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hookingminor · 3 months

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4 times you took care of him + 1 time he took care of you - nico hischier

a/n: rewrite of an old fic of mine

cw: brief mentions of blood, stitches, alcohol

word count: 7.4k

summary: nico is the cute neighbor boy across the hall

Sunday nights were your nights. After a long week of studying and working crazy hours, you only had one day to yourself where you weren’t running around like a chicken with its head cut off and could take five minutes to finally breathe.

Sundays were also the only days you actually took the time to make yourself dinner. Most of your days were either spent in class or at the hospital, so you never prepared anything that couldn’t be done in less than ten minutes. Sometimes you were so lazy that you just counted on cafeteria food and granola bars to hold you over before having cereal for dinner and crashing by eleven o’clock.

Tonight’s specialty was your own take on a carbonara with some grilled chicken on the top. It wasn’t anything fancy, but you had been working on a recipe to perfect this for nearly three months now, and you were almost satisfied with the results.

It was in the middle of adding the finishing touches by combining the pasta and the sauce when you heard a knock on your door. Setting the towel on the counter and reducing the stove heat to a low simmer, you made your way to answer the door.

“Oh, hi, Nico,” you said with surprise when you saw your neighbor on the other side. He lived across the hall from you, but you rarely saw him in the building. Still, it wasn’t hard to notice that he was incredibly attractive.

“Hi,” he greeted you. The smells of your dinner wafted over him, and he peeked over your head to catch a glimpse of what you were preparing.

“I just stopped by to drop this off,” he said, handing you an envelope. “They keep mixing up our mailboxes.”

“Thank you,” you replied as you glanced down at the letter. “I have a few for you as well, hold on just a second.”

You turned away from the door and walked back towards the kitchen to where you kept a stash of his mail. You’d been meaning to drop it off, but your hours at home never coincided with each other.

Granted, you could have slipped it under his door, but you really just wanted an excuse to talk to the cute neighbor boy. You were just waiting until you worked up the nerve to knock on his door.

Nico took a few steps into your apartment, not wanting to overstep but also not wanting to stand in the hall awkwardly as you rummaged through some papers. As he waited, his eyes wandered back over to the stove where you were cooking some type of pasta.

His stomach growled lowly as the smell of seasoned chicken and sauces flooded his senses, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything in nearly five hours.

“Sorry,” he said with a blush. There was no way you hadn’t heard that grumble. “Guess I forgot to eat something after practice.”

“Did you want some?” You asked almost too eagerly. “I mean, I made quite a bit,” you backtracked quickly, “I usually survive the week on leftovers.”

“No, it’s okay,” he chuckled, but Nico wanted nothing more than to shove a forkful of whatever you had made into his mouth. “I’ll probably just order something for delivery.”

“Please, I insist,” you persisted, “I made a lot, and your food won’t be here for, like, another hour at least.” God, you were coming off as desperate, and you mentally slapped yourself for it.

He looked at you hesitantly, obviously not wanting to intrude, but damn if he wasn’t really hungry.

You didn’t wait for his reply before dropping the mail back where it was and crossing the kitchen to the stove. Pulling out an extra plate, you began piling it with pasta and chicken, and Nico figured it was too late to refuse you again.

“Take a seat,” you suggested as you plated a dish for yourself. “You’re not an intrusion, I promise. I don’t get a lot of company anyways.”

“Busy life?” Nico asked. It was then that he realized he really didn’t know much about you despite having run into you multiple times in the hallways.

“You could say that,” you chuckled humorlessly. It was a combination of being both busy and having no friends, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“What do you do?” He questioned as he rested his elbows on the table.

“I’m a nursing student, so I spend all my time studying or working at the hospital,” you explained as you brought the plates over to the table. He mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ when you set his food down in front of him. It looked delicious. Nico’s skills in the kitchen were subpar to say the least; he couldn’t make anything that didn’t come with box instructions or wasn’t baked chicken and vegetables. So having an actual home cooked meal was starting to feel like Christmas.

“Is that why I only ever see you coming home at midnight?” He wondered, picking up a fork to take a bite.

Nico was right, it was delicious.

“Yeah, hours are a little crazy for me right now, but they should settle down once I graduate,” you replied as you took a bite. It was your best carbonara yet, but it wasn’t quite perfect. “What about you? Why are you always coming home at midnight?”

You’d never talked to him much after that first day when he helped you with a couple boxes as you moved in. Most of your interactions were restricted to passing each other in the halls and the polite conversation about how your day was going and the weather.

“I, uh, play hockey,” he started, “and we get back from road trips really late sometimes.”

“No shit, really?” Your eyes widened in shock, “like you play for the Devils?” You weren’t well versed in sports in general, and even less so in New Jersey sports. However, you did hear chatter around from your classmates and coworkers about various games.

Nico nodded his head in agreement, “Yeah, I’m the captain.” Every revelation about him continued to shock you.

“So I’m dining with New Jersey royalty then, huh?” You teased after a moment. Even though you didn’t know much, you did know the Devils were doing exceptionally well at the moment.

He blushed at your compliment, “I’m not royalty.”

“Your team’s current record says otherwise given the team’s horrendous past ,” you commented, dropping the little bit of knowledge you knew as you overheard your lab partner go on about the Devils’ hot streak.

Nico raised his eyebrows in surprise at your statement.

“I’m not an actual fan, so don’t test me,” you chuckled at his surprise, “My lab partner is always talking about the Devils, and I may have unknowingly processed some of the information.”

“It’s not because of me. The team’s just doing well in general,” he brushed it off casually, but you knew that wasn’t totally the case. The team may be good, but good leadership can be what makes or breaks them.

“So you’re not a big cook then, I presume?” You asked instead, changing the subject to something else. Nico probably talked about hockey enough with other people, you didn’t want to bore him even more.

“You could say that,” he said, repeating your phrase from earlier. “If it’s not something a seven year old could make, it’s not something I could make.” He had barely registered that he’d finished off everything on his plate by now while you were still finishing yours.

“Did you want more?” You asked, noticing his empty plate, but Nico shook his head.

“No, thank you, this was more than enough,” Nico insisted. “I’ve bothered you enough tonight.”

“Really, I don’t mind,” you said, clearing off your plate. “It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t asking me about upcoming exams or patient reports or asking for more painkillers.”

“It’s nice not talking about hockey, too,” he agreed.

Rising from your seat, you took his plate and yours to the sink as you were both now finished.

“I got this,” Nico said quickly, following you to the sink and lightly hip checking you out the way. “I do know basic manners. You cooked, so I’ll clean.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him, but the look on his face said the conversation was already over, and he grabbed the sponge with one hand. Deciding to leave it alone, you held your hands up in surrender and backed away from the sink. While he was busy, you packed up the leftovers into a plastic container.

“I make dinner every Sunday,” you said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “So, if you want, you’re always free to join me.” You didn’t look at him when you said this, trying to keep it casual and so he wouldn’t see the way your face was riddled with embarrassment. You were trying to subtly ask him to come over more, and you didn’t want to be faced with his rejection.

You heard the sink shutoff and saw his body turn towards yours out of the corner of your eyes as he leaned against the counter.

“I’d really like that,” he said, “but I do have one condition though.” You looked up and met his gaze with raised brows.

“You have to teach me how to cook,” he continued with an easy grin as he dried off his hands with a towel.

“You’ve got a deal,” you agreed, matching his smile with one of your own.

You sent Nico home that night with the leftover carbonara and his mail despite his protests, but you argued that he couldn’t live off takeout forever and that you could always make more food whereas he could not.

The next Sunday he had showed up around dinner time once again, this time bringing over a plate of cookies that he most definitely bought at the store but tried to play off as baking them himself. He had said if you were going to be doing a majority of the work, the least he could do was bring you something in return.

Every Sunday after that Nico was at your place. On the off chance he was out of town, he always left you a note on your door saying he wouldn’t be making it and notifying you of when he’d see you next. You didn’t need the notes, he didn’t have to tell you whether or not he was coming, but they made your heart flutter every time you came home and saw a blue sticky note waiting for you.

You taught him a few staple dishes, mainly how to cook pasta and rice and some salads. His capabilities weren’t all that vast, and he wanted to remain in the realm of foods that weren’t too complicated so he couldn’t fuck up.

Making dinner with Nico turned into messing around in the kitchen for a couple hours most of the time. You teased him about his chopping abilities and he teased you every time your small hands dropped something due to your lack of coordination, to which you complained how not everyone could be a professional athlete.

And every time you two ate at your same spots at the table, sometimes splitting a bottle of wine that Nico would bring over.

Every once in a while Nico would arrive with a bag of takeout in his hand, declaring that you needed a break from all the cooking. There was no reason to have dinner together since it wasn’t under the guise of teaching him something new, but you still welcomed him nonetheless.

Sundays were no longer your nights, but that was perfectly fine by you as long as you could keep sharing them with Nico.

Nico was getting a little desperate.

Two months had passed since he started coming over for weekly dinners, and he was making no progress. It’s not like he was really trying, though. If he was being honest, he wasn’t quite sure how to flirt with a woman without the intention of sleeping with her.

Which isn’t to say he didn’t want to sleep with you because he definitely did, it just wasn’t all that he wanted.

He hoped he conveyed interest on his part, but he wasn’t positive you were picking up on his hints. Or maybe you just weren’t into him.

So, he decided to take it one step further. He bought some plants.

Nico knew next to nothing about plants other than that they needed water, but he’d noticed you kept a few in your apartment near your large window.

Once again, he found himself knocking on your door, but this time you weren’t expecting it.

“Hey, what’s up?” You asked him when you opened the door. It wasn’t like him to show up to your place out of the blue.

“I wanted to ask you a favor,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ve got a week long roadie and was wondering if, maybe, you’d look after my plants?”

“Oh yeah, definitely, I can do that,” you said with a smile.

“Do you have a minute right now? I can show them to you really quick,” he asked, gesturing with his arm to his door. You nodded your head in agreement, and Nico took a few steps backward to let you into his apartment.

You followed him through the entrance and paused briefly. His apartment layout was the exact same as yours only flipped. He walked until he hit the same balcony window where you kept your plants, and you saw he had about four small pots along with a large pot that sat in the corner.

“This is the gang,” he introduced, spreading his arms to show them off.

“This is so cute,” you chuckled, stepping closer to get a better look at the plants. You noticed one of them was also one you had.

“I’m going to be honest,” he started. “I only recently bought them, so I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“Well, they seem to be still living, so you haven’t done anything too bad,” you teased lightly.

“Oh, let me get the spare key for you,” he said suddenly before he turned and left you alone to fetch the key.

Nico returned less than a minute later, small black key fob in his hand. You opened your hand for him to place it in your palm.

“When will you be back?” You asked, stretching back up from your squatted position.

“Next Wednesday,” he clarified, “and I leave tomorrow.” You nodded.

There wasn’t much more to say, so you told him a brief ‘good luck’ on his roadie before leaving. Returning to your own, you made a mental note to check in on his plants tomorrow.

The following afternoon, you let yourself into Nico’s apartment with the key he’d given you. You read the sticky note he left for you on the counter, the words reading ‘in case of an emergency’ along with his phone number.

You rolled your eyes at the note, laughing lightly at his phrasing of ‘in case of an emergency.’ You hardly thought watering plants would cause a catastrophic event, but the gesture was cute.

Filling up a few cups of water, you made your way over to his plants and distributed the water throughout until you’d gone over all of them. Before you could think better of it, you snapped a picture of the plants in the window before opening a text thread to Nico.

You: First day all done! :)

He didn’t reply for a few hours, but that was okay because you hadn’t expected him to reply at all.

Nico: They’re looking better already!

Ever since that first day, you began exchanging messages. His replies were sporadic, but you didn’t mind; he was a busy guy. Still, he managed to text you whenever he could, and your conversations quickly turned away from his plants to other subjects.

You recommended some new shows for him to watch while he was on road trips, and he told you where his favorite takeout restaurants were when you felt too lazy to cook.

Honestly, Sundays didn’t feel the same without him, but you didn’t tell him you stopped cooking when he didn’t show up.

Even when Nico was back in town, you found yourself texting him frequently in your classes and also on your breaks, and Nico found himself waking up every morning looking forward to whatever message you’d sent after he’d fallen asleep.

The incessant pounding at your door woke you up from your sleep. You knew who it was immediately as there was only one person who visited you, and you were ready to yell at him after you answered the door.

Throwing on a sweatshirt, you stomped your way to the door and shouted out, “I’m coming!” so Nico could take the hint to shut the hell up.

“Oh my god, Nico,” you groaned as you threw open the door, “It’s two in the fucking morning.” But it wasn’t Nico you were greeted with.

Or rather, he wasn’t the only one outside the door.

“Uh, hi,” a man said as Nico leaned against him, very obviously drunk.

“Hi?” You asked, your eyes flicking over to the drunken Nico.

“I think he lost his key,” the stranger said, “and then he was knocking on your door before I could take him back to my place.”

“Of course,” you sighed. “You love bothering me, don’t you, Nico?”

“Y/N,” he slurred your name when he heard your voice. “I told you she was beautiful, Hughes.” He clearly meant to whisper the last part into his friend’s ear, but his impaired state changed his whisper into a quiet shout.

“Alright, buddy, let’s keep it down,” his friend said with a chuckle as he tried to spare him from saying something else embarrassing.

“Do you still have my key? I forgot mine,” Nico asked instead, lifting his eyes to yours.

“I left it in your apartment last time I watered the plants,” you answered and Nico let out an annoyed groan.

“It’s fine, he can stay here tonight,” you said, addressing his friend this time.

“You sure? I don’t want to bother you,” his friend insisted. “I can just bring him back to my place.”

“Don’t worry about it, you already dragged him all the way here. I can handle it,” you said and opened the door further.

His friend lugged him into your apartment and led Nico to the couch, plopping him down on the cushions.

“Thanks for doing this. I’m sorry for waking you,” he apologized once Nico was settled.

“No problem, I’m used to him interrupting my nights,” you chuckled lightly, though it sounded more sexual than you intended for it to.

“Yeah, well,” the stranger said with an awkward laugh, “I’ll get out of your hair then.” And then he turned to leave. “Hischier! Text me in the morning!” He called out one last time and Nico grumbled his acknowledgement. Then his friend was gone, leaving you alone with a drunken twenty-something year old.

“Alright, Nico, let’s get you ready for bed,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. He was splayed out on his back on your couch, head lolled against a decorative pillow. If it weren’t for his indecipherable sounds, you would’ve thought he was asleep.

You left him alone for a minute as you retreated back to your room to grab a couple extra blankets and a pillow that wouldn’t end up hurting his neck.

When you returned, Nico was now on his stomach with one arm dangled off the couch.

“Feeling okay, bud?” You asked gently, brushing back a few strands of his hair to check if he was still awake. He hummed a quiet ‘yeah’ and you lifted his head to replace the throw pillow with a fluffier one from your bed.

You draped one large blanket over his body and then set another smaller one on top of that. Nico sighed in content and you made a quick trip to the kitchen to retrieve a couple Advil pills and a glass of water.

“Can you drink this before you fall asleep?” You asked when you got back to the living room.

Despite his intoxication, Nico managed to sit up just enough to swallow the pills down with a drink of water before flopping his head back down. You set the half-full glass on the coffee table and leaned over to turn off the lamp.

“You good to sleep?” You questioned, and Nico nodded his head to the best of his ability.

“I’ll be in my room if you need anything,” you said finally, making your way back to the hallway.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said quietly before you were out of hearing range, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nico,” you murmured with a small smile.

“How the hell did this even happen? Sticks are supposed to remain on the ice, you know,” you wondered with curiosity.

Nico knocked on your door at nearly midnight, hair still damp from his shower and still in his Devils sweats. If it weren’t for the fact that you were awake and watching a movie, you wouldn’t have noticed the knocking.

When you opened the door, you were met with split stitches and tired eyes. Ushering him into your apartment, you led him to the bathroom where you kept the first-aid.

Nico pushed himself up so he could sit on your counter and gave you a sheepish smile.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “They stitched me up after the game, but they came out.”

“So, why didn’t you contact your trainers or something?” You inquired, opening your kit and grabbing the alcohol.

“Because I have a perfectly good nurse here at home to stitch me back up,” he answered with an easy grin. You gave him an incredulous look.

“It seems like I’m constantly getting the short end of the stick in this relationship,” you said as you stepped between his legs to inspect his face. It wasn’t anything serious, just a few stitches that broke. In all honesty, he probably could’ve survived the night without fixing it, but you weren’t going to turn down an opportunity to be this close to him.

“Close your eyes,” you ordered before he could say anything back. Nico followed your instruction obediently, fluttering his eyes shut as if he had all the time in the world.

Using a small pair of scissors, you snipped at the remaining stitches. You took the tweezers next and gently pulled at the broken strands, slowly removing them from his cheek. Nico’s eyes twitched slightly at the discomfort, but he said nothing as you reopened his wound.

“You’re really good at this,” he stated, and you noticed that he had opened one eye to watch you. You blushed at his compliment, your cheeks heating at the warm feeling you got when you looked into his eyes.

Averting his gaze, you muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ before opening an alcohol pad.

“You’re going to want to really close your eyes for this, it might burn,” you recommended. The cut was along his cheekbone, stretching about three inches and oozing just a little bit of blood.

You cleaned along the cut lightly, one of your hands cupping his cheek while the other managed the wipe. After throwing the bloodied pad off to the side, you brought out the small bottle of lidocaine you had stashed away underneath all your bandaids. You squeezed a bit onto a cotton swab and dabbed the area around the cut. The lidocaine took a few minutes to kick in, so you busied yourself by preparing the thread and sanitizing the needle.

“I want you to know that I’m not actually a certified nurse yet. I’m still in training,” you explained. “So, if this hurts it’s your fault.”

“I trust you,” he said simply with a smirk.

“I would hope so,” you scoffed, “You’re letting a nursing student with a needle stitch near the eye of the New Jersey Devils Captain.”

“Besides, if you fuck up, I’ll just blame it on you when we lose after I can’t play because I’ve been blinded,” he teased.

“Don’t even joke about that, Nico. All of New Jersey would burn me alive,” you said, slugging his arm in response.

Was he about to let a beautiful, uncertified girl stitch him back together just because he wanted an excuse to spend more time with her? Absolutely.

He gave you a light chuckle as he leaned back on his hands, the fabric of his t-shirt stretching deliciously over his broad chest. It took everything in you to not linger your eyes over his arms and how large they looked right now.

“Is it numb yet?” You asked instead, refocusing your attention on threading the needle.

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied, bringing a couple fingers to poke at his cheek, but you swatted his hand away before he could do more damage.

Taking the same position as before, you stood between his legs again and angled his head slightly to the side so you could examine it under better light.

“Just let me know if it hurts, okay?” You insisted, holding the needle between your tweezers. You waited for Nico’s nod of agreement before starting.

