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coconutdays · 2 years ago

Text

seat taker

s. you have a crush on the smartest and sexiest guy in your lit class who happens to ride a motorcycle with spooky season around the corner. what ever might happen?

w.c. 10.6k

w. fem! reader, biker!geto! x reader , fluff!, smut! (its more so toward the end so u can read until it cuts off to that lol if u want)

a/n: based on this idea I posted about biker!geto from uni lol, I didn't really proofread so ill get to that sometime later after I shower and eat lol just wanted to get this out

"go sit next to him then."

you take a nervous gulp from your water bottle as you walk to your lit class. the effort was a bit clumsy considering you were using one hand to open and close it while the other held your phone, your friend on the other line.

"never, would I ever have the balls to do that. i may be confident but I am not as delusional as the caveman gym bro that took your seat so he could sit next to me in anthropology."

she laughs on the other end, a hysterical giggle at your backtalk.

"well then he's just gonna keep thinking you're creepy cause you stare."

you let out a haughty scoff, "as if I acknowledge his existence." a finger of yours goes up in the air, as if she could see you being a smartass about your discretion, "I never look at him. I only get in a glance or two when he asks the professor a question or when he raises his hand to answer a question."

"you're insane."

"unfixable." you sigh prettily and proudly before giving a more serious response to her first suggestion, "and it would be really awkward if I sat next to him either way. the class is packed and everyone has their assigned unassigned seats, the white haired guy that always sits next to him would probably push me off his seat if he ever saw me there."

"that is true. some girl did that to me in stats and I was like ??? have you not been sitting somewhere else this entire semester? pissed me off that I had to sit somewhere else and take someone's seat."

you're about five seconds away from your lecture hall door when you add to her complaint.

"right. and then that person looks at you funny cause you took their seat and then argh–its just a fucking domino effect." you turn around and take a step into the class, the sight before you bringing emphasis to the last words that you meant to finish off with, "fuck seat takers..."

"huh. what was that last part?"

your classroom is full. every one of the 200 seats are seemingly just taken. it's a sight you're not used to when you walk into class. normally, when you decide to go in, about half of the class is there, and you were starting to curse the fact that you gave yourself the luxury to finish the last of your reading for next week ahead of time. those ten minutes didn't seem like they'd make a difference, they sure do now...

with white haired guy sitting in YOUR seat.

its across the lecture hall from where he normally sits, next to Geto, who just so conveniently has an empty seat next to him, the only empty seat.

poker face, poker face, poker face.

it's all you repeat to yourself as you walk up the carpet steps to the row where Geto is sitting and try to continue the conversation with your friend.

there's no white noise, some people are typing away at their computers and others are chatting with the person next to them or near them, so it gives you room to explain yourself a little without being heard.

"everybody's already in class, and white haired guy is in my seat dude, and guess which seat isn't fucking taken." there's an edge to your voice, however it lays undetectable with your calm face.

"WAITTTTTTTT. AHAHA–"

you can feel your body heating up in nerves when you start walking between Geto's row, to the seat next to him.

"stop f/n. I am on the verge of committing a serious crime. I'm going to actually end up in handcuffs by the end of today. the–"

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA." She keeps laughing at you as you force yourself to not care that you're pulling out and sinking into the chair next to Geto. If he acknowledged you, you wouldn't have known, his mere presence something you deleted from your mind in order to process the current events before you right now.

a high pitched and drawn out HA is the last of her laughs you hear before she speaks again, "I basically manifested this for you. you should be thanking me."

"fuck your manifesting. I'm not excited for this." you don't care to filter your voice into a whisper, it stays at its normal tone even though you're next to Geto because he didn't even know what the conversation was about anyway.

you balance your phone between your shoulder and cheek while you begin to take out your iPad and journal for class.

"ask him for a ride on his motorcycle after heh." she pokes at you and you feel like you can hear her poking out her tongue in malevolence.

even though you're slightly grumpy at your predicament, you manage to make a comment accompanied by a sigh, "with the way midterms are looking, id need a different kind of ride."

"you can ask him for that too~"

"shut up, you menace."

"hehe," she strikes evilly, "well, I'll leave you to your class with your boyfriend."

"no, stop, the class doesn't even–"

"bye!"

and she hung up on you, leaving you to flip mindlessly through your notebook while you try to ignore the presence of the hot hot hot piece of sexiness next to you.

suguru geto has been at the forefront of your mind for weeks now. you had always slightly admired him from afar, considering your actual seat in the lecture hall was across the room from him. he was undeniably attractive, with his long black always tied up in a bun and clean outfits. and his intelligence, he was always one to garner thoughtful debates in class in response to the professors teachings. his calmness towards everything was enough to make you swoon at the thought go him being that patient with you too.

and his stupid motorcycle, the thing that made it all click for you.

you had been walking to the library after class to meet with your classmate to work on an anthropology presentation when you caught a glimpse–stare–of him getting onto a motorcycle and pulling a helmet over his head before he quickly rode off to wherever he was going. for some reason, it really got your gears grinding and wishing you could just jump this man and do some truly desperate things.

he was all you thought about after. none of the other cute guys in your classes could hold a candle to the being that is suguru geto, renouncing you into a pining mess that looked forward to every lit class–even though you pretended you didn't care for him.

god, what even was the point in all of this if you weren't ever going to make a move? if he just SPOKE to you first maybe you could get some rizz in–

"you have pretty handwriting."

"I–what?"

you perk up like a deer in headlights at the sudden voice of Geto, wondering if you're the one he's speaking to.

and he is, he's spinning a pen between his fingers while he looks at you, slightly gesturing towards the journal in your hands, your cursive covering the pages of it.

"oh!" you're still caught off guard, doe eyes in the face of his sudden and scary, to you, comment, "thank you. can't even read it sometimes though, it's like trying to understand another language when I have to study what I write after."

he smiles slightly at your comment, a whisp of his dark hair swaying near his right eye, "I think it'd be cool to try and translate."

you resist the urge to curl into a ball and wish he would just look away from you, but you persevere, holding out your journal to him.

"be my guest." you say without hesitance

he sets his pen aside when he grabs it, immediately flipping through the pages and starting to skim through your notes, his eyes moving side to side as he does. you get a good view of him while he goes about trying to decipher your writings. he's wearing a black shirt today, it's not exactly tight, but not loose either. it gives you the perfect view of his arms bulging a bit, his biceps' size is an eye sore for you.

he's wearing these black stud earrings too, only visible because of the bun that he keeps his long hair. you wish you could see how long his hair actually was sometimes, he had never worn it down to class.

"looks like I'm more versed in your cursive than you are." he glances at you, a faint smile on his lips

your eyebrows raise a little and your eyes widen, "what? you can read it?"

he closes the journal and slides it to your spot on the very long lecture table. geto then leans over to your side a bit, close to your ear, and starts to point across the room to his white haired friend.

"see that idiot with the pitch black glasses?"

the question sends chills down your spine, the proximity making your heart race.

"y-yeah."

"silver spoon baby. learned cursive when he was four and it's basically incomprehensible unless you've been sharing notes with him since high school."

a laugh flows out of your lips, etching a smile on your face. your shoulder slightly bumps into his chest from it before you turn your head to directly face his.

"and I'm taking it that you're well versed in his cursive then too?"

he looks at you with a slight dreaminess in his eyes, his height still domineering over you even if you were both seated next to each other.

"have to be, would have failed lots of class projects if I didn't"

you take the opportunity to poke about the whereabouts of his friend in your seat now that he's been mentioned.

"and why's he sitting over there then?" you blink up at him for a response

at this, geto sinks back to his original position on his chair, face a million miles away from yours now as he goes back to fiddling with his pen.

"he's...trying to flirt with the girl he's talking to right now." he shakes his head a little, although there isn't much of a disappointed look in his face, it's more entertained. he was probably used to his friend's antics by now.

"ah. at least it looks like she's into it." you dispense the weight of your head onto the palm of your hand as you look at his friend with him, "could not have been me."

"what?"

you don't turn to look at him as you respond, "this Andrew Tate gym bro took my friend's seat to sit next to me in my anthropology class the other day. tried speaking to me like those guys who swear all you need is a computer to become a millionaire. worst ninety minutes of my life."

you hear a puff of a laugh from geto

"I can guarantee you Gojo has better skills than that. he's probably talking about his Halloween party for this weekend."

you flip your head to look at him suddenly, "he's that guy?"

every big party that everyone talked about on campus was always held by Gojo. they had numerous amounts of beers and liquor bottles. always the best music, the best hookup stories, the best snacks, everything. you hadn't put a face to the name until now, although it should've clicked when you found out Geto's name. his was always being paired with Gojo, as some would put it, two pretty best friends.

geto could see the gears turning in your head and his eyes creased a little at your realization in a smile, "yea, that's the guy."

you're a bit taken aback by his confirmation and turn to take another look at gojo before looking back at geto.

amused, geto speaks again, "by all means, go for it, he's–"

you quickly shake your head and stretch out both your hands to frantically do the same, "no, god, no. i'm not into him. it's just I didn't know that was him. I always hear good things about his parties."

geto nods, "he has an affinity for making sure everyone has a good time. you ever been to one?"

you shake your head, "never, haven't had the chance to or been invited."

"you should go to the Halloween one." geto suggests, gesturing his pen in your direction before going back to spinning it around his fingers, "you know where it is?"

you shake your head again, now completely facing his direction, the attention you were giving to his friend gone and now placed on him.

geto gestures towards your journal and reaches for it, "may I?"

you nod, curious at what he was going to do.

he flips the journal and opens the very last page, guaranteed to be blank and begins writing something on it.

when he pushes it back to your side of the table, you can see what he's written now, an address.

"that's where the frat house is."

you wiggle your eyebrows a little at him, "you in the frat too?"

geto laughs fully this time and shakes his head, "no. I have my own apartment. that's just gojo's thing."

you acknowledge him and look over the address written on your journal, "I'll think about it. have to wear my costume somewhere right?"

"what is it?" he tilts his head curiously, genuine interest in what you would choose to dress up as.

you try to bite back the smile at the knowledge you have of your costume and choose to leave it up in the air for him, tapping your journal on his shoulder.

"now that is something for you to find out if you see me at the party."

just how it's entailed in mean girls, you dress up slutty for gojo's halloween party. you wore a playboy bunny costume, close to one of the sluttier things you can wear, but it's rare recently for girls to wear as opposed to the trendy fairy and angel costumes lately.

although it isn't exactly halloween yet, its the first out of the two parties gojo was holding in honor of the holiday. next weekend there would be another one on the actual day, but you didn't know if you'd go that one yet, you were going to see what this one was all about though.

you brought your friend with you, hooking her up with the address geto provided you because she had been aching to go to one of gojo's parties too.

your eyes light up when you see geto's sleek black motorcycle parked near the garage as the both of you walk to the door.

"god, there's so many people inside." your friend all but screeches in excitement and you would too if it weren't for the nerves of impending doom that geto, your everything crush and classmate, was going to see you wearing this.

the chills that come from the thought make you rub your shoulders for heat as you walk inside and the blaring of the music becomes even more booming now that it isn't being shielded by the walls of the house.

"where do you think the drinks are?" you try to speak up, a trace of small worry at bumping into geto laced in your voice.

she raises her head up and looks around to see where she could spot the alcohol until she starts dragging you by the hand, "the kitchen is over here I think!"

she pushes the both of you past clusters of people, paving the way for her desire for vodka and it makes you bump into someone a bit roughly.

you try to voice out your apology quickly as she keeps dragging you along, looking back at who you just bumped into.

it's geto.

his eyes show mild surprise, not one for entirely showing his emotions, they're widened a bit and he looks a bit taken aback while his eyes rake up and down your body–still being dragged away. he's not wearing a costume, sporting a white t-shirt and jeans instead.

the words of apology you were going to utter fall off as you make eye contact and realize it was him you bumped into, he who just got an obvious look at your costume.

you're glad the speed of your friend makes the interaction short lived due to her lightning speed in suddenly bringing you to the kitchen, which is lined with beer and liquor of all kinds, every space of the spacious kitchen taken up by alcohol.

you hurriedly reach to serve yourself a cup of strawberry vodka, hoping that the first sip and those after might make your nerves dilute. when you turn around to talk to your friend, who's probably already served herself straight flavorless vodka, she's being flirted with by her anthropology club crush. she gives you a quick glance, a combination of 'oh my god oh my god' and 'sorry' being communicated to you.

you smile at her knowingly and point towards where everyone was dancing and talking, marking that that's where you would be while you left her to go as far as she wanted with the boy in front of her.

you're halfway through the crowd to make it to the patio when a voice is suddenly in your ear from behind.

"is it as cool as people say?"

you jump at the intrusion and cradle the cup of vodka to your chest and look at who just spoke to you.

it's geto, exactly behind you, his large frame towering over your body and leaned over so you could hear him.

you're stopped in your tracks and turn around to face him now, trying hard not to feel intimated by your basically half naked right in front of him.

"yeah!" you nod

geto turns his head a little from his spot at least a foot above you and leans down again, at level heads with you

"sorry, say that again." he looks at you earnestly, wanting to be able to properly hear your answer with the loud music echoing into your ears and his.

"I said yeah! I didn't know parties could be this packed!" you say, taking a nervous sip from your cup as you look at him

"what happened to your friend?" geto keeps his posture the way it is to keep talking to you

"the guy she likes started talking to her!" you exclaim past the loud blare of music.

"ah." he nods, taking a quick glance to the kitchen and spotting your friend smiling eagerly at the guy in a jason costume in front of her. "what are you going to do then?"

you blink cluelessly, haven't actually thought about until he asked you.

"dance!" you look around the room so he could look with you. bodies pressed against each other and bodies dancing by themselves all across the room.

geto smiles and straightens himself before reaching a hand out to you and gives you a look of 'wanna take it?'

you can't help the bashful smile that makes its way to your face as you hesitantly take his hand. he softly brings you closer to him, not as close as the other horny bodies in the room, but it's a little intimate and makes you feel intoxicated. he puts his other hand high on your waist, making sure to avoid the sluttiness beneath that line of your torso considering your outfit, and he starts to sway the both of you to the music. he holds you to himself with you hook an arm over his shoulder and use the other hand to hold your drink, singing along to the music with a toothy smile.

it was playful, the interaction with him, a fun setting between the both of you. the combination of that and the large heap of strawberry vodka you served yourself and managed to finish by the second song with him were the reason for your increasing comfortable nature with him. you were laughing and laying your head on his chest frequently through your endless bursts of energy and gasping breaths for relief.

he was smiling throughout the entirety of it, never getting too comfortable though, and keeping his hands where they had originally been.

"I just wanna be one of your girls tonight!" you sing at the top of your lungs.

geto lets go of one of the hands encircling you and instead reaches for one of the hands splayed across his shoulder and chest, caressing it with a thumb.

you tug at him a little with your other hand and he leans down to hear what you're about to say.

"wanna get drinks?" you ask, craving a sweet hard seltzer instead of another pour of vodka.

"you want something?" geto asks you back

"are there any strawberry drinks?" you blink up at him

geto looks like he's thinking for a second, trying to remember the usual drinks his best friend caters, before he nods, "yeah there are. want me to get you one?"

you nod eagerly at him and follow him to kitchen. he had taken a hold of your hand when he noticed you were going to accompany him, he didn't want you to struggle getting through all those people.

he had been bent over to look through a cooler on the floor before he stood up and held out a strawberry daiquiri to you, "here."

"thank you." you nod before you jump and sit on the countertop so you could rest and drink

you notice geto doesn't have a drink in his hand when he leans against the kitchen island in front of you.

"you didn't want a drink?"

geto shakes his head calmly, "gotta drive back."

"oh." you remember his motorcycle from earlier near the garage and strike another question so he doesn't know that you know he has a motorcycle. incredible logic.

"what kinda car do you have?"

"ah, not a car, a motorcycle." he smiles slightly, the answer was humble

"oh~"you drag out–as if it was new information to you–and continue drinking from your bottle.

"you have a ride back home though?" geto asks, crossing his arms over his chest so he could be more comfortable while listening to you.

"uhh," you reach for your phone and see a message from your friend asking if it was okay for her to go to McDonalds with her crush, "well I was going to uber with my friend, but she just had a change of plans."

"I can take you home." he offers genuinely, tilting his head in await for your answer.

"In your motorcycle?!" you blurt out

he starts laughing heartily at your answer and smirks at you when he speaks again, "never been on one?"

"no." you shake your head, a bit intimidated, "what if I fall. im literally naked im gonna get cut up by the road."

geto smiles at you, "that's a fair concern, but I'll give you my helmet and let you borrow my jacket, it's big, it should cover you up a bit no?"

although the alcohol leaves your brain empty, you think it over which involved nothing but staring at him in supposed 'thought' before you nod, "okay."

"can I give you my number? so you can send me your address?" geto asks, shuffling a little bit closer to you

"mhm." you hand your phone to him and watch as he types away into your phone before he hands it back to you. when you stare back at his contact name, suguru geto, it makes a dawn of realization wash over you.

"you don't know my name, rig–"

"y/n."

you do a double take at how fast he says it and his eyes crease at your reaction.

"what?"

"you get involved in the lectures a lot." he takes note for you

"oh." you sink back into yourself

"do you know mine?"

you shyly respond with a, "yea, you get involved a lot too..."

"good to know." he grins a little, watching as you take the last sip of your drink and gesturing back towards the dancing scene, "wanna go back?"

"yeah." you confirm softly, taking the hand he gives you so you can get off the countertop smoothly. and when your feet touch the ground, you yelp, "ow ow ow ow!"

the hour of pure dancing and jumping around had not been a good rival for your new and tall heels. they were a height you had walked before, but the shoes themselves were new and not worn in, causing a great deal of pain across your entire foot.

geto held you by just below your armpits, the worry he had seeping through in his widened eyes and his leaning over to see if he find out what was wrong with you.

"what's wrong?" he asks quickly

"the heels," you scrunch up your nose in pain and sigh, "they hurt like a bitch now that I got a bit of rest."

you can tell geto feels bad about your pain by the way he grimaces for you and plants you on the countertop again. he suddenly kneels down and begins to work at the clasps of your heels.

"you can borrow my shoes. that sound alright?" he looks up at you from where he's at, already sliding one of the heels from your feet.

you're quick to deny, "but what about you?"

"satoru and I are the same size, I can just ask him for a pair, he has a million."

you give in at his response, embarrassed, "okay."

"you want me to take you home now?" he lightheartedly smiles as he works on the other heel, "I think you can walk in my shoes, but dancing doesn't seem doable."

"well yea." you say dejectedly, a little frown etching itself on your face when he finally comes back up, his lips quirk up a little when he sees it

"wait for me here then." he says, putting your shoes next to you on the countertop before he walks off a little hurriedly to you assume gojo's room.

when geto walks you to his motorcycle, he takes your heels and puts them in the compartment box of it for you, then takes his helmet and immediately puts it on your head.

an 'oomf' leaves your mouth at the sudden weight of it and he looks a little amused as he starts working at the straps of it.

"there you go."

he smirks a little as he looks at the, very large in comparison to you, helmet, and picks up his jacket that he brought back from gojo's room to put on you.

"there we go" he sighs, almost like he's proud of himself and gets on the motorcycle, turning his torso a little to pat behind him for you to get on too.

when you get on and take in the feeling of sitting on a motorcycle for the first time, he's turned around and looking at his phone, pinching and zooming in on the route to your apartment.

"you actually live pretty close to me." he murmurs, noting what roads to take.

"yeah?" you yawn, laying your head on his back

"alright," geto says, starting up his motorcycle, revving it up a bit, "hug me tight okay?"

you nod sleepily and wrap your arms around him, brain so eased by the alcohol in your system that you don't overthink it, as if your sober self wouldn't be screaming and crying on the inside during this exact situation.

geto drives off at a decent pace, some part of you thinking that this might not be the speed he normally drives off and that he was taking it a bit slower just for you. you could feel him breathe in and out all throughout the ride, his chest and stomach were rising and falling underneath your touch. you fell half asleep on him halfway through it, managing to grasp onto him like a child with their stuffed animal, and unable to resist the heaviness of your eyelids.

you blink back to reality at the sudden stop of movement, the stilling air was no longer brushing past your skin and the noise of wheels screeching against the road was gone.

after geto helps you get his helmet off, he hangs it on one of the handles and takes your heels out of the compartment box.

"this is your place right?"

another yawn flutters past your mouth again and you hold out your pointer finger to say yes.

"alright." geto says, watching as you lead the way into and through your apartment and to your place. he had placed a ghost of his hand near your back in case you started to trip up from his shoes considering their size in comparison to your feet. the walk was quiet considering your focus on making it to your door and the overwhelming sleepiness dawning on you.

when you get to your door you slip off geto's shoes and them to him, taking your heels from him in return.

"thank you, geto." you hold try not to yawn again, doe eyes sleepily fluttering at him

"you can call me by my first name." he comments comfortingly, "and no problem. see you in class?"

"yeah." and this time you do yawn, again, before you open your door and walk inside, looking at him while you hold onto the frame.

"alright then." he looks down at you from across the doorway, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his shoes, "get some rest okay?"

"okay." you almost murmur, your bed calling out to you.

you get to class at the time you usually do the following class meeting. the weather forecast had been a little chilly, so you opted for a cozy, off the shoulder sweater. it was fashionable and you had been dying to use it the moment you saw the weather forecast the night before.

you're scribbling notes onto your iPad this time, going over lecture notes from your earlier class that day. there were some things you forgot to add and that's what you always used this time for before class started. you see the class start filling in minute by minute out of your peripheral vision as you do this.

your habit of pretending to not care about suguru's presence is still existent, so all you can see for a fleeting second when you look into your backpack for a mint is that he is indeed sitting at his normal spot with gojo.

there was no chance to look at him that day in class, he hadn't spoken, which wasn't really rare, sometimes you wouldn't speak in class either. you, however, did speak in class that day, the module that the professor was teaching that day had piqued your interest a great amount and thus called for a great amount of your interaction with the lesson.

by the end of class, you were setting quick reminders on the notes you had taken of what was the most important before you started packing your bag to leave. the sound of feet and shuffling to leave the class a bit noisy, but it could let you make out the distant loud voice of gojo, probably talking to suguru.

"I have been on my best behavior. I do not know what you mean by that Suguru." "No no no that was a favor, look where it got you." "Oh you are such a wuss."

It was only a little appealing considering the fact that you couldn't hear what suguru was saying and the things that gojo was saying didn't let you get any clues as to what they were talking about. oh well.

you wanted to go home and start studying for a test tomorrow, so you started walking out of class, past suguru and gojo's line of view.

you heard a smack, like one of them had hit the other.

and gojo's voice, "idiot."

you were sitting at your desk, going over the last of your test review when you felt your phone buzz across the desk and picked it up

suguru

hey

y/n

suguru

you wanna take satoru's seat next class?

y/n

he wants to flirt with mika again?

suguru

not rlly lol.

y/n

?????

suguru

I think it'd be cool to switch desk buddies every once in a while ;)

y/n

lmaooo. I won't tell mika if that's what you're scared of

suguru

haha, that's not rlly the case, but just take his seat

y/n

okay?

when you go to class again that same week, you hesitantly take gojo's seat. there was no follow up text from suguru after you said your okay and it was a little off putting. of course it had only been that night and the day after that he hadn't texted again, but it was a little weird, especially for it being the very first text conversation he strikes with you. the only thing that had been exchanged between either of you in your messages had been your address to him from gojo's party.

there were no notes for you to go over, there was no test or important knowledge that you had to use soon in any upcoming classes, so you were left to wait for the class to begin while you aimlessly scrolled through your phone and watched people come into class.

three minutes had passed before suguru and gojo were walking into class together. gojo was rubbing his friend's shoulder rather roughly, a fang filled smile on his face as he said something to him. suguru didn't seem to mind it, like many things, his eyes still had that warmth they always had, but it looked like he had said something back.

gojo playfully shoved suguru forward by the back before he laughed evilly and walked to your original seat, if you were right, you could see his bright blue eyes flick to you for a second behind his glasses before he smiled at the girl he flirted with last week.

you look up at suguru as he finally gets to the seat next to you.

"hey." he sighs with a smile as he plops into the seat.

"hey." you smile only halfway, a little tired from staying up to finish a homework the night before.

"sorry about the cryptic texts." he starts to apologize, moving his chair a little closer to yours, "satoru took my phone."

ah. that's why it seemed so out of character

"it's fine." you reassure, "they were a little off putting to read."

suguru scratches at the back of his neck, "I'm sorry about that. I meant to text after but I felt awkward."

"really? about?"

for the first time, you see him stumble on what to say, hesitance obvious when he opens and closes his mouth for a painfully slow second before he manages to respond, "to see if you were coming to the party on actual Halloween night this weekend."

"oh." your mouth opens in a little oh, oblivious to what he really wanted to say, "I'm not too sure. my friend that I went to the party with is spending it with that same guy she left with. so I don't have anyone to go with. plus I already used my costume."

"what's wrong with using the playboy bunny costume again?"

you eye him, disappointed, and lean over to flick his forehead, "i...am not an outfit repeater, suguru. the people who saw me at last week's party are going to remember me and say 'she's using the same costume again, what a loser'"

he gazes back at you as if you pat his head instead of just flicking it, warmth and a hint of mischief seeping into his stare, "you're right, you did catch a lot of attention."

"what?"

suguru leans back in his seat and answers, "you looked beautiful. it was hard to ignore."

"for who?"

"for me and every guy with eyes at the party."

he seems calm and confident when he says it, but his cheeks and ears start to get a slight pinkish hue as he awaits your response.

you try to keep looking at him, fighting the need to look away and wait for the professor to start class, your flustered face saying all too well what you're feeling, "what am I supposed to say to that?"

"you don't have to." suguru moves forward, positions his feet to face you as well as his face, and puts his elbow on the table, slanting his body onto it a little, "The president of gojo's frat asked for your name. He really liked you."

"Zenin?!"

"You like him?" he asks, with the tone of a guy who would try to set you up with the president if you said yes.

you shake your head, gaze looking down in embarrassment, "no no. it just caught me off guard..."

"if you like Toji it's fine," he tries to lower his head so he could catch your eye again, speaking earnestly yet something about it sounds like it's fake, it's weird, "he's like a dog, treat him well and he's loyal. although he can be brutally possessive, probably the type to leave hickeys on your legs if you're going to be with him and wear a costume like the one from the party."

"no, I don't like him. he's not my type." you answer meekly, having felt a bit of pressure from his boasts of the frat president.

"no?"

"no."

and before he can continue with his intense conversation again, you're saved by your professor, dramatically entering the class and bellowing for all of you to pay attention to him.

when your class ends, you try and succeed at scampering away from suguru before he can get a word out. as if she possessed magical powers, your friend called you the moment your professor ended the lesson. within the millisecond her name popped up on your phone, you grabbed at your phone at put it to your ear.

"hello?"

"hey hey! I have a question!"

you pay no mind to suguru as you haul your backpack over your shoulders and begin to walk out of class.

"what's up?"

"do you want the extra halloween costume I bought? levi is taking me to dinner on halloween for our date and I won't get to use it."

"the fembot costume?!"

you can almost makeout the banter between suguru and gojo a way's away behind you as you walk down the concrete steps of the building.

"yeah! you can go to gojo's party in it!" she beams, before her voice gains a bit of malice, "you can dance with motorcycle guy again~"

"go there by myself?" you groan, almost wanting to stomp your feet on the pavement beneath you

"lots of girls go by themselves to parties!"

"well I've never done that." you grumble

"aw come on. use the costume and go for me. pretty pleaseeeee."

"I'm going to give you a reason to be scared on halloween if this goes south for me. got it?"

it's cold when you get to gojo's party and you're beyond psyched out of your mind. from the unbelievably slutty costume that let everyone see your naked body in panties due to sheer babydoll material and the fear of coming across a very handsome suguru or toji zenin, who as handsome as he was might be able to seduce you, but you didn't want him like you did suguru.

you're more conscious of the stares now, due to suguru's previous comment and the fact that this costume was way more revealing.

on instinct you rush to the kitchen and get a strawberry daiquiri like the one suguru got for you exactly a week ago. you didn't want to get drunk tonight considering you came by yourself, so reaching for the strawberry vodka again was not within your list of options.

your eyes were on high alert as you pushed yourself through the countless bodies dancing, trying to remain unseen.

it doesn't give you cause to hide for some reason, considering he's suguru's friend, but you see satoru strut to the kitchen in a slutty firefighter costume. he was wearing the pants and boots, and nothing on top but a set of suspenders. classic.

however, you do a double take when you suguru geto wearing that same exact costume. you swear you feel your eye twitch in frustration when your eyes see his hair finally down, splayed across his back and chest, and get a peek of a tattoo tracing his spinal structure, bone for bone, going all the way up his back until it gets interrupted by his hair. his arms are practically calling to you when he fist bumps a toji zenin wearing a prisoner costume, they flex and bulge at the action. his abs are all perfectly prominent and–

he just made eye contact with you.

you hadn't gojo walk up to him and whisper something into his ear, probably that you were here.

fuck you satoru gojo.

suguru smiles immediately and turns to walk to you, leaving you to stay in place and not run away from him.

"you bought another costume?"

"no," you feel your chest heave at the sight of him, breath getting caught in your throat with his very shirtless self right in front of you. it makes you look off to a girl dancing behind him when you continue, "my friend gave me hers because she didn't end up dressing up."

"you want me to bring zenin?" he points a thumb behind him, towards the kitchen, face the definition of calm and suave.

you glare at him this time and take a sip of your daiquiri

"what? feeling shy?" he smiles down at you, if he weren't such a peaceful seeming person, you would have said it was condescending

"I'm not into zenin." a tinge of irritation already seeping into your voice.

"you sure?" he moves closer to you, your face right smack in front of his chest.

"yes." you jut your chin at him, done with his shenanigans

his lips twitch a little when he tugs your strawberry daiquiri out of your hands, grabs you by the neck, thumb close to your chin, and says, "open your mouth." he immediately starts to chug from your daiquiri and the thought of realization dawns on you of what he was about to do.

you open your mouth and he pushes his body closer to yours as he spits the drink into your mouth, his eyes solely on yours as he does it besides for when he briefly looks at something or someone behind you rather haughtily. he's still holding you and intently watching when you swallow it down immediately. that familiar happy crease of his eyes sketched itself across his face after.

you're heaving a little, star struck by the action the both of you just committed, "what was that suguru?"

"scaring off zenin. you don't want him right?"

his eyelids flutter a bit, something yours did whenever they were sleepy and it makes you search into his eyes more. your curiosity dying when you see the sudden red veins clouding the whites of his eyes. and you push him off.

"are you kidding me? you're high?"

"and drunk." he smiles, not minding your pushing him off and still inserting himself into your personal space again.

you try to speak and can't, solely out of irritation at the fact that he did that because of his intoxicated state. you bite your lip to stop yourself from overreacting and settle for shaking your head.

"you don't like guys who smoke?" he asks, genuine concern laced with his stupid crossed persona at the moment, "I tend to never smoke, but satoru passed me his joint when I was already at the 'whatever happens' point of a tequila bottle ."

