#I...think about things... a lot.............. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geminiwritten · 3 days ago

Text

worst way ; robert 'bob' floyd

fandom: top gun

pairing: bob x reader

summary: being secretly fake-married to your sweet best friend, bob floyd, is almost perfect... until tensions rise, the secret is out, and you both struggle to keep your feelings (and your hands) to yourself

notes: this fic took my soul... there's a piece of my soul in this??? so y'all better enjoy! no, but seriously, i can't wait to hear what you think! i giggled like an idiot when i came up with the idea, and throughout the entire writing process... so please, please let me know what you think! (also, i want to hear y'all chanting perv!bob from across the pacific ocean)

warnings: swearing, alcohol, fake marriage (is that a warning?), italics, seemingly unrequited love (but not really), tiny bit of angst, bob is a perv (i'm not sorry), reader is also kind of a perv (don't fight it), bob’s HUGE dick, and SMUT (male and female masturbation, heavy making out, female oral receiving, a bit of dirty talk, unprotected p in v, rough-ish sex, lots of praise) 18+ ONLY MDNI!!!

word count: 22467

Bob Floyd is an incredible husband.

He’s sweet, attentive, and always knows exactly what to say to make you smile. He fills up your car before the gas gets too low—and checks your tires, too. He leaves sticky notes around the house with cute messages and gentle reminders. He goes with you to any appointment that makes you nervous—including the goddamn gyno. He knows your coffee order and wakes up early every Sunday to make you breakfast.

He’s perfect. Literally. You couldn’t build a better husband in a lab, because Bob knows how to be an amazing husband better than anyone else on Earth.

You almost feel bad for taking him away from his would-be soulmate. For marrying him out of convenience—for benefits over love. Not that you don’t love Bob Floyd—you do. Just… more like a best friend. A platonic soulmate. Someone you can rely on.

You’ve known Bob since he was fresh out of flight school. You met him during his first assignment as a WSO to one of the strike fighter squadrons at Lemoore, back when you were still a civilian contractor in a lowly admin role with the digital systems department.

For nearly two weeks, you went back and forth with him, troubleshooting and raising tickets with IT every time you found a new bug or glitch in the digital flight-planning or weapons-targeting software. He wasn’t shy, just quiet—and very sweet. He made sure you got recognised for all your work, and straight-up refused to deal with anyone else on the systems support team.

Work discussions turned into coffee runs, which eventually became quiet moments amid the chaos of military life. You quickly became good friends, confiding in each other things you wouldn’t dare tell anyone else. You came to care for Bob more than you probably should have, and it wasn’t long before you started thinking of him as your best friend.

Assignments came and went. He moved, you moved—but you always stayed in touch. Bob looked out for you in a way no one else ever did, even when he was halfway across the world. Eventually, you ended up back on the same base again—him crashing on your couch because he hated the barracks.

You were burning out at the time. Your contractor status was fragile. Insurance was expensive. But you couldn’t even think about moving back home. One night, you were crying, spilling your guts to Bob, stressed out of your mind, when he said it—the two words that changed your life.

Marry me.

You said no at first, because of course you did. But after a long conversation and a few more tears… you agreed. Because it made sense. You trusted him—more than anything—and if he was okay with it, how could you not be?

You promised that if he ever met someone he truly loved, you’d bow out and let him be happy. But every time you said it, he’d just shrug and say he is happy. That you make him happy. And that he’s just glad to be able to look after you. To know you’re safe and cared for, that you don’t have to worry about losing your job, or affording healthcare, or having somewhere to live.

He just wants to be there for you—in every way he can. Including the benefits of a military marriage.

So, now you’re here. On North Island. Because Bob’s special detachment just got commissioned as a permanent unit—which obviously means his wife would be moving to be with him.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bob asks, dark blue eyes wide behind his glasses. “I feel bad.”

“Bobby, come on,” you sigh, propping a hand on your hip. “I’m a very capable woman. A few boxes aren’t going to break my back.”

“I can call in sick?” he offers.

You stare at him, deadpan. “Do not call in sick. Get your butt to work. I’m fine.”

The new apartment is littered with moving boxes and half-assembled furniture. You’ve been here for two days already, but there’s still so much to unpack. Most of it’s yours. Bob barely brought anything from the barracks, but everything you hauled from Lemoore? Definitely not minimal.

“It’s my shit anyway,” you say, walking him toward the door. “My responsibility to unpack.”

He sighs as he steps into the corridor, turning back with a look you know too well. The one that says he’d set the sky on fire just to keep you warm.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you say, exasperated. “Now go, or you’ll be late.”

He hesitates—brows drawn, boots still planted.

“Bob Floyd, go to work.” You lean in, hand on his shoulder, and press a kiss to his cheek. “Now.”

His face flushes, lips twitching into a smile. “Fine. I’m going.”

You watch him head down the hall toward the lift, cheeks still pink as he presses the button and waits.

“Don’t lift anything heavy,” he calls, just as the elevator doors slide open.

“I won’t,” you call back. “Leaving all the heavy stuff for you, my love.”

He smiles softly, nods once, and steps into the lift.

You roll your eyes and step back inside, shutting the door behind you. Then you lean back against it, staring out at the mess of boxes and half-built furniture.

You’ve got the husband-and-wife act down pat after just over a year of marriage—although, at this point, most of it doesn’t feel like an act at all. Just genuine affection. Because you do love Bob. More than anything. And you don’t know what you did to deserve a best friend this goddamn sweet—all you know is that you’re beyond grateful for him.

You linger there a moment longer, facing off with the chaos of cardboard and scattered tools. Then you take a deep breath, push off the door, and start tearing open boxes.

You spend the entire day in the apartment—unpacking, sorting, putting things away. You leave most of the furniture alone. Not because you can’t build it, but because you know Bob would be mad if you did. He considers it his job every time you move, and honestly? You don’t mind. The fewer blisters you get from over-twisting stripped screws, the better.

By six p.m., your limbs are aching, your head is throbbing, and your stomach’s growling so loud you're almost positive the neighbours can hear it. You still haven’t gone grocery shopping, which means the only things you’ve had all day are a coffee Bob made for you and a protein bar he picked up yesterday when he filled your car up.

You dig your phone out from under a pile of packing paper and shoot Bob a quick text to let him know you’re heading to the store. Then you pull on a hoodie—or Bob’s hoodie, technically—and head out the door.

The grocery store is only ten minutes away and easy to find. You park, grab a trolley, and start weaving through the aisles. Normally, you’d have some sort of list—scribbled on a scrap of paper or texted from Bob—but today, you’re winging it. On an empty stomach. Great.

You’re only in the second aisle, gazing at the Pop-Tarts and wondering which flavour Bob would be the least disappointed in when—

“Excuse me.”

You whip toward the voice, eyes wide. “Crap. Sorry, am I in your way?”

It’s a man—mid-thirties, probably—with pretty green eyes and a wide smile. He’s gorgeous in that obnoxious way that makes girls swoon—and yeah, he definitely knows it.

“No, no,” he says, raising a hand. “I just—I have to ask. Do you always look this good in a grocery store? Because now I have to pretend I didn’t almost walk into a cereal display.”

You snort softly. “Wow. Good one.”

He lifts his brows. “Did it work?”

You consider it for a moment, tilting your head and leaning a hip against the trolley. “Hm. No. Not really.”

“Damn it,” he chuckles. “I’ve been trying to think of something to say for the last two aisles that wouldn’t make you immediately reject me.”

You laugh softly, giving him a quick—but deliberate—once-over before meeting his gaze.

“It’s not the line,” you say. “It’s the uniform. I don’t date military, sorry.”

He frowns. “But I’m not wearing—”

“Dog tags,” you cut in, eyes dropping to the silver chain peeking out from his shirt.

“Shit,” he says, laughing. “You’re good.”

“It wasn’t that hard.”

“Really?” He steps aside to let someone pass, bracing one hand on the shelf beside you. “What else gave me away?”

Your eyes flick down to his feet. “Boots.” Then his wrist. “Watch.” Then up. “Haircut.”

He raises his brows. “Impressive.”

“And your posture,” you add, gaze drifting across his broad chest. “It’s too straight. Too perfect.”

His eyes narrow playfully. “Did you just call me perfect?”

You roll your eyes. “I called your posture perfect, pretty boy. Now if you’ll excuse—”

“So you think I’m pretty?” he interrupts, still not moving.

“You know you’re pretty. You don’t need my validation.”

He shrugs. “Couldn’t hurt.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Alright. What’s it going to take for you to get out of my way?”

“A number,” he replies, too quick.

You give him a flat look. “Okay. One. Now move.”

He smirks. “Clever. But not the number I’m looking for.”

“Then keep looking,” you say, gripping the trolley and stepping back. “Because I don’t date military. Trust me—it won’t end well.”

Then you quickly steer around him before he can stop you, pushing the trolley down the aisle.

“Won’t end well for you or me?” he calls after you.

You glance over your shoulder. “Really want to find out?”

“Can I at least get a name?”

You stop at the end of the aisle, turning back with a small smirk. “See you around, pretty boy.”

“Oh, you will!” he shouts, loud enough to earn a few puzzled glances from other customers.

You laugh quietly to yourself as you turn your trolley into the next aisle. You catch glimpses of the man again as you shop, but you keep your focus on the task at hand—filling the cart with things you know Bob likes, and whatever you can throw together into a few easy meals.

Still, you’re a little disappointed. Because that guy was hot, and he seemed like he could be a bit of fun. But you and Bob have one very strict rule: no military.

You’re allowed to mess around with other people—because you’re both human, and you still have needs—as long as it’s casual and doesn’t put the arrangement in jeopardy.

Hence, no military.

It’s just too risky. Not that you ever really see the same person twice—because even that feels like a gamble—but especially not someone you might bump into at work. You’re still a civilian contractor, and if you hook up with someone and they recognise you on base? God, the whole thing could blow up.

So you keep your hookups brief, occasional, and with people who have zero ties to the military. It’s just easier that way. Safer.

Just as you reach the checkouts, your phone buzzes with a text from Bob:

‘I’m home. Let me know when you are so I can come help.’

You smile and reply with a string of nonsense emojis. Then you pay, haul the groceries to the car, and head home.

Bob is already in the garage when you pull in—because of course he is. He’s leaning against the wall, looking unfairly adorable in a pair of sweats and an old U.S. Navy hoodie, hair still damp from a shower.

“Evening, Lieutenant,” you say with a grin.

He steps up to the car, smiling softly. “How was your day?”

“Productive,” you reply, popping the boot open. “Couldn’t you tell?”

He chuckles. “Oh, you mean ground zero upstairs?”

You nod. “Yep. That’s my organised chaos. Just you wait—by tomorrow afternoon, everything’s going to be perfectly put away.”

He shakes his head, amused, and leans into the boot, loading as many bags as he can into each hand. When he straightens up, there are only two bags left—and it’s infuriating how easily he handles the weight of four bags per hand, like it’s nothing.

“Show off,” you mutter, grabbing the last two.

You head upstairs in comfortable quiet, neither of you feeling the need to fill the silence just for the sake of it. That’s something you’ve always loved about Bob—being around him feels effortless. He doesn’t expect anything from you. Doesn’t ask for more than you can give.

You could sit beside him for hours and not say a word, and it would still feel like love—not real love, obviously, just the safe, platonic kind. The kind that doesn't get complicated.

You’ve done things in front of him that would make other men blush. Cried with your mouth full. Passed out snoring on his shoulder during a movie. Gotten so drunk once that he had to wash your hair while you sat slumped in the tub, head in your hands. You’d been wearing your underwear, obviously, but Bob? He hadn’t even looked. Hadn’t dared. Just held the shower head and worked the shampoo into your hair like he was defusing a bomb. Gentle. Respectful. Sweet as ever.

That’s the thing about Bob—he’s never once crossed a line. Never even hinted at it. You’ve been fake-married for over a year, shared hotels and couches and drunk stories and everything in between, and he’s never tried anything. Never looked at you like that. You don’t think he’s even thought about it.

Which is honestly kind of a miracle.

Any other man might’ve used this arrangement as an excuse to test the waters. A ‘harmless’ kiss. A comment. A suggestion. But not Bob. Bob’s too good for that. Too decent. He’s respectful to a fault. The kind of guy who would take a bullet for you but apologise if he got blood on your shirt.

It’s why you love him so much. Not in a romantic way—just... as a person. As a partner. A friend. You trust him more than anyone. You’d trust him with your life, your secrets, your worst moments. And you know, without a doubt, that he would never do anything to jeopardise what you have.

Honestly, if more men were like Bob Floyd, the world would be a better place.

“I met a guy at the store,” you say, pausing halfway to putting the milk away.

“Oh?” Bob replies, not looking up as he carefully arranges the eggs into the little plastic holder.

“Yeah, but he was military.”

“Damn,” he mutters, glancing up briefly. “North Island’s small. You’ll probably have to look further north for anyone not Navy.”

You nod, leaning a hip against the kitchen counter. “I figured. But he was hot.”

Bob lets out a soft chuckle. “Really?”

“Yeah. Bit cocky, but that can be fun sometimes,” you say, turning to unpack another bag. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just bugging ‘cause it’s been a while.”

He hums in agreement, quietly focused as he lines the little spice jars up—in alphabetical order, of course—on the rack like it’s a puzzle that might save his life.

You sigh, dramatic and long, as you drop a few bundles of fruit onto the bench. “Would it really be that bad?”

He glances at you, brow furrowed. “What?”

“A military hookup.”

His eyes go wide. “Yes. That would be bad. Very, very bad. North Island is small. And my squad? We’re kind of... well-known.”

“I’m not though,” you counter with a shrug. “I haven’t started my new role yet, but my desk is probably buried in the bowels of some overcrowded office. Who says I’d ever even run into you? Or anyone else?”

Bob shakes his head, firm. “Still too risky.”

“Ugh,” you groan, throwing your hands up. “Fine. But if my vibrator blows up from overuse, I’m blaming you for cockblocking me.”

He chuckles again, cheeks flushing pink as he turns away to continue putting away the dry ingredients. He doesn’t reply—but he doesn’t have to. You both know the conversation is over.

And you know he’s right. It is too risky.

Your marriage might be a secret for now—from his squad and from his CO—but once you start your new role, you’ll have to declare it. And then you’ll have to be even more careful. Not just about what you say.

But who you do, too.

- Bob -

After dinner and an hour on the lounge—scrolling through your phones, only half-watching the Nat Geo doc on sperm whales that Bob put on—you sit up and yawn.

“Okay,” you say, pushing off the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

Bob nods, looking up at you with a soft smile. “No worries. Goodnight.”

“See you tomorrow, handsome,” you call over your shoulder as you walk toward the main bedroom.

Bob doesn’t mind giving you the bigger bedroom. He knows you like having an ensuite, plus you’ve always had more stuff than him. So every time you’ve moved, he’s happily taken whatever spare or second bedroom is left.

He waits on the couch a little while longer, until he’s sure he can no longer hear you moving around. Then he quietly turns off the TV and pads into his bathroom. He brushes his teeth, removes his glasses, and steps into the bedroom across the hall from yours, where his mattress is still lying on the floor—he hasn’t gotten around to building the bedframe yet.

He’s about to switch off the light when he hears it. That soft, familiar hum—barely audible, but impossible to mistake.

Bob Floyd knows that sound.

The sound of your vibrator, buzzing through the walls like a siren song.

He groans low in his throat, flicks off the light, then drops to his knees at the edge of the mattress. He falls forward, burying his face in the pillows, and lets out a long, quiet sigh.

He doesn’t move. Not at first. Just waits—face pressed into the cotton, heart pounding, cock already swelling thick and hot against the mattress.

Because he knows what’s coming. He always does.

Like a fucking creep, like a goddamn pervert, Bob knows exactly what happens next. And he lies there—unmoving, desperate, strung tight—just listening.

It starts small. The shift of sheets. A soft sigh. The subtle creak of your bedframe as you get comfortable.

Then the hum kicks in. Louder now. Higher. The toy you keep tucked in the top drawer of your nightstand—the one he’s heard more times than he’ll ever admit.

He knows that sound like the back of his hand. Not from seeing it—God, he wishes—but from too many nights lying in the dark, counting every soft rise in pitch, every subtle shift in tempo like it’s a fucking metronome set to ruin him.

Then your breathing shifts—sharp, shallow, soft. It’s quiet enough to pass for nothing at all. Quiet enough that you probably think no one can hear.

But Bob hears everything.

He bites into the pillow, hips slowly rolling down, the friction of the mattress nowhere near enough but still better than nothing. He grinds again… and again, slow and heavy, like he can’t stop himself—and really, he can’t.

Because he can hear you. All of you. The way you sigh, that breathy little whimper as you press the toy closer. He imagines your thighs parting, your back arching, your free hand curling into the sheets.

He groans into his pillow, hips pressing forward again—slow and deliberate—pressure dragging against his length while he pictures you wrapped around it. It’s not relief, not even close—but it’s something. It’s the only thing he has.

And he knows he shouldn’t. God, he knows. This is fucked up. You’re ten feet away, touching yourself, slowly coming apart with no idea he’s lying here, rutting helplessly against his mattress like a goddamn teenager.

But he can’t help it. He’s never been able to help it when it comes to you.

Not when he can hear you biting back a moan, shifting your hips under the covers. And then—fuck—that tiny little gasp. The one that always gives you away. That last, wrecked sound you make when you come.

He’s memorised it. Just like everything else about you.

And the second it hits his ears, he knows it’s over—and he falls apart too.

His body locks up, muscles tight, grinding hard into the mattress as his orgasm rips through him—hot, heavy, and overwhelming. He chokes on your name, burying it deep into the pillow like a secret he’ll never tell as he spills into his boxers.

It’s not graceful. It’s not pretty. It’s desperate. Messy. Shameful.

And when it’s over, he just lies there—panting, trembling, sticky and spent.

Shame curls in his stomach, guilt gnawing at the edges of his hazy thoughts. Thoughts of you, in your room, flushed and glowing with that post-orgasmic haze.

He hates himself almost instantly.

But this is who he is. This is what he does. Not just since living together or being fake-married—no, Bob has been getting off with your name on his lips for years.

Because the truth is—Bob Floyd is completely, helplessly, stupidly in love with you.

God, he wishes he wasn’t. Or better yet, he wishes he’d had the guts to ask you out all those years ago when he first met you at Lemoore. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He was too chickenshit. And now? Now he’s trapped in a fantasy you think is fake—wearing the ring, playing the role, losing his fucking mind.

And he’s the idiot who signed up for it. Who offered it.

All he’s ever wanted was to make sure you’re happy. Safe. Cared for. And if he couldn’t tell you the truth—couldn’t admit that he’s in love with you—then being your fake husband felt like the next best thing.

Even though it’s killing him. Slowly. And ruining all his boxers.

Because living with you, pretending to be married to you, is the hardest thing Bob has ever done—literally and figuratively.

He likes to think he’s good at hiding it. Hiding how he really feels.

But it’s getting more and more difficult every day, and—

Fuck. He’s stupid. He left his goddamn bedroom door wide open.

You could’ve walked out at any moment—you still could. To grab a drink. Check the front door. Or even adjust the thermostat. And the worst part? This isn’t even the first time he’s forgotten to shut it.

Just like it probably won’t be the last. Because no matter how many times he promises himself he’ll stop getting off to the sounds of you touching yourself, he always lets those breathless little noises unravel him.

Every damn time.

After a few minutes of wallowing in self-pity—and sticky underwear—Bob rolls off his mattress, grabs a clean pair of boxers, and heads into the bathroom. He cleans himself up in the dark, avoiding the lights—and his own reflection—before slipping back into his room and falling into bed.

Sleep finds him quickly, despite the guilt lingering like static under his skin, and before he knows it, the sharp ring of his alarm is dragging him upright again. He groans quietly and moves through the motions the same way he does every morning.

First, he makes a fresh pot of coffee. Then he showers, does his hair, changes into his flight suit, and heads back to the kitchen.

Your door is still shut by the time he’s lacing up his boots. He can’t hear the shower running or the muffled sound of videos playing on your phone, so he figures you’re letting yourself sleep in.

He fills his travel cup with fresh coffee before finding your favourite mug in the sink, giving it a quick rinse, and setting it beside the pot. Then he digs through his work bag for that little pad of yellow Post-it notes and scribbles out a message:

Good luck today. Remember, the boxes are more afraid of you than you are of them. ♡

He sticks it to the side of your mug, checks his pockets for keys and ID, then slips out the door—making sure to shut it quietly—smiling to himself like a loser at the thought of the text you’ll send him when you find the note.

He knows it’s ridiculous. He knows he shouldn’t indulge himself. But acting like a real husband is what keeps Bob from going completely insane. Kind of.

Leaving you notes, bringing you flowers, doing all the little domestic things a good spouse might do for their significant other—that’s what makes Bob happy. And he knows it makes you happy too. So he’s not going to stop. Not until you tell him to. Not until you stop saving all his little Post-it notes in that journal you think he doesn’t know about. The one you keep in the top drawer of your dresser, hidden beneath your lingerie.

And how does he know that?

Well—spouses do each other’s laundry. It’s completely innocent. He has absolutely no hidden agenda when it comes to offering to do your laundry. It’s not like he’s ever gotten off into a pair of your panties before.

That would be insane. Perverted, even.

Bob wouldn’t do that. No way.

“Hello?” Natasha waves a hand in front of Bob’s face. “Are you even listening?”

He blinks, vision slowly refocusing on the brunette standing in front of him. He’s not sure when she walked into the briefing room—or when she even started talking. All he knows is that, before he started daydreaming about your lingerie drawer, he was the only one in the room.

He clears his throat. “Sorry. Distracted. What were you saying?”

She folds her arms and glances around, as if checking to see if anyone else can hear what she’s about to say. “How’d the move go?”

Bob straightens a little, subtly shifting in his seat to check the room. Javy and Reuben have arrived and are seated at the back, talking about the flight schedule for the day.

He turns back to Natasha and nods. “Good. She’s still unpacking. Won’t start on base until next week.”

“You should tell Mav,” she says, sinking into the seat beside him. “You’re going to have to declare the relationship. It’ll be better coming from you. At least then you can ask him not to tell the others.”

Natasha knows about you—of course—not because Bob told her, but because she saw his ring hanging beside his dog tags during PT one time. She also spotted the polaroid he keeps of you tucked behind the threat matrix card on his kneeboard, and she put two and two together.

He hadn’t hesitated to tell her it wasn’t a traditional marriage—because he knew Natasha would understand. What he didn’t expect was for her to immediately clock that he’s in love with you. Or the way she sighed and shook her head when he told her that you didn’t feel the same and asked her to keep her mouth shut.

He knows she wants to meet you, too. He’d even say she’s dying to. But that can’t happen yet. Not until you’re properly settled on North Island and his CO knows about the relationship. Then Bob will think about telling the rest of the squad.

Or maybe he’ll just invite Natasha over for dinner and forget the rest of them entirely. Because you’re his secret—his favourite secret—and something about letting that out makes him feel nauseous.

“Good morning, aviators!” Maverick calls as he walks into the room. “Nice to see that most of you care about being here early.”

He drops his folders on the desk before powering up the digital display and pulling out his tablet.

Natasha nudges Bob in the side and tips her head toward Mav. Bob hesitates, glancing over his shoulder to see that Mickey has joined Reuben and Javy at the back, but neither Bradley nor Jake are here yet. They’re not late—but they’re cutting it close. Which means Mav won’t start right away.

Which means Bob has the perfect opportunity to speak to his CO about you.

Natasha elbows him again, harder this time, her eyes wide with warning.

“Okay,” Bob mutters, pushing up from his chair. “I’m going.”

He walks slowly up to where Maverick is scowling at his tablet, tapping the screen harder than necessary.

Bob clears his throat. “Mav. Can I talk to you for a sec?”

Maverick glances up, brow furrowing. “Of course. Everything okay?”

“Yeah—uh, yes sir,” Bob replies, dropping his voice low. “I just wanted to mention something before it comes up.”

“Okay…?” Maverick says slowly. “Is this private? Do we need to leave the room, or—”

“No, it’s okay,” Bob says, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. “I mean, it is private, but before the others get here—um.” He clears his throat again. “My wife just moved here. She’s a civilian contractor, and she’s going to be working on base.”

Maverick’s brows shoot up, but his voice stays low. “Wife?”

Bob nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Wow. Okay.”

“I’d just appreciate if you could keep it quiet,” Bob adds. “We’re not really—”

“Don’t worry.” Maverick drops a hand on Bob’s shoulder. “I get it. The squad doesn’t need to know. This is your life, your secret. Your wife.”

God, Bob loves hearing that. His wife.

“Just file the paperwork with HR, and let me know if there are any issues,” Maverick says, letting his hand drop. “If anyone questions it or gives you a hard time, send them to me. I’m not against a—um… convenient arrangement. So I’ll vouch for you, alright?”

Bob’s cheeks flush. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

Maverick nods, and Bob takes the dismissal. He turns back toward the room and is relieved to find the others still deep in conversation at the back. Only Natasha is watching him, her eyes sparkling and lips curled into a knowing smirk.

“What’d he say?” she asks as he drops into his seat.

Bob shrugs. “Not much. He understood the situation.”

“Oh?” Natasha raises a brow. “So he’s all over the fake-wife-who-you’re-secretly-obsessed-with thing?”

Bob shoots her a sidelong glare. “Shut up.”

She snorts quietly to herself but doesn’t say another word—just turns her gaze toward the digital display where Maverick is bringing up their latest sim stats.

Eventually, Jake strides into the room, with Bradley not far behind. They drop into their usual seats, and Maverick launches into the day’s briefing—something about sim times, and how they need to be tighter. Bob tries to pay attention, but his focus is shot. He stares at the screen, nodding at the right moments, jotting down a few notes here and there, but his mind is miles away.

With you. Wondering what you’re doing. Whether the unpacking is going okay. If you’ve seen his note yet. If you’ve texted him.

He’s usually better than this—better at compartmentalising, staying locked in—but something about today feels different. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re finally here. In North Island. In the apartment. In his everyday life, not just in his daydreams and text messages.

He keeps thinking about last night. The way your shirt had ridden up while you reached to shove a box into the top cupboard above the fridge. The warm stretch of bare skin, the way your hips swayed without you even realising. Or the soft little moan you let out when you bit into your chocolate bar after dinner—like it physically hurt to taste something that good. Or the way your lips wrapped around it, slow and indulgent. He shouldn't be thinking about that. But he is.

Mostly, though, he can’t stop hearing you.

That breathy, broken little sound you made in the dark. The one that slipped through the walls when you thought no one could hear. When you were touching yourself. Coming apart. And he was ten feet away, grinding against his mattress, pretending it was you.

God. What is wrong with him?

He drags a hand across his jaw and tries to focus, but it’s useless. It’s like something inside of him cracked open during the special detachment—like the distance rewired him. Like missing you for so long left something raw and exposed, and now that you’re here, in his orbit again, he can’t think about anything else.

You’re everywhere. In his apartment. In his bed—in a way. In his skin.

And no matter how hard he tries to shake it off, you're still there. Taking up every thought, every breath, every beat of his heart. More than ever. And God, he’s not sure how to deal with it anymore.

“Not hungry, Floyd?” Javy asks, pausing at the door with a small frown.

Bob blinks, quickly glancing around the now-empty briefing room—except for Javy. “Is it lunch?”

Javy chuckles. “Yeah, man. Where have you been?”

Bob takes a deep breath and pushes out of his chair, gathering his things before following his very sceptical squadmate out into the corridor.

By the time he reaches the mess hall, everyone has already grabbed lunch and settled around the usual table. Bradley and Reuben are deep in an argument about something Maverick apparently critiqued during their sim flight last week—not that Bob has any idea what it actually was—and Natasha is explaining to Mickey, for some reason, that possums do not, in fact, lay eggs. Why? No clue.

“Okay, everyone shut up,” Jake says, dropping his tray with a dramatic thud. “I have an announcement.”

The squad falls quiet—all eyes on him, brows raised, mouths shut.

“Thank you.” Jake grins. “I just wanted to let you all know that I—Jake Seresin—met the love of my life last night.”

Natasha frowns. “Are you talking about Penny’s new bartender? Because she literally told you to choke.”

“Nope,” Jake replies, unfazed. “Different woman. Grocery store. Breakfast food aisle. She was buying Pop-Tarts but looking at me like I was the tart.”

Reuben snorts. “That checks out.”

“So what happened?” Bradley asks, a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. “Did you talk to her?”

“Yep,” Jake nods. “It was magical. She was so hot, and funny too. The chemistry was insane.”

“Did you get her number?” Mickey asks.

Jake sighs. “Well, no, but—”

Bob frowns, leaning in. “What was her name?”

“Didn’t get that either.”

Bradley chuckles. “Hold on. So she’s the love of your life, but you don’t even know her name?”

“We had a connection beyond this plane of existence,” Jake insists, eyes narrowed. “I’m telling you. It was spiritual.”

“Is there anything you did find out about her?” Javy asks, clearly trying not to laugh.

Jake shrugs. “Well, she clocked me for military pretty quick, and said she doesn’t date military.”

Bob’s stomach drops. Panic creeps up the back of his neck, making the little hairs stand on end and his flight suit feel uncomfortably hot.

“She wasn’t wearing a ring, was she?” Reuben asks, grinning.

“Nope,” Jake says. “I checked. Not making that mistake a third time.”

Bob exhales quietly, relief washing over him. He remembers—very clearly—seeing your wedding ring on your finger last night. He always notices when you're wearing it. He fucking loves seeing it on you.

“Alright, Romeo,” Natasha says. “How exactly do you plan to find this mystery woman again if you don’t know anything about her?”

“I trust the universe,” Jake says, leaning back with smug confidence. “I’ll see her again. Soon. It’s destiny.”

Javy claps a hand on his shoulder. “Okay, destiny. You might want to stop talking before someone calls medical and gets you checked for a head injury.”

Jake just rolls his eyes and picks up his burger, eyeing the beef patty like it might be radioactive before finally taking a bite.

There are a few minutes of quiet while everyone starts eating their lunch. Bradley grumbles about how he should’ve picked the burger instead of the sloppy joe, and Javy mutters something to Natasha about trading his vanilla pudding for her chocolate one.

Then Reuben pipes up, loud and clear across the table. “So, Floyd… saw you whispering something real secretive to Mav this morning. What was that about?”

Bob stiffens, nearly choking on his sip of water. “What? Oh, nothing. Just… work stuff.”

“Oh yeah?” Reuben grins. “Looked like top-secret classified info. You trying to get reassigned?”

“Probably just checking if he could skip night duty next week,” Natasha says dryly, without even looking up from her pudding. “Someone’s got laundry to fold and throw pillows to rearrange.”

Bob’s eyes go wide. “I’m not—there’s no—” he splutters, flushing red as he waves a hand in mild panic. “It was literally just… paperwork.”

Javy raises a brow. “Paperwork that makes you blush like that?”

Bradley frowns, leaning forward to look at Natasha. “What are you talking about throw pillows?”

She glances up, eyes wide and brows raised—the picture of innocence. “Hm? Oh, nothing.”

Bob sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing the spot where his glasses sit. “Can we just drop it?”

“Ooh,” Mickey pipes up. “Maybe Bob has a secret love child we don’t know about.”

Reuben leans in, eyes gleaming. “Blink twice if it was about alimony.”

Bob lifts his head with a flat stare. “Do I look like I have time for children?”

“Secret love child…” Jake says slowly—thoughtfully. “Honestly, I’d believe it.”

“If Bob had a kid, don’t you think we’d know?” Bradley says, flicking a green bean across the table at Reuben.

“Exactly,” Natasha grins. “If Bob had any secrets, we’d know. Right, Bob?”

If looks could kill—or at least maim—Natasha would already be halfway to medical by now.

“Right,” Bob mutters, jaw tight.

“And if anyone had a secret love child,” she adds, gaze drifting across the table, “it’d be Hangman.”

Jake scoffs. “Why me?”

Mickey snorts. “Because you have the most sex, hands down.”

“Speak for yourself, dude,” Reuben mutters.

“Yeah,” Bradley smirks. “Seresin strikes out more than the rest of us combined.”

“Well, yeah,” Mickey chuckles. “But only because he flirts with way more women than the rest of us.”

“Again,” Natasha chimes in, “speak for yourself, Fanboy.”

There’s a chorus of oohs interlaced with laughter as Mickey rolls his eyes, cheeks going just the softest shade of pink—but Reuben notices. The teasing quickly shifts to Mickey, leaving Bob staring down at his lunch with his pulse pounding in his ears.

The next half hour passes in a blur while Bob does his absolute best not to think about you—which means, of course, you’re all he can think about. And then just as everyone starts rising from their seats, his phone buzzes with a burst of rapid-fire texts stamped with your contact name.

‘The boxes are winning. If I don’t make it, tell my husband he was too good for this world.’

‘Oh, and he’s not allowed to move on for AT LEAST two weeks.’

‘P.S. your wife says thanks for the coffee. Might reward you later with some expertly folded laundry.’

Bob’s heart lurches into his throat while all the blood in his body reroutes south. He types out a quick reply: ‘What laundry?’

“You coming, Floyd?” Natasha asks, standing on the opposite side of the table with a frown.

Bob looks up, dazed. “I—uh, yeah. I’m coming—I mean, you go. I’ll catch up.”

“Okay...” she mutters, eyeing him suspiciously as she turns to follow the others toward the tray return.

His phone pings again, lighting up with another text from you: ‘Found a pile on the floor in the bathroom and assumed it was dirty? Promise there was no creepy sniffing, and I definitely didn’t notice anything about your boxers!’

Bob lets out a strangled noise, drops his phone onto the table with a clatter, and buries his face in his hands.

Right now, he wouldn’t mind if the ground opened up and swallowed him whole. Or if a rogue fighter jet spiralled off course and obliterated the mess hall. Or if a black hole cracked open beneath his chair and sucked all of North Island into oblivion.

Except for you, of course. He’d want you to be safe.

But aside from that, he’d gladly disappear right now. Some inexplicable catastrophe would do just fine—anything to keep him from going home and facing the woman who just washed his crusty boxers. Boxers that were only crusty because of her, anyway.

And—

Oh, God. Why is he getting hard?

It doesn’t make any sense. One dumb joke about laundry and boxers and suddenly his body is acting like you sent nudes. He’s not even thinking about you like that—not really—and yet here he is, halfway to a full-blown erection in the middle of the mess hall with zero warning and absolutely no control. What the hell is wrong with him?

He shifts in his seat, eyes wide and pulse thundering in his ears as his flight suit starts pulling taut in places it absolutely should not.

If he doesn’t get moving, he’ll be late—and Maverick will ream him for it. But he can’t exactly stand up with a raging hard-on in the middle of the goddamn mess hall.

With another strangled groan, Bob white-knuckles his lunch tray and holds it right in front of him as he shoves back his chair and stands. He beelines for the tray return, drops his tray without making eye contact with a single soul, and turns sharply toward the exit.

Once he’s out the door, he yanks down the zipper of his flight suit and adjusts himself as quickly and discreetly as humanly possible.

Mercifully, there’s no one within ten feet of him—but just ahead, where the squad is walking back toward the squadron building, Bob spots Reuben glancing over his shoulder. Brows drawn. Eyes wide. Curiosity written all over his face.

And now Bob wants to die.

Great. What a fantastic Tuesday he is having.

By the time Maverick dismisses the squad at the end of the day, Bob can’t get out fast enough. He barely mumbles a goodbye before practically running out the door and across base.

He flicks you a quick text to say he’s on his way, then jumps in his car. But instead of heading straight home, he makes a stop at the little florist he passes every morning and afternoon—the one he’s been wanting to visit for months. He’s been thinking about it since you agreed to move here, picking up flowers on his way home from work like some hopeless suburban husband. It’s dumb. Ridiculous, even. But he can’t help himself. He started doing it the first week you moved in after the ‘wedding’ and now it’s a ritual. A compulsion.

He grabs a bunch of blood-red roses—because he’s romantic like that—and drives the rest of the way home, parking beside your car in the underground garage. His palms are sweating by the time he’s in the lift, and his heart won’t slow down. He feels twitchy. Wired. Like his whole body has been buzzing with anticipation since he last saw you—which, tragically, was only twenty-four hours ago.

“I’m home,” he calls as he pushes open the door, trying not to sound breathless.

The apartment already looks better than it did this morning. Fewer boxes now. The bookshelf is upright and full. The dining table is properly assembled—chairs and all. There’s a knife block, a roll of paper towel, and a candle on the kitchen bench. And right in the middle of the island—an empty glass vase. Almost like you knew.

“Bobby,” you call, ducking your head out of your bedroom door at the end of the short hallway. “Just showered. I’ll be out in a sec.”

His breath catches at the sight of you clutching a towel to your chest, damp skin glowing, droplets racing down your collarbones and disappearing between the curves of your breasts. Your hair’s wet. Your legs are bare. And for one unbearable, glorious moment, Bob forgets what language is.

His cock twitches.

“No worries,” he mutters, voice hoarse and a little too high.

You’re already gone before he even finishes speaking, but you don’t fully close the door—and his pulse kicks hard against his ribs. Because fuck, you’re naked in there.

He drops his bag like it’s on fire, kicks off his boots, and sets the flowers on the counter without even looking. Then he starts down the hall toward his room, right across from yours. His head is bowed like he’s deep in thought, but his eyes flick to that sliver of open door.

And God—he sees you.

Just a glimpse. Just enough. A stretch of skin. The slope of your back. And then you turn slightly toward the bed and—fuck. Your tits. Just there. Bare. Bouncing softly with your movement.

He lets out a strangled sound and walks face-first into his closed bedroom door with a loud thunk.

“Shit,” he hisses, clutching his forehead and praying to every saint he can think of.

Your door swings open and you step out, now holding a sweatshirt to your chest. “You okay?”

Bob can’t even look at you, his cheeks burning. “Yeah—yeah, I’m fine. Wasn’t, uh… wasn’t looking. Just tired. Mav really pushed us hard. Long day.”

“Mm,” you hum, clearly amused. “Well, Lieutenant, maybe wait until you’re in bed before you close your eyes?”

He half-laughs, half-chokes, and gives you a quick salute. “Noted. Bed first.”

Then he shoves his door open, stumbles inside, and shuts it behind him in one fast motion. He leans back against it, eyes squeezed shut, hands trembling.

His cock is hard. Painfully, unreasonably hard. Pressed tight against his flight suit with nowhere to go.

God, did you notice?

He’s pretty sure you didn’t. Otherwise, you’d be freaked out. Right?

With a deep breath, he drags the zipper of his suit down and wriggles out of it. He kicks it off his feet and leaves it crumpled on the floor before turning to face the door. Then he braces one hand against the wood while the other slips beneath the waistband of his briefs. He pushes them down slowly, deliberately, letting his hard length spring free, skin slick with the heat of anticipation.

His breath catches, shaky and uneven, as he wraps his fingers around himself. He drags slow, torturous strokes up and down, eyes squeezed shut, clinging to the vivid, forbidden image of you—wet, vulnerable, just beyond that goddamn door.

Each stroke draws a ragged gasp, the heat building low in his belly until it’s almost unbearable. His hips start to lift, chasing the mounting pressure, fingers tightening instinctively.

He imagines your voice—soft, breathy—whispering something filthy in his ear, something that would have him leaking on the spot if he dared to imagine it too loud.

His skin prickles, pulse pounding in his ears. The world shrinks until there’s nothing but his hand, the hard length in it, and this door separating you from him.

He fights to steady his frantic breath as white-hot pressure builds at the base of his cock. And just as that delicious snap of heat tears through his body—

“Hey, did you want the blue Gatorade or can I take it?” you call out.

His whole body locks up, release spilling in hot, sticky ropes against the door.

Fuck.

“A-All good,” he croaks. “You have it.”

He slumps forward, forearm pressing against the wood as his head drops with a soft thud. His dick twitches in his hand, still half-hard, still leaking.

God, this has to stop. He can’t just jerk off every time he sees so much as your shoulder.

Though, what he saw before was much more than that. But he was creeping—looking for it, trying to catch a glimpse. No, this all has to stop. Not just the wanking, but the perving too. Jesus Christ, it has to stop before you find out. Or worse—catch him.

The thought makes his spine tingle—but... not in an entirely unpleasant way.

Great. Now he’s turned on by the idea of you catching him in the act.

Maybe he needs therapy. Or maybe he should be the one getting checked for a head injury—not Jake and his grocery store destiny.

After stripping off his underwear—using them to wipe down the door, because he’s disgusting—and pulling on a pair of sweats, Bob finally steps out of his room. His cheeks are still hot, his pulse still hammering, but at this point, that’s just baseline when it comes to being around you.

“You don’t have to keep getting me flowers,” you say, smiling softly as you arrange the bouquet in the vase like you’ve done it a hundred times.

He shrugs. “Just being a good husband.”

And trying to make up for jerking off to you like a goddamn lunatic.

“Well,” you slide the vase into the middle of the kitchen island, “they’re gorgeous. Thank you.”

He gives you a small nod, lips twitching like he might smile—but then he notices what you’re wearing, and it dies immediately.

“Going out?” he asks, keeping his tone light.

“Yep,” you reply brightly. “I’ve got a date.”

His stomach drops.

“Okay, not a date,” you amend quickly. “Just a hookup. Strictly sex. But I didn’t feel like I could show up in my sweats, you know?”

Bob thinks you look stupid hot in your sweats. But right now you’re in a pair of jeans that cling to your ass and a shirt he’s pretty sure he’s never seen before, and his brain is starting to melt again.

“Hence, the nice clothes,” you add, gesturing to yourself. “I shouldn’t be late. Probably won’t even eat. So… save me some dinner?”

Bob frowns. “What dinner?”

You roll your eyes, sliding one arm into your jacket. “Whatever you decide to make. Because you’re an amazing cook. And I know you’re going to make something, because you cook every weeknight except Fridays.”

“What if I don’t feel like cooking tonight?” he mutters, feeling petulant and jealous and very much trying not to show it.

You smirk. “Okay, grumpy. Then order me some extra takeout.”

He doesn’t answer—just nods once and turns to the fridge, opening the door like whatever’s inside is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“I’ve got my location on,” you say, stopping at the front door to slip your shoes on. “Just in case the guy’s a psychopath.”

Bob glances over his shoulder. “Should I be worried?”

“Nah,” you shrug. “He’s an accountant. Boring as hell. No military ties. Didn’t even know North Island was a Navy base—thought it was Air Force.”

Bob’s eyes narrow. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you say with a laugh. “He’s up in La Jolla. I guess when you’re wealthy enough, you don’t have to worry about anything outside your little bubble.”

