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iniquitousyearning · 8 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 18th. mattheo — hate fucking / enemies.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: “at least her favourite form of foreplay isn’t an argument…” “or being a bitch her kink..”

warnings: 18+ MDNI, dubcon(meh), ex bf/gf trope, toxic behaviour, mutual manipulation, these two are chaotic as fuck, mentions of blood, gagging, degradation, rough sex PIV, hate fucking, spitting, spanking, uhhh i think that covers it. this one is a ride. can you tell this is my fav trope?

"I'm so fucking sick of you.”

"Get well soon, princess."

"Get fucked, Riddle."

Three sentences, three venomous insults that cut the room in half—heavy enough in their intensity to make you want to tear through dungeon walls, splintering stone and mortar with bare hands if it means sparing yourself another second in this blasted room, with him.

Detention at midnight—on a Friday, no fucking less—is unheard of. But leave it to your dickhead ex to make the impossible a reality. His fault, of course. Like always.

Snape had turned a blind eye for months. It was only a matter of time before something had to give. An hour unsupervised was as good as you'll get.

Sulking defeat, you sink back in your chair, rough wood digging into your spine as you eye Mattheo with a glare that could rival a bullet. He looks like hell, and it's infuriating how even in that state he manages to look so nonchalant, so maddeningly unbothered—like even exhaustion makes a home on him and he's comfortable with it. Bags under his eyes, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose, those dark curls falling messily over his forehead, white dress shirt wrinkled and open at the collar.

You roll your eyes, a gesture that feels like your only act of rebellion left.

And he notices. Of course he does.

"You haven't changed a bit," he spits, and you know it's an insult. You scowl as he swipes the blood off his chin with the sleeve of his shirt. "Always a bitch to me over something."

Bitch. The name strikes you, but you won't let him see it, won't let him know that it lands. You've bled too many times at his feet for him to draw blood again tonight.

"Am I not allowed to be pissed off that you dragged us into detention? We should be at the party, Mattheo. We should be anywhere but here." You hear the frustration rising in your voice, like it's boiling up from somewhere deep, somewhere you can't quite reach. It's hard not to let it slip, especially when he looks at you like that. "This is so fucking typical of you. You mess up, and somehow I'm the one who pays for it."

For a moment, there's silence, and it almost feels like a victory until you realize he's only biding his time, waiting to strike back.

"You really want to get back there? To that party?" He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. You long for the chair to break from under him. "After what your new man was caught doing with Lovegood?"

You snort before you can stop yourself, the sound slipping out like a reflex. You hadn't expected that. And quite frankly, it's amusing—no, downright hilarious—that he's clearly been keeping tabs on you and "new man", and now here he is, trying to play it off like he doesn't care. Like it's nothing.

"I'll spare you the insults this once," you mutter, fingers loosening the tie around your neck with a tug. "Because, clearly, you're ignorant to the truth, even if you think you know every goddamn thing." You pause, ripping out your earrings. "He's not my man, so I don't give a shit what he does with who. He ended it last week. Good fuck, sure—but other than that..."

You trail off, making a mocking noise with your lips, a derisive puff of air, as if you could blow away the memory of him as easily as dust off an old book. A Ravenclaw. Brilliant in all the wrong ways—sharp mind, yes, but utterly thrill-less, like he saw you as just another page to flip through, a textbook he was annotating.

It is what it is.

A moment passes and then Mattheo grins—slow at first, but spreading across his face like fire, destructive in its consummation. It unsettles you. He looks more intrigued than he's been in months.

"A good fuck, huh?"

"That's what I said," you reply, clipped, your tone offering no room for him to crawl inside.

"And why didn't it work out? Too good for you?" He says, twisting the knife just because he can. "Too clean, maybe?"

Your eyes scan the room, searching for something within reach to throw at him, anything to break this unbearable tension. Insufferable. Every inch of him, insufferable.

You find nothing, so you throw words instead. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He nods, as if that's the truest thing either of you have said all night. Of course he knows.

You barely suppress a dry laugh at his idiocy. "Like I told you—he ended it. If you're so fucking interested in why it didn't work out, then why don't you go ask him?"

There's a pause—he's chewing the inside of his cheek as he stares at you. You imagine chewing his head off as you stare at him.

"I'm sure you gave that bookworm the ride of his life," he says, voice half-dry, half-sarcastic, as if he's already bored of the conversation. As if he knew all of this information already. "Everyone knew that was temporary. Your first rebound, congrats."

And just like that, your blood is boiling. He knows how to needle you, how to get under your skin with the slightest flick of his stupid fucking tongue. Your eyes trace the cold stone of the dungeon walls, desperately trying to find something—anything—to distract yourself.

But it's no use. Mattheo's an asshole. He's always been an asshole. That's why you left. All the two of you did was fight and fuck, a chaotic spiral that was as thrilling as it was destructive. Now, he's easily your enemy—dragging you into his messes, never letting you get too far without ruining your life somehow.

And yet—

If you said you didn't miss the sex sometimes, that'd be a lie. Or at least a half-truth. The kind that slips out when you've had one too many glasses of firewhiskey, the kind you'd regret in the morning.

"What about you, dickhead?" You cut through the silence, ignoring his obvious attempt to rile you up. "That Hufflepuff you were seeing—why'd I see her all over Theo tonight?"

He answers far too fast. "They're friends."

You snort, disbelieving. "Right."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room to the bookcase as if it's the most natural thing in the world. The books feel safer somehow, less volatile.

"You're bored of her, aren't you?" You don't care to look at him. You can imagine the way his jaw tenses at the question.

The silence is telling. He doesn't answer right away. You know him well enough to understand what that means. Then, finally, he speaks, a half-answer that doesn't really answer the fucking question at all.

"At least her favourite form of foreplay isn't a fucking argument." He stands, slow, pushing his hair back from his forehead with one battered hand. You glance at him, pulse quickening. "Or being a bitch her kink."

"Does she even have kinks?" It slips out, a knife thrown without aiming. "Sounds like you're bored, Matty."

You watch as he blinks, his eyes darken. That nickname—you know you don't have the right to say it anymore, and that's exactly why you do. It's an insult wrapped in familiarity, and it hits its mark by the way his shoulders tense, jaw tight.

He steps toward you, one calculated step, and you feel it—that chaotic pull, the gravity that's always drawn you both in, no matter how far you try to stay away. A smile pulls at your lips, a cruel thing.

"How cute." He tilts his head just enough to inspect you, eyes dragging over you like he's searching for something to confirm what he already suspects. "Looks like you're jealous."

Your hand grips the bookshelf, eyes locked on him over your shoulder. Jealous? There's not a soul on this planet who could make you jealous. She may be the hero of this story, the girl that gets the guy, might even be everything you're not—

"Looks like you're learning the hard way," you're inspecting him now, too. Every piece of him you once touched. "When it comes too easy it's never gonna' hit as hard, babe."

Another pause from him—something dancing in his eyes. Anger? Maybe. Or something more, something twisted that you don't care to name. You've already lit the match, and now you're just watching him burn.

"You're so clever, huh? So full of advice," he sneers, ripping off his tie and chucking it on a desk. "Go on then, tell me more about how I feel, professor. Since you know everything about me."

You can't help the smirk that curls on your lips. Oh, he's pissed. And that means you're winning.

"What? You don't like hearing the truth? Too much for your delicate ego?" You take a step toward him, savouring every second of this. He hurt you, over and over, the scars from those days still fresh, still bleeding beneath your skin. This has been a long time coming. "You think I care about your new girl, Matty? The one you let your boys fawn over in the common room?...she kissed Theo tonight." You pause, letting that linger. "You think you're doing something, but I see right through you. You don't give a fuck about her. If you did, no one would dare touch her like that. So don't sit here, accusing me of jealousy, like I'm the one hung up on you. You're projecting. And it's pathetic."

He doesn't waste a goddamn beat—his laugh is bitter, sickeningly so—and he advances again, his shadow moving behind him, the space between you now barely there.

"That's amazing, truly. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were a goddamn oracle. All-knowing, all-seeing." His voice is infuriating. The look on his face more-so. "What's your verdict then, my lord? You think this is all an act? That everything I'm doing is just to spite you?"

Your heart races, breath catching in your throat as he steps closer. This is a dance you both know too well, the kind where neither of you win.

"I know how you operate." Your chest heaves, anger rising with every breath. "It's all a game to you, Matt. A sick, twisted game to keep yourself entertained."

"That's rich, coming from someone who played it just as well." He takes another step forward. You could reach out and touch him now he's that close. His grin grows. "Too bad your Ravenclaw figured it out before you could sink your teeth in too deep. Next time you see him, make sure to tell him I said you're welcome."

Your brows pinch—the blood in your veins screeching to a halt, backing up like New York traffic at a standstill. You feel it, hot and furious, rushing toward a place it can't go, clogged behind the wall of rage building up inside you—

"You're welcome?" You spit, a sharp snarl caught between clenched teeth. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He's watching you, his eyes darting over your shoulder, fingers brushing over his lips like he's trying to dull that familiar smirk, that cruel little game he's always played.

Your stomach sinks, drops to your feet.

"Mattheo—" you snap, cutting him off just as he opens his mouth, before he can throw another snide word. "Spare me the cryptic bullshit for once in your life—“

His eyebrows lift at that, but there's a nod, a hint of something deeper in it. You taste the smugness in the air between you, can almost feel it slithering through his silence.

"Looks like you don't know everything after all. Isn't that ironic?" He straightens up, letting the moment breathe before his face hardens into something almost serious. "Your rebound came to me in the courtyard about two weeks ago. Had some questions about you."

"What?" Your nerves are vibrating, every cell in your body on edge. Your blood is so clogged, you swear you're seeing red. "What questions?"

"The usual sort of normal stuff. Your birthday. Your favorite colour. Childhood traumas. Our downfall. You know."

The casualty in the way he says it makes you sick, bile rising in your throat, a bitter burn at the back of your mouth. It's all starting to come together now. This stupid motherfucker—

"You're lying." The words feel weak, frail. He wouldn't—no, he couldn't. "You're fucking lying."

"Am I?" His fingers brush your cheek, but your skin's gone numb, your blood too frozen to feel anything but the cold burn of your fury. "Or, is the truth just…too much for your delicate ego to handle?"

Oh, fuck off—

Your wand is in your hand before you even realize you've grabbed it, instinct, pure reflex. There's barely a second of rational thought before you're casting, the spell hitting him square in the chest, sending him flying back into the chair he once sat in. His eyes flash, anger igniting there, and he scrambles for his wand—but you're faster.

"Expelliarmus."

One word and you're across the room before you even know you've moved, chest tight as you slam the tip of your wand against his throat. There's a cut on his lip, blood trickling down his chin for a second time tonight, but that stupid fucking smirk is still there, showcasing rubies for teeth and carved into his face like it belongs.

"Tell me what you did." Your voice cracks, but not from fear—it's fury, burgling through you, burning hot enough to make your whole body shake. You half want to cut him open just to bury your rage inside him, let him feel it. "If what you're saying is true, he ended things just days later. Tell me what the fuck you said to him."

Mattheo’s leaning back, hands raised in mock surrender, eyes glinting with the same smug amusement that's always haunted him. He's daring you, taunting you. He knows you never cared about that guy, not really.

You both know it. He was boring, easy.

This—this is something else.

His tongue swipes at the blood on his lip. "He didn't tell you—"

"Don't." Your wand digs deeper into his skin, cutting off whatever he was about to say. The pressure makes his breath hitch, but not enough. Not nearly enough. "I said tell me."

"Merlin—okay—I told him nothing, nothing really," his voice makes your grip tighten on your wand. He stares at you for a long, hard minute before he adds; "except that he should show me some fucking gratitude."

Your jaw slips, confusion rushing in like a flood. But before you can even question him—

"I told him he should be thanking me." Another pause. "When he's fucking you."

He laps at the blood seeping from the cut on his lip for the second time in only a minute and you barely notice the movement—the words hit you like a brick, but it's deeper than that, something visceral that crawls under your skin and settles in your bones. It's sharp, raw, cutting through the wall of rage so fast it leaves you breathless. You don't know how to explain it, this feeling that twists through you, something far too complicated to be named.

And then, you become aware of everything at once.

His legs, spread wide on either side of yours, the space between you so small, your chest just close enough to his face that his breath feels like it's fogging your skin. You're towering over him, wand pressed hard into his throat, your heart hammering in your chest like you're ready to ruin him—but his eyes, the way he looks up at you, says he'd let you.

"I may have even added that although you're with him, you'll always think of me. Both you and him know it’s true.“ That stupid smirk is gone, replaced with something you've never quite seen before. He pauses, before he continues. "You miss it. Us." Another pause. There’s something victorious in his tone, something that's almost breaking you. "And no matter how many times you try to forget, you never do, do you?"

Salazar save you—you should hex him. You should fucking hex him. Every nerve in your body is screaming for it, begging for it, but you can't. You can't fucking move. Your wand is still pressed to his skin, but it feels like you're the one pinned down.

"Shut up," you finally manage, but your voice is meek, thin, nothing like the fury you want to feel. "You...you're being—"

"I'll shut up," his hand finds your wrist, pressing your wand tip against his neck with more force—enough to make himself wince. "If you make me."

You blink, stunned, and you can feel your anger slipping, slipping faster than you can catch it. You don't know what's happening to you—it’s just him—his sick twisted insanity that disarms you. Time and time again. An endless fucking cycle.

"I could ruin you," you whisper, but it sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself than him. You press the wand deeper, just enough to draw a grunt from him, but the look on his face—he's not afraid. No, he's enjoying it. "I have more reasons than most to leave you here bloodied for Snape to find in the morning."

You say the words but the conviction is gone, swept away in the flood of heat between you—the dizzying proximity, the way his lips curl, almost smiling but not quite—

"What are you so afraid of?" He whispers, and there's something fragile in his voice now. "That you might actually want this?"

"I don't want this." You force the words out immediately, hoping they will make it real. Hoping they'll stop this spiral. "I regret ever wanting this."

He’s silent for a moment as he lowers his hands, dark eyes falling to trace your lips—

"I know you hate me, the feelings mutual...but I know. I know I'll always be your favourite regret," those chocolate curls shift, his head tilts closer, too close. Not close enough. "You're still my weapon of choosing."

Merlin. Merlin bloody forgive you—

"…to hurt yourself with?” It's half a question, but you already know the answer.

He nods, and that does it.

Your lips are on his, fast and hard and bruising—and the reaction is immediate, visceral. All that backed-up blood—all that rage frozen in your veins rushes forward in a single, scorching wave. It crashes low, between your thighs, a heat so sharp it aches. The shame comes with it. So does the disgust. A sick knot of self-hatred pulsing through you as you taste his blood on your tongue while his hands are under your skirt, grabbing you like he owns you, pulling you into him. It's only a moment before your wand clatters to the ground, and your hands are tangled in his hair, yanking hard, hard enough to hurt.

You want it to hurt. God, you want it to hurt.

He growls at the sting on his scalp—and then, everything flips.

His fingers tug at something, and you realize it's his own wand, the one you tucked into the back of your skirt—and before you can even think, he's got it, casting a spell that sends you flying back onto the desk behind you. You groan—the world spins, but you don't even have a second to gather yourself before he's advancing toward you, casting another spell on his tie.

Within seconds it's slithering across your lips and tying itself around your head, gagging you.

He steps between your legs, parts them with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times before—rough hands gliding up your thighs, eyes wild. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, through your slit, and you try to hold on to any shred of control, but it's gone. You can feel it. The way you forget everything except the way he leans down, breath hot in your ear.

"Look how fucking wet you are," he spits through a sneering grin. "You're goddamn shameless, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, but your thoughts scatter the moment his fingers shove inside you, curling hard—so hard you gasp into the tie, your back arching violently off the desk.

"He ever get you this wet?" His voice is like gravel, each word grinding into your bones. "Nod your head if he did."

Your body reacts before your mind does, arching against him, but you don't move your head. As much as it hurts your pride to give him that win. You dig your fingers into his hair and pull—hard enough to make him grunt, hard enough to hurt.

His hand comes down hard on your thigh in response, a sharp smack that stings, a warning. You squeal, and his fingers start pumping faster, deeper.

He huffs. "That's what I thought."

His fingers make quick work of you, relentless, and his thumb presses to your clit, rolling circles in a rhythm that has your blood on fire, shame licking at the edges of your vision, but it only makes you burn hotter. This is all wrong. Everything about this is wrong, something you'll regret with every fiber of your being tomorrow, but right now, it's an ache you need.

It's the wound you keep reopening, the pain you crave because it's the only thing that ever feels real.

"Fuck, you're close, aren't you?" He sounds almost shocked, like he can't believe how easily your body betrays you, but you feel it too, the disbelief crashing through you as fast as the pleasure does. Too fast. Far too fast. "Did he ever make you cum? Huh? When's the last time you fucking came?"

You can't answer, just groan, yanking at his hair again. His response is immediate, another stinging slap to your inner thigh, sharp enough to make fluid prick your eyes. Your orgasm is right there, teetering on the edge, ready to tip over—but then he slows his pace, dragging it out, torturing you.

You whine. A pitiful, desperate sound you hate yourself for.

"Look at me." His voice cuts through the haze, and begrudgingly, you do. "He didn't make you cum, did he?"

Your face burns, not from his breath or his fingers or even the astronomical amount of shame you feel—but from the truth of it. You shake your head.

"How long?" His voice shatters the air between you. "A week?"

You shake your head again, biting into the fabric of his tie as his fingers curl deeper inside you.

"Two weeks?"

Another shake. He curses under his breath.

"You poor little thing." His words are venom, but the second they spill from his lips, he pumps his fingers into you again, massaging at your walls, and your vision goes white. "Can't even cum without me."

You would've slapped him if you could, would've torn him apart, but the orgasm hits you like a freight train, ripping through you with violent force. You clench around his digits, thighs trembling as you ride the wave of pleasure, convulsing, moaning into the tie as he watches you like he's won.

"So fucking easy." He withdraws his fingers, and immediately, his hands go to his belt. "We'll make up for lost time."

Everything about this feels like a rerun. The same scene playing out on loop, again and again—a cycle of self-destruction you know too well, like running headfirst into a burning building, certain you can handle the smoke only to choke on it.

He's taking off his belt, ready to fuck you stupid, and by morning you'll be back to the same familiar hatred, tearing each other apart in new, inventive ways. Your hands move sluggishly to rip the tie from your mouth, but you're slow, too slow, still dizzy from the release that blindsided you, one that you haven't felt in so long—the fabric barely grazes your fingers before Mattheo catches your wrists, yanking them back, dragging you to your feet in one rough motion.

The spin disorients you—arms pinned behind your back, his cock sliding between your thighs.

"You've done enough talking today," he hisses at your ear as he drags along your slit. "You want this, don't you?"

Your mind screams for you to shake your head, to end this here and now. You know he'd stop—he's an asshole, but not that kind of an asshole. You know it. You almost do it, almost say the word that would shatter this madness. But then he drags his tip against your clit and you moan before you can stop yourself.

Your head nods with a wanton moan, and it's so full of shame your eyes sting with tears.

"Yeah, I know, baby." He's taunting you, every syllable smug, condescending. "This pussy missed me so much, huh?" His hand tightens on your wrists until your skin burns, the other hand finding its way around your thigh, pulling you closer to him. "Fuckin' lost without me. S'all it's good for, isn't it? Taking my cock."

You groan, shaking your head in defiance, but even that feels like a lie. You hate him. You want him. You hate yourself for wanting him.

"No?" His fingers inch toward your clit, ghosting over it—you squeal, hips jerking for more. "Maybe we should call this off then?"

You blink once and his fingers are gone—wrenching a whine out of you, pathetic as you push your ass back against him, shame burning through you as you shake your head. Fuck him. Curse him. But you need him inside you, need him to fill the aching void that gnaws at you.

"That's my slut," he growls, and before you can process the words, he's inside you—one long, brutal thrust that spears you open, the stretch burning deep. The sting mixes with shock of his fingers returning to your clit, rubbing circles that make your knees buckle. "You know you're the only girl I've fucked raw? This pussy will always be mine."

He's fucking insane. Completely insane. And the worst part is, you're just as insane for wanting him. For needing him. You can't fight it. You don't even want to. Not now. Not when his voice drips like poison and he's tearing you apart in the only way you understand.

"Mmmf—" you groan into the tie and he's matching you, his teeth grazing your shoulder, marking you in ways that will last for days.

"I hope it hurts," he grumbles against your skin, his breath ragged. He's lying, you can feel it in the way his fingers are moving, coaxing you to cum, even as he pretends to wish you pain. "I hope it fucking stings."

Your hands ball into fists, trapped in his grip, and you imagine clawing at his back until you draw blood, sinking your nails in until he feels every ounce of your anger.

"I want you to feel it—fuck—I want you to remember this," he pants, his voice barely more than a growl as your climax crashes toward you, unstoppable now. "Remember how weak I make you. How much of a slut you are for me."

Another harsh thrust and then, you're there—falling into the void—pleasure is so strong it bleeds out of you, forcing your cunt to clamp tight around him, legs trembling, barely able to support you through it. Mattheo’s curses slip through clenched teeth, but this only fuels him—his rhythm picks up, brutal, hips slamming against your ass with a pace that borders on unhinged.

"Fuck. Oh, fuck." The words are barely audible, grunted against the shell of your ear. You're whining, still twitching with aftershocks, but he doesn't care. His hands are on your hips now, fingers digging deep as he thrusts you forward, slamming you over the desk. The wood bites into your palms as you try to brace yourself, but his anger is palpable, drilling into you— "you wanna bitch at me now?"

The moan you release is automatic, instinctual. You can't stop it. Can't control it. His fingers curl around your throat, shifting the tie down to shove two into your mouth.

"Hhhhh—" you're trying to form words around his fingers, but it's impossible. The garbled sound is pathetic, but he knows exactly what you're trying to say.

"You hate me. I know." It’s smug, punctuated by a sharp smack to your ass, the sting of it making you yelp. He pulls his fingers from your mouth, wiping the spit across your cheek before he grips your jaw, forcing your head to turn, to meet his eyes. "Open your mouth."

There's no time to process the demand. His eyes are molten, crazed, filled with something raw and uncontainable. His next thrust is punishing, slamming into your cervix, making you sob—your mouth parting just enough—

He leans in close, and then he spits into your mouth.

"Swallow it." His fingers dig into your cheeks, pressing the order into your bones. "Be a good girl for once."

You choke out a laugh, even as you're panting, even as he's splitting you stupid.

"Never." The word barely leaves your lips before you’re spitting back at him—your entwined saliva landing across his chin and lips.

For a second, you expect the worst—you brace yourself for the retaliation—the slap, the insult, the way he'll tighten his grip and take back control. But to your surprise, instead of anger, there's a grin—wide and feral, big and crazed enough to reach his eyes.

You smile back. His cock twitches inside you.

"Fuck me," he mutters, then crashes his mouth to yours.

You taste the salt and bitterness of mingled spit, a mess of his and yours, and it pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside you. He devours it, greedy, his hips growing erratic, sloppy as his high nears.

His hand drops to your clit, fingers pressing with a precision that obliterates every last shred of sanity—and it takes only moments before the pressure builds again, fast and furious. Your third orgasm rips you apart, your body clenching tight, muscles seizing as you're lost in it. You're not sure where you end and he begins—your breath congealing with his, your moans swallowed in the space between you.

His release follows right after, crashing over him as he buries himself deep, spilling into you with a groan that reverberates through your bones. You hate the way it feels. You hate the way he fills you. But you also can't deny the twisted satisfaction of it—the way you sought this punishment, needed it. The shame consumes you, but it's comforting in its familiarity.

He pulls out, and the silence between you is easy, broken only by your ragged breathing. The room feels impossibly small now, your body still thrumming with the aftermath, but the moment is over. You both start to move—piecing yourselves back together, pulling clothes into place, avoiding the weight of what just happened.

You don't understand how it came to this, how it always does, but you're not surprised. Not anymore.

After a long, silent moment, he looks at you. “I don’t regret what I did.”

You know he doesn’t.

