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whoevenisjavier · 1 month ago

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Miller Vs. You

pairing: no outbreak lawyer joel x f! lawyer reader (one shot - 9k words)

synopsis: How dramatic of you to sit in a hotel bar and drink your sorrows away before one of the most important days of your career. And how stupid it is to let a stranger pull you into a night that doesn’t stay behind.

additional tags/content warnings: 18+, mdni, lawyer joel miller, lawyer reader, divorced joel miller, age difference, joel is 55 and reader is 26, enemies to lovers (kinda?), one night stand, pwp, oral sex (f! and m! receiving), i swear harry castillo didn’t to anything wrong

You have a persona you stick to every single workday.

Shoulders back, neutral expression, never angry (because that could get you labeled as being “on your period” by someone with too much time and too little decency), and your voice always at the same pitch and volume: never too loud, never too soft, but always firm enough that you come across as credible.

Nothing shakes you. Nothing can. One trembling hand or a pair of widened eyes could cost you thirty points off your credibility score in the firm, and no one wants to be defended by someone who flinches. Without clients, there’s no money. Simple as that.

Of course, being a twenty-six-year-old woman means you have to prove yourself twice as much as anyone else. Especially in Austin, the beating heart of construction companies and men with large, calloused hands and sunburnt faces who rarely place their trust in a woman your age, dressed in a linen suit and heels.

Shit. What did you get yourself into?

A headache starts to bloom as you finally stop in front of a hotel on your way home, after a fifteen-minute walk. A doorman in full uniform is greeting guests at the end of a red carpet rolled out between the curb and the gilded doors, and every inch of it screams money. Formal wear. Ten thousand forks for ten thousand-course wine-paired dinners.

You glance down at your formal dress and running shoes.

You almost turn around. You had to switch into sneakers for the walk home after work to clear your head, and your heels are tucked inside your bag, but the mere thought of being turned away for your outfit pisses you off even more.

Still, rules are rules. That’s your job, after all.

Tonight, you admit that a drink is absolutely worth the risk and you sure as hell won’t find one at home, where the only alcohol in your fridge is a half-finished bottle of wine that’s probably turned to vinegar by now.

So you take a deep breath, walk up to the doorman, and use that soft, composed voice you save for very specific moments.

“Good evening. I’m not a guest, but I’m here for the bar.”

The doorman gives you a once-over so quick it’s like it never happened. Before he can bring up the dress code, you pull your bag open so he can see your heels. And your makeup pouches. And the empty glass containers that once held your lunch.

“I’ll put the heels on. I swear. I was just walking home from work.”

“Good evening,” he says politely, with an accent you know isn’t from Texas. “Please feel free to use one of the couches in the lobby to put your shoes on before heading to the bar.”

Message received.

Like the law-abiding citizen you are, you follow the rules and switch out your sneakers for your heels before heading down the hotel’s main corridor to the bar. The decor is dark, rich, and moody, and the red carpet is soft beneath your steps as you walk toward the bar counter. The chandeliers, cascading with colored crystals, cast warm amber shadows across the wood ceiling, carved and curved with elaborate detail.

You settle onto a barstool, velvet-cushioned and high-backed, and bury your face in your hands for a moment, breathing in the scent of cedar and the swirl of colognes with notes of wood and tobacco flower.

Today was your mentor’s farewell party at the firm. She got an offer from a major New York firm that she couldn’t turn down, and the non-negotiable requirement was that she start tomorrow. She’s probably already at the airport by now.

As soon as she gave notice, you were promoted to fill the role she left behind, but only so you could inherit all of her massive, complex cases.

Today was goodbye. And tomorrow…

Tomorrow is the first hearing in the class action brought by twenty workers, now represented by you, against one of the country’s biggest construction companies. Tomorrow, you’ll argue for class certification before the judge and the construction company’s attorney, whose name you haven’t bothered to look up. You don’t need to know who it is.

“Judging by that look, I’m gonna suggest a straight whiskey. Neat.”

You glance up at the bartender, who’s offering a sympathetic smile.

“I am in crisis, but not that deep. A Gold Rush, please.”

He nods and steps away to make your drink, and you take a moment to look around.

There are couples whispering to each other, women and men who look way too guilty to actually be couples and are probably taking advantage of the place’s privacy to negotiate their affairs. Or maybe you’re just pathologically judgmental. There are men in suits drinking bottled beer alone, and a group of girlfriends gathered around a glittery, heavily made-up woman wearing a satin sash across her chest that reads “sweet 21.” Probably a bar crawl. This place doesn’t usually attract the young and joyful.

Your Gold Rush lands in front of you and you thank him. The opening bars of “That Don’t Impress Me Much” start playing softly over the speakers, casting just enough of a mood to make you forget, for a minute, why you came here in the first place.

When you pick up your phone, the work group chat is flooded with messages, mostly pictures from earlier tonight, and suddenly not even the magical composition of Shania Twain is strong enough to act as an antidote to the bitter sensation spreading in your stomach. There’s a cake in the photos, cheap champagne and going-away gifts for your mentor. Your smile looks perfectly convincing. No one would ever guess you’re terrified.

Someone sits down two stools to your left, and you glance over out of pure curiosity.

It’s a man in a crisp white shirt, sleeves buttoned just right, tailored slacks, and shoes that shine too much for him to be some intern at an accounting firm nearby. He raises a finger to the bartender, and you catch a glimpse of his salt-and-pepper hair and beard before turning your attention back to your drink. Definitely not an intern.

You text a few of your friends, humming softly along with whatever’s playing from the strategically hidden speakers around the bar. The bartender shares a few pieces of gossip and hotel stories, and you’re entertained, especially by the one about the top-floor suite being haunted.

You ask for a second Gold Rush, but when the glass is placed in front of you, it’s just whiskey. A sad, warm, flat pour of whiskey.

The bartender walks away too fast to notice your attempt to call him back, already serving a new guest who just sat down at the far end of the bar.

“Shit,” you mutter, staring at the amber liquid staring back at you. Maybe this is a sign you’re meant to move on to neat whiskey.

“I think our drinks got switched.”

The voice comes from your left. The man in the white shirt is holding up a Gold Rush, fingers wrapped easily around the glass.

His voice is steady and deep, and his face catches you off guard. He’s handsome in a way that’s just… male. Strong jaw lined with a full beard, lips tinged slightly red from the whiskey.

“Oh,” you say, eloquently. “Yeah. Right. Here.”

You reach out and offer him your glass, and the two of you switch drinks. As you sit back on your stool, you feel his eyes stay on you.

“You looked a little disappointed not to get the whiskey.”

“I thought it was a divine sign I should start drinking it neat.”

“And why would God weigh in on your drink order?”

You rub the side of your face, smiling.

“Because he knows I need it.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“Tough shit, huh?”

You nod, then take another long sip of your Gold Rush. It’s not as good as the first one… more watered down, less honey, more whiskey. Not exactly the ideal mix.

“What about you?” you ask, loud enough for him to know the question’s for him, though you keep your eyes on your glass. “Do you drink it neat because you like it or because you have to? Doesn’t make sense to me, someone choosing to drink whiskey like that.”

“I’ve outgrown drinking to forget. I just like the taste.”

“Okay.”

A low chuckle.

“What was that ‘okay’? You don’t believe me?”

“Hard to believe anyone’s ever too old to drink to get something off their mind.”

“All right. Let’s make a deal. You,” he lifts the glass and points a finger toward you, “tell me what you’re trying to forget, and I’ll tell you mine.”

“Why?”

“Because if you had anything better to do, you wouldn’t be here drinking alone.”

“Maybe I just want to drink in peace without being bothered.”

“I’m too old to be scared off by that kind of line, too. If you really didn’t want to talk to me, you wouldn’t have kept going.”

“Well, look at that. A behavioral analyst?”

Another lopsided smile that’s, unfortunately, way too attractive.

“Close enough.”

The group of girls gets up from their table, heading for the exit while singing in unison, “I’m 21 now, everybody wanna be my guy.” A few people turn to watch, but the man beside you doesn’t take his eyes off you.

You sigh.

“I got promoted. My mentor moved out of town and left me in charge of a load of terrifyingly complex cases that used to be hers.”

“Unless your boss is dumb as a box of rocks, they wouldn’t have promoted you if you didn’t have the chops.”

“I know I’m good,” you say, because it’s true. “Thanks, but I’m not in need of a pep talk about my potential. Your turn.”

He presses his palm flat on the oak bar in front of you both.

“Got divorced eight months ago and still dealing with the headache of splitting assets.”

“Someone trying to screw the other over?”

“No.”

That’s all he says, and that’s where he leaves it. And since you know your limits (at least most of the time) you raise your glass.

“Let’s drink to that.”

The drink has gone lukewarm from sitting too long, and this bar isn’t exactly cold, but the last thing your brain registers is the faint aftertaste of light oak lingering on your tongue, because the man in front of you holds your gaze as he takes another sip of his dull whiskey.

The bartender looks a little impatient when you finally realize he said something. You turn toward him, lowering your glass.

“Sorry. What?”

“Would you two like a table? One just opened up.”

He’s referring to the table where the group of brightly dressed girls had been just minutes ago. It’s clean now, the polished mahogany shining under the bar lights, and then—

“Oh, we’re not—”

“I…” the man next to you says, already standing. His trousers are slightly wrinkled at the thighs, and for some reason, you notice. “Would like a table, because there’s only so long my back can take sitting on one of these stools.”

He walks past you, still holding his glass, and says low enough for only you to hear:

“You’re welcome to join me if you feel like it.”

He smells good: clean, expensive cologne, aftershave with a hint of patchouli, and the scent stays with you even after he’s far enough away. The bartender wipes down the spot where the boring whiskey glass had been and says:

“I can bring your next round to the table.”

You respond with a small, polite smile, and slide off the stool.

In your day-to-day, you deal with nerve-wracking situations, but apparently your nervous system can’t tell the difference between arguing a case against a major corporation and walking over to a good-looking man, because your hands get clammy and your heart beats a little faster with each step.

The table he’s sitting at is a booth in the corner of the bar, one side framed by a half-moon sofa and the other by a wide, comfortable chair. He’s in the chair, on the phone.

When you slide into the booth across from him and set your bag down, he meets your gaze, and there’s something just slightly predatory in the way a small smile curves his lips.

“I’ve gotten ten reports about tomorrow already,” he says into the phone, thumb resting against the edge of his whiskey glass. His voice doesn’t match the smile. It’s colder. “I don’t need another one or more details. I’m the one who wrote the motion to dismiss.”

The bartender brings another Gold Rush. You ask for water. Joel lowers the phone and asks the bartender for something else before returning to the call.

“I thought it’d be the other attorney. No, I don’t know the new one,” he pauses. “Don’t bother looking up her name. What the hell difference would that make?”

He ends the call with a promise to talk again after whatever he’s doing at ten in the morning. The phone disappears into his pocket, and he leans back, lifting his eyebrows at you.

“So you decided to join me.”

“A gift.”

The smile widens.

“Not gonna argue with that.”

Another sip, another glance exchanged.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask. He nods once. “I’m curious, and I have very little shame about it. I want to know why you got divorced.”

“You’re expecting something scandalous or sexy, but I’m gonna let you down. It’s plain vanilla. Bland as a Big Mac, really.”

You laugh.

“That’s fine. It’ll still satisfy my curiosity.”

“Quick version? Work.” Ah yes, the plot of every midlife divorce movie ever made. “Long version involves listing every way we were socially, sexually, and emotionally incompatible, and my job was just the trigger that made us stop lying to each other.”

“For twenty years?”

“Twenty-two,” he corrects. “Yeah. Luckily, I’m not the brooding type and I don’t dwell on much, or I’d be stuck agonizing over spending nearly half my life with someone I didn’t love. And who didn’t love me.”

“Can I say I’m sorry?”

“Please don’t. I’m not sorry, so no reason you should be.”

“Maybe I’m just a helpless romantic with a shattered heart over the idea of a couple splitting up.”

The bartender reappears, placing a small charcuterie board on the table with cheeses, olives, cured meats, and in one corner, a few syrupy cherries. He hands you your water and walks away.

“You don’t strike me as a helpless romantic,” Joel says, gesturing toward the food. “Help yourself.”

He takes a bite of blue cheese and sips the whiskey.

“And you don’t look like a divorced man in crisis at a hotel bar,” you reply, which makes him smile, unfazed. “What do I look like?” you ask.

He doesn’t even have to think.

“Someone who’d sneak out in the middle of the night and leave a fake number on a napkin.”

“So… a player.”

A loud laugh bursts from one of the women at the next table. He watches you in silence, the golden light outlining the shape of his shoulders, the expensive leather watch on his wrist, and you think: I want to see him naked.

“Not a bad thing,” he says. “But to be fair, that’s just a guess. I don’t usually do this.” He explains, “Casual stuff. One-night stands.”

“Are you a romantic?”

“No, but I’m a fan of intimacy. I like knowing how to touch, what to touch, what to say. Waking up, breathing in someone’s skin, wanting more.”

His deep voice vibrates across every nerve in your body like a low-voltage current that leaves only a soft numbness at your fingertips.

“Let me know if I’m crossing a line,” you say.

“I wouldn’t let you cross one,” he replies calmly, full of quiet confidence.

You ignore him. “Have you had a casual thing since the divorce?”

“Just one.”

“And was it good? Because casual relationships usually have zero intimacy.”

“I didn’t expect it to be good. And I don’t expect you to understand or think it’s moral, but when you’ve been with the same person for that long, touching someone else, even post-divorce, feels wrong.”

“And that’s exactly what made it better,” you guess, because humans are painfully predictable like that, even if morality forces them to hide the pattern.

“Bingo.”

“Planning to go for a second round?”

“You mean with casual stuff in general, or with that same person?” he asks, and you shrug. Joel turns the question over like it’s another sip of aged whiskey. He watches as you pick up a cherry and place it between your lips. Finally, he says, “Haven’t had the chance. Either one.”

It’s just the whiskey. That’s the only reason you feel the urge to say until now so intensely that you have to bite your bottom lip to stop yourself.

“And your relationships?” he asks. You don’t answer, so he rephrases: “Your casual ones?”

You reply, “I don’t know your name.”

He leans in slightly.

“Joel.”

You tell him yours and reach out to shake his hand. Joel wraps his larger, soft hand around yours, his thumb resting gently across your knuckles. The gesture was supposed to be playful, a faux handshake, but Joel leans in.

Before he lowers his head completely, though, he turns just enough to look into your eyes. Then he presses a kiss to the top of your fingers.

“A pleasure,” he murmurs. He strokes your hand one last time before laying it gently on the table and sitting upright.

“If you keep this up,” you say, pulling your hand back into your lap, sure he can somehow see how your skin’s tingling even though that’s impossible, “you’ll have a whole collection of casual flings soon enough.”

“Did it work on you?” he asks, so polite, so well-mannered, that even the flirting sounds like something out of a velvet-bound British novel, if not for that slow Texas drawl that turns every sentence ending into something obscene. “Or are you not a fan of casual relationships?”

“It’s the only kind I’ve ever known.”

“What are you, twenty-four?”

“Twenty-six.”

Joel nods slowly, doing the math as he finishes off the last of his whiskey. Then he pulls his wallet from his pocket and flips through a few cards, and you catch a glimpse of an American Express Black before he slides something toward you.

You lean forward to get a better look under the dim light.

Two items. One is a gold State Bar of Texas license card, just like the one in your own wallet, with the name Joel Miller and an issue date of August 1997. Of course. A lawyer. The other is his driver’s license, photo and all, same name, and date of birth. A few seconds of math tell you Joel is fifty-five.

“If I said I’m staying on the top floor and would love for you to come up with me, what would you say?” he asks as you’re still scanning his personal information.

Makes sense now why he showed it to you.

It’s pure luck your hand is still in your lap, because the tremble might’ve given you away. You take a slow sip of water, calm and measured, and steady your breath before answering:

“Make the request properly, and I’ll give you an answer.”

Joel checks his watch, then his empty glass, and as he asks the bartender for the check, he says:

“I’m staying here and heading up to my room. I’d like you to come with me, because I’ve thought about you in my bed an unhealthy number of times in the last few minutes.”

“That’s not a request.”

“Shame. I’m not much of a man who asks.”

The bartender brings the check inside a leather folio embossed with the hotel’s logo, handing it to Joel. Before anything else, though, you place your hand on top of Joel’s documents, still neatly aligned on the mahogany table, and ask the bartender:

“Do you know him?” You gesture toward Joel.

The bartender looks between the two of you. If he finds the situation odd, which would be entirely reasonable, he doesn’t show it.

“Yes, of course. Mr. Miller is a very frequent guest of ours,” he answers politely. You keep your eyes on the bartender, but you can feel Joel watching you, the heat of it brushing against your profile. “A point of pride for the state of Texas, protecting the companies that drive our economy.”

Patriotism in Texas is nothing new, and you’re used to it by now, but the word “pride” still makes you frown. Your train of thought is interrupted when Joel asks the bartender:

“Her Gold Rushes are on here too?” The bartender says yes. Joel murmurs, “Good,” grabs the pen and signs his name on the dotted line. You only catch the M of his last name before the folio is closed. “Thank you.” Then, to you, he says, “Let’s go.”

There’s still plenty of room for you to say no, to back out, to clarify that you were just flirting and your final stop is here, not his hotel room. Joel would accept that and call it a night. But that’s not what you want, which is why you grab your purse, his documents, and rise from your seat along with him.

The elevator ride up to Joel’s hotel room is quiet, and he watches with a half-amused expression as you photograph his ID, hand everything back, then send his information and your location to your best friend. There’s no one else with you, and no one in the hallway to see Joel unlock the room with a keycard and step aside to let you in first.

The soft click behind you signals the door closing, but your eyes are on the freshly made bed and the suitcase in the corner of the room. A MacBook sits in the middle of the white sheets, and there’s a stack of papers on the nightstand. The hotel closet holds three suits on hangers and two pairs of polished shoes.

You’re so nervous you can feel it deep in your stomach, cold and sharp like anxiety always is. It’s reckless, being here with a stranger, but you cling to the shared location and the photos of his ID like a life raft, because you want this so badly.

Let’s just hope you don’t end up on the news tomorrow as the gullible attorney who walked into a psychopath’s trap.

Without even turning around, you know Joel’s behind you.

“I need to ask you something, and I don’t want it to be weird,” you say, facing him.

“Okay.”

“I want to shower first.”

“Damn,” he says, amused. “Here I was bracing for you to say you were into bloodplay.”

“That comes after the shower. I like my fangs nice and clean.”

Joel’s smile is easy, and despite the strangeness of the situation, an unavoidable side effect of any casual encounter, his expression makes the room feel a little less tense. He guides you to the suite, tells you to take all the time you need, and leaves you alone.

From there, everything’s mechanical. Heels off. Then the dress, folded carefully over the marble counter so it won’t wrinkle. Then your underwear. You tie your hair up, turn on the hot water, and step under the strong spray. You only wore a bit of makeup this morning, just a couple dabs of concealer, so you’re free to let the water hit your face, and that feels like a relief.

The heat loosens the tension in your shoulders, and the bathroom quickly fills with steam. Your worries about tomorrow sink down into the back of your mind, into that mental drawer where you keep your mom’s chocolate cake recipe, the names of Game of Thrones characters, and Kant’s theory on ethics and morality. Things that matter, just not right now.

There’s a bottle of body wash that seems way too fancy to be hotel-issued, but you pump some into your palm and work it across your skin. Patchouli.

The door opens again. Joel’s voice comes through the steam:

“Mind if I grab my toothbrush?”

The shower glass is fully fogged over. Still, it matters that he asks, even after you followed him up here fully intending to sleep with him.

“Go ahead and brush your teeth.”

The door opens all the way and closes again. Over the rush of water, you hear him moving at the sink, running the faucet, brushing.

“I’m not usually this weird,” you say, feeling the need to explain. “I swear if this were any other day, I would’ve kissed you the moment we walked into the room. But I came straight from work and didn’t want to torture you with the scent of a ten-hour shift.”

“I didn’t notice anything wrong with the way you smelled, but I get it. After twenty-five, we’ve all got our little rituals,” he says, mouth slightly full of foam, probably. Rinse. Spit. “But for the record? I would’ve dropped to my knees between your legs downstairs if you let me.”

You open the shower door. Joel’s drying his mouth with a small white towel, shirt already off. His chest and arms are solid, broad shoulders, strong build, but there’s a softness to his stomach that makes you want to press yours right up against it.

“Why don’t you come in here?” you say.

Apparently, that’s exactly what he was waiting for.

He unbuckles his belt. As he’s unbuttoning his pants, you slip back into the shower. Seconds later, Joel steps inside behind you, shutting the glass door, and your wet body meets his at the exact moment your mouths collide.

His hands are strong as they grab your hips, and he’s got enough height on you to make you feel entirely surrounded, completely taken. His kiss is firm, just like you imagined it would be, and his body is hot against yours, his torso pressed tight as chills ripple across your skin every time his mouth covers yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer, your breasts pressed against his chest, and take the initiative to part your lips and run your tongue across the seam of his.

Joel inhales sharply, fists your hair at the nape of your neck, and deepens the kiss, his tongue meeting yours. It’s so good and so commanding that your brain wants to shut down completely, which is probably why it’s sending frantic signals to your limbs to just submit, let him take over. But there’s so much you want to touch.

Your wet hands roam over his back, his shoulders. You breathe him in, savoring the way his grip on your ass tightens as he pulls you against him. His cock is hard and hot against the lowest part of your belly.

Your lips part with a wet pop, and his mouth drifts downward to your jaw just as he grabs your hand and wraps it around his thick cock. He covers your fingers with his own and moves them up and down once. Just once. Enough to make it obvious what he wants from you.

You take the opportunity to glance down, watching as your fingers wrap around him, the swollen head disappearing and reappearing with every stroke. He’s firm and soft, and the trimmed hair on his groin is the end of the trail that starts at his navel. You want to lick him from top to bottom.

Your rhythm falters slightly when Joel’s mouth finds your neck, your collarbones, while his hands explore your breasts, waist, hips.

“Fuck, you’re even hotter than I imagined,” he says, lifting your chin with a tug of your hair so he can kiss you again.

“Did you listen to a single thing I said tonight or were you just busy fantasizing about me?”

Joel groans when you press your palm against the head of his cock, a deep, low sound.

“I can do both. Especially when both are this damn interesting.”

The gray in his hair darkens under the steam. He kisses so well it’s borderline unfair, and it’s only because he kisses you again that you almost don’t notice when his hand slides down your back, over your ass, between your legs, and grabs your pussy from behind. His satisfied hum at how wet you are is drowned out by your gasp.

Without hesitation, he sinks his middle finger inside you. Your hand freezes around his cock, but Joel clicks his tongue.

“Keep stroking me,” he murmurs. “Don’t stop.”

Good for Joel if he can multitask. Despite all that talk about women being naturally better at it, tonight you’re failing. He’s fingering you from behind, one foot between yours keeping your legs spread, and you can’t jerk him off in any rhythm that would make sense. Your brain’s gone to mush.

“Shit,” Joel says, sounding almost… frustrated. “You’re so fucking tight around my fingers. I need to…”

You melt in his arms as he pulls his fingers from you, puts you against the glass wall of the shower and kneels in front of you, lifting one of your thighs over his shoulder before leaning in to lick you. You writhe against him, your heel pressing into the hard muscle of his back, but his fingers on your thighs feel like steel clamps.

He doesn’t waste time. Licks you from bottom to top, probably more for himself than for you, but after that, he’s relentless, sucking directly on your clit, already swollen and sensitive. Your hair slips from its bun. Joel’s dark eyes devour your chest, your face, while his tongue works magic between your legs, making you moan without shame.

