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ellieslittlewh0re · 1 year

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𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏)

* ೃ⁀➷ part 2 - part 3

pairings - farmers daughter! reader x farmhand! ellie

summary - your dad hires a stranger to help out around the farm

additional tags - inexperienced but flirty reader, shy/loser ellie, cowboy boot wearing ellie, mutual pinning, slight masturbation mention (e!), e! w/ a southern accent??, eventual smut, (nothing too crazy happens in this part it’s mostly just setting vibes lol)

Beads of sweat collected on the bridge of your nose, and your thighs stuck together as you sat on the porch swing, just lazily swinging back and forth, using your tippy toes to keep the momentum going.

You look out over the vast pasture- green as far as the eye can see, with nothing to distract from the country landscape except for some power lines out in the distance.

Even with the sun starting to set- it was still unbelievably hot.

"Keep goin' like that and you're gonna die of a heat stroke."

You yell to your father who was working under the hood of his rusty truck. Usually, he pays no mind to your nagging, but this time it seemed to work- or perhaps he was just finished for the night.

He shuts the hood, slamming it with a metallic thud before wiping his hands on a greasy rag.

His boots rang loudly against the hallow wooden stairs of the porch, looking down at you through bushy eyebrows.

"I don't need your sass, kid."

You roll your eyes at his comment. He's always been stubborn and tough, but in his old age, you can't help but worry. His cheeks have hallowed over the years, sun spots forming from the countless hours working on the farm, and his movements became slowed from the hard work catching up to him.

"I wouldn't sass if you'd just listen. Seriously, it's okay to hire someone to help. no one is gonna shame you for that." You pester affectionately, standing from the swing to open the screen door and enter the house with him following behind.

You follow him to the kitchen, listing all the reasons why he should have help.

One: he's getting old.

Two: his knee has never been the same since he had that operation done 4 years ago.

Three: the farm is too big and demanding to tend to alone.

"Okay- enough.. you sound just like your mother sometimes I swear." He hold a hand up, pausing you mid-ramble, and takes a sip from the glass he filled from the tap.

You pouted, and once again, your suggestions felt shot down.

He finishes the water, wiping his beard with the back of his hand.

"I actually have someone comin' by tomorrow. They were recommended t' me by Phillip at the feed store."

Your eyes lighten up, a smile grows on your face, and you finally feel like you can breathe, knowing that the hardships wouldn't be your dads alone anymore.

You rush around the kitchen island, placing a kiss to your dads cheek and squeezed him tight.

"Thank you! I can't wait- I'll have to bake em' something sweet tonight."

"Alright- settle down-" he pushes you away slightly with a smile on his weathered face. Truly an adoring annoyance that only a parent could love.

Your old man calls it a night, showering and off to bed he went, but you? Oh- you were busy. You tried your hardest to keep the sound down to a minimum, bowls, and kitchen utensils splayed on the counters.

A small apron draped around your waist, flour smudged on your cheekbone as you pulled the blueberry scones out of the oven. A satisfied smile grows on your face as you observe your work and finishing of the pastries with a dusting of powdered sugar.

Maybe, you were going a tad bit overboard, but the truth is, you were painfully lonely. The only time you had any visitors on the farm was when you held pumpkin patches in the fall, but even then, it was always young families that didn't bother to stay around for too long.

You go upstairs, a slight pep in your step as you did so. You showered and put in your favorite pajamas- a short, soft floral patterned dress with bows that secured the straps.

You tossed in bed, sleep not being in favor since your mind was still wide awake. You try to picture what they would look like- what they sounded like.

Was he tall? Around your age, or is he just another old man like your father? Maybe they're not a man at all.

It's best not to get ahead of yourself; whoever this person is, they are coming to work for your dad and not to become your friend.

You slept lightly, and your senses became more aware as a muted thud rang outside your second-story bedroom window. You open your eyes slowly, blinking away the sleepy confusion as dust particles dance in the sunbeams of your room.

It took you a few seconds to realize why today was so important, but once you remembered- it had you scattering out of bed to your window, pulling back the sheer laced curtains, and taking a peak outside.

There was a truck you didn't recognize parked in the driveway. It was slightly newer than your dad's, but that's not saying much; a simple 2-door with an extended bed, slightly lifted with sturdy-looking tires.

A slim figure stood next to the driver's side door, hands on their hips as they looked up at the house. To your surprise, it wasn't a man at all.

You squint, trying to get a better look at her without realizing how big of a creep you are being.

Her hair shined a brilliant shade of auburn in the morning light, a brown button up shirt with the sleep rolled up to her elbows, slightly flared and worn denim jeans hugged her hips with brown cowboy boots that seemed to match the leather of her belt.

You caught a glimpse of something on her arm, dark lines that disrupted her pale skin. It was a tattoo, although you could make out the details of the design.

She looked the part of someone who knows how to run a farm, but something about her seemed so out of place- almost like she was too pretty for such a dirty job.

While you were too busy eyeing her up and down, you didn't realize she had caught you. She put her hand up, holding it there for a second before bringing it back down to her side. You wave back, a slight wiggle of you fingertips which made her smile.

You watch her walk out of the frame of your window before sitting on the edge of your bed- your fingers grasping at the embroidered comforter. You had this weird feeling in your tummy; it was something you couldn't explain, almost like nausea but also like when you go on a big rollercoaster.

You felt nervous but excited all at the same time. You figured it was because she was around your age, maybe slightly older- shrugging it off as you got up and got ready for the day.

You brush your hair before tying it into two loose braids, finishing it with light pink ribbons at the ends. You wanted to put a little more effort into your appearance today since you're meeting someone new, and as daddy always said, "First impressions are the most important."

You take a deep breath in the last most of solitude of your room before making your way down the stairs, the conversation between the stranger and your father growing louder and louder from the kitchen as you inched closer.

"There she is-" your dad motions an arm in your direction, the stranger immediacy turning to meet your face.

"Ellie, this is my daughter, y/n, and y/n, this is Ellie."

"It's nice t' meet you, Ellie." You said in your sweetest voice you could muster as you walk towards her, holding a hand out.

"Likewise." She smiles, taking your hand in hers and shakes it firmly. She seemed respectful, maybe even a little flustered- seeing that her cheeks started to turn a deep shade of pink.

Upon seeing her closer, it didn't help settle your nerves. She was gorgeous; freckles adorned her alabaster skin, a scar that ran through her eyebrow and upper lip, and her eyes a mossy shade of green with dark, long lashes framing the shape.

She was honestly the prettiest girl you've ever seen but not in the same way you were often described. There was a boyish charm to her that you had never seen before.

"Well- best we get to it then." Your dad chimes in, causing you to let go of the calloused hand that you hadn't realized you were still holding onto.

"I'll see you around Ellie." You just barely make audible to her, bitting down on your bottom lip before turning on your heel and leaving them to do their jobs.

Ellie was almost speechless upon meeting you. Never in a million years did she ever think a girl like you could live in this small country town, but fuck, leave it to her luck- you were the boss's daughter, which means you were off limits.

You didn't make it easy on her either, prancing around in your little summer dress that flowed with your movements, rising dangerously high when you would turn around, almost giving her a peek of your ass.

Ellie swallowed hard each time, the saliva filling her mouth with all the dirty thoughts she had- which mostly consisted of you underneath her, completely naked and trembling after she forced a 4th orgasm out of you.

The sun was starting to set, blanketing the canvas in shades of orange and pink, and to your disappointment- Ellie would be leaving soon.

She was walking towards her truck, slightly dragging her feet from exhaustion, and you're happy she did so. It gave you enough time to run out of the house barefoot, container filled with the homemade goods in your hands.

"Ellie!-" you called out to her which made her turn around, her hand opening the driver side door.

You nearly bump into her, slightly out of breath as you held up the tupperware with both of your hands.

"Sorry- I made them last night, must've forgotten in to give 'em' to you earlier." Again, your voice is so sweet and innocent- like honey coated candies on her tongue.

A smirk grows on her face, taking the gift from you to inspect them.

"That's mighty kind of you.. oh no, are these blueberries?"

Your face contorts to concern, and Ellie can't help but think how fucking cute you look all worried like that.

"Yeah, why? Do you not like 'em?" You pout, almost like you're on the verge of tears

A low chuckle reverberates in her throat, "I'm just messing with you, doll. They look delicious."

"Meanie."

A few seconds of silence go by, and Ellie looks everywhere except your face, and I mean everywhere- including the plushness of your breast that spilled over the top of your dress - she couldn't have you knowing how red her cheeks are right now.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" She said it almost like a question- as if you'd miss out on such an opportunity.

"See you tomorrow, Ellie. Goodnight." You stand on your tippy toes, planting a quick kiss on the rounds of her cheeks, and run back inside, leaving Ellie in full panic mode.

She gets into her truck, taking a moment to herself before turning over the engine. Her fingers tighten around the steering wheel as she replays it in her head. She felt like she could combust, literally and figuratively- her head came down to rest on the wheel, and her cheeks ached from the smile that wouldn't seem to leave her lips.

In fact- she thought about it all night long. When she showered, when she laid in bed trying to sleep, she was tingling, an ache growing inside the depths of her stomach.

I mean, could you blame her? You didn't try to hide how hard you stared or how flirtatious you were towards her.

Maybe you were just like that with everyone.

Still- it didn't stop her. And It didn't stop her hand from slipping into the waistband of her checkered pajama pants, and it definitely didn't stop her from fingering herself to thoughts of you.

She came hard that night, harder than she had before, and she can't help but wonder- if simply her imagines of you felt this good, how would fucking you for real feel?

❥ taglist - @machetegirl109

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macsimagines · 9 months

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Izana, Kisaki + Mikey finding their girlfriend sleeping in one of their shirts, like willingly? 🧡

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, ABUSIVE BEHAVIOR, NEGLECT, MENTION OF KIDNAPPING

Yandere!Izana Kurokawa

It started off with him kind of... not letting you leave his place. You came over for a late night booty call, and instead of demanding you get out of his face he wouldn't let you go that night.

Come the next morning and you wake up before him and you decide to dip before he can wake up and tell you to fuck off. Izana has never been overtly affectionate with you and you don't want to push him too far afterall.

But then you get a call later that day and he sounds...off.

"Hello-," "Just where the fuck are you, Y/N?" "O-oh? I woke up and left?" You tell him and you're so caught off guard by the slight annoyance in his voice what could you have done wrong?

"Why?"

And that throws you completely off. "Wasn't I supposed to?"

He doesn't answer. Just hangs up and you're left wondering what the hell happened, but you just shrug it off as maybe him not liking that one of his possessions left without permission...

The next time you two hookup, its the same thing. He's not trying to let you leave, and so you sleep over naked and just plan on wearing the same clothes you came in tomorrow. Except...

"I want you here when I get back, Y/N." He tells you before he leaves the next morning. And for whatever reason that look in his eyes means not to test him so you just sit around and wait for him all day.

But your clothes are kind of uncomfortable and its getting so laaaate. Izana wouldn't mind you borrowing one of his shirts right?

He really doesn't come back until 1am, and he's very happy you listened like a good girl, and even happier to see you dressed in one of his shirts while you sleep.

Izana thinks that he probably won't have to get your clothes from your old place. You could just use his. Ya. That'll be fine. Its his gift to you, for finally moving in with him where you belong.

Yandere!Kisaki Tetta

You're a true fucking brat. No really, you've somehow become the single biggest pain in the ass he's ever had to deal with. You throw out everything he buys you, you scream and demand your freedom at every turn, you're constantly trying to escape him...

But he loves you, really and truly adores you, and you're not going anywhere now that he's got you locked in his penthouse. He won't make the same mistake, he's going to keep this one alive. You'll just have to learn to love him.

Oh but your latest tantrum has him rethinking it all. You set fire to the apartment, burning all the clothes he bought you in the bathtub and almost getting the cops called.

But he was smart, smoothed over the situation and had you sedated before you could throw an even bigger fit. Honestly, some small part of him doesn't think you're worth the trouble but he comes home the next day and those thoughts are all dashed.

You're laying in one of his silk shirts, bundled into the sheets so sweetly he thinks he can feel his heart actually ache at the sight of you.

You're so precious, and perfect to him. "That was expensive," he'll try to say dismissively, he doesn't want you to think he's forgiven you for your little fit just yet, "I burned all the other ugly stuff you got me. At least your clothes are comfortable." "..."

He won't say anything after that, but he does make a mental note that perhaps the Gucci and the Balenciaga are probably not to your tastes. He should just get you things in the same style as him. Couples matching outfits could be nice.

Yandere!Manjiro Sano

Douchebag does not let you wear clothes he does not approve of. You belong to him and every aspect of your life belongs to him too, even what you wear.

And sometimes it's fine. Sometimes he's not around and you don't have to wear the skimpy dresses and designer shoes that hurt, sometimes you get to be comfortable and just chill out in your pajamas.

But you got too comfortable. He'd been gone for weeks again, because Micky comes and goes as he pleases, so you thought your usual fits would be fine.

Then he returns and for some reason he's pissed. It could be because the cops are on his ass, something didn't go his way or maybe his underlings were pissing him off, but for whatever reason for his rage he's decided he's going to take it out on you.

"What, Y/N? All the money I spend on nice clothes not good enough? You don't like the pretty thing I buy you?" "M-Mikey please-," "Too fuckin' good for the shit I give you?"

You're stripped bare and naked. For days. If you won't wear what he so graciously and lovingly gives you then you don't get to wear anything. And you're just shivering cold for a week straight trying to curl in yourself for any kind of warmth and comfort.

But after seven days of this hell you can't take it anymore. He doesn't even let you have sheets or blankets in your room anymore how the hell are you supposed to survive.

Thankfully, you find one of his discarded sweaters near the bed you two share and through it on without a second thought. You're nauseated because it still smells like him, but you can't bring yourself to take it off and be cold again.

You just snuggle into the fabric and finally find enough warmth and comfort to sleep that night. When Mikey comes home and sees you he realizes he's no longer angry. In fact, he's more than pleased.

"You just wanted to wear my clothes this whole time? That's fine. We'll share a wardrobe."

#yandere tokyo revengers #yandere manjiro sano #yandere mikey sano #yandere izana kurokawa #yandere izana #yandere tetta kisaki

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prettyfastcars · 8 months

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Skin and bones | Lewis x Reader

Summary: Family vacation was over, and it was time for all of you to go back home. Your mom and Lewis’ dad would go around the world, travelling some more. Lewis would go back to his glamorous, fast life and you’d go back to your quiet life in Paris. So whatever had been going on between you and Lewis this whole time, it all ends. Right?

Themes: stepbrother!lewis, smut, possessive!lewis, fluff

a/n: read part 1, part 2, and part 3 here ;)

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You came back from gathering wood for the bonfire expecting to find everyone setting up tents – since Lewis had the brilliant idea of going camping in the middle of nowhere in this dense forest – but you found no one. Except a devilishly handsome ‘stepbrother’ setting up one single tent.

“Lewis,” You spoke again, dropping all the wood near where you were supposed to have the bonfire. “Where’s my mom? And your dad?”

“They went back to the cabin.” He answered like it was nothing at all as he finished setting up the tent, shaking it to check if it was sturdy enough. It was.

You frowned. “What? But we planned to camp out here, all of us. This was your idea.”

“Relax babygirl,” Lewis stood up and walked over to pick up the wood you’d dropped. “They probably wanted some alone time before we leave tomorrow morning.” He winked at you before walking away again.

You winced not wanting to think about it for more than a second, “Okay, gross.” You wrapped your arms around yourself. It was beginning to get cold, the sun had just set and the forest was getting dark really fast. “So it’s just you and I out here? They just left me here with you and decided to walk back to the cabin for no reason?” Something didn’t add up.

Lewis was kneeling on the ground, setting up the wood to make a decent sized fire. Then he looked up, smirking at you, “They trust big brother to keep you safe, little sis.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. That whole bondage episode happened just two nights ago. Lewis had been less of an ass since. But you could tell some plotting was happening in that head of his. So this morning at breakfast he announced that you all should probably camp in the forest tonight since it would be your last night here at the cabin. The parents agreed of course.

So the four of you hiked up here in the afternoon and began setting up. After a quick dinner, you realised you would all need a bonfire to keep warm through the night, so you volunteered to go find wood for it. When you got back just now, the parents were gone and Lewis was being a smartass again.

“You convinced them to go back, didn’t you?”

You figured that’s the only way they would’ve left you here with him. Lewis had a way of�� persuading people easily. All he had to do was stare at you with those soft, warm brown eyes and give you that innocent smile and there’s nothing one wouldn’t do for him. You knew because you’d been a victim of those pretty eyes yourself.

He finally lit the fire, and it caught perfectly, gradually growing. Lewis smiled at you again, a mischievous spark in those eyes of his. “I just told your mom that maybe this cold, humid weather would be bad for her occasional joint pains. And dad decided they should probably head back and be warm in the cabin.” He added, “They didn’t want to take the risk, you see?”

“Right.” So the game you two had been playing was still on. You shook your head at him. “Okay, what do you want?”

“To talk.” He replied quickly, standing up.

Gods… he really was one of the most beautiful human beings huh? His braids were not tied into a ponytail today, they were loose and nearly reached his shoulders. And he looked so warm with all the layers he was wearing. Part of you wanted nothing more than to just snuggle up to him and let him wrap those big arms around you to keep you warm.

“Talk about what, Lewis?” You forced yourself to look away from him as he approached you, the fire growing behind him. You looked down at your muddy shoes instead. “There’s nothing left to talk about. Tomorrow morning we’re all leaving. You’re going back to… I don’t know where. And I’m going back to Paris, and we won’t see each other all year–,”

He stopped you by grabbing you by the chin and tilted your face up so you looked at him. “Really?” He questioned, staring deep into your eyes. He leaned closer, but not close enough. “That night a couple of days ago can’t be the last time I touched you. I want more.” He confessed, and almost kissed you again.

But you pulled away, crossing your arms over your chest like that would act as a barrier between the two of you. “We can’t keep doing this.”

“Why not?” He leaned closer again, pulling you into him by the waist. When you avoided his eyes, he grabbed you by the chin again, “Look at me.” He demanded. When you did, he said, “Are you sure you wanna be done with me?”

No.

You placed your hands flat on his chest. His warmth made you sigh in bliss. Then with a shaky voice you asked, “What’s the endgame here, Lewis? Whatever we do, it’s gonna hurt our parents.”

He scoffed in that arrogant way of his which you loved despite everything. “We’re grown ups. We can do whatever we–,”

You cut him off, “Yes we are grown ups and it’s still taboo and wrong to fuck your mom’s boyfriend’s son!” You whisper-yelled.

He argued still, “It’s different for us! We didn’t grow up together or anything. Hell, I met you only a couple of years ago. Our parents aren’t married, it’s different.”

You had nothing to argue back with so you shut up and pulled away from his warm embrace. “Lewis… I don’t know what to say to you. Maybe we should just go back to our lives and–,”

He cut you off again, this time pushing you against the nearby tree. His strong arms grabbed you by the hips, his chest pressing against yours. You felt hot. And it wasn’t because of the layers that you were wearing.

He got really close to your face, his soft lips just inches away from yours and said in a terribly bitter tone which sent shivers down your back, “Go back to our lives, huh? So you mean to tell me that these past few weeks mean nothing to you?” He questioned in an accusatory tone. “You mean you’re gonna go back and forget about all this? You’re gonna go back and let other people fuck you and pretend you’re not gonna be thinking about me each time they fail to make you come like I do?”

His words shouldn’t affect you but just imagining having sex with anyone else seemed… wrong. You stared into his pretty eyes and your emotions were all over the place. You were sad, angry, you hated him, you craved him, you wanted him gone, you didn’t want to let him go.

“So what?” You asked, sarcastically. “What do you think is gonna happen here? We’re gonna do a risky, long distance thing? We’re gonna keep meeting behind our parents’ backs? We’ll lie to everyone? I’ll fly out to come see you race whenever I can and you’re gonna fly home to me during your breaks? And we’ll be happy together until we grow sick of sneaking around and come clean and tell everyone to just deal with it!?”

Lewis opened his mouth to argue, but then he closed it again. You did the same thing. Twice. You two just stared at each other because whatever you just spit out in a fit… it didn’t sound so bad, did it? Well, except for lying to the parents part.

He didn’t know what to say so he just said, “Get inside.” He pointed at the only tent that was set up.

You didn’t argue even though you saw what was coming. It physically hurt to walk away from him and to even think about all the miles that would be between you two come tomorrow.

You began overthinking everything as you took your muddy shoes off and got in the tent. It was more spacious than you thought inside. You saw the double sleeping bag and a familiar shiver danced down your spine.

You peeled off some layers and immediately got into the sleeping bag. And your mind began racing again as you forced your eyes shut. Say you and Lewis keep this madness up, what would happen when your parents would find out? Family dinners would get real awkward, that’s for sure.

But then, given who Lewis was, what would happen when the world finds out about you? Your parents’ relationship was well hidden from the media. But Lewis always had eyes on him. Now that you thought about it, maybe that’s why he wanted to come here in the middle of nowhere and not vacation in a tourist-y place. There were no cameras here.

–

You opened your eyes and found that you were snuggling next to something warm. You saw tattooed arms wrapped around you and you tried to hide the smile that formed on your face.

“How long was I asleep for?” You asked, placing a hand on his chest. You felt his strong heartbeats beneath your palm and smiled again, sadly this time. Fuck, you were gonna miss him.

“Just an hour or two. I guess you worried yourself to sleep.” He teased. “It’s okay though, it’s only around midnight right now so we have time to talk about everything.”

You sighed, pulling away to get a better look at him. He turned on his side, arms pulling you closer. You shoved your face into the crook of his warm neck and groaned loudly, “I hate you.”

He chuckled softly. “Oh do you?”

His hands slipped under your thin sweater and t-shirt, stroking your skin. He drew lazy circles at your lower back and side. You couldn’t think about anything. His warm, slightly rough fingers against your skin was the only thing that made sense. It was beginning to drizzle outside, you could hear the random droplets hit the tent.

Then you blurted out, “I don’t want to fight with you. But I don’t see how we can be together.”

Lewis was quiet for a while. You let your head rest against his shoulder, your fingers tracing the visible tattoos all over his hands. Then Lewis asked, “Do you truly want me out of your life?”

“No.” You answered with a sleepy voice.

“Then stop fighting this.” He stated, his hands wandering a little more, now sliding up to cup you through your thin bra. “Stop fighting me.”

You sighed, letting him touch you wherever he wanted. If this was the last time, you wanted to cherish each moment. “I don’t want to. But–,”

He cut you off with a kiss. Soft, sweet, his lips brushing against yours slowly. Like he was tasting you for the first time. “That little head of yours thinks too much,” He murmured, moving so he now hovered above you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, as you looked up at him. “Let me worry about everything. Just, stop fighting this.” He said before leaning down for another heated kiss.

You moaned and whimpered into the kiss. You needed him badly. “Okay,” You whispered against his soft mouth.

His hand touched you wherever he could, lingering at your breasts and taking his sweet time, caressing and kissing your skin. His other hand slipped past your leggings and cupped you between your legs firmly. You moaned and gasped into the kiss as his fingers teased your clit.

“Lewis, please,” You begged, desperately grinding against his hand. “I need you, please.” You whispered against his mouth.

Lewis chuckled. “Still wanna go back and pretend we never happened?” He teased. “Hmm? Think you’ll ever be able to look in the mirror and not think about how I kiss you?” He kissed down your neck, “How good my fingers feel inside you?” He slid two fingers inside you then, stroking you perfectly, just how you liked it and he had you whining and squirming under him in no time. “Answer me, little sis?”

“Fuck,” You whimpered, “You know I could never forget you.”

He smirked through the kiss, happy with what you said. Then he quickly lowered your leggings while you helped him by lowering his sweatpants, and he easily slid inside you without breaking the kiss.

You wrapped your legs around his waist as best you could. Your clothes and the sleeping bag got in the way but the two of you were too needy to care or stop.

Lewis moved in and out of you, slowly at first, then sped up once he found the right pace and angle. Your back arched off the surface each time filled you up completely, mercilessly thrusting into you hard and fast.

At some point he grabbed both your hands, laced your fingers together with his and pinned your interlaced hands down above your head. He finally pulled away from the messy kiss and stared into your eyes, lips parted and breathing heavily as he fucked you. He rolled his hips against you so well that you began tearing up.

You were gasping for breath, struggling to keep up and not come too quickly because you didn’t want this to stop. You never wanted him to stop.

“You can’t get rid of me, babygirl,” He mumbled breathlessly as he pushed deeper into you. “You can’t forget me,” He fucked you harder, as if proving his point. “You’ll always feel me,” He kissed your open mouth, shoved his tongue past your lips while he rammed in and out of you, “All over your skin, and in your fucking bones,” He growled, and your legs trembled around his waist, but he still thrust deeper into you, fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

You cried out in pleasure, your back arching as you felt a familiar warmth washing over you. Lewis growled and bit down on your shoulder while he fucked you relentlessly. You were sure that his bite left a mark but you didn’t care.

“Lewis,” You gasped, “I need to come, please… please,” You begged.

“Not yet, babygirl,” He whispered, kissing your cheek softly as if it made up for the way he pounded into you like you were a doll. “Don’t you dare fucking come yet.” His hand found its way to your front and he pressed his palm against your lower abdomen. “You feel me in here?” He asked, feeling his cock thrust deep inside you. “You think you’ll forget this anytime soon? Hmm?” His hand travelled all the way to your neck and he gently squeezed the side of your throat. He squeezed hard enough to make you lose your mind while he kept pounding into you incessantly.

“No…” You whispered against his lips. With a few more strokes, you felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls. You tightened around him, feeling the burning hot need to come. “Lewis, please I can’t–”

You came with a loud cry, unable to hold back.

Lewis came right after you, buried deep within you – growling under his breath. He remained on top of you, lowering some of his body weight onto you. You welcomed it, it felt nice. He was warm and you were a whimpering mess.

“Shh, it’s okay baby, it’s okay,” He whispered, kissing your face as he slowly pulled out and collapsed next to you in the sleeping bag. You were shaking just a little as he tucked your head under his chin and ran his soothing hand down your back. You placed your head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeats again.