You punctured the skin with the point and crossed the wound before poking through the other side. Nico’s hands instinctively reached out to grasp at your hips as he breathed in a sharp breath of air.

“Oh my god, is it not numb?” You panicked, pausing all your movements as you gauged his face for any signs of pain.

“It stung a little bit,” he replied, but the tightened grip on your waist said otherwise. “I was just a little shocked, is all.” He added that last part when he saw the worry spread across your face as your eyes widened in fear of hurting him. “Keep going, I’m fine.”

You gave him a hesitant look, not wanting to continue if it was going to cause him pain. This time when he squeezed your sides, it was to reassure you and encourage you to continue.

Nico kept his hands where they were, sliding his thumbs just underneath the hem of your shirt to trace soft circles into your skin. Recommencing your movements, you repeated the same crisscrossing threads over his cut, trying to work as quickly as possible.

When you’d finished, you knotted off the ends, clipped the remaining thread, and applied a salve over the sealed wound.

“There you go,” you said as you finished touching him up.

“And my kiss to make it feel better?” He asked with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at his presumptuousness but leaned in to press a light kiss near his stitches.

“Can I trust you to not pull them out again?” You retorted, stepping out of his grip to clean up your supplies.

“I don’t know…” he trailed off as in deep contemplation, “I might need you to spend the night and keep an eye on me.”

“Nice try, bud,” you chuckled, “but it’s not going to happen.” He pouted.

“And if you do tear them again, I’m not restitching it.”

You finished packing away your materials and walked Nico back to your front door.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said when you opened the door.

“Anytime,” you replied, “Goodnight, Nico.”

Leaning forward, he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek in appreciation before crossing the few feet to his door. You hoped he couldn’t see the way your eyes widened in shock, but if he did see, he didn’t say anything about it.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

+ 1

For the first time since you’ve met Nico, it was finally your turn to cancel on dinner. You really didn’t want to, as the dinners with him were the highlight of your week, but you knew if you broke concentration for even a minute to entertain him, your mind would be thinking about him even after he left. And you were not going to pass the NCLEX if Nico was invading all of your thoughts. You’d been studying for this exam for months, but now it was a week out and it was crunch time.

You: Gotta cancel on dinner Sunday, sorry :(

Nico: Going out of town? Got a hot date?

You: The only dates I’ll be having for the next week is between me and my millions of notes for my board exam

Nico: Stressed out?

You: You wouldn’t even believe, so if I’m MIA for a few days, don’t worry

Nico: Are we still on for next Sunday?

You: Yes. We will either be celebrating or commiserating, so get your wine ready

Nico: I’ll bring over the best since we’ll be celebrating :)

You didn’t know how to reply, so you reacted to his message with a thumbs up before leaving him on read.

For the next few days, you studied your ass off. Sunday came, but when six o’clock rolled around, you couldn’t help your thoughts from straying from your studies and over to what you would be doing with Nico if it weren’t for this stupid exam.

And as if he had read your mind, your phone dinged with a new text message.

Nico: Open your door

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you read the text, and you were just about to tell him off for disturbing you after you already told him you didn’t have the time.

However, that wasn’t the case because when you opened your door, Nico was nowhere to be found although a paper bag rested on the ground in front of you.

Cautiously, you picked up the bag and brought it inside, immediately smelling the tzatziki sauce from your favorite Greek restaurant.

You: What’s this?

You texted him, along with a picture of the bag.

Nico: Even if we aren’t making dinner, you should still eat, and I figured gyros were better than cereal

He was right. You had planned on pouring yourself a bowl of cereal when the hunger became too much and forced you to take a break. And gyros definitely were better than Frosted Flakes.

You: You’re a lifesaver, truly. Thank you!

Nico opened the message and didn’t reply, even though he really wanted to, but he knew you had studying to do and the last thing he wanted was to distract you.

After pulling an all-nighter, Sunday slowly turned into Monday, and you had finally decided to go to bed at nine on Monday morning. The few hours of sleep you got were welcomed, but rest did little to calm yourself down. The exam was on Friday, and you still had four years worth of material to remember.

So, you dragged yourself out of bed around three in the afternoon and plopped yourself on the ground in front of your couch where all your notes were still spread on the floor.

You’d gotten through about four chapters in your review book before you heard a knock at the door.

Pushing yourself up by your hands, you crossed the length of the apartment to the door. If it was Nico, he was about to be really turned off by how messy you looked.

And once again, it wasn’t him.

Just like yesterday, something awaited you in front of your door. This time, it was a four cup drink tray filled with different coffees.

Picking them up off the ground, you walked it back into your home and set it on your kitchen counter. There was a blue sticky note attached to the top in true Nico style, and you were smiling at the familiar handwriting before you even read what it said.

Thought you could use a pick-me-up :)

PS: I didn’t know what you liked, but you’re NOT allowed to drink these all at once

You chuckled at the last sentence. Of course he would send you four different orders because he didn’t know what you wanted. In all honesty, you could survive on just plain black coffee with nothing added if needed, but the fact that he sent you options had your heart swelling.

You scanned through each cup, reading the labels on each one as they ranged from a standard black coffee to a sweet caramel latte, all of them iced (you had mentioned once that you only drank iced coffee, even in the middle of the winter). It didn’t slip your mind that this was from that expensive shop a few blocks down, the one you could only allow yourself to go to once a month because you knew it would drain you quickly.

Deciding to tease Nico a little bit, you stuck a straw in every single lid. You connected all four straws in the middle and closed your lips over them and took a drink. The resulting taste wasn’t fantastic, but it was worth the funny selfie you took drinking them that you sent to Nico.

You: What was it that I wasn’t allowed to do? Your note wasn’t clear

Nico: I’m never sending you coffee again

On Tuesday, Nico sent you a bouquet of sunflowers. They were massive and bright and you couldn’t see over them as you placed them on the table.

Hope these sunflowers brighten up your day

On Wednesday, Nico got back from his short roadie. Maybe it was the constant studying, or maybe it was the little gifts Nico sent you, but your stress levels seemed to calm down as the week went on. There was still the pressure to do well, but every time Nico sent something to you, it was as if everything became a little bit more manageable.

You invited him over to hang out for a little bit, just to thank him for the things he’d done for you. You expected him to stay for a few minutes, maybe a half hour at the most, and then you’d send him home with some cookies you’d baked for him. Instead, he grabbed the plate of cookies and made himself comfortable on your couch.

“You just made these?” He asked with a mouthful of cookie as he picked up a stack of flashcards. You nodded as you took a seat on the opposite side of the couch.

“What’s the therapeutic drug level for theo… theoph…” he began to say, but trailed off, “Never mind. I was trying to help, but I can’t pronounce any of these words.” He ended the sentence with a chuckle before flicking the flashcard over to you.

“The word is theophylline,” you laughed, “and the answer is 10-20 micrograms per deciliter.”

“I understand none of those words, so that probably means it’s right,” he said as he finished his second cookie.

“If you want to help me I know something you can do,” you said eagerly, “And you don’t even have to speak, just sit there and look pretty.”

“That I can do,” he agreed with a nod and sat up to place the cookies on the coffee table. “Where do you want me?”

“Right there is fine. I’m just going to do a standard routine checkup like you’d get at the doctor’s,” you explained, grabbing your small bag of medical tools.

You ran through your procedure, checking your notes periodically to make sure you asked all the questions. Nico had no problem being your puppet, even answering some questions with ridiculous answers.

“And are you sexually active?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He asked with an eyebrow wiggle. You gave him an unamused glare.

“It’s part of the questions, dumbass,” you rolled your eyes and Nico laughed. “Never mind, I already know the answer anyway.”

“That was one time!” He groaned as he flopped his head back against the cushion. You were obviously referring to the one time you had a run in with one of his hookups. “I haven’t had anyone here since then.”

“Thank god for that,” you muttered, “but she did seem like a nice girl.”

Nico gave you a disbelieving look. You’d ran into them as you were returning from an overnight shift at nearly seven in the morning as Nico was trying to get rid of her, but she was hoping to get another date out of him before she left.

It was an awkward interaction to say the least, and Nico immediately called over to you to get your attention. The girl was displeased because you were interrupting their conversation and also because Nico had used you as an excuse to get out of scheduling another date.

“Oh, Y/N, you still needed me to fix that thing for you, right?” He had asked when he saw you walking down the hall. It took you all of two seconds to process the situation and Nico’s panicked and pleading eyes before you were agreeing. You even threw in the fact that it was urgent and that he needed to help right now, to which the girl gave you an eye roll.

Needless to say, Nico thanked you profusely for saving his ass and never called the girl again. That was over three months ago, and you had yet to see another girl leave his apartment.

“Well, I think I’m done with all the questions,” you concluded finally. “I think it’s safe to say you are in impeccable shape, Mr. Hischier.”

“Is this your subtle way of kicking me out?” He asked.

“Technically, I never invited you to stay. You kind of just sat here and made yourself at home,” you replied.

“I’m sorry for wanting to catch up with my friend after not seeing her in a week,” he joked.

“And you’re going to have to wait another few days for that, bud,” you chuckled.

“Fine, fine,” he conceded, “I’ll go, but I’m taking the cookies.”

“They were yours to begin with, idiot.”

On Thursday, you received one final package. It was a wrapped box, obviously done by someone who’s never wrapped a gift in their life.

Opening it, there was Nico’s same scrawl on the familiar blue sticky note.

Something to look forward to after you ace this exam tomorrow!

Underneath the note was a ticket to a Devils game on Sunday against Vancouver, but it wasn’t the only thing in the box. You pulled out a red sweatshirt with the New Jersey Devils logo on the front. There was nothing on the back, but the number ‘13’ could be seen on both sleeves.

The thought of Nico sending you something with his number on it had your cheeks heating instantly. He’d been teasing you about coming to a game, and it seemed you finally had a reason to go now.

After you took your exam, it was like a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Your school days were behind you now, and you could now start your career. The exam results still took six weeks, but you were feeling pretty confident in yourself.

Nico had texted you instructions to wait for him after the game on Sunday. He wanted you to try and meet him somewhere, but your navigation skills were terrible and you were sure to get lost in an arena you’d never been in.

So, you met him outside his car in the parking lot where the team parked.

“There he is,” you called out, clapping, when you saw him exit the arena, “First star of the night with two goals, Captain Nico Hischier!” You gave him your best announcer voice.

“Shut up,” he replied with a chuckle, but his face was beaming with a wide smile.

“Good game tonight,” you said with a smile of your own. “Trying to impress someone?”

By this time, Nico had reached the car, and he was dropping his bag on the ground before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you off the ground in a hug.

“I’m always trying to impress you,” he mumbled against your hair before he set you back down.

“Well, consider me impressed,” you gushed.

“I was thinking...” Nico said after a moment.

“Uh oh,” you interjected with a worried look.

“Don’t be a dork,” he chuckled. “I was thinking that instead of going back home and making dinner I can take you out tonight instead.”

“Celebratory dinner for your win?” You questioned.

“And for your exam,” he added, “And also maybe as a date?” Nico said the last part quietly and quickly averted your gaze.

“Are you asking me on a date, Nico?” You asked for clarification, but the smile on your face was spreading wider as the seconds passed.

“Yes, I am,” he said with a deep swallow.

You squinted your eyes, as if in deep contemplation.

“Well, I’ve only been waiting, like, months for you to ask me,” you teased. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

“Really?” He asked, eyes bright as he reached out to pull you closer to his body. You hummed in agreement and connected your hands behind his neck.

“I was starting to think you’d never get the hint,” you said quietly.

“I was just waiting for the right time,” he insisted, hands resting on your hips, “And if I’m being honest, I really want to kiss you right now.”

You didn’t answer him in words. Instead, you pushed up on your tip-toes and leaned in to connect your lips to his. The kiss was soft, neither of you wanting to push too far too fast. He moved his lips against yours gently, taking his time to convey how he felt about you.

When you finally pulled back to catch your breath, you both had stupid looks on your face as you were both giddy with joy.

“Atta boy, Cap!” A loud voice shouted across the lot along with some hoots, and you let your head fall against Nico’s chest as you chuckled to yourself.

“Fuck off, Jack!” Nico yelled back before dipping his head down to kiss the top of yours. “Ignore him, he’s annoying. Let’s get out of here before they try and come over.”

“Lead the way,” you said, breaking apart so you could climb in his car.

Six weeks later, your results came in.

You let yourself into Nico’s unlocked apartment. Ever since you started dating, it just seemed a lot easier to leave your apartments unlocked during the day so you could easily bounce between places.

“Nico, it’s here!” You exclaimed, spotting him on the couch. He looked up from whatever show he was watching and paused it immediately when he saw the envelope in your hands.

You basically sprinted across the room and plopped down onto his lap before shoving it into his hands.

“You open it, I can’t do it,” you murmured against the side of his head, your arms slinging over his shoulders as one of his arms wrapped around your waist.

Nico chuckled as he ripped open the paper and pulled out the letter.

“What does it say?” You asked, your head tucked into his neck so you couldn’t read the results.

“Babe…” he said softly, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” You asked worriedly, peeling yourself from his neck to read the letter yourself.

Congratulations! You have passed the NCLEX exam!

You didn’t even bother to read the rest of the letter once you’d read those first two sentences.

“You asshole, that wasn’t funny!” You said, pushing his head away from you as he laughed.

“I thought it was kind of funny,” he replied, “And now my girlfriend is officially a sexy nurse.” Nico pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.

“You better get that idea out of your head right now,” you said warningly, already knowing where his thoughts were headed.

“All jokes aside, I’m proud of you, baby,” he said happily.

“I probably would’ve combusted from stress had it not been for your little gifts,” you admitted.

“What can I say? I was so whipped for you,” he said.

“You really were, weren’t you? The flowers and the sweatshirt with your number on it…” you teased, and he poked your side in retaliation.

“Kidding,” you giggled happily, “and I’m whipped for you, too, Nico.”

#nhl imagine #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #hockey imagine #fics #my writing #nhl fic #nhl x reader

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iiseor · 6 months

Text

Smoke sprite | part 1

Synopsis: maybe your mother cheating on your father wasn't that bad after all.

Cw: idk... reader is described as a first year college student... (semi self insert) kinda wrote reader to be like 19 & Ellie 20 but it doesn't matter age isn't rlly mentioned

4:30pm.

"This is boring huh?" Laila said as she sat down beside you. You squinted to look at her, protecting your eyes from the beaming fire lights. "Insanely boring" you replied.

It had been three months since your life changed drastically. Your mother cheated, divorced your father, married her new boyfriend and moved you to an entirely different state within months. Everything happening so fast, it felt like you never got the opportunity to actually comprehend anything.

Despite the separation of your family, and your now resent fullness towards your mother and step father—there was one thing making it all better, your step siblings.

Laila and jay, your new brother and sister. Unlike you, they were used to having one full parent. Though, just like you, they hated that parent for nearly everything. Because of this, they became your biggest support system and resource for when you needed to get away from your mother—often taking you for drives as your mothers affair ruined your license plans.

And that's how you're here, at a stupid neighborhood fire, in the middle of fall, watching your mother live happily ever after.... despite your misery.

5:00pm.

"Me and jay are going to a party, wanna come?" Laila asked you, still sitting next to you. "Really?" You questioned. "Of course, it'll be cool, you can meet some people for once" she replied, making you laugh. "Idk... I'm kinda still getting settled, and won't our parents notice we're gone all the sudden?" You responded. "Nah, it's all good, just come let's get ready" she added, pulling you up before you could protest

The two of you spent just about a hour getting ready. As Laila figured, your parents didn't once question where you had ran off to, making it easy for you to walk right by them and drive off.

8:00pm.

"Her names y/n" laila told. "Your new girlfriend? You moved on that quick?" one of her guy friends questioned, making you nearly spit out your drink. "No wtf, my step sister idiot, ignore him" she said turning to you, "we're gonna go out and smoke wanna come?" She added.

"Oh uh... I don't smoke" you replied, making laila laugh, thinking you were being sarcastic. "Oh you're frl?" She said as she glanced at you again realizing you were serious. "Yea.... not my thing" you added. "That's alright, we'll go you have fun!" She said pulling her friend away, the faint conversation between them fading out

"You're so stupid" she said, "how was i supposed to know she was your sister" he replied.

11:56pm.

Nearly midnight, and Laila still wasn't back from her smoke session. You had spent almost a hour outside in the cold looking for her, with no luck.

Your anxiety was through the roof as you made your way to the nearest restroom, stopping to ask anyone you could if they've seen her—only getting "nah's" and crazy stares.

you burst through the bathroom door, desperately trying to turn your frozen phone back on, nearly dropping it as you fidgeted with the buttons. Girls clearing out left and right, while you tried your best to not embarrass yourself. Before you could finish trying to get yourself together, something startled you out of the breakdown.

"You good babe?" A raspy voice echoed through your ears as you turned around, your eyes mimicking a deer in the headlights. "You need a charger?" The girl questioned, moving up from against the wall and reaching for your phone. Her hands quickly gracing yours. "Your hands are freezing, run them under some hot water here" she said dragging you towards the sink.

"Do you know Laila" was the only thing you could get out, still trying to bring your breathing back to normal. "I know of her" she chuckled, "why? You her new girlfriend?" She questioned. "No god why does everyone keep saying that" you replied.

"Relax I'm just messing with you" she said. "she just... brought me here and I can't find her anywhere, my phone won't fucking turn on and I don't know how to get home it's too dark" the words spilled out of your mouth, 'it's not her problem' you thought mid ramble. "It's alright love, your hands warm enough now yea?" She laughed at your sudden shift in tone, taking out a pair of mittens from her thin jacket pocket. "Wear these outside" handing them to you. "Thanks" you said—finally making eye contact. 'Of course she has to be fine, the first time I embarrass myself here' you thought on.

"You good now tho? Sounded like you were gonna explode when you came in" she said, caressing the back of your jacket. You paused, studying her for a moment before breaking out of it—afraid she'd think you're a creep. "Yea I'm good, I was just panicking" you said now studying the floor. "You the step sister?" "Laila's new one?" She questioned, you so distracted by her presence — you hadn't even realized she started to guide you out of the washroom and back to the main room. "Hm?" She added looking over at you. "Uh yea" you replied, your tone quiet. "Yea of course she left you here, she doesn't pay attention to shit" she told, "I'll drive you so you don't have to walk in the cold, yea?" She asked. "You know where she lives?" You asked back. "Where you live? Yea" she smirked. "Give me ten, I gotta talk to some people first, sit here" she said guiding you onto a kitchen stool, as if you were incapable of thinking for yourself. "you'll be good?" She looked at you again. "Yea..." you replied. "Alright" she said patting your shoulder.