Your hips move on instinct against his mouth, riding his face, and Joel encourages it.

“Joel—”

“You just ruined my whole damn month,” he says, switching his mouth for his thumb. He circles your clit slowly, massaging, pressing. Your leg trembles. “I’m gonna remember the sound of you moaning my name for days. At work. In meetings. At home…”

You smile up at the ceiling, still half delirious, when Joel bites the soft spot where your thigh meets your hip.

“Eyes on me, baby,” he orders.

You obey.

When he puts his mouth on you again, it’s clear he has one goal: to make you come. And there’s your answer. Maybe one — maybe zero — of the men you’ve slept with before knew the right pressure to suck your clit, not too hard, not lazy, and even fewer had the patience to push you to the edge, to keep their eyes on you, to make it unforgettable.

The orgasm hits like a wave, consuming you from the inside out. Joel has to hold you against the glass to keep you from collapsing or slipping. You whimper, dissolving like sugar in water, pulsing against his tongue. And when he stands up again, your eyes are instantly drawn to his still rock-hard cock, now flushed almost red.

Joel presses a chaste kiss to your temple and whispers,

“Turn around.”

“I’m not having sex without a condom,” you say, but still turn, planting your hands against the shower wall.

“Neither am I.”

That doesn’t stop him from sliding his cock between your folds, holding your hips steady. You press your legs together.

“This okay?” he checks. You nod. He hums, “Good.”

Joel wraps an arm around your waist, his solid forearm crossing over your stomach, and rolls his hips while his free hand caresses every inch of you. The thick head of his cock slides up and down between your folds, brushing your clit with every slow thrust, drawing out a whimper from your throat. He leaves kisses down your spine, over your shoulder blade, and they melt into warm sighs as you reach between your legs and press his cock harder against yourself. It glides easily, soaked by how wet you are, and you bite your lip to keep from begging him to just fuck you already.

Then, without warning, he pulls back, withdrawing from between your legs. He turns your face to kiss you again, his breath ragged against your lips. You try to stroke him, needing to feel how hard he still is, but Joel catches your wrist, brushing his thumb softly across it.

“No,” he says gently. “Give me a second, alright? I’m close.”

You kiss his cheek, then whisper,

“I can get you hard again.”

The low, raspy laugh he lets out is the sexiest sound you’ve heard all night, especially at that volume, intimate and low, meant only for you.

“I’m not twenty-five anymore. My refractory period’s a lot longer now.”

There’s something about the way he says it, with total confidence despite the admission, like he couldn’t care less about the time it takes because he knows damn well how good he is, that makes you grab him again. Joel pulls you close, kisses you with that same depth, and reaches over to shut the water off before guiding you gently out of the shower.

Your body’s soaked, still dripping, and Joel’s not much drier as you both step out of the bathroom and walk across the room to the bed. Wet footprints trail behind you, and you almost feel bad for the pristine white sheets as Joel eases you down into the center of the mattress. Then he covers you with his body, and for a few minutes, his body is all you feel.

The positions shift, and now you’re on top of him. Joel keeps his eyes on you as you move along his body, one of his hands massaging the back of your neck in a firm and steady way, but the second your mouth closes around him, his eyes shut. His fingers tighten against your throat.

You’re not usually great at maintaining eye contact during a blowjob because it always makes you feel like you look ridiculous with your mouth full, but when you look up, it’s not about being sexy. You just need to see the way his jaw clenches, how the veins on his neck stand out. A slow pass of your tongue over the swollen head and that tender spot just beneath it makes him unravel even more.

Maybe it’s nothing to be proud of, but sucking him feels good. Your mind goes completely quiet, focused only on his sounds, the moans, the sighs, the dirty words he murmurs each time you suck the head, massage that sensitive spot, or slide your lips down his full length with your teeth carefully covered.

You feel his thighs begin to tense right before he massages your jaw and gently nudges you back up. He exhales deeply, letting his head fall against the pillow again, speaking more to the ceiling than to you.

“Okay. Now I really wish I was twenty-five again.”

You’re so wet between your legs that you can feel it slick between your folds as you crawl back up over Joel’s body and straddle his hips with a smile, wiping your lips with your fingertips. It’s almost instinctive, the way your hands flatten on his stomach, gliding over his torso, his pecs, his freckled shoulders.

“Too close?”

Joel nods, finally looking at you again. Just as naturally, his hands roam over your thighs, admiring you.

“Too close,” he agrees. “And I’m cursing myself because it felt so damn good. You’re so damn good.”

Call it what you want, but being praised for something you’re good at is always an ego boost, whether it’s about defending constitutional violations in a cert petition or the way you suck a man off.

“What’s your practice area?” you ask, since the idea is to give him a moment to cool down. “I saw your bar card.”

“Employment and labor law... For companies. And commercial litigation.”

Ah. So that’s why the bartender said he was some sort of national hero to corporations. Great. You’ve ended up in bed with a champion of the bourgeoisie.

“In-house?”

His eyes stay fixed on the small birthmark near your hip, tracing it with his thumb as he answers:

“No. I’ve got my own firm.”

“I work at one.”

That makes him lift his eyes, his hands pausing.

“You’re an attorney?” he asks. You nod. “What area?”

“Employment.”

“Please tell me it’s not mine.”

“You wouldn’t know an associate at your own firm?” you ask, a little surprised.

“I don’t keep up with everyone. Not anymore.” Joel wraps one arm around your hips just before sitting up in bed, you still in his lap. Gently, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and leans in. A kiss to your neck, then one to your throat, his hands sliding up your back. “I don’t only work in Texas, even though I started here. We’ve got offices in California and New York, and I live there now.”

The next kiss on your neck has a bit more bite, which makes you shift on his lap, your fingers threading through his damp hair.

Your voice trembles a little when you say,

“I’ll never represent companies. And no teeth. I’ve got a hearing tomorrow.”

He murmurs a soft “sorry” against your skin and, with both hands on your back, lowers you gently so he can start licking your breasts. When his mouth closes around one of them, the only thing your brain can think is:

“The teeth. There… Okay. That’s allowed.”

Joel laughs quietly, but he takes the hint. The next time he sucks on your nipple, his tongue circles the tip and his teeth graze just the right amount, sending a sharp pulse through your body. He gives equal attention to both before rising to kiss you again, his hand finding its way between your legs, fingers pressing against your folds with a rhythm and pressure so delicious it almost feels criminal. The wet sound that follows makes you blush, but Joel’s response is a curse along with him slipping two fingers inside.

You choke on a breath, shift your hips, try to accommodate him. Asks:

“If I worked for you, would you stop this? Fire me?”

“Nothing in the world could make me stop this.” A pause. “I’m adding another finger,” more a warning than a request, but you’re so wet and relaxed that all you feel is a slight burn and the undeniable fullness as he slides a third one in.

“Condom,” you say. Demand.

Joel’s still got his face tucked into the curve of your neck, his fingers working inside you, when he reaches blindly toward the nightstand. He must’ve placed one there while you were in the shower. God, you love a man who plans ahead.

Except—

“Shit,” he mutters. “It’s in my kit. In the bathroom.”

“I’m this close to telling you to fuck me without it.”

A nearly painful groan.

“Don’t say that. I’m already picturing it…” His thumb circles your clit. Rubs. “Picturing what it’d feel like to come inside you.”

“I think we should be responsible.”

That’s your rational brain speaking, and it’s the only reason you get off his lap and step out of bed to head toward the bathroom. There’s nothing on the counter but your clothes, and you’re not even sure how to open these fancy, handle-less cabinets.

“Joel,” you call out.

Sheets rustle. Footsteps. Then a hand on your waist, gently guiding you to the right. Joel taps one corner of a door with his thumb, and it opens with ease to reveal a toiletry kit. He pulls out a condom, holding it between two fingers.

“Hard to find?”

You turn to him.

“Never seen handle-less doors before. Must be a fancy-room thing for bougie corporate lawyers.”

Joel watches you as he tears the packet open, and you feel a little self-conscious under the bathroom’s harsh lighting, aware that a few strands of hair are probably out of place and your dark circles look even more visible after all the stress about tomorrow’s, but his cock is still hard as ever while he rolls the condom down his length.

“A class enemy?” he asks softly once he’s done, stepping closer until the marble counter presses against the small of your back. Joel lowers his head, cradles your jaw, and kisses the corner of your mouth. “Am I corrupting you?”

“No one needs to know.”

All it takes is his hands on your hips and one solid pull to seat you on the counter, Joel stepping between your legs.

“Shame. But I’m gonna make you forget all about the hate,” he promises, spreading your thighs and dragging you to the edge of the counter. You grip his shoulders, and before anything else, he takes your jaw again and makes you look down and watch as he guides himself toward you. “Come on, love. Watch while you let your enemy slide inside that pussy.”

You plant one foot on the counter to open yourself up wider, tilt your hips to get a better look as his thick cock drags from top to bottom between your folds before finally breaching your entrance.

“Joel—”

He slides all the way in, and you squeeze your eyes shut, fingers digging into his shoulders. Joel covers your mouth with his, wraps your thighs around his hips, and with one hand braced on the mirror behind you, finally, finally!, starts to fuck you.

Joel keeps in mind what you said about no visible marks, but it seems he took a generous interpretation of that rule because he doesn’t leave any where people might see. The relentless motion of his hips and the deep thrusts inside you come paired with kisses to your neck, slow bites to your breasts (which will definitely leave reminders for the rest of the year), and praises whispered against your ear. So fucking good, never had anyone like you, wanna spend all night buried inside you…

God. A goddamn talker. Like you weren’t already absolutely wrecked.

At some point, you end up standing, bent over the sink, and the marks Joel leaves are now on your back. He grabs your hair, makes you watch through the mirror, grips your ass with both hands, and you’re not proud of how many times you beg.

He listens, delivers. When he needs a break himself, he slips out of you, urges you to arch even deeper, and puts his mouth on you from behind, licking your pussy like a man starving for it. You come in seconds, shaking, still trembling when he guides you back to bed. Then he slides back inside you.

At some point, with your throat dry, you whisper in his ear,

“Look at you. You’re fucking me like I’m an employee at one of your clients’ companies.”

Joel laughs out loud, and it’s one of the most delicious sounds you’ve ever heard. He laughs with his mouth against yours, holding you close, his body shaking with it, and you can’t help but laugh along with him.

“You pretty thing, shut up,” he says, but it’s so gentle, so intimate.

“Wanna know how you can shut me up?” you ask, pressing your lips to his sweaty neck, licking the salt from his skin. Joel says your name like a warning as he fucks you slowly, his thrusts deep and deliberate. “Come in my mouth.”

The groan that escapes him is raw, guttural, completely involuntary. One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other grips your hips, and he starts to lose control, faster, rougher, frantic, until he pulls out, takes off the condom, and climbs up your body until his knees are on the mattress beside your shoulder and his cock is back in your mouth.

Joel looks down as your lips close around his swollen head, chest rising and falling, and it only takes a few strokes of your tongue and a warning before he’s coming in your mouth, long and hard, moaning your name. You swallow everything and feel your belly tighten when he calls you a good girl, privately and softly, before leaning down to kiss you.

When he finally collapses beside you, both of you are exhausted, slick with sweat, and the ceiling seems a little brighter somehow.

You turn your head to look at him, and he turns his toward you.

“Intimate enough for you?” you ask.

“Not sure. I think I need to fuck you two more times to be certain.”

Smiling this much at a casual hookup is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous.

“And I need food.”

“Want me to order room service?”

That… wasn’t your intention. You meant you need to go, grab something to eat, make a clean exit for the both of you.

You sit up in bed. The clock on the table in front of you says it’s nine-thirty.

“Is the food here any good?” you ask, and apparently, somewhere in that question, there’s an answer to his invitation.

Joel orders room service, pays for everything, and you head back to the shower. And Joel follows… again. Somewhere in that overly capable, slightly aging brain of his, he decides you need to come again using his fingers. Then by holding the shower head directly to your clit, the water pressure making you twist and writhe against him. By the time the food arrives, you’re already half-asleep.

You’re in a robe, your hair is clean, the bed is soft, and Joel is… comfortable.

The perfect setup for sleep.

You wake up to the sound of a siren.

The hotel windows are thick and sealed shut, but the siren outside, somewhere in the city, is high-pitched and unrelenting, dragging you out of a deep, warm sleep. If not for the bedside lamp set to its lowest brightness, the room would be completely dark, and you wouldn’t be able to see Joel’s relaxed face as he sleeps, or the way his arm is still wrapped around your waist.

It’s hard, but you manage to slip out of the heat of his body, gently move his arm, and step out of bed on your toes. It’s just past two in the morning, and suddenly the weight of tomorrow hits you like an anvil dropped on a cartoon character.

Your clothes are perfectly folded on one of the chairs in the sitting area, and you dress quietly. You gather your bag, your heels (which you’ll only put on once you’re outside), and head for the door.

But something makes you pause and glance back at the bed.

Joel is sleeping on his stomach, face pressed into the pillow, one arm still stretched across where you had been. The lamp casts a golden glow on his back, highlighting the strength and breadth of it, and it’s almost ridiculous how good-looking he is.

The internal conflict eats away at you like time rotting the beams of an old building. You know this isn’t going anywhere, because Joel lives in New York and is so disconnected from Austin that he stays in hotels when he visits. And more than that, he’s the opposing counsel in theory and in practice, no matter how funny that sounds. You know it’s not just a joke. Joel is part of a defense you’ve grown to resent, built by years of listening to thousands of workers’ stories.

And you want him.

Fuck. Stupid. Stupid. The word rings in your head as you grab one of the extra napkins from the room service tray and a gold pen you find, with “Miller” engraved on the side in elegant block letters. You write your number. And beneath it:

“This isn’t the wrong number.”

Maybe you’re not that much of a player after all.

You’ve always hated how sterile, bright, and quiet the federal courthouse hallways are. The building is new, that much is obvious, with the clean lines, polished stone floors, blinding LED panel lights, and what it lacks in Corinthian columns and grand wooden staircases, it makes up for in blankness.

You’re sitting on the fifth-floor hallway bench, just to the side of one of the brushed-steel elevators. To your left are two named plaintiffs representing the twenty workers in the class action, and in your lap are the affidavits of the other eighteen.

You force yourself not to bounce your foot, the one inside your sharpest pair of scarpins, or shuffle through the papers to confirm everything is in place. You know it is. You triple-checked before leaving the house.

“Where’s the hellhound at?” one of the workers asks. You look at him, puzzled, until he clarifies, “Their lawyer.”

“Not here yet. Maybe they’re waiting to make a grand entrance.”

What leaves the plaintiff’s mouth sounds a lot like “motherfuckers.”

In moments like this, one thought always helps calm you: tonight, I’ll be home doing whatever I want, with none of this tension on me. So you picture yourself walking through the door, kicking off your heels, tossing your briefcase aside. You imagine turning on Netflix, pressing play on some stupid British dating show, and working up the courage to respond to Joel’s text, sent at six a.m. this morning:

“Prove you didn’t give me the wrong number. Meet me tomorrow at eight. Same place.”

Tonight. That’s your goal.

Five minutes before the hearing time, you’re led to the anteroom outside the courtroom. Other attorneys are waiting too, talking over one another about past or upcoming hearings. The noise only adds to the tension.

At 10:01, the courtroom deputy calls out:

“Grant et. al versus Castillo Construction & Co., please proceed into the courtroom.”

You rise, gather your documents, your bag, your case file. With shoulders straight and chin lifted, you walk down the hallway to Courtroom 3. The two named plaintiffs follow you, but you let them enter first before stepping in behind them. You hear footsteps behind you.

Ahead, the courtroom opens into a wide space with light wood-paneled walls, narrow windows, and rows of empty cushioned benches. At the front are two wooden tables set parallel before the bench, where the judge, seated, reviews documents.

The plaintiffs take their seats, and you sit beside them, focused on arranging your files on the table beside your tablet. The defense table is soon occupied, but you don’t bother to look over.

After a few minutes, the judge lifts her eyes from the papers and says, in a clear, even voice,

“Good morning, counsel. Appearances, please.”

You stand, steady your voice, say your full name, and with pride, state that you represent the plaintiffs, feeling some kind of heat settle on you from the other side of the room.

You sit down. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone at the defense table rise.

For a moment, everything slows. That same voice that whispered your name over and over last night echoes again with a “Good morning.” And for a split second, you wonder if you’re hallucinating or stuck in a really vivid, really awful nightmare.

But you’re not. Because what comes next is the final blow, the one that confirms everything:

“Joel Miller, counsel for the defendant.”

#there she goes again with the cliffhanger #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader

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1d1195 · 9 months ago

Text

Buttercup

~7.8k words

From me: I love a knight in shining armor moment. Grumpy sunshine, black cat and golden retriever kind of vibe. There are definitely some details missing on purpose here. Best of luck. Hope you like it 💕 Sorry for the delay in posting. What a week.

Warnings: dick ex-bf - cheating, emotional trauma, threatening. Angry Harry, neighbor Harry, some mentions of sex, a good bit of angst, and some fluff.

Summary: Harry's new neighbor is fun to prank. She just wants to tend to her garden and enjoy her chocolate in peace.

But it's... comforting to know Harry is right next door.

The boys that lived next door weren’t too loud, weren’t super messy, and they were easy on the eyes.

But that was the furthest she could compliment them.

Well, Louis was really lovely overall. He had a girlfriend that came by frequently (almost daily) and appeared to keep him in check. But there was no one to keep Harry in check. He walked around his yard in his boxers, got the mail in them even, and both greeted his sexual partner(s) then sent her on her way off his property the following morning in nothing but boxers as well.

All with a smug smile in her direction while he wore nothing but underwear and the ink etched on his unbelievably smooth skin.

Stupid hot people.

Regardless of what he was doing, he was always sure to irritate her if she was outside. “Hi Buttercup,” he cooed like they were old friends while she worked in her garden. It was clearly her favorite part of the house. It desperately needed a new coat of paint, and she didn’t care in the slightest. The flowers were more important, and she did a good job. Clearing the flowerbeds happened before all her boxes were officially inside her house.

She thought about the day she arrived.

When she moved in, she took a deep breath, pulled her hair into a ponytail and tugged it through the back of a baseball cap. One by one, she pulled a box out of her car and brought it inside. A storage pod was dropped in the driveway as well and then she began the same process after taking a short break while she looked at what she needed to do first. She leaned against her car and felt anxiety and a serious case of being overwhelmed start to fill her chest. She took deep breaths hoping the sugar she ingested would help ease her worried mind.

“Hey, neighbor!” She turned to the voice where a guy with brown hair and blue eyes smiled brightly at her. “I’m Louis, welcome to our neighborhood. It’s nice to meet you. Need help?”

She shook her head quickly. Almost defensive as she aimed to protect herself. “No, I’m alright, thank you.”

Louis glanced at her storage pod and tilted his head at her curiously. It was a lot to unpack on her own.

Metaphorically and literally.

“You’re sure?” He asked. “My roommate saw you from the window. Thought you were... well, not struggling... But it’s a lot to move for anyone. He’s changing, he’ll be right out to help too,” he explained and rubbed the back of his head. “My girlfriend was on the phone and overheard Harry, and she insisted as well.”

She thought that he was nice. A friendly neighbor if there ever was one. But the wall of anxiety she put up and the nerve she was feigning to keep up was battling something fierce. “Right,” she cleared her throat. She would need an ally. There was no one in this new town for her and Louis seemed nice.

Levi seemed nice too... she thought.

Shaking her head she tried to rid herself of the negative outlook. Louis wasn’t Levi. “That... that’s really nice. Thank you. If you’re sure.”

Louis’ best friend and roommate Harry soon joined them. Introduced himself and she sincerely thought they were just two nice guys who would be decent neighbors.

The second they dropped the first load of her stuff safely inside Harry began his pranks. “Is this box labeled underwear up for grabs?”

There was no box labeled underwear. She knew that. But it still made her cheeks burn with embarrassment even though Louis rolled his eyes as if was used to it. Which she supposed he was. “Christ, Harry,” Louis sighed and pinched between his eyes. “I’m sorry, love. We don’t let him out of the house much.”

She looked at him with an eye roll. He was cute. She would give him that.

Well, hot.

Enticing green eyes, sinewy muscles, and a smile so bright it could put the sun to shame. He knew he was hot. There was no way he didn’t. But she wasn’t going to let him get to her.

“Where are y’moving from?” Harry asked.

“Uh...” she shook her head trying to remember what lie she was supposed to say. But then went with most of the truth. “Just upstate, a few hours away. I got a new job and whatnot.”

“New modeling job?”

“Boo...” Louis droned, grumbling as he moved boxes labeled kitchen into the correct room. “If you’re going to embarrass yourself, you could use better material.”

“This is m’best material, Lou,” he scowled at his friend. Her cheeks were still burning at his shameless flirting.

“I know he’s obnoxious, but he’s harmless,” Louis rolled his eyes.

“Excuse you, Louis. M’not obnoxious.”

“The shit you say,” he shook his head.

“I jus’ think you’re gorgeous,” his eyelashes did all the flirting for him when his words stopped.

But whether Harry was flirting or not, she didn’t want to flirt with her neighbor. Didn’t want to have a boyfriend. Certainly not one with all the charisma he had around her.

Even if he was flirty and charming.

And hot.

There was no denying how hot Harry was.

So she would have to be careful.

“Looking good, Buttercup.”

She glared at the tulip bulbs she was planting in front of her door for the spring. She adjusted the planters of mums placed on the porch steps. A variety of gold, orange, brown and red. Perfect for fall and the idyllic picture for a magazine cover. There were pumpkins on the side of the bottom step greeting anyone at her home with the pretty festive colors. A cute scarecrow was staked among fake corn stalks and hay beside the pumpkins.

It was unseasonably warm for November but for the last two months, and even though Harry drove her crazy, she wanted to be outside enjoying the sunshine and fresh air while she could. She had listened to Harry’s flirting with her since the moment she moved in. He was blatant about it. But in the same timeframe, she watched him with women coming and going. Of course, it didn’t bother her one bit who he spent his time with; that was his choice, and he had no obligation to her or the women he took home as long as he wasn’t a complete douchebag to them.

But Harry always seemed to be there. He was there when she got her mail. There when she got home from work. There when she was going to work. It didn’t matter. Didn’t he have to work? “Are businesses too intelligent to hire you?”

“No?” He chuckled phrasing it as a question.

“Just assumed, since you’re never at work.”

He snorted. “Funny.” She continued tending to her flowers. “I work from home.”

Perfect. So he would continue to always be there. Some people had all the luck.

He wasn’t in his boxers for a change. An interesting change of pace. He was in a pair of plain jogging pants and a plain T-shirt, yet he was the one that looked like a model for Nike.

Men had it so easy being attractive. A pair of workout pants and a T-shirt that outlined his pectorals way too tightly was all it took to get her flustered.

He sat beside her and watched her work. “Y’should do our garden, next Buttercup. Looks so nice the way y’put everything together.”

She paused and stared at him. His eyes roamed her little planters and across the weedless yard. He smiled at her as his gaze returned to hers. “You’re making fun of me,” she scowled.

“Kitten,” he pressed a hand over his heart, looking affronted. “I would never make fun of you.”

She looked back at the dirt that was under her nails. She focused on the feeling of it rather than the feeling of dread she felt around Harry. He was so confident in himself and in everything he did. It was annoying. His stupid green eyes and his dumb smile. She couldn’t fall for it again. No matter how sincere he sounded.

“Y’look really pretty in y’garden,” his voice was gentle. Like he was worried she was going to throw something at him. She had considered it. Her trowel seemed like it could do some damage. But she was trying not to be completely ridiculous just because Harry was a pain.

And sickening.

And irritating.

