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WINTER WEATHER ADVISORY

male reader x jeon heejin

part 1 of journalistic integrity

16k words

It’s not even twelve hours apart - the first time you exchange pleasantries, all careless and untroubled, to the moment you’ve got Heejin in the back of a taxi and your hand so far up her skirt that it has you emptying your wallet at the end of the ride and slapping the biggest tip you’ve ever left into the cabbie’s open palm, silence full of disapproval.

It isn’t planned or anything.

Heejin doesn’t simply wake up one morning with a craving for your cock. It just sorta happens.

And then It happens again a week later. The third time just a few days after that.

The fourth time, the two of you barely spend a night apart before Heejin’s back in your apartment, thighs shaking violently as you fuck her into the springs of your mattress.

“I’m trying to figure it out,” you puzzle, holding a coffee mug to your cheek while taking note of how Heejin slips her arms back beneath the black straps of her bra at the foot of your bed. “Why a rabbit?”

She laughs first. Looking back over her shoulder when she responds, “why not? It’s cute.”

“Yeah. Sure. And incredibly provocative.”

“You’re really hung up on it, aren’t you?”

“Um. I just think it’s interesting.”

“Does that mean it’s going to end up in one of your articles?” She asks, tossing her hair back over her shoulders. “Something about it on the front page?”

“Why would you think I’m going to write about rabbits?”

Heejin smiles, bright and cheery and increasingly full of mischief. “About this breeding kink of ours.”

“Ah.”

Her hands reach to her hips like she’s ruminating through all these possibilities, the things she could do to you, the things she has done to you. And as she crawls back onto the bed, your eyes follow hers - all brilliant and huge, self-aware of just how pretty they are.

She lets out this pinchy little laugh, and leans in to kiss your jawline. Bites it for good measure. “Ah, he says, pensively.”

“We went over this,” you start, leaning back into the headboard. “It’s just not a kink. Wanting to cum inside a pretty girl is, literally, basic biology. Like, it’s so foundational, it’s in my DNA.”

“And I get sooo turned on thinking about your DNA,” Heejin snaps back, and she’s got that edge in her voice again: playful, mildly threatening. “Besides, there’s more to it than that.”

“Isn’t there always.”

“It’s the ownership,” she breathes into your neck, “the intimacy, the risk–”

“Risk?” you say, laughing as you jump into the middle of Heejin’s explanation. “What risk? There’s literally no risk when you’re on the pill.”

“Ugh. You’re the worst, you know that? Who’d thought I’d have to explain what fantasy means to a writer.”

Before you can do anything about it, she kisses you three times. Twice on the cheek, once on the lips. And it’s as close as you’ll get to anything like retaliation - you flip her underneath you, drag her panties down her thighs, and fuck her again.

That’s how it goes. Like it's some sort of cosmic law. It’s been this whole thing.

So again, you write - when it all starts, you’re writing.

There’s this story.

Your editor’s the one demanding it from you. Find it, embellish it, fucking outright fabricate it - whatever it takes so long as the article arrives on her desk before she finishes her coffee on Monday morning.

Between you, there’s always this dynamic: work comes in, you’ll point your finger to the ceiling, saying, "trust in the creative process," and then she threatens to kill you. Hence it’s her drumbeat; you’re marching to it.

"You know, I think I might know a guy," you shout over the top of your glass and down the bar, when the topic of LOONA comes up over drinks. You end up phoning a friend of a friend, pulling a string, making a promise you never intend to make good on, and it has you sitting in an unremarkable conference room on the fourth floor of your office a little after lunch the following day.

So, as it starts, there’s this girl sitting across the table from you - Heejin, she says, and it rolls so nicely off her tongue as she does, like the name was simply hers. You notice it immediately, and if you were any younger, the kind of age where you could fall in love with a girl just off the end of a smile, your heart would be rocketing out of your chest.

Now, honest to god–

(Not that you’re god-fearing or honest or virtuous, it’s just a turn of phrase, and that’s how you earn your keep.)

–it kicks off innocently enough between you, as most things do.

Just to put it in perspective, there’s never before been a celebrity profile you’ve written that hasn’t fallen neatly into one of three categories: (1) astonishingly talented, (2) breathtakingly gorgeous, or (3) certifiably insane. So, as you puzzle about that track record now, there should be absolutely no reason at all for you, a professional, to let this girl, another twenty-something-year-old idol who’s too pretty for her own good - with a voice that runs just a little deeper, raspier, perhaps more sultry than you’re used to hearing - ever get the better of you.

"I don’t know, I guess I was expecting someone… different," Heejin says, somewhere in the middle of things, folding her fingers neatly beneath her chin.

Your eyes flick up from the notepad in your hands and find this look in the deep browns of her eyes, like she’s studying you from across the conference room table, gazing into the contents of a test tube. You lift an eyebrow, and she does the same; there’s a bit more suggestion to it than there probably should be, but you’ve been stoking it, fanning it, from the moment you’d both sat down.

"Expecting?" you ask, if only to point out what had thrown you off-kilter, and you can feel your weight shift in your seat.

After all, it had been just that morning when you met Heejin for the first time. She was standing perhaps a little out of place beside the door to her dressing room, kicking snow off the bottoms of her boots. You told her you liked the color of her dress, a welcome departure from the grays and browns that usually filled your office. Her hair was curtaining her face and after pulling it back, tucking it neatly behind her ears, she smiled brightly back at you - thanks, it’s vermillion.

You weren't aware of it then, and it won’t become clear to you until much later, but you do fall for her there, if at least just a little.

"Well, see, it’s my publicist," Heejin starts to explain. From that alone you’re certain you’ve got the rest puzzled out. She steeples her fingertips together, continuing, "the way she talked you up, she made you out to be, like, totally despicable. Said you were no better than those creeps that sit in the bushes outside my apartment."

Okay, so unfortunately, part of that’s not entirely unwarranted. To a girl like her - to the scrupulous companies that stand to gain, to lose - all that concerning secrets to hide and hell to pay, you could be absolutely despicable. Afterall, if there’s a labor that goes into making someone like Heejin come across as the kind of perfect that everyone believes her to be, you’d be the first person looking to undo it.

It’s nothing personal, you reason, and you’re smiling back across the table. "Hey. Low blow. I haven’t sat in a bush in years."

A quiet smile shadows in the corner of her lip and she fires back at you, "so you’re saying you’re just a little despicable."

"Oh, ya know," you reassure her, gesturing your hands to the side, one palm up and the pages on your notepad splaying out in the other. "More or less comes with the mileage."

"All joking aside, I’ve seen guys…"

Heejin dips her eyes a moment to laugh out loud. And you’re becoming familiar with the sound, sweet and throaty and genuine. Harmonic.

"You know, I’ve seen guys climb trees. Really, I’m serious. This was just last summer, around the time Haseul broke up with her boyfriend and moved into our apartment. Don’t write that down. I’m standing at the sink, washing dishes, and I see this guy. He’s just balancing there with his feet hooked around some of the branches, a camera against his face with this massive lens. I bet you he could probably see the bacteria on the window."

“You wash dishes?” A handbag that costs more than a month’s salary, these dainty fingers that look like they’ve never seen so much as a scratch, and you’re picturing her, or struggling anyway - washing dishes.

“Ugh, it’s been this whole thing,” Heejin says, floating her fingertips to her collarbone. “There was a rumor that the housekeeper had been talking to the press. So our management fired them - and then the dishwasher broke. Company was supposed to buy us a new one, but they haven’t yet - because they’re cheap as shit. Don’t write that down either.”

“Never rains but then it pours, huh?”

“Right. You get it,” she says before letting this simple tight-lipped smile fill out on her face. "To be honest though, I’m curious about something."

Heejin’s raking her fingers through her hair, and you watch the silver band of her watch fall just a few inches from the sharp edge of her wrist as she holds a messy handful of blonde locks just above her face - the way they bounce against her cheek and spill back onto her shoulder when she lets go.

"How did you - and I’m not saying you’re the same as one of those people - but how does someone even get into entertainment journalism in the first place?"

"Slowly at first," you answer, eyes returning to your lap to pen out the rest of some scribbled note, "and then all at once."

When you look back up, Heejin is frowning, brows furrowed, as though she were trying to remember something.

"Slowly at first," she repeats, "and then all at once." She blinks a few times as your attempt to avoid the question registers. Thoroughly unimpressed when it does. "No, I’m serious, there had to be something that drew you to all this."

You finish out the end of a note, lined into the pad, while you land on a chuckle, dry and humorless. "What is all this now?"

"It’s a question."

Nevermind that it’s in the wrong direction, is your first thought. Careful now, your second. Because maybe you knew that beneath the surface were those stray thoughts that kept you up at night, lurking:

What kind of journalism career is this?

You graduated from a good program. With classmates who were now reporting on national legislature, getting shot at to cover a war in Ukraine for The Associated Press - and then here you are, sifting through the transient thoughts of yet another pop star, grasping at straws, struggling to spin them into gold.

"Is this one of those things?" you ask, heeding first to the click of your pen, once in, once out. "What was the word for it… postmodern? Where you turn the tables and you’re the one interviewing me?"

"I don’t think I’d go that far," she says, lips slanted slightly, "you’re still the one holding the notepad after all."

“What, the appeal of meeting fascinating people isn’t enough of a sell for you?” Oh, you’ve had your fair share of boring, mundane, or even offensive too, but you’ve not gotten to where you are without learning a little flattery goes a long way.

Heejin scoffs. “Oh, don’t lie. I’ve read your magazine. The profiles? I’ve met those guys and gals—fascinating is being rather generous, wouldn't you think?”

“Careful,” you say, punctuated by the end of your pen again. Click.

See, it’s the way her eyebrows twist over that coquettish smile. That's how she gets you - one out of twelve, you’re realizing why the cameras are stuck on her. And everything that comes out of her mouth just brushes effortlessly on the innocent side of frustration, of challenge. It’s hard not to indulge, even if just a little–

“I mean if I’m wrong, go ahead, feel free to correct me.”

“I was real sick of freelance work,” you answer, feeling the conversation start to de-rail. “Was tired of worrying about making rent. And it was just less of a total pain in the ass.”

There was a method. It was delicate, and usually you were quite good at it: you were supposed to be just funny enough to make her laugh, captivating enough to coax out something more than a monosyllable answer where you needed it, get her to like you, and then have her forget about you the moment she walked out the door. Hell might freeze before you could get her publicist to schedule a follow up, all because Heejin had chewed up the clock - had gotten herself interested.

It’s probably wishful thinking to hope the sigh rolling through your chest doesn’t give too much of all that up. “And just why might you ask?”

Heejin reaches across the table and turns off your tape recorder. It’s here probably: where you should’ve been clued into the pieces, the board, the game in front of you. “Because you don’t seem like most of the others.”

“The others?” you answer, making careful sure not to sneer. “Are you suggesting that I’m–”

“Charming?” Heejin rises from her seat, and her hair swings behind her shoulders as she meanders about the room. “Oh, I’m declaring it. It’s not a subject for debate.”

When she finds a spot to lean against the table beside you, her skirt hikes itself just a few noticeable inches. You’re not trying to stare, but she is right there.

Okay, so you’re fucking staring. When it’s clear that you are, you drop your eyes immediately, starting over at the floor - you’re unsure what to make of it. Her boots jump out immediately, these black knee-high things with just enough of a heel to let her stand a little taller than your shoulders. Beyond them is the dress that’s tinier than she is: vermillion - not red - and hung tight around her frame, gaping perfectly to present her thighs and chest like they ever needed introduction. Follow her collarbones, the delicate skin on her neck, the bold red lipstick she decided would compliment the bow in hair like she’s some present waiting to be unwrapped, and yeah, okay, she’s cute.

You’d have perhaps made a mental note of how unconventional it was for her now to be looking down at you, arms crossed and smile slanting, but, she also just manages to plainly ask if you’re seeing anyone, so there’s little time to dwell on that transgression - and all with the casualness someone might ask how much snow that approaching storm was supposed to bring tonight. In nearly the same breath, she asks if you were holding onto any of those numbers girls handed you when you went out drinking. It’s confounding and it’s your head space and it’s rapidly becoming preoccupied and littered and busy.

"That surprises me," Heejin tells you upon hearing that it’s complicated. "I figured it’d be rather straightforward. What all with a smile like yours. And an ass like that—"

"You’re flirting with me."

Doesn’t matter that it’s so obvious you could’ve seen it from space - everything comes to a screeching halt after the words fall out of your mouth.

You tilt your head, quizzical.

Heejin’s chin cocks, ready to fire. "And what? Is that some sort of crime?"

It’s honestly hard to believe. She tosses you the question, recklessly unaware that doing that thing she does where she simply exists is almost criminal. Thoroughly disinterested in the fact you were having plenty enough trouble keeping your focus from sinking into the neckline of her dress. You watch her blink slowly while you struggle to get out ahead of this, and it has her discovering that smile again. “Oh. And I wouldn’t write any of this down either. You know, if I were you.”

Your hand must know how deceitful it sounds because it’s covering your mouth, trying to mask the words curling off your tongue:

“Look, I - Here’s the thing… you know it’s completely unprofessional.”

Heejin smirks, pointedly, like she’s recognizing something on your face that confirms each and every one of her suspicions.

Okay, you were trying to act nonchalant, but all the mistakes keep adding up - have added up - gazing at her gentle, focused features long enough that you might inscribe them in your mind as something to hold onto when you walk out of this meeting.

“Hand me your notepad.” Heejin pushes her hand in front of you, expectantly. “The pen.”

You watch her lashes nearly fall onto her cheeks as her eyes dip into the lined paper, and then it’s just the sound of the pen. Scribbling.

If you're going to consider that the bare minimum requirements of your job probably forbids undressing in a random meeting room in the middle of a workday, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the rest of the interview unfolds without incident.

(Albeit woefully precarious.)

Here’s what you learn:

Heejin’s life isn’t terribly interesting, at least the parts you can write about without fear of starting fires in the streets. The backstory has all these parallels you’ve come to expect. She’s the youngest of three girls, and you figure that’s where all the confidence comes from, if it isn’t the fact that she’s the kind of beautiful that inspires all this admiration and reverence and adoration to the point where it has people tripping over her.

Her flatmates are apparently storied in their own sort of fucked up ways, and as she described them, you quickly realized that none of it would be able to fit into a publication like yours. Not that you’d stop the train of thought: Yeojin - a hopeless romantic - and Haseul - a total fucking golddigger - who were well on their way to fuck half the city at their current pace (you’re paraphrasing here).

So with that, you’re writing. The doc is completely blank, and you’ve deleted the first sentence god knows how many times, but you’re writing.

Heejin had mentioned she was taking piano lessons and music theory classes, but had piqued more of your interest when she opened up about a novel she was working on: “It’s fiction, and it’s about two lovers slowly growing apart.” She shrugged her shoulders when you asked if it had a happy ending and refused to go any further into it when you brought it up again (twice), but that’s more or less how these things usually go.

You double back to your notes where Heejin’s phone number is written neatly at the top with little hearts trailing off the last digit. Only it does little if any to help inspire the kind of creativity you need to do your job - inspire any thoughts beyond the way her dress tapered in at her tiny waist, how you’re pretty sure you could reach both hands around it and how light she’d be in your arms.

You should call her, springs immediately to the front of your thoughts.

And that’s how you know it’s bad. Something worth some sort of concern.

Oh sure, you’ve had a crush before - when you were the age where hormones were reeling through your body and had you, like a good portion of the world, needing someone to hump like a dog in heat. Fast forward to when you lost your V-card to the girl you’d been pining over for years and it failed to give you superpowers, you figured it was best to put your time and effort into anything else. You can relax, take it slow, get your work done, stop thinking about it.

Monday, you decide.

She probably has plans this weekend anyway, and that is the rule isn’t it? Three days ought to give you enough suspense and pretense to illustrate that you’re not hopelessly fixed on the idea of pulling Heejin’s dress up around that fucking waist and hoisting her onto your kitchen counter where you could really just give it to her.

You tap your pen against your desk.

Monday.

5:00 p.m. rolls around.

You call.

The phone rings one too many times, and you’re within inches from just simply hanging up before you hear her speak. You actually jump a little in your seat and your knees smack into the bottom of your desk when you do.

“I thought it was completely unprofessional. You said that.”

“Yeah, well the clock hits 5:00 and maybe I’m having second thoughts.”

There's some idle chit-chat, nothing special while you both circle around the obvious.

“Know any good Thai places? I’ve been pretty in the mood lately,” Heejin’s voice comes through as the pieces begin falling way too easily into place.

“I mean there’s plenty to choose from downtown,” you say as you pinch the neck of the lamp on your desk, still bobbing in place after you’d knocked it out of balance, “or one of those pretentious places that keep popping up in the old public market.”

“No, I mean, the editorial shoot ran a little late so I’m still here.”

“At the office?”

“Yeah. Hey - you know the photographer that goes around calling everyone boss? He’s, like, a total flirt by the way.”

“Trust me.” You laugh out loud. “That’s not the first I've heard of that. Pretty sure he’s even tried to hit on me a couple times.”

“Ugh,” she says, feigning all this disappointment, and it has you picturing how you’d seen her earlier pull in her shoulders so tightly as if to shrug with maximum effort, “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Your phone is cradled between your neck and shoulder as you scour the internet for something in walking distance - someplace that you don’t expect to see half your coworkers drinking away their Friday evenings - when you ask, “You give him your number too?”

There’s a brief silence on Heejin’s end of the line, only slightly unceasing. “I thought about it.”

“Sounds like you’re done thinking about it.”

“Guess I figured you might benefit from the head start.”

“Generous.” It earns something like a chuckle out of both of you, and you're shaking your head, answering, “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”

Oh, it’s a terrible date.

Neither of you are anywhere so brash to explicitly say that, but look, it just so happens to be your job - splitting out truth from reality. You’ll call it how you see it.

Honestly, it’s a comedy of errors, but the real kicker is that the kitchen forgot to put in your order.

So, you’re trying, failing, to flag down your waiter, and you begin to notice the wine doubling its punches on an empty stomach when Heejin leans in across the table - one finger beside her temple and her other hand drawing circles around the rim of her empty glass.

“You know we could just… get out of here.”

It’s suggestive, but it’s hardly anything like a suggestion, because you’re right there with her.

Outside on the sidewalk you find the kind of snow that lands wet and heavy and threatens to soak through your clothes. And aside from a recent tire track or two, there’s a fresh blanket of it now on the asphalt. Every now and then, Heejin will flash her eyes over her shoulder as if to check and see if you’re still there, a footstep behind her. Like the sound of snow squeaking under your boots isn’t proof enough.

“Okay,” says Heejin, in her unfailingly charming way, and trounces around in the snow in front of you, “so that was, like, the worst thing ever, right?”

“Nonsense. I’ve seen plenty worse. Trust me.”

She spins on her heel and you come close to knocking her over. “Sounds like you’ve got war stories.” “A few,” you start, laughing to yourself, “Here's one. This girl goes on and on telling me about the guy she just got out of a relationship with - and i’m sitting there thinking wow, this guy sounds a lot like a good buddy of mine.”

“And it was?”

You gesture slowly with your arms, something defeated and existential.

“Oof. That’s gold.” Heejin’s eyes flick to your lips, lingering however long it takes you to notice. She smiles, beaming. “But you know, with a little luck, I think someday you might just get it right.”

Heejin finds you somewhere in the harsh light of a streetlamp, fisting a hand into your collar.

You’re watching snowflakes melt, like they were tears streaming down her cheeks, colliding against the warmth in her pale face - the vibrantly rosy hue now glowing across it.

Her lips aren’t dry or cracked or wind-bitten like you might expect in the middle of December. Your eyes trace them closely, these soft, featherlight things, and you don’t even realize how long you’ve been staring until she passes her tongue through them with an experimental lick.

“Oh,” she says, shockingly casual, “you’re into me.”

You’re laughing as your eyes return to hers. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am.”

Heejin’s breath lands warm against your face. You’re simply suspended there for however many moments, the wool of your coats pressed together, watching lights glimmer and fade in her eyes. From this close you can count the odd freckle on her nose, her cheek. It’s probably the most intimate thing you’ve done in months, just standing there, breathing the same air.

Maybe ever.

Heejin doesn’t even say anything else, just looks, her eyes searching for something they might only find in yours.

“Hey,” finally says Heejin, in this choked, rasping voice, “you should kiss me.”

And you do.

Where are you two headed? The driver’s voice strains as if he’s been smoking religiously for twenty years. And from the way the cab smells - the stains in the upholstery on the ceiling - it’s as good a guess as any.

Once the door closes behind you and it shuts out all that wintery air, you lean in to where Heejiin is delicately removing the scarf around her shoulders. It’s yours and she’d wrapped it around herself twice, three times, and it made her look tiny. “Where do you want to go? Back to Hapjeong?” Her flat is in Hapjeong.

Heejin shakes her head. “How about we go find somewhere to grab a drink?” you ask.

She looks down, tracing her finger along her lower lip, and then lets her cheek collapse into her shoulder, eyes drifting back to you where you can see that myriad palette of golds and browns in her irises. “We can just keep drinking at your place, no?”