"I really don't care about that in a guy, as long as he's not a musty constant weed user that can never cope with his life." you roll your eyes at him slightly, "but you just spit alcohol into my mouth because you're crossed as fuck."

"no." he scoffs, now entirely entranced in his conversation with you.

"yes."

"I spit alcohol into your mouth so zenin wouldn't come up to you."

the response makes you cross your arms over each other, "a simple 'hey she's not into you like that' would have sufficed."

"where's the fun in that?" its a serious question for him, you can tell by the way he patiently waits for your answer

irked, you look up at the ceiling while biting your cheek, trying to gather yourself again before you say, "sober up geto." and turning to walk away.

you made it your mission to stay hidden the entire party, having entered the deal with your best friend that if the night turned sour for you, she would come with her boy whatever to pick you up in his car

after their date.

which wasn't going to end until an hour or two.

the garage had stayed open to the enormous frat house, although there weren't any people in it. people had respected the space, leaving the miscellaneous in it untouched such as the two cars and...suguru's bike.

you eyed it from the rather comfy bean bag in the darkest corner of the garage, feeling a fight or flight instinct at the mere glimpse of it whenever you looked up from your phone.

it had been almost two hours since you last suguru and you were striving to keep the streak going on longer.

"told you I'm going home satoru." a wary and very sobered up voice says when they open the door to the garage, "I drank enough water, I'm sober."

it's suguru.

there is no stagger in his step and his posture is refined as he walks to lean again the trunk of the car furthest from you and closest to his bike. you remain hidden due to the cars covering you from his line of sight as well as the sheer darkness of the corner.

he's wearing a shirt now, another black one, and he rakes his hands across face when he gives a defeated sigh. you hoped he wouldn't notice you.

this was your Friday the 13th movie for sure.

suguru pulls outs his phone from one of the spacious pockets of his fireman pants and he starts to type away immediately. there's a slight buzz from your phone seconds within the action.

suguru

are you still here?

I'm sobered up now.

he shoves his phone back in his pocket after. and you watch as he stays where he is, crossing his arms across his chest while he waits a good five minutes for you to respond, which you don't do. he gets his phone out again after and taps something randomly before he puts his phone up to his ear.

buzz-buzz-buzz-buzz

the strong buzzing of your phone on your thigh make a ricochet that gets's fine tuned ears pick up quickly.

"y/n?" he's shining his phone's flashlight on you, squinting his eyes just a little to try and make you out.

nervous, you mutter, "what."

suguru turns the light off and sighs, walking to your corner, his eyes already getting adjusted to the darkness.

"why didn't you answer me?"

"do you really not know the answer?"

"you're right." he sinks down in front of you, sitting down on the floor and brushing a stressed hand through his hair. his legs are stretched out and basically manspread even though he's not on a chair.

"satoru didn't text you to switch seats with him because he wanted to flirt with mika" he comes forth, both of his hands laying across his knees.

you're confused, "but–"

"it was a wild attempt of his to help me talk to you again." and he laughs, a burst of energy randomly gracing the intense air. suguru raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck while his chest and stomach ricochet and his teeth peek out from his mouth.

"truth is, I really like you." he's still smiling.

the declaration makes you stare blankly at him and a million goosebumps rise across your entire body.

"if you don't feel the same in that regard it's fine of course." he reassures, back to his normal calm self, "I just thought it would help explain my behavior."

"since when?" you peep

"our first class meeting," suguru seems a little bashful at the confession

"I have for a couple of weeks now too." you meekly profess

suguru seems genuinely surprised, his eyes widening, "you have?"

"why do you sound so surprised?" your brows knit.

"it felt like you didn't know I existed until last week." he grins followed by a small huff of humor

"oh...that," you trail off, embarrassed, "I thought pretending you didn't exist was the best way for you to not know I had a thing for you..."

"satoru is far smarter than me in that aspect." he says, "he insisted that you were doing that when I told him."

you giggle a little, "he read me like a book."

suguru hangs his head for a second and groans, still joyful, before he whips his head up and gazes at you, "I apologize for having never gathered the courage to approach you before. I have Satoru to thank for even getting me here with you in the first place."

"it's fine." you shrug, pulling at your own fingers, "we're here now aren't we?"

"we are." he agrees before leaning over. suguru grabs one of your hands and brings it to his lips, placing a soft kiss onto it while his eyes never leave your own.

"want to go back to the party?" you muster past your nerves, focus solely on the warmth of his hand still holding onto yours.

suguru shakes his head lightly, "I'm enjoying it being just the two of us right now. do you want to?"

"no, I like it here too."

theres a moment of silence, where both of you stare at the hands that the both of you have connected until a strong breeze passes and flutters the thin material of your babydoll up and makes you shiver strongly.

"let me." suguru says as he hastily gets up and gets his leather jacket that's hanging from his motorcycle, then brings it back to you, helping you tuck your arms into the sleeves and get comfortable in it.

he's above you when he does it and you can see the small glances he tries to avoid giving your body, especially at the sparkly pink thong peeking through the see through material of your costume. suguru is making sure his jacket is on your properly when you call out to him suddenly.

"suguru."

he doesn't get the chance to respond when he looks back up at you and you pull him in by the material of his shirt to kiss him.

he reciprocates within seconds, after the surprise wears off and places a hand on your thigh, the other next to your head and grabbing at the beanbag. his lips are soft and have no remnants of alcohol on them, a smooth flavor of his skin and flesh meeting your tastebuds when he dips his tongue into your mouth. it elicits a groan from him when you whimper at the contact.

he pushes as much as he can into your space without falling and you follow suit, trying to lift yourself as much as possible off the beanbag to meet him.

a particular whimper has suguru pulling away from you and pulling you up by the arm so he can maneuver you to sit on the trunk of the car next to you. when he plops you down onto it, he slots his torso between your thighs and pulls you for an even deeper kiss. his hands have a strong grip on your thighs as he keeps you against him and you can feel the distinctly large throbbing of something against your panties through his pants.

"are–mmmm–you hard?" you ask through kisses

suguru can't help the grind of his bulge against your core when he answers and keeps kissing you, giving small nips to your lips, "yes."

your eyes are closed into the kiss when your hands navigate to the waistband of his pants, about to reach for–

"not here." suguru mutters and keeps both of your wrists clamped under one of his large hands.

you pull yourself away from his lips and heave, a pout of sexual frustration illustrated on your eyes and lips. "okay."

he raises a hand to caress your cheek as he smiles fondly, "what?"

"nothing."you look away for a quick second, leaning in to kiss him again after.

suguru stops you before you do though, clamping one of his hands against your mouth while the other holds the back of your head.

he's smiling even wider this time, "now what kind of gentleman would I be if I let you touch me before I get to touch you?"

you slouch in his hold, too upset by the fact that you couldn't touch him or go back to kissing him to care about his words.

"you know, even satoru couldn't keep his eyes off of you in this little costume of yours." he looks down for a second so you could too, "god knows what toji was thinking. I saw the tent in his pants when you took my spit and booze like a good girl."

suguru sees the way you shift your hips for a smidge of relief at his words. "are you my good girl?" he leans his forehead across yours, hand still on your mouth. you try your best to let out a muffled 'mhm' and incessantly nod your head, eyes pleading and hands gripping onto his shirt.

"are you going to answer the phone when I text you next time?"

you give him the same answer again.

"god." he warily eyes you, gaze wandering towards the outline of your breasts and the rest that wasn't covered by your thong, "you're so beautiful."

the hand at the back of your neck trails down and moves some hair away from your shoulder, then ends up holding you by your lower back as suguru leans down and starts to mouth at your neck. he starts off small with his intentions, simply placing soft and subtle kisses, eliciting a ticklish response from you until his lips become searing and he goes in with the intent of leaving hickeys on you, it makes you squirm and suguru lets you, it's not like you can break away from his touch anyway. you use your legs to keep him caged in and closer to you eventually after the third 'pop' you heard coming from his mouth on your skin, it makes him audibly laugh for a second too.

you tug at the hand on your mouth, expecting for the task to be hard considering his build, but suguru lets his hand fall away easily and hold onto your thigh.

"what are you thinking pretty?" he asks mindlessly before going for the opposite side of your neck

"mmmm–about how good–mm–this feels."

"yeah?"

"mhm"

"tell me what you want to do. do you want me to drop you off at your place after this?" he blows on your most recent hickey and smirks when he sees you jump a little, "do you want me to get you food?"

"I want–ah!" suguru bites into your neck fairly hard, enough to make you moan and yelp at the same time, "I want to spend the rest of the night with you at my place. can we watch a scary movie?" the suggestion is simple and it isn't to hook up with him, although that's what you want more than ever now, but you don't want him to think you're that desperate so its what you settle for.

"couldn't imagine a better halloween than that." he smiles

you're under suguru, on your bed later that night, the movie you had been watching was long forgotten and the t.v. was turned off the second things started to get out of hand. it wasn't his fault no, suguru's a gentleman and when you said you just wanted to watch a movie, he was just going to watch the movie with you. you were the instigator. after you had been cuddled into his arms, near his neck, you decided to place a few loving kisses...that eventually turned into what this was with suguru getting up to take off and throw away his shirt while you hastily yanked off the long gloves of your costume.

he was needy, grinding his hips into yours the moment he came back down to kiss you.

"you have no idea how fucking bad I've been wanting you." he mutters, hissing when a particular rub pleases him the right way

it makes your back arch, "I think I do suguru."

"really?" he groans into your mouth, "you touch yourself to me like I do for you?"

"yeah." you sigh, clinging onto him even more, splaying your hand across the soft skin of his back.

"move your panties to the side."

when he feels your hand move down and follow his directions, suguru moves his down too and slides a finger across your soaked folds.

"fuck, this pussy is so wet for me. were you even trying to pay attention to the movie?"

"yes, I was." you complain, and whimper when he starts rubbing circles across your lower lips, gathering your slick for added stimulation after every rub.

he separates himself from kissing you to look down at his ministrations, mouth opening in a soundless moan at the sight.

"listen to this sloppy fucking pussy." he rubs faster and you start to jerk your hips up by natural defiance at the stimulation, but he holds you down "no, let me touch you baby." he says sternly

your breathing starts to pick up and you feel that familiar knot that only you can give yourself starting to build up in your stomach and suguru notices, looking up to smile at you.

"are you close angel?"

concentrated on the feeling, all you can do is nod your head and he speeds up his pace at it, garnering close to wanton moans from you and screech like whines.

"come on come on, cum for me pretty girl, cum cum cum cum–fuck, atta girl." suguru talks you through it, mouth opening in awe at the sight of your body going limp and your breathing slowing down, his cock even twitches at how cute it is that your legs kick a little when you cum too, he thinks he'll be able to keep them still when he gets make you cum on his cock.

you start to hiss at the overstimulation when he keeps rubbing your clit after your high, "'s too much suguru."

he doesn't stop, "you want to stop now then?"

the shake of your head makes his eyes light up and bite his lip with a grin, "then just let me keep going."

it takes all of your strength to lean up with one of your elbows and grab his wrist with the other, obvious strain written across your features when you huff, "I want you inside me."

like he knew that was what you wanted, suguru's grin grows wider, "are you sure?"

you nod your head in confirmation, followed by suguru saying, "so cute." before he gets up and pushes his pants and boxers down in one swift motion and climbs on top of you, manhandling your legs by pinning them to either side of your head into a mating press.

he lets his cock teasingly rub up and down your folds while he leans down to nip at your ears, "let's leave your little costume on yeah?"

you nod and make a face when his tip catches on your entrance

suguru lifts his hips at your confirmation and pushes his tip in, savoring the way you're beginning to invite him inside you.

" 's so big sugu." you whimper in shock at the larger than expected intrusion

"never taken a cock this big?" he pulls out and pushes in again a little deeper

"no." you rake your hands down his arms

suguru laughs, "good thing I'm here to provide then right? see, look at you creaming around me already."

the words make you look down at where you both meet and when he pulls out again, you can see the ring and slick on his dick, it makes you shiver.

"I'll–make–this–little-fucking–pussy-take–me." he punctuates each and every one of his words with a thrust that pushes himself deeper and deeper inside you until you can fully feel his tip grazing your cervix and every vein on his dick ridging against your walls from how girthy he is.

every sound that comes out of your mouth after is incoherent when suguru starts to punishingly pummel into you and god does he keep talking to you.

"you look so pretty taking this dick baby. god, you sound even cuter than I imagined. you like getting stretched out like this? fuck, take it take it take it. wish I could make you sit on it, you'd look so cute trying to ride me."

it's all so much, especially when every thrust is accompanied by a moan or groan of his or with a sentence.

"couldn't fucking wait to get home after the party last week too. wanted to rip off that costume and fuck you till you couldn't even scream. and when you wear those skirts with pantyhose to class?" suguru groans, "all–I–can–think–about–is–bending–you–over–and–stuffing–this–pussy–with–my–cum."

"suguru!" you squeal, "im–I'm gonna cum!"

suguru tightens his hold on your thighs at the admission and starts jackhammering into you, "cum around me baby. let me fuck you through it." it almost sounds like he's starting to beg, "just cum for me, cum for me, cum–"

a silent scream leaves your mouth and you trash in suguru's hold while he keeps his furious pace.

"so pretty, angel." his eyebrows knit as he watches you orgasm and feels you clamp down on him. it has his peak lurching across his body and his thrusts grow erratic as he starts spurting his cum into you.

he leans down to kiss you as his cock twitches inside of you, leaking his cum into you each time.

at the end of the kiss, the both of you are heaving against each other, smiles on both of your faces until you erupt into laughter and giggles.

suguru is still inside you and places a loving kiss on your forehead, swiping away your sweaty baby hair, "you're cute when you cum. you kick your legs a little, I like it."

the confession has you trying to shy away and suguru laughs again, caressing your head, "why are you shying away? you wore this costume for everyone to see just a couple hours ago."

"well this is you telling me you think the way I cum is cute, its quite different than guys looking at my thong." you shakily grab onto his shoulders

"I suppose so." suguru nuzzles into your neck, "do you have a bath?"

"yeah."

"let me start one for us then." he pulls out and both of you look down at your lonely entrance until his cum starts to leak out. suguru seems entranced and you can see his cheeks start to gain a red hue accompanied by the blood starting to rush to his cock too.

suguru looks back at you the moment you do too. you reach a hand out to him and he crawls back on top of you.

"we can do that later right?"

"right."

#geto suguru #geto x reader #geto fluff #jjk suguru #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto smut #suguru smut #jjk smut #geto suguru smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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orellazalonia · 26 days ago

Text

Soft Shopping Spree

Summary: Bucky notices you never spend his money or let yourself want anything, so he plans a full day of spoiling you determined to show you what you deserve. (Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Sweetheart!reader)

Word Count: 2.5k+

Main Masterlist | His Sweetheart Masterlist

It started small. The way it always did with you.

You never asked for more.

You lived in Bucky’s mansion now. His guards drove you. His chef fed you when he couldn’t be home. His people knew your face, knew to open doors, carry packages, and never let you lift a damn thing unless you insisted.

And you still acted like a guest.

You used the same two mugs, the same worn clothes from your old closet. You bought your own shampoo instead of touching the imported, overpriced stuff in the bathroom. When he told you to buy anything you needed, your receipts never passed thirty bucks.

Thirty bucks.

Bucky noticed.

He noticed the way your eyes skimmed past price tags like they weren’t meant for you. How you always offered to pay for groceries with cash you kept tucked in a little envelope. How you never once ordered anything to the house without asking first, even though his assistant had given you full access weeks ago.

He noticed the way you never let yourself want anything too big. Like maybe it would be a burden or worse, like you weren’t used to anyone giving a damn whether you were comfortable or not.

It made something cold and quiet twist in his chest. You didn’t need to ask for his money. That wasn’t the point. You were his. And that meant you deserved to have something, anything, that made you feel that way.

So the next time he came home from a long meeting, jacket slung over one shoulder and blood under his nails that didn’t belong to him, he found you in the kitchen heating leftovers, in that same old hoodie you’d had since the day he met you?

He decided.

Tomorrow, you were getting spoiled whether you thought you needed it or not.

You woke up to the smell of coffee and the low hum of Bucky's voice downstairs, rough and low as he talked to someone over the phone. It was barely 8 a.m.

You rubbed your eyes and padded toward the staircase, still wrapped in one of his old shirts, sleeves swallowing your hands. You caught just a snippet of what he was saying.

“No. I want everything cleared. No press, no bystanders. She’s not walking into chaos… Yeah. Discreet. She doesn’t like attention.”

There was a pause then a softer tone.

“And make sure the stores are prepped. I don’t care if they open early. I said I want her to feel like a queen.”

You froze for a second, lingering just beyond the railing. The call ended and you heard the rustle of a coat, then quiet footsteps, and before you could sneak back upstairs, he turned the corner and caught you.

His eyes softened immediately.

“Morning, my love.”

You blinked. “Did I just hear you threatening to bribe an entire shopping district?”

He didn’t even pretend to look guilty.

“I’m taking you out today.”

You squinted. “Out-out? Or fake-normal-day-out like last time?”

His hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear. “Real normal, real you, and real me. Except… you’re coming home with new things this time.”

You frowned. “I don’t need anything, Buck.”

He smiled; that slow, stubborn kind that meant he’d already made up his mind.

“I know you don’t, but I need to give you something.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he continued on.

“You’ve been living here like you’re waiting to be asked. Like if you take up too much space, someone’s gonna notice. But you live here, sweetheart. You don’t have to earn it. You just have to let yourself have it.”

You looked at him for a long moment.

Then sighed. “Fine. One pair of boots.”

He grinned. “Try twelve.”

Twenty minutes later, you were dressed in the outfit he’d picked out—soft, luxurious, and subtle—and stepping into the SUV he always rode in when he wanted to remind the city who he was. It was cleaner than usual. The windows were polished. You noticed the man driving was one you hadn’t seen before. He was young, kind-looking, said “Good morning, Miss” with a real smile.

Bucky slid into the seat beside you as You leaned close.

“Are you bribing your own staff to be extra nice today?”

He smirked. “Not bribing. Just warning.”

He didn’t tell you where you were going until the buildings started to change to high-end boutiques, quiet cafes, storefronts without prices, and the kind of streets where everyone had a security detail and no one talked about it.

Your stomach twisted. “Bucky, this is too much–“

“No, it’s not.”

He reached over and laced his fingers with yours.

“You’re mine. You don’t have to need something to deserve it. Today, I just want to see you spoiled.”

You went quiet, overwhelmed in the way that always hit when he was like this. Calm, determined, and focused entirely on you.

“Let me give you a day where the only thing you have to worry about is whether the dress fits,” He said.

You blinked at him.

“You picked a dress store already?”

His smirk widened.

“Sweetheart, I picked ten.”

The first boutique looked like it belonged in a dream.

Glass walls, plush velvet furniture, and soft music playing from somewhere overhead. The saleswoman greeted you both without blinking, no surprise and no hesitation. Bucky had clearly called ahead.

She looked directly at you when she smiled.

“We’ve been expecting you, Miss.”

You hesitated. “Oh. I’m just–”

“She’s the one I told you about,” Bucky cut in smoothly, hand resting on your lower back. “Treat her better than royalty.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as the woman disappeared to get racks prepared. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re beautiful,” He replied. “And you’re about to try on everything in this damn store.”

You opened your mouth, probably to argue, and he held up a hand.

“No debates. No ‘I don’t need it.’ No looking at tags. You’ve never said no when I’ve asked for something. This time, I’m asking you to let me give you what you deserve. Just once.”

You fell quiet, unsure what to do with the weight of his words. He reached up and adjusted the collar of your coat slowly, like he wanted the moment to settle between you.

“Let yourself want something, love. Even if it’s just for fun.”

And so you tried. You tried to keep it light at first. One pair of shoes. A cardigan. A soft blouse in a color you liked but rarely wore. And then Bucky started doing his thing.

Subtle nods to the assistant when you paused. A jacket you tried on and then shrugged off, saying “maybe later” was already being wrapped in tissue by the time you turned around. A bag you glanced at for two seconds? On the counter and already paid for.

You huffed, finally turning to him with crossed arms.

“You’re just buying everything I touch.”

He raised a brow. “Of course I am.”

“That’s not normal.”

“Neither is falling for someone who still thinks she has to prove she’s worth a pair of earrings.”

You blinked, caught off-guard.

He stepped closer, dropping his voice.

“You think I don’t see it? How careful you are? How you still ask before sitting in my office? You’re not visiting anymore. You belong, and I’m gonna keep reminding you of that until it sinks in.”

You tried on a long coat after that, silky on the inside and fit like a glove. You stepped out, expecting to hear one of his usual “that one” or “perfect” comments but instead, he just stared for a long moment.

Not possessive. Not hungry. Just… soft.

“I like this one,” You said, smoothing the fabric awkwardly.

He nodded once.

“Keep it on. You’re leaving in that.”

You hesitated. “Don’t you want me to try the other–?”

“Nope. You’re keeping that one. That’s the one you looked at like you’d never wear something so nice.”

You bit your lip, heart a little too full.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

He smiled, slow and steady, like it bloomed right out of his chest.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Now pick out a bag, one that makes you feel dangerous.”

You tried not to smile. Tried, being the key word.

By the third boutique, something in you had shifted. Not all at once, just in pieces. The coat still hugged your frame, a tiny silk ribbon from an earlier bag peeked from the crook of your arm, and Bucky had been watching you like he was cataloguing every little sign of you softening.

He never rushed you or hovered. But the look in his eyes? Like you were finally, finally, giving yourself permission to exist fully in his world. Not as a visitor. Not as a kept secret, but as his girl.

The next store was lighter with sunlight through big windows, color everywhere, warm wood floors, and delicate fabrics. The kind of place that didn’t just sell clothing, it sold confidence.

You ran your fingers along a display of scarves.

Bucky watched from behind, arms folded, weight balanced lazily against a counter like he had all the time in the world. And he did. For you, he always did.

You held up a deep red one, smiling faintly. “Too dramatic?”

He shrugged. “For who?”

You smiled more, for real this time.

“I guess no one.”

“There you go,” He murmured.

You didn’t stop at one thing in that store. You tried on sunglasses, ridiculous ones, big dramatic ones. He gave fake ratings, crossing his arms and pretending to ponder each look like a fashion judge.

“Hm. Nine. Makes you look like a woman who poisons rich husbands.”

“Oh, perfect,” You grinned. “Exactly what I was going for.”

You held up heels you’d never normally wear that were absurdly tall and strappy with black patent leather.

“These would kill me.”

“They’d kill everyone else first,” Bucky added, expression serious. “Which is the point.”

By the time you were at store number five, the guards were lagging behind, arms full of bags. The assistants were quieter and more discreet. They’d learned that you liked to wander without pressure, and that Bucky would pay for anything you lingered on longer than three seconds.

There were moments when you still felt it, that flicker of guilt. The voice that said you’re asking for too much, you’re not supposed to want anything.

But then Bucky would step beside you silently, close enough to feel his presence without even touching. And somehow, the doubt would quiet.

And by the sixth store, you surprised him.

It was a little bookstore tucked between two luxury brands, seemingly out of place in a world of five-figure handbags. You tugged his sleeve when you saw it.

“Five minutes?”

He nodded. “Take ten.”

You disappeared into the aisles, fingers dancing along spines. When you returned, you handed him a single small bag with tissue peeking out.

He frowned.

“What’s this?”

You smiled. “For you.”

He blinked.

“I thought today was about spoiling you.”

“Exactly,” You said. “And I wanted to say thank you. And maybe remind you I notice things too.”

He opened the bag. Inside was an old novel that he once mentioned in passing. A war story out of print.

He looked at it for a long moment. When he finally looked up, his expression had shifted. Less amused and more stunned, vulnerable.

“You keep doing things like this,” He said, voice low, “And I’m not gonna stand a chance.”

You smiled, bumping his shoulder.

“Pretty sure that ship’s already sailed.”

The ride back to the mansion was quiet in that peaceful, golden-hour kind of way. Your legs were tucked beneath you in the back seat, Bucky’s jacket draped across your lap like it always found its way there. His hand was on your knee warm and steady as his thumb moved in lazy circles. He hadn’t said much since the bookstore, but he didn’t need to. Every once in a while, he’d glance at you like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

The mansion lights were already on when you pulled up. The staff had taken your bags ahead of you, every last one carried with care through the front doors. But you and Bucky moved slowly, fingers laced, and walking like the night wasn’t in a rush.

Inside, you kicked your shoes off and padded toward the main living room where most of the day’s spoils had been dropped: a dozen shopping bags leaning against the sofa and tissue paper peeking out in soft piles. You stood in the center of it, arms crossed lightly, looking a little dazed. Like someone who wasn’t used to being given the world and didn’t quite know how to hold it.

“I know it’s a lot,” Bucky said behind you, voice gentle.

You turned toward him. “Yeah. But… I think I’m okay with that.”

He smiled, that soft little curve of his mouth that always made your chest ache.

“Good. ‘Cause I already ordered a closet expansion.”

You laughed and tossed a crumpled receipt at him. “You’re out of control.”

“You’re happy,” He replied, catching it easily. “That’s all I care about.”

You then spent the next hour unpacking things together. Not because you needed to, someone else could’ve done it of course, but because it felt… grounding. Personal. Like laying out every small, joyful piece of the day and reliving it with your hands.

He helped you unwrap shoes, undo tags, and lay delicate fabrics across the back of the couch so you could admire them. He didn’t make a big deal of it. He just existed next to you, sleeves rolled up, and dark eyes warm. Occasionally, he would hold something up and say, “You’re wearing this to dinner next week.”

You eventually ended up sitting cross-legged on the rug, fingers tangled in ribbons and boxes. You were growing tired but in the good way, the kind of tired that comes from being full. Full of light, of warmth, of something deep and good you didn’t have words for.

When he knelt behind you, arms coming around your waist, you leaned back into him without thinking.

“Thank you,” You said softly. “For all of it. Not just the stuff, but for seeing me.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck.

“I see everything you try to hide,” He murmured. “All the ways you’ve learned not to take up space. You think I’d let you stay small forever?”

You swallowed, hands curling over his.

“I didn’t know how not to.”

He held you tighter. “Then I’ll teach you one day at a time.”

You fell asleep with your head in his lap on the couch later, the room bathed in soft lamplight. One of the new sweaters you bought was already draped over your shoulders like it belonged there. Bucky’s fingers threaded through your hair slowly, rhythmically, as if he could soothe you even in sleep.

And when Steve walked in later that night, pausing in the doorway to say something, Bucky just shook his head with the smallest smile, eyes fixed on you.

“Not tonight,” He spoke quietly. “She finally let herself be spoiled.”

Steve nodded once and left without another word.

#his sweetheart #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky #mafia au #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel fic #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #bucky barnes #fluff #bucky barnes fluff

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paarksunghoon · 2 months ago

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resignation (7)

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: this chapter is also unedited. sorry y'all

WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: mutual masturbation, phone sex, dirty talk.

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

Sunghoon has grown far more bold ever since having dinner with him for the second time. You don't shy away or make a fuss about it when the two of you are alone together, and it scares you just how much you enjoy being in his company without the pretext of making sure he’s on track to succeed at his job.

He calls you after work to talk about anything but for the first time. Sunghoon keeps you company on the phone while you make dinner, and the two of you remain on the line while you brush your teeth before putting yourself to bed. He does the same, too, informing you of his meal and that he’s the kind of guy who needs a sweet treat before he goes to bed.

He’s just as bold on the phone as he is in person.

“Is it bad that I want to touch you?”

“What?”

“I just…I miss touching you. I’ll go crazy if I’m not near you.”

“You’re insane. Are you drunk?”

“Stone cold sober,” he tells you when you’ve settled into your sheets. It sounds like Sunghoon’s rustling in his bed sheets to sit up and rest against his headboard. “Can’t believe you’re so far from me.”

Is it normal for you to get worked up over Sunghoon’s voice?

“I haven’t stopped thinking about the night you slept over. God, you were so wet. You look really good when you come and you sound even better.”

His words echo in your mind and you grow more aroused with every word spoken. Sunghoon speaks like he’s got the raw honest truth that needs to be shared, or else it’ll make him go mad. His voice is breathy and light. It almost makes you think he’s troubled by it. You sit upright, too. Your pillows act as a brace for your back as you cross your legs and keep your phone by your ear.

“I can’t stop thinking about eating you out in your office either. Do you know how long I’ve been fantasizing about that? I can’t believe you let me eat it during work hours.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yeah. More times than I’d like to admit.”

“H-How long?”

Sunghoon lets out a breathy laugh. “Years, maybe. Definitely when you came into the office wearing the long purple dress. You looked so good waiting for me.”

You can’t help when you clench around nothing and roll your hips in the air. There’s no doubt your cunt is sopping wet by Sunghoon’s words alone, and his confession leaves you aching for his touch.

“I don’t know what it was about that dress. It was backless. You wore high heels, too. The kind I’d never seen you wear before. You looked different than you usually did.”

You put your phone on speaker and close your eyes as you let your middle finger ghost over your covered slit, imagining it was Sunghoon touching you instead. It takes you right back to the morning he fingered you for the first time when you feel how wet you are. You almost feel shameful for getting horny over the sound of Sunghoon’s voice. But it’s deep and seductive, and you can’t help it.

“I’ve always thought you were attractive. I love assertive women. I love when you put me in my place and argue up the wall until one of us gives up. It drives me fucking crazy when you get mad at me because all I can think about it how good the sex would be.”

You whimper quietly. It catches over the phone and Sunghoon hears it.

“Are you horny, baby?” Sunghoon asks like he can’t believe you feel the same way too.

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He breathes heavily and emits a quiet moan. You’re afraid to admit how incredibly attractive Sunghoon’s moans are and settle for biting your lip while prodding your covered cunt against your opening.

“Remember when we fooled around the night you stayed over? My dick was so hard for you. I was ready to take off your clothes and fuck you right then.

But it was late and we had work. You looked at me like you wanted it. I could see how badly you wanted me. Did you see how badly I wanted you too?”

After moving your panties to the side, you take the underside of your fingertips and glide when back and forth over your soaked pussy. You pass your clit with every swipe and jolt at the euphoric feeling while pretending it’s Sunghoon’s hand. You could come from just this if you tried hard enough.

“You’re a little quiet. Are you okay?”

“I…” you trial off, finding the courage to speak. “I like hearing you talk.”

Sunghoon hums. “You like hearing how horny you make me?”

“God yes.” It comes out like you’re desperate for it.

“I can’t wait to fuck you. For real, this time. We’ll have all the time in the world for foreplay, but this time, I’ll be able to fuck you without anything or anyone interrupting.”

When you hear wet sounds on the other end of the line, you can’t help but moan. You picture Sunghoon spreading his precum all over his cock with his hand shaped like a fist, twisting his wrist so that his thumb reaches his tip. You picture him with his phone put on speaker in order to use both hands to jerk himself off.

The echoes of his wetness splashing makes you put a single finger inside of you. When you listen carefully, you hear Sunghoon’s heavy breathing and the way he’s touching himself. You picture what his face would look like with his eyes closed and mouth wide open.