Bob shuts the fridge and turns to face you, frown deepening. “La Jolla’s nearly an hour away.”

“I know,” you say. “But no military, remember? Means I have to travel. And Bob, I know you don’t want to hear this—but I need sex. I’m dying. I’m falling apart. My vibrator can only do so much, but I need a real di—”

“Okay,” he cuts in quickly, eyes wide. “That’s… enough. Just go. Be safe.”

He steps up against the kitchen island, grateful that the counter is hiding his growing hard-on. Again.

You flash him a grin and pull the door open. “If I’m not back by eleven, call the cops and avenge me dramatically.” Then you step out into the corridor, waving. “Love you! Bye!”

“Love you too,” Bob mutters.

The second the door clicks shut, he collapses forward, forehead hitting the cool marble benchtop with a groan loud enough that you might’ve heard it on your way to the elevator.

Bob spends the evening doing everything he can not to be a creep. He cooks dinner, sets aside a container for you, and watches a documentary called Inside The Vatican—hoping some religious guilt might fix him.

It doesn’t.

After washing the dishes—and spending a concerning amount of time scrubbing your mug—Bob paces the apartment, trying desperately to think of anything besides jerking off. Then his eyes land on his mattress still lying on the floor, and he decides maybe building his bed will take up enough time.

Again, it doesn’t.

Once he hauls the mattress into the frame, he spends the next twenty minutes carefully rearranging the furniture in his room. Then he sits on the edge of the bed, phone in hand and stalks your location like a man possessed—willing it to move, craving nothing more than to see you heading home. But after ten minutes of nothing, he gives up.

So he decides to wash his bedsheets. He strips the mattress, hauls the bedding to the small laundry room beside his bathroom, and shoves it all into the washing machine. Once the cycle starts, he checks the dryer—and immediately regrets it.

Your bedding is crumpled up inside, still a little warm and smelling so strongly of you it makes his head spin.

He tries—he really does—to pull it out and just dump it at the foot of your unmade bed. But no. He can’t leave it like that. He has to make it. It’s what you would do for him. Because you’re not just housemates—you’re friends, you’re a good fake husband and wife. Making your bed is just a kind, domestic gesture.

That’s all.

With a deep breath, he starts unravelling your bedding. He finds the fitted sheet and drapes it over the mattress, stepping carefully around the bed to tuck it in and smooth it out. His hands move mechanically, trying to focus on the task, willing himself to keep it together.

Even though the scent of you in here is like a drug—sharp and heady, flooding his senses and making his sweatpants feel tighter by the second. But it’s fine. He’s got this. He’s in complete control.

Once the fitted sheet is on, he picks up your duvet and throws it over the mattress before smoothing it down. Then he finds the two pillowcases, picks your pillows up off the floor, and starts shoving them in.

He’s almost done—and almost proud of himself—as he drops one of the pillows at the top of the bed, closest to the side he’s on. Then he grabs the other one, leans forward to place it on the far side, and—

His cock brushes the pillow.

Just barely, but it’s enough. Enough to make heat pool at the base of his spine, to turn half-hard into fully, painfully hard in a heartbeat.

His breath catches. His fingers twitch. He tries to pull back—he means to—but his body betrays him. His hips roll forward, dragging his length against your pillow in the most delicious, dangerous way.

He groans. Loudly. And grinds down again—harder, deeper. His cock drags thick and aching against the pillow, trapped beneath the soft cotton and the cling of his sweatpants. The smell of you is everywhere—on the fabric, in his lungs, in his mouth—and it’s driving him fucking insane.

He leans forward, spreads his legs, and humps the pillow like a dog in heat. Quiet, desperate thrusts. Every inch of his skin burning. His lips part on a shaky gasp as he picks up a rhythm—slow at first, then faster, rougher.

His hands fist your duvet. The mattress creaks softly beneath him.

He grinds harder, angling his hips until the pressure hits just right, chasing friction, chasing the fantasy. You, writhing under him. You, moaning into the mattress. You, letting him rut against your thigh like a pathetic, needy animal.

His cock pulses hard against the pillow. He’s panting now, forehead damp, face twisted in agony as he thrusts deep into the softness over and over and over—

And then he’s coming. Sharp and hot and shameful, grinding through it like he never wants it to stop. His sweatpants absorb most of the mess, but some of it seeps through onto your pillow, warmth soaking into the cotton.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, scrambling upright.

He snatches the pillow off the bed and yanks the cover off. There’s only a small stain on the pillow itself, barely the size of a dime. He’ll just flip it.

He grabs the other pillow, strips its case, and bolts to the laundry, shoving both into the washer with his half-finished load. Then he makes a beeline for the linen cupboard and exhales hard when he spots a similarly coloured pair of pillowcases.

Ignoring the mess in his sweats, he returns to your room and quickly finishes making your bed with the fresh covers—flipping the soiled pillow face down—before fleeing the scene and shutting the door behind him like it might somehow seal in his shame.

He needs help. He needs therapy. He might even need religion.

At this point, he’ll take whatever divine intervention he can get, because clearly he can’t be trusted not to hump your goddamn pillow like some desperate, fucked-up freak with zero self-control.

What the hell is wrong with him? You’re his friend. His roommate. His fake wife. Not his personal fantasy to jerk off to in every room of the apartment.

But no matter how many times he tells himself to stop, no matter how disgusted he feels afterward, it’s like his body won’t listen.

It’s not just lust—it’s deeper than that. Obsessive. Addictive. He’s terrified you’re going to catch him one day and never look at him the same again. And that’s what really scares him. Not the guilt, or the shame, or even the twisted desire.

It’s the thought of losing you. Because as much as he wishes he could compartmentalise the feelings from the hormones, it’s all tangled up now. He needs you like air—like water.

Romantic or not, sexual or not—he just needs you.

So he has to stop. He has to figure out how to act normal before he fucks this whole thing up beyond repair.

After a cold shower—self-imposed punishment—and making his own bed, Bob flops onto the couch and hits play on a documentary about sea otters. Then he checks the time on his phone—and your location. Again.

He tells himself it’s just to make sure you’re safe, but his heart still leaps when he sees you’re already halfway home.

He tries to focus on the otters—really tries—but his eyes keep darting to the front door like you might materialise out of thin air. Which is stupid, because he knows exactly how far away you are. He’s watching your little blue dot crawl toward him on his phone screen like a stalker.

Thirty painstaking minutes later, the dot pulses directly over his own. Right on top of him.

He holds his breath. And when the lock finally clicks, he forces his gaze back to the TV screen—doing his best impression of someone who is totally, one hundred percent emotionally invested in a family of sea otters and not, in any way, pathetically desperate to see you walk through the door.

“I’m back,” you mutter, shoving the door open a little harder than necessary.

Bob frowns, eyes narrowing at your expression. You’ve come home from hookups before, and he knows what you look like when they’ve gone fine, or good, or even great—he hates that the most. But this? This isn’t any of those.

“Hey,” he says cautiously. “You alright?”

You scowl as you shrug out of your jacket, tossing it toward the dining table along with your keys. Then you kick off your boots and leave them lying haphazardly by the door.

“No,” you snap. “I’m not alright. That was the worst experience of my life.”

Bob’s eyes widen—and it takes everything in him not to smile. He shifts on the couch, making more room for you, and grabs the remote to pause the TV.

“What happened?”

You stomp over and drop down beside him, groaning as you fall onto your side into the throw pillows.

“He opened the door shirtless,” you start, already exasperated, “which would’ve been fine if he wasn’t holding a protein shake—and if the first thing out of his mouth wasn’t, ‘Sup, babe.’”

Bob’s brows shoot up, but he manages to not to laugh.

“Then he led me straight to his room, which reeked of feet and Axe body spray. He dropped his fucking sweats, laid down on the bed, pointed at his half-hard dick, and said—” you hold up finger quotes, “—‘The weapon awaits.’”

Bob snorts and immediately slaps a hand over his mouth.

You sit up and glare at him. “Don’t.”

He shakes his head. “Didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking it.”

“Thinking what?” he asks, all wide eyes and faux innocence.

You give him a flat look. “That I deserve it.”

He shrugs, fighting a grin. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“No, but you’re thinking it,” you mutter, settling back into the couch with your arms folded.

He chuckles softly. “Maybe a little.”

“Ugh,” you sigh, tipping your head back. “I just wanted to get laid, not be traumatised.”

Bob snorts. “Maybe don’t trust what people say on dating apps. Or drive almost an hour to hook up with a guy you’ve known less than a day.”

“I needed sex, Robert,” you say with a sidelong glance. “What else was I supposed to do?”

His heart kicks against his ribs. He wants to say me. You were supposed to do me. Your best friend. Your fake husband. The guy with a perfectly functional—and admittedly impressive—dick that is quite literally always hard for you.

He opens his mouth to reply—to say something he’ll almost definitely regret—

But you cut in first.

“He couldn’t even find my clit. I had to literally direct him—like a fucking traffic controller.” You curl your legs up beside you, muttering, “I faked it just to get out of there.”

Bob’s mouth goes dry. “Faked it?”

You nod, eyes still fixed on the frozen TV screen. “Yup.”

There’s a beat—long enough for Bob to imagine every possible thing he could say next.

But then you sigh—loudly. “I just want someone who listens. Is that really so much to ask?” You glance over at him, brows drawn. “I’m not expecting some expert sex god. Just… someone who pays attention. Enough to figure out what actually feels good.”

Bob lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah. Imagine that. Someone who listens. Really pays attention. Makes sure you finish.” He shifts awkwardly, glancing down to check that the bulge in his pants isn’t obvious. “Multiple times, even.”

“God,” you sigh. “Men like that must be a myth.”

He clenches his jaw, biting back every smartass thing echoing in his head. Now isn’t the time to make you feel worse. And it probably isn’t the time to admit that he’s been secretly in love with you for years.

Although, Bob’s not sure when the time for that would ever come.

Right now, you just need a friend. Someone to complain to. Someone to remind you that it’s not you—it’s men. They suck.

“Well,” you say, swinging your legs off the couch and pushing up. “At least I’ve got my vibrator to make up for that shitty experience.”

Bob nearly chokes.

“I’m heading to bed,” you add.

“No worries,” he mutters, giving you a tight smile. “Goodnight.”

“G’night Bobby,” you murmur, soft and sleepy, flashing him a small smile before turning away.

And God—if that isn’t a shot straight to the heart. A kill shot, to be specific.

Because you’re so warm. So sweet. And you love him so much—just not like that. He wishes it were enough. But more than anything, he wishes he could show you what you mean to him—because words wouldn’t even come close.

And fuck, he really wishes you weren’t about to lay your head on a pillow stained with his cum.

- You -

By Wednesday afternoon, just about everything is unpacked. There’s a stack of broken-down boxes by the front door, a few rubbish bags full of packing paper, and one very exhausted woman lying on the living room floor—you.

It’s only three p.m., which means Bob won’t be home for a few more hours, but after three straight days in this apartment alone, you’re starting to feel like you’re losing your mind. Sure, you’ve seen Bob in the evenings—and there was that pathetic hookup last night—but aside from that, it’s been nothing but boxes and furniture and cleaning.

You don’t necessarily need human interaction. You just need a break. A change of scenery. A coffee, maybe.

With a deep breath, you push off the floor and grab your jacket from the rack beside the door—the one you just finished assembling. You slide your arms in, slip your shoes on, and head out.

You’re not overly familiar with North Island, but you’re pretty sure you saw a nice-looking café a few blocks over. And you don’t mind a walk.

You try to take in your surroundings as you go, but it’s hard not to check out every fit man you pass. Because God, you are horny. So horny that even two rounds with your vibrator last night did nothing to loosen the knot burning low in your stomach. You need dick. Real dick. Good dick. Something hard and decently sized, attached to a reasonably attractive man who knows how to use it—someone who can fuck you stupid so you stop eyeing every guy like he’s a walking, talking slab of prime beef.

God. You don't want to admit it, but even Bob was looking good last night. With his flushed cheeks, soft messy curls, and those big blue eyes behind his adorable glasses. You were five seconds away from dragging him into your room and letting him ruin your freshly washed sheets—ones you’ll have to remember to thank him for getting out of the dryer and making your bed with. Sweet man that he is.

But Bob is too nice for you to ask something like that of him. You don’t doubt he’d be decent—probably even good. There’s something about him that tells you he’s not quite as vanilla as people think. But he’s your best friend. You can’t risk ruining a friendship and a perfectly good fake marriage just because you’re desperate to come.

Not that you think Bob would fall in love with you or anything. God, no. Bob doesn’t see you like that. You just know that arrangements like that get messy, and you love him too much to risk it.

So for now, you’ll just have to keep looking for some decent dick—something to sate the white-hot need burning behind your hipbones.

“No way.”

Your thoughts scatter like a flock of birds, reality seeping back in as you blink toward the source of the mildly familiar voice.

“Oh,” you laugh softly, cheeks already burning. “It’s you.”

The green-eyed man from the grocery store grins—and it’s so bright, so wide, you almost want to slide your sunglasses further up your nose.

“It’s you,” he echoes, just a little breathless.

That’s when you notice what he’s wearing—a tight tank, gym shorts, running shoes. His tan skin glistens with sweat, chest rising and falling too fast. He’s on a run—or at least he was.

You lift a brow. “Shouldn’t you be at work? You know, protecting and serving?”

He shrugs, bracing a hand on each hip. “My CO dismissed my squad early. Thought I’d get some PT in off-base.”

“Isn’t this whole island a base?”

He chuckles. “Technically, yeah. But I meant outside the hangar. With the ocean breeze, warm sun—” his gaze flicks down, then back up, “—pretty girls.”

You roll your eyes. “Right. Because there weren’t enough of those at the grocery store?”

You don’t wait for a comeback—you just flash him a small smirk and keep walking, gaze locked on the café at the end of the block.

“Hey, wait a second,” he says, easily falling into step beside you. “You can’t just disappear again. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since Monday night. I need to know your name.”

“Since Monday?” you glance at him, brows raised. “Wow, is this your longest relationship, then?”

He snorts but stays at your side—clearly undeterred. “Why do you assume I’m a player?”

“Seriously?” You give him a flat look. “Look at you.”

He grins. “And?”

You huff a laugh. “God, you’re a piece of work.”

“But I’m worth it.”

“I doubt that.”

“Come on,” he sighs. “Just give me a shot.”

You stop walking and turn to face him, arms folding tight across your chest. “Look. You’re hot—and you know it—but you’re also military. I have a strict rule, okay? Besides, I’m—” you pause, pulse quickening, “I’m not looking.”

He frowns. “What does that even mean?”

You glance down at your hand and instantly regret not wearing your ring today. Because as hot as this guy is—not exactly your type, but undeniably attractive—you just can’t do military. Bob would kill you.

And what better way to scare someone off than with a wedding band? But no—you left it in your car. Like always. You only wear it when you need to, and usually ditch it when there’s a chance you might run into someone worth boning. Like at the grocery store the other day. Or now—even though that was clearly a mistake.

You clear your throat. “It means thanks but no thanks. Now leave before I do something stupid.”

He grins. “What if I want you to do something stupid?”

“You don’t even know what stupid thing I’m talking about.”

He shrugs. “I’m hoping it’s something along the lines of kissing me—or worse.”

You roll your eyes again. “It’s definitely worse.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the shrill ring of his phone cuts in. He yanks the zipper on his pocket, pulls it out, and frowns at the screen.

“You should get that,” you say, nodding to the phone.

He looks up. “Wait, just—”

“See you later, pretty boy.”

You flash him one final smirk and turn on your heel, heading back the way you came—determined not to give him one more second to wear you down. You can just have coffee at home.

And honestly, at this point, he’s kind of annoying. Too persistent. Too cocky. There’s something about him that feels like one giant neon warning sign—aside from the military thing. Something deeper. Weirder. Something that feels... dangerous. And not in a fun way.

You take the first corner you reach, then the next, hoping that if you wind your way home along a complicated enough route, he won’t be able to follow you. Not that you think he would. You’re pretty sure he’s just a cocky boy—not a full-blown stalker.

It doesn’t take long to reach your apartment block, and you’re definitely feeling a hell of a lot better than when you left—coffee or not. Sometimes it really is enough to get some fresh air. Go for a walk. Touch grass. Remind yourself the world isn’t made entirely of cardboard boxes and bubble wrap.

You ride the elevator up to your floor and walk the hall, chewing your bottom lip as you wonder what to make for dinner. Bob usually cooks, but every now and then, you like to return the favour—not that it’s ever quite as good.

You slide your key into the lock, turn the handle, and—

Freeze.

A choked moan breaks through the quiet apartment. Low, needy—completely unfiltered.

What the fuck?

You ease the door open, step inside, and shut it quietly behind you. Bob’s boots are by the door, his duffel bag dropped beside the dining table, and there’s a bottle of wine on the kitchen island.

He’s home early.

Another groan curls through the air, thick and strained, and your breath catches.

You should make a sound. Slam the door. Jingle your keys. Do literally anything except stand here like a frozen creep. But you can’t. Because your pulse is racing, your mouth is dry, and that ache low in your belly is pulsing hot.

Then you hear it—soft and unmistakable—a whimper, followed by a choked, “Mmmf—fuck.”

Oh God. That’s Bob.

You swallow hard and step forward quietly. The closer you get to his bedroom, the louder it gets. Deep, unsteady breaths. The slick, rhythmic sound of skin on skin. A low gasp, a soft curse. The tiniest creak of bedsprings beneath a body working for release.

And holy shit, you're already wet—your panties soaked and sticking to you, no match for how goddamn horny you are.

You stop in the hallway, standing halfway between your bedroom door and his. The right thing would be to duck into your room, slam the door, and pretend you didn’t hear a thing.

But it’s too late. You’re too far gone. Too turned on. Your pulse is pounding, your legs feel like jelly, and you can’t pull yourself away.

Like a fucking creep, like a goddamn pervert, you lean forward and peer through the narrow crack in his door.

And stop breathing.

Bob is sprawled across his bed, one leg bent, the other stretched out. His shirt is bunched up around his ribs, sweatpants shoved low on his hips—just low enough for his hand to move.

And fuck, is it moving.

His knuckles are tight, forearm flexing, sinew rippling beneath skin. His chest rises and falls with every shallow breath, and his head is tipped back against the pillow, damp tendrils of hair sticking to his forehead.

His lips are parted. Brow furrowed. Glasses pushed halfway up his forehead like he forgot they were there.

You can see the muscles in his stomach twitch every time his hand drags up the length of his cock—thick, flushed, glistening with slick—and then back down again. Controlled. Focused. Like he’s thinking about something—someone—very specific.

He lets out a groan. Soft. Broken. And fuck, it’s... almost your name? No. No, it couldn't be. It's not. You're just imagining things. You’re horny and delirious.

And a total perv right now, but you just can’t find the will to move.

You watch as he bites down on his bottom lip, hips lifting from the mattress like he’s chasing something just out of reach.

Without thinking, you slide a hand between your thighs and press two fingers against your clit. The pressure sparks a jolt of pleasure up your spine, forcing you to bite back a whimper.

This is wrong. So wrong. You’ve never even thought about Bob like this, let alone seen him. Well—okay, maybe you’ve almost thought about it once or twice over the years, but you’ve always been able to stop yourself. Because this is Bob. Your best friend. Your sweet, kind, too-good-for-this-world best friend who—

“Sh-Shit—hnng, oh—fuck.”

—who looks so fucking hot right now.

You watch his hand speed up—just a little. Grip tighter now. Surer. He’s close, you can tell. You can see it in the way his thighs start to tense, the way his hips jerk up more urgently into his fist, how his breath starts to catch and stutter like he’s barely holding on.

You press harder against your clit, your wet panties sliding as you move your fingers in slow, torturous circles.

His back arches slightly. His other hand fists in the sheets beside him, the tendons in his arm straining. The room is filled with wet sounds and shaky breathing and the quiet thud of the headboard tapping rhythmically against the wall.

Then his mouth drops open. His brows pull tight.

You draw a shaky breath—almost silent, but not quite. Not that he could hear it over the sound of his own ragged gasps.

A long, wrecked sound slips out of him—deep in his chest, low and guttural. “F-fuck—”

Your fingers stop moving, and you just watch. Captivated. Hungry. Mouth watering at the sight you shouldn’t be seeing.

He strokes himself faster, chasing the edge, working right up to it with almost painful precision. His eyes squeeze shut, a flush rising over his chest, his cheeks, the tips of his ears.

And then he’s coming. Hard. Head thrown back, neck arched, stomach flexing so tight you can see every line of muscle. His whole body locks up—frozen in pleasure—then shudders as thick ropes spill over his knuckles, striping his hand, his abs, the hem of his shirt.

His hips twitch as he rides it out, groaning softly as aftershocks ripple through him. He slows his strokes, pumping himself through every last wave until he’s spent and breathing heavy, chest rising and falling like he’s just run ten miles.

For a moment, he just lies there—limp and boneless. One hand still curled loosely around the base of his cock, the other pressed flat to his chest like he’s grounding himself. Sweat shines on his skin. His curls are damp. His glasses are crooked.

He looks ruined. And completely, stupidly beautiful.

He’s still Bob Floyd—your best friend, housemate, fake husband. But now he’s something else too. Something you can’t unsee, can’t stop wanting. And it’s making your head spin.

You watch his eyes flutter open—and bolt. You slip into your room and ease the door shut, praying he doesn't hear the soft click behind you. Your breathing is ragged, your pulse is pounding, and you’re clenching around nothing.

God. You need something. Now.

You stumble toward the bed, stripping off your pants as you go, and drop onto the edge of the mattress. Then you yank open your nightstand drawer and reach all the way to the back—for the one toy you only use when you're desperate.

Thick silicone. Eight inches. Subtle ridges and a realistically moulded head.

Normally, it feels big in your hands. But after seeing Bob? Not even close. You’d always suspected he was packing—years of damp swim trunks and clingy grey sweatpants made it hard not to—but nothing could’ve prepared you for the reality.

Because he’s big. Cross-your-heart and have-paramedics-on-standby kind of big.

And God, you want it.

With a pitiful whimper, you collapse back onto your pillows, knees falling open. You're breathing hard, eyes squeezed shut, the image of Bob—sweaty, panting, coming hard over his own stomach—burned behind your eyelids.

You drop the toy between your thighs and glide it through your slick. You’ve never been this wet in your life—you’re sure of it. You tease your entrance, chest heaving, every nerve pulled tight—then drag it over your clit—

And moan. Loud. Raw. Desperate.

But you don’t stop. Not even as your face flushes hot with embarrassment. Not when the ache between your hips is too sharp, too deep to ignore.

You push the tip in, slowly at first, and let out a trembling gasp. It’s not him—not even close—but your body doesn’t care. Not when you’re this wet. Not when your head is full of the sound of his voice, his breath, the way he groaned like he was falling apart.

You slide it in deeper. Your hips twitch. Your fingers tremble on the base.

Your mind paints the picture so clearly it might as well be real—Bob above you, thick and flushed, eyes dark behind his glasses. He’d be gentle at first, probably ask if you were sure, if you were okay. You’d tell him to stop being sweet, and then he’d ruin you.

You fuck yourself harder.

The stretch, the angle, the slick slide of it—it’s good. Better than good. But it’s not enough. You want weight. You want heat. You want Bob’s hands on your hips, his mouth at your ear, telling you you’re doing so well.

You twist your wrist and angle the toy up, hitting just the right spot—and stars explode behind your eyes.

“F-fuck—”

Your orgasm hits like a freight train. Sharp and sudden. Your back arches off the bed, toes curling, walls fluttering tight around silicone. Your free hand fists the sheets. Your mouth drops open, and a broken sob of a moan punches out of you as you come.

It rolls through you in waves. Shudders. A full-body collapse.

You lie there for a few minutes—panting, legs still twitching, the toy slipping free as your muscles go limp. Your sheets are damp beneath you. Your chest is slick with sweat. And your brain is buzzing with images of Bob—ones you’ve never even considered until now.

Well, shit. That’s new.

With a heavy breath, you sit upright and grab the sticky toy. Guilt and panic twist in your stomach as you pad toward the ensuite—all the heat of the moment fading fast.

You need a shower—a long one. With scalding hot water. And maybe a lobotomy.

After cleaning yourself up, stripping your bed, and changing into pyjamas—it’s still early, but there’s no way in hell you’re leaving the apartment again—you finally emerge from your room.

Somewhere between washing your hair and scrubbing the shame from your skin, you decided that pretending nothing happened is the best way to go. Because technically, nothing did. You both masturbate. You’re both adults. Sexually active ones. There’s no evidence that says you were or weren’t thinking about each other.

Well—you know Bob wasn’t. He thought he was home alone.

Bob would never do something as perverted as what you just did.

But he doesn’t need to know about it. So if you act normal, then there’s no reason for him to suspect anything. Right?

“Hey,” you call lightly as you step into the kitchen.

Bob glances up from whatever he’s slicing with practiced ease. His cheeks are tinged pink, eyes slightly wide, and there’s the faintest trace of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. But otherwise, he looks… composed. Relaxed.

Well. He would, after a release like that.

“Hey,” he replies, voice even. “Didn’t hear you come home.”

Your cheeks flare with heat, but you wave it off. “Yeah, I ran straight into the shower. Went for a run and got a bit sweaty.”

He raises a brow, clearly amused. You don’t run. And you both know it.

"Right," he mutters, eyes dropping back to the chopping board.

You clear your throat and square your shoulders, determined not to let this be awkward.

“You were home early,” you say, leaning a hip against the kitchen island.

He nods. “Yeah. Maverick let us go early.”

“Oh, that was nice of him.”

Your eyes drift to the ingredients spread across the counter—chicken breasts, halved baby potatoes, fresh rosemary, a bowl of mixed greens. It’s one of his go-to dinners, the kind he could make blindfolded with one hand and still have it taste incredible.

And in the middle of it all, a bottle of wine.

“I was going to offer to cook tonight,” you say, reaching for the bottle. “Did you bring this home?”

He glances up again. “Yeah. Thought you’d like it.”

You run your eyes over the label, nodding. “Looks good. Want some?”

He nods once, without looking up, as you turn to grab two glasses from the cupboard above the bench. Then you uncork the bottle, let it breathe for a moment, and pour two generous glasses—sliding one across to him.

“Thanks,” he says, taking a sip.

The kitchen feels smaller all of a sudden. The usual easy rhythm between you is strained, like you’re both circling something neither of you wants to name.

Quiet tension stretches between you, filled only by the low hum of the fridge and the soft scrape of Bob’s knife. He doesn’t look up again, and you don’t dare look at him for too long. Instead, you swirl your wine and take slow, nervous sips until the alcohol starts to hum in your blood—and you decide to sit down.

“I’m going to put a movie on,” you say suddenly, already turning toward the living room. “Any requests?”

“I don’t mind,” he mutters. “Maybe something with action.” Then he drops his voice, low and half to himself—like he’s talking to the chicken. “And no sex scenes.”

You choke on your wine, nearly tripping over nothing on your way to the lounge.

You don’t respond. You can’t. What are you supposed to say to that?

So you just drop onto the couch, set your glass on the coffee table, and start scrolling through streaming apps—skipping anything with even a hint of romance.

You barely speak to Bob for the next twenty-four hours—and you’re pretty sure it’s the longest you’ve ever gone without properly talking to him.

It’s not that you’re avoiding him. Okay, maybe you’re avoiding him a little. But seriously, can you be blamed? You just saw your best friend’s huge dick—in action—and then proceeded to come so fast it was honestly kind of embarrassing. And now every time you blink, there he is again—sweaty, panting, flushed, wrecked. Fucking his own fist with your name almost on his tongue.

Or at least, that’s what you like to imagine he was saying.

But the worst part is the sudden, devastating realisation that Bob is hot. Not just cute. Not just objectively attractive. But actual, soul-shattering, knee-weakening, unfairly hot.

When the hell did that happen?

Maybe you’ve known it all along. Maybe you’ve just been ignoring it. Denying it.

Because you’ve always known he’s good-looking. He’s tall and broad and has that stupidly nice face with kind eyes and a soft mouth he never quite knows what to do with. But you’d written him off early. Filed him under safe. Untouchable. Your best friend. Your fake husband. Too good, too sweet. Not for you.

But now you’ve seen him. And it’s like the filter is gone. Like you’ve stepped on a landmine you didn’t even know existed and now your brain has been blown open by the truth.

Bob Floyd is possibly the hottest man on planet Earth.

He’s hot in a soft, devastating way. Hot in a slow-burn, bedroom-eyes, makes-you-feel-safe-then-fucks-you-stupid kind of way. The kind of hot that sneaks up on you. That lives under your skin. That ruins everything.

And now he’s just... existing. In your shared apartment. Doing normal things. Breathing. And you’re in a constant state of barely holding it together.

God, you’re an idiot. You need to sort yourself out—immediately—before Bob realises what a creep you’re being and everything blows up.

But first… you have to tell your contract manager that you’re married.

You’re awake before Bob’s alarm on Friday morning, but you don’t get out of bed. You just lie there in the quiet, listening to him move around, waiting until you hear the front door close behind him before throwing back the covers. Then you shower, make your bed, do your hair, and change into your clothes for the day.

The smell of fresh coffee hits you the second you open your door. And sure enough, beside the pot—with a little yellow Post-it stuck to it—is your favourite mug, freshly washed. Just like every other morning.

Made extra coffee. There’s banana bread in the fridge. See you tonight, Mrs. Floyd. ♡

Your heart kicks hard and heat swells through your chest. Everything feels different now. Heavier. Like you’ve stepped into some alternate version of your life where every little habit, every small kindness, means more than it used to.

Like you’ve been half-asleep this whole time and only just woken up to the fact that your dorky, sweet, thoughtful fake husband is also... kind of perfect.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to feel different.

Your phone pings, startling you out of your spiralling thoughts. You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly check it—a text from your contract manager asking when you’ll be on base today.

Shit. You probably should have told Bob last night that you’d be visiting base. But instead, you hid in your room pretending to be exhausted because you didn’t trust yourself to sit next to him without doing something weird.

You type out a quick reply to let your manager know you’ll be there around midday. Then you tuck your phone away, peel the little note off your mug, and pour an exceptionally large cup of coffee—because that ought to help your nerves. Right?

After coffee, banana bread, half a movie you barely register, and another coffee, you decide to go for a walk. Because you’re still thinking about Bob, and you still can’t figure out exactly what it is you’re feeling.

You do the same loop you did two days ago—same turns, same streets, same houses—before returning home with zero recollection of it because all you can think about is Bob. He’s everywhere—in your head, under your skin, stuck between your ribs.

You try to distract yourself by cleaning the already spotless apartment, but it’s no use. So by eleven a.m., you grab your wallet and keys and head out the door. Maybe you can go for a walk and get your bearings on base before meeting up with your manager. And maybe you’ll try to ogle a few other military men so you stop thinking about the one who sleeps across the hall from you.

At this point, you’ll try anything.

You go through all the usual checks when you get to base—signing in at the front office, getting your visitor’s pass, a quick vehicle inspection. Then once you’re cleared, someone calls your manager to let them know you’ve arrived, and the clerk hands you a little printed map, pointing out the best place to park for your building.

Jeannie, your contract manager, is glad you’re early—which is good. That means less time alone to spiral.

You find the building easily, and soon enough you’re sitting in a small conference room going over the details of your commencement next week.

“So,” Jeannie says, shuffling her papers into a neat pile, “you mentioned there was something you needed to flag before you start?”

You nod. “Yes—um, sorry if I should’ve mentioned this earlier, but I’m married.”

Her brows lift, as if to say and?

“My husband is an aviator,” you add. “Here. On base.”

“Oh,” she nods. “Right. That’s fine. Ideally, we’d have had it declared earlier, but it’s not a big deal. Since you don’t technically work together, and you're a civilian contractor, there’s no concern about rank. I’ll just get HR to send over the paperwork. You’ll both need to sign, as well as his Commanding Officer. It’d be best to get it squared away before Monday—do you know who his CO is?”

You feel heat crawl up the back of your neck.

“Maverick,” you reply quickly—without thinking. “Oh—sorry, I mean—”

“It’s alright,” Jeannie says, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I know who Maverick is.”

You nod, pressing your lips together while she pulls out her phone and makes the call. As she speaks to whoever’s on the other end, you quickly pull out your own phone and type a text to Bob.

‘Hey, really hoping you see this before I find you. I’m on base. Need you and Maverick to sign something. Please check your phone!’

Now you’ve done it. Not only are you on base without giving Bob a heads-up, but you’re about to have him formally acknowledge your fake marriage. A marriage his squadron doesn’t even know about.

Fuck.

“Perfect,” Jeannie says, setting her phone down. “We’ll have the forms in five. I’ll get you to read them over, then we’ll have someone escort you to Captain Mitchell’s squadron building.”

You give her a tight smile. “Thanks, Jeannie.”

She returns the smile and stands up, gathering her papers. “I’ll be back in a minute. Sit tight.”

You nod, trying not to throw up the banana bread and coffee.

“Oh,” she says, stopping halfway out the door, eyes sparkling. “A naval aviator—well done. Maverick’s squad... they’re kind of legendary.”

You laugh softly, breath catching. “Thanks. He’s—um—he’s the best.”

Then she’s gone. Out into the office, leaving you to sit and stew, staring at your phone, praying Bob texts back before you have to show up at his squadron building and ask him to declare your top-secret fake marriage in front of all his legendary colleagues.

The next fifteen minutes are a blur. An HR rep shows up, talks you through the paperwork, and asks for all the details of your marriage—when, where, how—before a junior officer knocks on the door and announces he’s ready to escort you to the Dagger Squadron’s building.

You grip the papers with shaky hands as you follow the officer through the building and out to a cart waiting by the curb. He doesn’t talk—thank God—just drives carefully across base while you sit beside him, looking like a seasick idiot on dry land.

When the cart rolls to a stop, he glances over at you. “Here we are, ma’am.”

You swallow hard. “Thanks. Do you—uh, do you come in, or...?”

“No, ma’am,” he replies. “Captain Mitchell was radioed about your visit. You’re cleared to go in.”

You nod once, breath coming in unsteady gasps as you force your feet to move. Force yourself out of the cart. Across the concrete. Toward the front entrance.

You steel your nerves and step into the building, immediately hit by the cool blast of air. Bob always whinges about how hot the flight suits get, so it makes sense that they’d keep the buildings icy.

There’s no chatter, no footsteps—just the low hum of ducted aircon and the faint rustle of paper. You follow the hallway toward the only open door in sight and quietly poke your head around the corner.

At the front of the room stands a dark-haired man in a flight suit, flicking through a little notebook. He glances up almost immediately, green eyes pinning you in place.

“Sorry,” you mutter, “I didn’t mean to interrupt—I’m looking for—”

“Floyd,” he says with a grin—a very charming grin. “Or Mrs. Floyd, should I say?”

Oh. This is Maverick.

You step into the room and straighten instinctively. “Yes, sir.”

He chuckles. “Don’t bother with the formalities. I’m Maverick. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

He crosses the room with an outstretched hand, and you shake it with tight smile.

“Your manager called ahead, said you’d be stopping by,” he says, gesturing toward the front row of chairs. “Not sure Bob knows, though. He didn’t mention anything. They’re all at lunch right now, but I could—”

“Actually,” you cut in, settling into the seat beside him, “Bob doesn’t know I’m here. I forgot to tell him I was coming, and I honestly didn’t think I’d be delivering the papers myself.”

Maverick’s brows shoot up. “Oh. So he doesn’t—?”

“Nope.”

“Alright then.” He scrubs a hand along his jaw. “Why don’t we say you’re from HR, updating his records? Think he’ll catch on?”

You nod. “Works for me.”

He grins again, and you hand over the papers, pointing out the sections needing his signature. He doesn't ask questions—just nods and signs, methodical and quiet.

Once you’ve gathered the papers back into order, he leans back in his chair and just looks at you—like you’re easier to read than a children’s book being held wide open.

“So, how’d you and Bob meet?”

“Through work,” you reply, keeping your tone even. “He was first stationed at Lemoore, where I was in systems support. We got along well, and one thing led to another… now we’re here.”

Maverick nods thoughtfully, eyes gleaming. “Been a few years then?”

“Yep.”

“And how long have you been in love?”

Your heart jumps and you glance up, blinking. “Uh… well, since we started dating, I guess.”

You’re pretty sure Bob said that Maverick knew the marriage wasn’t entirely legitimate.

Maverick lifts a brow. “Dating?”

You nod, but it’s not convincing.

He tilts his head. “I didn’t think you two dated. From what I gathered, the marriage is—”

“No way.”

Your stomach drops. Your skin prickles. The hairs on the back of your neck rise.

That voice is familiar. Sickeningly familiar.

“It’s you.”

You turn your head slowly, dread pooling in your gut.

And there he is. The guy from the grocery store—sun-kissed and smug, all lazy confidence in his flight suit as he leans one shoulder against the doorframe. A group of aviators lingers behind him, peering into the room with furrowed brows and curious eyes.

Your stomach lurches.

“I knew it was fate,” he says with a grin.

“What’s fate?” one of the others pipes up.

“Move your ass, Bagman,” a woman’s voice snaps.

Bagman?

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Your face is on fire. You can feel it—hot and prickling, crawling down your neck and up behind your ears. You try to speak, to move—to do anything—but your body has entered fight-or-flight mode and apparently chosen freeze.

Maverick glances between you, brow raised. “You two know each other?”

The guy—Bagman, apparently—just chuckles. “Yeah, we’ve run into each other a few times.”

“Hangman, move,” says a tall, moustached man, shoving his squadmate aside.

Oh no... Hangman?

You know Hangman. Bob’s told you about Hangman.

Cocky Hangman and his reckless flying.

Womaniser Hangman with his endless string of conquests.

Pain-in-the-ass Hangman—who just so happens to be a member of the Dagger Squadron. Bob’s squad.

Holy fuck. How could you have screwed up this badly?

“Hangman?” you echo, your voice cracking.

He nods, green eyes gleaming as he steps aside to let the rest of the squad through.

The moustached man—Rooster, you recognise—frowns at you, curiosity carved into every line of his face. A woman follows close behind, scowling at Hangman—you’re guessing she’s Phoenix. Then two tall men step in, both looking confused, followed by a shorter one bringing up the rear.

And then—

Bob.

He steps through the doorway—

And freezes.

His eyes go wide. His whole body locks up like he’s been hit with a tranquiliser dart. The colour drains from his face so fast it’s a miracle he’s still upright.

The silence is deafening.

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Nothing comes out.

Maverick slowly leans back in his chair. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Hangman clasps his hands behind his back like he’s about to give a formal speech, stepping toward you with an oblivious smirk stretched across his face.

“Phoenix and gentleman,” he starts, “I would like to introduce you all to my future wife.”

Maverick chokes beside you.

“A mere five days ago, I first laid eyes on this stunning woman in the grocery store. There I was, minding my own business, and boom—she appears. Like a hot, pissed-off angel, scowling at me because I interrupted her Pop-Tart selection process. And right then and there, I knew this was the woman of my dreams.”

“You say that about every woman,” Phoenix mutters, rolling her eyes.

Rooster smirks. “He hasn't said it about another woman since Monday, though.”

“Exactly,” Hangman says. “Ask Coyote. This is the one. I felt it in my loins.”

“You’re disgusting,” Phoenix sighs.

The tallest one tilts his head. “Wait, wait, wait. Are we talking about the same woman you said was stalking you?”

“She wasn’t stalking me,” Hangman says quickly. “That was a joke.”

Phoenix scoffs. “It wasn’t funny.”

“Everything I say is funny.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m a delight, and I’ll have you know—”

“Hangman,” Coyote cuts in, raising a brow. “Maybe... shut up for once?”

You’re still frozen in your chair, eyes locked on Bob—who hasn’t moved a single muscle since he walked in. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t blinked. You might not have either.

Your cheeks are burning. You can feel them. But Bob—Bob is going scarlet.

It starts in his ears, then spreads rapidly down his neck and across his cheeks. He looks like a man being slow-roasted from the inside out. His fists are clenched at his sides, shoulders stiff beneath his flight suit—and when Hangman shoots you another wink and starts to open his mouth again—you’re genuinely worried he might blow his carotid.

He looks furious. Downright murderous.

At first, you thought it might be at you.

But... his dark blue eyes are locked on Hangman.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” Hangman says, stepping even closer as his eyes drag over you without a hint of shame, “are you free for dinner, or do you prefer a brunch-with-champagne kind of thing? Because I’ll happily rearrange my entire schedule just to watch you eat a strawberry.”

You glance sideways—just in time to catch the tick in Bob’s jaw. His gaze hasn’t moved. His whole face is red now, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast, his hands curled into fists like he’s physically restraining himself.

And something about it—about him—pulls tight in your chest.

Because he looks... wrecked. Quietly, furiously wrecked.

Not embarrassed. Not confused. Not oh-God-my-squad-found-out. But furious. At Hangman. For flirting with you.

Your stomach swoops.

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Because Bob Floyd is jealous.

The same Bob who brings you coffee every morning. Who washes your favourite mug. Who brings you roses and wine after work, just because. Who smiled so sweetly the day he suggested this marriage, like it was the easiest thing in the world to do for you. The same Bob who hasn’t blinked since Hangman called you the woman of his dreams.

A small voice whispers in your head—he loves you.

And for a second, you almost believe it.

Your heart thuds loud in your ears. Your mouth goes dry. You want to look away, to break the spell, but you can’t. Not when the truth is burning so bright between you it feels like the rest of the room has fallen away.

He loves you.

“Listen,” you say, voice shaky as you stand up, “Hangman, I—”

“Call me Jake, darlin’,” he cuts in, smooth as ever with that Southern drawl. “I never did get your name, though. Wanna finally tell me what it is?”

There’s a pause—a brief silence. A collective held breath as the room waits for you to respond.

You swallow hard and step forward.

“Floyd,” you say, voice firm. “My name’s Floyd.”

Hangman’s smirk drops. His brows pull tight, confusion flickering behind his green eyes.

There’s a gasp. A chuckle.

“Holy shit,” Phoenix mutters.

But none of it matters.

Because the look on Bob’s face is enough to make your heart stop.

His eyes are wide and locked on you like he misheard—like he can’t quite believe what he heard. His lips part. His shoulders relax. He visibly exhales—only for his breath to catch on the way back in. His gaze darts to Hangman, just briefly, then snaps straight back to you. He closes his mouth, swallows hard, and unclenches his fists.

He looks… nervous. Unsure. Like he wants to be relieved by what you just said, but doesn’t know how. Doesn’t know what happens next.

But you do.

In three quick strides, you’re standing in front of him. You glance up, breath shaky, heart pounding. Your fingers curl into the collar of his flight suit—and you pull him down.

