#it would’ve been fun if you would’ve been the 1
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as the seasons change
[fem! reader x college au! xiao]
cw: fluff, lots of fluff, slow burn-ish, fluff, reader gets harassed, cursing, oh did i mention fluff? — [long fic ahead]
wc: 7.3k
⤷ ❝ ft song— 《小城夏天》 ❞
“rainfall, a storming encounter— spring.”
"Do you remember the night we first met? Or well, at least when I first met you?" you asked, snuggling deeper into the warmth your blanket, and your partner, provided.
Xiao smiled and pulled you closer. "I could never."
>>—<<
The night was still young, light rain pattering against the windows. It was hard to tell if the sun was still up or not, for the dark clouds covered everything. It was only you left, still clearing out the store, handling the remaining few customers here and there.
“Your hot americano, sir,” you said, handing the customer their ordered drink. “Would you like a bag with it?”
“No, I would like your number with it though. Say, you’re single, aren’t you?”
“Wh— huh?”
“Oh, come on, a charming fellow like you is still single, am I right?"
You really weren’t sure how to respond to his advancements, so you stood there, dumbfounded. “Um—”
“Why don’t you leave her the fuck alone?” the voice of a random customer cut you off.
You looked over to the whoever it was helping you deal with this man. ‘Oh shit, he’s really pretty,’ was your first thought upon sight.
The customer glared at the interrupter. “Look, I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but I ain’t going to listen to whatever the hell you say.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll have a fun time talking to the police,” pretty boy said, staring down at the customer. He flashed the screen of his phone, the number 9-1-1 on dial.
“You—” he stopped himself, took a deep breath, and turned his attention from pretty boy over to you. “Listen here, you bitch. Shits would’ve been so much easier if you just gave me your fucking number, yeah?”
You flinched. “I’m sorry?”
“Sorry doesn’t fucking do shit,” he yelled, lifting up his cup of coffee.
Your eyes widened. “Don’t—”
Too late.
You nearly screamed when you felt the burning hot coffee sizzle against your skin. The now empty cup rolled to the side. You hastily wipe at your face, crimson from where the coffee had made contact.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” pretty boy got up from where he was seated. The man turned to look at him.
You quickly took this opening to disappeared into the back kitchen, searching for a cold towelette to ease the burning pain. You could’ve sworn you had ascended to heaven there and then when you pressed the cool towel onto your face.
‘That feels so much better…’
A loud crash pulled your spirit back down. Keeping the towel pressed against your cheek, you made your way back to the front counter— just in time to see the customer that had harassed you flee the scene. Pretty boy stood there, arms crossed, rolling his eyes as the glass door swings shut.
“Do you need to go to the hospital?” he asked the moment his eyes laid upon you.
“There’s no need,” you smiled at him. “Thanks for helping me, by the way.”
“It’s… nothing,” he adverted his gaze from you.
You finally got a good look at him. His facial features were mostly obscured by a black mask he wore, but his striking amber eyes was a prominent detail, you noticed. There was also a greenish tint to the edges of his hair and along his bangs. Peeking out from under his turtleneck, you saw a trace of some sort kind tattoo. ‘That’s hot,’ you immediately thought to yourself.
You must’ve been staring for too long, for his voice suddenly broke off your thoughts. “Can you please stop staring…” he sounded and looked flustered. Even with the mask on, you could faintly see the red of his cheeks.
“Ah, sorry…” you were quick to reply, embarrassment crawling in showing as the pink that lightly dusted your face.
The atmosphere of the cafe suddenly felt very awkward, with neither side willing to talk. You cleared your throat, hoping to break the silence. Perhaps you could treat him to a free coffee for helping you rid of that costumer. You put on a smile. Your cash register blinked red.
“Would you like a—” you glanced down at the register for just the slightest moment, then look back up, only to find the pretty boy gone. “Free coffee…” you finished.
‘Ah.’
“starfall, the sparkle in your eyes— summer”
“Oh FUCK.”
You scrambled about, hurriedly changing from the comforts of your pajamas to whatever you’d dug out from your closet.
“Why didn’t my fucking alarm go off?!”
“What the fuck?” the groggy voice of Aether mumbled.
Panic was racing though your body, you glanced at the clock as you stuffed your boots on.
8:57am
You have three minutes to spare. 180 seconds to make it from your dorm to your campus, from your campus to your lecture hall. Under most normal circumstances, you would’ve just skipped the exam altogether, but your professor just had to be a bitch and make the exam a major part of your grade— and if you wish to pass his class, you must take it.
Exam starts the moment the clock ticks 9:00, and nobody is allowed in anymore after— as your professor had specifically told the class.
“Sorry Aether!”
Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you slammed the door shut and booked it.
8:58am
Two minutes was all you had left. You didn’t waste your entire high school life practicing in the track team just not make be able to make a 300-yard dash in two minutes. You can— no, you will. You will make it.
Your peripheral vision of the environment blurred together as the wind began to catch up, heart racing with every stride you take.
In your haze of sheer panic, you had failed to notice the boy you were gunning towards scrambling to move out of your way. You yelped when you absolutely bodied them. He managed to steady himself, but you on the other hand, found yourself sprawled on the concrete.
“Ow…” you muttered, rubbing your lower back regions. “I’m so sorry you see— oh it’s you!”
Pretty boy looked bewildered; his eyes trained on your figure sitting on the ground. He reached out a hand to help you up, but there was no need. You weren’t sitting for very long, for a quick glance at your watch had you up instantly.
“I am going to be late. Sorry about that,” you called out.
He stood there. “You dropped something…” he slowly said.
But you were long gone, leaving nothing but a slight breeze that tickled his cheek.
>>—<<
Just a little under a minute remaining. Your lungs felt like they were on fire. The sight of your class building was just in sight. Just a little bit more, you thought.
15…
You pulled out your student ID and swiped through the scanner, barley giving the poor machine time to unlock the door before you rammed your way through it.
11…
Scrambling up the stairs like a madman, you could care less about the student that screamed at the sight of you— going on all fours crawling up the stairs at an inhuman speed.
4…
You’ve finally made it to the third floor; your legs were uncontrollably shaking by then. The final stretch, and with the time quickly ticking away, you ran as if your life was on the line.
1…
The door to the lecture hall opened with a loud bang, echoing throughout the quiet room. Every head was turned to stare at you, even your professor stopped midway in handing out tests to look at you.
“I’m not late,” you panted, face flushed red.
You made it with barley a second to spare. The clock struck nine.
>>—<<
“Ugh, I for sure failed that exam…” Lumine grumbled, stuffing her reference papers back into her backpack. “You done organizing yet?”
“One moment…” you replied, zipping up your bag. “…okay, let’s go.”
Lumine hooked her arm around yours as the two of you exited the lecture hall. “You know when you slammed that door open, everyone jumped. I think the prof got scared too.”
“Don’t remind me. I nearly broke my back trying to get here on time… hey speaking of which. Why didn’t you wake me up?” you said.
“I tried; you were dead asleep… I accidentally woke Aether and Tao up trying to get you awake,” Lumine replied.
“Oh— ow, my back,” you muttered. The scene where you rammed into the pretty boy flashed in your mind. You suddenly frowned. “Wait a moment.”
You stopped in the middle of the hallway, realization catching up to you. “Wait a damn moment.”
“What is up with you today? Let’s go before they trample us over,” Lumine said, tugging you along as another current of students flooded your way. She led you out the school building. You winced and squeezed your eyes shut as the unbearably bright sunlight caught you off guard.
Now it was Lumine’s turn to pull you to a halt. You felt the hand grip around your arm tighten. “Ow,” you complained.
“Oh sorry— but look at that guy over there!” Lumine exclaimed, slightly gesturing over to someone.
You squinted, trying to see through the blazing glory of the sun. “Where?” you asked. “I literally can’t see, it’s so bright.”
“Over there,” Lumine hissed. “Oh, crap I think he saw us, let’s go let’s go.”
Lumine quickly began to usher you away, and you blindly followed suit. You felt her panic when she suddenly began dragging you as she sped walked away.
“Hey, wait—” a voice called out from behind.
Lumine stopped, frozen over. You turned around, using one hand to mask away the sun. “It’s you again!” you exclaimed.
“It’s me.”
“You two know each other?” Lumine quipped, turning over to look at you. Her eyes narrowed. “You aren’t stalking my friend here, right?”
“Lumine, relax. Remember what happened at work? He was the guy I was telling you about. Not a stalker.”
“Ohh— him?!”
“Why are you so shocked?”
“Need to have a word with you,” Lumine whispered, grabbing ahold of your sleeve. “Excuse us.”
She brought you over to a more secluded area— under one of the many oak trees and began talking in a hushed voice.
“Do you even have a clue as to who he is?” She lightly jabbed at your chest.
“No?” you replied. “All I know is that he’s the regular that appears and orders the same thing every day.”
“That’s Xiao?! Like the Xiao??”
“Oh, that super-hot guy that everyone loves? … THAT’S HIM?!” jaw dropped, you stared at Lumine in utter disbelief.
“Yes!” she hissed.
“Now I see why everyone was staring at him… you too.”
“How did I not know? No, how did you not know?! Your so-called protector is Xiao…”
You ran your fingers through your hair. “I didn’t think it was necessary, besides, you never asked.”
“Fuck you, let’s go back,” she said, sweetly smiling at you. You suddenly had a bad feeling. The iron grip she had on your arm slightly terrified you. Lumine led you back to where Xiao stood.
“Hi, sorry for keeping you waiting,” you said, sending Lumine a glare. She pinched you in response.
“It’s fine,” he said. “You dropped his, by the way, when you uh, bumped into me.”
“Ah.”
Bumped was too nice of a word to replace what had really happened. You laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry about that, you aren’t hurt, are you?”
He shook his head. “Here,” he said, handing you your keys.
“Oh, so that’s where my keys went,” you exclaim, taking your item back. “I was wondering where it went. Thank you!” You beamed at him.
He turned his head away. It went silent again.
Lumine took one look at the sudden mood change, then gave you a sly smile, and slipped away from the scene before you could even latch on to her. You watched as she ran away, her figure gradually merging in with the other students.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked once Lumine was out of sight.
“What?”
“Your cheek, where the drink burned you. Does it still hurt?”
“No,” you said. “Thank you, again.”
“It’s nothing.”
“And uh, last time you left before I could ask you,” you said. “I would like to treat you to a cup of coffee as my thanks.”
“There’s really no need.”
“I insist. Are you free this Saturday?” you asked. “I’m [name], by the way.”
“Xiao,” he replied. “I’m free anytime.”
“Wonderful! I’ll see you this Saturday at Angels Hall then,” you said.
You hadn’t given Xiao much of a chance to speak before you left, giving him a small wave as you disappeared under the bright sunlight to look for Lumine. If you had stayed a little longer and observed a little closer, maybe you would’ve seen the furious blush that covered his cheeks that he so desperately tried to hide.
“Ooh-la-la, my goodness Xiao,” a cheeky voice came trailing up behind him. “Who’s the lucky one?”
Xiao glared at the newcomer. “Nobody, Venti.”
The short boy in green placed a hand over his heart, pretending to be hurt. “Oh Xiao, you won’t even tell me? That’s fine then, I’ll get Heizou to do it for me.” His voice had a slight tease to it.
“Shut it…”
The week passed by in a blink of an eye, and Saturday came faster than Xiao liked. You had told him the details when you— coincidentally, bumped into him while running some errands.
2:00pm, you had told him.
The clock was striking close to 1:45 and he was not ready to have a one-on-one conversation with you.
Xiao paced around his dorm anxiously, muttering incoherent nonsense to himself. His dorm mates looked at him curiously, but no word was said between them. Venti sat in one corner of the room, silently giggling to himself. He seemed to be the only one amused at Xiao’s demise.
“What’s got you so stressed out, Xiao?” one of his dorm mates asked. His green eyes glinted with interest.
“Nothing…” Xiao muttered.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Are you meeting her?”
Xiao froze. “How do you know? Did Venti tell you?”
“Ah, so you ARE meeting up with her.”
>>—<<
“You did WHAT NOW?!”
Aether winced at Hutao’s sudden outburst. “Tao, volume please.”
“Did she actually do it? You saw her ask him?” Hutao gripped tightly onto Lumine’s shoulders, gently shaking her. Her bright red eyes widened.
“I don’t know,” Lumine sheepishly admitted. “I ran away so they could have some time alone, you know?”
Hutao looked miserable, the way her bangs drooped down and covered her face. She dramatically sighed and spun herself onto her bed, the mattress squeaking as she did so.
You got up from where you sat and began rummaging through your tiny closet for a bag suitable for today's meeting. You couldn’t find one to your liking, so you began searching through Lumine’s closet. “Hey Lum, mind if I borrow your bag for the day? It’s the black messenger one.”
“Sure, just don’t get it dirtied,” Lumine replied nonchalantly. She crumpled up a piece of scrap paper and threw it at Aether. It landed directly on his forehead with a tiny bonk.
“Lumine!” he whined, rubbing at where the ball had hit him.
You quickly slipped on a pair of boots and opened the door. “I’ll take my leave now.”
“Have fun on your date!” Hutao cheered enthusiastically, her voice muffled. It seemed her glum mood had just dispelled.
“It’s not a date,” you groaned, exasperated.
“Make sure to tell us EVERY single little detail when you get back,” Lumine said, her eyes boring onto yours. You shivered.
“Bye [name]!” Aether waved at you, stopped short when another paper ball hit him. “Lumine! Stop throwing those at me, you’re cleaning them up.”
“Bye everyone,” you said. “Be back in an hour or so.”
>>—<<
Xiao was incredibly nervous. He really should’ve said no to your offer. But… he squeezed his eyes a shut and groaned. He couldn’t bear seeing the disappointment washing over that sparkle of joy in your eyes.
Curse his feelings. To hell with them.
“Xiao!”
Your eager voice snapped his out of his thoughts. He looked up at you, and his heart began to beat a little faster.
It’s just a friendly meetup, not a date.
“Hey.”
“I didn’t keep you waiting for too long, did I?” you asked.
Xiao shook his head. “I just got here.”
“Great, let’s go in, shall we?” you said.
He nodded.
The door to the cafe opened with a jingle, and the ambiance of the environment allured you in further. Xiao followed closely behind you, his eyes darting around nervously.
A peculiar figure caught his eye, and he wanted to die right there and then at the sight.
Venti pushed his sunglasses up further and gave Xiao a shit eating grin. Seated around him was his dorm mates, everyone was there, watching him. Heizou gave him a wink, as if to say, ‘good luck’.
How they managed to get there before Xiao is beyond him.
“You fuckers…” Xiao mumbled under his breath.
You ushered him into a seat and handed him the menu.
“Order whatever,” you told him. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
When Xiao had made sure you were gone, he set the menu down and got up, making his way over to his friend group sitting in the corner.
“What the fuck are you guys doing here?” Xiao hissed.
Venti took off his sunglasses and gave Xiao an innocent look. “We just so happen to be passing by, didn’t know you were coming here too.”
Scaramouche scoffed, rolling his eyes. Heizou jabbed him.
“You know damn well…” Xiao said.
“Well Xiao, you shouldn’t stay for too long. Your date should be back soon,” Venti mused.
Speak of the devil, his sharp hearing picked up the sound of the bathroom door being open— despite the loud chatter of the cafe. He gave Venti a glare before returning to his seat and picking up the menu, acting as if nothing had transpired.
You reappeared, taking a seat across from him. “Chosen what you want yet?”
Xiao skimmed through the menu and quickly picked the one that looked the most appealing. “Yeah, an Angels Blessing, whatever that is.”
You called the waitress over and placed your orders.
“You really didn’t have to,” Xiao said, watching as the waitress left for the kitchen.
His words completely crossed your mind. Caught off guard by your silence, Xiao looked back at you.
Your eyes bore into his, an unreadable expression on your face. Xiao couldn’t bring himself to tear his gaze away from you even if he tried. Something compelled him to keep staring.
Suddenly the noises of the cafe blurred out, fading into nothing but a tiny buzz. It was just you and him, alone, sitting across from each other.
When had you become so pretty?
You smiled at him, the corners of your eyes crinkling up. “Xiao did you know?”
When did the butterflies began appearing?
“Know…” he swallowed the lump in his throat.
When did it happen? Why?
“You have really pretty eyes; they remind me of the stars glittering in the galaxy.”
Maybe that’s what had confirmed his skeptical feelings for you, because at that moment, Xiao felt like he fell in love all over again.
In love with all of you again.
“memoirs, anew remembrance— autumn”
Memories. Taken in the form on pictures, notes, anything.
Xiao could remember the time he first laid eyes on you clear as day.
It was on campus last year autumn, during the annual sports festival, where you were one of the many participants racing for the win. Xiao stood together with his friends, betting on who would come out victorious.
He wasn’t particularly interested in who won or who lost, in fact, Xiao didn’t even want to be here in the festival in the first place. It was only under the solemn promise of free almond tofu that he agreed to go.
“I’m betting on the one in green,” Venti said. “5 dollars he wins.”
“The player in purple,” Kazuha pointed to the billboard listing all the players. “How about you Scaramouche?”
“I don’t fucking know, the black one?” Scaramouche muttered.
“I’m calling the purple one,” Heizou said. “Who are you betting on, Xiao?”
“Uh, the blue one?” Xiao blurted out.
Venti clapped his hands in glee. “Wonderful! May the gods be on my side and let the green player win!”
“Venti that’s not how it works.”
>>—<<
“Nervous?”
“Of course I’m fucking nervous…” you mumbled, fidgeting with your gloves.
The pink hair girl laughed, her green eyes twinkling. “You’ll do just fine. Those months of practice won’t go to waste.”
“I really do hope so…”
“Have some faith in yourself.”
“Thank you, Fei,” you said, feeling the strings of agitation pulling away.
“Best of luck,” Yanfei said, sending you a wink just as the booming voice of the announcer came on.
It was your time to shine— or horribly embarrassed yourself.
>>—<<
“They’re finally starting!” Venti exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Oh there’s the green one!”
Xiao watched closely as each player began taking field. The player he had betted on stood in the far corner. He hadn’t expected himself to be so interested in the game. Perhaps it was because he didn’t want to lose five dollars today.
‘And the players had taken field!’ the announcer shouted.
The crowd cheered.
‘A soon to be fantastic yet suspenseful game tonight, five players competing for the title of king. Only the best out of the best in the field tonight, this game surely will be an interesting one. And now without any further delays…’
Xiao held his breath, his eyes trained on the player in blue.
‘…may the game commence.’
>>—<<
The pressure was killing you. The eyes, the cheers, the lights. Yet none of those stopped you. All those months of ruthless training— not even a single second will be left to waste away.
You dropped into a trance, body moving on autopilot. The voice of your coach commanded your every move.
It was only when the stadium erupted into screams that you broke out from your daze, startled at the sudden outburst.
‘And we have a clear winner!’ the announcer broadcasted, her voice echoing over the crowd’s cries.
Lumine jumped over the railings and ran into to the field, successfully dodging the security trying to grab her. She body slammed you and engulfed you in a tight hug. “YOU WON! YOU DID IT!” Lumine screamed. “Oh my god I’m so proud of you. See I told you you’ll win.”
I won? …
Suddenly you felt weak, head spinning, vision blurring. “I won?” you muttered.
The rest of your friend group came running towards you too, and security didn’t even bother to try and stop the two kids barreling for you. Hutao smashed into you, one hand holding a small bouquet of flower. Aether slowed to a jog and brought out a spray bottle, showering cool water on you.
“Congratulations my dear!” Hutao cheered. “We all fucking told you you’ll win this. Dinner is on me tonight.”
“You did great,” Aether said, handing you a bottle of water.
The crowd of people was still cheering for your victory, and cheered even louder when you held up your hard-earned trophy high in air for everyone to see. You laughed, a tear of happiness rolling down your cheek.
I won.
>>—<<
“Aw damn,” Venti groaned. “I was so sure green would win…”
“Xiao got lucky today,” Heizou laughed, handing Xiao a five-dollar bill. “Twenty dollars and a free dessert.”
“Say, where are we going out tonight?” Kazuha asked, also handing Xiao a five.
“Thanks…” Xiao muttered. He wasn’t even paying attention to the group's conversation. His interest was driven onto somewhere else— someone else.
For some odd reason, Xiao couldn’t stop staring at you.
Enveloped by your friends in a giant bear hug, the trophy glinting under the stadium lights, you stood there, crying and laughing.
Xiao smiled softly to himself.
The second time Xiao saw you was during the week before midterms, and at that time, you looked like a mess.
You were in Angels Hall with your friends, paper upon papers scattered all over the table. The coffee you had ordered was left to the side was half drank, long gone cold.
“I can’t,” you whined. “This is so.”
Lumine sat next to you, head buried in her arms. “I agree.”
“How about we finish this unit then we go, because I don’t think I can’t last any longer either,” Aether said. “Right Tao?”
“It’s been 2 hours, not sure how much longer I can go for,” Hutao mumbled. “I feel like shit.”
You straightened up. “Let’s go back to our dorm. None of us here wants to be here any longer.”
“I second that,” Lumine said, downing the last bits of her drink in one go.
Hutao began organizing all the papers into a neat stack before stuffing it into her bag, regardless of if it wrinkles. The waiter dropped by and handed you the bill with a forced smile.
“Let’s go,” Hutao said, getting up from her seat. Lumine was already by the exit, impatiently tapping her foot.
You set down a twenty-dollar bill and left with the rest of the group, the twinkling of the silver bell indicating your departure.
Xiao couldn’t help but feel disappointed, watching you leave.
Kazuha tapped his arm. “Xiao, are you good? You seem distracted.”
“He’s probably got his mind on someone,” Heizou said.
“Xiao? Liking someone? No way,” Venti gasped.
“Can you all just shut the fuck up and focus?” Scaramouche growled, already fed up. “Especially you, Venti.”
“Aha, sorry…”
The third time Xiao ran into you was at the coffee place you worked at. He had just randomly chosen a cafe to get a breather, a break from his work and from the rain. He had figured that this tiny cafe was the best place to enjoy his time and peace. It was during the evening, when there were just barely any more costumers coming in.
You stood behind the cashier, a bright smile plastered on your face.
“An iced black coffee,” he told you.
It hasn’t even been two minutes after he had paid, and his order was already ready to go.
“…thank you,” Xiao managed out. He quickly turned away and found a seat in the corner of the store, the tip of his ears already tinted red. There was no way he could return that bright grin of yours without turning into a tomato.
The way you smiled at him… the way you looked with your hair tucked behind your ear. In his eyes, you’re the literal embodiment of the ethereal celestial being send from the skies above. He had never felt like this towards someone ever before, this was a first for him. But all the signs made it clear— the way his heart pounds abnormally fast, the way his words get caught up in his throat, the way the butterflies flutter around in his stomach— it was all enough for Xiao to know that he had developed a crush for you.
No. He does not have a crush on you, he just merrily found you attractive. That is all there is to that.
“… single, aren’t you?”
Xiao snapped his head up, thoughts interrupted. He glanced over at the customer who was leaned over the counter, trying to act cool. The way your shoulders were tensed up, the stutters in your words— it was clear you were uncomfortable with his sudden advancements.
“Why don’t you leave her the fuck alone?” he snarled, caught off guard by his harsh tone.
What transpired afterwards was history, but ever since that incident, he has been coming in every day. By then, you had recognized Xiao as a regular in the new cafe you worked at. Every day he would appear exactly at 3:00pm, and order the same thing— a black coffee, and leave minutes before you get off your shift.
You found it endearing, how a mere stranger watched over you so protectively. Although your friends begged to differ.
“Pretty boy?” Lumine snorted. “Oh please, what if he’s going to kidnap you one day?”
“As if,” you retorted. “I trust my guts.”
“crystalline, frosted confessions— winter.”
“Black—”
“— coffee. Got it right here,” you said, holding up the cup of freshly brewed coffee. “As per usual, that’ll be 2.35$. But since you’ve been a regular here for so long, I’m cutting the price down to 1.75$.”
“Thank you,” Xiao handed you two dollars and took the coffee, where then he proceeded to sit in the same spot he had been sitting in for past few weeks.
The store was completely empty expect for Xiao. As expected, you thought. Nobody would want to be out when the weather had predicted an snowstorm. Flurries of snowflakes bend and shaped by the wind covered the outside world in a softened blanket of white.
“It’s snowing pretty hard outside,” you thought out loud, elbow resting against the marble counter. “Are you cold? I could turn the heater up.”
“It’s fine,” Xiao replied. “Why are you still working today anyways? It’s snowing really hard out there.”
“Who’s going to run the store if not me?” you laughed. “The boss offered me a pay raise if I stayed to attend the store today. Obviously, I can’t turn that offer down.”
Xiao gave a hum of acknowledgment. “I’ll drive you back to campus. It’s too dangerous for you to walk out there alone.”
His words caught you by surprise. Never would you have thought Xiao would be offering to drive you back to the dorms.
“How kind of you, thank you Xiao,” you said. “I’ll be closing down in maybe a couple minutes. Then we can go.”
Hail had slowly begun to mix in with the snow. The tiny ice fragments pattered against the window, creating a clicking sound. You began cleaning up— there wasn’t much to be done, but you still liked the store to be spotless before you leave. Setting the dried towel by the sink, you took off your apron and hung it in the back.
Xiao finished up his drink and threw the disposable cup away, making sure to grab napkins to wipe the table clean.
By the time he had cleaned his table, you were ready to leave. Xiao narrowed his eyes.
“Where’s your jacket?” he asked.
“Oh, I forgot mines,” you said, pushing open the door. You shivered at the cold blast of wind. “Left in a hurry this morning... ha-ha.”
Xiao bit down on his lips. “Can’t be helped,” he sighed, walking out the door.
You locked the store and flipped over the OPEN sign to CLOSED. “Let’s go,” you said. Your nose was already turning red.
“Here,” Xiao muttered, draping his jacket over you. “I… don’t want you to get sick.”
You felt your face heat up and your heart race. "I— thank you, Xiao.”
Xiao turned away and began walking towards his car. His heart was pounding mercilessly against his chest as he unlocked the door to his sleek black Toyota. You stood by him, snuggled up in his jacket, and stepped into the car when Xiao opened the door for you.
What a gentleman, you thought to yourself.
The car reverberated to life as Xiao turned the engine on, and with it, the heater was turned on too. A blast of warm air surrounded you, and your body relaxed, taking in the warmth.
You felt yourself slowly dozing off as Xiao drove through the storm. You weren’t even tired, perhaps it was the environment that had lulled you into a dreamlike state.
Time passed by slowly, and when Xiao had parked by your dorm, you were fast asleep. He almost didn’t want to wake you.
“Hey,” he whispered, nudging your shoulder.
“Five more minutes…” you mumbled, shrugging his hand away. “Five…”
He stifled a laugh. “We’ve arrived at your dorm. I think I see Lumine up there.”
You snapped open your eyes and sat up straight. “Where?!”
The laugh he had been keeping in bubbled out. You looked at him, eyes half lidded, confusion written all over your face.
“We’re at your dorm, let’s go, the storms getting worse,” Xiao said, getting out the car. He jogged over to the other side and opened the door before you could. “Careful there, the roads iced up.”
Your movements were sluggish as you got out from the car, grabbing onto Xiao for support. “Sorry,” you mumbled.
You felt Xiao wrap one arm around your waist to support your weight, slowly guiding you through the path and up the stairs to your dormitory. The harsh wind that slapped you in the face was enough of a wakeup call, and you fumbled to fish your keys out your pocket.
Pushing the key into the lock, you turned back to face Xiao— but he was already down the stairs by his car. He caught your eye, and you hastily gave him a wave before disappearing indoors, where the warmth awaited you. “Thank you,” you mouthed, and the door closed behind you.
Xiao stayed outside your dormitory for a little bit, watching the shadows of your friends engulfing you through the sheer curtains that fluttered around. An unmistakable feeling of heat rushed throughout his body, and he smiled to himself, then sneezed.
>>—<<
“Wait, wait, WAIT,” Lumine grabbed your sleeve and pushed you onto your bunk. “You got home awfully fast today, and whose jacket is that?”
Hutao walked out from the bathroom, a towel slung over her shoulders. “I think I’ve seen that jacket somewhere before.”
“Oh, wait isn’t that Xiao’s jacket?” Aether piped in, setting his headset aside and spinning around to face the two of you.
“That’s where I’ve seen it,” Hutao said with a snap of her fingers. “That emo guy that everyone seems to be obsessed with, I’ve seen him walking around campus several times in that same jacket.”
“That emo guy,” Aether repeated. “Isn’t he your cousin?”
“Did something happen between you and Xiao?” Lumine asked, eyes glittering with excitement.
You laughed nervously. “Well yeah, sort of? I mean, he drove me back here…”
Lumine’s eyes went wide open. “Now that’s a first. Oh, girl he definitely likes you.”
“He did it because it was snowing like crazy out there and I didn’t have a jacket with me!”
“Excuses,” Hutao snorted. “I can tell you that Xiao never lets anyone else in his car other than his close friends. I’ve asked him for a ride once and I had to beg for it, EVEN though we were cousins, and I still had to Uber back home.”
Lumine nodded. “Can confirm, I was there to witness it all.”
You shook your head. “There’s no way. Anyways! To celebrate me getting a pay raise, dinners on me tonight!”
“Wooo!” Hutao cheered, throwing on a thick puffer jacket. “Where are we off to?”
>>—<<
“Is he… sick?” Kazuha asked worriedly.
The boys gathered around Xiao’s bed, listening to his coughs and sniffles.
“Leave me be…” Xiao mumbled, pulling his blanket over his head.
“He definitely sounds sick," Heizou commented.
"This is what you get for not wearing a jacket out yesterday... I'd say it's well-deserved." Scaramouche snorted, tossing yet another packet of tissues at Xiao.
"He wasn't wearing a jacket?" Venti echoed, his loud voice traveling from the kitchen into Xiao's room. "Didn't he leave with a jacket though? The green and black one?"
Heizou raised a brow, one hand under his chin. A quizzical look appeared, followed by a know-it-all one. "I think I know where his jacket went," he said, a sly grin dancing on his lips.
"Get the fuck out of my room."
>>—<<
“Tao, whenever you’re able to, can you help me return this jacket to Xiao? I haven’t been able to find him anywhere,” you said, hanging up your bag. Xiao’s black and green jacket hung next to your school bag, a scent of fresh laundry within the fibers.
Hutao popped a piece of gum in her mouth and chewed loudly. “I honestly have no clue where he is. I can help you get in touch with the pests he hangs around though.”
“That’d be lovely,” you replied, shooting Tao a grateful smile.
>>—<<
“Hey Xiao.”
“…”
“Xiaooooo.”
Silence.
Venti sighed in defeat and turned away from Xiao’s room, instead plopping himself down on the couch. Kazuha hummed to himself as he stirred the giant bowl of batter he had in his arms— as far as Venti remembers, he was making chocolate chip cookies. A classic favorite among everyone.
Scaramouche was out of town, called back home for a family emergency. Heizou on the hand, had locked himself in one of the many study cubbies in the campus’s library to study for his upcoming exam. And Xiao— well, he’s passed out sick.
Venti sighed once again, bored out of his mind. He lazily opened up his phone and was greeted by a text from Xiao’s cousin: Hutao.
[5:14pm] Hutao >> u available rn?
>>—<<
“Hey! You must be Venti, right?” you asked, standing up from the park bench you were just sitting on moments ago.
“And you’re the girl that Xiao’s been fawning over I presume,” Venti replied, smiling.
“My name— wait what?”
“Oh, it’s nothing— hey that’s Xiao’s jacket!” Venti pointed to the black jacket draped over your arms. “Right?”
“Yeah, I was hoping you’d help me return this to him,” you said sheepishly.
Venti pressed his hand to his chest. “Oh, I would love to, but I think it’s best if you do it!”
Puzzled by his response, you ask, “Why?”
He sighed dramatically and collapsed onto the bench, feigning heartache. “Well you see, poor Xiao had locked himself up in his room, burning up a fever— and wants nothing to do with me at the moment. If I were to try and enter his room, I’m afraid I won’t see the light of day again.”
You blinked at Venti’s performance, slowly soaking in the information given. Does Xiao hate him? Why? You wanted to ask. “He’s sick?” was what came out your mouth instead.
“Terribly so.”
>>—<<
“Xiao?” you called out softly.
A shuffle was heard as the sickly student attempted to sit upright. You quickly entered the room and closed the door behind you, rushing over to Xiao’s side the moment the door clicked shut.
“Hey,” you said, smiling. “Hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”
Xiao blinked groggily, fighting against the sleep medication he had taken hours ago. “What are you”— he sneezed “doing here?”
“Came here to return your jacket,” you replied, draping his jacket over his pink gaming chair. An odd expression crossed your face, but you didn’t speak of it.
Xiao managed to sit upright despite being in absolute agony. His head throbbed painfully, an unfortunate side effect of his medication. You placed a hand over the small of his back and helped him ease into a more comfortable position. "Easy there Xiao..." you murmured. "Don't strain yourself too much."
"I'll be fine," he said. "You shouldn't be here— you know, with me being sick and all. You might get sick too."
A smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "You're the one here sick, and you're worried about me? Besides, I didn't see you for the past week and I miss your presence."
There was a tease in your voice, and Xiao caught it. Yet he couldn't control the way his heart sped up. He cleared his throat, adverting his body away from where you sat. Perhaps being sick isn't so bad after all, he could at least use the fever as an excuse as to why his face is burning a scarlet red.
You felt your smile grow bigger seeing his reaction. "Don't turn around now— we've known each other for so long now, it's weird being somewhere without you." You were confident, almost too confident with your words. But with graduation so close, you knew that there wasn't much time left for you to spill your feelings. It was like gambling, gambling time and memories away.
Outside, the sun began to dip below the horizon. Snow resting upon the frail branch of the young oak crumbled when a chunk of ice shattered against the trunk.
“Heizou!” the shrill voice of Venti shrieked.
Either you win, or you'll lose it all.
Xiao remained silent, unsure of how to process your words. He wanted to believe everything you said, but some part of himself won't allow him to. For all he knows, you could just be tugging on his heartstrings, playing it like a sick sort of a puppet show. But... he glanced at you. You weren't looking at him anymore, instead your attention was fixated on the scene happening outside his window.
The way the sunset created a golden aura around you made you look absolutely breathtaking, hitting all the right angles in all the right way. He didn't know there was a way for you to be any prettier than you already are. Would he have gotten to see you like this if he wasn't sick?
"Xiao." the seriousness laced with your tone made him tense up. You pushed yourself away from the window ledge and turned to face him. “Xiao,” you repeated. “Can I tell you something?”
Your heart was pounding. A year worth of buildup— he’s seen you at your worst, as you had seen him, how much longer are you able to hold it in for? There’s nothing you could really hide from this man; he was bound to find out about your crush sooner or later.
Xiao took in a deep breath. “Go on,” he croaked out. He wiped his sweaty palms on his blanket.
You bit the insides of your cheek. The words are at the tip of your tongue, but that’s the furthest they’re willing to go. “I— fuck I can’t say it,” you groaned, turning back to face the window.
"No," he said. "No, tell me."
You bit the insides of your cheek. The words are at the tip of your tongue, but that’s the furthest they’re willing to go. “I— fuck I can’t say it,” you groaned, turning back to face the window.
"No," he said. "No, tell me."
That intense voice you knew all too familiar— now you know that there is no backing out. Xiao's stubbornness had been a constant pain in the ass for you, yet it was also a part of him that you found endearing.
"You promise this won't change anything?" you asked, voice small.
A creak followed by a shuffle, and you felt Xiao's arm wrap around your waist. His disheveled hair tickled against your cheek as he rests his head upon your shoulder. '"Nothing will change, I promise," he muttered.
Touch. In no way was this unusual for the two of you. But this time, it felt new. In this stifling environment, where the air was tense, everything feels unfamiliar. Xiao's touch felt unfamiliar. What if this ruins it all?
Fuck it.
"I really like you, you know that, Xiao?" you whispered.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment, and you felt your heart drop. This is it. The signs point to it all, it tells you that Xiao is the one, yet you can't help but think otherwise. Overthinking has always been a bad habit of yours.
After minutes of painful awkward silence (it was only a few seconds), Xiao replied. "I know."
"I really like you too, [name]. I've liked you since last year, since the moment I saw you on the field for the annual sports festival. And I fell deeper in love with you over the course of the year, seeing you around campus, at the cafe you worked— your very presence seems to bring comfort. I wanted to confess for so long, you know? But I didn't, I feared that it would've tampered with whatever we already had going on."
he paused to clear his throat.
"I like— no, I love you."
Through the window, the view of the night sky was in perfect sight. The stars above twinkled, and flashing by for just a second, was a shooting star.
Even the stars have spoken.
✩ ·┆ navigation
notes—
— the number of times i accidentally typed ‘ciao’ instead of ‘xiao’ is diabolical
© acaaai-t — do not plagiarize, repost, or translate
#[💫] acaaai-t#astronetwrk#genshin#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin fluff#genshin impact x reader#genshin xiao#adeptus xiao#xiao x reader#genshin xiao x reader#genshin impact xiao#xiao genshin impact#xiao fluff#xiao x y/n#xiao genshin x reader
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Friends breakup friends get married strangers get born and strangers get buried trends change rumors fly through new skies but IM RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME FOR REAL
#right where you left me#taylor swift#im just never getting over her am I???#not to be dramatic (to be absolutely fucking dramatic)#I had a dream about her again last night and god it’s haunted me since#she went to my orchestra concert that is tomorrow and we argued#and we both cried and then I was like ‘so tell me did you feel the same way about me though?’#and she said yes#she said she loved me :(#but she hated me after what I did#this was. five years ago now#anyway#I knew you’d haunt all of my what ifs#did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion#she’s still 23 in her fantasy#like it was supposed to be :(#and in my dreams I’ll be touching your face#it would’ve been fun if you would’ve been the 1#Christ almighty#I am feeling gay and depressed in this Chili’s tonight#I love you buspar but I hate you for these dreams it felt SO real
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wouldn’t it be fun if the squip not only optic blocked michael but also made jeremy completely forget about him
#has this been done before#like#he has access to his memories i’m assuming#if he made jeremy think/feel like he was completely friendless#and without anything or anyone holding him back it would’ve been even easier#that also means unless the squip lies to him (which he could and does i’m pretty sure) jeremy chooses to forget about michael#if he does lie to him and jeremy only agrees to optic block him then it’s ‘optic nerve blocking on’#and ‘click’ 12 years of his life with michael gone just like that#and he doesn’t even realise#he meets michael in the bathroom and he’s slowly like ‘i know you. you’re very familiar to me but i have no idea who you are’#cause the squip is off and i doubt 12 years of memories can just come back in a snap#that’s also why he has no idea why ‘get out of my way loser’ is so emotionally devastating to michael#cause he has no memories of michael mell as a person at all#no matter how familiar he feels he’s just a guy in a bathroom. and that’s all he’ll be#would make for some fun angst content no#man my tags are really where all the interesting stuff is huh#tags compared to the post is a 12 to 1 ratio#anyways feel free to steal the idea idk if i’m gonna do anything with it#cant draw cant write#but like tell me if you do yk#bmc#be more chill#jeremy heere#michael mell#bmc jeremy#jeremy bmc#bmc michael#michael bmc#boyf riends#<- that would make it even WORSE
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me when the bacteria c o l o n i s e s
#m a n. i thought that the sample would turn out negative for bacteria (like the rest have been for the past. what. year and a quarter(?))#esp since the agar testing stick things used were freshly expired (thanks for the expired reagents workplace; cost cutting ftw!!!!)#but. ewwwwwwwwwwww it actually grewwwwwwwwwwww#and the small stick thing was covered from like top to bottom in countless dark red colonies. ewwwwwwwwww#all the other agar stick things were completely clean though so it was def a problem with the sample and not with my handling of the agar#in any case!!!!!!! it was the first time i saw a positive for bacteria growth on a sample and!!!!#it was also my first time reporting the results for this test!!!! without any of the test-familiar staff around!!! so!!!!! not fun!!!!!!!!#i didn’t even k n o w what they meant when they asked to ‘describe the colour/appearance of the colonies’ bc the managers’ expectations are.#just. *weird*. sometimes. ughhhhhh im ready for the inevitable groupchat callout on tuesday with ‘who taught you to report like this????’s#well e x c u s e me for not knowing sir you never taught me how to report colony growths or anything auauaaaaaaaaaa#but is ok!!!!!! i’m taking tuesday off anyway!!!! it’ll be the tuesday workers’ problem now!!!!!!!! good luck guys!!!!!!!#at least there was no fungi either… now *that* would’ve been extra gross#the bio class flashbacks were r e a l today… thank god i don’t ever have to open that stupid pharmacopoeia ever again#also reminds me of (one of) my stupidest moments in a bio class though…#back in the days of yore (read: anatomy class in the year of ‘17) i was an absolutely horrible student who’d never fail to nap in class#so when my lecturer asked connecting questions down the class register…#yk stuff like asking student 1 to ‘name a type of cell’ and then asking student 2 to ‘name an organelle that a [student 1’s cell] contains’#he asked the girl before me to name a hormone. she answered ‘growth hormone’. and i was like. dammit. idk where it’s found. lolhelp.#(bc i never read ahead either + the growth hormone didn’t even show up in lessons during that school term)#so when he inevitably asked me to ‘name the organ that produces the growth hormone’ i answered (exact quote) ‘i don’t know; the ovaries????’#the class laughed. sad. the lecturer retorted with sth like ‘then are you saying that boys can’t grow?’ and i just shrugged#the girl after me (who incidentally has the same first+last name as me phonetically speaking) gave him the right answer thoughhhh#i hope i managed to buy my name twin enough time to look up the correct answer (if she didn’t already know it) with my stupid guess#yeahhhhhh i do n o t miss bio class. at all. giggity#anyways that’s enough flashback sequences for one year. can’t believe the next year’s less than 10 days away tbh. can’t wait!!!!!!!!
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We’re gonna ignore the fact it’s nearly 3 am while I type this but I’m gonna for once embrace my true cringe-I say as cringe is dead-and admit at least here since I said it on twit but not everyone follows me there that I’ve been cooking up a getter crossover fic with mega man ZX of all things. Why? Well next to mega man being what truly sparked my obsession for robots and ZX is my favorite series of the franchise there is a scary amount of similarities between the two that a crossover unironically fucking works well. Like I don’t think it was anything intentional, ZX definitely has some mecha influence like every other mega man series but it was more so (obviously) inspired off of toku if we focus on an genre in Japan. However both in a way can be boiled down to “humanity’s future is tied directly to machines” and “destiny is my path to choose” in terms of narrative themes so they legit stick together sososso well.
(also I noticed like- Arma!Kei and Go and Ashe and Grey are almost scarily fucking similar minus Ashe&Grey actually getting to know each other since that sadly doesn’t happen-in the manga they do meet but they aren’t related rip-in game but I might need to save that for a different post even though it’s not at all in the au since there’s no place for it I just I rotate it constantly)
Me and my beta reader were so insane enough that for nearly a YEAR we figured out this au because it was just “what if ryoma but in ZX” for the longest fucking time I’m not fucking exaggerating because it’s a semi trend of mine to want to throw ryoma into other series even if I’ve mostly restrained myself with this 💀 But when the fic is up I will likely be tagging it under ZXG so it’s easy to organize so yeah.
#meg text#fanfic rambles#au rambles#crossover au#getter robo#mega man zx#also chapter 1 has been written but idk when this is going up#mainly because my life is gonna be busy and I just finished another chapter fic#so I should rest even if the worms are tingling#I’ve been like- scared to admit this because the getter tag is filled with crossovers and I was the first to not write one#but this au is different ig since I’m actually using the getter cast which NONE of the crossovers ever do#and this isn’t to throw shade bc I’m not gonna judge someone’s work but man if I don’t hate that trend#Also ZX tag also has this issue but the difference is before I came you could actually find fics in that tag#It’s main writer is just someone writing omega fics which good for them but hey there’s a good zx3 fic there#oh and I would’ve made a tag for this au sooner but I’m so slow with digital art *sobs*#I mainly do sketches but even then I haven’t drawn this au ENOUGH but I should more#the designs I made are legitimately fun and more easier on my art style#esp when hayato isn’t a fucking pain in the ASS for once to draw#oh and I need to make a “is that a ZXG reference?!” Meme with ooc spoilers sometime soon#just to confuse people and give them a idea wtf I’m planning
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We had a big long talk. We’re on the same page again. I don’t like where the story is headed, but at least I can take some solace in knowing there is no animosity.
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MY TURN!
✩ pairing: dazai x afab reader x chuuya
✩ cw: threesome, rough sex, spanking, creampies, breeding kink, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), fem pet names, dubcon-ish, UNGODLY amounts of cum
✩ notes: breedtober fic 1 !! this concept has been brewing in my head for a WHILE. enjoy!
✩ wc: 1.6k
want more of breedtober?
it all started with an argument, that led to a dare - one you didn’t have the pleasure of being present for or aware of.
who can get her pregnant first?
or rather,
if we both fuck her, whose sperm will take?
you had messed around with both dazai and chuuya more than once - both under the incredibly persuasive influence of chuuya’s finely aged wine, and under no influence at all. unless you count the insatiable and unbearable lust for the two men who made no effort to conceal their desires for you. but you’d never fucked them both at the same time
and this plan - it was a disgusting, vile, deplorable plan, especially under the guise of just a good, fun night. ‘let’s just pass around a bottle of chardonnay and see where the night goes,’ they had said, despite knowing exactly where the night was going to go. but fuck did it feel good.
“ch-chuuya,” you moaned, stuttering as he fucked you mercilessly from the back. one hand dug deep into the plush of your hip to pull your ass back against him, meeting every one of his thrusts, while the other slapped your ass so hard you shivered each time.
the sound of skin-on-skin filled the bedroom as he bottomed out with every thrust, burying his entire cock in you until the ginger puff of hair at the base tickled against your skin.