And cute.

Fortunately, she had a list of things to remind herself of that he was a nuisance. Not to mention there were his pranks that made her crazy.

He sprayed her with the hose when she wasn’t looking. Sent mail to her house for porn addiction making the mailman look at her with a smirk before she screamed at Harry (which didn’t help the look the mailman was giving her). At the beginning of October, he put a Halloween mask outside her window to scare her when she woke up so terrifyingly that Louis and Eleanor rushed over in their pajamas. While nothing was irreparable or worth putting her into therapy, the jokes made her mad because Harry always made her mad. He was too good looking and too there all the time.

Instead, she continued weeding and planting. Making the previously bare flower beds green and brown with freshly overturned dirt. It was calming. Being in the garden, the yard. Dirt on her hands and the sun on her back.

“Cat got your tongue, Buttercup?” He joked.

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“The more y’ignore me, kitten, jus’ makes me want y’more.”

“I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“Ugh, will you marry me?”

“You’re so ridiculous, Harry.”

“God, y’drive me wild.”

She continued digging in the dirt. “If you’re going to sit there and be annoying, can you at least be useful and hand me the watering can?”

Harry silently grabbed the can and poured the water into the hole, watching her carefully. “I used t’garden with m’Mum.”

“You didn’t just spawn from the ground climbing out of hell?”

Harry chuckled quietly. “No, m’mum’s a saint,” he said with a smile. The fondness in his voice and reverence for her made her heart skip a beat. He was so annoying but that was undoubtedly beyond sweet. Even if it was Harry saying it.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult your mother.”

“Y’didn’t. I know what y’meant,” he chuckled. “Mum would like you,” he told her. Which absolutely terrified her because mothers often did. It made things more complicated. Like it had in the past.

“She would like me? I’m an absolute bitch to you, Harry.”

“Hey,” he frowned. “Don’t say that,” the sincerity in his voice continued making her throat catch on any rebuttal she wanted to say in return. The pucker of skin between his eyebrows made her want to reach out and smooth his skin. His frown made her sad too. Before she could push the feeling away, he spoke again. “You’re funny. Stubborn. Adorable. Mum would like that y’keep me grounded,” he complimented.

“Keeping you grounded is the nice way of saying bitchy.”

He sighed, irritation practically rolling off him in waves. That was new. “Seriously, kitten. Knock it off,” he shook his head disappointedly.

She blinked, surprised by the genuine tone. “You’re serious?”

“Jus’ because y’say it ‘bout yourself doesn’t make it better.”

For a whole minute she seriously thought about how easy it would be to fall for Harry. He was handsome, intelligent, kind, and funny. Even if he was obnoxious. Louis and Eleanor kept him around for a reason, right? For God’s sake he wouldn’t let her call herself a bitch. Who did that?! “Um... sorry?”

“Apology not accepted. You’ll have t’go on a date with me. S’the only way t’make it up t’me.”

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bulbs she was planting. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Alright fine; I’ll jus’ have t’think of something else,” he sighed, pausing, like he was really thinking about how she could make it up to him.

Then he smeared a clod of cold, wet dirt across her cheek.

She spluttered trying to avoid dirt in her mouth and reached out to smack him. However, he was nearly giggling, practically running back to his house before she could register what really happened and retaliate. “See y’later, Buttercup!” He called.

One of Harry’s ongoing pranks involved slipping his phone number into her contacts early on when he met her. It happened shortly after she moved in, and it allowed him to send her memes and inappropriate messages (not the kind of unsolicited messages that only complete dicks sent to women who did not want them) but the ones that he found on the internet. Inappropriate jokes. Innuendos.

But he also texted her when he was heading to the grocery store to see if she needed anything. But in the time that they exchanged messages, she never started the conversations. It was always a Leave me alone Harry. No thank you. Can you stop staring out the window like a creep? If she needed something she asked Louis, which honestly upset him to a degree, but he understood. Harry came on strong when he met her. Not that he would change that, but it wasn’t unreasonable of her to feel standoffish to him.

God, was she beautiful. Harry loved seeing her in the yard. Made it a point to drop everything he was doing and go get a closer look. He was drawn to her. Moth to a flame. The whole bit. She was so funny, even when she was grumpy. He wasn’t joking when he told her that her ignoring him made him want her more.

She was a hard worker and left early in the morning and returned well into dinner time. While the weather was nice, she would sit on her porch and read or work tirelessly on her perfect garden. She was lovely. Harry could see it from afar and he was bummed she didn’t catch on to his shameless flirting the way he had hoped when he first saw her.

One of these days I’d like you to text me instead of Louis when you need something. Louis already has a girlfriend.

From the looks of it you have PLENTY of options for a girlfriend.

Jealous?

Of getting a disease? No. I’m good.

Your green thumb is spreading, Buttercup. It’s not your color.

You can ignore me all you want. Just think about it. It doesn’t have to be a thing. I just want you to know I’m happy to help you if you need it. Not just Louis.

Also, I’m clean in case you ever want to explore that side of things too 😉

Surprisingly, she ignored that message too.

Harry felt like he was going through withdrawals from her. He hadn’t even seen her in the yard. Between the rain and their work schedules, it was like he couldn’t get a glimpse of her pretty being tending to the weeds, reading her book, or anything. His joke asking her what she plays with at night that also vibrates went unanswered.

Maybe he should have stopped sending her inappropriate jokes, but the fact she hadn’t blocked him gave him the shred of hope he desperately wanted. Maybe if she had blocked him it would get through his head that she was out of his league, and she wasn’t interested.

I’m heading home to shower, change, and then I’ll come grab you. It was Niall though, and not her reply to his joke.

Harry put cologne on and settled in the living room quietly scrolling through his social media looking at the time stamp from his message, almost a whole day ago. Frowning, he returned to scrolling and waiting for Niall. Not thinking much of anything of merit as he did.

But then that little notification slid from the top of his phone making his heart bounce with excitement.

Harry, are you home?

Is it finally happening?! 😍

There was no response and Harry thought he ruined their moment. Even if he believed her when she said they would never sleep together, he was glad she was talking to him. He was worried his latest prank had gone too far.

Harry’s car was in the garage, and he had almost every light off since he was leaving soon, so it was a fair question since she couldn’t see the back of his house where he was hiding in his room.

I was kidding, Buttercup. I’m home. You could have just come over to ask though.

There was still no response, but he kept his phone in hand waiting and holding his breath. Hoping something would come through from her again.

Pick some flowers from my yard.

Come knock on the door like we’re supposed to be going on a date.

Please.

And hurry.

Please.

What?

...?

Kitten...what’s wrong?

He tried calling her immediately, but it went right to voicemail, like she had turned her phone off after sending her last message.

What the hell. Why aren’t you answering your phone?

This isn’t funny, Buttercup...

You’re making me nervous.

If this was a retaliation prank it went way too far. Way further than putting the mini popping firecrackers under her tires before she left for work. The very one that got her so mad, he thought she was going to call the cops finally. The one that made her ignore him for days on end despite the messages he sent.

But this wasn’t funny. Not even a little. Her safety and security weren’t things Harry liked to joke about because despite everything, he was possessive about her. And frankly, he adored her. Even if she wasn’t his to obsess over nor adore.

But he wasn’t going to ignore her any longer than he had to. He nearly sprinted out the door, swiping randomly at her pretty flowers and feeling horrible that he was pulling her precious plants after all the hard work she put into them. It seemed silly to spend time doing this, but he didn’t want to fuck up what she asked him to do. Not when her messages seemed so worrisome. Not when she didn’t answer. With a fresh bouquet in hand, he hurried to the front door. Fortunately, he was dressed for a night out. Niall would be on his way to pick him up; so, he was, in theory, date ready. But the thought of being with Niall and not home when she needed him terrified him further. Thank God he was home.

Harry had no idea what was on the other side of her door, but it was embarrassingly late in the moment that he realized there was a car in the driveway he hadn’t seen before. At once he realized she never had company. Which only made him even more anxious.

Swallowing, he knocked firmly.

The door flew open within ten seconds of his knock. The relief in her eyes made Harry feel sick. What was she so nervous about? What could make her that nervous, that seeing him made her at ease? She was constantly irritated by his presence. The moment only made him feel worse. “Harry, right on time,” she smiled sweetly. She was a good actress. If she hadn’t texted Harry so urgently, he wouldn’t be looking for signs of trouble, wouldn’t see the relief in her eyes, and he would have no idea that something was wrong.

“Hi kitten, don’t y’look beautiful,” he cooed leaning down to press a kiss to her cheekbone as if he had done it a thousand times before. Gratefully, he had imagined it about a thousand times, so it probably looked as natural as it felt. Plus, she was beautiful. Always. The acting came naturally to him as well. His arm wrapped around her waist in the same movement instinctively. His eyes fell to the man standing a few feet back watching her like a hawk. His gaze was territorial and possessive; Harry didn’t care for that at all. Even if she wasn’t Harry’s, she definitely wasn’t his either.

But Harry was possessive, and he was there because she asked him to be there. Something he got the feeling the other man did not have permission for. He knew he shouldn’t have felt possessive of her, but he would pretend all the same if it meant the worry in her eyes would go away.

He handed her the bouquet he plucked only moments before and threaded their fingers together; another movement that felt like he had done before and not for the very first time that second. “Let’s get a vase,” he suggested and kept his eyes on him. It wasn’t lost on him how easily her fingers fit between his, the way their palms touched, or how her grip tightened ever so slightly when she settled her grip in his. “Hey,” he nodded his head in greeting.

The guy ignored Harry. His eyes glaring at the pretty girl beside him. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve been dating this guy since the moment you moved in?”

Her cheeks burned red, and Harry kissed the top of her head tucking her toward his chest protectively. Harry didn’t care for it at all. If the anxiety in her texts, expressions, and body language wasn’t enough evidence, then the way she leaned further into his chest despite everything and how annoyed she was by him, certainly was. “M’Harry,” his voice was firm. Pointed. “And you are?”

He grunted, shook his head. “The fuck, babe?” He snapped. She didn’t respond, simply glanced up to meet Harry’s gaze. She blinked unsurely at Harry, unable to find her next move. Harry nudged her gently toward the kitchen.

“Do y’have a name or what?” Harry grumbled over his shoulder as he made a show of caressing her while she found a vase. Her hands were shaking slightly as she placed the vase in the sink. Fortunately, Harry saw it immediately and tugged the glass from her grip, pulling her hand back in his. Even if it was impractical and stupid looking while he placed the vase with one hand in her sink to finish what she was doing.

“Levi,” he snapped. “We apparently used to date.”

Harry felt her body deflate. He wondered why. Was it the prospect of dating this asshole? Was it the phrase used to? What happened before he got here?

“Well, Levi, glad we’re on the same page and you’re using the past tense. M’here t’take my girlfriend on a date,” he pressed his body around hers, bracketing her body against the sink. She kept her eyes down, away from Levi’s gaze. Her body felt so warm against his it made him wish this wasn’t for show. Instead, he bent down to kiss the crook of her neck and shoulder hoping she wouldn’t hate him later over it.

He was really into pretending. She squeezed his hands that were wrapped around hers against the edge of counter. Was that a thanks? Was that a sigh he imagined when he kissed her skin? God, she smelled good.

“M’not sure exactly what’s going on here, but m’getting a good sense that she doesn’t want y’here. So maybe s’a good time t’go before I have t’escort y’out of the house.”

He snorted and shook his head. He glared at Harry as he spoke, but her eyes were still cast down toward the sink. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re playing at, babe. You can try and fool me all you want. But I’m not stupid. I’ll come back when your boyfriend isn’t around,” he left the kitchen and slammed her front door shut as he exited. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Begrudgingly, he left her by the sink and went to the front door, peering out the small window right next to the frame. He watched while Levi pulled out of her driveway and down the road. Harry stood and watched, waiting for the sound of his car to completely disappear before he felt he wasn’t coming back any time soon. Harry locked her deadbolt.

“Who was that—” He started as he turned back for the kitchen, but his heart practically broke at the sight of his stubborn, fearless, and utterly pretty neighbor teary eyed and shaken to the core. She left the kitchen near silently it seemed but stopped in the hall right before the entryway of the front door. He didn’t even hear her approach. “Hey,” he cooed coming closer. “Buttercup,” he frowned when she didn’t respond to her nickname. “Hey,” it was like he was approaching a wounded, wild animal. He didn’t want to scare her, but God did he want to protect her. God, did he want to hold her again. “Love, he’s gone. I—” He wanted to reach out for her and pull her into his embrace again, but something about her looked off. The anxiety written all over her face made him nervous and sad.

He zoned in on her hands; they were shaking by her sides worse than the way she held the vase. Her eyes were so fucking sad looking Harry wanted to scream. “Kitten,” he tried again. “Can I...?” He reached for her again. “M’not going to...” all his sentences were half finished as he tried to figure out why the fuck Levi scared her so badly. All he wanted was to comfort her. She was too sweet and pretty to look so terrified. When she never looked scared of anything. “Buttercup,” he murmured again.

She sniffled and swiped at her eyes. “I’m fine,” but her voice was barely audible over the sound of it getting caught around the emotion in her throat.

“Hey, s’okay t’not be okay. M’here,” he promised holding his hands out to her. “Can I touch you?” He asked. She shook her head quickly. It hurt like hell for her to say no. Harry thought he was seriously going to cry. “Okay, okay,” he stuffed his hands in his pockets because he didn’t trust himself not to try and comfort her and the last thing that he ever wanted to do was break her trust and consent. “Baby, you’re breaking my heart,” he pouted and watched as she was starting to shake like she was in the middle of a blizzard without a coat. “Come sit,” he begged. “Please.”

She obeyed and Harry went to her kitchen and found a glass in the cabinet as if this was his own house. He got water from the dispenser on her fridge, and he brought it to her. Her hands were still shaking violently, and her tears were flowing but not a sound other than a quiet sniffle left her. “Here, Buttercup,” he mumbled.

She sniveled and wiped her eyes as she took the cup from him. He avoided brushing her fingers with his and he paced in front of the coffee table. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he caught sight of the time. “Fuck,” he muttered. Pressing the phone to his ear he glanced out the window. “Sorry Niall. Can’t come out,” he ran a hand on the back of his head. She perked up at his words.

“Harry,” she whispered.

“No... I don’t know.... I just need t’be here for her,” he mumbled.

“Harry, you don’t—”

He silenced her with a look while her words died in her throat with another little whimper. Being vulnerable was hard for her. Obviously. Harry wondered if she knew how difficult it was for him to watch her look so upset and scared and not comfort her. If he knew letting go of her in the kitchen meant he wouldn’t get to touch her again, he wouldn’t have let go to start.

He hung up without hearing Niall’s response and he put his phone in his back pocket.

“If you have plans—”

“I don’t,” he interrupted shaking his head quickly. “Jus’ a date with a pretty girl,” he sat across from her on the coffee table making sure that not even his knee bumped against her. His eyes were following her every breath. Every tiny movement and flinch. The nervousness he felt was painful. Waiting for something to make sense. The water in her glass rippled and practically splashed over the side from how hard she was shaking. Harry wanted nothing more than to take it from her grip. But instead, he patiently waited until she sipped it.

“I’m okay,” her voice was nothing more than air. Even if it wasn’t, Harry wouldn’t believe her.

“Baby,” he frowned. “No one sends a message like that if they’re not worried about their safety. I’m worried ‘bout your safety. So don’t pretend t’be okay if you’re not. I’ll stay all night, sitting right here, and stare at you.”

She snorted. “That sounds like watching paint dry.”

He shrugged. “You’re far more interesting and prettier than paint drying.”

She swiped at her eyes again looking at her lap. “He cheated on me.”

“What a fucking moron,” he mumbled and tilted his head at the ceiling. Harry would never understand how the luckiest men in the world treated lovely, beautiful girls like her as if they were nothing. “He wants y’back?”

She shrugged, shook her head, and nodded. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want him back?”

She whimpered and shook her head. Squeezing her eyes shut so tight, he worried she was going to split open her lids. “God, no,” she whispered.

Harry sighed, rubbed his palms on his thighs. “Can y’talk t’me, kitten? M’not leaving unless y’tell me to. Do y’want me t’leave?” It would kill him. Sincerely, truly kill him. But if she didn’t want him there, he would go.

“I can’t,” she was sobbing. It was killing him. It hurt so much not to hold her and comfort her.

“Okay, okay. I’ll... I’ll jus’... go back t’my house... Yeah? If y’need something, jus’...” he rubbed a hand over his face feeling like he was walking on a bed of glass saying the words. “Call, text, throw rocks at m’window,” he stood, mindful to not bump her knee. He smiled weakly at his own joke. It wasn’t returned. He didn’t know what to do or say. He didn’t know how to help the sweet, lovely girl. The smile fell from his lips when she didn’t respond. “Jus’... lock the door behind me, Buttercup, yeah?”

It felt like he was walking toward his death, but he left her living room and waited until he heard her deadbolt lock before he descended her porch steps.

She dropped the glass of water Harry gave her in the kitchen after she let Harry leave. It shattered into a million microscopic pieces and the flowers from her garden looked so unbelievably pretty she wished Harry really was taking her on a date.

She covered her mouth around another broken sob. Her eyes felt red and raw, and the pressure of her sinuses and the front of her forehead ached beyond words. She was safe. She was okay. But her chest hurt.

Levi was gone. Harry came to her rescue. After she was mean and grumpy toward him. Trying to protect her heart after it hurt six ways to Sunday because of the man that let himself into her home without permission. Harry didn’t even try to touch her without permission. She could tell he wanted to. Hell, she wanted him to... but everything hurt, and she was just so scared.

Maybe it was too late. But she needed him. Really needed Harry to hold her and comfort her. Her mind ran rampant with thoughts of how lovely it was to be held by him. The kiss on her skin. He was warm and solid. Safe. That’s what she wanted. To feel safe. Her heart ached with want.

Immediately after the thought of his warm solid body around hers, she raced out of the kitchen and unlocked her door. She was ready to fly down the steps of her porch, cross her yard and his hoping he would have the door open before she even arrived.

But Harry was already there; at the bottom of the third and final step of her porch.

He never even left.

Harry stood and turned as soon as he heard the deadbolt open, standing only seconds before she was ready to blow right past him. “Oh, thank God,” he whispered to himself.

Without any more pause, she was in his embrace. Her arms around his neck and she sobbed openly into his shoulder. His hands felt so big and safe on her body, just as she predicted.

He hummed something into her hair. Something like “M’here,” in his gravelly, pretty voice. “I have you,” he soothed. “Oh kitten, m’so sorry,” his voice sounded like he wanted to cry as much as she was. Poor Harry. He didn’t deserve to feel so sad. Not because of her and her messed up life. “C’mon, Buttercup,” he scooped behind her knees and cradled her as he carried her back inside to her sofa, locking the door behind them as he entered.

“Don’t leave me, please,” she begged, sniffling into his shirt.

“Never, baby. Never, ever, ever,” he promised rubbing her back. “Not unless y’ask.”

Her lower lip wobbled. “But I will ask,” she sniffed. “Because I’m too much. I’m sad, scared, broken, and damaged.”

“Y’not any of those things, kitten. Certainly not damaged, Buttercup.”

“But I am,” she whimpered. “You have no idea. He messed me up so bad... and I... I don’t,” she choked. “I pushed you away already.”

It wasn’t much, but the little bit she opened up her heart to him meant the world to him. It was almost as good as holding her. But nothing could replace that feeling now that he had it. He stroked her face with the back of his hand. “I wasn’t far,” he shrugged.

He didn’t even leave her porch. Was he going to stay out there all night? Her heart felt achy, and her eyes were already raw with tears but if they weren’t she would have cried at the thought of her obnoxious neighbor sleeping on the bottom step of her porch in the cold all because she was broken.

“You just wanted to help, and touch and hold me, and I wouldn’t let you—”

“Kitten,” he said sternly. He cupped below her jaw and stared right into her pupils like he was speaking directly to her soul. “Let’s get one thing very clear. I will never touch you without permission. No one has any right t’touch you unless y’ask.”

A sob escaped her throat and then she buried her face against his chest. His body was so broad and warm. She imagined if they were without heat or power, she would still be warm. “But I want you to touch me. All the time. Every second I’m around you,” there was no use denying it. Not when she couldn’t lift her face from his shirt.

Harry sighed with relief. “Well good,” he squeezed her affectionately. “Baby,” he stroked his thumb below her eye. “What happened?”

She shivered and Harry pulled the blanket that was on the back of her sofa over them. Her personality was huge and beautiful. She invaded Harry’s every thought. In the same room, she was in every air particle. Outside in her garden she was every little piece of dirt, petal, stem, root and all. She was larger than life.

It killed him she felt so small in his arms.

“I knew he was cheating, and he didn’t want me to leave,” she sniffed. Harry nodded, his teeth ground together. His jaw tensed. Waiting for her to continue. “He said I was overreacting. Our relationship was stale, and we just needed something to spice things up.”

She turned her face to his shirt and Harry cupped the back of her head, his fingers sliding and massaging his fingertips against the back of her skull. “He’s an idiot, Buttercup. A stupid, idiotic, horrible excuse for a man,” he grumbled.

She swallowed and didn’t say anything for a few moments. Harry holding her felt like medicine was sinking into her skin and directly into her bloodstream. Harry didn’t force her to speak. He didn’t ask questions. He just held her. She was sure he wanted to know more. Wanted to know all the gritty details that resulted in her moving in the middle of the night and finding this house next to his.

But there was only one thing she could think about.

“Why do you call me Buttercup?” She whispered.

Harry didn’t answer for several seconds. His free hand was on the small of her back, pressing gently to get her frame even closer to his. “Can I kiss right here?” He asked ignoring her question. He brushed his thumb along her temple. She nodded and Harry followed the brush of his thumb with his lips.

“That’s nice,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “Jus’ wait ‘til y’get a real kiss,” he promised. “Gonna make y’fall in love with me.”

She didn’t want to tell him she already had because that seemed ridiculous. So ridiculous it made her a little breathless. “That good hmm?” She hummed.

“Never had a complaint.”

“That’s obvious,” she smirked.

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sleep with all of them.”

“Not my business.”

“But it is... M’a gentleman first, kitten. Mum taught me well. I just like t’make m’date feel good,” he explained. “Doesn’t always include... y’know,” he shrugged one shoulder. “I know I drove y’crazy walking them out in m’boxers.”

“No, you didn’t,” she lied.

He chuckled. “S’okay t’admit it, kitten; don’t know what I would have done if y’had someone over and flaunted a date in jus’ your underwear.”

“You were trying to make me jealous?”

“I didn’t think y’were that stubborn.”

She wasn’t sure if Harry was avoiding her question or trying to distract her, but she still wanted an answer. “Why?” She asked quietly again.

“Why what?”

“Why do you call me buttercup?”

He sighed, kissed her temple again turning her insides warm and mushy. He didn’t speak for a few seconds like he didn’t really want to tell her. “Y’were eating a peanut buttercup,” he mumbled. “When y’moved in. Y’have wrappers all over the floor of y’car. On Halloween, y’didn’t pass out any of them, but I saw them in the grocery bags I carried in for you one time.”

She bit her lip wondering how she didn’t put it together. It was incredible he noticed that. “They’re my favorite,” her voice no more than air once more.

“And you’re mine,” he assured her, cupping the side of her face. “M’not going t’let him hurt you. I’ll break every bone in his body and mine if I have to.”

She blushed. “You don’t have to—”

“Buttercup, m’not joking,” he said cutting off her protest. “Y’don’t have t’be scared because m’never going t’let him get close t’you ever again,” he promised.

“He just said he was going to... wait until you leave, Harry. You can’t promise that.”

“Guess I won’t leave. Or you’ll have t’come home with me.”

