#made of glass chapter twenty one

[next-autopsy]

A/N: Well, hi there!

I'm back! Hope y'all enjoy this chapter, lmk what you think, I love hearing from you guys x

Based on the actors portrayal/hbo show and written with no disrespect to the real life veterans. Also all images found on Pinterest.

TW: swearing, casual 1940s racism, yelling/fighting, not much else tbh....

Tags: @malarkgirlypop, @panzershrike-pretz hmu if you want to be added

Made of Glass

Chapter twenty one: Chock-a-Block

The next month was uneventful compared to previous ones. June was slow and felt heavy, dragging on and seeming longer than it was. Birdie spent a lot of the month by George’s side The two became increasingly close, sharing all sorts of pleasantries and childhood stories. Birdie loved hearing about his nine siblings and the practical jokes he pulled on them. It reminded her of her own mischievous family who she was missing more than ever. 

July came and went by comparison. Birdie received a letter from her brother-in-law, stating his wife, her oldest sister, Helen had safely given birth to the couple's second child. They already had a little boy, Daniel and now were blessed with a girl. They named her Gracie, a variation of Bernadette's middle name and asked her to be the newborns' Godmother. Of course she was ecstatic and accepted gleefully. Sadly, she would miss the babies christening but the sentiment was there. 

By the end of August, rumours were spreading that they would soon be on the move. Their next destination was a curious speculation. A bet ran through the regiment: Europe or the Pacific? 

September started and the 506th was preparing to move once again, leaving Camp Mackall behind. Easy presented themselves prim and proper in their class A uniforms and packed everything they had in the basic olive green sacks provided for their belongings. 

A train awaited them, the soldiers climbed aboard without question. It was packed but no one minded too much, they just bunched up and invaded their neighbours personal space like it was a game. 

Bernadette shuffled through the teeny walkway of the moving train, legs and bags stuck out making her journey that much more difficult. 

“Birdie! Saved you a seat!” Her attention was captured by the brown haired man calling out to her. She smiled when she saw him, guarding the space next to him like it was his job. Bernadette tried to make her way closer to Luz but the train wobbled and threw her off balance. She toppled over ungracefully and landed atop someone's lap. 

She began spitting out apologies and her face turned red, rightfully embarrassed by the situation. When she looked up and saw Liebgott's face smirking at her, she wanted to die; right then and there. 

“Good trip?” That shit eating grin made Birdie want to slap him, she settled for rolling her eyes and scoffing instead. Birdie got up and balanced herself, making sure to use his shoulders to aid her ascent. She shoved him hard enough for him to understand she was less than pleased about the whole ordeal, but in a playful manner so that he knew she wasn’t really mad. Joe smiled at her, a genuine smile that reached his eyes and caused her to reciprocate. 

“Birdie!” George called out again, sensing she was distracted and needed some prompting. She whipped her head round to him and nodded to show she had heard the impatient man. 

“You better go before he screams so loud the whole train hears.” Lieb joked, he didn’t really want to send her away but there was no real reason for her to stay. The southern woman spoke softly, telling him she would see him around before joining her friend at the other end of the train car. 

Liebgott had been accepted into her posse with little resistance, he was already friends with most of the guys she hung around anyway. It was mainly Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere who didn’t love the fact that he and Bernadette were on friendlier terms, the two still held grudges against him for his previous treatment of the woman. He didn't really blame them, he had been particularly difficult when it came to Coldwell.

Over the past months, Joe had come to terms with the fact he actually wanted to be Birdie’s friend. Tipper kept trying to get a love confession out of him but he was adamant it wasn't like that. Sure he liked the woman, but in a totally platonic way of course. Besides, they were both soldiers being sent to the front lines, when would they have time to date and fall in love? Not that he wanted that. He didn’t. 

Joseph Liebgott was perfectly happy being friends with Bernadette Coldwell and that was that.

The train had taken hundreds, if not thousands of soldiers aboard to a shipyard in Brooklyn, New York. It was Birdie’s first time in the city, though she didn't get to see much of it as they were ushered onto the SS Samaria in an orderly fashion. 

The sun began settling, turning the sky a beautiful mix of pink and pastel orange, Birdie's favourite shade of the fiery colour. Luz had snagged a life vest for the woman and shoved it on her so he could pull her out onto the deck and watch as the ship passed the statue of liberty. 

It was a surreal moment, one Bernadette would always remember. The green lady loomed over them, as if bidding the soldiers goodbye and good luck. It felt real now, they were finally leaving their beloved home country and joining the war effort.

As the ship left the mainland of America behind, the sombre mood grew. George and Birdie shared a cigarette on the deck before returning to the bunks below. It was crowded, more than the train had been and now, the lack of space was starting to get on everyone's nerves.

Everyone tried to keep themselves busy, playing cards, writing letters home or reading whatever books they could find. Most of the men smoked freely which caused the already state air locked in with them to be tainted with tobacco. 

After five full days stuck in the overcrowded, sweaty mass of men, Birdie had had enough. She was ready to get off this ship, unsure if she could take another day. She had seen men get sick from the constant swaying and vomit where they stood and now she was noticing the raise in tempers as cabin fever descended. 

It was unbelievably hot and all Birdie wanted was some fresh air and silence but conversation continued on around her, disregarding her wants. 

She could hear Muck and Malarkey chatting to each other while they approached the area she was stewing in. The men in question climbed up the sides of the hammock like cots as you would a ladder and settled into the spaces next to and above her. 

“Hey guys, I’m glad I'm going to Europe.” Toye spoke up, inserting himself into the conversation. He pulled out his switchblade knife and flicked it open for dramatic effect, “Hilter gets one of these right across the windpipe. Roosevelt changes Thanksgiving to Joe Toye day, and pays me ten grand a year for the rest of my fuckin’ life.” 

“What if we don’t get to Europe? What if they send us to North Africa?” A voice from above Birdie called down. The woman tried to shuffle closer to Bill, her bunk mate, to see who it was but his body got in the way and unless Birdie wanted to mount the man, it would remain a mystery. Bill ruffled her hair and plucked the cigarette out of her hand.

“My brothers in North Africa.” Guarnere took a long drag of the stolen smoke, “He says it's hot.”

“Really? It’s hot in Africa?” You could actually see the sarcasm coming off of Malakey and he paused his reading of the comic he held in front of him to make fun of the man's obvious comment.

“Shuddup!” The Philadelphian shot at the redhead before continuing, “The point is, it don’t matter where we go.” Birdie reclaimed her cigarette while Bill was distracted, mid sentence, “Once we get into combat, the only person you can trust is yourself, and the fella next to you.”

Bernadette cleared her throat, raising her eyebrow at her talkative friend as if to tell him to rethink his words. Bill rolled his eyes and added, “Or lady next to ya. Happy?” She nodded, that would suffice.

“Hey, as long as he’s- uh… they’re a paratrooper.” Toye added from his place by their boots, trying to avoid a glare from the Mississippi woman. 

“Oh yeah?” Luz exclaimed from the opposite side of the aisle, “And what if that paratrooper turns out to be Sobel?” He was climbing up to his bunk on the top most rack, George hoisted himself up and past Christenson, who added his two cents to the discussion, 

“If I'm next to Sobel in combat, I'm moving on down the line. Hook up with some other officer, like Heyliger or Winters.” Pat had a special hatred for the CO after he was made to march twenty-four miles, full pack and in the dark, half of it completely alone; all on Sobel’s orders. 

“I like Winters. He’s a good man.” Bill began speaking once more. It was then that Birdie noticed Skip leaning over his hammock above her and poking his head down so she and Malarkey could see him. Malarkey eyed up the cigarette he had in his hand and silently asked Muck for a puff, she shook her head and giggled at the two. 

“But when the bullets start flying, I don't know if I want a Quaker doing my fighting for me.” Guarnere thieved Birdie’s nearly finished smoke yet again, she responded with an outraged, “Hey!” but he ignored her, pushing himself up and jumping down to the ground. Bernadette shuffled over into the empty space Guarnere had left.

“How do you know he’s a Quaker?” Skip asked, flipping down into Birdie’s, now vacant, cot and giving her an unlit cigarette to make up for the blatant robbery he had witnessed. 

“He ain’t Catholic.” Bill shrugged, snubbing out the butt of his pilfered tobacco stick on the floor with his boot. 

“Neither is Sobel.” Don called, passing his comic to Skip who immediately started flicking through the pages with interest.  

“That pricks a Son of Abraham.” 

“He’s what?” Liebgott, who sat across from where Bill now stood, had perked up at the term he used. He was happy to listen in to the conversation, it kept his mind occupied but when the expression was used like a slur he had to say something. 

“He’s a Jew.” Bill clarified, assuming Lieb just hadn't heard the phrase before.

“Oh fuck…” Liebgott muttered under his breath, he laughed but not because anything humorous had been said. He threw the cigarette butt he was fiddling with down before shuffling off his bunk and jumping. He landed with a thud and stepped over to Guarnere so they were face to face. Joe looked down at the man, chest puffed, “I’m a Jew.” 

Several men (and Birdie) sat up or shuffled closer to the two hot heads, anticipating a fight to break out.  

“Congratulations.” Pronounced bitingly, not actually intended to congratulate, “Get your nose outta my face.” Bill pushed Lieb’s chest, forcing him backwards. 

Birdie stared, she knew Lieb was going to swing, she could see him planning it out in his mind. She noticed his curled fist and knew an attack was imminent, before she could do anything, Lieb took a jab. His target blocked him and they grabbed onto each other attempting to… Birdie didn’t know what. Strangle each other? Hug? Who knew?

Multiple men also grabbed into the pair but no one could break them apart. Birdie scoffed and jumped down, she shoved people out of her way and when she got close enough to see her friends through the growing crowd, she yelled. It was the loudest her voice had ever gone; a screech, if you will.

“That’s enough!” Her words froze the horde of angry sweaty men. Bill and Joe still held onto each other, fists grabbed onto handfuls of shirt but now their focus was on the girl. She huffed and pushed surrounding men away from the idiots who began the kerfuffle until she reached them. Everyone else watched on, curious to see angry Birdie in action. 

Bernadette yanked them apart, fuming. She turned to Guarnere first, her eyebrows were furrowed and her teeth clenched.

“You!” She pointed to him, glaring, “Keep that prejudice bullshit to yourself! No one wants to hear your stupid ass opinions! What the fuck is your problem?” Bill shrunk back, he had never seen Birdie this angry before and he didn't care to see it again. The woman whipped around to face Joe, he was smiling at her rude comments aimed at the man he wanted to punch. His joy in the situation only pissed her off more, if that were even possible.

“You think this is funny, huh?” She hissed at him, Joe’s smile dropped. 

“Not everything is a personal attack so calm the fuck down. Why do you think punching him is the solution to everything?” The question was rhetorical so Joe only looked down to the floor, avoiding eye contact with the scary southerner. She was absolutely at her wits end and just had to get out of there. 

“It’s like a fuckin’ pissin’ contest in here, Jesus!” Birdie growled as she turned and stomped off to get some fresh air on the deck of the overcrowded ship. 

A/N: ooooo she's mad...

~ next-autopsy ~

Chapter twenty two

[ambitions-of-an-eccedentesiast]

go on, tell us, don't be shyyy

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[solecize]

  𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (4)

ten years of being one and the same with jungkook as the country's it couple is the perfect disguise for the reality of a tumultuous relationship hidden behind the scenes.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: a party at the notorious hotel azure, the hot-spot for the top names of south korea's entertainment industry, goes awry. in front of everyone, your relationship reaches it's breaking point - except, it doesn't. 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: idol!jungkook/female idol!reader and fictional versions of various idols 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. idol au, on-and-off relationship, angst, i swear there's fluff, fake dating, and themes of first love, growing up, struggles with fame, and marriage (ish) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. portrayal of a toxic couple (implications of emotional abuse and control), both main characters are very flawed, violence, infidelity, foul language, substance use (illegal drugs) 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. based off of "you're losing me" by taylor swift. this is a fictional portrayal of real-life people that implement some aspects of real-life events. extra warning for heavy substance abuse in this chapter - the usage of this is not meant to be glamourized in any way. i don't want anyone to get the wrong idea, so please note the underlying commentary on idol life and substance use. as someone who has been diagnosed with substance use disorder, i encourage learning about its complexities and ending stigma around it. there is also a quick note at the end of the chapter regarding its ending. ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤjoin the taglist here! ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤm.list | previous | next

you might just have dealt the final blow stop, you’re losin’ me

TOP HEADLINE TODAY: big hit entertainment releases a trailer on official youtube channel, announcing bts’ upcoming world tourㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ㅤㅤapril 2018

  two years made a night and day difference in your relationship. after the highs and lows that brought several short-term breakups, 2018 was supposed to be your and jungkook’s year. it was a fresh start and the turn of your early twenties was the world at your fingertips. young, beautiful and wealthy - it was a dream for any idol in south korea. 

  a fresh start wasn’t always easy when skeletons lurked in your closet, though. watching your boyfriend pace back and forth in his kitchen, a glass of whiskey on the rocks at hand, jungkook looked completely different. you weren’t sure if you’d finally snapped out of the daze that framed him as a teenager, bursting with energy, but things hadn’t been the same in a long time.

  “yeah, y/n is coming with me,” you heard him say, your ears perking up at the sound of your name. it was hard to read his tone, but something told you that the person on the other end was surprised at his statement.

  he finally noticed that you walked into the room, having finished slipping on your coat. jungkook sighed, tilting back the last of his drink and telling the person on the phone that he had to go. his furrowed eyebrows were telling enough that he was annoyed with you.

  “what? i only took an hour,” you said, walking over from the doorway of his bathroom.

  jungkook rolled his eyes. “an hour after the party started. let’s get going, the boys said they’re waiting for us,” he complained. “you’re the one who insisted on coming with me, anyway.”

  at that, you didn’t say anything because you knew it would only escalate into an argument. jungkook had been recently accusing you of being overly controlling when it came to hanging out with his friends, which led to an invite to tonight’s party to be extended to you, as well. 

  however, parties at places like hotel azure were now a routine for you and jungkook, which was one of the only things that was constant against change in the past two years. with fame came notoriety and after clawing your way up the social ladder amongst the country’s musical elite, invitations to galas and lounges and the vip section of the club came left and right. everyone now knew you as one of the idol power couples behind the curtain and your respective presences were expected at events. 

  a molasses-like tension sat in the air when it came to this. although you and jungkook were known as one, it wasn’t easy to ignore jungkook’s individual stardom that garnered mass attention. his biggest supporter, you loved this for him - until you didn’t. he would jet off to tokyo and shanghai to party with a-listers and meet new people everywhere he went. he was rising before your very eyes and you couldn’t help but feel left behind.

  “did you not tell them we got back together?” you suddenly asked, trailing out the front door with an impatient jungkook.

  he only shrugged. it was hard to keep up when you and jungkook had taken several sporadic “breaks” over the last year. as a couple, you showed your best and smiled in front of everyone. however, your friends were the ones who would witness arguments in the corner of the room or furious frenzies of text arguments whilst working. 

  it was hard to manage a relationship that was akin to a fire - passionate, but ready to set ablaze at all times. 

  you weren’t sure how you and jungkook got to this point. you were no longer kids who only had each other. it could’ve been so many things - age, fame, money. there were other underlying issues that came with all these things. after all, by the time you were sat in the car, the first flask was already finished between you and him.

  the drive to hotel azure was a blur and before you knew it, you were taking shots with kim yoojung and suzy in the penthouse suite. jungkook had walked away with his friends upon entering the party and it was already a lost idea to find him. you exchanged few words on the way to the venue, as he seemed to still be frustrated with you for a variety of reasons.

  besides, it was a jackson wang party. the suite was filled to the brim with the who’s who of the entertainment industry, all mingling and dancing in an exalted existence that only celebrities enjoyed. others were outside at the rooftop pool, basking in the first of the year’s warm air. there were too many things going on at once.

  the only warmth you were concerned with was the hot sensation spreading throughout your body from hennessy. “how’s the filming of your new show?” you asked suzy, who was now flushed from the round of drinks.

  “exhausting. how’s the recording of your new album?” she sighed.

  “exhausting.”

  a murmur of agreement ensued. that was why everyone was gathering - an escape from the fastlane of their lives. the industry was draining and every forced smile for the cameras only weighed heavier on someone.

  “that nct member your boyfriend is friends with was passing out xans,” warned yoojung, poking your side.

  a year ago, you would have made a scene. now jaded and long given up on trying to knock some sense into him, you peeked over yoojung’s shoulder to check out the hallway ahead. turning back to the other two women, you already made up your mind.

  “the bathroom over there is free,” was all you had to say and with you swiping your clutch off the counter, they knew what you were thinking. they knew what was in its contents.

  you had to - it was a jackson wang party. ironically, you were never able to recall actually seeing jackson at his parties. really, you weren’t able to recall much in general the day after for certain reasons and tomorrow was looking no different when you busted out of the bathroom minutes later, giggling and brushing off your clothes. at the very least, you knew that you weren’t looking out of place, especially if what yoojung said was true. everyone in the room could afford the best to use, so why wouldn’t they?

  “we should go to the pool!” 

  it didn’t take much convincing for you to be dragged outside, as the high was settling in and you suddenly became a social butterfly. the three of you arrived poolside, where you were greeted by more of your peers. you wouldn’t call them your friends. 

  the exception was jimin, who you were surprised to see. he was very amicable and well-liked amongst social circles, but wild parties were never quite his scene. some of jungkook’s group mates had an affinity for nights out, but you and jungkook attended a specific genre of parties that the others didn’t vibe with on the regular.

  you smiled a little too wide. “jimin!”

  the group you approached sat poolside on a couch, as jimin scooted over to make room for. you barely fit, but he made sure to make it work for one of his best friends’ girlfriend. stumbling a bit when you squeezed past others’ knees, he offered his arm to help steady you.

  “hey, y/n. jungkook went somewhere else?” he asked slowly, examining your face. 

  jimin had a beer in his hand and appeared significantly more sober than the other partygoers, who were now immersed back into their previous conversation after your arrival. suzy and yoojung were laughing with the others, probably now too high and drunk to even remember that they walked over with you. meanwhile, jimin had his jacket on, as if he was right about to leave until you came outside. his mind was changed when he saw how wasted you were.

  you looked around, hoping the fresh air would help you focus. “mmm, yeah. think he’s with jaehyun.”

  it didn’t. it also felt like hours since you last spotted your boyfriend, but you were having fun. however, that wasn’t what jimin was concerned about.

  “you’re doing okay?” jimin questioned, a frown tugging at his lips. 

  if it wasn’t someone like jimin who knew you well, it wouldn’t be so obvious that you were now quite inebriated. your giggles were a little too loud and you would never stumble in high heels sober. 

  when you didn’t answer, jimin finished the last of his drink and set it on the table in front of you before standing up. there was a glint of worry in his eyes. 

  he said, “stay right there. i’m going to get you some water and find jungkook.”

  truthfully, you didn’t want him to locate your boyfriend, but jimin was already off. you huffed some hair out of your face. you didn’t think you were in that bad of a shape. 

  now that there was room on the couch, you were able to move over. when jimin left, you noticed that the girl next to you was watching the interaction the entire time. she was young and the doe-like expression on her face read that this was her first time at hotel azure. she was dressed to the nines and carried herself with energy.

  “hi, you’re nova!” it was more of an exclaimation than a question, when she smiled at you.

  your mood dampened at this. you did not have time to be entertaining whatever lucky rookie idol she was, probably scoring a luky invite. you also despised being called your stage name when you weren’t in front of a camera or fans. however, you put on your best plastered on smile.

  “hi. you are?” you asked, wanting to try to be polite.

  she ignored it. “wow, so it’s true then?” she asked. “you’re dating jungkook! and you were just talking to jimin, you must be so close with all of bts!”

  it was like an immediate headache onset, as you tried not to wince at her nearly screaming into your ear. the music was loud, but not that loud. at least she acknowledged you first, some people often went all in by just talking about jungkook. you would have engaged in actual conversation with her if she didn’t ignore your first attempt.

  “y/n, try this!”

  a red solo cup was pushed in front of your face and you didn’t think twice about taking a sip. anything to not hear the girl drone on about your boyfriend. it was sour and medicinal at the same time, causing you to make a face. the actor who passed it to you chuckled, as you gave it back.

  you coughed. “that was disgusting.”

  for some reason, the smell of the drink alone made your head hurt. you mumbled an ‘excuse me’ at the young idol, who was still talking about bts the entire time that interaction with the drink happened, and got up. your legs were weak. 

  for a while, you were walking around with no purpose, observing those around you blankly. when the drinks and the drugs and the desire to fit in faded away, it was boring. 

  you wondered if you actually liked being at these parties or if you were there just because. the “just because” could have been anything - just because it was expected by your circle, just because it was the only way to let out steam from the demands of your job. maybe even. . .just because of jungkook.

  “looking for your boyfriend?”

  at some point, you wandered over to the shadowy corner of the rooftop, where someone was smoking a joint. you tried your best to recall his name, as you’d just been on a variety show with him, but the best you could do was remember that he was a member of winner. you winced at yet another mention of jungkook, but ignored it again.

  he held the joint out as an offer and you accepted without hesitation, letting the smoke fill your insides. it was easy to ignore the burn in your throat when you’d already been putting random substances into your body since the night began.

  “not really,” you admitted, though you did scan the crowd when you did.

  he cocked an eyebrow. “oh? aren’t you two always hand in hand at these things?” he made a gesture, referring to the party as a whole.

  a year or two ago, you would have spent the entire party on jungkook’s lap and exclusively mingled and drank from that same spot. as time went on and jungkook began attending parties and clubs without you, it was a growing occurrence that you began doing your own thing when you appeared with him.

