it wasn't even Thor. He wasn't ok earth right now. That sucked. He was on your bucket list.
You sat on your bed, pouting mostly, wanting desperately to nurse your throbbing hangover.
You didn't quite have the guts to leave the room just yet. You remembered the in-building AI right at that moment.
"Friday," you croacked out. Your mouth was horribly dry, and you were also in desperate need of some chapstick. "Where's Tony?"
You weren't sure exactly the extent of what the AI could do, but she seemed happy to answer you.
"Mr. Stark is in his lab, accompanied by Dr. Banner. Would you like me to page him for you?"
"Can I just...go there?" You asked. Your room was much darker, having black out curtains instead of blinds.
Curse the blinds. And their creator. Edward Bevan. Curse him.
"Of course, Miss L/n."
Luckily for you, you knew where Tony's lab was, and what floor number to press in the elevator.
You kept your eyes closed on the blinding ride down, the bright fluorescent lights giving you an aneurysm.
The lights in the lab were even worse.
You walked into the room, eyes squinted and using your hands to shield yourself. Tony clearly found this hilarious, chuckling like an idiot.
Not even chuckling. The bastard was giggling.
"Lights not made for a hangover sweetheart," He shook his head, and you shit him a snarl and a death glare. Bruce gave you a sympathetic look and was holding out a bottle of water.
"You know any trusted detectives?" You asked, smiling at Bruce, and taking the drink from him gratefully.
"Ooh, for what?" Tony asked, looking intrigued. "Spill the tea sis."
You did, two mouths were agape when you finished.
After a minute of silence, Tony whips his head towards Bruce, "Was it-?"
"No!" Bruce scowls, then cringes and looks at you. "Not that-...I'm not saying...I wasn't even drinking last night, I would remember."
"Oh-kay," Tony says, exasperated. "We'll it wasn't me-"
"Thank god."
"It wasn't...Thor."
"Unfortunately."
"And it wasn't Peter...he doesn't have a room here."
"And he's a child!" You mention, giving Tony a disgusted look.
He waves you off, tapping a little metal tool to his forehead, presumably to help him think.
"Anything you remember? Did you get a look at them?"
You think about what you could possibly remember. Last thing last night was downing shots with Tony and a bunch of his friends, and getting told names you didn't commit to memory.
"They still have blinds in their room," you throw out there, shrugging. Nothing else came to mind.
"Friday," Tony calls out. "How many avengers on the 93rd floor have blinds in their room still?"
"About 7 sir," she answers. The only woman who would ever call Tony Stark, and the likes of him, sir.
"Which ones?"
"Mr. Rogers, Mr. Wilson, Vision, Miss Romanoff, Mr. Barton, Mr. Barnes, and Dr. Banner."
"Yay!" Tony says, and you can't pin if it was sarcastic. "That leaves six."
"Yay," you and Bruce both answer monotonously.
"Hmm," Tony taps his chin. "Do you think putting out a message, asking who got laid recently, would be too bold."
"A little," you responded, arms crossed.
Tony sat down at his table, you following, and poor Bruce too, who clearly was sucked into this against his better judgement.
"You don't happen to remember what room?"
You did not. You had dashed so quickly, and it all kinda looked the same.
"Who do you want it to be?" Tony whispered. "We can just...let you pick and say you did 'em."
"Bartons kinda hot," you shrugged.
"Bartons kinda married," Tony mimicked your expression.
"He was...big...er..."
"Are you fat shaming your fuck buddy y/n?"
"No! I'm just saying...They werent...I dont think it was Natasha."
"Yeah, neither do I. So, assuming Bartons faithful, that leaves three men and a robot."
"Does vision have a-..."
"No."
"So then, that's three men," you say.
○○○
Tony invited you to lunch with the team. Subtle.
You, him, and poor Bruce (still looped into the mess) stood at the back of the room.
"Okay, so...I was thinking," Bruce starts. Tony looks surprised at the input and begs him to go on. "Well, if everyone's here, you can go look at those threes rooms, and see if they look...familiar?"
Bruce's suggestion let's a hush fall over the three of you.
○○○
The first room you entered, Sam Wilson's. You knew immediately it wasn't the right one, it being surprisingly bright in nature.
But, you were a nosy little fucker, and therefore when you saw the pictures that, from afar, looked a lot like Captain America fanart, you had to take a gander.
A few cellphone photos later, and you stuffed the drawings back into the drawer they were sticking out of. You thought about the luxury snooping would be, but figured your luck was being pressed already.
The next room was right next to it, belonging to Bucky Barnes.
You turned the handle of the door, carefully making your way in while watching the hallway. You had to be sure no one saw you enter.
Your back still to the room, you carefully and quietly shut the bedroom door. You had your phone still out, in your right hand.
You turned around, and dropped the Stark branded cellphone to the ground. It was new, without a case, therefore you were probably shit out of luck.
You didn't have time to check on it though, because your bright ass didn't check the room for occupants.
Well, occupant. The occupant.
Bucky Barnes.
The blinds were open, shining midday light into the room. The dark bedding was in a disarray ok the mattress, a clear indicator of a rush out of it.
The man looked at you, mouth slightly agape. Your mind was racing, a thousand miles a minute, trying to find a good way to break the silence.
"Did I have have sex with you?" You wanted to slap yourself silly.
He seems to have to take the time to pick his jaw up off the floor. He clears his throat (ew, fuck, was that attractive? Were you attracted to that?), and says, "Well...maybe I need to explain a few things."
"Do you?" You question, your voice about ten octaves above where it normally sat. How many times could you ask yourself, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
He seemed to swallow (and you only noticed because you were absolutely OGLING his features), and trys to talk, coming up with nothing.
He motions for you to sit down on the little couch he had, matching his dark aesthetic.
"Let me just tell you what happened last night."
○○○
"Do you still have a dartboard?!" You screamed into Tony's ear. No reason to. It was the after party of the real party, the only people left were the residents of the tower.
"Ooh! Yes! Darts!" Tony hopped up, like a joyful child.
"No!" Steve grabbed the back of Tony's shirt, pulling him back. Tony's dramatic ass flopped himself onto the floor, whining like a toddler.
"I never get to do anything fun!"
You had abandoned the idea of darts, and were now playing a game of dodgeball with Clint. Except that there were no balls, only drinking glasses.
It was around that time the sober members elected to take the drunkest of the drunk to bed.
Steve took Tony, Bucky chose you over Clint (leaving Nat stuck with him).
Clint collapsed himself to the floor, smashing his knee on a pile of drinking glass shards (you had missed).
"Point by omission!" You yelled like a battle cry.
Bucky touched your shoulder, "Cmon doll, let's head to bed."
"For you? Anything!" You threw the glass you were holding in Clints direction, and he screamed at you in Arabic (no one knew Clint spoke Arabic. Upon questioning, neither did he).
Bucky got you to the hallway, and that was about as much as he could do without picking you up and carrying you to bed, which he admitted he would have if you didn't scream in protest when he tried.
He led you to your room, and left.
He got in his bed, closed his eyes, and let out a breath. Before he could process the sound of his door open, you catapulted yourself onto the bed.
Apparently, he tried to send you back a couple times, but after that you would start removing articles of clothing everytime you came in.
Well, that explained that situation.
"So I eventually just let you stay," Bucky shrugged. "I was tired."
You couldn't decided whether to laugh or cry, finally saying, "Holy fuck, I'm so sorry."
Bucky let out a loud laugh, his smile cresting dimples under his eyes, "Trust me, don't worry about it. Steve is a much worse drunk."
"I'm gonna need that story."
"I could tell it to you over dinner," You almost don't take it in before saying yes. You only hesitate slightly, before smiling and agreeing.
That smooth fucker.
#bucky barnes#marvel#bucky barnes x reader#avengers x reader#bucky barnes x female reader#tony stark#bruce banner#clint barton#natasha romanoff#steve rogers#marvel mcu#one night stand
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r. lupin — flirting
Pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader
Summary: in which y/n flirts every chance she gets and remus can’t help but secretly love it
Warnings: suggestive language (it’s a fluff fic tho!), pregnancy (?, just toward the end)
was y/n good at flirting? yes and no. she was horrible at flirting with other people, absolutely horrible. but there was one person that she were somehow amazing at flirting with.
remus lupin.
she wasn't sure why. she figured it was the shyness or the fact that he only really spoke to lily evans or his best friends james potter, sirius black, and peter pettigrew. other people he tended to cut conversations short or he pretended to have to go. he never seemed to fancy being around other people.
that's what made her so interested in him. how couldn't she be?
"come on, y/n! we'll be late!" y/f/n called out, pulling y/n out of the common room and rushing down the corridor. y/n huffed and followed quickly behind her rushed friend.
finally arriving in potions, y/f/n took their seat next to their boyfriend/girlfriend/partner, leaving her to wander over to your usual seat. one she had next to a certain nerdy, quiet yet witty boy. most of the time in potions, she could hear him mutter some smart comment under his breath, making her giggle and earn herself a detention. though he usually muttered a quiet apology and focused on the potion instead of trying to get her out of the detention, she never took offense and shrugged it off. always.
the bell rang, and like clockwork, four boys burst inside. one had black, unruly hair and rectangular glasses. another was handsome with black, long hair and stormy grey eyes. the shortest one was giggling, fixing his uniform on his stubby body. the last, y/n's personal favorite, was a tall and lanky boy who had more scars than bare skin and slightly toned arms.
there were many things no one noticed about remus, things that y/n did. he always wore baggy clothes, but when he brought his sleeves up he had toned and slight muscle to his arms, or how when he stretch his shirt would ride up just enough for her to see the muscle that had likely built up over the years.
"take a seat boys, class is just about the begin..." slughorn sighed, like he did almost every day.
"no problem sluggy." james potter, the quidditch jock of the group, grinned, making his way to sit next to lily evans, his (to her misfortune as she proclaimed falsely) potions partner.
"say, did you do something to your hair today?" sirius asked in fake curiosity, earning a stern nod over to his seat from slughorn. both he and peter walked over to their seats, along with remus, who quickly sat next to y/n.
"hey handsome." y/n winked, smiling teasingly at him. remus gave a small smile back, used to this kind of behavior from her.
"hi y/n." he replied quietly, getting out some of the essentials for today's lesson, which had been written by slughorn on the blackboard.
"today, my bright students, we'll be brewing the draught of peace. a potion you should all be familiar with. it'll take up most of the class time, and afterward, i want you to test them on each other. but only a small dosage, as too much and brewed wrongly can result in a very long and irreversible sleep. the recipe for this commonly used potion is on page 342 of your textbooks. you may begin."
y/n took quick notice to how slughorn sat down at his desk and lied his head down. while she wasn't always observant, it was a little clear that their professor was recovering from a strong hangover.
"don't you just love it when our teacher tasks us with O.W.L potions because he can't handle his liquor." y/n mumbled, turning your page to the one slughorn had mentioned.
"oh definitely...it's right next to when james and sirius drink on a school night." remus replied sarcastically.
she chuckled, "sounds fun."
"very. especially when i wake up to one of them vomiting in the bathroom." remus grinned, walking off to retrieve some ingredients.
y/n watched him grab the things, fighting the urge to think of any flirtatious comments. instead, she placed her cauldron on the table and started reading the instructions.
when he finally returned, they both started on the potion.
"okay, now add the powdered unicorn horn. the right amount, y/n, i would rather not be put in a irreversible sleep because of your antics." remus remarked, watching y/n carefully as she measured out the ingredient.
"gee, you sure have a way with words for such a big..." she glanced down flirtatiously, "mouth. don't worry remus, i can handle such a large task. though i'm sure that's not the only large thing i can handle-"
"y/n!" remus gasped quietly.
y/n acted nonchalant and added the horn, looking over for the next ingredient. stir until red.
"alright now stir." y/n said, nodding at the cauldron. remus nodded and started stiring, making her smirk and watch him. he fought his blush hard under her gaze, but he couldn't help it.
y/n felt giddy every time she could make him blush. it felt accomplishing for some reason.
"am i making you nervous, mr. prefect?" she asked, leaning against the desk with a smirk.
"no, just not used to being stared at creepily." remus retorted, stiring still.
"oh i highly doubt that, such a handsome face and an even better smile, i doubt you don't get stared at." y/n replied. remus rolled his eyes, making her frown momentarily, but nonetheless she regained her confidence as soon as his lip twitched upward.
—
after the two them finished their potion and tested it, and helped mediate a argument between lily and james, class quickly came to an end. the bell rang and slughorn shot up, bringing all of the attention to himself.
"good work today! for homework i want you all to write a small essay on the draught of peace potion and its history, which will be due on friday. have a wonderful night and i'll see you all tomorrow." slughorn said, walking out quickly.
y/n groaned and started shoving her things back into her bag. she wasn't very good at researching, mainly because she always seemed to get distracted on anything else. and there was also the fact that she hated essays in general.
remus looked over at the girl, wondering why exactly she had been groaning. under her breath, he could hear her mumbling about being rubbish at research and essays. he contemplated his next decision for a moment. should he ask her to study? though he didn't admit to it, he quite enjoyed the girls company at times. but did he really want to deal with your obvious flirting for minutes or maybe even hours?
his mind immediately answered yes, even if every time she flirted he struggled to refrain from kissing her right then and there to shut her up. lovingly of course.
"hey, do you want to study with me for this essay?" he asked, making y/n look up quickly. she smiled widely and nodded.
"of course, i'd love to." she replied.
"alright—um, just meet me in the library thursday at three?" he suggested awkwardly. y/n grinned.
"alright, i look forward to our date," she winked and walked off, swinging her bag over her shoulder. remus watched her as she did, smiling subtly at how she'd subconsciously fix her hair or how she'd laugh at whatever y/f/n had just said.
"did you, moonikens, just land yourself a date with someone who has so painfully obvious been into you for some time now?" a teasing voice behind him ask. remus rolled his eyes.
"it's not a date, pads, i'm just helping her study." remus replied, swinging his bag over his shoulder while the pair waited for james and peter.
"well, i can tell you that my study dates don't usually end in just studying," sirius said, nudging remus.
"he means they end in blowjobs." james said bluntly. remus scrunched up his nose, "well, i gathered that much."
"merlin, let's just please get to the kitchens..." peter mumbled.
——
the date had come faster than expected, much faster. so much so, that y/n almost forgot about it. she had so much piled onto herself, with homework assignments.
"y/n, don't you have that date or something?" y/f/n asked, shutting their book and looking up at their friend.
y/n nodded and looked at the clock.
2:55 p.m. it read.
she gasped and shot up, throwing her things inside her bag. bidding a quick goodbye, she ran out of her common room and started toward the stairs.
"watch it!"
"hey!"
"woah!"
y/n could care less how many people she bumped into, she didn't want to be late. lupin likely wouldn't wait for her if she was. once she reached the library, she stumbled through, ignoring madam pinces glare, and ran toward a dirty-blonde haired boy.
throwing herself in the seat in front of him, she took deep breaths, panting quietly.
his watch rang and remus smirked, turning his arm so that she could see it.
3:00 p.m.
"right on time, l/n," he grinned.
"aw, are we back to last name basis again?" y/n mumbled, pouting playfully.
remus rolled his eyes and took out his own materials for their potions essay, making her do the same.
"okay, we could start by using our text books to find the basic information. you don't seem to open yours much," remus said teasingly.
y/n grinned, "why would i, when i have someone so much better to look at in potions?" remus quickly caught on and flushed a light pink, rolling his eyes.
"anyway, we can finish this essay in about an hour and a half i say, sound good?" remus asked, looking up at y/n.
"sounds great, handsome," y/n replied nonchalantly. unbeknownst to her, remus felt a little jittery every time she called him that.
as the hour and a half passed, y/n was surprisingly the first to finish her essay. remus wrote his last sentence as y/n began to fidget in her seat and toss her muggle stress ball into the air and caught it.