After a while of cuddling as you both caught your breaths, you said, “We have to leave in a few hours. We should get back to the cabin soon.”

He wrapped his arms around you, as if he’d never let go. He kissed the top of your head and said, “Stop thinking for a moment. Just be here with me, baby. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.” He spoke so confidently, like he always did. “I’ve got you.”

You smiled and kissed the compass tattoo on his chest before placing your head on it. You didn’t want to worry anymore. Whatever happened, you two would deal with it.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton au #lewis hamilton smut #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #stepbrother!lewis

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iznsfw · 1 year

Text

The Rabbit

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

9,623 words

Categories | maid!Wonyoung, if you could get the movie this is based off of you're awesome, blowjob, anal

Yep, I finally wrote Wonyoung. Who knew, right?

Maybe you'll meet your end today. Tomorrow, if you're lucky. Either way, they'd find out. That's definitely certain; mandatory love is no winning game. Love in general isn't, especially when it's founded on merely scrawny and lustful sex. The lines between lust and love blur, and it becomes more dangerous than it actually is.

And one could say that it really isn't love (you've heard that a couple more times than you'd like) when you barely know anything about her, when your mind only dances with the thought of ruining her angelic self again, but they know you'd never listen. You refuse to.

So, where did all this—a young, gorgeous woman by the name of Jang Wonyoung in the crook of your arm, her hand on your cock and glossy lips on yours—start?

Well, to understand, you have to stay in the present and reminisce about the past, just one more time. You've to live in it as if the former days were the current ones and what's now is nothing to worry about. But you shouldn't dwell too long; the world out there is no land for lonely men.

1. HOP

Your nerves and fears merge and struggle as one as you line up to the counter. They've plenty of reasons to do that sickly collaboration that makes your stomach hurt, but you find solace with the fact that it's at least a nice hotel. The soft yellow paint on the wall makes a lovely pair with the yellow one smeared on the outlines. The rooms are all well-furnished, and the frames bear replicates of several famous abstract masterpieces. In general, the hotel possesses a grand and pretty aesthetic, and you would have rated the stay five stars out of five if you weren't hoarded out of your home and in here.

Everyone dresses nicely, too. The older woman in the line next to yours wears a blazer and a high fashion tube top under it, her main color all over being pink. On the other hand, the man in front of you dons a formal black suit. It's like there was a recurring oath all around to dress grandly that they left you out of. How rude of them.

Suddenly self-conscious, you smooth down your simple shirt and jeans. You're already making an exception for yourself from the expensive dress code; the obligation to look clean should at least be followed. There shouldn't be any crinkled lines riding the fabric of your shirt, or a single speck of dirt on your cheap shoes.

"Next," says the woman at the counter briskly.

You make your way forward. Said woman is dressed in mandatory, dead-looking uniform and has no sign of a smile on her emotionless face. She doesn't want to be here more than you do. She makes that clear as she flashes you a tired look.

"Name?"

You tell her your name, switching your weight from one foot to another.

"Age?"

"Twenty-one years old."

"Sexual preference?"

"W-what?" you ask. It bears repetition; you have no idea why the woman would ask that.

She—(you should start calling her "Kim Gaeul" now; you've read the name on her breast pocket tag)—sighs, not caring to hide her frustration. "You know why you're here, don't you?" she asks.

Her tone suggests that you should know. However, no idea comes to mind. If they ever informed you of your purpose here, the message got lost in translation in the stress of packing your belongings and traveling all the way to this hotel. It's a decent upgrade from your humble little house, but it can’t mimic the safety of the place you grew up in. You're basically being held hostage here—this place will never be home.

"I don't," you admit guiltily.

"Well, if it's not obvious, you're a twenty-one-year-old heterosexual—I assume—man, and you still haven't found a partner."

Gaeul says it in this unnecessarily audible voice that makes you flush red to your ears. Everyone is going through the same, hence their presence in this very hotel, but when it's uttered out loud, it's like rubbing salt over an already throbbing wound.

Your face feels hot with humiliation. "Yes? And?"

"This doesn't go well with your purpose of being fruitful and multiplying," continues Gaeul. To quote the Bible in these times is… well, something, but you’ll let her have this one. "Here, you'll be able to find your lifetime partner—"

You're confused. "And how does being here help with bagging a girl?"

"—and spend two weeks together to prove your bond to us." Gaeul glares at you, clearly annoyed that you've interrupted her. For that, and out of pure, unyielded spite, she dodges your question expertly. "You're given forty-five days, and, if by the end, you're unable to find someone who shares the same qualities slash traits with you, you're turned into an animal."

Well, you did not expect that one coming.

(But, if your memory serves you well, the cop in the van that took you to this place said, as he brushed down his gray uniform: "They skin you alive to make you a little critter, that's what they do—it's heinous. Happened to an old friend of mine. Miss him more than ever."

"Did you see it happen?" you asked, his words stealing your attention from the lands running to keep up with the vehicle.

"Was told about it," answered the cop. "He said he wanted to be a dog. They took out his organs and gave all the blood to the hospitals. Dunno what happened to those, but they probably went down the same route. Wonder what kid out there got his lungs now, heh."

"Well, did it work? Did he become what he wanted?"

"No idea. All I can say is after that, dogs kept following me around.")

"You know," you say, leaning forward on the counter with your arms crossed, in hopes of appearing more in control of the whole thing than you actually are, "it takes more than forty-five days to find a wife, Gaeul. It takes years."

"Oh, really?" Gaeul gives you a condescending look one would give to a rambling, precocious toddler. "Didn't know that."

"Hey, I'm not doing this. I'm out."

"Suppose you're a Loner, then?"

"I've heard that one before."

She sighs. "A Loner doesn't believe in what we do here," she explains tiredly. "They don't believe in love."

"Sounds like me."

"If one wishes to extend their forty-five-day period in finding a partner," adds Gaeul helpfully, her statement definitely not a thinly veiled threat, "they're required to kill a Loner."

You're stunned by how everything works. Just forty-five days to get a wife? Those who don't want to comply with the system being hunted down as a consequence? What has this world come to?

You look back in line. There are numerous other men and women waiting for their turn, and you're wasting their time and Gaeul's. Not that you care much for her since she's been rude to you since the beginning, but she does look like the kind of person able to make someone disappear off the face of the Earth if they don't fit in. What if you don't match her criteria either? What would she have the people in charge do to you? What if the animal thing was a lie and they actually just killed you off?

It's either death, becoming an animal, or having someone to hold.

You haven't had the third one in a long, long time.

You inhale, hold that breath, and exhale slowly. Straighten your shoulders. "Fine, I'll do it."

"Alright. Sexual preference?"

"Heterosexual." You think.

"If, in any circumstance, you are unable to find a partner, what animal would you like to become?"

A beat.

"A rabbit," you say thoughtfully. "I think I'd want to become a rabbit."

2. DOWN

"A rabbit? Really? Out of every animal out there?"

A small Japanese woman from behind you in line keeps you entertained now in the waiting room. She has short, auburn hair and a cute smile. Her cheeks remind you of dumplings. Speaking of, you can smell some of them cooking in the kitchen nearby. You can hear your stomach rumble.

"It just… feels right, you know?" you say, shrugging in your seat beside her, in which she's strangely pressed up closely to you.

You haven't really given the animal thing much thought. You know that there's an underlying reason for it, but you can't really ponder exactly what. Perhaps it's a favorite animal from childhood? Nope, couldn't be it—your favorite animal back then was a lobster. And you can't even recall the reason for that.

"A rabbit… carrots…” You give up. “No idea.”

The woman nods understandingly. Her fingers guitar a rhythm on her knees. "Aren't you gonna ask what I'd like to be?" she says expectantly.

Alright, sure; you'll play her game. You've nothing else to do, anyway; you're just waiting for your room number to be announced. It might take a while, too, with the number of people waiting before you. The richer ones obviously get more privileges as well.

"What animal would you want to be?" you ask the girl.

"A butterfly. Be nice to just fly around and be pretty, don't you think?"

"A butterfly’s an insect, no?"

"Insects are also animals."

Desperate to keep the conversation going to fill the eerie silence, which makes you grow more and more uneasy, you prompt more lines from her. "Are they?"

She twitches her mouth to one side with a thoughtful look. "I'd like to think so."

You're given only forty-five days to find the one, you remind yourself. You have to constantly give yourself reminders lest you forget about your new life here in the hotel. Here's your chance.

"What's your name?" you ask her.

"Rei."

A cute name for a cute girl—nice. Rei's adorable from head to toe. Even the clothes she wears are sweet. Her plump cheeks allude to that, too. "Well, Rei, you want to team up?"

Rei scoffs, suddenly moving away from you. Her face, which you once saw as adorable, suddenly looks scary. "Is that what you think of all this? A defense-offense field game?"

"Uh, no, I meant that it’s—"

"No, save it. I want to actually find love here, you bastard. Love isn't a game you can just play anytime."

Yeah, of course it isn't; love is a fucking requirement. Does Rei really think she'll find true love in a world like this? You pity her Snow White enthusiasm for true romance, for a prince who’d sweep her off her feet without the feeling of obligation, but maybe she really wants to be a butterfly. You're not gonna stop her from what her heart desires; you're far from that kind of guy.

At least, you hope so. God, are you becoming one of those men?

Rei's obviously upset. From the pure shock in her face, it's clear she saw something in you that was quickly made meaningless by your mindset. She rises from the sofa, fuming, and walks away. She says in heated breaths that she needs some fresh air.

You watch your chance disappear just like that and smile tightly. Oh well.

"Tough, ain't it?" remarks the man from the loveseat across the room. He's a lot older, and he looks like he'd be the best grandfather. He'd probably let his grandkids stay awake past bedtime and give them candy. Why is he here? Maybe he recently broke up with Grandma? "Finding a girl?"

"Don't I know it," you sigh.

He smiles sympathetically. "It's better than being a rabbit," he says.

"I'd take a rabbit over a no-jerking-off policy."

That's how it works here: real life torture, in an unusual way, since they're depriving you of self-pleasure. They don't believe that masturbating would help find a girl. Gaeul told you earlier that if you were caught doing so—(and they will; they have CCTVs in the damned rooms, which definitely breaks more than a few laws about privacy and the like)—there would be severe punishments.

You truly don't want to know what punishment awaits your refusal to obey.

The man chuckles. "At least you get a lap dance. That's better than yankin'."

"A lap dance?" you ask. Gaeul didn't mention that.

"Every night, a maid comes over and gives ya a good grind down the groin. You don't actually get to touch her or do the thing, if you catch my drift,” he winks, “but it helps with mating. Wouldn't want someone who can't get it up at night, amirite, mate?"

"Suppose not."

The man sees the sparkle in your eyes. His laugh evolves from a soft, olden chuckle to a full-on guffaw. "See? There's pros in this place, too, getting a pretty girl on top of you every night."

"Can't the maid be my wife instead?" you joke. That would make the flow of things here a whole lot easier, if that were true.

He shakes his head. "Nah, some say they're part of the Loners. Wouldn't want to mess with them."

The Loners… you've heard about them during your drive here. You saw them lurking in the woods, guns cocked, with eyes flashing demonic looks at every passerby. While the cop told you not to make eye contact with them, Gaeul informed you about their beliefs earlier during your heated exchange: love shouldn't be mandatory. And you agree, but getting hunted down by desperate rich people isn't at the very top of your bucket list.

You're a coward, but you like to think it's just you playing safe. One wrong move can land you in a place where your eyes would never behold the light of day again, where life holds no meaning unless a carrot is present.

"You're lying about the lap dance thing, aren't you?" you say finally. The world is fucked up, but it can't be that bad, right?

He grins. "See for yourself, and don't say I didn't warn you."

If there's anything good in this hotel besides the air-conditioning and paintings, it's the food. The platters served on the white-drapes tables make you feel more well-off than you actually are. There's fish skillets, sushi, gravy, and mashed potatoes. Spoons and knives of varying sizes and utilities sit on the opposite sides of every plate.

"Guess I like this place now," you joke to a woman beside you. She giggles back politely, but doesn't respond; her mouth is stuffed with crispy chicken skin.

You eat to your heart's content. Pour gravy all over the hills of mashed potatoes. Scoop up unlimited rice and pair it with the soup. You wonder what kind of cooks they hired to produce these delicacies. Was there a certain secret degree that had to be obtained to be accepted here? A secret recipe worth signing an NDA for?

"Good, isn't it?" asks the young gentleman across from you. It's clear he's used to grand dining; he's dainty with his chewing, and knows on which occasion a specific utensil should be used. However, his eyes are kind—there's no judgment in them as he watches you wolf down your food.

"Definitely." Letting go of table etiquette, you speak with half your mouth full. Glance down at his plate. "Do you usually eat that little?"

"Not really," he responds. "Just keeping room for dessert."

"There's dessert?"

As if on cue, chocolate cake and more chicken wings are placed on the table. You take one of the chicken wings and eat it with rice, classic Filipino style.

(Speaking of, you really, really miss Jollibee.)

Should you go for the cake, too?

You glance at the cake, then at your growing belly. Fuck it. You slice a generous part of the cake onto your golden plate. The frilling of the dessert is made of flowery cream. The bakers decorated the top of it with coffee-flavored candy, which you fork into your mouth gladly. Your stomach and heart feel full, but you just keep eating. It’s rare to come across food this delicious, and you’re not going to waste it. It’s all or nothing.

"Let's take half and half for this bad boy," the gentleman gestures to the cake with a pinky, "and leave nothing for the rest of these fuckers. How's that sound?"

"What the hell, I'm in."

As promised, he slices the dessert smoothly with a serving knife and places a good amount for you, and another one for him. You're gluttons, you two, but it's exactly that which made you like each other.

You become quite uneasy when you see staff looking at you strangely. Their eyes are squinted, and they’re murmuring among themselves, pointing in your direction. You try to look away, but they’re approaching already. There’s nowhere else to run.

"Sir, you might want to come with us."

You look up, ready to bear whatever they're planning to do to you. But then you realize they’re talking to your new friend, who looks nervous. The look in his eyes matches the one you’d see in an animal caught in a bear trap. He follows them anyway to the backrooms; the staff look pretty serious, and they don't look like they'd back up.

You've no idea what happened after, but you hear the words "masturbation" and "disobeyed," watch a few heads turn out of curiosity, and smell the horrid scent of burning skin.

You also hear screaming.

Safe to say that no one used the toaster after that.

You enter the chambers of your room with a fulfilled stomach. There's just a tiny amount of alcohol in your system, enough to keep your nerves at bay, and maybe a few mashed potatoes. You make sure to brush all that off in the tiled bathroom, using the small tube of hotel toothpaste and the children's toothbrush they provided for you. Drain it all down with mouthwash and leave your mouth feeling minty.

You thought the bedroom would be as grand as the rest of the place. To your surprise, its design and furniture look like ones you'd see at a gas station motel, nothing more. There's no expensive comforter to slip under, or a tiger's carpet to rest your feet on. It's all just… normal.

Maybe you'd like it that way. One day, it'll feel like home. You're not entirely sure about it, but you're hoping it'll happen.

You're just watching TV on the vintage television they set up on a small table (it’s a pretty old movie called Psycho) when a knock sounds on your door. Wondering who it might be, coming over at this hour, you open it.

"Good evening, sir."

A girl with braided hair twisted by dark bows in a stereotypical and an obviously fetish maid outfit stands timidly outside of your room. In spite of your tiredness, it still astounds you how she looks like an expensive, vintage porcelain doll brought to life. Her skin is as pale as the frilly, ribboned fabric forming the top of her black dress and the gloves that wrap her thin arms like a present. Her hands are curled behind her back, but they hide nothing, not even her nervousness.

"I'm sorry," you say. She's pretty, and you would have done her, but you don't know what the hell she's doing here. "I didn't ask for room service."

"It's not room service," she says. She's tall for a girl, only a little shorter than you, but you forget it with how often she hangs her head. "I'm, I'm here to give you the… you know…"

"Huh?"

"The grinding thing?" the girl goes on. Her fingertips tap against each other. Her eyes meet everything but yours. "The lap dance?"

Oh, now you remember. Your mind let go of the idea, having trained its focus on the food you consumed, but now, you can't stop thinking about what this girl is going to do. And here you thought it was just a joke to get you going.

You take a proper look at her. She's really beautiful. That face and body of hers, visually striking and slim in all the right spots, doesn't belong in a maid's uniform, now that you look closer. She should be a model, strutting down the catwalk with confidence in every one of her strides. She should be out there walking for fashion weeks and shows, not grinding on random strangers varying from old and young.

(However, in all unfiltered honesty, you certainly wouldn't mind her rubbing her thighs and ass on you, or holding those braids as you plow her—)

"Who are you?"

"I'm the maid," she replies. She bites her lip, getting even more anxious about what's to come, but it just looks undeniably sexy to you, even if its effect on you is wholly unintended.

Nodding: "Yeah, I know that. But what's your name?"

"W-Wonyoung…"

"Well, Wonyoung, do you want to do this? It's completely fine if you don't."

It's probably her first time hearing this because her blush is intense. She can't recall the last time anybody asked if she actually consented to her job. "I don't mind," she says honestly. She crosses her arms together and looks down. "I think I kinda like it."

You smile widely. "You do, huh?"

"Yes, but I'm a little nervous. I… I've never done stuff like this before."

Her voice is small and sweet. Pair that up with her angelic face and the outfit, then it equates to her looking like the perfect fuckdoll. You can imagine a million different scenarios with her if the world were kinder: having her as your pretty little sugar baby, with Wonyoung always following you like a tail and calling you daddy. Perhaps as a young wife, too, who'd welcome you home in ways that stray from a simple breakfast or kiss. Oh, you lament those lost universes.

But for now, you can have her pretty ass on your crotch.

"Come show me what you came for," you say.

"I—" Wonyoung shakes her head. She has to get a hold of herself. "Sorry, I'm just scared."

"Don't worry, I'll help you out."

Your lower body descends on the bed. And after, so does her tight, round ass on your center.

Your hands hold on to her tiny waist and guide her in her routine. She's on your lap, and you're in heaven.

The skirt, created and woven by the wealthy seamstresses in the hotel, is mesmerizing, but it's the natural way of her butt grinding left and right on your crotch that catches you whole, as if she were born with the ability to make the simple, subtle action of nuzzling her rear end on your cock feel like every good thing in the world. In that moment, you have strong faith that a million dollars or a good life can't compare to Wonyoung's ass.

The doubled pleasure from her thin safety shorts and her round butt causes you to let out a deep, guttural moan: "Fuck, Wony."

"Wony?" she asks, looking back at you with glassy eyes that still hold impossibly delicate innocence in them. Oh, how much you want to see the corruption's lust bloom in her irises.

"Sorry." You throw your hands in the air with a soft, broken laugh. "Just slipped out of me, dunno why."

"No, it's fine," says Wonyoung. She winks. "I like it."

Temptation taunts you in the form of the young girl's skirted ass. You wonder if she's lying about being a neophyte to this; she's a natural talent. She takes care to press her butt hard against your rising erection, and pleasure its covered tip by grinding on it with a rapid rhythm. Your cockhead starts to feel hot and tight, and you can tell she's aroused as much as you are; her safety shorts are attractively damp.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes." You hold on to her dancing hips that grind on your growing erection, guiding her movements to what feels good for you. "Mmm, fuck, faster."

"I can't, I'm sorry..."

Wonyoung halts and rises from your lap. It's a terrible decision to make; it leaves you with unfulfilled desire and her with shaky, buckling legs. She bows apologetically. "I—I'm not supposed to do anything other than that, sir," she explains. "I have to go now. I'm sorry."

You can't believe you were teased like that. And you can't even masturbate to get down from the path to your high. You've seen what they did to the man who was caught touching himself, and you aren't keen on having your hand shoved inside a burning hot toaster.

"Wonyoung, please—"

She exits the room, head bowed and cheeks flushed. You're sitting like a rejected schoolboy on the bed, with blue balls and a throbbing erection, and you couldn't be more disappointed.

The next day arrives faster than you expected, and you still can’t stop thinking about her. Well, there wasn't a minute in the nighttime you spent without thinking of Wonyoung. Although your eyes ought to be on the pretty girls aplenty who’re looking for a man like you—(there’s Miyawaki Sakura, the wealthy heiress with pink hair and a charming, camera-trained smile, and; Kim Jiwon, who would have stolen your heart with her cute, cat-like ways back in your high school days)—your mind remains caught up in Wonyoung.

Pick up your cup, and the black design makes you think of her dark braided hair, which would have felt amazing curled up in your hands as you have your way with her. It’s difficult to drink coffee when the bitter taste reminds you of how she’d taste infinitely better, if last night her crotch was parked on your face instead of your lap. Wiping your mouth with the provided tissue paper sparks a new lamentation: the similar smooth feel of her maid’s dress, and, with her slim shape, how easy it would be to fold her into every position imaginable just to feel her insides become disarrayed from your needy cock.

She’s like a dream come true, dancing in your mind as if she were your ballerina rather than a hotel maid. She’s a sweet, innocent daydream who knows not of how much she stays first in line in your train of thoughts. Wonyoung is temptation in its most innocent form, and it ruins you how you can’t have her for yourself.

"Hey, you alright?" asks the old man you befriended after Rei's rejection. He's still wearing his pajamas and foggy glasses.

You nod, your mind someplace else. "Yeah. You?"

"All is well on my end, too." He lathers Nutella on the plateaus of bread and folds into half tightly. "Did the maid come over to see you last night?"

Chewing through your bread (untoasted, of course), you shake your head. "Nope," you lie through your teeth. "No lap dance, no nothing."

"Huh, that's odd. You probably don't remember it."

"Or maybe you lied," you say.

"Nuh uh, your old man's a saint. She came over to me last night. Gave hot stuff here some action."

"Sure she did."

The man chuckles lightly before taking a bite out of his bread. Now that his eyes are on his food rather than you, you think of Wonyoung again. You wonder if your meeting with her is what love at first sight is. You’re unhealthily infatuated with the girl, and you’ve only met her once. Could it be that this means something more?

Unfortunately, you haven’t got the answer to your own question. But, when she comes tonight, you’ll find out. Your determination is set on it.

3. THE

And come she does; her meek voice barely has audible quality past the glass peephole on your door, but it does make her small face look unusually large. Her expression holds the same lamblike innocence to it, and the dirty thoughts all come rushing back.

Your heart jumps as you welcome her inside. "Hi, Wonyoung."

"S-sir," she stutters, hands folded in front of her skirt, "I want to say that I'm sorry for last night."

Her voice is sweetly precious in a way that, even if you didn't already like her, you would have forgiven her instantly. Her departure last night isn't a grudge you hold on her—she just wants to stay true to the rules, plain and simple. And there's nothing wrong with that; you play by the book, too.

"No hard feelings." You pat her cheek. Feel it become hot. "You're just doing your job. One more time okay?"

You watch the relief wash over her face. But nervousness settles in once more as she sits on top of you.

Her bum erects your cock, sliding up its backside and teasing the tip like she did the night before. You even get a feel of a cameltoe through her shorts. Your hands find her waist and you help her sway her hips side to side. Wonyoung's constantly looking back at you with desperation tinting her gaze. She might not know it, but it's the plea in her gaze that's daring you to break the rules for her just one time. Just one time.

Come on, it seems to taunt, you can live with a burnt hand, you can live with being a rabbit if it means spending a night with Wonyoung. Do it.

So, when she finishes her routine, the first thing you utter is:

"Please don't go."

You've reached a new low: you've fallen for the maid's tight hot body and pretty little face, and now you can't get enough. You won't ever get enough of her, and that both satisfies and dissatisfies you. If she's so far away, how can you ever get to have at least a healthy portion of her? How can you lose yourself in her when it's forbidden?

Wonyoung looks at you regretfully. "Sir," she begins, hand steadied on the doorknob.

"Please, Wony."

The nickname ignites a firework in her. The flame shoots through her trembling hands, pretty face, and drenched core.

When did words alone make her feel so… warm? Her legs feel weak all of a sudden, and though she knows she can get in trouble for entertaining you more, invisible puppet strings drag her to you. Her lust, like some tumors, has formed a mind of its own, and it overpowers her logic already. It intends to keep her on the track towards granting her sexual needs.

"If we do it," she says hesitantly, "do you promise to never tell anyone?"

"I swear."

Wonyoung nods, registering your oath and making a silent one of her own, too. "Okay, thank you."

"Of course."

"And… and can you call me Wony?"

You promise to. You swear on your risked life and heart poisoned by Wonyoung's presence that somehow thrives with the toxicity.

To illustrate what happens after that, and how your pants and her underwear end up slipping off and her thin legs are suddenly curled around your waist, is difficult. It's hard to remember who initiated everything, or even make verbal guesses when your lips are entangled with Wonyoung. Any attempts to cover any hidden CCTVs should have been made earlier when your hands weren't on her thighs, lifting her to the bed and keeping her down there as kissing becomes the only thing you know.

You don't know if Wonyoung is a good kisser or it's all because of how plump her lips are. They wrap around your own with such soft security that the tenderness of it makes slipping your tongue inside her ignites feelings of just a tiny bit of guilt. But then you remember that corrupting Wonyoung from a sweet girl with little experience to a nymphomaniac is exactly what you want to do, and the guilt goes away almost completely.

"You kiss so well, sir," she says, much to your surprise when you've just completed an internal monologue about how good she kisses.

"You're not so bad yourself. Fucking love these lips." You lick a stripe of lust over her mouth and she giggles. "Show me what they're good for, Wony."

"You mean, like… suck your cock?"

"You're a quick girl."

"I am, but only for you, sir."

Wonyoung takes this as her sign to switch the positions, with you being the one on the bed while she gets on her knees. The size difference between your erection and her small face surprises you. With how small Wonyoung is all over, especially her little mouth, how can she take you?

Luckily for you—and for the equally turned on maid—that's the thrill of it. She's big and tall around everyone but you, and that alone already makes you want to do the most unholy things to her. Show her who's truly the big one in this situation, show her where she belongs, which is below you, between your legs and making puppy eyes for your cock.