  “dunno,” was all you could say, not wanting to talk more about it.

  it appeared that he got the hint, dropping the subject of jungkook. instead, he failed to hide the once over he made of your appearance and you fought a shiver. you felt like you were naked under his stare, as your skin-tight maxi dress didn’t leave much to the imagination. you never felt unsafe to wear what you wanted on a night out - albeit, your boyfriend was usually with you.

  “you cold? want my jacket, sweetie?” he asked, sugar lacing every one of his words.

  that’s when you became alert, despite your body’s lack of sobriety working against you. he had taken a half-step towards you and you instantly stepped backwards. you’d never been so uncomfortable, but it was a struggle to steady yourself.

  you mustered up some solidity in your voice. “no. you can back up now,” you said, handing the joint back to him. “thanks.”

  he didn’t get the hint. “then, do you wanna go inside with me? where’s it’s warmer?”

  the smirk on his face sent off alarms in your head, as you continued to walk away, he still remained close to you when you did. 

  “i said i’m good. you’re getting weird, so back up,” you repeated, eyes darting around to see if anyone would step in.

  instead, everyone was still lost in their own worlds. some people were laughing away, trashing the bar on the other end of the rooftop. the people you were with on the couch were taking shots. nobody was noticing the interaction between you and this man.

  when he took a firm grip on your arm, you thought you were about to throw up. you noticed that you hadn’t even been walking straight and when you blinked, he was already in front of you. your words couldn’t find themselves when you saw double everywhere you turned. you were fucked and you couldn’t even defend yourself.

  then, it happened.

  when you jumped at the sound of a sudden impact, you thought that you were the one who fell down. but, there was no pain. there was a round of gasps. there was yelling. there was a body on the ground and it was the man’s.

  “are you fucking crazy?! don’t you put your dirty ass hands on her ever again or i’ll kill you with my bare hands, asshole!”

  the voice belonged to jungkook. it was the first time you’d seen him all night. he was standing over the man’s body, yelling further profanities at him. you saw red - both on his knuckles and in his bloodshot eyes. 

  you let out a scream when the man suddenly got to his feet, lunging at jungkook. this was when others ran in, straining to peel their two bodies away from each other. 

  people stopped to watch, but it was almost dystopian to see that some didn’t even care. they continued taking shots and smoking their joints. it was a daze of glimmer and drugs that only existed in the penthouse suite of hotel azure - where the rich and famous didn’t have time for scuffles. 

  “jungkook, stop!” you screeched, your voice cracking and tears welling up in your eyes.

  it took three people to pull jungkook alone, as others also came to the rescue of the other man. jaehyun and yugyeom each clutched onto one of jungkook’s arms, while bambam stood between the two. it looked like they had all chased jungkook from inside the penthouse, who had slammed the sliding door open.

  when jungkook picked up a glass beer bottle in his rage, you almost ran in yourself. he’d swatted jaehyun and yugyeom’s grips away to do so. thankfully, it was jimin who dashed in to swipe the object away from jungkook’s grasp, before the situation escalated to disastrous.

  if jimin didn’t wrestle the weapon out of jungkook’s hands, it would have been detrimental beyond saving. 

  “you piece of shit!” snarled the man, who spat in jungkook’s direction. “your little girlfriend should know how much of a piece of shit you are, too!”

  at that, you froze. jungkook only narrowed his eyes at him, as if daring him to continue. the next few moments didn’t seem real. his friends took the opportunity to take hold of him again, now with bambam joining in and trying to talk some sense into him.

  “kook, calm down. seriously, you need to just - “

  jungkook shot back, ignoring bambam. “you better shut your fucking mouth.” through gritted teeth, he kept urging for jaehyun and yugyeom to let go of him, which they thankfully didn’t.

  he only chuckled and your heart dropped when he turned to you. “nah, you must already know he’s a piece of shit. you must be cool with that and with the fact that he’s fucking his backup dancer.”

  what he said was loud and clear, but you didn’t even register it. you thought you were dreaming. you didn’t know what to do.

betrayal had a funny effect on people and on you, it was seething fury.

  if you were sober, it would have been your turn to lunge at someone. you considered it and decided that it wasn’t a bad idea. taking off your heels and making strides towards the man, nobody expected you to clock the man right in the jaw. he yelped, stumbling backwards from the impact. in your state, you only just realized that you’d actually hit him with one of your shoes.

  “that was for me, you creep,” you hissed, as he cussed loudly at his now bloody nose. 

  you even pondered pushing him into the pool, but decided it wasn’t worth it. the adrenaline in your veins - and whatever other substances were in there - wasn’t enough to distract you from the pit in your stomach from what the man said. something in you didn’t even consider the possibility of it being untrue - your gut told you otherwise. 

  you stared at jungkook, searching for any rebuttal. however, you knew the look on his face. it was the truth. not once did jungkook even try to dispute the accusation. your anger died down now and you were left feeling like you were floating. this couldn’t be real.

  it was now jungkook’s turn to stand frozen. you didn’t have time for this or for him. even his friends were frozen and you didn’t know what emotions were on their faces. shocked, but at what? that he was cheating on you or that he just got exposed? reality was beginning to sink in and the only thing you knew was that you needed to get out of there. you thought you looked like the biggest joke in the world, whether his friends knew about it or not.

  “what do you think you’re doing? go after her!” 

  that was jimin’s voice, horrified that his friend was just passively watching you run out of there. jungkook finally made a sprint for it. you’d pushed past several people and jungkook didn’t catch up to you until you reached the elevator.

  your vision was waning and the source could have been either the situation or your body finally giving up on you from what you had consumed all night. you needed to sit down. hurriedly, you jammed the button to close the elevator door, but a hand stuck out to force it open.

  jungkook was pleading. “y/n, just one second - “

  “no, get away from me.”

  “look, let’s talk! please!” he cried, trying to enter the elevator with you.

  at this point, you were shoving him away. you didn’t care, you needed him out of your face before you began crying. he wasn’t fighting back at all, letting you continuously push him, but didn’t move an inch. 

  “you’re scum to me,” you growled, eventually giving up and tripped backwards from your own force.

  the elevator closed and for thirteen long floors, it was just you and him in that one space.

  “please, let’s communicate - isn’t that what you always wanted for us?” jungkook said and did his best to get you to meet his eyes. “bug, come o -”

  the fire in your eyes was nothing like he’d ever seen before from you. “don’t you dare call me that ever again!” 

  bug was his special name for you, short for lovebug. you used to get upset when he would call you your full name over bug. in that moment, it sickened you to hear it.

  everything began clicking in your head. the way he rarely called you when he was on tour. the slow buildup of disinterest in your wellbeing. going to places that he always went to without you. being secretive of what he was doing on his phone. this behaviour multiplied recently and with another world tour for bts lined up, you now knew why.

  jungkook was living an entirely different life away from you. you just thought he would never have it in him. not the kind and sweet jungkook you met all those years ago.

  you ripped off the tennis bracelet from your wrist, which jungkook had given you for your eighteenth birthday. a look of defeat rested on his face when you hurled it at him, which he didn’t even bother to dodge. he knew he deserved it. 

  the elevator dinged and you made a beeline for the first door you saw. you weren’t even running, but jungkook dashed to meet you there. you let out a cry of frustration when he stood right in front of you, blocking the entrance. 

  “move or you’ll regret it.”

  he ignored you and you instead side-stepped away, using all your energy to exit through the next door before jungkook could realize. he tried blocking you again, but only caught a bit of your force because you were too fast.

  the entire time this was happening, you’d been trying to dial someone, anyone. none of your group mates were answering. you didn’t have any friends that weren’t at the party upstairs. the last resort was your manager, who you were about to call, when jungkook stood in front of you again.

  “y/n, please. i’ll get on my knees if i have to,” jungkook begged and you could see that he was fighting tears. “please, i just want to talk.”

  however, you could also see that jungkook was far from sober. he was in a worse state than you were. a bruise was to soon form on his jaw and his hair was disheveled. it was the lowest you’d ever seen him.

  for a split second, you tried. you wanted to try and see the boy you fell in love with all those years ago. you searched and searched. 

  “what? i’ve asked you for years to communicate in this relationship and it only becomes important after you cheat on me?” 

  jungkook knew he was defeated, but he still looked at you with those same pleading eyes. “i know i don’t deserve you - “

  “i don’t even recognize you!” you interrupted. “i don’t even know who you are!”

  both of you knew that you were right. something went wrong along the way. you were barefoot and exhausted, no longer with light in your eyes. jungkook was pitiful and lost - lost in his fame, in the parties, and from you. 

  that night at hotel azure should have been the end. the storybook fairytale should have been over. in that moment, you would have even moved as far as you could and ran away from the dread of the life you were living. you gave up that night.

  unfortunately, in the craze of the night’s events and the substances swimming in your bodies, both you and jungkook forgot who and where you were.

  TOP HEADLINE TODAY: breaking news! dispatch releases exclusive photos of bts’ jungkook and s.iren’s nova, reveals that they are dating

  you’d been in the big hit company building countless of times over the years, but would have never imagined yourself sitting in their board room with their most senior executives. to make matters worse, several high-ranking representatives from your company sat in the same room, including your ceo and your own manager. at the head of the table were you and jungkook, both stone-faced and unable to look at each other. 

  entering the room, you considered yourself all alone. your manager was pissed off at you. your group mates hadn’t spoken to you since the news broke, except for sooah. she only warned you to make sure that nobody knew you were high when it happened. the last thing the group needed was an additional scandal where their main vocalist gets sentenced to prison for possession. and, of course, you now had no boyfriend. there was nobody there for you.

  “they’ve been building evidence for a long time now, clearly.”

  to make matters more humiliating, the company executives were broadcasting the dispatch article on the big screen in front of everyone. the head of public relations, mr. lee, swiped through each photo released like a slideshow.

  the first picture was you and jungkook outside of your building complex. another was a sneaky shot that barely captured you and jungkook in the same taxi. it went on and on, until the last photo that depicted you and jungkook standing in front of hotel azure, which was less than twenty-four hours ago at this point. 

  after escaping the party and jungkook, you spent the rest of your night crying and throwing up at home. it was late when you left and you knew you couldn’t sleep a wink after what transpired. you tried your very best and it was seven in the morning when you thought your eyes were finally closing, until your phone began blowing up. 

  at first, it was just your manager and you didn’t want to hear about how she found out that you were partying late again. then, not even an hour after, your social media began blowing up with notifications. 

  i was trying to warn you, the last text from your manager read. you realized what she was talking about, as dispatch probably gave the “courtesy” to inform the company before the article went out. 

  you thought about your group members, feeling nothing but guilt. you saw what happened to other female idols, whose dating scandals tarnished their “sisterhood” with their members forever. you were terrified of that happening to you.

  now, you sat in this suffocating board room, still hungover, and your entire future at stake. the only thing you felt regretful about was not just the impact of your choices on both your group members, but the rest of jungkook’s. they were one of the, if not the, most popular groups in the country.

  while the room went over the pictures that were released, you were silent. you long understood the consequences of the relationship and accepted the risk. when the scandal actually broke, though, the fear you felt was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. on the other hand, jungkook was only apologizing profusely and was in tears. you didn’t realize it until then, but there were also streams of tears running down your face. 

  you weren’t sure what the main reason for your tears were. something told you that you’d yet to process the grief of jungkook’s betrayal because sitting next to him felt numb. last night, only anger settled underneath your skin. now, being inches away from the man you called your best friend and partner for years, you felt nothing. it was almost an out-of-body experience. 

  the only way to not replay every single moment he was with her and not you, was to repress the grief. you pretended like it was invisible and out of reach. with that, you figured the tears were for the innocent third parties that were going to be dragged down by the scandal - the executives in the room, jungkook’s group, your group, all of them.

  “quit crying! we have no choice, there’s too much evidence - we must publicly confirm the relationship.”

  you took a deep breath. right now, you had yet to actually tell anyone that you and jungkook were no longer together. a part of you was too embarrassed to admit that you were cheated on. you also figured that word from the scene at the rooftop party likely already spread throughout social circles. you decided to swallow it down and finally say it aloud.

  this was the first time that you spoke up. “but,” you started, “jungkook and i. . .we broke up last night.”

  the last thing you expected was a round of laughter. you thought you were imagining it, but when you looked up, the board members were indeed doing so. you were suffering enough, but now you were getting laughed at. your fists were balled up underneath the table.

  “are you kidding me?” mr. lee said. “i don’t care. years ago, you and jungkook agreed that, should your relationship be exposed, you would face the repercussions of its reception.”

  “mr. lee - “ jungkook started, but was hushed by his company executives.

  when mr. lee tapped on his laptop again and cut to the comments section of the article, you thought you would see hate comments. death threats, even. but, you were stunned to face waves of positivity. 

  the tone he used, though, was devoid of any. “oh, i love this couple so much,” mr. lee began reading the comments in a monotone voice that only made the situation feel even more of a joke. “wah. they. are. such. a. beautiful. couple. i’m not even mad.”

  you swore your eyes were deceiving you. stealing your first glance at jungkook since walking into the room, he, too, was shocked and his jaw hung low. 

  “talk about a power couple, congratulations! here, someone said: hope this is true, nova is luckiest girl in the world - love this. then, a bunch of good luck’s, and blah, blah, blah.”

  there was a wave of anger when most of the comments called you the lucky one and not once the other way around.

  regardless, the reception of international fans was generally uplifting, which was no surprise to you. what really got to you was that it didn’t stop there - the screen scrolled past dozens and dozens of korean comments that exemplified full support towards the relationship. this was a true mark of positive reception, as they were the fans you feared the most.

  as the years went on and jungkook rose in popularity, you became increasingly nervous about your relationship. you watched so many of your peers receive horrible backlash from fans after being exposed for dating, especially the women. being a female in the industry was hard enough and you weren’t sure if you were going to be one of the strong ones in this situation. 

  “so that your fans don’t feel ‘betrayed’, we are going to let the media know that you have been dating for a few months - don’t even think about telling people that you’ve been together since 2013,” mr. lee announced, which snapped you back to the conversation.

  you dared to speak again. “mr. lee, jungkook and i have broken up,” you reiterated, wondering if nobody heard you the first time.

  he rolled his eyes. “i understand. do you also understand that this reaction is basically unheard of? have you noticed that you’ve gained almost a million followers on instagram?”

  this time, it was the public relations representative from big hit that cleared her throat and stood up. she joined mr. lee in front of the board members, who began murmuring in approval amongst themselves.

  “jungkook. y/n. as you know, the love yourself world tour was just announced. s.irens is also preparing for a major comeback and potential tour. this relationship,” she said, “will be used to accelerate the successes of both of your groups.”

  a chart appeared on the screen. it showed data from the last twenty-four hours, including both group’s increase in social media numbers, streams, and search engine hits. 

  “consider it an exchange for breaching your no-dating clause five years ago. until further notice, this relationship, at least in the eyes of the public, will remain.”

  this had to be a joke. however, you remembered what you and jungkook were. you were idols. you were puppets of the machine that was the korean entertainment industry. chess pieces. no matter how rich or famous either of you got, it all boiled down to this. 

  the fame game was one that was never won.

  jungkook said, slowly, “you’re asking us to date. . .as a publicity stunt?”

  at this, you had no choice. a few individuals in the room, including jungkook, jumped when you shot up from your seat. you rose in order to bow at a ninety degree angle in front of all the senior executives, ignoring how sick you were to your stomach.

  “please,” you began, eyes squeezed shut. “i want nothing to do with jeon jungkook.”

  of course, the decision was already made and your pleas were dismissed. however, you didn’t see the way jungkook watched you beg your company to not force you in a relationship with a man you no longer loved. his mouth went dry and there’d never been such a moment in his life where he hated himself more. he did this. he pushed you to this point and he betrayed you.

  from that moment on, jungkook saw this as an opportunity. he destroyed everything that you and he had ever built. now, the only thing he ever sought from this point on, was redemption.

  even though your companies informed you two that you could publicly “breakup” following a year post-dispatch release, jeon jungkook never lost sight of the redemption he sought. they wanted you to be the so-called it couple of the industry and he decided he would do them one better and make it real. for the next year, jungkook would do everything in his power to win you back.

  LATEST NEWS: bts’ jungkook and s.irens’ nova confirms their relationship! read more about big hit’s response: “they met as friends and the connection blossomed from there”

  𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄. for clarity purposes (because i feel like the non-chronological format may get confusing), y/n and jungkook get back together during this publicity stunt and are 100% for real dating in chapter 1. the publicity stunt arc is covered in chapters 6-8, as the next chapter focuses on why/how their relationship began breaking down before the hotel azure incident.

[macfrog]

you shook me all night long sex on fire chapter one

requested by @whore-4-pedro (hope u enjoy lovely)

lived all my succession fantasies out writing this one icl. enjoy 🖤 check out my masterlist for more joel fun ‼️

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: as joel miller's assistant, you're expected to meet all his needs. some are a little more personal than others

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) creepy dude at the beginning, lotta teasing and touching, mentions of female masturbation, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, semi-public sex, daddy kink, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), alcohol and drug use, cursing, low-key inappropriate work relationship (if bad then why sexy?)

word count: 7.8k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more. You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin. “I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?” “Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

It’s Friday night.

You only got home from work an hour and a half ago. Tired, hungry, sore eyes from staring at a screen all night, sore back from sitting hunched over all day. Dumped your bags at the door, ripped your clothes off by your bed, dove straight into the shower. You’d picked an outfit, curled your hair in record time, and even done your makeup before Deb called to say she was out front.

It was a ten-minute drive from your place to the hotel – it’s only a couple blocks from work. The cab driver made light conversation, talked about his daughter and her new puppy, and you both nodded and uhuhed in all the breaks in his sentences. Deb made some comment about it being easier if you’d just stayed at the office until the party, and you’d hummed in agreement, looking out the window at the regal hotel.

Truth be told, you’d rather be doing anything other than attending a work function. You’ve had a long week. A lot of meetings, paperwork, emails to be answered, and most of all, running around after your boss. It’s not all fun and games being Joel Miller’s assistant, regardless of the pay, or the view from your desk over to his.

Your head’s elsewhere when you waltz through the revolving door, heels clicking along the marble floor. The elevator – gold, by the way – slides open and you both step inside, hitting the highest button before you’re swept up twenty floors to the penthouse.

“Did you send those documents over to us yet?” Deb asks.

“Nope,” you reply, slipping out when the elevator dings. “Had to sit in on a meeting with Joel and take the fucking minutes, spent all night writing them up.”

“He won’t be pissed at you?”

“If he hadn’t insisted I was in there with him, you’d have your reports, wouldn’t you?”

She shrugs, agreeing.

“Anyway,” you continue, “I can take angry Joel. He doesn’t scare me.”

Deb chuckles as you shoulder the doors to the penthouse open.

It’s a moody dull, lit only by the lights lining the bar and small lamps decorating mahogany tables, sat next to deep green velvet couches. There are clusters of people everywhere you look; stood near shelves filled with leather-bound books, examining the view from the floor to ceiling windows, sprawled out over luxurious chairs with champagne flutes in their hands. There’s a tree in the middle of the room, branches decorated in blinking string lights reaching to a glass dome in the ceiling.

It's, like, sickeningly pretentious. You know it. Hell, you all know it. Still, in your little black dress, you strut over and take a champagne of your own, sipping on the fizzing drink with one elbow resting on the wooden bar.

“There’s my girl,” his voice coos over your shoulder. “Been watchin’ for you all night, took your time.”

You lean back, bored expression on your face.

Joel’s broad chest pulls on the white shirt he’s wearing, same one you just saw him in little over three hours ago, only without a tie; the top couple of buttons are undone to reveal his chest hair peeking through. You try not to let your eyes linger on him too long.

“You look fuckin’ ecstatic to be here.”

He leans against the bar next to you, arms crossed. When you don’t reply, he nudges you. Your champagne jolts in its glass.

“I always look like this. I’m always ecstatic to be everywhere.”

He smiles. “Why aren’t you mingling?”

“Don’t wanna.”

“’s a work event. That’s the whole point.”

“Then why are you over here talkin’ to me?”

His eyes flash across your lips, and you swear they drop for a nanosecond to your chest.

“Come on,” he says, taking your wrist in his huge hand, “some people you oughta meet.”

Joel ignores your sigh and leads you over onto a plush rug, sidling between knees to sit you down on the soft couch between himself and some bald dude in a jet blue suit, whose shirt is also undone, though much further than Joel’s. He has a chest like a hairless cat.

Cue Ball snakes an arm over the back of the couch; his fingers dance across your back. You shimmy a little closer to Joel and he notices instantly, jaw turning slowly to glance over. When he sees your knees angled toward him, seeking protection, he leans back and wraps his left arm around your shoulders, his right coming down to cup your knee.

“This,” he shakes your leg, left arm pulling you tighter against him, “is my wonderful assistant. My right-hand lady. Couldn’t do anything without her, could I?”

“Could wipe your own ass, that’s about it,” you mumble into your glass, and a roar of laughter sounds from your audience.

Joel, still leaning back, pulls his arm from you but keeps his shoulder firmly behind yours, making sure whatever the creep on your left tries, he’ll feel first. Your elbow rests in the crook of his, and you keep it there, quietly enjoying the intimacy of his body caging yours.

His left hand is settled on your thigh. You realize it after a swig of champagne, and start counting in your head how many seconds his fingers stay gripped on your skin.

He talks with his hands – always has. Walks around his office, ranting and raving sometimes, arms swinging around in the air while you take notes, or file your nails, or just watch until he’s done. For the next half hour, though, he only talks with his right hand. Only sips his beer with his right hand. Only scratches his beard, or pulls his phone from his pocket, or reaches up and passes you a second drink, and then a third, with his right hand.