While you square away the details with the driver, Heejin folds her arms and closes her eyes, sinking into the back corner of the seat. Her silver earrings catch the light as the cabbie hits the meter and the taxi pulls away from the curb. Then it’s her dress, all that barely-there vermillion fabric, as if it had been tailor made to match the warmth in the back of the cab. Watching her, you come to a realization: there’s the story you’re writing, then there’s this story you’re living - all in want of a little inspiration.

And you think maybe you’ve found it.

The taxi sways. Heejin talks. She talks about her life growing up. She talks about one of her sisters who is now in medical school and vomits at the sight of blood, how she was jealous that her siblings had turned out to be such brainy academic types - the kind of thing she imagined her parents were really secretly far prouder of - how she’d grown up fighting her dad tooth and nail to get where she is now - all these intimate details you doubt she’d shared often with anyone. Let alone someone she just met.

You listen - an occasional question every now and again woven into the soothe of Heejin’s lowered voice. And for the first time, you’re not scribbling out notes, building sentences as you do. Simply listen.

“You know,” Heejin starts, lidding her eyes and smirking in your direction. She could send a tremor through your heart, but she’s far less forceful than that. “I think it would be really rude.”

“What would?” you ask, confused. “If you spent the whole ride,” she pauses, and the elegant lines of her face scrunch ever so slightly while she fiddles with one of the featureless rings that rests on her middle finger. “–sitting over there.”

There’s a list of excuses, something to make it logical, but it’s never been quite this simple either.

You drift across the backseat, until you feel yourself press up against Heejin’s lithe frame, and the rest of the world might as well melt away to nothing beyond than the blur of passing street lights, the hum of ‘Winter Wonderland’ coming out of the radio in crackling bits and pieces, the pink blush still staining Heejin’s cheeks.

Holding her, you kiss her again.

Near effortless as before. Your lips stuck on hers when you pull yourself away.

"So, remind me to set the record straight with my publicist," Heejin murmurs in the same hushed voice she'd been speaking for the entire ride, thumb rubbing the back of your knuckles in a manner that could lead you to believe she wasn’t aware she was doing it. Her lips curl at the corners of your mouth where these short, hot breaths fill your proximity. "Just a little despicable."

With a hand finding purchase in her hair - bundling between your fingers as smooth and satiny as it looked - you pull Heejin into you, seize her lips. Hard. If there had been any restraint, to this point, about the shy touches on your arm when you made her laugh, to the light hand you’d place on the small of her back guiding her through a door - since the moment she sat down across you in that interview - this kiss now threatens to become near tidal in intensity.

Together, those soft lips sliding against yours, it’s irreverent, it’s reckless, it’s cashing in on that chasteness a thousand times over.

Still, you notice this departure from everything about Heejin. Because there’s nothing elegant about the way you have her, your bodies rucking desperately in the backseat - unable to give two fucks about smashed knees or hunched backs. It builds up. It falls apart. A mass of wool struggles to fall to the side, hung and stuck around your shoulders, and effortlessly sliding down hers. As your tongues slip and rub, this tantalizing push-pull that makes even the heat-dry air of the cab feel heavy like you’re wading through the humidity of summer, you doubt the efficacy of it all. But it’s the hand that arrives at the nape of your neck, kneading as though to say good enough so that you might start pressing more of your weight into her; simply sink into her embrace.

Heejin’s voice sneaks out between long, shivery, bone-deep kisses - the sound of your name lilting off her tongue, she whispers, “Hey. I want you to–”

“Yeah,” you pant, knowing exactly what she means. Your fingers twitch at your sides, all this anticipation currenting through your body that makes you feel like an exposed live wire, the electricity forcing your heart beat into something erratic. “Yes. Fuck. Of course.”

It has Heejin guiding you by the wrist. Down her side. The absolute concave flatness of her stomach. To the hem of her dress. And when she finally relinquishes your hand - your fingers - she kisses you harder, claiming the swell of your lip firmly in her possession.

It takes hardly any effort to find her - up that skirt and between her legs, growing hot and wet and needy. When your fingers collide with fabric, fingerprints teasing across her entrance, she lets everything start to slip - a hiccup into your mouth, and shifting her weight gently in your hands.

This intense shudder travels through her entire body when your fingers dip down beneath the elastic hugging her waist. The kiss breaks. From those needy, watery eyes, there is little to lament - the way Heejin strains for air, holding her lip between her teeth as she lets a wet breath billow from her chest. Her lashes flutter, close tight, open again, and she looks at you, concealing the mirth in her smile. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with you?”

“I haven't the slightest clue,” you answer, flat and unamused, and you’re swirling your fingers against the wet heat between her legs as you continue to play a fool. “Tell me.”

“First I–” Heejin takes a deep breath and steadies herself when you fit the first knuckle of a finger inside her. “I want - fuck - I want you to sweep me off my feet. Literally, pick me up and carry me.”

“Okay, sure,” you say, like you haven’t been entertaining the thought all afternoon - like grabbing her and bending her over the first piece of furniture closest to your front door isn’t now the foremost thought racing through your head, “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

“Then you can take me and put me so tenderly into this big, cozy bed, all comfy and a little tipsy and there’s none of this - fuck. That, that feels really good–”

“Mhmm.” You’re half listening to the curses out of her mouth, how her voice hitches and sputters the moment you tent her underwear with your knuckles - the air she sucks in when you tease the sensitive nub between her lips. Between kisses that drag your lips all along her delicate jaw, the bruisable skin on her neck, you whisper, “I’m listening.”

The look of need and want in Heejin’s irises is a mirror of your own. And, just once, it’s a gentle touch that makes her keen. It’s debauched, it’s something glorious, the sound sneaking past her lips. You hear it. The driver definitely hears it; he’s turning up the radio.

“Fucking–” She laughs into the dark, voice strained and breaking at the pressure against her clit. Her mouth slants at the rhythm now in your fingers - motions that make her optimistic, and her lips part again, continuing:

“I’m not knee deep in snow and it’s warm and you’re there, just cuddled next me–”

Heejin squirms again, interrupted; you’ve got her pussy creaming and tensing all over your finger.

Windows fogged, bodies digging deeper into the dark corner of the taxi, you study Heejin closely. Think about getting her off right there, about getting your fingers deep inside her and thumbing her clit until she’s shaking against you, about her cumming like that, back arching off the seat and ankles hooking around you.

It’s nearly tangible, the thought; her eyes flare and her chest heaves the more you fuck her slicked cunt with your fingers.

Heejin swallows. “And then - you start to undress me.”

It's been something akin to a virtue, and oft to your benefit, you’ve always been a good listener, so your fingers make course to slow, consider remorse, and continue on with only those gentle motions that keep Heejin’s eyes half-lidded and breath short. Nothing more.

“I do?”

“Yeah.” Heejin nods - even your vanishing touches driving her crazy, putting all this stress into the simple and composed features on her face. “Little by little. So delicate, like you - fuck.” You drag your finger back, grown wet and sticky. Let her finish the thought. “Like you’re unwrapping a present.”

Chin shooting up, you quip, “What if I’m the kind of person that tears wrapping paper to shreds?”

“Yeah,” Heejin chokes out, “that’ll work too. But either way, then I’m laying there, kinda spacing out, practically naked and feeling really hot and soft and then I realize what you’re doing, dragging my panties down my thighs. I yell out ‘Wait don’t! I just met you and I’m very sincere about these things, so please stop!’”

“Oh.”

“But here’s the thing: you don’t stop.”

“I would stop though.”

“I mean sure. Never mind that. It’s just how I’m imagining it.”

“I see.”

“So then you don’t even hesitate. Just slide your pants down, pull out your cock” - the cabbie clears his throat from the front seat like he’s trying to start a lawnmower, but Heejin powers right through the thought - “and it’s just hanging there, bouncing. And it’s huge. So then I start telling you ‘No, you can’t, I’ve never done anything like this before.’”

“But you have.”

“Look, I just… this is just my fantasy. So then you end up–”

Okay, so it’s not virtue that got you here; your fingers are toying in her cunt. You can’t help it.

“Mnph, yeah - Jesus, okay, that feels good,” she whines, sneaking her hips toward you when you start to slide your slicked thumb all over her clit.

There’s a moment where her lips part, where she doesn’t speak anything at all, before she can steel herself and labor on with her point.

“Y-you end up wearing this really put out face, and I start to feel sorry for you and I’m - stroking your hair - while your head… while your head is in my lap, saying, ‘it’s okay, it’s okay.’”

“And that’s what you want to do with me.”

Heejin shudders as your fingers seek refuge deeper in her cunt. “Right.”

“This is what you want to do right now?”

“Yeah. Well, sorta.” She twists her lip before letting this wide, giggling grin fill out her pretty face. “Right now, what I really want” - you watch her gulp down another heavy swallow - “I really just want to cum on your fingers.”

It’s simple. You’re not far from your apartment, though the car gets stopped at every light, and even when it isn’t, it’s slow going on the fresh layer of sleet now troubling the roads - but it’s not like it at all has you taking your time. Heejin mewls slightly, and then she simply comes undone, gasping. Your whole hand is buried in her underwear, your fingers fucking fast and slick into her cunt, thumb mercilessly brushing around her clit.

“Oh my god,” Heejin whines into the palm of your hand, shutting her eyes tight as she sinks against you, sinks into the corner of the seat.

You’re hitting her basest desires with fingers that are all but destined to make her fall apart; straightforward, effortless, a perfect balance of touches light and heavy and destructive, you bottle lightning.

“Mmmph,” Heejin whimpers.

Her back arches when she cums. With all these ragged whimpers leaking out from the spaces between your fingers. They’re inaudible, sort of. The radio is blasting. The same damn song even. Stars align, and while Heejin gazes into them - into the blackness that can only be found behind clenched eyelids - it’s simple: you kiss her hard again.

The two of you don’t fall into bed immediately. Not in the literal sense.

Heejin first gets her hands on you when you’re both standing in the elevator, quietly and mostly still, boots leaving gray puddling footprints on the floor. She looks like she’d been through a windstorm, and to some extent she had, but it’s mostly a direct result of your hands in her hair, your tongue in her mouth, the fact that you had her panting and sweating in the back of that taxi.

You’d had the quiet pleasure of watching Heejin’s legs wobble from the moment you spilled out onto the curb. Where she rested her face on your shoulder, pulled tight at the lapels of her coat like it might ever keep these gusts of snow-laden wind from freezing the skin around her eyes, and without saying anything at all, managed to demand your arm around her waist.

So, once the elevator doors close, and you’re feeling that temporary frost in your bones begin to thaw the further Heejin melts her weight into your side, it’s only natural: pull her into you, bury her nose into your collar.

You kiss her forehead.

In something close to reciprocity, she reaches a hand over your pants and grabs your cock.

“You’re, like, super hard,” her voice hushes into your chest, really leaning on that low, smoky tone. “You know that?”

“And what? I suppose that’s such a crime?”

“Maybe.” Heejin turns up to meet you, eyes glinting atop this expression - innocence feigned doesn’t even begin to do it justice - and balling up the collar of your shirt in her fingers. Bright eyed, knowing, she nudges into your side. “Just tell me what it is you’re thinking about.”

“Take a guess,” you say, running your hand through your hair. Like the nonchalance might make it less obvious you have this mental image, photographically vivid, of fucking Heejin’s tight body right into the wall of your foyer.

“Oooh.” Her eyebrows arched high, she looks you up and down, nodding while mischief skitters across her angelic features. “How many guesses do I get?”

“Three,” you answer. Then start grinning. “No. Two.”

“Two?” Heejin slides closer, her eyes hot. “That’s hardly anything charitable.”

“I have faith in you,” you say, and you’re reaching into her coat, finding the divot that runs down her back, where you can trace a finger up this zipper that you’re not entirely sure you can refrain from unfastening the moment you feel it’s metal shape between your fingertips.

Against your face, Heejin gives this small puff of amused laughter. “Okay, you’re thinking about…”

While her voice lilts and trails, she taps a finger to her chin like she’s trying to solve some intricate physics problem or ponder the secrets of the universe. Though by this time, the elevator’s doors have stuttered open in the haphazard way they always manage and you’re both surging towards the deserted hallway, laughing quietly and brushing elbows.

“I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but you’re going to run out of time to guess,” you say, a hand dug into the inside of your coat pocket and searching for your keys. Heejin’s leaning her shoulder into the doorframe when you catch her looking, staring - you only manage to slip out from under that gaze when you come up with your key at last. “Found it.”

Heejin tilts her head, hair falling halfway over her face, and then pulls it back again. “You’re thinking about kissing me.”

“Surprisingly tame,” you say, scoffing as you turn the key in the lock and shoulder into your front door. “But no. Not quite. Oh, and leave your boots in the hall.”

It’s that second guess, neither incorrect nor entirely the truth. When it does arrive off her tongue, you have Heejin pressed against the inside of your door, now shut and finally private, and her tiny body in your hands where it feels soft and slender and unfathomably hot - oh, do you have ideas. Her breath mixes with yours, concocting something that tastes entirely sinful before she leans forward and traces kisses up your throat.

“Still. You are thinking about my lips,” she whispers into your ear, and it’s dripping with confidence, with suggestion, with another humid breath that hits you square on your cheek, “how good they’re going to feel wrapped around your cock.”

She studies the knot that forms in your throat as you swallow, eyes flicking back up to yours, and burning hot when you tell her she’s right. Lying, all on account of you not having the heart to let her know that you’d been harboring this errant thought, that for a greater part of the day, you’d been thinking of how she might fold over the kitchen sink, the living room couch - wherever - and fucking her six ways to sunday. She runs her tongue across her lips, like it might keep back these small bits of breathless laughter. And it has her unzipping your pants, coaxing them clear off your waist.

Right, proper intentions, and she’s smiling like she knows it: you’re both paving a road straight to hell.

“Jesus. You’re so hard,” she says finally, and it’s so blatantly sexual that a foundational shiver in your bones takes hold of you. What are you to do? Her fingers are deep in your underwear, fighting elastic, pulling at the skin of your cock when she gives you a final kiss that sticks to your lips, smacking. And then without any words to accompany her, she pulls the fabric around your thighs and sinks to her knees.

If this were a different kind of story, maybe you would sweep her into your arms, and ride off into the sunset and find a cottage in the hills that overlooks the ocean and live happily ever after and raise a half dozen kids. Because surely, a girl like her - perfect and flawless and near regal in the way she carries herself, like something out of the pages of a fairytale - belongs anywhere but planted into the floor of your foyer, dragging your underwear down to your ankles.

If Heejin was anywhere but her knees, perhaps you two would fall into bed, where you’d leave her with all these sweet kisses that make her skin swelter and her voice choke at the way you’d press your lips to the hollow of her neck, her shoulders, her collarbones, and you wouldn’t even think of leaving marks or bruises. No, instead she’d whimper softly for you and the two of you could roll over to meet that simple conclusion.

Sure, you can always pretend like you don’t know what’s happening.

But that would make it a different kind of story, one painfully absent of Heejin’s tongue, placing a slow, measured lick right up the slit of your cock. Or fingers claiming your shaft, your balls, and pumping delicately toward your waist. Rising action unlike this pair of soft lips that purse and leave kisses down your length. A climax beyond releasing a load right into the back of that throat - which is only speculative in your thoughts for a second, because Heejin’s tightening her fingers around the base of your cock and dragging a smirk across her pretty face, “you should, like, totally cum in my mouth.”

“Right,” you answer, mouth drying; it’s a labor to even swallow.

Heejin runs a semicircle over her lower lip with her tongue, flattens it, presses it up against the belly of your cock, and looks up at you - eyes round like the angel she is, pupils dark as three am and every bit as impious. Oh, you’ll struggle enough with this story as it is.

“Fuck,” she says, one time, nearly breathless, and it almost sounds reverent, “I want it.”

Before you can get even a half decent reply forming on your lips, you watch Heejin’s jaw go slack, and sucking in a chestful of air, she seizes you deep in the warmth of her mouth.

There’s then a moment - excruciatingly drawn out - where Heejin sits near motionless, sinking further into the floorboards. Her lips are pressed tight into this seal around you as she takes it slow, a silent effort to become familiar with your taste, your shape.

A flutter of muscle between her cheeks, and the moment passes. Her lips relax, tighten, relax again before you feel her tongue. Sliding. Curling.

“I–” You sink forward against the door, abandoning whatever thought and allowing it to curdle into laughter, into this seedy moan that Heejin rips right out of your chest. Somewhere along the way, you’d figured that since you were more senior, more seasoned, more veteran in an industry full of girls whose looks might leave you for dead - girls who, with a little praise, and just the right amount of attention, would look up at you like you’d hung the stars, the moon and the sky - you figured Heejin would be in your hands, melting.

And then there it is, eager to point out your mistake: Heejin’s tongue, again. It slides delicately over your head, and when she sinks her lips further down your shaft, you can feel it narrow and tease at the base of your cock. Her eyes are closed, but you can see how they crescent, smiling undoubtedly in something like victory as she hums against you, delighted.

“Heejin,” you start, wanton, and you’ve got a fist in her hair, gentle in how you bundle it all between your fingers, experimental the way you push her mouth further into your hips. There are two delicate hands coiled around your slobber-covered cock in response - and then she starts to twist. You nearly fold and collapse and crumple under your own weight, gasping, “you’re killing me.”

Heejin raises her head from where she’s been hollowing her cheeks and covering you in her spit, vicious stick of precum staining her lips. Grins, because she knows.

“I am?”

You’re tipping your head back, sucking in your next breath. Bucking your hips into her fingers - all ten of them lathering spit and gingerly pumping your cock. Impossible to ignore, they brush and tease all the spots that send you reeling as though they were returning to something familiar, had done it a thousand times. You swallow, and Heejin’s eyes trace that quiver through your throat.

When it becomes clear that you’re not really in a state conducive to banter or ribbing any longer - the clever words out of your mouth now amounting to nothing more than a few four letter ones - Heejin just smiles, sloppy sounds of her fingers twisting around your cock, and she falls back into that deep tone, “you look so hot like that, by the way.”

You sigh, defeated, bunch more of her hair into your fist. And after Heejin pushes a fingertip to your slit, pulling the skin of your cock tight around it, your breath hitches, shuddering at the sight of Heejin playing with your precum between her fingers.

“Can you imagine?” she asks, pressing you to her cheek, “how good this is going to feel inside me?”

“Heejin,” you groan, worrying a lip between your teeth at how her light hands pump up and down your length, the precum weeping from your tip providing her fingers with that much more hazard in their touch. Your voice is stuck to your throat for a moment, grasping, “I want your mouth - on me.”

“Mmm.” She again has her tongue on the underside of your cock, velvety and slippery around your head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You can feel it. Just the hot breath tumbled from her lips onto you alone reduces you to a bundle of nerves and coiled muscle. “I want more.”

“More what?” she asks, mulish, and a smile sneaks into the shadowy corner of her mouth.

“More - you.” It’s hardly even half a whisper.

Heejin has this quirk in her lips that stretches slowly against the tip of your cock, and her hands trace up your thighs, grabbing tight to the back of your ass. She nuzzles against you, and looks up, “then go ahead. Take me.”

Oh, you’ve had a crush before. The kind of thing that had your heart and mind racing; the kind of thing that would swallow up your time for weeks if you let it. So when you’re looking, gazing, watching this masterclass in showmanship: Heejin’s lips parting around you, her eyes smoldering into yours - that’s when the realization hits.

This is so much worse. You’re truly fucked.

Fingers thread tight into her hair, and you’re guiding Heejin’s mouth - hot and wet and perfect - onto your cock. Slow, measured, her lips slurp and seal. Near five-foot-nothing of pure sinful delight, and tossed locks of hair resting across her face where they shimmer in the darkness of your foyer, you slip your cock inside her. Press between those soft lips. It’s a voyage, enroute to heaven; then with your hips selfish and stealing more of that tight heat, it’ll be straight to hell. Inches, sliding and sinking, Heejin shuts her eyes and relaxes her muscles, jaw gone slack - grabs onto your thighs like you had any intention of being anywhere but the bottom of her throat.

“Fuck,” you hiss, and the next sound that comes out of you is practically a living thing, wild and animal and nothing close to voluntary.

Heejin’s mouth hangs wide and laxed for you to use, lips paradoxically tight, as you fuck your length over her tongue and deep into her mouth.The very prospect of asking for more is gluttonous, wicked and immoral, but here you are: thrusting your hips into her pretty face, pulling firm on her hair to keep the heat of her throat wrapped up around you.

“Mngh,” Heejin’s throat chokes the further you feed your cock into her - drag it back and bury into her again - strangled and straining, you can see the flush that floods her cheeks, the teardrops on the end of her long dark lashes, the unbelievable smile still in her lips.

All bets are off.

The pretense, the coy teasing, all that skirting about this clear predisposition toward fucking eachother senseless is further pummeled and ground to dust every time the tip of your cockhead punches the back of Heejin’s throat. And even beyond all that, Heejin holds firm to this composure, almost this plussed look of gratitude as you bruise soft muscle and steal the air from her lungs.

“Oh my god, Heejin,” you say, back arching into the space over the top of Heejin’s face, holding her head tight and fucking yourself on her lips. “Your fucking mouth.”