“I think you want that as badly as I do. I’ve got a place by the countryside. How about a weekend getaway? I’ll fuck you for the entire weekend if that’s what you want.”

Sunghoon hisses and you picture him with his hips in the air as he squeezes himself at the base. Your reference of his print from the first time helps you imagine how big he is without his clothes on. Big and thick. You push your finger deeper inside you and pull your wrist out, just to push it in again.

“I could fuck your perfect pussy in my bed. I’ll take you on my couch while we’re watching a movie. We’ll do it in the shower and in my car.”

He wants to fuck you this badly? Sunghoon’s words falter with every passing sentence. It sounds like he’s losing his grip on sanity the more he jerks himself off. You come to the conclusion that if you can hear Sunghoon touching himself, he could likely hear you getting off too.

Why does that make you feel excited?

You feel crazy when you think about what he’s saying. Why does it sound like Sunghoon has been thinking about this for a while? And, God, how is he able to bring out this side of you?

“I can’t help myself when it comes to you.”

Sunghoon’s hand picks up the pace and he moans, unashamed. His deep grunts push you to add another finger inside and recall the girth of his own. You think about what he’d look like touching you in the quiet of your room on your own bed sheets instead of his. You imagine Sunghoon’s naked chest hovering over you while his face contorts into an expression of pleasure when he fucks his fingers inside of you.

Thinking about him like this makes you feel exhilarated. Your chest heaves up and down and you can’t help but roll your hips and push them towards your fingers. You reach the deepest parts of yourself and moan out loud, covering your mouth when you realize how loud you sound.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Sunghoon whimpers on the other end. “Keep going. You sound so fucking good.”

It’s not hard to listen to him. Moaning against your palm is like second nature when your fingers push themselves in and out. Sunghoon grunts and you imagine himself fucking his hips up in the air while his other hand tries to chase after his balls to squeeze them. He must be jerking himself off fast and quickly by the sound of slapping.

Imagining what it would feel like to go all the way with him pushes you over the edge. Sunghoon’s words get to you, and you think about his dick ramming inside of you like he’ll die if he doesn’t fuck you properly. He sounds mangled and desperate to touch you without interruption. Something tells you he wouldn’t care if somebody walked in on him pleasuring you, but you know Sunghoon wants you all to himself just as badly.

You come with panting breaths and Sunghoon moans, too. The way you moan together sounds euphoric. So much, in fact, that you picture him on top of you as he finishes alongside you. You scrum able to grab your phone and take him off speaker so you can hear Sunghoo’s moans directly in your ear, and pretend he’s moaning while on top of you.

“I’m gonna, shit, holy shit—”

Sunghoon moans loudly when he comes. You imagine his hand working overtime to push out every last drop with his eyes wired shut. He could either be squirting ropes out his tip until it splashes on his abdomen. Or, his come could come out like a slow fountain and drip all over his dick until it seeps past his base. The urge to see him orgasm overtakes your every desire. It’s not fair that he’s seen you naked twice and you haven’t seen him named at all.

“You’re perfect.”

You snort. “Give me a second to calm down before you coddle me, would you? And what am I, a booty call when you can’t get off?”

“You’re more than that to me, and you know it. You just like giving me a hard time.”

“Someone has to.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“When am I not?”

He chuckles. “We should probably sleep. Work, you know?”

“You can be so awkward sometimes.” You laugh and pick up the phone to put it by your ear. “And, um…you sound really good. You know, when you, like…yeah.”

“When I what?” He’s teasing you and he knows you know it.

“You know!”

“I do, but I want to hear you say it.”

Your cheeks warm up and you find your courage. “You sound really good when you moan. I just…jesus.”

“And you sound like a fucking angel every time I make you come.”

“I’m going to hang up now,” you say hastily with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He laughs. “Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

“Night, love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

***

Maybe you’re losing your goddamn mind.

It’s hard to keep work separate from whatever’s going on between you and Sunghoon because every moment in his office feels like a lion stalking its prey. He’s professional in all sense of the word, except when he winks at you when nobody’s looking. You can’t count the times he’s snuck a kiss when the two of you are alone in the break room.

Is this a situationship? Is it casual dating? Would he describe this as either?

These questions have circled inside your mind from the minute you let him bury his fingers deep into you. You’re the kind of girl who likes a distinct answer with a clear label. You like stability and clarity, not the back and forth that you see in Netflix dramas.

Even so, you can’t help but relish the time you spend with Sunghoon. He’s giving you the kind of attention you’ve been secretly yearning for during your years away from home. It felt scary to jump into the deep end without knowing how far you’d fall, but Sunghoon makes you think the risk is worth it.

“Did I lose you?”

Sunoo’s voice cuts through your phone and you blink twice while staring at yourself in the mirror with a tube of mascara in hand. His voice brings you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, I got distracted.”

“Thinking about lover boy, aren’t you?”

“He’s my boss, Sun.”

“A boss you’re fucking.”

“We are not fucking!”

“Yet.”

You close the mascara tube. “You’re so insufferable. I don’t know why I bother to update you on my life when you have plenty of action back home.”

Sunoo laughs. “It’s ’cause you love me and have no friends.”

“Yah. No need to rub it in. I’m pretty sure I’m becoming friends with my neighbor who watches Pochi for me when Sunghoon needs me to stay late.”

“That’s good. See, you aren’t totally helpless when it comes to your social life.”

You sigh. “Yeah, I guess. It’s been hard juggling work and my personal life. It feels like every person I hang out with is a product of my job. Everybody wants a meeting to connect with me, but nobody gives a shit about me.”

“Don’t say that. I know I tease you a lot, but that’s because I love you. People don’t see how great you are.”

“Ha. Maybe. Quitting Park Inc. will give me more time to think about my life. I don’t care if I have to work in a library for a year. Anything is better than a job where I won’t grow.”

“It sounds like you’re doing the right thing.”

“Am I?” You sigh into the phone. “I have no backup plan. I’m quitting on a whim and the money I’ve gotten from Sunghoon will last me for a while, sure, but then what? It’s not like I can crawl back to this company if I don’t find anything better.”

“You’ve been thinking about quitting for months,” Sunoo reminds you. “This isn’t a rash decision. We’ve spent a lot of time talking about this. You’re not happy working at this company and it’s about damn time you have a life outside of work.”

“I know. It’s just…different, I guess. I’ve gotten used to this lifestyle and catering to other people, you know? I’m not alone, but I feel really lonely.”

Sunoo hums with sympathy. “I wish I could see you everyday.”

“You’d get sick of me.”

He laughs. “No I wouldn’t. But don’t tell anyone that.”

“He took me to dinner last night, you know?”

“Sunghoon?”

“Mhm. There’s a Spanish place not far from my place. We looked at it for a company event in the summertime.”

“Like a food tasting?”

“Yeah, exactly that. Sunghoon ordered all of the menu, practically. We talked to the manager about it because they knew we were coming in, but he told me to order anything that looked good.”

“How much did you eat?”

“Too much, Sun. Sunghoon kept telling me not to worry about the price because it’s expensive anyway. I’m pretty sure Sunghoon might be the manager’s new favorite person.”

“That sounds like a date.”

You click your tongue. “I don’t know. Probably not. He held my chair out for me.”

“That was a date.”

“Sure. We had a few of their signature cocktails, too. Really good. Top shelf kind of stuff. We need to finalize their menu before I leave for good.”

Sunoo chuckles from the other end of the line. “You are so in denial.”

“Shut up. Did you eat breakfast yet?”

“I’m actually walking downstairs now. Riki’s up early because he has class and then dance practice later this evening.”

“Is that your sister?” A deeper voice flows through your ears.

“Hey, Riki. How are your classes and practice?”

“I resist the urge to fall asleep on my desk,” he says, which makes you laugh. “Dance is great. We’ve got a showcase in Seoul in a few weeks. You should come!”

“I’d love to. Text me the details, yeah?”

“Bring whoever. There’s gonna be a few scouts, but it’s not a huge thing.”

“I’ll be there.”

“You two are disgustingly supportive of each other,” Sunoo says.

“Don’t act like you don’t worry about her,” Riki says, no doubt teasing Sunoo while the latter rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m kind of stuck with her as a sister, so I have to.”

You laugh. “Don’t lie. You love me.”

“Debatable.”

You smile when you hang up the phone.

***

Yang Jungwon is fifteen minutes early.

You see him sitting in the lobby of your floor by the time you step out of your office to refill your water bottle before the interview. He’s got a piece of paper in his hands and he looks like he’s reading over the material thoroughly. Jungwon sits with a briefcase by his feet and dresses like he might as well be a business partner of Sunghoon’s. The secretary lets you know he’s waiting for the interview and you’re more than pleased to know he hasn’t arrived last minute.

Sunghoon is nowhere to be found, either. Even though each candidate has no inclination as to who they’ll be working with, you know Sunghoon’s curiosity will get the better of him. You’ve scheduled a meeting with a client out of the office and he won’t come back until well into the day.

An unfamiliar feeling settles in your chest when you look at him. He looks the way you did before you were hired. Nervous, ambitious, and hopeful. Looking at him makes you think about when you arrived at the interview much earlier than the set time and how you tried to push down your anxiety to appear more sure of yourself.

The years seem to have flown by the more you focus on work. A strange sense of nostalgia and longing lurks within you as you watch Jungwon from your office. Facing the fact that you will be replaced in a month feels oddly daunting. By the time you approach him, he stands up and bows respectfully.

“Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” he says, putting the stray paper away. “I appreciate your time and consideration.”

“Thank you for coming. Let’s talk inside my office.”

He follows you inside and takes a seat in front of your desk when you beckon him to feel comfortable. It feels strange to be on this side of the interview; you kept a low profile during your first few years as an assistant until working with Sunghoon was as easy as counting to three. Becoming an invaluable asset and accumulating the fine details of how this company operates and the business it does feels like you’re far too integrated to leave. But you’ve always been Sunghoon’s right hand and nothing more.

Still, facing the reality that you’re parting ways with this job feels unnatural.

“How are you, Jungwon?”

“I’m great, actually.” He puts the briefcase on the ground and smoothes over his pants. “I’m really looking forward to our conversation.”

“Thanks for coming in on a Tuesday morning.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’m sure you have more pressing matters.” You hum. Hearing corporate speak from such a young man reminds you of the person you were six years ago.

“Tell me about yourself.”

He gulps. “I’ve just graduated college and have always held an interest in being in management. I wasn’t sure what field I wanted to go into, but Seoul has so many great opportunities I was afforded to discover during my time at university.” Jungwon takes a deep breath and twiddles his thumbs.

“Throughout my years at internships, venture capitalism caught my interest the most. It was fun, if I may speak candidly. I extended my internship throughout the summer before I graduated and liked being part of a team that sets up success for clients I believe in.” He watches you look down at his resume sitting atop your desk.

“You have great experience and your university courses align with what we do here.”

“I tailored my education during my last year of university because I know this is what I want to do for the foreseeable future. I want to learn from the best and become great at what I do without losing my head.”

You hum. “This job can get hectic, don’t you think?”

“I think any job can get that way, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it. My days were long and difficult, but I loved getting the experience to solve problems and make things happen for businesses. I enjoyed being part of it, even if I only contributed a small portion.”

Jungwon talks like he’s got the entire world ahead of him. It makes you wish you could see yourself like that too.

“Frankly speaking, this assistant position is much more than filing papers and running errands. There will be elements of that from time to time, but the person you’ll be working under likes to see how well his assistant can juggle the fine details before anything else.”

“I’m not held to a position,” Jungwon says with a smile. “I really like learning from other people and the best way to do it is to surround myself in an environment that teaches me. Even if I’m getting dry cleaning one day and sitting in on meetings the next, I’d like to think all of those tasks will lead me to become great at my job.”

“It’s a stepping stone, for sure. As you know, Park Inc. is the biggest venture capitalist firm in Asia and there is little room for error. How do you approach obstacles?”

“There’s no getting around bad days or lapse of judgment. We all make mistakes and it’s up to us to learn from them. I would consider myself somebody who sees the big picture for what it is. I’m also somebody who needs to focus twice as hard when it comes to the fine details and executing steps before we reach the end goal. It’s hard, especially when I’m in the beginning stages of my career, but I have the determination and ambition to succeed.”

Jungwon gives you near perfect answers when you ask him questions. Sunghoon thrives off of organization and somebody who can keep up with his routine. It’s hard to separate who you are with this job because you’re the longest assistant Sunghoon has ever had, and you think that counts for something.

A part of you looks at Jungwon like he’s a younger version of you. It’s as if you’re peering into your past; the concept of being incredibly motivated to jumpstart his career makes you wonder where your wide-eyed ambition went. His big, round eyes look at you with curiosity and his body language shows eagerness. You ponder on all the reasons why you’re giving your job up. You don’t find this position fulfilling anymore. This everyday routine doesn’t make you happy like it used to.

There’s hesitance in leaving the company you’ve worked for during your six years living by yourself. It was lonely, at first, with the knowledge that you’d be leaving your family and grade friends behind. Your parents and Sunoo helped you pack your belongings, but it seemed like he was the only one genuinely emotional about the move. While he swayed anywhere between excited for your next chapter and sad that you’d be far away, your parents seemed eager to get you out of the house.

Calls came few and in between. They’d driven you in a U-Haul truck with everything you owned and helped put the boxes in your apartment, but that was that. They had called a couple of times to make sure you were settled in because your relatives and neighbors had asked about it. But other than that, it seemed like most of their focus shifted onto Sunoo.

It wasn’t surprising, either. The three of you weren’t that close as you grew up. Getting used to secondhand treatment and the absence of parenthood was easier when you eventually left your hometown. Long gone were the days where you’d drive past your high school and relive memories of being forgotten at pickup or after extracurriculars. The impending doom of loneliness that came with moving to a brand new city without knowing a single soul was better than living with two people who were supposed to love you, but didn’t.

Having a set routine and focusing your attention on Sunghoon was a big reason as to why your adjustment wasn’t as hard as you thought it would be. Your time was spent worrying about getting the hang of your job, and eventually catering to his needs. There wasn’t any time in your day to think about how lonely you were sitting in your apartment every weekend while everyone on your social feed was out of their house.

Befriending your neighbors and people you’ve met through work was your saving grace once the loneliness started to make its presence known. By this time, you knew Sunghoon like the back of your hand and work wasn’t keeping you from sleeping. You didn’t have to worry about impressing him because you’d been working under him long enough to know what he needed and how he operated. All that was left was you and your thoughts alone. Thinking about your life apart from your career was scary.

But even with new challenges and shortcomings, you’ve grown over the last few years. You’re not the timid person you were when you lived with your parents. This job has forced you to come out of your shell and broaden your worldview, inevitably teaching you how to become a more confident person. This job is filled with entitled men who know nothing of struggle, and being able to move past harsh criticisms and sexist behavior taught you what it meant to be a stronger person.

It feels bittersweet to hear Jungwon talk about why he wants your job so much. You don’t feel as excited to come into the office and contribute to your company like you all those years ago. It’s become monotonous and predictable. You know Sunghoon’s life better than you know your own. You know his medical history (in case of an emergency), you’ve gotten to know his immediate and distant family (because his entire family is in the venture capitalist business), and you’ve spent enough time with Sunghoon to get to know his quirks and habits. It’s time to let this phase of your life pass.

Who are you when you’re not his assistant? You’re having trouble figuring that out.

“Thank you for your honesty and for your time,” you tell Jungwon earnestly. He stands when you do and bows politely.

“If I may be honest once more,” Jungwon begins, “this is the best interview I’ve ever had.”

That makes you stop in your tracks. “Really?”

He nods. “I don’t mean to come off like I’m trying to sway you, or anything. I know how competitive this business is. But I appreciated how easy it was to talk to you and I enjoyed having a conversation instead of listing all of my strengths and weaknesses over and over again.

“It’s easy to get lost in the stress of this job. It sounds like you really care about what you do. I know we don’t know each other, but I get the feeling you’ve seen a thing or two and learned from it. Maybe this is crossing a line. I don't know. But honestly, it felt like I was talking to an older version of me, in a sense? So, yeah, I loved our interview.”

“Thank you, Jungwon.” You try to remain neutral and keep your mouth shut to prevent yourself from being too honest with a candidate. “I had a wonderful time with you, too. Let me walk you to the elevator.” He follows behind you to the silver doors and smiles politely at you before stepping inside.

“For what it’s worth, I’m happy to have met you.”

The elevator doors close. Sunghoon, who apparently made his way back into his office without letting Jungwon see, is sitting at his desk and looking at his computer. It takes a few strides before you round the corner and knock on his door. Sunghoon beckons for you to come in.

“How’d it go with the candidate? Did you lay it on thick or keep it casual? Jaeyun was betting on the former, but I think otherwise.”

You’re grateful that his office faces yours and cannot be seen from the floor lobby. Sunghoon looks at you in concern when your bottom lip starts to wobble as you walk closer to him, and you can barely see a thing when tears start to gather in your waterline.

“Baby?” Sunghoon says gently. “Are you okay?”

That goddamn term of endearment makes the dam burst.

It doesn’t help that you don’t cry in front of people. Not ever. There is a mix of embarrassment and shame stirring in your chest when Sunghoon looks at you as your tears fall one after the other. It keeps you standing where you are and unable to move your feet to walk any closer to him. Sunghoon springs up from his chair and stands in front of you within three steps. He encircles his arms around your body and pulls you into his chest like he’s done it a million times before, tucking your face into the crook of his neck.

You keep your voice and sniffles low, but you let the tears freefall. It feels like you’re being sheltered and comforted at the same time. You can’t help but think how odd and uncomfortable it feels to be held like this after years of healing on your own. You couldn’t name the last time you’ve leaned on somebody else for support when you’ve felt like crying. And as unfamiliar as this feeling is, you don’t want to run away from it.

Sunghoon doesn’t speak, either. He doesn’t do or say anything except rubbing your upper back with his palm in an attempt to soothe you. You don’t see his furrowed eyebrows or feel how his throat clenches at the sound of you sniffling against him. He doesn’t care if his clothes dampen with your tears, nor does he care if he has to stand like this for hours just to get you to stop crying.

It feels so good to let yourself depend on him. You allow your head to fall onto his chest and remain there until your cries subside. Sunghoon keeps you between his arms and moves his free hand to the back of your head like he’s trying to tuck you further into him. It feels nice to be comforted like this, especially when you’ve been pretending you’ve been perfectly fine all along.

“What happened?” Sunghoon asks delicately. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but I don’t like seeing you cry.”

“I met with Jungwon.” You sniffle and then hiccup.

“Yeah? Was the interview that bad?” You shake your head.

“N-No. The opposite.”

“But you’re in tears, love.”

You hiccup again. “I used to be ambitious and passionate. I used to look forward to the future. Jungwon told me this was the best interview he’s ever had and I can’t remember the last time somebody believed in me.”

“Oh, love.” Sunghoon cups your jawline and gently tilts your head upwards to look at him. “You’re still ambitious and passionate. That side of you is still there, but it’s time for a change and you know it.” He kisses your forehead. “There’s so much to admire about you. I knew I wanted you to be my assistant when I knew how eager you were to learn and experience life. Do you remember the first time we met?”

You nod. “You were obsessed with that stupid orange tie.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I was, wasn’t I? Ditching it was the second best decision I made.”

“What was the first?” Sunghoon smoothes over your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Hiring you. I like being around you, and I like who I’ve become with you by my side. Jungwon isn’t the only person who believes in you, dove. I do, too.”

You let out another choked sob, not caring how your mascara is probably running down your cheeks or how buffy your face has gotten. Something about the way he looks at you while he says the most kind and caring things stirs a part of you that yearns for validation and acceptance. For years now, you’ve learned to keep yourself in check and to become as independent as possible to avoid being disappointed by other people. But Sunghoon looks at you like he’d be there for you in a heartbeat.

His pet names don’t soften the blow to your heart, either. You’ve never been keen on nicknames in the first place. Terms of endearment sounded appealing, but only in television and books. Hearing Sunghoon talk to you like you’re somebody he cares about makes you realize just how much you care for him, too.

You’ve fallen for Sunghoon, but have been keeping this realization locked away in fear of being rejected. You can handle rejection and unrequited love, but the weight of knowing you’d need to do the work in order to move on is what scares you. You’ve never felt so intensely about someone before. This is the first time you could ever say you’ve fallen in love with somebody, and you can’t help but think Sunoo was right all along.

Is this what it feels like to be in love? To yearn for somebody so much that you’d do anything to keep them within your grasp? Is love meant to feel like you’re flying high above the clouds and afraid that you’ll have to fly closer to the ground if Sunghoon doesn't love you back? Is this what others feel when they speak of being on cloud nine?

“I…”

Sunghoon locks his eyes with yours. He doesn’t pressure you to speak. The words I love you are sitting at the tip of your tongue, but you can’t seem to get yourself to say it just yet. It doesn’t feel right with all of these insecurities floating around in your head. You don’t want to be rejected and still have to see him after today.

“I’m grateful for you,” is what you settle on. “Thank you for believing in me that day.”

Sunghoon kisses your nose. You hate that you love the way his lips tickle and you loathe the way your heart rate picks up.

“I think we should go to lunch and forget about work for an hour or two. What do you say? You’ll be proud to know I’ve taken care of all my meetings and outstanding priorities.”

“I’d like that.”

You’re honest with him, too. You want to be selfish and continue spending time with him while your heart remains fragile.

He lets you.

***

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#enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #enha x reader #kpop x reader #park sunghoon fanfiction #park sunghoon fluff #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon angst #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #sunghoon #fic: resignation #my writing*

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itsnesss · 3 months ago

Note

Hey babe, I have a little request if you’re open to it !!

Could you maybe write something Kimi Antonelli x fem!reader where she’s still in high school and doesn’t come from money at all? Like she feels super out of place in his world — all the hotels, race weekends, the fancy people, and she kind of feels like she’s not “enough.”

But he’s just… soft. Gentle. The kind of guy who makes her feel safe, like she does belong, even when everything feels overwhelming.

I’d love something comforting, maybe with a tiny bit of angst because… identity crisis hits hard sometimes.I just feel like we don’t get enough of that dynamic. Golden boy driver and the girl who still takes the bus to school. No pressure at all! But if it ever inspires you… I will cry. In the best way.

Thank you so much if you do fill my request and of course I understand if you don’t. Have a lovely day!

𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | feeling out of place in his world is constant, the stares, the luxury, the silent judgment. still, his hand finds yours, his presence steady and soft

warnings | angst (insecurity, identity crisis), emotional vulnerability, a sense of feeling out of place, soft romance

word count | 1.2 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇 f1 masterlist

Sometimes it feels like Kimi’s world shines too brightly.

And not in a romantic way, not like “his smile lights up the room.” No. It’s real shine.

Lights, cameras, watches that cost more than your house, impossible cars, and people who walk like the ground belongs to them.

You don’t come from that.

You come from broken alarms, crowded public transport, running not to be late. From counting coins, from saying “no, thanks” when invited to things you can’t afford. From that kind of life.

And yet… here you are.

In a hospitality lounge full of people who look like they walked out of magazines, with their designer sunglasses and conversations that revolve around sponsorships, race strategies, and private jets. And you, sitting in a corner, staring at your phone like you’ve got something going on.

The screen is black. No signal. No messages. No escape.

You pretend you’re fine.

You say it’s all cool. That you’re used to it. That you’re enjoying the experience. But inside… inside you feel tiny. Invisible. Like you snuck into a party you were never invited to.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft. Calm. Like him.

You look up. There he is. Kimi. Standing in front of you with that unshakeable calm. He looks at you like he actually wants to know the truth. Like he really cares.

“Yes,” you reply quietly. “Just… checking if my sister messaged me.”

A lie. You have no data. But you’re not about to tell him you’re on the verge of crying in front of all these people. That you feel so out of place it’s hard to breathe.

Kimi doesn’t say anything. He just sits beside you, without invading, without pressing. He doesn’t try to fill the silence with empty words. He just is.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.

Before you can say anything, he slips off his team jacket and puts it over your shoulders. It’s big, soft, with that scent that’s so him it makes you dizzy. You want to tell him it’s okay, that you’re fine… but you’re not.

So you let yourself sink into it.

And for a second, everything else fades. The noise, the stares, the world.

It’s just you, Kimi’s jacket, and the warmth of someone who doesn’t ask you to fit in, just to be there.

He doesn’t talk. You don’t either.

Eventually, the hospitality is quieter. The loud laughs fade, and the expensive suits vanish down the halls. Most people have gone off to team dinners or events you’d never be invited to directly. Kimi offered to go, of course. But you could tell by his tone he wasn’t obligated. And you just wanted silence.

So he stayed. With you.

Now you’re walking through the hotel hallways. He’s beside you, hands in his pockets, like nothing around him could touch him. But you… you’re a knot inside.

You don’t talk much. Neither does he. But somehow, it’s always been enough.

Until it isn’t.

You’re about to step into the elevator when your eyes fill with tears. You don’t even know why now, why here, but something just breaks.

Kimi turns to look at you, but he says nothing. Just watches, attentively. Like he senses the storm even if the first drop hasn’t fallen.

“I feel like I don’t belong here,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself. “Not in this hotel. Not in your races. Not in your life.”

You didn’t plan to say it. It just… came out.

“I still take the bus to school,” you go on, your voice shaking. “I’ve worn the same sneakers for three years. I have no idea how a VIP paddock works or how I’m supposed to act. Everyone here knows how to move, how to talk, how to dress. I’m just trying not to look like an idiot.”

Tears roll hot down your cheeks. You wish you could stop them, but at the same time… why bother?

“And I like being with you, Kimi. A lot. But sometimes I wonder if I’m just ruining something. If I’m just… a burden in the middle of all this.”

He listens in silence. Not a single interruption. No weird faces. No laughter. No trying to downplay what you feel. He just waits.

The elevator hasn’t even been called.

He takes a step toward you. Then another. And hugs you. Tightly. Wordlessly.

And in his arms, you feel something you didn’t realize you needed so badly: safety.

“You’re not a burden,” he says softly, against your hair. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like none of this matters so much.”

You hold on to him, not saying anything. Because you don’t know how to explain what it’s like to be you in this world. Because you don’t understand how someone like him can make all that hurt less.

But he does.

He does.

You don’t know how long you stay there, wrapped in his arms by the elevator. Maybe seconds, maybe a lifetime. But when he finally pulls back just a bit, it’s only to really look at you.

“Do you want to go up?” he asks, in that soft tone that seems to calm everything.

You nod.

You don’t talk much on the way to the room, but he stays close. His hand brushes yours now and then, no rush. Like he knows you need that contact to stay together.

When you arrive, he opens the door with his key and steps aside so you can go in first. It’s one of those massive suites you only see in photos. Everything elegant, minimal, spotless. But what strikes you most is that it smells like *him*.

And that, somehow, makes you feel safe.

“Do you want anything? Water? A hot shower?” he asks, closing the door.

“I just want to… be here a while,” you whisper.

He nods and hands you one of his t-shirts, like he already knows you prefer something comfy. Then he sits at the edge of the bed and waits. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t stare at you like you’re weak. Just gives you space.

When you come out of the bathroom wearing his shirt, you feel lighter. Like the water and the silence gave a piece of yourself back.

Kimi’s already lying down, leaning against the headboard, TV on without sound. He’s not watching anything. He’s just waiting.

You crawl in next to him, and he lifts the blanket without a word. You slip under it, and he wraps his arm around you, pulling you to his chest. Your head fits perfectly under his chin. His breathing is calm. Steady.

“You don’t have to be like them, you know?” he murmurs after a while. “I like who you are. Not because of what you have or don’t have. Because of how you see the world. How you see me.”

You bite your lip, eyes tight shut, as if that could stop more tears.

“But your world… it’s so different.”

“And that’s why I want you to stay you,” he answers right away. “Because my world sometimes needs someone like you to pull it out of the bubble. Someone real.”

You nestle closer. He holds you gently, as if silently promising to protect you from everything that makes you feel small.

“And if I never fit in?” you whisper.

“Then I’ll make room until you do.”

#🖇️ kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x you #kimi antonelli imagine #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli one shot #kimi antonelli #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader

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satoblue · 3 months ago

Text

you know that stage where couples start to become accustomed with each other’s presence and needs? it could be non verbal signals telling them their s/o may have had a bad day at work and instantly they know just what to do to remedy the situation.

when you first start to date satoru, you notice he has lots of needs. he is always prone to forgetting something. it could either be his keys, his wallet, his sunglasses, his phone. it is a pattern you’ve grown used to and therefore adapted. before he has to even utter a word as he pats his pockets, realizing he’s missing something, the weight in the back and sides oddly light — you’re already gesturing to your purse, signaling to him without a sound that you’ve picked up what he’s accidentally left behind bc at this point, you know him so well.

your purse. you have lots of stuff in there for both him and you — it’s a godsend. there’s hand sanitizer, wipes, tissues, pens, a portable charger (incase he forgot to plug his phone in earlier which he often does), spare keys, mints, menstrual products, makeup, hair accessories, chapstick, snacks (for him mainly), medicine (for when he eats too much snacks and gets a tummy ache), a mini first aid kit (he doesn’t need it but he likes when you put the cinnamoroll bandaids on him when he gets a tiny cut when he could heal himself easily but decides not to — the pain is worth it), a small bottle of water, an extra pair of shades (+ one for you so you could match though they aren’t special like his), and the list goes on and on.

you never used to carry half of those things around with you, but you made room for them — room for him. sometimes he’ll buy something small or make a swan out of tissue and he’ll shove it in your bag and you won’t say anything against it as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. most would be annoyed by his habits, but you’ve never expressed any disdain — you simply adjusted. he feels like a burden at times, and satoru himself notices how much you rely on it. so, of course, it is only in his nature to buy you a dozen luxury handbags of your liking even at your refusal to make up for it — he likes to call it a mutual investment at the end of the day. our purse.

you are always prepared for anything, any crisis. satoru is convinced you could save the world with just you and that handbag of yours. you probably have a manual in there on how to do it too. not that you need it though — you save satoru’s world on the daily like superwoman. and it’s not just bc of the things you carry in your purse, it is also bc of the silent love that speaks so loudly, the one you carry deep inside your heart, a place designated for him just like the belongings you have in your bag — he has a place in your life and it is apparent to everyone that you’ll always be there. you are perfect for him, like the way a key fits satisfyingly into a lock — you were meant to be his since the beginning, his other half who completes his existence.

“you are my person, and wherever i go, whatever you need — i carry the solution with me.”

#— soft sighs #nothing . just reader being wifey material is all #this is also a metaphor to the fact you will always be there for him #and know just how to make him feel better on the not so good days #you are his person

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iamred-iamyellow · 11 months ago

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Gangsters Wife

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: mafiaboss!carlos sainz x fem!wife!reader

♥ synopsis: things start to change for you and your marriage-of-convenience husband after you stitch up his wounds

♥ one-shot - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing and vague descriptions of smut - p in v (wrap it before you tap it) !!!

♥ a/n: i wrote on my vacation lol. i’m a little nervous to post this since it’s uncharted writing territory for me but i hope you enjoy reading it <3

You sat on the black satin sheets of your bed, waiting for your husband to come back from business. You knew you should probably be asleep; that he wouldn’t want you up worrying for him, but here you were wide awake.

