#it sucks and i wish they hadn’t left but like. i think that’s the point | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

juyeonszn · 5 months

Text

EXCITEMENT

PAIRING ji changmin x f!reader

WORD COUNT 6.22k

GENRES smut ﹒angst ﹒fluff

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, best friends to lovers, numerous mentions of the female orgasm, ji changmin is a bit of a manwhore, mentions of alcohol, insane tension my b, intense making out x2, oral (m! and f! receiving), multiple orgasms, couch sex but missionary, unprotected sex (wrap before u fucking tap -_-), creampie, changmin is lowkey very whipped and very pussy drunk in this, also forewarning for every fic in this collab— there is lots of foreshadowing and references to the other fics since they all fall within the same timeline/universe!

SUMMARY you know, when you told your girl friends that you’d never finished before, you were expecting it to blow over like no big deal. what you weren’t expecting was for it to spiral into a whole other mess.

MORE i hope u jichang lovers are strapped in and ready for this… kinda went crazy with it 😭😭 um anyway?? first fic of the black out or back out collab?? crazy!! this fic actually ruined me. it used up all my brain power so if every other one sucks u can’t blame me!! it’s the law!! also, i’d like to take a moment to wish my boyz a very happy 6th anniversary <3 so so proud of all they’ve accomplished these past 6 years and i can’t wait to see what they do in the next 6. in this deobi shit 4L frfr 🙏🙏

PERM TAGLIST @winterchimez @maessseongs @itsbeeble @zzoguri @deoboyznet @cloverdaisies @vernyangel

TAGLIST @millksea

“No fucking way.”

You blink at Soyeon. It wasn’t that hard to believe. In fact, it was pretty easy to believe. You set down the bowl of popcorn on your lap and nod slowly.

“Uh, yeah. Yes fucking way,” a nervous laugh escapes your lips. “I’ve had to fake it with every guy I’ve ever been with. I don’t know what it is. Maybe something’s wrong with me.”

Men were… incompetent at certain things. And apparently your pleasure was one of those. Every dude you’ve ever slept with failed to make you finish. It was at the point that you felt that you were the problem. It would be understandable if it had been a couple guys, but every single one? Your luck had to be complete ass.

The only reason the topic had been brought up was because Soyeon had mentioned something about her last fling during your movie night. She was talking about how that had been the best sex she's ever had and it spurred you into making your confession. The last guy you’d been with had probably been the worst.

“Never?” Jiwon’s jaw drops, elbows resting on her knees. “How are you still alive, girl? How do you get your fix?”

“My hand, my vibrator, my pillow sometimes,” you shrug, picking at a loose thread on your blanket. “I’ve learned to make do with my situation, I guess. If I can’t get it elsewhere, I’ll just do it myself, y’know?”

Your girl friends look at you with pouts on their lips, as if they were the ones experiencing your misfortunes. You hadn’t even expected it to be such a big deal. You’d thought this was a normal, common occurrence. Boys usually sucked at things when it came to girls. But they all took this as a personal hit, like you were a fallen soldier in battle.

Perhaps the female orgasm was far more important than you assumed it to be.

“Considering who your best friend is, you’d think you were getting good dick left and right,” Dahyun snorts into her glass of wine. “This is actually kinda insane.”

You guess she had a point, despite you both leading very different lives. Changmin, your best friend, was known as one of the many heartthrobs on campus. He was in a fraternity, played on the school’s baseball team, and he even played with other things. Namely the hearts of practically every other girl at your university.

You’d think it would bother you to be so close to a man who couldn’t give less of a fuck about those of the same sex as you. But for some reason, you couldn’t find it in you to care. It’s not like he was bragging about the bitches he bagged on a regular basis. Though you were his best friend, he understood boundaries. He knew what was appropriate to talk about with you and respected that.

Your friends laugh at her observation, but drop the conversation after that, resuming the movie you were watching. However, it’s not that easy for you.

You can’t stop wondering if something really *is wrong with you. Why was it that everyone and their mom was capable of finishing and you weren’t? It was more unlikely that every single man you’ve been with sexually was that mediocre. Were you really that unlucky?

It bothers you so much that you find yourself still thinking about it well into the following week.

With the start of the new semester, came the adjustment of new classes. Even though you were a Communications major, you made the grave mistake of taking Lifespan Growth and Development with Changmin for the extra credit. He was an Early Childhood Education major, so it was a requirement for him, but not for you. (Honestly, he only forced you to take it with him so you had at least one lecture together. He was afraid your friendship might start to fade if you didn’t see each other often.)

Imagine how horrified you felt when your professor began to talk about babies and their circadian rhythm, but the only thing in your head was the fact that you’d never orgasmed because of a man. You felt like you were going crazy at this point. Really, the thought should’ve been long forgotten by now. But you couldn’t help yourself from dwelling on it, especially after your friends made jokes at your expense.

As you’re walking out of the lecture hall side by side with Changmin, you keep your focus on the ground, your hearing going in and out. His voice is staticy, your brain only registering words here and there. You’re a little pissed off that this has become such an issue.

He notices your lack of response and stops walking, eyebrows furrowed. You pause in your tracks along with him. “Are you good? You’ve been spacing out all morning.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you shake your head as if that would rid of these stupid thoughts. “I’m just a little tired, I guess. I haven’t been getting much sleep.”

“Well, you better fix that. We’re expecting this weekend’s party to be one of the bigger ones this semester. Juyeon’s passing those fliers around like it’s his job,” Changmin purses his lips with a snort, ruffling your hair. “I need my beer pong partner to be in tip-top shape.”

You scratch the back of your neck. Half of you was kind of hesitant to go to this weekend’s TBZ party considering that was where you met the dude who started this whole downward spiral. He made an offhand comment about seeing you again, but you were actually hoping that would never happen. And with your fortune, the probability of running into him was pretty high.

“You see…“ You begin, but Changmin interrupts you with a distressed groan before you can continue.

“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of flaking,” his arms fall to his sides as his head tips back dramatically. “Y/N, I really need you there. How else am I gonna smoke everyone? I need— I mean we need to keep our title.”

Sometimes you wish Ji Changmin took anything else as seriously as he takes beer pong. You suppose it came with being a fraternity brother or something. They all drank alcohol like it was fucking water. You’re still sort of surprised none of them (Sunwoo) has gotten alcohol poisoning yet.

“I’m just… trying to avoid someone. And they’ll probably be there.” You sigh, fiddling with your fingers. Your best friend gives you an unreadable look that flashes across his face only for a moment.

“Tell me who it is. I’ll make sure they’re not allowed in. I’d much rather have you there than some rando who’s bugging you.” He says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants.

“That’s really unne—“

“Yo, Changmin! Aren’t you going with us to Cobie’s?”

You both turn towards the sudden intrusion, the voice belonging to Eric Sohn. He’s around 50 feet away from where you’re standing, joined by Kim Sunwoo and Ju Haknyeon. Changmin yells out his answer and spins back to you, an apologetic smile on his face. Somehow, you’re a little grateful for the interruption.

“We’ll finish this later, okay?” He nods at you, heading backwards in their direction. “You’re going, Y/N.”

You really should’ve listened to your instincts when they told you to skip out on the party.

You’re well aware that every attendee was crucial for the TBZ boys and their stupid rivalry with the KAT girls. So maybe you understood why Changmin needed you there so badly, aside from the obvious beer pong thing. However, you were starting to regret showing up.

First of all, Ji Changmin was nowhere to be found. Second of all, Jeon Soyeon was hounding you all night about the secret you so idiotically shared with your gal pals.

She was dead set on finding you a solution. (Basically, she was scanning the crowd of partygoers for a suitable man to satisfy your overdue needs. And she was proving devastatingly unsuccessful.)

You were too anxious to drink, also. Your feet were bouncing from where you sat on the couch, and your fingers couldn’t stop fidgeting. The antsiness was getting annoying at this point and you were hoping your knight in shining armor (Ji Changmin) revealed himself soon. Lest he wanted to lose out on his beloved beer pong partner.

It appears that your years of honing in on your manifestation powers have finally come to fruition when you spot Younghoon and Juyeon hauling the beer pong table into the living room. Where one of those tables are stationed, you know you’re guaranteed to find your best friend. The shorter of the two gentle giants cups his hands around his mouth and announces the first round of tonight’s tournament.

You stand from your seat, grabbing the opportunity to break free of Soyeon’s efforts to pimp you out. You’re ready to confirm you and Changmin’s spot in the tournament, when you see that you’ve already been beaten to it. It takes absolutely everything in you not to let your jaw drop and your eyes to tear up.

Some girl who happens to be in your Lifespan Growth and Dev class (you think her name is Iseul) is draped over Changmin’s arm, signing them up for the first round. He doesn’t look like he wants to, but makes no effort to refuse her.

You don’t know why it irks you. It shouldn’t irk you.

You’ve never cared about who he spends his free time with in the past. It’s been so easy for you to let his behavior slide, brushing it under the rug like it was no biggie. But this time, you care a whole lot. You chalk it up to the fact that he was seemingly replacing you as his beer pong partner, even though that was the entire reason why he wanted you to come to the party.

Yeah. That’s why.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips just as Hyunjae passes by, no doubtedly heading to the beer pong table. You catch the sleeve of his polo and force him to halt in his steps. You’re not even sure why the hell he’s wearing a polo in the first place, his outfit embodying the stereotypical frat boy perfectly. This looked nothing like his usual wardrobe.

“Oh, hey Y/N, what’s up?” He smiles that award-winning Hyunjae smile, the one that manages to charm every girl in the room every single time he pulls it out. He brings the brim of his red solo cup up to his lips and finishes whatever’s left in it with one swig. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Do you wanna be my beer pong partner?” Okay, well now you’ve said it so there’s no going back.

His eyebrow shoots up in a mixture of shock and pleasant surprise. “Me? You’re not gonna ask Changmin?”

“He’s…” Your eyes flitter over to where he stands with Iseul(?), Hyunjae’s following. No. You’re okay. This isn’t getting to your head at all. Everything’s cool and peachy. “He’s too preoccupied.”

Hyunjae chooses not to say anything, instead nudging you over to the opposite end of the table. Changmin’s eyes widen when he sees the two of you, even having the audacity to look scandalized. God, maybe that was his biggest fault. He was so entitled.

So, it was just fine for him to bail on you in favor of some girl he didn’t even know, but the second you talk to one of his frat brothers, it’s off the table? What a fucking hypocrite. The whole ordeal was actually beginning to get on your nerves now. All you wanted to do was win this stupid beer pong game to show him that he’ll never find a partner as good as you.

Woah. Holy shit, Y/N. You need to dial it back a bit with the possessiveness. That was a lot, especially for you.

Juyeon narrows his eyes at you and then glances over to Changmin, the cogs turning in his head slowly. You’re not sure if that’s because he’s so used to seeing you both on the same side of the beer pong table, or because his vision was so shitty. Either way, it has you cowering behind Hyunjae a little as he dips the ping pong ball into the cup of water in the center.

“Okay, you know the rules. Let’s have a healthy, friendly game,” Younghoon says, tapping the table with a smile. “No playing dirty. I’m looking at you, Hyunjae.”

The brunette raises his hands in surrender, doing a quick bout of rock, paper, scissors with Changmin to determine which team went first. He wins with a quirk of his lips, sauntering back over to you. After rolling his neck around and popping his fingers, he tosses the ball right into Changmin and Iseul’s center cup.

You hate to admit it, but Hyunjae’s actually pretty good at this. You’ve never really paid attention to anyone else’s beer pong skills considering you’ve only ever played with Changmin as your partner. Who knows, maybe you’ll switch over permanently after this. At least, you might if he keeps up whatever it is that he’s doing.

Your best friend’s jaw tightens as he grabs the red solo cup, chugging what’s inside. He huffs and takes his turn, nearly missing with the way the ball circles around the rim. He sighs in relief at the same time you grimace. You still hadn’t had anything to drink all night and starting with fucking beer was probably the worst idea.

The game probably would’ve been a bit more competitive had Iseul been decent at beer pong, but she sucked. So Hyunjae and yourself always kept your lead by one cup or more. Karma is a dish best served cold, or however the saying goes. And karma certainly presented itself in the form of Ji Changmin’s first ever TBZ beer pong tournament loss.

Hyunjae high fives you with a cheesy grin, lacing your fingers together and shaking them around. He presses a kiss to your temple and guides you away from the table as Juyeon and Younghoon clear it for the second round. It wasn’t odd for any of the TBZ boys to show you affection since you were like a sister to most of them, but this felt… kind of weird. You can’t pinpoint exactly why, but it made you feel off.

“You’re my secret weapon,” he laughs, hands burying into the pockets of his khaki shorts. “I’m gonna steal you as my partner permanently.”

As much as you joked around in your head, the truth of the matter was that you could never actually replace Changmin. In spite of him acting like a complete dumbass tonight, he was still your best friend. Not even the biggest of fights would change that fact.

Before you can dismiss him, Changmin is stalking over to you with a slight scowl. His nostrils flare a bit as he asks, “Can we talk?”

You barely nod and then he’s fisting the material of your top at the small of your back, urging you away from the living room. Your feet keep tripping over themselves while you attempt to match his pace but he’s too determined to reach his destination in mind to even notice. No one even bats an eye as you get ushered to your demise.

You’re coaxed into a nearby bathroom without a word, your best friend standing in front of you with his arms crossed over his chest. Because you hadn’t seen him a majority of the night, you hadn’t gotten the chance to get a good look at him. He was wearing a long sleeve striped polo and some baggy jeans, which probably would look basic on anyone else. But this is Ji Changmin. Girls flocked after him for a reason.

“Why would you play with Hyunjae? You know the type of guy he is. Now he thinks he has a shot with you or something.” As soon as he opens his mouth, you remember the type of guy he is.

“What does it matter to you? You were too busy giggling with your flavor of the week. Of course I wasn’t gonna wait around for you.” You bite back, mirroring his stance.

“Flavor of the—?” His eyebrows scrunch together in confusion and then everything settles in. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you laugh humorlessly. “Don’t act all hypocritical with me, Changmin. I can’t believe I even came to this fucking party for you when you didn’t even bother giving me the same energy. Best friend, my ass.”

A scoff brushes past your lips and you turn to exit the bathroom, but he grabs your wrist. His grip isn’t too harsh, but it’s tight enough to stop you from going anywhere. “Wait. Don’t leave.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.” Your eyes flick back and forth between his and the fingers wrapped around your forearm. And you know, you really should’ve predicted what would happen after that. The nature of your words were provocative in their own right, not to mention the tension brewing in the midst of your argument.

From one second to the next, Changmin’s mouth is on your own, your back pressed to the bathroom door. His hands are everywhere and nowhere all at once; digging into your sides, running through your hair, caressing your face. You feel insane. Your head feels empty, no coherent thoughts running through it as his lips move against yours.

They migrate along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and sucking wherever they feel fit. Everything is moving way too fast for you to comprehend what’s happening. His lips feel so good on your skin, you’re having trouble finding the strength in you to stop him. But you know you have to. This was your best friend, for god’s sake. And besides, you didn’t want to deal with the disappointment you’ve faced time and time again when it came to men. You couldn’t handle feeling that way toward him.

Your palm presses against his chest and you try your hardest to ignore the sensation of his heart thumping beneath it. Your eyes squeeze shut as you push him off of you gently. Not expecting the sudden disruption, he stumbles backwards slightly. He’s a little dazed, like he, too, has not a single thought in that brain of his.

“I can’t— we can’t—“ You’re breathless, heaving up and down as if you’d just ran a damn marathon. “I have to go.”

You don’t give Changmin any freedom to react, escaping the bathroom exasperated. There’s too much going through your mind to search for Soyeon, leaving the party as quickly as you can. The moment your foot steps out of the front door, it’s like you’re given some clarity. The fresh air feels cool on your warm skin while you take the walk back to your apartment, not in the mood to sit in a stuffy car with anyone else. You needed to think clearly and vulnerably, and someone being there would just hinder that.

But first, you had to figure out where to go from here.

It’s been a couple days since the last TBZ party and you were still avoiding Ji Changmin like he was the plague.

You were definitely wishful thinking when you decided to just ignore things until you had class together. And even then, you were planning on pretending like nothing even happened. Fucking up your friendship with him was something you couldn’t stand emotionally. Or physically. It would be akin to the pain of having your heart ripped straight from your chest.

Meeting Changmin when you did was almost like a blessing in disguise. His attitude about life was exactly what you needed coming into university. You were shy and scared of your new surroundings. You had no friends, you were far from your family, and your imposter syndrome was through the roof. But then he swooped in and made everything better somehow. As much as it was a snooze fest, you’ll eternally be a little bit grateful for sharing that First Year Seminar class with him.

Deep down, a piece of you has always belonged to Changmin. From that first day of freshman year to now, you’ve always held him to a different standard than everyone else. You liked to believe it was because he was your best friend, the one person who sought you out even when it felt like no one ever would. And until very recently, you kept trying to convince yourself that was the case.

If you slept together that might be worse. What if he ended up like every other guy you’ve landed in bed with? What if he couldn’t satisfy you? It would make it even more strained. You didn’t want to end up like every other girl who’s vied for his heart and failed miserably. He wasn’t a relationship person.

Falling for him alone would complicate everything. If he didn’t feel the same, it would be weird between you and your friendship would never go back to normal. Yet as you lay here, body bundled in your comforter and drowning in one of the many sweatshirts he’s left over at your apartment, scrolling through his feed, you realize that there’s no return from this point. Now that you’ve contemplated the idea, you’re too far in.

You know, the universe had funny ways of rewarding you. (Or rather, punishing you.)

There’s a knock at your front door. You’re not entirely sure who it could be since you weren’t expecting anyone, but one glance through the peephole and it’s all over for you. You consider stepping away, running and cowering in your bedroom until he disappears so you can go back to dissimulating that your entire life wasn’t crumbling to your feet.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there. Open up, please, we need to talk.”

You curse under your breath but unlock the door anyway, maneuvering so he can come inside with ease. Changmin stares at you with an unreadable expression for a minute, vision raking over your figure. Maybe you’re imagining it, but it’s something similar to how men have looked at you before, like they were undressing you with their eyes. That’s when you remember that you were wearing his sweatshirt.

Without pants underneath…

The wind knocks out of him in an instant, something primal coming over him when his gaze lands on you in his clothing. He knows he shouldn’t think about you the way he does. He shouldn’t think of how pretty you are when your pen is caught in your teeth, attempting to make sense of whatever your professor was talking about. He shouldn’t think of the way your cheeks flush when you’ve had too much alcohol at one of the TBZ parties. He shouldn’t think of kissing you, or pressing up against you like a dog in heat. He shouldn’t be thinking of the kiss you shared Friday night.

You’re his best friend, the one person in the world who has ever understood him. The one who’s always glued to his side even when he may be in the wrong. Why would he ever want something different? How could he ask for more when he should be thankful for what he was already given?

“Why are you pushing me away? Why are you ignoring me?” Is what he finally asks after the silence has become unbearable.

“Changmin,” you swallow thickly, hesitative with what you say next. “Friends don’t kiss— we don’t kiss.”

He takes a step forward, and then another, and then another until he’s only arms’ length from you. “But, we could.”

You release a shuddery breath, reaching out to stop him from coming any closer. “P-Please. We can’t do this— I can’t do this.”

“Why not?” He pushes. He knows he’s tiptoeing the edge of something else. There’s a fine line between what you have now, and what he’s wanted for so long. It’s always been a matter of if you wanted that too. “Is it because you just don’t want to?”

You’re not even sure how to respond to him. Of course you want this. It isn’t that you don’t want him. You’re more scared than anything. You’re scared of becoming just another victim of Ji Changmin’s charms, of giving into him and it leading to another let down. Your resistance is evident on your face, and you’re not all that taken aback when he sighs.

“I’ve wanted you since that first day of First Year Seminar, Y/N. No one has ever compared to you and no one ever will,” he confesses, a hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I sleep with random girls to get you off my mind, to forget that I’m pretty fucking in love with my best friend.”

Then it all clicks.

It’s like you’ve come to the biggest realization of your life, an epiphany striking you suddenly with the weight of a freight train. It all trickles into place, the reason why you’ve never enjoyed yourself during sex. The reason why you’ve never finished at the hands of any man you’ve been with intimately.

None of them were Ji Changmin. None of them were the best friend that your heart has belonged to since your freshman year.