Triumphant, gloating, smugly humming into the spit-drenched skin of your cock, Heejin must realize she has you exactly where she wants you, trapped, fated: that under no circumstance are you going to unsheathe yourself from her throat until you’ve exploded and glazed it proper. She traces her fingertips down your thighs and hovers them about the hem of her dress, this bunched and furled mess of fabric at her thighs, pulls her panties to the side, and you can hear it - her fingers finding purchase in the mess between her legs.

You slide deep into her throat; she pushes two digits deep into her cunt; you’re both reduced to the basics, chests heaving out these small noises of frustration. It’s a behemoth struggle to even think, let alone coordinate said thoughts into anything resembling coherence - but the first thing that falls out of your mouth is born of sincerity.

“Fuck, Heejin, I… I’m going to cum.”

She nods, as best as she can, the length of your cock slotted deep into her throat. Any kind of concerns you may have harbored - all from fucking her face, and drawing small tears at the corners of her eyes - they evaporate the instant Heejin’s tongue reaches forward past her lips.

Just one lick, between your balls while she has your cock entirely inhaled, and it sends you careening off course, destination hardly unknown.

“I–” your voice fades. Because the tip of her nose is against your waist, her tongue is doing fucking everything - she’s killing you. It’s all coming down, you’re falling apart, breathing in fits and starts, fucking Heejin’s mouth hard enough that if you weren’t holding tight to her hair, you’d have thrown her off you.

“Heejin,” you growl, voice sliced to ribbons.

When you finish between her lips, every burst of cum that spills from your cock sends a tremor, twitching and quivering through Heejin’s lithe body, and then you can feel it in her throat, tightening around you.

“Mmph.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, uncontrollable.

“Mmmmph.”

Heejin makes this impressive, maybe futile effort to swallow it all down. Laudable, admirable, you’ve got it correct about her: anything less than perfection is tantamount to abject failure. With that, she struggles, her eyelashes flutter, and a strangled sound escapes her throat - choking and sputtering as you keep cumming, more than she can ever hope to take. It floods her mouth and spills from her lips to unveil this shiny streak that rolls down onto her chin.

Even though you’re still gasping and shaking and reeling from your orgasm, you recognize those taps against your hips immediately, how they beg for breath.

“Heejin, oh my god, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry,” you say, horrified as it all starts to return to you, and when it does, you jump backward, unsheathing your cock from Heejin’s mouth. Gaze drawn to that profane mixture of spit and cum that follows lazily in its wake.

She waves her hand at you wildly, realizes the gesture is probably not the most reassuring thing she could’ve done, and instead holds up a finger as if to say give me a second as she catches her breath.

Coughing a handful times and wiping her mouth with the edge of her wrist, she slumps backward. Hits the door, face flush and eyes sharpened like daggers, pointed, ready to kill. And the moment she’s certain you’re lucid, present in the image in front of you - that you belong to her again - it becomes performative: the way she presents you her tongue, the space beneath it filled and drowned with your cum - how she swallows it, that dry knot traveling dramatically down her throat.

“Jesus, fuck,” she stammers out, the loss of composure only transient and fleeting, “not bad for two guesses.”

The first time you fuck your cum into Heejin’s cunt, you don’t anticipate it. If you’d been perhaps a kernel less distracted, a trifle less overwhelmed by the scorching slick between Heeijin’s legs, you might have had the pleasure of calling the shots.

But this is where you’re at, melting beneath it: all her porcelain skin spilling onto you and her hands firmly on your chest, nails like claws, claiming you as her own.

She’d dragged you toward the sofa in your living room, made a one-off comment about how bad she needed you inside her and then kissed you hard. Of course, when you tumbled down into the cushions - still muddled in a half daze and caught off guard by the sheer pluckiness of it - Heejin had controlled the fall, making sure she was the one who landed on top.

“Look at you,” her voice is low, rasping, pitching when she crashes herself down onto you. Feels her pussy all full and creamed as she fucks herself with your cock. “Just relax, let me fuck you. You don’t have to do a thing.”

She has her ankles locked over your thighs, knees sinking into the cushions, and ardently rolls her hips, fucking your shaft - exceptionally sheened from her slick and every bit as hard - deep into her pussy. Hot, wet, unbelievably tight, it’s near immaculate. And it only grows unrighteous at the end of every frantic bounce from Heejin’s thighs. Because she’s tiny, legs muscled, abs chiseled to perfection - vivacious to the point of peril - and she’s riding you hard and fast and bringing you so near the proverbial edge that your fingerprints threaten to sear into her waist if not for the fabric of her dress twisted and stressing, surrogate in its place.

“Oh my fucking–slow down,” you breathe, fully enveloped by her heat. It has your nerves on fire, something wicked ablaze, begging for release, and with your teeth gnawing your lip, you throw your head back.

“Are you sure?” she says, and runs her hands through her hair. Hoists it off her shoulders, bundling it over head - the visual not particularly favorable to your condition. Her eyes dip across her cheeks and into yours when she decides to salt the wound. “This is slow.”

“Heejin, I’m serious. You're going to make me..." you start, a final warning, and at the sight of you disappearing between her legs, you’re struggling, pleading, “I swear… fucking cum inside you.”

Ruinous, pushing a callous boundary, she lifts herself up and seals your fate.

“Fuck.”

This is how she gets you. Seats herself on you again, pussy slicked all over your cock and the tip of her tongue flirting in the shell of your ear, “I know.”

To what extent god will believe your account of these events - how much you believe, in relating the story, hot with lust and adrenaline and the hapless self-doubting confusion of a psychotic who knows what they saw and is still able to dismiss it - is not clear.

Because look, it’s not as though you were unaware that the power had gone out.

There was a noticeably loud crack of electrical disaster, and in an instant, the lights of your apartment, the delicate details of Heejin’s naked body in front of you, and even the incessant buzzing of the refrigerator motor - the very thing on which you could always rely to ruin the sanctity of silence - it all vanished.

It’d be pretty difficult to miss.

Only, as it happened - mid stroke, thrusting deep into Heejin’s cunt and her tight body fucked flat into the cushions of the couch - finding the effort to care was simply a bridge too far.

It’s selfish, metastasizing into something wayward, playing the cards you’re dealt. Hands pushing Heejin’s tiny waist deeper into your furniture, and railing her reckless and abandoning all that teasing, the dirty talk - having finally managed to steal back control. It would take more than a force of nature to wrestle it away from you.

“Harder, please, harder,” Heejin rasps, seconds before you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her face sinks, voice flooded by the reality of your cock owning her tight cunt and vibrating through the cushion. “Yours, tell me - I’m yours.”

Without even thinking you do. Twice, punctuated each time by a sharp thrust of your hips into the perfect round of her ass.

Mine, you say. And it has her absolutely keening.

Pressing yourself into her, your voice in her ear makes her quiver and whimper, like it was the one thing she needed most to help her cum. Heejin just nods, mouth stuck agape, when you call her a total cumslut - near imperceptible when she does, bathed only in the pale moonlight reflecting off all the snow and into your apartment. It’s not necessarily the limits of what you’ve done, what you’ve seen, what you’ve said, but you can see it from here.

“Is this what you want?” you ask, and you can taste all this pleasure coating each word off your tongue as you rail Heejin harder into the sofa, your cock sweltering in the fucked wet mess between her legs. Each time you bore into her, push her higher and higher, it fills her with ecstasy fit to burst. She moans, this foreign sound of depravity, and raises her hips slightly, shifts the angle - has you stabbing deeper, teasing, “do you want me to fuck you like the little cumslut you are?”

She nods again.

“Do you want me to fucking fill you up over and over again? Do you want to feel my cum in your tummy? You’re crying, practically sobbing, darling. All because you’re finally getting fucked and it’s all for me. Can you cum like this? Is my cock pounding your cunt enough for you? Or do you need me to use my fingers too?”

Heejin whines. Knocked down a peg, the realization hits, and it’s clear as day, leaking out of her mouth all filthy and depraved:

“Daddy, please.”

It’s almost unbelievable that this is how it will come together; you deep in her cunt and the soft, milky skin of her ass stained red from the sheer delight Heejin finds only at the end of an open palm.

Biting ruthlessly into your cheek, you grip tighter to her waist, your other hand thread through her hair keeping her partially upright and ripping your name, curses, incoherence all from her mouth.

“Then just be good for me, princess.” Your words are pointed, serrated, seeking to maim, to kill - near as dangerous as the fingers you reach around her hips on onto her soaked cunt. “I’m going to fuck this cunt, you can cum whenever you like - I don’t care - I’m going to keep using it until I’m finished. Until you beg me to fill it again.”

(Okay, so maybe you’re not abandoning the dirty talk. But here’s how you see it: tables always have a way of turning. You’re not seeking revenge or anything like that, it’s just that when it comes to karma, she always arrives right on time and ever more the unexpected.)

It takes a substantial amount of shuffling around in the dark to clean yourselves up. Heejin’s dress is irreparably stained, totally fucked; sweat, saliva, your cum, hers - the kind of shit you’d be afraid to ever see under a blacklight - and you’re standing there, exerting just as considerable restraint to refrain from simply pinning Heejin against your closet door and having another go at her as she’s changing out of it.

So together, you’re settling into the darkness, finding a reprieve from fucking each other within an inch of your lives.

From a pitcher in the refrigerator, you filled two glasses with water, handed one to Heejin.

She gulps it down almost immediately, and when you trade yours for hers, she sips it slowly, watching the boisterous storm outside the window. The silence that follows is warm, comfortable, welcome, sits over you like a heavy blanket.

Every ten minutes or so, an emergency vehicle making slow progress through accumulated layers of ice and snow will illuminate the inside of your apartment with its bright hazard lights. And it’s only in that brief spill of yellow and orange through the window pane where you can see Heejin clearly.

Around her shoulders is a flannel shirt pulled off one of your hangers, buttons uneven and misaligned. When she had gotten her fingers to the final button and realized she was two short, she just shrugged and let the clothing drape skewed and diagonal over her tiny frame, sleeves hanging far off the end of her wrists. She managed to tie back this loose ponytail with a binder clip she found in your kitchen and it lets you study all the details of her face - without having to run your hand through her hair and hold it back: features elegant and simple, regal and composed, eyes brilliant and gorgeous. The kind of beauty that righteously demands a team of photographers poised for a perfect shot; she tilts her chin, puts a hint of suggestion in her lips, and they scramble to find the next one, all with the desperate intensity of a starving man gnawing at a bone.

“God. You’re really pretty,” you say, and only when it hits your ears do you realize it came out of your mouth.

Heejin just smiles, all genuine and natural. Points at the flashlight in your hand. “I think you’d get more light from a cigarette lighter.”

“Fuck, I know, I don’t have any more batteries.” You slap your flashlight against your palm, optimistic.

Not much more than a dull, pathetic glow escapes its lens.

“Maybe you can steal them from something else?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you answer, “but everything just plugs into the wall these days, what all even still uses batteries?”

“If we were at my apartment, I’d just go take them out of Yeojin’s–”

She pauses, raises an eyebrow and twists her mouth cautiously, sinking into the sofa next to you. Finds your arm around her and folds her legs beneath her into something considerably more compact.

“Flashlight?” you ask, trying not to grin and sneer, “one of those flashlights with three speed settings?”

A single strand of hair falls in front of Heejin’s face. She blows it away and it stubbornly falls back into the exact same spot on her cheek.

“Promise me you won't write about this. It’s just… I have to tell someone.”

“My lips are sealed,” you tell her, with the unwavering confidence of someone she could trust - which pragmatically you aren’t, but you’re both looking past all that.

“So this box arrives in the mail one day, right,” Heejin starts, pulling a blanket over herself, “And Yeojin sprints from her room, to the door, back to her room again, so fast that Haseul’s barely finished flipping the page of her book when it all happens. She’s already so small that you blink and you miss her, and in a lot of ways that’s what happened.”

“So she’s back in her room, with the vibrator.”

“Hold on,” Heejin says, tucking her feet into the blanket. “So we’re sitting there in the living room; I’m texting someone, Haseul’s reading something - I can’t remember what, but probably some cheap parlor romance - and that’s when we start to hear it.”

“The vibrator.”

“No,” Heejin says, flicking her eyes back to yours again, “the moaning.”

“Of course.”

“Now, I’m not saying… Look, there’s nothing wrong with masturbation. What’s greater than having sex with the person you love most, right? That’s what I always say.”

“You always say that?”

“It’s a figure of speech, you smartass. Anyway, we’re both sitting there, trying our best to ignore it, but it’s hard because this city’s built on a fault line, and they build these places so cheap so that they can tear them down and start over again without thinking about it, so the walls are, like, paper thin, and then after a while, Yeojin just starts wailing. I’m not kidding, it sounded like someone was trying to kill her.”

“I mean, in a way.”

“Right.” Heejin nods, brows furrowed and letting the memory come back to her, “I look up at Haseul, and she just goes about her business reading on about the adventures of some lovable-probably-clumsy-pretty-but-not-too-pretty-girl meeting the billionaire of her dreams and having all this weird, freaky, earth-shattering sex or something - she doesn’t even say a word.”

“And what exactly is she supposed to say?” you ask, “hey, what’s that noise?”

“That would’ve been better than just sitting in there in silence! Ugh, honestly, the woman’s always got a chip on her shoulder about this kind of stuff. Like, she’ll show up on a Sunday morning, and her knees are bowed and still fucking wobbling (so you know she’s been getting it good. All that irreverent, mind-blowing sex), and she’ll still have the audacity to look at us all judgmental for not going to church or maybe because we’re coming home still wearing last night’s dresses and heels.”

By this point, you notice Heejin has committed fully - with neither shame nor remorse - to stealing your blanket.

“So, I swear to god, I’m going crazy. Haseul’s just sitting there, and I can’t stop listening to Yeojin sobbing and gasping like she’s getting the best fuck of her life, and it’s this thought that grows and grows and grows in my head. I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it. And then, every bit as sudden as it started, it just stops.”

“Good for Yeojin, I suppose.”

“Right,” Heejin says, gesturing with her hand, defeated. “When she finally comes out of her room, her face is so so so red. Like, it looks like the end of a girl’s night out - after we’ve cut her off for the night, and after she’s cried and cried about some cute boy at the bar missing all her patented mixed signals.” Heejin takes a brief look at you, then back out the window, and puffs a small breath out of her chest. “The only thing I can even think at that point is, Jesus, I need to get my hands on that thing.”

“Do you?”

Heejin holds her finger up like she’s scolding your impatience. “So fast forward a few days, I’m digging through Yeojin’s closet when nobody’s home - and let me tell you, it’s like deep space in there, things go in and disappear forever; the other day I heard Sandra Bullock hollering from inside - but eventually, by the grace of god, I find it.”

“The vibrator.”

“The vibrator,” Heejin finally repeats, “This toy is silver, and looks about what you’d expect: like Steve Jobs was tasked with designing a banana. Beyond that, it was so complicated I almost didn’t even use it. Oh, and it wasn’t anything discreet either; there was this light that flashed when you turned it on and it practically lit up the whole room, these O-shaped strobing signals you could use to direct incoming flights at an airport.”

“Maybe we wouldn’t need to steal the batteries,” you suggest, and it makes a smile grow into the corners of Heejin’s mouth. “How’d it go?”

“With the vibrator?” Heejin puts her finger to lip, tracing it in thought. “I mean incredible, game-changing.”

“Better than just now?”

“Different.”

“It’s okay, it’s the twenty-first century, I’m not going to try and compete with a machine here–”

“Different,” Heejin repeats sternly, and you’re willing to drop it. “Come on by sometime when no one’s home and I’ll show you.”

“It’s really coming down,” you say once as you gaze into the storm, somewhere in the hours of the night that belong to no one.

Heejin slips further into your shoulder, eyes off the darkness out the window, the snow whipping across its face, looking up at you like you were the most interesting thing in the world. “Wonder how long it’ll take for them to remove all this mess from the rails.”

“I’m no expert,” you answer, “could be days though.”

“Bummer,” Heejin says, lips forming a kiss onto your collarbone.

“Are you sure you’ve used this thing before?” Heejin asks, resting on her elbows at the kitchen counter and blinking pensively at the French press in your hands. She looked on skeptically while you’d dug it out from a cupboard beneath the sink.

“Yeah, of course I have,” you tell her, exuding your finest false confidence as you run it back; the thing has been sitting in that cabinet collecting dust since you took it home as a white elephant gift almost a year ago. Shameful too, when you start to consider how much money you’ve spent at the coffee shops near your office and your apartment.

Heejin stares into her mug, her face lit by broken sunlight and still wearing that same perfected look. Only now it’s slightly different: hair tousled - rogue locks falling across her face and into the corner of her mouth where she could chew on it if she wanted - skin pale, the beauty mark on her cheekbone dotting her expressions like punctuation, a lack of sleep just beginning to shyly reveal itself beneath her eyes.

“I can see the coffee grounds in this.”

“You asked if I’ve used it, not that I knew what I was doing.”

Her lips curl back, smile huge, holding down either a laugh or a smirk - there’s no way to know - and finally rest atop the rim of the mug. “It’ll have to do.”

Only it doesn’t. Neither of you manage to make it through an entire cup, burnt, acrid, running on undrinkable.

That taste of bitterness lingers long after you’ve swallowed, and fills your mouth again when you press your lips to Heejin’s. She should be taking a cab to the station, should be boarding a train, should be trying to hide how fucked the bottom of her dress had become, should be looking at her roommates smug and gloating when she walks through the door.

And you should be writing an article - about the girl you’ve seen wail and moan and sob on the end of your cock - who could just as easily turn it around, fuck you senseless like she has a knife at your throat. But this is borrowed time, an oddity, something like a glitch you figure, and you’re reaching under her thighs, pulling her into you like you’d simply hit an off switch on the responsibilities shadowed in your mind.

(You’re abandoning logic here because it’s the most natural thing in the world.)

There’s this reflexive quality to it, the way Heejin wraps her arms over your shoulders and legs around your waist as you lift her onto the counter. Sneaking into the space between long, soft kisses, she asks, grinning because she knows the answer, “If I'm stuck here, what are we going to do to pass the time?”

“I’m going to kiss you, probably.” Your answer comes before you find the shape of her impossibly narrow waist beneath an ocean of baggy fabric.

“Perfect,” Heejin says, voice carefree and charming and perfectly lilting, “and then what?”

“Then I’m going to get you all hot and wet and needy and you’re going to be begging for my cock.”

“You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Yeah. Guess I am,” you breathe into her neck, and it lands squarely on all this soft skin desperately in need of your lips.

She’s got a hand in your hair firm and grasping at you like she owns you - far less shy than the other at your waist, teasing the elastic of your shorts. “And then what?”

The wrong answer is anything that fails to mention ramming your cock in Heejin’s cunt or your face buried between her thighs and making her cum over and over. You laugh first, and then fail knowingly at the cross examination, “then I gotta get to work on that article, you know.”

Heejin lets out a sigh that could only ever be construed as disapproval. Palms the shape of your cock over your underwear. “Or.”

“Or,” you repeat. It’s her challenge. She can fill the space, continue the thought; you can’t get enough of hearing filth fall from her pretty lips while she looks at you all wide-eyed and perfect and like the princess you want to believe she is.

“You can take this cock of yours; the one I'm begging for right?” she says, fingers running down your underwear, rousing your length and finally cupping your balls. “You’re going to fuck me with it and fill me up with cum.”

“Cumslut.” It’s perplexingly endearing, and you brush your nose against hers, trace your thumb along her jaw, catch the swell of her lower lip on the tip of your finger.

Heejin smiles.

“Daddy,” she says almost cautiously, but immediately starts slipping these quiet little bits of laughter in the silence it creates. She’s yours, your hers, it’s all doomed and fated at this point, especially at this point - scribbled into cosmic law and her eyes holding you like they were made for the very purpose - you’re sure of it. “I’m not letting go of you until you fuck me.”

The heater has been off for hours, so the air in your apartment is frigid; simply getting out of bed was the kind of thing tibetan monks might do - walking across coals, self immolation, venturing out from beneath the warm covers in the morning, that kind of thing. And It has you perfectly content to take that bait in front of you, burying yourself deep in the scorching heat between her legs; turning her around, and doing it again. Making her cum like that and then letting your own orgasm drip out between her thighs.

“I’m not playing around,” Heejin says, having watched you laugh quietly to yourself about the absolute vice she has you in - and beyond the legs pulling you closer.

“One time,” you concede.

“Yeah.” Her hands pump your cock gingerly against your underwear, and Heejin agrees, “One time.”

It doesn't take long. You turn Heejin into this whimpering mess - her legs and hips suspended above the counter and ankles thrown over your shoulder. She falls apart, moaning still like it isn't slicing her voice to bits, all rasped and ruined, and you fuck her through her first orgasm. Her thighs shake and quiver while you fuck her through the second, railing into her cunt like it had insulted you.

“Fuck, that’s amazing,” Heejin pants, head rolling onto her shoulder, and her cheeks are so red you have to believe her. “Oh my god.”

She’d gotten only through half the buttons on her shirt before she became too cock-addled to figure out the rest, and it hangs ever so slightly off each of her dainty shoulders - agape enough for you to watch her small breasts jump every time you thrust into her.

