#But the ice freezes it in time never to change again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

verstappenverse · 11 days ago

Text

All This Time

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max was your first everything, first friend, first heartbreak. Now years later he’s world champion, and you’re standing in front of him like no time has passed at all. (Requested)

3.1k words / Masterlist

You didn’t expect him to remember.

Not after all this time. Not after the years had passed like train cars speeding in the dark, loud, fast, and gone before you could even wave.

You’d stayed in motorsport, of course. Racing had been in your blood too once. You never fully pursued it like Max did, but you’d carved out a place for yourself behind the scenes, making a name for yourself in strategy, development, coaching, anything that kept you close to the world you loved. Anything but Formula 1. You avoided that part like a wound you never let scab, too afraid it might tear open the second you saw his name on a garage wall.

But today when you finally step into the Red Bull garage and your eyes meet his, those same ocean-blue eyes that once squinted against the sun as he begged you to race him down some dusty backroad the world doesn’t just pause. It stops entirely.

Max Verstappen freezes like he’s seen a ghost.

“Hi,” you say, barely above a whisper. Because really, what else can you say after almost ten years, multiple countries, and the ache of being forgotten?

He blinks once. Then again. His jaw tightens.

“You came.”

You nod, nervous under the weight of his gaze. “Yeah. I mean, your mum invited me, and… it felt like time.”

Time. That strange, cruel thing that unraveled the knot you’d once tied so tightly between you, a knot built from scraped knees, shared dreams, and the kind of trust that only comes from growing up side by side.

Time turned summer sleepovers into unanswered texts. Turned secret handshakes into blank stares across a room you no longer shared. It turned “always” into “used to.” You had been inseparable. Velcro. Chaos in a two-person unit. Trouble, always in pairs and never quite as brave alone.

You’d kept up with his career of course. You knew his stats, his wins, the way the crowd chanted his name now. But the Max you remembered the one with grass stains on his knees and ice cream on his chin felt like someone else entirely.

You grew up in karting garages together, your laughter bouncing off concrete walls louder than the engines. You were twin shadows slipping between toolboxes and tyre stacks, dodging mechanics and stealing zip ties like they were gold. Oil-smudged fingers. Greasy fries in one hand, tyre pressure gauges in the other. Max taught you how to kick-start an engine before you’d even mastered telling the time. You taught him how to tie a tie, how to tape a blister, how to calm down after a bad lap.

You used to sneak snacks off each other’s trays and pretend neither of you noticed. You fell asleep shoulder to shoulder in the back of his dad’s van, watching old F1 races on a cracked iPad and whispering commentary until one of you snored. You had a notebook, battered and dog-eared, where you’d both sketch ridiculous helmet designs, all glitter paint and fire decals. He always said he’d wear yours if he ever made it. You still have that page, folded and faded.

After every race, whether he won or crashed out, he’d find you. Every time. He’d pull off his gloves and jog toward the barriers just to hear your opinion. When you raced his face would light up when you crossed the line whether first or last didn’t matter. You were his best friend. That was enough.

But then life did what life does. You moved. He kept racing. You said you’d write. He said he’d call. And you did at first, but life moves fast and somewhere along the way you stopped.

Now here you are standing in the Red Bull garage as if no time passed, as if the world hasn’t changed, as if you’re still those two sunburnt kids who thought karting trophies and fizzy drinks were all that mattered.

Max looks at you like you might disappear if he blinks again.

His gaze flicks over your face with an urgency he’s trying to hide, like he’s checking to see what’s changed and what’s stayed the same. Like he’s afraid to find too much of one or the other.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you around here again,” he says finally, voice low and rough-edged, like it’s scraped up from somewhere buried.

You swallow the lump that rises instantly in your throat. “Didn’t know if you’d even remember.”

His mouth tilts not a smile, exactly. More like the ghost of one, soft and haunted around the edges. “You’re kind of hard to forget.”

And just like that, something inside you, something carefully packed away for years, twists, sharp and sudden. An old ache, familiar and stupidly alive. He used to say things like that all the time, back when the only people in your world were each other.

Max shifts like he wants to say something else. Instead his eyes catch on your features again, and he frowns faintly.

“You look…” he starts, then trails off. His lips part like he might keep going, but nothing comes.

You don’t press him. You’re not sure you could handle it if you did.

So you offer a crooked smile. “Older?”

He snorts, a low, almost fond sound that slips past his defences. “Still short.”

You roll your eyes and shove at his arm. “Still rude.”

Then he laughs. Really laughs. It hits you in the ribs like a punch, that sound because it’s the same. Deeper now, with age and wear, but still the same boyish rasp that used to echo through paddocks and across bunk beds and over midnight walks when the world felt too big and all you had was each other.

For a second, it’s like no time passed at all.

You don’t realise how long you’ve been staring, locked into the space between who he was and who he is, until his voice drops lower, softer.

“I missed you.”

Three words, barely breathed.

They land like a stone in your chest.

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes at first. Your fingers twitch at your sides, aching to reach for something that might no longer be yours.

“I missed you too,” you whisper finally, and the truth in it feels like something dangerous.

Because now you’re not just remembering him.

You’re feeling him.

The next morning, the paddock is alive with chaos, engineers buzzing, cameras swiveling, drivers darting past like comets. But all you can think about is the message from Max that was left at your hotel for you.

Come by the garage in the morning, before FP?

Your fingers tremble slightly as you enter the paddock. You’ve barely slept, head full of things you almost said and things he nearly did. It’s like a door opened yesterday, and now you can’t stop looking inside.

He’s waiting by the back of the garage, half in uniform, half in thought.

His face softens when he sees you.

“I was hoping you’d come.”

You nod, trying not to stare at the way his fire suit clings to his frame. “I figured if I didn’t you’d just track me down.”

He smirks. “Yeah probably. I know where you’re staying.”

You laugh, but there’s a tightness in your chest.

You watch as he fiddles with the velcro of his gloves, not quite meeting your eyes. “There’s something I want to show you. Maybe it’s stupid.”

He leads you to his driver room, past engineers, down the corridor with controlled chaos humming all around you, and when the door clicks shut, it’s just you and him.

He opens a drawer. Pulls out something that makes your breath catch in your throat.

A photo.

Faded. Bent at the corners. But unmistakable.

You and him. Teenagers, around fifteen. Covered in dirt and grease and beaming like idiots. You’ve got a bottle of water in one hand and Max is mid-squint, arm slung over your shoulders.

“I’ve had it since that last race before you left,” he says, voice low. “I kept it in my wallet for years. Then it started to fall apart, so I moved it here.”

Your fingers graze the edge of the picture.

“We look ridiculous.”

“You look happy,” he corrects quietly.

You don’t ask how often he’s looked at it. You don’t have to.

Because you remember that day too.

The air had smelled like petrol and hot asphalt, and your heart was still pounding from the race. You were grinning, practically vibrating with adrenaline. Because for the first time ever you beat Max.

He pulled off his helmet slowly, curls a sweaty mess, and sulked like someone stole his dog.

You plopped beside him in the pit lane, holding out the fries you’d bought from the food truck near the gate. “Truce?”

He gave you the side-eye. “You cut me off on turn six.”

You shrugged. “You left the inside line open. Rookie mistake.”

“I hate you.”

You popped a fry into your mouth. “No you don’t.”

He didn’t say congrats, but the way he smiled when he thought you weren’t looking that said enough.

You offered him the last fry without looking at him. “For your bruised ego.”

He took it, but didn’t eat it right away. “You’re gonna win a lot of races,” he said quietly.

“So will you.”

“But I’ll always remember this one.”

You turned to him, confused. “Why this one?”

His gaze met yours, and something in his expression shifted, a flicker of hesitation, like a thought stumbled too close to the surface.

He leaned in.

It wasn’t fast or sudden. It was slow, careful, uncertain.

Your breath hitched. The grease-stained paper bag slipped from your fingers onto the ground. You felt the sun on your skin and the heat of his body so close, his mouth a breath away from yours.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

Your noses nearly brushed. His eyes flicked to your lips. You could count his freckles.

But then, footsteps. Loud. Sharp.

You both jolted back like the moment hadn’t happened at all.

His father walked past, barely glancing at either of you.

You looked down. Max rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in his shoelaces.

And just like that, it was over.

Not a kiss.

Just an almost.

An almost that would live quietly in the silence between you, never spoken about, never quite forgotten.

You didn’t expect to be invited to the RedBull motorhome for lunch. And you definitely didn’t expect Max to sit across from you the entire time, answering questions from media with one eye always flicking back to you.

After the interviews, he corners you in a quiet hallway.

"Come for a drive with me."

You blink. “Now?”

He nods. “Yeah. I need to clear my head. I think… I think we need to talk.”

You hesitate for only a moment before you follow him out into the sun.

The car is fast, obviously, and expensive, a blur of black and blue. But inside it everything slows.

“I tried calling once… recently, I mean” he says, not looking at you.

You swallow. “I changed my number.”

He nods. “I figured. I just, you were gone. One day you were there, and the next…”

“I didn’t want to leave Max, I was a teenager I didn’t get a say.”

Silence. Then, “I know, but I really didn’t want you to. I wished I could’ve done something.”

“You were just a kid too. It was no ones fault.” You take a deep breath and then add. “I waited for you that last night, you know. I kept thinking… maybe you’d come find me.”

You’d gotten the news on a late afternoon: your family was relocating. New country. New start. It felt like the world cracked open beneath your feet.

You’d ran to him heart pounding with the knowledge that your whole life was about to split in two.

“I need to tell you something,” you’d said, voice shaking.

He looked up instantly. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. Then forced the words out.

“I’m leaving.”

Max blinked. “What do you mean, leaving?”

“My dad got a job offer. We’re moving.”

He stared at you. Completely still. “When?”

You bit your lip. “Soon.”

His soda can crumpled slightly in his grip.

You hated the silence that followed. You wanted him to fight it. You wanted him to shout, to say no. Instead, he looked down.

“For how long?” he asked quietly.

You couldn’t lie. “I don’t know.”

He nodded once. Too slowly. Too carefully. Like the movement itself hurt.

You waited. You waited for him to reach for you, to say anything, that he’d miss you, that he was angry, that you meant something. But he just stood there, like his body had shut down and left only a shell behind.

So you swallowed your tears, your pride, and your heartache and whispered, “Guess I’ll see you around.”

You wanted to throw your arms around his neck and say you’d fight this, that you didn’t want to leave, but your throat burned and your eyes were wet and you couldn’t force the words out.

Then you turned and walked away.

“I should’ve said something,” Max says quietly. “Anything. I was a coward.”

You look at him.

You don’t say me too.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for a decade.

It’s quiet after that. The kind of quiet that lives in the space between memory and regret.

He drives to a lookout over the sea. It reminds you of a place you used to sit together as kids, eating fries from a greasy paper cone and talking about what you’d do if you ever made it.

“You made it,” you say as you climb out of the car.

“So did you,” he replies.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Not in the same way.”

He doesn’t argue. Just leans against the hood of the car and looks at you like he’s trying to memorise you.

“I thought about you,” he says quietly. “All the time.”

Your breath catches.

“Max…”

“I kept waiting for you to come back. For years, I’d look for your face in the stands. I kept thinking maybe today.”

Your throat tightens. You remember all the times you wanted to reach out, to send a letter, an email, anything. But something always stopped you.

Fear. Pride. Guilt.

“I didn’t know if you’d care.”

He turns fully to you then, and his eyes, older, sharper, but still that same ocean blue burn into yours.

“Of course I’d care. You were everything to me. You still are.”

The air between you shifts.

“Max,” you whisper, and this time your voice trembles. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know what it means anymore. It’s been years.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “But you’re still the only person I’ve ever felt like this about.”

You’re too stunned to speak.

He exhales, eyes flicking to your lips before dragging back up. “I don’t expect anything. I just… I needed you to know.”

For the first time in a decade, you let yourself touch him, your fingers brushing against his, slow and tentative.

“I still feel it too,” you whisper.

His hand closes around yours like he’s afraid to let go again.

That night, you sit on the edge of your hotel bed and stare at your phone.

A message from Max.

Come up. Roof bar. Just us.

Your heart is in your throat as you ride the lift.

When the doors open, he’s already there two drinks in hand, back turned to the city view. He turns as you approach, something soft and aching in his smile.

“You came.”

“You asked.”

He hands you a drink. “For old times?”

You take a sip. “Something like that.”

You stare at him. At the man he’s become. Stronger. Sharper. Quieter, somehow. But the boy you knew the one who always gave you the last bite of his sandwich, who held your hand during thunderstorms, who whispered secrets to you in the dark he’s still there.

“Do you think we can go back?” you ask, your voice barely audible over the city noise.

He steps close. Not touching, not yet. But close enough that you feel the pull in your chest like gravity.

“I don’t want to go back,” he says. “I want to start again.”

His next words crack something open.

“You know how often I used to write texts I never sent. Every race, every flight. I’d delete them before takeoff like an idiot.” His voice breaks, just slightly. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to see you again?”

You nod, because you do. Because every stupid highlight reel of his wins made your heart ache. Because you once screamed into your pillow after seeing him kiss someone else in the paddock and you thought you’d missed your chance for good.

He reaches out. Not touching you yet, just hovering. “I’m never losing you again.”

Your breath catches.

“Max…”

“No. Don’t.” His fingers find yours. Threaded. Familiar. “Please. I’ve won everything I ever wanted. Except this.”

Your forehead presses to his chest before you can stop yourself, and he holds you like he remembers exactly how to. Like he’s angry at the space between you. Like if he squeezes tight enough, you’ll forget the wasted years and remember everything else.

“I missed you so much,” you whisper.

“Don’t ever leave again,” he mutters into your hair.

You don’t answer with words. You don’t even think you just act on instinct.

You kiss him.

Desperate but somehow gentle. A question.

He answers with a hand on your waist, the other on your cheek, anchoring you like he used to when the world spun too fast.

And just like that, you’re fifteen again. And twenty-two. And every version of yourself that ever loved him.

Later, when he walks you back to your room, he doesn’t try to come in.

He just stands there in the hallway, thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” you promise.

His eyes soften. “Stay. In Monaco. Just for a while.”

You bite your lip. “Max…”

“Not just for me,” he says quickly. “For you. For us. Let’s see where this goes.”

You look at him, this man who waited years, who still looks at you like you hung the stars and you know the answer, you’ve always known.

“Okay.”

And when he leans in, forehead resting against yours, everything feels still.

You were always meant to find your way back to him.

It was always Max.

Always you.

Even after all this time

Taglist: @shigarika @bunnisplayground @thecoolpotatohologram @ymrereads @alexxavicry @gigglepre @esw1012 @satorinnie @percysaidnever @osclerc @sainzluvrr @autumn242 @shadowreader07 @joyfulpandamiracle @inmynotes63 @athanasia-day @embonbon @waterdeeply @shadowsoundeffects13 @fastandcurious16 @odegaardlia @skzvibes-blog @iambored24601 @e10owmaks @painfromblues @brokenvines-wiltingflowers @leo-twins-3107 @rxx-eegh @treatallwithkindness @lewishamiltonismybf @mara1999 @armystay89 @ramonaflwsr @zazima @valevv30 @mischiefmxnxgedhp @yoonessa @wordskeeper @freyathehuntress @brumstappen @irenkaproszepana @butterkaput @lenamds

1K notes · View notes

littlegochu · 26 days ago

Text

hold me tight │ jjk 18+

"I never stopped loving you."

Trigger Warning: This story contains emotional and physical abuse. (Jungkook is not the abuser btw)

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: exes to lovers

rating: 18+, fluff w smut.

synopsis: Y/N is untouchable, his dare: "Make her fall in love with you."

Two years ago, Y/N was just a dare—a game Jungkook never meant to take seriously. But somewhere between the laughter, late nights, and whispered promises, he fell. Hard. Then the truth came out, and everything shattered.

Now, Y/N is a single mother trying to rebuild her life when fate throws Jungkook back into her world. He’s changed. Older. Steadier. But the past still burns between them. As secrets unravel and emotions resurface, they’re forced to face everything they tried to leave behind.

Some wounds run deep. But some loves never die.

“Maybe,” you start, voice light and sweet, “the reservation can wait.”

You round the corner into the bedroom, heels in hand, lips slightly parted at the sight in front of you.

Black dress shirt. Sleeves rolled just enough to show off the tattoos. Silver watch, subtle chain. Hair pushed back perfectly like he didn’t even try.

He glances up from the mirror.

Smirks.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, walking over, eyeing your dress like he wants to ruin it.

You loop your arms around his neck lazily, standing on your toes. “You just look so good, baby. It feels wrong to let anyone else see you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles, low and rough, hands finding your hips like instinct.

“Pretty sure you’ve seen me look better.”

You pout. “Not recently.”

His brow lifts. “That right?”

Before you can answer, he hooks his arms under your thighs and lifts you like you weigh nothing, setting you down on the kitchen counter with a grunt of satisfaction.

Your breath catches.

He steps between your legs, crowding your space, lips ghosting over yours.

“We have all day, baby,” he murmurs, voice a little rough. “I’m all yours.”

You fake a whine. “You’re teasing.”

He grins, kisses your cheek, your jaw, then finally your lips. “Maybe.”

You wrap your arms around his neck and whisper into his mouth: “Ten minutes.”

He pulls back just enough to grin. “Dinner first. Then I’ll give you all the time you want.”

The sunset hits just right — golden and warm, spilling over the skyline like it’s bending just for you. String lights sway gently above your heads, casting soft glows on silverware and champagne flutes. The city buzzes somewhere below, muffled by height and distance, replaced by the quiet clink of plates and the lull of soft jazz floating through the speakers.

Sitting in Le Morte— the restaurant his parents gave to him on his 21st birthday. The same restaurant where he asked you to be his girlfriend, the same tiny restaurant you both promised his parents to build up to success. Now, it's a beautiful restaurant sitting at the top of the tallest towers in South Korea.

You sit across from Jungkook, candlelight flickering between you, and he looks—

God. He looks unreal.

Black dress shirt, sleeves rolled, collar loose. Gold chain sitting just at the base of his throat. One arm draped casually over the back of his chair, the other lazily stirring the ice in his drink like he has all the time in the world.

But his eyes are locked on you.

The whole time.

Not just glancing. Not just admiring. Watching you like he’s soaking in every second. Like he’s trying to memorize the way your lip gloss catches the light, or how you tuck your hair behind your ear when you laugh too hard.

“Stop,” you murmur, cheeks warm from the wine. “You’re staring.”

His smile is crooked. Intimate. Like it’s just for you.

“Let me,” he says softly. “Might not get to do it like this again.”

You blink. “What does that mean?”

He leans forward, resting his elbow on the table, fingers rubbing gently at the base of his glass. The sunset behind him catches the glint of something silver in his palm.

A small box.

Your breath stops.

You freeze.

He stands up.

“I was gonna wait until dessert,” he says, voice low but certain. “But I can’t. Not when you look like this. Not when I’ve been carrying this for months.”

The world quiets.

He drops to one knee.

Your heart stumbles.

“You’re it for me,” he says. “Even when I’m loud. Even when I’m wrong. Even when I piss you off and leave dishes in the sink. I want you. I want lazy mornings and midnight drives and grocery trips with a shared cart and matching house keys.”

Your eyes are already burning.

“So marry me. Let me wake up next to you for the rest of my life. Let me be yours, fully, finally, forever.”

He opens the box.

A silver ring. Simple. Elegant. Yours.

You cover your mouth, tears slipping before you can stop them. And your voice shakes as you whisper, “Yes.”

He lets out a breathy laugh like he was holding it in for hours.

You stand. He grabs your waist and pulls you into him — tight, full-body, arms around you like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

He kisses you.

Slow. Certain. Familiar.

And when you pull back, your forehead rests against his, both of you smiling through tears.

“Told you I’d give you forever,” he whispers.

You barely make it through the front door before he’s on you.

The ring is still snug on your finger, your heels are kicked off, and he’s kissing you like the air in his lungs depends on you.

Your back hits the wall. His hands are everywhere — one at your waist, one sliding up your thigh, slow and sure and possessive like he’s already memorized every inch.

But it’s not rushed. It’s not messy. It’s deliberate.

His lips brush your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

“You look so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, thumb tracing the line of your lower lip.

You whisper, “You’re shaking.”

He swallows hard. Smiles, a little unsteady.

“I’m in love. Give me a break.”

You reach for him — fingertips curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

And he lets you.

Lets you tug him down. Onto the couch. Into you.

He kisses you like a prayer, like a secret, like a man terrified and overwhelmed and deeply, undeniably yours.

His hands are slow.

His mouth is reverent.

Every inch he touches feels claimed, branded, held.

“Say it again,” he whispers as his nose grazes your collarbone.

“What?”

“That you’re mine.”

Your voice breaks against his shoulder. “I’m yours.”

And he breathes out the quietest, most broken “Good.”

His lips press into the crook of your neck, soft at first, barely there — like he's grounding himself. Like he needs to feel you just to believe you're real. His breath is warm, shaky against your skin. You can feel the smile in it. The ache, too.

You exhale slowly, hand threading through the hair at the back of his neck, fingertips brushing the undercut.

He kisses your collarbone. Then again. And again. Slower. Lower.

Your dress slips off one shoulder. His mouth follows the exposed skin like it’s his path home. His hands — warm, steady — trace your hips like he’s reminding himself you said yes.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the top of your chest. “No idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You laugh softly, breath catching. “You already have me.”

He leans back just enough to look at you — really look — and the way he stares makes you forget how to breathe.

Like you’re the only thing he’s ever believed in.

His thumb grazes your jaw, then your bottom lip, slow and reverent.

“I know. That’s what scares me.”

Before you can ask what he means, his mouth is on yours again — deeper this time, hungry but restrained, like he’s savoring it. His tongue sweeps over your bottom lip, and you open for him instinctively, your body already arching into him like it knows its place.

He lifts you without warning, hands gripping the backs of your thighs, walking you toward the bedroom like he’s done it a hundred times — but tonight it feels different.

Charged. Worshipful. Final, somehow.

He lays you down like you're made of glass.

Then he follows.

His weight settles between your legs, but it’s not heavy — it’s perfect. Warm. Familiar.

His kisses slow. Dragging. Like he wants to memorize how you taste.

You feel his hand slide down your side, slipping under your dress, skimming the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitches.

You shake your head, voice breathy. “Don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” His eyes darken. “You want me to take my time with you?”

You nod.

And he does.

The dress comes off inch by inch — not rushed, not desperate. Like unwrapping something sacred. His eyes never leave you, like if he blinks, he’ll lose you.

Your back arches when his mouth moves lower, slow kisses across your chest, your ribs, the dip of your stomach. His hands are warm and sure, holding your waist, smoothing over your skin like he’s trying to learn every inch by feel.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, voice almost shaky. “You always have been.”

Your chest clenches. Because the way he says it—so full of awe, of devotion—it sounds like he’s been waiting his whole life just to tell you.

And when he finally sinks into you, it’s not rushed. It’s slow. Deep. Everything.