You press your lips to his without any warning, nearly colliding into him with the force of your impatience. He reciprocates immediately, fingers tangling in your hair and holding you closer than physically possible. You tilt your head to deepen the kiss, tongue dragging along his lower lip. Years of repressed longing and pining find themselves surfacing in this one kiss.

Changmin’s hands travel to your waist, burrowing into the fabric of his sweatshirt as he yanks you toward the couch. He falls to a sitting position when the backs of his knees hit the edge, your knees resting on either side of his lap. You don’t break apart once, not even to gasp for air as he grinds you down onto him. Through the material of his cargos you can feel him. He’s just as throbbing as you are, your core pulsing with a need unlike any other.

His fingers reach for the hem of the sweatshirt and that’s when you pause him, your nerves getting the best of you. He frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just,” admitting this a second time isn’t easier. “I’ve never— nobody’s ever made me… you know…”

The corners of his lips curl up, thumbs rubbing the backs of your thighs. “You’ve never came before, baby?”

Your breathing stutters in your chest, the smugness of his voice sending shockwaves through your body. You should’ve fully expected him to be a master at pillowtalk, what with the whole Sex-God persona and all that jazz, but it still catches you off guard. You shake your head shyly, arms hooked around his neck. His mouth attaches to the spot behind your ear, sucking the skin tenderly.

“I’ll make sure you’re ruined for anyone else,” his voice is no louder than a whisper, but sounds deafening to the cotton stuffing the place where your brain should be. “I’ll make you feel so good, you won’t think twice about who you belong to.”

A small whine emits from your throat, hips gyrating themselves onto his crotch. He bucks up into you instinctively, keeping you still on his lap. The sheer possessiveness of his tone is driving you up the wall. That seemed to be something you had in common with each other. You’re lightheaded, too many layers of clothing blocking the space between you. Changmin connects your lips again, sliding his hands beneath the sweatshirt so his fingers can hook into the waistband of your panties.

He helps you out of them and your top, baring your entire body to him. The way his cock twitches makes him feel like a goddamn teenager. You paw at the zipper of his pants as he pulls off his t-shirt, tugging the cargos down his legs so you can kneel between them. If he thought he wasn’t going to last before, he’s certain of it now. He wraps your hair around his fist in a makeshift ponytail, watching you with hooded eyes as you kiss his tip.

“You look so gorgeous like this,” his voice is wavering, his composure drifting off.

That encourages you to take him into the wet heat of your mouth, tongue twirling around the tip. You run it along his slit, tasting the precum that had formed there. His head falls back onto the sofa cushions, jerking his hand back a bit and tugging your hair just enough for it to sting. You moan around his dick, the pain providing more pleasure than its intended purpose.

He bucks up into your mouth yet again, his length gliding down your throat. Not prepared for the intrusion, you gag, pulling off of his cock with a string of saliva bridging your lips to the tip. Tears prick at your eyes for a second, and then you’re going back in.

This time you manage to relax your throat, fitting more than you could prior. Changmin’s eyes are half lidded, not once daring to look anywhere that wasn’t you. The sight of you so eager to please, so desperate to reward him in spite of you being the one who’s never orgasmed before, was clouding his thinking.

The image of you on your knees, sucking him off like your life depended on it, would be burned into his brain for the rest of his life. (Not that he minded. You lived there practically rent free, anyways.)

Your attention stays on the tip of his cock, tongue repeatedly alternating with dragging under the head and the slit on top. He could die happily, actually, the fear that he may never have you in this way finally dissipating into thin air. Want could only take a man so far.

He doesn’t stay sentimental for very long, remembering that you were currently between his legs and the inner monologue could wait for later. Though, he makes the grave mistake of making direct eye contact with you and it’s game over after that point.

Changmin finishes with a groan, his cum painting your chest with milky white ropes. He cups both sides of your face, bringing you up to kiss you messily. He doesn’t care that he can taste himself in your mouth, nipping your bottom lip to pry it open. The two of you swap spots, with him now on the floor and you on the couch. He pushes up your knees, spreading them to gain access to your cunt, glistening with your slick.

He presses a soft kiss to your clit, glancing up at you through his lashes to gauge your reaction. He not only had a reputation to defend, but he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was going to be the first man to make you cum. But it wasn’t sufficient to just fuck you, he needed to do more than that. He needed to flood your senses and show you exactly what you’ve been missing out on.

His tongue circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves, his ring and middle fingers going counter-clockwise on your entrance. He can hear the laboring of your breathing, the sharp exhale through your nostrils when he experimentally slides one of them inside of you. He starts to pump it slowly, building up the pace until he adds the other finger, curling them.

You whine when Changmin’s lips envelope your clit, suckling like a man starved. His fingers south don’t halt their assault, the palm of his other hand flattening on your lower stomach. You reach down to card through his hair, clutching the strands for support. He groans against your pussy, the vibrations contributing to the knot growing tighter in your abdomen.

He switches his tongue and fingers a moment later, lapping at your hole and swiping at your clit in a close ovular pattern with his thumb. You’re dizzy, lids fluttering shut and back arching off the cushions in a weak attempt to minimize the space between you. Changmin pins down your hips with his forearm, continuing making out with your cunt.

He flips the stimulation once more, mouth on your clit and fingers buried deep inside of you in an instant. He keeps his eyes on you, focused on every scrunch of your face and slacking of your jaw. The sudden difference in sensations has a loud moan ripping from your vocal cords, that knot coming undone almost too quickly for it being your first time in this position. You feel his lips turn up in a smile, like he’s proud of himself for doing the impossible.

Changmin pulls back slightly, his fingers still working you down from your peak. When he thinks you’ve calmed, he’s up and kissing you, petting your hair gently. “You did so well for me, baby.”

“I’ve made myself cum so many times before, but never like that— holy shit, Changmin…” You’re a little stunned and he finds it cute, despite you both being in such a compromising situation.

“I need you to give me one more, is that okay?” He lays you on your back, hovering over you. “I wanna see your pretty face when you cum on my cock.”

You pull him down for another kiss, pecking the side of his neck with a hum. “Want you to fill me up, too.”

The groan that leaves him is guttural, his forehead falling onto your collarbone. Dreams really do come true. He hikes up one of your legs, lining himself up with you. He guides his cock into you and watches you for any moves of discomfort. A whimper bubbles past as he slips in, bottoming out smoothly. Half of you still couldn’t believe this was happening. No fucking way was Ji Changmin on top of you right now, dick compressed in your cunt to the hilt.

He holds your knee to your chest as he begins to thrust his hips, driving his cock deep from the get go. Each motion jostles you further up the sofa, but you’re too gone to care. Your eyes have started to roll to the back of your head and you already feel that pressure rising in the pit of your stomach.

At this rate, you’re not sure you’ll last very long. You’re still extremely sensitive from your first orgasm and Changmin’s plowing into you like he might never get the chance to do it again.

“You’re so— fuck— you’re so tight, baby… Squeezing me in like you don’t wanna let me go,” he rasps, trailing open mouthed kisses along your jaw and carrying them down your jugular.

You moan something about how deep he is, about how you can feel him everywhere. It’s too much. It’s not enough. And despite him giving you everything he has to offer, you crave more. You’re yearning for more.

Something in you snaps and you’re cradling his face in your hands. “Love you so much, Changmin. Wanna be with you forever.”

His eyes widen at your off-kilter confession, but he doesn’t cease once. If anything, his speed increases as he kisses you passionately, noses bumping but so far on the spectrum from the others. This one is more emotional, more meaningful. It’s not long before he’s spilling into you, moaning against your lips. You follow closely behind, your second orgasm cresting like a tidal wave.

You stay like that for a minute, both of you soaking it all in. Your chests meet in the middle with each breath you take.

Changmin pulls out of you carefully, laying so you can rest comfortably on top of him. A smile inches across his feature, like he was on the inside of a joke you weren’t. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“What…”

“Nothing, it’s just,” he brushes some of your hair from your forehead to leave a smooch there. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you how I felt for a while now. I just wanted to assure that you wouldn’t scream in my face and run the opposite direction. But you went ahead and beat me to it.”

“You meant what you said about the other girls?” You nibble at the skin of your cheek, nervous. “You slept with them to distract yourself from me? Even Iseul?”

He nods, albeit a little shamefully. “Not my proudest moment, I’ll say. I could’ve gone about it a million other ways. But yeah, I didn’t want to ruin what we had. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you just because I couldn’t get my feelings in check.”

“You’re stupid,” you laugh, cuddling further into him. “It’s a good thing I’m kind of into that.”

“Kind of?” He quirks a brow at you. “I don’t know, you were saying something about loving me so much and wanting to be with me forever earlier…”

You smack his chest playfully. “Shut up. That was a moment of weakness or whatever.”

“It’s okay,” he smiles at you fondly, as if you were the reason that the sun shone so brightly. “I love you, too. And I wouldn’t mind being with you forever.”

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delfiore · 5 months

Text

—MONTAUK.

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

synopsis: you remember how it used to be whilst dealing with how it is now.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: alexia baby come home the kids miss you 🥲 this was the clairo - bags fic i promised months ago but now the premise feels completely different and i've changed the title also lol. a lot happens to one's state of mind in 3 months.

After.

Under normal circumstances—as much as normal was nowadays—the silence in the apartment would feel like a blanket of comfort. It meant you were having a rest from your hectic days training and playing matches, it meant you could finally relax with the love of your life; it meant peace.

Now, the silence was deadly. It was sucking up the life in every room in this apartment, and it was draining the life out of you too.

The door clicked, and you shifted in your spot on the couch, quickly shutting off your phone on which you had bullet points typed out in the Notes app—bullet points of things you wanted—needed—to say, to lessen this inevitable pain. You cracked a smile when you heard tiny feet pattering on the floor, just as the little Pomeranian came to greet you with loving licks.

Nala was oblivious to the cracks that had been forming in her home, that have been left unamended for too long with the thinking that they would go away with time. You dreaded thinking of the day when the little pup came home from a walk and you weren’t there anymore. Would she miss you? How long until she starts to forget you?

“I got us dinner.”

“Cool,” you said, breathing in deeply. “You wanna eat now, or . . . ?”

“Sure.”

You helped her unpack the food without another word, the only sound heard was the clanking of plates as you pulled them out of the cupboard and set them on the kitchen island.

Alexia didn’t say anything either, just gingerly put the food on the plates. You felt her stiffen slightly as you walked towards her and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder.

She offered you a small smile—a forced smile—and brought the food to the table.

You cursed yourself and wished you hadn’t done it.

Before.

“And that concludes the tour of our facilities. Any questions?”

“No, I’m good.” You were way too excited to think about anything else other than the Barcelona crest on your chest.

“Great. Then, how about we go meet your future teammates? Some of them should be in the weight room.”

Patri greeted you initially, first in Spanish, then in English once she realized you weren’t catching on. Jana and Salma followed suit with friendly handshakes and quick hugs. It left the captain to be the last. And there she was; la Reina herself.

You were surprised to find that she was rubbing her hands together, waiting for her turn, almost like she was nervous. As you came to know her, you understood that she was in fact nervous when meeting new people, a polar opposite to the confident leader she was on the pitch.

But you saw the way her hazel eyes fixed on you, and as you approached her, a lingering smile played on her lips. Your heart suddenly leaped in your chest, and your cheeks felt embarrassingly warm, which you hoped she didn’t see.

You had admired her from afar, looking up to her as a role model in the game, but now that you were seeing her up close, something stirred inside you. There was something so endearing about Alexia’s shyness where you had expected assertiveness. It made her feel more down-to-earth, more like your teammate rather than a mythical figure up on a pedestal. One look at her and you understood why people had talked so highly of her—how could they not?

Extending a hand towards her, you had made your greeting, but she pulled you in for a firm and generous hug.

And that’s how they started—the butterflies, the attraction, the yearning—and they never went away.

After.

You decided that you were going to do it after dinner. Doing it during dinner is just tacky and downright disrespectful. You’d hate to be crying into your takeout after telling your girlfriend you wanted to break up.

When you snapped out of your train of thought, you realized that it was way too quiet. Alexia was eating on the other side of the table, scrolling through her phone as she did.

“Did you see Claudia’s banger of a free kick today?” You asked, smiling slightly.

Alexia looked up briefly from her phone. “Si. Really good.”

A curt answer. You nodded, and silence ensued again.

You didn’t talk to Alexia much these days. You used to be able to talk to her about anything, even in the beginning when the both of you were still testing the waters to see where you stood. When did it become like this?

Before.

Practice was going swimmingly. You found yourself catching on quickly with the rest of your teammates. Alexia has made it her mission as captain to make you feel welcome. “Anything you need, ask me,” she would say in English. You wanted to, but every time you thought about talking to her, your hands would sweat and you needed to practice what you were going to say to her. You weren’t scared that she wasn’t going to understand you, but because you knew you’d make a fool out of yourself tripping over your words.

“Hey, Alexia,” you said after practice, “I don’t know the city that well, and—well—since you do, would you be willing to show me around?”

“Si, claro.” She answered and looked around the field. “Maybe I can ask some of the girls to come with? They might know things to do that I don’t.”

Later she would explain to you that she panicked and that she knew she would be weird about it, thinking it was a date when it really was just a little outing between teammates. You wished she had treated it like a date, though, and was slightly disappointed when she mentioned bringing your teammates. Still, you had a great time watching Mapi banter with Lucy and Mariona while Alexia played the role of the disappointing mom trying to restrain her children.

You were grinning thinking back on the day when you came home. Her bashful smile after she offered to drive you home was so unlike anything you had pictured in your head before coming to Barcelona. You loved her calm nature, something that made her such a reliable captain, but also an endearing human being.

After.

You stayed seated by the dinner table and you watched her load the dishes in the washer. The scene was void of music that she would sway her hips to or a hearty conversation about a random fact she learned from one of your teammates. Now it was just robotic, lifeless movements, and your heart squeezed at the thought of what it used to be.

The end is near.

Somewhere, somehow, you gathered the courage to speak up. “Wanna watch a movie?”

And to your surprise, she turned around and said, “Sure.”

For a second, you let yourself hope that there was still something salvageable from this ruin. Then you realized that you had been here many times before, and everything accumulated and led you here to this moment.

Before.

“Really?! You’ve never seen Mean Girls?”

Alexia shook her head and chuckled. “I didn’t watch a lot of movies, Y/N. Growing up, all I had time for was football.”

“Yeah, but . . . I mean, it’s Mean Girls. That’s just a crime,” you clicked your tongue. “We’ll have to catch you up on all the classics.”

The discussion had been prompted by the imminent movie night at one of your teammates’ places. The movie of choice was Mamma Mia!, and you had been most excited to rewatch it. You and Alexia arrived together after an outing in town, and since you did so late, you both were in charge of stocking up the snacks.

“And by that, I hope you mean . . . you and me,” Alexia stuttered, leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for you to fill your bowl with popcorn.

Your lips curved up. “Yes, I mean me and you. Just me and you.”

Your captain grinned too, like a devious little kid. “Good. Just making sure.”

“¿Qué diablos está tardando tanto? (What the hell is taking so long?)” Patri called from the living room. “¡Más te vale no estar besándote en mi cocina! (You better not be making out in my kitchen!)”

You let out a surprised laugh, as Alexia cursed under her breath, wishing silently that the girls in the living room would just shut up and stop snickering. Once the bowls in your hands were filled to the brim, you turned to her with a knowing look.

“I wouldn’t have minded, you know.”

“Mind what?”

“If we were making out,” you said before leaving Alexia in the kitchen to soak in your words.

She found a seat next to you after taking a minute to calm her racing heart so that you wouldn’t notice how crazy you drove her. She felt like a teenage girl having a silly crush, but there was nothing silly about the way you looked at her. And when you put your head on her shoulder midway through the movie, she knew she was gone. Patri saw it too across the couch apparently, and her knowing grin made Alexia want to bury herself inside a hole. While she wasn’t particularly into romcoms, she was already looking forward to watching Mean Girls with you, her fleeting heart hammering in its cage at the thought of getting you alone again.

After.

The silence was deafening. You didn’t dare to look over to Alexia to gauge her reaction. The screen continued to play the movie, blissfully unaware of an earthquake that had suddenly roared to life in the space on the couch between you and Alexia.

You swallowed. She hasn’t spoken for hours.

Then, she turned to you and said, “Okay.”

Okay.

You drew a sharp breath and nodded with finality. “Okay.”

The movie was still playing, though. It was one of your favorites, but it made you cry every time you watched it because you were so touched by the story and its main characters. It was about a man—grief-stricken with the loss of his relationship—who decides to get his memories of his girlfriend wiped, but during the process, he relives everything he shared with her and slowly rues his decision. You used to enjoy it because their story was fictional, but now it all felt like one big joke, like you were one of the characters in the movie, inching towards a certain endgame that you couldn’t escape.

You wondered if there were a different script written out for you and Alexia.

“Let’s finish the movie though, yeah?” She said, finally looking over to you.

You hadn’t expected that look on her face when you looked back at her—it was something almost like desperation.

Like it meant something to her.

You nodded. It was the least you could do after dumping her. What kindness, after the neglect she had shown you, what kindness.

Before.

Alexia was shaking when she brought the two glasses of wine out to her living room, where you sat. Nala, the ever-excited little puppy that she was, followed her like a personal little cloud.

“I heard it was going to be a sad movie, so wine it is.” She said, handing you your glasses.

“It’s a cult classic, trust me. It’s one of my favorite movies ever.”

“Well, I liked Mean Girls, so I trust you.” The truth was, she would have watched any movie with you, as long as it was with you.

You were right, it was quite sad. When she looked over midway through the movie, she could see a glossy streak running down your face. You laughed it off and wiped your tears away, embarrassed that you had cried in front of her, but Alexia thought you were the prettiest.

With feather-light touches, she reached over and brushed the tip of her fingers over your cheekbone. She knew there was no going back if she went ahead with this. She wondered if there was a script written out for you and her already, and she was just following it on its path.

Her lips brushed against yours softly, and only once she felt that you started to kiss her back was she brave enough to put her hand around your waist and pull you closer.

You were grinning so wide when she pulled away, that she thought it might have been a prank and you were somehow in on it. But you put your arms around her neck and pecked her lips again.

Whatever script it was, Alexia was sure it would be one of fairy tale endings and happily ever after, because that is what you believe when you’re in love.

a/n: the movie is eternal sunshine of the spotless mind btw. made me ugly cry.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas angst #woso imagines #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso angst

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arctrooper69 · 2 months

Text

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another" Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 8:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Canon violence. Bad decisions.

--------------------------------------------------

“Okay, let’s go over the plan one more time,” you said quietly.

Omega nodded, pointing at the layout on the screen. “You’ll set off that crate of detonators right here, just inside the front door.”

You nodded. "Yep, and that’ll trigger an alarm which should draw most of the guards towards me - "

“And that’s my cue to sneak down into the cell block to rescue everybody while you grab the staff from the treasure room!” Omega finished emphatically.

“Good!” You grinned, “Remember to keep your communicator on but only use it to contact me if something goes wrong.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

***

Fifteen minutes crept by slowly.

Omega should be at her station about now, you thought.

You wanted to know how she was fairing, but not hearing from her was a good thing. It meant she wasn't in trouble.

Five minutes later, the communicator chirped quietly at your side.

“The guards aren’t leaving!” Omega’s whispered voice sounded tense, “What do I do? I don’t think that diversion worked!”

You peered around the corner into the treasure room. Most of the guards had left.

Only two here. I could take them if I had to.

You could see the staff with it’s glimmering emerald in a case on the back wall.

That was easy.

You lifted the communicator to your lips, trying to remember the readout on the console sitting one floor above.

“There should be a ventilation shaft right above you,” you whispered.

Silence.

“I don’t see one!” Omega whispered back urgently, “And it sounds like there are more guards headed this way!”

Groaning inwardly, you began to wish you hadn’t thought of such a stupid plan. Omega needed you, and you knew that you should get out of there while you still could.

But the staff, a tiny voice whispered in your head, it’s right there. It won’t take long.

You bit your lip. You shouldn’t. A stupid antique wasn’t worth Omega’s life.

Omega’s a smart girl, that voice continued, she’s plenty capable on her own.

It made everything sound so simple. Get the staff, get the boys - that was the plan, wasn’t it?

Hunter will be impressed. He’d like you again.

Guilt churned in your gut as you lifted the communicator again. It chimed just as you opened your mouth, about to tell her that you were on the way.

