genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,
summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.
Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.
status ongoing
taglist OPEN
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summary: part v. of course the others find out about you and changbin, and of course that’s because minho can’t keep his smart mouth shut, what did we expect? not all of them knows the difference between left and right but they sure know how to ruin your peace.
warnings: non idol au, violence, blood, mentions of gore, cannibalism, obsessive behavior, jealousy, cursing, homicidal behavior/psychopathy, mentions of a past porn addiction and throwing up, sexual content(protected and unprotected p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, fivesomes, mentions of pillow humping, mentions of ball shaving if that counts??), alcoholic hyunjin
word count: 24k
chan stands in the middle of his garage with his hands on his hips, staring at your car with a slow shake of his head.
the driver’s side door is still slightly misaligned from where someone, seungmin and jeongin, obviously, forced it open.
chan runs a hand over his face and exhales.
he walks around the front of the car, crouches a little to check the lock, then stands again. it’s not badly damaged. he can fix it in five minutes. but then he leans back against his workbench and crosses his arms, thinking. because the car itself isn’t really what’s on his mind. what’s on his mind is you.
more specifically, you, your other two bitches, and now changbin too. apparently.
chan tilts his head slightly, replaying whatever happened earlier in hyunjin’s bedroom. you on top of changbin. the way his hands were on you.
well, he’s not surprised. not really. because if there’s one thing chan has noticed since you came into their sad little lives, it’s that you have this… effect. and like let’s not misunderstand the situation, you don’t manipulate them. you don’t try to control them. you’re not like a whore or anything. no, not at all. you just exist around them and love them with confidence and patience that they never received from anyone else before.
and one by one… they fall into it. and it’s so fucking right. each of them just fits with you.
he thinks of the kisses he gets. still faintly remembering the feeling of your fingers on his face the night when he had his face in your lap. that kiss, the first kiss. the way his chest had tightened and pulled and felt.
it had been… a lot.
he’s still adjusting to the concept of emotions happening inside his body like that. but he knows one thing very clearly. he wants more of it.
you’re impressive, y/n. seriously.
he’s not even offended by it. if anything… he shifts his weight against the bench, thinking it through… it’s kind of hot.
the thought of you being wanted like that. multiple dangerous, violent men just all over you. and you letting them close, one by one, because you decide who gets that access.
chan rubs the back of his neck. yeah. he’s definitely a little into that.
“huh.”
and how will you tell your new addition to the collection to seungmin and han? seungmin in particular is going to have opinions. han probably won’t even fully process it for another week.
he could do it for you. he’s not afraid of the conversation. but realistically, you’re better at this stuff. you somehow manage to talk to them like they’re human beings with emotions instead of unstable murder machines. it’s honestly impressive. so maybe you’ll handle it. eventually.
chan checks the door lock again and grabs a small tool from the bench, adjusting the bent metal.
you’ll figure it out. you always do. you survived eight serial killers, for fuck’s sake.
a few seconds later the door clicks properly into place again. one problem solved. comes the next. (most likely)seungmin hotwired the car. those two idiots are gonna get their dicks hotwired next time he sees them. chan wipes his hands on a rag and starts working on that.
hm. maybe he’ll take you out today. because you on changbin? that shit was hot. chan’s been missing you extra since seeing that.
maybe take you somewhere. just a little time together. the idea of staying over crosses his mind too. that would be nice.
he pauses. then he sighs. because of course, han will be there. that little bitch is everywhere. literally doing anything but working. “anything” means you. all over you or literally doing you. only if he’d use his hands in the garage the way he uses his dick. okay maybe not, he’s still horrible at work, but still. just always on you. how do you even deal with that?
chan’s not actually bothered though. not really. if anything it just makes the whole thing more interesting. still. he’d like some time with you today.
maybe he’ll swing by later. see who’s around. see if you’re free. or not free. either way works. dinner maybe. or just a drive somewhere quiet. he glances at your car again. you’ll probably need a ride anyway.
you’ll figure it out. after all, this whole thing seems to be working so far.
he can text you.
he… doesn’t text much though. he’s the type who prefers short sentences, direct conversations, things that actually do something instead of floating around in messages.
and now that we cleared that up, he’s here anyway, standing in the quiet of his kitchen, one hand on the counter, phone in the other, staring at the screen.
his thumbs hover for a second.
chan: you busy tonight?
he stares at it.
he sends it.
then he throws the phone on the counter.
for someone who spent most of his life emotionally blank, the fact that he’s even asking that question at all is… kind of huge.
cut to you. in your kitchen. you managed to get the house quiet. which is honestly a miracle. it took effort. a lot of effort. han had to be convinced there was something “very important” he and minho needed to go look at together. jeongin immediately attached himself to that plan because jeongin attaches himself to anything that smells like something bad is about to go down. seungmin followed because he likes violence. felix followed because he heard the word “look.” so they left. hyunjin is doing better now. you have no idea where he is. we know where chan is.
you’re standing at the kitchen counter, phone in one hand. you snort under your breath because yeah, you’re doing something. you’re doing changbin. or more accurately changbin’s doing you without even putting it in yet. he’s pressed up behind you, big arms caged around your waist, chest pressed so tight it squeezes up against you. his mouth hasn’t left your skin once, lips dragging slow, open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, over your shoulder, back up to that spot behind your ear that makes your knees dip. he’s kissing down your shoulder now, nosing under the strap of your tank top, breathing you in.
you’re trying to text back with one hand, phone balanced on the counter, thumb fumbling.
you: no i’m free
(you had to backspace multiple times because you kept writing no i’n fr ee)
chan: come over after work?
you feel changbin’s breathing against your back. not the one currently fanning on your neck, we’re talking about the movement of his chest. fast. unsteady. this big sweet murderer who used to choke people out for fun is shaking a little because touching you feels that good. that’s new. he’s never had this before. none of them have. and now he can’t stop. won’t stop. has to keep his mouth on you or he might actually combust from how much he likes you.
you: sounds good baby
chan: need anything?
you: no thx u sweet
you tilt your head to give changbin better access. he takes it immediately, lips trailing higher, sucking gently. it’s so fucking intimate.
you drop the phone because changbin finally nudged your chin up enough to kiss your mouth. soft. deep. no tongue yet, just lips moving. you kiss with one arm reaching back to thread into his hair.
you’re fucking impressive, y/n.
it’s hard to deal with them. hard to part from changbin, hard to go on with your day without han in your ass. not literally. or you could mean it literally, whatever y’all are into. anyways. it can be much when he’s constantly on you, but you got used to it and love it, after all.
being alone is nice though, sometimes. walking to chan’s alone was nice too. (god, you need to ask him about your car) knocking on his door is nice, knowing you’ll see him. seeing his eyes, hungry the second they land on you, is even nicer.
he just reaches out, hooks two fingers in your pants, yanks you inside, and kicks the door shut.
you crash into him mouth first.
his hand immediately finds your ass, big, feels so good. squeezes hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. he groans low, manly as fuck, the sound vibrating against your tongue.
“missed you.” he mutters between kisses. he’s been thinking about this since he sent that one pathetic text from the garage. probably popped a boner under a car just imagining your mouth.
he spins you, backs you up against the wall with a controlled thud. one thigh goes between yours, pressing. his other hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw because you’re delicate to him even though he’s about to fuck you stupid against drywall.
he’s thorough with you. always is. kissing slow at first, savoring, then deeper, hungrier. licks into your mouth. sucks your bottom lip till it’s swollen. nips just hard enough to sting. hand on your ass keeps kneading, pulling you tighter against the hard line of him. he’s already rock solid through his jeans. hasn’t even tried to hide it. why would he? you did this to him.
“fixed your car.” he says quietly, pulling back just enough to speak against your lips.
“mm. thanks.”
his mouth back on yours. he’s not rushing to fuck you yet. just… needs this. needs to feel you solid and real and here after a whole day of pretending he’s a functioning adult who doesn’t daydream about bending you over the hood of every car.
you tug his hair. he growls. hips roll once.
“fuuuuuck.” he breathes. “been hard since lunch thinking about this.”
and now you’re here smelling like you and changbin’s leftover cologne (he knows, he fucking knows.)
“poor baby.” you tease, voice so soft.
he huffs a laugh, we know that’s rare from him. “yeah. poor me.” then he’s kissing you again, deeper, dirtier. hand hard on your ass, lifting you just enough that your toes barely skim the floor. pins you there with his body. lets you feel every inch of how much he missed you.
wall’s cold against your back. chan’s warm everywhere else. ticklish softness of his nose on your neck now because he’s working his way down, sucking mark after mark.
“gonna fuck you right here.” he mutters against your skin. not a question.
you grin, fingers in his belt loops, yanking him closer.
“better.” you say. “car’s fixed. now fix me.”
“mhm.” he mutters, then he’s kissing you again. like really kissing you. deep, wet kisses.
needs you. now. he gently helps your shirt up and over your head, tosses it somewhere behind him. mouth finds your collarbone, then lower, open kisses over the tops of your tits, his pretty hands unclasping your bra lovingly.
he’s bigger on groping tits rather than sucking. that’s more seungmin and han territory. chan’s best entertainment is grabbing your tits, which he does when your pretty little bra hits the floor.
you gasp, head thunking back against the wall. his other hand’s already working your jeans open, pulling away from your tits too to shove them down your hips with both hands.
impatient man.
you kick them off one leg, still half tangled around your ankle because who gives a fuck.
he’s on his knees for a second, yanks your panties to the side, doesn’t even bother pulling them off. tongue flat against your clit, one loooong slow lick that makes your knees buckle.
this is fast, he usually takes his time better, little kisses and love, but both of you are clearly impatient now.
you grab his hair. he growls, pleased, and does it again. sucks. flicks. messy, desperate. he’s been starving for this taste all day. two fingers slide into you easily even, you’re soaked already, and he curls them the way you just love, stroking around.
he knows you too well.
“chan, fuuuck—”
he pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny. “missed this pussy.” he says, voice the usual monotone, which is so hot. then dives back in, making up for lost time.
when you’re grinding down on his face(which he loves, just wants a little more now), he stands up fast. gives the side of your ass a loving squeeze as his mouth crashes back to yours.
his jeans are open now(when did that happen?) cock out, heavy and leaking. it’s been crying for you all day. he fishes in his pocket one handed, pulls out a condom. rips the packet with his teeth.
you see it and burst out laughing. full on, head thrown back, wheezing. “you planned this. bitch.” you say, girly and teasing, poking his chest.
he smirks, rolling it on slow, eyes locked on yours. strokes himself once, twice, just to watch your pupils blow.
“bitch.” he mocks your voice, voice high and as girly as he can make it.
you slap his cheek. it’s loud. playful. mean in the hot way.
he just smiles at you, then quickly gets your panties off you. one hand hooks under your knee next, hikes your leg around his waist.
once he’s in… okay, wow, you two really start going at it. all so erotic, the way it starts slow at first, the way you start grinding down because you want more quickly, and the fucking way he gives it to you immediately.
your head falls forward, breathing on his skin. look back up, you want to see his face more.
god, he’s so in love with you.
the closeness hits different tonight. it’s not just sex against a wall. it’s him knowing. it’s that he knows of you and changbin. it’s that he knows your power, the way you’re collecting and loves you exactly like this and he loves his boys too.
it makes him want you more. makes him harder. makes every thrust feel like claiming you all over again, feel like proving he’s still a pick even when you’ve got four.
it’s in the way he holds your gaze while he moves his hips into you. that’s like… unnervingly attractive combined with those empty eyes. in the way his free hand cradles the back of your head so it doesn’t bang the wall too hard. in the way he kisses you between thrusts, slippery.
he knows he’s handling a girl. knows you don’t just cum from dick alone like porn. he’s not han, jackhammering around. he’s chan. he’s patient. he’s careful. he’s a man.
every thrust pulls a little whimper out of you. he finds that adorable. his free hand slides between you, fingers finding your clit. does this bitch have a map. actually, he’s watched you touch yourself enough times (creepily romantic, in his defense) to know the rhythm. those wide fingers pressing, rubbing, flicking just right while he fucks you against the wall.
“there she is.” he murmurs when your hips start chasing his hand. “good girl. let me feel you squeeze.”
you do. clench around him hard. he curses under his breath, something filthy about how tight you are, how wet, how fucking perfect.
his mouth finds your neck again. sucking softly. marking you gentle because he knows seungmin will see them later and lose his shit, and the thought makes chan’s thrusts get a little harder. deeper. rougher.
you wrap both legs around him now. arms around his neck. he fucks up into you desperately. every snap of his hips punches a moan out of you.
“fuck, you feel so good.” he breathes. voice cracking just a little. “always so fucking good.”
the changbin thing bubbles under it all. makes him fuck you deeper now, pouring all that new obsession into every thrust. you’re collecting and he was one of the firsts and wants you even more because of it.
you clench around him on purpose. he swears, buries his face in your neck. pace picks up, harder, faster. skin slapping. wet sounds.
you whine and cry out and squeal when you cum. heels digging into his tense little man ass, slapping on his back, shoving your face into his neck. he fucks you through it, he always does, doesn’t stop, chases his own with short, brutal thrusts. jackhammering now that he got you there. gives you one long beautiful moan when he cums, hips stuttering, cock pulsing deep inside the condom.
he doesn’t pull out right away. just holds you there. pressed tight. breathing hard. lips brushing your temple.
you stay like that for a minute. maybe two. wall’s probably got a permanent ass print now.
finally he eases out slow, careful. sets you on your feet but keeps an arm around your waist because he likes it. kisses you again, gentle this time.
“shower?” he mutters.
you nod, smiling gently. “you’re buying me food after, bitch.”
he snorts. slaps your ass lightly. “yeah yeah. whatever you want.”
you both know he means it.
that night, you tell him about how the whole thing went down with changbin. how you feel about it, how you think he feels about it. he’s lying on his back, listening to you, watching you swing your legs and run your pretty little fingers down his chest as you talk. he understands you perfectly.
so, life keeps going on with these assholes. it’s still hot outside. it always makes hyunjin so irritated.
one afternoon you’re sitting on your couch trying to read something on your phone when jeongin and minho come over.
“—i told you it would work!”
“it didn’t work, you idiot.”
“it mostly worked!”
you look up slowly. “what did you do?”
minho just hums to let you know you’re not ignored and he’s just not in the mood to talk and grabs a beer from the fridge. jeongin flops down onto the couch next to you. which would be fine, except the second his elbow hits the cushion you hear a wet sound.
you look down. his elbow is absolutely pouring blood. like. pouring. a steady, disturbing stream that is now soaking directly into your couch fabric. hyunjin is going to lose his mind. why is it always jeongin who fucks up the couches hyunjin gets you?
you stare. “…jeongin.”
“yeah, baby?”
“your elbow is bleeding.”
he looks down. “yeah.”
“why?”
he shrugs. “i think i scraped it.”
the wound is not a scrape. it looks like someone tried to remove part of his arm.
“minho, sweetie, can you grab a towel on your way back?” you half shout.
he does. throws it at jeongin’s head.
hyunjin was stomping around when he saw another couch ruined.
another night you fall asleep early. your room is dark. window cracked open for the summer air.
the mattress shifts slightly. warm weight beside you. arms wrapping loosely around your waist. honestly it’s nice. one of them must’ve come over late.
you don’t even wake up fully. just mumble something and roll slightly toward the warmth.
morning. you wake up slowly, stretching slightly under the arms around you.
and immediately notice something very wrong.
the sheets are wet.
wet. sticky.
you sit up. look down. dark red stains everywhere. sheets. blanket. your shirt. someone’s arm draped across your stomach. blood is everywhere.
seungmin is sleeping next to you. completely shirtless. covered in dried blood.
you stare at him. then at the bed. then back at him.
now that you moved, he cracks one eye open, sees your face, then looks down at the sheets. “oh. shit. did you start your period or what? that’s a lot.”
you stare at him. blink. then shove him so hard he almost rolls off the bed. “you absolute fucking moron.” you hiss, already scrambling out of the sheets. “you got this in.”
he props himself up on one elbow in the bloody sheets. “relax. it’s not even a lot. guy barely bled. mostly on my pants anyway.” he pats the wet spot like it’s a pet. “you’re cute when you’re mad tho.”
you grab a pillow (the least bloody one) and start beating him with it while yelling every curse word you know. he catches your wrists eventually, flips you under him (still in the blood soaked bed, gross), and kisses you hard enough to shut you up. “love you too.” he mutters against your mouth. you bite his lip. he groans. you actually end up throwing up. he pats your back through it.
injuries are constant. they stab things. they punch things. sometimes they punch each other. sometimes they stab each other.
once you walk into the kitchen to find han and minho standing there bleeding.
“it barely touched you.” han mutters, frowning.
minho points at the blood dripping down his side. “there is a hole in me.”
“small hole.”
“a hole is a hole.”
“doesn’t jeongin say that always?”
you shake your head. “sit down.”
they both immediately obey. no matter how psychotic they are, they all behave when you’re patching them up. minho stays still the whole time, watching you work. han watches with complete fascination.
han is a usual victim. once he’s working again, meaning he holds a wrench next to chan and drops it on his own foot. screams, hops around on one leg, blood soaking through his sock because he split his big toe open.
chan had to drive him back to you.
“y/n it hurts so bad.” he wails. you make him sit on the toilet while you wrap it. he’s crying real tears, snot running, begging for kisses on his booboo like a toddler. you give him one peck on the forehead. he immediately gets hard. you slap a band aid on harder than necessary. he yelps. still hard. seungmin calls him a “thong wearing concussed fuckwit”
or seungmin and jeongin are in the park “training.” training means they duct tape kitchen knives to their hands like wolverine claws and try to spar. they both end up on the grass rolling around, bleeding, laughing, calling each other “pussy” and “bitchboy” while they try to pin each other. you watch from from a bench with hyunjin and a popsicle, unimpressed.
that said, hyunjin ties some random delivery guy to a chair somewhere, then spends three hours carving your name into the dude’s thigh in perfect cursive with a box cutter. he’s shirtless, sweat glistening on those pretty lines of his body, hair falling in his eyes while the guy screams. yeah no this is brutal, but he pauses every few letters to jerk off a little, slow, dreamy strokes, because your name makes him feel things.(???) finishes on the carving when he cums, then sighs dreamily.
felix “misses your taste” so bad he tries to recreate it. your taste is from when he chews on your fingers, but he kills a jogger, carves out a chunk of inner thigh, marinates it in strawberry jam then pan fries it while humming the spongebob theme. eats half, saves the other half on a plate in the fridge labeled “y/n’s dinner <3 do not touch or i bite dick.” han opens the fridge, sees it, screams “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS RED SHIT” assumes it’s evidence, and flushes it down the toilet. felix finds out, cries actual toddler tears, punches han in the dick. han punches back. they end up wrestling.
hyunjin tries to be romantic. i mean, he’s already romantic but for you he has to try. wrote a poem about you. he reads it to you in the bathroom while you’re brushing your teeth. you spit toothpaste on his thigh by accident. he cums in his jeans on the spot. whispers “that’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever done to me” you’re still not sure if he’s joking???
minho keeps leaving you “gifts.” last week it was a necklace made of teeth. human teeth. cleaned, polished, strung on black cord. “i pulled them myself. for you.” he said. you put it into one of your drawers gently.
or when jeongin invented a game. he called it “can hyunjin bend that way.” you still don’t fully understand how it started. apparently they were bored at hyunjin’s and changbin’s apartment, when jeongin said “you’re tall.”
hyunjin, who was sitting on the couch sketching something, didn’t even look up. “correct.”
“like really tall.”
“still correct.”
jeongin sat next to him. “do you think you bend?”
“…everyone bends.”
“yeah but like. do you bend?”
five minutes later they were in the middle of the living room with jeongin physically trying to fold hyunjin in half. hyunjin lasted about twenty seconds before yelling.
you’ve also accepted that you are permanently surrounded by muscle. seriously. the house gets hot and suddenly everyone’s shirtless. biceps everywhere. shoulders leaning in doorways. little freckles and lines and omfg. someone always lifting something heavy for no reason. sometimes you walk into a room and three of them are just standing there shirtless arguing about something stupid while holding knives and you have to mentally reset for a second.
and through all of this, you’re sneaking around with changbin. well, not sneaking around, just at each other when it’s possible. a hand brushing your back when no one’s looking. a look across a room full of idiots. sometimes a quick kiss in a hallway before someone inevitably barges in. you carding fingers through his hair, whisper “easy baby” against his ear, him exhaling shakily, then occasionally dragging someone to the sink because oh my god stop bleeding on my floor.
just again, these men did not feel before you. and before you, they didn’t touch much either. not the way people do when they like someone. sure, they fought. shoved each other. grabbed arms during arguments. wrestled occasionally when someone was being an asshole. fucked some people. that kind of touch. violent touch. practical touch.
but gentle touch? affection? holding hands? sleeping tangled together? all of those combined with feeling something? absolutely fucking not.
they weren’t lonely exactly. they had each other. nobody needed hugs. nobody needed someone to hold their hand. nobody woke up in the middle of the night wanting to curl around another human body just because it felt good.
and when you came into the picture, their brains, these cold, predatory, emotionally underdeveloped brains, went oh. oh shit. this feels good. suddenly their nervous systems are working in ways they’ve literally never experienced before. dopamine spikes. adrenaline mixed with comfort. physical closeness triggering weird chemical responses their bodies don’t understand.
now they want to touch you.
han is the most obvious case. we know that already. he’s draped over you constantly. arms around your waist. chin on your shoulder. face buried in your neck. legs thrown across yours whenever you sit down anywhere. it’s not even sexual most of the time. it’s just pure physical closeness. his brain figured out that touching you makes everything in his body feel calm and good and safe, and now he just neeeeds it!!
when you walk past him he reaches for you automatically. when you leave the room he looks confused for a second like someone turned the lights off in his brain. and if you sit down anywhere, couch, chair, bed, the floor, there’s about an eighty percent chance han will eventually appear and climb on you.
minho is violent by default. his baseline emotional state is somewhere between simmering rage and quiet murderous thoughts. so when his brain started wanting physical contact with you, it processed that information… hard.
when you’re walking together, say, through a store, his hand will reach out and take your pinky finger. and if you pull your hand away because you need to grab something from a shelf? his head snaps toward you. he stomps two steps closer and grabs your pinky again. like there. fixed it.
felix is even simpler. felix just loves you. that’s the only way to describe it. his brain has absolutely no complicated interpretation of what he feels. he just likes you. a lot. so he hovers. if you’re sitting somewhere, felix will eventually wander over and sit nearby,,not even necessarily touching you at first, just being in your space. then leaning closer. then his arm touching yours. then eventually resting his head on your shoulder. sometimes he’ll just look at you with that blank sweet expression and say something like “you smell nice.”
or “i saw a dog earlier.”
“cool.”
“i liked him.”
“great.”
he just wants to be near you.
changbin has this habit of placing a hand on your back when he walks past. sometimes he squeezes your shoulder when you say something funny. sometimes he rests his arm along the back of a chair behind you when you’re sitting together. he always knows exactly where you are in the room.
chan is a gentleman about it. seriously. the man will open doors for you, carry things, guide you through crowds with a hand lightly at your waist. always telling you he’s here.
seungmin is interesting. he loves touching you. he really does. but he doesn’t need it the way, i dunno, han does. seungmin could go hours without physical contact and be completely fine. but when he decides he wants you, then he wants you. he’ll grab you. pull you into his lap. hook an arm around your shoulders. kiss the side of your head.
hyunjin likes small contact. quiet contact. holding your hand while you’re walking somewhere. your shoulder leaning against his when you sit together. sometimes he’ll rest his head lightly against your shoulder when he’s tired.
he gets lots of it from the people he seduces just for them to kill later, but with you it’s completely different. yours, he wants.
jeongin… struggles with touch.
he doesn’t like people touching him. not really. he’ll tolerate it from the others when they’re fighting or drunk or wrestling, but real physical closeness makes something in him tense up. most physical contact annoys him. crowds irritate him. people grabbing him makes his skin crawl. his nervous system is wired for distance.
but he wants your touch. badly. but the second it actually happens, part of him hates it. not you. the sensation. the vulnerability. the skin on skin.
sometimes he’ll grab your wrist mid conversation just to hold it for a second. then he’ll suddenly let go.
“what?”
“nothing.”
“you grabbed my hand.”
“didn’t happen.”
five minutes later he’ll do it again. he’s a mess.
so when he holds your hand, it’s weirdly intense. gripping it a little too tightly. he’ll grab your hand and hold it obsessively while walking somewhere. like really hold it. then suddenly he’ll yank his hand away and step back two feet because something in his brain said too much.
you’ll look at him. he’ll glare at the ground. then ten seconds later he’ll grab your hand again. repeat this cycle for an entire afternoon.
sometimes he’ll lie down next to you and fall asleep with his head on your stomach without any problem. other times you’ll touch his arm and he’ll flinch slightly before forcing himself not to move away. because he wants it. he really does. he just doesn’t understand why it feels so overwhelming.
that’s the core of it for all of them. their brains are learning emotions late. most people start figuring this stuff out as teenagers. awkward first crushes. nervous hand holding. the understanding of what affection feels like. these men skipped all of that. they jumped straight from emotional numbness to full blown attachment.
their nervous systems are scrambling to process it. touch releases oxytocin. comfort. bonding. safety. chemicals their brains barely used before.
they don’t understand it. they just know it feels good. but none of them know how to handle what’s happening to them.
they’re not just experiencing emotions for the first time. they’re experiencing them all at once, and absolutely zero coping skills. which means their brains do what brains always do when confronted with something overwhelming, they start to panic.
they’re not used to missing someone. that concept literally didn’t exist for them before. before you, if someone left the room, that was it. they left. cool. whatever. now sometimes you’re gone for a few hours and something in their chest starts feeling.
and their brains don’t understand it. so they start acting strange.
one afternoon, for example, you left for a couple hours to run errands.
would be perfectly normal. but at hyunjin and changbin’s place, something weird started happening. hyunjin was sitting at the dining table, sketching something. quiet, focused, pencil moving across paper.
then he stopped. stared at the page. sighed. shifted in his chair. picked the pencil up again. drew two lines. stopped again.
changbin noticed eventually. “what’s wrong?”
“nothing.” hyunjin stared at the paper. “…she’s been gone a while.”
“yeah.”
“…hm.”
meanwhile somewhere else in the city, seungmin and minho were sitting on the hood of a car. seungmin had a cigarette. minho had a knife just… in case. god, he’s creepy. so creepy it’s a total panty dropper.
then seungmin looked at his phone. scrolled. locked it again. a minute later he unlocked it again.
minho watched him. “text her already.”
“i’m not texting her.”
“you’ve opened your phone six times.”
“i’m checking something.”
“you’re checking if she texted.”
“shut up.” they sat in silence for a while. “…i might go see her later.”
han doesn’t process emotions logically. some of the others at least realized that something is happening inside of them. he doesn’t. his brain just reacts. so when he starts missing you, it comes out as confusion. pure, bewildered confusion.
he’ll be sitting somewhere with the others. talking. laughing. then suddenly his face changes. he looks around.
“…where’s y/n?”
someone sighs. “not here.”
han blinks. “…oh.” then ten seconds later “…where’s y/n?”
“still not here.”
“oh.” five minutes pass. then he stands up. “i’m gonna go find her.”
someone grabs his shirt and drags him back down. “sit.”
“…okay.”
they went straight from nothing to oh my god what the fuck is this feeling and why is it happening inside my body. it scares the shit out of them. like the time someone casually mentioned you cut your finger. it was nothing. a tiny kitchen accident earlier that day. you sliced your finger while opening something and wrapped it in a bandage. you told someone about it, that someone mentioned it later while the guys were hanging out.
everyone else just nodded and kept doing whatever they were doing. except minho. he didn’t move. he didn’t react. he didn’t even blink much. he just sat there. staring straight ahead. completely still.
because inside his head something had just exploded. not outwardly. minho doesn’t do outward panic. his brain doesn’t process fear like that. but internally? imagine fucking hell. the idea of you being injured triggering this sudden, violent rush of adrenaline he didn’t know how to handle. his chest tight. jaw clenched. hands slowly curling into fists on his knees.
he didn’t say anything. didn’t move. just sat there staring forward while his brain tried to figure out why the thought of your finger bleeding made his entire body feel like it was about to tear something apart.
nobody noticed. they were too busy arguing about something.
eventually the conversation moved on and the feeling faded. but for a few minutes minho had been having what was basically a silent, internal panic attack. and he had absolutely no idea that’s what it was.
han is the opposite. han doesn’t hide it at all. when he worries, everyone knows.
one time someone mentioned you were out somewhere alone later than usual. that was it.
he immediately got up. “i’m going to check on her.”
“she’s fine.” someone said.
“what if she’s not?”
“she’s literally just at the store.”
han was already halfway to the door.
by the time you got home later that evening he had run across half the neighborhood looking for you. actually run. when he saw you walking toward your place he nearly tackled you in the middle of the sidewalk.
“there you are!” he grabbed you immediately, arms wrapping around your shoulders and waist at the same time, squeezing you tight. “i was worried.”
“i went to the store.”
“yeah but what if something happened.” his voice had that slightly whiny tone it gets when his brain is overwhelmed.
you patted his back. “i’m okay.”
he pressed his face into your neck. “i was very worried.”
“i can tell.”
he stayed like that for a while. just hugging you. your physical presence was the only thing convincing his nervous system to calm down.
the others handle the emotions differently. sometimes it turns into frustration, like when you’re not around for a while, the atmosphere changes. they don’t always realize why at first. they just get… irritated. restless. something important is missing. seungmin is even a bigger asshole. god he needs to be put in his place, i’m begging someone to shove a strap on into your hands and show him what’s up. anyways. his patience drops to zero. chan throws himself harder into work. garage. projects. anything to keep his brain busy. changbin goes to the gym and lifts weights, trying to exhaust the feeling out of his body. hyunjin drinks a little more than usual. someone take it AWAY from him omfg. jeongin becomes a whiny bitch. he’ll pace around, complain loudly about how boring everything is, accuse people of having no personality. really he just misses you. felix is the easiest to read. he’ll literally say it. “i miss y/n.” everyone ignores him, but they’re all feeling it.
their brains learned that being around you makes things better.
and their bodies react to all of this. because emotions are physical. love, attachment, comfort, excitement, those things all trigger actual biological responses. heart rate changes. hormones spike. blood flow shifts. and since their bodies have never really dealt with this combination of emotional and physical stimuli before, sometimes their systems just… glitch. like random arousal. popping brutal boners around you from total accident.
they’ll just be sitting next to you, your head resting on someone’s shoulder, your hand playing absently with their fingers, and suddenly their body reacts. it can come off as awkward sometimes, but luckily you’re understanding with them.
take jeongin. you were just… nice to him. that’s it. you passed him in the hallway one morning, ruffled his hair, said “looking good baby” and that’s fucking it.
he gets home, slams the door so hard the frame cracks, stomps to his bed he never makes, faceplants into a pillow, and just screams. legs kicking. fists pounding the cushions.
he stays like that for twenty minutes. screaming. then he sits up, panting, staring at the ceiling. he used to gut people for fun and now a compliment from you makes him want to cry and hump the nearest surface.
or he’ll be sitting at the kitchen table doing something with his crypto persona on dark web, minding his own business, and bam, your name pops into his head and his dick just wakes up. like gets rock hard just because sometimes his brain doesn’t know how to deal with you. he’ll groan, adjust himself, mutter “not again fuck” while the others snicker. worst is when han points it out (“bro u got a boner again??”) and jeongin keeps throwing forks at him. you always have to stop that.
and when you stop their bullshit in those lil shorts that are just so cute and jeongin likes so much? instant tent. han drops something so you bend over to pick it up for his dumbass? jeongin’s crossing his legs, muttering “fuck fuck fuck not now.” he’ll be mid conversation with chan about where to dump the next body and suddenly freeze, eyes glazing over because he remembered the way you pulled his his hair playfully last night. “yo man hold up i need a minute” and he just turns around, adjusts himself aggressively, and tries to play it off with a wink. chan actually laughs in his face.
minho is another one that becomes really affected by your tiny acts of affection, he just doesn’t show it. you give him one absent forehead kiss while passing through the living room, barely a peck, and he freezes. stands there for a full minute, unblinking, processing.
seungmin gets a casual “miss you already” text from you and punches a hole in the drywall. bc like why the fuck does that make him wanna smile. smiling is for pussies.
changbin paces the hallway holding his phone waiting for your “home soon” text. when it comes he does a little fist pump. “yes. yes. she still likes me. fuck yeah.” then immediately panics “what if she stops liking me tomorrow.” he’s sweet. (a fucking MURDERER)
the others take it better, but they’re all acting out in general. screaming into pillows. running laps. punching walls. humping furniture. crying on kitchen floors. jerking off to innocent memories. staring at walls. felix holding your hand, muttering “don’t go to the bathroom alone okay? bad things happen in bathrooms.” ???
you do try to be patient with them. you really do. you try to treat them like people. you try to redirect instead of scold. you try to keep the peace. gentle parenting might be the best word for it.
and sometimes it almost works. almost. other times… well. the beach days is a perfect example. let’s say even the beach day is going manageable. like… they haven’t killed anyone yet. maybe felix is splashing around in the water, playing with hyunjin. anything.
then seungmin walks past minho, who glances up, and casually says “your lazy eye’s worse in the sun.”
there’s a brief moment of silence. the kind of silence where everyone within ten feet instinctively knows something is about to happen.
seungmin slowly turns his head. “what.”
minho shrugs. “just saying.”
seungmin stares at him for about two seconds. then suddenly grabs minho by the hair and drags him toward the water. yanks him straight into it, then shoves his head under the water. hard.
you’re sitting on the towel watching them. just waiting.
after about ten seconds minho finally surfaces again, gasping slightly, wet hair stuck to his face. he wipes water from his eyes, then slowly smiles. now he smiles.
and just like that they walk back toward the towels like nothing happened. because for them that wasn’t even a fight, that was a casual interaction.
minho ends up next to you. so wet. he looks like a wet bird. it’s brutally adorable, and you just can’t resist.
you tug lightly on his arm. “come here.”
he comes closer and lets you pull him down until he’s half sitting in your lap. you wrap your arms around him, hold him while he’s completely still and nonverbal. he stares straight ahead at the water with that terrifying blank expression he has. except now his hair is dripping and you’re holding him like he’s your baby.
“hey y/n, do you want ice cream? me and felix are gonna buy some.” doesn’t even matter who asked, really.
“yeah, sure.”
they wander off. you rub your hand slowly up and down minho’s wet arm.
brutal respect for you tbh. because you try, you really try. you don’t yell. you don’t lecture like they’re children. you just talk. calm voice. soft tone. understanding. hold them like this.
“maybe next time we don’t comment on people’s eyeballs.” you say.
minho considers that. then shrugs slightly. “maybe.” which in his language actually means fine, whatever.
progress. sort of.
it matters a lot that they let you. no one else gets away with this. no one else could hug minho after he nearly drowned and not get shoved away. no one else could tell seungmin to calm down and have him actually listen. no one else could treat them the way they are and still be here.
gentle parenting serial killers is exhausting. but every once in a while, when minho sits quietly in your lap like a wet bird while you talk to the others and rock him a little at the same time, you think maybe it’s working. a little.
before you, wanting something was simple. they wanted food. they wanted alcohol. they wanted violence. they wanted the thrill of a hunt. you wanted something, you went and got it.
but they want you constantly, and they cannot always have you. and that, apparently, drives them fucking insane.
you’re in the living room folding laundry or whatever thing you do for murderers and han is in the shower, minding his own dumb business. but then he thinks about you. just one thought in his usually thoughtless little head, your laugh, how patient you are with him(which he can’t process as patience, he just knows it feels nice), the way you called him “good boy” last night, and boom, he wants you now. not sexual, just misses you.
turns the shower off, soap still dripping down his stomach, he steps out butt naked, dripping everywhere, cute little patch of pubes all dark and damp, those lil man nipples pebbled from the cold air, men are built so cute omg. he doesn’t even grab a towel. just pads straight to you, water trailing, arms out, big wet eyes, and launches himself into a hug from behind you.