“I know.”

He blinks. “I won’t apologize for it.”

You know he won’t.

“I know.”

He nods, now, a smirk on his lips as he watches you fix your skirt. You note the hair sticking to his forehead, how he’s still catching his breath even though he’s pretending he isn’t.

“You aren’t mad.” An observation.

“I’m not.” You reply. You know you should be, but the relief you felt when that Ravenclaw ended things tells you everything you need to know. “Just, never do it again.”

He nods again. “Sure.”

You’re pretty sure he doesn’t mean that—but, at least now, as you glance over at him, there's a small comfort in knowing you no longer want to kill him.

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eraserbread · 3 months ago

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nanami's not about to fight with u... he's just gonna show u who you truly belong to. read part 1 for context

"i'm not fighting with you, just get on your knees."

"ken, we have a houseful of guests-

he's shaking his head, tugging his zipper in a fateful swoop. you don't lie and say you weren't buzzing with the idea of what he'd do next, but it felt so wrong. now was not the time to be getting him off.

"i won't repeat myself." then his pants are down and he's easing his already-flushed cock from its confines. he's rubbing himself to his full potential right in front of you, so comfortable with you standing in front of him, wide-eyed and nervous.

luckily your kitchen is closed off from the rest of the house, but it's not completely closed. someone could easily pop their head into the arched entryway and see everything you're seeing. deep down you know kento wouldn't let that happen. he has the awareness of an anxious cat, so you trust him enough to get on your knees, crawling to close the distance between you two.

"i'm doing this because domination tends to make you mild-mannered," he explains briefly, voice tinged with a hint of arousal. "and that's what I need from you right now. do you understand?"

"mhm." you reply, looking up at him with silent doe-eyes. from this angle at his feet, he looks so much bigger. daunting and familiar. so beautiful... and all yours.

"relax your throat." he demands just before taking a handful of your hair and guiding you down the length of him. he's not easy to take in the slightest - your jaw burns, eyes screwed shut as you try to swallow back a gag.

then, a thunderous bout of laughter erupts from the other room and you fold -- gagging and choking all over his pretty cock.

he yanks you backward, face screwed up in distaste. "what did I just tell you?"

"'m sorry." you whine as he smushes your lips with his tip.

"if satoru walks in here and sees you like this, i will be extremely upset."

"'m sorry." you repeat, genuinely sorry and just wanting him inside of you again. he's barely gracing your lips, but every atom in your body is screaming for him. if you thought satoru was charming five minutes ago, you didn't even know who he was now. all you want is your husband.

"him and his righteous savior complex.. makes me sick." he mutters, mostly to himself. he has two big hands on either side of your head, squeezing like only he can. it's been too long together, he knows you're not a china doll.

so, he fucks your limp throat like he hates you, eye twitching as he watches your face go more flushed with each mean thrust he's delivering. you've never taken him like this, feeling the drippy tip of his cock at the base of your throat, giving you goosebumps all around his touch. you've never felt closer to him, yet so pained by every one of his movements.

it's like your entire mind goes limp. etched with scrawling versions of his name only. he's you can think about, all you can taste...

only when he's finally done and marked your stomach with his seed, does he help you up with a strong hand, just holding you close for a second until yours stops shaking.

he doesn't say a word, just watching your eyes as they stare back at him expressionless but teary and bloodshot nonetheless. he leans forward and kisses your forehead.

"sorry. you know i'll always love you."

you nod, because... yeah. same. that makes him smile.

and he guides you back to your party holding your hand, watching out for you as you take the seat next to satoru back. it's like he doesn't even notice your presence, he's far too preoccupied teasing utahime about some nameless story from the past.

once the party has concluded and kento is seeing them all out, does satoru stop and say something.

"poor, little nanami..." satoru stops just before he reaches the first step past the front door. ken regards him with a nod, leaning against the doorframe. "this is what happens when the lamb chooses a wolf."

"do i even want you to explain?"

satoru shrugs him off, throwing up in hand as a curt goodbye as he turns around. "she's too nice. it's sad to know you yelled at her... she was all teary-eyed and mellow for the rest of the night."

kento turns around, chuckling to himself as he finally shuts the front door. reveling in the quiet comfort of his home he thinks:

ha. did much more than make her cry...

#fr if ken and gojo were fighting over u who u pickin #idk i'm always choosing ken #unless geto's an option #also hello to the 700 of u on here? :o #.the wife guy!! <3 #.nanami <3 #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami x you

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intromortal · 2 months ago

Text

✷ LIQUID SWEETENER ⸻ sim jaeyun

jake takes care of his sick girlfriend, but with an unexpected twist.

this work contains ⋆ smut. mdni. established relationship, reader has a fever, she's very annoying tbh but it's bc she's ME! it's okay tho bc jake is equally as bad. spitting medicine in someone's mouth... is this sanitary? absolutely not but i also can't bring myself to care, fingering, praise, degradation (use of slut like once? and pet), he's mostly very sweet tho i promise, oral f!rec, squirting, mentions of free use, multiple orgasms, quick aftercare, jake comes untouched he's down bad sorry ! ⸻ rules ⋆ m.list

length ⋆ oneshot ⸻ 5.2k words

✷ NIA — i finally got around to rewriting this omfg. this rewrite is for my sweet @heechwe and all the nonnies who asked for this to be posted again <3

It's not everyday Jake gets to take care of you, so when you're all sickly and weak, it's hard to evade his attentions no matter how hard you try.

Jake pouts when you shoot down yet another attempt to get you to take your medicine. "Why don't you just chug it? I promise it's not as bad as you think."

He’s been trying to get you to swallow at least a tiny dose of the sweet fever syrup for the best part of an hour, after every attempt to get you to down any kind of pill resulted in you hiding them somewhere underneath your cozy pajamas, against your burning skin.

"If it's not as bad as I think, why are you suggesting I just chug it?" Your voice is slightly muffled as you eye him suspiciously from under the heavy cover pulled up all the way to your nose.

"You're the one insisting it's disgusting without even trying it, I asked for the best flavor possible when I got it." He made sure to pick out a syrup that doesn't taste straight up radioactive, knowing you well enough to predict you’d make a big fuss about the nasty taste. Yeah, he can picture it right in his head, how you’d gag dramatically at the smell and just beg him to go get the tablets again—which you wouldn't agree to take anyway.

For how much you hate being sick, you seem to dislike the idea of getting better quickly even more.

“You would feel so much better if you just took your medicine,” he sighs, resting the cap filled to the brim with honey flavored syrup on the crowded comforter, careful not to leave it too close to the edge. He licks whatever residue is left on his sticky fingers. "Really not that bad. It's sweet."

"So it's not good either," you huff back, trying to wiggle yourself out of the cocoon of blankets Jake wrapped you in as soon as you fell asleep. "I'm not even that sick anyway.”

“Yeah?” Jake looks at you with an arched brow, then points his head to the little mountain of discarded, snot filled tissues overtaking your comforter, the ones he was in the middle of throwing away. “This right here is breeding grounds for bio terrorism allegations.”

He stops you from getting out of bed, securing the warm fuzzy covers around you again. “No need to leave, just tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you,” he whispers against your lashes, placing a soft kiss to your closed eyelid.

“Just wan’ you.”

His plump lips thin into that gorgeous wide smile of his as he speaks,“but you have me baby, I’m right here, yeah?”

He knows very well what you mean, and a frustrated grumble spills out of you at the thought. Cheeky bastard, of course he wants you to say the quiet part out loud. Neither of you is used to going without pleasuring each other for long periods of time, and anything longer than three days is eons according to Jake. You're surprised he's behaved as well as he has this past week, you thought he would be the one to cave in first.

“Want…more,” you crank one of your eyes open, struggling when a droplet from the wet towel on your forehead Jake promptly changed every fifteen minutes slips in it. You blink a few times, adjusting to the light in the room before looking over to Jake, his grin still wide and brightening up his whole face, his head turned to the side as he observes you lovingly, a strand of hair longer than the rest tickling the side of his nose.

If Jake has to be completely honest with himself, he's not particularly sad at you being a little sick.

Sure, it sounds mean when he says it out loud, but you're not doing so badly or in any kind of pain that would worry him, and he enjoys doting on you like this, with you having no choice but to take his love. Can’t blame a man for wanting to take care of his girl, especially when said girl has a streak of refusing to just lay back and let him do the work.

You're always hiding your pain and vulnerability from everyone around you, so he enjoys knowing he's helping make it at least a little better for once.

You—however—wouldn’t exactly agree that he's making you feel better, definitely not by walking around with damp hair from the shower and intoxicating the air around you with the lingering salty marine and musky notes of the cologne he always sprays on his fresh change of clothes. A smell you usually related to comfort and home, making your head spin in the best way possible, a whirlwind of anything but pure thoughts crowding your mind.

Jake takes notice of the subtle shift in the air around you right away. You had been–subtly at first—laying down little hints for him to pick up, you craved him. Had been craving him for what felt like forever, ever since you got sick. A nagging hunger that just grew further with every hour he silently ignored it.

Usually you would busy yourself with random tasks, keeping your thoughts clear of images of his hands, or his plush lips and how he always absentmindedly licks away at them or how—you get the idea. But being sick doesn't help, being physically weak and needing rest doesn't stop your mind from running wild. Made it worse, actually, since you have nothing to do but lay in your bed all day. If only he’d slide right next to you under your covers and—

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jake interrupts your thoughts, a hint of amusement shining through his smooth tone. You look up to him hopefully, breath caught in your chest fearing the next few words he's about to say. “And you’re still too sick.”

Really not being dramatic, but you're pretty sure a boulder just crushed you right on your chest. You groan, turning to the other side so you can properly sulk without having to look at Jake’s stupidly handsome face. A face you'd love to ride as soon as possible.

“No like, you actually hate me,” your voice is muffled by the pillow currently squished against your face.

“What are you even doing.”

“Trying to suffocate myself since my man hates me.” You grab the sides of the pillow and push them to cover your ears, making Jake erupt in a fit of boyish giggles.

“No I don’t, just want you to feel better first,” he whispers, and the loving tone makes your body feel light.

You suddenly push yourself up with your arms to look at him, nest of hair a mess from the speed of your movement. “I would feel sooo much better with your fingers deep inside me right now.”

He looks at you for a moment, really looks at you, assessing what to do in this situation. He too misses your touch, far more than what he lets on. Even just sleeping next to you—a pillow fortress separating you two by your request—turned out to be too much for him on multiple occasions. He often found himself silently sneaking out of bed to go and take care of his sudden little problems in the bathroom, trying not to wake you up because he knew if you caught him he wouldn't be able to get out of your claws.

And you really need the rest.

As if sensing his resolve wavering, you add, “don’t I deserve a little reward?”

“A reward… for what?” Jake is thoroughly amused by your desperation. You rarely ever get like this, and he enjoys every second of it. You can tell because he's pushing it a little farther than what he usually would, ending up punishing himself a little along the way too. On any other occasion he would've been all over you before you could even finish your sentence. But Jake doesn't care, not when he doesn't know when the next time he gets to hear you beg a little for him is gonna be.

“Well of course! For having fought this fever tooth and nail and having come out of it alive.”

“You still have a fever though,” he says. “Could kick your ass right down at any given moment.”

“That.” You glare at him with all the fake anger you can muster up. “Is such a mean thing to even suggest.”

“Don’t you care about me getting sick? Made a scene all week and now you’re okay with me touching you?”

“First of all—I only made you keep the pillows between us the first two days. And like I told you, I feel better, so if—” the words die in your throat as you feet the bed dip underneath the weight of Jake’s knee.

"No, no. Keep talking." He slowly gets under the covers, and it's not because he's testing your reaction. His presence felt different, the soft look in his eyes overtaken by something more primal, and you couldn't help but feel like prey under his watchful gaze. It felt intimidating in a way you weren’t used to. It made you squeeze your legs together in search of any friction, your already feverish skin somehow feeling even hotter.

You try to hide the way you gulp, eyes still fixed on his body as he gets comfortable on his side, facing you.

“Maybe you’re right,” Jake whispers against your cheek, his nose rubbing for a moment on your skin as he sneaks an arm underneath your body, pulling you flush to his chest. Even just that single touch sends an electrifying shiver down your spine. “Since you’re fully capable of talking my ear off…”

You reach for his hand wrapped comfortably around your waist and guide it down to cup your heat through your thin shorts, your own hand resting on top of his as you grind against it.

"I suppose you've had enough rest."

You take notice of how his breath hitches in his throat, his carefully crafted mask of calmness slipping as you use his hand. The illusion wears off even more when he tries to hide it with a gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. You know he wants it just as bad as you do, you're just willing to beg for it as long as it gets you what you want.

“I’ll—” you gasp when he flexes his fingers that tiny little bit you need to be able to feel them press against your fluttering hole. “I’ll do anything, just please make me cum.”

“Anything?” his voice is light and airy as he moves the fabric of the shorts out of his way. A deep chuckle tickles your neck, Jake’s mouth dipping down do leave open mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin.

“Anything, just… please,” you whine, flexing your neck to allow him more space, his tongue dipping to lick a stripe down to the juncture of your neck.

Had you not been so deprived of Jake’s touch, you would have found the way you're grinding up against his hand and moaning in his ear almost embarrassing. But you're desperate, so you can't bring yourself to care too much about how pathetic you probably look to anyone else.

The only people in the room are you and Jake anyway, and he seems to be thoroughly enjoying it. His cock is stiff in his sweats, almost painfully so, from feeling how wet you are through your shorts. Dripping already and he barely touched you.

"You're so fucking hot. You know that?" Jake nibbles the shell of your ear, making you arch further in his hold. “You'll do anything you said? How about you take your medicine then?” He moves his hand from your mound to grip your thigh, ignoring your weak attempts at clawing his arm to get the little taste of pleasure he took away from you back.

He kisses his teeth, eyebrows furrowing in faux disapproval. “Use your words. What will you do?”

“Take my medicine,” you whimper, looking into your boyfriend's eyes despite the tears aligning your waterline, and finding amusement swimming through his gaze. Little piece of shit. Not that you were about to complain or anything.

“Theeeere we go,” Jake sings in your ear, placing a soft kiss behind it before dipping down once again and resuming his sweet torture. “You can be good once in a while.”

You nod, lips thinning to keep quiet as if any wrong sound could make him change his mind and leave you hanging. The hand that was drawing circles on your thigh comes up to hold your chin, carefully tilting it away from Jake’s mouth as he sucks on a particularly sensitive spot on your skin. He smooths over your lips with his thumb, coaxing them to part once again.

“Let me hear how good you feel, baby,” he mumbles, mouth still latched on your neck, before taking a strong whiff off your scent. Had you not been so distracted by the wetness seeping out of your clenching hole and soaking your panties, you would've noticed how his eyes rolled all the way back in his skull at your smell.

His free hand finally slides under your shorts,and a gasp leaves you because of how cold he feels. Jake is always warmer than you, but your fever makes it so his touch feels icy against your skin. Your back arches slightly when one of his digits parts your sopping folds, your sensitivity heightened by the unusual difference of temperature.

“Poor little thing, she’s got a fever too,” he giggles into your neck, another digit joining in as he slowly drags them from your clit to your hole to coat them in your juices. “But it’s okay, I’ll help her feel better.”

Usually, his stupid little jokes would’ve made you groan and push his face away. But this time—blame his voice for being deeper and hoarser than normal, or blame your fever—it makes you clench around nothing, cunt feeling emptier than ever while he takes his sweet time playing with you, savoring the moment.

Your head digs deeper into the pillow, hips lifting from the bed to follow Jake’s torturous movements, desperate to feel something more.

“So needy…” he breathes into your neck and goes back to placing sloppy open mouthed kisses wherever he can reach.

A yelp leaves your mouth, eyes you didn't even notice you closed shooting open when Jake bites down on the junction between your neck and shoulder, just enough to rip you out of the trance you were quickly falling into. He smooths over the little bite mark with this tongue, a tingly sensation overtaking the pain in a matter of seconds, the pleasure overriding anything else.

Jake finally prods two of his digits into your hole, testing the waters, still careful not to push you too hard so soon. But your reaction is instantaneous, cunt fluttering against his fingertips right away. He has to bite down on his bottom lip to keep most of his noises in. “God… I fucking love it when you act like a little slut.”

Jake is so fucking turned on, he can barely think about anything but your pussy. The only thought in his mind is get her off, make her feel good, get a taste of her sweet cunt, sweet pretty and oh so delicious cunt… like a broken record. He feels like he was born for this and this only, as if his mission in life is just that of pleasing you. And to think he had deprived himself of such bliss for even a few days… Something in you seems different to him, almost animalistic, from the way you rut your hips against his hand as soon as he starts scissoring his fingers inside you, to the way you aren't even trying to hold in your moans like you usually would, mouth hanging open with a string of drool attached to your lips. And this is just from his fingers, he can do so much worse.

You yourself aren't doing any better, your brain basically turned to mush as you help Jake get you off by essentially riding his fingers, despite how weak you feel from the fever. His fingers are so long, hitting all the right spots you know you could never be able to reach by yourself, and his thick knuckles drag against your walls so deliciously.

“S-so good,” you gasp when he turns his fingers just the right way, hitting the spot he knows has you coming undone in just a few strokes.

The room is filled with the slapping sounds of his palm against your drenched cunt, more and more slick dripping down your thighs and onto the bed with every flick of his wrist, making it all that much more obscene and filthy. You can feel the familiar pressure building up in your tummy, and suddenly the overwhelming need to just grab onto something crashes on you, heavy and almost painful. You claw at his shirt, eyebrows furrowed in deep pleasure, unaware of the fact that Jake is not facing you anymore.

He looks at the comforter, over his shoulder. The cap filled with syrup is still there amidst the mess. He twists his body to grab it, careful not to slow down the relentless pace he's fingerfucking your cunt at. A few drops of the liquid spill onto his shirt as he takes a sip of it, a grimace overtaking his features as he tries his best to hold it in his mouth. You're still a moaning mess by his side, tiny brain turned to putty to the point you don't even register anything else happening around you, so hyper focused on the pleasure your boyfriend is providing you with.

“J-Jake, I’m so close.”

Perfect timing.

Jake grabs your jaw to turn your head towards his, applying the pressure you've learned means it is time to part your pretty lips and take his spit, like the good well behaved girl he know you to be. And you do just that; immediately following his movements like he trained you to, tongue sticking out too for good measure.

He bends down slightly to aim better, but this time, instead of the slightly bitter taste of his saliva you expect, he lets small amounts of medicine fall on your tongue.

You uselessly try to back away from him, but he holds you in place, fingers still working inside your cunt. Nor does he allow you to close your mouth despite your surprised gasp. His hand holds your jaw open, grasp getting firmer every time you try to break free from it. After all, you made a promise, and Jake's going to make sure you fulfill it.

“You weren't going to take it, huh?” Jake mouths against your lips once he makes sure you swallowed every last drop of the thick honeyed syrup, holding eye contact with you through it all, fingers never once slowing down their pace. “Little dumb pet thinks she can outsmart me.”

He smashes his mouth on yours, not so much a kiss but a silencing of any complaint you're about to spit at him. Those turn to even more whines when he finally brings his thumb to your clit, drawing harsh circles on it as he fucks you to your orgasm. It's almost instantaneous, you were so close already, his stiff cock rubbing against your thigh and his pants hot in your mouth, but his thumb so cold against your neglected clit.

“That’s it baby, so good for me, yeah.” Jake’s fingers gradually slow down inside you, making sure you got every last bit of pleasure you could possibly experience from this high. He too relishes in how your cunt pulses around his digits, making it harder to move them inside you. Oh, he wishes it was his cock being constricted like that instead, but that can wait.

You finally feel like you can breathe again, chest heaving to catch in as much air as you possibly can, forehead all sweaty from the exertion.

The sheets are drenched around you, and you can't even pinpoint when it happened, but you can immediately tell you aren't the only one who made a mess. Your gaze wanders to Jake’s pants, and a very evident stain on his crotch catches your attention. And fuck, if you aren't ready to do it all over again.

Jake looks absolutely divine; hair disheveled and soaked from the sweat, boxers and sweatpants full of cum. A waste, truly.

You sneak your hand in his pants, ignoring the loud hiss from overstimulation Jake lets out when you wrap your hand around his cock and pump a few times, your thumb swiping on his exposed head to collect some of the cum covering it.

Jake watches you, mouth ajar and cock stiffening again right away, as you lick your fingers clean. He slides his own fingers out of your cunt, lapping at them like a man starved, hoping to work you up just as much as you did him. His heart races in his chest as you keep looking at him, a little smile playing on your lips.

“That was so…” you speak up, giggling when Jake interrupts you by throwing himself over your figure, capturing your lips in an actual kiss this time. A very messy, very wet kiss. Allowing you to savor your own taste mixed with his and sweetened by the medicine.

“I think the word you’re looking for is hot.”

“Dramatic,” you interjected. “So, so dramatic.”

Jake curls an eyebrow at you. “You were the one acting like it’d kill you to swallow some syrup. And actually, let’s not forget–” He places a quick kiss on your nose before pushing you against the mattress further, his entire weight on you. “Ohhh no Jake! Please my Jakey! If I don’t get your cock right now I will DIE!”

“Well I still hav–”

“And won’t.” he deadpans, sensing where you're trying to stir the conversation. “But I’ve got a few ideas.”

You smile to yourself, feeling feather light kisses making their way down your body, with his messy hair tickling your skin every so often. He places a soft kiss on your mound, whining dramatically when you grab a few strands of his hair to stop him. He rests his head on your thigh, puppy-like eyes looking up at you, almost pleading for permission to continue what he started.

“I really don’t want you to get sick,” you say, voice coming out in a whisper full of care, your fingertips playing with his hair and enjoying the way he nuzzles his head further against your skin.

“Well if I were to get sick by touching you… I’d say the deal is sealed by now, no?” He places another kiss on your thigh, teeth slightly grazing the plush skin when you take too long to contemplate whether to give in or not. “Actually, I think some of this syrup would heal me right now.”

“Jake. I’m being serious.”

“What could I possibly even catch from eating you out that I haven't already by exchanging spit with you? Best pussy in the world disease?” He laughs at his own joke, gaining a roll of the eyes from you. “Let me tell you, the chances of that happening are close to zero anyway. I don’t have a pussy but I am the proud owner of a very fat co–”

“You are downright insufferable.”

“Okay so shut me up with a mouthful of this pu–”

The rest of the sentence is muffled against your mound as you push his head down, deciding you heard enough for the day. And the week.

“Okay, okay. Go on,” you giggle as you lay back once again, a deep sigh following as soon as his expert tongue makes contact with your cunt.

Jake's movements are slow and deliberate at first, as he takes his sweet time collecting all of the slick coating your lips and smearing it all over your skin. It's methodical in a way Jake very rarely is, nothing like the primal and messy mixing of his own spit with your arousal and grunting noises you're so used to. When he gets like this, it's purely to tease you.

You grab a fistful of his hair, the strands soft in your hand, and raise his head to force him to look at you.

You almost regret it when you're met with the sight of him licking his lips, his plump lips spreading in a grin that looks almost evil. His irises are entirely drowning in the dark of his pupils, and you'd be lying if you said it doesn't send a chill down your spine. The good kind, the type that also makes you clench your thighs against his frame.

"If you're gonna beg me to eat me out," you say, finding your strength again and being careful not to let Jake see any weakness on your features. "You better do it properly."

You try to keep a straight face when he erupts in a fit of giggles.

"Oooh, look at you—" he starts, clearly amused by your attempt to assert dominance. "I know what I'm doing. You know I know what I'm doing. It just seems to me that I've spoiled the princess a little too much lately." He lowers his head to your thighs, and litters soft kisses as he makes himself comfortable again. Somewhere along the lines, the harsh hold you had on his hair turned into your hand dragging him closer, but you can't pinpoint the exact moment.

Or you just really don't care to know, not when Jake starts lapping up at your cunt like he's starving.

"You taste so delicious, baby," he moans between licks, his nose pressing further into your heat with every movement of his. "So much better than any medicine. Fuck—you're gonna be my little cure from now on. Every time I'm sick, I'll just let you open your legs for me. You'd let me, baby. Wouldn't you?"