“Harry,” she croaked.

“Kitten, m’not messing around with y’safety,” he reminded her. “I can stay here on the couch and y’can stay in your bed. It doesn’t have t’be a thing. M’staying t’keep y’safe. Don’t read into it if y’don’t want to.”

But she wanted to read into it. God, did she want to. Harry dropped everything the moment she texted him from the bathroom in a panic. He was only next door. Didn’t she want to believe all his pranks were his way of flirting? Didn’t she want to believe he liked her more than just annoying her?

She swallowed like there was something stuck in her throat. He didn’t deserve a mess. He deserved one of the effortlessly beautiful girls that he brought home. The kind that knew how to curl their own hair and where to draw the contour lines when they did their makeup. “You don’t have to stay,” she shook her head.

“Kitten,” he tutted.

“No seriously—”

“You’re deflecting, baby.”

“I’m just—”

“Buttercup,” Harry’s hands felt so warm and perfect against her skin. He brought his other hand to her bare cheek. It looked like he was trying not to cry himself when she met his gaze. “You just told me y’would try t’push me away. I don’t want t’go. But I will. I’ll sleep on your porch if y’want me too,” he offered. “Please,” he whispered quietly. Gently, like he was worried he was going to scare her. “Don’t ask me t’leave you.”

There was a long pause. “Stay,” she murmured into his hand. Because she was too exhausted and scared to tell him to leave. Pressing her lips against his palm, she met his gaze and watched the hope bloom in his eyes with just one little word. “Please... please stay.”

Harry sighed with relief, pulling her tightly toward him and nodding. “Course, Buttercup. Of course.”

It had become routine. She arrived home from work, and there was Harry. Sitting on the bottom step of her porch. He waited for her while she gathered her belongings from her car. His smile was so stunning. Like a streetlight on a dark road. Bright, beautiful, and all for her. “Hey Buttercup,” he hummed as she approached. He stood and pulled the bag off her shoulder and carried it for her. It wasn’t even heavy. In the same movement, he pecked her cheek and pressed a hand to her lower back like he had done for the last six weeks since he started seeing her exclusively. Not a single girl with perfectly curled hair had been his driveway. No one with expertly contoured makeup. Harry stopped walking around his yard in his boxers (but now she wished he did it more). As he guided her toward the front door, he continued grinning like an idiot. “Did your day get better after lunch, kitten?”

She nodded, his encouraging text sent at lunchtime was meant to ease the frustration he could sense through her messages. It wasn’t lost on him that as much as he used to enjoy her frustration, he wanted nothing more than to ease it now. “M-hmm,” she smiled at him. “You?”

“Better now that you’re home.”

She rolled her eyes at him because while he stopped pranking her so much, he replaced it with the cheesiest thoughts and lines known to man. But there was no denying how it made her heart flutter. “Did you want to go out to eat?” She asked.

He shrugged, then nodded. “We can if y’want.”

“I don’t really feel like cooking.”

“Me either.”

“Let me change and we’ll go.” Harry was looking at her strangely. The kind of face he made when he pulled pranks on her before he officially swept her off her feet. Maybe she was wrong, and the pranks were coming back.

Maybe there were those mini firecrackers under her toilet seat. “What?”

“Nothing, jus’... think y’look pretty,” his smile was too devilish (and handsome). He knew what he was doing. she shook her head and snorted. But Harry saw the way her cheeks turned pink at the compliment. He watched her head to her bedroom. When she stopped in the doorway, his smile bloomed. Her pause to look at her room as if it wasn’t hers made his heart skip a beat. “S’matter, Buttercup?”

“There are like a hundred peanut butter cups on my bed,” she told him. Like he didn’t already know. Orange wrappers lined up in the shape of a heart along her bed spread.

“107, actually,” She turned to look at him. He shrugged. “It would have 110, but I needed a snack.”

She wanted to smile. But her heart was beating fast, her emotions overwhelming her. She bit the inside of her lip. “Why?”

“Y’said y’were having a bad day.”

Her lip felt raw from biting it, behind her eyes prickled with tears. “Oh.”

“S’nice? Yeah?” He wondered and made his way to her, putting his hand on her lower back. He kissed her temple. “Kitten?” She nodded and turned her head toward him, hiding her face against his shoulder and trying to quell the emotion that was threatening to come out of her. “Hey, s’wrong, Buttercup?” He frowned. “Do y’want t’order take away instead?” He rubbed her arm soothingly.

She shook her head, then nodded, followed by a shrug. “I don’t know,” she sniffed.

“Aw, baby, don’t cry,” he hummed. “S’okay,” he reassured her. He didn’t even know why she needed reassurance. “S’jus’ some candy.” She sniffled again and Harry kissed the top of her hair. “M’gonna make sure y’feel good all the time, Buttercup,” he promised.

Her chest felt so overwhelmingly warm and achy in the best way. She nodded against him wishing she could tuck herself further into his strong body where she felt like nothing bad could happen. The change in relationship was a lot to absorb. But it was easy in a lot of ways. Harry was sweeter than she ever imagined he could be. Or maybe she was biased now that she got kisses, and he held her like she was the most precious thing he had ever touched. It killed her in hindsight how standoffish she had been to him. The thought of ignoring him made her feel sick to her stomach.

“I think you really will,” she mumbled into his shirt. He chuckled, kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Harry,” she whispered.

“Y’never have to thank me, kitten,” he shrugged. “Sorry I was so annoying.”

“I suppose it worked,” she sniffed.

He chuckled. “I knew it would.”

“You did not.”

“I did so,” he said petulantly. “Or I hoped it would.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t know why you would want someone so mean.”

“Jus’ makes me want y’more,” he joked and rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. “M’gonna kiss y’now, kitten,” his way of warning her and asking for permission. It hurt that he felt he had to ask. But Harry was nothing if not thorough and sure in asking for her consent.

“Don’t ever stop,” she sighed dreamily.

He chuckled again and leaned in to follow his promise. “M’pleasure, Buttercup.”

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calypso-rt · 4 months ago

Text

bookworm II

-> blurbs pt. I | blurbs pt. III

-> rafe x bookworm!reader

At first, you thought it was a coincidence. A fluke. A strange alignment of the universe that had Rafe Cameron showing up at your bookstore every single day.

Then, the excuses started.

“Yeah, uh—I lost my bookmark. Need a new one.”

You arched a brow. “You bought one yesterday.”

“Yeah, well. Lost that one too.”

The next day, it was:

“Do you guys sell… maps?”

“…Maps?”

“Yeah. Like, of the world. Or South Carolina. Or, actually, just this bookstore. So I don’t get lost in here. Y’know. Again.”

You smirked. “You’ve been in here at least a dozen times, Rafe.”

“Yeah, but, like. What if I forget where the classics section is?”

You tilted your head toward the large sign hanging from the ceiling labeled Classics.

Rafe nodded like that was irrelevant.

And then there was your favorite excuse:

“Yeah, so, uh—my dad told me I need to um…read more.”

Your lips twitched. “Your dad, huh?”

“Yeah. Real big on literacy.”

“…Ward Cameron?”

“Yep.”

“The same Ward Cameron who tried to build a golf course over the town library?”

Rafe coughed. “Uh. Yeah. He’s changed.”

It was obvious. He wasn’t here for the books.

He was here for you.

You never called him out on it, though. Not when he’d come in pretending to browse, only to spend an hour leaning against the counter, talking to you about anything, or, sometimes, nothing.

Not when he bought The Odyssey and then asked you, dead serious, “Is this, like… a pirate book?”

Not when he sat on the floor of the poetry aisle, flipping through a book like he actually understood it, just because it was your favorite section.

And definitely not when he smiled at you—soft, lopsided, like he had nowhere else in the world he’d rather be, and asked, “What should I read next?”

Because, at the end of the day?

You kinda liked that he kept coming back.

...

“You don’t have to help, you know.”

“I want to help,” Rafe said, rolling up the sleeves of his absurdly expensive button-down, like he was about to perform some impossible manual labor.

You squinted at him. “Do you… even have a job?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Not important.”

You had your doubts, but you handed him a stack of books to shelve anyway. Simple task. Foolproof.

Five minutes later, you turned around to see him absolutely butchering the organization system.

“Rafe.”

“Yeah?”

“Why is Pride and Prejudice in the True Crime section?”

He turned back to the shelf, frowning. “Oh. That’s my bad. I just, y’know, Mr. Darcy? He’s kinda criminal. The way he was actin’.”

You sighed. “And Where the Crawdads Sing?”

“…Nature documentary?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “That’s fiction, Rafe.”

“Okay, well who decided that?”

The next disaster struck when he insisted on manning the register.

A sweet old lady handed him a book, and you watched as he flipped it over, looked at the price tag, and said, “Yeah, uh… how’s twenty bucks sound?”

You smacked his arm. “Rafe. The register does that for you.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” He punched in the numbers dramatically, furrowing his brow. “Beep. Boop. Okay, that’ll be… twelve dollars and ninety-nine cents.”

The woman blinked. “That’s the full price, dear. Don’t I get the senior discount?”

Rafe’s face scrunched. He turned to you, looking genuinely distraught. “Babe, we can’t just rob old ladies. That’s messed up.”

You groaned. “It’s built into the system, Rafe.”

He looked at the register, squinting at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. Then, sighing dramatically, he pressed some buttons.

“Okay, ma’am, with the discount, that’ll be… uh…” He turned to you and whispered, “How much is twelve minus ten percent?”

You just laughed, shaking your head.

And the worst part? You still didn’t kick him out. You let him stay.

Because even when he was the most useless bookstore assistant to ever exist, he looked so damn proud every time he got something right, like when he stacked books into a perfectly symmetrical pile, or when he finally figured out how to use the barcode scanner.

And, okay. Maybe you liked seeing him here. Maybe you liked the way he leaned against the counter, twirling a pen between his fingers, looking at you like you were the best thing he’d ever found in a bookstore.

Maybe you liked him.

Just a little.

...

The second you heard loud, obnoxious laughter from the back corner of the shop, you knew it was trouble.

You peeked around a bookshelf, your stomach sinking. A group of guys were shoving books back onto shelves backwards, tossing paperbacks to each other like footballs. One of them had the audacity to rest his drink on top of your classics display.

You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over your pants. “Hey, guys,” you called, forcing a polite smile. “Could you please be a little more careful with the books?”

One of them barely glanced at you, smirking. “Relax, sweetheart. We're real careful.”

You hated when men called you that.

Well, most men.

Another guy laughed, nudging his friend. “We’re just here for Rafe Cameron. Heard he hangs out here now. Figured we’d see what the big deal is.”

Your jaw clenched. Of course.

Then, like divine intervention, the bell above the door jingled.

And there he was.

Rafe Cameron, walking in with that lazy, effortless confidence, except the second he spotted them, his whole demeanor shifted. His jaw ticked. His shoulders squared.

“Yo,” one of the guys called. “There he is! Dude, what are you even doin’ in a bookstore, man? Thought you were out crashin' boats or whatever.”

Rafe didn’t laugh. Didn’t even acknowledge them.

Instead, his gaze landed right on you.

“You okay?” His voice was low, rough. Protective.

Your stomach flipped, but you nodded. “They’re just messing up the shelves.”

That was all Rafe needed to hear.

He turned, stepping up to the group with a slow, deliberate swagger. “You break somethin’ in here?” His voice was calm, but there was a dangerous edge to it.

The guy with the drink shrugged. “Relax, man, it’s just books.”

Rafe’s expression darkened. “Put the drink down.”

The guy blinked. “What?”

“Put. It. Down.”

Slowly, the guy obeyed, setting the cup on a table. Rafe stepped in even closer, his voice dropping lower. “Now pick up every single book you messed up.”

One of the guys scoffed. “Bro, what’s the big deal? Since when do you give a shit about—”

“I give a shit,” Rafe snapped. “And if you don’t, then you can get the hell out.”

Silence.

The guys glanced at each other, clearly not expecting this Rafe Cameron. They expected the reckless party boy, the guy who didn’t care about anything.

Not the guy who was standing in the middle of a tiny bookstore, ready to start a fight over misplaced books.

One of them grumbled something under his breath, but they started fixing the shelves. Sloppy, but you’d take it.

When they left, shoulders hunched, trying to laugh it off, Rafe turned back to you. “You sure you’re okay?”

You just stared at him for a second, crossing your arms. “I didn’t know you were my personal security now.”

Rafe smirked. “What, you think I’m gonna let some jackasses ruin our bookstore?”

You blinked. Our bookstore.

Your face felt warm.

“…You put Pride and Prejudice in True Crime last week.”

“I stand by that.”

...

At first, you didn’t notice.

Rafe would sit at the counter, flipping through books as you worked, occasionally grumbling when he came across a word that was too long for his liking.

But then you started finding them.

Books left open on the counter, always on a page with some long, complicated passage, marked up in that messy, boyish scrawl of his.

You found the first one in a well-worn copy of Wuthering Heights.

“This dude is insane. No way she actually likes him. (Not that I relate)”

Then, in Pride and Prejudice, right under one of Mr. Darcy’s confessions:

“This is the most dramatic way to say ‘I like you’ I’ve ever seen. Might use it tho.”

And your favorite, scribbled in the margins of The Picture of Dorian Gray:

“Would I sell my soul for eternal youth? Idk, would you still like me if I had gray hair?”

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing every time.

Finally, one evening, as you locked up, you found a copy of Jane Eyre left open right on the counter. A single sentence underlined.

“I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you.”

And right next to it, in his handwriting:

“Yeah. What he said.”

A/N: my fav duo :(

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction

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vanteguccir · 2 months ago

Text

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤICE CREAM AND... MCDONALD'S? * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where Chris has the flu, and Y/N is just a caring, very much worried, ambitious girlfriend.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x billionaire!reader　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　the flu symptoms, mentions of drugs and cigarettes (not the use of it).

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: yes, I am obsessed with sick fics, so what? 😔✋🏻

A/N³: had this idea out of nowhere and had to write it and post it as soon as I could, hope yall like it 🫶🏻

"He still has that cough." Y/N muttered, mostly to herself but loud enough that it drifted over to the dining table.

She stood barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves of her oversized hoodie bunched up at her elbows, two black mugs lined up in front of her on the marble counter. Her hair was pulled back in a messy claw clip that had started the day cute and functional but now looked like it was holding on for dear life.

The kettle on the stove let out a soft whistle, not even loud enough to startle her anymore. She had become one with this kitchen over the last three days.

Nick, hunched over his laptop with a pair of headphones around his neck, paused his frantic clicking, and turned his attention toward her.

"He still sounds like that?"

She sighed, pulling two tea bags out of the little ceramic jar labeled 'TEA BAGS' in cursive gold lettering.

"Yeah. And it’d probably be fine by now if he’d just take the damn medicine, but no, he’s insisting he doesn’t need or want it."

Nick raised his eyebrows.

"Wait, he said that?"

Y/N snorted, rolling her eyes so hard she nearly saw her own brain overworking itself inside her head.

"Well, he whined a lot more and said he was super fine with the black bags under his eyes and his voice sounding like he gargled gravel, but yes, he did."

She stared down at the tea, watching the little satchels bloom like sad underwater jellyfish. The minty-chamomile blend was her last hope. It was her fifth attempt at getting something gentle but powerful into Chris’s system since actual medicine was very obviously out of the question.

Matt, flopped across the couch in white socks and a grey set of sweats, didn’t even look up from his phone.

"Have you tried bribing him with ice cream? Or like, getting him McDonald's? That used to work when we were sick."

Nick turned his upper body so he was facing the living room, sending Matt a look, face contorting like he just stepped in something wet while wearing socks.

"You know that he's twenty-one, right? Not five."

Y/N stopped swirling the tea bag in the mug, blinking slowly like something in Matt’s words had just flipped a very important switch in her brain.

"Wait... you think that would work?"

But she didn’t even wait for his answer. She turned on her heels and looked at the little black Alexa speaker sitting innocently by the sink, nestled between a small fake cactus and a fruit bowl that had become purely decorative.

"Alexa." She rasped. "Send a text to my assistant."

Nick’s eyes flicked up warily from his laptop, while Matt perked up slightly on the couch.

"Sure." Came the calm, emotionless voice of the AI. "What would you like the message to say?"

Y/N stretched on her tiptoes to reach the upper cupboard, grabbing the small jar of honey and balancing it against her hip.

"Tell her to buy McDonalds." She paused to pour a bit of the sugary liquid into each tea mug. "Like... the company."

There was a beat of absolute stunned silence behind her.

"I want majority shareholder status by the end of the week."

"Sending message." Alexa said back.

The silence hung in the air for a moment before a clang echoed from behind her, the sound of something solid crashing onto the hardwood floor.

Y/N flinched, startled.

"Fuck, Y/N-" Matt’s voice burst out, filled with panic, getting down to rescue his fallen phone. "That’s not what I meant. Do not buy McDonald's. Buy Chris some McDonald's."

Y/N snorted.

Then giggled.

"Alexa, unsend the message." Nick said flatly, dragging a hand over his face.

Y/N’s snickers turned into full-blown, exhausted laughter as she leaned against the counter to keep herself upright.

"Damn, I need sleep." She muttered, rubbing at her temple with the hand not holding the spoon. "You’d think I’d have, like, immunity to sleep-deprivation at this point."

She looked tired. Not just tired-tired. Worn out.

Her eye-bags had eye-bags.

Nick gave a dramatic sigh.

"A sick Chris is worse than any other thing in the world. Doesn’t matter what."

He was right.

Reading about 19th-century social commentary while negotiating multi-million-dollar branding contracts for a company she was supposed to one day inherit? Weirdly kind of relaxing.

Peaceful, even.

But trying to get her very sick and very stubborn boyfriend to take a pill of Ibuprofen?

That was war.

Y/N rolled her eyes, soft and fond.

"Yeah, yeah." She mumbled under her breath, grabbing a spoon from the dish drainer and stirring both mugs with small, circular movements. The herbs swirled lazily, flecks of mint and chamomile dancing around.

With a little flick, she tossed the spoon into the sink, where it clattered with a delicate ping, and then wrapped both hands around the warm mugs, one in each palm.

The ceramic heat sank into her skin, making her feel marginally more alive. Only just. The bar was very low.

She turned toward the living room.

"Alright." She started, voice soft and determined. "I’m gonna go try to tame the beast again."

Matt chuckled, already half-absorbed in whatever TikTok rabbit hole he was spiraling into.

"Good luck with that."

Nick, still typing with eyes full of focus, looked up just as she passed him.

"Y/N."

She stopped, glancing down at him.

He met her eyes with that older-brother gaze he always had when he was being serious in a way that made you feel like maybe you should sit down.

"Get your boyfriend his meds." He said simply. "And go to sleep."

"I will." She promised easily, nodding once.

But the look Nick gave her in response was pointed. She could almost listen to his thoughts.

'Sure you will. I’ve known you long enough to know you’re lying through your teeth, and you still think you can get away with it.'

Y/N glanced over at Matt, silently begging for backup.

He didn’t even glance up.

She sighed dramatically, being careful with the mugs.

"Okay, fine. I’ll lay down, at least."

Not that she’d be able to actually sleep. That was cute.

She wouldn’t rest until Chris was okay. No more raspy coughing fits, no more dark circles, no more stubborn fake-smile when she asked how he was feeling, and he tried to act like he wasn’t dying from the inside out.

Not until his dumb sick self was back to being his usual healthy, annoying, clingy boyfriend again.

Sleep could wait.

Chris couldn’t.

Y/N elbowed open the wooden door to Chris's room with both hands full. The scent of honey chamomile from the tea drifted upward, somehow mixing with the faint traces of boy-sickness that lingered in the air.

The room was dim, lit only by the laptop at the foot of the bed that was precariously balancing on a pillow and playing SpongeBob episodes with way too much volume.

SpongeBob’s high-pitched squealing made her wince.

Chris was bundled under a mountain of blankets twisted and kicked and cocooned around his curled-up body. His nose was flushed red and slightly crusted, his lips parted from mouth breathing, and his eyes were half-closed, eyelashes clumped together with exhaustion and, possibly, tears.

He looked miserable.

Pathetically adorable, but miserable.

Y/N’s heart cracked a little. She hadn’t seen him this sick since... well, ever, actually. Chris usually bounced back fast, too stubborn and hyperactive to stay down. But right now?

He was down bad.

"Jesus." She muttered under her breath with a wince, approaching the bedside table and carefully lowering both mugs onto it.

She nudged a ridiculous mound of dirty tissues out of the way with the side of her hand, grimacing a bit. Then she turned to him and crouched slightly so she was eye level with his flushed, pillow-smashed face.

"Hey, baby." She said gently, brushing some of his sweaty curls back from his forehead, stuck to his skin like limp noodles. "It’s time for some tea and drugs."

Chris groaned low in his throat, cracking one eye open, glassy, and annoyed at being awake.

The dramatic "I’M READY! I’M READY!" from SpongeBob blasted from the laptop just then, making both of them jump slightly. Y/N leaned over and turned the volume down with a sigh.

"I know, baby, I know." She said soothingly, her fingers carding through his damp hair again as she perched gently on the edge of the bed. "But you have to take the cough medicine. It’s gonna help, okay?"

Chris just rolled his eyes dramatically and let out a congested whine, turning his face into the pillow with the exaggerated act of a toddler refusing vegetables.

Y/N raised an unimpressed brow.

"Christopher."

Another groan. This one was more theatrical.

"Come on, don’t make me beg." She muttered, already reaching for the bottle of cold meds sitting on the bedside table.

She helped him sit up straighter - he was all floppy and uncoordinated, poor thing - and grabbed the smaller mug.

"Look, I’ll... I’ll bring you some ice cream." She tried, a little desperate.

That seemed to perk him up. His eyes, still red-rimmed and watery, locked on hers with the tiniest glint of curiosity.

"I got a... notification." He rasped, voice thick and gravelly like someone who’d smoked cigars for 40 years. "From Alexa. Said you told Lila to buy McDonald’s." His words dissolved into a fit of coughs, chest rattling as he leaned away from her instinctively.

Y/N winced but didn’t move to help yet. Both hands were full, and Chris's coughs were like a mini hurricane. When he finally settled, she tilted her head and gave him an innocent smile.

"I mean... yeah. I was just buying some McDonald’s." She said sweetly, as if they both didn’t know she meant the company, not a happy meal.

Chris stared at her with a look that screamed disbelief.

"You know Nick would kill you, right?"

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"He’s so dramatic. It’s an investment."

"You wanted to buy it because I wouldn’t take cold meds." He pointed out dryly.

She gently shoved the Ibuprofen pill into his hand with a little shrug and held out his tea.

"Details."

"Baby." He sighed, dramatically dragging out the 'Y'.

"Pill. Mouth. Now." She said, way too gently, guiding his hand toward his face. She watched him put the medicine in his mouth and then gave him the mug, making sure he sipped enough to swallow it down completely.

Only when she saw him wince at the aftertaste and scrunch up his nose - adorable - did she visibly relax a little.

"Was that so hard?" She asked with a grin, brushing his hair off his forehead again.

He narrowed his eyes at her, clearly suspicious of her cheeriness.

Then, after a beat, she asked, voice sheepish and teasing.

"Would you, like... want the whole McDonald’s? For yourself? ‘Cause I could-"

Chris groaned, dragging the blanket over his face like she was the problem now.

"I’m sick, not hallucinating." He mumbled from under it.

Y/N giggled, scooting up closer to him on the bed and gently tugging the blanket back down from over his nose.

"You’re used to this by now."

"Unfortunately." He deadpanned, but the little twitch of his lips gave him away.

Y/N just smiled, nudging the still full mug of his tea that he forced to her hands seconds before.