And unlike Leila, Ellie came right back. talked to some people, came back and took you striaght home as told. "Is the heat warm enough?" She asked, leaning to put her hand over the car vent. "Yea it's good" you replied. "When did you move in? With Laila... I knew her dad started dating again but I didn't know it moved that quick" she questioned. "like three months ago..." you replied, your tone quickly going quiet again as you slouched down in the seat. "You don't like him?" She asked, looking at you through her mirror. "He's fine I guess, I don't mind" you replied, "must suck tho, having to leave everything behind and move in with strangers.. especially ones your age, and having to apply to new colleges and shit, must suck bad" she ranted on, 'tell me about it' you thought to yourself.

"Sorry that was out of line" she added on, noticing your silence. "It's fine, at least someone gets it " you said unbuckling your seatbelt, the awkwardness making the time go by quick. "Let me walk you to the door, it's dark" she said getting out to quickly open the car door. "your phone" she handed to you once you reached the front entrance. "Thanks, and for driving me.. can I repay you?" You questioned, Ellie now being the one to study you. "Yea" she replied looking you up and down, "with what?" You replied, looking back at her wide eyed once again, making her laugh. "Just your number, I'll take you to a real party" she said, "Oh alright.." you hesitently replied—but hesitant enough as she had already handed you a pen and paper. "You just keep this on you at all times?" You asked, as you wrote down your number—cheeks frozen and hands cuddled up in the mittens she had given you. "Comes in handy doesn't it?" She replied, you handing her the paper and rolling your eyes. "I live down the street, it'll be nice to see you around" she added.

"Thanks.. again" you said, looking around the street behind her. "Don't mention it...you should go inside, poor face is frozen" she replied lifting her hand to caress your cheek—eyes meeting for a moment before you broke it. "Yea, it's cold... but thanks again.. see you, later?" You questioned. "Yea, I'll call you, once your phone is unfrozen" she joked, you laughing in return. "Ellie by the way" she practically yelled as she walked down the stairs from your front entrance, "y/n" you yelled back just enough for her to hear, before turning around and going inside—your freezing face not being able to contain your giddiness.

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luminouslywriting · 21 days

Text

Chapter 4 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: i don't particularly want to post on mother's day, so I'm updating a day early so I can get this out here to you all. Go check out my poll please :) I'm about to write some Abe content and I'm SO excited to get him in the story haha! As always, let me know what you all think and enjoy!

Early June 1943

Ruth glanced between the sweating private, the ticked major, and the way that Colonel Huglin shifted in his seat uncomfortably. The court martial had continued on through the morning with both the private and the major pleading their cases and defending their decisions. Currently though, it seemed both she and Huglin were suffering from headaches at the way that the major wanted Private Weston to be punished.

It was unreasonable punishment to dock a month’s pay in addition to cleaning in the kitchens and assisting the ground crew with some repairs. It was a gross exaggeration to the crime that had been committed—though Ruth was starting to understand why Weston had first punched Major Monson in the first place.

Never one to condone violence lightly, as far as Ruth could tell, Monson had been the aggressor in the situation and Weston had responded in kind. God, these military types were all the same with their egos and the way that they were just asking to get punched in the face .

There was only one time where Ruth had punched a man, and it had been in her freshman year of law school at Brooklyn Law. She was one of three girls in her class and upon entry into the class shared with Robby Rosenthal, one of the other students began to make some demeaning comments about the way that the girls should have been at home and trying to take care of the kids and the families or something.

Rosenthal—being the bleeding heart that he was—had verbally defended the girls. But Ruth didn’t need him defending her and she certainly didn’t want or appreciate his help. Women had always stood on their own and the best way to get back at jackasses like this guy was to simply prove him wrong.

Her moral high ground had gone out the door the minute that he had mentioned how he wanted to sink himself in her breasts. That had been when Ruth had punched him square in the nose and broken it . And considering it was all before the professor had entered the classroom and her warning him that no one would ever believe him, Ruth had spent the rest of the year in quiet infamy for her deed.

Rising to her feet and contemplating further punching Monson, Ruth knew that an act like that would only end in disaster. And her nails were perfectly painted in Victory Red at the moment, so chipping them over someone like him wasn’t really worth her time.

“Weston will take kitchen duty and assist the ground crews for a month. But docking a man a month’s pay when he’s got a wife back home seems especially cruel for something that didn’t end in any permanent damage,” Ruth said coolly. “A more serious infraction such as destruction of United States Military property might warrant such an act, but I don’t believe this does. Colonel?”

Colonel Huglin seemed pleased with the way she had weaved her words, leaving Monson stuttering and jaw nearly dropped. “I agree. Case dismissed.”

Ruth gave a cold smirk in Monson’s direction. “And I’d be a bit more careful about your alcohol intake, Major. All sorts of mistakes and infractions can happen when one is inebriated.” With that, she gave a salute and waited for Huglin’s dismissal of the other men.

Once Monson and a grateful Weston were gone, Huglin just leaned back in his chair, giving a deep sigh. “I wish all of our cases were as quick as that.”

“Oh give it a week, sir,” Ruth insisted. “Once they’re more familiar with my breed of court martialing, I doubt they’ll want to spend long with me.”

A dry smile quirked at Huglin’s lips. “I’m sure. I heard you already made an impression at the pubs concerning the fraternization rule?”

“I’m working on it, sir,” Ruth assured him. “Things like that tend to be a little more under the rug than other infractions.”

“I’m assuming you have experience?”

“Too much, given my time in Aldbourne, sir.” From her bag, Ruth withdrew a packet and handed it over to him. “And these are my disciplinary recommendations for the other men who are undergoing court martials.”

“All of them?”

“There were only seven cases and I’m a quick reader.”

Huglin stared at her for a moment, taking in the efficiency and zeal with which she exacted justice. Lieutenant Sharpe was nothing if not a credit to her profession and clearly someone who he could use to whip this base into the best shape it could be. He had half a mind to have her infiltrate the ranks of those instigators and those who faithfully kept on gaining infractions.

If only to see their faces when they realized that she was catching them in the act of infractions and had the authority to order them to court martials herself.

“I’m sure we’ll find more for you to do once the new recruits arrive,” Huglin finally stated. “You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And Sharpe?”

“Yes?”

“Good work today.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Ruth made her way into the mess hall for a late breakfast, she found that there were a scattering of people around the room, only a few of which she knew the names of. Ruth hadn’t gotten very far with her tray of toast and oatmeal—finding her way to an empty table, she was quiet as she sat down, hoping for some peace and quiet after her eventful court case this morning.

Before she could so much as pray over her food, Bucky Egan had slid up onto the bench across from her. “You’re up late,” he remarked pointedly.

Ruth just placed her napkin in her lap and gave him a stare of annoyance. “I’ve been up since everyone else has. Huglin and I had a case.”

“Wow, you’re really great at making friends,” Bucky said dryly.

“I’m not here to make friends, Egan,” Ruth retorted, stabbing her spoon into the oatmeal. “If I wanted to make friends, I would have stayed back in New York and joined a sewing circle. Is there a reason why you’re here to bother me?”

“Actually yes,” Bucky said, tearing off a piece of her toast before she could swat his hand away. He grinned triumphantly at her, an almost smug expression on his face. “I’m here because my boys are flying in this morning and I’m hoping you’ll cut them some slack on their first day.”

“And you thought that stealing my toast was a good winning point?” Ruth raised a brow.

He abruptly dropped the piece he had been in the process of stealing, a slight show of guilt crossing his features. “I hadn’t considered that portion, no.”

“Well unfortunately for you, Egan,” Ruth said pointedly. “It’s not up to me. But I will give you a slight warning. Huglin wants to do surprise inspections upon their arrival so I hope that your boys are as up to shape as you think that they are.”

“They will be,” Bucky replied evenly. “They’re the best of the best and that’s just a fact.”

“Is it?”

“It is,” Bucky said proudly, leaning back in his chair. “They’re the best damn pilots and men that I’ve ever known. You’ll see.”

She nearly rolled her eyes. “If only every leader had that kind of faith in their men, maybe this war would actually be over.”

“Was that a compliment?”

“No. Your faith is accompanied by ego and it’s off-putting.”

“You’re a cold woman, Sharpe.”

“That’s Lieutenant to you,” Ruth retorted. “Good day, Air Executive Egan.” With that, Ruth rose from her spot and made a beeline towards the garbage cans.

“I’m gonna wear you down!” Bucky called in an insistent tone. “We’ll be friends in no time!”

Ruth just shook her head as she walked away. She’d sooner be framed for murder than spend time actually making unnecessary friends.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Unwilling to part with his drink of the morning and trying to put on a good impression, Bucky exited his chair, pushing it back in lazily and whistling Blue Skies under his breath. He lazily made his way out of the office and to the jeep, that seemed like it was just waiting for him anyway.

He was still burping up some of the alcohol from the night before— it was too early for shit like writing letters to families anyway. He could push that off on the other Air Execs, seeing as how he didn’t intend to be an Air Exec for long anyhow.

Giving a wave to the men that had given him the bikes, Bucky grinned as his eyes landed on his boys in the skies above. All in a nice and neat line, tucking in from a long day of flying from Greenland. Everyone had gathered for the occasion and he passed dozens of children as he drove on the runway.

Pulling to a stop, Bucky’s eyes landed on Buck’s plane—where DeMarco was depositing a dog. A dog was certainly against regulation—but he couldn’t see even Sharpe being able to say no to a dog like this. He couldn’t help the grin on his face as he climbed out of the car. “DeMarco!” He called, an energetic pep filling his tone.

“Hey, Major!” DeMarco grinned, dog-leash in hand.

“Where’d you get that dog, Benny?”

“I won him in a game of Craps!” DeMarco explained.

Bucky had always wanted a dog growing up. Somethin’ about it being man’s best friend or whatever had always struck him as endearing. His ma had always told him no, he was the family dog. So at the sight of the dog, he leaned down and gave him a good pat behind the ears.

“You took this baby above 10000 feet?” Bucky questioned.

“He’s got a mask!” DeMarco promised, patting at his jacket. “Cost me $3 but boy, he loved to fly!”

“He wouldn’t stop howling!” Buck chimed in, appearing in their vision.

“That’s because he’s part wolf!”

“That wolf is part dog,” Buck corrected.

“Well, does he have a name?” Bucky demanded.

“Meatball!” DeMarco answered, a grin on his face.

“Welcome to the Hundredth, Meatball!” With that done, DeMarco took off towards the barracks to get Meatball and himself settled. He had only been walking for a little bit before Meatball decided to take a turn of his own, going straight over to the woman sitting and writing in a bound leather journal.

“Meatball, no—”

Ruth’s head perked up as the dog, presumably known as Meatball, decided to nuzzle into her leg. Stopping her notations, Ruth took a moment to pet the dog. “I wasn’t aware the air base had a mascot,” Ruth said, glancing towards the probable owner—a man in shades and looking a little embarrassed about the entire thing.

“He’s new! Meatball’s his name.”

Ruth had a small soft spot when it came to animals. And though it certainly wasn’t regulation, she had no problem with them . A small smile spread across her face as she ran her fingers through Meatball’s mane. “Well if I get you the paperwork for this sweet dog, do you think you can fill it out and get it back to me before the end of the day?”

“I-uh—”

“Meatball’s against regulation and while I don’t have a problem with dogs, I have a feeling Huglin will,” Ruth explained.

“I can do that. Uh—Ma’am—”

“Lieutenant Ruth Sharpe of the JAG-Corp,” Ruth extended a hand, a genuine smile on her face.

“Captain Benny DeMarco,” Benny said, shaking her hand with a small smile of his own. “You’re the one that terrorized Egan a few weeks back?”

“Oh, I’ve made it into the letters. My sole goal in life,” Ruth retorted dryly.

“Ah no, we all thought it was pretty funny,” Benny admitted. “Sometimes, he could use a good knock on the head.”

“Noted. Well I’ll do my best to not disappoint and continue to knock him on the head when occasion calls for it. And you didn’t hear it from me,” Ruth continued. “But Huglin’s allergic to dogs. I’d hide him in the nurses barracks for now.”

“Noted,” Benny replied, a grin spreading across his features. “Let me know if you ever need someone’s help with Egan’s ego! I’m in!”

#mota #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfic #mastersoftheair #oc originalfemalecharacters #masters of the air #robert rosenthal fanfiction #robert rosenthal headcanons #robert rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal x oc #rosie rosenthal

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bibiwrld · 11 months

Text

The Sweet Babysitter🧁🎀| Miguel O’Hara

★ Miguel O’Hara x soft black girl

★Before reading: I don’t speak Spanish, sorry for any mistakes I made.

—Synopsis: After Miguel’s messy divorce, he’s been stressed and could use the extra hand when taking care of 5 year old Gabriella.

–one.

THIRD PERSON POV

God, it was quite hot. Too hot for even Kenedi, as she’s spent countless summers in the Caribbean heat with her family.

Sitting in her apartment, windows wide open, letting in whatever cool breeze came through.

Kenedi was a sweet girl, never got into trouble. Kenedi was a kind girl, the kindest there could be.

A quiet—even shy girl, because of how softly she spoke or how she avoided eye contact. Her parents always thought that trait about her would make people run over her and take advantage of her. But Kenedi wasn’t naive, just a little soft is all.

She loved girly things, like pretty dresses and ribbons and bows— just like other girls do. After finishing school, she moved back home, close to her parents and got her own place. That was nearly 4 months ago.

She needed to cool down, the heat was almost unbearable. Lifting her body off her sofa, she went to the bathroom and took a cold shower.

She dressed herself in a short, sleeveless, white ruffled dress, white cuffed socks and black maryjanes. She used a baby pink headband to push her braids back. She grabbed her favorite Hello Kitty tote bag and threw a few things in there.

As she applied a light coat of lipgloss, her phone rang.

“Mommy.”

“Beautiful daughter!” Her mother’s voice beamed with a thick Jamaican accent.

Kenedi grinned, dumping the lipgloss in her tote. “Gorgeous mother!”

Her mother trailed off with a laugh. “Are you still coming over for lunch? Me and your father miss you so much.”

She walked out of her room, then out of her apartment, locking the door of course. “I’m coming mommy, I miss you guys very much, I’ve just been a little busy at work is all.” Her voice was gentle.

“Okay, okay. Guess what?!”

She smiled at how fast her mother could switch the subject.

“New neighbors next door. A very large man and a little girl, no wife!”

“Handsome man!” Her Dad’s voice was heard in the background.

Now in her car, she connected her phone to the car’s Bluetooth.

“Oh my goodness.” She laughed to herself. “When did they move in?”

“3 weeks ago.” Her mom whispered.

“Why are you whispering?”

“They just got home, the little girl plays football, or soccer like you Americans say.” She sucked her teeth.

“Mom stop spying on them.” She laughed uncontrollably.

“I am not. They are just outside.”

“Okay mommy, I’m almost there.”

🎀

Miguel softly kicked the ball to Gabriella.

“And goal!” He cheered her on when she kicked the ball into the goal. He went on his knees with wide arms.

She hugged him and giggled. “Was that good Papá?

“Sí mija.” He ruffled her hair and stood to his feet.

Gabriella ran off, playing with her ball.

A car pulled into his neighbor’s driveway, Miguel has never seen the vehicle before.

Kenedi stepped out. Miguel couldn’t help but stare at the pure looking woman. She looked so soft, so gentle, so sweet.

He saw Gabby’s ball slowly roll towards the woman’s feet. Gabby ran over to her and the woman bent down with the ball in her hand, smiling so sweetly at his daughter.

“I’m so sorry, Gabby say sorry.” He made his way over.

Kenedi stood to her feet, glancing at Miguel, then looking away. “It’s okay, she did nothing wrong.” She put the ball in Gabby’s hands.

Her voice was even softer than she looked.

“Gracias.” She looked up at her Dad. “Ella es una princesa, Papá.”

Kenedi’s brows slightly knitted in confusion.

Miguel quickly cleared up the confusion. “She said you’re a princess.”

Her eyes lit up. “Aw, thank you, what’s your name?”

“Miguel O’Hara.” He answered almost immediately, before he realized she was talking to Gabriella. “Oh sorry.”

Kenedi laughed, glancing at Miguel, then back to Gabby.

“Gabriella, I’m five!” She smiled.

“I’m Kenedi and that’s such a big number!” Kenedi smiled back. “I have to get going, but it was nice meeting you Miguel and Gabriella.”

Gabriella waved her off. Miguel stood there as if he was lost in some trance.

“Papá I’m hungry.” Gabby pulled at the leg of his pants.

He blinked, getting out of his trance and lifted Gabby into the air. She erupted in laughter.

“I’ll give you a bath and I’ll make your favorite pizza.” He walked towards his house with Gabby in his arms.

She pumped her little fists into the air.

🎀

Next part: –two.

#miguel o'hara #spider verse #dilf miguel #miguel o’hara fanfiction #babysitter #black coquette #black girl #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel as a father #gabriella o’hara

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fatteningmenstories · 4 months

Text

Benched part 3

Devon was on the floor, what happened next was all a blur of events, from his leg not moving to the shooting pain in his foot it was all a blur , the paramedics rushing to him, to the ambulance and the operating table until now waking up in the hospital room.

Ajay was by his side- wearing clothes that fitted ten pounds ago, was the first thing he saw when he woke up.

“Thank God your finally awake’

Ajay said was he jumped up to hug Devon and give him a kiss on the lips, he smelled like donuts and tasted like chocolate

“You gave us quite a scare’

“What.. happened’

“Well let’s just say you faced a pretty big fall, you were basically unconscious on the floor, apparently your body was so exhausted it was on life support basically’

Getting up he faced a stinging pain in his chest and legs

“Oh and don’t try to move, u survived but you broke a couple of bones in the process not to mention you foot - it was like a 4 hour surgery trying to save it’

Startled with this news, he pulled of his sheets and low and behold there it was, his legs wrapped up in a white cast

“Doc says it should be good as new, but not for a couple of months - ha ha” he laughed hesistanlty

“God what am I gonna do’ Devon was panicking - football was his life, what would happen to him

“Don’t worry babe - come down, here have some chocolate’

“What!!!!”

“Well look around you have gift baskets galore’ taking in the room Ajay was right, gift baskets were everywhere - filled to the brim with get well soon cards and sweets

“There’s even more at home, I hope you don’t mind I’ve had a nibble hear and there” Ajay chuckled next to a nearly finished basket

‘Go on then”, the chocolate was good, tasted amazingly and at least it wasn’t in short supply - he laughed but stopped as the aching pain in his chest stung

“Anyways the doctor says you need your strength especially after your fall babe’

After signing the papers - and a lengthy discussion with his doctor encouraging him to keep his movements to a minimal, Devon was free to go.

The ride back was nice, Ajay by his side, he wasn’t expecting the press outside his front door, and in his temporary wheelchair he felt humiliated having to be carried arm in arm by Ajay and their chief. After a long phone call for his manger, it was settled that that Devon would be able return next season or as fast as his leg was healed- and his space on the field was legally not going anyway. Hanging up the phone call commenced the long haul of recovery.