“missed you.” he mumbles into your neck. his wet skin soaks your shirt instantly, and he’s trembling a little, and he just clings.
you pat his cheek. “baby you’re getting me all wet.” give him one more cheek pat, maybe a quick kiss on the tip of his nose, and gently push him back toward the bathroom. “go dry off, han. you’re dripping on the floor.”
he pouts the whole way back, ass cheeks flexing with every step(men and their tense little asses omfg) muttering something that you can’t quite catch.
you hear the hairdryer start up and then immediately stop what you’re doing and go after him because you do not want him electrocuted.
jeongin also… deals with it. it’s just with murder, but let’s be fucking for real what did we expect from him. he currently has some poor fucker tied to a workbench who doesn’t stand a chance.
jeongin has his axe. first swing takes the guy’s left arm clean off at the shoulder, blood sprays. second swing, right leg at the knee, bone shatters loud. guy’s screaming.
jeongin is not even looking at the body anymore, he’s monologuing to the ceiling about you, complaining about your current trio of bitches(that he knows of) third swing, axe buries in the sternum, cracks ribs. fourth, fifth, sixth, he’s swinging wild now, just pure emotional overflow. torso splits open. guts spill around. head lolls, jaw unhinged from the force. by the tenth swing the guy’s face is unrecognizable.
jeongin finally stops, panting, axe dripping, covered head to toe in red. stares at the mess. blinks. then mutters “fuck. i think i overdid it.” wipes his face with his sleeve (just spreads it more), pulls out his phone with bloody fingers, texts you, sends it. then sits on the floor in the gore puddle and waits for you to text back.
or like you’re at the stove flipping pancakes (because felix begged for them at 11pm), and felix is behind you, chin on your shoulder, arms around your waist. doesn’t say anything at first, just smells around.
then he grabs your free hand, brings your fingers to his mouth, and starts sucking on them. not gentle. full on nursing. tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing, little happy hums vibrating against your skin.
you try to pull away to flip the pancake. “felix, baby, i’m cooking.”
and he whines around your fingers, muffled “buf whey tasste lihe youuuw.” keeps sucking harder. moves to the next finger. then the thumb. then tries to fit three at once because “more better.” drool running down your wrist. you think maybe what development was supposed to go into his brain maybe went into instincts instead and his senses. like i don’t talk enough about how good his nose is.
now seungmin paired up with yearning is just fucking brutal. so when he wants you and you’re busy or across the room talking to someone else, he reacts the only way his brain knows how. he gets mean, because his brain, emotionally, is undeveloped. suddenly he’s starting arguments. throwing things. shooting walls again. picking fights with the others for absolutely no reason.
jeongin will be sitting on the couch minding his own business and suddenly seungmin is like “you breathe loud.” and jeongin is like “what.” and seungmin just stares at him with the quiet rage of a man who desperately wants to be kissing someone right now but can’t.
you’ll walk over five minutes later, touch his arm, and he immediately relaxes.
chan is not as obvious about it, but you can see it on him. typical manly shi. the way his hands settle on your waist when you pass by him. the way he always stands close to you.
it fascinates him, this new feeling inside of him. he’s curious about it. sometimes he’ll just sit next to you, arm around your shoulders, and quietly enjoy the fact that the ache goes away when you’re there. that’s enough for him. for now.
changbin is longing. yes, even now that he’s in the bitch circle. god that’s weird to write down but you know what i mean. but he’s patient. he’s controlled. even though he just found his person.
hyunjin is… hyunjin is a fucking circus. he’s so horrible. it can be gentle from him, like sitting beside you instead of across the room. sometimes you’ll look down and realize he’s absentmindedly holding your hand while sketching with the other.
but it can also be like… he can have whole breakdowns over how you’re “ruining him” because you made him feel this. he thinks he was fine before. he was empty and perfect, that’s what he knows of himself. sometimes jerks off to this whole thought chain because the way you messed him up is lowkey hot. he cums while crying real, pathetic tears. wipes his hand on the dead guy’s shirt next to him.
he used to carve faces off corpses for fun. now he carves little hearts with your initials into his own thigh just to feel something close to the way you make his chest hurt. writes your name in the steam on car windows after he kills someone in the backseat. fogs up the glass with his breath, traces “ y / n” with a bloody finger, then stares at it until it fades. one time he got so lost in thought he let the victim crawl halfway out the door before he even noticed. “shit, sorry man, she was just… really pretty today.” wrote you another poem later but puked on it.
he’d actually die for you. is already half dead without you anyway. he needs rehab. he needs you more.
minho kills more when he’s thinking about you too much. he trains harder. fights more. breaks things. and yet somehow, no matter how violent he is, his hand still finds your pinky when you’re walking together.
the unfortunate side effect of all this yearning, of all this sudden emotional awakening in eight psychopaths, is that they’re also… kind of creeps. not on purpose!! that’s the important part. they genuinely don’t mean to be. but when you take a group of men who have spent most of their adult lives stalking people through dark alleys, breaking into houses, watching targets from parked cars, and generally operating like highly functional predators… and then you give them a crush? their brains default to the only behavior patterns they know. which means sometimes they do things that would make a normal person go why the fuck are you standing there like that.
for example, the staring. they stare. they don’t even realize they’re doing it half the time.
you’ll just be in the kitchen doing something completely normal like pouring yourself a drink and suddenly you feel that they’re watching you. you turn around and three of them are just standing there. leaning in doorways. sitting at the counter. arms crossed. watching you.
han stares with his mouth open. chan is slightly better about it, he has enough self awareness to look away when you catch him watching you from across the room, but that doesn’t stop him from doing it. when you ask what’s up he just pulls you closer. what a man. changbin at least tries to behave like a normal human being, but even he occasionally forgets himself. sometimes you’ll turn around and find him standing there with that soft, slightly distracted look on his face. when you notice, he usually smiles a little and looks away.
minho just always ends up near you. you’ll move to another room, ten minutes later he is there too.
if felix he wants to look at you, he looks at you. if he wants to sit next to you, he sits next to you. if he wants to smell your hair because it smells nice? he might just lean down and do that.
seungmin does the slow walk by touch. the hand on your waist when passing behind you. the fingers brushing the back of your neck when you’re not expecting it. he loves scaring you. such a boy.
hyunjin sometimes stands slightly too close when you’re looking at something together. or rests his hand on the back of your chair while you’re sitting. or leans down a little when you’re talking.
and jeongin is probably the most self aware creep in the group. he knows exactly when he’s being weird, he just doesn’t always stop. sometimes he’ll lean in too close while talking. sometimes he’ll grab your hand and play with your fingers absentmindedly while staring at something else. sometimes he’ll rest his head on your shoulder and then immediately pull away. he’s a cunt.
or take the time you were walking down the street in the middle of the afternoon and had that strange feeling people get when they’re being watched. you glanced over your shoulder. nothing. kept walking. all until you spotted three very familiar idiots crouched badly behind a trash can.
jeongin was wearing sunglasses. minho was crouched. felix was not even hiding. he was just standing there smiling and waving when you made eye contact.
“why are you following me?” you asked.
jeongin leaned casually against the trash can. “we weren’t.”
“coincidence.” minho muttered.
felix was still waving.
or the time you accidentally bumped into a woman on the street.
“sorry.” you said.
she nodded.
you both moved on.
then you heard a sound behind you, a quick movement, a wet noise.
you turned.
and… hyunjin was standing there calmly. one, he wasn’t invited. two, he was wiping his knife clean. the woman was swimming in blood behind him on the pavement. then he slipped the knife away and offered you his hand like you were about to continue a pleasant afternoon walk.
being near you feels good.
and god, changbin feels that too.
just think of his hand brushing your lower back when the others aren’t looking. you hugging him just a little too long when he brings hyunjin over because hyunjin really wanted to see you but wasn’t in the mood to drive(he almost falls out the window while you and changbin are hugging). passing glances that last half a second too long before someone inevitably throws a knife into the wall or starts yelling.
the boys are always doing something stupid. that’s what makes it possible. they’re too busy fighting each other or inventing new dumb games to notice the way you and changbin disappear into another room for “a minute.”
for example. you’re all at hyunjin and changbin’s place. everyone is there except chan, who is apparently busy doing something mysterious and mechanical that involves his garage and probably a body. seungmin and minho are arguing about whether it’s physically possible to break a chair over someone’s back without the chair breaking first. felix is listening. head empty, maybe one thought of you and one of the mailman rolling around. han is half asleep on you. jeongin is just trying to mog the others in the room but isn’t doing very well so far. hyunjin is passed the fuck out on the couch, one arm over his face. he’s tired. he’s been working all day. probably drank something strong earlier. the man is unconscious.
you catch changbin’s eye across the room. neither of you says anything but somehow a full conversation happens anyway.
you slowly move han’s head off your shoulder. he grumbles but doesn’t wake up. you stand up. stretch casually. “i’m going to pee.” you say.
you are so not going to pee. you walk to the hall, ten seconds later changbin follows. you barely make it past the bathroom doorway before he grabs your waist and pulls you against him.
“hi.” he murmurs.
“hi.”
and then you’re kissing. immediately. he has been thinking about it all evening anyway.
it’s slow at first, then suddenly not anymore. suddenly you’re pressed against the counter and he’s leaning into you and you’re both trying not to make noise because oh my god there are literally six murderers in the other room.
somewhere behind the wall you hear jeongin yell “IF YOU BEND IT LIKE THIS—” followed by hyunjin shouting something in pain even though he was asleep two seconds ago.
when you two come back, minho looks at you immediately, broken leg of a chair in his hand. “i was right.”
“good job.” you say.
he narrows his eyes.
you two repeat the first kiss situation. the next to the sleeping hyunjin in his room one, which is extra awkward considering he designed that entire apartment himself and takes weird pride in it. like you go in to ask him if he wants food and instead you end up pressed against the wall by changbin, kissing again. grinding against him for a second before both of you immediately freeze again because hyunjin shifts in his sleep.
fuuuuck, you like him. he’s so unique, all eight are. and you also like han. and seungmin. and chan. you like them all the same, but maybe like chan a little more now.
like, take this, you’re sitting on the couch. chan is sideways on the couch with your legs draped across his lap while the two of you are talking about something. he talks with his hands sometimes, tapping lightly against your leg while he explains things.
changbin is heading somewhere. keys in one hand. jacket over his shoulder. he slows when he sees you, and his eyes flick to your legs in chan’s lap. then to chan. then back to you.
there’s a little pause and you can literally see the thought forming in his head.
chan glances up. their eyes meet for half a second. he lifts an eyebrow. like go on then.
“i’m heading out.” changbin says to you, and now that chan gave him that “permission”(wasn’t needed), he leans down to press a kiss on your cheek.
you smile. “okay.”
he straightens up again. “see you later.”
gets himself together. walks out. door closes.
silence.
chan is still holding your legs. he’s staring at the door for a second, then he looks back at you. “…bold.”
okay he deserves a big fat kiss for that.
what he doesn’t deserve(he deserves fucking prison for being a serial killer but anyways) is that the other boys keep hanging out at his place. he never invites anyone(except you). he never agrees. they keep coming over uninvited???
which is actually because they each trust chan with their lives, but whatever.
like today, he only invited you and hyunjin over. and everyone else showed up anyway. they’re fucking brutal. someone’s drinking straight from chan’s water bottle.(that his sister got him because why would chan buy himself a water bottle) someone else is already shirtless and sweaty and is rubbing all that sweat over chan’s couch. han already ate half the fridge. jeongin spat into one of chan’s shoes when chan wasn’t looking. (insert the cherry on top picture from tiktok comment sections)
you’re sitting for a while, surrounded by noise and bodies and heat and men, until eventually you stand up. “bathroom.” you mutter.
han looks up immediately. “i’ll—”
“no, honey.” you cut him off gently. “i’ll survive.”
he frowns. you slip away before he can attach himself to you again.
the hallway is dark, the light isn’t on. the noise from the main room muffled behind walls. chan keeps his place dim anyway, but at night it’s really calm. good to walk around when you wake up sometimes in the middle of the night.
you make it halfway down the hall before you hear footsteps behind you. one arm around your waist, other on your wrist to pull you back.
changbin’s scent, then his lips on yours.
and then you’re kissing him.
your back hits the wall with a soft thud.
his mouth is a little clumsy because changbin’s always a little too eager when it’s just the two of you. lips just all over yours, the bottom one fuller, slightly chapped but getting wetter now. his tongue slips in next, slow, sliding against yours.
there’s too much spit, too much hunger. drool starts to gather at the corner of his mouth, a shiny string slipping down his chin because he’s so focused on devouring you he forgets to swallow. you feel it drip onto your jaw.
you part from him and chase the saliva line with your tongue, licking the warm wet trail right off his skin. he shudders hard at that, hips jerking forward so his bulge presses heavy against your thigh.
“fuck… baby.” he mumbles against your lips, the word ending in another messy kiss. his hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, holding you exactly where he wants while he tilts his head and goes deeper.
he accidentally bumps your teeth with his when he gets too excited, lets out a soft embarrassed laugh that turns into a moan when you bite his bottom lip. his free hand slides down to grip your ass, squeezing once, twice, then gripping when he feels your hand slide up his neck. with that hand, you feel a tiny bead of sweat roll down the side of his neck, warm, slick, and you part to lick that too, dragging your tongue up the column of his throat until he tilts his head back with a quiet “shit… yeah, just like that.”
one of his hands leaves your hair to cup your face, thumb stroking your skin while his tongue fucks slowly into your mouth again. more drool slips, messy, dripping down both your chins now. you lick it all up, greedy, sucking on his tongue when he offers it, then pulling back just to plant three rapid little kisses on his top lip, his bottom lip, the corner where it curves up when he smiles at you. then just kissing again.
a voice from behind him in the dark: “i’m fucking after you two.”
you jerk away from changbin so fast you nearly hit the wall again. “what the fuck—”
changbin doesn’t react much, just turns his head slightly.
you squint into the darker part of the hallway. “…minho?”
a shape shifts slightly. he steps forward just enough for you to make out his pretty face. yes, confirmed, that’s minho. he’s been standing there. just… standing there. in the dark. watching.
you watch him. “why are you just standing there? in the dark?”
“i like it here.”
“…oh.”
changbin, meanwhile, has not moved far. and he just leans in again. minho isn’t even a factor, like there isn’t a whole third person standing in the dark watching this, changbin’s hand slides back to your waist, pulling you closer again, and his mouth finds yours like nothing interrupted in the first place. that’s about how much he cares of being caught.
you make a small, surprised sound against his lips because seriously? right now?
yeah changbin doesn’t care. and… even to you, there is something deeply, ridiculously, unfairly hot about being kissed like that while someone else is watching. think back to when seungmin made you kiss chan in front of him. hot.
“you’re not even subtle.” minho mutters. his tone is flat but not pleased. interested though.
changbin pulls back just enough to look at you, then over his shoulder at minho again, completely calm. “don’t have to be.”
minho huffs quietly.
“you’re not going to, like… leave?” you ask. “i mean not that i don’t like you here babe, you know that, just—“
“no.”
“why?”
“i was here first.”
“…you were just hiding in the hallway?”
“i wasn’t hiding.”
“you were in the dark.”
“i like the dark.”
you stare at him for a second in silence.
then changbin tilts his pretty head and kisses you again.
minho shifts his weight, still leaning against the wall. “you’re taking a while.”
both of you ignore that. it makes it ten times hotter.
“okay.” you say after a bit, breath a little uneven. “i actually came here to pee.”
“right.” changbin murmurs.
minho gestures lazily toward the bathroom door. “it’s right there.”
“thank you.” you say dryly.
then you walk past them, muttering under a “fucking psychos…” your breath.
when you finally make it into the bathroom, alone, you lock the door behind you(though all of them can pick the lock, even han and felix because the others taught them and they’re not that dumb that they don’t have muscle memory), and finally pee.
and when you’re done, you move to the sink, turning the tap on, cool water running over your hands. it’s quiet in here. calm. chan’s man bathroom. so… man. manly is not even the right word, this is just such a man environment.
you stare down at your hands for a second as you rub soap into them, and you think about felix.
he’s lucky as fuck that he stumbled into these boys, because left to his own devices he’d probably have eaten something poisonous by now or accidentally set himself on fire. he needs to be taught. constantly. patiently. sometimes with a firm hand on the back of his neck.
you’re the one who had to sit him down in the bathroom like a toddler and make him watch while you scrubbed your own hands, then guided his small paws under the faucet. “soap, dummy. actual soap. not just water.” he stared at the bubbles, then grinned so wide when they foamed up that he almost forgot why you were there. now he washes his hands every single time he comes in from a kill or handles “dinner” but he still sings the alphabet song (wrong order, wrong tune) under his breath because that’s what you taught him to time it. he gets proud as fuck when you check and say “good boy, no blood under your nails this time.”
years back, when he first discovered porn(the dumbass clicked every pop up) he got hooked fast and hard. didn’t understand moderation, didn’t understand why his dick hurt after the tenth video in a row, didn’t understand why he felt guilty and empty after. he’d just sit there in the dark with his laptop each night and feed into the new addiction.
chan caught him one night looking like death warmed over, eyes bloodshot, chafed to hell, dehydrated, and chan just sighed, closed the laptop, and sat him down on the couch.
chan didn’t judge. just talked him through it in that calm, manly way of his. explained why it is bad for him, explained how the brain gets fried on endless new things, explained that real sex is better than any screen anyway. he made felix delete the tabs, block the sites, and report back every day. limited access to his phone too. kept him busy. physically dragged him into other activities when he started getting restless. took months, but felix kicked it. still gets random boners from nothing now, but at least they’re because of you, not because he binged sixteen hours of step sibling roleplay.
minho was the one who taught him how to approach cats.
felix loves animals, like genuinely, deeply, innocently loves them. especially cats. but his problem is, he has no concept of not being overwhelming.
so his version of approaching a cat used to be see cat, get excited, walk straight at it, reach out immediately. which obviously resulted in the cat running away every single time. or scratching him. or both.
minho watched him get scratched to shit three times in one week, then finally grabbed him by the collar mid sprint. dragged him to a curb, made him stay still while minho crouched down, clicked his tongue soft, let the cat come to him. felix mimicked it, awkward, too loud at first, then quieter when minho glared. took weeks of daily lessons. now felix can get almost any cat to rub on his legs if he’s patient enough. when one finally lets him pet it he looks back at minho like “did you see?? i did it!!”
hyunjin taught him how to walk a dog properly, even though hyunjin doesn’t even like dogs. his family had one lil ratty dog while hyunjin grew up(that he always wanted to kick into the wall but never did), that’s genuinely only why he knows that skill. (yup in this universe there’s no kkami and hyunjin just has to die when a ratty little dog interacts with him. doesn’t even like the big ones that much either)
once, felix’s aunt’s let’s say normal sized dog was at felix’s place. just for a week. felix used to yank the leash, or let the dog drag him into traffic because “he wants to go fast!!”
hyunjin showed him loose leash walking, treats, how to read tail wags. felix kept forgetting and sprinting ahead, so hyunjin just took over and made felix follow him, who eventually got it.
hyunjin also taught him how to shave his balls. felix came to him one day red faced and complaining about he tried and it itches now and this and that and hyunjin laughed so hard he spilled whiskey, but ended up explaining to him with zero shame. talked him through it step by step. felix was terrified the whole time, kept squeaking “what if i cut it off???” and hyunjin told him “then you’ll have a cool scar story, won’t you.” felix survived with only one tiny nick.
these boys really are brutally adorable when you zoom out. eight grown ass serial killers who carve people up for fun, but half their brainpower goes to making sure felix doesn’t poison himself with expired yogurt or chase han into traffic. they’d burn the world down for you, but they’ll also spend forty minutes showing felix how to fold a fitted sheet because “y/n likes a tidy house.”
they’re completely, fundamentally fucked up, but then there’s this side of them. this… taking care of each other. teaching each other things they should’ve learned years ago. filling in the gaps where something in their development just… didn’t happen.
made for each other. all of them. felix is the luckiest dumbass alive to have them. to have you.
it’s quiet in the hallway. you love them. you do. but jesus christ sometimes you need a breather. and here comes your mistake, thinking you’d get five minutes of peace in a house full of men who collectively share one brain cell when it comes to you.
you stand there for a second. just… silence. no boys being boys. no seungmin shooting something. no jeongin talking. no hyunjin deep throating a bottle of whiskey. no minho throwing things around. no chan catching the things and breaking it on seungmin’s head. no changbin to hold felix back from going after the mailman. no han accidentally knocking into furniture.
you take a breath. this is nice. this is… too nice. something is wrong.
you hurry back to the living room, really hoping that your boys are still alive(yes, your boys, crazy that we got here from them following you on the street)
but they look… fine. almost how you left them, just now han jumps up when he sees you and comes over to hold onto you. arms around your waist, lifting you slightly off your feet for a second before settling, face buried into your shoulder.
“hi, y/n. you won’t believe what happened, chan totally got into an argument with hyunjin over hyunjin breaking the glasses in the house again but then minho came back and told us that he saw you and changbin kiss in the hallway and that shut everyone up he’s so nice—“ he goes on, way too loud, way too happy.
you look past him. everyone is staring. openly.
chan is leaning back on the couch, completely calm, one arm draped over the backrest, meeting your eyes. there’s that tiny, knowing psycho look of his. he saw this coming three business days ago.
seungmin is next to him, one leg bouncing, expression somewhere near annoyed. “took you long enough.”
you raise a finger at him. he shrugs, unbothered.
it’s so weird, sometimes he obeys and sometimes you just can’t deal with him.
jeongin groans. kicks and bitches around. falls into hyunjin’s lap. hyunjin immediately pushes him off the couch with a soft thump onto the floor.
felix is sitting forward, elbows on his knees, staring at you. “do we get turns?” he asks.
everyone turns to look at him.
“what?” he says sweetly. he does not understand. at all. but he’s supportive in spirit.
changbin is sitting on the couch like a good fucking boy. watching you. there’s a softness in his gaze(which is always there for you), which is crazy for a killer this brutal, but also a quiet tension now that it’s out in the open. he doesn’t mind, but wants you fine before anything else.
and minho is looking very pleased with himself.
“i think it’s good.” han says, genuinely. “more is better.”
you let out a short laugh. “yeah baby, whatever.”
“i just thought transparency was important.” minho says casually.
“you enjoyed this.” you mutter.
he shrugs. “a little.”
you can’t even blame him. he’s in love for the first time in his life, that kind of feeling doesn’t sit quietly. not in him. not in any of them. it rots. it claws. it demands attention.
and you have multiple of them already, letting more in. of course he had to get immature. of course he told.
seungmin leans his head back, looking at the ceiling.
“i don’t care that much.” he tells you. it’s important that he’s saying this so you know, not so that the others know. who cares about them. he wants you to know. “i just hate that he gets to feel special now.” he jerks his thumb toward changbin.
changbin huffs a quiet laugh. “i don’t feel special.”
“you should.” jeongin mutters.
han squeezes you tighter. “you kissed him like you kiss me?”
“not the question to ask right now, baby.”
he thinks about that. “…okay. but was it the same?”
you cover his mouth with your hand.
felix raises his hand sweetly. “is it too late to join?”
everyone turns to look at him again. always this fucker.
“you should come over tonight.” han tells changbin, still on you. “to our place.”
you look at him. “…you mean my place. where you just… live now without asking.”
“yeah!”
changbin huffs a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. aware of all the eyes on him. he glances at you. “if that’s fine with the boss.”
you shrug. “it’s fine.”
han lights up immediately. yanks at your sleeve a little in happiness.
“oh, so we’re doing sleepovers now.” jeongin mutters from the couch.”
“we’ve been doing sleepovers.” seungmin says. “you’re just not invited.”
“yet.” jeongin says, pointing at him.
“keep dreaming. anyways, i’m coming too.”
chan exhales softly, already pushing himself up from the couch. “i’ll come by later.”
jeongin’s eye actually twitches.
felix leans over to him, patting his back. “it’s okay.”
“don’t talk to me right now.” he kicks the leg of the couch. hard.
and in that fucking second chan grabs jeongin’s arm, twists it back.
jeongin yelps. “okay— okay— point made— jesus—”
“don’t kick my furniture.” chan says calmly. lets go.
jeongin rubs his arm, glaring. “…you’re all in terrible moods.”
han, meanwhile, is still focused on the important part to his little brain. he looks at changbin again, genuinely excited. “you can stay in my spot.”
you snort. “you don’t have a spot.”
“i do.” he insists. “it’s the left side.”
“that’s just where you end up every night.”
“mhm.”
“yeah. okay.” changbin mutters.
felix suddenly perks up. “should i come too?”
“no.” seungmin, hyunjin and jeongin say at once.
he blinks. “…okay.”
han tugs at your hand lightly. “let’s go, y/n.”
you look at him, at the others. “yeah. sure, baby. bye.”
there’s a chorus of “bye, y/n” from the ones not coming with you.
outside, han is still holding your hand, swinging it slightly, completely forgot everything else the second you stepped out. changbin walks beside you, a little closer than before. seungmin behind you, complaining to chan who is already on his phone.
“i’ll drive.” changbin says. he’s already pulling his keys out, glancing at you just long enough to check your reaction, but han is already dragging you into changbin’s car(he loves that car) so whatever guess it’s decided. seungmin just pats changbin on the shoulder and starts to get into the car too. great.
chan is still by the curb, leaning against his car, phone in hand, typing something out.
you catch his attention without saying anything, so he looks up. he reads the situation instantly. his gaze flicks from you, to changbin, to han on you, to seungmin already halfway to the car.
“i’ll catch up.” he says. he always moves on his own timing.
you fight han off to give him a kiss on the cheek.
behind you, seungmin makes a small annoyed noise. “are we done with the goodbye tour or—”
“relax.” chan says without even looking at him.
seungmin clicks his tongue but doesn’t push it further.
“…i didn’t get one.” han says.
you turn to him. “you get like ten a day.”
he pouts. annoying little bitch. you roll your eyes, grab his face, and kiss his cheek quickly just to shut him up. problem solved.
changbin is unlocking the car. “get in before someone else decides they’re coming too.”
“felix might still try.” you mutter.
“don’t even joke about that.” seungmin says, already in the passenger seat.
he ends up entertaining changbin through the drive there. they talk while you have to deal with han’s bitch ass. okay jk you love him.
what does chan have to do that is more important than his queen y/n? the answer is, of course, burying a body with hyunjin. it’s about an hour later, they’re already somewhere deep in the woods, the dirt is wet, and it makes the shovel heavier a bit. but they’re strong, they can deal with it.
chan’s sleeves are rolled just enough to keep them clean. his hands, though, are a different story.
hyunjin is not like that. hyunjin is standing knee deep in the half dug grave, breathing.
“i’m just saying,” he mutters, jamming his shovel down harder than necessary. “this is fucking ridiculous.”
chan doesn’t look up. “you say that about everything.”
“yeah, because everything lately is fucking ridiculous.”
there’s a dull thud as hyunjin hits a rock. he swears under his breath, kicks it like that’ll fix anything, then bends to yank it out. he tosses it aside with more force than needed.
“we used to be normal.” hyunjin continues, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist, leaving a faint smear of something dark. “you know? kill, dump, move on.”
chan lifts another heavy scoop of dirt and tosses it aside neatly. “we were never normal.”
“you know what i fucking mean.”
“i do, i just don’t care.”
“ha. of course you don’t. you’re one of the boyfriends.” god, that feels good to finally say into chan’s face.
chan finally straightens a little, resting one hand on the shovel handle. “if you have something to say, say it properly.”
“oh, i’ve got a lot to say. i’ve been holding it in all fucking night, because god forbid i ruin the little polycule you’ve got going on.”
chan exhales slowly through his nose. patience. always patience. “be specific.”
hyunjin looks ridiculous. dirt on his arms, jeans ruined, a smear of something definitely not dirt across his pretty jaw. cigarette tucked behind his ear. “four. she’s dating four of you.”
“i’m aware.”
“no, like—four.”
“i can count.”
“can you?”
chan keeps digging. “it’s handled.”
“handled. yeah, man. looks real fucking handled from where i’m standing in a grave at two in the morning.”
“you’re in the grave because you lost rock paper scissors.”
“i lost because seungmin cheats.”
“you always say that.”
“because he does.”
chan shrugs like that’s not his problem. because it isn’t.
“han is just useless. like, actually fucking useless. i don’t even know how he’s still alive. he’s glued to her and she just—lets him.”
“i don’t see the issue.”
hyunjin stares at him like he wants to throw something, but there’s nothing to throw except dirt and honestly that would just make his life worse. he continues. “seungmin is always starting shit. i swear to god, one day he’s gonna fuck something up so badly we can’t clean it. someone like him is not good for y/n, but i can’t say it into his face because he will kill me in my sleep.”
“he kills people over less.”
“exactly why i don’t want him around y/n. and when did changbin even—what, grow a heart? since when does he get to just walk in and— ugh. fuck. it’s messy, all of it. it’s fucking messy, chan. it’s not what y/n deserves.” y/n deserves you, you mean to say, hyunjin.
“…you’re not wrong.” chan admits.
“then why the fuck are you acting like it’s fine? you’re being selfish. all of you are. there is no universe where this is good for y/n.” there we go. it’s not just about him being jealous, he’s also scared of something bad happening to you. he’s looking out for you, that’s what’s really happening. he loves his boys but thinks this is terrible for you, and for fuck’s sake, he was the first, he’s supposed to know you better than any of them but that chance flew away the second han kissed you.
“because it is.”
hyunjin lets out a disbelieving scoff. “you’re fucking delusional.”
“careful.”
hyunjin lets out a long breath, looking off into the dark like he’s trying to find patience out there somewhere.
“i don’t like them touching her.” he admits.
“yeah.” chan says.
“that’s it?”
“what do you want me to say.”
“i don’t know, man, something deep. you’re usually better at this.”
“dig.”
hyunjin groans but bends down anyway, starting to actually move dirt now instead of just standing there like a decoration. i mean he does look good but c’mon he has shit to do. “if she dumps all of you, i’m gonna laugh.” he mutters.
“she won’t.”
“you sound very sure.”
“i am.”
“you would kill for that or—”
“dig, hyune.”
“yeah, yeah, alright, fuck.”
the hole’s deeper now. the air’s colder. chan’s pace hasn’t changed, but there’s a weight sitting between them now that wasn’t there before. heavy. annoying.
hyunjin drags the back of his hand across his mouth, leaving another streak of dirt.
“it’s stupid.” he mutters.
chan closes his eyes because why is this bitch speaking again. “what is?”
“this.”
“be specific.”
“this, man.” he gestures, nearly losing his balance in the hole and catching himself with a curse. “i don’t even know what the fuck this is. it’s not like before, nothing’s like before. i used to know exactly what i wanted. it was easy. now it’s… it’s y/n. all the time. i see something, i think of her. i hear something, i think of her. it’s fucking annoying. i don’t like that they get to have her.”
chan’s shovel hits something harder, rock maybe. he adjusts, keeps going. “i know.”
“no, you don’t.”
“i do.”
“no, you don’t. because you have her. you don’t get it from the outside. you weren’t even upset today when minho told us her and changbin made out.”
“because i knew.”
“since when?”
“weeks.”
hyunjin blinks. “weeks? weeks?”
“yeah.”
“since when, chan?” there’s a tone there now. dangerous, coming from him. not at chan, not really, but it’s there.
chan glances down at the hole, then back at him. “when you cut your arm.”
hyunjin frowns, thrown.
“you were asleep.” chan continues. “i came over to check on you. i went to your room.”
there’s a pause.
hyunjin’s expression changes. slowly. something clicking into place that he really, really wishes hadn’t. “…no.”
“yeah.”
“no.”
“yeah.”
“you’re fucking with me.”
“i’m not.”
“chan.”
“they were kissing on your bed next to you.”
silence.
hyunjin rubs a hand over his face. “…did she—” he stops, swallows. “did she look at me?”
“no.”
“cool. cool. that’s great.”
chan watches him. “you gonna keep digging, or just stand in the hole?”
“…fuck you.”
“valid.”
hyunjin exhales hard, reaches up, grabs the cigarette from behind his ear, shoving it between his lips.
pats his pockets.
left. right. back.
nothing.
he freezes.
pats again. harder this time.
“no, no, no—”
chan doesn’t even look surprised. “lost it?”
“i didn’t lose it.” hyunjin growls, already climbing out of the grave in a rush, boots slipping in the dirt. “it’s here.”
“you always say that.”
“because it is.” he hauls himself up, stumbling slightly as he hits solid ground, immediately digging through his jacket pockets. “where the fuck—” he checks again. and again. and again. getting more frantic each time.
“you’re gonna tear your clothes.” chan says.
“i don’t give a shit about the clothes—where is it— did you take it.”
“why would i take your lighter?”
“because you’re a controlling asshole.”
“i have my own.”
“well i don’t, apparently—”
he checks his pockets again. useless. empty. cigarette still hanging from his mouth in a weird little angle. his breathing’s off now. not huge, just enough to notice for a psycho like chan.
chan watches him for a second, then goes back to digging. “check the car.” he says.
“i had it at the car, chan.”
“then retrace your steps.”
“my steps are here. i’ve been here.”
“then it’s here.”
“i know that, that’s the fucking problem—”
he looks horrible. hair messy. moving fast.
“you good?” chan asks.
“yeah, man.” hyunjin says. “i’m fucking fantastic. love hearing that the girl i’m—” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening. “that she was making out with someone else on my bed while i was bleeding out. really adds to the night.”
“you weren’t bleeding out.”
“you get the point.”
“i do.”
hyunjin shakes his head, looking away. “…i need that fucking lighter.”
“you need to calm down.”
“i’ll calm down when i find it.”
“that’s not calming down, that’s distracting yourself.”
“same thing.”
“not even close.”
hyunjin exhales, long and slow, cigarette still unlit between his lips. “i’m gonna find it.” he says, more to himself.
“good plan.”
“shut up.”
he starts walking off a few steps, scanning the ground.
chan watches him for a second longer, then sighs quietly, grabbing hyunjin’s lighter from his pocket. bitch had it there the whole time. “hey.”
hyunjin turns.
chan flicks it once. holds it out.
hyunjin just stares at it. then at him. then back at it. “…you’re a dick.”
“i know.”
he walks back over anyway. leans in. the flame catches the cigarette, tip glowing faintly in the dark. he inhales, deep. holds it. then exhales, shoulders dropping just a fraction. “…thanks.”
chan nods, snapping the lighter shut, putting into into hyunjin’s pocket himself. that’s brutally intimate. “yeah.”
hyunjin takes another drag, quieter now. not calm, not really, but less like he’s about to rip something apart with his bare hands. he flicks ash to the side, glancing back at the half dug grave.
“…we still gotta finish this, huh.”
“we do.”
“fuck my life.”
“get back in the hole.”
“…yeah, man. yeah.”
chan finally gets to your place around three am. he’s got his own key, has for months now, the chill motherfucker earned it by never making a big deal out of anything. he steps inside, locks it behind him.
you’re on the couch, legs spread wide across seungmin’s lap, back arched, han around your leg. changbin on your other side, and the four of you are locked in the sloppiest, hungriest three way kiss he’s ever seen in his fucking life.
it’s obscene.
seungmin has one hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head so he can claim the left side of your mouth, tongue sliding in deep, slow drags, teeth catching your bottom lip hard enough to make you whimper into him. changbin’s mirroring from the right, softer but no less greedy, lips plush and wet, sucking gently on your tongue before letting it slip back into your mouth so he can chase it again. your lips are swollen, shiny with spit from both of them, and every time one pulls back even a fraction the other dives in deeper, tongues meeting over yours, filthy, sliding. spit strings between your lips when seungmin pulls back for a breath, only for changbin to lick it up immediately, chasing the taste.
han is too busy being a dumb desperate fucker. face buried in your thighs, tongue lapping wet stripes up your skin. he’s grinding his hips forward in helpless little jerks, hard cock rubbing against your calf through his pants, whining pathetically every time you shift and give him more friction.
chan just stands there for a solid five seconds, keys still dangling from his fingers, watching this absolute clusterfuck of limbs and mouths and grinding.
why the fuck does this always happen to him?
every single time he walks in it’s the exact moment someone’s got their tongue down your throat or their hand up your shirt or their dick halfway inside you. last week it was han and seungmin spit roasting you over the kitchen island while you tried to eat cereal. the week before that seungmin had you bent over the arm of this very couch with his face between your legs. and of course let’s not miss that chan had walked in on you kissing next to the sleeping hyunjin. it’s brutally hilarious. he’s not even mad. he’s just… resigned. and hard as fuck already.
for changbin, this is insane. this is huge. they all just found out about him today. today. and now he’s here, in the middle of this, not stepping aside, not waiting his turn. jumped into the cold, deep water, now listening to the wet sounds of tongues and han’s puppy whimpers. that’s not just a step, that’s a fucking leap.
“…didn’t take you long.” chan murmurs, mostly to himself.
seungmin breaks the kiss with a slow, filthy pull, string of spit snapping between his lip and yours. looks over your shoulder at chan with that shit eating smirk. “took you long enough. we started without you.”
“you couldn’t wait?” chan asks.
“oh.” seungmin snorts, face shiny with spit. “please.”
changbin flushes bright red, poor thing still gets embarrassed even when he’s literally got his tongue in your mouth two seconds ago, but he doesn’t pull away. again, huge for him.
chan glances at him briefly. “you’re adjusting quickly.”
“…i decided not to hesitate.” changbin replies, quiet.
chan hums. approving. a little. “good.”
all while han is whining some “chan, hi, come here—she smells so good today—”
chan exhales through his nose, half laugh half groan, and finally moves. drops his keys on the side table, shrugs out of his jacket, adjusts the obvious bulge in his jeans because han’s desperate humping is doing things to him. “y’all are animals.” he mutters.
he climbs onto the couch, knees sinking into the cushions, hovering over you, caging you in with seungmin and changbin still on you.
you tilt your head back immediately, lips parted, still glossy from the other two.
“hey, sweetheart.” he says, low, then he leans down and kisses you slow. deep, controlled, tongue sliding in lazily, tasting the mess the others left behind. one big hand cups the back of your neck, thumb stroking your jaw, while the other braces on the couch so he doesn’t crush you.
seungmin gives a sound, pleased. changbin makes this soft noise against your shoulder. han slows a little, humming into your skin.
chan glances at the other three. “move over. i’m not watching from the doorway again.”
seungmin snorts. “make us.”
chan sighs, so done with seungmin’s shit, but changbin scoots away a little to give him space, eyes wide.
up until right now? the most he ever got was grinding against you in the dark, both of you still fully dressed, your little moans in his ear while he tried not to bust in his jeans. that was it. that was the peak.
and now he’s watching three other guys absolutely maul you.
the tension is fucking brutal, thicker than the blood they all spill on a daily basis. sexual tension so thick it’s choking him. he’s never felt anything like this. not even close.
now seungmin is mouthing on your neck while chan is kissing you. han has his face pressed to the inside of your thigh, grinding his cock against you still, little wet spot already forming. he’s whining, hips jerking in helpless rhythm while he mouths at your skin.
changbin is sitting there frozen, cock so hard it hurts, leaking through his boxers, staring at all of it. he’s never seen you like this. the energy isn’t normal sex energy. it’s more. overwhelming.
they notice him staring.
seungmin pulls away from you. “c’mere. she’s been waiting for you.” he shifts so he’s kneeling next to the couch, pulls you a little toward the middle so there’s space right in front of you.
chan helps, behind you now, sitting upright against the arm of the couch, big calm chest your new backrest. he pulled you back against him easy, one massive hand splayed across your stomach under your shirt, thumb stroking slow circles. he’s not rushing anything. just holding you open, chin on your shoulder. “easy, baby. let him learn. he’s been waiting real polite.”
han is the pathetic cherry on top, just hugging your leg and humping and whining, teeth scraping the skin right above your knee while he humps faster, little pathetic “uh-uh-uh” noises escaping every thrust.
changbin’s heart’s hammering so loud he can hear it over han’s noises. he never felt anything like this before you. never wanted anything this bad. killing used to be enough, now it’s just background static while his entire soul spins around the wet spot he can already see forming on your shorts. the others are letting him have the most. because he’s new. because they’re generous bastards when they wanna be. or maybe they just love watching him lose his mind.