It wasn’t like the two of you married for love, anyway. It was much more out of convenience. His job was… interesting, but you weren’t complaining about the luxury that you now lived in due to the arrangement.

Your breath hitched as you heard the door unlock, assuming it was Carlos. He made his way towards the bedroom and immediately locked eyes with you. His hair was slicked to the side and he had a couple of cuts on his face. He was wearing a red shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, black dress pants, some black shoes, and an expensive watch.

“Go to bed,” he demanded, removing the ticking object from his wrist and laying it down in a drawer with the rest of his collection.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you admitted, rustling in the bed sheets.

“I’m alright if that’s what you’re wondering,” he swiped his thumb over the blood on his bottom lip. “Get some rest.”

You slowly stood up and strolled over to him. Your gaze dropped down to the ripped fabric on his side, presumably from a fight.

“Were you stabbed?” you asked in a whisper.

“Lightly.”

“Lightly? What does lightly mean?”

He began unbuttoning his shirt, though it didn’t take long before it was off of him. The moonlight from a small open window illuminated his body, his muscles were strained, covered in sweat, and there was a wound flooded with blood on his abdomen.

“It’s not that deep,” he murmured.

“Literally or figuratively? Because it looks like the knife went in pretty far.” You softly grazed his skin with the light touch of your fingertips.

You walked over to your nightstand and pulled out a small stitch kit.

“Sit down,” you commanded him, nodding towards the edge of the bed.

“I’m fine. I can do this on my own.”

“I said sit. down.”

He took a deep, agitated sigh and did as you told him. You dampened a rag in the bathroom and returned to clean the blood off his wound.

You threaded the needle and pierced it through his skin, beginning the first stitch.

“Are you sure you’re qualified for this?” he asked.

You nodded, “I wouldn’t have married you without knowing how to do this.”

He hummed and your left hand went to his waist to hold him still. He could feel the coldness of the silver wedding ring he gave you only a few months ago.

You finished pulling the last part of the thread and cut the excess off.

“There,” you said, pressing your palm gently against his abs.

He pulled you onto his lap and his hands firmly gripped your thighs. You made a soft sound and ground down onto his belt.

“Tomorrow, amor.” he stopped you and whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”

You woke up first at 7. You had rolled over to find your husband awake, messaging someone on his phone.

“Go back to sleep cariño,” he mumbled, running one of his hands over your hair.

You grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, slowly making your way up his arm.

“Amor,” he warned.

“What? You said tomorrow… it’s tomorrow.”

The next thing you knew he had you pinned down by your neck. His phone rang on the nightstand and he used his free hand to pick it up, still thrusting into you as he did so.

“Leave us alone,” he said and hung up instantly.

Leave. Us. Alone.

You woke up again at 9, this time alone in your bed. You wandered into the kitchen to see your husband making breakfast.

“Carlitos?” you ask, a faint smile teasing your lips. “Where’s the chef?”

“I sent him home.”

“You’ve never cooked for me before,” you took a seat on the barstool at the counter.

“I’ve never cooked for anyone before,” he admitted.

He set some pancakes on a plate and handed it to you.

You hummed, “No syrup?”

He shrugged “I don’t think we have any. I usually eat mine just the dough.”

It was odd having a conversation like this with Carlos. The two of you weren’t used to making small talk.

“Uhm, how do you feel? Are any of your cuts infected?” you asked.

“No, I feel fine,” he said putting cooking supplies away as you ate. “The stitching you did is good but i’ll probably still get my doctor to look at it.”

“Yeah that’s a good idea,” you replied, picking at your food as his phone rang.

He flipped it open to answer a call from an unknown number. From the muffled spanish voice on the other end you assumed it was from Fernando.

“Sí, I’ll be there soon.” Carlos said and hung up the phone.

“I’ll be back,” he told you, walking out the front door without a goodbye.

Your eyes caught the abundance of bodyguards that entered the room to block the exits and entrances. You sighed and slouched, tapping your nails on the marble counter. Great. Just when things were starting to get good.

#𝒍𝒊𝒗'𝒔 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 ౨ৎ #carlos sainz jr x reader #carlos sainz jr x you #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz jr drabble #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz jr fanfic #mafia au #mafia!f1 #mafia!carlos sainz #f1 x you #f1 x reader

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emmiesoverthemoon · 3 months ago

Text

reunion

pairing: han jisung x reader

word count: 2.5k

summary: han really missed you while he was away on tour…

tags: established relationship. phone sex, face riding, switch han, p in v. porn no plot. enjoy

dt my fine shyt @burlesquerade

The call came just after midnight.

You had already begun to drift to sleep, cocooned in the hush of your sheets, lulled by the familiar ache of absence. But then Han’s name lit up your phone like a flare in the dark, and with it came a visceral pulse beneath your skin.

You answered without hesitation, your voice drowsy, dipped in silk.

“Couldn’t sleep huh?”

A pause. Just his breath, frayed and shallow, carrying through the line like a confession.

“I need you,” he murmured.

There was no witty preamble. No coy deflection. Only the unvarnished truth, spoken in that ragged tone he reserved solely for you—roughened by restraint, vulnerable in a way that no one else ever saw.

Your lips curled into a faint smile, even as your own pulse stuttered. “You sound wrecked already.”

A low laugh slipped through the speaker, half-mirth, half-misery. “You have no idea what you do to me. I walked off stage still hard. I couldn't stop thinking about your voice, your mouth, the way you whisper in my ear when you’re on top of me.”

You let the silence stretch, luxuriating in the anticipation. Your fingers played absentmindedly along your thigh, nails grazing light welts into the bare skin.

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

He exhaled, a sound so fragile it bordered on a whimper. “Yeah. I couldn’t wait.”

“Did I say you could?”

Another beat of silence. You could almost hear the tension winding tighter in him, the barely-leashed urge to obey warring with the pulse-deep ache of need.

“No, ma’am,” he said at last, and the tremor in his voice was delicious.

“That’s what I thought.” Your tone was velvet-lined steel. “Slow down. Start over. Long strokes. I want to hear how badly you want it.”

Han obeyed, and the sound of it—the slick, rhythmic glide of skin, the muffled curse he bit down on—sent a ripple of heat through your gut. You closed your eyes, letting yourself paint the picture; his hips tense, legs splayed wide, head tipped back against cheap hotel pillows, throat bared in helpless need. He would be flushed, you knew it, his lip caught between his teeth, every breath laced with your name even if he dared not speak it aloud.

“You’re such a mess for me,” you whispered.

“Only for you,” he breathed, brokenly. “No one else could do this to me.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I wanna taste you,” he rasped, voice hoarse and cracking at the edges. “I want to be underneath you, tongue buried deep, your thighs wrapped around my head. I want to feel you grind against my mouth until I can’t think straight.”

Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

“What else?” you asked, your voice lower now, a murmur of heat in his ear.

“I want to beg for it. I want you to use me. I want you to tell me I belong to you. And you to me.”

There it was—that delicious unraveling. He was not just aroused; he was unmade. Every word he uttered came from a place below desire—somewhere raw and untouched that only you had access to reach.

“You want to come, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he groaned. “Please. I’ve been good, I’ll do anything—anything you want.”

“Say it.”

“You own me.”

“Again.”

“You fucking own me.”

Your breath caught. God, he sounded ruined—like a man who had already fallen to his knees in his mind and was now begging to do it in body too.

“You’ve earned it,” you murmured. “Come for me, Han. Let me hear how good it feels to belong to me.”

His moan shattered through the speaker, raw and uncontrolled. You could feel the intensity of it even from hundreds of miles away—the way his body would seize, the way his face would twist with release, the way your name would spill from his puffy lips like an invocation.

And when it was over, there was only silence, save for the quiet rasp of his breath. A long pause. A stillness that felt reverent.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice worn thin. “I’m… fuck, I’m perfect. I just miss you so much I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Your throat tightened with something tender, something real.

“Only a few more weeks,” you whispered. “Then you’re back to me, all mine again.”

“I never stopped being yours,” he replied, soft, wrecked, sincere.

The moment the front door of your home closed behind him, the air in the room shifted.

This shift was not caused by just the sudden quiet, or the scent of him—sweat and cologne and airport fatigue. It was the way he stood there, like he was frozen in place at the doorstep. Like he was waiting for permission to cross the room and touch what he had craved every night for weeks.

You watched him in silence, your legs folded beneath you on the plush bed, wearing nothing but his oversized hoodie, which swallowed your frame and made you look almost deceptively innocent.

Han dropped his bags without a word. His eyes locked on you like a starving man stumbling upon water.

“Strip,” you commanded.

It was not a request. It was an order.

His breath hitched, and he obeyed—eager fingers dragging his T-shirt up and over his head, jeans shoving down along with his boxers. He stood bare before you in the soft golden light, flushed already, his cock half-hard and twitching as though it recognized you before he could speak a word.

You rose slowly, like you were gaining your bearings, and stepped toward him. Your hand reached out, brushing his jaw, tilting his head so you could kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. But you avoided kissing him fully—not yet. The denial was intentional. The gentleness of your gestures created a beautiful, tender juxtaposition against his carnal need that felt torturous.

“You said you wanted me to ride your face until you couldn’t breathe,” you murmured, nails grazing down his chest, marking him in feather-light trails. “Still mean it?”

He nodded quickly, breath stuttering. “Please.”

“Lie down.”

He backed up without tearing his eyes away, as though keeping his sight on you was a necessity. Like you would fade away as soon as he glanced in a different direction. He sank onto the mattress and stayed still for you—limbs obedient, gaze clear in its intention.

You straddled his chest first, your bare thighs framing his ribs. He let out a low, ragged sound, but made no move. His hands clenched the sheets beside him. Waiting.

“You’re going to keep those hands there,” you said softly. “No touching unless I say so. Nod if you understand.”

He nodded, quickly—eager, desperate.

Then you moved up, inch by slow inch, until your knees bracketed his face. Your hand sank into his hair, gripping just tight enough to anchor him. And then you lowered yourself.

Han moaned—long and guttural—the sound vibrating straight into your core. His tongue flicked out hungrily, and you gasped at the first contact, your hips twitching forward instinctively.

You rocked slowly at first, savoring the way he groaned beneath you, the way his tongue moved with greedy precision, tracing your folds, seeking your reactions. He yearned to please. No—he yearned to worship.

And you gave it to him.

Your hand fisted in his hair tighter, pulling slightly, guiding him where you needed him most. Your breath quickened, thighs beginning to tremble around his face, as you ground down harder, chasing every wave he gave you.

His moans turned frantic as your pace increased, his tongue following, matching your desperation with his own. You were soaked, undone, dizzy with control.

And when you came—sharp and sudden and all-consuming—he kept licking, relentless, as though he needed your release more than his own.

You gasped his name and pulled away, trembling, barely able to keep upright on shaking knees.

“Good boy,” you breathed, your voice softened by pleasure. “So good. You’ve missed this, haven’t you?”

He was panting, lips and chin glistening with your arousal, eyes blown wide with need. “I’ve missed you.”

You leaned down, finally granting him a kiss—deep, lingering, filthy. “I missed you too. I love you.”

When you pulled away, he grasped your wrist.

His grip was now firm, intentional.

“I need to fuck you.”

His voice had changed—no longer pleading, no longer breathless. There was a heat behind it. A rawness. A dangerous edge.

You arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He flipped you onto your back in one smooth movement, suddenly above you, his arms caging you in without crushing you.

“You made me wait. You ruined me on the phone. Now it’s my turn.”

And just like that, the dynamic tilted.

His hand slid into your hair as his mouth claimed yours—rough, possessive, hungry. You let yourself be taken, your body softening beneath his weight, giving him the power he so clearly craved.

He pulled back, eyes glittering with heat as he rose to sit on the edge of the mattress. “Suck me.”

The command landed like a spark on a dry summer’s grass.

You obeyed with a sinful smile, sliding down to the floor between his legs and taking his cock into your mouth without hesitation. He hissed a curse, hands fisting in your hair the same way you had in his. His hips jerked as you worked him with long, slow licks that turned filthy fast.

“You’re so good at this, baby,” he groaned, voice cracking. “Fuck—your mouth was made for me. Fitting me so perfectly.”

You hummed around him, watching him fall apart, watching the muscles in his thighs tense with restraint. He was close. Right there.

But then he pulled himself out of your mouth with a desperate grunt, panting as though he’d nearly lost himself. His fingers trembled slightly where they tangled in your hair, his body taut with restraint, as though even the air brushing against him was almost too much.

His cock glistened with your spit, flushed and throbbing against his abdomen as he looked down at you—eyes wrecked, jaw tight, chest heaving.

“I want to be inside you when I come,” he rasped, voice frayed and shaking. “I need to feel you.”

Before you could respond—before you could even blink—he had you gently but firmly pressed back onto the bed. His hands cradled the backs of your thighs, spreading you open with reverent hunger, and then he was above you again, covering you with his heat, his scent, his weight.

And then he slid into you—one long, deliberate thrust, deep and possessive, like he was claiming a space that had always belonged to him.

Your gasp collided with his, your back arching involuntarily at the stretch, the sudden fullness. He filled you perfectly—completely—your walls clenching around him in instinctive welcome. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed, lips parted as though in silent prayer.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re—still so tight. So fucking warm. I missed this. I missed you.”

His hips began to move, slow at first—luxurious, almost taunting. He rocked into you like he wanted to feel every slick drag of your walls around him, every inch of how wet and ready you were for him. But the pace didn’t stay slow for long.

Within moments, the desperation in his veins bled into the rhythm of his thrusts. He fucked you like he had been starving for this—for you. Like every lonely night, every missed touch, every unsent message had built into this moment, and he was going to feel all of you until the ache went quiet.

“I’ve been thinking about this every night,” he gasped against your throat, voice unraveling. “Waking up hard—dreaming of your mouth, your body, how you moan for me. I’ve been waiting to fuck you for so—so long.”

And you felt it in every thrust. In the way he ground his hips deeper, hitting the spot inside you that made your thighs shake. In the way he kissed you, open-mouthed and wild, like he was trying to drink you down to your soul.

But then—you pushed back.

Hands braced against his chest, you used a brief lull to flip the rhythm, your body shifting and rolling until he was the one on his back now, blinking up at you in breathless disbelief.

You climbed atop him with deliberate grace, hair falling around your face like a curtain of silk, and slowly—so slowly—sank back down onto his cock, your jaw dropping at the depth, the way he filled you from below.

His head fell back with a ragged moan, his hands clutching at the sheets beside him.

“Holy fuck—”

But you had no intention of rushing. No—this was your rhythm now. Your pace. Your control. You rode him with devastating motions, hips rolling in hypnotic circles, grinding down on him with slow, torturous movements that left him trembling beneath you.

He could do nothing but take it. Feel it. Feel you.

You watched him come undone with every shift of your hips, every low moan that slipped from your lips as you chased your own pleasure atop him, using his cock like your own personal plaything. You leaned back slightly to change the angle, and his hands—instinctively—flew to your thighs, gripping hard enough to bruise.

Han had no desire to fight for control. He gave it.

Let you take what you needed. Let you use him.

Let you own him.

You leaned down, lips brushing his ear, your voice a sinful whisper.

“You look so good like this… beneath me. Ruined. Desperate. Mine.”

His entire body shuddered beneath you, a helpless whimper breaking from his throat. “I am yours. Fuck—do whatever you want to me. Just—don’t stop.”

But the moment you dared him—dared him to take control again—his eyes darkened. Something primal flickered back to life behind his pupils.

And just like that, he rose up with a growl, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss as he flipped you again—your back hitting the mattress with a gasp, your legs caught around his waist as he began to drive into you with renewed ferocity.

“You want me to take control?” he growled into your ear, breath hot. “Fine. But don’t expect mercy.”

He fucked you like a man possessed—like he was trying to brand himself into you. Each thrust was brutal and precise, deep enough to make you cry out, fast enough to leave you spiraling.

Your nails clawed at his back, dragging red down his spine, and he only groaned louder, loving the pain. The chaos. The feeling of you unraveling beneath him.

It was a storm. A claiming and surrendering all at once. A symphony of tangled limbs, breathless cries, and power shifting like sand beneath your bodies.

Dominance traded like a whispered promise in the dark.

You pushed. He yielded.

He commanded. You obeyed.

And neither of you knew, by the end, who had truly been in control—because it had never been about power.

It had always been about trust.

About love, buried deep beneath every moan, every bruising kiss, every shaking breath.

By the time you both came—together—you were no longer separate things.

You were one body. One rhythm. One endless echo of need.

And when he collapsed beside you, pulling you close, your skin still burning from the aftershocks, the only thing he could manage to whisper was:

“I belong to you.”

And you believed him. Because he did.

welcome to goonville how we feeling

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo

#emmiesoverthemoon #han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #han jisung skz x reader #han jisung skz #han jisung stray kids #han jisung stray kids smut

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moonstruckme · 5 months ago

Note

hey, i have a request idea if you'd want to indulge 🫣 could you write about remus x reader where reader isn't used to being comforted or having someone console her when she's upset/crying and it takes a bit of convincing and remus reassuring her to let him hug her or be with her while she's upset?

Thanks for requesting!

cw: modern-ish au I guess because there are portable phones

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

You feel lucky, you think through tears. It’s a funny thought to have, cold in the alley outside a pub with a stone-like pressure lodged in your throat, but you do. You feel lucky to have taken your call outside. That you didn’t pick up the phone while you were with your friends, or at work earlier today, or later when you’re home with your flatmate. You’re glad to have the luxury of privacy for your small meltdown.

The sharp squeal of the door has you backing instinctively towards the wall, hiding yourself in shadows. You’re hoping the exiting patron will pass you by without noticing you, or else they’ll think you’re just out for a smoke. You’re not quite as lucky as that, though.

“Y/n?” Remus calls your name out the door. He’s not as noisy as the rest of your friends even when he’s trying to be, just loud enough to be heard. Like a coward, you keep quiet until his head turns and he spots you.

“Oh, thank god.” He smiles. It’s too dark, and he’s too far away to see the tears on your cheeks. “You’ve been gone a long while. James was scared you’d been kidnapped.” He opens the door to the pub further. “Ready to come back in?”

You clear your throat. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Remus’ smile fades into bemusement. “You’re not still on the phone?”

“No...”

“What’s wrong?” He steps outside, letting the door swing closed behind him.

“Remus—” You reach out as if you catch it, as if you're anywhere near enough. “It’ll lock you out.”

He doesn’t so much as glance behind him. The door shuts with a dull thud, and Remus continues towards you, brows tucking closer together as he does.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again.

“Nothing.”

“You’re crying.”

“Please go back inside.” Your voice is thin and quiet now, lined with desperation.

Remus’ expression twinges with something like hurt. His tone is exceedingly gentle. “Why? Darling, are you alright?”

As much as you try to stop them, his concern has fresh tears breaking past your waterline. You swallow a whimper.

Remus takes another step toward you, reaching, and you feel like shit for taking a step back.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” you whisper.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he shushes you, hands still outstretched like he’s comforting some frightened animal. The darkness blurs his features, making his irises bleed into pupils and the bump of his nose indistinct. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

You bite your lip, trying to quiet yourself. “I really—really don’t like to cry in front of people.”

“I’m sorry. I just want you to be alright. What’s wrong?”

“It’s really nothing.”

Remus makes a soft, sympathetic sound. “Okay. Can I give you a hug?”

“Remus, I—” You press your fingertips into your eyes. “I appreciate it, and I’m sorry, but I’d like it if you’d go back inside please.”

“I’m sorry,” he says back in much the same tone. “I’m not going to leave you out here by yourself. We can…we can go somewhere else if you want. Or I can take you home. I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, I just can’t leave you here. It’s not safe.”

You take in a breath and nod, trying to be understanding. Tears continue to slither down your cheeks.

“Do you want to go home?”

“No. I…my flatmate’s there.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He sounds upset, his voice softening into something almost unbearable. “I wish you wouldn’t cry by yourself. We don’t have to talk about it, but I’d like it if you’d let me comfort you. Please.”

You hold your lip between your teeth, a feeling both hollow and tight sitting in your middle. Remus takes a tentative step forward. When you don’t move, he closes the rest of the distance.

It’s like someone’s punched the air out of you. Your shoulders give a small jerk, and Remus lays his hand flat between them, steadying with its gentle pressure. You put your arms around him.

“Shh, it’s alright,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.”

Everything gets worse, but it feels better. You tremble and get snot on his shirt. Remus doesn’t seem to mind. He only holds you. Over time, your upset dissolves like a tablet in water, fizzing up before it fades to near nothing.

Remus lets you go when you pull away, tugging the sleeve of your shirt over your fist to wipe your face. He gets a few tears for you, too, combs your hair away from your face, all without saying much. He’s letting you choose the terms of what gets discussed.

“Sorry,” you say, voice scratchy. “Thanks.”

“You’re alright,” Remus replies. It’s a mantra at this point.

“I’m…I didn’t really mean to…”

“You can always come to me with things like this.” Remus gives you a tender look, one part tentative and two parts earnest. “It’s alright to be upset, yeah? I know you don’t always want to be with someone when you are, but I always want to be with you, so. Just, you can come to me if you want to.”

“Thank you,” you say again, softer. A feeling takes form in your chest, ballooning into the space between you. It pushes and pulls at the same time.

You wonder if Remus is feeling something similar. His lips press together almost ruefully as he cups your face in his hand, thumb rubbing tenderly over your cheekbone.

You start to pull in a breath.

The door to the pub bangs open.

“There you are!” James sticks his head out, glasses refracting the light from inside. “I was half ready to phone the authorities! What are you two doing?”

“I told you they’d be fine,” Sirius says from somewhere inside. “Probably just having a smoke.”

“They’re not smoking.” James’ eyes squint as he tries to make you out. “They’re…”

“We were just talking.” Remus steps toward them, letting his hand slip from your face casually. “We’re ready to come back in, though, I think.” He looks at you. “Are you?”

“Um, yeah.” You run a knuckle quickly under your eye. Remus catches your hand, squeezing.

“You look fine,” he promises lowly. “Lovely. Okay?”

You feel your lips tug weakly upward. “Oh. Okay.”

“Why are we cavorting in dark alleyways?” James asks as you both move past him. The light inside seems blinding, and you worry for your puffy eyes, but Remus’ hand is warm and reassuring in yours. “I didn’t realize how dark it was. We shouldn’t have let you take your call out there in the first place, babe. Do you two have some shadowy dealings I ought to know about?”

“They wouldn’t be shadowy for long if you knew about them,” Remus points out.

“Too true, Moony. But that’s why you keep me around, isn’t it. I’m your moral compass. And you owe your moral compass a pint for the fright you’ve put him through tonight, I think.”

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slutforvoldy · 2 months ago

Note

Hey babe, I have a little request if you’re open to it!

But he’s just… soft. Gentle. The kind of guy who makes her feel safe, like she does belong, even when everything feels overwhelming.

Thank you so much if you do fill my request and of course I understand if you don’t. Have a lovely day!

“ NOT FROM YOUR WORLD. ” ( kimi antonelli ! )

SUMMARY: in kimi antonelli’s world of luxury and fast cars, the reader fears that she's not enough for him.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: insecurities insecurities insecurities, imposter syndrome, class differences, hurt/comfort, use of y/n

pairing: kimi antonelli x female!reader

a/n: thank u sm for this request !!! it means so much to me when y'all send in a request to see more of my writing <333

YOU SHUT THE door of your tiny bedroom with a tired sigh, dropping your worn-out backpack to the floor. The old laptop on your desk was a relic — a hand-me-down from your mother’s sister, struggling to stay alive with its faintly flickering screen. But it worked, most of the time, and that was all you needed. You settled into the creaky chair, ready to chip away at your essay, fingers hovering over the keyboard, when your phone buzzed.

Kimi: Can you come to Imola this weekend? Please. You shouldn’t turn this down. It’s my home race. I want you there.

Your heart skipped a beat. Kimi’s home race. He had asked you to attend his races before — in Monaco, Silverstone, and even in nearby Monza. You had always found an excuse, hiding behind your studies or family obligations. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to support him. In fact, you were so proud of him — your Kimi, the golden boy of Mercedes, the young prodigy of Formula 1. But that was the problem. He was Kimi Antonelli, living in a world of luxury, fast cars, and cameras, while you were… you. Just you.

You glanced around your small room — peeling paint, old textbooks stacked on a wobbly table, a wardrobe with only a few plain t-shirts, and washed-out pants. Your shoes, their soles thinning, sat by the door. A deep sigh escaped your lips.

But this was his home race. His request felt different this time — almost like a plea.

You: Okay. Just this once. I’ll be there.

The reply came faster than you expected.

Kimi: Really?! I can’t wait to see you. I’ll make sure everything’s ready for you.

Anxiety tangled with the thrill in your chest. You were going — but the fear of not belonging, of not fitting into his glamorous world, gnawed at you.

The lobby of the hotel was a spectacle of wealth. Marble floors gleamed under the warm light of crystal chandeliers, intricate gold patterns lacing the high ceilings. Expensive furniture was scattered around the grand space, each piece looking like it cost more than everything you owned.

You stood there, frozen, staring at your reflection in the polished floor. Your simple white t-shirt, washed-out jeans, and worn shoes felt like a glaring stain in this world of luxury. You clenched your fingers around the strap of your old backpack, heart racing, feeling smaller by the second.

The soft chime of the elevator broke your spiral, and your gaze snapped up. There he was — Kimi. Dressed in a casual black hoodie and jeans, his dark curls slightly messy, his face lit up as soon as he saw you. Without a second thought, you rushed towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist. His arms enveloped you instantly, warm and comforting.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your hair, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Me too,” you whispered back, letting yourself melt into his embrace for a moment.

But as he led you towards the elevator, chatting about the weekend, the feeling of not belonging clawed back. Even in the confined space of the elevator, you couldn’t escape the reflective walls showing your mismatched presence next to him.

The suite Kimi led you to was vast — larger than your entire apartment. Elegant furniture, a massive bed covered with smooth, silken sheets, and a floor-to-ceiling window with a stunning view of the city. You stood in the middle of it all, feeling like an imposter, feeling like you could dirty everything with a touch.

Kimi was excitedly pointing out the view, rambling about the race, but his voice faded into the background. You moved to the bed, sitting on the edge, your fingers brushing over the impossibly soft fabric.

“Y/N?” Kimi’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you looked up to see his worried gaze. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you forced a smile, “it’s just… nothing. It’s ridiculous.”

But Kimi knew you too well. He moved closer, crouching in front of you, his warm hands finding yours. “I’m all ears.”

You took a shaky breath. “I don’t fit here, Kimi.”

His brows knitted. “What do you mean you don’t fit here? Is the king-sized bed too small for you? I could sleep on the floor—”

“No, Kimi.” You shook your head, a weak laugh escaping you. “You don’t understand. This isn’t me. I’m not made for all… this.” You gestured around, your voice cracking. “I’m just a girl who takes the bus to school while you drive your Mercedes to your races—hell, even to school!”

“Is this about the car?” He tilted his head, trying to make you smile.

“No!” Frustration surged, and you pulled your hands away. “I’m not from your world, Kimi! Can’t you see? You’re a celebrity, a prodigy — you’re Mercedes’ golden boy, for Christ’s sake! Meanwhile, I’m just… me. I’m normal.”

“Normal?” Kimi’s voice softened. “Y/N, I don’t care about all that.”

“But you should!” You stood, pacing the room, your anxiety spilling out. “Have you seen the other drivers’ girlfriends? They’re all dressed up in their stupid designer clothes, their stupid bags, and stupid shoes that cost more than my tuition. Their jewelry probably costs more than what I own. They look like they belong here, while I look like I just wandered in by mistake—”

“Stop.” Kimi’s tone turned firmer, and he stood, stepping into your path, his hands gently gripping your shoulders. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. Don’t act like you’re less just because you don’t have the same things.”

“But it’s true, Kimi! Have you seen how people look at me? How they talk about me online? They think you’re doing charity by being with me!”

Kimi’s heart clenched at the sadness in your voice. Without a second thought, he stepped closer, his warm hands gently cradling your cheeks, guiding your tear-filled eyes to meet his. His touch was soft, but his gaze was steady — unwavering.

“Hey. Listen to me.” His voice was a gentle command, firm yet tender.

“I don’t care what they think,” he began, his tone resolute, a quiet strength in each word. “Not the clothes, not the image, not the stupid opinions of people who don’t even know you. I love you because you’re you — because you’re kind, because you’re the smartest person I know, because you make me laugh even when I’m at my worst.”

Your lips quivered. “But—”

“No. Let me finish.” His thumb brushed away the tears spilling down your cheeks, his touch feather-light. “They don’t know you like I do. They don’t see how your eyes light up when you talk about your favorite books, or how you always remember the little things that make people smile. They don’t see the way you always put others first, even when you’re struggling. They don’t hear the way you calm me down through the phone before every race, your voice somehow always making me believe I’m capable of anything.”

His voice softened, each word a gentle balm to your aching heart. “They don’t see how you’ve always been there for me, even when the cameras are gone, even when the world isn’t watching. They don’t see you, Y/N.”

“But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t fit here, Kimi. I don’t belong.”

“Yes, you do.” His hands didn’t waver, his thumbs still brushing tenderly against your cheeks. “You belong with me. Not because of the world I’m in — but because you’re my world.”

Your breath hitched, fresh tears welling up. “Kimi—”

“I love you,” he whispered, leaning forward, his forehead pressing gently against yours. “I don’t care about the money, the luxury, or the stupid, shallow image they expect me to have. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks. The only thing that matters to me is you.”

You were trembling now, overwhelmed, but he didn’t let go. His voice softened even more, each word filled with raw sincerity.

“I love how you make my life real. You make it more than just a glamorous show. I’m not ‘Kimi Antonelli, Mercedes’ golden boy’ when I’m with you. I’m just Kimi. Just a guy who’s lucky enough to have you in his life. And I love you because you remind me who I am.”

Your tears flowed freely down your cheeks, but his touch never left, his presence a warm, unyielding comfort.

“I need you to understand this,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you, not despite who you are — but because of who you are. You make me feel like I’m enough… and I wish you could see that you’re enough for me, too. More than enough. Always.”

His words were a lifeline, each one wrapping around you, grounding you, pulling you from the spiral of doubt. For a moment, the noise in your mind quieted, leaving only the steady beat of his heart against yours and the gentle, unwavering warmth of his touch.

“Please don’t ever doubt that,” he whispered, brushing a tender kiss against your forehead. “You are everything to me.”

Your trembling fingers wrapped around his wrists, grounding yourself. “I just… I feel so small sometimes.”

“Then let me be the one to lift you up,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Stay with me. Let me show you that you are enough, just as you are.”

You closed your eyes, letting his warmth surround you, his steady heartbeat calming the storm inside you. For the first time in days, you felt a bit of that anxiety melt away. He was here. He wanted you. Not the glamorous world, not the image — you.

Your tears continue to break free, but he doesn’t let you pull away. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close.

“I love you,” he murmured, again and again, his voice a soothing melody. “And I’m not letting you go. Not because of this. Never.”

“I love you too, Kimi.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the way his arms tightened around you told you he heard it.