His mouth crashes into yours, hard and hungry, and the world falls out from under you. His hands hover for half a second, like he doesn’t believe this is real—then they grip your hips, hard. Fingers digging in. Burning through the denim.

The kiss isn’t soft. It isn’t sweet. It’s desperate. Messy. All heat and drool and pent-up longing—like months, years, of tension finally snapping loose in a single, earth-shattering moment.

You gasp against him and he groans into your mouth, hands sliding up to your waist, pulling you flush against him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Someone whistles. Someone else mutters Jesus Christ. But none of it registers.

You’re already gone.

Lost in the feel of him—his mouth, his hands, the warm solid weight of him pressed tight to yours. Your hands slip into his hair, tugging just enough to drag another sound from his throat. He kisses you harder. Like he’s starving. Like he’s making up for every second he didn’t.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard.

Bob’s eyes are dazed. Wide. A little wild.

“Wait,” one of the other men says—the shorter one, “Bob’s married?”

The taller one chuckles. “Bob bagged a baddie.”

“A baddie?” Maverick echoes, voice laced with confusion.

“My future wife is... Bob’s wife?” Hangman says slowly.

His friend—Coyote—snorts. “That’s not your future wife, man. That’s the mother of Bob’s children in T-minus nine months from tonight.”

Your cheeks burn impossibly hot as you carefully untangle your limbs from Bob’s. He looks absolutely wrecked—but in a good way now. In a way that makes you want to beg Maverick to let him leave early. With you. So you can take him home and wreck him just a little more.

Maverick clears his throat. “Well. Now that that’s all cleared up... Bob, you need to sign some paperwork to formally disclose your relationship.”

Bob gives you a soft, dopey smile before heading over to where Maverick is. The loss of his heat leaves you feeling cold—almost empty—but you don’t have time to dwell on it because the rest of the squad immediately closes in.

“I’m Fanboy,” the shortest one says with a brilliant grin.

You smile and nod, still too dazed to speak.

“Payback,” the taller one says.

Then Phoenix steps forward. “You probably already know who I am.”

You laugh softly, nodding again.

“Coyote,” the guy behind her chimes in.

“She was almost Mrs. Hangman,” Jake mutters, still sulking behind the group. “What could’ve been…”

Coyote elbows him. “She literally never agreed to that.”

“Details,” he sighs wistfully.

Rooster slings an arm over your shoulder, leaning in a little. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll move on tomorrow night.” Then he flashes you a smirk. “I’m Rooster, by the way.”

You blink up at him, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. “These are your callsigns, right?”

Phoenix nods, opening her mouth to reply when—

“Okay, that’s enough,” Bob says, cutting through the group and grabbing your hand. “She has to go now.”

“Aw, no,” Fanboy whines. “I want to get to know Mrs. Floyd.”

“Too bad,” Bob mutters, pulling you toward the door.

You give them all a little smile, waving over your shoulder. “Bye. It was nice to meet you all.”

There’s a chorus of byes and teasing words, but above the noise you hear Phoenix shout, “Thank you for embarrassing Hangman!”

You snort as Bob leads you into the hall, stopping a few feet from the door.

“I can’t be long,” he says, a little breathless. “So we can talk at home—yeah?”

Your stomach twists—half-giddy, half-anxious.

You nod. “Yeah. At home. Get back to work.”

He nods, eyes flicking between yours and your lips. There’s a taut second of silence—nothing but the sound of your shaky, shallow breaths as you stare at each other.

Then—

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning in and kissing you again.

And God, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to this—his mouth on yours. Soft but sure. Sweet but possessive. Like he’s claiming you, gently and completely. It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. And you don’t want to feel anyone else’s. You’d happily spend the rest of your life doing nothing but kissing Bob Floyd.

He pulls away too quickly, and you lean after him a little—desperate for more.

He chuckles, soft and low. “I’ll see you at home.”

You swallow and nod. “Okay. See you at home.”

Then he’s gone—and you’re left standing in the corridor of the squadron building, listening to his team tease him while your head spins, your heart hammers, and that ache between your legs pulses with every breath.

You don’t remember the walk back to the car. Don’t remember the drive home or climbing the stairs or unlocking the front door. It’s all a blur—just background noise to the steady thrum of want under your skin.

Because now that you’ve had a taste of him—of his mouth, his hands, the sound he made when he kissed you like it hurt—there’s no coming back from it.

You feel wrung out. Strung tight. One spark away from coming undone entirely.

Bob Floyd kissed you like he meant it. Like he needed it. Like he’d been dying to.

And now you can’t stop picturing it—his mouth trailing lower. His hands under your clothes. The way he’d sound when he groans your name against your skin. You wonder what his fingers feel like when he’s not trying to be polite. When he’s not holding back. When he’s desperate.

God, you want him desperate.

You want to see what happens when all that quiet control snaps.

You want him panting and flushed, cursing under his breath as he pushes into you—slow at first, then rough, then reckless. You want to hear him fall apart. You want to make him.

You want to pull his flight suit down and wrap your legs around his waist and feel him groan into your mouth as you whisper filthy things for only him to hear.

You want to know if he’s loud. If he talks. If he begs.

You want to be sore tomorrow.

You want him sweaty and wild and undone.

You want him to love you too. Soft and quiet. In the domestic, steady way he already does.

But first—you want him to ruin you.

Thoroughly. Desperately. Completely.

After pacing the apartment for a good thirty minutes, you start busying yourself by preparing dinner—because it’s the only thing you can think to do. You decide to make spaghetti and meatballs, from scratch. Which means a good few hours of kneading dough, cutting pasta, rolling meatballs—not thinking about anything else—and simmering sauce.

At six p.m., you get a text from Bob letting you know that he’s on his way home—and you panic. You jump in the shower, scrub yourself from head to toe, and change into the laciest pair of panties you own. No bra. Just one of Bob’s old sweatshirts and a pair of loose lounge shorts.

Then you’re back in the kitchen, stirring the sauce, making sure it doesn’t boil, and pouring yourself a nip of whiskey. Or two. For the nerves.

You set the table with matching plates, cloth napkins, two tall candles, and your vase of roses in the centre. The sun spills through the far window, bathing the whole open-plan living area in a warm orange glow, and then—

You hear the lock click. And it feels like a powerline just snapped.

You face the door, standing between the kitchen and the dining area, hands curled at your sides and heart hammering in your chest.

He steps inside—and your breath catches.

He’s so beautiful. And you feel stupid for not noticing it sooner.

Tonight, there are no flowers. No wine. Just Bob—in his flight suit—cheeks pink, eyes dark, something unreadable simmering behind them.

“Hey,” you say, a little unsteady. “Hungry?”

He takes a deep breath, eyes flicking toward the table, then back to you.

“Starving,” he mumbles, dropping his bag to the floor.

You swallow hard. “I know you said we’d talk about today, so I thought I’d set the table and—”

“Talking’ll take too much time,” he says, voice soft, just a little rough. “I think I just better show you.”

Before you can speak—before you can even breathe—he’s moving.

Three long strides. One hand sliding into your hair, the other curling around your waist, and his mouth is on yours.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a claim. Hot and desperate and all teeth and tongue, like he’s been starving for you and finally gave in. You can taste the whiskey you drank earlier on his tongue, and wonder if he does too, the way his mouth groans softly against yours.

He kisses you like a man undone. Not rushed—but hungry. Like he’s trying to get closer than your skin will allow.

Your hands fist in the front of his flight suit, dragging him in until there’s no space left between you. His lips part yours with ease, tongue sliding against yours with a low sound in his throat that sends heat pooling between your legs.

His grip tightens at your waist. You gasp against his mouth and he swallows it, angling your face back, pressing closer—until the edge of the table digs into your hips.

“You taste like whiskey,” he breathes, voice hoarse, lips brushing yours.

You nod faintly. “Took a shot… before.”

He huffs a half-laugh, his nose nudging yours. “Why?”

“Nervous,” you murmur, cheeks burning.

He lets out a broken little groan, then kisses you again, harder this time—deeper. His fingers dig into your waist, anchoring you like he needs the grounding. You gasp into his mouth, gripping the front of his flight suit like it’s the only thing keeping you upright, as he crowds in, the edge of the table biting into your hips.

His breath shudders. His forehead rests against yours for the briefest second before he says, low and wrecked, “I want you in the worst way.”

Your stomach flips violently. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his flight suit, grounding yourself in him—in this.

He kisses you again—slower now, but just as deep. His hands are everywhere, mapping your curves like he’s learning them, like he wants to memorise the exact feel of you under his palms. The tension is humming in the air, sparking down your spine, and when his hands slide beneath the hem of your sweatshirt to knead at the bare skin of your waist, your whole body jolts.

Then his lips trail down—jaw, throat, collarbone—and you whimper, tilting your head to give him more. But he pauses, mouth hovering over your neck, eyes flicking to the table behind you.

“Do you wanna put away anything that’ll break?” he murmurs, breath warm against your skin.

You look at him—his swollen lips, his flushed cheeks, the raw need burning in his eyes—and shake your head.

“No,” you whisper. “I don’t care.”

That’s all he needs.

He crashes into you again, mouth hot and hungry, pushing you back until your hands scramble for balance on the table’s edge. One of the cloth napkins slips to the floor. The candles rattle. The vase of roses wobbles precariously—but neither of you cares.

Because nothing else matters now.

His hands skim down your sides, then grip tight just below your ass. He leans in and kisses your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—lips dragging over skin like he can’t get enough—before he murmurs, rough and breathless, “Up.”

You barely nod before he lifts you, strong arms sliding beneath your thighs to boost you onto the table like you weigh nothing. You scoot back instinctively, the wood cool under your skin, and his hands follow—pressing your knees apart as he steps between them, eyes burning.

“You have no idea, do you?” he says, voice low and awed. “How long I’ve wanted this. How long I’ve wanted you.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. There’s no time. He’s already kissing you again, deeper this time, messier, until you’re dizzy from it—until a wine glass tips behind you and crashes to the floor.

You flinch. He doesn’t.

“Leave it,” he mutters, lips brushing yours.

Then he drops to his knees.

Your breath catches as his hands glide down your bare legs. He looks up at you like he’s about to pray—and maybe he is. Then one hand trails back up your thigh, slow and reverent, until his fingers hook beneath your panties and shorts and ease them down—so gently it feels like a sin.

“Been thinkin’ about this for years,” he says softly, almost to himself. “Thought about it the second I first saw you.”

His hands urge your legs wider.

And then his mouth is on you.

You gasp, eyes fluttering shut, head tipping back as heat blooms low and fast. He’s slow at first—teasing, licking—then deeper, hungrier. Like he’s starving. Like he’s waited forever for this moment. He moans against you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted—and it sends a jolt straight through your core.

He murmurs sweet, filthy things between licks—how good you taste, how soft you are, how bad he wants you to fall apart just for him. His glasses sit crooked on his nose, fogged at the edges, barely hanging on as he stares up at you with those wide, hungry eyes. His cheeks are slick with your arousal, his mouth wet and shining with it—and God, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, voice muffled and wrecked. “Can’t believe this is mine. You’re mine, aren’t you?”

And something about the way he says it makes your chest ache. It’s not just the heat or the moment—he needs to hear it. Needs to know that you’re his. That you belong to him.

Your fingers sink into his hair, trembling. “Yes.”

“Say it again,” he breathes.

“Yours,” you gasp, legs shaking.

“That’s right,” he says, mouth back on you, tongue pressing firm and flat. “That’s my girl.”

Your back arches. Your fingers tighten in his hair, nails scraping just a little, and he groans—low and wrecked—like he loves it. Like your pleasure is the only thing keeping him alive.

He keeps licking, firm and slow, then fast and relentless. A rhythm just for you. His tongue circles your clit, flicks it, presses flat and purposeful, then sucks softly—just enough to make your hips jerk. Your thighs tremble around his shoulders, your whole body coiling tighter and tighter, every nerve strung like wire.

“Bob—” you gasp, hips tilting forward, chasing more, needing more.

His hands curl under your thighs, anchoring you, holding you open like you’re precious—like he’s worshipping. His mouth never stops. He sucks, licks, flicks, groans, whispers your name like a prayer between filthy praises. And it’s too much. It’s not enough.

The pressure builds like fire in your belly. Your legs start to shake. You feel it spike—sharp and blinding.

You’re right there—right at the edge—and then he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, just hard enough.

White-hot pleasure rips through you. Your body jerks, a strangled cry catching in your throat as you come apart against his mouth—shuddering, gasping, twitching, every muscle tightening then breaking.

And he doesn’t stop.

He licks you through it, slow and steady, his tongue gentle now but insistent, teasing more from you even as your whole body trembles. You’re whimpering, breathless and wrung out, your body slack and oversensitive—but not sated. Not even close.

“Bob,” you whisper, voice ragged. “Baby.”

Your hands reach for him, tugging at the collar of his flight suit, urging him up. He rises slowly, eyes never leaving yours—flushed and panting, his face slick with your arousal. His glasses are fogged and crooked, and you slide them gently from his nose, setting them aside before cupping his flushed cheeks.

He looks wrecked. Worshipful. Dark eyes devouring you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted.

“You still want—” he starts, voice hoarse.

“I need you,” you breathe, cutting him off. “Now.”

That’s all it takes. His hands fly to his zipper, clumsy and urgent as he peels himself out of the flight suit—shoulders, chest, hips—until he’s stepping out of it completely. His undershirt goes next, flung aside without a thought.

You pull your sweatshirt over your head and toss it away. Nothing underneath. Nothing between you.

He stares.

For a moment, he just drinks you in, chest heaving, eyes glazed with disbelief and hunger. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice low and reverent. “You’re so—fuck—”

You don’t give him time to finish. You reach for him, pull him closer. He steps between your thighs, still in his briefs, and his mouth finds your breasts—soft, wet kisses and open-mouthed licks, tongue flicking over one nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

Your head drops back with a soft cry, fingers tangling in his hair again as heat coils sharp and fast inside you. His cock grinds against your soaked core, separated only by thin cotton, and you feel the sheer size of him even through the fabric.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Take them off.”

But your hands are already moving—slipping between you, tugging at the band of his briefs. You shove them down, and he helps, kicking them away—and then he’s bare, hot, and hard and impossibly thick.

Your breath stutters.

Your fingers wrap around him, shaky and reverent—and you can’t even close them all the way. Your mouth goes dry. Your whole body tightens.

“Oh my god, Bob,” you whisper.

He leans in close, forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged.

“I know,” he murmurs, voice raw and tender. “But you can take it. I know you can. You’re so fucking ready for me, sweetheart.”

And you are—dripping onto the table, slick and aching and pulsing with want. You shift your hips, lining him up, desperate to feel him. Every inch of your body is on fire, begging for the stretch, the pressure, the fullness.

He reaches down, one hand on your thigh, the other guiding himself to your entrance—and his tip just barely nudges against you, slick and hot.

Your breath hitches.

Your eyes meet his—wide, pleading.

“Please,” you whisper. “I need you.”

He groans—deep and guttural—and begins to push in.

You gasp as the tip breaches you—hot and thick and already stretching you more than you thought possible.

“Oh fuck,” you whisper, clinging to his shoulders. “You’re so big—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple, breath shuddering. “We’ll go slow.”

And he does—inch by agonising inch, letting you adjust. Letting your body yield to him.

Your nails dig into his back as you breathe through it, chest rising and falling with every trembling inhale. The stretch burns, pressure building low and tight, but it’s good. It’s so good. Too good.

He’s panting against your neck, forehead pressed to your skin. “So tight, baby,” he groans. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

He pauses, buried only halfway, chest heaving. You can feel him throbbing inside you, feel every twitch, every inch still waiting to sink deeper.

“Can I keep going?” he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod quickly—too quickly. “Please, Bobby. Need all of you.”

He kisses you—slow and deep—and presses in again.

You moan into his mouth, high and breathless, clenching around him as he sinks deeper, deeper still, the fullness dizzying. Your thighs tremble around his waist. Your whole body shudders.

“Almost there,” he whispers. “Just a little more. You’re taking me so fucking well.”

And finally—finally—his hips press flush to yours.

You both freeze.

The air between you stills, hot and heavy. You can feel your pulse in your throat. Between your legs. Everywhere. He’s completely inside of you—thick and deep and overwhelming—and you’ve never felt so full in your life.

You cling to him, fingers digging into his arms, heart pounding out of control.

And then it hits you.

The feeling. The weight of it. The way your body holds him like it was always meant to. The way your chest aches with something so fierce and raw it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I love you,” you whisper—it slips out like a secret you’ve kept too long. “Oh my god, I love you.”

He goes still—completely still.

Your chest tightens. For one agonising second, you think maybe you’ve ruined it.

But then—

He looks at you like you’ve just handed him the whole damn world.

“I love you so fucking much,” he breathes.

And then his hips draw back—and snap forward, hard.

You both cry out.

Your head drops back. His name spills from your lips in a broken moan. It’s too much and not enough all at once—him, everywhere, holding you, filling you, claiming you in the deepest, most perfect way.

His hands grip your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. Like he needs to anchor himself inside you. And all you can do is hold on—eyes wide, chest split open, heart bared—because this? This is everything.

He is everything.

Your gasp tears through the air the second he thrusts in again, a raw, desperate sound as your back arches and your nails drag across his shoulders. The stretch is relentless, searing, addictive. You’ve never felt anything like it—so full, so deep, like he’s carved out space inside you and claimed it all for himself.

“Jesus,” he groans, head falling to your shoulder. “You feel—fuck—you feel unreal.”

The table jerks under you as he pulls back, just an inch, then sinks in again. Slow. Measured. But it still punches the breath from your lungs. You can feel every inch of him, every thick pulse of his cock dragging against your walls, and it’s almost too much. Almost.

But you don’t want almost. You want all of him. Ruin and worship. Love and filth.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper, voice trembling. “Bob, please—don’t stop.”

His mouth finds your throat, your jaw, your lips—kissing like a man gone feral. Like he needs you to breathe. One hand fists in your hair, the other gripping your thigh, pushing it up, opening you wider. The next thrust is harder. The table rattles. A plate clatters to the floor.

“Gonna break the fucking table,” he mutters into your skin, almost in awe, like he can’t believe this is real. His voice is wrecked—low and ragged—completely undone.

“Let it break,” you choke out. “Just don’t you dare stop.”

He growls—growls—and his pace picks up. The sound of skin on skin is loud, messy, perfect. His pelvis slaps yours, the rhythm brutal and sweet all at once. Your slick coats him, soaking the tops of your thighs, dripping onto the damn table, and still—it’s not enough. You want more. You want everything.

“Touch me,” you beg, voice breaking. “Bob, I—please—”

His hand drops between your bodies instantly, fingers finding your clit like he was born knowing where to touch you. He rubs tight, filthy circles, and your vision whites out. Your head falls back. A loud moan rips from your chest.

“That’s it,” he pants, watching your face like he’s memorising it. “Come on. Let me feel you. Let me have it.”

The table shudders with every thrust. Something else crashes to the floor, but you barely register it over the thunder of your own heartbeat and the filthy, perfect sounds of him fucking you.

His cock drags deep, perfect pressure against every spot inside you. And that heat—God, that unbearable, beautiful heat—builds fast. Sharp and coiled, like lightning in your spine.

“Close,” you gasp. “I’m—I’m so close—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, kissing the edge of your mouth, then your cheek, then your temple. “Always got you.”

He’s getting close. You can feel it—his rhythm falters, his breathing shatters. And then his arms wrap tight around you, strong and shaking, and he murmurs into your hair, “Lay back for me, baby—just like that, I’ve got you.”

He eases you down against the table—one hand cradling the back of your head, the other gripping your thigh. The wood is cool against your spine, but his body follows, hot and heavy and trembling as he slides back in, deeper than before. A new angle. A devastating one.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan as he bottoms out—so deep it feels like he’s pressing inside your stomach. And then you feel it—his hand trailing down to your lower belly, palm flattening gently just above your pelvis.

“Feel that?” he rasps. “That’s me, baby. Right here.”

You nod frantically, eyes glassy. “Bob—fuck—please—don’t stop—”

“I’m not stopping,” he swears, voice low and cracked. “Not until I feel you fall apart around me. Not until I know you’re mine.”

Your body arches, legs trembling, hips chasing his thrusts. His cock hits that spot over and over again, rubbing just right, the pressure building like a storm. His fingers return to your clit—slick and practiced—and that’s all it takes.

The vase topples.

Water spills across the table, soaking the cloth, flooding under your shoulders—but you hardly notice. All you can feel is him. All you can hear is your name on his lips, the slap of skin, the scrape of the table legs against the tile.

“Come with me,” he grits, forehead against yours. “Right now. Let go for me—come on—”

The coil inside you snaps. Your second orgasm tears through you like a live wire, white-hot and all-consuming. You cry out—shaking, clenching, blinded by heat. And a heartbeat later, he follows—spilling inside you with a hoarse, broken moan, his hips stuttering, his whole body seizing with it.

The stove beeps. There’s a pop. Then a low whoosh.

Flames flicker—and the smoke alarm blares.

You both freeze—panting, sweating, still locked together—then slowly dissolve into breathless, messy laughter. He doesn’t move. Just leans in, presses a kiss to your damp forehead, and murmurs against your skin, “I love you.” Then another, softer kiss to your lips. “So much.”

He pulls out—slow, careful—and helps you sit up. You glance over at the little fire crackling in the pot on the stove, eyes going wide.

“Shit,” you breathe, still dazed. “We—We should fix that.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, like it physically pains him to let you go. “Yeah, we should.”

Stark naked, skin slick with sweat, and cum still dribbling down your sore thighs, you hurry into the kitchen. Bob is right behind you, sliding his glasses back on as he grabs a dish towel and tosses it in the sink. You try not to stare—try not to drink in the sight of him standing there like some Michelangelo sculpture come to life—but it’s useless. The way the light catches his bare skin, the way his muscles flex as he soaks the towel until it’s nothing but a dripping rag—it’s impossible not to look.

When he turns, cheeks pink, lips glossy, eyes glazed—he smirks. Bob Floyd actually smirks.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, voice rough and teasing.

You bite your lip, drop your gaze, then drag it back up, slow and deliberate. “Just my hot as fuck husband.”

His blush deepens, and it makes you giggle. That man just fucked you so good your knees are shaking, but this—a compliment—makes him blush?

“Watch out,” he murmurs, wringing out the towel.

You step aside as he lifts the pot lid and smothers the flames. Then he checks the oven, flicks off the stove, and turns back to you, smoke alarm still blaring overhead like it’s part of your own personal soundtrack.

“I’m sorry,” you say, even as a grin tugs at your lips. “Want to get takeout?”

He shakes his head. “I think I’d rather have something else.”

Before you can blink—or even breathe—his hands are on you, sliding under your thighs and lifting you effortlessly until you’re perched on the cold kitchen counter. The marble bites into your skin, but you don’t care. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, your slick core pressing to the heat of his stomach. Your bodies flush together, skin igniting where you touch.

You card your fingers through his damp hair, eyes locking on his behind smudged glasses. “I have to tell you something,” you admit, butterflies swirling fiercely in your stomach.

His brows pull together. “What is it?”

You swallow. “I—um, I saw you the other day. When you thought you were home alone... jerking off.”

His frown fades, but his face stays carefully blank—too blank. Not scandalised. Not surprised. Just watching you.

Then he nods. “I thought so.”

You blink. “You’re not creeped out?”

“No,” he says simply, shaking his head.

“Even though I made myself cum after watching you?”

His laugh is soft, low. His breath ghosts across your skin as he ducks his head, hiding his smile in the curve of your shoulder. “I’m not creeped out.”

His lips brush your neck. “There are things I want to tell you too,” he murmurs, then leans back, eyes piercing. “But first…” His hands tighten on your hips. “Let’s see how much love we can make.”

Then he’s on you again—lips, tongue, teeth, hands—everywhere. He kisses like he’s starving, touches like he’s claiming. And though you’re aching to hear what he has to say, to dig into all that’s just erupted between you… right now, none of that matters.

Because Bob Floyd—your best friend, your fake husband, your everything—is about to ruin you all over again.

And you’re going to let him. Happily. Absolutely. Again. And again. And again.

#bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #robert 'bob' floyd x reader #lewis pullman x reader #top gun x reader #top gun: maverick #bob floyd #robert 'bob' floyd #lewis pullman #fanfic #fanfiction #imagine #oneshot #one shot #hangman #rooster #top gun #maverick

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kianamaiart · 3 days ago

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Is the fame sometimes overwhelming for you? While I would kill that type of follower count,I don't think I could handle that much of an audience lol.(Not the same anon btw)

Definitely. I'm grateful for the audience I have but I do feel a lot of pressure and a lot of eyes. And as positive as the attention can be, it will always bring negative attention as well. Idk where the threshold is but there's a point where people online stop treating you like a person and more like a company or an entity. I don't love being the center of think pieces or coming across random posts from people just openly saying they hate my guts or dislike my work and especially don't like people making assumptions about my character. People suddenly care about my opinion more when I didn't ask to be an authority or public figure of every sort. At the end of the day I am just an artist who happens to have a lot of other people following me and I'm still not sure why that makes my opinion "more valid" or "important" than anyone else's. Then there's the added layer of being Black and Asian and queer AND a woman on the internet with a platform. There's this thing that happens with any minority that becomes a sort of public figure where you're suddenly the spokesperson for entire communities and your successes and failures reflect on the community as a whole.

It's caused me a lot of anxiety over the years and I can't interact with or use social media the same way I used to. Other than on here, I do have a sort of "post and leave" policy which is unfortunate because I really did enjoy talking to friends and interacting with people more. But it scares me knowing that people are screenshotting and archiving EVERYTHING I say.

As happy and excited I am at the success of idwtbamg and how much people liked it, it also really scares me. There was definitely an uptick in the amount of hateful language and posts against me after the pilot came out. Being a highly accessible showrunner on the internet is my nightmare. Seeing the shit people like Dana or Rebecca had to and have to deal with has not inspired a lot of confidence in me. Idk I just can't make art the same way I used to or engage with it in the same way I used to which makes me sad. So it goes I guess.

#ask mai anything

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sceletaflores · 2 days ago

Text

HELL OF A VISION…

|| pedro masterlist || update blog || inbox || taglist || ao3 ||

｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 2.6k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, post-outbreak, established relationship, jackson joel mmmh, domestic joel mmmh, both tags that are good for the soul, set in a sweet and lovely place where nothing bad happens, old man joel RAAHHH, the readers stay on, lots of dirty talk cause he’s old and gross, dry humping, finger sucking (still on this bullshit), lots of come and come talk…like verging on hyperspermia, yeah ik he’s old but he comes like a fire hose because i just can’t help myself y’all, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i love fucking men who should be on AARP. thank god for them. this fic was actually meant to be the one i posted for rylea and i’s challenge, but i fucked up and accidentally made it over a thousand words…oops. of course i’m all about that reduce, reuse, recycle life sooo here we are. hope y'all love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics!

you and joel spend a night reading in bed, amongst other things…

It's rare that you get to see Joel like this.

Relaxed, completely.

Propped up against the headboard of your bed, a pillow behind his back and his legs stretched under the quilt you finally finished up last year.

The copy of Lonesome Dove Ellie found a few weeks before his birthday rests open in one hand, the other slipped up under the hem of an old shirt you stole from him to absently stroke over the skin of your back.

You lay with your head on his chest, legs tangled with his as you count the beats of his heart against your cheek. It soothes you in a way nothing else can, listening to the slow turn of the pages and the occasional rumbling hum in his throat when he comes across a line he likes.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been curled up next to him, quietly watching the tiny shifts in his expression.

Letting your eyes glide along the side of his face bathed in the warm orange glow of his bedside lamp, the messy silver curls of his hair catching the light enough to almost shine. You’re tempted to reach out and run your fingers through the strands, even more than you did earlier tonight, to feel just how soft it is.

Your gaze traces down the slope of his forehead, the caress of his lashes fanning out over his cheeks, the arch of his nose, the soft curve of his lips and all the way back up to do it over again.

However long it’s been still isn’t enough. You could watch Joel for hours without getting bored, just a silent spectator drifting in the warmth of his presence.

There’s always something. A new project, patrol shifts, repairs. New everyday things you get to experience with him here in Jackson that you do love, but that keep him just out of your reach for longer than you like.

That’s why moments like these feel so special. There’s no crisis, no issues or problems to keep him out of your bed.

You don’t say much. You don’t need to.

You just…you have him tonight. And that’s enough.

Well, it's almost enough.

You’re in his t-shirt for Christ’s sake, wearing it like a brand. In his t-shirt and just your panties. And he’s so warm beneath you, big and solid, the kind of comfort you ache for. In more ways than you could even think of naming.

You shift your hips slowly. One tiny move that has his thigh pressing between your legs a little more firmly than before. Testing.

Joel’s hand pauses on your back. The subtle drag of his thumb stutters where it was gliding just beneath the hem of your shirt before it starts up again, slower than before. He doesn’t look at you right away. Doesn’t say anything either. Just flicks his eyes further down the page and keeps reading.

You try not to smile.

You do it again. Another slow drag of your hips—like it’s an accident. Like you’re just getting comfortable.

But Joel knows you too well. He knows every part of you now—the tiniest hitch of your breath, the way you go quiet when you want something, the shift in your touch dragging over his chest. Knows that the heat blooming between your legs has nothing to do with the cozy warmth of the blanket.

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” Joel drawls without looking up from his book, but his hand slides a bit lower, the tips of his fingers brushing over the hem of your panties.

You hum noncommittally, shift again, letting your hips roll forward with a little more intent. You feel the twitch of his thigh, the stutter of his exhale. “I’m just getting comfortable.”

The flick of a page, his fingers drag a little lower. “That so?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, all mock innocence as you press in closer, lifting your leg just enough to drape it over his hips. You’re practically straddling him now, your bare thigh flush to the soft cotton of his sleep pants.

“Doesn’t look it.” Joel’s tone is bland, uninterested. You know it’s just for show, part of the game. It’s always better when he fights you for it. “Looks like you’re tryin’ to take advantage of me.”

You muffle a laugh in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and skin and musk. Your hand trails down his chest, down his stomach until you can toy with the drawstrings of his bottoms. “Maybe…are you offering?”

Joel peers at you over the edge of his readers, skeptical. It’s the first time he’s looked at you since he opened up his book. You try not to preen under his gaze. “I’m too old to be grindin’ like a damn teenager.”

“It’ll be good, promise. Just let me…” You sit up, swinging your leg over him to straddle his hips properly. “Let me rub on it a little, Joel. Please? I just wanna feel it.”

Your voice is all sugar, and Joel’s a sucker for it.

His cock softly jerks to life in his bottoms, lazily hardening under you. It tattles on him, gives away how he really feels seeing you perched on top of him. Your hips are moving before you can even think, rocking down against the rigid plane of heat.

You fit together perfectly, and Joel’s cock slipping between your soaked cunt has your mouth going slack, a soft moan passing through your lips.

"Jesus." His book snaps shut and lands somewhere by the lamp. His hands find your hips, not to stop you, not really—just to hold. You meet his heavy gaze, the blown pupils of his eyes shine like an oil slick under the dim light. He squeezes you hard, holding you in place as he huffs a dry laugh. “I ain’t dry humped since high school.”

You grind down again, fighting his grip. “Then I’d say you’re due.”

You roll your hips again and again. Back and forth in slow and deliberate motions, dragging that damp cotton across the length of him. You know he feels it—feels the heat of you, the slick mess you're making. You're working your clit right along the swell of him, jaw slack as your rhythm picks up.

And Joel is just watching, head tipped back against the headboard. Letting you use him. Eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted.

There’s been days where it’s harder for him to really roll around in the sheets with you, especially in the last couple months. Joel’s age catching up with him, hitting fast and slow all at once.

Joel hates it, not that he'd ever tell you that. He doesn’t have too, you know. Of course you know, you’re not stupid. You knew how old he was when you met him, and it never made you second guess that you wanted anyone else in your bed.

You’d never let Joel’s recent struggle to get it up ruin all that you have. You were more than content to find other ways to be intimate with someone you love, maybe a little excited even.

That’s not the case tonight.

Joel’s cock is fat and hard under you, twitching up through the soft cotton of his pants like it’s straining to get to you. The thick ridge of it bumps perfectly against your clit every time you roll your hips, dragging against the soaked crotch of your panties. The fabric clings to you, flimsy and so drenched with arousal that it’s barely even there.

“You’re soaked through, pumpkin.” Joel’s grip on your hips tightens until his fingers dimple your skin. His thumbs run over the edge of your panties, pressing hard enough that you know it’ll leave behind lacy imprints in your skin when this is all over. “Gettin’ my pants all wet and I ain’t laid a finger on you.”

Your brow arches, lips tugged into a smug grin that you can’t hide. “Is that a complaint?”

Joel squeezes your hips once, hard. A light warning, don’t be a smartass. “Don’t sound like I’m complainin’, do I?”

“I don’t know.” You hum, coy as your fingers dance over the hem of your shirt—his shirt—bunching it up around your hips, the dip of your waist visible in the lamplight. “You sure were talking a whole lot of smack earlier.”

You sneak your hand down the front of his pants before he can respond. His cock jerks when your fingers brush against it, his hips twitching up off the mattress and into your loose grip. You tsk softly, shaking your head as you lay it flat over his stomach, trapping him between the waistband and the coarse gray hair of his happy trail.

Joel hisses through his teeth, hands tightening around your hips. “Shit–”

“Don’t get too excited, Miller.” Your tone is teasing, even when your cunt clenches weakly at the sight. The rosy tip of his cock oozes pre-come onto his shirt, wetting the fabric enough that a dark patch blooms across the thin blue cotton. You want to press your lips to it, to trace the ridge with your tongue so you can taste him—salty, musky, and heady. “I just wanted a better view.”

Joel grunts like he doesn’t believe you, like he knows you’re full of shit, but his hips are shifting under you anyway. His cock nudging up into the hot mess between your thighs, seeking friction, contact—you.

His hands curl around your thighs, pulling you down harder against the heavy bulge in his pants. He’s soaked through too now, the front of his sleep pants dark with it, sticky and wet where you’ve been grinding down.

And his cock—god, his cock is leaking. Fat beads of precome drool out from the tip, smearing slick over the dark hair of his happy trail and dripping down between your folds. You can feel it every time your hips circle down.

“Dirty fuckin’ thing,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “You look so pretty like this, baby. Just like this.”

Your eyes flutter shut on a breathy moan, your hands falling to rest on his chest as your hips rock and rock.

There’s a spot, right where his cock curves, that keeps catching against your clit every time you rock forward. You keep grinding into it, chasing that pressure, whimpering with every pass of it.

Joel notices. Of course he fucking notices.

“There,” he grunts, holding you in place and angling his hips up. “Right there, huh? That’s it, baby? That’s the spot.”

You whimper, nodding so fast it’s dizzying. “Feels so good, Joel. I can’t—I can’t stop, you feel so good—”

Your hands drag up his chest, lingering on the tan column of his throat. You run your nails over the thin skin, stretching over the coarse hair he must’ve missed cleaning up his beard. Your thumb rests just over his pulse, right where you can feel the beat of his heart pounding like a hammer on a nail.

Your hand slides up before you can stop yourself, cupping the side of his face like you’ve got the whole world cradled in your palm. Your thumb glides along his bottom lip now, wet with spit. Your nail presses into the fat of it, firm enough to drain the color before you lift up and do it again.

Joel can’t swallow down his noises like this, with the way you’re forcing his lips to part. Deep grunts and groans ring out from around your finger. His eyes never stray from yours as he closes his lips around the tip of your thumb, watching you through the steamy glass of his readers.

You let out a pathetically broken moan, pushing your thumb deeping into the wet heat of his mouth. “Fuck, Joel…”

He doesn’t hesitate. Just parts his lips and sucks it into the heat of his mouth, deep and greedy. His tongue curls around your thumb, wet and filthy, moaning low in his throat like he’s starved. His brows pinch like he’s feeling it somewhere deep, deeper than he’s letting on.

You rock your hips while he sucks your fingers like he’d suck your clit—like it’s nothing to him, just muscle memory now. Your cunt clenches weakly with every pass of his tongue, fire shooting up your spine as your rhythm starts to falter.

Joel feels it, the shift. The way you start to get messy with it, desperate. He knows you’re close.

He groans around your thumb and lets it go with a slick pop. “Go on, girly. Mess up those pretty panties. Rub that sweet cunt all over me—fuck yourself on it. That’s it.”

Your nails dig back into his chest as your stomach clenches with the first signs of your orgasm sneaking up on you. You rock faster, chasing it, slick soaking through the thin cotton. The shape of his cock is so perfect under you—thick and wide and right—even through your clothes.

You whimper something broken, grinding down hard, over and over, as pleasure builds sharp in your belly.

Joel grits his teeth. “You gonna come for me like this?”

“Yes.” You nod again, frantic. “Joel—I’m gonna—god, I’m gonna—”

Your thighs seize and your body jolts against him as you come, trembling in his lap, cunt spasming against soaked fabric.

Joel groans like it’s killing him, watching you fall apart. His voice breaks as he groans your name, “Keep goin’, baby, just like that—fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

Your eyes are locked on the drooling tip of his cock, you don’t think anything could tear your attention away from it. Not even gunfire. Your hips don’t stop moving, even when your clit pulses with overstimulation each time it bumps up against him.

But you can’t stop. You won’t stop, not when Joel asks you so nicely.

His grip on you tightens, his hips twitch up off the bed. Once, twice, three times. “Fuck–”

You watch as he comes, mesmerized. His cock jerks against his stomach, painting the front of his shirt with rope after rope of thick come.

Joel groans, loud, from deep in the chest. An intoxicating, raw sound, like it’s being pulled out of him with a tight fist. His head knocks against the headboard, jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut like the pleasure hurts.

“Jesus—shit, baby,” he grits out to the ceiling, voice wrecked. His hands are basically doing all the work now, shifting your hips back and forth, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “That’s it, ride it out of me—goddamn.”

He just keeps coming, shooting up high, nearly hitting his chest with it. A slow, filthy mess oozing out of the flushed head of his cock. The shirt’s a lost cause, but you could care less when his come drips down the sides of his stomach as it clenches deliciously.

You stare, panting as the last sparks of your high fizzle out. You want to taste it, to smear it around and dirty him up even more.

By the time he slumps back against the pillows, he’s panting like he just ran ten miles. His chest is heaving, the front of his pants an absolute wreck, and he’s still twitching under you like he hasn’t fully come down.

You lean down, nose brushing his. “Still think you’re too old for dry humping?”

Joel gives a weak chuckle, hands smoothing up and down your sides. “You’re laughin’ now, bet you’ll be singin’ a different tune when you’re the one nursin’ my bad back tomorrow.”

You grin, pressing a kiss on his chin. “Worth it.”

And then you rock your hips once more, dragging your soaked cunt over his softening, come slicked cock.

He groans, his hands twitching over your hips. “You just don’t know when to quit, huh?”

“Probably not. Guess you better read faster next time,” you murmur, mouth against his ear. “Because at this rate? You’re never finishing up that chapter.”

The swat on your ass stings, but you knew it was coming. It’s not enough to hide the low rumble of laughter ringing out over your head, and that’s all that really matters anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: this got waaay fluffier than i thought it would when i started it. it’s probably the fluffiest thing i've written in a while. this isn't what i planned on posting, but it's hot and my knee hurts and i can't sleep...and this was basically done so i finished it up as a distraction from my chronic pain :))) and insomnia :))) yay me! yes the title is a lonesome dove quote because i’m texas trash and so is joel miller.

to the anon who sent me an actual banger of an ask, i am working on it! don’t worry babe, i almost cried tears of joy when i saw it in my notifs…i’m just on the struggle bus rn and the ideas are suffering…

thank you so much for reading, love you!