You stay rigid, legs unmoving, eyes barely leaving his knuckles, locked tight around your thigh. There’s heat from his touch siphoning from his palm down through your skin, rippling like waves all through your body and pooling somewhere south of your belly button. No matter how hard you try, you can’t shake it. Can’t stop thinking about it. You barely notice when Cue Ball’s hand ghosts across your back a second time.

But Joel notices, straight away. He flashes the guy a look, and you swear he’s baring his teeth. Eyes locked on the blue suit like it’s a target, never blinking. He doesn’t say anything when his prey excuses himself to the bathroom, and you don’t turn to watch him go, but you do notice three other sharp-suited pricks stand and wander off in that direction after him.

Probably not a coincidence.

Joel still has a hold on your leg. Your flute is empty, and you lean forward to place it on the wooden table at your knees, beginning to stand.

His grip loosens, but he looks up at you as you tower over him.

“Cocktail,” you tell him with a sweet smile, and he nods, letting you go.

You know he’s watching you as you slink away. Is it the alcohol in your system, or something darker, that makes you sway your hips a little more for his benefit?

Deb’s over at the bar with Martha, another of Joel’s assistants. She’s around his age, worked for him much longer than you have, but when he hired you, you took on most of the groundwork. Following Joel’s orders– sorry, requests, organizing meetings, filing paperwork for him. Martha sits at a desk outside Joel’s office, answers the phone and directs anyone who happens to wander up to the top floor of the building.

Did I say directs? I meant strikes coldblooded fear within them and sends them back running the way they came, with just one look and a nod in the opposite direction.

Unless they’re there for a meeting with Joel, that is. And if they are, that’s where you come in. Good morning, Mr. Salazar, Mr. Miller will be right with you. This way, he’s just finishing up a call.

Martha’s a tough nut. But she likes you enough, so she smiles warmly as you approach.

“I’m hearing all about your note-taking this afternoon,” she hums when you hop up onto a barstool, catching the bartender’s eye. He trots over.

You sigh to Martha, eyes wide. “I didn’t leave until, like, eight. What the fuck’s that about? Can I just get a cosmopolitan, please?” you ask, and the bartender nods. He looks about fifteen.

Martha shakes her head, laughing. “He did it to me when I was first startin’ out, too. Told him to stick his minutes where the sun don’t shine.”

“I’ve been here three years,” you mutter, and Deb snorts.

“You’d think Joel would’ve changed his ways in the, what, seven decades since you started, Martha?”

It earns her a slap across the shoulder. You stifle your laugh behind your glass, thanking the teenager who served you it with a nod.

“Twenty years next March, actually,” Martha says.

“That so? D’you think he’ll get you anything for it?”

“If I’m lucky,” she sighs, eyes travelling up to the ceiling in thought, “a lunch break where he doesn’t bother me once.”

“Knowing Joel, that means a lunch break where he bothers you twice.”

You smile, glancing past the pretentious tree to where Joel is, and notice he’s already staring right back. A swarm of butterflies flutter around your stomach, dancing over the heat his handprint left within you. They only grow more violent when he stands and walks over, broad shoulders swaying, eyes flitting up and down your body.

You lean back, sitting up straight, eyeing him right back as he joins the three of you.

“Speak of the devil,” Martha says, and Joel chuckles in response, but his eyes never leave you.

“We were just talkin’ about Martha’s twenty years,” says Deb, winking.

He finally turns to answer her. “Oh, yeah? When’s that, then, old-timer?”

“Dirtball!” Martha yells, and Joel smirks. It goes straight to your core.

“How many Manhattans tonight, then, Deb?”

Deb holds her glass up. “I am on my second, and I will not be exceeding three. We don’t need a repeat of Christmas.”

“Aw,” Joel complains, tutting, “I liked hammered Deb.”

“That’s ‘cause you didn’t have to deal with hungover Deb,” you mutter, and she shoots you a look.

Joel smiles at you, takes a step closer as Deb and Martha begin comparing past hangovers. He leans forward, waves the fifteen-year-old down, and asks for a beer. As he leans back, you notice the weight of his wrist on your right hip. Nicely done.

“You know there are four guys in the bathroom doing coke?”

“I hope to God that’s all they’re doin’. I don’t need another orgyhappenin’ at one of these things.”

You giggle like a fucking schoolgirl. He looks pleased with himself, and you instantly regret it. You try to play it off by lifting your glass back to your lips.

Joel’s studying you, though, mapping every inch of your face. Watching your mouth as it curves around the shape of the glass, your tongue licking your lips after your sip. He tracks the glass as you set it back down on the bar, then his eyes trail along your arm to your dress, and your stomach leaps.

He looks so fucking good, it sends another wave of energy through your body. Dark hair lined with grey, beard much the same. Strong jaw, lips wetting with every sip of beer he takes, dark eyes flitting across yours, holding your stare long enough to melt you a little, and then dipping just before you can read the thoughts behind them.

His skin a little tanned, his neck thick with muscle. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, you’re so close. Close enough that you could lean up, part your lips and sink your teeth under his ear, suck a mark there, taste him on your tongue.

Your head cocks after a few minutes silence, just the two of you enjoying the fucking look of each other. You lean a little against his arm, steady around your back.

“I hate work parties,” you sigh.

Joel scoffs. “Free alcohol, nice penthouse. Cocaine, if you want it. What’s not to like?”

You narrow your eyes and he laughs for real.

“I hate ‘em, too, baby. Gotta keep up appearances, though, don’t we?”

Baby. This fucker.

“Do we?” you squeak, after a few seconds dazed.

He shrugs. “’s what I hear.”

He’s so close you can smell the beer on his tongue. It makes your heart quicken, your body hum with energy. That could just be the alcohol in your system, though, right?

Who are you kidding? It’s fucking Joel doing it to you.

You have no idea how long he was here before you arrived. He left the office around six, and you presumed he’d come straight here to check everything was in order before guests started arriving. How many beers has he had? Is he just drunk, feeling up on you with liquid courage?

You’re mulling over the thought when a pair of hands clamp down on Joel’s shoulders and his hold on your waist loosens. He mumbles an apology as he’s dragged away by a couple of loose-collared, baggy-suit drunks. You shake your head in response, trying to be cool – It’s all good, man. I’m good. I’m not totally fawning over you right now, no way.

Deb swings her barstool around when she notices you’re on your own, inviting you back into their conversation. Thirty seconds into talking about childhood pets, you’re wishing Joel was back around you, igniting your skin and peaking your adrenaline. Max the Pomeranian is a nice picture; Joel’s nicer.

Martha says something with a hand motion, and Deb nods, elbow knocking into yours.

“What?”

She nods toward the balcony. “We’re headin’ out for a smoke, you comin’?”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll save your seats.”

They nod and wander off between a crowd, swallowed up by bodies in the direction of the open sliding doors, the blinking lights of the skyline ahead.

You’re twirling the base of your empty glass around on its napkin when you feel that same heat behind you again, and a hand rests on the small of your back.

“Coat,” Joel mutters, pulling his suit jacket on.

“Huh?”

“Get your coat. Everyone’s headin’ across the street.”

“Why is everyone heading across the street?”

He shrugs. “Afterparty, I guess.”

“It’s a work function. It’s like–” you check your phone, “–oh, fuck, it’s almost midnight.” You screw your face up, watching as the small crowd slowly melts away through the suite doors.

“I know. I throw a good party, right?”

“So good, people are leaving it.”

He tuts. “Coat. Now.”

“I didn’t bring one.”

“You didn’t bring a coat?”

“You told me the party was here. I didn’t think we’d be walking all over town.”

“’s not all over town, baby,” Joel murmurs with a sigh. “Here.”

He peels the jacket off his shoulders and you hold a hand out to stop him.

“Joel, it’s fine, it’s–”

“Quit moanin’,” he groans as he throws it over your shoulders. He scoops your hair and pulls it softly out from under the collar. “Alright? C’mon.”

He takes your hand and leads you past some stragglers down the hall toward the elevator, where a group are waiting for the doors to open.

“Tight squeeze, Miller,” some dude chuckles as you follow Joel in, his hand still gripping yours.

He turns, backing into the corner, pulling you with him until your back is flush against his chest.

His hands drop to your hips. You swallow back a scream.

One of the accountants is stood in front of your – Harriet? Helen? Something beginning with H – anyway, she keeps knocking back into you, pushed by the sway of the packed elevator. It means you knock a little into Joel, and feel his chin on the crown of your head.

You turn ever so slightly to mumble an apology to him, but when you feel his breath on the shell of your ear, your words die in your throat.

“Hazel?” – That’s her fucking name – Joel reaches around you to tap her shoulder, and her bobbed haircut swings when she turns. “Did you get those balance sheets yet?”

“Not yet, Joel,” she tells him, and your face prickles with heat.

“No? That’s weird.” Joel’s grip tightens on your hips, his mouth dangerously close to your ear. In a low whisper, only to you, he says, “Thought I asked to have ‘em sent over by this afternoon.”

You muster up the courage to reply with a deep breath. From the corner of your mouth, through gritted teeth, you tell him, “That was before you forced me to sit in on a buyers’ meeting.”

You feel his chest rumble between your shoulder blades as he laughs. The elevator shudders to a stop and the doors slide open; the crowd spills out.

You step forward, ahead of Joel, and make it maybe three steps before he’s back on you, an arm draped over your shoulders. You reach up and take his hand, leaning against his strong torso to let him guide you toward the exit.

No idea what makes you do it. Maybe you’re drunk. Maybe not only on alcohol.

You’re the last of the pack, stumbling over air across the gleaming floor toward the revolving door, which Joel pushes open for you. The cool night breeze hits you as you slip out.

The crowd ahead are rushing across the street, yelling and whooping as they go. It’s juvenile, a little cringe. A bunch of rich corporates skipping across the street toward cheap alcohol and peanuts. You’d care more about the way it looks if you were sober.

Joel’s hand finds yours again and he’s leading you down the steps, cutting between parked cars toward the dive bar. You link your other arm around his elbow and he glances down, noting it. You wish the walk was longer.

A flickering fluorescent light drowns you both in a red glow, and Joel pushes the doors open. The place is flooded with half of your party, drowning booths, leaning against the bar, dancing in any open floorspace.

The floor is sticky, the bar dim. Joel takes you over to the same crowd he introduced you to earlier, and makes space for you to sit. You slide along the booth to the wall and he follows, squeezing up to you to let two more in after him.

“Beers?” a guy with a loose tie asks, to a chorus of yeses and a show of thumbs up. Mitch? Mark?

You tug Joel’s jacket from your shoulders – the movement nudges him and he turns to lift it from your back and tuck it behind you, brushing the hair off your shoulders. You smile in thanks, and his hand falls back onto your leg.

It takes you a few minutes to notice it this time. The gentle squeeze of his fingers around your thigh, the way it slowly bumps up each time he adjusts in his seat or shifts to allow space for someone else to join the booth.

His hand moves slowly, dangerously close to pulling your skirt up with it. Mitch or Mark returns with your beers and you take a massive swig, nerves and anticipation and fucking need for Joel to keep doing what he’s doing, taking over.

Under lights blurred by the alcohol in your system, the table buzzes with energy and chatter and laughter. There are posters and stickers all over the walls, graffiti of names and initials, numbers and dates scored into the walls. Joel traces them with his finger and you laugh at some of the messages.

“Lydia and Jack,” you mumble, “12-24-19. Wonder what happened then.”

“Bathroom sex,” Joel replies, eyes scanning the wall.

You scoff, beer to your lips. “On Christmas Eve?”

He nods, like it’s obvious. “Magical time ‘n all.”

You look past him with a smile to the opposite side of the bar where, through silhouetted bodies, you notice a jukebox.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your eyes widen, your mouth agape.

Joel follows your eyeline and then twists back around. “C’mon,” he says, taking your hand and motioning for the others to let you by. He drags you over to the machine, lighting your faces up in yellow light, and your drunk eyes scan the screen.

“Nope." You swipe Joel’s hand away right before he can pick some Pet Shop Boys song.

“Really?”

“Good, but not the vibe,” you tell him, and budge him out of the way with your hip. He sways off, laughing, and leans a palm against the jukebox, his chest on your back for the second time tonight. As your tired eyes scan the songs, Joel’s chin rests on your shoulder.

He’s judging every fucking song you linger on. “Queen? Little before your time.”

“Dick.”

“Fleetwood Mac. Definitely before your time.”

“The entire fucking jukebox is before my time, dude. Shut up. These are good songs.”

You settle on a track and turn to face him. He has you almost fucking pressed against the box.

“Change, please.”

“Oh, I’m payin’, am I?”

“Mhm. Your work party, your wallet.”

He sighs and pushes a fist into his pocket for coins, tossing a quarter into your outstretched palm. You turn back and select your song, put the money in, and the old machine barks out the intro.

Joel sighs, shaking his head. “AC/DC? That’s your thing?”

“It’s not yours?” You’re taking him by the hand between bodies, swaying as you go.

He’s laughing, following you until you’re in the middle of the cramped bar, chest to chest, moving together. His hands find your waist again and this time you don’t even flinch; your fingers trail up his shirt, across his chest, settle on his collar.

You fucking swear he’s leaning in, each beat of the song drawing his jaw closer to yours. If you weren’t in a room full of co-workers, you’d probably let him kiss you.

I mean, what you’re doing right now is hardly innocent anyway. His hands are splayed on your lower back, your hips flat against his, rubbing, dancing. Your head rolls back and your lips are under his chin, smiling up at him and singing along. Joel sings the words straight back, your breath meeting and mingling in the tiny gap between your lips.

As the song ends, it fades into another. And another, and another. It’s two in the morning before your group of partiers begin to call taxis. You stumble out of the sweaty bar with an arm linked through Deb’s, still singing along to Whitney as you catch your breath.

She staggers off to a quieter part of the street to call a cab, and you hang around under the red light waiting for her. Joel’s stood at the curb; the back door of his sleek black Rolls-Royce open.

“Where you goin’?” he asks.

“Deb’s callin’ a cab,” you reply, arms folded, shoulders hunched.

Joel shakes his head. “Get in.”

“It’s cool, I’m jumping in with those guys. Thanks, though–”

“Baby,” Joel holds a hand out, “get in.”

Your eyes trace from his palm all the way up his sleeve, to his tired, handsome face. You’re sobering up. He looks clearer. Maybe that’s just the streetlights.

“Get you home in five minutes. C’mon.”

You swivel around to look for Martha and Deb, but they’re nowhere to be seen. The cab will come, they’ll assume you’re staying a while, and get in. No big deal, right?

Well. Stepping into your boss’s car after a night of highly inappropriate touching is kind of a big fucking deal.

That’s why you do it. Waddle over to him, take his hand, let him guide you to the car. You swing a leg in and slip across the seats, admiring the ceiling dotted with hundreds of tiny white lights, like you’re staring straight up at the night sky.

They blur through your drunken gaze, which doesn’t pull from them until you feel the weight of Joel on your right and hear the door slam shut.

“Mind puttin’ the partition up, Rand?” Joel’s voice says, though you mostly hear the vibrations through his chest, where your head is lying. His arm slips around your back, pulling you closer into him as the two of you are granted privacy by the quiet whir of the screen closing.

“Good night?” Joel asks, lips on your hair.

You nod. “You?”

“Mhm.”

His fingers are drawing shapes on your left hip. His right hand intertwines with yours. Your left hand starts to wander.

You liked his hand on you. Liked feeling his grip there. Wanted him to keep moving it up, wanted to see how far he’d take it. So, you put your own hand on the inside of his thigh, just like he did. Starting at the knee, and slowly sliding north. Joel’s breath tightens, his chest lifts, his jaw ticks.

The movement knocks you sober for a couple seconds. You realize what you’re doing. You draw your hand back.

“Sorry,” you mutter.

He unlinks your hands and places a steady palm over your withdrawn fist.

“’s okay, baby. You can do that if you want to.”

The drawl of his voice makes your eyes roll back, your heart leap. Your fucking legs clench.

You let him replace your hand where it was, and his legs widen a little. His crotch more available. You’re watching what you’re doing like you’re not even in your own body; watching it how Joel must be, thinking Higher, higher, keep going, keep doing that.

You lift your heavy head, resting it on his shoulder, and look up into his brown eyes. He’s framed by the starlit ceiling of the car. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, face lined with his expression.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod lazily. “Tired.”

Just then his hand takes yours again and shifts it softly, stopping what was probably about to happen but still holding onto you, still wanting your fingers locked in his. Not halting the train, just switching tracks.

It’s not a long journey, certainly not as long as you’d like, until you’re parked on your street. Rand lowers the partition to call back, and Joel thanks him.

“You okay gettin’ to your apartment?”

“Yup,” you groan, hoisting yourself out of the comfortable car.

“Sure? I can walk you up if you want.”

You bend down, one arm on the roof of the car. “I’m good, thanks. Thanks for the ride, Miller.”

“Be safe, baby.”

“You be safe, too. Bye.”

You throw the door closed and meander off up the steps toward your building. Joel’s car doesn’t roll off until your elevator arrives and you disappear inside.

You spend all weekend in bed, recovering not only from the party but from the week of work you’d endured. You keep yourself busy, though. There’s a Desperate Housewives marathon on TV. And when you’re not watching that, your hand is stuffed down your pants, Joel on your mind.

All. Fucking. Weekend.

In the shower, you’re picturing him on his knees in front of you, lapping you up. Hands gripping your thighs, draped over his shoulders. Your hand plants firmly against the wet tile when you cum, your orgasm threatening to collapse you in a heap.

In bed, you’re on top of him, knees either side of his waist, letting him buck his hips up until you’re screaming, covering him in your wet. Your vibrator battery dies by Saturday night.

Monday morning, you’re getting ready to leave for the office, and need to take ten minutes out to relieve the ache between your legs again. This time, he has you pressed against your bedroom wall, fucking you quick and messy, cumming deep inside you before he’ll let you head out.

It’s just a crush, right? It’s just because of how touchy you guys were on Friday. When you were drunk. And in a cramped, dark dive bar. Everybody gets crushes. And who wouldn’t, on a six-foot-whatever man with a jawline that could cut glass, hands that take a grip of you with minimal effort, a cock probably the size of…

No. Nope. That’s enough. Cut that the fuck out.

It’s just a crush. That’s what you keep telling yourself in the elevator, lights counting down the floors until you’re going to see Joel again. Is the sparkling feeling in your chest fear, anticipation, or excitement?

And is your cunt beginning to throb again?

You give a curt nod to Martha as you arrive, hauling your bag a little further up your shoulder and adjusting the folders in your arms on your hips.

“Where’d you go?” she asks, eyes still on the computer in front of her. Her chin propped on her elbow, face inches from the screen, reading something intently.

“Huh?”

“On Friday. We couldn’t find you when the cab arrived.”

“Oh, I, uh,” you clear your throat, “Joel gave me a ride. Yeah.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Generous of ‘im.”

“Yup.”

“He’s in the conference room waitin’ for you.”

“Cool, thanks.”

You hover for a few seconds, then take your cue to leave. You hurry over to the conference room door, knocking twice before pushing it open.

Joel’s sat at the top of the table, leant back in his chair, feet up on the wood in front of him. You feel like you could collapse.

“Mornin’,” he says, over the dull droning from the phone. Your eyes flit down to it, a question, and he answers, “weekend update.”

“Anything good?”

He shakes his head, leaning forward to hit the unmute button, affirm whatever the hell the other dude had been saying, say his goodbyes, and then hang up.

“Feelin’ fresh?” he asks when he’s sat back.

You take a deep breath and wobble your head as an answer, laying files and folders out on the table in preparation for the meeting Joel has this morning.

“That bad, huh?”

“I was fine by Saturday afternoon. How were you?”

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that drunk.”

Yeah. Sure, Joel. Your fingers took the brunt of the alcohol.

He stands up, wanders around the table to join you. Your fingers begin to tremble at the thought of him so close. Your thighs heat.

“This all of it?” he asks. He’s closer than you thought.

“Y-yep. Some copies there, too, if anyone needs a spare.”

His hand slips up between your shoulder blades, patting you gently at the base of your neck.

“Good job, baby.”

You almost fucking shudder. Your stomach jolts, your chest tightens. The ache between your legs pangs, reminding you it’s there, even though you can’t fucking do anything about it.

You spin around, settling back against the table, ankles crossed. Tense.

“How long do you reckon it’ll go on?”

“No idea. Why? Somewhere you gotta be?”

You shake your head. “Just organizing lunch ‘n stuff for you.”

“That can wait until after.”

“I’ll have it ready for you comin’ out. Be easier.”

He steps forward. Your heart stutters.

“You’ll be in here with me.”

You cock your head. “Again? What– Why?”

“I need you in here. To take–”

“–minutes? Yeah, figured as much. You gonna have me up here all night again writing ‘em up?”

He smirks, dimples in his cheeks. There are two options here: either smack him, or jump his bones – he deserves the first and you deserve the latter.

“I like having you in my meetings, darlin’,” he says, as the door handle turns, “stops me wanting to blow my brains out.”

Martha enters and Joel slots in alongside you on the table. She sets a tray with a coffee pot and packets of sugar and milk on the sideboard.

Your head is fucking dizzy. There’s a ringing in your ears. Energy sparkling in waves from the tops of your thighs all through you. Joel’s shoulder brushing against yours, his eyes boring into the side of your face.

You won’t look at him. Won’t take your eyes off of Martha, laying paper coffee cups out in rows, her back to you guys.

Joel lays a palm flat on your thigh, rounding the curve until his hand is firm between your legs, threatening to push your skirt up. You feel his breath hot on your neck, his voice like honey in your ear.

“Makes for a nice view, too.”

You whip around to glare at him. He leans back, chuckling to himself.

Through gritted teeth, you whisper, “Can I talk to you? In private?”

Joel shrugs, excuses you both to Martha, and then follows at your heels out of the conference room and over to his office door. You waltz in without permission, shoving the door open and waiting for him to close it behind himself.