“Wait, I see it! It’s on the other end of the hall, though, but I think I can make it.”

“Ok,” you responded, “Do it, but be careful!”

“I will!”

Sucking your lower lip in conflicted thought, you made up your mind. “It shouldn’t take me much longer. I’ll grab the staff and meet you by the cell block.”

“Got it.”

You chewed on your lip again, that guilty dread hadn’t abated. If anything, it had gotten worse. Something was going to go wrong - you could feel it. Something wasn’t right.

You looked back up at the staff.

That’s just the anxiety talking, you tried to convince yourself, everything is still going as planned. Just get the damned thing and go help Omega.

You took a deep breath, feeling the anxiety fade away as you slipped into the room.

I got this.

The crates and boxes stacked haphazardly in the dim lighting made it easy to manouver unseen through the treasure room.

“Crazy about those thermal detonators, right!?”

You froze.

“Yeah man,” came the response, and you could’ve collapsed in relief. You’d almost forgotten about the guards that stood just outside the door.

“Think they were just old?” the guard continued, obviously trying to initiate some kind of conversation with his partner.

“I dunno. Maybe.”

They fell silent again for several seconds.

“Ya know, when we grabbed them from that ship it was kinda cool.”

“Yup.”

“Just uhh…you know. You and me.”

“Uh huh.”

“They never pair us together…”

The second guard sighed, “First time for everything.”

“It was fun though,” the one continued before hesistating, “just sayin’, I think we make a pretty good team.”

His partner shifted uncomfortably, “Look man… I’m just trying to do my job here.”

“Yeah, man. Bro. Sorry….”

They shifted into an uncomfortable silence, unaware that you’d snuck past them quite easily as you quickly moved closer to the glass case that held the staff.

The communicator chirped once again and you froze, hoping that the guards were too distacted to notice. You winced at the noise as Omega began to speak quietly through your earpiece.

“Ok, I see them! They’re in a cell together, but there are four guards in here now and the ventilation shaft ends too far away!” She sounded desperate.

“Hey, did you hear that!?” The first guard stood up straight, glancing around.

“Hear what?” His partner sounded exasperated.

“Uhh… nevermind. I thought I heard something.” He paused, “By the way, what do you think about our new armor?”

“Dude, shut up.”

“Right. Yeah. Got a job to do.”

Ducking out of sight, you pressed the communicator up to your lips.

“Get ready,” you hissed, “wait for my signal.”

“Affirmative.”

You assessed the case and the situation in the room. Once the glass was broken, an alarm would probably go off, sending people to your location. That should take care of Omega’s problem.

Then you could take the staff and get back to her quickly.

Peering around the corner once again, you took a deep breath and steadied your heart.

It’s now or never.

Taking a breath, you rammed your elbow into the glass case, and grabbed the staff. The resulting alarm sounded loudly over the compound, buzzing through your eardrums in a painfully electrifying screech.

Both guards spun around.

“What the - !?” You clocked him in the temple with the staff before he could finish and he collapsed onto the floor. The first guard blinked, staring frozen with his mouth slightly ajar.

“If it’s any consolation, I think he likes you back!” you grinned at the man as he slowly moved to press his communicator, still staring back and forth between you and his fallen friend. Flipping the staff around you smacked the device from his hand, giving him a shrug. “Though, I don’t seem to be the best judge of that sort of thing.”

“Wha…?” The butt of the staff slammed against his head before he even had time to contemplate your words and he collapsed unconscious, joining his friend on the floor.

A clang from the floor below told you that Omega had jumped out from the ventilation shaft and the ever nearing pounding of footsteps told you that it was time to go.

Dashing down the stairs, you slid around the corner and slammed the staff into another guard. He spun around, blaster firing wildly as you kicked him in the chest before pulling your own blaster on him, sending him flying into the wall with a smoking hole in his chest.

That beautifully cocky and euphoric feeling of adrenaline coursed through your veins as you ran down the hall where the purple flash of Omega’s bow danced along the walls.

A loud clatter accompanied the pause of energy bolts.

“Hunter!” She screamed, “Help!”

You dashed around the corner. One guard held Omega tightly in his grip while the other one slid her bow away with the butt of an electrostaff.

“Let me go!” She struggled and kicked at him but it seemed to have no effect on the large, armored guard.

“Omega, no!” shouted Hunter as he slammed himself into the bars that held him, only to be forced further back into the cell as the guard hit him in the chest with the electrostaff, sending blue arcs of electricity through his body before Wrecker caught him.

Oh no you don’t.

Rage bubbled through your chest as you burst from the corner. “Hey assholes!”

The first blaster bolt slammed through the chest of the staff wielding guard and the second hit the control panel that released the rest of your team.

Omega cried out as the first guard tossed her into the wall before pulling his own blaster.

“Wrecker get Omega!” Hunter shouted. Fire blazed in his eyes as he pulled his knife from the offending guard’s throat. “Echo, find us a way out of here. Tech, find out where they’ve got our gear!”

Omega stood, rubbing her elbow as she pulled herself to her feet and retrieved her bow. “Your gear’s in the next room over!” She shouted. Hunter gave a firm nod and motioned for Tech and Wrecker to retrieve it.

You grit your teeth as footsteps sounded down the hall. This was NOT how things were supposed to go.

“Hunter,” you shouted impatiently, “I got Cid’s staff but we gotta go!”

He regarded you coolly, lips pulled into a tight line, Adam's apple bobbing up and down as if debating whether or not to respond. The choice was made for him as Wrecker and Tech rushed back with the gear. He turned away sharply and your face fell.

I kriffed up.

Regret tinged with disappointment sank like a stone in your stomach as you clenched your teeth, anger willing away the tears that pricked your eyes, and the growing lump in your throat.

“Hunter, I’ve got a clear route out but we need to move now!” Echo spoke.

“Good. Let’s get out of here.” He all but ripped the staff from your hand as he strode past. “I’ll hold onto this.”

--------------------------------------------------

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ay0nha · 11 months

Text

Some Unholy War | Theseus Scamander

SUMMARY: In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility.

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x f!reader

WORD COUNT: 2.1K

WARNINGS: canon-typical things, mentions of smoking and drinking, angst, morally gray reader, mutual pining, semi enemies-to- lovers, protective Theseus, etc.

A/N: Lowkey proud of this one, so comments and feedback are Super welcomed! This was based off this request, so thank you SO much anon, this was a blast that might have to be a series. Also Huge thanks to @kalllistos for all the help, couldn’t have been done without you!! Enjoy.

PART II, PART III, PART IV

You fit in so absolutely.

The rim of your glass was still lined with enough sugar to enjoy dwindling sips. Theseus knew it was gin. Your lipstick left a mark on everything you kissed, the pattern was found on your glass, and the cigarette holder balanced between your fingers. You made everything look so serene. Simple.

Scanning the room, you hadn’t seen Theseus yet. However, he, too, fit in—tie properly knotted to show his status and pocket-watch cleverly tucked in his waistcoat. Once he joined you at the secluded booth, he’d complete the idyllic image.

Yet, Theseus lingered for a moment, taking you in. Your confidence was always envious. It worked silently, exuding from your presence alone. Your magnetism couldn’t be credited to magic but to how you evolved, becoming pointed and moving without fault.

Theseus was one of the only ones remaining to know it hadn’t begun that way. He remembered you, a few years below him, always sprinting to class, already late. The professors would scold you, and your confidence was read as insolence. You challenged everything and excelled in doing so, but it only lent itself to trouble. It created a barrier always present between the two of you.

“You’re late.” You sucked in a crackling breath. With pointed eyes, you took his presence in. Even late into the night, he was always so poised. Professional. “I’m risking a lot showing my face here.”

“You look beautiful.” Theseus slid into the leather cushion. The charm always came with his supposed professionalism. It came in waves and never crawled under your skin the way intended. “Relax…It’s fine.”

Unbuttoning his suit jacket’s button, Theseus settled. It was bold of you to accept his invitation to meet so publicly, but he knew you couldn’t resist. You just needed to play your part smartly and get what you want.

“Your promises are too shallow for me to trust.” You crossed your legs, making it easier to lean and be heard. Then, you clicked your tongue against your teeth with sarcasm, “I think I’d rather you arrest me.”

“Unfortunately, I’ve clocked out for the night.” Theseus was an intentional man, a clever man. He was protecting his image just as much as yours. “It’s just you and me.”

“That’s why you wanted to meet here…” You hummed with feigned realization. The muggle restaurant was a precarious cover but equally as rewarding in its purpose. “You know there are better ways to ask someone on a date.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time…” Theseus matched your hum absentmindedly. The banter was a buffer, something to ease into an inevitable unwanted conversation. Reaching into his heavily charmed jacket, he pulled out a file.

It was always a fucking file. The folders were always pristine, never quite full of all the information, just enough of what Theseus was willing to share. It grew over the years of the unorthodox relationship, but you knew not to mistake that for trust.

The figures in the picture were blurry, moving incoherently as they entered a building. The stack of images moved in sequence, following rushedly an exchange that was meant to remain a secret. Without seeing their faces well, you knew who they were, and you held back from using your cigarette roach to burn it all away. Instead, the image repeat over and over before you, but your expression was trained with passivity.

“When did he get out?” You finally met Theseus’ eye. Your composure could fool most, but to a trained eye, your discomfort was obvious.

“A month or so at this point...”

Your laugh was bitter. “So, I’ve been a sitting duck.”

“You’ve been avoiding me...” Theseus countered, his tone just barely teasing. There was truth in jest, as there were plenty of owls following you. You looked at him, knowing what came next. His compassion would get him killed. “...I can help you.”

“Careful.” You cocked your head, musing a buried thought. “You’re getting awful sentimental these days.”

“Don’t you want those off?” Theseus leaned in like you had, voice low. Although his fingers were threaded together, he pointed to the bracelets on your wrists.

You smirked, “And ruin my outfit?”

Rarely did you acknowledge them so explicitly. The bracelets—admonitors—dampened your magic by tracking your every spell. They made you feel like a child with a trace spell. Part of you wished you could say you grew accustomed to the constant surveillance, but you grew weary of lying.

The offer was too sweet, and you wanted more than just your magic untraced. “What’s the catch?”

“You help the Ministry find him.” Theseus was trying to protect you, but you were too filled with vindication to notice.

“You mean work for you.”

He frowned, correcting you, “With me.”

“There truly isn’t a difference in your world.” You spat. The ministry was the reason you were in this mess; they branded your cuffs as a daily reminder that your autonomy was shared. “You’d be using me as bait.”

The conversation would go in circles, as it always had. It was the reason more time was added between meetings. Every time you left, that bitter taste grew stronger, and it was difficult to put it aside to face Theseus again and again. This was different—more threatening, but your anger prevailed.

“I won’t do it.”

“Catching him will clear your name.” Theseus all but begged. He remained poised, but you knew it would only last for so long. Those around you looked your way; interest piqued in conversation they weren’t privy to.

“I’m not innocent.” You were blunt. You had been called cold because of it. But it was a trait that you favored, especially at times like this. You wanted to see Theseus break.

You had done unspeakable things, figuring it was an acceptable way to siphon your affection. You were young and blinded by false idolization. Theseus chose to see the best in you, even now, even after everything. He, too, was blinded by an image of you that hadn’t changed since you were children.

The table held your drink, forgotten and diluted. The air was tense and hushed. Theseus needed to move fast, knowing you were moments away from fleeing. But he knew he had just enough time as you lit another cigarette, this time not for vanity but to quell your nerves.

Your nails tapped on the base of your cocktail glass. Your fingertips twitched, begging to satisfy their itch for magic. You debated on if your actions would be worth it. Theseus decided for you, hand flexing to replenish your drink.

Your lipstick remained fresh but still marked the glass. It was perfectly cold, calming the swarm of nerves that hit you. “It’s a bit strong.”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” Theseus appreciated your teasing; it meant he was doing something right.

“This place is quite charming, you know,” You looked around before shifting forward even more. It may have been improper, but you leaned over the table, elbows resting comfortably. “Next time, we’ll have to venture and order food.”

“Sure.” Theseus agreed, body language mirroring yours. To anyone else, the pair of you would look smitten. “Anytime you’d like.”

“Anytime?” Your eyebrow ticked up as you tapped at the ashtray. “Come on, I’m surprised you’ve stuck around as long as you have.” Your knuckles crept forward, almost bumping his as they dragged to the middle of the linen cloth atop the table. “Truly—We haven’t—”

You stopped yourself with an uncharacteristic laugh. A tinge spread below Theseus’ freckles, assuming your humor was chastising him. But you were laughing at yourself, at how ridiculous you felt. You were enjoying yourself.

The feeling felt foreign, so you prickled. “Be practical, Theseus.”

Your worlds barely overlapped, and where it had highlighted the worst parts of each of you. Your world was dark and hidden; you stole and bribed. You were suitable for it and resisted morphing into the image Theseus expected of you.

He was as kind as any Hufflepuff, putting other needs first and blindly placing his kindness. He mistook his demeanor for bravery, but his true bravery formed by sitting across from you. The only barrier seemed to be Theseus’ incorruptible moral code, a space where you couldn’t quite freely exist.

“I need to know the full story.” His voice was commanding, betraying his desperation.

Theseus looked warm, contrasting the winter blizzarding outside. A bubble was created that was becoming suffocating, but with him across you, it seemed just marginally bearable. His hand flexed, skimming yours, hoping to regain your attention.

“You already know how it ends. What does the rest matter?” You thought to sink back, but you chased the small contact. “I want nothing to do with this. With him.”

“I’ll be there the entire time,” Theseus promised, voice low and steady, reflecting his sincerity. You could make out the warmth he was willing to share, but you weren’t willing to accept it wholly.

“And my interests?”

Theseus’ expression fell slightly at your evasive rejection. It reminded him of his position, of his strained relation to you—what he was supposed to do but always found a reason to put off.

“It depends on where they lie.”

In an ideal world, you’d like to think you and Theseus could be friends. Frankly, though, his compassion made you nauseous. Or maybe it was nerves. The feeling was always hard for you to distinguish. You wished the way he looked at you would bring warmth to your chest, but it only reminded you of how that was another impossibility.

You wished his gaze would turn you to stone; that way, you could avoid everything else. Instead, it made you melt, it made you pliable in way you opposed with others. There was a suspicion he kept returning just because of that—despite your bluff and his willful ignorance, you weren’t made of stone, and deep down, he knew that. Probably not consciously, but he did.

You always came back. Or he did—another indistinguishable something. You could still feel his fingers reaching for yours. It almost made you cave. Yet, your back met the bench of the booth, and your hand drew away as you placed your cigarette on your lips.

Although you were still present, Theseus watched you flee. Your guard returned stronger, but he didn’t regret his words. Theseus’ eyes were pleading, and you went to blame his naivety, but you found something distinct there. The reason you were here tonight was not for a favor.

It was an ultimatum, not a request.

“When was this decided?” You asked. You thought Theseus came alone, and now the naivety fell on you. There were too many eyes on you now to dismiss the crowd as solely muggles. You fell so perfectly into the trap that all you could do was laugh.

“I wanted to keep you out of this,” Theseus admitted. It was the truth, but he knew what needed to be done. The greater good, you could already hear his defense. “This is the only way.”

“Your way.” You shook your head. Another laugh. “And what happens when he kills me? Hmm?”

“He won’t.” Another promise that made you sick. “I’ll be there the whole ti—

“Then you, Theseus—” Venom dripped from your every pointed word. From the corner of your eye, you saw how the undercover aurors were ready to respond to your agitation. If they wanted a spectacle, you were moments from providing it. “— are ill-prepared for what he’s willing to do.”

“You need to trust me.” Theseus attempted to regain the conversation but failed to recognize any mending he made was lost.

“And why should I trust the man that watches my every move?”

Theseus put you in this position; he was the wizard who held your wrist tightly all those years ago to secure the admonitors. For your own good, he told you. He believed it, and yet again, you found yourself at the hands of his so-called mercy.

“And if I decline?” You weren’t in such a position to, but Theseus understood your question only brought ruination.

“The only way you're walking out of here is because of me.”

A threat, how original. Your cigarette threatened to burn your lips. The ash tarnished the linen that fell over your lap. Apart of you hoped it would set the entire thing aflame. Maybe then you’d have a chance at a genuine escape. For now, though, you resolved to the final word.

“You think you are blessed with morality—” You finished your drink, the taste becoming sour. “—yet what sits before me is nothing but a boy that’s only purpose is to follow orders blindly.”

#q #theseus scamander #theseus #scamander #theseus scamander x reader #theseus scamander fluff #theseus scamander angst #theseus scamander x f!reader #newt scamander x reader #newt scamander #fantastic beasts fic #FUCK jkr #fuck terfs

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heavenlycloud · 7 months

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dream a little dream: yunjin x fem! reader ✧°🍒‧｡°

request: hi! It says that soft hours are open and I just had a thought from watching the LE SSERAFIM x Dream Academy Video where the fimmies surprised the contestants. Imagine being the 6th member of LE SSERAFIM and being in a relationship with yunjin and you both are smiling happily and holding hands while greeting the contestants, and then once you all leave some of the contestants are like “omg the way they look at each other, they’re definitely dating” or something of that sort LOL 🩷

a/n: ok so funny story i read this and then wrote it all whilst being sleep deprived and slightly delirious…so i lowkey mixed up the details but i can go back and rewrite it if you’re not satisfied (this is why i need sleep and why i need to stop trying to write from memory cuz i can’t do it).

Becoming an idol had been your dream since you were 14 years old as a freshman in high school. one of your friends showed you their favorite girl groups and you were immediately sucked into the world of kpop. as you went through high school and entered university your hope of making your dream come true slowly dwindled. companies were starting to debut girls younger and younger which you didn’t think gave you much of a chance at 18 years old. that was until you got an email from someone about submitting an audition for a new girl group that would form under HYBE in the next year. at first you thought it was a scam, but after doing a deep dive on the internet you realized it was more real than fake. you submitted the audition with little hope knowing that you’d practically ‘aged out’ of the trainee age range, on top of the fact that you hadn’t been singing or dancing since infancy like every idol seemed to have done. so it was a huge surprise when you got an email back 8 weeks later confirming that you passed the audition. by some miracle you’d convinced your parents to let you go to Korea to become a trainee under HYBE with the hopes of debut. truthfully, they only said yes knowing that you’d probably be sent back home after 6 months…and your university credits were valid for the next 10 years so you could pick up where you left off.

Much like your parents assumed, you were sent back home, but instead of after 6 months, it was after 2 years. you gave everything you could to the trainee program but in the end you didn’t make the final cut due to “not having the look the group needed”. you were heartbroken to leave your new friends, the seven girls who were supposed to make HYBE’s new girl group. the three younger girls that had become like your little sisters, the two older girls that were like your older sisters, and the one same aged girl who was your best friend…maybe a little more. on your last day in the company you laughed while saying your final goodbyes, clinging onto your girls in a huddle as you tried to have a positive outlook on a shitty situation. when you got back home you were devastated to say the least. for the first few weeks you only cried and wished things had worked in your favor, until one day you refused to wallow in your sorrows any longer.

you made a promise that you’d see them again, that you’d see her again and laying around crying all day wasn’t going to make that happen. so, you began practicing again using the techniques and lessons you’d learned over your 2 year long trainee experience. when the audition announcement came out this time around you didn’t hesitate to apply to the same company that let you go a year ago. given how hard you worked, it was absolutely no surprise when you found out HYBE wanted you back in their trainee program. at this point your parents didn’t bother refusing once again knowing university would be there if you ended up coming back home again. however, with the way you’d been training yourself it wasn’t looking like that would be an option. honestly you didn’t know if your driving force was to prove to yourself or to the people that sent you home that you had what it takes, but regardless you were ready this time. by the end of the first mission it was clear to the judges, trainers, and other contestants that you were certainly a force to be reckoned with. you’d only ever heard praises and slight critiques that could be fixed immediately from your trainers and judges.

the eighteen of you all filed into the practice room and filled the seats as you sat in front of the screen that was presumably going to show your second mission. you sat between lara and sophia holding both of their hands as you anxiously watched the screen in front of you. their grips on your hand tightened when they saw the members of le sserafim appear, reacting to the Dream Academy trailer. squeals and screams filled the room as everyone shared their shock but you only laughed, finding it funny that this was the way they were seeing you again for the first time since you left. lara shook your hand and told you, “i swear if we ever meet them, i’m asking them to dance fearless with you.” a bunch of the other girls around you oohed and agreed before putting their attention back on the monitor. at some point you completely zoned out, only coming back to when you heard eunchae say, “the second ANTIFRAGILE team members are “Iliya, Karlee, Samara, Megan, and Y/N.” you leaned forward and looked at them with a big smile, nodding in agreement over your excitement to be teamed together.

the five of you sat on the floor of the practice room and started talking about the song choice, karlee starting off with explaining how she wanted this song more. you all nodded in agreement and the other girls chimed in talking about their worries and what they were most excited for. after a moment the conversation stopped and all eyes were on you, “what?” your teammates laughed at you and you admitted, “i mean like…i’m not that nervous guys. i’ve done this performance in the shower a bunch so i meannnn…plus if i flop yunjin called me pretty so-” the girls around you fell over laughing and karlee pointed out, “dude she literally knows you.” in return you playfully glared and held your hand out, “can you let me have my moment?” megan and samara laughed even harder while iliya covered her face though her giggles. you all divided up your parts evenly, you getting kazhua’s part because of the leg extension, and megan insisting yours looked better when you couldn’t tell much of a difference.