“c’mere.” chan says, voice so so so calm, and he adjusts you higher on his chest so your ass is basically in changbin’s face now, legs spread wider. “go on, she’s yours tonight.”
seungmin helps, mean hands gripping your thighs, yanking them apart, presenting you.
changbin’s throat clicks when he swallows. “i—fuck—”
“don’t be shy.” seungmin murmurs, reaching over to grab changbin’s wrist and pull his hand to your thigh. “touch her. she wants it.”
watching you nod, changbin’s fingers shake as they land on your skin. warm. soft. trembling himself. he looks up at you and you give him that smile. he leans in slow, kisses you. soft at first, then deeper when you open for him, tongue tentative until seungmin growls “harder” and chan chuckles “she can take it.”
han tugs at the hem of your shorts, whining “off—please—”
seungmin nuzzles his pretty face into yours lovingly, mockingly. “you heard the man, binnie. go on. take her clothes off. we’ll help.”
changbin watches you, legs spread shameless, shorts still on but riding up so high the seam’s digging into your pussy lips and everyone can see the wet spot blooming dark.
his hands are shaking when he reaches for the buttons. you lift your hips for him, god you’re so good, and seungmin and chan both slide their fingers under the fabric when changbin’s dumb little fingers are done with undoing your buttons and zipper, helping peel the shorts down your legs slow, teasing. han actually whimpers when your panties come into view, soaked through, and he starts humping your leg harder like the dumb bitch he is.
“look at that.” seungmin chuckles, flicking the wet spot with one finger.
changbin swallows so hard it clicks. he’s never been happier in his entire murderous life. his face is flushed, lips parted, eyes glued to the dark patch on your panties.
chan reaches down, hooks a finger in the crotch of your panties and pulls it aside for changbin, exposing you completely. “see that?” he watches changbin’s pathetic face, then clicks his tongue to get your attention, driving his pretty hands down to the part between the bottom of your ass and start of your thighs and lifts your legs gently.
your legs stay in the air when he hooks his fingers into your panties and pull them down, exposing you to the room.
changbin’s eyes go wide, breath hitching.
chan spreads your thighs wider, holds you open so changbin can see everything. “look at her.” chan murmurs. “all for you right now.”
you’re looking down at him, biting your bottom lip. god, he looks beautiful like this. in pure awe.
“eat her out.” chan says, voice low. he slides one hand into changbin’s hair, gentle but guiding and pushes his face forward. “she likes it slow at first.“
seungmin has his cheek on your arm. “don’t be a pussy, take what you want. we’ll hold her for you.”
chan’s hands slide under your shirt, rucking it up so your tits spill out. han immediately jumps up and latches onto one nipple, sucking sloppy and desperate. seungmin takes the side of that same boob into his mouth, biting gently.
it all feels so good.
changbin’s staring at all of it, three mouths on you, three sets of hands, and they’re all moving you for him. positioning you. offering you up like a fucking sacrifice. he’s shaking so bad his teeth chatter but he’s never been happier. never felt this wanted, this included, this fucking alive.
he finally leans in. he starts gentle because he’s always gentle to you, you’re just a human compared to the absolute killing machines they are, but the second his tongue touches you he loses the plot. broad, flat lick right up your center, savoring, finally tasting you. you taste like heaven. he moans loud into you, and his big shoulders shudder.
chan’s hand leaves changbin’s hair, lets him on his own, but seungmin takes over instead. seemed fun when chan did it.
god it’s so fucking hot changbin might actually die happy right here between your thighs.
changbin wraps his lips around your clit and sucks like he was born for this exact moment. he’s a natural. zoned in on you, every whimper, every twitch of your thighs, every time your back arches harder against chan’s solid frame. when you buck he just presses one thick arm across your hips to hold you down, the other hand sliding up to spread you wider with two fingers so he can fuck his tongue inside you.
when he does that, his nose is buried right against your clit, rubbing every time he pushes his tongue deeper. you can feel the soft wet heat curling inside, licking at your walls, then pulling out to lap messily at your entrance before diving back in. spit and your slick are dripping down his chin, onto everything.
because every single brain cell he has is screaming “her pleasure her pleasure her pleasure.” all lost in how slippery you are, groaning loud into your pussy because fuck you taste even better than he dreamed. sucking your juices out of you then spitting it back right on your clit to suck it off again.
every time you twitch, their hands adjust you, tilting your hips up so changbin can slide his tongue deeper, pressing you down so he can suck your clit between his lips and hum.
hands everywhere. chan’s rubbing slow circles on your legs while he holds you open, seungmin puts two fingers in your mouth making you suck them while he watches changbin’s tongue disappear inside you, han went back down to the floor to hump you better but reached up to squeeze your tit and knead it.
you’re whining, thighs trembling in their grip, little “changbin, fuck—oh my god—” falling out of your mouth around seungmin’s fingers.
changbin looks up at you through his lashes, those big sweet eyes all glassy and desperate, and the eye contact alone makes you lean your head back on chan’s shoulder. changbin keeps licking you all up, then sucks your clit hard, two fingers sliding in easy because you’re so wet they just glide, curling around, exploring you, making you arch and squirm around.
“that’s it.” chan praises, voice low and warm. “feel how she squeezes? keep doing that, exactly that.”
seungmin pulls the hand out of changbin’s hair to spit on his fingers then reach down to smear it over your clit right where changbin is sucking, making everything messier, slicker. “faster with the tongue.”
changbin’s never been happier, mouth full of you, three sets of hands roaming everywhere, on your tits, your stomach, your ass, his own back, his hair, guiding him deeper, praising him, using him.
“look at him go.” seungmin sneers.
han is crying actual tears now, face smashed against your thigh, tongue occasionally darting out. “changb—changbin you’re so lucky—fuck—i love her pussy too—can i just—”
“no.” seungmin spits out, but he’s grinning, mean and proud. he leans down and spits right on your clit, right where changbin’s tongue is working.
he’s pumping his fingers slowly while his mouth stays glued to your clit, sucking and licking and humming. his free hand is everywhere, gripping your ass, spreading you, thumb rubbing circles right above where his tongue is.
seungmin puts one hand on changbin’s back, rubbing up and down his spine, and changbin is crying. actual happy tears mixing with your wetness on his cheeks. he’s never been happier. never felt this wanted, this centered, this fucking alive.
the others are generous, they’re pushing him forward, hands on his shoulders, in his hair, on your body guiding him, egging him on with every filthy word. “harder, man, suck her like you’ll die without it—” “she’s close, feel her clenching? don’t stop—” “good, keep going—” “oh my god oh my god when is—“ “shut the fuck up, han.”
your hands are in his hair too now, tugging, nails scraping his scalp, and he groans so loud it sends another wave through you. he’s a natural. completely devoted.
the wet sounds are obscene, slick schlick of his fingers, loud sucking on your clit, his desperate moans, han’s whimpering humps, seungmin and chan’s low dirty praise mixing together.
it feels so good for him to be in the focus. to have all the attention to himself, everyone watching his tongue fucking you deeper, fingers speeding up, eyes sliding shut in pure bliss while the others hold you open for him, pet him, praise him, use their hands to make sure you stay exactly where he needs you.
it’s actually fucking catastrophic for him when he makes you cum. he has never felt better about himself before. seeing how your whole body locks up against chan’s chest, back arching so hard your tits shove forward, thighs clamping around changbin’s ears like you’re trying to crush his skull in the sweetest way possible. his fingers are still curled inside you, pumping through every spasm, sucking on you until you’re shaking and whimpering and clawing at chan’s arms because you’ll die if you don’t hold onto something.
when you finally slump back, boneless and panting, whining and squeaking, changbin pulls away slow, lips swollen dark red, chin glistening, eyes wide, breathing hard through his mouth(and it tickles), chest heaving under that tight shirt, cock so hard it’s probably painful against his zipper.
seungmin, the fucker, slides two fingers down your soaked folds, spreads you open wide right in front of changbin’s face, holding your lips apart so changbin can see every pink, fluttering inch still twitching from the orgasm he just gave you.
“look at that pretty cunt.” seungmin says. “still dripping for you. go on. hit it raw tonight. fill her up like you’ve been dreaming about.”
changbin’s brain glitches. actually stops. pupils blow so wide his eyes look black. mouth drops open, no sound comes out at first, just this broken little wheeze like someone punched the air out of him. he’s never heard anything hotter. never felt anything hotter. and seungmin just said raw. raw. inside you. no barrier. just him and heaven and the promise of pumping you full until it leaks back out.
han makes this pathetic noise from the floor. “what? he gets raw? i never get to go raw, that’s not fair she always makes me wear one i—”
“shut the fuck up. you get what she gives you. tonight’s his. cry about it later or i’ll make you lick it off the floor when he’s done.” seungmin says.
han whimpers, but he shuts up fast, goes back to humping your calf in slow, defeated little rolls while he stares up at changbin with big wet puppy eyes full of jealousy and lust.
chan chuckles against your ear, big hand still petting your stomach. “you good with that, y/n?”
you nod, still hazy from the orgasm, lips parted in this soft smile. “yeah. want him raw. want him to feel everything.”
that’s it. changbin’s done. he scrambles to his feet, knees shaky, hands fumbling at his belt like he’s never undressed before in his life. audience watching him strip. seungmin smirking, chan calm, han pouting and grinding, you laid back against chan’s chest looking like every wet dream he’s ever had. it’s humiliating. he manages, shirt yanked over his head first, revealing that chest you’ve been drooling over for weeks, muscles flexing with every ragged breath. jeans next, button, zipper, shoved down with his boxers in one clumsy push. cock springs free, thickness more interesting than the length and flushed dark, tip already leaking.
“fuck.” he breathes. “i—i don’t know if i can last—”
“you will.” seungmin says, still holding you spread. “or i’ll edge you myself with a knife. now get over here and sink in.”
changbin crawls back onto the couch, knees sinking into the cushions between your legs. chan shifts you a little higher, props your hips up perfect so changbin’s got the best angle. seungmin keeps those fingers there another second, spreading you one last time, then pulls them out slow, strings of slick connecting to his fingers before he wipes them on changbin’s chest.
changbin lines up. tip nudges your entrance, hot, slick, so fucking wet from your orgasm and his spit. he pushes in slow at first, just the head, and his whole body jerks like he got electrocuted.
“oh—fuck—oh my god—”
it’s heaven. actual heaven. he’s had pussy before but never anything like this. never this tight, this hot, this wet, this perfect. it’s overwhelming. brutal. his eyes roll back for a second, mouth falling open in this silent scream of pure bliss.
“so tight—fuck—you’re so—uh—” he’s babbling, hips stuttering forward inch by inch until he’s buried to the hilt. balls pressed flush against you, cock throbbing inside. he stays there, still, breathing hard through his nose, trying not to cum right then and there.
chan’s hand slides up to cup the back of changbin’s neck, thumb stroking soothing. “breathe, big guy. you’re doing good. feel how she’s squeezing you? that’s all for you.”
seungmin leans in, voice fucking honey in changbin’s ear, a charm. “move. fuck her slow at first.”
changbin tries. pulls out halfway, slow, torturous drag that has you both moaning, then slides back in deep. once. twice. building a rhythm that’s really, really desperate. full of feeling. every thrust makes wet, filthy sounds echo in the room.
han is whining louder now, humping your leg faster like he’s trying to match changbin’s pace. seungmin reaches down and pinches your clit lightly, rolling it between his fingers while changbin fucks you, making your walls flutter harder around him.
“god—fuck—she’s gripping me so tight—i can feel everything—” changbin’s voice cracks, hips starting to snap harder. “never felt—never—shit—i’m gonna—”
“not yet.” chan murmurs, calm as ever. “hold it. make her cum again first. you can do it.”
changbin nods frantically, leans down so his chest presses to yours, big arms caging you in while chan holds you from behind. he fucks deeper now, long, rolling thrusts that hit that spot every time, cock dragging against your walls like it was made for this.
his mouth finds yours, messy, desperate kiss, tongue sliding in(though way more messier now) while he keeps moving, keeps filling you up raw.
you’re moaning into his mouth, hands in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. you feel just as good as he does. seungmin is still playing with your clit, fast little circles now. han’s tongue is on your thigh again, licking up the mess that’s dripping down. chan is whispering praise in your ear, “so good for him, baby, taking his cock so pretty” and it’s too much and building and building and building and oh my god i’m gonna—
this orgasm is harder. walls clamping down, milking him, fluttering so violently changbin’s hips stutter and he chokes out a broken “fuck—fuck—i’m—baby—”
he tries to hold it. really tries. but you’re too much. too hot. too perfect. he buries himself deep one last time, cock pulsing, and cums inside you, hot, thick ropes painting your walls, filling you up until it’s leaking out around him.
when he finally stills, seungmin smiles wide, pulls his fingers away from your clit, smears the slick across changbin’s lips.
han is still whining, cock leaking through his pants. “my turn next? please?”
chan gives a strict little hum. “give it a minute.”
changbin doesn’t move, can’t really, just stays buried inside you, soft now but still twitching, arms wrapped around you. he’s never been in anything hotter. never will be.
you smile, kiss his sweaty temple, murmur: “good job, baby. you did so good.”
he lets out a brutally shaky breath. chan actually chuckles at him because he’s been there too. changbin leans back slow, cock softening but twitching every time your walls flutter around him from the aftershocks. he’s a sweaty, flushed mess, chest heaving, stomach slick, that big sweet face all dazed and blissed out like he just got hit by a truck made of pussy.
he finally pulls out with this wet, obscene sound that makes han whine like a kicked dog from the floor. cum leaks out of you immediately, thick and white, dripping down your ass onto the couch that hyunjin will crash out over again.
changbin stares at it because it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, one shaky hand reaching out to smear it back inside you.
“holy fuck.” he breathes, voice fucked. “that was… i can’t… huh.”
han scrambles up from the floor so fast he almost faceplants, pants shoved down just enough that his cock springs free, already leaking, flushed angry red, bobbing. he’s whining nonstop, these high pitched desperate sounds that would be pathetic if they weren’t so fucking endearing. “baby, please, my turn, need you—been so good—please—”
your legs are shaky, cunt puffy and sensitive, your back sweaty, connected to chan’s shirt, but you reach for him anyway. cup his face with both hands, thumbs stroking his cheeks while he pants into your palm. “c’mere, baby.” you murmur. “i got you.”
han climbs up clumsily, knees on the couch, cock bumping against your thigh as he tries to line up. you guide him, small hand wrapping around his base, stroking once, twice, slow and loving while he whimpers around.
he sinks in slow at first because you’re guiding him, because you’re sweet to him, because even though he’s a brain dead horny mess you always give him love. the stretch is different after changbin, han is not as thick but he’s longer, hits in a way that makes your toes curl even though you’re still oversensitive.
you gasp softly, kiss his temple, whisper “easy, baby, just feel me.”
and he actually tries… for like five seconds.
then the desperation wins. he starts jackhammering. fast. sloppy. hips snapping like he’s trying to fuck his soul into you, cock pistoning in and out with these wet, filthy slaps that echo in the room. he’s so vocal it’s ridiculous, moaning loud, babbling nonstop, every thrust accompanied by a high whine or a “love you” or a choked “shit shit shit.”
it’s too much. way too much. you already came and your clit’s swollen, nerves fried, pussy still pulsing. the jackhammering feels good in that overwhelming, almost painful way, but it’s not gonna make you cum again. not like this. not with him going a million miles an hour like a rabbit on crack.
you’re moaning anyway, because it’s han, because he’s so fucking desperate for you it’s cute, because the stretch and the heat and the way he’s shaking are all hot.
seungmin’s hand works your clit, making your hips jerk because it’s too sensitive, too direct, sparks shooting up your spine that are almost painful. you whine around, thighs trembling, but he just laughs. “too much? tough shit. take it.”
chan is everywhere else, big hands roaming your tits, pinching your nipples, then soothing with slow circles. one arm locked around your waist holding you down so han can pound deeper.
han is fucking losing it, face buried in your neck, teeth grazing your skin, hips stuttering faster, sloppier. “gonna cum—fuck—can’t—baby—love you—gonna—y/n—” he’s shaking like a leaf, cock throbbing inside you, and you just pet his hair even though your body’s screaming from overstimulation.
changbin is watching the whole thing from where he slumped back against the arm of the couch, still naked, cock half hard again just from the sight. his eyes are wide, lips parted, breathing shallow like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.
first he watches han, how the dumb fuck goes from sweet and trembling to feral in seconds, how you handle him so gently. changbin feels this weird warm ache in his chest. god, he knew the guy in high school and now he sees him like… this. han is so open about it, so shamelessly needy, and you give him exactly what he needs without making him feel stupid. changbin never had that. never been that vulnerable. it makes him feel… soft. protective almost. even he wants to wrap han up after and tell him he did good too.
then seungmin. changbin’s stomach flips. there’s something brutal and hot about how seungmin handles you without ever asking permission, so confident and always right. changbin’s not like that. he’s jealous for half a second, then just… in awe.
he watches chan holding you together. changbin feels safe just looking at him. like if chan is chill, everything’s okay.
and you, oh his fucking god, hips twitching from the overstimulation, petting han’s hair while he cries into your neck about how much he loves you. you’re glowing. fucked and happy and so fucking loved it’s written all over your face.
changbin is really happy right now.
like, stupid happy.
he’s sitting there covered in sweat and cum and your juices, watching the four of you. his heart’s doing this weird fluttery thing because he’s part of it now. really part of it.
han slams in deep one last time, whole body seizing, whining “baby—fuck—eeuughghh—” as he unloads, adding to changbin’s mess, hips jerking while he rides it out.
then he collapses on top of you, panting, babbling into your collarbone.
seungmin holds your face to kiss you. chan bounces you a little, comforting, loving, manly, so fucking characteristic because what do you mean this is a ruthless serial killer doing this.
changbin crawls closer, big hand sliding up your thigh, careful not to jostle han. you reach for him, tug him up so he’s half draped over han, face close to yours.
“you were good, baby.” you tell him.
han mumbles something happy and incoherent against your neck. then starts moving again. this bitch. just one little thrust, testing the waters, like he thinks nobody’s gonna notice.
you feel it immediately. that oversensitive drag inside you, walls already raw and fluttering from changbin’s thick cock and han’s frantic pounding, clit throbbing. it’s not pleasure anymore, it’s too much.
“han, no.” you gasp, voice cracking, hands pushing at his shoulders. “baby, stop. stop stop stop.”
he freezes for half a second, big dumb eyes blinking up at you all confused and heartbroken. “but… but i’m still hard. felt so good, wanna go again, please? just one more? i’ll be quick i swear—”
seungmin snorts, already grabbing a fistful of han’s hair and yanking his head back hard enough to make him yelp. “the fuck you will. she said no. you deaf or just that fucking stupid?”
han whines high and pathetic, hips still twitching forward on instinct. “but she always lets me go multiple rounds, i’m good—i was good—”
changbin is still kneeling there, eyes wide, hand hovering like he wants to help but doesn’t know how. he looks between you and han, then at seungmin and chan, clearly torn between feeling bad for the dumbass and being grateful someone’s finally putting a leash on him. “she… she okay?” he asks soft, voice all sweet concern. “i didn’t hurt her did i?”
you manage a shaky laugh, reach out to pet changbin’s cheek because god he’s precious. “no baby you were perfect. just too much now. all of you. need a break.”
“want me to get you water? or… or a towel? anything?”
you nod, grateful. “water would be good, thank you.”
changbin scrambles off the couch, still naked and gorgeous, dick swinging as he heads to the kitchen like a man on a mission. han watches him go with pure jealousy, then slumps against you again, defeated.
you close your eyes for a second, breathing through the overstimulation, feeling the four of them around you, seungmin soothing your thighs, chan bouncing you softly, han nuzzling his pretty face into your chest, changbin coming back with a cold glass of water and a damp towel like the sweetest boy alive.
you sip the water slow, let changbin dab gently between your legs, cleaning up the mess without making it worse.
changbin is happy, happy to be included, happy you’re okay, happy to wait.
after everyone took a five second breather (you mostly just trying not to vibrate out of your skin from the overstimulation), the other two got their turns. fair’s fair.
long story short, seungmin went next, condom on, slid in deep, slow at first, then picked up this brutal rhythm that had you seeing stars behind your eyelids, growling shit like “feel that, babe? that’s how you take it when i want you to” while chan held your legs open and changbin just stared with his mouth hanging open.
every thrust bottomed out because seungmin always gets what he fucking wants, and while he was balls deep, you wrapped a hand around changbin’s still sensitive dick, jerking him lazy and sloppy while seungmin kept pounding.
his eyes rolled back, big chest heaving, whispering “fuck—baby—thank you—oh god—” then came all over your stomach, literally couldn’t believe he was allowed to participate again. adorable.
seungmin didn’t chase your orgasm though. he knew chan was saving that for last, so he just railed you until you were a shaking, whimpering mess, clit too fried to even twitch right, and then he pulled out, snapped the condom off, and came across your stomach.
then chan, the other condom king, finally got his turn and holy shit did he deliver. he flipped you onto your stomach, pulled your hips up and slid in slow and thick, we can act like it was an out of body experience but tbh you were too slippery to actually feel him sliding in and only felt him hitting your cervix. you were so sensitive by then, pussy puffy, walls raw, every thrust sending sparks that were half pain half heaven, but chan fucked good.
one big hand rubbing slow circles on your clit while the other pinned your hips so you couldn’t squirm away. all while you reached over and jerked han off because he was literally crying about it. he came instantly, lots. like, ropes on ropes on your arm, your side, the couch. and then—oh. again. wow. immediately after. just kept spurting.
after all the overstimulation and edging and jackhammer bullshit, chan fucked you into a proper, shaking, toe curling orgasm that had you sobbing into the cushion. walls clamping so hard he groaned like he was in pain, then filled the condom while holding you through the aftershocks. perfect. gentlemanly murder daddy shit.
han came so many times it stopped being impressive and started being concerning.
after chan pulled out and kissed your back all sweet, han climbed on one more time and got all pouty and “y/n please please please” until you sighed, spread your legs one more time, and let him go crazy.
you felt everything, the burn of overstimulation, the wet slide of all the cum already inside you, the way his cock dragged against raw nerves until it hurt so bad it looped back around to feeling insane.
he came again. and again. and again. you lost count somewhere around the sixth because every time you thought “okay that’s gotta be it” he’d whine “one more please baby i’m so close—” and then dump another load. by that time even everyone grew tired of it, even seungmin shut his fucking mouth and just laid back to watch. maybe slap changbin on the arm a few times just to get him flustered. or han’s ass but stopped when he realized that han liked it.
that went on until han finally, f i n a l l y, emptied his balls for real. like literally came without anything coming out, just his cock twitching and pulsing, whole body seizing, eyes crossing adorably in pure brain melt pleasure, mouth open in this silent scream while his balls tried to push out anything.
and changbin? jesus christ, what an experience for him.
this man walked in thinking maybe he’d get a big talk and seungmin holding a knife to his throat just for you to save him, maybe a blowjob if he was lucky. instead he got… tongue fucked you to an orgasm, went raw and came inside you, watched seungmin rail you deep while you jerked him off, saw han cum approximately seventeen times, witnessed chan give you the orgasm of the century, and then watched han rabbit fuck you into the ground until the poor bastard finally ran out of ammo.
he couldn’t believe it was real every time someone came or you moaned or han whimpered through another dry orgasm. at one point he just stared at the mess on your thighs (his, seungmin’s condom lube, han’s endless loads, chan’s sweat) and actually made a whiny little sound. chan heard and patted him on the back.
you felt like you’d been hit by a truck full of dicks in the best and worst ways. pussy throbbing, clit numb, thighs sticky with everyone’s mess, throat raw from moaning and crying out, but also this warm floaty satisfaction because your murderous idiots had all gotten what they needed.
overstimulated to fuck, yeah, but loved to death. literally.
soo yeah. you’re the whole center of this shitshow. take han and felix, if you told them to sit, they’d sit. if you told them to stay, they’d stay. if you told them to follow you into a burning building, they’d do it without a second thought. not because they’re obedient, but because it’s you.
everything spins around you.
changbin changed, and it happened fast. like, concerningly fast. the kind of fast where if this were normal people, you’d be like “hey man maybe slow down before you ruin your life” but none of you are normal people, so instead it’s just… impressive. terrifying. a little hot. mostly insane.
he saw you, saw the others, saw the situation, and instead of pulling back like he normally would, he stayed. he participated. he let himself be seen.
that’s not just physical, that’s emotional as fuck for him.
the single four are… in fucking hell, let’s be real. like jeongin goes out more. flirting harder. partying like he’s trying to physically outrun the fact that you’re not choosing him. he’ll come back smelling like alcohol and someone else’s perfume, grin all cocky, act like he doesn’t give a shit, and then the second he sees you with them? yeah. that grin drops real fucking quick.
minho is creepy about it. not new, he’s always been creepy, but now it’s targeted.
he watches. like, a lot. he’ll just be there sometimes. in the background. leaning against a wall, sitting somewhere he shouldn’t be, eyes on you and whichever combination of your boyfriends you’ve got that day.
and he comments. at the worst times. “you let him touch you like that?” “you didn’t do that with me.” “you look better when you’re with him. interesting.” like bro shut the fuck up??? no one asked??? okay he’s actually a little funny but still.
he’s struggling the most internally, probably. because he feels it, but instead of dealing with it like a semi normal psycho, he just… lets it rot and then pokes at it. which is so much worse.
felix. oh my god. felix. you can literally see the jealousy on his face sometimes, because it comes out as confusion. he’ll be standing there, watching you with them, and you can see the gears turning (slowly, painfully) in his head. “…i want that.” he’ll say at some point. and everyone just stares at him because yeah. no shit, felix. we all know.
he’s supportive, though. weirdly. but mostly because he’s too dumb not to be.
hyunjin drinks a lot more. he’s so not fine it’s actually embarrassing. he doesn’t talk about it, except when he’s drunk, which is often now, and even then it comes out sideways. complaining about the others, making comments, acting like it’s about them when it’s very obviously about you. he humps his pillow a lot too, yeah that’s actually connected to the absolute mental fuck he’s living in at the moment.
but they don’t back up, why would they? this is their first time experiencing this and they, no matter how much it hurts, love it and love you. it just… comes out weird sometimes.
like minho. you already know it’s gonna be bad when he walks in holding something behind his back.
“i got you something.” he says.
never a good sentence from him. not once. not ever.
“i don’t want it.” you reply immediately.
“you haven’t even seen it.”
“i don’t need to, sweetheart.”
you end up throwing up straight to the nearest surface because oh my god that is a severed arm. stitched. badly. like he tried to fix it.
“i thought you’d like it.” he says, watching you die around. “i sewed it back together.”
he didn’t think you’d like it. he just wanted some attention.
you’re gagging. violently.
the already boyfriends can be problems too. you take han and changbin shopping once and han is useless. completely useless. he follows you around, holding whatever you hand him, getting distracted every five seconds.
“which one?” you ask, holding up two shirts.
he stares at them. “…the… that one.”
“they’re both ‘that one,’ love.”
he smiles, proud of himself anyway.
changbin is actually trying. paying attention. noticing what you look at, what you hesitate on, what you put back.
but even for some minutes, they can behave. and god, they’re such good company. and then han trips over absolutely nothing and takes out an entire rack of clothes. okay nvm.
hyunjin is a disaster. one night he stumbles into you, literally like actually collides into you because his coordination is shot, and then just… doesn’t move. just stands there. holding you. arms around you, head dipping down like he forgot how to hold it up.
“…hi.” you say.
he hums. that’s it.
he never felt shit before you, just empty murder highs, and now he’s got this crush that’s eating his pretty little brain alive and the only way he can cope is by humping his fucking pillow. the second he’s in his soft black sleep pants and oversized shirt, ready to go to sleep, his dick is already twitching while he’s crawling into bed.
he starts slow usually, hugs the pillow to his chest like it’s your waist, leans all the way over it so his whole torso is curved down, smushing that beautiful face right into the sheets right next to it, nose buried, mouth open and panting against the fabric while his hips start slamming forward.
he looks so pretty like that, back arched, ass up, sweatpants barely hanging on his hips, cock sliding wet and messy between the pillow and his stomach. or pulls his pants just low enough under his balls so his bare cock can drag along the pillow seam over and over.
he’ll grind in these fast little rabbit thrusts at first, all desperate, then switch to these long powerful strokes where he rears back and drives forward like he’s actually fucking you. his pretty hair sticks to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut, hips snapping hard and sloppy.
he grinds in circles sometimes, then switches to straight pounding thrusts that make the whole bed creak, drooling a little because he’s so lost in the fantasy of you under him moaning his name, telling him he’s the prettiest killer you’ve ever let inside you.
he’ll hump faster and faster, face completely smashed into the mattress now, one hand clawing the sheets while the other keeps the pillow in place.
when he cums he’ll freeze up, whole body shaking, shooting all over the pillow and his own stomach and the sheets in thick ropes. all while he knows han is probably balls deep in you right now being a dumb happy fuck, seungmin is rocking you into the bed, chan is using you all calm and deep like he owns that pussy, and changbin is lifting you with those stupid sweet muscles and making you cum while smiling.
and hyunjin is here alone on his knees, humping fabric, cuming so hard his vision whites out, then immediately cuddling the cum soaked pillow like it’s you. he’d carve his own ribs out and hand them to you if it meant you’d let him be the fifth.
it’s pathetic, it’s constant, it’s the only release he has since you made feelings happen inside of him, and every single orgasm just makes the crush worse because it’s never enough.
he’s out there killing people and writing your name in their blood by day, then coming home to destroy his poor pillow by night, knees digging into the mattress, face buried, cock throbbing, wishing harder than anything that one of these nights you’d just walk in and catch him like this so you could finally add him to the collection and put the poor pretty boy out of his humping misery.
the others text him proof of life from your bed and he just humps harder, tears mixing with drool, still in those sleep clothes, still on his knees. you did this to him and he wouldn’t trade it for all the corpses in the world.
sometimes he even gets on his back with the pillow shoved between his thighs, squeezing it tight with his legs while he bucks up into it, hands fisting the sheets, pretty eyes rolling back as he imagines you riding him instead of that stupid lump of cotton. or switch to side lying next, spooning the pillow hard, pinning it down, one hand reaching down to guide his cock against the edge, other hand pinching his own nipple through the shirt because he imagines it’s your mouth. teeth sunk into the sheets to stay quiet because changbin gets pissy when he doesn’t get his sleep.
he’ll twist his hips side to side sometimes, grinding in little circles, pretending it’s you riding him slow and teasing. the t shirt he wears to sleep bunches under his armpits, sweat making it cling to his skin, nipples hard against the cotton.
i totally got carried away with this but you get my point. he’s stupidly obsessed.
or take when you and chan are out. just the two of you. rare. calm. walking down a quiet street, talking about nothing important. it’s nice. suspiciously nice.
chan is mid sentence when he suddenly stops. looks at a bush. just a random bush. and he kicks it. hard.
and out of the bush? jeongin comes rolling out.
you blink. “…what the fuck.”
chan doesn’t even look surprised, just stares down at him.
jeongin groans, pushing himself up, leaves in his hair. “…rude.” he mutters, brushing himself off like this is all very inconvenient for him. then he looks at you. “hey.”
“hi.” you reply.
“you look good.”
“thank you. what were you doing in there?”
“i was passing by.” stalking you.
“through the bush?”
“short cut.”
“okay. we are going to that cafe we’ve been to once with felix, wanna come along?”
“absolutely.”
chan has to close his eyes and take a breath.
you get coffee. he makes chan buy him something too.
and when the three of you are sitting and you and chan start fucking MAKING OUT right in front of jeongin’s face, not only his pants get tighter but also his short little temper. glares into his ice coffee, listening to the wet sounds coming from the coolest guy he knows and the love of his life. you don’t even feel bad, it’s his fault for stalking you.
or you walk into your kitchen one day, half awake, expecting maybe coffee, maybe peace, and instead you get felix hunched over your sink making the most horrific noise you’ve ever heard. like wet, choking, absolutely disgusting.
you freeze. “…what the fuck.”
he doesn’t answer, he just… throws up.
and it’s blood. and teeth. actual fucking teeth. they hit the sink with this awful little clink clink clink and you just stand there, staring, your brain refusing to process what you’re seeing.
“…felix.”
he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking mildly inconvenienced. “yeah?”
“why are there teeth in my sink.”
he looks down. squints. “…oh.”
“oh??? felix, what the fuck is that—”
“not mine.” he says quickly.
“i KNOW they’re not yours, why are they HERE—”
“i ate a guy earlier.”
“…and that results in this?”
he shrugs. “sometimes.”
you actually scream. like a loud, gut wrenching scream that scares felix too.
chan of course immediately comes in, ready to fucking die for you, but when he sees that it’s just a felix situation he takes one glance and sighs. “he ate too fast.”
you make a noise that is not human.
and when minho gets in one of his moods, which is happening more often now, you have to physically remove him from whatever dark corner he’s chosen to brood in.
“we’re going outside.” you tell him one time, grabbing his wrist.
he doesn’t resist. watches you tell the other boys around that you’re taking minho on a walk and them replying with grunts.
so you take minho on walks sometimes.
“you don’t have to hold my hand.” he says at one point, staring at your fingers laced with his. he likes it, he’s just confused.
“you were about to follow a random guy into an alley.”
“he looked interesting.”
you tighten your grip. “we’re walking. not following people.”
“…you’re treating me like a dog.”
“you’re acting like one.”
“would you still keep me if i bit someone.”
“depends. did they deserve it?”
“…probably.”
“then yeah, i’d keep you.”
he goes quiet after that. walks a little closer.
and you’re… fine. content, even. you like them the way they are. yes, even when they come home from killing or felix bolts after the mailman again. even while emotionally, they’re toddlers. this is their first time dealing with something actually happening inside of their hearts and they’re grown men who can and will commit felonies about it.
instead of tantrums in a grocery store, you get: “where are you going?”
“out.”
“with who?”
“alone.”
“…no.”
“what do you mean no?”
“you’re not going alone.”
“i’m literally just—”
“i’m coming.”
“you’re not invited.”
“i don’t need to be.”
and that’s on a good day.
because god forbid you try to do anything independently. god forbid.
you don’t really go anywhere alone anymore. not because they won’t “let” you, but because dealing with the aftermath is so fucking exhausting it’s just not worth it.
the second you’re not within arm’s reach, it’s: “where is y/n?” “she said she’d be here.” “why isn’t she here?” “who has her?” who has her. bro.
they’re foaming at the mouth for you, basically.
if you’re alone with one of them, the other will make you know he thought of you.
take felix, he’ll bring you things. random shit. completely useless. sometimes horrifying.
“i got this for you.”
“…is that a bone?”
“yeah.”
“why?”
“thought you’d like it.”
“…thanks.”