"okay! i am done!" remus grinned, quietly shutting his text books and putting away his essay.
"cool, and it's only 4:30," you smirked.
remus leaned back in his chair. "y'know, you didn't have to wait up for me...you'd could've gone..."
y/n shrugged and grinned slyly, "i know, but i wanted to. besides, now that we're both done, we can hang out!"
"no, look," remus shook his head, "i'm a bore and you'd immediately want to leave,"
y/n raised her eyebrow. "sounds like a challenge, what do you got?"
remus chuckled and shrugged. "okay...want to go to the kitchens and make tea and then read?"
y/n thought for a moment. she wasn't one to stay still very well, that much was obviously since she was a young girl. however, doing this with remus didn't sound all too unappealing.
she leaned closer. "can you read to me?"
remus flushed as she grinned at her suggestion, and although it wasn't technically, it felt inherently intimate. she clearly didn't see it this way, so he couldn't either. he smiled warmly at her and nodded.
"yeah, i'll read to you." he smiled.
——
remus's voice was low and calming, and for some reason, felt like music in her ears. y/n laid her head on his lap, looking up at him as he read from the book. he had begun stroking her hair, making this situation even more relaxing.
she sat up for a moment, taking a sip of her tea, handing remus his cup as he asked for it. he paused his reading and smiled at her.
"you sure you're not bored yet?" he asked.
y/n shook her head. "of course not! i'm getting really into the story. mr. darcy is an ass, isn't he?" she took another sip of the tea.
remus nodded and chuckled. "he gets better, i promise."
"he better," y/n said, making a face, "elizabeth needs something better than that,"
"yes, she does," remus agreed. "if anything, you remind me of her,"
y/n grinned and raised an eyebrow teasingly. "do i? does that make you my mr. darcy?"
remus rolled his eyes playfully, pulling her to lay back down on his lap. "you wish...now, let me finish the chapter."
"as you wish, mr. lupin," y/n teased, remus' actions eliciting a laugh from her.
and for a moment as remus read and as y/n listened, y/n wasn't going out of her way to flirt obnoxiously with the boy and remus wasn't going out of his way to reject or wave off her attempts. instead, she listened to his silky voice and entered a relaxing mindset as she closed her eyes. meanwhile, remus glanced down at the girl every so often and couldn't help the ever growing smile on his face.
bonus:
remus lupin closed the book he held quietly, looking down at y/n who's eyes snapped open.
"was that really the end?" she frowned.
"well, there's a sequel, but i figured we should start it tomorrow," remus suggested. "we have that appointment early tomorrow,"
"but! but—it's not even that important? what're they gonna tell me? that the baby is growing hands? thanks, i would hope so!" y/n protested, sitting up with a struggle at the growing stomach she currently had. she wasn't too far along, but that didn't make it any easier to manage.
"these appointments are important, remember what lily told you?" remus lectured. "i promise we can start the sequel tomorrow..."
y/n frowned, pouting. "you're no fun."
remus placed a hand on her stomach, feeling a light kick, making y/n grin slightly. "one of us has to be the bad parent,"
"we both agreed it would be me," y/n reminded.
"we'll see when he's born, mrs. lupin," remus grinned.
y/n smiled warmly. "i suppose we will, mr. lupin."
#remus john lupin#remus lupin#remus x reader#remus x you#james potter#sirius black#peter pettigrew#the marauders#the marauders era
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Omg your witches forest Colby fic was SO GOOD you should write fluff for Sam 🙏
𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 | sam golbach x gender neutral reader
summary: sleeping in + breakfast in bed from your boyfriend, after a party in the traphouse
a/n: sorry this is pretty short, the request was vague so i tried my best :)
words: 900
you wake up to a sudden noise, blaring across the room. sams phone jolted loudly on his bedside table, vibrating against the wood. holding your hands to your ears, you hear a groan, and feel a visible presence leaving the bed.
peeking your eyes open, you see your boyfriend standing up, on his phone attempting to turn of the alarm. you watched as he kept mis clicking the off button.
he let out a frustrated sigh of relief, before averting his eyes to you. sam frowns, upset he had awaken you so early, after a party. he climbs back into bed, his arms surrounding you. "i'm sorry baby, i had no idea i had an alarm set." he mumbled huskily into your neck.
yawning, you replied. "it's okay, m just tired."
in seconds, a pounding feeling attacks your head, causing you to wince. your hand flies to your forehead, holding it tightly. "fuck." you grumble.
sam looks at you, remorseful for letting you drink so much the night before. he should've been watching you more carefully. "hey, it's okay, we don't have to move at all." he smiles at you, getting into a more comfortable position so he's able to hold you against his chest.
you squint, your mouth dry, sticky with thick saliva. sam notices you swallowing a few times, before handing over his waterbottle to you.
the instant relief of cold water hits your throat, and you moan at the feeling, before passing it back to him. he gazed at you, seeing you curl up into his chest and holding onto him.
you felt his hand graze your cheek, you pulling up the comforter to cover both of you again. "you're so beautiful y/n." you hear, before you drift back to sleep, it overtaking you.
he looks at you in awe, wondering how he got so lucky. he thinks back to the first time he met you, almost two years ago.
colby had invited him to one of his friends parties, and you were there, upstairs sitting alone on a beanbag. that night you had lost all your energy within the first hour, deciding to distance yourself from the loud noise.
when he saw you from across the room, his jaw dropped, himself in awe at the person infront of him. he remembers how nervous he was approaching you. at first it was rocky, but once you truly began chatting and opening up to eachother, sam fell in love, realizing how amazing and genuine you were.
he sighs, reminiscing, still observing your sleeping presence.
sam felt horrible that you were dealing with a hangover, and wanted to make the experience the farthest from miserable for you, so he slowly retreated away, trying not to wake you once more before heading into the kitchen.
he had always dreamed of being a house husband, making food and taking care of the house, so having the opportunity to make you breakfast in bed made him so excited.
taking precautions, he slowly took out the pans, not wanting to have them clash and wake you up. sam wasn't too sure on exactly what to make, so he went with a classic traditional breakfast in bed.
he turned the knobs on the stove, and set the pans on the burners. waiting for them to heat up, he grabbed two champagne glasses, filling one with orange juice, and the other apple, knowing you enjoy both.
after about thirty minutes, sam had finished cooking, now plating all of the food aesthetically before taking a picture of it to post onto his instagram story. he wrote a caption for it. 'surprising my girlfriend with breakfast in bed :)'
he felt so proud of himself, and giddy to see your reaction. he made sure to include eggs, bacon, toast, crepes, a croissant and some fruits.
setting his phone back down, he carried the tray up the stairs and into your shared bedroom. he placed it carefully onto the bed, before slightly opening the curtains to let some sun in.
sam rubbed your shoulder, waking you up gently.
you yawned, seeing him sitting infront of you. he smiled happily then normal, and then you noticed the tray on the bed. it took a few seconds until you realized what that meant and why it was there, but when it clicked you launched into his arms, hugging him tight. "awh sammm."
he chuckles. "i thought you would like some breakfast in bed." you begin to tear up, never experiencing someone care about you as much as sam did. "babyy." he says to soothe you, still rubbing your back. "you have a whole platter to eat, it's going to cool down."
you giggled, sniffling slightly. you reached out to one of the glasses, drinking juice, before biting into a croissant. "thank you sam, really." you say, as he watches you. "you better eat some too."
sam beamed, immediately grabbing a fork and taking a few bites from the eggs. he sat you on his lap, and you continued to enjoy breakfast together, taking the rest of the day to relax, and love eachother.
and eventually, you yawned once more, in the arms of your boyfriend. "i love you y/n."
"i love you too sam."
#sam and colby#sam golbach#samandcolby#colby brock#colbybrock#sam golbach x reader#sam golbach fluff#trap house#anticipatecrime
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look down on me like that - 10 (explicit)
genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst
pairing: yoongi x reader
summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.
word count: 13.1k
contains: there are some serious mental health moments and topics discussed in this chapter (and not all of them handled well 😵💫) - this includes mentions of anxiety and su1c1dal ideation, reader experiencing a panic attack, and there's just like.... quite a lot of self-loathing, emotional constipation, and horrible choices being made all around. would also maybe say some hints at gaslighting if you squint. please take care of yourselves for this one 💜 and yes..... no smut warnings for this one 😬 sorry 😬
A/N: besties...... hold my hand and trust the process, mkay?
an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for betaing and for doing extra hand holding on this one because 😵💫 omg it's a lot and it was a lot to write lmao
read on AO3!
chapter nine | masterlist
~*~
The headache hits before you even open your eyes, like an ice pick driven straight through your skull.
You roll over with a soft groan of despair, burying your face between the pillows, reaching one arm out as far you can, as if in search of something. Your splayed fingertips only find the down comforter; it’s cool to the touch.
With the kind of deep inhale that can only be conjured by an early wake-up with a terrible hangover, you blink your eyes open, immediately squinting at the harsh morning light.
The bed is empty on the other side. You sit up slowly, shivering a little. The room feels unsteady around you.
You press your face into your hands, trying to wake up enough to think through your headache. Last night… Last night. It feels like a dream you’ll soon lose the details of. The Grammys, the afterparty, K-town. It doesn’t feel real.
Yoongi said he loves you.
Your stomach churns.
So where the fuck is he?
The sound of a drawer opening makes your head snap up, and you quickly kick the bedsheets off, trying to ignore the way the world tilts as you get to your feet and pad out into the living room.
Yoongi is kneeling beside his open suitcase, folding up the clothes he wore earlier in the weekend and carefully placing them inside. He reaches for his toiletries bag, zipped up on the couch next to him, and sets it atop the last stack of clothing.
“What are you doing?” you murmur, rubbing sleep from the corners of your eyes. The words slide together, almost gibberish. You think you might still be drunk.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Yoongi mutters, taking a final once-over of the contents of his suitcase before zipping it shut. He gets to his feet, then stoops down to turn it upright and extend the handle. “I’ve got a car to the airport about to pull up downstairs.”
“I— what?” You shake your head, confused. You’re barely alive, let alone packed or ready to go. “It’s so early. Our flight’s not til this afternoon.”
He’s already crossing the room, grabbing his laptop off the desk to slide into his shoulder bag, then reaching for his watch. “I had a change of plans.”
“You what?” You don’t understand how you’re so far behind on this, especially given that you’re the one who’s supposed to have the schedule committed to memory.
Yoongi sighs as he turns to face you, still fiddling with his watch, clearly exasperated. It's only now that he’s held still long enough for you to realize he’s wearing his glasses. “I’m going to Tokyo for a few days to work with some talent. There’s a whole thread in your inbox about it. Feel free to read it at your leisure.”
The dry tone of his voice stings like a slap to the face, enough to make you recoil. You take an unsure step back. “Okay, when did this happen?”
He slow-blinks, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve somehow gone back in time, like you’re standing in front of him on your first day of work. Like he’s your enemy all over again.
“I’ve been up for a while,” Yoongi answers flatly. “Any more questions?”
Your back teeth stick together, tense. The room is too bright, Yoongi’s voice too loud, all of this happening too fast.
“Uh,” you start, less than eloquent. “Can we— talk?” Yoongi stares at you pointedly until you feel forced to continue. “About last night?”
“Let’s see.” He pretends to mull it over, and dread creeps up your spine.
“I lost at the Grammys, almost got in a fight, drank my body weight in alcohol. The last thing I remember is… barking.” You’d smile at the memory, but your lips are pulled too tight at the sour taste of his words. “I assume you dragged my drunk ass back here and I passed out, then I stumbled out of bed around four this morning and promptly became very well acquainted with the bathroom floor. Did I miss anything?”
The question punches an ache behind your ribs.
“Don’t fuck with me, Min Yoongi.” Your voice comes out weaker than you would’ve liked, but it’s getting hard to breathe.
“What else?” he asks, still going faster than you can keep up with. “I was an asshole? Gave you embarrassing intel you’ll be using as blackmail when we go back to work? I didn’t barf on your shoes, did I?”
Why is he asking you?
You bring a hand to your temple, trying to rub out your splitting headache so you can process his words. “Are you… telling me you don’t remember?”
There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes, and though he drops his gaze, he doesn’t quite manage to hide the way his face twists. “If I said anything, let’s just say I didn’t mean it.”
No. No, no, no. Your world goes spinning. He can’t do this.
There’s a lump in your throat, so thick you can scarcely breathe. You try to swallow around it. “Yoongi, what the fuck is happening right now?”
You swear you can see it in his eyes, the wall going back up. It’s infuriating: he’s right fucking there, yet suddenly somehow unreachable. Impenetrable.
“I am going to Tokyo,” he says simply. “You are… doing whatever you want.” You stare at him, overwhelmed and so fucking confused. He stares right back. “I can still upgrade your seat to first class. If that’s what you’re worried about.”
Some final thread snaps inside you, and your delayed anger finally kicks in. “You think that’s what I care about right now? I’m not your fucking charity case.”
He outright rolls his eyes. “Jesus. Forget I asked.”
As if to signal that the conversation is over, he slings his bag across his shoulder and heads for the door, suitcase in tow.
“Yoongi.” You hate the way your voice shakes when you say his name. He turns back to face you in the threshold, his expression unreadable.
You don’t know how to say it. You can’t say it.
“So what, then?” you try instead. “I’m just supposed to… forget it?”
That you said you love me? That I might have been ready to say it back?
His mouth pulls into a flat line, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything at all. Each second of silence that passes feels like another twist of the knife lodged in your heart.
“Guess so.”
And just like that, the door is slamming shut behind him.
In your head, you chase after him. Yank open the hotel door, sprint down the hallway, call his name loud enough to stop him. You tell him everything that’s been building up inside of you, let all the ugly truths out for him to see, said aloud for the first time, undeniably real. He drops his bag in the hallway, grabs you, kisses you breathless. He stays.
But you can’t make yourself move. Can’t bear the thought of unzipping yourself right up the middle, standing in front of him with every last wall torn down, defenseless and asking for the worst hurt you can imagine. Life has taught you better than that.
Your knees hit the hotel carpet as the tears start to fall. In your head you might be brave, but here in the real world, you’re scared. Too scared to do anything but watch him leave.
~*~
“I’m so fucking confused, Mochi.”
You’re curled up on the couch in your living room with your face pressed into Jimin’s shoulder and his arms wrapped tight around you. Delirious from a thirteen hour flight and the time change, your suitcase still lying in the hallway by the front door where you dropped it. True to his word, your best friend showed up within the hour, a bottle of rosé and a pint of ice cream in tow.
There’s no room left to keep lying, to pretend you don’t care about Yoongi, that it doesn’t mean anything. Not when it hurts this bad, bad enough that it feels like you can’t fucking breathe. At least the tears have finally stopped, now that you’ve soaked a wet spot into the collar of Jimin’s sweatshirt.
To his credit, Jimin seems to find no joy in your meltdown, and you’re grateful for it. The last thing you need on top of all the pain is him gloating about being right. You both know he is, always has been. The things you spent so long trying to deny seem obvious now, in the harsh light of day, at the bottom of this emotional hangover.
Funny how that works.
When you pull away with a sniff, Jimin sighs a little and gently untangles himself from you to get to his feet. You bring a hand up to swipe at some of the wetness still stuck to your cheeks, then reach for the bottle of wine while he slips into the kitchen.
“How did you know I’d need this?” you ask as you twist open the screw top. Your throat is rubbed raw from exhaustion, and from so much fucking crying. “You had that little faith in shit working out?”
Jimin returns with two wine glasses and two spoons just as you ask the question, and he pauses in the threshold. The unsure look on his face makes your stomach twist. Your best friend never looks at you like that.
“I have to tell you something, babygirl.”
You can feel your chest starting to tighten again as he sinks back down onto the cushion next to you, gingerly taking the bottle from your hands to pour a little in each glass. It’s like he’s biding his time, trying to delay some sort of inevitable reality.