The light dawns on Wonyoung's pleading face. She pouts, grabbing a hold of your cock and swiping it on her mouth, before asking, "Please? May I pretty, pretty please suck your cock?"

"You can anytime. Wouldn't mind if I pull on your cute pigtails, right, Wony? You'd let me tug on them while I fuck your face?"

"Oh!" Wonyoung nods eagerly. Is that even a question? Of course she'd let you. "Yes, yes, sir, please do. Wony doesn't care if it hurts. Wony only wants you."

Are those tempting words part of her training course prior to becoming a maid? Maybe, and perhaps closing her sweet lips cleanly around your dick is a lesson there, too; it's a lesson she passed with flying colors.

Her hair's already twisted in your fingers, ready for when the overpowering emotion of lust hits. Meanwhile, her hands are on your thighs to guide her in pushing her head back and forth. Her eyes sparkle more than the stars in the night sky outside the window.

She clicks her tongue on the bottom side of your cock. Hissing, you make your first tug, mumbling her name in almost rueful tones. Yea, rue Wonyoung for how fucking sexy she is, rue her for taking your eyes off the people you're supposed to be with. Oh, yes, rue her. Her punishment ought to be what's happening right now, but she's enjoying it a little too much for it to be called one.

"So good!" she says pitchily, as if your cock were actual food that's left a lasting first impression. "Mm, oh, you're so big and long, sir. I love how your precum tastes. But I want the, the real cum from you, too."

"Wonyoung…"

There's her name again, never leaving your thoughts but departing from your lips. You rise from the edge of the bed and poke your dick against the inside of her cheek, and God, does she look adorable. It feels good, too.

"Mmm, mmm! You'll give it to me, won't you?" Wonyoung looks up at you expectantly, speaking between effortless blowing. "You'll give plenty of cum for Wonyoung, right?"

"If you keep blowing me like that, I might as well."

The last three words come all rambled against each other, tied closely between syllables as you're losing your breath. Dragging your cockhead against Wonyoung's tongue and cheeks brings you a lot closer than you'd like, but you really don't want to deny her of what she wants. You'd love to spoil her with numerous shots of semen, all over her beautiful and angelic face, plus inside her prepared mouth.

"Oh, then I'll keep doing it." She giggles mischievously. Your hips are contained by her hands as she starts to bob her head. You gasp as you fill her throat and part its tightness. Her tongue teases your balls pressing against her lips and your throbbing veins. "Mmm, like this, sir? C'mon, fuck my throat. Give me your cum."

You aren't going to deny her of that either. Your cock enters the depths of her throat with the help of your fists pulling onto Wonyoung's braids. She lets out soft grunts whenever you thrust, and soon, her effortless blowing becomes difficult to replicate.

It's sadistic pleasure when her gags stimulate your cock even further, as if she were just another pretty little fuckdoll whose purpose is none other than that, and her mouth opens wider for air only to be filled again with cock. Her breaths are far away, and with your musky scent filling her nostrils, she can't even get oxygen. Spit and gags are all you can hear aside from your own heavy groans and Wonyoung's whines. A world outside of sex with her doesn't exist at the moment—it's just you and her, and there's no turning back.

And, even with only you and her in this universe, you still get lost in the warm wet pleasure of her mouth.

The merciless assaults you do unto her face, using what's supposed to be the visual of the century being displayed in billboards nationwide as your personal fuckhole, make both of you scream. Like an experiment gone wrong, you explode in Wonyoung's mouth. Her drool slides down her chin as her tongue sticks out, trying to catch the hosed eruptions of semen into her mouth. She wants it all inside her, and there's no excuses that can be made for drops gone wasted.

That's what the rest of her face is for. You pull out and spray your cum on her. More explodes

"Sir, oh, sir, that's so much!" Wonyoung opens her mouth wide and sticks out her tongue, her eyes closed. "Yes, thank you, I'll take all of it!"

There are promises all over the world that are broken everyday, but Wonyoung keeps hers, true to her word: hands on her knees, like the obedient little maid she is, she lets your mess launch into her mouth and face. Even when some get into her hair, or a few specks roll down her maid outfit, she stays still and lets the tide take its toll on her.

It settles eventually, like all things do at some point. But it's made clear that this sex thing won't—you still want more. Like lust and gluttony, the sin of greed has taken over you. You long for more of Wonyoung, for her everything, knowing that this might be the last night you're ever allowed to see her again. They're sure to be watching everything going on.

You stand to lock the door. As the latch falls into place as well as the dresser table for extra security, Wonyoung's eyes sparkle; it means that the two of you aren't done yet.

"You're going to give me the real thing, right, sir?" A good pet and a good girl, Wonyoung crawls, following your steps, and sets her used face on your knee when you sit back down. "Right? Please say I'm right."

You laugh. After stroking her hair, you wipe the cum off her face with your thumb and offer it to Wonyoung. She sucks on it, as expected. "Aren't you supposed to be leaving? I thought you didn't want to do this."

"Oh, but I do, sir. I wanted to but I was scared… but I'm not scared anymore. I want you and your cock inside me, now."

You dig your thumb deeper into her tongue. Wonyoung whimpers, forced to open her mouth wider. "I'm afraid you don't get to make the rules around here, Wonyoung," you taunt. "But maybe if you tell me what you want, I'll give it to you."

"Really?"

"Sure, why not? But don't get your hopes up, Wony."

"Hahmm, okay." Wonyoung's finger dimples her chin. "I want you to fuck me."

"Dirty little mouth you got there."

Wonyoung blushes. "You made me like this, sir. It's your fault. I want you to take responsibility."

"In what way?"

"No…"

"I need you to be more specific, doll," you say. You raise her chin upwards. She juts her bottom lip out. "I'm risking everything here for you. Tell me what you want."

"I want sir to fuck me… to fill me up like I'm his little breeding toy." Wonyoung squirms. She's getting turned on at her own words. "Yes, yes, I want that—I know it'll hurt because I haven't been fucked by a cock as big as his, but I don't care. I want you to fill my insides and fill every hole. I want you to make it last."

"Even if we might never get to see each other again? Even if you might lose your job?"

"I don't care if I do, sir. All I want is you."

"You're a desperate little thing, aren't you, Wonyoung?" you ask, smiling a little. "But that's good enough for me. Get on the bed."

Wonyoung obeys a little too fast for someone who's only met you once. Where is the hesitation from earlier? Out of the window—she's on all fours on the mattress, skirted ass and pussy jut out. She's shameless, bold, and you certainly wouldn't have thought she'd be this weak for cock if you had only met her outside of this hotel. Her angelic looks just sweep out all possibilities of sluttiness, or at least, you would have thought so, because why is she whining helplessly right now, all for your dick?

Her soft sounds are subliminal messages. They tell you to spank her soft ass and have your way with her. They're so powerful that you do exactly that: you draw your hand back as far as you could and slap Wonyoung's ass cheek. Her knees tremble, and she's whispering your soft honorific over and over.

"Sir, please," Wonyoung whispers. "No more. I need you right now."

She doesn't need to say it when her soft, virginal cunt dribbles a waterfall of wetness. You make it a point to let your fingers slap its puffy lips as well. It sends the little maid crying out in pain, but it couldn't be that if she's spreading her legs more, right?

"Need your cock inside me," she says. She winces and cringes through the spanks. "Mm! Need it to ruin me, sir! Need it to make your maid too tired to work, please, please, please!"

"You're risking your job here, Wony," you say, a proud smirk on your face as you remind her of what's at stake, "you're risking everything just for my cock. And you've only met me once. My god, you really are a slut."

"Mhmm, I am!"

"And you know what happens to bad little maids like you, right?" Throwing one last harsh spank, you lean over to whisper in her ear. "They get this."

Wonyoung screams a ramble of curses when your cock enters her. You suppose she's truthful about never having done much of this before; she's painfully tight. Grunts already depart from your lips at the first few thrusts.

"Jesus fucking Christ." You're hypnotized by her reddened ass bouncing against your stomach as you drill into her. Your hands are wrapped tightly around her little waist to feel more of the round cheeks clap.

"Sir!" she shouts. She never gives you a break; her vaginal walls are always swallowing your length and keeping most of it there. "More, please, more, I need it!"

Wonyoung's pussy is better than just having her do a lap dance on you. It isn't even a debatable matter when it's wet just right for you to slide in and out of her hot warm hole, and tight enough to pleasure your cock like she was designed for fucking. Sizable breasts, pretty dazed face, and slim bod? It's hard to believe that those descriptions do not belong to a sex doll but instead to Wonyoung, but she's becoming one herself also.

That's exactly the reason why you're more than happy to give more to her. You glide your hands everywhere, feeling her beautiful body almost worshipfully. You're afraid to break her; she's so slim that you might hurt her with one wrong move, but your fear doesn't really match up with how mercilessly you're pounding her, how you're forcing her to scream out your honorifics as if the walls were soundproof.

You're worried, to be honest. You know they're watching, and you know other people are still waiting for their daily routine with her. You know that the two of you could get in trouble that extends to more than a simple scolding. More clarity would have hit you like a brick wall in your way if it weren't for Wonyoung screaming:

"Yes, yes, yes, fuck me like that! Ha– oh!"

Wonyoung lets out a tiny exhale at your hands pulling on her braids. With the help of the tugs, your eyes enjoy the sight of her expressions contorting with the pleasure and pain. One second, she's pursing her lips and her eyes are wide open, and in the other millisecond her mouth hangs with yelps and gasps. Wonyoung is not afraid to show how she feels, which motivates you to keep pounding. Every flush drill into her naked lower body draws another orgasmic expression on her pretty face.

"That's right, Wony likes having her little pussy stretched out," you growl. Sex might as well be an exercise; you're straining your hips with how hard you pull out and push, and getting your hands sore as they grasp her braids. Wonyoung is merely your equipment. "You do, don't you? Pretending you're an innocent babygirl just to tempt me?"

"Y-yes," she says, biting her lip. "I love sir's hard cock! I love how it hurts, oh yes—"

"Of course you do, baby. It doesn't matter what I do to you, you'll always cum for me. You'll put everything on the, fuck, line just for my dick."

Wonyoung squeals throughout firm rubs on her clit. Her lower body sways and flinches, and she's beginning to struggle to keep herself up. Luckily, there's your grip on her braids to keep her upright, to keep her in position for fucking.

"That's right, sir," she tells you. Her words are cut off by tiny gasps. "I'll always cum for you, I want to be the one you use forever. I don't care if we get caught, I don't care, I just want you."

"Of course. Nobody can fuck you as good as me. You're mine to ruin. Now cum for me like a good girl, Wony. Don't hold back."

She nods. She's almost there. Just a few more sunken thrusts into her warm pussy, and she's going to lose it. It's an ending she actually looks forward to. Being able to squeeze around you and to sheen your girth with squirt seems like an achievable goal. It doesn't even have to be time-based, too, she realizes, when her legs shake once more.

"Ohhhh, fuck! Sir, oh my god, sir, I'm cumming!"

Dragging your penis against her textured sensitive spot, you fuck Wonyoung into an orgasm. It arrives (you smile at the pun) like a heavy flood. If you were the one to spray your cum on her earlier, now it's reversed—Wonyoung's vagina squirts a mess of girl cum and nectar onto your lower body and the little clothes that remained on you. She's screaming so loud that you bet even soundproof walls wouldn't be able to hold back her shouts. No, the walls and windows would shatter, and the bed would break into pieces as well, with the help of her limbs scrambling to steady herself. Wonyoung has gone crazy, finally corrupted to the core as it contains all of your plentiful cum.

You tug her braided ponytails up and let her kneeling form rest against your chest. Her head rests against your shoulder, and from there, you hear her muttering senseless sentences. They can't even be called so when they're fragments of words that don't mix well together, but fortunately, you understand what she means: you fucked her really well.

It could go two ways with Wonyoung when you start to kiss her neck and shoulders: fortunate or unfortunate. She might be ready to have her other hole filled, but on the other hand, she might need more time to recover. But that isn't a matter you linger on when kissing Wonyoung's pretty collarbone and shoulders is a better task to fulfill. She's gasping softly, unable to moan because of losing her voice in her orgasm earlier, but you still work your magic.

"Sir…" she mutters. Exhaustion rides her body like a carousel. It makes her weak, and your kissing doesn't help aid her situation.

"Yes, Wony?"

She leans back more into your neck, and curves her head to the side so that her words play out next to your ear: "I want more."

4. RABBITHOLE

"You sure?" you say. This is probably one of the few times she has had sex, and it's only one night. Maybe it's going too fast?

"Does sir not want to fill my little asshole up?" Wonyoung asks. She guides your fingers to her sides. As if her body and your hands were magnets, they join instantly. "Doesn't he want Wony anymore?"

God knows what Wonyoung referring to herself in third person does to you. Your cock hardens and bumps her ass cheeks, and you’re required to tighten your hold on her hips to maintain your stability. "I—I want you, Wonyoung," you say. "But are you sure you're ready?"

She blushes. It's little caring questions like these that put her into the most passive state imaginable. When that state of mind imprisons her, she only wants to make you feel good. "Yes, sir."

There it is. It's your cue to switch positions, make use of as little time as possible to recover, and get ready.

You lather her asshole with makeshift lube. You drag squirt from her pussy to her rear end, using it as lube. Wonyoung, now sitting on the bed, watches. She's overcome with lust. Her puckered hole twitches as you tease your cock against it.

"Don't tease me, sir,” begs Wonyoung. She parts her leg a little more, then leans back into the mattress. The way she’s looking at you with those sultry yet pure eyes and how her legs are spread underneath the maid dress are straight out of a porn. Wonyoung’s so tempting, so irresistible, that you wonder every now and then if she’s even real. She’s a walking doll from head to toe, made to fuck and be fucked, which leaves the question: why aren’t you filling her asshole up yet?

You bunch together a whole lot of effort to push your cock through her hole. It’s a little less wet than her pussy, but god, is it tight. Wonyoung moans softly and tries to relax, but every push makes her impulsively clench down. You’re afraid that you might blow early, and you really don’t want this to end yet.

“Sir, sir,” she says, eyes widening to the size of saucers when you grab her legs and push them back. “Fuck, it’s so good, I can’t—”

You groan a little. “Yes you can, Wony.” Your thumbs slide up and down on her thighs affectionately. “You’re my good girl, right? You can take it.”

“Hnnn.” Wonyoung shuts her eyes. Her moans and whimpers are a series of pleasure that almost makes you forget about being careful rather than urge you to be. You’d love to hear more of those pretty moans from her, but she can’t make them unless she’s comfortable. “Is it all in yet, sir?”

Her asshole has taken in most of your rod. You suppose that’s good for a first-timer. It’s good enough for a little white lie. “Yep. Good girl. Can I move now?”

“Okay… just be careful.”

With a girl like Wonyoung, careful sex is out of the question. But oh, you try, you truly do. Make use of your shaft covered with Wonyoung’s pussy juices to lube up the journey inside her asshole. Let her wet cunt make it easier to slip into her tight, brown hole. You enjoy the helpless, corrupted look in her face and the feel of her pillowy thighs in your hands, and you can safely presume that she’s enjoying it, too. Soft hums of pain still barely make it out from between her knit lips, but her eyes roll back—it’s a different feeling, for sure, yet it feels good.

“Fuck, Wony, you’re a tight fit.”

“Thank you, sir,” says Wonyoung. Her pale cheeks have turned red again.

She rubs a finger over her nub so more of her juices can lubricate her rear end. It’s effective; although Wonyoung writhes with the double pleasure, the unusual method makes it easier to fuck her. Now, thrusting inside her is almost like doing so to her pussy: tight and wet. Her ass ripples beautifully, and her expressions catch you off guard. Her jaw is on the ground and her eyes look upwards, as if doing so helped ease the experience. However, she shuts them, as making that expression makes you hammer harder into her butt.

“That’s it, sir, it feels so good now. You’re so big inside me.”

“Deeper then?” you challenge her. You push her legs deeper into the mating press position, and you can visibly see her pussy clench around nothing but air. You’re allowed to travel deeper inside her butt this way, and Wonyoung couldn��t be more ecstatic.

“Yes, hmmm! So hard, sir, I can feel you throbbing!”

Does a sir kink exist? If not, it does now—Wonyoung’s polite honorific has become the easiest method to harden and lengthen your erection. Each time she calls you that, with those same watery eyes and puffy lips, you’re driven to deliver hammered thrusts in her hole, whichever one. In a way, she’s corrupted you, too. If you erased the former innocent maid she is, she’s transformed you into a man who can only go weak for her. Other women have no effect on you when the hotel maid is the one you’d rather pin down the bed and fuck till she passes out.

And she doesn’t even know it.

“Fuck, Wonyoung.” You give in to your impulsive thrusting, wringing screams of pleasure from her throat. “What the fuck are you doing to me, hm?”

Wonyoung’s next inhalation of air is delayed due to the obstacle that is your hand wrapped around her throat. She whines out. “Sir, oh my god—”

“This is all your plan, isn’t it, you naughty girl? You want me to do anything for you. You want my cock so bad that you make me want you, too. And for what, hm? For a quick dicking down? You’re fucking pathetic.”

Degrading word after degrading word leaves your mouth, but each makes Wonyoung thrust her core upwards to meet your clashing sex. She’s become paler, weaker, sluttier—all in the span of your furious sex session. You’ve no idea why you’re saying all those words that would hurt a normal person’s feelings and dignity, especially when Wonyoung is too angelic and pretty to be guilty of anything, but if it makes Wonyoung look like she’s on the edge of cumming at all times, then you’ll stick to that plan.

“I bet you like walking around in your little outfit, Wony, and wearing those pigtails, too, because you know people are going to look. Is that what you want? For people to notice how goddamned fuckable you are? Because if it is, it’s fucking working.”

Pausing is a faraway dream; you keep on rambling, and your thrusts remain rapid. A stream of ruined breaths squeeze out of Wonyoung’s mouth. Her pillow-like cheeks clench tighter around your cock, as if it were agreeing.

“Sir,” coughs out Wonyoung. Tears spill down her face, but she keeps on rubbing her small clit, and, on occasion, fingerfucking her cunt. “I’m going—god, I’m going to—”

“Cum? Do it, then. Cum all over my dick, but we’re not finished. The night is still young, Wony; we have all the time in the world.”

Releasing Wonyoung’s throat does nothing to help her breathe when your lips crash into hers immediately. She’s screaming into your mouth. You propel yourself closer to orgasm with your thrusting, then fully cream her butthole. Wonyoung’s cum squirts all over the place: on the bed sheets, your shirt, and your cock. She stops rubbing herself, apparently giving up on taking more, but you continue the loop for her.

Her screams continue. They’re a melody to accompany your thrusts, and your sleep, for you collapse on the bed, tired and weak.

You'll meet your end today. They already found out. That's definitely certain; mandatory love is no winning game. Love in general isn't, especially when it's founded on merely scrawny and lustful sex. The lines between lust and love blur, and it becomes more dangerous than it actually is.

So, now that you remember how all this—a young, gorgeous woman by the name of Jang Wonyoung in the crook of your arm, her hand on your cock and glossy lips on yours—start, what do you do now?

Well, for one, you have to reminisce about the past and pray for there to be a future, just one more time. You've to live in what once was as if the former days were the current ones and what's now is nothing to worry about. But you shouldn't dwell too long; the rapid knocking on your door is growing louder and louder.

#kpop smut #izone smut #ive smut #jang wonyoung smut #wonyoung smut #izone wonyoung smut #ive wonyoung smut #wonyoung #jang wonyoung #male reader #x reader #reader insert #pov smut

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thriftedtchotchkes · 1 year

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hi ur writing is so so good, makes me go insane ur amazing

okay so could you do a normally dom!joel but one day he has the day off and reader doesn’t, so all he does ALL day is think about her. When she gets home he’s worked himself into a frenzy, desperate asf. So instead of his usual dominant self he’s desperate!joel whining and whimpering for her to touch him, make him cum, moaning in her ear and grinding against her.. all of that fun stuff 🤭

thank u for ur time, pls excuse the depravity 🙏🏾

hi nonie! loooved this request so much. i got a similar one from @luvrxbunny, so i combined them a bit and made it a lil longer. hope you both enjoy!

omg ur so amazing ily pls pls pls pls pls pls pls can i have dom!joel with a praise kink 🙏🏾 he doesn’t even really realize it but reader does and she’s just pummels him with praise while he’s fucking her and he does feral, moaning and grunting in her ear i’m sorry im so feral

way too damn needy

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, language, smut, dom-turned-sub!joel, gentle-dom!reader, praise kink, masturbation, phone sex, blowjobs, face fucking, lil fluff

word count: 2.8k

What a way to spend his only day off in weeks. The weather’s perfect for playing his guitar on the porch, and he thought he’d even squeeze in a swim before getting started on building that new bedside table for Sarah. He had plans.

But instead, Joel’s stalking around his living room like a caged animal in an endless loop of waiting, waiting, waiting.

It’s like he’s been transported back to his teenage years when every guy in a relationship followed his girl around like a puppy, always at her beck and call. Wondering what she was doing, if she was thinking about him. Except he wasn’t even that guy in high school. Not then, and definitely not now.

There’s really no logical reason for him to be this wound up, totally unable to do a single thing on his to-do list just because you’re not home. Leave it to your company to be the only one in the entire country that doesn’t give their employees Labor Day off.

That’s probably a gross exaggeration, but what does he care? He’s been tragically affected by this clearly personal transgression, and has to wait…two more hours? Seriously? You normally leave around 5:30, which means you’re home by six, and he’s not sure he can wait that long.

The sad fact of it all is that he’s already wasted almost the entire day not enjoying all of those relaxing activities he’d planned for. What’s even sadder is that he’s been half-hard for most of it, intermittently pausing his ridiculous pacing to grind the heel of his hand into his crotch for relief. Petulantly waiting for you to get home and take care of it for him.

Well, another hour’s gone by, it’s 5 pm, and he’s officially past his limit. At this point, he's probably better off handling it himself, at least until you're finally back. Then, you’re all his.

He’ll fill you up with every last bit of pent-up frustration he’s felt since you left the house this morning, making you regret not just calling in sick. You might have to tomorrow after he’s done with you.

Joel drops onto the couch, laying to face the door so he’s the first thing you see when you walk in. Pulling his boxers and jeans down just enough to get his cock out, he wraps his hand around himself, immediately hissing out a breath through his teeth. Shit, he’s been hard for hours and just that slight touch already has him leaking precum all over his fingers.

For a moment, he worries that maybe he’s a little too worked up, that he’ll cum way before he gets the chance to make you sorry for making him feel so desperate. So needy. And that makes him mad.

It should be your fingers covered in precum, your plush lips sucking him down to the hilt, and your pretty pussy aching with the need to have him inside you. Funny how you’re always so good for him, except today when he needs you the most.

His hand starts to move languidly before he can stop it, the slide wet and tight, just like he knows you’ll be. But it’s not you, and that makes him even angrier. If he can’t feel you the way he needs to, then maybe your voice will hold him over until he can.

The phone only rings twice before you pick up.

“Baby, I’m busy right now. What’s up?” you answer, slightly out of breath.

It’s cruel, but Joel honestly doesn’t give a shit if you’re busy. Not when his mind is this clouded with thoughts of you on your back, breathing much heavier than you are right now. But he manages to keep that to himself.

“You comin’ home soon?” he asks gruffly, still tugging on his cock, head thrown back on the armrest of the couch.

“Uhh, probably leaving in about…a half hour?” Your voice lilts like you had to double-check the time. “Everything okay?”

“Any chance you can leave now?” he tries again, side-stepping your question.

The desperation in his voice is obvious, and it makes him feel even more pathetic. He wonders if you can hear it. Part of him hopes you can.

“Why, did something happen? Is Sarah okay?” you ask, clearly concerned.

“S’fine, everythin’s fine. Just miss ya, s’all," he lies shakily.

Of course, he misses you, but nothing here is fine. His angrily weeping cock is a testament to that. He's all but fucking into his own fist now, hips bucking off the couch as he pants into the phone.

“Joel, what—are you touching yourself? Jesus,” you mumble, and he can hear your heels clacking against the floor like you’re walking somewhere. Quickly.

“Been thinkin’ about ya all damn day. Dunno why you went into work on a fuckin’ holiday,” he grunts. “Should’a been here with me, on your back, beggin’ for my cock like a good girl.”

You inhale sharply and, though muted through the phone, he hears it loud and clear, dribbling more precum down his shaft. Unfamiliar voices start to filter through the speaker, so he’s guessing you can’t say much.

And that’s okay. He has no problem filling the silence. Joel loves talking to you while he’s getting off.

“Had me feelin’ needy today, babygirl. Y’know I don’t like that,” he says dangerously. Your heels hit the ground faster, and he subconsciously matches his strokes to your pace. “Thought I was losin’ my mind for a while there. Was just about ready to let you do whatever you wanted to me when you got home, s’long as I got to fuck that tight pussy of yours.”

A door slams in the background, then all he can hear is you panting heavily in his ear. But when you finally speak again, your voice sounds different. Less like his good girl, and more like someone who knows they hold all the power.

“Oh, poor baby,” you coo, catching him off guard. “Did I leave you alone too long?”

He can tell you’re mocking him but, for some reason, his resolve starts to slip away more and more with every violent throb of his cock. Maybe it’s desperation. Or maybe he just likes it.

“I’m so sorry,” you continue, murmuring sweetly in his ear. “I can make it all better…but only if you wait a little longer. Can you do that for me? Be my good boy.”

He bites back a groan, gripping the base of his cock hard to keep from cumming then and there. That's...new. And sexy as hell. He's still frenzied to the point of no return, but you also might've rewired something in his brain because he suddenly realizes he does want to be your good boy. Badly.

Fuck, he hopes you get home soon.

That last half hour of work was torture. You spent the entirety of it, and the car ride afterward, marinating in your soaked underwear, anticipating everything Joel has in store for you when you get home.

You're not sure what came over you on the phone, but it sounded like he enjoyed it. A lot. It’s a dynamic you’d never thought to try in your relationship, not with Joel’s domineering personality. The fact that he went along with it at all must mean he’s going through it, and that’s something you’re a little too excited to see.