“yeah, darlin’? that feel good?” he smirked, picking up the pace and rewarding you with yet another harsh spank.
and you wanted to scream, wanted to cry out a yes, yes! chuuya, harder! but, you couldn’t, and dazai made sure of that by pushing your head down rather hard as you sucked him off.
having been so distracted with the way chuuya fucked you good and deep, you truthfully weren’t paying attention to dazai’s cock, and it drove him to a level of anger and possessiveness, almost jealousy, he can’t remember the last time he felt. and he normally wasn’t a head pusher - he really wasn’t, but he wasn’t about to lose to chuuya.
you had only been indulging in occasional kitten licks and sucking on dazai’s angry red tip, as every time you tried to venture farther, chuuya seemed to angle his hips differently or spank you hard to pull your attention back to him, and dazai could not and would not have that.
saliva and precum poured off your bottom lip as dazai fucked your throat in time with chuuya’s thrusts. you choked and gagged as he gripped your hair and thrust up into your mouth, grunting wildly as your throat tightened and spasmed around his aching length.
“you have no fucking clue how sexy you look right now, doll, swallowing my cock, taking it so fucking good,” dazai smirked, tightening his grip on your hair. chuuya rolled his eyes.
dark streaks of mascara stained your cheeks from your tears, a sight that only drove dazai even madder, and one chuuya was getting more and more jealous of. but he knows there was no reason to - not yet, at least. he had the center stage, the spotlight on him as a hand snaked down underneath you to massage your throbbing, neglected clit as he fucked you hard and deep. and his cum was what was going to fill your cunt first, allowing him to succeed in their fucked up little dare - he was more than sure of it. just the thought of it, alongside the way you clenched deliciously around his length, was pushing him over the edge.
“shit, baby, gonna cum,” chuuya muttered right into your ear as he draped his chest over your back, kissing up your neck. “want me to fill up your pussy? breed you like a bitch in heat?” he was going to regardless of your answer. dazai scoffed, but chuuya ignored him easily.
you likely would’ve protested, and indeed had the thought to instruct chuuya to pull out, but your mouth was too busy for you to do anything but gasp as thick ropes painted the walls of your cunt a milky white. he made sure to press his cock in all the way inside you and tilt your hips down, the tip brushing against your cervix, to ensure his cum seeped right into your ready and waiting womb. and you couldn’t be mad about it - not when he continued to whisper dirty, filthy words into your ear as he played with your clit.
“my turn,” dazai smirks, tugging at your hair to prompt you to pull off his still aching hard-on. you finish up with a long lick on the underside of his cock along the pulsing vein, smiling up at him as you breathe heavily.
truthfully, your pussy already felt too used and abused from chuuya, but you were starting to ache for dazai too. luckily, the man was happy to oblige.
chuuya begrudgingly pulled out to allow dazai to take his turn, regretting not just beating his ass and taking you for himself, filling you with his cum and his cum only.
repositioning you to lay you down on your back, dazai smiled at you, playing up his irresistible charm before leaning in to press a long kiss to your lips. “gonna make you all fucking mine, pretty girl,” he smirks, voice low and gravely. “make you beg for my cum this time, yeah?”
you could only whine in response, yearning for him - at this point you had no fucking clue who you wanted more, but it had stopped mattering. when they both were treating you like this.
“hurry it up, dumbass,” chuuya muttered, arms crossed as he sat on the edge of the bed. he had an idea for what he wanted to do with you as dazai took his turn, but he couldn’t get to it with dazai yammering in your ear like that.
“don’t worry, doll,” dazai sighed, caressing your cheek. “he’s just jealous.”
“the fuck i am,” chuuya gripes, voice dripping with sarcasm.
“just fuck me, dazai, please,” you whined, gripping his bandaged arms. and there’s no way he could say no to that.
spreading your legs wide, he lined up his cock before sinking into you easily, already stretched and prepped from your previous round. it was a conscious choice not to acknowledge how he was using chuuya’s cum as lube.
having already been picturing this moment since they dragged you into bed, dazai built up a pace fast, and you curled your legs around his waist to ground yourself as he jostled you around.
“so fucking tight, baby,” he gasped, gripping your waist. “i know you wanna take my cum so fucking bad, fill your pussy ‘til it can’t hold any more.” he was nearly babbling to himself at that point, mind reeling with how good you felt.
“shut it, shithead,” chuuya hissed, deciding it was his time to join in. he’d never, ever admit it, but he was getting impossibly turned on watching dazai fuck you senseless, and his dick was already chubbing up at the sight. and the way you moaned and screwed your face tight, shit.
climbing over you, chuuya placed his knees on either side of your head to hover over you, his heavy cock right in front of your face.
“y’re gonna take it just like this, darlin’,” he smirked gripping his length and prodding at your lips with the tip. it was a bit like trying to hit a moving target with how hard dazai was fucking you, but chuuya didn’t give a shit. he just needed to feel your mouth.
despite your poor throat already feeling bruised and sore, you opened up willingly, digging your fingers into his toned thighs in a feeble attempt to stabilize yourself. dazai only glared as chuuya lowered himself further to allow you to suck in his cock, wishing he had chosen that position himself. he chose not to let chuuya get to him though, just pushed your thighs further apart to allow better access.
“that’s right, baby, take it all in,” chuuya coaxed as you choked on his girth but persevered anyway. his thighs burned a bit due to the unnatural squatting position, but he couldn’t care less - he was already embarrassingly close to cumming down your throat.
dazai loathed the fact that you weren’t paying much attention to him at all, deciding to spit on his fingers and rub quick circles around your clit, making you gasp and moan around chuuya’s cock.
“feel good?” he smirked, massaging it in time with his thrusts.
you desperately wanted to respond, encourage the man touching your sweet spot, but chuuya commanded all your attention as he started to fuck your throat.
and in the same way chuuya couldn’t help but be turned on by dazai’s cock driving you mad, dazai was nearing his high hearing how you gagged and gurgled on chuuya’s length. the warning of his oncoming orgasm just barely left his lips before he was groaning and stuffing you with his seed this time. the tight clamp of your thighs around his waist tightened and your toes curled as you felt the hot cum leak out of you while his fingers pulled you closer to your own high.
you had never felt so full in your life - dazai’s cock still buried in your cunt alongside two heavy loads of cum, and chuuya’s cock stuffing your mouth, alongside his hot cum sliding down your throat.
the two men eyed each other knowingly as they wiped your spent body clean, washing away all the splattered cum minus the loads that seeped out of you - and maybe dazai even used two fingers to push it in a little deeper.
both incredibly cocky men, they were both certain it would be their seed that took - but they’d have to wait nine months and see.
#dazai x reader#chuuya x reader#dazai smut#chuuya smut#soukoku x reader#soukoku smut#bsd smut#dazai x y/n#dazai x you#chuuya x y/n#chuuya x you#bsd x reader#bungo stray dogs smut#breedtober 2023
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Trigger Tease
Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Your honeymoon from hell takes you straight to a strip club south of Madripoor, where Bucky teaches you how to give a lap dance, shoot a gun, and kill a man all in one night—and maybe agree to have his baby, too.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Oral (m! & f!receiving). Sex in a sauna. Sex in a strip club. Praise & degradation. Breeding kink. Daddy kink. Double homicide. Dickriding. Beefy, mob boss Bucky hates birth control and bad men—loves babies and killing HYDRA operatives for his wife.
Descriptions of violence throughout
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4
Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.
Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.
‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, but that was no matter. What counted now was making the shot, and getting it right.
You sincerely hoped you wouldn’t fuck this up.
It was no secret that the Barnes’ bloodline was steeped in dealing, stealing, gunslinging, and laundering cash. Staggering privilege, too. From the sandy shores of Curaçao to Luxembourg and Guinea-Bissau, any living heir to the dynasty could have expected to find safe refuge and respect just about anywhere that they went. It was all but engrained in their DNA at this point.
All that is to say, Bucky had no trouble finding a foreign hideaway in a pinch. He liked the Swiss Alps the best.
After your short and sweet conversation with ‘Joey’ over the phone—HYDRA hijacking the intercom system—he and Sam and Steve had made the split-second decision to reroute the plane to Zürich, and now you were here.
72 hours into a four-day ticking time bomb and totally clueless as to how you might stave off impending death, and mitigate other casualties, the best that you could.
The stress fucking with Bucky made it worth it, though.
In between breakfast and the start of your husband’s early briefing that day, you’d found yourself situated in much the same way you’d been spending a lot of time lately: pinned against the wall of a wood-paneled sauna, Bucky’s broad shoulders supporting both of your legs as he buried his face deep between your thighs. You sighed.
“Hold still,” Bucky grunted, voice muffled as he tried to keep your slick, squirming body in place above him.
You yelped and seized a fistful of his hair when he wedged his tongue even further inside you, nudging your clit with his nose almost too teasingly and deliberate.
“I can’t…help it,” you bit back, ignoring the brief glare you earned from your husband as soon as you said it, “Your tongue’s just so— s— James!”
This time, Bucky let out a full-throated groan when you yanked on those poor wet locks of his—‘Gonna make me bald by next Christmas if you keep doin’ that, honey’—and he pried his head from your legs just long enough to knock you flat on the sauna bench close by.
The western red cedar seared hot on your skin, already flushed from the exhaustion wrought by Bucky’s tongue; you hardly had the strength to hold yourself up when he pushed you onto your back and crawled over your body.
“How ‘bout my fingers, doll? Can you take a couple’a those for me?” Bucky crooned above you as he stroked your hair, bathed in pure sunlight pouring in from the windows. His voice was a touch more sympathetic now.
After all, this was your third orgasm of the morning. It really wasn’t fair for him to use that biological weapon of mass destruction he liked to call his tongue when he knew how sensitive your clit would get from just one ‘O’. Even his hands might be too much in your current state.
Bucky was busy peppering your skin with kisses, working his way from the base of your neck to the crown of your head, when you whimpered and tried to fight a smile.
“Finger,” you corrected him, “Just one finger, Barnes.”
You would’ve thought you’d just thrown your wedding ring in his face and told him to eat shit. Just one?
“How’s one finger s’posed to stretch you out for my cock, huh? Practically had you screamin’ when I stuck it in last night,” Bucky wasn’t one to hide his amusement, grinning even bigger when you swatted him on the arm.
“Who said anything about your cock?” You tried to keep cool as Bucky’s fingers trailed right back down to the place you felt yourself throbbing, aching for his touch, “You have a meeting in ten minutes.”
“Meeting doesn’t start until I say so, my love,” Bucky reminded you just as his index ghosted over your folds.
In truth, he was willing to play this game any way, and for however long, you wanted it done, so long as he was the one bringing you pleasure all the while. Be that his cock, his finger, or all fucking five on one hand, Bucky just wanted to get you off. It was far better sustenance to him than the whole fucking meal he’d eaten that morning.
Bucky kept it down to one digit and lightly circled your bundle of nerves when he sensed you were ready.
You gripped his forearm and shot a quick look between your legs, still in disbelief as to how he could make you feel this good so soon after you’d cum twice before. You felt his lips drift over to yours and steal a few kisses.
“Always doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praised, moving his finger in circles. When you whined against his mouth, he pressed it even harder, “Such a good girl for daddy.”
“James,” you breathed, clenching your legs together.
“Everything OK?”
“Uh-huh.”
More than OK, in fact. That delectable coil of sweet, euphoric release was already swelling gently in your tummy. Bucky moved his finger even faster.
“Tell me how it feels,” he murmured low in your ear.
Bucky loved seeing you try to articulate your feelings—relatively fresh and new to your world, still—while he was giving you pleasure. Adored the way you winced and whined and arched your back into his touch as a whole blustering hailstorm of sensations crashed over you.
He sank his tongue in your mouth as he kissed you, as if trying to extract the words from between your lips. Your response, in consequence, came somewhat stifled.
“Mm— feels so, oh—” Your voice broke off in a moan when Bucky tightened his circles, “—so good, daddy.”
“Wanna show daddy how good and cum for me?”
Bucky knew by the way you were whimpering under his hand that the tendril in your stomach had almost tripled in size. It wouldn’t take much to tip you over the edge.
“My sweet girl,” he said, rubbing your cunt at the same time he was stroking the back of your head, gently, “Feels so nice down there, doesn’t it?”
You rolled your hips against the bench and nodded. Your breaths were short and ragged, panting helplessly into Bucky’s mouth when he adjusted his hand just a little: pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit, with his index moving down to your entrance. Pushing inside you.
“Another,” you choked, not thinking.
Bucky met your desperate gaze and nodded, knowing this was exactly what you needed to make it over the precipice.
Still, he wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t tease just a bit.
“I thought my wife wanted one finger,” he hummed, brow pinching inward.
“No, no.” You could’ve shrieked when he curled the digit, “Want more— Bucky, please, please, I need more.”
Again, your husband appeared to nod in understanding, but his fingers didn’t budge. He worked his thumb a little faster and watched you writhe on the seat beneath him.
“How many, honey? Don’t wanna hurt my baby.” His words were all kindness, it seemed, but his tone laced with shameless condescension—the kind that said, yes, I know you need this, and no, I won’t indulge you just yet. Bucky was the worst when he wanted to prove a point. You could’ve ripped at his clothes and torn them in two if you weren’t both stark naked and shrouded in steam.
You opted to pull at his hair instead.
Bucky winced, but the smirk never left.
“I said how many?” he pressed again.
“Three. Four.” Fuck if you knew.
Your husband raised both eyebrows and hummed, a single finger still plunging in and out of your cunt at a rapid-fire pace. He teased the tip of another at your entrance and smiled even more when you whined.
“Needy little thing, isn’t she?”
“Bucky—”
“Just wants to fuck daddy’s hand to get herself off, hm?”
Bucky didn’t bother to mask his sweet, degrading tone any longer as he talked down and teased you to no end. It drove him half-insane to see you squirm around, rut your hips, let him say the filthiest fucking words he could conjure up, and just bob your head to whatever he said. His impeccant wife and her insatiable needs—Bucky couldn’t even begin to express how turned on the sheer dichotomy got him. He stared in your eyes, all glossy and soft, and felt his cock stand even more rigid on his belly.
He didn’t give a shit if he’d taunted you enough or not; he just shoved his middle and ring fingers alongside the first and clenched his jaw to start fucking you hard with all three.
Your whole face contorted with pleasure, tinged with the faintest shade of discomfort at the tail end of it. You’d forgotten how big his fingers felt all together.
“Bucky,” you whined, mindlessly clawing at the wrist that was moving back and forth, fast, between your legs, “B-Baby, slow— slow down a little.”
But Bucky was deep in the zone. He knew you wanted it too—sensed that you liked to play it safe when it came to your pleasure and grew a little timid at times it got to feel too much—and he needed to talk you through it.
Rather than turn his head and keep to himself as he got you up to your peak, Bucky pressed his face down to yours and nodded again—this time with a tender sincerity.
“Feel a little stretch down there, huh?”
You didn’t have to say anything, just whimpering in time. Bucky kissed your forehead and let you fold into him as his fingers wreaked havoc down below. He kissed you again, and again, and in between kisses, mumbled,
“That’s daddy’s sweet, needy little slut.”
“My perfect fucking wife, so good at taking my fingers.”
“Gonna be nice and stretched out for my cock, hm?”
Every syllable spoken aloud was like a brand new catalyst for your impending release. You barely nodded your head, opened your mouth and whined pathetically, but that’s exactly how Bucky wanted you. Exactly how you needed to be, bucking your hips in time with the cadence of his fingers fucking inside you, and soon, those whimpers were turning to moans as that soft little helix inside you reached its breaking point.
Bucky brushed once or twice more against your sensitive spot, and suddenly you were coming undone all over him—crying his name, clawing his skin, squeezing your legs so tight around his wrist you feared you might snap it in two, and then getting kissed again, over and over. Bucky soaked in your every sound, and the few tears that would inevitably spring to your eyes, like sweet nectar.
You were still moaning, curling your tongue feebly against his own and leaning into him as far as you could, when your husband slipped three fingers up between your mouth and his and pushed them past your parted lips.
“Suck,” Bucky said, clenching his jaw as he watched you, “C’mere, honey, taste your cunt on my fingers.”
You took him in and sucked your arousal off his fingers just like he asked. Took him by surprise and dragged a mindless, lazy, half-crazed and careless tongue all over his hand, where your juices had no doubt collected too.
That slutty, fucked-out look you gave him—like your brain had all but fallen out of your head with the orgasm he’d given you—was everything Bucky could’ve wanted.
He climbed on top of you and took the base of his cock, rock-hard and weeping tears of precum from the tip, almost drunk from the feeling himself. His mouth hung open as he dragged himself over the seam of your cunt.
“I need to fuck you now.”
Bucky’s words couldn’t have hung in the fog-infested air for more than a millisecond or two before he had you back in his arms and carried to the far end of the sauna.
At the door—or, rather, on it—with your back flush against the wood, you felt Bucky pin you in place with his hips and press his erection to that soft, cramped space between your bodies. You tightened your legs around his middle and sucked in a breath when you felt him pulse.
Then the head of his cock was circling that slick, taut ring of muscles like all hope for his future happiness lay there: right between your legs in the softest and sweetest recesses of your body he could reach. His eyes could’ve been engulfed in flames and still not betrayed a fraction of the smouldering desire that lay behind them now—he drank you in with a single look and sighed.
“Can I— do it, now?” The term ‘fucking’ swiftly lost all lustre when he was an inch from your heat and ready to press in; he just needed to be in you, a part of you, now.
“Yeah,” you breathed. You pressed your forehead to his.
Bucky ran his tip once more down your slit and had just begun to ease his hips forward when a moan snagged in his throat. He braced you firmer against the door, letting your arms drape over his shoulders, and was just about to slide his length inside of you, then—
Thump, thump, thump.
Three knocks in quick succession.
You jumped, the sudden raps reverberating up the door.
Bucky held you to him, tight, and planted a hand beside your head as if to hold the whole frame still. Then, through gritted teeth,
“What the fuck do you want?”
“Need you downstairs. Now.”
It was Sam.
“Can it wait?”
“No.”
Bucky frowned. Scratched the wood surface reflexively.
“Can it…wait?” he tried again, tone laden with a silent but pointed, ‘Is it urgent enough to drag me away from my wife when I’m less than an inch away from being seven inside her?’ Evidently, Sam got the gist, or was just keen to get him out, because he returned, quick:
“Yeah. Legal’s here.”
‘Shit’ was Bucky’s wordless expression below you.
Then a ‘Shit, shit, shit, just shoot me now’ kind of look that raised an eyebrow on your own frazzled face.
Wasn’t the arrival of Bucky’s legal team a good thing? He’d been agonizing for days, badgering Sam and Steve to no end over when they’d hear back from his retinue, and here they were. You couldn’t ask just yet, as your husband was lowering you to the floor and stepping back from the door, chest racked with a shuddering breath, but you wanted to know. You reached for a towel.
“Fine. Fuck. I’ll be right out.” As it was, Bucky had chosen to forgo the dry-off altogether and just started chucking clothes on his body, eyes roaming all over.
You turned from the sound of Sam’s retreating steps and found him moving fast, graceless—shoulders hunched, head bowed, pants wrestled almost angrily up his legs. He found his balance, barely, bracing his weight against the sink, then nearly tore the porcelain fixture off the wall with how hard he kicked it trying to get his left shoe on.
He muscled into his dress shirt and flushed bright red.
In a second, you had either side of the crisp white button-up between your hands, frowning.
“Any reason why we’re so upset?” you asked after a beat.
Bucky puffed a short breath over your head as you secured the first button. Then the next. Then the next.
“What? Apart from the fact I’m not balls deep and about to give you your fourth orgasm?” he grumbled.
You shot him a look.
“I mean it’s— not ideal, getting a visit at a time like this,” Bucky continued once he’d sufficiently contained half a smirk and could don a more serious look, “If we were getting any good news they would’ve just called.”
Hell, great news could’ve made it in an email. The whole aggregate of his legal team taking the trip from Brooklyn to Zürich meant that shit had most likely hit the fan in a big way. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to learn the ‘how’ just yet.
Instead, he cupped your cheek in one hand and brushed his thumb along its curve once you’d made it to the last button of his shirt. He started to lean in, hoping to delay the briefing downstairs with a quick diversion to your lips, but he stopped about an inch away from your face.
You’d lowered your touch, slipping it under the band of his boxers. He was still as hard as you’d felt him last.
Bucky let out a grunt when your fingertips grazed the soft tufts of hair adorning that part of his abdomen. He sucked in a breath when they sank even further.
“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” you said, voice dulcet and slow as you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft.
Again, a sound rumbled deep inside Bucky’s chest, and the thumb resting on your cheek stirred. In fact, it had no other choice—your head was starting to move.
Descending, slowly. Sinking to the floor in front of him. Positioning yourself right above the bulge in his pants.
Now Bucky’s palm was laying flat on your head, resting light as it ever had while you drew him even closer.
“Baby—”
“Yeah?” you hummed, just then tugging him out and bringing your mouth to the swollen, leaking head. Bucky gripped a good handful of your hair and rutted his hips without meaning to, and you smiled, “Can’t have my husband showing up hard as a rock to his meeting.”
You were right. There was no way Bucky was getting rid of this wood without the help of his hand or one of your holes. And, under any set of circumstances, he would’ve much preferred the latter to the former. He groaned when you took his tip to your lips and stroked him softly.
You made remarkably quick work of the man with just a minute or two, your mouth, your hand, and a tiny bit of spit—a record-breaking feat, Bucky had thought to himself with some embarrassment. But you weren’t concerned with his stamina in the slightest, focusing instead on the ways in which you might maximize his pleasure in the same way he’d done for you. Stretching your lips, loosening your jaw, and taking him down as far and as frequently as you could manage without gagging around him, you had him good. Deep. All but aching for release as he took a firm hold of the sink behind him.
“That’s a—fuck, that’s a good…fuckin’ girl.”
You bobbed your head once or twice more, flitting your gaze to his face, and felt the warmth unload in ropes—glazing your throat and every soft, square inch of your mouth as he did. Practically flooding your tongue with his cum. Bucky groaned and made a fist in your hair.
“Baby…shit,” came the sound of disbelief under his breath when you pulled off just enough to breathe.
You were careful how you took in air; flaring your nostrils the slightest bit, feeling a twitch at the corners of your lips as you tried not to smirk. Then, with an obscene sort of precision and purpose, you gave something else a try.
You stuck your tongue out at Bucky to show him the warm, oozing load he’d just left in your mouth.
Your husband’s response was immediate: evidently, he loved nothing more than a show of himself inside you, displayed like a prize between your two rows of teeth. You watched him grit his own to suppress a moan.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he seethed. Still reeling from his high.
Then he paused, in awe for a second, before dropping one finger to your mouth and swirling his touch along the sticky, opaque puddle resting over your tongue.
You closed your lips around him, snug, and held his gaze.
A weaker man might have come undone. Bucky just let out a breath and smiled.
“If you wanna play show-and-tell with my cum I can find someplace to put that, doll,” he said, low as ever, then,
“C’mere.”
You didn’t need the powers of telepathy to understand what he’d meant. Should’ve known better than to dip your toe in the cumplay game with a man who arguably harbored the world’s biggest breeding kink and really wanted to knock you up. The realization had you back on your feet in an instant. Having swallowed fast, pried your lips off his digit with a pop, and licked the corners of your mouth, you rose without the threat of a second thought.
Your pale yellow dress was the first thing you grabbed—the first thing Bucky tried to yank off of your body when you’d slipped it up your legs and staggered backward.
“Not happening, Barnes,” you giggled, pretending not to see him advance when you stepped back.
But Bucky had never been big on civility in times like these. He lunged forward and nearly tore the barely-zipped frock off your frame, eliciting a shriek and another arch look from you as you started toward the door.
You were amazed you made it through—your husband had had to stop to tuck his dick back in his pants before stumbling after you—but when you took off down the hall, you knew it was only a matter of time before you heard his footsteps thundering fast after your own.
The tips of your toes had just barely grazed the first step down the stairs when hands seized your hips. You yelped.
“BUCKY!”
Whether on account of your own practiced agility, or the fact that Bucky’s palms were still sticky and slick with his sweat, you managed to wrest yourself out of his grip just long enough to get a start down the stairs.
“COME HERE!” Bucky boomed loud, trying his hardest not to laugh as he chased after you.
You screamed without meaning to. Yanked your wrist out of his reach when you’d made it to the bottom of the stairs and felt your husband close the distance in quick. You tried to be firm, insistent, primed with the kind of fine and unfuckwithable attitude that signaled you meant business. You didn’t, though—the series of giggles bubbling up in your chest said as much.
You descended the last step with a hitch, almost losing your shit within a foot of the landing, when Bucky scooped you up in his arms and held on tight. His lips were at your ear in a second, breaths coming in quick.
“Hell, I’ll give you one right here, honey,” he sneered before flipping you back around to face him.
He pressed you flush to the wrought iron railing, then over it, pushing you back bit-by-bit until you had no choice but to jump and latch your legs around his hips.
“James Buchanan Barnes, if you don’t—”
“Give you a baby right now?”
“—get off of me!” You were laughing now, squirming when he nipped at the space just below your ear.
One more second and he might’ve convinced you. Your Bucky was persuasive like that, too smug and self-assured for his own good but one hell of an advocate when he wanted to be. At length, he opened his mouth to take an even bigger, teasing bite, when a voice cut in,
“Barnes.”
He stopped. You froze. Together, you reluctantly turned your heads in the direction of the sound and found a keystone conference table situated at the far end of the room—seating a dozen-odd faces with identical, muted expressions of surprise. Mild discomfort, for some.
Wild discomfort for your mother and father, you saw.
Bucky set you down and simultaneously yanked the hem of your dress back into place. Flashed a smile for the ages and snaked an arm around your waist as he started to lead you over.
“Nat! Hi,” he tried, far too casual, “Long time no see.”
You bit the inside of your cheek hard and hoped like hell your husband had remembered to zip up his pants.
The woman at the head of the table—the source of the voice you’d heard—raised a brow. One cherry-red curl from her sleek, cropped bob threatened to fall out of place as she tilted her face to regard you both. The smile Bucky proffered had done nothing to repair her glare.
Some wordless exchange passed between the two of them, and next, you felt a hand directing you to a seat across the way—Steve. Smug as ever. Smirking just then.
The empty chair beside your mother. The horror.
You were dimly aware of some introductions being made on your behalf and a round of awkward, disjointed congratulations around the table. Greetings from Nat, Sam, Steve—conceited little shit—a few you knew as Bucky’s groomsmen, a couple members of the security detail, and several more friendly, unfamiliar faces, including a smartly dressed blond named Sharon. Your husband had taken a seat by the latter at the end of the table.
“Momma.” You weren’t sure why you felt the need to whisper when the attention had turned back to Natasha and other matters, but you did, “Where have you been?”
Your mother and father were perched in their chairs like prisoners. There were no shackles to be seen but an air of discomfiture and compulsion bound to their every feature. You couldn’t be sure if it was humiliation on your behalf—they had just witnessed their son-in-law promise to put a baby in you for all present to hear—or something more.
For once in your life, you hoped it was just the prudish, sex-averse tendencies of the two rendering them silent.
You tried your mother again when she hadn’t responded.
“Momma.”
“Now is not the time.”
Her voice was clipped. Abrasive.
You knew better than to test that tone another time. You sank back in your seat and let your gaze roam the table, flitting between your father and Bucky a few more times than it probably should have. Surely, your dad, who had screwed Bucky over to hell and back, obliterated your wedding, and jeopardized your lives for a few more million in his pocket would have warranted some sidelong, hateful look from your husband. A glance or a stare, certainly something to show that he knew, and hadn’t forgotten.
No—Bucky was occupied with Sharon at the moment.
You watched your father twist his signet ring on his pinky, jerking the gold back and forth as if hoping for it to break, or save him. He didn’t look at Bucky, either.
“Natasha Romanoff is the Barnes’ retained legal talent for all things maritime crime and narcotics trade-related. Some estate planning, too,” a voice rumbled beside you.
You made a low ‘Hm’ to feign understanding of whatever the fuck Steve had just said, and nodded.
Then, when your eyes wandered left again,
“Sharon Carter, criminal liaison and kingpin informant. Been in bed with the Barnes’ as long as I can remember.”
He really couldn’t have used a worse string of words if he had tried. You cocked your head just slightly and stared at the pair. You considered holding your tongue.
“And she’s been in bed with Bucky how often before?” You’d decided against self-restraint for the time being.
Steve blinked a little harder.
“What do y—”
“I’m not asking if, but when, they fucked,” you interrupted.
Steve blinked again, as if to clear a string of cobwebs from his eyes, and couldn’t quite find the words to answer your question. Either the truth or some half-baked crock of bullshit—there was no in between.
“Once,” he answered, at length. Honest.
You figured as much.
In any other situation where you were faced with one of Bucky’s former fuckbuddies, you probably would’ve felt more than a twinge of jealousy. Might’ve even cast a dark look in the girl’s direction and willed her not to even breathe the same air as him. Then you remembered you weren’t fourteen years old and could behave with some modicum of maturity when it came to some old flame of your husband. They weren’t even sitting that close.
You winced when Bucky gave her shoulder a playful squeeze, though. That facial tic you couldn’t control.
“So to recap,” Natasha announced, having just plodded through a few dull formalities up front, “Barnes got the intercom call from Schröder at 1500 hours, Friday.”
Every head nodded.
“Schröder gave Barnes exactly ninety-six hours to recover the $90 million lost in the…mishap, in Brooklyn—” Natasha’s eyes flickered to your father no longer than a second, “—and today is Monday. We have twenty-four hours to come up with the funds, or face the…penalties of Schröder’s exploding offer. Whatever those may be.”
You knew what ‘those’ were. Ms. Romanoff was either too kind or too diplomatic to say it, you reckoned, but the threat Joey Schröder had made to Bucky had been patently clear: procure the cash or your wife’s family dies.
That was why you’d been so surprised to see your mother and father seated at the table that morning—Schröder had further stipulated that there was to be no contact between you and your parents in the time it took to come up with the money. You’d been completely cut off, in the Alps, since the day of the attack, left to wonder without reprieve whether HYDRA’s bloodless henchmen had taken hostages of your parents, let them abscond to Brooklyn, or simply killed them both and sent the rest of you all on a wild goose chase to get hold of the money.
Now if they’d only had sex once, why was she looking at him like that?—The intruding thought couldn’t be helped when you peered over again—Surely the most platonic and professional working relationships didn’t call for looks like that.
Shut the fuck up. Shut the entire fuck up, please.
The lives of those closest to you were on the line and all you could think now was how well you compared to this random woman in giving Bucky head? Brain fucking rot.
You scrunched your nose and turned back to Natasha.
“…and up until this morning, Schröder’s whereabouts were unknown,” she continued, careful as she spoke.
It seemed that part had caught Bucky’s attention, too, because he was tilting his head away from Sharon and shifting his gaze to the woman at the head of the table.
“And now?” he cut in.
“I’m getting there, James.”
Sharon smiled a little at that, tracing her nail on the notepad in front of her. She muttered something to Bucky, who disregarded her remark entirely.
“Do we know where Schröder is?” he barked.
Across the table, Sam shifted in his seat. He glanced to Natasha, then Sharon.
“I believe we have modestly reliable intel—” he began, only to have his speech mowed over by an impatient, increasingly irate Bucky.
“No. No— we don’t do ‘modestly reliable’ for this, Sam. We either know where the fuck the guy is or we don’t.”
That last fragment seemed to hang in the air a couple seconds longer than needed, and a tense silence fell over the table. It took a new voice—one you hadn’t heard much at all yourself—to reignite the conversation.
“I know it,” Sharon said, “I know he’s in Madripoor.”
Madripoor? The make-believe safe haven for terrorists? You couldn’t tell if she was kidding at first. Then Bucky flitted a look to the side, and his expression was grave. Natasha’s, too. Maybe there was a Madripoor after all.
“Or he will be there, most likely, tomorrow night,” Steve interjected. The hands that had been folded neatly in front of him were now tapping a light and mindless beat on the table, “He’s got the Foxy Den rented out for a…thing.”
Bucky rolled his eyes.
“Where else but a titty bar would Joey host his ‘things’?” he muttered just loud enough for everyone to hear.
So Madripoor was real, and it had strip clubs. Wonderful.
It seemed Natasha was keen to regain control of the conversation, because she presently broke in,
“Keep in mind that time is of the essence—a private flight from here to the Indonesian archipelago is sixteen hours minimum. We most likely can’t afford to fly private, b—”
“Since when the fuck can’t I afford to fly private?” Bucky spat.
You hated how short and plainly nasty he was being to all those around him. If you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought these folks were at fault somehow, but they weren’t. Your father, the real culprit, was sitting right under Bucky’s nose, and he wouldn’t even look in his general direction. Your husband flared his nostrils with a new surge of indignation, and Sharon patted his hand.
“She’s not talking finances, bub,” the blond started, “She’s saying your jet is on a no-fly list, we don’t have time to charter a new plane, and there’s a hefty fucking bounty on your head if you ever set foot in Madripoor. We need to get you on a commercial flight, undercover.”
“Fuck that.” Bucky’s response was reflexive. He rose fast.
If your parents could have appeared any more stiff and uncomfortable you might have mistaken them for two charming, thoroughly terrified wax figures. Your father continued to fiddle with his ring as he watched Bucky.
Natasha tensed as well. As soon as Bucky was up on his feet, pacing around at the end of the table, she was urging him to relax, Buck, this isn’t anything we haven’t done before—sit down, please. Bucky didn’t sit, and he most certainly didn’t relax, but he did kick a stool across the room.
“I am not going back to that shithole.”
The stool tumbled onto its side, one leg splintered in half. You made a mental note to look into some anger management classes. Your parents, along with most of the table, flinched at the crashing sound, while your husband stood, supremely agitated, and did not even regard the broken chair. He turned away from Natasha.
“Yeah, well, that ‘shithole’ is our only hope of getting Schröder behind bars and you out of custody, Bucky,” Natasha called as he started to pace away.
“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
Bucky tilted his head to the side. He contemplated snagging a bottle of Macallan 25 off the bar cart by the window but decided against it.
“Have you been listening to a word of what I’ve said all weekend?” Natasha returned, almost as biting, “Turned on MSNBC or CNN or any other news outlet in the last forty-eighty hours?”
She dropped her own notepad on the table and scanned the area in search of something else. Sam and Steve took that as their opportunity to jump in.
“Bucky,” Sam started, calmly, “There were over a dozen foreign attachés and two heads of State at your wedding, half of whom are now being hospitalized for injuries they sustained in the attack.”
“So?” Bucky snapped.
His eyes were already trailing back to the cart.
“So you think the U.N. Security Council was just gonna let that slide?”
“Two-thirds of its members have been up in arms, practically chomping at the bit to get someone pinned for the fucking thing—that leaves you or Schröder on the chopping block,” Steve chimed in.
“So one more federal probe. What’s the big deal?” Bucky hardly realized he’d taken a tumbler in his hands.
Just as he’d turned to pour himself a drink, guided more by bare muscle memory than anything else, Natasha raised a manila folder—the item she’d been looking for. He’d filled his glass half full when the folder was flung his way like a frisbee. He narrowly saved himself a papercut—or ten—by ducking his head, almost spilling his drink.
“The fuck, Nat?!” he bellowed.
“Extradition, Bucky. Search warrants for your Brooklyn residence, all your money service businesses up the Eastern Seaboard, and a whole hell of a lot of other financial records that we do not need dredged up in this mess.” Natasha pointed to the folder on the floor, which had just spilled a litany of documents at his feet.
“Let them.” Bucky wasn’t fazed by the warrants, walking over them as he drank, “I’m not going to Madripoor."
This time, it was Sharon's turn to roll her eyes as she swiveled in her chair to face Bucky. She was turned from you now, but you could almost smell the smug, knowing look she raked over your husband as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back.
"We don't have time for this," she said, coolly, "If you have any hopes of getting the Counter-Terrorism Committee off your ass and Schröder in custody, you'll listen to Nat."
Bucky paused, weighing her words in his mind before meeting her gaze again. He brought his glass to his lips and drained it.
Then, perhaps feeling a bit emboldened by the idea that she was the only one to have shut Bucky up—to have made him listen, as it were—Sharon piped up again. You didn't need to see her face to know for certain there was a smirk etched across it,
"Don't look so glum, honey. We have no choice here."
It startled every last soul at that table, yourself included and Sharon especially, when the cup in Bucky's hand sailed across the room and shattered on the edge of a cabinet close by. Before the glass had so much as splintered and scattered half of its jagged shards along the floor, your husband was stalking, then stopping, then looming over Sharon with an implacably dour look. And a jaw set tight as you'd ever seen it.
"My choice," he seethed, so low the words almost came out in a murmur, "is to protect my wife. Whatever you, or Natasha, or anyone else has in mind comes second to that. Do you understand?"
Sharon nodded that she did.
A hushed silence fell over the room once more, only now its duration was greater, and the cause of it—your red-faced, fuming husband—had turned his back to the group and was retrieving from the bar cart another glass. Another drink. Natasha followed his path with a vigilant eye.
"Bucky," she said.
Bucky didn't answer. Filled his new glass to the brim.
"Bucky," Natasha tried with a little more volume and vigor.
Your husband lifted the cup to his mouth and started to guzzle, against every shrill and helpless plea from his liver, you guessed. You wanted to object, to take leave of your seat as quick as you could and knock the thing out of his hand before he could finish, but Natasha had you beat—not with any physical act but a word to slow him down: "Barnes."
Then, a few more to get him to stop entirely:
"Look. Over there."
She pointed to a slip of paper somewhere at the top of the shuffle.
Bucky shifted his gaze to the floor. You saw him lick both corners of his mouth, bathed in whiskey residuum and a light, nascent spatter of stubble. He looked almost menacing in spite of the grin that kicked up.
"What's this?" he murmured.
"The terms of Schröder's newest offer. The one he made this morning."
Bucky's second glass was discarded in an instant.
He dropped to his knees, seized the paper in his hands and pored over the bare, 11-point Times New Roman typeface like it was the single most precious set of words in the world to him. There were several mountains of text, and you sensed he couldn't begin to under the legal jargon with just one cursory look.
"What? What's'it mean?" Bucky wouldn't tear his gaze away, even as he shouted to Natasha.
Your own eyes probably should've been fixed on Bucky, or in your lap, or out the window, reflecting in silence on what the fuck could be going on and why it felt as though things were suddenly coming to a perilous head. Instead, you pivoted to Natasha. Her face was tilted to you.
Then she spoke to Bucky, still crouched on the floor a few feet away from her, but she kept her focus on you. She spoke carefully.
"Schröder won't take the money, Bucky."
"What?"
Bucky's gaze combed over the page, desperate to make sense of what was printed in front of him—"The hell's this all mean, Nat, tell me what it means and what he wants, for fuck's sake."—and he flipped the document. Read some more. His eyes flitted from line to line in a full-blown terror.
Then the eyes stopped in one spot.
Bucky stood.
Fisting the letter in one hand and making a wild, inarticulate gesture with the other, he probably could've seared a hole in Natasha's head with the force of his stare. She refused to meet it.
"This is a joke, isn't it?"
All of a sudden, your father leaned over your mother to you,
"We can make it work. We can keep you—"
"Hey. Don't talk to her. Don't fuckin' look at her. Is this—"
"—safe. We'll keep you safe, darling, I swear."
"—some kind of sick fucking joke?!"
You stared at your dad in disbelief. Bewilderment. Then you chanced a look at Bucky, who had all but gone blue in the face as he approached your father from the opposite end of the table, letter still crushed in his hand.
Your father averted his gaze.
He knew.
You saw him flick the gold signet on his pinky once more, and for reasons you didn't yet understand yourself, you couldn't look away from it, or him.
Surely this scared-shitless son of a bitch could speak to you now. He'd have to. There was no way he wouldn't when the problem was staring him right in the face and his son-in-law was practically apoplectic with rage in front of him.
Something clicked in Bucky's brain.
He knew.
Your husband’s breath caught with the full weight of the realization, and he blinked. He didn’t hesitate; he simply sidestepped Sam and Steve—who had stood as soon as they saw the look of understanding cross over his face—and he seized your father. You heard a scream, most likely from your mother, and you saw Bucky swing, but the act barely registered as real until his fist first cracked against your dad’s skull. Again. And again. And again.
Somewhere in the raucous din and sounds of punches, kicks, and muffled groans, a discharge of blood, and the dim recognition that some of the stuff was dousing you, too, you managed to make out several words, disjointed:
“—FUCKING KILL YOU—SOLD HER—SOLD HER?!”
Roleplay was fun—even vital for a marriage like yours.
Only instead of assuming the role of sexy masseuse, strong and strapping CEO, hands-on handyman, or some naughty professor with a knack for after-class punishment, Bucky got to play a bloodlusting assassin.
‘Winter Soldier’ didn’t have quite the same ring as most pornographic tropes, it was true, but it was an alter-ego he’d been given from his earliest days as a made man. A caricature of himself that was to represent everything he did and was capable of doing in places like Madripoor.
You didn’t know that side. You didn’t like that side.
It was Bucky, and it wasn’t—pummeling your father’s face in the ground after learning that he had offered you up, again, in satisfaction of a debt. Sparing no feelings when he spoke to Natasha, Sam, Steve, Sharon, or anyone, making clear his wife’s safety was paramount.
Maybe you were meant to feel proud. Or flattered. Or safe. But oddly, the longer you’d stared at the bloodied, bruised fist he held above your father’s face and the half-deranged look of anger on his own, the more you began to wonder if the fury was for your protection, or simply a knee-jerk response to the thought of losing a possession. A mere object that he couldn’t bear to part ways with.
You had thought long and hard about where the Soldier stopped and Bucky began. No matter where you landed, you were far from comfortable with the conclusion.
Now, even as you stood two feet away from the man in an upper-level lounge of the Foxy Den, roughly half a day removed from the whirlwind turn of events that almost sent your father to hospital, you hardly knew what to say.
“Zip me up?”
The closest thing you’d had to conversation in hours. Bucky obliged.
You viewed your new dress in the mirror from the side and made a face. Pretended to examine the tight black number but were really just zeroing in on the sight of Bucky’s knuckles as he dragged the zip up your back. He hadn’t bothered to mend his hands, and you hadn’t thought to offer to bandage them up. You tried not to stare.
The hands paused at the top of your dress and froze.
Then crept back slowly, taking the zip along with it.
“Wanna—?”
“Bucky!”
One low groan, followed by a palm to his worn and wearied face. When you spun around, he didn’t move.
“Are you serious?” you bit.
“Will you talk to me now?” Bucky retorted.
To be fair, neither he nor his Winter Soldier persona knew how to solve the silent treatment from a pissed-off wife. This was brand new territory—being ignored for hours on end—and frankly, he had thought a playful request for sex might make you more amenable to conversation.
He had thought wrong.
You stared daggers at his handsome face and raised a finger as though to warn him, then stopped. Opened your mouth as if to speak, then appeared to decide against it. A steady, pulsing bass from the floors below was all that could be heard, and momentarily, you were reminded of why you were all here in the first place:
Locate Schröder. Corner Schröder. Capture Schröder. Bring the bad man to justice—or else just pump the motherfucker’s head full of lead and be done with it.
You weren’t too familiar with the particulars of the plan, but that had seemed to be the heart of it. Bucky never intended for you to stray from the safety of the lounge upstairs, where half of his team were casing the club through dozens of surveillance cameras, and he would likely take off with Sam and Steve the second you’d finished dressing. Now would be the time to talk.
And you planned to. Eventually.
For now, though, you’d let him sweat it out.
You had long envied women with effortless sex appeal and charisma. The kind that seemed to be made for the stage, capable of transfixing any audience, or individual, with little more than their aura alone. You’d never felt a fraction of that allure emanate from yourself before, personally, but looking at Bucky now brought you as close as you’d ever been. He was enthralled by your every move, he was intrigued at all times, you could see.
He was visibly aroused before you had even touched him. You knew it was cruel and unkind before you were even fully conscious of what you were doing, but you did it.
Someone had to teach this man how to control his anger—and his urges—somehow. Who better than you?
You drew closer to Bucky until your fronts almost touched.
“Baby,” you murmured. Simple, nearly plaintive.
Bucky blanched. Could it be? Had his bullshit gambit actually paid off and made you want to talk, or possibly do more? His hands immediately went for your hips, but you were quick to shove them off. You poked one finger to his chest and shook your head.
“We can talk,” you said, measured.
You pressed into his sternum and pretended not to see a short-lived look of defeat, followed by confusion, cross Bucky’s features. He let you walk him back a step or two.
“Okay. What about?”
Where the hell could you even begin?
“Sit first,” you urged him.
It was then that he realized you’d been walking him toward the plush sectional couch behind him—a cozy little touch to the VIP room only marginally diminished by the fact that it was coated in liquor, coke, and glitter. Bucky sat down anyway.
You didn’t follow, choosing instead to stand as you appeared to…scratch something on your back? Your husband looked on in muted curiosity as you reached behind yourself and tilted your torso just slightly.
Then he heard a zip. A hitch. Another, longer drag.
Bucky knew he was fucked before you ever slipped the dress off your body. You were to make quick work of it, eyes never leaving the man in front of you as you peeled the fabric down your legs and off of your frame entirely. When you were down to just your underwear, you hadn’t even needed to see his face to know exactly where his gaze was likely to land—this part was new to him. You kicked the dress aside and let him stare.
To be fair, it wasn’t every day he got to see a Ruger LC9 strapped to your thigh. Hidden in plain sight now that you were stripped bare before him in just your bra, panties, and garter-like holster across the top of your leg.
“Where’d you get that?” Bucky nearly choked, eyes wide.
“TJ Maxx,” you huffed, “Where the fuck do you think?”
“I never said you could— And Sam and Steve—”
Bucky paused, suddenly aware of how indignant and stupid he was starting to sound. He had given orders to the rest of his team not to let you carry a gun under any circumstances, but here you were. If he weren’t so violently aroused by the sight of you wearing the thing, he probably would’ve been fuming.
“A couple guys from your security detail were kind enough to make an exception,” you smiled, words verging on smug, “And who’s to say what I ‘can’ and ‘can’t’ do, hm?”
Bucky looked as though he were priming himself to stand when you lifted one stiletto to rest between his legs on the seat. A silent and quasi-sweet threat in one gesture.
“I didn’t say you can’t— well—” Bucky faltered at the last.
“You just said you never gave me permission!” You threw your hands up in exasperation, “That doesn’t sound very equitable to me, James.”
Bucky let out a frustrated sigh of his own.
“C’mon. You know what I mean, honey…I just…want to keep you safe. You know that.”