And you stayed like that, wrapped in his warmth, feeling the weight of your insecurities slowly melt away, replaced by the quiet, unshakable certainty in his embrace. Here, with him, you were enough.

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mountainsandmayhem · 9 months ago

Text

BDSMaid - Chapter 6

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

CW: 18+ MDNI. In order to avoid spoilers, all tags are under the cut in small red lettering. Reader does have some body descriptions so more of an oc than female reader.

AN: I don't think I understood the term "labour of love" until right now. I'm emotionally exhausted yet so fucking proud at the same time. Thank you @lotusbxtch for fixing all my grammar and formatting. I also couldn't of done this without @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69, @alltheirdamn, and @for-a-longlongtime (even if you did just try to distract me with Santi the entire time LOL)

Word Count: 14.6k (sorry, grab a snack or two)

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | AO3

CW: use of petnames, mention of losing a spouse, mentions of child abuse (mostly verbal), use of nick names (baby, sweet girl, etc.), dirty talk, spanking, sexual activity in public, kissing, protected p in v, oral (female receiving), consumption of alcohol, mutual pining, mentions of falling in love, Dom/sub dynamics.

You: 911, I need to go buy a dress, but ya’ll can’t ask me what it’s for Laren: no strings attached shopping? Fuck yeah! You: I’m serious though Laren: Dude, I won’t ask you as long as you don’t ask about the hickey on my neck Jamie: Damn, my dad’s in California so I can’t leave the office. You: hmm…maybe we just tell each other one secret each Laren: oh sorry, forgot I have to vacuum my cat today, can’t shop You: fine, no asking about the hickey. Pick you up at noon? Jamie: Have fun. I need a sugar daddy. Odette: booo! I’m studying. Someone alert me when we learn about the hickey.

You

Laren’s jaw drops as you step out of the dressing room, the soft silk of the floor length black gown skims against your body. Your eyes trail down the thin straps along your shoulders and down the deep v that sits low on your sternum. You’ve never appreciated your small breasts until now. The risque cut has a soft and romantic feel. Somehow, so does the long slit up your one leg, stopping much higher than most black tie venues would find acceptable. You spin to take in the way the silk dips low on your back. Yeah, Joel Miller is going to love this.

“You look stunning. I’m not gonna ask, but whoever you’re wearing that for is going to fall in love with you. I might fall in love with you.”

You laugh at her, watching as she tugs the collar of her sweater up to cover the very prominent purple hickey on her pulse point. If only she knew how ridiculous that statement really was. Joel Miller, your dom, falling in love with you. It’s impossible.

The big box that you stuffed the small, pink and bedazzled box in snickers in your mind then taunts you in her uppity British accent. He loves you, remember how he held your hand so tenderly through that last orgasm? “It’s a date”, “It’s only you”.

You shake your head and run your hands down your torso and hips, the silk feeling like water under your hands.

“Wow, that dress was made for you.” The peppy store clerk says as she rounds the corner to the dressing room. “Oh! I have just the accessory, if you don’t mind me showing you?”

You nod and then look over at Laren through the mirror. The two of you haven’t been friends for that long, but it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s not wearing her massive engagement ring, plus that giant love bite; something is off. “I’m not gonna ask about the hickey, but are you ok?”

“Ya - I’m fine, why?” Her phone goes off in her purse for what feels like the hundredth time since you picked her up. She hasn’t looked at it once and this newest alert doesn’t change that.

“No reason. I’m here for you though. I hope you know that.” The corners of her mouth lift, but that vivacious sparkle in her eye doesn’t make an appearance.

You spend longer than you ever had getting ready on Friday. You’ve shaved, exfoliated and moisturized every inch of your skin. You painted your fingers and toes with a fresh coat of pearly white polish, noticing that the skin around your cuticles on your hands isn’t picked clean. For the first time in your life, your anxiety hasn’t needed its usual outlet; picking and pushing at your nails until they’re clean. Even with the last few days kicking your ass, Mister Miller made it better, made you better.

After about three hours, you’ve completed the look: big loose curls, one side pinned behind one ear with a gold clip, exposing the soft slope of your neck that Joel loves to press his lips to. You’ve opted for a neutral glam look; a light smokey grey eye, flirty lashes, a touch of blush and highlighter and a nude lip.

You keep the jewelry simple, just thin gold hoop earrings and two dainty golden chains, the accessories that the sales girl picked out. The first chain is the longest; one end loops tight to your throat then lays down your sternum, a small clip on the other end holds it in place to the lacy black thong you bought for the occasion. The second chain wraps around your exposed thigh. A few small crystals dangle off the garter. It feels perfect for a sex club, almost like you’re being tied up in gold.

After wrapping the gift you bought for Joel today you debate taping the dress in place. It’s a sex club, surely a nip slip isn’t the worst thing that can happen. However, Joel would probably forcefully remove anyone who got a peek. As tempting as it is to witness that, you decide to save his sanity for one more day and after placing the last piece of tape you hear the rev of his engine coming down your street. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, it’s been weeks since you’ve heard that sound. That deep rumble will probably always fill you with an excited anticipation of seeing Mister Miller.

You agreed to let him pick you up tonight since Odette is out. You slip your perfectly pedicured toes into black heeled sandals, working the small golden buckle around the ankle quickly as Joel’s shiny black Jag parks in front of your building. You watch from the window as he gets out of the driver's side door, flowers wrapped in brown paper clutched in his hand. A man that size doesn’t look like he’d fit in that sleek sports car.

Even from your birdseye view from the fourth floor he looks absolutely gorgeous. You’re sure once he’s right in front of you he’ll be devastatingly handsome, especially once he’s added the gift you got him. Similar to you, he’s in all black tonight.

The beep of his car locking and the buzz of your door go at the same time and you excitedly hit the button to let him up. It feels like hours before there’s a light knock on your front door. After a shaky breath, you open the door.

Fuuuuuck me, you think as you take him in and actively stop yourself from drooling.

He looks as hot as sin dressed in all black, the lapels of the jacket and the tie slightly silky against the flat black of the rest of his clothing. He’s the living, breathing epitome of JMKink right now. Dressed like that matte black letterhead he still leaves you notes on when you clean for him. You lick your lips as your eyes trail back up his tie. Fuck, you want him to wrap it around your wrists.

He steps into your front entrance and the apartment feels so much smaller; almost like he takes up every bit of space and simultaneously sucks all the air out of you. His hair is parted to the side, trimmed neatly around his ears, curls perfectly placed. You’re sure it was effortless on his part, just running his fingers through it after getting out of the shower, towel wrapped low on his hips. Your mouth waters as you continue to just stare at one another.

Joel

“Wow,” he finally manages to rasp. His throat feels like it's full of sand all of a sudden. He clears it gently before continuing. “You look…you’re always beautiful, but you are…”

His eyes travel up and down your body again, he’s feeling lost for words which is not something that happens to him often. He watches your bottom lip slip between your teeth, waiting for him to form a thought.

“Sorry, sweet girl, I need a second here.” He places the bouquet of wildflowers on the small table at the entry then reaches out towards you. He actually feels like he might die if he doesn’t kiss you soon. The whorls and calluses of his fingers drag down the warm, soft skin of your arm gently before he closes his hand around yours. Usually, he loves how small your hand looks in his, but he’s finding it impossibly hard to break eye contact with you right now. As he steps in closely you smile sweetly at him and he’s surrounded by the smell of mint, lavender and something distinctly you. “You look life-alteringly gorgeous. I’m not sure if that’s a word, but wow, Freckles.”

You place your free hand on his chest and he’s sure you can feel how hard his heart is pounding behind his chest. Fuck, he wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear his heart at this point. He cups your face with his other hand and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the way you melt into him, parting your lips and letting him deepen the kiss. He swallows the quiet moan that you make just for him. You pull away too quickly for him, an excited smile across your face.

“I got you something!” You spin and he’s left breathless again by the low back of the dress and the way the silk skirt sways with your hips.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, following you into the living area of your small apartment. “I don’t want you spending your money on me, sweetheart.”

You spin again and his cock twitches as he catches just how high the slit of the skirt is, and the golden jewelry wrapped around your thigh. In your hands is a large, light brown box tied with a black ribbon. “Technically, I spent your money on you,” you say with a wink. “Open it.”

He steps in close, watching your face go from excited to downright giddy as he pulls at the ribbon. He slips the lid off the box and stares down at the exact same black Stetson that he sent with Tiffany. His heart stops beating as the memories, both good and bad, flood through him. This is the same hat he wore the night he met her, the night of their first date, the night he told her he loved her for the first time, the night he married her. Joel Miller doesn’t believe in signs from the universe, but this? This is something.

No, he thinks as emotions start to clog his throat. This was Tiffany.

He blinks away the tears that threaten to form behind his eyes and whispers your name. “Thank you, sweetheart. I - I used to have a hat just like this.”

When he looks back at you your brows are furrowed together, a genuine curiosity across your face. “Used to?”

He clears his throat again, “Yea, it’s complicated, but this - this means more to me than you could ever know.”

He slips his hands into the box, the felt of the brim spreads a warm comfort up his hands and forearms. He swallows hard as he realizes it’s the same comfort he feels when he has you in his arms.

Oh my god…I think, no, I know. I love you.

It hits him so hard that he has to clutch the hat tighter in his hands to ground himself as he pulls it from the box. He knew he was falling, he knew the second he saw you. He can’t push it down anymore.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped, Joel.”

He turns the hat over in his hands, the black satin liner exactly like his old one. He looks up at you, no longer able to stop the smile or the tears that flood his lash line. Your lips part as your eyes dance around his.

“No, baby, you didn’t. I’ve, well, I’ve been really missing this hat lately.”

“You gonna try it on, cowboy?” The sultry flirtiness of your voice feels sweet on his skin and after a shallow breath he brings the hat up to his head. As the satin slips over his hair a calm confidence washes over him. His eyes meet yours and your flirty smile turns shy as you blush under his gaze. He’s whole again.

“So?”

“I’m gonna have to fight the women off, I think.” You say softly.

He laughs, moving the box from your hands back to the table and then cradling your face in his hands. “I’ll only be looking at one woman, my sweet girl.” His lips meet yours gently, your tongue swiping softly against his lip as your slant into the kiss.

I love you.

You

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you’d get from Joel giving him the hat, but his eyes welling up and his breathing getting all shaky was not what you expected. Something about that hat called to you when you saw it. When you picked it up, the soft felt against your palms reminded you of how it feels to be in Joel’s hands.

He breaks the kiss with a sigh and glances around your apartment. Months ago you would have felt shy or self conscious about Joel in your space, so wholly different from his, but he has never judged you for anything, and you feel yourself becoming more and more comfortable with him which is not a feeling you’re used to. His eyes fall to the scratched wooden coffee table that you got for free from Craigslist.

“You have college letters,” he says proudly, looking back at you.

Your arms cross across your body subconsciously, like they’re trying to shield you from the possibility of being rejected again. “Ya, the last two came today. I’ll open them later.”

“Baby, let's open them! It could be good news.”

He looks so goddamn handsome, in a suit that probably costs more than the entire contents of your apartment and his new black Stetson hat. His expression is encouraging, that same look from his kitchen when you ate some toast; prideful and empathetic.

“I’m scared,” you almost blurt, wishing you could be smoother with this man. “I don’t want to ruin tonight. If these are both no’s, I don’t know how great of company I’ll be tonight.”

“Freckles, I’m not going to force you into anything you don’t want. But I think you’ll be thinking of the letters either way.”

“Ah, my consent stands even for mail,” you joke.

“Well, it's a federal offense to open someone else's mail so…” Joel winks and flashes a devastating smile your way.

“Ok,” you close your eyes and take a deep breath. He’s right, you’ll be wondering all night what those letters say, and Joel has a way of making you forget, making you feel understood, important and cared for. “Do it.”

As if he’s a child on Christmas morning and you just gave him the ok, he snatches up the University of Austin and Berkeley letters, almost vibrating as he says, “Which one first?”

You start to pace the few steps of your living room, wringing your hands together as your heels click on the cheap laminate hardwood. “Austin, I’ll be less upset by a no from them.”

The tear of the envelope sounds like a dagger to the ribs as you go to grab the flowers Joel brought for you, desperate for something to do besides stand there.

“It’s a thick envelope..” Joel says as he slides the letter out.

“Ya, I’ve learned that that doesn’t mean shit,” You say sardonically.

Joel laughs in surprise, “Always shocks me to hear that pretty little mouth swear.”

“Yea?” You ask, “Open the fucking letter, you’re killing me.”

Joel snorts as his strong fingers gingerly fold open the letter. His eyes shoot to yours, “You got in!”

“W-What?” You drop the flowers on the counter top and cover your mouth.

“Sweet girl, you got in. I’m - I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You stand frozen on the spot. It’s not the school you wanted, you want Berkeley, but it doesn’t matter what that letter says now, because either way, you’re going to be a lawyer.

“Oh my god,” you breathe as Joel's arms pull you in for a tight hug.

“Congratulations, baby girl.” His lips press to hair and you start to laugh. “What’s so funny?”

You both part from the hug as you fight to stop tears of pure joy from ruining your makeup. “It’s just…you know, for a second there I actually thought that I wasn’t smart enough. Me? I have a 4.0, I graduated early, I’ve been top of my class for years and I actually thought that I wouldn’t get in.”

Joel's eyes dance, a big smile across his face as he watches you fill a vase. “Open the other one.”

He keeps his eyes on you as he opens the next letter. As he folds open the thick eggshell coloured paper you plunge the flowers into the cold water, his face drops and you prepare yourself for the worst, “You got in. Baby, you - you got in.”

You - Four Years Prior

“So what? You think that getting into your fancy university in Texas means you can just leave Arizona whenever you please? Your mom needs you, you can’t just leave.” Your dad is in his patchwork recliner, a beer in his hand despite it being nine in the morning. The hot June morning heating the small house to an uncomfortable stifle.

“I’ve contributed as much as I can, dad. Two months from now I’m not going to have any time to myself. I deserve some time doing what I want.”

Your dad snorts, legs slamming the leg rest down on the recliner. “You’re an ungrateful little bitch, aren’t you?”

That should sting, it would to anyone else, but you’ve been called every name possible by your father. You see him now for what he truly is, a loser. He can’t hold a job, hasn’t been able to for years. When you were younger, you thought you were the apple of his eye. He’d show up to every school function, every award ceremony, all the little things. You were eight when you realized he didn’t even speak to you at those functions, just walked around bragging about how he was the reason you’ve achieved whatever you were being celebrated over. It was his time to shine, his award, not yours.

“I’m going,” you say, hoisting your duffle bag of clothing over your shoulder. You’ve always wanted to go back to California. You went once with your mother when you were nine or ten, and the minute you got to the beach and felt the warm sand between your toes everything went quiet. It’s called out to you ever since.

As you spin towards the front door you hear the groan of your dad standing up. Fear spikes in your veins, your heart slamming in your ribs. He’s never hit you, but with the redness of his face as he called you names this morning you wouldn’t put it past him.

“Like fuck you are!” He bellows as a hard object strikes the back of your head, followed by warm liquid soaking through the back of your t-shirt.

One of your hands cups the back of your head as you bolt towards your recently purchased, and slightly rusted, SUV. “Get back in here right now you little cunt! You stole money from me for that vehicle, didn’t you?”

You can’t help but laugh as you get in the front seat. You don’t bother locking the doors, you know he’s barely out the front door without looking. He’s not strong enough, and definitely too drunk, to overpower you. You throw the vehicle into reverse and yell out the window, “You don’t have any money for me to steal, Doug!”

You hit his first name hard, knowing damn well how much it will enrage him. You drive away without looking back, and you only stop once for gas for the next ten hours.

The sun is setting as you reach the motel in Newport Beach. You head straight for the beach, kicking off your sandals and letting your feet sink into the cool sand. Your phone vibrates in your pocket, “Mom” across the screen in bold letters.

“Hi,” you say sheepishly, still feeling like a child even though you aren’t.

“Get our ass home, right fucking now. You’re supposed to be contributing to this family and somehow you had enough money to buy a car? And a trip to California? Mark my words, young lady. If you don’t walk back through that door by this time tomorrow, I will come there and get you myself!”

A lump forms in your throat. You’ve spent your whole childhood trying to get them to see you. Contributing? None of your friends had to contribute, they all got to be kids. You’re going to be making a lot of money as a lawyer one day, and they can go fuck themselves if they think they’re getting a single penny of that money.

“I’m afraid I won’t be doing that, mother.”

“You’re in for a rude fucking awakening, little girl. Just because you were the smartest person here, does not mean you’ll be the smartest person anywhere else. The world is going to chew you up and spit you out, and your father and I will not be here to fix you.”

“I don’t see how that’s any different than now. Good bye.”

You hang up before she can respond and look out over the water. The sun is setting in a kaleidoscope of peaches, marigolds and lavenders. You block your parents' numbers before snapping a picture of the sunset and setting it as your background. A sense of calm washes over you as the waves crash along the shore. You walk towards the water and dip your feet in, the water washing away the last eighteen years of your life. You’re free.

You - Present Day

A whispered ‘holy shit’ is all you can muster as realization washes over you. Your dream school - and you got in. You can go to the beach and listen to the ocean, feel the sand under your feet. You can feel as free as you did almost four years ago. You lock eyes with Joel. Can you really leave him?

“I can’t believe I got in. To two schools. I’m going to be a lawyer.” Excitement floods your body. You can worry about deciding later, even though deep down you already know what you're going to choose. Right now, you can just be happy and proud. He reaches a hand out to you and you step into the living room to take it. He pulls you in, wrapping you in his strong arms.

“I know I said this already, but I am so god damn proud of you, sweet girl. No one deserves this more than you. I want to celebrate this with you soon, please?”

“Well,” you say with a hint of mischief, pulling back to look at him, “We are going to be at the club.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve never seen before. “Ya - the club.”

“Oh my god. We’re late, Joel!” You push out of his hold. This is his big night, his five year anniversary of owning his club.

“Baby, stop,” he pulls you into his arms again and cups your face. “I don’t care. Just let me kiss you until you need to reapply that lipstick, and then we can go.” His lips crash passionately into yours. “I’m so fucking proud of you, sweet girl,” he gasps between kisses.

Joel wasn’t lying. He really did kiss you until your lips were swollen and you had to touch up not only your lipstick but the bit of highlighter on your nose; he also needed to participate, taking one of your makeup wipes to his nose, chin and lips before opening the door to his Jag for you and speeding off to the club.

Upon entering the club, the two of you were separated almost immediately. Joel was whisked away to the stage where he, Tommy and who you assume is Tess are now. The stage is lit up as he gives a speech and thanks everyone. A glass of champagne is handed to you as you stand along the edge of the bar. Everyone claps and as he tries to make his way back to you is pulled into a handshake from a very wealthy looking older man. You smile into your glass of expensive pink champagne as the woman from the stage approaches you.

“Hi! I’m sorry for having to steal him the moment you two walked in.” She extends a perfectly manicured hand out to you. “I’m Tess.”

You go to introduce yourself and she cuts you off as she continues. “Oh, I know who you are. Joel will probably kill me, but we have all been very interested to meet you.”

“All?” you say, swallowing nervously.

She shrugs. “No one has ever seen him this, hmm, this relaxed before. He’s usually here or across the street barking orders. You don’t become as successful as him without a little stress, but since you came along he seems different. Happy.”

You blush, watching him engrossed in a new conversation, his eyes often meeting yours across the room. “Look,” Tess says, stepping closer and lowering her voice. “I hang around the Millers way too often and I could really use some girl talk. Is that ok?”

“Tess, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s girl talk.” You smile at her and then turn to the bartender. “Two tequila shots, please!”

She takes a breath, looking at Joel and then back at you. “I’m just going to cut right to the chase. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day where Joel wore a black cowboy hat again.”

You raise an eyebrow at Tess, this could be your chance to get an explanation around his response. You know you weren’t imagining his eyes getting glassy, and he did say it means more to him than he could ever tell you. “I got him that hat.”

Tess’s jaw drops and panic rises in your chest. “What? Why? What’s wrong with the hat?”

“Tequila first,” she says as the shots slide across the shiny black marble bar top. A shiver racks through Tess after she swallows, you don’t flinch. “I don’t know if it’s my place…”

“It’s girl talk, he’ll never know.” You state, sucking at the lime. Tess clears her throat and motions to the bartender for another round. The next time she speaks it’s a hushed, sad voice, just barely above a whisper.

“He, umm - well, he had a hat just like that growing up. Wore it all the time actually. He had it on the night he met Tiffany, and pretty much every important day in his life since then. Their first date, their wedding. Shit, I’m pretty sure there’s a picture of Sarah as a newborn in that hat. He also wore it the last time he held her.” Her voice trails off and heartbreak for her friend lines her features. “He…she loved it so much that he sent it with her.”

You swallow hard and glance past Tess’s shoulder to Joel across the club. The moments of time between each of your heartbeats are filled by memories of his reaction. Tess continues, “Look, maybe you're like Joel. Maybe you don’t believe in astronomy or signs from the universe, but I don’t think you finding that hat was a coincidence.”

You aren’t like Joel; you do believe in signs. You thought you were going crazy when you found that hat today. It literally called to you from inside the store. It wasn’t on display in the window. No, you heard someone call your name behind you and when you looked over your shoulder the hat was all you could see. Could that voice have been from the wife he lost too early? You catch Joel’s gaze across the room; something about him, even before you knew him, comforted you. As your mind starts running through the depth of what that hat means to him he winks, you think you might be falling for him.

All of this means something. It has to mean something. Right?

“Girl talk stays between us?” You ask shyly.

“Absolutely!” Tess exclaims, you like her more and more and can see yourself being very good friends with her, even if she is almost twice your age.

“Tequila first,” you say in the same way she did earlier.

She clicks her glass against yours and then on the bar top before slamming the shot back. “I hate tequila,” she rasps while sucking the lime.

“I can’t talk to my girlfriends about this. I don’t know if you know how me and Joel met, but one of my best friends is sort of my boss and I would get fired from my job for knowing him.” Tess nods, and orders you both a glass of what you’re sure is very expensive rosé. “Sometimes Joel says things that make me feel like maybe we are more than a sub and a dom, but that’s ridiculous, right? It’s the heat of the moment.”

“Babe, do you know how long Joel has been doing this?” She asks gently.

You shake your head and take a sip of your wine.

“Years…at one point, being a dom was how he made money. He’s a professional.”

Her words feel like a lead weight in the pit of your stomach, bile starts to burn at your throat. The whiplash of thinking he’s falling, and knowing that you are, and now dealing with this is almost too much. Joel has moved onto a conversation with yet another guest. “Right, he’s good. He’s supposed to make me feel wanted. I think I’m just not used to someone being there.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Tess’s hand comes to grab yours, squeezing reassuringly. “Professional doms don’t say things in the heat of the moment. They don’t give false hopes. If he’s calling you his or struggling to follow limits, that’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.”

The silence after her words is thick between you. He doesn’t say things in the heat of the moment? You swallow the lead weight that’s made its way from your stomach to your throat, your mind racing through all the things Joel has said to you. My sweet girl. It’s a date. It’s only you.

“Hey,” Tess says, shaking your hand to bring you back. “This DJ sucks, should we go take over the booth?”

You smile, grateful not only for her words of wisdom but now the way she’s able to stop you from spiraling. “Yes, this is a club AND a friday afterall!”

She smiles at you mischievously as she reaches over the bar for the bottle of rosé and then links arms with you as you both practically skip to the booth. “Owning a club is so fun, I recommend everyone try it,” she proclaims through a laugh.

When you reach the booth she waltzes right up to the DJ, “We need dancing music, it’s Friday, it’s a club, and it’s a fucking party!”

“Sorry, Tess. I can’t do that. Joel wanted background music only.” The DJ, who barely looks old enough to be in a club says, his eyes wandering to the low cut of your dress. A few months ago you probably would have been endeared by that look, but you have a real man now. A real man who loves you, says the sparkling box of feelings.

Tess snorts and then tuts at the poor guy. “Joel won’t appreciate you ogling what belongs to him like that. So play Best Friend by Saweetie or I’ll be sure to let him know.”

His eyes snap back to his booth set up, one hand held up in defeat, the other pushing a few buttons and then turning the volume dial up. You and Tess laugh, taking sips straight from the bottle as you move to the dance floor. This is what you need, a friend to help you dissect what’s been happening. A friend who understands the dom and sub relationship, but more importantly, understands Joel. Does him having feelings change how you feel about university? You’ve always seen yourself going to Berkeley, that’s been the dream, but now?

Maybe you should just end this now before your feelings grow too far out of control. The box of feelings laughs. You have no idea how deep you are in this, do you?

Joel

I’m gonna kill that little shit. Frustration rolls through his body as the music grows louder and as he turns to shoot daggers at the DJ he sees you and Tess. Your beautiful face is lit up in a large smile as you sip directly from a $400 bottle of rosé. His anger dissipates as you move your body with a sexy sway, lost in the music.

Joel moves towards the bar, never taking his eyes off of you. Your arms stretch over your head as you shake your ass, the slit of your dress exposing your soft thigh. His palm tingles at the thought of how good you feel against him. The smooth warmth of your leg against the rough calluses of his fingers.

I love you.

Joel orders a whiskey and then walks towards the edge of the dance floor, his free hand tucked into the pocket of his pants as he watches you. As the song changes your eyes find him and you crook a finger at him, when he shakes his head you stick your bottom lip out and give him big doe eyes. He shakes his head again as Tess hands you the half drank bottle of wine. The pink tone of the wine casts a romantic glow across your exposed chest as you take a small sip. His cock stirs to life in his pants, remembering how those lips felt wrapped around him. He shakes his head at you again and takes a long pull from his drink. You stick your tongue out at him and spin away from him, wiggling your hips while glancing over your shoulder.

I fucking love you.

You spin back towards him and crook your finger at him again, mouthing ‘please?’. He stays rooted to the spot. Joel doesn’t dance, especially not to this kind of music. His heart flutters as you start to walk over to him, everything moves in slow motion, the sexy way your dress clings to your hips with each movement, the flash of your thigh, the slight bounce of your breasts with each step. It feels like hours have passed by the time you stop in front of him.

“Please come dance with me.” You say, fluttering your lashes slightly.

He grabs the expensive bottle of wine from you and places it on the tall table beside him. “This is very expensive wine.”

“That was Tess’s doing,” you smile.

“I’m sure it was, because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?” His hand strokes your cheek and he clocks the goosebumps that rise on your skin.

“Please come dance, Mister Miller?”

“I don’t dance, sweet girl.”

You pout again and he wants to suck that perfect bottom lip between his teeth so badly. “What if you just stand there and I dance around you?”

One day he’s going to have to learn how to say no to you, but today won’t be that day. He takes the last sip from his glass and puts it beside the wine. You bounce excitedly on the balls of your feet as he holds a hand out to you. You lead the way, the dance floor now full of people, heading back towards Tess. Joel’s hands come to your hips as you grind against him for the last few bars of the song.

A slow twang of guitar starts off the next song. Joel spins you to face him. “This I can dance to.” He whispers, pulling you in close, one hand low on your back, the other holding yours to his heart.

You smile up at him, “Full of surprises, aren’t you, sweet cheeks?”

At this angle the brim of his hat blocks out everything except for you; not that he needs something to block out the rest of the world when he’s around you. I love you.

“For the right woman I can be, freckles.” He says warmly as you melt into his body.

The two of you continue to dance in a comfortable silence. He watches your lips as your tongue glides across them and just as he’s about to lean in and taste you you speak. “I don’t think I said this yet tonight, but congratulations. This is a huge accomplishment and I’m so proud of you and grateful that you brought me into this space. I hope it’s not too bold, but this has done exactly as I hoped. I feel - freer almost, if that makes sense.”

“Good,” his lips press to your forehead. “And thank you.”

Your neck cranes forward, towards the tangled mess of your hands against his chest. Your lips pressing to the knuckle of his thumb. The gesture shoots straight to his heart.

“I’ve been feeling a bit bad though. You’ve had to go to two events for me this week.” You go to protest but he cuts you off. “What would you be doing tonight if it wasn’t for this?”

You hum in thought. “Any bar where there’s an open mic night or a local band.”

“That so? Do you participate in the open mic?”

“No, absolutely not, but I enjoy music and watching people do things they’re passionate about.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Let’s go then.”

“What?”

“Let’s go. I’ve said thank you to all the VIP’s. Let's go do your thing.”

You

“Can we do that?” You ask, trying not to let the smile that’s pulling at your cheeks win.

Joel laughs quietly. “It’s my party, I can do what I want. They can all stay, but the longer I stay here the more I’m going to be pulled away. And you’re the only person at this party that I want to talk to.”

That’s Joel speaking, not his dom alter ego.

The boulder is growing in your throat again as you croak, “We’re dressed awfully fancy for a local bar.”

Joel smiles down at you, his eyes soft. You start memorizing every detail of his face. Everything surrounding the two of you went fuzzy the second he pulled you into his arms. This man, dressed in all black, blurs the edges of everything around you, sucking you in and making you feel like the only person he sees. The slow country song that you didn’t even hear starts to come to end. “I don’t care. Any more concerns?”

He doesn’t care, he’ll never care, he just wants to be with you. The box of feelings that's grown exponentially over this evening inches its way out of the shadows, and you can’t deny it anymore.

You’re falling in love with Joel Miller.

“Let’s go,” you say, excitement replacing the lump in your throat.

Joel wastes no time, peeling your bodies apart and pulling you towards the exit. He doesn’t look back as Tommy calls his name, only stopping at the front desk to grab your purse. You feel giddy, almost as if the two of you are doing something wrong. He opens the car door for you and then hops into the driver's seat. You pull out your phone, ignoring him as he comments on your cracked screen being a hazard, and check for open mic nights, finding one in a small bar just a few streets over.

The bar is small, about ten tables crammed together and then a few stools along the bartop. The stage is only big enough for one person, a few guitars on stands, a stool, and the mic stand. The lighting is low, different neon signs above the bar doing the majority of the work. You’re way overdressed and the looks you get from the packed bar further prove it.

Joel pulls you through the crowd towards the bar. You were feeling slightly tipsy dancing with Tess, but there is something so sobering about being pulled into Joel's arms. And now that you’ve realized you’re falling in love with him, his next question is very welcome.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, please.” You smile sweetly, plastering your front to Joel’s side as he squeezes into the bar. “I’ll just have whatever you’re having.”

“Two old fashioneds,” he says deeply to the bartender. You stifle a giggle, “What?”

“You just give me so much ammunition sometimes.”

He swats at your ass and then squeezes, not caring who may or may not see. It’s exhilarating getting to just be yourselves away from the club and you have a feeling you’ll quickly become addicted to this. “Mighty thin ice, baby.”

The raspy voiced woman with crazy curly hair finishes her set as Joel pays for the drinks. It appears that most of the crowd was here to see her, a few tables free up and the place doesn’t feel so crowded. The MC for the night gets back onto the stage.

“Alright, if anyone else wants to show us what they’ve got tonight I’ll be by the bar.” There’s a few cheers and some clapping as the bar empties out drastically, only about twenty people are left. Joel pulls out a chair for you and then sits beside you.