Joel’s office is bright, clean. Giant windows lining three walls, huge desk with an even bigger bookcase behind. Two black leather couches opposite, facing one another with a glass coffee table between. Soft white rugs, obnoxiously huge lampshades, small fern plants dotted here and there. You found and booked the interior designer for him, and not a day’s gone by since that you don’t remind him of how nice a job you did.

Today, though, you break that streak. You round on him as soon as he closes the tall, wooden door behind him.

“Will you fucking quit it?”

“Fucking quit what, baby?” He’s almost laughing, strolling around his desk and settling into his leather chair, leaning back. Casual. Fucking – arrogant.

You stammer, holding up a shaky finger. “Okay, first of all – that. Don’t call me baby, that’s not appropriate. Second – the teasing?”

“I don’t get it, you liked me callin’ you baby on Friday night.”

You take your bottom lip between your teeth and give him a furious stare. He holds his hands up.

“My mistake.”

You stalk over to the windows separating Joel’s office from the reception area. Martha’s still in the conference room, the door ajar. You haul the shades shut to give yourselves some privacy.

“Stop – fucking with me. Stop it. We were drunk on Friday night. It wasn’t– Stop.”

“’m not fucking with you.” He leans his head to scratch his eyebrow. He repeats it when you turn away, hands flying up in the air. “I’m not.”

“Let’s just forget Friday happened, can we do that?”

Wandering around Joel’s office isn’t doing anything to relieve the weight between your legs. If anything, it’s making it worse. You make your way back to his desk and place your hands down on the wood, leaning over.

“Wh…what’s next on the agenda?” you ask, almost panting, your eyes closing.

You hear Joel’s chair rock when his weight leaves it. His footsteps pad across soft carpet, around the desk. Nearing you. They come to a halt and you feel the air stop short, right behind you.

For someone not trying to fuck with you, he’s doing an awfully good job at it.

You surrender, leaning back, your shoulders making contact with his chest. Then his hands find your hips, light, gentle. No pressure on them, not until your ass presses against his crotch and your head tilts, allowing Joel to hook his chin over your shoulder.

He’s hard, under his pants. Against you. You can feel it, still, steady. Rock solid beneath four layers of clothing.

His hands lift from your waist and glide up your shirt front, your stomach tensing when they brush over it. They come to rest over your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipples through your shirt. And you fucking let him; lifting your right arm to hook around his jaw and pull him closer into your neck, where his lips leave soft, wet marks.

It feels like the first gasp of fresh, sea air after being underwater. The first gulp of chilled water after a hike. The first wave of aircon in the car. It’s relief. It’s desperate, borderline orgasmic relief.

You grind your ass and Joel hums into your skin. He’s getting harder by the second, you’re getting wetter. It’s not enough, what you’re doing. You need more.

You lower your hand and cup him through his pants, taking hold of his bulge and massaging gently. His hips are moving, he’s rutting into your palm, both of you desperate to rid yourselves of the clothing separating your skin.

“I asked,” you breathe, “what’s next on the agenda?”

“Next,” Joel mumbles into your skin, “was thinkin’ I could bend you over this desk ‘n fuck you.”

“Fuck me?” you repeat, and he nods. You take a breath. “S-sounds good.”

Joel’s hands find the hem of your skirt and start to pull it up your legs, painfully slow, revealing more and more of your bare thighs as he goes. He’s rubbing them, massaging until your skirt sits on your hips, little black panties exposed. His hand comes down to cup you, fingers gently applying pressure to your clit through the lace.

You moan, finally being touched by him again, finally feeling his hands on you where you need it most. Already, he’s doing better, making you feel better than you could ever by yourself. Than you did, by yourself. Involuntarily, you breathe out, “Daddy…”

Joel’s fingers pick up the pace. He fucking loves it.

“That feel good, baby? Like it like that? Tell me how it feels.”

“So – fucking – good,” you whisper, legs parting more to grant him better access. He dips his hand lower, thumb staying planted on your lace-covered clit, fingers shifting the fabric under your entrance aside.

He toys with you first, middle finger swaying back and forth through your folds, collecting slick, spreading it around. Then, a second finger, pushing upward, dangerously close to entering you. You’re gasping, leaning into him, letting his strong form keep you upright.

“That’s my girl,” Joel’s whispering into your ear. “You ain’t gotta do nothin’, just enjoy.”

And then he pushes up, two thick, curled fingers entering your cunt in one motion. He has you down to his knuckles, limp against his chest, mouth wide open in a silent gasp. Your head rolls to the side to watch him as he feels you for the first time, and his expression mirrors yours.

“So fuckin’ wet, babygirl,” he whispers, lips on your forehead.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimper as his fingers press hard inside your soft pussy, starting to pump gently before picking up the pace and fucking you good.

The office is silent, save for your gasps and moans, and the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers in your cunt. He hums into your neck, thumb pressing hard against your clit, drawing tiny circles over the swollen bud.

It doesn’t take fucking long before you’re collapsing, walls clenching, teetering on the edge of your orgasm. It’s all that’s been on your mind for almost three days, all you’ve imagined, dreamt about, thought of.

Joel feels you, knows you’re close.

“Wanna cum all over daddy’s fingers, pretty girl?”

“Mhm,” you bite back a yelp, “so – close.”

“Know you are, baby. It’s okay, you can cum. Let me feel you.”

That coil, slowly winding since approximately nine-thirty on Friday night, not relieved by your hands, your toys, or your fucking pillows, snaps in one second. The tension breaks across your stomach. Your legs give; Joel’s free hand wraps around your waist to hold you upright.

You throw your head back against his shoulder again, jaw slack with a moan you know you can’t give voice to. Joel fucks you all the way through it, fingers coated in your cum only to dive straight back in, wetter and slicker than before.

There are stars in your vision. You can’t feel between your legs. The office is slowly blinking back into view, but Joel gives you no time to recover.

He pushes you face down onto his desk roughly, hastily, like someone’s about to wander through his door any second. One ear pressed to the cold wood, you hear his belt clink, feel the teeth of his zipper graze your thighs. Hear his deep breaths as he drags his pants and boxershorts down to free his cock.

You’ve never seen him, obviously. You’ve pictured it, dreamt up what it would look like with your fingers deep inside yourself. And from this angle you still don’t see it, but when the weight of it springs against your ass, when Joel lines himself up and his tip dips between your cum-covered folds, you fucking feel it.

His thick head pushing slightly into your entrance, coating him in your slick. He’s big. You moan at the time he’s taking to just shove into you; it’s probably seconds, but it feels like fucking hours.

“I hear ya, I know,” he’s saying, but your hearing’s starting to fade. Blood pumping through your head, white noise rattling against your eardrums.

He pushes in, length separating your clenched walls, entering your wet, warm cunt with a deep growl from Joel’s lips and a gasp from yours. You open up around him, swelling as he pushes deeper and deeper.

“So – fuckin’ – tight for me, baby,” he groans, hands on your hips pulling you back onto his length. “You feel that? Feel how tight you are?”

“Mhm,” you reply, the stretch of his thick cock burning and igniting you in flame. Your eyes screw shut as he keeps pushing, further than you ever thought anyone could, until his tip kisses your cervix and you whine.

“Quiet, babygirl,” he says, pausing and placing a steady hand on the small of your back. “We don’t need anyone out there knowin’ what we’re doin’.”

“So good, daddy,” you whimper quietly, and he knows. He fucking knows.

He begins to draw back, hips leaving your ass, cock pulling out of your pussy. Your eyes roll closed, missing him the more he withdraws. Before he’s fully gone, he snaps back inside, entering you harder, faster, deeper.

You gasp, knuckles whitening with the grip of your balled fists. You bend one arm, biting into your sleeve to stop your whimpers from slipping under the door.

A couple more thrusts and Joel’s fucking you. Hard. He’s fucking huge, so huge it blurs the edges of your vision every time his cock hits against your cervix. He’s almost fucking whimpering behind you, growling your name with every stroke, groaning each time he bottoms out inside you and your tight hole wraps around his length.

You can feel the edge of the table bruising your pelvis, and it feels so fucking good. Everything about this feels good. Joel’s cock stretching you out, his hands gripping you roughly, your own hands outstretched to hold onto the desk for some sort of stability.

The only thought going through your head, only words your lips can part to utter: daddy daddy daddy.

“Good girl,” Joel hums, your moans like music to his ears. “Good fuckin’ girl. Know how naughty you are for me?”

You smile. “Yeah, daddy.”

This is the filthiest thing you’ve ever fucking done. Sure, you love sex, especially when it’s rough. But nothing you’ve ever done with anyone else, nothing you’ve ever had done to you by anyone else, compares to being bent over your boss’s desk and fucked dumb by him.

Calling him daddy, corporate managers slowly filing into a conference room just outside. Only an unlocked door separating them from you, writhing and throbbing under Joel’s cock, his rough hands on your hips, your name passing his lips in breathy moans.

Is it wrong? Yes. Do you care? Fuck no.

You know he’s close; his thrusts become sloppy, hips start hammering against you.

“Where d’you want it, baby?” he grunts, skin slapping.

You’re on the pill, and if you answered honestly, you’d tell him to finish inside you. But you know that if he wanted to do that, he’d just fucking do it. Wouldn’t ask. And you’re not prepared to waste time arguing.

“My m-mouth.”

“C’mere.” Joel slips out of you with no effort, you’re so fucking soaked for him, and spins you around. A gentle hand on your shoulder, he pushes you onto your knees, free hand jacking his cock over you.

It’s the first time you see him, fist tugging up and down a thick, veiny shaft; swollen, reddened tip spilling precum which his thumb collects and drags down his length, gleaming with your wet.

On instinct, you push forward, one hand coming to rest on his thigh, the other taking over from his on his dick. You pump him a few times, and then open your mouth wide enough to take him all the way until he’s brushing the back of your throat.

With a choke, you begin bobbing your head up and down, cheeks hollow, breathing deep through your nose. Joel moans, head rolling back, hand coming to hold your hair in a fist. He drags you back and forth a few times before he begins to shudder and you draw back, holding him steady on your swollen bottom lip.

He looks down at you and your eyes lock as he cums all over your tongue. You moan as your mouth fills with his warm, salty load. When his cock stills and he stops spilling all over you, you lean back and close your mouth, licking your lips and swallowing him.

“Aw, babygirl,” he coos, stroking your hair. “Good job. Such a good girl for me.”

You both take a few seconds to catch your breath before Joel’s hands hook under your arms and he pulls you back up, letting you lean against his desk.

Still in a daze, you feel him tug your skirt back down, fix your shirt. Tuck your hair behind your ears, wipe either saliva or cum from your lips.

“Good?” he asks, and you lace your fingers in his.

Your breath is still shaky, but through a sigh, you say, “Good.”

He nods. “Can hear Ken out front, must all be arrivin’.” He pulls you over to the door.

His fingers wrap around the handle, free hand coming up to cup your cheek. He leans down and presses his lips against yours. You open your mouth and let his tongue past, moaning into the wet, messy kiss.

Something in you almost wants to laugh, thinking about the fact you let him fuck you before you’d even kissed him.

When he pulls away, your hands take hold of his jaw, keeping him at your height.

“Have a good meeting,” you whisper, pecking him on the lips, “text me what you want for lunch.”

He growls, yanking the door open and passing by you, granting your wish to sit this one out. Something in you tells you not to wander far, though.

He’ll probably want to blow off some steam when he’s done.

----------

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[vivwritesfics]

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Twenty-Four - Milo's Birthday

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

1.5K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Series Masterlist

That night, the night after her run in with Kerry-Ann, she found herself at the kitchen table. Her old, beaten up laptop sat open in front of her and she typed away, writing her story.

She hadn't opened her laptop since their Monaco trip. A small glass on wine sat on the placemat beside her laptop. She brought it to her lips, finishing off the glass before she put it back down and returned to her writing.

"Momma?"

Her head snapped towards the door. "Munchkin, what're you doing up?" She asked as she saved her work and closed her laptop (every time she did, it was a wonder whether it would turn back on again).

Milo slipped into the seat opposite her, sitting on his hands. He rocked gently from side to side as he looked at his mother. "My bed at Danny's house is comfier," he muttered. It wasn't Milo's bed, just the bed in the guest bedroom that had been decorated with enough stuffed toys that the bed beneath was barely visible.

But it might has well have been Milo's bed.

"He'll be back soon, munchkin," she said and pushed her laptop away. "I miss him and Olivia, too."

Leaving her laptop on the table, she put her glass in the sink with the rest of the dishes and waited for Milo to stand up. Together, they headed back upstairs. She tucked Milo in and headed to her own bedroom.

It was the middle of the day in whichever part of the world Daniel was in. She called him, holding the phone to her ear as she called him.

It didn't take Daniel very long to pick up. The moment she heard his voice, she couldn't hide the elation she was filled with. Not that she had anybody to hide it from.

"Hey, honey," he said. Daniel sat outside of the AlphaTauri hospitality unit, coffee in front of him.

"Hi, Danny," she said quietly. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too," He replied.

She didn't want to bring up her unpleasant encounter with Kerry-Ann. Not yet, anyway. They talked, talked about how the Grand Prix weekend was going, talked about how Milo had been enjoying school since he left

"He misses you, too," she said to him, and Daniel chucked. There was nothing she could have said to him that would have made him happier. "Danny, we need to talk about something."

From across the world, she couldn't see as his face fell. "What's the matter? Did something happen? Is it Olivia?"

"No, no," she said quickly. "No, Danny. I had a run in with Kerry-Ann earlier. And I know it's stupid, I know she was just trying to get into my head, but I can't stop thinking about what she said to me."

"What did she say to you?" He asked. He had sat up straighter in his seat, his posture tense.

She sucked in a breath. "First she... she accused me of being with you for your money. Which, I swear I'm not interested in you for money, Danny. I love the person you are inside, I swear."

"It's okay, sweets. I know. She was the one with me for my money, not you. I know you're not." He let out a breath. "What else did she say?"

Guilt ran through her. She knew this bit wasn't true, either. She knew how Daniel felt about her. But still, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it. "She said that you don't love me," she said. "She said that you won't ever love me."

Silence. That was maybe the worst thing he could have done. Daniel said nothing. He didn't say a single thing to her for a good minute. Oh God, she was going to throw up.

But then Daniel let out a breath. "I did love Kerry-Ann. I loved her enough to have a child about her. But she showed who she really was after Olivia was born. I can't love someone that awful. She's got it in head that it's impossible I don't love her. So she thinks I can't love."

He paused, giving her a second to soak it in. "She's wrong, though. She thinks I can't love, but I love you so much that sometimes, I don't understand how it's possible. I don't understand how I can be so in love with another human being. But I am. I'm in love with you and I can't wait to buy you a ring."

She couldn't stop herself from gasping. "You don't mean that."

"Fuck, baby, I do. I've been gone a day and I just can't stop thinking about you. I know it might be soon but I can't help but dream about a future with you."

She couldn't stop herself from crying, sobs muffled by her pillow. "I can't wait for you to come home," she said through her cries.

Now, their reunion after the Grand Prix weekend was exactly what you'd think it would be. It was sweet and loving. Daniel took the four of them out for dinner and then, well, he didn't let her out of bed very much after that.

The next two months were bliss. Pure bliss.

With every Grand Prix that went by, things got a little easier. Nothing Kerry-Ann said could affect her, not when she knew how much Daniel loved her.

But then they ran into a bump. Daniel hadn't thought to ask when Milo's birthday was. But they were coming up to a year ad still, Milo hadn't celebrated his sixth birthday yet.

But then, a few weeks before the Vegas Grand Prix, she started coming home with presents. She snuck them into the house and hid them under the bed they shared.

"What's this?" He asked, watching the third time she pushed a toy beneath the bed.

She sat up and dusted off her hands. "Presents. For Milo's birthday."

Daniel moved closer to her. "Honey, when is Milo's birthday?" He asked. He had several Grand Prix coming up; he just had to hope that Milo's birthday didn’t fall on one of those weekends.

"23rd," she answered.

"What, November?"

"November."

"Fuck!" Daniel couldn't stop himself, couldn't stop the words escaping his lips. "Shit, baby. I'm in Vegas that weekend." His head fell against his shoulder and he let out a huff. "I'm gonna get him something good, I promise."

She ran her fingers through his curls. "I know you will, Danny," she said and kissed his forehead.

"I'll arrange for a party, too. And then we can do some when I'm back."

That was exactly how Daniel spent the next few weeks, planning and arranging Milo's birthday. Just like Olivia's birthday, he arranged for a custom made cake. There was a bouncy castle, a magician and more. Daniel was going to do whatever he could to give Milo the best birthday ever.

Milos birthday came around and Daniel wasn't there. Milo said he understood, but everybody could tell just how upset he was. Even more so when Kerry-Ann refused to bring Olivia to the party.

He spent most of his party in his bedroom. The bouncy castle, the custom made cake, the magician. He wanted none of it if his family wasn't all there together.

So Milo didn't enjoy his birthday on the day he turned six. He missed Daniel, he missed Olivia, enjoying it was near impossible. But he did enjoy the cake, the dinosaur cake Daniel had gotten for him.

Daniel was home the next day. He picked Olivia up from her mothers on the way and took them back to his home. Where she was waiting. With sweet, sweet Milo.

"Don't tell Milo, okay Livvy?" Daniel said to her as they pulled up outside. "It's meant to be a surprise."

Olivia mimmicked locking her lips and throwing away the key. She pulled her backpack onto her shoulders and followed her father up to the house. "Did you have fun at the party?" He asked as he pushed the key into the lock and twisted it.

"Oh, mummy wouldn't let me go to the party," she said and walked in, running up to her bedroom.

"What?!" Daniel cried as he dropped his bags.

His shout alone got the attention of everybody in the house. Milo came running down stairs (after his reunion with Olivia) to jump into his arms and she, his beautiful, wonderful girlfriend, came from the kitchen.

Daniel hugged Milo and let him go as he strode towards her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he held her waist. "Hi, baby," she said and kisssd him.

Daniel kissed her back, but pulled away quickly. "Kerry-Ann didn't let her come to Milo's party," he muttered. "That bitch didn't let Olivia go to the party."

"It's okay," she whispered, running her hands through his hair in a soothing manner. "It's okay. We're gonna go and have a nice dinner tonight, right?"

He nodded. "Right. Yeah. Really nice dinner."

Daniel wanted full custody of Olivia. More than anything in the world, he wanted full custody. But, first, he was gonna marry this girl.

a/n: we have reached the penultimate chapter of the Hooked On A Feeling series!! One more to go (but im definitely doing a follow up series dw)

TAGLIST (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1 @layazul @phantomxoxo @minseok-smaus @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lily-ann-b @cixrosie @amalialeclerc @teamnovalak @tallrock35 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal @leptitlu @landosgirlxoxo @msolbesg @cherry-piee @bathedinheat @chanshintien @ilove-tswizzle @woozarts @trouble-sistar @mysticalnightenthusiast @lewisvinga @spilled-coffee-cup @starkeyellow @fxrmuladaydreams @viennakarma @lightdragonrayne @millinorrizz @xemiefx @ellies-world61 @the-depressed-fellow

[wileys-russo]

Leah williamson "how can you fall asleep at a time like this" watching a football match at home

superstitions II l.williamson

you were happily tucked into bed, glasses on and reading light pointed to the final ten chapters of the book you'd spent the last month battling to finish, never seeming to have enough free time to get through more than a few pages before something came up.

but with your girlfriend having dinner at her best friends house you finally had the cherish little pocket of time you needed to finish, incredibly invested in the story thus far and dying to know who killed the main protagonist.

you planned to sit down and read for an hour before you'd make yourself something to eat and then finish off the rest, angling for an early night as you were quite tired from a long week of work and family commitments.

you'd only made your way through a few pages before you heard the front door click from downstairs and you frowned, snapping the book shut and swinging out of bed.

but hearing a familiar laughter ring out through the home your shoulders sagged in slight relief, but the frown never left your features as leah wasn't due home for a few hours yet, and it didn't seem like she was alone.

"baby girl?" you appeared at the top of the landing at leahs call, the blonde stood at the bottom of the stairs with a happy smile, the same adoring twinkle in her gaze anytime she looked upon you.

"i bought dinner babe, come make a plate." she nodded her head toward the kitchen as you made your way downstairs. "hi wally." you greeted the girl sat at the counter with a surprised smile who span around.

giving her a hug you lingered by her side with her arm around your waist, various takeout containers from leahs favourite italian place down the road spread out in front of you.

"why do you look so shocked?" your girlfriend asked with a mouthful of pasta making you roll your eyes, sometimes you could swear she was a sixteen year old boy and not a twenty six year old woman.

"i just wasn't expecting...this." you gestured as lia let go of you to start eating her own plate of food. "well i hope you weren't expecting me to cook love you know thats not in my wheelhouse." leah grinned and again nodded for you to make a plate.

"obviously not. but you told me this morning you were going to lia's for dinner and to watch arsenal play, not coming here with lia and dinner." you retorted as you started to dish yourself up some food.

"no i said wally was coming over for dinner and then we're going to watch arsenal play." the blonde argued with you as you grabbed your plate and sat down on the stool beside lia.

"i'm not arguing with you about this lee, i just had a hot date with a book you've interrupted." you smiled before digging in as your girlfriend pulled a face. "you are not still reading that are you? baby its been like five months!" leah groaned as lia reached over to smack her hand.

"and what was the last book you read leah? picture ones don't count." the swiss defended you causing your girlfriend to scoff and you to grin, bumping your shoulder into hers appreciatively.

"well your little book date will have to wait till later baby girl we have traditions to attend to!" leah warned as you threw your head back with a groan. "you can't be serious? its all superstition love it doesn't actually help anything!" you laughed as both footballers now turned their gazes onto you.