The house is quiet when you walk in, save for the sound of your keys dropping into the bowl by the door. You turn to hang your bag on a nearby coat rack, and that's when you see him.

Joel, still lying on the couch exactly where you assume you left him after your call, with his hand squeezed tight around the base of his cock. He looks like a goddamn mess—sweating, hard as a rock, and leaking all over himself. His eyes are a little wild, more so than you've ever seen them. Christ, poor baby. You didn’t think your absence would affect him this much.

“Aw, sweet boy. Is all this for me?" you smile softly. He sucks in a breath, visibly twitching in his hand, and your smile widens. “Sit up, I can’t play with you like this.”

He complies immediately, and it sends a shiver up your spine. You love how well he’s listening, even though he almost looks like he's in pain after being in this state for so long. For that, you think he deserves a reward.

So, you give him one—the one he’s been waiting for all day. You undress for him, maintaining eye contact as you slip off your stuffy business attire, finally ridding yourself of your oppressively sticky underwear.

Dropping to your knees between his legs, you gaze up at him affectionately, mouth inches away from his drooling cock.

"Tell me what you want," you lean in, pressing your lips against the smooth, velvety skin. "Still wanna fuck me? Get me on my back, begging for it?"

Your tongue darts out to taste him, and you moan, licking a wide stripe up to wrap your lips around the tip. He's salty and heady, and so fucking delicious, but he still hasn't answered you. Instead, his fingers thread through your hair, guiding you down halfway and back up, shallowly fucking your mouth.

"I—fuck, please...," he's struggling with his words, whimpering around each syllable. "—baby, I waited...been good, did what ya said."

You nod your head understandingly, or at least try to as you continue to let him thrust into the inside of your cheek. His eyes are hyperfocused on the way your skin bulges around him, each stroke sending a shockwave of pleasure straight down his tightening balls.

"Christ, you feel good. Worth waitin' for, so fuckin' worth it," he rasps, his fingers tensing in your hair. "Need ya to—," he repositions your head so he can thrust further, deeper until he's nudging the back of your throat, "—ngh, make me cum. Suck harder, baby, please."

Soft, hiccuped moans escape his parted lips, increasing in volume when you start to drool around him, down your chin and onto your breasts. You can tell he's about to burst, feeling his skin growing taut against your tongue.

"M'gonna—haah, gonna...," desperation clouds his eyes, still dictating his every thought and move.

But you don't let him because that's not what he said he wanted earlier. He's allowed to buck into you a few more times before you pull off with a loud pop, and the needy, frustrated whine he lets out almost makes you reconsider. Almost.

"I'm gonna make you cum, I promise, but not with my mouth," you tell him, voice tinged with disappointment, wrecked from the force of taking him like that. "You were doing so well for me. Come down here, keep being my good boy and I'll make you feel good."

Plopping down on the carpet, you spread your legs so he can see how wet you are for him. It's only gotten worse since earlier, slick coating your thighs, shiny and all the more inviting. You lay back, trailing your fingers up your belly to your breast to tweak a nipple, sighing as you reach out to him with your other hand.

Again, he obeys, his desire to empty down your throat all but forgotten. His shirt is quickly discarded, followed by everything below his waist, and then he's shifting onto the floor between your legs.

"There's my sweet boy," you coo, running your hands up his chest through a smattering of coarse, dark curls, and it rumbles under your palms as he mewls sweetly at your praise.

He leans over you, hovering like he's waiting for permission to touch you, but he doesn't need it. The only thing you're trying to do is guide him, not control him. You want to make sure he gets exactly what he was so patient for.

"Wanna feel you, babygirl. Let me—," he amends what he was about to demand, "...can I touch you?"

You bite your lip nodding as you smile up at him, and he wastes no time dropping down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, sucking wetly as he presses his body flush against yours. You writhe underneath him, just as pent up as he is by now, the realization triggered by how incredible his naked body feels on top of you.

"Fuckin' hell, you're soft," he moans into your ear, propped up on his forearms. His cock brushes against your inner thigh, and his moan turns guttural, raw like it clawed its way out. "Mmph, I can't—"

He lurches up to crash his lips into yours, kissing you sloppily, hungrily, as his hips finally dip to drag against where you're soaked and aching. But not for nearly as long as he's been, and right now, he comes first. You need him to know he can have you. That he doesn't have to wait anymore.

"Don't...don't fight it. You've been perfect, you deserve it," you gasp out, and his hips jerk, your words forcing a low keen past his lips and into your mouth. "Take, baby. Take what you need."

Joel doesn't take, he seizes, laying claim to every part of you. Like he's afraid he won't get another chance if he doesn't take full advantage of what you've given him right now.

He faintly reminds you of a puppy lacking object permanence, believing the next time you leave, he'll be stuck waiting for you to come back to him forever. God, you're not even sure how you fucked him up so badly, but it's clear by the way he's handling you that he won't let you go again.

He moves quickly. One moment, he's leaning back on his heels, digging his fingers into your waist to yank you up onto his thighs, and the next, he's fucking into you as hard and fast as a bullet train. His cock somehow feels thicker, heavier than it ever has when he breaches your cunt, and the stretch has you clawing at the carpet beneath you.

"Missed you all day, wanted you all goddamn day," he growls, plowing into you forcefully enough to make your brain go fuzzy. "Fuck, babygirl, you got no idea what I've been through."

Christ, that feels—it feels...Christ. He's hitting something. You have no idea what, but it feels ungodly, like if he keeps going just like that, you'll cum without his fingers on you at all. It's happened before with Joel, but it's rare—and it's only when he's deep, lighting up all of your nerve endings at once. Fuck, he's being so good today.

"S'okay, you're okay," you gasp, clenching down around him when he suddenly pounds into the spot dead on. "I...I'm here now. Just keep going there, right there."

He nods frantically, gritting his teeth as you continue to tighten around him.

"Good boy," you mumble deliriously, your back arching completely off the ground as your orgasm rocks you.

"Shit, you—'m not touchin'...fuck, baby, you cummin'?"

It hits him all at once, what's happening, and then he's cumming, too. He's loud through his entire release, alternating between drawn-out moans and hiccuped whimpers as he fills you up with a whole day's worth of pent-up frustration.

Thrusting until your aftershocks have subsided, he grinds in deep one last time, letting you milk him completely dry before he pulls out. You're boneless underneath him, your eyes glazed over while his are finally clear for the first time in almost ten hours.

He lowers your body onto the floor and crawls over next you, pulling your body against his. His embrace is warm and pleasant, and enough to pull you out of your post-orgasm stupor. Wriggling in his arms to get more comfortable, you tilt your head back from where he'd tucked it under his chin to grin up at him.

"So you missed me, huh?"

He rolls his eyes, back to his usual, not-totally-depraved self, but you already know the answer. He just spent the last hour showing you exactly how much.

"Thought I already made that clear," he confirms gruffly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Next time, could ya maybe just use your vacation days? Please?"

"Sure," you laugh, nuzzling into his neck. "I'll save them up just for you."

You reach up to scratch your fingernails across his beard, your other hand petting the soft curls at the nape of his neck. A soft noise rumbles low in his chest, but he tries to play it off by clearing his throat. Playfully raising an eyebrow, you continue your ministrations and it happens again.

"Baby, quit, 'm not a dog," he deadpans, even as he leans into your touch, his body betraying him.

"You sure about that? Because you sure were needy like one today."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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daisybianca · 1 year

Text

pairing: lewis hamilton x femalereader

summary: lewis gives you secretly his number. you're hesitant to call him at first, but when you do, things get a little much more interesting.

warning: mentions of sexual activities, cursing words

(a/n): this is part one. Here's part two and part three.

YOU WERE STANDING in the loud crowd of people. Each one of them holding out a shirt, a picture, or a shirt to sign, including you.

You held out a white hat with a Mercedes emblem on it, hoping Lewis would notice it.

When he finally reached you, he looked at you for a few seconds and smiled.

What the...?!

He signed the hat and moved into the next person.

And when you turned around ready to leave, you looked down at your hat, seeing a phone number written on it.

Fuck.

"My best friend is a total idiot," your best friend shouted from the balcony of your apartment.

"Stop calling me an idiot!" You climbed out of bed. "Or at least try to be discreet with your very generous opinions about me and get your ass inside! I've got some deliciously hot neighbors who don't particularly need to know everything about me."

"Have you even been listening to me this whole time that I've been lecturing you about matters of life and death?" She sighed dramatically.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "A random guy giving me his number isn't a matter of life a death, if you ask me."

"Did you just call Lewis Hamilton a random guy? My husband of nine years?"

"Oh, stop acting like a blushing schoolgirl," You brought your fingers to your temple and massaged the flesh there as if the movement could erase the brutal headache. "Besides, you dragged me to that race. Maybe it's your chance to hook up with your crush-since-for-ever!"

Your best friend's eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting, filthy woman?"

"You shoukd call him. I'll give you his number right away." You strolled to find your back, but a habd found your wrist, stopping you.

"You're a mad woman. That's a fact."

You fake smiled. "Stop complimenting me that much. I don't think red suits on my cheeks."

"I swear, you're insane. The only reason I'm still by your side is because until 11th grade, you had my back when I sneaked out for parties, hooking up with whoever had a penis and a 6 pack."

You turned to face your best friend, hands in your hips and lips tightly shut together.

"You're seriously going to turn down this offer?" She asked.

"I wouldn't exactly call it an offer."

Your best friend rolled her eyes. "Yes. I'd call it stupidity, actually!" She waved her hands dramatically in the air. "THE Lewis Hamilton flirted with you, and you didn't even notice. Then he gave you secretly his number, and you're freaking going to ignore it?!"

"And what am I supposed to do about it? He's just a normal guy. Don't make him look like he's some God himself."

"First of all, yeah. Lewis is a God himself. He's mouth-watering hot, almost an 8 times champion, has a very cute dog, an 8 pack to stare at all day long, and much, much money," your best friend explained. "You should definitely call him. At least try to figure out why he gave you his number." She added in a calmer tone.

You exhaled and grabbed the white hat curled up under the sheets of your king sized bed. Gazing at the number, you then bit your lips. "Fine," you gave in. "But I'll call him tomorrow so that I don't seem much desperate, okay?"

"He was the one to make a very, very bold first move, and now you're afraid of embarrassment?!" She growled. "Come on! We only live once. Live some adventure, have some great sex, and experience a true love! I haven't seen you going head over heels for someone except that John guy in college."

"It hasn't been a long time since college," you said, contemplating whether you should count the years or not. You choose the second one. "I'll call him tonight. But don't think I'm doing it because I'm actually interested! I'm doing it exclusively for you." You explained, playing with the hem of your summer blue dress. "He probably is an attention freak who only dates supermodels."

"Baby, I assure you," your best friend came and sat next to you, her hand wrapping around you and caressing your cheek. "Supermodels would kill to look like you."

A smile appeared on your lips, and you gazed at your best friend. She always had a special eay about cheering you up and getting you out of your moody and grumpy vibe.

"Tonight." You said.

This has many potential to go wrong, you thought.

You didn't like wrong. You like safe and steady. But what if your best friend was actually right? (For the very first time of your 20 years old friendship.)

"Tonight." She repeated and smirked.

You turned your head and analyzed the hat with the calligraphic black numbers on it.

This couldn't get any more embarrassing.

***

You let out a long, deep, and shaky breath, then dialed the number.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Three beebs later, a male voice answered the call. "Hello?" The tone was familiar and harsh, but you couldn't be entirely sure that it was him.

"Hey," your voice came out steady, much to your surprise.

"Who is it?" The man replied and now you were sure it was him.

The British accent.

"Um, I noticed a number written on my hat that you signed and--"

"You're the girl from the race?" He interrupted you very much, complicated thoughts that would sooner turn into much more complicated words.

"Yes," you replied hesitantly. "Maybe one of them, at least. In case you gave your number to a few more girls for fun."

A laughter sounded. It was bried but somehow contagious. "I assure you, love, I don't usually spread my number across my fans' hats and shirts."

Your senses kicked in, and the temperature rised in your body.

Love.

"So, why was I the chosen one?" You asked.

"Oh," Lewis growled. "Maybe I could answer that question face to face." He said and then added a few moments later, "Join me for dinner tonight, will you, love?"

You laughed. "Isn't it kind of early for us to meet?"

"I'm not going to kidnap you, I promise." You could basixally hear him smile on the other line. "You can bring a friend of your for more safety." He suggested.

"So that it could be two of us to be kidnapped, right?"

There was a moment of silence. "Not sure about that." He spoke a few seconds later. "I only want you to be honest."

You smiled.

Is he flirting with me?

Of course he's flirting with you, you idiot!

"Are you asking me out on a date?" You asked.

"Yes." He replied instantly. "I couldn't wait another torturing hour, anticipating a call or a text from you."

"Okay. I'm in then."

"What about tonight at 9 pm?" He asked.

It was about 7, so you guessed there was plenty of time to get ready.

"Yes, that'd be great." You smiled.

"Perfect. May I pick you up myself at nine?"

"I'm surely capable of driving my own car, don't you think?" You laughed.

"Maybe," he said. "But why actually do it if I can drive for you? I'll come pick you up myself, I promise."

"No cops, no kidnappers?" You joked.

"I promise."

Lewis Hamilton would drive for you...?

"Okay, then." You spoke. "See you tonight, Lewis. I'll text you the address."

You went to end the call, but he stopped you before tapping the red button. "Wait, wait--"

"Hmm?"

"What's your name, love?"

Your heart roared in your chest and your cheeks reddened.

You adored that nickname.

"Actually, this was the first thing that I would mention to a guy, but love sounds much better, don't you think?"

Lewis laughed. "Tell me your name, and I promise I'll use love every single time instead of it."

"Okay," you said. "I'm (y/n)."

A moment of silence occurred again. "Prettier than love, honestly."

"Maybe, but not when you're the one to say it." You smiled. "You know, that British accent can actually kill."

"Hmm," his voice sounded from the other line. "Weird thing. That is exactly what I could tell about your eyes, as well."

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papercupids · 2 years

Text

a second longer - kim mingyu.

part two.

pairing -> kim mingyu x reader

genre -> fluff, friends to lovers, kinda slowburn?

summary -> you've been friends for too long, and mingyu's had enough of the pining.

a/n -> this is one of my first works in over an year so be kind to me ^_^ and haha i apologize for it being a little shorter compared to my other works but i feel like this is how the plot should have played out! anyway feedback is much, much appreciated <3

The camera is old, and the quality is just down the drain, but somehow, mingyu still looks attractive, you blush a little as he makes eye contact with you and quickly turn your camera away from him, pointing it at wonwoo.

“Wonu! Smile,”

The tension between you both was evident to everybody in the room except you both, or maybe it was, you just refused to acknowledge it.

Even now, as mingyu smirks, you can feel your completely freezing up.

Nothing, nothing. It’s nothing.

And you continue to avoid his eyes as you put the camera back in your hand bag as if the only reason you agreed to this dinner wasn’t him.

You weren’t even sure how it had become so awkward with him suddenly, you both were a part of this friend group alongside wonwoo, joshua, some other friends of yours for years, and in april you’d have been crushing on mingyu for over an year.

Maybe it was that one drunk night in September, when during karaoke, you were so into the song that you ended up being inches apart from him, his face so up close that you could just. Kiss the mole on his nose.

That could be it, perhaps, even though you weren’t even sure he remembered it, or anybody else here did, it just embarrassed you so much that you made a pact with yourself to not drink more than a glass or two in these gatherings.

After everybody was done with the dinner, a few of them decided to hit the karaoke, tomorrow being a sunday, but you excused yourself, relieving war flashbacks from that place.

And wonwoo was leaving as well, having some urgent task to attend to, in the morning.

“Let’s-”

Before you could finish that sentence, someone interrupts you.

“Let me walk you home,”

Wonwoo looks between you both awkwardly and then nods, announces he’s going to take a bus from a stop a little ahead and your home is in the opposite direction.

By now, cold sweat has started breaking down your neck.

“Dinner was nice,” he offered to walk you home, but wouldn’t talk to you?

You try breaking the ice.

“Hmm,” he nods. Still not looking at you.

“How was your day?”

And he stops walking. You turn to him, puzzled. He makes eye contact finally.

“How long are we going to beat around the bush?”

A small “huh?” escapes your lips. When he doesn’t respond neither breaks eye contact, it’s obvious what he’s talking about.

“Uh, well, i-”

“I like you, y/n, i’m not going to pretend otherwise a second longer,”

You stand there speechless, in all the scenarios you imagined, this one was quite different. And while you really wanted to be the one to confess first, it was just a dream that he said what he did.

You step a little closer to him, inspecting the street and then looking at his lips as if asking for permission.

He whispers as he leans down a bit, “can i kiss you?”

You nod.

And as you pull away, you apologize.

“Sorry, i didn’t do that sooner,”

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singstaircase · 2 months

Text

Walking into your dagger for the very last time– Pedri

summary: At seven, Pedri wondered if soulmates truly exist. He didn't expect to find his in seven years through the virtual world. Or in which Pedri meets someone in a video game lobby and shenanigan ensues

Contains: fluff, little bit of angst, not a happy ending, mentions of feeling lonely, the pandemic, injuries

this ended up being more Pedri centric then I imagined. Obviously some stuff are made up because I don't know Pedri. Enjoy!!!

Pedri is thirteen years old the first time he gets into an argument with his manager, and it feels like the worst thing in the world.

Football is everything to him, so why can't the coach understand? Why can't his coach see that?

He would've been fine if it was just another league game – hell, he would've accepted not playing or even losing, if it was just another league game. But it was Copa de Campeones final! His sole chance of being in Europe.

So what if he accidentally injured himself while making a tackle? So what if the medical team thinks he should rest?

So fucking what? At thirteen, football is his lifeline. Why can't his manager just understand?

***

So, Pedri does what any teen forced to sit out and watch his team lose a final would do; lock himself in his bedroom and play one video game he would not play in any other circumstance. CS:GO (Counter-Strike: Global Offense) with strangers from God knows where.

Pedri knows he'll regret staying up this late but he doesn't care. That's for future Pedri to worry about. His focus now is on shooting strangers in the virtual world and he'd be lying if he says he isn't enjoying this.

***

It's past midnight and he waits in the lobby, pondering.

Thinking if his coach was serious about not playing him anymore and about so much more which doesn't help at all to ease his sudden spike in nervousness about the future and what it holds.

Someone with the gamer tag [Username] joins to complete the lobby. Pedri's certain he'll forget about them tomorrow, like everyone else.

***

Pedri has a natural talent for many things; football, disappointing his manager and as of now– playing CSGO; he realizes that as the game progresses.

Except for one round, where he lets his mind wander somewhere else and nearly ruins it for everyone. Fortunately for him, his saviour comes in the form of one stranger from who-knows-where, one who Pedri was sure he'd forget about.

Pedri likes them immediately. Unknowingly. Subconsciously. He feels an immediate connection with his mystery saviour for some strange reason.

"Thanks for saving my ass out there [Username]," he blurts out with haste, ready to log off.

And the reply comes a voice, a little clipped and barely audible to anyone else but clear as bells to Pedri's ears.

"You're welcome," before the mic goes silent again. Those to simple words would go on to shatter every single plan Pedri never made about his life trajectory and throw them into the gutter.

He doesn't know it yet but this'll be simultaneously the best and most painful thing that would ever happened to him.

Pedri ends up saving the gamer tag of his saviour stranger and reaches out whenever he needs someone to play with or fill the lobby.

Or that is what he tells himself.

Sometimes he invites them when he has a bad game or another argument with his manager. At times just because. And to Pedri's surprise, the stranger responds to his 'pleas' almost every time.

A part of him is happy that they don't ignore him. Yet, another part underneath the surface is also scared that one day, this stranger he's growing fond of, will leave him without saying goodbye and he'll be left to his own again.

Deep inside him there's a creature that won't show up in x-rays, one that is always trying to protect Pedri's soul.

One that has been urging him to finally properly talk to this stranger, make a deeper connection. Something that will stay forever. Perhaps a friendship that will transcend lifetimes. Maybe something even more…?

And today he finally surrenders to those thoughts in his mind.

Today his manager told him he won't be playing for a while. The worst that could happen at this point in his life, happened. He has nothing to lose now and he's never been more sure of it.

Today, with the news that he'd be sidelined, Pedri finally acts on his long-held impulse.

***

Pedri does it. He actually does it, uncertain if it's the correct decision. He sends the message, heart pounding, and anxiously waits for a reply.

Or not. He doesn't know. Maybe they finally got fed up with him. Maybe they don't care enough to reply.

A small sound emits from the computer, signifying a new message.

⊙ [Sir González] Wanna be friends

⊙ [Username] Sure, why not?

At fourteen years old, Pedri wonders, for the very first time, if it's possible to be friends with someone living thousands of miles away.

The thing about friendship is… sometimes you don't know when it started.

Pedri can't pinpoint when he and his stranger became friends.

If you were to ask Pedri when and how he formed this connection, he won't answer. Because he can't, he doesn't have answers to those questions.

But Pedri knows this is a friendship, he has a friend, be it in the virtual realm. He looks forward to talking to them through messages, cherishes playing with them everyday.

The possibility of gaining a friend through the screen isn't something Pedri ever considered, but he isn't going to complain.

One afternoon after training, he finds himself with a long list of notifications from his online friend. His stranger friend soon makes a habit of sharing their every passing thought to him.

He was taken aback the first time, but just like eagerly waiting for them each day after school or training, Pedri soon makes reading them an integral part of his life.

Sometimes fifty messages at once wait for him, sometimes ten with varying amounts of exclamation and capslock.

By June, he realizes his days without those messages feel incomplete. It has become a tradition for him to lock himself in his bedroom and seek comfort from those messages.

There's no denying this strangter is Pedri's best friend in the whole universe. He yearns to know more and more about them; what they like, where they live, do they see him the same way he does?

However, he can't quite answer their questions the same way, with the same enthusiasm.

Pedri is afraid; afraid they might judge him, or worse, ignore him if they learn more about him. They seem to understand that and he's grateful. But at some point, the stranger friend becomes cautious and quiet.

⊙ [Username] today was fun. Same time tomorrow?

⊙ [Sir González] yeah. I will message you if I have time.

⊙ [Username] Sure, no problem. By the way, what do you do half of the day lol

⊙ [Sir González] I... I can't answer that. I am so sorry.

The moment those green dots turn gray, a sudden expected pain takes over Pedri's entire body. The reply comes after a painful five minutes of silence from the other side.

⊙ [Username] I understand. Talk you later then.

Today might be the day they reach their wits' end, he fears. And in impulse, he makes a significant decision.

Parting away from this could mean a goodbye, one that he's not willing to say. Not yet. Never.

⊙ [Sir González] Pedri.

⊙ [Username] ???

⊙ [Sir González] My name, it's Pedri. You can call me Pedri if you want.

This is the most vulnerable Pedri has ever been in his fourteen years of life and he can only pray that his friend doesn't leave and now.

⊙ [Username] Pedri. Perfectly suits you. Well Pedri, talk to you soon then. And my name is (Name). You call me that if you want :)

Later that night

2018

Things were going well, too well– he should've recognized that as the first warning of what was about to come.

He was becoming closer than ever with (Name), he was in his coach's good graces again and best of all– he was actually starting matches and doing well.

It just had to happen now.

***

The x-ray results came back worse than he had feared.

To be honest, he doesn't understand much of it but one look at the doctors, their pitiful look and guilty expression, said everything left unsaid.

He isn't a doctor but even he knows he words 'Hamstring', 'Ligament', 'ACL', and 'Torn' being in the same sentence can never mean anything good.

***

His phone flooded with notifications, finds Pedri in his room amidst distant noise.

Maybe it's his mother shouting at him not to slam doors like that, or perhaps it's the nagging creature inside that only knows how to make everything worse.

A single notification comes through, chiming, and illuminating the dark room as he's about to switch it to silent and throw it on the floor.

***

If it was anyone else, Pedri would just ignore and most definitely not talk to them for a long while. The last thing he needs now is pity. Pitying won't convince La liga clubs to sign him.

But he knows (Name) doesn't mean pity, they are just concerned. They radiate care, not fake sympathy.

He copies the number. He writes the number. He presses 'Call'.

Heart thumping, Pedri anxiously awaits a voice from the other side. "What the fuck am I doing," he sighs, running a hand through his hair. But just as he's about to put the phone down,

"Pedri?" He hears someone say faintly.

"Hey, (Name)." The name comes out like a prayer from his mouth.

"Hi," they say like a sigh, like a burden had just been lifted from them.

"So..um I have no idea how to comfort you because I don't have friends who play professional football," the nervous laughter on the other side is melodic and that is the moment Pedri learns even laughter can be a powerful weapon.

"But I just want to say it's going to get better, okay? I know this might seem like the end of the world now but it gets worse before it gets better."

There is a slight delay for a moment. "Wait no that sounded too depressing," mutters (Name). "Ignore me please. I have no idea what I'm saying."

Pedri smiles, even though he knows (Name) can't see him. "I get what you meant, don't worry. Thank you. It means more than you realize." The smile in his voice very clear, even to someone a thousand miles away.

"Pedri?" He hums in response, barely audible.

"I am here for you. Always."

Biting his lips, Pedri contemplates on adding the next bit. And in the next breath he says, "Love you (Name)."

His statement is met with silence. He waits and nothing comes. That feels worse than being told he sounded embarrassing.

"Oh," (Name) says, sounding cautious and confused. Pedri feels the singe of embarrassment. He starts to laugh nervously, ready to make excuse.

In the next moment, however, all the air in his lung rushed out in one breath.

"Love you too Pedri," (Name) says. "Talk to you tomorrow, hm?" His heart skips.

"Yeah, talk to you tomorrow," he mumbles.

Closing his eyes, Pedri holds dearly onto those four words, letting them settle in his heart, knowing he has found something truly precious in the most unexpected of places.

***

The same night, Pedri receives confirmation from the club– it's not as bad as they feared; a grade two hamstring tear. He'll only be out for four to eight weeks.