“Thank you for the drink,” you say, bringing the liquid to your lips and taking a small sip. The warmth of it heats all the way down to your belly, a familiar feeling when you’re around Joel.

“Of course,” he nods, sipping his. “So? Do you come here often?”

You laugh, leaning forward on your arms, noticing the way Joel’s eyes bounce from your face to your breasts; now pushed together for him. “What a line! But no, I have never been here. I kinda like it though.”

The MC’s voice fills the room, welcoming a brave soul to the stage. A tall man in cowboy boots and a shiny buckle joins the stage, carefully picking a guitar from the rack before he begins singing. You can tell by the warmth along the side of your face that Joel is watching you and not the man on the stage.

“He’s pretty good,” you say, looking back towards Joel. It’s almost unfair how he can still look so sexy in the neon glow of the lights above the bar.

“Mediocre,” he says with a scoff and sips his drink.

You glance around, “Ok, well you listen to this mediocre man, I’m going to find the washroom.”

You feel Joel’s eyes on your back as you walk away. The gender neutral bathroom is surprisingly clean and you giggle to yourself at the interaction you had once Joel was no longer looking at you. You try to act natural as you head back to the table, sitting down and smiling at Joel.

His eyebrow arches, “What did you do?”

God you hate how well he knows you. There’s no hiding anything from this man. Regardless, you stifle the fit of giggles that are right on the tip of your tongue, “Nothing! I had to pee. Is that not allowed?”

You raise your glass to your lips, trying to hide the smile as the MC heads back up to the stage. “You did something bad, I can tell.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have another performer tonight. Please welcome to the stage Joel Sweet Cheeks Miller.”

Joel shoots a teasing glare at you as you start hollering, “Woo! Sweet cheeks!!” You clap your hands loudly. He lets out a sigh, pushing himself up and then grabbing his drink before heading to the stage.

He steps up, running his fingers over the guitars before choosing a black acoustic. He puts his Old Fashioned on the stool and loops the guitar over his head. Your body reacts in a way you didn’t think it would. Fire erupts on your belly, you take a sip of your drink to try to put it out but the heat of the liquor only makes it worse. He adjusts the knobs on the guitar after hitting the strings a few times and then looks up at you and crooks two fingers, calling you to him. You obey, practically floating to the man you’re falling in love with.

Joel bends at the hip, taking his cowboy hat off and placing it on your head. His voice is a gravel filled whisper as he says, “I’m going to spank that pretty little ass of yours in that washroom you were looking for after this.”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You rasp.

He stands back up, and clears his throat before starting. “This is, well, this is the largest audience I’ve ever played in front of so, go easy on me.”

His hand pushes back the few curls that have fallen onto this forehead before he strums at the guitar.

If I ever were to lose you I’d surely lose myself

His voice is like stepping into a hot bath, full of warmth and comfort.

Everything I’ve found here I’ve not found by myself

He doesn’t break eye contact with you, only glancing away occasionally when he moves his fingers along the cords.

Try and sometimes you’ll succeed To make this man of me All my stole missing parts I’ve no need for anymore

You stare up at him, lips slightly parted, as everything falls into place.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You could go to Berkeley and do great, probably middle of the pack, but you’d reach your goals. You’d become a lawyer and leave school with a handful of job offers. Or…you could stay. You could stay and be the top of your class here. You could stay and continue being with Joel.

Back when I was feeling broken I focused on a prayer You came deep as any ocean Did something out there hear?

The box of feelings starts to vibrate, making it almost impossible to breathe.

All the complexities and games No one wins, but somehow they still played All the missing crooked hearts They may die, but in us they live on

You’re staying. You’re going to the University of Texas at Austin School of Law.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

And just like that, the box of feelings explodes like one of those worms in a can of fake peanuts.

When hurricanes and cyclones raged When winds turned dirt to dust When floods they came, the tides they raise Even closer, became us

This wasn’t part of your plan, but you can’t let this go.

And all the promises at sundown I meant them like the rest

You hear his voice, ‘It’s only you, sweet girl’ and ‘your consent is the most important thing to me.’

All the demons used to come ‘round I’m grateful, now they’ve left.

‘Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect’, ‘tell me, tell me you’re perfect’.

So persistent in my ways Hey, angel, I’m am here to stay

‘I’m here for you’.

No resistance, no alarms Please, this is just too good to be gone

You’re not falling in love. No, you’re already so madly, deeply, insanely in love with this man that it hurts and feels amazing all at the same time.

And I believe And I believe ‘cause I can see Our future days Days of you and me

You suck in a breath for what feels like the first time since he started singing, your chest practically heaving at the release of emotion you’re experiencing.

You and me It’s just, you and me

You’re not sure if people are clapping, you can’t hear anything over your own voice in your head screaming out ‘I love you’ over and over again. Joel hops off the stage, his eye flashing onyx as he growls, “punishment time, my sweet girl.”

Joel

The way your eyes sparkled as he sang and the way you’re following him now, your warm fingers laced in his as he pulled you gently to the bathroom, almost have him convinced that you feel the same way he does.

He locks the door, then jiggles the handle to make sure it’s secure. He’s shared subs with other men and women, he’s used the rooms for people to watch at the club; fuck, one time he even made one sub kneel completely naked at his feet while he sat at the bar of the club. But someone seeing you, something that is all his, ignites a protectiveness that he’s only ever felt for two other women.

You giggle mischievously as he steps close, plucking his hat off your head and placing it back on his. “What did I say I was going to do to you, baby?”

He watches your bottom lip disappear between your teeth before you say, “You were going to spank me.”

He spins you roughly by your hips, pulling your back flush to his chest before walking you over the pedestal style sink. He watches in the mirror at the tell tale signs of your building arousal. Your cheeks flush, the pink creeping down your neck and exposed chest. He sees the way your eyes glass over, cock drunk before even getting it. Joel loves how easy you are to turn on, loves even more that it’s just for him.

No, I just love her.

He stops, the soft light above the mirror lighting the two of you up in yellow glow. The small bathroom is clean, but dark. White and black checkered floor with white walls; hopefully thick walls, but he has ways to keep you quiet while he punishes you.

His lips come to the exposed side of your neck, hovering just above where he can see your pulse quickening. He hears the hitch of your breath as he inhales your lavender scent. He slips into full dominant mode, keeping his voice a deep growling whisper, “Hands on the edges of the sink, sweet girl.”

You obey him without hesitation, leaning forward and wrapping your hands around the shiny white sink. His eyes lock on yours through the mirror as he fists the soft silk of your skirt. His palms tingle at the thought of getting to feel you soon and his cock jumps at the thought of your heart-shaped ass being pink with his handprints.

As the skirt crawls to be just above your knees he says, “How many should you get for that little stunt?”

He watches the goosebumps that spread across your skin. “Five?” Your voice is sweet and innocent with the ask.

The skirt starts to hike up higher, the long slit could give him easy access, but he’s playing a role right now, and he knows that the anticipation makes it better so much better for his sub. “Not much of a lesson in five. How about ten.”

It’s not a question and he knows you know it. He’d be lying though if he said he didn’t want to see if you’d fight him just a little bit. Brat taming is not his thing; granted neither is spanking a sub he’s fallen in love with in a bathroom of a dingy bar while wearing a six thousand dollar suit.

A shiver runs through your body as he exposes your ass. The lacy black thong sends his thoughts into overdrive. God damn, what I wouldn’t give to fuck this woman, just once.

“Do I have your consent to spank you ten times?”

You nod, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

He takes one of your wrists in his hand and brings it back to hold your skirt up and then repositions himself to be beside you instead of behind you. He takes you in, bent over with your ass exposed, pupils blown out. Your chest rises and falls with shallow, shaky breaths. He’s going to have to keep you quiet.

A hand clamps around your lips and your eyes widen. “If you want me to stop, drop the skirt. Got it?”

You nod into his palm as the first slap fills the room. Your skin is soft and warm under his touch as he makes contact again. By the third strike, his hand around your mouth muffles a squeal. The fourth spank lands on your other cheek and a quiet husky moan rumbles against your lips and his palm.

“You’re supposed to be my sweet girl,” he taunts as another loud slap fills the room. He’s been watching you in the mirror the entire time, enjoying the way you try to keep eye contact; but now, at the halfway mark of your spanking, your eyes are hooded with need. He looks down your ass, grinding his hips into your side at the sight of his bright red handprints tattooed on your cheeks. “Fuck, you look so good all marked up.”

He spanks you again watching the jiggle of your ass and how it ripples down your leg. Your back arches as you whimper quietly. “Atta girl,” he says proudly, smiling to himself. “Three more.”

Joel administers the last three spankings quickly, two on one cheek and one on the other. The sound of his palm on your flesh goes straight to his cock each time, he’s practically rutting into your hip bone to relieve some of the ache. He’s given a lot of spankings in his time as a dom and his body has never reacted this way. I’m so goddamn in love with her, I should keep spanking her for making me feel like that, but if I don’t taste her right now I’m going to go insane.

His hand grabs your skirt while his other drops from your face. Your breaths come in fast, like you just ran a marathon. He guides you to stand and then spins you around, a hiss leaves your lips, “It’s cold,” you whisper, making eye contact with him.

He takes his hat off and places it on your head before kneeling down in front of you.

You

The cool porcelain soothes the delicious burn along your ass, but the burn quickly spreads through your body as the man you’ve realized you’re in love with kneels in front of you. His voice has an edge of desperation as he says, “I need to taste you, please baby.”

What is he doing to me? He has to know what he’s doing to you, right? Did he mean the lyrics of that song or is it just the only song he knows? However, at this moment, you’re just as desperate for him.

“Yes,” you nod frantically as you speak, “Mister Miller. Please.’

His mouth connects with your lace covered cunt. Licking over the thin fabric, teasing you with light but mind numbing pressure. Joel Miller always looks good, tall and broad, tanned skin that crinkles slightly around his eyes when he smiles, but when he’s on his knees in front of you it ignites something low in your belly. His curly dark hair is soft to the touch and you bring your hand to his scalp now. He groans at the feeling of your hands on him and continues to lick at your clit through your panties.

The black cowboy hat falls over your eyes, your other hand raises to hold it out of the way. Even with the decision to stay here for law school, you don’t want to miss a second of the salacious acts playing out right in front of you.

“Oh god, Mister Miller,” you whisper, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

He moves to kiss at your thigh, hooking a finger around the gusset of your soaked lace. “This fucking garter, sweet girl. Been drivin’ me crazy all night,” he growls between kisses.

He pulls your panties to the side and your nipples harden under your dress as the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. “Fuck,” he practically whimpers. “You smell so good. Taste so good, too.”

His mouth latches around your clit, sucking it between his lips and everything goes fuzzy as the burn in your lower belly starts to spread. “Ohgodohgood, f-fuck.”

The tip of his tongue flicks against your swollen aching clit with each suck and you start to panic over how you’re going to keep quiet while you come. One of his fingers that pulls your thong out of the way teases at your entrance, gathering your arousal, before he pushes it inside of you to the first knuckle. He looks up at you, eyes flushed onyx as he swallows down everything you give him.

“Mister Miller,” you hum as he pushes his forefinger the rest of the way in. When he curls it forward you release the grip on his salt and pepper curls and clamp your hand around your mouth.

He pulls away, a dimple carving out his cheek as he smirks. “Feels that good?” He flicks gently at your clit and you moan in agreement into your hand. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel sucks your clit back into his mouth, pumping his thick finger against the spongy spot that makes you melt and the heat bursts into tingling pleasure as your orgasm washes over you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you fight to keep quiet, grinding your hips unabashedly against Joel’s face. He’s relentless with his ministrations and you bite at your palm as another wave rolls through you.

The spasms of your pussy around his finger slow and you’re finally composed enough to drop your hand, grabbing his shoulder as your knees threaten to give out. Joel slips his finger out from you, placing light, lingering kisses on your mound before standing. His hands find your hips, holding you steady.

“Kiss me,” you slur, feeling drunk off the pleasure.

Your arms loop around his neck as he kisses you. His lips taste like you and you lick at the heady sweetness. You slant your head, kissing him deeper. His body goes soft, relaxing into the kiss. You could do this with him forever, and for once it’s not the box of feelings saying that. The contents of that box have coated your entire brain with the love it housed for the man you’re not even supposed to know exists. The two of you break apart, both panting for air. You break the silence first.

“Take me to the club.”

“We can’t go back there. I’ll just get sucked back into the crowd.” His nose runs up and down yours, dark chocolate brown eyes never leaving yours.

“I need more, Mister Miller. Please, take me.”

“Shit,” he huffs. “Come with me.”

Joel

This is so incredibly stupid, he thinks as he pulls into his neighborhood. The moment the two of you got back into his car you leaned over onto his shoulder and closed your eyes. He should take you to your apartment. You must be exhausted from all the studying and working you’ve been doing. Plus, he kept you out late for two nights. He pulls up onto his driveway, and the slight bump from the curb causes you to stir. He parks in the driveway and watches as you blink and register where you are.

“I can take you home if you want.”

“No, I want to be with you.” Your eyes widen and you start to do that thing where you ramble, only to dig yourself deeper.

Joel chuckles and then leans forward, pressing your lips to your forehead to stop you. “I knew what you meant, baby girl.”

He gets out of the car and then comes around to open your door. When you left the bar tonight you tried to open your door, again, and he scolded you gently. He smiles to himself that you’ve listened finally, that or you’re just too tired and he should really be taking you home. But when he helps you out of the car and meets your gaze again you look anything but tired. Need and arousal flood his system as he takes you in, lips slightly parted and eyes dancing around his face. Your words from the bathroom ring in his ears. I need more, Mister Miller.

He snaps, lips slamming against yours, your hands immediately finding the curls at the nape of his neck; the only hair you can reach because of the cowboy hat still proudly perched on top of his head. He lifts you, moaning at the feeling of your toned thighs wrapping around his waist. He moves on instinct, closing the car door and walking into the house while the two of you fervently kiss in a mix of tongue and teeth. You nip at his bottom lip as he walks into the marble foyer. He closes the garage entry door and presses you against it, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth, His cock is painfully hard behind his pants.

“I need you,” you whine after your lip is free from his mouth.

“What do you need?”

You kiss at his neck, hands moving to loosen his tie. “I need you to fuck me, please, Mister Miller.”

I love you.

He keeps you pinned to the door, his one hand grabbing yours and pinning them above your head. How many times is he going to have you in the position, fighting against what you’re begging for? Hopefully, it never stops.

“My sweet girl, you know I can’t do that.” It physically hurts him to turn you down.

You pout at him before speaking, “Then just be naked with me, I need to feel your skin on mine. Please?”

He kisses you again and starts to move the two of you towards the stairs. Between kisses, he says, “What happened to that shy girl who couldn’t even tell me she wanted me to dominate her?”

You laugh against his lips, “She’s been corrupted.”

“I’m a bad man,” he hums with a laugh and walks up the stairs with you plastered to his chest; one hand around the globes of your ass, the other tucking your head into his neck so he can see where he’s stepping. The moment you reach the top of the stairs he pulls your face back to his to kiss you again.

“This is where it happened,” you say, as he passes the office.

“Where what happened?” He says, pulling back to look at you, his eyebrows draw in in confusion and the black Stetson he forgot he was wearing falls forward slightly. You take the hat off his head, looking at him all wide-eyed and amused.

“The corruption,” you say with a wink. Joel snorts in response and then his lips are back on yours. He has missed having this mix of passion and humour with someone.

When he passes over the threshold of his bedroom he places you on your feet. He told himself he wouldn’t ever have you here. No, not told, promised, because he knew what having here would mean. But you made him fall in love with you anyway. The air in the bedroom feels thicker, and his breathing quickens as he looks at you. The only light that trickles in is from the hallway. He takes in your sparkling eyes, your lips, puffy from his kisses and light nips; the perfect curls of your hair are slightly dishevelled and truthfully - he has never found you more beautiful.

I love you.

You

Butterflies assault your stomach as you stare at Joel. He takes the hat from you and tosses it gently on the foot of the bed behind you. The room is deafeningly silent, only the sounds of both of your quickened breathing and thundering heartbeats fill the void. You stand frozen, the heels of your strappy black sandals sinking into the plush carpet of his bedroom. You remember when you carried his sheets to the washing machine just a few weeks ago, being surrounded by the delicious scents of ash and leather. You had no idea who Joel was then, the man in this house was just a fantasy in your mind. You wait for him to make the first move. Finally, his thick fingers find the zipper along your side.

“Are you sure about this?” He says, his voice is hoarse, and you can tell he’s nervous. You wish knowing that would calm you, but truthfully it just makes your heart burst even more. This morning, the thought of anyone, but especially Joel, having feelings for you was ridiculous, but now you aren’t so sure it’s that absurd after all.

“Yes, Mister Miller. I just - I need…” he watches you patiently. Playing with the small metal zipper pull.

“Don’t be shy, sweet girl. Just tell me what you need.”

“I need to feel your skin against mine. Please.”

He pulls at the zipper as his lips meet your neck. “I love when you ask so politely. My good girl, aren’t you?”

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, fighting the sway of your legs to stay upright.

If he’s calling you yours, that’s Joel speaking. Not his dom alter ego.

Joel’s fingers come to the thin straps along your shoulders. The warmth of his hands against your skin causes you to shiver. He drags the straps down your arms and then frowns at the tape holding the dress to your chest. He tugs gently and you gasp at the pull of the tape. Before you can protest, the sting is soothed by his lips, kissing the sore, pink skin. He does the same thing after tugging the other side and the silky black dress pools at your feet.

You watch the muscles of Joel’s throat flex as he swallows, eyes trailing down your body. “Turn around.”

You spin on the balls of your feet, careful to not catch your heels on the carpet. “So you need to feel me, is that right, sweet girl?”

You nod your head. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

One of his hands comes to gently rest on your shoulder and instinctively lean into his touch. His fingers whirl around as he traces down your shoulder blade and then back up to your neck. “I can’t believe how beautiful you looked tonight. I kept getting pulled away from you every time I tried to get back to you. It was killing me to be away from you.”

You let your eyes close as his fingers run down your spinal column. You feel his heat leave your back and then his lips sponge kisses along the globes of your ass, his hands holding your hips possessively.

“You were such a good girl tonight. Outside of the little singing stunt,” he says between kisses. Every spot that took the punishment of his palm is given attention. “But you paid for that, didn’t you sweet girl?”

You giggle quietly before saying. “Yes, Mister Miller. Thank you, but I can’t promise I won’t do it again.”

“Good,” he laughs, standing up behind you. You hear the unmistakable sound of his silk tie being pulled off. “Because I don’t want you to ever stop teasing me.”

He tosses the tie towards his dresser. Before you know it, he’s spun you around and lifted you into his arms again. Your body knows just what to do, your legs clamping around his waist on their own. He captures the squeak that leaves your lips with his mouth. Nothing makes you melt faster than the feel of Joel’s lips on yours. They’re soft but firm, his tongue warm against yours as he takes what he wants from you and there’s no way you’re not going to let him.

He sits you on the dresser and plants his hands on each side of you as your hands move to work the buttons on his shirt. His lips never leave yours.

“I need you,” you whine as you get the first few buttons undone. The heat of his chest skimming against your fingertips has a fresh wave of arousal coat your already soaked pussy.

Joel moans needily at your confession as he pulls back slightly. He rips at his shirt, buttons burst before he tears it off and stands shirtless in front of you. Your eyes trail down his strong broad chest, stopping on the prominent bulge behind his pants. Your hands fly to his belt. He watches you with rapt fascination as you work the buckle and then the button of his pants.

As you move to the zipper, his fingers go to the lace of your panties. He growls as he splits the fabric.

“Joel!” You gasp. “Those were thirty dollars!”

He grabs your leg, placing the ball of your foot on his chest,unbuckling your shoe. “I just ruined an $800 dress shirt. I’ll buy you more.”

The shoe hits the floor and he grabs your other foot, his eyes locking to yours as he commands, “And it’s Mister Miller. I’ve been lenient with you. Another mistake and you will be punished - severely.”

For such harsh words, he’s being so careful with the small golden buckle on your shoe. “Yes, Mister Miller,” you say sweetly, batting your lashes innocently.

“Feet up on the dresser. Spread your legs for me, sweet girl.”

You lean back slightly, hands being used as an anchor behind you, placing your heels on the edge of the dresser. Cool air hits your drenched cunt and you fight yet another shiver. You’re spread wide for Joel, every single thing on display for him. He looks at you like you hung the moon and your heart flips behind your ribs. You suddenly feel like you did the first time the two of you spoke in his kitchen, his gaze is too much, too intense, and it becomes nearly impossible for you to not yell out that you love him, so you look away, your eyes falling to his strong chest.

“Eyes up here,” he murmurs as he takes the smallest step back.

Your mouth goes dry as you look back up at him. In your peripheral you can see his hands going to his belt, the sound of the buckle jingling tempts you to look down. “Atta girl, stay right here with me.”

You stay in his warm coffee brown pools, flecks of gold and honey appearing as the soft light of his bedroom hits him. I love you.

He bends slightly, his pants and boxers falling to the ground. You try to swallow once, twice, never leaving his gaze as the rest of his clothing comes off. You swear that time stops, the two of you are suspended in a moment that’s all yours. He steps forward and you can feel the heat of his skin against your entire body, you melt into his warmth.

“You want to look, don’t you?” he taunts.

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

The soft tip of his cock gently nudges at your clit and you gasp. “Look down, baby.”

You peel your eyes away from his, looking down to see where his body caresses against yours. The tip of his impossibly hard cock, precum glistening as it leaks for you, pressing lightly to your soft and swollen clit. His piercing lays flat against his pelvis and you remember what he said about there being benefits to it. You try to memorize the sight in front of you. As filthy and debauched as this is, it’s also passionate and beautiful; it's the epitome of Mister Miller and your time with him.

“Fuck, sweet girl. Your pussy is so pretty…and soft.” You watch as he wraps his hand around the thick base of his cock and rocks his hips. His cock slides easily along the warm folds of your drenched cunt, you swear you can feel the ridge of the underside of the tip as he says, “Who has you this turned on? Huh, sweet girl?”

“You,” you whimper as your legs start to tremble.

“God damn,” his voice now matching yours, “How’d I get so lucky.”

This time you know he’s not asking you a question, yet you hum in agreement as his cock slides back over your clit, the swollen nub relishing in the friction and the feel of him against you. You hope he’s going to keep going, you want to feel him inside of you more than you need oxygen. Instead, his other hand slips between the two of you, his strong digits teasing at your entrance. He slides along your clit again as one of his fingers pushes inside of you.

“Is this ok?” He whispers.

“Yesyes - fuuuuck, Mister Miller.” A bead of pre cum lands on your mound at the sound of pleasure passing your lips.

“Such a good girl for me. Already learning how to take me so well.” His finger slips out as a second joins it. “She’s begging for it, tryin’ to suck me in. So tight, my gorgeous sweet girl.”

Your foreheads meet and it all becomes too much again. You close your eyes as his fingers finally fill you. “Don’t stop,” you whine desperately.

His hips pick up their pace, pressing harder along your most sensitive spots. You get that floating feeling again. He’s so close to exactly how you need him, how you want him. The voice from your now-exploded box of feelings adds, “For the rest of your life”.

You keep your eyes closed, sparks of pleasure occasionally flickering behind them. You’re getting closer to your high with every press of his body against yours. You know if you opened your eyes you’d be able to fall over the edge, but you aren’t ready to be done imagining how it would look if his cock was doing what his fingers were right now.

“I can feel you’re getting close, baby. Clenchin’ my fingers so hard.” His voice is full of admiration, not a tone you’re used to hearing in moments like this. You used to think that you had a first love, and while none of your exes ever mistreated you, they also didn’t look at you or speak to you the way Joel Miller does.

His pace increases again as he curls his fingers forward, your body jolts up with the newly applied pressure behind your clit. You grip his shoulders to ground yourself, the inside of your thighs start to ache, but you’re not going to let your feet fall from the dresser. Truthfully, the burning ache only seems to intensify the pleasure at the apex of your thighs.

“Open your eyes, watch how good your pussy looks against me.”

“I ca-can’t. ‘M so close. I don’t - oh fuck - don’t wanna be done.”

“Just because you come, it doesn’t mean we are done, sweet girl. I’m not ready to be done. I want you to come as many times as you need to.” He presses his cock down against your clit harder as he speaks.

Before you can even take your next breath your orgasm washes over you. It hits hard and for a second you think your throat is constricted, but just as the wall of your pussy relaxes and begins to flutter, a euphoric scream frees itself from your airway. You start to pant, your body falling back to rest on the wall behind you. Joel falls forward with you, and just when you think you’re about to come down from your high, the pressure at this angle sends the strongest wave of your orgasm through you and you begin to gush around his fingers.

“That’s my good fuckin’ girl. Soak me.” Pride swells in his eyes as you chant his dominant name like a prayer. Your breathing starts to even and he slows his fingers and hips, ensuring not to send you into any overstimulation. I’m not ready to be done yet. He slowly removes his fingers, then wraps his arm around you to pull you up. Your feet fall from the dresser and the relief your muscles feel causes you to let out a pleasurable sigh.

Joel

He needs more, so much more, but waits for you - taking a few slow breaths in time with yours. When he sees you coming back down to earth he slides the tip of his cock up and down. At this angle, there’s no risk of accidentally slipping so he runs himself along every part he can reach.

“Kiss me,” you mumble, bringing your face towards his. He captures your lips in a sweet kiss, a kiss he’s sure you can tell isn’t the way a dom kisses his sub. He realizes at that moment that he’s never kissed you that way. No, he’s always kissed you with everything he had, giving himself to you piece by piece.

More. His inner voice growls. I’ll never come back up for air now.

Joel whispers your name between kisses and you both pull back just enough to see each other's faces. “When we got here, you said you wanted me to fuck you. Do you still want that?”

He watches your eyes dance around him. Confusion, fear, excitement and arousal line yours before you pull back from him. He scolds himself for saying it. Of course you’re going to panic, this is supposed to be a safe space. He set a complete ban on sex before he even met with you the first time. It’s right there, in his dom profile; because that’s what he is, he’s your dom. You can come here and beg for it, because you know it’s a safe place where it won’t happen.

He prepares himself for you to slap him or yell at him. Instead, you say, “Mister Miller, I don’t want you to do anything that you don’t want to. This was a hard limit for you, and where I very much want to, I don’t want you to break any promise to yourself.”

He let his eyelids fall shut, for the first time, he doesn’t want to be Mister Miller. He wants to be Joel.

I love you.

Goosebumps break out along his skin as you drag your hands up to his neck, fingers scraping along the back of his scalp. “Talk to me.”

“Just call me Joel,” he says through the boulder that’s lodged in his throat.

He feels your warm lips meet his cheek, kissing him softly before you clear your throat quietly and then whisper into his ear. “Please fuck me, Joel. Fuck me or I might die or go insane.”

“Again,” he growls.

“Fuck me, Joel.” You say, louder and with more conviction than the last time.

He scoops you off the dresser, your soft naked thighs tightening around his waist and he steals your squeal with his lips, kissing you hard with hurried passion. He’ll worry tomorrow about what getting you to call him Joel means, all he knows at this moment is that he needs to hear that you need him just as much as he needs you.

He lays you on the bed, pressing down into your warmth. He can feel how wet you are as you grind up into him. His lips grow hungrier, kissing every bit of your face and neck he can reach, relishing in the feel of your hands running up and down his biceps, your short nails scraping his skin occasionally.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks before fusing his lips to your neck.

Your feet fall to the bed and you arch into him. “Yes, Joel.”

He raises to his knees, unclipping the chains around your body and then working with you to slip your ruined panties off. He reaches over to the bedside table to get a condom, using his teeth to peel the foil open and sliding it on. You’re always completely at his mercy, but this time he’s wholly at yours. One of his hands grips your hip, the other wraps around his cock as he takes in all your soft smooth skin, and memorizes the constellations that your freckles make along your body. Your breasts heave with each shallow inhale and shake beautifully with each exhale. Finally, his gaze meets yours, your eyes filled with every emotion he’s feeling.

“There’s no safeword anymore, my sweet girl. If you tell me to stop, I will.”

You nod as he lines himself up, the warmth of your tight entrance calling to him. Joel pushes gently, your hips rising to encourage him. His balls tighten at the feeling of you wrapped tightly around the tip.

“So tight, sweet girl.” He falls forward, both forearms beside your head to keep his weight off of you.

The two of you rock in tandem, working more of him into you. “Oh god, Joel. More,” you moan.

There was a time when he told you to only call him Joel, it was the only name you could use that would keep this side of him from taking over. But now, hearing your voice say his name in the needy little vibrato, it’s having the same effect as when you call him Mister Miller. He’s sure you know exactly how he feels, and he’s now certain that you feel the same way.

Your hips grind into his and pleasure spikes through his entire body. He’s fully seated inside of you now, your tight pussy squeezing him sweetly. He buries his face into your neck, lavender hypnotizing him. Everything he can see, hear, smell and feel is you. His sweet girl.

“More, please, more.” You whine, circling your hips.

His jaw flexes as he fights his body’s instinct to come. He pushes down with his hips to still you. “I need a minute, sweet girl. Shit - you feel too good.”

Your soft giggle at his confession causes your pussy to flex tighter around him. A shiver runs up his spine, “Baby, please don’t. Just stay still, please.”

He pulls himself away from your neck, his hips flexing forward. He watches your eyes widen as his piercing presses right where it’s meant to. You gasp and clench his hips with your thighs. He smirks, now flooded with desire and determination to fuck you until neither of you can walk.

“Ready?” He says, his voice deep.

“I think - Joel, fuck - I might…”

His animalistic side kicks in, he pulls out to the tip and then slams back in, swivelling his hips so his piercing stimulates your clit, which he’s sure still must be sensitive from earlier, before pulling back and repeating.

“Think you might what?” He demands, keeping his gaze locked on yours as he fucks you.

“I’m gonna - gonna come.” You moan between thrusts.

“So fuckin’ needy. Aren’t you?” You met each of his thrusts with a flick of your hips. Even with the condom, you feel better than he could have ever imagined. All the things he wants to do to you run through his mind; he wants to take you from behind, or watch your tits bounce as you ride him, he pictures you strapped to the spanking bench in his room at the club. But right now he just wants to worship every inch of you. He wants to show you how you should be treated and loved.

The words are on the tip of his tongue. I love you.

He shifts his weight, one arm hooking under your leg so he can take you deeper. “Sweet girl, I want to feel you come on my cock.”

“Fuckfuck don’t stop.” He peppers your jawline with kisses.

“Kiss me,” he whispers. He tilts his head, parting his lips for your warm tongue. Joel starts fucking you faster. He breaks the kiss, “Come for me, baby girl.”

“Are we going to be done if I do?” You ask.

“No, baby.” He huffed a laugh, his hand pushing the hair away that’s started to stick to your forehead. “Never. I’m never going to be done with you.”

“Joel - oh my god.” He feels you getting tighter and tries to distract his thoughts. He’s not ready to be done, but he’s not young anymore so he can’t risk finishing quite yet. “Your - your piercing.”