“Self-defense is a pretty integral part of safety.”
“No one’s ever taught you to shoot!”
“You never bothered to ask!”
This was getting a little too aggressive and Jerry Springer-eqsue for your liking. Not nearly sexy or seductive enough to be heading in the direction you wanted. Bucky always brought the bickering out of you, but you had to stay strong. Slow and steady and all that bullshit.
So, before he could respond to your last remark, you lowered yourself over him. Brought both legs to bracket his hips and hovered carefully in place above the bulge in his tactical pants. When he swallowed beneath you and raked his gaze over your body, you felt a twinge of relief.
You sank further down. Dragged your lower half over his own and earned a groan from deep within his throat. Again, his hands flew to your waist to get a good grip, but you pried them off before they could ever fully sink into the flesh.
“What?” Impatience palpable in Bucky’s tone.
“No,” you answered simply.
“No?”
“No, you don’t get to touch me. You don’t own me.”
Your husband shifted under your body, hands helpless at his sides and masseter muscle visibly clenching beneath the skin as he gritted his teeth. He shook his head.
“I never said that I did,” he managed, after a pause, “Baby, I love you.”
“And beating the shit out of my dad was your special way of showing that?”
“That wasn’t—”
“Or snapping at Natasha. And Sam. Steve. Sharon,” you added emphasis to the last name without really meaning to, and Bucky raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. I…lost my temper, I—”
“Couldn’t control your anger. Or wouldn’t. All because my dad made some stupid deal with a man and offered me up as collateral.”
“Because Joey wants you for himself!” Bucky snapped, voice suddenly raised to a near-deafening pitch. He shifted his hips and inadvertently grazed the heat between your legs, drawing a subtle pinch in his brow at the friction, “The deal your dad made was to give you over to Schröder in satisfaction of his own fucking debt—you think I was just gonna sit by and let that happen?!”
In spite of the animosity, you pressed your body to his even harder and watched him fold—if only slightly. He breathed a sharp inhale through his nose and flexed both his hands, as if wanting to make fists. However, he knew better than to move himself around at a time like this.
“What? Like the deal you made with him?”
Your words were clipped, almost cruel. You knew it would hit a nerve in Bucky, and sure enough, he met you right where you wanted him: enraged.
“That’s fucking different,” he seethed, “I would’ve paid your father’s debt without— without anything in it for me.”
“But you didn’t, and you got me.”
“And I love you. I don’t wanna lose you.”
The abrupt vulnerability in his voice was all but agony to hear. For a second, it seemed the anger had fled—or at least been eclipsed by some softer, sweeter shade—only for Bucky to blink again, shake his head, and wear that stupid, hardened look that said, ‘I am not losing this.’ Your hands reached for his belt and started in on the zip.
“You have a real fucked up way of showing love, James.”
To your surprise, Bucky let you continue, unhindered. Blue eyes meeting yours in a cold look.
“Makes two of us,” he mumbled, shrugging his boxers and trousers out of the way anyway.
That was probably true. No person in their right mind would think fucking their husband was the safest, most surefire way to let him know they were pissed at him, but both you and Bucky were working on communication skills, still. You’d get to healthy, non-sex-fueled fights at some point.
As it was, Bucky was fumbling around your thighs, trying to pry them open even wider for better access through your panties. That you allowed, but the second he tried manhandling you over his crotch, you pushed back.
“I wanna do this— without your help,” you said, firm.
Somewhat begrudgingly, Bucky agreed. He let you line yourself up with his length, brace your weight against his shoulders, and when you paused, he made a soft, ‘Hm?’ and glanced down where you looked. Before you could remove the pistol from its holster, he set his palm atop the cool metal.
“Leave it,” he murmured.
His eyes flashed with desire. It was almost more than you could bear, despite the plain fact that riding someone with a firearm strapped to your thigh probably violated every NRA gun safety rule known to man. Whatever.
You lowered yourself onto Bucky, slow, and sucked in a quick breath as he filled you. Your husband groaned.
“Fuck,” followed shortly thereafter, almost timid to crawl out of his mouth as you sank to a fully-seated position on top of him. He gripped the armrest beside him.
When your hips first stirred, you thought the man might burst a blood vessel trying not to move right along with you. You pressed a hand to his chest and reminded him, gently but with purpose: let me fucking do this, Bucky, and he relented. Fisting the couch cushion in something close to a death grip, he nodded his head and heaved a short breath and watched you all the while, grinding on him.
“My pretty…pretty girl,” he managed through his teeth.
He was doing better than you expected. You watched his face contort with pleasure when you lifted yourself up to the tip of his cock and slide back down. You squeezed his shoulders, and you let out a low whimper yourself, and dammit all, you felt that pesky fucking knot already forming in the pit of your stomach. You glanced down and frowned, wanting this to last so much longer.
Fortunately, when your eyes found Bucky’s again, you got the sense that he was in the same boat as you: brow furrowed tight in concentration and lips parted slightly, panting in time with each one of your movements.
“Baby,” he said, the single word treading close to a plea. He paused, dropped a glance to the spot where your bodies were coupled, and swallowed. He cursed aloud, then continued, quietly, “Baby…’m’sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” You bounced a bit faster.
“For— fuckin’ hell, honey— for being a…dick.” The last part of his sentence was pierced by a grunt and a moan, but you heard it just the same.
You clenched around him and tried to keep steady. Manage a small, shit-eating grin above him, even.
“Being a dick?” you repeated, pretending not to know what he meant. When his cock grazed over a particularly sensitive place inside you, you just swallowed the moan and kept going, fingers taking hold of some short tufts of hair at the back of Bucky’s head as you rode him.
“Possessive. Controlling. Kind of a—” Bucky paused to grunt when he bottomed out inside, hands aching to hold you, “—piece of shit.”
Finally, you were getting somewhere. Not nearly close enough to cure the rage or the dark, grating impulses churning inside of him, but good enough, for now.
You reached for his hands and set them over your hips.
The next most natural thing was to lean down and kiss him—let his tongue invade your mouth as soon as he’d caught your lips and show you, with a wordless and fast-moving show of affection, that he missed you. And meant what he’d said. With his hands moving quick to cup your cheeks, hold you to him while he kissed you and stroked deep inside your walls, he gripped you tighter than he had in a while. You could feel strips of tension and desperation bleed through his every fingertip.
“Wanna…fuckin’ kill anyone who even thinks…of— fuck,” Bucky’s words were almost slurred at this point, so close to the point of release it seemed every wild and wanton thought that crossed his mind was likely to dance off his tongue, unchecked. You loved to see him in it this deep.
You also had to remind the murderous alter ego that violence was not the answer…always. You let him pull you closer, bodies pressed flush against each other while you fucked, but you made sure to tilt his chin up to yours so he could see the expression on your face as you spoke.
“Hey,” you pinned him with one stern look, “No murder.”
Bucky frowned.
“Yes murder,” he retorted.
You sighed.
This shit was worse than teaching a dog not to bite.
Instead of pulling back or being strict this time, though, you decided you’d give positive reinforcement a try. You squeezed his short locks of hair, gently, and rolled your hips even tighter to his, eliciting a stuttered groan. You bounced up and down on his cock, pulled him into your chest, and brought your face within an inch of his.
“Promise to be good, and I’ll let you cum inside me,” you murmured into his lips. Not the wisest offer you’d made to date, but one that Bucky seemed to want more than the air in his lungs the second the words escaped you. He pulled you in for a kiss, immediately.
“Fuck, you mean it?” he breathed, in between each sloppy, frenzied movement of his mouth.
“Yeah,” you tried not to grin at how eager he seemed, “You’re gonna apologize to everyone, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
Bucky barely seemed to register anyone or anything but you and your pussy at the moment, yearning for the go-ahead to let himself free inside you. With a nod of your head, you’d let him start meeting your motions with gentle thrusts of his own, and both of you were teetering precariously close to the edge with that added pressure. In spite of both your hot and heady, near-anoetic states, you endeavored to hold out a little longer, legs aching.
“Gonna try and talk to Schröder first?” you panted.
Bucky rutted into you hard, lips twitching into a frown.
“Doesn’t…deserve it,” he grunted, barely able to get the words out as he grabbed your hips and thrusted harder, “A fucking bullet between the eyes is what he needs.”
You eyed him soberly, or as serious as you could manage with the force of his strokes nearly sending you into a spiral. You fought back a moan and gripped him tighter.
“Bucky.”
“Bunny.”
Damn, that name.
“Promise me you won’t kill him—or anyone—tonight.”
“Baby—”
“Promise.”
His thrusts were getting sloppier; with his hands hoisting you just above him and his cock practically drilling into you now, speech and coherent thought were some of the toughest things to accomplish, but he tried it, anyway. Bucky would swallow his pride and accede to his wife, no matter how fucking badly he wanted to cum—and kill that Russian mob boss with both his bare, bloody hands.
He could be better than the Winter Soldier. He would.
With a rough, labored breath, Bucky pulled you in for a kiss and felt you squeeze around his cock like a vice. Still thrusting, clutching you, kissing you hard, he saw both of your releases coming in fast and had to act even quicker.
“I— I promise,” he stammered.
That was all either of you needed, or could bear, quite frankly. In the next second or two, you felt a cord snap in your lower half and a deep, punchy flurry of pleasure follow shortly thereafter, fingers sinking deep in Bucky’s shoulders as he bounced you on his cock and held you close. With your walls still pulsing around him, you felt him chase his own high at a breakneck pace, shooting his load inside you a moment later. It was bad, it was brash, it was a really fucking dumb idea to be playing around with the odds of making babies at a time like this, but it also felt good. Exhilarating, even, feeling him empty his balls in that space between your wet, aching walls and filling you up with his seed.
Maybe just one little mini-Bucky wouldn’t—
STOP.
You barely had the energy to acknowledge, much less arbitrate that bone-crushing conflict between your brain and reproductive organs, so you shut the thoughts up with a quick, messy kiss to Bucky, whose chest was still heaving from the peak of his release, holding you to him.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Maybe even two—
FUCK YOU.
The internal war wouldn’t go away that easy, it seemed.
You kissed Bucky long and hard regardless, hoping the shit would sort itself out before you really had to think. Or worry. Or plan. It was dumb and a bit short-sighted, but feeling that hot, erratic pulse between your legs did a pretty good job of making it seem just fine for right now.
Bucky’s expression was lax. Soaking in the feel of your cum-painted insides still squeezing around him, gently. Had he been anywhere but the heart of Low Town on a covert mission in a strip club, hunting down the head of HYDRA with a whole troupe of trained assassins, he probably would’ve liked to stay that way a little longer. But, as it was, he could already hear folks filing in and out of the lounge, footfalls growing heavier as his team loaded up with guns, grenades, and whatever other weapons they could fit beneath their formal attire.
“Don’t look so sad,” you said as you lifted off of Bucky. Carefully pulling your panties back into place as your husband watched you do it, practically forlorn.
“Too late,” he returned in half a groan, yanking his own clothes where they needed to be and trailing a look up your legs, “Might feel better if we tried it again, though.”
“I bet.” You pulled your dress over your head.
Your husband had just tightened his belt and was rolling his shoulders to get a knot out of his neck, it seemed.
“What are your thoughts on ‘Bucky Jr.’?” he asked casually.
“Don’t start with this shit.”
“Jamie for a girl, maybe?”
“I’ll kill you.”
Your baby talk and death threat tête-à-tête continued for quite some time—just a couple minutes, but they felt like years to you—and before long, you were rubbing the gun under your dress and casting a glare in Bucky’s direction, and he got the sense that it was time to head back to the group. He looped an arm around your waist and led you out into the main space.
The living room was little more than a makeshift headquarters at that point. You’d been expecting to see more faces, but the only ones you found were Sam, Natasha, and a few silent, beefy individuals you assumed were part of security. Where Sharon and your parents had gotten off to was anyone’s guess. You took a seat on the couch.
“Anything yet?” Bucky questioned, approaching the panel of surveillance screens with a wary eye.
“We’ve had intermittent visuals on the second floor for forty minutes or so—” Sam motioned to one screen on the left, “—but Schröder hasn’t moved. Hasn’t done anything but bullshit and booze and buy rounds for his group. Won’t even talk to the dancers, which is weird.”
From what you’d been told, the goal was to get Schröder off the second floor, up to one particular private suite on fourth, then send in an agent dressed as a bottle girl to make entry as soon as the rest of the party had arrived, keeping in contact with HQ, and Sam, via PTT earpiece all the while. The details from that point were hazy, but you’d gotten the sense that someone—or, more likely, a sizable and duly-equipped group of someones—was lying in wait somewhere in the suites surrounding them. Steve had been tasked with leading the incursion, though where he could be found, or whom he was with, remained largely a mystery to you. Recon in a bustling, crowded area with music blaring on all four sides was a formidable undertaking, and you could tell both Sam and Natasha had been having trouble keeping tabs on every player. They seemed on edge, monitoring the screens.
“Won’t talk to the dancers?” Bucky’s brow pinched in.
“Won’t talk to anyone outside of his inner circle,” Natasha said, grim, “Which leads me to think he’s not staying here long. Probably called his associates in for a speedy-quick deal because he knows he’s being tailed.”
“Hasn’t engaged with any of our undercovers?” Bucky pressed.
Natasha and Sam shook their heads. Your husband groaned.
“Then how the hell are we getting him upstairs to the champagne room? If he hasn’t budged and doesn’t look like he’s planning to stay?”
The looks on the faces in front of him said there wasn’t one readily available answer—or any answer at all. Bucky turned back to the screens and seemed to survey the whole panel, gaze cooling with the first inkling that this operation may be classed a failure in the very near future.
He barked some half-coherent babble about strategy, security, and failsafes, then barked for Steve.
And, as if on cue, Steve appeared at the threshold of the room a moment later, breathless and slightly flushed.
“Rogers, you’re suppos—” Sam started, eyes widening at something you couldn’t quite discern from his arrival.
“I know, I know,” Steve cut in, fast, “Want the good news or bad news fir—”
“Just spit it out,” Natasha said, preemptively unnerved.
“Schröder’s headed to the suite right now—”
Bucky raised both eyebrows at Steve as he continued.
“—but they won’t let Wanda in.”
‘Fuck’ was the first audible word from your husband, then Sam, in short order. Wanda must have been the agent playing bottle girl upstairs. This didn’t sound good.
“Why the fuck won’t they let her in?” Bucky snapped.
“Someone might’ve tipped his security off. Or else they’re just being extra cautious about who’s let in.”
Steve fiddled with one cufflink on his suit and tried not to appear too despondent, but the implications of this single event were huge, you could read on every face in the room. Wanda had been meant to do something important before the rest of the brigade mobilized—take some key step that couldn’t be omitted from the plan.
“So we retreat.” Natasha was not one to mince her words, per usual, “Get your guys out of the suites now.”
Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides.
“No,” he said, sharply, “We’re not doing that.”
“Bucky.”
“We’ll get someone in there. We’ll find another way.”
Your husband was already pacing the space in front of you, and you looked on with uncertain eyes. You chanced a look to Natasha, Sam, and Steve, all of whom shared similar, albeit slightly more wearied, expressions as they watched and murmured among themselves.
“None of our people are getting up there, Barnes. Schröder’s got a goddamn sixth sense about our agents or something,” Steve said, at length.
“They’re all in masks—for a fucking masquerade—and we can’t get one person in?! In-and-out, that’s all it needs to be,” Bucky growled.
“We can’t get in there, that’s the point,” Sam sighed, “Masks or no masks, they know our people too well and won’t let us through.”
“We can at least try, for Christ’s sake. That’s what we came this whole fuckin’ way to do, right?”
When no one said a word in response, Bucky scowled,
“Right?”
There was a lull in the conversation that seemed to last for minutes, when, in reality, couldn’t have been more than ten or fifteen seconds. Tensions were high. You could tell from the look in Bucky’s eye he was trying not to lash out as he normally would, but in no time at all, you saw a fractional break in his resolve. You feared he might fly off the handle, or else compromise something that couldn’t be spared at a time like this. You swallowed.
“I’ll go.”
It was stupid.
Every face turned to regard you as if you were stupid, you assumed as soon as the words had left your mouth.
But then, much to your surprise, Steve was perking up, eyes suddenly brighter as his gaze tilted to you.
“She could,” he said, shortly.
“Should she?” Sam seemed to murmur at once.
“Sure, why not?”
“I can think of plenty reasons why not,” Natasha was quick to counter, but beneath that pensive expression, you could’ve sworn you saw the smallest degree of contemplation. Even hope, from the looks of it.
‘NO’ was Bucky’s wordless, immediate, and resounding answer as he kicked whatever furniture—a footstool, this time—was closest to him and sent it flying toward the door. It seemed that self-control of his had worn off fast.
“No,” he affirmed in a word a second later, jaw clenched, “She is going nowhere near that suite.”
He didn’t even spare you a glance while he spoke. He was too busy eyeing the others, Steve specifically, as his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths and a light, blooming tinge of pink rose the length of his neck. If it weren’t for that staunch and menacing look on his face, he would’ve almost looked cute, you mused to yourself.
But, pretty man be damned, you wouldn’t stand for being ignored. Fuck that noise.
“I will,” you returned, a little more resolute this time.
Now Bucky had no choice but to pivot to you. His expression softened some, but not by much.
“No,” he said, again.
“Yes.”
“Baby—”
“Don’t fucking ‘baby’ me, Barnes. You said someone who wasn’t an agent could make it up there, and I can do it. Or try, at least, like you just said.”
If your attention hadn’t been fixed on your husband, you probably would’ve caught sight of more than one thinly veiled smile from the group around you. Natasha, in particular, all but tickled to see someone stand up to Bucky and give him a taste of his own shit—and live to tell the tale. The sight of her boss’s eyes almost glossy in the first tender look she’d seen from him in years was almost too much to bear. Steve stood grinning beside her, and Sam narrowly stifled an exhale of amusement. Neither you nor Bucky flinched from your positions.
“We can’t risk you being around him. They’re already all on high-alert,” your husband said after a calming breath.
“As are all your trigger-happy comrades waiting just ten feet outside the door, right?” you replied, “What is it, like, five, ten of them in total?”
“Twenty,” Steve interjected. Bucky shot him a look.
“I don’t care. I don’t want you up there when that fucker was just trying to— to kidnap you last week. I’m not—”
“Right. Right. Trying to kidnap me, not kill me. If Schröder wanted me dead, he would’ve made pretty quick work of that before,” you cut in, tone a touch more deliberate, “Even if he sniffs me out, he’s not gonna screw this whole deal by hurting me now.”
But the mere suggestion of harm to you had seemed to raise every hair on its end for Bucky, and then he was shaking his head, evidently more stubborn than ever.
“No, fuck. Don’t start,” he snapped with his newfound indignation, then, quieter, “Please…don’t, honey.”
You wouldn’t bow that easily.
“Why not?”
Truly, Bucky couldn’t be certain if it was the lilt in your voice, the pinch at the sides of your lips, or simply the sincerity consuming your eyes as you spoke to him, but the man could not stomach the thought of you, his own wife, being a stone’s throw from mortal danger and beyond his protection—or control, he wasn’t sure which one of the two was more dominating. Some cruel and unforgiving knot inside him came to tighten, and twist, and, nauseating as it was set on escape, the white-hot surge rose like bile in his throat. Before he could stop it, the words were spilling out through his teeth like froth:
“Cause I fuckin’ said so, that’s why. That’s it. It’s settled. You’re not allowed anywhere near him, you hear me?”
What Bucky hadn’t expected was the swift ascent back to your feet. The cool and almost careless expression as you rose, as though his words hadn’t registered at all.
He certainly hadn’t expected you to check him with your shoulder as you passed, knocking him slightly off-balance as he turned, in shock, and watched you give him one manicured middle finger over your left shoulder.
“Rogers, I’d like you to escort me upstairs.”
Worst of all, Bucky hadn’t expected Steve to listen.
Fortunately for him, the night was still young and with it, more than ample opportunity to be proven wrong again. And again.
“And again,” Steve murmured low in your ear as you walked side-by-side down the corridor on fourth floor, “If you get even the slightest bad feeling, you leave.”
“Might as well dip right now,” you muttered, adjusting your mask. Your attempt at humor fell flat with the man.
“I’m serious. We’ll be right outside and listening in from headquarters, but HYDRA is not a faction to fuck around with, or underestimate—as I assume you know by now.”
You did. Or would, eventually.
After the mask, you were busy trying to yank the back of your cocktail waitress dress to cover the full swell of your ass, not just the upper two-thirds. Unsurprisingly, it was a tougher task than you had been prepared to handle. Your new heels were tight and impossibly high, your new dress a mere scrap of pink fabric riddled with sequins and glitter, and your mask—holy fuck, were you glad Mardi Gras was not a year-round affair. Bucky had insisted on the fluffiest, stuffiest, full-face covering to ensure that no one would be able to recognize you, but in exchange for your anonymity, you had had to give up breathing, it seemed.
And then there was that vial of poison between your tits.
Sam had assured you that it was a nonlethal dose before handing it over; Steve had urged you, discreetly, to pour Schröder two for good measure. Natasha had overheard the latter and threatened legal action if he ever tried killing a target without her permission. You hadn’t spent much longer getting ready in the bathroom after that. Then you’d brushed past your husband the second you’d stepped out and strapped that last, semi-lethal ‘accessory’ to your bra before taking the lift upstairs.
As it turned out, you weren’t able to escape him entirely.
While you walked with Steve, Bucky was in your ear.
Literally—the man was talking nonstop through your earpiece and clearly had no intention of shutting the fuck up anytime soon. You silently wondered if there was a way to adjust the volume on the gadget as you ambled along.
“Honey.” There was a slightly more mechanical buzz to Bucky’s voice over your private line. You ignored it.
“So just find the cup he’s drinking from and pour the serum in?” you reiterated to Steve for the third time in the last ten minutes.
Your companion nodded, rattling off a few extra precautions while Bucky’s tone rang out a bit louder:
“Honey? You there?”
At last, you stuck your finger to the tiny flesh-colored device in your ear and snapped, “What?!”
“I love you.”
This fucker.
“I love you too. You’re still high on my shit list, though,” you answered, low and begrudgingly.
“Did I hear ‘hit list’? You’re gonna let me tap that later?”
If you didn’t have about fifteen different reasons to hate the man’s guts, you almost would’ve chuckled. At length, you muttered a quiet, ‘Kiss my ass, Barnes,’ and turned back to Steve, who was just then leading you closer to a room roped off and marked ‘EXECUTIVE SUITE.’ Your stomach did a flip as you paused around the corner.
“Right there. All you gotta do is knock and say a guy named Zemo sent you,” Steve spoke slowly, as if he were teaching arts and crafts to a five-year-old and not a woman about to embark on a high-risk sedation mission.
You nodded and took the silver tray from him carefully.
All the platter contained was an oversized bottle of Brut and a silver bucket, but damn if it didn’t feel like you were carrying the world and some change on that thing. You shifted your weight from foot to foot and turned in the direction of the door just a few yards away.
The time for painstakingly descriptive instructions and pep talks was long past you now. You nodded to Steve one last time and started to wobble over.
The entryway was flanked by two muscle-bound men. You approached with a smile.
“Hi. Zemo sent me.”
You didn’t know who the fuck Zemo was.
You hoped they wouldn’t ask, or notice how stilted and awkward you’d sounded just then. You swallowed a peach-sized lump in your throat and smiled again.
The one on the left grunted. The one on the right gave a nod. Without a word spoken between them, the former opened the door and made way for you to step over the threshold. You couldn’t help but notice both with their eyes trained straight on your tits as you passed by.
There was no way that had just worked. No pat-downs or harrowing threats? Not a single, searing interrogation into your identity or what you might be there to do?
Men were dumb, you decided, far too easily deceived by a decent pair of tits—HYDRA security personnel or not.
But you already knew that. You stepped inside.
The fetid stench of half a dozen blazing cigars and booze spilled on every surface were the first to greet you. A wave of smoke, then a bone-jostling bum bum bum to the beat of what sounded like a Don Toliver song came next. You almost couldn’t bear to make your feet move.
But then, shortly, you had to because a shrill, shimmer-doused beauty was waving you over toward the kitchen.
“Ba-by!” she shrieked, gesture growing frantic, “Bring it over!”
You walked with the tray out in front of you, careful with your steps across the sticky floor. When you made it over, where one other girl was stirring wildly at some concoction on the counter, you stopped, and had only to stand for a second longer, because the redhead that had beckoned you was taking the tray, setting it down, and grabbing something thin and pointy. You’d barely even registered it as an ice pick until the thing was thrust in your face.
“Crush it up,” she ordered, one curt nod toward a block of ice nearby. Evidently not giving a shit who you were or where you’d come from either. You guessed Wanda had just gotten unlucky, or they’d all stopped giving a fuck once Schröder’s men had really started drinking.
And drinking they had been, as your eyes surveyed the scene. Half-naked women with fully-clothed men, dressed head to toe in the finest of suits that were probably soaked through to the bone with sweat and Stolichnaya. You almost shivered at the sight of all the masked, wildly gyrating pricks, fumbling desperately through one verse of ‘After Party.’ You could vomit.
But where was your prick? That grimy little shit, Joey.
“Back of the room by the couch,” Bucky said, as if he’d read your mind.
Then a beat.
“Wait. Shit. That isn’t him. Schröder’s over by the door.”
How many tall, lanky blonds could there be in this place? You cast a sweeping look across the room and received your answer in less than two shakes of a lamb’s tail—there were a shit ton of Joey lookalikes all around.
“Careful. Mr. Schröder’s been on edge all night. Might bite your head off if you stare too long.”
The girl that was stirring had apparently caught you looking. She set the spoon aside and turned, but not before chancing a quick glance at the man Bucky had identified to you as your target. The man lifted his gaze.
You chipped away at the ice even faster.
Crush the shit, make a drink, pour the serum, and get it in him. Now. Don’t draw his attention just yet, though.
Something in your head told you to steal another look. You knew it was a bad idea, but you went on and did it anyway—and fortunately, felt a wave of relief at seeing that he’d retreated somewhere back with his friends. The ice pick in your hands made it through the last block.
“I’ll serve the shots, you bring the bottle to Mr. Pierce.”
Mr. Who?
“One of Schröder’s associates. Roll with it.”
It was Natasha’s voice now. Measured, but tense.
“He’s the older gentlemen straight ahead. He probably ordered the champagne for him and the others.”
That was Sam. You could only imagine how all of them looked huddled around the surveillance panel with the transmitter to your earpiece being passed about from person to person. The grip Bucky must’ve had on his gun, or his switchblade, or whatever weapon he could seize to make himself feel a little less helpless. But he was—as were you. And truthfully, there was nothing either one of you could do about that until Schröder was in custody. This was the first step toward reaching that goal.
So you walked with the bottle, now bathed in a tub of ice. You tried to keep steady, but the staggering drunks all around were making that tough, to say the least.
When one man struck you straight in the chest, elbows jutting out as he danced, you stumbled back a step. Nearly lost the tray for half a second, then recovered.
Until the dipshit hit you again.
This time you truly almost sent the bottle sailing for the floor, grip slipping on the tray and knees buckling underneath you as the force of the blow set you back. You bit a quick, ‘Fuck!’ in the air, seized the platter twice as hard and braced your weight against something firm behind you. A shelf, a TV stand, or something. Maybe a half-wall if you were lucky enough not to have careened against some expensive piece of furniture. You sighed.
“Everything alright?” a voice rumbled behind you.
Or a person. Yeah, a person would be pretty fucking bad to bump into at a time like this. Your whole body froze.
You turned.
“Ye-es sir. Yes, sir.” You quickly righted your tone the second you realized it was someone important.
Not Schröder, but someone who seemed to be big-name enough; you just weren’t sure who. The man smiled down at you from under his Venetian mask.
“Is this for me?” he nodded toward the tray, half-teasing.
You swallowed.
“Are you Mr. Pierce?” you asked.
The man’s grin stretched even wider.
“Nope, I’m Ward. but I can take you to Pierce.”
For the first time that night, your heart swelled with some promise. You thanked him quietly, gratefully, then made as if to follow him back through the crowd, when all of a sudden, you stopped. That heartfelt swelling in your chest halted right along with it. You almost dropped the tray.
“Schröder!” Ward bellowed.
No, no, now you were actually going to lose your shit. There was no way in hell you were keeping a grip on this silver little plate any longer without crying or screaming or shitting your pretty, pink, sequin minidress right there. You almost shrieked when a hand reached for the tray.
“Pierce got you doing all the heavy lifting, huh, honey? The bastard.” Even through his own ornate mask, you could tell Joey was grinning—glinting with conceit, as was his prerogative. He took the load off your hands.
“Take it easy now, he’s just—”
“Staring at your rack. Pull your top up, baby, please.”
The chatter in your ear had switched from Sam to Bucky at nearly lightning speed. You glanced down at your cleavage and tugged the fabric up quick, heart beating even faster underneath it.
In front of you, Joey Schröder was all teeth. A gruesome spectacle in spite of its seemingly benevolent intentions, one smile could have turned your stomach sideways. And it did—you wanted to throw up again—but you knew you had bigger fish to fry, and evil mobsters to poison. You didn’t flinch when Schröder nudged you in the shoulder and made his way ahead, coaxing you to follow.
You didn’t tense and didn’t protest. Didn’t blink when he led you straight through the party, around a few topless performers on poles, and into a backroom lounge.
In fact, your mind practically sang as he led you inside.
It was just every other nerve, muscle, and trembling tendon not under the immediate control of your brain that needed soothing. You could’ve sworn the men on the couches would see your legs shaking as soon as you trudged into the room and sniff you out on sight.
But if they had, they didn’t show it.
No one moved when you entered, save for a few lopsided grins and tilts of happy, masked faces. Sizing you up. Drinking you in. Far too easily mistakable for a band of apex predators that had just caught wind of their next meal, and not a room full of sleazy Russian mobsters. You bit back your grating disgust with a smile.
“Got a present for ya, Pierce,” Schröder announced.
A honey-blond head flecked with silver and white sat up from the sofa. Presumably the one who’d ordered the champagne.
“Oh yeah? What’d ya pay for her?” he returned, mouth curling up in a wicked smile.
Even above the booming music, you could make out peals of laughter as the men around you shared in some lewd, crude comments and several whispers exchanged between them. You would’ve liked to grab your bottle by the neck and break it over the nearest patron’s head, but then you remembered yourself, and your mission. You stilled beside Schröder and let them crack a few more tasteless jokes at your expense. Schröder chuckled and set the tray down in front of a thoroughly amused Pierce.
Then he grabbed you by the waist.
“Right. I forgot to ask—what is your price, sweetheart?” he said, swiftly pulling you up to his front.
Your hands flew to his chest reflexively. Your nose scrunched in a wince at the sound of an electric shout:
“GET HIM OFF OF HER!”
“Bucky, hey, hey, we can’t just—”
“NO! THAT’S NOT PART OF THE FUCKING PL—”
The line went silent. You scratched at the space behind your ear, trying hard not to betray any pain on your face, or the fear for what might be going on downstairs.
Clearly, you failed on both fronts, because Joey’s grip only tightened. He peered down at you, curious.
“You deaf or somethin’, sugar? What’s your price?”
You batted your eyes, momentarily struggling for words.
But then, somehow, you managed to choke out, stomach churning with bile:
“Whatever you want, sir.”
You felt your soul drain out through the soles of your shoes as you’d said it. Something fell from your face—most likely a light behind your eyes and any semblance of self-worth as you stood before the man who had tried to buy you, drug you, and kill half your family, and then pretend like you wanted to dance for him, or do more.
It wasn’t real.
It wasn’t right by any means, but it was all just roleplay.
Roleplay.
You had to keep telling yourself that as you let Schröder’s hand glide up your spine and grip the back of your neck, tilting your head up to his. It was just like your husband and his cold-blooded Winter Soldier persona, you tried to convince the increasingly frightened voice in your mind. Just like him, just like your sweet and soft and sadistic—
“Bucky,” you whispered unconsciously.
You knew he couldn’t hear you now. It was almost insane to think anyone could save you now but yourself.
“What?” Joey exhaled sharply.
You froze in fear.
“Five hundred bucks,” you corrected your error quickly.
You weren’t sure Schröder was convinced.
“Five hundred bucks for one lap dance and some fun?” he scoffed. Then he squeezed your neck a little tighter and drew your face within an inch of his own. You could feel the hot puffs of breath, smell the rancid liquor on his tongue, but you stayed where he held you in place and tried not to grimace when he said, “That’s a damn steal.”
Your lips were shaking something awful under your mask. You couldn’t even begin to imagine what kissing this vile, soulless bastard would taste like, but you feared it might come sooner than you knew, because Joey was drawing you even more rough and tight into his chest.
Just when your mouth was less than a hair’s breadth away from his, though, you heard a woman’s scream.
Then another. And another. And another.
Before long, almost half the suite had erupted in shrieks, it seemed, and the sounds of their horror were shortly supplanted by a series of explosions. And gunfire.
Johann Schröder dropped your body like the worst habit known to man and went bounding away from the turmoil as fast as he could. This time, you did trip over your heels and took a nasty little nosedive to the ground. Fumbling, crawling, then sliding across the shag carpet on your belly with your eyes in wild search of somewhere to hide.
You spotted a coffee table and muscled your way over.
“SCHRÖDER!” a voice roared from somewhere behind.
Again, you knew better than to look, but the fear of not knowing who, or what, might be barreling your direction at any second outweighed more sensible considerations. You stole a look over your shoulder and nearly screamed.
A man with a pitch black balaclava stormed into the lounge and wasted no time setting sights on his intended target—raising a Heckler & Koch MP7A1 submachine gun to his face and firing the second the impulse struck.
You watched a once-handsome, lively, and drunk man turn to shredded, fleshy carnage in less than an instant and fall right beside your head with a thud. Your hand was your only defense to keep the shriek inside your chest, but even that blockade was crumbling fast as the blood-soaked assassin wrenched the body in the air.
The gunman tore the mask from his victim’s head and inspected the face—or what was left of it. He cursed.
You could tell from your close proximity to the blues of his eyes, and that sigh, you wouldn’t need to ask at all. You just sat there and stared, knees hugged to your chest as Bucky threw the body back down as hard as he could.
“FUCK!” he bellowed, voice flooded with rage.
Steve stumbled in with his gun at the ready. He eyed the man on the floor, then you, then a dozen other flailing, desperate partygoers trying to escape the suite all around you. You just drew in even tighter to the table.
“What happened?! Where’d he go?”
Rogers, like you, seemed unable to look away from the carcass, but for entirely different reasons. He appeared to be studying it just as your husband had been.
“It’s not Schröder!” Bucky yelled.
“Where the fuck’s he— shit.”
Suddenly, an unknown assailant opened fire on the two men from the opposite end of the room. Both dove for cover, but not before Bucky grabbed you and dragged you, full-force, behind the sofa. It didn’t seem there was time for sweet words or consolations, his eyes wide and half-crazed as they bore into yours just in front of you.
“Don’t move,” he barked, readjusting his grip on his gun in one hand and feeling around all over your sides with the other. On seeing and feeling no trauma, he nodded his head and moved his hand to your cheek, just briefly.
“Honey, I need you here—right here for me, alright? Don’t move a muscle,” he spoke low as Steve covered from above, rapid-fire shots ringing out on both sides.
Rushed and furious as he was, he couldn’t help but linger on that face a half-second longer than he intended. You were shaking your head and hugging your knees, meeting his eyes with what seemed to be reproach.
“You promised, Bucky,” you hissed through gritted teeth.
You were in shock, that was what it was, he kept telling himself. You didn’t know what you were saying, and he needed to turn away to help Steve, but then you were eyeing that body—that man he could’ve sworn was Schröder when he’d pumped him full of bullets—and you were turning back to him with unmistakable disgust.
He would’ve fallen to his knees and begged his wife for forgiveness if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. Like your life and his, and Steve’s—and Sam’s, now, bursting onto the scene with a semi-automatic rifle of his own as he helped his friend gun down the last of the stragglers. Bucky knew he had to help them, too.
So he’d stumbled back on his feet, less conscious than acting on pure impulse, and he joined in on the gunfire.
He reckoned he liked it. However long it lasted. He just rolled his shoulders once and sent the rounds flying; he ducked and he moved and he stood and he crouched and he fired every shot as if it were as easy to him as breathing. He didn’t think. When the three of them had cleared the lounge, and Sam and Steve tore off toward the two or three remaining rooms at the rear of the suite, Bucky still wasn’t fully present in his body. All he knew was that his clip was near-empty and his side was in pain—and the room they had emptied was safe. For you.
For you—where the fuck had you gone?!
Bucky barreled past the spot behind the couch where you were supposed to have been, but weren’t, and made a beeline for the closest room over. And nothing. More empty, threadbare, and bloody rooms filled with bodies that didn’t belong to you, and shortly he was yelling for Sam or Steve or anyone in that massacred suite to help him find his wife. The breaths in his chest were heaving.
He turned once, twice, eyes roaming wildly and hand grabbing fast for more ammo. He couldn’t find any more. Beads of sweat began to collect on his brow, and just when he turned to call for backup once more, he paused.
In his periphery, he saw two forms.
He stopped fully and turned to the side.
If it was fear he had felt just then, he wasn’t aware of it. Instead, it seemed a white-hot and blinding ire had taken over, and rather than grow timid, or afraid, he went cold.
“Bucky…don’t,” you managed in a strangled, hoarse tone, throat visibly contained by a blade being held to it.
Behind you, a man stood masked and unflinchingly calm.
Bucky knew that wouldn’t do—no matter how hard or helplessly you pleaded with him then not to do it, please don’t do it, Bucky, please. All he heard in his head was the throb of his pulse, and all he saw before him was red.
He fired without a second thought.
The round just grazed the edge of the man’s cheek.
Bucky swore. Tried to fire his gun again. It was empty.
Still not thinking, much less hearing his wife’s desperate cries for him to spare the man’s life, he grabbed the smallest, sharpest object that was closest to him and charged your would-be attacker head on.
Both men fell to the floor, but only Bucky was mobile.
Only Bucky held the weapon now, as his opponent’s knife had been lost somewhere in the skirmish, and he was wielding it now faster than he ever had before, he thought—an ice pick, of all fucking things—driving it into the man’s face and neck and chest without the slightest regard for anything else.
Somewhere far outside his mind, he heard you scream. Felt you claw at his arm, grip at his shirt, make some wild, shrill, and vehement pleas that he couldn’t begin to understand in this state, and he continued. Hadn’t even considered slowing down until the man’s carotid was shredded in two and spewing blood all over his front.
Bucky couldn’t be sure how long it lasted like that; all he remembered was stumbling back, energy spent, fist still holding the pick and eyes duly glued to the body he’d just stabbed through and maimed until no life was left.
He saw you crawl over the body.
He wanted to warn you not to touch it. Lifted a hand and tried his best to form words, but nothing came out.
He watched you lift the mask.
From that point on, he was certain he had to have been seeing things that weren’t really there. Trauma-induced psychosis, he tried to assuage himself silently—that was the only explanation for the scene unfolding before him. Surely it couldn’t be you cupping that face, pinching that skin, shaking that cold and lifeless, blood-drenched frame beneath you as a sob racked through your own.
That signet ring on a pinky couldn’t have been real.
Bucky didn’t want to believe that gruesome discovery made manifest before him—in many ways, he couldn’t—but then it was painted clear as day as the cries endured, nothing changed, and a helpless, frantic wail rang out:
“DAD!”
—
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ILLICIT AFFAIRS PART 2
PAIRINGS: lando norris x gf!reader / tom blyth x fem!reader
TYPE: social media au
WARNING: // cheating implied
part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5
yourusername
liked by landonorris, tomblyth and 671,810 others
yourusername: the film is out! ❤️
tagged: @tomblyth
view 5,018 comments
user: seeing it tonight!!!
user: ya’ll see that kiss or??? 👀
oscarpiastri: do i still get those free tickets? 🤔
↳ yourusername: of course!
↳ landonorris: and me?
↳ oscarpiastri: you’re rich, shut up
user: wonder how @landonorris felt seeing his girlfriend kissing another guy like that
user: watched the movie last night and OMG
user: yn, do you prefer buzz cut or long hair on coriolanus?
↳ yourusername: buzz cut all the way!!!!!
↳ user: mother knows what’s up 😌
user: LOVED the movie!!
tomblyth: you’re truly phenomenal! ❤️
↳ yourusername: right back at you, my love ❤️
↳ user: STFU NSPAKSNDBFD
↳ user: @landonorris WHERE U AT, BRO???
user: “love” 😭😭😭😭
↳ user: not just “love” but “MY love” like?? 😭😭
user: watching it tomorrow, cannot wait!
user: her bf is stronger than me bc i would’ve been crying
user: DID YA’LL SEE THE KISS SCENE??? 🫣🫣🫣
↳ user: i was like 😮💨
↳ user: he kissed her like she was air 🫠 like the air he needs
user: the way tom’s looking at her in that third slide 😩😩
user: you both killed it, omg!!
↳ user: pov coryo took that personal 🤪
user: SNOW LANDS ON TOP, MF!
↳ user: on top of me, yes!
landonorris: you killed it, pretty girl ❤️
↳ yourusername: 😊
user: the difference between her responds to tom vs lando
↳ user: she’s over here calling tom “my love” while lando just gets some bs of emoji, i CANNOT 💀
user: lando be fighting for his girl’s affection, i swear
user: yn with tom 😩🥰🥰❤️😊😍😌😍😘🥵🥵😍🥰
↳ user: vs yn with lando 😊😊😊😊😊😊😊
↳ user: i feel like she’s definitely in love with tom
↳ user: he’s also in love with her, its so obvious
user: tom NEEDED that kiss in order to breathe, i swear
↳ user: dude he kissed her with so much hunger and desperation had me giggling the whole time
↳ user: convinced that was just tom and yn
user: HAPPY RELEASE DAY YA’LL!!! ❤️❤️🐍
user: you and tom were truly phenomenal as snow and lucy
↳ yourusername: ❤️❤️
landonorris
liked by carlossainz55, yourusername and 698,974 others
landonorris: fun times with MY girl! 😘
tagged: @yourusername
view 5,274 comments
user: he really said, “my girl”
user: is she attending next race??
user: he saw all the yntom shippers so he had to shut them up real quick, honestly as he should!
user: PARENTS ARE BETTER THAN EVER ❤️❤️❤️❤️
user: what about tom? 😭😭 @yourusername
↳ user: girl, bffr
user: idc i’m still shipping yn and tom
user: lando said, “everyone can sit tf down bc she’s my girl”
yourusername: love yaa 😘
↳ landonorris: i love you too ❤️
↳ user: yntom shippers how we feeling??? 😭😭
user: idk why but her comments/replies to lando seem so dry??? like before she’d say the cutest shit ever and now it’s like she just comments bc she has no other choice
↳ user: seems like she’s falling out of love to me
user: @tomblyth GET YOUR GIRL, DONT GIVE UP
user: everyone who is constantly shipping yn and tom need to move on!! she’s literally happy in her relationship with lando
user: are they officially back together??
user: @tomblyth
user: @tomblyth
user: she’s soo beautiful!!! 😍😍
user: lando really said, “if she’s anybody’s girl she’s MINE”
user: ynlando nation rise!!!!!
user: i know she’s clearly happy with lando but her and tom are honestly just the cutest
user: @ everyone who still ships tom and yn
user: not “my” but “MY” 👀
user: he got tired of ppl shipping his girl with someone else
user: mate, you’re stronger than bc the way yn talks about tom is just INSANE! she’s in love with him .. open your eyes
carlossainz55: 🤩🤩
user: the emphasis on the “my” 🤭🤭
oscarpiastri: this is cute or whatever
↳ user: my fav boy
user: wait!! does that mean we will be seeing yn in the paddock again???
↳ user: i hope so!!! 😩😩
user: idk about you all but i feel like her smile/face glows more whenever she’s with tom …….
↳ user: definitely, i agree!
↳ user: that’s bc tom’s her ✨daylight✨
↳ user: shUT uP OMG OMG, YESSS
↳ user: i foUnd my people
user: i missed her, omg ❤️❤️😭😭😭
user: will she be at the next race???
user: i feel like if she’s in love with tom, she should dump him
↳ user: that’s harsh, damn 😭😭
yourusername
liked by landonorris, joshandresrivera and 678,739 others
yourusername: a small bts photo dump:) 💗
tagged: @hunterschafer @tomblyth @joshandresrivera @the.sofia.sanchez
view 6,016 comments
user: hunter’s soo gorggg 😍😍😍
user: “a small bts” but it’s just tom
↳ user: it’s her excuse to post tom 🤣
user: the 6th photo was so unnecessary napaksns
hunterschafer: 😘😘😘😘❤️
user: wovey 🥺
user: yn’s down bad for tom, huh???
user: the chemistry they have on and off the screen is just unbelievably insane, omgg
user: 6th SLIDE??? HELLO??!!? MA’AM??!!?
user: I SHIP I SHIP I SHIP I SHIP
user: lando 💔💔💔💔💔💔
user: her and tom are DEFINITELY more than just friends and ya’ll CANNOT convince me otherwise
↳ yourusername: we’re just friends
↳ user: yeah and i’m jlaw’s daughter, but good try babe
tomblyth: my favorite girl!! ❤️
↳ user: SIR???
↳ user: bitCh what???!? 😳
↳ user: your what????
user: not him calling her his girl, BYE 😭😭😭😭
user: THIS LANDO MF BLIND ASF OMG 😭 iTs cLEAR THAT THERE’S MORE TO THIS WHOLE “friendship” BS
user: tHe 6th slide napaldndnfnc
user: not her posting the lake scene
user: wAit- are they about to kiss in the 6th slide??? bc i don’t remember no kiss in that scene
user: everyone is freaking over the 6th slide but the last one??? HELLO????? the hand on the chin?? 😩😩😩😩
↳ user: i thoUght i was the only one laswowhrbd
user: wovey, my love ❤️❤️❤️
joshandresrivera: love you, loser ❤️
user: their chemistry bro 😮💨😮💨😮💨
user: its the way he’s looking at her in the last pic
user: tom and yn took their “relationship” to the next level
user: patiently waiting for lando’s comment
↳ user: i don’t think he knows what to comment 😭
user: she looks so much happier with tom, i swear
user: yn, be honest, are you in love with tom??!?
user: nah i feel bad for lando, bro 😭😭😭😭
↳ user: bro is clueless
user: lando losing on and off the track
↳ user: 💀💀💀💀💀
user: i genuinely want to know what type of relationship her and tom have cause???? it’s def more than friendly
user: @landonorris
user: i feel like she’s cheating on lando 😬
↳ user: 100%
user: they weren’t acting in the movie 😭 they were just being themselves, i swear
user: lando is one of the strongest soldiers i know!!!
user: i feel so bad for lando 😕😕😕😕
↳ user: he deserves better (me)
user: if you don’t want lando, i’ll happily take him
user: genuine question are they dating?? tom and yn, that is??