On that very same night, Pedri learns Las Palmas will sign him in July no matter what, and Pepe Mel, the coach, is willing to promote him to the first team, even at just sixteen.

That night, He dreams of the champions league, of being in Berlin and celebrating with a faceless companion.

2019

Pedri is sixteen the first time he contemplates quitting football to do something meaningful in life.

It's been a month since he signed for Las Palmas, two months since he started a game and four months since he last won a game.

The preseason game that he did started, shattered his confidence, leaving him questioning his place in football. And the persistent, nagging creature inside him is now whispering louder than ever, urging him to consider a different path.

Maybe he should quit football altogether. He is still young, there's still time to turn his life around, get a degree and a normal job in the future. Live a normal, ordinary life like most of the people of the world.

"Pedri watch out!"

He jumps at the sudden voice, almost falling down from his chair. He blinks to register what's on his screen, seeing the avatar of (Name) crouching in front of him.

"Pedri?" The concern in (Name)'s voice makes Pedri sit up.

He sinks back to his chair. Yet, again, he let his mind wander into the depths of self-doubt and ruin the amusement for everyone. He's convinced he has a knack for turning every moment sour.

"Sorry I zoned out," he mumbles. The groan in everyone else's voice confirms his self-loathing.

"I think that's enough for Pedri and I today. How about–" The voice of (Name) goes on on the other side gently.

Pedri can't comprehend the words being spoken but the sharp focus on their voice does wonder to soothe his racing heart.

It sounds harmonious, and soul soothing.

"Bye guys!" (Name) calls out at the end, their voice fading as others start to leave, bringing his focus on his screen again.

It's just (Name) and Pedri now, once again. A familiar comfort.

"You did very well today, Pedri," (Name) says, wholeheartedly. The sincere praise washes over Pedri, filling him with an electric rush.

The sensation in his chest resembles a cold rush. It's as if their voice is a gust of arctic wind sweeping through his heart, leaving behind a trail of shivers that dance along his spine.

Watching the green dots turn gray, Pedri's room seems to glow with the echoes of (Name)'s words through his phone.

(Name) 💘 Hey How did your training go?

Pedri 🌟 Shit but is it surprising anymore?

(Name) 💘 :(

Pedri 🌟 I am thinking about quitting football and doing something meaningful for once. I mean I am still young so....

(Name) 💘 WHAT THE FUCK DON'T SAY THAT. Football is meaningful because it means something to you!

Pedri 🌟 I don't know anymore (Name)...

(Name) 💘 Tell me do you feel happy when you play football?

Pedri 🌟 The happiest.

(Name) 💘 Then don't about that. It's not going to be easy, no good thing comes easily. But You are such a great player at sixteen already, just imagine how great you could be when you are 21?! But that won't happen if you quit now. It's not going to be easy but I know you can do it Pedri. You will make it, I just know it.

Pedri 🌟 No one has told me I'll make it except my parents.

(Name) 💘 I'd be upset if you were parents weren't supportive. Pedri, you will play in the Champions League, you will win trophies and you will make it. All you have to do is have hope and you'll be 50% there, work for it and you'll be 100% there.

Pedri 🌟 You think so?

(Name) 💘 I know so.

Pedri 🌟 I will dedicate my first goal in champions league to you. I promise.

(Name) 💘 That's the spirit! And I'll hold onto that promise, González. Even if things go shit, I will be here for you, Pedri. Always :).

Pedri is sixteen the last time he entertains the idea of quitting football to do something meaningful. In the gentle guidance of (Name)'s words, he finds the meaning he was searching for all along.

September, 2019

As he put the phone down, a warmth spread through Pedri's chest, and he couldn't help but wonder, Is this what it feels like to be truly cherished?

November, 2019

It felt as if his own eyes were betraying him. But it is the truth, Pedri will meet (Name) soon. The thought of playing right before (Name), finally being in their presence, fills him with an unexplainable euphoria.

This is not going to be one of his dreams anymore, this will be his reality in due time.

He is going to meet (Name) soon. And he can't wait.

March, 2020

Sometimes there comes moments in your life when you can just sense something is about to go wrong.

That day when Pedri woke up, he could tell something was about to go wrong. He had that sinking feeling. And turning his TV on, he knew why.

The Spanish borders are set to be closed for the next 15 days but given the state of the world, it's almost certain to be extended.

It is the right decision, Pedri has no doubt about that. But that doesn't stop the feelings of disappointment in him.

In his heart, Pedri holds tight onto the belief that everything will be alright; he has to have faith that their paths are destined to cross.

He has to.

December, 2021

This is not how it was supposed to go.

One minute, (Name) was happily engrossed in their work, content with the news of Pedri's goal. And in the next moment, all they hear is silence.

Then chaos.

Words like 'down', 'heavy tackle', 'unconscious' are being thrown around in relation to Pedri. (Name)'s heart drops.

Rushing to the room, they barely catch sight of Pedri being taken away in a stretcher on the TV screen.

(Name) 💘

Pedri are you okay?? Are you hurt? God that's such a stupid question. Please let me know how you are. I love you.

It seems silly to expect Pedri to reply. After all, he was just taken away in a stretcher, of course he won't answer right away.

But (Name) can't stop themselves from calling him. In the voice message after the dial tone, they leave a message; praying and just praying Pedri will be alright.

***

An hour later, notifications from their phone catches (Name)'s attention. It's from Pedri.

Or rather, from his number.

Pedri 🌟 Hello. I am Ansu Fati, Pedri's friend. You must (Name).

(Name) 💘 Oh. Hello.

Pedri 🌟

So you are Pedri's friend from the other side.

(Name) 💘 I guess?

Pedri 🌟 Well (Name), Pedri's currently going through some medical procedures, don't worry though. He is in good hands. He'll be back soon, (Name)

(Name) can only have hope that Ansu's words would proven to be true.

***

Rest of the day is spent restlessly scrolling and refreshing every and any social media they have, hoping for something, anything regarding Pedri.

For now it's all the same news being repeated by everyone; a player violently tackled Pedri, causing him to lose his balance and hit his head on the goal post. The medical team soon intervened and he was taken to hospital for further checkups.

(Name)'s heart beats restlessly. Is Pedri alright? It looked like a nasty hit and from what they've been reading, he was bleeding too.

Was he hurting too much? Was he in too much pain? God, why did this have to happen to him or anyone? Is he–

The ringing of the phone breaks (Name)'s chain of thought. Seeing the caller, they swiftly answer, not wasting a single moment.

"Hello? Pedri, are you okay?" Those words, breathlessly, comes out of them but the voice that returns on the other end isn't the one (Name) was hoping for.

"Um..hello, I am Ansu Fati. You are (Name), right? It's a pleasure to finally talk to you. Pedri has talked a lot about you."

Their chest tightens. The disappointment and sadness that they feel at it not being Pedri is unmatched. But (Name) has to stay strong now, if not for themselves then for Pedri.

"Uh, yes. Nice to talk to you too, Ansu. Pedri has told me a lot about you too, but I wish we were talking in better circumstances."

"Me too," Ansu says sadly. "I actually called you to let you know that Pedri is awake now. Since you've been so worried about him I wanted to ask, do you want to talk to him?"

(Name) instantly perks up at the news. They nod their head rapidly, before realizing that Ansu can't see them.

"Yes!" The feeling of embarrassment comes a moment later. Clearing their throat, (Name) says, "I mean, yes of course. I would love to talk to Pedri."

"I am sure Pedri would absolutely love to talk to you right now."

Heart thumping, (Name) spins the little marbles in a plastic container, waiting to hear from Pedri.

(Name) feels relieved to know Pedri has someone as thoughtful and kind as Ansu in his life.

***

Saying those words, Ansu hands the phone over to an eager Pedri who wastes no time in taking the call.

Faintly from the otherside, he hears (Name) asking Pedri about his health, in the same breath that Pedri asks them the same question.

The gentleness in Pedri's voice while talking to (Name) brings a smile on Ansu's face.

This is the purest form of love he has seen and deciding not to disturb them, he leaves the room as quietly as possible, leaving Pedri and his friend to themselves.

***

When Ansu comes back later to check on Pedri, the sight he finds warms his heart.

Pedri is on his side, snoring softly with his phone by his side. The call to (Name) is still ongoing and Ansu can hear soft snores from the other side too.

Smiling to himself, he quietly removes the phone from Pedri's side and ends the call. Sending a quick message to a worrying Gavi and Araujo, he leaves the room smiling widely.

Ansu is glad Pedri has someone as caring and loving as (Name) in his life.

***

In the weeks following, Ansu, Pedri and (Name) fall into a routine.

Every night, Pedri and (Name) would have their daily calling sessions that continue until late, where both fell asleep while talking to each other. And every night, without fail, Ansu ends the call and leaves with a bright smile.

During the day, Ansu would message (Name), giving them updates about Pedri.

At first (Name) hesitated to call him. Their bestfriend is a famous footballer, so they shouldn't feel hesitant to make the call.

Especially since they feel like they basically know Ansu based on how much Pedri has talked about him. And after one call with him, all the hesitancy and dobuts were lifted. Pedri was right, Ansu Fati is really a sweet soul.

Neither know exactly when they started to enjoy talking to each other, but one afternoon, while talking and laughing about something that didn't necessarily have anything to do with Pedri, (Name) knew they had found another friend in Ansu Fati in this chaos.

February, 2022

Pedri 🌟 Hello! 👋

(Name) 💘 Oh hello. Sorry, I am out so I can't watch you play right now :(. But I thought you said you won't be online till 9? Xavi benched you?

Pedri 🌟 Oh yeah.

(Name) 💘 I am home now! I can finally watch you 😌

Pedri 🌟 DON'T.

(Name) 💘 ?? Pedri.... I just saw you get tackled on TV. Live.

Pedri 🌟 Funny thing you see....

(Name) 💘 Ah I see. This must mean you are one of Pedri's friends. So are you Gavi or Ferran?

Pedri 🌟 Ferran.

(Name) 💘 That makes you Gavi then. Hello Gavi. Nice to talk to you. Pedri has talked about you lot.

Pedri 🌟 Really?

(Name) 💘 mhm. You are the passenger princess!

Pedri 🌟 The....what?

(Name) 💘 Passenger princess. Someone who prefers being passenger. You don't know how many times I had to listen him rant about this 😩.

Pedri 🌟 😃

(Name) 💘 He's also talked about how great of a player and friend you are.

Pedri 🌟 He's talked a lot about you too!

(Name) 💘 He has?

Pedri 🌟 Hm. Shit, Pedri's seen me.

(Name) 💘 Oh no. Talk to you soon hopefully if you are found alive!

Pedri 🌟 Did you bother you? I swear to god this guy....

(Name) 💘 Pedri! I only watched the last 15 minutes but you were great! And did not. Gavi was quite lovely, actually.

Pedri 🌟 🥰. Are you sure? I can do something about it if it made you uncomfortable.

(Name) 💘 Oh my god Pedri, no don't do it. I appreciate it but he didn't do anything. Don't worry.

Pedri 🌟 If you say so. Shit i have to go now. Talk to you later love you ❤💙

(Name) 💘 Score more for me Love you too <3

April, 2022

Soon, Pedri will get to meet the person who made football special for him. He only has to wait till June. Only the months of April, May and June stand between Pedri and (Name).

June, 2022

A smile lit up (Name)'s face as they toss their phone onto the bed.

Tomorrow Pedri will be here, they will finally meet each other. Tomorrow is going to be the best day ever, (Name)'s certain.

But as is often the case, not everything goes in the way we envision.

June, 2022

Betrayal.

That's all (Name) could hear and feel.

Is this what it feels to be lied to, to feel betrayed?

(Name) blinks back the tears forming, taking a deep breath, and dialling Pedri's number for maybe the last time

Ending what they have is the right thing to do now, even if it hurts them both.

#pedri x reader #pedri imagine #pedri x y/n #pedri fanfic #pedri fluff #pedri x you #football x reader #football fanfic #football imagine #football fic #footballer imagine #footballer x reader

87 notes · View notes

lovelyhan · 2 years

Text

— inflection point ⟢

pairing: jeonghan x reader x seungcheol

summary: things make a turn for the worse (or the better?) when jeonghan leaves you with the most insufferable person on earth. but maybe a few weeks alone is exactly what you and seungcheol needed after all.

word count: 8.3k words

tags: unresolved emotional tension, established relationship, angst, smut

warnings: implied alcohol consumption, graphic sexual content (minors dni!!)

notes: here's part two! this is mostly cheol and mc unknowingly picking up the pieces from their past breakup while jeonghan is away. nothing like getting to know someone you used to love all over again, right?

additional notes: the first part has been flagged so it's virtually invisible now :| you can go visit it in my masterlist if it still hasn't showed up in the tags!

part one - part two - part three | masterlist

To say that you’re nervous is a terrible understatement.

Today is the day you’re supposed to meet Jeonghan’s boyfriend, who’s technically your boyfriend as well, now that you’ve agreed to this odd arrangement. You fidget with your phone beneath the table when Jeonghan excuses himself to fetch him from the restaurant’s entrance.

It should be fine, right? Your boss already took you to dinner before, and he has a knack for setting an atmosphere comfortable for everyone in attendance. Jeonghan just has this charismatic air to him that makes him easy to be with. A mediator of sorts.

He reassured you before you both left the office today that his lover is the most accommodating person you’d ever meet. Though, Jeonghan hasn’t really mentioned his name at all—saying he wanted his boyfriend to tell it to you himself.

So there you are, not-so patiently waiting for them to return to your table.

When Jeonghan finally comes back with another person in tow, you perk up with curiosity, running over all the introductions you practiced in your head.

Hi, it��s nice to meet you! Thanks for letting me exclusively join your relationship!

Fuck. That already sounds so bad in your head, what more if you say the words—

“Here he is,” Jeonghan says, while pulling out the vacant seat on your table, smiling fondly at his lover. “I really do hope you get along.”

Five minutes ago, you hoped that, too.

Except when you finally see the face of the other man you’re supposed to be in a relationship with, your heart nearly drops into your stomach.

“Hi,” Choi Seungcheol says with that stupid dimpled smile of his. “I’m Seungcheol. It’s nice to meet you.”

What’s the protocol for when you unexpectedly land yourself into a relationship with the same person you spent literal years getting over? You have no idea. What you do know is that, from the hopeful smile that Jeonghan flashes at the both of you, and the obviously practiced grin plastered on Seungcheol’s face, the former isn’t privy to your relationship with the latter.

Erm. Past relationship.

You take a deep breath through your nose—forcing down all those years of heartbreak and longing and loneliness—and give him a smile of your own.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” you say, and if either of them notice how your voice cracked, they don’t say anything about it.

“Let’s take care of each other, yeah?”

…

“So what you meant to say is,” Jihoon starts, and it takes every ounce of willpower to keep holding his accusatory stare, “the guy who dumped you after taking your virginity, the legendary shitty ex, is the same guy you’re dating with Jeonghan now?”

“Say sike. Like, right now,” Soonyoung scowls once Jihoon lays out his deduction, but you can’t really take the guy seriously with his cheeks stuffed with popcorn.

“I would if I could, and you know it, Soonie.”

In your defense, you didn’t mean to come clean about Seungcheol’s identity to them during game night at their apartment. But one of the reasons why you begged them to hold your monthly hang-outs here is that Jeonghan is leaving for Busan tomorrow morning, and you’re a little over your head with the fact that you’re spending two weeks alone with Seungcheol.

Sure, he’s become marginally less of an asshole after upgrading the furniture in their bedroom to cater to you specifically, but you’re not about to let your guard down. God knows when Seungcheol will switch back to being the prissy jerk that’s been tormenting you for the past two months. Especially with Jeonghan out of the picture, your sanity is free fucking real estate.

“Okay, let’s skip the part where we talk about how weird that is, and what a small goddamn world we live in.” Thank the heavens for Jihoon, really. Always the logical one. “But why didn’t you tell us your ex-boyfriend is a star football player. What the fuck?”

…Or not.

“Really? After everything I just told you, you’re choosing to focus on that ?” You shoot him a grimace before dipping your hand in the popcorn bowl for a quick bite. “For the record, I haven’t heard anything about Seungcheol until he walked into that restaurant and introduced himself as Jeonghan’s boyfriend. I only found out that he was a big shot athlete a week after we started dating, too!”

“Isn’t that a good thing, though?” Soonyoung wonders before kicking his feet up on the coffee table. “Never mind the fact that he’s the same guy that took you ten years to get over, but you’re dating two filthy rich, and ridiculously hot men now! What more could you ask for?”

You groan, burying your face in your palms. “Did you two seriously not listen to a single word I said? Jeonghan has no idea that we’re exes, and we have to act like we don’t hate each other whenever he’s around!”

Jihoon raises an eyebrow. “But didn’t you say Seungcheol explicitly told you last night that he doesn’t hate you?”

“Oh, so you were listening after all.” You huff.

“We listened to the whole thing, you know.” Soonyoung pouts. “But honestly, all I heard was ‘I’m an idiot who can’t swallow her pride, so I’ll just act like I despise him because it’s easier than having to admit that I’m still in love with him.’”

Jihoon practically cackles as he leans across the couch to give Soonyoung a high five—like the bestest fucking friends in the universe. You shoot both of them a chilling glare with your tail between your legs, not liking how they dissected your dilemma in under five minutes.

“Okay, okay. We’re sorry,” Jihoon placates, offering you some more popcorn as a peace offering. “It’s just that you’re probably making this whole thing more complicated than it actually is. I mean, yeah, he was kind of a dick for ditching you like that, but weren’t you also a dick for deciding that you could only choose one or the other? Seungcheol or Seoul?”

“Yeah, haven’t you heard of long distance relationships?” Soonyoung wonders before snapping his fingers like an idea just occurred to him. “Actually, maybe you didn’t have to keep up the LDR for long? He ended up living in Seoul just like you did, right?”

Once they’ve laid those ideas on the table, Jihoon and Soonyoung both cast you another round of disbelieving stares—making you want to crawl under their couch and just rot with the dust bunnies.

“Fine! I was a bit too hasty back then, I admit that!” You chew on your bottom lip, unable to come up with anything in your defense. “But, but…”

Soonyoung rises from his seat with a long sigh, walking over to your spot to engulf you in a tight hug. You resist his affection for a few seconds, not wanting to give in too easily, but you end up caving into his touch either way.

“Hey, you fucked up, and that’s okay,” he murmurs as he smooths down your hair. “But don’t you think it’s unfair for Seungcheol if you keep acting like he’s the only one who messed up? It’s just like Jihoon told me once: relationships are a two-way street. Well, a three-way street in your case, but that's not the point.”

You sniffle, surprised at the tears that are pooling along your lashes. “But he always acts so hostile. It didn’t make sense to me when he said he didn’t hate me because whenever Jeonghan isn’t around, it’s obvious that he still hasn’t forgiven me…”

“What if he’s just giving you back the same energy you gave to him?” Jihoon hypothesizes. “Be honest, who fired the first shot?”

“...Right after we had dinner at that restaurant, I kind of told him I’m only doing this for Jeonghan. Might not have been too nice about the delivery either.”

Again, your two best friends share a look—like they don’t know what to do with you anymore.

That makes three of you then.

“Okay, from what you’ve told us, I can say for sure that Seungcheol probably wants to fix things with you,” Jihoon offers with a reassuring smile. “One hundred percent. The only thing that’s stopping him is…well, you.”

Soonyoung nods. “He can’t make things right if you don’t let him, silly.”

“It’s actually better that Jeonghan is going away for a while ‘cause the two of you can have some time to sort everything out.” You’re about to sharply ask how in the world that makes things better, but Jihoon puts up a hand to shut you up. “If Jeonghan is there, you two will be too busy trying to butter him up with lies to actually sit down and hold a proper conversation.”

“Just…just try to hear out what the guy has to say, yeah?” Soonyoung suggests while squeezing you in his arms again. “While you’re at it, you can explain to him that you were young and hasty and overly-emotional—”

“Hey!”

“—and let’s see where we can go from there.”

Silence fills the room as your best friends stare at you with equally expectant looks—hoping that you wouldn’t fuck this up now that a rare second chance has been granted. You sigh as your gaze lingers on the forgotten UNO cards on the coffee table.

Still, maybe going to them for advice might’ve been the best decision you’ve made so far.

“Okay, I’ll try,” you grumble as you push Soonyoung away. “No promises that I’ll do it without any blunders though…”

“And that’s more than enough for us,” Soonyoung says cheerily before picking the cards back up. “Now let’s team up and destroy Jihoon this round, yeah?”

...

You absolutely despise having to get up and out of bed earlier than the time your alarm goes off. But when the day of Jeonghan’s business trip finally comes, you find it easy to prepare for work despite the fact that it’s only four in the morning, and you don’t have to time in for another four hours.

Jeonghan texts you that they’re right outside your apartment, and it only takes one glance at your window to confirm the presence of Seungcheol’s car idling by the curb. After going over all the things you’re set to bring to their house, you text him back, saying that you’ll be down in three minutes.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Jeonghan greets from the passenger seat with a relaxed smile. “You really didn’t have to come. I know how much you hate getting up early.”

“I’d hate it even more if I didn’t get to kiss you goodbye, though,” you chuckle as Seungcheol takes your travel bag and helps put it inside the trunk.

The moment he pulls it shut, you blurt out:

“Good morning, Seungcheol.”

He looks so surprised, you wonder if what you said was remotely offensive. But after reminding yourself of how you’ve treated each other for the past two months, you suppose the reaction is completely warranted.

Baby steps, you muse. You’ll both make things right one day. For Jeonghan and for yourselves.

“Good morning,” he grumbles, and for some reason, his words send a fluttering sensation blooming across your chest.

Okay, what the fuck?

You think you did a pretty good job ignoring the strange reaction that Seungcheol unknowingly pulled from you in the next thirty minutes. Well, mostly because you spent the entire ride to Jeonghan’s station fast asleep, but that’s besides the point.

Though as you drift in and out of consciousness, you can hear bits and pieces of conversation coming from the front. Not like you’re conscious enough to make sense of any of their words, though.

“You sure you’ll both be okay while I’m gone?” Jeonghan pouts when you’re literally right in front of the entrance—looking more like a needy puppy than the boss of a reputable corporation. “Call me if anything comes up, okay?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Weren’t you the one who insisted that we’ll be just fine, Hannie? Now, get in there before you’re late for boarding.”

Jeonghan continues to surprise you by pulling you closer by the waist, pressing a long, fervent kiss on your lips. Your eyes widen at the suddenness of his gesture, but this is Jeonghan. You can never resist him if you try.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Try to get along with Cheol while I’m gone, yeah?”

You shoot him a puzzled look before pressing another kiss on the corner of his lip. “What do you mean? We get along just fine.”

He flashes you a tight-lipped smile before turning to Seungcheol. “You, mister, are going to take care of our princess here. Got that?”

“Copy,” Seunghceol lets out a low, deep laugh before pulling Jeonghan closer to plant a soft kiss on his forehead. “Take care over there. Earn us enough money for a comfortable retirement for three.”

“Oh, you bet I will.”

You and Seungcheol linger by the entrance until Jeonghan disappears into the bustling crowd of commuters en-route to other, far-away places. But you only notice how closely you’re standing next to each other when he catches your attention by tapping your wrist.

“What is it?” you ask, swallowing awkwardly.

Seungcheol takes a moment to glance at his smartwatch, 5:24 A.M flashing on-screen.

“You want to grab breakfast before I drive you to work?”

If he asked you the same question a month ago, you would’ve spat something along the lines of in your dreams before stomping off to the nearest taxi bay. But you remember that you’re a fully functioning adult who still has mistakes to make up for.

So, with a deep breath, you say:

“Sounds like a plan.”

…

By ‘breakfast’, you expected Seungcheol to just drop by a McDonald’s Drive Thru so you could both munch on burgers and stale french fries in the parking lot. But you’re reminded of the fact that he literally earns about seven digits’ worth of won whenever he’s playing in a season.

You’re suddenly grateful for having enough foresight to dress smart casual—not the oversized hoodie and sweats you intended at first—because Seungcheol thought it was a good idea to bring you to a five-star restaurant at the crack of dawn.

“Mister Choi, it’s nice to have you back,” the waiter at the front desk greets with a bow.

Seungcheol nods. “Table for two. Al fresco.”

“Understood. Some of our staff will be with you shortly.”

You’re not completely unfamiliar with all these fancy settings. Your line of work requires you to follow Jeonghan and his secretary, Joshua, around for a lot of pretentious business dinners. This is just one of the many places you’ve felt out of place, but you like to think you’re already used to blending in.

When a waitress leads the two of you towards the balcony, where you’re granted a panoramic view of the city just before dawn, you nearly forget to breathe.

“Nice view, isn’t it?” Seungcheol’s voice suddenly snaps you out of it as he helps you into your seat—making your cheeks glow red with embarrassment. “Our coach likes coming here whenever he needs to meet us. Thought you’d appreciate the ambience, too.”

“Gotta say, it’s a huge upgrade from those old ice cream parlor dates,” you tell him a bit too loosely, and when you realize what you just said to him, it’s a little too late.

You try to gauge Seungcheol’s reaction from the corner of your eye—looking for any signs of offense—but if anything, he even looks pleased by the reference. The lanterns hanging overhead bring forth the small smile on his lips, and you don’t like how Seungcheol is starting to make your heart race the same way Jeonghan does.

The same way he used to all those years ago.

In a poor attempt at dismissing these strange sensations, you bury your nose into the menu instead.

You wonder what’s wrong with you all of a sudden. You’ve spent weeks fueled by anger alone whenever you and Seungcheol are at each other’s throats. But now that you’ve psyched yourself out with the determination to make things right, you’re at an impasse.

With the disdain that you wore like armor having been stripped away, you’ve never felt more vulnerable. Seungcheol isn’t even doing anything except scrolling through his phone, but you feel like your heart’s going to explode in the next few seconds.

Suddenly, you’re a teenager again, but this time the boy you're catching feelings for is actually a fucking football player who can buy out your entire existence.

“Stare at me any more, and you might just put a hole through my skull,” Seungcheol says without glancing up from his screen—making you flinch and hide your face behind the menu again. “Oh, and if you can’t decide on what to eat, their waffles are pretty good.”