#— 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘢 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 ♡#ᯓ★ 𝐧𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫!#natalia can't write anything under 1.000 words #love you mwah #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou x reader #tlou smut #the last of us smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut

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cali · 3 days ago

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do you have any advice when it comes to art?

i think good idea for a picture is worth a lot more than technical skill. tap into true emotions and preferably dont lie about yourself or others. Nobody invents anything, everyone is stealing from everywhere all the time, the fun part is mixing other stuff together in new ways. Expand ur interest in what art u look at, so that u have a wider selection of ideas to combine. Also try to explore in crevices where people dont usually bother looking. dont discount any sources of inspiration. people who dont fit in as well draw a lot of very unique stuff. ive copied expressions from furaffinity fetish content of crudely drawn but cute dragons stuck in mud (fetish content is also often super honest, like what i said above- theres not much left to be lied about there.) when people circle around media or concepts and draw those things over and over and only get inspired by each other, it can create a very homogenous slurry where its hard to distinguish person from person. maybe its western individualism that i have to kill but the wider the end-net of inspiration is, the more interesting it gets to me personally. but theres still value for me in those things, cuz in the end even if all someone draws is their favorite couple of media characters interacting, the person behind it still carries a completely unique set of emotions and experiences and sometimes it shines thru. fear is the mind killer, insecurity (fear) over pictures not being good enough can often be what kills them, developing a mindset that is content enough with ur pictures to make it worth making, but not content enough to make it so u dont want to improve is the hardest thing. and u have to do it almost all by urself

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bueckii · 3 days ago

Text

͏✶ FIRE AND DESIRE (PART 2) | PAIGE BUECKERS.

synopsis. things get awkward after that kiss. you try to move on; go on that date, pretend it didn’t mean something, thinking that’s what she would’ve wanted—but, in reality, you’re all paige can think about.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader content warnings. # 12k words. MDNI. college au. friends to lovers. slight angst. smut. slow burn (ish). uconn!paige. best friend!paige. jealous!paige. student!reader. mentions of alcohol. top!paige. bottom!reader. soft sex. oral sex (r! recieving). hickeys/marking. slight overstimulation. paige cums untouched. tw: a man a/n. finally posting this lol. this is a continuation of the one shot i made a while ago, so i recommend reading that one first. part one here! (this is not proofread lol)

taglist. @iluvbuckets @iknowwhatyoutellyourfriends @cowboybueckers @evanpeterstoe @swiftie4evr @legendaryrebelpersona @the--carousel @pupbistro @dietpepsicorpsebride @cambells0up @isabellesw0rld @yogurtsm00thie

͏✶ talk about you like you’ll never leave his side… but i don’t really buy it …

paige couldn’t stop thinking about you.

she hasn’t seen you all week. not really. not because she didn’t want to. god, she wanted to. only a couple texts here and there. not a lot. half-hearted. nothing like before. and every time she thought about reaching out, her thumbs would hover over the screen, typing and deleting the same shit over and over again.

she figures you’ll probably get upset about the fact that she doesn’t reach out. she knows it’s her fault, really.

but, lately, she’s been getting stuck in her head. what if you regret it? what if she messed it all up? what if you don’t even wanna talk to her anymore?

it’d been days since you kissed her, and her mind hadn’t shut off since. she could still feel you. your hands on her neck, the way your fingers played with her hair. the warmth of your thigh under her palm. the way you whispered against her mouth. god, she couldn’t stop thinking about your lips. the way you tasted. the way they moved against hers. she kept replaying it. over and over and over. the way your bottom lip trembled just slightly before you kissed her back. the way gasped when she kissed you a little deeper. the way you let out that tiny, shaky moan against her mouth.

she hadn’t been sleeping right. laid up in bed every night, eyes wide open, heart racing, thinking of all the things she probably should’ve said.

she kept checking her phone like a damn addict—hoping for a text. anything.

but you don’t say much.

and deep down, she knew she was supposed to say something first. you’d kissed her, trusted her, asked her to show you something you had little experience in.

but all paige had done since then… was freeze. she didn’t know what to say when she wanted to text you.

everything afterwards felt off.

her routine didn’t feel like her anymore. her days felt too long. her nights too short. food didn’t hit the same. music didn’t sound right. even the gym—basketball—felt too damn loud. or sometimes, too damn empty. she really couldn’t get you out of her mind. no matter how many times she told herself to lock in, to just shake it all off… you were everywhere. in the back of her thoughts during drills. in the corners of her dreams when she managed to sleep. on the tip of her tongue when she opened her phone, just to stare at your name without sending anything.

her body ached for you, and she hated that it sounded that dramatic—but it was the truth. because it wasn’t just the fact that you kissed her. that you let her kiss you.

it was you. and your lips. your mouth. how you touched her, like you weren’t totally sure what you were doing but trusted her to guide you through it anyway. how you leaned into her kiss, moaned against her mouth, desperate, like you wanted her to keep going but didn’t know how to ask. that moment played on a loop in her head. every time she tried to move on, her mind constantly dragged her back to it. and now, after tasting you—after finally having just a piece of what she’d wanted for so long—she couldn’t go back to pretending she was okay with being just friends.

and honestly, paige used to handle it fine. she’s been doing it for years.

in the beginning, she thought it was just a little crush. nothing serious. just something that’ll go away eventually.

and you were pretty. gorgeous. that was part was easy. she used to sit next to you on purpose, just close enough to smell whatever perfume you wore, and maybe ask you for a pen just so that you’d look at her and roll your eyes before digging through your back even though she already had a pen.

so yeah, okay. maybe she stared too long sometimes. maybe she looked at your lips more than she should’ve. maybe she started thinking about you when she was supposed to be focused on film or practice or literally anything else.

but it was just a crush. right?

yeah, well… it didn’t go away.

and when you kissed her, everything she’d been trying to hold back all came rushing up.

now, she needed more.

at practice, she was more distracted than she’d ever been. she thinks about you while she’s in the locker room, thinks about you while she zones out in team huddles, thinks about you while chewing her lip raw while coach ran down the plan during practice.

but there are only three sentences in her mind that repeats over and over and over… i miss her. i need her. i want her again.

paige wanted to tell you how she felt. god, she wanted to so bad.

it sat in her mind, begging to come out every time she thought about you—which was all the time. but every time she even thought about texting you, calling you, seeing you again—she froze.

what would she even say? everything sounded stupid in her head. too much. she didn’t know if it was just a kiss for you. maybe just an experiment. a thank you, even.

and the thought of that—of it meaning less to you than it did to her—it made her sick.

because it meant everything to her.

͏✶

you didn’t think much of the dress you chose to wear for tonight. it was a simple summer dress, the kind of thing you forgot you even had until you started rifling through your closet in a panic. it’s pretty but you weren’t really trying to impress anyone. you just didn’t want to look like you rolled out of bed. you kept telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal—it’s just a movie—but still, you checked the mirror three times. adjusted the hem. made sure the zipper was up all the way. fixed your hair, then undid it and fixed it again.

you told yourself it wasn’t because you were nervous.

you told yourself it wasn’t because of paige.

matt had been texting you all day—mostly sweet stuff. he was nice. respectful. he asked about your favorite movie snacks, said he’d pick you up a little early because he didn’t want to miss the trailers, and even texted you about hitting some off-campus college after to spend more time together.

you stared at that last message for a second longer than you meant to. you didn’t reply right away. you didn’t know why your stomach twisted when you imagined going.

but you forced a small smile at your reflection, smoothed the fabric over your hips, and told yourself again—it’s just a movie. you repeated it in your head while slipping on your heels.

you’d go, sit beside matt, eat some popcorn, maybe laugh at the cheesy previews, maybe chat during the slow parts. just hang out. just… watch a movie. maybe kiss him.

your chest tightened at the thought. and suddenly it wasn’t matt’s face you saw in the dark theater, leaning in beside you.

it was paige.

you closed your eyes for a second, but it didn’t help. you could still feel her. you weren’t even touching her anymore, but your body remembered all of it. every detail.

then, you opened your eyes slowly, blinking hard at your reflection.

just a movie, you whispered to yourself again.

your phone buzzed just as you grabbed your bag. you weren’t expecting anything—maybe matt, saying he was outside, maybe riley checking in. but when you glanced down at the screen, it felt like your heart stopped for a second.

paige: if matt says some dumb shit or makes you uncomfortable or whatever just call me or sumn.

you stared at it, fingers hovering over your screen, unsure what to even say back.

paige was thinking about you.

you lips curl into a soft smile, before replying back.

you: i’ll call if i need you

you put your phone away after you sent that message.

the air was cool as matt pulled up outside your dorm, his car parked just in front of the building as he waited. you grabbed your bag, smoothing your dress one last time before sliding into the passenger seat. he greeted you with a warm smile, eyes bright and a little nervous like he wanted everything to be perfect tonight.

throughout the ride, matt was respectful—more than you expected. he kept the conversation light, complimenting you.

“you look really pretty tonight,” he said once. or “that dress really suits you.”

you nodded, forcing a small smile, trying to match his charm, but inside you felt a bit awkward—like you were pretending to be someone who could just go on a date without a million thoughts swirling around your head. the care radio played softly in the back as you both talked about the movie and what you liked, what you were hoping to see, the snacks you planned to grab. matt was a good listener, genuinely interested, but you couldn’t help but feel… unsure.

when you arrived at the theater, you both found your seats, getting comfortable in the dark. your hands folded neatly in your lap, legs crossed at the ankles, pretending to be at ease.

matt really was nice. thoughtful. his arm rested politely on the shared armrest, close but not touching. every now and then, he’d lean over to whisper something light and you’d smile, nod, let out a soft laugh. he was sweet. polite. exactly the kind of guy people said you should give a chance. he told you that you looked beautiful when he saw you, and he meant it.

but still… was this really what you wanted?

you sat there beside him, staring ahead, and couldn’t shake the feeling blooming in your chest. like something was missing.

and about halfway through the movie, you felt it—a soft nudge against your hand. you blinked, glancing down. matt’s fingers brushed yours again, hesitant at first, then bolder, letting them settle lightly against the back of your hand like he was testing the waters.

you froze. not out of fear. not because you felt unsafe. but because something about it felt wrong. off.

you tried to stare ahead at the screen. and then, slowly, like it had been planned all night, matt leaned in. you felt his eyes on you. your profile, your mouth. your stomach flipped. not in the same way she made you feel. he was staring at your lips like he’d been waiting for the right moment, and this was it. he tilted his head slightly, and you turned toward him totally out of instinct—eyes wide, not knowing what to say, how to stop it, or if you even should—

and then his lips were on yours.

they were soft, warm, slightly chapped. not rough. not bad…

just… not right.

you kissed him back—barely. more like a twitch of habit than an actual effort. your mind blanked. your hands stayed frozen in your lap. your chest stayed still.

no spark. no rush.

nothing.

it was awkward.

and he was trying, being gentle, respectful, careful… but suddenly, your mind was somewhere else.

suddenly, you were back in paige’s dorm, with her fingers resting on the soft skin of your thigh, her mouth coaxing yours open like she’d dreamed about it a thousand times before.

you pulled back first, blinking fast, trying to smile as you reached for the popcorn again like nothing happened.

and matt gave a quiet laugh, sheepish. “sorry, was that okay?”

you nodded automatically.

nothing else happened after that. he didn’t try to kiss you again. he didn’t reach for your hand. he just sank back into his seat. you sat there in silence, eyes on the screen but mind anywhere else as your heart beat too loud in your chest.

when the movie ended, matt stood up and stretched, put on half of a smile and you followed him out of the theater.

he asked if you still wanted to head to the party. and you said yes, even though you weren’t sure why. the word left your mouth before you really thought it through, honestly. and he smiled, nodded, shoved his hands into his jacket pockets like it was exactly what he hoped you’d say.

you told yourself maybe it’d be better—less awkward—with other people around. maybe being surrounded by music, chatter, and movement ease the tension.

you trailed beside him through the lot, your heels clicking against the pavement, the cool air nipping at your arms. you were already dreading the moment it’d be just the two of you again, standing by his car or in the front of your dorm at the end of the night—bracing for the part where you’d have to let him down easy. tell him he’s a great guy. that you’re just not feeling it. that it wasn’t about him.

and no matter how nice matt was, no matter how well he treated you—he wasn’t the one you wanted to feel that way about.

͏✶

paige hadn’t even planned on going to the party.

she’d already half-decided on staying in, crawling into bed, watching grey’s anatomy for the millionth time, and maybe passing out before midnight if her mind would let her. it wasn’t like she didn’t want to be around people… it was just that everything felt kind of dull lately. muted. like no matter how loud the music or how packed the house would be, her brain would still be playing that same memory over and over.

you. your lips.

and she was trying. god, she was trying to get over it.

but now the whole team was going—just another athlete from uconn’s birthday party in one of those big houses just off campus. music, drinks, people from all over the university, the kind of party where no one ever really remembered who invited who.

at first, paige waved it off. said she was going to stay in when when azzi asked if she was going, and again when kk tried to bribe her with her tru fru in the fridge.

but by the time she was alone in her room, the silence got too loud. and already just a minute alone, she was already thinking about you.

was it going well? were you still out with matt? did he kiss you? did you let him?

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath and sat up, rubbing her hands down her face.

maybe a party wasn’t such a bad idea after all. at least there’d be noise. people. drinks. a distraction. anything to pull her out of her head for a couple hours.

so she got dressed. nothing too much—some baggy pants, a clean black hoodie, her chain around her neck. she tied her hair up messily, threw on her sneakers, and left before she could change her mind.

the party was already alive when paige got there. music boomed from speakers too big for the living room, bodies packed wall to wall, red solo cups in every hand.

she stepped inside and felt it all hit her at once.

but she didn’t hesitate.

she spotted azzi and kk first—leaned up by the kitchen counter with aubrey and ice, already halfway into their second drinks, talking with some guys from the track team. azzi waved her over instantly, eyes lighting up as she yelled paige’s name through the noise.

“hey! you finally made it.”

paige grinned, playing it off like she wasn’t two seconds away from bailing earlier.

“you thought i was gon’ let y’all have fun without me?” she said, slipping into the circle, dapping up ice and throwing her arm around kk’s shoulder.

“look at you tryna act like you weren’t just in your bed watchin’ greys,” ice teased, already laughing.

paige rolled her eyes, smirking. “first of all, grey’s anatomy is peak. put some respect on meredith’s name.”

they cracked up, and just like that, paige settled into room. she kept the energy up, laughing, talking shit, hyping up her girls, taking playful shots at aubrey’s outfit, nodding her head and doing the little shoulder bounce when a song she liked came on.

but no matter how much time she spent here, paige couldn’t stop checking her phone. she kept it in her pocket, fingers brushing against it every few minutes like muscle memory to pull it out and glance at the screen—just to see nothing. she shoves it back. tries to focus. laughs at something dumb kk said. nodding along to azzi’s story about some freshman trying to flirt with her after class.

but her hand always drifted back. she didn’t even realize how often she was doing it until aubrey gave her a look and nudged her playfully.

“you waiting on a text or something?”

paige forced a half-smile, eyes back on her screen. still nothing from you. just a couple random notifications—snapchat from someone she didn’t care about, an instagram tag, but nothing that made her excited the way your name would.

“nah,” she lied. “just checkin’ the time.”

but it was late now. later than she thought it’d get without hearing from you.

she just… wondered if you were okay.

if you were having fun. if he was being good to you. if he said something stupid, or tried to touch you, or kissed you when you didn’t want him to.

she hated how easily her brain jumped to those things. hated how it made her chest feel tight and itchy, like she had to dosomething even though she couldn’t.

you weren’t hers.

but thirty minutes later, just as paige was halfway through sipping a cup of shirley temple that azzi shoved into her hand, she saw you.

you walked in through the front door with matt beside you, his hand sliding smooth around your waist and paige—she froze.

the cup hovered midair for a second before she blinked, slowly lowering it. her friends kept talking around her, but their voices blurred and faded away instantly the linger she looked at you.

you hadn’t seen her yet. but she saw everything.

she saw the way you hesitated the moment you stepped further into the house, eyes darting around like you weren’t sure where to stand, or who to greet first. she saw the way matt leaned in to say something close to your ear, the way you tilted your head politely and nodded, but didn’t smile the way you normally did when something made you laugh.

but god—you looked so good.

paige couldn’t stop staring. she told herself to look away. just once. just for a second. but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

that sundress on you—fuck.

it was soft, a color that made your skin glow under the dim party lights, and it moved when you walked, swaying around your thighs. it hugged you in the right places, loose in others. your hair was done, your lip gloss shimmered under those tacky party lights, and your arms were crossed loosely in front of you.

she had to drop her eyes for a second, tongue swiping over her bottom lip, jaw tight. she gripped the cup in her hand as if she could stop herself from imagining how your waist would feel in her hands.

because matt’s hand was there now. on you.

and it made her sick.

paige felt heat crawl up the back of her neck. jealousy wasn’t even the right word. it was something worse. something bitter. because matt wasn’t even doing anything wrong. not really. he was just… holding you like you were a trophy. like you were some prize he’d earned just by asking. like he knew every guy in the room would be looking and that was the whole point.

and you looked beautiful and uncomfortable all at the same time. paige saw it in the slight downturn of your mouth. the way you shifted in his hold, fingers fiddling with the strap of your bag.

she knew that face. she read you.

you weren’t having fun. you were pretending.

and then—you found her.

your eyes met hers and paige went still, all the bitterness on her face melted. completely gone. she straightened up slightly, tilting her head, raising her eyebrows to say hi silently.

then, she mouthed, “you okay?”

your mouth curled into the softest smile. not a big one, but paige saw it.

you nodded.

she returned it with a smaller smile.

then, paige watched matt lean in toward you as he said something near your ear. she saw the way your body tilted away slightly, your shoulder pulling back, your smile going a little stiff.

matt left you after that, saying something with a crooked smile before disappearing through the crowd, headed toward the kitchen.

and unfortunately, that was where paige had already parked herself—leaned up against the counter with some of her teammates, her friends, trying her best to stay out the way, out the conversation, out of everything before she did something dumb.

she minded her business. she really did. sipped her drink, stared down at her phone, played it cool.

until one of matt’s friends walked up next to him.

they dapped each other up and started talking sports, class, exams, who was pulling who this weekend—nothing she cared about.

she didn’t mean to hear the next part, but she did.

“yo,” one of his friends said, patting his back, “that girl you came with… she’s hot as fuck, man. you hit it yet?”

and matt—he fucking laughed. laughed like it was funny. like it was just a matter of time.

he leaned his elbow onto the counter, lifted his drink to his lips, and said, “not yet… working on it, though. i think she likes all that romantic shit.”

like you were a job to finish. like you were just some easy bet.

paige didn’t even realize how fast her face dropped.

she stared at matt for a second, silent, clenching her jaw hard, her fingers curling tighter around her cup. she blinked once. then twice.

then she set her drink down on the counter and walked away.

her eyes scanned the room until she found you again. she found standing by group next to your friend riley, fiddling with the hem of your dress.

you didn’t see her coming.

but paige was already pushing through the bodies, not even hearing her name when kk—was it kk? or azzi? or aubrey? she doesn’t know—called for her across the room. her hands were still shaking a little as she walked. she didn’t know what she was going to say. didn’t even care. she just needed to get to you. all she knew was that you didn’t deserve to be talked about like that. not by him. not by anybody.

you didn’t even seen her coming.

one second, you were standing there half-listening to a conversation you weren’t really part of—and the next, paige was there, standing close.

you blinked, a little startled, heart skipping. then, paige leaned in, just enough that only you could hear her.

“can i talk to you for a sec?” she asked.

her brows were slightly pulled together you felt your heartbeat tick up, and slowly, you nodded.

“… yeah,” you said, looking at her a little confused.

paige didn’t smile. she just nodded once and gently reached for your wrist as she tilted her head toward the hallway.

and you followed without question.

paige led you down some hallway, away from the crowd. the hallway lights were dim, flickering slightly from a shitty bulb overhead, but she still looked nervous under it.

you leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, heart still fluttering as you looked at her. and paige just stood there for a second, hands stuffed into the front pocket of her hoodie, jaw clenched, staring at the floor before she finally spoke.

“i—” she started, but her voice cracked. she cleared her throat, looked up at you. “i saw matt in the kitchen. he was… he said—“

she stopped and looked at you. would this hurt your feelings if she told you?

your furrowed your brows together as you waited. but paige just swallowed the lump in your throat, shook her head a little like she was trying to talk herself down.

you blinked. “he what?”

“i don’t wanna piss you off,” she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “i just—i just wanted to check on you.”

you stared at her. “you pulled me aside for that?”

paige flinched a little at your tone. she opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“you haven’t talked to me all week. this is the second time, paige,” you snapped at her, trying not to raise your voice. “i haven’t seen you, i barely even hear from you, and now you wanna show up and act like you care?”

“i do care.” paige winced and shook her head. “i wasn’t tryin to be like that, ma, i just—”

“then, why’d you disappear?”

paige couldn’t answer. she had it in her head, but saying it aloud was… different. she didn’t know how to say i’ve been losing my mind over you. or i want you so bad, it’s messing with my head.

she looked cornered. guilty. her lips parted, but the words didn’t come fast enough.

you shook your head, heart beating fast as you turned away. “forget it, paige.”

“wait—”

but you were already walking towards the door to the bathroom in the hallway and before paige could follow—the door shut right in her face.

she stood there, blinking. stunned.

then, she reached for the handle and tried to twist it open. locked. fuck.

“(y/n), open the door.”

she tried the handle again.

“c’mon… please.”

but you didn’t answer.

paige let out a long sigh and leaned forward, resting her forehead gently against the door. after a moment, she stepped backwards, dragging a hand down her face, then leaned her back against the wall across from the door… and waited.

she didn’t care who walked past, who saw her, who might start whispering about how bueckers looked all spaced out and weird in the hallway.

she was gonna wait.

her friends were probably wondering where she was by now. azzi had texted her a little while ago, but paige hadn’t checked her phone. she hadn’t even moved from the spot since you slammed the door. not one step.

ten minutes passed. at least, she thought it was ten. it felt longer. way longer.

her long legs stretched out in front of her and her fingers tugged at the strings of her hoodie over and over, just to keep herself busy. to keep from knocking again. she didn’t want to push. but god, she hated how long it was taking. not because she was impatient—but because she was scared that she’d really blown it.

but then, the door clicked softly, opening just a crack.

paige’s eyes snapped toward it. for a second, she didn’t move, unsure if she imagined it. but then the door eased open another inch, and she could finally see you. she stood up straighter instantly, her back pulling off the wall, her feet taking a few steps closer.

you blinked at her, cheeks tinted pink as you murmured, “i… i need help with my zipper… it got stuck.”

paige stared for half a second longer, her brows raised in surprise, lips parting just slightly.

then she nodded, almost too quickly.

“y-yeah, yeah—i got you.”

she followed as you opened the door just enough for her to slip inside, stepping into the bathroom with you and quietly closing the door behind her. the bathroom was small.

you stood in front of the mirror, not looking at her, just reaching up to gather your hair and move it to one side, exposing the line of your neck, the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your spine.

the zipper sat halfway down your back, caught just where the fabric curved around your waist. your dress gaped slightly on your back, exposing the lace trim of your black bra underneath—

paige froze for half a second. she swallowed hard, eyes dragging up the length of your back, then back down again.

her fingers twitched at her sides.

“paige,” you said, bringing her back to reality.

you watch her through the mirror. her eyes met yours through the reflection and you notice the way she clenches her jaw before stepping forward slowly.

“sorry.”

her hand hovered for a second before she finally let her fingers graze the cool of the zipper. she let out a breath and brought her other hand up to steady the fabric, eyes focusing on your back, lips parted slightly as she tried to tug it gently.

but her hands were shaking. just a little.

paige tugged the zipper up slowly, and when it reached the top, she didn’t step away. she just stood there, eyes fixed on the back of your neck.

your hair was still swept to the side, skin exposed. her gaze lingered there for a moment, and then she looked up at the back of your head, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your shoulder and then back down. to your dress. to the way it hugged your body.

her hand moved before she could stop herself, her fingers trailing down softly along the center of your back, following the shape of the zipper. she felt the curve of your spine beneath her fingertips.

and when her hand reached the small of your back, paige let it rest there for a second—her palm flat, sliding to hold your waist gently.

“i like this,” she murmured.

you still didn’t turn around.

she could see your eyes in the mirror, a little wider now, a little softer. you blinked slowly, your lips parting like you were going to say something, but nothing came out.

paige was losing her goddamn mind.

she blinked, her thumb gently rubbing a circle into the dress, fully letting her large hands rest on your waist. she shouldn’t be touching you like this, not when she still didn’t know what you wanted, but she couldn’t help it.

she couldn’t stop looking at you.

then, she leaned in. just a little. and her voice dropped again, barely above a whisper.

“you look really good tonight.”

your breath hitched—paige almost didn’t notice.

and then finally, you turned around slowly. and paige’s hand dropped to her side like it didn’t know what to do now. you looked up at her and she swallowed hard, trying to so hard to fight the urge to just… close the gap.

“…i’m sorry,” she said quietly, looking into your eyes. “for earlier. for this whole week.”

and for a second, you forgot where you were—forgot about the party still going on just outside the door, about matt, and everything else outside this room.

all you could focus on was her.

paige stood in front of you, taller by just enough that you had to tilt your head back a little to meet her eyes. and you always liked that. you always liked how tall she was. more than you probably should’ve.

“i missed you,” you tell her.

paige licks her lips again, “me too.”

you stared at her, your eyes searching hers, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

and then, you asked, “what did matt say?”

her breath caught in her throat, her shoulders tensed, and for a second, she looked like she might lie again. like she might protect you from it. but then she inhaled sharply, her eyes dropping to the floor, and she let out a breath through her nose, clearly frustrated.

she shook her head gently.

“he’s a douche bag,” she muttered finally, glancing away from you.

the way her jaw clenched again said enough.

the way she didn’t want to look at you when she said it.

she wanted to say what he actually said. she wanted to say how she nearly lost it right there in the kitchen. she wanted to say she hated seeing you with him, hated the thought of his hands anywhere near you.

she furrows her eyebrows before looking directly into your eyes again.

“he doesn’t talk about you like he should,” she added. “like you’re some fuckin’ checkbox on a list.”

her stomach still twisted just saying that much. because it didn’t matter how polite matt was to your face. paige knew the second she heard him speak behind your back—he wasn’t worth one second of your time.

“i wasn’t gonna tell you. not like that. i didn’t… wanna make you feel like shit.”

another pause.

“but i also didn’t wanna let you stand there thinking he was some nice guy. you deserve better than that. way better.”

she was standing so close now, you didn’t even notice when she took a step closer.

“you deserve somebody who looks at you like…”

she stopped herself.

you could feel your heart thudding under your ribs, louder now. paige stared at you, throat moving as she swallowed.

“like i look at you,” she finally said, eyes darting down to your lips.

you stared at her.

then, to her surprise, your fingers found her hand, slipping between hers, intertwining your fingers. paige looked down and a slow smile tugs at the corners of her lips.

“you’re an idiot, you know,” you say, shaking your head with a small smile, your eyes soft as you watch paige’s face.

she doesn’t miss a beat—she nods her head immediately, obediently and a little sheepish, her grin spreading wide enough to light up the whole room.

“i know,” she mumbles, eyes locked on your soft lips.

her fingers tighten around yours just a little as she takes one more final step closer to you, trapping you between her and the bathroom counter.

paige’s eyes flickered back up to yours, before whispering, “did you kiss him tonight?”

you looked away for a moment, swallowing hard.

“yeah,” you admitted softly. “i did.”

you can clearly see paige clench her jaw when you said it, but she didn’t say anything else—just waited for you to keep going.

“but… it didn’t feel like—” the heat spread all over your cheeks, blushing hard as she stared at you. “it didn’t feel like when you kissed me.”

paige’s lips curved up even more. it was the kind of smirk that started in one corner of her mouth and made its way up like she couldn’t hold it back even if she tried. she was getting cocky. you could tell. the kind of cocky that came from hearing exactly what she wanted to hear.

“yeah?” she said, a little smug, eyes dropping again to your lips, then back up. “that right?”

you rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at your mouth. her free hand brushes gently against your hip.

“could’ve told you that. ain’t no way he kiss you better than me.”

you smiled at how smug she was being.

then, you noticed it before paige did—the way her face kept inching closer to yours, just a little bit at a time, with each passing second. and you could feel it. her soft breath on your lips. it sends a shiver down your spine. you could see it clear as day in her eyes—the way they darkened with want, the slight part of her lips.

she wanted to kiss you.

your eyes flicked up to hers, catching that glimpse of need swirling behind her gaze. the way her pupils dilated ever so slightly, the way she licked her her lips. the way her hand slides a little lower on your hip to pull you closer, pressing your front against hers.

paige was so close now. closer than she had any business being.

you could tell she was trying to talk herself out of it—trying to be smart, respectful, hold back like she always did around you.

you feel her breath against your lips as she asks, “can i?”

her eyes didn’t leave yours. she didn’t lean in all the way. she waited. paige didn’t move. not even a twitch. she was frozen in that quiet anticipation, standing still like she was afraid the smallest shift might scare you off.

you saw it in the way she looked at you. how much she wanted you. how much she was trying not to take anything from you.

she wasn’t trying to rush into it, even though she wants to. as if kissing you again was a privilege.

your throat felt tight, and you nodded before you even realized you were doing it.

“please…” you breathed.

paige’s lips parted slightly, her eyes searching your face like she needed to make absolutely sure.

she smiled. and then, slowly, she leaned in.

her forehead brushed yours first like she still couldn’t believe this was real. for a second, she just stayed there, nose nudging yours, her hand sliding up to the small of your back, holding you in place, your body pressing against hers. you could feel her breath fan across your lips, and when she finally tilted her head just enough for her mouth to meet yours—

she kissed you.

and you melted into it.

paige kissed you slow. so slow it almost didn’t feel real at first. her lips barely brushed yours as if she was giving you the chance to change your mind. her mouth pressed into yours again, deeper this time. soft. deliberate. her other hand found your jaw, cradling your face gently, her thumb brushing your cheek.

and her lips… god. her lips were everything.

pillowy and warm and just the tiniest bit chapped like she’d been chewing on them nervously all night. they moved slowly with yours. her nose bumped yours a little, and then, she smiled into the kiss, just barely, smiling like she couldn’t believe she had you this close again.

your arms lifted until they wrapped loosely around her neck, fingers brushing the stray hairs at the nape of her neck, right beneath her bun, and her body reacted before her mind even caught up. her breath hitched. her hand gripped your waist tighter. she kissed you deeper then, her lips parting just a little more, her mouth moving against yours like she couldn’t hold back anymore.

you pulled back just a little—barely an inch—to catch your breath, lips parted, chest rising and falling as your fingers still rested gently behind paige’s neck.

and before you could even fully take a breath, paige was already chasing your mouth.

her lips followed yours instinctively. desperately. her mouth brushed yours again, a little clumsy this time. her hand on your waist tightened just the slightest bit.

her nose bumped yours as she whispered breathlessly, “mm-mm, don’t pull away, ma.”

your lips were barely apart when she kissed you again, but this time, she moved faster. needier. rougher. deeper. her mouth opened just slightly against yours, and her tongue slipped in, moaning softly as she tasted you. like she was afraid it might be the only chance she’d get. and you kissed her right back. didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. your lips opened for her like it was natural. like you’d been waiting for her to get brave enough to do it.

and when you moaned into her lips—paige feels like she’s losing her mind.

your hands at the back of her neck gripped just a little tighter, pulling her in, and paige let out a breathy noise against your mouth. a sound she didn’t even mean to make.

she kissed you like she couldn’t stop. like she didn’t want to stop.

your lips were so damn warm, soft, and addictive in a way that made her head spin. every tilt of your head, every breathy sound you made, every slow drag of your lips over hers just pulled her in deeper.

then, you pulled away again, breathing hard, lips tingling and slick from the kiss. your eyes fluttered open, barely able to think, let alone speak—and before you could say anything, paige was already moving, leaning in slow, her breath grazing your cheek, and then you felt the soft press of her mouth against the line of your jaw.

one kiss. then another. then another, lower, just under your ear.

her hand flattened at your waist as her body pressed closer until you could feel every inch of her against you, still trapping you between her body and the cool edge of the bathroom counter.

it made your knees feel weak.

outside the door, you could still hear the muffled music pounding through the walls, but it all felt far away. like none of it mattered. because paige’s lips were moving down your neck now, brushing that sensitive spot just beneath your jaw, her mouth open just enough to let her tongue flick gently against your skin.

you gasped, your hands clutching the fabric of her shirt, and she smiled against your throat, smug breath fanning across the wet spot she left behind.

“mm,” she hummed, “you smell so fuckin’ good.”

paige kept kissing your neck, her lips moving over the curve of your throat like she needed to taste every inch of you. your jaw dropped open as you breathed out, eyes fluttering shut, your head tilting just slightly to give her more space.

and paige felt it. the way your breath hitched.

the way your fingers dug into her shoulders, holding on to her. the way your chest rose against hers like you couldn’t get enough air. she groaned low against your neck just thinking about it.

“fuck,” she muttered under her breath.

and then, you felt her hand sliding down your side, past your waist, then back behind you, her fingers gripping fabric of your dress. you gasped when you felt her hand bunch it up, inch by inch, pulling the hem higher and higher. her palm smoothed over the back of your thigh, fingers spread wide, grazing the top curve of your ass and—

“paige,” you breathed out, voice soft but firm, your heart racing, “paige… wait—”

you pulled back just a little, your hands pressing gently to paige’s chest, and the second you did, she froze.

her lips hovered by your jaw, parted and flushed pink as her breath came out shaky. she looked at you, eyes half lidded, blinking slow like she was trying to process what was happening, her pupils blown, lips slick and swollen. she looked drunk on you. high on your skin. your taste. your breath. your lips.

paige let out the softest sound, a little whine, as her brows knit together, a little frustrated. her lips parted again like she wanted to argue, to beg you for just one more minute, one more kiss, one more second of being that close.

but she didn’t.

instead, she exhaled hard through her nose and dropped her forehead gently against your shoulder, her hands now resting at your waist, loosening her grip.

“i like kissing you,” she murmured, her lips brushing your collarbone.

the party was still loud outside. muffled bass thumped through the floor beneath your feet, and someone laughed down the hall. but all of that felt so far away.

she turned her head just slightly, nose brushing your neck again, “been thinkin’ about it since that night.”

she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands still on your hips, thumbs brushing slow over the fabric before her eyes found yours.

“can’t stop thinkin’ about you,” she said.

you reached up slowly, your hands trembling just a little as they cupped paige’s face, fingers settling along the sharp line of her jaw beneath your palms. your thumbs brushed over her cheeks, soft against the slight roughness of her skin. paige’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch as you held her face.

“i’ve been thinking about you too.”

paige’s eyes slowly opened, dazed as she looked st you—like she couldn’t quite believe you were really there, really saying those words. god, she feels like she’s dreaming. fuck, she’s been dreaming about this for years.

then, she let out a soft breath and a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. her tongue darted out quickly to wet her bottom lip, that nervous little habit you’d come to recognize whenever she was trying to hold herself together.

without breaking eye contact, her hands tightened around your waist, pulling you closer. then, her fingers slid lower, sliding over the curve of your hips before cupping your ass with her hands. you felt the breath hitch as paige’s hands gripped you tighter. her lips hovered near yours, her eyes drinking you in, wanting more, needing more.

“my roommate’s… out of town this weekend,” you said.

her eyes darted down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, her fingers flexing slightly against you, not sure if she’d heard you right.

you felt the heat rise in your cheeks and tried to glance down, away from her eyes, but her hand on your lower back pulled you gently forward again.

“yeah?” she asked.

you nodded.

and paige smiled.

then, her forehead dropped to yours, breath brushing your lips.

“you tryna tell me somethin’, ma?” she murmured.

you nodded.

her thumb brushed along your waist and she leaned in to kiss you again—just once. and when she pulled back, barely, her voice dipped into a whisper again, lips brushing against yours.

“you wanna get outta here?”

͏✶

the walk back to your dorm was a blur.

you don’t really remember most of it—just the way paige held your hand the entire time, her thumb brushing soft circles against your knuckles.

paige didn’t say anything when you fumbled for your keys, just stepped in close behind you as you reached for the door.

her breath was warm against your neck.

and then, her hands. they slid around your waist, pulling you back gently, and her mouth found your jaw before you even registered it, soft lips pressing open kisses along your skin, trailing toward your ear, your neck, to your jaw again and again and…

you gasped, your keys trembling in your hand.

“p-paige—”

“shhh,” she mumbled into your skin, already kissing lower. “just keep goin’. i got you.”

you barely got the key in the door. your fingers shook from how close she was, how her body pressed firm and slow against your back, her hands smoothing over your hips like she needed to feel every inch of you.

you tried to unlock it. you really tried—

but paige kissed your neck again, a little harder this time, nipping your skin with her teeth, and you moaned before you could stop yourself.

“fuck,” she whispered, “i could listen to that all night.”

finally, the lock clicked.

you pushed the door open and she followed you in, still kissing you, turning you around with her big hands to lean down and kiss your lips. you stumbled inside and she kicked the door closed with her foot. her mouth never left yours.

and soon, her hands were already at the hem of her hoodie, yanking it up over her head in one swift motion.

you broke the kiss for just a second, lips parted and dazed as you watched her—her chest rising fast beneath the tight black tank top clinging to her, her hair messily loosened from the bun it had been in, some strands sticking to her forehead.

she looked wrecked already.

and god, she hadn’t even started.

she dropped the hoodie to the floor and before you could say a word, she was on you again—her hands finding your waist, then your back, then your thighs, like she didn’t know where to touch first, just that she had to. you kissed her back just as hungrily, the momentum sending you backward until the backs of your knees hit your bed.

she pulled back just enough to breathe, her lips swollen and her eyes dragging over your face like she couldn’t believe that you were real. that she was hovering over you. kissing you. in your bed.

“take this off for me, baby.”

paige’s hands were already moving, sliding around your waist, fingers dragging down your spine until they found the zipper for the second time tonight. you stood still in front of her, chest rising fast, lips parted from where she’d just kissed. and then you felt her pull the zipper down. inch by inch.

her fingertips grazed your bare skin as the fabric loosened around your body, and the way she touched you sent heat rushing up your neck.

her eyes never left you as she lowered it. the air feels cool across your skin as the dress gave way, sliding down your shoulders, slipping over your hips, and pooling silently at your feet.

paige froze when she looked at you. completely still.

her eyes dragged over every inch of you like it was the first time she’d ever really seen you.

she didn’t say anything for a second. just let her eyes trail down the curve of your neck, your chest, the lace of your bra, the lines of your waist, your thighs.

you loved how she looked at you.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” she stepped in close again, her palms finding your hips.

your voice barely made it out. soft, breathy, your heart thudding so loud you swore she could hear it.

“paige, i… i don’t really know how to—”

paige leaned in, her hand coming up gently to cup your cheek, thumb brushing your skin so softly it made your stomach twist.

“i know, ma,” she murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth before you could say another word. then again, lower—your jaw. your neck.

she looked up at you as her thumb stroked your cheek.

“i’ll take care of you,” she says, smiling. “you don’t gotta worry about a thing.”

then she stepped even closer, her nose brushing yours, lips ghosting over your mouth.

“imma take my time. imma treat you real good. you trust me, right?”

you nod and she pecks your lips.

“tell me, mama.”

you reach up and wrap your arms loosely over her shoulders as she leans down, her hands still on your hips.

“i trust you.”

paige smiled again.

her lips still trail over yours, then down your jaw. when she kissed the side of your neck this time, it was slower. less hungry. more… intentional.

“tell me if you wanna to stop,” she told you. “say the word, and i’ll stop. for real.”

you shake your head, “i want you, paige.”

you didn’t want her to stop.

so you leaned up just enough, your hand sliding into her hair, messy and a little loose, almost falling out of her bun.

you kissed her first this time.

and paige melted into it.

for moment, she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching your face like she needed to make sure you were sure again. and when she saw the way you were looking at her—her breath caught in her throat.

she leaned down, kissed you slow once more, then gently guided you back, laying you down across your bed. she was gentle. like she was lucky just to touch you.

you sank into the mattress, heart pounding as paige hovered above you. her hand brushes lightly over your side, watching your eyes, then she sat up.

without a word, she reached for the hem of her black tank top and pulled it over her head, revealing her sports bra, the muscles in her arms flexing as she did. she tossed the shirt aside, then brought her hands to the button of her jeans.

you watched, barely breathing, as she popped it open. slid the zipper down. slowly.

and eased the denim down her hips.

she watched your eyes as she undressed, making sure you were watching her. you see her smirk, a soft chuckle leaving her lips when she sees you roll your eyes at how smug she’s being right now.

soon enough, she stepped out of them, now left in just her boxers and her bra.

god—she was beautiful. tall. lean. strong.

“still okay?” she asked.

“yeah,” you nodded. barely a whisper. “i want you.”

and paige smiled softly, a little crooked, “aight then.”

she couldn’t help but stare for a moment.

paige hovered above you, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your hips, her hands planted on either side of your head like she was caging you in.

she looked down at you—laid out beneath her in nothing but that fucking black lace, the same one she’d gotten a glimpse of in the bathroom, the one she hadn’t stopped thinking about since—fuck.

it was like the air had been knocked clean out of her chest.

her eyes dragged over every inch of you. the rise of your chest. the curve of your stomach. the way your thighs pressed together nervously, your fingers twitching against the sheets.

her mouth parted, lips still swollen and glistening.

“goddamn,” she whispered, voice barely there.

she ran a hand over her face and licked her lips, like she was trying to wake herself up.

her eyes dropped again, slowly tracing every detail—how the lace hugged your curves, the way your skin looked in the dim light of your room.

how absolutely perfect you looked beneath her.

she shook her head like she couldn’t believe it.

“so gorgeous, baby,” she murmured, leaning down again, her lips dragging over your neck. “so fuckin’ fine.“

paige kissed lower—her mouth pressed soft, lingering kisses across your chest, your shoulders, the valley of your breasts, a hand coming up to cup them and squeezing softly before sliding down to your waist once more. her fingers traced along the side of your hips, thumb slipping just under the lace of your panties, and she groaned against your skin, her breath hot.

“this what you wore under that dress?” she asked.

she kissed you again—even lower this time, just above your stomach. and you nodded, cheeks pink, and she grinned against your skin, her teeth catching your hipbone gently.

“you wore this for him?”

you opened your mouth to explain, to say no, but paige looked up at you then, eyes locked with yours. desperate. possessive.

she leaned up again, her hand sliding up your side, over the curve of your ribs until she reached your bra strap. she toyed with it a second, then whispered—

“nah. you wore this for me.”

you couldn’t even argue.

“right, baby?” she murmured, her thumbs playing with the waistband of your panties. “tell me who you wore it for.”

you could barely breathe, let alone speak.

your chest rose and fell under her, every inch of your skin burning where she touched, where she looked. her body was so close, heat radiating off of her like fire, and god, her voice was doing something to you you didn’t have words for. her hand stayed right there on your hip, fingers slipping under the lace edge again, teasing you. her eyes stayed locked on yours, waiting, mouth parted.

“you.” you swallowed, lips barely moving when you whispered, “i wore this for you, paige.”

paige smiles, her cheeks burning more than ever as she moves to bury her face into your neck, hiding the blush fanning over her skin.

when she lifts her head up, her lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time. her hand slid up your thigh, her body lowering to press more firmly against yours.

you whimpered into her mouth, wrapping your legs loosely around her waist without thinking, pulling her in closer, needing more. she gasped at that, hips rolling slow against yours once, once, and her whole body stiffened like she couldn’t take it.

she kissed down your neck again, right against your skin. her hands a quick to pull that bra off of you, desperate to feel your tits in her hands. she squeezes them lightly, dragging her lips over the soft flesh, smiling at the feeling of your hard nipples under the pads of her thumbs. you whimper quietly as she gently wraps her lips around one of your nipples and sucks, licking them softly as her hand toys with the other. she switches when she felt like it, giving each nipple equal attention, kissing and marking your skin.

she kisses you down the valley of breasts again, giving each of your boobs a gentle squeeze, before making her way down to your stomach, where she meets the waistband of your lace panties again. paige does well to tease you, skipping the fabric and traveling lower. she kissed the inside of your thigh, slowly, savoring the way your body responded—how you tensed and softened at the same time. how your hand reached blindly for her shoulder.

she kissed higher. then higher.

her breath hot. her lips soft and maddeningly slow.

her fingers spread along your thighs, thumbs brushing upward toward your hips.

she wanted you to feel safe. wanted you to feel everything.

soon enough, paige finally pulled your panties down your legs, throwing them somewhere behind her. her eyes never moved away from your body, watching as you squeezed your thighs together, shyly looking at her, you eyes half-lidded. you laid there, bare, hair fanned out on the mattress, over the sheets of your bed, waiting for her…

paige’s knees nearly gives out. her cheeks burning as she stares, her hands absentmindedly reaching to put her hands on your thighs, gently nudging them open.

“spread your legs, mama,” she says, mouth parted, almost as if she was drooling. “lemme see you.”

“paige…” you whimper softly.