“you’re welcome :)”
so your life lowkey stops being yours but you’re fine with that because you can tell these boys love you.
that they need you.
like, minho holds your hand when he’s with you. when you’re going somewhere and take him along, his hand is in yours. he used to do that as a child too, grab onto adults’ hands. walk with them like that. and now, it’s you. he trusts you like a kid trusts an adult.
anytime you get a moment of piece from the four boyfriends, jeongin is like “hey, c’mon. ditch them.” like it’s that easy. like the four other guys wouldn’t absolutely throw hands about it. he’s cheeky about it too. always pushing. stealing your attention in little ways, pulling you aside, whispering shit in your ear, making you laugh when you really shouldn’t be laughing. all because he really wants to spend time with you.
yeah they all tried to slit your throat at some point but whatever, people grow. life’s good. you’re getting dicked down proper and you’re loved by psychos who have never felt anything before you.
you have to go with han everywhere. like, let’s say he’s dragging you by the wrist to the gas station at 2am because he wants food. you have to drive there because he’s also not in the mood to walk. he talks to you the whole way(or paces out in silence, who knows what’s in that tiny brain), giggling when you let him place his hand on your thigh, then immediately tries to finger you because he was close. you didn’t let him.
oh yeah han likes fingering you. is actually mesmerized by it. like the second his clumsy fingers slide inside you he is just in awe. and since normal in and out fingering barely pleasures any woman, he has to do it RIGHT because you deserve the best.
he’ll be knuckle deep, tongue poking out in concentration, staring at his own hand in your cunt while he mutters “fuck baby you’re so warm and wet and i’m IN you, like actually inside your body, this is crazy, i’m touching your squishy bits and you’re letting me, holy shit i love you.” ??? so dumb.
he gets so lost in the sauce he forgets basic rhythm. sometimes he just holds his fingers still and wiggles them like he’s trying to scramble eggs, or he’ll do these weird little helicopter spins. sometimes even mimics the helicopter noises. half the time it doesn’t even feel that good, it’s just pressure and awkward poking and you’re trying not to laugh because he looks so happy. but the second you grab his wrist and go “han, baby, curl them up like this, yeah just like that—fuck, right there” his whole face lights up. then he locks in.
suddenly he’s doing it right, pumping and curling and rubbing your clit with his other hand in these sloppy enthusiastic circles while he babbles “is this good? am i doing it right? omg your pussy just clenched on me like it likes me, i think it likes me more than chan does, wait no don’t tell him i said that.”
and he watched when chan made you squirt all over his cock. this is not random i promise i have a point. anyways. you and chan were going at it hard, chan had you folded basically in half, that manly grip on the backs of your thighs, pounding you slow and deep while you moaned like a whore. han was “allowed” to watch but the idiot kept creeping closer and closer until his face was two inches from where chan’s cock was splitting you open.
he was being such an inconvenience, breathing heavy, whispering “whoa” every time chan bottomed out, occasionally poking your clit with one curious finger. chan just grunted “stay out of the way” but didn’t kick him off because han looked so pathetically grateful.
then you started squirting on chan’s cock. loud, messy, gushing in powerful arcs that soaked chan’s abs, your own tits, and sprayed all the way up to han’s stupid face. his eyes were so wide, mouth open, getting absolutely blasted by your squirt while chan kept thrusting through it, calm as ever, growling “that’s it, good girl, soak me.”
han got a full facial of your cum, blinking through it, cum dripping off his eyelashes, and all he could say was “holy shit… it’s warm… and it tastes a little like… pineapple??” while licking his lips.
he looked so creepy and so delighted at the same time, just sitting there covered in your mess. tbh it was the best day of his life. you and chan both started giggling mid orgasm because han was trying to catch more in his mouth.
here comes my point, finally, but when you gave HAN one? when he was knuckle deep, following your instructions like a good boy, and you suddenly gushed all over his hand and wrist and halfway up his forearm? he lost his entire fucking mind.
his mouth fell open, eyes went brutally wide, and he let out this high pitched “EEEEEEEEEEE” noise. he didn’t even know squirting had a name, to him it was just “the magic hose thing that means i fingered y/n good.” he kept his fingers inside you, gently stirring through the mess, whispering in total awe “baby… you peed? no wait that’s not pee, that’s… that’s girl cum? did i make you do the sprinkler? oh my god i made you do the sprinkler with my fingers, i’m the best boyfriend ever, i’m gonna tell the boys but not seungmin because he’ll call me a virgin again.”
talks about it too, he’ll be in the middle of a kill and he’ll turn to the tied up victim like “hey man, guess what, last night my girlfriend squirted on my hand so hard it looked like a water gun, i didn’t even know that’s what it was called, it was awesome.” then he stabs the guy extra happy because he’s still riding the high.
he chases it like a crackhead. the second you’re alone he’s pawing at your pants going “can we do the sprinkler thing again? please? i’ll be so good, i’ll curl my fingers exactly like you showed me, i’ll even use two hands if you want, just tell me when it’s coming so i can watch it shoot out like a fountain, it’s the coolest thing i’ve ever seen and i once watched a guy’s guts fall out like spaghetti.”
he still doesn’t fully get what squirting is. he just knows it’s hot, knows it means he did good, knows it means you felt so fucking good because of him, and that’s enough to make him hump the air every time he thinks about it.
the others are so fucking done with him.
hyunjin needs you the most maybe, so he steals you sometimes. he’ll just go up to you(with brutal confidence btw) wrap one arm around your waist and whisper “come with me tonight, please” yeah no that’s it you’re bought.
he’s so romantic, he doesn’t understand why you don’t want him like you want the others.
he’ll hump your leg a little when he thinks you’re not noticing because the crush still hurts so bad, but he never pushes because why would he want to force anything on this lovely human? just needs you there so the ache feels a tiny bit less like dying.
jeongin likes to take you just… anywhere with him tbh. breaking into places after hours(you stay outside and he brings you shit back), stealing a car(you’re terrified and don’t get in), or just dragging you to the beach so he can show off by doing backflips in the water. lives his best life when you let him put a hand into your back pocket.
minho grabs your hand like i said and tugs you along to wherever the fuck his creepy brain wants to go that night. old graveyard, rooftop, back alley where he just killed someone ten minutes ago. he never tells you about it and you always get scared to death.
chan, gladly, makes plans before and actually tells you about it. but knows deep down that you’d be down even if he didn’t tell you about it beforehand. bc like… that’s dada. changbin is pretty much the same, except that you can tell he’s trying to be good.
seungmin either asks you at the very start of the day or growls “move your ass, we’re going” and slaps it on the way out??? bitch.
one night hyunjin steals you for deep talking and gentle thigh humping against a tombstone. next night jeongin has you giggling while he spray paints dicks on cop cars and tries to talk you into letting him eat you out. minho just silently pulls you into dark alleys but you don’t know it’s him so you always get scared to death. han will literally start crying if you try to say no, so you always end up with him. chan will get you to hang around in the garage while it’s incredibly boring but he’s having fun with the cars and you so sure whatever. felix never knows what he wants so you take him to a zoo or something. the animals always like him. changbin spends much more time with you now that you’re together, it’s mostly staying in tho because that’s calm and you need the peace, and of course, babygirl(buff evil serial killer) wants the best for you.
they’re all such immature little shits about it. can’t handle their own feelings so they make it your problem by physically hauling you around.
but to be honest… you like that they panic and steal and grab and whine and need you this bad. you like that the ones who tried to kill you once are now so stupidly in love they can’t function without your hand in theirs.
so yeah. you go with them. every single time. because saying no would probably make one of them actually combust, and honestly it’s kind of cute watching eight grown serial killers turn into clingy manchildren the second you walk into the room.
so, in a nutshell, you’re the fucking boss, y/n. the fucking queen. your collection’s growing, you’re just enjoying the ride(literally and figuratively) while they all fight over who gets to hold your hand next.
"haha these alpha trad men really just have dom/sub kinks!" i know misogyny isn't real to a lot of you guys but did you know that some people just actually do genuinely think women are inferior creatures
Chapter Summary: During a night out, you end up in the ER with a hurt ankle and can't resist flirting with the handsome attending, who ends up taking you on a date.
Tags/Notes: jack abbot x reader, bimbo!reader, meet cute (?), inappropriate flirting, first date, age gap
Content: mild injury (sprained ankle), use of needles, discussions of jack being a widower
A/N: heavily inspired by @promotional-dvd who writes just the most charming bimbo x robby/rabbot in the entire world. i hope ive done expanding the bimbo!reader world justice with this series
Word Count: 3.3k
It’s a quiet night in early November when you get wheeled into the ER by one of Jack Abbot’s doctors, drunk off your ass and unable to stop giggling. He’s never seen Ellis in a short going-out dress and the sight makes him blink hard a few times, processing the contrast with everyone else’s scrubs.
Ellis is in triage mode as she brings you over to trauma one, Abbot following close behind her. The night’s impossibly boring for once, so having anything to do is a nice change of pace, even if a drunk coed is usually below his paygrade as an attending. “We were out dancing and she went down hard. Pretty sure her ankle’s broken.”
You squeeze Ellis’ hand and look like you’re on the verge of tears as you say, “You’re such a good friend, Parker. I’m gonna miss you so much when you start your stupid fellowship.”
“Yeah, we will too,” Jack chuckles. He looks up at his resident and says, “Can’t practice medicine when you’re drunk, doc. Call a cab, head home, and drink some water. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Nobody calls cabs anymore, grandpa,” Ellis replies with a tipsy snicker. “My Uber’s already waiting.”
Jack rolls his eyes as he turns back to you. He wheels over the nearby stool and sits in front of you. “I’m Dr. Abbot.”
“Oh, you’re Parker’s boss.” Your eyes widen like the two of you are sharing a wicked secret. “She never said you’re a total fox. You should write her up for that.”
He laughs, “Pretty sure that would be an HR violation. Now, how about we start you with an IV? Get some painkillers for that ankle and throw in a cocktail of vitamins and electrolytes to help you sober up.”
You present your arm obediently and ask, “Do you call it a banana bag like they do on Grey’s?”
He smirks as he hangs the bags. “Sometimes, yeah.”
“Are you like this hospital’s Patrick Dempsey?”
“Haven’t seen the show.”
You pout and it’s unmistakably cute. “Boo, you’re no fun.”
“Not a lot of fun running an ER.”
“Oooh,” you coo and tease, “pretty boy doctor runs the ER.”
He smirks and lets it slide even though Robby would kill him for letting a hot girl think anyone but him is in charge. “Deep breath for the needle. There you go; good job.”
As the fluids and meds rip through your system, you start feeling a little less floaty in your head. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot. Very gentle with the needle.”
“Years of experience.”
You raise an eyebrow, your gaze hot over his muscular arms and handsome features. “Yeah, I bet. Years of sticking it in people.”
Jack clears his throat and rolls his shoulders. For the first time, he registers what you’re wearing: A baby pink halter with black laces up the back and BOMBSHELL across the front in silver gems, a fluttery black skirt so short he could touch the waistband with his thumb and the hem with his pinkie, and very little else. In this position, he can actually see a peek of the white lace panties between your legs. Several inches of your stomach are exposed and there’s a set of silver chains crisscrossing your bare skin.
He has to avert his eyes quickly to stop anything from happening below his scrubs. Then he sees your damn heels. No wonder you tripped. The platform beneath your toes has to be two or three inches and the pink ribbons tied up around your calves are doing nothing structural. Your legs look fucking phenomenal, which Jack definitely doesn’t allow himself to notice.
After flexing his fists to steady himself, Jack asks, “Mind if I take a look at that ankle?”
In response, you extend your leg and place your foot squarely in his lap. Your toes are painted with silver glitter that matches your accessories and you’re wearing an anklet with tinkling charms.
Cradling your calf with a hand that you can’t help noticing is big, Jack tells you, “I need to take the shoe and jewelry off to visualize the injury properly, okay?”
“Good luck,” you giggle. “I can barely get them on and off when I’m sober.”
As Jack chuckles, he makes relatively quick work of the maze of ties. “Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve done any surgery, but I think I’m up to the task.”
“Then you should definitely use those magic hands to get me out of this top, too, because I don’t think I’ll be able to do it myself.” Then your rapidly clearing eyes go wide and your lips part as you slap your hand over your face. He realizes that the polish on those dangerously long nails matches your toes – and his heart thuds a bit, something it doesn’t do very often these days. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like I was hitting on you! I mean, I was, because you’re totally cute, obviously, but- Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m such a flirt when I have vodka; I can’t help it.”
“That’s alright,” he laughs, trying not to blush under the attention as he sets aside your shoe and anklet. Your skin is exceptionally soft and there’s a faint shimmer to it from whatever lotion you used. And, god, you smell really good. Like coconut oil and shea butter and a fun night out. Shaking out the thoughts that follow, Jack palpates different parts of your lightly bruised ankle and tells you, “I’m flattered; it’s been a long time since someone like you hit on me.”
You tilt your head. “Someone like me?”
“I’m sorry,” he rushes, “that was inappropriate.”
“I don’t mind inappropriate,” you tease, running your other foot up his leg. He lets the overt flirting go even though he knows he shouldn’t. He should be stilling your leg and reminding you that he’s your doctor. But when he looks up into your big eyes, he just can’t bring himself to. “C’mon, tell me.”
“I just meant you’re very pretty,” he says, sounding strangled and sweet, “and young. Not the demographic that usually flirts with an old army doctor.”
You puff out your lower lip. “I’m the same age as Parker.”
“Really? Would’ve figured you were younger.”
You tell him with a laugh, “I just don’t have that whole ‘the world is full of pain and suffering’ expression all you doctors do.”
Jack snickers as he flexes your foot in different directions, watching your reactions carefully, “Is mine pretty bad?”
Your eye contact goes from teasing to something a bit deeper as you reply, “Not when you’re looking at me, actually.”
He clears his throat and suppresses his smile. “Well, your ankle is just sprained. Ellis was being overly cautious bringing you in, but better safe than sorry. Rest it as much as you can and use ice to bring down the swelling. Rotate between Tylenol and ibuprofen if it gets too sore.” Then he gives you a serious look that makes your stomach do a flip – the good kind, not the drunk kind. “And I’m definitely going to recommend laying off the giant heels for a while. Permanently, if you want to avoid aggravating the injury.”
You swing your feet, admiring the pretty shoes. “What’s life without a little risk?”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, killer, maybe just lay off them a couple days. Do you have any questions?”
“I don’t think so; not my first sprained ankle.”
“Yeah, I bet.” He nods and gives your thigh a squeeze that definitely doesn’t strike you as completely professional. His hands are bigger than you realized when he came in, fingers strong and calloused. “I’ll go ahead and process your discharge.”
You give him a smile that makes him want to dive into whatever pretty Barbie world you materialized from. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”
Despite his better judgment, he smirks. “Call me Jack.”
“Okay; I will.” You bite your lower lip and meet his eyes. “By the way, Jack,” you say softly, eyes teasing as he carefully latches your anklet, “if you asked me on a date, I’d say yes.”
He grins at you, surprised and adorable, and says, “How about I walk you out?”
“I’d like that a lot.” As you reapply your lip gloss and collect your purse, you realize, “Shit, I left my jacket at the club.”
Voice going a little stronger and more tender now – protective, your brain provides – he says, “Wait here a sec; I’ll grab mine for you.” Before you can protest or question him, he disappears, returning surprisingly fast with a fleece-lined Carhartt. He guides it over your arms and then keeps his hand at the center of your back. “Here. Keep it warm for me a few days, then you can return it on our date Saturday. Phone number's in the pocket.”
Jack just about loses consciousness when he spots you getting out of your Uber outside the restaurant he picked for your date. Your searching eyes haven’t landed on him yet, so he lets himself gawk for a second, if only to avoid doing it too much when you’re within reach.
The outfit hugging you like a second skin is a baby pink two-piece set made up of another tiny skirt (although this one covers more than a quarter of your thigh) and a tight cropped sweater, topped off with a fuzzy coat and another set of sky-high heels that make your ass look downright biteable. The idea of a sweater being cut in half strikes Jack as a bit contradictory, but he certainly isn’t going to complain about the inch of your soft stomach it reveals. He also decides to hold back a remark about the slight bruising of your ankle, reminding himself that he’s here as a date, not a doctor. It’s a slightly more structured heel, at least, which is a small victory.
When your eyes meet, you smile wide, skip up to him right away, and throw your arms around him like you’ve known each other for yours. You place a warm, familiar kiss on his cheek and say, “You look super sexy, Jack.”
“And you look…” His voice trails away as his eyes consume you completely. Compared to his white button down and black slacks, a safe and unintimidating first date outfit for him, you’re scrumptious. Trying not to let himself actually get insecure about the disparity, he jokes, “You sure you’re here to see me in that outfit?”
“Yup! Picked out the necklace just for you.” You present the heartbeat charm and it’s basically an invitation to stare down at your tits, so Jack gives in. He’s only human, after all. “This was the most medical-y thing I had short of stealing Parker’s stethoscope and bedazzling it.”
He reaches out and toys with it for a second, smiling at the idea that you got dressed thinking about him. “Very cute. Like you.”
You squeeze his bicep, definitely noting its firmness beneath your fingers, and give a tittering laugh. “Keep talking like that and tonight will go very well for you.”
Guiding you by your lower back, he says, “Let’s get inside; you must be freezing.”
You shake your head. “Cardi once said ‘a hoe never gets cold.’”
“What’s a Cardi?”
You giggle – and, for some reason, he doesn’t feel condescended to when you make fun of him. “I have so much to teach you, Jack.”
The restaurant’s fancier than Jack would usually go to, but he wanted to impress you. The past few days of texting had been some of the easiest of his life – and he doesn’t even like texting. You’re just so sincere and so enthusiastic, qualities seriously lacking in Jack’s sarcastic, misanthropic life. If opposites attract, then you’re the most attractive thing he’s ever laid eyes on.
As he pulls your chair out for you, Jack shakes his head at himself and sighs, “You know, I haven’t been on a date in months – a year, maybe – so you’re going to have to forgive me for being rusty.”
He settles across from you. Leaning on your elbows in a way that makes your cleavage downright ridiculous, you reply, “You’re a hot doctor; why haven’t you been dating?”
After placing orders for wine and appetizers – he chooses for you, which you try not to find as sexy as it undeniably is – he shrugs and flirts, “Guess I was just waiting for the right girl to tumble into my ER on a pair of six inch heels.”
“Please, I know I’m definitely not your usual type.”
“I don’t have a type.”
“Everyone has a type.”
“Not me.” He decides it’s better to get this one out of the way sooner rather than later: “Only woman I ever loved was my late wife and I’ve never been with anyone like her, so I don’t think I do.”
Your ankle hooks with his underneath the table as you search his faraway features. “Tell me about her.”
That’s not where he expected you to go. Not where anybody’s gone with it before. Part of why he doesn’t date much anymore is the constant presence of Rachel. He’ll never be over her completely and he always figured that would get in the way of another woman being willing to stake a claim on his life.
But here you are. Looking genuinely curious. Sympathetic.
Sincere.
Like you always are.
So Jack sighs, sips his wine, and thinks for a second. Then he lets a smile drift to his lips at the memories. “She was…exceptionally fun. Life of every party. The only reason I ever got on a dance floor. A great listener, no matter what I had to say. And she always called me on my shit. She was every good thing that I’m not.”
You watch him for a long time. Your eye contact is so intimate that the waiter is hanging back with your appetizers in hand. After a beat, you tell him, “Sounds like you have a type to me.”
You’re fun. You’re a great listener. Rachel may never have worn your tiny clothes or oversized jewelry or weapons-grade nails, but it’s undeniable that she’d like you. A smile flirts with the corner of his lips. “Yeah, maybe I do.”
Once the waiter’s brought the first course of food, you reach across the table and take Jack’s free hand in yours. As you rub the back of his hand with your thumb, he notices you’ve gotten a fresh manicure, little heartbeat symbols on each of your fingers, and has to suppress a smile. You had your nails done just for him. Just for this date. “How long have you been alone now?”
The way you ask – not ‘when did she die’ or ‘how long have you been single’ – has something fuzzy warming up in his chest. Like being known. “It was a decade this last year.”
“God, I’m so sorry, Jack.”
A beat passes. Both of you reach for the same piece of bruschetta and your fingers touch again. He lets you grab it, opting for another one, and then rubs your foot under the table with his. He doesn’t know what’s come over him in your presence. Robby would have a field day with this: Dr. Jack Abbot playing footsies.
While he watches the glorious expression you make as you enjoy the mix of balsamic and ricotta and tomato, he asks, “It doesn’t bother you that I’m a widower?”
Your eyebrows pinch together in genuine confusion. Your tongue chases a bit of ricotta from the corner of your lip and it makes Jack lose his mind a little bit. “Why would that bother me? You’re enough of a catch that someone already married you. You’ve been vetted by a fellow woman; I take her recommendation very seriously.”
Jack snickers, “She’d like that idea.”
From there, the two of you fall into an easy rhythm, sipping your way through a shared bottle of expensive white wine that goes perfectly with the fish dish Jack recommends. He tells you about his time in the army (briefly) and his time in medicine (much less briefly). You go through your whole ridiculous family and gaggle of friends you insist he’ll love meeting.
It’s all going exceptionally well until you mention that you kind of miss having roommates, at which point Jack gets surprised. Every single person your age he knows in the city has at least one roommate if not a whole slew of them like poor Javadi and Whitaker. He clarifies carefully, “You have your own place?”
“Yup,” you beam, clearly proud of yourself, “bought it a couple years ago now.”
He almost spits out his wine. “Bought?”
“Well, yeah, I have my own money.” Looking over your wine glass, you prod, tone light but question serious, “Did you think I was, like, a gold digger or something?”
“I don’t know.” He admits sheepishly, “Honestly, I figured you were a waitress or an heiress or, I don’t know, an unemployed hot girl with a trust fund.”
Pointing your fork at him, you reply, “That’s pretty sexist, doc, dontcha think? Like hot girls who like pink and sparkles can’t be successful and financially independent?”
He’s taken aback by not only your honesty and willingness to call him out but your sheer confidence in it. There’s not a single doubt in your mind about how you deserve to be treated, spoken to, or even thought about. “I’m sorry for assuming.”
Then you shrug and give him a sad sort of smile, looking soft and vulnerable. Like you’d been expecting better from him. “People always assume about me; I’m used to it.”
He never wants to see you making a face like that again, especially if he’s the one who caused it. He reaches across the table and takes your hand. “Hey, look, I’m checking my assumptions at the door from now on. I’m genuinely sorry.”
That makes you perk up again. “Yeah? Promise?”
Bending so that he can kiss your hand, he insists, “I swear. I want to know every single thing about you, starting with what it is you do to be both exceptionally cute and financially independent.”
“I forgive you, then.” Humming contentedly as you finish another bite of perfect halibut, you tell him, “I have a boutique downtown, basically like a show room for local artisans. Lots of skincare, jewelry, candles- Oh! And we have a new cerma- circam- ceramicist – sorry, I can never say that one – this month who does these super cute little salt and pepper shakers of famous movie couples.”
“And you’re the owner?”
“Yeah, I am. I started with this blog thingy featuring local artists and that kinda blew up and after a couple years I had enough money from ads and sponsors and stuff to let me open the storefront in a good location. We do pretty well.”
As you go on, Jack finds himself falling into the way your eyes shimmer when you talk about your passion. He’s spent so many years talking to doctors and white-collar professionals that he’s forgotten what it sounds like when someone has a true connection to their own life. Your smile is infectious, your laugh even more so.
After a while, he realizes he’s gotten so lost in listening to you talk that he’s missed what you were actually saying. “What did you say the name was?”
“Kismet; it’s actually pretty close to your hospital, maybe five blocks.
“Right, I know that place.” Jack grins as he realizes and tells you, “I bought a gift from there last Mother’s Day. My mom still wears the perfume one of your employees told me to buy every day.”
Your squeal is adorable. Devastatingly so. “That makes me so happy. You should stop by sometime and say hi.”
“I definitely will,” he replies, meaning it. He’s imagining himself bringing you flowers like some romantic because that’s the kind of man you’re making him want to be. “Any chance you saved room for dessert?”
“I always do.” You lean in with a secretive tone on your lips. “I have a monster sweet tooth.”
Jack laughs and orders a chocolate mousse. “Fitting.”
You bat your eyelashes. “Because I’m just so sweet?”
Deciding that he’s going to try out this whole sincerity thing you’ve got going on, Jack smiles and replies, “Actually, yes.”
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when rhaenyra brings her family to court to celebrate the king's fiftieth name day, there was but one thing on your mind: getting to see jace, the boy you'd loved in secret, once more.
whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
—emily brontë
fandom; house of the dragon
pairing; jacaerys velaryon x f!aunt!reader (no use of y/n)
warnings; canon-typical incest, canon-au (it's viserys' birthday party baby), altered timeline (jace and reader are in their 20s) idiots in love, instant attraction/love at first (second) sight, childhood sweethearts (kinda?), soulmate vibes, love confessions, switching povs, smut (mdni !) including masturbation (m), p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), implied loss of virginity, unprotected sex, mild marriage kink if that’s even a thing, body worship, dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, mild overstimulation, soft dom vibes, jace being a tits man.
word count; 15k+ (oops)
notes; me, obsessed with jace? more likely than u think. this whole fic spawned from the fact that i noticed jace's freckles on a gif and lost my gd mind. this was meant to be a quick smut fic. and then i took 11k+ words to get to the smut part. i'm sorry (i'm not). this is totally self-indulgent, soulmates, love at first sight kinda fluff-to-smut and i regret nothing. way too much time of writing this was me trawling through the asoiaf wiki pages to find details that are relevant for one whole sentence. why am i this way. valyrian is pulled straight from a translator i found online, pls let me know if you notice any errors!
requests; are open !
the first time you laid eyes on jacaerys velaryon, you knew he was something special.
you had just been children, then, uncertain of each other due to the discontent between your families. but he had been kind to you, dark eyes warm, and it had been an easy thing to be kind in return. your brothers make it difficult, of course, as they seem to do with everything they get involved in. aegon had been the worst at first, spouting off the same vitriol your mother had always whispered into your ears, but aemond had not been far behind him.
after the events of laena’s funeral and the loss of aemond’s eye, the hostilities only grow and grow. helaena keeps herself apart from most of it by virtue of her typically distant manner, but your brothers insist on drawing you into the same arguments again and again. it's tedious, laborious, but they are your family.
jace and luke are too, of course, not that anyone else seems to want to admit it. for all that they are velaryon’s by name (and strong in heart, mayhaps, yes), they are your nephews. your brothers only seem interested in remembering this when it serves them, however — which is usually when they’re lording it over the dark-haired boys.
in truth, the velaryon’s are hardly innocent either. it seems like the two sets of boys bring out the absolute worse in each other without fail, and it’s usually left to you to try and be the voice of reason.
away from your brothers’ taunts, jace is like a different boy entirely. endlessly curious and ceaselessly kind, the brunette seems to always have time to talk and jape with you. your friendship grows surprisingly easy as children, and with early adulthood comes the bloom of a different kind of affection, too. you never say anything, knowing all too well that if your brothers catch even a whisper of your feelings that there will be no end of hells to pay.
it matters little, regardless. your mother will never tolerate a betrothal between the two of you and you know better than to even attempt to broach such a topic. it had been sheer miracle that she hadn’t tried marrying you off to aemond after securing aegon and helaena’s marriage, and you aren’t willing to tempt fate by giving her ideas now. so what if you spend countless nights dreaming of freckled skin and dark hair? it matters not in the scheme of things.
rhaenyra flees kings landing after daemon’s return to westeros, leaving you feeling strangely bereft without your nephews’ company. years go by with no contact from your sister’s family, and so you let your old daydreams fall to the wayside. there’s no use dwelling on what you can’t have, and no point bringing it up since even now just a mention of luke or jace is enough to inflame aemond’s temper.
and then, of course, the news comes that rhaenyra is returning to court for the king’s fiftieth name day. there are great feasts and celebrations planned in honour of your father, which you privately think silly considering it’s unlikely he would be well enough to attend half the festivities. still, there’s no denying your excitement at the idea of seeing jace again. he would be a man grown, now, his twentieth name day having passed only a few moons ago.
for once the majority of your family will be under one roof, and you are certain it will end in disaster — but you intend to enjoy it while you can.
going flying the morning of the velaryons arrival is perhaps not your smartest idea.
your nerves wake you well before dawn. you feel as if you’re going to crawl out of your skin if you don’t do something, and you know your chances for flying will be limited with the celebrations expected to start tomorrow. so you decided to take the chance while you can, dressing quickly in your riding gear before creeping to the dragon pit well before any of your family wake.
silverwing likes it when you take her for unexpected flights, so she makes no complaint when you have the dragon keepers release her. you go through the motions of saddling her yourself, as you always do, taking the chance to reinforce the bond with your dragon.
silverwing hadn’t been your hatched dragon. the egg that you had slept beside as a babe had never hatched, just as aemond’s and helaena’s hadn’t. it had infuriated aemond when you were children, that jace and luke’s dragons hatched while he was left without. it had made him an easy target for the other boys; aegon had often led the others in riling him about his lack of dragon until he had claimed vhagar. you can admit now that the others had oft been cruel to him in their japing, and it had ended poorly for everyone involved.
your claiming of silverwing had been incredibly boring in comparison. she had found you, in truth, a year after aemond claimed vhagar. she’d been your great-grandmother the good queen alysanne’s dragon before your own, and had not taken a rider since the queen’s death. she’d flown from the dragonmont to find you, and you’ve been nigh on inseparable since. your mother despairs over it, hating how her often her ‘perfect daughter’ has shown up to court late with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.
but, to you, flying is freedom.
there’s nothing else like it in the world; the sensation of silverwing beneath you, the seven kingdoms at your fingertips, and only the sky above. your mother has never really let go of her fear of the dragons, and you can understand it in a way; she is no targaryen, and she’ll never know what it is to bond with a dragon, to have that presence so alien and yet so familiar nudging against the corners of your mind. any attempts to explain it to her are met with bemusement and wariness, and you’d long ago learned to stop bringing it up.
silverwing’s joy to fly merges into your own as you climb atop her, running a soothing hand over the gleaming silver spikes at her neck as you adjust the straps. her impatience thrums loudly through the bond as you settle yourself into the saddle, and you feel her heart beat through you like a second pulse as your own anticipation rises.
“ivestragī īlva sōvegon, ñuha raqiros! [let us fly, my friend!]”
she needs no further nudging than that, and with a delighted roar she launches into the air. your laughter is stolen by the wind as she beats her wings, propelling you higher and higher before sweeping over the towering peaks of the red keep. with a shouted instruction she banks sharply to the left, flying out over blackwater bay as the sun finally crests the horizon. the dark sea lights up with reds and golds beneath you, the sky gloriously blue above, and silverwing’s distinctive scales shine in the breaking dawn.
a glorious morning, you think, and as the two of you climb higher to the sky you feel all your nerves and excitement for anything but the flight leave you. this is what your mother will never understand; flying is an escape, yes, but not from your duties as she assumes it is. this is an escape from your worries, from the petty machinations of court. in the sky with your dragon, you need worry only about how chill the wind will be, or if aemond is out with vhagar, who’s a grumpy old beast at the best of times and silverwing is feeling mischievous.
you find peace, here, in the sky. this is what you were born for.
long minutes pass as you fly leisurely, circling over the bay and the keep and back again in ever widening circles. sometimes silverwing dives just to do so, plunging so close to the blackwater that you could reach out and skim your hand over the dark depths. you lose track of time as the two of you fly, contentment bleeding across the bond so completely you can’t even tell which one of you it’s coming from.
a dragon’s cry in the distance catches your attention, and silverwing pulls up from where she’d been ducking her head into the water to snatch fish. she propels you rapidly higher into the air, crying out in response as you break through the thin cloud cover. you expect to find aegon’s dragon; sunfyre is the only dragon silverwing likes, rather than tolerates, to be making such a noise in greeting.
but it’s an unfamiliar dragon that greets you, olive green scales shining with the damp from the high altitudes. your mind races as you struggle to place it, and it’s only when you catch sight of a head of dark curls astride the dragon that you realise who it is.
vermax.
and jacaerys.
your heart skips in your chest, silverwing’s unexpected excitement tangling with your own nerves as she swoops towards the much smaller dragon. it’s only her sheer happiness that stops you from panicking or shouting a command to halt in valyrian, and moments later you recall she’d have known vermax from her time on dragonstone.
she somersaults over and around vermax playfully, and you release an exhilarated laugh in response as you cling tightly to the saddle. you see only snatches of jace as your dragons fly complicated patterns around each other, but the quick flashes you do get find an easy smile on his face.
the dragons spend a long while flying together, racing and diving and spiralling to new heights. they move so quickly that you have no chance to try and greet jacaerys, can offer nothing more than quick smiles as you pass him. it gives you the time for your nerves to settle back down, time to reassure yourself that any childhood feelings are long faded and that you will be able to act perfectly composed when it is time to greet him.
eventually you realise your dragon is not going to land until you tell her too, and vermax is clearly just as willing to chase after the larger she-dragon for as long as she is willing to be chased.
“māzigon, silverwing. istiti tegun [come, silverwing. we must land],” you shout, laughing again when the dragon whines her displeasure. she listens regardless, soaring down in tightening circles with vermax following close on your tail. her landing in the dragon pit is far from smooth, but you’re well used to compensating for the jostling as she settles onto the ground once more.
you’re quick in freeing yourself from the saddle, murmuring warm thanks and praise to your dragon as you walk to the side of her great head to meet a single burning eye. “kirimvose, ñuha raqiros. kesi sōvegon arlī aderī [thank you, my friend. we will fly again soon],” you tell her, and she responds with a content grumble as she nudges her head gently against your chest in affection.
you leave the dragon keepers to return her to her cave, instead turning to watch as jace shares his own goodbyes with his dragon. you take the chance to look at him, properly look, and find yourself suddenly warring with self-consciousness and a burning in your chest.
despite the acrobatics of the dragons, he looks perfectly put together with his dark curls brushing his shoulders and a pleasing tan to his skin. you fear you must look a ruin, with your hair undoubtedly a mess and cheeks flushed from the cold bite of the wind. your breath is still a touch laboured from the exertion of the flight, while he looks perfectly composed in his fancy black and red doublet. you curse the old gods and the new that you’d picked out your old riding gear this morning — comfortable, yes, but certainly not ideal for greeting the heir to the heir and the man you’d once daydreamed about marrying.
you push the thoughts away with determined stubbornness, refusing to dwell on the warmth in your chest when jace finally turns to look at you. he’s grown, you note immediately, now standing at least a head taller than you. any traces of baby fat have left him, leaving behind a strong, square jaw and strong yet slim shoulders. his dark eyes are warm, though, and his smile friendly as he takes you in.
you dip instinctually into a curtsey, a perfectly respectable greeting ready on your lips, but you’re startled into straightening back to standing when jace laughs.
“come now, princess,” he says, fond and teasing he approaches you. he’s the only one who’s ever been able to make the title sound more like an endearment. “since when have we been ones for formality?”
it sets you at ease immediately, tension relaxing from your shoulders as you beam at him. “i suppose we never have been very good at that, have we?” you let your eyes skip over him again, something like relief settling in your bones at the sight of him. “it’s good to see you again, jace.”
“aye,” he returns, dark eyes sparkling. “it is good to see you, indeed.”
for a long moment he simply looks at you, and it makes that peculiar warmth in your chest blaze a little brighter. there’s something in his face that you’ve never seen there before — but then you think of course there is. you haven’t seen him in so long there’s probably all kinds of things about you him you no longer know. it aches, almost, to think it, but in a way he’s a stranger to you; a man with the kind eyes of the boy you’d loved in secret, once.
you clear your throat as you drop your eyes from his stare, glancing at the bustling keepers as they tend to your dragons instead as you cast about for something to say.
“are the rest of your family not flying in?” you query after a moment.
he shakes his head, dark curls swaying with the movement. “no, arrax and tyraxes are still too small to fly luke and joff for such a journey, and mother would rather stay with my brothers on the ship.”
you nod in acceptance, shifting slightly on the spot. “well then, let me be the first to welcome you back to king’s landing, my prince.” you take the formality out of your tone with a playful wink, and are gratified to see the way he chuckles at your antics.
“i had hoped you’d be the first i’d see.” he admits this casually, as if this doesn’t set your heart and mind racing. “i have missed you, aunt.”
you duck your head again to try and hide the smile spreading across your face. you tell yourself sternly to stop acting like some lovesick child, all the while that small flame continues to burn away inside of you. “and i you, nephew.” you glance up at him shyly from beneath your lashes, teeth worrying at your bottom lip, and you don’t miss the way his eyes track the movement.
he’s the one to clear his throat, this time, stepping a half-pace away from you and gesturing for you to proceed him. “shall we head to the keep, then? my mother’s ship should have arrived by now and we wouldn’t want to miss the formal welcome.”
“as you say,” you agree, and the two of you set off.
you spend the long walk to the keep catching up on the long years between you. you’d expected the time apart to be like a gulf between you, a canyon that could not be crossed, but if anything it’s the opposite. it’s as if you’d last seen each other only hours ago. it should startle you, how simple it feels to fall into your old friendship, but you don’t have it in you to be surprised. that’s always been the thing with jace, after all — it’s easy. being around him, speaking to him, listening to his odd tangents. it all comes as natural to you as breathing, as if there’s a part of you that was just born knowing him.
he's dodging your questions as you finally arrive at the keep, having let slip something about an old secret from the days of your childhood that he’s never shared with you. it makes something flutter in your chest, the way he looks at you as he says it. the way he’s looked at you the whole time, in fact, has you having to bite back a smile. he looks at you as if he is looking at something precious, expression tender and fond and uncomplicated. it threatens to steal your breath again, and so you make an effort to try and act as unaffected as possible, because he cannot mean it in the way you think you might want him too.
“oh, but you simply must tell me!” you wheedle cheerfully, a mischievous smile on your lips. “you wouldn’t keep a secret from me, would you, my prince?”
you pout at him, fluttering your lashes in the way you usually do when trying to get your way with your brothers. jace swallows audibly at the sight, some emotion you can’t read flickering across his eyes as his gaze drops to your mouth and then lower again before returning to your eyes. something in his expression makes you flush, cheeks burning as your lips part slowly. a heat rises in you, unbidden, as he steps ever so slightly closer into your space. you’re overwhelmed with the smell of him; sea salt and dragon smoke and something almost woodsy underneath it, something entirely jace.
he murmurs your name so quietly you almost miss it over the sounds of courtyard. his hand twitches as if to reach for you as he ducks his head slightly, and you think if you lifted yours just so you’d be able to brush your lips over the strong line of his jaw. you realise suddenly how much you want to — how much you want to drag your tongue over his skin and taste.
oh.
oh.
you want him. that peculiar feeling that had been burning in your chest — you recognise the desire for what it is, now. the easy camaraderie that you’d fell into on the walk to the keep subsides in the wake of it, and abruptly all you can think of is what his mouth will feel like on your own. the palpable tension between you makes your hands tremble with the urge to touch, heart pounding so loudly in your ears it drowns out anything that isn’t him as the rest of the courtyard fades away.
you sway the barest inch closer, inhaling his scent deeply, and watch as jace’s nostrils flare in response. with a shaky breath you lift your chin, eyes dropping to his parted lips, and you bite your bottom lip as his tongue sweeps over his own.
“jace…”
“brother! there you are!”
luke’s voice startles you both back to reality as you spring apart. you hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten, your chests almost brushing with every breath, until the gap between you widens. you drop your eyes to your feet, cheeks blazing with embarrassment as you realise how close you’d come to kissing him in an extremely public place. you chide yourself internally for forgetting yourself, and take another second to gather your composure before lifting your head with a smile.
“hello, nephew,” you greet luke warmly, doing your best to ignore the way jace’s eyes burns into the side of your face. “it is very good to see you again.”
“aunt!” luke fairly cheers, and you note how the youth still clings to his face. while certainly older than the last time you’d seen him, he still seems like a child to you. his limbs are long and gangly, in that awkward stage at the cusp of adulthood where he’s not quite grown into himself yet. he bounds closer, drawing you into a hug that you allow and return with a fond laugh.