You cling to him — arms around his shoulders, nails lightly digging into his back, legs wrapped tight around his waist — because it feels too good. Too full. Too much.

He moans into your neck, low and guttural, breath hot against your skin.

“This… you… this is it for me,” he murmurs, hips rolling deeper, like he can’t get close enough.

Your eyes blur. Your fingers tangle in his hair. You whisper his name like it’s a prayer.

Every stroke is steady. Intimate. The rhythm building slow, like he's not just trying to make you come—he’s trying to mark you. Remember you.

And when it finally crests—when you cry out and he groans your name like it’s carved into his lungs—he holds you through it.

Shaking. Pressing kisses to your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth.

He doesn’t move for a long time. Just breathes.

His forehead stays pressed to yours, his hand softly stroking your side.

“I love you, my wife.” he whispers.

“We’re done.”

You don’t yell. You don’t have to.

The silence between you and Jungkook splits open the second the words leave your mouth.

“We’re fucking done.”

He’s frozen where he stands — barefoot, sweatpants low on his hips, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. He just got out of the shower. His hair’s still damp, clinging to his forehead. He looks… normal. Relaxed.

Like he’s not about to lose everything.

Like he has no fucking clue.

Your hand is trembling as you hold your phone out, the screen still glowing. His name is highlighted in the thread of messages, half-jokes and ego and the kind of careless boyish cruelty you never thought could come from him.

[Taehyung]: “Yo, you actually gonna do it?” [Jungkook]: “Already started. She’s cute. This’ll be easy.” [Namjoon]: “Bet you 200 she falls for you first.” [Jungkook]: “Watch me make her say I love you.”

Your voice trembles. “How long?”

He doesn’t answer.

You swallow, hard. “How long were they laughing at me?”

He takes a step forward and you step back, heart racing, breath caught.

“Y/N,” he says, quietly. “I can explain—”

“No. Don’t.” Your throat tightens so suddenly it almost chokes you. “You don’t get to look at me like that right now.”

He blinks like he’s been slapped.

“I wore your ring for two months,” you whisper. “Two months I’ve been waking up beside you, loving you, planning forever with you—while your friends texted you behind my back, congratulating you for playing me.”

“It wasn’t like that—”

“Then what was it?” The crack in your voice finally splits open. “What the fuck was I to you, Jungkook? Some prize? A challenge?”

He flinches like it physically hurts.

“It started as a dare, we were young,” he says, voice low, ashamed. “I was drunk. It was stupid. But the second I actually got to know you—”

“Stop.”

“—I fell so fucking hard, Y/N.”

“Stop.” Your eyes sting, but you refuse to cry in front of him. “Don’t stand there and feed me that now. Not when the only reason you ever spoke to me was because someone dared you to.”

He looks like he’s falling apart.

You wonder if he feels it the way you do—like the air’s been punched out of your lungs. Like your body’s full of splinters, breaking from the inside out.

“You were never a bet to me,” he says softly. “Not once I knew you.”

You almost laugh. It comes out broken.

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

He opens his mouth.

Closes it.

You take a shaky step back, the ring suddenly burning on your finger.

“You had so many chances, Jungkook. We dated for two fucking years, you proposed two months ago. You could’ve told me after our first date. After the first time we slept together. After the night you held me when I cried about my mom. You could’ve told me before you proposed.”

“I was scared,” he admits, voice breaking. “I knew I’d lose you.”

“Good.”

His eyes lift to yours—glassy, wounded.

You don’t care.

“I trusted you,” you whisper. “With everything. My body, my heart, my life. And you… you humiliated me.”

His breathing hitches. His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you, but he doesn’t. Can’t.

“You’re not who I thought you were.”

“I am,” he says quickly. “I am. You know me better than anyone—”

“No, Jungkook.” You shake your head, blinking back tears. “I knew the version of you you let me see. I never knew this.”

Silence stretches between you, unbearable and sharp.

You slide the ring off your finger. Slowly. Like peeling off a layer of skin.

His eyes drop to your hand.

“No,” he breathes. “Don’t—”

You step forward. Place the ring on the counter. Not thrown. Not dramatic. Just... final.

“I was going to marry you,” you whisper. “I wanted to build a life with you.”

Tears slip down your cheek. You don’t wipe them.

“I would’ve given you everything.”

Jungkook’s voice is raw when he speaks. “You still can.”

You shake your head once, then again. Firmer.

“I’ll never know what was real,” you say. “I’ll never know if you looked at me like that because you loved me—or because you knew you’d already won.”

He breaks then.

Takes a step forward like he can’t stay still anymore, his voice cracking open.

“You were never a game to me.”

“But I was a joke to you once,” you whisper. “And that’s enough.”

His face crumples. “Please don’t leave.”

“I already did.”

You grab your bag. Sling it over your shoulder.

His feet move before he can stop himself. “Y/N, please. Baby—”

“Don’t call me that.”

He freezes.

You reach for the doorknob with trembling hands.

And then—because you can’t help it—you turn back one last time.

He looks ruined.

Hands limp at his sides. Eyes red. Chest rising too fast like he’s barely breathing.

He whispers your name like it’s the last thing he has.

You whisper back, barely audible—

“Goodbye.”

Then you walk out.

And this time… he doesn’t follow. Because he knows he lost you the second he lied.

[2 years later]

It’s warm inside the café.

Not the cloying kind—just soft. Familiar. The kind that seeps into your bones and tells your chest to stop bracing so hard. The kind of warm that smells like cinnamon and vanilla, where the hum of espresso machines mixes with quiet music and the occasional clink of mugs.

You’re sitting at a window table, one hand wrapped around a latte, the other steadying Jiho as he bounces lightly in your lap. He’s sticky with syrup and joy, a piece of pancake still clutched in one tiny fist. His laughter bubbles up when your boyfriend leans in and makes a quiet, ridiculous face just for him.

And you laugh too. Soft. Full. Real.

Your boyfriend has been good to you. Patient, steady, kind. He doesn’t push. He never tried to fill shoes that weren’t his to wear. He just showed up and stayed. And when you finally let him in, he didn’t treat your past like baggage. He treated it like part of the road that led you here.

So yeah, mornings like this? They feel okay. Safe.

Until the bell above the door rings.

You hear it, but you don’t look up right away. You’re busy wiping syrup off Jiho’s chin with a napkin, murmuring a quiet, “Hold still, baby,” while he wriggles.

And then you feel it.

Not just a presence. A rupture.

Your breath catches before you even know why.

You glance up.

And everything stops.

Jungkook walks into the café like a memory you weren’t ready for.

He’s with Taehyung. Laughing at something he says. But the moment he sees you, his body goes still. His expression falls apart in real time. And then his eyes drop—to Jiho.

To your son.

His son.

You feel the air punch out of your lungs.

He looks older. Bulkier. His hair is longer now, a little curl tucked behind his ear. He wears a dark hoodie, sleeves pushed up, exposing familiar tattoos that used to trace your skin. He looks…

Ruined. But whole in a new way. A version of him you don’t recognize. One that never held your hand in the middle of the night or whispered promises against your spine.

“You okay?” your boyfriend asks, his voice cutting softly through the tension.

You don’t answer at first.

Jungkook is still staring. At Jiho. Then at you. And there’s something in his expression that’s not shock anymore.

It’s betrayal.

“He’s getting fussy,” you murmur, eyes still fixed on Jungkook. “Can you take him to the car? I’ll just run to the bathroom and meet you there.”

Your boyfriend nods without hesitation, presses a kiss to your temple, and lifts Jiho easily into his arms. Jiho yawns and rests his head on his shoulder, thumb slipping into his mouth.

You can feel Jungkook’s stare as they leave.

You rise. Walk past him without looking.

The bathroom is down a narrow hall, dimly lit. You lock the door behind you and grip the sink until your knuckles ache.

You breathe.

In.

Out.

You rinse your hands slowly, as if that could wash off the past year.

And when you open the door—he’s there.

"Cheater." Leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched.

“You were mad at me this whole time,” Jungkook says, low and cold, “but you were out here carrying some other guy’s fucking baby?”

Your heart twists.

He laughs, humorless. “That’s rich, Y/N. You didn’t want me, but you moved on just fine, didn’t you?”

You stare at him. Silent.

The hallway feels like it’s shrinking.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t think I deserved to know?”

“Did I deserve to be a bet?”

That shuts him up.

You shake your head, eyes burning.

“I was pregnant when I left,” you whisper. “I didn’t even know it yet. I found out alone. I stayed alone. I gave birth alone. I raised him—your son—alone.”

Jungkook goes pale.

He looks stunned. Pale. A man watching the earth split under his feet.

His mouth opens once. Then closes.

“Y/N…”

You step back.

“And yeah, I moved on,” you breathe. “Because I had to. Because loving you almost destroyed me. Because trusting you did destroy me.”

His hands shake. His chest rises like it hurts to breathe.

“I would’ve been there.”

“Would you?” you whisper. “You lied every day for months, Jungkook. I don’t know what part of you was ever real.”

He swallows, eyes desperate now. “All of it. I loved you. I still—”

You cut him off with a cold laugh. Final. Solid. Unforgiving.

“Then you should’ve fought harder.”

There’s silence. Dense. Trembling.

“His name is Jiho,” you say flatly. “He’s brilliant. He has a real dad now. Someone who shows up, every day, no matter what. Someone who didn’t need to be biologically connected to love him better than you ever could.”

Jungkook flinches.

You feel nothing.

You take a step closer, voice low and sharp.

“You want a role in his life?”

He nods slowly. Hope flickers behind his eyes.

You smile.

It doesn’t reach your eyes.

“Too fucking bad.”

And then you walk.

You don’t look back.

Let him break.

Let him wonder.

Let him live with what he lost.

Because you have a son.

And a man who never made your love a game.

And a life you built from the ashes he left behind.

[jungkook pov]

Jungkook doesn’t remember how many shots it takes before the guilt finally numbs.

He doesn’t feel the booth beneath him or the sticky table under his forearms. Just the pressure in his throat—the kind that burns more than the liquor. The kind that doesn’t let go.

“She said his name is Jiho.”

His voice is rough. Slurred, but not from the alcohol. From everything else.

“He’s brilliant. Got a smart mouth. Big eyes. My fucking eyes.”

Taehyung doesn’t say anything. He just watches him from across the table, jaw tight.

“She didn’t need to say it,” Jungkook mutters. “I knew the second I looked at him. That’s my kid.”

Yoongi leans back in his seat, arms crossed. Hoseok twirls his empty glass, saying nothing.

“She told me he has a real dad now.” Jungkook laughs, but it’s hollow. “Said he shows up. Loves him better than I ever could. Said he doesn’t need to be blood to be his father.”

The table goes quiet. No one meets his eyes.

“She meant it,” Jungkook breathes. “Every word.”

Taehyung finally speaks. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Anger. Screaming. Anything but that fucking smile she gave him.”

Jungkook rubs his hands over his face, then through his hair, like he’s trying to scrub the memory off his skin.

“She looked happy. Safe. Not because of me. In spite of me.”

“You hurt her,” Hoseok says, careful but blunt. “You don’t get to be surprised she moved on.”

“I’m not,” Jungkook snaps. “I’m not surprised. I’m—” He stops, breath catching.

“I’m destroyed.”

The word hangs there. Honest. Raw.

Yoongi taps a finger on the table. “You said you didn’t know she was pregnant.”

“I didn’t,” Jungkook growls. “I didn’t fucking know. If I did—God—do you think I would've let her go? Let her raise him alone?”

Taehyung’s voice is low. “Doesn’t change what you did before.”

Jungkook looks up slowly. “I never meant to fall in love with her.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi mutters. “That’s kind of the problem.”

The silence turns heavier.

“She's a mom now,” Taehyung finally says. “And you? You’re the guy who made her a dare.”

Jungkook flinches.

“No mother worth a damn is gonna risk her child’s safety—or her own peace—on a man who turned her love into a joke.”

“I know,” Jungkook whispers.

“You say you want to be there for Jiho,” Hoseok says, “but you’re not the one who decides anymore. She does.”

“I’m not trying to take him,” Jungkook says hoarsely. “I just—I want to know him. I want him to know me.”

“He has a dad,” Taehyung says gently but firmly. “The one who stayed.”

Jungkook exhales sharply. His head drops into his hands.

“She said I couldn’t love him better. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I don’t deserve the chance.”

No one replies.

“I just want to try.”

The words leave him in a whisper. Barely there. But the silence that follows feels deafening.

No one answers.

Taehyung just stares at him like he’s already bracing for impact.

And maybe Jungkook was hoping for something—anything—a crack of sympathy, a nod, a sign that someone still believed in him. That he wasn’t completely fucking ruined.

But there’s nothing.

Only the echo of his own voice, pathetic and hollow.

And that’s what finally makes him snap.

He shoves the chair back so hard it topples. Kicks it across the floor without thinking. Glass clinks and shatters as a bottle rolls off the table and explodes near the wall. Hoseok jolts up, trying to steady him, but Jungkook shoves him off with a harsh, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

His breathing turns ragged, chest heaving as he grips the edge of the booth like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

“She didn’t even give me a chance,” he spits, venom coating every word. “She just looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was the fucking villain.”

“Jungkook—” Taehyung tries, but he’s not listening.

“She never even told me. She made that choice for me. Took him away from me before I even knew he existed.”

He pounds his fist into the table—once, twice—until his knuckles split open. Blood pools against the cracked wood. He doesn’t even flinch.

Yoongi stands up slowly. “You’re scaring people.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Jungkook growls. “I’m already a ghost in my own life. What’s one more mess?”

Taehyung’s voice is quiet but firm. “You’re not helping anyone like this. Least of all yourself.”

“I wasn’t trying to help myself!” Jungkook shouts, eyes wild. “I just wanted to try. I wanted to be something—to someone. To him.”

He sways slightly, blood dripping down his hand, but he doesn’t notice. His eyes are glassy now, somewhere between fury and devastation.

“I didn’t ask to fall in love with her. I didn’t ask to lose her. But I did. And I lost him too.”

He finally sinks back into the booth, shoulders sagging like the fight’s drained out of him all at once.

“I’m not asking her to forgive me,” he whispers. “But she doesn’t get to erase me either. That’s my son.”

Nobody speaks.

The bar is quiet around them. Tense. Distant music playing beneath the weight of everything unspoken.

Taehyung finally breaks the silence.

“You’re bleeding.”

Jungkook looks down at his hand, broken skin and bruised knuckles.

He just laughs.

It’s almost midnight.

The apartment is still—blanketed in that soft kind of silence that only exists when the world’s asleep. Jiho is down for the night, his tiny breaths steady through the baby monitor on the table. The lights are low. My tea’s cold. Cassi’s face lights up the screen of my laptop, her voice a soothing constant in the quiet.

“So this girl—hand to God—she told her man, ‘If he wanted to, he would.’ And then this man shows up outside her job with a damn sign.”

I laugh into my cup. “A sign?”

“A literal cardboard sign. In public.”

“Okay, fine. That’s cute.”

"Hm, you have that look again."

"What look?"

“The one where you pretend you’re not thinking about him.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not.”

“Sure,” she drawls, then leans closer to the camera. “Bet he’s still hot. I wonder if he’s single.”

I laugh. “Wanna stalk him?”

“Don’t tempt me.” Her fingers are already moving. “What was his full @ again?”

I try to hide my grin. “You’re horrible.”

“Got him,” she says triumphantly. A second later, a notification pops up. Cassi’s just sent me his profile.

I don’t open it.

Not yet.

Instead, I lean back, feeling the air shift. That weird, aching weight that creeps in when you let a memory hang too long.

Cassi notices. “Hey,” she says gently. “You okay?”

Before I can answer, the door opens.

The lock clicks.

I freeze. Cassi’s expression sharpens. “Is that him?”

I nod and quickly end the call. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

The apartment door creaks open. Han steps inside—jacket askew, smelling like beer and sweat and the kind of cheap cologne that clings to your skin for hours. His smile is crooked, lazy. A little drunk.

“Baby,” he calls out, dropping his keys to the counter, “you’re still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He stumbles over and drops onto the couch beside me, pulling me into his lap without waiting. He’s clingy—hands all over me, breath hot against my neck.

“I missed you tonight,” he says, lips grazing my cheek. “Was thinking about you the whole time.”

“You smell like beer.”

“I had a few.”

His fingers start trailing down my side. I pull away.

“Han, Jiho’s sleeping.”

“Let him sleep. I want you.”

“I’m tired.”

He stills. Then pulls back slightly to glance at the screen I didn’t have time to close. The Google tab is open again.

His eyes narrow.

“What’s this?”

I move to shut the laptop, but he snatches it first. Reads the screen.

His voice sharpens. “You’re looking up his shit?”

“It was nothing.”

“You miss him?”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

He stands abruptly, sending the laptop sliding off the couch.

“I go out for a few drinks and come home to this? You—still thinking about that fucker who left you?”

I rise to my feet. “Han, you’re drunk.”

He steps closer. “You want him again? That it?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re thinking it.”

“No, I’m not—”

He grabs my wrist hard.

“You were mine,” he growls. “I took care of you. Took care of your kid. And you’re still out here googling your ex like some pathetic little girl.”

“Han,” I whisper. “Let go.”

But he doesn’t. His grip tightens.

And then he slaps me.

Hard.

The sound cracks through the room.

My head jerks sideways. My cheek stings. My ears ring.

I freeze.

He doesn’t.

He lunges again, fists balled, grabbing my shoulders now, shaking me like I’m the problem. Like I’m the one who ruined him.

“You ungrateful bitch,” he snarls. “I fed him. I stayed. And you still look at me like I’m not good enough.”

I cry out as his knuckles graze my collarbone.

“Please—stop—”

But he won’t.

He doesn’t even hesitate this time.

I shove him back with everything in me and sprint for Jiho’s room.

My heart is slamming in my chest.

I grab Jiho—still half asleep, clinging to my shirt—and the baby monitor. I don’t even grab shoes.

Han’s shouting behind me, but I don’t listen. I don’t stop.

I bolt.

Out the door.

Down the stairs.

Into the night.

It’s almost 2 a.m.

I’m sitting on a metal bench outside a shuttered pharmacy, cold biting through the thin fabric of Jiho’s blanket, my coat, my skin—everything.

He won’t stop crying.

His little hands keep clawing at my chest, his body trembling as I hold him tighter and tighter, whispering, “I know, baby, I know,” even though nothing I do is helping.

He’s cold.

I’m cold.

And everything is closed.

I tried every door. The gas station. The diner. Even knocked on the back entrance of a convenience store until my hands went numb.

No one answered.

I pull him tighter into my chest. Try to rub warmth into his back, over and over, like friction and desperation will be enough to make him stop shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, rocking him slightly, even though I know it’s not enough. “I didn’t mean to bring you out here. I didn’t mean for any of this—”

My voice cracks before I can finish.

Jiho’s sobs aren’t the loud kind. They’re tired, hoarse, hiccupping. The kind that gut you. The kind that sound like trust breaking down.

And I’m failing him.

I’m failing my baby.

I try not to cry. I really do. But my eyes are stinging so hard I can’t see, and my throat’s so tight I can’t breathe.

I press my lips to his forehead. He’s too cold. His skin is damp with sweat and tears.

“Please stop crying,” I whisper, like begging him will undo everything. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know where to go.

Everyone I thought I could call—Cassi, gone. My old neighbor, asleep. Family? Not an option. I burned that bridge when I chose Han. I told myself I could fix him. I told myself Jiho would never see the worst of him.

I lied.

I bounce Jiho lightly in my arms, trying to calm him down even though I’m shaking just as badly.

He coughs once. Shudders again.

Something cracks inside me.

I pull out my phone. My hands are shaking so badly I nearly drop it. I scroll. Scroll again. I open every app like something magic might be waiting there—someone, anyone—who could help.

But there’s no one.

And then… I don’t know why I think of it. I just do.

That stupid restaurant name. Le Morte.

The place he made me promise we’d build together.

My thumb hovers over the browser.

I shouldn’t.

I swore I’d never give him another chance to hurt me.

But Jiho’s still crying. His whole body trembling against mine.

And I have nothing left.

I type the name.

The website loads. I don’t read it. I just find the number.

I hit “Call.”

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

I almost hang up.

Then—

“Le Morte.”

His voice is deeper than I remember. Quieter. But still him. Still Jungkook.

I don’t say anything.

"Hello?" A pause. A faint inhale. Then again, softer this time— "...Hello?" The sound of his voice breaks something open.

My throat caves in on itself. I try to speak, but all that comes out is a choke—sharp, ugly, aching.

I press the phone tighter to my ear, like that could steady my hands, like that could hold me up.

Another gasp escapes me. “I… I don’t…”

“Y/N?” His voice shifts. Urgent. Gentle. “Is that you?”

"Bab—" He stops himself. Breathes out slow. Then, careful and quiet: “Y/N, I need you to breathe. Just breathe for me, okay? I can’t help if I can’t understand you. Please—just tell me where you are.”

I blink, but everything’s a blur—wet and trembling and spinning. Jiho’s still crying against me, his little sobs going straight through my chest like wire.

“I don’t know—” My voice breaks. “I didn’t know who else to call. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“Hey. Hey, stop.”

His tone softens again, that low warmth I haven’t heard in two years, like balm against an open wound. “I’m glad you called me. It’s okay, I promise it’s okay. Just tell me where you are. Anything you see around you. Anything, Y/N.”

I look around wildly, heart clawing at my ribs. “Pharmacy. Near… near the intersection by the overpass, across from—there’s a bus stop. Metal bench. I—he’s so cold, Jungkook. He won’t stop crying and I didn’t mean to bring him out I just—”

“Okay. Okay, I know where that is. That’s enough. I’m coming. Right now. Don’t hang up, alright?”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay.”

“I want you to hold Jiho just like you are. Keep your cheek against his. I’m getting in my car now. I’ll talk to you the whole way.”

His voice is quieter now. Thicker.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hold on for me. Please.”

And for the first time in hours—maybe longer—I let myself cry. Really cry. The kind that comes from somewhere deep. Not panic. Not frustration.

Just grief.

Because despite everything—despite the hurt, the betrayal, the years apart—I still remember what it felt like to be safe in his voice.

The headlights cut through the dark like a promise.

I hear the tires before I see them—skidding slightly on wet pavement as the car pulls up to the curb. The engine dies, and the world goes quiet again except for Jiho’s whimpers, quieter now, fading into hiccups against my chest.

The door swings open.

Footsteps.

He’s still in his suit.

The one from Le Morte. Midnight black, sleek lapels catching what little light bleeds from the streetlamp above. His tie’s undone. Hair slightly windblown like he ran the second he got my call.

He doesn’t say anything.

Not at first.

Just stands there for a beat, eyes scanning me—Jiho pressed into my chest, my tear-streaked face, the way I’m shaking like my whole body’s trying to hold back a scream.

Then he moves.

His steps are fast but careful, like he’s afraid if he startles me, I’ll vanish.