You nod vehemently, before realizing he can't see you. "Yes, please use me," you moan, spreading your thighs as far as you can while pushing his head closer to you, even when it's almost physically impossible for Jake to even breathe. Not that he would have it any other way.

The grip on his hair, the way you push and pull at it as if you have any command over the stimulation he's giving you, the way you sing for him with every flick of his tongue. It all makes Jake's head spin in the best way possible, his cock stiff again in his pants and throbbing against the very fabric he ruined with his cum only minutes before.

He grunts and moans into you, like he's the one being pleasured, and it all adds to the magic Jake is working on you. The vibrations only aiding in inching you closer to the second orgasm of the day.

"Jake, I'm close, please."

You don't need to say anything else, because he parts from your cunt for a single second. Just enough to let a gobble of his spit drip down right on your engorged clit, coating it in more shiny essence.

You're about the complain about the lack of stimulation, but he dives right back in, licking a singular stripe from your poor mess a of hole upwards. He can taste the remains of the syrup in his own spit still, and paired with the straight up divine taste of your own slick, Jake thinks he might be in heaven.

"So sweet, baby. So fucking sweet. It's like you want me to never stop fucking you with my tongue." He catches your little bundle of nerves between his raw lips, already wet with spit, suckling on it like he's trying to coax even more wetness out of you. He swirls his tongue around it, his eyebrows furrowing in both pleasure and concentration as he keeps toying and prodding at every single part of your pussy.

You're so unbelievably close to coming undone, every passing second just bringing you closer to the brink. All it takes to send you over the edge is Jake moaning with your numb right in his mouth, the small vibrations from it all you needed for the searing white feeling to envelop you completely, the familiar silent yet still deafening tingly sensation spreading from your core to all the limbs in your body.

Jake keeps lapping up all your generous body gives him, thankful for it all and careful not to let a single drop go to waste.

Your arm is thrown over your eyes as you catch your breath, this second orgasm completely emptying you of whatever energy you had left. Usually you would offer Jake to help him out as a little thank you, even though he told you time and time again that it wasn't needed and pleasing you what was got him off in the first place.

But as much as you denied it initially, the fever did take a toll on you, more than you would like to admit. So any further activity would have to wait.

"Yummy." Jake comes up from below you, drying the bottom half of his face with the back of his hand. Even if you're tired and spent, the comment is enough to make you remove your arm from your eyes just so you can give him a well deserved death stare.

He gets up from the bed, disappearing for a few seconds into the bathroom. "What's with that look? No 'thank you Jake, you're the best?'"

When you don't reply, far too weakened to even try to banter with your boyfriend, he walks back into the room with a towel and a worried look etched on his gorgeous features.

He gets on the bed again, careful not to move your body more than necessary, and starts cleaning you up with the gentlest touch you've ever felt him use. "Did i tire you out too much? You're still sick—"

"You were great. Don't worry," you stop his train of thoughts you knew you wouldn't hear the end of if you let him go on for any longer. "I just need a nap, then I'll be as good as new."

The tension in Jake's shoulders only disappears once you smile at him, his own face morphing to match your own. It's one of your favorite things about him, how he's so careful and attentive to every hint and feeling on your face, he ends up mirroring them without even noticing.

He runs his hands soothingly all over your skin as he resumes cleaning you up, the room falling into a peaceful silence.

You almost fall asleep, but you should've known Sim Jake shutting up for once was far too good to be true.

"Look at the mess you made though. This is enough to start an entire pharmacy."

#✷ mortal works #jake smut #jake x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enha smut #sim jaeyun smut #enhypen hard hours

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hyckstarz · 2 months ago

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hi ! can I request mean dom!mark lee with crybaby!reader ?? thankyou so so much <3

i had to take a breather every five seconds of writing this... this request unlocked something in me

fxck your ex! | l.mk

pairing. mean dom!mark lee x afab crybaby!reader

word count. 2.4k

genre. smut

synopsis. mark was sick of it. sick of hearing her go on and on about her boyfriend whose cheating was a sign their short relationship was being thrown to the dogs. he couldn't count the number of times she'd show up at his door in the late hours of the night, crying about a man he could give a damn about. Fuck being a best friend, and fuck your boyfriend as I make his ass your ex.

warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, dubcon! oral (m. and f. receiving), use of pet name/praise (baby, good girl, sweetheart, princess), degrading language (whore, slut), choking, rough handling, mention of anal play/licking, cheating, best friends. At this rate, everything is here 💀

A/N: this is probably the smuttiest fic I've written so far, but God was this fun to write. Mean Mark >>>>

Mark hated it. Hated how she went on and on about that fucking asshole. His sunken eye bags weighed heavy under his eyes as he bore holes into the flower pot, her sobs extra loud in his ears from the grogginess of being pulled out of his comfortable slumber. He then glanced at his phone. 3 AM. She came over to his place at ass o'clock in the morning to rant about her boyfriend, Jaehyun, again. His fingers and toes combined weren't enough to count the number of times she'd done this in the past three months.

"I do so much for him and he still goes out to meet that bitch!" She cries into her hands, "Now he's at that party doing God knows what with her."

Mark rubs his temples in frustration. He really tries. Really tries to be a good best friend for her, always lending an ear and shoulder, maybe he'd even consider chopping off those limbs to give to her in hopes of finally getting a good nights rest. But how much did he need to give away when she still goes crawling back to a cheater who couldn't give a damn.

He squints at her, trying to focus his blurry vision at her trembling form. His jaw hardens. Just a few months ago, he'd be a worried, nervous wreck at seeing her cry. Though now, he felt nothing but annoyance, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he mocked her stupidity in his head. But God was it hard to separate whether the frustration was at her dumping her problems on him, or at how sexually frustrated she made him. He couldn't help but sneak a glance at the tantalising strip of her thighs in those shorts, even as his jaw was clenched tight.

"I really love him... I love him so much, why can't he see that?" She choked out another sob, tears staining her skin.

Mark had reached a boiling point. It's like something that held his sanity and kindness snapped. Any ounce of respect he had for her had shattered, replaced by an all-consuming jealous rage.

His hand grabs at her wrist, tearing the palm that covered her face away, "What did you say?" His voice was quiet yet stern, husky from the lack of sleep.

She sniffled, meeting his hard gaze which made her breath catch in her throat, "I... love him."

Her soft eyes did nothing to calm the fire that raged in his chest. How could a sweet girl like her fall in love with that cheating, fucking asshole in a span of three months? Especially when Mark had always been there for her, through thick and thin, even now when she pulled him out of his sleep, selfishly, to talk about her own problems. He felt pathetic. In a way, he was just as pathetic as she was.

Mark sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers tightening on her arm which causes her to wince as he leaves red prints along her smooth skin, "M-Mark, you're hurting me-"

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, yanking her towards him, "I'm tired of your fucking bullshit. If he's such an asshole, break up with him!"

Y/N stumbles over her words, lips opening and closing like a clueless fish at Mark's uncharacteristic outburst, "I- I can't."

Mark scoffs, pushing her back onto the couch as he clamoured on top of her, gripping at her plush thighs that seemed to mold to his touch as she scrambled in surprise, "Why can't you? Does he blackmail you? Did he save your life and you feel like you owe him? What bullshit excuse will you give me this fucking time?"

She's breathing heavily, her tears now dried on her skin as she keeps her eyes on him, "Mark... what are you doing?"

He couldn't play nice when she looked so pretty like this. Mascara running down her pink cheeks, lashes wet and eyes soft as her glossy lips puckered in confusion.

Mark chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head, "Why don't we give that son of a bitch a taste of his own medicine? Maybe then you'd shut those pretty little lips up about another man I could give less of a shit about."

She gasps, pushing at his chest, "W-what? You're crazy!"

Mark laughs, gently threading his fingers through her long hair, "We're both crazy, baby. At least I have a thing called pride."

Y/N swallows thickly, peering up at him like a deer caught in headlights. Mark's fingers brush under the hem of her shorts, his nose nudging the crook of her neck, "Maybe I could fuck a little thing like pride into you... give you another thing to cry about."

In a second, he pins her wrists above her head, trapping her hips between his knees as he pulls back to meet her nervous gaze. She bites her lip, contemplating. She can't believe she's actually considering what her best friend was offering. She thinks back to her earlier argument with Jaehyun and, fuck, would it feel good to get back at him for once.

Even just thinking about her boyfriend has a fresh set of tears glazing over her eyes, "I-"

Mark's voice cuts through hers, "Don't expect me to play nice though, I've been a carpet you've walked all over long enough," he smirks cockily at her hesitation, leaning in to whisper hoarsely in her ear, "Think about it, baby... Think about your precious boyfriend pounding into that slutty chick of his. I mean... he clearly isn't fucking you right now. Couldn't blame him when you whine like a little bitch."

Y/N sobs harder, burying her damp cheeks into the crook of his neck, "O-okay! Just stop... stop talking about him."

Mark grips at her cheeks, forcing her mouth open as he looks down at her with mockery, "Don't wanna face reality, princess? Fine."

His lips meet hers, molding against her soft, tear-stained ones that remained parted from his tight grasp. Her muffled sounds died in his mouth, his tongue swiping at the seam of her lips as it swirled with hers. He could taste the saltiness of her tears mixed with the vanilla flavoured gloss. When he pulled back, she was breathless, eyes blown wide. He loved the way her swollen, slick lips looked — a pretty pink that matched her flushed cheeks.

"You're an asshole," she pouted, her voice a broken whine despite the way she unashamedly rubbed her thighs together.

"Seems like you have a thing for assholes, baby. Admit it, you want to be ruined like a little slut. Who knew the crybaby was so filthy?" Mark pressed his knee between her legs. It was rough and it mixed pleasure with pain that had her gasping.

Y/N let out a choked moan, head nestling back into the cushions as he dragged his knee up and down her clothed clit. She hated that she was enjoying this. She was no better than Jaehyun. Sure, she had thoughts about her attractive best friend before, but he was never really her type. Until now.

"I don't have a thing for assholes," she sent him a glare despite lying through her teeth, "And I'm not a slut."

Mark stares at her for a moment before he lets out an amused laugh, "You're cute, but you're also dead wrong, baby."

He tugs his sweats down, pulling out his throbbing dick as he swirls his tip over her lips, coating them with his precum to wear like lip gloss. She let's out a muffled whimper, eyes pleading. He only scoffs in response, "I'll show you how slutty you really are, and you'll take it like a good girl, won't you?"

Her pussy clenches around nothing at that and Mark wastes no time in lifting her head up from the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her hair. His other hand grabs her cheeks, forcing her mouth open as he stuffs his dick past her lips, stretching her out. She sobs again, fingers digging into his hips as she let's him manhandle her, rutting his dick into her mouth like a fleshlight.

Y/N's moans, whimpers and sobs get lost on his dick. But what really gets her off is how vocal Mark is. His groans and breathy gasps urges her to take more of him, gagging as his tip occasionally hits the back of her throat. Her eyes flick up to see him staring back at her through half-lidded eyes, fucking her into the couch. She'd never given head like this before - sprawled out underneath with her head in his hands to relinquish all control to him.

"Should take a photo of you like this," Mark's thumb tugs her chin up, "send it to that shit-faced ex of yours... let him see what he missed out on."

Mark pulls back and she whines at the loss of her mouth being filled up, "He's not my ex."

He snorts in response, "He will be once I'm done with you."

She swallows thickly, suddenly feeling nervous. Mark had always been the sweet, gentle and respectful best friend. Predictable and safe. But this was a side she never knew existed, especially as he was private about his sex life.

Mark flips her over, letting her chest press against the armrest of the couch. But her words cut through his thoughts, "I'm not breaking up with him, ever."

At that, Mark let's out a bitter laugh, and smacks her ass, hard. The sound is sharp and leaves a tingling sensation behind that causes her to wince, "You will."

At her no, he smacks her again, rubbing the sting with his kneading hands, "You're pathetic."

Without wasting anymore time, he'd tugs her shorts down. His fingers rub along her slit and, with his teeth, he bites at the waistband of her underwear, letting it pull down to her thighs. For years, he had been fantasising about his best friend, even beating himself up about it from the shame. But seeing her bare before him, has him swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight. His imagination could never do her justice, she was gorgeous.

Mark leans in, dragging his tongue over her asshole, circling and teasing the puckered flesh. He spits on it, watching it glisten obscenely, tilting his head as he kisses and nips at the soft flesh of her ass. She'd never felt so embarrassed, writhing under him. But the only thought that came to mind was how Jaehyun would never.

Mark's fingers probe at the entrance of her pussy, coating the slender digits with her slick before pushing inside; scissoring and curling his fingers inside of her. He groaned at how the tight, wet heat gripped him like a vice, pulsing around his fingers. His other hand tugged her hair back, leaning in to kiss her, licking into her mouth that has her moaning.

Mark nips at her bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood and make her wince. He licks at it, cooling the burn before he tugs her hair back harder, peppering sloppy kisses from her jaw down to her collarbone.

She rocks her hips back against his fingers, and Mark can't help but to smirk against her neck, "Desperate already?"

Maybe Mark was right, she didn't have pride and she was as slutty as they came. She nods eagerly, "Please, need you..."

Mark bit on her earlobe, whispering, "Gotta do better than that, sweetheart." His fingers stilled in her, hand pressed to her lower back to keep her from moving.

"I need you, Mark. Please," she begged.

But that wasnt enough, not even close, "Need me to what?"

Her lip quivered, feeling herself losing every inch of her sanity, "Need you to fuck me."

Mark stroked himself, his restraint was slowly slipping too, but he couldnt give her what she wanted just yet, "only if you promise to leave that son of a bitch," he spoke through gritted teeth.

Y/N bit on her bottom lip, pondering, "I will. I'll break up with him. So, please."

Mark scoffs. It didn't take long for her to give in, but he was grateful. Not wanting to waste another second, he pushes into her, hard and fast, not giving her time to adjust. She gasps out loud, clutching onto the armrest with desperation, "fuck! M-Mark-"

He ruts into her, blocking out her cries, "Like I said, you'll take what I give you like the good girl you are. Or do you prefer to be called a whore now that you're sleeping around?"

She whimpers, tears slipping down her cheeks, "Both... I wanna be called both."

Marks hands grab at her hips tightly, pulling her against him, "Knew you were nothing but a whore. Bet you were hoping for this... you were trying to piss me off by showing up at my place every night, huh?"

She shakes her head, clenching around him, "No! No, I wasn't."

His hand slithers under her, rubbing rough and quick circles on her clit, causing her to writhe beneath him, "You wanted me to fuck the outline of your body into my couch. Wanted someone who'd fuck you better than that asshole."

He pulls the length of his cock out of her before slamming back in. Her toes curl and she feels her body growing weaker, her release approaching. Her thoughts were cloudy, drool and tears staining her skin. Each thrust of his hips had her let out choked moans.

"No one is better for you than I am. Not Jaehyun, not even your own fingers. Just me. Only me," he growls, and she swears it was the sexiest sound that ever came out of any man.

"Y-yeah... only you... only you, Mark," she cried, arching her back against him.

"You're mine. All mine. Say it... say it for me, princess," his voice is suddenly soft and breathy. The gentleness returning, as if he really meant it.

Y/N nods, gasping, "I'm yours," she shuddered, her release washing over her as Mark never slowed his pace. She could feel him twitching as he helped her through her release, his own following as he pulled out and came all over her back.

She whined, "Wanted you to cum in me."

Mark chuckled, panting as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her lithe body into his chest, kissing down her neck and shoulder, "Next time, pretty. I'll save that for when you block that bastards number and make you mine for real."

(I promise my next post will be a Haechan fic)

#mark lee smut #mark x reader #mark imagine #mark lee #nct mark smut #nct smut #nct x reader #nct #idol au #kpop au #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #mark smut #mark drabbles #request #nct drabbles #꒰ hyckstarz ꒱

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imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul · 1 year ago

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Overprotective- Jacaerys Velaryon

A/N: My thoughts lie only on HOTD, and most of those thoughts are on this PRINCE. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader Word Count: 3.0k Synopsis: Jace's overprotective nature begins to grate on the reader's nerves as the birth of their first child looms closer.

Legend told that when in the womb, Targaryen babies started out as dragons before transforming into human children. It was nothing more than a silly folktale, your Targaryen family had assured you. But waking up in the dark of night, flinging the covers off of your scorching body, you aren't so sure.

Your nights had been spent like this for nearly two months now. If it wasn't the heat that coated your body, clinging sweat to your brow, it was waking up nearly ever hour to relieve yourself.

The child growing in your stomach was truly a Targaryen - passionate and unyielding.

The first four months of your pregnancy had been wonderful. You had none of the sickness that so many face in the early stages of their maternity. Back then you were often tired, but the child slept whenever you did. And to top it all off, Jace was a perfect husband. He brought you water when you needed it, rubbed your feet when they were aching, and then, you had wanted him constantly, and he had been more than happy to oblige.

But things change quickly during pregnancy, you are coming to understand. Jace wakes up next to you now, sitting up immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing," you say, turning to face him. Your bedroom is dark, but even so, you can see the worry in his eyes. "Just too hot."

"Can I do anything for you? Should I call the Maester?"

"No, I'm fine," you say, straining to get out of bed. He supports your back, giving you the extra push to get up. You hate that he has to do this, that he has to push on your sweat drenched back, in order for you to stand.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"To relieve myself."

"You just got up--"

"I know, Jacaerys," you snap, holding your stomach as you leave the room.

Jace had been wonderful those first few months, when you had been in high spirits. But now, you were in pain constantly, which made you irritable, which made any attempt he made to help you irksome.

When you came back into the room, Jace is still up, his head resting on his pillow. He lifts it a little when you come back in, smiling at you gently. The sheets have been changed - another new routine - but one that doesn't bother you so much. It made a world of difference to lay down in a cool, clean bed after waking in a pool of your own sweat.

"All right?" he asks as you lay down beside him.

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Yes, why?" you ask, tilting your head up to look at him.

"Because you called me Jacaerys," he says, brushing a stray hair off your brow. "You only do that when you're mad at me." You let out a breath of laughter, but immediately feel like the emotion could change into a sob. Jace must see it, too, because he scoots closer, pulling you into his bare arms.

"Hey," he says, kissing your forehead, "You can call me Jacaerys whenever you like."

"I'm not mad at you," you say, turning into him, so your growing stomach presses into his. "There's just this monster inside of me making me go mad." Jace smiles to himself, nodding his head.

"I know."

"I love you," you say, a hand to his cheek. He leans in to kiss you, his lips cool. When you break apart, you realize the windows are wide open, and while you've been sweating all night, he has to be freezing. You start to say something about it, but he cuts you off.

"I'm fine," he says. "I love you. Please just try to get some sleep."

"Get off me, then," you say, pushing him playfully. He smirks, falling back over to his side, taking your share of the blankets, as well. You lay on your back, and can't help the groan of pain at the pressure the position puts on you. Jace immediately reaches for your hand.

"Jacaerys," you say, squeezing his palm once. He laughs.

"Good night, Y/N."

"Goodnight."

At seven months pregnant, the burning has finally stopped, but you feel weaker still. Every movement puts pain on your back, your shoulders, your feet. You and Jace speak a language that is mostly moans and groans, and not the kind that used to be typical for the two of you.

One morning, when Jace is away at Driftmark, Rhaenyra joins you for breakfast. At the sight of your sovereign, you try to stand, which makes Rhaenyra laugh.

"Don't trouble yourself, Y/N," she says, walking towards you. "I remember when I was your size. Took me all morning just to get out of bed." You give her a tight lipped smile, settling back into the comfy position you had arranged for yourself.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"How are you feeling?" she asks, pouring herself a cup of tea. She motions to you, but you decline with a shake of your head.

"I'm alright."

"Is she kicking?" she asks, nodding to the hand on your belly.

"Only when I'm trying to sleep," you say with a laugh. "You agree with Jace, then? You think it'll be a girl?"

"The way you're carrying, yes, but one never really can tell. What are you hoping for?" she asks.

"For these next months to pass quickly," you say, straining when a nerve pinches in your side. You adjust your position, and find that Rhaenyra is looking at you with a small, understanding smile. "And of course, for a healthy baby."

"Of course."

"I don't know how you've done this so many times," you say. "Does it get any easier?"

"No," she says simply. You sigh, which makes her smile grow. "How has Jace been?" she asks.

"Very protective," you say, smiling. "Maybe too much so. I feel like if I just breathe wrong he's on alert, worried something has happened." A strange expression passes over Rhaenyra's face - equal parts pride and sorrow.

"I'm afraid Jacaerys has seen more than his fair share of pregnancies gone wrong," she says gently.

"I'm sorry, I know," you say, embarrassment passing through you.

"That's not to say that he isn't overbearing," she adds with a smile. "He's much like his father that way."

"Really?"

"He couldn't always be there," she says, "But when he was, he made up for the time apart with his watch over me." You smile at her as the door opens across the room, and Jace enters.

"You're back early," Rhaenyra says, lifting an eyebrow at him. He smells salty when he leans down to kiss you. He smiles at you, then looks to his mother.

"Thought I might join you for breakfast," he says, sitting next to you. "Besides, I was needed here more than at Driftmark." You exchange a look with Rhaenyra.

"How are you feeling this morning?" he asks you.

"Just fine, Jacaerys," you say, patting his cheek. "You didn't need to cut your visit short."

"Well, there is something I need to do here nonetheless."

"What's that?" you ask.

"It seems Syrax has laid another clutch of eggs. Joff and I are going to retrieve them, and the younger boys are going to help us pick one for the babe," he says, a hand on your stomach. You smile at him, at the gentle caress of his hand. You know he comes from a place of love with his attention.

"Do you want to join us?" he asks.

"I doubt I could make it downstairs, much less down to the Dragonpit."

"We could bring them to you," he says.

"No," you say, "Decide with your brothers. Just pick out a good one." He nods to you, leaning in to kiss your temple.

At the end of breakfast, Jace goes off to the Dragonpit, but only at your insistence. He wanted to walk you back to your chambers, but Rhaenyra assured him she was more than up to the task. Once he was out of sight, she laughed to herself.

"I see what you mean," she says.

Jace returns to your room that night with a shiny, white dragon egg.

Jace's lips are soft on yours. At eight months pregnant, finding moments with him is getting harder every day. He lies next to you, a hand on your stomach, the other cradling the back of your head.

"Y/N," he hums, each word spoken onto your lips, "I want you." You make a sound in your throat, both in agreement and in discomfort. It has been too long since the two of you have been intimate.

"I'm huge," you say.

"You're not and I don't care," he says, his mouth moving across your jaw.

"The last time we did this," you breathe, arching into him when he nips at your earlobe, "We had to stop because you worried you'd hurt the baby."

"I promise I'll relax this time," he says.

"How could you even get to me?" you ask with a laugh. Jace smiles at you as his hand moves from your stomach to your hip, turning you onto your side easily. He presses up behind you, kissing along your neck.

You sigh, relaxing into him. His hand pulls up the skirt of your nightgown, exposing your legs to the cool night air. It has been so long that you know you're ready for him immediately.

"Just tell me if I'm hurting you," he says. You groan, putting a hand to his face to stop him from kissing you more. "Y/N."

"Jace." You scoot away from him, turning slowly to face him.

"I didn't mean anything by it," he says with a sigh.

"How many times have you fucked me in that same position?" you ask. Jace frowns, frustration evident on his face. "Have you ever hurt me?"

"No, but things are different," he says. "What's the harm in asking if you feel okay?"

"It doesn't make me feel desirable," you say, looking up at the ceiling, stupid, frustrating tears forming in your eyes again. Jace sighs and moves to your side, propping himself up on an elbow so you have to look at him.

"Y/N," he says gently. "Of course you are desirable. You are still the most beautiful, incredible woman I know. And it's because you are so incredible that I want to make sure that I don't do anything that puts you in more pain than I know you are already in."

"I promise I will tell you if I am hurting, okay? You don't have to coddle me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," you say, hand on his cheek to bring his lips to yours. "I'm the bitch for complaining about her kind husband." He laughs and kisses your palm.