Throughout the practices you were given the dance leadership role which you tried to avoid but it was inevitable given your trainee history. there were little to no breaks, an incredible amount of jet lag, and a time crunch of only a few days before your performance. the pressure was certainly there and you could feel it especially with the weight of being an ex- HYBE trainee and the leader of your group. hours passed with you all in the practice room, your trainer comforting iliya as she cried out of stress and exhaustion combined with her own self doubt. you patted her shoulder and told her, “it’s okay…i cried yesterday in the shower and almost drowned in my tears and the shower water because i breathed through my nose.” the younger girl couldn’t help but laugh and you did too seeing the smile return to her face.

*meanwhile*

“We’re watching them react to us watching their trailer and mission announcement.” chaewon and yunjin explained to their members in their van. the girls huddled around the ipad and a smile tugged at all of their faces when they saw you amongst your teammates. they watched closely, listening to all of your members speak their worries until it was your turn to talk which caused all of them to laugh, especially your banter with karlee. yunjin murmured, “i didn’t know i missed her this much.” chaewon side eyed her discreetly while eunchae and kazuha stifled a laugh. they then sent chaewon inside the practice room to pose as a staff member to record a tiktok for you and the rest of the contestants. when you all were in line you noticed how she was more covered than the rest of the staff members in the room. you narrowed your eyes, and then it was your turn aside Manon. when you made it to the front you just knew, but you only smiled and danced, the only person who also knew was chaewon herself when you winked.

chaewon pulled off her mask and hood, “surprise!” the other girls screamed in excitement, only getting louder when the other idols walked in soon after. you ended up with marquise clinging to your side with her hands over her face. yunjin then started speaking in english, “we heard you all were practicing our songs right?” they all nodded and she added, “we’re so excited to see you guys, it’s crazy that we’re meeting you in this practice room. yunjin asked the contestants, “did you all expect it?” the girls overlapped one another with refusing responses to which the black haired girl responded, “we thought it’d be obvious…so we were like we should prank you.” the girls once again reacted with laughing and squeals which yunjin took the opportunity to make louder, “wait i think i know all of your names though.”

Everyone straightened out into a more clear line and yunjin looked down the line and asked, “Iliya, right?” your teammate nodded and yunjin continued, “and Ezrela. Sophia, Emily, Celeste, Karlee, Marquise, Y/N-” there was a difference in her tone when she said your name, a different smile on her face, until you deadpanned, “No.” there was a second of complete silence before you burst out laughing and said, “no i’m kidding i’m sorry. do your thing.” yunjin and her members all laughed too, chaewon immediately mimicking you quietly, “no.” the black haired girl then said, “she always does this.” your teammates all laughed and nodded in agreement earning a satisfied smile from you. yunjin continued, “sorry ok- um Y/N, Megan, Brooklyn, Lara, Lexie, Samara, Daniela, Manon, Mei, aaaand Ua. Aaaand Nayoung, Yoonchae. Right?” everyone cheered and clapped and she explained, “because i see you guys so much on like TikTok, YouTube, and everything!” you all turned into each other giggling and smiling until it was time to perform for the girls with your mission teams.

Your team went first, you gathering your girls into a small huddle and telling them quietly, “just relax. we got this. alright come on, eat it up?” your teammates said in unison, “no dinner!” you laughed at the phrase you taught them on the first day, still using it now. while performing you had your nerves, especially knowing that the idols in front of you had seen your practice videos, one of which included you crying, something they’d never seen in the two years they knew you. while performing you kept your eyes on your old friends, primarily the one who still held a piece of your heart. the hours of practicing and endless stretching to get kazuha’s leg extension perfect paid off when you saw the look on all five of their faces when you did the move.

Iliya stood beside you as you were between her and samara while le sserafim gave you all feedback as two teams. chaewon pointed out samara, praising her for the eye contact she made opposed to looking into the mirror, a common mistake amongst trainees during evaluations. kazuha looked at you and said, “y/n, your leg extension was so good! honestly you could just take my place next time we perform because you were that good.” you laughed and thanked her, sending a fond smile her way, the same one that always brought her comfort after long practices. samara tickled your leg and you playfully swatted her hand away, making her giggle quietly. when you thought one of the girls would now talk to the two teams as a whole, yunjin turned her attention to you. yunjin looked you dead in the eye, pulling a smile onto your previously stoic face. she told you, “y/n. i know from the practice videos you were worried about being leader, looking at everything to the smallest detail. but everything you did for your teammates paid off because you’re perfe- your team was perfect.” everyone in the room ouuuuu-ed which made you cover your face in slight embarrassment, yunjin doing the same. she then added, “and karlee i know you weren’t feeling well but you literally killed it…and team A, you guys chose your name right because you slayed.” the four girls burst into laughter and you all thanked the girls for their feedback before heading back to your seats, not before you sent a wink yunjin’s way which she instinctively made a heart with her hands back to you. when you sat back down you were sandwiched between lara and megan, both of whom whispered together, “you’re perfecttttt” then made the same hearts with their hands to you that yunjin did. you playfully scoffed and hoped they couldn’t feel your body getting hot with embarrassment as they teased you.

after everyone finished their performances you all had the chance to ask the girls for anything you wanted to know. you were the first to raise your hand, “i think a big worry of us, as in all 19 of us is that we are now in a place where this is competition. all of us want to do well individually but even more than that we want one another to succeed so we can make it to the end together. it’s a given that the group won’t be 19 members. so knowing that eventually we will be sending home many of our best friends, sisters, soulmates… or whatever- like what can we do or tell ourselves so we don’t end up just dwelling on that fact? how can we keep going after dealing with that over and over?” yunjin nodded in understanding and responded genuinely, “wow that is a big question. there is like a motto that i live by where i just try my best to believe that everything happens for a reason. you all met for a reason, and you’re together for a reason…and i think goodbyes are unfortunately inevitable-” it was at this point that you realized she was staring directly at you. yunjin caught herself staring and looked away as she continued, “ but i think that is part of growing. and just the fact that you all collectively have this kind of worry is very touching and i kind of like teared up a little inside because it’s very hard to meet people who both support you while also maintaining your own individual driving force. i think it’s just kind of making every experience and opportunity…it’s important to continue rooting each other on. i think that’s the best way to keep going forward just knowing you know-” again her eyes found yours, “just knowing that even if you’re not together one day you will end up seeing each other again.” now there was a smile on her face as she looked at you, looking away to make it less obvious, “that’s what happened to me actually. I had practiced for quite a few years but after debuting and working my best in the end we came full circle and they were also doing their best so in the end we met.” she looked back at only you, “just take this time and make as many memories and relationships as you can. don’t be afraid of the pain that comes with having to let someone go because you can use that to get to where you want to be.” she paused then spoke as if you were the only other one in the room, “because look where we are now y/n.” you nodded and the four idols around yunjin ouuuu-ed making the rest of the contestants giggle. eunchae quietly remarked, “this just got really personal…” everyone laughed as yunjin slapped her leg lightly and brooklyn beside you started poking your side.

a few seats down from you sophia spoke up, “i should have went before y/n because my question is gonna sound unserious…chaewon, how do you like blink on the beat in Antifragile because every time i do it i look like i got a bug in my eye?” everyone erupted into laughter and sophia added, “i’m so serious guys i look so dumb doing it!” which only made everyone laugh harder. chaewon stood up and danced the specific part before motioning for sophia do to it with her, then by herself. the idol praised your friend, “yes! you got it!” everyone clapped and sophia ran happily back to her seat with her face a light shade of pink. ezrela raised her hand, “so in your choreographies you all do a lot of like hand holding, and so like…how do you all not miss each others hands?” the idols in front of you all laughed and eunchae explained, we just have to trust each other like you go up i go down. we talk about it like that in advance and you have to hold the hands tight. even if one hand slips off, the others should hold them tight to prevent the accident.” ezrela nodded in understanding and laughed while thanking eunchae for her reply.

right when you thought everyone was going to be done asking questions, lara raised her hand, “i have a request but you all can say no.” all five idols looked at her intently and your friend asked, “can you dance to fearless with y/n?” all of your teammates immediately cheered and your old friends looked at each other with smiles. they agreed and despite you refusing, yunjin stood up and pulled you over, engulfing you in a hug first. kazuha took off her heels and joined you her members on the floor. your friends were all giggling along, especially when they noticed yunjin had her hand slipped into yours, fingers intertwined. meanwhile the idols looked at you and you asked, “second chorus to the end? the debut formations?” they nodded and chaewon said, “from 겁이 난 없지, 없지” you nodded and found your place and let the music play. from this part of the song you were in the center, a smile on your face nobody had seen on you thus far. during the refrain everyone of your teammates saw the way yunjin looked up at you while she faced them, like you were the only girl in the world. the six of you danced to the end and when the song stopped everyone clapped and the five girls pulled you into a long and tight hug. when you all parted each of them hugged you individually, sakura first.

the eldest told you with a fond smile, “i’m so proud of you y/n. i can’t wait for your debut.” kazuha spoke up next, “i’m wishing for your debut, unnie.” chaewon squeezed you tightly, “i’m so happy to know you didn’t give up. i’m so proud of you y/n.” eunchae pulled you into a hug, “i missed you so much unnie. i’m happy we got to see each other like this.” yunjin was last, and she mumbled into your shoulder, “come see me tonight?” you murmured back quietly, “mhm.” she grinned as she pulled away while you tried to hide the look of joy from your face. everyone thanked le sserafim and said their goodbyes before you all got a quick break, mostly for cameras to be moved and reset. the second you were alone with manon, your closest friend, she asked all knowing, “so when are you seeing her?” you tried to play it off but she knew you too well already, so you caved, “tonight.”

#kpop fanfic #girl group imagines #girl group scenarios #kpop imagines #girl group fluff #kpop reactions #kpop scenarios #girl group reactions #lesserafim reactions #lesserafim imagines #le sserafim scenarios #le sserafim imagines #huh yunjin #yunjin x reader #huh yunjin x reader #dream academy

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aurora-starwars · 1 year

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You Can Be The Moon And Still Be Jealous Of The Stars

Request by @catr4dora:

HI! Is it ok if I could request a (2009) JEALOUS! Jake sully x fem reader ?

Pairing: (2009) Jake Sully x fem!Na’vi!reader

Summary: Jake miss understands a situation between reader and another, and becomes jealous ;)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: None, i don’t think. Let me know if you see any.

A/n: Thank you so much for requesting!!! I hope you like it, because I had fun writing it! <33333

Masterlist

“Just like this?”

“Yes, but you must suck in your stomach more,” [Name] explained, helping the man before her tilt his bow higher.

[Name] had always been the best fighter in the clan. Well, it was either her, Tsu’tey, or Neytiri. Regardless, she was one of the best. And because of that she was often put in charge of training the more advanced fighters in order to advance their skill.

The man with his bow raised nearly a foot away from [Name] was her newest apprentice. He wasn’t a young man, nor was he old, but I could be seen in his skill that he had not been a warrior for long.

“Okay, now shoot.”

It had been a while since [Name] had been assigned anyone to train, too busy training Jake Sully, their new supposed dream walker recruit. The man wished to train and learn to be one of the People and leaders of the clan allowed this, as long as [Name] would be the one to train him.

The man in front of her, whose name [Name] does not remember, missed the target by at least a foot. He really hadn’t come close to the intended spot, at all, since the beginning of his training. [Name] nearly huffed, instead letting out a soft but heavy sigh, moving to rest a comforting had on the man’s shoulder.

“You will get it, you just have to practice. Now go prepare for dinner, the others should be back from the hunt by now.”

The man walked away, leaving [Name] alone to her thoughts. Oakey, she remembered his name to be, was an incredibly slow learner. Although, he had not been training since childhood, he still had a few years of training as a warrior. This made her think of Jake’s skill, how it had only been a few months and he has already seemed to pick up a majority of the skills.

As she made it back to Hometree, she found that the warriors had returned and that the meal had long been prepared. Walking between her fellow Na’vi, she found her place next to Jake, sitting down and grabbing a portion. After a beat, [Name] noticed the man beside her had yet to greet her, choosing to stay silent.

“Good hunt?” [Name] offered gently, hoping get Jake to talk.

[Name] was only met with silence, Jake not even looking in her directing. [Name] was upset at this, reasonably so. Her eyebrows furrowed, chewing her food faster and more aggressive than before. What reason did he have for being so upset? And why was him ignoring her going to solve anything?

When the meal was over and the Omaticaya people headed off to bed, [Name] and Jake were left to head to their respective hammocks next to one another. [Name] knew they didn’t much talk before bed but she was hoping that she could get something out of Jake before they went to bed.

Climbing into the hammocks, [Name] asked, “Jake, are you alright? You have been quiet all night. Did something happen during the hunt?”

Jake only responded by touching the side of his hammock before rolling over, facing away from her. [Name] huffed, she had had enough of his behaviour and wished he would just spill it.

Morning came around and she found Jake already missing from the last spot she’d seen him. They had more training today as Jake wasn’t on a hunt today, so she wondered why he seemed to have ran off. Breakfast was simple but filling, allowing all who ate to be filled with energy but not stuffed enough as to not function. [Name] was getting frustrated at this point. Patience never came easy to her, but being a teacher and a frequent hunt participant, she learned to be calm. But Jake Sully not being at breakfast, was not making this process easy.

After asking Tsu’tey where Jake was, [Name] ran off in the direction of Jake’s last know location.

[Name]’s run slowed to a walk upon finding Jake throwing rocks across the water of a calm river.

“Jake?” [Name] started carefully, not wanting him to run off again. “What are you doing here?”

Jake sighed at the sound of her voice, what a wonderful voice [Name] had. Turning around, Jake looked into the concerned eyes of [Name], her shoulders tense.

When Jake didn’t reply, [Name] continued, “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Jake had thought back for a moment, to the day before. He had just gotten back from the hunt and was excited to see [Name], practically running to where he knew [Name] trained some of the more advanced kids. But when he got there he was surprised to see [Name] with her hand resting on a man near her age’s shoulder. He watched her comfort him, looking deep into his eyes.

Jake didn’t know what to think, he thought he was about the only person in the clan that needed training at his age, most of the other Na’vi having learned to use a bow much at a young age. So to see [Name] train a man, clearly not a child, seemed to Jake as a romantic gesture. One that brought two together. He thought he was the only one in that position, in [Name]’s heart, but it seems he was wrong.

“It’s nothing. You go and help that man learn to fight or whatever you were doing with him,” Jake practically spat, turning back to the water.

“What? What does Oakey have to do with this?” [Name]’s confusion was written all over her face, not that Jake could see.

“What does he have to do with this?” Jake repeated, acting as if shocked. “Only everything! But if you want to go off and train him instead of me, that’s fine. I am sure I will have another trainer, maybe Neytiri or Tsu’tey,” Jake’s eyebrows were tightly knit and his hands were curled in fists.

“I don’t understand why you are upset. Are you upset that I was training Oakey?” [Name] asked incredulously, her body only growing more tense by the minute.

“I’m not upset that you were training him, I am upset you choose to train this man who obviously has feelings for you. You like him and wish to be with him. I just thought that we were closer.” Jake finished dejected.

“Jake…” [Name] started, looking as Jake shook his head, turning and sitting in front of the river.

[Name] smiled to herself slightly. Jake Sully was jealous. Jake Sully was jealous over some man she was training. She almost laughed, as if that man could compare.

Walking slowly over to where Jake was sitting and sitting only a few inches away, [Name] took a deep breath.

“Jake, that man was just another of the future warriors of our clan. He, like many others have, has chosen another path to learn about. He originally was a forager, but he changed passions and wanted to be a hunter.” [Name] tried to explain, watching Jake carefully from the corner of her eye.

“So, you are not interested or attracted to him?” Jake asked, slowly gaining his confidence back.

“Of course not! Are you kidding? Oakey has been training for years and he just started to get within range of the target using a bow,” [Name] let out a laugh that rattled her entire body, the thought of choosing anyone other than Jake seemed ridiculous.

Jake grinned, trying not to chuckle in response to [Name]’s infectious laugh. He too found it ridiculous for [Name] to pick Oakey over himself.

“Besides,” [Name] continued. “You learned everything in half the time he took to learn to pick up a bow, and he didn’t look half as good doing it.”

[Name] attempted to smirk, but upon seeing the look on Jake’s face, her face morphed to one of slight shock and confusion. He was looking at her with soft eyes, leaning in to get a better look at her as if a piece of art needing to studied.

“If it makes you feel better, Oakey is promised to another. And…” [Name] started before getting lost in Jake’s eyes.

“Mhm” Jake hummed, hoping she would continue.

“And… I would never choose another over you. Not for the rest of my days.”

Jake only smiled before pulling [Name] in for a passionate but gentle kiss. It spoke many feelings that were otherwise hard to convey. Jealous tendencies, frustrated confusion, untold attraction.

When they separated, the two only stared in each other’s eyes, memorizing every detail. Large smiled spread across their faces as they realized what they had done.

“I see you, [Name]”

“I see you, Jake.”

A/n: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to request or let me know anything you think! <333333

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be-my-ally · 1 year

Text

"...Elvis has left for Graceland."

This is, uh, what I did with some *generally helpful information* about mirrors in Graceland (although tbh there's not even that many references to them here) and bde withdrawals. I lied - I thought my empty promises wip would be out first, but when inspiration hits and a shorter fic just pops out of your fingers - and the alternative is the dreaded editing, you end up with this instead! Enjoy my lovelies - this is also a little (ok a lot) for @thatbanditqueen - enjoy the references to red Graceland, the correct suit for the exact date, and even his exact upper of choice in spring summer ’74! Oh! and the dress pictured below is YSL from 1973 xx (and also @ellie-24, and @whositmcwhatsit for encouraging me! Surprise! We were discussing films and I was writing this!)

summary: you’re elvis’ girlfriend circa ’74, and have a lot of fun congratulating him after his recorded show in Memphis.

pairing: afab!reader x elvis (of the big daddy flavour)

warnings: 18+, thigh-riding, the ripping of an expensive rental dress, big daddy elvis in all his big daddy-ness, yet again - reader sucks his tits idk man I didn’t think was gonna be a kink for me but clearly it is, v. minor references to his drug abuse, p in v sex, uhhhh…. Oh mirrors! I know Graceland wasn’t as, uh, dirty as Hillcrest but I think he still had enough fun there, Elvis keeps his jumpsuit on. this is essentially unedited so pls ignore any typos - I'll give it a look over in the morning!

wc: 4.1k - We did it baby! Concise smut!!

March 20th 1974 - Mid-South Coliseum Memphis

“…Elvis has left for Graceland.”

You’re delayed in leaving - a problem with the valet, or the sound, or something that someone has to sort out - so despite the fact that Elvis himself has left you are stood, waiting, with a couple of the mafia boys for the other car to be brought around. Undoubtedly to be stuck in the hordes of fans and traffic on the way out. You hated being stood exposed like this, it made you feel like people’s wandering glances weren’t just sizing up the King’s new girlfriend, but laughing at you - at how you’re no more special than the rest of them. Stood in much the same way they all were. Left behind while he was whisked away to his palace.