↳ user: no, but they might as well be dating atp
user: ya’ll gotta understand that a male and female can be close friends without having to be involved in a romantic way
↳ user: PREACH!
↳ user: there’s a thing called cheating, yk????
↳ user: with the way these two act there’s definitely more going on than just a friendly relationship
imessage
yourusername
liked by carlossainz55, oscarpiastri and 674,836 others
yourusername: NUMBER ONE?!!?!!?????!!!!!??
view 4,946 comments
user: gagged the hater with this one!!
user: your singing had me captivated
thehungergames: ❤️❤️❤️❤️
user: CORIOLANUS >>
user: you were amazing
user: proud of you!!!
tomblyth: you did that!! 🤩
↳ yourusername: no, babe, WE did that!! 👏🏼
↳ user: “babe” 😭😭😭😭
↳ user: ma’am just say yall together atp
user: well deserved
user: singing was phenomenal, omggg
user: that’s what happens when snow lands on top!! 🤩
📌 pinned
user: number one in the world and in my heart ❤️
user: you and tom were absolutely phenomenal
↳ yourusername: 💗💗💗💗
landonorris: you deserve it!! ❤️
↳ yourusername: ❤️❤️❤️
user: lucy gray is stronger than me bc personally i would’ve sat down with coriolanus and talked it out
↳ user: no bc same!!!! 😩 like i can fix him
↳ user: i would’ve ran away with him, idc
↳ yourusername: babes, are we just forgetting that he’s the reason finnick’s dead???? or the fact that he’s crazy???
user: SNOW LANDS ON WHAT EVERYONE??!!?
user: proud of you, my love!!! ❤️❤️
user: not her holding a grudge against snow for killing finnick she’s so real for that LMAOOOO
↳ tomblyth: 😩😩😩
user: the real question is did snow ever love lucy gray??
↳ yourusername: i like to believe so, yes! but he definitely loved power more:(
↳ tomblyth: lies 😑 (i agree)
↳ user: please 😭😭 he’s so unintentionally funny
user: you guys all deserve it, each one of you was amazing!!
user: my snowbaird heart ❤️❤️
user: best movie this year, i don’t make the rules
songbirdsandsnakes: thanks to our favorite coriolanus snow and lucy gray!!!! 🤩🤩🤩🤩
user: the movie was amazing, well done!!
user: I NEED MORE OF SNOW AND LUCY GRAY 😩😩
↳ user: i think we all do!!!
user: well deserved, pretty girl!!!!
carlossainz55: proud of you, yn! ❤️❤️❤️
↳ yourusername: ❤️ thank you, carlos
↳ user: missing this duo 🥺
user: ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
user: you and tom smashed it
↳ user: they took the “smashing” part too serious 🫢
↳ user: you did not 💀
user: my lucy gray 🤩
user: I NEED A PIC WITH THIS CAST AND THE OG’S
↳ user: yn met jennifer, i believe .. but same!!! 😩😩
user: your singing was phenomenal, babe!!!
user: why’d you leave snow at the end??? 😭😭😭😭
↳ yourusername: cause he’s crazy??????
↳ user: he just wanted to talk tho????!!? 😩 all you had to do was sit and talk with him and apologize to him????
↳ yourusername: so he can kill me after????
↳ user: he would do NO such thing
tomblyth
liked by yourusername, landonorris and 684,830 others
tomblyth: it’s crazy to think tbosas is currently number one at the moment! this was such an unforgettable experience and i’m grateful i got to experience it with @yourusername ❤️
tagged: @yourusername
view 5,101 comments
user: I CANT, OMG
user: THE FIRST POST 😭😭😭
user: lando being in the likes??? 👀
yourusername: wouldn’t have wanted it any other way
yourusername: ❤️❤️❤️
songbirdandsnakes: snowbaird lives with you both ❤️
user: you both deserve it!!!
user: you killed it, mate! ❤️
user: they were both phenomenal, i cannot
user: both were incredible leads
user: it’s hard to tell if they’re just affectionate with each other or there’s simply more
user: if they aren’t dating, i NEED them to date 😭😭
user: they’re in love and nobody can convince me otherwise
↳ user: it’s so obvious
user: amazing leads!!!! 🤩🤩🤩
user: not lando liking 😭😭
user: SNOW LANDS ON TOP
user: you were amazing as snow! 👏🏼
user: does lucy gray haunt your dreams, be honest
↳ tomblyth: always
user: phenomenal actor
user: lucy gray or lucy gray??
↳ tomblyth: mhm .. none, i think i prefer lucy gray
↳ user: AS YOU SHOULD!
user: MY CORIOLANUS SNOW!! ❤️❤️ you were AMAZING
user: ya’ll cannot tell me snow didn’t love lucy bc he did
↳ user: he did love her in his own twisted way but he loved power more:((
user: i watched the move like 4 times already
user: if evil why so hot??
user: you and yn were phenomenal as snow and lucy gray
↳ tomblyth: ❤️ appreciate it, mate
user: why’d you betray my boy sejanus like that? 😭😭
user: LANDO IN THE LIKES 👀
↳ user: hes crying in a corner after seeing the first pic
user: they messed with our feelings 😩😩
↳ user: noo frr cause tell me why i was rooting for them knowing damn well how it would all end up 💔
user: i NEED them together
user: they look so good together 😩
user: you can definitely tell they love each other and not just as “friends”
user: well deserved!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
user: in my world snowbaird ended up together and are living happily ever after
↳ user: same!!!
↳ user: snowbaird and yntom
user: i know she’s dating someone but they look so good together, it’s like they are meant to be
imessage
pt3??
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@geraltwintersoldier @love4josh @dudde-44 @coconut-dreamz @newlifeforus @loxbbg @dakotali @f1footballluvverr @mountmaason19 @poppyflower-22 @magical-spit @nazm145 @nikolaros22 @sincerlymatakorama @36babyg @bucket-of-fanfiction @gyunheat @dakotali @bucket-of-fanfiction @djoenthusiast @nyraahub @miglielia @aleidag1rly (if your user is purple, it’s bc i couldn’t find you)
#au instagram#formula 1#f1 instagram au#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 fandom#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#formula 1 fanfic#f1 fiction#lando norris smau#lando norris#lando norris x y/n#tom blyth#tom blyth x reader#tbosas#the hunger games#coriolanus x reader#instagram au#lando norris x reader#coriolanus x lucy gray#coriolanus snow x reader#f1 social media au#au social media#f1 social media#tom blyth x you#the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes#formula 1 smau#lando norris social media au#illicit affairs
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Half-Tongue Rule: 12 Days of Smut #1
Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot
Summary: A little Asgardian liquor and a whole lot of tension leads to a teeny tiny bit of smut between you and a certain jealous super soldier.
Warnings: profanity, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, teasing, public teasing, jealous!Bucky, slight DUBCON if you consider it so, alcohol consumption, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!
Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.
Word Count: 9k (I'm very sorry)
A/N: Thank you to @littlemiss-yeehaw for both catching my mistakes in writing and helping with warnings. She's the reason I don't give in to my daily urge to delete my whole blog lmao. Also, I apologize for this being an hour later than planned. It has been a day. This is just a lil baby smut but I think each day of this event will get filthier and filthier as I get closer to my favorite storylines.
You hate parties. You hate the amount of alcohol that people seem to need to consume just to enjoy each other’s company. You hate the way you feel obligated to stay for a certain length of time just to appease the host. You especially hate the way parties make it hard to even hear your own thoughts. Or maybe you just hate Tony Stark’s parties, specifically. His parties are classy, yet overly loud and hard to break away from when you’re ready to leave. However, you still accepted the Christmas party invitation that Pepper so kindly emailed you three weeks ago. It would’ve been too difficult to come up with a fake excuse for missing it when half of you live in the same building.
So, that’s what led you here, taking the elevator up to the top floor of Stark Tower, standing with your back pressed against the cold metal wall as you listen to the chatter of the various SHIELD employees who piled into the elevator with you. The only familiar faces on the ride up are Sharon and Wanda. The three of you arrived together, but you know as soon as the elevator lets you out into the party, they’ll both disappear into the crowd to be social butterflies. Your dress is so thin that the cool temperature of the elevator wall sends a chill down your spine, making you regret having left your winter coat downstairs like everyone else.
The sound of music playing through the speakers just a little way higher in the elevator shaft reaches your ears and you take a deep breath. You remind yourself that parties are supposed to be fun and that you put all of this effort into looking hot as fuck, you need to find a way to enjoy the night. You tell yourself to be free and have a little fun, not to hide away in a corner refusing to have even one drink, and not to rush out of here before it’s been at least an hour.
When the elevator slows to a halt and starts filing out to join the lively, festive gathering ahead, your legs refuse to carry you forward. The lower half of your body hasn’t quite gotten the whole be free and have a little fun memo yet. Wanda shoots you a disapproving look paired with a small frown and shakes her head before reaching out and wrapping an arm around your waist. She pulls you along with her and suddenly, you’re immersed in Christmas music and Christmas cheer.
“Don’t be a buzzkill. Have a few drinks for once and loosen up, you’re can be the life of the party when you’re a little drunk.” Wanda commands, ushering you a few steps further away from the elevator. You’re about to remind her that she’s only ever seen you drunk once, and that it’s been over a year since then, but as soon as her eyes land on Vision across the room, she’s gone. You find yourself standing alone in your little burgundy dress. You take a moment to let your eyes roam over the crowd, noticing how almost everyone is in black or navy. You see a couple of women in forest green dresses, and even one in a dress that’s as white as snow, but no one else is wearing the same color as you. Damn. That’ll make it a little harder to blend in in the corner.
You let out a soft sigh before pushing your loosely curled hair back over your shoulder and turning to the left to head to the small bar. One drink. You can have one drink and pretend like you’re enjoying this before you make your great escape. Though the expansive room is quite crowded with people, the bar itself isn’t so bad. The bartender is quick to pass you your glass of whiskey neat as he shoots you a kind smile. You’re only one sip in when you notice the bartender’s eyes look past you, over your shoulder, at someone else. You await the inevitable approach of whoever it is that’s behind you as you savor the slight burn of the whiskey trickling down your throat.
“You showed.” Sam’s voice rings out from behind you. He steps up to the bar and rests his elbows on it, standing a little to your left. You turn to face him and find him grinning from ear to ear. His infectious smile has always made you feel a little more at ease, and so you find yourself relaxing the tiniest bit in his presence. You lift the glass to your lips and take a second sip. Sam studies you while he waits for a beer, taking in your deep burgundy dress and your quiet demeanor. He knows parties aren’t your thing, but he also knows you can be more fun than just about anyone he’s ever met when you have a little bit of alcohol coursing through your veins. It’s not that you need to drink to be a fun person, but you keep yourself so reined in, so on task most of the time, that you forget to live. When you drink, you let yourself relax a little and your guard goes down just enough for you to have a good time without overthinking it. “Whiskey neat?” Sam asks, eyeing your drink of choice. You nod your head and drag your fingertip around the rim of your glass, glancing down at the amber-colored liquid.
“I wanted to look mysterious and brooding. Holding a glass of whiskey makes a girl look mysterious and brooding, right?” You ask jokingly, giving Sam a small smile. He chuckles and stands up straight as the bartender presses a bottle of beer into his hand. He turns to fully face you now but his gaze continues to span across the room until it lands on a certain super soldier. Bucky stands tall beside one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed in a well-fitted pair of black dress pants with an even better-fitted black button up adorning his torso. You take in the unusual sight of his vibranium arm on display. You’ve never seen him with his sleeves rolled up like this before. He looks a bit like a successful CEO of some company that earns him a few million dollars a year, especially with those gold accents in the crevices of his arm. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the man who you’ve been strategically avoiding at all costs.
“If you want to look mysterious and brooding, you should talk to the cyborg over there. He has that look down pat.” Sam says with a laugh. He won’t say it to either of you out loud, but Sam thinks you and Bucky are so similar that you could’ve been cut from the same cloth. He knows people say that opposites attract, but he has to wonder if that’s always the case. To anyone else, it would seem like you and Bucky hate each other, even though you work together so seamlessly in the field. Sam has witnessed an odd sort of vibe between the two of you multiple times before, something that walks a very thin line between hatred and sexual tension. Neither of you have ever given Sam enough solid evidence that it’s anything besides a mutual dislike, but he can tell. He may not know just how right he is about the two of you, but he knows something is there.
As if Bucky could feel your eyes on him, he turns his head ever-so-slightly and meets your gaze. His blue eyes are always so piercing, seeing right through you and making you feel on edge for absolutely no reason. The moment he looked at you was the moment you should’ve put your drink down and switched to water for the rest of the evening. But when Thor arrived a few moments later, bearing the gift of Asgardian liquor, you decided to drink your demons away for one night.
---
“What’s going on over there?” Sam’s question catches the attention of the small crowd of Avengers that are gathered around one end of the bar, as he points across the bar where you and Thor seem to be engaged in a more-than-friendly conversation. Sharon smiles deviously and Bucky’s jaw clenches, already hating where this is going.
“Thor’s trying to close the deal with her. He gave her a little Asgardian liquor, and I think it’s going to pay off for him.” She explains, lifting her colorful drink to her lips and taking a long sip. Bucky watches you closely for a moment, picking up on the fact that you’re definitely past tipsy. Thor is seated on a barstool and you stand in front of him, laughing at something he’s just said as he smiles down at you. Bucky’s jaw clenches again when he sees you playfully rest a hand on Thor’s knee. Bucky would like to think that your hand is there for balance, but he knows that’s not what this is. Not at all. He scoffs and finishes off his own glass of whiskey.
“It’s not going to pay off for him.” Bucky mumbles, trying to ignore the unfamiliar feeling that’s rising up in his chest. Jealousy. You wouldn’t go for a guy who’s shamelessly flirting with you after liquoring you up, just to get you into bed. You thrive off of banter, off of arguing with someone to the point of wanting to shut them up with your body. Bucky isn’t positive, but he’s fairly sure that he knows this about you. He picks up on the way you come alive when the two of you end up in a heated argument after a mission goes awry, he picks up on the way your frustration in the field brings about a different kind of tension between the two of you on the trips back to the compound. You aren’t the type to fall head over heels for a few compliments and a pretty face, even if the guy is a god. Thor would be too easy for you. And if Bucky has learned anything about you after butting heads with you for the past two months, it’s that you like a challenge more than anything.
“It looks like it is.” Sam claims, pointing a finger in your direction now. Bucky looks again and sees Thor leaning in close to you, whispering something in your ear that makes your cheeks a little more pink. He catches himself squeezing his whiskey glass so hard that it might’ve shattered if he hadn’t released it onto the bar. Thor rises from the barstool, towering over you by at least a foot, shoots you a suggestive look, and then walks past you. Everyone watches as he heads straight for the elevator, making a quick exit from the party, everyone except Bucky. He’s focused on you as you turn your whole body to see Thor walk away. It’s clear that he’s daring you to follow him out, to run off somewhere for a late-night rendezvous, anyone can see that. Sam and Sharon have seemingly lost interest in the situation at hand and they quickly dive into their own conversation. Bucky continues watching you closely, his eyes narrowed and zoned in on you, as you finish off your drink and set your glass down on the bar. When you finally look back up, you look straight at him. As soon as your eyes meet his, he notices the way every muscle in your body tenses. Fuck it.
His walk is confident, nearly cocky, and you can tell he’s seething. You watch him so carefully as he makes his way through the crowded room, noticing how everyone parts as soon as they see him coming. He’s clearly sporting a bit of a mood and no one here would dare be on the receiving end of that. As Bucky approaches you, his eyes bore into yours, with no trace of a smile or kind greeting to be found behind his blue eyes. You swallow hard, getting ready for one of his signature scoffs or briefly worded insults.
“Bucky—” You start, ready to diffuse whatever argument your sometimes-field partner is about to begin with you. He doesn’t even slow down as he nearly barrels into you, his vibranium hand wrapping around your wrist, forcing you away from the bar. He turns you around roughly and pushes you in front of him, straight through a corner door that he’s throwing open with his right hand. Suddenly, you’re immersed in even dimmer lights as he closes the door behind him, effectively shutting the two of you off from the rest of the party. His grip on your wrist loosens and you can smell the soft tinge of the same whiskey you’ve been drinking tonight on his lips. The music is muffled in here and it helps you get ahold of your thoughts before you turn to face the little shit that dragged you in here against your will. When you turn around, Bucky stands still in front of the door, his vibranium hand uncharacteristically unobscured by any sort of glove. It gleams in the low light and distracts you for a brief second, before you look up at him.
“What the hell, Bucky?” Your voice is raspy from the burn of the whiskey and Asgardian liquor. It feels a bit like you swallowed rocks, but the buzz it all gave you is worth it. As annoyed as you should be with Bucky right now for manhandling you like he’s anything but your occasional partner in the field, you can’t help but think about how fucking hot he looks tonight. His dark pants show off just how muscular his legs are, specifically his thighs. They also show off just how well-endowed he is in a different department, but you try hard not to think about that. Bucky catches you looking him up and down, unfortunately, as you’re not the slyest when you’ve been drinking liquor that works against even a super soldier’s metabolism.
“Eyes up here, sweetheart.” His tone is patronizing, but his words send an all-too-familiar heat rushing between your legs. You instinctively listen to him, shifting your eyes up to meet his. His command felt almost lustful to you but his gaze is harsh. Maybe you just felt like it was lustful because you wanted it to be. You do tend to get a little horny when you’ve been drinking, and with the Asgardian buzz, everything starts to seem a little porny. You swallow, closing your mouth and waiting for the man to say anything else. He takes his time choosing his words, as he lets his eyes rake over your body just like your eyes raked over his a moment ago. He didn’t get a good enough look at your dress when you were all the way across the bar, but now he’s decided that he fucking hates it.
“Bucky?” You prompt, tilting your head to the side, trying to get him to look in your eyes again. When he finally does, his gaze remains cold and harsh.
“You showed up at a party just to get drunk and go home with Thor?” He questions, his tone both accusing and condescending. You scoff, taking a step backward and crossing your arms over your chest. This small action lifts your breasts and you notice Bucky’s eyes briefly lower to steal a glance. God. He wishes he’d found a darker closet to force you into.
“Fuck you for that.” You spit back at him, narrowing your eyes and shooting daggers in his direction. He laughs lowly and watches as you wobble a bit on your heels, the buzz from the liquor developing into more of a state of drunkenness as your body struggles to metabolize it.
“You would fuck me. You’d fuck anyone after drinking what he gave you.” Bucky tosses out the insult with ease, a cocky smirk painted on his face. You run your hands through your hair, wondering when the room started tilting to one side.
“I wouldn’t fuck you, but anyone else maybe. What are we doing in here, James?” You ask, looking around the small, empty supply closet that you seem to be in. You take one step back and lean against the wall behind you for a little support. Bucky chuckles at the sight of you, making such an effort to fight off his insults and maintain your balance at the same time. He’s never really been around you when you’ve been drinking, and he finds it unbelievably amusing.
“Are you lying to yourself or just to me?” His voice is lower now, a little quieter and a lot more charged with something. You want to say it’s charged with lust, but again, the porny haze might just be from your own point of view. However, Bucky is feeling that porny haze in the air as well. Hell, Bucky’s the one creating it. You push his question to the back of your mind, focusing on what you want to know. If he would just hurry up and tell you why he forced you into a damn supply closet, you could walk out of here and head downstairs to find Thor and start having some real fun.
“Let’s try this one last time, what are we doing in here?” You repeat, pushing yourself away from the wall and stepping closer to him? You’re only a foot apart from each other now, and you can see him much better from this distance in the low lighting.
“I’m keeping you from making a stupid decision.”
�� “No, you’re kind of cockblocking, if you even know what that is.” You retort, rolling your eyes and turning to the left as you reach for the door handle. Bucky quickly reaches out with his flesh hand, wrapping his fingers around your wrist and forcing your arm away from the door. He doesn’t let go of your wrist this time.
“You’re not sleeping with him.” He says firmly. You look down at where he’s gripping your wrist before looking back up at him, narrowing your eyes once more.
“Why the hell do you think you get a vote?”
“I’m not voting, I’m vetoing it. You’re drunk.”
“I don’t need you to protect me, Barnes. Contrary to popular belief, I can take care of my damn self.” You snatch your hand away from him, thinking he’ll release his grip when you do, but he only tightens it and uses the leverage to pull you against him. Your chest crashes against his and you can feel his breath fan across your face. He smells like whiskey and light cologne, and his body heat emanates through his thin button-up shirt. A few less-than-holy thoughts speed through your mind. For a second, you worry he might be able to read your partially drunken thoughts with his intense stare. Bucky’s jaw clenches and he fights the urge to shove you against the wall and fuck you right here.
“Then go home and take care of yourself instead of letting that jackass do it for you.”
Did Bucky really just tell you to go home and get yourself off? You’re ninety-percent sure that that’s what he just alluded to. Okay, eighty-five percent sure since you’re not quite all there due to the obscene amount of alcohol you’ve consumed over the past hour. You feel a wave of heat spreading through your entire body, lighting your skin on fire. The point where Bucky’s hand is clasped around your wrist is especially on fire. You inhale a shaky breath, calming yourself down and trying to command your body to cooperate with you and cool down. Bucky smirks as he watches your attempt to gather yourself.
“I got all dressed up and drunk for sex, Barnes. I’m not letting my effort go to waste.” Bucky’s eyes are saying so many things at once, but you can’t figure out a damn word of it in your current state. All you can think about is him pressing you up against the wall right now. Maybe he’d be a little pliant since he’s also downed a good amount of whiskey tonight, and since he clearly suddenly thinks that he has a say in your sex life. You feel your drunken confidence, your alter ego, coming out to play. You smile now, pressing your lips together and softening your gaze as you drink in the sight of his steely gaze and unreadable expression. “If I can’t have sex with Thor, are you going to tell me who I can have sex with tonight?” Your words take him by surprise and he recoils, dropping your wrist and stepping back. You feel powerful now, making him step away with only your words.
“You really should just go home, sleep it off.” He says, trying once again to steer you in a safe direction. It’s not so much that he’s trying to steer you in a safe direction, but more that he’s trying to keep himself from having a reason to pick a fight with Thor. He doesn’t want his hands on you. He’s not letting it happen.
“I am so fucking tired of you always trying to protect me. What happened to the introverted ass who lived across the hall and skulked around the tower? He was way more bearable.”
“You like me way more now.” He states, narrowing his eyes at you. You shake your head quickly.
“You’re still an ass, but now you’re all confident and you know you’re hot and it’s unbearable.” You feel the regret as soon as the words leave your lips. You didn’t mean to say the part about him being hot.
“You think I’m hot?” He asks. He’s intrigued now, that cocky smirk once again gracing his face. You shrug your shoulders, reaching for the door again. He lets you grab the handle this time but he places a strong, firm hand against the door, at the height of your face, stopping you from opening it. He steps in close, his chest nearly brushing against your right arm and side as he leans down to your ear. “Answer the question.” A chill races down your spine, forcing you to close your eyes and draw in a deep, calming breath. Why is he being so damn authoritative all of a sudden?
“I’m drunk.”
“Which just means that you have no filter. So, answer the question.” He keeps his hand firmly planted against the door and you know he won’t let you out of here until he gets his answer.
“Yes.” You answer as nonchalantly as possible, turning your head to him. You’re a mere inch apart now, his lips hovering so teasingly in front of yours and his eyes staring into your soul.
“You’re not leaving with him.” He states. His tongue darts out, licking his bottom lip and narrowly missing yours. You can’t stop yourself from looking at his lips, especially his bottom lip that’s now moistened right in front of you.
“You can’t tell me what to do.” You slur your words, pushing your hands against his chest and forcing him back a couple of small steps. You march yourself out of the closet now, leaving him behind, but your mind still seems to be stuck on the image of his lips. You should’ve just kissed him. Who could have blamed you if you did kiss him? Asgardian liquor gives everything such a sexual energy for some reason.
Bucky can’t stop himself from keeping a watchful eye on you for the rest of the party. After you got away from him, you headed off to dance and drink even more with Sharon. As long as you don’t sneak off to wherever Thor went, he really doesn’t give a shit what you do. Or maybe he does. He isn’t quite sure why he suddenly gives a shit. Why were you so set on having sex with someone tonight? And why did it seem like you didn’t even care who it was going to be? That doesn’t seem like you at all, having a meaningless one-night stand with whoever happens to be up for one.
Bucky’s mind keeps mulling over the fact that you practically called him hot. Well, you said yes when he asked if you thought he was hot. Maybe you’re more bold and honest when you’re drunk. Or maybe you’re just a liar when you’re drunk. Either way, Bucky can’t get it out of his head.
“Yo, cyborg, you in there?” Sam waves his arm in the air, drawing Bucky’s attention out of his thoughts and back to the present conversation.
“What?”
“Which one of us is going to offer the girls a ride home? They’re both way too drunk to drive.” Sam asks. Bucky scoffs. Like you’ll accept a ride from either one of them with how independent you try to be and how especially stubborn you’re already being tonight. Sam distracted Bucky just for a moment, so he didn’t notice you and Sharon heading over to join the group in the sitting area of the lavish room.
As they round the side of the couch, Sharon takes the only space on the couch between Sam and Clint, leaving you to stand beside the couch, steadying yourself on the arm of it.
“We were just talking about you two.” Sam says to you both with a grin, glancing at Sharon first and then up at you. Bucky notices you trying a little too hard to remain in a steady and upright position, but he knows if he stands up and offers you his chair, you’ll absolutely refuse to take it.
“Are you going back to the tower tonight, Y/n?” Clint wonders aloud, focusing his eyes on you. Bucky can tell that Clint also notices your unusual difficulty with balance, but he doesn’t seem very concerned. Clint’s seen her drunk before, so he’s actually used to this side of you. You laugh and shake your head, your curls softer and looser than when Bucky first saw you a little while ago.
“No way, I’m staying with Sharon tonight.” You answer. You looks down at her feet for a brief second and Bucky can tell it’s because your heels are hurting your feet, but you’re not the kind of girl to take your shoes off and walk around barefoot in public.
“Come on, you can’t both be on your own this drunk.” Clint argues, looking to Bucky and Sam for support. Sam catches his drift and takes on a slightly more serious expression before looking up at you. You shake your head once again, rolling your eyes before turning your head and narrowing them at Bucky.
“I wouldn’t even be going home with Sharon if Sergeant Barnes over here hadn’t made me miss my chance with someone.” You say coldly, your eyes once again shooting daggers at Bucky. Sam and Clint turn their attention to Bucky now, and Sharon lets out a hearty laugh.
“Yeah, I heard you vetoed her potential one-night stand.” Sharon’s voice is full of amusement.
“I did you a favor.” Bucky scoffs, returning your hard stare with one of his own. You saunter over to him now, maintaining your balance well enough to seat your pretty little ass on the arm of the chair he’s in. You cross your legs at the knee, causing your already short dress to ride even further up your thighs. Bucky’s vibranium hand that rests on the arm of the chair is only inches behind your ass. He forces himself to look past you, at Sam, who is clearly very entertained by this whole situation.
“Sam, is cockblocking ever a favor?” You ask, seeking validation for your little tantrum over Bucky stopping you from leaving with Thor. Sam shakes his head, looking up at you with a joking frown.
“Never. Friends don’t stop friends from getting theirs.” Sam answers, shooting Bucky another look. He’s implying to Bucky that you and him must not simply be friends if he stopped you from sleeping with Thor tonight. You clap your hands together once before pushing yourself off of his chair and taking two steps toward the couch, you turn yourself effortlessly and take a seat on Sam’s right knee, which doesn’t even seem to faze him. Bucky watches as Sam places a hand on your back to keep you steadied there. His jaw clenches and his vibranium hand coils into a fist.
“See, Bucky, you’ll have to make it up to me.” Your tone can only be described as flirty and suggestive, but only Sam and Bucky seem to pick up on it. Sam raises an eyebrow at the seething super soldier, awaiting his response. He cocks his head to the side, thinking of a way to play this smart.
“Next time Fury pits us against each other in training…” Bucky starts, leaning forward in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees before continuing. “I’ll let you win.”
“No thanks, I kicked your ass last time. I don’t need you to let me win.” You narrow your eyes at him once again, before turning to Sam, Sharon, and Clint. “Sam remembers that, right Sam?” Sam nods vigorously, a smile creeping across his face as the memory plays through his head.
“I would’ve loved to have seen it.” Sharon pipes up, leaning against Sam’s shoulder now. Damn, he’s looking like he’s such a ladies’ man tonight. Bucky considers taking a picture for him so the memory lasts. Wanda and Vision join the group, Wanda perching herself on the armrest next to Clint’s side of the couch and Vision standing beside her, keeping a hand on her back. “Oh, I have the best idea.” Sharon suddenly sounds like a child, and she’s clearly about to say something ridiculously stupid. “We should play truth or dare.”
---
“If we’re doing this, we’re doing this the fair way.” Sam asserts. Clint quickly took his leave before the game was agreed upon, claiming that it was already way past his bedtime and he had to check in with his wife and kids over the phone before they all fall asleep. Wanda and Vision filled his vacant spot on the couch.
You feel the effects of the alcohol that you consumed earlier slowly making its way through your system and losing its potency as it’s metabolized. You still feel a good bit of drunkenness from the Asgardian liquor, and you really wonder how long that will take to clear your system. “We alternate between truth and dare, spinning the bottle to pick who takes the turn.” Sam places an empty beer bottle on the coffee table before us all, his hand briefly leaving your back when he leans forward to do so. As he rests back against the couch again, his hand finds its way to your middle back again. Sitting on his knee like this is starting to make it feel like your ass is falling asleep, and if your ass is falling asleep then your legs won’t be far behind.
“Truth.” Sharon calls out for the first turn, reaching out to spin the bottle and get the game going. You stand up from Sam’s knee and switch to sitting on the floor on your knees. Your dress is sitting dangerously high on your thighs now. You glance around the circle at everyone. Sam, Sharon, Wanda, Vision, and Torres, who joined when Clint left, all keep their eyes trained on the spinning bottle. Bucky, however, is looking right at you. He probably wishes you would’ve gone home and taken care of yourself like he told you to earlier. What a jackass. The bottle slows to a stop, the lip of it pointing at Wanda. “Wanda!” Sharon yells out, excited by her first victim. “Does Vision have a dick?” The question sends the group into an uproar, but Wanda only laughs.
“Yes.” She answers, keeping it short and simple.
“Are follow-up questions allowed?” Sharon quickly asks, turning to look at Sam.
“Only if the bottle lands on that person again and it’s a turn for truth.” He clarifies. Sharon scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“That’s no fun at all.” She complains. You watch as Wanda leans into Vision’s ear and whispers something, something that makes him smile and nuzzle against her cheek ever so slightly. God, they’re sickeningly adorable. Wanda breaks away from him for a moment to spin the bottle, calling out dare as it begins to spin. Of course, it lands on you.
“Wanda, we’re friends.” You remind her. You doubt she would make you do anything too crazy, knowing her, but if she’s been drinking and isn’t her normal self tonight, she might be a little adventurous. Mischief gleams behind her eyes and you know you’re in trouble. This game is starting to feel a bit sobering.
“I dare you to sit on Bucky’s lap for the rest of the game.”
“Wanda!” You yell out, an annoyed tone to your voice and a glare painted across your face. “That has to be against the rules. What if he doesn’t want to participate?” You try to talk your way out of it, looking to Sam now since he seems to be in charge of the rules here. He thinks for a second, looking at you and then up at Bucky. Bucky’s expression is stoic, as unreadable as ever as he stares back at Sam.
“I’ll allow it.” Sam decides, smirking at Bucky. You groan, pushing yourself up from the floor but refusing to make eye contact with Bucky. You move a few steps toward him and sit on his knee, just like you sat on Sam’s earlier.
“Oh, no. That’s not his lap.” Wanda points out, waving her hand at you, gesturing for you to move in closer to his body.
“Fuck you, Wanda.” You say evenly, before fully sitting on Bucky’s lap as he straightens up in the chair a bit. You’re basically sitting right on his crotch, and slightly to his left so his vibranium arm is sitting on the armrest behind your back. You feel him take a deep breath and his exhale fans across your right arm. You avoid turning to look at him. The more you think about it, you’re still really annoyed that he felt like he could tell you not to sleep with someone tonight. You’re even more annoyed with yourself for listening. You should have just kept your original plan and left with Thor. You offer Wanda one last glare, making her laugh and lean closer into Vision. She mouths the words get over it before drawing a heart in the air with her fingers, her way of apologizing to you and saying it isn’t that serious. You know it’s not that serious but you also know what she’s doing. She thinks if you’d just hook up with him once, Bucky and you would get rid of whatever tension is between you and you could be regular partners in the field, as casual and unproblematic as when you work with Clint or Sam. But this isn’t some movie where the two main characters fuck their feelings away and stay friends in the end, hell, there aren’t even any feelings to fuck away here. You’re still barely even friends. You just work together.
You lean forward in Bucky’s lap, away from his body, and spin the bottle, calling out truth before leaning back again. You lean a little too far back, your balance still not perfect due to the alcohol coursing through your veins. The exposed skin of your back in your low-cut dress brushes against his left chest and vibranium arm and his cold metal hand quickly slips behind you, resting on the skin of your back and steadying you. He clearly doesn’t want you sitting any closer than you have to for this dare. Once you’re steady, you expect him to put his hand back on the armrest of the chair, but he doesn’t. He keeps it firmly planted on your back, his vibranium fingers reflecting your body heat and warming up ever-so-slightly. You find the touch comforting and you feel yourself relaxing a little bit. This definitely beats sitting on the floor.
“Sharon!” Sam hollers, tapping her knee that’s closest to him on the couch and then clapping his hands excitedly. “This is going to be good. What do you want to know about her, Y/n?” The bottle points straight at her, and she seems more than ready for whatever you might ask. You think for a moment, with everyone’s attention focused on you, expecting you to come up with something good.
“Was Steve a good kisser?” Bucky lets out a quiet, low chuckle at your question. You can tell he’s trying to seem like he’s not overly enjoying this game, but you know he’s getting at least a little kick out of it. His hand is still on your back and you don’t think he plans to move it anytime soon. You focus on it a little too much, noticing the way his pinky finger rests lightly just an inch above your ass.
“Yeah, he knew what he was doing, that’s for sure. You never would’ve known he hadn’t had any real practice in the last few decades.” She admits. She’s not even trying to hide her smile as the memory of Steve comes to the forefront of her mind. “You know how sometimes guys either do too much with their tongue, or not enough?” You and Wanda both nod, while the four men in the group look on at you, obviously intrigued by the topic. “He did exactly enough.”
“Wow, who taught him the half-tongue rule?” Wanda questions jokingly.
“The half-tongue rule?” Torres sounds genuinely curious. He can be so adorable sometimes, so clueless for someone so unbelievably smart.
“For a good makeout session, you should never put more than half of your tongue in the other person’s mouth.” Sharon explains. Torres nods as she explains, as if he’s absorbing the information and storing it for later use. “Okay, this one is going to be good.” Sharon announces, her eyes darting around the group for her next victim as she sends the bottle into a rotation. You get distracted for a moment when Bucky’s vibranium thumb rubs a small circle against your lower back, so softly that you question if it’s even happening.
“White Wolf…” Sharon tsks. A look that you can only describe as evil takes over her features and she grins as she stares Bucky down. You didn’t notice that the bottle landed on him at first. He continues rubbing those small circles with his thumb and you’re really wondering what the hell he’s doing, but you don’t want to draw attention to it. “I dare you to demonstrate the half-tongue rule with your partner there.” Sharon points right at me. You swallow hard and shake your head, but you can feel Bucky’s lack of any reaction behind you. He doesn’t so much as take a deep breath or shift in his seat at the threat of the dare.
“Wait, what are the stakes if they don’t?” Vision asks, looking around the group for an answer.
“You have to answer three truths in a row, hard ones.” Sharon decides, looking to Sam for approval and he nods quickly. You see him shoot Bucky a look, you can’t tell what it is but it’s insinuating something. He knows Bucky would refuse to answer three hard questions about himself, so it’s way less likely that he’ll refuse a dare.
“And what if the person the dare involves refuses to participate?” Wanda asks, smiling at you with fake sweetness. You see what she’s doing and you’re mentally kicking her for it. She wants to know what punishment you’ll face if you refuse to let Bucky complete this dare with you.
“Same thing, I guess.” Sam answers quickly. You don’t have a problem with answering truths, but with the direction Sharon and Wanda have been taking this game, it might be a dangerous thing to get yourself into. Who knows what they would ask at this point?
“So? Are you guys going to demonstrate the half-tongue rule or can we ask you both three questions?” Sharon prompts, her eyes flitting between you both. You finally turn and look at Bucky, but as your ass moves against his lap slightly, he presses his vibranium hand flat against your lower back, attempting to still you. He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours to see what your answer will be.
“Come on, we’ve all seen you kiss on undercover ops before, it’s just like that.” Wanda chimes in, trying to get the group what they want. You tune her out, waiting for Bucky to speak up and say he won’t do it, that this is childish and silly and you’re all adults. You know you’re in trouble when he cocks his head to the right and his lips curl into that smirk that you’ve grown so used to seeing on him.
“Why aren’t you backing down from this?” You ask quietly so only he can hear you. Everyone is staring at you, anticipating either a kiss or a white flag of surrender.
“Why aren’t you?” He licks his bottom lip and for the second time tonight, you think about how much you want that lip pressed between your own. Fuck Thor for giving you that drink.
You honestly couldn’t say who started it. You couldn’t say how long it lasted. But when you leaned into him and his left hand found it’s place on your hip while his right snaked up to your hair and pulled your face against his, you were lost in the moment. His lips moved against yours like it was a dance, something spontaneous and straight out of a movie, your heads tilting in opposite directions to give each other exactly enough leverage and access. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, waiting for you to part your lips and grant access. You hesitated, just for a second, but he noticed it and tugged on your hair, making you open your mouth just slightly, just enough for him to slip his tongue in and caress your own. Fuck, he tasted so good, like whiskey and lust and everything you wore this dress for tonight. Your entire body feels like it’s sparking with electricity everywhere that he’s touching you, where your ass is against his lap, where his hand is on your hip, where his hand is tangled in your hair. You sit now, still in the position you just kissed in, but with only your foreheads pressed together, your mouths inhaling and exhaling within an inch each other. He's probably breathing heavy from the effort and lack of air but you’re breathing heavy from the fucking horny tailspin he’s just sent your body into. It’s taking everything in you not to ask him for more.
“Holy shit, that was porn.” Torres says, sounding both impressed and surprised.
“How do two people who barely get along kiss each other like that?” Sam demands to know, and you can feel his stare boring into the back of your head.
“You remember what we all do for a living, right Sam?” You ask, pulling away from Bucky’s embrace and turning back around to face the rest of the group. You get more comfortable now, leaning against Bucky as he stretches his arms out on both of the armrests and sinks into the chair a bit. You’re both more at ease now, as if the kiss melted away some of the tension. The group raves over the kiss, and what they think was chemistry, rather than simply two experienced operatives who happen to be good kissers being forced into a situation together. Bucky, ready for the moment to be over with, grabs your left hip with his vibranium hand to hold you steady as he leans forward and spins the bottle. The shift in position reveals something, or more makes you feel something. His hard cock pressing against your right thigh. You turn your head to look down at him as he’s leaning back in the chair again and he makes eye contact with you, his smirk from earlier gone and his expression once again one of indifference. God, he’s really fucking good at acting like nothing fazes him.
“Sam, tell us about your last date.” Bucky says, his eyes still locked on yours. He must’ve seen the bottle spin to a stop in his peripheral vision. As Sam reluctantly begins to tell his tale, capturing everyone’s attention but yours and Bucky’s, you turn to the group once more and lean against Bucky again.
“Something in your pocket?” You question jokingly under your breath, still feeling his boner present underneath you.
“Stop talking.” He responds just as quietly, his tone sending a chill through your body. Why is it so fucking hot when he talks to you like that? It should infuriate you, the way he warns you and acts so demanding and in charge. Instead, all you can think about is him talking to you like that in bed. You swear, after tonight, you’ll never touch Asgardian liquor again.
The game continued on for another half an hour before the party began dwindling down until only about twenty or so guests were left. You still sit comfortably on Bucky’s lap, his dick as hard as it was when you kissed earlier, and yourself no less inebriated than you were then.
You shift on his lap, a little worried that you might be putting his left leg to sleep. Suddenly, you feel his hands on both of your hips, gripping you tightly and stilling you instantly. The room is still fairly dark and noisy with the music and drunken conversations that are being held all around, so you doubt anyone will notice his sudden shift in position.
“Don’t move.” He groans lowly in your ear, leaning forward so his chest presses firmly against your back. You stiffen against him, your eyes closing for a second as his voice and touch once again send your senses into overdrive. The game ended five minutes ago, so you should really get off of his lap now. Your phone, which currently sits on the coffee table in front of you vibrates and as Bucky sits back in the chair again, you let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You know he heard your phone vibrate, so hopefully he doesn’t mind you leaning forward to grab it.
Sharon: Are you staying with me tonight or going back to the tower?
“You’re staying in the tower.” Bucky says, clearly reading the message over your shoulder. You push yourself out of his lap now, turning around to face him as he adjusts his suit pants and sits up a little straighter to hide the situation going on in his pants.
“That’s the second time tonight that you’ve tried to make decisions for me.” You point out, staring down at him. Really, who does he think he is? He’s always seemed overly confident to you, but trying to tell you who you can’t sleep with and now where you’re spending your night? He’s crossing lines left and right. You watch him carefully from a short distance as his gaze follows Sam and Sharon, who are saying goodbye to a few friends near the elevator. Sam offered to drive Sharon home, since she definitely can’t be trusted to get herself there safely.
“You listened to me the first time.” Bucky says confidently, shifting his gaze back to you now, but keeping a serious expression on his face rather than the playful, cocky one that you know so well on him.
“Did I? Because I remember you telling me to go home and take care of myself, and I haven’t done that.” You glance down at your phone to text Sharon back while you wait for whatever smart ass reply Bucky is going to spew out next. You’re just about to text her and say that you’d love to have a sleepover when you hear Bucky’s low, sure-of-himself laugh. You look at him once more, your thumbs hovering over your phone screen. The way he looks in that chair, with that fucking smirk slowly taking over his features, makes you rethink what you were about to say to Sharon.
“Yet.”
---
Everything smells like him. And why wouldn’t it? You’re in his room, lying on his bed, with him standing just a few feet from the foot of the bed, his eyes roaming over every inch of your body. You still have your dress on but you feel naked in front of him like this.
“Are you getting shy on me now?” Bucky taunts, mischief gleaming behind his eyes as he takes in your timid expression and flushed cheeks. Sam chose to drive Sharon all the way back to her apartment across town, while Bucky quickly stepped up to give you a ride back to the tower. Somehow, along the way, the truth or dare game continued until you ended up accepting a dare to do exactly what Bucky said, to go home and take care of yourself. However, the dare came with a new stipulation: you had to take care of yourself while he watched.
“Yeah, I’m shy.” You respond sarcastically, pushing yourself off of his bed and trekking across the room to stand immediately in front of him. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he hopes the stance hides the racing of his heart from you. The stance most definitely doesn’t hide the raging boner straining against the front of his dress pants though. There probably isn’t a pair of pants in the world that could hide something so prominent. You stand close to Bucky, breathing in his intoxicating scent for a moment before closing your eyes and letting a serene smile cross your lips.
Bucky stands frozen when you begin slipping the straps of your dress down your shoulders. The muscle along the side of his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth together when you reach back and easily unzip your dress. And when you finally let the small piece of burgundy fabric fall the the floor? Hell, he’s done for.
You open your eyes once you’re fully exposed to him, peering up at him with the most innocent look you can muster.
“Fuck this.” Bucky grumbles, losing every ounce of self-control he was harnessing as his hands grasp the sides of your face and he kisses you with so much desperation that you feel something awaken inside you. He uses the same move from earlier, tugging on the hair at the nape of your neck to get you to part your lips enough for him to taste your mouth. Fuck, you taste like his favorite whiskey. Your body moves on auto-pilot as Bucky walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. With a less-than-gentle shove, Bucky sends you falling onto his bed. His hungry eyes travel all over your skin, over the perfect peaks of your breasts, the smooth skin along your abdomen that leads him straight down to what he needs most right now. Your cunt.
The way he’s looking at you can only be described in one way: animalistic. You’re sure he’s going to be back on top of you within seconds, but no, this fucking man sinks to his knees on the floor at the foot of the bed. He effortlessly lifts your legs over his shoulders, and then leans into you, kissing your clit so softly that you whimper. With all of the tension between the two of you tonight, you wouldn’t have expected him to be so gentle.
“You taste so fucking good.” Bucky groans against your folds, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses all the way down until he reaches your entrance. That’s when he stops being so gentle. That’s when he steals a glance at you, taking in the way your chest heaves with arousal and the way your hands are already gripping his bedsheets. That’s when he can’t stop himself from plunging two thick fingers into you and curling them, letting his fingertips drag against the walls of your pussy.
“Bucky!” You cry out, your back arching off the bed and thighs shaking over his shoulders.
“You could’ve taken care of yourself.” He reminds you, setting a relentless pace with his hand. He fucks those two fingers in and out, in and out, in and out. Every move he makes ignites your nerve endings more and more, until your nervous system is nearing a damn firework show. “You could’ve laid here and gotten yourself off for me.”
The moans and curses falling from your lips are nothing short of sinful, and every sound sends another rush of blood straight to Bucky’s already-hard cock.
“You’re so fucking stubborn. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You wanted to end up in my bed tonight.” His voice is dripping with lust and you can almost hear the smirk that’s surely painted across his face as you come undone at his hands.