“luke, honestly,” jace tuts, shaking his head as the two of you separate. “we’re at court, now. at least try to remember your manners.”
the younger boy winces. “ah, right, yes.” he sketches a quick but perfect bow your way. “it is a great honour to see you once more, princess.” he flashes a cheeky smile and a wink your way as he straightens out, and you press your hand to your mouth to smother a giggle at the exasperated look on jace’s face at his brother’s antics. he’s hardly one to talk, you think, considering how quickly he had dispensed with manners when greeting you.
in return, you dip into a practiced if impish curtsey. “it is a sincere pleasure to see you as well, prince lucerys.”
luke does giggle, then, as jace rolls his eyes so hard you think they’re at risk of falling out of his head. despite his dramatics, you spot the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth as he watches you jape with his brother.
“the queen is looking for you, dear aunt,” luke says after the greetings are done, and your amusement flees you as your stomach drops.
it’s only then you realise that with both luke and jace being here, you’ve certainly missed the official welcome of princess rhaenyra back to court. you wince at the thought of your mother’s ire, resigning yourself to a long lecture about your responsibilities and how dragon riding is ‘not one of them’. jace catches your expression, concern creasing his face as his brows furrow.
“alright?” he checks, and you do your best to offer him a reassuring smile.
“yes, i’m sure all will be well.” you hesitate a moment before offering a one-shouldered shrug, ignoring the voice in your head that sounds far too much like your mother telling you how unladylike such a motion is. “i expect my mother will be displeased with me for missing the official welcome, but the festivities will surely distract her quick enough.”
luke and jace both offer you a commiserating smile as the three of you head into the keep. you expect your mother will be waiting in her solar, which is on a close route to the guest suites set aside for the visiting royals, and so you walk with the velaryons as far as you can. when it comes time to part, jace lingers at the entry of the hall as luke continues down the corridor. his dark eyes are fixed to yours so intensely it steals your breath as you slow to a stop as well.
“i’ll see you at the feast,” he says quietly, capturing your hand in his much larger one and bringing it to his mouth. your breath hitches in your chest, eyes widening as he brushes his lips tenderly over your knuckles. your lips part in surprise, tingles racing up your arm from where his mouth makes contact with your skin. before you have chance to respond, jace dips into a sweeping bow and then bids you farewell, leaving you staring after him for a long moment.
well. if your mother doesn’t kill you, you think jace certainly will.
jace sinks into the hot water of the bath with a deep sigh of relief.
after meeting with his mother to explain why he’d been late to the formal greetings — or, rather, offer excuses as to why he’d been late, since he doesn’t think his mother will take well to the idea he was so busy enjoying himself flying with you that the thought of any formal welcome party left his mind entirely — he’d sought his chambers. the bath had been ready and waiting for him, tendrils of steam wafting from the clear water, and he’d wasted no time in shedding his clothes. he’s keen to wash the dragon stink from his skin before the feast, and he makes quick work of scrubbing his skin clean. when he’s done, he allows himself to relax against the metal of the tub, arms draped carelessly over the metal rim as he soaks.
king’s landing from dragonstone is not too long a journey on dragon back, but flying for such a stretch causes its own particular aches. vermax had enjoyed the chance to stretch his wings, at least, and had enjoyed the playful flight with silverwing even more.
he can admit to himself he’d enjoyed it, too, the sight of you astride your dragon lighting something within him. it’s been so long since he’d seen you, not since the aftermath of laena’s funeral, and he hadn’t been prepared for how the sight of you — breathless and flush and beaming at him — would make him feel. he’d almost managed to push back his boyhood adoration and childhood daydreams of marrying you one day with the years passing, but seeing you again brings it all rushing back and he feels as hopelessly enamoured with you now as he did as a child.
you’ve grown well, there’s no denying that. where childhood had left you sometimes awkward and gangly, you’ve become a woman grown now with all the curves and delights that come with it. he’d been embarrassed at how hard it had been to pull his gaze from you on the trip to the keep, but you’d not seemed to notice. too occupied with filling the air between you with light chatter, you’d been oblivious to the way his eyes had dragged over your form again and again.
you just — you’re so unlike anyone else he knows. he’d let himself forget how lovely you were, but there was no way to ignore it now. riding the high of your flight and genuinely happy to see him, you’d been like something out of a dream. your face had been as open to him as ever, plainly delighted to see him, and seeing you had eased some ache he’d become so used to he’d not even know it was there until he felt the lack of it.
he’s not some foolish child. he knows better than to think of things like love when his head must lie with his duty. but the thought remains regardless, lingering in the back of his mind that you would be as easy to love now as you had been when you were younger. it had been a childish love then, of course; innocent and sweet in the ways only children could be. but it had been there, unspoken and unacted upon, but no less real for it.
you’re not children anymore. it would be impossible to think otherwise with the way your riding gear had clung flatteringly to your chest and hips. your mouth looked so pretty stretched into a smile, a smile for him, and he thinks it’s a testament to his restraint that he’d not kissed you on the spot when you’d pouted so prettily up at him. he’d thought for a fleeting moment that perhaps you were going to kiss him with the way your eyes had darkened, how you’d gravitated into his space as if without intention.
heat pools in his stomach as he thinks about how the neckline of your riding dress had cut low enough to allow him a peak at your chest, heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. he wonders what your mouth would taste like, what noises you would make if he’d slid his tongue against your own. gods, he feels like a green boy seeing a woman for the first time — almost undone at just the thought of you. he won’t be able to get through the welcome feast like this, he thinks, so on edge with his lust for you burning him from the inside out.
it’s not even a conscious choice to curl his fingers around his cock, half-hard already as he thinks of you. jace’s head tips back against the rim of the bath, eyes drifting closed as a quiet gasp escapes him. the warm water eases his way as he strokes himself, and he lets himself imagine it’s your slick, instead.
he pictures you before him, pretends it’s your hand teasing at the skin at the head of his cock. your hands are so small, so dainty, he thinks you probably wouldn’t be able to wrap them all the way around him. he imagines they’re a little calloused — soft, mostly, but with the fingertips just rough enough from years spent riding and caring for your dragon. they’d drag so deliciously against his skin, and you’d take to the task with the same voracious enthusiasm you do with everything else. you’d watch him closely, pick up on the cues of his pleasure, and he’d unravel for you so quickly it’d be embarrassing if it was anyone else.
“fuck,” he hisses out, thumb dragging over the liquid leaking copiously from his tip. his head tips back even further, water dripping from his curls onto the stone floor as he chases his release. his imagining splinters into disconnected fantasies; you, on your knees with your mouth stretched around him, lashes damp with reflexive tears as your eyes fix on his. you, sprawled beneath him and writhing as he feasts on your cunt like a man starved. you, babbling in high valyrian as he sinks into the tight wet heat of you. you, clenching and shuddering around his cock as you come for him, blazing and beautiful. you, you, you.
his release hits him hard, a low groan tearing from his throat as his hips thrust up into his hand as he drags out those last few moments of pleasure. his panting breaths sound loud in the silence of his chambers, and jace is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that he is alone. there is, of course, no trace of you.
he knows in that moment he has to have you. he cannot tolerate the thought of anyone else — not for himself, and certainly not for you. he wants you as his wife, his queen, the mother of his children. jace doesn’t care how he must do it — as long as you’re as willing as he is, he is going to make you his.
the feast has started by the time jace arrives.
his indulgence had cost him time, and then he’d spent longer than usual readying himself while trying to ignore the fact he was doing so only to impress you. by the time he makes it to the hall his family are already seated and the minstrels are playing a jaunty tune. his eyes seek you instantly, and he resists the urge to frown in disappointment as he sees you sat between helaena and aemond. he’d hoped to sit beside you and use this time to see if there was any hint of you returning his feelings. no matter — there would be time enough later. if he has his way, there’ll be all the time in the world.
you look beautiful, he notes. you’re dressed in your usual deep green, the gown cut flatteringly for your shape. your face is animated and happy as you chat to aemond, and though he finds the idea of anyone enjoying that grumpy prick’s presence bizarre, he enjoys the sight of you so at ease.
as he approaches the head table and the empty seat between his mother and luke, your eyes linger on him. he’s gratified by the way you light up when you spot him, offering him a warm smile in welcome for all that you’re quickly entangled into a conversation with your sister. it eases some of the sting at finding you unavailable, and he’s helpless but to smile back at you even when your gaze slides back to helaena.
luke eyes him strangely as he settles into his seat but says nothing as jace reaches for a goblet of wine. his mother greets him absently, entangled as she is in conversation with the king, and he takes the moment to glance out at the hall.
it’s a relatively small feast. large enough to not cause offence to the heir to the throne, but not so grand as to detract from the festivities planned for the next fortnight. he recognises a few faces in the crowd, people from different houses from across the kingdoms. the king’s birthday celebrations are no small affair, and he spots representatives from all the great houses as well as some of the more minor ones.
it makes him want to slump in his seat, for all that he keeps his posture straight. he knows the next few weeks will be full of politicking and double speak, and it grates. as the heir to the heir, jace knows it’s partially his responsibility to ensure their alliances still stand while seeking out any news one that might present themselves. he has no doubt that some of the lords in this crowd will have brought their daughters, planning to parade them in front of him and his brothers in hopes they might pick one as their betrothed.
his lack of betrothal has been a point of contention for many of the court, he knows. most had assumed he would be betrothed to his stepsister baela, and he’d thought the same for years. it was only when his mother had confided that baela had no interest in being queen and, in fact, was so strongly opposed to the idea that she swore to fly to essos and never be seen again if they tried marrying her to him that he realised just why such a betrothal had never been announced.
it had left him free, in a way, to pursue his own desires; without a betrothal attached to him he’d shed any guilt about seeking company at the pleasure houses. but, in turn, it had left him open to the machinations of the other houses who all sought to have their blood on the iron throne. it’s incredibly tedious, but he knows he must grin and bear it for the sake of his mother and his house.
the food arrives then, and he busies himself with the meal and talking to his siblings. his grandsire makes a speech welcoming his daughter and her family home, and jace notes the sour faces of alicent’s sons. they keep their tongues, at least, which shows a maturity from them he truthfully hadn’t expected. perhaps they’ve grown just as you have, he thinks, but dismisses the thought when aemond catches his eye and only sneers in response to jace’s tentative smile.
he's often wondered at the conflict between the two sides of the family. the animosity now he can pinpoint, of course; aemond losing his eye. but there had been years before that of tense, standoffish behaviour interspersed with camaraderie when everyone seemed to forget they weren’t meant to be friends. he remembers playing pranks with aegon while luke trailed after them, and he remembers sitting with helaena while she perused the dirt for bugs.
he remembers you, most of all. kind and fearless and smart, you’d enamoured him from the moment he was old enough to recognise girls were different to boys in interesting ways. even before then you’d been fast friends, something in your similarly mischievous behaviour drawing you into each other’s orbit. he’s always been drawn to you, he thinks, to the uncomplicated joy you took in your life. there was so much to be miserable about, so much duty on all your shoulders, but you always found something to smile over. your unfailing optimism would no doubt be irritating to some, but to him it has always been one of his favourite things about you.
his gaze, predictably, shifts to you. he startles to find you looking at him already. you flush immediately as your eyes lock, presumably embarrassed at being caught, and he enjoys the colour it brings to your cheeks. you don’t drop his stare, though, not until helaena says something to draw your attention back to her once again. he catches sight of a private little quirk of your lips as your head turns, and something like satisfaction settles in his chest as he hides his own smile in his goblet.
perhaps this feast won’t be as tedious as he’d feared.
“are you enjoying the festivities, princess?”
jace’s voice pulls you from where you’ve been staring into your wine as if it holds all the secrets of the world. you’ve lost count of how many goblets you’ve had, chattering away with your siblings before aegon had started to become cruel in his inebriation and you’d all opted to split apart through the hall. you glance up to find the velaryon prince standing before you, hands perched loosely on the hilt of his sword. he looks unfairly handsome, you think, with his tumble of curls and well-fitted doublet, and something about the slight smirk on his face makes you think he knows it.
“i am enjoying them well enough,” you allow, flicking your gaze from his to look out at the dance floor. aemond is dancing with helaena, aegon far too deep into his cups to bother thinking of his wife. your mother is as tense as she has been since you’d found her earlier; her stepdaughter’s arrival to court has set her incredibly on edge, and the lecture she’d given you earlier had certainly been one of her worst. and your father is oblivious to it all, simply too pleased at the presence of his favoured daughter to care about the way the rest of his family are fracturing apart.
he's not been a good father to you, the king. he’s called you and helaena rhaenyra more than once over the years, and even when his eyes are you on you, you never feel like it’s you he sees. your mother had tried to soothe the ache of his absence, of his blatant favour for a woman who was not here, but as the years stretched on even she had seemed to fade further and further away from you all. for so long it’s just been the four of you, clinging to each other and tearing each other apart in equal measure. you’ve oft thought that daeron is the luckiest of you, able to thrive at the hightower and away from the mess of your family.
you pause at the maudlin turn of your thoughts, peering contemplatively into your wine again before offering jace a slightly sheepish smile. “i… fear i may have indulged in too much wine,” you admit, startling a laugh from the darkhaired prince.
it’s aegon’s fault, you decide; before he’d gotten belligerently drunk he’d been so cheerful, seemingly pleased to have the pressure of being the eldest targaryen child in court off of his shoulders. in his cheer he had plied you with wine, laughing and japing with an arm over your shoulder as you reminisced on simpler times of your childhood. happy to see him so, you’d not resisted, but now you find yourself regretting those choices as your thoughts tumble sluggishly through your mind.
jace shakes his head fondly at you, reaching out to carefully steal your goblet away. his fingers brush against yours as he does so, the barest of touches and yet enough to set your heart racing as you blink slowly up at him. he sips from your wine deliberately, amber eyes darkening as he holds your stare, and your lips part with an unsteady breath. something about him drinking your wine from your cup has your stomach fluttering pleasantly.
gods, i want him.
the thought is enough to startle you, heat suffusing your cheeks as you avert your gaze. jace doesn’t, though, and you can feel the weight of his stare on you like a tangible thing. it makes your skin prickle with warmth, and you lurch a touch unsteadily to your feet before you can say anything silly like ‘kiss me, please’.
“i think i should retire to my chambers before i make a drunken fool of myself,” you announce, fingers smoothing over the green velvet of your dress.
“i’ll escort you,” jace returns, tone leaving no room for argument.
he sets aside the wine and offers you his arm, quirking an eyebrow as if in challenge. you hesitate for barely a second, taking a steadying breath, before looping your arm through his and allowing him to lead you through the crowd towards the open doors. the woodsy smell of him you’d noticed before is clearer, now, and you take another deep breath of the scent. it calms your nerves and yet inflames your desire, and your fingers tighten infinitesimally against his bicep.
you stop at the doors of the feasting chamber for long enough to let ser erryk know that you’re retiring for the evening, leaving it to him to pass the message on to your mother, and then you and jace are alone in the halls of the keep.
of course, you’re not truly alone. guards litter the corridors and even at this late hour servants bustle along, busy with their chores. but in the quiet of the keep as jace leads you to your rooms, you can almost imagine yourself alone with him. the thought threatens to overwhelm you, mad fantasies of him tugging you into a dark alcove to devour you flashing through your mind, and you scold yourself internally.
you’re really very cross with aegon. he and his wine have left you in this state, too far into your cups to keep control of your dangerous wonderings. if only he had not kept calling for more of that gods-be-damned arbor gold, you’d have been able to keep your wits about you. you’d wanted to dance at the feast, too, mayhaps even with jacaerys but at the very least with your brothers. instead, you’re being led back to your rooms like a child who’s had their first taste of wine with dinner and let it go to their head.
jace’s presence helps your intoxication little. seeing him again, touching him, smelling him — it’s all too much when all your defences are down like this. you feel like a girl again, staring breathlessly after him and so full of certainty that you love him, and it’s just— ridiculous. you’ve spent mere hours in his presence and you’re like some lovelorn idiot with no thought in your mind beyond being as close to him as is possible. it’s foolish, reckless, absurd. but it’s there, regardless, unfurling in your chest with a lovely kind of agony.
you keep quiet on the walk, too afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll beg him to have his way with you or, worse, confess your re-blooming infatuation for him, and jace seems content enough to walk in silence for a while. eventually, though, he speaks.
“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you drunk before,” he observes, tone light.
you glance at him sidelong, pursing your lips at the teasing smirk curling on his mouth. “it’s aegon’s doing,” you tell him solemnly. “my brother is something of an expert on the subject of wines, and his tolerance is… much higher than mine own.”
jace snorts. “aye, i had noticed.”
you lapse into silence, again, only now you find yourself stealing glances at him. he really is very pretty, you think, though in quite a masculine way. something about the sharp line of his jaw and the curl of his eyelashes keeps drawing your attention, and you suspect you are not being subtle with your admiration in your inebriated state. as you walk by an open window moonlight floods into the hall, sending jace’s profile into sharp relief, and your eyes catch on the smattering of freckles on his smooth skin. something about the pattern makes you think of the stars, and you realise too late that your quick glances have turned to a lingering stare.
“is there something on my face, princess?”
jace’s mockingly innocent words draw your eyes to his. he’s smirking down at you, eyes dancing with amusement, and your cheeks flush. gods, you don’t think you’ve blushed so much in moons compared to the mere hours you’ve spent in his company. the things this man is doing to you — it is unconscionable. you don’t know how much more of this you can take before your resolve breaks.
“i apologise, my prince,” your respond after a beat, teeth biting at your lip. “i did not mean to… i was leagues away.”
his eyes darken, mischief fleeing them in favour of flickers of something else as they linger on your mouth, and that damnable heat in your stomach blazes. you want desperately to surge forward and kiss him, or for him to take you in his hands and kiss you. you just want, and ache, and burn. and it’s too much, far too much for your wine-addled brain to process, but you know if anyone was to happen upon you in this corridor, starting at him with your mouth parted and your breaths shuddering through your lungs, there will be consequences.
“we should— we are almost at my chambers.” your words are stumbling, loud in the sudden quiet that had descended over the pair of you, and jace startles a little, eyes darting away from yours as your stomach plummets. gods, what are you doing? staring at him in such a way? he must think you a simple-minded fool, gaping at him for the sake of a few freckles. you step away from him, rubbing your arm as you turn your eyes to stare intently at your feet instead. “i can make it the rest of the way from here. you should return to the feast.”
jace is quiet for a long moment and you peek up at him to see him watching you with an indecipherable expression for a charged breath before nodding slowly and taking a step away.
“as you wish,” he murmurs, ducking his head in a simple bow. “sweet dreams, princess.”
you stutter out your own farewell, half-convinced you’ll be dreaming of nothing but his hands and his mouth this night, before turning and all but fleeing down the hall.
oh, yes. jacaerys is certainly going to be the death of you.
jace spends the next few days at court so entangled in his responsibilities he feels he barely sets eyes upon you.
he and his mother are roped into starting the celebrations in the absence of the king himself. his grandsire’s health is failing, of that there is no doubt, and after enjoying himself a touch too heartily at the welcome feast he requires a few days to recover. he thinks perhaps that’s why these festivities are so important; it’s unlikely the king will make it to his five and fiftieth name day, and almost certainly not his sixtieth. it leaves him with… complicated feelings.
when his grandsire dies, he will no longer be the heir to the heir, but the heir to the iron throne itself. it’s a daunting thought; for all that his mother has seen him well prepared to sit his throne one day, it feels such an impossible task. he doesn’t understand how he’s ever supposed to be ready for such a thing.
the thought rises, unbidden, that it would be easier with you by his side. with your kind heart but sharp mind, you’d make a fine queen. he finds himself daydreaming of it still and scolding himself all the while for acting the green boy, and yet unable to stop. it’s as if his every thought leads back to you in some way or another — he sees a flower and wonders if you’d like the smell of it, or sees a dress and thinks of how much lovelier it would look on you. at night he indulges in more sensual wonderings, and he swears he’s not felt the urge to touch himself so much since he was a boy of five and ten just starting to discover the pleasures the touch of another can bring.
for all that you’d appeared to reject him the night of the welcome feast, he finds himself certain you desire him just as he does you. in fact, he fancies it’s that very desire that had led to you fleeing his company and avoiding him in the days after.
because you are avoiding him.
yes, he is busy with the festivities and you are perhaps equally so. but he does not think it’s busyness that drives you to seek conversation with absolutely anyone else when he looks for your company, and it is not busyness that has you clinging to aemond’s side so fiercely either. you know he won’t approach you when you’re with your brother, knowing how it hurts you to see them trade barbs and knowing himself well enough to know he will not be able to bite back his rancour if aemond says a word about his father.
jace is not an idiot. he knows what people say about him, the words they barely bother to whisper behind their hands about who his true sire is. he has complicated feelings about that, too, but it all boils down to one simple thing: he is his mother’s son. she is heir to the king, and he is her heir. for him, that’s all that can matter.
he knows it’s all that matters to you, too. for all that your brothers had spit bastard at him for as long as he can remember, you’ve never done so. you’ve never looked at him differently for the rumours of his birth, and it’s just one thing among many he treasures about you.
perhaps it’s foolish, to cling to these childhood feelings so tightly, but he cannot let the idea of the two of you together go. he knows luke has noticed how he stares after you in longing, since his brother has never been shy about teasing him relentlessly. he thinks his mother has noticed, too, from the few carefully inane comments she’s made about betrothals and duty.
he supposes an argument could be made for the fact that with the years without contact between you, he doesn’t really know you anymore, not as he once did, but he doesn’t feel it matters. he can learn anything new about you and will in fact do so joyfully, but the important things? the things that speak to who you are at your core? jace has always known those, has always felt connected to you in a way he never has with another, and he loves you now just as he did as a boy.
it would be easier in a way if he felt sure you didn’t reciprocate his feelings. at least then he could try and move on from them, put to bed his endless wonderings of you. but for as often as he turns his head to look at you, he finds you looking away from your own watching of him. the few, brief interactions he has with you over the next few days feel loaded, the desire and affection between you a palpable thing, and he’s tiring of pretending there’s nothing there anymore.
he’s tired of pretending he doesn’t miss you.
so, at the halfway point of the celebrations when there’s another, larger feast held with plenty of chances for dancing and sneaking away into dark corners, he makes it a point to keep an eye on you. the moment he spots you, finally alone, he beelines for you. your attention is on your necklace, readjusting the pendant that rests on your chest, and he cannot help but let his gaze linger on the swell of your breasts as he approaches. he’s found himself staring at your chest more often than is wholly appropriate over the last few days, but then he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to a woman’s form.
“p-prince jacaerys,” you greet weakly when you look up from your necklace, hands smoothing over the skirts of your dress. your eyes dart about the room as if seeking a rescue from someone, and he tries not to feel how such a response to his presence stings. “how are you enjoying the feast?”
“well enough,” he returns, echoing the words you’d spoke to him days ago. gods, has it only been days since that conversation? it feels like an age, and he has felt more distant from you in these passing moments than he is in your years apart.
“that is… good.” your fingers twist around each other, teeth catching on your bottom lip, and he has to swallow back the sudden rush of desire to be the one nipping at the pouting flesh.
“would you do me the honour of a dance, princess?”
his request startles you, eyes widening as your fingers drop back to your side in surprise. he thinks for a wild moment that you’ll say no, make some excuse to remove yourself from him, and he feels himself bracing for the rejection. but you hesitate, searching his face, and whatever you find there seems to soften something in you as you nod.
“of course.” you offer him your hand, an unsure smile on your face.
he takes it with relief, trying not to react at the sensation of your hand in his own. he was right in thinking your hands are smooth, but as he leads you to the dance floor and your fingers slide over his palm he feels the drag of callouses as he’d expected. it pulls him back into that heated imagining of before for a moment, and he has to shake his head slightly to keep himself from losing his wits.
you stay quiet as he guides you into position, dainty hand resting on his shoulder as he places his own at your hip. he leads you through the first few steps in quiet, too, taking the moment to enjoy having you in his arms, having you close. but he realises after a silent minute that you’re obviously not going to say anything, and even as he looks beseechingly at you appear to avoid meeting his eyes.
“you’ve been avoiding me,” he speaks lowly, watching you carefully as you stare purposefully at the bridge of his nose instead of his eyes.
your eyes flicker away and back and then away again, fingers tightening around his own as he leads you through the steps of the dance effortlessly. “aye,” you admit quietly. “i have been.”
“why?” he doesn’t mean to sound so desperate nor so accusing, but the quiet hurt that your absence has caused him surges forth before jace can stop it.
you finally meet his gaze, eyes helpless and wanting and aching, and his stomach twists at the sight of your conflicted expression.
“i— jace, i can’t.” your voice cracks with the weight of your emotion and without thinking he pulls you closer, arm wrapping tight around your waist to provide you some semblance of comfort. “i can’t. not here, please.”
wordlessly he alters the steps of the dance, drawing you with precision through the crowd of dancers until you come to one of the balconies. it’s blessedly empty of anyone else, and as soon as you realise it some tension seems to shake loose of you.
you step out of his grip slowly, almost reluctantly, and walk to the railing, palms splaying on the stone. he joins you after the barest hesitation, drinking you in as you stare out at the courtyard and beyond. he notices how tightly you grip the banister, colour leeching from you knuckles with the strength of your grip, and almost without thinking jace rests his hand beside your own, pinkie fingers brushing. the touch seems to release something in you and he hears how your breath shudders before you speak.
“i embarrassed myself on the night of the welcome feast,” you confess miserably. “i drank too much, and the way that i behaved— staring at you in that way— it was not becoming behaviour of a princess, nor of a, a friend. i did not wish to make you uncomfortable again, so i thought it best i keep my distance from you.”
he blinks in surprise. “uncomfortable?” the mere idea of such a thing is maddening. he recalls the sight of you before him, lips parted and oh so kissable as you’d stared at him with such intention it had set him ablaze. how in the name of the gods can you think he found such a thing uncomfortable? “princess, i can assure you, the only feeling i took from your admiration is delight.”
your head snaps around, eyes finally meeting his own again, and he shakes his head in bemusement at the sight of your desperate hope. “truly? you do not jest?”
he resists the urge to chuckle, knowing you’ll take any kind of laughter, no matter how well meaning, poorly. instead he reaches for you, grasps your hands in his own and tries not to bask in the way you lean into him as he steps recklessly into your space. he feels your trembling breaths puff against his jaw as he ducks his head to stare intently into your eyes, and if he were a weaker man jace thinks he’d be on his knees in prostration for you in that very moment.
“surely you must know how i feel for you?” he murmurs, tracking the way the flush in your cheeks travels down your neck and onto your chest with greedy eyes. “how desperately i adore you?”
“jacaerys—.” you huff, shaking your head in denial for all that with every breath you take you sway ever closer to him. “we hardly know each other anymore. i won’t deny there is, is a yearning between us, mayhaps, but you cannot claim to adore me when you know me not. it’s been years since—"
“—do you think time matters?” he talks over you, strong in his conviction that you and he share a bond that transcends time or distance or duty. “that any distance between us could change what i know in my bones? i loved you before i had a name for it. i loved you when we were children and, yes, i love you again now. mayhaps i don’t know your favourite sweet or if you prefer to watch the sun rise or set, but i know you. i know who you are, princess, for all that i might no longer know the rest of it. i know your good heart, your quick mind and i know that i love you.” he hesitates, drinks in the dawning, open wonder on your face, and then adds, “and i think you might love me just the same.”
you sigh out his name sweetly, fingers tangling with his own as he squeezes your hands tenderly. you tilt your chin towards him as your eyes flutter shut. his nose slides against your own as you turn just so to the side, and your mouth is so close. he could kiss you, right now, and he knows that you would not pull away. but he’s too aware of the noise of the feast, the crowd of people that at any moment could find you in a compromising position.
he wants you, gods does he want you, but he will not ruin your reputation, will not sully your virtue for the sake of a stolen kiss on a balcony when he desires no less than forever with you.
“i will not push you,” he murmurs against your lips, breathing the air right from your lungs as he presses his forehead to yours for just a moment. “if you do not want this — if you do not return my feelings — i won’t push you nor pursue you. i hold too great a respect for you for that.” he cradles your jaw, thumb dragging at the corner of your mouth, and he glories in the way you shudder at his touch. with an unsteady breath he separates himself from you, hands clenching into fists at his side in an effort not to immediately reach for you again.
“but if you decide you want me as i want you, that you love me as ardently as i you, then my chambers will be unguarded and unlocked for you.” he sketches a bow, heart thundering in his chest as you stare at him in wordless shock. “i hope to see you later tonight, my princess.”
you have no chance to respond before jace leaves you standing on the balcony.
he leaves you with your mind swirling, one thought after another coming so quickly you have no hope in processing them. you’re glad to be outside, at least, the cool breeze helping soothe the heat that blazes through your veins as you press your hand over your racing heart. you don’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. all you can think about is jace, earnest and honest and in love with you.
he’s in love with you (!).
it’s too quick. too much time has passed with too little contact. in the years since he left court you’ve grown into new people, people who for all intents and purposes are strangers to each other. the lust is there, there’s no point in denying that with how your body warms at the smallest glance from him. and that old familiarity that blossomed as friendship as children and now into easy companionship as adults, that remains as it always has. and mayhaps you’ve thought to yourself, in the dark quiet of the night, that you’ll surely love him once more. that to know him any better at all is to love him again, because how can you know him and not love him?
but there’s been years and leagues between you for so long. time and distance have their ways of changing a heart, and he might say it doesn’t matter but it does. it does.
only it doesn’t, not at all, because giddiness is bubbling up in you so sudden that you cannot fight it, a helpless laugh escaping you as you press your hand over your mouth in unabashed amazement. your brave prince, plunging headfirst into the long-unspoken feelings between you. it incites you to act, drives you back into the hall where you catch aegon for long enough to tell him you’re retiring for the night before escaping into the quiet corridors.
you feel like your heart is going to burst in your chest, nerves and excitement and awe twisting together inside of you until you feel like you might vibrate out of your own skin. the walk to jace’s chambers is a haze, and in the morning you expect you’ll panic, wonder if anyone saw you walking so shamelessly towards the prince’s rooms. but now, in this moment, all you can think of is how fervently you want him, how guilelessly you love him.
the knock on his door — unguarded, as he had promised — echoes loudly in the silent corridor. you can hear your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as you wait for him to answer, and when he finally does he takes your breath away.
he’s shed his doublet and sword belt, standing in only his breeches and a billowing off-white tunic. the ties are loose on his neck and you’re entranced by the peek of tanned skin there, the freckles you can see disappearing beneath the shirt. he says your name, once, and your eyes snap back to him in time to see the relief and wonder coalesce into smouldering fire.
he curls his fingers around your wrist, thumb swiping over the delicate skin in a way that makes you shiver, and he uses the hold to wordlessly tug you into his chambers. you step into the space, eyes darting from the large bed to the roaring fire and back to the bed again as he locks the doors behind you.
you are finally, blissfully, alone.
you feel his presence behind you, heat and woodsmoke radiating from him as you turn to face him. something in your chest loosens at the blatant awe in his amber eyes, like liquid gold in the light of the flames, and before you can pause to think you’re speaking, your feelings escaping you in a flood.
“i shouldn’t be here,” you say shamelessly. “i know my being here is—. i shouldn’t be here. but i couldn’t not be, jace, not when you left without giving me a chance to tell you how i feel. because, gods, of course i feel for you. it’s unreasonable, insensible— there’s so much about each other we just don’t know anymore.” you shake your head, smiling at him wide and helpless and hopelessly, hopelessly in love with him. “but despite all the rationality in the world, all the good sense — despite knowing the trouble this is sure to bring us — i am completely and utterly in love with you, jacaerys velaryon.”
he kisses you, then, surges into your space and cups your cheeks and slots his mouth so sweetly against yours. you gasp into his lips as he kisses you deliberate, slow and tender in a way that makes your chest ache. your arms loop around his neck, pulling him as close as you can as his own arms wrap around your waist. your noses bump and your teeth clash in your eagerness and it’s still glorious, it’s the best kiss you’ve ever experienced because it’s him.
it’s always been him.
you part after a few minutes, remaining close together as he runs his hand through your hair before cradling your face once more. “tell me again,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing your breath.
“i love you,” you say, smiling so wide it makes your cheeks ache. “i love you, i love you, i lo—”
he kisses you again, a quick press of his mouth against your this time, and then he’s laughing softly as his golden eyes shine down at you. “i have loved you forever,” he tells you, indulgent and affectionate as his thumb traces over your cheek. “i will love you forever, my princess.”
he draws you closer still, holds you tightly against him but far enough that he can drink you in, and for long moments you simply bask in the presence of each other, of this slow unfurling of happiness in your heart. this close to him, you can once again see the freckles dotted across his face. without even thinking of it your hand rises, and with butterfly-gentle fingers you trace a path over the constellations mapped on sun-kissed skin. jace sighs softly with your touch, dark lashes fluttering closed as his lips part.
“iksā sīr gevie [you are so beautiful],” you murmur, slipping into high valyrian in the quiet of his chambers.
he exhales shakily, breath hitching in his chest as your fingers brush gently over his eyelids, the slope of his nose, the furrow of his brow. you want to remember him like this forever – bathed in the soft firelight, trembling beneath your tender touch, wholly and entirely yours.
“ñuha dārilaros [my princess],” he breathes, and hearing him speak possessively of you in your mother tongue ignites something within you so suddenly you cannot fight it.
arousal roars to life, deep in your belly, and you are helpless but to do anything but lean forward and press your lips to his once more. jace meets you just as greedily, hands gripping tightly to the flesh of your hips as he hauls you closer until your chests press together. your hand moves from his face to fist in his hair, tugging at his curls until he whines against your lips. he kisses you deep and open mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding against yours so deliciously that you can feel heat pulse between your legs.
one of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling until your head is tilted back. he trails hot, wet kisses along your neck and you hiss at the sensation, pressing his head closer to your skin. you feel him smirk against you before he mouths at your pulse point, teeth nipping just enough to send a thrill of pain and pleasure through you.
“jace,” you moan, grinding against him shamelessly as he sucks a bruise into the sensitive skin of your throat. you want him so fiercely it makes you reckless, makes you insatiable as the hand not buried in his curls drags down his back to grip at his ass. he groans against you, your name spilling from his lips so deep and husky that you want to do whatever you can to make him say it like that again and again and again.
“this is— we shouldn’t,” he says into your skin. he pushes at the shoulder of your dress to expose more of your bare skin to his greedy eyes, lips trailing the path his fingers have taken. “we should wait until we—. if anyone knew of this—”
“—no one will know,” you assure him, fingers flexing into the taut skin of his ass to drive him closer to you.
“i don’t want to, to besmirch your honour.” even as he speaks he’s dragging his tongue against your collarbone, chasing a bead of sweat down to the swell of your chest.
“fuck my honour,” you burst out, and your language has him moaning. you hitch your leg around his waist and his hand drops instantly to grip you at the knee, pulling you just so until the hard length of him is grinding deliciously against your core. you can’t think, can’t breathe, for wanting him. his touch and his scent and his taste consumes you, inflames you, and you care for nothing but the feel of him against you.
he pulls away from your chest, mouth swollen and pupils blown as he pants hotly. he presses his forehead to yours, squeezing your hip to still you as you shamelessly try to rub yourself against him. “this will bring ruin to you if it gets out, do you understand? it would break me to be the cause of such a thing.”
his desperation makes you hesitate, something about the fierce tone breaking into the haze of lust that consumes you. you take a moment to look at him, and you know with certainty that if you ask him to stop right this second he will.
but you don’t want him to stop. you’ve never wanted anything less.
“jace.” you cup his cheek, thumb dragging over his bottom lip as you force him to keep your gaze. “i know the risks of this as well as anyone.” you lean in closer, your nose sliding against his before you tilt your head to pepper soft, deliberate kisses along his jaw, the corner of his mouth. “i love you.” he sighs softly in pleasure before turning his head to capture your mouth again, and this kiss is a softer, slower thing.
when you break apart, you stare deeply into his eyes, making sure he can see the truth of your words. the heat in his amber eyes threatens to splinter you to pieces as you swallow thickly, almost overwhelmed once more with your desire for him.
“i am yours, jacaerys velaryon,” you say steadily. “no matter what happens from here— i belong to you.”
it’s like a dam breaks in him. his hands are suddenly everywhere as his mouth devours yours relentlessly, leaving you gasping and arching into his touch. he backs you towards his bed as his hands fist in your skirts, bunching the material up to your hips. he breaks from your mouth long enough to tug your dress over your head, leaving you in your thin small clothes, and despite the sweltering heat of the room your nipples harden beneath the sheer material.
“look at you, pretty thing,” he says reverentially, the weight of his heated gaze tangible as he stares at your heaving chest. “is this all for me?”
“yes,” you hiss, head tilting back as he trails kisses down the column of your throat. “all for you, jace. only ever for you.”
he groans at your words, deft fingers making quick work of the complicated stays of the brassiere, and when the material falls from you he stares for a long moment as if transfixed by the sight of your bare breasts. it makes you smug, knowing that those times you’ve caught his eyes lingering on your chest haven’t just been in your imagination.
“you are perfect,” he murmurs worshipfully, large hand cupping the side of your breast tenderly. “such a perfect girl for me.”
his thumb sweeps over your nipple, featherlight at first before returning more firmly when you sigh and lean into his touch. his other hand grips your hip once more, pulling you close to him as he lavishes more attention on your neck. he nips and kisses his way down your throat, your shoulder, the swell of your breast until he’s hunched slightly in front of you, sucking bruises into the tender skin of your chest.
“jacaerys, please.” you know not what you’re pleading for, only that you need something, and it’s as if he can read your mind as his mouth closes over your nipple. his hand, now free, gropes at your other breast as his tongue swirls tight circles around your nipple and your head tips back with a moan. it’s somehow enough and yet not, your hips bucking aimlessly as heat and slick pools between your legs, and you crave.