The temperature had dropped since you’d arrived here earlier, and you wished you’d thought to bring a jacket but the weather was just starting to warm up and you’d been thrilled to be able to wear a little strappy number - a little part of you, or maybe a large part, wanting to show off a little for the home crowd. Silver and diamanté straps that held up the draping gently twisted fabric that flowed in a column, brushing your curves - it was, expensive and flashy in a subtle way - it was almost too much for the concert. But, as always, you’d been outshined by Elvis’ own crystals - the stark white of his sparkling jumpsuit brighter than any of the stage lights. You’d worn it mostly for him though, despite the fact that he’d barely glanced at you in it.

By the time you’re all loaded into the car, heading the barely ten miles towards Graceland, the novelty of passing down Elvis Presley Boulevard from an Elvis Presley concert to go and see Elvis Presley still hadn’t waned. You smile a little at yourself and you can feel Charlie laughing from the other side of the backseat of the car, “God makes me laugh every time I see that damn sign - as if he needed a bigger head!” You laugh with him, but you can hear the affection in his voice - as if you were being let in to a joke of the inner circle; the joke about his large head being simultaneously true but also at odds with his nerves mere hours ago. Despite your traffic fears you make quick progress and it’s mere minutes before you’re pulling up to the drive, parting the crowd and through the gates. You’re quick out of the car but you’re surprised not to see or hear him when you walk through the front door, until Billy, coming around the corner, sees you and points upstairs. You nod and thank him but, not seeing the point in rushing if he’d gone to bed, you head to the kitchen - fetching a drink and take your time finishing it. You start to slowly make your way up the main staircase, stopping to check yourself out in the large mirror on the wall, reapplying a little lipstick just in case he was awake.

When you walk in, he’s pacing at the bottom of his bed, still in the sweaty white jumpsuit, walking back and forth, he gestures past his padded doors, towards the landing and the huge mirrors he’d recently had installed on the ceiling to match those on the walls. “Saw you take your time, something more important than me baby?” You frown, shaking your head - you forget, when at Graceland, that his eyes are everywhere; even as much as in Hillcrest.

“Course not babe, of course not!” He tuts, but you’d not been expected him to look so awake so you hadn’t thought you’d had to rush up to him; despite your desire to see him, and congratulate him on the show. So you have no words to your defence - you can’t exactly tell him you expected he’d be half out of it by now. You glance over at the gold foiled nightstand on his side - the orange bottle for his dexedrine open and on display. He follows your gaze, his own eyes hardening a little, tiny little lines forming on the edge of his still-linered lids. Neither of you mention his sudden burst of energy and where it came from. He turns back to you, hands on his hips. It draws your attention to his outfit. He’d not even changed from his stage jumpsuit - a rarity since he was almost always in his robe by the time he’d passed through his bedroom doors. It strangely matches well in the dark, red, interior of the room - red crystals of the fire suit almost the exact colour of the carpet. But it also, oddly, made him stand out even more - the crystals seeming like they were everywhere, like he was made to be stood in this room; reflecting across the mirrors, and emphasising the white of the jumpsuit - his skin jumping out. The zipper was low, as it had been all night and you rake your eyes over his exposed skin. He’d been exceptionally physical tonight, the showmanship spectacular and it was displayed in his chest and stomach shimmering with his still drying sweat. You feel yourself growing wet.

“Shut the door honey,” You do as you’re told, he’s gruff, almost as if he feels he should be apologetic but would never admit it, “Not had time lately have we, huh, baby?” You shake your head in response, uncertain what to say - you hadn’t, he’d been so busy worrying about these concerts, and then afterwards about the live recording - about the intricacies of the sound, of how the crowd noise will be isolated. It meant that as excited as you were to see him perform in Memphis, in his home - you were more excited to get past it to the month long break he was going to have. But you also knew how privileged you were to get any time with him at all, and you knew how quickly his moods changed lately. Unwilling to say anything that might make him reconsider his plans and head back downstairs, leave you alone, waiting and wanting while he entertained.

“Well. We’re here now.” He moves over to you, determinedly catching you in a kiss. You squirm a little, eyes closed, trying to will away the thought that you weren’t the only woman he’d kissed this evening, force away the images of him with the girls in the front row. There was fewer than normal, chaste pecks on the cheek - he didn’t want to mess up the recording after all. But still, you’d felt the envy growing in you, jealousy burning through your veins. He makes you forget this though, as he rubs his hands down your arms, warming where they’d already grown cold in the frigid air of his bedroom and his tongue slips deeper into you. You can taste the gatorade of the night, mixed with the sparkling water he’d probably downed along with his uppers - the faint tingle of the carbon dioxide still present. He kisses down your cheek to your throat, leaving traces of your freshly applied lipstick from your own lips before he turns you around, facing the headboard, and walks you towards the bed - your legs bump against the end. He tugs at the straps that cross on your back, impatient. You wince, trying to stop him;

“Elvis, baby, it’s a - a rental, gotta be careful, it’s one of a kind -“

“Fuckin’ fancy shit - get it off then, fuckin’ hate when you don’t just let me buy you -” Despite his harsh words he kisses across your shoulder in between his words. You cut him off,

“It’s not for sale El, so you couldn’t have even -“

“You tellin’ me what I can or can’t do now mama?” He toys with the strap, you think fast trying to stop what you’re sure is coming -

“El, seriously - I didn’t mean it like that I just - ah!” He pulls the chain clean off - square crystals spilling over the bed.

“Fuck - E!” He yanks the other one, this time accompanied by a little tearing noise as the seam rips from the back. Before you have time to protest any longer he’s pushing down the twisted top, your breasts popping out. He grabs your chin, pointing it towards the back of the bed - where the large mirror hangs - you can see yourself reflecting from the mirrors on the other walls too - the glances of different angles almost overwhelming.

“Look at yourself.” He maintains his grip on your chin while palming one of his simultaneously thick but still sleek hands across your boob. He twists a nipple as you gasp, pulling it out a little. He pushes you up with his other hand, forcing you to balance on your knees on the end the bed, his own thigh coming in between to force them further apart and support some of your weight as you sink down a little. He hikes the long length of the dress up, grabbing your wrist and forcing you to hold it up yourself although the maxi-skirt still drapes and covers your modesty. He lets go of your face, pulling you back against him harder with both hands, and his stomach, more pronounced than before, bumps against your back. You stare, mouth open, as you watch his large hands span across your waist. His head is bent over into the crook of your neck, sucking a bruise onto the dip of your collarbone, his sweaty, fluffy, hair tickling your chin. He moves his leg a little, bending his knee onto the bed too, forcing it further into your crotch, allowing you to grind down on him.

He pushes you down himself, hands on your hip bones and the soft flesh there, moving you in little circles feeling you rub against him. He suddenly, frantically, pushes the dress up further - exposing you entirely. You gasp, as he unveils your little secret of the night - not only had you not bothered with a bra - the dress being far too revealing for it, but the soft slippy fabric had clung to whatever underwear you had tried, ultimately leaving you to go commando for the night as well. He grunts against your skin, looking at you in the mirror over your shoulder,

“You been like that all night, honey?” He traces a finger over the undercurve of the swell of your tummy, tickling a little, as he rotates it in little circles - teasing you in its pattern that’s reminiscent of how he often touches you.

“Ye-es, they - they showed through,” He tucks your ass into him, his belt digging into you, and preoccupies himself with stroking a finger the length of your vulva, his thigh slightly getting in the way until you push yourself up a little more.

“Surprised you ain’t already ruined that dress, how wet you are - bet you were drippin’ all over the place. Watching me.” He presses a finger into you, just the very tip, gently, his other hand coming back up to your nipple - you clutch at his arms; “Weren’t you?”

“Probably, probably E - can’t help it around you, not when you’re performin’ looking so good -” He laughs, pulling his finger away, crooking it as he pulls it up - knocking one of his huge rings against your clit. He draws you back - his body moving with his laugh causing you to bounce you on his thigh. You let out a gasp that quickly turns to a moan,

“You think I look good darling?” You meet his eyes in the mirror, they’re bright and impish; a smug little smile on his face. Any other time you might have teased him - but not today. Not with your angle changing slightly when he pushes you forwards a little, his broad, large thigh pressing firmly into you again, you can feel your labia spreading against his jumpsuit, tight weave of the dancer’s gabardine rubbing against you. You bob your head quickly;

“Of course, of course E - you look, looked amazing; don’t want you to take it off.” He laughs, as if you’ve given him an idea - or perhaps confirmed something he thought before,

“Well, don’t be shy - prove it to me baby.” You gape at him, trying to twist around to do something - although you’re not sure what, to prove it to him, but he stills you with both hands holding you in place. Before he lifts you, manhandling you where he wants you as he pulls you off of him - moving to sit down on the fluffy circular chair in the corner, he keeps a hold of you as he goes, but allows you to turn, before yanking you back onto his lap. Resting your legs on either side of one of his thighs. You can feel the crystals on your inner thighs, rubbing against you and you’re sure you’re gonna have a weird form of beard-burn by the time you get up, but you don’t let it stop you and you rock back and forth on him. He takes a second to strip your dress completely off, leaving you completely nude where before your belly button had been afforded a little modesty but nowhere else and you brace yourself with hands on his shoulders to arch your back, pushing your tits out and grind down on him.

“That’s it baby, show me how much you love this ‘suit, want you to get me all wet darling, not letting you up till there’s a spot on me,” You can feel your heat rising just from his words, and the rough material under you provides just enough friction for you to feel yourself getting close.

He pulls you closer to him, so that you’re rocking your body practically into his crotch, and the movement is pulling the jumpsuit off of his chest a little, the tiniest hint of a nipple peeking out. You lean forward, rocking against him and shifting your balance with your arms around his neck for stability. You can feel every part of the chest section of the jumpsuit rubbing against your skin, pinkening it with the feel of the stones but, as your own nipple catches between a group of them with a little prickle of pain, you can’t help but moan, it only adding to to your building pleasure. He lets out his own little grunt as you move your head to his neck - causing him to fall back against the chair further. You’re practically horizontal now, although his feet remain on the floor and it puts your cheek in contact with his chest. You nuzzle into him, unable to resist licking when he’s so close - so shiny, so tempting. He bucks his hips as you do as if you’ve unlocked a hidden sensitivity of his. It only spurs you on more, moving to suckle on his little pink nipple, one of your hands coming away from his neck to stroke his chest hair. You only realise you’d zoned everything but his chest out when you feel a hand in your hair, pulling your head back and you suddenly realise he’s been talking, babbling at you, the whole time but you’d had such a single-minded focus you’d not even noticed.

“Lord baby, you gots a hot little mouth, hot fucking little lips. God baby, your tongue, where’d you learn to do that, huh? Liable to make a man cream his pants like that, honey, and wouldn’t that be a waste?” He strokes your face and you smile, looking up at him, as he lets go of your hair and rubs his hands down your sides again. It’s only a moment later when he’s hauling you off of him, struggling to his feet. You stand there, flushed but growing colder in the frigid air with every moment that passes without being pressed against his burning body heat, your nipples pebbling. You watch as he surveys the room for a moment, his own arousal more than a little apparent in the stretchy fabric of the jumpsuit - before sighing,

“Simple’s the best. Right honey?”

“Sure, I’m - I’m sure that’s right El,” You agree, but not really knowing what you’re answering and he catches you by the arm pushing you backwards onto the bed, you gasp and scrabble backwards at his insistent pushing. A moment later you understand as he’s pulling the belt off, unzipping himself finally and, - oh, he’s not taking it off, he’s just unzipping the suit all the way, pulling his cock out. You groan, head falling back against the mountain of pillows. You’d never, never have mentioned how much you wanted this, to have his thick powerful body still encased in his jumpsuit as he fucks you. His magnetism, the sexual energy from the concert and his presence on the stage being impressed upon you with every brush of your naked body against the fabric - against the rhinestones.

He pulls himself back a little before slipping a finger into you, ring bumping against your folds, it sinks in easily - you’re already so ready, just from bouncing on his thigh, and to be honest you’d been wet enough from the moment Also Sprach Zarathustra had turned into See See Rider. He hums, pleased that you’re soaking for him, and he doesn’t wipe off his finger before pushing it into your mouth,

“That’s it baby, suck it off, taste yourself on me,” You obediently do as he says, sucking down - hollowing your cheeks, eyes wide. He pulls it out to balance himself on one hand, grasping his cock in the other, pumping it a couple times before lining himself up with your entrance.

“Better be ready for me honey - ‘cause I’m sure as hell ready to sink into your tight little cunt.” You gasp as he doesn’t even wait for a reply, pushing himself into you. He’s pressing into you from all angles as you slowly adjust to his length within you, his soft tummy - crystals pressing into you from above, his musky chest just below your eye-line and his arm bracketing you into him from the other side of your neck. He stills for a second, before leaping into motion, struggling slightly to move himself more upright, keeping himself in you and pulling you close against him with a hold on your hips. You’re on your back while he kneels up now, allowing him to lift your butt a little, and thrust a little deeper. You squirm on him, little moans and gasps being released - you’ve not yet been able to get past having had the bedroom next to your parents growing up. He grabs your hips now, rings pressing in tight, to move your body onto him as he pumps into you. He’s talking the whole time - the man’s unable to stay quiet any moment he’s awake -

“Oh god darling, never gonna be able to wear this suit ‘gain, Lord how’re you, so -” He thrusts in, hard, to punctuate his next sentence - “so - fucking - tight.” His breathing is already growing heavier, “How’re you so goddamn tight - like Lil’ Elvis is caught in a - ah - fucking vice. God, look at you.”

You look up at him, fresh sweat starting to form at his chest and brow, he’s not even looking at you though, and you wonder who that last comment had been aimed at as he’s staring at his own reflection in the mirror. You’re glad though, when he smiles - eyes bright when he does glance back at you; whatever he’d seen had clearly cheered him up and out of his self-conscious mood, enough to encourage a sudden burst of energy again. He drags you back, lifting his own hips enough to spear into you at just the right angle. As he hits that perfect spot inside of you repeatedly he moves his hand from where it was still clutching your hip to stroke down across your mound, it’s a slightly awkward angle but he manages to swipe his thumb perfectly across your clit - your leg jerking, and your back arching in response.

“Oh - Elvis, oh god, I’m so fucking close - babe you gotta, just keep -” He grunts above you, his thumb keeping pace, and his cock thrusting in at the same speed. It’s mere seconds,

“Fuck - baby, you’re squeezin’ ‘round me so fuckin’ ti-ght, that’s a good fucking girl, my good girl.” Before it’s enough to send you over the edge, clenching down on him and shuddering, your mouth agape and your eyes shuttering closed as the waves of your orgasm crash over you.

“Oh, oh - god, Elvis -” His pace changes, and it drags you back from floating, as he just goes for it at a rapid pace, fingernails clawing at your skin, before his hips are stuttering and he’s quickly pulling out as the first streaks of his ejaculate shoot across your pussy, he pulls himself up, pumping it across your tummy, and you moan at the sight - him looking goddamn regal - sparkling in the dim light as he shoots across you. He moves one of his hands to rub it over you, between your folds and over your stomach - into your belly button. Before he collapses on top of you, practically smothering you, in an effort to reach your mouth to kiss you - your legs are so tired and tense but you can just about lift them up to come around to grasp at him, barely noticing the now-familiar scratch of the rhinestones, locking your ankles over his back. You’re probably smearing cum all over the jumpsuit but you don’t care - too desperate to feel him close to you. You lock lips for a long moment, letting him take whatever he wants, underneath him like this it’s difficult to feel anything but utterly submissive and at his mercy. Your lips are bitten and raw by the time he pulls away and rolls off of you, and you can’t do anything but lie there, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. You look over at him, and he’s in practically the exact same position, soft matted chest hair wet with sweat and his little rounded tummy poking out of the unzipped suit with his now soft cock resting outside too, but smiling up at the ceiling -

“Wish I still had my scarf - wouldn’t even have to get up to find something to wipe us down with,” You laugh with him, just barely getting the effort yourself to stand, on shaky legs, you’re sweaty and damp yourself and you can’t imagine how he feels - going straight into this after a two hour long concert, so you chivvy him up,

“C’mon then El, I’ll run us a bath - we can get all clean together,” He hums, sounding as if he’s close to his come down already,

“ ’S-ok little one, I can - just need a, a, wipe down.” You frown, you like his musk but no way in hell are you getting back into bed with him like this, but you’re not quite sure how to say it without starting an argument, when strangely, for once - Elvis seems to sense your reluctance, “Alright, alright, fine. But only if I get you all wet and warm in my lap,” he laughs to himself again, “well - warm and wet again - huh, darlin’,” You giggle with him, walking gingerly to put the bath on, and as you stand up he’s already stood behind you - crowding you against the dark bathroom wall, stroking your sides with his thick fingers, he tips your chin up to look you right in the eyes - “Thank you for that though little one, needed - needed to see how much you like me, see me again, been - I’ve been so distracted I ain’t had chance to even look at myself in weeks.” You smile,

“Of course Elvis, I’m all yours - anytime.” You pause, wondering if you should mention it, “Seriously though - we’re gonna have to get Bill or Ciro - someone’s gotta fix that dress,” He just laughs at you, shaking his head -

“Honey, I told you - I’ll just buy it.”

#big daddy elvis fanfic #big daddy elvis #70s elvis fanfic #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley smut #elvis x reader #elvis smut #elvis x you

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clangenrising · 5 months

Text

Month 9 - Leaffall

Scorchplume wasn’t speaking to Yarrowshade and it was driving him crazy. It was over the stupidest thing, too! The night Aldertail had come to camp and Yarrowshade had tried to wait up for her return, he had woken just in time for her to slip into the leader’s den with Nightfrost and Goldenstar and she hadn’t come out.

Nightfrost had explained to him that Scorch had been withholding information about Ghost and the city cats, information that might have put everyone in danger. It was clear that Nightfrost’s opinion of Scorchplume had tanked overnight and that sucked, but he was still determined to make sure Scorch was alright.

The next morning, he’d sought her out and said, “Hey, Scorch, how are you doing?”

“As well as I can be,” she’d said, eyeing him with the same cool gaze she had used when he was visiting her in the healer’s den.

“Yeah?” he’d asked. “I was really worried about you.”

“Why?” she had turned her face away. “Weren’t you busy looking after Scrap?”

“I can worry about two things at once,” Yarrowshade had frowned.

“Hm.”

“Did you want to go hunting? Maybe we could talk about it?”

Scorch had turned to him and said, “What is there to talk about?” in a way that felt like a claw to the face.

“I… I don’t know, I just…”

At that point, Nightfrost had called out, “Yarrowshade! I’m going hunting, did you want to come?” Scorch had stared at him with her bright blue eyes for a good long beat and he'd realized this was a test.

“Scorch,” he’d started, but she’d cut him off.

“Go.” She’d said, “Don’t let me stop you from fawning over Nightfrost.”

And so he’d left in order to respect her wishes, but for some reason she’d only seemed to get angrier with him as the weeks passed. He didn’t get it! He would have gone to Smokyrose for advice, but she was still on kit leave and, besides, he knew that Scorch wasn’t exactly her favorite cat right now.

But something had to change. He and Scorchplume weren’t even on patrols together anymore and he couldn’t tell if that was because Nightfrost had decided to separate them or because Scorch had personally requested it. Either way, it was a bad sign.

He contemplated which option he would prefer as he followed in Nightfrost’s paw prints through the snow. It had come down hard that morning and while the wind had died down for once, a light dusting of flakes continued to flutter down over them as they patrolled the southern border.

Pantherhaze, walking behind him, said, “What are the odds that they just aren’t coming back?”

“They’ll be back,” Nightfrost said without looking back. Pantherhaze sighed and shook his fur. Yarrowshade studied the back of Nightfrost’s head, thinking. Was it just him or had she been colder lately? He wished he knew how to help her with all of the stress she was dealing with. If you wanted to stop stressing her out, you’d leave her alone, said a part of his mind. That was nonsense, he reasoned, but the thought had its hooks in him and it wouldn’t let go.

He sighed and let his gaze wander. The snow was starting to pile all up so high that he and Pantherhaze were belly deep in it, another reason why they were following in Nightfrost’s wake. The horizon had turned a foggy grey-white, obscuring the mountains and the farther reaches of the forest. Ahead of them, he knew the border stretched on for a long while even though he couldn’t see it. He tried to trace it with his eyes, but paused when he spotted a white shape in the snow moving in their direction.

“Is that the EarthClan patrol?” he asked, pointing with his muzzle, and Nightfrost stopped, squinting into the snow.

“Who goes there?” she called.