“swear, imma make feel you so good.”

there’s a soft shuffling of the sheets as paige urges your thighs apart with her big hands, settling herself onto the bed. with her head between your legs. mouth practically watering. big blue eyes locked onto that perfect pussy of yours. she smirks when she sees how wet you are. fuck, you drive her crazy. she slicks a finger between your folds and hums, leaning closer, nudging her nose against your clit.

when her mouth finally met where you needed her most, your back arched. your and paige—god, she moaned when she tasted you. her tongue moved slow at first. learning you. she was taking her time. wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere. like she just wanted to worship you. you whimpered, your hand flying to her blonde hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands as her mouth moved against you, licking deeper, firmer, then softer again, teasing.

“p-paige, hah--!”

paige groaned into you, your moans only feeding her ambitions, gripping your thighs tighter, and when you gasped and your hips bucked gently, she held you down with one strong arm, never letting up. and you could barely think. she was relentless. so tender. so focused. like she’d been dreaming about this exact moment. she has been, actually. she’s dreamt about having you in her bed. legs spread open. body writhing. screaming her name. leaking all over her sheets.

“you taste so fuckin’ good,” she whispered against you, her mouth still working between your legs.

your eyes fluttered shut, head falling back against the pillow, thighs shaking. and when paige covers your entire clit with her mouth and just sucks hard—you can’t help but moan her name out all over again.

she fucks you slow, her mouth and tongue watering as she eats you out, absolutely obsessed with the way you roll your eyes back in pure ecstasy, your soft thighs closing in around your head, trapping her there.

paige thinks she’s in heaven. fuck, she could die happy right now. her face buried and tongue buried deep into your pussy. sucking. slicking. slurping. you taste so fucking good.

and you were already close--god, how long has it been? you could barely breathe. every sound slipping from your lips was soft. desperate. with your hips moving against her mouth without even realizing it. and paige groaned again. she loved that. every time you moaned, every twitch, every whimper—she needed more of it. she fucked you deeper, licked faster, her mouth dragging over your most sensitive spot in a way that made you cry out.

she wanted you to fall apart.

“you close, ma?”

you only moaned in response.

paige smiles. her eyes fluttered open for a second, catching your face twisted in pleasure, and she swore under her breath before closing them again, diving back in.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, baby,” she mumbled against your cunt. “just like that. lemme hear you.”

your legs tightened around her shoulders, your hands still tangled in her hair, and she didn’t stop—god, she didn’t even slow down. she licked you through every sound you gave her.

you were close. she could feel it. you could feel it.

and fuck—she was close, too. paige has never felt anything like this before. but, it’s so hot watching you come undone. her whines against your pussy turn into fervent moans and groans, absentmindedly grinding her hips into your bed as she continues to fuck you faster with her mouth. paige feels so fucking good. you taste so. fucking. good.

“f-fuck yes--(y/n)—“

and then you’re cumming right on her tongue.

but paige keeps her head buried between your thighs, her mouth relentless as she fucks you more through your orgasm. your hands flew to paige’s head without thinking—fingers tangling tight in her blonde hair, not sure if you wanted to push her away or pull her closer. you gasped, back arching off the bed as you let out a choked sound. your fingers tightened, tugging gently, but paige didn’t budge. she just groaned, moaning into your slick cunt, eyes half-lidded as she continued to eat you out.

god, paige was practically drunk on you. as if this was more pleasure for her than it was for you.

“paige—fuck, paige—wait—” you gasped, trying to speak through the stimulation.

you moan her name again, already nearing your second orgasm. you can feel her strong, big hands clinging onto your thighs, keeping you open, pushing you down onto the bed in case you even think about trying to push her away. but she just slurps. and slurps. everything is just so sloppy. so lewd. she laps at your cunt, her hips needily grinding into the mattress at the mere thought of you cumming again.

she held you through it, her mouth never leaving you, her arms never loosening, like she needed to feel every single second of you breaking apart in her hands.

she didn’t lift her head.

she didn’t even pretend to stop.

before you know it, you practically gush onto her face, crying her name out once again.

and while you came on her tongue, her hips jolted forward on instinct, her boxers sticking damp against her skin, and then—

a low groan tore from her throat, muffled into your skin, her mouth still on you as she cums in her boxers, untouched. paige clung to your thighs, her fingers digging in slightly, her body rocking forward once, then twice. she shakes slightly, resting her forehead against your lower stomach as she catches her breath. she could feel how wet and how hard she came.

her face stayed pressed against your skin, breath shaky, heart pounding, teeth sinking into her lip as she tried to collect herself.

you were breathless. completely spent. your chest rising and falling fast. she didn’t say anything at first. with your body still buzzing, you blinked up at the ceiling, your chest rising and falling slowly as you tried to breathe.

“hah--fuck, i…” paige pants quietly.

“paige,” you breathed, “d-did you just…”

her whole body stiffened.

you watched as her back rose with a deep breath and then stuttered when she exhaled. she turned her face slowly, pressing it into your stomach to hide, her arms tightening around you in embarrassment.

her voice came out muffled, “y-yeah.”

you blinked, your mouth parting slightly in awe.

and then—god, she groaned into your skin, clearly mortified, clearly red as hell even if you couldn’t even see her full face.

“fuck, don’t make it a thing,” she mumbled shyly into your belly. “i didn’t mean to… i wasn’t—”

she stopped for a second.

“you just… sounded so fuckin’ good. i couldn’t help it.”

your heart fluttered.

then you smiled and reached down, your fingers gently threading through her hair, feeling the damp warmth of her cheek against your stomach.

“paige…” you whispered.

her cheeks were so red. flushed all the way up to her ears, lips parted, her breathing still shallow like her body hadn’t come down yet. strands of her hair clung to her forehead, lips swollen, and her lashes fluttered as she finally met your eyes.

“come here.”

paige obeys immediately.

she kisses you along the way, dragging her lips across your skin. she just kissed the inside of your thigh, soft and slow. then again. then she pressed her lips higher, just above your hipbone, her hand brushing gently up your side. her mouth trailed along your stomach in a line of soft kisses,

she took her time.

soon, her lips found your ribs, the underside of your breast, your nipple, the dip beneath your collarbone. and when she finally reached your mouth again, she hovered for a second, her nose brushing yours.

your eyes opened slowly, just enough to see her looking down at you like you.

not a word left your lips as she watched you smile softly.

you just leaned up and kissed her, slow, and she melted into it immediately, sighing into your mouth like she’d been waiting all her life for it.

and immediately, your breath hitched.

because you could taste it. yourself. on her.

the heat in your cheeks spread quickly. you felt it the second your tongue slipped against hers.

paige groaned quietly into the kiss when she felt your body react, her hand slipping to the side of your neck, holding you there gently. like she couldn’t stand the space between you. she kissed you deeper. slower. and you kissed her back. you wrapped your arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer, your fingers sliding over the tight muscles in her back, feeling her breath stutter against your lips as you parted your mouth for her again.

her lips were so soft. warm. still a little swollen. and the taste of you on her tongue was intoxicating. you whimpered softly without meaning to, and she pulled back just an inch, barely enough to speak, her forehead resting against yours.

then, without warning, she just… blurted it out.

“can i take you out?”

you blinked up at her. once. twice. before your brows lifted in surprise, heart skipping hard in your chest.

“what?” you whispered, almost laughing, partly stunned, like maybe you’d misheard.

like maybe she didn’t really just say that with her body still pressed to yours, both of you naked in your bed.

but she nodded. serious. face still flushed.

“like… on a real date,” she said. “like dinner. or… whatever you want.”

she swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes scanning all over your face for any sign of doubt.

“you’re seriously asking me that… right now?”

“well… i’ve been wantin’ to ask. i just…” she smiled a little, sheepish. “kinda figured maybe i should do it after i made you cum first.”

your jaw dropped.

and all you could manage, through the haze of disbelief and the tiredness through your body, was--

“you… are so annoying.”

paige blinked.

then grinned. wide. mischievous.

“c’mon,” she laughed, burying her face into your neck, her body shaking as she clung to you and laughed. “don’t play me like that—i was tryna be romantic.”

“that was romantic?” you deadpanned, though you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“pretty sure,” she muttered, voice muffled against your skin. “i made you cum so hard you forgot how to say yes. that’s gotta count for something.”

you rolled your eyes, cheeks burning as you smacked her shoulder lightly.

“paige!”

“what?” she grinned, finally lifting her head, eyes shining, face flushed and soft with affection.

you rolled your eyes again, but your hand moved and stayed in her hair, your thumb idly brushing the edge of her ear. dazed at the feeling of your touch, paige leaned in again, pressing the gentlest kiss to your collarbone, then your shoulder, then the corner of your mouth.

“i meant it, though,” she said quietly. “about the date.”

“yeah, i know,” you say, smiling softly, noticing how nervous she’s gotten all of sudden.

paige looked at you. really looked this time. it was dark in your room, but she could see your face clearly. her smile lingered, but it faltered slightly around the edges. and then her eyes dropped to your lips, then your collarbone, then back to your eyes again like she couldn’t settle.

“i really like you.”

she swallowed hard. like the words tasted too big in her mouth. like they’d been sitting there for years and this was the only way they’d come out.

“i have for a long time,” she admitted. her voiced cracked the tiniest bit. she smiled again, but it was nervous. “i didn’t know how to say it before. or if i should. or if you’d wanna hear it. but… i do. i really… really like you.”

her thumb brushed your hip gently, her body still pressing against yours, scared you’d pull away.

you didn’t say anything at first.

you couldn’t. you just looked at the pink dusted across her cheeks, the way her lashes fluttere, the way her mouth twitched at the corners like she was trying to smile through the panic.

paige bueckers, who was usually so calm. so goofy. poised… looked terrified with you.

“paige,” you whispered, barely getting her name out.

her eyes moved up to meet yours, and for a second she looked like she regretted everything she just said. like she wanted to pull the words right out of the air and take them back.

you shook your head slowly, blinking back the sudden heat behind your eyes.

“why didn’t you ever tell me?”

she gave a weak, breathless laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.

“shit, i don’t know,” she said, shaking her head softly, eyes dropping again. “i honestly didn’t think you’d even consider me. and i didn’t wanna mess up what we had, too, so...”

she paused before speaking again.

“but when i kissed you that night, i… fuck, i couldn’t stop thinkin about you.”

immediately, you reached for her slowly, cradling her face in your hands, thumbs brushing over her hot cheeks.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you either,” you admitted.

paige’s lips curved up into a crooked smile. she let out a small huff through her nose, her forehead resting against yours.

she couldn’t believe this was real.

then she pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, a hand moving to your waist, her thumb brushing gently over your skin. she couldn’t stop touching you even if she tried.

“so…” she mumbled, lips twitching up into another grin. “you’ll go on that date with me?”

you roll your eyes first, but you could see it on her face that she was trying to play it cool, trying not to seem too eager, too in her feelings. but she was. she wanted this. wanted you. and not just like this.

she wanted more.

“yeah,” you nodded. “i’ll go on that date with you.”

paige beamed, practically glowing, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“bet.”

you barely had time to breathe before she kissed you again. gentle. smiling against your mouth like she couldn’t help it. in truth, she really felt like her heart was overflowing and kissing you was the only way to keep it from spilling out everywhere. you kissed her back, laughing a little through your nose when she nosed at your cheek afterward, all soft and affectionate, like her whole body had relaxed for the first time in weeks.

you though about the party. how you left matt without even saying goodbye to him. paige pulled you out of the door before you could even look at him. she didn’t want you to look. but she spotted him back in the kitchen as she walked you out. gave him a glare as she pulled you through the party, a hand low on your waist, pulling you close to her body, making sure he saw.

and god, did it make her feel good.

“you really are annoying,” you mumbled again, your fingers sliding through her hair at the nape of her neck.

“mhm,” she murmured, mouth moving against your jaw. “you already said that.”

her lips traced a lazy path down your jaw, then dipped to your neck, pressing gentle kisses and licks that made your skin shiver. her mouth found your collarbone next, sucking softly, stealing your focus a little more as she marked up your neck with light bruises.

“i meant it,” you said, suddenly shaky.

“i know, baby.”

finally, breath hitching in your throat, you whispered, “paige…”

but she only hummed in response, her lips continuing to explore your delicate skin. her lips pressed against your skin again.

you tried again, little more desperate now, “p-paige…”

but she just smiled against your skin, humming like she was saying i hear you, even if she had no plans to stop.

her hands slid up your sides, warm palms trailing, fingers dragging lightly along your ribs, and your whole body shivered. you felt her nose brush your neck, and her mouth found the spot just below your ear.

another kiss. slower. then another. and another.

you tried to speak again. tried to say something, anything—but your breath stuttered again the moment her mouth opened just a little against your neck, her tongue tasting the edge of your pulse, where your skin was sensitive.

“paige,” you exhaled, almost scolding, but it came out as a whisper.

“mm?” she hummed.

her lips never leave your skin. your fingers curled gripping her shoulders. you weren’t even sure what you were trying to say anymore. your head tilted back without even thinking, inviting her in, chasing the feeling of her mouth. she kept kissing you. lazily. hungrily. like she had all the time in the world and none at all. you felt her tongue graze your neck, felt her hand slide up the back of your thigh again.

you felt dazed. as if she were kissing the thoughts right out of you. as if she’d made up her mind that she was going to kiss every single inch of you until you couldn’t think straight.

and fuck, it was working.

“i wanna fuck you again,” she confessed quietly against your neck.

“please,” you whispered, almost too quiet for her to hear. “don’t stop.”

you feel her smile against your skin.

and just like that—she was yours. and you were hers.

for real this time. no more pretending.

just… you. and her.

finally.

masterlist | © bueckii.

#bueckii.#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #wbb #wnba #paige bueckers x fem!reader #fanfic #wnba x reader #wbb x reader #women’s basketball #uconn wbb #fanfiction #wlw #smut

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neuronary · 2 days ago

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okay this may be unwanted lmk and i'll but i think this might be what their perspective was like, from somebody who no longer verbalises things because so many of my friends do this, and also overthinks everything:

them: ah shit (mostly reflexive/said to themselves in response to a mild inconvenience)

you: what happened? (we've worried you, whoops)

them: oh i just forgot something at home (there we go, now we've clarified that it's unimportant and we can get back to doing xyz)

you: oh that sucks. do you have to go get it? (shit, we've worried them more. we totally overreacted to something stupid.)

them: no, it's not important (okay NOW we've definitely clarified that it's unimportant and the conversation is over, that was kind of embarrassing)

you: [continue to talk]

them: [gets increasingly embarrassed/frustrated]

another factor is that, particularly at the beginning of the conversation, you were asking a lot of questions (because that's a good way to carry a conversation, it makes sense) but the problem with that is it doesn't give someone a way to neatly fade out of a conversation without looking rude. (you can vaguely hum in response ot a statement. you have to answer a question.) the interaction turns into "i got dragged into conversation over nothing" from their perspective.

there isn't really a solution to this, but my general rule of thumb is that i either start a conversation myself or consider speech an invitation if it's a question.

After preliminary testing I am beginning to suspect that a significant portion of the “you talk too much” crowd aren’t so much about “I don’t like talking and you talk all the time” as they are “when I talk I don’t want a response, I just want to say things”

#idk just #i also think about this kind of thing a lot #and find it interesting from an intellectual/scholarly perspective!#pattern seeking behaviour frfr

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wintrbears · 2 days ago

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Cradle Robbers: The Third Trimester | JJK

Summary: Everything feels different after having the worst scare of your life, but your baby's due date is fast approaching and there's still plenty more important things to do than rifle through your ever-growing feelings for Jungkook. He certainly doesn't make it easy on you when he's constantly sweeping you off your feet.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Pregnancy AU, Childhood Friends to FWB to Lovers, Slow-Burn, Smut, Fluff, Crack, Angst (barely, you have to squint to see it)

Word Count: 24.9k+

Warnings: pregnancy, childbirth, water breaking, talks of bodily fluids, blood, blood transfusion, mentions of dizziness, anxiety, surprises, gifts, alcohol, thunderstorms, hospitals, doctors, nurses, scrubs, wheelchairs, crying, screaming, extreme physical pain, airplanes. SMUT: kissing, cuddling, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, big dick jk!!!, oral sex (m receiving), doggy, dick riding, titty play, lactation kink, making out in the shower, cream pie, grinding, hair pulling, choking, manhandling, ok I think that might be it!

Author's Note: I actually cannot believe the final chapter is here. the amount of love I've received from this story is so overwhelming and it makes me unbelievably happy that you guys love these two as much as I do. here's to an epic conclusion for our couple and their beautiful baby! if you’ve given birth and see any inaccuracies pls just look the other way lol. also, to the anon that asked me about a lactation kink and I said no... I promise I'm not a liar you just inspired me to add one. thank you all so much for all the support. enjoy, my lovely readers :)

-> Cradle Robbers Masterpost

SEVEN

You sincerely hope your fellow grocery shoppers don’t see you with six bottles of wine balancing on your baby bump and think you’re a monster. It obviously isn’t for you, but stranger things have happened and you have no control over what these people may think of you.

The sole reason you’re purchasing copious amounts of alcohol is because it’s wine night, and tonight is the inaugural gathering at your house. The girls are all unbelievably excited to see the illustrious home, including the partially decorated nursery they’ve only seen via video call.

It’s since been painted a neutral beige color with an adorable cat and dog mural on the wall behind the crib. More artwork occupies the remaining walls, including a set of picture frames containing photos of you and Jungkook from childhood until now. The furniture’s all been built at this point, although some of it still needs to be placed and secured to the wall. The ample supply of stuffed animals provided by none other than your baby’s father reside in a hammock above the rocking chair.

Jungkook will be at Namjoon’s tonight along with the other guys so you can have the place to yourselves, which you’re grateful for since it wouldn’t be very conducive to conversation if a central topic of your gossip is present. He certainly doesn’t need his ego stroked by you enthusiastically retelling the girls about all your wild sexual encounters.

Visually taking stock of your haul, which mostly consists of junk food and wine, you mentally run through your shopping list one last time before heading to the checkout. The employee scanning your items looks surprised when she glances between your belly and the wine collection, but thankfully doesn’t comment on the questionable items. She informs you of the total and you tap Jungkook’s black card against the machine. Once you hear the familiar chime, you thank the woman and steer your cart towards the parking lot.

A recent development of your pregnancy is that you began your third and final trimester by quitting your job, hence why you’re paying for groceries with Jungkook’s card and not your own.

It’s been on the table for a while now, with you and Jungkook discussing it here and there over the last couple months. After crunching the numbers, the two of you mutually agreed it’s for the best. Since your salary is astronomically smaller than Jungkook’s, you would lose more money paying for childcare than by removing your salary from the equation altogether.

Being a stay-at-home mom was never the plan, even when you were younger, but now that you’re pregnant, the idea is more appealing than ever. Not only do you want to be present for all the special moments of their childhood, but Jungkook is loaded and there’s no reason to pay for a nanny or daycare when he can care for you financially while you take care of things at home.

Truthfully, it’s been difficult depending on him, not because he makes it so, but because you still feel guilty using his money. Your last paycheck was about two weeks ago, so you’re exclusively using his funds and the first time you tapped his card against the machine you nearly bit your lip off. On the flip side, Jungkook’s been profusely scolding you for refusing to go on a huge spending spree with his no limit credit card.

He’s been continuously sending you links to buy expensive jewelry, clothes, and handbags, and threatens to buy them for you himself if you don’t run his bank account dry soon. It’s the first time in his life you’ve given him the go ahead to support you in that way and he’s adamant about you taking advantage of the opportunity.

Ironically, the only thing you’ve bought other than essentials is a gift for him.

Last week his gaming headset snapped in half when Bam decided they were a perfect seat. Jungkook was rightfully distraught and refused to look his beloved pet in the eye for the remainder of the evening. Determined to mend their relationship, you went out the following morning to buy him the latest and greatest.

When you presented him the gift, Jungkook lifted you so far above his head in excitement you feared hitting the ceiling. Despite his own bank account decreasing, the thoughtfulness of your act sent him over the moon with joy. He attacked you with kisses once your feet met the ground again, and you had to pry him off you before your lips turned purple.

Independence is a key character trait of yours, so this new lifestyle is definitely an adjustment, but it would be a lie to say it doesn’t feel just a little bit nice using a card that doesn’t have your own name on it.

During your drive home, the contact image of Jungkook positively cheesing next to your most recent ultrasound photo appears on the dashboard screen. Your heart does an involuntary flip at the sight, and you press the green answer button just as the car turns down your street.

“Hey, baby.”

Despite his usage of a pet name, Jungkook sounds exasperated, and maybe slightly annoyed, when the phone connects.

“Koo? Is everything alright?”

“No, Bams,” he admits begrudgingly. “There’s a leak under the kitchen faucet. It’s pretty bad. I don’t think we can have the girls over tonight, but I already called the Blue Lagoon Lounge and booked a room for you guys. The drinks and food are all paid for already. So, text the girls to let them know and have fun, okay?”

“What? Jungkook, are you sure? If the leak isn’t going to take more than a couple hours I can just tell the girls to come later.”

“No, no,” Jungkook says. “Just go enjoy yourself and I’ll take care of this. I don’t want your night to be cut short at all. The reservation is under Jeon.”

“Alright,” you mumble. “Love you, talk to you soon.”

“Love you more, Bambi, I’ll see you soon.”

You voice-to-text your group chat to reiterate the news and your friends are downright ecstatic about having access to unlimited free food and drinks.

In fact, the last text to ping your phone from Tzuyu reads: “thank you so fucking much for getting knocked up by a sexy millionaire. I owe you my life.” The three other members of the chat heart react the message.

When you arrive at the restaurant, you look down and mentally congratulate yourself on already being dressed in your attire for the evening. It’s unusually warm for this time of year, so you’re in a floral tea-length dress with your hair up. Your friend group doesn’t normally get dolled up for these occasions, but Mina is finally ready to reacclimate herself to the dating scene and suggested a mini photoshoot for your choice of entertainment tonight.

The Blue Lagoon Lounge is massive, with a full dining room, smaller private suites, and large banquet halls in the back. Upon telling the hostess the name, she leads you through a couple of winding hallways and rooms. She gestures towards a pair of double doors once you reach your destination and you gaze at her inquisitively, wondering if she got the room right. Sensing your confusion, she nods to reaffirm her guidance and steps aside so you can enter.

The moment your feet cross the threshold, the eruption of sound from inside the room makes you jump in shock.

“SURPRISE!”

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head as your jaw falls open.

All of your friends and family are scattered around the large room which overlooks the river on the edge of your city. The multitude of round tables which occupy the space are decorated beautifully with white, purple, and yellow flowers along with gorgeous fine china place settings. There’s a liberal sized bar along the back wall and an even bigger buffet table in the corner closest to you.

When your surveying eyes land on Jungkook, who's standing with your friends beside the grand, floor length windows, he smirks and wiggles his phone in accomplishment.

“You little liar!”

“I did good, right?”

“Yes, which is concerning because you’re a terrible liar,” you say while approaching them.

“Oh, don’t worry, he needed plenty of coaching,” Mina states.

“We went over the script four times,” Nayeon mentions.

“And my hands still shook!” Jungkook responds before holding his hand up to show you it twitching.

You clasp the appendage between your own and kiss his knuckles, pulling him into you for a tight embrace. He laughs heartily as his arms latch around you, tugging you up against him until your heels lift from the floor. His hand holds the nape of your neck while you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Thank you, baby,” you whisper to him. “This is amazing.”

“I didn’t do anything besides pay for it, Bambi. Your friends did all this,” he tells you.

“Uh, see, now he’s getting a little too good at lying,” Tzuyu says from behind you. “It was his idea, Y/N.”

You reluctantly depart from his warmth, but lace your fingers together while you stand side by side.

“No,” Jungkook shakes his head modestly. “I mentioned it once in passing and you guys took it from there.”

“So humble, JK,” Jihyo clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

Hugging the girls one by one, you thank them for sacrificing a wine night for your surprise baby shower before moving throughout the room to greet everyone else who came to celebrate you.

Jungkook follows closely behind with a hand on your lower back, thanking everyone for coming with an adorable bow of his head. He does it so much that at one point you place your hand beneath his chin to stop him so he doesn’t get a headache.

Your parents are last, but of course not least, and you don’t miss the way your moms make eye contact with matching cheshire grins when they notice where Jungkook’s hand resides.

The six of you exchange hugs and your mom holds your hands afterwards, excitedly shaking them in the air.

“Oh sweetie, weren’t you so surprised?” She asks.

“Yes! It was the last thing I was expecting, but I’m so grateful everyone came,” you answer her.

“You’re glowing, sweetpea,” your dad comments.

Once the greetings are complete, everyone moseys around grabbing drinks and placing their gifts on the long table at the front of the room. You join Jungkook at the bar to grab his drink, which he thrice pretends to hand you before pulling it back with an annoyingly cute giggle. Rolling your eyes, you take his hand and lead him to the little sweetheart table at the very center of the wall of windows which faces the rest of the room.

Before tables are dismissed one by one to grab food from the buffet, Jihyo stands and clinks a fork against her glass to garner everyone’s attention.

“Hi everyone, for those who don’t know me, I’m Jihyo. I want to say a little something before we eat and celebrate the amazing woman sitting at the front of the room.” She beckons towards you with her hands and the sound of everyone’s cheers turns your face bright red. “Y/N is the most loving, caring, wonderful soul I’ve ever known and although it wasn’t planned,” she purposely whispers the last word, sending a wave of laughter across the room. “I am absolutely certain she’ll be the most amazing mother the world has ever known. I love you so much, babe, and I can’t wait to meet your little one.”

She raises her glass for a toast, and you parrot the act with your virgin mimosa.

“I believe the little one’s daddy also has something he’d like to say?”

Jungkook’s eyes go wide, his hand pointing to his chest in surprise, clearly not expecting the spotlight. Jihyo nods encouragingly and shoots him a double thumbs up as she takes her seat. Always one for a challenge, Jungkook cracks his neck, clicks his tongue, and clears his throat before standing with his drink in hand.

“Hello,” Jungkook says quietly while fidgeting with his shirt collar. “I’m fairly certain everyone here knows me, since you can’t really know Bambi without knowing me, too.” He taps his fingers against his glass as he ponders his next move. “I, um…” You squeeze his hand where it rests on his thigh and a smile creeps onto his face, his eyes briefly catching your supportive gaze. “Jihyo’s right, this wasn’t planned, not even a little bit, but it was without a doubt the best surprise of my life.”

Jungkook’s ears go red to match the blush painting his cheeks.

“I’m so incredibly thankful to call her my best friend and the mother of my child. I know I’ll never be able to repay her for everything she’s going through to bring our little one into the world. Her body and mind have been through hell and I’ve spent my entire life chasing away whatever may bring her pain and sorrow, so it’s been really challenging to feel so helpless. But she handles everything so beautifully, with so much grace and understanding, and I grow more in awe of her with every passing day.”

He takes a deep breath and faces you with his glass held high.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Bams, and there’s nothing you deserve more than to be celebrated for everything you do and will do in the future as a mother. I love you more than words can describe, Y/N.”

You gasp, your hands slapping against your mouth as tears immediately threaten your waterline. It’s been nearly two decades since the last time you heard the sound of your name rolling off his tongue, and you don’t think the syllables have ever sounded so beautiful.

Jungkook smiles devilishly at the exact reaction he was hoping to pull from you.

Your head falls forward as you cry into your palms, the kindhearted words from both him and Jihyo making your heart clench from all the love it’s receiving. Jungkook returns to his seat to console you, letting you cry on his shoulder instead.

“You said my name,” you whimper.

The sound of his low chuckle meets your ears.

“Don’t get used to it, Bambi.”

He places multiple kisses between the strands of your hair and wipes the remaining tears away after you raise your head. If you weren’t currently surrounded by loved ones, you’d kiss him senseless and probably drop to your knees if you’re being totally honest.

When you glance around the room after falling back into your chair with a sigh, you notice your mom dabbing her waterline with a tissue while his mom reapplies the makeup under her eyes. You giggle and nudge Jungkook to show him, and he joins in your adoration of the two women with a loving shake of his head.

Following dinner, your four friends run a series of typical baby shower games, some of which are guessing games while others require basic baby knowledge.

You barely partake in the festivities yourself, too busy goofing off with Jungkook as he writes the most incorrect answers imaginable. The two of you laugh hysterically through every question as if you’re the only ones present, despite being the sole reason for the celebration.

An executive decision is made to open gifts at home rather than have everyone watch you ooh and aww at baby trinkets for an hour. It’s far more appealing to you to walk around and mingle with your loved ones, which is precisely what you do after dessert.

“It’s the woman of the hour!” Yunjin cheers as you place yourself on Chaewon’s lap and rest your head on her shoulder.

“Thank you guys so much for coming,” you tell them.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Hoseok states.

“We’re so happy for you, Y/N, and we’re so excited to be aunts and uncles,” Namjoon says.

“Also, are you and Jungkook like… a thing, because eyes don’t lie and that man is googoo gaga for you,” Eunchae asks.

“And it’s not like you’re any better,” Yoongi adds.

You nibble on your lip as your eyes peruse the room and land on Jungkook’s silhouette standing beside your dads.

“No, at least, not officially, but something’s definitely changed recently,” you answer honestly.

“How so?” Jin asks.

“You guys know how we went through that awful miscarriage scare last month?” They all nod. “Well, ever since then it feels like the energy’s shifted. Neither of us have said anything, but I know we both feel it. I mean, I’ve slept in his bed every night since, we constantly kiss outside of sexual activities, and we’ve started casually calling each other baby.”

“Oh, so you guys are like, in love love,” Jimin states.

“I don’t know,” you respond. “He’s always taken up nearly my entire heart, but I’m still figuring out if he’s finally got a monopoly on it or not.”

“Y/N, honey, you said so yourself you’ve never been happier,” Chaewon notes. “Don’t overthink it.”

You flash her a grateful smile as a thank you for her advice before telling them you’ll see them later and going to converse with your other guests.

At one point, you realize you haven’t seen Taehyung or Mina in a while and do a once over of the room. When you spot them cuddled up in the back corner giggling to each other, you smirk. They hooked up once a few years ago before Mina started dating Mingyu, and you would be more than happy to see them rekindle their affair.

You catch Jungkook’s attention from across the room and point to them as nonchalantly as possible. When his eyes land on them, they light up and he makes a proud OK sign with his hand.

Some people stay for a while and others wish you good luck with the delivery before sunset, but by the time Jungkook is done loading all the presents in your dad’s truck, only your parents remain.

“Oh, shit, I don’t have a car,” Jungkook states when he returns for a final sweep of the room. “I drove over here with Tzuyu.”

It wouldn’t normally be an issue since you and him could drive home together, but for storage purposes your parents are taking the gifts home and he has to follow behind your dad to help bring them inside.

“Just take my car and I’ll go with my mom,” you suggest.

Everyone exchanges goodbyes and you tell Jungkook you’ll see him later at home. He bends down to kiss your cheek after you hug him, and it forces you to hide a radiant blush crawling up your face and neck.

It’s familiar being in the passenger seat of your mom’s car, although it's been a while. She drives through the city towards your house with the radio on low, but you can already tell she’s itching to speak.

“Sweetie, you know you can tell me anything, right?” Sensing where this is going, you inhale exasperatedly. “No, don’t give me excuses. I know you’ve been keeping things from me because you don’t want me to get my hopes up.”

You sit back in your seat, your arms crossing over each other.

“It’s just not any of your business, Mom,” you tell her.

“I don’t need to know everything, especially that stuff, but I can tell you have a lot on your mind. And I know something is going on. I see the way you look at him and how he looks at you. It’s not the same as it was before.” She squeezes your thigh lovingly. “Just talk to me, sweetheart.”

“There… there isn’t much to say.” She sends a disapproving glance in your direction. “Okay, yeah, maybe things have changed, but I don’t know in what way yet. I think we’re both happy with the way things are and don’t feel a need to label it or discuss it. Maybe once the baby’s born, we will.”

“Are you alright with that? You usually tell Jungkook everything the very moment it enters your mind.”

“It’s different this time. I’m not afraid to tell him or worry I’ll get rejected, but it just feels like we’re in this perfect bubble of joy and love and I don’t want to pop it.”

“What if it doesn’t pop, though? What if it makes the bubble even stronger?”

You toss her words around in your mind, nodding your head as your brain parses through the information.

“That would be nice.”

“I’m not trying to pressure you, sweetie, and I don’t want you to ever take my feelings into account when yours are the only ones that matter, but I want all the happiness in the world for you and that boy is heaven sent.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a smile. “He is. I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“That would be me,” she proudly reminds you.

You laugh with your head thrown back. And to think, the only reason you’re all here today is because their university randomly assigned them to be roommates.

She drops you off at home with a hug and kiss on your cheek. Once inside, you hear Usagi meowing in annoyance at someone and when you round the corner, you see Jungkook rolling her back and forth on the couch as though she’s a furry rolling pin. He merely giggles at her indignation and attacks her little head with kisses.

“Leave my daughter alone, will you?”

“Hey, she’s my daughter, too,” Jungkook retorts with a pout. When he turns over his shoulder to see you, the pout’s long gone and been replaced by a peaceful smile. “Did you have fun tonight, Bambi?”

He stands to full height and slides his hands into his pockets, still dressed in his attire from the evening sans the sport coat. His poor dress shirt is barely holding on by a thread where it lays across his chest, the buttons holding on for dear life to fit over the contours of his pecs. The slacks he’s wearing aren’t doing much better, with the black fabric stretched tight to accommodate the muscular thighs beneath. It makes both your mouth and pussy water.

“Of course, I did! I can’t thank you enough, Koo,” you say while meeting him by the couch.

“There’s no need to thank me, baby. You deserve it.”

“Well, I can think of something that you deserve in return,” you propose using the sultry eyes you know he melts for everytime.

His eyebrows twitch upwards, an anticipatory smile growing as he holds your gaze. Instead of waiting for a reply, your hand shoves at his shoulder to send him tumbling backwards into the couch. Knees automatically spreading wide open for you, you use your leverage on his thighs to kneel before him.

“Bams, you don’t have to,” he tells you, but his hand is already in your hair as you unbuckle his belt.

“I want to.” You bend down to kiss him over his boxers once his pants are in a puddle around his ankles. “I want to so fucking bad, baby.”

Jungkook moans when your tongue presses down on the fabric and causes his dick to twitch. You quickly pull the garment down his legs and let it fall atop his slacks. He’s already sporting a semi that makes your thighs clench, the sight of his thick cock slowly becoming one of your favorites.

Pumping him with your hand, you kiss and bite his thick thighs until he’s rock hard and leaking precum down your palm. You lick over his slit with a hungry moan and Jungkook throws his head back against the couch in response.

“Oh, babygirl, that feels so fucking good.”

His hand becomes a ponytail, pulling all the strands away from your face so you can work unhindered and he has a clear view of you sucking him off.

Your lips leisurely wrap around his head while you stare into his steadily darkening eyes. When you use suction and torturously swirl your tongue beneath the ridge separating the head from his shaft, Jungkook’s hips buck up involuntarily and you have to hold him still by his thighs. Slowly, all without ever looking away, you sink lower and lower until you’re gagging around him because he’s scratching the back of your throat.

Jungkook cries out in pleasure, his free hand grasping desperately onto one of yours to give him something to hold onto.

Swallowing a couple times while he’s buried deep in your throat, you allow a teasingly long moment to pass before finally sticking your tongue out and bobbing your head along his cock. He groans deliriously and his thighs shake as you sloppily work your mouth over him, doing so because you know exactly how much he loves to see the drool spilling from your lips.

“Good girl, that’s my good fucking girl,” Jungkook praises nonsensically. “Mouth was fucking made for me.”

When you moan around him in agreement, your spit meets his balls below and you use it as an excuse to play with them in your free hand. Jungkook’s jaw clenches and the hand holding yours harshly squishes your digits together. You change gears upon the realization of how worked up the action makes him, sucking one of his balls into your mouth and replacing your tight throat with your hand.

“Oh, Jesus, Bams,” he shouts as you suckle the sensitive skin.

After languidly curling your tongue around him for a moment, you switch and repeat the treatment for the other one, mirroring the pace of your hand to match the way your tongue works his sack. Returning to the main event, you flatten your tongue along the underside of his shaft until reaching the tip and spitting on him so you can bring him between your lips again.

Unfortunately, you’re only able to take him into your warm throat a few more times before he’s pulling you away by your hair.

You pout and place your hands on your hips.

“Koo, I wanna swallow your cum.”

“Nuh uh, I’m gonna put another fucking baby in you,” he states, his eyes completely overtaken by lust.

Jungkook manhandles you like a ragdoll until you’re face down ass up on the couch with him situated behind you. His hands grab the bottom hem of your dress and flip it upwards to reveal your underwear, which you only realize he rips off of you when you hear the sound of the fabric tearing.

“Koo!”

“Don’t complain when you know I can buy you a thousand more.” His fingers immediately find your pussy to check if you’re wet enough, and when you hear the pleased chuckle from behind you, you know he’s got his answer. “You got this wet just from sucking me off, baby?”

You nod your head and Jungkook smacks your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“Yes!” Jungkook hums in satisfaction and you whine when he soothes the burn with his palm. “Jungkook, baby, please fuck me.”

You compliment your begging by wiggling your ass, and Jungkook moans appreciatively at the sight, his fingers grasping your flesh possessively. He slowly runs his dick along your sopping wet folds and you automatically keen and whimper for more. His movements continue that way for a tauntingly long amount of time, teasing you with just enough to keep you from going crazy. The only relief you’re given is when his tip brushes against your sensitive nub and provides you with delicious friction.

An angrier version of your prior instruction is about to leave your mouth when Jungkook brutally spears you on his cock. In one single stroke he’s entirely sheathed within your walls and you scream out in ecstasy while your head falls forward. His pace can only be described as goddamn insane, or maybe those are just the only words you can think of when the huge dick ramming into your pussy is making your brain blank.

From behind Jungkook’s tip kisses your cervix with every thrust and you moan without restraint as he monstrously fucks your cunt open. His hand returns to your hair, the other one clutching the back of the couch so he can keep a steady rhythm. You feel his wet balls slapping your clit with every stroke and it makes you bite down on the skin of your hand.

“Gonna fucking ruin you, Bams,” he warns. “I don’t want you to be able to walk tomorrow, you got that?”

“Fuck, yes,” you agree without a second thought.

You can stay in bed all day for all you care, all you want is for Jungkook to keep stretching you apart and making you his. You don’t want your pussy to remember any other shape but his cock, want your flesh to memorize every ridge and vein so it knows exactly who’s coming home when he enters you.

Jungkook was already close when he started fucking you, so he’s doing everything he can for you to reach the same precipice. He repeatedly slams his hips into your ass as he yanks hard enough on your hair that he can almost see your eyes from his position. His hand wraps around your throat, pressing down on your jugular until his fingers leave blotchy, red marks. A second later, he’s forcing you upright until your back meets his chest and he traps you there by looping his other arm beneath your tits.

The new angle makes you whine pathetically as he buries his dick so deep you feel him in your throat.

“Baby, holy shit.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook licks the sweat off your neck. “Whose pussy is this, baby?”

“Yours,” you moan weakly.

You would be more than willing to scream from the rooftops just how much your body belongs to him, but you can’t exactly speak very loud when you’re choking on the euphoria he’s providing you.

Coincidentally, your volume isn’t good enough for Jungkook.

“Louder,” he growls right into your ear.

“It’s yours, Jungkook!”

“That’s fucking right.”

His hand leaves your neck after gently constricting your airway to massage your clit instead, pushing two of his fingers into your mouth to lubricate them first. He circles and presses down hard on the nub to make you keen and throw your head back against his shoulder. He utterly devours your neck from behind, his spit coating your skin in a pretty sheen as he moves from one spot to the next.

You feel his hand disappear from your pussy and whine disapprovingly, but then his middle fingers are sliding into your mouth again so you can suck your juices off his digits. Erotically licking around and between his fingers, you hollow your cheeks and suck so he can feel your tight throat again.

He groans and bites on your earlobe.

“So good for me, Bambi,” he whispers darkly. “You’re fucking perfect, baby.”

He removes his fingers from your mouth and they return to your cunt, rubbing your clit in fast circles to get you to where you need to be.

“I’m — fuck. I’m close, Koo.”

“Atta girl. Come on this fat cock,” he commands.

Jungkook releases you and pushes you down by your shoulder blades, forcing your cheek into the cushions as you arch and match his cadence by thrusting your hips backwards. You scream into the fabric when he speeds up and abuses your hole at a demonic pace.

The clapping is obscene and deafening, and you’re fairly certain you hear his pans rattling in the kitchen from where they hang down.

Your climax builds to an impossible level before crashing over you like a tsunami wave of pure pleasure. There’s a combination of drool and tears left behind on the couch cushions. The room goes white when your vision blanks, your legs twitching along with your pussy as the orgasm tears through you and you helplessly sob Jungkook’s name.

The feeling of Jungkook’s seed filling your cunt makes you cry his name repeatedly like a prayer, the sensation of it dripping down your thighs heavenly enough to make your eyesight blur.

Jungkook pants irregularly for a while before pulling out and resting on your back, the two of you toppling down and lying flat against the couch as your bodies return to normalcy.

“Goddamn, Bambi,” Jungkook huffs.

“Me?”

Jungkook just laughs breathlessly, kissing your cheek through the curtain of your hair.

You remain as deadweight together on the couch until you finally feel whole enough to return to earth, and once you do, you walk hand-in-hand to Jungkook’s bedroom to catch a good night’s sleep.

A couple days later, after you can indeed walk properly again, you’re completing miscellaneous chores around the house while Jungkook finishes securing the furniture in the nursery.

It’s already been an outrageously long day, especially with the weight of your unborn child applying a disastrous amount of pressure on your lower back. Your little one’s recent growth spurt makes it nearly impossible to stand for longer than thirty minutes without reprieve. When Jungkook comes downstairs and notices you rubbing your lower back with one hand while white-knuckling the counter with the other, he rushes to you and replaces your hand with his own to massage your spine.

“Oh, thank you,” you sigh in relief.

“I got you, babygirl,” he says with a kiss to your shoulder. A moment later he seemingly remembers something, an adorable noise of realization coming from beside you. “Wait, I saw something on the internet I wanted to try.”

“Jungkook, no.”

“No, wait, Bams, it’s supposed to help!”

You eye him dangerously over your shoulder, alerting him without a word that if this is a prank he’ll be in for a rude awakening.

He ignores your warning glance and uses his hands to stand you upright. You feel his arms circling you to hold beneath your baby bump and you’re ready to ask what he’s doing when suddenly the weight of your womb and the pressure on your back disappears.

Looking down, you see Jungkook holding your stomach up for you, relieving the ache and allowing you to breathe freely.

“Oh, wow, that’s really nice,” you mumble as your head falls to his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’ll do it as long as you like, Bams,” he tells you honestly.