“Please just say it.” Your voice comes out in a thick whisper.
He thuds the bottle back onto the coffee table with another soft sigh. “I’m leaving Seoul.”
The words sweep over you like a tidal wave, heavy enough you drag you under to drown. “You’re… leaving?”
“Not forever,” Jimin says quickly, but the look on his face as he takes a sip from his glass is telling. “You remember the group I did the concert with?” His gaze flits over to catch your nod, and he continues.
“They booked a whole international tour. Asia, Europe, North and South America. It didn’t look like they were going to scout any new dancers, but then someone got injured last-minute and they personally called me to ask if I could cover. And it’s so short-notice but…”
There’s a fire in his eyes when he looks up at you again, all determined passion. “I just feel like this could be the opportunity I’ve been working so hard for. And Wonho has been so supportive and understanding about it. He helped talk me through it, reminded me how much I want this. So I said yes. And I’m going.”
You’re quiet for a moment, and you can only nod, trying to wrap your mind around it all. “For how long?”
He grimaces. “Six months, at least? Could be more if they decide to extend it.”
A fresh tear slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “Fuck, okay. Wow. When do you go?”
Jimin downs the rest of his wine, then finally answers. “I’ll be honest, the timing is bad. I really thought you’d be coming home with good news, so it would soften the blow a little.”
“Mochi,” you press him, more tears already threatening your waterline. You can feel your heart on the precipice of shattering into a million pieces— you just need him to fucking say it.
“Tonight’s my last night,” he admits.
There is a voice in your head that knows how you should respond. You should be enthusiastically happy for Jimin, and proud of him, and you are; you know deep down that you are. And you should be reacting to this unquestionably good news the way a best friend would: excited, screaming, hugging him, pouring another glass so you can toast to his success, telling him how great he’ll be.
But you’re sunk so deep in your own pain, you can’t help feeling… betrayed. Abandoned by your best friend, just when you need him most.
You set your wine glass down and press your face into your palms, trying to breathe, trying to stop the ache of a suppressed sob that squeezes tight in your throat.
“It’s not forever,” Jimin reiterates, and you know he’s trying to be kind, but you whip your head to look at him, suddenly aggravated. You can only imagine what he must see staring back at him: your glassy eyes gone red from crying, inset with deep shadows from exhaustion, tear tracks staining your cheeks.
“A little more notice would’ve been nice,” you respond as you pick your drink up again. The words come out harsh, jagged at the edges.
Jimin’s brows raise in clear surprise. “I’m sorry?”
The sweet wine goes bitter on your tongue, and you swallow it with a grimace. “I just think it’s interesting that you had all this fucking time to talk to your boyfriend about it, but not two seconds for the person who is supposedly your best friend.”
You can see a muscle tighten in his jaw. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Are you?”
“Do I really have to remind you what happened the last time we actually spent an evening together?” Jimin asks, and the razor-sharp tone to his voice already tells you that you’ve made a huge mistake, that you should’ve just choked all your bitter feelings down with your drink.
“Because in case you need help putting the pieces together, I believe you left me, alone, at some shitty dive that you specifically begged to go to. And maybe it hasn’t fucking occurred to you yet, but I was actually planning to ask what you thought that night, whether or not I should take the opportunity. Because I love my boyfriend, but you’re right, he’s not my best friend of a fucking decade. You are.”
Fuck. The weight of his words hits you like a truck. You drain the rest of your wine as he continues, relentless.
“And yet that was the night my best friend of a decade decided to ditch me to go hook up with a man she has consistently called an asshole since day one, and it made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, I deserved a little bit more in life. So I went home and told Wonho I wanted to take the job, and he supported me wholeheartedly. Even cooked me dinner to fucking celebrate. And now here we are.”
Jimin spreads his hands in front of him, palms up, as if to set the stage. “You are somehow shocked that the asshole you got yourself involved with turned around and acted… like an asshole. And I am off to go live the dreams that I have worked so hard for so long to finally achieve. Because as it turns out, we are a product of our own fucking choices. So tell me this, bestie: when are you going to take some fucking responsibility for yours?”
It’s only as you move to set your empty glass down that you realize your hands are shaking. It takes a concentrated effort to complete the motion, especially considering the way your eyes have started to blur with tears. You can feel deep, overwhelming shame stretching up from the pit of your stomach, like a black hole that threatens to suck you in entirely.
The sudden warmth of Jimin’s touch makes you flinch, and then you realize his hands are closing over yours, squeezing tight.
“Look at me,” he says hoarsely, and tears spill down your face as you do. You don’t know if you can take any more of his brutal honesty, but you figure you deserve it, so you brace yourself.
“I fucking love you,” Jimin says. The words are so unexpected and voiced in a tone so fierce that a sob wracks your chest before you can hold it back. He squeezes your hands tighter, and you try to return it. “You’re not just my best friend, you know that, right? You are my family. That will never, ever change. You could fucking kill someone, and I’d show up with bleach, two shovels, and a plan, okay?”
You laugh a little despite yourself, and you can feel Jimin’s thumbs brush gently over the backs of your hands. His voice is softer when he speaks again.
“I know shit has been really, really hard for you. For the last few years, and especially lately. But if I’m honest, it’s like you move through the world as if everything is just… happening to you, through no fault of your own. It makes it so fucking hard to root for you sometimes.”
You do your best to breathe through the sting of his words, and you nod, because you know he’s right.
“And that’s all I want to do,” Jimin stresses with another squeeze of your hands in his. “I want to be your personal fucking cheerleader, always, and not just because my ass would look great in the skirt. I know you are more than capable of getting your shit together, but it’s not going to happen if you don’t start taking some accountability for your own actions. And to be crystal clear, I am not a bad person for not wanting to sideline my own life while I wait for you to figure yours out.”
“You’re not,” you agree with a sniff and a small smile. “And I’m sorry for trying to make it about me.” You shake your head as you blink back a few more tears. “You deserve everything, Mochi, seriously. I don’t think there’s another person on the planet who would’ve put up with my shit for as long as you have.”
He rolls his eyes, despite the smile pulling up the corners of his mouth to match yours. “You make it sound like fucking charity work, come on. Have some self-respect! I don’t waste time on people who aren’t worth it.”
“I just thought you kept me around because I was the only person who could keep up with your drinking,” you admit, chasing the words with a giggle, and Jimin makes a face like you’re not wrong.
As if in response, he finally releases your hands, grabbing the wine bottle to top up your glasses.
“I really do wish I had better advice for you and your situation,” Jimin concludes on a heavy sigh as you both pick up your drinks. “But my already limited knowledge on Min Yoongi is also like fifteen years out of date, so all I can say is this: You got yourself into this mess, and I have full confidence that you can get yourself out. Even if it means cornering him and forcing him into a vulnerable conversation. It sounds like it will be great practice for both of you.”
You huff against the rim of your glass. “I have to figure out what the fuck to even say.”
“You will,” Jimin murmurs, his free hand alighting over yours for a final squeeze. “Just start with the truth.”
When your eyes find his again, you can feel your lower lip beginning to tremble. “God, I’m gonna miss you so fucking much.”
Clearly done with the dramatics, Jimin rolls his eyes. “I’m not dying, bitch! If anything it just means I’m going to text and call and FaceTime you more than I already do. Prepare to be sick of me.”
“I could never,” you tease, and he grabs a spoon off the coffee table, gently nudging it against your side.
“Come on, eat your sad girl ice cream before it melts.”
~*~
Even with Yoongi still in Tokyo, the thought of going back to the office and feigning normalcy feels impossible. You end up texting your boss to take a sick day, blaming it on the travel, and he responds quickly, telling you to rest up well and come in the day after.
But between the emotional overwhelm and the jet lag, sleep is hard to come by. You toss and turn, unable to doze off for more than a few minutes at a time, until you kick the blankets off in the early hours of the morning, sick of staring at the walls.
Your body moves as if on autopilot, and you pull your winter coat out of the closet to zip up over your sweats. You grab your phone and your house keys, then slip your feet into a pair of boots by the front door and step outside.
It’s cold, with the barest amount of dawn sun starting to bleed light and color across the horizon, but the fresh air feels good, like it’s easier to breathe in.
Hands shoved in your pockets, you make your way down the stairs to the entrance of your complex and begin to walk, aimless. You’re too fixated on everything whirling around in your mind to pay attention to where you’re headed, and it isn’t until you hear barking that you realize you’ve wandered your way to a neighborhood park down the street from your place, with a fenced-in area for owners to let their dogs run off leash.
It’s a nice place, even now in the dead of winter. You can’t help but wonder why you don’t come here more.
A voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink slowly, your sleep-deprived brain taking several seconds to piece together why it sounds so familiar.
“Bam, Bam! Come here!”
A laugh of disbelief bubbles up in your chest as you take in the scene in front of you: it’s none other than your baby-faced coworker Jeon Jungkook, giggling high and sweet as a large brown Doberman jumps up on its hind legs to playfully tackle him. You recognize the dog as one he’s shown you pictures of, along with the two Italian greyhounds sprinting the length of the fenced-in area, clearly just as energetic as their owner, even at this ungodly hour.
You lean against the fence to watch them, and your heart sinks a little when the memory of your last conversation with Jungkook comes back. It occurs to you that this is probably what Jimin was talking about when he told you to start taking some accountability. But fuck, it’s certainly easier said than done.
You can see your breath in the cold air as you inhale deep and let it out again. Maybe you should just leave him alone, you determine. Turn around and walk home before he sees you.
But then, like the very thought is enough to trigger his awareness, Jungkook’s gaze flits up to meet yours. You wish his Baby Star Candy eyes weren’t so damn expressive— even several yards away, you can see a dozen different emotions flash over his face in the span of a few seconds.
Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you wave a hand in what you hope reads as a peaceful greeting. You’re surprised to see him begin to jog towards you, but even more surprised when someone else beats him to it.
“Can I help you?”
The person standing in front of you looks to be about Jungkook’s age, but immediately hits you with an aura so intimidating that you take a cautious step backwards. He has a black beanie pulled low over his dark hair, and his hands are shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie.
“Oh, sorry, I just, uh— Jungkook is… my coworker,” you offer dumbly, gesturing in Jungkook’s direction. Clearly thinking that they’re still playing, Bam keeps crossing in front of his owner, nearly tripping him up, and you can’t help smiling, watching him stop every few paces to redirect the dog.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” the guy in the hoodie retorts, and your gaze snaps back to him. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”
The question makes your jaw drop. “What?”
“I mean, seriously, what’s your plan here? Gonna lead him on some more and then tell him he’s not your boyfriend again?”
Your eyes threaten to pop out of your head just as Jungkook makes it over to the fence, Bam still nipping at his heels.
“Chan,” he quickly interjects, breathless. “It’s cool. Let me talk to her, okay?”
Chan eyes you up and down, disapproving, then takes a few steps back, his mouth pulled into an obvious scowl. “Yeah, alright. I’ll get the dogs.” You watch as he manages to divert Bam’s attention away with a well-timed ball throw.
Your mind still reeling from the interaction, you try to keep it together as Jungkook laughs, clearly slightly embarrassed. There’s an ache in your chest when you finally bring yourself to look him in the face.
“Sorry if he said anything to you,” he offers, looking back towards Chan, who is now entertaining all three of Jungkook’s dogs, plus a spaniel that must be his own. “Chan is a really good friend of mine, and he can be… protective.”
You huff a soft noise that comes out in a little cloud of steam. “It’s alright. I deserve it, honestly.”
“You don’t,” Jungkook says firmly, and you open your mouth to argue, but he speaks first. “Do you have a second? To talk?”
Uneasiness twists in the pit of your stomach. “I can talk,” you say, tentative. “But don’t let me interrupt. I think your friend already hates me enough.”
Jungkook shakes his head. “It’s cool. Chan and I always take the dogs for a run in the mornings. We’re just trying to get all their energy out, but we’re about to head back after this.” A smile spreads across your face before you can bite it back, and he quirks an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re telling me you go on a run every morning before your six AM boxing class?”
A pink flush blooms in his cheeks that you can’t quite believe is from the cold. “Well, I guess I also have a lot of energy.”
“You’re superhuman,” you laugh, and Jungkook glances down as he smiles, like he’s suddenly gone shy. It’s enough to crack your heart right down the middle, and you can’t keep the words in any longer. “Jungkook, I am so fucking sorry. For what happened before.”
The smile drops off his face as he looks up again. “Don’t be. I was way out of line.”
You tear your gaze away from Jungkook, choosing instead to stare at the thin layer of frost beneath your boots as it all plays back in your head. As much as you wish you could just patch everything up and be friends again, you can’t ignore the truth of his feelings for you, and the way it complicates everything else.
But you can certainly relate to wanting to live in denial. To avoid an inconvenient truth.
“You were just trying to keep me from getting hurt,” you murmur. You wonder if he can tell that he was right, that it happened anyway.
“Yeah,” Jungkook admits, and you glance up to see him pause, considering. “But, you know,” he adds. “My own stuff was mixed in there too.”
“Yeah,” you echo, unsure of what else to say.
“I should’ve listened to you,” he continues with a sigh. “I should’ve been more honest. About how I was feeling. Am feeling. I don’t know.”
“It’s okay.” You do your best to shoot him a sympathetic look. “Trust me, I really do get it. And I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I was just– I’m in a really weird place right now. But it’s not an excuse.”
Jungkook nods slowly. “I appreciate that. It definitely… snapped me out of it.”
You can’t help grimacing. “I was a bitch, you can say it.”
“No, no!” he exclaims, but his mouth is already pulling into a smile. “I needed to hear it. Seriously.”
There’s a moment where neither of you speak, and you both gaze across the park, watching Chan as he does his best to tire the dogs out.
“Your sons are even cuter in person,” you finally say, and you hear Jungkook exhale a soft laugh.
“You can meet them if you want,” he offers.
You scrunch your nose up slightly as you turn back to him. “If your bodyguard will let me?”
He shrugs. “Nah, Chan’s fine.” You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, and he waves one hand dismissively, the other already working to fumble open the lock of the fence gate. “All bark and no bite.”
Your eyes roll back at the terrible joke, but you can’t help laughing, too. You really fucking missed this kid.
~*~
Not wanting to worsen your jet lag further, you force yourself to stay awake once you make it back to your apartment, determined to take the day to properly unpack from Los Angeles. The routine of putting your things away and dumping your clothes into the washer is enough to keep your hands busy, and your mind takes the opportunity to retrace back over everything that’s happened in the last few days. It’s all come at you so fast, you feel like you’ve barely had a second to breathe, let alone process everything.
Things with Jungkook feel okay again, but your heart weighs heavy with the understanding that your friendship won’t ever go back to the way it was before, not entirely. That dose of reality stings a little, but you know it’s for the best, for both of you.
The loss just makes you miss Jimin that much more, but you know he’s currently on a plane to Bangkok to go live his dreams: he’d texted you a picture of his airport fashion while you were at the park, and you’d sent back a father/son candid of Jungkook playing with Bam. You don’t think Jimin’s bark bark bark response had anything to do with the dog.
You’re grateful for the conversation you had with your best friend before he left, even though it was hard to hear. The thought of sorting this mess out on your own still fills you with dread, but you tell yourself that if Jimin believes you can do it, then maybe he’s right. He’s certainly been right about everything else.
And that thought just brings you right back to Yoongi. A heavy sigh washes over you when you carefully unpack the rented Grammys dress from your suitcase, and the memories of the weekend flood your mind in waves as you brush your hand down the velvet fabric.
For a split second you swore the two of you had figured it out, that there wasn’t just sex and hatred between you, but something more. But as soon as the idea had come into focus, that one sweet night where it all felt possible, you’d watched it slip right out of your fingers again, with Yoongi acting cold enough to make you question if maybe you’d made the whole thing up after all.