“Babe I can’t eat that’

“Nonsense, doctor said you need all your strength, besides chief spent all day cooking it’

“Okay fine, but you gotta help”

“Was that even question”

The thoughts of the diet he needed to go on, had slowly faded with his new cast on, he had tried to cut back but with Ajay and chief it was like they wouldn’t take no as answer. Devon reasoned with himself, he would just have to extend his dirty bulk and have a massive cut once he was on his feet again. A small part of himself was very happy with tis conclusion, oh all this food tasted so great and a deep hunger in him needed to be satisfied, he had starved his body on kale salads for far too long.

So began the long process of recovery, its was a foodie bliss, breakfast lunch dinner and most importunely desert served straight to him 24/7. And it all tasted so good and rich finally he was seeing a price for all his hard work and it was in the from or food fit for kings. Anyways there was nothing else for Devon to do, he couldn’t leave the house in this state especially with the papz going crazy over him and his leg - he had even made the headlines for a good week all showing the prized footballer fallen form grace in crutches . He was asked for interviews and podcasts specials for weeks but he decided it was best to take this much needed time off and make the most of it. He had no obligations, he could spend all day catching up tv shows he had missed ,playing the backlog of video games and of course hot steamy sex with Ajay - who was more than happy to check charge with their handicapped partner. In fact Devon was enjoying laying back in bed and letting Ajay do all the hard work in fact he often helped himself to a wide assortment of snacks that was always in arm width not to mention the get well baskets that slowly dwindled in number. And speaking of food ,a massive plus to this new life was that he could finally eat with with no restraint - Not having to worry about training or meetings meant he could laze about all day and just pig out it was perfect, especially with Ajay by his side. And God did the pair of them eat, day in day out, it was the perfect activity as Devon stuffed his face, he felt so good, their always ate unit they couldn’t move and it wasn’t like Devon was doing much of that anyway - with his leg in the cast he would spend hours plopped down in areas of his massive townhouse. And as the months rolled passed he made sure to spend his money freely, buying Ajay all the designer clothes and jewellery he wanted, he loved to see Ajay try on all his new designer clothes and he loved it even more as he outgrew them right in front of his eye. Their chief was also basically free-reign, with Devon even moving them in to make sure their were never far he hadn’t eaten so good in years and he didn’t want it to stop . The biggest money eater of course was defiantly the food, all the finest foods and wines that money could buy was devoured day in and day out Devon and Ajay were properly eating better than royalty , especially with his dirty bulk excuse this was run so far into the ground he barley even thought about cutting back leaving him to ate with no abandonment.

After the months of never reigning in how much he was eating, his appetite explored, more pizzas more burgers more sides - more everything, chief even had to hire a side cook to keep up. Devon was being overtaken with hedonism the pleasure he got from food simply made him fro hunger for more, he was transforming form a man with a clean cut diet to one who was controlled by the gut and it was showing. Over the months it wasn’t only his appetite that grew up, his small starter gut ballooned into a a round bulging gut that demanded to be fed, and all that food it demanded was spreading itself all over his body, all over he was fattened up bulging out, his pecs puffed up into two rounded sagging lumps of fat, his once muscular arms plumped up and were now starting to squeeze outwards due to the massive amount go fat packed onto his torso. And to compensate for this massive rotund gut his thighs swelled up to match - Devon had long forgotten about pants and had resorted to lazing naked nowadays allowing his thighs to fill out as much as possible, with his once muscular butt taken the worst of it, once firm and square it was plumped up and filled with fat expanding out in all direction , and form lazing about all day the muscles he worked so hard at the gym, slowly faded away and were buried in fat all over Devon was undoubtedly fat. And the worst culprit was surely he was once gorgeous face, all that food of course fattened his face, his cheeks had rounded out and now merged with the band of fat that was nestled under is chin, given him a rounded out face that matched his rounded out body. His killer good looks remained but they were fighting a losing battle with the fat

Devon’s and Ajay’s months of bliss was soon coming to the end as after a good 6 months the Doctor finally deemed it fit that Devon was free of hi caste

“Now Devon, given your noticeably changes I’m sure moving about will be a lot harder and your leg will need to adapt to all the extra weight your putting on it’

“Oh all this’ Devon chuckled as he smaked his gut, even he was bit taken back with how soft it was,’Just a dirty bulk- it will come right off”

“Sure”, the doctor responded not sounding very confident’ Anyways I’ve signed you up with the best physio in town we will have back in uhm.. fighting shape any day

let me know on the comments how you want the story to go

#exjock #male gainer #male weight gain #gainer stories #fat

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emmalostinwonderland · 5 months

Text

I can't believe this year is already just about over... 2023 has been huge for me in terms of fandom and in real life spaces. This was my first full year publicly out as queer, and it felt at times like the rest of the world was kinda celebrating with me. I made so many new fandom friends and got a lot more involved with the things I'm passionate about. I joined 5 fandom discord servers, beta'd more than a few fics, cheer-read a few others, and participated in 4 fanfiction events. I spent most of the year whining about how I can't get any writing done, but apparently I wrote and posted more fics this year than in 2020, 2021, and 2022 combined! I wrote nearly 50,000 words this year. Thank you to everyone who supported me, encouraged me, laughed and cried with me, or spent time with me in any capacity. I cherish you all.

Anyway, now for the part people actually want lol- here are the 6 fics I published in 2023:

Embers Barely Showing (Proof of Life in the Shadows)

Pairing: Steve/Bucky Rated: M Word Count: <1k Summary: Steve freezes in the doorway. He makes himself breath slowly and deeply, and he takes a moment to get his heart rate back to normal before addressing the man holding a gun to his temple. “Buck, it’s me." // Steve comes home while Bucky is having a dissociative episode.

Judged By The Cover (collab w/ @louikazooie)

Pairing: Steve/Bucky Rated: E Word Count: 32k Summary: Bucky Barnes, award-winning romance novelist, is dismayed to learn that his publisher is sending him on a book tour with Steve Rogers, a fantasy author who recently topped the NY Times Bestseller list for his first and only romance novel and Bucky’s personal authorial adversary. As they’re sent off to spend several months touring 50 US cities together, they’ll attempt to overcome their differences and leave the past behind them… maybe they’ll even find love.

The Hazards of Falling in Love (Rescue Me)

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rated: T Word Count: 4k Summary: “So that’s your name?” Rogers hasn't looked away from him once. His eyes are a piercing blue, and Tony barely manages to keep from squirming under his gaze. “Yeah. Or Telecommunications Operator Stark, if we’re getting technical about it.” “Are we?” Tony tilts his head slightly. “Depends. Can I call you Steve?” The man grins. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Tony.” // Tony Stark doesn't date firemen. But he'll make an exception for Battalion Chief Steve Rogers.

Promises, Promises

Pairing: FirstPrince Rated: E Word Count: 1k Summary: “Works for me. Let me get undress-” Henry stops him with a hand over his. “Slow down, love. I’m going to make you listen to me for once.” “Oh my god,” Alex whispers, seemingly unintentionally. // Alex breaks his promise of a work-free trip. Henry gives him just what he deserves.

Should History Forget Us

Pairing: Steve/Bucky/Tony Rated: E Word Count: est 15k (WIP) Summary: War is over for the kingdom of Starkholde, and King Anthony's knights have returned home at long last. With peacetime comes many changes... as well as its own dangers. Through joy, through pain, through fear, through love- Steve, Bucky, and Tony must navigate the shifting tides together and make their mark on history.

StarDads Secret Santa 2023

Pairing: Din/Luke **This fic is part of a gift exchange and creator reveals are not until after the new year. I'll post the link to my fic once it's available, but for now, the whole collection is linked here.

#stucky #stony #dinluke #firstprince #stuckony #fanfiction #ao3 #writing #year in review #2023

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0nlythrowharrybeaux · 2 years

Note

4!!

Send me a number

WARNINGS: drug use (weed), cheating, p in v!

She just couldn’t stop staring at him. Him and that fucking pink beanie she knew she would probably never get back. She could never look at Harry again without her mind flashing back to what happened a few days ago.

...A FEW DAYS BEFORE…

“You’re still here?” Harry spoke making Y/N gasp, her hand flying up and landing over the spot on her chest where her heart was pounding from the scare Harry had just given her.

“Jesus…” she answered as she calmed down and he grinned at her.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” He excused himself as he walked further into the control room of the studio where Y/N had been for a better part of the day. She was helping with the editing and producing of his long anticipated third album. It was fucking good so far, “It’s nearly 2am.” He informed and she groaned.

“Damn, again?” She asked through a whine and he chuckled and nodded in confirmation. This was the third day she’d just been sucked into the editing, but when you find a flow it’s best not to stop.

“What track are you working on?”

“Daylight. I’m just about done actually, was about to give it a final listen if you want to hear it? Think I’ve managed the perfect balance.” She said with a proud grin and he nodded at her invitation and she handed him the headphones and she restarted the track on the software for him.

He immediately smiled at the slight reverb she had applied to the keyboards at the start, giving a dreamy and wave-like illusion that made his head bop along almost immediately. Everything was sounding exquisite as he sang long lowly. The levels of the vocals were completely balanced and god, the harmonies in the second verse. They gave almost a surround sound experience from how she had arranged them. He reached for the volume dial and turned it up, which made Y/N grin and his eyes widened as the electric guitar bounced from ear to ear right before the bridge.

“Oh shit!” He exclaimed as he banged his head along to the heavy instrumental. Even with all of the loud sounds the vocals came through clearly. It was perfect. Harry sang along quietly as the song continued and started winding down and finally ended. He pulled off the headphones with a huge smile, “You killed it, Y/N! That’s so fucking perfect, Tom’s going to lose his shit when he hears this tomorrow.” Harry exclaimed excitedly.

“Yeah, you think so?” She asked a bit timidly and he nodded.

“Hell yeah. I love it! You did really good!” He complimented her work again, “Understood the assignment 100%.” He assured her and she giggled. Tom had said that the main thing he wanted was a good sound balance with this and she had done that.

“I aim to please.” She shrugged with a small smile before letting out a long breath and standing from her seat. Harry’s eyes followed along the length of her body as she let her neck roll back and her arms reach up high in what looked to be a most delicious and well deserved stretch. Her shirt rode up a bit, exposing her skin which was soon covered in goosebumps. Fuck, he wanted her so bad.

Y/N was absolutely beautiful. She had been traveling around with his little production team to various places as they worked on this album. Tom thought that she had a very keen ear and a promising future with some mentoring and well, he wasn’t wrong about that. The quality of her work was always top notch. Harry wouldn’t normally interact with production and editing as much as he was now, but with this being a team of 4, sometimes 5 if Mitch was able to join, everyone did a little bit of everything and she had been teaching him a lot about the technicalities of music. He’s yet to hear her play or sing something, but if Tom & Tyler had advocated for bringing her along he was positive that her talent was incredible.

She was still a bit closed off, she was rather mysterious. Y/N hadn’t fully come out of her shell even after they’d all spent months together. Harry wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he didn’t have a crush on her or even the hots for her at times, but he needed to be professional. They were such a small team that he couldn’t afford to fuck this up. Not making a move was becoming a struggle for him though. He then talked himself down for a while when he found out that she wasn’t single, but the more he got to know her slowly he started to not give a fuck about that.

“Do you want to have a smoke?” He asked out of the blue and she glanced down at him.

“Sure.” She said and soon she was heading out to the terrace of the studio they were holed up for the next few weeks.

The night was a bit cool and she looked up at the night sky as she waited for Harry to return with his little weed bag. He plopped down right next to her, providing her some much needed warmth as their arms touched and he then pulled out a pre-rolled joint and sparked it up before handing it off to her where she took the first hit of it. He tried not to stare at her mouth, but it couldn’t be helped. She then passed the joint over to him where he too inhaled slowly and carefully, holding it in for a moment before letting out. They sat silently for a bit, passing the joint back and forth. They were about halfway through it when she started feeling the effects of it tickling at her gently. She started to giggle out of nowhere and he glanced over to her with slightly droopy eyes before he caught the giggle bug too.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, my brain tickles.” She giggled and he laughed at her description of what the drug was doing to her. In all fairness, she was exhausted. They laughed a bit more as they chatted and bantered about what she had just said. “Oh shut it, you’re such a pest.” She huffed out with an eye roll.

“Am I?” He asked with a lazy grin.

“Yeah, H.” This was the first time she had called him that and he loved it, “A real thorn in my side.” She joked and he chuckled.

“Have to be. Can’t have you forgetting me, now can I?” He asked and she just turned her head towards him and smiled.

“Impossible.” She hummed and he felt his heart flutter as her eyes traveled down his face and unmistakably settled at his mouth. “Does it feel weird to have a mustache?” She changed the topic completely and he smiled at her when their eyes met again.

“Not weird…But it does take some getting used to. Like when I lick my lips and feel hair there it like throws me off sometimes.” He explained and she hummed.

“Always found mustaches a tad offensive but you’re changing my mind on that.” She determined with another glance down at his lips. "You kinda make it hot." she giggled and he smiled, thanking the mighty heavens that it was nighttime and she couldn't see his blush.

"Yeah?" he asked turning his body completely towards hers and she nodded.

They continued talking in close proximity as they finished off the joint and soon started making their way back into the studio. Brushing shoulders as they walked down the halls. Harry's warmth was like a gravitational pull, or maybe that was his cologne that made her question her self-restraint. She wanted to just nestle against him and breathe him deep. How she wished that it was him intoxicating her mind, not the drug they'd just smoked. But she was taken... she shouldn't be thinking this. Maybe it was just because she was high. They stopped at her bedroom door and she glanced up at him, bidding herself not to do anything stupid.

"Wanna watch a movie?" she asked and he nodded. With that she opened up the door and they stepped inside of the dark and cool room. The made their way in quietly and as soon as she closed the door Harry stepped up to her and grabbed her face gently in his hands. He let his nose skim down hers lightly before latching his lips to her own. She gave in far too easily. His lips were so soft and warm as they moved with hers.

They eventually ended up in her bed panting hotly into each others' mouths as she rode his cock. She was settled in his lap as his arms were hugged around her, blunt nails pressing into her shoulders as her fingers tangled themselves in his curls. He was bigger than she was accustomed to and it made her hiss when she'd drop her hips down into his. He was so deep, it would shoot a little tinge of pain through her but it felt too good to stop. Harry was obsessed with the way their chests were pressed together, he could feel how hard her nipples were and it made him want to suck his mark around the pert little buds.

"Oh fuck." he groaned, tossing his head back, letting it bang into the wall as her walls clamped tight around him, "Fuck Y/N! Gonna make me come so hard, baby." he panted and she moaned as she latched her lips to his neck, careful not to leave marks as she kissed at his hot skin. He then fit his hand between them to rub at her clit and she started to wither.

"Harry!" she whimpered, her moans started to get louder the closer and closer she got to her end.

"Shhh, shhhh, shhh..." he warned, "Need you to stay quiet, baby. We have'ta be quiet." he whispered and she shut her eyes tight, "Fuck, come for me, baby. Give it to me." he panted as he felt her start to tip over the edge and her mouth opened in a silent cry, head tossed back as she gasped before letting out a high pitched squeak as she starting coming. The pleasure was shaking her body and he kept working her through it, completely mesmerized by the way she looked and felt. God, she was fucking perfect. She quickly lifted herself from his cock and stroked at him until he was grunting her name along with curse words as streams of his cum spurted from the tip of his cock and ran down her fist in warm, thick streams as they kissed ardently.

After cleaning up a bit they passed out. And early in the morning Harry woke up and buried his face in her cunt and fingered her until she was squirting for him. His hair was a fucking mess from the way she had been pulling at it. And he immediately started making out with her, grinding his clothed cock against her throbbing center, just about ready to take her again when they faintly heard the call of his name at a slight distance. He immediately shot up and she bit her lip nervously when they heard it again. Tom was looking for him. He couldn't know.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he cursed lowly as they sat up.

"The window." she said, "It doesn't have a screen." he nodded and pulled on his t-shirt and shorts as he rushed over. "Wait, your hair is a fucking mess! Dead giveaway!" she whisper-shouted, "Here." she tossed him her favorite hot pink beanie and he fixed it onto his head before rushing out. He flashed her a grin before rushing off and she quickly shut the window.

...FLASHBACK OVER…

As much as she felt her heart fluttering wildly with a need for him she felt guilty too. She had cheated and she didn't regret it. It wasn't his fault, she could've stopped him, but she hadn't wanted to. They hadn't talked about it since it happened.

"Y/N. what did you think?" Tyler asked her and she let her thoughts about her situation fade away as she plastered a smile on her face and nodded.

"Yeah, that's good." she assured Tyler and then she looked to Harry and nodded in confirmation of her decision on the song they were working on.

"Sick, let me go grab Tom so we can show him." Tyler said excitedly and hurried off and she bit her lip nervously when Harry fully turned to her. She stayed quiet and he made his way over. It made her so nervous as he took her hand in his large ones, caressing over it gently.

"D-do you...do you regret it?" He asked her with concern and she shook her head.

"That's what scares me, I think? I'd do it all over again." she admitted and he took a quick glance around before dipping down to kiss her. Their lips met eagerly before they broke apart quickly.

"Come to my room tonight? Like 10:30?" he whispered and she nodded and he kissed her once more and then rushed back to his original seat when he heard Tom and Tyler approaching. Y/N pulled out her phone to feign busyness and opened her texts and immediately felt her stomach sink at the unread message from her significant other.

Hey sweets, haven't spoken in a few days. I know you're busy, but can we FaceTime tonight? Like 10-10:30? LMK Love you!

Y/N read over the message again a few times and bit her lip nervously. Then she saw a message come in from Harry as Tom and Tyler rushed in and Harry moved from the seat before the monitor, watching as she read over his text.

Pick a number 1-5.

You sure?

She glanced up to him and he looked to her and she nodded before typing it out.

Yeah, I'm sure.

Alright, that's how many times I'm gonna make you come for me tonight.

Once with my fingers, twice with my tongue, and twice on my cock. Can't wait to make a mess of you, baby.

She felt her face burn as the blood rushed up to it as her body started to tingle. She was turned on now and when she glanced up to him he was grinning smugly at her and she groaned softly as she typed furiously.

THORN IN MY FUCKING SIDE.

She typed and then put her phone face down and as Harry read the words he grinned and slipped his phone in his pocket. This would be fun.

#writing #harry styles #0nlythrowharrybeaux #picture prompt challenge #harry styles fan fic #harry styles smut

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ace-of-zaun · 2 years

Text

The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time: Pt. 4

Silco x f!reader - SFW

CW: fluff, flirting, feelings, tension, swears

6.1k words

Summary: A date with the Eye of Zaun… what more could a simple kitchen utensil salesperson want?