He shrugs off the suit jacket and drops to his knees in front of us.

He drapes the coat around Jiho’s small frame, then pulls it over my shoulders too, like he’s trying to shield both of us at once. His hands linger there for a moment. Warm. Steady. Familiar.

My body caves forward.

I don’t mean to. I don’t even think. I just fold into him, and he catches us like he never stopped being mine.

I sob into his shoulder. Gasping, messy, completely undone.

Jiho clings tighter to me, still crying, but quieter now—like he knows something’s shifted.

Jungkook wraps his arms around both of us.

He doesn’t ask anything.

He just holds on.

Tight.

One hand cups the back of my head, the other bracing Jiho’s trembling spine.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I’ve got you. You’re okay. You’re okay now.”

I want to tell him he’s wrong. That nothing’s okay. That I’m still broken, still afraid, still so angry.

But all I do is cry harder.

And he lets me.

His own breath stutters against my cheek, but he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t ask for answers.

He just holds me like he never wants to let go again.

I don’t know how long we stay like that. On the cold pavement. Wrapped in the scent of him—cologne and city air and something achingly familiar.

Jiho’s hiccups start to slow. His small hand curls into the front of Jungkook’s shirt, and for a second, Jungkook stops breathing altogether. His fingers twitch slightly against Jiho’s back, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to react.

But Jiho doesn’t let go.

So Jungkook exhales. Slowly. And wraps both arms around us again.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” I whisper eventually. My voice is raw. Shaky. “I didn’t want to call you.”

“I know.”

He gives a small nod, like he’s scared saying anything will push me away. “But you remembered Le Morte.”

I pull back just enough to look at him. His face is shadowed, lit only by the flickering streetlamp, but I see it—every crack. Every line.

His jaw is clenched. His eyes are red. Not from the cold.

He’s hurting too.

“Why did you come?” I whisper. “You could’ve ignored it. You could’ve sent someone else. You could’ve—”

“I would’ve crawled through fire to get to you.”

I suck in a breath. My lip trembles.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit, barely getting the words out. “I don’t know where to go. I don’t even know how I got here. I just—he hit me, Jungkook. He—he hit me and Jiho saw.”

His whole body tenses. His jaw ticks so hard I flinch, and he notices—immediately softening.

“I’m not him,” he says low. “I swear to God, I’m not him. But if you need me to leave after this, I will. I’ll go. Just tell me where you want to be, and I’ll get you there safe. That’s all I care about right now.”

I look down at Jiho. His head is resting on my shoulder again. One hand fisting the fabric of Jungkook’s coat. His cheeks are pink from the cold, but his eyes are fluttering shut. He’s exhausted.

“Can we go somewhere warm?” I ask. “Just…for tonight.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate.

“Yeah, baby.”

I freeze.

He sees it—hears it—and his voice softens again.

“I mean—Y/N. Yeah. Let’s get you warm.”

He rises carefully, lifting Jiho from my arms without waking him. He holds him so securely, like he’s done it a hundred times, and my chest twists.

I stand too, legs weak. Jungkook watches me closely, like he’s waiting for me to collapse again. He keeps an arm around me as we walk toward the car waiting by the curb.

He opens the back door, gently places Jiho in the seat, then looks back at me.

“You sit with him. I’ll drive.”

And just like that, I nod.

Because for the first time in a long time— I believe him. We’re safe.

He places Jiho in the backseat, his hands steady but his jaw locked so tight it looks like it might shatter.

When he closes the door and turns to me, I expect him to say something—anything.

But he doesn’t.

Not at first.

He just stares.

At me.

His eyes flick over my face, pausing on the bruises beneath my makeup, the swelling just below my eye. My cracked lip. My trembling fingers still clutching the edge of his coat.

His whole body shakes as he exhales through his nose.

And then he’s in front of me—closer than I can brace for.

His hands reach out, hesitating for a breath before they find my cheeks, the pads of his thumbs ghosting over my skin like I might disappear. His brows are drawn so tight, his mouth pressed in fury, but his touch… God.

His touch is gentle.

Too gentle.

He wipes under my eyes with trembling fingers.

He swallows hard, like the words taste like poison. His thumb keeps brushing under my eye, trying to clean away the tears that won’t stop falling. His forehead leans close, almost touching mine, his breath shaky.

“You have no idea,” he whispers, voice low, “what it did to me to hear your voice like that.”

I blink up at him. My knees feel hollow.

“You were crying. And Jiho was crying. And I wasn’t there—again."

“Tell me where he is,” he whispers. “Just tell me where.”

“Jungkook—”

“No,” he says, voice still soft, but steel beneath. “You don’t get to show up shaking and scared, with bruises on your face and tears in your eyes, and expect me not to burn the fucking world down.”

His voice falters at the end. His hands drop, then fist at his sides.

“I didn’t come to fall into you again,” I say quietly. “I came because I had no one left. That doesn’t mean I—”

“I know,” he cuts in, eyes closing for a second like he’s steadying himself. “But I’m not strong enough to pretend it doesn’t mean anything.”

Silence lingers.

The wind cuts past us, but he steps in again, cupping the back of my head, his palm warm against my scalp. His other arm wraps around me slowly—cautiously—like he’s waiting for me to pull away.

I don’t.

I can’t.

He holds me against his chest like I’m glass.

“I should’ve been there,” he whispers into my hair. “All along. Through everything.”

I cry harder.

Because despite everything I told myself— Despite the time, the pain, the silence—

A part of me never stopped wishing he had been.

The morning light slips through the blinds in pale streaks, soft and almost kind, like it doesn’t know how much pain this room has held overnight. I haven’t moved much. I’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed for almost an hour, staring at the carpet, trying to pretend my stomach isn’t hollow, that my lungs aren’t tight, that the world hasn’t shifted underneath me again.

Jiho is asleep in the hotel crib across the room—warm, safe, breathing steady. Jungkook insisted we take the king bed, and he spent the night on the armchair, half-awake, shirt wrinkled, jaw locked. He left early this morning, and for a moment, I thought he wasn’t coming back.

But the door opens.

My shoulders jump before I can stop them.

“It’s just me,” he says, voice low, careful. I don’t turn around. I just listen to the soft thud of his shoes as he steps inside.

“I brought breakfast.”

I hear the tray set down on the small table. Hear the lids lifting, the faint hiss of steam rising into the quiet. I don’t move. I can’t.

“You didn’t have to,” I murmur.

“I wanted to.”

His voice is closer now. I feel him looking at me, the silence stretching. I finally glance up.

He looks… tired. The same white button-down from last night, sleeves pushed up. No jacket. Dark slacks, black watch. His hair is messy, like he’s run his hands through it a thousand times since the sun came up.

I can’t hold his gaze.

He sits down slowly, arms resting on his knees. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t push. But his voice cuts through everything anyway.

“Why him?”

I freeze.

“Why Han?” he says again, quieter now. “What made you pick him? Stay with him? Let him around Jiho?”

I feel the sting in my eyes before I even try to speak.

“I thought I didn’t owe you that.”

“You don’t.” His voice catches. “But I need to know. Because last night you looked like you were breaking. And then you called me.”

I don’t answer.

“I thought you hated me,” he whispers.

I close my eyes. “I did.”

His breath catches.

“But I didn’t have anyone else.”

That admission burns worse than anything.

He doesn’t speak right away. And when he does, it’s so quiet I almost miss it.

“I’m glad you called me.”

I blink hard.

“And don’t look at me like that,” he says gently, like he can read every line of guilt on my face. “I know you feel guilty. I know you think you shouldn’t have. But Jiho’s my son. And you’re his mother.”

He stands, steps closer.

“I wanted to do this. I want to be here. Don’t be guilty.”

His voice cracks. Just barely.

“I wanted to protect you.”

The room feels too small. My throat feels too tight. I can’t breathe with all this silence pressing on me.

When he reaches for me, I let him. His hand touches my cheek, his thumb brushing beneath my eye—and I realize I’m crying again.

His palm is warm. Steady.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” he says.

And I break.

I lean into him, and he catches me, arms wrapping around me like a shelter I never thought I’d need again. He holds me tight—tight like he doesn’t want to let go, tight like he’s afraid if he does, I’ll disappear again.

My hands clutch his shirt, and his lips brush my hair.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“No,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to mine. “You don’t have to say that. Not right now.”

And before I can think—before guilt or pride can pull me back—I lift my face and kiss him.

It’s slow. Raw. Desperate. Like everything we’ve buried is clawing its way back to the surface.

His hand cradles the back of my neck, his breath shuddering.

He kisses me like he’s been waiting years for this.

And for once… I let him.

authors note: im ngl im tryna stay active by using my old stories, sooo they're lowkey unedited but again pls comment i love hearing ur opinions!!!

#bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #bts fanfic #bts jungkook #bts army #bts #jungkook smut #jungkook ff

1K notes · View notes

ellewritesx · 2 months ago

Text

(part two of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: Before he can break you in, he needs to know exactly where you break.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, fingering, oral (f!receiving), use of vibrator, mention of handcuffs, blindfolding, a panic attack, repeated use of safe words, a ton of ''good girl'' (oops), dom!Harry, it just gets kind of intense guys

A/N: i had so much fun writing this and i've got sooo much still in store for the series! i have no idea how this ended up being almost 5k words cause it feels shorter than anything else i've written but yk what i'll take it. let me know if you like this x

Word Count: 4,870

...

The morning after that first night with Harry, you wake up to the shrill buzz of your phone, a new notification lighting up the cracked screen. Bleary-eyed, you swipe it open and freeze. Your stomach drops. You blink once. Twice. But the number doesn't change.

Ten thousand dollars.

Deposited directly into your checking account at six o'clock in the morning. For a moment, all you can do is sit there, fingers trembling slightly where they clutch the device, heart hammering against your ribs like it's trying to punch its way free. It feels unreal, like a glitch in the system, like some impossibly generous mistake you should scramble to correct.

Before you can spiral too far, another notification rolls in.

Harry: For your trouble. Don't get any ideas, it won't always be this generous.

You don't know if he's joking.

Still in your pajamas, still half-numb, you stumble over to the kitchen table and open your laptop. In a daze, you pay off two months' rent in advance. Clear the electricity bill that's been relentlessly stacking up with threatening red letters. Kill the last of your credit card debt, the looming, gnawing anxiety that's been a permanent fixture in your life for as long as you can remember. With one click, it all vanishes. Just like that. You release a breath you didn't know you were holding.

You sit back in the wobbly wooden chair and stare at the zeros. No debts to pay off. Rent covered for months. You blink slowly, feeling weightless and heavy all at once.

You should cry. You'd expected you would. But no tears come. Only a heavy, eerie kind of calm. Like you were standing on the edge of something vast and bottomless and have just taken your first step backwards, away from the deep end.

Later that afternoon, your phone pings again.

Harry: Quit the fucking cafe. Waste of time.

You stare at the message, thumb hovering over the screen. It would be so easy. To type out a resignation email, walk out of that dingy little shop with its sticky counters and fluorescent lights that make your head ache, and never look back. To let Harry sweep you up and off your feet and stay at home, maybe pursue a hobby.

But you don't. You type out a short, almost defiant reply. Can't. I like it.

You don't explain that working keeps you tethered to yourself. That hard work isn't just something you do; it's part of who you are. You've never had anything handed to you before. You've worked for every scrap, every small victory, every breath of air above water. Walking away from that would feel too much like walking away from yourself, even if a selfish, aching part of you wants to.

You wonder if your answer will piss him off. You wonder why a wicked little part of you wants it to.

When he doesn't reply, you expect to be iced out. Canceled. Game over before it even begins. It makes your stomach churn in fear. But the next day, after a particularly exhausting shift, a message comes through, curt and demanding:

Harry: Come to mine tonight. 9PM. Need to finalize terms.

His tone is sharp and professional, but something about it makes a subtle anticipation bloom between your legs anyway. You spend an hour picking out an outfit, second-guessing yourself the whole time. In the end, you settle on something simple. Comfortable, but soft. Easy to take off. You tell yourself it's practicality, but the fluttering in your stomach calls you a liar.

You take the bus to his place, cringing at the cost of a ticket until you remember that you've got more than enough money now. Hell, you could've ordered a limousine if you'd liked.

You never visit this part of the city. The people here wear designer sunglasses that cost more than a year's worth of your salary (besides, what's the point of wearing sunglasses when it's nearly pitch-black outside?), peering over them at you like they can sense that you're not like them. That you don't belong here.

When you knock on his door, Harry answers immediately, like he's been standing just behind it, waiting. His lingers in the doorway, broad shoulders framed in a loose black hoodie, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his curls damp like he's just stepped out of the shower. The faint smell of vanilla and mint clings to his skin, warm and heady in the cool night air.

He leans against the doorframe, appraising you silently for a moment with those unreadable green eyes, and something tightens inside your chest. You wonder if he notices the dark circles under your eyes you've tried covering up, exhaustion having clawed its way into your skin, unrelenting. You wonder if he resents it, a reminder that you aren't fully his yet. That you still belong, even a little, to a life outside of what he's trying to build around you.

''Come in,'' he says finally, voice low and gravelly. It's not a request.

You step inside, heart hammering.

"You're late," he says without looking at you, voice dry, turning his back on you and walking back into the apartment like he already knows you'll follow.

Your breath stutters. "Five minutes."

He only shrugs, like it doesn't matter, like you don't matter, and maybe you don't, but something in the way he leaves the door open, wide and waiting, soothes the sting a little. An invitation, even if it's a sharp-edged one.

The apartment smells like expensive cologne and the faintest trace of smoke, like he aired it out but not quite enough. The lighting is low, casting long, moody shadows across the heavy furniture: sleek, cold, and obscenely rich. Dark leather sofas. A steel-and-glass coffee table. No rugs, no paintings, no photos. No personal touches at all. You take a few cautious steps inside, pulse thrumming, letting your eyes roam while he moves into the kitchen.

The place feels like a model home. It's sterile. Hollow. Like a space meant to impress but never to be lived in. There are no family portraits, no framed snapshots of drunken nights with friends, no messy piles of mail or keys on the counters. Just the necessities. Barely even that. You wonder what kind of person chooses to live like this. You wonder if he even notices the loneliness curling in the corners of the room, or if he's too used to it by now to care.

You hear the clink of glass behind you; Harry fixing himself a drink. Something amber and expensive sloshes into a crystal tumbler. Without asking, he pours a second drink, slightly lighter, and sets it down on the counter with a muted tap.

Decided for you, like everything else. You take a small sip. It's good. He knows you better than you think.

When he finally turns back to face you, he's cradling his drink lazily in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants. He cocks his head, surveying you like you're something he's bought and isn't quite sure he's satisfied with yet.

"Clothes off,'' he orders without ceremony, without even offering the barest pretense of conversation or kindness.

You blink, caught off-guard by the bluntness of it, the complete lack of foreplay, not sexual, but social. No small talk. No polite lies to smooth the way. Just a command.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, the blood in your veins boiling unpleasantly with offense. It's not like you didn't know what this was (you agreed to it, after all), but still, something about the way he dismisses any human interaction and social norms you're used to stings a little more than you're prepared for. Like you're less a person, more an object now. A thing he's purchased fair and square, and can use however he sees fit.

For a split second, you hesitate. The frown that flickers across your face is small, barely there, but it flashes quick and instinctive before you can school your features.

And Harry sees it. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, a glint of something unreadable flickering behind the casual facade. He lifts the tumbler to his mouth, sips slowly, never breaking eye contact.

But he doesn't apologize. Doesn't explain himself. Doesn't soften the command. He just lets the silence stretch, heavy and deliberate, until the only thing you can hear is the faint hum of the busy bustling outside and the sound of your own breathing.

Still, something shifts almost imperceptibly in the air between you. Like he's offering you a choice, even if it's silent. Testing you. Waiting to see if you'll push back or fold.

Your fingers reluctantly move to the zipper of your dress, fumbling slightly. The fabric feels heavier than it should, thick and stubborn under your touch. Your cheeks flame with heat as you let it pool around your ankles, the air cool against your bare skin. You don't dare meet his eyes. Your panties come next, sliding down your legs in a slow, humiliating crawl.

You stand there, naked and flushed, heart jackhammering, feeling less like a goddess offered up on a velvet throne and more like a product left bare on a shelf for inspection.

Harry finishes his drink in one long swallow, sets the glass down with a sharp clink. Then he moves, slow, deliberate, until he's standing right in front of you, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Two fingers tilt your chin up until your gaze locks with his.

"Color?" he asks quietly, almost gently, surprising you.

The simple question unravels something in you. You swallow hard. "Green," you whisper, the word catching slightly in your throat.

His mouth curves, not a smile, exactly, but something close. Satisfaction. Approval. Good girl.

You don't know if you're trembling from the cold or from the way he's looking at you like a man starved.

"On the bed," he orders, voice lowering, rougher this time.

You hesitantly walk toward the bed, your nerves buzzing like an electric current, your skin prickling under his watchful gaze. He follows behind at a leisurely pace, his steps deliberate, as though he owns every inch of the space between you two.

When you sit, knees pressed together tightly, a nervous instinct, you can feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. He doesn't say a word, but his stare is almost suffocating, like he's dissecting every tiny twitch of your body. You think you're hiding it, the tension coiling in your gut, the sharp breath you can't quite control, but Harry notices. He always notices.

"Spread."

You hesitate, just for a second, but that's enough. A flicker of amusement passes over his features, the kind that tightens your chest even more. You obey, reluctantly, the cool sheets beneath you feeling too uncomfortable, too foreign, your breath stuttering as you do what he says. He slowly kneels before you, like he's got all the time in the world, his hand casually holding something you hadn't even seen him grab: a slim, black vibrator, sleek and intimidating.

Your stomach flips. You open your mouth, but the words get stuck somewhere between wanting to beg him to stop and wanting to prove yourself.

"We're gonna test your limits," he says simply, his tone darker, more serious now. "Gotta know what you like. What you don't."

You swallow. "I thought we were... going to talk about the arrangement. Finalize the terms?"

He smirks, slow and cruel. "We are, baby. This is part of it."

Your heart races as he rolls the vibrator between his fingers, eyes glinting as he examines you. He's studying your every reaction, every subtle change in your body language.

You shift uncomfortably. Your hands are trembling, but you try to control it. You're not good at this, not good at admitting when you're not okay, not good at showing your hesitance.

The vibrator hums to life with a quiet buzz, low at first. He starts slow, teasing the inside of your thighs, moving closer to your hips, barely brushing against where you need him. Your body clenches, straining towards it instinctively. He watches you, eyes focused, reading every tiny twitch in your expression, every sharp intake of breath, every subtle, desperate movement of your body.

"No lying," he says, voice serious now. "I'll know."

You nod shakily.

His fingers hover near your skin, just enough to make you ache for his touch, but not enough to relieve the pressure building inside you.

"Beg."

"Please," you whisper, barely audible.

"Please, what?"

"Please touch me."

His smile deepens, satisfied, and he presses the vibrator firmly against your clit. Your hips jerk violently at the sensation. You need more, so much more, but it's too much at the same time. Your body can't decide what it wants.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and guttural.

He keeps the vibrations steady at first, gentle pulses that send waves of heat and discomfort through your body, your breath ragged, eyes shut tight. But then he turns it up, gradually increasing the intensity, and you feel like you're losing your mind.

Your body is already sensitive, already overstimulated from a long day at work dealing with insufferable customers, and the more he pushes, the more your thoughts scatter.

When the toy brushes lower, teasing your entrance, your body tightens reflexively. You flinch. You can't help it. The discomfort, the anxiety, it all hits at once.

He immediately pulls back, eyes narrowing as he watches you, still calm, still in control.

Your breath is shallow, your chest rising and falling too quickly, too erratically. You're embarrassed. This is not the reaction he was hoping for. He's watching you, scrutinizing you.

"That's a no, then?" he asks, voice still cool, but there's a hint of something else, a hint of curiosity.

You blink quickly, nodding hesitantly as you try to steady your breathing. Your chest is tight. Your hands are still fisted in the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but it's hard.

He clicks the vibrator off, the absence of the buzzing almost as deafening as the silence between you. He moves up the bed toward you, his gaze softening just a little, but the dominance in his posture remains.

"You should tell me when you don't like something," he tells you, voice low, almost like he's lecturing you, but there's no harshness in it. ''It's not my job to guess what you want. You've gotta speak up when things aren't okay."

Your throat tightens. "I didn't want to... disappoint you."

He laughs softly, not unkind but with an edge of exasperation. ''You're not a fucking robot, baby. Don't play me for one. I'm not paying for you to pretend.''

His bluntness cuts through the shame, leaving you raw, exposed.

"Let's continue," he announces, the smirk tugging at his lips. You nod, dazed, unable to think clearly.

He presses his lips to your neck, nipping at the skin with sharp little bites, and you gasp, your whole body reacting to him.

He doesn't give you time to recover before his hand disappears under the bed, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. The cold metal glints in the dim light, and your stomach plummets, dread pooling at the pit of your stomach. Your eyes flick to the cuffs, to him, to the way he's watching you, waiting. You don't want to seem weak. But the panic is rising, bubbling just under the surface.

He sees it. That flicker of fear. And to your shock, he tosses the cuffs aside without a second thought.

"No?" he says, arching a brow, the coolness of his voice making your heart beat faster. ''That's alright.''

You don't know whether you're relieved or disappointed. But you're grateful, more than anything, that he noticed. That he cared.

He shifts you, gently but firmly, positioning you on your stomach, ass up. He pins your hands behind your back, his grip firm but not painful, his fingers like iron. You can't move, can't escape, but it doesn't feel like punishment.

"This," he mutters, low and dark with satisfaction, his voice laced with something rough and possessive. "This I know you like."

You can't help the soft whimper that escapes your lips as his body presses against yours, grinding slow and punishing, drawing out each movement. Your mind starts to unravel as he moves over you, your body arching into him automatically, desperate for more.

Harry's hands let go of your hands and stroke slow along your arms, down your sides, grounding you in the bed's soft sheets. His touch is almost tender, but his voice stays steady, purposeful, like he's still holding back, still working toward something darker.

''Wanna try something,'' he mutters, his mouth brushing over your ear. ''Think you can handle that, baby?''

You hesitate, heart jumping a little too fast in your chest. But you nod, eager to please, eager not to disappoint him, even if there's a pit opening up inside your gut.

He notices the slight delay in your answer, a flash of reassurance passing over his face before he pushes up from the bed and retrieves something from one of the drawers in the nighstand beside his bed: a long strip of black silk. Smooth, intimidating.

You tell yourself you're fine. You tell yourself you can handle it.

He straddles your hips, pinning you lightly to the mattress with the weight of his body, and your breath catches when he brings the silk to your face, letting it ghost across your cheeks. He watches you, studying every twitch of discomfort, every tiny tremble of your lips, but when you don't say anything, he smiles, slow and satisfied.

"Good girl," he breathes, tying the blindfold tight around your eyes.

Darkness falls immediately. Your world narrows to the sound of your breathing, too loud in your ears, and the rough scrape of Harry's sweatpants against your bare skin.