“Bogmist!” the white shape replied cheerfully, “And Dawnbird.” A moment later, the two EarthClan cats reached them, Dawnbird’s tortoiseshell pelt appearing suddenly from behind Bogmist’s fluffy white fur. After the gathering, Orangestar and Goldenstar had met to discuss the city cat threat and how to combat it and had come to the conclusion that they would put a temporary hold on patrolling the border between their territories and instead send those patrols to jointly watch the southern border. This was the second or third patrol of this kind Yarrowshade had been on and there was almost always at least one deputy or leader present. It seemed that both Clans were taking the city cats very seriously.

“Hello, there,” Pantherhaze smiled. “Congratulations on your warrior name, Dawnbird!”

“Thank you,” she smiled and dipped her head politely, but the smile fell off of her face shortly after. She must be disappointed her brother wasn’t there to sit vigil with her, Yarrowshade thought, once again kicking himself for his part in Toadpaw’s disappearance.

“Any news?” Bogmist asked, grey eyes sparkling.

“Not yet,” Nightfrost said. “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“StarClan willing,” Dawnbird nodded and Pantherhaze echoed her prayer.

“Well,” Yarrowshade said, trying to sound cheery. “I hope you’re ready to walk back and forth in the snow!”

“We don’t mind,” Bogmist chirped, shaking the snow from her fur. “Whatever keeps the kits safe, right?”

“Aw, are there new kits in EarthClan?” Pantherhaze asked.

“No,” she laughed, “I don’t expect we’ll be having any new kits for some time. But I heard Smokyrose finally found herself a beau!”

“Ah,” Yarrowshade and Pantherhaze exchanged awkward glances. “She did but its… probably over between them.”

“Oh, no!” Bogmist asked, “Why?”

“Because he’s one of the rogues,” Nightfrost said curtly.

“Oh,” said Bogmist.

“Come on,” Yarrowshade said with an awkward laugh. “Let’s get to patrolling.” And so they did. It was cold and boring work, but it needed to be done. Bogmist did her best to keep up the conversation and he tried to oblige her but the longer they went the more he started to worry that Nightfrost was getting sick of it and he found his desire to respond slowly waning. They walked back and forth over the border for most of the morning and into the afternoon and found no signs of intruders, just like all the other patrols like this he’d been on. The snow at least made it easy to know if anyone had passed through. Still, Yarrowshade found his paws were starting to grow num from the cold. He thanked the stars when it finally stopped falling.

“The next patrol should be coming to relieve us soon,” Nightfrost said eventually.

“I hope so,” Bogmist said, “I’m starving!”

“Look,” Pantherhaze said, pointing up ahead, “that must be them.”

Yarrowshade looked and saw a small group of cats standing around in the track they had worn into the drifts of snow and frowned. Something wasn’t right. One of the cats turned to look at them and as he did, the bright snow glare glinted off of something around his neck.

“Those aren’t Clan cats,” he hissed and the energy changed.

“What do we do?” Dawnbird whispered. “Should I run back to camp?”

“No,” Nightfrost said, “You would show them exactly where we live. Only run if I say so.” Dawnbird nodded. The cats ahead of them had risen to their feet and were walking towards them at a leisurely pace.

“This might not be a fight,” Pantherhaze said softly.

Nightfrost started walking to meet them. “We can only hope so.”

The cat in the lead was a large, blue-grey and white tabby with an impressive stature despite his slim cheeks. He sported a blue collar with a softly tinkling bell that Yarrowshade thought clashed oddly with the claw scars on his muzzle. Behind him was Ghost - Ghost and two other cats, the brown tom that had fought with Floodpaw and a burly ginger tabby with a kittypet collar of his own.

Yarrowshade felt his hackles starting to rise. How dare Ghost show his face here? How dare he bring that mangy scoundrel back with him? He was so angry that he only barely registered that the kittypet in front seemed to be in charge.

“Hail and well met,” called the big grey tom, smiling jovially. “You must be the cats of RisingClan.”

“We are,” said Nightmist, squaring her shoulders to match his height. Yarrowshade was glad that at least one of them was as physically imposing as the stranger. “What business do you have being on our territory?”

“Not on your territory,” the kittypet corrected. “I know we aren’t welcome there, that’s why we waited on the edge of it.” Ghost glanced over his shoulder at the sable pelted tom who ducked submissively. His dark blue eyes stayed fixed on Yarrowshade though, burning with something similar to what Yarrowshade himself was feeling.

“What’s your name, my darling?” the kittypet in charge asked Nightfrost. Yarrowshade had to bite his lip to stop himself from demanding he speak to her with more respect.

“Nightfrost,” she said cooly. “Who are you?”

“My name is Razor,” the tom purred, stepping closer into Nightfrost’s space. A growl leapt to her throat, ears flicking backward and Yarrowshade took a step forward too, baring his teeth. Razor only chuckled and stepped back, although Yarrowshade noticed that he was still closer than he had been before.

“Well there’s no need for that kind of behavior,” said Razor. “I was just being friendly. Do they not have that out here in the sticks?”

“Razor,” Ghost said, and Razor glanced back at him, his smile fading for a split second. Ghost lowered his gaze immediately. Apparently he had said all he needed to say.

Razor sighed. “You’re right. We’re here on business.” Turning back to Nightfrost, he said, “I wanted to come down personally and apologize for my underlings’ behavior. I understand they got distracted picking on some of your young ones, yeah?”

“Picking on is an understatement,” Nightfrost glared. “They’re lucky they got off so easily.” The tom in the back scoffed and Ghost stepped towards him threateningly, which immediately silenced him. Razor’s ear twitched but he didn’t look back. It seemed to Yarrowshade that he was used to Ghost handling the rogues for him.

“And I am grateful,” said Razor, still smiling. “It was more than they deserved, on that we agree.” He shifted his weight to lean in again and lowered his voice as if he and Nightfrost were having a private word. “To tell you the truth, they were out here looking for a cat named Scrap who I’m eager to find. She’s a bit… unwell, you see - in the head - and I’d love to find her before she gets herself hurt. You cats wouldn’t have happened to see her anywhere, would you?”

“What does she look like?” Nightfrost asked, striking Yarrowshade again with just how smart she was. He would have told Razor to go shove something unpleasant up his rear but that would have given their position away, confirmed that they had taken Aldertail in, or at the very least caused a fight they probably didn’t want.

Razor tilted his head in Ghost’s direction. He didn’t look at him, only cast his eyes over the snow over the shoulder closest to Ghost, but Ghost received the signal all the same and said, “She’s young, a spotted brown tabby with a notched ear like this one,” he flicked his tail in the sable tom’s direction. “I believe she has blue eyes.” Razor smiled, satisfied, and looked back at Nightfrost.

Nightfrost hummed thoughtfully and then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Have you checked the thunderpath? Most cats don’t survive crossing it.”

“The 'thunderpath',” Razor laughed, sounding like he was amused by the novelty of it. “I assume you mean the road back there?”

“If that’s what you call it,” shrugged Nightfrost. “The stone path the monsters prowl.”

“Monsters,” chuckled Razor again. “Yes, yes, we’ve checked the ‘thunderpath’ plenty. I’m quite certain she came this way. You’re sure you haven’t seen her?”

“I’m sure,” Nightfrost said. “You can go back to your city now.”

“Don’t be rude,” Razor said, a dangerous edge slipping into his voice. “I’m just trying to help a cat in need. We’ve been perfectly civil, haven’t we?”

“You’re not welcome on our territory,” Nightfrost said, stepping into his space this time. “Leave and don’t come back.”

“Careful, girl,” Razor rumbled, and the cats behind him tensed. “I’m not the kind of cat you should threaten.”

“I’m aware of your reputation,” Nightfrost growled back, “but I don’t care. Leave.”

“Who told you about my reputation?” Razor grinned. “Scrap? Because she’s quite paranoid, thinks everyone is out to get her. She’s not exactly the most reliable source.”

Nightfrost rolled her eyes. “I told you, I haven’t met this Scrap cat.”

“Then why don’t I believe you?” Razor purred lowly, leaning even closer to take a deep breath of her scent. Yarrowshade’s back started to arch aggressively. Behind Razor, he saw Ghost shuffle, but the older tom said nothing. Deceitful coward, Yarrowshade thought.

“She told you to leave,” he snapped, tail bristling. “If you’re smart, you would listen.”

For the first time, Razor’s eyes fell on him and suddenly he felt extremely small. Nightfrost’s jaw clenched and she closed her eyes for a frustrated beat. Had he made a mistake? His gut twisted with anxiety. If things got violent it would be his fault.

“Quiet, whelp,” Razor snarled, then smiled and said, “the big kids are talking.”

“No,” Nightfrost said firmly, “We’re done talking. Either leave now or stay and make an enemy. It's your choice.” Razor chuckled darkly, swinging his gaze back to her in a slow arc.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho, you are just adorable,” he said. There was a pause, as he looked her over with a gaze that felt deeply disrespectful, predatory even. Then he stepped back and said, “Fine. We’ll leave. Don’t let it be said that I am quick to make enemies. If you find Scrap and feel inclined to return her, I would make it worth your while. I’m sure food is hard to find this time of year, right?” When none of them responded, he shrugged, and said, “I could see you fed until spring, maybe after. All you have to do is help me out. I reward those who help me, don’t I?” One ear turned back towards the cats behind him.

“Always,” the tom with the notched ear said eagerly.

“Handsomely,” said the ginger kittypet.

Ghost simply grunted.

“See?�� Razor said. “Think about it.” With that he flicked his tail and turned and started back through the snow towards the city in the distance. The kittypet followed closely behind him and the sable pelted tom slank after them about a tail length behind, keeping a respectful distance. Ghost stayed where he was, staring for a moment, and Yarrowshade glared at him.

Eventually, he spoke. “Is Smokyrose alright?” His voice was low and tense

“No thanks to you,” Yarrowshade scoffed.

“And the kits?” he asked.

“They’re fine.” Nightfrost said curtly. “Two baby girls.” Yarrowshade frowned. Why was she telling him? If he had cared about the kits he would have been there for their birth. He watched as something like relief flashed across Ghost’s face.

“I’m glad,” he said. “I would have-”

“Ghost,” barked Razor, having halted in his tracks to look back at them. “What are you up to?”

Ghost smirked and lifted his voice to say, “Oh, just familiarizing myself with the local delicacies.” Yarrowshade wanted to hurl. The ginger kittypet and the tom with the notched ear snickered, but Razor just rolled his eyes.

“We have girls in the city. Much less angry ones. Come on.”

“Alright,” Ghost called back reluctantly. Then, under his breath he said, “Tell Rose I’m sorry,” and strutted off after the other city cats, the same clawable smirk on his face. Yarrowshade was bristling until they were starting to disappear behind the snow banks.

“So that’s Smoky’s beau…” Bogmist said with a bit of a grimace. “I’m gonna be honest, I don’t get it.”

“I’m sure he was a lot more charming around her,” Pantherhaze said weakly.

“What was all that about?” Yarrowshade grumbled, “Asking about the kits, saying he’s sorry? If he had been actually sorry he wouldn’t have abandoned her in the first place.”

“Maybe Razor has some sort of leverage over him,” speculated Pantherhaze. “Maybe he couldn’t come back even if he wanted to.”

“That’s wishful thinking,” scoffed Yarrowshade. “Did you hear what he called Nightfrost? And none of them blinked an eye. No, he’s a scumbag through and through.”

“Yarrowshade,” Nightfrost said suddenly and he realized that she had been lost in her own thoughts since Ghost had left, “go back to camp and make sure that the other patrol is on their way. Pantherhaze, you too. Make sure you tell Goldenstar about everything that was discussed. Bogmist, you and Dawnbird can head back to EarthClan too.”

“Thanks, Nightfrost,” Bogmist said.

“StarClan light your path,” added Dawnbird, and the two headed off toward their camp.

“What about you?” Yarrowshade asked her, lowering his voice. “Are you gonna stay here?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’ll make sure the next patrol is prepared and see to it that Razor and his ilk don’t come back.”

“They’re not gonna come back tonight anyway,” Yarrowshade said. “You should come back to camp. Maybe we can get some prey and unwind a bit.”

“Please, Yarrowshade,” she sighed, “this is not the time for flirting.”

“I’m not flirting,” he promised. “I just think you’re pushing yourself too hard. You need to relax.”

“I’m the deputy,” she said. “I’ll relax when we’re safe. Now go back to camp.”

“Promise me you’ll be back before dark?” he asked, ears wilting.

Nightfrost sighed. “Sure. I’ll be back before dark.”

“Okay,” nodded Yarrowshade, disappointed. “I’ll be looking forward to it.” He stepped forward to butt his head against her shoulder but last minute he decided against it and stepped around her instead. Pantherhaze joined him, and they started the trip back to camp.

“You okay?” Pantherhaze asked after a while.

“Yeah, I guess…” he replied. Was he okay? He didn’t really know.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Yarrowshade sighed heavily. “I just… I don’t know where I stand with her, y’know? I can’t tell if she’s just stressed or if she’s getting tired of me.”

“I’m sorry,” said Pantherhaze. That didn’t make him feel any better.

“Thanks,” he said, bumping up against his old friend. “Let’s go get out of the snow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pantherhaze agreed enthusiastically. “I’m freezing!”

#clan gen #clangen #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #warriors #warriors oc #clangen oc #Yarrowshade #Scorchplume #Nightfrost #Pantherhaze #Bogmist #Dawnbird #Razor #Ghost #Van Pelt #clangenrising

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batsycline69 · 6 months

Text

Of All The Dive Bars In All The Cities

Summary: Of all the dive bars in all the cities in all the world, and Marc Spector walks into the one where you got walked out on. And he came to make sure you were okay.

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!reader

Words: 10,952

Warnings: f!receiving oral, unsafe sex, public bathroom sex, alcohol mention, reader gets drunk, midwest bar

A/N: This was just a fun little Marc Spector in Chicago thing, but then it turned into bathroom sex

At this point, it really only makes sense. Your life, after all, has more or less become some sort of cosmic joke after all. By some string of bad luck, you can’t find a good date to save your life, and tonight, your lack of luck has really hit rock bottom.

Improv Guy is rounding the thirty-five minute mark of regaling his tales of the misadventures he and his troop got into. At least, that’s where he started. You haven’t gotten a word in in the last twenty minutes and switched from listening to people watching about ten minutes ago, so you’re not sure where he is now. The only other thing that’s really held your attention is the guy who spilled beer all over his friend right by your table. You’ve been enjoying watching people dance around the puddle as they walk by.

Outside, the snow is coming down hard, and while this date has left much to be desired, you don’t want to have to wait for the train in this weather. You wore an impractical outfit because at some point, you had a good feeling about this date, and you wanted to look cute. Now you just wish you’d spent less time getting ready, or at least wore a better coat.

You’re down a beer. You ordered something you weren’t familiar with because Improv Guy recommended it, and your optimism still hadn’t died so you thought you’d try something new. Of course, you hated it. And the whole thing seemed to spiral from there, so your only option was to drink your beer and hope that it would make things go a little more smoothly. Not only were you wrong about the guy, the beer, the outfit, things were about to go from bad to worse.

Modest Mouse is on the speakers, and as you’re trying to find something, anything, to help you look like you’re paying attention to this conversation, in walks your ex-boyfriend. If this whole situation didn’t suck so bad, it’d be funny. Marc fucking Spector walks into the bar like the punchline of a fucking joke. He just got up and walked right out of your life, seemingly out of nowhere, after ten months of dating.

You straighten up, suddenly keeping your eyes fixed on Improv Guy. You’re jumping onto the train while he’s talking about some brewery you’ve never heard of with an incredible IPA that’s so hoppy. Literally anything that will keep you from making eye contact with Marc.

Just as you’re about to take a sip of beer, you remember you already finished your glass. And what once seemed like an excuse to get a break from Improv Guy turned into a risk of having to talk to Marc, and you’re pretty sure you’d rather not have a distraction drink than the most awkward conversation you could conceptualize having.

“Hey, do you want me to get you another one?” Improv Guy asks, pointing to your empty glass. You’re shocked he could have been paying enough attention to your presence that he noticed, but you’re thrilled he did. If he goes up to the bar, you won’t have to run into Marc. It’s perfect.

You grin. “That’d be great, thanks.”

“Sure thing. What did you think of that one?” Improv Guy asks. It’s the first question he’s asked you in over half an hour.

“Uh...I didn’t really like it,” you admit.

Poor Improv Guy’s face falls. He’d been so excited you picked this beer, raved about it for five minutes. When you tell him you’ll just have a 312 instead, he looks crestfallen, but he sulks off to the bar nonetheless.

You pull out your phone to distract yourself so you can’t make accidental eye contact with Marc, but you feel your eyes start to float off towards the bar. At first, you pretend you’re just looking out for Improv Guy, but then, they start searching more, and in the crowd, you find him.

Marc is standing almost directly across the bar from your table. He could see you if he looked. Thank god he doesn’t. You’re not sure if it’s because he hasn’t noticed you or if he’s doing the same thing you’re doing and pretend he hasn’t noticed you.

Of course, it’s Marc, and you practically need a degree to read him.

You try to sink into the chair you’re in, attempting to keep out of sight. If Marc hasn’t noticed you, you definitely don’t want to give him a reason to. Your mind is running wild with listing every reason it would be bad to have Marc see you right now, and you can’t pick out the worst one.

Waiting for Improv Guy to come back feels like an eternity, but finally Improv Guy appears, two glasses of beer in his hands. He looks a little less upset than he did when he left. The betrayal of your somewhat pedestrian beer choice has faded. And as he approaches the table, you realize what’s about to happen before it even happens.

Improv Guy’s eyes are just on you and the table. He’s forgotten about the puddle of beer.

The scene plays out in slow motion in front of you. Improv Guy falling face first towards you. Beer sloshes forward in the glasses, lurching right at you and your impractical outfit. You’re going to be freezing when you leave, which is probably going to be approximately two minutes after this beer lands on you.

His eyes widen a bit, frozen in a moment when he realizes his error, and how it will likely cost him the date. Poor guy really thought he would get a second after all this to begin with.

Except Improv Guy never hits the ground. One glass spills over a little, unceremoniously splatting on the ground, but Improv Guy is jolted upright by a firm hand.

“Oh, thanks man,” Improv Guy says, turning over his shoulder and obscuring his—and your—savior. But even without seeing him, you know.

Your eyes flick over to where Marc had been standing last your gaze lingered. Marc’s handsome scowl is gone.

Improv Guy steps out of the way, and your missing ex has been found. And as he’s revealed, his eyes land on you for a split second before he looks back to Improv Guy. He gives a small polite nod before his eyes flicker back to you one last time. He walks away without a word.

You’re not sure how you wanted the situation to go. You want to tell yourself it was best case scenario, but if that was true, why did it hurt so much?

Through your daze, you offer a weak thanks as Improv Guy slides your partially spilled 312 to you across the table, and gulp down your beer.

You want to turn around, find out where Marc went. Is he staying? He knows you’re here; there was no way he didn’t see you. He looked at you. Twice.

What’s he even doing here? You’d heard he left the city. He didn’t tell you himself ever, but you heard through the grapevine. You never could get over how easily he disappeared from your life without a trace. He’d been so thorough, like he wanted to make sure there were no traces of him left in your life.

“That guy just totally saved the day,” Improv Guy says.

You feign a laugh. “Yeah,” you say. You take another gulp of beer.

“It’s so wild. It reminds me of this time my buddy and I were at this place down in the North Loop…”

And just like that, you zone back out, able to turn back to your frantic thoughts. Improv Guy is back to spinning the tales of his after-show shenanigans. You’re trying to stay focused at least in his general vicinity, but the temptation to look around for Marc again is rising. But making eye contact with him now might make things worse. Before, it could have been played off as accidental. Now, it’d be without a doubt intentional.

“...for his birthday we went to a Sox game and we--”

“Sox?” you ask suddenly, snapping back to your date and setting down your glass of beer. “You’re a Sox fan?”

Improv Guy seems surprised by your interjection. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re actually speaking when you’ve been quiet for most of the date or if he hadn’t expected his endless story to be interrupted.

Your question is the beginning of the end. Improv Guy felt very passionately about the White Sox. So passionately, he took great offense in your lifelong allegiance to the Cubs. He forces politeness as he promptly ends the date. It’s the greatest relief since the date started. He even said he’d take care of the tab.