A/N: apologies this one took a little while to finish; life is sometimes sad, but silco is always good -elsie x

Standing awkwardly in front of the mirror in your apartment, you can’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed by the fact that you were about to go on a date with the King of Zaun. I mean, surely that statement alone would seem nonsensical to anyone but you.

Yes, you, the person who’d become so delightfully close to Silco and his daughter in the past few months, it almost felt unreal.

Oh heck, who were you kidding, the whole thing seemed absolutely insane to you too.

You’d put on your best outfit in the hopes that you might be able to outshine Silco’s infuriatingly consistent tendency to look scrumptious at any given time. You begin to wonder how long it takes him to get ready in the morning. Probably far longer than he’s willing to admit, you think. Then, your mind naturally wanders to how long it takes for him to get it all off again…

Nope, nope, nope. We’re not thinking about that, you tell yourself crossly.

The majority of your work day had been spent getting increasingly more excited about the evening ahead of you, to the point that you couldn’t stop yourself from babbling incessantly at one poor lady, who seemed entirely uninterested in your tirade. Thinking back on it, starting a conversation with the line ‘Hey, what would you wear on a date with a crime lord?’ may not have been your smartest move.

Ah well, at least you didn’t tell her which crime lord you were talking about.

Pointing two fingers at the mirror as you lean back in a ridiculously wide stance, you blow away the imaginary smoke from your finger-guns and check yourself out. Hot Damn.

Unfortunately, your one-person hype party is interrupted by a sharp knock on the front door. Briefly, you panic and nearly yell ‘I’m not home!’ before you realise that it’s probably just Silco, and not the mean old lady from down the hall that you’ve been avoiding for the past three weeks.

It wasn’t your fault that somebody had reduced you to loudly singing in the shower every night, belting out every love song you could remember the lyrics to like a banshee.

As you pull the door open, you’re rewarded with the view of Mr Crime somehow looking even more sleek and put-together than usual. I mean. Seriously… How he do that??

Instantly, you notice that his outfit is slightly different to normal, but unsurprisingly still very on brand for him. His collar comes up much higher than his tie, and his vest appears to be embroidered with a delicate gold thread, alongside those asymmetrical buckles that seemed to adorn most of his vests.

You realise you’d never seen him in this particular ensemble before. Had he dressed up for you? The thought causes a pleasant tingle to run down your spine and you can’t help but wonder if he wanted to impress you as much as you wanted to impress him.

Scanning his face, your eyes are automatically pulled to the tops of his ears, which are undoubtedly turning a little bit pink as he gazes down at you. He looks…almost smitten.

The Eye of Zaun is blushing over you. …THE EYE OF ZAUN IS BLUSHING OVER YOU.

It’s surreal. It’s complete madness!

It’s…it’s him.

There’s a few moments where you’re both silently ogling each other, neither one of you appearing to hold any semblance of shame during your blatant exchange of eyes roaming over bodies. Gods, if your boss were watching you right now, he probably would have fainted from the horror of it all.

Silco speaks first this time, but you make a mental note that it’s still 3-1 to him in your private little game of ‘who caved in first’.

“Beautiful.”

The term of endearment is even more compelling given the fact that it’s spoken in that low, delectable voice of his, and it’s enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

How was he so good at catching you off guard like that?? It was entirely unfair and you have to fight the urge to stomp your foot like a petulant little child.

No, the best way to get back at him was to play him at his own game. Which was really quite easy when you thoroughly endorsed giving compliments to drop-dead-gorgeous criminals like him.

“Well, hello to you too, handsome,” you reply, leaning against the door frame with your arms crossed.

He can’t seem to help the smirk that emblazons his face, and you begin to think you might have become a little bit too obsessed with making him react like this. It’s all too quickly becoming your new favourite thing.

The way he laughs so easily at your jokes, the way he appears to be unable to keep on his mask of impassivity around you, the way he looks at you like you’re the most exquisite thing he’s ever seen. It’s exceedingly addictive.

“Are you ready? Our carriage is waiting downstairs,” Silco says, holding his arm out to you.

You take it and after locking your front door, you begin to make your way down the stairs, feeling surprised when Silco lets you walk in front of him. That is, until you catch him looking at your backside when you peer over your shoulder to taunt him.

“You know, an attractive man like yourself really ought to be careful around these parts, I hear there’s a new craze for abducting kingpins.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I assure you, I can handle myself,” he purrs.

It gives you goosebumps.

“Mmm, I bet you can,” you mumble, as you continue to descend the stairs at a leisurely pace, smirking to yourself.

The ride in the carriage on the way to your mystery destination is a rather pleasant one, as you easily slip into the natural flow of conversation. To your delight, you both are seemingly unable to stop yourselves from smiling at one another, as you listen to each other’s news of the week.

You animatedly tell him how many people have tried to get discounts using terrible, home-made coupons, and he tells you how many people he’s killed in the past week. You know, all the gushy kind of stuff you’d find in a romance novel… You almost sigh from the dreaminess of it all.

And as you chat with him, you pointedly avoid looking out the window, so as not to spoil for yourself where Silco might be taking you for your date. I mean, he was the richest man in the Undercity, and you don’t doubt that he must have some of the very best connections, so you can’t help but feel excited by whatever spectacular plans he must have.

You don’t have to wait much longer as the carriage soon comes to a halt and Silco is climbing out first, holding his hand out for you to take like the gentleman you’d never expected him to be.

Here it is, you think excitedly, the moment of truth, the unveiling of the secret date location…

You’re outside The Last Drop.

…The fuck?

You wait patiently, wondering if he’s about to tell you that he needed to stop by here first to pick something up, or that it was even his ridiculously unfunny attempt at a prank. But upon seeing his blank expression as you first gawk up at the building and then back to him, you can tell that it wasn’t a joke.

In fact, you’re so baffled, you don’t even realise that you’re still clinging to his fingers, both of your arms bent up at the elbow and hands poised awkwardly in the air.

He’d brought you on a date to his own bar? The place you already visited once a week?

“Are you fucking serious?” you blurt out, more out of surprise than any form of malice or disappointment.

You really didn’t mind being at The Last Drop, you just weren’t expecting it, especially not when the club was in full-swing, most likely at maximum capacity given the fact that it was a Friday night. It felt like too much of a stretch to believe that he’d want you to party with a club full of shimmer-heads.

You almost chuckle at the thought. Despite being its sole distributor, you’d wager Silco had never even tried his own product before, much less expect you to try the highly illicit drug.

“Is something the matter, my dear? Does this establishment not meet your standards?” he interrupts your thoughts, looking positively confused as he carefully observes your reaction.

“Yeah, I know the owner, he’s a bit of a twat,” you automatically joke, entirely on reflex to being caught off-guard.

The sharp laugh that you expect from him at such a blunt quip doesn’t come. Instead, one glance up at his face reveals his brows are knitted together, eyes cast down and away from your face.

He looked upset. Oh no.

“I’m sorry, I was only joking, I didn’t mean it,” you tell him quickly, your face dropping in horror as you desperately try to make him feel better.

“I know, dear,” he says and it somehow makes you feel worse.

Shit. You really hadn’t meant to upset him. You only ever teased him with pure affection. Hell, it was practically your love language. Lightly making fun of people was the way you showed people you cared about them! And after all the time you’d spent with each other, you were certain he’d already picked up on that by now.

There’s barely any time to ponder it, as Silco is suddenly taking you around the outside of the building to a backdoor you’d never noticed before. Inside, you follow him up some stairs, climbing to one of the highest floors of The Last Drop.

Eventually, you arrive at his chosen destination, and to your relief, he pauses to offer you a little smile before opening the door in a flourish. And if you weren’t so worried about upsetting him again, you’d have no doubt rolled your eyes and called him a dramatic bitch for the entirely unnecessary movement.

Honestly, who knew kingpins were this theatrical?

As if the man’s actions couldn’t get any more confusing in the short time you’d been with him this evening, you’re positively baffled when the room that is revealed to you is completely empty.

…Okay, he has to be fucking with you this time.

But once again, he’s clearly not, as he silently but confidently enters the room and gestures for you to follow. You do, and it’s only as you close the door behind you that you begin to worry this whole thing between you has been an elaborate plot to kidnap you again.

Maybe he was involved in the original kidnapping…. Maybe he was actually working with Hendrick and those goons the whole time…

Gasp! Maybe he secretly worked for another kitchen utensil stall and was trying to sabotage your business!!

Or maybe not, you realise, as you reach the other side of the room and gingerly step out onto the little balcony that had been hidden behind a pair of beautiful lace curtains hanging in front of the patio doors.

You think it’s going to be a candlelit dinner or something along those lines, but instead you’re greeted by the sight of two comfy-looking armchairs placed side by side, one of which is neatly decorated with a pile of blankets and cushions.

Slightly in front of the armchairs, there’s a small coffee table, on which a selection of your favourite drinks and snacks sit atop. For a brief moment, you wonder how he knew which ones were your favourite, before you suddenly recall telling Jinx in the bar, when she’d played another round of 20 questions with you. He’d not only listened in, but he’d somehow remembered that very small detail about you, one that most people would have overlooked or forgotten in minutes.

Oh, this was infinitely more romantic than any candlelit dinner or fancy restaurant.

You can’t do anything but stare at the scene in front of you. You’re flabbergasted. Bamboozled. No-one has ever done something as sweet as this for you before. Despite it only being two chairs and a table full of snacks, it begins to feel like too much. Too heavy.

Oh no. Those dangerous waters you’d so desperately been trying to avoid drowning in are rapidly pulling you under. And truthfully, you’re not sure you want to fight them for much longer. Not if this is what’s waiting for you at the bottom of the ocean you’re so recklessly treading in.

You’re broken out of your tongue-tied reverie by the sound of Silco’s voice beside you and the electrifying feeling of his hand on the small of your back.

“It’s time for you to conquer your fear of chairs, my lovely,” he soothes as he gazes down at you, clearly assuming your bewilderment is due to your blatantly obvious hatred of the arsehole furniture.

You ignore the ‘my lovely’ comment and the hand now lazily drawing circles onto your covered spine, because you worry that if you address it, it’ll come out as a bloodcurdling scream of overwhelming emotion.

Perhaps screaming in Silco’s face might give out the wrong message. Hmm…Perhaps.

You decide that a better message would be one of pure, unadulterated flirting (because it was much safer than admitting how quickly your feelings for him had built up in the past few months). Accordingly, your mouth pulls into a cheeky side smile as you tilt your head and look up at him through your eyelashes.

“Are you going to tie me to it?”

“Not unless you want me to,” he smirks, his tone reaching that low drawl that you so desperately adore.

“Hmm, maybe later, after I’ve had some snack-based therapy.”

Reluctantly moving away from his captivating touch, you plonk yourself down on the chair with all the cushions, presuming it was yours. Well, it was now, whether he liked it or not. Beside you, Silco clips and lights a cigar, an ashtray sitting beside his chair leg so it’s not near any of the food on the table. So thoughtful of him.

There’s a minute of peaceful silence as you curl up comfortably under one of the blankets and Silco lazily crosses one leg over the other, both of you gazing out towards the turbid city below you.

Oh look, there’s a guy licking the wall down there, you notice, probably hoping there’s a trace of shimmer on it as he drags his tongue over the rough brick. How romantic. The Undercity, (no, Zaun, as Silco has emphatically corrected you on many an occasion) is truly a place to behold.

Despite there being a fair amount of space between both armchairs, you’re hyper-aware of the fact that his long longs are almost touching yours. If you were to slouch down far enough, you’d undoubtedly be able to press your leg flush against his.

Part of you itches to reach out and smack his skinny thigh, just to see if his leg would snap. But the other part of you reasons that there’s no way you’d be able to carry him back downstairs if it did break. And chucking him over the side of the balcony to land on the carriage at this height just seemed plain cruel. Maybe you could-

“I truly hope I didn’t offend you during your last visit,” Silco tells you after a few silent moments, having clearly used the time to ruminate on much more serious matters than you, “I am unused to receiving gifts without there being an ulterior motive attached.”

What? Why is he bringing up cupcake-gate again??

You desperately wish he’d stop apologising for it, but his expression is filled with such genuine concern, that you don’t have the heart to tease him about it. He must really feel some kind of distress about the way he’d treated you to act like this. For once, you know you have to be sincere with him, instead of taking the piss like you’re so much more well-versed in.

“It’s okay, I’m not upset with you. And I understand why you might have a difficult time trusting people. But I want you to know that I’d never intentionally hurt you or Jinx. I care about you both too much,” you tell him, in the most sincere tone you’ve ever used, “Also, I don’t really think you’re a twat,” you quickly add on for good measure.

It appears to do the trick as Silco visibly relaxes at your admission (or perhaps he’s trying not to laugh at your attempt to retract the word ‘twat’ from your earlier name calling, given the brief quirk of his lips).

And because you crave any kind of amused reaction from him, you continue jesting.

“And thank you again for the lovely knife, it was perfect for cleaning out all the fluff from my belly button,” you joke, at this point craving an overly-disgusted reaction from him, just to ease the tension that has filled the air.

You think he’s going to scoff and call you disgusting but his face adopts a puzzled expression and he openly gazes at you.

“Why do you use humour to deflect serious conversations?”

Fuck, why is he so serious tonight??

It reminds you of the time when you were in his office, before you’d left to return to your job. When he’d looked at you like you were an enigma.

Truthfully, it puts you on edge in a way you’ve never really experienced before. Almost shaky inside, like the box of all those confusing thoughts about him is about to burst open. The lock melted by the blowtorch that were his thoughtful gifts and terms of endearment. The lid noisily rattling away, getting louder and louder, almost like it’s about to…

“Because if I didn’t, I’d end up admitting that I really like you,” you blurt out.

Oh fuck. The lid is off.

You instantly begin to panic about what his reaction is going to be. What is the King of the Zaun supposed to say in response to that?? Is he finally going to have you beheaded for your insolence? Or would he be kind enough to simply banish you from his land?

You chance a peek at his face (your own having been completely drained of any colour at your accidental confession) and are overjoyed to find that he’s smiling.

“I assure you, my dear, the feeling is mutual.”

The smile that you give him in return is probably the widest and happiest you’ve had in years.

Screw the lid. Screw treading water. This was where you wanted to be.

After hours of serene, almost aimless chatting, there’s a lull in the conversation that feels perfectly comfortable in the cool air of the night.

You’re all snuggled up under the blanket, your head canted towards Silco, who is gently rolling one ankle in circles, one leg still crossed over the other. If you were being honest (and let’s face it, you’d been more honest tonight than you’d ever been in your life), you had never felt this way before. Until you’d experienced it as you did so fervently now, you never would have thought that you could feel so free and yet so rooted in place at the same time.

Sitting on the balcony, with the man who was slowly edging his way into your overflowing heart, was one of those moments where you really appreciated the beauty that life had to offer. And that was a feeling that was all too rare in Zaun.

You can feel Silco’s warmth beside you, since you’d shuffled your chair earlier in the evening so that it was right next to his, the armrests now touching. Unfortunately, the movement had been far less romantic than you’d hoped, given that the chair had made a rather rude noise as you’d scuffled it along the floor whilst you were still sitting in it.

Of course, you’d then made it a hundred times worse by blaming the noise on the offensive chair, creating a rather awkward moment that had you giggling like a little schoolgirl.

Finally quiet again, your hand is now loosely poised on the armrest, palm facing down as you subtly offer it out for Silco to link his fingers with yours.

Speaking of, you realise the man in question has been quiet for a little while now, so you turn to look over at him only to find him already staring at you. His brow is furrowed again.

“What’s up?” you ask, softly.

Silco takes his time choosing his words.

“You’ve never asked about my eye,” he eventually says.

The cigar long since finished, his own hand finally joins yours on the armrest, but frustratingly doesn’t touch you in any way.

Silco is watching you intently as you ponder his statement. You suddenly realise by his pinched expression that he’s nervous.

“I didn’t want to upset you or make you uncomfortable. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready,” you say honestly, looking into his mismatched eyes.

At first, Silco looks thoroughly shocked, like he can’t quite believe the words that had just come out of your mouth. Then, slowly, his expression melts into one of pure tenderness.

His pinky finger gently hooks around yours.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Silco murmurs, turning his body to face you.

“What? A ne’er-do-well kitchen utensil salesperson?” you tease.

“No, a kind and beautiful soul,” he says assuredly, finally taking your whole hand into his.

There’s a moment where you both gaze unreservedly at each other. His seafoam eye is half-lidded and you’re sure your own expression matches his, as your chest begins to ache from the longing building up inside you.

Silco begins to gently pull you towards him with the hand gripping yours.

You close your eyes in anticipation as your bodies get closer and closer until your nose gently brushes his.

You tilt your head slightly so your lips are perfectly aligned with his and-

Someone clears their throat behind you.

Suppressing the automatic urge to scream, your eyes snap open and you whip your head back towards the source of the noise.

“Sorry boss, but there’s been an incident,” Sevika says, regret lining the tone of her voice.

“Can’t it wait?” Silco huffs, clearly frustrated by the interruption.

He stands from his chair and lets go of your hand, making his way over to Sevika.

Much like when you’d first met the dastardly duo in that miserable, old warehouse, you could barely hear the hushed conversation happening between them. Only this time, the blood rushing in your ears was a result of how flustered you are at what just happened, instead of any head trauma caused by an idiotic goon.

You’d almost kissed the Eye of Zaun.

In your haste to get away from the overwhelming feeling, you abruptly jump up from the chair, causing both Silco and Sevika to turn their gaze over to you.

“Uh, I’d better get home,” you mumble, trying and failing miserably to wrestle the blanket from your body.

“No,” Silco tells you, “It’s late. Stay the night in your old room and I’ll check on you when I return.”

You gaze at him softly. Your old room.

“Okay,” you respond, automatically reaching your hand out towards his, “This was lovely, thank you,” you tell him sincerely.

Silco only nods, which you presume is because Sevika is watching, but you don’t miss the way his eyes shine at your genuine gratitude. You wrap the blanket around your shoulders and begin to waddle your way back into The Last Drop, leaving them both to talk about whatever ‘incident’ had apparently occurred.

It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to find the room he’d let you stay in after your kidnapping, because you get hopelessly lost in the maze that is The Last Drop.

Seriously, who the heck designed this building? What was this, a maze for rats??

You breathe a deep sigh of relief when you finally find the room and are pleasantly surprised to find that the drawings Jinx kindly gave you are still taped up. Ah, the old man was romantic AND sentimental, it seemed.

Flopping your tired body onto the bed, it takes you a few moments before you realise there’s something a little bit different about the room…

The first thing that catches your eye is the framed photo hanging proudly on the opposite wall to the bed.

It’s a picture of a blender.

Your brow furrowed in confusion, a quick turn of the head reveals other framed photos dotted around the room, all displaying pictures of various kitchen utensils.