"Sip a bit more, okay? And then I’ll go get you some ice cream. Or like, some McDonald’s. Your choice."

Chris blinked at her, exhausted but undeniably soft, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy to fight her.

Instead, he just muttered.

"You’re insane."

Y/N leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to his temple, her voice all melted sugar and sleep-deprived affection.

"Love you too, baby."

Chris didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. He just leaned into her touch with a tiny sigh and took another sip of tea, letting her warmth and the scent of chamomile wrap around him like a blanket.

For now, the beast was tamed.

And she’d definitely earned that ice cream.

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steddieas-shegoes · 8 days ago

Text

file clerk

for @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'clerks'

rated m | 956 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: famous corroded coffin, normal dude steve, flirting, steddie getting together

also on ao3

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

It’s a stupid job, but it’s a job. Steve just needed the job.

File clerk is a “woman’s job” according to both of his parents, but he gets paid better than any other job he’s qualified for and the secretary always brings him cookies on Fridays so he can’t complain. Not many people can say they get to file important documents for a record label in Chicago.

He’s met extremely important people. He accidentally spilled coffee on a guy who looked a lot like Ozzy Osborne. He wasn’t. He doesn’t think.

“Excuse me, do you know where studio five is?” A voice accompanies a loud knock on the office door. He’s usually alone for most of the day, so someone appearing in his little alcove is a bit unexpected.

He thinks back to the tour he got on his first day. He never really leaves the front hallway. He talks to Sharona at the front desk every morning, puts his lunch in the break room to the left, clocks in, heads to his little hole in the wall to file.

“All the studios are on the second floor,” Steve explains as he turns around to face the voice. “Oh. Oh my god.”

Eddie Munson is standing in his doorway. Eddie of Corroded Coffin fame. The guitarist who just graced the cover of Rolling Stone fully nude except for his guitar.

That guy.

“See, they told me one through five were on this floor. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted them.” Eddie rests his head against the doorframe and sighs. “Sorry for bothering you. You look busy.”

Steve’s still a little starstruck, but Eddie doesn’t seem to notice. If he does, he’s apparently not gonna say anything. He’s just gonna let Steve suffer.

“Actually, could you show me where the elevators are? I don’t wanna take the stairs with my sweetheart,” Eddie smiles at him, standing up straight.

Oh. So the rumors are true. Eddie’s got himself a girlfriend. Apparently one who is important enough to come to the studio with him to record new music. Steve lets out a breath as he accepts this information. It’s not like he had a chance anyway.

“Sure, let me just lock the drawer,” Steve accepts he’s going to have to suck up the ridiculous crush he has on this rockstar and be helpful. It may not be in his job description, but he’s gonna help Eddie and his sweetheart get to where they need to be.

“Are you sure you don’t mind? There was no one at the front desk or I would ask them,” Eddie actually sounds a bit like he regrets bothering Steve now, but Steve could use a break. Sometimes spending hours on end in this small room is enough to make him edgy.

“No, I need to stretch my legs. It’s a quick trip.”

Steve leads him out of the room and closes the door.

When he turns, there’s no other person standing by Eddie. Cool, so Eddie’s high and hallucinating. Steve doesn’t get paid enough for this.

“Where’s, uh, your girlfriend?” Steve looks around to make sure she didn’t wander somewhere she shouldn’t be. Honestly, he doesn’t care if she does.

“My…wait.” Eddie laughs. “My sweetheart is my guitar.”

Steve looks down to see the guitar case by the wall. It must be the one that’s from the photoshoot.

“Oh yeah. I knew that.”

Eddie smirks now, stepping into Steve’s space. “So you know who I am?”

It should be annoying that he’s so full of himself right now, but Steve knows it’s an act. Or the interviews are an act. Maybe Eddie’s good at lying and both are an act.

“I know you don’t record here usually. Your home studio is LA.”

“Yeah, it is.” Eddie grabs his guitar case and settles his shoulders. “We decided to relocate for the next album. Got a bit tired of the California lifestyle.”

“So you picked Chicago?”

“Jeff picked Chicago. We all do what Jeff says. He’s the smart one.”

Steve laughs. “So you’ve said.”

“He lives for the praise, don’t let him fool you. That’s why I talk him up in every interview.”

Steve starts to lead them to the elevator. “He seems like the leader. He didn’t mind you getting the cover?”

“What, of Rolling Stone? God, no. They suggested nudity and he bailed.” Eddie shakes his head. “Ironic considering he’s the most fit of all of us.”

“I dunno. I think you were perfect for the cover.

“The guitar was there to hide the fact that I don’t have abs,” Eddie laughs as they both step into the elevator. “I’m scrawny and pale and probably not what anyone wants to see naked.”

“I bought three copies,” Steve admits.

Eddie’s looking at him, up and down, checking him out. It can’t be mistaken for anything else.

“Why did you need three?” Eddie asks as they arrive at the second floor.

“Well, one is kept under my bed,” Steve hopes he understands what he’s saying. By the choking noise Eddie makes, he does. “One is for the coffee table. One is for emergencies.”

Eddie lets out a hysterical laugh. “What kind of emergency would you need a copy of my magazine for?”

“Horny ones.”

“Do you regularly have those?”

Steve leads him to the studio he needs, taking his time so he can spend as many seconds with Eddie as he can get away with. Once he’s in the studio, he probably won’t see him again.

“Since that article came out, they’ve been happening more often,” Steve smiles to himself. “I’m kinda into the pale and scrawny look.”

“Noted,” Eddie comes to a stop next to Steve. “When do you get off?”

“Hopefully tonight.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #corroded coffin #corrodedcoffinfest

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thetealsky · 1 month ago

Text

I'd call my boyfriend || Frank Castle X fem!Reader

Summery: A soft fluffy evening with Frank

Words: 400

Moments like this with Frank always felt rare, even if they were starting to become more and more common.

You'd asked him to stay the night, and here he was. You lay on the sofa with him beneath you, head pillowed on his chest. Some action movie Curtis had recommended was playing on the TV. Through the haze of your near sleep you could hear two things, the light patter of rain on the window, and Frank’s muttered micromanaging of the action hero.

"It's like he's not even paying attention, baby. If he had any sense he'd be goin’ in through the stairwell." He absentmindedly stroked his fingers through your hair. "I ain't even saying he's gotta be some genius, just bother to do a quick fuckin’ perimeter check."

You hummed in vague agreement, feeling it vibrate through his chest.

"You listenin’ to a word I'm saying baby?" You could hear his smile.

"Mnn very important tactical information," you teased, "I'm filing it all away to use later."

He cupped the back of your head as a laugh shook through him.

"Oh yeah? And what'd you do if you were in his shoes?" He grumbled.

You hummed as if thinking very hard.

"I'd call my boyfriend. He knows loads about this kind of stuff." You tilted your head up to make eye contact.

"Boyfriend huh?" He looked down at you, eyes assessing.

You nodded. This was a slight risk, but one you were ready to take. You'd never put a label on your relationship, never spooked him with implications of a future together. But at this point it seemed obvious, Frank spent any free time with you and had started prioritising you over pretty much everything.

Frank had a nasty habit of not accepting good things, and now felt like a good time to push against that habit. He deserved to be happy and you deserved to call him your boyfriend out loud.

"Sounds like a smart idea baby." he eventually said. "I'm sure that boyfriend of yours can handle it for ya."

A comfortable silence fell between you. Both knowing that he had silently accepted that this was real.

The movie played for a little while longer before the credits started to roll and Frank made to start getting up.

"Five more minutes." You grumbled into his shirt. You felt his laugh as he settled back down. You had a feeling you'd say here for far more than five minutes, because you had no plans to move and Frank was already back to stroking his fingers through your hair and muttering about the different guns the action hero had been using.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle #the punisher #marvel #x reader

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mangooes · 3 months ago

Text

Koi Fish

It all started with a simple text.

Wifey: “Sysy, I adopted a koi fish today! Isn’t he cute? His name’s Mochi! You’re in charge while I’m away, okay? Feed him twice a day, no slacking!”

Sylus stared at the message, standing in the middle of his office like he’d just been asked to raise a dragon hatchling.

“…A fish.”

Luke, eavesdropping from the hallway, wisely pretended to cough to muffle his snort. Kieran was less subtle, wheezing outright.

“The missus leaving you to babysit a koi fish?” Kieran grinned. “Poor Mochi. Rest in peace, lil’ buddy.”

Sylus slowly turned his crimson gaze on them.

“Would you two like to replace the koi in her affections?” he asked mildly. “Because I can arrange that. Permanently.”

They fled.

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

Day 1.

Sylus stood before the koi tank, arms crossed, eyeing Mochi like he was negotiating with a rival organization boss.

“You and I will get along under one condition,” Sylus said, voice low, predatory. “Don’t die while she’s away.”

The koi fish blinked slowly, unimpressed.

Sylus huffed. “Fine. You’re lucky she likes you.”

But by the end of the day, he’d installed a high-grade water filtration system, replaced the tank lighting with “ambiance-enhancing mood lights,” and had imported koi-specific gourmet food flown in from a luxury breeder.

Because if his wife entrusted him with Mochi, this creature was going to live like a king.

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

Day 2.

“What do you think, Mochi?” Sylus leaned over the tank, sleeves rolled up as he sprinkled in premium food pellets, their container labeled in gold-embossed letters.

“I run an empire. Yet here I am, hand-feeding a koi.”

Mochi gave an elegant flick of his tail, basking under the soft glow of the tank’s fairy lights.

Sylus quirked a smile. “Hmph. You’re just like her. Demanding, pampered, and somehow I still indulge you.”

He even started playing low jazz vinyls in the background. Said it was for “Mochi’s enrichment.” Luke and Kieran watched in stunned silence as their boss, the most feared man in the N109 Zone, adjusted water temperature readings with the same seriousness he gave to weapons shipments.

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

Day 3.

When (Name) returned, suitcase in hand, she expected maybe a sulking Sylus, maybe a last-minute “oops I forgot to feed him” scramble.

What she didn’t expect was to walk into their penthouse to see—

Sylus, crouched by the koi tank, sleeves lazily rolled up, tie loosened, crimson eyes surprisingly soft as he muttered, “You’d better appreciate this, fish. She’ll scold me if your colors dull even a shade.”

(Name) froze in the doorway, staring.

“You’re… talking to Mochi.”

Sylus didn’t even flinch, his finger under the water, touching the said fish ever so slightly. “He’s a good listener, welcome home sweetie.”

“Sylus. Did you just… brush Mochi’s scales?”

“I read it improves blood circulation.” He stood slowly, straightening his shirt with a practiced flick. “A koi of this stature deserves royal treatment.”

(Name) blinked. Then smirked. “Oh, so now you’re a koi expert?”

“I adapt.” Sylus closed the distance, tugging her suitcase from her grasp and setting it aside. “But don’t misunderstand, kitten. I do this because you asked.”

“Mhm.” (Name) crossed her arms, amused. “Not because you got attached?”

“…Irrelevant.”

“Oh my god, you like him.”

“I tolerate him.” Sylus smirked. “He has a better temperament than the twins.”

From his pocket, he produced a tiny koi-themed charm. “Consider it a souvenir. Mochi’s likeness, imported jade. For you.”

(Name)’s heart melted.

“You’re so whipped.”

“I do what is best.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against her ear. “Though you still owe me for leaving me alone with a fish as my sole conversational partner.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” she promised, laughing.

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Later that night, as they lounged on the couch, (Name) peeked over to see Sylus adjusting the lighting of Mochi’s tank once more, muttering, “Tch. Needs a better viewing angle.”

(Name) snapped a photo.

Blackmail material? Absolutely.

But really, it was just another reminder that beneath the scary exterior, Sylus would do anything—even spoil a fish—for the woman he loves.

KOI FISHES R CUTE OKAYY >:( MY FAV TYPE OF FISH LMAOO and also the most hardest fish that i've taken care of.

#sylus x reader #lnds #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #qin che #lads sylus #sylus

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keenaminternational · 13 days ago

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#export label paper vietnam #export logistics indonesia #Export to Vietnam #Export Vietnam #freight forwarder to Vietnam #freight service to vietnam #hs code 482110 #label paper export #official export indonesia #paper roll export #paper roll shipping #vietnam paper importer

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moonlight-prose · 2 months ago

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ask for joaquín ideas and you shall recieve ma'am 😌 SO HERE YOU GO giving torres nasty head under his desk as he he's working on a debrief with sam on the phone, that at one point his eyes roll back

fall apart

a/n: this put me in a chokehold so tight i am pretty sure it’s why i am having issues breathing. the way this man had me acting up at ALL TIMES. and well i had vodka in my veins when i started writing this and had absolutely no issues being horny on main. so enjoy what is probably an unedited mess. but i was thinking fast at the time and somehow managed to finish it.

summary: distractions were best kept under wraps. even as joaquin blindly allowed you to toy with him at the worst possible moment. OR giving joaquin nasty head during his phone call with sam.

word count: 1.1k+

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, oral (m receiving), honestly fully porn without plot anywhere to be found, giving messy head, cussing, spit, cumplay, cumeating, face fucking, choking, slight exhibitionism, fluff, they're nasty people.

He’s supposed to be glued to the screen in front of him, eyes peeled and bloodshot as he searched for what Sam requested. He’s got a job to do. One that called for acts of heroism and skills beyond what he was capable of at this very moment. A task that should have felt like a breeze. Quick, easy, over and done with before the phone beeped relentlessly. Sam’s name popping up on the flashing screen.

But his head remained stuck in the clouds, mind coated in that thick gray fog—tipped back into his chair as he grasped at the handles. He needed to answer the fucking phone. Pick it up, clear his throat. Sound put together and professional.

He could barely see straight, entirely sure that if he opened his eyelids entirely he’d go cross-eyed. The feel of your wet hot mouth pulled him into the snare of your web. Tantalizing and dark—thick with the enticing heat that curled along the base of his spine. Wrenching his stomach into a fluttering hold. Speeding the steady beat of his heart until he began to tremble, thighs shaking where they were placed on either side of your head.

“Nena-”

Another suck had his back arching up, hand scrambling to curl along the back of your neck. The phone buzzed again, sliding with force along a clean wooden desk. All it would take was one press of his finger and Sam’s voice would fill the room.

“He’s calling-”

Your hand curled tight around the base of his spit soaked cock, precum dribbling down the sides as you came up for air. “So answer.”

“I can’t fucking answer,” he balked.

“Why not?” Swollen lips twisted up into a smile—one he’d seen before. One he knew like the back of his hand. “I thought you were capable of anything,” you purred.

“But it’s…” It would be so easy. Such a quick task to get done. Tell him the information, debrief what he’s learned through hours of research. He curled a hand around your chin, thumb pulling at your slick bottom lip. And the words slipped out before they registered in his mind. “Do it quietly.”

You lit up at his demand, head ducking down to swallow him down with a moan—the head of his cock brushing the very back of your throat. The mistake had been made and with a choked grunt, he picked up the phone.

“Got anything?”

Joaquin swallowed thickly, palming your head as he pulled up what files were labeled the most important with a shaky hand. “Uh….yes.” You swallowed around his length, throat working tight, spit dripping onto your hand that still held him in place; his mind went white.

“Joaquin. You good?”

No. He wasn’t.

He was so far down your throat he could see the bulge, the sticky wet sounds of your tongue slipping beneath his pulsing vein had him jolting his hips with a pained groan. Concern etched into Sam’s voice with questions he couldn’t answer, words that held no meaning in the depths of a mind gone dumb. You choked on him, spluttering for air as a sheen of spit smeared along your chin and cheeks.

“S-Shit-”

“What happened?” Sam called into the speaker, a rustle of him turning the car echoing into the spacious office.

Joaquin shuddered, hand clambering to cup your throat and keep you at bay—the dark glimmer in your eyes nearly sent him over the edge. He coughed, situated himself in the chair with adrenaline thundering beneath his buzzing skin. Eventually you’d fight him on this. Pull his twitching cock back into your mouth with a greedy moan—desperate for his taste to slide down your throat. And he’d let you. Without question.

He was only a man in the end; wrapped tight around your finger that cleaned the mess along your cheek.

“Nothing,” he cleared his throat. “Got a cramp. I managed to decode what documents you found at the scene. Shipment logs and whatnot.”

You huffed, thighs clenching at the sound of technical words rambled from a mouth you burned to kiss. “Baby-”

His hand clamped over your mouth, sealing your jaw shut with an audible click. "A group of them are meeting five minutes outside The Wharf. Looks like the trade is happenin’ over international waters.”

“They’re hoping not to get caught. Alright. Send me the time and exact location. And call whatever law enforcement is closest. They’ll want in on this too.”

“Already on it,” Joaquin rushed out, releasing what hold he had left as the line went dead. “Sorry nena-”

A loud sigh filled his ears beneath the thundering echo of his racing heart. Dreamlike in its breathy tones, as if you couldn’t wait to finally taste him again. The tang of it a delicacy on the back of your tongue. His groan was loud, emanating off each wall and window, when your mouth sucked him back in. Hand pumping fast with the slide of your spit.

“Fuck,” he gasped, eyes rolling back.

The sounds were obscene. A squelching echo of your tongue and mouth bobbing along his painfully hard cock. He could feel it rush along his spine, pulling tight enough to splinter with pain right down to his toes. Ruining him with ease seemed to come naturally—your body entirely in tune with his. You read him effortlessly as he trembled in the chair, blunt nails digging into the back of your neck as he fucked into your awaiting mouth.

“G-Gonna- Fucking I’m gonna cum.”

You hummed, swallowing around him once, twice, until your fingers curled around his pulsing balls and he was extinguished in the flames. He spurted down your throat with a raw shout, hips shoving up and into your face. Any other time he’d carefully keep his distance, make sure you could breathe properly.

But he was barely able keep track of his own name. Let alone where he was.

A garbled string of words spilled past his lips when you slowly came up for air, tongue licking gently at what still dripped down across your knuckles. He wanted to kiss you. Taste himself from the heat of your mouth. He wanted to lick into your cunt with a veracity he’d never known before your name became his favorite prayer.

He just couldn’t fucking move.

“Again?” you breathed, climbing into his lap with a soft grin.

“Shit,” he rasped, thumb pushing the pearly drips of his cum along your tongue. “I think you killed me.”

Light fractured along the edge of your iris and Joaquin felt the word love burn itself into his ribs. “You can kill me later,” you breathed, looping your arms around his limp form.

“I like those odds.”

#joaquin torres x f!reader #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres x y/n #joaquin torres smut #joaquin torres #my writing

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awrkive · 10 months ago

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WARM NIGHTS & CLEAR LINES — JJK (m.)

there haven't been a lot of people who have come into your life that became important to you – and you didn’t expect jeon jungkook to be one if it – not at all. but what started as a casual relationship turned into more than that, and now you find yourself deeply in love with him – and happily so.

or; your first "i love you" comes out completely wrong.

PAIRING cnbl!jungkook x cnbl!female reader

GENRE r18+ (SMUT, fluff) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

WORD COUNT 11k of pure fluffy and smutty nonsense 😍 literally 90% of this is smut

WARNINGS/MISC fluff galore, cnbl jk is the father of all simps all men need to be like him fr, angst if u squint but like not really 😭, oc's tendencies to be avoidant of her feelings show up lol i still love u saur, best boy cnbl jk ):, he will disintegrate if he cant call her by a petname [ explicit sexual content: unprotected s*x (its just a fanfic its not that serious), panty sniffing (like very quick), dirty talking lol, c*nnilingus, they hold hands during it <3, VERY SLIGHT foot action but like its very fleeting lol u dont need to worry about it lmfao, multiple s*x positions, cowgirl position cos her eyes are pretty trope, good ole cre*mpies ], L b*mb drop and an ily kink develops. literally every paragraph theres an ily crying. anyways i think thats all feel free to inform me if i left out any

NOTES i have like 11 asks on my inbox asking about how cnbl couple is and what their label is are they official now etc etc and they've sitting there since bush administration </3 after two years of drought we are finally so back. i purposefully didnt answer any of th asks since i want to make a drabble for when they finally make things official so this is it awrkive nation🩷 this can be read as a standalone?? but like pls read cnbl first lol (also i thought i ate this title when i thought about it but now i realize it kinda sounds ass but its 2am so give me some slack. also this is unedited skjfdjkfhdk AND this will also be my last post before i go mia for the next few weeks due to big life happenings. leave ur thoughts in my inbox or reply section to get a cnbl jk to go🫂

ORIGINAL STORY [CNBL] | MAIN MASTERLIST

Jungkook loves when he gives it to you slow. Loves the heavy breathes that puff out of your mouth, the drawl out moans that give your mouth that lovely, erotic O-shape which image burns in his head for the next few days (two days, at the very least), and the way he can feel the exact moment when you clench and unclench around the ridges of his hard cock.

But he also loves it when he jackhammers into your pussy, pounding in and out of it at a quick pace that your eyes roll to the back of your head, your fingers digging into his skin (or scalp), the staccato rhythm of your “oh”s and “ah”s that sound like real music to his ears, and the way your mouth hangs open as you utter sweet gibberish into the air because the pleasure he’s giving you feels too much.

“Give it to me, give it to me,” you whisper against his mouth. On your back, you’re sprawled across his bed, your thighs resting on the crook of Jungkook’s elbows as he pounds into you like he’s trying to win a contest.

There’s dried up tears on the side of your eyes, your lips swollen from the way you’ve been kissing for minutes, and Jungkook finds it hard to focus on one thing when you have your pussy gripping around him like a fucking vice, your breasts bouncing at his every quick thrust, and your pretty face looking at him like you just want nothing but cock.

“Y-yeah, fuck—” Jungkook grunts, repeating the same motion of fucking into you at a pace so fast he can hear his bedframe hitting the wall when he thrusts back. He grips your thighs tight, veins popping out of his arms. “You like this, baby? Love when I fuck you quick and fast?”

You nod your head, bottom lip caught in your teeth, looking up at him with those hooded eyes that Jungkook is near to losing his goddamn mind. God, you’re so fucking pretty it genuinely hurts him. Most especially his dick.

“Am I fucking you stupid, angel?” He slides out, and then enters you abruptly, making you cry out in pleasure. “I'm taking care of you so good you can't think straight, huh? Hm?’

“Y-yes!” You squeak out, grabbing to try and hold onto his biceps. Jungkook leans forward so you can find leverage on his body, his dick hitting deeper into your core at the movement. At the mewl that you let out, he stretches your legs higher until you almost feel like you’re being folded in half, with Jungkook jackhammering his dick into your tight pussy.

"S-so good…" you whimpered, almost out of breath.

Jungkook groans at the pretty sound. “Ngh– I feel fucking good, too, baby. You're so fucking pretty. Squeeze those tits for me.”

You oblige, grabbing your boobs and squishing them together. Jungkook revels at the sight, wanting nothing but to burn every second in memory. Sometimes, he wishes he can have some sort of copy of you two doing this… just a little something for your own private enjoyment. He hasn’t brought it up to you, mostly because he thinks you won’t necessarily be into the idea as much as he is. Will probably say no, or be partial to it at best.

Next time. He tells himself.

“Fuck, fuck – fuck!” Jungkook grunts, sliding in and out of you, picking up his pace more, beginning to sound delirious at the sensation of your walls fluttering around his cock. It’s impossible the way you just grow tighter every second, clenching around him like you don’t have any intentions of letting go.

“J-Jungkook—!” You cry out, arms reaching out for him, and when Jungkook sees the small stream of tears falling out from your eyes again, he can’t help but fuck you senseless. “Oh my god– ah– fuck, i-it feels so good, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

He continues his movements, pounding into your pussy, tightening his hold on your hips. Your nails dig into his forearms, and your chest subtly moves up and down at every action that he makes. When you close your eyes, that’s when Jungkook knows that your climax is near, and so he stays consistent in his pace, just fucking into you deep and fast �� just like how you like it now.