“Bucky…” You can’t say a damn thing except for his name. Even as he finger fucks you straight through your orgasm, and starts slowing down his movements, you can’t form a single word in your mind.
“Look at you.” Bucky coos, sliding his fingers out of your pussy one last time. You’re lying there so still with your eyes still scrunched closed. You completely miss the way Bucky closes his own eyes as his sucks the taste of you off of his fingers. He knows he should’ve held you to the dare and made you get yourself off. He never should’ve tasted you. He never should’ve felt how tight and wet your pussy is for him.
Now that he knows how sweet you taste, how nicely your pussy would fit around his cock, how fucking perfect you sound when you’re cumming for him, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to let you leave his room.
TAG LIST:
@gyokujyn @mrsjoequinn @thealloveru2 @sunnyhummingbee @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes fanfiction#mcu#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x you#marvel#the winter soldier#winter soldier#12 days of smut
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convenient pt. 2 | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,
pt. 1 (you cannot read part 2 with no context).
summary - he totally just cares if you pass your exams, nothing else. there is no other reason he keeps coming back to your convenience store.
genre - fluff, fem!college!reader x early season!spencer
warnings - school work, incorrect science stuff bc i’m just a girl
a/n - thank you all for the love on the first part!!! it was so surprising, especially since it was the first fic i’ve uploaded on this blog, i love y’all so much 🫶 thank you to those who suggested to make this a series, i would’ve totally made this a oneshot if not for y’all.
“you got any plans tonight spencer?”, morgan asked, taking his jacket off the back of his chair, passing spencer’s clean desk.
“uh, yeah actually.”
“really?” morgan stopped beside him, looking over his shoulder, a smirk crawling up, “with who?”
“moby dick.” spencer lied, morgan rolled his eyes.
“you’re no fun man.”
the doorbell rang, but after not seeing a certain skinny man for two nights, you’re mind starting to reset into the ‘studying grind mode’ it had been on before meeting spencer. stop thinking about spencer, keep studying.
three ladies dressed in short skirts, a white man with dreads (yikes), and a boy around 8 years old checked out with various items before a 3 minute cannelloni, bag of coffee, and an apple landed in front of you. before you could look up he spoke,
“how did your assignment go?” you jumped in your seat, nearly punching the man in the face before you placed a hand over your heart and sighed,
“good lord, you need to learn how to walk louder.”
spencer grinned. you scanned the cannelloni, he glanced at your hand still over your heart.
“rubatosis.”
“bless you?”
“the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.” you glanced up and saw him looking at your hand with a thin lipped awkward smile. you quickly put your hand down and continued scanning, pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“we all know words. like… vellichor.” you spoke, packing his things in the same plastic bag he brought just little of a week ago. he tilted his head,
“the love of used bookstores?”
“i saw old books in your car.”
“you were looking in my car?” he put his hands in his pockets, as he looked out the window to his parked vehicle, not planning to pick up his bag of ‘groceries’ anytime soon. only then did you notice his tie was askew, his hair a little disheveled, his eyes a little sunken. the doorbell rung, a middle-aged balding man walking in behind spencer.
“i’m observant. $12.98.” he whipped out a slim wallet from his back pocket, flicking through some notes to pull out a $20. you ruffled through the register for his change as he remarked,
“you didn’t even look at the register.”
“don’t need to, you’re predictable.” you reply with a sneaky smile, causing spencer to copy reluctantly.
there was an awkward cough from behind him, the middle-aged man. spencer turned back to you after realising that he was in fact in a convenience store, and you were in fact the only worker there. “sorry sir, um. bye.” he took his bag, the thin lipped smile becoming nearly as predictable as his late-night groceries.
“bye.”
the tall, awkward, superbly smart man who smelt like wood didn’t show up for 5 nights. you thought there were only three possibilities at his absence: sickness, death, or he’s learnt how to cook.
you thought the next time you saw him you would ask more about him. in between studying, classes, and working, there wasn’t much time for a social life in your day to day. or maybe you wouldn’t. maybe he wasn’t showing up because he wasn’t really a regular, just a guy who needed quick meals, coffee, and apples on those specific nights. that’s insane, you are insane, get back to studying.
you almost didn’t recognise him the next night. same clothes, same height, same cologne, different face. dark circles under his eyes, permanent lines between his eyebrows, and a purple bruise on his left cheek. it was silent, he was the only customer at 11:30pm. you both made eye contact while you scanned his items, (same things plus a travel first aid kit) silently observing his expectant expression before you broke the silence.
“i’m not going to ask.”
“i got hit with the butt of a gun.” he said matter of factly.
you halted, coffee bag in hand, and stared at him, squinting. “…okay. actually i am gonna ask. who would hit a librarian with the butt of a gun?”
he scrunched his eyebrows and tilted his head, blinking, “i’m not a librarian. why do you think i’m a librarian?”
you packed his things, “smart, dressed posh, just general mysterious good looking librarian vibe,” he handed you a $20, “you remind me of a pipe cleaner with eyes.”
he raised an eyebrow, breaking eye contact, “not the first time i’ve heard that.”
you laughed, thinking it was a joke. his shoulders relaxed, the lines between his eyebrows softening. he grabbed his things, “bye, y/n.”
“bye, spencer.”
you were so close to finding out more about him. how the hell does a man that looks like that get into so much trouble?
you finish your shift, packing your textbooks and now flat laptop, locking everything up and turning the lights off. it was 1am. and, spencer was asleep in his car.
you looked around and put your jacket around your shoulders before jogging up to his driver’s window. his head was lulled to one side, mouth closed, chest rising softly. you knocked, and suddenly he was wide-eyed and searching for something.
“spencer? what are you still doing here?” you speak just loud enough for him to hear behind the window, which he promptly put down. you had a split second realisation how crazy this was. checking in on a regular, watching a regular sleep, feeling safe enough to approach a man’s car just because he buys the same thing every night he comes to the convenience store.
“sorry, i didn’t mean to fall asleep. i- uh,” he wiped his face, “sorry.”
you look at him with concern, “it’s okay, just.. try not to look like you were waiting for me to finish my shift to kidnap me next time, okay?”
he sighed and nodded. waving goodbye, you started down the street, your apartment only being a block away. over the music now playing in your ears, you heard a car drive away, mixing with your confused thoughts about who this regular really is and what he does for a living. and how does he look that good.
he was back the next night, same black slacks, with a purple sweater a shade darker than your own.
“hey spencer, before i scan your 3 minute bolognese, coffee and bag of apples-“
“how did you get that perfectly-“
“i’m going to ask this and you’re going to answer, okay?”
you know nothing about this man, but talking to him like a good friend felt natural now. though, you still tried to avoid over stepping it.
“-though you don’t actually have to answer it. you are a customer and i can’t force customers to do anything but- seeing as though you know i’m a college student and that i work at this convenience store and that i sort of suck at biology- sorry i’m rambling,” you take a breath, “where do you work?” you finish, spencer smiling slightly. you were surprised he didn’t cut you off to stop you, like everyone else did. he didn’t answer at first, the squeak of your shoe against the floor displayed your anxious tell.
“i can’t tell you.”
you sighed, rolling your eyes and packing his stuff, he already had a $20 ready in his hand. you took it, fingers brushing slightly against his. “you suck, and your so suspicious. i should just call security.”
he looked around, fiddling his fingers together, “you don’t have security.”
you pointed to a dead cockroach outside underneath the warm street light. “yes we do. why do you think he’s twitching? he’s insane, he’ll hurt you.”
he chuckled, the sound bringing a shade of pink to your cheeks. “you don’t work on weekends.”
you squinted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and maybe a bit of fear. “what.”
“i came in on a weekend and a man was here.” he explained as you nodded.
“yeah, no i don’t. why?”
spencer gulped, taking his bag, and smiling awkwardly, “nothing, bye!”
you waved, confused. also stressed, you hadn’t worked on your psychology assignment while waiting for him to show up.
pt. 3
taglist- @jeffswh0re @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @wannabewolf @evysian @trashmonstersara
#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#spencer reid#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds fluff
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SHOCK FACTOR★彡 Part 1
Next Chapter.
Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader
Warnings: swearing
Summary: After a close game and a couple bad decisions, the media has pitted you and Paige against each other. When you finally meet off the court you’re not sure what to expect…
A/n: got many requests for some sort of rival player type-thing!!! I combined some ideas to please the masses :) there will be more parts obv. This chap is pretty long so sorry for that!!
___________________________________________________________
“This question here is for Paige again. Now, is there anything you have to say about the little altercation near the end of the third quarter with number 3 on USC? it was quite a tense moment!”
The blonde smirks to herself, her hand rubbing her forehead. “There ain’t much to say. I went for the ball and obviously she did too. I’m not tryna give anything up, I jus personally think I got it first but that doesn’t matter anymore.” She shrugs. “Thas it.”
There’s a pause for a moment, before she opens her mouth again. “I will say though, ion have much patience for players who can’t control their language.”
Her teammates share looks at this comment, and the reporters attempt to press further but Geno ensures Paige doesn’t talk for the rest of the press conference.
“(Name) how many times have you watched this fuckin video.” JuJu comes up from behind you, scaring the shit out of you and snapping you back to reality.
“I haven’t watched it that much.” You roll your eyes. “I just…never mind.”
“It’s time to move on, shit like this happens. Jus gotta keep on that grind.” She says, sitting down beside you. Despite being a freshman, Juju was naturally mature. You and her had become a popular junior/freshman duo both on and off the court. You pushed her harder and she kept you on your toes.
“I’m moved on.” You huff.
“No you’re not…look at yo hands gripping your phone.” She laughs and you roll your eyes.
The issue wasn’t the prolonged tussle for the ball when your team played UConn, it wasn’t Paige barely regarding you, or her shading the occasional curse you’d let slip during a game. These things all fuelled what really was bothering you. The way you responded.
TWO WEEKS EARLIER, POST UCONN GAME
“Where’s JuJu? Prolly eating or something she’s lowkey a big back.”
You laugh at your roommates response to the question. It had been a weird couple of days since USC faced UConn, usually there wasn’t a lot of buzz around women’s college games but this year was different. The media was all up on everyone, especially UConn since Paige returned in better health for her senior year. You decided to go live to have some fun and interact with your viewers, even though your mind was elsewhere.
“What were your thoughts on how you guys played Connecticut?” You read aloud from the chat. “Um, they’re great. I mean it was pretty close. Me and the girls did what we could and we’re gonna kill it next year, so.” You say, perfectly passive and normal. In your head you were furious at how close the game had been, but there was nothing you could do.
Near the end of the third quarter, you and Paige had a little tussle for possession of the ball. You could’ve sworn you’d gotten it before pale skinned hands darted out for the grab, almost stealing it from you before your instincts kicked in and managed your grip. You vividly remember the yells from teammates, coaches and the stands as you and Paige momentarily wrestled for the ball, her tongue sticking out between her lips and her eyes determined before number 3 on her team tore her away.
Grazing your hand against hers at the end of the game was humiliating, and she was undoubtedly looking forward to it; holding your fingers a moment too long before letting out the most agitating, self-fulfilled “good game” with a smile that would’ve warranted a punch to her teeth had you not been on camera.
You didn’t bother to smile back, but muttered a perfectly timed “bitch” just as her hand let go of yours. Nobody heard it except you and her, and the subtle change in expression from haughty to straight faced was a beautiful sight for sore eyes.
“They keep asking about the thing with Paige.” Your roomie reads, and you shove her. “Bro why’d you say that out loud…now I have to address it.” You whisper to her, annoyed. She wasn’t on the team, and didn’t think about things like that.
She shoots an apologetic look, and you decide to act like nothing happened. The damage is done though, because now all the comments are about Paige.
“You handled the press good after.”
“If I was you I would’ve taken it off the court ngl”
“You were wrong for that!”
“What happened with Paige???”
“The way she was looking at u after….mm”
“Did you see what she said on the panel?”
Scanning through the various questions you found it harder and harder to not think about it. Basketball is a contact sport, things like a fight for the ball weren’t rare. Sure it was a little aggressive, but nothing you weren’t ready for. Paige seemed ready herself, her hands gripping the already-in-your-grasp ball, her eyes shooting you the coldest look they could muster. You’d already seen edits of her all over social media, tousling with you for a moment before being dragged off by Aaliyah.
JuJu walks into your dorm and sits next to you, reading the comments as well. She slightly shakes her head at all the mentions of Paige, but greets the chat nevertheless.
Fuck it. It’s late night, you’ve been getting annoyed by all of this attention on Paige and you, and people weren’t gonna forget about it anytime soon. One comment won’t hurt.
“Did I see what Paige said on the panel?” You read out loud. JuJu shoots you a look. “Yeah…I did. ” You say, suspicious as possible. “Ion know…i jus don’t have much patience for that swiper no swiping shihhh…..stuff.” You mock Paige, then catch yourself before fully saying shit. Two digs at the blonde at UConn in one sentence, one for her statement and the other for her criticism on your swearing.
You, your roommate and JuJu all look at each other for what seems like an eternity before bursting into an explosion of laughter. You were just being petty, it didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.
It kinda was.
PRESENT TIME
You’ve always loved east-coast America. It has a different kind of feel, especially during spring. The weather was getting hotter and everyone is hyped for summer break, at least those without classes. You and some of your teammates were going on a little Big East road trip, and of course the east meant places like New York, Michigan, Boston, Rhode Island, Connecticut.
God, you weren’t ready for Connecticut. The media was really eating you and Paige’s (non-existent) beef up, and you wondered if it would translate into real life. What was worse was that you had a friend who went to UConn who you were seeing for sure.
“I am not coming to your school.” You said hastily over the phone.
“Chill.” Elaine, your friend responded. “Nobody wants you here anyways.”
“Shuttuppppp it’s not funny.” You whine, knowing she was joking but hoping there was no truth in the statement. You could handle the smoke of a mini rivalry, but confrontation was just awkward.
“Just be ready. The minute you’re in town let me know, we can go to my favourite bar.” She laughs.
“Got it.” You respond happily. You were gonna have a fun night out, things were gonna be chill. You’d maybe have a drink…maybe get hammered. It was gonna be good.
-
“You should go live.”
“No fucking way.” You shake your head. The bar was crowded, but nice. You understand why your friend wanted to take you.
“Are most of these people UConn kids?” You ask.
“Yeah.” Elaine responds, looking around. “This is like the Storrs hangout spot on a Friday night. Anyways, I’ve missed seeing your lives.”
“I know, I know.” You rub your head. “I literally can’t though. Like, I’m on a social media ban. Goddd, after that last live you don’t get how much shit I got.”
“I thought it was funny!” She says, and you smile. “Oh my god (Name), did you see her tweet after.”
“BYE.” you cover your face, laughing. A couple hours after the live, Paige had tweeted some sort of passive aggressive very targeted thing about how God has her back when people give her a hard time or something like that. You’d almost died when it showed on your TL.
“Have you seen all the edits comparing me n her.” You manage to get out between laughs. Sure, you didn’t have the spectacular reputation Paige did. The girl had started her college career stronger then literally everyone else, and she was top pick to begin with. Her return to the court was well anticipated, even by you.
Still despite that, you had a certain sparkle in game. You played flashy, but you could back it up. Your freshman year you were very much an underdog, a stark difference from Paige, but your sophomore year had been very different, and this year as a junior you were getting recognition that almost gave you whiplash. Your talent was undoubted.
“I think both of you guys are being extra careful on socials now.” Elaine says. “I mean Paige is pretty active, but when they go live the minute your name is brought up, which it always is, she like…mysteriously disappears from view. It’s actually funny.”
“Whatever.” You say, taking a swig of your drink. “As funny as it is, I’m tired of all this shit, it’s unnecessary. Let’s forget about her.”
Elaine lets out a cough, before covering her face. “Pfft. Um, yeah. Let’s forget about it.”
“What….what is it?” You say, raising an eyebrow. Your friends eyes are stuck behind you. When you turn on the barstool as conspicuously as possible, you feel your stomach physically lurch.
“You’re fucking kidding.”
“We have great luck.” Elaine muffles a laugh.
You spin back towards her, talking through bared teeth. “You brought me to Storrs’s most popular bar on a Friday night…Storrs…fuck. That’s their campus? Seriously??!”
“Don’t be mad.” She sheepishly smiles. “I don’t pay that much attention to them…I didn’t think it through.”
“Boo, you whore. Even I know they’re like, bar-fiends.” You grumble, putting your head down. “God, just put your head down, cover me, something. I’m not tryna do this right now.”
Covering your eyes and keeping your back to the group, you ask. “How many of them are here. Tell me exactly who.”
“Umm, I don’t know all of them.” She says.
“Bitch just tell me…I swear to god.” You sneer, casually attempting to turn, discreetly letting your eyes graze the masses before they meet a pair of blue ones.
Shit.
Her eyes hold yours for a moment too long. Her hair is down instead of her signature ponytail and braids. She’s dressed casually, and posed confidently. Her expression is one of surprise…then amusement…and then something you can’t quite recognize. When her friends start to follow her gaze, you finally turn away.
“Elaine, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”
“Calm down, it’s fine. You always say you can handle the smoke, right?”
“Yeah when I’m in California I can…not when I’m in a UConn infested bar with Paige fucking Bueckers and her cult staring me down.”
“They’re really staring. Oh, KK just pointed at you.” Elaine says, looking at them obviously. You fix your posture and adjust your hair at this.
“Are they like…coming over?”
“Yep.” She murmurs under her breath, indicating they’re close.
“Umm, hey.” A voice says from behind you. It’s low, almost raspy. You remember it being way more strained and arrogant on the court. In the bar, it was almost attractive.
“Hey.” You say, as cool as possible. Turning to face Paige and her teammates usually wouldn’t have intimidated you, you could hold your ground and you were confident in yourself, but here? On their turf? With none of your own teammates? And a couple drinks in you? Your body was already tingling, and you were terrified you would say something to dig your hole deeper.
“Think I could get a picture?” Paige says. She sounds likes she’s severely forcing herself, arms crossed and drink already half empty despite just entering the bar. Azzi’s face breaks into an amused smirk beside her, and her other friends hang back with giggly expressions.
“A…picture?” You say, confused. The three of you stare at each other for an awkward moment before you break the silence. “Sorry…that was rude of me, my bad. I just wasn’t expecting that.” You laugh. “If you actually want a picture I can do that for you.”
“Thanks.” Paige smiles, but there’s no happiness behind it. When she poses by you, her hand just hovers above your waist. She can’t even bring herself to touch you. You give your best smile as Azzi takes the picture on Paige’s phone.
When she shows it to the two of you, you realize why Paige might’ve wanted that picture.
“You’re gonna really shock everyone when you post that.” You say, laughing. Paige’s face finally breaks to a more authentic smirk that sends shivers down your spine. It’s like the one she wore when you two were facing each other on the court. Proud, confident, ready for anything.
“Never let em’ know your next move.” She says, eyes piercing yours.
-
As the night goes on the bar gets more and more busy, you have to yell over the music for Elaine to hear you. You’re not exactly trying to talk to her though, because she’s mostly talking about Paige.
“You know she’s sort of a campus heart-throb right?”
“What??” You yell, although you’ve perfectly heard what she’s said.
“She’s. Hot. Maybe you should flirt with her a little.” Elaine says.
You just shake your head. “I’m gonna get another drink.”
Your luck is spectacular for the night, because there are no barstool seats left except one a little too close to Paige, who’s sitting alone and waiting for her drink. You silently curse, but are thankful her team isn’t there too. You sit by her as confidently as possible, avoiding her gaze.
She’s watching you indubitably, noting every move you make. Your posture as you sit, the Polaroid behind your clear phone case, the way your lips move when you ask the bartender for your favourite drink, these are all thinks she seemingly makes note of.
You can’t help but overhear her scoff at your drink choice, to which you finally turn and acknowledge her, raising your eyebrow.
“Out of everything you could’ve ordered you got that?” She says, haughty as ever.
“Not everyone is trying to get white-girl-wasted.” You respond curtly, eyeing her Dirty Shirley.
Paige scoffs. “You don’t talk as big as you do on your lives.”
Shrugging, you respond “Someone asked a question and I answered, simple as that.”
“Ion know bout that one.” She rolls her eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think you’re just feining for people to talk bout you.”
This bitch. You internally think, brows furrowed at her statement. “Wouldn’t have even been brought up if you hadn’t let your fatass ego get in the way of your media training during that press conference.” You sneer. “Now that is feining for people to talk..”
“Someone asked a question and I answered.” She smiles, sending a hot flash of anger throughout your body. “Simple as that.”
“You think you’re so smart.” You grumble out, turning your head from her. The sheer arrogance is radiating from her body, it’s annoying you to no end.
“I am.” She says, as if it’s common knowledge. “Plus, I’m not the one who started twisting words. That was you, remember?”
When your drink is finally set in front of you, you make a point to get up from the stool and grab it, sending Paige a steely look. “Good talk, Bueckers.”
“Aye, wait a sec.”
You’re already walking away, taking a big gulp of your drink when she slides off of her stool and catches up, walking beside you. You don’t miss how her eyes flick to your mouth when you wipe it clean, facing her begrudgingly.
“Why’re you even here?” She asks. “Visiting yo girlfriend?”
“Who, Elaine?” You laugh, Elaine being the straightest girl you know. “Why’re you so interested?”
“Wasn’t expecting to see some California girl in Storrs. You sure you weren’t plotting on seeing me?” Paige grins, taking a step towards you. She’s taller then you, and the way she tilts her head downwards when she speaks gives you an unrecognizable feeling that you’re planning to blame on the alcohol.
“I got up close and personal with you once, and it was enough.” You smile, holding her stare. She chews on the straw of her Shirley, her expression both amused and something else.
“Ion think so.” She mumbles.
“You don’t have to think.” You respond, looking her up and down for a moment. It feels like an eternity passes as you two challenge each other, the air gets thicker by the minute and you finally break away from her, walking as confidently as you can, far from where she can see you.
-
You don’t see Paige again after that, presumably because her and her friends went elsewhere. Laying in a hotel room next to your teammates, you can’t help but think about the blonde and how odd your interaction was. She had this way of looking at you like she knew exactly what you were thinking, even though you knew damn well she knew nothing except for how you were on the court. Still, despite how her voice made your skin itch and her mannerisms induced the need for violence, there was something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
As if reading your mind, your phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. You check your notifications to see a sea of messages and a couple more alien ones on Instagram.
paigebueckers started following you.
paigebueckers tagged you in their story.
jujubballin sent you a story.
jujubballin sent you a message.
kenzie_4bs sent you a story.
kenzie_4bs sent you a message.
You accept Paige’s request and view her story, which features the picture of you and Paige. You sitting and her standing, her hand just hovering above your waist, her face a curt close-mouthed smile and yours wide and genuine. It’s an interesting photo which she’s captioned “Cali meets Connecticut!”
You scoff at her version of being witty, and immediately cringe at the sheer amount of traction the post has gotten already, with at least 50 people in your inbox within the first 15 minutes of the post coming out. The messages range from “The crossover we needed!!” To “Ik you wanted to punch her white-ass” and frankly it was all too much for you. Social media, Connecticut, the messages, Paige.
She seemed to be the main article of stress in your life the past couple weeks and it seemed to smart to keep a distance from her from this point onward.
The girl really knows how to induce that shock factor.
#Spotify#fanfiction#fanfic#paige bueckers#uconn wbb#rpf#paige buckets#azzi fudd#storrs#usc wbb#usc#university of southern california#university of connecticut#paige bueckers x reader#x reader#paige x reader
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𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝'𝐯𝐞 || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
part one: I knew you were trouble // part two: would’ve could’ve should’ve
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_The Capitol's Dream girl was depressed. After Snow broke her heart and returned only to haunt her. It only takes an official marriage proposal on New Year's Day, an interview with Lucky Flickerman and a rebel bombing to completely break you, and make Snow realize there's a place for one last person to love for the rest of his life.
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ 10k words fic ups, reader is depressed, blood, violence, angst, tears, drama, reader makes some cruel things, antidepressants, nothing wild but they have sex so mdni 18+ , Snow actually loves reader (well idk). I couldn't add anything about the games of Mags SORRY.
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_main song for this is Would've Could've Should've, song added to my Coryo Copito's playlist. Also, listen to the 1 and memory lane!!!
♪ ♫ Coryo playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)
____________________________________
Nights were longer now. You couldn't sleep. Nightmares of the games, how you contributed. The vivid image of the first time you saw Clemensia after the snake bite. Your mind made you recreate Sejanus being hanged in District 12. And finally, your mind also made you replay every moment you had with Coriolanus Snow since you met him at 17.
You wished you never asked to sit with him at lunch. You wished you never asked to see him again.
He would've been just another classmate. If the things that happened in the 10th Hunger Games were meant to be, at least you wouldn't have been involved.
It wouldn't have hurt you enough to feel so miserable in the present.
But this was as good as it was going to get.
You weren't the best driver, but since very few people had a car, you dared to take the one your chauffeur was meant to. It distracts you from staring at the window and overthinking.
Sometimes you wonder how it would've turned out if Snow won the prize without being a mentor, just like it was planned to happen. Would you have made a stop at his place? For him to get inside your car and kiss you good morning. Then drive to the University of the Capitol? Could've been fun.
But you made your way alone. Only listening to the music that played on the radio.
And you wondered what would've happened if Arachne was alive, Sejanus too, and Clemensia was fine to take classes in person. Would they have made fun of you and Snow entering University holding hands? Could've been sweet.
But again, you were alone. It's a cloudy day at The Capitol. Your long emerald green coat gets stuck with the car door. You roll your eyes, opening the damn door once again to set free the piece of fabric.
You started wearing high heels. It made you look taller and you loved the sound every time you stepped out of your home. Your mother had launched a new collection, and she loved seeing you wearing her creations.
For the record, you haven't seen Coriolanus Snow since the day you had your first counselor appointment. That was a month ago, and it was… great.
Actually, it wasn't, but yeah…
A lot of people greeted you, but none were your friends. You see, the University isn't very different compared to the Academy. The same architecture, and familiar faces that no longer wear the red uniform. And even so, you feel like a fish out of water.
Life isn't perfect. But you weren't ready to start your young adult days feeling so out of breath.
"Y/n!…" you turn to encounter Persephone. A sweet girl from the Academy.
"Persephone. Hi…" You do your best to smile. She was a classmate from the Academy. And she never was your friend but you always thought she was so sweet.
"How have you been? You're all over the news" For the first time in weeks you giggle, feeling a little blushed. The feeling of someone asking you how you were doing felt so good.
"I've had better days. But here we are… And you?" She tilts her head.
"I visited my grandma's lake house in District 4. It was so good. I heard you're in the science and law program" you nod. You also knew Persephone was on the law program.
"Yeah, you're in law too…."
"Is Coriolanus going to be there too?" You stop smiling.
In fact, you weren't sure. But probably he would also be in law. Tigris once said he wanted to pursue politics.
"I'm not sure… We-…we don't talk anymore" she gasped in shock.
"What? Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you were…"
"No. But it's fine. He must be doing great…" you cut her off before she can ask more questions.
Your first class was okay. Until Snow walked in, wearing a perfect dark blue suit. His silly hair looked slightly longer than the last time you saw him, but still, nothing compared to his messy hair from months ago. You pretend you didn't see him, opting to keep writing something in your journal. But he had to stop beside you. There are some minutes of silence, but nothing would make you turn to knowledge of his presence.
"Can I sit with you?" His voice is colder again. You can notice through a little glimpse of a white rose decorating his suit. But you keep your eyes set on the page in front of you.
And you know you won't fail again.
"No."
He can feel the venom in your voice.
"I'm sitting here." He says after all.
You really don't have time to tear up on the first day of University. You want to stand up and leave, but you're so mature that you won't say anything else.
At least, for the rest of the class, he doesn't say anything else, but you know he occasionally turns to see you.
"Is it gonna be like this forever?" He asks when it's over. You dare to see him in the eyes, enchanting blue as always. But the young man in front of you isn't the boy you met. And yet, he still made your heart beat like he was the same who was once your lover.
"I don't have time for this. Have a nice day, Snow'' he looks as you leave the classroom. His hands shook, and that feeling of guilt assaulted him once again. You are the proof alive of all the pain he caused. So he needs to have you back on his side, so he can feel some humanity remaining in him after all the things he did months ago. Because he knows there's no good left on him, but he can't get rid of you like he did with Sejanus, Highbottom… and Lucy Gray.
You were meant for him. But he was so infatuated with the other girl. And Snow was aware that you deserve the best. You were his ally since day one. So having you by his side again… would seal his imaginary pact.
He looks at you and sees the girl that gave him the chance of his life. He promised his grandma'am you would be the girl he would give a home and a family.
But now, every time he asked Tigris how you were, she avoided giving details. grandma'am was growing suspicious that things weren't going great. Tigris had been a lot of times on your house and mother's shows. Your father would ask for Coriolanus but he didn't know all the things the young man did to his daughter.
So Tigris would say he was still serving as a peacekeeper. And you, you would say you haven't talked a lot with him.
Not anymore. Coriolanus would try every day. As he denied he loved you, he pretended he needed you as you were the one. Just that.
…
"Y/n y/l/n." Suddenly a peacekeeper comes to you.
"Yes?" You ask politely.
"Dr. Gaul demands your presence in her laboratory" you sigh. Of course, she would be the first to ask to see you.
It was the same laboratory. Only that now was near. The way to get there was slow, even peaceful. Maybe because the day was almost over.
The first thing you notice is how many empty water tanks are scattered.
"There you are, Ms. Y/l/n" she appears from the crystal stairs at the end of the room. Wearing a yellow set that made her eyes more bright. Her hair is the same. Looking as evil and cynic as always.
"Dr. Gaul" you greet. Stopping some feet away from her.
"A school new year means new planning ahead" You nod. Already hearing what she was about to say. Well, not entirely.
"The last games were a mess. Between the rebels and Mr. Snow's bright decisions. Our central ideas couldn't be fulfilled. However, I decided to give him another chance, there's so much potential in that boy" You don't know how to feel about that. So you just remain quiet.
"Speaking of the devil…" when you turned back, Snow was walking towards you and the woman near you. Immediately you avoided his eyes, knowing he was probably looking at your dress. The coat was long gone, leaving a soft and accentuating pink dress with long sleeves.
He knew it was inappropriate. But ever since he gained your trust and his feelings of attachment to you, he had a long time to accept he had a thing for your hips. The dress was extremely simple but looked elegant with some bright exotic earrings, and it was your body that created the most attractive shape he'd ever seen.
And soon, his view of you became sided.
"I believe I don't need to remind you of your actions from the last games, Mr. Snow," the woman said.
"It won't happen again." He answered with confidence.
"I know it won't happen again," Gaul says laughing. Making you wonder how much time she had been trying to get into the position she was now.
"This year, let's say you'll be under probation, Mr.Snow. On the other hand, Ms. y/l/n. Another year and another success from you" his eyes were on you again. Turned to his left without shame. And that's when Snow remembered since he came back from District 12 how smart you were. Without saying anything, even avoiding it, you knew he had cheated on the games. And probably, without talking to him anymore, you knew he wasn't a good man.
Only that…slowly, you were also turning into a bad woman.
"Those water creatures are fully developed. They're nothing compared to the snakes from last year. This new invention has marked a new era for us…" To be honest, you don't know how to feel about it. Everything related to the games made you remember your dear friend Sejanus Plinth. He would've hated this creation from you. But on the bright side, this was your future. These were the constant obstacles you would have if you were to achieve success.
"Dr. Gaul. An emergency message has been sent to y/n y/l/n" Immediately you turned confused looking at a new peacekeeper. When you look at your mentor, she nods, indicating to you that you're allowed to leave.
"Excuse me." As you walk away, another peacekeeper has a cable phone. One of the newest wireless ones. Red and shiny, silently beeping. You can hear Snow asking Dr. Gaul something, but the sound of your heels is loud enough to make it difficult to understand as you reach the phone
The peacekeeper hands the cable phone. You pick up, feeling your heart pounding.
"Hello?" The low breathing of your mother can be heard.
"Darling! Something bad happened…"
"What?" You ask. And you don't know but Snow is trying so hard to listen to your conversation.
"Our mines in District 12. Your father made a little trip there with some friends. The people caused a revolt. They bombed the mines." You frown, in shock. Already feeling anger building up in your chest.
"Is pa' okay?" She sighs, which stresses you more.
"Some burns. The peacekeepers saved him on time" Snow listens to Gaul but he literally has an ear on you and the other in the mentor.
"Is it too bad? Like… putting our wealth in danger?" You whisper the last sentence. Your mother is a proud woman. But in the privacy of her family, she allowed herself to be vulnerable.
"I don't know, darling. We still have the mines in District 1. But the ones on the 12 represented greater materials" There's no time to cry and you know it.
So after some soothing words to your mother, you hang up. And you're not thinking clearly. You just know you're angry, and convinced someone had to pay. If you started disliking District 12 after the last games, now it was getting personal.
When you go back to stand beside Snow. You hear Gaul explaining to him how most of the lessons would go. But as soon as she turns back to you, there's an idea that leaves your mouth before you can breathe or blink.
"I was about to say that we should change the arena of the games. Each year it should change, like the seasons. Wasting the opportunity to use the water mutts sounds like a waste of potential for the views. If we still want a spectacle like the one from last year." The woman analyses your words. And after some seconds of silence, she speaks.
At the same time, Snow can't comprehend how poisonous you sound. He knew the call enraged you, it must've been bad.
"Then I'll ask you to find some suggestions for the arena"
"And… I have some ideas for this year Reaping" the woman's evil smile grows. She knows she's turning two young adults into monsters.
"I can't wait till Summer of next year" Gaul giggles, then lets you go, commenting that the next day the actual lessons would begin.
You sigh once she leaves. Finally acknowledging what you just did. Dooming a bunch of kids to fight for their lives with those water monsters. You remember Sejanus. The way he screamed in anger when his tribute was punished for trying to escape.
You're also a monster.
Snow turns to your side, looking as if you have just been cut with something, and he's searching for the wound.
"Are you okay? What happened?" he asks worriedly, caressing your forearm.
"Your beloved district 12. That's what happened." You spit with venom, squirming away from him.
Your harshness takes all over the place as you move away from him.
…
It's New Year's Day. A bright morning, and you already have your first guest. Clemensia Dovecote.
She still wears turtlenecks. But the gloves are gone. You can't stop smiling after seeing her smile and laugh as she drinks tea on your patio.
"I can't believe it worked, y/n," she says changing the subject. The first dose you gave her was after the games, in late summer. And now, at the peak of winter, Clemensia looked amazing. The cracked and raspy yellowish skin she had, the bright yellow eyes that contrasted her dark brown irises, all of that was mostly gone.
"To be honest, me neither…" you admit smiling proudly. Her skin looked slightly covered in scales, but the texture was soft. Like a snake that shines with a new layer of skin. Her eyes were still a little yellow, but the white was coming back.
"How did you come up with it? The treatment and everything?" you gulp nervously, sipping at your tea. If you opened your mouth, there would be no turning back.
Clemmie knew Snow had cheated, she swore to keep quiet about it. She knew about his exile. But she didn't know everything.
Then you thought you owed nothing to Snow. He owed you a lot, and yet, the way he paid was… cruel.
The only thing you were not in your right to share was about… the boy he killed. And as you'd never know he killed many more, Clemmie wouldn't either.
"He chose her. The songbird" Clemensia's eyes widened, she left the cookie she was about to eat.
"No…" you nod, confirming your words.
"Yes. During the games… he sacrificed everything for her. When I confronted him, he said nothing. After he was exiled, he committed a bribe to ensure his service as a peacekeeper on the 12" you spit with hate. The pride you carried each day, had a big crack thanks to that man, and like broken porcelain, it would never be healed.
"But he only had eyes for you… The Christmas after you arrived here, I asked him out and he said he had eyes on someone else. I can't believe him…" you giggle, rolling your eyes.
"He only had eyes for my money and father's position. He had the chance to win the prize and got obsessed with winning something by himself. The girl was just the cherry on top" You quickly added more as you were about to reveal he was… poor. Not because of him, but for Tigris and her grandmother. Tigris would lose her job and your mother would likely turn her down. So no, you weren't as bad as Snow yet.
"After he left. I realized how much he traced the scar on my face. I simply started hating it. And sooner I dreamed I had it gone. So I thought… Why can't I make something for my dear Clemensia and myself at the same time?" The black haired inspected your face.
"Your scar…" she remembered your face back then. The long pink line across your face. Clemensia did once see Snow caressing your face, his thumb traced the line across your nose until it landed on your lips.
Not it was just a memory as your scar. It was gone. Your face is clean, shiny, and perfect. Too bad that just your face was able to get rid of the touch of Snow.
You can't tell her he asked you to marry him. That was embarrassing enough to say it out loud.
"That's now the boy I knew. He had always been a little cold but… he was good. Now… I just can't stand what he did to you. And while I'll thank you for the rest of my life, you helped with my condition. I will ever feel sorry that you came up with it from such pain" Maybe before the bite, Clemmie was a little narcissistic. And her ambition led her to lie and get bitten. But now, she was all about being thankful and seeking peace everywhere.
"It's okay, Clemmie. Even after all, with Sejanus gone, all of what happened last summer… I'm happy that I have you" she smiles, offering you a big hug.
"Yeah, you won't get rid of me next year" She was officially coming back to class at the University after the winter break was over. Now Snow wouldn't be able to sit next to you.
"I won't mind…" Suddenly your mother comes out from one of the many balconies of your house.
"Girls! The stylist is here!" She lets you and Clemmie know.
This year, the annual New Year's Day will be at your house. The patio where you had breakfast and tea with your friend was already decorated with long tables. Porcelain plates are perfectly accommodated with wine velvet bows decorating them.
Clemensia's father talks with you about the revolt in District 12 and the burns he got. After that… more peacekeepers were sent. And slowly… the whole territory was becoming marginalized.
You ignore it, you only have eyes for the dress writing you on the other side.
When you open the door of your room, there it is.
A golden dress. Shinny and full of sequined beats. With metallic gold puffy fabric resting on your lower half back and ending around your wrists. Bare shoulders style.
You feel bad for not asking Tigris to style you, but she was already busy.
"I... I can't believe this…" you gasp, touching the elegant fabric of the dress. Clemmie can't stop saying how beautiful the dress is.
"With red lipstick and burnt pink eyeshadows… it'll look fantastic," the stylist says to your mother, already visualizing the look.
…
The patio is full of people. Elegant bonfires make everyone warm. Most of the guests look at your dress as you greet them. The last guests were Tigris and her grandmother, you placed them both in a table full of fashion contacts of your mother.
Clemmie is talking with Festus, Persephone, and other classmates.
Everything goes well until you set your eyes on the garden's entrance and you spot Snow entering.
Your eyebrows immediately frown. The night had been peaceful. And ever since winter break started, you haven't heard of him.
Why did he have to come? Was it for his grandmother?. Doesn't matter, you don't want him in your house.
He spots you and knows you just turned angry. You grab him by the arm and pull him away.
"What are you doing here?" You ask annoyed.
"You invited Tigris and Grandma'am" he shrugs.
"Yes. Tigris and Grandma'am. Not Tigris, Grandma'am, and Coriolanus" For the first time in months, you say his name.
"I have to talk to your father," he admits. You are confused, but he won't say anything yet.
"You look lovely tonight" You ignore the praise in his voice. But he genuinely believes you look astronomically beautiful. Snow was trying to act confident, but deep down he was nervous.
And it worsened when your dad interfered.
"Coriolanus. I'm glad you made it on time. Just an hour away till the countdown" you turn to see your father, offering him a glass of champagne. Neither of you should be drinking yet. But the elite of The Capitol was allowed to break the rules a little.
"No, of course I couldn't. I was just saying how gorgeous y/n looks tonight" your father smiles. You knew your father was believing Snow, that he was a gentleman.
"My one and only child. Perfect as always…" your father answers, putting his arm around your shoulders.
"I would like to discuss something with you. In private…" your heart beats faster.
"Be my guest, boy…" he tells him to enter the party. And as they leave you feel nauseous.
…
There are twenty minutes left till New Year's Day. Your father hasn't come out with Coriolanus yet. You nervously want to chew your nails. But you do your best for Clemmie. It was her first public appearance since the summer.
You had been trained to satisfy The Capitol's expectations since you were a kid. You knew what you could and couldn't do.
But none had prepared you to hide your shock.
"Dear guests. Family and friends. I would like to give an announcement" Your father appears, the sound of the glass capturing everyone's attention.
"With a new year around the corner, changes are too."
It couldn't…
Snow walked through the tables, towards you.
No, no, no, no.
"It is my pleasure to announce the engagement between Coriolanus Snow and my only daughter, y/n"
You swear you can't breathe.
You don't see Clemmie's face of horror. Tigris is highly confused. Grandma'am at the verge of tears.
"For my darling and her fiancé. Whom I wish eternal luck and happiness" your father finishes the toast.
Snow is beside you, he's not happy either. But he is the first one to start acting for the sudden flashes and cheering.
"How couldn't you tell me you wanted to get married, dear?" Your father asks, being the first person to hug you.
Your shock is so big that you don't even remember smiling for the pictures. You don't remember feeling his hand around your shoulders. You don't remember bursting into the house.
Snow follows you. It's empty, everyone is cheering because the countdown is about to start.
He calls your name. But you don't listen. He follows you through the kitchen and living room.
"WHAT?" You explode before being able to go upstairs.
You see his desperate eyes.
"I didn't know your father was going to announce it that way." He notices your face is red from anger.
"Listen to me, Coriolanus Snow. NO MAN will come and take away the pride of the woman I am." You scream in his face. You won't go quiet like the first time.
"YOU WERE NOTHING!. YOU OWE ME YOUR LUCK!" Snow can only fix his eyes on the sequins of your dress. He had never seen you screaming like that. And nobody would hear anyway.
"If this was your way to make me surrender and get me back. You're so wrong. Because you are going to be in debt with me for the rest of your life. Unless you want a rebel wife like it was your beloved Lucy Gray Baird." His eyes widened at your sudden attack. He has to process every word, every disgusted face you are making. He hadn’t thought about the songbird in many days. Hearing her names sent chills to his spine.
"I wanted this to be different. I had to "You hate him. You can't stand seeing him in his perfect grey suit, his perfect hair and eyes. You really hate him.
"YOU HAD NOTHING!. IF YOU WERE GONNA HUMILIATE ME LIKE THAT, YOU HAD TO GET ON YOUR KNEES AND BEG TO MARRY ME!" Whisking away, he grabs your hand, and when you turn, you find him on his knees.
"Please…" you feel he placed the ring in your hand. And it's too much.
You slap him. And then run away to your room.
As you lock the door, you throw the ring. And when tears start streaming down like a waterfall, you hear the first fireworks.
There's a bottle of pills in your vanity. The treatment for your low mood. You only need it once in a day. But you take two hoping it would knock you out and make you forget about the night.
It's officially a new year.
…
Three weeks later, Lucky Flickerman is interviewing you and Snow in his late-night show. You can't stand how Snow is caressing your hand. The way he slightly giggles and smiles at you, whenever there is a silly question.
You only do this because nobody knows the truth. Just Clemensia and Tigris.
"Sources tell us that it'll be a spring wedding. Is that right, y/n?" The man asks. You sigh, smiling.
'We're not sure yet, Lucky. There are so many details. Especially with my dress. But my man here is patiently waiting" the interviewer laughs, throwing a sarcastic comment about the dress.
"And what about kids? Is a baby on the plans?" Immediately, both of you blush.
"Yes. We want to have kids one day" Snow hurries to answer. You want to laugh.
He would be a terrible father. Some days ago, he was at your house for a family gathering and while he liked seeing you with your baby cousins, he knew he wasn't good with them. He didn't know how to play or make them laugh. But he had to make everyone believe he was a man of family and marriage. Even when both of you were still nineteen.
"Oh. Well, you're still young. There's plenty of time, pair of lovebirds" You make the strength to turn and smile at Snow. He returns you the smile.
And he wants to believe it's an honest reaction from you. He really hates that everything happened this way. He wanted to wait personally and privately ask you to marry him again. Not like this.
"Y/n… How did you know Coriolanus was the one?" It takes you aback. You can't lie. There's a truth.
"When I met him, he made me feel comfortable. He was so sweet and he trusted me. He made it hard for me not to love him. He has these gorgeous ocean eyes, that every time I see him I get lost in them. It reminds me of the kind boy I met some time ago…" Everyone feels emotional. Coriolanus is aware of the real meaning behind your words, and he can't help but honestly smile. He knows he realized it, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it.
"These ladies and gentlemen… is a couple in love!" Lucky laughs and points at you and Snow excited. And he says that he'll be back with the broadcast for the weather, he thanks you and your fiancé for being there.
"Take care, guys. Don't forget to invite me to the wedding!, I'll get some people inside to bring the news anyways…"
And finally, both of you are behind the set. You don't even glance at Snow. But he hurries to stop you, interfering in your way.
"I'm sorry. For everything…" you cross your arms.
"No. You hate me. That's why you keep doing this to me…"
Your assistant appears handing you a glass of water and a little plate of something Snow can't see.
"Here's some water and your antidepressants, miss" You blush and ignore the way your fiancé is looking.
As you walk away, Coriolanus only feels worse.
…
You stare at the public library. Now closed just for your wedding happening in a couple of hours.
There are white roses everywhere. Petition of your mother to commemorate Snow and his family. You hated it.
It ended up being a spring wedding. But a very cold one. By early June, summer would start. And for now, snowflakes still fell upon The Capitol.
"The dress is ready…" Tigris says, appearing on your side. She sees how you stare at the whole place with dismay.
"How could this happen?" She asks, wondering.
"My younger self would've loved this day. But now… is different" You didn't want to insult her cousin.
"His younger self would've also loved this" Tigris remembered how enchanted was Coriolanus for you. Saying that he made a rich friend who was so sweet. Soon he admitted you were gorgeous and delicate. Now forgetting to mention you only when Grandma'am asked.
"He's trying to get you back," Tigris adds. And you question it.
Ever since the engagement. He always reached for you. Asking how you were. The kisses on the cheek to greet you. Felt honest. But you doubted you would ever forgive him. Even if you ended up having his children someday…
"I know it won't change anything. But I'm sorry. You didn't deserve this…" the young woman lamented. After you confessed most of the things Snow did to you, she added that to her list. And slowly, Tigris had slightly brushed aside her cousin.