"You're not a bitch," he says. You kiss him again. "Now please roll onto your side and let me fuck you." You laugh, doing as he says.

"Of course, My Prince."

Jace is at Dragonstone Castle when you go into labor. He has been anxious for the last month, knowing that any day the baby could arrive. He intended to postpone this meeting with the great houses, but you assured him that the babe would not come today. The only thing that kept him to his promise was the fact that Vermax could bring him back to the Red Keep quickly.

When Joffrey bursts into the room, Jace is immediately on his feet, already fearing the worst.

"What is it?" he asks.

"Y/N has gone into labor."

Jace barely spares a glance at the lords around the table. He urges Joffrey along. His brother had the foresight to request that Vermax be readied for when they arrived upon the shore.

The ride is quick, as he knew it would be, but he still urges Vermax along, wanting and needing to be close to you as soon as he can.

When he gets to the Red Keep, he runs up to your chambers, intending to throw them open and run to your side. Instead, he finds that they are locked. He can hear soft discussion, encouragements, but the loudest sound coming through the door is your screaming.

Joffrey followed him to the door and carefully peels him away. "She's alright," he insists. Jace won't be able to agree until he can see you himself.

Together, they sit outside your door for the next three hours. Joffrey doesn't say much, but when your screaming gets louder, or there seems to be a rise in urgency to the voices inside, he puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

It seems like ages have passed when the doors finally open.

He doesn't wait to hear what the Maester has to say. He rushes into the room, his eyes going immediately to your bed. Midwives quickly take away bloodied sheets, and when they clear, he sees you. You are drenched in sweat, your hair matted all around you, and he's not sure he's ever seen you look more beautiful.

"Y/N," he says, as if he's looking upon the gods themselves. You look up at him, your face breaking into a smile. He rushes to your side.

"Are you okay?" he asks, taking your face in his hands.

"I'm okay," you say, laying a hand over his. He laughs. It's a result of the built up tension from the hallway, and he can't stop himself. He laughs as he kisses you, over and over. You laugh, too, and he tastes the salt of your tears on your lips.

"What is it?" he asks, quickly studying your face.

"Don't you want to meet him?" you ask.

"Him?" Jace's face falls in awe.

"Him," you say. You look towards one of the midwives and they bring over the smallest bundle Jace has ever seen. He sinks onto the bed beside you as the babe is placed in his arms.

"Hello," he says quietly. You lean onto his shoulder, looking down at your son with a smile on your face.

"Isn't he beautiful?" you ask, your voice a whisper.

"Yes," he says, his heart still thundering from the surprise. "What have you called him?" he asks.

"I assumed we'd discuss that together," you say, "But I was thinking Lucerys, if that'd be alright." Jace has tears of his own in his eyes. He bites back his smile, unable to put into words what the name means to him, what you mean to him. He nods his head.

"Does that sound good to you, Lucerys?" you ask, your finger touching the blanket over the baby's stomach. He starts to move around, crying out just a little. Like you've done it a million times before, you take Lucerys into your arms and shush him gently.

Jace kisses your temple repeatedly, until you laugh. You turn towards him and kiss him fully, passionately.

"I love you so much," he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

"I love you, too."

You stay in that position for an hour or so, Jace holding you, and you holding Lucerys. Joffrey is the first to meet the future heir to the throne, and he kisses you on the cheek when he learns his nephew's name.

When his mother enters the room, Jace doesn't stand, wanting to keep you in his arms forever. She is all smiles as she leans over your opposite shoulder. You sit up slowly, and Jace's arm around you helps guide you upright.

"Hello, little one," Rhaenyra says, taking the child into her arms. You sigh happily, watching her interact with him. Jace can't keep from kissing your face a few more times. He doesn't think he has ever been this in love with you.

"And what is the name of our little prince?" Rhaenyra asks, looking between the two of you. Jace looks down at you, but you nod your head to him.

"We've decided to name him Lucerys," he says simply. Rhaenyra's expression changes immediately, her eyes welling up with tears of her own. Holding Lucerys in one arm, she leans down to kiss you both.

"A fine name," she says through tears. "You did well," she says, looking at you. You smile back, tears forming again in your own.

After a few moments in her arms, she hands your son back to you, and departs, letting the two of you get acquainted to your new family. Neither of you say much. You just watch Lucerys with rapt attention, counting his fingers, and touching his soft patch of hair.

"He's so beautiful," you say quietly.

"He is."

"I don't think I'm ever going to let him out of my sight," you say, looking up at Jace with a smile. He smiles back, but notices the exhaustion on your face.

"Maybe you can for a little while," he says, "Just to get some rest."

"Still so overprotective," you say with a smirk.

"I've got two to protect now," he says, "So if you could just once let me take care of you without arguing--" You cut him off with a kiss.

"I'll try," you say. "But don't either of you leave this room."

"I don't think you could kick us out if you wanted to."

Jace stands with his son in his arms, watching as you lay down. The midwives come back in to check on you and Lucerys, before leaving the three of you alone for the time.

"It's okay, Y/N," he says lowly, when you still haven't shut your eyes, your gaze locked on the two of them. "We'll be here."

"Promise?"

"I swear it," he says, giving you an easy smile. He watches you close your eyes, and in a few moments, your breath falls into an easy rhythm, just like Lucerys's.

Jace looks down at his son. He doesn't want to disturb his sleep, but he wants to tell him, here and now, that he'll always be overprotective. So he makes the vow to himself, just like the one he made when he married you. He is always going to protect the people he loves, even if it sometimes drives them mad.

#jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon #hotd #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon fanfic #jacaerys velaryon fanfiction

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cuteandhughesy · 4 months ago

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Couldn’t Make It Any Harder╰┈➤ LD29

summary: you and leon draisaitl hate each other. point blank period. your best friend, lauren and her fiancé—as well as leon's teammate—connor are sick of it. they conjure up a plan that ends with you and leon sharing a rather passionate kiss. after that, you can't tell how much you and leon actually hate one another, but with lauren and connor’s wedding coming up, you both have no choice but to try and get along.

[word count] 18.9k

a/n: i’ve been saving this idea for the right player and as soon as my brain put leon with this plot….it was a done fucking deal. i’m so obsessed with this idea, and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as me ❤️‍🔥

🎵 couldn’t make it any harder by sabrina carpenter, you're so vain by carly simon, don't leave by snakeships, haunted by beyoncé, false god by taylor swift, + no i'm not in love by tate mcrae

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the crunch of the nut between your teeth echos through your skull, the slightly sweet taste accompanied by the perfect salty aftertaste wrapping around your tongue and attacking your tastebuds. you chew the beer nut slowly, like you're savouring each one you toss in your mouth like it's a game.

after all, it is a game. maybe not the actual eating part, but the part where you keep your eyes trained across the dimly lit bar, gaze never filtering from his as he too tosses individual beer nuts in his mouth.

you're waiting patiently for him to crack—pull a disgusted face, which inevitably he will do. because leon draisital hates beer nuts almost as much as he hates you. you know leon's distaste for the bar snack only because you heard him say the very first time you met 4 years ago, ironically in a bar.

your friend, lauren insisted that you had to meet her boyfriend's teammate—the infamous leon draisaitl. you let her drag you out to a local edmonton bar, one that was too dark and smelt like leather. you let her hype leon up like he was a trophy—like he was going to be your new best friend. but leon was not a trophy. he was pissed off, and when you smiled at him, he scowled in response. and when you tried to give him a handful of beer nuts as a piece offering, leon said; 'I fucking hate those things.'

you tried to chalk it up to a bad night, or maybe even a shitty week. but as months passed, leon never changed. he hated you. if he wasn't completely avoiding eye contact with you, he'd roll his eyes. if you were in the same room, he'd make sure he was across it and far away from you. if leon was anywhere near you, he'd make sure you knew he didn't want to be there. so in return, you decided you hate him more. and oh god, as the years have gone by has that hatred brewed and constricted into an endless loathing and bickering cycle.

slowly, you grab another beer but between your red painted finger nails—red because it's leon's least favourite colour—and bring it up to your lips. you let it rest there for a moment, testing him. is he going to do the same thing? is leon going to play the copy game? just as slow as you, leon reaches into his own jar of beer nuts on the other side of the bar, his much larger fingers bring a single nut up to his lips.

your lips part, and you toss the nut into your mouth. leon does the exact same. you chew as slow as you can once more, savouring the combined flavours because that means leon has to do the same, and you know it must be torture.

and that makes you smile.

just when you think you're going to have to repeat the whole process, there's the smallest pull of disgust across leon's face, and he takes a large gulp of his beer to wash down the nut.

your grin smugly, and without breaking eye contact, you raise the entire jar of beer nuts to your mouth and down the entire thing. you chew happily, and then look away with a satisfying feeling low in your belly.

you spin off the bar stool, fully intending to slink through the crowd until you find one of your friends and then force them to dance with you to take your mind of the german red flag across the bar. but as soon as you spin, you're meeting the eyes of lauren soon to be mcdavid—also known as your best friend.

you jump, a hushed curse passing through your lips as you clutch your thumping heart.

"what are you eating?" lauren asks like she didn't just send your stomach down to your ass. her blue eyes dart over your shoulder to briefly look at the empty jar before she curiously looks back at you.

you're still chewing the mouthful of beer nuts you just shoved in your mouth like a deranged chipmunk. "beer nuts." you say, although it sounds more like deer guts through your full mouth.

but lauren hears you perfectly fine. "beer nuts?" she asks, "seriously? are you and leon playing that stupid game again?" the words beer and nut combined together never fails to send a shiver through your best friends spine—mostly because she knows their tied to leon and your hatred for one another. and then when she remembers that her best friend and her fiances best friend hate each other, she gets another shiver and the whole thing repeats itself.

you swallow the remainder of food roughly, "it's not a game to me," you huff ludicrously, "he's the childish one that feels the need to copy every single move I make—"

"alright," lauren sighs, cutting off the ramble that was surely about to happen, "I get it. i've heard it enough times now, I think I could recite it for you—I'll save you the breath." her tone isn't serious, but you know your and leon's hatred upsets her.

you sigh softly, falling back against the backrest of the bar stool. lauren slips into the empty seat beside you, flagging down one of the bartenders and ordering herself another sex on the beach. once she's done, she turns to look at you. "are you guys going to be able to get along for the wedding?"

the wedding in question is her own—a wedding in which both you and leon where apart of. as much as you love your best friend, and you're looking forward to the royal wedding of the hockey community, you've also been dreading this summer for the exact same reason. and that reason being having to be apart of the same wedding party as leon fucking draisaitl.

your eyes dart back across the bar, and you find that leon is already looking in your direction. he's not alone now, connor and one of connor's childhood friends are sitting with him—chatting and laughing like they have no care in the world. once your eyes meet, leon looks away.

you roll your eyes before looking back at lauren. "if there's no beer nuts there, everything should be hunky dory."

the dig at leon doesn't go unnoticed by her, and lauren sighs again. "y/n, i'm being serious." her and connor's wedding is just under two weeks away, and she honestly didn't think she'd still be dealing with the bickering between you and leon—but here she is, stepping on eggshells around you both.

you frown and run a hand through your bouncy hair. guilt laces through you, "you're right, i'm sorry. I know it's important to you, and i'm trying my best but god, he just...frustrates me so much." you laugh like it's a joke, scratching at your arms as if you're trying to crawl out your body. "I feel like my body is on fire when he's around."

lauren nods emphatically, leaning against the side of your body like she's giving you a hug without arms. "I know it's hard but please, just try. for me."

lauren was one of those girls who has been planning her wedding since she came out the womb. when she was 10 she already had one of those scrapbooks that detailed everything she wanted included on her big day. she's been planning the entire wedding without a planner simply because she wants to. that combined with her clothing brand, you know lauren has enough stress on her plate without having to worry about you war with the german superstar.

that's also a reason you told her not to worry about your birthday that falls in a few days because you knew she had enough to worry about, and planning your party like she does every year needs to be the least of her worries. but you caught her ordering custom balloons two days ago, and you knew you shouldn't attempt to stop her. once lauren has her mind set on something, it's hard to change it.

reluctantly you nod, and a slow smile begins pulling at your lips. your wrap your arms around your small blonde friend, resting your cheek on the top of her head. "of course. i'll be good."

even though leon is the problem, your brain reminds you rudely. you ignore it though, because that's the last thing you should say to her right now.

you feel lauren relax in your arms, but not completely which makes you a bit anxious and feel even more guilty. "thank you." she pulls away, grabbing at your hands and pulling you both off the bar.

the tender slides her drink on the bar top, which connor had already paid for (praise that nhl money), and lauren downs the entire thing instantly. "let's go dance—this is my jam!"

"usher is your jam?" you laugh curiously, letting her bring you out into the heart of the dance floor.

she nods like it's obvious. "oh yeah," lauren's sarcasm is clear, "scream is actually going to be my first dance song."

you cackle your usual loud laugh, falling into lauren's arms as you both dance along to the upbeat bass. "you're such loser!"

"I know!" she smiles, spinning around so fast that her hair smacks your face. "but you love me!"

hours later, after connor has ordered you an uber and sent you home, him and lauren slide into their own. he can tell something is weighing on his fiancés mind by the silence lingering between them, gnawing on the skin of her thumb which she only does when she's anxious.

"hey," connor starts softly, "what's wrong, babe?"

his question is the final nail in the coffin, and immediately lauren is whining, falling against his shoulder dramatically. "what are we going to do?"

"what?" he questions, wildly confused. connor slips his fingers through lauren's straight hair, twisting the strands around his index finger to create little ringlets.

she huffs. "about leon and y/n."

connor's hand stills in her hair. "what about them?"

"connor, seriously?" lauren stresses, sitting back up straight as she turns to look at her fiancé like he just suggested they should call off the wedding. "they hate each other."

"they don't actually." connor laughs, pulling her back into his side. lauren goes easily, but her shoulders are still tense.

"they do." she whines again, "and i'm scared it's going to ruin our wedding. I know y/n, she'd never do anything to hurt me on purpose, but leon brings out this side of her and she just looses control." lauren's bottom lip wobbles as she finishes, and connor spots it immediately.

"hey, it's okay." he whispers, kissing her head. "why don't we like...stuff them in a room and make them sort out there differences. leave them for an hour or two and let them figure it out." connor laughs like it's funny, because for the most part his suggestion was a joke.

but lauren freezes, blinking at connor as she registers the idea. slowly, her lips turn up in a smirk. "actually, that's a great idea."

—

"hey!" lauren's cheery voice automatically makes you suspicious. this close to the wedding and a more than chipper tone is the recipe for disaster. she continues, her voice grainy through your phones speaker. "can you do me a huuuuggggee favour?"

there it is. you laugh gently, sitting up from your previously slouched position on your rather uncomfortable love seat, pushing the fraying knit blanket off your legs. "what's up?"

you can hear her smile through the phone. "okay so i'm totally running late at my hair appointment, and I have the wedding chef coming over in 20 for some menu items for the rehearsal dinner, but i'm not going to be there."

your brow quirks curiously. "okay? what do you need from me?"

"I need you to just be there and make sure he gets settled," lauren says, "I'd ask connor but he's on the other side of town. i'll be there as fast as I can. If you could do this for me you'd be the best bridesmaid ever."

"alright," you chime easily, getting of the leather cushions underneath you. "i'll head over now."

"perfect," she says, sounding suspiciously smug. "you know the code! I can't thank you enough, this will be great."

your brows pull tightly and create a dimple in the middle of your forehead. before you can ask her why she's acting so weird, lauren rushes a goodbye and the line goes dead. you blink in surprise, chalking up her behaviour to pre-wedding jitters.

you toe one some flimsy sandals before grabbing your keys and sunglasses, making your way down to the lobby of your apartment building.

the air is warm, and smells like summer. you drive with the windows down for the entire ride to lauren and connor's condo, the air whipping through your hair and warming your skin.

once you arrive at her place, lenny greats you excitedly, tiny yips leaving his wiggling body as he licks your exposed skin—no doubt getting a salty taste of your fake tan. "hey buddy," you greet just as happily, baby voice in full affect, "I missed you my boy."

your phone pings with a text from lauren, 'I've got some menu samples in my beside table. can you grab them once you're there."

you respond quickly and then put your belongings on the crispy clean kitchen island—lenny at your feet as you move. he almost trips you twice, but he's so oblivious and happy with his tongue half way out his mouth, that you don't even care.

you quickly make your way down to her bedroom, pushing open the door and padding inside the carpeted room. you stifle through her beside table, but the only thing you find is a tangled pair of headphones, random hair ties and way too many sleeping masks.

you frown, but figured lauren just misspoke. you round the end of the bed and to connor's nightstand. like you expected, connor's nightstand is freakishly organized. everything has its own compartment—even the condoms for fucks sake.

behind you, lenny's ears perk up and just as quickly he springs out the room, leaving you alone and more than anything, confused. where are the damn menu samples? you scan the room quickly, hands on your hips as you try and think of where your best friend would stick them. the sound of socked feet approaching have you spinning to face the door. lenny bounds back in first, and then leon appears.

"what are you doing here?" he asks, face nothing but taken back.

you cross your arms, "what are you doing here?"

"I asked you first."

"you're so annoying, oh my god," you groan dramatically, and it makes lenny bark before he's running back out the room. soon enough, you think, you'll be following him. you continue, "i'm helping lauren. she needs me to get some menu samples and then wait for the chef."

leon chuckles like he's in on some joke you've been left out of, his hands tucked causally into the front pockets of his jeans. you grimace at the sight because it's way to hot out to have your legs fully covered. "well I'm here to do the exact same thing. except connor asked me."

you scoff. "lauren said he's on the other side of town and can't be here. that's why she sent me."

"funny," leon scoffs a laugh, "because connor said the same thing about lauren—hence why i'm here."

you drops your arms to your sides ludicrously, looking at leon with the upmost displeasure on your face. "okay, well clearly someone fucked up—you, most likely," you pause and leon rolls

his eyes. "but let's just find these menus so that we can both leave. I don't want to be in a confined space with you for any longer than necessary."

"awh, you're so sweet." leon says, voice dropping with venom and sarcasm. he walks further into the room, movements casual as he brushes straight past you, his bare bicep bumping your shoulder. "you can't find the menu's?"

"no," you stress, following him as he makes his way to connor's beside table. "and I already checked in there."

leon checks anyways and that has you rolling your eyes. "okay, well you're awful at looking for things, so double checking is necessary."

"double checking is necessary," you mock, voice all high pitched an annoying.

he sends you a look over his broad shoulder, "are you done?"

you don't answer, turning on your heels and walking over to the built in book cases that line the entire wall. the shelves they're packed, mostly with aesthetic looking pieces that are so shiny and white they make your head hurt. you begin poking through the collection of books, searching for the menu samples—huffing quietly to yourself anytime you remember that leon is also in the room.

he makes his way over to the book shelves as well, opting to look through the case on the opposite side of the open door. he is still too close for your liking, but you're not going to start that argument. you can't see him past the door, and you can only hear him mutter curse words to himself as his search is unsuccessful.

"why don't you just text lauren and ask her?"

you scoff, "why don't you just text connor?"

"my phones in the car."

"and mines in the kitchen."

"are you seriously that lazy that you can’t go down the hall and get your phone?" he asks incredulously, looking at you over the edge of the door, book shelf long forgotten.

you laugh. "of course not! I just don't feel the need when we can just look ourselves."

leon goes to take a step towards you, because he knows that you’re not looking properly through the books on that side, and he bumps the door, sending it to shut with a dull thud.

your breath hitches as the code system stares back at you. "you better know the code for that."

"why would I know the code?" his eyes find yours, looking at you like you've just suggested world war 3.

you try to open the door, but much to you dismay it's locked. you're locked in a room with leon draisaitl. "no," you whine, jiggling the handle more aggressively in hopes it decides to magically unlock. obviously, it doesn't.

"jesus," he huffs, "relax."

"oh, i'm sorry!" you look at him wildly, "i'm just a little bit upset about being trapped in a room with the spawn of satan—my apologies for trying to get out."

"spawn of satan?" he repeats, words laced with what you're pretty sure is amusement. it makes your blood boil. "don't call yourself that, y/n."

"you must have a death wish."

"oh, I must."

you squint pointedly, lips twitching in a frown. "whatever." you mumble dismissively, turning heel and making your way back to the perfectly made bed in the middle of the room.

leon watches as you sit down on the corner of the mattress, bringing your feet up and resting your arches on the frame of the bed. you're not wearing socks, and your toenails are painted navy blue. he notes that you must've worn some sort of flip flop.

you catch his eyes and scowl. "what?"

"should you really be sitting on their bed? rubbing your feet all over a frame that probably costs more than your monthly salary."

"would you prefer I do jumping jacks?" you question even though you're not wanting an answer. "hate to break it to you draisaitl, but this isn't the first time i've been in this room. or on this bed."

leon snickers, walking towards you. "right, yes I forgot that lauren is cursed with spending time with you."

you roll your eyes and don't say anything.

he continues. "they'll be here soon."

"not soon enough."

this time it's leon who doesn't respond to your condescending comment, but instead slumping down in the sherpa oversized chair in the corner of the room. he picks up one of the table books, some kind of chanel picture one, and begins flipping through the pages.

everytime he flips the page, much louder than necessary, you sigh in exasperation—which only eggs him on.

5 minutes later you hear two sets of feet padding down the hall, and your eyes widen, shooting off the bed so fast that you almost trip over your own feet.

"y/n?" the muffled voice of lauren calls curiously on the other side of the bedroom door. "leon?"

"we're in here." you say, jiggling the handle again for good measure.

"how'd this happen?" connor is the one asking, his voice laced with what can only be described as amusement.

leon joins you at the door. "the door shut obviously."

"no," you correct quickly, "leon's clumsy, big body knocked into it. trapping us." you stress wildly, eyeing the man in question with displeasure.

his brows raise in faux excitement. "you think i'm big?"

your eyes roll again—you won’t be surprised if they get stuck on the next round. you turn your attention back to the closed door, "guys, what's the code so we can get out."

neither lauren or connor answer. your brows pull, arms crossing roughly across your flowing summer top. you can hear their hushed whispers through the door, which only raises your and leon's suspicion.

finally, lauren says, "actually, I think you guys should stay in there."

leon blinks hard. "what?"

"yeah, sorry repeat that, I don't think I heard you right. because it sounded like you want us to be stuck in here together." you add, body feeling hot and itchy as the situation comes to light. or maybe it's just because leon's standing close enough that is cologne is all you can smell—practically choking you at this point.

connor's sighs, "you guys need to work it out."

your eyes flutter in disbelief, and you take a step closer to the door like it's going to change something. "okay, how about we do that somewhere else?"

leon hums in agreement which makes you scowl.

"no." lauren huffs, her voice determined. and you know, like usual, once she has her mind set, she's not going to change it. "in our room. with no escape."

after their conversation in the uber a few days ago, lauren and connor decided that yes, they were actually going to get you and leon together and force you to reconcile. it was actually connor who said they should separately tell you that they needed help with the chef and the menu samples, and then while you were distracted trying to find them—which were actually in the kitchen, not the bedroom—they would shut you in the apartment.

so when they showed up, ready to shut the front door that's unlock didn't work if it was locked from the outside, they were surprised to find neither of you in sight. thanks to their coded bedroom, you'd been already trapped.

to which they say, tomato tamoto.

"this is ridiculous." leon huffs in annoyance, reaching out to tug on the brass door handle. the action annoys you, even though you were close to doing the same.

lauren laughs like it's a joke. "no what's ridiculous is ruining a wedding because you two can't stop lunging for each others necks." her voice is firm, definitive as she continues, "so you have an hour and by then you better be friends. or friendly. whatever."

"you can't serious." leon's laughing is laced with disbelief, not even sparing you a glance as he stares down the wood paneling of the bedroom door.

"deadly." she says, "see you guys in an hour. we're gunna run some errands." her voice slowly begins to fade, walking away and leaving you.

"I thought that’s what you were just doing," you call out.