“more, please,” you beg shamelessly.
jace drops to the floor in response and the sight of him on his knees for you has your head spinning. he presses open mouthed kisses to the soft skin of your abdomen, bites gently at your hip as his hands slide steadily up your legs. you tremble beneath his careful ministrations, and he murmurs wordless assurances into your sweat-slick skin.
he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your smalls, dragging them agonisingly slowly down your legs until you can step out of them. standing completely bare before him you expect to find yourself shy, but the way jace looks at you rapturously has liquid heat licking through your veins instead.
he leaves lingering kisses on your thigh and down your leg, and when his mouth brushes over the tender skin at the back of your knee you feel them buckle. he huffs a gentle laugh against you, warm hands cradling your waist as he urges you to sit back on the bed. you do so unsteadily, planting your hands against the soft feather mattress and watching him with intent ardour.
he nudges your legs apart and settles between them, his shoulders spreading you wide around him and you release a soft breath as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your thighs. “let me take care of you, my princess,” he pleads, eyes wide and soft and beseeching as he gazes up at you. you nod hesitantly, not wholly sure what he intends, but then his eyes finally drop to your core and darken so quickly it makes your mouth dry.
“gods, look at you.” he drags a finger through your folds and your head cants back, a whine escaping you at the touch. “you’re so wet for me, love. so gorgeous.” he brings his finger to his mouth, licking it clean of your slick and it has your mouth dropping open because he’s obscene, you think. he’s glorious.
“you taste so good,” he says, his voice so rough with arousal it makes you shiver. “wanna taste more of you.”
with no more warning that that, he licks a deliberate strip along your slit before circling his tongue over your clit. your hand shoots to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he feasts on you. his name falls from your lips over and over again like a prayer as he laps at your core, tongue pressing deliciously inside you. you grind wantonly against his mouth, panting as he laves at your cunt.
your pleasure climbs sharply, rising so high you’re helpless to resist the way your stomach tightens. as if sensing your approaching high jace shifts his focus to your pulsing clit, flicking his tongue rapidly over the bundle of nerves.
“jace, gods, feels so good,” you gasp out, fingers tightening in his curls to press his head impossibly closer. “please don’t stop, ‘m so close—”
he sucks harshly on your pearl, ever so carefully dragging his teeth over the sensitive flesh, and you fall to pieces as that tightly wound ball in your stomach snaps. he coaxes you through the trembling release, gentling his attention on you to drag out your pleasure until you’re squirming away from him in sensitivity. when he pulls away from your core his face is shining with your slick and the sight makes you feel feral. you bend to reach him and he presses up to meet you, kissing you hot and messy as you drink the taste of yourself from his mouth.
“you did so well for me, my princess,” he pants into your mouth as he crowds you onto the bed and the praise blooms hot in your chest. “need you to be good for me a little longer, okay? need to prepare you.”
you whimper, capturing his mouth in another sloppy kiss and nipping thoughtlessly at his lips as he settles between your legs. you can feel the heavy length of him against your hip, kept from you by his breeches, and you’re suddenly insensible with desire to see more of his skin. you tug wordlessly at the hem of his tunic, pulling it free from his trousers, and with a huff of fond amusement he separates from you to pull it over his head and toss it aside.
you drink in the exposed planes of his chest, leaning up to drag your tongue from freckle to freckle along his collarbone, and jace groans out your name in response. you follow the map of constellations down his chest, pressing kisses and gentle bites to the skin until you come to one of his nipples. hesitantly you flick your tongue out, curl it around the puckered skin just as jace had done to you earlier.
“fuck,” he hisses, fingers clenching in the sheets as his arms tremble with the strain of keeping himself steady above you.
emboldened by his response you lavish the pebbled bud with attention, switching to the other when the fancy takes you, until jace is shuddering with desire and pushing your shoulders back into the bed. he swallows your protests with a flurry of kisses as his fingers trail down your chest, your abdomen until he reaches the heat between your legs. he presses a finger against you again and you arch into the touch, tossing your head back into the pillows.
“i want you so badly,” he confesses in a whisper as he sucks another bruise into your neck.
“yes,” you respond senselessly, hips bucking up to meet the slow stroke of his finger. “want you, jace, please.”
“i need to prepare you first, love,” he tells you again and you whine in displeasure. “i don’t wish to hurt you, so i need to get you ready for me.”
you’ve heard that it can hurt, what happens in bed between a man and a woman. you can’t comprehend the idea with how good you feel right now, how good he’s made you feel already, but you nod in acquiescence at jace’s stubborn expression and he beams down at you.
“that’s my good girl,” he utters affectionately, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.
the finger that’s been sliding leisurely against you shifts, pressing inside with a familiar stretch. you’ve touched yourself before, explored what pleasure you can draw from your own body in the late of the night. you don’t know if it’s different because it’s the angle or just because it’s jace, but the feeling of his finger pumping into you is so much better than anything you’ve managed with your own clumsy digits and you moan with the pleasure of it.
“you’re so tight,” he says in amazement, burning gold eyes staring down at you worshipfully. “can’t wait to be inside you, my princess.”
you moan at his filthy words, hips bucking into his touch as he presses a second finger into you. this one pinches more, makes it almost uncomfortable until jace starts to rub slow circles over your clit with his thumb. any discomfort melts into liquid pleasure as he mouths at your neck once more, fingers crooking inside of you just so until stars burst behind your eyes.
“fuck, jacaerys—”
he shushes you softly even as his eyes gleam with smug pride. he picks up the pace, now, fucking you with his fingers as your pleasure starts to climb once more. just when you start to feel like you can’t take it anymore he slides a third finger in, the stetch burning deliciously this time, and you come apart on his fingers with a strangled moan of his name. he doesn’t relent this time, though, even when you writhe helplessly beneath him; he just chases another release for you without giving you a chance to recover, and the thrill rises so quickly it almost makes it a little hard to breathe.
“just one more,” he soothes as you whine, pressing delicate kisses to the corner of your mouth as he drives his fingers into you relentlessly. “you’re doing so well. just one more for me.”
your third climax hits you so hard your back bows up from the bed, mouth parting in a silent cry of pleasure as jace coaxes you through it before pulling his fingers from you. you ache at the loss, mewling your displeasure as your cunt clenches around nothing. he breathes a laugh at your impatience, kissing you so sweetly in such contrast to the delicious heat between you that it almost makes you weep.
with shaking hands you reach for the ties of his breaches, fumbling with the laces while he kisses you languidly. you make a triumphant little noise when you finally untie them and he smiles at you, adoring and soft and yet somehow feverishly aroused as you push the leather trousers down his hips. he helps you the rest of the way, kicking them off before returning to hover over you.
your hands brush his abdomen as you reach for him, fingers curling gently around the hard line of his cock, and he realises a shuddering breath in response. he watches you intently as you stare at his arousal, fascinated by the way your fingers barely close around the thick girth of him. he’s going to fill you so well, you realise, and you bite your lip as your core clenches again. the tip of him is leaking fluid, and you drag your hand up his cock to swipe your thumb over the head.
jace moans at the movement, so you do it again and again, watching in inflamed curiosity at the way his stomach contracts as he thrusts into your hand, the wet noise of it making you flush down to your toes as desire sparks in your core. his hand covers your own abruptly, stopping your exploration, and you pout up at him as he fixes you with a blazing stare.
“if you keep doing that, i’m not going to last,” he says, voice shaking with the weight of his desire.
“fine.”
you huff, pretending at annoyance even as you eagerly lie back and spread your legs for him. you fix him with an expectant look, raising an eyebrow, and he chuckles fondly as he settles himself between your legs once more. you’re not expecting the velvet heat of him dragging against you and you gasp at the sensation, grinding against him as he thrusts shallowly against you.
“are you ready for me, love?” he checks, cradling your face in his hands as his thumb rubs over your jaw.
you turn to press a kiss against his palm, near overwhelmed with your love and affection for this man. “yes,” you say simply, and it’s all the permission he needs as he ducks down to kiss you unhurriedly.
his head catches at your opening on the next thrust, and with the slightest shift of your hips he’s pressing inside of you. the stretch of him burns, pinches, but just as he did with his fingers, he worms his hand between your bodies to drag circles over your clit. you do your best to relax, keeping your eyes fixed on his golden stare as he slides into you, agonisingly slow.
the whole while he keeps up a litany of praise, calling you good and precious and perfect as sweat beads along his forehead. when he’s finally fully sheathed inside you he stills his movements, kisses you hard and wanting as he thumbs at your pearl, and when you’re ready you tilt your hips. the stretch of him burns, still, but in a way that sets your skin alight as you cling to his shoulders.
he moans your name like a prayer, drawing away from you until the tip of his cock catches at your entrance once more, and this time when he sinks back in your eyes roll back into your head. he feels so good, stretching and filling you so completely that you’ve no room to think, to breathe, to do anything but take it as he thrusts into you. he buries his head in your neck, resting on his forearms as he plunges into you again and again and again, and between your own choked breaths and the sounds of skin against skin, you hear him muttering in high valyrian.
“sīr sȳz syt nyke, sīr ȳrda, sīr lōz. vēttan syt nyke. ñuha dārilaros, mirre ñuhon [so good for me, so tight, so wet. made for me. my princess, all mine].”
it drives you wild, his voice and his words and hearing him speak in valyrian combined with the exquisite torture of the slow drag of his cock inside you. it’s too much, not enough, and leaves you with nothing but the need to feel as much of him as you possibly can. your hands drag up and down his back, fingernails leaving raised red lines in their wake as you seek to be as close to him as you can bear.
“more, jace, gods, please, i need—”
he cuts you off with a hard thrust, your breath punching out of your lungs as he starts to drive into you harder and faster. it’s so good, so fucking good, but still not quite enough and you whine, seeking something you’re not sure you know how to verbalise.
“whatever you need, love. i’ll give you whatever you need.”
understanding your need even when you don’t, jacaerys rears up, grips your legs and presses your knees to your chest before bearing down on you. like this he reaches so deep it hurts in the most unbearably, searingly pleasurable way. and it’s perfect, exactly what you needed, feeling him so far inside you that it soothes you and ignites you and makes you ache all at once.
“y’feel so good,” you manage to slur out, head lolling as you lose yourself to the feel of him taking you apart so expertly. “so— fuck— so deep. so good, jace, so good.”
jace groans your name, pounding into you so hard and so deep that it’s unconscionable, has your eyes rolling back into your head as your hips buck up to meet him recklessly. your peak approaches again, searing heat blazing through you as you inch closer to another climax, and all you can do is whine and moan as he fills you over and over again. he starts to lose the thread of his rhythm as you clench around him, valyrian and common tongue mixing senselessly as praise spills from his lips.
“avy jorrāelan [i love you] my perfect girl, gūrogon nyke sīr sȳrī [take me so well], can’t get enough of you, hells, i love you, ao sagon ñuhon [you’re mine], my love, my princess, my queen, ñuha ābrazȳrys [my wife].”
you come so hard you see stars, walls pulsing around jace’s cock as he curses. he thrusts sloppily into you, chasing his own release and dragging out your own as you keen, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. he finds completion with a drawn out noise, seed spilling hot and thick inside of you as he lazily pumps his hips two, three more times before collapsing on top of you.
you press absent kisses to his temple, brushing back the sweat-soaked curls from where they’ve matted on his forehead as he shudders against you. you feel lethargic, body aching in the sweetest of ways as you fight to catch your breath. eventually the heavy weight of jace on top of you becomes uncomfortable and you squirm beneath him in protest. with a sigh he slides himself free of you, rolling over onto his back and wrapping an arm around you to pull you with him so that you sprawl over his chest.
you bury your smile into his neck, satisfaction settling bone-deep as his hand runs up and down your back idly. for long moments the two of simply lie together in the quiet, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and the crackle of the dying fire.
“i’ll speak to my mother and the king on the morrow,” he says into the quiet and you raise your head to look at him. he looks serious, amber eyes contemplative as he peers down at you. “i’ll not let another night pass without you as my betrothed.” he smiles at you then, a little crooked as his eyes crinkle, and without thought you reach up to press a lingering kiss to his mouth.
“i love you,” you say, eyes shining with mischief. “ñuha valzȳrys [my husband].”
jace swallows your laugh with another kiss, doing a poor job of hiding his own amusement as his smile presses to yours, and as the candles burn down you let all of your worries and doubts fade.
you and bucky have been best friends since you were kids, but ended up going to colleges thousands of miles apart. your student experience begins terribly, but bucky is having the time of his life - you can't let him know the truth. because if he did, you know he'd drop everything to come and save you.
content warning: frat!bucky x best friend!reader, idiots in love, angst, shitty friends, crying, reader has an older sister, slut shaming, fluff, soft!bucky, hurt/comfort.
"Hey, sunshine!"
You smile widely at the sight of Bucky's face on your phone, your heart immediately warming. "Hey, moonlight."
He's walking around his frat house, his eyes bright and his teeth on show as grins at you. "How's it going? You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good," You lie, nestling against your pillow. "How about you?"
"I'm great," He answers, a frown growing on his face. "You still in bed?"
A laugh leaves your mouth as you shrug. "You know; student life. I was out late last night."
"Ahh, I see," Bucky says with a smirk. "So, how's Virginia Tech? Everything you ever dreamed about?"
"And more," You insist, sitting up. "It's great. How's UCLA?"
"Incredible," He replies instantly, entering the kitchen. "I didn't think I'd enjoy L.A as much as I am. You have got to come visit me one day."
"Oh, for sure," You promise.
Another voice off camera steals Bucky's attention before an unfamiliar face pops onto the screen. "Hey!" The blonde greets. "This must be the famous Y/N?"
"The one and only," You confirm with a laugh. "And you are?"
He gasps, dramatically placing his hand on his chest. "I can't believe he hasn't mentioned me to you yet. I'm Steve; Bucky's best friend when he isn't talking to you."
Bucky rolls his eyes, smiling nonetheless. "Alright, see you later, bud," He says before walking out of the kitchen and to his bedroom. He already gave you a tour of the house the day he moved in, so he jogs up the stairs while talking about the basketball practice he has later.
"I see you finally put the LED lights up," You comment when he enters his room.
"I did!" He says excitedly, flipping the camera to show you them. "You know how incredible sex is with these on?"
You snort, rolling your eyes. "Idiot."
I'm being serious: you've got to invest," He says gravely, turning the camera back onto him. "Maybe you and lover-boy can have some fun."
His words make you frown. "Lover-boy?"
"That guy you made out with on Saturday?" He asks, raising a brow. "You know, the one you met at the party?"
"I told you about that?" You ask, shocked at yourself.
"Of course you did," Bucky laughs. "You called me seconds after it happened."
"Oh, yeah," You mumble as the memory resurfaces. "He's definitely not my lover-boy."
"Why not?" He asks you with concern. "He do something wrong?"
"Nothing like that; I just haven't seen him again since that night," You say with a shrug. "Didn't get his number."
"Well, I'm sure you'll be drowning in dick by the end of the week," He jokes with a wink. "But no boyfriends, okay?"
"Why not?" You question him.
"Too much drama," He answers plainly. "The fuck am I supposed to do if someone breaks your heart and I'm two thousand miles away? As much as I'd like to think I can, I can't break someone's legs from that distance."
"I think you could," You say with a smile. "But, don't worry. I will remain single as long as possible."
"Good girl," Bucky grins, giving you a thumbs up.
"So, you're enjoying yourself?" You ask him, wanting to change the subject.
"It is incredible here, sunshine," He says with a grin. "The guys are hilarious. You'd love them."
"If you do, I'm sure I would," You agree sweetly.
Suddenly, he pouts and lies back on his bed. "I miss you."
Your heart breaks and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Don't, Buck, because I will cry."
"I'm sorry. I just miss you so bad," He whines, rubbing his forehead.
"It's so weird being here without you," You say, frowning. "I want you to be here."
"I want you to be here," He counters. "As much fun as I'm having, it feels like there's something missing."
You sniffle, shaking your head. "Okay, stop being sappy. Come on. We'll be fine."
"When will I see you next?" He asks with puppy-dog eyes.
"I don't know, moonlight," You say softly. "But we have to schedule something soon."
"For sure," He agrees, sitting up.
"Alright, I'll let you go prepare for basketball, now," You say, putting on a brave face. "Have fun, okay?"
"I will," Bucky replies, slightly frowning. "I love you, sunshine."
You grab a fistful of your blanket in an effort to stop the tears from falling. "I love you more, moonlight."
"See you soon," He promises.
"Bye," You whisper before quickly hanging up so he doesn't see you burst into tears.
The sobs rack through your body as you shake, hugging your knees to your chest. You didn't think college would be this lonely, but after the week you've had, you feel lower than ever.
With a shaky hand, you FaceTime your sister, needing her guidance.
"Hello?" She answers after three rings.
"Pia, help," You cry. "I hate college. And college hates me."
"Oh, my God, what happened?" She asks, her face filled with concern.
"It's my roommates," You say, lowering your voice just in case they walk past your room. "You know how I told you about that guy I made out with on the first night?"
"Yeah," Pia says, frowning. "What about him?"
"Turns out, he's one of my roommates' ex," You reveal. "They told me about him before, but how was I supposed to know that the white guy with brown hair I was talking to was the same white guy with brown hair that was her ex?"
"Oh, no," Pia mumbles. "Well, that wasn't your fault."
"They don't seem to think so," You mutter. "They screamed at me the morning after, and now they're giving me the silent treatment."
"Then they're incredibly immature," She says with a frown. "And bitchy as hell."
"I can't even go into the kitchen because they're always there," You complain, rubbing your forehead.
"How do you eat?" She asks you with furrowed brows. "You need to eat, Y/N!"
"I am; I have snacks in my room," You promise her. "And I go and cook at night, when they're gone."
"You shouldn't have to live like that in your own apartment," She says sternly.
"It's too awkward to be in the same room as them; I hate it," You whine. "They whisper and I know they're talking about me. It's fine, it's just annoying. And I haven't even made any friends on my course yet, and just- college is really not for me."
"Have you told Bucky?" Pia questions you.
"No, I can't," You insist with a sigh. "He's literally having the best time ever at UCLA. He's got new friends and a healthy sex life and he's obviously doing great in every single class. I don't want to kill his vibe and make him worry about me. You know what he's like; the second he finds out something's wrong, he'll get on the next flight to Virginia."
Pia lets out a long sigh, shaking her head. "You can't live like this."
"It's fine," You say firmly. "There's just a bit of awkwardness with my roommates, and once everyone calms down, it'll be fine. I'll be fine."
"You sure?" She asks you with a raised brow.
You nod, plastering on a fake smile. "I'm sure, P."
"Ugh, here she comes," Freya mutters under her breath when you enter the kitchen.
You inwardly sigh, regretting coming in. It's been a full week since you kissed her ex, and the worst part is that he wasn't even that good of a kisser.
Something propels you to speak up. You're sick of their bitter comments. "Are we really gonna be like this for the rest of the year?" You ask, taking the three of them by surprise.
Clarity raises a brow. "Excuse you?"
You roll your eyes. "I'm sick of you guys being so immature. Yes, I kissed him- big fucking deal! He's Freya's ex, not her boyfriend."
"You still broke the code," Freya says with a glare, slowly walking over to you. "Do you know how much it hurt me to see that?"
Feeling bad, you glance down. "I'm sorry that it hurt you, but it wasn't my fault-"
"Who else's was it?" She suddenly yells. "You fucking slut; you probably sought him out on purpose just to spite me!"
"Why would I do that?" You ask her incredulously.
"Because you're jealous of her, maybe?" Sandra pipes up, holding back her smirk in an effort to hide how hard she's getting off on this.
"You should speak to reception about changing floors," Freya suggests arrogantly. "Because I do not want you living here anymore. The girls agree with me: we want you gone by tonight."
Without saying a word, you spin on your heels and storm out of the kitchen and back into your bedroom where you quickly begin packing up all your shit.
Fuck them. You're glad to be leaving. Nothing could be worse than living with them.
Three days after the girls kick you out, you realize that things could be absolutely worse than living with them.
Because you needed accommodation right away, you were put in a dingy dorm apartment with four guys. They don't clean up after themselves in the kitchen, they play loud music until 4am, and frankly, they terrify you.
It's horrible.
You almost want to drop out of college altogether, but you can't disappoint your family like that. You've sent a text message to Pia explaining the situation, though you left out the part about the scary roommates because you don't want her to be concerned. As far as she knows, you've been moved into a dorm with a few messy students and nothing more.
How did life get like this?
With college absolutely kicking your ass, you break down. You're on your way home from the library with tears streaming down your face, wondering what you did to deserve this. You don't even want to go back to your apartment; it's probably safer to just walk around campus all night.
When you get to your apartment building, you look down to pull out your keys when you suddenly feel an hand on your shoulder.
Oh, God. This is it. You're dying tonight.
"Hey, sunshine," His familiar voice rings out.
Your eyes widen and you gasp, turning to face him. "Bucky?" The sight of him almost makes you burst into tears then and there.
He grins widely, pulling you in for a tight hug. "Hey, cutie."
Unable to hold back, you sob into his shoulder, holding him as though you're afraid he'll run off. You don't know why or how he's here, but it doesn't matter because he's fucking here. "Oh, my God," You cry through uneven, heavy breaths. "I can't believe you're here right now. What the fuck?"
"I'm here, baby, I'm here," Bucky coos, rocking you gently from side to side. "I'm here."
Hicupping, you catch your breath and pull back, looking up at him. "What are you doing here, Buck?"
He cups your face, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. A look of concern fills his features and he frowns. "I spoke to Pia."
"That little shit," You curse, grabbing fistfuls of his hoodie. "I told her not to tell you."
"And why didn't you tell me?" He asks you sternly. "Why didn't you tell me, Y/N?"
"I couldn't," You insist, shaking your head. "You were having fun in L.A. and I didn't wanna ruin that. I just needed to sort my shit out-"
"And now you're living with a bunch of guys?" He questions you with that angry look on his face you haven't seen in so long. "I spoke to the receptionist-"
"Isn't that information confidential?" You wonder out loud, rubbing your eyes.
"Not when you're as handsome as me," He says with a shrug, before his face drops again. "Seriously though, Y/N. I can't believe you didn't tell me."
"It's fine," You whisper, not even believing it yourself.
"Come here," Bucky mumbles, pulling you back into his chest. "I'm your best friend. I'm the one you tell everything. I'm the one who saves you."
"Why would you come all this way?" You whine, feeling guilty.
"To save you," He says with a cocky smirk, pulling back and looking down at you. "I'm moving you to a new building."
"Bucky, no," You shake your head. "I literally just moved; I can't go through that process again."
"You won't be alone this time," He promises you. "I pulled a few strings. You know Steve?"
"From your frat?" You ask with a raised brow.
"That's the one. His mom owns a ton of property here," Bucky tells you. "She agreed to let you lease out an apartment for a fraction of the price."
"Bucky, what?" You question him, gobsmacked.
"I'm gonna help you move your things," He goes on to say. "No more shitty student dorms for you. My best girl deserves luxury, alright?"
You're in disbelief, wondering if this a dream and really hoping it isn't. "You're insane," You breathe out, clutching onto his arm. "I mean, seriously. You flew out how many miles for me?"
"Two thousand, five hundred and sixty-nine," He answers you proudly. "And it's worth every mile to make you happy."
"You're an angel," You mumble, cupping his face. "You cannot be a real human."
"Maybe I am," Bucky shrugs, leaning down to kiss your cheek. "I love you, sunshine. I'd fly a million miles to keep you safe, you know that. You mean more to me than anything."
You pout, feeling bad that he came all this way for you. "Are you missing classes?"
"Yep," He replies. "But, somehow, the world continues to turn."
"I love you, too," You say, smiling up at him. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."
"You're the bestest, prettiest, most incredible person a guy could ask for," Bucky responds sweetly, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Did I mention prettiest?"
"No, you're the prettiest," You reply childishly.
"No, you," He insists, kissing your nose. "Now, come on. I'm gonna help you move your stuff, and then we're ordering pizza because I am starving."
Bucky takes your hand and pulls you into the building while your heart swells with love for him. What would you ever do without him?
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part 2 >>
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1) Love your writing and cant wait to see more!! 2) For the prompt inspiration, what about something along the lines of Jack's girlfriend, that Dana and Robby don't particularly like, shows up seriously injured at the Pitt?
Someone New: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader
Synopsis: After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.
Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma; traffic accident, death, injuries, mentions of a failed marriage, divorce
Word count: 1.9k
A/n: LMFAO guys, most of my requests rn are for injured readers are we okay? Anyway... enjoy xoxo (also, thanks so much for the compliment!! messages/comments like these are super motivating <3)
Mistress. Homewrecker. The Other Woman.
You’ve called yourself worse a thousand times. The guilt over how things started with Jack weighs on you. And though his love feels sweet and pure, it offers little comfort in the face of their judgment.
You wish you’d met under different circumstances. Started things the right way.
But in your heart you know it’s real. Even if they don’t.
The truth is, Jack’s marriage was over long before you came into the picture. They were separated when you met, though the divorce wasn’t final.
So you let others believe that it was your fault. Made little effort to dispel the rumors. To introduce yourself properly.
Maybe you were embarrassed.
Definitely ashamed.
Perhaps they had a point and you destroyed a perfectly good relationship. Or at least got in the way of Jack and his ex trying to salvage what was left.
But it doesn’t matter now. Not anymore. Nothing does.
“Female. 30s. Car vs. pedestrian. In and out of consciousness. Possible head injury. Probable femoral fracture”, the EMT presents.
The cold metal of the gurney beneath you makes you shiver, harsh sterile lights flickering overhead.
“Woah. What happened?” Dana’s voice is laced with concern.
“I’m fine", you murmur, but your voice betrays you, weak and unconvincing. “Just a bit sleepy.”
Why is everything spinning?
“You hit your head?” Robby's voice is sharp and suddenly close, the light of his pen so bright it feels like it’s burning through your skull. He instructs you to follow his finger. You try, but your vision is distorted, like shattered glass. You can barely manage to focus.
“I- I’m not sure”, you confess, struggling to catch your breath, your lungs burning.
“Someone pushed her into oncoming traffic", the EMT continues, calm and clinical, part of his routine. "A bicycle hit her head-on and a car slammed into her hip."
His words hit you like a punch to the gut and your stomach twists with horror.
You can't remember any of it.
You try to move, to sit up, but your body refuses.
Why is your face wet? You beg, pray, it’s just tears. It has to be.
But it’s thick and warm. And the familiar, metallic smell makes your head swim.
“J-Jack… I-“, you plead.
Robby’s movements are faster now. His commands sharp and alert. He gestures to Whittaker, who immediately reacts, moving swiftly, as he rushes out of the room, a quiet urgency in his steps.
Everyone knows about you and Jack. Though it feels like no one approves. Almost no one.
“Y/N, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Collins’ voice is warm, grounding. She takes your hand and squeezes it tightly. You’re thankful. Thankful for her presence. To see a friendly face amidst the chaos.
But you can't shake the quiet fear that maybe... it’s the last one you’ll ever see.
Heather is one of the few who welcomed you, made an effort to get to know you.
You’ve become friends.
You meet up for coffee, chat for hours about the boys. And though her and Robby’s relationship ended, you can tell there is unresolved sadness between them. You wonder if either of them will ever admit it.
“Heather… I-I’m…” Your voice is barely audible now. You're slipping. Slipping fast.
You fight to stay awake. To hold on. Just a little longer. At least until you see Jack.
Until you get to say goodbye.
But your eyes grow heavier by the second, something pulling at you, each blink slower than the last.
You can hear yourself saying something. But it’s far away.
You’re shaking. Why is this hospital so goddamn cold?
Before you can say another word, everything fades to black.
“Male. 20s. Cyclist vs. pedestrian. Unconscious. Blunt force trauma to the head. Multiple fractures", another EMT announces, as they rush the gurney into Trauma Two, the team prepared and ready to work in perfect sync.
Jack's moves are quick, methodical. Driven by one clear, urgent goal: to stabilize the patient first, then assess for further injuries.
“Dr. Abbot?” Whittaker’s voice is tentative, his gaze flicking nervously between Jack and the patient on the table. He hovers just inside the doorframe, not quite sure whether to disturb Jack or not.
Jack glances up briefly, his hands moving over the patient's chest, steady and determined.
Whittaker hesitates, his voice shaky. “We need you in Trauma One.”
“I’m a little busy.” Jack mutters. “Get Robby!” His voice laced with authority. An order, not a suggestion.
He isn’t finished with this patient yet, not ready to be pulled away.
Whittaker hesitates, before he nods and steps back. Jack watches him go, but there's no time to think about what might be waiting in Trauma One.
His focus is here, the young patient's life literally in his hands.
“Abbot?” Robby growls, frustrated at Whittaker’s failed attempt.
Whittaker shakes his head, his expression tense. “He’s treating the cyclist in Trauma Two”, Whittaker answers, almost apologetic.
Robby curses under his breath, his eyes flashing to Dana.
He knows Jack will never forgive them if something happens to you and they didn’t tell him. If Jack doesn't get to you in time.
Dana knows, too. She knows that this isn’t just about the accident. It’s about what they owe Jack and what they owe you.
“Hold compressions.” Jack orders.
Everyone’s eyes are fixated on the monitor, but the flatline continues.
“Okay." Jack’s voice drops. "That’s it.”
“Time of death: 10:35”
Jack takes a minute of silent reflection. He’s been here before. Too many times. But it never gets any easier.
He steps out into the bay, taking a breath. His eyes search the nurse’s station, which is unusually empty.
Javadi almost crashes into him, gripping a blood bag tight to her chest. Jack steps back, putting distance between them.
“Slow down. If you trip and fall you’re no good to anybody.” Always the teacher, calm and collected. “Where’s Robby?”
Javadi stumbles over her words, struggling to catch her breath. “Trauma One, a- a pedestrian got hit.”
“Shit." Jack mutters. "I just called it on the cyclist.” His brows furrow. “Need any help?”
“Not sure… it’s not looking good.” And with that, she rushes back in.
Jack watches her go, making sure she doesn’t run into anyone else. His gaze flicks to the glass doors of Trauma One, catching Robby’s eyes. He's pressing into someone’s chest with practiced ease.
But there’s something else. Panic.
Jack’s alarm bells go off. He moves, quickly.
But before Jack reaches the door, Dana steps into his path. She places her palm against his chest, gently pushing him back.
“Jack”, her voice calm but firm. “You can come in, but we need to do this the right way, honey.” Her eyes soften, full of compassion. “Robby’s doing everything he can.”
In that moment, Jack catches a glimpse of the patient’s face. Your bloodied, gorgeous, beautiful face. The woman he loves.
Multiple hands are on you, your own dangling off the side of the gurney.
His eyes lock on the delicate ring he gave you only a few days ago.
The one that was supposed to be forever.
“What the fuck”, Jack tries to push past Dana, but Langdon and Matteo are already there, hands on his arms, holding him back.
“Dana”, Jack’s voice cracks.
“I know, hon. Take a breath”, she rubs soothing circles on his chest, then steps back. “We’ve got her!”
The sincerity in her voice, comforts him, if only slightly.
The fact that he just called his patient’s death a few minutes ago, tells him everything about the severity of your injuries.
There's a deep ache in Jack’s chest as he follows Dana into the room. He steps to your side, his hand brushing gently over your forehead, the way you like it. The way he’s always calmed you.
“I’m here, baby”, he whispers, his voice raw. “I’m here.”
He watches Robby and the team work, each movement calculated, each second agonizing.
He knows his place. He won’t overstep. His only focus is you.
Like many times before, Jack finds himself on the rooftop. Each inhale of the harsh midnight air a painful reminder of you in that hospital bed, fighting for every breath.
Jack feels someone approaching, doesn’t have to turn around to know who. “Who pushed her?” Jack's voice is low and raw with pain.
“They’re…-" Robby pauses, scratching his neck nervously. "They're still looking.” His tone is soft.
Jack nods, but the corners of his mouth turn downward. “You’ve been too hard on her, man.” He exhales sharply.
“I know, brother.” Robby's words are filled with guilt and regret. He wants to make this right. Needs to.
Jack's gaze hardens. “She was afraid, you know. Felt like you were judging her… more than me.” He huffs out a humorless laugh.
Robby’s remorse is palpable. “We were worried about you. Didn’t want to see you get hurt. We had no idea it was serious between you.”
“Does it matter?” Jack’s voice cracks on the last word.
“I- I suppose not.” Robby shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”
Jack nods. He doesn’t need Robby’s apology. You do.
“She gets it. She gets me.” Jack's looking straight at Robby now, barely bringing himself to say the words. “I wish you’d had the chance to get to know her. You would've loved her…” He tries to hold in a strangled sob, but it escapes anyway.
Robby steps closer, placing a hand on Jack's back, voice gentle and reassuring. “I still can… If she’ll let me.” He realizes he needs to carry that hope for both of them right now.
Jack isn’t convinced, but Robby’s belief gives him a moment’s peace.
The door to the rooftop suddenly slams open. Jack and Robby both turn instinctively.
Dana stands in the doorway, her pulse racing. “Jack.”
Jack is terrified to hear what she has to say, assuming the worst.
The midnight air suddenly feels suffocating.
“Jack?” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and tired, the effort of speaking taking all of your energy.
“Hi, gorgeous.” He moves closer to your bed. “Are you in pain?” The concern in his eyes certainly isn't helping, it hurts to see him like this.
You shake your head, but it’s a lie. You know it and Jack knows it too. He doesn’t hesitate, moving swiftly to the IV to adjust the meds with practiced hands.
Warmth floods you and you exhale slowly. The deep physical ache subsides and your thoughts clear. Only now, you can fully appreciate that you’re alive. That Jack’s here.
“I’m here," he repeats, more to himself than to you and for a second you wonder if you said the words out loud.
Jack's hand is gentle against your skin, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Robby and Dana feel badly about how they’ve treated you.” The words heavy with sorrow.
“They shouldn’t.” You're exhausted, but you mean it. “They don’t even know me.” You give him a smile, weak but genuine.
“Maybe it’s time we change that?” Jack leans in gently stroking your forehead, like he always does. Like he always will.
His other hand traces the space where your ring used to rest. You realize it’s no longer there. It was taken off during the chaos of saving you. But Jack knows where it belongs.
With a tender, deliberate touch, he slides the ring back onto your finger, a symbol of the forever he’s promised.
Hahahah aaall the fluff!! It was needed after so many angsty requests lol Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡
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Starts off as an adorable annoying workplace rivalry friendship
You call him "Johnny boy" and he hates it (especially in front of the nurses)
He calls you "Pookie" because you mentioned offhand once that you found it really cringy
The two of you once had a competition of who could put the most sticky notes on Abbot without him noticing (both of you got a stern talking to from Lena about professionalism in the workplace)
He brings ramen for lunch 3/5 days a week
You share baby carrots during break (ur scared he's gonna die of scurvy)
You clown him for his sickly sweet coffee order
You steal sips of his coffee during shift even after saying it's disgustingly sweet
One day he comes in with two straws in his iced coffee and hasn't really stopped since
You secretly keep a new pack of pens in your locker because he is ALWAYS losing his (bic is the brand he likes)
His pen-losing problem has gotten so bad you sneak pens into his pockets during shift
Parker and Walsh have a bet going on when you emotionally stunted children will get together (its like hundreds of dollars)
Despite the lack of maturity, the two of you actually work really well together and are super in sync with each other
The procedures are fast and uncomplicated with the two of you (when you're not bickering over the most powerful bakugan characters)
You once saw his phone light up with a message from 'LUCY' in the break room and decide its time to date because you haven't in a while and definitely NOT to get over your ridiculously huge crush on the nightshift attending
Abbot lets it slip that you're on going on a date with Larry, the MA from the dayshift on purpose too, that old man is a shit stirrer don't argue wit me
During a code grey (aggressive/abusive patient) you find out John did taekwondo his whole life (which was a surprise bc he never talked about working out, unlike the OR nurses who wouldn't shut up abt their "pump")
John insisted on walking you home after a shift (a drunk patient got a little grabby)
When he got to your door, he asked if you were gonna go on that date with Larry looking kinda like a kicked puppy
All you could do was ask him about 'LUCY' in his phone
That's when you find out that Lucy is HIS SISTER, and you feel a little ridiculous I mean its not like you cried in the shower about it or anything lol
John has the NERVE to ask if you were jealous with that delicious shit eating smirk on his face
(which you obviously were) but you deny
He kisses you on your front steps before your roommate makes an unwelcome appearance
When you arrive TOGETHER the next shift, giggling about something that clearly would not be funny coming out of anyone else's mouth Ellis looks oddly pleased with herself
(you then learn Walsh, Bridgette, Lena, Casey, and Abbot owe her a total of 340 dollars as per their bet)
-
A/N: I literally vomited this up after my last rewatch. Also loosely inspired by this fic I read abt Shen x Javadi which I loved. (Casey is the night shift security guard he literally shows up for a split second in ep 14, Lena is the night shift Lead Nurse obvi, Larry is the Medical assistant he appear in quite a few episodes actually and he looks so familiar???)
feat. Harwin Strong, Jacaerys Velaryon
ᯓ★ You have a problem with your boyfriend's performance in the bedroom. Luckily, his dad is here to teach him a couple of tricks to keep you satisfied!
Well, in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t really that big of a problem, but to you, with oh-so-few cares in the world, it was.
Your boyfriend was really bad at fucking.
Like. Really bad.
It was pissing you off. You love Jace, but that man was never going to make you cum.
You had decided that today was the day that you were going to sit down and talk about it with him. You weren’t that shallow that you would break up with him over his lack of skills in the bedroom, but you really couldn’t handle shitty two minute sex for the rest of your life.
You take a deep breath before knocking on his front door.
When the door opens, it’s not Jace who greets you, but his dad.
Harwin Strong stands tall before you in all his glory. The first time you met his dad was only a few weeks after you and Jace started dating, and he was eager to introduce you to his parents. One look at Harwin and you knew instantly why you swooned over Jace the second you met him. Not only was he incredibly handsome, but he was kind, too. From the glimpses of how he was with Jace’s mom Rhaenyra, back when they were together, you could tell that he was a great husband, too.