"yes it does." they spoke seriously and in sync making you pull a face and roll your eyes. "no it doesn't." you sighed, knowing regardless this was not an argument you'd be winning anytime soon with it clearly being two against one.

"leah i don't want to!" you whined after the blonde had wrestled a jersey onto you, laying down on the bed stubbornly. "well too bad! now are you walking downstairs or am i carrying you?" the girl questioned, hands on her hips as she stared down at you from the end of the bed.

"why can't you and lia just do everything you normally do but without me?" you sighed as your girlfriend rolled her eyes. "because thats not how we did it last time and last time we won 5-0. you weren't here the time before that and we lost 4-2." leah rationalized, gesturing her hands around wildly.

"can i at least read my book while you watch?" you tried to bargain as the defender shook her head. "no! you didn't do that last time, isn't happening this time. now up!" leah motioned, clicking her fingers impatiently.

"kick off in two minutes!" you heard lia yell from downstairs as your leah's eyes widened and before you could blink she was manhandling you up and off the bed, pulling you toward the door as you groaned but didn't dig your heels in.

"okay. you were there with the red pillow and the scarf, i was here with the blue pillow and babe you were here." you were once again manhandled to lay down between leahs legs, a beanie forcefully tugged over your head, your hand smacked away as you tried to pull it off.

"oh! i think your hood was up too." lia remembered as leah quickly pulled her hood up and over her head, the whistle blowing for kick off. "the two of you are ridiculous, you know that right?" you sighed but wiggled around a little to find a comfortable position.

"perfect. you were in a grumpy mood last game too, thank you for your cooperation stroppy!" leah teased peppering several kisses across your face as you pushed her away, interlocking your fingers with hers and wrapping her arms tighter around you.

as time passed you grew bored of the game. you loved watching your girlfriend play and would never ever miss an opportunity to be there and cheer her on. but you'd never shared the same passion that the blonde had for watching games at home.

you'd appease her by sitting with her at times when she wanted, though your attention was always elsewhere and you encouraged her to invite the girls over so she had other people to actually watch with.

but the premier league north london derby always commanded an extra special set of rules and regulations, and your strong willed girlfriend was always the first to enforce them.

you sat quietly and patiently throughout the first half, arsenal going up 2-0 before suddenly by half time it was 2-1, and then a few minutes into the second half it was locked 2-2.

you'd long grown used to leahs tendencies to scream at the players on tv as if they could hear her, learning how to block it out and zone off into your own little world.

today was no different though you were much more tired than most nights you laid down with the blonde to watch a match, and with lia there for her to discuss and commentate with it was easy for you to drift off.

"hey! there's no sleeping during the derby." leah laughed, pinching your cheeks as she noticed your eyes closed, lia smiling in amusement as you exhaled deeply.

"i'm here, i'm wearing your stupid vintage shirt and beanie, im sitting in my designated position. why can't i take a nap?" you huffed in annoyance. "how can you fall asleep at a time like this baby? its deadlocked 2-2 this is fantastic football babe!" leah protested as you shrugged, unbothered.

"leave her be." lia chuckled as you shot her a grateful smile, eyes closing again as leah started to argue, her best friend only shushing her as eventually her protests died down.

a smile curled into your lips as you felt her body shift beneath you, hands on your hips pulling you upwards so she could hug you a little tighter, warm lips affectionately pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"i can't believe she'd rather sleep than watch this, this is the best match of the season so far!"

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (7/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Having a movie night is a good way to spend the evening with your roommate. If it were not for the wine that loosens the mouth.

Warnings: TENSION, FLIRTING (you've been warned), alcohol consumption, a Charles picture (badly edited), Cars (movie)

Word Count: 3k

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A/N: I'm sitting here like a fourteen year old whose crush admitted to liking her. that's how I'm feeling about this chapter. feedback is appreciated!

"You're kidding me."

"I would never."

Charles sets his wine glass on the coffee table as you clutch yours, though there's not a sip left in it. "How have you made it through life so far?"

You shrug. Charles looks at you with a look like you kicked a dog and insulted his mother. "I never got around to it."

That's only half the truth. Since you moved out of your parents' house, you'd actually had plenty of time to catch up on that sort of thing. But at some point you had decided for yourself that it was too late to get into it in your early twenties, when you should theoretically be out of it.

Apparently Charles doesn't see it that way. He reaches for the remote control and presses a few buttons until first a castle and then a bouncing lamp appear on the television in front of you. He then presses the stop button and turns back to you. "Get comfortable, because you're not getting off this couch again until we're done here." He places the bowl of popcorn between you on the couch. "And if you fall asleep, you'll have to watch the movie again."

You pour yourself some more wine and take a big gulp. As some of it runs out of the corner of your mouth, you wipe it away with the back of your hand. "Aren't we too old for this?"

Charles raises an eyebrow before pressing the play button. The screen goes black and you hear someone take a deep breath in and out before an off-screen voice says okay, here we go. focus. The grin on your roommate's face grows so wide it almost touches an ear. Speed. I am speed.

"You're never too old for Cars."

Apparently Charles not only works in the car industry, but is obsessed with cars. And even more so with this film. 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he is silently moving his mouth to speak along with every single character while you sit next to it, eating popcorn and drinking your wine. 

The beginning of the film doesn't particularly captivate you. An arrogant car with no team spirit as the protagonist. For sure he would make friends in the course of the film and appreciate them and then he wins his race. Very predictable. Even for a children's film. 

All you have to do now is stand there and let me look at you, Lightning McQueen says to the Porsche and you cringe.

"Wow, that's hardly bearable." You put a piece of popcorn between your teeth and wash it down with a gulp of wine. 

Charles, who has slid down a little further on the couch, looks at you. "Lightning or the whole movie?" He reaches for his glass on the table. 

You spread your index finger from the glass and point it at the screen. "Lightning. That was so slimy. Like anyone would fall for that." As Sally embarrasses the hell out of the red speedster, you thrust your fist into the air enthusiastically. 

Charles laughs. "So you're not into that sort of thing to seduce you?" He sips his wine, you shake your head. He props himself up on the seat with one elbow, resting his head in his hand, and stretches his legs out in your direction so that he's almost completely on the couch. He dangles the wine glass casually in his free hand. The film pauses. "How else can you be seduced?"

If you hadn't caught the phone call this lunchtime and the conversation with Joris, both of which involved a woman, you might think that Charles is flirting with you. That maybe he sees more in you than his roommate and friend. And if your ex-boyfriend hadn't spoiled your mood before - or generally not crossed your life - you'd go for it, too. 

You glance at Charles. He has taken off his jumper sometime after the second glass of wine and thrown it towards the dining table chair, so that he is lying next to you in his shirt. The strands of his hair stand on end after running his hand through them several times and his cheeks are slightly flushed. His green and otherwise alert eyes seem a little misty, almost certainly due to the alcohol. 

And his smile. God, his smile is so crooked and beautiful and his dimples give him something childishly cheeky that makes your heart beat a beat faster. 

Is he cute?, you hear Vicky's voice in the back of your mind. 

Damn cute, even. 

'Definitely not like that,' you finally answer his question, lowering your gaze towards your wine glass. If your mind is already drifting like this, maybe you should stop drinking. 

"How then?", Charles asks, his eyes fixed on you. 

Unsure, you look at him. "Why do you want to know?" Inwardly, you command your heart to give it a rest. Just because he asks doesn't mean he needs the knowledge for himself.

"Well, maybe one day a guy will come along who doesn't know how to approach you. And then I can give him a hint, if you want," he explains with a shrug, before taking a big sip of his wine and emptying his glass. 

You try not to let on how much his answer hits you. Somehow you hoped he would want to know that for himself, in case he decided to approach you at some point. But apparently you haven't been listening to Charles properly for the last few hours. 

That's what friends are for, after all. 

You're my friend. 

For not being a good friend to you. 

And friends who live together fight in between. 

Inwardly you slap your forehead with your palm. The wine is definitely to blame for your thoughts. 

"When you remember little things," you finally answer Charles' question and set your glass down on the table, which Charles seems to take as an invitation to top up, and before you can do anything about it he has refilled your glass. 

"Little things?" Charles lies back in his comfortable position and eyes you. 

You nod. "Yes. Like the fact that I think peonies are much prettier than roses, or that I prefer muffins to cupcakes. Little things like that, that define me." You shrug. "It just shows that the person has been paying attention and cared about me."

Charles nods, and you think he glances briefly at your almost empty wine bottle before reaching for the remote again. "Good to know."

The film continues and you decide that little blue Guido is your favourite character. As Lightning McQueen pulls yellow Betsy across the road and chats to Luigi and Guido, you raise your eyebrows in surprise. 

"Kind of strange to hear Formula One mentioned."

You notice Charles stiffen beside you, but his gaze remains forward. "Why?"

You reach - despite your brain vehemently telling you not to - for your glass. "Well, it's an animated film and the fact that Formula One is mentioned makes it kind of real. Although it's not. You know what I mean?"

"Do you watch Formula One, then?" asks Charles a counter-question, without answering yours. By now he is looking at you, but you can't interpret the expression on his face.

As you shake your head, he seems to relax a little. For whatever reason. "No. I used to watch it with my grandfather. Back when Michael Schumacher drove for Ferrari. We watched every race and cheered for the red team." You take a sip. "I lost sight of it at some point."

"Do you think you'd still be a Ferrari fan now if you'd stuck with it?" your roommate asks. Why he's so interested in it, you don't know. 

You point to the two Ferrari fans from Cars and smile. "Isn't everyone a Ferrari fan somehow? Even if they're not?" You turn back to the film and continue sipping your wine. 

Which is definitely not the best idea, because it seems to cloud your thoughts and loosen your mouth, because when Lightning decides to help Radiator Springs, it just bursts out of you. "Lightning is hot."

Charles, who has just taken a sip, chokes and nearly coughs his guts out. When he has calmed down, he looks at you, distraught. "Excuse me?"

"Yeeeees." You turn a little in his direction and pull your legs to your chest. You're sitting opposite each other now, except that Charles is lying down. "Not so 'wow, I'd like to fuck him'-hot. But his vibe makes him hot."

Charles wiggles his eyebrows. "I was once told I looked like him."

You have to laugh out loud, and you reach into the popcorn bowl once and throw it at him, laughing. He's not that quick to open his mouth to catch the pieces, but he gathers them up off his shirt and puts them between his teeth, grinning. 

"Why are you laughing like that? Someone actually said that once! Don't you believe me?"

You realise that the wine has gone to your head, because you can hardly stop laughing. You can hardly breathe and tears spring to your eyes, which you wipe away with the hem of your jumper. Your stomach hurts and you force yourself to breathe in and out deeply. "No, I believe you. But Lightning is just hot, and you're cute. There's a difference between the two."

Your sober self, which is napping somewhere deep in your brain, startles from its slumber and would love to slap you for it. 

Charles cheeks turn even redder and somehow the hem of his shirt seems very interesting because he rubs it between his thumb and forefinger before looking at you. "So you think I'm cute?"

This time he is quicker and catches the piece of popcorn you throw in his direction with his mouth and chews on it with relish. "Oh, come on. I'm definitely not the first one to say that to you," you try to somehow talk your way out of it. "I'm probably just the first to say that without flirting with you. My statement is to be considered purely objective."

"Objective, then?" He sits up a little straighter. "What would it look like if you were flirting?"

You put your wine glass down on the table and decide to actually let it go for today. You've definitely said too much, which you'd almost certainly regret tomorrow, and just thinking about how weird things might get in the morning makes your blood rush to your ears. So you reach for the popcorn. "I'm not doing that to you."

Your roommate raises an eyebrow in confusion. "Why? Are you that bad?" he quips.

You shake your head playfully. "On the contrary. I'm so good at it, you'd fall in love with me instantly," you joke, and have to grin, but Charles doesn't return it. 

"Don't worry," he replies without taking his eyes off you. "It takes more than that to make me fall head over heels in love with someone."

You'd love to ask what exactly it takes, but why should you care? You're friends, he's made that clear. And you should definitely get it through your head. In your drunken estimation, the line of friendship you're walking right now is clearly too narrow for your liking. 

You purse your lips and watch the film in silence. The mood has changed, no longer as easy-going as it was a few minutes ago. You would like to say something, but you don't know what, so you sit still. 

When you reach the point in the film where Lightning pushes the King across the finish line - against your expectations - to finish third in the Piston Cup, you can't stop the sob that leaves your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you see Charles looking at you. And then all the dams break.

"How can a film about cars - about cars, Charles - make me cry like this?" You wipe away your tears. "This isn't normal. What's the point? It's a movie for kids, for fuck's sake."

Charles' smile is gentle. "No swear words, please. The film is my favourite."

"The film is first class." You try to breathe but hiccup as a result and Charles has to laugh slightly. "Oh, shit. Do kids even understand how important the message is? That it doesn't matter if you win or not as long as you do the right thing and have your friends around you?" 

"There are two more parts, by the way. We can watch those too if you like," Charles suggests and he looks a little offended when you shake your head and get up from the couch. 

"Let me process this movie first and then we'll see." You grab the empty wine bottles and glasses to take them to the kitchen. Charles grabs the bowls and you put the dishes in the sink. Neither of you would manage to wash them properly yet and with a single glance you silently agree to clean up the rest of the living room in the morning. 

You go together to the bathroom where you get ready for bed. You are brushing your teeth when your gaze catches his in the mirror. You smile at him. "But I would love to watch the films with you. I had a lovely evening, if that wasn't clear." You spit some excess foam into the sink. "Thank you for that."

Charles sticks his thumb in the air and washes his mouth out before answering you. "Anytime." He places his toothbrush in his cup. "I haven't had this much fun watching a movie in ages." As he looks at you, his gaze goes through your skin and bones. "Thank you for forgiving me. I couldn't bear it if you were angry with me."

As he combs his hair with a brush - yours - you rinse out your mouth as well. It's so mundane the way the two of you get ready for bed next to each other, as if you've grown up together and not as if you've only known each other for exactly one day. This familiarity between you should feel strange, but you have to admit yourself that nothing has ever felt better. 

"I don't think I can stay mad at you for long." You tie your hair into a braided pigtail, which takes a little longer than usual because of the wine. "I like you far too much for that."

You don't wait for his answer, but leave the bathroom, grabbing your camera and phone for a moment. "Do you have your AirDrop on?" you ask him. "So I can send you the photo."

"Oh, yeah. Hang on a sec." He rummages around among the cushions on the couch for a moment until he pulls out his phone and taps away on it. You look at your screen, and see "CL iPhone" flashing up. You press his name and the picture your camera automatically sent to the phone app is now sent to Charles. He looks at it for a moment. "I look so good."

"Don't get too carried away," you laugh and move towards the bedroom door while Charles gets his bedding from the wardrobe in the hall. You watch him for a moment as he gets his things ready. "Good night, Lightning."

His smile is so gentle you could melt. "Good night."

After closing the bedroom door behind you, you slip into your sleeping clothes and climb under your duvet. With your phone in your hand, you lie down on your side. You release the key lock and Charles' picture appears. 

He is right. He does look good in it. 

Just as you are about to plug your phone into the charger and put it away, a message pops up on the screen. 

CL iPhone would like to share a photo

Surprised, you click on "Accept". 

You giggle and think about sending a picture back, but don't. "You can sleep in your bed tomorrow," you shout across the flat and receive a "Thank you!"

Grinning, you snuggle into your pillow and force yourself not to stare at the picture he just sent you. It's almost cheeky how he can still look so good after such a long day and a bottle of wine. 

You put your phone next to your pillow and turn onto your back. To cope with this situation, you have to draw clearer lines. And lock away the thoughts that are running around in your head in between. 

You have a crazy ex. And there's something going on with Charles too, although you don't know what exactly. It definitely wouldn't be the right time for either of you to develop feelings for someone. And as often as he's referred to you as his friend, you want to spare yourself the shame of falling for someone who doesn't want you. 

You put your forearms over your face. 

You have known each other for twenty-four hours. How can someone be so etched in your mind after such a short time? 

You blame your emotional state on the wine, close your eyes and try to think of something else. Of cute penguins, puppies, sheep. But the thoughts circle and circle and always find their way back, as if they only know this way. 

Always back to Charles. Charles. Charles. Charles.

next part

[colormepurplex2]

Now I'm Yours | Feel It In Your Soul

↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ A/B/O, Established Relationship/Mates ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,697 ⚠️ Vulgar language, fingering, knotting, creampie, discussion of violent acts, fighting/physical altercation, alpha challenge, knife violence/attack, blood, injury, bond sex, dick licking/oral, slick eating, biting/marking, blood/wound licking, surprise pregnancy

A/N: Read Make You Mine, the first installment of this series, here!

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

When you meet Jungkook’s family in the garage the next morning, the sun isn't even up yet. His parents are waiting next to the large SUV that’s idling by the open door when you enter through the side entrance from the laundry room.

After a hasty shower, you threw on jeans and a t-shirt and are now helping Junghyun load the back of the vehicle with a few boxes from the storage room. The tops of the boxes are labeled with various things, mostly boasting medical supplies or nonperishable foodstuffs.

“Did Jungkook say why he wanted us to bring all of this stuff?"

Junghyun looks up at you from under his brow as he bends over to retrieve the next box, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Donations. We’re going to be close to The Sanctuary, and we try to donate once a quarter if we’re able.”

This is the first you’ve heard of the Jeons donating to The Sanctuary. You’re intimately familiar with the place. It’s exactly what it sounds like: a sanctuary for abused or neglected omegas and their children. Mari was one such omega, cast aside by her original pack when she didn’t match with any of the alphas within it. It wasn’t until Roland, having just taken over as pack Alpha of your old pack, started up his own annual donations to The Sanctuary that he met Mari. Your old pack made at least a donation every six months after that, helping as many omegas and children as possible.

It’s not that you wouldn’t think the Jeons are a pack that would help those less fortunate; you’d just not given it much thought, considering you grew up thinking they were run by power-hunger alphaholes. Not that Jungkook isn’t an alphahole, he’s just…maybe not as bad as you once thought—even without the rose-tinged view you have of him now from being your mate.

The duel is taking place on neutral territory, which happens to be an old warehouse that’s been converted into a performance theatre in the entertainment district of the central city. The warehouse was renovated a few decades ago by the council when enough of the surrounding packs hounded them for a space to meet en masse.

It’s about three hour's drive, the view filled with the sun peeking over the mountains and trees with their leaves changing in preparation for winter. You sit in the passenger seat, head resting against the window while you try not to stress too much over the events of the next twenty-four hours.

“Come on, dear,” the soft voice of Jungkook’s mother drags you from your rumination. She’s leaning through the gap between the front seats, her hand lightly squeezing your shoulder. “We’re here.”

You hadn’t even realized the vehicle had stopped and that Junghyun and Jungkook’s father had gotten out already. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, popping open the door and sliding out.

She meets you along the side of the SUV, a concerned look pinching her brow. “Are you feeling okay?”

Now that she mentions it, you are feeling a bit off-kilter. Though, it’s probably just the nerves. “Just worried, that’s all,” you explain, pressing a hand against your stomach.

“Did you skip breakfast?” she asks, hooking her arm around your other one and slowly leading you to where Junghyun and his father stand near the elevator of the parking garage.

Breakfast was the last thing on your mind this morning. “Yeah. I’ll be okay, though.”

“Nonsense,” she tuts, producing a whole-grain protein bar from the bag slung over her other shoulder. “You’ll feel better with something in your stomach. Now, let’s go find my son. Being near your alpha will do you a dose of good, as well.”

You nibble on the protein bar, looking to simply placate her, but find yourself suddenly ravenous and consume the whole thing in three bites. It sits like lead in your belly, and you immediately regret wolfing it down so quickly.

“This foolish display will start at precisely noon, not long now,” Jungkook’s father states, the clip of his cane hitting the linoleum flooring of the elevator echoing the disapproval that’s evident in his voice.

Junghyun presses the button that’s labeled ‘theatre hall’ on the control panel and the cabled car begins a swift ascent up to the fifth floor. You caught sight of Jungkook's motorcycle in the parking garage, sitting next to Jimin’s red sports car. A few other familiar vehicles lined the rows, but there were dozens more you didn’t recognize.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you feel a familiar humming warmth bloom in the center of your chest. It’s the same feeling you’ve learned to associate with being nearer to Jungkook. Peeking at your phone, you see it’s a message from the alpha, letting you know he’s waiting for you just on the other side of the elevator doors.

“There you are,” Jungkook exhales, not even waiting for you to get off the elevator before he’s gathering you into his arms. His scent engulfs you, immediately putting you at ease. Jungkook is all alpha, and as much as you hate to admit it, he’s exactly what you need; your stomach and nerves are instantly soothed.

Jungkook’s father clears his throat, drawing Jungkook’s attention. “What news do you have?”

Jungkook sighs, releasing most of his hold on you, but keeps an arm over your shoulders and ushers you out of the elevator and into the hall. “Most all the other families have arrived. Jimin is with Daehyun now. I haven’t managed to lay my eyes on either Raiden or Demetrius. According to the council, they’re supposed to be in the eastern dressing rooms. I have seen Kiel skulking around the halls, though, creepy bastard.”

“Have you seen Hyunsoo?” Jungkook nods in answer to his father’s question. “I’d like to have a word with him.”

“Last I saw him, he was inside speaking with the council.”

“Perfect, I could do with a word for them, too,” Jungkook’s father grumbles before starting toward the entrance to the performance hall proper. Junghyun follows closely behind, after dipping his chin at Jungkook. You’ve never seen Jungkook get bent out of shape over designation deference, as some alphas do. He doesn’t force those below him to bow and scrape; he just asks for as much respect as he affords them in exchange. It’s just another tick you’ve had to add to your ‘Jungkook isn’t as bad as I once thought’ list.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jungkook asks softly, his eyes flicking between yours.