He does exactly that, holding the weight of your unborn child on your behalf for about ten minutes while you relish in the feeling of being weightless for a while. The act eventually joins his foot rubs and serenades as a part of your regular routine.

You’re lounging on the couch reading another parenting book while Jungkook plays a video game with your feet in his lap. It’s actually a test run for the game he’s been designing, and Jimin was absolutely right about him giving your character huge boobs. They’re tasteful, though, and you don’t mind because she’s a total badass.

The game is currently distracting you from your book when you feel a strange sensation in your belly. You jump a little, looking down at your baby bump which is on display since you’re only wearing a bralette. The sensation happens again, and now that you’re watching intently, you see something move beneath your skin.

Gasping in excitement, you begin hitting Jungkook with your book to grab his attention.

“Koo! Koo! The baby is kicking,” you shout even though he’s inches away from you.

His reaction is instantaneous, pausing the game and tossing the controller unceremoniously on the couch. Your hand traverses your belly so you can feel the next kick, and when you do, it makes you squeal and giggle in amazement.

“Here, give me your hand,” you say and he stretches his arm towards you in response.

Placing his hand where you felt the movement, you wait and watch his face instead of your belly, wanting to see his reaction when he feels his baby move for the first time. The sensation comes, and you see Jungkook’s brow crease before his whole face lights up, his big brown eyes sparkling brighter than any star in the galaxy.

“That’s… that’s our little one?” He asks in awe. You nod repeatedly and he smiles so big it takes up his entire face. “Hi, baby,” he coos in adoration, bending down to kiss all over your stomach.

They kick again while he’s smooching you and he yelps in surprise at the feeling.

You’re both blushing and giggling like schoolgirls with a crush, already so completely spellbound by your child.

Jungkook carefully crawls over you to kiss you, but it’s all teeth and tongue because you can’t stop smiling even while trying to lock lips. You whimper in pain after a moment and Jungkook pulls back to check on you, his hand rising to caress your cheek.

“Seems our baby found my spine to kick instead,” you groan.

Jungkook frowns and runs his thumb along your cheekbone.

“I guess wanting them to grow up to be a soccer player isn’t such a good thing after all,” he notes. Then, a thought occurs to him and his eyes light up again while he giggles to himself. “Hey, guess what?”

“Hmm?”

“Bambi.” He points to you. “And Thumper.” He points to your bump.

An endeared giggle completely overtakes your body, the back of your head hitting the arm of the couch while you rapidly kick your feet.

“That’s so cute, Koo!” You hold his face in your hands. “Our family Halloween costumes are gonna be freaking adorable!”

Jungkook’s expression turns saccharine as his eyes trace over your features in wonderment, and his gaze makes you realize it’s the first time you’re referring to yourselves as a family. The notion is obvious, but hearing the word aloud causes both your hearts to leap into your throat. You share in an adoring chuckle again, your foreheads meeting as you serenely close your eyes.

EIGHT

Jungkook blares “It’s the Final Countdown” from his Bluetooth speaker as he enthusiastically skips around the living room, both Bam and Usagi trailing after him in wonder. You’re too busy laughing from your place on the couch to join them.

Today is exactly one month from your due date, and you’re prepared for this to be the single longest month of your life. The last eight have felt more like eight years, but you’re so close to the promised land, and you can hardly wait to bring your little one home. If you’re lucky, the baby may even come a little early and save you some heartache.

And the heartache is literal, since one of the latest symptoms to add itself to the disastrous mix is intense heartburn. Couple that with the incessant kicking your child’s been getting up to lately, and your entire torso feels like it’s under siege.

Jungkook does everything he can to help, such as constantly passing you Tums and playfully scolding your baby to stop kicking so much. He even went so far as to lace up his boxing gloves and have a sparring match with your baby bump. The extreme laughter born from his antics ended up hurting your stomach more than the kicking.

The chemistry between you has been steadily increasing for some time, the line between friends and lovers practically blurring into obscurity, but you both welcome the feeling with open arms.

You don’t find it necessary to broach the topic. You and Jungkook have never needed words to communicate, always knowing precisely what the other is thinking with a single glance, and it’s no different in this scenario.

Every time your eyes meet you know he feels the same; you’re no longer just best friends, and that’s alright.

About a week later you’re in the nursery together working on some finishing touches to the decor. Jungkook is hanging the mobile above the crib while you place the astronomical amount of clothes you received from your surprise baby shower in the closet. The nursery is positively jam packed from all the gifts people gave you last month, every corner of the room bursting with clothes, books, toys, and accessories. Even though the ample amount of supplies is overwhelming, knowing your little one is already so loved makes you abundantly happy.

Chaewon even crocheted the perfect gender neutral blanket, despite her original complaints about the gender being unknown.

Since the gender is a surprise, you and Jungkook haven’t discussed baby names all that much. Some general ideas have been thrown around, including family names and a sarcastic suggestion of “JJ” for Jungkook Jr. But you both share in the, perhaps naive, belief that as soon as you see them you’ll somehow know exactly what their name should be.

Jungkook’s work phone rings, and you briefly glance over your shoulder to see him exiting the room as he answers the call. Usagi happily trots inside with the door wide open and curls up in the little reading nook. You give her some well deserved head pats while she purrs in content before continuing with your assigned task. Once all the clothes are either hung up or housed in the proper drawers, you leave the room to check on Jungkook.

When you find him after descending the stairs, he’s standing at the kitchen island drinking a glass of water which he slams down once it’s empty. Your eyebrows quirk up at the harsh motion, wondering what the call could’ve been about to elicit such a reaction.

“Koo, is everything alright?”

Jungkook shakes his head and rests his elbows on the counter so he can cradle his head in his hands.

“They need me to go to Japan for a meeting with some execs,” he tells you.

“For how long?”

“Three days minimum, but it could be up to a week.”

“A week? Jungkook, I’m more than eight months pregnant.”

“Yeah, I know, Bambi, I told them that!” He explains in exasperation. “Fuck, this sucks so bad.”

You take a deep breath so at least one of you remains calm. Once you’re beside him, you attempt to massage the tension away from his back and shoulders.

“It’ll be okay. Japan is only a short airplane ride away. Worst comes to worst, you fly back if I go into labor,” you state.

“It’s not just if you go into labor, Bams. This is our last month before the baby is born. We’ve still got a ton to do!”

“The nursery is almost done, and either of our parents or friends can come over to help me clean and baby proof the house.” You tug on his shoulder so he turns around before cupping his face in your hands. “It’ll be fine, baby, I promise.”

Jungkook sighs before nuzzling his head against your hand, pursing his lips to press a couple chaste kisses to your palm. Afterwards he removes your hands from his face altogether to hold them between his own.

“I just don’t want to be away from you, baby,” he admits. “Not now and especially not for that long.”

Your cheeks grow warm in response to his words and you attempt to pacify his melancholy by giving him a tender kiss on the lips.

“I don’t want to be away from you, either, but I’m sure it will go by in the blink of an eye,” you reassure him.

He aggressively pouts, practically giving himself duck lips, despite knowing it’s the truth. He brings you to his chest for a hug and you snuggle deeper into the embrace, allowing his familiar, comforting scent to encompass you.

You still have the weekend together before Jungkook flies out early Monday morning. You spend the majority of the time cuddling on the couch watching your favorite movies and playing with your fur babies as Bam chases a bone and Usagi hunts for the laser pointer. It’s heartwarmingly domestic and you hope it’ll always be this way, especially once your baby arrives.

Whenever you’re lounging around, Jungkook always lies as close as possible to your belly and it warms your heart to watch his fingers trace little hearts and smiley faces across your skin.

Even after eight months he still upholds the tradition of coming downstairs first thing in the morning and caressing your baby bump while whispering “hi, my little papaya.” The only difference now is the adorable behavior is immediately followed by him pecking your lips and whispering “hi, my baby” to you.

You’re fully aware that when Monday rolls around you’re going to be a total basket case. The two of you haven’t been apart for more than a day since you got pregnant, and the thought of going a whole week without him when you’re this close to the finish line is borderline unbearable.

Especially because your third trimester hormones have turned you into a raving lunatic as of late. Crocodile tears form in your eyes over nearly everything and your temper flips on a dime, which you always profusely apologize to Jungkook for whenever he’s on the receiving end. Two weeks ago, you found a dead spider on the ground and started weeping hysterically, so it’s safe to say the time away from Jungkook is going to leave you a complete mess.

When you do say goodbye, you make a valiant effort at staying strong, but then Jungkook kisses you reverently, both his hands cupping your cheeks as he pours every once of his devotion into your mouth and you shatter into a million pieces. Your tears get trapped between your faces as your lips mold together, but Jungkook diligently wipes them away when he parts from you.

His forehead presses to yours when he whispers that he loves you and he’ll be back soon before departing with a final grace of his lips to your brow.

You wail Disney Princess style on his bed as soon as the door clicks shut behind you. It’s downright pathetic, but you don’t care because Usagi is the sole witness to your display. The sheets smell like him and it only serves to make matters worse. It’s only been five minutes and you feel like you miss him down to your very bones already.

Even though he’s far away, you still sleep in his bed rather than your own. You haven’t slept in the guest bedroom originally meant for you in well over two months, and it feels wrong to stay there just because he’s gone.

Jungkook remains in constant contact with you, which helps ease the heartache of being apart. He messages you at every milestone, from the moment he arrives at the airport, to when his plane lands, and then again when he reaches the hotel. He sends photos and selfies, too, which fills you with exuberant warmth while simultaneously bringing on more tears.

You wallow in self-pity the whole first day, eating an entire tub of ice cream while you watch cheesy romantic comedies. Various friends and family come over the following day to help around the house, which you genuinely appreciate more than words can describe because there is still so much to do. On the third morning without Jungkook, your moms visit and the three of you chat over sparkling grape juice about anything and everything to expect.

They explain all the intimate details of the birthing process they can remember, such as what contractions and labor feel like, and how the brief hospital stay will go prior to bringing the baby home. Your mom goes into grave detail about how awful you’ll feel afterwards and Jungkook’s mom adds more pack to the punch by mentioning how difficult caring for a newborn is while healing from the delivery.

They assure you everything will be fine, though, and that they’ll be here everyday if you need them. The three of you also agree you truly have nothing to worry about when you have someone as wonderful as Jungkook to care for you.

“Why did you guys want to be pregnant at the same time so badly anyway?” You ask them out of pure curiosity.

“Well, truth be told, and don’t tell Kookie this, but we were actually hoping you would both be girls so we could have this adorable, little, four way mother-daughter relationship,” Jungkook’s mom tells you.

You chuckle at her admission and your mind begins to wonder just how different your life would be if that had been the case.

“Honestly, though, this outcome is so much better!” Your mom exclaims. “Now we get to be grandparents together.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t part of the plan,” you state.

“Not at first, no,” Jungkook’s mom says. “But I think we knew as you guys got older, especially after college, that it was only a matter of time.”

“You know, you guys aren’t the only people to say that and I genuinely don’t get it,” you say. “I’m head over heels for him now, no doubt about it, but before, I truly didn’t see him that way. I mean, we grew up together, we were closer than most brothers and sisters are for the majority of our lives.”

“I don’t think it’s about how you felt at the time,” your mom explains. “I think it’s the way you interact, how much you care about one another. There’s one else who could ever give you the love you deserve more than each other.”

As you process her comment, the cogwheels in your mind synthesize and you finally understand what everyone’s been telling you all this time. What Nayeon said about your feelings for him being more than those of a relationship and Chaewon telling you not to overthink things. No one’s presented the notion to you this way before, and something about your mother’s words causes everything to click into place.

You’re together now because it’s as easy as breathing, and whether you initially had romantic feelings for each other or not, no one can compare.

On day four you’re alone again and you go genuinely stir crazy. Poor Bam has to take the brunt of your brief mental insanity as you cry into his fur and lay across him in a desperate attempt to gain some sort of warmth and comfort.

Although, you don’t need his services for long, because Jungkook calls like he has every night, but this time he has good news.

“Guess who’s coming home early tomorrow?”

“Really?” You shout into the receiver, your hands still covered in chip dust from eating your feelings.

“Yup, first flight out of here tomorrow morning,” he tells you.

“Ah! Koo, I’m so excited!”

“Me, too, baby,” he says. “I miss you like crazy, been thinking about you 24/7.”

“Me, too,” you respond. “I think our little one misses you, too. They’ve been restless ever since you left.”

“Have you been playing the mixtape for them?”

“Yes, but it isn’t the same, and I honestly think they’ve gotten picky about it. Live vocals are just so much better, you know?”

Jungkook chuckles and even through the phone you can tell he’s smiling.

“I’ll make sure to serenade them immediately upon my return,” he states.

“Nuh uh!” You pout even though he can’t see you. “I take priority here, mister.”

“Oh, you’re right. I’m sorry, Bams,” he laughs. “You’ll always be my number one.”

The two of you continue to talk about your respective days for a while. Jungkook explains all the cool gaming stuff he’s gotten to see while at the headquarters in Japan and you parry with your accomplishment of watching all five Twilight movies in a single day. You reluctantly hang up after a couple hours with a quick “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Tomorrow ends up being a complete disaster.

There’s extreme thunderstorms throughout the entire region, so as soon as you wake up, you see a text from Jungkook informing you his flight’s been delayed by about two hours. It’s no biggie at first, knowing these things happen and it shouldn’t keep him from you for that much longer. But one delay turns to two, which becomes three, and after eight delays, his flight is finally moved to an entirely different airline and won’t be arriving until the following day at approximately three in the morning.

He tells you not to wait up for him and get your sleep, but there’s no way in hell you’re waiting even another second to see him.

Even once he lands, it’s still down pouring and the taxi takes another thirty minutes to reach him. He gives you periodic updates, including some heartbreaking selfies of him pouting by the luggage carousel, but despite being able see his handsome face through the phone, it’s all so frustrating you could rip your hair right out of your head.

By the time his location icon starts moving towards the house, you’ve been pacing the floor like a mad woman for close to an hour.

Your incessant pacing screeches to a halt when you hear the sound of his footsteps bounding up the stairs and the key turning in the lock. You scurry across the floor as fast as your swollen, pregnant feet will carry you, waiting just behind the door for the reveal of your favorite sight in the world. Although, when the door swings open, you don’t get the chance to admire him before your face is squished against his.

The very moment Jungkook sees you, he takes your face in his hands and smashes his lips on yours as though he’ll die if he doesn’t. His hungry mouth silences your noise of surprise, coaxing your mouth open and allowing his tongue to invade the space as he kisses you until you can’t see straight. Muscle memory makes it all too easy for him to guide you away from the door and into the wall. You moan when your back meets the hard surface and Jungkook groans in satisfaction at the sound, using his hips to trap you between him and the drywall.

The warm hands on your skin, taut body flush to yours, and delicious mouth utterly devouring you completely shuts down your senses until all you can see, hear, smell, taste, and feel are him.

Hands reaching up to grab the collar of his shirt, you tug him impossibly close, even though your bodies are already touching in every place possible. He’s kissing you like he never has before and somehow you still want more. Your hands release the fabric to traverse the planes of his chest and hold his shoulders, eventually moving upwards to caress his neck and jaw.

He’s completely soaked from the rain, his hair dripping cold water droplets onto your skin and his soiled clothes transferring the liquid onto your own, but there isn’t a single piece of you that minds. He can drench you in acid for all you care, as long as he stays this close and keeps kissing you like this.

Jungkook pulls a centimeter away, his lips still brushing yours as he breathes erratically as though he ran all the way from the airport.

“I’m so in love with you,” he pants. “I’m fucking crazy about you, Bambi.” He shakes his head in disbelief of his confidence to finally confess. “I was going to wait to tell you until after the baby’s born, but being away from you was fucking torture and I couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

“Hold it in? How long have you felt this way?”

Your eyes stare into his with wonder.

“Since we thought we were gonna lose the baby,” he tells you. “I was driving you to the doctor’s office and it felt like the whole world was crashing down around me, but then I realized that’s okay. That if that happened, it wouldn’t matter. The zombie apocalypse could destroy all of humanity, the tectonic plates could shift and send entire continents into the sea, and it wouldn’t matter as long as I have you.” He inhales while gently shaking his head and spraying you with rainwater. “And that’s not new, I’ve always felt that way about you. I’ve always known I want you by my side for the rest of my life, but it made me realize I don’t want anyone else by my side. I only want you, baby.”

“Jungkook, you kept that from me for two months?” You ask incredulously.

“We have a lot going on at the moment, Bams,” he explains.

“Sure, but the stuff we have going on is stressful. Your feelings for me aren’t stressful.”

Jungkook’s eyes burn with intensity as he analyzes the meaning of your words.

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why aren’t they stressful, Bambi?”

“Because.” You shrug like what you’re about to say is the most obvious truth of the universe. “Well, because I’m in love with y — mmpf.”

Jungkook ceases the remainder of your confession with a divine kiss. Your mouths move in perfect harmony and you swear you see the sun peaking through the rain clouds outside. It doesn’t seem possible, but you can feel every ounce of Jungkook’s love for you on his tongue as it traces your lips and tangles with your own.

“Say it again,” he requests. “Please.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“Again, don’t stop.”

“I love you.” Kiss. “I’m so, stupidly, madly.” Kiss. “Crazy in love with you, Jungkook.” Kiss. “I love you so much.” Kiss. “I love you more than anything.” Kiss. “More than I’ll ever be able to describe.” Kiss. “Jungkook.” Kiss. “You’re my everything.” Kiss. “I love you, Koo.”

You aren’t able to chant your emotions anymore because Jungkook doesn’t give you time to breathe, let alone speak.

His hands are still firmly cradling your face, both your lips refusing to part from one another for a single second. He tastes like honey and vanilla, most likely from the sweets you know he had on the plane. It’s addicting and hypnotizes you completely until all you can think about is him and all you can do is kiss him with all your might.

Jungkook’s hands travel to the back of your head and tangle in your hair. He uses the leverage to tilt your head so he can kiss across your jaw and neck, biting down softly before sucking over the same spot and making you whimper helplessly for him.

The attention on your neck only lasts momentarily before he’s releasing you to grab your ass instead, but you stop him by gripping his biceps.

“Baby, you can’t lift me right now, I’m too heavy,” you warn him.

Jungkook looks so offended he takes two full steps away from you, one of his eyebrows rising in disbelief as his jaw ticks. He even goes so far as to scoff while cracking his neck. Then, for the sole purpose of proving you wrong, he effortlessly lifts you into his arms and you have to scramble to latch onto him with your arms around his neck and legs around his waist.

“You wanna try that again, Bams?”

“No,” you grumble under your breath.

The sound of his proud chuckle meets your ears as he seamlessly carries up the stairs and into his bedroom. He tosses you unceremoniously onto the bed, your body bouncing when you land as you giggle in excitement.

You wait for him to join you, reaching towards him with a pout when he isn’t instantly on top of you, but he only rests one knee on the edge of the mattress.

“Wait, since when have you known?”

“Honestly?” Jungkook nods rapidly. “I have no fucking clue. It’s just like my nickname. I have no idea when or where it happened. I just know all of the sudden you were the first thing on my mind when I woke up, and I got butterflies when we were together, and I wanted to hold your hand, cuddle you, and go on dates. It’s like I just woke up one day and realized I fell in love with you but have no way of tracing it to an exact origin.”

Jungkook smiles and shakes his head knowingly.

“That’s so you.”

“I know, I’m a freaking space cadet!”

“My space cadet,” Jungkook says, finally moving to hover above you. “Also, I know how you got your nickname.”

“Huh?” You frown deeply. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve always known, but I thought it was cute that none of you could remember,” he explains. “It felt like it was my own little secret.”

“Koo!”

Jungkook laughs while scrunching his nose in adoration, his arms shaking where they rest on either side of your head.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you. We were watching the movie in my living room and you just wouldn’t stop crying after Bambi’s mom died, like full blown hysterical tears. So, to cheer you up I said ‘it’s okay, Bambi,’ and you smiled SO big and your eyes lit up like fireworks. I knew then it had to be your nickname.”

Your lip catches between your teeth as you will the sentimental tears not to fall. The notion of Jungkook knowing this whole time is both infuriating and also so heartwarming; that his nickname for you is so precious to him he didn’t dare share the secret of its beginning.

“That’s so you,” you reply to his story.

He radiantly beams at you, his cheeks and ears turning bright pink from the blush spreading across them. You share in your affectionate laughter as he drops to his elbows so he can kiss you.

“I love you so much, Bambi,” he whispers. “You’re everything to me, baby.”

The tears you successfully held back before make their debut, wetting both his and your cheeks as they roll away from your eyes.

Even though you’ve known for a while now this confession was imminent, it’s still just as mesmerizing to hear the words from his lips and be able to say them in return.

The kiss begins with fluid, languid motions, your mouths dancing together for the millionth time, but then Jungkook raises the temperature of the room, greedily licking into your mouth and tugging on your lower lip with his teeth before letting it snap into place. The air fills with moans and whines as you make out, but you stop him with a hand to his chest when you feel him grinding against you.

“Wait, Koo, sex can induce labor,” you tell him.

“Okay,” he draws out the word. “So, we get it on and meet our little one a bit early, isn’t that a win-win situation?”

You chuckle and mentally berate yourself for believing his answer would be anything besides that. Rolling your eyes with an affectionate smile, you briefly peck his lips before smacking his ass.

“Deal, but I’m getting on top.”

Jungkook certainly isn’t going to object to you riding his dick.

He holds you by the waist and rolls you both over, helping you settle in his lap and caressing your outline as his eyes memorize the vision of you above him. His fingers grip the bottom of your shirt to pull it over your head and then he does the same for his own.

You don’t let him continue undressing, too mesmerized by his chiseled torso to allow the sight to be hindered. He’s been working out more these last few months as a way to unwind from the stress of preparing for fatherhood, and it’s definitely paid off. You’ve always known how blessed you are to have him, but moments like this remind you just how blessed you truly are.

His neck is your initial target while your hands run along his abs, sinking your nails into the hard lines and creating red marks across his pretty muscles. Jungkook whines at the feeling, his hand reactively grabbing the back of your head as you mark his neck with pretty, wet blotches.

“Please don’t tease me, baby,” he says. “I need you so fucking bad.”

“You’re the one who left me alone for five days,” you reply in between kisses to his jugular. “I’ll take however long I want.”

Taking your time traversing his shoulder and collarbones, you trace over every muscle and bone with your lips, soaking his skin as your tongue drags across the area. His hand keeps a firm grip on your head, slightly guiding your movements, but still allowing you to savor his upper body despite his request. You bite into his pecs and circle his nipple with your tongue, making his hips bucks beneath you as he groans.

You giggle like the brat you are at his neediness, already feeling his cock stiffening where your core rests against his crotch.

It honestly takes an exuberant amount of effort to stop painting his torso in kisses, reluctantly pulling away after licking across the entire expanse of his stomach down to his hips and placing a single smooch on all eight of his abdominal muscles.

Jungkook forces your lips to meet his when you’re done, kissing you like he’s starving for you as he removes both your bottoms in quick succession.

He can feel just how wet you are as soon as your bare cunt meets his length, your essence already leaking all over him without him having to do any work. It brings a smile to his face as you kiss, the feeling of pride turning his chest red with blush because of his effect on you.

“Missed you so fucking much, babygirl.”

The words have barely left Jungkook’s lips when he grabs your hips to position you over his cock. His fingers wrap around his shaft so you have a perfect target to sink onto, and the familiar feeling of him stretching you open as you sit on his thighs makes your head lull while you breathlessly moan.

“Oh fuck, baby,” you mewl. “I missed you so bad.”

Jungkook is pulling your face to his so he can kiss you before you even start bouncing on him, his other hand grabbing your ass and squeezing your flesh possessively. The kiss is quick, because soon after he’s turning your head and licking across the hot skin of your neck. His warm breath tickles your ear as he goes to speak.

“This cock is all yours, Bams. So, be good and ride it for me, yeah?”

You’d do anything he asks, and his words light up the competitive streak in you to give him the best fuck of his life.

The temptress within you gets the better of you, and you decide to fully unsheath him from the walls of your pussy while grabbing his cock with your hand to keep him in place. He groans indignantly when your warmth leaves him, and you wait a few torturous moments before slowly letting him enter you again one inch at a time.

Jungkook spanks you in retaliation, but you just chuckle and scratch at his pecs with your nails.

Continuing the slow glide, you watch as Jungkook’s cock leaves your cunt covered in your juices until it disappears from view when your walls suck him in again. The erotic visual makes your body burn with wanton need. His thick cock repeatedly spearing you is truly a sight to behold and it feels even better than it looks.

“Fuck, Bambi, don’t fucking do this to me.”

“Do what?”

The faux innocent gaze your eyes possess makes Jungkook’s jaw clench.

“I will demolish this fucking pussy. Don’t mess with me, baby,” he threatens.

“I’d like to see you tr –”

Jungkook cuts your air supply off completely with a single deadly thrust upwards, your sentence ending with a screech instead of the syllable it was supposed to.

You aren’t able to replenish your oxygen because Jungkook’s hand is suddenly around your throat, pressing down on the sides to choke you without actually hurting you. His other hand bruisingly holds your hip so he can keep you exactly where he wants you. Your inner thighs meet his pelvis when he plants his feet against the mattress, giving him all the leverage he needs to fuck you dumb.

“There we go, much better,” he grunts as he abuses your hole.

“Koo, oh my God.”

You’re grasping for purchase on his chest to keep yourself upright, eventually gripping his shoulders to prevent falling right over. The combination of his hand around your throat and his cock hitting just the right spot inside you has your mind going numb and your mouth dropping open.

Jungkook’s completely focused on his singular goal of fucking you right, his brow creasing as his eyes sharpen with determination. He looks no less than ethereal below you, the sweat on his skin making him shimmer like the Greek god you’re positive he descends from.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking handsome, Jungkook. It’s unreal.”

He blushes at your compliment even as his hips work endlessly to force his dick deep into your pussy.

“That means a lot coming from someone as beautiful as you,” he says with honey coating his tone.

Unlike him, you’re unable to blush or even react, the speed and force of his strokes is plummeting your body into an ocean of euphoria and all you can do is drown. The sex is borderline demonic, and yet it feels like heaven coursing through your veins.

It’s a genuine mystery of the universe how someone as kind and gentle as Jungkook can be such a goddamn animal in bed.

If it wasn’t for your pregnant belly, you’re certain Jungkook’s cock would be making an appearance in your abdomen. His lower body is working overtime to send his thick length as far as possible into you and the sensation turns your mind to goo. You would love nothing more than to focus on the feeling of his muscles beneath your fingers, or the way his thighs smash into yours with every thrust, but you’re in a subspace of pleasure.

“Fuck, Bams, you look so sexy,” he tells you, his voice dripping with desire. “Pussy filled with me, belly swollen with my child, your perfect tits full of milk. You’re fucking gorgeous, babygirl.”

As if to prove his point, he sits up to tug one of your nipples between his teeth. You gasp at the abrasion against your already sensitive skin, but the sound melts into a moan when he takes it into his mouth and sucks on the pebbled skin.

He plays with your nipple until it’s sore, flicking it with his tongue and then slowly circling it until you’re whining and gripping his hair like a lifeline. Wet kisses are placed all over your breast, slathering you in drool and red blotches where he chose to suck on your flesh. You think the debilitating treatment is over until he switches sides, making you cry with pleasure.

There’s a pop when he releases your nub from his mouth to kiss along your sternum instead.

“You feel fucking amazing, baby. So big, make me feel so full,” you moan.

Jungkook hums proudly as his tongue leaves his mouth to the lick your collarbone.

“I don’t know how I’ll survive six weeks without fucking this perfect, little cunt.”

His hand tightens around your throat again and you whimper, rolling your hips downward along with his movements to create friction on your clit.

“At least you’ll be able to jack off,” you retort.

“Mm, that can’t even hold a candle to you, baby,” he kisses across your shoulder, inch by inch until he reaches your neck. “I would know, it’s all I fucking did the last five days.”

Jungkook’s hand leaves your throat with a final squeeze to join his other one at your hips, bringing you down against him with more ferocity as the sound of skin slapping together fills the room.

“I’ve got you addicted, don’t I?”

“Fuck, you have no idea, Bambi.”

You continue fucking yourself on him to the best of your ability even with his brutal pace, feeling infinitely needier as your orgasm steadily approaches.

Jungkook is reeking havoc on your neck, coating you in his saliva as he licks across your sweat soaked skin and kisses your most sensitive spots. He nibbles on your earlobe and it makes you keen and whimper unabashedly.

Honestly, you don’t know how you’ll survive the six weeks either. The two of you have done nothing but fuck since a few weeks after you moved in, and the forced celibacy may very well send you spiraling into insanity. You’re addicted to him, too, and you already know you’ll be begging for his dick for the remainder of your days.

Craving more of you, Jungkook holds you firm against his chest and slams back into the mattress, readjusting his feet and the angle of his hips so he can terrorize your g-spot with the tip of his cock.

“Oh, holy shit.”

You bite down on his shoulder as tears prick your eyes.

He growls amorously in his throat, his hips taking on a mind of their own as they work effortlessly to send you both crashing into an orgasm.

Part of you feels bad for requesting to be on top only to allow him to take control, but the guilt washes away like sand when you feel your climax pressing against your insides like a tsunami just offshore.

“Come on my cock, baby, wanna feel how tight you squeeze me,” Jungkook orders.

You can’t answer him, the only noises escaping your body being nonsensical moans and cries of his name. But your body certainly responds, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice before your legs lock and twitch when your release comes.

The pulsing of your cunt triggers Jungkook’s release, and your cries of pleasure harmonize as you come together.

“Shit, Koo,” you curse as he continues sending his cock into you, creating an ache of oversensitivity between your legs. “Baby.”

You stall his movements with a hand to his chest as your pussy convulses around him with the aftershocks of your orgasm. There’s a soreness in your thighs when you lift yourself from his lap and fall beside him on the bed.

Jungkook’s softening cock is covered in white from both of your juices, and if you weren’t entirely spent and borderline delirious, you’d lick it clean for him.

He caresses your face as your eyes close, moving your hair out the way so he can kiss your cheek, nose, temple, and forehead. You hum happily, pursing your lips as a wordless demand for him to kiss them as well.

“I love you, Jeon Jungkook,” you whisper into the air.

The sound of his bright laugh makes you smile.

“I love you more,” he responds before finally giving you a tender kiss.

“Oh, please don’t make me fight you right now. I’m in no shape to do so,” you state.

Jungkook giggles and pecks your lips a couple more times in rapid succession.

Once your heavy breathing slows and your bodies cool, you roll into Jungkook’s side and he naturally pulls you into his embrace.

It’s nearing sunrise and if you’re this exhausted, you can’t even begin to comprehend how tired Jungkook must be.

He wishes you goodnight where his lips rest on your forehead and you return the gesture by smooching his chest a couple times. The two of you sleep peacefully for the first time in days, the feeling of home completely encompassing you as you’re whisked away to dreamland.

NINE

Despite the many warnings about the possibility of sex inducing labor, you’re three days from your due date and Jungkook fucking you sensless multiple times a day has yet to make your baby arrive any sooner.

The two of you are in the honeymoon phase straight out of finally confessing your love for each other, and you having a massive baby bump and a few extra pounds on you doesn’t stop you in the slightest from celebrating your new relationship status. Jungkook can’t keep his hands to himself even when you’re in the middle of important tasks readying the house for your little pumpkin

Honestly, you think it’s partially to distract himself from the imminent arrival of your child. He never says it aloud because he doesn’t want to worry you, but you know him better than anyone and can tell he’s anxious.

It’s one thing to spend nine months positively itching to hold your baby in your arms, but it’s another to actually parent said child.

Even with his nerves, he’s been the picture perfect partner throughout these final weeks and you’re nothing short of absolutely certain he’ll be the most amazing father in the world. Even if he fails at things or messes up every now and then, the immense love he already holds for your baby is more than you could ever ask for from a partner.

Right now he’s screwing the final dresser into the wall of his bedroom so it’s baby-proof. He’s never been much of a handyman, but you suppose the fatherhood gene has fully fermented in his blood and now he can handle a drill like a pro. You’ll have to ask him about changing tires next, and his sneezes will probably get louder as soon as the baby is born.

You’re moseying around the kitchen as you clean up following dinner. Jungkook keeps telling you to stay still and relax, but you’re way too antsy to do that.

Every minute feels like an hour while you wait for your little one to arrive. Not only because you’re so eager to meet them, but because you’re terrified of labor and delivery and want it over with as soon as possible. It’s a fear of the unknown, and you know you’ll feel better once you understand how bad the contractions will be.

Being pregnant comes with many lovely perks, one of which includes peeing every time you cough or even flinch the wrong way.

That’s why, when you feel a warm sensation down below, you don’t question it. Like always these past couple months, you merely roll your eyes and make a mental note to change your underwear when you’re done cleaning.

It’s only once you step to your left and have to catch yourself on the counter to stop from slipping that you realize you’re standing in a pool of liquid. You certainly didn’t pee your pants, because although it’s been a couple decades since you last did, you remember the feeling quite well. When the realization of what actually occurred hits you, you’re screaming bloody murder for Jungkook upstairs.

“My water! Jungkook! My water just broke!”

The sound of his two feet followed by four large paws running down the stairs is all you hear until he appears at the bottom of the stairwell looking like he’s seen a ghost.

His cheeks are bright red, his eyes bigger than you’ve ever seen them, and he’s huffing out air as though he just ran a marathon.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, Koo, I’m standing in amniotic fluid as we speak!”

Jungkook shakes his head aggressively to get himself into action mode.

“Alright, you get your shoes on, I’m gonna get the hospital bag. Wait, do you need to change first?”

“That would be nice, yeah,” you admit.

He’s gone in a flash to head back upstairs and obtain your pre-packed bag with all the essentials and something for you to change into.

When he returns only a split second later, Usagi is following close behind now that she’s aware something exciting is going on. He hands you a comfortable dress and panties to change into and you strip right there in the kitchen. His hand on your hip stalls you before you’re able to slip the clothes on, and you nearly start screaming at him that now is not the time, but then he grabs a towel and wipes away the fluid from your legs.

You smile graciously and thank him for thinking ahead before sliding the dress over your head and scurrying to the door.

Now that your water broke you can feel a mild cramping from the contractions. It’s a dull pitch in your back as well as what you can only compare to a period cramp. You must not be dilated very much yet because the pain is still fairly tolerable.

Jungkook bends over to help you with your shoes before resting his hand on your lower back to guide you downstairs to the garage. Both your hands are caressing your swollen stomach, slightly bracing yourself because the cramping is coming in waves every few minutes.

When you reach the car Jungkook opens the passenger door for you, but you turn on your heel and place your hands on his chest before sitting down. He looks at you inquisitively, his eyes conveying his hurriedness and confusion as to why you’re not rushing, too.

“I just, we have time, and I want to take a minute before we go,” you tell him.

“For what, Bambi?”

You admire the pretty features you’ve known all your life with a smile and reach up to circle his neck with your arms. He laughs cheerfully and reflects your embrace by hugging your waist.

“This is the last time we’re gonna be here, just the two of us.” You nuzzle your face in his neck and let his scent calm you. “The last time it will just be you and me.”

“It’s always gonna be you and me, Bams,” he replies. “Always.”

He kisses your cheek, leaving his lips there for a lingering moment before you part. Once you do, he rests his hand on your jaw and kisses you gently. His lips are warm and familiar, and you kiss one another with a promise of wonderful new things on the horizon.

Jungkook waits to ensure you’re comfortable in the passenger seat before running to the other side and taking off towards the nearby hospital. On the way, you call your doctor to let them and she assures you she’ll meet you there once the labor and delivery nurses triage you.

When you arrive, you take a poignant deep breath, knowing that when you exit this place you’ll be a mom, and this is the last time in the outside world where you’ll just be you. It’s exhilarating, nerve wracking, and overwhelming all at once, but you’ve been preparing for this next chapter for nine months now, and you’re more than ready.

You and Jungkook have your hands tightly wound together as you enter the massive hospital, but he relinquishes his grip to grab you a wheelchair once you’re inside. He watches you carefully as you sit down, holding his hands out on either side of you as though you’re made of glass. When you nod at him assuredly that you’re all good, he rushes to the counter to inform the receptionist while you text all your important group chats about what’s going on.

Your parents and friends are planning on coming to see you and the baby after delivery, and you can’t wait to formally introduce them to your little one.

Jungkook returns along with a labor and delivery nurse who introduces herself before wheeling you down the hallway. When you reach two large double doors, she stops and turns to you and Jungkook, whose hand is comfortingly rubbing your shoulder.

“Alright, this is where we’ll be parting for a bit. Mom, you’re coming with me, and Dad, you have to get scrubbed up so you can join us,” she explains.

This step in the process is something your doctor explained previously, but it doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier, no matter how momentary the separation will be.

Looking towards Jungkook, you notice he’s just as anxious to be away from you, but he hides it well and bends to your height so he can kiss you briefly.

“I’ll see you soon, okay, Bambi?”

There are tears in your eyes even though you’re nodding your head.

“Yeah, soon,” you whimper.

“It’s okay, baby, it won’t be for long,” he tells you as he caresses your cheek. You lean your head into his hand and close your eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you parrot and kiss him one final time.

He waves continuously as you’re pushed through the double doors by your nurse, and even though you know he’s upset, too, he’s sporting the cheesiest grin on his face to make you laugh.

Jungkook heaves out a sigh directly from his gut once you’re gone, his head falling back as he struggles to steady his jackrabbiting heart. Being apart right now feels like unadulterated torture, but he knows it’s only for a short while before you’ll be together again.

A different nurse comes to lead him to a sterile room just around the corner. The older woman explains the basics of scrubs and staying clean as well as what to do if he gets contaminated. He listens as dutifully as possible with all the other millions of thoughts running through his head and eventually the nurse helps him dress in the lovely, crinkly blue outfit, which includes shoe covers and a hair net.

He looks utterly ridiculous, but truthfully, finally dawning his father-to-be attire makes him giddy.

When he exits, the nurse leads him down a seemingly infinite hallway to a delivery room where your doctor is waiting just outside the door. She smiles joyously when he appears in her vision and enthusiastically waves him down.

“Hi, Doc,” he excitedly greets her.

“Hi, how are you feeling?” She asks him.

“I’m… nervous as hell,” he says truthfully. “I can’t stand seeing her in pain, so I don’t think I’m going to handle this very well.”

“A lot of dads feel that way about their partner,” she explains. “Just remember, all you can do is be there for her and she’ll get through it. She’s a tough cookie.”

“She is,” he nods with a smile.

“So, I wanted to talk to you before we go in. Y/N’s lost quite a lot of blood, and we’ve had to set her up with a continuous blood transfusion to ensure she’ll have enough for delivery. Now, let me just say, this is totally normal. We deal with this all the time and we’ve got everything under control.”

Jungkook’s heart drops into his stomach with a weighted plop, his entire body following suit as his shoulders sink and he nearly loses his balance.

“What – what – what do you mean, why is she losing blood?”

“It’s just something that happens sometimes, the baby is moving through her body and it can cause internal bleeding which drops her blood count,” she explains calmly.

“But… but she’s gonna be okay, right? I mean, Doc, that’s my entire world in there. I’m… I’m not even a person without her, I –”

“Jungkook, listen to me,” she interrupts his manic ramblings. “I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive. She’s going to be just fine. Her and the baby. You’re going to leave here with both of them tomorrow, alright?”

Jungkook attempts to calm his thoughts and take her words of expertise to heart, but he needs to see you for himself, hold you and feel your skin beneath his fingers so he knows without a shadow of a doubt that you’re alright.

“Okay. And you’ll… she takes priority, right? If something goes wrong –”

“Of course, she does.” She smiles reassuringly at him. “I won’t let anything happen to your Bambi, Jungkook.”

He nods his head as a sigh of relief leaves his lungs.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he says wholeheartedly.

“Of course. Let’s get you in there to see her, yeah? Fair warning, she’s a little loopy because of the blood loss, but it shouldn’t last too much longer now that she’s hooked up to a blood bag.”

She opens the door and gestures for Jungkook to enter before following closely behind.

When you see the light pouring in from the door opening, your eyes glisten with excitement as Jungkook appears in your field of vision. Even though you feel half alive, the sight of the man you love brings a huge toothy grin to your face.

“Koo,” you call for him quietly, your hand weakly rising in his direction. He’s at your side instantly, taking your shaking hand and kissing the back of it before sitting in the chair beside your hospital bed. “You look so cute in your scrubs.”

“Yeah? Well, you look absolutely beautiful, baby,” he tells you as he delicately pushes your sweaty hair from your face.

The contractions are coming in quick succession now and are significantly more powerful, but because of the blood loss you’ve only been given a mild pain reliever. It’s truthfully been horrible so far, especially when you nearly passed out from all the blood escaping your body. You don’t dare tell Jungkook about it, knowing precisely how he’ll react, but you already feel better with him next to you.

Pursing your lips in his general direction, you hear Jungkook chuckle as he leans in to kiss you deeply. Despite your current state, you still do your best to reciprocate the passion he pours into you, moving your lips in tandem while his free hand rises to cradle your jaw. Your foreheads meet once your lips reluctantly divide, but Jungkook uses his grip to lower your head so he can press his lips there a couple times instead.

“So, I take it you two aren’t just best friends anymore?” Your doctor is sitting between your legs with an eyebrow raised. You and Jungkook share a knowing chuckle before facing her and shaking your heads in unison. She smiles broadly in response. “Good, I’m glad.”

Just then, another contraction crashes over you and you groan while bending over in pain. Jungkook’s eyes go wide and misty in an instant, his hand clutching yours in support, which you return tenfold by brutally squishing his fingers together from the tightness of your grip.

You feel his other hand combing through your hair as you attempt to push through the pain by counting your breaths. The pain coursing through your lower half is already borderline unbearable, and you pray they can give you the epidural soon.

“Breathe, baby,” Jungkook instructs, mimicking the Lamaze technique you learned all those months ago.

The class was enjoyable enough, but the breathing exercises truly don’t do jack shit for the pain. Jungkook’s voice brings you more comfort than the repetitive intakes of air you were taught. As the pain begins to cease, you crash back into the bed with shaky breaths while Jungkook massages the shoulder closest to him.

“Are you alright, Bams?” He asks, his eyes watching the monitor beside you so he can see your heart rate returning to baseline.

“Yeah, I am now,” you pant.

“Is there anything I can do?”

You caress his cheek with your free hand while putting on your bravest smile for him.

“No, my love, you just have to sit there and look pretty,” you instruct him.

Jungkook blushes as he laughs.