“Let go,” he says into your lips. He feels it then, that infinitesimal tightening of your pussy around his length before it begins to flutter. Your whine fills his head. He watches the pleasure fill your face, he swears he can see the clouds that form around your vision as you look deep into his eyes and succumb to your high. Your soft body quivers beautifully underneath him, “That’s my girl.”

The primal need to fuck you hard into his mattress simmers his skin. Not yet, not this time. She’s too perfect right now.

“Tell me how it feels, sweet girl.”

Between pants you moan out, “So good, Joel.”

Your body begins to slow beneath him as your orgasm crests and he gives himself a mental pep talk to hold on just a bit longer. His cock is achy with the need to come, and it’s going to be slightly tortuous to stop, but he wants to take you at least one more time before you both fall into what is sure to be an exhausted sleep.

His lips come to your shoulder. “I love fucking you. Your pussy was made for me.”

Your nails scrape at his back. “It’s t-too much. Fuck. Sorry…sorry.”

Joel stills his hips, releasing your leg and pushing his weight off of you, but doesn’t pull away. Your eyes are clenched tight, “Look at me, sweet girl.”

Your eyes pop open, pupils blown in pleasure and love. There’s no denying it now, he knows you feel the same. “Don’t be sorry.”

Your cheeks flush slightly, “But you’re not, you didn’t yet.”

“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“You didn’t get to come yet,” you whisper.

“I don’t want to yet. I’m going to let you catch your breath and then you’re going to climb onto my lap and really learn what that piercing can do.” He winks and then gives you a small smile before slipping out of you. He rolls onto the mattress beside you, removing the condom and dropping it into the waste bin beside the bed.

He hears you hiss, panic clogs his throat as he whips back towards you. “What’s wrong?”

You nod towards his almost impossibly hard cock. “That looks painful.”

“I’m ok, sweet girl.” He pulls you in, melting at the way your body molds so perfectly to his. He kisses your forehead, “You’re incredible.”

“You too.” You nuzzle deeper into him, your warm breath hitting his chest and your leg wrapping around his.

There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence before you speak, “Hey Joel?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“I think we should ditch the condom.” He pulls back as you look up at him, “You have a vasectomy. I have an IUD. We had recent test results as per the club's rules.”

Joel swallows. Not wearing a condom, even though he had his vasectomy over a decade ago, has never been an option. Another rule of JMKink is that you have to be wearing a condom during all penetrative activities; even if the person you’re fucking is your husband or wife. It hits Joel then that the only person he’s felt that intimately before is Tiffany.

“Are you sure? I know the chances of getting pregnant are very slim, but you got into law school today, I don’t want to risk anything.”

“I’m sure,” you hum. “I’m also sure that you should put that cowboy hat back on for the next round.”

Next Chapter

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lorcaheart · 2 months ago

Text

Hot Tub Confessions

Pairing: Yelena Belova(Thunderbolts*) x f!reader

Summary: A team mission in a secluded Alaskan ski resort goes off without a hitch, clean, quiet, and efficient. After disposing of the body, you return to the cozy hotel where your team is winding down in the deck's bubbling hot tub, nestled against a snowy mountain backdrop. The mission may be over, but something heavier lingers in the air, something unspoken between you and Yelena Belova. As laughter fades and teammates begin to scatter, you're left alone with the woman whose gaze has haunted you for months. And in the quiet steam of the night, there's nowhere left to hide.

Warnings: Somewhat confused feelings, fluff, suggestive language!

Word count: 2.9k

AN: I might have written a bit too much for this one, but I for sure think it’s an improvement from my past works. I kinda wrote this while listening to Moonlight by Kali Uchis, so feel free to read and listen at the same time for the vibe. I was also inspired to write this after watching the hot tub scene from To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

BTW story is set after Thunderbolts*, reader is part of the team

Translation: моя любовь - my Love

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The team had been sent to a somewhat remote town in Alaska, known for its Ski resorts and hotels. Val had a past political ally that knew a little too much, and she needed him to be dealt with. He was vacationing solo in a luxurious Ski resort, so Val set for you guys to stay in the same resort.

It wasn’t anything difficult, it was actually a very simple mission. Ava was incharge of entering his room and destroying his documents, Alexei and John were charged with surveillance, as either Yelena or Bucky were the ones responsible for killing him. You were in charge of getting rid of the body, making you the last one to get back to the resort at night after the assignment was completely done.

You returned to your guy’s hotel room, it was quite nice. It had a cozy living room with a fireplace and each one of you had a bedroom with a pleasant view of the snowy mountains and forest. But the deck, which had a decently sized hot tub, took the cake. You had all been excited to use it and had all agreed to get in after the assignment had been completely done and you had come back, but Ava, Bob (who tagged along the mission cause why not), and Mel (who joined cause she heard about the free stay), just couldn’t wait for you to get back. The rest of the team just gave up on waiting for you and joined them in the hot tub. A few hours had passed since then and only Yelena, Ava, and Bob remained out on the deck.

As you came in you saw John, Bucky, and Alexei talking in the living room, Mel sat in the corner, making a late night phone call, probably to Val.

“Y/n! Your back!” Alexei beamed. “Was about time you got back,” John said.

“Hey y/n, how was the mission?” Bucky greeted you as you came in, your legs shaking from the cold and you could barely feel your feet, waddling into your bedroom, giving him a wave and a thumbs up. You didn’t talk cause you knew they would notice your teeth chattering and someone would make a joke about you being as frozen as a popsicle or Steve Rogers.

You entered your bedroom, kicked your snow boots off, and threw your jacket on your bed.

You could hear Bob, Ava, and Yelena laughing and chatting outside on the deck. You were so cold and sore, and although you were tired, the hot tub was looking too good right now to miss it. You got out of your snow gear and put on your swimsuit and robe.

You walked out of your bedroom, past the living room, where Alexei was telling a very sleepy John and Bucky about the winter in Russia and Mel was passed out on the couch with her phone in her hand. You walked onto the deck, immediately, the cold air hit you as you stepped out, wrapping your arms around you, shivering.

“Oh y/n, you finished already! Come over here” Bob motioned for you to join him and the rest in the hot tub, Ava scooted over and made some space for you. You first dipped your feet in, being careful to get in slowly, not wanting to get a headache from the temperature change.

“So much for you guys waiting for me to finish the mission huh?” you questioned them playfully.

“You took sooo long taking care of the body,” Ava said, swishing the bubbles in the tub around with her hand.

“Did everything go okay?” Bob asked.

“Yeah, I mean, I had to drive for a while just to make sure I was alone, I buried him in the woods as instructed and stuff, honestly this mission was super easy. How did it go for you guys?”

Ava responded, “Well, for me it was quick, Alexei and John said the most they saw was a few suspicious squirrels while on lookout, and Bucky and Yelena were able to get him in his balcony, no witnesses, no sudden noise, not even a drop of blood, too easy.”

You smiled to yourself, content that your team was alright. You looked towards Yelena, who had been rather quiet on the other side of the tub up to this point. She was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, her hair combed back and wet, drops of water running down her chin to her neck. You noticed how her eyes studied you, her arm swung back on the rim of the tub.

She had a certain look on eyes. You had noticed this look before, you had seen it a few times from her while living in the Avengers Tower and sometimes on missions, it almost felt familiar now. Nonetheless, it still made the thumping on your chest louder and caused you to blush. A blush that you always dismissed as a result of the hot weather when your teammates questioned you about it.

You had feelings for Yelena. You would be lying to yourself if you said that her dedication to helping and caring for her friends, paired with her sarcastic personality and breathtaking looks, didn’t make you feel something for her.

A few weeks ago Ava, Bob, and John had come up to you asking if there was something going on between you and Yelena. They mentioned the way the both of you would look at each other. You remember John saying “she looks at you with I guess kinda like a hunger in her eyes or something, you know” you had laughed at his comment and the other ones that Bob and Ava made, saying you had a similar look in your eyes too. But recently, those looks became more common. Glances across the table during dinner, wiping the sweat off your face after a morning team workout, helping her zip up her dress before an important event with the press, laughing with the team in the car ride after an especially difficult mission.

Although your teammates believed she had similar feelings for you, it just seemed like the most ridiculous thing in the world. I mean, for Yelena, being vulnerable and open about her struggles was new to her, it was new to everyone, but it just seemed so far out that she would have feelings for someone like you. She just always seemed so focused on her work and you couldn't imagine her attention going to something as simple as you. You knew you must have been hallucinating or being delusional everytime you recalled those memories in your mind, those hazel eyes.

But those were memories, and you could choose to disregard them, but you couldn’t disregard the now as part of your imagination.

You looked down almost immediately, shifting your legs, sitting on the edge, your knees now in the water. Your robe was still on and protecting you from the cold and from Yelena’s wandering gaze.

Ava and Bob seemed to notice the tension between the two of you. Ava leaned close to Bob, whispering something to him, he looked at her and nodded.

“Okay I think it’s time for us to get to bed” Bob remarked, starting to climb out of the tub. Ava rose alongside him too, “Yeah I mean, you guys stay here, chill and take your time, me and Bob are gonna head in now.”

Bob and Ava got out, wrapping themselves with their towels and scattering towards the door giggling mischievously.

You turned towards them, giving Ava a confused and panicked look, too nervous to be left alone with Yelena. Ava gave you a wink and Bob a thumbs up as they quickly went inside and closed the door.

You sat there for a second, looking down at the stirring water, too afraid to look up and meet Yelena’s gaze.

“So you got done with the mission pretty quickly huh Yelena?”

“Yeah it wasn’t so bad, Bucky was able to snap his neck after sneaking up behind him, quick and easy, I just stood nearby incase he was armed”

“This was too quick, Val must have had us take care of this mission so she didn’t have to hear us complain about our year-end bonus” you swished your legs in the water, still looking down.

“Maybe she wanted to calm us down before we stage a coup or go on strike over the broken coffee machine too” Yelena remarked sarcastically.

You giggled, “yeah, perchance”

You looked up and met Yelena’s gaze, both of you smiled knowingly.

“You can’t just say perchance!” you both say in unison. You and Yelena laugh for a good minute at the inside joke.

“Oh my goodness, you’ve been sooo serious throughout the mission, you had me worried for a second Yelena!” you remark as you move your foot to splash her with water playfully.

She wiped the water from her face and looked up to you, a reluctant smile on her face. “Sorry, I haven’t gotten a chance to talk with you like this in a long time, you know, just us two.”

You smile softly, reminiscing the late night talks you two would have in the Tower common room while everyone else was asleep. You felt so seen by Yelena during those sessions, like Yelena and you had known each other your whole lives. That had been a few months ago, before Yelena started acting a bit more serious and quiet around you, before the looks she gave you became more evident.

You met her gaze, holding it for a second too long, “I missed this” you said sincerely.

“I missed this too,” Yelena said.

You looked over at the mountainscape, the snow on the trees, glistening in the moonlight. You thought carefully about your next words.

“Why did we stop talking like this all of a sudden? ”

Yelena looked out into the landscape too, “well I figured if I started getting all sentimental with you again, I might say something embarrassing.”

You looked back at her, “aw, that's impossible, everything you say is so grounded and even if it’s a bit embarrassing for you, I don’t mind.” You both look back at each other.

“I mean, I don’t mind, as long as it’s you” you say shyly, looking around, once again trying to avoid her gaze, your face starting to feel warm.

“You blushing y/n?” Yelena said teasingly.

You swished water at her again with your hand, drenching her already wet hair. “Shut up Belova, it’s cold outside!” She laughed at your reaction to her comment.

“It seems like recently it’s either too hot or too cold outside y/n”

“Haha” you said mockingly, untying your robe, taking it off and placing it on the side of the tub.

You settled in, sitting across from where Yelena was, the boiling water soothing your tired body.

You sighed and passed your hand through your hair, moving it away from your face.

“You look very pretty tonight.” You glanced up at Yelena, it was that look again.

“Oh, um thank you, you look really good too, not that you don't look good all the time! I mean you do but you look like really really good with your hair like that and stuff.” You looked down. All of a sudden the bubbles coming up from the bottom of the tub seemed like the most interesting thing in the world.

“Thank you, I debated over keeping this hairstyle, Val suggested that I grow my hair to look less intimidating or whatever”

“Then why did you keep it?” you asked.

“I remember you told me you liked it before, when we were taking a break from training, you said it looked smooth and sharp this way.”

You had a very faint memory of that, you had commented on her hairstyle in passing before attempting to bench 120, Bucky saving you from embarrassment, lifting the bar before Yelena and Ava could turn around and see you struggling. Nonetheless, you thought that comment had flown over her head.

“I remember a bit, but that was like a year ago, I thought you would have forgotten that” you claimed.

“Well…it's tough to forget your words y/n” Yelena's hazel eyes held a quiet storm, green and gold flickering in the moonlight. The look in her eyes wasn’t just a glance, it was a moment stripped of pretense, open and bare. There was something tender in the way her gaze lingered, like she was offering a piece of herself without saying a word, hoping you'd see it, hoping you wouldn’t get nervous and look away again.

This time, you didn't look away, you couldn't.

“Yelena, I…”

You swallow, the words catching on something fragile in your chest. “You always say these things that stay with me, like during our late night talks. They're memorable, not just because they’re clever or sharp, though they are, but because you say them like you’ve been paying attention, listening. Like you actually see people. Like you see me.”

Your voice dips, low, uncertain but sincere. “And the way you care, God Yelena, you make it seem so effortless, but I know it’s not. I know it must take something out of you every time. You show up, even when it hurts, even when it’s inconvenient. You reach into the wreckage and offer comfort like it’s second nature to anyone in need, including me sometimes.”

You pause, searching her face. The storm in her eyes hasn’t passed, it’s just quieter now, watching, waiting.

“I didn’t realize how much that meant to me until lately. Until I caught myself holding on to things you said, replaying the way you look at people like they matter. The way you look at our teammates when they need it. The way you look at me, like I matter.”

Your breath trembles on the edge of something unsaid. “With you, I don’t feel like I have to hide the mess. And when you’re near, everything… softens. And after not talking to you for some time, I’ve come to realize that it means everything to me, your attention I-.” You pause thinking to yourself. “I value it Yelena, so much”

You manage a relieved smile, having lifted a weight that pressed on your chest.

“I see you, Yelena. And I think, maybe… for the first time in a while, I see myself.”

“I see you too,” she said, voice slow and vulnerable. “I always felt seen by you y/n, I always felt understood with you. The way you would look at me too, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.” She looked up at the moon, making her eyes sparkle in the light.

“You know, recently I’ve been seeing you with that certain look too Yelena.”

She looked back at you, “It’s because you… you are everything to me” Yelena says softly, practically in a whisper.

Your expression changes, your eyes widen a bit at the realization and your lips part for a second, but no sound comes out, breathless at Yelena’s words.

Yelena’s eyes look a way they had never looked before, you had both been vulnerable with each other, but not this vulnerable, never with this intensity and emotion. Yelena’s chest rose and fell as her eyes shifted down to your lips.

You both couldn’t anymore, moving towards each other, meeting at the center of the tub as you wrapped your arms around Yelena’s neck and she held you close by your waist. Looking up at each other’s eyes and lips.

You both stayed there for a minute. You're not sure who leaned in first, you or Yelena, but your lips met for a few seconds, both of you backing away for a sec, looking into each other’s eyes. The storm in Yelena’s eyes was going rogue, your heart was beating at a million miles per hour.

You kissed again, but this time with a much more desperate urgency, like this moment was all that mattered. You felt Yelena’s tongue against your bottom lip. You parted your lips slightly, inviting her in. You could taste her. She moved her hands up to your hair, grabbing the back of your head, tilting it sideways gently to gain better access to your mouth. You felt her soft tongue on yours, the contact causing shivers to run down your spine. You wrapped your legs around Yelena’s hips. She lowered her hands, pulling you closer to her by your thighs.

You broke the kiss for a second, both of you gasping for fresh air. Yelena leaned her forehead against yours. You took a deep breath in, inhaling her scent.

“Y/n I…I love y-”

Yelena was interrupted as you both heard the door open, seeing none other than John standing at the door, he looked at the both of you, wide eyed, turning back around, closing the door behind him, yelling “Ava! You owe me 20 bucks!”

You and Yelena looked at each other, water running down your faces from your passionate kiss in the tub. You both smiled and laughed.

“So much for privacy” you said.

“We should go to my bedroom for a little more privacy, ” Yelena said with a suggestive tone in her voice.

“Then lead the way Belova” you teased.

“Of Course моя любовь”

340 notes · View notes

berryispunk · 1 month ago

Text

Heatwave

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: porn with a little plot , no physical description of reader, tension, all the clichés, unprotected PinV, bad murder jokes, creampie, Frankie being a walking green flag, damsel in distress trope, sweat, stranger danger AU, vulnerable man, smut with feelings, cursing, kissing, soft! Frankie

summary: Stranded in the middle of a relentless heatwave, you take a chance on the quiet stranger who stops to help and what begins with a broken-down car ends with you asking yourself: what could possibly go wrong getting into a stranger’s home?

notes Obviously, this goes without saying—but don’t go hopping into strangers’ trucks, no matter how hot the heatwave (or the man). This is fiction, babes. Stay safe, stay smart, and let the rest of us make the reckless choices in stories only.

word count: 6,4 k words

read on ao3

It was hot. Like skin-melting-off-your-bones hot. Like the air itself was trying to suffocate you in slow, sticky increments.

You swore the sun had taken it personally when your car stuttered, groaned, and then—just to be dramatic—died on the side of the endless stretch of road that cut through the middle of absolutely nowhere. Great, this was the last thing you needed.

No service. no shade. No clue what you were supposed to do next.

So when the rumble of an old truck broke through the scorched silence and rolled into view like some dusty mirage, you tensed. Because what kind of story started like this and didn’t end up on a true crime podcast?

The truck slowed. The driver—dark shirt, cap, sunglasses, the whole ex-military drifter vibe—stuck his arm out the window. "You alright?"

You shaded your eyes with your hand, squinting up at him. "Not really. Car just… gave up on life."

He nodded once,didn’t push. “Mind if I take a look?”

You hesitated. His voice was calm, unhurried even. Something about it made you want to trust him, even though every safety podcast you’d ever listened to was screaming don’t.

But then again, the sun was still trying to kill you, and he was the first human being you’d seen in over an hour.

“Yeah, sure,” you said finally, stepping back. “I—I don’t know what happened. I was just driving and then…”

He climbed out of the truck, moving slow and deliberate like he knew you were still sizing him up. Hands where you could see them, keeping distance—polite in a way most men forgot how to be.

“Pop the hood?” he asked.

You did. He leaned in, wiped his brow, muttered something under his breath, which didn’t really sound like English.

“Damn,” he said finally, stepping back. “That thing’s cooked. Radiator’s bone dry and the belt’s shot. She’s not going anywhere.”

You stared at him. “So that’s bad, right?”

“Bad enough you’ll need a tow. And with no bars out here…” He glanced at his phone, confirming the zero-signal reality. “Well. My place is a couple miles down the road. Got AC, cold water, and a landline if you wanna call someone from there.”

You blinked, arms instinctively crossed. “Your place?”

“Yeah. I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly sheepish. “Stranger. Truck. Middle of nowhere. Not the best setup. But I swear, I’m not a serial killer. I’m just Frankie.”

“…Frankie,” you echoed.

He gave a small, crooked grin. “Yep. And you can ride in the front or the bed of the truck, your call. I won’t be offended.”

—

The interior of his truck was warm, but not boiling—which, at this point, felt like stepping into a luxury spa. The seat clung to the backs of your thighs, your jean shorts and tank top sticking to you in all the wrong places. You probably smelled even worse than you felt. The air conditioning sputtered, coughed once, then kicked in with a groaning hum that might’ve been the sweetest sound you’d heard all day.

Frankie slid behind the wheel, adjusted his cap, and gave you a quick glance. “Seatbelt?”

You clicked it into place. “Don’t wanna die in the truck of a stranger, got it.”

He huffed a quiet laugh and pulled onto the road. “I swear, this is not a habit of mine.”

“What isn’t?”

“Picking up women stranded in the desert heat. Feels like a bad plot to a worse movie.”

You tilted your head, watching him. “And what, you’re the misunderstood loner with a heart of gold?”

He smirked. “Something like that. Just didn’t feel right driving past you. That sun was out for blood.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, fanning yourself with one hand. “I was starting to see dead relatives. One of them was offering me a lemonade.��

Frankie chuckled again—soft, almost surprised. “That bad?”

“That hot,” you said, then added, “But yeah. I mean, stranger danger and all, but I figured if you wanted to kill me, you wouldn’t be doing it in broad daylight in a truck that smells faintly like motor oil and McNuggets.”

He grinned at that, a quick flash of teeth. “You’re very trusting.”

“Not really. I took a gamble. Worst case, I jump out the window.”

“That’s your plan?”

“Better than melting into a cautionary tale on the side of the road.”

Frankie shook his head, amused. “Well, I’ll try not to disappoint.”

A few beats passed. Outside, the heat shimmered against the windshield in soft, warping waves. You stole a glance at him—sunglasses still on, one hand resting on the wheel, forearms strong and tanned, dusted with old freckles and faint scars. He was broad. Solid. Definitely too strong to fight off, even if you wanted to. His dark shirt clung to his shoulders and stretched thin over biceps that looked like they’d seen their fair share of work. A few damp curls peeked out from beneath his cap, sticking to his temple and the back of his neck. His skin glistened with sweat, a slow trail likely running down his spine just like it was down yours. You quickly looked away, though a different kind of heat curled up your back—one that had nothing to do with the sun.

“So… what do you do?” you asked, mostly just to break the silence and keep your thoughts from wandering somewhere dangerous.

“I’m a pilot,” he replied without missing a beat.

You raised a brow. “Like, commercial?”

He shook his head. “Choppers. Private mostly. Medical transport sometimes.”

“Well,” you said, blinking, “that’s… cooler than I expected.”

He glanced your way. “What were you expecting?”

You gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. A mechanic. Or like... someone who definitely owns a snake.”

That made him bark a real laugh. “No snakes. Not even a dog. Just a lot of dust and one sad little cactus I keep forgetting to water.”

“I respect that. The bar is low, but you’re clearing it.”

Frankie slowed the truck as a long gravel driveway came into view, flanked by dry grass and a crooked mailbox that had seen better days ‘Home sweet home’.

You studied it—modest, sun-bleached, the kind of place that said I live here quietly and don’t bother anyone. Safe, even. Or maybe that was just him. The way he hadn’t tried to charm you, hadn’t pressed, just offered help and let you decide.

“You sure you’re not a serial killer?” you asked again, half-teasing as you shut the passenger door with a solid thud.

Frankie opened his own door, glancing at you over the roof of the truck. “Nah,” he said, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. “Those guys usually keep their trucks a lot cleaner.”

You stifled a laugh as you followed him down the narrow path to the weathered veranda, hesitating just slightly as he stepped ahead and pushed the front door open, holding it there with one hand.

“You can stay outside if you still don’t trust me,” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth, “but there’s no AC.”

You tilted your head, arching a skeptical brow. “I can scream loud.”

Frankie huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. “You can try. Nearest neighbors are two miles in the opposite direction. Good luck with that.”

And somehow—maybe it was the heatstroke talking, maybe something else entirely—you stepped past him, brushing close as you crossed the threshold into his home. He didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Just stood there, holding the door open and watching you with that calm, unreadable expression.

The blast of cool air hit you like a wave. You let out a shaky exhale you hadn’t realized you were holding.

It was a modest space—cool, dim, with mismatched furniture and the faint scent of cedar and dust. Lived-in. Quiet. The kind of place that shouldn’t have felt safe but somehow did.

You turned just enough to catch him watching you. Not in a creepy way—nothing leering or obvious. But his gaze flicked downward, slow, lingering for a breath too long before dragging back up. Your flushed cheeks, your throat, the way your damp tank top clung to your skin. You caught the flicker of something in his eyes before he cleared his throat and glanced away, the back of his hand brushing over his jaw.

“I’ve got a landline in the kitchen,” he said, voice lower now, rougher. “You can use it to call a tow. Water’s cold, if you need that first.”

You nodded, unsure if the heat curling in your stomach was from the weather or the way he’d looked at you—like he was trying not to. Like he wasn’t sure if he should.

And maybe you weren’t sure either.

—

The kitchen was simple—faded tile, humming fridge, a fan turning slow in the corner. It smelled faintly like coffee grounds and the ghost of something fried days ago. You leaned against the counter, trying to ground yourself, trying to breathe, while Frankie crossed the room, opening a cabinet with the kind of ease that made it impossible not to stare at the way his shoulders moved under that dark shirt.

He grabbed a glass, filled it from the filter jug in the fridge, and turned toward you. And then—because of course—your fingers brushed as he handed it over.

It was nothing. A blink of a moment but it hit like lightning.

You flinched just slightly, not from fear—no, worse—from the jolt of heat that zipped up your spine like your nerve endings had been rewired just for him.

“Thanks,” you muttered, trying not to look at his mouth. Or his hands. Or the tiny bead of sweat trailing down the side of his neck like it had a personal vendetta against your willpower.

“No problem,” he said, but his voice was different now—softer, rougher, like he felt it too. His gaze lingered for half a second too long on your lips before he looked away, scratching at the stubble on his jaw like he was grounding himself.

You gulped the water even though you weren’t really thirsty. Just needed something to do. Something to cool down the low, traitorous ache curling in your belly.

You were in the middle of nowhere. In a stranger’s house. You should be thinking pepper spray, exits, license plate. You should be thinking about true crime documentaries and every warning your mother ever gave you. But all you could think about was how good his voice sounded in that heat-slow drawl. How big his hands were. How close he’d been when you walked past him at the door—and how much closer you suddenly wanted him to be now.

God, where the hell was your survival instinct? What was actually wrong with you?

You set the glass down with more force than necessary, stepping back like that would fix the wild electricity crackling between your bodies.

Frankie’s eyes flicked to yours. “You good?”

No,not even close.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Just... dizzy. Heat, probably.”

He nodded slowly, but the way his jaw ticked said he didn’t quite believe you.

“Phone’s right there,” he said, nodding toward the corner of the kitchen where an old beige landline sat on a small table, next to a pile of unopened mail.

You moved toward it like it was salvation. Like you hadn’t just had a full-blown hormonal short-circuit in front of a stranger who somehow smelled like sweat and soap and the worst idea you’ve ever had.

And you already kind of hated how much you wanted more.

—

You dialed the number slowly, each button click loud in the quiet kitchen. The landline cord curled like a snake between your fingers as you pressed the receiver to your ear, listening to the endless ringing on the other end.

Finally—finally—a crackly voice answered. You gave them your location, your best guess at the mile marker, and explained, as patiently as possible, that your car had chosen the worst time and place to die.

There was a pause. Then: “Yeah, we can send someone, but it’s gonna be a few hours. Maybe three, maybe more. We’ve got another pickup ahead of you and a guy out sick today.”

You blinked. “A few—?”

“I mean, you can wait in the heat if you want, but…”

You glanced toward the hallway, where you could hear the low hum of the fan and the distant squeak of floorboards as Frankie moved. You were still warm, still too aware of your skin and the way the air felt against it, but you weren’t dying anymore. Not of heatstroke, anyway.

“Right,” you said, sighing into the phone. “No, that’s fine. I’ll wait.”

You hung up slower than you meant to. The quiet returned, thick and a little heavy. You stood there for a second, staring at the phone like maybe it would ring again and let you off the hook.

It didn’t.

Footsteps padded back into the kitchen, and Frankie leaned against the doorframe with a bottle of water in his hand. He looked casual, but not quite relaxed—like he was waiting for the verdict.

You lifted your gaze to meet his. “Guess I’ll be around for a while.”

His eyebrows shot up under the visor of his cap. “Yeah?”

But it wasn’t just surprise. There was something else—something quicker and warmer that flickered across his face before he could stop it. Relief, maybe. Or excitement. Whatever it was, it passed too fast to name, but it hit.

He took a slow sip from his water bottle and nodded, trying to play it cool. “Well. Got snacks. Cold drinks. Fan’s got two settings, and I make a mean grilled cheese if you’re hungry.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Is that your way of saying you’re not going to murder me and bury me in the backyard?”

He smirked. “Nah. I don’t even have a shovel.”

“Good to know,” you said, but your voice came out lighter than before. Easier. Against your better judgment, you started to relax.

Still, some part of your brain—the logical one, the one that hadn’t short-circuited in the kitchen a minute ago—kept whispering: what the hell are you doing? You don’t know this man.

But god help you, you were starting to want to.

—

The grilled cheese sizzled in the pan, golden edges crisping just right as the scent of butter filled the kitchen. Frankie worked quietly, a butter knife in one hand and a casual, easy grace in the way he moved.

You sat on a barstool, watching him from across the counter, occasionally sipping the water he’d refreshed for you. Outside, the heat still pulsed like a warning—but inside, things had cooled. The hum of the fan, the faint clatter of pans, his low chuckle at something you'd said—it all folded into something that felt weirdly good. Too good definitely given the circumstances.

“So, you do this for all your stranded victims?” you asked, chin propped on your hand. “Cook them grilled cheese, turn the AC on high, lull them into a false sense of security?”

He shot you a sideways glance. “Only the ones who look like they’ll fight back if I try anything.”

You snorted. “You’re damn right.”

He plated the sandwiches and handed you yours, brushing your fingers again, whether on purpose or not, you couldn’t tell. You pretended not to notice the warmth it left behind.

You took a bite—and damn. Buttery. Perfectly crisp. Just the right amount of cheese. You groaned in delight. Groaned.

Frankie laughed, that low rumble again, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“You okay over there?” he asked, eyes bright.

“This is stupidly good,” you said with your mouth half full. “If you were trying to win me over with grilled cheese, congratulations you succeeded.”

“Not my worst plan,” he said with a smirk.

And just like that, the conversation slipped into something softer. You talked about the heat, your cursed road trip, his work, how different it must be to fly helicopters compared to being grounded out here. At some point, you mentioned a movie you liked and he lit up—had seen it too, quoted a line that made you laugh until your stomach hurt.

And in that moment, it all felt so light. So easy. You forgot how awful the day had started. Forgot how ridiculous it was to feel this calm in a stranger’s kitchen—and almost forgot that you weren’t supposed to want to stay.

Which is probably why it slipped out, without filter, without warning.

“So… when’s the woman of the house coming home?”

The question hung there for a beat too long.

Frankie didn’t flinch, didn’t frown. But his gaze dropped, mouth twitching slightly like he was thinking of something that still lived behind his ribs.

“There’s none,” he said quietly. “Not anymore at least.”

You didn’t say anything, not right away.

He reached for his glass, the corner of his mouth tugging faintly—not quite a smile, not quite a grimace.

“Too much work being in a relationship with me. Or maybe just… too much of me, period. I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Some people are easier to love than others. I don’t think I’m one of them.”

That hit harder than it should’ve. The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like it wasn’t up for debate.

You leaned forward slightly, fingers tightening around your glass.

“I don’t know much about you,” you said, voice quieter now, softer, “but from what I’ve seen so far? You showed up when someone needed help. You kept your distance, asked permission, didn’t push. You made grilled cheese and didn’t even poison it.”

That earned the faintest smile.