A wide grin envelops your face as you shake your head slowly. So the bastard does have a sense of humour. Maybe your wit was slowly rubbing off on him.

Wait. If he’d decorated the room as a result of your tactless comment when you’d first been a guest in it, did that mean he was expecting you to come back?

Or was he building a shrine to you??

You hope it’s the shrine; that’d be kinda hot, you think shamelessly.

With thoughts of hand holding, close kisses, and the funny little way the King of Zaun makes you feel everytime you see him, you drift off to sleep feeling extra snuggly in the soft blankets. Although, you can’t help but wish it was Silco’s arms that were wrapped around your waist instead.

The Monday after your date, you enter the bar as usual, expecting to find both father and daughter brooding over their work, but to your surprise, you find Silco sat at the bar alone.

“Wasssssup,” you drawl, earning a look of mock annoyance from your new favourite person, “Where’s Jinx?”

“Asleep. She had a rather difficult night,” Silco informs you, as you lean on the bar next to him.

You frown.

“Is she okay? Is there anything I can do to help?” you ask. In the past few months, you’d come to care a great deal about the young girl and the thought of her having a difficult time wasn’t something you liked.

Silco looks slightly bewildered at your questions and you have no idea why. I mean, why wouldn’t you care about Jinx’s wellbeing?

“She’ll be fine, she just needs rest,” he finally answers.

“This has happened before?”

Silco nods.

“Well, you just let me know if I can do anything to make her feel better,” you say kindly, taking his free hand into yours.

He squeezes your hand in silent thanks, and it isn’t until he does so, that you realise there’s other staff milling about the bar today. Usually you wouldn’t mind, but today, you’re desperate to be alone with Silco after your kiss had been so rudely interrupted a few nights before. With that in mind, a daft little idea pops into your head and you find yourself acting on impulse.

Without saying a word to him, you drop his hand and stalk over to the kitchen door, slipping into the room whilst not giving him a single glance the whole time. Once inside, you excitedly wait for him to take the bait.

“What are you doing?” he calls after a few moments, and you can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s confused.

You have to stifle the giggle that threatens to slip from your mouth.

With no response, Silco shouts a questioning call of your name, which you also ignore. Come on, take the bait, you gorgeous boy…

A few seconds later, he finally enters the kitchen and despite it being exactly what you’d planned for, you’re somehow startled by the fact it had actually worked. Rather stupidly, you hadn’t thought that far ahead, so you instantly panic and decide to make yourself look busy by flinging open the nearest drawer.

Silco stops short at your flailing action.

“Why are you rifling through my drawers?”

Quick, quick, think!!

“This is your kitchen utensil inspection, sir,” you announce loftily.

“...my kitchen utensil inspection?” Silco repeats slowly, sounding out each letter like it’s personally offending him.

“Yep, I need to check you’re treating them right, you know, no rust, no leftover cheese in the grater, no inappropriate usage of the milk frother…”

“What in Janna’s name are you talking about?”

You ignore his blatant rudeness and continue opening and closing drawers until you find the one with all the cutlery in. Bingo!

Sifting through the jumbled mess of utensils, you look for the pizza wheel and measuring spoons you sold him months ago, with the idea of ruthlessly teasing him about it, but find yourself perturbed when you can’t see them anywhere.

What has he done with them? You hope he hasn’t thrown them away. Even though you knew he’d just bought them as an excuse to come and see you at your stall, it would still hurt if he’d just got rid of them.

Your plan foiled, you grab a handful of utensils and whirl round to face him accusingly.

“Where did you get these? These aren’t from my stall,” you frown melodramatically, pushing your lips into a pout.

Silco gives you a look that can only mean one thing.

Your gasp is so theatrical, it almost rivals his charming penchant for being a complete and utter drama queen.

“How DARE you! Do not even tell me you got these from Marty’s!!” you say, your voice, actions, and facial expressions all completely over the top.

No response.

“You did!! Oh, I can’t BELIEVE you!”

“Listen, darling-”

Dropping the rest of the cutlery back into the drawer, you keep hold of the spatula and grasp it with both hands, pointing it at him like you were holding a gun.

“That’s it, hands up, punk!”

His stare is nothing short of unimpressed, but you catch the glint of amusement in his seafoam eye. One eyebrow raises as you continue to speak.

“Don’t test me, I’m goddamn dangerous. They call me the spatula slayer, you know?” you begin to ramble, “Because I slay people with spatulas, not because I slay spatulas… not sure why anyone would want to slay a spatula to be honest. I mean, maybe if it broke the pancakes when you were trying to flip them, although you’re supposed to flip pancakes not-’,

Silco sighs deeply at your antics.

“Put that down,” he orders, erring on the side of playful rather than temper.

You smirk devilishly at him as you lower your head and look up at him through your eyelashes.

“Make me,” you say cheekily, biting your lip once the words leave your mouth.

The switch flips.

You see his pupils blow wide and his look darken, as his eyes dart from your lips back up to your own eyes. Frankly, you’ve never seen him look so aroused before.

It’s thrilling.

Before you can get out another taunt, he lunges at you and easily slaps the spatula out of your hands. You flinch at the sound of it clattering to the floor and try to run around the table away from him, but he easily catches you from behind with both arms wrapped around your waist, pressing your back flush against his chest.

He buries his face into your neck and whispers in that low, delectable voice of his, sending shivers down your spine.

“Got you.”

You can’t help the way your body automatically leans into him and you turn your head so that your lips are dangerously close to his jaw. You can practically taste his cologne, the lingering cigar smoke on his skin.

His own head turns to face yours, gazing into your dilated pupils. He catches your chin with one hand and tilts it up, so your lips are in line with his, and leans forward-

The kitchen door swings open and in walks an employee, who looks startled to find his boss with his arms wrapped around you, face inches away from yours. Silco instantly lets you go and you step away from him, your face growing hot.

Oh, for Janna’s sake, not again.

“Get out,” Silco demands roughly, his corrupted eye swirling as he glares perilously at the employee.

The poor man scrambles to leave the kitchen, mumbling hasty apologies as he goes, and you feel yourself breathlessly leaning up against the counter, your knees suddenly weak.

Silco stares at the closed door for a concerning amount of time, his own breathing as heavy and laboured as yours. After a few moments, you try to break him from his silent trance by lightly touching his shoulder, peering around it to catch his gaze.

“You’ll be pleased to know you’ve passed my inspection, sir,” you tell him nicely, toeing the line between cheeky and lighthearted.

A few seconds pass by before he finally turns to look at you and you’re relieved to see that the anger has already dissipated from him.

“I’m delighted,” he drawls, smirking at you in that sinful way you love so ardently.

Dammit. You’d been so close to getting those lush lips of his on yours.

Business at the stall had been tear-jerkingly slow by the time Silco appears in front of you a few days later, so his sudden, welcome presence has you grinning like a Cheshire cat.

As per your, quite frankly, hilarious personality, you decide to start out your conversation with an absolutely cracking opener, (that you definitely hadn’t practised in the mirror beforehand…)

“Hey, why did the kingpin cross the road?”

Silco ignores the set-up to your joke and gives you a look that is so serious, it causes your stomach to churn with bitter anxiety.

Shit. Had something happened? You can’t help the way you subconsciously start to worry about both him and Jinx. You desperately hope that whatever he has to say isn’t bad.

“What’s wrong?” you ask gravely, standing up because the nervous energy flowing through you makes it impossible to stay seated.

Silco’s eyes dart from your face to the items laid out on the stall, his lips downturned.

“Nothing is wrong. I’ve come to ask you a question,” he says and you can tell by his mannerisms that he’s hesitant.

He says your name.

“Yes?” you reply cautiously.

“I’d like to buy one of everything,” he tells you, gesturing to the stall and the items atop it.

Oh geez, what the fuck is this man up to now??

Well for starters, you think, that’s not even a question, and secondly what is he talking about, you only have one of each thing, you’re not a wholesaler. Your boss just collects random kitchen items and hopes they sell on this daft little stall, that does surprisingly well considering how niche it actually is.

You begin to tell him as such.

“What? Why? You don’t have enough room in your kitchen for all of this and I’ve never even seen you cook before so there’s no way you’d have any use for a-”

“I wish to purchase all of your stock so you don’t have to work here anymore,” Silco interrupts.

“You don’t want me to work here?” you stare at him openly, confusion painting your face.

“I’d like you to work for me instead. As my negotiator.”

Work…for…him… negotiator…

The words rattle through your brain like an egg timer in a washing machine and you squint at him.

It suddenly dawns on you that he’s offering to help your boss out for losing you, instead of just straight up demanding that you work for him now.

He’s giving you the choice.

And honestly, your mind was made up the second he’d offered. The opportunity to spend everyday with this wonderful man? It felt like a dream come true. Deep down, part of you was apprehensive about accepting, considering you’d never been a negotiator before. But surely it couldn’t be that hard?

You spent most of your time persuading customers to buy items they didn’t need, and you’d even managed to convince two goons to free you from accidental captivity, so maybe you already had the skills needed for the job.

You decide to bite the bullet. But not before a quick dose of self-sabotage, of course.

“Are you sure? I’m not sure I really fit your whole ‘scary crime lord’ vibe,” you say, giving him one last chance to back out if he wants to, but deep down, you desperately hope he doesn’t take it.

Silco’s face softens and he reaches out to cup your cheek in his hand, one thumb swiping across it in a gentle caress.

“Oh sweetheart, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.”

PART 5

A/N: TWO interrupted kisses in one chapter?? Yes that’s right henny, you heard it here first, i’m EVIL. WICKED. an utter NIGHTMARE :)

Also, DO NOT put knives anywhere near your belly button!!! I’m serious, I’m not taking any of you on a trip to the ER, i’m not doing it sorry

Tag list: @htmlbitxh @pinkrose1422 @jennithejester

#silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco x f!reader #silco fic #silco arcane #part 4

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cogcltrcorn · 8 months

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I was tagged by @flippy-floppy , and I have maybe taken this a bit too seriously.

hmmm. this is actually very hard bc I am very bad at remembering things. also I very frequently obsess over books that are like, objectively Bad (like have I spent a solid 2 months thinking about it by stephen king and only about it by stephen king? yes. is it good? no. did I like it? no. did I still analyze it thoroughly? yes. next question). so. yeah. anyway

I will for sure wake up tomorrow like "OH MY GOD HOW COULD I FORGET [BLANK]" but I am at peace with that fact

in no particular order:

Fathers and sons, Ivan Turgenev - well. it's a book about russian nihilism, it's a book about the political schism between the generations in 19th century russia, and it's a book about idolizing reason and then being forced to contend with the fact that you are still a human being that is both capable of love and craves it deeply. also it is lowkey about being a college student homoerotically enraptured with your very smart and charismatic friend who is an absolute dick. and what happens if you bring this guy to stay with you and your family during the break.

chronicles of amber by roger zelazny - I am gonna be honest with you I do not remember half of that series. including this might be cheating bc it's like. 10 books. whatever. rules are made up. it's good. it's very fucking good. just writing about it right now makes me want to reread it. anyway it's fantasy and there's reality shifting and there is complex lore and yeah no I think this book has radically altered my brain chemistry when I read it.

twenty thousand leagues under the seas by jules verne - look. 9 yo cog fucking Loved boring descriptions of marine wildlife. I was fucking Entranced by this book. this book started my years long obsession with jules verne novels. I may or may not be autistic. like really I can put like. 5 jules verne books on this list. are they incredibly dated and filled to the brim with trademarked 19th century classist and racist bullshit? yes. are they boring as fuck if you do not care about like, the mechanics of building a kiln on a deserted island? yes. but I did. I did care about building a kiln. I wanted to know how traveling to the center of the earth would go. and I wanted to know if the gentleman could get around the world in 80 days. whatever. the important things is that I loved those books and I still love them and they are, at their core, about how fucking cool humans are and how we are capable of great achievements if we apply ourselves and how incredible the world around us is.

do androids dream of electric sheep? by philip k dick - once again there could be like. 4 books on this list. I fucking love his stuff actually. the man has spent his entire life doing coke, getting scared as a result, and then writing kick ass novels about what scared him. he got really into gnosticism by the end of his life. he thought that god talked to him through a spot of light. I fucking love his books. anyway. this specific one is about the way human spirit sirvives in a future that is rendered nearly uninhabitable by capitalistic greed. the world of do androids dream of electric sheep is artificial, obsessed with its own artificiality, and obsessed with proving itself to be Not artificial, ironically, inventing increasingly artificial ways to prove it. plot twist! the only real thing in the world built for profit is the human connections you build! anyway. I have beef with blade runner the movie bc it is NOT A GOOD ADAPTATION OF THE BOOK and has NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. I AM SICK AND TIRED.

actually I lied. here is another philip k dick novel

a scanner darkly - well. how do I explain. ok so basically this is a deeply biographical novel about the loss of identity and connection to reality as a result of drug usage. I fucking love it. reading it makes me go fucking insane. I highly recommend this to all of you, my darling succession mutuals

interview with the vampire, anne rice - made me insane. a theological and philosophical discussion with the guy with the weirdest moral code you have ever seen, with the added bonus of him complaining about his stupid greedy whore of an ex-husband

obligatory mention of 1984 by george orwell - well sorry. he did spit some facts here. also i need to re-read this bc I last read it like 6 years ago and I miss it. I feel kinda unoriginal by saying I love it but like. it Is good. I want to kill the protagonist with hammers, but it IS good... I think of her (1984 by george orwell) often....

red dragon, thomas harris - ok well you see I don't actually have to explain anything to you, do I? I just love it. don't know why. will graham is like a bug to me.

the count of monte cristo, alexander dumas - YET AGAIN!! GOD IS THIS BOOK ENCHANTING IF YOU ARE A CHILD NERD. it has everything: prison escape, complex revenge plot, brooding hero, a long ass side story that seems to have no connection to the main plot but eventually connects back to it, 19th century orientalism. man.

seeing the things other people have posted for this thingy made me realize I need to diversify my reading habits. mayhaps a man should not exclusively read postmodernist sci-fi and 19th century adventure novels. oh well.

anyway. if you wanna do it you can and you should. also go read philip k dick he is underrated as fuck

#yeah no. take my phone away from me

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ticiie · 2 years

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week 16: ouch - that's a sunburn

prompt from the off-season winter sport challenge

characters: Alina Odermatt, Marco Odermatt, Gabriel Gwerder (mentioned), Gino Caviezel (mentioned)

length: 762 words

There were few things in her life that Alina honestly regretted and most of them weren’t all too serious. Telling Marco the dress shirt with the flower print looked good on him was one of them for example. Or that she had waited too long to make up her mind about the nice appartement uptown which now had found a new owner that wasn’t her. But right now, the thing she absolutely and with all her heart regretted most, was not listening to neither her older brother nor his friends. And oh lord she should’ve listened. This wasn’t her first sunburn but it certainly was the worst she ever had to endure. And although she had only spent a good three hours on (and in) the lake, it had been enough to turn what seemed like every square centimetre of her skin into the likeness of a lobster. A very angry, very red lobster.

Now, one day later, she seriously considered calling in sick at work just to not having to listen her colleagues and the clients of the bank making fun of her. On the other hand, a meeting with a big company was scheduled for today and her attendance was both required and desired. So, her stubbornness left her no other option than to force herself out the door of her parent’s house- where she nearly collided with Marco.

“Now that’s quite a sunburn you got there”, he greeted her and Alina was close to punching him in the face. She showed him the middle finger and tried to shove past him but he motioned her to wait.

“Can’t this wait? I need to get to work or my boss will kill me for being late again.”

“I’ve been instructed to deliver this to you in person and to tell you the following”, before he continued, he pulled a gift bag out of his backpack that read Alinas name on the label. “Dear Alina, I am sorry for making fun of you yesterday, please accept my sincere apologies. Love, Gabriel.” Marco quoted the message from the screen of his phone, then he handed Alina the bag.

“What the actual fuck, Marco?”, she asked while shaking her head in confusion. Marco just raised his hands defensively. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on with him either. He blackmailed me and honestly, that was not the worst thing to do, since I had to come here anyways today.”

Instead of throwing another insult at her brother, Alina took a quick glance at the contents of the bag. A mixture between anger, frustration and then again sheer affection welled up inside her. Stupid dork, she thought and tried her best to not show any kind of reaction to Marco. He would just nag her and Gabriel to the ends of time if he’d knew. Of course, it was only a question of time until their whole secrecy would eventually blow up in their faces and that Alina and Gabriel would have to admit to not just her oblivious brother, but to probably their entire social circle (which also included a certain teammate of Marco’s who would for sure be the biggest nag about it alongside Marco himself), that no, Alina and Gabriel weren’t just friends, they had been dating for the past 4 months. Secretly. May God have mercy on them both.

“Now what did he get you?”, Marco asked. Alina clutched the bag to her chest to avoid giving Marco the chance to see what was inside of it. “How did he blackmail you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer as the ringing of her cell phone reminded her that she had elsewhere to be. Alina hurried to her car and was about to start its engine when Marco called: “He threatened to tell everyone about Gino and me.”

That was low, even Alina had to admit that. She sighed and gave in. Not fully though, she obviously wouldn’t be making that decision on her own accords.

“It’s an after-sun lotion he knows I like.”

She closed the door of the driver’s side before Marco could wrap his head around her words. If he had been paying attention just a tiny little bit in the past weeks, he’d probably figure it out with that being said. On the other hand, it had taken him almost half a year to realise Gino had been crushing at least as hard on him as he had been on Gino, if not more. Perhaps Alina and Gabriel got to enjoy their secret for a bit longer.

#osws fandom challenge #OSWS #rpf #marco odermatt #gino caviezel #ski alpin #fanfic #shoutout to wunderlichkind

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ajoytobeheld · 7 months

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Stars and stripes

January 31st, 2009

So we’ve been in the mighty U S of A for nearly two weeks now and it feels like the time has come to update you guys on some Los Camp! touring antics…the crazy rock n’ roll lifestyle we lead…ahem. Also, today is one of the longest travel days of the tour and boredom inevitably leads to blogging (and daydreams about Marks and Spencers food at petrol stations, god you bastards are lucky). First of all we were going to do a completely hand-drawn picture blog, but we have a short attention span so we gave up, but one has made it in as proof of our good intentions. So going back to the beginning…

We flew into the bright lights of NYC to be greeted by our lovely tour manager Joe…complete with jaunty cap (oh how we’ve missed that cap), fancy tour itineraries and personalised baseball card laminates.

It has to be said, the initial delight of having a laminated baseball card with our names on it has kinda worn off - me and Ellen have had some pretty confused looks from bouncers when trying to get into our own shows by waving our laminates at them. I guess they kind of have a point.

But yeah, New York was awesome as always; we only got to spend a day there but we experienced some new places in Brooklyn:

Gareth got excited about some glorious vegan-friendly fudgy cake, me and Ellen got excited about the chance to raid through Beacon’s closet, everyone else was probably excited for some other reason…more importantly though, we went bowling.