You do feel much better now that you’re with him, which would normally grate on you, but you can’t seem to muster up the typical ire for some reason. “I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “Just nerves.” That seems to satisfy him.

“Come on, let’s go before Dad causes too much of a scene.”

“Umm, I’ll be right there. I’m just going to go to the restroom real quick.”

He continues to stare at you for a moment longer before slowly nodding. “Okay. Mom, we’ll be right back—”

“No, no. It’s okay, you don’t have to come with—”

“Jungkook,” his mom interrupts you both, giving her son an amused smile. “She might be your omega, but I promise she doesn’t need you to hold her hand while she uses the restroom. I’ll wait here for her. You go on ahead with your father and Junghyun.”

Pink creeps up Jungkook’s neck and kisses his ears. “Right. Okay. I’ll see you inside,” he mumbles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before reluctantly taking his arm from across your shoulders and heading toward the door his father and brother disappeared through.

“Thank you,” you say to his mom. “I’ll be right back.”

You’ve only been here a handful of times over the years for various events, but you’re able to follow the signs well enough to the restrooms located on this side of the venue. However, when you get there, the door is locked, and there is a janitorial wet-floor sign posted right outside.

It’s just your luck, right as you’re starting to feel a light wave of nausea wash over you. Taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your inner omega, who isn’t helping the situation at all, you turn to retreat back to where Jungkook’s mom is waiting for you a few halls over. Maybe she’ll have something that can calm your warring stomach and nerves.

“I can break the lock if you need to get in there,” a voice calls out from further down the hall just as you take a step to go back. “You look like you need it.”

You swivel toward the voice but can only make out the silhouette of someone standing in a darkened doorway a few doors down. They pull out a phone, and the blue light illuminates the ceiling for a moment before it’s plunged back into darkness. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You don’t look fine to me.” The words come with a chuckle that slithers over your senses and sets you on high alert. You’ve heard that voice before. “If fact, you look like a helpless little omega that’s about to sick up all over the floor.”

That’s a thought. You might just do that, considering who steps out from that doorway, the face fitting with the name screaming inside your head. Kiel Barton. He’s every inch the viperous bastard he’s known to be. Despite being not much taller than you, he’s thicker through each arm and leg than both of yours combined. His bald head glints in the overhead light, and the jagged scar on his right cheek is bright white against his red-flushed face. He swaggers into the hallway, just a few feet away, twirling a switchblade through his thick fingers.

“I’m not helpless,” you seethe through your teeth. You don’t necessarily mean for the words to come out so aggressively, but they do. Years of not taking shit from anyone don’t seem to have worn off too much from your time of being mated with Jungkook. And if it’s one thing you’ve always hated, it’s how everyone thinks omegas are weak and soft—helpless without an alpha.

Kiel grins, and it reminds you of something you might see in a horror film right before the psycho killer attacks. “Oh, sweet, sweet omega,” he crows before sucking in a deep lungful of air, “I don’t think you realize just how helpless you are right now.”

You’re about to turn on your heel and run when he leaps. It’s like a strike of lightning; he moves so fast—faster than your reflexes can keep up with. Pain thunders through you as his burly form knocks into you and sends you hurtling a few feet down the hall to land in a heap on the floor.

He’s back on you in an instant, cold steel pressed against your neck. “Get off me!” you scream, trying your best to buck him off despite the disorienting feeling still reeling inside your head.

“I promised my brother as long as he did his part, I would do mine,” Kiel sing-songs in a demented tone, his words trailing off into another one of those spine-chilling chuckles. 

“Fuck you!” You struggle under his weight, your knees and elbows trying to get any purchase along his thick-muscled body that they can. You manage to catch him along the neck with your hand, nails scoring bloody lines through the devil tattoo he has there.

An ear-splitting roar, the sound of loud banging, and running feet sound from somewhere down the hall, making Kiel’s laughter trail off. “Looks like my time to play is—” A small, sneakered foot meets the side of his ribs, turning his words into a grunt. The hit barely rocks him, but you can’t be sure of who it is, though, around his bulk.

“Get off of her, you snake!” snarls a familiar feminine voice, only it’s dripping with far more acid than you’ve ever heard before.

“FUCK! I don’t have time for this!” Kiel thunders, rearing back and bringing a fist around right into your temple, sending you careening into hazy darkness.

There is so much noise and movement that when you first come to, you think you’re dreaming. But then the very real pain lights up along your side, and you’re reminded that this is very much not a dream. You’re laying on the floor in the hallway outside the bathroom, side smarting hard from the impact of hitting the floor and the memory of a meaty fist stark in your mind.

You go to sit up, only to have your hand slip through a puddle of warm, sticky liquid. The scent hits you a second later, thick and metallic. “Oh gods,” you whimper softly. Your hand is bright red when you bring it up in front of your face.

“Please,” comes an even more pitiful whimper from beside you. Adrenaline kicks in, and you flip onto your hands and knees, letting your eyes swing over the scene around you.

A dozen bodies are packed in the hall, fists flying and mouths opened in concussive bellows. It’s pandemonium. Everyone is fighting, familiar faces and those of strangers alike. All the sounds combined make you want to crawl into a corner and cover your ears, but the form lying beside you keeps you right where you are.

Jungkook’s mom lies on the floor. Her body turned at an odd angle, with her hips going one way and her torso the other as if she was flung around like a ragdoll. You realize the whimpering is coming from her. She lifts a trembling hand toward you, and you grab onto it, crawling closer to kneel beside her.

The blood covering your hand, now seeping through the knees of your jeans, is coming from her. A familiar-looking switchblade is protruding from the upper right area of her chest, between her clavicle and shoulder, and there is a cut over her left eyebrow that blood is steadily oozing from.

“No, no, no!” You quickly rip off a strip from the bottom of your t-shirt and press it around the blade, trying to staunch the wound. The cut above her brow doesn’t look deep; all the blood is a bit alarming, but you know headwounds are the worst in being deceptive; they bleed so much. You’re also scared to take your hands away from her chest. “What did you do?”

Her eyes flicker open, rolling wide until they land on you. “Had to”—she pauses, whimpering in pain as someone stumbles backward and knocks into her splayed legs—”pr-protect the baby.”

“Protect the–protect the wh—”

“NO!” The alpha roar echoes through the hall, as loud as a thunderclap.

In the same instant that your hands are moved aside and replaced by the older, more gnarled ones of her mate, arms come around you from behind and you’re lifted up off the floor. Fear grips your throat, and you flail, aiming your elbow backward at whoever grabbed you.

“Stop, calm down!” Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of your fight instinct, and you sag in his arms. The fighting around you has turned into pockets of isolated struggle.

You blink a few times, clearing the panicked haze from your eyes, finally able to piece everything together. There are a few busted lips and some already swelling eyes, but there are at least a handful of familiar faces around you. Each one is executing some form of hold over individuals with less familiar faces; headlocks, arm bars, and others that look just as effective, if maybe more painful.

Then there is the scene at your feet, right out of a horror movie. Jungkook’s dad and brother are kneeling beside his mom, the knife still sticking out of her chest. It looks like the blood has stopped pooling around the blade, but you can’t seem to remember if that’s a good or a bad sign.

“Jungkook! Your mom, we need a medic!” you urge, struggling in his arms again.

A sinister, wet, cackling laugh cuts through the hushed din of the hallway before it turns into a hacking cough. You can hear the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh and pained grunts.

”Shut up, you sick bastard!” The ragged cry comes from further down the hallway, where you see Seokjin with his arms wrapped around Kiel’s upper torso and Yoongi throwing fists into his stomach. “How dare you!?”

“Yoongi.” Jungkook doesn’t have to raise his voice at all. The other alpha stops, fist poised mid-punch, his shoulders heaving. “That’s enough.” The coldness in Jungkook’s tone has the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. You’ve never heard him sound so utterly emotionless. “For now.”

Pounding footsteps sound from the other end of the hall, and a few betas come skidding into view, medical bags in hand. “Out of the way!” one of the betas shouts, shouldering his way down the hall before dropping down beside Junghyun and beginning to work. “I need to get her stabilized before we can move her.”

Everything is still a bit cloudy for you; all you have are flits and flashes of memory, but it’s not hard to piece it together. Kiel came after you outside the bathroom, and then Jungkook’s mom tried to interfere. “Is she, is she going to be okay?” you ask, voice soft, your lips trembling around the question.

Jungkook hooks an arm under the backs of your legs and hoists you up against his chest, and you get your first good look at his face. There is a dribble of blood coming from the corner of his mouth and mild swelling coming up around his left eye.

He’s about to open his mouth to say something when a group of grey-haired alphas cut around the corner at the end of the hall, and the one in the front gasps dramatically, “Good gods! What has happened?” You groan at the loud sound, burying your face into Jungkook’s chest.

“This is what happens when you entertain absurd demands from a known trouble-making pack,” Jungkook’s father states with barely veiled malice.

“This is your mess,” Jungkook says, directing attention to the elders shuffling their feet at the end of the hall. His words are acerbic despite him speaking at a normal volume. It’s an alpha statement, carrying the cutting edge of an unspoken command. The entire hallway stills, the air thick with tension.

“Our mess?”

“If you had listened to me from the start about how utterly ridiculous this whole duel bullshit was, this”—he nods down at his mother, who is still being worked on by the betas—”wouldn’t have happened. I’ll have all of you off the council before the week is over, mark my words,” he seethes. “And, if she doesn’t recover fully, I’ll have more than just your titles. Yoongi, Seokjin, you know what to do.” With that, Jungkook turns and stalks down the hall, carrying you with him.

🌙🌙🌙

Jungkook

There is so much rage simmering beneath Jungkook’s skin that he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t let it out somehow. However, the only outlet he wants right now is you—to get lost in your body and your soul—but you’re in no state to take the brunt of his emotions.

“Jungkook.” Your soft voice draws his gaze down to your face. Seeing the swelling around your eye makes him want to turn around and finish what Yoongi was starting. Jungkook isn’t violent, but he could level the entire city right now if he weren’t so focused on getting you checked out. You bring a hand up and lightly trace the break in his lip. “What happened?”

“Raiden and Demetrius. I think this was their plan all along. One minute, Father and I were talking to the council while we waited, and the next, Raiden and Demetrius, along with a half dozen of their pack, came bursting into the theatre and attacked us.” Jungkook sighs, shaking his head. “I felt you, I felt the…” the trails off, not wanting to voice those feelings aloud. The pure terror he felt through his mate connection to you. The tie between the two of you has never really been an open street, he’s never been able to feel your emotions so viscerally before. It was almost enough to take him to his knees. If he didn’t need to fight off a pack of rabid alphas, it nearly might have. “I’m sorry,” Jungkook rasps.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. We knew they were up to no good. I should have been more vigilant or, at least, taken you up on your offer to escort me to the restroom.” You try to laugh, but it turns into a groan as your head pounds.

“Let’s get you to the hospital so they can check you over.”

No amount of protests from you will deter Jungkook from getting you to a doctor. Junghyun texts him shortly after he places you in the backseat of the SUV, letting Jungkook know that everyone else is on their way to the hospital and an ambulance is en route to get their mother but that the betas are hopeful.

Several hours later, you’ve been released from the hospital with confirmation of no lasting damage, just a recommendation to get some rest. Jungkook’s lip is patched with a butterfly stitch, per your insistence, and it itches as he sits on the edge of the bed in the hotel room he booked before leaving the hospital. Even though you aren’t concussed or anything, Jungkook didn’t want to risk taking you all the way back to pack lands.

Besides, his mother was admitted and is still there for observation, and he doesn’t feel comfortable being too far away while she’s in recovery. She went in for surgery immediately upon arrival and woke up not too long ago. Junghyun and their father are staying at the hospital with her until she’s cleared to go home, which will hopefully not be more than a few days. Apparently, her wounds looked worse than they were, and she was fortunate Kiel didn’t get her an inch further to either side. Otherwise, it might be a very different outcome.

Jimin texted him a bit ago, letting him know the entire Barton pack is being detained at the local precinct, and the authorities are awaiting word from Jungkook about charges. The council sequestered themselves behind closed doors, but the duel was considered null due to the circumstances. Jimin feels bad about being part of the ruse, even if he was just being used as a means to get close to the Jeon pack.

It’s come to light that the Bartons decided to use their feud with the Parks because they knew the Jeons wouldn’t sit idly by. One big, elaborate plan, all to get close to Jungkook’s Luna and try to tear down the hierarchy. If Jungkook lost his Soulmate, he’d lose his foundation of power as well. Or so, that’s what the buzz was when some of the Barton betas were interrogated, according to Jimin.

Jungkook knows everything is going to be okay, that you’re going to be okay; the doctor told him as much. But, despite that assurance, he can’t seem to relax. You’re curled up in the bed, facing him, and you look so peaceful, even with the swelling on the side of your face, but all he can feel is rage when he sees that…rage and so much guilt.

He never should have let you go to the restroom on your own. If he has his way, he’s never going to let you out of his sight again. It’s such an alarming realization, going from one polar sensation to the next. The fact he could give two shits less about you just a few months ago, and now here he is wanting to murder someone for touching you, is hard to wrap his head around.

Yet, here he is, fisting the edge of one of the blankets as he battles this feeling inside himself. The fact his alpha has been mostly silent since Jungkook laid eyes on you in that hallway is just as alarming. It’s almost like his alpha is giving him space. For the first time since coming into his designation, he feels like a giant void separates him from his alpha; he doesn’t like it.

There’s also the pile of papers sitting on the desk, a few feet away, that hold another key bit of information that won’t let him relax. It was standard testing, just something to help rule other things out and see what kinds of tests they could and could not perform to assess your head.

You’re pregnant.

Now that he knows, Jungkook can tell. There is a distinct, underlying change to your scent. It’s sweeter somehow, more alluring in the sense that you now smell partly like him. He should have known before. He knows that if he hadn’t spent so much time away from you, he would have realized it sooner.

You were surprised, but your shock seemed more subdued. When questioned, you told Jungkook what his mother had said to you. Somehow, even his mother knew before he did. Jungkook feels like a failure, like he’s done nothing right by you. It had to have happened the night of your designation celebration. Neither of you had bothered with any preventative measures that night, too lost in the touch and feel of each other to care.

And now, here you are, pregnant without a bite on your neck and a knot on the side of your head. If anything were to have happened to the baby…Jungkook isn’t sure he can even think about that right now. Not without wanting to put his fist through the wall.

He’s spent weeks worried about staying away from you when all along, he was clearly concerned about all the wrong things. The doctor assured him that even the most attentive of alphas take several weeks before they can smell their own child in the womb. But that doesn’t make Jungkook feel any better.

He thinks back on all the curt and what he thought were nagging messages he had gotten from his mother the last few weeks and can see them in a different light now. She wasn’t just trying to chastise him about his duty; she was trying to coax him home so he could be there for his mate in a way he should have from the start.

Jungkook knows what he needs to do now. There is no question about it. Though, it’s not because he feels obligated…no, he truly wants to solidify that bond with you. As soon as you’re ready, he’s going to offer himself to you, finally and fully.

“Jungkook, are you okay?” your sweet voice breaks him out of his thoughts and makes him release his tight hold on the sheets.

Your eyes look so big and bright even in the dim light of the hotel room as you sleepily blink up at him. How he never wanted to give himself over to you so completely before now marks him as a sure fool.

He sighs, exhaling a slow breath. “Yeah. How are you feeling?”

You stretch, wincing only slightly as your arm brushes along the side of your face. “Better, I think.”

“Can we talk?” he asks after a pause of silence.

You give him a guarded look as you slowly sit up and gather some of the blankets in your lap. The doctor told him you might start feeling the need to nest and gather comfort items, so he had specifically requested the Omega suite, which comes with complimentary brand-new fuzzy blankets and extra pillows that guests are allowed to take home when checking out.

“Sure,” you finally say.

Jungkook watches as emotions cross your face, echoing the pulse he can feel emanating from his chest. His alpha perks up, rousing for the first time in hours it feels like.

“Okay.” Now that he’s been given the go-ahead to talk, he’s suddenly feeling very self-conscious and uncertain. “I know you told me I don’t need to apologize, but I’m going to anyway.” Your lips form a thin line when he says that, so he hurries to continue, “Not for”—he gestures vaguely in your direction—”but for everything else. I want to apologize for everything before this. The way I’ve treated you and how I’ve acted. You’ve deserved better than what I’ve offered you these last few weeks—for being an asshole and a fucking dick,” Jungkook uses your own choice of words for him, and that earns him a small smile from you.

“I want to apologize, too, then. And before you can protest”—Jungkook was 100% about to—”just let me finish. Sure, you’ve not been the greatest the last few weeks, but I know I haven’t either. I should have tried harder, fought you on you being gone all the time, stood up for what I wan–er, needed, and been honest with how it was making me feel.”

Jungkook shakes his head, unable to believe how you’ve yet again turned the tables on him. “I, uh, there’s something that…there’s something I want to do,” Jungkook barely manages to get the words out as anxiety spikes at the prospect of you refusing.

“What is it?”

The look of intrigue on your face turns into pure shock as Jungkook prostrates himself on the bed in front of you, deliberately turning his head to expose the side of his neck to you, an act of submission. “I’m giving myself to you, wholly and completely. All those weeks ago, I claimed you and made you mine, and…now I’m yours.”

🌙🌙🌙

You stare at Jungkook, not sure what to say. “I-I don’t need,” you begin, reaching for Jungkook and encouraging him to sit up, “you to do that. You don’t have to bend to me…as long as you promise never to make me bend to you either.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I’ll never force you to be something that you’re not ever again. I’m sorry I didn’t realize this sooner, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you asked to come with me to Jimin’s. From now on, I’ll listen to you, and I’ll not dismiss your concerns or voice. I don’t want you to feel like you’re beneath me simply because you’re my mate. I want you as my equal instead.”

The truth behind Jungkook’s words is evident in the fervent way he delivers them but also in the way your omega mews in satisfaction. A bite for a bite, an equal. Even though you wouldn’t be leaving a permanent mark on his neck like he will on yours, it’s still the intention, and it’s completely unheard of in your world. There are stories, myths, really…but nothing wholly substantial.

You shift on the bed, gathering your knees underneath you. Your jeans went into the trash, and all the hospital had was a thin pair of shorts and a t-shirt for you to wear. You fluff out the blankets absently as you mull over his words. “Your equal?”

“Yes,” Jungkook resolutely declares.

“I think I would like that,” you whisper, eyeing Jungkook’s mouth with a quickly burning hunger.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks, swallowing hard as you lean in closer to him. “If you need more time to think, that’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” you counter, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Jungkook responds by kissing you hard on the mouth, wrapping his arms around you, and dragging you against his chest. He tastes like home; his tongue is warm and wet against yours, and you’re certain you could drown in the sensation if he let you. But, he comes up for air, breaking the kiss for a moment before pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

Even with the aches in your face and body, you respond to him. With every teasing nip of his mouth, you feel yourself growing wet. The fragrant cream of your slick blooms in the air, melding with his masculine and spicy scent to create the perfect, heady bouquet.

“I’ve never been more sure about something,” Jungkook whispers the affirmation between kisses until his warm breath ghosts over the scent mark on your neck. “You smell so damn good,” he groans.

You can feel his lips part over the skin there; his tongue laves out and swipes up the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. With trembling hands, you help each other discard your clothing, finally coming back together skin to skin. Jungkook pulls you into his lap, his thick cock sitting snugly against your ass. You can feel the bulge of his knot already as if his body is automatically responding to just your closeness.

“You can say stop at any time,” you tell him, earning a surprised grunt when you shove him back against the pillows and deliberately slide your ass slowly over his cock as you move backward.

There is a challenge in his eyes as you meet them. You move until you’re kneeling between his knees, cock sitting prettily before you. “Where, ah,” Jungkook sucks in a stilted breath when you take the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, “did you want to?” Pink tinges Jungkook’s ears as he looks down at you, mouth full of him. You tap the inside of his thigh and raise your brows in silent question. “O-okay, just…just be gentle.”

That makes you chuckle, the vibration coming up your throat, and you can tell it sends a shock through Jungkook; his head drops back, and his mouth opens with a loud moan. “Gentle says the man about to put a permanent bite on my neck. An act that is none too gentle, I might add,” you say, letting his cock slip out from between your lips.

“Okay, that’s fair,” he relents, his words breathy as you trace along the underside of his dick with your tongue. “Be as aggressive as you want, then.”

Feeling egged on just a little by that declaration, you plant your teeth firmly into the meat of his inner thigh and bite as hard as you dare. Your teeth pinprick his skin, and the metallic tang of blood leeches onto your tongue. Jungkook grunts; his whole body shivers against your mouth.

“Was that okay?” you ask tentatively once you’ve pulled back to admire the twin crescent impressions you left behind. There isn’t that much blood. The two small wounds from your teeth are already clotted.

Jungkook lets out a heavy exhale as his body finally relaxes back against the bed. His cock twitches beside your face, producing a thick string of pre-cum that has your mouth watering for a taste.

“That was,” he pants, “hot as fuck.”

Pride fills you, and your body kindly reminds you with an intense throb in your clit, how much it turns you on when Jungkook talks like that. “Your turn,” you urge, desperate to get his teeth on your skin and his cock in your pussy.

Jungkook growls his approval, letting his alpha strength take over, and maneuvers you easily into a kneeling position in front of him. Using a gentle hand in your hair, he pulls you up until your back is pressed against his chest, giving him unfettered access to the front of your body while being able to tease your clit with the tip of his length.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, using the hand in your hair to angle your head sideways so he can lick along the side of your neck. “Let’s see.” His other hand slides down the front of your body, tweaking your nipples on the way, until his middle finger grazes over your swollen, aching clit.