"I didn't. But what's pissing me off is the wedding night" Tigris coughed awkwardly. And you rolled your eyes.
"No, Tigris. It's not about the sex. It's about me having to leave my house forever. I refuse…" She relaxed.
Honestly, you hadn't thought about sex. You knew it would happen anytime after marrying. But you wouldn't give Snow the satisfaction to even give hints.
At least, your father suggested Snow temporarily move in with you in your room since his new penthouse would be only for Tigris and grandmother. He would sleep in your tub.
"It's a great place for a honeymoon. Capitol's north is full of mountains, fancy restaurants, and actual snow" Somehow, you laugh.
"Fitting for my new legal name" Tigris joins you and laughs, hugging you tightly.
You stare at the flowers, and the hundreds of seats, and you aren't ready. But there's a smile on your face. Because at that point you don't even care.
…
Coriolanus was alone. He thinks Sejanus could've been there. Annoying and smiley as always, but he would've been the best man. Chosen by him because there wasn't another option. But it's only him. Staring at his mother's ring.
Pure gold, a medium size rectangle-shaped diamond. Shining ridiculously in white and small rainbows.
You look just like your father on his wedding day.
Your mother was so happy. Spinning and laughing as your father danced with her.
Remember. As you take a wife, you are choosing a life partner. You have to remember every morning why you chose her. You have to respect and protect her. Give her a home, a warm place to grow old together.
Y/n is the perfect woman for you. She's so lucky to have you, my boy.
All of those things, Grandma'am had said to him as she handed the ring.
And now sitting alone in a room. Suit ready, in black, and very little gold details in the white shirt under. Tigris said it was going to match your dress.
Your father actually loved your mother, Coriolanus. Treat her right. That is the least you could do…
She knew. Tigris had to know everything.
Coriolanus wondered how you would look. A princess-style dress? Maybe velvet? And he imagined your face.
That's when he can't take it anymore. He cries. Because everything was going to be a lie. He cries because it could've been true. If only he had made better decisions. If only you weren't so smart that you discovered him.
He's a broken man.
But he grips the ring on his palm. Wiping the tears and deciding that he's never going to fail you again. As he knew you had never failed him. And even when you hated him, neither you would.
…
There are three mirrors. Your hands trace the shiny beats of your dress. From the strips to your breasts, to your waist and hips. The end was full of them. Combining gold, and even dark brown or grey. It was simple, slightly sheer. But extremely elegant. Made with crystals from your family's mines. Representative of your native District 1. Your hair is down, perfectly cut in that shag haircut you had when you were a teen. It fits perfectly with your veil. Also covered in tiny pieces of crystals that cover your head, to the tail of the dress.
You looked like a Capitol's bride.
And for some reason, you can't find the tears. It's just you staring at the mirrors. Accepting your doomed life.
As you open the door, you know there are already tears on everyone but you.
Clemensia, Persephone, your mother, and Tigris sob and look at you in shock.
"Oh my god, my baby. You look perfect!" Your mother cries, caressing your cheeks and sobbing. You smile at her, just that.
They keep talking about the dress when you hear a knock followed by the door of the room opening.
"Is there any time for this old woman to see the bride?" Tigris smiles at her grandmother, inviting her to join.
"There's only ten minutes left. Everyone hurry!" Your mother says. They exaggerate, only Tigris gives you one last retouch, and hands you the bouquet. With white roses and some lilies scattered.
She kisses your cheek and smiles deeply.
"It's gonna be fine. I swear…" and with that, she leaves.
Grandma'am only looks at you with love. She always liked you for his grandson. And she believed love floated around you two. For the record, she said it two weeks ago in a rehearsal you had.
"I knew it from the first day my little Coriolanus came home rambling about you" she smiles.
"And from that day, it always had been you, my dear. Even today… always saying you are the love of his life" Your eyes water. Coriolanus wouldn't lie to his grandma about something like that. He could lie about killing someone but not about something he knew would make her happy.
"He did?" You ask as she takes your hand.
"Of course. I know I'm old, and I can't tell he has committed some errors. But I know those blue always are so in love with you, my child" That couldn't be.
"Do you love him?" You won't cry. But you're fighting the lump in your throat.
"I do. Ever since the first day…" you admit.
Maybe you would always resent the man you were going to marry. But you would always love the memory of the boy you once had.
"Promise me you will make him happy, dear. He has so little when we lost everything once. Take care of him. Give him a family, that's all I ask" You can't say no to her. You just can't.
"I promise." She hugs you. And you swallow the lump, looking at the door.
…
The moment had arrived. The doors opened, the music started and everyone turned back to see you entering by the hand of your father.
Sounds of shock, admiring, and more are very low but noticeable.
For Coriolanus, it's only you. Your hair was like when you met him. The dress is so perfect. Your makeup too. And he promises to keep the image of you in his mind for the rest of his life.
He genuinely smiles. And you are feeling so confused. Could his grandmother have been telling the truth?
Coriolanus actually loved you? The way he had been smiling and treating you for the past months. Had he really been feeling sorry?
Would you forgive him if that was the case?
You can't tell because your father has dropped you at the altar.
You didn't even feel his kiss on the head and promised good luck.
You just feel Snow taking your hand. It's warm, even soft for his calloused hands.
And you can't turn to see him.
There are many people taking pictures of you and him.
Everyone loved the Capitol's Dream Girl and her handsome wealthy fiancé ever since the engagement.
When you last expected it, you are officially Mrs. Snow.
"You may kiss the bride…" you know he's doubting. But there's no time, so you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him.
It takes him aback, but soon, his hands find that damn spot, in your hips. And it doesn't feel wrong, for some reason.
You just see him and you realize he's your man now.
Neither of you can understand the emotions flowing at the moment. You like seeing him smiling at you like that, but you also feel sad. And he loves the way you look, he feels so attached to you.
In other words, both feel like it was real. But both knew the truth.
You don't dare to eye any of your family or friends as you leave by the hand of your now husband.
…
The reception was just as big as the ceremony. With the most elegant music, food of all kinds, and a varied menu.
Your husband has chosen to give the option of fish florentine, mentioning to you that his uncle used to get the best food from District 4 before the war.
For you, it was fried steak with three types of cheese and coated with mushroom cream.
There's a picture for everyone. You and Snow enter the party. Your father says a little speech about how much of a great marriage you would have.
You dance with your baby cousins. Lucky Flickerman was able to ask about your dress and possible honeymoon location.
You ignore your husband for the rest of the night. Only when the cake has to be sliced. It's a 5 layer cake, covered in white and very little baby pink roses. Snow and you agreed to make it white chocolate with raspberries and cream.
He cleans some cream from your cheek, and before you can even think about it, you laugh.
He danced with you but you only decided to hear his heartbeats, instead of seeing him. It made you understand that lonely days were over. But at what cost?
…
That night, you are already seeing the mountains and green woods covered in white at the top. You sigh, looking at the metallic silk nightgown. You didn't want the traditional white or pink silk gown. This was short, offered some cleavage, it shined in orange and pink tones when it was supposed to be lavender.
During the whole hour trip to the residence of the honeymoon, you didn't say anything to him.
When you come out of the bathroom, he's sitting at the edge of the bed. A dark grey robe on him and you wonder if he was naked too.
Ignoring him, you go to the giant vanity in front of the bed.
You try to focus on the plenty of assignments you'll have after the honeymoon. With less than three months before the next games, your water mutts had already killed a person. Gaul only laughed and insisted on you to feed the beasts with the corpse.
Little did everyone know that on the Reaping day, District 12 people would receive a tiny stain of liquid Mercury on their ballot. Within months of inhaling that thing, they would be sick. It was your revenge for the revolt in the mines that almost killed your father.
But for now, you can only feel his eyes on you. Like the first day of school. You know he wants to touch you. He wants to claim you as his wife. But he doesn't have the right.
So he stays seated, hoping you will make the first move.
Ignoring the way your heart beats, wanting to feel something. Your heart was blind, thinking you could make love with Coriolanus.
Once you have finished with your facial cream. You turn off the light. Only the balcony offered some glimpses.
You step between his legs, hands on his shoulders. The smell of tobacco leaf and vanilla bean perfume hits him, making him gulp. Unsure whether to touch you or not.
"Wait, y/n… Are you-… Are you sure?" He asks, unsure of what is happening. He kind of thanked you for turning off the lights. That way you couldn't see how blushed he was. After all, this was going to be his first time. After actual years of desiring you, he gets to have you for the rest of his life.
Then you lean, inches away from his lips.
" I don't want to hear you" and you don't say more, neither does he. In the darkness, he finds your lips and there's plenty of time to kiss you slowly. With wet sounds, your hands fly to his hair. Making him moan for the first time. It shouldn't be turning you on. But it is, so you slightly move your head, and maybe he understood, 'cause he started kissing your jaw, soon your neck.
He feels you pulling out the nightgown, and it's making him so fucking hard.
You kiss him again and he's free to wander across your naked body. Now his…
It's his first time, just like it is yours. So when he tries to touch you past your lower belly, you guide him.
Softly making him slide his fingers across your wet folds. You moan and he thinks it's the most erotic thing he's ever heard in his life. He knows you are skilled even when it's also your first time. He knows because of your timing, the way you swayed your hips any time you walked, and the way you balanced touching him and moaning at the same time.
Before you, he rarely touched himself or thought about sex. But soon after kissing you for the first time, he would hate himself for thinking how you would look underneath the Academy uniform.
And now, there you were, naked, taking his virginity as you slowly rode him. You swear he has to be big enough to be able to feel him and his details inside you. The pacing was so soft yet hard. Soft because of your slick, hard because of the pleasure.
All you could hear was his sighs, but the stars of the night were your moans and little yelps for him. No words exchanged, just the sound of your desire and his response.
And when you start going faster, holding onto him as if your life depended on it, he was over the edge to say it. But he couldn't.
Your first time should've been with him on top. Tigris said it was traditional. But he let you take the lead, and it was turning out better. You even let him paint your walls with his cum. You let him kiss and suck your nipples as he felt the last spasms of his climax, prolonged by the way you squeezed him.
Even with the silence, both of you knew. It was the hardest and best orgasm of your life.
…
At the outsides of The Capitol, there's an office. All University students needed to submit their petition to graduate two years prior to the ceremony. Gaul demanded you and Snow to go as soon as you returned from the honeymoon.
Now, two months married, you feel slightly lighter. You talked a little bit more with him. Breakfasts were quiet but peaceful. At the University he always tried to protect you.
The news was all about the wedding. Saying it was the event that officially marked the end of the war. People loved you and encouraged your husband to pursue a political party to start campaigns, hoping to win the presidency. As for you, rumors had spread that you were going to be the next game maker of Panem. Evenings were to study and go for some walks. And most of the nights you repeated the same formula. Ending up tangled in your bed with the darkness reigning.
You couldn't help but wonder if something had changed.
Coriolanus Snow was still cold, serious, a man of few but harsh words. But to you, he seemed warm. Like if fucking him had made him switch and now he was eating out from the palm of your hand.
Still, you still felt like the past was haunting you. With memories of the last games and the moment you lost your lovely blonde guy.
"It's done," Snow says coming out of a private office. The green tiles stop being attractive to your eye, making you blink twice to stare at your husband.
He's yours, just like you wanted. With his perfect eyes, perfect smile, hair, body, and dream life.
You sigh with relief. He had insisted on submitting both papers to soothe you from stress.
"We are likely to receive a letter next year. The woman said it was basically approved for us…" you nod. He offers you a sweet smile, that you can't help but reply.
He offers you his arm to take, ready to leave the office.
Lately, Coriolanus has been worried for you. The antidepressant treatment was over, but you were under pressure because you had created the arena and strategies for the 11th Hunger Games. People debated your capacity and ideals. And he knew that would stress you.
He was patiently trying to make you feel comfortable on his side. To make you feel again like you said in the interview with Flickerman.
"Thank you." You say to him.
"Of course."
After taking the elevator, you two are ready to walk out. Until there's a loud explosion near. You exchange looks with your husband, and as he squeezes your hand tighter, what feels like another explosion makes you and Snow fly away.
When he opens his eyes, the building is literally on fire. He reacts quickly, realizing there has been another bombing.
He's okay, just his neck hurts, but there's no blood. It's you who's worrying him a lot.
He calls your name but you don't respond.
Through the ashes and hazes of dust, he looks out for you.
A few feet away, you are coughing, lying on the ground.
He runs and kneels beside you.
"Y/n, please. Can you hear me?" You nod slowly, barely moving.
"I-can't breathe…" Snow sees how your nose bleeds and there are some glasses making your arm shake a little. The sleeve of your cardigan is drenched in blood.
He panics and goes into a full panic attack. Not even when he was in the arena and got hurt. He truly feared losing you.
"I'm taking you out of here" he looks around and notices there's no one around.
He carries you, doing his best to run out of the increasing fire.
"I don't want to die, Coriolanus" you gasp, trying to breathe. He looks down at you, now looking at the dirt in your face.
"You won't die, love. Just calm down and breathe" In fact he knows you could die. But he refuses to accept it as he finds the exit of the building.
There's chaos on the streets.
And in the middle of the disaster, he starts asking for help.
"Please… I need an ambulance for my wife!" He pleads to some people who seem to be helping a group of kids.
A woman listens and calls for a man.
"Help is coming, y/n. Do not close your eyes" The rush in him impeded him from crying. Because he was so freaked out.
"Mr. Snow, I'm a doctor. I'll help your wife get into a hospital" A middle-aged man gets closer, inspecting your face. You can't hear anything. Your eyes close by themselves, and you still feel so out of breath.
It's the sound of the ambulance that works as a lullaby and makes you pass out.
…
It's uncertain. But reliable sources said it was a direct target from rebel allies, a direct target to you. Because the next game maker needed to be erased from Panem before she could even start. Snow is shockingly angered. And he adds another point to his hate for rebellion.
"I won't quit." You affirm from the hospital bed. Your mother frowns.
"I don't think you're understanding the seriousness of this situation, y/n" she suggests, to which your father also nods.
The door opens and Coriolanus enters, hurried to inspect you.
"Are you Okay? The doctor said it wasn't that bad but-" you smile, caressing his shoulder.
"I'm fine. Just inhaled too much smoke. And my arm, but that's it" You show him your left arm covered in gazes.
He kisses your forehead.
"I was so afraid," he whispers in your ear.
And maybe it was all about your emotions after the shocking day. But you finally feel it. You love him. And the way he had acted since the engagement made you believe he could possibly feel the same. But you aren't sure.
"I won't quit. That would only give the rebels a point. I will make this games memorable. And nobody in Panem will ever question my methods" Your words shouldn't have made your husband proud. But it does.
"You're so right, dear," he says, making you smile nervously.
…
You are allowed to leave the hospital that night. And the whole ride, you have to fight the tears. You can't take it anymore.
As soon as you get inside your room. Coriolanus starts running the tub to clean you up.
You get on your knees. Your throat already feels as if you were choking. He spots you on your carpet, looking so vague and lost.
"Please, Coriolanus." He's watching you carefully. And by your face, he feels you are about to say something from the bottom of your heart.
"What? Are you in pain?" He asks scared, kneeling in front of you. You don't answer and that terrifies him. Until you do.
"Tell me you are in love with me. Just once, doesn't matter if you never say it again for the rest of my life. If you mean it, say you love me." Tears start flowing, your face turns red, and Coriolanus can't help but feel vulnerable by seeing like that.
"Because if you say you only insisted on marrying me because of the money, and my father's position… I'm gonna hate you till the day I die. For all you did to me and everything that could've been" he has to close his eyes. To not see you as a tear falls without a warning from his left eye. He has to decide. Is he going to break his promise? He said he couldn't love anyone again. But you weren't new. You were the first. She was the last.
Coriolanus wished to be your boyfriend soon after meeting you. And from waiting for the right moment to ask, he ended up ruining everything for his ambition. From believing she was different, that she was worth it. Ignoring all the pain he caused to you.
And until that moment he realized he had almost obligated you to marry him.
He already had what he wanted. The money and his power were growing, and he had the girl.
Crying on her knees in front of him. Asking him to end her pain. Just by loving her after all the pain he caused her.
Slowly, he reaches for your face. Your sobs became almost silent. Your heart was beating so fast. And if Coriolanus didn't speak now, you would end up having a second mental breakdown.
But he caressed your cheeks. And he traced your face. Where your scar should've been. New waves of tears fall as you feel what he's doing. Only making shut your eyes harder.
"Look at me, y/n" you can't. You're not ready to hear him saying he used you once again.
"I can't." You whisper, sobbing. He decided then to grab you by the waist. Being so gentle, made you feel like two years ago when he was still your lover.
He placed you carefully on the bed. Making you hide your face against the pillows, ruining the white satin with your makeup.
He doesn't care. He just wants to be honest. Real. He's still young. Coriolanus knows he can't live the rest of his life married to you, making you believe he never loved you.
Only you would be able to see who he really was. Even if he ended up having children with you someday. He would never love them like you.
He could be cold and his decisions would be considered cruel. But the only person on earth that would judge him was going to be you.
"Please look at me, y/n" he caresses your cheek, smiling softly. Slowly, you sit, facing him finally.
You can see your old and sweet Coriolanus with the smile he's giving you. And it only makes you cry and cry again.
"I love you."
You stop. Hiccuping, you look perplexed at him.
He's still smiling.
You know he killed two people, probably three.
You'd never know he sent Sejanus to be hanged.
You know he's not the best person.
You'd never know he had a letter he was going to send to you before going to District 12.
You know he caused you so much pain.
And yet you thought you'd never hear him saying those three words.
"I made you suffer. I ruined everything. You know what I did just by looking at my eyes. How can we love each other after all?" You shrug. Trying to control yourself and answer him properly.
"Maybe because we never got the chance to make it real." He chuckles, taking your hand.
"You know I also did cruel things this year." He nodded, having no right to judge you. He wondered if you did all of that from rage, for everything that happened.
"And I still believe you deserve the world, Capitol's dream girl…" he makes you laugh. Out of embarrassment from the silly nickname Flickerman gave you.
"My father was a bad man, and yet, he always treated my mom right. I can't promise I'll be perfect, but I will never hurt you again" You brush his hair. Dishevelling it in the process, making him look like a year ago.
"Promise me. Just you and I, getting each other's back" he says. And you know you'll go to hell for being with him. But he was the love of your life.
"Just you and I, my love" he smiles again.
"I'll make you First Lady of Panem one day. It'll fit better for your current nickname" you roll your eyes.
"What will we do with that much power?" He stares deeply into your eyes. You changed his hair, and he hoped he could still see the scar on your face. But it was gone. Just like the girl he met two years ago. So was the boy he was. But it was okay. Because he'd make you be like him. And nothing would matter more than you and him.
"Everything, dear" you smile. And feeling like teenagers again, both lean at the same time to kiss. Like it was the first time.
"Can I?…" he asks on your lips. You nod, hugging from his neck.
He kisses you finally. Soft, slow but demanding.
And you remember you made it. Your husband would have the power, but you just won control.
And for the next two weeks, during summer break, Coriolanus and you spent your days in District 1. Spending the days eating in the best restaurants, visiting museums, and swimming in private pools. Spending the nights exploring each other for the first time. He marked you his and you marked him yours. Watching the moon and forgetting about the university, moving into a new house, letting the past die.
Maybe the memory of Lucy Gray Baird would haunt Coriolanus for the rest of his life, but you were going to be there to turn it into haze. And maybe you would never forget the pain of losing thanks to him, but he would paint your days golden. He would be a good husband who would make it up each day.
…
The first day of your second year of University started differently. Coriolanus refused to learn to drive and refused to let you do it. But you convinced him it was okay.
You left home together. And arrived together on campus. Went through the stairs holding hands.
"Look, it's The Capitol's trendiest couple" Persephone, an old classmate from the Academy but also a new friend said. Festus, Clemmie, and other new friends were there, laughing and making fun of you and Coriolanus.
And you blushed. Abruptly stopping your steps. Your husband turned to see you.
"Everything is fine?" You nod, smiling.
"I just… This is exactly how I wanted to begin University last year" It made his heart clench.
"Only… he's missing it" Like a needle taking him aback, Coriolanus knew what you meant.
"He'd hate what we have become though" It's bad, but you laugh.
"You're right, dear" you agree with your husband.
"But happy for us…" he adds, and you nod. Grabbing his arm to finally enter the building.
Soon, two peacekeepers call you to Gaul's office, just like last year. She's not there. But there's a letter on her desk.
You exchange looks with Coriolanus. He tilts his head and follows you to the desk. Carefully, he grabs the envelope and opens it.
Students, as the summer ends, I hope you had a pleasant summer.
Congratulations on your success after the games, Mr and Mrs. Snow.
Given the circumstances of Dean Highbottom's death last year, I won't be able to begin with the preparation for the 12th Hunger Games.
I believe you two have gained enough knowledge to start without me.
You'll find materials in the backroom of my principal laboratory. You'll find it quite interesting.
Make me proud and you two will be the first and automatic option to replace me in a couple of years.
And keep in mind what I always ask. What are the games for?
Dr. Volumnia Gaul
No words are exchanged after reading the letter. Coriolanus only nods to you, agreeing to the message.
So you go to the principal laboratory. It's clean and the sound of different animals is the only sound inside.
There are two long tables, and it's obvious, that there are at least six corpses covered in white blankets.
When you pull away the blanket, you gasp in shock.
The corpses that were once humans now seemed a mix of animals.
Until you see what it is.
"Coryo. These are the corpses of the death tributes" You are shocked. He was also surprised.
"The mutt bite… transformed them?" Slowly, you nod. He hands you some gloves and a face mask
"Every year I end up creating something more vile" you admit touching the slimy skin of the corpses, turning dark and the human face blemished. Only a girl from District 4 had won Mags. A lot of people loved her. But the cheer wasn't very loud, thank you and your marriage.
"These were also the people who probably agreed on the bombs. They hate us, y/n" he's right.
"They need a yearly reminder that war is over. That we won and that you won't give up" You turn to face him. There's the anger and hate you disliked about him. But now you have plenty of reasons to agree with him.
"They deserve this."
"You're right"
He sees you making some tests to study the altered DNA and smiles. He was so fucked up.
"Don't stare, silly. Come here and help me. There's a lot to do" you say playfully. So he smirks mockingly and starts helping you.
"Maybe we could have some resting after this" he suggests, you laugh.
"Here? With deformed corpses? I don't think so, dear"
"Not here. We can go to the private ladies' room." Sometimes you made fun of him for having the kind of a pervert teenager. Ever since you decided to make up with him, Coriolanus and you were the biggest switching couple in the history of sex.
"Oh, my goodness. Can you behave for once, Mr. Snow?" You ignore him, sealing some glass containers with pieces of skin, fluids, and more from the corpses.
"You know what? Forget it. We haven't done it in the upper living room, or the library. Yeah, I can wait." Brushing past him, you laugh.
"I swear I will turn you into a mutt if you don't shut up, Coryo" both of you laugh. And Coriolanus feels happy. He thinks he has your back. He finally won.
He won the money, the fame, and the power was growing. And he won the girl.
…
It was already dark when you were done doing the practices at the University. Coriolanus helps you with your coat and bag as you make your way to the car.
"After you, dear" he indicates that you should sit first. So you do, and after you start the car, you turn to see him.
He has rebellious hair hanging on his forehead. He lets you brush his hair and smiles, relaxing after a long day.
There's time to catch your lips and kiss you deeply. Hands on your hips as usual and yours tangled in his hair. Even after brushing it.
"Do you think she'll notice?" He asks agitated, breathing unevenly. You giggle, fixing your dark purple lipstick through the mirror of the car.
"She gave us six bodies, but seven doesn't make much difference. Right?" He smiles too, even giggling a bit.
"I can't wait to take a shower," he admits.
"I can't wait for you to take me to bed after shower" Before you make it outside of campus, he kisses you again, squeezing your inner thigh, almost making you moan.
"Me neither…"
___________________________
Taglist: @sarnbarnes @user0440822 @poppyflower-22 @h-l-vlovesvintage @zxrcle @gloryekaterina @dakotali @especiallythewomenandthechildren @mymadokamagica @drvnkn-dazed
In my head… this was the wedding dress<3
#coriolanus snow x reader#young coriolanus snow#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus x sejanus#coriolanus x lucy gray#coriolanus smut#coriolanus snow#coriolanus x you#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#the hunger games
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#1 girl
pairing: dbf joel miller x afab/sorority sister reader
kenny here... tumblr Blipped me u guys. but i loved this too much to let it waste into nothingness. so here we go again take two using an ancient blog i never even used (from 2016 mind u...) enjoy!
You're too wrapped up in sorority duties to remember somebody's supposed to pick you up and drive you home tonight. One pissed-off Joel, curious conversation, and cowboy hat later, your evening takes an unexpected turn.
warnings: no outbreak au, dbf!joel, self gratuitous age gap (21/51), shy reader w/ some bursts of confidence, blowjob (m receiving), handjob (f receiving), dirty talk, praise, degradation too..., overuse of pet names... must b all
Of all the ways you imagined spending your fifth day of spring break, the last was in your dad’s best friend’s pickup truck with lame rock playing dryly through the console radio. In fact, last is generous—the idea itself had never even been conjured in your head.
The reason why is because you and your dad’s best friend—Mr. Miller—don’t typically interact beyond the confines of dinners, mandatory laughter, and the occasional one-on-one about something like boys in college, or classes in college, or the drive to college. Nothing much had changed when you moved the brief drive away to UT Austin, and between you everything’s remained the same, even now in your senior year.
For instance, a break—summer, spring, winter—would begin with your parents picking you up and shuttling off to the house, and end with an affair of the similar sort. Quickly into your first year, though, you learned to always insist you either leave school late or leave home early for spring break to take advantage of campus parties, especially because your senior year had cemented your shiny new position as President of Alpha Phi.
Any officer position in a sorority already came with a good deal of responsibility, let alone the presidency; and in addition to having recently turned twenty-one, the role required you to exhaust every drop of social battery, every ounce of skill you had at party hosting and alcohol obtaining without the use of a flimsy fake.
The eliminated nerves of using fakes made you much less nervous during parties, which often led to you letting more loose than usual. This party you’re in was thrown by some frat on campus, but this house is your last place of four; first two pregames, then a bar, then here. At some point at the bar your sisters had surprised you with a fun gift for the night, so you’re also wearing a pink sash, onto which rhinestones spelling out #1 Girl have been glued with precision.
Already you’re dizzy, wiping clammy fingers on the stiff cotton of your tight tank top, the curve of your tits spilling over the Alpha Phi logo. It’s small on you, the hem high above your navel and higher above the loose, low hem of your denim shorts. If they fell low enough on your hips, the high arch of your pink thong would’ve shown itself—maybe it did at some point, you’re too loopy to care.
“Oh, no,” you’re saying, but you can barely hear yourself over the rap song playing and everyone singing along, “no, I hate Jäger.” You’re shaking your head at your best friend and Vice President, Lia, who raises two handfuls of the opaque liquid. She shakes her head, sets them down on the table you’re leaning against.
“Lighten up, duuude. We’re taking them to celebrate your first and last spring break as President.”
“Aw, fine,” you muse loudly, giving in. “Only this once.” Out of obligation and genuine gratitude, you allow yourself to stomach your least favorite drink—then another, and another, a bit of each shot dribbling down the column of your throat and stickily onto your chest.
Lia snaps at the red bra strap that peeks out of your tank strap, laughing. “Settle down, Prez.” A partygoer, rowdy as they come, roughly deposits a sweaty cowboy hat onto your head and you yelp in surprise, steadying it. Whoever gave this, I’m keeping it! you holler, laughing as you feed yourself a shot of something your tongue enjoys more.
Absolut crowds the inside of your mouth when you take it back, interrupted only when a hand comes to shake at your shoulder. In your rush to turn, you nearly hit them with your hat.
It’s Cole, a good friend and member of the frat whose house you’re currently getting tipsy in. His eyes are rimmed and the whole air of him smells like weed. He offers one greeting: “Yo.” His eyes slide down to your chest, where your tugged-down tank has exposed a few inches of your red bra’s lacy cups.
“Hey,” you say, the syllable sounding sticky. “Up here, you ass. Jägerbomb?” You offer a smile.
“‘M a’ight. Listen, some…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to place what he’s here to tell you. Then he nods, having remembered—“Right. Some old guy’s out front asking for you.”
“Asking for me? Old… guy?” Your eyebrows scrunch together, mind foggy. “My dad?” Shit. You’d completely forgotten they’d be picking you up today or tomorrow. Maybe they’d been waiting for hours—it’s one-thirty, the clock on the living room mantel reads.
“Nah, man, not your dad, this guy’s… he’s got a red pickup truck, um, he’s, like, he’s old looking.” He raises a hand above his own head. “Tall.” His voice is drawly with the weed high, but as soon as he said red pickup, you knew exactly who he was talking about. One look at your phone confirms it—five missed calls and a message, 11PM, sent by your dad: Joel’s in the area for work. He’s going out with buddies but can swing by the house to pick you up. I’m giving him your #.
“Fuck.” You blink. “Fuck! I gotta go.”
You never usually have to pack shit to go home, considering the drive isn’t too far. Briefly you consider making a detour to collect things from your sorority house, but you decide to sacrifice the laptop and the few important chargers. So, armed with only your phone, you wrench your way out of the crowd, a few goodbyes thrown in your direction and back.
The front door is open so the partygoers spill onto the front yard, intermittent conversation littering the area. Along the pavement, frat guys’ Civics and and Priuses are parked beside an old looking red pickup truck; leaned against it is—
“Mr. Miller,” you blurt out when you’re closer to him, voice steady (your mind is just as well, shocked back to lucidity from his presence). “I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be picking me up today—tonight—” You heave a sigh, apologetic, refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry.”
His arms are crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. Even from a few feet away you can make out the shape, the lines of muscle on his forearms. He looks tired, moody—more than usual—and your heart pangs with guilt at the idea that you could be the reason behind it. But despite your best—really, your best—efforts, your stomach still swoops the same way it did when you were seventeen and naive, enough to find next-door-neighbor Mr. Miller extremely handsome. Hell, extremely hot.
It didn’t make sense. You’d suspected your little crush would be that—an adolescent, childish thing, evaporating more and more into thin air with every drive made to campus. But he never stopped being handsome, never stopped his corny jokes and the pet names that got you warm every time you visited over break. You had plenty of eye candy on campus, athletes and gamers alike, and yes you’d been picky, but had managed to sleep with a select few—despite all of it, only the remnants of your fantasies of Mr. Miller satiated you when your hand creeps into the apex of your thighs late at night, lust wrangling shame into silence for a few minutes.
You blink and the train of thought is over—the real thing is here, eyebrows set low, mouth frowning.
“Kiddo,” he starts, his voice thin with exhaustion, “look, I’ve done my share of… drinkin’, and that. I get it. But you gotta…” He clicks his tongue, eyes looking your outfit up and down. “You gotta let me know, let your parents know, where you are, and if you’re okay. ‘Cause I really did not want to spend tonight drivin’ from house to bar, to bar to house, feelin’ like I was lookin’ all over Austin for you.”
“I know,” you supply quickly, nodding. Your hands, fidgety, find purchase on the fibres of the silk sash strung along your figure. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t check my phone the entire evening, and—”
“It’s okay.” He says, nonchalant, lifting himself off the side of the car to walk to the drivers’ side. Gruffly, he adds, “Car.”
You’re quick to tug the door open, settling yourself on the passenger seat and breathing nervously. Your legs are littered with body glitter, your chest with the tack of Jäger. You spot him outside, his walk slow. He’s annoyed—rightfully so—stopping just shy of the door to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his lips miming a slow exhale. When he finally wrangles himself to sit, it’s quiet for a minute, then another.
“Y’have fun?” He starts the car, thrumming it to life. You nod, then offer a verbal answer—yeah. He nods, wiping a palm over his face. “What were you up to?”
“I, um… I organized a pregame for my sorority.” You toy with the rogue strands of denim of your shorts. “We went to a bar, after… then another… then, well.” You gulp. “Here.” The last question escapes you in a shaky, breathy squeak. “And you?”
“Hah, sure, kid. Had some contractor thing, half an hour from here. Then drinks with a coupl’a buddies from work. Could’ve been home by eleven-thirty,” he says roughly, driving through the still-vibrant streets of campus, “but it’s nearin’ two and I’m on a college campus.” The urge to apologize bubbles at your lips, high in your stomach, but you remain quiet. After a few stretches of dry silence, he asks again. “That party must’ve been real fun for you to leave your old man—and me—on radio silence, wun’nit?”
“Sure,” you manage, stammering. “We were celebrating my sorority presidency.” The dark scenery of Austin blurs past.
“Oh, sorority presidency,” he repeats, both teasing and genuinely curious. “I did hear your dad mention you were in Alpha Phi, s’that right?” You nod. “What’s that, then? Do presidents get cowboy hats?”
Your face grows hot, hands reaching up to clutch at the rim of the hat atop your head. “No, this—somebody put it—it was a joke, Mr. Miller.” A huffy laugh escapes you. “Sorry.”
“Sweetheart,” he says, and you wrench the reminder he’s 51 he’s 51 he’s 51 through your head while he pauses, “‘m drivin’ you around Austin late at night, and I’ve known you for your whole life. How ‘bout we drop the Mr. Miller act, alright?”
“Oh. Okay,” you say. His hands grip the steering wheel firmly, and your eyes wander to his arms, to how he’s basically stuffed into the shirt he’s wearing, big and broad and bulky. His eyes remain focused ahead, so you let yourself indulge a tad bit more—lower, to the material of his jeans. It’s dark in the truck, so you can’t see much, just the flex of his thighs. “Joel.”
“Attagirl.” You chew at the inside of your cheek, already feeling arousal simmering in you, low and dirty. You’re going to soak through this godforsaken thong. “Mind if I make a pit stop?” You shake your head profusely, watch as he pulls into a gas station parking lot. “Want anythin’, girl?”
“N—” your lips form, but you scrap your original answer. “Gum, if they have it.”
“Be damned if they don’t.” He slams the door shut and you watch him enter the store, watch him through the glass panels. He’s so broad. You’d nearly completely forgotten how stupidly you liked him, and now it’s coming, throttling back full-force, especially with the thrilling aspect of it possibly coming to fruition. You are, after all, an adult. And so is he, paying for his shit with a tight-lipped expression, arms crossed again, arms big and—Jesus.
You squeeze your thighs together, willing yourself to get your shit in place when he pulls the door open again, his eyes scanning your seated figure. He tosses you the packet of gum, and you respond with a sweet thank you, Mr. M—Joel, and you fiddle with the packaging as he starts the car again, driving until scenery grows more and more familiar, closer to home.
“By the way,” he says, voice husky with the unuse of not talking for a while. “Think it’s best you spend the night at my house tonight, kid. It’s late. Later than late.” 2:44, the console digital clock reads in blinky red text. “Your parents don't want the door rattlin’ open at this hour, so I’ll let you in the guest room.”
“Oh,” you say. “Sure.”
“D’you have a change of clothes?” He asks, even if he knows you climbed into the seat with nothing but your phone and a cowboy hat. You shake your head and he tsks. “You’re barely covered, sweetheart. Best be careful walkin’ around when the night’s this chilly.”
Barely covered. You think of every possible response, but what leaves your glossed lips is the riskiest: “What do you mean, barely covered?”
You figure if he starts saying shit like what are you insinuatin’, kiddo? You better sleep at yours tonight instead, it’s an easy out—you’re turning the corner onto your street now, and your stomach is boiling with nerves, sticky and anticipatory. “I jus’ mean… it shows a lotta skin.”
“It’s sorority merch, Joel,” you reply, half-amused and half-defensive.
“No, I”—he sighs, like he wants to backtrack what he’s just said—“I know, but… always worth somethin’ to be careful. Might catch a cold with all that leg… all that—you—showin’.” He parks in front of his house, this sizey, homey thing, and your heart flips knowing how familiar this place has been to you your entire life.
“I’m not going to wear winter gear to a spring break frat party.” You’re bolder, suddenly, but even if the statement is, your voice is level, meek, even. Joel nods, as if admitting defeat, and gets out of the car first; you follow, sneakers crunching against the asphalt as you follow him into the house.
“I hope,” he starts when you’re stationed beside him at the door, “I didn’t… offend you. I was jus’ concerned, is all.” Then he’s stoic again, slipping inside, straight to the kitchen to pour you a glass of water. He flicks a yellow light on and you squint when you get there, rubbing at your eyes to prevent them from aching.
You’re still rubbing at them when his gaze drops from your fussed-up hair and askew hat down to the shiny surface of your chest. Your goddamn top leaves him nothing to the imagination, your tits spilling out of it scandalously. The low cut even lets your bra peek through, red and bright and hey, you show up from college wearing these large university shirts and sweatpants—not this, never this. And your shorts, the way they’re really just a fucking belt, starting low on your hips and cut off high above your thighs.
Alpha Phi, the pink text on your white top reads on the left chest area. Right where your tits curve into the top, the slogan is printed: Union hand in hand. God, sororities and their fucking… quotable bullshit. And don’t get him started on the sash, this cutesy, frilly thing he wants to loop around your wrists so he can fuck you over the counter. He knows he can’t—it’s so wrong, so wrong. He’s known your dad for ages.
But you… you're so tempting, a little minx, chirping Mr. Miller all sweet and apologetic, chest out on full display. He blinks when he hears your voice filter through the fog in his head. “—off?”
“What was that, sweetheart?” His eyes meet yours again and he feels a twinge of embarrassment at the way your bashfulness has somewhat melted to give way to the clear amusement on your face. You must’ve spotted the way he ogled you; he wasn’t exactly trying his hardest to be subtle, unfortunately.
“D’you have something I can use to wipe myself off?” You gesture to your sticky collarbone area. “I got Jäger all over myself. Can’t handle the stuff.” You grimace at the memory, and he goes to grab a wet wipe; while waiting, you hoist yourself up onto the counter, bare legs swinging.
Joel turns to toss you the packet of wipes, but his throat dries before he can even call your name out. Your back is to him, and clearly you’re waiting for his return—you’ve busied yourself by sitting on his counter and letting the hot pink lace of your thong rise above the waistline of your shorts. Lord have mercy, he thinks to himself, adjusting his jeans as he walks back over to you.
“Wipes,” he says roughly, not anything else.
You accept the packet and smile shyly. “Can you…” you pause, the implication hovering over both of you, heavy. “Wait for me?” He nods, inviting. Warm. And he watches, inviting but not very warm anymore, the way you wipe over the expanse of your chest, over the curve of your tits, every other part of you dusted in glitter.
“So,” you say again. “Since we’re on first name basis now, Joel, I, um—I hope it’s okay to ask questions.”
“Sounds reasonable. Go for it,” he accepts.
“When’s the last time you went to a party?” Your smile is mischievous.
He chuckles, a huff of air. “...Long, long ago, kid. Back in my day, partyin’ meant beer, maybe a little weed… not that I'm complaining there, you understand.” He nods resolutely. “These days, a quiet home-cooked meal with just the people I really care about… is a party.”
“Wow, what an old guy answer,” you giggle. “Back in youuuur day.” Your raspy, honeyed voice wraps around the your with a teasing lilt.
“Oh, I’m old now, am I?” His stoic demeanor chips away when he laughs. “That makes you what, sweetheart? You’re barely a pup.”
At his words—at the utterance of pup—you roll your eyes and try to shift your seating so your thong doesn’t stick to your folds. “Okay, fine, next.” You’re not even wiping anymore, the material wrung into your fingers, which lay in a fist by your side. “When’s the last time you got shitfaced?”
He gives a grimace of a smile. “Aw… boy, it's been a while.” He comes closer, going from leaning on the opposite drawers to right beside you on the counter. You’re sitting and he’s leaning but still he’s taller, just a bit level. “But there was that one time back in my more adventurous days, when I was younger. A bachelor party wh… well, the details don't really bear talkin’ ‘bout in polite conversation.” He raises his eyebrows. “Why ya askin’ all this? What’s will all the last times?”
“I’m curious, is all.” You smile, leaning back; if his eyes drop just a bit, he’ll see right through your top, maybe even underneath the cup of your bra. “Okay, fine one last… last time.” You giggle, breathy. “When’s the last time you… had sex?”
The air shifts, and Joel clears his throat before chuckling. “S’none of your business, young lady. A gentleman is not raised to kiss and tell.”
“Oh, but he gets shitfaced n’ tells?” You test, pouting and leaning closer toward him so you can quiet your voice. “Come on. I won’t tell anyone I even asked.”
He sighs, contemplating. “Well… it’s been a while.” He gets his fair share of lays, when he goes out to bars with friends or the rare date, but nothing too drastic. It has been a few months. “But you didn’t hear that from me, understood? Now, let’s drop it.”
But you don’t drop it, you brat. “You’re like the born again 40-year-old virgin,” you tease smoothly.
“Try 51, honey,” he grunts out, depositing your dry wipes at the disposal across you. He turns back around, restrained.
��And what, you don’t wanna change that?” No, he thinks—what he wants is to take you over the counter ’til you’re sobbing and sore.
“Hey now, don’t think I don’t think about it sometimes. But I jus’—I don't wanna get involved with no one, even though... Hell, if I met the right person, I might just change my mind. Ain’t that the way it goes?”
“That’s such an antiquated view of sex,” you quip boldly, pressing your arms to your sides. “What happened to just having one good fuck?”
His eyes flicker down then up. “Well, hey. Slow down with the cursin’, sweetheart. And what in the hell makes you think I don’t do that?” He crosses his arms, offering a raised eyebrow and an insufferably smug smile.
“You didn’t necessarily object when I called you a twice-over virgin.”
He chuckles. “There’s more than one way to let it all out, my girl. You don’t have to just go all in to hit the spot.” The thought of him using his own—or some girl’s, actually, hand, throat… to get off, gets you all hot. You want to be that girl. His girl.
“Like how?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.
“Old man like myself probably can’t offer tricks you’ll find… useful.” He grunts, prepares to go upstairs. He reaches over you for the packet of wipes and your proximity urges him to stop, savor the closeness before the rational part of him reminds him you’re his best mate’s daughter.
“Okay, fine,” you say sweetly, voice much quieter—reserved just for the space between you two. “One last, then.”
Mmm, he huffs affirmatively, greenlighting your request. Impatient.
“Since when did old men do that?” You ask, inquisitive, placing emphasis on his self-proclaimed old man title.
“What? Entertain l’il minxes like yourself?” He responds, intending to break your newly-built façade of smugness.
“No,” you respond coolly. “Pack nine inches.” Then you’re clambering off the counter and walking to the stairs. He inhales sharply at the sudden vulgarity of your words, watches every move, every little bounce of your pert ass under the tiny shorts, the wave of your hair, every flex of the ridden-up lace thong against your back.
You turn briefly. “Coming or what?” And then you slip upstairs.
He hears the pad of your footsteps grow quiet and shuts his eyes, letting his composure waver in your absence.
Had he known Harold’s little girl would turn out to be the world’s biggest fucking tease—Jesus Christ. “Lord,” he rasps under his breath, repeating a mantra, holding back the urge to palm himself through his jeans. “Lord, have mercy.” Then he follows you, already spotting something different—the open door at the end of the hall.
His open door. It’s the one that directly mirrors your parents’, a revelation they all had a good laugh at. Sometimes if a matter was so pressing, a well-aimed pebble to the glass window would get Joel’s attention well enough. The lights are flicked on, cool-warm, in his bedroom. You’re in his bedroom.
Or you’re not. He walks in to find no trace of you, save for the scuffed white sneakers by the doorframe. He toes off his own boots and spots the walk-in closet light’s also been flicked on.
“Christ, you’re quick. You’re s’posed to be in the guest room.” He gestures vaguely to the one on the left side of the hall, even if you can’t see him.
“I had to pee. And I needed something to sleep in,” you say politely from inside. He grunts softly to himself at the thought of you undressing in there, the thought of you pulling on something of his.
“Get out of there,” he orders. “I’ll get you somethin’.” Under his breath he mutters, “S’my goddamn closet.”
You chirp okay but he adds anyway: “Hurry, out.”
So you do follow him, even follow the order to hurry, because you’re hasty in your exit, clutching the cowboy hat to your chest. “Sit.” He points to the bed, watches you set the hat next to yourself gingerly. And one last time he asks the Lord for mercy, quietly and in his head, before shutting off every other rational thought that had stopped him tonight.
You follow suit, hat still clutched to your torso, and he slowly comes to stand just in front of you, your face level with the buckle of his leather belt. When you shift he catches sight of the side of your bra, the lace of it. Eyes cast to your bare thighs, you pipe up.
“By the way, Mr. Miller—Joel, I didn’t mean to say any of—I mean, I thought we could talk comfortably about it… that… stuff, but I took it too f—”
“You’re damn fuckin’ right you took it too far.”
He spits it out roughly, harshly. Like he’s scolding you. A zip of shock goes through you—you hadn’t heard him swear so loud before. Maybe he is. “I give you a free ride home at half past one, give you water, give you a place to sleep for the night knowin’ damn well your momma n’ dad would both have killed ya if you stepped foot in that house wearin’ next to nothing. What do I get in return?” He looks down at you, two rough fingers jerking your chin to look up at him.
“I—” you squeak, your voice and confidence betraying you. You’ve soaked through your panties at his sudden switch in behavior. Like you’d broken a dam.
“I get a brat… whorin’ herself out to me like I’m not over twice her age.” He tuts, like he really is disappointed, and your heart almost drops. “I get all these damn questions about sex, like you think I’ll break and fuck you on my kitchen counter.” He was considering it. “All the teasin’, all the skirtin’ around in a thong and a fuckin’…” He shakes your chin. “S’there even anythin’ in that head of yours, honey?”
Your mouth’d been open. You shut it and lick over your lips. “Yeah,” you defend weakly. His hand lowers to stroke at the column of your throat, then to hook under the tight strap of your bra, peeking out under the white of your top. He sidles it back and forth.
“S’this why you asked me all those dumb questions downstairs, huh, sweetheart? ‘Cause you wanted me to pull your top open and fawn over this”—he yanks the hat away, revealing your torso underneath—“little show o’yours?” Your cleavage is sinful, downright—perfect, perky, inviting him to mouth at your tits. Your sash sits prettily above them and he can’t help but pull at it, too, jolting you toward him.