And I’m not mature enough not to gloat about winning, so woohoo (I, Ellen, would like to now point out that I may have come last, but it was my choice to fail so dismally). I think the boys are recovering slowly but surely. We played an instore at Soundfix, and then raced across to Habouken where Titus Andronicus were playing with Vivian Girls. Sadly, our poor little jetlagged selves couldn’t handle a late night so we had to leave promising the Titus boys plenty of future partying on tour.

So the first proper show was at Baltimore…this is what it looked like from where Ellen was standing:

She drew it whilst playing bass and juggling with knives. It was our first chance to hang out a little with the Titus boys; the start of something beautiful.

In Carborro we celebrated Tom’s birthday:

there was cake, animal birthday candles, an on-stage birthday singalong…everything to make him feel every part the birthday boy. He loved it:

We played 3 shows in Florida, where the tour motto of Bromance was born after Titus and the boys shared a hotel room for the night. We can’t elaborate on what happened, but how about we just all let our imaginations do the work.

While we were in Tampa, Gareth spent the whole day on a mission to claim the top 3 places on “Puzzle Bobble” leader board, only to be creamed by a local after her first go on it.

The Bottletree in Birmingham was one of the prettiest venues we’ve ever played, and had an amazing array of things to keep us amused in the backstage area: rubiks cubes, massage chairs, Connect 4, ‘The Complete Guide to Erotic Cinema’, Rosie O’Donnell’s biography, Hulk boxing gloves, an ataris, some lint.

Then we played a show in Memphis where the crowd were probably the best we’ve ever had. That made us happy. The next day we realised two of our glock beaters had mysteriously disappeared…So we’re going to go ahead and throw it out there that perhaps they may be somewhere in Memphis… Of course it could just be that we lost them. We’re pretty scatty. Either way: Glock Beaters Number 11 and 12 (average lifespan is 3 months) we miss you.

We had some time off in New Orleans so we all got up to some interesting things:

Todge had a cheeseburger for breakfast. Ellen got her hair done so now she’s a bit ginger. I’m talking her through it. I went to a Voodoo temple and got some blessed “success” oil. Me and Ellen dabbed some on yesterday, so I’m sure success is imminent. Ollie and Tom sampled the local doughnuts, bought some postcards, did some laundry. Gareth found a vegan friendly cafe. Neil found a burger place. We all tried typical Creole cuisine which was yummy and then we might have had some group outings to establishments on Bourbon Street. We probably watched some Family Guy somewhere along the way.

[Your favourite bloggers on Bourbon Street]

To sum up we’ve learnt some important lessons so far:

1. Pickled products are the height of popularity…some “favourites” we’ve come across are pickled pigs feet/noses and pickled sausages

2. Eric from T.A. can solve any rubiks cube 3. Barely Legal>Big Daddies>Little Darlings 4. Which venues can cater for vegans. 5. No one leaves N.O.L.A. with any dollar bills left in their wallet. 6. I (Ellen) am fairly certain I am not a cylon. But I can’t be sure.

The audiences have been amazing throughout, thank you lovely people for coming and making us feel welcome and liked.

Lots of love, Aleks and Ellen xxx

p.s

somewhere along the way this happened...

#2009 #lc!blog #lc!image

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pagesfromthevoid · 2 years

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Leave Through the Lobby | p.p. | 4

Andrew!Peter Parker x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.0k

Warnings: Language, angst. Peter being a self loathing adult

Author’s Note: I’ll reiterate that I am on a roll…Also, this is…this is angsty. I want to give Peter a happy ending, truly I do, but happy endings don’t come easy guys…

Series Masterlist | Request here

Dating in high school was nothing compared to dating as a semi-functional adult who was nearing twenty-nine. It wasn’t nearly as easy as saying, “Hey, do you want to be my girlfriend?” And then poof. You have a girlfriend. Oh, god no. Why would it ever be so easy? Even kissing someone as an adult didn’t mean you were necessarily dating; going to dinner occasionally didn’t constitute exclusivity either.

Or maybe it did and Peter was just really bad at dating.

In his defense, he’d only had one serious girlfriend prior —and that went…not so well.

Over the course of the last two months, Peter sort of assumed that he would just…feel better. Not worry about being worried about her. He kind of thought that he’d just be able to move on because she knew he was Spider-Man. After all, she made him promise to kiss her each time he left and he had been making good on that promise. They had dinner and spent nights together; woke up to each other, usually in her apartment.

But he worried every goddamn day about her. Worried constantly that he was going to repeat the same mistakes he had made with Gwen. He worried that he would put her at risk because just existing near him was a risk. He had nightmares about him coming to visit her at school, whether he was picking her up or whatever, and one of his many enemies following him there. Hurting her; hurting her students that she loved like her own children.

And on top of this anxiety he felt about hurting her, he didn’t even know if they were dating. Like they were definitely seeing each other; he knew that. The kissing, the hand holding, the sex —they were definitely doing something but Peter was almost too afraid to label it. He was too scared to push it pass what they already had going on because then it would be real, and he would be terrified all the damn time.

Not that he wasn’t already terrified all the time anyway but it would just get worse.

It was the existential terror that he felt regarding the whole thing that was preventing Peter from having the conversation that would determine what it all meant.

He wished it wasn’t so complicated; he wished he could just say, “Hey, are you my girlfriend?” and be done with it. But nothing was ever easy for Peter Parker, who was riddled with guilt and self-loathing on a regular basis.

*****

“Hey, so I need an extra chaperone for my theatre class’s field trip to see Beetlejuice,” she said one morning as she packed her lunch for the day. “Wanna go? It’s paid for as long as you fill out the volunteer paperwork!”

Peter was half listening, fiddling with his web slingers that had been short circuiting since his Green Goblin —Harry Osbourne, his former friend —had broken out of prison. Compared to the alternate version, Harry wasn’t nearly as terrifying but he was still just as strong; and just as evil. Luckily, what happened to his Harry was the same thing that happened to his older counterpart’s; which meant he could recreate the antidote they had made months ago.

“Huh?”

She slid a plate of toast and eggs his way, rolling her eyes as he finally looked up at her. God, Peter couldn’t get over how beautiful she was even at seven in the morning. She joked a few weeks back that she had more leeway in how she dressed since she taught theatre; and her favorite things to wear were outfits inspired by plays (“Kind of like Disney bounding but with plays,” she had explained. Peter just smiled and nodded). Today was no different; hair pinned up and her dress a dark purple with black lace under —though he wasn’t sure what show this was for.

“Who are you today?” He asked, completely missing her question.

“Ursula,” she said with a twirl, smiling. “So what about the play?��

“What play?”

She leaned on the counter, sighing some. Peter slid his work away, giving her his full attention now. “I’m sorry, I was distracted. I’m all yours,” he promised with a apologetic smile.

“I need one more chaperone for my field trip. I wanted you to come with us,” she reiterated, walking around the counter to look over his web slingers. “Still not working?”

Peter looked down at his web slingers, shaking his head. “No to the webs,” he sighed, picking up the toast in front of him and taking a bite. He said through a full mouth, “Absolutely to the chaperoning thing, though.”

She clapped her hands together excitedly then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Ah! Awesome! The kids will be so excited to meet the mystery boyfriend they’ve been bugging me about!”

Peter nearly choked on his food at the word ‘boyfriend’ And it was not subtle. At all.

She looked at him with concern, realizing like him that this was not a conversation that they had had yet.

“I’m sorry —I guess I just assumed —“

“No, it’s fine, I’ve been meaning to —“

“I totally get it if you don’t want to be —“

They kept speaking over each other, rambling in their awkward next step conversation. But when it finally died down, and they were left there staring at one another, Peter just nodded some. He slid the plate away from him and she sat down in the chair beside his.

It was now or never, Peter supposed. He wanted an answer. He wanted to know what they were; now was the moment to find out. Now was the time to make it real or…walk away.

Fuck, he didn’t want to walk away.

He didn’t want to lose whatever this was.

He didn’t want to lose her.

But he was so afraid that, if they take this next step, he would lose her regardless.

Then her phone alarm went off and the panic they both were feeling only heightened when he realized that she had to leave and the question was still in the air. Lingering between them like the smog that lingered outside. It killed him.

“I…I have to go to work,” she murmured, grabbing her laptop bag and lunchbox. “We can…we’ll talk tonight, okay? Just lock up when you leave.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and didn’t wait for his response, practically running out of her apartment.

Peter sat there, staring at the door for a long time.

He wanted so much. Needed so much. Needed her so much. So he stood, grabbed his web slingers, and took a breath.

There was one person who could help him make his decision; he just needed to man up and face it.

*****

Gwen’s family kept her grave clean and flooded with flowers. May also contributed, visiting far more often than Peter did. Actually, this was the first time in a long time that he had come to visit. Some days were easier than others, but today felt like the worst of them all. Like he was suddenly back in high school, trapped between the impossible, and needing a way out.

Gwen was always that out. Always picked him up when he needed it the most. When she had died…he couldn’t live with himself. He gave up the mask for a long time, refused to be the hero when he couldn’t save the one person who needed him the most. But when he picked it back up, he wasn’t a hero by any means. He was angry, and full of violence and rage that consumed him. It was something he had told his younger self about; how it was awful and that anger doesn’t fix anything.

There he stood now, though; that anger returning. The anger that ate away at him, and made him hate himself for so long. It still ate at him; gnawed at his bones like vultures picking at roadkill. He kneeled down in front of her grave, taking a deep breath as he tried to push that anger away. It wasn’t that he was angry at anyone specifically —that’s not true, he was angry with himself. He was always angry with himself.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, picking up a picture of Gwen that had recently been placed there. Ten years later, and the last photo of her was from the Christmas with her family.

Peter was cut out of it.

Fair enough.

He set the photo back down, moving to sit in a more comfortable position. Peter figured he’d be there a while. “I’m sorry I haven’t come by recently,” he continued, taking his backpack off and opening it up. He pulled out a photo of his own; the one that sat on his desk at home usually. It was the last photo they had taken together as a couple; a selfie that he had printed and framed. He set it down. “I’ve been having a hard time adjusting. I wish you were here; I-I travelled through the multiverse.”

Gwen would have freaked out about that. Would have been so excited, and asked every question imaginable. He wondered how Y/N would react when he inevitably told her. She and Gwen were completely different; Gwen was more of an academia kind of girl, and Y/N an arts kind of girl. Neither of these were bad, of course, and Peter wouldn’t dare compare the two to one another. No, what he loved in Gwen was different from what he loved in Y/N.

The dawning of the realization struck him like lightning and Peter buried his face in his hands.

“I’m in love with Y/N,” he mumbled into his hands, unsure if the feeling should be joyous or remorseful. Peter forced his gaze back to Gwen’s grave, wiping his eyes gently. “I’m so afraid to love her, though. After losing you —how can I do that to someone else? How can I risk her life when I know what happens when things go wrong?”

He waited for an answer, as if it were possible to get one. Magic existed in the alternate universe, maybe it could exist here too.

But he couldn’t just sit and wait for a miracle answer.

“She called me her boyfriend this morning; I think she’s been referring to me as her boyfriend for a while,” he explained, wiping his eyes. “I haven’t told anyone about her; though she has way more friends than I do. I haven’t told May though. I’m…I’m so scared that the moment I accept that it’s real, that I…that I love her like I did you —I’ll lose her like I lost you too.”

He paused, looking up at the sky for a moment. All he wanted was some kind of sign. Something that told him what the hell to do. Anything to tell him that loving her was the right thing to do.

“You gotta tell her, kid.”

Peter’s eyes dropped from the sky to an old man, a few plots down, who wore sunglasses and held flowers. He gave Peter a sweet smile.

“I wasn’t meaning to ease drop, but I couldn’t help it,” he explained, setting the flowers down on the grave before him. Peter stood, gathering his things. “You’re still young; and take it from an old man —your first love isn’t always your last. It’s okay to move on. She’d want you to.”

Peter stared at the man for a moment, trying to hold back tears. Then he nodded. The old man waved some, smiling, before he returned to his own grieving. Peter looked back at Gwen’s grave, then to the sky for just a moment.

He supposed that was his sign, wasn’t it?

———

Series Masterlist | Requests are OPEN

———

Author’s Note: Can we take a wild guess on who the old man is?

#andrew!peter x reader #andrew garfield x reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker #andrew garfield

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1kook · 3 years

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viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all.

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms.

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization.

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him?

You’re not so sure.

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows.

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed.

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did.

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?”

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that.

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you.

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes.

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise.

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well.

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows.

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments.

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary.

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight.

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise.

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s.

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face.

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth.

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self.

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first.

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups.

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.”

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features.

Oh, you loved this man.

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane.

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway.

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself?

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on.

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.”

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car.

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant.

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you.

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass.

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass.

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit.

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks.

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe.

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear.

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs.

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck.

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush.

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river.

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river.

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!”

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is.

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.”

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.”

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song.

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off.

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign.

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device.

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen.

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line.

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?”

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?”

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.”

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred?

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend?

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate.

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell.

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird!

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at.

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?”

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words.

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?”

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.”

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut.

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead.

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again.

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account.

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?”

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now.

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook.

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.”

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms.

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing.

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes.

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.”

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat.

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment.

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze.

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river.

“I thought he was cool before.”

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you.

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth.

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor.

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?”

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?”

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own.

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.”

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.”

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling.

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen.

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud.

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief.

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship.

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.)

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man.

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot.

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim.

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either.

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.”

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”)

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes.

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.”

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement.

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.”

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes.

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself.

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone.

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura.

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.”

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end.

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.”

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly.

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is.

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead.

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them.

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.”

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.”

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr.

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet.

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again.

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue.

You whimper. “That hurt.”

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey.

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see.

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck.

Of course.

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss.

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it.

And you’re all too ready to act on it.

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy.

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw.

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare.

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him.

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds.

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair.

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips.

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit.

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders.

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you.

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull.

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around.

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you.

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view.

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings.

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you.

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely.

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise.

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth.

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness.

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest.

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor.

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes.

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air.

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead.

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions.

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been.

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table.

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again.

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs.

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true.

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low.

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you.

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you.

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix.

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin.

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction.

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper.

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust.

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly.

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface.

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed.

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy.

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why.

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home.

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you.

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad.

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying.

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses.

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes.

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside.

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds.

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly.

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?”

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder.

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you.

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit.

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you.

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different.

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap.

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out.

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds.

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.”

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly.

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you.

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic.

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom.

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet.

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums.

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?”

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?”

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you.

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house.

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise.

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors.

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.”

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag.

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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imthebadguyyy · 3 years

Text

A/N - based off of this sinful photograph

Suggested listening - Wildside by Normani and Kiss It Better by Rihanna

Wildside

Pairing - Lewis Hamilton x Reader (fem!littlemix!reader)

Fandom - F1

Summary - You've been on tour for a while, and you miss your loverboy. But when he surprises you on tour, its bound to get spicy.

Warnings - smut (not well written)

The snap of hips. The soft groans and moans. The sound of pants. The sound of Rihanna's 'Kiss It Better' blaring through the walls. The bed knocking against the wall as Lewis's hands squeezed your hips, the intensity of the thrust pushing the bed against the wall. The high pitched moan that left your mouth as you reached your high, eyes closing as stars exploded behind your eyelids, as your boyfriend came right after you, your walls clenching as he came. Even after reaching your high, you didn't want to open your eyes, far too consumed in the earth shattering pleasure that was coursing through your veins, until a soft hand reached to pull your chin up, soft brown eyes looking into your own, clouded with lust and euphoria.

Pulling your mouth into his in a heated kiss, Lewis moved his hand to rest on your bare stomach, squeezing your tummy softly as he deepened the kiss. Pulling away he let his head droop onto your bare chest. "That was.." he began, far too blissed out to think of an adjective. "Godly" you said, chest rising and falling rapidly, trying to come to terms with the intensity of your orgasm. Laughing he leaned back up to kiss your nose, before standing up and walking to the bathroom. You heard the tap running, and the sound of the dustbin opening and closing. You closed your eyes again, the aftershocks still coursing through your body.

Opening them again slowly, you saw Lewis walk towards you, towel in hand, and a lazy smile on his face. He gently cleaned your thighs, finishing with kisses on both of them. He reached up and wiped your torso, which was gleaming with a thin layer of sweat, before running the towel over your nose, cheeks, eyes and mouth. He dropped the towel in the clothes hamper near the bathroom door, pulling on his boxer shorts and and pulling out one of his t shirts from the cupboard. "What about the clothes on the floor" you piped up, finally beginning to wake up from your post pleasure state. "When did it get so messy?" He said, spotting 5 different clothing items in 5 different corners of the room. "When you decided to run your hand up my dress in a restraunt" you replied, throwing him a fake glare.

"You liked it" was his cocky reply, smirk spreading over his face as you flushed and ran a hand through your hair. "I did not" you lied, watching as he raised his eyebrows. "Oh really ? Thats not what you were saying 5 minutes ago- oh wait, you weren't saying anything at all. You were too busy moaning my name to say anything else-" "OKAY fine I loved it. Now shut up and bring your fine ass back for cuddles"

*-*-*

That was a month ago. Now you've been away for nearly one and half months, away with the girls on the LM5 tour. You loved touring, it was the best part of being a singer, getting to see the music you girls made together come to life on a stage in front of thousands and thousands of screaming fans. It was a thrill like no other. The only problem was that you were away from home. Distance was never an issue for the two of you, after all, he was a Formula 1 driver. It was very rare that he was home, except during the breaks and the gaps till race weekend, but ever since you two had started dating, he tried to be with you whenever you could. Sometimes, your shows would be in places where the races were too, and then he'd definitely turn up. But it was a difficult thing to do all the time, and some nights on tour were spent pulling all nighters as you talked to each other on the phone, till one of you eventually fell asleep.

But you knew when you started dating him, this wouldn't exactly be a regular relationship. The two of you were doing your dream jobs, and they were both extraordinary. And you were willing to put in the work you had to put in to make the relationship work, and you did. Yet here you were in Madrid, feeling heartbroken and desperately wanting your boyfriend by your side. It had been a rough couple of weeks, you were jet lagged and tired, and although this was the second leg of the tour, and you had had a break, it was tiring. It was hard going to bed every night alone, when all you wanted was to cuddle your boyfriend.

Little did you know, Lewis was feeling the same. In fact he had missed you so much, he had told Angela and his publicist to cancel all events for a week, while he flew out to Madrid to see you. He had missed you, he had missed you more than he could put into words. But he also wanted to surprise you. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled down to Leigh Anne's contact, and sent her a text.

Lewis, Leigh Anne

Hey. Is Y/N asleep ?