You can’t help wondering how the morning could’ve gone in another universe: one where he’d stayed a little longer, one where you’d been a little braver. If you could’ve maybe met in the middle, somehow.
He told you he loved you. The words repeat in your head, again and again, as you stare down at your borrowed dress. Drunk as you might have been, you know you didn’t imagine that part. You just wish you knew what you were supposed to do now.
With a thoughtful hum, you reach for the garment bag slung over your closet door, unzipping it so you can hang the dress back up inside. You guess this is what Jimin was talking about. A vulnerable conversation. At this point, it feels like the only thing you haven’t tried with Min Yoongi.
“No time like the present,” you murmur to yourself as you tug the zipper up.
~*~
Going back to the office the next day feels like jumping straight into the deep end. There’s plenty to get caught up on from the aftermath of the Grammys and the work days you missed while traveling. It takes you most of the day just to get through your inbox in the brief moments of downtime not spent running between conference rooms.
Your one beacon of hope is the reassurance that Yoongi is scheduled to be in Tokyo for the rest of the week. It gives you time to calm down, to focus on work undisturbed without anticipating him around every corner. You’ve got the weekend to plan out what you want to say, to prepare yourself to push past the fear and actually say it, all of it, out in the open.
The very thought makes your chest constrict, but you try to breathe through it. You’ve got time to figure it out, you tell yourself.
And then you glance up to see Min Yoongi pushing the glass office doors open, and you swear your heart stops beating.
“Yoongi.”
His name leaves your lips automatically while you attempt to try and process this as really happening. Your voice comes out soft, as if in fear that speaking too loud will make it all dissolve in front of you, or make him turn around and walk right back out again.
He doesn’t respond; his stride doesn’t even falter as he walks past your desk and rounds the corner, heading for his own office. Acting on sheer impulse, you get to your feet to follow after, catching up to him as he’s keying the code into his door lock.
“What are you doing back?” is all you can think to say. You can’t read any emotion on his face, save maybe exhaustion.
“The sessions went well,” he answers, not sounding particularly glad for it. “We finished ahead of schedule.”
“Oh,” you answer dumbly, and he pushes down the handle and steps into his lab. You catch the door before it swings shut again, taking a deep breath to steel yourself as you step inside. “Can we talk?”
With a grunt, Yoongi drops into his desk chair, tapping at his keyboard to wake his computer and log in. “Sure. I was going to ask you the same thing.”
His response surprises you enough that all you can manage is another, “Oh.” You cautiously close the distance between you until you’re standing beside his desk, your gaze sweeping over his unblinking profile. It strikes you that you haven’t actually planned out what you want to say to him. You thought you had more time.
“Uh, I guess you can go first, then.”
Yoongi’s eyes don’t move from his screen. “I think you were right. This was a bad idea.”
“I— what?” It takes you several seconds to piece together what he means. The night at the company happy hour, when he’d proposed that the two of you establish some kind of arrangement, you had said it was a bad idea. And then you’d followed him into the bathroom to say yes to it anyway.
But now he’s… changing his mind? Just like that?
“I think we should both just focus on work,” he says, as if it’s that easy. “And stop being so distracted.”
Distracted? Your gut twists. It’s suddenly hard to inhale, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. “So what, then?” you ask, hating that you can’t quite keep the emotion out of your voice. “It’s over? All of it?”
Yoongi’s gaze alights on you for a split second, then flits back to his screen. The realization makes you want to scream: he can’t even fucking look at you. His adam’s apple jumps in his throat as he swallows.
“Look,” he finally sighs. “Whatever it is you think I can give you, I promise you, I can’t.”
A flush of heat creeps up your neck. “What I think?!” you retort, still in disbelief. “You started this, Yoongi, all of this was your idea. And you’re the one who fucking said you l—” He winces as you cut yourself off, your throat constricting too tight to get the words out.
“I was drunk,” he murmurs, unconvincing.
You stare at him for a moment, stunned.
“You know what I think you were?” His gaze finds yours, and you spit the word at him. “Honest.” There’s a flicker of recognition in his face, and it spurs you on. “I think you told the truth for once in your life, without this weird ‘I don’t care about anything’ veneer, and it fucking terrified you.”
Yoongi shakes his head. His voice is soft when he speaks again, and a little uneven. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” you snap.
“Don’t act like you know me.”
You scoff, too angry to stop yourself, unable to bite back the urge to press him until he says something real. “You think I don’t? Really? I guess you just tell everyone you fuck about the time you almost jumped off a bridge?”
He flinches as he glances up at you again, and your heart drops like a lead weight at the look on his face. You immediately clap a hand to your mouth, as if in a too-late attempt to shove the words back in.
“Fuck, Yoongi,” you breathe. “I-I didn’t mean that, I’m just—”
All at once, he’s on his feet, moving towards you until you have no choice but to start walking backwards, in the direction of his office door.
“Here’s what I know.” Yoongi’s voice is firm and oddly calm as he speaks over your fumbled apologies. “I’m an asshole. I’m a workaholic. I’m way too hard on myself. I push people too far, and then I shut them all out. I’m never satisfied. I get bored easily.” He pauses for a moment. “And yes, sometimes I get so fucking sick of myself that I want to jump off a bridge. To put it bluntly, I am not somebody you want to be with. At all.”
Your breath hitches as your back finds purchase against the door, and Yoongi stops, still several paces apart from you. His dark eyes feel like they’re burning into you, glassy with emotion in a way you’ve only seen once before.
“We hooked up a few times,” he says, as if there’s no room for debate. “That’s all. It didn’t mean anything. And it’s over now.”
As his words crash into you, it occurs to you what this feeling is, itching like fire under your skin and squeezing tight at the muscles of your throat: you’re embarrassed.
It’s fucking embarrassing, standing here in an office you’ve been in dozens of times before, trying to beg a man you’re supposed to hate into a single honest conversation, into loving you when he already fucking said he did. Yoongi said he’s in love with you, and now he’s just… standing here, blinking at you like you’re somehow the unreasonable one for thinking that it meant anything at all.
“I guess you’re right,” you barely manage to choke out as your hand brushes over the door handle behind you. Your skin is flushed so hot that it feels cool against your palm. “You are a fucking asshole.”
You don’t wait around to see the look on his face at your remark. You just push the handle down and stumble out into the hallway.
When the Genius Lab door closes behind you, you slam back against it with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs. You press your palms to the wood grain and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm down, but that choked up feeling refuses to dissipate. The world feels like it’s closing in around you, white noise roaring so loudly in your ears you can scarcely think.
It takes you several seconds to realize that someone is speaking to you, and your eyes snap open again to find Jungkook standing in the hallway, his brow furrowed like he’s concerned. It’s hard to focus on him, like you can’t quite open your eyes wide enough. Black spots have started to dance in your vision, and you blink a few times, hoping to clear them out.
“Whoa, are you okay?”
You attempt to take in enough air to answer him, but all you can manage are shallow gasps: it’s like everything is stuck. You’re not even crying, you just can’t fucking breathe. The only response to his question that you can give is a slow shake of your head, and then your knees buckle.
Your brain must lose the ability to keep up with the pace of everything that’s happening, because suddenly you register that your palms are pressed flat to the office carpet. Jungkook is kneeling beside you, one hand smoothing circles against the back of your dress. You’re still heaving, trying to breathe, but your chest is squeezed so tight that it’s like it won’t take. You can feel your heartbeat behind your ribs, slamming so fast that it makes your whole body shake, and there’s a buzzing sensation in your fingertips, like TV static.
“Hey, hey.” You shut your eyes again and try to focus on Jungkook’s voice. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”
“I—” you gasp, but the words are stuck, too. I can’t breathe. I don’t know what’s happening. I think I’m dying.
“It’s okay,” he answers quickly, and you nod, as if it might force your mind to believe his words. “You’re okay. Just— I’m gonna breathe with you, okay?” You immediately shake your head, and Jungkook shifts a little closer. “I know it feels like you can’t right now. But look. We’re gonna go slow. In for four.”
I can’t fucking do this, you want to scream, but you dig your numb fingers into the carpet and try to follow his lead. You can hear him take a deep inhale through his nose, and you do your best to match it. One, two, three, four.
Jungkook’s voice comes back, stilted this time. “Hold it for seven.”
You nod, trying to focus on the feeling of the floor beneath you, his hand against your back. Your chest is spasming with a desperate need to keep hyperventilating, but you force the little air you’ve taken in to stay in your lungs, and you count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
“And out for eight.” You can hear Jungkook push a stream of air out of his mouth, and you echo it, though your own airflow feels pathetic in comparison. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.
“Can we do that again?” he asks gently, and after a moment, you nod.
You go through the process again and again, and each time it gets a little easier, until you’re finally able to pull yourself up to sit back on your heels. Your head is spinning, your heart still hammering in your chest, but you try to focus on Jungkook, seated cross-legged next to you like he has all the time in the world.
“I think—” you start, and you have to take another breath in before you can get the rest of the words out. A dull ache is beginning to bloom in your temples. Your throat feels like sandpaper. But at least you can breathe. “I think I’m okay now.”
“There’s no rush. Just give it a second,” he says with a nod, and you do, flexing your hands in your lap to try and bring some feeling back.
“Where did you learn to do that?” you ask softly, and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a half-smile.
“My therapist taught me. I used to have really bad panic attacks. Still do, sometimes.”
You blink at him, trying to process the information. It never occurred to you that Baby Star Candy would be the kind of person to have a therapist, or any kind of mental health issues at all. Not when he seems so… well-adjusted.
“Do you need anything?” he offers. “Water?”
You shake your head, not quite ready to be left alone. ��I just need this day to be over so I don’t have to fucking be here anymore,” you sigh.
Jungkook makes a face, as if in thought, then shrugs. “How about I drive you home?”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “I— I’m the keyholder, JK. It’s literally my first day back, I can’t just leave.”
“Where’s the key?” he asks, pulling himself up to standing in one smooth motion. Your legs feel shaky beneath you, and you gladly accept the hand he extends for support as you slowly right yourself next to him.
“It’s, uh—” you have to think for a second before it comes back to you, your brain still a little scrambled. You’d taken it back from your cover earlier this morning, and now it’s… “In my purse. On my desk.”
With that, Jungkook heads down the hallway towards your desk, and you follow after, slightly unsteady in your high heels. He stands to the side when he gets there first, like he doesn’t want to just dig through your things, and you reach for your purse to fish the key out of the bottom.
“Can I borrow that?” Jungkook asks, extending his palm. You pause for a second, then nervously drop the key into his hand.
Before you can even ask any follow-up questions, he’s disappearing back down the hallway. Your gaze lingers over your desk as you let another cautious breath out, and it feels like you’re moving in slow motion when you grab your laptop and slide it into your purse.
It seems like less than a minute before Jungkook returns again, rapping his knuckles against your desk. “You’re off the hook for tonight.”
“Really?” you ask, incredulous. “What did you do?”
He just shrugs. “Talked to your boss. Told him you weren’t feeling well and wanted to leave early. He said he’d lock up. It’s not a big deal to ask for help sometimes, you know.”
You blink, attempting to keep up, your reaction time slowed enough that it’s like you’re on a five second delay. “Thanks, Jungkook. I guess your therapist taught you that too, huh?”
Jungkook nods without a trace of shame. “Sure did. Now let’s get out of here.”
Nothing about the world around you feels real as you follow Jungkook into the elevator and down to the parking garage. It’s like floating through some strange dream, everything fuzzy and far away. You slip wordlessly into his passenger seat, and it’s only as he pulls out onto the city streets that a creeping sense of dread starts to dot up your spine.
This scene is too familiar, and that thought alone makes your mouth go dry. When you try to swallow, you can feel your throat threatening to constrict again.
“Jungkook,” you manage to choke out, and his eyes flit from the road to your face and back again.
“Everything okay?”
The silence in the car is suddenly deafening. “Can we, uh— put on some music? Just, anything?”
Jungkook looks a little cautious, like he doesn’t want to do too much too fast. “Are you sure?”
You nod, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to remember his stupid breathing pattern. “Please. I… need a distraction.”
“Okay. Sure,” he answers quickly, and you let out a ragged sigh of relief when he leans over to press a button and the car fills with upbeat pop. It takes you a second to place it, and then you blink your eyes open again as a laugh of surprise rips through you.
“Hype Boy, really?”
“What? This is a great song!” Jungkook’s already tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time to the beat. “I just learned the dance, too.”
You tip your head back against the seat with another soft giggle. “Sounds like somebody’s about to go viral on TikTok again.”
The two of you settle into silence, and you let yourself be distracted by the music, your brain still cotton-fuzz numb. You’re grateful that Jungkook doesn’t force conversation or babble on the way he normally does, instead choosing to hum along in a way that’s oddly comforting. You count your breaths and watch the city pass by in a blur, until all at once the car is coming to a stop at your apartment complex. The building seems to loom over you as you blink up through the windshield, one hand fumbling for the car door.
Up those stairs is the safety of your apartment. But now that you’re here, it doesn’t feel so reassuring. It’s not like there’s anyone waiting for you on the other side of your front door. No best friend to come over. It occurs to you now that you’re not ready to be alone just yet, but that’s exactly what you’ll be the minute you step out of Jungkook’s car.
The words leave your mouth before you have time to reconsider. “JK, do you want to come up for a bit?”
“Oh.” Jungkook is wide-eyed and blinking when you glance at him, like he wasn’t expecting the invitation. “Uh, yeah. Okay. For a bit.”
It’s a little funny, stepping inside your front door with Jungkook following after, the two of you slipping your shoes off in the hallway, then padding further in. You never pictured this happening, not even when he came to pick you up for Jimin’s concert.
Jungkook cautiously perches on the edge of the couch, like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself, while you continue into the kitchen, calling back over your shoulder. “Do you want something to drink? Water, tea?”
There’s a shuffling sound, like Jungkook is peeling out of his jacket. “Just, uh. Whatever you’re having, I guess.”
“Wine, then,” you answer.
You make short work of cracking open a bottle of red, then grab two glasses before returning to the living room and dropping down on the cushion next to Jungkook. His jacket is slung over the arm of the couch now, leaving him in his usual business casual uniform, a button-down and slacks.
“What a fucking day,” you sigh as you pour Jungkook a glass of wine, then one for yourself. “Thank you again, for… you know. Reminding me how to breathe.”
Jungkook still seems a little nervous as he reaches for his drink. “Yeah, of course.” There’s a moment of silence as you both take a sip, and then he speaks first. “Can I ask—“ he interrupts himself, as if making a correction. “I mean, I don’t want to pry. I know it’s not my business. At all.”
“You want to know why I had a panic attack in the middle of the office?” you offer, and he nods.
“Outside of Yoongi’s lab,” Jungkook finishes quietly, and your heart briefly stalls out at the mere mention of his name.
“It’s a good question,” you murmur as you stare at the liquid swirling in your glass. Jimin’s words suddenly come back to you in a whole new light. Start with the truth.
You glance up at Jungkook again. “Yoongi and I were…” You trail off, unsure what to even call it. Involved? Hooking up? Enemies with benefits? Nothing feels right. “We were something.”
“But not anymore?” Jungkook’s response is immediate. You shake your head.
“No, I guess not.” There’s a dull ache in your chest, like pressing on a fresh bruise, and you try to breathe through it, your gaze flitting down to the hem of your dress. “When we were in LA, he said he loved me. And now he says it didn’t mean anything. That it’s over.”
“Wow,” Jungkook huffs, sounding dazed and a little pissed off. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” you sigh as you sink back against the couch cushion. “Me too.”
It all feels more real, now that you’ve said it out loud. Hurts just as fucking bad. Maybe worse. “And I’m sorry I lied to you. I should’ve just told you, but. I don’t know. I think I wanted to believe I had it all under control.” A sad laugh flutters out of your lungs. “Clearly, I do not.”