“Ah– there, Jungkook— oh god–!” You yelp, choking in your words, your pussy spasming around Jungkook’s cock until he feels that burst of hot white around his shaft. You reflexively let out a loud moan, but what you say next completely catches him off-guard.

“It feels so good– I love you.”

Jungkook staggers, dick slipping out of you momentarily at your sudden confession. But as he lets his gaze fall to your face, you have your eyes closed, lost in the moment, like how you usually are when you just orgasmed – and Jungkook knows he can’t talk to you at that state, nor can he ask to confirm what you just said.

So he looks down at where your bodies meet, shakily breathes when he sees the base of his cock getting covered in your cum, your juices dripping all over his dark sheets making a wet spot underneath you.

“F-fuck,” He hisses, quickening his pace to let himself go.

He thinks about the sound of your “I love you”, how it falls prettily on your lips, and how good it would be to hear that one more fucking time.

Letting out a guttural groan, the thought completely tips him over the edge, and he grips his cock to shoot his cum into your swollen hole, painting your walls white just as you painted his shaft the same color with your own orgasm.

Unexpectedly, he feels you gush the second time.

It’s cold and it’s hot at the same time – the sensation. It’s top three one of the best feelings a man could ever experience, and Jungkook is greedy – always greedy when it comes to you – that he pushes his cock back in to put it all in you, not wanting any to be wasted on the mattress. And just because he wants to hear that pretty moan from you again when he enters your cunt.

You do, making the hair on his body tingle.

He drops down beside your body – more like on top of you, but a little off to the side – making sure to not put all his weight on you lest he hurts you. As usual, you receive him wholeheartedly with open arms, humming when he begins to suckle on your still rock-hard nipples, his hand shooting up to fondle the other one. Instantly, your hand caresses his hair.

“Kook.”

“Hm?” He hums against your breast.

“I’m sore. Get your dick off me.”

Jungkook frowns, but nonetheless acquiesces and slides out of you. He hisses when he feels your cum leaking out, about to insert a finger in you to stop it, but you take his temporary separation from you to stand up from the bed, leaving him on it alone.

“Baby,” Jungkook calls – whines – really, looking at you with furrowed brows.

You roll your eyes. “I’m not cockwarming you tonight. I’m going to the shower–” When you see him moving to get up from the bed as well, you shoot him a glare. “No. No funny business. I’ll just go clean up and you can too and then we’ll sleep.”

“I can clean you up.” Jungkook looks at you, wide-eyed. You look at him dryly. He sighs and then lets himself fall back to the bed, naked and all that, his dick still semi-hard against his stomach. “Okay, fine.”

“Good.”

He stares at your ass as you go to the bathroom, enjoying the view of your naked back before you disappear inside the room.

Jungkook closes his eyes as he crosses his arms on the back of his head, thinking that maybe it’s good you didn’t let him in the shower with you because… how does he bring up the fact that you just said… it?

“I love you.”

Did you… mean that? Like… you love him? Like, actually, love love him?

It’s been eight months since your whole set up started. Four months of solely fucking and another four months of more fucking but you’ve actually both established that you like each other.

Of course, Jungkook feels more than that. He has for a long time now. He’s liked you since the first time you had sex and he started having deeper feelings for you every other day since then.

Needless to say, Jungkoon loves you.

Has for a long time now.

But he didn’t say anything because he was scared that you would be scared. He felt like the luckiest guy on earth when you told him you liked him – and he felt pretty much untouchable when you two started exclusively dating each other four months ago. You’re definitely his girlfriend now and him your boyfriend – and sure, you haven’t had The Talk yet, but… now that you said you love him… that pretty much changes the course of everything…

Right?

However, he finds himself pondering on it.

Did you really mean that? Jungkook doesn’t think you’re the kind of person who just spout words as heavy as that confession, so you couldn’t have been insincere when you let that out.

But… you were in the middle of sex, though. Did you just say it because you were in that position? Maybe you figured him out long ago now, have already known that he loves you, so you just said it to get him off?

That’s probably not the case, he physically shakes his head. He knows that you know you don’t need to do anything else other than be underneath him or on top of him so he can release. Hell, your mere voice is even enough to tip him off the edge; there are countless incidents where he feels a certain kind of desperation for you, in the morning or in the middle of the night when you’re away and not in his arms, and he presses your name on his contact last, then what’s supposed to be an innocent call turns into something very much far from wholesome when he feels his dick twitch at the very sound of your voice and embarrassingly cums in his pants when you goad him about it.

You know your tight hold on him. You don’t need to say I love you to get him off.

But damn, did that really get him going more than usual.

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses, his head throbbing at the thoughts going haywire inside his head. His dick has calmed down now, soft in between his legs, and he’s starting to feel sticky, especially with the ruined sheets on his back.

Standing up, he picks them up to put them in the hamper, grabbing a towel real quick to wrap around his lower half.

When he finishes changing the bedsheets into fresh and clean ones, that’s when you step out of the shower.

“I turned on the hot water for you.” You say, tightening your baby blue robe which is a pair of Jungkook’s own robe that he bought for you two two months ago.

Jungkook walks over to your direction and takes you by the waist to plant a quick kiss on your lips.

“Thank you, angel,” he says. You give him a smile and he can’t help but give you a peck once again. “I made the bed.”

“Thanks.”

Jungkook stands there and he doesn’t notice that he’s staring until you point it out with an arched brow.

“What?”

With a surprised look, Jungkook takes himself out of his trance. “Oh, uh, nothing.” He gives you a hesitant smile. He’s actually thinking of asking you about the thing you said earlier. But right now, as he looks at you again, he finds himself a bit reluctant. “I’ll shower now.”

You look at him weird and Jungkook chuckles as he leans down to kiss you again.

When you break the contact, going over to his closet where a huge portion of your own clothes have already made its own way to, Jungkook thinks that maybe he’ll bring it up when he finishes showering.

But as he steps back out of the shower ten minutes later, you’re already sprawled across the bed with your nightie on.

And as Jungkook steps closer to you, you’re fast asleep, soft snores coming out of your mouth, pretty and peaceful in your slumber.

Jungkook smiles at the sight.

Tomorrow. He’ll bring it up tomorrow instead.

In the morning when Jungkook woke up, he didn't find you in his arms like he expected to. And when he looked through the notifications on his phone, your text told him that you already went for your 10 am class. Jungkook’s first one is at 2:30 in the afternoon.

He intended to take you out for lunch in the afternoon, but when he called you, you said you had a meeting with your club and you’d only be free in the evening onwards.

At 9:30pm, when all of Jungkook’s classes have ended, he sent you a text again, hoping you’d be free by the time.

One whole day of not seeing your face and he was starting to feel a little on edge.

[9:31pm] Jungkook: hi baby classes ended [9:31pm] Jungkook: hru i havent seen u at all today

Jungkook couldn’t help but send another one.

[9:32pm] Jungkook: i missed u. can i come over?

At that point, he was already over at the uni’s parking lot, going to the direction of his car and unlocking it when he got near. When he buckled himself into the driver’s seat, he hoped to see a reply from you.

But nothing came.

When he arrived home at the end of the day, he took a quick half-bath and ate some leftovers in the fridge.

As of now, as he settles himself onto his bed, he scrolls through your text thread, the Delivered button on his last text taunting him the longer he looks at it.

With furrowed brows, he begins to type up another message but then soon, the Delivered stamp changes to Read, and the three dancing dots on your end play on his screen, which somehow lightens his mood.

[10:45pm] princess🥰💓: Hello, Kook! So sorry for the late reply. I got caught up with classes and the long meeting with the club today [10:46pm] princess🥰💓: We apparently have to push the fall edition of the print a week earlier and I also have to revise some stuff in my thesis so I’m a bit tight on sched

Jungkook nods to himself upon reading the text message, feeling bad for you.

[10:47pm] Jungkook: ohh ic ic [10:47pm] Jungkook: do u want me to bring u food?

[10:48pm] princess🥰💓: Like, youre coming over?

[10:48pm] Jungkook: yeahh [10:48pm] Jungkook: if u want

Jungkook waits as the bubbles appear and disappear on your end, until he receives your final reply.

[10:50pm] princess🥰💓: Hmm I appreciate it but Im over at Hana’s right now. Club stuff. And then I’ll go home later to work on my paper

Pouting, Jungkook sighs as he reads your message. He really wants to see you today… he misses your pretty face and your voice and your touch.

But he doesn’t really want to push. You’re very anal about your personal space, especially when it relates to your academics.

Letting out another heavy sigh again, he tells you to give him a call when you’re at your place.

He doesn't receive any.

“Hey,”

“What the—” You see the librarian from across the room immediately eyeing you with a deadly stare. Mouthing a shameful “sorry”, you clutch your chest, turning to the embodied voice again properly this time. Only to get taken aback. “Oh hey… hi.”

Jungkook stands in front of you and he looks so… handsome – nothing new or groundbreaking, per se. He always looks like that. With only a simple combo of grey hoodie and black cargo pants, his backpack slung over one shoulder, he can probably outmodel professionals on the runway. Though, the way he looks so comfy is making you want nothing but to snuggle him.

“Busy day?” He asks, pertaining to the laptop and stack of books on your table. Placing his bag on the floor underneath the table, he takes the seat beside you.

“Yeah… I'm writing an essay right now.” You offer him a small smile. It feels like you haven't seen each other for weeks, but the truth is, it's just been over two days since you were at his place.

“I see. Do you mind me here?”

“Nope. You can do whatever you want.”

"Can I kiss you then?" He asks and that makes you pause.

Looking around, you take note that there aren’t a lot of people in the library anymore as it’s already late. There’s the librarian a few feet away from you, but he’s currently busy doing something on his computer. With a quiet chuckle, you face Jungkook and say, “Do you need to ask?”

Jungkook shrugs, already leaning towards you. “I just feel like it.”

“It's fine, Kook.” you turn your head to him, and he does not waste any second, closing the gap between you both and capturing your lips in his for a soft kiss.

You sigh in his mouth. You miss him so much and he smells so good it calms your insides. You've been stressing over the essay you’re writing, but all that seems to die down as a result from the exchange with Jungkook.

God, you really need to talk to him.

“Missed you.” He says once your faces are apart. He pecks your lips one more time for good measure and gives you that adorable bunny smile of his.

“We saw each other, like, two days ago.” You chuckle, making sure to muffle the sound.

Scooting his chair closer to you, Jungkook whines in your ear, “Too long.” When you look at his face, there's a small hint of pout on his lips.

“Well, we're here now.”

“Really?” Jungkook raises his brow. “Then let's get out of here. You can write your essay at my place and I'll cook you dinner and then we can binge watch the third season of Twin Peaks.”

“You haven't even started on the first season, why are you watching the third.” You say with an incredulous tone.

“Doesn't matter.”

It does matter.

Jungkook has driven you both to his place. When he turned on his TV, you told him you can just start Twin Peaks all over again so he can understand what he's watching, but he insisted that he was gonna know the context eventually – fast forward, he did not. So here he currently is, asking you who everybody is and what’s the context of what they’re saying, and as much as you love his company, people posing questions after questions while watching something will never not be a pet peeve of yours.

“Baby,” you start. Jungkook looks at you with doe eyes. You cup his face and stare at him seriously. “You're annoying me.”

He lets out a gasp.

A literal, audible gasp.

“That hurt. Please tell me you're joking.” Jungkook says that, but you can see the playful glint in his eyes as you squint yours at him.

He made you bulgogi and you both devoured the last of it five minutes ago – and you're thankful for his kindness and generosity but god—

You push on his chest lightly. “Then stop asking. I told you we can just watch the first season but then you want to jump into the last one, of course you're gonna be confused.”

“Yeah but you already watched all of it. I didn't want you to get bored.” Jungkook pouts. You stare at him for a while and you kind of hate that he’s so handsome and so cute at the same time it makes it hard for you to completely be annoyed with him.

There's a fond look on your face when you roll your eyes again. Scooting closer to him on the couch, you plant a quick kiss to his cheek.

“You're really sweet, Kook, but why don't we just watch a movie or something.”

He leans down to kiss your mouth. “Alright. You pick the movie and I'll go grab some chips from the pantry.”

You smile at him before he disappears to fetch some food, leaving you to browse through the catalog. When he returns shortly, you muse, “You're really nice and sweet to me today. What's up?”

Jungkook scoffs, as if offended by what you said. “Am I not nice and sweet every other day?”

“That's not what I meant. You're just extra sweet and extra nice tonight— I mean, you usually put up a fight on who picks the movies.”

“I let you win every time though?” He says and you nod in thought.

“True.” Looking back to the television, you hover over the Notting Hill poster. Thinking that the description sounds interesting, you click on it. As the movie loads, you turn your gaze to Jungkook and nudge his leg. “But still…”

He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Gathering your feet on his lap, he leans back and retorts, “I just missed you so much. Is that bad?”

You don't anticipate the way he lifts one of your legs, holding your ankle up and then putting a kiss on it.

It makes blood rush to your cheeks. With his mussed hair and the grey hoodie and cargo pants from earlier changed into a simple white shirt and grey sweatpants, he looks comfy you just want to jump him and bite him and kiss him all at the same time.

Damn. He really makes you feel a whole lot of things you're starting to think you need an intervention.

You’ve never been so attracted to somebody before. It may be because you know you’re past the point of being just attracted to him.

And then there’s that beat in your heart again. The flip-flopping and the weird feeling in your stomach.

You look away from his intense gaze. “No.”

You hear him let out a low chuckle, a sound so attractive you feel the hair on every part of your body standing up.

“Come here.” he puts your legs away from his lap, much to your little disappointment. But he beckons you to come close to him, and so you do, leaving your lying position from the couch to go over to where he is. You don't know whether you're gonna place yourself beside him or what, but he beats you to it as he takes your thighs and guides you to straddle him.

You do so without any words, following his lead. You feel heat creeping up your neck when you finally land on his lap, his arms circling around you.

“Why do you still smell like flowers even after a whole day?” It's followed with him sniffing the juncture between your neck and shoulder, inhaling your scent.

You flinch 'cause it tickles a little. He always does and says that shit and you can't help but laugh, always not knowing what to say to that. But Jungkook doesn’t seem to need your input, anyway.

He squeezes your body, hugging you tighter to him.

“I really missed you, you know?”

You giggle. “Yeah, you said that the third time now.”

“You're keeping count but why can't you just say you miss me too?” He pulls away, making sure to face you so you see the pout on his face.

You peck his lips. “That's because I don't.” You joke, earning a glare.

“Wow, first you say I'm annoying and now you apparently didn't miss me?” You're sure he's joking but the frown on his face makes you think that maybe somewhere in his head, he's thinking otherwise.

You smile at him. “I was just kidding, Kook. Of course I missed you too. And thank you for the food.” You say against his lips, leaning down to kiss him again.

“Does that mean you’re done avoiding me now?”

Breaking away from the kiss, you look at him in surprise, taken aback by his words.

“What?” you say, confused.

Jungkook arches a brow. You both stare into each other’s eyes but then his gets way too intense that you can’t help but look away. That’s when you hear him sigh.

“Baby, talk to me.” Jungkook cups your jaw with his palm, gently directing your face towards his. “I don’t like when we don’t talk. You clearly have something on your mind. What is it? Is it something I can fix?”

Hearing his words makes your heart melt and your brain turn into mush. Is it something I can fix? Jesus.

How can you not fall for him when he says things like that?

“Did I do something wrong?” Jungkook asks when you don’t say a thing.

That earns him an instant, aggressive shake of your head.

“No, Jungkook. You didn’t do anything wrong, not at all,” you say, planting your palms on his shoulders to assure him. You see the slight hint of smile on the curve of his lips. “It’s, uh, it’s me…” you trail off, not sure how to navigate your next words. You take note of the way Jungkook’s eyebrows meet in confusion. “I’ve just been… feeling weird lately.”

At that, his confusion grows even more, but it’s more out of concern instead of perplexity.

“What’s wrong, angel? You don’t feel okay?” He says, caressing your face as if he’ll find the issue there. He looks so willing to just get you to okay and it makes your heart beat a little faster than usual.

“No– I mean, I feel okay. It’s not that,” you shake your head, shy at his doting. When he waits for your next words, you can’t help but bury your face in the crook of his neck as you say— more like whisper— against his skin, “I told you I love you the other day.”

You feel Jungkook stilling under you. And it makes you nervous. Heart racing against your ribcage, you can’t find it in yourself to break away from your hold on him because that would mean you have to look into his eyes – and you don’t want to. Your cheeks feel so hot and you feel like throwing up. Your emotions are all over the place and Jungkook’s prolonged silence isn’t helping at all.

But suddenly, those thoughts die down when you feel him relaxing underneath you, his arms wrapping around your waist. You feel a weight on the crown of your head and with a gentle rub on your back, Jungkook whispers against your hair, “I love you, too.”

That makes you instantly look up from him. When you see his face, his lips are curved into a soft smile.

With furrowed brows, you voice out your concern.

“You don’t need to say it back just ‘cause I told you that.”

Now, it’s Jungkook’s turn to be confused.

“I’m not saying it just ‘cause you said it, baby.” He looks so sincere and for a moment, you feel bad for doubting him for a second. Jungkook must’ve noticed the look on your face as he cups your jaw again, angling it towards him. You feel his smile against your mouth when he presses his lips to yours. “I'm in love with you, __. I have been for the past few months now.”

Your eyes widen a bit when he calls you by your name.

Jungkook has always liked calling you by every endearing pet name in the world that you’re lowkey convinced he forgot your real name at this point, but when the sweet syllable rolls off his tongue, you can’t help but melt.

He doesn’t seem to notice your surprise, though. Just breaks away from the contact you’re both engaged in and he takes your wrist in his hand, lifting it to his face to kiss the skin on the side of your palm.

The action was so momentary and brief but it doesn’t deter the fact that it made your heart jump.

You think it’s funny how you feel so much whenever he’s around. You think it’s funny that you feel so giddy – even after all this time.

You think it’s funny that before the whole thing started, you’ve never considered this ever happening but here you are, completely elated over the fact that you’re in love with Jeon Jungkook and he feels the same way too.

“You have?” You say, voice quiet. He nods, humming, leaning to your palm when you put it over his cheek. “Since when?”

“The first time we went to that abandoned house.”

Your lips part at the declaration. That was… that happened so long ago. Nearly four months from the present.

“That long?” You blink a few times at him, not really sure how to react to that confession.

Jungkook chuckles lowly, pressing a kiss to your thumb again. You like how his instinct is to always have a form of physical contact with you whenever you’re around. You don’t know if he knows that himself, but you’ve definitely observed that for the past few months you’ve been “exclusively” seeing each other and it just… absolutely melts you.

“I know… I’m a bit of a coward for not telling you sooner. But I didn’t want to scare you off.” Jungkook says admittedly, and his last sentence makes your heart twinge.

He didn’t want to scare you off. Of course he’d think that. You had a total breakdown at the prospect of him opening up to you just four months ago – before you told him you liked him.

You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. “I— yeah. I was in my head over the past two days, you know?”

Jungkook’s face etches into a look of concern. “Hm?”

Nodding your head slowly, you find comfort in tracing random shapes and lines on his chest instead.

“These feelings… they’re not new. I didn’t just wake up one day and realized I love you. I felt it during the time when we woke up together in bed for the first time at your place. I felt it when you drove three hours from your parents’ house to my dorm just ‘cause I told you I missed you. I felt it when you stayed up late with me just so you could help me make my flash cards. I—” you look away, suddenly embarrassed at what you’re saying. It’s not like you to say so much. Not like you to show and voice out this extent of your emotion. “I remember the times I felt I loved you for the briefest of moments in the past three months, but lately, I can't stop thinking about it and suddenly, I can’t count on my fingers anymore how many times I felt I love you. I loved you every hour of last week and yesterday I loved you even more.”

You watch as Jungkook looks at you with parted lips. Awe-struck? You don’t want to hype yourself up too much. So you look away, keeping your eyes focused on his white shirt.

“And what about today?” Jungkook suddenly speaks.

You free your bottom lip from your teeth and finally look Jungkook in the eyes. “I love you more than I did yesterday. And tomorrow I’ll do the same.”

“Fuck.” Jungkook utters, bowing his head. His tone's a mix of incredulity, amusement, and joy at the same time. When he looks up at you again, he looks at you with so much sparkle in his eyes you’re starting to think you’re a fool for not noticing earlier the love they hold for you in them. “I just… wow.”

Your eyebrows meet in confusion.

Jungkook chuckles and shakes his head. “I just… I had this huge confession in my head, you know? I– uh– I wrote it in my notes app.”

Suddenly, the serious atmosphere breaks as you can’t help but laugh. “What?”

With a small pout, Jungkook continues, “I’m not good with words, you know that. So, I had this big confession planned out. I was gonna tell you in detail how much I love you, but after hearing what you just said… I forgot about everything I tried to memorize last night.”

Now you’re giggling in his lap. Just trying to visualize him typing on his phone while figuring out what to say to you and him studying it, memorizing the lines…

You're so glad it's him you fell for.

“Don’t laugh,” he scolds, but there's a hint of playfulness that lies underneath it. Jungkook inserts his hand under your shirt and starts rubbing the skin of your waist. “Truth is that I was afraid when you started avoiding me. Thought I’d lose you again.”

His vulnerable confession makes you stop completely. There’s a certain melancholy in his eyes when he mentions it, and you feel like scolding yourself for even causing that.

“What I did wasn’t the most mature way to go about it. I’m sorry,” you start. Sighing, you adjust yourself on his lap to get more comfortable. “Uh… I guess I was just embarrassed and wanted to have time to compose myself.”

“What were you embarrassed for?”

There’s heat that spreads to your cheeks. For a brief second, you consider lying, but then you remember honesty. It’s what got you both here. Just being open to each other and communicating.

“Jungkook, no one wants their first I love you said during sex.” You deadpan.

“Oh.” He blinks.

At that, you can’t help but roll your eyes. “Exactly.”

“What’s wrong with that, though?” Jungkook furrows his brows. But his tone borders on teasing when he continues, “You know what they say? Make a girl cum one and she’ll love you, make a girl cum twice and she’ll actually tell you she loves you.”

“Oh my god.” you groan, jabbing at his chest slightly and taking off your legs off the couch so that you stop straddling him.

Jungkook bursts into laughter and is quick to grab your waist, effectively pulling you back to him again. It results in you falling haphazardly into his lap, which he takes as an opportunity to cage you in a hug and guide you on your back to hover on top of you.

“I’m kidding, baby,” he whispers against your cheek. “I’m kidding.”

You inhale a sharp breath when he starts kissing along your jaw. “Good.”

“I really appreciate you for saying all those things. I wish I can be as eloquent as you,” He tips your jaw with his fingers so that you look at him. “You’re a poet, __.”

That makes you smile. You secretly like when he calls you by all these petnames... but the way your name rolls of his tongue just hits a lot more different.

“As long as you love me back, Kook.” you say, pushing his bangs off his forehead so that you can look at his face wholly.

“I love you.” He confesses, kissing your lips.

“I love you too.” you smile.

Jungkook pecks your lips one more time and suddenly follows it up with another one. Soon, you’re a giggling mess underneath him on the couch when he keeps it up until it tickles.

“Jungkook,” you whine, wriggling under him and avoiding his mouth.

This only makes Jungkook chuckle in the crook of your neck, halting his cute assault on your lips. When the high of the laughter comes off, you feel a wet trail of kisses down to the base of your neck, and suddenly, Jungkook’s hands are under your shirt, rubbing along the bare skin of your waist. While he peppers open-mouthed pecks on your neck, his fingers trail upwards until they’re on your bare tits.