You feel his hand trail down your side, but you can't see it coming, can't prepare for the way it jolts through your body, can't anticipate where he'll touch next. The loss of control makes your heart hammer faster, panic starting to simmer under the surface.

It's fine. It's fine.

Except it's not.

You can't see him. You can't read him. You can't breathe.

The air in the room feels too thick, too heavy. Your chest tightens, your hands gripping at the sheets helplessly, your body locking up beneath him. You try to stay quiet, you try not to ruin it, but your breathing gives you away, short, ragged little gasps that stutter out of you uncontrollably. The harder you try to stop it, the worse it gets.

At first, Harry doesn't notice. His hands are moving, teasing, rough and unrelenting, dragging noises out of your mouth you don't even recognize. But when you whimper softly, not in pleasure, but in fear, you feel him freeze above you. His body goes stiff. You realize, even through the roaring of your rapid heartbeat in your ears, that he's gone completely silent.

''Take the blindfold off,'' he commands sharply.

You struggle to move, shakily reaching up, but he swats your hands away and rips it off himself, tossing the silk onto the floor. His face is right there, inches from yours, his brow furrowed, his mouth drawn into a hard line.

''What the fuck do you think you're doing?'' he demands, voice low and cold and furious.

You flinch, shrinking down into the bed, heat flooding your cheeks in shame. You don't know what to say. You don't know how to fix it.

He sees the panic still written all over you, the way your hands are still trembling, the way you're practically vibrating with anxiety. His mouth curves into something crueler, something sharper, the fire of burning frustration clear in his eyes.

He's disappointed. You've responded poorly to nearly everything he's into. You bet he's offended. You bet he regrets picking you.

"You think I'm mad you're uncomfortable?" he growls, voice harsh enough to make your stomach drop, like he knows exactly what you were thinking and he doesn't like it. "I'm not mad you didn't like it. I'm mad you didn't fucking say so."

Your throat closes up, tears stinging behind your eyes, but Harry doesn't let up. He grabs your chin roughly in his hand, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

''You have a mouth. Use it. I'm very fucking strict about my safe words. You hear me?''

You nod quickly, shame burning through you, but it's not enough for him. Not nearly enough. He sits back on his heels, looming over you, voice cool and clinical like he's disciplining a disobedient pet.

"You're gonna sit there and answer me properly," he says, voice sharp enough to cut. "And you're gonna think about what you say. Understand?"

You nod, small and desperate.

"Use your fucking words."

"Yes, Harry."

"Good," he mutters, eyes narrowing.

He leans in a little, his hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding. His thumb strokes lazily over your pulse, feeling it race.

"What do you say," he begins, voice low, "if I've got my hand around your throat... just like this... and I'm fucking you slow, deep, making you feel so full you think you're gonna split apart... and it feels good, but my pace is leaving bruises? Hm?"

You blink up at him, breathing shaky. "Yellow." Slow down.

His mouth twitches, the ghost of a smile. "Good girl."

"What do you say if I'm making you suck me off, not letting you breathe, holding your head down, spit and tears dripping off your chin, and it starts feeling like too much at once?"

You shiver, heat flooding through your body at the image, even as shame creeps higher up your throat. "Yellow," you whisper.

"Louder."

"Yellow, Harry."

He nods, satisfied, squeezing your jaw in his hand.

"And what if I decide to cuff you to the bed," he murmurs, "and leave you there for hours. Touch you, tease you, never let you come. What then, hm? What if you realize you fucking hate it?"

Your breath stutters. "Red." Stop.

"Say it like you mean it."

"Red!"

"Good girl."

He shifts closer, his knees spreading your legs wider, his hand sliding dangerously low along your stomach, stopping just before your core.

"What if," he growls, "I'm slapping your clit, making you sob for it, and you're struggling to breathe?"

You flush so hard your vision blurs.

"Yellow," you stammer.

"Good girl," he praises darkly, the words sliding over your skin like a brand. "Now, what if I'm spanking you... so hard you can't tell if you love it or hate it... and you panic? What do you say?"

"Red!"

"And if you want to fucking leave?"

"Red, Harry, red!"

He pulls back finally, still watching you, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

"You don't ever sit there like a dumb little doll and hope I notice," he says, voice cold and cutting. "If you feel it, anything, you say it. If you even think about feeling it, you say it. Got it?"

"Yes, Harry," you breathe.

His hand cups your cheek roughly, thumb pressing into the corner of your mouth until you open obediently for him. His face softens, barely, the smallest flicker of reassurance in his gaze.

"Good girl," he mutters. "That's better."

He doesn't touch you right away, just sits there, watching you through hooded eyes, the heat of his body wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. Your chest is still heaving, nerves buzzing just under your skin, but you force yourself to stay still, to breathe. You've earned that tiny nod of approval, the glint of something warmer in his expression. You don't want to lose it now.

"Lie back," he says finally, voice low but not sharp anymore. You obey immediately, heart hammering, limbs trembling a little with the aftershocks of your panic and the brutal interrogation that followed. But he doesn't punish you for it. He doesn't mock you or push. Instead, his hands slide over your thighs, slow and steady, coaxing them apart with a patience that makes your breath hitch.

The first touch of his fingers is almost unbearably gentle, just the barest ghost of contact over your folds, tracing the wetness there like he's reacquainting himself with you. His thumb brushes your clit so lightly you barely feel it, and a broken sound escapes your throat.

"Shh," he murmurs, voice soothing. "We go slow. Yeah?"

You nod, desperate to be good, to show him you can handle it, and he rewards you by pressing a little more firmly, circling your clit in those slow, devastating spirals that make your hips twitch off the bed. His free hand anchors your thigh down, keeping you open, keeping you grounded.

He works you open with maddening care, two fingers sliding in eventually, curling shallowly inside you, his palm keeping constant pressure against your clit. Every movement feels deliberate, measured, for you, not for him. There's none of the bruising pace from before, none of the overwhelming force. Just the steady building of heat, the way your body starts to bloom under his touch.

At one point, you feel his mouth replace his hand, the scrape of his stubble against your inner thigh, the warm flick of his tongue over your clit making you whimper. He's thorough, almost clinical about it, not showy or indulgent, just focused, relentless, coaxing you higher and higher until your body locks up, shuddering through a release so gentle it almost feels like floating. He licks you through it, slow and steady, until you're gasping and twitching under him, pushing weakly at his shoulder.

He pulls back then, finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at you, really looks at you, like he's checking that you're still whole.

"You did good," he says quietly as your eyes flutter closed. You feel the mattress shift when he gets up.

You barely register him moving around the room, but when you blink open your heavy eyes, there's a cold bottle of water being pressed into your hand. You clutch it gratefully, gulping it down while he disappears into the ensuite. A few minutes later, he comes back, tosses a towel onto the bed without a word, and jerks his chin toward the open bathroom door.

"Shower's yours."

You stumble toward it on shaky legs, grateful for the excuse to hide your face. His bathroom is ridiculously luxurious, heated floors, fluffy towels, expensive soaps that smell like cedarwood and spice. You take your time, letting the water wash away the sticky remnants of your anxiety, trying to piece yourself back together.

When you return to the bedroom, he's already under the covers, scrolling lazily through his phone like he hasn't just shattered you and stitched you back together in the same hour.

You hesitate for a moment, but he flicks the blanket up wordlessly, making room for you. Your heart swells a little, and you slip in beside him, careful not to touch him unless he invites it.

For a long moment, there's only the soft sounds coming from his phone, the quiet hum of the city outside his window.

But you can't help yourself. The questions bubble up, tentative and trembling, before you can think better of it.

"Harry?" you whisper.

"Hm?"

You pick at the edge of the blanket, voice barely audible. "Are you... seeing other people?"

He doesn't look at you. Just scrolls once more, then locks his phone and sets it on the nightstand. He turns his head toward you.

"No, baby," he says simply. "I told you this arrangement is exclusive. You're the only one."

Your breath catches.

"And... and how often would I... I mean, how often would you want to... see me?"

"Couple times a week. More, if you're okay with that."

"And... the payment?"

He smirks slightly. "We'll work that out. Money. Gifts. You can have whatever you like."

You chew your lip, heart pounding. "And if I... if there's something I can't do? Or I... I can't—"

"You say no," he interrupts bluntly. His voice is firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "You use your fucking words. I don't want your obedience unless you're giving it to me freely. Understand?"

You nod quickly, throat tight.

He watches you for a long moment, something shifting in his expression, almost imperceptible. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he says:

"Don't like when people fake things with me. Had enough of that for a lifetime."

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. You don't know the story behind those words. But you know it's not a conversation you're meant to push. Not tonight.

So you just murmur a soft "Okay", and burrow a little closer under the covers.

He doesn't touch you. But he stays close, close enough that the heat of him soaks into your skin, close enough that when you finally drift off, you swear you feel the edge of his pinky finger brush against yours, the smallest, secret tether.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502

...

842 notes · View notes

luveline · 1 year ago

Note

could you write plss write something about JJ’s confession and spencer is with bombshell reader and loves her entirely but she gets extremly scared and insecure??

Your usual confidence is shaken after JJ’s confession, but Spencer is emphatically in love with you. fem, 1.5k

Spencer gives you a rundown after every case. Not just as a colleague who missed it, but as his partner who he loves. This one comes out slowly. Maybe even reluctantly.

He’s recounting the moment JJ had been forced to tell a secret. “She told me she’s always loved me, but that things are too complicated now.”

You freeze in total bewilderment, your mug of hot tea swelling over the rim to warm your fingers. Further overwhelmed, you set it down on the coffee table.

You’re in pyjamas on the couch. Spencer sits in sweatpants on the other end of it, his own cup of tea in hand. He’s watching you carefully. You’d felt generously comfortable only moments ago, riding the high of his continued survival, but now you’re feeling sick..

“She told you she loves you?”

“That she was too scared to tell me before.”

“And what do you think about that?”

“I think if I never met you, I would’ve spent half of my life calling after her.” His lips quirk into one of those typical awkward Spencer smiles. “What should I think?”

“I can't really tell you what to think, Spencer.”

If he never met you, he’d still want JJ? Or if you weren’t in the way, he’d be with her now? Or what?

You’ve never been the insecure type, to begin. You met Spencer when you were both rookies trying to establish themselves in the BAU, Spencer as a new member, and you as a hopeful applicant. Each time you liaised, or came around to annoy your good friend Derek Morgan, Spencer would be there, looking cute and lonely as ever. It was easy to become his friend. Easier again to fall in love with him.

Not easy to convince him you truly wanted to be with him, but you were persistent, and… honestly, you’ve never been in love with someone like you have Spencer. That’s why JJ’s confession sends ice water down your back.

He lets you steep for a few minutes, but ultimately can’t take the weird silence.

“Hey,” he says, clear worry in his tone as he puts his own mug on the coffee table and moves to sit beside you, his hand falling onto your knee. “Hey, what’s that face about?”

“What face?” you ask, schooling your expression.

“That face.” His head tips to the side.

“I’m not making a face.”

“I know you…” he says, a tenderness to him as his hand slips under your leg, his fingers pressing into the softest skin behind your knee.

“What else did she say?”

He nods with understanding. “She said she was too scared to say it before, and that things are complicated now, I guess because everything’s changed so much.”

“She has a family.”

“Angel, even if she didn’t, you think that would make a difference?” He finds your hand for kissing. “What do you think I said to her? I love you. I told her I love you, she already knew that, but I told her again. I said there’s nothing complicated about it.”

You stare at him.

“Nothing complicated about it,” he repeats, pressing your kissed hand to his neck and covering it soundly with his own.

You’re not expecting the insecurity of it. You and Spencer have never been on surer footing. Every day with him seems to guarantee the next. He just has to look at you and you know he’s your person, but you forgot he could just love somebody else if he wanted to. You forgot he even liked JJ to begin with. This sudden reminder is like having your legs kicked out from under you.

You panic.

“I love you,” he says, your hand moving down, pressed with fever to his chest. “More than anyone.”

“I love you too… I just– I guess I thought JJ was my friend,” you say.

“She is. She said she needed something that would shock the UnSub… I don’t think she expected anything to change. We just needed to get out of there.”

He almost died and you’re thinking about JJ. Shit, JJ could’ve died.

You bow your head. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, for what? For what?” He sandwiches you to his side. “I’m sorry, it’s not fair. It puts you in a bad position. But you don’t have anything to worry about, I love you, and I don’t have any feelings for JJ.”

You wonder if that’s true.

You’re being unlike yourself. Embarrassed, you hide your face in his collar and let him hug you gently.

“Sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I have no idea what to do right now.”

Insecurity isn’t your style, but it’s not something that can be helped. You have, through everything, pioneered desperately to put your best foot forward. You wear clothes ordered to fit and then tailored for good measure, you take care of your appearance in a way that others might find objectionable. Who you are outwardly is just as important to you as the inward, which makes this all the worse. You hate being out of control.

Spencer can make it better, despite his insistence on cluelessness. “You know it could never be anyone else but you, right?” he asks softly.

“Sorry, I’m just… I’m not angry because she didn’t have a choice, but do you really believe she didn’t mean it? She could’ve made up a hundred different lies.”

“I think she meant it,” he says, still speaking softly.

“You understand why that would freak me out, right? If you never met me, you could be with her.”

“I can’t imagine a universe where we don’t meet,” he says.

Spencer delivers it with that sincere yet shy honesty that he tends to say many things. Like it’s simple, like he’s aware of how cleanly cut it is, and like he’s worried you won’t agree with him.

You try not to act so small, straightening your back, and sewing an arm behind his neck and over his shoulder. You’re not feeling a hundred percent just yet, and so you press your forehead to his cheek, his hair kissing your ear. Spencer drags your leg across his thigh and lets you stew for a little while.

“I don’t want to be with JJ.” He squeezes you closer, nearly has you in his lap. “Is that what you’re worried about? If I never met you, I wouldn’t want to be with her, because she had no interest in me, or– or maybe she did, but she didn’t show it. I know exactly what it feels like now to be loved without remorse, to– to never be told I’m too much. JJ is one of my best friends in the whole world, but you’re my heart. You’re the only person who’s ever liked me for me, all of me, even when I know it wasn’t easy.”

“It’s always easy,” you murmur.

“That’s not the only reason I love you, but it’s important. JJ’s smart and she’s beautiful and she’s such a good mom, but she’s not you. She could never be you, and I don’t want anyone that isn’t you.”

You don’t want him to say cruel things about JJ and you’re glad when he doesn’t, but you definitely need his assurance that he prefers you. Then you feel silly, because it’s your bed he comes home to, your hip he’s caressing as he waxes poetic for you.

You feel less like he doesn’t love you and more like you’ve made a fool of yourself for even suggesting it. “Am I your best friend?” you ask (childishly, depending on who you ask).

“You’re my best friend. You’re the best friend. Every day I get to be with you is perfect.”

“That’s really romantic,” you mumble, nearly not quite kidding as you rub the tip of your nose into his cheek.

“You bring it out of me.”

You sigh and wrap your arms around him tightly. “Thanks, Dr. Reid. I think you fixed me.”

“You’re still making a face.”

“You almost died today, baby. JJ isn’t the sole thing on my mind.”

“Almost died is an exaggeration. We almost die all the time.”

You sniff his hair at your discretion. When he holds you like he’s doing now, you realise you have no need to worry. How can he squeeze your soft sides and chase your nose with his if he doesn’t mean what he says? Spencer’s not like that.

“I’m sorry I overreacted,” you say.

“I don’t think you did. But would you feel better if I say it’s okay? Because it’s okay. I’m sorry for telling you something I knew would upset you, but we don’t–”

“Have secrets, I know.”

You give him a teeny kiss by his ear.

“Thank you,” he murmurs pleasantly.

You press another right on top of the first. Slower, you peel away to stroke his hair. His eyes hold all the proof you need —you’re loved without competition.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

1d1195 · 4 months ago

Text

Pucking Rookie V

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~5.9k words

From me: this is almost entirely a filler episode.

Warnings: fluff. nauseating fluff. Jealous MC. Cute vulnerable moments.

Summary: Harry is determined to break her walls down even if he has to do it slowly.

Harry didn’t force her to move out (yet) even though he wanted her to. But he spent a lot more time on the bad side of town now that he beat up Kael. Michael ogled over the pretty car he left with her. “If you don’t sleep with him, I will,” he muttered around a drag of his cigarette when she first parked it in front of their building.

“Get in line!” Marc shouted from the doorway waiting for her to enter.

She rolled her eyes. Fortunately, Harry was a few minutes behind her, so he didn’t hear their crass thoughts. “Great game, man,” Michael nodded.

“Yeah! You were close to getting a shirt-trick!”

Harry chuckled, putting his hand on her lower back as she covered her eyes. “You’re embarrassing me, Marc. It’s a hat-trick.”

“Close enough,” he shrugged.

“It’s not—”

“Thanks, mate,” Harry laughed and nudged her forward cutting her off from rebuking Marc. Harry liked the guys in her apartment well enough, but he wanted her to himself in the privacy of the apartment that smelled just like her. In whatever way he could have her, which meant just being friends.

When they got to her place, she went to her dresser and pulled out a set of clothes and headed for the bathroom without another word. Harry looked through the photos spread on her counter. The same ones from her series that she was already insisting on would never be.

He looked through the other photos too. The ones on the fridge and wall (his still centered right above the water and ice dispenser) her talent was incredible. He heard the shower turn on and then the door opened immediately. “Do you want to shower?” She asked tossing her clothes in the hamper. Instead of her normal rink outfit, she was wearing a pair of leggings and T-shirt.

“With you? Of course, Rookie,” he didn’t look up because he knew that line of thinking was dangerous, and he didn’t want her to get mad at him. She snorted.

“Go,” she rolled her eyes with a sigh. He wrapped his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek sloppily. “Gross you’re all sweaty!” She shoved him.

“Manly,” he tugged his sweatshirt off and tossed it at her.

While Harry showered, she busied herself making tea and organizing items for tomorrow. She knocked on the door to give Harry a set of sweats he left the last time he was over. “Y’joining me?” He asked excitedly.

“Leaving clothes for you to change in to,” she opened the door briefly and set them on the sink counter without looking inside.

“Break m’heart, Rookie,” he sighed and continued showering.

She shook her head with a smirk. Harry was funny, adorable, sexy, and sweet in a way that should have been illegal because it was just not fighting fair. She wasn’t going to fall in love with another hockey player. Not one that was one of the top names in the league. Instead, she admired the pictures she took of him. How handsome he looked, the defined jawline, the way his hair curled with sweat. His smile, the dimples. “Hey Rookie, do y’have deodorant in here?”

Oh God, this was too domestic. She should have suggested driving to his place. At least there she had her own guest room to create a boundary. Albeit an arbitrary, dumb boundary that did next to nothing. “In the drawer beneath the sink,” she answered.

She shivered slightly in her freezing apartment but refused to turn the heat on. She grabbed the sweatshirt on the back of the couch to put on over her T-shirt. The tea was almost ready, and Harry exited the bathroom. He came around silently and tugged the hem of the sweatshirt. “Looks nice on you,” he mumbled and smoothed his hand down her back. She didn’t realize she had grabbed the very sweatshirt Harry had tossed at her. She shivered again and stepped away from him.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” His smile was anything but innocent.

She shook her head and elbowed him out of her way, before heading to the couch with her cup of tea. Harry followed her with his own cup of tea. He pulled her legs into his lap, placed a blanket on top of them, and then ran his hand up and down her shin. “Y’know, Rookie, y’don’t have t’make all these boundaries. M’not going t’push you.”

“They’re for me,” she reminded him and focused on finding a show to watch before she inevitably fell asleep on the sofa.

“I know,” he sighed and sipped his own drink. His hair was still damp, and his soft curls fell a little awkwardly around his pretty face. “But m’not gonna hurt you... Would rather die than hurt you,” he gave her leg a squeeze.

“I know,” she mumbled.

He grinned. “Good. M’glad y’know that. That makes me happy.”

With the show selected, she set her tea on the coffee table and shifted in her spot. “I think the Wolves might be the most chauvinistic, most terrible team in the league,” she reached for a throw pillow, rotated until her head laid in his lap. He put one hand on her side and rubbed it gently.

“I couldn’t agree more,” he murmured and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

She yawned and sighed. “You smell good.”

“S’your deodorant,” he reminded her.

“I know, that’s why you smell good.”

He chuckled, shook his head, and sipped his tea again.

The team took up the entire airport bar. Or at least most of the team. Callie and Asher were among the hungover from the night before, so that group stayed at the gate with their eyes closed. They were within view of the bar so at least there wouldn’t be any issues, and the rest of the team could jump at a moment’s notice to help them out. She was seated beside Lang and showing him the pictures she took of last night's game. They were heading back home after a three-day stint going through a series of away games in the same vicinity the first. The guys were exhausted from traveling and only getting to a hotel for no more than one night at a time. All that travel, with all their stuff, was exhausting. She was exhausted too. A lot of the media posts needed to be out each night by a certain time. Submissions for the news outlets had to be in by midnight for the following morning. She felt tired and hadn’t even strained her body the way they had. As such, she didn’t have a drink at the bar, merely some coffee to try and get her mind to work a little faster for the plane trip home.

She sat on one leg to lean over Lang while looking at the photos on her camera screen.

“Hey Sweetheart, do you want a drink?” Niall called a ways down the bar. She shook her head.

“Thank you, though.”

“Are you sure? Harry’s buying!”

“Oh yeah?” She smiled and looked at number eleven with a grin. “Lose a bet?”

He rolled his eyes. “If y’want a drink m’paying,” he shrugged. She wondered if he would pay for her just because (even if he didn't lose a bet)

“I’ll take you up on that.”

Her head snapped up unwillingly. A pretty girl stood beside Harry’s seat. She had long hair that didn’t have a single strand popping off her scalp in a mess of frizz. Her smile was stunning, practically blindingly beautiful. Her makeup was flawless and expertly applied. She didn’t look exhausted from days of travel. She garnered the attention of every pair of eyes on the team.

Including hers.

“Oh... hi,” Harry said standing quickly. “Do y’want t’sit?” He asked.

Her chest flamed with jealousy. She looked back at her camera and sat on the seat hoping to make herself smaller beside Lang. Thankful for the big hockey player beside her and he blocked most of the visual of their interaction. If only Callie and Asher were sitting beside her too so she wouldn’t have to hear them talk. Although she imagined even if they were around her making their jokes, they too would have been stunned to silence by the beautiful woman sitting by Harry.

“He doesn’t like her,” Lang murmured quietly in her ear. She felt a flare of hope warm her body. Then the doubt took over, she shook her head.

“Doesn’t matter,” she shrugged hoping her voice didn’t betray her with how shitty it felt. In an attempt to distract herself further, she put her camera back in the bag. “He’s not mine.”

Lang snorted, then chuckled under his breath. “Sure Sweetheart, sure.”