That makes you raise an eyebrow, lowering your makeshift shield. “How would you know? Don’t you hate waffles?”

Seungcheol shrugs. “Don’t you love them? I’m just saying because one of my teammates gave me a bite last time, and it wasn’t too bad.”

You try not to think about the implications of why both of you still remember that about each other, flipping through the pages of the menu instead. When you do spot a delectable preview of the waffles, though, you’re immediately sold.

The waitress comes by to take your orders a few minutes later. As she asks if both of you wanted to order coffee in advance, Seungcheol speaks on your behalf.

“Just one coffee and your best hot chocolate.”

Your mouth hangs agape even when the waitress makes her leave, and Seungcheol glances at you with brows raised. “Oh, shit. Do you not prefer hot chocolate over coffee anymore?”

“No, I still do,” you mumble. “I was just…surprised you still remembered.”

Seungcheol doesn’t reply, but you don’t miss the way his ears turn red as the dark sky begins to light up behind him.

There’s nothing remotely romantic about that breakfast run, really. The waffles are good, so is the hot chocolate. But not even those little recollections from the past could ease you and Seungcheol back to normalcy so easily. Worst part is, this is the first time you’ve eaten outside without Jeonghan, so the entire meal is spent in the most awkward of silences.

But…when the sun finally rises in the far east, you and Seungcheol find a momentary common ground. Both of your gazes are trained on the way it peeks above the high rise buildings and skyscrapers—the iridescent rays breaking through both the clouds and the darkness of the night.

Before you knew it, it was a brand new day.

The fascination brought about by the sunrise doesn’t last all that long. You and Seungcheol are back to finishing your food in the ear-splitting silence like usual. However, you can’t help but sneak a few glances every now and again—especially with how the sunlight makes him look even more vibrant than he already is.

No one would catch you admitting to it, but he looks gorgeous like this. Gorgeous enough to make you wonder where everything went wrong.

Except you do know, and you’re hell-bent on fixing…whatever this is before Jeonghan comes back.

“If you don’t mind me asking…”

Seungcheol’s dark eyes flicker to meet yours with an inquisitive stare. “What?”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you continue, “When did you move to Seoul? Actually, when did you even start playing professionally?”

He swallows down his food before reaching for a glass of water. You try not to pay too much attention to how his throat bobs with each gulp. It’s way too early to get your head into the gutter—

“Right after college, I got scouted to train under the professional league in Seoul,” he explains. “I only started playing in official games about…three years ago, though.”

You nibble on your bottom lip, unsure of how he’ll take your next question.

“Why didn’t you come find me then?”

There it is—silence even more awkward than the last. Seungcheol affixes you with an unreadable stare that makes you want to squirm beneath his gaze. But instead of prolonging your suffering, he simply lets out a soft sigh.

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me again after what I did,” he says honestly. “Besides, it’s been…years since we split up. I thought you would’ve already moved on by then.”

It took me ten fucking years to move on from you but okay.

You nod before taking a sip of your hot chocolate. “I see. How did you meet Jeonghan?”

“Friend of a friend,” Seungcheol tells you. “Kind of thought he was a nuisance at first, but you know how he gets when he wants something.”

That, you can agree on. “Unstoppable.”

“I was at his mercy,” he attests with a soft laugh. “It took a while, but I fell in love with him eventually. Then we moved in together. Then—”

“He suddenly brings up the fact that he’s attracted to one of his employees?” you supply with an uneasy smile.

Seungcheol shakes his head. “Jeonghan has more tact than that, you know. But he was honest about how he felt about you, and asked if I was open to the idea of going for the set-up we have now.”

“Were you?”

You thought he’d exercise some caution answering that. Or at least show you a hint of hesitation. But Seungcheol is surprisingly not taken aback by your question, and answers with, “Strange enough, yeah. Normally, I’m really possessive of him, but when he came up to me that day and proposed the idea…I was completely alright with it.”

Your brows scrunch together. “Is it because you knew it was me?”

“God, no,” he sighs. “If I knew it was you, I would’ve disagreed right away. When I saw you at the restaurant that day, I had to keep myself from running back outside.”

“Ditto,” you chuckle. “It was like the universe giving me the biggest fuck you in existence.”

For the first time in years, the two of you share an easygoing laugh—the morning light making you feel even warmer than you already are.

You and Seungcheol finish up with the rest of your meals after that. It’ll take a while for you to reach the office since this particular restaurant is a bit out of the way. You don’t blame Seungcheol for his urgency as he leads you back to the parking lot, seeing as you only have about an hour left before Joshua marks you off as a latecomer.

The drive back is quiet, but it’s, by no means, awkward or uncomfortable. Seungcheol talks to you every now and again, asking if he should sort out your stuff for you once he takes your suitcase home or if you wanted to organize it yourself. His thoughtfulness flusters you so much, you end up not giving him an answer at all.

When you’re finally in front of your office building with ten minutes to spare—never underestimate rush hour traffic—Seungcheol tugs on your elbow before you get out of his car.

“Did you mean it?” he asks.

You tilt your head, confused. “Mean what?”

“When you said you were only doing this for Jeonghan?”

Oh. He still remembers what you said at the restaurant, the first time you saw him after years.

You consider it for a moment—only a moment, since you’re burning daylight here. Back then, you’re sure you meant every single word. You were shocked and hurt by Seungcheol’s mere presence in front of you, but because you loved Jeonghan so much, you were willing to make a few compromises just to be with him.

Now, though?

“I…don’t know,” you admit.

There’s a first for everything—and this is the first time you’ve ever seen Choi Seungcheol’s face light up in the face of uncertainty.

…

Your arrangement is pretty simple.

Seungcheol drives you to and from work whenever he doesn’t have games, and you agree to cook him some dinner as compensation.

Tonight, though, your chaperone has a practice match that’s running a little late, so you decide to hang back in the office even later than Joshua, who’s usually the last person who times out for the day. You reassure him that Jeonghan is going to keep you company through FaceTime while you wait for Seungcheol to come pick you up, and it seems that your boyfriend’s secretary is more than convinced with that line of reasoning.

“He took you to that fancy breakfast place?!” Jeonghan squawks from the other side of the screen. “He hasn’t even taken me there!”

“Well, whose fault is it for going on a sudden business trip?” You stick your tongue out at him as you do some last-minute paperwork on your laptop. “Better luck next time, Hannie.”

“Hmph. I’ll go there by myself when I get back to Seoul! Who needs companionship anyway?”

You roll your eyes, stifling a laugh of your own. “That’s funny coming from a guy who has two partners.”

“...Okay, good point.”

Jeonghan always proves to be excellent company even when he isn’t physically here with you. Your boyfriend does an excellent job in keeping you entertained—from stories about who’s having an affair with who in the conference he’s attending to all the delicious food he wants to eat with you and Seungcheol one day, he tells you all of it.

But about an hour into the call, Seungcheol still hasn’t texted you, and your eyelids are starting to droop.

“I think you should take a nap first, sweetheart,” Jeonghan suggests, concern lacing his delicate features. “Go on, I’ll keep watch.”

“As if you can do anything if some lunatic tries to murder me in my sleep.”

“Hey, I’d still be an important eye witness if that was the case.” He chuckles. “Now go to sleep. I’ll tell Seungcheol to text me once he’s there so the guards can let him up.”

Normally, you would’ve argued but…

“Fine…”

…

Seungcheol has only gone inside yours and Jeonghan’s office building twice in his life. The first time was to surprise him on his birthday, and the second was after an argument so bad, they almost broke up.

On his third time, the other employees have long since left the building. It’s only the security guards and…well, you.

He didn’t mean to make you wait so long, really. But what was meant to be just one practice match turned into three as extra preparation for his game tomorrow evening. Seungcheol felt a familiar bout of déjà vu at the thought of having to make you wait longer than you’re supposed to.

In short, he didn’t like it, and when his teammates requested for a fourth match despite it already being ten o’clock in the evening, Seungcheol was ready to bail.

Even the guilt that roots itself into his chest once he sees you dozing off in front of your laptop is familiar. He doesn’t deserve your patience, really, but he’ll gladly accept it.

To his surprise, he notices that you’re in a FaceTime call with Jeonghan, who he just texted a few minutes ago so he could come fetch you from the office. His lover waves at him from the other side, casting him a smile that Seungcheol has grown to miss with each day he’s away.

“She waited for two hours, you know,” Jeonghan scolds.

“I know. I’ll make it up to her later,” Seungcheol laughs before leaning closer to wake you—

“Cheol?”

Perking up at the sound of Jeonghan calling his name, Seungcheol glances at your phone with a puzzled expression. “Yeah?”

He opens his mouth as if meaning to say something, only to close it again and shake his head.

“It’s—it’s nothing,” he laughs, almost like he’s embarrassed. “I love you. Both of you.”

Seungcheol feels his chest pang with warmth, eyes flickering from Jeonghan then to your peaceful form, hunched over the desk.

“I love you, too,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Both of you.”

…

Jeonghan [5:15 P.M.]: love, can you bring cheol his favorite energy drink before his game?

Jeonghan [5:15 P.M.]: it’s kind of his pre-game tradition, but they won’t let food deliveries past the gates. gotta give it to him in person.

Me [5:20 P.M.]: sure thing. cheol already asked me to do that tho, so i told joshua i’m timing out early.

Jeonghan [5:21 P.M.]: ah, that’s great news <3 take care on the way!

Jeonghan [5:30 P.M.]: wait. cheol ASKED you to?

...

Like Jeonghan had requested, and like you promised to Seungcheol, you handed him his favorite energy drink—a niche brand that wasn’t available in any of the vending machines, picky little bastard—ten minutes before they had to do their warm-ups. He stared at you like he didn’t expect you to actually follow through with what you said, and nearly killed you with a bone-crushing hug.

“Thanks,” he whispered breathlessly into your ear before planting a wet kiss on your cheek. “I’ll clean up quickly after the game so we can go home and have dinner.”

Immediately after, Seungcheol bolted at the sound of one of his teammates calling for him, leaving you standing there, red-faced.

It’s almost the same thing each time you meet him before all of his games. Seungcheol spends a few seconds convincing himself that you’re not a mirage before taking the drink you personally got for him. Then, like some sort of good luck ritual, he kisses your cheek and heads back to the field just in time for warm-ups.

You honestly didn’t think you’d be so willing to run all these errands on his behalf. Hell, you didn’t think you’d find yourself seated amongst thousands of spectators as one of your boyfriends kills it on the field.

You’ve been to Seungcheol’s games back then, so you thought you were already prepared for the audience’s loud cheers once you settled into your seat. But you completely overlooked the fact that the open field in your old high school is insurmountably different from the biggest indoor stadium in the country.

So when Seungcheol’s team rakes in victory after victory, you feel just the slightest bit of pride swelling in your chest. Who knew that the same guy who often ditched football practices to go on dates with you in the past would become such a rising star in only a few years?

On their last game for the week, Seungcheol gets hailed as the MVP of the season, and you tell yourself that he absolutely does not have to know that you nearly screamed your lungs out when his name was announced on the big screen. Definitely not.

Seungcheol ends up finding you before you can find him once the awards ceremony has been concluded—making a show of biting the piece of 24-carat gold hanging from his neck. You roll your eyes before taking out something you’ve expertly hidden in a wide tote bag.

“Congrats on beating their asses, I guess,” you say sheepishly before handing him a perfectly arranged bouquet of—

“Gladiolus?” Seungcheol smirks when he accepts your gift. “You sure did your research, huh?”

“Hey, the info is easily accessible on the internet,” you huff, yet still pose accordingly when Seungcheol fishes out his phone to snap a picture. “Not much effort was required to pull this off.”

“Sure it didn’t.”

When he finally stops teasing you about the present you got for him, Seungcheol proposes to have dinner somewhere fancy—an idea you might’ve flat-out rejected at first, but choose to consider. Just this once.

But before you can give him the green light, a couple of his teammates come up to the both of you with congratulatory smiles. You recognize them as Kim and Jeon—two players who also caught your eye on the field. Seungcheol introduces them as Mingyu and Wonwoo respectively, and out of the blue, Mingyu invites the two of you to the team’s victory party happening at a nightclub just across the street.

You expect Seungcheol to immediately agree. After all, he’s the star of the season. His presence there is practically tantamount. But instead, he glances at you with a questioning look.

“We don’t have to show up if you’re tired,” he says. “I know my games have been keeping you up late.”

Wonwoo nods in agreement. “True. Besides, we can have more exclusive celebrations once our coach has given us this season’s payroll. Tonight is more of a free-for-all than a victory party, actually.”

“No, I’m good.”

Mingyu cheers at your response, while Seungcheol’s eyes widen just a fraction. “You sure?”

You know he’s only being this way because Jeonghan probably told him about the Myeongdong Incident, A.K.A., an office party from a few years back, where you made an absolute fool out of yourself for downing one weird shot too many. Your boss-slash-boyfriend hasn’t let you live it down since.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassure him. “Besides, this is your night. What kind of fiend would that make me if I hog you all to myself?”

Wonwoo lets out a very loud wolf whistle that has the tips of Seungcheol’s ears turning pink with embarrassment, and it takes all your self-control to keep yourself from snapping a pic.

“Fine,” he sighs. “Don’t expect me to take care of you if you go overboard, though. Got that?”

…

Except he does take care of you when you inevitably go overboard.

Like in every instance where you find yourself wasted beyond belief (move over Soonyoung, someone has taken the crown), the details are a bit muddled in your brain. You just remember seeing a bunch of women in skimpy outfits crowding your boyfriend right after he gave his MVP-of-the-season speech, and it was all over for you.

You’re not very sure, but you might’ve put on a bit of a…territorial display out there. You also might’ve done a body shot on Seungcheol before kissing him in front of everyone just to prove a point.

Again, you’re not sure, so you’re innocent until proven guilty.

“Cheol, ‘sso hot,” you mumble as he props you upright on the king-sized mattress back home. “Turn on the…air conditioner, please.”

You hear him laugh. What’s so funny?

“Baby, it’s twenty degrees outside,” he says. “That’s just the alcohol. Come on, drink this so you can sober up a little. You can’t take a shower if your head’s still spinning.”

Your eyes are still screwed shut, so you don’t know what exactly it is he’s offering. Still, you say, “Don’t wanna.”

Seungcheol sighs. “Please? Jeonghan said your hangovers get worse when you don’t freshen up before sleeping.”

Jeonghan… The mere mention of your lover has you writhing on the mattress, chasing after the remnants of his scent on the sheets.

“I miss Hannie…” you whine, unconsciously letting Seungcheol prop you back up as he places whatever drink he’s forcing you to ingest in your hands. “When’s he coming back?”

“In a week or so, baby,” he reassures. “Now, drink. Please?”

You’ve never felt more thirsty at that first drop of water in your mouth, downing the entire glass like you did with those shots back at the party. Seungcheol chuckles again, and you open your eyes a bit to shoot him an unamused look.

“There we go,” he commends. “That’s my good girl. You want some more?”

Oh… You might be in the ninth circle of intoxication right now, but you heard those words come out of Seungcheol’s mouth loud and clear. And they are not doing your poor underwear any favors.

If you were sober, you think you would’ve had an internal meltdown about that…inappropriate reaction you had to Seungcheol’s completely harmless words. But you tell yourself not to overanalyze every single thing for once and just let your not-ex-boyfriend take care of you.

“Yes, please.”

About an hour later, you’re fresh from the shower and tucked in bed—body still weighted by both fatigue and the leftover intoxication. You don’t see it when he does, but Seungcheol’s stare lingers a second too long once he climbs on the other side of the mattress.

King size is huge, especially without Jeonghan sharing the same space with both of you. But Seungcheol hasn’t tried to close the distance that your lover’s absence has introduced. He doesn’t want to be the one to come onto you, especially with the way he left things between you in the past.

But on nights like this, when he hears your soft snores on the other side, he wants nothing more than to reach out and hold you in his arms. Just like he used to.

Before he lets those introspective thoughts consume him, Seungcheol turns off the lamp on the bedside table—hopefully turning off his brain in the process.

In the right time, maybe.

…

You can’t sleep.

The burn of inebriation has long been flushed out of your system, but your skin still feels like it’s on fire. When you turn to the side to face the man you’re currently sharing this too-massive bed with, that’s when you realize that your body is being engulfed by a different kind of heat.

Eyes parsing through the darkness, you figure that Seungcheol is still fast asleep as you move over to scoot closer to him—taking your pillow and comforter with you.

You would’ve been more reserved with your actions on any other day, but now you wrap your arms around the broad circumference of his bicep—breathing in the fresh scent of his shirt like a well-known comfort. It helps you relax a little, but you know this isn’t nearly enough to address the throbbing between your thighs.

Fuck.

“Baby? What’s wrong?”

Your heart lurches at the realization that you woke him up. Seungcheol moves to glance at you with sleepy yet concerned eyes—wondering what on earth possessed you to cling to him like this. You can’t even bring yourself to meet his gaze without crumbling from embarrassment.

“I…”

He hums. “What? I didn’t hear you.”

“I can’t sleep,” you mumble.

Seungcheol nods. “Okay. Why?”

You press your forehead into his arm, letting out an internal scream.

Are you really going to tell him?

“...’m aching.”

“Aching?” he asks, brows raised. “Well you kinda danced your heart out earlier. Where does it hurt? Maybe I can help.”

You take what might be the deepest inhale you’ve taken in your entire life before untangling your arms around Seungcheol’s—using your free hand to guide him lower, lower, until his hot fingers are resting above the apex of your thighs.

“Here.”

He’s quiet—maddeningly so.

You don’t think your pride can handle it if he gets out of bed and leaves you again. In fact, you might just flee the country altogether. Change your name, and start anew in some faraway land. But Seungcheol is quick to recover from the absolute stupor you just subjected him to.

The next thing you know, he’s manhandled you in a way that has you trapped between his broad frame and the bed—gaze boring into you so intensely, you nearly moan.

“Look at me,” he commands sternly. “Are you serious? You’re not still drunk, are you? Do you really want to…?”

Despite yourself, you roll your eyes. “Cheol, if I was drunk, I would’ve already jumped you without a second thought.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

God, you forgot how insufferable he can be.

Now that the drowsiness has long left your body, replaced by something more untamable, more volatile, you lace your fingers around Seungcheol’s neck—pressing your foreheads together.

“Choi Seungcheol,” you whisper. “I can’t sleep because I’m horny as hell. If you don’t do anything about it, you’re sleeping on the goddamn couch.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs.

Seungcheol smashes your lips together like he’s been deprived of your kiss for lifetimes and more—one hand going to the back of your head, and the other beneath your waist so he can press your hips impossibly closer. You thought those makeout sessions back in the high school locker rooms were the hottest ones you’d ever get to experience from him, but apparently, marinating in ten years’ worth of longing charges the air with enough sexual tension to make you dizzy.

You breathe his name against his lips as he explores every inch of your mouth—mapping it out with his tongue as if relearning something he never thought he’d get to relive again. When you feel him grinding his hardening length against your thigh, you take his bottom lip between your teeth in heady anticipation.

You want him so badly. Wanted him all this time, and you’re just realizing how much of an idiot you were for depriving each other for so long.

“Cheol,” you whimper, mouth still hot against his as you roll your hips. “Need— Need you.”

“I’m right here, baby,” he whispers. “I’m never leaving again.”

In your lust-drunk daze, you couldn’t completely comprehend the meaning behind those words, but your heart responds in kind—racing in your ribcage so quick, you thought you’d pass out.

However, Seungcheol is intent on keeping you wide awake and completely aware of every single thing he’s going to do to you. He’s quick to take off your shirt, and you’re an all-too willing accomplice. A rush of pride surges through you when Seungcheol groans at the sight of your bare tits.

“You have no idea,” he starts, voice husky with arousal as he peppers your breasts with hungrry kisses, “how much I missed these. Knowing Han gets to play with them while I can’t drove me fucking insane.”

“They’re all yours now, Cheol,” you chuckle before your breath hitches all of a sudden once he bites down harshly on your skin.

“All mine,” he growls.

His shirt is gone the next moment, and the reaction you have to seeing him completely shirtless isn’t so different to how he took the sight of your breasts for the first time in a long time. This man is fucking huge—all bulging pecs and rock hard abs. You would’ve laid him down on the bed just to take your time to worship his ridiculously fit body (thank God for their tireless training), except Seungcheol doesn’t look like he has any plans on relinquishing control tonight.

Not after he’s waited for you all this time.

Even if you tell him you’re too goddamn horny for foreplay, Seungcheol isn’t having any of it. He splays himself between your thighs—a sight that’s all too new to you. Back then, you’d simply experimented on occasional fingering and a handjob, but oral was foreign territory.

And just thinking of having the mouth that just won’t stop running on you is enough to drive you up a wall.

Seungcheol doesn’t need any words to make you feel good. Once he’s bruised the inside of your thighs with his rough, biting kisses, he tears through your underwear before tossing it to the side. Before you can even utter out a single word in complaint, though, he’s flattening his tongue along your slit—licking a long, broad stripe that has you preening on the mattress.

He spreads you open with his fingers, making sure there’s no inch of your pussy untouched by his greedy tongue. When Seungcheol moves to press a single finger at your entrance, the sound you let out is unholy. You nearly hide your face out of shame, but Seungcheol reprimands you the second you move away.

“Keep those eyes on me, baby,” he growls. “Watch how I fuck you on my fingers. Watch how I’ll make you fall apart with my mouth.”

You practically buck your hips along with the shallow thrusts he makes with that long, thick digit. You can’t even begin to imagine how good it’ll feel once he sticks his throbbing cock inside of you, but you tell yourself that patience is a virtue. Seungcheol has always had a mean streak, and you’d rather not get teased to death tonight.

When he slides in the next finger, you can already feel the stretch. Seungcheol distracts you from it with his tongue—flicking it against your clit in a way that has your toes curling with the preciseness of his movements. It makes you wonder how many women he’s done this to get this good, but the thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Still, you can’t complain. After all, you’re reaping all the benefits from whatever past experience he’s had over the last ten years. You’d be a fool not to take complete advantage of that.

“So fucking wet for me,” Seungcheol sighs before spitting on your cunt—lathering his spit with your dripping essence—and the sight makes you tug at his hair in your horny delirium.

“You’re going to kill me,” you whisper hoarsely.

Seungcheol snickers condescendingly before pulling out his fingers from your sopping cunt. Then, he raises them to your lips. “Open.”

You part your lips to make way for his fingers a bit too easily, lathering the underside with your tongue as the tangy taste of your essence fills your senses. There’s a dangerous look in Seungcheol’s eyes as you lick his fingers, and something tells you that, despite the heavy fatigue from his past games, this one still has a lot more vigor to offer.

Seungcheol moves to discard his boxers, and you try not to look too desperate for his cock—pressed firmly against his toned stomach before he pumps it with his fist.

“On your knees, sweetheart,” he sighs. “Raise that ass for me.”

“No.”

He frowns, obviously not used to his authority being tested in bed. “And why is that?”

Like a bullet straight through his skull, you rest back on the plush comfort of the pillows, spreading your legs so tantalizingly, Seungcheol almost pounces at you without thinking. You’re posed so sexily on the same bed he’s dreamed of taking you on countless times—offering your sweet cunt for him to take.

“I want to see you, Cheol,” you tell him with a bossy undertone that makes him fall in love with you all over again as you beckon him closer.

“So are you just going to stare at me all night, or are you going to fuck my soul out of my body?”

You’re so fucking daring. And Seungcheol is so fucking whipped.

There’s something so new yet so familiar with the way Seungcheol handles your body. Each touch is imbued with all the time he wishes he could have spent with you; each moan, a timeless rendition of all the words he wanted to say to you. You can’t even let yourself go to the feeling of him ramming his thick girth into your pussy because you’re overwhelmed by the surge of emotions he quietly imbues into your body.

When Seungcheol notices you crying, he immediately halts each and every movement—panic eclipsing the hunger he’s been keeping down for weeks. But when he realizes the tears aren’t from pain, his eyes soften.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, tugging him back down into a messy kiss. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Fuck. He isn’t sure what to feel right now. Bliss because you’re clamping down on his cock so deliciously tight? Relief because he doesn’t seem like the only one who’s still tormented by the past?

I love you, he wants to say. I never stopped, and I never will.

But he won’t say it. Not yet. He doesn’t want you to think he’s saying it in the spur of the moment, or because his emotions are especially high-strung now that he’s balls-deep inside you.

He’ll tell you when Jeonghan is back, and the three of you can all start this strange, strange relationship from scratch.

When you finally reach the high you’ve desperately been clawing after—as evidenced by the angry red marks on Seungcheol’s back—he commits the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head in the pinnacle of release into memory. It renders him completely fucking wrecked for you, spilling into your awaiting heat as he fucks himself into completion.

You’re both sweaty and sticky by the time Seungcheol collapses back on the mattress, but you don’t care. Though he’s frayed every single nerve-ending beneath your skin with that blistering orgasm, you let yourself bask in the encompassing warmth of his body.

For the first time in years, you fall asleep in Seungcheol’s arms—like a quiet forgiveness you’ve decided to afford both him and yourself.

…

Jeonghan arrives back in Seoul a week ahead of schedule.

After hearing about all the records that Seungcheol has broken for himself this season, he wanted nothing more than to hop on the first train back home and be with the two people he cherishes the most.

So, like the natural schemer he is, he asked his beloved secretary if there was any way to cut this gruesome business trip short. Long story short, after learning (through completely legal means!) that his annoying business partner has a troublemaking son that’s been laundering money behind his back, Jeonghan is quick to pull some strings.

Once the news reached said business partner, he was immediately apologizing to Jeonghan for having to postpone the deal because of a personal matter.

Now, he’s back home—closing the front door to their house as quietly as he could.

It’s no later than six in the morning, and while you’d usually be up and about as you got ready for work by this time, he remembers that it’s Saturday, and how you loved to sleep in.

As Jeonghan places his luggage somewhere in the living room, however, he notices that the flower vase on the coffee table—strategically placed for aesthetic, yet is usually empty—has an assortment of colorful blooms spilling out.