You would be lying if you didn’t sometimes fantasize it was him fucking you when Jace couldn’t coax an orgasm out of you. There was no doubt that Harwin knew how to make a woman fall apart in pleasure.
“H-hi, Mr. Strong,” you greet him, the embarrassment from your thoughts much more prominent than you wanted to come across. “Is Jace here?”
“Told you to just call me Harwin, love,” his deep voice croons out, a sparkle in his eye and a smile adorning his features. “He’s up in his room, told me you would be coming.”
The way he looks so intently at you causes your cheeks to heat up involuntarily. It’s as if he sees right through you, like he knows exactly the reason why you’re here right now.
“Don’t have too much fun,” he winks at you and pats your shoulder gently as you pass by him up to the familiar path to Jace’s room.
You fan at your cheeks, hoping that Harwin didn’t notice the way heat rose to them, and that Jace won’t notice now as you knock on his door.
It flings open as you’re still knocking, causing you to jump back, startled.
“Babe! Sorry! Thanks for stopping by, I actually had something kinda important to talk to you about.”
“So did I. Do you mind if I go first?” You plop yourself down onto his bed, making yourself comfortable for what you anticipate to be an uncomfortable conversation.
Jace smiles, taking a seat beside you. “’Course not. What did you need?”
You take a deep breath. This was it. You hoped that Jace was receptive to what you were about to tell him. He was always so sweet, not like other guys who got bruised egos and blamed it on women when they couldn’t keep their dicks hard for more than a minute. You didn’t know what you were going to do if Jace didn’t handle it well.
“It’s about, um, our sex life. I didn’t want to bring it up right away because I wasn’t sure if you were just nervous or something, but—” you huff, “—well, I guess to be frank, you’re not really good. Like, you haven’t even made me cum once.”
A blush runs across Jace’s face, and he looks down as he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I-I kinda figured that’s what you wanted to talk about. I also noticed it. It’s why I had my dad answer the door. I asked him if he could help us out. Well, I guess, more like help me out so I can be better. For you.”
You blink.
He blinks.
“O-oh!” You respond. This was quite an unexpected development. “Well, um, what did he say?” You tried not to sound too eager at the proposition.
“I mean, he was like, if you were cool with it, then he was fine with helping. Said something about how I was practically a failure of a boyfriend if I didn’t make you cum every time.” He looks down, avoiding your stare.
“Oh, hon, don’t say that.” You take his cheek in your palm, stroking it with your thumb. “You’re a great boyfriend! You just, well, can use some help in the bedroom.”
He lets out a sigh, and you continue. “This is why honest communication is important, right? I told you my feelings, you told me yours, and no one’s angry! Look at us, we’re doing really well at this couple stuff!”
Jace looks back up at you and smiles. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. So what do you think? Of my dad, ah, demonstrating.”
Your legs practically quiver at the thought of getting fucked by your boyfriend’s dad—in front of him, no less. Jace was practically his dad’s clone. It would be like getting probably fucked by a much more matured and sexually attuned version of your boyfriend.
You gulp, ignoring the wetness between your thighs from your fantasies. “Y-yeah, I think that would really…help our relationship, right?”
He nods, and a silence passes between you two before Jace stands. “Let me go get—”
“No need.”
You both turn to voice to see Harwin standing, arms crossed and leaning in the doorway. “Glad you agreed, love,” Harwin says as he enters the room, closing the door behind him. “Jace has a lot to learn if he wants to keep you around.”
Harwin’s confidence has your pussy clenching in anticipation, and you can feel yourself getting wet just by the way you can imagine how good he’ll be making you feel.
“Have a seat, Jace. I’m going to show you how a man pleasures a woman.”
Jace gulps and nods, his cheeks dusting with a light red color as he takes a seat in his desk chair to let his father share the bed with you.
Harwin’s weight on the bed causes it to dip, and your body instinctively leans into his warmth as he wraps his arms around you.
“First thing you need to do,” Harwin starts, turning himself and you to face Jace, “is foreplay.” His hand drops beneath your skirt, his fingers grazing at your cloth covered pussy. You gasp at the sudden contact, your body arching itself into Harwin’s large chest. “Have you done that before?” Harwin asks, directing his question at Jace.
“I mean, I’ve touched her a little bit—”
“A little bit isn’t gonna cut it.”
Harwin lifts your skirt up so that Jace can see underneath it. Your boyfriend’s eyes widen at the sight of your pussy, practically dripping as Harwin strokes it with his thick fingers.
“See how wet she is?” Jace nods, his face turning even redder than before. Even through the haze of your pleasure, you can see the tent visible in his pants. “Have you ever seen her get that wet before?”
“No,” Jace murmurs, embarrassment evident across his features.
Harwin sighs. “You see, son, women are real delicate.” His fingers pet across your pussy, your arousal drenching your panties. “You need to take your time with them, get them all nice and ready for your cock.” His fingers start to tease at your entrance, your hips bucking up to meet them.
“It may feel good for you,” he continues, “but it won’t feel good for them ’till you can hear them loud and clear down there.” Harwin sticks two fingers inside of you. Your head falls back as you moan, your pussy squelching as Harwin moves his fingers in and out of you. Your wetness coating the entirety of his digits.
He pulls his fingers out, and you whine at the emptiness inside of you.
“Look at that, boy.” Jace leans in real close, eyes unblinking as he observes your arousal across his father’s fingers. “That’s how you know they’re ready.”
“Got it,” Jace nods. You can see him subtly adjusting himself in his seat, no doubt from his cock straining in his pants.
“Y-you can touch yourself if you want to, Jace,” you murmur and his eyes widen, surprised by how you noticed how much he was fighting the urge not to. “If I’m going to be feeling good, I want you to feel good, too.”
Jace’s hand lowers into his pants as Harwin lays you onto your boyfriend’s bed, flat on your back. “Now you’re ready to start fucking her.”
Harwin lowers his pants and underwear in one fell swoop, his hard cock releasing from its confines. As you glance up at his member, you gulp. Harwin is big. You don’t know how the hell that thing is going to fit inside of you.
“Need to lube yourself up before you do so. Her wetness can usually help.” Harwin scoops two fingers inside of you, and you clamp your hands across your mouth to stop yourself from your moan as he does so. You can hear him fist his cock, lathering it up with your wetness before he aligns it with your entrance.
You aren’t even sure if Jace is still watching as Harwin enters you, the heat of the stretch causing you to squeeze your eyes shut tight as his bulbous tip fills you up.
“It’s important to go nice and slowly at first. Get her used to the sensation before you start thrusting like a maniac.”
Harwin slowly, tortuously, inches his way inside of you, up until the base is flush against your entrance.
You finally open your eyes as Harwin fills you up entirely, looking down at the connection. You practically cum from the sight in front of you, the bulge of his cock protruding slightly from the plush of your stomach.
“Once she’s used to your size, you can finally do this.” Harwin pulls his cock out of you before slamming his entire length back in. You let out a noise between a scream and a moan as your back arches and your toes curl, your legs wrapping around Harwin as he begins to thrust in and out of you at a steady but fast pace.
“Oh, fuck,” you can hear Jace mutter from next to you.
As he fucks into you, Harwin moves a hand up to your clit. “You can’t just use your cock,” he explains to Jace. “You need to touch her clit.” As he begins to circle your clit, you moan at the sensation, eyes closing again as you relish in the pleasure.
Jace doesn’t verbally respond, and you can just picture him nodding along with what his dad says.
“This part is extra sensitive. You get this right, you’re guaranteed to make her cum.” Harwin is relentless in his strokes, his thick cock thrusting in and out of you as he fingers your clit simultaneously. The pleasure you’re feeling is something you could’ve only ever dreamed of before, having never even gotten remotely close to an orgasm with Jace or any of your previous boyfriends and flings.
“Fuck,” you hear Harwin mutter under his breath. His body leans down on top of you as his thrusts before even stronger. “This pussy’s so tight, keeps sucking me back in.”
It’s the first time since he stuck his cock into you that Harwin was actually talking to you and not to Jace, the deep gravel of his voice close to your ear causing you to shudder.
“Needed a real man to fuck you, is that right?” His voice is low enough that you’re sure Jace can’t hear it. Besides, you’re sure that he’s too preoccupied with stroking his own cock to listen, anyways.
Bleary eyed, you slowly turn your head towards the side where Jace sits. Just as you predicted, Jace’s hand is fisting his cock at a rapid pace. His head is thrown back, Adam’s apple bobbing as moans leave his lips. You feel heat rising to your cheeks seeing your boyfriend get off from you, until a hand squeezes your cheeks and forces your head forward, where you find yourself staring into Harwin’s eyes.
“He’s not fucking you right now,” he grunts. “Eyes on me, love.”
As he continues to thrust, Harwin places his body entirely on top of yours. Your legs push back, practically falling behind your ears. The loud pap, pap, pap of his skin making contact with yours is one of the loudest sounds in the room, only second to the squelching of your wet pussy as Harwin’s cock enters and leaves you.
Your senses are practically overloaded now, your nails digging into Harwin’s back as his cock fills you up so nicely. He still thumbs at your clit, the pleasure rising until an unfamiliar sensation develops inside of you.
“W-wait!” You cry out to him, “—f-feels weird!”
Harwin grunts, not stopping from his rhythmic thrusts. “You’re about to cum. Don’t worry, go ’head and cum on my cock.”
“No!” You shake your head. “It’s different!” You don’t have any more time to protest as liquid gushes out of you and a scream leaves your lips as you squirt, all across Harwin’s cock and his torso.
“First time squirting and it’s all over your boyfriend’s dad's cock. Dirty girl,” he croons, but you’re barely aware of your surroundings after your orgasm hits you so suddenly.
Your whole body shakes as the clear liquid gushes all around you. Your back arches as far as you think it can go, and Harwin’s hands on your waist are the only things keeping you from collapsing into the mattress. The man fucks into you as you lay limp in his grasp.
His thrusts begin to lose their rhythm as he grunts, and then you feel his cock pulse inside of you. A rush of warm liquid fills you up, an unexpected heat within your system. You groan at the sensation, his cock still hitting parts inside of you that were sensitive after your orgasm.
Once Harwin’s cum spills all inside of you, he slowly pulls out, your pussy clenching around air as the white cum dribbles outside of you, moving down your legs and onto the bed.
“How’s that for a lesson?”
Your head spins to the side as your eyes widen, having forgotten about Jace in the moment of your orgasm. Your boyfriend looks as much of a mess as you do. His curls stick to sweaty forehead, his face red and panting heavily. You can see his cum that spurted onto stomach, and his cock slowly softening after his release.
“R-really good. Informative. Yeah,” he answers breathlessly, chest heaving.
“Glad to hear it.” Harwin rubs your backside, sitting up on the bed. “We’re not done just yet, though. Still need to teach you about aftercare.”
everyone was joking about trump dying today and I think that's really horrible and cruel. PLEASE do not joke about trump dying unless it's true and confirmed!!! I got really excited and then when I found out he was still alive i was really disappointed!! like that's so mean to do to people
clark kent is your mortal enemy; it's been a constant battle between who's going to get front page privileges and clark always manages to top you with superman. when you both get a little too drunk and repressed feelings rush to the surface- surely it can't be real? how could it be real when you wake up naked in his bed, unsure of how you ended up there? when you've accidentally sent the department the doc you made in a rage listing all the reasons you hate clark kent? it can't be real so why does it hurt so much when he calls it quits- when you cry to superman of all people- when everywhere you go reminds you of him? (THIS IS CLARK HURT COMFORT FINAL BOSS- you have been warned- also very long soz)
superman! clark kent x fem! journalist! reader (no use of yn- clark nicknames you neutron)
themes: onesided enemies to lovers (you are enemies- he thinks you're lovers but he's also a brat), hidden feelings, workplace rivalry, drunk shenanigans, kissing, implied smut, and love confession, fluff, angst, betrayal (juicy angst), mentions of insecurities, feeling overwhelmed, confiding in superman, previous relationships and an ending inspired by "how to lose a guy in 10 days"
masterlist.
it's the smug half smile that catches your narrowed eye unwillingly, the sympathetic look your best friend jimmy sends your way and the fresh copy that lands at your desk to settle the fire in your blood.
you love the smell of fresh paper printed; the crispness, the warmth of the stories it tells and trusts you with. the faint inky scent that bleeds under your fingertips, excites you to new highs- you're sure this could very well be a strange addiction. but now? seeing clark kent's name printed small under the overbearing headline that's most certainly not yours but very well deserves to be, you've never felt the urge to scrunch it up, crumble it to death as it shreds along with your pride.
metropolis' man in the cape saves again: his thoughts on humanity, hope and his place in the world.
and he might've. you applaud superman, he's a man of the people, a story worth writing and you've even asked to interview him once- he never replied, like a ghost, except he haunted you through repetitive interviews with your mortal enemy clark kent and it burned. and from that day? you preferred batman, at least he rejected you with honesty and a bluntness you could appreciate. he didn't get cosy with the enemy, he punished them and relished in the feeling of it, just how you wished you could do yourself to one person in particular.
"you'll get em next time tiger," and its a stiff pat of the lazily dropped on to your shoulder, a smile imprinted in the air that englufs you. you don't even have to look up to recognise the unwanted looming 6'4 shadow towering above you, as if from that height you couldn't feel anymore smaller- be anymore smaller compared to him. the rage bubbles over in your stomach, steaming at your organs and quietly releases through the air that flares from your nostrils. you're seething and he knows it, he tortures you with the same lame comfort every time he makes the front page and you don't- which these days, feels way more often than not.
but you won't burst, not yet, and definitely not infront of the one person who's waiting for it to happen. you wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he's won, he's under your skin and you let him roam free there. so you grit your teeth, open your document and begin to list all the things you hate about clark kent.
. . .
"golly, if it isn't jimmy and neutron," shining blue eyes twinkle with a tease and you feel the bile rising up in your system already. the play on words had gotten old very quickly; matter of fact a day after he met you quickly and decided that because you were pushing in the field of science journalism, using your physics degree to explore current trends in space with an environmental focus often- clark had used his big brains to label you as neutron, fitting for your best friend jimmy. it was also the last time you wore red, clark's evil pretty smile basically bursting when he saw the correlation and on your first day, before lunch time had even hit- clark kent had made two embarrassing (on your part) mistakes. first, he had thought you were the latest intern and asked for his coffee order and then came the likening you to a fictional character- the nickname sticking to you with hot embarrassment. months later and you're still neutron, you're pretty sure you may die as neutron.
"ha, ha," the stale echo leaves your mouth as you shoot him your best disapproving glare. it doesn't deter him one bit, you get a flash of teeth in return, a blinding superstar grin that just fuels your disgust- god, how could anyone be as obnoxious as him, you think.
"hey clark!" jimmy calls out and clark responds with a wave, you hiss at your friend, the outward act of betrayal infront of your own eyes as you duck your head low to avoid any further confrontations with your mortal enemy. that's enough evilness for one day, anymore and you'll be at the gates of pure hell, clark kent's poster face ready and waiting.
"keep walking jim," you whisper through your teeth, giving clark one last glare before continuing on to the lifts and into your lunch time plans- the weather seemed nice enough to eat outdoors, you two had thoroughly checked the weather days in advance, hoping to get some much needed serotonin, sunshine and serenity the city can offer.
"hey jim, say if you see this nerd about yay big," he levels your height with his hand, purposely making you look smaller, "tell her the second page is looking for her," and you flip him off as you walk away, hearing a loud weight of boyish laughter thud in the air of the daily planet. a sliver of his stupid face disappears once the doors shut, though it lingers at the forefront of your mind- the crevices and lines etched of his skin burnt into your memory as the words echo again. you rub at your temples, massaging them softly as you slump your body against the wall- jimmy immediately taking your bag from you and lightening the load on your shoulders.
he doesn't have to say anything; he knows what has you so uptight and part of him thinks its the funniest and silliest game of cat and mouse that you and clark are locked in, both blissfully and painfully unaware.
"i hate when he calls me that," you mumble into your hands, feeling the anger seethe, bubble and then you mute it down into what feels a lot more like practised exhaustion and fatigue. there's no bark in your bite whenever clark isn't around, there's just something in his presence that greatly amplifies your annoyance and the secondary feeling of insecurities pushing on you. he's clark kent. he's loved by the whole team, he's buddies with superman, he makes the front page like it's his birthright with such ease, he's built like a damn machine and he has a dog, he talks to his parents every other day, he watches star wars and he is kind- albeit kind to everyone but you. you can't help but feel like this is all a personal attack- of course clark kent isn't perfect and has enemies, he chose you as his target, you as his nemesis- he must've seen some sort of match to play though often than you'd like to admit you do feel way out of your sparring depth.
"i think it's cute," jimmy shrugs, and by the downward turn of your curled lip, bordering into snarl territory he knows you disagree- and hard.
"he said i had a big forehead!" you didn't mean to shout, but the outrage is astronomical, the disbelief burns in your veins. clark kent cannot find you cute- he's satan in disguise, this will ruin everything, everything you've worked for and against because that will mean you are wrong and clark kent is actually capable of being a decent person.
"he called you a genius!" jimmy tries to reason and the look you level him with incredulity makes him want to hide away and wait this out.
"a young boy genius-"
"the most renowned of minds," he compliments, trying to make it sound way better than what it is, not that you have a giant forehead or the one instance you wore red and became the butt of a joke. you're his best friend, and he loves you more than anything but some part of him wants to just shake you awake, that clark kent must be drawn to you if he only ever acts this way around you. for two incredible journalists, you two are so stupid with the evidence right there infront of you.
"oh yes jimmy, because that's what every girl wants to hear- not that i'm hot or that my work matters and is good enough to make the print but that i'm a young boy genius with a forehead the size of fucking space- what? why are you looking at me like that?" you take a step away from him as the lift finally opens and leads you outside and on a pathway to the nearest park where you can settle down, let the breeze run through your skin and hair and squash any thought of a certain black curly haired nuisance in your already occupied brain.
"oh nothing," he teases, "why would you care about clark kent, your quote unquote "nemesis", calling you hot?"
"i don't," you immediately spit out, aware of how suspiciously quick the response came and the smug look jimmy olsen tries to hide. it's like your brain had this rehearsed, formulated in a strict "clark kent protocol" and shot it out along with any inclination that you could feel anything other than a strong dislike for your co-worker.
"okay," jimmy shrugs, his hands drop lazily in surrender but the smile he sports is as clear as day; soft as the clouds you sit under as you unwrap your sandwich and kick your legs free.
"i said i don't," you repeat, even minutes after the conversation dies down and jimmy is busying himself trying to find a movie on his laptop, but it bugs you the indifference- no, jimmy not siding with you immediately, like there's some secrecy he's holding to himself instead of defending your honour boldly.
"i heard you the first time babe," he mumbles, scrolling and clicking, "how do you feel about star wars?" he asks, and your heart knocks against your ribcage, a slump at having to work overtime at the constant reminder of clark fucking kent. but you know jimmy, saying no and bringing up clark's strange addiction with the series would only prove his point- that as much as you dislike him, some part of you searches for his opinion in a sick and twisted way.
so you take a bite of your sandwich, swallowing pesto and your pride and let it grow stale in your mouth as you nod, "sounds good to me," you try for a careless, offhanded comment of indifference but it burns, it bothers you in ways you can't even explain.
"okay," fuck you, okay.
. . .
"oh, she loves when i call her that," he doesn't even try to dull out the laughter when he spots your middle finger sent his way, his tongue presses in his cheek, mischief laced in his mind as he watches your form disappear through the doors and out into the wind. he swivels back in his chair, the wheels rolling as the gears in his brain turn- he really needs to think of a new article for next week's brief, check in with perry, come up with something that can top your new advancement on the science column. that task enough was difficult, you were smart and everybody included clark kent knew it and had to deal with it, you really gave him a tough run for his money in the fight to make the front page.
"do you know if she's seeing anyone? she's hardly with anyone other than jimmy- maybe she's seeing jimmy," he mutters as he closes the millions of tabs open on his screen, his stomach rumbles and he's due for a break soon. he was tempted to join your and jimmy's picnic, overhearing you guys from across the corridor and he salivated at the mention of you bringing some banana bread and tea in flasks. he lingered at the printers, waited to be given an invite, even focused on jimmy- the weaker of you two to crumble first but the pure steel you gave him as you moved to the opposite side of the room with your best friend following like a lost puppy as soon as you caught sight of clark staring intently, it was clearly not going to happen.
"clark, what do you care? you give her absolute hell-" lois' warning is cut off by clark's brows shooting to the ceiling at her admission.
"i do not! it's our thing-"
"i think this might be a you thing-" she tries to reason to her colleague, bring him out of the depths of delusion he's ran himself through and back to the surface of reality.
"she likes it!" clark scoffs, you engage in this mini war just the same as he does- the effort does not go unnoticed by him. out of everyone he's ever met, only you've come close to his wit, his intellect, his humour- you're his equal and if he has to mess with you to keep the competition on your toes and your focus on him, clark kent will spend the rest of his life playing this dangerous game. and if anything, he loves a challenge. you didn't swoon when you first met clark, you didn't bat an eyelid or even go out of your way to impress him but you've stolen his attention from the first look and the rest is history.
"and what makes you think she likes it?" you. lois wants to say, but she doesn't think her friend is ready for that type of conversation yet. but the real meaning is unspoken but heard, lingers in the air as his eyes are struck on the spot where you've left.
"she smiles," and he sports one of his own, if lois focused a little longer than maybe she would've heard the subtle pick of his heartrate, the dreamy sigh that leaves his lips followed by a little gasp when he pictures you, how he has to press his lips together to stop himself from bursting out the seams.
"at everyone but you," lois, the true voice of reason and honesty, tries to hit him with.
"exactly," he's smug when he faces his friend, kicking his feet up on his desk and relaxing back in his chair, "mine are reserved," he brags. he thinks about the small smiles kept with clark kent's name attached to them. how they're half teeth but all heart, with your lips pressed together but clark can see the small curve of your lip. the smirks that radiate confidence, how clark marvels at your talent and intellect, the small snarls where you mean to throw disdain but clark catches it with pride that he can rile you up this good. then there's the smiles where you don't think he's watching but he always is, where your eyes crinkle and your whole existence seems to soften with something gentler, something kinder, something so overtly hidden from him that he doesn't want to ruin the moment and let you know he's there.
he must've trailed too far off into the distance, overstayed in the shrine he's built of you in memories that lois' knowing look pulls him back to the surface and he tries to return back to their earlier conversation- the start of it all, questioning the existence if there's someone out there other than clark who is deserving of your attention, "i don't think her and jimmy are a thing, i mean i saw her wrestle him for a coffee mug in the break room earlier," and he tries to hide the fondness with a poorly executed scoff.
"clark again, what do you care?" except this time lois doesn't bother to hide the giggle of stupidity at one of her closest's friends and clark panics, he doesn't care. he can't care- it'll ruin his easygoing relationship with you and if you have to hate him for him to get access to a side you don't give out to anyone else, clark kent will do it.
"i don't, i told you, maybe if neutron got laid or was seeing someone, she'd like i don't know lighten up," he excuses but the words feel as misplaced as they leave him, when they linger in the air and cut through the thickness with a swift elbow jab from lois. it feels wrong, like a branding he's put out there- a label on your character but he needs to throw his friend off his trail. he's clark kent, he's number one and you're the competition. and then a heavy silence takes over and clark trails lois' apologetic gaze to where you stand just a few feet away from him, sporting the same glare you always mean for him but a new faint red blush creeping up your neck.
oh lord, he thinks.
because somewhere along from torturing yourself with star wars and your work nemesis thinking of your smile, you've made it back to the office- forgetting a cup for your flask. and at that moment in time, fate is a cruel twisted and funny thing because your ears burn hot with the intensity of the words he's hit you with and they paint a tomato hue of embarrassment you can't bring yourself to die down.
"dick," you scoff in his direction, disgust laced on your features but its a little more of a weaker whisper than you'd like.
"hey, you can borrow it whenever," he tries to recover, regain the comedic banter and shoots you a wink to recover from his stumble. but you just stare, stare and stare till he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. when you're satisfied with his squirming you turn to head back to your desk to grab a small blanket and some cups.
"i'd rather eat glass," you return smoothly, "glad to know a dry spell is also hitting you too or do you just you offer your services up to anyone?" it's snarky, but if you weren't so thrown off guard, you know you could've done better.
"ah, not anyone, just you babe," another smirk. but when you've disappeared he faces a stern lois who stands with her brows raised clearly unimpressed, theres just something about you that brings out the competitive childish side in him and he doesnt know what to do. his mouth moves far too quick for his brain to keep up with, anything for you keep your eyes on him. until you don't.
"oh gosh," he breathes when you're out of earshot, though he'd never let you hear or give you the satisfaction of throwing him off his usual calm, collected and smooth game.
"a little too far, kent," she pats him on the back, its a little harder but carries the consequences of him mouthing off "keep that up and you'll drive her too far out you'll need a damn map to bring her home."
"oh i'm not trying to bring her home," he rolls his eyes and a beat of silence passes the two of them.
"clark, i think you like her," lois softens.
"i think you're being crazy and should just help me with damn article," he huffs, directing his attention to literally anything but the confession his friend hits him with. he can't like you- he can't, but lois saying it doesn't make it feel any less real. so she lets it go, settles into their easy routine and helps nitpick where he's gone wrong and what he can do better, clark listens obediently and tries to focus but he can still feel you in his orbit. he needs to do something to salvage the mood and so he does what he knows he can do- pure journalism.
"full disclaimer not that i care or anything but for purely based on my outstanding deductive skills as a journalist- that means she's not seeing anyone," he breaks the shifted mood to recall your earlier comment from memory, like his muscles remember the contraction, the wave of oxygen it takes to formulate your name and your entire existence like its a secret oath he's sworn to protect.
"not that you care though right," lois teases and he feels his friendship slowly restores its balance, his earlier slip up not forgotten, just lightly grazed over into something familiar.
"of course not," he confirms and ducks his head lower into his desk, not without sneaking a look in the direction of your desk that still sits empty- you must've returned to your picnic with jimmy and afternoon without the tyranny of clark kent.
"it was on the record- observational, i'm a journalist," he excuses with a shrug. lois catches the ramble fondly but clark is too far in his head to notice. and maybe if he repeats it enough, he'll believe it enough.
. . .
the thing is, clark kent has tried to be nice to you. a truce of some sorts.
it started with coffee cups that he would leave on your desk, watch you sniff cautiously and the first few you spilt down the sink along with his eager-eyed hope for peace. you weren't sure of who was leaving them until you arrived to work a lot earlier than usual- your plans to leave a lot earlier that day and make up the time.
you watched him pick up your mug from the cupboard through blinking tired eyes- it had to have been a blur, a lapse in judgement you were half asleep. but the guilty look, his widened eyes like a deer in headlights, its a look you'll score into your memory.
from there, he still made the coffee and he'd watch you drink it in agonising slow slips, never once did you acknowledge it, thank him other than a slight nod, but he held onto it.
he tried through giving you pointers on your work, just little comments to push you in the direction and you were pushed alright. you didn't speak or look his way for days, the cold shoulder freezing clark out as you poured yourself into long days glued to your desk to come out better, to do better, to be better.
he even offered to walk you home and you looked at him like he was insane; and maybe he was. maybe he shouldve known it came across as weird, out of the blue, i mean you two were hardly even friends and your commute was in the entirely different direction of his but he thought it was gentlemanly, honourable even but you gave him one weird look and left. and he never asked again.
and from then, clark decided there was higher reward that came from annoying you than what came from being nice to you. nice didn't earn him your attention, didn't push him to be his best for you and him, in fact he owes a large part of his career growth to you- it's nice to be challenged but being nice wasn't going to get you to look in his direction and linger. nice was for strangers, for friends and you and clark? he knew your connection was meant for more.
. . .
it's wednesday and you have the mornings off, entering the daily planet just after the callback from lunch is announced and you step into the meeting room ready for a debrief.
you've had your hair cut, clark notices immediately as he catches sight of your frame slipping through the door behind perry. he likes it, a lot, he decides. it looks so soft and bouncy, styled in a blowout that clark for a second, thinks what it would be like to feel the strands through his fingers, like silk. do you use silk pillows?
you catch sight of lois, send her a sweet smile and it drops to a slower polite one at clark, who lets his fingers dance in a teasing wave as you walk past the pair to get to your usual seat- right across from him. he gets a faint smell of vanilla and deeper notes of cherry that intoxicate his bloodstream and lure him deeper in your vicinity- is that a new fragrance? he doesn't have time to notice because a laughter like sunshine streaks through the sky, throwing planet earth off orbit.
"that good?" jimmy murmurs, and you shake your head, eyes widening and flashing in delight,
"incredible," you gush in a whisper and clark feels left out. there's clearly something unspoken in the air, you just feel lighter. you've abandoned your usual slacks for a fairy-like skirt, paired with a simple knit sweater and bow ballet flats, you look ... nice, he wants to say. like, you always look nice but today, you look really nice. you look softer, less guarded and it is drawing clark in like a magnet he can't turn from.
before he can even tease you, the room drifts off into a deep discussion as they pass around their ideas for the week and when it gets to you, clark uses the opportunity to ask you the most useless questions, hold your gaze intently as he quizzes on random hypothetical scenarios and when he hears the frustrated sigh leaves your lips as you pack up your things, clark faces a tired lois, ignoring how he hears you mumble a faint "i'm going to kill him jimmy, i'm going to go down for first degree murder and i give lois permission to have that story."
"what?" he questions. she levels him with a look and he shrugs it off, "she looks different today," he adds a little quieter today.
and then lois swats his shoulder in annoyance, "dude," she breathes, "you know, maybe she finally got laid and eased up a bit" lois repeats a stale regurgitation of his previous words and scoffs at how ridiculous it sounds. and as if by instinct, clark's fists clench and rumble under the table as he pins a dark look to your seat. he can't imagine it- you? sharing an electric chemistry with someone other than him? must be a nightmare he's stuck in because suddenly clark doesn't feel as special anymore. he feels lonely, and a little bit childish for getting such a reaction out of you. he tunes out on lois' teasing and taps his fingers against the table in thought and then without saying goodbye, he leaves lois lane confused behind.
for this type of journalism, clark has to go out on the field.
he tries to find you on many occasions to conduct his investigation on your love life but it seems you're playing hide and seek, though he does spot jimmy olsen refilling his coffee in the break room and very subtly leans his back to the counter, facing jimmy cooly.
"can i help you, clark?" jimmy furrows his brows, looking around to see if there's anyone else clark is here for.
"hey jimmy," he smiles and it's strange, unnerving even. clark has always been nice to jimmy but his little stunt flustering you in the break room after you've clearly had a good morning, jimmy feels the need to protect his honour and show his loyalty today to you today.
"listen, i gotta go," he swats off clark, holding up two mugs and clark catches it instantly- the mug he used to refuel so often for you. he matches jimmy's stride within seconds, his longer legs having to slower down a few steps to keep up in tandem with him. jimmy catches on slowly to what clark's doing and speeds up, narrowing a corner and hoping to lose him.
"what do you want?" jimmy breathes out, trying to catch his lungs up to this metaphorical turned physical chase.
"neutron," clark stops him, extending his arm as a physical barricade to the wall and cutting him off and jimmy nods slowly, careful not to pour any more spillage from the steaming mugs he's transporting. "she uh, she doing okay?" he asks.
"is she doing okay?" jimmy dumbly repeats, "yes?"
"yes?"
"yes?" he repeats,
"why are you saying it like a question, she is or she isn't," clark rumbles in exasperation.
"yes she's fine! what do you care?"
"why does everyone keep saying that!" clark bursts our and quietens down once he sees the few stares that have accumulated his way. jimmy rolls his eyes and sends him a glare, eerily similar to lois' but all clark can focus on is how its nothing like yours.
"clark, you're like, a menace-" jimmy gets out, "in the nicest way possible, i think you're out of your depth," and clark doesn't make a move, just sets his lips between his teeth and sits on it.
"she's not seeing anyone is she?" he speaks low, a depth he's sure can touch the centre of the earth and meant for jimmy's ears only. a smirk settles on your friend's features as he tries to hide the smile.
"you'll have to ask her yourself," he shrugs trying not to act too smug, "her business is her business." and he ducks his head under clark's arm of a barricade and carries on his way, he walks around the corner slightly again out of clark's way but sends a final look back in resignation and slight pity for your work nemesis who's clearly trying to branch out into friends and more territory with no clue how to, "clark?"
"yeah?" he answers hopeful, the beat of his heart skipping as he jumps to each conclusion.
"save her a dance tomorrow, i think she'd like that," and he nods to himself, that's if you don't kill him before the daily planet gala starts.
. . .
"girl, tomorrow you wear the dress. trust me on this, no questions, just do it."
. . .
there's faint buzz of something questionable, something familiar and something that makes the butterflies soar in your stomach as you take a walk around the room. it's been decorated so beautifully and you take the time to just soak up the ambience- the warmth it offers as you're here so often this place is basically your second home, you've made friends, enemies but so many memories that tonight is a celebration.
you let yourself looser, you dance as much as you can and let the liquid courage swim through your veins as you float carefree, until you hit the deep end. 6'4, 240lbs of a deep end.
"clark," you nod and sip into your drink, you had wanted to avoid him tonight but coming to think of it, there's nowhere in existence you could go without clark kent following you at your side.
"neutron or would you prefer my sweet nemesis?" he grins, taking in your attire and he lets his eyes roam on your frame, it warms a different kind of fire in you, a little bit of a burn that wraps around your frame- the kind that comes from a campfire, settling into the sweet night.
"you look well," you get out, ignoring his trap and his smile grows. well. he straightens to his full length, relishing in your compliment and fights back the drawl, he knows he looks good. and he knows that you know he does. he looks fucking incredible in his navy suit, his slicked hair with a small curl that hangs to the forefront. it drops, dangling dangerously infront of you and you feel the urge to reach out and wrap your finger around it, tug it enough for him to fall into you and-
"you look incredible, you know," he leans in with a tease, "for a nerd," and your heart races at the intensity of being so close. you take a step forwards, ignoring the beat of a drum in your ears and the warnings blarring in your mind and you whisper, letting it simmer in the air and lands on his lips.
"you look well," you repeat, "for someone who's about to be second place to me," and he rolls his lips together, melting your words into his soul, imprinting what he knows and loves. clark kent doesn't come second place- it's not in his nature, but the confidence you shoot at him, it sends something straight to his head and his heart. god, he loves a challenge- he likes you. and he just doesn't know what to do with all of this.
he replaces your empty glass of drink with his own, and when your lips touch the mark where his own had been moments before something tingles down his spine. you chug it down in one go and face him with a smile. your best friend's words come to you earlier and remind you that tonight is a party and you're allowed to enjoy yourself. you're a professional, you work hard, you deserve to let loose and you'll be damned if you let clark kent steal all your energy to keep up with his immature banter. there doesn't have to be a fight or arguement tonight, you could be civil coexist in the same place as clark kent and not have everything go to shit.
"jimmy said you were gonna save me a dance or have you gotten all chicken-shit?" you lay the bait and he takes it, burning at the red of your dress that flashes in his brain. he wants to photograph this moment, burn it into his soul for permanent memory because the twinkle in your eyes is dangerous, he's falling in deep. he tries to play it safe, knowing that you'd hardly let him close to you if you were sober and aware- the alcohol numbing your nerves and feeding in his delusions. so his hands find your waist at a respectable distance as he sways you to the beat, your own wrap around his shoulders and before you know it, he's skipping you around the room, twirling you in his arms and all you can feel is him.
"i need another drink," you laugh when you detach yourself from his hold, patting his chest (and pretending like you didn't feel a whole bunch of muscle under that white shirt) in a forced friendly manner and making a bee line for the table set up.
someone needs to stop you before its too late, so he warns your best friend who cheekily nods at him before he takes off in the same direction, needing the same liquid courage that has you seeing stars though clark kent is far from sober himself; his tolerance just a lot higher than yours.
the shots line up and clark takes them with each loosening his muscles and drowsing him with replays of how you smiled at him, how your laughter sounded when he finally let go of you. how tonight you weren't pretend enemies, he was a man standing infront of the most gorgeous woman alive and pretending like he wouldn't sacrifice anything to be close to you.
it's sloppy to get drunk at a work function, but clark decides its sloppier to let the only person who's ever made him feel so alive walk away so he searches for you in the sea of souls, eyes straining as he dodges body to body till he sees a sliver of red make a beeline to the bathroom and he follows.
come on clark, you're superman, you can do this, the alcohol cheers him on.
you can tell her that you love her and it all won't go to shit.
. . .
the knocks at the door interrupt your application of a fresh coat of lipstick, the red as crisp as your dress and you feel yourself blush slightly; you look good and you feel great too, which makes a really nice change for once.
"occupied," you raise your voice and steady yourself at the sink, taking a deep breath in to pace yourself. it might be a good idea to think about turning in for the night, making sure you have enough rest- you have the day off tomorrow but, still. you've had your night of breathless fun and it's time to clock back into being responsible you.
the knocks clutter again and you huff, ripping the door hinges with more force than you intended that you stumble your balance, reach out for the frame to lean on for support and face the almost intruder.
"clark?" you don't mean for it to sound like a question but it just does.
"you are infuriating," he breathes. his speech is slightly slurred and you scrunch your brows in annoyance, then your nose at the smell heavy in the air. god, he's ruining your mood already.
"all you had to do was wait," you hiss, it doesn't come as quick as you'd like but it lands all the same. he's blocking the corridor to get back out on the dance floor with that looming intensity and you wait, tapping your foot- the click of the heel signalling where you want to be.
clark refines the sound and aligns it to his heartbeat, matching each click with a footstep closer to you until he has you up against the wall, milimetres and months of tension separating the two of you. "i've waited so long," he murmurs, suddenly softer and his hand reaches out hesitantly, his fingers stroke your jaw before he cups your cheek in his hand. the other snakes around your waist and you close your eyes, subtly leaning into his touch and he hums.