"we lied."

soon enough you and leon are enveloped in the silence, and once lenny's little nails click down the hall, you are left completely alone.

you exhale a scoff, turning away and practically stomp back to the bed. leon watches you move with an unreadable expression, but you’re too busy throwing yourself down onto the bed to notice.

the blankets puffs around you. its own of those feathered ones that poke you once it starts getting wear and tear, and that makes you more annoyed that it should. but you chalk that up to already being baffled by being trapped in your best friends bedroom.

leon's voice breaks through the quiet room, "well now what?"

you sigh, sliding up onto your elbows to send him an unimpressed look. "don't you know, leon? this is the part where we get out the tea set and play!" the faux smile on your face quickly drops as you finish, and that makes leon rolls his eyes with agitation.

"you're ridiculous."

you don't say anything and send him one more exaggerated grin. you flop back against the mattress. it's actually a heavenly bed besides the blanket, which thankfully hasn't poked you yet.

the first 30 minutes is nothing but silent. the only sounds coming from the air conditioning unit humming lowly through the vents and the blanket shuffling under your body as you squirm. you can't help it, the silence is eating you alive.

"can you stop moving so much?"

you make a show of moving even more as you sit up on the bed, shuffling down to the edge and letting your legs dangle over the end. "i'm a bit restless, you know being trapped in a room with nothing but you and your loud breathing."

leon's brows furrow. "I don't breathe loud."

"you do," you confirm, "it's fucking annoying."

"ah," he chimes, "like your sporadic limbs."

"that's a big word, leon. have you been studying the dictionary like the bore you are?"

he breathes a scoff, "you wish I was a bore, y/n. that way you wouldn't be so obsessed with me."

"obsessed with you," you repeat, laughing, "you are so full of yourself!"

leon stands up, and your face falls, watching him through hooded lids as his jaw ticks, eyes pointed in your direction. just when you think he's going to walk closer to you, he turns, looking through the bookshelves like he hasn't done that already.

you swallow roughly, staring the his back as he moves—slowly—reading the spines of designer books and hockey novels. his tight t-shirt is doing him all the favours, wrapping around his body in a perfect fit to display the muscles he's worked hard on. sometimes, you forget leon is an athlete rather than just your friends friend, and you’re always crudely reminded by his bulging biceps or his abs in the summertime as he lounges by the pool—seeing him like that is a rude awakening.

thinking about leon's abs, dripping with water while he lounges poolside has you feeling a bit funny, and you blink. hard. pulling yourself out of your own head. oddly enough, your mind trickles to lauren and the many times she's referred to abs as washboards.

you sigh gently. getting into a verbal ring with her finances best friend is the last thing she needs to be dealing with right now. a rush of guilt washes over you, and as not only her bridesmaid but her closest friend, you know you need to abide her wishes and figure your shit out.

"leon." you say his name firmly.

he looks at you over his shoulder, one of his eyebrows raised in question as he waits for you to continue.

"we have to stop fighting. for lauren."

leon turns his body completely, facing you. "you think I don't know that, y/n?"

you huff. "I never said that you didn't, leon. but this is my best friend's wedding."

"and mine."

"god, do you always have something snarky to say back?" you ask, exasperated. "this is exactly what we can't be doing. at least i'm trying, leon. ugh! you drive me insane.

his eyes widen slightly, taking a subconscious step closer to you. "and you think you're just some angel?"

you shake your head, shooting off the bed until you're standing—a subconscious attempt at trying to give yourself some leverage. "I think that you're stubborn and can't accept my ideas."

"and what 'Ideas' might those be?" he asks, mockingly.

"we need to pretend to get along," you pitch, voice still laced with venom and irritation. "if we can't get over this thing between us, then we have to fake it. you have to pretend like you can at least tolerate me—that you can stand to be in the same room as me without ripping me a new one."

his expression is unreadable, jaw tight and eyes unmoving as he looks down at you. then, slowly, his gaze changes. "you want me to act like you don't drive me insane?"

your face falls slightly at his tone—a tone that has a weird feeling bubbling low in your belly. you nod.

leon purses his lips, looking away from your face to take a deep, long inhale like he's trying to clam himself. it's making you feel woozy. he looks back at you, something like frustration clouding his expression. "you want me to just pretend that you don't make me want to argue every little thing you say? like everything little thing you do frustrates me in ways I cant explain?"

your lips part, searching for words that aren't there. the way leon is looking at you, with so much tension and frustration has you faltering. you've never been speechless in his presence, and leon knows that—he sees that—and takes the opportunity to continue.

"have I finally got you to shut your mouth? or do you want me to keep going?"

your breathe hitches, a wave of heat flushing over your summer tanned skin. the way his gaze is unwavering and so intense has your blood pumping so hard that the only thing you can hear is the heavy breathing between you.

"please," slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, the plea whiny and surprising to you—desperate.

leon exhales shakily, but the sound is just as desperate as the breath that gets caught in your throat. he lunges towards you, one hand sliding through your hair and tugging while the other finds the dip of your waist, dragging you against him as he kisses you.

his lips caress yours hungrily, sucking and licking along the plump flesh almost instantly. it's hurried and messy and intoxicating. both your your panting is combined, mixing with breathy groans and clashing of tongues and teeth. it's dirty and it's sure as hell needy.

and maybe it’s because you haven’t been with a man in years, or maybe it’s simply because you’re annoyed with the situation. but you want leon.

he grunts into your mouth, fisting your hair hard enough to illicit a whine from you. your hands, which were previously stationed over his torso, running over his shirt like a mad woman, slide into leon's hair, feeling his soft locks between your fingers—painted red nails scratching against his scalp.

his hands cascade down your body, wrapping around the backs of your thighs. before you can register what's happening, leon hauls you off the ground and drops you down against the feather filled duvet.

everything is hurried between you and leon, including the continuing kiss. his hands are running all over your body—up your thighs as he hovers over you, sliding under your summer top and feeling your soft, supple skin. and you're not any better, squeezing his arms and holding his face.

there's a burning tension between you, like there always is, expect now your irritation and frustration is channeled into a kiss—a hot, messy exchange that is leaving you so turned on.

leon's lips trail over your jaw, nipping and suckling along your skin like he can't get enough of your taste. you're withering against him, gasping as his lips travel down your neck, finding your pulse point and sucks.

the beeping sound echos through the room, barley audible over your panting and low moans, but you both hear it. the door is about to open. you pull away from one another at lightning speed, leon getting off the bed completely as he swallows thickly.

you run your hand through your messy hair just as the bedroom door opens, revealing a curious looking connor and a hesitant looking lauren. they're both eyeing you, but it's connor who speaks first. "so? can we count on you guys behaving?"

you blink before looking over at leon. but he's not looking at you, only at connor as he nods once—firmly. then leon walks out of the room, brushing past his teammate and fiancé without so much as a second glance at you.

you gulp, a million emotions clawing at your flushed chest.

lauren still looks unconvinced, raising one of her perfectly plucked brows in your direction—eyeing your slight pant and hazy eyes. "everything go okay."

"yeah," you nod, the smallest scoff leaving you. "and if it didn't, we can just pretend." the word feels like venom on your tongue. there's a part of you that thinks what just happened between you and leon was all pretend. a regretful moment that was nothing more than a source to channel pent up frustration and years of anger.

it meant nothing. leon still hates you. and you...don't know what the fuck just happened.

—

like you suspected, lauren throws you a birthday party. a surprise one at that, even though you knew exactly what was going on when connor texted you and asked you for help on picking out flowers for the rehearsal dinner.

bad distraction on his part, because lauren ordered the flowers for the rehearsal dinner two weeks ago while you were beside her. you went along anyways, and even acted surprised when everyone jumped out from different areas of the mcdavid/kyle condo.

lauren squeezes you tightly, "happy birthday!"

"thanks," you hug her back just as tightly, "I told you that you didn't need to do anything like this. I would've been happy with some wine and reruns of friends."

she rolls her eyes fondly, guiding you further into the crowded home. "I know you would've been, but I certainly wouldn't have." and that's the most lauren thing she could've said, and it makes your smile grow wide.

there's a lot of people here, you note. mostly mutual friends and connor's teammates and their significant others. it's decorated beautifully, with all your favourite picky foods laid out on the island and a makeshift bar along with it.

people greet you enthusiastically, wishing you a happy birthday as you make your rounds through the party, lauren at your side—who you're pretty sure is already halfway to hammered.

mikayla nurse gives you a bear hug, which she always does, and darnell follows suit. "happy birthday!" he says, pulling back and taking his original seat on one of the barstools against the stark white island. ryan nugent hopkins and his girl do the same, all of you flowing into easy conversation.

mikayla is in the middle of talking about something funny her oldest did before her and darnell left, when your body ignites. it's an odd feeling, but one you're used to at this point. subtly, your gaze shifts down the island and that's when you see him.

leon is leaning on the counter causally, fingers running along the neck of a beer bottle as zach hyman and him talk about whatever it is they're talking about—frankly, you don't care to know what their discussing.

you haven't seen or heard from leon since your kiss 3 days ago. you weren't expecting to feel so many emotions after getting kissed by your mortal enemy, but you are. you think it probably has to do with how he just up and left afterwards, like he couldn't give a fuck about you, which in hindsight he probably doesn't. he never has, your brain reminds you.

as if he can feel your state, his eyes flicker to yours. leon's expression changes, so subtle that it's almost unnoticeable. his fingers still on the beer bottle. you look away just as quick as you looked, turning your attention back to the group in front of you—nodding along like you know what they're in the middle of talking about.

you need a shot. or 6.

and shots you have. lauren is the one who starts it, like usual, insisting that the birthday girl needed a celebratory shot of tequila. then that turned into two, and then three and before you know it you can barley feel your limbs. you're loose, and happy and very much drunk.

it makes being in the same room as leon more tolerable for the mere fact that you keep forgetting he's there. it's only when he laughs too loudly, or someone says his name in your vicinity that you find yourself searching for him. not without immediately cursing yourself for it though.

it's nearing 2 in the morning when lauren grabs on to your arm, her expression hopeful and excited. "oh my god," she slurs, "we need to go swim."

you gasp with enthusiasm. "yes! oh my god, lauren I love you so much—what a good fucking Idea."

everyone has left by now. going home to their kids and going to sleep. the thought makes you feel a little down, because the only person you're going home to is damon fucking salvatore. ah, yes the old birthday depression moment. but thankfully lauren snaps you out of it, dragging you out of the apartment and down the hall to the rooftop.

the heavy metal door clicks open, revealing the blue light of the large pool. it smells so good—like summer—and you groan. "oh my god, yes!"

neither you or lauren bother stripping, and you jump into the pool fully clothed. the water splashes therapeutically as you are submerged under the warm water. it feels amazing, and you kick your legs until you're breaking through the surface.

lauren giggles, treading her hands over the waters surface. "it feels so good."

"I know," you agree quickly, eyes fluttering in bliss.

"lauren." connor's voice is stern, but there's a hint of amusement there that he only saves for his fiancé and her drunk shenanigans. "we're not supposed to be out here at night. let's go."

you didn't even notice he followed you guys out here and you blink in surprise—you also giggle, which has connor sending you a sharp look.

lauren makes a fart noise, but lets her fiancé help her out of the pool. water drips off her clothes like a waterfall, soaking the pavement under her feet. connor ushers her back to the door, saying something that you can't quite make out before leaving you alone.

the water is sobering you up a little, but you're still tipsy enough that everything feels like silk. you dip your head back, soaking your hair and covering the tips of your ears.

you're floating, listening to the muffled sounds of the city night life below. its peaceful, and you think you could stay out here forever. your eyes are only fluttering closed for a moment, and when you open them again you see leon.

he's watching you, hands on his hips from the side of the pool—looking anything but amused. you hadn't even noticed him come out, but you also didn't notice connor so that doesn't mean anything.

too drunk to be scared by his sudden appearance, you just laugh, swimming into an upright position and facing leon. your tank top is sticking to your skin uncomfortably, and if you were sober you'd probably be having a sensory overload.

"get out of the pool" his voice is demanding and unarguable.

you lazily shread water, blinking the pool sting out of your eyes. "why would I do what you ask me to?"

leon scoffs a half hearted laugh, looking away from you momentarily. when he meets your gaze again, you’re still grinning—a little up to no good smirk that has leon gulping. "don't be annoying," he says, "get out before something happens. like connor said, you're not supposed to be in here."

"oh wow is that a threat, mr. drasitail?" you laugh.

he tongues his cheek, "you're drunk."

you toe the rough side of the pool and gently kick off, sending yourself back floating through the water. "tipsy, but sure." leon's shoulder deflate in what's surely annoyance, and he runs a hand over his face. even drunk, you know you're being difficult, but you're not going to give up that easy. "you know, you can't annoy me today. it's my birthday."

leon licks his teeth slowly. he tries to keep his eyes off you and your completely see through tank top as you glide through the water, but he can't help himself, gaze flickering back to you. "I wouldn't have to annoy you if you'd just get out of the pool."

your shoulders drop. "you're such a buzz kill," you grumble, swimming to the edge of the pool once again, right in front of leon. your hands grip the edge, and you blink up at him with wet lashes. "can you at least help me out?"

he gulps, adam's apple bobbling under his stubbled skin. "legs broken or something?" he mumbles with something unknown lacing his tone—doubt, disbelief, want—as he looks into your wet eyes.

you ignore him, raising your palm in his direction and wiggling your fingers. for a moment the action sends you off balance, and you begin slipping backwards. leon’s eyes widen, twitching is if he's going to reach out and grab you, but you catch yourself before he can.

he huffs again, gaze darting between your hand and daring eyes. “don't leave me hanging on my birthday, leon,” you say.

"it's not your birthday anymore, y/n." leon deadpans after a moment.

you pout and he sighs, closing the distance between you and taking your slick palm in his. just before he pulls you out, you use the leverage to tug his arm down towards you, sending leon off balance and into the pool next to you with a loud splash.

he breaks the surface at record speed, looking at you with what can only be described as frustration. he splutters, wiping his face of chlorine scented water droplets. "seriously?"

you bite your tongue in an attempt to mask your growing smirk, "you looked hot."

"thanks," he mumbles playfully, shoulders dripping under the water as he treads.

"don't flatter yourself." you huff, momentarily stopping your own feet from treading water to nudge his leg under the surface.

a beat passes. the sounds of rippling water and heavy breathing the only things to be heard between you.

leon breaks the tension, voice gruff. "are you going to get out now?"

you shrug, and your chin dips under the surface. "are you not going to ask me how my birthday was?" ask comes out in a slur, and it makes leon's jaw tick.

"if I do will you get out of the pool?"

"yes." you grin softly, chin submerging once again.

"okay." he hums, looking very much unimpressed. "how was your birthday?"

your grin deepens, "it was good," you say, "got everything I could've ever asked for."

"mhmm," he hums, brow raised curiously, "and what did you ask for? one of those grow your own boyfriends?"

you laugh, the sound forced and very much sarcastic. "just a dart board with your face on it, actually."

he blows out some air, very amused, "ou good one." then like a child he shakes out his hair, water sliding off his strands and spraying you.

"hey!" you shout, turning your face away from the water attack.

"relax," he chimes, "you're not going to melt."

you look back at leon, a look of amused disbelief flashing over your features as your lip tugs upwards. "maybe I will. I am a witch after all."

leon hesitates, something he rarely does. he wants to look away, your wet lashes and pink lips too intense—too tempting—but he forces himself to to hold your unknowing gaze. "you're something."

your mouth parts, "you're something." you repeat, voice all high pitched and mocking as you splash some water in his direction, the small wave hitting his chin.

he licks onto his lower lip, watching your smile grow as you wait for his next move. just when you think you're not going to get a rise out of him, leon moves. he grabs your ankle under the water, so quick that it makes you squeal, and pulls you against his chest.

the laughter that had previously been bubbling up and past your lips comes to a sharp halt, and you’re left blinking in surprise as your body intertwines with leon's. you're both completely clothed, but it feels like your stark naked. the heat between you is implausible, chest heaving and breathes mingling.

his hand grips your knee firmly before he releases—but he’s not done. leon fingers skim up your thigh, so gentle that it's ticklish. you want to squirm, but you're too scared it will end the tension filled moment. his palm runs over your hip, feeling your soaked jean shorts under his palm.

your breath catches, the sound just gentle enough to reach leon's ears. his eyes dart to your wet, plump lips and he feels himself twitch. when his eyes meet yours again, you swallow, arms slowing down in the thread.

"are you going to kiss me and then leave again like nothing happened?" you don't have time to curse your drunk tongue, because leon answers almost instantly, voice surprisingly smooth and clear, but still deep enough to have your stomach swoop.

"you want me to do that?" he asks you, pushing some wet hair off your shoulder, further exposing your sun kissed, freckled skin.

you lick your bottom lip. "depends what part you're talking about."

his eyes dart back down to yours lips at the sight, watching as your tongue swipes along your lip. your faces are so close that the tips of your noses are almost brushing. you're practically panting, wrapped around leon like a koala as he threads water for the both of you.

you could be staring at each other for 20 minutes, or twenty seconds. you're unsure. time has gone completely still, slowing down like sticky molasses as you and leon exchange longing, needy stares.

your mouth opens, ready to beg him once again, but he unwraps you from his body, hands finding your hips and lifting you out of the pool. you blink, shock and confusion flashing on your face as leon sits you on the edge.

he doesn't look at you as he pulls himself out of the pool effortlessly, but you watch him. his biceps flex under his once light gray, soaked t-shirt, and if you weren't so overcome with frustration and confusion you'd be blushing.

he gets up on to his feet, "let's go, y/n." leon's tone leaves no room for argument, and he's already waking towards the heavy, metal door that leads back to the condo complex.

you scoff, getting up onto your own feet. "dick," you mumble to yourself, lips tugging down in a frown and gaze pointed as you watch leon's retreating figure.

you don't know if he hears your curse, but if he doesn't he doesn't turn around to dispute with you. you could be annoying, jump back in the pool and make him drown in his own frustration. but you don't. you're tired, shocked, angry and most of all, embarrassed.

—

"y/n!" lauren says your name happily, and tipsily, stumbling over to you through the party bus and practically falling into your lap. she smiles, thrusting a shot of some white liquor in your direction, "do this shot with me!"

you smile and that's when you notice she's got the same liquor in her shot glass—a gift from alannah hyman. it's milky white and says bride in script on the side in big, sparkly letters.

you take the shot from her, "are you trying to get me drunk before we even get there?"

she nudges it closer to your mouth, a giggle spilling past her painted lips. "well it is a wedding party! so yes."

fondly, your eyes roll which only makes lauren squawk. you send her a real smile before bringing the glass to your mouth and tipping it back, downing the shot of what you know know is vodka, in a huge gulp.

your grimace, body doing a funny little shiver as the liquor coats your throat and warms your skin. the air conditioning isn't a match for the humid july night, and you're practically dripping with sweat. actually, everyone on the bus is dripping with sweat, but most of them are already so tipsy that it doesn't matter.

when lauren told you in addition to separate bachelor and bachelorette parties she was going to throw a joint one, you were a little hesitant. I mean, you love your friend and will do anything to make her happy—so you bit your tongue—but the idea of having to spend even more time with leon has your blood curdling, especially after the whole pool indecent a few days ago.

once again, you haven't seen leon since the almost kiss in the pool, which has you feeling even more embarrassed than before. you're not sure what's been unlocked with leon, but since your actual kiss in lauren and connor's bedroom almost a week ago, there's been a funny feeling lingering in your head.

you're not sure what it is, or how it makes you feel. all you do know is that it makes you hot and nervous and angry all at once. so really, nothing has changed.

so today, you'd been feeling extremely anxious. you thought about reaching out to leon—having his number saved from many years of being in the same random group chats—but you decide against it. after all, he's clearly not interested in fixing the hostility between you, and you're not going to be some desperate, submissive girl who just backs down and lets him win. absolutely not.

when you were all piling onto the party bus, leon nowhere in sight, you couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement (and maybe a little disappointment, but you don't even admit that to yourself). when you casually asked connor about it in passing, he looked at pointedly, "he's got some shit he needs to figure out with his agent, so he's going to meet us there."

you couldn't even hide your eye roll at that. you think the real reason he's not traveling on the party busy is because he probably just didn't want to get forced to dance on the stripper pole in the middle of the bus—he's so boring.

the bus comes to halt outside the bustling club, and everyone inside cheers. so loudly it makes your cringe a little, but you digress. lauren wraps her arm around yours, bringing you both off the bus and into the modern, sleek night club.

the music inside is instantly deafening, some kendrick lamar song that you've heard on the radio for three months straight. you're already feeling buzzed from the shot in the bus, and the one you did at connor and lauren's before your ride came.

"hey!" connor comes up behind you both, wrapping his arm around his fiancés waist as he speaks over the music. "we've got a table booked on the platform, so I'm gunna get up there."

lauren grins, placing a smacking kiss against the corner of his mouth. "okay," she shouts, "we're gunna dance."

he nods with one of those reserved-for-only-lauren grins before leaving you both, making his way through the crowd with the bachelor party.

lauren shakes your arm excitedly, "let's get a drink and then fucking dance, baby!"

you easily get lost in the feeling of the music and the warmth of the crowd. you and lauren dance together for what feels like hours, downing shots and sipping cocktails until way past the achy feeling starts in your feet. other girls from the bachelorette party join in, all of you screaming along to lyrics and dancing against one another like silly, drunk college kids.

leon walks into the club around 10, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to go home. for days he's been flustered and angry, brain scrambled with a mess of thoughts—working overtime and keeping him up at night. the meeting with his agent ended almost two hours ago, but he needed time to collect himself before joining the wedding party.

before seeing you.

connor's brother spots him first, calling his name in a sing song voice that instantly has leon peeking up, plastering on a smile as he climbs the stairs of the platform. the boys begin chatting his name like a group of seagulls, gathering the attention of many lingering bystanders in the night club—it makes leon shiver with discomfort. but thankfully, no one notices.

he's never been a fan of crowds, or attention, but being one of hockey's biggest stars quickly had him getting used to it. bars and clubs though, they will never be his thing.

someone thrusts a beer bottle in his hand, and he takes it greedily, popping off the cap before taking three large gulps. the foam coats his lips, dripping down his chin before he wipes it away.

the platform overlooks the face floor. it's secluded enough to feel private, but still open enough to not feel like you're missing out on the fun. leon finds himself looking through the crowd, beer bottle handing loosely in his grip as he searches.

it's not hard to find you, or any of the girls for that matter. you're all wearing variations of white and cream, which glows blue in the black lights scattered around the club. you're dancing against lauren, hands up in the air as you sway and sing along to some mainstream pop song leon has never heard.

you're covered in a sheer layer of sweat, making your tan skin glow. you look happy, and so tempting. as if you can feel his stare, your eyes find his. as they meet, your movements falter, and your face drops.

leon swallows roughly, pushing off the balcony and forcing himself to break eye contact. his blood feels like it's boiling, burning him from the inside out. he forces another mouthful of beer down, turning his attention back to some of connor's childhood buddies, easily sliding into their conversation.

your teeth clench as your eyes linger on the place leon was just stood, watching you with an unreadable expression. everything feels too constricting now, too warm. it feels like his eyes are still on you—even when you turn back to lauren and she starts doing a terrible rendition of the sprinkler. you can't shake him.

so when a large hand wraps around your waist, and an attractive man appears behind you, you don't stop him. he's not super tall, and his hair is so dark it's almost pure black. clean shaven, with soft hands and smelling like smoke and whiskey.

he's nothing like leon, and that makes you grin. you allow yourself to get wrapped up in the man, dancing with him like your life depends on it. his breathe is warm against your ear, "you're really sexy." his fingers dig into your arm, almost too roughly.

but you smile regardless, "you use that line on all the girls?"

"can't give away my secrets." he grins. his smile is nowhere as nice at leon's though. the man licks onto his bottom lip slowly, "wanna get out of here?"

you hum thoughtfully, looking around the crowded dance floor. when you meet mystery man's eyes, he's hopeful, and it makes you sigh regretfully. "sorry, i'm here with my friends."

"ah."