“Oh,” you let out a low moan when his palm squeezes around the flesh.

It earns a groan from Jungkook, who presses himself closer to you. And it’s when you feel the growing need on his crotch area – his dick poking your stomach as he stays lapping up your neck.

“Jungkook,” you call him again. It takes Jungkook a few seconds to look up at you. When he does, his long hair is a mess on his head and his eyes are hooded in that drunken-like state, lips wet from his previous ministrations.

“Hm?” He hums, gives both your boobs a good squeeze again, making you sigh out. Jungkook continues to touch you, fondling your breasts in his hand as he starts kissing up your jaw instead.

“I want you.” you whisper against the air, closing your eyes at the sensation of his touch.

He feels so good on you. You want to take off your stupid clothes.

“Shit,” Jungkook hisses, giving an involuntary thrust against your crotch that made you both groan. “Fuck. I want you, too, baby— god, let me just—”

You whine when he breaks away from you, but you watch in awe as he makes quick work of kneeling in between your legs, peeling off the white shirt from his body with one arm from the back in a swift motion. He throws it on the floor and swipes his hair out of his face, and in that brief moment, with his toned abdomen and inked arm, you nearly melt.

“Can I take off your shorts?” He asks, but he already has his fingers hooked over the bottom you’ve changed into when you got into his apartment. Giving him a nod, you help him in taking off the garment by lifting your bum off the sofa. Jungkook, ever the expert in the art of taking off your clothes, does it quick, the shorts landing on the floor together with his shirt, forming a small heap. Bottoming out, he takes your thighs in the crook of his elbows and scoot your body closer to his. The angle is a bit awkward from where you lie, and Jungkook makes your cheeks burn when he turns his head to the side to kiss your knee. “So beautiful, baby. Your legs are so smooth.”

“Stop talking,” you say, embarrassed.

Jungkook chuckles at your reaction, already used to it. His face leans even closer and soon he has the tip of his nose on your panty-cladded core. Like clockwork, he takes a subtle sniff, closing his eyes for a little while at the scent, gripping your thighs tighter at the action.

If you weren’t a heating mess before, you’re near on combustion now. Surely, Jungkook knows what this does to you.

“You smell so good. Such a pretty girl,” he grunts. Then, he presses a kiss to your pussy which makes your breath hitch.

“Jungkook,” you let out a whine for the nth time. “Don’t tease.”

He shushes you out, clicking his tongue as if you did something wrong.

You capture your bottom lip in your teeth. Jungkook cups your jaw so you can look at him when he says, “Be patient, princess. I’ll give you what you want. Always.” His voice is gentle and soft, and you know he means it.

Still, you give him a pout.

“I wanna fuck.”

He chuckles, low and sounding so attractive when he brings his fingers through his hair again. It doesn’t help that you can clearly see the outline of his dick getting bigger inside his grey sweats. Damn those joggers for real.

“Okay,” Jungkook smiles down at you. “Take your shirt off.”

You make quick work of removing your shirt off to reveal your naked body to him. At this point, only your underwear and his pants are the only things keeping you apart.

As usual, Jungkook zeroes in on your body instantly, paying the most attention to your tits. According to him, they’re two of his most favorite things in the world and as much as you’d like to call bullshit on that, it really does seem like he’s not joking about it at all.

“Oh, baby,” Jungkook brings your legs down gently, sliding on top of your body and hovering as he quickly fondles your boobs with his huge palms. “Fuck, you’re so soft.” He says, pressing a kiss to your cleavage. Not wasting any more time, he latches his tongue around a nipple, and you automatically hold onto his head for support when the sensation nearly knocks you off the couch.

Despite that little movement from you, Jungkook continues to lap at your breasts. Licking and tugging at your nipple to get it hard, paying attention to the other one by pinching it and simultaneously squeezing. As seconds pass, Jungkook alternates between your breasts, and as he does so, you feel your core starting to heat up, your need growing bigger.

“B-baby,” you sigh out, gripping his hair tighter which makes him grunt. “I want you.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He whispers against your skin. You’re about to whine some more when Jungkook finally leaves your chest to pepper kisses down your stomach. When he gets near your nether region, he guides your legs to hook over his shoulder. “These gotta go.” He says about your panties, and you’re more than willing to help him take it off you.

The moment it's no longer on you, Jungkook hisses at the sight, head leaning down to finally plant his mouth on your pussy.

The first lick feels ecstatic just like it always does. With Jungkook lapping up a big stripe over the length of your core, you keep your bucking to a minimum, holding onto his hair instead.

“Taste so fucking good, I can never get enough of you,” he says before he dives in again. Jungkook has this thing when he eats pussy. He always does it like he’s making out with your mouth, his tongue prodding at every seams, wrapping your labia around his lips and being messy with it.

Jungkook breaks away for a while as you hear a sound of spit, followed by the cold sensation of his saliva dripping down to your hole. Soon, you feel Jungkook’s thumb beginning to rub your clit, resulting in a ragged breathing from your lungs.

“F-fuck,” you moan, tightening your hold on his hair you’re sure you’re pulling on his scalp.

“You’re so fucking wet for me. So sensitive,” Jungkook says as he picks up the pace of his thumb. “Ain’t that right, pretty girl? All for me, right? This is all for me, hm?”

“Y-yes!” you squeak out when you feel him prodding his tongue at your entrance again. His finger is fast against your sensitive bud, with his tongue lapping up the juices that eagerly come out of your hole. Jungkook makes out with your pussy like he would with your mouth, and with the tip of his nose touching your skin at this proximity, you can't say you’re not close to the edge. And embarrassingly so – because he’s just gotten started and you already feel like cumming.

“Sh–shit,” Jungkook hisses. He shifts his thumb with his tongue this time in stimulating your clit, using two fingers instead to stretch your pussy out open just so he can see the way it throbs and flutters at his every action. It’s a sinful sight, really, the way you’re so open and wet for him.

Soon after, Jungkook’s getting a little more aggressive in the way he pushes his head closer to your core, jaw working to devour your mound, two digits inserting themselves in your aching hole that somehow satisfies your need to be filled at the very moment.

And you’re a panting mess beneath him – trying so hard to muffle the moans from your mouth. Jungkook’s gotten a total of three noise complaints for the past 4 months you’ve been fucking at his place – and even though he tells you not to worry, you find that it’s hard to believe when the one time that you got to ride in the elevator with his neighbor, she looked at you both like she knew you’ve done something.

Never again.

As if having read your thoughts, Jungkook breaks away for a while to say, “Don’t hold back, gorgeous. Let me hear those pretty moans of yours.”

Your cheeks burn with heat as you see his wet jaw and plump lips when you glance down. When your gazes meet, Jungkook inserts his middle and ring fingers in his mouth, and when he pops them back out all wet with his saliva, he pushes them into your hole, lax in his movements, looking right into your eyes as he does so.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, holding onto his wrist automatically when he pumps his digits into you faster than his pace earlier.

“There,” Jungkook smirks. “Moan for me, angel.”

“J-jungkook– oh my god– ah–!”

Jungkook goes back to leaning his head down and soon enough, his mouth is back on your pussy, simultaneously sucking your clit and licking around your labia, all the whole sliding his fingers in and out of you, you can feel yourself dripping down the leather of his couch.

“Fuck,” you sigh out, suddenly feeling overstimulated.

Jungkook picks up his pace and you feel a sting on the sides of your eyes as the pleasure begins to build up. Your hold on his wrist falls off and as if he knows exactly what you’re looking for, he reaches for your hand with his free one, interlocking your fingers together as you see him look up at you while he eats you out.

“Oh god,” you mewl, reaching down with your other arm to swipe his fringes off his forehead so you can see him better.

Jungkook stares intently at you as you do the same watching him licking your core enthusiastically. You let your head fall back at a particularly delicious lick, and soon after, you feel that familiar zap that starts on your toes that goes right up to your stomach.

“K-kook,” you call pathetically, swallowing the lump in your throat. It feels somewhat dry at this point. Closing your eyes, you focus on the sensation of his tongue flicking your clit, saying, “I’m cumming.”

Jungkook keeps his movements of your pussy, not relenting even when you grab his hair a little too tight, and you feel like you’re breaking off his fingers’ joints by the way you’re gripping it so hard.

“I’m cum– there, fuck, that feels so good– I’m cumming!”

The knot in your stomach snaps and you feel a gush of wetness coming out of your pussy when it does so. You hear Jungkook groaning in between your legs, his licking becoming more messy as you feel him use three fingers to rub over your core like a greedy man wanting everything to be his.

“Jungkook…” you sigh out, your fingers easing their hold onto his, already feeling sensitive after your release. You look down at Jungkook only to see the crown of his head as keeps lapping up your wetness. He hums in your pussy and you know you can’t keep him off there for awhile so you wait, running your fingers through his hair soothingly, feeling bad for almost ripping it out awhile ago. “Kook, I’m sensitive.”

“Hm.” He hums to acknowledge you. He licks one last stripe before he lets go, easing off your thighs on the sofa and trailing kisses on your stomach and breasts until he’s eye level to you. “Love how you taste,” he says, kissing you, and your cheeks burn with heat when you feel your orgasm off his mouth. When he breaks the kiss, he looks at you with a smile you can only identify as lovesick. “I love you.”

That makes you melt.

You thought it would feel weird to hear him say it. But you think about the future and how there would be more like this, with Jungkook telling you he loves you in more shared random moments and you can’t help but mirror the smile he has on his stupid handsome face.

“I love you.” you say, initiating another kiss.

When Jungkook presses his body to you, that’s when you feel his cock poking into your stomach. You assume he’s even more rock hard now, given the previous events.

Sneakily inserting your hand between your bodies, you try to reach for the bulge in his pants and when you take a hold of his dick, Jungkook grunts.

“Babe,” he whines and breaks away from your lips and buries his face in the crook of your neck instead.

“It’s completely unfair how you still have your pants on while I’m completely naked.” You say, palming him through his sweats. You feel Jungkook tense above you, and when you give him a particularly hard squeeze, he retaliates with a bite on your shoulder that makes you squeal. “What the hell was that for?”

“For teasing me,” Jungkook says, finally looking at you. He grabs your arm, kisses the side of your wrist before he hauls himself off you completely, planting his feet on the floor while you lay there on the couch bare and cold. But that doesn’t last long as you feel him picking you up with ease — bridal style.

“Jesus,” you bury your face in his chest out of embarrassment. You’re all naked and he’s carrying you towards his bedroom in this ridiculous position.

Meanwhile, Jungkook just laughs and as he reaches his bedroom, he closes the door lightly with his foot.

“I’m not done with you yet,” He says when he puts you down on the mattress. He has that smarmy smirk on his face as he gets out of his grey sweatpants slowly. You’ve had the inkling he wasn’t wearing any underwear considering that it felt like there was not that much of a barrier when you held them there earlier – but it still takes your breath away when he’s left completely in his naked form, stiff and red-tipped cock standing to attention in his lower abdomen. Arching a brow at you, he trudges over to the edge of the bed and with the deep timbre of his voice, he calls you, “Scoot over here, love.”

The new endearment definitely catches you off guard. Love. Is that something he’s gonna be calling you from now on?

You definitely don’t mind.

You follow his instructions and let your body move closer towards the bottom, making Jungkook hum in approval.

“That’s a good girl.” Suddenly, Jungkook yanks your legs to his direction and you gasp in surprise, only to realize the position you’re both in.

He’s standing right over the edge of the bed while he guides your legs to rest over his shoulders.

Jungkook and you have tried a lot of positions since you established your thing, but surprisingly, this has never been one of them and you find yourself curious as to what he’ll do next.

His tattooed bicep flexes as he trails his finger up your naked thighs, making the hairs on your body tingle, especially your pussy which is all bare for his own viewing. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you watch as Jungkook turns his head to the side, and a gasp catches in your throat when he begins kissing up your calf. When his mouth nears your toes, you nearly yank it out of his hold.

“K-kook,” you stammer, but all Jungkook does is pay you a momentary look and a non-committal hum, turning back to your feet again where he presses a tentative kiss to your big toe. When he feels you wriggle it in his hold once again, he turns to you with furrowed brows. You look away. “It’s uhm…”

When you don’t say anything, Jungkook fills you in. “You don’t like it?”

You feel your cheeks burning even hotter. Fucking hell.

“No– I mean. Uh. I don’t know?” You knit your brows, confused yourself. You’ve never really thought about dabbling into the more adventurous aspect of sex but Jungkook has changed that ever since – right now, though, what he’s trying to do is confusing you. You’re sure you’ve never thought about feet and sex at the same sentence – but when Jungkook kissed your toes, that might have—

Oh god. No freaking way he’s trying to give you a foot kink.

“That’s okay,” Jungkook smiles at you warmly. “I was just gonna kiss them, baby. I love every part of you—” he presses a kiss back to your calf again. Staring deep into your eyes, he tells you gently, “But I’m not gonna do anything you don’t and won’t like, love.”

It seems like the new unlocked petname is doing all things because you could just feel the sudden gush of wetness coming out of you as soon as he said that. Jungkook must’ve noticed, paying a quick look to your pussy and scoffing in amusement as he sees it.

“You like that? Love? Hm?” He caresses your thighs again, his other fingers trailing dangerously close to your core. “Seems like me calling you love gets you wet. What about I love you? Does it get you wet just like how it gets me hard when you say it as well?”

When Jungkook presses his thumb to your clit again, you moan, feeling him continue his ministrations. You hold your breath when he begins picking up the pace of his rubbing, and with your position, it gives you an opportunity to spread your legs even more, feeling Jungkook hiss at the action.

“Fuck. You really are so pretty. I’m so fucking lucky you love me,” Jungkook says. He talks sweet but you hear a sound of spit coming from him to your pussy, his saliva dripping down your core, making you mewl. “I’m gonna make love to you all night. Show you how much I love you.” Jungkook whispers as he pushes a finger into your hole, sliding in and out. “Look at what you do to me, love.”

You open your eyes to see what he’s talking about, and when you zero in on his cock, it impossibly became bigger, the tip an angry shade of red now. It looks so tight and rigid and veiny that you want to whine to touch it – but you decide to lay still, anticipating his next move.

“Put it in me,” you say, sounding challenging.

“I will, just gotta make sure you’re all ready.” Jungkook muses before he inserts his finger once again. It glides in pretty easily, and you’re sure that you’re more than ready to take his cock.

Grunting, Jungkook pulls you closer and lets go of one of your thighs to grip his dick. He gives it a good squeeze twice before he puts it against the lips of your pussy.

“Oh god,” you moan at the weight of him.

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses. You know he’s feeling the exact same way you do.

When he prods the tip at your entrance, you nearly squeal in delight. Instead, you grip the sheets behind you and look at the way Jungkook’s brows knit in concentration as he grips the base of his cock to enter you fully.

You both moan in unison when the first inch gets inserted, with Jungkook gripping your other thigh tighter and inhaling a sharp breath. Jungkook enters you slowly and arduously, like he’s savoring every second that your pussy swallows every part of his cock.

“You– fuck– you love a big cock but you’re so fucking tight,” He groans as he begins to slide in the remaining inches, getting both your thighs together again.

“It’s your fault,” you retaliate, hissing when he begins to move a little inside you. It doesn’t hurt the least bit – you were already way too wet from your first orgasm on the couch of his living room – but in this position, his cock feels deeper and it just feels so damn good.

“How is it– shit– my fault?” Jungkook grunts, beginning to pick up his pace. “I fuck you almost everyday.”

“Oh god—” you moan when he hits a little too deep at a particular thrust. “You’re so big, that’s why– fuck.”

“Hah.” Jungkook scoffs, bottoming out to enter you again. “Play with your tits for me, baby. Fuck, I love them so much.”

You grab your breasts, thankful at the suggestion because they’re bouncing a little from his pounding and you’re sure they’re gonna be sore the next day.

Needless to say, Jungkook likes what he sees as he continues to slide his cock in and out of you at a steady, slow pace.

There are two sides to Jungkook when it comes to sex. Sometimes, he likes to do it fast with jackhammer thrusts that makes you question his stamina and strength – not rough, because he told you you’re too much of a pillow princess for that (you rolled your eyes at him so hard and he only laughed at you, telling you it’s actually because he didn’t like the thought of hurting you in any way), and you admittedly love that. It’s what got the words “I love you” out of your mouth in the first place. Intense fucking coupled with intense emotions are a combination you now realize is dangerous – but right now, as he pounds into you slowly, making you feel every ridge of his cock, you realize it’s your favorite.

There’s something so intimate about the way Jungkook closes his eyes when he seemingly tries his very best to contain his strength as he enters you with his dick. It’s weirdly hot when he inhales a sharp breath to regulate his breathing, brows furrowed in concentration. Like this, you get to feel every moment of where you both started and where you end.

And when Jungkook leans down on the bed, folding you in half at the action, his dick hits deeper as he plants his palms on the mattress, is cock continuing their ministrations in your cunt.

He grunts in your hair, grabbing your breast and squeezing it hard in his palm which earns a moan from you. Jungkook looks at you and kisses your parted mouth.

“I love you,” he says when he breaks away, kissing your cheek. Then the tip of your nose. And then the space between your eyebrows. “I love you so much.”

You giggle. In the middle of sex. When his cock is snug deep in your pussy.

“You’re a sap.” you can’t help but cup his face in your hand, grinning at him widely.

“Where’s my– shit– I love you back?” Jungkook knits his brows, thrusting in and out of you still. He grips your hip with one hand, and there are balls of sweat on his forehead starting to form at the exertion from his body.

“Of course I love you too, baby,” You say. “Kiss me.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait any more second and leans down to capture your lips into an open-mouthed kiss. You don’t break away until his hips stutter, indicating his impending orgasm.

He’s usually the one who whispers all those sweet nothings in your ear when you’re on the brink of your climax, but this time around, you tell him how much you love his cock, how it’s made for you, and how much you want to keep making love to him all night – and that’s how he breaks.

“F-fuck,” Jungkook groans as he shoots his hot white orgasm inside you, his voice strained as he finishes off with a few more erratic thrusts. “Oh god.”

“That’s it, Kook, cum for me,” you whisper against his lips, your legs already sliding off his shoulder. You can’t help but moan against his mouth when you feel him cumming more.

“I love you, angel.” Jungkook says and kisses you again.

You reciprocate the kiss and hope he feels the smile you have on your lips.

You don’t really expect to cum again – but then Jungkook suddenly palms your ass and taps both cheeks.

“Cum for me a second time.” He says, pecking the side of your lips.

You shake your head. As much as you’d love to, you feel like you’re actually about to break tonight.

“It’s fine—”

But Jungkook cuts you off quickly. “Please?”

And how can you say now when he looks like… that? His sex afterglow puts every man in the movies to shame. And you’re just human prone to giving in – especially when it comes to him specifically.

“Okay.” You say, tapping his cheek with a smile. “How do you want me?”

“Want you to ride me.” He whispers. “Wanna see your pretty eyes while you’re bouncing on my cock.”

You ignore the flutter in your heart at his words.

Jabbing at his chest lightly, you roll your eyes at him and let him get off you to position himself against the headboard of the bed. Jungkook grins when you soon plant your folded legs on both sides of him, helping you put his still erect dick inside your still sopping wet pussy.

You both hiss at the sensation, with you closing your eyes at the way he feels. Meanwhile, Jungkook doesn’t waste any second and dives into your breasts immediately, tugging and sucking at your nipples, squeezing and fondling at the flesh, and moaning when you begin to move up and down on his lap.

“S-so good,” you mewl, wrapping your arms around his neck, fumbling with the hair on his nape.

“That’s it, love. Doing so well.” He leaves your breasts in favor of your jaw, peppering kisses there until he makes a stop at your lips again. Jungkook finds solace in holding your hips as you move on your own, and as he watches your closed eyes and parted mouth, he leans back to the headboard, looking at the image of you at the very moment – wishing he could burn it into memory.

“My god– ah—” You begin to speed up your pace, concentrating on the way Jungkook’s cock seemingly hardens at your every drop and fall.

Soon after, you feel Jungkook sneaking his hands in your pussy, and when you plant one of your palms on the mattress leaning back, Jungkook rubs your clit to help you reach your climax.

You feel yourself leaking on him from both your orgasms in your pussy earlier, and at the thought of that, you feel another wave of ecstasy that snaps in the bottom part of your stomach.

“Oh my fucking god.”

You bury your face in Jungkook’s neck the moment you cum, breathing erratically against his skin.

“You did so well, baby,” Jungkook kisses your hair, caressing your head lovingly. “I love you.”

Humming, you let your body fall lax against his, feeling like your bones just lost all its joints, unable to move. Thankfully, there’s Jungkook to take care of that. When you refused to move, he teases you about being a baby and carries you to the bathroom instead where he tells you to pee while he prepares the shower for the both of you.

Minutes later when you’re both done cleaning yourselves, you lay in Jungkook’s bed beside each other. Or more like, you lean almost all of your weight on top of him, your legs and arms wrapped around his body with Jungkook’s arms underneath your neck, serving as your pillow.

“I think I just unlocked a new kink.” Jungkook says, alternating between kissing your forehead and caressing your head.

“You discover one, like, everyday.” You tell him, eyes shut closed. You’re starting to feel sleepy from everything you did tonight.

Jungkook snorts. “Fair. But for the record, nothing beats this new kink of mine.”

“What is it?”

“The I love you kink.”

Even if you can’t exactly see him, you’re sure he has that stupid cute bunny grin on his face.

Chuckling, you say, “God, you really are so corny.”

“Hey, can a boyfriend not be turned on when his girlfriend says she loves him?”

At that, you freeze. Jungkook must’ve noticed because he stops caressing your head. You move away from his chest and lean on your elbow so you can look down at him.

“We’re girlfriend and boyfriend now?” You ask with knitted brows.

Jungkook looks just as confused. “I mean… yeah?”

“Oh.” You nod. Looking to the other side of the room, you ponder, “Well, that makes sense.”

Jungkook looks offended when your gaze falls back to him again. “What do you mean that makes sense? We’ve been boyfriend and girlfriend since you told me you liked me.”

“You told me you liked me too,” You roll your eyes. “But… really? You think that?”

Now, Jungkook’s pouting.

“Wait, you didn’t think we were boyfriend and girlfriend all these months?”

“Eh…” You think about the past four months since you both established an exclusive relationship with each other. You’ve always thought it was just this unlabeled thing. But apparently… “I guess we are boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“I literally introduced you to my friends as my girlfriend last month, though?” Jungkook asks.

You jut your bottom lip out. “I have no idea.”

He sighs. “Forget about it.”

“It’s okay. I love you.” You say, blinking at him.

Jungkook visibly melts at that.

“I think you just found a new way to get away with anything…” he says, eyeing you suspiciously.

You snicker and cheekily press a quick kiss to his lips.

There haven't been a lot of people who have come to your life that became important to you – and you didn’t expect Jeon Jungkook to be one if it – not at all. But what started as a casual relationship turned into more than that, and now you find yourself deeply in love with him – and happily so.

Meanwhile, Jungkook thinks the same as he caresses your hair, staring at your serene face while you sleep in his arms, thinking it couldn’t get any better than this.

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts smut #bts fluff #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #fic: cnbl #cnbl drabbles

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petrichoravis · 2 months ago

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You, everywhere I look. | s.r

summary: Spencer finds himself unable to move through his life without finding pieces of you in everything he does or sees. He can’t say that he minds. (Or, you have been away and Spencer welcomes you home with love and flowers.)

word count: 1,7k

what to expect: spencer reid x fem!reader, no plot just spence being down bad, fluff (like tooth rotting, the couple that you see on the street and feel like barfing kind of fluffy), domesticity, established relationship, mention of spence lifting r up but he doesn’t actually, mention of future children as well as bad experiences with relationships but it’s not a plot point and there are no actual children, food and eating, English is not my first language

a/n: this is kind of my form of shit posting, bc this isn’t particularly good, but I liked it somehow. I think my fics being swallowed up by the algorithm has given me the freedom to just post what I want

──── ✿

Spencer stretched his arms above his head with a sigh. The sun filtered through the curtain, beaming the shadow of the windows on the inside of the fabric like a projection screen.