At that moment her phone vibrated, which supplied her with the distraction she needed from feeling like shit watching Harry. Do you want me to boot and rally to flirt with you? Make Harry jealous?

No thank you, Callie. That seems like a bad idea. For a lot of reasons.

I do nt meed to rhrrow uyp. I c sann f;lirt. with yoou righht n ow. I kjust ca nt open m. y eeyes m. uch.

Thank you Asher, that’s alright. It’s not a big deal. He can flirt with whoever he wants.

You know he WANTS to flirt with you, right?

She didn’t respond to Callie because it was just making her grumpy to think about it. “Hey Sweetheart, are you still going to the little convenience store? Can you grab me something to read for the flight?” Niall asked. She was too tired to think about moving but she was grateful for another attempted distraction. Harry was clearly engrossed in his conversation with the pretty woman. At least he was kind to speak quietly.

“Yeah, I was just going,” she stood up and reached in her purse to pay for her coffee. “It’s all set, Sweetheart,” Lang assured her. He took her camera bag off her shoulder. “I’ll watch this with my life. Just go,” he winked.

“Thanks Cap,” she smiled.

“Ugh, Styles is a lucky man,” he grumbled as he hoisted the bag on his shoulder.

She scurried away feeling infinitely better as she walked further away from the pretty woman and the equally pretty hockey player. There was no right to feel jealous. Harry wasn’t her boyfriend. He didn’t owe her anything. He could talk to any woman he wanted, and it didn’t have to affect her.

But it didn’t mean that it didn’t affect her.

She was looking at books for Niall hoping to find something she would want to read in case he didn’t like her fake selection. Then she moved onto the snacks looking for a way to eat the emotions she was feeling. Stupid Harry and his stupid pretty face. She couldn’t even blame the woman because Harry was so pretty it seemed inhumane to not flirt with him. She was the weird one. Not letting him in and not letting him be her boyfriend because why? She was stubborn. Didn’t want to get hurt again.

Harry wouldn’t hurt her, right? Not intentionally. Granted she never really imagined Kael hurting her either. Not cheating on her, anyway.

The exhaustion was getting to her. Her mind spinning aimlessly trying to make sense of her own thoughts seemed next to impossible. Harry was handsome, charming, talented, and overall perfect. Of course, a woman he knew would flirt with him because he was in town. They didn’t have a game the next day, maybe he would stay.

“Rookie.”

She continued looking at snacks, picking up the chocolate covered pretzels that were so overpriced she wouldn’t have gotten them even if she was starving. But her jealous heart wanted chocolate. “Oh hi,” she mumbled. “Do you want something?”

“No, Rookie,” he came over to her and put a hand on her back. It felt warm and safe, and she practically melted into his touch instantly. “Are y’alright?”

She nodded. “Course. I’m just tired.”

“Are y’sure?”

“Why would anything be wrong, Harry?”

He pressed his lips together and shrugged. “Y’got up in a hurry.”

“Mm... well, the flight’s going to be boarding soon. We should probably get back actually,” she turned for the register.

“Rookie,” his voice was gentle.

“Anything else?” The cashier asked.

“That’s it,” she tapped her phone to the payment kiosk, but it declined. Of course. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the ceiling. Pain behind her eyes started to ensue. From unshed tears or a coming headache, she wasn’t sure. Either way she sighed deeply, hoping the ground would swallow her whole.

“Here, I have it—”

“Harry, stop it.”

“Rookie, just let me pay for it so we can go back—”

“Forget it,” she abandoned all her items and headed back for the gate.

“Rookie, Jesus!” He shouted. She was already half way back to the gate before he caught up to her (the bag of items she left behind surely paid for by him in hand). Some of the team was already boarding. She grabbed her camera from Lang without so much as pausing and cut the front of the line (not that anyone minded), and headed down the tunnel to the plane. “Rookie, stop it,” he grumbled.

Callie had a seat open next to him, his head resting against the wall beside the closed window and she flopped into the seat beside him. He opened one eye briefly and smiled. “Hi, Sweetheart.”

“Get out of this row,” Harry snapped. His voice was closer but slightly out of breath. He must have been hustling down the boarding bridge and she felt bad because sure, she was mad (not even at him) but he was tired too.

“Harry, I’m not—”

“Not you. Callie, get up.”

“Harry, he’s not feeling wel—”

“He’s fine. Calloway.”

“Styles, I’m going to throw up,” he moaned.

“And she’s not taking care of y’the whole flight. Get up.”

Callie groaned and hauled himself out of the seat into another empty row a couple seats behind. Almost instantly, she tried to get out of the row but once Callie passed, Harry blocked her. “Sit down, Rookie,” he ordered.

“Quit being so bossy—”

He didn’t move. Eventually she sighed, and Harry waited until she was seated in Callie’s now empty seat. Harry sat beside her almost triumphantly. She fiddled with her seat settings and air settings all while ignoring Harry. “Rookie,” he said sweetly. “C’mon Rookie, talk t’me.”

“About what, Harry?” she rubbed her eyes. “I’m exhausted. You’re exhausted. Just let me sleep on your hard, uncomfortable shoulder so I can complain more when we land.”

Harry sighed, shook his head. “Here’s your bag of stuff,” he plopped it on her tray table.

“Thank you,” she mumbled and sorted it quickly. She tucked the bag of chocolate-covered pretzels that she knew she put back before Harry got there into the back of the seat in front of her. “Niall,” she called quietly.

“Yeah, Sweetheart?” His voice came from in front of her and she tapped on the shoulder of the person in front of her.

“I think you’ll like that one,” she told him as the book was passed forward.

“Sounds good, Sweetheart, thank you!”

She had no idea why he was thanking her when he was the one that had her go get the book as a distraction from the jealousy she was feeling. She ignored Harry’s stare, warm on the side of her face while she got settled. Harry put the neck pillow around him and pulled a blanket from his carry-on before clipping himself into his seat.

The pair of them sat in silence during the safety demonstration and the takeoff information. She gripped the arm rest tight as they took off and Harry gently pried her fingers from the plastic and cupped her hand in his. Softly he squeezed it and brought it to his lips to give the back of her knuckles a kiss. Her heart softened and she felt idiotic for feeling so jealous. Tears pricked her eyes overwhelmed with too many emotions that didn’t make sense, all exacerbated by how tired she was.

Quietly, she sniffled. So softly that she didn’t think Harry had heard it even though her head now rested on his muscular shoulder that wasn’t like a pillow at all. The hum of the plane’s engines surely drowned out any emotion she was feeling and therefore any noise she was making. But after a moment, Harry carefully coaxed her head down until her ear rested against his heart. The arm near her draped around her and his lips brushed softly against her earlobe. With the other hand he pulled the neck pillow from him and dropped it to his lap to keep her propped up.

“Rookie,” he hummed quietly into her ear. “I don’t like her. I would never want t’make y’jealous. Y’know that. I cut all that stuff off,” he reminded her. “M’sorry you were upset. I was only being polite and nothing more. M’sorry we’re both tired,” his voice was so quiet and warm. It ached her in a way couldn’t describe all over her tired body. “You’re the only woman I think ‘bout, Rookie. Y’have nothing t’be jealous of whether we’re a couple or not,” he promised. “M’gonna wait as long as y’need,” tears spilled from her eyes because his reassurance was so sweet and so unnecessary. She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve some hot hockey player to denounce all women for her. They weren’t a couple, and he shouldn’t have to worry about making her jealous. She sniffled a little louder. “Don’t cry, Rookie. Y’breaking m’heart,” his other hand found her cheek and brushed his thumb along her skin until it wiped away a tear or two.

“She was so pretty, Harry.”

“You’re beautiful, Bunny.”

“She doesn’t look poor.”

“Money isn't anything.”

“She looked like she belonged with you.”

“You are the one I want.”

Her lip trembled and she tried to keep the tears from breaking out further into a loud, noisy sob that would make the whole team wonder what was happening to her. “Go to sleep, Bunny. I got you,” he promised quietly. His fingers combed softly at her hair and not even the thought of her uncle seeing her snuggled in Harry’s lap was enough to move her from her comfy spot.

“I won’t have anything to complain about if I don’t lay on your shoulder,” she whispered, covering the small sniffle with her words.

Harry chuckled. “M’sure you’ll find something t’complain ‘bout, Rookie.”

It was a rare weekend that the team didn’t have any games. It was the perfect weekend for working a double at Louis’ on Friday and Saturday. Friday went off without a hitch, she made great tips, the guys kept her entertained, and she didn’t feel utterly exhausted when she got home at two in the morning.

Harry came in on Saturday right around four when the second half of her shift was starting. “What are you doing here? I thought you guys were having a watch party of the games or something.” She quirked an eyebrow at him and scanned him briefly as he was dressed much too nicely for The Locker Room.

“Come with me,” he smiled and tilted his head toward the exit.

She snorted. “Very kidnappy of you, Styles. I’m working,” she rolled her eyes delivering drinks to the table in front of her. “Not all of us have a talent that makes millions of dollars a year.”

“Harry Styles,” the man at the table gaped as she set the drink down.

Harry waved and nodded at the fan but continued following her. Harry chuckled. “I already told Louis m’taking you.”

“But the tips tonight, Harry. I won’t—”

“I will pay you myself, Rookie. Let’s go,” he ordered.

“Why are you dressed like that? It’s not game day.” He glanced down at his all-black outfit. Button down, suit coat, slacks, and shoes. “I’m not going on a date with you,” she said.

“I’ll go!” A woman called from nearby. She huffed out and rolled her eyes. Harry chuckled at his favorite jealous lady.

“Don’t remind me, but s’not a date, Rookie. Jus’ come with me. S’a surprise.”

“I can’t go in this uniform.”

“If y’make more of a fuss y’won’t have time t’change. M’trying t’get y’home with enough time t’put on something more upscale.”

“I don’t have upscale clothes, Harry. Not anymore. I had to sell most of them.”

Harry figured as much. When the team had fancier events, she had one dress that she wore, it was stunning and made her look like a princess. It was a royal blue that made the flush of her skin look utterly intoxicating, but as such it didn’t take long for Harry to notice it might be the only dress she had for fancy events. “I bought you something.”

“Well, now I really don’t want to go.”

“You’re a piece of work, Rookie,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Can y’jus come with me?”

She paused slightly at the bar as she got a tray of water situated for the next table. “Is it super expensive?” She asked, leaning against the bar.

“I got it on sale—almost killed me. I was told I could return it even if y’wear it,” Harry rolled his eyes.

“What color?”

“Black, so we match. And everyone will know you’re with me.”

“You’re possessive,” she shook her head. But her cheeks felt warm knowing how much she liked the idea.

“Only ‘bout you, Rookie,” he winked. “C’mon.”

Harry hurried to her side of the car and helped her out of the seat. The dress fit her perfectly. It didn’t quite touch the floor and hugged her like a second skin. She was gorgeous before she put on the dress. There wasn’t a word to describe how she looked with it on. Harry was nearly speechless as he handed his keys to the valet, and they approached the building. “Styles,” he told the man at the door. He checked them off a list and were ushered inside.

“What is this?” She asked.

Harry shrugged and held his arm out for her to take. Fortunately, she did. “Jus’ something I saw, thought y’would want t’see,” he steered her toward the entrance to the room on the right of the entry way. A line of people meandered as they walked into the spacious venue. A man at the threshold offered them each a glass of wine, Harry handed one to her and then held his own.

“Is this... a gallery?” She blinked.

“Yes,” he smiled. “I saw an event for it on Instagram. I figured we had the night off,” he shrugged.

She smiled. “That’s really sweet, thank you Harry. This is nice,” she admitted and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. Harry was grateful that she liked his surprise. “I think I’m not quite up to snuff. My hair and makeup should have been a little bit... more done up for this place.”

“Y’look perfect, Rookie. Seriously. Prettier than all the art on the walls,” he winked at her. She laughed softly and shook her head at him. “Tell me ‘bout the stuff y’see. I like art, but m’not sure what m’supposed to be seeing,” he murmured to her.

Harry could feel her grinning beside him. She was so pretty in her element. She was gorgeous all dolled up, but Harry really did prefer her in his jersey. Or even her regular rink outfit. That’s where he thought she was prettier than anything else. “Another lesson?” She asked.

“Think y’owe me one for the skating lessons, yeah? I know how t’make hot chocolate now.”

“You can see whatever you want to see, Harry. That’s the beauty of art. It’s individualized.”

“Yeah... but I know there’s supposed t’be a purpose—artist intent or whatever, right?” He may have Googled some lingo over the last couple days in anticipation of taking her. She smirked.

“Yes...” she smiled. “Alright, but you have to tell me what you see before I give you the lowdown,” she shrugged.

The place was filled with beautiful art. Photos, paintings, sculptures. There was a multitude of media and an abundance of people. There was a quiet humming from people milling about. If Harry received any stares from being recognized, he didn’t acknowledge them. For a while it was just the two of them, eating small yummy hors d’oeuvres, sipping wine, and giggling quietly about the artwork.

“What’s your favorite so far?” She asked.

As the night wore on, Harry continued to fall harder and harder for how passionate she was about all things art. The way she spoke about photos, color, angles, and perspective had him in awe. She was so interesting. Undeniably knowledgeable. The way she viewed a painting in multiple ways at once was fascinating.

“Oh, I don’t know, Rookie. There’s so much talent here. M’not sure I could choose. What’s yours?”

“I loved the beachscapes over there,” she tilted her head toward the other side of the room where a series of photos capturing the same spot of a beach over the course of a year lined a section of the wall. “The beach is so pretty.”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Are you hungry for more than these little bites?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“Always, Rookie. Y’don’t have t’kid ‘bout that.”

She smirked. “We could stop and get takeout on the way home?” She offered.

He nodded with a smile. “Are you having fun?” He asked.

“Tons, thank you. This is really lovely.”

Harry smiled proudly. “Y’know, Rookie, love, y’should work in a museum giving tours.”

She smirked sadly. “It doesn’t pay well, but that would be the dream. Or to own a studio,” she shrugged.

“A studio,” he repeated.

“Yeah. Something for people to create. Host gallery nights like this,” she sighed dreamily. “My family was a little skeptical of my art degree. I’m in my suffering artist phase right now,” she explained.

Harry opened his mouth to speak again but before he could respond his name was shouted from across the room. “Harry Styles!”

“Even at an art gallery with people who mostly know next to nothing about hockey, there are people who know you,” she shook her head in disbelief and sipped her wine. Harry chuckled, took her hand in place of it remaining on his arm and tugged her alongside him.

“Mr. Howard,” Harry nodded. “Pleasure to see you,” he used his freehand to shake. “This is my friend, Charlie’s niece,” he gestured introducing her and she was surprised to hear him say friend. She figured Harry was apt to make a girlfriend joke. But she didn’t recognize the man so perhaps he wouldn’t have taken kindly to Harry’s antics. “Mr. Howard owns the Polar Bears team,” Harry explained.

“Nice to meet you. You’re having a great season. I thought it was a shame Ray and Charlie didn’t steal Damon Winters before you got him in the draft. He's going to do extremely well over the next few years,” she said sweetly, releasing Harry’s hand to shake as well. However, the second she let go of his hand it felt twenty times colder than the ice rink and she regretted it. Harry couldn’t help it, he smiled with pride of his cute crush who knew so much about hockey and looked like a model. She was the entire package and Harry was lucky to be standing beside her.

The older man chuckled his eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’ll be sure to tell Charlie all about how he should have you on the scouting team the next time I see him... I figured you must be the star of the show,” the older man smiled sweetly. “We were just discussing who was going to go home with your work.”

She tilted her head and blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, Mr. Howard, you must have me mistaken with someone else. I don’t have work in this show.”

“So modest,” he smirked. “Harry, you saw it, right?”

“Uh... yeah,” he chuckled awkwardly and put a hand on her lower back, the warmth returning instantly. “We hadn’t made it over t’that side of the show yet,” he smirked. She turned to look at Harry, in utter surprise.

“What are you—”

“Oh, I won’t spoil the fun, then. Nice to meet you, love. Harry, try not to take out my whole team next week,” he smiled and sauntered the other way.

“What’s he talking about?”

“Oh, who knows,” Harry shrugged.

“Harry, stop it. Seriously.”

“S’not a big deal, Rookie.”

“What did he mean my stuff was in the show?”

Harry sighed and sipped the last of his drink. “I may have... submitted your hockey series.”

“You what?!” She pulled away from him and turned so they were looking at one another head on. Her eyes were wild but beautiful. Her face froze in surprise. “Why—how did—when...? Harry! What did you do?”

“Well, I did see this gallery on Instagram. I reached out and asked if they were taking submissions. They said it depended on the quality, to be honest. It’s not exactly amateur hour here.”

“Harry my stuff is amat—”

He ignored her and interrupted before she could finish her incorrect thought. “I sent a couple from the series and they immediately wanted to put it up,” Harry continued. “S’no big deal. Y’had it all numbered, I jus’ needed t’print it and put it in frames. I brought some of your extras too because they liked the idea so much. Then I jus’ invited some people I know in the league.”

She put a hand to her mouth. “Harry...”

“Are you mad?” He asked in shock. “Rookie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean t’upset you. I jus’ wanted t’show y’how talented you are. But y’won’t take m’word for it. Thought if y’saw how much people loved it that didn’t know you, y’would believe me. Believe in yourself.”

“Where is it?” She whispered. Her eyes turned glossy, and Harry felt like shit for making her upset.

“Rookie, I’m sor—”

“Where?”

“It’s right over—” He gestured vaguely to the left of the room. She marched over in her pretty shoes. Harry followed after her feeling like a dick for doing it without her permission. In his head, she was going to be overjoyed. Happy. Harry sucked at predicting her emotions. This was almost as bad as making her unintentionally jealous.

“Charlie is lucky to have a talented niece like you on the team to take pictures like this,” was the first thing he heard as he approached.

“Are you selling this? It would look great in the entrance of the rink.”

“The Chargers should pay you more.”

“Do you want to come work for The Titans? We’ll pay you more.”

Behind the Bench from Behind the Lens was typed neatly in bold and on the frame to the left of the group of photos that constituted as her series. The eye followed it naturally, from the locker room to the empty rink, to the pile of ice. The scoreboard. All of it flowing beautifully like it was a dance.

She thanked everyone for their compliments. She gave out her number, happy to sell her pictures. Each person barely noticed Harry’s presence as she networked and looked at her photos in awe. “Charlie couldn’t make it?” Mr. Howard asked.

“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Harry shrugged finally reminding the people he knew from work of his presence.

“Oh Harry, I forgot you were here,” he chuckled. “She’s talented, hmm?”

“Extremely,” Harry put his hand on her back again as he gushed proudly over her. Not that it was his job to do so or his right, but it wasn’t going to stop him from doing so. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m not really an art gallery kind of man, but my wife happened to see the pictures you sent and said they were stunning,” he smiled. “You’ve got quite the eye, love.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice full of gratitude.

As soon as Mr. Howard left, Harry caught the arm of a caterer. Before she could ask him more questions about how he got her work in the show. “Excuse me, Miss,” Harry asked the waitress carrying a tray around. “Would y‘mind taking a couple of pictures for us?”

“Of course!” The woman smiled taking Harry’s phone. “These photos are stunning. Did you do them?” She asked.

“She did,” Harry wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her toward him. “Smile, Rookie. I know y’don’t get in front of the camera much,” he smirked. The waitress was kind to take several shots of the pair of them. It felt nice to hold her like she was all hers. He enjoyed making her feel like she was a star because she was.

After several photos and more praise from onlookers, the gallery was finishing up. As everyone started to leave, other artists were taking their items off the wall. Harry stood beside her, gazing at her work as they had looked at everyone else’s. “Tell me, Rookie,” he whispered softly. “What are we looking at?”

She swallowed. “Um... You first.”

“I see love in a sport that’s violent.”

“Love is pretty violent sometimes,” she whispered back.

Harry turned to look at her as she gazed at her own photos. The awe on her face was priceless. Harry wished he had his own fancy camera to capture how perfect she looked. “Love isn’t violent, Bunny. Maybe the way it feels inside is violent. But love isn’t supposed to be violent.”

“You put pictures in an art gallery for me,” her eyes filled with tears. She put a hand to her chest. Her pretty elegant chest draped in a black fabric from a dress that Harry bought for her (on sale) so they could match and because he knew she would hate an expensive one.

“I think you’re incredible, Rookie. Should be earning millions for your talent,” he was certain he could watch her for the rest of time. “Look how talented you are,” he put a hand on her shoulder.

She turned into his chest, sniffling and crying into her hands against his shirt. “I’m sorry,” she croaked.

“Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “Aw, Bunny, this is a good thing!”

“Harry it’s so sweet,” she wiped her eyes. “So supportive. I never—” her voice cut off and she sucked her breath in shakily.

She didn’t need to finish the sentence. Harry knew what she meant. She never had the support Harry was offering. The frames had to have cost hundreds of dollars. The time to put them all up had to have taken up some of his precious time from hanging out with the guys along with who knew how many emails he sent to get the owners of hockey teams and media specialists out to this small showing.

Harry cupped the back of her head and leaned forward to press his lips to her ear. “Rookie, I believe in you. Always,” this was easily one of his favorite ways to hold her. Even though it only happened while she cried. And she had only cried on the plane where he got to hold her like this as well. She didn’t cry often, but his strong girl letting the tears flow every now and again made him feel happy she was willing to be vulnerable with him. “Did I do okay, Bunny?” He asked, she could hear the smile in his voice.

She nodded and smiled sadly. “Pucking perfect.”

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @boopookie @indierockgirrl @stylesfever @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @mads3502

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden @me-undiscovered @you-sunshine

@rose-girls-world @claimingharrystigertattoo @inlikea-coolway @theseaview @lunaharrygurl

@emmie2308 @fruity-harry @somebunnybaby @avas-queen-black @mema10

@tulips4harry @sturnrc @sassamanda77 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mp-269

@jmp1494 @fangirl509east @sideboobrry11 @drewrry @dutchtheatrelore @copiastricycle

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #hockey!harry styles #pucking rookie

609 notes · View notes

wanders-in-wonderland · 7 months ago

Text

Glocking Out

Friday night should mean a cozy night in with a TV show and a bowl of ice cream. But instead, here I am, working late in the office, trying to finish a project to deliver to my boss by Monday morning. There’s no one else in the office, and when I finally finish up nearing midnight, the entire corporate building is empty, lights long dimmed.

I drag myself out of the building, ready to get home and collapse into bed to sleep for the entire weekend. The click of my heels is the only sound that rings through the night as I exit the elevator into the parking garage and let out a tired sigh into the quiet air.

I click my car fob and open my trunk as I approach the car, tossing my purse into the back and digging around to look for a pair of slippers to change into. I’m absolutely too tired to make the drive home in heels and the idea of fuzzy slippers around my feet is the only thing keeping me sane right now.

While I’m still bent over, buried head-first in my trunk, I suddenly feel a presence behind me. Before I can react, I feel the cold, hard press of metal against my back and the ominous click of a gun’s safety coming off. I freeze in terror and my throat pushes out a pathetic whimper of fear.