Gladiolus flowers. Seungcheol’s birth flower.

When he opens the door to the bedroom with curious eyes, his heart is put at ease at the sight before him. You and Seungcheol lie there without an inch of distance separating you—limbs tangled together with the sheets in a way Jeonghan has only dreamed of seeing.

He breathes out a soft laugh, smiling to himself.

“It’s about time, my two beloved idiots.”

part one - part two - part three | masterlist

#seventeen smut #seventeen fanfic #jeonghan #s.coups #svt smut #svt fanfic #seventeen x reader #lovelyhan #🐇 500 #full length fic 📚

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azzypzazzy · 11 days

Note

hear me out… schlatt helping you relax after finals (its finals for summer semester i am dying rn)

ok so i misread this and didn’t see the after finals but i refuse to go rewrite everything because i am sleepy. hope finals went well and you enjoy regardless <3

smut warning btw!! it’s not too explicit, but it’s under the cut. dont wanna read it? don’t. it’s also my first one, so it might be bad

𝜗𝜚

Droopy eyes stared at your laptop, blue light reflecting onto your face. All you had to do was finish the chapter, you just had to finish it and hope to retain enough to lazily reread the rest later. That’s all you had to do.

You grabbed your water bottle, sipping down the reminds of a cheap energy drink you got this morning, when you were a far more ambitious woman. Maybe if you drank enough of these you could have a heart attack and sue. Drop out and live your limited years on some beach making stupid decisions, instead of this.

That’s it. You can’t do this anymore. You would just have to continue tomorrow, because if you spent another second trying to read the mess in front of you you’d explode.

Was there anything else vaguely productive you could do? You weren’t gonna sit and do any more work, but you still had to do something. You switched over to your email, leaving your study tabs open “for later”. You seriously have to check this thing more often, 223 unread? You skimmed through them, deleting as you went. Fortunately, most were only from Google Classroom or websites you landed on the spam list for, meaning you didn’t miss anything. Anything except an email from some guy in your Spanish II? Spanish II. You never should’ve taken that awful class. It wasn’t even required, but you took it regardless, and you were too deep in to drop. You opened it, confused on what it could even be.

Eric Thompson <[email protected]> to: me Found a great quizlet for the exam https://quizlet.com/940117849/spanish-2-flash-cards/. Please let me know if anyone's having a study session (I’m desperate.)

This just felt cruel. Like a cruel sign reminding you you were gonna fail, and probably him too. And for some odd reason, this email seemed to be the thing which made you realize that.

You shut your laptop, grabbing your phone. Before you could even think, you went to Schlatt.

to: Schlutt busy?

You set your phone down, leaning back in your chair. You just needed to relax a bit, that’s all. One night off and you’d be back.

You grabbed your phone, realizing Schlatt already responded. Maybe you weren’t the only one having a rough night.

from: Schlutt Nope. You

to: Schlutt just exhausted

from: Schlutt Want me to come over?

to: Schlutt please

from: Schlutt Be there in five

You opened the door, immediately going in for a tight hug, “Hi!”

“Hey, missed you,” Schlatt said, resting his head on the crook of your neck.

“Yeah, me too,” you whispered, taking a deep breath. God, he smelled good. Did he usually smell like this? Must be a new cologne.

After a moment you pulled away, letting him in your cramped dorm. You turned around, realizing how much of a mess your room actually was. “Sorry for the mess, I’ve just been so busy with finals and completely forgot to clean.”

Schlatt shook his head, taking a seat on your bed, “No worries, not like I gave you much time. This is nothin’, you should see mine.”

“Oh god, I don’t think I want to,” You grinned, sitting next to him. “Finals beating your ass too?”

“Yeah,” He sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Trying not to think about it for a bit.”

Now that you’re looking, his head was pretty messy today. Most of him was, and it definitely fit. “Well, we’ve got time. Chloe’s not here,” you whispered, leaning a head on his shoulder.

He smiled, his arm wrapping around your shoulder, “Then maybe we could watch a movie or somethin’?”

“Sounds good to me,” you stood up, moving to your desk. You paused, looking at the mess of papers and trash which piled up in the past few days. You unplugged your laptop, opening it to close out your previous window, “Netflix?”

“Sure,” he replied, eyes fixated on you as you sat back down next to him. He shifted over, allowing the two of you to lay down on the small space.

You grabbed one of your pillows, using it as a table on your lap for the laptop. “Anything you wanted to watch?” You asked, entering the search bar.

“Up to you, toots.” Toots. You felt your stomach flip, face looking straight forward to avoid the embarrassment of Schlatt seeing how flustered you were over a simple nickname.

You nodded, scrolling until you landed on some old detective show, hoping it would be plain enough to bore him, “How’s this?” You clicked on it, “Says it’s a crime drama series following two detectives who have to solve a case 21 years after it was closed.”

His eyes never went to the screen, still watching you as you chose, “Perfect.”

You weren’t sure how long you two had been watching this crap, but it had been long enough. There was no way you could even try to focus on the show, but you were far too nervous to make a move.

Luckily, a warm hand reached your thigh under the covers, circling slowly.

It didn’t take long for you to realize what Schlatt was doing. Leaned on him, glancing up at him from the corner of your eye to see him staring back.

Within seconds you found your arms around his shoulders, ass on his lap, tongue in his mouth.

Schlatt moaned into you, the kiss becoming sloppy and desperate. You pulled away, heart beating out of your chest, a rushed confession escaping your mouth, “I really like you, Schlatt.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, throbbing under you, “Love you too.” He planted a hand on your ass, his breath hot on your face, “So fuckin’ much.”

You bit the bottom of your cheek to stifle a moan, before wrapping him into another frantic kiss. Schlatt fingers gripped your hair, pulling you in closer. He was seriously gonna be the death of you.

You slid a hand under his shirt, able to feel his heart erratically beating under your touch. His lips left yours, panting. You rested your forehead on his temple, admiring his eyes. Fuck. Without thinking, your free hand slipped to his shorts, toying with the waistband.

Schlatt tilted his head back, mumbling a plea. You stopped, looking up at him with a cocky grin, “You’re gonna need to speak up.”

“Please,” he looked back down at you.

Now this was a sight. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his eyes shined in the low light, it all was perfect, and you could feel it. Days of pent up tension and stress weighing on the both of you, begging to be released.

𝜗𝜚

okay i got tired and gave up. hope it was okay though!! maybe ill continue it eventually not sure be nice please

#jschlatt x reader #jschlatt x you #schlatt x reader #schlatt x you #fanfic #jschlatt smut #brjng back the art of making out for 5 hours straight #no beta. wrote on my phone sorry

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thedeviltohisangel · 6 months

Text

All The Things I Did (6): They Say All's Well That Ends Well

a/n: greetings! some sweet morning after pillow talk, meeting col. harding and hypocrites in love coming your way this lovely evening. next chapter is gearing up to be a big one so I hope you guys enjoy a bit of cass' fallible side (which I would love to discuss more) in this way before she badasses her way through Berlin. I might have a secret Easter suprise up my sleeve so stay tuned. as usual, inbox is open for all our little blurb screaming we've doing and I have a Spook x Bucky playlist I am thinking of sharing if you guys are interested. Let me know your thoughts on this chapter, xoxo

When Cass finally stirred against his chest, pressing kisses against his heart and blinking slowly, John saw a flash of his future. Waking up with her in his arms. Watching the sunrise and kiss across her face gently. Getting to admire her wild hair and sleep warmed cheeks and the lazy smile that settled across her face as she got her first sight of him.

“Good morning,” she whispered as she stroked her fingers through his hair and obliged his puckered lips request for a kiss. “Have you been up for awhile?” John reached for his pants on the floor, producing a cigarette.

“No. Was just admiring the view.” She plucked the lighter from his hand and brought it to his lips for him. “I’ve got to meet that goddamn CO first thing tomorrow.”

“Baby, it is tomorrow,” she giggled. His knuckles traced across her cheek lovingly.

“You’re so smart.” Cass rolled her eyes but kissed him again regardless. “You got any intel for me?” Her chin rested on his chest and his fingers tangled into her hair.

“I met him in London before I got here. I think you two will get along. He’s a good pilot. Likes to have a fun time.” She kept out the specifics of his flirting and propositioning. No need to ruin the moment or start them off on the wrong footing. “Has a certain Clark Gable nature to him.”

“Oh? Is that your type, Miss Cooper?”

“My town is full of Rhett Butler’s. Didn’t have the best of luck with any of them.” Sadness flickered behind her eyes, maybe even hurt, and John wanted to throttle whoever was responsible. Cass lifted his wrist to look at his watch and groaned when she saw they would have to return to the real world soon. “I want to stay just like this. Forever.”

“After all this is over,” he brushed his thumb over her lips, “we can. We will.”

“You’ll come to my room when your day is over?” There was no reason a little slice of forever couldn’t start now. Besides, neither of them thought they would be able to sleep alone again after they had learned the solace of sleeping in the arms of each other. He inhaled his cigarette deeply.

“Counting down the seconds.”

----

He couldn’t stop fidgeting with the buttons of his jacket as Colonel Harding was flipping through the file in front of him. John had driven Cass to her room, taking his time to bid her farewell, before heading straight to his meeting. Still drunk on whiskey or her, he wasn’t quite sure, but either way he was having trouble staying focused.

“You hungover, Major?”

“No, sir. That won’t come for a few more hours.” He wondered what Cass was doing right now. Certainly something more interesting. Certainly was looking beautiful while doing it.

“Colonel Huglin didn’t think too much of your skills as an Air Exec.”

“Well, I didn’t think too much of-” John paused as a black and white photo fell from between the papers and onto his desk. It looked like Cass. His Cass. Except she wasn’t in her uniform. It looked like she was in a satin dress with diamonds framing her face. Something settled in the pit of his stomach.

“Too much of his flying?” John met his gaze, entirely focused now. “Well, I’m not Colonel Huglin.”

“No. You’re not.” Harding followed his gaze down to the photograph and smiled.

“You’re familiar with Lieutenant Cooper?” He was looking at her wistfully and John’s fingers were twitching to snatch it from him. No other man should be looking at her like that besides him.

“She’s quite the officer, sir. We’ve all been nothing but impressed by her work.”

“She’s something, alright.” He tucked the photo away but John’s rage didn’t go away with it. His skin was hot and prickly. A base instinct to protect and preserve percolating at the surface. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, Gale’s upside down letter would be for nothing. There was a knock on the door which distracted him from his plotting thoughts for a moment. “In fact, that should be her.”

Cass’ head poked around the door and if she was surprised to see John, she didn’t show it. To be fair, more often than not, her face didn’t give away much.

“Colonel. Major.” The door clicked softly behind her and John felt the whiskey from a few hours ago stir in his stomach as Harding stood in deference to her, motioning towards the chair to the Major’s left. “Sir, I was just hoping to discuss Berlin with you. Very briefly.”

“Berlin?” John couldn’t keep it in. Why on earth would she…oh.

“Lieutenant Cooper has been selected for a prestigious opportunity,” he offered around the cigar that was now in his mouth.

“Prestigious may not be-”

“Cassandra-” And God, if she didn’t cringe herself as the familiar use of her full name whipped across John and onto her. “-I’ve heard about your work even before I got here. Seen it up close myself if you haven’t forgotten. You’re the right officer for the job.” Cass thinks she could feel John’s nostril flaring. Thinks the arm of the chair might break under his grip. Was surprised the tapping of his toes hadn’t worn a hole in the floor. She should have known he was the jealous type.

“Lieutenant,” John emphasized her rank as he stood, “Colonel. I should go check on a few things before the day really starts.” And because he can’t help himself around her, and because he needed to let Harding know she was off limits, he kissed her cheek. “Come find me when you’re done.” Cass was frozen with her beating cheeks on full display as John adjusted his hat and disappeared out the door.

“I thought you didn’t like pilots.”

“That’s a bit reductive, Colonel.” Her eyes drifted to the handwritten letter at the top of his pile. “Was I too late for the demotion ceremony?” He nodded.

“Major Egan is back to being a squadron commander, effectively immediately.” Colonel Harding had greeted him with the news. John had been elated. “But you wanted to talk about Berlin.” Cass nodded around the lump in her throat. She had come to tender her declination of the operation. It wasn’t worth the risk. Not when she was this close to having John in her life permanently. Not when she could have him on her arm when she went back to South Carolina. Not when he was so close to silencing those voices in her head.

“Actually, there’s nothing left to talk about. I’m grateful for the opportunity.” If he didn’t care, then why should she? What was the point of her safety if he had no regards for his own?

“Alright, then. I’ll leave you to your preparations.” She was resolved when she exited. Felt silly for even considering turning it down. Since when had she ever let a stupid boy navigate her life? Except John wasn’t just some stupid boy that had her dreaming of white picket fences and church on Sundays and sharing a lemonade on the back porch. John was a man and he was the man she was in love with. Why couldn’t it just be that simple?

----

“Well, there he is. I didn’t see you last night or this morning,” Gale said with a smile. “Thought maybe we’d lost you.” John hummed as he sat across from him and asked for a cup of coffee.

“I spent the night with Spook.”

“Did you now?” Gale thinks John looked like the cat that caught the canary. He could use his own deductive reasoning to figure out what the night entailed. “And?” He was asking if there had been any developments. If hearts had been laid bare and understandings had been reached.

“And I’m still certain I’m in love with her. Same as I was yesterday when you asked me.”

“She say the same when you told her?”

“Wouldn’t let me tell her,” he sighed, “told me if I said it and something happened to her on her next assignment, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself.”

“Must be hard to finally be rebuked by a beautiful woman.” John rolled his eyes, knowing Gale was loving every moment of his plight. Finally, finally, Gale was able to witness John Egan unsure of his footing. The man who had no trouble flying a plane and dropping bombs and could dance with anyone or sing in a crowded social club. His best friend had met his match and he couldn’t be more elated to have the chance to witness it.

“New CO thinks she’s beautiful, too.”

“And how did that come up?” he asked around a bite of his breakfast.

“A picture of her fell out of a folder he was reading. Wasn’t her official photo, she wasn’t in uniform. Looked like she was all dolled up for something…” His voice faded towards the end as he remembered the way she had looked. It was akin to the feeling he had when she showed up in her red dress. Absolute adoration and curiosity at the image of her southern society side when he knew the other side so intimately well. The side that had a ring dish of bullets on her dresser. “He looked at her the way I would. I didn’t like it.”

“Now, what was it Cass said about the word like…”

“I detested it. Better?” Gale nodded his approval then caught a glance of the woman in question over John’s shoulder.

“Was she this upset when you left her this morning?”

“Upset?” He furrowed his brow and looked behind him to see what he was talking about. Her face was blank as she walked purposefully towards their table. John assumed it was something he did, he had a habit of fucking up, but damn if she didn’t look elegantly gorgeous stalking towards him like that.

“You were up early this morning, Major Cleven.” John felt a shred of relief. “I can read upside down. Helping this one get himself demoted?” So maybe it was about John.

“You got demoted?” Kidd chimed in from his spot at the end of table. “To what?”

“Squadron Commander. 418th. Sorry, Kidd.”

“That’s fine. As long as I get my fort back.”

“About that…”

“You son of a bitch. I’m Air Exec?” Cass chuckled dryly.

“You’re brimming with good news today, John.” Ah. So he did do something.

“Me getting back to flying is good news, Cass. I don’t know why that would upset you.” Gale held his breath. He wished he could coach John through this. Don’t question, try to understand. But Spook was a force to be reckoned with. He was happy to just spectate.

“I’m not upset. I’m…” She was struggling to find the word. The right word. Worried. Scared. Anxious. Her feelings encompassed all of it. There was no right word for the dread that she was feeling. Forever. Pulled right out from under her.

“I’m not upset about Berlin.”

“Well, maybe you should be.” Gale was half tempted to put a hand on John’s shoulder when he cocked an eyebrow and leaned towards her. Cass had crossed her arms over her chest defensively and the temperature was rising. He wished these two would stop using their brains to talk around their thoughts and feelings and just simply say them.

“And why’s that? Your job makes you happy. Leaves you with fulfillment. And you're goddamn good at it so why would I be upset?” God, her own reasons sounded so hollow in her mind. Sounded selfish and childish. Why wasn’t he raging at her? Fighting her to stand down. She knew how to handle that. How to fight back. This she did not know how to handle.

“Because it’s dangerous.” There it was. She was mad he was back in danger. Why didn’t she just say that?

“Then I just gotta trust you’ll come back to me, don’t I?” Gale crooked a smile but hid it quickly. “Just like how you have to trust that I’ll come back to you.” Truthfully, it would take an act of God to keep him from her. But trust was something she had been programmed to avoid in her line of work.

“Trust,” she echoed with a defeated laugh.

“You know, Cass, if this whole thing ended and there were only two pilots left in the sky, it’d be me and it’d be Buck. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Don’t count on it,” Gale muttered as he slipped a toothpick between his lips. She was ready to make a comment about the level of trust Gale’s comment would instill in her when she caught a glimpse of Mary walking into the mess hall.

“Hi, Mary!” John greeted her happily. He had a soft spot in his chest for the secretary. She was the gatekeeper between him and Cass’ billet most mornings and, on occasion, his source of base gossip while he waited with his bouquet of flowers.

“Major Egan, I didn’t see you this morning.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” John answered with a grin, “Lieutenant Cooper kept me preoccupied.”

“Ignore this helion, Mary. Did word from Mr. Foster arrive yet?”

“Another secret admirer?” he asked with an annoyed tone. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Cass had admirers falling out of the woodwork. He couldn’t blame them. He just wanted to know how many he would be competing with.

“Partner,” she replied stoically.

“He just landed actually, ma’am. Was coming to get you before I went to welcome him.”

“Thank you, Mary. I’ll be right there.” John took her hand from where it was crossed over her chest and brought it to his lips.

“Am I still allowed to come find you when my day’s over?” He was really asking if she was angry enough over his decision to keep him at arm’s length. If he had undone all the goodwill they had built up. If last night now meant nothing at all to her.

“You can’t expect me to sleep by myself, Major.” Not when William’s arrival meant she would be leaving in the morning. Not when she knew the 100th was going to take another run at Norway soon. Not when Gale was looking at her with a message behind his eyes that the only way for Bucky to make it through this was for her to be at his side.

John stood and met her halfway in a kiss, savoring her proximity for just a moment longer until he pulled away. “Make sure Mary knows I’m sorry about this morning.”

“I will. Try to stay out of trouble the rest of the day. Keep an eye on him, Buck.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Cass let her fingers linger on John’s cheek before forcing herself to walk in the direction Mary had gone.

“What do you think, Buck? I make a mistake asking for that demotion?” He turned back towards his friend. Maybe he should have stayed Air Exec, stayed safe, just like Cass had said. Maybe he should have said something about her going to Berlin.

“You’re a born leader, John. The men need you no matter if that’s here or up there.”

“But, what if I need her? What if flying gets in the way of that?”

“Nothing could get in the way of the love you have for that girl, John.” The way Gale saw it, John hadn’t just been sent here to lead their boys through this, but to find Cass. To find his sense of purpose. His north star through all the fog.

“Nothing except a fucking world war,” he muttered as he reached into his pocket for a cigarette.

Maybe if he was flying, he could end this thing sooner. Maybe he could save her from whatever fate had her so rattled. If he could get them that future they wanted even a moment sooner, it would all be worth it. To have her safely in his arms away from bombs and secrets and the destruction that they both brought with them.

But first she was going to Berlin and he was going to Norway and they were both fighting for that little future. A little future tucked away with green grass and sunshine and the laughter of the ones you love.

Neither of them knew how much more blood would need to be shed to get there. How much pain the universe had in store for them. That their paths would separate and bring them back together many times over before they earned their peace.

For now, John would settle for making it through tomorrow.

#masters of the air #john egan #callum turner #mota #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan fanfiction #callum turner fanfiction #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfic #john egan fanfic #callum turner fanfic #mota fanfic #john egan x oc #john egan x reader #cass and bucky

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ohtobeleah · 2 years

Text

Best Worst Christmas // Jake Seresin

Summary: After some life altering news. You confide in Hangman which leads you to ticking off something incredibly important on your bucket list.

Warnings: Terminal illness. Mentions of death. Dark humour. Jake Seresin x Reader. Angst & fluff—Jake being just the best version of himself.

Word Count: 4.8k

Author Note: TRUST ME TO DO THIS. Because we can’t have anything nice here. Even at Christmas time. Got this idea from Bianca’s story line from Shameless. Not your typical happy go lucky Christmas fic.

Slow motion. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. From the way Bob brought the lip of his glass of lemonade up to his mouth to hide his infectious smile to the way Bradley twirled Phoenix under his arm and pulled her into his side. Dancing to whatever song had been blaring from the jukebox.

Slow. Slow and silent. You couldn't hear a single thing beside the high pitched ringing in your ears that sounded like just the right pitch to break the glass of the windows out front. No laughter, no music, no mundane chatter from other patrons littering the Hard Deck on this oh so average Friday afternoon.

Except there was nothing average about being told just forty five minutes ago that you were dying. Merry Fucking Chrismas.

“I'm sorry, Payback.” You shook your head softly as you blinked a few times, the ringing in your ears clearing as everything seemed to come back into real time, sound and all. “What did you say?”

“I said you don't look so good, Jake mentioned you left early for a doctor appointment off base, you good?”

“What is Hangman doing with my name in his mouth?” You spat before you took what was left of your beer into your mouth, skulling the burnt amber liquid like there was no tomorrow. For you there really wasn't all that much time left. Paying attention to how your liver processed alcoholic beverages had become an afterthought. “But yeah, I uh– I did.”

“Something any of us should be worried about?” Payback had always been a kind and gentle soul. You envied his passion for all things Christmas. His ugly Christmas sweater told you everything that you needed to know, his was down bad for the holiday season. “Nut?”

“Everything’s just peachy keen Fitch, you don't gotta worry about me.” You tried your best to hide the ever mounting pressure you felt in your chest through a pained smile and soft gaze. “But–” You held your empty glass up as you twirled around on the barstool you'd been sitting on. “I'm tapped so I'm gonna grab another beer and then you and I are gonna have a game of pool once shit for brains is finished showboating.” Reuben followed where your eyeline had evidently landed and low and behold there stood none other than Jake Seresin, claiming his title as undefeated pool champion with a grin so prominent on his face it made you feel sick to your stomach. “Be right back.”

You slid off the stool and fixed the ‘Christmas’ dress that had been sticking to the back of your thighs. It wasn't anything special, just a red mid length dress that fit the Christmas attire that had been mandated but Reuben Fitch himself. Head and only member of the party planning committee. It wasn't anything special, but at least the dress was red, right?

You'd been excited for the staff Christmas party for months up until the moment your doctor had sat you down and handed you a one way ticket to the afterlife. You thought maybe the reason you'd been feeling so unwell over the last few weeks had been an imbalance in your birth control or a shift in seasons or just something, anything other than what your final prognosis had ended up being.

“What can I get you Nut?” Penny asked when she saw you leaning against the bar, card in hand, swinging on the barstool. “The usual?”

“Uh can I get a double Jamison please Pen, on the rocks if you could.” Penny got to work fixing up your order as Jake slipped in beside you. Not turning his head in your direction as he fished his wallet out from the back of his jeans as he sat. The stupid matching Chrismas shirt he wore with Bradley looked ridiculous on him. Only Bradley Bradshaw could pull off a Christmas themed Hawaiian shirt. It wasn't Hangman's usual attire, it looked idiodic on him in the best way possible.

“Another beer if you can Penny, extra tenner on the bar for you too.” Jake was, if anything, a charmer at heart. But despite his ability to smooth talk his way out of any situation and into anyone that had a hole he could put it in, you couldn't stand him. “You seem even more shrewd than usual this afternoon there Nut, not feeling the Christmas cheer?” and he couldn't stand you either. Or so you both led on.

“Bit me.” Penny slid you the class, brown bourbon had never tasted so good before as you downed the double shot you ordered before slamming the glass back down. It wasn't the best move you could have made because the second you swallowed? Your stomach churned. “I gotta go.” You were quick for a woman who could barely walk in heels, racing towards the nearest exit without so much as causing a scene. Leaving Jake in your dust as he almost gave himself whiplash trying to crain his head fast enough to keep up.

“Wait, hold on the parties just getting started?” Jake took the beer bottle from Penny, being gentleman enough to say a quick thankyou her way before making a dash after you towards the front door. “Nwet hold on!” Your call sign had you as the Goddess of the sky. The name originating from Egyptian Mythology, but for some reason or another that had been shortened even further. Everyone just called you Nut for short.

“Not now Hangman, I’m serious I’m not fee–” You didn't get a chance to finish your sentence before you were throwing up the contents of your stomach in the nearest pot plant on the front deck. Down on your knees as your hands gripped at the ceramic. Coughing and splattering as Jake put his beer down on the railing and balled your hair into his first to keep it from falling into the backsplash.

“Alright, I'm cutting you off killer, how much have you had to drink?” Jake crouched down beside you as you sat back on your heels, whipping your mouth on your forearm. “You good?”

“Get me another drink and I'll be even better.” You had heard loud and clear what Jake had said but just chose to ignore it. You didn't have much choice anymore. Jake just looked at you like you were on another planet. His eyes wide as his mouth fell slightly open in shock. There weren't many people who could render Jake Seresin speechless–but you always seemed to manage.

It was the same look he gave you whenever you'd get into a heated argument over training sessions or whenever you’d go head to head in another one of your PTI’s latest workouts. The same look he gave you when you said you were fine when you had to miss the last few days of flight training, the same look he gave you when he found you making your doctor's appointment in the rec room between his runs. He looked at you like you hung the stars in the night sky just for him and once he’d finished admiring them you'd knock them out of the sky just to watch them shatter before him. Unpredictable and oh so beautiful.

“Uh, no–I'm not gonna get you another drink when you're throwing up in Pennys plants.”

“It's not the alcoholic, Jake.” You sighed out in response as you pressed your palm to your forehead.