Each long thrust into her heat has both your voices flooding, desperate. The way your thighs slap together all wet and raw only adds to the scene - this fucking filthy score of moans, curses, sex. It’s probably always been your instinct to pound like this: reckless, careless, selfish - and here Heejin is, begging for it.

“Go ahead,” she says, eyes lidded, still catching her breath, and it’s the most seductive thing you’ve ever heard, “I need you - fucking use me, fucking take me - need you to breed me.”

(It’s hot, you think. Maybe you’ll ask about it later. Maybe you won’t.)

So yeah, you cum.

It’s one of those eye-clenching, blood-boiling, ear-ringing, teeth-gnashing orgasms that has you making a groan so inhuman, so broken and unbecoming, that it has Heejin laughing in response. She’s patting your sides, lips planted on your neck, cooing while your cock continues to ache and pump cum into her wet, fucked hole.

“What was that?” you ask, breath hitching and your body sinking into those light arms wrapped around you.

“What was what?” She’s got it so casual, so carefree, still so utterly charming - it makes you feel as though you were the one who’d said something out of place.

“Um. Don’t worry about it.”

Oh, it’s probably written in the stars, this mess between you, orbiting, circling, bound and tied: not even a half hour later, she leans over the sofa where you’ve set up with your laptop, kisses you once, and you’re reduced to nearly nothing but the kind of desire that will curdle into lust and threaten to eat you from the inside out should you refuse to yield to it.

“Really. I can’t. Not now.” It’s bravery or something. You’re lionhearted and incredible and you deserve a pat on the back.

Eyebrows knitted, she pouts at you when you explain once again that you have work to do, those pretty pink lips downturned into obvious disappointment, and you almost, very nearly give in.

Heejin pulls a book from your bookshelf four times, flips through it and rejects it, before finally settling on an architectural survey of Frank Lloyd Wright’s greatest hits (you’d also received that in a white elephant exchange).

There’s a photograph of Fallingwater on the front, and Heejin licks her fingers each time she turns the page.

She lands on the sofa next to you, lying long ways with her head resting on the padding of its arm, the same one you’d buried her face into less than twelve hours ago, and the two of you do technically manage to fit, only her feet cram into you and stab sharply into your thigh.

“You, uh, a big architecture person?” you ask, sparing a glance from your laptop to the girl nesting into the cushions beside you.

“Not in the slightest,” she answers, “I’m just bored to tears because someone would rather play with their computer than play with me.”

You give her a more pointed look, probably more akin to the attention those beautiful eyes of hers deserve. “I’m telling you: my editor will hang me from the rooftop if I don’t get this thing in her hands by Monday.” “That seems extreme.”

“Hey, that’s why she gets her salary and I get mine. I’m not paid willing to commit a murder money.”

She holds back a laugh, and leans forward, pulling her knees to her chest. “So what you’re saying is you’re a procrastinator, and I’m the one who gets to suffer for it.”

“Yeah, and you’re blameless after all.” You rake your fingers through your hair, running the past twenty-four hours through your head. “It doesn’t help that we’ve been at it like rabbits.”

“Like what?”

“Like rabbits.”

“Like what?” she asks again, this huge toothy grin stretching across her soft lips.

“Keep it up, go ahead,” you answer, shaking your head, “and who knows, you might just get what you’re asking for.”

When the power flicks back to life in your apartment, Heejin stands in the doorway to your living room and flips the wall switch off and on a few times. She has her hand on her chin, as though she’s musing and considering what all the value of electricity might bring - near a hundred of years of civilization now at her fingertips - and you have no idea that she’s about to rip you away from your work with four simple words:

“Wanna take a shower?”

You tilt your chin over the screen of your laptop, and logically, you reek of sex and sweat. Every now and again, you’ll scratch your nose or hold your hand over your mouth and you can still smell Heejin’s slick on you, stuck to you, its indomitable linger.

Heejin simply stares at you like she knows you're hers.

And if you’re thinking logically, you’re making progress faster than you expected on this article, words hitting the page and flowing freely. Logically, it would be near criminal for Heejin to be in your shower, her petite body all soapy, slippery and glistening, and you not there to see it, touch it, fuck it until she’s cumming and moaning your name and the sound of it echoing off all that tile–

“Yeah,” you say, clam-shelling your laptop and tossing it aside, “sure.”

There’s a certain quality about the renewed coyness, this sense of competitive playfulness, perhaps something diffident brewing between you, Heejin, and the four walls of your shower.

Leisurely, you both wash as though you’re not dying to jump one another's bones, like you’re both not reliving each and every orgasm on some sort of highlight reel played back through your thoughts.

Water falls to the ground in heavy spurts, loudly splashing after it pools and rolls off your bodies. And inside that cloud of steam, wrapped around you both like a blanket, Heejin catches you staring at her perfect figure just one too many times.

“I’m just cleaning,” Heejin says, voice grasping at its highest register, and she wraps her fingers around your cock. “So, you know, don’t get too excited.”

You’ll spin it around, turn on it’s head, get your fingers gliding along her slippery pussy all the same, and you’re right there with her, saying, “Right, just cleaning.”

“Imagine that.” Heejin’s pumping your shaft, perfecting it with this twist at the end that has you roused and ready and aching for more. “You spend all day, playing hard to get, and I just had to touch you?”

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you ask, a little too breathless, a little too obvious of a lie. Heejin presses forward and presses her lips to your chest, little kisses trailing across it.

“Fuck it, me, I’ll say it.” She wraps tight around the head of your cock, squeezing tight and making the water between her fingers squelch. “You’re going to fuck me. You’re going to press me up against this glass, and you’re going to fuck me.”

Heejin’s eyes light up when you smile, laugh because it’s true, and pull her up into your lips.

It’s not particularly a great kiss. It’s maybe a little too wet, far too much tongue, a little mean, but it sets the stage: when you’re cock is finally lined up between Heejin’s lips, teasing - relentless you might add - and her tiny body is pressed so hard into the glass that your only lament is that you can’t see how it looks from the other side.

You slowly enter her cunt, so slow it makes Heejin whine and groan, and you flirt your lips against her ear, “ask for it.”

“Fuck. Give it to me,” she spits, and you can feel her open wider for you when she does. “I need you to fuck me, please, please, fuck me. Or I swear–”

You never hear what’s on the end of that threat, because she doesn’t get the chance to tell you that you fucking better, that she’ll kill you if you don’t fill her up and make her cum, that it’s the literal end of the world if your hard cock isn’t buried so deep in her cunt that she sees stars.

She doesn't get the chance because you’re pushing into her, fast and hard and all at once.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” her voice shakes, curses starting to flow like you’d ruptured a vein. She turns her head, cheek flush with the shower door so that you can see how her eyelashes flutter every time a stroke hits hard against her ass.

It’s intense. It’s calculated. Passionate and uncontrollable. You’ve become so full of contradictions that it has you ready to burst, explosion imminent. You don’t even need to hold onto her hips, because she’s fucking you, jerking her hips back and forth and fucking herself full of your cock - liberating your hands to reach up her sides, gather soap and water and sweat beneath your fingerprints, hold tight to her firm breasts while you bury your face in the soft skin of her neck.

When she collapses to her knees, legs wobbling and pussy quivering off your cock, she doesn’t even say anything. Simply turns and takes you into her mouth, stroking and sucking you until you can’t take it, that fucking tongue reaching all over and spelling out your end–

“Yeah,” you croak, the word some sort of lifeline, a warning, “Heejin, I–”

She pulls you out, lips smacking, and with three words does more damage than you thought she was ever capable:

“On my face.”

It only takes a few pumps from her hand, her tongue still harassing the belly of your cock, and when she flattens it, opens her mouth wide and ready for a mouthful of cum, she has you simply acting on instinct.

It’s certainly novel, what you’ve just done. It’s in her eyes, it’s on her cheeks, you fucking cum so hard there’s strands of it stuck in her hair and stained to the glass behind her.

“Jesus,” you say, rolling back into the stream of hot water, cleansing your soul of sweat, of cum, of sin, “I just came on your face.”

Heejin smiles, eyes shut like her life depends on it, and puts a hand out expectantly, “yeah, so give me a fucking washcloth.”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t really have any,” you tell Heejin in the breath after she’d asked you what your kinks are.

She leans forward, wipes at the steam covered mirror until you can see her reflection raising an eyebrow at you. “Really,” skeptical.

“I mean, seriously, is that really so hard to believe? I get off to pretty girls. You got me. What a villain I am.”

“Anal,” she says, turning to you and leaning against the vanity counter. Her face is still flushed and you can see the faint outlines of your palms and fingers on her chest, but she seems sincere about it - whatever it is.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think about it?”

“About anal?” You set down your razor, towel off your face. “Sure, why not, but I’m not going to sit here and say it’s my kink.”

Heejin threads her fingers under your chin, along your jaw - admires the fleetingly smooth skin that she might only ever find at the end of a shave, and cocks her head. “Threesomes?”

You laugh at the question, the sheer absurdity of it. “Are you asking or inviting?”

She toys with her fingernail between her teeth before she answers, “asking.”

“Well it depends. Who’s in it?”

“Me,” Heejins says, and she’s got her brows quirked; settles this huge predatory grin into her expression.

She holds her lips next to yours - never quite kisses them - wraps her arms around your neck, shuffles a little and moves so that she’s straddled between the counter and your waist. She shimmies her hips and you almost groan, because now you recognize it: that’s Heejin’s shimmy. The silly little thing she does whenever she’s asking for sex without having to ever actually say the words.

“It’s a promising start. Who else?”

“You,” she says, flatly a matter of fact.

“Mhmm, okay, maybe I'm in.”

“Honestly, more than anything...” Heejin’s voice trails, and her lips pucker. “I just want to see you buried in Haseul’s ass.”

“Okay then, maybe I’m back out.”

“Sleep on it maybe. Do you wanna know mine?

You recognize the caution filling your throat, and then promptly being neglected when you ask, “Is it breeding?”

Heejin just smiles, laughs like it isn’t incriminating. Her lips come close to your earlobe, you think she’s going to lick it or bite it or god knows what, but somehow it’s worse:

“I just fucking love your cum.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be–”

You’re not annoyed with her; it’s just that yesterday night was when the trains started moving again, and now it’s almost five o’clock on a Sunday and you’re wondering when this particular journey comes to an end, if it comes to an end. There should be a credit scroll, a fade to black, some sort of keystone to socket in place, you figure, and you’re asking what should be an obvious question.

“–or at least some place you can get yourself a proper pair of pants.”

Leaning over the back of the sofa, eyes scanning your laptop, Heejin ignores the question entirely.

Year of the Rabbit: Heejin, the girl next door, only farther away than next door.

Sometimes she’s blonde but dark at the roots, sometimes she’s tall but only with the help of certain shoes. She’s everything, anything she ever wants to be.

When she first sat down, she wandered into the interview like a second semester-senior, not only at ease with the system, but a little beyond it.

“Hold up, what the hell is this title?” she asks, pointing to the top of your document. “You’re so far up your own ass there’s even a colon right in the middle of it.”

“It’s a work in progress,” you say as you slouch into the sofa, “and besides, the beauty comes out in the edits.”

“I certainly hope so,” she says, worrying the corner of her lip between her teeth, and fixing her eyes back on you. “I was planning on staying for dinner.”

“Of course you were.”

You decide, possibly against your better judgment, to walk Heejin back to the train station.

Although the city had resurrected itself, like Lazarus after a party where the guests had run out of wine (you’re not totally sure about this one), and started to put all its miserable pieces back together, the sidewalks are still a total fucking mess. You’re both there trodding along, navigating through the absolute, dreadful shitslop of snow and dirt when Heejin asks, “You’ll call, yeah?”

“Sure,” you answer, like it was in your power to resist the very idea of it.

“Hey. After all, if you don’t, I know where you live.”

You point in the direction of the turnstiles. “Mildly threatening.”

“I could always wait in the bushes.”

You agree, tugging gently on a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. “You absolutely could.”

#heejin smut #loona smut #male reader #loona heejin smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut

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sailorkamino · 2 years

Text

Hospital Bed Confessions

relationships: jake lockley x fem!reader, established marc spector x fem!reader, steven grant x fem!reader

word count: 2k

summary: As long as Jake can remember he's only had Marc and Steven to protect - then you came into the picture. Jake is scared to admit just how much you mean to him until you're injured, then he can no longer hide his feelings.

warnings: car accident/hospitalization/injuries, protective (but soft) jake, referenced childhood abuse, non sexual showering together, little bit of jealous!jake, jake has never been in a healthy/loving relationship and it shows.

translations: cariño- dear, princesa- princess, mi vida- my life, muñeca- doll

‘Has Y/N sent her home text yet?’ Steven asks from his reflection in Gus’ II’s and Gil’s fish tank. Jake looks away from the TV, “her what?” His alter looks annoyed, ‘you know what I’m talking about. The text She sends everynight to tell us she got home safe.’

Jake sighs dramatically picking up their shared phone. When he sees the late time illuminated on the screen something twists in his gut. Ever since you started dating Steven, and later Marc, you would send daily texts to whoever was fronting. The amount would vary depending on your workload but there were always three constants: good morning, I’m home, good night.

Jake clenches his jaw. He tells himself he’s being irrational, clingy even. He tries to keep his voice even when he responds. “No, but she said she was working late.”

This time it’s Marc that speaks up. ‘She should definitely be home by now. Call her.’

“You two are so dramatic,” he grumbles, although he was about to do that anyway. You don’t answer. Jake tries to ignore the worry churning in his gut. You’re an adult, you don’t need him hovering, but something feels off. Marc and Steven are pestering him to go to your flat but he barks at them in Spanish, trying to gather his own thoughts. A notification has them all freezing.

Jake takes only a moment to read the message before an unreadable expression flickers across his face. He bolts out of the flat, leaving his altars in the dark. If you heard the way he was yelling at the cabbie to hurry up you would be pissed but manners are the last thing on his mind. Once the car comes to a stop he throws some money (including a tip because he’s not a monster) at the poor driver before jumping out.

He’s practically running through the hallways, ignoring the poor doctors and nurses dodging his path. Finally he finds the room. He bursts through the door but the sight before him makes him freeze. He’s seen, and done, many violent things but seeing you hurt is something he’ll never forget.

You peer at him for a moment, taking in the unfamiliar stance and the way he holds his jaw, before a tired smile spreads across your cut lips, “Jake.” He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and approaches your bed. His hands clench by his sides. He wants to touch you, reassure himself that you’re here, but he’s afraid of hurting you worse. “You should see the other guy,” you joke. He doesn’t laugh, eyes becoming impossibly darker.

“What happened?”

You blink slowly at him. You know Jake is incredibly protective but you had never witnessed it towards you. Jake has always kept you at arms length so to speak. You would text some whenever he was fronting but he woukd mostly just tell you about Marc and Steven. He didn’t seem to realize that you cared about him just as much, and wanted to get to know him too.

“I don’t know, it happened so fast. I was driving home, I saw headlights then just… pain.” You wince at the memory.

His gaze is much softer now. “Are you in pain now, cariño?”

The pet name has you grinning, despite how sore your face is. “Some, but not too bad. They have me on a lot of drugs.” His eyes travel your scratched and bruised form. He wonders how many more injuries he can’t see and clenches his jaw. “Where are you hurt?”

You hesitate for a moment, knowing he won’t like the answers. “Umm my back is sprained, broken ribs, whiplash, and a concussion… plus I have some cuts but it’s not as bad as it sounds.” Your attempts to soften the blow do nothing as he curses in Spanish (which is actually really sexy but now is not in the time.) His brows are furrowed in concentration and you can only assume Steven and Marc are griping in his head.

You brush your fingers against his in an attempt to calm him down. He looks down to see you weakly grabbing his rougher hand, effectively making his heart stutter. “Fuck, you’re cold,” he hisses, gently running his thumb over your chilled skin. He lets go of your hand (much to your disappointment) so he can remove his jacket and drape it over your body. You breathe in the familiar cologne that all the boys wear, snuggling into the leather.

“Thank you, Jakey.”

He shakes his head at the nickname as he takes a seat in the plush chair beside your bed. You turn your head to look at him playfully. “You know this isn’t how I imagined our first date.” He scoffs in response, "this isn’t our first date." You feel the sting of rejection and consider hiding under his jacket to cry a little but then he takes your hand in his (where it belongs, in your humble opinion.)

"Once you're better I’ll take you somewhere real nice, okay? But you have to heal up first.”

Your heart rises from where it had fallen in the pit of your stomach to flutter in your chest. “I’d like that,” you hum. Your gaze travels to your interlaced fingers, thinking about your words carefully. “To be honest, I didn’t even think you liked me.”

‘Nice going, locker,’ Marc seethes mentally. ‘You hurt her feelings.’

Jake ignores him as usual. “Oh princesa,” he sighs deeply, “I’ll admit at first I didn’t trust you. Nothing personal, I just didn’t want Marc or Steven to get hurt. But then I saw the way you treated them and I started falling for you too.”

This time his altars are quiet. Your voice is soft when you ask, “why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know how. I’ve never been in a relationship. I’ve never cared about someone the way I care about you. And you seemed so happy with them.”

Your heart melts at his confession. You’re not naive. You know Jake has a dark side. He’s the manifestation of anger and resentment Marc felt as an abused child, but he’s also a protector. “We’re lucky to have you,” you softly confess.

He looks at you in awe for a moment before you notice his lip slightly quivering. He bows his head but you can still tell he’s holding back tears. “Oh baby,” you coo softly, wanting nothing more than to wrap him in your arms and hold him against your chest, or even wipe his wet cheeks, but your injured back and sides won’t allow it.

‘You deserve to be happy too, mate,’ Steven pipes up, only making his eyes burn more. ‘Yeah man, stop shutting her out. She cares about you,’ Marc adds.

“Are you okay?”

He nods slowly, his altar’s words echoing in his mind. “Sorry princesa, I should be the one taking care of you.”

“Don’t apologize, sweetheart. I’m glad you can be open with me.”

He looks at you with so much adoration it makes you shy. Then he gently kisses the back of your hand, “I should probably let Marc and Steven talk to you. They’re worried sick.”

“Okay, but only if you promise to visit me again, amor.”

He grins at the sound of you using his first language. “I promise, mi vida.”

____

Within a few days you’re released from the hospital. Your boyfriends insists on staying with you until you’re better.

“Alright muñeca, bed or couch?” Jake asks. “What about shower? I smell like the hospital.” You counter, leaning into his solid chest. His arm flexes around your waist as he leads (practically carries) you into the bathroom. “Do you need help, princesa?” He asks. You nod shyly.

You lean against the counter as he gingerly pulls your baggy shirt over your head, leaving your chest bare (you learnt quickly that broken ribs and bras don’t mix.) “There’s my beautiful girl,” he coos. You grin bashfully, looking away as he kneels in front of you to pull down your sweatpants and underwear, leaving a gentle kiss on your hip. “Jake!” You protest shyly with heated cheeks as he stands in front of you.

“Sorry mi vida, couldn’t resist. This is my first time undressing you, after all.” He smirks before ducking into the shower to turn it on. He strips himself before wrapping his large arms around you to help you in the shower. You let out a happy sigh as the warm water hits your sore body

“Stand still so I can wash you,” he instructs, reaching for your fruity body wash. “Wait,” you interrupt, making him freeze. “Can you use yours? I like smelling like you guys,” you sheepishly admit. It’s quiet for a moment, and you’re worried you weirded him out, when his lips brush against your ear,

“Marc wants you to know that that’s the cutest thing he’s ever heard.”

You grin at his words, trying to ignore the goosebumps left in their wake. “Tell Marc he’s cuter.”

“Alright, alright, enough flirting through me.”

You bring one of Jake's large hands to your mouth, pecking his knuckles. “Aw baby, don’t be jealous. You know I don’t play favorites with my boys.”

Jake smiles so big it makes his eyes crinkle. Suddenly belonging to someone doesn’t seem so bad, especially when they belong to you too. He wordlessly kisses your neck and reaches for their body wash. You giggle to yourself but it turns into a gasp when he puts the cold loofah on your back. “Did I hurt you?” He asks worridley, movements stilling. You shake your head softly, “no, I’m ok, just surprised me. I’ll tell you if it hurts.”

Once he’s washed your back and shoulders he helps you turn around to face him. He runs the loofah over your front, being extra careful of your broken ribs. He places intermittent kisses across your face and forehead to distract you from any discomfort, mumbling apologizes against your damp skin.

After you’re cleaned off he helps you out of the shower, running a fluffy towel across your body to dry you off. “Alright, let’s get you to bed, mi vida,” he coos as he walks you to your room and sits you on your bed. He grabs you some underwear then moves to your closet.

“What do you wanna wear?”

You immediately point to your favorite stolen item of clothing. “The black jumper.”

Jake takes it off its hanger, examining it closely. “Is this Steven’s?”

“Mhmm, I always take his clothes.” You confess as he lays it on the bed beside you.

“Well Steven isn’t the one who just helped you shower but by all means,” he grumbles to himself as he helps you pull up your panties. You playfully roll your eyes at his childness. “I already told you, baby, I don’t play favorites, it’s just that Stevie wears the comfiest shirts. And besides, I don’t have any of your clothes yet.”