I hear a deep laugh echo around me and a man’s voice, “Stay still, princess. I’d hate to paint the inside of your trunk with your blood.” A big, warm hand presses against my spine, pushing me even further into the trunk while the gun digs uncomfortably against me.

I let out a choked gasp, “What do you want? Take my purse! I have cash, take whatever you want, please don’t hurt me!” My voice is shaky and I can feel tremors of fear wrack my body.

He laughs again. “Oh, princess, I don’t want money. But I will be taking whatever I want from you,” he purrs, the innuendo clear in his voice. His hand leaves my back to run down my body and he grips my ass hard before landing a harsh spank against me. I whine out a plea, “No! Please! Please, just let me go!”

“No can do, princess. A pretty little thing like you, all alone, in the middle of the night with no one around. It’s like you’re beckoning to me,” he growls as his hand continues to knead my ass over the skirt I’m wearing. Tears are in my eyes now as I stare blankly into my trunk, my face pressed against the rough car trunk mat.

Moments later, he threads a hand through my hair and grips me hard, pulling me out of the trunk and onto my feet. He spins me around and for the first time, I get a good look at him.

He’s huge, in both size and height, his massive frame towering over me. Even without the gun, he could probably break me easily, and that thought sends more fear slithering down my spine. His eyes are filled with a sadistic gleam that makes me want to curl up and hide. A harsh yank from his hand in my hair makes me cry out in pain and he leads me to the passenger side of the car.

“Get in the car and don’t do anything stupid. I’d hate to have to kill you before we have any real fun,” he says menacingly. I slide into the car on shaky legs and he slams the door shut. He makes his way to the driver side and without another word, he peels out of the parking garage.

A little while later, he pulls the car off the main road onto a tiny trail that I’d never even noticed before. Several minutes of random turns and paths in the pitch black forest that I would never be able to remember or identify bring us to a tiny little cabin. It would be quaint if it weren’t inhabited by the psychopath holding me at gunpoint.

He drags me out of the car, the gun never leaving my side and we step into the cabin. He herds me into the bedroom and the door clicks shut behind us. The room is awash in a soft yellow light and decorated in soft fall tones that, in any other circumstance, would be incredibly romantic.

He smiles with a sparkle in his terrifyingly sadistic eyes and a shiver runs down my spine. “Strip for me,” he says as he steps back to sit at the edge of the bed, gun still leveled at me.

I shake my head desperately, “No, please! Please, anything but that, please!”

He laughs at me, “Come on, pretty princess, I’m not a patient man. Either you strip for me or it gets ugly.”

Tears well up in my eyes and I blink them back. I glance towards the door, I’m closer to it than he is, maybe if I can surprise him, I can get out of the room before he gets a chance to stop me.

He sees my line of thinking and chuckles again. “You might outrun me but you can’t outrun a bullet, princess.”

His words land like a punch to my stomach and I look back at him with defeat. My shaky hands move to the buttons of my blouse as I comply with his initial request. He smiles.

I pull off my top and slide it off my shoulders before going to unzip my skirt and stand before him in my bra, panties, and stockings.

“Bra off, leave the rest on,” he says, his voice deep with desire. “Come here,” he commands, gesturing towards the floor between his legs with the gun.

I unclasp the bra and let it drop to the floor, where I fix my gaze. I pad towards him and stand in front of him for a moment before I lower myself down to my knees, my form fitting into his spread legs.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, princess. Such a good girl,” his deep voice sends shivers down my spine. I keep my gaze on the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with him. He doesn’t like that.

I feel the cold metal of the gun slide beneath my chin and I gasp as he raises my head with his gun. My wide eyes meet his and I see the satisfaction in his gaze as it locks onto mine. He leaves the gun against me as he jerks his chin downwards. “Take my cock out, princess.”

I glance down and see the outline of his hardness pressing against his pants. He looks huge. He sucks his teeth at me, “Come on, don’t keep me waiting now.”

My fingers shake as I undo his belt and the fastening on his pants before I reach in and pull his hard cock out. I let out a quiet whine when I see it. He is huge, tip already leaking precum and an angry shade of red that looks so mean. I shouldn’t be turned on by my attacker’s cock but I absentmindedly lick my lips and I catch the leer on his face that makes my thighs clench.

“You know what to do, princess,” he purrs, tangling his free hand into my hair. I give in and lean down to run my tongue gently along the vein that runs through his cock. He tastes divine, the clean smell of his skin combined with the warmth and weight of his cock in my mouth making my brain go fuzzy. I hear him groan above me, “That’s it, suck my cock, princess.”

I give him a few more kitten licks before I wrap my lips fully around the crown of his cock and suck. “Fuck,” his groan is guttural and his grip tightens on my hair. I moan softly around his cock and I feel him twitch in my mouth. I breathe in through my nose as I swallow more of his cock down my throat.

“Fuck, that’s it, good girl. Take my cock down your throat,” he groans and his fingers dig harshly into my scalp. I slowly work my way back up his cock and set a smooth rhythm, bobbing my head up and down and wrapping my hand around what doesn’t fit into my mouth. There’s a pleasant haze that surrounds me right now, his cock in my mouth and his fingers in my hair. I squirm a little on my knees, my pussy clenching as warmth settles into my core.

Suddenly, he yanks me off his cock without warning. I gasp and look up at him. “I want you to ride me,” he says, smirking at me and gesturing toward the bed with his gun. The gun that I’d almost forgotten about. Seeing it now sends another shock of fear through my body, pushing away some of the arousal from earlier.

He lays back onto the bed, sprawled out like a king, hard cock jutting out from between his legs. I absentmindedly clench my thighs together and I know he noticed because he laughs. “Come on, princess. I know you want to.”

I stand and slide my panties off before slipping onto the bed, slinging a leg over him to get situated. He stays still, watching me with a predatory look in his eye, gun now retrained on me. “That’s it, princess,” he purrs as I settle myself over him.

“Is your pretty pussy wet for me?” He asks. I want to lie and say no but it’s no use, I’m so wet I’m dripping all over him. I whimper and nod and he laughs again. “Better put that pussy to use then, come on, ride me, princess.”

I brace my hands against his chest and lower myself onto his cock. The delicious stretch of him filling me makes me whine and I dig my fingers into his chest. He moans at the feeling of my wet heat surrounding him and his hips come up to meet mine, forcing the last bit of his cock into me.

He feels so fucking good inside of me and every single cell of my body wants more. I let out a low moan as my hips start to move, every single movement making his cock rub up against my g-spot. “That’s it, ride my cock, princess.”

I let out a broken moan as my hips keep up their movements. My back arches and I let my eyes flutter closed as I lose myself in the sensations. Suddenly, I feel cold, hard metal brush against my clit and my eyes fly open with a cry.

I look down and my blood freezes when I see him, running the tip of the gun against my clit. He grins up at him, a maniacal gleam in his eyes. “Don’t stop now, princess. You’re doing so well, I’m gonna help you and play with this little clitty.”

I whimper as he pushes the gun harder against my sensitive, swollen nub, the friction making delicious shivers run up and down my spine.

“Come on, princess. You’re going to cum all over my cock while I rub your clit with my gun,” he says, each pass of the gun over my clit pushing me closer and closer to an orgasm.

The fear and pleasure mix into a dark combination that forces my body higher and higher. I can feel the cold metal of the gun warming against the burning heat of my cunt and every nerve in my body seems to be coiled tight as a spring. My hips are jerkily moving on top of him as I chase my own release.

Suddenly, he moves underneath me and slams him cock deeper into me while holding me down. I shatter with a wail as my pussy clenches around him. I hear his curse as his release quickly follows, his hips never stopping their relentless assault on me and the gun never moving off my clit as he fucks me through my orgasm.

Eventually, he pulls the gun away and I collapse down onto his chest, boneless and limp. I feel his fingers thread through my hair gently and his arm comes up to wrap around my body, keeping me pressed against his chest.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs into my hair as he presses soft kisses into the crown of my head. I make a soft noise back at him and I hear him laugh softly and affectionately.

I stay in his arms a little longer before I raise my head to look at him. “Thank you, honey,” I say before pressing a sweet kiss onto his chest.

He hugs me tighter, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I will say, you were in the office for so long, I was soooo bored waiting for you.”

I giggle at him, “If I’d known you were waiting, I would’ve finished faster.” He huffs and rolls his eyes, “Well I think I did a pretty good job helping you “glock” out.” He waggles his eyebrows at me and I choke out a laugh.

“Shut up and sleep.”

—

pls appreciate the title because i thought of it and just had to write something to fit it teehee

#nsft concept #overstim kink #dark fantasy #cnc overstim #cl1t torture #cnc k!nk #rap3 fantasy #gun k!nk #gun k1nk #gun kink #tw rap3 #rap3fetish #rapekink

843 notes · View notes

wileys-russo · 6 months ago

Text

summer christmas II a.russo

third little christmas fic installment! summer christmas II a.russo

"less, you're being a little bit dramatic." you chuckled, laid on the bed watching your girlfriend rifle through her suitcase grumbling and mumbling under her breath. "i am not! this is just wrong, its all wrong." the english woman shook her head with a huff as you merely smiled in amusement.

"baby you're just hot and bothered, you'll adjust in a few days! you've barely been here twenty four hours." you assured, pulling yourself to sit against your headboard and crossing your legs underneath you.

"exactly, and in that twenty four hours i've slept for about two of them!" the normally soft spoken blonde snapped, yanking a red bikini out of her bag and tossing it into the ever growing piles of clothes on the floor beside her.

"that's just the jetlag babe. it was the same when you came here last time, unfortunately the flight and the time differences don't change lessi, i tried speaking to someone about it but apparently mere mortals can't change geographical lines and locations." you teased gently with a grin, perfectly manicured eyebrows furrowing together in a scowl sent your way shortly after.

"it wasn't anywhere near this hot when we were here in august, i'm going to melt!" the girl groaned, kicking her case closed and flopping down backwards on the end of the bed, face buried in her hands.

"thats because again its summer right now less. i also spoke with mother nature but she won't drop the temperature, turns out she's nearly as stubborn as you." you sighed sarcastically, laying down so your head was near hers as she rolled onto her side.

"you are not cute." the blonde warned as you winked, poking her nose as she smacked your hands away and rolled onto her back again.

"this is like opposite day on repeat! its supposed to be freezing cold and you wear hundreds of layers and drink hot chocolate and get cosy and have a fire and chop down a tree an-" your british girlfriend rattled off her regular traditions, ticking them off with her fingers.

"we can still do that stuff! well maybe not all of it, but we can watch christmas movies and go look at lights and have iced chocolates! we can take my nieces to the carols in the park, we can also go to the beach everyday and out on my brothers boat and we can stay out later because the sun doesn't set till after nine, and my mum got us all matching pyjamas! they're just...summer ones." you tried to assure, moving onto your stomach and looking down at her with a few encouraging nods.

"but its not the same! i've never had a hot christmas, all of its just wrong." alessia moaned, arms covering her face as you deflated a little and wriggled back to sit up, fiddling with your fingers in your lap for a second as doubts began to swirl around in your head at her words.

the two of you played at arsenal together and quickly clicked when alessia transferred, having met at a few social events the last couple of years you'd been in england and gotten close with some of your english teammates who'd gone above and beyond to make you feel welcome.

it helped having steph and caitlin around, and then now kyra, plus the rest of your matildas teammates scattered throughout london whom you regularly made efforts to catch up.

you and alessia had only been seeing one another for about a year and a half now but if you asked anyone who'd spent time with you during that period they'd tease you acted as if it had been much much longer.

last year you'd spent your first christmas in england with the russo family, finally having a reason not to go home which as much as it broke your mums heart she was overjoyed you'd met someone, bonus being it someone as kind and thoughtful as alessia was.

but this year you'd promised to come home for christmas, not having much of a chance to see your family all season between the olympics, international games, league games and champions leagues matches that had kept you more than busy the last twelve months.

you'd not expected your girlfriend to come with you, the two of you more than accustomed now to having to spend time apart playing for different countries. but when alessia teasingly floated the idea over dinner, feigning offence you hadn't asked her, it had all blossomed from there and now here she was.

you were much more used to the long haul flight home than the blonde was though, having done it dozens of times over the years for international commitments among the league games in england.

you'd come home pretty much the very day your break started, just under a week earlier than alessia to allow her to spend a little bit of the december break with her own family before she flew herself to australia.

but ever since you'd picked her up from the airport yesterday you could tell she was rather miserable.

there'd been turbulence and two screaming babies on the flight despite the fact the striker had flown business, which meant she'd not slept anywhere near as much as planned, and adjusting to the time difference hadn't been kind.

so slowly those doubts that you'd made a wrong choice asking her here grew louder and louder, until you just had to say something or else it felt as it you might burst.

"do you wish you'd stayed in england?" you asked quietly, attempts to mask the insecurity in your voice null and void as your girlfriend shot up, guilt written clear all over her face which sank as it caught the obvious nerves in your features that she regretted her choice to come home with you for the holidays during break.

"what? baby no of course not. i'm so excited to finally meet your whole family and spend time with them and with you, i'm so sorry for being so negative. i'm just tired and grumpy but that is not at all fair to take out on you." the blondes hands moved to settle either side of your face, bright blue eyes scanning yours as you gave a small nod, clearly not believing her.

"oh my love, really i am excited! we're going to do all that stuff you just said and i want to learn about your traditions and what you like doing for christmas. a summer christmas is just new for me thats all! but new things aren't bad things." alessia pushed, thumbs stroking your jawline and feeling the obvious tension in your body drop just a little at her words.

"less are you sure? it wouldn't be easy but we can find a flight back for you before christmas eve." you questioned, the taller girl nodding enthusiastically and leaning in to press her lips sweetly against yours a few times.

"more than sure, there's no need for that at all. this is no different to when you stayed in england with me and had a winter christmas last year, and you were nothing but cheerful and sweet and lovely the entire time." the blonde promised with another nod, stealing a few more kisses as the corners of your mouth upturned a little.

"mm theres that smile, welcome back." the striker grinned happily, a laugh finally leaving you as she practically tackled you back to the bed, moving on top of you as her hair fell around the pair of you like a curtain.

"i wasn't the one with the smiling problem russo." you poked her as she winced sheepishly. "i know. but from now on, i will embrace these new experiences with open arms!" the english woman announced, laying down on top of you and kissing all over your face.

"i'm happy to hear that." "yeah? i'm happy to say it." "good, because its thirty two degrees outside right now and the air cons only in the living room." you scrunched your nose up as the blonde faltered, taking a deep breath and exhaling.

"thats fine! i'm fine. lets just go to the beach!"

it turns out you and your girlfriend clearly had different expectations of what open arms and a beach day meant, as alessia lay on the beach recharging herself in the sun and you'd spent the entire time begging she get in the water with you.

"lessi come on! what happened to being open to new experiences?" you groaned, stealing her sunglasses and slipping them over your nose as she squinted up at you, sheltering her eyes with her hand.

"give!" the blonde demanded, making grabby hands as you shook your head and shuffled back on your knees. "swim!" you countered, smacking her thigh gently as she sighed heavily.

"swimming in december feels illegal." "not going in the water when you're at the beach is illegal." "babe the waves are huge, i'll get...what did you call it again?" "mm, dumped? we're not going surfing alessia!" you laughed, pushing her hand away where she reached for her sunglasses back again.

"but tanning feels so nice!" the blonde whined, arms covering her face. "you'll have plenty of time to get sunburnt like a little lobster baby, i promise." you cooed sarcastically, your girlfriend shoving you and finally sitting up on her towel.

"that was one time." "lessi its every time, you refuse to wear sunscreen!" "sun cream, and because it feels...sticky." "well does crying about how much it hurts to shower and peeling off your burnt skin feel better?" you countered quickly, the striker opening and closing her mouth.

"come on!" you hopped up to your feet, holding out your hand toward her and wiggling your fingers impatiently. "you know your persistence is incredibly irritating." alessia gave in, grabbing your hand as you pulled her up to stand.

"and here you used to find it endearing." you teased, the blondes hand smacking against your ass as you blushed and pushed her. "theres families here!" you warned as the girl smiled, simply shrugging and interlocking her fingers with yours as you tossed her sunglasses onto her towel and lead her down to the waters edge.

"how do you get in without being smashed by the waves?" her grip on you tightened as another set came rolling in. "timing. you see how the waves all crash here? thats the breaking point, once the last wave crashed you move past that, and then you just duck dive under the big ones until you get out the back!" you explained, the english woman staring on clueless as you laughed.

"come on, on three we run into the water. one, two..." again her grip on your hand tightened but she nodded none the less. "go!" you raced off but felt her hand slip out of yours, glancing back as alessia shook her head and remained rooted in position.

"how is it thirty five degrees and the water is freezing cold?" the striker scoffed having stepped one foot in and recoiled immediately as you grinned at her from the shallows.

"i swear babe if you say something about mother nature when i get out there i'll drown you!" the blonde warned seriously as you held up your hands, glancing over your shoulder.

"okay now, go baby!" you encouraged, waving for her to run to you, a moments hesitation passing before she gingerly waded in, wincing every few steps until finally she'd made it past the break point, the water barely up to her hips.

"jesus christ i'm going to get hypothermia!" the older girl wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver making you roll your eyes. "but i'm the dramatic one?" you questioned in disbelief. "no not dramatic baby, sensitive." the girl patted your cheek condescendingly with a pout as you narrowed your eyes at her.

"dickhead." you poked her with a shake of your head. "do you want to know a secret to adjusting to the water faster?" you asked as your girlfriend nodded eagerly.

"well its quite simple, you just get your head wet!" you grinned and before the taller girl could blink you'd barreled into her, sending her toppling over into the water as she surfaced with a gasp.

"oh you're dead." you squealed as you were tugged down into the water with her, plunged in head first before you popped back up with a cough, having swallowed a lungful of water in the purpose.

"hey you said snowball fights was a big thing in england?" you questioned, the two of you moving into water a little deeper as alessia nodded. "well we can do that too." you promised as the girl looked at you clearly confused.

"how? theres no snow." "no, but there is sand!" you grinned, smacking a handful of wet sand from the ocean floor into her hair as she gasped.

"are you fucking kidding-" "wave! duck!" you interrupted, grabbing her by the arm and pulling the pair of you under, tugging her out to swim even deeper past where the waves started and you could relax a little more.

"it was a joke!" you laughed as your girlfriend launched at you once you did, latching onto you and forcing your head back underwater with a grunt, the two of you wrestling in the water before you yelled for a truce.

"maybe this isn't so bad." the blonde admitted, swimming up behind you, arms circling your waist and her chin making a home on your shoulder as the pair of you stared back toward the beach, the water now calm and bright turquoise, sparkling where it was hit with the sun.

"thank you for agreeing to come." you turned your head, capturing her lips in hers with a soft smile. "thank you for asking me to come." alessia squeezed you appreciatively before you both turned back to your people watching.

"are they playing...cricket?" your girlfriend asked in bewilderment watching a young family race back and forth across the sand. "yeah! beach cricket, an aussie classic. but not surpassed by backyard cricket, which you'll get to experience on christmas day." you explained as the blonde hummed curiously.

"really?" "yeah! we have a tournament every year with the whole family even my nan and pop, between lunch and presents." "so we do christmas lunch, not dinner, right?"

you nodded, answering a few more questions about what the next few days had lined up for the pair of you, stopping your explanation of why santa was left a beer and not milk when familiar lips started to trail across your neck.

"you're going to get us in trouble if you leave a mark russo." you chuckled in warning, relaxing in her hold as the striker merely hummed, your eyes closing as your face was bathed in sunshine and soft kisses were peppered down your jaw.

"well your mums already made it very clear that i have permission." you groaned at that, pushing her away and pulling a face. "well you've ruined the mood with that haven't you." you huffed, starting to wander back in until fingers hooked into the sides of your bikini bottoms and tugged you backwards.

"i'm sorry! i've just never met a woman who took such healthy interest in her daughters sex life." alessia teased, your response swallowed with her mouth pressing to yours with a cheeky grin.

"its not funny! its humiliating she has no boundaries and we're stuck with her for the next week." you groaned, head resting against her shoulder as the girls thumbs traced circles against your hips, the two of you staying in your childhood home where everyone would be gathering for the holidays.

"baby its not that bad. she's just very...progressive! and supportive." "you know i think if you were a boy she'd have left condoms on the side table and the book of karma sutra on the bed."

"santa came get up get up get up!" you groggily lifted your head feeling three little bodies jump up and down on top of you, alessia stirring next to you with a tired exhale.

"are you awake yet? wake up!" one of your nieces shouted in your ear as you tiredly lifted a hand and made a thumbs up, the three young girls belonging to your older brother taking that as a yes and jumping down, racing off to wake up the rest of the family.

you exhaled tiredly, dragging your hands down your face and jolting as your door swung open again. "hope no ones naked! merry christmas girls, up we get!" your mum sung out, flinging open your blinds as you groaned.

"jesus christ mum come on!" your cheeks flushed red at her brash words feeling alessias body vibrate with a small chuckle beside you as the woman shrugged, flicking on your light and striding on out again.

"i think i'm adopted." you grumbled, rolling over and burying your face in your girlfriends shoulder. "well thats quite the wake up." the brit rasped out with another chuckle, hand rubbing up and down your back soothingly.

"merry christmas less." you pulled back and rested your head on your pillow again, bright blue eyes and a tired smile staring back at you. "merry christmas love." she repeated, pecking your lips quickly given neither of you had brushed your teeth yet.

"get up!" you both winced as a hand smacked against the wood of your door, your brother flipping you off in the doorway as you rolled your eyes and forced yourself up into a sitting position, alessia rubbing her eyes and exhaling, face still puffy with sleep.

"how is it already hot?" the english woman groaned in disbelief, the two of you sleeping under a thin sheet and even then barely able to touch one another bar a bit of hand holding when you were dozing off due to the thick humidity of your childhood bedroom.

"welcome to your first summer christmas." you laughed, running a hand through her hair as she hummed, the two of you gradually getting out of bed and already hearing the commotion of your family downstairs.

"mum no photos! its seven in the fucking morning." you groaned, wincing at the obvious click of her phone camera shoved in your face as you and alessia stumbled into the kitchen.

"oi you watch your fucking mouth!" your dad chimed in with a point making your girlfriend laugh and your eyes roll as the pair of you followed everyone into the living room.

"look look! this ones for me!" your eldest niece gasped, all three of them already riffling through the mountain of presents as you sent her an encouraging smile and collapsed onto the corner of the sofa.

alessia took a seat beside you as you slung one of your legs over hers, the pair of you exhaling in relief at the air con blasting right above you and wishing a merry christmas the rest of your family who were lounging around the room, your dad taking charge to handing out presents.

"oh thank you!" your girlfriend smiled appreciatively as he handed the pair of you one each, labeled from santa which you knew meant they were from your mum which was what you whispered in the blondes ear who chuckled and squeezed your knee.

though as you began to unwrap yours you realized very quickly you may have been a little too quick with your excitement, catching the word 'dental dams' on the side of the box and stuffing it down the side of the sofa before anyone else could see.