After reveling in the victory, you realize you should leave. You’re alone now, and Marc is here. You’re not naive enough to think he’s here for you, but he does know you’re here. For all you know, he saw your date walk out on you. But there’s something that keeps you in the split leather seat you’re at, staring at your half-drunk glass of beer.

It’s humiliating. You feel like a failure because you’ve never been able to find what you lost with Marc in someone else. And that’s what you were looking for all along. Your date with Improv Guy was doomed from the start because you never got over your stupid, handsome, infuriating ex-boyfriend.

As hard on him as you may have been, Improv Guy wasn’t the absolute worst date you’ve been on. And at least he wouldn’t break your heart the way Marc did. You wouldn’t even allow him close enough to give him the chance.

You down what’s left of your drink before walking over to the bar. Yes, you should go home, but you’re already here. At that point, really, it’s easier to stay. So you scour the menu for the second cheapest beer just to spite Improv Guy, and as you turn back to your table, you see the seat that Improv Guy had just been sitting in is occupied. And not by an unassuming stranger who thought it was open. You wish.

Marc is sitting with his hand is curled around a glass. He’s staring dedicatedly at the drink, as if it’s going to be some sort of coincidence that he happened to pick the exact table you’d been sitting at. Because it’s not like he could ever actually talk to you.

After a sigh, you walk back to your table and sit across from Marc. You don’t speak. He doesn’t look up at you. You’ve fallen back into one of your stubbornness stalemates.

The silence is tense. Once upon a time ago, a silence like this would have been unusual. You found comfort in your silences. His head resting in your lap as you rake your fingers through his thick dark curls. Curled up with each other in bed, the palm of his hand running up the stretch of your arm. Your silence was a surrender to each other.

This isn’t that. The silence is heavy, sitting with you at the table. It feels weighed down by everything that should have been said but never was. It feels like stale with grief and guilt.

You sip your beer, keeping an eye on Marc the whole time. You haven’t even spoken a word to him yet and he looks annoyed. The fucking nerve, honestly. This man breaks up with you out of the blue and all but disappears from the planet, then he shows back up in Chicago after a year from who knows where and sits right across from you, and has the fucking nerve to look annoyed.

“How long are you in town?” you ask finally, cutting through the silence.

Marc seems to sigh. He takes a gulp of beer but still doesn’t look up. “I leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

You just nod because really, what else is there to do? What do the two of you have to talk about that can be resolved in a few hours? He walks back into your life like he’s an old friend wanting to catch up before he has to be at the airport in the morning instead of someone you had serious baggage with.

“You’re...dating again,” Marc grumbles. He’s not asking. He knows what he saw. The thing that was even worse was he saw how it was going. And while he doesn’t sound condescending per se, he doesn’t sound pleased. Maybe even sounds a little judgmental.

There’s a beat where all you do is stare at him. You swear he’s fucking with you. He’s actually trying to make you lose your mind, and he might be succeeding.

“Yeah, Marc. I’m dating again,” you snip back “Can we not do this right now?”

Silence again.

Marc does silence very well. Better than anyone you know.

You lean forward and set an elbow on the table, pinching the bridge of your nose as you let out a long sigh. Had this man ever really been worth all the trouble you put up with for him? Maybe your whole relationship was rose tinted, and seeing Marc was the thing you needed to break the spell. Maybe by the time Marc Spector leaves this bar, you can finally move on.

Because as idealistic as you are, you know hell will freeze over before Marc Spector opens up and explains whatever happened when he broke up with you. You’re better off, you tell yourself. This moment is so truly trash awful that you can almost convince yourself of that.

“What are you doing here?” you ask finally, looking back up at Marc.

For the first time since he saved you from a beer-soaked fate, Marc looks up at you, and it feels like a kick to the gut.

His dark eyes are alive with remorse. The fact that it’s snowing feels like a little bit of insult to injury, or maybe you’re just overly nostalgic. It snowed on your unofficial first date. Unofficial because attempting to date Marc Spector is like trying to approach a spooked horse, and you feared using the words ‘first’ and ‘date’ in the same sentence were going to scare him off.

How right you’d been.

Getting Marc to commit was like the youthful innocence of trying to hold water in your hands in the bathtub as a child. Maybe if you just squeezed your fingers tight enough, this time it would all stay. But try as you might, the water would slowly trickle out, and all you were left with were wet hands and the memory of the dream you’d been so certain you could achieve.

You thought if you showed him how much you cared, how much you wanted him to stay, he’d listen. But he never did.

One of the worst parts (because try as you might, you could never condense it to just one) was that it didn’t even seem like Marc did it because of you. You could have pulled the moon from the sky just for him, and it would have only made him leave faster.

From the start, you knew Marc wouldn’t accept good things willingly. The end of your relationship was just the natural progression of things. And as stubborn as you are, you can only combat someone who refuses to accept what you’re trying to give them for so long. Marc left the city for good without another word. Or at least that’s how it looked at the time. But obviously it’d never been for good because here he is, sitting across from you.

“It doesn’t matter,” Marc replies. And of course that’s what he says. Of course he’s going to deny you any explanation whatsoever.

“Not in this state,” you say with a sigh. “Here. This bar. This table. What are you doing?”

“I…” He sighs and runs his hand down his face. “I didn’t come here because I knew you’d be here.” He pauses, working hard to keep whatever’s going on in his head hidden. “How about next drink is on me?” he asks. He looks up from his beer for the first time since you sat back down.

You rest your head against your hand and let out a puff of air. “Yeah, alright,” you reply. At some point, you have to surrender to the fact that this whole night is a curse against you. If your biggest win is getting a free drink, you’ll take it.

There’s another long pause. Pool balls clack together, followed by the sound of a group cheering. The music is barely audible over the loud drunken voices around you. The rest of the bar is in full swing, and you and Marc are in this odd standstill that you’ve never quite faced together before.

Marc occasionally glares at the reflective surface of the old pinball machine next to the table before his eyes dart back down to the scratched wooden surface beneath his glass. His back is tense and every time he goes to set his beer down, hit comes down a little too hard. He startles himself with it. It’s the only time he’ll occasionally glance towards you, as if assessing if you were as startled by it as he was.

“Listen, I...I just didn’t want you here all on your own, okay?” he says finally. “I saw your...date walk out.”

“Right,” you respond.

“Are you...okay?”

Of all the dive bars in all the cities in all the world, and Marc Spector walks into the one where you got walked out on. And he came to make sure you were okay.

If it wasn’t so humiliating, it’d actually be pretty sweet.

He doesn’t sound sure of his question. As impossible as it feels, Marc seems almost as embarrassed as you. He was totally going to ignore you, pretend like you hadn’t ended up at the same bar, until he saw Craft Beer Guy give you the slip. He couldn’t walk up to you and ask if you wanted company, no, because this was Marc after all, so he waited for you to get up so he would be able to skip a step.

Now he’s here, asking about your well being.

You sigh. “Yeah. I’m okay.” It’s not often Marc Spector waves the white flag, so you count this as another one of your few wins.

When you look up again, you see he’s still looking at you. His soft brown eyes linger on you for a second, almost as if assessing whether you’re real or not before he looks back down as he sips his beer. And in that second, you can tell he’s drunk. Like, very drunk.

A drop of sadness ebbs through your whole body as you look at this man you had seen a life with once upon a time ago. A man you so badly wanted to give your love to but who never seemed willing to accept it. This isn’t the first bar he’s been in tonight. You’re not so sure if it’s even the second. And he’s so tightly wound with his white-knuckled grip to his composure, he was able to keep it somewhat hidden from even you.

He’s hurting. You see it in a way you rarely did when you were together. It’s more than embarrassment, it’s more than the awkwardness that comes with running into an ex. No, Marc is hurting far beyond you and this bar. He always has been. He just rarely has his grip this loose on the reins to allow you to see it so clearly.

“Are you okay?” you ask finally, drinking from your glass.

His lips quirk up into a small forced smile. When he broke up with you, you swore it was the worst heartache you’d ever have. But looking at that smile, you think this one, the one from seeing that look, takes the cake. The number of breakdowns you had in front of him during the time you’d been together had been plenty, and even now that there is so little at stake because he’s leaving first thing in the morning probably to never see you again, he refuses to let you know he’s hurting.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Marc replies, He finishes off the last of his beer before his eyes land on your almost-empty one. “I’ll go get us another round.” He stands up and goes up to the bar before you even have the chance to respond.

Now you’re really fucked. You thought you were having the shitty night, but obviously you can’t just leave him all on his own. He’d never in a million years ask for your help. He’d say no if you asked if he wanted it. When you were together, if something was clearly bothering him, he’d never open up to you. He’d give some sort of vague answer always before telling you not to worry about it.

If you had a dollar for every time Marc told you to not fucking worry about it, you would live someplace a lot nicer than your cramped one bedroom with the radiator that has currently been loud enough to keep you up at night.

Once he disappeared for days. Well, not disappeared exactly, but didn’t tell you he was going to be away for a few days until he was already gone, and then only let you know through a text. Needless to say, you had been livid, even more so when he showed up and tried to blow the whole thing over by pretending it never happened.

The fact that this is the guy you can’t get over makes you question your judgement. But that’s not really fair either, because when things were good with Marc, they were really good. Like “this is what life could look like” good.

The summer you’d been together, you went to a few Cubs games together. He grumbled about the lines at concessions, but he still waited in line because you were excited when you saw they had soft pretzels. He’d get you the overpriced beer they sold in the seats during the game. And once the game ended, win or lose, Marc would keep his arm around you as you waited for the train back to your place from Wrigley Field.

He always seemed a little lighter on those days. More playful, a little more touchy. Absentmindedly taking your hand to trace his fingers over yours. Giving you little nudges whenever he’d tease you, trying to get a rise out of you. He’d look at you through those dark lashes of his with a cocky little smirk on his face.

When he returns from the bar, Marc sets your drinks down in front of you without a word. He sits back down, his eyes fixed on the full glass in front of him with a small look of disgust on his face. You hope it’s not towards you; deep down you know it isn’t but being able to guess the real reason behind Marc’s loathing doesn’t do much to make you feel any better.

You take a sip, keeping your eyes on him. “So…” you hedge once your glass hits the table. “I heard you moved.”

Marc nods. “Yeah.”

As patient and understanding as you’re trying to be, Marc is getting on your last fucking nerve. You know that’s more because of the sort of day you’ve been having, but still. Can’t the man offer up one single detail about himself without it needing to be pried from him?

“And…?”

Marc’s lip twitches into a frown before going pin straight again. “I, uh...I’ve been in London.”

“London?” You blink. You were expecting something like New York, maybe even the suburbs if he was looking for something to shock people, but you hadn’t thought he left the country all together.

You knew he traveled a lot for work, had been all over the world, but never thought he would move somewhere else. You knew very little about Marc’s life in Chicago. Only that, at one point in time, he’d temporarily invited you into it.

“What have you been doing in London?” you ask when Marc just offers a silent nod in response.

“It’s...it’s a long story.”

You groan. You feel a little guilty about it, but honestly. “Marc,” you sigh, “I can’t do this all night, okay? I appreciate you coming over to check on me, and it’s...it’s nice to see you. But you can’t absolutely disappear out of my life for months and come back like nothing happened.”

Marc’s jaw tenses. He drinks from his glass to put off a response. He wipes his hand down his face and then sighs. His fingers tense into fists and then relax before he speaks. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, as if he’s afraid that speaking too loud will allow you to hear all the sadness he’s trying to hide. He looks as if he wouldn’t mind sitting out in the snow and letting the elements claim him. He looks like even being within your vicinity has ruined something that he never should have touched. Like he thinks was supposed to be a new phase of your life—one without him—and he can’t even do it.

You’re sure this isn’t the conversation he wants to be having right now either. Marc’s drinking habits raised some concerns while you were together, especially after the nights where he came home late with very little to say. Judging by the state he’s in, he’s had one hell of a day, and all of this probably isn’t making it any easier. But if he’s going to sit with you, if he’s trying to comfort you in some way, you’re entitled to something. The truth, even at least a little bit of it. Because comforting you means confronting he was the one that caused some of the hurt you needed to heal from.

“What’s going on?” you ask finally.

“Nothing,” he replies.

“Dammit, Marc!” you say, clearly exasperated. “I’m trying here. One day, we’re eating takeout and watching old movies, the next you’re saying everything we built after almost a year was a mistake. And now you’re here, and you...you’re not talking to me. And I shouldn’t be surprised because this just like it was before, but I…”

Marc shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have done this.” He moves to stand up but you shake your head.

“No. Talk to me. For once, please, just talk to me.” You wish there wasn’t that edge of desperation in your voice, but fight against it as you might, this is the man you love. And were you a more selfless person, you could maybe put all the hurt aside and just focus on him, but you feel entitled to something more than his cryptic vagueness.

“What do you want me to say?” Marc snaps. “I came in and messed up your life, and I’m sorry. I should have...I never should have stuck around that long. It only hurt you in the long run.”

“No, Marc. The times where you were around weren’t what hurt me,” you reply. “The fact that you left like you didn’t mean anything to me did. I tried so hard to make things work because I thought you were worth it, and you wouldn’t let me.”

He shakes his head again. “I’m not worth it, alright? You wasted your time.”

And that feels like a fucking slap in the face. The worst part is, you know he isn’t intentionally trying to hurt you; he genuinely believes that the time you spent with him was a waste of your time.

As you sit in stunned silence, Marc scowls at the table, his hand firmly wrapped around the glass in front of you. He can’t even look up at you after he says that, knowing how much of himself he’s actually revealed by saying something like that.

“That’s not true,” you say finally. “Yeah, it hurt like hell when you left, but I didn’t...I don’t regret any of that, Marc. I didn’t waste my time, and I don’t regret loving you. You got under my skin because you basically told me nothing, but I chose that when I chose you. And I kept choosing it every time because I looked at you and knew you were someone deserving of my love. And at some point, it stopped being a choice. Now it’s the default, and I’m going on shitty date after shitty date trying to replace you, and it’s not working because no one can replace you.”

Your words are rushed because, at first, you wanted to make sure you said them before you chickened out, but then, after a certain point, you couldn’t stop them.

Marc stares at you, and you can’t quite pinpoint the expression on his face. There’s pain and longing and fear. You can see him trying to close it off, hide it all from you, push it under the rug, but he can’t quite do it. He doesn’t respond. His eyes close for a minute, and he looks back down at the table.

He definitely wasn’t expecting a love confession. To be fair, you weren’t expecting to give one either.

You feel your face get hot. You take a gulp of beer. This time you jar yourself by setting your glass down too hard. Marc doesn’t react.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you say, standing up quickly, and fuck, you’re more drunk than you realized. You play off your teetering as you walk towards the bathroom without daring to glance back.

A collage of local show posters plaster the walls of the single-stall bathroom. You lock the door behind you, pressing your back against Brittany’s declaration of love to David etched on the wall with Sharpie and let out a sigh. To stop the room from spinning, you close your eyes. If you could, you’d scream. This whole night has been one train wreck after another, and you’d been the cause of a good many of those.

It’d been what, ten, fifteen minutes maybe, since Marc first sat down at your table. It took you fifteen fucking minutes to fold and confess your love to this absolutely impossible man. You hope he at least waits until you get back to leave. You left your purse at the table.

You push yourself off the wall, stumbling forward a little bit to look at yourself in what little space of the mirror hasn’t been graffitied. You look rough. Not really physically in anyway. Your hair was still just as adequate as it was when you’d deemed yourself worthy to go on your date with Improv Guy. But something from within you looks so shaken.

This whole situation is so completely Marc, and it feels like you both are just circling around this over and over; you serve up your heart on a platter for Marc because you just can’t help it, and he never accepts because he can’t imagine a world where you’d choose him freely.

It’s an endless circle that you can’t pull yourself out of because you don’t want to. You so badly want to see Marc get better and to be there to watch it happen, and he fights against that ever being a possibility at every turn of the way.

You should have just stayed home tonight. The date wasn’t worth bracing the snowstorm outside, and now any hope you had of leaving Marc Spector in the past is delayed because he’s currently sitting at your table waiting for you to come back. There’s not a single bathroom exit besides the door you came in through otherwise you would genuinely consider climbing out the window.

Right now, you could be at home ordering whatever you wanted; Improv Guy hadn’t even been interested in splitting fries (and that should have been your first warning). You wouldn’t have to cower in the bathroom because in a drunken stupor, you decided the time and place to admit your lingering love to your ex-boyfriend is at the sticky-floored dive.

Tonight was a nightmare, or at least you wish it was. You’d far rather wake up in your bed to the sound of your roommate still up with the TV too loud in the other room than go out and face Marc.

There’s a knock at the door and you mutter a curse under your breath. Whoever’s waiting doesn’t know you’re not actually using the bathroom. You could just lie. But you’d feel guilty that someone who genuinely had to use the bathroom had to wait because you were afraid to look your ex-boyfriend in the eye after your unplanned outburst.

“Just a second!” you call out, giving the stunned, flustered look coming from deep within you once last glance. The knock comes again, this time a little harder. You sigh. “Yeah, coming!” You stomp to the door, irritated that after everything you’ve dealt with tonight, now you’ve got some impatient asshole waiting outside.

But that’s not your luck. Instead, Marc is at the door. His eyes are fierce on you, almost as if he’s about to chew you out. He stands there for a minute, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he looks at you. And then he shoves you back into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

“What the fuck, Marc?” you ask, the indignation in your voice cutting through the slightly breathless quality that would have been more apparent otherwise.

He takes a step towards you, and even in the dim light of the cluttered walls, you see the lust in his eyes. You catch on fast.

“Did you mean all that back there?” he asks. His voice comes out husky.

You don’t step back as he approaches. You just look up at him slack-jawed, drowning in his gaze as he takes you in.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“You still love me?” He knows what he heard; your words lit a fire inside of him. He wants to hear you say it again so he can hold it as fully true. Wants to hear you own up to your confession instead of hiding from it in this bathroom.

“I still love you,” you reply.

Marc takes another step forward, backing you against the wall. He ducks his head down against your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “You didn’t like any of these other guys as much as you liked me, huh?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

“You missed me?” he asks, before pressing hungry kisses against you.

“Uh-huh,” you reply, too drunk and caught up in the moment to even consider being more intelligible. Marc trying to get you to egg him on is turning your brain to mush because you can hear how badly he wants it. He’s drunk enough to want you to know.

His hands are on your waist, gripping tight as if he’s afraid you won’t be here otherwise. He presses against you. He pauses for a moment, practically breathing you in. His lips travel up the length of your neck to your jaw before finally crashing his lips against yours.

It’s far from the Marc you knew, who’d always been controlled, testing you as much of himself, waiting to push you as far as you’d let him. It’s consuming and frantic, but it doesn’t make a difference to you; you would take sloppy kisses from Marc over the best kiss from Improv Guy or any of your other just-not quite-right-for-you dates. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he’s giving himself over to you in a way you’ve never quite experienced. There’s a desperation in his movements, like this is an audition for a role he really can’t lose.

Marc presses you more firmly against the wall, his hands wandering, gripping wherever he can. Your back, your ass, your hair, almost reverent in their exploration. Almost like he’s trying to make sure to have you memorized for when he leaves again.

But fuck that, because you don’t want him to leave. No, you want a good thing that will last. And in this moment, with your inhibitions shoved in a trunk somewhere, you want Marc to stay, and you’re willing to do whatever it takes, even if it absolutely must take place in this bathroom.

Your fingers curl up into Marc’s thick locks of hair. His tongue laps at your lower lip before fumbling into your mouth. He pulls apart suddenly, fast kisses moving back down your neck, his hands wandering, grabbing. Palming at your back, then working lower as he begins to sink to his knees. He pushes your skirt up around you skirt up above your waist with one hand while the other reaches around and grabs your ass.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice so heavy with lust and desire. Even though you’re questioning him, your fingers are back to being wrapped up in his hair as he kneels before you.

And while his movements maybe a little out of character, his lack of response to your question is exactly the norm for Marc. He lets his actions speak for him. And the action is sliding your skirt and tights down to your ankles, leaving you in just the lacy pair of underwear you’d chosen just in case things had gone well with Improv Guy tonight, one of the ones you bought after Marc broke up with you because buying an arm and a leg of nice lingerie seemed like the thing to do.

Marc lets out a throaty noise, almost a growl, when he sees you. He knows that he was never really meant to see these; these were meant for the eyes of some other man. The thought drives him a little closer to the edge.

“Has anyone seen these?” he asks, trailing his tongue along your upper thigh.

You let out a sigh and shake your head. “No,” you reply.