“Oh, so now he’s Stevie?”

“I tried to call you Jakey and you said you didn’t like it.”

“I was lying! Obviously!”

You scoff at his unprecedented jealousy. “Just get in bed, Jakey. I want to watch Encanto.”

____

A few Disney movies later Jake leaves to get you dinner and feed Gus II and Gil. When he comes back he’s bearing gifts.

“This one’s from me,” he explains proudly, presenting an oversized Yankees shirt. “And this piece of trash is from Marc,” he groans comically, presenting a Chicago shirt. You giggle at his dramatics, making him smile proudly.

“Oh and the flowers were Steven’s ideas but I picked out the type,” he adds on, holding out a beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers. If your body wasn’t in so much pain you’re sure your heart would be beating out of your chest cartoon style.

“I have the best boyfriends ever.”

#jake lockley x reader #jake lockley fluff #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight fluff #moon knight #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant #moon boys

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buckymorelikefuckme · 1 year

Text

sweet, sugar, handyman

steve rogers x bimbo reader

words: 3.9k

warnings: **18 + ONLY! MINORS DNI** smüt, light daddy d*om steve, unprotected s*ex, cr*eampie. if i missed anything pls let me know!!!

a/n: any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & welcomed <3

part 1 ❀

It's been a few days since Steve took you out on a date. Even though he got the clear and undeniable message that you would one hundred percent be down to fuck afterward, he felt that he still wanted to wine & dine you more first. He wanted to work for it; earn it, so to speak. So when the date was done and he opened the door to the cab he hailed for you, he only kissed you goodnight. Admittedly, it did turn into a little bit of a make-out session, which only stopped because the cabbie cleared his throat pointedly.

You were absolutely not making it easy for him though. In the span of four days, you’ve made every possible innuendo when given the chance, and sometimes even said outright explicit things to him. Steve is losing his goddamn mind. He's beginning to question why he’s so hellbent on being a gentleman.

Even at work he’s not able to concentrate. He's had to restock the same shelves three times now because he keeps putting the wrong items in the wrong places.

He’s grumbling under his breath about how fucking pathetic he is when he gets a whiff of your perfume and immediately stiffens.

“Hey there, big boy.”

He has to shut his eyes at the sound of your voice. It’s just so…

“What’s a girl gotta do to get some good hardware around here, huh?”

Teasing. Your voice is sexy, no doubt, and cute in the worst way, but above all it’s teasing. Steve can hear your smile as you speak. He takes a calming breath before slowly turning to meet your siren stare. He doesn't feel any calmer when he gets a look at you.

Your hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, the ends curling upward adorably. Unsurprisingly, your makeup is beautiful, highlighting your features perfectly, and your outfit is nothing short of incredible. You’ve got a cute, little strapless sundress on—pink, of course—with tiny flowers all over, leaving your collarbones and shoulders on display. Steve’s mouth waters, his desire to bite and mark the skin rushing to the forefront of his mind.

A sweet grin spreads across your glossed lips the longer he stares at you like an idiot.

“Steve?”

He blinks, coming back to the present. “Hi,” he finally says.

You giggle. “Hi.”

He clears his throat. “What, um… What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for some tools,” you reply, putting emphasis on the last word in a way that puts Steve on guard right away.

“Well,” he starts, clinging to his sanity, “you’re certainly in the right place.”

You smirk. “Do you think I could get my hands on your tools then?”

Steve curses under his breath and you're giggling again, making him feel a confusing mix of endeared and aroused.

“Why do you do that?”

Steve does not whine. And he didn't whine just now. Nobody can prove it and nobody would believe it.

“Because you make it so easy and it's fun to see you get all flushed,” you answer honestly.

He tries to glare, but even he can tell it's weak. You step into his space, curling your fingers in the belt loops at the front of his jeans, right above his groin, peering up at him through your fluttery lashes. Suddenly, his palms are sweating.

“Steve?” you start softly. He hums in reply, not trusting his voice. “Will you come over tonight?”

“Tonight? To–for what?”

You smile innocently. “I’m not allowed to want to spend time with you?”

He swallows roughly. “N-No, you are, I just… Do I—Should I bring anything?”

You tilt your head as you pretend to think. “You're a handyman, yes?” At his hesitant nod, you grin. “Then all I need is you and your big hands.”

Ah, shit. Steve is in for some trouble, isn't he?

You lean up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He barely resists letting out a groan when your breasts brush his chest. Now he knows you're not wearing a bra because he can feel your nipples through your dress.

“See you later.”

“Uh huh,” he replies dazedly.

Yeah… He’s in deep shit.

Steve fiddles with the sleeves of his black henley, the cellophane encasing the bouquet of daffodils in his clammy grip crinkling noisily as he shuffles awkwardly on your doorstep. Inhale for three, exhale for three.

He knocks and waits. It only takes a moment for you to open the door. And then Steve’s stomach promptly attempts to fall out of his ass.

You're wearing a skintight, blood red mini dress, sleeveless and low cut enough to show off your ample cleavage. Your legs, toned and perfect, look positively sinful. You've got on a matching pair of strappy heels, and there, on one of your cute toes, sits a gold toe ring. Why that detail makes his heart race faster is beyond him. Your hair falls in soft waves around your face.

You're glowing as you lean your hand against the doorframe. Steve's never seen you in red before, but damn you wear it well.

“Wow,” he whispers.

You bite your lip to tamp down on your smile. “Thanks. You're pretty wow yourself.” You step aside. “Come on in, handsome.”

There's just enough space for him to squeeze past you. He gets a whiff of your perfume and, fuck, you smell divine. It's not your usual soft perfume that he's gotten used to already; it's something slightly darker, spicier. It makes his cock twitch in his jeans.

“Are those for me?” you wonder as you shut the door, gesturing at the bouquet.

“Oh,” he says, thrusting them towards you, “Um, yes. For you.”

You take them with a small smile. “Thank you. They're beautiful.”

“So are you,” Steve mumbles shyly.

He's pretty sure he notes the tiniest, pleased curl of your lips and counts it as a win.

You go about putting them in a vase, arranging them just so before placing them on the kitchen counter. Steve watches you flit about your home and something warm spreads throughout his body. When you're not flustering him and making him stumble over his words and feet, you're pretty fucking cute.

“Would you like something to drink? Wine? Water?”

“Water would be great,” he replies

He accepts the glass with a nod of thanks after you hand it to him, taking a sip then sitting it on the table beside him. You stare at each other, Steve assessing while you're happy to just look.

“Why did you invite me over?” he questions.

You shrug. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Slowly, Steve shakes his head, walking over to you with his hands in his pockets.

“Bullshit,” he accuses. “That's not the whole reason.”

“I'm not sure what you mean,” you respond defiantly.

He backs you into the counter, hearing your light gasp and feels his lips twitch. “Don't act coy,” he admonishes. “You didn't wear this dress to sit on your couch and watch a movie.”

He trails a finger along your side, down the fabric of your dress, then toys with the hem of it. He's not sure where this burst of confidence is coming from, but he's going to go with the flow and see where it takes him.

“No, you chose to wear this to drive me crazy. You couldn't just wait a little bit longer.” Your breathing picks up, eyes becoming heavy-lidded as he speaks. “Do I need to teach you how to be patient?”

You remain silent as you hold his gaze, seemingly at a loss.

“What, no smartass remarks? That's a first. This is what you wanted, isn't it? You want me to give in and fuck you like the needy little slut you are, yeah?”

A short, choked off noise escapes you, your expression shocked, and Steve smirks in satisfaction.

“Not so fun on that side of it, huh?” he teases.

You clear your throat and try to gather yourself. “It's not that bad. Maybe you're just a pussy.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “You're really testing me. I’m starting to think you want more than just a quick fuck. I think you might need to be bent over my knee and taught a lesson.”

“Fuck, Steve…”

You grab his hand and hurriedly walk out of the kitchen, leading him down the hall. You open a door at the end of it without stopping. Steve finds himself in your bedroom, which is just as frilly and pink as he imagined. You whirl around after you reach your bed, facing him with determination and lust in your eyes.

“I wonder if it's all talk, or if you can actually deliver,” you goad, though your voice does waver.

It's clear you're trying to get a rise out of him, and he would absolutely hate to disappoint you.

“Careful what you wish for.”

In a blink, he's got you wrapped in his arms, lips lightly grazing your neck and shoulder. Your hands fly up to squeeze his biceps as you begin squirming. He presses a whisper of a kiss to your collarbone, smiling at the way you try to push into it more. His lips trail up to your ear where he briefly tugs on your earlobe with his teeth. You whine, tilting your head back to give him more access, but he only lets his breath fan out across your skin for a moment, watching goosebumps appear before pulling back entirely.

“What—” you start, frowning, trying to pull him back to where he was.

“Do you have a safeword?”

You swallow thickly. “I like the color system.”

He nods. “What's your color now?”

“So fucking green, Steve, please just fuck me—”

“You need to learn patience,” he decides. “I'm gonna take my time, gonna explore every inch of your beautiful, sacred body, and you're going to lie there and take it like a good girl. Understood?”

You nod, but that's not what Steve wants. He grips your chin, his fingers and thumb pressing into your cheeks.

“I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. Use your words.”

You exhale shakily. “Understood.”

Steve grins, letting go. “That's a good girl.” You let out a quiet moan. “Now. Where should I begin, hm? Part of me wants to rip this dress right off of you, but another part of me doesn't want to ruin something so stunning.”

You fidget under his observation. He's sure your cheeks are warm beneath your beloved pink blush you always wear. His eyes finally settle on your collarbones, remembering earlier that day and how he wanted to mark them. Without a word, he pushes the straps of your dress down your arms. Then he runs his thumb along the jut of bone, reverent, wondering how and why he got so lucky.

He leans down and attaches his mouth to your skin, sucking and licking and biting until he's positive blood has rushed to the surface under his ministrations. Your small hands are clutching at the sides of his shirt as you moan. And damn, that's a sound he's already growing fond of.

He switches to the other side, biting a matching mark on that collarbone, then decides it's not enough and moves up to the point where your shoulder meets your neck and sucks a mark there too. By the time he's done you're panting and wriggling in a way that tells him you're searching for relief.

“Take the straps off all the way, but don't take the dress off,” he instructs. You're quick to obey and he hums, pleased, when you wait for further direction. “Such a good girl.”

You nod. “Yes.”

As a reward, he pulls down the cups of the dress, exposing your tits to the cool air of your room and watching in delight as your nipples harden. He brushes his thumbs over them, smirking when you twitch and whimper.

“Does my little slut want my mouth on her tits?” he asks as he continues playing with them.

“Yes, please,” you rush to say, “Please, daddy.”

Your mouth snaps shut with an audible click. It's clear you hadn't meant to let that slip.

He pauses, raising his eyebrows. “Daddy? Oh baby, I should've known.” You whine at his mocking tone. “Don't you worry, sweetheart, daddy will take good care of you. Sit down for me.”

Despite your embarrassment, you do as you're told and sit on your bed. Steve kneels on the floor in front of you, pulling you to the edge of the mattress so your tits are directly in his face.

“So soft. So pretty,” he murmurs, cupping them in his hands.

He takes one nipple into his mouth and you let out a high pitched whine, hands coming up to bury themselves in his hair. He gives your nipple the same treatment your collarbones received, sucking harshly and flicking his tongue back and forth. Abruptly, he shifts to the other side, not giving you a chance to catch up. You tug roughly at his hair as you push your chest closer and closer to him.

He pulls off, blowing across your spit-covered breasts, seeing you shiver and whine with a twisted sense of gratification. With a sudden urgency, he determines he needs his mouth on your pussy now. He spreads your legs and pushes up the hem of your dress at the same time. If he wasn't already on his knees, he'd have fallen to them when he sees you're not wearing panties.

“What a naughty, naughty girl,” he chides, voice gruff.

Your pussy glistens with your wetness and you start squirming as he stares.

“Please,” you gasp.

“Please what, sweetheart?” he wonders and meets your desperate gaze.

“Daddy, please, want your mouth.”

He tilts his head. “Where, baby?” You whine again, fingers twitching where they still rest in his hair. He runs his forefinger down your wet slit and you cry out. “Here? You want daddy there?”

“Yes! Please, daddy,” you beg, hips trying to meet his hand.

Steve hums. “I don't know, sweetheart. You weren't wearing any panties. Is that something good girls do?”

You whimper, brows furrowing as you bite your lip and shake your head.

“Think I’m gonna have to spank you, after all.”

“Daddy—”

“Are you gonna be a good girl or not, sweetheart? I can stop here.”

He definitely cannot, but you don't seem to be in the mindset to call his bluff. You whimper loudly.

“No, no, please, I'll be good, daddy, I promise!”

“Color?” he checks in.

“Green,” you reply, eager and breathless.

He grins. “Alright, sweetheart, up you go.”

He rises to his feet and helps you stand before taking your place on the mattress. He pats at his lap, raising an expectant brow. You only hesitate for a second, carefully draping yourself across his lap, making a small noise when you feel his erection pressing into your stomach.

“How many spanks do you think I should give you? Three? Five? Ten?”

You fist your blanket tightly. “However many daddy thinks is appropriate.”

He coos. “Look at that. You can be a good girl. I'll do five this time, okay, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” you whisper.

“Count them out for me,” he directs as he pushes your dress up past your hips, swiping his large hand over your plump ass.

He lifts his hand and brings it back down in a firm smack. With a wicked grin, he watches your ass jiggle with the impact. The only sound you let out is a small gasp.

“One,” you mutter shakily.

Each time he spanks you, he soothes the sting by softly rubbing his hand along your heated flesh.

As he lands his fifth and final spank he's almost upset to be finished. But then he pulls your ass cheek to the side and leans over to look at your dripping pussy, and his mouth waters with want.

“Five,” you whine, squirming, fists clenching and unclenching.

Steve hums. “Perfect.”

“Daddy…”

“I know, darlin’, I know,” he coos.

He maneuvers your pliant body until you're on your back, legs dangling off the edge as he makes himself comfortable between them again.

“Since you were good for me, I’ll give you a reward,” he murmurs, pushing your thighs apart and back so you're on full display for him.

You're already writhing on your bed and he hasn't even touched you properly. It makes his cock throb where it's pressing against his zipper. God, he wants to fuck you, and he fully plans on it, but he has to taste you first or he’ll go crazy.

With that thought in mind, he leans in and sucks on your clit, making you inhale sharply and arch your back. He kisses your pussy sloppily, letting your wetness coat his tongue. He groans deep in his chest; you taste unlike any other and he's on the fast-track to becoming addicted.

“Daddy,” you whine, tugging at his hair, “daddy, please, please fuck me.”

He ignores you for a moment, thrusting his tongue in and out of you, bringing his fingers down to rub messily at your clit. You cry out, a sob forcing itself out of you.

“Steve,” you plead.

Reluctantly, and with a final suck and lick, he pulls his mouth away from your delicious cunt. He stands to his full height and quickly removes his clothes, eyes never leaving your prone form. The way you're spread out is indecent, downright sinful, and the way your stare is already going glazed makes his spine tingle.

When he shoves his boxer briefs down and frees his cock, he sighs in relief. You moan at the sight of it, spreading your legs even wider.

Steve gives you a half grin, stroking himself, “Want daddy’s cock, sweetheart?” You nod, which makes him raise an eyebrow in expectance. “Words, darlin’. Use them.”

“Yes, please,” you whimper.

“Please what?” he taunts, joining you on the bed, manhandling you so that your legs are no longer hanging off.

He makes no move to finish removing your dress or your heels.

“Please, daddy,” you groan.

“Good girl,” he intones. He kisses the inside of one of your knees. “Condom.”

You lick your lips, biting them anxiously. “Can I… I wanna feel daddy’s cum drip out of me,” you whisper, your eyelids getting heavier.

“Jesus,” Steve exhales. “Are you sure? Color?”

“Green, it's green,” you assure quickly.

You're gonna be the death of him.

He pushes two fingers in your cunt without warning and you whine, long and loud enough that he wonders if your neighbors can hear. Part of him hopes they can.

“Mm, so tight with only two of my fingers inside you,” he observes, teasing, “Are you sure you can take my cock?”

“Yes,” you gasp out, “Please, daddy. Wanna feel you split me open, wanna feel full.”

He groans. “Fuck, baby. You're not just a slut, are you? You're a cockslut. A greedy one at that.”

“Yes, yeah, ‘m a cockslut,” you hurriedly agree, “your little cockslut.”

The flare of possessiveness that spreads throughout him is sudden and ignites his desires even more.

“Mine, huh? I like the sound of that.”

He teases the head of his cock along your slit, loving the way you squirm and whimper but still wait so patiently. Finally, he takes mercy on you and pushes in. Your mouth falls open on a silent moan, your eyebrows scrunching together in the sweetest way. Steve groans deep in his chest as he sinks deeper and deeper into your tight, wet heat. When his hips are flush against yours, he only waits a beat before pulling out and thrusting right back in, setting an immediate, steady rhythm that has your knees hiking higher and higher on either side of him.

You're restless with pleasure, unable to be still, head tossing from side to side, hands grappling at nothing and everything. Steve is so big inside you, hitting all the right spots, plus some you didn't even know about. A constant flow of moans, whimpers, and pleas fall from your bitten lips. A light sheen of sweat covers your neck and chest, your nipples hardened into peaks.

“God, you feel so good,” Steve grunts, watching the way his cock slides in and out of you.

You nod in agreement. “My–oh–my pussy was m-made for you,” you whine. “Fit me just right, daddy, fuck! Never… Never had anyone feel this perfect.”

“Yeah? Is daddy ruining you for everybody else?” Steve goads.

“Yes! Yes, daddy, don't want anyone else, ever, please,” you beg, hips twitching up into his next thrust.

Your heels bite into the skin on Steve’s back, but he welcomes the pain. He wants to wear your marks just as much as he wants you to wear his. He thrusts into you harder, loving the way your back arches beneath him, the way your tits bounce with the movement.

You're about a million percent sure if Steve changed the position now you'd punch him in the throat, but you're also just as sure that he knows this, if the way he's looking at you is any indication. His eyes are sparkling, lips tilted up on one side. The apples of his cheeks are pink from exertion, and it makes you bite your lip.

Steve cups his hands under your knees, pushing them up and open more, adjusting the angle of his thrusts just so and making you nearly scream.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” you chant, “Steve, daddy, fuck!”

He grins at your babbling, feeling you clench around him as you near your climax. He's not far behind, heat pooling in his lower abdomen quickly. He lets go of your legs, letting them drop to his sides, reaching down to hold your pussy lips open as he spits on your clit. A ragged moan comes from you at the action. Wondering how far he can push, Steve lightly slaps your clit, and fuck. You cry out and clench around him so tight he has to pause.

“Again, again, please, daddy, do that again, don't stop,” you ramble, words blurring together.

Steve does it again. And again. And again. Until you're clamping down on his cock, body locking up as your orgasm hits, your breath halting. But then you're jerking, letting out a throaty gasp, followed by long whines as you ride out what's got to be an intense high. The sight alone is enough to bring Steve to completion, grinding into you as his cock throbs and releases inside you. He groans, closing his eyes, feeling beyond sated and happy.

“Fuck,” you whisper.

Steve huffs a laugh. “Agreed.”

He looks down at you and you’re the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Your hair is splayed out messily around your face, some pieces sticking to your clammy cheeks and forehead, the sheen of sweat making you glow in the low light of your bedroom. Your eyes are still heavy-lidded, but you're smiling in complete bliss, arms stretching above you.

“That was incredible,” you rasp. Your smile goes wonky. “Thank you, daddy.”

His cock twitches where it's still buried inside you and you giggle.

“You're a menace,” he accuses, the gentle way he brushes your hair off your face softening the accusation.

You preen. “Yep! But you like me anyway.”

Steve sighs heavily. “God help me, I do.”

#TA-DAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!#avengers fic #marvel fic #steve rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you

918 notes · View notes

the-californicationist · 5 months

Text

Guile & Guilt

Your best friend has warned you to stay far, far away from her younger brother — infamous party boy, Sergeant Johnny MacTavish. However, when she asks you to be her maid of honor in her wedding, you and Johnny end up closer than you ever expected.

Soap x Reader AU

Link to AO3

JUNE

You shouldered your backpack as you waited in the aisle of the train, sleep-deprived and hungry. When Hamish had called you to let you in on his little surprise, your heart had leapt in your chest for your best friend, Brigette MacTavish. She and Hamish had been together for nearly two years, and he had finally worked up the nerve to pop the question.

Brigette thought Hamish was just coming over for a Sunday roast, but you were showing up as the red herring. While she was distracted and fussing over you, Hamish could quietly panic until dinner was served, and you could take the pictures. You were glad to help him, you really were, and the MacTavish cottage was only an hour outside of Glasgow, so you didn’t mind, but your work had been exhausting lately, and your body ached for your own bed.

You hailed a cab on the app and waited in the cool night air for your ride to arrive. It was a cold one, and your Floridian bones weren’t used to it yet, even after five years of graduate school at the University of Glasgow. You were a Shakespeare scholar, and you loved every moment. It was just more demanding than ever, and you could barely meet the deadlines as it was. Now, you had a wedding to help plan, and you were torn between excitement and stress.