You request he answer some of the hundreds of text messages currently blowing up your phone and causing it to nearly vibrate off the table. He does so without hesitation, sending mass text messages to your friends and family stating where to go when they arrive and updating them on how you're doing. There’s also a fair amount of selfies taken in between contractions, some for your loved ones and a couple of you two kissing for his own records. He wants to remember this forever, even if you both look questionable at best in your hospital attire.

Everyone in your life knows about the relationship status upgrade, but he still wants to keep some moments sacred for just the two of you.

When you told your moms, you genuinely thought they were going to pass out from sheer excitement. The two women cried hysterical happy tears and hugged one another for a minimum of five minutes before finally embracing the two of you in congratulations.

The contractions continue for a couple hours, each wave of them getting closer and closer together until they’re almost neck and neck. After a particularly horrific one lasting about ten minutes, your doctor comes to speak to you.

“So, here’s the situation,” she starts. “You’re dilated to ten right now; the baby is ready to come out. The only problem is you still haven’t received enough blood for us to give you the epidural.” She sighs regretfully. “That gives us two options. You either do the birth naturally now or we give you a medicine that slows your labor down and we wait until we can give you the epidural. The biggest downside to that is the medicine can take upwards of ten hours to leave your system, so you’ll be feeling the contractions for that long.”

You were never planning on delivering naturally, and having to choose between the better of two evils is making your brain short circuit. All you want is to meet your baby, to hold, kiss, and love them, but there’s a barrier of brutality standing in your way.

“Do you think I can do it naturally?” You ask her.

“Absolutely. I’ve seen thousands of women do it, but that doesn’t mean you have to. Everyone is different.”

Anxiously gnawing on your lip, you turn towards Jungkook, whose expression mirrors the fright on your own. His eyes are glossy with unsung emotion and it breaks your heart. You know how difficult it is for him to feel so powerless to help you, always proudly holding the title of your knight in shining armor all your life.

“What do you think?”

“It’s not up to me, Bams,” he answers.

“I know, but I want your opinion.”

His jaw clenches and he shakes his head before speaking.

“I fucking hate seeing you in pain, Bambi. I can hardly stand it, you know that,” he responds. “But for either option it sounds like that’ll be the case. You either experience excruciating pain now or suffer for ten hours with severe pain.”

You mull over his words for a while before releasing the air in your lungs as your decision finalizes in your mind.

“I wanna meet our baby, Koo,” you tell him. “I don’t want to wait.”

Jungkook smiles assuredly at you and brings your fingers to his lips to kiss.

“I know you can do this, Bambi. There’s nothing in this world I believe in more.”

“So, we’re gonna try naturally?” Your doctor asks to clarify and you answer her with a nervous nod of your head. “Great, we’ll start pushing in about ten minutes, alright? Remember that you’re going to push along with each contraction, so don’t push until I tell you.”

She walks across the room to discuss the plan with the other nurses assisting her with your delivery. Jungkook grabs your attention by brushing his knuckles down the side of your face and you paint an expression of false bravery on your face for him.

“Are you okay? You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, Koo, I’m okay,” you assure him. “Just don’t be upset if I sink my nails into your skin and make you bleed.”

“You can do whatever you need to get through it,” he responds.

He brushes your hair away again, even more of your strands matted down after the hours of labor you’ve gone through already.

“This is it, huh? No turning back,” you say.

“Nope,” Jungkook giggles. “I can’t wait, Bams.”

“Me, either,” you reply happily.

Jungkook kisses you again, cherishing the feeling of your lips as he mentally maps the shape of your mouth and memorizes this moment. You allow the lip lock to be your final moment of rest before diving headfirst into the ordeal you fear the most. The next time your lips meet, it will be once you’ve become a family.

“I know I’ve said it before, but you’re the best thing to ever happen to me. I love you so damn much,” Jungkook states.

“I thought you said that blowjob I gave you was the best thing to ever happen to you?”

Jungkook laughs indiscriminately, his eyes squeezing shut as his bunny teeth peak out.

“I was wrong,” he says. “It’s you, Bambi. It’s always been you.”

You smile at him in total adoration while tracing his features with your eyes, wanting to remember years from now exactly how he looked before he became a dad.

“I love you, Jungkook, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to properly explain just how much.”

Instead of verbally replying, there are kisses spread all over your face as you giggle until your doctor returns and asks if you’re ready. When you tell her you are, she reassures you of your strength before sitting on the stool between your legs while the other nurses stand in various positions around her.

Jungkook squeezes your hand with an unknown melody and you share an affirmative glance from your periphery. You’ve been through everything under the sun together, and this is just another hurdle you know you’ll get through side by side. There’s no doubt in your mind you can do this because he’s here beside you and no one provides you with more strength and support than him.

Three consecutive, merciless contractions crash over you and you nearly turn Jungkook’s hand purple with your grasp. Your doctor informs you in a calm voice that when the third wave of pain begins to ebb you’ll start pushing. One contraction bleeds into the next, and you hear a backwards count of three before she orders you to push hard.

The pain is abundantly worse than you ever imagined. It feels like the entire lower half of your body is on fire while your insides tear themselves to shreds. You scream as hot, salty tears blur your vision and your nails bite into Jungkook’s hand. He holds your elbow with his free hand in an attempt to give you more support to steady yourself with.

The word “push” is repeated over and over as the contraction moves through you. You do as you're told for a few minutes, although it feels like hours, and then she states you’re going to pause for a moment.

“Okay, you can stop, dear,” she instructs.

As soon as your efforts cease, you gasp in hefty relief and fall backwards into the bed, all the while panting and trying to calm the inner workings of your body after pushing your nervous system to the brink.

“Bambi? Are you doing alright?” Jungkook asks as he brushes his fingers through your hair.

“Fuck you, Jungkook. You’re never coming in me again,” you huff through shaky breaths.

He chuckles and kisses your crown a couple times, making you smile despite the exhaustion and ache.

When your doctor asks if you’re ready to continue you reply with a weak nod of your head and return to your prior position. The same sequence of events repeats for a while, but you honestly have no idea for how long because one excruciating moment just blurs into the next. There’s a particularly awful set of pushes and afterwards your doctor happily informs you the baby’s crowning and it shouldn’t take much longer.

You brace yourself for what you know will be the worst pain yet, readjusting your hold on Jungkook’s hand as he whispers words of encouragement in your ear and kisses your sweaty cheek.

Truthfully, all you want is to pause and climb into his lap so he can soothe the pain away as he always does, but your baby needs you, and there’s nothing you want more in the world than to hold them in your arms.

A moment later your doctor tells you to push as hard as you’re able and the loudest scream yet rips from your throat. You genuinely believe for a moment that you're being ripped in half and won’t make it out alive. The thought scares you half to death, but you force it away so you can focus on giving your child life.

“Ah! Fuck!” You wail as tears freefall from your eyes.

“One more, honey, you’re almost there,” your doctor assures you.

“You can do it, Bams,” Jungkook shouts as his arm shakes from how firmly you’re clutching his hand.

“Ahh no, no I can’t, I can’t do it,” you cry helplessly, the pain nearly blacking out your vision.

“Yes, you can, baby. I know that you can,” Jungkook replies.

You weep hysterically while trying to breathe through the pain, but it feels impossible to push air from your lungs when all you feel is the overwhelming sensation of your insides ripping apart.

“Push, honey!”

Your doctor's words shove reality before you, that you only have one choice and that’s to bring your baby into the world. So, with all the strength you have left after hours of physical pain and torment, you push with all your might.

There’s an ear piercing scream which accompanies your efforts, but then your voice is drowned out by the sound of a shrill cry.

You gasp harshly and slam into the bed when the immense pressure disperses from your bottom half. You’re left panting haphazardly as your body slows its momentum and your mind catches up to the world around you.

The feeling of Jungkook’s fingers lacing through yours grounds you to the moment, but it’s your doctor’s voice which pulls your consciousness to the surface.

“Congratulations, you two, you have a beautiful little girl.”

“A girl?” You and Jungkook shout in unison.

“We’re gonna clean her up and get her right back to you, alright?”

The world is spinning too fast. Everything seems to be happening at once, but you do your best to calm your mind so you can focus on your daughter and the man you love sitting beside you.

“Bambi, you did it,” Jungkook cheers as he leans over and kisses your forehead. “We have a daughter.”

You regain control of your eyes and turn towards the sound of his voice. He honestly looks just as bad as you. There are tear stains all across his face from crying over you being in pain, and fresh droplets are forming in the corners of his eyes at the news about your little girl.

Reaching across to bring his face closer, you kiss him as ardently as you can with your strength almost entirely depleted. You’re both smiling too hard to even kiss properly, your teeth clashing as your tears of joy blend together until you don’t know whose are whose.

You pull away when your doctor returns with your daughter wrapped in a blanket with a little pink hat on her head. She’s so tiny that you gasp in awe, your hands covering your mouth as you wait in eager anticipation for her to be placed in your arms.

Your doctor smiles brightly at you as she hands you the little bundle of joy in her arms.

There are truly no words to describe the feeling of holding her for the first time. It’s unbelievably surreal to think she’s the same little pumpkin growing in your womb all this time. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, with tufts of black hair just like her father’s sticking out from the edges of her hat. She has his button nose, too, but her lips and face shape seem to favor you. Her eyes are delicately shut while she sleeps peacefully in her carefully made cocoon.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper. “It feels weird holding you in my arms rather than my belly, huh?” She obviously doesn’t respond to your adoration, but you’ll speak nonsense to her all day anyway. “Oh, I love you so much already.”

Jungkook places a hand on your shoulder as he leans over to see his daughter up close. The two of you have identical watery grins as your happy tears continue to fall.

“She’s so beautiful,” he whispers.

“Yes, she is.” You gently caress her head and tap her little nose. “We made her, Koo.”

“For funsies.”

Laughing to the point your chest shakes, you nudge him in retaliation for possibly disturbing your little girl's slumber. He joins in your laughter and kisses the exposed skin of your shoulder where your hospital gown fell down. Your heart feels as though it’s swelling to ten times its normal size as you lean down to press the gentlest of kisses to her forehead.

“You wanna hold her?” You ask him.

His eyes are wide with wonder as he nods his head slowly and reaches for her with adorable grabby hands. You pass her over as deftly as possible and admire the scene before you as Jungkook meets his daughter for the first time.

The sound he makes is a mixture between a gasp and a cry when he first comes face to face with her before he starts giggling endlessly, his nose scrunching up in pure bliss as more tears fall from his eyes.

“Hi, my little one,” he coos. “I’ve been waiting so long to meet you.” You sniffle to hold back your own sentimental tears as you watch the two people you love most in the world interact. “Daddy loves you so much, little girl.” He chuckles to himself. “But we’re gonna have to talk, because you hurt Mommy and that just cannot go unpunished.”

You allow a hearty laugh to leave you now that you aren’t holding your daughter.

“I can’t thank you enough, Bams. I’ll never be able to thank you enough, even if I spend every second of the rest of my life doing so. You made me a dad to the most beautiful little girl in the world.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Koo, because you made me a mom. You’ve loved and cared for me my entire life, and if the only way I can repay you is with her, then all this was worth it.”

You kiss him softly, being careful not to jostle your daughter resting in his arms.

After a while of simply admiring your baby as she sleeps, your doctor informs you it’s almost time to go through afterbirth, although it should be easier since your water broke earlier. Once that’s done, they clamp the umbilical cord and allow Jungkook to cut it, which he does while smiling from ear to ear.

It’s about an hour later when they tell Jungkook he can grab two loved ones at a time to come see you. You mutually agreed ahead of time that your mothers will be first, so he kisses you on the lips and your daughter on her forehead before heading to the waiting room to spread the magnificent news.

Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief as he travels down the long hallway away from the delivery room, still so utterly shocked that he’s a dad and he has such a beautiful daughter.

He also can’t believe how amazing you did. He’s positively in awe of you and what you went through to deliver your baby. It honestly pains him to leave you both even if only for a few fleeting moments. He could spend forever just staring at you and your sweet little girl.

When the double doors open, a massive crowd of your friends and family are behind them waiting eagerly for his arrival. They all stand at once when they see Jungkook enter, and every single person shares the same anticipatory expression.

“It’s a girl!” He announces with his arms held high above his head.

The entire room erupts with cheers and the horde of loved ones descends on him in an excited frenzy. He feels multiple friends messing with his hair affectionately, his mom kissing his cheek, and your friends hugging his waist. It makes his heart jump for joy at the realization of how loved you, him, and your baby are already.

“How’s Y/N?” Chaewon asks once everyone gives him some room to breathe.

“She’s fucking perfect. I mean, she was just so amazing. I can’t even comprehend it,” he explains. “She couldn’t get the epidural because she lost too much blood, but she pushed through and she’s doing great.”

“She gave birth naturally?” Nayeon asks in shock.

Jungkook nods and Nayeon clutches her heart in response.

“When can we see her and the baby?” Yoongi asks him.

“So, we can take you back two at a time. We’re gonna start with our parents, moms first, and then you guys can play rock paper scissors to figure out the order of friends,” Jungkook states.

The large group of friends immediately start turning to one another to start the tournament while Jungkook gestures with his head for his and your mom to follow him back.

His mom clings to his arm as they walk and Jungkook throws his other one around your mom’s shoulders, placing a loving kiss on each of their heads. Both women are still crying from the happy news, but he can tell they're practically vibrating with giddiness to see you and the baby.

Jungkook opens the door for them to enter before following closely behind. Before his feet even enter the space he hears the excited gasps from the women as their eyes land on you and their grandchild.

Your mom is at your side like lightning, bending down to kiss your forehead and ask how you’re doing. You assure her you’re doing alright while offering your sleeping daughter to her. She nods like a bobble head and gently lifts the swaddled child from your arms where she was laying.

Jungkook’s mom gives you a quick kiss on the cheek and then leans over your mom’s shoulder to meet her first grandchild. You watch endearingly as their expressions glow with warmth and affection for her while Jungkook joins you by your bedside again. When your eyes meet, you notice he’s staring at you as though you created the entire universe from scratch. The blush on your face is involuntary, and you kiss him for the umpteenth time today to hide the pink hue.

“I love you so much, baby,” Jungkook whispers in between smooches.

You plant one last peck on him.

“I love you more.”

Jungkook clicks his tongue disapprovingly.

“Are we about to have our first fight as parents?”

Eventually, after your fathers meet their granddaughter, your friends begin arriving in pairs to visit you and their niece, ending with Namjoon and Jimin, which is no surprise given their terrible history with lady luck. By the time the initial pass through of all your guests comes to a close, you’re beyond exhausted, so Jungkook takes your daughter while you rest. Your doctor bids you farewell shortly beforehand and tells you the nurses will assist with nursing for the first time once you wake up.

Upon your return to the land of the living, the three of you are admitted to an actual hospital room rather than the delivery room, which allows for more people to come see you at one time. Although, you and Jungkook decide it’s best to hold off on visitors until after you breastfeed your daughter.

The nurses are wonderful with helping you accomplish the daunting task, and it’s honestly easier than you expected. Your little girl latches onto you with ease and although it feels funny at first, the longer she drinks from you the more soothing it becomes. Relaxing against the pillows, you shut your eyes and appreciate the newness of motherhood while feeding your daughter. Jungkook interrupts your peaceful haven with a wistful sigh as his head falls into one of his palms.

“I’m so jealous,” he states with his eyes locked on your chest.

The slap upside the head you give him is purely on instinct.

Your loved ones all visit again over the next twenty four hours prior to your discharge from the hospital. Before departing, the nurses ask you about a name since the process is simpler to complete while you’re still here. You and Jungkook wear matching smirks while eyeing one another. Contrary to popular belief, the two of you really did know which name to choose the moment you saw her.

You, Jungkook, and Naru return home as a family for the first time, along with your parents, later that day. Bam and Usagi are downright ecstatic to see you and Jungkook’s dad has to hold Bam back from jumping on you or Jungkook, who’s holding Naru in her baby carrier.

It’s a flurry of movement as your moms support your back during your trek upstairs to sleep the pain away while Jungkook places Naru in her crib. Your dads immediately begin cleaning to take some chores off your plate, the two of them working in tandem to wash away the sticky bodily fluid still on the kitchen floor. Once you’re out cold and Jungkook is admiring his daughter with his head resting on the edge of her crib, your parents complete some other miscellaneous tasks around the house and feed the pets before heading home.

After they leave, Jungkook sits in the nursery rocking chair and watches with stars in his eyes as his little girl sleeps soundly in her stolen cradle.

It’s not totally certain why you chose Naru as her name. A couple months ago, Jungkook was rattling names off a list along with their meanings, and for some unknown reason it just stuck out. You and Jungkook both loved it amongst some other girl and boy names, and shortly after she was born, you unanimously agreed to go with that one. There’s an added cuteness bonus because Naru is the name of Usagi’s best friend in Sailor Moon, and in your little familiar they’re sisters.

The name means to become, grow, reach, or attain, and you think the meaning suits her and the two of you so perfectly.

When you wake after some solid sleep, it’s with a sore groan as you literally roll off the mattress to check on your family. It’s still so surreal referring to yourselves that way, but a completely lovesick smile graces your lips every time you do.

You stop in your tracks before anyone can see you once you reach the first floor, wanting to leave the beautiful scene you’re witnessing undisturbed for a while longer.

Jungkook is horizontal across the couch with his shirt open as Naru sleeps on his bare chest. He’s been absolutely dying to try skin on skin time with her after reading how beneficial it can be, and although it may be good for Naru, the sight is terrible for you because it nearly sends you into hysterics over how precious it is. Not only that, but Usagi is curled up between his legs and Bam is watching curiously from the chair next to them. If you could pause time to admire this moment for longer than the world allows, you’d do so in a heartbeat.

A few quiet minutes pass as you watch Jungkook’s gaze flit across all the tiny features of his daughter’s face with the sweetest smile on his lips. He looks utterly in love, his eyes nearly forming into hearts as he stares at her. It makes you wonder if this is what everyone means when they mention how he looks at you.

When you finally make yourself known and pad over to the couch in your slippers, Jungkook’s face somehow lights up even more, his smile growing exponentially as you sit beside his legs.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says softly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright, just sore,” you tell him.

“Anything I can do?”

“No.” You shake your head with an enchanted smile as you brush some of his hair back and caress his cheekbone. “You’re doing everything already.”

He smiles gratefully and twists his head to kiss your wrist. The three of you remain there for a while, you and Jungkook only speaking every so often as your daughter naps peacefully and he brushes her tiny strands of hair away from her face.

BACK TO ZERO

The low, dulcet sound of Jungkook singing in his lower register forces your eyes open. Blinking a couple times to bring your mind to reality, you turn your head to see Jungkook beside you in bed, softly singing to Naru as her cries subside and she falls into a deep slumber.

You reach for them, running your hand along Jungkook’s bicep so he knows you’re awake. He looks at you with a saccharine smile and whispers good morning as to not disturb the child sleeping in his arms. Bending down, you place a gentle kiss on her forehead before sitting up to kiss Jungkook where he’s resting against the headboard.

“You should’ve woken me up, Koo,” you whisper.

“It’s okay, Bambi. I got it,” he replies with an affirmative smile.

Jungkook’s been doing more than his fair share of waking up during all hours of the night to care for your daughter, even though you originally agreed to take turns. He claims it’s because you’re still recovering from pushing her out of your body while he sat and watched, and it only makes sense for you to rest while he does the heavy lifting. You appreciate him more than words can express, but guilt still eats away at you everytime you see dark bags under his eyes from the fatigue.

Sometimes he doesn’t have a choice but to wake you, because as much as your daughter is undeniably smitten by him, sometimes a girl just needs her mother.

If waking you is necessary, Jungkook will do so in the softest way possible, usually by pressing featherlight kisses all over your face and quietly telling you Naru needs you. Even when it’s your expertise required, he’ll follow you into the nursery while you either feed her or give her some much needed mommy and me time. Once her cries subside and she falls asleep, Jungkook will take you by the hand and tuck you into bed with a promise of a few more hours of rest.

When she isn’t being finicky, she’ll fall asleep in seconds to the feeling of Jungkook rocking her or singing her lullabies. You genuinely believe she recognizes his voice from when he sang to her in your womb because her eyes always light up in wonder whenever he starts a new tune.

She’s only been in your lives for a month, but somehow you love her more than anything else in the world. It’s strange for something to have a complete occupation of your heart without knowing them very long, but Naru makes it easy. Even though she can be quite the terror when she’s incessantly crying and screaming, and her diapers smell like sewage, she’s the absolute sweetest baby. When she’s being held, she always curls into the person’s chest and lays her little hand on them, or she’ll tightly grip their fingers between her tiny ones. She smiles constantly, no matter if you’re simply admiring her or playing peek-a-boo.

Naru definitely looks more like Jungkook, which is exactly what you were hoping for, although she does share some features with you.

The first time she blinked her eyes open and you saw a twin pair of the big, boba eyes you fell in love with, you nearly wept. In fact, they’re so large they nearly take up half her face. You’ve already captured at least a thousand pictures of them side by side, with Jungkook often forcing his eyes open wider so they match hers.

Your phone is positively overflowing with photos from the last thirty days, mostly selfies of you and Jungkook with your beautiful daughter, pictures of just her, or secret candid shots of Jungkook holding or playing with her. His phone is much the same, at least you assume so given that he’s always pretending not to be snapping photos whenever you’re with Naru.

“What time is it?” You ask Jungkook.

“Four in the morning.”

You groan quietly enough to avoid waking the sleeping infant and stand for a bathroom break before returning to your peaceful slumber. Your body is still in shambles from the birthing process, although you’re steadily recovering. Some basic functions are still a struggle and the extreme fatigue is enough to keep you in bed all day. Jungkook’s doing his best to take care of you while also caring for Naru, but both your parents come over often to assist in whatever way they can.

Your friends are visiting for the first time later today because they’ve been begging nonstop to see Naru again. It’s not that you didn’t want them here, but you and Jungkook felt some alone time as a family was necessary to settle into your new routine.

Both friend groups are visiting this afternoon since Mina and Taehyung are officially dating and it’s simpler to invite everyone over at once. You’re honestly elated about seeing your friends, desperately in need of some social interaction that isn’t with a tiny human or your boyfriend.

Referring to Jungkook as your boyfriend is quite the adjustment, especially since the illusive term doesn’t hold nearly enough weight for what he truly is to you. Best friend still feels more fitting even though there’s a platonic connotation, baby daddy lowers him to a status far beneath him, and the word partner doesn’t feel intimate enough for your connection. So, boyfriend it is for now, even though Jungkook continuously makes references to replacing the current ring on your finger with a different one.

You always reprimand him when he makes those comments, telling him it’s way too soon for both your relationship and being parents, and he assures you he agrees, but you know your hopeless romantic best friend better than anyone, and it’s obvious he’s itching to get down on one knee.

The thought does leave you embarrassingly giddy, but even if you did get engaged, you wouldn’t wed for a while given that no one wants to plan a wedding and raise an infant simultaneously. Right now, you’re perfectly content with your current ring and the meaning behind it. Ironically, poor Jungkook keeps muttering to himself about how he’s ever going to top it when he does pick out an actual engagement ring.

Upon returning to bed, Jungkook purses his lips towards you and you placate him with a tender smooch before plopping into bed. Unfortunately, you aren’t comfortable for long because your breasts start to hurt from needing to either feed your daughter or pump milk for later. Since she’s currently sleeping like the little angel she is, you grab your breast pump and mirror Jungkook’s position against the headboard while the machine works its magic.

“You always look like an alien when you do that,” Jungkook jokes.

“Like a sexy alien or an E.T. type?”

“Totally sexy, so fucking sexy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You blush bright pink and avoid his eyes before it gets any worse. Nothing about motherhood makes you feel even remotely sexy or desirable and yet there’s still hunger in Jungkook’s eyes whenever he sees you.

His love for you is genuinely the only thing that’s gotten you through the first month of parenthood and you can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. He’s always attentive to both you and Naru, never complains when you ask him to do something, and does everything in his power to relieve the weight on your shoulders. If there's a world where he didn’t accidentally knock you up, you don’t wish to live in it.

Eventually, you and Jungkook are able to enter dreamland again after he places Naru in her crib. When he returns to the bedroom, he pulls you into his arms from behind and you melt into his warm embrace. His lips dance along your neck, jaw, and cheek while you hum happily at the familiar sensation. It’s been difficult not having dedicated alone time since Naru was born, so you cherish moments like these when you can relax as just the two of you.

Naru’s lovely cries wake you about four hours later, and you seize the opportunity to attend to her before Jungkook can steal your turn.

When you reach the nursery, Usagi is posted up outside the door as she often is whenever your little girl is crying. Your adorable cat has fallen head over heels for your daughter and it makes you swoon whenever they interact. Bam’s also nearby, his ears perking up when you open the nursery door and he hears Naru crying. Of the two of them he’s taken on the protector role, turning him into quite the guard dog lately. You don’t allow them inside the room, but give them both a quick rub to thank them for being so caring.

Naru is twisting and turning in her crib as she cries, her tiny hands reaching for you as soon as you appear before her eyes.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” you coo as you scoop her up.

Cradling her to your chest, you soothe her by patting her back while she lays her head on your shoulder and cries into your shirt. One thing about newborns is it’s easy to figure out what they need since it can only be one of two things. So, you carry her to the changing table and diligently clean her up before getting her back into her onesie. She stretches her chunky fingers at you to hold her again and you immediately oblige, rocking her in your arms as you move across the room.

The door creaks open as you’re laying her down again, but there’s no need to turn around to know who’s entering the room.

The suspicion is confirmed when two strong arms wrap around your middle and you feel your boyfriend’s lips on your shoulder. As Jungkook continues pressing chaste kisses to your skin, you affectionately boop your daughter’s nose and watch as an adorable yawn takes over her face and her fingers curl into tiny fists.

Jungkook is still kissing along your shoulder and up your neck, but he isn’t trying to initiate anything, his lips are caressing you in a way you know means he’s merely doing it because he loves you and to silently thank you for doing everything you do.

Your hand travels behind your head to play with his hair, tugging on it gently so you can hear his sweet laugh in your ear.

“Wish we could stay like this forever, Bams.”

“Me, too,” you whisper.

Turning around in his hold, you capture his neck with both arms and yank him closer for a real kiss. Jungkook automatically tugs you into him with his fingers clutching your waist, causing your back to arch as he deepens the kiss by coaxing your mouth open.

It’s important to make time for intimacy even if it can’t lead anywhere yet, and truth be told, your inherent need to feel his lips on yours never wanes. You wonder if this so-called honeymoon phase will ever go away or if you just love him so much that this is what forever is going to be like.

Jungkook grabs your jaw with one hand as his tongue slips into your mouth, and if he wasn’t holding you the action would probably send you falling into Naru’s cradle. You kiss him a hundred times a day, at least, and he still manages to make your knees weak every time. The two of you moan in harmony when your tongues meet and you press yourself harder against him in response. His chest is warm and solid and you can feel his steady heartbeat beneath his shirt.

“I love you, babygirl,” he confesses quietly.

He’s kissing you again before you’re able to reciprocate his devotion, but you part for the sake of oxygen a moment later and leave your foreheads touching.

“I love you, too.”

You allow Naru to sleep in peace and exit the nursery holding hands. Jungkook leads you down the hall to his bedroom, which is technically shared now. There are plans to turn what was your bedroom back into Jungkook’s office since you certainly aren’t using it anymore, and you need the space where his desk currently sits for all of your furniture.

Waking up in Jungkook’s arms is hands down the most wonderful feeling in the world, on par with holding Naru while she smiles radiantly at you.

Upon returning to the confines of your bedroom, Jungkook brings you into him again so he can kiss you fervently. His intensity pulls a chuckle from your lungs as you shamelessly make out in the middle of the room.

“How many more weeks again?” He asks breathlessly, referring to when you’ll be cleared for sexual activity.

“I’m not sure, since whoever decided on six weeks clearly never pushed a child out of their vagina,” you respond.

Jungkook giggles while leaning in to kiss you again. He graces you with one last peck before heading to grab some towels so you can prepare for the day ahead.

“Well, whenever you are ready, just know I’ll be really gentle.”

“I don’t even think you believe that, Jungkook.”

His smile is riddled with faux guilt when he returns to your side.

“Yeah, no, that’s a total lie.”

You smack his chest with the towel in retaliation, but you’re already laughing to reveal your true feelings. The two of you head to the bathroom together, making sure to grab the baby monitor so you can hear if Naru wakes up.

Showering together is another sparing moment when you can just be in each other’s presence without any of the noise, so it’s become routine lately. Sometimes it gets interrupted by your daughter and one of you, usually Jungkook, has to run out in a towel to console her. One time, he still had shampoo in his hair and you carefully crafted a little bun on his head so it didn’t drip into his eyes.

Jungkook turns the water on while you brush your teeth. It’s adorably domestic and reminds you just how far you’ve come since you first moved in more than six months ago.

Your boyfriend strips as you're washing the toothpaste from your mouth and it takes everything in you not to drool into the sink. No matter how many times you see him naked, every glance feels like the first and you go dizzy over the sight.

“Bambi, stop ogling me,” he teases.

“Stop looking like that, then.”

“Oh, well excuse me.”

“You’re excused,” you reply, your arms crossing over your chest in victory.

A sly grin appears as Jungkook begins robbing you of your own clothes. He caresses your torso once you’re naked in front of him, massaging your skin with his warm fingers until he reaches your hips and squeezes them with a quiet growl.

You frown involuntarily, your usual confidence noticeably absent in the skin you’re currently wearing. Some of the baby weight is gone, about ten or so pounds, but there are stretch marks and extra skin that didn’t previously exist staring back at you in the mirror.

“What is it, Bams?” He asks with evident concern.

There’s confusion over your negative reaction painting Jungkook’s features as he eyes you inquisitively.

“It’s unfair,” you pout.

“What is, baby?”

Your chin is pitched up by Jungkook’s pointer finger so he can watch your expressions when you respond.

“How sexy you are,” you answer.

“Unfair to whom? I’m yours, aren’t I?”

Blush creeps across your bare chest and neck, but his sweet words still don’t dispel your insecurities.

“Yeah, but I’m all flabby and misshapen while you still look freaking perfect.”

“Bambi, you look beyond perfect. There’s nothing that could make you not the most beautiful woman in the world,” Jungkook states earnestly.

“You’re only saying that because you’re in love with me,” you argue.

“No, no,” Jungkook says with a shake of his head. “I thought that long before I fell in love with you, Bams.” He can sense your disbelief, so he bends his knees until he’s staring directly into your eyes. “Do I need to kiss every inch of you to prove it? Because I fucking will.”

“No,” you mumble. His knuckles brush your cheekbone and you sigh. “I’m sorry, I just don’t feel like myself right now, you know?”

“No need to apologize, baby, just tell me how to help and I will.”

His everlasting love and consideration for you bring a smile to your face and you kiss him briefly before leading him towards the shower.

“You don’t need to do anything more than you already are,” you tell him. “And maybe once I’m fully recovered you can bring me with you to the gym so I can get back to normal faster.”

Jungkook enthusiastically nods at your proposal of working out together. He’s been begging you for a while to join him at the gym, mostly because he wants to do push ups over you and kiss you everytime he goes down.

He holds you steady via a hand on your waist as you enter the shower before joining you under the falling water, keeping your back pressed to his chest while the steam encompasses you both. His lips find your neck as he slowly kisses across your wet skin, except unlike before, there’s fire behind his touch as he ravishes you in sensual affection. The water drenching you both only serves to up the intensity, the feeling of him licking up the droplets while he sucks on your throat sending you into euphoric bliss.

“Koo,” you moan, leaning your head on his shoulder as your eyes shut.

“Just because I can’t fuck you doesn’t mean I won’t make you feel good, babygirl,” he tells you.

Which is precisely what he does as he continues kissing you in all the spots he knows drive you crazy while his hands caress you everywhere within reach. They eventually find purchase on your tits and he tactfully massages them in his big hands.

His touch turns your brain to mush, your mind descending into a pool of pleasure as you relish in the sensation of his hands on you. It takes all your willpower not to say fuck it and let him push his cock into your cunt. If there wasn’t an adorable little girl who’ll be waking up soon, you’d let him manhandle you for hours until the water runs ice cold.

You turn around abruptly upon deciding you want to taste him rather than feel him, and Jungkook catches on instantly, walking you both under the showerhead until your back meets the wall as his lips descend on yours.

The kiss is deliciously sloppy from the combination of tongues chasing each other and water pouring down. Your hands rake into Jungkook’s dripping strands of black hair as you moan unabashedly into his mouth. One of Jungkook’s hands slams on the shower wall beside your head while the other catches your waist to keep your body pressed to his. Everything about it feels absolutely filthy even though you’re in a place meant for cleanliness.

“I didn’t even know it was possible to want someone like this,” Jungkook whispers. “All the goddamn fucking time, baby.”

“Me, either,” you reply through a moan as Jungkook begins kissing down your neck again. “I don’t know how we went so long without it.”

He laughs while shaking his head where it resides in the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“Because we’re idiots.”

There’s only a split second between his response and his lips latching onto your nipple, his hand inching up your spine to fondle the opposite breast. It forces a gasp out of you as you desperately grasp his hair in your hands. He plays with your tits in sync, sucking on your pebbled nub in perfect time with the movement of his fingers. An incoherent curse passes through your lips when his ministrations cause you to lactate into his mouth, and he groans in delight as he laps up the milk coming from your nipple with his tongue. The act is supremely messy because Jungkook is purposely missing some of your breast milk so he can lick it off your skin before the water washes it away.

He alternates between drinking straight from the source and allowing his tongue to collect it, but neither choice is better for your sanity. This isn’t the first time he’s acted upon his insatiable urges, just last week he wrapped his lips around your nipple after you were forced awake at three in the morning to check on Naru. The feeling of him sucking on you while you lactate was strange initially, but after a moment it made your head spin with pleasure as he played with your tits and fed himself from your body.

“Fuck, Koo.”

Your head hits the shower tile while he moans pathetically around your nipple.

“I’ll apologize to our daughter for stealing her food later,” he mumbles into your skin.

You chuckle and Jungkook naturally smiles just from the sound of your happiness. He leaves a final kiss on your breast before returning to your lips with a satisfied hum.

You’ve never had shower sex before and unfortunately, today won’t be the day, but after this it’s certainly going on your list.

Your lips continue clashing while you caress each other for an unknown amount of time, but when you do finally catch your breath, the water has begun cooling down. There’s a major responsibility to someone other than yourselves looming outside the bathroom door, so you stop being sexual deviants and actually wash up for the day.

Jungkook pours some soap on your luffa so he can work it into your skin, not missing a single inch as he glides the sponge along your body. You do the same for him while he gathers shampoo in his hands and starts cleansing your hair.

He’s sporting the most adorable look of concentration while he scrubs the shampoo on your scalp until it turns to suds. Repeating the motions on his own hair, you dig your nails between his strands and make him whine from the soothing sensation on his head. The two of you finish up quickly, turning off the water and handing each other your respective towels to dry off.

After getting dressed, you return to Naru’s nursery to wake her up and feed her. Ironically, you have to bottle feed her because Jungkook used up all the milk collecting in your breasts for her morning meal. She looks positively delighted to see you once she’s awake, a heart stopping giggle coming from her tiny body as you pick her up.

Jungkook says he’ll prepare for your guests to arrive while you care for Naru, which includes dolling her up for her visitors. You don’t normally dress her in actual clothes, usually leaving her in a onesie for simplicity, but you want your friends to see her in some of the clothes they bought her. When she naps, you always swaddle her in the blanket Chaewon made and most of her toys come from your friends.

You trudge downstairs with her resting on your shoulder to find Jungkook cleaning up some lingering dishes in the kitchen. Bam bounds over excitedly to greet you and you use your free hand to throw his bone across the room after petting his head. Usagi follows close behind at your feet, per usual, her big eyes staring up at you and Naru as you walk towards the kitchen.

There’s a blindingly bright smile on Jungkook’s face when you enter the room and he instinctively gestures for your daughter. Gladly passing her over, you watch in endearment as he nuzzles his nose against hers and she makes an adorable cooing sound.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says in his baby voice. She giggles and reaches for his cheeks at the sound of him praising her. “Yeah? You want your daddy?”

Her giggles grow louder when he blows raspberries on each of her chubby cheeks. She cuddles up against his chest as he holds her close, her eyes shutting serenely at the feeling of her dad’s warmth surrounding her. Jungkook bounces her in his arms which causes her to smile adoringly at him and her little toothless grin makes your heart sing.

You automatically take over for him on the chore front since Naru clearly wants some daddy-daughter time.

When she wakes up after falling asleep in Jungkook’s warm embrace, it’s obvious she’s uncomfortable and needs her diaper changed. You never predicted being able to tell which cries mean what, but you’ve memorized every single noise she makes at this point. Jungkook volunteers for dumpster duty while you finish up downstairs.

When they return, she’s still crying incessantly, only it’s soft whimpers you both know mean she wants her mommy. Jungkook gracefully hands her to you, ensuring she’s secure in your arms before letting go. You bring her to the couch and lay her in your lap, holding her little hands and moving them in circles to soothe her.

“Hi, sweet Naru.” Her cries diminish as soon as she hears your voice. “I love you so much, my darling girl. Yeah, that’s right.”

She makes the cutest baby sound imaginable and squeezes your fingers to the best of her ability. You coo in adoration and bend down to kiss her tummy so she giggles even more. Jungkook clicks his tongue over your shoulder.

“I always think she’s such a daddy’s girl until you get your hands on her,” he comments.

“She is a daddy’s girl, Koo. In fact, she may be more obsessed with you than I am.” You boop her nose and her smile grows while she sticks her tongue out. “Isn’t that right, Naru? Mommy’s gonna have to fight you for him, aren’t I, little girl?”

The noise she makes sounds suspiciously like a yes. Jungkook blushes deep red, his love for his daughter physically manifesting on his cheeks.

“I love her more than anything, but you’ll always be my girl, Bams,” he says with a kiss to your cheek.

An hour later the first of your guests arrives. You purposely told them all different times, in about ten minute increments, so everyone gets devoted time with Naru without fighting over her. Jihyo is first, and she has enough gifts in her hands to fill the entire nursery. She squeals and jumps a couple inches off the ground in delight when you appear before her with Naru. The gift bags fall to the floor with a plop as she extends her arms to take her niece from you.

“Naru, my sweetheart!” She cheers.

You and Jungkook are able to take a much needed parenting reprieve as your friends slowly pile in and pass your daughter around like a hot potato. Once all thirteen of them have arrived, everyone spreads out between the living room and the kitchen.

Naru is currently sound asleep in Yoongi’s arms, the usually expressionless man wearing a face of complete joy as he watches her with his gummy smile even though she’s not awake to return it.

“I still don’t understand how the youngest of us is a dad before anyone else,” Jin says as he chews on his slice of pizza.

“Because he’s a doofus,” Jimin responds.

“Hey! I may be a doofus, but I took part in making the cutest little girl ever,” Jungkook defends himself. “In fact, you could say I’m about fifty percent of the reason she’s so adorable!”

“Kook, you got to creampie the hottest woman we all know and then magically have a child nine months later. I’ll give you five percent tops,” Chaewon argues.

Everyone chuckles at Chaewon’s extremely high level overview of pregnancy.

“She seems really well behaved,” Yunjin comments.

“She is,” you say proudly. “Naru is a little angel.”

“You won’t be saying that in a few months,” Namjoon says. “She’ll be a demon once she starts teething.”

“Oh, remind me not to visit around then,” Hoseok adds.

As if she heard them talking smack about her, Naru wakes up and begins fussing around in Yoongi’s arms. His eyes go wide at the foreign behavior and he immediately locks eyes with Jungkook across the room for assistance. Your boyfriend smiles at his friend’s nervousness and goes to grab your daughter before she starts crying

When she instantaneously settles down at the feeling of Jungkook holding her, all seven girls harmoniously gasp in awe.

“Oh my gosh, she loves you, Jeon!” Eunchae states.

“I would sure hope so,” he replies with a proud grin.

He kisses her head a couple times and she nuzzles against his shoulder, tucking her face into his neck and laying her adorable, chunky, baby hand on his chest.

“Wow, never thought I’d see the day,” Taehyung notes from where he sits with a hand on Mina’s thigh.

“So, who’s next? I think Naru needs a playmate, right?” Nayeon asks the room, her eyebrows rising when she meets Mina’s gaze.

Mina aggressively shakes her head while putting her hands up in surrender.

“Nuh uh, not yet, especially not after hearing about what Y/N went through,” she states.

“How are you doing, Y/N?” Tzuyu changes the subject to ask.

“I’m recovering, some days are worse than others,” you answer. “I honestly thought I was going to die.”

“I still can’t believe you did it without any pain meds,” Chaewon says with a shake of her head.

“You and me both.”

“It was genuinely pure magic,” Jungkook comments, his hand gently patting Naru’s back. “She’s a fucking goddess.”

You send him a charming smile from across the room and he blows a kiss at you in return.

“It was worth it, that’s all I know,” you respond.

“It totally was, look at your little girl! She’s perfect,” Eunchae says.

“We can only hope the rest of us schmucks make children as lovely as Naru someday,” Jimin states while holding his glass up to cheers. “To our niece!”

Everyone raises their own glasses in solidarity, except for Jungkook, who lifts Naru up Lion King-style as she giggles and kicks her little feet in joy.

The night continues with Naru being passed around the room a couple more times. She seems to enjoy her uncle Jin the most, probably because he’s an expert at making funny faces that cause her to cheerfully scream and laugh. Jihyo also garners much of her attention, with Naru making grabby hands at her every so often. Mina jokes it’s because Jihyo has big tits and your daughter is getting her confused with a source of nutrients.

Your friends eventually say their goodbyes until all that remains are the vast amount of gifts they brought. You and Jungkook mutually agree to put them away in the morning and use this precious time for quality family bonding in bed.

The two of you lay on your stomachs with Naru between you on the mattress. You both take turns tickling her and blowing raspberries on her stomach and thighs just to hear the perfect laugh you adore so much. It feels like pure, unadulterated bliss, and with Bam and Usagi both curled up by your feet, you feel utterly complete as a little family of five.

Resting your head on your arm, you gaze at Jungkook as he admires his little girl. The adoration in his sparkling eyes makes you feel eternally grateful to your past self for the decision she made. Here you thought you were sleeping with Jungkook just to try it, and now your heart is reborn in more ways than one. It’s swollen to max capacity with both romantic love for your best friend and unconditional love for your daughter.

Jungkook notices your stare and raises an eyebrow at you. When you don’t respond, he leans over Naru to kiss you and pull you from your reverie.

“You gonna tell me why you’re looking at me like that, Bambi?”

You shake your head.