"oh my god mum!" "what? santa just wants you to be safe darling!"

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso blurbs #woso imagine

709 notes · View notes

icypopz · 1 year ago

Text

bathing with them ♡

↬ request from anon ; Hiiii may I pls request the love and deepspace boys with a reader who loves taking baths with them??

↬ notes ; rafayel, xavier, zayne x gn!reader

↬ from ice ; ice active era?! jk we all know i'm lying atp HAHAHA but here's my annual post which is also my first post for LADS :> i changed the prompt a bit but i hope u enjoy !

↬ warning(s) ; tiny spoilers for rafayel's backstory, xavier's is like microscopically suggestive

please reblog ! it helps a lot :)

[ rafayel ! ]

rafayel absolutely adores taking baths with you, even though he loves to tease you about being too clingy (he's actually the clingy one, but he'll never admit it for the world). he loves just chilling in the bathtub with you, especially on winter nights where he'll pull you closer in the hot water, complaining that "i need more warmth! protect me from the cold, miss bodyguard!"

he would get playfully annoyed when you joke about wanting to see his mermaid tail when he gets into the bathtub, scolding you about how lemurians also have powers to lure humans in and he'll be doing that to you if you don't get in the bath with him "right now!" also rafayel doesn't really like rubber ducks, he says it's weird that humans like to put toys like that in the water when they could just go swim in a lake if they wanted to see ducks. but! he does love bubble baths, he loves to put the bubbles in your hair, and when you make a beard for him with the foam, he finds it the cutest ever.

rafayel definitely has like several hundred bottles of soap, shampoo and conditioner in varying scents, claiming that their fragrance was so inspiring he just had to buy all of them. (the truth is, he wasn't sure which one you'd like so he just bought everything.) it's really helpful for when you stay over at his place though, you don't have to worry about packing a vanity case because he keeps everything ready for you, from your favourite toothpaste to a spare toothbrush. he also loves seeing you wrapped up in a towel, he thinks you look so adorable.

more content utc !

[ xavier ! ]

xavier isn't picky, he doesn't mind using either a bathtub or a shower, but after you visit him a couple of times, you definitely tell him he should use the shower instead. he always ends up falling asleep while he's soaking in the bathtub! he definitely loves showering with you though, he'll always do stuff like scrub your back or help comb through your tangled hair without you needing to ask. but it's almost impossible for both of you to bathe quickly, because you always end up getting distracted. who can you blame you though? it's not your fault xavier is so muscled from all his training!

xavier is the type who showers in freezing cold water, but he's willing to compromise if you don't like that. he ends up realising that hot water is more fun because he gets to write silly messages and draw hearts for you on the glass since it gets fogged up from the steam. also xavier's brain would totally crash the first time he showered with you, it would be that one tender night card all over again except better LOL. he's just that obsessed with you, you're the prettiest person with the best personality he's ever seen!

xavier would be one of those guys that has like the '10-IN-1! SHAMPOO, CONDITIONER, SOAP!' soap bottles. it's not that he isn't bothered about hygiene, he just finds it a lot simpler to use one single bottle for everything, and it evidently works for him since his skin is so clear and his hair is so fluffy. but ever since you've started staying over, xavier takes note of your favourite soaps and stocks up on them (especially after you tease him for that pitiful bottle of soap in his bathroom - he's the type to squeeze out every single last drop of soap from the tube so the bottle definitely looks like it has been through The Horrors).

[ zayne ! ]

zayne would usually prefer showering over bathing usually, because he's used to maximising time for work in his schedule, so he likes everything in his personal life to be extremely efficient. but once he starts dating you, that does kind of change. on days where he doesn't have to rush into work for urgent cases, or nights after a hectic day, he enjoys relaxing with you in the bathtub - it's a little slice of heaven for him to have you pressed up against him in the warm water.

zayne likes using his evol to tease you while you're showering. though he isn't usually a playful person and his humour is quite dry, the intimacy of being in such close proximity to him makes him act up a little LOL. so when you ask him to soap your back or anything like that, he'll purposely make his fingertips cold so you shiver when he touches you. "zayne!" you'll scold him, and he'll just let out a soft chuckle before doing what you actually asked him to.

zayne would just have the bare minimum essentials in his bathroom, but i also think he would be the type to buy in bulk so he only has to go out shopping once in a while. this way, when his soap runs out he can just get a new bottle from his cupboard. he likes going into his bathroom and seeing little traces of you all over the room, like your toothbrush in his cup or your favourite soap on his shelf - it makes him happy because it's like a reminder of you even when you aren't there.

✧ thank you for reading ! if you have a request, feel free to send it in 🌠

#[ my writing — ! ]#[ love & deepspace — ! ]#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace #love & deepspace x reader #love & deepspace #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #lads x reader #zayne x reader #lads rafayel #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads

2K notes · View notes

pixiexdusts-world · 5 months ago

Text

Seven chances

Min ho Moon x ex!reader

Summary: Min Ho plans seven dates to win back his ex—and it just might work.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I never thought I’d see Min Ho Moon again. Not after the way things ended between us.

The moment I spot him across the café, I freeze. He looks exactly the same—maybe even better. Same tousled hair, same confident smirk, same annoyingly perfect skin. But something in his eyes is different. I quickly turn my attention back to my laptop, pretending I didn’t see him.

I should’ve known that wouldn’t stop him.

“Hey,” his voice is smooth, casual, but I can hear the nerves underneath. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

I exhale slowly before looking up. “Min Ho.” I keep my tone neutral.

He doesn’t take the hint. Instead, he slides into the chair across from me without asking. Typical.

“How have you been?” he asks, as if we’re old friends catching up.

“Fine,” I say. “Busy.”

Min Ho leans back, studying me. I hate how easy it is for him to make eye contact, like we didn’t go months without speaking. Like he didn’t break my heart.

“I miss you,” he says. Just like that. No preamble, no hesitation.

I let out a short laugh. “That’s not how this works, Min Ho.”

He frowns. “How what works?”

“You don’t just walk back into my life and say you miss me,” I say, folding my arms. “You don’t get to act like nothing happened.”

His jaw tightens. “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

I glance away, out the café window, watching people walk by. It’s a crisp afternoon in Seoul, and the city feels like it’s moving faster than I am.

Min Ho sighs, rubbing his hands together like he’s bracing himself. “I messed up.”

“No kidding.”

He nods. “I hurt you. And I hate myself for it.”

I close my laptop, giving him my full attention. “Then why did you do it?”

Min Ho hesitates. “Because I was scared.”

“Scared?” I repeat, incredulous. “That’s your excuse?”

“I didn’t think I was good enough for you,” he says, voice quiet. “I thought if I let myself get too close, I’d end up ruining everything. So instead of losing you later, I pushed you away first.”

I stare at him. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m an idiot.”

I shake my head. “You really are.”

There’s a beat of silence between us. I should get up and leave. I should tell him it’s too late, that I don’t care anymore.

But I do care.

And Min Ho, for all his flaws, is sitting here, admitting he was wrong. That’s not something he does often.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says, his voice softer now. “But I want to try again. I want to prove to you that I’ve changed.”

I look at him carefully. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

Min Ho smirks, the familiar confidence creeping back into his expression. “Give me a week. Let me take you on seven dates. No expectations, no pressure. Just… let me show you why we were good together.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Seven?”

He nods. “Seven.”

I should say no. I should walk away and never look back.

But instead, I sigh. “Fine. One week.”

The grin that spreads across his face is enough to make my heart ache. Because deep down, I know the truth.

I never really stopped loving him.

Day One: The Ice Rink

Min Ho picks me up right on time, a smug look on his face. “You’re going to love this,” he says, leading me inside the rink.

I narrow my eyes. “You remember that I can’t skate, right?”

“That’s the best part,” he teases. “You’ll have to hold onto me the whole time.”

I glare at him, but when we step onto the ice and I immediately slip, I have no choice but to grab his arm. He chuckles. “Told you.”

Despite my frustration, I can’t help but smile. Maybe this isn’t the worst idea after all.

Day Two: The Bookstore

“I remember you used to spend hours in here,” Min Ho says as we step inside my favorite bookstore.

I give him a suspicious look. “You hate bookstores.”

“I hate reading,” he corrects. “Not bookstores.” He picks up a random book and flips through it, pretending to look interested.

I smirk. “You’re just trying to impress me.”

“Is it working?” he asks, grinning.

I roll my eyes, but I don’t miss the warmth creeping into my chest.

Day Three: The Street Market

Min Ho buys me tteokbokki from my favorite vendor, and we wander through the market, the scent of food filling the air. He tries to feed me a piece, but I swat his hand away.

“You’re so difficult,” he groans.

“You love it,” I tease before I can stop myself.

He grins. “I do.”

Day Four: The Beach

We sit on the sand, watching the waves roll in. Min Ho looks at me, his expression unreadable. “I don’t deserve you,” he says suddenly.

I sigh. “Min Ho—”

“I just need you to know that,” he interrupts. “Even if this doesn’t work out, I need you to know how much I regret losing you.”

I swallow hard. “You’re trying, Min Ho. That’s what matters.”

He nods, but I can tell he’s still scared.

So am I.

Day Five: The Arcade

Min Ho drags me to the arcade, his eyes full of mischief.

“Winner picks the next date,” he challenges.

We go head-to-head in basketball, air hockey, and racing games. He wins some, I win more (at least, that’s my version).

At the claw machine, he spends way too many tries before finally winning a small stuffed dog. He hands it to me, a little sheepish.

“For you.”

I hold it close, pretending it doesn’t mean anything. But it does.

Day Six: Karaoke Night

Min Ho books a private karaoke room, and I immediately regret saying yes.

“You just want to show off,” I accuse.

He winks. “Obviously.”

He belts out Love Scenario like he’s on stage, dancing like an idiot. I laugh too hard to resist when he shoves the mic at me.

“One song,” I warn.

By the end, we’re both breathless from laughing. He looks at me, eyes soft.

“I missed this,” he says.

I don’t respond. But deep down, I did too.

Day Seven: The Rooftop

Our final date is on a rooftop, fairy lights strung around us. The city glows beneath us, and for a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.

Min Ho turns to me, looking nervous for the first time. “Did I do enough?”

I exhale. “Min Ho…”

He shakes his head. “Wait. Before you say anything—I just need you to know. I love you. I never stopped.”

My heart clenches. “I know.”

He steps closer. “Do you still love me?”

I hesitate. Not because I don’t know the answer, but because I do.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Min Ho lets out a shaky breath. “Then let me be better for you.”

I bite my lip. “You already are.”

His lips crash into mine, and just like that, I know—

We’re going to be okay.

#xo kitty #xo kitty x reader #xo kitty minho #min ho moon #min ho moon x reader #min ho moon x you #minho moon #minho moon x reader #min ho x reader #min ho x y/n #minho x y/n #minho x reader #xo kitty season 2 #xo kitty season 1

352 notes · View notes

smutmind · 24 days ago

Text

This Is Legacy ft. Sooyoung

2nd Gen Idol X You

"You ever fuck an idol who used to have her face on buses?"

That’s the first thing she says after closing the door. No greeting. No warm-up. Just that, tossed over her shoulder like a dare.

You blink. “Uh—no.”

Sooyoung doesn’t look back. Just walks into the kitchen like you’re not already sweating. Barefoot, robe loose at the thigh, like she forgot to tie it all the way. She pours two glasses of whiskey, clinks the ice in hers, and only then glances your way.

“Didn’t think so. You were what, in elementary school when I was headlining?”

You nod, sheepish. “I… yeah. I got into K-pop late. Missed your era.”

She walks over and hands you the glass. Her fingers graze yours—barely—and you feel it like a jolt.

“But you know who I was,” she says. Not a question.

“Of course.”

“And now you’re here,” she adds. Her eyes drop to your chest, then lower. “Cute rookie. Big eyes. Still shaking from rehearsal.”

You laugh, trying to cover the truth. “I didn’t think you’d actually invite me up.”

Her mouth curves. “I know. That’s why I did.”

She kisses you before the next word can form. Her lips are warm, steady—experienced. Her hand slides under your hoodie, pressing flat to your stomach, her palm warm against your skin.

The robe falls.

No ceremony. No show. Just her, naked in front of you, skin smooth, body built from discipline and time. Her breasts full and high, waist soft but firm, thighs thick enough to crush and built to hold. She straddles you on the couch like she’s done it a hundred times—and maybe she has.

She lowers onto you in one smooth motion.

You groan. She’s tight, hot, perfect. Her pace is slow, steady, hips rolling like waves. Her breath brushes your cheek as she begins to move.

“This was how I used to fuck,” she murmurs. “Slow. Careful. Polished.”

You stare at her. Everything about her is art—her rhythm, her gaze, the way her fingers rest on your shoulders like you’re something to be played.

“They liked when I moaned soft,” she goes on, riding you in clean, smooth bounces. “When I smiled through it. It made them feel respected.”

You nod, barely breathing. She feels too good—gripping you just right, moving like her body knows every angle.

“I used to make it look easy,” she says, voice almost fond. “Like I wasn’t in control.”

She leans back a little, letting you see her. Her breasts bounce gently, the muscles in her stomach flexing. Every motion perfect. Deliberate.

You’re stunned. Hard as hell. But something about it feels like performance. Beautiful, hot as fuck—but staged.

Then she stops.

She locks eyes with you. Her breath catches.

“I was never lucky to be there,” she says.

And slams down.

You gasp. She does it again. Her thighs slap against yours now, rough and hard, her pussy swallowing your cock deep.

“I made them feel lucky,” she snaps, voice low and raw. “I smiled, but I never surrendered.”

She fucks you like a storm now. All heat and pressure. Her hands press to your chest, pinning you, hips punishing in rhythm. Your hands grab her ass, trying to hold on, trying not to blow.

“This,” she growls, “is the fuck they never earned.”

You’re lost—jaw tight, chest heaving, cock soaked in her heat. Her moans are real now—broken, guttural, spilling straight into your throat.

And then—suddenly—she changes.

The bounce turns light. Rhythmic. Shallow.

“Oppa~” she whines, voice lilting, almost mocking. “It’s too big…”

You freeze.

Her eyes flash with amusement as she leans down and licks your neck.

“This is what they give you now,” she whispers. “All pout and play.”

She giggles—on purpose. Bounces cutely. Adds a little squeal just for fun.

You feel your balls tighten. It’s hot, but wrong. Familiar, but fake.

“This is what the new idols sell,” she pants, still fucking you. “Breathless. Shy. Like they’re surprised to be wet.”

She grabs your hands, places them on her breasts.

“Squeeze like you’re scared to hurt me,” she whispers sweetly.

You’re trembling now. Cock twitching inside her, balls heavy.

Then she stops again.

Dead still.

“But you didn’t come here for that,” she says, mouth at your ear. “You came here to be fucked by a woman who survived it all.”

She slams down. Deep. Then again. Again. Her rhythm wrecks you—hard, brutal, without apology.

“This is what you don’t get from them,” she growls. “No rehearsed moans. No camera angles. Just my pussy and your cock and everything I’ve learned about what makes men break.”

You cry out. Can’t stop it.

She rides you faster, gripping your shoulders, burying your cock so deep you swear she’s inside your throat.

“You’re gonna cum for me,” she breathes, hips never stopping. “You’re gonna cum because this—this—is how veterans fuck.”

You explode.

It’s not just release—it’s collapse. You’re moaning loud, spilling inside her, body locking up, cock pulsing so hard it hurts. She doesn’t stop. Grinds through it. Takes every drop and fucks you into the couch.

When you finally still, she leans in and kisses your temple.

“They’ll keep selling the fantasy,” she whispers. “But you’ll remember the real thing.”

#snsd smut #snsd #sooyoung #sooyoung smut #smut girl group #girl group smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #male reader smut #kpop idol smut #male reader #smut

231 notes · View notes

evermoresversion · 11 months ago

Note

hiiii i was wondering if you could do a conrad fic where him and the reader are just friends, but one day conrad becomes super touchy, and you can’t figure out why. they’ve always been best friends, and have made physical contact before but things are different this time (like this time he’s touching intimate places like waist, thigh etc.)

you can choose if it ends in smut or fluff!!

TOUCHY, CONRAD FISHER.

You had met Conrad and the Fishers exactly three years ago.

It just so happened that their summer house in Cousins was next door to your family's, so the two families had become quite close.

But especially you with Conrad.

You both spent the afternoons together, sometimes you had breakfast at each other's houses, he even taught you how to surf and some things about sailing. It was the friendship you had always wanted to find, he was your advisor and partner in everything you did.

And that was never going to change.

Until one day he woke up and decided to be more touchy with you.

It was strange for you but because you didn't know the feelings that supported that change.

"Excuse me, y/n." He murmured, placing his hand on your waist to gently push you aside. You noticed the change in it because normally he would have just asked you to move, but you didn't give it any more importance than it should have.

But then when you were in his car next to him getting ice for the family meal, and after both of you had laughed for two whole minutes, he put his hand on your thigh, an action that made you freeze in place but you found it comforting to feel his skin against yours, so you didn't say anything.

The next time he made a move like that was that same night when you and the boys attended a bonfire party on the beach.

A boy was trying to flirt with you and forcefully invite you for a beer, which you kept refusing, and when you tried to find one of the boys to save you from the situation, you felt a familiar arm wrap around your back, leaving his hand on your waist.

"Take the hint, buddy, she doesn't want anything from you, get out of here." Conrad's hand tightened protectively on your waist and you watched as the boy walked away with a scowl on his face in frustration.

He stood in front of you and took your face in his hands, searching with his eyes for any indication that that guy had done something.

"Did he put a hand on you or something?"

You shook your head, dazed by his touch on your face and the alcohol in your body.

"No, I'm fine."

"Well." He gave a discreet, affectionate caress to one of your cheeks that he thought you didn't notice but of course you did.

Later that night, when you returned home, you were more sober so you began to compile all the times Conrad had been touchy with you and came to a conclusion that only he would confirm.

"Do you have feelings for me?" Maybe some alcohol was still running through your veins with the direct way your words came out.

"What?"

"You heard me." You were thankful that Steven and Jeremiah had decided to go in the car of the other Fisher brother who wasn't in that car with you. Or maybe they both knew what was happening.

Conrad looked ahead with a neutral face, and then pulled over onto the road.

After seconds that seemed like an eternity, he looked at you.

"Yes, I do have feelings for you, y/n." He replied under his breath, making yours quicken at the confession. "And you have no idea how much I want to kiss you right now with how beautiful you look."

You unbuckled your seatbelt, practically lunging at him to kiss his lips, somewhat clumsily but still the moment seemed perfect. His hands found your waist again, squeezing it with his fingers firmly.

His right hand went to the side of your face, brushing back the hair that was covering your face.

"God, you're beautiful."

You giggled and kissed him again, feeling his hands on your cheeks.

Yeah, you definitely loved it when he was touchy.

#── 𝐕al write. ♡̷ ·˚#evermoresversion #conrad fisher #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x y/n #conrad fisher fanfics #conrad fisher fanfic #conrad fisher fluff #conrad fisher imagines #conrad fisher imagine #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty fanfic

821 notes · View notes

bread-crum206 · 6 months ago

Note

hi! this is my first ask, I hope you write it. I just had an idea going about. What if reader's a doctor, the same doctor who treated Hwang In-ho's wife? With the limited resources she was provided, she tried her best, but failed to save his wife. Reader's a nice, kind doctor, but after failing to save her, reader just slipped deeper and deeper into despair, and started to drink away all her fortune, and ended up in the Squid Games. Hwang In-ho immediately recognizes reader and vows to end her, but somehow feels himself drawn to her, wanting to destroy her, even more. But, as he joins the game as 001, Reader opens up to him and he sees true regret in reader's eyes. Things start to change, and In-ho feels a dark, deep attraction towards Reader. That's all! It's okay if you don't want to write about it. Thank you!<3

Forbidden Emotions

Hwang In-ho/Frontman x reader

Summary: Haunted by failure, a fallen doctor finds herself in the deadly arena of the Squid Games. Hwang In-ho, hidden behind the mask of the Front Man, recognizes her — the one who failed to save his wife. He should hate her, but a darker pull complicates his intentions.

The room feels suffocating as you sit in the dim light, holding the empty glass in your hand. The soft clink of the ice cubes against the glass echoes in the silence. You hadn’t meant for it to go this far, but the weight of your failure is a constant burden.

You tried everything to save Hwang In-ho’s wife. You poured every ounce of knowledge, every technique you knew into her care, but none of it was enough. The moment her pulse faded away, something inside you died too. You failed not only a patient, but a family, and a man who would never forgive you for it.

Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, as your life spiraled further. The hospital let you go, and with it, so did your self-worth. In the dim corners of your thoughts, you heard his voice again—Hwang In-ho’s voice, sharp with anger, accusing you, blaming you for the death of the woman he loved.

The alcohol came soon after. A glass here, another there. It soothed the sting, numbed the regret, and before you knew it, you were slowly drinking away every piece of yourself. Your wealth evaporated, your career crumbled, and the world you had known no longer existed.

One day, when the debts finally caught up with you, when the choices had been made and there was nowhere else to go, you found yourself in the same hell that had taken so many others—the Squid Games.

The first time you laid eyes on him again, it was like a punch to the gut. Hwang In-ho, number 001 plastered on his chest. He hadn’t changed, except for the coldness in his eyes that made your heart freeze. He was sitting among the other players, his cold, calculating demeanor standing in sharp contrast to your own fractured state. You barely recognized him at first, but when his eyes met yours, you knew.

He had been watching you from the moment you entered. His gaze pierced through you, and you could feel the heat of his anger. You had caused his wife’s death, and there was no way he would ever let you forget it.

“I remember you,” he says, his voice a low growl. “The doctor who killed my wife.”

The words cut deep, but the worst part isn’t the accusation—it’s the way his eyes burn with the desire for vengeance. Yet, there’s something else lurking there too, something you can’t quite place.

In-ho’s hatred festers, consuming him. He came to the Squid Games for a singular purpose: to make sure you paid. But even as he plots your downfall, there’s an undeniable pull toward you—a desire to see you suffer.

As the game begins and you are thrust into a deadly series of challenges, In-ho finds himself growing closer to you, observing your struggle with a twisted mixture of pity and contempt. He sees the shame in your eyes, the weight of the regret you carry like a shadow, and it gnaws at him.

One night, when the bloodshed subsides and the survivors take a brief reprieve, you finally let your guard down. You pour out your pain in front of him, something you never expected to do.

“I never wanted this,” you whisper, your voice raw, trembling with remorse. “I didn’t kill her. I just… I couldn’t save her. And it destroyed me.”

For the first time, In-ho sees you as more than the failure he accused you of being. You aren’t just the doctor who failed his wife—you’re a woman broken by your own guilt.