You met his eyes. “That doesn’t sound like ‘too much’ to me.”

He held your gaze for a long moment, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the unexpected kindness. Then he nodded, slowly, and said, “Thanks.”

You both went quiet after that. Not awkward—just still. Like the air between you had shifted somehow and this strange little bubble you’d landed in wasn’t just a passing thing.

—

The sun was setting, bleeding orange and gold across the sky, washing the porch in that soft, late-hour light that made everything look gentler than it really was. The heat had broken, but it still clung in the corners, thick in the air between you.

You sat beside Frankie on the porch steps, a glass of water sweating in your hand, his knee just barely brushing yours every now and then. The cicadas had started their song, the air was still, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

It should’ve felt peaceful, but it didn’t. It felt like waiting.

Frankie leaned back on his palms, head tilted toward the fading light. “Always quiet out here,” he said, voice low and a little hoarse. “Too quiet, sometimes.”

You glanced over at him. He looked tired in a way that went deeper than his muscles—like someone who didn’t get touched much, didn’t get looked at much, not really. Not the kind of looking that made you feel seen.

“Do you like it?” you asked.

He took a moment before answering. “Some days, yeah. Others…” He shrugged. “Gets lonely.”

Your heart did something stupid at that. The kind of twist that made you shift closer without thinking. You didn’t know what you were doing. Only that the weight between you had changed again—heavier now. Magnetic.

He looked at you, really looked at you. His eyes slow and dark and searching, lingering too long on your mouth before he caught himself and looked away. But it was too late. The current had shifted.

You swallowed hard. “Frankie...”

He turned back to you, and something cracked open behind his eyes. Something that looked like hunger. Not the casual kind. The aching kind. And then—like the tension finally snapped—he leaned in to you.

The kiss wasn’t soft, it wasn’t careful.

It was heat and need and the crash of everything you both had been holding back all day. His hand cupped the side of your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek like he was trying to memorize the shape of your face. And then his mouth was on yours—urgent, desperate, tasting of heat and faint salt and the kind of longing that digs under your ribs and doesn’t let go.

He kissed you like he’d forgotten what it felt like to be wanted. Like he didn’t believe it until this moment.

And god, you matched it. Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. His other hand slid to your hip, grounding you, holding you like he needed the contact to stay present.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathing hard, foreheads brushing, Frankie didn’t say anything for a long moment.

But the look on his face was enough, like he hadn’t expected this. Like maybe, deep down, he’d needed it more than he realized.

“Shit,” he whispered, more to himself than you, his lip twitching into a disbelieving smile.

And all you could do was nod, because same.

You were both breathless, the kind of quiet that only comes after something irreversible.

Frankie’s hand was still on your face, his thumb just barely brushing your cheekbone. His forehead rested against yours, but he didn’t move to kiss you again. Not yet.

Instead, his voice came low. Careful, still catching his breath.

“You okay?”

Those two words—so simple—hit you harder than the kiss. Not because you weren’t. But because in the middle of all this heat, this pull, this insane, reckless moment he still made room for you. Still needed to know you wanted this, too.

And something in you cracked right open.

You didn’t answer with words, you just moved.

One knee between his thighs, then the other, climbing into his lap like gravity had stopped bothering to work. Your glass of water tipped over somewhere in the motion, rolling across the porch with a dull clatter, long forgotten.

Frankie stiffened—just for a second—like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Like maybe you’d disappear if he moved too fast. He looked up at you, wide-eyed beneath the shadow of his cap, his hands hovering in the air like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you again.

But you were already there, thighs bracketing his hips, fingers curled in the soft fabric of his shirt, heart pounding in a rhythm that matched his own. And when his hands finally settled on your waist, it felt less like a choice and more like coming home.

“You sure?” he murmured, voice wrecked.

You nodded, mouth brushing his. “I’m sure.”

That was all it took.

His grip tightened—just a little—as he pulled you in, kissed you again like he was falling apart at the seams and you were the only thing holding him together. There was no finesse to it, no practiced rhythm. Just pure, hungry need, all tongue and teeth and quiet groans swallowed between lips.

His hands slid up your sides, fingers dragging slowly along the hem of your top like he was memorizing every inch, every curve. You could feel him breathing harder, his chest rising against yours, his body trembling with restraint.

This wasn’t careful anymore. It was a damn breaking.

But even in the chaos of it—his lips, your fingers in his hair, your hips rocking forward without meaning to—there was that thing about Frankie. That steadiness. That unspoken promise in every kiss and every touch.

His hands gripped your waist like he was still afraid you might vanish—like maybe you were a dream the heat conjured, and any sudden movement would wake him up.

You didn’t stop him.

His lips were rough in the best way, scraping against yours, a scrape that softened when his nose bumped yours, when he paused to kiss your cheekbone, the corner of your mouth, the edge of your jaw like he was tracing a map back to something he thought he’d forgotten.

The air had cooled, finally, but your skin was flushed, burning. Goosebumps prickled down your arms and legs, not from cold but from the contrast—his warmth against you, the breeze licking at damp skin.

His fingers slid beneath your top. Just a little. Just enough to touch bare skin, to rest against the dip of your back like he needed to feel you. His hands weren’t greedy, weren’t rushed. They moved slowly and reverently.

And god, that wrecked you.

Because it had been too long since someone touched you like this. Like you were wanted, not just convenient, like you were something to savor.

Frankie kissed you again, slower now, more careful—as if the first round had burned through his restraint and left only truth behind. And that truth was this: he needed this as badly as you did. Maybe more.

You rocked forward in his lap, the friction sending a gasp tumbling from your lips. His head dropped against your shoulder, hands tightening on your hips.

“Jesus,” he breathed, voice wrecked, “you feel so fuckin’ good…”

You arched into him, your hands sliding under his shirt to find warm skin—his ribs, his chest, the fine trail of hair leading downward. Every inch of him was solid, trembling under your touch, like this was all unraveling too fast for him to keep up.

“I shouldn’t want this,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “We barely know each other…”

His breath hitched. “Doesn’t change how it feels.”

And god—he was right. This wasn’t about logic. This was about need. Two people left out in the heat too long, blistered raw from life, finding something in each other that soothed. That satisfied ,that ached in all the right ways.

You reached for the hem of your top, and he caught your wrists gently, eyes searching yours, checking in.

“Are you really sure?” he murmured.

You nodded. “I want this, want you.”

His restraint shattered at that—something behind his eyes giving way completely. He helped you pull your top over your head, his fingers brushing the curves of your sides as more of you was bared to the open air.

You shivered, and his hands moved instantly—up your arms, across your back—until the pads of his thumbs traced the soft curve beneath your breasts. His eyes followed his hands with a kind of reverent hunger, like he couldn’t decide where to look first, until he dipped his head and began pressing soft, wet kisses across your chest.

First one breast, then the other—slow and unhurried.

His tongue swirled around your nipple before his mouth closed around it, sucking gently, then biting just hard enough to make your breath hitch and your fingers tighten in his curls. His cap was gone now, tossed somewhere across the floorboards, forgotten in the heat of it all.

You let out a sound—obscene, desperate—as he released your nipple with a slick pop, only to move to the other side and give it the same treatment. His mouth worshipped you, his hands grounding you, and the air between you thickened with every ragged breath and needy sound.

More clothes were peeled away in rushed, uneven pulls—breathless and awkward, laughter slipping out when something caught or tangled—until you both were bare. You should’ve felt vulnerable. Embarrassed, maybe. Letting a man you’d only just met see you like this, but you didn’t. Not when his eyes were on you like that.

His mouth was still on you, moving between slow kisses and gentle sucks, like he wasn’t in any rush—like this part, this worship, meant something. You writhed beneath the weight of it, thighs tightening around his hips, your body instinctively pressing down against the growing strain of his arousal beneath you.

Then his lips slowed again. Just for a moment.

He kissed the underside of your breast. The center of your sternum. Up, up, until his mouth was at your throat, his breath fanning over your flushed skin.

And then he whispered it, right there against your pulse, as if the words were too big to look you in the eye while saying them.

"So fuckin’ beautiful..."

It wasn’t flirty or performative; it was real. Like the words had clawed their way up from somewhere deep in his chest and spilled out before he could catch them.

Your breath caught. Not because of his touch—but because of how he said it. Like maybe he hadn’t said it to anyone in a long time, like maybe he hadn’t felt it in a long time.

You pulled his face up to yours, thumb brushing his cheek, your heart clanging in your chest. His pupils were blown wide, his lips kiss-bruised, and you swore he looked almost overwhelmed.

“Frankie,” you whispered, and his name tasted like want and wonder and everything you weren’t supposed to be feeling this fast.

He kissed you again—slower this time. Less frantic. His hands sliding down your body, anchoring at your hips as if grounding himself in the fact that you were really here. That this was really happening.

And god, the way he touched you—like you weren’t just someone he wanted to fuck. You were someone he wanted to remember. Every sweep of his palms down your thighs, every graze of his knuckles along your waist, felt like it came from someone starved for tenderness. Someone who hadn’t been looked at like this in a long time. Someone who wasn’t used to being touched like he was safe to want.

You rocked your hips against him, and he groaned deep like he hadn’t expected you to feel that good, like he’d been holding back so hard it was physically hurting him.

His head dropped against your shoulder again.

“Fuck,” he breathed, raw and low. “I’ve missed this... being wanted like this. Feeling like this.”

You didn’t have words—not really—so you kissed him instead. Hard and deep. Your hands threading back through his hair, pulling him closer, and he went willingly. Eager, starving.

And when you finally sank down onto him, slow and deep, his body meeting yours like they’d been made to fit—made for this—a curse tumbled from his lips as his eyes squeezed shut.

“Dios… you feel perfect.”

You moaned, unable to hold it back. Your whole body lit up with sensation—his hands, his hips, his lips at your jaw and shoulder, the way he moved inside you like he didn’t want to miss a single second of it.

This wasn’t just sex. It was something aching and needed and a little terrifying in how fast it settled under your skin.

And through it all, he kept holding you like he meant it. Like he was letting you back into some quiet, hidden part of himself that he thought no one wanted anymore.

You moved with him, slow at first, savoring every stretch, every inch of heat and friction that built between you like a rising tide. Your hands roamed his shoulders, his chest, clinging to the solid strength of him beneath your fingertips. His arms wrapped tightly around your waist, guiding your hips, grounding you even as the pleasure started to blur the edges of the world.

Every shift of your body, every rock of your hips, sent sparks racing up your spine. He filled you so perfectly, so deeply, it almost hurt—and yet you never wanted it to stop. The porch creaked beneath you, the air clung to your skin, and somewhere in the distance, the last of the daylight slipped away. But all you could feel was him. The heat of his breath against your throat. The way he whispered your name like a prayer. The desperate restraint in every trembling muscle.

You clenched around him without meaning to, overwhelmed, close—so fucking close.

He groaned low in his chest, jaw tightening as his hands dug into your hips helplessly. “Fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “I can’t—you gotta come first—”

But you were already there.

Your release crashed over you in waves, shattering and radiant, pulling a moan from your lips that was all heat and relief and want. You clung to him as you came, fingers digging into his shoulders, your body shaking as you fluttered around him.

And that was what broke him.

He let out a guttural sound, deep and raw, his hips stuttering beneath yours as he fought it—fought it like it mattered, like holding out meant something even if it hurt.

“Frankie,” you whispered, pressing your chest to his, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other smoothing over the tense line of his spine. “It’s okay. I’ve got you. Let go.”

He buried his face against your shoulder with a choked breath, and then he did—his whole body trembling as he came hard inside you, deep and pulsing, his hands holding you tight like he couldn’t bear to let you go. You felt every twitch, every wave of release, his moan muffled in the crook of your neck as he spilled into you, full and warm and real.

You held him through it, breasts pressed against his chest and your mouth brushing his temple as he finally went still.

“…Shit,” he whispered finally, lips curving faintly.

You laughed—breathless, stunned, heart racing fast. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

The porch was quiet again. The cicadas still hummed. The air still hung heavy around both of you but the silence that followed was warm. Heavy with afterglow and something neither of you had words for yet. You were still tangled together, chest to chest, when Frankie lifted his head, brushing a damp curl from your forehead.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low and hoarse.

You nodded, lips twitching into a soft, tired smile. “Better than okay.”

He let out a small, breathless laugh and pressed a kiss to your temple. “There’s a shower inside, if you want it. I’ll get you a shirt.”

The idea of warm water and clean clothes sounded like heaven.

You followed him inside, still barefoot, still sore in all the best ways. In the bathroom, he handed you a soft, worn t-shirt—faded gray, sleeves a little too long, collar stretched. You swore you could smell him in the fabric: cedar, sweat, and something that felt dangerously close like home.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp and skin warm, he was leaning against the kitchen counter with two bottles of water and his cap back on, like the man who had just undone you on his porch hadn’t ruined you completely an hour ago.

—

He drove you back to the car without saying much. But it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was full of glances and half-smiles and the hum of something still very alive between you.

When you pulled up, the tow truck was already there—and the driver looked like a walking red flag. Greasy smile, mirrored sunglasses even though the sun was almost gone, and a tone that set your teeth on edge. He barely acknowledged you, speaking only to Frankie as he started hooking up the car.

You stayed close to him, instinctively, and he didn’t move away. His presence alone was enough to keep the guy from saying anything sleazy, though he still looked like someone who probably had zip ties in his glove box.

You nudged Frankie with your elbow, turning to him with a mischievous grin. “Thanks for not murdering me.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, one side of his mouth tugging up into the most boyish, crooked smile you’d seen all day—the kind that undid you a little more, even now.

“Anytime,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But just for the record, I think I came out more vulnerable here.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t still steal your truck,” you teased.

He laughed again, and god, the sound of it stuck to your ribs.

You hesitated. Then reached into your bag, pulled out your phone, and handed it to him silently. No question, no explanation.

Frankie raised an eyebrow, but took it without a word. His fingers tapped against the screen, slow and sure. When he handed it back, he smirked. “Gonna text soon, yeah? Just to make sure you didn’t end up dead.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you slipped the phone into your bag. “If I don’t text, check the backyard for shallow graves.”

He grinned wide, dimples flashing. “Deal.”

The tow truck started pulling away, your car finally in tow. You turned back toward him, unsure what to say, unsure how to say it.

But he just gave you a nod, a little wave, and climbed into his truck. One last glance through the open window.

“Talk soon?” he asked, voice a little softer this time, hopeful.

“Yeah,” you said, holding his gaze. “Talk soon.”

And then he was gone.

—

It wasn’t even an hour later. You were back in a motel, hair still damp from the shower, phone resting on the nightstand. The quiet pressed in around you—cooler now, but lonelier than it had any right to feel after a day like that.

You stared at your phone for a beat too long, debating. Then your fingers moved, and before you could overthink it, you hit send.

You: Sorry, can’t text. Currently busy plotting your murder. Turns out I am the serial killer.

Read.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Frankie: You planning to disappear on me now, or do I get another shot at surviving you?

You smiled, fingers already moving.

You: Depends. You always this charming with strange women who hijack your porch?

Frankie: Only the ones who ruin me a little in the best way. Maybe next time, we can meet somewhere else—if you’re up to it? I can be a gentleman if I want to.

That made you huff a laugh, the sound easing out of you like breath after holding it too long.

You sat with it for a second. Not the question. Not even the suggestion. But the invitation. The hope tucked inside it.

You: Don’t be a gentleman. Just be you. I’ll text you when I get home.

Frankie: Looking forward to it already.

And maybe you were already in too deep. But you didn’t mind, not one bit.

thanks for reading 💌

main masterlist

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#frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier fanfiction #pwp fics #berryfiction #fanfiction writer #frankie morales x you #smut with feelings #one shot #x reader smut #reader insert

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redvexillum · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter 1 - Crackling Silence

A/N: So, you guys voted for bittersweet/cucking Vox in my polls. I will say, I didn't get in as much cuckolding as I would like (wow, not a sentence I thought I would ever write) but, the story sort of took off without my consent. So...🤷‍♀️

SUMMARY: In a world of static and sin, who’s really tuning in? You cuck Vox, your husband, with Alastor.

TAGS/WARNING: f!reader, married to vox, vox does love reader, infidelity, non-sex repulsed alastor, alastor is in hell for a reason, soft alastor, jerk alastor, possessive, no use of y/n, vox tries, reader tries, alastor being alastor

Cold.

Not the kind that bites at your skin or makes you shiver beneath the covers, but the kind that creeps inward, quiet and invisible, until you're numb. Until you can't feel anything but the aching absence of warmth.

You didn’t let it in. You couldn’t. Because the moment you acknowledged that hollowness, you were certain it would swallow you whole. And you wouldn’t survive that.

Not again.

“Vox…” you whispered, curling closer to him in bed, craving connection. Your hand slipped over his chest and drifted up, fingertips brushing the sharp edges of his collar. Slowly, they hovered near the top button, aching to undo it.

But his attention was elsewhere.

Vox lay beside you, propped slightly against the pillows, the glow from his screen-face painting shifting colours across the sheets. His expression wasn’t really there—just a still image of static and a loading icon in the corner. His eyes flicked rapidly as he scrolled, absorbed in whatever latest disaster needed cleaning up.

He didn’t even look at you.

A hand came up lazily to still your fingers. Not harsh, not cold, but detached.

Programmed.

“Not tonight, doll,” he muttered, voice glitching faintly at the edges from exhaustion. With a groan, the screen dimmed slightly as he flicked through the final updates. “Fucking Val turned the club scene into a bloodbath again. PR’s eating me alive.”

He tossed the phone toward the nightstand without care. The screen on his face shifted into a dimmer setting, now displaying the VoxTek logo with a sleep-cycle timer ticking in the corner.

You looked at him, watching the flickering pixels shift in gentle pulses across his face. Occasionally, he gave you that vintage smile—the one he wore when you first met, all charm and 1930s swagger—but not tonight.

Not in years.

It had been fifty years since you reunited here in Hell. A full lifetime, and then some. You’d stood beside him through fire and fame. You had been his before he was this.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you asked quietly, leaning in, desperate for purpose, for acknowledgment. For a role beyond ornamental.

He didn't respond right away. Just static. Then his screen blinked to a grainy old test card—the kind you used to see when the broadcast ended.

Finally, his voice came soft and practiced: “You just sit pretty, baby.” A chuckle—recorded, reused, hollow. “You’re already doing more than enough.”

Then he powered into standby.

No goodnight kiss. No shared moment. Just the gentle flicker of the logo bouncing across the wall like a ghost.

You lay there stiffly, your hands close to his chest but not quite touching. The synthetic hum from his body filled the silence.

He had work tomorrow. Meetings. Branding. Control.

You had… silence.

Loneliness wasn’t loud. It was this: a life of luxury with no meaning.

He’d given you everything money could touch. But not himself. Not really. And now, lying in bed next to a man with a screen for a face and a heart somewhere buried under circuits and ambition, you realized—

You had never truly left the mortal world.

You had just found a prettier kind of purgatory.

Still, you smiled, mechanically.

You closed your eyes.

You were lucky. You were loved.

You were fine.

After everything, he loved you. He cared for you. That should have been enough. What more could you possibly want than a love like his, steady and unshaken through decades of sin and silence? The chrome wedding ring on your finger glinted under the warm lights of your home, a promise etched in silver. Proof of his devotion. Proof that you belonged to each other.

Your days bled into one another like paint smudged on canvas, soft and indistinguishable, a blur of sameness stretched out across eternity.

And you told yourself it was alright.

You told yourself this peace, this routine, was happiness.

You told yourself you were content.

Until he arrived.

Until your calm was disturbed, your still waters rippled by a crimson figure whose grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. The moment he entered your home, your world turned on its axis, and you didn’t even realize what had shifted until it was too late. Until you found your heart slipping, quietly and traitorously, into someone else’s hands. Not your husband’s.

It all began like any other quiet afternoon. You sat perched on the velvet chaise, a tabloid in hand filled with celebrity gossip you barely skimmed. The headlines screamed scandals and drama from Hell’s elite, but you only half-read, half-cared. The TV murmured in the background as the latest anchors recited tragic news and manufactured outrage. You had your nails buffed to a shine, your hair pinned and curled, your outfit carefully chosen. Everything about you was polished, pristine, perfect. Just the way Vox liked it.

You were doing what he always asked of you.

Sitting pretty.

Then came the sound of the front door unlocking. You stiffened in surprise. He was early. He never came home early. Your heart fluttered, the weight in your chest lifting with unexpected joy. Quickly, you stood, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from your dress and fixing strands of hair that were already in place. You felt a rush of warmth bloom in your chest.

“Honey?” you called, your voice lilting with anticipation, lips pulling into a bright, genuine smile.

Vox smiled in return, arms open in invitation. You stepped forward, eager, quickening your pace. But you stopped short.

There was someone else with him.

You straightened instinctively, composure settling over your frame like a mask. Just as you had been taught. You folded your hands neatly and lowered your lashes with practiced elegance.

“Hello,” you greeted softly, your tone carefully polite.

The stranger behind Vox stood tall in a striking outfit composed of deep reds and faded blacks. His coat had frayed edges, worn with time and travel, and in his gloved hands he held a microphone staff. His hair was a sharp bob, red as dried blood with black-tipped ends, and two small tufts rose from his crown, shaped almost like ears. Black bones curled slightly above his head like little antlers. His grin stretched wide, showing off yellowed teeth, and the single red lens of his monocle glimmered under the chandelier light.

“Why, hello there!” he greeted with a voice unlike anything you’d ever heard. It crackled and echoed, layered with static, like the old radio sets from the living world. His tone was cheerful, but there was something beneath it…something off, something familiar.

“Doll, this is Alastor,” Vox said, resting a hand gently on your shoulder before placing a formal kiss against your cheek. “He’s going to be my new business partner. You’ll be seeing him around more often.”

You nodded, lips curving politely. “I see.”

It didn’t really matter. You were never part of his business world anyway. Partners came and went, most of them names you only learned after they’d made themselves too familiar with your liquor cabinet or your living room furniture. Still, you had asked Vox once to introduce you, just so you wouldn't keep being startled by unannounced guests like Velvette or Valentino dropping in unexpectedly.

Better to know the devil at your door than mistake him for a stranger.

“Now, why don’t you rest up, doll, while I have a word with him,” Vox said with a practiced grin, his hand trailing lightly down your arm, the gesture as gentle as it was distant.

You would rather not rest. That’s all you ever did.

Rest. Wait. Watch.

You longed to stay just a little longer—to be near him, to catch whatever scrap of warmth he still offered. But before you could even open your mouth to protest, another voice interrupted.

“Oh, come now, old pal,” Alastor chimed in cheerfully, his tone dancing on the edge of mockery. “It’s not every day I get to see the Canary in the flesh, haha!”

You blinked—and somehow, he was standing right beside you, his grin wide and sharp. His eyes, red as dried blood, narrowed as the black slit of his pupils thinned and dilated like a predator sighting prey. He stared into you, and something cold and feral coiled deep in your stomach.

The name struck you like a slap.

Canary.

You hadn’t heard that name in decades. Not since…

“Y-you know my stage name?” you asked, your voice barely more than breath, cracking with surprise and disbelief.

“Why, but of course!” Alastor laughed, spinning his cane in a slow flourish. The smooth movement clashed against the creeping unease in the room. “You rose to fame quicker than a bullet in a speakeasy back in our day, didn’t you? A little starlet with lungs made of gold.” He turned to Vox, eyes gleaming. “Right, old chum?”

You saw it then. The flicker. The slight tightening of Vox’s smile, the ghost of irritation flashing behind the glass of his screen.

“Right,” Vox echoed, the word stiff and brittle as ice cracking underfoot.

Alastor tilted his head just slightly, his expression curious, taunting. “I must say, I’m surprised, Vox. I would’ve thought your lovely wife,” his voice purred on the word lovely, while his hand slid along the small of your back—subtle and hidden from your husband’s view, “would be part of your little entertainment empire by now.”

Vox laughed, short and sharp, a sound too pointed to be sincere. “No,” he snapped, his screen dimming for a moment, the glitch almost imperceptible. “She’s… frail.”

The word struck you in the gut.

“Oh?” Alastor cocked his head further, and you winced at the crack of vertebrae echoing like a gunshot. His hand, unnervingly steady, remained on your back. His grip wasn’t firm, yet it lingered—a reminder. A question. A threat.

You should have moved. Should have stepped away. But your legs refused to obey. The air felt too thick, as if you were sinking into tar. You weren’t sure what was happening anymore, only that something in the room had shifted.

The tension curled around you like smoke, choking and invisible.

“The Canary is dead,” Vox hissed, his tone venomous, as if even the name tasted sour on his tongue. He turned his head slowly toward you. “Right, doll?”

Your hands twisted together in your lap, knuckles paling. His meaning was all too clear.

You nodded, quickly, too quickly. “Th-that’s right.” The lie stung as it passed your lips. “I—I retired a long time ago. I wasn’t really that talented to begin with.”

Your smile cracked. It felt glued on. Plastic.

Because if you had been talented—truly talented—you wouldn’t have been an embarrassment. Vox wouldn’t have needed to shield you from the industry, from the spotlight. You wouldn’t have vanished from the headlines as quickly as you appeared.

If you had been more than a novelty… maybe Vox would still want you. Need you. See you.

But you weren’t.

You weren’t enough.

“What a shame,” Alastor murmured, and for a moment, his voice lost its playful lilt. There was something soft beneath it. Almost mournful.

Your shoulders tensed as you dared glance up at him. His red eyes were glowing faintly, pulsing like coals in low firelight.

“I still listen to your debut,” he said, almost in reverence. “The one where you blended jazz with that uptown swing. Haunting, really.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

No one had spoken of your music in years. No one remembered. Not even Vox.

But Alastor had.

There was a beat of silence… then warmth bloomed in your chest, spreading slowly like light through cracks in cold stone. You hadn’t felt it in so long. Not this flutter of being acknowledged. And that feeling? It mortified you.

Your cheeks flushed hot, and you quickly ducked your head, letting your hair fall forward in a curtain to hide your reaction. This wasn’t right. That warmth came from the wrong man’s words, spoken while your husband stood only steps away.

Vox snorted, the glow on his screen face flickering with humour. “Please,” he scoffed, “the future is now. Everyone knows EDM and trap music dominate the scene.”

Alastor tilted his head, unconcerned, and replied in a tone as light as air. “You do enjoy your little mechanical contraptions, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Vox said, puffing up with his usual showmanship. His voice grew louder, filled with that signature Vox-brand flair. “It’s the future! And now that you’re on my team, we’ll take over all of Hell, mark my words!”

You drifted out of the conversation like a balloon loosed from its string. You no longer felt present. That lingering hand on your back—Alastor’s—felt too intimate, too foreign. Quietly, you shifted away, the movement small, barely perceptible.

Your fingers wrung together as you searched for something, anything to say. “C-could I get you both something to drink? Tea, perhaps?”

“Coffee would be lovely, dear,” Alastor responded immediately, his tone syrupy and polite.

“Coffee for me too, baby,” Vox added, his screen flashing with a soft pink hue. “And those cookies you baked the other day? They were delicious.”

Your heart leapt. “Y-you tried them?” you asked, voice lifting with pure delight.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly. “Anything you make is the most delicious.”

A smile burst across your face, warm and genuine. “I’ll get them right away!”

You hurried to the kitchen, joy bubbling inside you. You were never a natural in the kitchen—Vox knew that—but you had worked so hard to learn. For him. You’d married him when you were alive, yet fate had robbed you of the chance to live as his perfect wife. So now, in this eternal second chance, you wanted to give him the life he deserved. To be his soft place to land. To make his burdens easier.

You poured the water into the kettle, the soft sound of it filling the silence. The scent of roasted beans hung in the air as you reached for the coffee grounds, heart still dancing with joy… until a soft crackle stopped you.

The unmistakable sound of static.

You turned around, instinctively clutching the edge of the counter. Alastor stood in the doorway, one foot already inside the kitchen.

A shiver crawled along your spine.

Still, you smiled—pleasant, practiced. “Hello… may I help you?”

Alastor strode inside like he owned the room. His fingers trailed lazily across the counter, collecting invisible dust. He glanced at his fingertip, then turned toward you, closing the space between you both until barely an inch remained.

“I thought I could lend a hand,” he said, his voice a murmur of mock innocence. “Old Voxy sounds a little… busy, doesn’t he?”

Even from the kitchen, you could hear Vox’s voice carrying from the other room, sharp and strained with frustration. Probably another call with Valentino. He always left Vox in a sour mood.

“There’s no need,” you said gently, your smile holding despite the unease growing in your stomach. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“I’m more than comfortable right here,” he said brightly. His tone was cheerful, but there was something off about it, like laughter hiding a snarl.

He stepped just a hair closer. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the subtle static in the air that followed him like smoke.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “It’s not every day I get to see the Canary in the flesh.”

His grin stretched wide. Wider than it should. The edges of his lips pulled far, slicing through his cheeks with that too-sharp smile.

Your breath hitched. Somewhere deep in your chest, something began to unravel.

“W-were you a fan?” you asked, voice hesitant and low, like a bird afraid to sing in the presence of something much larger. You hadn’t spoken to anyone new in what felt like an eternity. It was always just you and Vox. Always just the two of you, in this delicate little world he made.

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter. “Something like that.”

That was all he offered.

No elaboration. No smile lines around his eyes. Just that vague, open-ended nothing. The kind of answer that left too much space for your thoughts to wander. You turned away quickly, grateful for the small whistle of the kettle signalling it was done. You reached for the mugs, ready to distract yourself with the familiar motions of service.

But before your fingers could even brush the handle, there was a sharp snap.

In a blink, a full tray—coffee, cream, sugar, and your painstakingly baked cookies—appeared on the counter beside you as if it had been there the entire time.

“Oh,” you breathed, taken aback. “Thank you…”

You reached out instinctively, but your hand froze midair as Alastor smoothly took the tray for himself. His movement was graceful, almost too effortless, like this moment had been rehearsed a hundred times before.

Your hand lingered awkwardly in the air before you folded it tightly into the other and tucked them both in your lap, suddenly very aware of how small you felt.

Alastor looked at you with a strange, amused softness. “Now that I’m your husband’s business partner, it seems we’ll be seeing more of each other.”

His voice had changed—lighter, yet still somehow heavy, as though each word carried something hidden beneath its lilt. He tilted his head, red eyes gleaming.

“I look forward to getting to know you more…” he paused, the grin never fading, “intimately.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. You opened your mouth, but no words came. You weren’t sure if you were being teased, threatened, or merely played with like a cat flicking its paw over a dying insect.

“Oh—yes, likewise,” you managed to say, unsure if it even made sense.

Alastor’s gaze lingered on you, stretching the moment until the silence itself started to feel sharp.

“I do hope,” he said slowly, “that this time, our time together won’t be cut too short.”

Then he turned and walked away, tray in hand, whistling a haunting tune you couldn’t quite place.

The sound of it wrapped around you like smoke.

And just before he reached the doorway, he stopped.

His back still to you, he said with eerie calm, “You remember, don’t you?”

He didn’t wait for your answer.

He just left you standing in the kitchen, surrounded by the scent of coffee and a memory you had once long tucked away.

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