“It most definitely is I can smell it on yo–” You didn't know why, out of all the people you could have told first. Your Parents, Your Commanding Officers, any of your colleagues that seemed more and more like family every day, you chose Jake fucking Seresin to drop the biggest life ending bomb on. The worst Christmas Present ever. Deep deep down you knew exactly why. But there was no time left to figure it out now.

“Jake it's not the Alcohol.” You cut him off, shutting your eyes as tight as you could because you couldn't look at him when you told him. “It's cancer.”

“What?” When you opened your eyes again Jake's expression had softened to something you’d never seen before. “What do you mean it's cancer?” This couldn't really be happening could it? You wouldn't be cruel enough to play such a sick joke on him. But with the way you were looking at him right now? Jake felt his heart collapse into his stomach. The love of his life had cancer? “What do you mean by cancer Y/n?” Jake repeated as he brushed your hair away from your shoulder. “You aren’t being serious right now are you?” You didn’t respond right away because you were stunned at the saddened and stunned look Hangman had been stricken by.

“What I mean by cancer is that I have a shelf life.” You tried to make the moment a little more lighthearted. “A cosmic fuck you when you were just getting started huh.” It was the hardest thing you'd ever done, to sit in front of the man you loved to hate and hated to love and tell him you were dying. You hadn’t even had a chance to see what you could have been. You'd both been too caught up playing the long con that you'd wasted whatever time you had.

“What's the uh–?” Jake didn't know how to ask as he stood with you and moved over to the nearest table that was clear and free. “What's the prognosis?”

“Stage three Pancreatic–well basically stage four but—” Silence fell as Jake sat beside you completely stunned. His mind was running a million miles an hour, thinking of all the times you’d smiled at him. Beamed his way whenever he taunted you or teased you for something stupid and meaningless. You took everything like a champ because you could dish it out in return. He’d learnt to expect an elbow to the ribs whenever you had this one particular look in your eye.

“And what's the going rate for stage three?” Jake wanted to hear you say at least something promising, but that wasn’t the case at all.

“Two Percent, Doc said even that was being generous.” His heart stopped for a moment. This wasn’t happening, not to you. Not to the one woman he had ever loved.

“Okay but what about chemo? What about other treatments that could surely raise that number up right?”

“Oh, I ah–I don't wanna do any treatment.” That knocked the wind right out of Jake, he felt like he couldn't breathe. Like the entire world had just been knocked out from under his feet. “I saw what it did to my friend's mother Cathy, she spent whatever time she had left being pumped full of poison, because of it she became so weak she couldn't enjoy the things she could have been while she still had time.”

“You can't not try Y/n.” Jake had moved as close to you as he possibly could. So much so it was easy enough for you to accept your own mortality with your head resting gently on his shoulder. “It's probably really selfish of me to say this but I'm not ready to just let you go.”

“Please, spare me the hallmark card sympathies Seresin.” Scoffing, you took the beer bottle Jake had been sipping infrequently on. Taking a gulp of the yeasty beverage. “I don't need you treating me any differently now that you know I'm practically worm food.” It was the way Jake looked at you like he couldn't believe what you had just said. Did you expect him not to laugh or something? Strifally back a laugh so pure Jake waited for you to crack first, the symphony of highs and lows that sounded like the most prim and proper orchestra surrounded him as you laughed with him.

“When did you find out? You seem to be dealing with the inevitability of it all well.”

“About fifty minutes before I told you.” The smile had been whipped clean from Jake's face once again. The laughter that had just filled the atmosphere around you both now replaced with silence so heavy you were sure you had just been buried alive. “I haven't told anyone, and I wasn't planning to either.”

Although you and Jake pretended most days to loathe each other's existence, there was no real animosity there. It was simply a childish act. Your mother had told you at an early age that boys who pulled your pony tail on the playground at school must have liked you. So you learnt play rough too, showing your affection by taunting and teasing between lingering eyes and daydreams of what it would be like to be with Jake as more than just whatever the fuck you were.

“Why did you tell me? I mean I thought I would have been the last person on earth you would have spilled your darkest secrets to.” Jake felt nothing but content when you let your head fall back to his shoulder. He decided this time though to wrap a comforting arm around you—drawing you further into his side.

“Believe it or not you were the first person who came to mind when I was told.” You'd thought about what Jake would say. If he’d even say anything at all when he found out, if he’d change the way he treated you or if there would be a small part of him that would be relieved that you wouldn't be around to annoy him anymore or challenge him whenever he thought he was better than you. “I thought maybe you’d be a good person to tell because you wouldnt look at me like I was weak.”

“If there’s one thing you are, it's not weak.” Jake shook his head as he finished the remains of his beer. Standing as he offered you a hand. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”

“What? Where are we going?” You didn’t protest all that much—knowing what Jake had in mind was probably better than wallowing in self pity. You took his hand gracefully as he guided you to stand, meeting his gaze yet again.

“We’re gonna go back to your place—“

“Oh, as if you would.” You cracked a smile as Jake looked at you a little confused. “I’m dying Hangman, don’t get that confused with desperate.” It wasn’t that you wouldn’t, you would in a heartbeat—but the feeling you got from your back and forth taunting just made the prize all the more worth it. Jake just stood in front of you, eyes trailing from your gaze to your lips then back to

Your eyes. Committing every last detail of your face to his long term memory.

“I didn’t mean it like that, but we’re going back to yours.”

“I told Payback I’d play a game of pool with him.” You explained as you tried to push past Jake, all he did was grip your wrist, stopping you from getting any further away from him. “Jesus Christ Jake what has gotten into you?” You stood there questioning his sudden need to be overbearing.

“You just told me you have terminal cancer and you’re asking me what’s gotten into me! Jesus Y/n.” Jake let go of your wrist as he ran his hands through his hair, extinguishing a frustrated sigh as he looked anywhere but directly at you when he let his guard down. Nothing good ever came with Jake Seresin let his guard down, so he didn’t do it all that often. “I was just told the woman I’ve been obsessed with for the last year is dying and there’s literally not a single thing that I can do to stop it!” You let your walls down almost instantly at the confirmation, softening your shoulders and letting yourself just enjoy the satisfaction of the moment you thought would never come. Jake knew you were thinking—he could practically see the cogs turning in your head as you stood before him smirking a bashful smile. Suddenly doe eyed and willing to step a little closer. “What?” Jake scoffed as his lips curled into a smile that matched yours. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“So you’re obsessed with me huh?”

“That’s your take on this whole situation?”

“Oh yeah—“ Wrapping your arms around the back of Jake's neck you drew him all the more closer as his hands instinctively went to your hips. “Because I didn’t have to admit that I’m obsessed with you first.” You really didn’t give him a second to respond with some witty remark on how he was just saying it because he felt sorry for you—instead you let your lips press against Jakes softly. Testing the waters before diving into the deep end. Pulling back as you slowly opened your eyes. “It’s not fair of me to ask you to love me, especially knowing what you know—“ It was Jake's turn to cut you off before you could try and talk him out of spending whatever time you had left right by your side. His lips connected with yours as his hands came up to cup your cheeks as your tongue danced with his. Savoring every second because you’d always wondered what type of kisser Jake Seresin was. The answer? He knew what he was doing.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.” Pulling away momentarily Jake tan the pads of his thumbs across your flushed cheeks. “How long?” Jake didn’t really want to know the answer but he knew deep down it wouldn’t be long.

“Anywhere between six months to a year.” It broke your heart the way Jake dropped his chin slightly at the realisation. “Depends on my lifestyle.”

“Then I’m gonna be by your side for the next six to twelve months.” Jake promised as he held his hand up to wrap his pinky with yours. “Till the end of the line.”

***~***~***~***~***~

Not a single person had seen you or Jake leave the Hard Deck unannounced. Payback had texted you a few times before you decided enough was enough and sent him a quick message saying you were with Jake before placing your phone on do not disturb.

“Okay so you’re sure this one has the built in lighting?” Jake asked just one more time as you both stood back and looked at the piles of broken down Christmas tree that you’d sectioned into piles on your living room floor.

“For the millionth time, yes—“ You’d leant Jake a pair of your ex’s old sweatpants that you’d forgotten you had until he was long gone. They fit snug, but well. In true Hangman style though? He was parading around your house, shirtless. Sweats hanging low leaving very little to the imagination.

“Okay well, let’s start by fanning these prongs out before we attach anything to the trunk.” You’d changed into your Christmas pajamas—a cartoon version of the grinch saying it’s about to get naughty right across your chest. Jake had thought your house would be full of Christmas decorations by now—always the life of every holiday season. But when he stepped through the threshold and saw you hadn’t been bothered he knew that had to change.

Especially if there was a possibility this could be your last Christmas.

“You got your tree up yet?” You asked as soft melodies of Christmas songs played from your speaker, filling the living room as you and Jake sat on the ground amongst a sea of fake Christmas tree. Jake nodded softly as he worked to fluff out the prongs.

“Yep, had it delivered the first of November—got a real one this year.”

“Yeah you would be the type of person to have a real tree wouldn’t you.” It’s not that you had anything against it, it’s just that a real tree always seemed like so much work. “But if I get the chance to see next Christmas, I’ll get a real one.”

“We can go Christmas tree shopping, new ornaments and all.” Jake offered as his pile grew a little faster then yours. “How come you hadn’t put your tree up yet?” He asked, perplexed. “You’re always drowning on about how the holidays are your favourite time of year.” You didn’t answer right away, you were going to make up some lame excuse but then you remembered Jake Seresin was the o my other person besides you general practitioner that knew you were dying. You could tell him.

“I just haven’t really had the energy to.”

“The cancers the reason you haven’t been flying as much isn’t it?”

“Yep.” You popped your lips at the P. “Probably won’t be too long now before I’m stuck behind some desk in the admin building doing some mundane Johnny pencil pusher projects.” Sighing, you reached for another set of prongs. “Even a swivel chair will eventually make me gag—I don't know how much longer I’ll be able to withstand G’s and barrel roll.”

“Well damn Nut, who’s gonna keep the top of my head from popping off?” Jake teased as he came to sit beside you, leaning back on the couch as he legs fell either side of you. Your back to his chest as he took the prongs you were working on from your hands and finished it himself. “You’ve always kept my ego from inflating.”

“God help the crew when I’m dead and gone.” You chuckled softly as you left your sink into Jake's embrace. “You’ll just have to remember who’s the goddess of the sky, I’ll still be around to kick your ass.”

“Oh yeah? How are you gonna manage that killer?”

“I’ll wiggle your ear whenever you do something stupid.” You grinned, reaching up and around to wiggle Jake's earlobe. “Like that, whoever you get a little too hot headed, you’ll feel me.”

“Deal.” Jake smiled softly as he kissed your shoulder from behind. “Now, while I’ll sit here fanning these things out, why don’t you make a list of all the things you wanna do between the next six to twelve months?”

“Like a bucket list?” You asked softly as you lulled your head back to catch the glint in Jake's eyes.

“Exactly, whatever you wanna do, I’ll help you do it.” You really couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Settling back against Jake you started listing off things in your notes app.

“I wanna get a tattoo, something stupid but meaningful—maybe even just something funny.” You’d end up getting a matching tattoo with Jake a few weeks later. Both in the same spot, on your tricep just above your elbow. Two hands pinky promising—till the end of the line written in calligraphy.

“Solid plan, I approve, what else Nut?” Jake reached for another pile to fluff up, almost having made his way through all the pieces.

“I wanna skinny dip at the beach, at night, or even when the suns just starting to set.” Jake takes you. You both strip down and race towards the waters edge. You wrestle and fight until you're hooking your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders. Kissing him like you’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. His hands hold you up by your ass—and you squeal when a rogue wave knocks you both down. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

“Shameless Y/l/n, but deal—what’s next.” You add about six different things onto your list, telling Jake every single one as you both stand to place all the pieces of your tree together. Deciding that you were both committing to the entire project together. Making a trip into your garage for the ornaments.

“Maybe I should have a threesome?” You held the ladder at the bottom of your manhole Jake had climbed up into to fetch the seasonal box. “Yeah, never had one of those before but maybe it’s worth checking out.”

“Two guys or one guy and one girl?” Jake handed you the box before he jumped down with a soft thud. “Or you and two girls?” You just raised a brow in response. “Hey—“ Jake was quick to hold his hands up in surrender. “I dunno what your sexual preferences are! I’m just being inclusive.” He sent you his signature shit eating grin. “But uh, pencil me down for whatever you decide.”

“You wouldn’t be included in the girl on girl fantasy.” You gained back as Jake took the box back from you, walking side by side down the hall back to your living room.

“But you’re saying there’s a chance I’d be included in the other two choices.” You never do end up having a threesome, it never actually makes the list. “Can’t say I haven’t dreamed of that a few times.”

“Really? Funny that, I had a dream that I dropped you down a well just the other night.” You didn’t even look Jake's way as you fished out a few ornaments and started hanging them on the tree. Jake followed curiously. “And get here you are dreaming of having sex with me?”

“I definitely like my dream a lot better—“ You couldn’t hold back your laugh as you shook your head, turning on your heels to fetch more ornaments.

“I’m not having sex with you Hungman.” Jake raised his eyebrows in response to what you’d called him over your shoulder. “Isn't that what they all call you?”

“Seems a little rude, and also short sighted.” He was quick to wrap his arms around your waist from behind, kissing your neck as you tried to pull away. Secretly enjoying the affection you could have been experiencing for a whole year before now. “Add it to your list.”

“I’ll reluctantly add it to my list.” It didn’t take you and Jake all that much time to finish decorating your Christmas tree. Stepping back to admire your work, you turned on the lights and dimmed down your overheads. Jake held his fist out for your to fist bump before he drew you into his side. You had told Jake you’d add to fuck him onto you bucket list—he even watch your write something down into your notes. But it wasn’t that. No—it was something much better.

“Best worst Christmas ever, don’t you think Nut?”

“Best worst Christmas ever Hangman.” Turning into Jake you kissed him once again, only for a fleeting moment. “Thankyou for this, just being here—I felt like I was drowning at the bar.”

“Like I said, till the end of the line.” Kissing the top of your head, you asked Jake to say the night, it was the first time Jake Seresin had slept in the same bed as a woman and he didn’t fuck her. All he did was hold you till you fell sleep—and that’s when for only a few brief moments he let himself cry. He loved you, truly.

***~***~***~***~***~***

Eighteen Months Later //

“Are you thick or are you fucking stupid Rooster!?” Jake barked as he walked down the tarmac towards his wingman. “I said break right and follow back and under—talley two at five o’clock low means exactly that!” Jake was seeing red. “Do you wanna get yourself killed in a real fight?”

“Ease up, we’re alive and we still have the fastest time on the leaderboard—Coyote, Payback and Fanboy are nowhere near us.”

“That’s not the point, Bradshaw! You just didn’t fucking think!” Jake was seething, his face was red and if Bradley looked close enough? He swore he could see steam coming out of Jake's ears. “Something’s gotta be in there—it can’t just be air in that thick—“ Before Jake could finish, he felt a tugging sensation on his left earlobe. Shutting up instantly as he reached up to tug at the phantom sensation.

“Nut got your ear?” Bradley asked as he tapped Hangman on the shoulder, Bradley had been the one Jake confided in when you finally passed on. He didn’t believe in the afterlife until he couldn’t let you go. “Mum used to say dad would whistle around the house, she’d smell his cologne too.” Bradley caught the sun catching on Jake's wedding band. You’d both decided fuck it one night and high tailed it to a Vagas to get hitched. “She’s probably trying to tell you to stop yelling at me!”

Christmas had long passed and Jake still had his dead tree up. Something about taking it down meant saying goodbye and he wasn’t ready to do that. You’d only just managed to make it to new years before deciding you just couldn’t do it anymore. But you were wrapped to have two best worst Christmas’s under your belt.

Jake held you close till you took your last breath, you weren’t in some hospital somewhere hooked up to all sorts of machines. No. You were down by the ocean, in Jake's arms. Talking about how you were so thankful to have completed everything on your lift. The final one being the most important.

“Here—“ Jake remembers you saying softly as you handed him a letter. “I wrote them down so you’ll never forget everything you did for me.”

Jake scanned the page of about fifteen different things you had done together, the last one though he never knew you wrote. He couldn’t help himself as he held you a little tighter, a little closer. He framed the letter and placed it on his bedside table—The tick next to number fifteen his favourite thing of all.

Number 15: Know what it’s like to fall in love on the worst, best Christmas ever.

#jake seresin x y/n #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin angst #jake seresin fan fic #top gun hangman

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groenendaelfic · 6 months

Text

Faroe Gone Final Chapter Sneak Peak

So there's still lots of editing I need to do before I can post the whole thing, but with tomorrow looming I thought I'd share something "happy" and "cheerful" to distract y'all.

Have fun reading the beginning of the final chapter and hope you enjoy! 😇

Simon doesn't know if it's the sudden fog, his tears, or the fact that all he wants to do is be a fool and turn back around again—the first one, definitely the first one—but he drives back to Tórshavn at almost a snail's pace.

It doesn't matter. He has well over a day until the ferry makes its return journey to Denmark and nothing else to do except go over his time with Wilhelm again and again, replaying the good times and the pleasurable times and wondering if he could have said or done anything to change the outcome of his journey—other than realizing that all of his feelings were mere nostalgic illusion and fantasy, which of course turned out to not be the case.

Quite the opposite. Real Wilhelm was so much more than what Simon made him out to be in his head. There's so much he's missed. So much he doesn't know yet and which he desperately wants to find out.

It hurts, and yet there's nothing else Simon can do, no other choice which wouldn't hurt more sooner or later.

No. Simon tried. He did the best he could and that is enough. It has to be enough.

Simon had to leave while he still could.

The road ahead of him is empty, no one else in sight. No people, no cars, no sheep. Nothing except the wet, cold fog swallowing up everything and a rushing noise in his ears which might be the wind or the ocean or Simon himself.

Simon blinks away another tear and keeps driving, turning up the heat and hoping it will help.

It doesn't.

On the next island he passes a camper van. It's parked, and Simon thinks he can make out a brave tourist trying to take a picture, but he isn't sure. It's not as if there's much to see except an endless wall of grayish white.

Maybe that's the fascination.

Wilhelm told him that there are thirty-seven words for fog in the Faroese language, and while Simon laughed and told him to stop kidding, he's sure he's already experienced half of them, and it's only been two days.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration, but contemplating the uselessness of taking pictures of fog is a lot more bearable than lingering on the fact that he'll never get to be with Wilhelm again, never feel that satisfied ache in his muscles, not like this, and really how long can a grown man cry before he's all out of tears?

Pretty long he guesses.

Simon once stopped Ayub's baby daughter from attempting a daring escape on all fours, and Simon swears she was crying forever. Not that he blames her.

Crying is cathartic if it's anything, but if she could produce that many tears because of nothing more than a foiled plan to explore the stairway, then how many will Simon be able to shed before he's all wrung out? He’s a lot taller than her after all and guaranteed to not forget the reason for his tears even after being presented with some candy.

Simon doesn't want to know.

Simon wants to keep driving through this fog forever, because all that's waiting for him at its end is the mundanity of his never-changing life and a scandal revealing the Crown Prince to have been the victim of underage revenge porn thanks to his second cousin and presumed successor, and that is guaranteed to make it worse, to drag Simon’s name back into public awareness.

He should probably call home and warn his mom, warn Sara, but facing them will be torture of an entirely different kind, and also the investigative journalist they chose is a good one, one bound to build a case and not blindly believe her sources before going public, so there is still time.

Not too much though, as there is an impending deadline if the Royal Court and the Prime Minister are to be believed, or at least Simon would really prefer news of August’s deeds to overshadow him being taken into the line of succession.

Not that he’s so naive as to think a mere article can do more than delay the proceedings at best—although one can always hope—and ideally the journalist and whoever else gets a say in choosing the right time will see it the same way, but all of that is still more than half a week away, so why burden his family before he absolutely has to?

No, he's not going to call home yet, but maybe he should reserve a room before he gets back to the capital.

He decides to do it the old fashioned way and pulls over at the next opportunity. A viewpoint, or so he presumes the sign a few meters away from him would tell him if only it was clear enough to see.

He wipes at his cheeks and opens his phone. There are plenty of options for him to stay at. Small, privately owned places, holiday homes with kitchens and living rooms, quaint little hotels doing their best to sell their Nordic, rustic charm to tourists wealthy enough to make it there, and of course a camping ground, because unlike Sweden, the Faroe Islands don't allow one to set up camp anywhere else.

Simon doesn't choose any of them. He wants a warm but bland room, boring and inoffensive and as likely to be in Tórshavn as on the other side of the world.

Something as far from Wilhelm's colorful and most definitely handmade and expensive wooden furniture as he can get, and so he books himself a room at the first—and only—international hotel chain he can find, something he'd never do otherwise, and pretends that he's looking forward to it. The hotel has a fitness center after all and well over a hundred rooms. Simon is almost going to feel like back home in Uppsala.

Not.

He sighs and makes sure he received a confirmation for his booking, before he throws his phone onto the passenger seat and sighs again.

Somehow, magically, or rather because he's on a windy archipelago in the middle of nowhere, the fog is starting to clear. He can see a few meters of grass now, and then a cliff, and below it the cold, dark ocean pretending at being calm.

Simon wants the fog back, but when has he ever gotten what he wanted, and by the time he's back on the road he swears he can see a tiny patch of blue sky up ahead.

The hotel is on the outskirts of town and exactly as impersonal as Simon hoped it would be. He isn't hungry, and so he goes straight to his room and falls face first into bed.

The sheets are white and the pillows are white and they smell bland and clean and inoffensive, nothing at all like Wilhelm, and why would they?

Simon hates them. Simon also hates the hotel, but it's not as if he's in the mood for sightseeing, and as he isn't willing to take a shower yet—what? He's alone, no one's going to smell him, and isn't that the entire problem?—all that's left to do is turn on the TV, because he's for sure not touching his phone again any time soon.

Not when that would mean having it confirmed with every passing minute that he was a fool to leave Wilhelm his number. Wilhelm isn't going to call, but Simon would rather live in denial for as long as he can.

The TV does not greet him with an info screen as Simon expected, but an English speaking news channel, the volume turned up way too loudly, and Simon turns it off again as fast as he can.

Wallowing in self pity it is then.

Unfortunately Simon's usual answer to bouts of self-pity—angrily jerking off to thoughts of Wilhelm—is not an option right now, because Wilhelm is the entire reason for his misery, and so he grudgingly reaches for his phone after all and starts up a game which would work much better on a computer screen.

He's just about to finish off the newest boss, when a text message pops up.

If I do it, it reads. Then can we

The sentence stops halfway through, and Simon almost has a heart attack.

The delay in his reaction is enough for him to be killed instead, but it's not as if Simon notices.

Wilhelm. It has to be Wilhelm.

He taps the message, and while that makes it larger, it doesn't change the words.

He almost calls Wilhelm back right away, because Wilhelm is swaying, is reconsidering, and Simon wants that, he wants it so bad, to have Wilhelm back in his arms and his life, but also Simon already told Wilhelm that he can't be the only reason Wilhelm returns, that this is a life changing decision if there was ever any, and that Wilhelm needs to make it for himself and not for a hope of them maybe working out, and so he doesn't.

Instead he waits an excruciating minute and then another, just in case Wilhelm wants to add something or pressed send too soon, but no further message follows.

Simon curses and swears and kicks up his feet, because now he has hope again and that is great, but also torture. He doesn't want Wilhelm to get the wrong impression, doesn't want him to think that Simon wouldn't be willing to pick right up where they left off if he could—in the bedroom that is, not when it comes to fighting—and maybe they could also go on a date which has been nineteen years in coming.

Simon wants that. Simon really wants that. How can he not, now that he's had a taste, has spent time with Wilhelm, just Wilhelm, has had breakfast with him and done chores with him and played with his dog. Simon wants Wilhelm back, now more so than ever.

Simon knows he's an idiot, thinking of romance and dating when he just left the love of his life behind, and even if he hadn't, a returning Wilhelm would have much different things on his mind. He'd have to. He'd have no other choice. Things like his dying mother and the throne and the public reacting to his return after ten years in exile.

Wilhelm wouldn't have time for Simon, no matter how much Wilhelm would want him. Not for weeks and not for months. Simon would have to sneak into an assortment of palaces with the eyes of the entire nation on nothing but them if he wanted any time with Wilhelm at all, and Simon wouldn't want that. Simon doesn't want secrecy and sneaking and lies. Not that'd even be an option, what with the press and curious bystanders everywhere.

There is another option of course. The only one Wilhelm would ever consider coming back for. The one which at first glance sounds perfect because it means being with Wilhelm and standing by his side. It would also mean giving up everything else in Simon's life though, but what has he really got to lose? Why stop being foolish now?

Wilhelm told Simon that he's it for him. Wilhelm loves him. Simon's already traveled across an ocean. What's one tiny text message compared to that? Why can't he be selfish just this once and fuck the risk and the idiocy and the fear of what will be in one year? In five? In ten?

It all might end in disaster, but it might also not, and why should he be miserable if there's even the slightest chance at some fleeting happiness. After all it's not as if the email Wilhelm sent isn't bound to upend Simon's life anyway, and it's not as if Wilhelm is actually going to come.

Simon wants to be happy.

Simon wants to be happy and now there's a chance for it and so why not take it? He's done stupider things before, like coming here in the first place, so he might as well go all the way.

He doesn't text Wilhelm a yes, doesn't make any promises. He texts one word and one word alone, followed by a number, the name of the hotel and his room number, and maybe that's the biggest promise of all.

He doesn't regret it. He couldn't stay, not without making his inevitable departure even worse, but now he's done his part and the ball is in Wilhelm's court, all the balls are, and Simon is here and waiting.

For a ferry. For Wilhelm. For the life they could have had.

Fuck.

#it was editing this #or throwing myself a pity party #because for the first time ever #I could attend all the Eurovision events live #with nothing stopping me except my own morals and conscious #so clearly I'm boycotting it all #and that's the easy choice #no pity party for me #hello editing #I'm not saying Simon is staying at the Hilton Garden Inn #but I'm also not not saying that #yes Faroe Gone will have a happy ending #faroe gone #young royals #young royals fic #fic snippet #wilmon #fic update

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