"yeah," you nod, "thanks for the dance but clearly we're not on the wavelength here. i'm gunna get back to them." you turn, but before you can disappear back into the heart of the dance floor, he grabs your arm.

leon is practically burning as he watches you dance with the short, finance looking bro from the platform. his teeth are aching from how hard he's clenching, and he's pretty sure the glass bottle is about to crack in his palm.

he's angry. he's in disbelief. he's fucking jealous. leon has never felt this level of jealousy before, and he's not even sure if that's what it actually is. it's a white hot fire stick, poking at his chest until he recoils.

you're laughing. and smiling. the guys hands low on your back and running over your hips. a few nights ago that was leon touching you there, and that only fuels his frustration. he watches the two of you talk, a hesitant look on your face that has his stomach dropping.

he stands up straighter, shoulders rigid. leon's scowling at the mystery guy, whispering in your ear as he says whatever shitty pickup line leon has no doubt the dudes used on multiple woman in this club.

then you start walking away, and relief begins to trickle in his bloodstream. unfortunately it doesn't last long, because when the guy reaches for you, grabbing you arm and tugging you back towards him, leon sees red.

you squeak at the feeling of the man's hand on your bicep, squeezing you hard enough that you can feel it in your bones.

"we can keep dancing," he tells you, firmly, "i'm not some dick who's going to act like getting rejected is a personal attack."

you tug your arm away, "i'm sorry, but i'm done dancing right now. it was nice meeting you."

the man's laugh makes you shiver unpleasantly. "you got a boyfriend or something? is that why you're acting like a-" his words are cut short as leon's fist flies, hitting him across the face in a quick, hard punch.

you gasp, a sickening crack echoing in your ears as his knuckles connects with the guys nose. he grabs it, blood seeping through his fingers and dripping onto his blue button up.

leon's not phased, flexing his fingers causally—like he didn't just punch a random guy in the face.

"oh my god," you shout, rushing forward to check on the guy and his obviously damaged face. the crowd stops all around you, whispering and pointing at the scene like it's a movie. your mouth opens, shocked, looking between the mystery guy and leon. "what the fuck!"

leon huffs, sending you a sharp glance before turning on his heels and pushing through the crowd. it feels like everyone is looking at him, judging him, and it has him feeling breathless. angrily, he shoves the doors of the nightclub open, stepping out onto the sidewalk and taking a deep breathe.

he rubs the back of his neck roughly, a curse leaving his lips. leon feels embarrassed about letting his emotions take control like that, but the anger seeing that guy grabbing you—pulling you—has his embarrassment fading away, replaced with fury.

the air feel nice, even though the july air is humid and thick, it's much better the the stuffy club. leon walks to the stone half wall that frames the greeny along the club, taking a seat on the lip with another rough sigh. he's only alone for about a minute before the club doors swing open, and you come storming out.

your eyes are wide—frantic even—searching the sidewalk until your eyes land on him. that's when your face falls, arms crossed defensively as you stare at him.

leon swallows, shrugging his shoulders. "is he hurt?" he asks, even though he already saw the answer.

"his nose is broken." you deadpan.

"good." he hums, checking his knuckles quickly. ones split, but he'll fix it later.

you laugh in disbelief, "good?"

"yeah," he confirms, eyes finding yours again. you've stepped closer in the time he was looking at his hand, and you look even angrier up close. "he shouldn't of touched you like that."

you shake your head. "I can handle myself."

leon snorts. "clearly not, y/n."

you make a scoffing noise, arms tightening further across the white dress wrapped tightly across your chest. "I was actually having a good time," you start, voice firm but tinged with something else, "but thanks to you, my night is ruined."

"I know you y/n," he deadpans, standing up from the wall, "your idea of a good time and his idea of a good time is vastly different. he was going to try something." leon walks closer to you, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them.

the tone of his voice, so frustrated, has you shocked. the audacity of leon to be upset with you after he punched a poor guy in the face is beyond you. your arms uncross, falling against your hips with a smack. "and so what?" you question, "what's it matter to you? why do you care?"

your voice has gotten louder, more venomous. it makes leon laugh roughly, looking down you with cynicism. "why do I care?" he practically shouts, reaching out and almost touching your exposed shoulder. "you're..." leon stops himself, a gentle curse leaving him. he huffs loudly, running a hand down his face in a slow but rough way.

a moment passes. cars passing and honking down the street, club music vibrating the concrete below your heels. your eyes don’t leave leon's figure, which is practically vibrating with emotion.

you swallow, voice much more quiet when you say, "I'm what?"

"ungrateful." he grunts.

your lips pull into a frown as the bridge of your nose begins to string. "screw you." with one more furious look in his direction, you turn heel, shoes clicking on the pavement as you make your way back to the nightclub's entrance.

you're so angry. it's fuelling your blood stream and stopping your feet. your arms cross again, eyes pinched as you turn back around. you're not done with him yet. "do you ever think about things before opening your mouth?"

leon looks shocked momentarily, but he recovers quickly. he shoves his hands into his jean pockets, nodding slowly. "yes."

"oh really?" you ask, "like when?"

"I thought about not answering your question just now."

"oh grow up!"

"i'm grown."

"really?" you ask wildly, "is that why you punched a guy in the face?"

"a guy who deserved it!"

"for dancing with me?"

"for touching what's not his."

that has you faltering, leon's words hitting you like a slap to the face. he knows that what he just said was possessive—uncalled for. he has no right to say that to you, you're certainly not his to claim. it's the jealously getting the best of him and wanting to make you feel how he's feeling.

and it worked. guilt tickles your skin and pales your face, looking back at leon with a straight face. you feel like you've done something wrong by dancing with that guy—like you've done him wrong. "oh, okay then," you start, voice timid and so gentle that it has leon faltering. "who's am I? please enlighten me."

he knows he can't keep going down this route with you. he'll regret it. leon takes a slow, deep breath, shaking his head. "i'm not playing this game."

that's rich, you think, considering he's the one who starts all these stupid games you find yourself unable to untangle yourself from. you can't help but laugh with false humor, "oh but you love games!"

"y/n," leon sighs tiredly, "stop."

connor comes bustling out of the club, and much like your expression and wandering eyes from 5 minutes ago, he's looking for leon just like you had. once he spots you in a stand off, leon's jaw tight and your eyes misty, he all but stomps up to the both of, face painted and livid. "are you guys seriously fighting? on top of everything else that happened tonight. I thought you guys stopped this fucking shit " he looks at you, still frustrated, "lauren is going to be pissed, y/n."

leon steps towards his friend calmly, despite his firm tone, "it's not y/n’s fault." he says definitively, a flash of protectiveness flashing over his face.

connor blinks, confused, looking between the pair of you. his jaw is tense, tendon popping under his beard as he tries to clam himself down. seeing his best friend punch a guy in the face for seemingly no reason, which obviously made his fiancé upset, combined with walking out and catching the two of you arguing when you'd already told lauren everything was squashed between you and leon, has connor spinning.

leon continues, "we're fine."

"are we?" you question, pettily.

connor shakes his head, a breathless laugh leaving him. the tension between the two of you is undeniable, and it doesn't matter what you say—you're arguing and leon's fight has ruined the night. "leon," he starts, eyeing his friend firmly, "you need to go. both of you. drive y/n home and while you're at it, make sure this shit between you gets sorted. for good."

"okay." leon nods after a tense moment, fishing his keys from his pocket and walking down the sidewalk. he glances back at you, "let's go, y/n." he doesn't sound angry anymore, but he is still very definitive with his tone.

it has you moving, following behind him timidly, arms crossed tightly and tears fall freely down your cheeks. the damage has been done. your drunk and tired. that combined with your argument, and connor's scolding has you feeling very guilty and emotional.

leon unlocks his porsche, the beep echoing through the back parking lot of the night club. it's the car he's always had ever since you've known him, and you always mockingly call it his, 'big fancy sports call', everytime you see it. yes, it's a porsche but not a sports model—leon never corrects you though.

but you stay silent behind him, the only sound coming from you is your shoes on the ground. it has leon pausing. he attempts to glance at you quickly—sneakily—but as he catches the sight of your glistening tears under the moonlight, everything shifts.

the sight makes him swallow down the immediate rising guilt and regret that threatens to make its way out of him, halting his movements by the passenger door of his car. you sniff, eyes downcast.

it sends a pang through his heart, sighing softly as he faces you fully. "come on."

your chin trembles and you shake your head. he watches as you dig through top of your dress, pulling out your phone from where it rested beside your boob. you begin thumbing the screen, unaware of how your boob is now practically spilling out of your dress, sitting perfectly plump and bulged in a way that makes leon shift.

"i'm ordering an uber," you mumble, blinking through tears as you try to navigate the uber app.

"no," leon breathes, opening the passenger door with an echoing click. "you're not getting in an uber while you're drunk and alone."

you roll your wet eyes. "connor would let me."

"i'm not connor."

you pause, eyes flickering up to meet leon's. he gestures to the open car, a pleading look in his gaze. not in the mood to fight any more, you sniffle, turning off your cell before dragging yourself to the passenger seat.

leon's shoulders slump in relief, moving to the side so you're able to get into his car properly. once you're seated, leon shuts the door and rounds the front to the driver's side, where he lets himself in.

you keep your eyes forward as he starts the car, letting the engine roar to life as he clicks his seatbelt into place. he glances at you gingerly, "put your seatbelt on."

you sigh but do so. once he hears the dull click of the buckle, leon releases a tension filled sigh, shifting the car into drive before slowly pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

you really wish you could stop crying, but controlling your emotions have never been your strong suit—fighting with leon for years because he didn't smile at you one time is enough proof of that. your quiet hiccups are heard throughout the car, too tired to attempt to mask them. your arms are crossed again, like you're trying to hug yourself. your chest shakes with every breath, inhale or exhale, as your continue to cry, eyes trained out the windshield.

you won't look at him. you can't look at him. you're embarrassed and still a little angry, and you've given leon enough of your range of emotions in the past week that he's probably sick of then by now—more than he normally is.

the car slows at a red light, the rumbling of the engine coming to a quiet hum as the car completely halts. leon taps the steering wheel with two fingers, licking his teeth as he glances at you. "why are you crying, y/n?"

his words bring another round of tears to your eyes. you huff, sniffling away your running nose. "because."

"just because?" leon pushes gently, eyes flickering back to the traffic light to check its status. still red. he looks back at you, bathed in the red glow. "c'mon, help me out a little bit here."

the sincerity of his voice makes you frown. in that moment you're in desperate need of an outlet, someone or something to talk to in hopes that your tears will stop. and right now, you don't care if that person is leon, especially with the way he's looking at you—despite his deadpanned expression, there's still a softness underneath it all.

you nod, as if you're convincing yourself to confide in him. with another sob and trembling breath, you say, "lauren is going to hate me now."

the lights changes to green, and leon blinks, turning away from you and shifting the car into drive. a moment passes before he sighs softly, shaking his head, "she's not going to hate you." he says, glancing at you quickly.

"i've ruined the night." you counter, bringing your knees up to your chest to cradle yourself. your dress shifts, sliding dangerously high on your thigh, and the sight has leon internally cursing, he licks onto his bottom lip, forcing himself to look away from your soft skin.

"you didn't ruin anything," he reassures you, "I was the one who got all...angry and punched that guy. trust me, lauren will be okay. you'll be okay." leon pauses, eyes flickering away from the deserted road and over to your tear stained face. "besides, how could anyone ever hate you?"

your lips part and you shift your head to look at leon. his expression in unreadable, but he barley lets you analyze it because he's turning his attention back to the road. finally, you find your voice. "you hate me."

leon shifts gears, and he does it so smoothly that you don't even jolt in your seat. that also means you don't look away from his side profile, eyes pointed and curious as you await his response.

"I could never hate you, y/n." he swallows, adam's apple bobbing under his stubble. leon doesn't look at you yet. he can't.

"that's a lie," you mean to sound firm, but your words come out nothing short of a whisper. your brows pull tightly, confusion etched across your forehead. "because you do hate me."

that makes leon falter, glancing over to you after he shift into a different lane. "do I?"

you don't answer, mostly because you're unsure what kind of response leon is looking for. you tear your eyes away from him, looking back out through the windshield and keeping your gaze trained on the pavement as it disappears under the car.

leon sighs to himself, running a hand through his messy hair. he eyes you again, but you're still not looking at him. your face is tight, but you've stopped crying for the most part, only the occasional tear that slides over your salty tight skinned cheek. a flash of fear comes over him—what if you're too uncomfortable with what he said to cry?

leon curses. the last thing he wants to do right now is make you feel worse. his eyes trail over your body as he hits another red light. your legs are still pulled up, hands wrapped around your calves like you're cradling yourself. it makes his heart sink, but then he sees it. your nails.

the usual flame red you wear is replaced by a neutral colour, accompanied by white french. his mouth opens before his brain can catch up, "taking a break from the red?" leon's words have you blinking, looking back at him curiously. his eyes flick down to your hands, "your nails."

"oh," you hum. you hadn't even known that leon had noticed the little red nail detail you've been committed to for years. the colour you'd pick solely because leon didn't like it. thinking about it now makes you feel a bit silly, but something about leon mentioning it has you feeling fuzzy. "yeah," you clear your throat, sliding your hands between your thighs shyly, hiding them from his sight. "lauren wants us all to have french tips for the wedding."

"that's a shame," leon sighs, stepping on the gas as the light changes. "you look good in red."

"you hate the colour red." you say quietly— cautiously.

"doesn't mean I hate it on you."

a beat passes as you sit with that confession. your drunk brain has a difficult time pacing the pieces together, brows furrowed in confusion as you keep your eyes trained on leon. you breathe a laugh that sounds like a scoff. "why are you being so nice to me?" you question, "is it just because im upset?"

"not just because you're upset," he replies quickly, "i've been enough of a dick to you to last a lifetime. and I know how important lauren is to you, and how much you want to fix this thing between us before the wedding so she's happy." leon stops himself, swallowing roughly as he looks back at you. "i'm trying my best to start fixing it."

"what is this thing between us?"

his thumbs strokes the leather wrapping around the steering wheel, "whatever you want it to be."

you make a funny noise. "what kind of answer is that?"

leon can't help the way his top lip twitches, the smallest grin threatening to take over. "the right one for how drunk and upset you are."

"I don't like that answer either."

that does make him smile. "I know you don't."

silence fills the car after that. you let your legs fall back to the ground, feeling much more relaxed then when you first got in. and leon notices out of the corner of his eye, which makes his shoulders drop in relief. they ache slightly from how tense he'd been, but he can't even think of that right now.

not when you start to talk, voice curious and gentle. "how come you hit that guy?"

he sighs lowly, not taking his eyes off the road as he flicks on his signal, car turning into the parking garage of your apartment complex. you blink in surprise—leon hadn't even asked for directions once. he remembers where you live.

"when you're upset, it's makes me crazy," he starts shamelessly, hands tightening around the wheel as he recalls the scene at the nightclub less than an hour ago. "and tonight, when that asshole grabbed your arm and the tiniest flash of distress crossed your features, I didn't even think." leon looks at you quickly, meeting your intent gaze. it makes him look away just as fast. "not only was I jealous but I was so fucking angry that I just lashed out."

he pulls into an empty parking spot, which is thankfully a few steps away from the elevator. leon shifts the car into park before he looks at you again. when he sees the slow smile on your face, his stomach swoops.

before he has a chance to question why you look so...pleased, you begin to talk. "wait, you were jealous?" you ask him, eyebrow raised curiously.

leon's neck feels hot, and he forces himself to laugh, even though the sound comes across awkward. he rubs the back of his neck and looks away from you, which only makes you giggle. "okay, let's not dwell on it." he mutters.

"oh my god," you tease, "big tough leon draisaitl was jealous."

"y/n."

"this is amazing"

his eyes twinkle with amusement. "i'm trying to apologize," leon tells you, the smallest smile pulling at his lips.

"I know," you grin, "I never thought this day would come! should I get my phone out and take a video of this? post it on my story so everyone can see?"

leon rolls his eyes fondly as you laugh, head falling back against the head rest as you look at him. you obviously are just teasing him, and that has leon's heart strings tugging. "are you done?"

"with this?" you question, knowingly, "never."

the smile that follows that is different, one of those smiles that you only save for lauren and when you're talking on the phone to your family. leon almost wants to get his phone out now and snap a picture of you—because he's never seen anything more beautiful.

—

the muskoka air bnb is beautiful. so much so that it doesn't even feel real. it's decorated in white, with lots of neutral florals and greenery that line not only the main house, but the multiple guests house littering the property.

connor and lauren had flown the wedding party out yesterday, and you had been so exhausted from travel, as well as trying to not stare at leon for the duration of the flight that as soon as you arrived you passed out.

since leon drove you home from the night club a few days ago, there's been a major shift. you'd seen him a few days afterwards at a dinner hosted by lauren's parents for the wedding party and family, and obviously he attended. there was a part of you that thought he'd ignore you like he always did, but he actually smiled at you. a half grin from across the room as he held a champagne flute that made your stomach flip.

and then two days ago, the day before traveling to muskoka, leon texted you. you were in such a shock from seeing his name flash across your screen, that you almost forgot to answer him. after 30 minutes you finally responded to his message, asking if you wanted a ride to the airport tomorrow—to which your answer was thanks. that be great, leon :)

immediately you cringed at your own message. it made you feel like a school girl with a highschool crush who was trying to come across casual but was miserably failing—wait, are you a school girl with a highschool crush who was trying to come across casual but was miserably failing? just as immediate you pushed that thought away, storing it on the back burner to later dissect.

this weekend is not about you or the sudden butterflies in your stomach when you think about leon—who a week ago, you thought couldn't stand you. you're still not sure if he even likes you, despite everything. so yeah, back burner it goes.

when you woke up today, much closer to the afternoon than the morning, you'd be in for a surprise when you walked down the hallway of your designated guest house and saw leon standing in the kitchen, sipping coffee while scrolling through his phone. shirtless.

"oh!" you practically squeal, jumping around and covering your eyes with a hand. you knew that you'd be sharing the guest house with some of the wedding party, you just didn't think it would be with him.

he laughs, clicking off his phone and setting it on the island. "i'm not naked, you don't have to hide."

you peek through your fingers first and see him looking at you, palms flat against the counter as he leans into it, mug sat in the space between his hands. when you catch sight of the sweat pants—although hung dangerously low on his toned hips—you drop your hand. "you just caught me off guard." you swallow.

he grins, all syrupy and slow before pushing off the counter. leon stalks over to you, and the closer he gets the more nervous you feel. just when you think he may stop, he walks right past you, hand brushing your wrist. "lauren and connor need us ready for 1:30 for something. connor's brother and jenni are already outside." he calls back at you, stalking down the hallways.

you had to wash your face in freezing water to calm yourself down from that interaction—mostly caused by leon’s shirtless torso, but that's neither here or there. you slipped on one of your white cocktail dresses, because even though leon didn't say what was happening, you knew it was the welcome party in the garden.

leon wasn't in the kitchen or the living area when you emerged from your room, thankfully, so you had another few minutes to calm down while you made your way across the property. guests have already started to arrive by the time you sneak up beside lauren, greeting her warmly while she beams at the sight of your face.

you help her make her rounds and tidy up whatever she feels needs it while people mingle, snacking on hors d'oeuvres and sipping alcohol under the july sun. when you get a free moment, you nudge her side to get her attention, "why didn't you tell me leon was in my house?"

she frowns slightly, "he is? thought he was in the other one but I guess not." before you can get her to elaborate on that, one of the waitstaff comes over, whisking her away to deal with whatever snack debacle was occurring.

you spend a few hours mingling with everyone, sharing laughter and drinks happily. you've never been to muskoka, and you can't help but appreciate how beautiful and scenic it is. lauren and connor couldn't of picked a better spot to get married.

on instinct you hear lauren’s laugh echo through the garden, and you spot her almost instantly. your best friend has never looked more beautiful or happy since you've known her. connor stands beside her, the two of them in their own little world. he's whispering in her ear which is the reason for her laughter. you love them so much.

your eyes begin to prick with tears, and you quickly look away before they can fall. you grab a napkin hurriedly, bringing it up to your lower lash line so it soaks up your salty tears. thank god you're alone right now, because it's so embarrassing.

"oh no," leon's says from a few feet away, eyeing you with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "you're crying."

his voice cutting through the silence makes you jump slightly—when did you get so jumpy around him?—and you turn to look at him, a small bubble of laughter leaving you. you sniffle, balling up the napkin in your palm, "I know. i'm a mess."

he shakes his head, a half smirk, half frown on his face. you don't even know where to begin trying to understand what that means. leon walks closer, taking the napkin right out of you palm and throwing it in the small garbage underneath the long buffet style hors d'oeuvres table. "what's got you emotional?"

on cue lauren laughs again, and you sigh dreamily, glancing the happy couples way. "they're just so in love. this place is beautiful, lauren and connor are beautiful and i'm just...so happy for them."

leon watches you for a long moment, brows furrowed slightly as he listens to your confession. when you look back at him, there's new tears in your eyes, happy ones but laced with a longing you hadn't realized you possessed. leon's gut pangs with something all too familiar as you look up at him. he can't help but wonder if for years you'd been too worried about trying to get him to like you in some capacity that you'd been too busy to look for what you need. what you want. what you've always desired: to feel loved.

the way you're looking at him now, no trace of anger or resentment in your eyes, makes him feel comfortable—complete. it's then that he knows that yes, you'd been too focused on leon's stubbornness when it comes to you, to notice that he never hated you. not at all.

he gives you a closed mouth grin, reaching to wipe away the tear that's pooling under your lashes. "you'll get it too, y/n. love."

your lip twitches, and his eyes on you feel so intense you have to look to the ground. "think so?"

he guides your face back up. "I know so." leon swallows gently, eyes darting down to your lips just like they had in the pool many days ago. your lips part, nothing but a hitched breath coming out. he licks along his lower lip, "i'm sorry, y/n. for everything."

and you know he means it.

dinner time comes quickly, sneaking up on you. leon weighs heavy on your mind as you shove garden salad in your mouth—the conversation today, his shirtless torso, the way he notices your nails, the way he touched you in the pool, the way he kissed you. even the way he eats damn beer nuts.

you try and distract yourself with the conversation flowing all around you, stretching down the long dining table under the warm fairy lights dripping from the trees. but your mind always drift back to him. leon. leon. leon. the man who hasn't left your mind since you met him years ago, is still the man who you think about today.

it doesn't help that he's sitting diagonally from you, your eyes catching every few minutes like there’s nothing else to but to look at one another.

you need a cold shower and a long nights rest. and leon, you brain taunts you.

after desert and another hour of mindless chatting, everyone starts heading home and packing in for the night. tomorrow would be a long day of rehearsals and last minute prepping for the wedding on the following day.

you practically run back to the guest house, stealing one of two showers before any of the other house guests have a chance too. the water is relaxing, and helps ease the tornado of thoughts and unwanted questions in your mind.

whatever you want it to be.

you're glad you have a room to yourself because you don't want to put pyjamas on. you crawl under the covers completely naked, sighing as your head hits the pillow.

leon. leon. leon.

hours pass, the guest house bathed in the sound of water lapping against the stoney shore. sleep doesn't take you, leaving you tossing and turning like a child. you huff, reading the small alarm clock on the wooden beside table: 2:17 a.m.

you slip out from under the sheets and grab one of your oversized shirts, pulling it over your frame before making your way to the door. you're hoping some water and a change of atmosphere will help you feel a little sleepy. you toe down the dark hallway until you round into the kitchen.

the image of shirtless leon, leaning over the island this morning flashes through your mind. you shake your head, sighing again before going to the cupboard and grabbing a mug.

you fill it with the brita in the fridge, and then you drink it slowly, doing your best to calm your restless limbs and even more restless mind. after a few minutes you put the mug in the sink and make your way back down the hallway.

one of the bedroom doors creaks open, and you falter. even in the dim light, you'd recognize him. leon looks at you, curious, one brow raised the highest fraction taller than the other. he's shirtless again, which makes you swallow.

"hi." you mumble dumbly.