“It’s okay,” Jungkook says, and he pauses for a moment, placing his wine glass on the coffee table before he continues. “Were you— I mean, was it… the whole time?”
You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you shrug. “Not the whole time, but. Most of it, I guess. It was like a weird slow burn thing.”
“Got it.”
When you glance over at Jungkook, there’s a distant look in his eyes, like he’s still processing everything. You suppose it’s probably a lot to hear all at once. It feels good to be honest with him after so much time spent keeping secrets. A heat starts to bloom in your face as you take another sip of wine, then set the glass down.
There must still be a lingering post-panic disconnect between your brain and your body, because all of a sudden you’re moving on sheer instinct, without giving it any thought at all. You drop back against the couch cushion again, then tilt yourself to the side until your head is pressed gently into Jungkook’s shoulder.
You wonder if you’re imagining the way he tenses slightly at the contact. You glance up at him through your lashes, but he’s not looking at you, and the expression on his face is hard to judge. There’s a faint scar on his cheek that you’ve never noticed before.
It could be so easy, you realize now. All he’d have to do is turn a little and close the distance. He could cup your jaw in his hand, tilt your chin up towards him, brush his lips against yours. Soft and sweet.
And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. At least you wouldn’t be alone.
“It should have been you, Baby Goth,” you hear yourself say.
Silence weighs heavy in the air between you, and then Jungkook speaks.
“That’s not fair.”
It’s like the words snap you out of a trance. You jump back like you’ve just been burned, purposefully sliding over to put as much distance as you can between your bodies on the couch.
“I’m sorry,” you say reflexively, but Jungkook is still staring at the floor. His leg has begun to bounce, like a nervous tick.
“I don’t—” Jungkook starts, and then he pauses, taking a deep breath in before he begins the sentence again. “I don’t want… this. Not if… if it’s not real. Or just a rebound, or whatever.”
Shame rushes up in your chest, makes you hot all over. You can’t exactly say that he’s wrong, but the thought of a brief distraction from the pain was so promising. Now it’s only served to dig you in that much deeper.
“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you repeat dumbly. You can feel your heartbeat hammering behind your ribs. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just… Fuck, I’m such a mess right now. I keep fucking everything up.”
His gaze finally drifts up to meet yours, and you’ve never seen him look more serious. “You know, Chan said something that stuck with me. When I told him about what happened. He said, ‘if she really wanted to be with you, she already would be.’”
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you recoil at the impact. You try to blink away the impending tears as you slowly nod. “Chan’s right,” you whisper, and Jungkook’s mouth pulls into a sad, flat grimace.
“Yeah,” he answers, his voice gone raw. “I thought so too.”
All at once, he’s on his feet and tugging his jacket back on, and you can only sit motionless and watch him. You press a finger to your waterline, trying to catch the tears before they start to spill down your face.
“I’m sorry you had a hard day,” Jungkook says, reaching up to adjust his collar. “And I really do want to be your friend. But I think I just need a little time.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, turning over his shoulder to look at you, then quickly averting his gaze again. “We both do.”
“Yeah,” you sniff. “I want to be friends too. But, yeah. You’re right.”
Jungkook keeps his head down as he heads for the entryway. He slips his feet into his shoes, then swings the door open, pausing in the threshold for a final glance back towards you.
“Get some sleep,” he murmurs. You nod. And then the door clicks shut behind him.
~*~
Despite your best attempts and the rest of the bottle of wine, sleep doesn’t come. You stare up at the black of your bedroom ceiling, and it feels like staring at the rubble of every bridge you’ve burned. All from your own choices. The things you said that you shouldn’t have, the things you didn’t do that you should have. All your mess, and all your fault.
You keep your eyes open, because closing them is worse. Closing them is when it all comes back, a looping film strip in your head of everything that’s haunted you, played out in technicolor on the backs of your eyelids.
Extending a mug of coffee to Yoongi on your first day. Stealing food off Jimin’s plate at dinner. Splitting red bean buns with Jungkook.
And then it speeds up.
A locked office door, a stolen set of keys. A four digit code and a smirk. Your fingers gripping the edge of Yoongi’s desk. Dancing close with a dark-haired stranger in a packed club. Yoongi’s hands slipping up your thighs, closing over your throat. The flashing lights and noise of a concert. A full glass of whiskey. Standing outside of a bar in the cold night air. Rain on a windshield. A maple pastry and a paper coffee cup. Seoul lit up at night, cut through by the river. A hotel bed. Yoongi’s hands on the zipper of your dress. Yoongi’s hands on piano keys. Yoongi’s mouth on yours in a conference room, in his shower, in a K-town noraebang. His face pressed into your shoulder on the cab ride home.
And you see yourself, too. Running away. Saying the wrong thing. Fucking everything up, irreparably. Over and over, the movie replays.
Tears slip across the bridge of your nose as you turn onto your side, cheek pressed to the pillow, and wait for morning.
~*~
“There she is!”
Your boss’ greeting rings loud in your ears, and you wince as you duck your head through his office door. He gestures for you to have a seat in the chair across from his desk, and you comply. You can see him taking you in as you sit down, and when his smile falters slightly, you know why: there weren’t enough ice rollers in the world to completely de-puff your face after a sleepless night spent crying yourself dry.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, a little more gently.
You fold your hands in your lap and take a deep breath, willing the words not to get stuck in your throat. You can feel the tension in the room, your knife’s edge poised at the final cord to cut.
“I want you to know that I’ve really enjoyed my time working here,” you begin, doing your best to keep your voice even, squeezing your laced fingers tight to give your mind something to focus on. “But for personal reasons, I think I need to tender my resignation.”
Your boss sits back in his chair, clearly stunned. It takes him a second to recover. “I— wow. Can’t say I saw this coming.” He leans forward again. “It wasn’t something that happened here, was it? Because if we need to report an issue to HR, you should know I take that kind of thing very seriously. I’d hate to see you leave over something we could take care of.”
Another breath in, another squeeze of your hands in your lap. “No, it wasn’t,” you say firmly. “It’s just me. My own stuff. I think… I think maybe I need to leave Seoul for a bit.”
He pauses, considering your words, and you consider them, too. It isn’t a thought you were ever cognizant of having until this moment, but it doesn’t feel like a lie, either. It makes sense. You’ve snapped every tie that once might have kept you tethered to this city. There doesn’t feel like much point in staying, or like there’s anything still here for you.
“Well, good for you,” your boss finally says, his tone serious. “For knowing your own limits. Gotta be a human first, right?” You offer him a half-smile and a nod, and he leans forward to grab a pen off his desk, fiddling absentmindedly with it. “Thinking of going anywhere in particular?”
You shake your head, your smile turning self-conscious. “Hadn’t gotten that far.”
“If I’m overstepping, just tell me to shut up,” he starts, and you can’t help breathing out a laugh. “But you got some rave reviews from the Los Angeles team. Seriously, you blew them away. They asked if it was possible to clone you. Apparently they’ve been looking for an admin for a while, but can’t seem to find anyone who can walk the walk.”
Your eyes go wide as you begin to put the pieces together, and your boss just keeps going.
“I mean, it’s probably a bigger move than what you were looking for. Unless you’re really trying to get away. But you’re such a great asset, I’d love to keep you in the family, if we can.”
He looks at you pointedly, and you swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. “You… can do that?”
Your boss shrugs. “We’d have to get you a visa, but that’s easy enough with a specialty occupation lined up. And we can cover the fees for premium processing so it doesn’t take half a year. But only if it’s something you’re genuinely interested in. If you’re just trying to cut and run, I get it. No hard feelings.”
Your head goes spinning. Los Angeles. It’s about as far away from your mess of a life as you could possibly get. It feels too good to be true, and you drop your gaze to the floor as a tidal wave of guilt surges over you.
You hadn’t planned on this admission, but all at once, the words are coming out of your mouth.
“I lied,” you say, your voice soft, your eyes fixed firmly on the carpet. There’s no way you can look your boss in the face as the truth spills out of you. “On my job application. I don’t have any experience as an administrative assistant. I made it all up, and my reference was fake. I was actually a waitress before this.”
You finally manage a glance up. Your boss’ eyebrows are nearly at his hairline, but he’s quiet.
“It just… doesn’t seem fair to send me off to the Los Angeles team. Not when I don’t even know what I’m doing,” you conclude with an embarrassed grimace.
“You really feel like you don’t?”
His question makes you blink. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. You’re not sure how to respond.
He drops the pen in his hands to press his palms flat to the surface of his desk, as if he means business. “Look, obviously I can’t condone what you did. But I’ll be honest, if anything, that just makes me all the more impressed with your performance. I thought you adjusted quickly even for someone with past experience. To know you were flying blind…” He huffs a laugh of disbelief. “I mean, that’s a fucking crazy thing to do. But you did do it. I’ve seen you working your ass off to keep this office together. And that’s the thing: you have. You’ve met every deadline, kept up with every deliverable. You’ve taken everything we’ve thrown at you and handled it.”
You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, willing it to stop trembling. Fuck, you’d really thought you were done crying.
Your boss shakes his head as he continues. “Maybe if you’d just started, I’d feel differently about this. But I gotta be honest. When I look at your performance the past few months… I don’t give a fuck what your last job was. Because in this job, you’re killing it. And I know you’d do the same in Los Angeles, if you made the decision to go. They want you out there because they’ve already seen what you can do. They know it, and I know it. And I hope that some part of you knows it, too.”
A single tear rolls down your cheek, and you quickly reach up to swipe it away. “Thank you,” you choke out, your voice thick as you try to keep it together. “I seriously can’t tell you how much it means to hear that right now.”
He doesn’t respond right away, like he’s waiting for you to say more, and you take a shaky breath in as the decision solidifies in your head. “I really enjoyed my time with the Los Angeles team. And I would love to transfer there, if they’ll have me.”
Your boss’ mouth pulls into a smug smirk. “Please,” he says dryly. “As soon as they get wind of this, they’re going to beg me to ship you overnight.” You laugh as you dab at your eyes with the edge of your sleeve, and his face softens slightly. “I can’t do overnight. But do you think you can hang on for just a couple more weeks?”
You chase your nod with a gentle sniff. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”
~*~
Time passes quicker than you would’ve expected, split mostly between preparing for your transfer at work and trying to pack your life up into cardboard boxes at home. Apart from those two things, the days feel aimless, and a little unreal. It’s like you’re living in a liminal space, halfway between your old life and the promise of a new one. Your boss offers to hang onto the office key of his own accord, to give you more time to get your things in order, and you gratefully accept the help.
It’s a weird change, no longer having to worry about being the first one at the office and the last one out. No meeting Jungkook at the doors each morning. No fighting with Yoongi to get him to leave at the end of the day. You see relatively little of either of them, save for the occasional meeting or brush of shoulders in the hallway. You’d think losing both of them in one go might be unbearable if you didn’t already have your eyes on the horizon.
Your boss announces your upcoming transfer in the next team meeting, though Yoongi is naturally nowhere to be found. Jungkook’s eyes go as wide as you’ve ever seen them at the news, but he still slips out of the conference room immediately after the meeting wraps, rather than hanging back to talk to you.
You try not to take it personally; you can’t exactly blame him.
Life goes on. Your boss swings by your desk to excitedly share the news that your visa was approved, and you set a final transition date. You sort out the travel, the logistics of shipping your stuff, and lock down a place to sublet in Los Angeles to get you started. It’s admittedly shocking how easy it is to take your old life apart, piece by piece. To draft your escape plan, to run away from it all one final time. To make a clean break.
It’s nearly the end of your last workday in Seoul before you’re able to put a name to the feeling that’s begun to blossom in the pit of your stomach: it’s hope.
“Hey.” Your boss’ voice cuts through your concentration, and you glance up from your laptop to see him leaned up against your desk. “Can you walk to the break room with me for a second? Got a few last-minute questions for you.”
Your eyes go wide, your mind instantly racing, trying to think of what it is you might have forgotten.
“You’re not in trouble,” he says with a laugh, and you nod as you get to your feet, not quite able to believe it. “Just, uh, follow me and put on a happy face. Alright?”
You have no idea what he could possibly mean until you round the corner and a cheer rises up. The rest of your coworkers are standing around the break room in groups, like they’ve been waiting for you, though that doesn’t seem to have stopped them from already partaking in the assortment of food and drinks that’s been set up beside the vending machines. There’s a farewell banner pinned to the wall, signed with well-wishes from what looks to be everyone at the Seoul office, and someone’s turned on a playlist that you realize upon closer listen exclusively features songs about California.
There’s even a cake.
For a moment, you can’t do anything except stand there in the threshold, dumbfounded, as your coworkers clap and laugh.
“I— wow,” is all you can think to say, and you shoot your boss an incredulous look. “Thank you.”
He makes a face. “Hey, I didn’t do this. Thank JK.” Your boss nods across the room. “That kid loves any excuse to throw a party.”
Your heart immediately sinks at the mention, at all this kindness shown to you by the person you’ve arguably treated the worst.
It takes a while to get to him, with nearly every person wanting to stop you for a chat, but you finally manage to make your way over to where Jungkook is loading up a paper plate with so much food that it’s threatening to cave in.
“Make sure you get something to eat before it’s all gone,” he says by way of greeting, gesturing to the catering dishes with an elbow so he can keep both hands on his plate. “It’s really good.”
“Jungkook,” you say softly, and his gaze alights on you for a second before returning back to his food. You don’t think you’re imagining that he looks somewhat nervous. “I really can’t thank you enough. You didn’t have to do any of this.”
He shrugs, taking a few steps over to a nearby table, and you cautiously trail after him. “I didn’t,” he admits as he sets his plate down, then scoots a chair out. “But you deserve a good send-off. It takes a lot of guts to do what you’re doing.”
You shift nervously where you stand. “It’s either that or cowardice. I’ll let you know when I figure out which.”
A small smile tugs at his lips as he digs into his food, and you suddenly feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. But then he glances up again, speaking through a mouthful. “Well, whatever it is. I hope it works out for you.”
“Thanks, JK.” You do your best to return his smile. “I hope so, too.”
By the time you grab your own plate, you’ve been swept into another group to answer an endless litany of questions about your move. You tell yourself it’s probably for the best to leave Jungkook alone anyway, so you try to stand there and smile, to assure your nosier coworkers that nothing happened; you just needed a change of scenery.
Eventually the conversation shifts, and you find yourself on the outskirts of it, more than a little relieved to no longer be in the hot seat. You sip politely at your drink and nod along, not really paying attention to whatever’s being said, until a tap on your shoulder makes you start, and you turn around.
You nearly drop your cup when you find Min Yoongi staring back at you.
Your eyes had scanned the crowd for his face when you got here, like they do in every room you walk into, but he wasn’t here. He wasn’t, you’re sure of it, and you honestly hadn’t expected him to show at all. Why would he?
But now here he is, standing in front of you, his dark eyes searching yours. And you have no idea what to say to him.
You might be face-to-face in a crowded break room, but he still feels unreachable, like he’s a thousand miles away from you. It occurs to you that after today he’ll be much, much further.
Your lips part, but you can’t get the words out. You don’t even know where to begin. But then he speaks first.
“I just want you to be happy,” he murmurs, and as he says it, his hand brushes yours for less than a second. It’s a touch so brief, so imperceptible, that anyone else would think it was an accident. But you know better.
Yoongi pauses, as if to take one final look at you, and then he slips between two groups of your chatting coworkers, and you lose sight of him again. As if he was never there at all. It’s like you can feel your heart drop to your feet and shatter against the linoleum floor.
It hurts just as much as it did before— watching him walk away, not having the guts to stop him. Even if you did, you know you’d find a way to fuck it up, the way you always do. So you say nothing. Do nothing. The party turns to white noise in your ears as you stare down at the liquid in your cheap plastic cup. And then it hits you all at once: you need to get out of here.