“Don’t tease me,” you say between clenched teeth. Your omega adds her indignation to your own, making your words come out laced with additional grit.

“I just want a little taste,” Jungkook whispers as he hooks his finger lower and massages it along your slit, collecting a generous amount of slick as he does so. You watch as his finger comes up and disappears beside your face.

The wet laving sound of Jungkook sucking his finger sends a shudder through you. You reach down with your hands, cupping Jungkook’s cock in one and using the other to part the lips of your pussy so you can fit him against your entrance. “Fuuuck,” you drawl out as the broad head of his cock slides in.

“I love the way your pussy tastes,” Jungkook moans, dropping his hand to your hip and using it to guide your ass back against him, forcing him deeper. “It’s almost as good as how it feels.”

His fingers prod along your hip, sliding until his palm rests over your lower belly. You whimper, rocking your hips the best you can, and place your hand over his. “How do I look?” you ask. “You once told me I’d look so pretty once I was pregnant with your pup. Do you still think that?”

“You are,” he starts, “the single most”—he emphasizes the words with long, rolling strokes of his cock that have his knot kissing your lower lips with every forward motion—”beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Even before I fucked you raw and knocked you up.” The beautiful, endearing words contrast so wildly with the dirty confession he tacks on at the end. Proving once again that Jungkook knows exactly how to wind you up and have you begging for more.

“Prove it,” you goade, intentionally dipping your head to the side to expose your neck further to him.

The moment his teeth touch your skin, you both freeze. It lasts only a second, the time it takes for them to sink into the tender expanse of your scent gland. It’s like a double punch to the gut; you can feel it all the way in your soul. The bond snaps into place the same instant Jungkook fits his knot inside you, and you explode, disintegrating into a million tiny little points of pleasure.

Your body opens for him, both physically and mentally. What was once a small trickle of feeling now becomes a deluge of intensity. You’re vaguely aware of Jungkook groaning as he meets his own release, throbbing heavily within your walls. You can feel him beneath your skin, feel the way your own body is wrapped so tightly around his knot, and the infinite pleasure that’s flooding through both of your systems.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook mumbles against your neck, his teeth finally pulling free from your skin. “I can feel everything.”

It’s hard to tell where he begins, and you end. There is a sense of middling permanence, the perfect balance between alpha and omega. You once feared that submitting to him completely would change you in some cataclysmic way. And, it has…only, you don’t feel damned. In fact, it’s far more empowering than you ever thought possible.

Jungkook brushes his tongue along the fresh bite, tending to your wound in a tender way that has you slumping over. He follows you down, gently rutting his hips, which forces his knot to rub and grate inside of you, flooding you with another luscious rush of dopamine, like a second orgasm.

“Jungkook?” you ask, trying not to fall asleep as he continues to nuzzle your neck, and his knot keeps you secured so close to his warm body.

“Hmm?” he hums. Jungkook settles you both on your side, holding you against his chest with one hand and stroking and petting with soft, sensual strokes along every inch of your body that he can reach with the other.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I promise never to make you doubt me ever again. You are my soulmate, my Luna…the mother of my child. You are my everything.”

And just as Jungkook said, he made you his, and now he’s yours. Forever.

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◅ Back to Master List ©️    2024-02-14    ColorMePurplex2  

[sadiestarrs]

To Meet A Jinx

this is part one!!

Warnings: none :)) just one mention of a gun

A/N: this is my first arcane/ jinx fic so if it's terrible I'm sorry lol

Plot: You work for Silco and his infamous adopted daughter Jinx, except you’ve never met her until now.

Word count: 1,535

Everybody in the city knew about Silco’s insane, blue-haired, and seemingly manic daughter, Jinx. Working for him meant that you were around his henchmen 24/7 and they definitely talked about her.

Most things said about her ranged from the fact that she looked innocent but could blow your face off or that she did actually blow someone's face off that day.

You had heard Sevika complain, too, especially on shipment days. They were always the busiest and most stressful. Silco made sure to have his trusted members on the ship “just to be safe”. 

He had no reason to make everyone work, mostly because he had Jinx. Everyone knew that she could take on twenty people double her size and still win. You hadn’t seen her do anything remotely close to this but it wasn’t hard to believe.

When more than half of a city knows you for being a bloodthirsty killer, of course, they would be weary. But you still weren’t that convinced.

Some older workers talked about a young Jinx running into Silco’s arms with him hugging back and taking her in immediately. Silco didn’t look like the type of guy to appreciate hugs from anyone but it was clear he loved Jinx. And that had to be for a reason.

“I want you to keep an eye on those two,” Sevika says to you, directing people carrying crates. The two men she pointed at were getting on each other's nerves, shoving and bumping one another for no reason. They must have had other issues away from work. 

Your main job was to solve disputes and help Sevika. It didn’t take much but when there were problems, they were always big.

The two guys had moved out of sight and started bothering each other again, causing commotion and yelling. Before you could get around to them, three shipments were falling on the floor, creating a bright purple pool on the ground. 

Everyone had started shoving, making it too much to handle. People were on the floor, glass was being shoved into the soles of your shoes, and most importantly, nearly 500 coins worth of shimmer had been wasted.

Sevika was definitely going to blame you and no one would fess up. You couldn’t even get to the core of the fight before being shoved to the floor and cutting your hand on a large shard of glass.

It didn’t take much to lose all hope for the future. Not only would Silco fire you, but he would make you pay one way or another. None of those things were appealing, especially considering the fact that you desperately wanted to leave this chapter of your life behind. But not before getting a bit of cash and ditching Zaun.

You were sitting helpless, contemplating your life when a shot was fired. It was hard to see through the crowd but it stopped everyone, all the men scattering and moving away.

In front of you was a, surprisingly short, girl, braids nearly touching the floor, holding a revolver and looking around the ship.

No one made eye contact with her. No one went near her. They all went back to their original places as if the fight never happened.

Jinx.

Just her presence alone was enough to make everyone nervous. You hadn’t even realised that you were still sitting on the floor when she came towards you, holding the gun’s handle out. 

It took you a few seconds before realising that she was helping you up. It was enough to make the workers stop. From the corner of your eye, Sevika stood, arms folded, looking at the both of you. You could have sworn that she was laughing when you held on and got up. 

It brought you extremely close to her face, enough to see her baby-blue eyes glimmer. A smile pokes from the side of her mouth. She stood, analysing your face, eyes, lips. You couldn’t move if you tried, she had hypnotised you.

“What the hell is happening here?”

Silco appeared, frozen on the spot. “I spend half of my life working to make life better for all of you and I’m paid with this?”

It was almost symbolic, the liquid sitting under his shoes, mixing with the dirt and mud on the ground and turning into a deeper purple.

“Jinx?” He looks at her but she doesn’t deviate from you. Her body was rigid, completely cornering you.

Confusion was apparent in his expression, looking over at Sevika who only replies with a smirk.

“Jinx!”

Another glimmer appears in her eyes just before she turns around and walks past Silco, no words said.

No one moves or says anything but everyone was looking at you. Sevika pushes off of the wall she was leaning on, leaving the ship, still laughing.

If it wasn’t for your increased heartbeat, you would have questioned the event but too much had happened. Why did she help you up? Why did she analyse you? Why did she ignore Silco?

The questions rushed to your head faster than you could comprehend and faster than you could move after Silco ordered you to go with him. 

He simply pointed, and yelled, “You!” starting to walk faster than you could keep up with. 

______________________________________

“What relationship do you have with Jinx?”

Standing in front of Silco in his office with Sevika next to him was never a place you imagined to be. It almost felt like being in a principal’s office and getting scolded.

You didn’t have a “relationship” with Jinx. You had only met her a few minutes ago on the ship. Everything that happened was unplanned and, frankly, strange. And being interrogated by both of them didn’t help.

“I-I don’t have a relationship with her.” The words were staggered and hard to come out. Your heart had only slowed by a few beats but you could still feel it against your skin.

“That isn’t what I saw. Jinx doesn’t do things like that, meaning that you must have something to do with her.” 

His reasoning didn’t make any sense. Just because she looked at you for a few minutes doesn’t mean that anything happened. 

“Jinx is like a daughter to me. I would hate to have anything happen to her.” Silco continues talking, fiddling with his shimmer eye injection tool. It was nice seeing how much he cared for Jinx but in the end, nothing would happen between you two for a multitude of reasons.

Besides, Jinx didn’t seem like the type to be in a relationship. She was probably too busy blowing things up and creating gadgets.

“You’ll keep your distance. If it wasn’t for her you’d be paying for the lost shimmer right now. Don’t come in next week.”

If it wasn’t for her? Did Jinx help you? What could she have said to make Silco excuse you? You couldn’t walk out of his office quickly enough when he finished. It had turned into a hotbox with his continuous smoking, and you desperately needed air.

Just as you walk down the stairs to leave through the Last Drop, there she was, sitting at the bar and leaning dangerously far back.

“Heya toots!”

She springs up, walking towards you and trapping you in a tight hug at the waist. It was a stark difference from only an hour ago.

“Hi,” you say, walking down the stairs and stopping, awkwardly waiting for her to speak.

“Sorry about earlier, I just couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” You tell her that it’s no problem, trying to ignore the comment and your heartbeat increasing again. “Thanks for helping me with Silco.” 

She shrugs, crossing both arms behind her back. “Yeah, he gets like that sometimes.” You both stand in the awkward silence. Luckily, the bar was empty but it was surprisingly chilly. All you wanted was to leave and try to forget everything that just happened.

“I’ve been watching you for a while. You seem pretty cool.”

The compliment was nice and well-intentioned but the more you thought about it, the more worried you became. She watched you? 

“Would you wanna go out sometime? It doesn’t have to be out out, but somewhere we can talk.”

All you could do was nod. It was stupid in hindsight. Silco had just spent twenty minutes telling you to stay away from her and but here you were, practically agreeing to go on a date. 

“Cool! I’ll see you here tomorrow!”

Here? Tomorrow? It was too soon and too close to Silco. Whether he would be out or not, Sevika and other henchmen would be nearby, not to mention all of Silco’s other enemies. It was all a bad idea. 

But you still agreed. It would be nice to talk to someone new. And you were sure that saying no would have a painful consequence.

Jinx smiles again, hugging you once more before disappearing up the stairs, leaving you standing at the bottom of the steps.

“Good luck.” You look behind the bar and see Chuck emerge from underneath the counter.

 “She’s a crazy one.”

[delicatebarness]

cry baby | chapter twenty

Summary: The aftermath of CB & Peter's weekend away.

Warning: Mean Bucky is back.

Word Count: 1039

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A/N: I'm so sorry this one took so long to come out and it's only a short one. OH ALSO, we have @scraftsku35 to thank for this one because they changed the characters fated while we were discussing this chapter. - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as it is mine. - B

Tags: @buckys0whore | @thezombieprostitute | @lanabuckybarnes | @mishkatelwarriorgoddess | @softieekayy | @noonespecial90 | @hello-therree | @randomawesomeperson102 | @whoreforbarnes | @thejutvtsupport | @somnorvos | @cjand10 | @plasticbottleholder | @birdenthusiastez4

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick

You sat with Natasha and Wanda on your couch that following Monday evening. Steve and Sam were engaged in a playful debate across the room as Bucky quietly observed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips while Alpine snuggled into him. 

After a few moments, Wanda exchanged a mischievous glance with Natasha as she stood before disappearing into the kitchen. Your eyes widened as she returned with a cake, reading the word “Virgin” written on black icing with a red prohibited symbol across it. The room fell silent as she walked over to you, handing you the cake, a sly grin spread across her face. 

“Congratulations, CB!” Natasha exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. 

Your face turned as crimson as the icing as you took the cake. You glanced around the room. “What is this?” you asked, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Well, after we heard about your little weekend with Peter,” Wanda chimed in, her laughter infectious. “We thought you might appreciate a bit of humor, it’s just a little joke.” 

Sam burst into laughter, nearly doubling over as he made his way over you. “Oh man, this is too good!” he laughed, wiping tears from his eyes as he took the cake from your hands. “You guys went all out, huh?” 

Suddenly, a bitter laugh was let out over by Bucky. “Peter? The so-called gentleman? Oh, he’s always such a nice guy…” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as a smirk mashed over his face. “Bet the twink only got two pumps in.” 

A surge of defiance coursed through you as you decided to go along with the charade. “Actually, Bucky, Peter was amazing,” you said, you tried to keep your voice steady as your heart raced. “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

Steve’s face darkened, his haw tensed as his eyes blazed with barely controlled anger. He didn’t say anything but his protective instinct was evident. The furious look on his face spoke volumes. 

Bucky’s smirk faltered before he made another sarcastic comment. “Well, I’m glad you had your fairy tale moment,” he muttered, standing up and wandering over to the kitchen. 

“Oh, it was magical…” you trailed off, “I just, I couldn’t take it all… if you know what I mean.” 

His smirk returned, though it was colder this time and his eyes darkened. “Sure, we all know Peter’s got that ‘magic touch’.” Opening the fridge, he rummaged through its contents searching for another beer. His eyes landed on a six-pack of canned cherry cola, pulling it out, he turned to face you. 

“Cans?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You hate it canned. What’s it doing in your fridge?” 

A pang of guilt dawned over you, knowing Peter had bought it for you without knowing you only liked it from glass bottles. “Peter bought me it,” you replied nonchalantly. “It was a nice gesture.” 

His grip tightened on the can, and his knuckles whitened. “Of course he did,” he muttered, putting the cola back and grabbing his beer. 

Natasha and Wanda exchanged glances, and their joking demeanor shifted to one of concern as they noticed the growing tension in the apartment. Sam, still chuckled to himself at the dining table while stuffing his face with the cake. Steve, remained silent, his jaw clenched and his eyes fixed on you– A storm brewing behind them. 

As Bucky returned to the living room, he took a long swig of beer before flopping back on the couch. “You know,” he began, his tone laced with sarcasm, “if Peter is so great, maybe he should’ve bought the right cola.” 

Anger surged through you as Bucky continued with his jabs. “At least Peter tries to be nice,” you snapped back. “What‘s the matter? Are you only a ‘two-pump’ kinda guy? It’s okay if you are, I’m sure Leah doesn’t mind.” 

His smirk turned icy. “Yeah right, I always get my girl to finish.” 

An unexpected pang of pain cut deeply into your heart at the use of ‘my girl’. Scoffing you were determined to maintain your facade. “Only once?” you questioned. “Not that it’s a competition, James, but Peter got me to finish three times…” 

The tension thickened in the room, his smirk wavered as he tightened his jaw. Steve’s silence was deafening. Standing, his presence commanded the room, and its attention. 

“That’s enough!” Steve’s voice cut through the room, booming with a sharp edge, simmering with restrained rage. “Come on, Bucky, we’ve got to go.” His expression left no room for debate as he looked over at Bucky. 

With one last glare toward you, Bucky stood, draining his beer before resting the empty bottle on the coffee table. Too consumed with his own emotions, he missed the quiet meow in protest from Alpine. 

Steve didn’t say a word as he opened the apartment door, his eyes burnt with anger. 

The room was left in an awkward silence, the laughter and teasing from earlier now a distant memory. Clearing her throat, Natasha spoke up trying to lighten the mood. “So, Peter was that good, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know, I couldn’t go through with it,” you admitted quietly, the lie weighing heavily on your chest. 

Wanda’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, what? What do you mean?” she asked, concern tinged in her voice.

You sighed. “I didn’t sleep with Peter,” you confessed, your gaze dropped to Alpine as she brushed her head against your leg. “I pretended I did because Bucky was annoying me, but…” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain the mess. 

Natasha’s expression softened as she reached over to squeeze your hand, reassuringly. “It’s okay,” she said gently, “he was being a jerk.” 

“Hey Wands, where’s this cake from?” Sam’s voice was muffled but cheerful, he startled you as you thought he left with your brother and Bucky. “I want some for the next time I get–” 

He paused mid-sentence, noticing the absence of Steve and Bucky. He hastily swallowed the cake in his mouth, his head turned toward where the two had previously been sat. Frosting remained around his lips. “Wait, where’d Steve and Buck go?” 

Suppressing a sigh, Natasha and Wanda exchanged a look, realizing Sam had missed the entire drama. 

---

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[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part twenty-six] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, angst, smut (mdni)

word count: 5.1k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

additional smut warnings: oral (f receiving), protected sex, multiple orgasms

The silence that followed your admission was excruciating. You wished you knew what Minho was thinking. He was impossible to read, aside from the evident anger written all over his face. His body language didn’t give much away either. He was closed off, arms folded across his chest, chin raised just slightly. 

“So who are you then?” he demanded, tone even despite being the exact opposite mere moments ago. 

“What?”

“Who are you? Are you just some girl that Jisung is using?”

“What the fuck, no!”

“Why are you acting like that’s some outrageous possibility? I just found out you’ve been lying to everyone all summer!”

“I’ve been Jisung’s best friend for like four years now, I’m all over his Instagram! Felix came to visit us and we all hung out, there are pictures of that too. I can’t believe you’d think I’m some random person!”

“You’ll have to forgive me for not thinking completely rationally right now!” he spat. “Why the hell would Jisung lie about- why would he say he had a girlfriend if he didn’t?”

“It’s a long story,” you mumbled with a sigh. “But we really don’t have time to get into that right now. I came up here because I was supposed to bring you back to the room.”

Minho made a face. “What, why?”

“Your cousins called.”

The shift in his demeanor was immediate. He visibly perked up, but only briefly, before seeming to remember the conversation he was having. “Jeongin and Yoon?”

“Yeah. Everyone else is on FaceTime with them right now. I told everyone I’d come to get you so that none of them would have to miss out on talking to him,” you explained. “So we should probably get going because I don’t know how long he has to chat.”

“Fine,” Minho surrendered easily, “but we’re not done talking about this.”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” you sighed again, still feeling nauseous. With everything that had already happened, you knew there was no way that this could end well. But now, now that one person knew it was all a lie, you were fucked. “Just… don’t tell anyone, please?”

He pursed his lips but nodded. “You sure have a lot of secrets to keep track of, don’t you?”

It was meant to sting, and it did, but you didn’t let him see the crack in the glass. 

“I could say the same for you.”

-

You slipped into your room as soon as you got back to the penthouse, not wanting to face any of the other Hans, especially not your best friend. You collapsed onto the bed with a muffled scream into your pillow. 

You expected yourself to start crying, but the tears didn’t come. They wouldn’t come. The initial panic had been replaced with numbness. Apathy personified, you could feel it spreading from your heart out through your veins, creating a tingling sensation that reached the very tips of your fingers. 

You had to tell Jisung, right? He’d understand… probably. You hadn’t told Minho. He figured it out on his own. Yeah, you should tell Jisung and then you could also come clean about… everything else. Maybe. But maybe you could also take it to your grave since it seemed like any possibility of you and Minho becoming an item, whatever that implied, was out of the question now. You knew he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. Not after tonight. You couldn’t erase his look of betrayal from your mind no matter how hard you tried. 

Just how many people were you hurting by merely being on this trip? There was no way to know for sure, not that knowing would make you feel any less guilty. 

Maybe it was better not to tell Jisung. Maybe you could pretend like everything was fine, and then it would be. But that was what had gotten you in trouble in the first place. 

You hadn’t realized you had fallen asleep until you woke up with a jolt some hours later. The room was dark. The lamp had been switched off and the blinds were shut. Jisung was snoring softly beside you. He was tucked under the covers while you were still laying on top of them. 

You rolled over and felt for your phone, finding it underneath your pillow. You were surprised to see that you had missed a text from Minho. It was from an hour and a half ago and just said can you meet me in room 422? 

You weren’t sure if he would still be waiting there since it had been so long since he sent the message, but you responded with a tentative sure and quietly snuck out of your bedroom. You hoped Jisung wouldn’t wake up before you returned. Having to explain where you were or why you were there would only complicate things. You still hadn’t decided whether or not to tell him… anything. You needed more time to think things through. At least, that’s the excuse you told yourself. 

The fourth floor was eerily quiet, reminding you of how late it was. Stepping off the elevator into the hallway felt like a mistake, like you were trespassing on private property. Minho hadn’t replied to your text so you didn’t know if he was still awake, but you knocked at the door anyway. He answered after the second knock. 

“There you are,” he said and stepped aside to let you in. He seemed to have cooled down, which was a good sign, but there was still tension lingering between you. 

You slid by him, stopping in the entryway just past the door. The room he had summoned you to was just a plain hotel room. There was a queen-size bed in the middle of the room and a desk in the corner, but not much else. 

“You can sit wherever.”

You nodded in acknowledgment and perched yourself on the edge of the bed. Minho followed you but refrained from sitting, choosing to lean back against the dresser so that he could face you. 

“Why’d you want to meet me here?” you asked.

“I, uh, thought that talking in my room back at the apartment would look kind of weird if anyone saw us,” he explained awkwardly, “and the walls are thin too.”

“Alright, you have a point,” you admitted with a shaky exhale. “Whose room is this?”

“It’s mine. I went down to the lobby and booked it for the night.”

Oh to have a K-pop-sized disposable income.

“Oh, right. Should have thought of that.” You swallowed thickly, trying still to appear calm, cool, and collected. “Well, what did you want to talk about?”

You realized that Minho hadn’t mentioned wanting to talk in his text. You were just assuming. But given the events of the night, you felt that it was a pretty safe assumption to make. 

“I wanted to know why you and Jisung lied to everyone,” he took a brief pause before continuing, “and why I now have to lie to everyone too.”

You bit your tongue, stopping yourself before you could point out that he was already lying to everyone, and just nodded. 