“N—” you inhale sharply, letting him pull and push you around as he pleases. He observes the blinding glittery writing on the pink material and lets out a humorless, self-satisfied huff of laughter.
“Number… one… girl.” His rough thumb grazes over the divots of the rhinestones. “That’s jus’ about right, ain’t it?”
“Yes,” you reply, voice small.
“I’m not sure I agree, baby girl,” he drawls. His touch is precise—he knows exactly where to go, what he’s doing—but rough, dirty, almost, and the huge size of his hands don’t help to support otherwise. He tugs down your tank top so it’s tucked underneath your bra, and you yelp, making a move to cover yourself. He laughs again—“Sure, go all shy on me like you haven’t been showin’ yourself off to me all night. Knees.”
You get off quick, so quick you’re dizzy when you steady yourself on two knees. Two lithe hands make their way to his belt but he steps backward, revels in your evident confusion, clumsiness, the flush high on your cheekbones. “Buckle down, sweetheart.”
“But—”
“No goddamn buts. Listen to me.” He ends up being the one to make work of his belt, and while he talks you have to bite your lip to keep from going slack-jawed at the sight of him. You’d been kidding about the nine inches thing, but Christ he’s huge, strained against the tight denim. He’s thick even under the layers of clothing, and all you want to do is choke on him. “You’re gonna let me use that mouth t’get off, first thing,” he grunts, like this is all some chore to him, “because I am not goin’ to put my cock in my best mate’s daughter.”
“How about,” you croak lightly, “your fingers, then?”
“Jesu—we’ll see.” He tugs his cock out then, and he’s fucking huge, he really is, his tip angry and flushed and being rubbed along your lips, sticking them up with his precum. He sighs contentedly, humming low, the vibration sent straight to your half-open mouth. You suck on the tip of him, watch a slow smile form on his face. “That sash oughta say somethin’ else.”
Your silence grants elaboration. “Number one slut, maybe.” You shift on your thighs, trying to hide how aroused you are at his mean behavior. But he can tell, he can watch the way your blinking slows, the way your eyes glazed over, glassy and teary from trying to take more of him. He doesn’t tell you to slow down, or go faster; he just watches, eyebrows knitted, focused. “Budge up.”
A hand, big and calloused, threads through your hair and gives a tug, goading your mouth open so more of his cock slips past. Your jaw aches from the attempt alone, so you pull off before you start choking too much, tonguing at the parts of him you can’t reach—lower, until you’re laving at his balls. He grunts, pleasured, simmered down. Attagirl. Then you’re back, bobbing up and down, trying despite yourself to take all of him, until your eyes are watery and you’re spluttering, choked.
“Now this is…” He says, and it comes out in a contented little sigh, “a number one throat. Keep those pretty lips open, honey, ‘m gonna fuck them.”
You do, your achy jaw slacked as he begins bucking into your mouth, the sounds of your choking only spurring him on. He’s dominant, taking and taking, and you’re humiliated to find how wet you are, soaked through the lace of your thong and darkening the denim of your shorts. The tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat only gets him to thrust even faster, watching tears fall from your eyes, streaky with mascara. His best friend’s daughter, taking dick like a fucking champ.
He thrusts harder, each sound emitting a nasty, incoherent noise out of you, choked little gasps that have him harder each time. Gonna fuck this throat raw, he mutters. Since that’s what you wan’ed, ain’t it? You reach up, light fingers massaging his balls, and then his hips stutter, and with barely any warning, you feel his hot seed shoot into your throat, little satisfied groans leaving the man above you.
You swallow what you can, limited by his dick still in your mouth. When he pulls out you lap at the cum left behind, circle your tongue around your lips, make a whole show of it. You speak again, your voice raspy and spent: “Please, my turn?”
He lifts you up and smirks at the way you yelp in surprise, tossing you onto the bed and pulling you back onto your knees, your back to his chest. He wrangles your shorts off, gives your ass a smack as he pulls them down, enough to expose what’s underneath. The stiff material gathers just above your bent knees, restraining you from moving much.
“D’you know what,” he says, still sounding angry—like he’s lecturing you, stern, “I could’ve been in bed, wakin’ up at six to work… instead I gotta teach this little brat a fuckin’ lesson. Your old man not teach y’enough manners?” He tugs your bra down, thumbs roughly at your pebbled nipples, wrenching a moan out of you. He’s hard again, dick poking into your ass, and fuck you want him in you.
“He didn’t,” you sniffle, pitiful. “Y’gotta teach me, Daddy.”
“Oh, she likes that, don’t she?” He grumbles, like the title is annoying, juvenile. The way his cock twitches tells you otherwise. “Shut up, baby honey. I got this.” He reaches up your thighs and the ticklish, pleasurable sensation gets you hot.
Joel, you whimper, seizing in on yourself. He grabs your other arm, pulls it back toward him so you remain open and pliant. Please, wait.
“No time for waitin’, not when you spend hours prancin’ around like a little whore, sweetheart.” Without preamble, he’s running his fingers up your thighs again, not stopping this time until his fingers are pressing into your clit, rubbing over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. “And you’re so fucking wet for me. My number one girl, ain’t you?”
“Yea,” you babble dumbly. “Your number one girl.”
“Thaaat’s right. My girl needs her needy cunt filled up, don’t she? By Daddy’s fat fingers.” You nod along, drawn in by the vulgarity of his words, the way he spits them out. You’ve spent several nights fantasizing how his big, rough hands would feel on you—and you’ve been outproven. He’s so fast, so skilled with his fingers; they feel delicious in you. And you can’t stop thinking about all of those girls he implied he’s slept with, the way they probably got to this first. Lucky bitches.
He’s gotten you so wet the entire night, even moreso now, that your pussy is making obscene squelching noises with each pump of his fingers, these nastily loud noises that humiliate you, that turn you on even more, that make you drip all onto Joel’s linen sheets. Fuck, you whimper. He swats at your ass. No swearing, he’s saying.
“Look up for me, honey. Up at the window.” Outside, the sun’s beginning to crawl over Austin, just the faint blues and yellows of early morning. You realize you know this because his curtain’s been pulled open—by him, earlier, before any of this even started, you assume. And the only other thing you can see other than the sky and the sliver of the neighborhood is your parents’ window.
“No,” you plead, looking down. He doesn’t let you, tugs you back up to look by your hair. He knows your parents won’t be up ’til seven-thirty latest. But you don’t know that, and for now, you don’t have to.
“What then, huh, sweetheart? When they go to check on the weather n’ they see their best friend poundin’ their young daughter? What’d they think?” You jerk away, overcome with pleasure and embarrassment at the imaginary situation. You feel his fingers pump in and out of you, filling you up. They’re probably thick and hot, glistening each time they come out. You’re tightening up; you’ll cum soon, make a mess on his hand, which already drips with slick. “So you better hurry. Better make a mess on me soon.”
“I am, I’m—I’m gonna,” you moan. You’re wrapped up in the way his fingers play you just the right way. You’re so close to the surface, and you’ve been wanting this for way too long, so you nod, let yourself get carried away by his words, let yourself give in, spreading your legs as wide as they can go as he fingerfucks you, working out the tension that’s been building up for forever.
“That’s my number one girl,” he grins into your neck, and you’re convulsing release onto his hand, wetting it even further. He wraps a hand around your waist, keeps you close to his figure, his erection at the small of your back. “That’s it, honey. Did so well for me.”
“I want it,” you say meekly. “Even if they see.”
He groans. “Sweetheart, you must think real low of me to believe I’d put my cock anywhere near Harold’s daughter’s pussy.”
You tug your panties fully down, just enough so they fall off on their own the rest of the way, and guide his slick hand behind yourself, pressing his finger first into your folds again, sensitive, and then up toward your tighter hole.
You feel his breath tighten behind you when you say: “How ‘bout there?”
#dbf!joel#joel miller#joel miller imagine#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal smut#joel miller x you#joel miller x y/n#joel miller tlou#the last of us#tlou x reader#joel tlou#joel the last of us#joel x reader#pedro pascal x reader#tlou smut
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WIN ONE WIN ME — L.HS
SYNOPSIS: who knew being angry and impulsive can get the captain of the hockey team to notice you? cussing them out when they were losing wasn't the best idea, but it definitely made lee heeseung's head turn, leading to him making a deal with you to win a game in order to get your number. but that wasn't enough for him, he was determined to make you his.
PAIRINGS: ice hockey player!heeseung x afab!reader
GENRE: strangers to lovers, college sports au, romance
WARNING(S): profanities, violence (fight), suggestive content (no smut), heeseung is a retired fuckboy turned good + y/n is a party goer, drinking, partying, jake being a footballer aka a soccer player ( NOT american football )
WC: 14k
AUTHOR'S NOTE: aaaa it's finally here ! hope y'all enjoyed it and PLEASE let me know how it was, give me some feedbacks and thoughts, it's been A LONGG WHILE since i've been writing so i'm worried i'll be crusty. anyway, enjoy !
part 1 of 'no competition' series | series masterlist | masterlist
© jaylver 2023 all rights reserved.
“I'M SO NOT HAVING FUN ANYMORE,”
Friday nights were always preoccupied by hockey and hockey only. It has never changed ever since Yunjin, your best friend, gave you an introduction to the school’s ice hockey team. Being the massive sports fan you were, you obviously got hooked on watching their games live. But there were downsides to being a fan which includes witnessing the team losing.
You swore you were already in a foul mood that day, courtesy to your professor and shitty customers, you found yourself seeking solace in the hockey game, which turned sour almost instantly. Just your luck for the day, huh?
“It’s just the first period, Y/N,” Yunjin sighed, glancing up at the jumbotron, wincing a little at the scoreline. They were currently 3 goals down and Yunjin's reassurance didn't help at all.
“I suppose so,” you replied glumly.
The second period rolled by in a flash, but there wasn’t much of a positive outcome either. The team managed to score two goals, but the opponents out performed them and scored one more goal, continuing their lead.
You groaned loudly, along with many other disappointed students. 15 minutes of intermission ended rather quickly, bringing everyone back to reality.
“Oh come on, score already!” you shouted out in irritation, stirring other students to yell out in agreement as well.
The game was going slow and your patience was eventually growing thin. The clock was ticking, meaning the game was about to end soon with the team losing tragically. You shook your head in defeat, wrapping an arm around Yunjin’s shoulder and placing the other on your hip.
“For fuck’s sake, score already, idiots!” you yelled out.
Just when you did so, someone skated by, his head turned to look at you, meeting your eyes for only a brief second before disappearing into a sea of hockey players. You blinked. Did that just happen? You whipped your head to find Yunjin staring back at you, as if asking the same question.
“Did–”
“That–”
The two of you paused.
“Yeah,” you both said in unison, returning your attention back to the game.
As expected, the game unfortunately ended with a defeat for the home team. You and Yunjin decided to leave the arena immediately since it was already getting late, but you two also made sure to have a quick stop at the cafeteria to get some pizza before continuing the journey back to the dorms.
“I heard someone’s throwing a party soon,” Yunjin said through a mouth full of pepperoni pizza.
“Who is that ‘someone’?” you wiped your hand clean of pizza grease, then threw yourself on Yunjin’s bed, causing her to let out a grunt.
“That made me choke and I would’ve died. I don’t want my cause of death to be something related to pizza,” she grumbled, closing the pizza lid and taking the napkin you handed her.
“I thought you loved pizza?” you blinked innocently, flashing her your best smile and she threw you a dirty look.
“Think we got a little side tracked,” Yunjin mumbled thoughtfully. “If I’m not wrong, it was by one of those football chads? Was it Jake?”
“Jake might play football but he’s so not a chad,” you argued, unknowingly defending said boy.
Jake sim was, in fact, another popular athlete in your school who unsurprisingly turned out to be another playboy. You remembered the small heartbreak you had when you discovered his true identity, secretly wishing he was like any other non-fuckboy guy in the campus. But life’s unfair sometimes and somehow, that didn’t stop you from being acquainted with that golden retriever-like boy.
“You’re only saying that because he gives you free booze and free passes to football games,” Yunjin raised an eyebrow at you and you feigned ignorance. “Anyway, I think it’s that Yeonjun guy who’s throwing that party. He’s that rich kid, remember?”
“Yeah, I do. I saw him multiple times at games,”
“Didn’t he flirt with you?”
“Correction, he tried. Luckily Jake was there to stop him or else I would’ve given him a black eye,” you frowned.
“Would’ve loved to see that happen,” Yunjin shrugged while you narrowed your eyes at her.
“You’re praying on my downfall,”
“Never. Also, are we going to talk about that hockey player staring deeply into your soul just now?”
You rolled your eyes at her words. “I don’t think I would count 2 seconds anything—”
“Of course it does! Have you seen those love at first sight tropes in romcoms?”
“I think you watched too many of them, Jen,” you squeezed her cheek and she slapped your hand, deadpanning at you. “Who is he anyway?”
“If I’m not wrong, he’s number one, Lee Heeseung, the captain. I think he’s in your English class too? Ring a bell?” Yunjin raised an eyebrow at you.
“I think I do remember him. He’s the one with fangirls lining outside, right?” Yunjin nodded at your words and you laughed, thinking back to the time where your professor had to chase a group of girls away before class started. Why? Because of Lee Heeseung’s sheer presence.
“Let’s not forget his messy hookups. Yikes,” Yunjin shuddered at the thought, suddenly rubbing her chin with a small frown. “Don’t you think we’re a bit uneducated when it comes to their players?”
“I mean,” you hummed, nodding a little. “I guess you’re right, we’re always there for the game and some beers and we barely bothered to find out which player is which,”
“We should pull up their Instagram profiles next game,” Yunjin suggested with a wink.
“Oh, I think you’ll definitely be on it,”
“Obviously,” Yunjin smirked. “Anyway, up for a facemask?”
You huffed, a small smile appearing on your face. “You know I wouldn’t say no to that.”
“THIS IS SUCH A TYPICAL CHAD THROWN KIND OF PARTY,”
You found yourself complaining once more as you and Yunjin entered a big house. The living room was basically filled to the brim, along with loud music booming throughout the room and the smell of alcohol invaded your nostrils, this was pure hell. You turned to look at your best friend, silently cursing at her for bringing you here. Yunjin gave you her typical shrug as though she had read your thoughts, dragging you away from the vicinity.
"It's Yeonjun, what did you expect," Yunjin hissed, taking you further into the house.
"I also can’t believe you put me in this slutty dress,” you groaned. At this point, you were practically pulling your dress down every ten seconds from the way it kept riding up and you started getting beyond irritated by it.
“If not, you’ll turn up in your casual crop tops and denim shorts,” she shook her head in disapproval. “I can’t let that happen, not when there's rich guys here,”
"I'm here for a party, not to choose my next rich bachelor," you said in distaste, the last thing you wanted was a frat boy. “So, what are we going to do now?” you asked, holding tightly onto Yunjin’s hand as if your life depended on it.
“Enjoy ourselves, duh? I’ll go get some drinks. Sprite for you?”
You nodded, a little bummed out that you were missing out on some good booze since somebody, aka you, had to be responsible and drive back to the dorms without risking getting pulled over. You were already a broke college student, a fine would definitely not help your case.
Now here you are, stuck helplessly in the middle of a party with people you don’t know. Great. You thought about the possibilities that could've been if you decided to stay at home instead of leaning against a wall in a skimpy black dress and it had you groaning internally.
It was then the universe had heard your pleas of boredom and decided on some ‘fun’, except that ‘fun’ consisted of someone’s back bumping into you and their drink splattering all over onto your dress. You jumped in surprise and the boy who was practically pushed onto you had let out a small “oof” before fully realising what he had done.
“I’m so sorry,” he placed his cup aside and picked up some napkins from a table nearby. For a split moment, he was about to wipe your dress, then he paused, turning flustered when he realised what he was about to do, and instead, handed the napkins to you.
You gently dabbed the napkins on your soaked dress, a frown on your face as you felt the sticky substance stick to your skin uncomfortably. “It’s fine, you didn’t mean it anyway,”
You looked up from your dress, finally meeting his eyes. He blinked, seemingly trying to register who you were.
“It’s … you,”
“Me?” you pointed at yourself, a little dumbfounded at his words.
“I didn’t expect you to be here,”
That’s when it hit you. The very same eyes that stared back at you during the hockey game, the one that Yunjin had told you about. “Lee Heeseung?”
He resembled a bambi, his large innocent brown eyes gazing back at you, a look of curiosity behind them. He had a tall stature, his hair covering his forehead and it was styled plainly, not to mention his loosely buttoned up shirt clinging comfortably onto his frame. Now you understand why Yunjin said he has fangirls, you were shamefully about to be one too.
“Yeah … that’s me. What about you? Why’re you here?”
“Do you … recognize me?” you cringed a little at the memory of you practically cussing his team out, praying he would somehow forget it all.
“How could I not? You’re from English right? Shakespeare presentation, eh?” Heeseung recalled and you nodded, impressed that he remembered something from so long before, but most importantly, he remembered you.
“But of course, how could I forget, you’re also the person cussing us out on Friday too. I’m charmed, actually,” he chuckled nonchalantly as though it was nothing, but you, on the other hand, panicked a little and eyes only widened in a mix of horror and embarrassment.
Heeseung seemed to notice the panic in your eyes, waving his hands in reassurance. “Don’t worry though, I thought it was funny,” At his words, your shoulders relaxed, breathing out a sigh of relief.
You let out a nervous laugh. “You guys did your best. There���s always a next time,”
“Right,” he nodded, then averted his gaze back to your dress, instantly coming back to reality as he remembered the current problem in front of his face. He removed his jacket in a flash, carefully placing it over your shoulders. The sudden proximity had you gasping quietly, the waft of his cologne infiltrating your senses.
He was close, so so agonisingly close. A wave of shock passed through your body as you felt his gentle touch, almost feather-like as it lasted only just a second, but now with his hugging your body, you could finally breathe an air of comfort once warmth engulfed you.
“Sorry about your dress,” he pulled away, flashing you a genuine apologetic smile. “I thought the least I could do was give you my jacket,”
“No worries, you didn't do it on purpose anyway, it’s not your fault,” you assured him, being a little self aware that numerous wandering eyes were now on you and the campus’ popular hockey team captain. You felt like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Actually,” Heeseung started, “I can borrow one of my friend’s shirts so that you can change? I don’t think it’s a good idea walking around like that, plus my friend lives in this frat house anyway,”
“If you insist,” you gave in, not wanting to reject his help as he seemed so keen.
You silently followed Heeseung through the crowd of bodies, trying your hardest to not get swallowed with the way people were shoving around. Heeseung noticed you lagging behind and smoothly took hold of your hand, pulling you closer to him. You didn’t say much, letting him guide you up the stairs into someone’s room.
You glanced around the room. From the way it was decorated with random posters, sports magazines stacked on the bedside table and dirty clothes littered the floor, you were instantly convinced that this room belonged to a frat boy.
Heeseung surprisingly continued to keep his hand in yours, using the other to dig through a pile of clothes until he found an oversize shirt and a pair of pants. “Here,” he handed you the clothes, finally letting go of your hand, stepping away with his hands in his pockets. “I think all the bathroom’s full so it’s best to just change here,”
“You think so?”
“I know so, I’ll leave it up to your imagination to think about whatever that happens in there,”
“Right …” you faltered at his comment, the two of you remained staring at one another. That’s when you cleared your throat, fumbling with your clothes. “I would appreciate it if you turned around … unless you want a show?”
“For free? I can't say no, can I?”
“You wish. Now turn around,”
Heeseung shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face as he threw his hands up in defence and faced away. You stood behind him, cheeks flared while you practically yanked your skimpy black dress off. Yunjin would not be happy knowing she’ll have to do laundry.
You reached over to the back of your dress, practically yanking forcefully onto the zip that was unwilling to budge even for a bit. God, why me? Why now? Internally conflicted, you didn’t know whether to bear the shame and ask Heeseung for help or to just stay silent. But to your luck, the zip was stuck no matter how you pulled it.
“Heeseung?”
He hummed in response.
“I need your help,” you swallowed, trying your best to not shrivel up and dig a grave in that moment. “My zip is stuck.”
Momentary silence filled the air. It seemed Heeseung, too, was having some internal conflict. In a second, you heard shuffling behind you, feeling the warmth of his body close as his fingers reached for your zip, his other hand on your waist. You felt his fingertips grazing against your bare skin as he dragged the zipper down, hearing a faint gulp from him. You squeezed your eyes shut, swearing to never come to parties again.
“You’re good to go,” he whispered, coughing awkwardly.
“Thanks,” you met his eyes in the reflection of the small mirror placed on top of a dresser in front of you. Realisation seemed to hit him and he averted his gaze, taking a look around the room instead.
You practically yanked the dress off, pulling the shirt over your head and the pants on, stumbling a little from the sudden hit of nervousness. Could it be his presence that made you nervous? You hated this feeling.
“I’m done,” you declared, suddenly feeling the tension in the air.
“So, I can look now?” Heeseung joked and you rolled your eyes, but smiled at him.
“Keep your eyes closed forever then,” you bumped his shoulder, sitting down on the bed.
“Should we stay here instead?” he suggested and you narrowed your eyes at him in suspicion, to which he scoffed. “Of course no funny business, who do you think I am?”
“Playboy Lee Heeseung, no?”
He groaned. “That’s what people think of me even though it’s completely false,”
“You do have fangirls, don’t you?”
“But I don’t date them, do I?” he retorted. “I don’t even go to parties much these days, coach has been up my ass,”
“Sucks to be you,”
Heeseung scoffed, turning to look at you with a question in mind. “You’re a big hockey fan?”
“Ever since I was a kid. Why?”
“I notice you’re always there every game night with your friend,”
“So, I’ve caught your attention?”
“A pretty girl like you surely wouldn’t go unnoticed in my eyes,” he was close now, a challenging glint in his eyes as his gaze fell to your lips from time to time.
“You’re funny, Hee,” you couldn’t resist smiling.
“How can I make it up to you?” his eyes met yours, a sly grin on his face. “About your dress, I mean,”
You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, knowing damn well what lies in his words. Maybe he was just like every other campus athlete, but at that moment, you didn’t seem to care, your interest only increasing and you couldn’t tell if this was his plan all along.
You thought about his question for a moment, pursing your lip. “How about you win the next game? I think that’ll help a lot,”
Heeseung nodded thoughtfully. “If I do, can I get your number too?”
“Why not?”
“Shall this be a deal?” he smirked, ready for a challenge.
“Sure,” you shrugged nonchalantly.
“I’ll win the next one, just you wait,” Heeseung's words were filled with utter determination and confidence. He was definitely ready to tell you 'told you so' and prove you wrong.
“Well, I’ll be waiting,” you glanced down at your phone, noticing over ten messages from Yunjin. Shit. “The clock’s ticking and I need to go. See you, captain,”
“Wait,” he caught hold of your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. You turned to look at him, a big question mark written over your expression, anticipating his next words. “Can I at least know what your name is?”
You grinned. “It’s Y/N,”
"Get ready with your phone number, Y/N. I'll be looking out for you at the next game. Keep the jacket too," he winked and you waved a small goodbye, exiting out the door and dashed down the stairs with your dirty clothes in hand, wearing Heeseung's jacket, completely unaware how quick your heart was beating.
When you spotted Yunjin, you practically fell into her arms as she started ranting about why you shouldn’t run away without her knowledge, but all of it eventually drowned out into white noise. The only thing you could think of suddenly was Heeseung. Lee fucking Heeseung.
"Y/N," she sang out your name, tapping your head to catch your attention. “Why are you in a different outfit? You got laid didn’t you?” she gasped and you slapped her arm.
“Heeseung spilled a drink on me and took me to his friend’s room to change, that’s all,”
“Heeseung?” she gasped again, a teasing grin slowly forming and you knew that trouble was in that mind of hers. “You and him didn’t smoochy smooch … right?”
“We’re not there yet, hello?”
“There’s something called a hook up, you hopeless romantic,” Yunjin shook her head. “This sounds like the start of a hockey romance based on the books I've read," she squealed and you only sighed.
"Please read some self help books too,"
"Never," she huffed, leaning in and dropping her voice so that only the two of you could hear what she was about to say. "What did you two talk about? A private hook up after games? We need some spice in your hockey romance plot!"
"Oh my god, I rather drown than fuck that man. You do realise he has fangirls chasing after him? They'll choke me in my sleep if I slept with him,"
Yunjin wrapped her arm around you. "I'll choke you first if you don't bag that man. He's tall, hockey captain, hot most importantly," she winked. "One down part is that I'm pretty sure he used to fuck around quite a lot too. But then a messy hook up traumatised him,"
"How so?"
"She was crazy from what I heard. That's why no fangirls will come at you for revenge, they know he's a whore, but they'll just line up instead," she led you out to a flight of stairs, where there were some questionable couples making out, but that didn't stop you and Yunjin from sitting on the landing.
"Totally not a red flag," you said sarcastically. "I don't know how to feel about him. He was nice, quite flirty. Maybe he's like those Wattpad cliches where he's actually a nice guy?" You said, sipping onto the drink Yunjin got you.
"Who knows? Judging from the past rumours I've heard here and there, he definitely was a manwhore, but he’s also a sweet and genuine one," Yunjin clicked her tongue. "I did hear he's quite a sweetheart aside from his fuckboy tendencies."
"A manwhore with a kind heart! Just my type!" You clapped your hands and Yunjin chuckled at your comment. “Anyway, I swore I'm done with hockey boys a long time ago. I don't want to like him,"
Ice hockey has always been one of your favourite sports, but hockey boys? They were a whole different story for you. A core memory from highschool that you wished to never revisit was the fact that you had your heart broken by a hockey boy. He was considered your first love, a best friend, that ended up breaking your trust.
"This is why you should date a footballer,"
You snapped out of your momentary daze, looking up to meet Jake Sim’s eyes.
“Present to me a perfect candidate then,” Yunjin crossed her arms, frowning at Jake. She wasn't a big fan of him, considering his notorious playboy tendencies, but over time he did gradually warm up to her.
"Me!"
"I'll rip your head off first before you get a chance with Y/N,"
"Ouch,"
You and Yunjin shared a look, then burst out laughing.
"What's up, Sim? Do you have something for me?" You questioned Jake, wondering what his purpose was for his sudden appearance.
"Nothing, I'm just bored," he said plainly, though you and Yunjin were a little unconvinced.
"Okay? Any games coming up?"
"It's currently a short break for us. I'm glad or else my legs will snap in half soon," Jake pouted, resembling a puppy, which you couldn't help but find endearing. "You should totally come and learn to kick some footballs soon. Jake Sim is always up for some training," he winked.
"I'll be the next running candidate to take over Messi, right?" Yunjin joked and you nudged her side, giggling.
"Only if you learn at Jake Sim's personal training," he shrugged, a small smirk on his face. "Anyway, I really want to watch the hockey team and I heard you guys were regulars. Mind if I join?"
You raised an eyebrow at Yunjin, shooting her a wordless question. Yunjin scrunched her nose, thinking for a moment before shrugging. All while that was happening, Jake was just standing there staring, a little unimpressed.
"Hello? I don't appreciate this mind linking conversation that I'm not a part of," he placed his hands on his hips, his head tilted to the side.
"Alright, sorry," Yunjin mumbled.
"Fine, you can tag along," you said, watching the boy before you grin.
"Let's go!"
"IS IT NORMAL TO BE FREEZING COLD HERE?"
Jake had his arms around himself, shivering slightly even though he was already in layers. You and Yunjin followed the boy to your seats as he marvelled at the size of the rink.
"I barely watch hockey games, I'm more of a summer sports kinda guy," he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets.
"Well, it's just your lucky day, you'll be witnessing a win too," Yunjin winked, passing you a knowing glance.
"How do you know?"
"Team captain over there–" Yunjin nodded over at Heeseung, who was practising on the rink with the team, looking good as always, which only further annoyed you. "–made a deal with Y/N. I'm sure his determination will mix well with his competitiveness,"
Yunjin glanced over at you, a small smirk on her face. "And here he comes," she sang and you whipped your head just in time to meet his eyes.
Heeseung skated over, a small smile on his face. You felt Yunjin nudging your side in excitement and you slapped her hands away, ignoring her giddy expression and you returned a lopsided smile to Heeseung.
“Y/N!” you managed to hear his muffled voice through the glass, which he tapped on a couple times to get your full attention.
“I’m going to score one for you tonight,” you were surprised with the determined glint in his eyes, proving Yunjin's statement immediately, and after a quick wave from him, he skated away to join his team, preparing for the game to start.
Jake whistled, fanning himself. “I definitely felt the tension.”
“Shut up.”
The second period ended with a draw, both teams were not willing to back down for just a little, even creating small brawls on ice from time to time, causing the tension to be heightened. The third period was equally heart stopping and gut twisting. You had to occasionally grip Yunjin's arm whenever there was a close chance to score.
There was a sudden switch in the atmosphere, the home team had dominated possession of the puck, the blades of their skates working overtime trying to reach the other end to the opponent’s goal post. One hit after another, the puck travelled from one player’s hockey stick to another, until it reached star player Park Sunghoon, who had defenders swarming him and it left him no choice but to pass to his captain, Lee Heeseung.
With one swift hit to the oncoming puck from Sunghoon, it shot into the back of the net, leaving the goalie absolutely defenceless. The arena erupted with shouts and cheers, not expecting the sudden turnover from their home team, the speakers were blaring music, followed by announcing Heeseung’s name, which was welcomed with deafening screams. Shamelessly, you, Jake and Yunjin were part of the screams, clapping and jumping.
The team jumped onto Heeseung, but somehow, he escaped them all and started skating towards your direction, pointing his stick at you and shooting a wink. 'For you' he mouthed slyly at you before rejoining his teammates.
“See, I told you Heeseung will win it for Y/N,” Yunjin said, seemingly pleased.
“MVP,” Jake clapped, a shocked expression on his face.
You, on the other hand, were trying to digest everything that just happened. The moment where he dedicated the goal to you had you unintentionally blushing, realising a sudden change in feelings. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be so bad if you gave him a chance. Countless thoughts swarmed your head even until the end of the game.
Now, here you were, waiting for Heeseung at the parking lot, your friends peeking in the car from a distance.
Yunjin shot you an encouraging thumbs up while Jake only laughed at Yunjin’s efforts. You glared at them, waving them off and you reciprocated back with a middle finger. That’s when you heard a rough cough behind you. Fuck.
“Y/N?”
You turned around slowly, looking as though you were just caught in the middle of commiting something you're not supposed to. “Heeseung,” you laughed nervously. "Congrats on the game! You played well,”
“Thank you,” Heeseung grinned. “I’m glad you came. I mean, you always do, what am I even saying?” he rambled, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.
You couldn't help laughing, finding the way he got nervous was cute. He was cute too. Undeniable. "That was a nice goal by the way,"
"Well, I did say I wanted to score one specifically for you. I'm a man of my words, you know?" He chuckled, getting shy eventually. "I'm glad you liked it though,"
"Of course I did," you gave him a small smile, fidgeting your fingers slightly.
He straightened up, regaining his composure. “So … our deal,”
“You’re lucky I like you enough to actually stick to it,” you grumbled, shoving your hand into your pocket to dig out the piece of paper.
“You like me, huh?”
“Not in that way yet,”
“‘Yet’. So I do have a chance. I’m happy to know,”
“Do you want my number or a black eye?” you threatened rather unseriously, a teasing tone laced in your words.
“I’d prefer a kiss, but your number shall do for now,” he grabbed the small note from your hand, unwrapping it to find a candy in it. “Apple flavoured, what a nice surprise,” he mumbled under his breath.
“You’re cute, you truly have a way to my heart huh?” he looked up from the candy, storing away your number safely into his pocket.
You caught yourself speechless from his words. On average, you were typically unfazed by these comments. Countless boys had tried them on you and all of them turned out to feel icky instead of making you kick your feet, giggling. But this time, Heeseung proved you wrong.
"Coming from Lee Heeseung himself, should I be flattered?" You tried your best to stay nonchalant, keeping your heart rate down as much as you can.
"I don't know? You tell me," Heeseung leaned down, his face close to you now, making you slowly grow flustered.
"Count me a little flattered," you took the clothes from the other night from your bag, pushing it into Heeseung's hands, catching him off guard. "Here, relay my thanks to your friend,"
"Only to my friend? What about me?" Heeseung crossed his arms, staring accusingly at you.
"My number already counts as a ‘thanks’, doesn’t it?"
Heeseung narrowed his eyes at you, a smile itching at the corner of his lips. “Not enough. A date might suffice,”
“You are demanding, Lee Heeseung,” you huffed, but not rejecting his suggestion either.
“I’ll text you, pretty girl. I have a plan in mind, so you better clear your schedules,”
“Alright, captain.”
“FOR ONCE, I DON'T REGRET COMING TO A PARTY YOU SELECTED,”
You’ve always avoided frat parties, specifically frat boys, but this time, Yunjin managed to accomplish the unexpected by convincing you to a frat party. You had to admit, there was a small motive behind your agreement, which was to visit the richest frat house on the campus. Free expensive booze, a big pool, big everything, it was definitely going to be more than a party. All you had to do was avoid the frat boys and your night shall be made.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yunjin snapped, but you were too busy checking out the vicinity to listen to her grumbles.
“They have a huge ass yard and pool,” you whispered to Yunjin, weaving through the growing crowd. The house was too extravagant, even the air in there seemed richer. The tiles were completely marbled, there were stairs leading up to almost four floors. You wondered how it was even owned by a frat.
“This is a rich frat, what did you expect?”
“Touche.”
You and Yunjin didn’t bother waiting for a second before taking some pregame shots. The vodka burned your throat, making you wince a little, but it didn't stop you from more. The moment Jake found the two of you, it was already clear you were already on the way to being completely shit-faced.
"Oh come on, you already started without me?" Jake whined, downing two shots of vodka straight.
"Couldn't resist," Yunjin pressed her lips into a thin line, shrugging slightly.
"Also, did you guys hear?" Jake leaned in, dropping his voice. "The hockey team from our rival school is coming to this party,"
"What?" You hissed, frowning slightly. "Who invited their asses?"
"I don't know," Jake shrugged, picking up another glass of alcohol from a tray.
"Speaking of hockey," Yunjin cleared her throat, passing you a knowing smirk. "Aren't you going to find Heeseung?"
"I–why would I?" You stammard, avoiding Yunjin's piercing gaze.
"He's clearly into you. Didn't you see him pulling that stunt that day? Scoring a goal for you and winning just for your number? That's the most commitment I've seen from him or just any man in general,"
"Hear hear," Jake raised his glass in agreement, then proceeded to down it without a second thought.
"I'll see what happens tonight," you said, but your eyes decided to go against you, unconsciously scanning the room hoping to see him.
"Tonight will be full of opportunities," Yunjin marvelled, throwing her arm around your shoulder and winking. "If you know what I mean," she whispered.
"The first you'll see is me getting drunk, not getting laid," you let out an exasperated sigh, pursing your lips and pausing as something caught your eyes. You furrowed your eyebrows, instantly noticing a group of guys filing into the room. They must be the rival team Jake had mentioned.
“Must be them,” Yunjin pointed out, taking a big gulp from her cup. Jake whipped his head around, scanning the group of guys that were yelling loudly, dabbing up one another and seemingly unlikeable as a whole.
He made a sour expression. “Great, hockey jocks,”
“As though your group of football guys are any better,” Yunjin quipped, only earning a sharp glare from Jake and he cleared his throat, gaze focused on a specific person.
“That guy there must be their captain,” he nodded at the group and you had to squint your eyes to see who Jake had his attention trained at. Almost immediately, your smile dropped, along with your heart. It was him.
You froze the moment your eyes landed on a tall figure, it definitely was him. He stood out from the rest, being the taller and bulkier one with messy hair and undeniable charm from the way he was already surrounded by different girls. Yup, that’s 100% Matthew, your high school lover, the hockey boy that traumatised your love life.
“Oh fuck me,” you cursed under your breath, the other two turning to stare at you.
“You want to fuck him?” Jake shrieked in surprise and Yunjin slapped the back of his head, causing the boy to hiss in pain, silently cursing.
“No, dipshit. That’s her …” she glanced at you and you nodded, giving her a green flag to continue, “ex.”
“Him? Matthew Son? Your ex?” Jake was flabbergasted, panning back and forth between your ex and you.
“Unfortunately. High school ex, to be exact,” you grumbled, pushing away the ill thoughts and bitter feelings that lingered for Mathew. You were a new person, you were never someone to be stuck in the past, you weren’t about to be affected by him. Never.
“I might need more drinks,” you rubbed the side of your head, slipping away before the other two could even say anything. Though the voice in your head was constantly affirming that his presence wasn’t affecting you, you still couldn’t help feeling unnerved. Seeing him was unnerving too.
The kitchen was unsurprisingly glamorous and the space was huge. Everything in there screamed fancy and expensive. The counter was made from marble, cupboards were also probably made from high quality wood and the wide variety of food in there could literally make it resemble a grocery store. Best of yet, you had it all to yourself. For once, your ex made himself useful enough by helping you attract everyone to the main room.
You spotted some leftover bottles of gin and decided to give your bartender skills some try. It wasn’t your first rodeo thanks to Yunjin. Ever since she started bringing you to parties and being someone who’s easily impressed, you found yourself learning some tips and tricks on how to mix drinks from a rando in a party one day. Soon, it became your favourite party activity.
It was quite peaceful being all by yourself. The songs playing on the speakers reverberated across the house, but you didn’t mind it as you mixed a concoction of gin and juice on the counter, praying it would turn out fine.
“You’re here?”
You turned around at the sound of the voice, almost toppling over your glass in shock, but the moment you met a familiar set of doe eyes, you released a breath of relief, your heart unknowingly beating faster.
“You’re here too? I thought no parties for Mr Hockey?” you leaned back onto the counter as he walked to your side.
“Thought I’d give myself an off day after yesterday’s win,” Heeseung shrugged, glancing at you from time to time. “Surprisingly, I always see you at every party I go to,”
“I was dragged to every said party by force,” you thought of the she-devil, Yunjin, who somehow successfully convinced you to attend every party with her. “Do you want a drink?” you offered, nodding towards your half made drink.
“You’re making them?” Heeseung eyed the bottles.
“I am a woman of many talents,” you said smugly, continuing your drink mixing, feeling Heeseung’s piercing stare on you.
“A woman who wouldn’t poison me right?” he peeked over your shoulder, closing in on your face, his body only inches away from yours till the point where you could feel the heat radiating off him. Lee Heeseung definitely knew what he was doing.
“You’re doubting my abilities now then?” you kept your cool, pouring alcohol into a new glass for Heeseung.
He smiled. “Just trying to make sure,” he murmured into your ears and you could tell he was enjoying teasing you. Sly fucker.
“No promises,” your voice came out in a whisper, turning a little to the side to meet his pair of bambi eyes and your breath hitched suddenly upon realising how close the two of you were, you were only an inch apart from touching each other’s noses. You were scared to move even the slightest, shying gradually from his eyes sweeping your features.
“What if I said I wanted to kiss you,”
You scoffed, growing immune to his charms. “I thought you were a gentleman, Lee? No candlelit dinner first?”
He cracked a grin, chuckling slightly. “Sometimes I skip that part and jump to dessert first,” he winked and you rolled your eyes, pushing his face away and he burst out laughing. “I’m playing with you. I’m obviously a gentleman, can’t you tell?”
You hummed, raising an eyebrow at him in scepticism. “I can’t.”
“You love breaking my heart, Y/N. I’m hurt,” he frowns, feigning innocence as he laid his head on your shoulder, clutching at his chest and you found yourself smiling unknowingly at his dramatics.
You decided to play along, patting Heeseung’s head in so called “comfort”. “Oh, what can I do to fix your broken heart, Heeseung?” you exclaimed.
“Come to Jay’s birthday party with me?” he stared up at you with pleading eyes. Those bambi eyes will eventually be the death of you.
"Why?"
You've heard of Jay Park one too many times. From the campus cafes to the local club, he was everywhere, and you didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. He was another one of the popular hockey players from Heeseung's team which you've seen at almost every party you attended ever since your first year.
Yunjin told you only one thing upon seeing Jay Park: "don't meddle with him" and you've stuck to it.
"That's a bold invitation," you considered for a moment, still quite unconvinced. "Isn't it just a bro only party?"
"He's the one asking us to bring a plus one," Heeseung huffed, removing his head from your shoulder, a small pout on his face. "Worse part is that it's in a club,"
"Are you trying to persuade me or dissuade me?"
"What I mean is, I'll be with you there. It's also a VIP lounge given how loaded Jay is and knowing him, he probably rented it out too. Plus, they'll finally get to meet the girl who cussed them out!"
You buried your head into your hands in shame, embarrassment burning your cheeks red. "You can't be serious,"
"Unfortunately, I am. But they'll love you, don't worry, pretty,"
You glared at him while he only returned a cheeky grin back at you. “Fine,” you groaned out, ultimately succumbing to his words, unable to deny the effect he had on you. Curse him. “When and what time?”
“Next Saturday night,” his grin widened at your words, satisfaction washed over his face. “I’ll pick you up at 7?”
“Sounds good,”
“That’s that then,” he glanced over at his shoulders, hearing faint shouts of his name outside of the kitchen and passed you an apologetic smile, as if expressing that it was a shame he couldn’t stay longer and you couldn’t lie, you wanted him to stay longer. “Remember to send me your address, gorgeous.” he waved his phone in the air before backing away and disappearing out the door.
It was about to be a long week ahead.
“SET ME UP WITH ONE OF THEM, PLEASE. I NEED THE MONEY,”
Saturday, to your dismay, unfortunately and eventually arrived. You didn’t know whether to be excited or absolutely dread the party, a certain feeling of anxiety clawing at your insides just when you think about meeting new people. Yunjin could only roll her eyes at you as she added more eyeshadow.
“It already sends shivers down my spine thinking that I’ll be speaking to them in person and you expect me to go ‘hey guys, my friend needs someone to be her sugar daddy, you up’?” you deadpanned, applying a layer of lip gloss.
“That’s exactly it,” Yunjin smiled pleasantly and you feigned gagging, making Yunjin laugh and almost poking the mascara wand into your eyes. “Also, do you consider this a date?”
“He did say he wanted to take me out, but having him take me to a club as a date? I don’t think he’s the sleazy type to do so. I take it as him taking me as his date … like a friendly invite,”
“Friendly invite?” Yunjin exclaimed incredulously, inching closer to check on the details of your makeup. “Did you see the way he looks at you? There's nothing friendly about that, he’s hooked,”
“You’re giving me false hope, Jen,” you sighed, standing up to change into an outfit Yunjin picked which, in her words,was definitely ‘life changing enough to have Heeseung on his knees’.
“Not false hope if it’s literally just the truth,” Yunjin shrugged, helping to clasp a necklace around your neck. “Come on, give me a twirl,” she squealed excitedly once you were done struggling balancing on one leg putting on the dress and shoes.
You complied with Yunjin’s request, begrudgingly giving her a small twirl. At the same time, you took the chance to glance down at your dress, satisfied that for once an impulsive purchase benefited you. The dress was a shade of midnight blue, hugging your body tight and showing off your curves in the best way as if it was custom made. All in all, as Yunjin would describe, it was simply ‘pants dropping’.
At the ‘ping’ of your notification, you saw a text from Heeseung saying he had already arrived and your heart jumped. With one swift hug from Yunjin and an ‘encouraging’ saying along the lines of ‘hooking up’ and ‘protection’, you were pushed out of the door and soon into Heeseung’s car.
“Hi, pretty girl,” Heeseung greeted, a half smile on his face as his hands rested on the steering wheel. He paused when his eyes landed on your figure, his gaze sweeping you from top to bottom, making you a little self conscious. He whistled under his breath, blinking slowly.
“Eyes up here,” you stared pointedly at him, crossing your arms, but you had to admit, you were checking him out shamelessly as well, the smell of his vanilla cologne in the air and his loose button up shirt wasn’t helping either.
“My bad. I was just admiring you. You look pretty,” he turned his attention back to the road, heading to wherever the club was located, just in time to not notice the slight blush to your cheeks.
“Really? You don’t look too bad yourself either, Lee,”
“Why thank you. I’m flattered,” he shot you a wink and you could only roll your eyes at his antics.
The rest of the conversation continued in a casual flow, making you feel at ease and your anxiety eventually lessened. The jokes he cracked made you laugh and with the way he answered your questions, you knew he wasn’t anything like the playboy people made him up to be. As much as you hated to admit, you were giving him the benefit of the doubt. Will it hurt you? Maybe.
After Heeseung pulled the car into park, you got out and you were instantly in awe at the exterior of the club. This was in fact a place where rich kids party, judging from the amount of ferraris, mercedes and other luxurious cars parked outside, you made sure to keep yourself away from the snobby rich kids or who knows, Yunjin’s wish might even be granted tonight.
Wordlessly, Heeseung offered you his hand and you intertwined your fingers with his, letting him guide you further into the club as you pushed yourself through the crowd, and soon arrived in a large room that was almost the size of someone’s living room. “You’re kidding,” you murmured, amazed by the size of the room and the decorations littered across every wall.
“Told you Jay was blessed with money,” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, shooting a sweet smile.
“I should set him up with Yunjin,” you said thoughtlessly and Heeseung chuckled.
“He’ll like that roommate of yours,”
“Heeseung!”
You were interrupted by an approaching figure who was easily recognizable with that head of freshly dyed white hair. Park Sunghoon, another ace of the hockey team. Thanks to Yunjin’s valiant effort in finding every player’s instagram profile, you were now able to recognise who was who.
“Hoon!” Heeseung greeted back, giving his best friend a side hug.
Unfortunately for you, Sunghoon was quick to turn his attention to you instead. “Y/N right? Heard many good things about you,” he extended his hand, a sneaky grin on his face.
You accepted his handshake, fighting the urge to roll your eyes at his words. “That’s me,”
“You’re a regular at the hockey games, how are they?” Sunghoon kept you company now that Heeseung went away to greet the others, but you didn’t mind, finding yourself growing comfortable with the Jack Frost look alike.
“Do you wish to listen to my boring five hour analysis on each game?”