"hey."

you walk further down the hall, right by your bedroom door which before this moment, unbeknownst to you, is diagonally across from his.

you watch leon's eyes dart down to your legs, trailing up your soft skin and reaching the hem on your not so long t-shirt. his eyes linger there, and you flush. "sorry, I," you stutter, "wasn't expecting to see you. or anyone really, at this hour."

he finds your face. "don't apologize."

you nod, clearing your throat again. you've never been at a loss for words in leon's presence, besides the moment right before your kiss over a week ago, but right now you're rendered speechless.

"you okay?" he questions tenderly, assessing you.

"yeah," you say, thumbing down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. "couldn't sleep, so just had some water."

he nods once, "ah."

"are you okay?" you ask him.

leon blinks, nodding again. "yeah. just had to use the bathroom."

"ah." you repeat his earlier words, and his mouth twitches.

"yeah." he mumbles.

you breathe, "well, I should probably try and sleep. it'll be a long day tomorrow."

"yeah, me too." he say, but it doesn't sound convincing. leon eyes your legs again.

you squeeze your thighs together, a small gasp leaving your lips. the sound has leon's eyes snapping up to your face. you reach behind yourself blindly, finding the handle of the door knob. "goodnight leon."

"night." he says, turning the knob of his own door and pushing it open.

whatever you want it to be. the words taunt you as you look at leon's back, muscles pronounced and tempting. your mind is still racing with the unknown—your body on fire—and this interaction didn't help at all.

you're desperate for answers.

so before his door closes, you step forward. "leon?"

he pauses, pulling the bedroom door back open. not fully, but just enough so he can lean on the trim. "yea?"

you shutter as you inhale, fingers itching as you try and keep your hands to yourself. leon's skin is glistening. pecks and chest covered in a neat spread of hair that trails down his abs and disappears below those stupid low rise sweatpants. focus. you force yourself to look back up to his face.

whatever you want it to be.

"what would you of said the other night in the car if I was sober?" you ask him, "when I asked you what are we, you said whatever I want us to be."

leon remembers the conversation all too well. it plays on a constant loop in his head and it has since he dropped you home that night. "yeah, I did." he confirms lowly.

"so what's the real answer?" you swallow gently, "what would you of said? if I asked you right now, what would you say?"

a moment passes.

leon huffs, eyes finding the worn wood of the house as he rubs the back of neck roughly. he meets your eyes again—your curious, hopeful gaze. "I don't know." he says.

"you don't know?" you repeat slowly—hesitantly. like your testing out the sound of it on your tongue. a flash of sadness washes over your face, and leon feels awful.

he steps back into the hallway, "I don't mean it like that, I just..." he trails off, breathing deeply.

you don't give him the opportunity to finish that thought. your arms cross over your chest, a defensive stance that makes leon frown. "how come when we first met you didn't smile at me?"

the question catches him off guard. not because he didn't know the answer, but because he hadn't realized it had been in your mind. leon didn't realize that you noticed that when first time you met, he didn't smile back at you. heat flushes his chest and neck, "y/n..."

the look on his face has you stopping. he looks almost distraught, and that's not at all what you were expecting. there was a part of you that thought leon didn't even remember that first meeting. the solem look on his face suggests otherwise.

"please," you breathe, arms falling as you step closer to him. "I need to know what I did that made you so upset that you couldn't even smile. it's been years of racking my brain, desperately trying to understand what I did-"

"I couldn't smile because I was scared." leon cuts you off firmly, gaze pointed.

"scared?" you repeat curiously. "scared of what?"

"y/n." he says your name again. almost pleading with you.

you reach out, letting your nails trail over the side of his bicep. you blink up at him, "leon, please."

a beat passes.

"you had the prettiest smile i'd ever seen," leon mumbles, so quiet that you almost don't hear him. "that's what scared me. because I knew I would do anything to see it again, and from that moment I knew I had no control when it came to you." he shakes his head, a breathy laugh breaking the tense moment. leon meets your gaze, “I still don't have control around you and it scares me to this day."

your core flutters, and your heart thumps wildly. you lick your lower lip. "yeah?" you question softly.

"yeah."

leon watches as you take another step towards him, your chest pressing against his. you push up onto your painted toes, hands curling around his torso to balance yourself. he's practically panting as he watches you, nose bumping yours as he starts leaning down into your space.

"loose control, leon." you whisper sensually, nails digging into his flesh. "I want you to loose control with me."

leon kisses you hard, hands flying to your waist to keep you pressed against him. your mouths part, tongues swiping over one another as the kiss turns deeper—hotter. it's even better than the one almost two weeks ago. more intimate and more passionate.

you sigh into his mouth, hands sliding up the front of his chest and wrapping around his neck, pulling him into you even more. his fingers squeeze the fleshy part of your hips before travelling farther down, cupping the round of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. then he drags you even further up his chest, and you can feel him hardening against your core.

"you have no idea how long i've been waiting for you," he mumbles into your mouth, grip sliding down your thighs painfully slow.

you whine as leon kisses you again, lifting you off the ground and wrapping your legs over his hips. the new position has your bare core resting just above his member, and just knowing that has your hips jerking.

leon's hands trail under your shirt, which is now almost completely exposing you, smoothing over your ass. he makes a growling noise, and in that moment you know he's discovered you're without panties. "you're gunna kill me." he mumbles, nipping your bottom lip and then soothing the sting with his tongue.

your hands run up through the back of his head, messing his hair. "leon," you pant, nipples pebbled and hard where they rest against him. "I need to feel you."

he doesn't answer you—not with words. his hands squeeze the meat of your ass again and spin you both around, slowly to not startle you, and walk you into his room. it's completely dark in there besides the single stream of moonlight through the window, leaving a barley there streak of light across the pillows.

leon blindly finds the bed, and once he feels the mess of blankets against his knees he lowers you to the mattress. he hovers over you, eyes flickering over your flushed face so intently—so tenderly. you sigh, a small smile blossoming on your kissed out lips.

it makes him follow suit, the two of just smiling at one another for what feels like the first time. slowly, one of leon's hands finds the side of your face, cupping your jaw while his thumb runs along the hallow part of your cheek soothingly. "you okay?"

your heart clenches, and you lean into the warmth of his palm. your eyes flutter as you nod, "yes. are you?"

"better than okay," he whispers, leaning in and reconnecting your lips. this kiss isn't hurried like the others. this one feels like molasses, slow and sweet and you can't get enough.

leon’s hand trails down your face, over the pulse point of your neck and down your t-shirt covered torso. he pays extra attention to your boobs, tugging and palming your nipples until you're arching into him.

when he reaches your hip bones—the edge of your shirt—he curses, pressing an open mouthed kiss to each side of your hips, and then another one right below your navel. your breath catches, watching as leon’s eyes flicker up yours—so close to where you want him.

leon smirks, kissing the inside of your thigh delicately. "what do you want from me, baby?"

the nickname makes your hips jerk, a breathless moan leaving you involuntary. leon's smirk deepens, hands sliding up your thighs and pushing them further apart, displaying your glistening bare pussy.

"I want you to touch me," you mumble desperately, hands fisting the bedding under you like your life depends on it.

"speak up baby." leon taunts, blowing air on your warmth.

you jaw goes slack as you squirm and wiggle against the mattress. "I want you," you swallow roughly, "to touch me."

he licks his bottom lip like he's in front of a five course meal, "good girl." leon mumbles before licking a firm strip up your pussy, tasting and spreading your sticky arousal. you gasp loudly, too loudly for sharing a house with other people, when he sucks on your clit.

leon hums at the sound, and it vibrates through your folds in a way that makes you shiver. his hands massage the meat of your thighs as he devours your pussy, keeping you spread open for him.

your panting, back arching off the bed as your core flutters pathetically. "i'm close." you whine, fingers threading through leon's hair and tugging his roots.

leon slurps your arousal, sucking your clit deliciously. just when you're about to teeter off the edge, he pulls away from you. his chin and lips are drenched in your juices, and when he smirks you just about melt.

"I wanna see your face when you cum," he admits shamelessly, already beginning to remove his sweatpants. his hard cock springs free, thick and red as it brushes against his stomach. as if leon couldn't get any more sexy, he's got the perfect cock as the cherry on top.

you bring your bottom lip between you teeth, watching him shamelessly. he catches your gaze, "take your shirt off."

and you do, quickly, like you can't take it off fast enough. you throw it to the floor and leon climbs back over your body, pressing tickling kisses against your neck that have you giggling and squirming.

"you're beautiful." leon hums, pressing a deep kiss to your mouth. you can taste yourself on his lips and tongue, and that makes you moan. he pulls away, forehead resting against yours, "I don't have a condom."

you shake your head, "i'm clean. I haven't been with anybody since—" since I met you.

you don't need to say it. leon knows. "me either." he kisses you again, chaste. "and i’m clean, if you’re sure?"

"yes," you tell him, "i've never been more sure of anything."

he smiles, lining his aching tip up with your sticky entrance. slowly, leon eases into your warmth. you both sigh shakily, mouth agape as leon's cock slides further and further into your pussy.

"holy fuck," he moans, "you feel so good."

you whine, wrapping your legs around his lower back, keeping him as close as possible. the feeling is electric and like nothing you've experienced before. it's years of tension, frustration, unspoken words and secret longing combined, and it feels like heaven.

leon begins rolling his hips into you, a slow pace that has your toes clenching and pussy oozing. your back arches off the bed, hands sliding up his back, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he rocks into your heat.

he curses lowly, the band in his stomach tightening as his impending orgasm nears. "your pussy feels so fucking good wrapped around my cock."

"oh my god, leon—mhpm." you mewl, walls fluttering and squeezing as he continues his now feverish pace. the bed begins to creak from the movement, a sound that surely gives away exactly what you and leon are up to. but neither of you care.

"fuck," he grunts, grabbing your leg and hiking it further up, almost holding it flush to your chest. the new angle is exactly what you needed, leon's tip kissing that spongy spot inside you repeatedly.

"i'm gunna cum." you whine, hands sliding around to his front, cascading up his chest to wrap around his neck. "don't stop." you beg desperately, jaw going slack at a particularly rough thrust.

"you like that?" leon asks, eyeing your pinched eyes and flushed face. he pushes on the back of your thigh, stretching you open even more and more. you shout, mumbling yes over and over again. "yeah?" he teases.

he thrusts into you three more times and you cum. you exhale breathily, falling back against the bed as your limbs go weak. your skin feels like it's on fire in the best possible way. leon's jaw goes slack, hips jutting into yours as he reaches his climax.

the feeling of him filling you up with his cum, pumping into into you softly with lazy thrusts has you cumming again, much softer than your first orgasm, but still powerful enough to have you whining.

your eyes flutter closed, exhaustion creeping into your bones. leon breathlessly kisses the line of your jaw, and then your cheek, then your nose and finally your lips. you smile into it, holding his face to yours tenderly.

"you okay?" he whispers, pushing some hair off your sweaty forehead.

you hum, kissing him one more time quickly. "yeah." you say, "i'm definitely tired now."

he grins fondly, dick twitching where it's still sheathed inside you. slowly, leon guides himself from your warmth, watching as his cum spills out your hole and drips onto the bedding. it’s truly a sight.

he curses, already half hard again. you giggle, and leon swears he's never heard a more precious sound. he cleans up your shared mess gently, pressing kissing against your skin every few seconds. it's so comforting and soft it has you falling asleep.

when leon finally climbs back up the bed, he pulls you against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. he pulls the blanket over your naked bodies, and kisses your forehead, so softly that you barley feel it. "go to sleep, y/n."

and you do.

—

you take a deep breath, letting the muskoka air fill your lungs completely before you let yourself exhale. the night sky is full of stars and constellations, adding to the already perfect night.

you can hear the chatter of the last half of rehearsal dinner from up the house, lauren's laughter finding your ears like it usual does. you're both cacklers, and connor often dubs you two as the cackle twins.

the dinner has been beautiful, as expected. speeches made you tear up and laugh at the same time, and the food was so delicious is made you moan.

you woke up this morning before leon, the sunshine streaming through the open curtains and caring him in golden light. seeing him so soft and tender was everything, but the unknown of everything between you still lingers in your chest.

yes, you had sex. yes, you kissed again. but what does that mean?

you left before he woke up.

the day had been so busy with you helping lauren and getting ready for rehearsals, that you didn't see leon again until the dinner. seeing him made your heart race, and skin heat. leon looked so handsome in his suit, hair styled and casual smile on his face—chatting with connor from across the table.

you thought you could handle your feelings and emotions through the duration of dinner, but that changed as connor made his toast—a stupidly perfect toast about love that made you think of leon.

you caught his eyes through it, and he sent you a sad smile. it breaks you. you're scared of the unknown, and you want him so badly. but not knowing what leon wants is torture, and frankly it’s holding you back.

so once all the toasts are done and dinner conversation is in full swing, you slip out of the house and make your way down to the waters edge. hoping to collect yourself. the sound of the water and the crickets are soothing as you look out on to the lake. you wrap your arms around yourself, taking another deep and much needed breath.

the sound of someone walking on the rocks behind you makes you spin around, white silk dress swaying around your thighs at your sudden movement.

"hey," leon says gently, hands shoved in his pant pockets. he's no longer wearing his jacket, he must've ditched it before coming out to find you.

"hey." you parrot.

he comes up next you, arm brushing yours. "you okay?"

you hum lightly, nodding once. "just taking a breather." your emotions betray your body as your lip quivers, a wave of fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

leon spots them instantly, rounding to your front to look at you properly. "hey," he starts tenderly, brushing some loose hairs away from your face, "why are you upset?"

"i'm just...emotional." you mutter pathetically, shrugging your shoulder.

leon frowns. "about the speeches?"

"yes," you say, "no. I don't know."

he clicks his tongue, tucking your hair. his touch makes you shiver. "what about it is making you upset?" leon asks, words patient and curious.

you shake your head, wiping at your tears with the back of your hand. "it's stupid," you laugh half-heartedly, "and I really should get back inside and be present! this is about lauren and connor, not me-"

"hey," leon stops you, "no. lauren and connor are fine. it's just me and you right now, okay? what's going on that head."

that's a good question. what is going on inside your head. for years you believed that leon hated you. you were certain of it. you two would always bicker and fight, couldn't be in the same room without it getting hostile. but the past few weeks something has undeniably changed.

you sigh, voice wobbly as you begin to speak. "for years, you only looked my way if you wanted to argue."

leon frowns, reaching out to cup your jaw. "that's not true." he says with determination, brows pulled so tightly that you'd be surprised if the indent between them isn't permanent.

"it is," you huff, "and sometimes I think that's still the case." a new wave of tears and doubt well in your eyes, heart thumping against your ribs wildly. "you hate me, leon."

a moment passes, leon looking down at you with an unreadable, almost sad expression. your words couldn't be farther from the truth. leon didn’t lie when he said he never hated you. it always been the opposite for him. "okay, sure," leon starts, "I hate you."

you gulp, eyes never leaving his.

leon continues, "I hate that I know your favourite necklace was gift from your grandma when you turned 18. I hate that I know you fiddle with your rings when you're nervous, and that you'll do anything for lauren and your friends, even if that means putting up with my terrible fucking attitude. I hate that I know your favourite lipgloss is bubblegum flavoured, and that your dream pet is a snake but there's also something about them that scares you. I hate that I made you hate me, because I sure as hell have never hated you."

you sniffle, shifting on your feet as his words warm your skin. you've never told leon about yourself, but yet he knew you well enough to know them. he knows you. you knows where you live, and your nail colour. he knows you cross your arms when you get defensive and that you love beer nuts.

"then why?" you ask gingerly "why did you act like you did?"

leon doesn't say anything. his jaw ticks, teeth clenched so hard that it hurts. leon's other hand comes up to your face, caressing your tear stained skin in his calloused palms. his lips part, tongue sliding along his bottom lip. "because I love you."

you blink. "what?"

"I love you like crazy," leon repeats, a breathy laugh following. "I loved you since you walked into that bar with lauren, all smiles and wearing that pretty yellow dress. sure, you scared me but you also intrigued me. when you started fighting with me, which was warranted, there was a part of me that hated it, but another part of me loved it because it was the only time you'd give me the time of day."

his thumbs smooth over your rosy cheeks as he continues, "so i'd argue with you and fight with you because I knew that would make you look at me and talk to me. and i'm so sorry. i'm sorry that I hurt you and embarrassed you and gave you all these mixed signals the past two weeks. i'm sorry that I was falling in love you more and more each day and didn't say anything until now."

"you love me?"

leon must think you're feeling skeptical about his confession, because his thumbs still on your cheeks and his face falters. "i'm not fucking with you."

"you love me." you state.

"yes," he breathes, "i've never not loved you."

"leon."

"I know. i'm sorry."

"leon...stop."

"you can hit me or smack me or drown me in this lake if that helps. i've been awful to you and then sending you mixed signals when it's the last thing I wanted to do. I got greedy with the sex and kissing but-"

"kiss me." you interrupt firmly, sliding your hands up his stomach and resting your palms flat against his pecks

"what?" leon breathes, blinking hard as your words register in his head.

"you heard me, leon," you smile, "kiss me. now."

and he does. leon kisses you with nothing besides tenderness and pure love, lips caressing and sliding along yours in a way that makes your knees feel weak. your hands slide around to his back, squeezing his muscles firmly as he continues the kiss. his tongue slides along yours, sending butterflies down your body. you pull away, both of you breathless and so in love.

"I love you too, leon." you smile, pressing another chaste kiss to his plump lips. "and I forgive you, if you can forgive me too."

he shakes his head, "there's nothing for me to forgive."

leon kisses you again, picking up right where you left off. his hands slide down your body, down to your lower back as his thumb glide over your tail bone in a soothing, gentle motion. the kiss doesn’t last nearly long enough, and you whine when he pulls away.

he grins, squeezing the flesh of your ass. "we should probably go back inside. lauren might bite my head off if I steal her best friend away any longer."

"are you sure we can't just go have a quickie first?" you ask playfully, fiddling with the hairs at the base of his neck.

he shakes his head in disbelief, a fond smile pulling at his face. "you're a freak."

"at least i'm not a freak who hates beer nuts," you tease, poking his stomach, "but forces himself to eat them."

leon wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as the two of you make your way back up to the house. "ah, but you see, I did it for the greater good."

you snort. "and what greater good was that?"

"getting the girl."

—

follow up part here

#🤍⊹˚₊ cute and hughesy fic #leon draisaitl imagine #leon draisaitl fic #leon draisaitl x reader #leon draisaitl smut #nhl smut #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey smut #hockey imagine #hockey fanfiction #nhl x reader

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suliigwp · 11 days ago

Note

Hi, I love your writing, anyway I have a request: could you maybe write something like reader is the passenger princess and like even though she has a drivers lincense (or not) he won’t let her drive or give up her seat as passenger princess, or just being overly overprotective, of course only if your comfortable and want to write this. I would like Max Verstappen/Charles Leclere/Oscar Piastri (but it’s your choice Ofc, write with whom your comfortable or want). No pressure to write it it’s just a thought.

Thanks xoxo

-🐨

Passenger Princess?

Charles Leclerc x Reader | Fluff

SULI: Hiii 🐨anon! I'm so glad you're enjoying everything! This was a cute idea and I hope I gave you something you'll like! I chose Charles cus....idk— also change of structure how do yall like it?

Word count: 1.2k seems so much shorter lol

Warnings: none

SUMMERY: Charles never lets his girlfriend drive.. until one day he's too sick to even try

It started as a joke—just something small, something you said offhand once while climbing into Charles’ Ferrari.

"I'm always the passenger. One day I'm stealing the keys."

He had laughed, brushed a hand over your thigh once you were seated, and mumbled, "Never gonna happen."

But today, you were determined.

The weather was perfect—blue skies, not too hot, and Charles had the whole day off. He had slept in for once, you made breakfast, and now the two of you were heading out for errands and maybe a spontaneous ice cream detour. You stood by the car, holding the keys he’d carelessly tossed onto the hallway table.

And you didn’t open the passenger door.

Instead, you dangled the keys between two fingers with a playful grin, stopping him mid-step on the driveway.

"Come on. Let me drive today."

Charles blinked at you, like you’d said something truly shocking. His sunglasses slid down his nose a little as he looked at you.

"You?"

"Yes. Me," you said proudly, already rounding to the driver’s side.

Charles was at the car in two long strides. Before you could open the door, he gently pressed a hand to the top of the frame and leaned into your space with the kind of casual intimacy that always made your breath hitch.

“You have a license, sure,” he said, voice warm, teasing. “But you don’t have the right vibes.”

“The what?”

He grinned. “Passenger princess vibes. It’s your whole personality. You sit. You snack. You tell me I’m speeding when I’m two kilometers over. You pick playlists with songs I hate and then sing all the wrong lyrics. You’re a professional passenger.”

You pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know.” He took the keys from your hand like he’d done it a hundred times, because he had. His fingers brushed yours for a second longer than necessary. “Come on. I even brought your favorite drink.”

He opened the door for you and gestured with the exaggerated elegance of someone ushering royalty into a carriage.

“…You bribed me?"

“I prepared,” he corrected. “Now get in.”

You huffed, sliding into the passenger seat anyway. Because truthfully, he was right. You did like this. The way he adjusted your seatbelt before his own. The way he checked the mirrors twice before pulling out, even though he didn’t need to. The way he always placed his hand on your thigh the second the car hit a red light.

He was quiet as he drove through the streets of Monaco, one hand on the wheel, the other still holding yours where it rested on your leg.

“You know…” he said eventually, in a softer voice, “I don’t like you driving.”

You turned to look at him. “Why?”

Charles shrugged, his grip on your fingers tightening slightly. “It’s stupid. But every time you’re not in the car with me, I think about things. What if someone runs a red light? What if they’re not paying attention? You’re good, but they aren’t. And I can’t… I don’t like not being in control.”

You were quiet for a moment, letting that sink in. He didn’t say things like this often—not unless you dug beneath all the sarcasm and dry humor. But when he did, it always hit straight in your chest.

“Charles,” you murmured, watching the way the sunlight caught his profile, all sharp jaw and fluttering lashes. “You can’t protect me from everything.”

He turned toward you at the next stoplight, looking at you fully now. His expression was more serious than you expected.

“But I can try.”

The silence after was warm. Heavy. You squeezed his hand once, gently, then reached for the aux.

“I’m picking the playlist.”

He made a dramatic groaning sound. “Please not the Taylor Swift live version again.”

You smirked as the opening chords of “Cruel Summer” filled the car. He groaned louder.

“I knew it.”

“You love it.”

“I tolerate it,” he muttered, but you didn’t miss the way he smiled the second your voice joined the chorus, full-volume, off-key, dramatic. The kind of singing only someone who felt safe could do.

As the car turned onto the coast road, Charles reached across the center console and laced your fingers together again.

“You’re my favorite passenger,” he said quietly. “Stay that way, yeah?”

...

It started simple enough.

He had a migraine. A real one. The kind that made even Charles—Charles Leclerc, Mr. “I’m fine, let’s go to the simulator for five more hours”—wave a little white flag and toss you the car keys from where he was laying on the couch, arm flung over his eyes like a fainting Victorian widow.

“Can you drive?”

You caught the keys mid-air, heart doing a quiet little drum solo.

He had never let you drive with him in the car before.

“Like... actually drive?” you asked carefully. “With you in the passenger seat?”

Charles just groaned. “Yes. I can’t even see straight. Just get us to the pharmacy. Please.”

You nodded slowly, staring at him with suspicion. “You sure? You once flinched when I tried to park at Carrefour.”

“That was one time.”

“I tapped the curb.”

“You mounted the curb.”

You grinned, sliding on your sunglasses. “So I’m driving, then?”

He let out something between a sigh and a prayer. “Just—please. Slowly.”

Fifteen minutes later...

Charles was gripping the door handle with white knuckles.

Not because you were reckless. No, no.

That was the problem.

You were driving smoothly. With control. With F1-grade spatial awareness.

You anticipated traffic lights. You used turn signals like religion. You coasted through a tight Monaco roundabout like it was a warmup lap.

And worst of all?

You were silent.