You’re able to slip out of the break room unnoticed, dropping your drink in a trashcan on the way out. You move down the hallway on unsteady legs, and you don’t stop until your hands are pressed flat to the bathroom door to push it open. Shouldering into a stall, you can barely fumble the lock closed behind you before the tears start to spill over.
You don’t try to hold them in. You just slump against the door and let it all pour out of you. You cry until your throat goes thick, until a muted thud blooms at the back of your skull, until you find yourself distantly wondering if you’ll ever stop crying. You’re so fucking sick of crying.
Occasional groups of coworkers drift into the bathroom, and you stifle your sounds each time to avoid detection, your cheek pressed to the stall door as you wait to hear them trickle out again. The interruptions get further and further apart until there’s a long stretch of silence, and your hands shake slightly as you slip the lock open to make your way out to the sink.
The face looking back at you in the mirror is not a pretty sight, all puffy and tear-stained, your makeup a disaster. You reach for a paper towel to try and clean yourself up, and then the bathroom door creaks open a few inches, just enough for Jungkook to stick his head through the gap.
You can’t help smiling a little at his unexpected presence, though it’s more of a grimace, considering you know full well how awful you look right now. “Hey, JK.”
He blinks, eyes widening as he takes in your current state. “I know I’m not supposed to be in here, but… are you okay?”
The laugh you manage is all self-pity. “Kind of a loaded question.”
Jungkook nudges the door open with his foot, and you realize his hands are preoccupied with two paper plates. “Everyone’s gone; I was just cleaning up,” he explains. “I brought cake.”
“Thanks,” you say softly, watching his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he steps inside.
After a moment of internal debate, you turn to press your back to the sink, flattening your palms against the counter and hopping up to sit on it. Jungkook sets the plates between you before following suit, his long legs dangling over the edge of the marble surface. He reaches into his shirt pocket to retrieve two plastic forks, performing the motion with just enough flourish to make you really laugh as he hands you one with a shy smile.
The two of you take your first bites in silence, save for your own sniffling.
“This cake is really good,” you murmur as you chew.
A longer pause settles between you, and you find yourself relieved for the quiet. You figure Jungkook doesn’t need to ask the obvious question, that he’s perfectly capable of putting the pieces together as to what might’ve led you to lock yourself in the bathroom and cry all your makeup off. And any words of comfort he could’ve once offered would only make you feel like even more of a monster right now.
Jungkook has already finished his slice of cake by the time he speaks again. “Did you… hate the party?”
“No, JK,” you respond immediately, the corner of your mouth pulling up in a sad half-smile. “It was wonderful.” Guilt gnaws at the edges of your conscience, and you can’t help but question what you ever did to be worthy of this friendship. Of Jungkook’s kindness, given freely, even when you didn’t deserve it. “Seriously, thank you. For everything.”
“You’re welcome,” he answers. You look down just in time to see him extend a leg so he can gently tap his foot against yours. His voice is quieter when it comes back. “I’m really gonna miss you.”
“I’m gonna miss you too,” you echo, glancing up at him as you return his foot tap with one of your own. “But you’ll be alright.”
Jungkook’s gaze drifts down to the floor, and he nods as you take another bite of cake, his jaw set firm. “Yeah. I will be.”
~*~
As you pack up the last of your things, there’s a lingering feeling in your gut that you can’t quite manage to shake, and you’re not sure why. Maybe Jimin got in your head with all the TV show drama talk. Or maybe it’s your stupid heart, foolishly holding out hope that things could still change, even at the eleventh hour. That it all can’t just… end like this.
But none of the scenarios you’ve dreamed up come true. Yoongi isn’t standing at your apartment door when you swing it open with your suitcase in hand. He doesn’t step out of the cab that pulls up to your complex to take you to the airport. He doesn’t run through the terminal to catch you right before you make it to security.
Yoongi doesn’t stop you. So you go.
chapter nine | masterlist
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Hi I'm literally BEGGING you to do a part II of the Drunk Byte with Sun?? He would be so motherly and exasperated with us
I freaking LOVED part I
Sun takes care of hungover Reader. Continued prompt from this post. Wordcount: 3200+
AO3 link (preferred if you comment!)
CW: Drinking mention, (1) puking instance and other typical syptoms of hangover. Nudity mention in a non-sexual situation (you eat soup while a nice hot bath, yay.) and some suggestive humor.
You wake up easy, with sunlight coming in through the blinds of your bedroom window leaving lines of light across your face, it's unlucky enough for you that one cast across your eyes and burns through your eyelids as you come to consiousness.
Eyes shut tight, your hand palms around your surroundings (you feel sheets, a blanket, your pillow) before grabbing the nearest one out from underneath something heavy and throwing it over your face.
It's a instictive reaction, quick and you're almost back to slumber when the thought process starts to churn in your mind: you didn't fall asleep in your bed last night, and you don't remember ever walking in here.
Sleep ignores that thought. Nausua, however, beats sleep back with a barbed stick and you sit up quickly, eyes flying open and all but blindlly scrambling upwards, over something gangly on the other side of the mattress and out of the bed.
There is a very surprised "oh dear" you hear coming from your bedroom as you run but you don't really catch it until you're kneeled over the toilet, eyes starting to wet as a sour feeling starts to boil and-oh, there you go. Yep. You're puking. You are definantly throwing up. Man, this was never pleasant.
Between the horrid noises and the inbetween on your still-groggy conciousness, footsteps approuch. You're finished (at least, you hope you are) as a hand comes to brush back across your forehead, and another settles on your back, running up your spine in a comforting rythem. "Guess you didn't see the bucket by the bed, did you?"
Turning your head, you squint at the yellow, smiling gangly thing through wet, blearly eyes. "Heuh?"
Sun's smile is soft, brightening the room. "Good morning!"
You open your mouth to speak, and then immediatly choke on trying to swallow back the rest of the nausea. "It is-" You cough, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. "I-It does not feel like a good morning."
"Well, we can work on that part." He's chipper, though a touch quieter than normal. A sorta-whisper yell under his usual volume, like he was purposly trying to be mindful of the potential headache you might be in route for. "All done? Do you need a minute."
You swallow. You feel gross. Terribly gross. "I'm- I'm done."
"Okay, now. Uppys-daisy, like so-" Hands underneath your arms, he lifts you gently into standing position, slowly enough so the movement doesn't make you dizzy. The toilet lid is put down, flushed and Sun lowers you to sit while the world spins. "Sit here. Good, there you go."
Honestly? You're not even fully awake. "I feel horrible."
There's amusement in his voice when Sun steps back. "Oh, I can tell!"
"Mean." You mummble, a soft tissue being pushed into your hand and you using it to wipe your face without missing a beat. "Rude."
He scoffs, plucking the tissue and throwing it in the waste basket. "I think 'rude' would be pulling out my pillow and then almost tripping over me while I was in the middle of a very good book!"
Your face scrunches up, only partially because the bathroom light is too bright for your incoming migraine. "Didn't have to be in the bed."
"Well, no." Sun tosses the tissue, leaning over to start running water in the skin. "But We like to be close by, and that was the comfiest spot!" He says, and your retort is silienced by him handing you a toothbrush, and a cap of mouthwash you were too groggy to see him pour. "Here, now. I don't know the experience but I've heard a lot of little ones complain about the taste."
You don't reject the offering, grabbing both items and not-complaining when you are guided to standing again so you can lean over the sink. "You still get sick ones in your classes?"
"Plenty! All the time. Often. They like to eat glitter glue when I'm not looking. Sometimes, parents drop them off with a fever." Sun smiles, his hand still resting on your back like he was afraid of you falling backwards. "We think you should stay home for the day, too."
You start the process of mouthwash, toothpaste, mouthwash and repeat. "M'not arguing."
"Sit tight." He bids you to stay, and you see his shape blur out of the corner of your eye out of the bathroom, the door cracked open in his absence.
It takes it's few runs but the taste goes away and your mouth feels infinatly cleaner than it did before. A breathe check and you're good to go, like the whole unpleasant experience never even happened. Your appereance, however, was a sight to behold in the mirror.
You're dishevielved, starting to feel a little grimy on your skin and still wearing the same clothes from the night before. Except your jacket was missing, and your shoes had been taken off. They never went past that, always lecturing about diginity and privacy if you were caught sleeping with your day clothes on.
You didn't mind it, but it's kinda hypocritcal when they're perfectly fine barging in when you're awake though. The nerf gun is probably still sitting loaded on the shower shelf. You can thank Moon for the need of that one.
You needed a shower, a change of clothes, and some food in your belly. Seriously. There felt like nothing in your stomach and it was not doing you any good for the hangover you were currently expereincing.
Turning on your heel, you seek out the door to find the kitchen (maybe stuff some shredded cheese in your mouth or something) but a taller form suddenly appears, blocking the exit. "Oh, feeling better?" Sun exclaims, something folded over his arms. You squint at what he's holding; a towel, and more comfortable, clean clothes. "Feel like coming and sitting at the table? Or would you rather take a shower first instead?"
You think about it for a long, hard moment. You're hungry, but you're also gross. A glance back towards the bathtub is very tempting, but the rumbling in your stomach is also persistant. "Give me a second. I'm trying to decide between food or hygine."
"You can have both." Sun offers, holding out the offerings of clean clothes and the towel. "Run a bath and I'll bring it to you, or slide it through the door. Whichever suits your fancy."
You groan. "Sounds like you're trying to spoil me."
"It's in our design!" His sunrays spin once, and lower with a smile. "...And we did just watch you upcheck a peanut butter sandwich."
Fair enough. You take the clothes and towel into your arms, throwing them on top of the counter and ushering him out with a wave of the hand. "Okay, get out. Shoo."
He salutes you in the doorframe. "Yell if you need me!"
There's pounding in your head when you lean over to turn on the faucet, so your response is a aknowledgment that comes out more like a zombie-fied groan.
There's a chuckle as the door softely shuts behind you, but you don't have the energy to call him out for it, and you start to undress. The water fills up to a comfortable level when you're done, tossing the dirty clothing in the corner (oh, Sun hates when you do that) and testing the tempature. It's hot, but just enough that you can comfortably sink into the water.
You just kinda....sit there.
The hot water is very nice. Muscle aches and preassure in your skull still lightly throbbed, but melted away a bit at the steam. You still felt hungry, dehydrated, and you didn't have the energy just yet to grab the soap and shampoo, but taking a deep breath helps the nausea disppate and help you finally start to wake all the way up.
At some point, you take the effort to pour a little body wash into the water around the faucet to hopefully start some bubbles, but they're scarce and don't really do much except make the water a bit cloudy. Welp. At least it smelled nice.
A knock on the door causes a small twinge of headache pain, but you muster out a answer to the waiting figure on the otherside. "Come in."
The door creaks open, two sunrays are peeking through the crack while a robot arm holding a soup bowl and spoon slowly come into view so carefully it's almost comicall. You fight back a snort as Sun's voice rings around the corner. "Delivery! I'm not looking, promise!"
"Hypocrite." You call outloud, and this time you don't hold back the snicker when the door opens wider, Sun fully walking into the bathroom with his head spun all the way around in some freakish 180 degree turn. How does he even walk straight looking backwards?
He manages, finding the floor next to the tub and sitting down on the floor mat. "It's the thought that matters! And I would like to remind you that I am holding some yummy soup that will maybe definatly hit the floor if you decided to use that terrible nerf gun on me!"
"I won't shoot you." You snort.
Sun's head rotates back around to his proper position, and smiles at you. "Oh good. I wouldn't have dropped the soup anyways." It's a coy, teasing grin sent your way as the bowl is set on the side of the bath. "Chicken soup is supposed to be good for this sort of thing. It's cool enough to hold, but still be careful."
"Yeah yeah-" You take a hold of the bowl, careful not to drop it in the bath (which, honestly, would have been hilarious) and take a tentive sip from the side, forgoing the spoon. It's hot, but not hot enough for the bowl to burn your hands. The broth and noodles go down very quickly, and you can feel your body start to pick up energy from the promise of something in your stomach. "Thank you for the soup."
Sun nods, pulling out something with his other hand, second hand going to his pants pocket. A glass of water you didn't even notice is set to the side, and your phone is pulled out from the fabric. You don't even ask, but grab and gulp the water in a frenzy of hungover dehydration as the animatronic taps your phone to life. "You got a missed call while I was making food."
"Oh, yeah?" You talk inbetween gulps, returning to your soup. It's nice to sink into the water and just drink from the bowl, really becoming one with the liquid here. "From who? What was it about?"
Sun looks up, quizzically. "Oh! Was I supposed to answer it?"
You slurp a noodle."If you want? I really don't mind."
"Reducing me to an answering machine, I see." He grins. You just slurp a noodle again, but this time obnoxiously louder. He taps a few buttons. "It's from your classmate, Brianna. Looks like she left you a message."
(Oh! So that's what her name was!)
He turns the phone towards you, handed out just not over the water so you could reach out to accsess the thread, but you flinch at the screen's brightness that burns your eyes. Your face must have twisted with your headache, because the phone is pulled away and Sun talks quieter, offering. "May I?"
You mean to say 'yes', but it comes out more like a grumbled zombie groan plagued with the start of a migraine.
"There's pain killers in the cabinet. I'll get them for you in a moment." Sun smiles, turning the phone back to himself and tapping to the message thread. A second passes where he scans the scree, and his smile stretches awkwardly. "Ah."
You blink. "What?"
His smile turns increasenly more nervous, hesitation in his voice as he starts his sentence off with a awkward laugh. "She, ah, asked how your-" Sun pauses like he was inwardly debating on the correct word. "-adventures with the....'sexy, tall, robot clown' went, last night."
You almost spit out your soup, swallowing the last gulp hard. "Oh my god."
"There's also some more...things she asked." Sun puts the phone face down on the floor. "And I, well, I do not think I can ask those outloud."
"Oh my god." You snort, and almost choke on a noodle so bad you're forced to lean over the side of the bath, set the near-empty bowl on the floor just so you can catch your breathe from the laughter that's bubbling up in your throat. "Oh my god, ha! That's-that's hilarious. Holy shit!"
"Well, I'm glad you found it funny!" Sun gasps, hand over his chest ands so shocked that he doesn't even scold you for the profainity. "I'm disturbed! Offended! You were drunk! What kind of robot do they think we are?!"
The laughter hurts your head, but you don't care at the moment. "A sexy one!"
He makes a noise that makes you laugh harder, and points accusatory to you. "You stop that!"
"Okay! Okay-" You take a deep breathe, calming youself. Partially because you don't want to be flustered yourself, and partially because you didn't want that nausea you've been keeping at bay to steadily creep back up to you. "Okay. I'm fine. It's fine now. But it's funny."
"What nosy, personal questions." Suns tuts, sliding the phone away from him. "I think I would have preferred answering your questions from last night instead."
Oh, man. You had actaully forgotten about that. "Hey-"
"Feel any better?" The change in topic is abrupt, but the shift in his smile from nervous to teasing is just as much whiplash. "Ready to get out yet? Or would you rather sit here for a while and pick-up where we left off last night?"
Your face sours, frowning at him and sinking into the water. "I'm dying. I'm dying in soup and you're going to mock me while I'm dying."
Without missing a beat, he stacks the dishes to the side, his other arm reaching back to pull the towel off the counter. "I'm sure you'd make for a tasty soup, but I'm afraid I'll have to save you for later."
You groan something incoherent at the joke, but quiet any retort you had ready unless you wanted to be met with the same wit. He helps you stand up, (turning his head away backwards again, though it's more out of respect than actaully avoidance by now) and you're wrapped in the towel and guided out of the tub by the time he picks up the dishes, the dirty clothes you left the corner and moves to the door.
He pauses in the doorway with upward turned eyes and a mischivious grin. "I'll be in the living room, unless you'd like some help-"
You throw the towel at him, to which Sun fake-screams at a super high pitch, dodges the projectile and darts out of view.