“I think it would be longer than five hours,”
“Exactly,” you clicked your tongue, then narrowed your eyes in suspicion at him. “Plus, how do you know I’m a regular? It’s not like I score front row seats every game,”
Sunghoon glanced around as if searching for anyone who’s eavesdropping, then he gestured for you to come closer, which you did, though clearly confused. “I think Heeseung will kill me for saying this,”
“Why?” you whispered back, your smile twisting into a frown. “Oh god, is Heeseung a stalker?”
“What?” it was Sunghoon’s turn to be utterly confused, staring back at you as though you’re the crazy one. He shook his head. “Heeseung might fool around sometimes but he’s definitely not a stalker or a Ted Bundy wannabe.”
“Thank heavens,” you let out a sigh of relief, but Sunghoon definitely wasn’t done yet.
“Anyway, what I was about to say was, Heeseung has always paid attention to you, Y/N. English class, hockey games, he’s got sharp eyes, ace for a reason eh? He’s genuine about you. Believe me, I’ve heard about you since day one, and I mean this in a nice way, but I’m sick of him constantly talking about you without doing anything at all,” a small grin appeared on Sunghoon’s devilishly handsome features.
“I must admit, he was a player, but I can see he’s changing and I don’t think it’ll hurt to give him a chance. He’s a sweetheart, so just don’t break his heart, will you?” he glanced behind his shoulders, noticing Heeseung entering the room with one of his teammates and a girl. “Heeseung’s back and I know he’s going to kill me if he finds out. It’s nice meeting you, Y/N. My date’s here, see you!”
Sunghoon gave you a small pat on the shoulder before walking away, leaving your head in a frenzy state. Lee Heeseung, captain of the hockey team, the school’s ace and pride, basically Mr Popular, was into you? Yunjin was going to strangle you in either excitement or surprise when she found out.
“What were you guys talking about?” he slithered smoothly to your side, bumping your shoulder gently.
“Hockey. Was wondering if he wanted an analysis on each game,”
Heeseung grinned, shaking his head gently. “You’re a menace,”
There were basically zero chances to be alone together, which you suddenly craved after Sunghoon basically dropped a big bomb on you, till now you still couldn’t swallow. Heeseung had you close to his side as he introduced you to each of his teammates and their dates, including the birthday boy Jay, and somehow all of them remembered you from that fateful night on Friday.
“So, how did you meet our dear Heeseung here?” Jay wiggled his eyebrows, passing you a glass of champagne that probably costs way more than you imagine.
“Oh, it was magical, I fell into his arms and he confessed his love for me,” you sighed dreamily, fanning yourself. At your words, Jay nudged you, a wide smile on his face and you waved your hand, stifling your giggles. “Kidding, it would totally be a wattpad cliche if that happened. He’s in my English class and we met at a party,”
“I’m surprised he’s somewhat won you over,” he raised a questionable eyebrow at you. “You are aware of how he was right? Or are you the type to scream and cry after figuring out his past fuckboy history?”
You gave him an unamused stare. “If I minded his past, I wouldn’t be here anyway. But he does seem like a changed person, I’ve heard stories from my roommate and they were … interesting,”
Jay let out a soft laugh at that. “I can tell he’s serious about you, trust me, he’s the type to not back down when he sets his mind to something. Let his hockey be an example,” he shrugged. “I know my best friend, Y/N. Unless he fucks up then I’ll punch him for you,”
You placed a hand on your chest, a bemused grin lit up your features. “You’re truly a gentleman, Jay,”
“Hey, I’m supposed to be your gentleman!” Heeseung appeared behind you, his arm thrown around your shoulder. If you could explode right now, you would. The amount of skinship you had with Heeseung was unhealthy and unknowingly, you found yourself succumbing to it each time. “Let’s go to the dancefloor outside? The guys really want to go,”
Now you were in the middle of the dancefloor, swaying your body to the beat of whatever song the DJ was playing and it was nice that it felt like you were in your own world, carelessly and mindlessly dancing to your heart’s content. You were surrounded by the boys’ dates, who you’ve found yourself befriending quickly, while Heeseung was nowhere to be seen after dancing for only a few minutes. Rude.
“Hi,” you snapped your head to find Jay squeezing through towards you, trying his best to not get his expensive shoe stepped on. “Where’s Heeseung?”
“That’s a question I’d like to ask too. He’s definitely not with me though. I thought he was with you at first … but I guess not,” you shrugged, frowning slightly as you wondered where that man would have run off to.
“I thought he was with you,” Jay huffed, annoyance clear in his features. “I swear if he’s out there wasted, coach is going to—wait…” he faltered, his gaze trailed over your head and being naturally curious, you followed his gaze, turning around and from a distance, you couldn’t tell what Jay was even looking at, until you pinpoint a familiar someone in a dress shirt you saw not long before.
There he was, sitting at the bar, back facing the dancing floor as he sat close to a girl, whispering into each others’ ears and laughing. You swore you didn’t care, but the heart doesn’t lie, you were jealous and it wasn’t helping how Sunghoon was just saying Heeseung was serious about you only hours before this. It was comical.
“Oh,” Jay said under his breath, taking a big gulp from the glass in his hand.
“Yeah, ‘oh’,” you said flatly, not realising you were practically shooting daggers into the back of Lee Heeseung’s head. Jay let out a small laugh that eventually turned into a cough once he saw you giving him a side eye, an apologetic smile appearing on his face.
“You know, Y/N, I have a plan,” his smile slowly turned into a smirk and it dawned on you, Park Jong Seong’s gears were in work and you didn’t know what you’re about to get yourself into. “Don’t give me that look, my plans are the best,”
Your frown deepened, resuming to give Jay a sceptical look as his smile continued to get more playful. Oh you were in for a treat. “Why don’t we make Heeseung … jealous? I mean, it is clear that he likes you, a little push won’t hurt can it?”
“Have you been watching too many romcoms?” you shot him a look of exasperation, noticing the similarity between him and Yunjin. One was already enough, you didn't need two. Jay nudged you softly, wiggling his eyebrows in encouragement for disaster.
“I bet you the moment he sees you with me, he’s going to burst and before you know it, you’ll be celebrating your one year anniversary—”
You held a hand up, silencing Jay before he could continue further. You started chewing on your bottom lip, a small habit of yours, as you found yourself in disbelief once these words left your lips. “Fine, why not?”
Jay shot you a wink, closing in on you and you placed a hand on his chest, raising an eyebrow. “No funny business, Jay,”
“You have no faith in me. It’s common bro code to not get with your best friend’s girl,”
You let Jay dance close to you, appreciating the fact that he was maintaining a respectful distance to you, setting a clear boundary between the both of you. Contrary to popular beliefs, he might actually seem not too bad. “I feel like Lee Heeseung might’ve been peeking at us,”
“You think so?”
Jay glanced at the direction of the bar, catching Heeseung’s piercing gaze and he smirked, leaning close to you. “Oh, he’s so watching us,”
"You're kidding," you turned around, still moving your body to the music, squinting your eyes to find Heeseung staring back at you, jaw clenched and lips pressed into a flat line, practically glaring daggers into Jay's head.
"You're not," you said mindlessly, hearing Jay burst out laughing behind you, but it all faded to grey as your eyes followed Heeseung's figure disappear behind a corner.
"He's leaving," you spun around, meeting Jay's panicked expression. "I'll go find him,"
"Did our plan work a little too well?"
"We’ll find out soon," you patted Jay's shoulder, whispering a quick thanks before welcoming the challenge of squeezing past sweaty bodies.
You figured Heeseung was heading back to the private room from the looks of where he was going, so you followed his trail around the corner, stumbling slightly and immediately regretting the amount of drinks you had. In the very next moment, you regretted more than just the drinks, you were contemplating your existence.
"Y/N?"
Son Matthew was staring back at your limp figure leaning against the wall for support, a mix of shock and confusion in his face. You, on the other hand, was about to sink into the ground in shame. Being tipsy and struggling to stand was already a moment you would never want anyone to see, let alone your cheating ex.
You cleared your throat, gripping onto the wall to straighten up, avoiding his wandering eyes as much as you could. The awkward tension in the air was palpable, you were aware how rigid the man before you was and you knew he probably didn’t think of bumping into you here out of nowhere.
“So…how are you—”
“Save the small talk please,” you interjected, sighing deeply at the usual post breakup ‘how are you’s and awkward catching up.
“Look, I never got to apologise and I know you hate me for it—”
“Of course I do!” you exclaimed, getting heated gradually and the alcohol in your system wasn’t helping one bit. “I walked in on you and her in the bedroom and you expect me to stand there to wait for your apology? It’s the fact that you never bothered to apologise after anyway,”
He looked down in shame, knowing every word you said was true and undeniable, meanwhile his silence only hurt you further. First loves always hurt, and seeing him here again after many years made you realise that you truly deserved way more than a hockey jock like him.
“I’m playing against your school’s team next week,” he said weakly, trying to change the subject. Great, another day to dread when it was supposed to be you and your best friend’s day.
“Good luck,” you didn’t know what to say, finding yourself in an awkward position. “Or not really,”
Matthew nodded slowly, clearly getting uncomfortable and you were too. “So, are you talking to someone now—”
“Yeah, she is,”
You felt an arm snaking its way around your shoulder, tensing for a minute until you realised whose voice it was.
“Lee Heeseung?” Matthew’s demeanour changed in a flash, suddenly seeming more spiteful and filled with jealousy. This was giving you deja vus of the red flags you’ve experienced in your past relationship. It made you feel sick.
“Son Matthew,” Heeseung cooed, eyeing him readily. Heeseung and Matthew had always been somewhat rivals ever since they started playing hockey. Matthew had mentioned a ‘rival’ once too many times in the past and lucky you, you were able to piece it together after entering college where you’d watched their teams play against each other once for a cup competition.
“Long time no see,” Heeseung said coolly, a small smirk on his face as he stared back at your ex, whose expression was twisting into a foul look. “Ready for the next game?”
At Heeseung’s mocking tone, Matthew scoffed. “You haven’t changed, eh? Still the usual overconfident Lee Heeseung,”
“They don’t call me ‘ace’ for no reason, right? Hey, I deserve some bragging rights,” you rolled your eyes at Heeseung’s words, which seemed to tick your ex further. He really knows how to rile someone up, doesn’t he?
“See you on the ice,” Matthew grumbled, walking past Heeseung and you, making sure to mumble ‘jerk’ loud enough for Heeseung to hear, prompting him to let out a laugh as he waved your ex tauntingly goodbye.
“How friendly,” Heeseung gritted out through a forced smile, his eyebrows furrowed, obviously annoyed but then he turned to you, a quizzical look replacing his previous agitated expression. “How do you know this guy? He’s a complete douche,”
“He’s my ex,” you admitted not so happily, noticing the slight surprise in Heeseung’s face.
“He wasn’t trying to do anything to you right?” Heeseung asked at once, his eyes flashed with worry as they darted around your face to your body. You softened at his words, shaking your head and reaching over to take his hand in yours.
“I’m fine, really. It was really awkward though,” you tried to laugh it off, but in reality you were so ready to dig yourself a grave. “You’re not wrong, he is a jerk and I don’t know what I even saw in him when he literally cheated on me,”
“Speaks a lot about his character for being so shit off and on ice. I’m sorry, Y/N, you deserved more than someone like him,” Heeseung squeezed your hand gently, passing you a consoling smile.
“It’s alright, Hee, I’ve gotten over him years ago. I hope you guys beat his ass next game,” you swung his hand lightly, beaming at his presence, but not noticing the fact that he was trying his best to hide a smile.
Heeseung cleared his throat. “I’ll trash him for you, Y/N,”
“Sounds like another challenge. I’ll take you up on it,” you smirked.
“You have to stop tormenting me, I swear,” Heeseung sighed wearily at your antics, but he couldn’t resist a lopsided grin. “Anyway, where were you even going?”
“To get a drink,” you blatantly lied through your teeth, unwilling to admit that you were actually looking for him. There’s one thing that Yunjin always preached and it was to never let a man know you’re chasing him. In times like this, you were about to listen to her teachings.
“You had fun dancing with Jay?” Heeseung smoothly brought up, completely having zero intentions of either sugar coating nor hiding his jealousy, and you were stunned by his straightforwardness, a small grin tugging at your lips.
“He offered me company, so I took up that offer. Someone here was off flirting with someone else, no? I thought you were a gentleman?” you said teasingly, but in secret, you had to admit you were a little upset. Just a little.
Heeseung stared back at you, a look of amusement and deadpan on his face.“I wasn’t flirting, Y/N. She was asking what drink I got since it looked funky and being the gentleman I am—” he gave you a smirk and winked, “— I answered her question, but she couldn’t hear me so I had to lean in. It’s genuinely a misunderstanding from someone else’s point of view,”
Noticing the slight lingering doubt in your features, he smiled at you reassuringly, throwing his arm around you and started guiding you back to the private room. “You do know I’m yours for the night, right? I won’t leave you for someone else. I told you I’ll have you by my side and I’ll stick to it,”
“Just for tonight?” you said curiously, peering up at him.
“What are you trying to say, Y/N?” he raised his eyebrow at you quizzically, but you just brushed it off, flushing a little at your own words, meanwhile Heeseung sneaked a small smile after noticing your panicky behaviour.
“Let me take you home,” Heeseung offered, pushing the door open to a room scattered with people here and there, some making out on the couch and some at the corner having small talks. The contrast was certainly there.
“What about the whole birthday celebration for Jay? Cake?”
“Oh he’s too drunk for that,” Heeseung waved his hand dismissively, as if this was a common occurrence. “Sunghoon will help him out, don’t worry,”
“If you say so … then I won’t decline your kind offer,” you furrowed your eyebrows, pursed your lips and stared pointedly at Heeseung. “Did you drink?”
“Mocktails, Y/N, mocktails. I’ve been pulled over before and trust me, I want none of that again,”
“Bad boy Heeseung … interesting,” you nodded slightly, a mischievous smirk on your face, to which was met with Heeseung unamused laugh.
“I’ll dump you here if you call me that again,” he huffed, picking up your jacket and bag.
“What happened to being yours for the night?” you said in a sing-song tone, looping your arm around his and pulled him through the door, making sure to wave a half-drunk Jay along the way out.
“Might have to make some adjustments then.”
“Mean.”
NEVER IN YOUR DREAMS WOULD YOU EXPECT YUNJIN TO absolutely embarrass Heeseung the moment he dropped you off at your doorstep. But that was exactly what had happened.
"Oh Heeseung," Yunjin opened the door with a hand placed on her hip, staring straight at Heeseung with a vague smile.
"Uh … hi?" Heeseung greeted back with uncertainty, panning back and forth between you and your roommate.
"Kissed Y/N yet?"
You and Heeseung immediately froze on the spot, blinking in question back at Yunjin, and you swore to yourself that you couldn't take anymore embarrassing moments for the night or else you'll soon be six feet under. You felt heat travelling up to your face and embarrassment crawling onto your skin.
"Well! Goodnight, Heeseung. Thanks for the ride!" you instantly pushed Yunjin back inside, closing the door but just enough for you to peek your head out.
"Don't mind her, she likes to think … outside the box sometimes!" you whispered to him, an apologising half smile on your face and ears burning a scarlet red, which Heeseung mirrored and finally after a last goodbye, he left and you were alone with Yunjin.
"I'll kill you, Huh Yunjin."
"Fuck."
It's been a few days since that interesting exchange and you've already texted Heeseung about it, being able to sigh a breath of relief when he was cool about it and sparing the trouble of chasing Yunjin around. Soon, with the mountain load of work, it was already Friday night hockey in a blink of an eye.
“You whore! You lying whore," Yunjin hissed, sucking her teeth. "I heard a specific someone is done with hockey boys? Is she in the room with us now?”
You were caught guilty at once, passing Yunjin a dirty look as you pulled Heeseung's jersey over your head. "It just … happened. Oh my God, am I actually in love?"
"Let's not jump to conclusions first, genius," Yunjin poked your forehead. "Do you like him?"
"Yes."
"No hesitation. I've truly lost you to him, huh?"
"You're always my number one, Jen," you rolled your eyes at her antics, picking your stuff up and starting to make your way out to the arena with Yunjin clinging onto your arm.
“But the problem now is who’s going to make the move first?” Yunjin hummed, chewing thoughtfully on her bottom lip.
“I’m hoping he would,”
“Why don't you do it?”
“This isn’t the first day we’ve been friends, Jen,”
“Right …”
Being somebody who's afraid of confrontation, you find yourself stuck in the middle. Currently torn between wondering if you were finally ready for something new and worrying if Heeseung would treat you right. 'He's serious about you' rang in your head from time to time and you couldn't lie, you started reciprocating the interest he had in you over time.
"If you like him, just go for him," Yunjin spoke out of the blue after a moment of silence, as if reading your thoughts and sensing something off. "I'm serious, Y/N. He's a nice, genuine guy, and seeing the way he treats you, you deserve someone that gives you their all,"
"Yunjin I'll cry right now," you stopped in your tracks, pouting at your best friend while she could only laugh, throwing her arms around you and continuing to drag you towards the arena.
"Aren't they playing our rival team today?" Yunjin recalled, frowning a little upon realisation. "That means he's there too, no?"
"Unfortunately," you pressed your lips into a thin line, breathing out slowly. "You do remember me telling you that Heeseung and I bumped into him at the party right?"
“Yeah?”
“They’re definitely going to cause a scene tonight, I can feel it in my bones,”
“It’s not that serious,”
“Remember Matthew’s lifelong rival since high school that I’ve mentioned before?”
“Don’t tell me it’s …”
“Heeseung. Small world, right?”
Yunjin raised her eyebrows in surprise, whistling quietly under her breath. "Quite unexpected," she said breathlessly, not realising that you were now already at the arena. "I'd love a fight,"
"You just love chaos,"
"And you're right," Yunjin smiled sweetly at you and you pushed her face away, earning a laugh from her. "Is Heeseung not meeting you pregame?" She nudged your side, raising her eyebrows expectantly with a knowing smirk on her face as she led you down to your usual seats in the arena.
"He did text me…" you said, seeing Yunjin's eyebrows rising higher. "But he said his coach is more strict for today so no pregame meetings,"
"Lame," Yunjin booed.
"He also said he's treating dinner tonight after the game,"
"Not lame," Yunjin switched up and practically almost jumped out of her seat, clapping her hands. "Let's feast tonight. Go team!"
"MAN, I NEED SOME POPCORN FOR THIS,"
Nervousness started creeping up on you as you witnessed the heated start of the game, both teams clashing roughly into one another and fouling left and right. Yunjin was entertained; you were worried and stressed.
"They keep fouling our team and no time outs, you're kidding," you threw your hands up in frustration, noticing other students grumbling as well.
"Are we surprised? Big games are like this," Yunjin shook her head, crossing her arm and leaned back into her seat.
Two periods went by rather quickly, both teams were tied and obvious vexation hung in the air. You noticed Heeseung was practically flying around, chasing the puck with vigor, bumping hard into other players in order to reach the goalpost, but to his dismay, he missed the shot, earning groans from many, you included.
The third period rolled over in a blink of an eye, the tension heightened as the two teams were finding ways to score desperately. Your eyes instinctively followed Heeseung's speeding figure, but something in your stomach told you things were about to turn sour real quick.
Heeseung was zooming across the defenders with ease, guiding the puck towards the goalpost, until a distinct figure, who happened to be the one and only, Matthew, skated up next to him and started causing trouble. You couldn't tell what was exactly happening, but the aggression between the two was getting heavier by each second.
Next thing you knew, Heeseung rammed into your ex, sending him flying to the glass panels, but that wasn't all. Heeseung completely forgo the puck, throwing his gloves to the side and skated up to Matthew, sizing him up.
Both teams were extremely caught off by this sudden fight between them, everyone started panicking the moment Heeseung grabbed Matthew by the neck, but your ex seemed unfazed and continued uttering something to him, leading up to the part where Heeseung punched the latter in the face.
You and Yunjin audibly gasped and so did everyone else in the arena, including the players on the bench and the coaches who were yelling over the noise. Those on the ice made their way to the fight, trying their utmost best to rip the two apart, but Heeseung had his hands practically glued on Matthew, not wanting to let go as he was seen screaming at him.
"I mentioned wanting a fight but not like this …" Yunjin muttered, now standing and occasionally tip-toeing to see what was happening. "Matthew obviously egged him on and pissed Heeseung off,"
"Heeseung has the worst temper on ice, he knew what he was doing," you frowned, getting worried as you watched the referee sending both of them to the penalty box. Heeseung threw his helmet on the floor in frustration, his wet strands of hair sticking onto his forehead.
"Well, at least the team is winning," Yunjin pointed out to the score line, where a glorious 3-2 was showing on the jumbotron. The home team managed to score the winning goal after the game was resumed, taking advantage of the opposition's bewilderment from the fight to mess their strategy up.
The crowd was cheering and jumping, food got scattered around onto the floor and the away fans could only leave in silence. Towards the end of the final period, Heeseung's penalty ended and he joined the team in exiting the ice, face still a little sour as his coach started telling him off.
“You should find him after this,” Yunjin tapped your side and you nodded in agreement, making sure to text him beforehand.
‘Locker room’ was the only thing he texted back and you slowly got anxious, curious as to what had really happened between him and your ex on ice. One thing’s for sure, it definitely wasn’t something good.
You stormed up to the doors of the locker room, heaved a breath of courage and pushed your way in. Lucky for you, by the time you got there mostly everyone was gone, except for Heeseung and Sunghoon, both sitting on a bench, whispering aggressively at one another. That was until Sunghoon caught your approaching figure, giving Heeseung a final word before standing up.
“Y/N,” Sunghoon passed you an awkward smile, a first aid kit in his hands. “I’ll leave him in your hands, I have an appointment with someone now,” he basically thrusted the box into your hands, whispering a quick apology and thanks before scampering away.
You felt helpless and confused as the box sat in your hands, then you started advancing slowly towards Heeseung and soon, you were standing directly in front of him, prompting him to stare up at you, still managing to crack a smirk even when his face looked rough. His left eye was bruised, lips cut and cracked and practically bleeding, his knuckles red and bruised. Overall, he was quite literally a mess.
"You're wearing my jersey,"
"And you're bleeding right now, is that important?"
"To me it is,"
"You're a fool. You have a bruised eye now," you fingers grazed against his cheeks, gaze travelling from one end to the other of his face.
"Do you still think I’m cute?"
"One more word and I'll add a bruise on the other eye," you gave him a side eye and he only responded with a chuckle, patting the empty spot beside him and you complied, sitting down and your shoulder touched his, leaving zero space between the both of you.
“What happened?” you hissed, staring pointedly at him as your hands dug through the items in the first aid kit.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” Heeseung grunted, nodding at your actions and you only returned an unamused look.
“I do, now stop avoiding my question,” you hissed, applying some ointment on his knuckles, causing him to flinch in pain, face screwed in discomfort. “What happened, Hee? I saw,”
Heeseung was reluctant, but he gave in eventually, anger evident in his gaze and tone. “It was your ex,”
“I know you are rivals, but you could’ve just ignored him—”
“No, you don't get it, I can’t! He was talking shit about you,” Heeseung ran a hand through his hair in frustration, adam apple bobbing as he tried not to burst out. "'Go back to that slut', 'do you enjoy my leftovers'. I can't just continue playing after the shit he said, there's no way I'll stand there and do nothing,"
"It's okay, Hee—"
"It's not," he huffed, his frown deepened, running a hand across his face. "It's not okay and I wasn't going to let that man call you names and walk free,"
You couldn't resist a smile, your heart thumping against your chest and your gaze softened, placing a hand on his. "Thanks for standing up for me. Really."
"I always will at any time, I care about you, Y/N, and I don't want anything bad happening to you," Heeseung blurted out, his face gradually turning red upon realising his own confession, making sure to seem nonchalant as he switched the topic. "You should've seen his face when I actually punched him. He was all talk only,"
"He's like that, unfortunately," you sighed as you finished wrapping some compressible bandages over his knuckles, whispering a quick 'sorry' when he winced.
“Honestly if you keep pulling these tricks on ice, I might think you’re into me,” you added boldly, referring to the other time where he dedicated a goal to you and he, too, realised the same, the tip of his ears turning a slight red.
“What if I told you I am?”
“Oh, I know,”
Heeseung leaned back, an amused grin plastered on his face. You couldn't tell if he's glad you knew or if he's in horror. "Am I that obvious? Am I too transparent?"
"Well, would you rather me be dumb and not take the hint?"
"Definitely not that," Heeseung leaned back closer to you, letting you clean the small cut on his lips. "I have a feeling someone ratted me out to you,"
"Partially, but I did have a feeling,"
"Motherfucker," he hissed under his breath, then his eyes widened, a look of panic flashed across his face. "So … you know I liked you before this, then do you … like me?"
You rolled your eyes, in disbelief these words were coming from the fuckboy himself. "If I didn't, I wouldn't be sitting here," you were finally done patching him up, placing everything back neatly into the box as he watched your every move. "You're fantastic at hockey but you're terrible at feelings, Hee,"
"I'm easily intimidated,"
"I didn't see you being intimidated while fighting,"
"Intimidated by pretty girls, I mean,"
"How charming," you mused, bumping his shoulder softly. "When and how did it even start, I thought you were the type to fuck around,"
"I've noticed you since English class and after some time, I saw you at my games too. I didn't want to approach you since I was worried you'd think of me differently because of my past—"
"Fuckboy-ness?"
"You could put it that way," Heeseung clapped his hands, leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs. "I just liked you. You were funny at presentations, charming, passionate in things you liked. I wanted to get to know you better and after meeting you, it just … clicked,"
"But at the party, why did you even bother asking my name when you already knew who I was?"
"First impressions matter, Y/N. I didn't want to seem like a whole ass stalker,"
"You could've mentioned that you knew my name from English. 'Oh you're Y/N from English', there,"
"Are you teaching me how to flirt?"
"I'm teaching you how to flirt with me,"
"Alright then," Heeseung turned his body to fully face you now, a look of seriousness on his face. "Y/N from English, I like you. So much till the point where I feel suffocated. I don't care if you'll beat my ass after we lose and I'll listen to all of your analysis, will you go out with me?"
"Yes and I like you too, jackass. Now shut up and kiss me already," you wrapped a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in towards you and attached your lips to his, instantly melting against his touch the moment he snaked a hand across your jaw.
You couldn't believe this was happening, it felt like a dream. His lips were soft, the taste of mint on his tongue lingered, the feeling on his lips on yours was intoxicating. He was intoxicating.
Heeseung broke away momentarily, his forehead remained pressed against yours and you could feel his breath against your lips. "You're really romantic, Y/N,"
"You bet," you giggled in between kisses, your hands pushing him back a little as he practically chased your lips like a starved man. "You should go change,"
"Fuck, you're right," he glanced down at his hockey gear clad body. "It's getting late too, I'll drive you back. Want to stop by a drive through? I told you tonight's my treat,"
"I'm down,"
"Let me get my clothes, wait here," Heeseung stood up, ready to walk away but halting abruptly. "Tomorrow night, dinner, is that okay?"
"Are you asking me out on a date?"
"It's whatever you like,"
"Pick me up at 7,"
"On it," Heeseung nodded slowly, taking note of it mentally. "Also, does Yunjin want some food too?"
"If you buy her some, you'll immediately be on her good list, just saying,"
"You two are so alike, it's scary,"
"We're besties for a reason."
IT'S BEEN FIVE MONTHS EVER SINCE THAT NIGHT IN THE LOCKER room. You remembered coming home with Heeseung tailing behind you after, a bag of food in his hands and a welcoming Yunjin greeting him at the door.
"You two finally kissed, didn't you?" Yunjin mentioned carelessly in between bites of her burger and you swore you saw Heeseung's soul escaping his body. "That's the shade of lipstick Y/N wears on the side of your lips,"
Heeseung's hand flew to the side of his lips, touching the spot where you gave him a small peck of encouragement before getting off of the car.
"I'm glad you two are together," Yunjin continued, not noticing the flushed state you and Heeseung were in. "It's been months—oh God, I need to tell Jake this,"
And she did, leading to Jake calling you up the day after where he basically shouted through the phone. Since then, you had a plus one to every football game Jake played in.
"You guys are so annoying," Yunjin grimaced at the sight of Heeseung leaning his head onto your shoulder.
It was currently a Saturday night just after Heeseung's playoff match in which he scored three goals, so now, the team and your friends were at a nearby bar celebrating the victory.
"Stop being jealous," Heeseung defended, dropping his voice and closing in. "That's why I told you to go for Jay,"
"Him? Only God can put up with him, I barely know him and I already couldn't stand him,"
"Someone will eventually," you shrugged, taking a sip out of your mocktail.
"Good luck to them," Jake mumbled, holding his cup up for a toast and downed it all within the next second.
The night ended with a very drunk Yunjin along with many other drunk hockey players stumbling over their feet. Jake offered to take Yunjin home and she could only splutter out some responses, while you and Heeseung went by yourselves.
"If we can win the playoffs, I'll literally explode," Heeseung was currently the happiest man in the world, one hand holding his girlfriend while the other was close to touching the playoff trophy. He could ask for nothing more.
"It'll happen, Hee," you assured, running your thumb across his finger softly. "It's bound to happen, the team is strong. You have to believe my analysis too,"
"Pfft, fairs, your analysis does always hit the spot,"
"See? I'm always right,"
"Yeah yeah," Heeseung chuckled, pulling the car to park once you've arrived at your dorm's carpark and you two just sat there naturally, a sense of ambiance in the air as the radio played quietly in the background.
"I love you,"
Those three words were the first to break the silence. Heeseung looked like he was in disbelief although he was the one who said it first. Meanwhile, you were starting to smile like a fool.
"Did I—"
"I love you too, you idiot," you grabbed his face before he could continue, knowing well he'll end up rambling in the end. You pressed a chaste kiss on his lips, earning a stunned look from him until he eventually returned the favour.
"Was it too soon?" He mumbled against your lips as he gradually pulled away.
"I was actually wondering when you'll crack,"
"Fuck off," he scoffed, squeezing your cheek gently upon seeing your playful smirk. His gaze softened, eyes evidently filled with affection, anyone could literally vouch for how whipped this man was."I love you, stay by me forever, please,"
"Say less, captain."
Hockey boys might've scared you once, but this time, one of them ended up mending your broken heart and won you over instead, and thankfully, he was here to stay. For a long time.
#fic tag! win one win me#enhypen imagines#heeseung imagines#heeseung x reader#enhypen#enhypen fanfics#enhypen fluff#enhypen fanfiction#enhypen heeseung#lee heeseung#lee heesung x reader#enhypen scenarios#heeseung scenarios#kpop fanfic#enhypen smau#heeseung fluff#heeseung fanfic#enhypen oneshots#heeseung oneshots#heeseung smau#jake sim imagines#jake enhypen#jake sim#jake imagines#enhypen drabbles#heeseung drabbles#heeseung au#enhypen au#jay enhypen#jay imagines
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do you love me? 3;
synopsis: they wake you up at 3am and ask if you love them. 1 + 2 + 4
ft: hanma, ran, and rindou.
warnings: gn!reader, insecurities, clingy bfs, jealous!rindou, swearing, mentions of drinking, not proofread, reader is a lil mean in hanma's ): and thaat should be it!
a/n: is it me or are these getting longer?! anyways, here's part 3! the last one will be mitsuya, draken, and chifuyu! i’m running out of steam thinkin’ of scenarios uh oh. anyway, writing ran's bit was so much fun, since i feel like he's a goofy loverboy. i kind of struggled w rindou’s but i hope it still falls together nicely! ALSO WHY IS HIS SO LONG WTF and here's a special lil tag for @fuyuluvr ♡
the city is quiet as the hum of a motorcycle comes to a stop. hanma’s not sure how he ended up here, well actually he is, subconsciously driving straight to the one place that always riles him up, setting his veins on fire faster than the rush of a zipline.
he hums to himself, taking off his helmet, and nudging down his kick stand. he looks upwards, toward your bedroom window, his heart already starting to flutter in his chest. stuffing his hands into his jacket, he walks up, getting ready to scale up towards your window. he glances around, although no one’s around in this dead of night, he would rather not have anyone calling the cops on him.
they’re probably asleep, he thinks, as he peers back up, nails digging into the stone as he uses his leg to boost himself up. he hoists himself until he’s up to the sil, laughing a little to himself when he notices you left it open like you were expecting him.
he tumbles in, knocking over your lamp in the process. “oops.” he says. meanwhile, the crash has you bolting awake, screaming, no, screeching as you grab your alarm clock, holding it up, ready to throw or swing.
he throws his hands up defensively as he approaches, “it’s me!” and in your sleep deprived state you scramble back, the grip on your device tightening.
hanma barks out a laugh, before he switches on your bedside lamp. “hi baby. ♡” he chirps, seeing your shoulders slump as you settle, a particularly loud sigh escaping you as you place one hand over your chest. he kicks his shoes off as he jumps onto your bed, diving straight into your comforter, laying on his stomach.
“you scared the shit out of me!” you yell, “besides, what time is it?” you look at the device in your hand before you realize it’s off, ripped straight out the socket. frowning, you toss it onto the floor, before crossing your arms and facing him.
“you were really gonna fuck me up, huh?” he muses, honey eyes twinkling at the idea of you actually swinging on him. he would’ve dodged of course, but it would’ve given him an excuse to grab you and have you underneath him.
you sigh again, “shuji, i don’t have time for this. i’ve got a work meeting tomorrow morning.” you grab your blankets, shimmying underneath them and pulling them up, “we can hang out this weekend or something,” you yawn.
“eh?” is all you hear as you turn over, shutting your eyes in hopes of getting some sleep. maybe he’d fall asleep with you or maybe he’d leave, but the only thing that’s really on your mind is this stupid meeting. just a few more days until the weekend, has been your new mantra, if you can just tough it out, you’ll be golden.
it’s quiet for a few minutes, but the dip in your bed is still there and soon enough he’s asking, “do you love me?”
“no, shuji, of course i don’t…” you start, sarcasm tinting your voice as you roll back over, but you stop when you see his defeated expression. it’s different from the shuji you know, his solemn eyes studying you, as he nervously plays with your sheets in one hand.
hanma shuji has been so damn bored. it’s been like this ever since you got a job, constant “i can’t”s, and “maybe next time, shu.” he wants so badly to go on late night rides with you again, the sound of your laughter ripping over the roar of his motorcycle.
he wants to stay up with you until sunrise, at the top of your favorite hill, hands intertwined and shoulders brushing. he wants to snap pictures of you at the top of this hill, thinking you're prettier than any sunrise. you make him feel like he’s invincible and that everything’s okay.
shuji has been so bored, but more so than that, he’s been lonely, unsteady. he misses you so fucking much, nothing’s as fun without you, everything’s dull like the world’s covered in sepia.
“c’mere,” you say, opening your arms and he crawls forward, collapsing into you. “i love you, shuji, i do.. and i’m sorry.”
you realize now how distant you’ve been. unbeknownst to the two of you, just how stressful a new job could be, you were just trying to jumble a new set schedule but you had been snappier, neglectful, and even downright mean at times.
shuji tried his best to accomodate you, going off on night rides by himself, always saying, “it’s alright.” when you’d turn him down again. he tried to busy himself more with his friends, but his mind always wandered to what you’d be doing - did you miss him too? - checking his texts every now and then in hopes there’d be a new message.
“shuji?” you whisper when he doesn’t respond and you think he has every right to be upset with you. but instead he says, “yeah?” his face suddenly dangerously close to yours, the tip of his nose lingers by yours and your face heats up at the proximity.
“um,” you stutter and soon there’s a smirk dancing on his face, “d-did you hear me?”
“i heard you. loud and clear, ♡” he says, lips ghosting over yours, “i was just replayin’ it in my head.”
shuji always has you melting and tonight is no different, so you close your eyes and let him kiss you. deep, sweet, and full of all the things the two of you don’t know how to say. you pout when he pulls away and he grins, “so cute.”
an idea strikes you then as you gaze at the love of your life. “hey… wanna go for a ride?” besides, what's the harm in losing a little sleep?
the way he perks up has you giggling, you’re sure if he had a tail it’d be wagging a mile a minute. he’s practically beaming, as he starts to pull you up and off the bed. he stops for a second, head tilted and finger on his chin, “wait, don’t you have a meeting at in a couple hours?”
you nod, “yeah, so bring me home by 5?” you smile at him as you reach for a jacket.
“i can do that.”
ran:
for the first time in his life, ran haitani cannot fall asleep. he lays there, one arm resting above his head, the only noise being the sound of your soft snores as his mind continues to wander. he thinks about the dinner you two had earlier. it was dumb, the entire situation, your friends were clearly too drunk to be saying reasonable things. ran knew this, he’s been the same way countless times before.
but when she hiccuped, arm slung around you, “maann, can’t believe you ended up with ran! you used to only talk about rindou in high school ehe.” ran felt his stomach drop.
you froze at that, quickly glancing at ran whose face was otherwise unreadable. she continued, incessantly giggling, “seriously seriously! everyday was ‘man rindou looked sooo cu’-“
“thats enough!” you had said, placing a palm over her mouth to muffle her. “lets get you home, okay?” desperately glancing at the rest of your friends, who took the hint and helped her out of there.
ran remembered how after everyone left, you had tried to talk to him, “listen..” your hand reaching towards his.
but for some reason, he had stopped you. “it’s fine, people say dumb shit when they’re drunk,” he mused, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “don’t worry about it.”
and maybe the reason was that he was scared, scared to hear you admit that yeah, you did like his brother. and when that didn’t work out, you settled on him.
he shakes his head, getting up from the bed and padding over to the bathroom. turning the faucet, he douses cold water on his face. don’t be stupid, ran.
when he walks out, he stops when he sees you sitting up, sleepily rubbing your eyes. “ran?” you mumble, “are you okay?”
he settles back into an easy grin, walking over and climbing back in. “yeah, i’m alright.”
“liar.”
he blinks. “what’d you just say?”
“i said, you’re a liar.” you huff, placing your hands on his cheeks, swiveling his head towards yours. “you’re upset.”
“and why do you think that?” he says, but there’s a red tint dusting on his cheeks, and his eyes flicker from you to various objects around the room.
“first of all, you’re awake,” you emphasize, “when is ran ‘if i don't get enough sleep i’ll kill you and your family’ haitani awake at 3am? hm?” you dart your head every time he tries to look away trying to stay in his vision.
he sighs, “okay, you got me.” he stills, looking at you with a crease in his brow. “do you love me? and.. was what your friend said right? that you used to like my brother?”
you soften at his question, “of course i do. i love you and only you. let me explain?”
he nods and you drop your hands, opting to intertwine them with his. sighing, you begin, “okay so, in high school there was this… friend- okay no i hated that bitch-“
you give ran a look as he whistles, caught off guard by your vitriol, as he motions you to continue on with a little grin, “don’t mind me.”
“there was this acquaintance,” you continue and ran nods, “and every single guy i was into she would try to take them from me, so i pretended to like rindou because.. i was scared.. she would actually get together with you.”
its your turn to burn with embarrassment, looking down at your interlocked hands as you reveal the secret you kept for so long. you glance up at ran and groan out a “what?!” when you notice his shit-eating grin.
“i’m really a catch, eh?” he teases and you scrunch your nose. “don’t make that face,” he points, “you’re the one who tried to gatekeep me.”
“ugh fine,” you pout, your face on fire, “this is so embarrassing… ah!” ran pulls you down, hugging you tightly. “ran?”
“man, i feel like a million bucks! who would’ve thought the person i’d been chasin’ all throughout highschool felt the same way. i should’ve asked you out sooner.” he pinches your cheek, cooing, “my baby.”
you can’t even focus on the fact that he casually mentioned the two of you were mutual crushing for so long. if you could die from embarrassment you would. on the flipside, if ran could die from love, he would. he’s never admitted it before, but he’s always felt a little insecure, so he hides it behind a mask that only you get to uncover.
“did i ever meet her?” he asks, face to face with you. he can’t stop smiling, instead continuing to poke your cheek as you pout.
“hmm, maybe. i dunno, i tried to avoid her a lot of the time.” you answer, “why?”
“cause if i did, you wouldn’t even have to worry about it.” he says, running the pad of his thumb over your cheek. “i’ve only had eyes for you after all.”
was he always this cheesy? seriously, you might die. “i’m gonna die,” you profess, your face and body on fire, moving your hands up to hide your expression behind them. “if you continue, i’ll seriously die.”
“dying in my arms is super romantic though.” he muses, “i bet it’d be a dream come true for you.”
“shut up!” you groan, burying your face into the pillow.
“babe, seriously, it’s a dream of mine. romeo and juliet, who?”
“ran haitani, shut up!”
rindou:
rindou haitani was seething. on the outside, he had it all. a club that he owned with his brother, able to play his music to an excited crowd, and to top it all off, a loving partner who did their best to support him. but on the inside, he was someone who hid from his emotions, snuffing them out before they had their chance to reach the surface and maybe that’s why, in rare moments, when he couldn’t snuff them out he waited until you fell asleep to think about them.
maybe it was his fault for inviting you out, but it’s always been a dream of his to watch you dance to his music. at first you refused, something about how crowds aren’t really your thing. but he persisted, noting how you always dance for him when he plays his music so why not do it at his club?
“besides, you always get along with everyone you meet, just try it.” he insisted, beaming when you said “okay, just this once.”
he wasn’t usually jealous, something he prided himself on, that you could hang out with whoever you wanted whenever you wanted and he’d have no issue. but tonight things were different. you looked amazing under the neon, pulsing lights, feeling the beat down to your bones as you swayed and moved on the dance floor.
ran was supposed to stay close to you, but the two of you got separated by the mass of bodies. from his view up top though, rindou could see you clearly, and when someone came up to you to dance, he was sure you would deny them. but perhaps it was the slight buzz of alcohol running through your veins or maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through you that caused you to say yes.
you didn’t grind on them, thankfully, but still, the way you laughed and cheered, eyes fully on them was like a kick to rindou’s gut. at one point, they leaned in to say something to you and rindou almost stopped his set, wanting to take you home immediately. but instead, he grit his teeth and kept playing.
he didn’t have the heart to tell you anything on the way home either, the way you excitedly bounced up and down detailing to him about how much fun you had and how you’d love to go again. he shut those emotions down again, instead laying a hand over yours, smiling and saying, “i’m glad you had fun, love.”
but now as he lay there in your shared bed, one arm around you as you slept on his chest, he was steaming. he has a continuous fight with himself in his head over it, how he isn’t the type to dance anyway, so it’s fine if you have fun dancing with someone else. but also, have you ever had that much fun with him before? like you did tonight with some stranger? he’s so pissed off he can’t remember, especially when he thinks about how close they were to his baby.
when rindou is lost in his head, he never notices the things he does outwardly to keep himself calm. like the tapping on your arm or the shake of his leg, but you do, rousing out of sleep, peeking one eye up at him.
“rinnie?” you croak, voice hoarse from the amount of shouting and laughing you did tonight. “you okay?”
he looks down at you, unable to control the frustration clearly etched across his face. “i’m fine. go back to sleep.”
“no.” you say, even in your half-asleep state you can tell that something’s up, “what’s wrong.”
“nothing.” he huffs, trying his best to not let his emotions get the best of him. but if there’s one thing rindou hates, it’s talking about his feelings.
you pause, trying to think your words over carefully. “did i do something wrong?” he doesn’t respond, and you mull it over again, when an answer comes to you. “oh… i won’t go to the club anymore, if that’s what you want, i bet i looked pretty lame dancing out there-“
“no!” he interrupts, “no… you looked amazing…besides, i love watching you dance.”
“then what is it, rindou? i can’t read your mind, y’know?” you remind him and his face softens.
“i know…” he replies, and you wait for him to continue. that’s something that he’s grateful for, that when he does talk, you never rush him, letting him go at his own pace. “it’s just… did you have to dance with that guy tonight?” he mumbles, voice trailing off so that it’s barely audible.
“hm? i didn’t hear you, did i have to..?” you ask, tilting your head.
“did you have to dance with that stupid dude tonight?!” he nearly yells, rushing out his words and you blink, a little taken aback.
“oh…” you realize, he’s jealous. you realize now that from where he was looking it probably did look bad, his partner, dancing and laughing it up with a stranger. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know that bothered you so much…”
for some reason, that sets rindou off and he scoffs, pissed off once again. of course he’d be annoyed, of course he’d be jealous. you’re his partner. “do you love me?”
his question comes out more like an accusation and you hate it because it stings. in turn you say, “i do. do you trust me?”
he wants to bite back, but when he looks at you, he can’t. you look so hurt, he sighs, rubbing his temple with his free hand, “… sorry. i do trust you. i’m bad at this.”
“i know,” you say and he glances at you, surprised, which makes you smile. “you’re awful at telling me how you feel, so you act all cool and tough instead.”
“aren’t you mad at me?” he asks, your sudden smile catching him off guard.
“hmm… not really mad, just a little hurt is all.” you say, because even though he was the one who told you that you get along with everyone you meet, you know rindou inside and out, culminating from the many years the two of you have shared together.
rindou doesn’t want to seem controlling, but because of that he neglects to establish his boundaries, too focused on how comfortable you feel. it’s his own weird way of control, if he doesn’t push you, let’s you do your thing, then you’ll stay. you won’t leave him like he’s scared you’ll do if he ever says no.
he apologizes again, his frustration turning to shame. you're so patient, even when he snaps at you or can't find the words. but you shake your head, “thanks for telling me. let me know what bothers you, please?”
“i’ll try,” he mumbles, glancing away, and you know that means that next time he probably won’t. he’ll most likely bury those feelings deep inside until you catch wind, but it’s the fact that he’ll at least try that makes you happy. it’s okay, you’ll always be there when he needs it.
you settle back into your original position, closing your eyes and within a few minutes, you’re dozing off asleep.
tonight really did a number on you, he thinks, while playing with your hair, maybe i should be more honest with you… i love you.
but there's a few things that rindou doesn’t realize. like how he’s talking out loud, or that you’re still just barely awake, his “i love you,” warming you up like the morning sun. as much as you wanna mention it when you wake up, you also don’t wanna embarrass him. for now, you’ll keep this a secret.♡
#tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers fluff#tokyo revengers x reader#hanma shuji x reader#ran haitani x reader#rindou haitani x reader#hanma shuji#ran haitani#rindou haitani#pibby writing#RANS WAS MY FAVORITE JSYK !!!!
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