Marc presses his forehead against your hip, lips worrying at your sensitive skin as his fingertips curl beneath the top of the waistband. There’s one moment of hesitation, though maybe that’s only the little bit of his usual teasing he can afford, before he tugs the panties down to pool at your ankles with everything else.

“I am not setting a single bare foot on this floor,” you tell him, your voice still breathless.

“Fine,” Marc mutters back. He undoes your boot, tugging your tights off your foot, before slinging your leg over his shoulder. You sway a little on your one foot, not in the ideal condition for this, but Marc grips your hip, steadying you against the wall.

You raise a hand to keep your balance with the help of the paper towel dispenser on the wall, and just as you’re beginning to reorient yourself, the ground drops out beneath you. Marc makes no hesitation as his tongue hits your clit right away. He knows your body, knows what you like better than anyone, and he’s going to prove it to you.

“Fuck!” you gasp. Your grip on his hair tightens as you fight back the punched out groan that wants so desperately to escape. But no matter how loud the music is playing over out of this bathroom, you know it’s not loud enough to cover up the sounds Marc can make you make if you don’t keep yourself under control. There could be a break in the music and someone could hear. Or worse, someone could be waiting right outside the door. Oh, fuck, you didn’t even think about actually leaving the bathroom. People are going to see the two of you come out and know exactly what happened.

But before your thoughts have any more time to spiral, Marc begins lapping at your clit, pressing hard and white-hot pleasure builds from your core. One small whimper slips out as he continues to drag his tongue over that same sweet spot that’s clearly already proven to be your eventual undoing.

Marc’s free hand winds around your thigh slung over your shoulder. His fingertips brush against your inner thigh, kneading at the flesh. The fingers of his other hand dig into your hip. His body is nestled so close to you as your hips cant against his tongue, trying to savor more of that blindingly euphoric spot.

In a rare moment of surrender, Marc doesn’t hesitate to give it to you. This man is lapping at you like he needs you to survive. It’s obscene and frantic, and yet, your legs feel weak from it. You can’t look away from where Marc is knelt down before you, because you’re not sure there could be a single thing hotter than how badly he wants to be here doing this right now.

Once he’s sure you’ve situated yourself in a steady position, his hand moves from your hip before he slips a thick finger inside. You let out a funny whine as you try to stifle a larger, more instinctive noise.

Marc knows. He pulls his finger out almost immediately, resting a cheek against your thigh, grunting a little as if trying to not completely lose control of himself at the sound of how much he’s already unwound you. You can feel his eyelashes against the sensitive skin as he closes his eyes and shushes you. His breath warm on your thigh before he bites down softly.

Your chest rises and falls as he waits for you to cool down, but you’re still aching for him, clenching down at fullness that was only so briefly there when you need more. This man has given you the most earth-shattering orgasms you’ve ever had, and the worst fucking part is he knows it. He can tell how badly you want him and how impatient you’re getting.

If this was before, he’d make you wait. He’d take his time with you, enjoy watching your undoing. But lucky for you, he’s aware the allotted time for your little public escapade is finite. He presses one more kiss to your thigh before taking his index finger and dragging it down the length of your seam before dipping it back into you, curling up.

Your back arches as you bite back the sound that he knows you want to make. He might even be trying to get you to make it despite his previous warning to stay quiet. You wouldn’t put it past him, especially with how wild he’s gone at the thought that he’s the only one you’ve been thinking about since he’s been away.

His tongue flicks at your clit teasingly before pressing down with the length of his tongue. A low moan comes from Marc’s throat, muffled by your slick folds as he refuses to part even an inch from you. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He adds a second finger, pulsing deep inside of you. You’d feel bad for how hard you’re yanking on his hair if it really wasn’t his own fault. It’s not like he seems to mind, either. In fact, with every small tug, his passion only seems to grow.

Marc is licking and sucking and groaning against you with a sloppy enthusiasm that was so different from his usual self, and fuck, he’s barely started, but you feel that warmth building from your core. You have no say as your hips start grinding against his tongue, trying to work yourself even closer to your release.

He stops suddenly.

You whine, opening your eyes up to see him look up at you. Your slick is smeared all over his lips and chin. His eyes are heavy-lidded, lips swollen, and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking of how beautiful he looks in this moment if your life depended on it. There’s something in his eyes that looks as if he’s found peace, and it may just be the endorphins running through his mind because, well, sex, but in the lustful phase as you near your orgasm, you want to believe it has something to do with more than just that. You want to think that you, really you, not your words, not your cunt, has something to do with that peace. Because you want to believe that’s the one thing you can offer Marc he can’t get anywhere else.

He unhooks your leg from his shoulder and starts to fumble with your tights where they’re pooled beneath you.

“What are you doing?” you ask for the second time.

This time he responds. “Trying to...figure out how this is supposed to work,” he grunts, a bit of annoyance in his voice.

“Why?”

“So you don’t have to touch the floor with your foot.”

“Why would I--”

“Fuck it.”

Marc doesn’t even let you get your question out before he lifts you up. You grip down onto his shoulder, trying to kick loose your tights that Marc is dragging behind as he carries you to the counter—oh god, he’s going to set you down on that thing—but you realize your boot is still on.

“No, Marc, not fuck it,” you say, teetering in his grip. “My...fucking...shoe.”

He shushes you again. You can’t believe him tonight, the audacity of this man. He sets you down onto the counter of this bathroom, and you’re going to need to shower twice and burn your skirt and tights for what you’re about to do. But the sight of Marc knelt back down before you, tugging your boot and your tights off, beginning to kiss up the length of your leg as he spreads your thighs open, makes it a little worth it.

His lips work up to your knee before his tongue drags across the surface of your inner thigh.

You sigh at the feeling, your whole body tingling with delight despite how questionable all of this is. You’re already disgusting and at this point, you’ll have regrets in the morning either way, so why stop now?

Marc stands before you, meeting your eyes since this whole thing started. You see love in his eyes and you have to pretend like you don’t so you don’t make it out to be something other than drunken lust. Marc left you, and all of that is behind you. This is...oh god, is this pity sex? Is he pitying you for still loving him?

You don’t get the chance to ponder the question. Marc is undoing his belt, but his eyes never leave your face. Your legs are spread for him, open for what he really wants, what you’re trying to convince yourself he really wants, but his eyes don’t falter.

Yours on the other hand wander to watch Marc’s hands on the button of his jeans. He’s already hard. You haven’t laid a hand on him and you can already see a clear impression of where his cock is trying to break free from his boxer briefs.

He’s watching the blissed out look on your face as you watch his hand sink into his boxers and wrap around himself. His jaw sets eyes blinking shut for a moment as his hand moves just out of your sight. He thrusts himself into his hand a few times before slowly releasing the bulge from his underwear.

His cock springs out, twitching before you. And as gross as this bathroom is, you’re far past the point of pretending you’re above this. Yeah, you’ll let him take you on this bathroom counter. Marc pushes you back slightly so you’re leaning against the mirror. He grabs your legs and tugs you forward.

It catches you off-guard. Your skirt rides upand you gasp. Before you have the time to settle and see what he’s doing, he rams himself inside of you and you let out a louder-than-you-would-have-liked moan.

Marc pauses, and you feel yourself squeezing around him. He lets out a low groan and tosses his head back. “Fuck,” he breathes. Your legs are folded at his hips before he reaches around your thighs and grabs them. And then he slams his hips towards you, holding himself deep inside, groaning as you throb for him.

You let out a huff in place of the yelp you’d make if you were anywhere else. Your eyes clamp shut and your mouth hangs open. The sensation of Marc filling you up feels honey sweet inside of you. Your hands ball up in fists at your side, unable to reach him.

Marc notices. You see him hitch an eyebrow for just a moment as his concentration breaks. Something in his eyes goes wild.

“Touch yourself,” he growls.

You nod, panting as Marc starts picking up pace, eyeing you hungrily. You uncurl your fingers, bringing a hand down. Your fingers slide down easily over your slick. The breath catches in your throat as your fingers start to circle around your spit-slicked clit.

“Yeah,” Marc says, his voice wrecked at the sight of you before him. His grip on your legs tightens as he starts slamming into you again. “Just like that.”

He’s hilted up at an angle because the counter’s just a bit too high. Your back digs into the countertop of this sink. It’s uncomfortable and messy, but fuck, it’s good.

Marc’s hair falls down, the curls brushing against his forehead as he pounds into you. He’s deep, his cock nestled into a spot inside of you that’s making you see stars.

Your fingers keep circling your clit, inching yourself closer while Marc tosses his head back again, a strained groan ripping from his throat. Everything in your body feels alight, and you’re trying to prevent everyone in this bar from knowing it. For the first time since you got here, you wish whatever generic bar guy in charge of the music would turn it up because you feel yourself getting close, and Marc is fucking you like he wants to get caught.

His nails are digging into the skin of your thighs with his unwavering grip. His mouth hangs open as his head falls back, and even in this shitty, dim lighting, he looks incredible. Light catches the bridge of his nose, his lips, his chin. And then he looks down at you, hunger in his eyes as his face is cast into shadow. He’s close. You can hear it in his voice. You recognize that panting. You feel the desperation as he pounded himself as deep as he could get into you.

You’re squeezing around him as your fingers move faster over your clit, your pants becoming slightly more audible the closer you get. He’s getting close, which means he’s going to let you come. You let out another slightly-too-loud moan, and Marc stops all together.

You let out a whine. “Why…”

Marc’s gaze meets yours, and there’s a warning in his eye. He’s telling you to stay quiet and he doesn’t even need to say a word.

You rut your hips, trying to get him to move again, letting him know you’ve received the message, but he still stills. A rumble grows from his chest after he takes a minute to settle himself, and without warning, he begins pounding into you frantically.

To stop yourself from screaming out, your hand rockets up from your clit to cover your mouth. A moan muffles against your palm.

“No,” Marc orders. He takes your hand in his and moves it back down against your clit. Oh fuck he’s challenging you. You have to stay quiet and just white knuckle it through the most incredible orgasm you’re going to have had in a very long time.

You bite down on your lip, Marc’s cock shoved to the hilt inside of you, nudging at something so brilliantly bright, and you feel yourself about to spill over.

“Yeah. Yeah, come on,” he says. “Let me feel how good I make you cum.”

And that does it. Your breath stutters before you gasp, everything exploding from within you. The room spins, and it’s not just the alcohol. Leave it to Marc fucking Spector to make you feel like you’re floating inside a Chicago dive bar.

Your fingers still, landing against your hip. But as you come down from your high, you realize Marc’s not stopping, and you’re still reeling from the first time you came.

“Don’t stop yet,” he orders. “You’ve got one more in you, don’t you?” His voice is low, like he’s holding on as tightly as he possibly cam to not completely lose it in here.

You nod, hips grinding against Marc’s as he keeps pounding away at that same spot. “Oh fuck…” you whimper out, and you sound like a wreck. You’re sure getting your head knocked against the mirror hasn’t done any favors to your hair, but as you feel yourself getting close again, you can’t be bothered to consider the condition you’re going to leave this bathroom in.

The warmth builds, and you genuinely believe you might shed a tear. It’s almost overwhelming as you are at the mercy of Marc and his cock, suspended in the time just before you come again. Marc seems like he’s toying with you. He knows you’re sensitive; he can still feel you pulsing around him. But he’s the one who gets to make you feel this good.

The fucking nerve.

“Marc…” you whine.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks breathlessly.

This man is really going to make you beg while he fucks you in a public bathroom at a fucking bar. And you’re going to do it because you can’t wait any longer.

“Please.”

His lips twitch up just a bit. A primal sound rises from his throat. “That’s my girl,” he mutters before he he his his crash against yours yet again.

He pounds into you, prodding at that spot deep inside you. You make a little whining noise; it sounds desperate in your ears, but maybe that’s why Marc makes a choked out groan. The tight grip on your legs, the warmth filling you up from the inside, it’s all enough for the breath to catch in your throat.

“Come on, baby, do it again. Let me feel you,” he says, and his words sound strained. He’s close. He’s doing as best as he can to wait for you. And that’s….it’s enough.

You gasp before finally tipping over the edge. Your eyes squeeze shut as you let the feeling rush over you, bright and tingling. Everything feels muted, like you’re hiding under the covers, warm and hidden beneath the pleasure that’s blanketing you.

Temporarily, at least, because almost immediately after, Marc’s voice breaks through your haze.

“Fuck!” he grunts out. His head jerks back again and you can feel him pulsing inside of you, filling you up.

You marvel at him. Some indie director would froth at the mouth for a shot of Marc in this bathroom, because somehow, his undoing is one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. Even in this gross little bathroom, Marc Spector has commanded some kind of godly afterglow.

You’d spent the whole night pretending to forget how handsome he really was, you forgot to enjoy how handsome he really is. Your limbs are still tingling as you come down from your high, and you’re not thinking clearly quite yet.

But as the fog clears and your eyes adjust to Marc’s beauty like adjusting to the sun after coming out of a dark room, you’re stuck with the truth of what just happened: you fucked your ex-boyfriend in a dingy bar bathroom. And you liked it.

It’s gross and raunchy, but the needy look in Marc’s eyes when he burst into the bathroom looking for confirmation you still love him practically excuses it all. And you know you shouldn’t have done it, and in the morning when your head is pounding you’ll have more space to care. Right now, you’re still riding the high of Marc Spector admitting that he needs you, admitting that there’s something still between the two of you, and that’s a lifetime achievement.

Marc pulls out, and moves quick to pull his pants up, but as inebriated as he is, Marc can’t hide the lingering longing in his eyes as his gaze occasionally flicks over to you. He picks up the tangled mess that your tights and underwear have become and passes it to you.

“I, uh…” Marc stops at the door of the bathroom, his hand hovering above the handle before grabbing it, but he doesn’t leave just yet. “I don’t think we should have done that.”

You sigh. You’re over the moon, cock drunk and just plain drunk drunk, and he’s already planning his escape. Just like old times. And you’re going to play your part, just like always. “Don’t leave yet, okay?” you ask, making progress on your tangled tights.

Marc hesitates, but his eyes don’t waver. Even hunched over cursing whatever entity made tights so easy to ensnare your underwear, Marc is looking at you like something he wants so badly but can never have.

“Yeah, sure,” he says. The words come out clear, like there’s some kind of sobriety you can provide him that he won’t even have a few hours from now.

“Promise?” You look up, wanting to gauge the expression on his face, like that usually does any good. But tonight, it’s different; you already know that. Marc looks so open. Open in a way that you were so infrequently granted in your relationship. This is a different kind of beautiful than his way-too-long-indie-movie-sex-scene beauty from earlier; no, the look on his face is Shakespearean longing. Leo in 90’s Romeo + Juliet, eyes upon Claire Danes for the first time. But then you think of how it ended up for them, and you almost wish you didn’t see it.

“Promise,” he says. He sounds like the words make him ache, and you’ve probably had too much to drink for this right now because all you want to do is latch your lips back onto his, to keep him in this bathroom so this doesn’t have to end. So you don’t have to leave this room eventually and give him back up.

You nod and shuffle out of sight from the doorway, before locking it once Marc is gone. It takes an eternity, but you finally manage to free your underwear and clean yourself up after your adventures. With your lens of post-sex clarity, you try not to take a good look at anything so you can’t dwell on how bad of an idea that might have been.

As you emerge from the bathroom, your eyes land on Marc who is at the table as promised, his hand wrapped tightly around the empty beer bottle from earlier in front of him. Your gaze shifts to the bar and doesn’t stray. The last thing you want to do is make accidental eye contact with a stranger who figured out what you’d been doing in the bathroom.

A few minutes later, you arrive to the table where Marc is sitting with two shot glasses in your hands.

Marc’s face drops the second he sees them. “No.”

“What? You were the one who said we shouldn’t have done it.” You set the two glasses down, pushing one towards Marc.

Liquid the color of apple cider vinegar sloshes around in the glass, a bit spilling out onto the table. You could smell it the whole time you walked over, and considered turning back and setting it back down at the bar because even you don’t really think this is a good idea. But it would be a little funny. You and Marc drinking Chicago’s most horrendous liquor, malort. Swallowing essentially motor oil as punishment for your raunchy romp in the bathroom.

Marc looks down at the shot glasses with disdain before his eyes shift back up to you. “That doesn’t mean we should drink this shit.”

Before you can back out, you take your shot. You instantly regret it and fight back every single urge to spit it back up. It burns going down. Even worse, it lingers once it’s gone.

“You look miserable,” Marc says. There’s an amused sparkle in his eye that feels a little more comfortable than the longing you’d seen earlier.

“You too could look this miserable,” you say, voice choked through the burning feeling lingering in your throat. And following the world’s worst pitch, Marc picks up the glass and shoots it. He grimaces, but handles it far better than you did. Just a look of disgust that’s only marginally different from his usual look of disgust. And yet, you could spot that difference anywhere, could catch the microscopic changes in Marc’s buttoned-tight demeanor.

For one moment as you and Marc make attempts to recover from the malort, you’re not two ex’s with lots of history. You’re just two people sitting with each other as if it’s the natural state of being. There’s a comfort settled between the two of you. Through your miserable shared experience, you somehow nestled back into the way things had once been, or at least an echo of it. Some sort of vignette of the nights you’d spent with each other in shared comfortable silence, a need for words abandoned.

Marc’s dark eyes are fixed to the table, but there’s a twinkle in his eye that suggests somewhere beneath the stoicism, he finds this situation a little amusing too.

“Did you see the Bean?” you ask finally, your voice low and hinting at a bit of teasing.

“What?” Marc grumbles.

“Did you see the Bean?”

After a beat, Marc looks at you, his mouth drawn into a tight line. In this moment, you can practically hear his internal grumblings. Why do I bother? First she makes me drink that shit, now she’s asking me about the fucking Bean.

“No, I didn’t see the Bean.”

“No? I thought that was the thing to do for tourists.”

“Tourist?”

“What about Navy Pier?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Giving Marc shit was always a good way to pass the time, especially because he let you do it for a lot longer than he would anyone else. “Did you go on the ferris wheel at Navy Pier?”

Marc breathes your name before running his hand down his face. He sighs.

“Did you get a deep dish pizza at Lou’s?”

“You’re real funny,” Marc says, his voice his an unwavering deadpan. “What, are you going to ask if I took a picture outside the sign at Wrigley next?”

You scoff. “No, because you’d actually do that one.”

Marc grunts. His hand is wrapped around his empty glass again. He stares at it. But despite his gruff response, you see the corner of his lip quirk up a bit. “You’re a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?”

“It’s never come up.” Your eyes shift from his, looking out the window nearby. Outside, large flakes of snow fall from the sky, glowing red from the neon in the window. It collects on the cars parked at the meters in a thin sheet. It’s not much, but it’s the first snow of the year.

“Aw shit,” Marc mumbles.

“What is it?” you ask, eyes falling back to him.

Marc shakes his head, looking up from the phone in his hand. “Nothing. It’s nothing. My...my flight just got cancelled. It’s nothing.” His shoulders are tense, and you know it’s not nothing. You’ve never known the specifics of Marc’s family life—hell, that may not even be why he’s here—but you know he’s itching to get the hell out of Chicago.

“Shit. Where’ve you been staying?” you ask.

“Listen, don’t worry about it. It’s not your problem, alright?” He stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve gotta go figure all this out. But…”

“Where are you staying?” you repeat.

“I don’t know. I have to figure it out.” Marc’s voice is short, clipped, and his mouth is drawn thin.

You sigh. “It’s snowing hard out there--”

“Yeah, I know. That’s why the flight--”

“Marc. It’s snowing hard out. The roads are going to be a mess. I live nearby. Skip the Lyft and just...stay the night at my place tonight. You’re too drunk to figure something out right now anyway.”

Marc’s hand tightens into a fist on top of the table. He scowls at the scarred wood, but the fact that he hasn’t immediately said no is something. He could actually be considering accepting your help, and that’d be some substantial progress when it comes to Marc Spector.

But you know what he’s thinking about. It’s the same thing you’re thinking. You’re just going to bring him over after all that in the bathroom? Going to go back to your apartment and pretend like none of that happened? Kinda messy. But it’s you and Marc, always destined to occasionally crash into each other, and you’re sinking your claws onto Marc’s world to keep him in your orbit just for a little bit longer.

He sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!!! Kind of feel like I could maybe do more with this so please let me know if you liked it!!!!!!

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #i am nervous again to be posting on the internet

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