Something tells you that you were going to get teased about those questions for a long while.
The aches and nausea has disapated now that you were clean, relaxed and had something light in your stomach, so it's easier to get dressed in whatever he brought you. Lounge-wear, sweatpants and a t-shirt good enough for a lazy day. You pick up your phone off the tile before you forget it and flip it back over to face the screen.
It's still open on your classmate's message thread. Squinting as you turn down the brightness, you glance over the incoming texts and yeesh, oh man. Wow. Yeah, these were some very...interesting questions. But hey, it looks like she score a date with that bartender robot after all! Good for her.
It is with your almost horror, however, that Sun has accidently taken a close-up selfie of himself and sent it into the message thread with no further context, probably by accident. Robot fingers weren't the best to work with on touch screen phones. You can already see the chat bubble popping up for your classmate typing.
Probably best to avoid any misunderstanding. With a quick tap of your fingers, you send two pictures (one of a selfie of you and Sun from a previous date, another one you took of Moon and yourself during a movie night) and in your hungover state, try to give the brief explanation that it was in fact, a friend and roommate who picked you up last night, and that none of her previous questions apply.
You even ask her how her night with the bartender went to keep up the solid conversation, but her next message flat out ignores it and is typed in all caps.
The message reads: 'YOU HAVE TWO OF THEM??!?? 😳😳😳'
Actaully, you know what? Let's just back out of that message thread and make it a problem to deal with later.
Sun is in the living room just as he said he was, and he meets your gaze just as you flinch from all the light coming in from the balcony glass windows. He looks up at you from the couch, book in hand and meets your scrunched expression with a bright, chipper look. "You're looking brighter!"
Your reponse is a stuck-out tongue and a 'blegh'. "Where are those painkillers you talked about?"
"Here." He sits up, gesturing towards the coffee table so you walk about the sofa. A fresh glass of water and two small ibeprofen sit on a napkin waiting for you.
You snag it, downing them quickly and sighing as you place the now half-empty glass back down. "Great. Soon I'll only be half dying. Let me in. " With all the grace of a zombie, you flail your arm in Sun's direction until the animatronic, confused, arms are raised and you all but practically plop into his space, both of your legs resting on the rest of the couch. "Oof."
He's careful adjusting so you're inbetween his arms and resting on his chest, the book situated in front of you for his viewing while you shimmie your phone back out of your pocket and click on all the notifications you've missed. You bypass a couple of social media links, a news report and a couple of game notifcation as Sun hums. "How do you feel?"
"Better. Mostly." You scroll through your feed with mindless effort. "Did you add more games on my phone? My notifications are all stacked up."
Sun shys in on himself. "Perhaps."
You find the one most recently used, and it brings you to a higher level in a mobile game you've ever seen a human person do. "...Candy crush? You're a robot. It takes no effort to calculate the right move to win."
"I like the animations! Some of them look like Sundrops and Moondrops, too"
"I'm going to beat your high score."
"Then I'll watch." Sun speaks softely, and he's comfortable to lean into the crook between his torso and his arm, curled up with your phone close to your face on the lowest brightest setting and the shadow of his book protecting you from the light that shines in from the balcony.
#sorry if the ending is abrupt i didnt know how to end it lmao#writings#fnaf sb#fnaf sun#sundrop#fnaf moon#moondrop#sun x reader#moon x reader#Solar Lunacy#drabbles#x reader#self insert
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Baizhu x Reader
𓇬♡ | Warning: NSFW, noncon, fingering, etc.
𓇬♡ | Word Count: 663 Words.
𓇬♡ | A/N: This is an little extra of my other writings! So other writting might help with the plot<3
Part 1| Part 2| Part 3
A stung of pain comes in your head as you wake from your deep slumber. The first horrible hangover you ever experienced as you were never fond of drinking. Half of your memory is in blur. Last thing you remember was the blonde hair architect, walking you out of the tavern. Now you wake up in your hotel bed wondering when did you tell him where you stay. It must be when you were drunk. You were trying to recall the seemingly important dream you had before you awakened. Right when you remember something about ribbons, your phone rings. The caller's name instantly distracts you from your thoughts.
You decline the call. Decided to block him before you try to stand just to fall right back to the bed. Your thigh feels numb.
"Did I use medicine?" You ask yourself knowing full well you don't- or at least that's what you remember. You examine the place and don't think there is something wrong. With some consideration, you decide to make a quick stop to visit the doctor your friend recommended on the way home.
You heard liyue has the best doctor in teyvat. With remedies made from the plant that is freshly picked from mountains in liyue. Although they were infamous for their extremely bitter taste, the effect itself made up for it.
You watch as the doctor put down his pet snake in the aquarium beside his working desk. Asking you some simple question before examining your face and tongue. He sighs.
"From your explanation, this will need examination on your vital area, but our female doctor is not available as for now. If you don't mind, I can perform the examination. But if you want to wait for the female doctor, you can come back next Tuesday."
Next Tuesday is exactly a week from now and you are running out of time. You reluctantly agree to the examination. While the doctor reassures you that he will figure out the cause of your frequent numbness. He told you to spread your legs while lying down on your back. You were eyeing him as he put off his gloves and slid a finger on your fold towards your clit. Circling around it as you bite your tongue trying to conceal whatever sound it might cause. He said he can examine it better with his gloves off. You feel his finger keep circling around your clit, thumb pressing it and rubbing it not so softly making your body tense at the upcoming orgasm. He fastens his movement as he watches you squirm, using one of his hands to hold you down by pressing your stomach. You can't hold your moan anymore as you come from his finger. He says something along the line that it's perfectly normal and is a required step in this examination. You still panting, can't fully register his sentence as the slender finger inserts your hole. You thought it would be a simple insert checking the grip then out. But the moment he got his finger in you, his pace of moving is making you stumble your words. You want to make him stop when he curls his finger on the gummy spot, gaining a loud moan as you throw your head back from the sensation. He watches from behind the glass frame. Resuming his finger movement as he feels you gush around his finger. Clamping down on it earning a soft groan from him. He could already imagine the feeling, if only it was his cock that stuff into your hole. You feel his finger leaving your hole, body trembling and still panting when he explains that there is nothing wrong with your body. The only explanation for the numbness might be from the medicine you consume and he suggests you switch it with the one from his pharmacies. Handmade by him of course with the greatest doctor making the medicine for you, you will certainly recover.
#genshin smut#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin x reader smut#genshin x female reader#baizhu#baizhu x reader#baizhu smut#baizhu x you#baizhu x y/n#genshin impact smut#genshin#genshin baizhu#genshin impact x female reader
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So I have this mildly amusing concept in my head that follows my Codywan at a bar concept (that I don't think I've shared.) It would be really amusing if a bunch of horrible stuff happened and then the 212th and 501st all head back to coruscant together and Cody is all mopey and upset and distancing himself from obi wan for whatever reason and Rex is like 'dont worry we're gonna go to a bar tonight and make this better' and Cody is like fuck no, because Cody. And then Rex tells Fox and Fox, Mr by the book, is like oh yeah sure let's go and he's the one who picks Cody up and is like you're going. And when they get to the bar Rex is already there but he's got Anakin and obi wan with him and Cody is like...pissed at Rex and Fix because this was a set up. And all the sudden Quinlan appears out of nowhere, turns out fox didn't choose to come Quinlan said 'youre going, we're getting obi wan and Cody together, and we'll have a date night' and fox had like begrudgingly agreed for that reason. Cut to Rex is sitting awkwardly at a table with Cody And Obi wan, making sure they drink, and is also drinking himself and eventually Rex gets tired of them and goes and starts dancing with Anakin who hit the dance floor as soon as they got there. Cut to a little later, Cody is DRUNK. And obi wan is really drunk too, but he had gone off to the bathroom so Cody is still awkwardly sitting at the table people watching. Quinlan and Fox have long since disappeared. Anakin and Rex are like dancing so close they might as well be one person. And Cody's by himself. A club dancer comes up and Cody is drunk enough she convinces him to dance with her. Cody is in a State™️ and this girl just taught him how to dance. He's like out of it, that's how drunk he is, and obi wan comes back, also like super super drunk, downs another drink, and sees this club dancer hanging all over Cody and putting her hands all over him and having Cody do the same to her. So Obi Wan walks up to Cody is like 'mind if I cut in' and this club dancer is just like oh another hot man yeah sure and obi wan cuts in, but he doesn't dance with her, he starts dancing with Cody. Cut to Cody's memory pretty much blacking out and waking up the next morning in Obi Wan's bed at the Jedi Temple. He's confused at first because he's been in this room before but can't place it and then he realizes where he is. Obi Wan is awake and tells him good morning, both have horrid hangovers but the minute Cody hears Obi Wans voice he practically falls out of the bed and hits the floor, scrambling to put his clothes back on because he's just in a t shirt and briefs and he's freaking the fuck out cause he just woke up in the same bed as obi wan. Which it's not the first time he's fallen asleep near Obi Wan, but he also can't remember much of anything. So Cody rushes out the door, Obi-Wan calling after him (spoiler alert they didn't do anything they both just went back to Obi-Wan's place and crashed because they're old and boring even when drunk off their asses, but also they're in the middle of a war so they have every right to be exhausted.) And Cody goes rushing back to the barracks and practically pounds on Rex's door until he opens up. And when he does Cody starts talking real fast and Rex is like half sitting up watching him, not really as hung over cause he didn't drink that much, and has a higher tolerance than Cody cause let's get real he drinks way more often. And Cody is rambling and Rex is just like 'cody calm down it's okay, have a seat.' and Cody sits and puts his pounding head in his hands and is like 'I slept with Obi Wan.' but he doesn't know if they banged or not (they didn't.) And suddenly another person sits up in Rex's bed and suddenly Anakin is there and he's like 'what?! You slept with Obi Wan?!? Obi Wan slept with someone?!' and then chaos, hilarity, and angst ensues.
Like believe me, there's so much more to this idea but this much has me giggling.
#star wars#commander cody#codywan#obi wan kenobi#anakin skywalker#captain rex#rexwalker#rexakin#quinlan vos#commander fox#quinfox#the go to a club because they need a break okay?#also i know the reason cody is upset with Obi-Wan#but no one else does#evil cackles#drinking#anakin/rex/padme#i dont know their ship name
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Getting to know you
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: During one of Starks famous party’s you and Steve…get to know each other better.
𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Steve Rogers x Reader
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: alcohol, drinking game [ truth or dare], smut, technically dub-con since both of them are drunk, dirty talk, slight Captain kink, fingering, oral ( F ), unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your willy ), hangovers
Please let me know if I need to add something.
It’s my first English smut one-shot. I hope you’ll like it, let me know!<3
Please be aware, English is not my first language, I can’t guarantee there are no mistakes.
!18+!
A horrible headache woke you up. Your head felt like it was about to explode. Growling, You buried your face in your pillow.
It smelled so nice...
Somehow better and different than usual?
It smelled like....man?!
Startled, You opened your eyes and looked directly into the sleeping face of none other than Captain America himself.
You drew your breath sharply in.
Then it occurred to you-did the two of you-? You quickly looked under the covers-You were naked. Oh holy....
How did this happen? You were barely talking the last few months and suddenly You wake up in his bed?
Stupid alcohol.
Yesterday there was a party that Stark had organized. Normally You didn't go to these, but yesterday You had decided otherwise.
For years You were a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and now also an Avenger. Well, technically only for a month, but still. At this party You wanted to meet the Avengers, get to know them more-but waking up with Captain America was not on your mind, when You said You wanted to get to know them.
Slowly, You turned on your back and tried to recall last night, even though it would probably make your headache worse.
•••
Nervously You entered the room. The party had been going on for at least two hours.
It's a funny habit of you to show up later at parties; many people were already drunk and it wasn't so tense anymore. So it was better to be a bit late.
"Hi, you look great," Natasha said as she came up to you. You had been friends for a really long time-if she hadn't talked you into coming here today, You wouldn't have come. "Thanks, so do you, Natasha." You gave her a friendly smile, even though it was slightly forced and probably looked like you were stressed.
You latched onto her arm and walked with her to the bar. It would be easier after a few shots.
"Tequila?", asked the redhead. "You know damn well that never ends well," You laughed out, after which You nodded anyway. You were right. It had not been a good idea to choose tequila.
Suddenly the loud laughter of Thor interrupted our conversation- Thor was nice and You liked spending time with him. When You looked at him, You realized that he was certainly drunk. The alcohol he always brought with him was really strong. At least that's what Natasha told you. It was apparently something for gods. You never really attended these kind of Stark-Party’s before, so it was the first time you could really see it.
Now You saw it with your own eyes. This alcohol was definitely stronger than anything for a normal human.
"Just look at those idiots. Finally I won't be the only woman on this team," Natasha laughed next to you . Grinning, you shook your head slightly. "This is going to be an interesting evening," You mused as You looked around at the guests-well, your gaze lingered on Steve.
You had to admit that You liked him for some time now. That's also why You kind of avoided him as much as possible. Whenever you got into a conversation, You started stuttering, blushing, and- in short, making a fool out of yourself.
It was just embarrassing.
"Lady Y/N! Come join us!", Thor snapped you out of your thoughts. Quickly you finished your glass, refilled it, and joined the others. Natasha was already sitting there drinking a beer. Since when did she had a beer? You sat down next to Natasha, she winked cheekily at you. Immediately your lips twitched upwards. Tonight would be a great evening. You were sure of it.
An hour later, some people had already left; Bruce wasn't feeling well and decided to go to bed, Clint was so drunk that he had also gone to his room. Maria already went home-as had many others. You didn't feel too sober anymore either. This was certainly noticed by the others; You laughed more, louder, spoke more openly, joked...And you also flirted. You werde definitely drunk. But I felt really good. Kind of made you more confident.
"You know what-now would be a game pretty funny-like truth or dare," Tony spoke to himself. Or us. You couldn’t really tell, since he was looking at the ceiling. "Kind of like how it used to be during the school days...lots of drinking, gambling, beautiful women," he continued to speak with a glance at Natasha and you. Your cheeks turned slightly red, which is why You lowered your head.
You felt someone sit down next to you. Automatically you looked up-just to meet Steve’s beautiful blue eyes. “Hello Captain”, you said with a slight smirk. The soldier smiled and leaned a bit closer to you. You could feel your heart beat faster. “Don’t listen to Tony. He’s completely drunk…even though he’s definitely right. Beautiful women. You look great, Y/N”, said the solider with a bright smile. This compliment made your cheeks redden.
At some point, you all did start playing the stupid kids game. But you did it a little differently-with an app, since neither of you would be creative enough to come up with good tasks. So we ended up with Tony having to pour a drink into his pants, Thor having to tell us when he last had sex, Natasha having to drink two shots, and so on.
"Y/N, this next one is to you-truth or dare?" read Tony, barely comprehensible. "Dare." Your drunken self certainly wasn't scared and shy anymore.
"Well, sit down onto the lap of the person on your left." You looked at Steve, puzzled, since he was on your left. For a moment he just closed his eyes and sighed. He knew he wouldn’t live this one down-Tony would probably make fun of him for weeks. “Yes, it’s fine. Come here”, said Steve with a friendly smile.
Slowly You sat down on his lap. Briefly, you slid around a bit to find a comfortable position-just then he grabbed your hips and squeezed them slightly. You could feel how you clenched around nothing. "You better stop that, sweetheart. I'm very….sensitive..." grumbled Steve in your ear, which made you hold your breath for a second. No one but you could hear this. And it made your heart jump.
With red cheeks, You looked at him for a moment. Without saying anything, You nodded quickly and remained sitting quietly and without moving much more.
"Ah how wonderful, Capsicle. This is probably the only time you'll ever get this close to such a beautiful woman," Tony slurred, causing Steve to sigh in annoyance. That’s exactly what he imagined would happen.