A clean Saab pulled into the gravel lot of the train station, and a cheery old man popped his head out,

“Where to, lass?”

The cabbie smelled like coffee and smoke as you climbed inside. You handed him a slip of paper with her house number on it,

“Old Kilpatrick, please. Here’s the address.”

A quick ride and you were dropped off at your destination, eager to see Ham and Pidge. Brigette hated her nickname, but it had stuck to her like glue. Her younger brother, Johnny MacTavish, had given it to her ever since he was a little boy, unable to fully form the proper sounds until it was too late. Pidge caught on like wildfire, and there was no escape.

Johnny was famous for making trouble around these parts. You’d never met the man, but you’d probably slept in his room more often than he had in the past year. When you stayed over with Pidge, you slept in his bed and wore his old, soft Rangers football tees. But, Johnny was a sergeant in the SAS, and he never took leave. When he did have to come home, his sister would complain about him staying in strangers’ beds instead of his own. She’d warned you from the start,

“Don’t look my wee brother in the eye, or he’ll hypnotize you like he does to every lass who comes within six feet of him.”

Pidge called Johnny a playboy, a womanizer, and a lush. She smacked him on the back of his head when he came home with another hickey on his neck, and by the time he went back to his deployment, Brigette said she had to chase the women out of the front garden like stray cats looking for their Tom.

“Promise me you won’t touch Johnny boy without gloves and a hazmat suit.”

You’d always promised you wouldn’t get involved with her brother. It seemed like an easy enough promise to keep with a man who was never home. His photos were few and far between, but it was obvious there wasn’t a girl north or south of Hadrian’s wide wall who would turn him down. Johnny’s boyish grin, his striking blue eyes, and his devilish mohawk made for a terrifying triple threat. Combine that with the body of a Spartan warrior and he was a sure weapon. Lucky for you, you were certain he’d never even look your way.

You knocked on the MacTavishes’ door and waited for her to crack it open for you. When she did, she looked astonished, but she wasted no time in hugging you around the neck and squealing with delight.

“What are you doing here, babe? I thought Hamish was takin’ the piss when he said you were on your way, haverin’ on about settin’ three plates for dinner. Come in! Come in, ya dafty. Give us your bags. Go on. I’ll put ya up in Johnny’s room,” she shooed you into the parlor and yanked the backpack from you, strong as hell for her small size.

You found Hamish in the kitchen, minding the potatoes, testing them with a fork to see if they were done.

“Hammy! Show it to me right this second, or else,” you laughed, whispering as low as you could.

His wide, bright smile was framed by his full, dark brown lips, and his deep skin gleamed. He was glowing like a virgin, and just about as nervous as one.

“Okay, but quick as you can,” he tugged the ring from his pocket and showed it to you.

Hamish’s hands trembled, and you clutched his palm in yours, shaking your head

“It’s beautiful. She’s going to love it.”

He smiled at you with joy and gratitude, but as soon as you heard Pidge coming down the stairs, he pocketed the ring as fast as he could, turning back to the food, nervously stirring potatoes that didn’t need to be stirred.

You poured a generous glass of wine for you and your hosts, making sure Brigette was distracted until dinner was served. You caught up on all the latest gossip. Pidge was the primary source for the juiciest news. As a librarian, people from all over would come to tell her things that they probably shouldn’t have told anyone, ever. And when a new romance novel came out, Pidge had the scoop on just how spicy it was. A five alarm fire on Pidge’s scale was a hard score to achieve, but the books that earned it, really fucking earned it.

“…and apparently, while she was out with Pink Shoes’ mister, the Skateboard Dad was out with Pink Shoes! Can you believe it?”

All of her gossipers had codenames. She was mindful about privacy, but you’d been hearing about these people’s dirty laundry for so long, it felt like you knew them well enough to come around for Christmas dinner.

“Here we are, ladies,” Hamish set down your heaping plate and slowly sat in his chair, looking like he’d seen a ghost between the oven and the fridge. You smiled at him, sending the strongest vibes you could with your smile, praying for him to hold it together.

He didn’t.

“Actually,” the noise of his chair scooting back away from the table was grating and a bit of a shock, but when he paused, it was dead silent. He continued, “Brigette, babe, I just…I want to say that, um, I don’t…uh…”

Pidge looked concerned. Her bright blue eyes gleamed as she gazed at her tall, dark, and handsome boyfriend. She dropped her fork and turned to face him, giving him her full attention. He was a full professor of biology and very rarely was he inarticulate. She checked on him,

“What is it, darling? What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, grabbing her hands in his, bending down on one knee so he could be eye-level with her,

“Brigette. It’s quite obvious to me that I can’t live another moment without you. Please, say you’ll marry me before I come apart like a total idiot.”

“Hamish! What?” She was beaming, but still a little confused and shocked by his proposal.

You were catching the entire moment on your phone, trying to keep your hand from shaking with excitement as you did so, holding in your joy. Hamish pulled the ring from his pocket and Brigette gasped, all of the air left her lungs in a shaky sigh, and she began to sob. It was the most picturesque response, and you couldn’t have been happier for her.

After she had hugged him around the neck a hundred times, gasping and laughing as he told her his secrets and showed her your texts, she threw herself into your arms. Her hair was soft in the way that a girl’s hair was supposed to be, and you wondered if yours would ever feel that way. She smelled like the sun and old books, warm and nostalgic.

“God! I cannae believe you kept this from me! You’ve got the worst poker face. I never thought you’d be able to stand it,” she pinched your arm, gently teasing you.

“I know,” you admitted, “It wasn’t easy. Hamish had to talk me down from the ledge more than once.”

“Well, you’ll be my maid of honor, of course!” She squealed, pausing for a moment, remembering how busy you were, “Right, babe?”

You nodded, already thinking about the sleepless nights and missed deadlines,

“Of course!”

Hamish took your plates after you were done eating, and his warm voice boomed from the kitchen,

“This calls for champagne, right, ladies?”

He received two very loud “yes” shouts in agreement. You drank and talked until it was well past midnight, and with a goodnight hug, you sent the lovebirds to bed.

In your room (his room), you dug through Johnny’s old tee shirt drawer. You loved staying with Pidge, because her brother had the softest tee shirts in the world. Sleeping in them was like a buttery, smooth, transcendent experience and you were glad he wasn’t around to stop you from wearing them. You’d be mortified if he found out, but he was off in some terror-filled Green Zone, and these big, glorious tees were just languishing here unused.

You quickly spotted your favorite. It was a blue Rangers shirt made to look like a jersey with the name McCoist on the back. You clutched it to your chest, inhaling the smell of oranges and clove, mixed with some other human scent you couldn’t quite place. The sheets smelled just like it, too. You kept forgetting to ask Pidge what detergent she used.

The shirts he had in his old dresser were so big on you, you imagined he must have been tall his whole life, and wide. You never wore anything underneath, savoring the sensations of the fabric all over your body and reveling in it. You threw your hair into a high bun and padded back into the kitchen to get a warm cup of sleepytime tea before calling it a night.

You put the kettle on and opened the cabinet to reach for your favorite tea box, stretching up so that the shirt barely skated across the edge of your ass cheeks.

Then, you heard a low wolf whistle. Your heart stopped beating. You turned around as slowly as you could, paralyzed.

There was a man looming in the foyer in black riot gear, hoisting two huge rucksacks over his shoulder, staring right at you. You gasped, wanting to scream but no sound was coming out.

He stepped toward you. His eyes were blue, just like Brigette’s, but he was so very tall. His muscles were huge, bursting from his sleeveless tank and stretching out of his gear vest. Covered in guns and canisters and ammunition of all kinds, he looked absolutely terrifying. On his head, he had a shaggy, grown-out mohawk, laying flat and unstyled. His eyes were blackened with soot. When he glared at you, you thought you might melt to the floor in fear, until he opened his mouth,

“You’re a pretty little thief, you are. Better gimme back my favorite shirt, hen, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Johnny?” You hoped beyond measure that you had matched old photos to this new, dangerously handsome face.

He halted his approach, his features softening immediately, reminding you of the pictures of him you had a habit of studying in the hallway.

“Yeah…who are you, lass?”

You told him your name, and he nodded,

“Ah, Pidge won’t shut up about you. What are you doin’ here a’ this hour? I just got in from my tour. Got a note from Hammie that it was urgent.”

Johnny dropped his bags and came closer to join you in the kitchen. The soft light from the stove cast delicate shadows over his bright eyes and golden skin. He looked like a dream. He reached toward you and you flinched. A low, sarcastic chuckle resonated in his chest,

“Easy. Just keepin’ the kettle from keenin’.”

Studying you like an explorer in a new land, his eyes watched your every move, as if trying to memorize your skin like a map. He moved the steaming pot to a cold burner and you watched as the white hissing clouds died back down. You decided to break the ice, smiling knowingly at him,

“Good to finally meet you, Johnny. I’ve heard…so much about you.”

He took your hand in his and shook it once, dropping it and grabbing his own tea bag from the cabinet, plopping yours and his in their respective cups. It was an easy reach for him, and he grinned,

“It’s all lies. So, what’s the craic? What was so urgent?”

“Hamish proposed,” you said, watching his mouth fall open in shock.

“You’re takin’ the piss.”

“No, it’s true. Look,” you showed him the video.

The way his eyes gleamed, full of emotion, as he watched his sister agree to Hamish’s proposal was breathtaking. Surely this was not the same Johnny famous for accidentally inviting his two flings to the same Christmas dinner. He didn’t seem like the type.

Then, the sergeant leaned in closer to you, situating his enormous shoulder behind yours, getting a closer look at your screen, and you could smell him. That familiar, delicious, earthy citrus made you fall apart. It was nearly edible, and the fact that it emanated from such an attractive man made it that much more intense. No wonder he had women crawling all over him. The thoughts that invaded your mind made you blush.

His smile was back, and you never wanted it to leave,

“Tha’s fuckin’ brilliant. She’s asleep?”

He didn’t wait for your answer. Treading off down the hall, he knocked on Brigette’s door. You couldn’t see them, but you heard her answer it, the wood was creaking and popping from age and weight.

“Johnny boy? Is that you, you fuckin’ numpty!? Brother,” your friend’s voice was muffled as if she was crushed to his wide chest, “I’m getting married.”

“Let’s see it, then, Pidge.”

There was a span of silence, and then you heard him say in a low tone, unaware that his voice was carrying down the hall,

“You put a fit lassie in my shirt as a part of the occasion, or…?”

The sound of a slap on a heavy body reverberated along the wall, then a dark warning,

“You. Will. Not -“

“I dinnae ken what you’re abusin’ me for, Pigeon! I’m a saint!”

“Johnathan Fergus Euan MacTavish, she’s off-limits! You’ll not lay a hand on that girl’s pretty wee head, or I swear on Mother Mary and all the actual fuckin’ saints…”

“No promises, Pidge. If she wasn’t such a smoke show, you might have had a dog in the fight, but a gorgeous wee hen making tea in my kitchen wearing my fuckin’ shirt; it’s enough to make a lad start sinnin’.”

“Start! Tell me when you stopped. Is she out there? Oh, fuckin’ hell, you arsehole.”

You heard footsteps. You spun around and pretended to fuss with the tea.

“Babe! You met Johnny?” Pidge looked red in the face, and Johnny looked redder.

“Yeah, just came home. Showed him the video,” you shrugged.

“Great, this is just great,” Pidge forced a smile onto her face, and you got the sense that this was anything but great.

After not a small amount of insisting, you ended up in his bed and he slept on the sofa. So, when you awoke in the morning to the heavy weight of a body sinking into the mattress, you jolted up, thinking that he’d come to start sinning with you and you’d have to somehow find the inner strength to fight him off. Pidge would kill you both. Based on her reaction last night, you knew it in your bones.

But, he wasn’t even looking at you. He was sitting on the edge, digging in the side table for his phone charger. He tugged on the jumble of wires and acted surprised when you groaned out a quiet,

“G’Morning…”

“Ah, hey, lass. Sorry to wake you. Goin’ down to the shops for coffees. I always -”

“You bring them to Pidge your first morning back, I know. She told me,” you smiled and then smiled wider when he looked overjoyed with your knowledge of his fraternal lore.

“Pidge mentioned that?”

You nodded,

“Yeah, she loves it.”

He looked…healed, somehow, like you’d added space into his heart.

“Well, you’re part of the tradition now, so what’s your order?”

“Really?”

He rolled his eyes, feigning impatience. You laughed and answered him,

“Chai latte, please. Let me give you some money, hang on…”

You started to dig below the bed to find your bag, but he was already walking out the door,

“Back in two shakes, bonnie.”

As the door clicked closed, you lay in the man’s bed, in his room, in his house, in his shirt, and you wondered what exactly you’d gotten yourself into. It had been all fine and proper when he was just a cute face in a picture frame, but now that you could feel his heat and see his eyes looking at you, and hear that warm voice - and gods, his scent…

“Shit,” you said to nobody and everybody at the same time.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 02

#johnny soap mactavish #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap cod #soap mctavish #soap mw2 #soap x reader #johnny mactavish #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #cod fanfic #alternate universe

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jake-g-lockley · 1 year

Note

Hi could I please request with any of the moon boys afternoon in the public library selecting a lot of books because they keep finding different ones by author's you love and they're carry them all and the elderly lady behind the counter thats been watching says that they are a lovely young man and a keeper. Thank you 💜 😊

Escape (Jake Lockley x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be tagged?

A/N: EEEE THIS WAS A CUTE IDEA. I had done something similar with the other two babies, so I hope you don’t mind me choosing Jake <3 yes the most unlikely place you’ll find this man is the library but let's go with it hehe.

Word Count: 1.6 k

Love can be blinding, and Jake feels like it is blaring in his ears through sonnets and poems. He learned from you that to love is to not hurt, but to let things be. To love is to be free. Your tender beauty and kindness had been his pride’s undoing. He didn’t realise that his heart got snatched away until it started beating by the song of your own heart.

The first time he met you, nothing in this universe could have prepared him for the blinding reality that he was going to face. He was so caught off guard by your appearance that he seemed to forget his own name. You had flagged down his cab, hair bellowing in the wind as the first droplets of rain hit the windscreen of his cab.

You immediately had struck up a conversation with him, jabbering away about how a crow stole your bagel in the morning. Jake couldn’t help but laugh at your story, letting your soothing voice rub at his hardened edges.

“Here, call this if you ever have another bad day. You don’t have to flag another cab, just give me a call.” Jake found himself saying, slipping you a note along with your change.

“Oh, you’re too sweet, you don’t have to do this!” You sighed but in reality, you wouldn’t know whether you had the willpower to not call him immediately after he dropped you off at the place you needed to be at.

And that’s exactly what you did. Jake Lockley, the handsome cabbie, became one of your closest friends. He had a sense of humour that made you feel at home, you’d always end up laughing a little too hard when Jake would cook up a joke. Soon, you were sitting in the front seat of his cab and he switched out his newspaper boy cap with sunglasses that complemented the vibe of his curly hair. You often found yourself looking longingly at him wherever he would blast the radio and start singing along to your favourite songs.

Today, you asked him whether he wanted to hang out at the library and he immediately texted you a yes, picking you up in less than 20 minutes. Jake watched as you rolled the window down, letting the wind blow in your hair as you smiled blissfully. The weather was tolerable and Jake was extremely happy. Your leg bounced as it usually did and Jake fought the urge to place his hand on your thigh and steady it, instead choosing to grip the steering tighter.

You skipped up the stairs of the library once you got there, and Jake followed you, absolutely mesmerised by the spring in your step. Once you realised that you were getting too far away from Jake, you hung back and took a hold of his hand, surprising him. He lurched forward, his chest colliding with your back. He immediately murmured his apology, still in awe with you.

You breathed in deeply, the scent of the library filling your lungs with a deep memory. Your grandma used to bring you here and read you books and she encouraged your love for them.

“If you wanted to escape, this is the safest way to do it, child.” she used to say and that's what you did every weekend.

Why did you bring Jake with you then?

The question plagued your mind as you pulled him through rows of books, the sound of Jake’s boots thudding against the carpet the only thing keeping you held down to Earth. Slowly, you let go of Jake’s hand and trailed off, absolutely enamoured by the books before you. Jake slowly drifted off too, his headmate begging for him to pull one of the books that he really needed from the shelf.

Jake rolls his eyes and pulls the book before turning to look for you. All his eyes saw were the rows of books, you nowhere in sight. Jake shakes his head and smiles to himself, gently tapping the spine of the book with the palm of his hand. It wasn’t long before he found you. A stack of books were balanced on your hip and supported by one of your arms, the other hand holding a book too close to your face as you scanned the page. You readjusted yourself as one of the books began to slip from the stack and Jake hurried forward.

He eased out the books from your grip and held onto them. You turned and smiled at him, blinking up at him with big eyes that made him feel mushy inside. You stood on your toes and placed the book you were holding on top of the pile Jake was holding, before placing a soft kiss on his cheekbone. Jake’s face flamed red hot. He’d never been kissed on the cheek before and he didn’t know how to react.

“Thanks.” he mumbled and his headmates roared with laughter like an old Hollywood laugh track.

“You’re welcome.” you smiled and turned, walking towards the next shelf, feeling proud of yourself for that move.

“She’s walking you like a dog, mate!” Steven chuckled as Jake began to float behind you again.

“As if you won’t literally pass out if you were fronting.” Jake huffed under his breath.

You frowned at the shelf, realising the book you wanted wasn’t there. You decided to ask Beatrice, the little old lady at the counter to check the records for you. Beatrice was already smiling at you, her favourite regular but there was something odd about her smile.

“Heya, Ms. Bea! I just need a title searched in the system.” you politely asked with a smile.

“Hi, darling, sure.” with a few taps of her keyboard, she announced where the book was and you grinned excitedly, almost uttering your thanks when Beatrice smiled at you again.

“You aren’t going to introduce me to the beautiful boy hiding behind the books?” she asked, and gave you a pointed look and your eyes widened instantly.

“Uh, yea! This is Jake, Jake this is Ms. Beatrice!” you quickly introduced them.

Jake carefully set the books onto the counter and took the lady’s hand, kissing the back of it. Beatrice giggled like a school girl and you gave Jake an exasperated look.

“Oh, dear, I most definitely approve. This one here is a keeper, alright.” Beatrice says and now it was your turn to cosplay a red tomato.

Jake let out a beautiful laugh that ringed deep in your heart.

“Really, trust me, my husband was like you, still is, comes here everyday bringing me lunch. I thought romance was dead but I’m so glad to see it blooming amongst the paths of unsaid words.” Beatrice says, clutching her and to her heart as she looks between the two of you.

Jake and you were frozen to the spot, your eyes as big as owls. You snapped out of it first, thanking Beatrice and pulling Jake with you, who quickly scooped the pile of books in his arms and followed you.

You quickly found your reading corner and sat down, Jake following suit.

“Sorry about Beatrice.” you say after the loud thudding of your heart settled.

“Why are you sorry about Beatrice?” Jake was taken back, out of all the things you could have said, you choose to say that.

“You’re probably weirded out by what she said, about romance and all.” you mumbled, hanging your head.

Jake was still confused at your words, trying to absorb them as silence enveloped the two of you.

“You know what, I really do not know what to say, so I’m just gonna show you.” Jake says, lifting your chin up and leaning towards you before you could make out what was going on.

His lips met yours so gently that you thought he had touched your lips with flower petals. Your eyes were wide open and you struggled to comprehend what was happening. Jake snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you against him, making your mouth drop open with a gentle lick of his tongue. Your eyes fluttered closed and you found yourself losing yourself to the momentum that had been caused by Jake hurling your relationship past the cliff of a very unknown cavern.

You were kissing Jake, you were kissing Jake fucking Lockley.

He pulled away first, keeping his face incredibly close to you.

“Okay, now I know what to say. I’m not the kind that particularly chooses to love romance but I think I’ll be okay if it is with you.” he shrugged. “Besides, I also think I don’t mind you seeing me old and wrinkly like Ms. Bea’s husband.”

You were stunned, this was not the way you intended your day to go. Your eyes welled up in tears and you busied yourself by taking Jake’s hand in yours and kissing his knuckles before holding it close to your chest.

“I was in love with you the second you threw the door of my cab open. Didn’t expect you to call at all, but when you did I felt like I took my heart and threw it at you, to hear your voice through my phone, that was everything to me.” Jake continued, gazing lovingly into your watery eyes.

“I might be in love with you too, Lockley.” you sigh, a teardrop escaping as your eyes closed. “Everynight, you’re in my dreams and you’re my escape.”

Jake let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and gathered you close. It was going to take a lot to get him away from you. You soon found yourself with your head in his lap, your longing drifting into pure bliss as his soft poetic voice filled the air with beautiful words.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

taglist: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes (where’d she go 🥺) @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @bloodredwolfsbane @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @pimosworld

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bastardblvd · 1 year

Text

submitted entries for the slimeball alley on bastard boulevard collab event. please be mindful of content warnings and boundaries set by authors. want to join? read our guidelines here.