Hey! No, she's in an outfit fitting.

Okay that's good. I need your help with something.

Sure how can I help ?

I want to surprise her by coming to see you guys in Madrid.

Oh thats wonderful ! She's been a little down in the dumps. I think she misses you.

I miss her too.

Let me know when, and I'll send a car to pick you up.

I'll be there on Saturday. Landing at 3:15 and I should be at the hotel by 4:30. Then I can get ready and surprise her at the show.

Okay done. I'll send the car around 5:30,so you can rest for a bit. You should be here by 6. The show's at 6:15.

Thank you! Can't wait : )

I'm so happy youre coming to see her ! I'll let the girls know.

*-*-*

As soon as he had finished texting, Lewis decided to start packing, the prospect of seeing you again sending a buzz of happiness running along his veins. God, he had missed you a lot. He turned to Roscoe, the dog sitting by his feet, looking up at his dad with his head cocked to one side. "I'm going to go see Mumma, Roscoe" he explained, smiling as the doggo barked in response. He wouldn't be able to take him to Madrid, he'd have to leave him with a dog sitter, but he couldn't feel too bad about it, since he had had Roscoe with him even when you were gone. And besides, Roscoe enjoyed the dog creche. He couldn't wait for Saturday.

Later in the evening, he sat down with a glass of wine, while the ringtone of your FaceTime rang through the empty house. After a few more seconds of ringing, the call was picked up, your tired face coming into view. "Hi darling" he said, noticing the tiredness in your eyes, and how much you were struggling to keep them open. "Hi bubs. Did you finish eating?" You asked, rubbing your eyes. "No, I've ordered soup" (did anyone get the reference ;) "Oh okay" was the reply. "What about you? What time is it?" "Its 9:20 AM" you replied, gently rubbing your eyes again, forcing yourself to stay awake.

"9:20? Thats pretty late baby. Why are you still sleepy?" "We were recording till 4 AM, so Im functioning on like 5 hours sleep right now" "Oh damn. Go back to sleep then baby" "Can't, rehearsal" was you reply, making him furrow his eyebrows. "Okay I guess. But don't tire yourself out" "I won't" "I love you" he said, smiling at you. "I love you"

*-*-*-*

The Madrid show was always a fun one. The fans were loud and you loved it. They were one of the best crowds you girls ever played for, and the show had its own adrenaline and excitement. But it was difficult to give a 100% when you were tired, but you really tried, you did. During Power, you hit highnotes you didnt think you could, during Woman Like Me you danced like there was no tomorrow. During Wasabi, you brought your sass level up to a 1000. It was during Bounce Back that you caught sight of a very familiar face in the audience. Unable to actually grasp if you had actually seen Lewis, you turned to Jade, who was on your side, and looked back at the crowd and back to her, asking for confirmation.

The smirk she gave you was answer enough. After that, focusing on giving an excellent performance increased tenfold. Every swirl of your hips, every flip of your hair, every wink you threw at the audience, it was all five times sexier. In the crowd, your boyfriend was well aware of what you were doing, and it was fair to say that you were succeeding at it. He could feel an uncomfortable sensation around his pants region, as his cock twitched uncomfortably in his pants. He couldn't wait till the show was over, and you two could have a show of your own.

*-*-*

"That was amazing darling!" Lewis said, spotting the 5 of you in your dressing room. "Oh look its Mr. Loverboy!" Perrie said, cackling as you rolled your eyes at her, before running up to your lover and jumping into his arms. "Hiya Bub! I missed you!" "I missed you too love. That's why I surprised you. I couldn't stand another day without you at home" he said, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you stable as you jumped into his arms. A chorus of "awws" echoed throughout the room, as the girls watched your cute little interaction. What wasn't cute however was the comment Lewis made in your ear, hiding his face in your ear so that the girls couldn't see. "I can't wait to get back to the hotel. I saw the performance you were putting on for me baby. You have no idea how hard I got, how uncomfortable I was standing in front of so many people when all I really wanted to do was fuck you"

You could feel your mouth become dry, and your heartbeat quicken, and you could feel the area between your thighs become wet. You tightened your grip around him, letting your crotch rub against his very softly. "I think it's time to go" you mumbled against his ear. "Okay girls, as lovely as it was to see you, I think it's time we go back to the hotel. I'm pretty worn out from travelling as well" "Yeah I'm pretty tired too" you replied, faking a large yawn. "Alright then, we'll see you guys tomorrow!" Leigh Anne said, leaning forward to give you a hug. After you finished hugging all the girls, the two of you made your way to the car, eagerly waiting to get back home.

The car ride home was tense. The tension was apparent in the air, reverberating through the air, choking you in a way you revelled in. The air was thick with tension, and it was suffocating you in the best way possible. It was almost too much to take. When the hotel came into sight, you practically leapt out of the car, and rushed to the door, an equally ruffled Lewis beside you. But he was not going to give in to you so easily. He enjoyed seeing you flustered. And he was not a person that gave someone what they wanted when they asked for it,no. He was going to have you desperate for it. Smirking to himself, he made his way to the reception, grabbing you by the waist as he went.

Throwing him a confused look you followed, slightly frustrated. "Hello sir, how can I help you?" the man at the reception asked, eyes going slightly wide as he recognized the two of you. "Hi! I just wanted to ask, till what time is your pool and spa open?" He asked, sliding his hand down to the back of your dress. "The pool closes at 10 pm sir, and the spa at 9 pm. We open the pool at 7 am and the spa at 11pm"he replied, struggling to maintain his professionalism as he spoke to one of the best drivers in Formula 1. "Alright thank you. And what time does breakfast start?" Lewis asked, hand pressing down on your ass, ever so discreetly. "Breakfast is from 6-10 am sir" "Thank you so much"

Next to him, you were fuming. Of course he was going to ask questions to which he already knew the answers to. A painful throb between your legs made you let out a small whimper, and the man at the reception looked at you with concern in his eyes. "Ma'am are you alright?" He asked, eyeing your stiff posture and tense state. "Yes, just tired, thank you" you replied, a little stiffly, but it was hard to concentrate when Lewis's promise of fucking you senseless kept replaying in your mind. "Alright then, good night" Lewis said, biting back a smirk at your flustered state. He knew getting you all riled up would lead to some seriously earth shattering sex, and he couldn't wait. But first, he definitely wanted to tease you, to push you over the edge, just a little more.

Your room was on the 16th floor, and as the two of you made your way into the elevator, he eyed you up and down, eyes lingering on the curve of your breasts. The minute the door shut, he pushed you against the wall, capturing your lips in a steamy kiss you'd be remembering the next day. His hands moved to your ass, squeezing hard, eliciting a moan from your lips. The moment your lips parted, he was pushing his tongue into yours, his other hand coming up to pull on your hair roughly, relishing in the gasp that left your lips. As suddenly as he started, he stopped, pulling back and standing almost nonchalantly against the wall.

Trying to wrap your head around what happened, you gripped the wall with your hand, feeling your legs grow weak to a point where you felt like you couldn't stand on your own. You could feel your wetness dripping, threatening to run down your thighs, as the throbbing became even more painfully exciting. You looked down at the floor, eyes closing as your frustration grew more and more by the second. Finally, with a little 'ding', the elevator stopped at the 16th floor. The moment the door opened you stepped out on wobbly legs, trying your best to walk properly. But of course, that wasn't going to happen. As you turned one long corridor, Lewis suddenly grabbed your waist, pushing you against the wall again, to reach down and suck on your neck. You let out a gasp, and tried to run your crotch against his, but the retaliated with a slap to your ass, smirking when a high pitched moan left your lips. Lifting you up against the wall, he mumbled against your ear "the key card" your clouded mind was unable to process the words, too consumed by slight relief you were getting. "Get the key card baby" he repeated. This time you noted it, reaching down to his pants pocket to pull out the key card. You couldn't resist running your hand over his cock, feeling how rock hard he was. The thought of him fucking you senseless returned, and you let out a groan.

Grabbing the card from your hand, he opened the door, propping you up against the door in your bedroom. His eyes were filled with a raw, animal desire, as he dropped the card on the floor and reached up to unzip your dress. He ripped the zipper down, your dress falling to the floor in a crumpled heap. He locked his eyes on your heaving chest, hand reaching up to grab your chin, pulling you in for a searing kiss. His hand slid up your torso, reaching behind to unhook the red lacy bra you were wearing, letting it drop to the floor as he took in the glorious sight in front of him. You waited, wanting him to just touch you, but he just stared, eyes looking into yours, clearly saying "beg for it"

You couldn't help the soft "please" that left your lips, too desperate for some sort of touch. "Please what?' Lewis said, tightening his grip on your waist. "Please" was all you could say again, nearly whimpering again at the rough look in his eyes. "Use your words baby. Now, please what?" "Please just touch me!" You finally gasped out, moaning loudly when he licked a stripe down your chest before taking your right tit into his mouth. His hand fondled the left one, running his thumb over your erect nipple, the rough pad of his thumb sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. His mouth sucked on the skin of your tit, before moving down to bite down on your nipple. You gasped again, pain and pleasure coursing through your body as his tongue ran over your nipple over and over till it nearly felt raw. He switched his actions, moving his mouth to your left tit instead, letting his hand harshly fondle the other. He continued the same process of biting, licking and sucking, till he was satisfied with himself. "I fucking love this baby. Seeing you all wet and needy for me. So what do you want? My mouth? My fingers? My cock? Or does my baby want them all ?" He asked, watching as your pupils dilated and you let out a strangled moan.

You let your crotch rub against his thigh, gasping when the friction went straight to your core. "Look at you darling. I asked you what you what you wanted, and you picked my thighs? Well, I want to see you dripping. I want to see you cum on my fingers, my mouth, my thighs and especially on my cock. I'm going to make you cum over and over and over again till you can't even stand on your own fucking legs. I want your thighs to be shaking around my head. I want to see you moan and groan and scream my name so loud, by tomorrow everyone in this hotel will know my name, because you'll spend all night screaming it" you moaned again, his words going straight to your core."Please Lewis, God, just make me cum please!" The desperation of your cry was enough for him to carry you to the bed, dropping your body onto the soft mattress.

He pulled of shirt, unbuttoning every button so you could see him do it. He could see your eyes grow dark, as his compass tattoo came into sight. You had told him it was one of your favourites, and he had used it against you ever since you had told him that. Smirking at you, he climbed onto the bed, lying down between your legs. You pushed yourself up against the headboard, spreading your legs wide for him. His eyes grew dark, as your core came into his view, shimmering with your juices. A near animalistic growl left his mouth, the sound hitting your core. He moved so that he was situated right in front of your core. He let his eyes take in the sight of you in front of him, snapping back to reality when you let out a groan of frustration. Throwing you a devilishly reassuring smile, he inched neared and nearer, till his nose was nearly touching your clit. Then he just lay there. Not moving. You could feel your heartbeat hammering against your chest, chest heaving up and down, an alarming intense feeling growing in your tummy. Finally, when it became too much you let out a small scream of frustration "Oh for fucks sake Lewis please just fuck me!" Your outburst brought a smile to his face. "Oh I will. Just not yet" and with that, he ran a finger along your slit, before finally slipping it into you. You let out a moan, finally getting the friction you had been desperate for. His fingers circled your clit, thumb gently pressing down, before he removed it,only to slam it back down on your sensitive clit, earning a scream of pleasure from you.

He slipped a second finger into you, scissoring around your clit, as your desperate cries of "oh, oh baby! Fuck, fuck lewis-" were lost in the heat of the moment. He leaned his head down to your core, letting his tongue run along your slit too, before licking around it, collecting your wetness on his tongue, before letting it harshly circle your clit. You bucked up into his mouth, feeling his tongue wrap around your clit. He sucked the nub harshly, his fingers still moving in and out of you. "Oh God, Oh GOD, Lew-I- oh! Oh God!" Your broken moans were music to his ears as he sucked your clit into his mouth. You could feel a strange intensity growing in your stomach, feeling a lot stronger than your usual orgasm. The band in your tummy was threatening to snap, but you needed that something more to help it snap. That something more came when Lewis sucked your clit into his mouth, letting it rest in between his teeth, before flicking it with his tongue.

With a cry of "Oh fucking hell, Lew-" you camr gushing into his mouth, your juices coating his fingers and gushing onto his tongue, as he let you ride out your orgasm on his deadly skilled tongue. Well, he had got his wish. Your thighs were shaking around his head, as your body tried to come to terms with the intensity of the pleasure coursing through your body. Looking down, you saw him with his painfully hard cock, grinding down on the sheet, as he let out a moan at the relief the bedsheets gave him. Raising an eyebrow, you patted your thigh, signaling him to come over to you. "You loved on me so well bubs. But I can see how hard you are. Do you want to use me to get off?" You asked, watching the effect you had on him. All he could do was nod, as you sat up on your knees. "Stand up" you ordered, getting up from the bed as well.

You walked over to the wall, letting your body rest against it. Somewhat confused, Lewis followed you, standing in the space between your legs. "I tried to get off using your thighs didn't I? I think you'll enjoy it as much as I did. So use me. Use my thigh. Get off" looking at you in pure shock, your boyfriend moved forward, groaning when you pushed your leg against his throbbing cock. He relished in the friction, slowly beginning to move against your leg, moaning when he began to rub against your leg. He began to hump your leg faster, as the pleasure began to build up in his body, before you reached your hand down to cup his length in your hands, moaning when you realized your fingers didn't quite meet. You ran your fingers along his length. You pumped him, letting your thumb circle his sensitive tip, eliciting a soft whine from him. You circled faster, moving down to your knees, and letting your tongue run up his shaft very softly. Above you, Lewis slammed his hands against the wall, groaning when you took him into your mouth.

But a part of him still wanted to cum inside when he was fucking you (in a condom, because wrap it before you tap it) so he pulled you back up, smirking when you whined. "I know baby, but I just really wanna fuck you now. Back on the bed please, unless you want me to take you here against this wall" practically running, you clambered onto the bed. You watched as Lewis pulled out a condom, ripping the packet open before climbing back on top of you. He let his hand rest on your hip, eyes temporarily losing some of the animalistic need that had been present in them. Leaning down, he connected your lips together in a kiss, a searing, intense kiss that took your breath away. "Ready love?" He asked, looking into your eyes, looking to see if there was even a slight hint that you didn't want this. But you did.

With a sudden jolt, he thrust himself into you, groaning when your warm walls clamped down on him. His hips thrust into you, starting off slow, letting you adjust to his massive length. "My sweet baby,taking me so well. Does it feel good?" You couldn't even respond, mouth agape, as his the pace of his thrusts increased. "Answer me" he said, suddenly stopping. Almost crying out at the loss of pleasure, you looked at him with desperation. "Yes yes, fuck it feels so good, please don't stop!" "Thats all you had to say baby" he said, before pushing in again, slowly. Then, he pulled back out. Looking at him in confusion, you gasped when he slammed back into you, a high pitched moan of "Lewis!" leaving your lips. He moved so that he had a better hold of your hips, rocking the both of you back and forth, the intensity of his thrusts was so much that the bed knocked back against the wall. What he wasn't expecting was for you to take his left thumb up to your mouth, running your tongue over it before sucking on it.

Moaning, he started thrusting into you even harder, shifting so that he was directly hitting your g spot. "Oh, God ! Oh fuck, Baby that feels so good please keep going keep-oh!" The cry that left your lips was so loud, you were sure Perrie in the room next to yours had heard you. "Fuck baby, you take me so well" Lewis said, as he nearly hammered your g spot. He was so, so damn close to cumming, and when you leant up and bit a sensitive spot on his neck, he came, gushing into the guard between you two, but he wanted you to cum to, so he reached down to pinch and rub your clit, still riding out his orgasm in you, moaning when you came with a scream. He winced when your core spasmed on his sensitive cock, and he pulled out slowly, before collapsing next to you. Panting, you curled up to him, letting your hand rest on his compass tattoo. "Okay that was Godlike" you said, earning a tired laugh from your lover.

"Yeah it really was. I missed you" he said, allowing you to nuzzle into his neck, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "I missed you too" you replied, kissing the tattoo. "I love you too" As you lay there together, still revelling in the moment, your phone buzzed. Reaching over to check it, you saw your groupchat with the girls flooding with messages.

-*-*-

Perrie 🧚🏻‍♀️ - Y/N, I'm filing a noise complaint. 🍆

Jade ✨ - Pez 😂 let them be. It's been a while for her.

Leigh 🦋- She really got some tonight huh? 😏

Perrie 🧚🏻‍♀️- LOL she did !! And it was obviously some goooood 'some' *wink wink*

Jade ✨- I could hear em too, and Im on the other end of the hall.

Leigh 🦋 - I know I did too! Must be some damn good sex. 😏

Perrie 🧚🏻‍♀️ - Go Y/N !!

Jade ✨ - Can't wait till she reads this.

Perrie 🧚🏻‍♀️ - Are they still going?!

Leigh 🦋 - No 😂 she's reading the messages. Y/N!! Yoohoo!

You - yes I'm here 🖕🏽

Jade ✨ - Did you have fun babe 😏

You - ..... yes

Perrie 🧚🏻‍♀️ - babe you can't really say no because we heard you

You- Im not saying I didn't have fun. But you guys need to calm down.

Leigh 🦋 - But its funnn

You - okay byeeee ❤

Perrie 🧚🏻‍♀️ - Going for a round 2 😏?

You - okay I said bye.

Leigh 🦋 - she is !!

Jade ✨ - Go babe !

You - I need to leave this group.

Perrie 🧚🏻‍♀️ - No we love you !! ❤

Leigh 🦋 - Yeah don't leave us ❤

Jade ✨- Don't leave meee ! ❤

You - Haha I'd never leave you girls ❤ now bye.

Jade ✨ - bye babe !

Perrie 🧚🏻‍♀️ - bye you sexy minx 😏

Leigh - bye hun 💙

*-*-*

Smiling to yourself, you put your phone away, to see Lewis looking at you with a raised eyebrow. "Who was it?" "Just the girls" you said, cuddling back up to him. "What did they say?" Giggling, you looked up to him and kissed his neck. "They said they're going to file a noise complaint. And they asked me if we were going for a round two" "Were we really that loud?" He asked, looking at you in surprise. "Yeah, even Leigh heard us and she's at the end of the hall!" "Damn" Lewis said laughing. "Well," he said, looking at you again, with a cheeky look in his eye, "they were right about one thing" "And what is that?" You asked, smiling at him mischievously. "We are going for a round two"

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

@maxverstappenx @grandestrategia (because you are worth it 🦋💙)

#lewis hamilton #formula 1 #f1 #sir lewis #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x reader smut #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton imagines #lewis hamilton imagine #f1 imagines #f1 imagine #f1 smut #f1 drivers x reader #f1 drivers imagines #f1 drivers smut #littlemix!reader #little mix 🙌🏼🦋#little mix

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