"this colour on you," its a whisper as his fingers trace your lips and his eyes darken with something heavier and unfamiliar you can't name but it excites you. you wait so patiently any moment now to feel his lips on yours, if you angle your head just slightly, bend your waist into him, you'll be there yourself
"you talk too much," and sparks fly when you decide to close the gap yourself and bridge something new. theres a soft "oomf" as you throw yourself at him and he bends immediately into you, moulding your soul to his as he lets his lips lock into yours, catching your lip between his teeth as he makes further work down your neck.
"clark?" you whisper and he hums against your skin, the breath as warm as the blood pooling through your veins that you have to press your hand against his abdomen to steady yourself.
"look who's talking too much now," he rumbles and a small gasp escapes you when you feel the graze of his teeth.
"clark?" you call out again, tugging the curls of his upwards to lift his gaze to yours and you find a hint of concern hiding in them.
"yeah, baby?" and the gruff sends a new sensation to your heart, bleeding through the edges as you scramble to find a new home where you can slot the words "yeah baby" into existence for the rest of your life. it goes straight to your head, weakening your knees to jelly as you fold. for a moment it reminds you of why you don't like being called neutron when clearly, baby is the best option out there by lightyears.
"not here," you shake your head softly,
"mine?" he asks in the inches that separate you.
"yeah," you breathe before you're tangled in him again.
you're the picture of grace and elegance as you wobble away back out into the main hall. you wave to your friend goodbye and jimmy yells for you to get home safe. minutes later, clark does the exact same except he doesn't stop for anyone. he tears the front doors down like they're a mission and meets you in biting secrets of midnight. a taxi is called, the two of you two drunk to drive and keep your hands to yourself as you land at his door.
with his mouth on yours and his hands clearly busy, it takes four tries to get the key through the door before you almost trip over yourself getting in. he catches you effortlessly and where the door had taken four attempts, it only takes clark one and possibly four seconds to have you undressed and feel his skin on yours, and not just linger under it like he usually does.
it's a night filled with praises, a messy tangle of the months of yearning and miscommunicated feelings that rush to the surface. and as your back hits the soft clouds of his mattress and he sends you to a new type of heaven, you forget all the reasons you've ever hated clark kent. how could you not? when he's hell bent on making sure you're loved enough in one night for a lifetime.
. . .
the first thing that unsettles you is that when you wake there's no sunlight that peeks through your blinds which alarms you dangerously.
it then amplifies when you sit upright and the sheets slip, pooling at your naked waist that you gasp horrified, clutching them back to cover you as you dart your eyes in your surroundings.
the hangover rushes to your head, a drum that pounds with panic as you bite your lip down, blood rising with a bruised ego as you realise just where in the hell you were.
in hell.
in satan's homeland you've lost your dignity.
you stand, the urge to cry in embarrassment as you flush, desperately grabbing your trail of clothes all over the room and dressing at the speed of light. the mirror catches your reflection, the print of pillows that aren't yours etched onto your cheeks, the ruffled of your hair a sloppy mess- a direct echo of how you feel and you shudder at your appearance. this feels like a far cry from how you looked last night- you just look so undone and it nags at you as you plan your escape.
heels may be too loud with their clicking, you ponder so you clutch as the straps and pad barefoot out of the bedroom door. the eery quiet and silence of the house just makes it easier to hear your heart thud in your chest, begging to break free and relieve itself from the anxiety building up in your system.
just a few steps to go and freedom will feel so incredible.
"not even going to join me for breakfast?" and its a deep runble, etched with fatigue and gentleness that pulls you from your escape plan as you freeze. you're mid-tiptoe and pause, turning swiftly to face the bane of your existence, the cause of all your problems and most recent mistake with a cheesy smile.
its a new one, clark thinks and he makes a mental note to jot it down for later safekeeping. it's childish even, curled with nerves at the edges as he watches you try and come up with an excuse. he sets the frying pan down on his oven and makes his way towards you. unlike you, a hot mess, he's dressed in a cotton t shirt and pyjama bottoms- like a normal person would be and you couldn't help but feel more stupid. he plants his hands on your shoulders and steers you into the direction of his kitchen, ignoring your pleads and excuses with a hand firmly pressed to your mouth, stifling you to silence.
"come on neutron," he mumbles, "eat." and the plate placed infront of you unlocks something ravenous, caveman-like, setting back your mannerisms years to the beginning of existence. you swallow your pride and some of the omlette he's made slowly and clark smiles, it feels like the very first time he saw you actually drink one of the coffees he made for you at the office and its funny how the deja vu just hits him.
if he could take it back, he would have tried harder, he thinks. would've made the coffee regularly into a habit, wouldve showed you in the smaller moments that he can be more than the competition, he could be a steady force in your life. or maybe, he could've just pavlov'ed you into expecting a coffee that when it didn't come, it would've caused you to seek him out either way.
"fuck," you mumble, of course clark kent had to have been a good cook too- this feels highly unfair on you, you think.
"yeah we did," he mutters into his steaming mug of coffee and when he feels you freeze under the table opposite him he apologises. its the softest of "sorry"'s you've ever heard in your life, the first from him for sure that you test how it feels on your ears, savour the sensation and decide you like it almost as much as you loved hearing the word "baby" slip from his lips last night. clark sends you a softened look, hoping his slip up hasn't scared you off- gentle steps, he curses at himself. he knows you, knows the structure you value that any sort of off balance will drive you away and he intends to keep you as close as he can.
he waits for you to finish breakfast and you sit there awkwardly, "i can do the dishes?" you offer and he shuts you down instantly, letting you linger in your shame a lot longer than you'd like as you try to come up with new escape routes.
"i can feel you thinking from here neutron," he offhandedly calls as he dries the dishes he lays on the rack, his broad back is still turned to you and you mouth a plethora of curses at the muscle you could recite like its the word of god. "lay that big brain on me, baby."
baby.
and your heart skips too many beats you fear you may go into cardiac arrest, so you settle for deflection instead, "i think last night was a mistake," you rush out. and its painfully slow how long it takes him to put down the rag, turn around and lean against the sink counter, the slight tense of his forearms as they brace at his sides the main inclination he already doesn't like what you're about to say.
"i don't think it was," he tries to catch your gaze and as soon as he does, its an intense lock of eye contact as he searches deep into your soul.
"clark we were drunk!" you try to reason, squirming under the intensity of it all. and that's the last time you'll ever drink, you swear to yourself.
"and i would do it sober," he shrugs, he bounces off the sink with a little leap as he stalks towards you, each step an echo of how he approached you last night and how you know how easy it could be to just slip and fall into his embrace all over again; clark kent is pure poison, evil and intoxicating that you feel a strong dependancy on him. you don't just love somebody like clark kent and when he leaves you make it out alive- you just about tried hating him and it feels like you're hanging on for dear life. the consequences should be earth shattering, heart-breaking disastrous.
"you don't think we have a chance here?" he asks, his fingers tipping your chin upwards to him, crushing some centimetres of distance.
"i don't think we'd work," you softly speak, "up until last night, i'm sure you hated me," and he recoils, letting out a strained sigh before nodding.
"i couldn't hate you, no matter how hard i try. i don't think we hate each other at all," he confesses, "i think we feel a lot for each other, maybe too much we can handle and know what to do with it so it possibly gets misplaced. warped and wrapped up but it's shaped in the love i feel for you," he reaches out for your hand, lays it on his chest where his beating heart rests and spreads your fingers so you can feel the extent of the contraction. "i don't know what to do with all these feelings but i do know, with my life and more than anything, that i want to be with you and i want to try- we worked so well last night, that was just a tester baby, i'd be so good to you, we," he pleads, "we could be so good to each other." and he presses his forehead so tenderly into yours, a greater look into your vulnerable gaze.
"i don't know how to do this clark," you whisper, "i'm scared," and the voice that escapes you is so small and foreign, clark's own heart breaks at the sound of it.
"we'll do this together, slow. i'll take the lead if you want but i won't pursue this if this is something you don't want," if i'm someone you don't want, he doesn't push to say.
"okay," you swallow, blinking back a few stray tears and he narrows his eyes, assessing if there's any underlying feelings you're hiding from him. part of you doesn't know if this is okay, but the word leaves you before you can stop it.
"okay?" he asks, to be sure.
"okay," you breathe and he holds your head against his chest, rocking you into his embrace and you stiffly pat his back. you've never been anything other than clark kent's work nemesis before and part of you feels way out of your league, this is unfamiliar territory and you're wildly unprepared for being someone he could love. but the way he looks at you, like you've lifted the sky to its height and hold the weight of his entire universe, you have to give it a try or it will crush you whole.
. . .
the first time clark kent holds your hand in his you almost scream.
his own is dropped at its side and when he walks with you up to the office, he tries to be subtle with how it knocks into yours. a soft slide of skin as he slows his steps to match yours. it happens four times before you grow suspicious but he doesn't bother to look down at you, the guilt is already lingering in the soft smile he tries to downplay. and then he just interlocks his hands in yours, sends you a sweet smile and carries on walking like it's the most natural thing to do.
it's unbelievably warm, protective and holds what the future could be like for you one day. it swings in tandem as you walk and he only lets go once you've made it to your desk. he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, then to your forehead and whispers "have a good day honey, meet you for lunch?" and all you can do is stand there, dumbly nod as he stretches out his arm to the full length before he actually has to let go of your hand and walks in the direction of his own desk.
you stand and then you sit, trying to regain composure of how different it felt to not have to have the snark ready on your lips, to not have to brace yourself for a day of matching wit- your heart beats softly, telling you to relax, get a grip of yourself- it's still clark. the clark who's showed you the worst of yourself and has still chosen to take an interest in you. he's clark, for god's sake, that hasn't changed.
"what the heck was that?" jimmy's head pops up into your view and you stutter, trying to find the words, but nothing comes up right.
"i don't know," your wide eyed gaze startles your friend. he's seen you seconds before a deadline, after a five coffee caffeine crash, when your past partner broke up with you months ago because of how much of a workaholic you were but the stillness in your gaze as you wander in the direction of where clark sits. as if he can sense your attention like its a damn superpower he meets your stare with a grin, a poke of his tongue out as he waves and you slowly return the wave back. his grin grows larger and he swivels back around but the nerves in your stomach still stay.
"honey, are you okay?" jimmy crouches to your height, "when did all of this happen?" and you look around before whispering carefully, hoping it reaches his ears only.
"i slept with him the night before last and when i woke up i thought we could go back to normal- he hates me, i hate him, whatever but," and you shake your head, "he's being really nice to me and i don't know what to do, this feels so strange, jim, this is," and you groan, dropping your head into your hands.
"oh honey," he sighs, "do you like him?" he asks quietly and you nod slowly, hoping the tears don't start spilling from your waterline and ruining your mascara.
"i think i might," you murmur, "i don't know yet, i haven't given it the time for this all to really settle yet- am i making sense?" and jimmy hugs you gently. he thinks you do already, it'll just take time for you see past the previous persona clark has shown you- that he can be more than a rival, he can be dependable, trusted, loving.
"i'm giving it a try," you add, "i mean you never know unless you try, right?" and he pats your head affectionately.
"i'm here if you need me, my friend," and you pat his shoulder in return, thankful for one thing that hasn't changed in the last few days that have blurred past and thrown you off course.
"thanks, jim."
. . .
your days moves slower when there's no arguing that takes place; it's kind of peaceful, slower paced in a way that lets you regain control of your feet. it feels a lot more intentional; the uneasy weight from the last few days slowly slipping away as you enter this new normal and you've been enjoying it.
the sex is incredible- it's hard to think when clark keeps you busy when you're alone and when he's so soft and tender in the moments after, you feel incredibly grateful to see this new side of him. there's something special between the two of you and you look forward to seeing clark, to spending time with him as you learn more about him.
like how he also loves the theatre.
you find this out when you're catching your breath, your back to his mattress and bare tummy to the air as he lies next to you.
"question," he murmurs, planting a kiss to your shoulder.
"that's not a question," you tease and roll over to your side, he flicks your nose in return and continues.
"last week when you came into work-"
"i come into work every day, clark-"
"well baby, if you let me finish my sentence," he rolls his eyes and it feels like the clark you've always ever known and you really like it. and then there's that damn baby again that has you weak in the knees all over. you smile and gesture for him to continue, "you had your hair cut, you were smiling- but not like you always do- but like," he pauses, "it was radiant, magnetic like you looked happier," and you stop and try to think of what you had been up to recently.
"oh," you mumble into his chest, noticing the slight tense he holds in his frame that you pull back with a wrinkle in your forehead.
"was there someone else?" and its the quietest you've ever heard his voice before, it wobbles a little at the edges and knifes a jagged edge into your heart.
"oh no," and you try to hide yourself in his embrace, an embarrassed chuckle leaving you as you squirm, "you're going to think this is so lame," you groan and he twists so you're underneath him, trapped by his huge arms as he hovers on top of you.
"what?" he chuckles at your sudden nervousness, an astronomical size of relief taken off his soul knowing that there's only him- even when it hadn't even been him.
"jimmy got me tickets to "hamlet" as an early birthday gift and it was incredible," you beam, "the haircut was just an addition but god clark," and when you're excited, rambling underneath him he can't help but linger into your space, cut you off with a swift kiss to the corner of your lips as you chase him for more.
one ends up into two then three and soon enough, forever.
"that's insane," his breath tickles into your skin and you scrunch your nose in delight, "because i also happen to be a former theatre kid-"
"oh my god, clark," you laugh, "who's the nerd now?" and he pinches at your side, "clark kent, a fellow drama lover- who would've thought?"
he talks with you about his favourite plays, how he wishes he had more free time to see them live, how wonderful acting is as a profession and when he lists off all the things that excite you the very same way you realise that maybe after all, you and clark aren't so different after all.
he makes a promise that this friday, the two of you will see "romeo and juliet" live as an official first date and you can't hide the soar of butterflies swirling in your stomach that you check it down into your calender immediately, pepper him with an insane amount of kisses and mentally start preparing your outfit.
he stares at you with such fondness as he listens to you talk about your family out of the city; how it was your mother who first showed you the importance of maintaing a creative outlet when pursuing such an academic and intensive career and he listens and listens and wants to soak up every single word like a sponge and wash away the doubts that have circled in his head the past week.
he worried he was moving too quick, then too slow but all he really had to do was show you he's here, that he wants to get to know you beyond your work ethic and integrity, beyond the conversations he has to search for details about you and slowly, he thinks its all falling to place.
its in the quiet of the night where he asks you again,"you sure you're okay with this?" he wouldn't be upset if you weren't, he'd bear the weight of patience and wait forever for you, he really would with how bad he wants this to work.
"yeah," you breathe and when you say it this time, the earth settles into a slower spin, and when it tilts you're ready to hold your balance. it feels right when you look into his eyes and say just one word, and you really start to believe it that this is okay, more than okay and you're only scratching the surface of how incredible it could be.
. . .
a week into spending more time with each other and dating, it feels like this is what your soul was meant do that you feel silly for even worrying about this all at the beginning.
it's monday, which means there's four days until your next theatre date with clark, you had so much fun last time that you've decide to make this a weekly occurence when you can. it's a secret you're going to surprise him with after work on the way home, you'll lean into his side, whip out the tickets like theyre gold and you know he'll be insanely pleased; its the first time you're making a move in this relationship and it's a big deal for you.
you don't see clark whilst you're at work and you think it's strange- clark's been known to disappear randomly and you've not noticed it too much in the time you've officially spent together to be bothered by it in the slightest. your main concern is finding your boyfriend and seeing if he has plans after work.
its 3pm and you start to worry, you don't want to draw any attention to you by asking others for his whereabouts but you catch lois lane in the far corner of the room who tenses when you come near and its the first warning that throws you off.
"lois?" you call out and she awkwardly turns around, feigning surprise like she hadnt stalked you for a few minutes before making your way over there.
"hey!" and you watch her cross her arms over her chest, a defensive posture, you note. why?
"have you seen clark anywhere?" you ask, and she shoots you a careful look before sighing.
"i think its best if you give him some distance for a few days," and you crumble immediately, panic flaring in your chest as your gaze narrows. god, you knew this was too much- that you were too much, you should've-
"i didn't realise how deep your feelings were for each other," she mumbles and it cuts your spiral off eerily short.
"what?" you pause, "what do you mean?"
"i think the word document says enough," she winces, "i thought the rivalry thing was a joke but.." her words trail off because you don't give her the time to finish. your heart is racing as quick as your footsteps out the door and you break out into a full sprint.
the purring of cars and clattering of metropoliton city drown out the whispers of gossip from the daily planet and your muscles burn but you keep going, you push and push and push till they give way and your heart collapses.
a sob escapes your throat in a raw guttural sound and this time, you can't stop the tears. you have no idea where you are but you know that this all just fucking hurts. your tears well up and are caught in your hands that also carries the weight of your head and the world as you just cry. knees tucked in close to your chest against the side of a building, you just cry. hours have passed and when you look around, hardly anyone around to have noticed your breakdown you just about stand. the energy completely taken out of as you sigh, you wish the ground could just wake up and swallow you whole for how stupid and careless you had been.
of course it was a word document that was going to be your downfall, you had made a lame list of things you disliked about clark and on the torturously long walk to his house they burn in your mind.
i hate the way he laughs so loudly, it rings in my ears i'm pretty sure i could go deaf in the near future.
i hate the way he looks at me like he's got something to say but never does or maybe he's too much of a coward.
i hate the way he's buddies with superman- lame.
i hate the way he sneaks up on me, throws me off guard- he's so big it consumes my space and i can't think.
i hate the way second best to him still feels like its worth something- it shouldn't.
i hate the way he makes me feel.
i hate him.
you've got to find him, you've got to apologise to him, salvage what you can and make it out of this alive, hopefully still with him but each word you remember, each muscle moved to type the childish betrayal raises a fresh new wave of tears and you're a blubbering mess by the time you reach his door.
"clark!" you shout, your voice raspy from crying, exhausted from thinking if you could run quick enough, you'd be able to outrun all your problems. you tap against the door, then full on bang with urgency as you shout his name, "clark, please!" you try, panicking when you can hear the shuffle of footsteps behind the door but no words in reply.
"clark please baby," it slips from your lips- the first time you've ever called him that in a sheer moment of desperation and you recoil, you don't deserve to call him that right now- you had the privilege and dishonoured yourself with it, "clark please open the door!" and you bang your head against it, the hot touch of your forehead cooling against the steel. "i didn't mean it," you cry, "i didn't mean any of it, i swear- i don't hate you, i promise please just let me in, please let me explain," the choked sobs rise and you're mumbling, half coherent but the words land the same. "i wrote it ages ago long before we started to get to know each other, i don't feel that way god no, you just gotta let me explain, i don't hate you, i lo-" and you're cut short by the rapid movements and the sudden open of his door.
he looks devastated and still so beautiful that it knocks the already very little air out of you. like he too had spent the afternoon working mentally in overtime, he shakes his head, restraint evident as he grips the door. his ocean eyes pierce your soul and when you move to take a step forward he grits out a sharp, "don't" and closes the door just an inch.
you can see forever through that sliver, it's so close but it's so far away, just out of your depth and reach.
"clark please," you cry and he shakes his head, torn between wanting to comfort you and wanting to protect you.
"don't," he repeats, its heavier, a little firmer but still somehow hurts all the same, bleeding through your heart as it crackles and lays bloodied and bruised open for him. and he steps on it with his next words, "god some part of me knew this wasn't going to work and gosh," he breathes, "you really do just hate me,"
"no," you shout in desperation, shaking your head and all your senses, "i don't! i swear- clark, i'm in lo-" and he cuts you off.
"i don't think you should say things you're not ready to mean," he whispers and he looks as though he might reach out, grasp your hand a final time but decides better of it.
"you win neutron," he speaks softly, lethally tender and it destroys your entire existence in one soft breath, "i thought for a second we were working, that everything was fine. but, if everything's ever just been a competition and that's all you've ever seen me as, then you win. i give up, this game? it's not for me, not if i'm never going to come first place for you," and he closes the door with a soft thud.
you don't move from your position, crying and knocking on the door once more, "clark, please!" and you fight the urge to just slump and slide against it, to camp out here forever until he opens the door and gives you an inch to redeem yourself, to clear the air and just listen. "clark, i don't hate you- i could never hate you," and fate is a cruel and twisted thing to have you repeating the same words he promised to you the morning you woke and everything changed. "i can explain, please let me explain," and you know it's heard, it just doesn't matter enough to be actioned.
you hang your head low, the image of the door closed bruising your optic nerves that it's time to go home. the damage is done and its time to mourn the casualties of getting crossed in the fire. you knew you'd never come out of loving clark kent alive, you just didn't realise hating him had burned you first long ago.
. . .
you try to catch him at work but he's missing for the first two days and you're subjected to the growing whispers and judgemental looks that are shot your way as he proceeds to just plain avoid you. he's never at his desk when you pass by, he's never at the break room, when he gets an inkling you're in his vicinity he takes off completely in the opposite direction and you can't even feel him, but you can hear the thoughts about him.
"i knew she never liked him,"
"she's actually gotta be deranged to make a whole document- imagine who else she's got written in that death note."
"i don't know babe, clark wasn't exactly the nicest to her."
"didn't they try dating?"
jimmy takes a seat beside you after the great shift where he's noticed you avoiding every single person in sight, including him and it hurts. you try your best to smile at him in greeting, force the ends in an upwards curve that it falls embarrassingly flat.
he sighs, leaving your newly filled coffee cup at your side and rests his head on yours affectionately, a little bump of support to let you know that he's always been on your side and always will.
"people are talking," you mumble, "i get it if you want to take some space," you nod tightly and he scoffs.
"we're not going anywhere," his voice is firm, "i don't care about what they say, you're my best friend and i am here for you." and you breathe out a thanks of appreciation, begging yourself not to cry again as he wraps you in a hug.
"you okay?" he murmurs into your hair and can feel you shake it against him and he sighs once more.
"he'll come around," when he pulls back.
"how can you be so sure?" you whisper, broken.
"because he's clark, he's never been one to stay away from you," he grins but your heart drops. not this time, you think. maybe not ever again.
but still you try, you pull tricks out of his own book in a pathetic grovel of sorts- but you just have to show clark that you're here, you're waiting and you'll do whatever it takes to show him.
so for the next few days you start to get to the office earlier, you make him a fresh cup of coffee and lay it at his desk, you write little pointers of encouragement on post it notes (given the fact that you have no idea of what he's writing to return him the advice he used to give you), but when the end of the day comes and you've tried not to make it obvious the way you stalk his big build that exits through the lifts and takes your heart with him, you make your way to his desk. the coffee sits untouched and cold, filled to the brim but the notes? they've disappeared. the blinding yellow fluroscent isn't pumped at the bottom of his bin with other scraps of paper he's scrunched up. you're embarrassed to admit that you half emptied it to check, they- like clark, himself- have just disappeared and you're left to deal with the radio silence in the aftermath. which somehow hurts more when it leaves everything unsaid and then some.
and like the days that have come before and all of your life before you gave clark kent a try at this thing called love, you walk home alone and lonely, all the same.
. . .
you finally meet superman on your commute home.
its the end of the week, you're final day before you're due to take some time off and you've left the office later than usual, giving clark ample time to avoid you and leave without having to actively dodge you, and then you had to speed up your writing because you've fallen behind on schedule and with everything in your life going to shit, you just needed one thing to be constant and be completely yours.
it's actually good enough to beat clark this time, you think after perry had complimented the first draft earlier. but he's made it clear that this rivalry the two of you were enamored in is no longer something he's interested and the win feels bittersweet, pointless even you could argue, it's just not the same and you hate it.
there's a hum of billy joel "piano man" that dramatically belts through your earphones as you turn the corner of the next block and if it weren't for the extra pair of feet tappering behind your shadow you probably wouldn't have noticed the strange man following you from behind. you take a random turn, panicking and afraid of leading this stalker to your doorstep that you don't recognise the alley you've turned into.
the evening air darkens with the absence of street lamps and you shake your head softly, "please," you quietly plead and at the flash of yellow teeth you throw the first punch. it's lazily and poorly directed that you miss and he grabs at your waist. you elbow him, hit him and then plain knee his nuts as soon as he drops you to the ground. the panic turns to rage and you feel the weight of the week just climb into each punch you land that you don't even feel the body turning eerily limp below you or the flash of blue and red that lowers into the alleyway.
"miss?" a deeper, ruff voice calls out, it catches sight of your side profile and softens, "hey, hey, hey," and arms that feel oddly familiar wrap around your waist and peel you off the weird man who heaves at the floor, "you're safe now,"
"no thanks to you," you almost scream the words, "for fucking superman you sure are slow!" and the agitation turns to straight tears as you just sob, "oh my god, what the fuck even is this week?" you breathe out shakily, "it's just shit after shit and i can't catch a break? i can't even get saved by superman?" and superman (clark) part of him wants to laugh at how strange both this situation and you are right now.
he wished he could've gotten to you quicker, it took him a flash of a second to recognise your scream but of course your rage was faster and you did all the heavy work, the least he could do was lend you a listening ear, even if hearing you open up so vulnerable to him broke his heart even further.
"how are you feeling?" he tries; part of him is easier to be superman like this, he stands at a distance, giving him space between the two of you because he knows he'd just crumble. he wanted to at the first sob he heard that night? the first cup of coffee he noticed, the first yellow post it note that now makes itself home in the top drawer of his desk- he couldn't bring himself to throw your little attempts at love notes away. he pats the ground next to him, offering his cape as a little blanket which you sit gingerly on, sniffles sitting in the centimetres that separate you respectably.
"i don't know if i can tell you," you mumble and his body freezes, surely you wouldn't have caught on to his identity- "you're like clark's buddy aren't you," you scoff and he blinks slowly.
"clark?" he asks, ignoring the huge weight lumbered off his chest and lets himself breathe again.
"6'4, 240lbs of pure muscle mass and glossy onyx curls, god he's just so," you groan, "he's so perfect and i as always," you start to fear the wave of sadness take over and you lower your head between your knees, focusing on how the ground feels underneath you, how the gravel looks a lot more sharper up close, "i ruined everything," and its a heartbreaking admission.
superman doesn't say anything, he stares at you, brows raised waiting for you to continue your story, "clark and i- it was strange. we weren't exactly friends, i mean we work together but it was always different. we used to compete for the spot for the first page privilege and thanks to you," you scoff and he sends you a wince of guilt, "he would come out on top most times- but he always used to push me to just be a better writer. it was petty i know, and for the longest time i just thought thats what we were. we were enemies, we hated each other- he brought out the worst in me," you chuckle,
"and yet he always stayed, he never expected anything from me in return, he was just there, you know and one night, we got together and i didn't think i was ready but i was going to try you know, he asked me for a chance and i gave it to him. i owed it to us, to the special relationship we had, to the way he made me feel like nobody on earth ever has. and you know, i've been in relationships and they've ended terrible- i'm not the best person i know but clark made it feel like it was easy to love me like he saw the worst and loved me despite it- most people would run away but clark he," and you cry, "he was my person."
you feel a hand land on your shoulder, his thumb soothing you in a backwards and forewards motion and through the tears you can't even see superman anymore. "so what happened?" he asks, though he already knows this first hand.
"when i first started the job, clark kent liked everyone but me and it felt personal, it hurt," you gasp, shrugging your shoulders as you relive the memory, "he made fun of me, and before i learned to understand and match the digs, before i found the routine and loved it with him, it honestly felt targeted so i made a word document- this was months ago, you have to believe me," you plead, "i was childish, i started listing these nasty things about him that i hated like god his smile, his laugh, just him- i had to get out all this negative energy somehow and i'm a writer, i fucking took it out on a word document, sue me," you bitterly laugh, "i don't know how it got out but it did, because the world hates me and i'm undeserving of the good things and now, i'm undeserving of clark,"
"he's incredible and i've never felt this way about someone before, but he doesn't believe so with that stupid document and me not showing up in the ways he has when we got together, he thinks that i hate him," you get out, shaking with the thick of emotion.
"and do you?"
you press your lips together in thought, maybe to repress them, if you don't speak it it won't be real, it won't be true, it won't hurt so much. but you're a journalist and your whole career has taught you that the truth is powerful, especially when it can hurt, so you be brave for once and face superman through the tears, "i'm in love with him."
the words don't come, clark feels his heart break through his chest and he wishes, oh he damn wishes that he wasn't superman- that superman doesn't even exist, he wishes he could be clark. your clark in this moment and hold you and tell you that he wants to fix this, that we can fix this and it will be alright again, he's in love with you too, he has to let you know this.
but he can't. because being superman is bigger than being clark kent. so he murmurs some useless advice at how things take time, you'll heal and clark will come back to you if he's the person you've fallen in love with- clark kent is honest and truthful and determined, if he's right for you then he will return.
superman does nothing but let his heart plummet further as you slide a faded white, slightly crumpled ticket his way and his blood freezes at the sight of shakespeare printed in small, "if you see clark, could you give him this? i wanted to take him, make it a regular thing- show him i'm committed to this and having time for it and i know we're not talking and he hates me more than anything but, i think he'll like it."
"then i will make sure he receives it, you have my word," and the world burns when you sniffle, send him a soft smile and get up to stand. to leave your problems in the hands of superman and in the darks of the alley, there's nothing more you can do and honestly you're tired of this all. you've tried and all you can do now is play the waiting game.
"i see why clark likes you, and you owe me an interview soon big guy," you nod and he sends a tight smile back, saluting you with a wave and ignoring the way his bones want to snap at how weak he feels right now. "have a good night, superman," and he waves again.
when he sees your form disappear and his tears fall onto the worn out ticket, still warm from your sweating hands, he whispers an oath, "see you soon, neutron."
. . .
"some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them," the voice of malvolio echoes throughout the hall and you watch intently.
there's an ache as you try not to look beside you, at the empty seat- the clark sized hole that mirrors the vacant area in your heart as you train your eyes forward. the theatre has always been your favourite place to just let go and relax, have someone else feel the emotions for once and bring them to life but it feels lacking tonight, you can't distract yourself enough and suddenly the air weighs down on you and crushes you at a great intensity.
you silently grab your purse, sneak out the back row and head out of the doors. it's time to call it a night, go home and probably call your mom- maybe it's time to go home home, ground yourself with people who do love you and have never treated you any different, to be in an area that just doesn't remind you so heavily of clark, maybe it'd make the healing process a lot easier and you can actually start it.
you wave into oncoming traffic, drawing the attention of a taxi and rocking yourself as you wait for it to pull up near to you. the bag on your shoulder lightly dips as you step off the curb and into the taxi door before an arm pulls you back and youre thrust back into his orbit.
"clark," you breathe as his ocean blue orbs sink and drown you in. you've seen him in the week but this is different; this is upclose and vulnerable, this is intimate and before the world exploded on you.
"where you going?" his drawl lands breathless in lieu of an actual greeting.
"home?" you question and a small curl of his lip extends to the sky, the faint smile lines resting at peace.
"i said where you going, baby?" he repeats, earnest laced in his voice as his hold on you tightens against him, you're breaths are uneven as you intake his breath as your own air and you blink.
"come on man!" the exasperation of a third stranger breaks your trance and clark pops his head into the cab window at your side, lands a fifty note in his hand and grins.
"i'll take this one, thanks, have a good one," he wraps his fist in a gentle tap to the back of the car to signal its departure and the cab driver wolf whistles in return, counting the money and shooting clark a thumbs up for good luck, steering off into the distance.
"clark i-" and he presses his finger to your lips, silencing your tired fight immediately.
"so where you going, hon?" and the frustration builds up inside of you. you don't think you can do this tonight, you need energy, defense, bite and a plan to escape out of this untouched but its the sudden intensity he stares down at you, boyish and determined as he clears his throat, not offering anything else but patiently waiting for you to reply and then it hits you.
oh. home.
he is home.
"clark, i'm sorry," you whisper, "i'm sorry how this started and how it ended but it just goes to show we don't work," you get out, the words betray your voice in a tight strain and you shake your head softly, trying to detach yourself from his hold but he reaches for your hand and interlocks it, kissing your knuckles like its the very first time and then holds it to his chest.
"i don't believe that," he breathes, like its some secret joke only his soul can memorise. "you said you hated the way i laugh- it's too loud," and the words are a sharp stab, even as they spill from his lips.
"it is too loud," you confess, "i can hear it after you've stopped, it rings in my ears like an echo and i start wishing i knew how to make you laugh like that, how to keep hearing that sound again and again," the words start spilling before you can stop them and he softens completely.
"you hate the way i look at you, i'm a coward," he breathes.
"because you look at me like i'm the only one who ever matters and i didn't know what to do with all of that. its heavy, its all on me and i get nervous, clark," you scoff, hitting him lightly, tiny fists against his chest, "its worse when you look at me like you want to say something more but you don't because then i spend all day torturing myself with the what if's and its brutal," you stretch, resting your head on his chest in defeat and his heart sings beneath the touch.
"you hate the way i sneak up on you," he narrows his brows, "i take up too much space," he echoes and you glare at him.
"i know what i said clark," you seethe, annoyance bubbling up inside of you all over, "and you are big, you're fucking massive and you surround me, you consume me and steal all the air like its your birthright and i feel so damn helpless i hate it," you spit, taking a step away from him in hopes the chill of the evening hair will cool the fire that steams from your skin. "i can't even think when you're near and you're the only person who can throw me so hard off my game that i can't even remember my name some days and you do it so easily," you heave.
"do you hate that almost as much as you hate the way i make you feel?"
"oh thats worse, you make me feel like i'm not in control," and you take a step closer to him, "and i've never not been in control, you make second best to you feel like first place- like i'm still a winner because i get that cool look swung my way and i giggle like i'm back in school and i hate it- it's like you take all the years of hard work and practise just like nothing- you took my heart like it was nothing," and the tears are free to fall now, you don't even lift your arm to wipe them away you let him look at you, really look at you and let him feel the extent of the damage he's done- how he's caused you to come so undone.
"you hate me," he laughs, and its the same damn laugh you hate, you hate that you love it so damn much that you want to bottle it and get drunk on it every single night you spend in his absence.
"i do," you giggle and it feels like the most ridiculous thing you've ever said, you blink through the tears and he cups your jaw with his large hands that again, he's here consuming you all over. he presses a soft kiss to your lips and its not as hungry, as devouring and deep as the first drunken kiss you shared on that night two weeks ago. its slow, earnest, filled with the pinings and regrets of never knowing the right way to show your love. its wrapped in apologies and forgiveness and a promise to be brave and loud in how you feel.
"but here's a new one for you," you pause, "i really do hate the way that i broke your heart," you mutter ashamed, lowering your gaze but he catches it instantly with a shake to his head.
"do with it what you will; it was only ever yours to have because i'm in love with you," he smiles when he pulls away and its so loud and large your heart soars, "and you're in love with me," he presses his forehead into yours, uniting your broken hearts.
"i am," you swear, "i don't know when i fell but i know that i'm here in the deep end with you and i'm scared but i'm here clark, i promise," and he wipes away your stray tears.
the bustle of the crowds exiting the theatre breaks you free from his hold and he laughs once more, and then quieter for your ears to burn into memory only, "it's okay," he murmurs into your hair, ogling at the stars swimming in your eyes, "we have next week to make up for it," and you stare at the theatre doors and then at your lover. you lean up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips once again.
"we have forever to make up for this, so take me home, baby," you whisper.
and he does.
he does it for a lifetime and more.
riya saying hi: there's a lot to say but first hello! first clark fic after a few days off 🥺🥺 i poured my whole heart and soul into this one hence how long it is, how angsty it is - this is clark hurt comfort final boss. this by far has to be the best ive written and my most favourite love confession to date. ugh ! i really do hope you like it, i fear it did take a large portion of my energy so i will be focusing on requests for the next few days something easier and slower paced compared this monster.
i do want to reiterate that thank you so much for 1k followers! it means the world, beyond that how much this all feels and god im the luckiest person on earth. its such a gift to be able to create something, put myself in some words on a page and have it liked, and enjoyed my god i am gonna cry- but to celebrate this and you (!) because this in no way shape or form wouldve been possible without you, i am taking in clark requests and will try my hardest to get them out asap so send in whatever ! literally whatever ! (just not smut soz) but again thank you !!!!
and finally, this fic would not have been possible without the incredible, the STUNNING @hangmanwrites - anna i owe you a serious portion of my heart (not that you didn't already have it) for letting me work through this with you, helping steer it in the right direction and bring it to life. youre an incredible writing partner and your support has forever altered my brain chemistry- thank you my love, i appreciate and love you so damn much !!! 🥺💘
and again, to you readers, let me know what you think! my ask box is always open if you ever want to talk (and inbox too if youd prefer a longer conversation) thanks for being here and reaffirming kindness on this blog- love you !
"okay," fuck you, okay.” read this with so much sass. lmao it’s so me. why can’t you read my mind and know i don’t want to do something haha
also some of clark’s comments and shenanigans had me like “what the hey dude”
"and i would do it sober” i screamed!!! i would do it every which way 24/7 🙂↕️
spoilers!
"i really do hate the way that i broke your heart” this line broke me. the whole scene with her talking to superman broke me too. full on sobbing with her bc i would lose it if i lost clark too let’s be real
this was so good! i’m glad i finally got the chance to read it. the angst was amazing and the make up 🙌🏻 so happy
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…..not even six hours later i got an offer of a well paying full time long-term job with free room and board in queens in nyc, allowing me independence and a way to escape an abusive situation and an unhealthy environment
likes charge reblogs cast, folks, this is the good luck post
the last time I reblogged this post right before I got a great job, in a permanent work-from-home position, with benefits, retirement, and a salary literally 3x what I was making before, doing something I really like.
if you wiped every ICE agent off the face of the earth, a hundred million people would become safer overnight. if you wiped every furry off the face of the earth, the entire internet would collapse for good in a matter of hours. i know where my allegiances lie.
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