KEY: 🦠 = NSFW ⚠️ = DARK CONTENT

"DOUBLE DOWN" by @ryndicate 🦠 ⚠️

fem reader x slimeball!hirofumi yoshida, reader x stepbro!denji

"didn't know you were into that kinda stuff."

"SAFETY FIRST" by @strawberrystepmom 🦠

fem restaurant manager!reader x fake OSHA inspector!jiraiya

when an inspector unexpectedly comes to your restaurant, you figure out how to get yourself out of trouble.

"A RIDE FOR A RIDE" by @thus-spoke-lo 🦠

afab reader x taxi driver!zoro

it's 3am and walking home from your shitty job at the diner seems like a drag, so you call a cab, hoping for a quick trip back to your apartment so you can finally catch some sleep. your moss-haired, muscle-bound, directionally-challenged cabbie definitely gives you a ride you didn't expect.

"COMPLIMENTS TO THE CHEF" by @thus-spoke-lo 🦠

afab reader x slimeball line cook!sanji

a few nights pass after the sordid events of "a ride for a ride", and you're working another late night shift at franky's flapjack shack with sanji, that damned pervert cook. sanji manages to piss off your only remaining customer for the night, leaving the two of you alone in the restaurant. soon, things start to heat up in the kitchen--and not just because that one oven door won't close all the way.

"TITS FOR TAT" by @bloompompom 🦠

sorority girl!reader x tattoo artist!eren jaeger

"i hope you have a good idea about how you're going to pay for that tattoo..."

"DELIRIOUS" by @saccharine-darlin🦠 ⚠️

fem camgirl!reader x slimy sex shop owner!gojo x sex shop employee!getou

"your conservative town is something you've never thought that would let a sex shop pop up, it seemed too good to be true, and little did you know after the first time you visited you'd be caught in a web by the two perverted men who run it and quickly you learn that they always get what they want."

“PAY UP!” by @zeninsama 🦠

fem babysitter!reader x designer sunglasses model!gojo satoru

satoru's poor time management has you working overtime, and this cheap bastard has something other than cash to pay you with

"GOD BLESS ME, IT'S SUMMER" by @dolcezzzza 🦠

afab reader x slimeball ice cream truck driver!nicholas d. wolfwood

"open up."

"TRIPLE STRIKE XXX" by @em-plosion 🦠

new employee!reader x bowling alley owner!satoru gojo

"the animated neon signs glowed brightly against the wet pavement and the ‘help wanted’ flier in your hand. having to move to this hell hole of a town was bad enough but trying to find a job in it was worse, at this point this shitty bowling alley seemed to be the best option."

"HANDS TO YOURSELF" by @agirlwithapen 🦠 ⚠️

reader x dirty old man!kishibe

you’d purposely chosen the early morning transit. today was a big day, you see. you were interviewing for a position your friend had offered. it was your chance at stability, financial stability. “first impressions count.” you remember telling your soon-to-be boss over email. they do.

"CAN I HAVE A NUMBER 5?" by @gunfiendbabymama

yuuta okkotsu vs. aki hayakawa

the mcnuggets showdown.

“HONEY TRAP” by @maliciouslove 🦠

fem reader x slimeball starbucks barista!denki kaminari

having a slimebucks apron is equal to having unlimited rizz (source: me) and denki proves it by bedding his brand new colleague on her very first day of work.

“THE HR FILES” by @if-dreams-do-come-true ⚠️

afab reader x corrupt cop!kishibe

kishibe is a shameless corrupt cop with a penchant to make inappropriate advances at fresh faced interns and the reader is unfortunately his newest victim.

"STICKLER" by @princess-okkotsu 🦠

after a run-in with grimetown's sleazy cop nanami, you've come to the dmv to replace the sticker that was stolen off your car from a certain freeloader. you've got to convince the dmv employee, a stickler for the rules, that you quite badly need this problem squared away today.

#slimeball collab directory #LET'S GOOOOOO #kissing u all on the head rn #stepdaddy merc

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

Note

im a sucker for lockwood x reader angst and i mean angry confessions, miscommunication and the “go ahead and leave then. everyone does, it wouldnt be a surprise if u did too” 😩😩😩

a/n: AHHHHH yes!! i'm so sorry this has taken so long to be written, and the fact I've been inactive for a week or two - it's been assignment week so i needed to focus on that unfortunately, but i hope you enjoy this! angst is my favourite thing to write lol. unfortunately, there's not much miscommunication in this, but i hope I've ticked the other boxes :)

warnings: angst, language gn reader

"Will you say something?"

You keep your head turned, staring out of the night cab's rain-covered window. Your heart is pounding, filled with rage, and you're worried that if you open your mouth, it'll come spilling out and you'll say something you'll either regret or get fired for.

Lockwood was an idiot during your case. He was reckless and impulsive, and it meant that the two of you narrowly finished it with your lives and all of your limbs in good health. You would've forgiven him if it had been a one-off, but he does this almost every single time, and it's becoming a big issue.

So here you sit, arms crossed over your chest as the cab speeds along, biting your tongue. Lockwood sits across from you, watching you with those dark eyes of his while a cut oozes blood on his forehead. Any other day, you would've patched it up immediately, but tonight he'll have to cope. You've had enough.

It doesn't take long to reach Portland Row and the taxi has barely stopped when you jump out and storm off towards the house. Lockwood is delayed a few seconds, having to pay the cabbie, but he catches up easily.

"(name), come on. Talk to me."

Wordlessly, you unlock the front door, half tempted to slam it shut in his face, but this is his house. He's got more right to be here than you.

You make to angrily climb the stairs and hide out in the attic to await Lucy's return and rant to her about Lockwood, but his hand wraps around your wrist as you reach the second step, stopping you.

"Please, (name). I can't stand it."

For a minute, you just stare at him. The blood from his cut has been smeared across his forehead, and the bags under his eyes have become a little more pronounced, but your usual sympathy has disappeared, eaten away by fury.

"What do you want me to say, Lockwood? Oh, it's okay that you almost killed yourself being so reckless tonight. You're my knight in shining armour. Or, how about: I know you promised to be reasonable tonight to make amends for all the other times you've almost killed yourself, and you didn't end up being reasonable, but I forgive you."

He looks at you, his gaze soft. His eyes are desperate, but he's got you talking which was his goal. It seems that the context of the conversation doesn't matter all that much to him.

But you don't care.

"Every single case," you say, trying to keep yourself from raising your voice, "has ended the same. We almost die or get seriously injured because you get reckless. I get it. You're trying to save us, and, believe me, Lockwood, I'm grateful for that, but what would happen if you died? Who would protect us then? Because all of this - you throwing yourself in the face of danger for us - will mean nothing if you die."

"I'm not going to let you guys get hurt," Lockwood says, and there's an undertone in his voice that gives you a clue to how he's feeling. He's getting irritated.

Good.

"And I thank you for that," you say. "But this is constant. Do you ever stop to think what we'd feel if you died? We'd be lost, Lockwood. Not to mention jobless."

"What am I meant to do? Let you get hurt? Not a chance!"

His rising anger is feeding into yours, and soon it'll be a raging fire, ready to burn everything in its wake. You have half a mind to let it loose, to tell him exactly how you feel about his stupidity, but you reign it in for now.

"Don't you hear me? I said I'm grateful that you try to keep us safe, but not at the cost of your own life!" You tear your wrist out of his grasp, breathing heavily. "Just take a minute to imagine this: you die on a case, and we have to deal with the body. We have to watch you die, and then we have to ignore the grief to not only finish the case but also make sure your body is taken away safely, that you're given a funeral. After that, a lifetime of grief and regret and denial, hoping you step through that fucking door one more time! Of all people, I thought you'd know what that kind of thinking does to a person."

His gaze hardens. "Watch yourself."

The laugh that escapes your lips is humourless. "Right, okay. I forgot. We don't talk about that topic because you're not ready, and that's fine. But it'll be me that has the burden when you die. Then George and Lucy will have to figure out how to cope, too. But we don't have a room to hide your memories away in, Lockwood. We live in a house surrounded by you."

You climb up a few stairs and point at a photo on the wall. "These pictures? They can be stashed away, but the feeling of you can't. Your soul has practically been embedded into the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Nowhere we go in this house will allow us to escape the memory of you."

His face is a little red as he watches you. He's angrier than you've ever seen him.

"So leave then."

The words feel like a punch to the stomach. "What?"

"If you're so sick of it, if the thought of my possible death is too much, then leave. Everyone does. It wouldn't surprise me if you did."

It takes all of your willpower not to scream at him. Instead, chest filled with the pressure of your fury, you make your way back down the stairs until you're eye to eye with Lockwood. He's breathing heavily now, too, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watches you, eyes blazing with anger but also something else... Guilt?

"You don't get to say that," you growl. "I have been here for you since the beginning. I helped you set this company up. I helped you get it licenced, and I was the one who sweet-talked our way into getting full DEPRAC insurance. I have supported every stupid decision you've made. I've questioned you, but I never pushed. And yet, you still have the gall to say that you wouldn't be surprised by me leaving?"

The anger is so strong that tears threaten to cloud your eyes, but you push them down. You will not cry.

"I've tried my hardest to make sure you stay alive." The waver in your voice is embarrassing, but something in Lockwood cracks at the sound of it. "All I do is make sure you stay alive because you're all I've had for years. I've always cared for you. I've sat and patched you up night after night because I care about you - shit, I love you, Lockwood! I always have! So, don't you even dare suggest that I would ever leave. It's as good as insulting my parents' graves."

At that, you turn on your heel and storm up the stairs, leaving Lockwood standing at the bottom.

It takes a while for you to calm down.

After cleaning yourself of all specks of blood and dirt, you change into clean clothes and sink down onto your bed, closing your eyes and trying to slow the thrumming of your heart. Your hands are shaking from a mix of rage and sadness, but they lie on your chest, easing as your heart rate slows.

It takes all of your willpower to try and not think about one of the last things you said to Lockwood - that you love him - but it proves to be harder than it should be. You didn't lie. In your years of knowing Lockwood, you've grown close to him, something that had been hard originally because of your lack of trust in people, but he charmed his way right into your life. Every smile, every touch of your fingers left your heart racing and your mind hoping, begging, that he felt the same.

Now, though, after that argument, you're almost entirely convinced that he doesn't.

When George and Lucy arrive back at the house, you trudge downstairs to the kitchen where everyone awaits to discuss the cases. Lucy's already made you a cup of tea that you accept gratefully as you sit down at the far end of the table.

Away from Lockwood.

The change in your seating is noted by everyone, your usual chair left empty beside Lockwood's at the head of the table. George frowns, glancing between you and Lockwood, and Lucy gives you a look that you ignore.

"It was a phantasm where we were," you say, scribbling away at the thinking cloth. "Well, there was that, and then there was a very angry Wraith as well. Murder victims. We dealt with them quickly."

George's eyes find the plaster on Lockwood's head, much less neatly applied than it would've been had you patched him up.

"Rawbones for us," Lucy says, sipping her tea. There's a patch on the sleeve of her jacket that smokes slightly, burned by plasm. "George found the source - a manky old mug. Made no sense. Skull was no use, either. I think he's mad at me."

"Again?" Lockwood asks. His voice isn't entirely there. "What did you do this time?"

"I didn't do anything. He's just a little prick."

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from making a snide comment. The others are watching you carefully, easily picking up on your mood, but they don't bring it up.

Lockwood's eyes haven't left you this entire time. He's trying to communicate in that silent way you both developed after years of friendship, but you tear your gaze away from his, pushing down the re-emerging fury in your chest.

"Well, we're all alive," Lockwood says, laying emphasis on the final word. "Let's get a good night's sleep. We've got a meeting tomorrow with another client."

Lucy and George get up immediately as if they were waiting for a cue to leave. They're gone in seconds, closing the kitchen door behind them. It makes no difference. You silently sip your tea, still scribbling away. Your little mess of lines has turned into an angry face.

"(name) -"

You stand, making to leave the kitchen with your mug in hand, but Lockwood blocks the door.

Staring up at him, you scowl. "Excuse me, Anthony."

There's a little smirk playing on his lips. "Using my first name? I suppose I am in trouble."

"It's nice that you think this is funny, but I certainly don't. Now, let me get past so I can go to bed. I've had enough of today."

"Please, wait." He looks down at you, his eyes soft. He doesn't seem angry anymore - that makes one of you. "Can we just... talk?"

Against your better judgement, you turn and sit back in your seat, placing one of your feet on the seat and resting your head on your knee. You're tired. Not just from the case, but from being angry.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Lockwood says, and you know he's genuine. "I saw that Wraith coming for you, and I couldn't just stand there and let you get hurt."

You sigh, more exhausted than mad now. "That's not the problem, Lockwood. You do this in every single case, even when there's no need to. Half the time, I'm not sure whether it's because you want to protect us or if it's because you want an excuse to die." Your voice catches a little.

He falters, not expecting that. Part of you wants to feel good about catching him off guard, but the topic quenches any of it. You've spent countless nights worrying that you would get up in the morning only to find Lockwood not there or scared that you'd end a case leaning over his dead body.

No one should ever have to think like that.

"I care about you a lot," you say, running a hand over your face. "You know that. But I don't think it has ever occurred to you how badly it'd affect me if you died. And, I know, I'm being selfish, but I don't want to have to live in a world without you in it."

He's silent for a moment. "I'm sorry - about what I said earlier. I didn't mean it."

You barely have the willpower to shrug. "We were both angry. People say stuff they don't mean when they'd angry."

"So, you don't mean what you said? About loving me?"

It's hard to not look at him, but you focus your gaze on the thinking cloth, tracing the messy writing and doodles with your fingers. There are a few coffee and tea stains covering it.

"I meant it." Your mouth feels dry, so you take another sip of your tea. "I meant everything."

The only sound is of both of your breathing and Lockwood's foot tapping rhythmically on the tiled floor. He's nervous.

"I don't expect you to feel the same," you clarify. "To be honest, I hadn't meant to say it right then. If I had my way, I wouldn't have said it at all unless I was sure you felt the same. But, it's out there now."

Lockwood's chair screeches against the floor and, suddenly, he's kneeling beside you, moving so that he can catch your eyes. That stupid grin of his has parted his lips. His hand grasps yours softly, and you can feel his pulse faintly. It's faster than it should be.

"Don't look so smug," you grumble. "I don't forgive you, so I don't see what you have to be cocky about."

His grin only widens. "I'll show you what."

And then his lips have captured yours.

It's a short kiss, no longer than a few seconds, but it's enough to have your stomach performing a whole gymnastics routine. The anger in your chest slowly fades away until it's nothing but a small prickle, still there but nowhere near as powerful as it was.

His lips are startlingly soft, but, really, you wouldn't put it past him to be applying chapstick every waking second. He always wants to be camera-ready. Your eyes have fluttered shut, and, by the feeling of his lashes brushing your cheeks, it seems his have also. You wonder if his brain is throwing a party, too.

When he pulls away, you find yourself wanting more. Instead, you press your forehead against his, shutting your eyes tightly for a moment.

"If that wasn't enough to convince you to stop being so self-sacrificing on cases, I honestly don't know what will."

He laughs, and the sound has your heart soaring. "I'll try my best, but if you need saving, I'll most definitely come to save you. I am your 'knight in shining armour' after all."

His gaze is already locked on yours when you open your eyes again. The darkness of his eyes entraps you, and it's impossible to look away.

"Will you forgive me?"

A sly smile curves your lips. "Maybe if you kiss me more."

#lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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velvet-paradox · 2 years

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Fandom: Outer Banks Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Female reader Summary: When Ward kicks Rafe out of the house, he has nowhere to go until you run into him. Length: Long Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY, reader discretion advised, explicit language, strong language, angst, sad Rafe, drug use, fingering, oral (m receiving), protected P in V, detailed smut.

ENJOY!!!

"You owe me." You said as you pulled your truck down the bumpy road to old John Routledge's road, bouncing around in the cabin as you drove, the little air freshener hanging off of your rear view mirror swaying wildly.

Fall was just on the cusp, colored leaves threating the ground as you turned on your blinker, a stickler for not having Shoupe stop you for some miniscule traffic stop on such a fine day if he were around trying to make quota.

"Yeah yeah."

"I mean it this time!" You voiced. You weren't just some limo service or cabbie on The Cut but Pope was technically family, your parents being his parents best friends before either you or the young man shaking around in the passenger seat were born some twenty odd years ago. He had passed his written but not the actual behind the wheel test just yet.

"I said yeah!" Pope grumbled, grabbing an overnight and a large water bottle from the back before he hopped out, giving the door a hearty slap to send you on your way.

"I'll pick you up on Sunday. And hey, Pope?"

"Yeah?" He stopped, holding his pillow.

You pointed at him from the inside, JJ gave you a little wave with two beer cans in hand before jogging down towards the watery bank. "Be safe." ....

Leaning forward you could see the clouds rolling in, a storm was on its' way and you wanted to get home before it hit. You turned down the radio as if that would help in your beat up truck. At the stop sign you saw someone trudging their way along the bank, no sidewalk was in place at this corner of the street. You slowed and made your turn, headlights illuminating a tall, familiar form. Reaching over you rolled down the passenger window.

"I know that's not Rafe Cameron on my side of the island." You called, putting the truck into park with the flashers on, just in case.

Rafe slowed to a stop, hands in his pockets before answering with a quiet "Hey."

"Hey, yourself. What, Barry's not home?"

"Oh he's home."

"Where's your truck?" You looked around at the empty street, a stray cat ducking underneath one of the parked cars on his side of the street.

"My dad drove it home."

"Without you?" You asked once you hopped out, that blue polo that brought out his eyes sat nice and tight over his chest, clearly he'd been working out with his buddies at the Country Club doing him justice.

"Yes without me, Y/N!" Rafe gestured around with his hands then his chest. "Do you see his ass around here anywhere? Why do you care anyway, just go home."

"Relax, tough guy." You chuckled and came to the side, hands up in defense. "It's late, gonna' get even darker soon, you should probably get inside somewhere."

"I'm a big boy Y/N, I can take care of myself thanks."

"Maybe on Figure Eight, but out here..." You motioned around with a shake of your head. “There's six stray dogs three blocks from here, alone. Get in the truck." You motioned with your head, the soft music from the truck traveling just enough for you to know it was a song worth missing. "You want me to take you home?"

"That's the problem." Rafe sighed and bit his bottom lip.

"What is?"

"Fuck, you're nosy!" Rafe shouted, when you took a step back he rubbed at his smooth face, pointing to you then the darkening sky, then to himself. It's not like you two were ever considered friends, forced to partner up in class a handful of times, did a few shotguns at the Boneyard, maybe played a round of Cornhole but not friends. Especially knowing what he thought of Pogues in the first place, he was classist and his attitude spoke volumes.

"I don't... I don't have a home to go to. Not anymore. My dad kicked me out tonight, paid off what I owed Barry and... he just, he just fucking left me here! I have no way to get back to the Eight, it's fucking dark as shit, I'm cold." Rafe rattled on, emotional rollercoaster and it made you worried when you saw the tears in his eyes, he was lost. "I try, alright? I'm not the best son, yeah, I know that but I'm trying here. Trying to make my father proud, I'm out here fighting for my family and what does he do? Chucks me out like I don't matter. But I do matter Y/N, maybe not to you but I fucking matter and instead of cleaning up everyone else's messes, I wish someone would give me a little validation, a little 'Thank You Rafe'. Would it kill 'em, huh? I'm a very proactive type person you know? Just-- sometimes I wish someone would just ask me if I'm ok, ya' know?"

Rafe sniffled and wiped at his eyes before looking at you again, expelled of most of his energy Rafe bent over and hugged his knees. That was the most he's ever said to you and you felt bad, not sorry, per se, for the man before you. You just felt bad that he had a house full of people, siblings and friends and yet here he was out on The Cut breaking down and venting to a Pogue.

It made him seem less scary and boisterous, made him human.

With a sigh you closed the gap, not sure if you should touch him but you did, softly. Rafe slowly stood, blue eyes fixed on where your hand was on his cool shoulder.

"Rafe. Are you ok?"

Rafe swallowed his pride and pursed his lips and shook his head, dirty blonde strands sweeping across his brow. "No. No Y/N I am not ok, I am so not ok."

"You wanna' know what I think?"

"Sure. Shoot."

"I think you're fucking tired. No; more like fucking exhausted." Rafe looked somewhat relieved, you could see him working things out in his brain, squinting in the moonlight. You made up your mind as the words left your lips. "Alright, I'm taking you home."

"Home? Did you not hear a fucking thing I just said?! I just poured my heart out to you and--"

"Relax. I'm not taking you to your house; I'm taking you to mine." You announced, crossing the road to hop back into your truck, waving for Rafe to follow with fluid steps.

....

"Well, you've got three options Mr. Cameron. Anywhere on the floor is free, the couch which also turns into a full though it's a little lumpy so... or you can sleep on the right side."

Your house wasn't a mansion by any means, just a cozy one level you decorated over the years. Rafe clearly hadn't been this far on the OBX by the he was looking around like a tricked dog going to vet and not a car ride. He stood next to you, his height made him look like a giant inside your small angular living room.

He shoved his hands in his pockets again.

"The right side of what?"

"Of me."

Rafe choked and gave you a set of neatly furrowed brows.