He dreamed of you—a good dream for once. A child of your own, a life filled with joy, laughter until your stomach hurts, and rolling in the grass together down the hill where your house sits.

Dream analysis has never been something he believed in, given that it is purely based on interpretation, with no underlying logic or factual basis. But you made him forget logic, made him want to believe in all the things ethos and the universe told him.

But dream analysis and believing that a dream could inspire a future were two different things. And he so badly wanted to lead that kind of life with you.

In the bathroom, he found your toothbrush next to his in the run-down cup. You had insisted on painting clay with him for your second date and made a cup with beautiful flowers embellishing it. But you had forgotten to add a handle before painting, so it had its place on Spencer’s sink now.

You were a little sad that he wouldn’t be able to drink his coffee out of it every morning, but he had assured you that they would keep him motivated to brush his teeth every day and save him from cavities.

The toothbrush for you was something that had accidentally happened.

You and Spencer had started off as a hesitant couple, as you’d called it. You did all of the things couples did, kissing, going on dates, sleeping at each other’s apartments, but both of you were hesitant to put a serious label on it.

Spencer was careful because of his job and the dangers that it brought with it—too many of his relationships having fallen victim to his profession—and you because of the hesitancy that was brought on by ex-boyfriends and baggage.

But as the two of you spent more time together and started falling deeper in love, you started sleeping at Spencer’s house more than at your own.

With that came that you always had to bring your own necessities. Often, this led to you leaving things with him that you needed at your house when you left his.

So, Spencer bought you a toothbrush (and a towel (he had towels, but he saw one that he knew you’d like) and a hair brush and shampoo). He tried to disguise it like it was just a spare one he coincidentally found at the bottom of his drawer.

(“What a coincidence that all of those things appeared at the same time, huh?” You had teased, and he was too focused on your smile and the fact that you had your things at his place now, he just replied, “Mhm.”)

Spencer pressed play on the CD player he installed in his bathroom, which you laughed at him for, but found endearing at the same time.

You always played music while brushing your teeth to make the activity more enjoyable and to really brush for three minutes, which Spencer never failed to remind you was important. It was something your family passed down to you, and Spencer was incredibly proud that you trusted him with it, too.

As he pressed play, the intro song to your favorite album started playing. You must’ve forgotten to take the disc out. He hummed along around the toothbrush while brushing.

After he finished cleaning up, showering (your shampoo stood on the little shelf in his shower cabin) and putting on clothes (the cardigan he chose was your favorite, a brown one made from soft wool, with a green button band), he made his way into the kitchen.

He wasn’t much of a breakfast eater before meeting you. Usually, he chose to grab a coffee and a doughnut on his way to work, but you made him want to wake up early to wake you softly, to eat still-warm buns and solve crosswords and sudokus.

It had become a habit for him now, even without you here, waking up earlier to enjoy the morning sun at his table next to the window, watching birds.

Crossword puzzles were something he saved for you and him, though.

On his way to the office, he passed by a flower shop like he did every day, called The Water Lily Pond. Named after the famous painting by Monet.

They always had a beautiful array of flowers, and today they had a big bouquet of your favorite flowers and bicolored leaves, and goat willow twigs as decoration stood right outside. He swore to himself to buy you one on his way back.

Walking just a few steps further, he saw a cat with a little hat looking out of the window and smiled. You would love that, begging for him to lift you up so you could pet her, and he would roll his eyes and pretend that he cared about being on time while already lifting you up.

The work day is one of the rare slow-moving ones, Spencer’s task mainly involving research on offenders that are already in prison, to refine profiling techniques and methods for future consultations with other law enforcement officers.

It’s a tedious process, and he is well aware that he had been chosen for the task because of his practical ability to read as many words a minute as he can. He doesn’t mind, Garcia and JJ visit him from time to time, he plays cards with Emily, and Hotch invites everyone to a lunch break.

He ordered your favorite food at the restaurant, and when the conversation about Emily’s cat Sirgio, subsided, Morgan asked about you.

“How’s the lady, boy genius?” A smirk ready on his lips. Spencer was sure that anything he’d say would end in relentless teasing.

“She’s great,” he smiled sheepishly, ignoring the cough of ‘I’m sure she is’ from Morgan. “She’s been away to visit friends and family last weekend, and work kept her busy until now, but we’re cooking today. Staying in, maybe read something together.”

Penelope squeaked in delight, “That sounds so lovely! Tell her I said hi, please. Oh! And that I totally didn’t forget to send her the cookie recipe, I’m just perfecting it. It has to be perfect.” She went on, asking him to ask you if you wanted to come to her girls night and if you liked strawberry or preferred cherries, and only stopped when Morgan laid a hand on her shoulder, gently.

“I will,” Spencer replied, laughing fondly. He had introduced you to the team just a month after you had made things official, and they adored you from moment one, just like he knew they would.

Penelope had even baked you cookies for your last birthday, and as you stood next to the table, snacking on them, she said that she trusted you to pass the recipe down your family line and promised to send you the recipe.

(Spencer had choked as she said it, scared that it would be too soon to implicate such a thing. But you had handled it with grace, telling her that you would feel honored to bake delights like Penny’s sugar cookies for your future children. Spencer knew he was done for in that moment, if he didn’t already know it, anyway.)

After lunch, they all went back to the office to finish their respective tasks for the day and went home early thanks to Hotch’s insistence that they deserved one day a year to be home before dark.

On his way home, he went by The Water Lily Pond like he promised himself to buy you the flowers and pretty paper for a card, you always said how much you loved handmade gifts.

Speeding back home to keep the flowers fresh, he saw a couple on—undoubtedly—their first date and smiled; he still remembered his nerves as he took you out for your first date. He kissed you under the low light of the lantern over your apartment entrance.

Back home, he found a vase in the crannies of his cupboards and presented the bouquet on his kitchen table, the card he made with press-dried flowers leaned against it.

It wasn’t long before his doorbell rang, and Spencer hurried from his kitchen to the door, cotton socks on his hardwood floor slithering.

“Hi,” he breathed out as he opened the door to see a smiling you.

“Hi,” you echoed. It was funny to think that you’ve known each other for years and still felt nervous around each other, as if you had gotten to know each other for the first time again every time you saw each other.

Spencer let you in and hugged you tightly, his arms wrapped around you securely and his head on your shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Me too.” You were rocking slightly, not letting go for quite some time, and when you did, it was just to kiss each other softly.

When you did separate, you were smiling fools. “I got you a little souvenir,” you said, searching your bag for the present. It was a little key charm, a vintage-looking lock. “I know it’s not much, but I found it in a vintage store and thought you’d like it.”

He took it from your hands, smiling even bigger. “I love it, thank you.” He kissed your cheek. “Are you hungry?”

You nodded, linking your hand with Spencer’s as if you were going somewhere far rather than five steps towards his kitchen.

As you saw the bouquet, you gasped. “It’s so beautiful,” You peeled away from your boyfriend to look at it more closely. “My favorite,” you pouted at him, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” He said fondly, stepping closer to you to hug you from behind.

Not much cooking happened that evening, you mostly stayed on the couch, talking and kissing. Well, you did try to cook, but you were so caught up in each other that you accidentally burned the food and ended up on the couch, eating take-out from boxes.

──────── ✿

thank you for reading! please remember that reblogs and comments encourage writers to share more 𝜗𝜚

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rongloa · 3 months ago

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GALAXIES OF MY HEART — mark grayson x tamarenean!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. he would spend his days dreaming about you, that space girl that crash landed into his city, and his life. maybe being part alien wasn’t all that bad.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬). mark grayson x fem tamarenean! reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. tooth-rotting fluff, two dummies with bad social skills, personal space is invaded multiple times, there is a sock and a tissue 🤨, no beta we die like r*x, readers hair is described as long (please tell me if it’s not inclusive) , and she hates shoes with a passion

𝐚/𝐧. i couldn’t hold back the rage of not writing lovey-doves scenes, i hate that i chose slowburn. god cursed me with myself with my own mind, and i don’t hate him for it. CUTE FLYING TOO BTW <3

i came back to this right after i finished writing and i cock-blocked myself 😭

You drift through the open window like mist, barely making a sound as your feet catch on the windowsill—then don’t. You don’t need them to.

His room smells like clean laundry and something warm—like dust and boy and old comic books.

It’s quiet.

You like it when it’s quiet.

The sunset glow outside paints the walls in peach and soft gold, casting long shadows over a floor scattered with laundry and books and one very suspicious-looking tissue you do not investigate further.

You hover just a few inches off the floor. It isn’t on purpose—it rarely is. The way gravity pulls here still feels… light. Like it’s not quite trying hard enough to hold you down. It lets you drift, lets your toes brush the soft carpet as your eyes wander around Mark’s room.

Your fingers brush lightly over the spines of books on his shelf. Mostly comics and a few school textbooks that look barely used. There’s a notebook with torn pages tucked beneath a cracked DVD case labeled “Seance Dog IV: Beyond the Grave.”

“Seance… Dog,” you whisper softly, tasting the syllables like something you haven’t tried yet. Your brow furrows. “What noble title.”

You float higher and turn slowly mid-air, your eyes catching on the wall above his desk.

There he is—drawn and smiling. Seance Dog, a cartoon hound cloaked in dramatic shadows and a heroic red cloak, staring dramatically into some ghostly storm. There are three posters, each more intense than the last. You float closer to one of them and tilt your head.

“He’s growling at… the sky?”

You nod once. Approving. “He understands.”

You rotate in the air, legs tucked lazily beneath you, curls trailing after you in the evening light. You do a slow roll upside down, studying the collection of strange Earth knickknacks scattered on Mark’s desk. There’s a half-eaten candy bar, something sticky on a coaster, and a photo in the corner—crumpled slightly but kept.

You float down to look at it, leaning in like looking at a secret.

It’s blurry and bright. You recognize yourself. The colour of your eyes and the ‘o’ shape of your mouth. You’re staring down the lense, your hair a mess of loops, eyes wide and curious as the flash goes off and blinds you. You remember that, his phone. You were curious about how it captured the moments so easily, with the tap of a finger.

Mark’s handwriting is scrawled at the bottom and it takes you a moment to read it with how bad the letters are smudged:

‘Goof’.

Your fingers brush the edge of the paper. Your chest feels a little strange. Warmer. Placing it down gently, you tug at your lip.

Little beady eyes catch your own again, there’s a plush of the beagle slumped sideways on his desk, one ear bent and worn at the seams. You coo and pick it up, tucked gently into your arms like a baby. How adorable.

You glance around again, with your newly acquired friend.

His bed is unmade. His lamp is crooked and facing his bed instead of his desk. His socks are not where socks are meant to be. And you love it. All of it.

Because this—this is who he is when no one’s looking. Slightly messy but that’s not of importance.

Messy, human, soft. So grounded.

You curl mid-air into a slow, lazy spin above his bed, letting your body relax as you float in aimless circles, cradling the little beagle teddy to your chest, curls trailing along behind you like ribbons. Some dipping low enough to drag against the sheets of his bed.

You think of how often he tugs at the collar of his shirt when he’s nervous. How he frowns when he doesn’t understand something you say but still tries to, like it’s his fault. How he always offers you the last bite of food as if it’s some sacred tradition.

You don’t understand all of it yet.

But you’re learning.

And you think—if this is what being human means, you’d like to keep learning.

From him.

The floor creaks from downstairs and you hear his voice, laughing with his mother.

You smile and float just a little higher, pressing your fingers to your lips in a quiet, secret smile.

And then you keep spinning, weightless above it all.

─────────────────────────

Mark dragged a hand down his face as he climbed the last few steps, still chewing the last bite of lasagna.

Dinner had been nice. Chill. His mom didn’t bring up his black eye, which was kind of her version of a warm hug these days. And now all he wanted was to crash on his bed, maybe finish that Seance Dog comic he bought this morning before dragging himself into more school work and superhero chaos tomorrow.

He reached for the doorknob of his bedroom and sighed. A long, satisfied sigh.

Then he opened the door.

And blinked.

Then blinked again.

Because there, hovering midair, legs crossed and curls swaying lightly with each slow, graceful rotation—was you.

Floating like it was the most natural thing in the universe.

You had one hand tucked beneath your chin, the other gently wrapped around the well-worn body of his Seance Dog plushie. The plushie he’d had since he was ten. The one with the missing eye and the chewed ear that was definitely not younger him.

Mark froze.

Your eyes sparkled as they met his, wide and full of stars. “This is the Seance Dog,” You said brightly, hugging it a little closer like it was a rare artifact. “He’s soft. And wise.”

Mark panicked.

“Ohmygodyou’reinmyroom.”

He said it like one breathless word and immediately tripped over his own feet trying to shut the door behind him. His heart launched itself somewhere into his throat.

You tilted your head so innocently he felt bad that he walked into his room. “I was curious.”

“You—you broke in—!”

“I floated in,” You corrected, as if that made it better.

He looked around, mortified.

Clothes on the floor. Seance Dog posters everywhere. A truly cursed sock peeking from beneath the bed. The moisturiser on his desk. The crushed energy drink can by the bed that he swore he threw away yesterday.

Kill him. Now.

No—throw him into space. Put him in the definitely real GDA prison. Anything but this.

“You could’ve—I don’t know—knocked? Or called? Or—anything but this?”

You just kept floating, hugging the plushie tighter, eyes tracking around the room in loops as you took in more. And oh god, his heart was hammering out of his chest.

“I enjoy seeing the… human pieces of you,” You smiled. “It’s like… like seeing your soul scattered around the room.”

Mark didn’t know what to say to that.

So, of course, his brain decided the right response was: “You’re hugging my childhood plushie. He’s—he’s been through a lot.”

You looked down at it with reverence.

“He is brave,” You whispered. “I can tell.”

Mark groaned and covered his face with his hands, fingers twitching as he resisted the urge to pull all those raven strands right out of his own scalp.

And yet, when he peeked between his fingers… you were still there. Floating in his orbit. Looking like you belonged in the sky and somehow—somehow—in this very room, holding his weird, stitched-up childhood toy like it was something precious. It was to him, and now you apparently.

He exhaled, defeated. “I need, like… ten seconds to recover from this. Maybe twelve.”

You blinked slowly. “Is that a human unit of emotional recovery?”

“Sure. Yeah.” He was gonna need some recovery time, whether from the shame building in his throat or the thundering of his heart against his ribcage.

She twirls again, and smiles so brightly it makes a weak smile pull at his own lips. Yeah.

─────────────────────────

You point at it, brow furrowed.

“This… is a canine who communes with the dead?”

Mark snorts from where he’s lying sideways across his bed, one foot on the floor, the other bent at the knee. He props his head on his hand.

“Yeah. He talks to ghosts. And solves crimes. But mostly? He’s just really good at guilt-tripping people.”

You blink. “That’s… a very odd thing.”

You hear the way your words come out—still not always right. The phrasing, the syntax. But Mark doesn’t correct you. He just smiles.

“Yeah. He kind of is.”

You don’t mean to move closer, but you do. Like a magnet being tugged. You end up midair above his bed, and Mark watches as you slowly descend until your knees sink into the mattress, making him lean your way a little.

“Sorry,” you whisper, then grin.

He rolls his eyes but he’s laughing.

You reach for the Seance Dog plush he keeps by the pillow and hug it gently, turning it over in your hands like it’s made of starlight. “You… are very human.”

Mark raises an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

You shake your head. “No. I mean it. You eat snacks until you are sick. You watch glowing boxes of moving stories. You speak kindly when you are afraid. And your room smells like… soap and boy.”

He laughs, full and unguarded. The sound makes something warm shift in your chest. You think you might like this planet after all.

Then, without thinking, you hug him.

You mean for it to be gentle. But you forget. Forget how strong you are, how fragile he can be. Your arms wrap tight around his chest and his arms and he lets out a strangled noise against your bare shoulder.

“Sorry—sorry!” you gasp, pulling back a little, hovering instinctively off the bed again, fretting over him like you haven’t seen him destroy things a normal person couldn’t.

Mark wheezes but chuckles, patting your arm. “No, it’s okay. Just… maybe 30% less bone-crushing next time?”

You nod, sheepish. “Thirty percent. Yes. I will crush you less.”

He smiles at that, leaning back against the pillows. You float down beside him again, this time careful not to jostle him sideways.

─────────────────────────

You like it up here.

Quiet, still, sun-warmed roofing under your legs and soft wind tangling through your hair. No one looks for anybody on the rooftop. Except Mark.

He finds you anyway. Only he ever can.

You hear the door creak open behind you. Feel his presence before he says anything. The small shift of air, the sound of sneakers on gravel. Then his voice—low, a little breathless.

“I had to search the house top to bottom.”

Maybe not always.

You snort, an ugly thing that comes out of your mouth before you can stop it. “You’re not very smart sometimes.”

“Yeah alright, you’re feeling mean today.”

You don’t answer right away. Just pat the spot beside you. He takes it, dropping down so close your knees brush. It doesn’t bother you but it does to him, he shuffles over just a little. You press your knee back to his, he doesn’t move this time.

Mark was the one teaching you all these things, how to act human. How to speak in appropriate sentences. Personal space was new, and you didn’t like that rule. It was hard sitting far away, made you itch to break that rule. He’s wearing one of those blue sweaters and a pair of jeans. He’s looking out upon the sunset.

Your eyes lift to the sky again, painted in melting orange and blush pink. Earth skies are soft like that—always changing, always gentle.

“I like the way your planet ends the day,” you say.

Mark glances over at you, squinting against the sun. “Yeah?”

You nod slowly. “Tamaran didn’t have this. We had twin suns. There was no sunset, only… shift. Heat to cold. One fire slipping behind the other.”

“Sounds kinda intense.”

You smile. “Everything was intense.”

Mark chuckles softly, picking at a frayed thread on his sleeve. You watch the way his lashes catch the last light. How his mouth moves when he’s not thinking about it. You wonder if he knows that your heart stumbles every time he grins in your direction.

You wonder if it shows.

“Do you ever miss it?” he asks, quieter now.

Your smile fades a little. “Every day.”

He doesn’t fill the silence. He lets it sit there, as if giving your grief room to breathe. To churn over in your heart and fold itself back into a small box.

You tilt your head, watching his profile. His jawline, the soft brown of his eyes. The way he bites his bottom lip when he’s unsure of himself.

“Mark,” you murmur. “You have starlight in your mouth.”

He turns to you, startled. “Wait—what?”

You blink, then laugh. “It’s a saying from Tamaran. When someone speaks kindly. Honestly. It means you’re full of light.”

Mark goes a bit pink. Rubs the back of his neck like he doesn’t know what to do with the compliment, looking at everything but you.

You lie back, soaking the last of the warmth from the rooftop as you stare up into the deepening sky.

“I think I’m starting to understand gravity,” you say.

Mark lies beside you, his arms behind his head. “You mean, like, Earth gravity?”

“No,” you whisper. “Yours.”

He turns to you, your pulse jumps as those eyes land on you.

The ones you’d choose to stare into for the rest of your long life.

You’re still laying back, hair haloed around your head like some celestial thing. You can’t tell if your pulse is fast because you’re so close to him or because of the way he looks back at you from over his broad shoulder.

“I’d orbit you,” you admit, voice barely a breath.

He smiles. That same shy, tilted smile. “I’d try not to crash.”

And in the space between both of your words your hands find his. Fingers brushing. Not quite holding. Not yet.

You want too, but he was serious about personal space. You didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, never. But the pull is there.

Like gravity. Like stars aligning. Like maybe, just maybe, the universe is a little kinder than you remember.

“Come.” It’s stupid to say, stupid to suggest it but it tumbles from your mouth all the same.

“Wha—“ He can’t finish before you’re hoisting him up by the hand that just brushed yours.

“Let’s fly.”

A silly expression crosses his face and you shake your head, he is so serious and you don’t think he means to be.

“But someone might see.”

“But they might not.” His shoes scrape across the roof as you pull. He doesn’t even try to fight, he has the strength too but he allows you too. Whether out of curiosity or trust, you’re not quite sure. You glance back at him, raising an eyebrow in a teasing manner, a test.

You can’t stop smiling.

The wind dances past your skin like it knows you. Cool, fresh, teasing. The city below melts into twinkling dots of light, and the clouds are painted lavender and hues of pink as the stars peek through. You can feel Mark’s eyes on you again as you twirl midair—arms stretched, legs pointed, spinning just fast enough to make strands of hair stick to your face.

“You’re showing off,” he calls with a grin, somewhere a few feet behind you.

You twist lazily, facing the stars as you move backwards until you’re upside down beneath him, head tilted as you look at him.

“I’m living, Mark.”

He laughs, startled by how effortlessly you say it. He’s moving at a slower pace than you had been, arms loose beside him, watching you move like you were born in the sky.

To you, flying isn’t this power. It’s instinct. Like breathing. And when you do it—really do it—Mark thinks you don’t just fly. You float. Drift. You dance.

Picking up pace you twirl again, this time faster, until your laughter spills out into the open air. Mark has never heard anything like it—joy without restraint, laughter without purpose. You’re not trying to be heroic. You’re not rescuing anyone. You’re just here. Just flying.

You call to him, coming to a stop just above the tallest building in the city.

“Come! You don’t always have to look so serious.”

“I don’t look serious.”

“You do! Like your face is trying to solve a very hard puzzle.”

He chuckles and finally follows. Hovering above the sharp antenna of the news station with you as you give him the most deviously toothy smile. You’re grabbing his hand and yanking him toward the stars, both of you soaring higher, wind pulling at your clothes, your hair, your laughter ringing in his ears like a wind chime.

Mark’s breath catches a little. Not from the altitude. From you.

You glance at him sideways. “I’ve flown with many. But never with someone who looks at me like I might disappear.”

He swallows, the type that makes his adam’s apple bob and he can feel it. He doesn’t meet your eyes right away.

“I don’t mean to.”

“I do not mind,” you say gently. “It makes me feel real.”

You slow until you’re both just hovering there, high above it all. Lights glitter below. Worlds glimmer in the far-off distance, their stars sending codes in Morse. Like they want you to decode their secrets, their love for their planets. And the two of you are suspended in silence.

Mark looks at you—really looks. The moonlight kisses your cheekbones. Your eyes glow faintly with the soft mould of someone made to belong in the sky. He doesn’t say a word, but it’s there in the curve of his mouth, the way his heartbeat kicks a little faster when your thumb brushes over the back of him hand again. In the way you look up at him through wet lashes. You weren’t crying, it’s from the clouds that mist you both as they surround you both. It makes your skin dewy and your hair bouncy.

‘I think I like her,’ he realizes. ‘God, I think I’m starting to really like her.’

He can’t bring himself to say that though.

“You make flying look like some kind of… magic.”

You tilt your head. Smile. That smile that looks like it hurts your cheeks. Your nose scrunching up and your eyebrows making that cute dip.

“That is because, to me, it is.” You bring both his hands up between you, brushing a kiss against his knuckles. Holding those eyes of his captive and making his heart batter at his ribcage like one of the villains you both fight.

You drift to the side, spinning him slowly before letting his hands fall from yours. Floating above him like a star, hair glowing just like one.

And this time, when he flies after you, it isn’t because someone’s in danger.

It’s just because you’re up there—and he wants to be wherever you are.

#mark grayson x reader #invincible fanfic #invincible mark grayson #invincible #invincible x you #PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

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