He couldn’t tell if you were this good all along... or if you were now performing out of spite.

He turned his head slowly. “Why are you… like this?”

“Like what?” you said, not even glancing over, eyes laser-focused on the road.

“Calm. You’re driving like you’ve done Le Mans.”

“I’ve done worse.”

He blinked. “Worse?”

You smirked. “High school carpool lane. Full of hormonal teenagers and mini coopers. I survived.”

Charles choked.

You took a left turn so cleanly it could’ve been automated. “You okay?”

“I’m… fine.” He glanced at the speedometer. “You’re exactly on the limit.”

“Mhm.”

“You brake before the sign, not after.”

You nodded once. “Correct.”

He blinked again. “Are you mocking me?”

“No,” you said sweetly. “I’m proving something.”

“…What?”

You glanced at him, smile wicked. “That I’m a better driver than you.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked down at his hands, then at the road.

“You know what hurts most?” he whispered.

“That I’m better?”

“That you’re not even trying.” He looked betrayed. “You’re not even flexing.”

You pulled into the parking spot. Perfectly centered. Straight lines. Reverse. Brake. Done.

“Seriously,” he said, stunned. “Where did you even learn to drive like that?”

Then turned to him with a smile that made his soul evaporate.

You smiled, just a little smug. “I learned from the best.”

His whole face softened instantly.

“Aww—”

“My dad.”

Silence.

You smiled sweetly.

Charles blinked. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

You patted his cheek with mock sympathy. “You’ll be okay.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt.

Charles just sat there, completely stunned.

You leaned over, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “I let you have it. I let you drive all the time.”

“…Out of pity?”

“No, baby. Out of love.”

He let out a long, defeated sigh. “I’m never recovering from this.”

And yet, the second you stepped out of the car, he was already texting Pierre.

"she drove.

she’s better than me.

she parallel parked. i need therapy."

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hatethysinner · 29 days ago

Note

Saw your requests are open and I’ve been thinking about OC from Let the Wrong One In being fascinated by Remmick’s fangs once he finally reveals himself as a vampire to her and admiring his other vampiric features (claws, those Bambi-from-hell eyes). In all his 1,000+ yrs Remmick is shocked he inspires awe not fear for once

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡꜱ

a/n: YES YES YES YES YES I LOVE YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS! originally i wanted to just do a small domestic fluff fic but i got carried away bc this theme was so good so i knew i needed to format this at least semi-right 😭. regardless, it was such a needed break for me from writing the current behemoth i'm working on now. i played with the vampire lore a little bit, don't hate me </3. hope y'all enjoy! this will be an add-on to let the wrong one in, but there's no need to read it before this one (though i do highly recommend it).

wc: 4.3k

You’d always known there was something off about him.

Not wrong, exactly. Just… other.

It wasn’t just the way he’d limped through your threshold that first day, smoking at the skin like meat on a spit. Or how he never cast a reflection in the window behind the stove, even though the lamp always burned bright. You’d chalked it up to trauma at first. Sickness. Strange blood and painful burns.

But now, a week on, with the worst of the wounds healed and the swelling down to faint scars, there were things you couldn’t unsee.

He didn’t breathe when he slept.

Or if he did, it was shallow and irregular, more a mimic of habit than need. He'd go so still that you'd catch yourself leaning close to check his chest, just to make sure he was still there. Still real. Still resting in the quilt you’d laid out for him, curled at the edge of the hearth like a dog that didn’t believe it had earned the bed yet.

And he never left the house during the day. Not once. Whatever needed doing, he found a way to do it inside. Tinkering with the old radio, rearranging the pantry by scent alone, folding your laundry into neat, obsessive little squares though you never asked. He swept the floors more often than they needed it, flipped through your recipe book like it was scripture. Quiet, always. Careful, always. And secretly, it was your favorite time. The hush of morning light creeping through the curtains, the gentle rustle of him moving from place to place, like he couldn’t bear to sit still unless you asked him to.

But some nights, never on a pattern, never with warning, he’d vanish. You’d wake to cold sheets and the door left just barely ajar, hinges greased silent, latch clicked shut behind him. He always returned before sunrise, soaked in swamp water and silence. His boots left damp prints on the porch, and you’d hear him at the basin, cloth slapping water, breath low and quick like he was trying not to wake you. Sometimes he’d hum, something ancient and broken, as if to stitch himself back together before you saw him again.

And then there were the teeth.

He didn’t hide them anymore. Not the way he did the first night, lips tight and showing just enough to leave space for reasonable doubt. Now he let them rest where they were. Jagged and perfect, sharper than they had any right to be, glinting white in the oil lamp’s glow. You’d see them when he smiled, when he got too pleased with himself over something simple, like organizing your jars alphabetically or stacking your firewood into perfectly symmetrical towers. That grin would slip out before he could tuck it back. Not sheepish. Just… exposed.

And his eyes, God, his eyes.

They were still that endless, brilliant blue. But sometimes, when the light caught them just right, they glinted red. Not bright. Not obvious. Just a shimmer beneath the surface, like an ember curled deep in a log, waiting to be stoked. They never glowed, but you saw the way they shimmered in the dark. Watching you. Always watching.

He didn't try to hide it anymore. Not fully.

And you weren’t scared.

You told yourself that a lot lately. You weren’t scared. Curious, maybe. Studious. Alert in the way you were when you spotted a new plant blooming near the edge of the yard. Not afraid, just aware. You’d lived with strange things before. Nature never asked permission to be unknowable. Neither, it seemed, did Remmick.

He’d taken to helping you make tea.

He said he liked the smell. Said it reminded him of places he didn’t quite remember. The way he said it made your skin prickle. Like the memory was too old, or too far, or not quite his anymore.

You watched him now, standing at your counter, sorting dried chamomile and rose hips into little cloth sachets. He moved slowly, precisely. His hands were always gentle, careful not to bruise the petals. But the way his claws, because that’s what they were, now, no denying it, clicked faintly against the mason jars told you he was fighting to keep them sheathed.

They weren’t long. Not monstrous. But they were sharp, curved, and wickedly clean. Manicured like talons.

You didn’t ask about them.

You didn’t ask why his hands trembled when he held the lavender. Or why he never touched the garlic strung above the door. Or why he flinched, just barely, when you kissed his temple the night before.

You didn’t ask.

You just watched. Waited.

He hadn’t told you what he was.

But your body already knew.

And the strangest part? He looked peaceful like this.

Not natural. But calm. Almost happy.

You’d caught him humming again. Not always. Just at night, when he thought you were asleep. Soft, tuneless melodies, like lullabies spoken in a language you didn’t recognize. You could feel them in your bones more than your ears. They made your garden bloom early. They made the wind hush.

Remmick glanced over his shoulder now, catching you watching him from your seat near the hearth. His face split into a shy smile, fangs peeking through.

“Ain’t mean to wake ya,” he said.

“You didn’t,” you replied.

He nodded, eyes dropping, fingers twitching over the herbs. “Just… couldn’t rest. Thought I’d help.”

You rose, walking slowly toward him, bare feet padding against the warm wooden floor.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. But you saw it anyway. The way his breath hitched. The way his fingers went still.

You stood beside him.

Close.

Close enough to see the red shimmer in his eyes under the lamplight.

Close enough to see the way his pupils dilated, wide and searching.

Close enough to know.

You reached for a bundle of chamomile, brushing his hand as you did.

It wasn’t cold.

Not anymore.

Still, his eyes flicked to yours.

Waiting.

Wondering.

Bracing for what you’d say next.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

Tomorrow, he’d slip up again. He’d reveal something.

And you’d be ready.

Your gut was always right.

It didn’t matter what others called it. Instinct, a gift, women’s intuition. You’d never been wrong when your stomach twisted. Not once. It wasn’t loud or flashy. Just a slow tug behind your navel, a soft unease like a sour note in a favorite song. Sometimes it whispered hours before the storm clouds rolled in. Other times, it waited until the quiet part of the day, when the air felt too still, and the cicadas had gone silent.

Today had started off just like the others.

You rose early, the way you always did. Dawn was still stretching itself over the trees when your feet touched the floor, and Remmick was already awake.

He didn’t say much when he greeted you. He rarely did. Just looked at you in that quiet, reverential way of his and passed you your robe without a word.

Together, you stepped out into the garden.

He followed your lead, of course. Always did.

Remmick didn’t crouch or dig or weed unless you asked him to. But he hovered just close enough to watch, close enough to learn. His eyes never left your hands. Not when you teased a beetle off your basil, not when you pinched the browning leaves off your peppermint, not when you leaned in close to whisper to your echinacea like it was an old friend that needed gentle coaxing.

And the thing was, he never laughed.

Never made a joke about it. Never offered some flippant remark about talking to plants or casting spells or needing company bad enough to speak to the dirt. No, he watched like you were a priestess at work. Like the words you offered your roots and petals meant something holy. He never repeated them back, never tried to mimic your tone. But sometimes, you’d find him murmuring to the lemon balm when he thought you weren’t listening.

By midday, the sun had grown fat in the sky.

Remmick had long excused himself, as he always did when the heat crested too high. You didn't press him. You never did. He slipped into the house, eyes soft, smile lingering, and left you to your tending.

Later, when you came in smelling of rosemary and sun, the house was cleaner than you'd left it.

The rug had been beaten and shaken. The wood near the back door had been re-nailed. Quietly, expertly. The kettle had been scrubbed until it shone, and your dish rack was full of hand-washed mugs. Your comb, the wide-toothed one, had been repaired, and placed carefully beside your brush, as if he knew it needed fixing and didn’t want you to see it in pieces.

He didn’t say a word about it.

You thanked him. He looked bashful. Tried to shrug it off.

That evening, he read for a while beside you. His head tilted, those sharp eyes scanning every page like they had something to prove. The glow of the oil lamp caught in his lashes, his jaw resting in one palm as he sat curled in the rocking chair across from yours. He didn't speak unless you did.

Then the hour turned late. The light faded.

And your stomach twisted.

He stood up like he always did. Slow, quiet. Said he was going for a walk. That he’d be back before the rooster stirred.

You’d heard it before. And just like every other time, you nodded.

But you didn’t sleep.

Not tonight.

You made tea, soft and floral, and sat in the quiet, letting the warmth from the mug seep into your hands. You didn’t read. Didn’t rock. You just listened.

The wind shifted sometime after two.

You felt it before you heard it.

The trees stopped swaying. The air went still. The kettle, empty and forgotten on the stove, creaked slightly as it cooled.

And then, you heard him.

Not at the door.

Outside.

Past the edge of the house.

Your ears sharpened, straining in the dark as bare branches scratched against the siding. There was a hush of steps moving low and slow along the rear of the house. Too careful for a man just coming home from a midnight stroll. You moved to the window with the light still off, lifting the corner of the curtain only enough to see.

There he was.

Remmick.

Not coming up the porch like a man who belonged.

No. He was skulking, body half-crouched, moving just beyond the reach of the moonlight as he crept toward the back edge of the yard. The swamp.

He was soaked.

Not rain. No rain had fallen.

This was thicker. Darker.

Even from the distance, you could see the smear of it.

Blood.

Not dried. Not old.

Fresh.

You watched as he reached the edge of the water, dropped to his knees, and plunged his hands into the shallows. He scrubbed. Hard. Rough. Like it offended him. Like it burned to wear. His shirt stuck to his back in deep red patches. His arms, even under the dim light, glistened with it.

Still, not his.

Not a wound on him.

His face was twisted in concentration, in something close to shame. Or rage. You couldn’t tell which. And then, like always, he slipped into the water. Up to his elbows, then his shoulders. Rinsed himself in silence.

You didn’t call out.

Didn’t step onto the porch.

Just watched.

When he finished, he stood slow, wrung the water from his shirt with both fists, and turned back toward the house.

And for the first time, you let him catch you watching.

He had already barreled himself through the back door before you could even turn around.

The creak of the hinge hadn’t finished groaning before he was inside, water still dripping from his sleeves, boot soles darkening the kitchen floor plank by plank. The air came in with him. Wet and wild and thick with swamp breath, smelling of bark and iron and something you weren’t quite ready to name.

And yet.

He stood tall.

Not frantic, not pitiful. Not the mess he looked like from the window. He didn’t stumble or stammer, didn’t make excuses or throw himself to your feet.

He just... paused.

Straightened his spine, wet hair falling back from his face, and fixed his eyes on you like a man walking into judgment.

And maybe he was.

He didn’t speak. Not right away.

He waited for you to look at him fully. Your back was still turned, hand resting on the doorframe between kitchen and parlor. He didn’t dare call your name. Just stood in the silence like he’d been preparing for this moment since the first time he appeared, no, threw himself on your humble little porch.

When you finally turned, his whole body seemed to brace.

Not in fear. In readiness.

Like he’d accept whatever came next. Even if it was banishment.

But you didn’t say anything. Not yet.

Your gaze traveled slow. From his soaked boots, caked faintly in the dried silt of the creekbed, up to the hem of his shirt, still clinging damp and dark to his torso, streaked faintly in places with something not-quite mud.

Then to his hands.

They were clean now, scrubbed raw. Red at the knuckles, scraped slightly where bark or stone had resisted him. And still he kept them at his sides, fingers relaxed, not clenched. No trembling.

His composure was deliberate.

He wanted you to see it.

And then, his eyes.

You’d always known his eyes weren’t right. Not fully.

Blue, yes. Deeper than any human blue ought to be. Not clear like the sky or shallow like lakewater. His were darker. Silted and strange. There was a depth in them, a heaviness behind the hue, like they were holding onto something old. None of this was new to you.

But tonight, they gleamed.

A red had bloomed there. No longer just a thread, but a slow-spreading stain beneath the iris, curling and pulsing like something alive. It throbbed with rhythm, like a heartbeat made visible, overtaking the soft blue with something hotter, hungrier. It wasn’t rimmed around the edge. It moved, filling the center outward, pushing into the color like ink dropped in water, stubborn and seeping. It didn’t look human. It didn’t try to. But it didn’t frighten you either.

You’d never seen eyes try so hard to stay soft.

He saw your gaze catch on it.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t hide.

Instead, he smiled.

Soft. A little strained. But real.

“Was hopin’ you were sleepin’.”

His voice still had that low, careful lull to it. Familiar. Full of the same patience he used when helping you dry rosemary or stirring your teas so they wouldn’t scorch. But underneath, it frayed. Just slightly. Like he was trying not to fray with it.

You didn’t smile back.

You stepped aside and let him pass.

Remmick took it as the invitation it was.

He walked past you without brushing your arm, though his body ached to. You could see it in the way his shoulder nearly tilted toward you, then pulled itself back like a tide fighting gravity. He stopped just shy of the kitchen, not daring to sit.

You followed.

The silence dragged.

He stood near the hearth where no fire had been lit, hands clasped lightly in front of him like he was visiting someone’s grandmother’s house, unsure where to step.

You took your time.

Watched the beads of water sliding from his shirt’s hem, down the inside of his thighs, pooling gently at his boots.

“Ain’t mean to track it in,” he said, glancing down at the muddied trail behind him.

You raised a brow.

“You’ll clean it.”

That made his throat twitch, like he wanted to apologize but knew better than to say sorry again. Knew it wouldn’t fix a thing.

So he did something else instead.

A pivot. Gentle. Strategic.

“Ya look real pretty in this light.”

His voice had dropped, syrup-smooth, the way it always did when he was trying to charm his way into something you hadn’t decided to give. But there was nothing slick behind it. No real expectation.

Just... admiration.

You didn’t thank him. You didn’t look away.

“You clean?”

The question cut straight through whatever careful rhythm he’d been trying to establish.

Remmick blinked.

His head tilted, a soft nod following.

“Best I could manage. Swamp’s cold tonight.”

“Still smell it.”

He dropped his gaze then. Just briefly.

“I scrubbed.”

“I know.”

He took a slow breath.

“I’d tell ya it ain’t what it looks like,” he said. “But that’d be a lie.”

You didn’t answer. Just crossed your arms.

He continued.

“I tried to be quiet. Didn’t think you’d catch me.”

“You always think that.”

He nodded.

“Foolish of me.”

Another pause.

The clock ticked in the corner. Somewhere far off, an owl called once and was answered.

Then you said, “You got blood on the rosemary.”

That finally cracked him. Just a little.

His mouth parted. A breath caught halfway between guilt and laughter.

“I’ll clean it in the mornin’,” he promised. “Before ya even wake.”

“Damn right, you will.”

He smiled again. Smaller this time. Relieved.

Still, he didn’t ask for forgiveness. Didn’t plead.

Just stood there, soaked through, with a red glint in his eyes and the faint scent of iron clinging to his collar.

And waited.

You didn’t dance around it.

You’d never been one for hemming and hawing, not when the truth sat that close to the surface. And tonight, with the house still holding its breath and the floorboards still damp with the print of his boots, the truth felt loud enough to touch.

“What are you?”

The question wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t spit from the tongue or dragged through suspicion.

It was plain.

Quiet.

Like you already knew the answer, but the word had slipped just out of reach.

Remmick didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t pretend he hadn’t heard you.

He just looked at you, really looked, and for a long, long second, you saw every year behind his eyes trying to decide whether or not to run.

But he didn’t.

He sighed.

And when he did, it wasn’t the sharp exhale of a man trying to find his way out of a lie. It was deep, tired, and slow. The kind of breath you take when a door that’s been closed for too long finally swings open.

“I don’t know what you’d call it now,” he said. “Folks’ve had a lotta names. Over the years.”

You said nothing.

Just tilted your head slightly. Waiting.

He wet his lips. Slowly. Out of habit, not hunger. Like he had to remember how to speak the word, how to say it in front of someone who mattered.

“Vampire,” he said at last. “If that’s still the word folk use. Feels funny in the mouth, but that’s the one most settle on.”

There it was.

Hung there in the space between you. All sharp and simple. No lightning strike, no howl of wind through the windowpanes. Just the word.

And the man still standing where he’d always been.

Your shoulders didn’t twitch. Your hands didn’t clutch the table. You didn’t take a single step back.

You just looked at him.

“That what you are?” you asked, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not just pretendin’? Not just wearin’ someone else’s coat?”

“No, ma’am,” he said, his voice soft. “Ain’t pretendin’. I’ve been this for a long while.”

“How long?”

He swallowed.

The quiet ticked again. The walls felt a little closer.

“Little over a thousand, far as I can figure. Give or take.”

You blinked.

Your expression didn’t change. Not much.

But your breath slowed. Measured. As if your heart knew before your head did that the shape of the world was different now.

“A thousand years,” you repeated.

He nodded once.

“Gimme an exact.”

He gave a dry smile at that. Not smug. Not proud. Just... worn.

“Been hard to keep track. I was born before folk kept good calendars. Or at least before I cared to mark ‘em. But best guess puts me ‘round the 10th century,”

You absorbed that in silence.

He kept talking.

“Didn’t always look like this. Used to be more beast than man. Took a long time to... settle. To figure out what the hunger wanted. To learn how to pass.”

His voice didn’t shake.

But there was something behind it now. Not grief. Not guilt.

Something older.

Weariness.

“And now?”

He exhaled again. Shoulders dropping just slightly.

“Now I do what I can. Hide where I need to. Feed how I must.”

You didn’t ask what “how I must” meant. Not yet.

Instead, you stepped forward.

Slowly.

One foot in front of the other, your steps soft as you crossed the room until only the kitchen table separated you.

You didn’t reach for him. Not yet.

Your eyes flicked up to the red still faint in his irises.

“I knew you weren’t right,” you murmured.

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said. “You never scared me.”

That made something twist in his expression. Not relief, exactly.

Something more like grief, bent toward gratitude.

“I shoulda told ya sooner.”

“You shoulda. But I reckon if you had, I wouldn’t’ve listened.”

He looked down at that.

And then, like your words finally gave him permission, he spoke.

“There are rules,” he said quietly. “Things that ain’t changed since I was first turned. Can’t cross thresholds without invitation. Sun burns me... as you know. Fire hurts. And the thirst never really ends. You just learn how to live beside it.”

You nodded.

Still, you didn’t look afraid. Just thoughtful.

“And the blood?” you asked. “Yours? Or someone else’s?”

His eyes flicked up quick.

He shook his head. “Not yours. Not ever. I wouldn’t-”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Remmick went still.

Then, slowly, he nodded again.

“I don’t take what ain’t freely given. Not anymore. Haven’t in a long time. And when I do... it’s animals. Mostly. Or people who trade it for coin, like a service. Or...” he hesitated, “... folk I trust.”

You studied him.

Your gaze raked down his frame. The water still glinting off his collarbone, the faint steam still curling off his sleeves in the warm air of the room.

“And tonight?”

He took another breath.

“Someone offered,” he said quietly. “City man. Got a house on the edge of the woods. Said he liked the teeth.”

That made you blink.

You let out a short exhale through your nose. Not quite a laugh. But close.

“And you just took off to go nibble on a stranger?”

He gave you a pained look.

“I didn’t want to wake ya.”

“You did anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

You stared at him.

Then, slowly, stepped around the table and sat yourself on his lap.

His posture tensed again, like he didn’t know what you were about to do.

But all you did was take his chin in your hand.

Turned his face toward the lamplight.

Looked again at the teeth. Always just slightly bared now, long and sharp like they’d never fully retract. Looked into those bloody-blue eyes. Looked at the man who had collapsed on your doorstep and gifted you a gold necklace and kissed your mouth like it was the last prayer he had left.

And instead of fear, you felt fascination.

You leaned in, slowly, until your breath brushed his cheek. Watched the way his lips parted as if he thought you might kiss him again. You didn’t. Not yet. Your hand moved instead, one palm against his jaw, thumb dragging lightly along the edge of one long canine.

He shivered.

You tilted your head, narrowed your eyes just slightly.

“They’re sharp,” you murmured, more to yourself than him.

“I know,” he whispered, throat working. “I can cover ’em, if you’d like. Hide ’em again-”

You slipped your finger past his lips.

He froze.

Mouth open, barely breathing, as your fingertip traced the edge of his fang. It nicked you. Just barely. Just enough to break skin.

You felt it. That tiny sting.

And giggled.

Quiet and unexpected.

His eyes widened.

You pulled your hand back, sucked the drop of blood from your finger like it was stray droplet of nectar, and shook your head with something close to delight. “Damn things are sharp.”

He stared at you like you’d just blasphemed in a church.

“You ain’t scared?”

“Should I be?”

He didn’t answer.

Because you both knew the answer already.

Instead, you took his hand.

Turned it over, slow and reverent, palm to the low lamplight. Studied the curve of his nails. Longer than they should be, ridged like bone instead of keratin, glinting faintly like glass in the flame’s glow. They were claws. Elegant. Meant for something wild, something ravenous.

And you ran your thumb over them like they were precious stones.

“They look like they hurt,” you murmured.

“They don’t,” he said. “Not unless I want them to.”

You traced the edge of one, then threaded your fingers through his. Held his hand in yours like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He looked down at your hands. At the difference in them, warm and dark, soft and human, against his pale, calloused fingers. It looked impossible. Like everything should’ve stopped to watch it happen.

And still, you kissed him.

Just once.

Soft.

Pressed your lips to his, with the faint taste of your own blood still on your tongue.

His claws didn’t twitch. His fangs didn’t pierce.

He just kissed you back.

Slow and still, like his whole life had been building to that moment and he didn’t dare rush it.

When you pulled away, his eyes hadn’t moved from your face.

“You really ain’t scared,” he breathed.

“No,” you said, lips brushing his. “I think you’re beautiful.”

And for once, Remmick didn’t know what to say.

You held his gaze a while longer.

Then said, “All right.”

His brow creased. “All right?”

“I can work with that.”

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t dare.

Just stared at you with something ancient and awe-struck shining behind his lashes, like the world had cracked open just to let him feel something holy after a lifetime of sin.

You dropped your hand.

“Go dry off. You’re drippin’ on my floors.”

And that was that.

#remmick x reader #remmick #black!fem!reader #black!reader #remmick x black!reader #remmick sinners #remmick x you #sinners #sinners 2025 #inboxxx #remmick fluff #request #monsterfuckers RISE

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