You in return merely chuckled and leaned into his chest a bit. Steve kept his hands on my hips. He gently stroked them with his fingertips. Sometimes you could swear he also squeezed them.
Pretty soon after that Thor fell asleep on the sofa-Natasha was gone after she said she was going to get a drink and never coming back-probably she also went to sleep-Tony was taken away by Pepper and so everyone slowly walked to their rooms.
It was just Steve and you left.
Your head was in the crook of his neck while his hand had slipped from my hip to my thigh. He stroked it gently. You felt bad for having so many different and definitely not innocent thoughts about how this situation could turn out. One thing was clear-it was driving you crazy. You felt everything inside you tingling-but especially between your legs.
"We should get going...", You heard Steve's husky voice against your ear. Immediately you got goosebumps. It felt nice to have him so close to you.
"Mhmm....It's so comfortable though...", You whispered chuckling quietly, lifting your head a little so You could look at him.
Steve's look was different. Darker.
The two of you stayed that close for some time. Eyes closed, just cuddling. "Or we could have another drink....," Steve murmured, which made you grin. You nodded immediately and turned slightly in his lap so you could grab your glass from the table.
As You slid back Steve made a noise that resembled a moan. "Oh sorry if I hurt you," You apologized and looked up at him. He didn't look like he was hurting though. Rather the opposite. Like he…enjoyed whatever just happened.
"It's okay, it's okay." He quickly grabbed the drink and took several big gulps of it. The smell of it was so strong that just the thought of drinking it disgusted me, but I knew that only this alcohols had an effect on him.
You also drank a few big gulps of your drink. You hesitated briefly before You changed your position, so you could wrap your legs around him-torso to torso. His one hand slid from your hip to your waist-the other remained on your thigh. His thumb kept stroking your bare skin. Again and again over the inner side of your thigh. This touching was driving you crazy. You could feel how you clenched around nothing. You slowly slid a little closer to him. Apparently he was feeling the same thing, because there was a hard bulge in his pants.
"Steve...", You breathed out. "Hmmm," Steve pulled you a little closer. Teasingly You bit your lower lip and stroked with your hand along his chest. "Ah fuck it." With those words, You grabbed his shirt and pulled him against you. Without a second thought you presst your lips to his. Yet you pulled away quickly. It made Steve whine quietly.
"Sorry I-" Immediately You were interrupted by Steve lips on yours-he kissed you. Steve Rogers was kissing you…and he was a Great kisser. He slipped his tongue in my mouth, what caused me to moan faintly.
Within a few minutes the kisses became more demanding and passionate. It started to because more teeth and tongue. Your whole body felt on fire. A soft gasp escaped your lips, when Steve's hand slowly stroked under your dress and stopped at your underwear. Teasingly he stroked over your slip. Your slip was wet, which made Steve grin. His thumb slid over your sensitive bud. A surprised gasp escaped your lips, when you felt him massaging your clit-before it disappeared. But just for a moment. In the next second you could feel his hand sliding under your slip. Again he started to rub your sensitive parts. You gasped-which sounded more like moan, losing yourself in his touch.
Slowly, Steve bent over you so that you were lying on the couch; him above you, between your legs. This position caused your dress to slide up higher, which made Steve look at your underwear. Thank god you actually thought about putting on something sexy-even if it wasn’t your plan to get laid tonight. You were not complaining. His hand slid out from your slip, just so he could grab your ass. Captain America must have had a weakness for-
A low moan interrupted your thoughts when Steve pressed his hips against your. Grinding against you. Fuck, I really needed him. Inside me.
"S-Steve...", You whimpered softly against his lips. Immediately, he pulled away and looked at you. He was totally out of breath. You let your gaze linger on his face.
He looked so beautiful.
Disheveled hair, reddened and somewhat swollen lips from kissing, pupils wide. His shirt was by now partially unbuttoned and pulled out of his pants. Your lipstick on his lips and neck smeared.
"If you want us to stop, I can stop, we don’t have to-," You quickly interrupted him by pressing your lips to his. The kiss did not last too long, because You quickly started kissing his neck afterwards.
Again You felt him roll his hips slightly against you, making both of you gasp.
You ran one hand over his crotch and rubbed his dick over his pants, causing him to moan softly. Teasingly you let your hand slid over his waistband and again to his dick-still over his pants. God you really wanted to have this dick in you. He felt big. Like really big.
"Steve...we can't do it here," You breathed as his hand slowly slid to again your crotch-exactly where you wanted it. Yet, you stopped his hand, staying in the living room was too risky; someone might catch you-plus Thor was asleep on one of the couches. So you definitely didn't want to continue here with him in the same room.
Slowly, Steve nodded. "Yeah...yeah, you're right," he mumbled, putting his arms around you, so he could carry you. He stood up-automatically You wrapped my legs around him, pressing yourself tightly against him. Again your lips met in a passionate and demanding kiss.
On the way to the elevator you bumped into a few things; the dresser, on which a vase stood-well, not anymore-, the armchair. Steve stumbled over the carpet, which made you giggle softly. He couldn't hold back his grin either, but you made it into the elevator unharmed. Somehow.
Immediately he pushed you against the wall. His body trapped yous between him and the wall. You felt so small in contrast to him. He was so…big. So much bigger than you. His biceps was probably the size of your head.
He frantically pressed the button of the floor on which his room was, which made you grin again. "That impatient, Captain?", You breathed cheekily in his ear. Gently, You nibbled at his earlobe, which made him growl with pleasure. A moan escaped his lips.
You could listen to that sound every day.
His hand finally slid to the place where You wanted him the most. When he stroked over your panties along You could not hold back the quiet whimper anymore. You couldn’t any longer. Steve teased your sensitive bud with a few strokes, before he took his hand away-again. "Already so wet...all for me. And your tellin’ me I'm the impatient one," the Captain teased you. Your cheeks turned red. He was right, You were impatient. You couldnt wait to feel him stretch you out. Feel his dick fill your tight pussy.
"That's what I like about you..." he suddenly whispered, gently stroking your cheekbone with his nose. On this he gave you a gentle kiss.
Before You could answer, the elevator door opened. Again Steve grabbed you a little tighter in his arms and walked towards his room. He pressed his lips to your neck, kissing it. Automatically your body pressed against his lips while your hands tampered with his shirt.
As soon as you entered his room, he laid you down on the bed. On the way to the bed he had already lost his shoes somewhere in the room. Your heels had also fallen off at some point. Steve slowly pulled up your dress, your hands roamed over his massive arm. Wow, you were right, his biceps were huge. For a moment you thought about it if you could ask him to choke you with these. His shirt quickly found its place on the floor. It was the first time You saw him without a shirt-damn, and he looked really good. Better than that. He resembled a Greek god more than a normal human being.
You moaned softly as he kissed a sensitive spot on your neck and sucked on it very gently. These open, passionate kisses drove you crazy. You wondered what else he could do with his mouth....
While Steve took off your dress, You sat up a little to make it easier for him.
Your hands were working on his belt in the meantime - You opened it very quickly. Also the button and zipper of his pants. Steve was hard. You could already see the huge bulge.
When You laid down again, Steve pushed your legs a little further apart so he could lie between them. Oh thank god, it’s happening. His kisses traveled from your neck to your cleavage and over my breasts, which were clad only in thin fabric. With his thumb he teased one of your hard nipples. "I'll buy you a new one, I promise," Steve spoke quickly against your skin. Confused, You were about to ask him what he meant when he suddenly gripped the bra tightly in one hand and ripped it off your body. Startled, You drew in your breath sharply, a moan escaping your lips at the same time. You immediately felt your heartbeat quicken and felt a throbbing between your legs- did this really turned you on so much?
You felt Steve grin against your chest. He didn't say anything, but You knew for sure that he had noticed how this affected you.
As he kissed your body, You buried one of your hands in his hair, which was already completely disheveled either way.
When his lips reached your abdomen, he looked up at you briefly. In his gaze You recognized the same thing You had just seen. You nodded slightly and in the very next moment he grabbed the hem of your panties and ripped them off your hips. Fuck. Once again you felt your pussy clench.
The cool air hit your throbbing pussy and made you gasp in surprise. With that you heard a rough laugh from Steve. "Steve please...", You whispered. "What exactly?" he breathed back teasingly. "Please touch me. I can't take it anymore," You whimpered, to which he immediately responded. He buried his head between your legs and put his lips around your sensitive clit. You sighed in pleasure while he let his tongue glide over your pussy.
His tongue slid between your folds and back to your clit. He let a moan out while he buried his tongue once again between your folds and licked into you. The taste of you made him want more. He could stay here forever. Between your legs just eating you out. “Fuck Steve-“, You moaned when you felt him suck at your bud.
You couldn’t think about anything else anymore. It was just him. And what he was doing. You wanted more from him. You wanted him to fill you. "Please...Captain...", You moaned as he let one of his fingers slid into you. "Patience, love..."
Without looking at him You felt his grin against your skin.
This was how he continued to tease you. With the stimulation on your sensitive bud and the way he kept hitting that special spot with his finger that You could never find, You felt getting closer to your orgasm. Your body began to tremble-but just then he stopped his movements. "Don't stop," You immediately whined. "Please don't stop, Captain..." how could he do that?! You had been so, so close.
"Shsh not yet, in a minute," he breathed against your pussy, making you wince slightly. Slowly-really slowly-he added a second finger, making you moan with pleasure. "You're so tight...I want to feel you so bad" "I'm not stopping you from that," You quipped, for which You received a light slap on my thigh. Surprised , You gripped his hair tighter and gasped. It actually was nice. The slight sting on your skin made everything more pleasurable.
When he started licking and suckling on your clit and sped up his hand movement, a breathless moan escaped your lips. "Oh God please, Steve...Ca-captain-don't stop," You tried to say at least one sensible sentence as You felt your orgasm washing over you. It happened so quickly You didn’t had time to tell Him you were close. Steve gasped softly as your walls tightened pulsatingly around his fingers. He moved his fingers and sucked on your clit, not stopping your first orgasm, making you tremble even more. This made your orgasm even better. Even though you couldn’t really keep still. It was just…so much.
Then he came up to you again. A hungry look in his eyes.
Immediately You pulled him into an open mouth kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips. It made you moan in the kiss. "Steve," his name escaped you softly as he took his fingers out of you. "Open Your pretty mouth", he just murmured as he held his fingers to your lips. Without hesitation, You opened your mouth for him and he slipped his massive fingers between your lips.
You moaned while you started to suck at his fingers, like you would do to his cock. This made Steve bit his lower lip. “Fuck sweetheart. You have no idea how much I want to feel that mouth on my cock. Such a pretty thing”, he whispered. You didn’t expected him to have such a filthy mouth. It was really surprising-and Steve seemed to notice this, because he started to grin slightly. “There's a lot about me you don't know…not yet" he breathed against your ear, which made your heartbeat quicken.
Steve widened your legs even more by laying down between them. He kept his fingers in your mouth, which at least muffled your moans as he let his top slid between my folds. You were sure it wouldn’t fit-he looked massive compared to your tight hole-and Yet he slowly started to push in. Inch by inch. He stretched you so much, it burned slightly. But it was a good burn. He was the biggest You ever had. He also probably ruined all other men for you.
Damn, he was really big... You closed your eyes in pleasure, when felt him slide over your spot. Just then steve took his hand from your mouth and gripped your jaw, causing You to open your eyes again. "That's a good girl...I want you to look at me when I fuck you," he growled against your lips. "Yes, Captain," You whispered. When he started to move, You gasped. He hit every spot in you, that you could think of. It was hard to keep your eyes open, but You tried.
But as his thrusts got harder it happened again. You closed your eyes-for which he slapped your thigh. A loud moan escaped your lips. You’ve never felt so good. Steve knew how to make you crazy. His cock was hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You couldn’t keep your eyes open.
This happened a few times and as You kept closing your eyes, he slapped your thighs. Every time his flat hand landet on your skin, he could feel you tighten around him. It made him do it harder. He knew you were close. Very close. He could feel you squeeze him. It made him pound in your harder. Hard enough that the headboard started to hit the wall.
"Ste-Cap-Captain-I," before You could finish speaking your next orgasm overtook you-more intense than the first one. Your whole body shook violently while you cried out in pleasure. You could feel your juices gush out around Steve cock. The sound your body’s made were straight out of a porno. Steve moaned into the crook of your neck as he felt you squeezing him so much, he nearly couldn’t move. "You feel so good...shit. So tight. You were made for me, baby”, he mumbled while his thrusts became even harder. You would definitely feel him for days.
Once again Steve started to rub on your clit. It was painful and pleasurable-you didn’t know which one more. Even though you didn’t know it was possible, you could tell you’d come again. But you wanted Steve to come too. In you. You wanted feeling him fill you with his warm cum.
"Cum for me, Captain. Please-fill me," You moaned into his ear, which made him burry his head in the crook of your neck. His hand motion sped up. As soon as your climax hit you, you screamed out in pleasure. Everything in you tensed up. All your muscles. Never in your whole life have you had an orgasm like that. Moaning you bit lightly steves shoulder. Steve felt his balls tighten. He was close. Within a few more thrust his orgasm overcome him. He buried himself as deep in you as possible. You could feel him filling you with his seed, painting your walls with his warm cum. It made you moan once again. Your walls continued to squeeze around him, milking him.
Slowly and also very gently he let himself fall on top of you. His head was in the crook of your neck as he gently wrapped his arms around you. "Please stay like this...", You whispered barely audibly as You wrapped your arms and legst around him in. “Yeah, okay”, he whispered against your skin. You were both exhausted.
Silence. A comfortable silence. Just your heavy breathing.
Your legs were still trembling, so Steve gently started stroking them. He reached for tissues that were on his nightstand. That movement alone made you whimper. Everything in you was overstimulated.
Carefully he pulled out, wiping the seed away, that came out after he moved. "It’s so much" You mumbled as You felt it once again float out, which made him laugh barely audibly, as he wiped his seed of from my skin. His cheeks were slightly flushed and he looked...embarrassed. There was the golden boy again.
Steve laid down next to You and covered you both with a blanked. Immediately, You began to smile ever so slightly. You were tired. Exhausted even. You had a hard time keeping your eyes open. "Good night, love," Steve whispered as he put his arms around You and placed a kiss on the top of your head. "Night," You grumbled before falling asleep.
•••
Steve's growl snapped you out of your thoughts. Immediately You looked at him-he was awake. He ran his hand over his temple as he slowly rolled over onto his back. He still had his eyes closed, so he didn't notice you. You weren’t sure if he remembered yesterday. Immediately You started to feel bad. What if he regretted it?
When You turned on your side, his head immediately snapped to you. Surprised and also very sleepy. How cute he looked like that. Immediately his cheeks turned a little red as he smiled shyly. "Hey...", he whispered. "Good morning, Steve," You breathed softly as heat shot up to your cheeks as well. "Slept well?" At your question, he nodded slowly and turned to the side to face you. Carefully, he placed his hand over mine. He squeezed a little. You could tell her was nervous. “Do you…remember?”, he asked. You nodded, without saying anything. “Okay, good…I do too…do you…do you regret the night?”, this time you shook your head. Steve smiled immediately-this made you smile too.
"This is weird now but...would you like to have dinner with me sometime? Just the two of us...I should have asked you that before-before" He gestured with his hand between the two of you. "-but I hope you’d still go out with me? Like…a date?", Steve spoke a bit flustered.
“Yes, Steve, I’d love to.”
That’s it! I really hope you enjoyed reading! Please let me know:)
You can tell me if something is wrong or what i should change<3 I’d be glad actually.
It’s the first time i wrote something in English so I’m pretty sure it’s not the best. I would love to improve my writing 🥰
#steve rogers#steve rogers fanfiction#mcu#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers smut#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers x female reader#steve rogers x you#steve rogers x y/n
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