His own anger begins to unravel as he watches you fall apart. The very rage that once consumed him now seems misplaced, and something darker begins to grow in its place. An attraction—dangerous, twisted, and impossible to ignore.

The more he watches you, the more he can’t resist the pull. He joined the game for vengeance, yes—but now, he’s here for something else. Something he doesn’t fully understand. The twisted mix of hate, regret, and undeniable attraction to the woman who has destroyed his life.

It’s inevitable. The Squid Games are no longer about survival for him. It’s about you.

And as he finds himself standing at the edge of the game, his eyes never leaving you, In-ho realizes that whatever dark path lies ahead, it will be shaped by you. He has no choice but to follow it—to destroy you, and perhaps, to destroy himself in the process.

———————

Much like Oh Il-nam, In-ho ‘dies’ in one of the games. You hear the gunshot, hear the splatter of blood, but you can’t bring yourself to look, so you stay facing the wall.

You feel like you’ve killed him, first his wife, and now him. They’re both your fault. Even though you knew it wasn’t.

———————

The games drag on, each one more brutal and harrowing than the last. But amidst the bloodshed, there’s a peculiar twist in the unfolding chaos. In-ho, despite his initial resolve to end you, finds himself watching you more intently than ever. Every movement, every fragile moment of vulnerability only deepens his obsession.

He can’t understand it. Why is he drawn to you? Why does he feel this burning, unrelenting pull toward you, despite everything? The desire for vengeance had once been all-consuming, a fire that had driven him to join this deadly game. But now? Now, there’s something else—something darker, more complex.

As the final rounds of the game near, In-ho’s gaze never leaves you. The other players have been whittled down, but you remain—surviving by sheer grit and determination, the same qualities that once defined him. You’ve proven yourself worthy of a chance, despite the twisted circumstances.

In the final moments of the game, when the last of the players fall, In-ho makes a decision. He can’t let you die—not like this. Not after everything that has happened. So, when the game ends, he orders his guards to spare you, despite the bitter, gnawing hatred that still lives in his heart.

They escort you to his office, a stark, cold room that has seen too many dark moments. The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, and you stand there, disoriented, your face a mixture of confusion and exhaustion.

You look up at him, your eyes wary but relieved. “Why?” you ask, your voice hoarse from the strain of the games.

“I told you,” In-ho’s voice is cold, but there’s something beneath it. Something raw. “I haven’t forgotten what you did. But I can’t let you die here. Not after everything.”

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, your gaze flickers around the room, landing on the polished desk, the chair where he sits, the sharp, sterile environment that feels like a cage. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

In-ho’s eyes remain locked on you. He ordered you to be brought here, but now that you’re before him, he doesn’t know what to do. There’s an unspoken question in the silence between you: What now?

And then, as though the dam has finally broken, he speaks again, his voice lower, almost reluctant. “Do you even understand the pain you’ve caused me? My wife—she died under your care.”

You flinch, the guilt surging back with a force that almost takes your breath away. “I didn’t kill her,” you whisper, your voice shaking with the weight of the truth. “I tried. I tried everything to save her. But… but I couldn’t. And I’ve been living with that every single day since.”

His gaze softens, just slightly, but the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters, his fists clenching. “She’s dead because of you.”

Your heart sinks, the words like a knife in your chest. You know he won’t understand. How could he? You’re just the doctor who couldn’t save his wife, a failure in his eyes. He’ll never see the truth—that it wasn’t your fault. Not unless he lets go of the anger, the bitterness that’s eaten him alive since that day.

You take a step closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry,” you say, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I couldn’t save her. But I didn’t kill her. I would’ve given anything to bring her back.”

In-ho stares at you, the anger still lingering in his chest, but now mixed with something else. Confusion. Desire. He doesn’t understand why, but there’s something in your words, something in your eyes that makes the ache in his chest twist. His wife is gone, yes, but here you are—broken, just like him—and he can’t ignore the pull. It’s as if your pain is a shared burden, and despite all the hatred, he finds himself unable to look away.

Before he can stop himself, he moves toward you, closing the space between you in an instant. His hand reaches up, brushing against your cheek, fingers trembling just slightly.

Your breath catches in your throat, your body instinctively leaning into the touch. You’ve been living in a haze of regret for so long, and in this moment, it feels like he understands. For a brief second, it isn’t about the game. It isn’t about the failure. It’s about something deeper. Something you both share.

In-ho’s lips are on yours before he can think, a rough, desperate kiss full of rage, longing, and the confusion that’s been building between you. His hands pull you closer, as though he could erase the distance that has always separated you, even before the games began.

You kiss him back, your mind spinning, but your heart starting to race. The kiss is desperate, almost reckless, but it’s also filled with something raw—something you both need, even if you don’t fully understand it.

When you finally break apart, breathless and tangled in each other’s gaze, In-ho looks at you with a mixture of shock and something darker. His expression is conflicted, torn between the anger that drove him here and the pull that now binds him to you.

“You’re still the doctor who couldn’t save her,” he says, his voice rough, his chest rising and falling as if he’s just run a marathon. “But there’s something about you… I can’t stop feeling it.”

You take a shaky breath, your body still thrumming with the intensity of the kiss. “I didn’t kill her,” you repeat, your voice firm now, despite the tumult inside you. “I couldn’t save her. But I didn’t kill her.”

In-ho’s eyes search yours, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he can’t control. He’s angry, yes. But there’s something else—something that makes him want to destroy you… and protect you at the same time.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says, his voice softer now, a mixture of uncertainty and fascination. “But I can’t walk away from you. Not now.”

And in that moment, you both realize something: despite the pain, despite the tragedy, you are drawn together by forces beyond your control. The game, the anger, the past—it doesn’t matter. What matters now is the undeniable connection between you, no matter how twisted or dark it might seem.

And as In-ho stands there, wrestling with the ghosts of his wife’s death and the overwhelming desire to possess the woman who had once been her savior, he knows one thing for certain: he isn’t finished with you yet.

———————

Hi!! Here it is! I hope you liked it! This was fun to write so let me know if you want more and even something a little spicy 🌶️

#in ho x reader #squid game #squid game x y/n #squid games x reader #x reader #frontman x reader #the front man #squid game x reader #smut

308 notes · View notes

roturo · 2 years ago

Text

CRY FOR ME -dick grayson x f!reader

① NEW REQUEST FROM ANONYMOUS!: sex pollen, old lovers meet again.

→ summary: He loves you, he really does, but he left you. Months wondering why he did that had you crying for him, never ending the never-ending cycle of the abandoned by Dick Grayson wasn't in your to-do list. It's time to hit him with a smile, rather than a goodbye that would leave him wondering.

→ warnings: SMUT, angst, sex pollen, mating press, breeding kink, marking, fingering & oral (f receiving), mutlipes orgasms, overstimulation, mention of weight loss (but it's never specified how much or the weight of the reader exactly, neither a body type), hero into villain!reader, med student!reader, mentions of kory and dick being together but never in a relationship, reader is friends with harley quinn, reader was part of the og titans.

A/N: I'm really proud of this one, might even do pt2 if it gets support. -Words: 3.4k

TUMBLR IS BASED ON A REBLOG SYSTEM. PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK. THANK YOU. ENJOY. SMUT BELOW THE CUT.

¨And you know what I hate most of all that shit he put me through?, He-¨

¨Can you please stop talking about Dick Y/N? It's been MONTHS, damn it! almost a year! You're driving me nuts! I'm not even Dick's ex, or friend and I already hate him as much as you do. So let's move on.¨

¨You don't understand, I was a good girlfriend! Shit! I even became a hero for him! Now look where we are.¨

Harley laughs at your remark of how the tables have turned.

Both of you were sitting at the top of a building eating some ice-cream, which Harley insisted on steal from a random kid on the street, after robbing some random store she liked a collar from, you were now looking at how police officers where trying to look for a culpable of this crime.

It's been 11 months and 5 days since Dick broke up with you. You couldn't AND still don't understand why he did it, both of you were fine one day and the next one he decided, 'oh how could I destroy the woman of my dreams heart?, I know how! What if I tell her I don't need her anymore in my life and she's useless! then some months later fuck some fire princess and act like i'm a new person with this new suit and name! oh! also, re-do the titans! when my ex helped me do the og ones, helped when the fell apart but she's useless anyways!'

To say you weren't deep down for him, would be a lie. You don't know how he could keep laughing everyday knowing how his little trauma ass dumped you like trash. Well, if you're being honest he doesn't have a small ass, but that doesn't matter.

¨Aw, I want more ice-cream¨ Coming back to earth after some deep thoughts, Harley grabbed you by the wrists in order to change up and start looking some restaurant for dinner.

After changing clothes and Harley talking about how obsessed she´s with the Joker, you couldn't quite blame her, both of you were finally walking on the street, laughing at some random inside joke both of you had.

¨Huh.¨ Your phone started ringing and you could swear if it wasn't cold enough to freeze you up, the call was. ¨Who is it?¨ Harley asked, sneaking through your shoulder.

¨OH! Donna?, the cute girl you talked about?¨

¨Shhh, let me attend this call... Hello? Donna?¨

¨Y/N, um- hello! How are you? It's been what? one year since we don't talk?¨ ¨I'm... fine. How about you?¨

You were quite confused for this call, on the outside you're calm, but inside, you're freaking out.

¨I'm good, it's nice to hear you're doing fine!¨ ¨Thank you Donna, but I know you just don't call to ask how i'm doing, what's wrong?¨ ¨Oh well, you quite know me well Y/N, i'm sorry it seemed that way, but you're like the only person I know who could help us with some medical issues, you know? So I wanted to ask you if you could come and help us to deal with Conner, and maybe stay some days...? i'll explain you who he is and all of that later.¨ ¨Donna, you know i'm not longer on the me-¨

Harley pinched you in the arm, trying to talk but you were faster. ¨Ow Harley! Stop it!¨ You told your best friend in a whisper so Donna couldn't hear the both of you, also covering the microphone of your phone, for... extra precautions.

¨You don't understand! This is an awesome opportunity! You're going undercover in the titans tower! Imagine how crazy Jack (Jocker) would be! Say yes!¨

Thinking it for a few seconds, she was right, you could get some important information from them, it was indeed, an awesome plan.

¨Who knows, you might also see bird-boy again!¨ She said raising her eyebrows in a teasing way making you roll your eyes.

¨Y/N? Are you still there?¨

¨Yes, when do you need me to be there?¨

¨Erm... now if it's possible¨

You were now unpacking your suitcase, Donna told you to pack for at least a month, isn't that incredible?

You haven't come across any of the other titans, beside, Donna, Dawn, Gar, Rachel, Jason and Rose... Quite interesting team.

You didn't introduced well to the kids since you were in a hurry to enter your temporary room and not ran into someone else...

While you were unpacking your old tools Wayne gave you while you were their medical support 'hero' maybe also because you were a med student, you still helped with fights, bruises and hits.

You found the 'special' bandages you had for Dick, since the 'normal ones weren't soft enough for his bruises' a small smile appeared on your face at those old memories.

Now unpacking your clothes, you found three special lingerie underwear with a note from Harley:

'Just in case you have some fun ;)

xx Harley~'

The note made you roll your eyes but you couldn't deny it brighten your mood, throwing away the not and putting aside the 'Harley present', you continued unpacking your clothes, you brought in a separate case for your suit, just in case.

¨Y/N! Can you come here?¨

¨Coming!¨ maybe you could order the clothes other time.

When you entered the living room, the kids were no longer there, except Jason.

They started explaining you what happened between Deathstroke and what they know about Conner, you were paying attention to know what you're dealing with, you haven't even realize Dick came in sight until Dawn mentioned it.

But Dick didn't came alone, he was next fire princess which you couldn't care less to investigate her name when you found out about Dick meeting her.

¨Oh Dick! We brought Y/N so she could help us with Conner, since we don't have anyone else who knows about this weird medical stuff.¨ They know what happened between you two, and they still decided to ask for your help knowing he's going to be here.

You stood up from the sofa, eyes locking with his, you couldn't longer see the coldness in his eyes, but there wasn't warm either, you couldn't quite decipher what he's feeling.

¨Kory¨ She gave you her hand at which you responded with your name and doing the same. You locked eyes with her for a brief moment, a small smirk appeared in your face but disappeared once the greeting finished.

¨Y/N.¨ You locked eyes with him, a tension only the two of you could feel. You were different, much prettier, you lose some weight too, blame it on the break-up depression, but you were shining.

¨Grayson.¨ Hearing you say his last name instead of his name he could feel a small part of him getting shattered inside him, you changed.

After checking on Conner and taking some notes, it was finally night time, you were eating some cereal, knowing more about Gar and Rachel, Kory, Dawn, Donna and Robin were dressed up with their suits.

¨We have some issues to deal tonight with another troublemaker, nothing serious though, just a one night problem.¨ Dick announced while getting ready to go out.

¨Y/N, you should come! Maybe warm out a little like the old times." Dawn invited you, how nice of her, only if she knew you were also a troublemaker.

¨No thank you, i'm only here for medical support.¨ You gave her a small smile and said your goonights.

Some knocking in your door woke you up, it only passes one hour since you went asleep and they're already annoying you, first day!

¨Y/N? Are you awake?¨ You heard Dawn saying though the door.

¨Mmh¨ You replied.

¨We need you, it's Dick.¨

Even more annoying.

You walked next Dawn through the halls until you finally came into Dick´s room. Inside they were Donna and Kory, clearly concerned about his well being.

His behavior seemed, weird, there wasn’t any bruises or cuts, not even blood. He was just twisting in pain on his bed. You stepped closer to him, and got your hand on top of his forehead at which he only whined, that scared you, since it sounded more like a moan than a whine. He was hot, sweating and moving a lot.

You had your suspicions what this could be, but you needed to confirm it, this can't be real.

¨Can you please... tell me with which villain you fought with?¨

¨Ivy¨ Donna said.

Shit.

¨I need to make a call¨ you quickly said running out of the room.

¨Surprise, surprise!¨ Harley said in her taunting tone. ¨Oh my god Harley, I can't believe you.¨ ¨Well, you know a girl needs to help her best friend, so... I called another friend and voilà!¨ ¨What am I supposed to do? I don't have the fucking cure for sex pollen Harley! I owe you one, can't believe Ivy did this for me.¨ ¨You just said it, sex. C´mon Y/N!, it's your moment to play with him! He had you like a sad girl, why don't turn her into a mad girl? Make him cry for you. Break his heart like he did with you.

You ended the call, and just in time, Kory came. ¨Y/N, we need you Dick keeps talking about you and rambling about some stupid things.¨ You could sense a strange behavior from her, like if she just discovered something big.

Watching Dick twisting in pain and saying your name in just some black briefs felt good. You can't lie to yourself Harley was right.

¨It's sex pollen¨ You admitted.

¨And what's the cure? Do you have it? That's why you made the call?¨ Donna asked.

¨No, the only cure for it it's well... sex. The pollen might last for at-least 3 days or even a week, symptoms are well... extremely high sex-drive, dehydration, high temperatures, and... I think that's all.¨

Donna chuckled at what happened to Dick, ¨Let's go girls, let's leave this to Kory.¨ Dawn just laughed at a very shocked and blushed Kory, ¨Don't be like that Donna, Kory and Dick haven't confirmed anything yet.¨ You felt your jaw clenching, but decided to act calm, and when all of you were almost leaving, you were stopped.

¨No. I want her.¨ Dick said, pointing towards you. All of you stayed quiet at the sudden confession. You were shocked to say at least, blood rushing to your cheeks, you were about to leave that damn room until you remembered what Harley said.

Cry for me.

Donna grabbed your shoulder, looking at you. ¨You don't have to do this if you're uncomfortable.¨

¨No. It's okay, i'm in.¨

After mentally preparing yourself, bringing some water bottles into the room, they left you alone with him.

You sat next to him on his bed, memories came back flying around the both of you.

¨Look, I know that-¨ He completely cut you off when he started kissing you, making you lay down on the bed, you left a small moan when he broke the kiss for a moment.¨Oh my god, you don't know how much I wanted to kiss you again.¨

Did he missed you? Every question that came to your mind was easily erased when he started kissing and sucking your neck while unbuckling your jeans and taking them down with your underwear, he pulled apart to admire the bruises he left, he grabbed your panties and threw them to his nightstand.

He started kissing your thighs, making small pauses on each to make sure he's marking you as his again. Every time he went higher until he gave a small peck on your clit. ¨I can't wait to taste you sweetheart.¨ There it is... the nickname.

He got your legs over his shoulders and gave a testing long lick on your pussy, teasing your hole. At which he started sucking your clit once he heard the high pitched moan you did when he teases your hole.

His started spelling his name with his tongue on your pussy at which it only made you hornier, suddenly he inserted his index finger inside you. Dick sped up, fingers now flicking in and out of you at light speed, nose pressed into your clit, and before you knew it you were cumming, shuddering on his mouth, crying out his name. Quickly he took all the remaining clothes from you and him, now both of you completely naked for each-other.

He was rock hard. No, scratch that, his cock looked like it was made of fucking ruby. Red and painful and already half-soaked with pre-cum.

He pressed your legs impossibly closer to your torso, moving down to meet your eyes, until you were folded in half beneath him, legs on his shoulders, putting you into a—

Oh.

This was going to be a long night.

He fell on his forearms, and you wondered how much more you could take- He laced his fingers on top of your head, thumbs on your forehead, holding you still. He mumbled out another gonna make you feel s’ good before pounding you in earnest, practically bouncing you both on his mattress. His balls smacked against your ass, and the feeling was so damn satisfying that he just had to go harder. You would sport matching bruises tomorrow, his hips on your ass. You pushed out moans in time with his unforgiving pace, a metronome playing the beat to which his sanity danced away from him.

“More?” He sounded fucking pathetic, like he was asking himself that, his voice octaves higher than it usually was, but he didn’t care. “More, you little slut? That what you want? You want more?”

“I’ll give you more,” he babbled, “More, baby, give you more give you everythin’ gonna fuck you so hard you won’t walk for weeks.”

He’s not too worried about hurting you—you’re already so wet—more that he’s afraid he’ll cum the second he starts moving again. Out of his previous partners, he doesn’t think any of them have felt this good around him.

“Please-” a strand of incomprehensible begs and pleads leaves his mouth when he starts thrusting into you again.

¨Shit- how are you even tighter huh? You've been keeping this tight pussy just for me?¨ He's a whiny mess, small kisses every time he cans, praises here and there.

“Mmm yes please yes please yesyesyesss—” was all you could manage. He laughed at you, breathless, and you wondered how he could keep up this pace and still rattle off incredibly filthy little comments, looking right in your eyes.

“You’d like that? Yeah? Gon’ look so pretty, little baby, so pretty full of my child, yeah? All round and glowing and heavy with me. All of ’em will look at you and see me, all me, see that I did that. You want that? You want that you want that—”

He leans forward to coo praise into your ear, gently nipping at your earlobe. Goosebumps raise along your exposed flesh. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoes through the stairwell. Sometime during this his teeth find the soft muscle of your neck, leaving a crescent shape mark that’ll certainly bruise in the morning.

You're pretty sure everyone on this tower have heard the both of you fucking like rabbits by now, but knowing this was going to follow him his whole life, with the memories of him fucking you every way possible just so you could leave him, it's all you need to don't care about that.

The first time he cums, he doesn��t even realize he has. He shudders. It felt good—a bit too good—but nothing out of the ordinary. It makes him do a double take. His cock doesn’t even go soft. Drips of cum run down your thighs, pooling on the bed-sheets beneath you.

His thumb traces circles around your clit, moving in erratic, uneven motions. Dick leans back down for another kiss. You can taste yourself on him, though it’s not entirely unpleasant. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding him to your chest. The two of you can only fuck and cum until you’re too exhausted to continue. You’ve never felt so full. The thought of using protection crossed your mind once—and only for a moment—the pollen leaving you too desperate to care.

Second day and he wouldn't give you a break to nap for a minute.

His body curved and bowed, hips pressed hard against you, arms below your body and hands gripping your shoulders. “Mmm fuck baby,” Dick muttered into your mouth, your moans coming out of you almost breathless. “Yeah, yeahyeahyeah milk me fucking milk my cock gonna cum in you fuck a baby, my baby into you and you’re gonna fucking take it take it nnngh —”

He buried his face into your neck, teeth latching on to skin, biting down to draw blood, a choked groan as he came, really came, his balls squeezing painfully, a deep ache in his gut, indescribable tingles all along his cock, his spine, down to the soles of his feet.

Third day, and you started getting him where you wanted it.

“Sensitive,” you hissed, “Sensitive, Dick, you insatiable—”

“Insatiable is right,” he said to you, eyes wide, still looking like you just told him the Earth was flat. He towered over you, kneeling now, and with horror and a bit of something else you felt how hard he still was.

¨I missed you so much, the biggest mistake of my life was leaving you.¨

Fourth day he started getting sensitive but that didn't stopped him, and he was a little more languid, strokes slow and smooth, his thighs shaking just a bit as exhaustion started to settle in. His cum was spreading in a pool on the sheets now, and you couldn’t bring yourselves to be even a little disgusted. He loved it. He loved so much how it felt that tears dropped from his eyes every-time he felt that electric shock come to him when he was about to come. He was crying for you.

Last day. Fifth day. Barely even thrusting anymore, just a slow grind of his hips, the friction and the pressure and the raw sensation squeezing out what could have been an orgasm if only both of you were awake enough to feel it.

When you both woke up the next day, he was staring at you, straddling your hair, and that's when you knew it.

¨Good morning sweetheart.¨

You just answered with a small ¨hey¨

¨I never through of seeing you laying next to me again, it felt like home. I'm sorry I did that to you, you don't know how much I regret it, please, give me a second chance.¨

Bingo.

Without saying a word, you grabbed some shirt of his, long enough to cover yourself and went back to your room, stumbling and shaking someway you made it. You changed yourself, taking a minute to observe how he marked you, it was time.

You went back to his room, already changed, you gave him a smile and sat on the bed with him, with no emotion behind your eyes, it was your time.

¨You were ready to leave me for her.¨ Confusion, first stage he made you go through.

¨I was doing fine, really, but then you walked again into my life again and fucked me up.¨ Sadness and lies. Second stage.

¨You think this will make me stay?¨ You signaled the both of you. ¨You think with just some stupid sex to heal you is enough of an apology?¨ A laugh escaped your mouth. ¨You thought this was real?¨

¨You know for a fucking fact this wasn't supposed to happen.¨ You got your hand on top of his, faking a caring smile looking at him.

¨When friends of yours make jokes about how you always leave them, you think it's funny, but it's not. That hurts a lot, actually.¨

You got up from the bed and stepped closer to the door, you paused for a second and turned around to see a hurt Dick naked on the bed with just some blanket covering him.

¨And Dick... Of course I still love you, if it wasn't for me, I would go crying and throwing myself into your arms again.¨

¨You still can.¨ He tried.

¨No.¨ You chuckled. ¨I won't let myself get hurt again. Our love isn't worth the fight. Goodbye Dick Grayson.¨

4K notes · View notes