"We're adults Rafe, we can sleep in the same bed."

"I know that I just... I haven't slept with anyone in a long time."

"That's shocking." You snorted and turned on another lamp, kicking off your boots and tossing your purse to an ottoman.

"Hey, thanks. But... why are you being nice to me?"

"Someone should," You shrugged and looked at him trying not to take up space as he looked around. "There's some pizza in the fridge if you want, figure out where you're gonna' sleep. I'm gonna' take a shower."

Rafe just nodded and continued perusing your things.

....

"He's where?!" Pope shouted, dropping his side of the cooler you were helping him carry into the back room of his dad's business.

"Calm down, it's just Rafe, not some psycho killer." You grunted and hefted up the heavy box, walking backward but making sure every ten feet or so you wouldn't trip and break something.

"Actually I'd feel better about some stranger being there than Rafe fucking Cameron in your house!"

"Language!" Heyward called out from the register, a pencil behind his ear when you passed by.

"Sorry, Pop. I'm serious though, get him out of there."

"He's not going anywhere. He doesn't even have a car, it's just for a few days I'm sure."

"A few days? Is your head on straight?," You held in your chuckle when Pope's voice cracked at his exclamation, his eyes narrowing. "This is Rafe Cameron we're talking about here, the biggest bully of every Pogue since he's been alive probably! And he's staying at your house, on The Cut... hell Y/N he even bullied you when you went to school with him!"

"I think he's misunderstood." It was true but that was how long ago now? You and Pope brought the cooler down gently and you dusted your hands off on the smooth apron you wore over your clothes.

"I think he's fucking crazy!"

"Pope, don't make me come back there!"

"Sorry." Pope apologized again with a sigh. Your friend touched your shoulder and pointed a finger at you as if he were the older of the pair. "If he tries anything..."

"Right. I'll be sure to let you know." You chuckled and finished unloading the latest shipment.

....

"Are you playing Jenga... by yourself?" You smiled, Rafe's big body was sitting on the floor of your living room, just pulling out a middle block when you got home. It was strange to see someone in your house after living alone for so long, let it be the Kook King himself. Rafe pushed back his hair, ready to make his next move.

"What else am I gonna' do?" Rafe rolled his eyes.

"I'm surprised you're not wasting your battery on your phone. Call up one of your buddies to take you instead of me."

You noticed how he worked his jaw and cracked his neck, placing the block to the top of the tower. "Got a little silly waiting to see if my dad would call so I turned it off. If he wanted me home, I would be."

"How long do you think you're gonna' hang around The Cut now that you're an honorary Pogue and all?"

"I'm not a Pogue." Rafe snapped.

"I wouldn't be so sure," You made a face and joined him on the floor, taking a block of your own before responding. "Let's see... you got in a blowout with a parent, check. Their giving you the silent treatment for emphasis of how much they stand by said statement, double check. You got kicked out of the house and all of your lovely amenities and are crashing on someone's couch, triple check. And by all those accounts, that definitely has Pogue written all over it!"

"Oh fuck off."

"You can stay as long as you need to, if you need a ride somewhere just ask."

You watched the block of choice slide out.

"I can drive, ya' know?"

"Yeah, your truck, not mine."

"I'm not gonna' total it! I need to get some clothes at least, I've never worn the same outfit two days in a row in my life. Gross."

"Oh shut up, live a little. You don't have to prove anything to me, Rafe. I know you." You said and took your turn.

Rafe's next words made you second guess the blonde.

"Nobody knows me."

....

"I don't understand why we waited until after midnight to come here." You voiced and parked your truck at the front of Tanny house, Rafe sighed and told you to be quiet.

"Because I don't want to see my dad, or any Cameron right now," Rafe huffed and pushed open the creaky passenger door. "I won't be long, just gonna' grab a few things alright? don't ditch me."

You watched him cut a short jog through the yard.

Tapping your fingers on the steering wheel you waited, why you didn't really know. The guy was home, Ward was probably over stewing about kicking out his only son. All you had to do was drive off but something about Rafe being sullen and human, a different version you got to witness was intriguing, a mystery. You didn't mind the company either, you reasoned. Especially handsome company.

With that smooth jaw and square chin, you remembered that odd zing, that scrape up your spine when you saw him sweet talking some naïve girl at the Boneyard. What was he saying to them to have them bat their lashes and gloss their lips, cock their heads and laugh with him. Or was he laughing at them? Too vulnerable to know they were in the clutches and paw of a serial predator.

Especially when they flirted over how much coke forty bucks could get them.

You were ripped from your memories when the door creaked open once more, Rafe had grabbed a red duffel bag and held it in his lap when he got back in. You snorted when you realized he had made himself a quick sandwich, holding it in his mouth.

To your surprise he offered the rest to you on your drive back over the bridge. ....

A few days turned into two weeks. It was strange how easily you two interacted, understood the silence, domesticated Rafe Cameron was something you thought didn't exist. Let alone picture.

He was the enemy for most of your life and here you were, watching the way his fingers moved and flexed while he rolled a joint. Stargazing in your little backyard. The lighter took a few tries before he lit it, inhaling the smoke with a satisfied smile before he passed it to you.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" Rafe asked when half the joint was gone, making you sit up.

"Do you think you're a bad person?"

"I'm asking you." Rafe sniffed and took the joint from your hand.

"If you had asked me a few years I would've said you were the worst," Rafe snapped his head to you but shrugged, knowing it was true. He was an asshole. "But... I wouldn't let you stay with me if I thought you were."

Rafe clicked his teeth and took the last full drag, putting it out on a used pasta sauce lid. "Nobody wants me."

"What?"

"I haven't heard from my dad since I got here," Raffe shrugged again, holding onto his knees and digging the heels of his shoes into the ground. "He texted me once though, last Saturday, asking if I was safe. I tried calling Top and Kelce... said I couldn't stay with them either."

You frowned. "Do they know where you are?"

"They know but they don't care," Rafe smoothed back his hair with both hands and bit the inside of his cheek. "Maybe I'm as bad as everyone thinks. Might as well be the villain, somebody has to be."

You were unraveling the layers that made up Rafe Cameron without even knowing, all he really needed was someone to listen to him. To hear him out, to entertain his venting and let him clear his head. You wondered if he had any real friends at all, if they'd change the subject or ignore his feelings all together. Maybe that's why he wanted to stay with you, you saw him.

"I think you're crazy," Rafe snorted and gave you a look when you bumped your shoulder against his own. "You're not a bad man Rafe, you've got demons like everyone else. Let's not waste a good buzz so," you laid back on the grass, tucking your hands behind your head. "Now, show me which constellations you know."

Rafe chuckled, a genuine and foreign sound that felt like bells ringing. "I don't know any."

"Sure you do! Everyone knows at least two-- so show me."

"Alright alright." Rafe shook his head and laid down next to you. A light wash of his cologne puffed up around you that made your mouth water, or maybe you were just high. You smiled when he wiggled a little closer, crossing his ankles and pointing up to the night sky, clearly making up constellations as the night went on.

Another thing you'd never thought you would hear, or be anywhere near was his real laughter.

....

You balanced the grocery bags in your arms, not paying attention to anything other than not tripping, breaking any eggs or--

"Alright man, I'll catch ya' later!"

You looked up just in time to see Barry hop down your front steps after shutting the door.

"Barry?"

"Oh hey there lover," Barry chided and wiggled his fingers at you. "So it is true, then huh? You and Country Club shackin' up, playin' house and shit."

"It's not like that." You gripe and walk a little further, gripping the handles on a slipping bag.

"Not what I heard," Barry flashed a smile and wink that made you shake your head as he swing his keys around his fingers. "You two play nice now!"

"Fuck off." You said and hopped the night air brought your words to his ears as he chuckled and you went into your house.

You didn't see Rafe when you came in, kicking the door shut behind you and made your way into the kitchen. Your poor fingers were numb as you flexed them and looked around the kitchen. You were just about to call out to him when you heard Rafe instead. Sniffing; in your room.

"Just one more... one more and you'll be set. You'll be squared away, yeah? Be a man... be a man."

You just tapped the door with your foot and a jumbled mess that was Rafe Cameron jumped away from your dresser making it shake.

"Oh hey! You're home!" Rafe wiped his face and covered the line of coke on the old wood. "I was uh I was waiting for you."

"For what? Why are you in my room?"

Rafe looked around for a moment, touching his chest. That damn blue striped shirt of his that made his eyes glow, or maybe it was the coke he was doing. He seemed just as confused as you were to be in your space. Since he'd been 'shacking up', as Barry had said, Rafe had been a gentleman and crashed on the couch. A few nights he was face down, shirtless and shivering when you passed him to go to the bathroom, covering him up on your way back to your room.

"Um I wanted to talk to you."

"About letting Barry come over when I have no recollection of telling you you could just bring home strays." You crossed your arms over your chest.

"Barry isn't a stray, Y/N! God... I'm sorry sorry, he's ya' know. A friend. And I um, I needed said friends' advice so yeah. I invited him over, just for a little bit though," Rafe rushed out to say, gesturing with his hands, jittery.

"Whatever," you shrugged. "Just don't leave that shit around, I'm not judging you just... gimmie’ a heads up." You said and went to put away the groceries. "I'm gonna' talk to my dad." Rafe said from the door jam of the kitchen, biting at his nails.

"That's good, when?"

"I was thinking tonight actually um," Rafe bit at his lips before coming closer and putting a box of chips on top of the fridge for you. "I wanna' do it person so... would you mind like, giving me a ride later?"

You stopped and looked up at him, a questioning and honest smile on his face. "Sure. Just let me know when ok?"

"Ok... ok yeah. Thanks."

Then it happened.

The most bizarre and peculiar event of your entire life happened in an instant. Maybe it was genuine, a long time coming, some pining affection or honestly, the coke but... Rafe hugged you. Like a real hug, both of his long arms reached around your neck, his face inches from your own. The warm smell of his cologne a burst in your face, surrounding you like a cloud of intimacy. What seemed like forever you reached out and touched his back.

"Seriously, thank you.”

"Yeah. Sure..." You said in a daze, stepping back when Rafe took out his phone and hurriedly went to the living room.

"You sure you want me to come in?" You asked once the two of you pulled into the Tanny Hill drive, not out on the street as your previous visit.

"Yeah, why not?" Rafe shrugged and hopped out and gave you a look that told you to hurry. "I don't know how long this is gonna' take so."

"If you say so.”

Ward looked you up and down, a small smile behind his beard when you two walked in. A flash of light streaked through the night sky, a distant rumble in the distance. Rose got you something to drink.

"So you're the elusive Y/N then," Ward finally stuck out his hand, watching his son rub the back of his neck next to you. "Nice to meet you and thank you for taking care of my boy. So, I assume he's been bouncing around between friends this month, hmmm?"

"You didn't tell him?" You shot Rafe a glance.

"I um, Rafe's been staying with me... the whole month."

"The whole--" Ward scoffed and looked at his son. "Interesting. And he hasn't been any trouble?"

"I'm right here, dad." Rafe huffed.

"I know son, I just wanna' make sure you're not making trouble for this little lady here too. We'll talk in my office," Ward said and grabbed onto Rafe's shoulders, ushering him further into the estate leaving you behind with a glass on iced lemon water from Rose. "Thank you again Y/N."

"So," Rose sweetly smiled and walked through the downstairs living room, which was about the size of most of your house. "How was the monster?"

"Excuse me?"

"Rafe. That terror of a boy, I tell you Y/N it has been a blessing not having him torturing the house lately. I mean, he's mostly in his room but when he's not, oh God help me. Always slithering around, looking for Ward's constant approval is very exhausting."

"That's kind of rude."

Pieces to the puzzle were fitting together why Rafe was reluctant to come home, to be around people who didn't trust him as far as they could throw him. Maybe that's why he always acted out. Hurt people tended to hurt people.

"Please," Rose snorted and began to walk off. "He knows all this, I've told him several times."

Once she was out of sight you decided you didn't like this woman, and it would not be the end of the world if you never spoke to her again.

You jumped when a cracked of thunder boomed through the house, rattling the chandelier above your head in the hallway you had found yourself in. Looking at paintings and family photos, one was even an old fashioned portrait.

The water was long gone, just melting ice cubes at this point when the rain started to come in, pattering and streaking down the windows. You stood by one, watching the rain fall, little flashes of lightning bloomed above. A nice night.

You got lost in the steady rhythm building up outside, when a rather bright and far closer bolt of lightning struck near the house you caught Rafe's reflection in the window. He was quick to meet you there. He took your hand.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"Just come on." Rafe smirked and led you up the winding staircase, you'd never seen so many in your life. How did they manage to get any kind of furniture up these things? You slipped but caught your step, holding on to Rafe's arm. There was another flight of stairs up above it seemed when you stopped on a landing.

"Rafe, what's going on?" You asked once secure and hidden in his room. "What happened?"

"Dad said as long as I keep my nose clean and work hard, he'll let me come home," Rafe smiled and wiped his mouth with both hands. "I'm gonna' do it this time. I have to," Rafe tapped his head then turned to you, placing his heavy hands on your shoulders. "He said he's proud of me. That I've been on a good path since you found me. I'm gonna' get my shit together. For real this time."

"Rafe, you don't have to explain yourself to me."

"I know that, I know. I just... you've been there for for whatever reason, that's on you," Rafe joked and roped you into another embrace, resting his cheek on the crown of your head. "You get me. You saw me, the real Rafe and you didn't run for the fucking hills. Most people don't."

"Well you are an asshole."

There was a brief second where you wondered if saying that was such a good idea but then you felt him laugh through you.

"True. I'm not the nicest guy, unless you're around I guess."

"I'll take the compliment."

It felt strange but a good strange, squeezing him around the waist when a loud crack of thunder sounded again, signally you should maybe take off before it gets too bad to see. Hydroplaning was not on your To-Do list today.

"Well I'm glad it worked out, you were a pretty decent roommate." Rafe let you go but stayed still in front of you. "I should probably head out."

"Why?"

You frowned and looked at the window, pointing to it. "Cause it's raining, have you looked outside?"

"Yeah I know it's raining, pretty hard actually so why are you trying to leave?"

"Do you... do you want me to stay?"

"Yeah, that's kinda' why I brought you up here." Rafe scoffed. "And to give you this."

If you would've have been told senior year Y/N that some kicked-rock-down-the-street years later you would be in Rafe Cameron's room on a rainy night, in his arms and kissing him; you would've backhanded them on sight.

But, as things played out, that's exactly when happened. You knew you were in big trouble the minute Rafe held your head in his hands, blinking down his nose at you it made your stomach flip. You opened your mouth to say something, anything at this point but all that came out was a whine when he kissed you.

You grabbed on to his arms, your poor knees from working so hard and climbing all those steps, threatened to give way if you didn't. Rafe didn't stop, catching you and holding you up and flush against him.

....

"You're so nice, so fucking nice to me ya' know that?" Rafe breathed into the soft, bare skin of your neck. You ran your hands up and down his back, feeling him tense and tremble against you sitting in his lap.

"Someone has to be."

Rafe paused and grabbed the back of your neck, bringing you back to nose level. "You said that before."

You smiled and cupped his face, he nuzzled into it. "You're so touch starved, aren't you?"

"Us Cameron's aren't big on affection." Rafe admitted and wiggled beneath you, he was straining against the seam of his boxers, you could feel his cock engorging and growing hot. You weren't fairing any better, you knew if you moved them aside your slick would be glistening.

"That's a shame but that means," you hunched over and whispered into his ear. "I get to be real good to you. I'll touch you anyway you want, however you want me too baby, you got it."

Rafe groaned and stole a sloppy, teeth clicking kiss. You smiled against his mouth, moving up to your knees quickly and peeled down your panties, adding them to the pile.

Rafe's thighs were ticklish, spreading his long legs almost cost you a black eye! He apologized but let you rub your hands up and down his skin, giving them each a squeeze, your eyes focused on his cock. The outline alone had you salivating, it jumped when you kissed his hip, taking a fresh bite of the meat you found there.

Rafe fisted his sheets, clenching his teeth he kept his eyes on you, boring into your swift movements, voicing how good it felt. He whined when you finally put your mouth on him, a sound of relief when you wrapped your hand around what didn't fit, the rest disappearing into your mouth.

You'd had reactions of course, you know what you were doing but the way Rafe made it sound was he was in heaven.

"Fuck that's so God damn good, so pretty like that. Fuck." Rafe groaned when you swallowed him further, his stomach muscles tightening when you dragged up your free hand, nails gently scratching his too warm chest. You clenched your walls around nothing as he caught your wrist, gave it a slight tug and soon you were feeling the inside of his mouth on your fingertips.

You gagged, on purpose a long line of spit joining your mouth to his cock, you had to see what he looked like. Eyes shut, both hands now gripped your wrist while he savored having your fingers in his mouth. His mouth pleased around them, he looked content. Happy.

You kissed the crown of his cock and moved to lay on your side, resting a leg over his hip. He looked so dreamy, long lashes and blown out blue eyes, he pulled your fingers from his mouth and sat up on his elbow.

"You're a total smoke show." Rafe praised and grabbed your hip before you pulled him over to you for a kiss.

"Finger me." You whined and bit your lip, watching a true grin morph on his face. He gave you a nod that spoke of 'you got it' as he spread your lips. Those long fingers of his had you quickly covering your mouth, they reached new heights and depths you hadn't felt touched before. He liked that and wedged in a third finger, you rolled you eyes feeling the cool metal of his ring meet the hood of your clit every other thrust.

"How's that, pretty thing? That feels so fucking good when you squeeze my fingers like that."

"Dammit Rafe," your walls instantly gripped them, "I'm gonna' cum if you keep that up."

"That's kinda' the point," Rafe snickered and moved to kiss you, hovering just out of reach. He backed up just out in time for your lips to miss. You groaned. "Don't worry baby, I've got you. I'm gonna' make you cum more than one time tonight, I can tell you that."

You grabbed the back your leg, his fingers thrusting at a different angle that had you seeing spots, you couldn't shut your eyes though, the view was too perfect to miss. Rafe finally kissed you then, could feel you pulsating around his thick fingers.

You felt it, that riptide of satisfaction coming into view, you cupped the back of his head, making sure he didn't tease you again with the threat of a kiss as you came, moaning his name as a chant. The aftershocks threw you off, good God was he good at that. You let your leg drop as you caught your breath.

"You're gonna' kill me." You said in between breaths, shivering with a passing rumble of thunder.

Rafe chuckled against your cheek. "Would it be too much to ask to fuck you?"

This time you laughed. "Oh baby, you're not gonna' fuck me," you patted his cheek and rolled him over, beaming when he instantly put his hands on your thighs. "I'm gonna' fuck you."

In a rush Rafe pointed to the bedside table, rummaging in the drawer for a condom, thankfully you found it and tore it open. As you sat up on your knees, watching Rafe roll it out and onto himself, you looped an arm around his neck, scratching the fine hairs on the back of his head. He shuddered when you did it again.

You brought him to you, both of you in a sitting position before you wiggled and rolled and angled your body down to take his cock. Rafe had a creased brow and open mouth, flipping between watching your pleasure and where his cock was disappearing inside you.

"Holy fuck!"

You clapped a hand over his mouth and shushed him. "Calm down."

His mouth was moving and tickling your palm so you moved it away momentarily. "What?"

"I said I can't help it, jeez baby you just took all that cock like a fucking champ." Rafe held you close to his chest, bare and hot and sweaty. There was no place you'd rather be, you held his face to your neck and you knew he'd leave a bite or two if you let him. "Fuck me, baby."

"You want it?" You smoothed back his hair as you ground yourself against him. "Tell me you want it."

"I want it, want it so fucking bad. I want you so fucking bad, driving me fucking crazy here. Could fuck all day." Rafe raggedly said against your throat.

"I'm all yours."

....

His hand on your throat felt dangerous and comforting as he fucked up into you, foreheads resting and moving together in tandem, both of you a total mess for each other.

"Rafe..."

"I don't want to lose you. You see me, you know me. I want this, I want you." Rafe struggled, giving your neck another squeeze his hips bucking up.

"You said... fuck baby that's so fucking good-- you said no one-"

"Fuck what I said! You know me, the real me. Stay, please stay. I'll be good I swear." Rafe whined when licked into his mouth, capturing that pouty bottom lip that was ranking higher and higher of your favorite things list.

"I'll stay."

Rafe was full of surprises as he slipped a hand between you, using the pad of his thumb he pressed and circled your clit and bit into the side of your tit.

"I'm gonna' cum!"

"Cum for me, I need it I need it I need..." You yelped, losing yourself and your voice.

....

"I've never fucked like that before." Rafe admitted when you got out of the bathroom, thankful that he had his own. You laughed pulling on the shirt you'd helped him out of from the floor and got back into bed.

"And you won't," you laughed into his shoulder.

"I'm pretty sure no one fucks like you and I don't wanna' find out," he settled down and cupped your head in the crook of his elbow. Musing to himself and now to you. "I'll be good, from now on I'm straight. I'm gonna' do it this time."

"I'm with you."

Rafe craned his neck a little at the same time as you tilted your head for a sleepy kiss, the storm fading fast. "So you'll stay?"

"I'll stay."

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