“I don’t have to because you already know,” you respond.

He smiles beautifully and tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I do.”

Jungkook kisses you again, smoothly gliding his lips over yours while he pours his love for you into the gesture. Ardently returning his kiss, you caress his cheek with one hand and move your lips in a gentle harmony with his. Your foreheads meet after pulling away and upon looking sideways, you see Naru playfully rolling side to side between you. You share a heartwarming laugh at her mannerisms, both of you so completely taken by your daughter and each other.

“I’m so glad I asked you to try something new that night, Bams. Now we get to do everything together for the rest of our lives, starting with parenting.”

“Mm, same here, Koo.” You lean back and rest your head in your hand. “I wonder what other new stuff we’ll get up to.”

Jungkook hums inquisitively and tongues his cheek as he ponders his answer, but then his eyes light up with a mischievous grin.

“Marriage?”

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soaps-mohawk · 3 days ago

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 57: Reunited And It Feels So Good

Summary: Settling into your new lives isn't going as smoothly as you had hoped. Luckily Johnny and Simon arrive to save the day.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 9,000 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, explicit sexual content, p in v sex, threesome, oral, fingering, squirting, creampie, cum eating, slight choking but not really, crying during sex, dick so good 'mega passes out (only for a moment), Simon's big cock, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, alternate universe, angst, domestic fluff, language

A/N: Happy 4th of July! Celebrate with some smut with British men!! this chapter about killed me but I got it done! I did it! yay me!

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The bed shifting wakes you. The room is dark as you open bleary eyes, your arm reaching out and finding nothing but warm sheets. You roll over into that warm spot, pressing your nose into the pillow.

John.

He’s gotten up, likely to go to the bathroom. You settle back in, pulling the blanket up higher around you. Kyle is off somewhere across the bed snoring softly. You sink into the warmth John left behind, phasing in and out of sleep for the next two hours. The sky starts to lighten as the sun starts to rise, and sleep starts to evade you.

You let out a quiet breath, rolling back over. John hadn’t returned, the bed devoid of his presence while you slid in and out of a light sleep. A frown pulls at your brows as you decide to get up, quietly slipping out of bed to avoid disturbing Kyle. You slip on a robe before you leave the room, heading down the hall to the kitchen.

John isn’t there either, but there’s a mug in the sink. You start the coffee, letting it drip before you head to the back door, looking out at the yard. John is kneeling in front of one of the built in planters, pulling out weeds. You step out into the cool morning, quietly sliding the door closed before approaching him.

“You’re up early.” You say, coming to a stop beside him.

“Couldn’t get back to sleep.” He says, not looking up at you as he tugs another weed out of the dirt. “Thought I’d get up and be productive.”

Another frown creases your brow but you don’t push, instead looking at the row of planters. “You want to plant something this year?”

“It’s early enough in the spring we could.” He says. “Flowers or a garden.”

“It might be nice to have some fresh vegetables this summer.” You say, rocking back and forth on your toes. “Or flowers would be pretty. Liven up the outside while we work on it.”

“A garden will take more work, but it’ll give us something to do while we work on getting things set up for animals.” He says.

“Now you’re thinking about animals?” You say, raising a brow.

“I always was,” he says, sitting back on his heels. “I just know we have a lot of work to do before we can think about getting any.” He looks out past the end of the patio to where the green grass disappears down a small hill. It’s starting to get long. “The fence needs some work back there, and we’d have to renovate the barn out there. It’s in dire need of repairs.”

You hum, looking out at the distance before looking back down at him. “You’ve been thinking a lot this morning.”

He shrugs, going back to weeding. “I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

So much for retirement being relaxing, you think, but then again, it’s good that he’s finding something to do with himself. You know he’d be going stir-crazy if he didn’t have something to do. He’s never going to be good at sitting still, not until he has no choice.

You head back into the house, Kyle up and making himself some tea.

“Morning, love.” he says, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. He passes you a mug for your coffee. “How long has he been out there?”

You shrug. “Probably a while. I heard him get up earlier before it was light out.”

“Think he’s eaten anything?” He asks, tossing his tea bag in the trash.

“Probably not.” You say, taking a sip of your coffee.

“I’ll start on breakfast, you keep an eye on him.” Kyle leans down to press a kiss to your lips before making for the fridge pulling out some eggs.

You take a seat at the table, hardly more than a card table with plastic chairs but it’s what you could get without committing to a full dining table yet. The couch and the bed had been the first purchases and now you were going to slowly accumulate more and more furniture over time.

You can see John out the window, still kneeling and weeding the planters. His brow is pulled in focus, gaze locked into the dirt. You’ve seen him like that before, the intense focus on his task, the drive to complete whatever goal he’s set out for himself. Some deep part of you is starting to feel a bit on edge about it, but at the same time, as long as he’s happy…

You go out to fetch him when breakfast is ready, avoiding stepping in any of the dirt piles laying on the concrete. “Breakfast’s ready.” You say, coming to stand beside him.

“I’ll be in, in a minute.” He says, not even looking up at you.”

You stand there for a long moment, waiting for any more acknowledgment but none comes. “Okay.” You say quietly before turning on your heel, making your way back into the house.

“He coming?” Kyle asks, setting out plates.

“He said he’ll be in soon.” You say, taking a seat at the table.

Kyle frowns, shaking his head. “Go ahead and eat. I’ll go get him.”

You watch Kyle step out the door, reaching for the eggs as he stops beside John, words passing between them before he walks back towards the house. John stays where he is for a moment before he gets up, brushing the dirt off his jeans before heading towards the house as well.

You try not to let it bother you. You really don’t want it to, but you can’t deny the pang of hurt that John brushed you off so easily, but he listened to Kyle. They have a bond stronger than yours, different than yours. They’ve been through combat together, they trust each other on a level you’ll never achieve.

Whatever Kyle said, it worked. That’s what you should be thankful for.

John smells like dirt as he passes, going to wash his hands before he sits at the table on your other side. You’re already eating, shoving down your emotions with every swallow.

It’s quiet at the table, that prickle still in the back of your mind that something is off lingering. Your omega is picking up on something, but you don’t know what it is. You knew there would be an adjustment period, that things would be hard for a while, but you hadn’t really known what to expect. Maybe this is the start of it. Maybe it’s just the three of you trying to figure out this new dynamic, this new world. It’s new to all three of you, and maybe you just need some time to settle in. Maybe this tingling will go away with time, as the three of you settle more and more into this new routine.

You can only hope.

The days continue to get warmer and warmer, the three of you focusing your efforts outside. You did decide on a garden this year, or at least to try and get something established for coming years. John had jumped right into that plan, buying plants and soil and fertilizer and all the supplies you’ll need to get it started.

That deep feeling that something is off continues to simmer beneath the surface, reaching out its spindly fingers every time you wake to find John gone from the bed, every time you see him so knee deep in a task he forgets the world around him. He’s still waking early, your body becoming in-tune with his early rises. You wake when the bed shifts, blinking in the darkness, rolling into the warm spot he leaves behind, waiting for him to return but he never does.

Some part of you knew they’d wake early. Well, John would. Kyle has taken to his newfound freedom well, sleeping in later than even you some days. You had laughed about it being his body catching up on missed sleep over the years. You wished John would be able to do the same, yet he continues to wake before the sun.

You want to talk about it, but you’re not sure how to broach the subject. There will be push back. You don’t doubt that one bit. You’re just not ready for a fight like that yet. Things have been going so well. The last thing you want is to shatter this veil of domesticity that you’ve put together.

You manage to catch him one morning, when he’s slow to rise from the bed. You roll before he can push himself up, half asleep as your fingers wrap around his arm.

“John,” You slur, tugging at his arm. “Stay.”

Even half asleep you expect him to brush you off, tuck you in and kiss your head. He does hesitate, but then he gives in, climbing back into the bed. You snuggle up to him, giving him no chance of escape as he wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. You let out a content sigh, wanting to play out the dream of a lazy morning, waking in his arms as the sun rises.

You doze back off for a while, nose pressed against his chest, breathing in his scent.

You wake a couple hours later, still squished up against his chest. Kyle in his sleep has partaken in your master plan to trap John, rolling up against your back, his arm slung across you to rest against John’s hip. It’s warm between them, nearly stifling with the sun shining in the window, but you wouldn’t move if the world was on fire. You’re getting what you wanted, but at the same time, there’s a disingenuous feel to it all. John only stayed because you forced him. He’s likely only still here to avoid waking both you and Kyle.

He’s not asleep. You can tell by the way he breathes. You know him well enough to decipher the changes between his breathing, the tension in his body as he lays there with you. He likely didn’t go back to sleep at all, laying awake while the two of you dozed the morning away. He must be itching to get up, itching to do something with the morning besides sleeping it away.

Kyle wakes with a grunt, disappearing from behind your back as he pushes himself up to sit, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Gotta piss.” He mumbles, crawling down to the end of the bed before disappearing into the bathroom.

You lay where you are, fingers brushing John’s chest, drawing small patterns against his skin. “Thank you for staying.” You murmur, shifting closer against him.

He hums quietly, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Didn’t give me much of a choice.”

“I think you could have gotten away if you wanted to.” You say, pressing a kiss to his skin.

He lets out a sigh, rolling over until you’re pressed against the mattress under him. “And miss this?”

He has missed this. For days he’s been missing this.

You’d never say that out loud, though.

His face presses into your neck, breathing in your scent. Lips press gentle kisses against your skin, a content hum leaving your lips. Your hand sinks into his hair, neatly trimmed to your disappointment. There’s still time yet to convince him to grow it out.

You yelp as his teeth sink into your skin, pinching it between them. You smack his arm, trying to wiggle out from under him. “Rude!”

He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the skin he just bit. “You were thinking too much.”

You pout, tugging at his hair until his head lifts from your neck. “I always think too much.”

He hums, leaning down to kiss you. “You’re distracted this morning.”

“I’m distracted every morning, but you wouldn’t know that.”

It slips out before you can stop it, but he elects to ignore it.

He breathes against your lips, hips pressing against your leg. “You’ve been thinking too much this morning too.” You say, feeling the bulge in his sleep pants against your thigh.

His scent is thick in the air, projecting, though whether purposefully or not, you’re not sure. You’re no better than him, warmth starting to bloom between your thighs.

“I leave for two minutes and you’re already getting all worked up.” Kyle says, stepping out of the bathroom.

“We’ve been thinking too much.” John says, pulling back just slightly.

“Clearly.” Kyle says. “Don’t have too much fun.” He makes his way towards the door.

“Where are you going?” You ask, lifting your head up to stare at him.

“To start on breakfast.” He shrugs before leaving the room.

“Loser.” You say, flopping back onto the pillow.

“He’s just set on missing out, then.” John says, his hand resting on your stomach. “Hope he makes a big breakfast. You’re going to need it by the time I’m done with you.”

You let out a whine as his teeth nip at your lip, his hand sliding lower. Oh fuck…

Your legs are still shaking as you sit at the table happily nibbling on a piece of bacon. John sits beside you, sipping his tea and scrolling on his phone. Kyle is seated across from you, making quick work of his eggs and toast.

“Easter’s this weekend.” John says. “Simon and Johnny will be here Friday.”

“I’m shocked they’re not driving up Thursday night.” Kyle says.

“I’m sure Johnny wants to,” You say. “It’s probably Simon making him wait until Friday morning.”

“They’ll get here before midday.” Kyle says. “I’ll put money on that.”

“Johnny will have them on the road before the sun’s up. Lad’s excited to get here.” John says.

“He misses us.” You shrug, spooning eggs into your mouth.

“If it wasn’t for Simon, I don’t doubt he’d have retired too.” Kyle says.

It falls silent for a moment. Of course Johnny would never abandon Simon like that. He’s loyal to his alpha and he’ll follow him wherever he goes, no matter if it means splitting the pack up. You would have liked having Johnny here too, but at the same time, you’re glad Simon has him. The thought of Simon being alone in the barracks tugs at something in your heart. He’d do it, no doubt, but it would be a lonely existence.

“Do you think Simon will ever retire?” You ask quietly, piece of toast in hand, but you can’t bring yourself to take a bite.

“He’ll have to eventually.” John says. “The body wears down and Simon would never take a desk job.”

Or he’ll die in the field.

That truth remains unspoken, but all three of you know that risk. John and Kyle had lived it many times, and you had spent the better part of six months living that reality. Now you’re living it again. Even if the threat isn’t there for your entire pack now, it doesn’t lessen the worry you’ll always carry for Johnny and Simon.

“Do you think he’d ever retire for us?” You ask, voicing the hidden question you’ve had burning at the back of your mind ever since John announced his retirement.

John lets out a heavy breath. “That’s not a question I can answer,” he admits honestly. “You’d have to ask him that yourself.”

“So we’ll never know.” You say quietly, staring down at the last piece of bacon on your plate.

“Simon’s a complex man.” John says softly. “As much as I’d like to think I can, I can’t put myself completely in his head. There’s things he does that surprise even me sometimes.”

“It’ll be good to see them.” You say, cutting off the conversation before you can think too hard about it. “I’ve missed them.”

“So have I.” Kyle says, stealing the bacon off your plate, knowing you’re not going to eat anymore. Your appetite has been spoiled by the heavy topic of conversation. “I bet Johnny will cry when he sees us again.”

“Oh he’s definitely breaking down.” You agree.

“He’s going to cry, and then he’s going straight for the bed.” Kyle chuckles. “Your poor pussy is going to feel every day that he’s been away.”

You wince, squeezing your thighs together at the thought of how much she’s about to go through.

“Simon is going to be just as insatiable.” John says.

“We might as well sleep in the guest room on the air mattress.” Kyle says to John. “Probably won’t be getting much sleep that first night.”

“What, you don’t want to join in?” You ask, staring at them over your mug as you sip your coffee.

John’s gaze darkens, Kyle’s jaw twitching as they stare at you. There’s a sudden tension in the air, their scents starting to thicken.

“As much as we’d enjoy it, they deserve some time with you to themselves.” John says lowly, a subtle growl in his voice.

“We’ve been spoiled, getting to have you whenever we want.” Kyle says, his own voice pitched low and gruff. “Only seems right to give them that chance.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you stare at them, eyes flicking back and forth from John’s gaze to Kyle’s, then back. You feel small under the intensity of their gaze, the back of your neck tingling. A deep part of you is wanting to run, to give them chase, but you wouldn’t make it far. Down the hall maybe. Probably not even into the room.

“Smell that?” John rasps, taking in a deep inhale.

“Thought you wore her out already.” Kyle rumbles.

“Thought I did too.” John’s gaze is dark, another shiver running down your spine.

You can stop yourself as you jump up, racing towards the entrance to the kitchen. They’re on their feet almost as soon as you are, footsteps thudding behind you. You slip on the turn around the corner, flying down the hall to the room.

You just manage to get the door closed, flipping the lock before taking a step back. They’ll get through, you don’t doubt that. Instead your gaze turns towards the window, an idea popping into your head. You don’t care that your barefoot as you climb into the bed, pushing the window open. It gives a bit of resistance from the damp air outside but you get it open just enough to slip through and onto the patio. You take off towards the grass, hearing the sliding door open.

A body hits you from behind, forcing you down into the grass. You just made it off the patio, breathing hard as you land in the tall foliage. Kyle is on top of you, flipping you over onto your back, John right beside him. You’re laughing, kicking out at Kyle as he tickles your sides.

“Little shit.” He grins, not even breathing hard after the short run.

“Giving us chase, you little minx.” John says, pinning down your top half.

“Not my fault you were stinking up the house.” You giggle, giving up the fight.

“Enjoy that did you?” John asks, staring down at you.

“Yeah.” You breathe, staring up into those intense blue eyes.

You can see the thoughts behind those eyes, the ideas his brain is coming up with and storing for later. Another shiver runs down your spine at the thought.

Finally Kyle lets up, leaning his body over yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him down so he’s chest to chest with you. He grunts softly, catching himself on his elbows.

“We gonna make this a regular thing?” He asks, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“Do you want it to be?” You ask softly.

He smirks. “That’s up to you and how much you feel like running.”

You hum. “Might have to pull out my running shoes again.”

Kyle chuckles, pressing a kiss to your lips before sitting up on his knees. “Gotta work on that stamina.” He grins, his hand trailing up your side. “Johnny and Simon will get a head start on that.”

You swallow thickly, your scent starting to project again.

“Don’t get her riled up too much.” John says, shifting your wrists into one of his hands, the other dropping to brush across your lips. “She’s already had an exciting morning.”

“I didn’t get to have my fun.” Kyle says.

John releases you as you push yourself up to stand, staring down at him where he sits on his knees. You drag your fingers through his curls tugging his head back. “Maybe you should have stayed then.” You lean down, pressing a kiss to his forehead before stepping around him, making your way back towards the house.

“Shit,” he breathes, your ears just picking it up as you reach the sliding glass door.

A grin splits your face as you step back into the house, leaving them outside.

The bed dipping again pulls you from sleep. You roll over, reaching out but find nothing but air. The shadowy figure of John disappears into the gaping maw that is the bathroom before the door closes and the light turns on. You lay there in the dark, staring at the strip of light for a moment. You’re half tempted to get up, to beat him to the kitchen, finally confront him about his sleep, but Kyle chooses that moment to roll over and wrap his arms around you. You silently curse him, laying there as the bathroom door opens, John’s shadow making its way across the room and out the door.

You let out a sigh. John hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s up late and rises early, and you know he gets up sometimes during the night. You want to ask, you want to talk to him, but you don’t know how. You’re not sure he would talk to you, if he even could. Something’s up with him and it’s bothering you that you can’t help. Instead you lay there helpless in Kyle’s arms, staring at the wall until your eyes start to droop.

It’s light out when they open again. Kyle’s gone, his warmth fading from the bed. John’s side is cold, just as you expected. You lay there in the blankets for a moment, staring up at the ceiling illuminated by the sun coming in through the window. It’s Friday, which means Johnny and Simon will be on their way here soon, if they aren’t already. They had sounded excited on the call last night, and you can’t help but wonder if Johnny got any sleep. You hope he did considering he’ll be driving.

You climb out of bed finally, pulling on a pair of shorts before heading to the kitchen. The smell of toast and eggs wafts down the hallway, drawing you towards the sounds coming from the kitchen.

“Morning, love.” Kyle says softly, turning to look at you from the stove.

“Morning.” You say, rubbing your eyes as you head for the coffee pot.

John is seated at the table, nursing a tea with his phone in hand. He looks tired, dark circles like bruises under his eyes. You wonder what he does when he wakes so early. Go on a run? Sit and have an existential crisis? Scroll on his phone until his mind is numb and leaking out of his ears?

“Morning, sweetheart.” He murmurs over the top of his mug when you take a seat at the table.

“You were up early.” You say, your heart pounding in your chest. You’re pushing a boundary here, but curiosity is beginning to make you brave.

“Couldn’t get back to sleep.” Is all he says, setting his mug back down on the table. For some reason, it feels like a finality.

If you were braver, you’d push, but you don’t have it in you. Not when he’s looking like this.

Kyle interrupts the moment, or perhaps saves it, as he sets a plate of toast, eggs, and sausages down on the table. You’re not particularly hungry, but you eat anyway, knowing you’re going to need the strength later.

“Johnny and Simon left around 6 this morning.” John says.

“That early?” You frown.

“I’m surprised they didn’t leave earlier.” Kyle says.

“They should be here around noon.” John continues. “Perhaps earlier depending on if Johnny decides the rules of the road are actually rules.”

“Maybe later if he gets pulled over again.” Kyle says.

“He’s been pulled over before?” Your brows raise, though you’re not sure why you’re surprised.

“A few times.” John says. “He’s even gotten out of a ticket a couple times.”

“It’s the charisma and charm.” You say.

“Nah, he just plays dumb.” Kyle says.

“Or that.” You giggle.

The three of you finish breakfast and you set up to make sure the house looks perfect, even with its sparse furniture and décor. You want it to look good for Johnny and Simon. You want their first impression of your nest to be a good one. They’ll probably like it regardless. Anything will beat the barracks, but still, you have that drive to make sure everything is in its place and perfectly aligned.

Noon arrives with great anticipation, and you eagerly await the sound of tires on gravel outside.

You don’t have to wait long, your body up off the couch as soon as you hear the crunch of rocks that make up the front driveway. You fling the front door open, standing there impatiently as Johnny parks next to Kyle’s car.

Simon exits the vehicle first so he’s your first target, your body bee-lining to him automatically, even before you realize it. You almost slam into him, wrapping your arms around his waist as tight as you can, squeezing him like your life depends on it. He lets out a quiet grunt at the impact, but his arms fall around you too.

Tears sting your eyes as you rest against his chest, emotions welling up inside of you. It’s been almost two months since you’ve seen them. Even with the hectic business of the house and settling in, there lingered an ache deep in your chest, the ache of missing the other half of your pack.

Simon’s scent floods your senses and you breathe it in deeply, almost tasting the scent of leather and eucalyptus and the distant tang of gun powder. His own nose is pressed into your hair, breathing in your own sweet scent.

“Missed you, love.”

It’s murmured against the top of your head, rumbling deep in his chest against your ear. Three simple words but they have the tears finally sliding down your cheeks. You missed his scent, his voice, his arms around you. You’ve missed him more than you thought, that ache in your chest all the more noticeable now that he’s back with you. You missed your alpha, his warmth, his comfort, his strength. You’d drop to your knees and beg him to retire right now if you could bear to tear yourself away from his hold.

“Missed you so much.” You whisper, your voice wavering.

His hands rub your back, fingers trailing through your hair. “I’m here.” He whispers, lips pressing against your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

The two of you stand there, caught up in the moment for a few breaths, the tears still trailing down your cheeks. You don’t want to let him go. You’d fuse yourself to him if you could.

A voice cuts through the silence, breaking the quiet moment.

“Did ye forget about me?”

You reluctantly pull yourself back from Simon, turning in his arms to blink blearily at Johnny. “No.” You say, reaching out for him. “You wouldn’t let me.”

He nearly slams into you, picking you up off the ground and spinning you. “Oh I missed ye, kitten.”

“I missed you too.” You giggle through the tears, wrapping your arms tight around him. “I missed you so much.”

Johnny sets you back on your feet, cupping your face in his hands as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. He groans quietly as he finally gets a taste of you after months, kissing you hard.

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, wiping tears against your skin. You missed him terribly too, breathing in his soft, warm scent as he pulls your body close against his. His kiss leaves your lips, trailing down your cheek to your neck, his nose pressing into your skin as he inhales deeply.

“Fucking missed this.” He groans, his hands sliding down your back.

“Alright, come on you needy pup.” John says, slapping his shoulder. “Don’t get too excited. You don’t want the neighbors to see.”

Johnny pulls back, looking around at the farmlands that surround you. “What neighbors?”

“Come on,” John says motioning with his head. “I thought you wanted to see the house.”

“I do!” Johnny says excitedly, taking your hand. “Show me this wonderful place, kitten.”

You giggle, wiping the tears from your cheeks with your free hand. “Come on.” You lead him up the steps of the porch to the front door.

“It’s cute.” Simon says, following behind you.

“She’s a little sparse, but I think you’ll see the vision.” You say, leading them inside.

You give them a tour, showing them around the living area and the kitchen, then outside to the patio and the land that stretches beyond, telling them all about your plans and the animals you’ll get soon. Then you head back inside, showing them around the guest rooms and the bathroom before you end in the main bedroom.

“Screamin’ Jesus that’s quite the bed.” Johnny says, toeing off his shoes before jumping onto the mattress.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” You ask, following him up onto the bed. “John got the reinforced frame.”

“Good.” Simon says, crawling on behind you. “I assume you’ve put it to the test already.”

You giggle bashfully. “We’ve put it through some thorough testing.” You lay back against the pillows, staring up at him. “Though there’s still a few things we have to try.”

His gaze darkens as he stares down at you, his hand lifting to cup your cheek. “We’re you waiting for us?” His voice is low, rumbling deep in his chest.

You nod, breathless under his gaze. “Yes.”

“Christ in heaven.” Johnny moans, shifting on your other side.

You sink your teeth into your lip as you stare up at them, your body starting to buzz excitedly. You’ve missed them so much, their touch, their taste, their smell. Being this close to them again almost makes you dizzy, your mind reeling from the look of them above you, making you feel small beneath them.

“Happy for your reunion, but would you like lunch before you defile our omega?” Kyle’s voice cuts through the moment.

Simon and Johnny both look away, turning to glance at Kyle. They glance back at each other, having a silent conversation before looking back at the other beta.

“Lunch would be great.” Simon says, pushing himself up off the bed.

You pout, pushing yourself up to sit. “But what about me?”

Simon gives you a wicked grin, adjusting his pants. “You can be our afternoon snack.”

A whine leaves your throat at his words, your teeth sinking into your lip again.

You don’t get to be the afternoon snack. The five of you get too caught up talking and getting each other caught up with your lives that it’s dinner before you know it. You help Kyle cook, working on your skills with him so he doesn’t always have to be the one cooking. He doesn’t mind, it’s something to do, but at the same time you feel bad. He deserves a break every so often too.

Dinner passes by quickly, the five of you retiring to the living room after, nursing beers as you relax in post-food euphoria. You’re squeezed on the couch between Simon and John, Kyle and Johnny taking to the floor, spread out on the carpet.

“It’s good to be back together again.” You say, leaning your head on Simon’s shoulder. “I missed this.”

“Aye, it feels wrong to be apart for so long.” Johnny says, leaning back on his hand.

“You can always retire.” You say, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Wish it were that easy.” Simon grumbles, leaning his head back against John’s hand. His arm is draped across the back of the couch, fingers playing with the hair at the base of Simon’s head.

“I know.” You say, taking another swig of beer. It tastes like piss but you’re too afraid to say anything, lest you face the teasing of the Brits before you. “So what do you think of the house?” You ask, changing the topic of conversation to something a little more lively.

“It’s cute.” Simon says. “Very much you.”

“Feels homey already.” Johnny says. “Can’t wait tae see it when it’s fully decorated.”

“I approve of the bed choice.” Simon says, his hand dropping to your thigh.

A shiver works its way up your spine, the promise of what’s going to happen later silently conveyed by that one action. You can’t wait, but they seem content where they are, dragging it out for you.

The anticipation only adds to the arousal starting to build within you.

Simon’s hand continues to rest on your thigh as the conversation continues, his thumb stroking your skin. You wish his fingers would slide higher, press against the seam of your shorts where you’re starting to get wet. No doubt your scent is thickening in the air, filling the room with your thick scent.

All four pairs of eyes are on you suddenly, your skin tingling from their gaze. You try and hide behind your beer can, sinking further into the couch.

“Someone’s getting excited.” Kyle smirks.

“Yeah, well, I missed my boys.” You say, taking a big swig of beer, hoping for a little liquid courage.

Simon’s hand finally slides up your thigh, fingers pressing between your legs, feeling the heat there. He slides your shorts to the side, his hand cupping you through your panties. “I’ll say.” He nearly groans, his fingers stroking you through the fabric.

Johnny takes in a deep breath before downing the rest of his beer, setting the can on the coffee table. “I cannae take much more.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. He’s sporting a hard-on, cock bulging through his jeans.

Simon’s hand leaves you as Johnny bends down, his shoulder meeting your middle as he pulls you up and over his shoulder. You let out a squeal, hands fisting his shirt to try and keep steady.

“See ye in the morning.” He says, already heading down the hall to the bedroom.

Your back meets the bed, bouncing from the impact as he quickly tears his shirt over his head. You lick your lips at the sight of him, drinking in every last inch of skin revealed to you as he kicks off his pants.

“Eager tonight.” You say, laying back on your elbows.

“Missed ye.” He grunts, nearly catching a foot in his boxers before he kicks them across the room. His cock is hard where it hangs between his thighs, red and angry already. He’s been horny just as long as you have, likely even longer. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was half hard on the drive up here.

His fingers curl under your waistband, yanking your shorts and panties down your legs and off your feet. He pushes your legs open, bending them up so they’re resting against your chest. A curse leaves his lips as he stares down at your soaked folds, his hands sliding down your thighs. You tug your shirt over your head as he leans down, dragging his tongue through your folds.

A deep groan leaves his lips, his eyes rolling back. “Fucking beautiful.”

He buries his face in your pussy, slurping like a man starved. His tongue laps through your folds, drinking up every last drop of your juices that dribbles out of you. You let out a sigh, laying back on the bed as you finally get some friction against your pulsing clit.

He closes his lips around it, sucking hard. Your eyes roll back, toes curling from the pleasure. John and Kyle have ignored you for the last couple days, giving you time to rest and recuperate before this moment, when Simon and Johnny finally got their hands on you again.

A whimper leaves your lips as he’s suddenly pulled back, your head lifting to find Simon standing beside him, hand gripping Johnny’s mohawk. Johnny’s face is shiny from your slick, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he stares up at Simon.

“Needy little mutt.” Simon says, his gaze focused on Johnny. “Getting started without me?”

“Couldnae help it.” Johnny almost whines, his fingers flexing against your thighs. “Smelled so good.”

Simon hums, fingers releasing Johnny’s hair. “Well then,” he shoves Johnny’s face back towards your pussy. “Do your job and make her cum.”

“Yes, sir.” Johnny murmurs before he’s back at your pussy, lips closing around your clit again.

Simon climbs on the bed beside you, leaning on his arm. His free hand grips your chin, turning your face towards his. You stare up into those deep, dark eyes, a shiver running down your spine from the unmistakable lust in his gaze. His scent is quickly filling the air, mixing with yours and Johnny’s.

Your lips part with a gasp as his hand slides down your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat. Your pulse thrums against his fingers, toes curling from the attention that Johnny is giving to your clit. You’re going to cum, your chest rising and falling quickly as Simon’s hold on you tightens just slightly.

You grip Johnny’s hair, pulling his face harder against your pussy, hips lifting to grind against his mouth. You don’t care that you might be smothering him, and you doubt he cares either as he continues to eagerly slurp at your clit. You continue to hold Simon’s gaze, mouth falling open as you get closer and closer to the edge. Simon’s gaze doesn’t waver, neither does his grip around your throat as he holds you there, keeping you steady while Johnny has you coming undone.

Pleasure comes in waves as you cum, legs shaking against Johnny’s hands as he sucks hard on your clit. It’s almost too much, your back arching off the bed. One hand wraps around Simon’s wrist, holding on for dear life as you gush into Johnny’s mouth. He lets out a groan, lapping up every last drop of slick.

“Good boy.” Simon praises him, finally releasing you to stand back up.

You drop lax on the bed as Johnny finally releases you, kneeling on the floor in front of Simon. Their gazes are locked as Simon starts to undress, tugging his shirt over his head before taking his time undoing his belt. You lay on the bed, watching the moment while trying to catch your breath.

Simon kicks his pants off before climbing onto the bed, moving past you to lounge against the sheets, his cock resting against his stomach. He stares at you and Johnny, arms behind his head looking as causal as can be.

“Well?” he lifts a brow. “It’s not going to suck itself.”

You and Johnny share a look before you’re moving, climbing between his spread legs. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock as Johnny climbs up beside you, his arm brushing yours as he leans down, wasting no time. You start to stroke Simon’s cock as Johnny takes his head into his mouth, sucking lightly. You keep your gaze on Simon’s face, his eyes lidded as he watches you.

You push Johnny aside and bend down, flicking your tongue across Simon’s slit, feeling him get harder in your hand. You circle his head with your tongue before prodding at his slit again, still stroking him with your hand.

A hand tangles in your hair, pulling you off of Simon’s cock. Johnny releases you before bending back down, taking Simon’s cock in his mouth. His hand rests on Simon’s thigh as he sinks down until his lips touch your hand where you stroke him. He bats your hand away before sinking even lower, gagging as Simon’s cock hits the back of his throat.

“Show off.” You breathe, shouldering him aside as you take his place, taking Simon’s cock into your mouth.

Johnny’s hand grips the back of your neck but you drive an elbow into his stomach, sinking down as far as you can until you feel your gag reflex start to protest.

A hand tangles in your hair, tugging you up off of Simon’s cock. Simon is holding you, his other hand gripping Johnny’s mohawk. Both of you stare up at him, drool sliding down your chin.

“Enough.” He growls, releasing you. “Behave.”

You turn to look at Johnny, his face leaning forward to lick the drool off your chin. You let out a choked sound as his lips slide up, meeting yours. You grip Simon’s cock again, both of you leaning down. Your tongues entwine, licking all over Simon’s cock as you start to stroke him again. He’s leaking, precum beading from his slit. Johnny swipes a drop with his tongue, smearing it across Simon’s head. Your teeth scrape the delicate skin of his cock, smirking as you feel the twitch against your hand. He’s close, the heavy rise and fall of his chest visible out of the corner of your eye.

You drop your hand to his balls as Johnny takes him into his mouth again, bobbing his head as he sucks Simon off. A deep groan leaves Simon’s mouth as you massage his balls, feeling them tighten before he cums, spurting into Johnny’s mouth.

Johnny takes every last drop, your hand stroking Simon until he stops twitching. Johnny pulls off of him, your hand darting out to grip his chin before you force your tongue in his mouth before he can swallow. Simon’s cum is bitter on your tongue as you flick it against Johnny’s, his tongue passing some of it to you. You can almost feel the deep groan that leaves Simon, his cock hardening again in your hand.

You swallow down what you got, pulling away from Johnny. Both of you turn to look at Simon, his eyes lidded, mouth parted as he breathes. His hand reaches out for you and you crawl forward, letting him guide you to sit on his stomach. His hand lifts up to brush your bottom lip, cleaning off the residue of drool and cum.

“Did you enjoy that?” He asks quietly, softly, so very different from the commanding presence you had just witnessed.

You nod. “Yes.”

“Good.” He cups your cheek with his hand. “I missed that fucking mouth. Had to put up with that slag for weeks.”

Johnny lets out a whimper, his hand dropping to drag against his own cock.

“Missed this pussy even more.” He says, his hands falling to your waist to drag your hips against his stomach. “Been dreaming about it.”

You rest your hands against his chest, rocking your hips back and forth, dragging your clit against his skin. You’re leaving a wet patch but you don’t care, shamelessly using him for pleasure.

“Now, before I turn you into a little fountain, there’s something I need you to do first.” He cups the back of your neck, pulling you down towards his face. His breath fans your ear as he whispers. “Johnny’s been an awful good boy waiting for this moment. Why don’t you give him the ride of his life and milk him dry with your pussy.”

You sink your teeth into your lip, pushing yourself back up on his chest. You climb off of him, pressing your hands against Johnny’s chest, guiding him to lay next to Simon. He goes willingly, eyes locked with yours as you maneuver him.

You settle yourself over his hips, taking his cock in your hand. It’s already rock hard, tip leaking. He’s not going to last long once he’s inside of you, but that’s all part of this plan. Fuck him till he begs you to stop, no matter what. You just have to outlast him.

His head falls back as you lower yourself onto his cock, a moan leaving your lips at the stretch of him. Simon turns on his side, watching the two of you as you sink down completely, sitting yourself on Johnny’s hips.

“Feel good?” Simon hums.

You nod. “So good. Missed you so much.”

“We know.” Simon says, slapping Johnny’s cheek lightly. “Be a gentleman and watch your omega as she uses you.”

Johnny tilts his head back down, lips parted as you start to move, lifting yourself up before lowering again on his cock. Simon’s hand rests against Johnny’s stomach, his other hand propping himself up as he watches you. Johnny’s hands rest on your thighs, gripping tightly as you bounce on his cock, squeezing around him with every press of his tip against that spot inside of you.

You have to outlast him. You just have to make it longer than him.

He’s not going to last that long.

He’s already twitching, hips jerking under you as you grind your hips, angling yourself so your clit drags across his skin. He’s moaning and whining, fingers dimpling your skin from how tightly he’s gripping you.

He cums quickly, nearly bucking you off as he spills inside of you, but you don’t stop, continuing to fuck yourself on his cock. Simon holds the base of his cock as you continue to bounce, feeling him getting hard again. He’s panting, lips parted as he stares at you, cheeks flushed and eyes shiny. He looks wrecked and he’s only cum once.

“Fucking...Jesus.” he groans, back arching as you continue your movements, pussy fluttering around his cock, squeezing him. “I cannae take it.”

“You can.” Simon says, moving his hand once Johnny’s completely hard again. “And you will.”

Johnny whines, hands bruising on your thighs as he desperately hangs on, eyes fluttering. You don’t stop despite the ache in your thighs, the sweat soaking your skin. Your stamina isn’t what it used to be, but you ignore the fatigue, grinding against him again, pushing yourself closer and closer to the edge.

Johnny’s hands leave your thighs and slide up to your waist, aiding you with every bounce, the sound of wet skin slapping wet skin filling the air.

“Come on,” Simon goads him, sitting up on his knees. “You can do it.” His hand slides behind you, gripping Johnny’s balls.

A curse leaves Johnny’s lips, his back arching as he thrusts up into you, nearly throwing you off of him, but Simon’s other hand settles on your waist, keeping you upright. You’re tired, sweat dripping off your forehead but you don’t stop, not even when Simon’s fingers slide to your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive bud.

“You too.” He breathes in your ear. “Come on.”

You cum with a cry, legs giving out as you squeeze around Johnny’s cock. Johnny cums with a shout, filling you a second time. He’s shaking too, falling limp beneath you.

“I cannae…I cannae take more.” He gasps, trying to push you off of him.

You lift your hips, letting him slip out of you, his cock landing with a wet smack against his stomach. You lay yourself against his chest as Simon rises, heading for the bathroom. You rest against Johnny for a moment, both of you trying to catch your breaths.

“Fucking better than I remembered.” Johnny breathes, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Fucking magical pussy.”

You giggle, that giggle turning into a shriek as Simon flips you off of Johnny onto your back on the bed next to him. There’s a towel under your hips, Simon kneeling between your thighs.

Oh, he wasn’t kidding.

He pushes your trembling legs up, spreading you open before him. “There she is.” He says, eyes locked on your pussy, some of Johnny’s cum dripping out of you. “Isn’t that a sight.”

He moves your hands to hold the backs of your thighs, pussy spread open for him. His fingers rub slow circles over your clit, eyes locked with yours. You’re sure you’re a sight right now. Sweaty face, damp hair sticking to your skin, still shaking from your last orgasm, Johnny’s cum slowly seeping out of your wet pussy. Looking properly wrecked and he hasn’t even started with you yet.

Johnny is beside you, watching with interest. He knows what’s about to happen. He’s not stupid...well, not completely. He might have been fucked dumb but it wouldn’t take a genius to realize what’s about to happen to you.

Simon slides his hand lower, slipping two fingers into you. You whimper, still sensitive after fucking Johnny. Despite that your pussy squelches around his fingers, walls fluttering as he finds that spot inside you. You brace yourself, breathing through the slow thrusts of his fingers against that spot.

You can feel the slow build of pressure, the pleasure starting to thrum under your skin. The anticipation nearly takes you out, toes curling as you wait for him to truly start. His gaze is on your face, watching you as he slowly picks up the pace, pushing his fingers against that spot faster and faster. Your lips fall open, breaths coming in short gasps as the pleasure builds, pussy fluttering uncontrollably.

It gets to be too much, feeling like you might explode as he drives his fingers into that spot, a cry leaving your lips as you squirt all over his hand.

“Screamin’ Jesus.” Johnny breathes, watching your body writhe on the bed, Simon’s fingers driving right back into you, thrusting up against that spot again.

Simon’s hand presses against your stomach, pinning you down as you try to writhe away. “One more.” He grunts, thrusting his fingers hard against that spot before you squirt again, soaking his hand and the towel. “Good girl.”

He doesn’t give you any time to recover, slotting himself between your legs and thrusting into you. Your pussy stretches around him, not even Johnny able to fully prepare you for the size of him. You fall limp against the bed, Simon tossing your legs over his shoulders before he’s thrusting into you, snapping his hips against yours. You reach out, gripping Johnny’s arm as your back arches, your fluttering pussy squeezing around Simon’s big cock as you ride one orgasm into another.

It’s too much, your vision swimming as you try to breathe. You feel like you’re floating, the pleasure almost painful as he snaps his hips against yours, grinding the tip of his cock against that spot inside of you. He’s grunting and growling, hands gripping the comforter under you. You can’t do anything but lay there and take what he’s giving you, your legs trembling uncontrollably as he wrings another orgasm out of you.

“Fucking shit.” He groans, hands pinning you to the bed as he fucks you hard, driving the tip of his cock into your spot over and over. You can feel it building again, that unmeasurable pressure as tears leak out of your eyes from the overwhelming sensations. “Come on.” He grunts, driving his hips upward. “One more for me.”

He thrusts into you hard, hips meeting your ass as you squirt around his cock, your vision going dark from the pleasure.

“I think ye killed her.” Johnny’s voice reaches you through the ringing in your ears.

You’re shaking all over, body limp on the bed as you blink bleary eyes up at Simon. He’s still above you, one hand stroking the tears from your cheeks.

“There she is.” He says softly, gently easing your legs from his shoulders. “Welcome back.”

“I think he’s right.” You rasp, body still trembling. “I think you killed me.”

Simon chuckles, pulling himself out of you. Cum and slick seeps from your pussy, adding to the damp spot already soaking through the towel. “You did so good for me.” He praises you, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. “Took me so well.”

You pull him down against you, sweat mixing with sweat as you hold him for a moment. “Don’t tell anyone,” you say, your fucked-stupid brain forgetting to whisper. “But your cock is my favorite.”

Johnny goes to protest, but he stops himself. “Ye know after that, I don’t blame ye kitten.”

Simon chuckles, pushing himself back up. “Let’s get you both cleaned up.”

He uses the towel to wipe between your thighs before taking it to the bathroom, adding it to the hamper. He grabs a clean cloth, wetting it before coming back, wiping you down, then Johnny. You manage to get your body to roll over, cuddling up against Johnny’s side.

“That was good, kitten.” He says, kissing your forehead. “Got my cock achin’.”

“I think my pussy needs rehydrating.” You murmur, sleep already starting to tug at the back of your brain.

Simon maneuvers the covers out from under you, tucking in you and Johnny before sliding in behind you after turning out the light. He tucks himself against your back, tossing an arm over you.

“Missed you a lot.” You slur, half asleep already.

“I know.” Simon says, kissing the back of your head. “We missed you a lot too. Not just your pussy, but every part of you. Your presence, your humor. Having someone there to protect and take care of. It’s not the same without you.”

You make a small noise, wiping your sweaty forehead. “Who knew all I needed to do was leave for two months and suddenly you’d get sentimental.”

Simon grunts, pulling you and Johnny tighter against him. “Don’t get a big head, you little shit.”

You can’t help but smile, comforted by his words. At least you know they do miss you.

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