“So the thing is, when he told your parents he had a girlfriend, he did have a girlfriend. They broke up, like, less than a week after he told them that and I guess he was too embarrassed to break the news because they were so excited for him and had already invited her on the trip. Jisung figured that maybe he’d have another girlfriend by the time he actually had to go on the trip, but when the end of the semester rolled around and he didn’t, I kind of filled the vacancy because he asked me to.”

“But why?” Minho pressed. “Why was it so important for him to be dating someone?”

“I don’t know, actually. He told me that it was to make your parents happy because they were always bugging him about his dating life, but I thought there might have been another reason that he just wasn’t telling me.”

Minho hummed thoughtfully. “Mom and dad are pretty nosy about our lives, but I don’t know why he would feel pressured to be in a relationship.”

“I think he felt like he had something to prove,” you said, choosing your words carefully. You knew how rocky Jisung’s relationship with his older brother was, at least from what he told you. You didn’t want to give Minho anything he could hold against him. “You’re not going to say anything to your parents or Felix, are you?”

“No,” he answered immediately and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “That’s his prerogative, I suppose. I don’t want to start anything between us- it’s not my place to say anything, really.”

“Thank you.”

He let his arms drop to his sides but didn’t move from where he was standing. “So, there’s really nothing going on between you and Jisung?”

“No, I swear.”

“Even after spending all this time together on the trip?”

“Nope, we spend all of our time together anyway.”

“So are you… friends with benefits?” he asked. 

“No. We’ve made out a few times, but it really just happens when we’re drunk. We never slept together.”

“But what about…” he trailed off, but you understood what he was talking about instantly.

“Oh, no! That was all fake. We just did that to sell it more, and sometimes to mess with you guys.”

“I knew there was no way he could be that good,” Minho whispered.  

You chuckled but came to your friend’s defense. “He seems to do pretty well for himself. Girls usually call him back after staying over so he must be doing something right.”

“I can’t believe it was fake,” Minho mumbled, mostly to himself. “Sorry, I’m still processing this.”

“Take your time.”

You leaned back on the palms of your hands, feeling a little more relaxed now that you knew he didn’t hate you. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked finally, letting the mask fall the tiniest bit. “After I kissed you the first time? Or when you kissed me back? This whole time I’ve felt like such an asshole for- for everything that happened.”

“I thought about it,” you admitted, “but Jisung and I agreed that it would stay between us. I’m sorry.”

“I get why you didn’t. I just wish it could have been different.” 

“Me too,” you agreed.

Minho crossed over to the bed and sat down next to you. 

“I’m sorry I went through your stuff.”

You threw your head back laughing. You hadn’t expected him to say that. “It’s fine. Honestly, it’s a relief not to have to keep up the act around you anymore.”

“Oh yeah? And why’s that?” Minho raised an eyebrow and grinned, making you shy away from his gaze. 

You looked down at your lap. 

“Because it was exhausting! I don’t know how to act.” It was a half-truth, and you suspected that he knew it. 

“You had me fooled.”

You managed to look back up at him only to find him staring at your lips. This was not how you imagined this conversation going at all. 

“Maybe I should change career paths then,” you choked out. 

“Yeah, maybe.”

A few more beats of silence lapsed between you before Minho spoke again. 

“All of this time we could have been doing this,” he murmured gently. 

You scrunched your face up in confusion. “What’s ‘doing this’?”

 He leaned forward and bridged the gap between you by pressing his lips to yours to answer your question. His hand came up to your hair instinctively, muscle memory, and brushed it out of your face before cupping your jaw. You melted into him like you had done too many times before, letting him trace the curves of your face with his thumb like he was trying to memorize it. 

His palm was warm and you could feel the calluses on his hand against your cheek. You were the first to moan, any embarrassment long forgotten as you climbed onto his lap. 

Minho accommodated your weight easily, hands immediately coming down to grab your ass. He allowed you to push him down so that he was lying flat on the bed with you straddling his waist. 

Minho slipped his tongue into your mouth as the kiss intensified, teasing you with it. You whimpered when he pulled away, bottom lip jutting out into a pout. Minho just smirked and used the opportunity to flip you over so that he was on top. 

Then his lips were back on you, brushing against your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. As soon as you felt his teeth graze your skin you pushed his head back and gave him a look. It was his turn to pout. 

“You can’t leave marks, idiot.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” he said apologetically, though the shit-eating grin on his face let you know that he didn’t mean it whatsoever. “Well, you can mark me up as much as you want.”

You rolled your eyes. “Lucky me.”

Minho ignored your comment and raised himself onto his hands, still hovering over you. He looked pretty, even in the dim, yellowy hotel room light. His lips were already a bit puffy, but he hadn’t even been kissing you for that long. You briefly wondered how they’d look after making out with your cunt, all swollen and glossy. You tried to squeeze your thighs together at the thought, legs closing around Minho’s hips instead. He seemed pleased at your eagerness and rewarded you with another kiss. 

“Can I take your shirt off?” he asked when he came up for air. You nodded. “Here, lift up a little.”

You did as he asked so that he could work the t-shirt over your head, laughing when he tossed it on the floor. 

“You weren’t wearing a bra?”

“I was about to go to sleep!”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Likely story.”

“No, you’re right. I came here in my pajamas fully intending to seduce you.”

“Well, it worked.”

“Of course it did. Men are so easy.”

He shook his head, tongue poking his cheek. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

You cocked your head to the side, fully aware that Minho had the physical upper hand. “We’ll see.”

As soon as the words left your mouth Minho’s hands were on your boobs, effectively shutting you up. He circled a thumb around each of your nipples, smirking when you gasped and arched your back. 

“Barely even touching you and look how eager you are for me,” he mused. 

“T-take your shirt off too.” It was meant to be a command, but it sounded more like a plea. 

“What’s the magic word?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fine, since you asked so nicely.”

Minho reached behind his neck and yanked his t-shirt off, throwing it in the same general direction as he had thrown yours. You had seen Minho shirtless plenty of times before and you still couldn’t help but stare. His body looked like one of those statues you had seen in the Louvre, carved out of marble by one of the artists they named the Ninja Turtles after. 

You reached out to touch his chest, running your fingertips along his pale skin. 

“Can I take these off too?” Minho asked, playing with the hem of your sweats. He snapped the elastic band against your hip, making you flinch. 

“Yes, please get them off of me, it’s hot,” you whined.

You were left in just your underwear beneath him. You were usually pretty confident with sexual partners, but with Minho you felt exposed, vulnerable. You felt the urge to cover yourself, even though he was looking at you like you were a star amongst the cosmos. 

He repositioned himself lower in between your legs and before you could ask what he was doing, he pressed his tongue against your clothed cunt, licking a fat stripe between your folds.

You cried out in surprise, hips bucking into his face as a string of curses left your mouth. 

Minho raised his head, smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been imagining what you taste like for weeks. I just had to know.”

“It felt good,” you assured him, silently begging him to continue. “Was it what you hoped it would be?”

“Better. Can I please keep going?”

“God, yes.”

He placed a hand on either one of your thighs to hold you down as he buried his head in between your legs again. He teased you with his tongue over your panties, finding your clit in an impressively short amount of time. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pushing his head against you. He groaned, his grip on your thighs tightening as you pulled his hair.

“Please, need more,” you whined. 

And Minho was all too willing to give you exactly that. Instead of taking the time to take your panties off, he just pulled them to the side so that he could have complete access to your pussy. He went back to work and you both moaned. His tongue was wet and warm and felt perfect on your clit. You frowned when he started moving lower, confused as to what he was doing until you felt his tongue working you open. No one had ever tongue-fucked you before and you thought you might cum from that alone. 

Minho paused again to catch his breath. “Fuck, I knew you were wet, but I didn’t expect you to be this wet,” he rasped out. 

“Sorry,” you hissed, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

“Who the fuck ever told you to apologize for being turned on?”

“N-no one.”

“Good, because it’s hot.”

You scoffed. 

“Lay back down,” Minho said, nodding at you to punctuate his point. 

You rolled your eyes at him but did as he said anyway. “You’re so bossy.”

“Do you want me to keep going or not?”

“Fine, fine. Sorry.”

“I fucking knew you were a brat,” he sneered. 

“What gave it away?” you asked sweetly. 

“Take a wild guess.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows again despite just being told to lie down. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Instead of answering, Minho hooked his arms under your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the bed, making you lose your balance and yelp in surprise. You watched his shoulder muscles flex as he used his strength to push your hips down, preventing you from squirming. The sight was enough to make you want to squeeze your thighs together, but of course, Minho was stopping you from doing just that. 

He pulled your panties off completely this time, apparently frustrated with the obstacle in his way. They joined the heap of clothes on the ground. You didn’t even need to look at them to know that they were ruined. 

His mouth was back on you before you could get another word in, causing any snarky remark you’d been about to make dissolve into a moan. It was a little sloppy at first. He had yet to fully regain his bearings, but dove in headfirst anyway. Kisses against the crux of your thigh, nips at your hip bones. Teasing and experimental. 

His touch didn’t have the practiced familiarity of a lover. Each movement was eager, exploratory. He was learning your body like he had all the time in the world, but you were growing impatient. 

Your hands flew to his hair again as he finally laved his tongue over your clit. You suppressed your moans this time, remembering what he had said about the neighbors. 

“Fuck, keep going,” you hissed, encouraging him to continue. “Please keep going.”

You could feel Minho smirking against your pussy, but you didn’t care. He could be as cocky as he wanted if he was going to make you feel this good. 

It didn’t take much to get you to the edge. It had been a while since you’d gotten laid, and you had been wanting Minho for God knows how long… you would usually be embarrassed, not want to give a man a bigger ego than he already had, but you had a feeling Minho was trying to get you to cum before fucking you and you wanted him inside of you as quickly as possible. If anything, you were doing him a favor. 

“C-close, Min. ‘M really close!”

You could barely make out the muffled “already?” that came from him between your legs, but you still rolled your eyes anyway, half-tempted to push his head away. 

He guided two of his fingers inside of you, giving you something to clench around as you came. The intention behind the action is what did it. He clearly cared about your pleasure which was rare to find in a partner, especially when said partner was a man. 

You came almost instantly, catching Minho off-guard as if “I’m close” hadn’t been warning enough. He must have taken it as an advanced notice rather than an immediate head’s up. He grunted in surprise as you bucked your hips up into his face, but recovered quickly, helping you ride out the orgasm until you relaxed back on the bed. 

He lifted his head finally, grinning like he’d just won the lottery, and sucked your arousal off of his fingers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand shortly afterward.

“Good?” he asked. 

“Really good,” you managed to choke out. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, take your pants off.”

Minho chuckled. “Should’ve known you’d only want me for my body.”

You pursed your lips but didn’t bother responding. You both knew that wasn’t true. Otherwise, why would you be risking everything just to fuck him? 

Minho pushed himself off of the bed and shimmied out of his pants. As good as he looked in the gray sweats, you knew he would look even better with them off. And you were right. Even though he was still wearing his briefs, you could see the outline of his dick much more prominently. It made your mouth water and you sat up and shifted onto your knees to return the favor he had just given you. 

Minho saw you reaching out for him but shook his head. 

“I need to feel you,” he said, voice strained. “If that’s okay. I already almost came in my pants just from eating you out, I won’t last.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Not many men would admit to that.”

“Not many men would admit to getting off on making their partner feel good? You’re right.” 

You watched as he picked his pants up off the floor and pulled a condom out of one of the pockets. 

“Oh now you have a condom?” you teased.

“Look, I usually have them on me, I just didn’t that night,” he exclaimed in defense, the thin foil packet between his teeth. He ripped it open and pulled the rubber out, only pausing when you spoke again. 

“You don’t keep them in your wallet, do you?”

“I do, but I change them out pretty often. Is that okay?” 

“That’s fine.”

With that settled, he slipped out of his underwear and rolled the condom on with ease. He joined you on the bed a moment later. You laid back and waited for Minho to position himself. 

“Wait-” you whispered suddenly, having been so in the moment that you had almost forgotten. “Are you clean?”

Minho let out a sigh of relief, probably having thought something was wrong. “Yeah, I got tested like two months ago.” 

“But the other night with that girl-”

“I didn’t sleep with her.”

“Oh. Why?”

“I mean, I fully intended to, if I’m being honest. But I just… couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t get it up?” 

“Something like that,” he sighed. “I probably should’ve asked this before going down on you, but you’re clean too, right?”

You nodded. “I get tested all the time and I haven’t had sex in a while.”

“That makes two of us.” 

You looked at him expectantly. “You may… continue.”

“I’m surprised that didn’t immediately make my dick soft.”

“Oh, give me a break. My brain is still fuzzy from cumming.”

He snorted. “You’re welcome.”

“I can’t believe that didn’t immediately make me dry up.”

“I’m allowed to be cocky!” he protested. “I made you cum in, what, a minute flat?”

“It took longer than a minute!”

“I don’t know about that. I think we should check the replay.”

“You’re such a dork.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “And that must really turn you on. ‘Cause last time I checked you were dripping onto the sheets.”

“I-” you had nothing. You squeezed your thighs around Minho’s waist, trying to coax him inside of you. “Just stick it in already!”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he repeated.

You held onto his arms as he pushed himself in, sighing in relief at the fullness. He wasn’t the biggest you’d ever had, but he was still sizable. You had to take a second to adjust to the stretch before he could start to move. He fit perfectly, at least that’s what it felt like. You were positive he could tell how much you liked his cock from the way you unconsciously clenched around him, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to care. If his ego inflated to the size of the moon after this, fuck it.

“Fuck, st-stop doing that,” Minho stuttered, pressing one of his hands against your hip to try and keep you still. 

“I’m not doing anything!”

“You’re, God, you’re squeezing me so tight,” he hissed. “If you keep clenching like that I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh sorry, I didn’t even realize.”

You took a deep breath and willed your body to relax. It had been so long since you’d been properly fucked and you didn’t want it to be over before it even started. 

“Are you good to keep going?” Minho asked once he’d regained some semblance of composure. 

“Yeah,” you breathed out. “Yeah, fuck please move.”

He leaned down to kiss you as he began to rock his hips into yours and you met him halfway. You could still taste yourself on his tongue, on his lips. He groaned into your mouth and nipped at your bottom lip when you pulled away. 

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he confessed, voice raspy. 

Baby was new. And it made you whimper in response. 

“So goddamn tight. It’s like your pussy was made for me.”

Did he say this to every girl he fucked? Because it sounded like a line, but it was working like a charm on you. 

As if he realized he was rambling, he busied his mouth in other ways. He kissed your neck, careful not to leave marks, before moving down to the valley of your breasts where he continued his work. The way he lowered himself onto you pushed his cock in even deeper, something you didn’t think was possible. 

His lips were warm. They were so warm. Each kiss felt like you were touching the sun. You could feel the heat against your skin even as he moved away, pressing kisses elsewhere. 

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Minho asked. 

You hadn’t even realized that you had been smiling, or that he had stopped kissing you. He was going faster now too. You hadn’t noticed that either. You were far too gone, clearly.

“Feels good,” was as much as you could manage, but that seemed to satisfy Minho. 

“Yeah? Have I fucked you dumb already?” he cooed condescendingly. 

You nodded. “Feels sooo good. Feel so full.”

You’d be embarrassed by your barely-comprehensible sentences, but you didn’t have the capacity to feel anything other than pleasure in that moment. You doubted you’d even remember what you said in the morning. 

“You close again, baby?”

“Uh huh.”

“Fuck, me too. I’ll get you there, though. I’ll make you feel even better.”

He brought one of his hands down to your clit and used his thumb to rub somewhat uncoordinated circles on it. He was gentler than he had been before, like he knew you were still sensitive from cumming the first time. The added stimulation brought you back to the edge in record time and all you could do to alert Minho of what was happening was frantically grab his bicep and squeeze it repeatedly.

“Gonna cum? Go ahead, baby.”

Your entire body tensed as your second orgasm of the night washed over you. Minho fucked you through it again, announcing that he was cumming right as you started to come down. Watching his face scrunch up in pleasure as he came was almost enough to send you into a third orgasm. His eyes shut and his mouth fell open into an O shape as his hips faltered. He didn’t stop thrusting until he was certain he’d given you every last drop of his cum, choking out a string of curses followed by your name through gritted teeth. 

He collapsed on top of you seconds later, completely spent and still inside of you. 

“Fuck, that was good,” he panted. You nodded in agreement, wincing when you felt him pull out. “You okay?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I can walk. My legs feel like jelly.”

“Would another orgasm help?”

“No,” you groaned. “I can’t take another one.”

“I was kidding. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up and back to your room.”

“Nooo, I’m tired,” you whined. 

“I know, I know,” he said softly, “but you can’t sleep here. Unless you want Jisung to find out?”

“Fine,” you mumbled. Your eyes were closed, but you could hear him moving around the hotel room. “Just give me like five minutes to nap.”

“You know I can’t do that.” When you opened your eyes he was wearing pants again and standing beside the bed waiting for you. “You need to shower. And pee. A UTI in the middle of vacation would really suck.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You knew that before sleeping with me.”

“Yeah, and I still did it anyway. Now, get up.”

“You’re so bossy,” you muttered under your breath, repeating the sentiment you had already voiced. Minho just chuckled and helped you to your feet.

“You seemed to like that earlier.”

“Yeah, when you were making me cum.”

“Well, I won’t be able to make you cum anymore if you contract an infection. So I have to be bossy or else you won’t listen.” 

“Or else you won’t listen,” you mocked. 

Minho grinned despite himself and shook his head at you. “We should’ve started doing this way sooner.”

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What Was I Made For?

02: Lose Control

Charles Leclerc x driver!OC (Dafne Morelli)

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers

Warnings: alcohol, Charles being an asshole

a/n: Hello hello!! Second chapter! And things will get even more and more exciting!

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I never liked the taste of the champagne. It was bitter and the bubbles of it always annoyed me whenever I tried to take a sip of it, making me hold the same glass the entire night whenever I went to a gala.

But now? Now the champagne tastes like glory, like a drink made by the gods to reward their champions.

And that's what I am. A champion.

The first step of the podium gave me the best view I could ever ask for: a gigantic Ferrari flag, tons and tons of people dressed in red with flags in their hands, and a red fog that ascended up to the sky, painting the clouds by the crimson red.

The anthem, played for the second time today, sounded louder than before, with all the Tifosi screaming it with the top of their lungs, watching how I stood in the highest step while I looked up at the sky with a proud smile on my lips.

He's looking at me from above, he was the one that helped me. 

Jules.

I looked down at the crowd. My family was there. My sisters hugged each other, jumping excitedly like when we were kids while they sang the anthem. My parents stood next to them, and next to my family was Charles' family, looking at me too with a proud smile.

This is my day and nothing will ruin it. Nothing and no one.

I hugged the trophy close to me, walking out of the podium and not letting it go until I got inside of my room. My safe place.

I knew I made mistakes. I knew I argued with my engineer more than I should, that I held that position for the entire race until I found a chance of taking the lead. I defended and fought like a lioness, and that's why I deserve the trophy and the glory.

My glory.

I sat on the bed, scanning with my eyes that heavy piece of metal with a bug number 1 on it and the Ferrari champagne bottle, already planning where I should put them in my apartment. Somewhere everyone that walked in could see it, showing them that I'm a race winner too, that women can win in a category dominated by men.

I felt the anxious buzzing in my mind of what I will be doing for the next few days: interviews, social events, meetings with sponsors.

But it's worth it, because for once, I want to go to those things. For once I want to choose a dress that I'll have to wear for hours while I stand surrounded by high society people that smell like expensive perfume and eat caviar as an entree to their meals. I want to read little cards to remember possible questions to the interviews for the TV. I want to go to show the world what I did.

Because I deserve it. I deserve it. I deserve it. I deserve it.

“Here is our winner!”

I looked at the door, watching my parents and sisters walking inside of the small room and somehow fitting in it.

My dad, a man with thick beard and brown hair, was wearing a cap of my collection, and my mom, a woman that was the older version of Soleil, with dark blonde hair and bright eyes, was wearing a red summer dress. Every race they assist, they wear red, all my family dress with my colors.

“How are you feeling?” my mom asked, sitting next to be in the bed and wrapping her arm around my shoulders, kissing my temple.

“Mom, I'm soaked in sweat and champagne!” I gasped when I felt her body pressed against mine. 

“The smell of a champion” she chuckled.

I laugh softly, watching how my dad grabbed the trophy and held it, taking pictures of himself with it and then with my sisters.

“Well… We will have dinner” my dad said, looking at me. “With the the Leclerc’s”

“What? Why with them!” I frowned.

“Because they are our friends” he frowned. “When will be the time that you two stop acting like kids? It has been twenty years already! Are you tired of this rivalry?”

“Dad…”

“No, Dafne” he said, pointing at me with his finger. “Stop this now. Can't you see that it's not funny anymore? Act like adults, now you two are teammates, and I heard that the team already gave you a warning”

I clenched my jaw, looking at him and then at my sisters. When the team gave us that warming the only ones that knew were them, and I asked them to not tell anything to my parents.

“I'm sorry but he's right” Soleil sighed, looking away. “It's only you two… We get along with Charles, you are the only one that can't stand him. Why?”

I took a deep breath and looked away, avoiding their gazes.

They wouldn't understand. Why would they? They don't know what happened. And they won't know. 

“Whatever, I have to go to the press” I said, grabbing the Ferrari cap. “It will take me a while, I'll see you at the restaurant. The same one as always?”

“Yeah” my dad sighed, watching me get up and walk out of the room, leaving them there.

No one will ruin my day.

I don't know how I ended up in this situation.

An hour ago I was leaving the track alone, my sisters went with my parents to the hotel to get ready while I was finishing the last interviews and team pictures. The music was high in the speakers and I just sang along to it. My backpack was on the backseats with the box of my trophy and the empty champagne bottle. When I arrived at the hotel, the fans saw me and they immediately walked towards me, chanting my name and wanting to take pictures with me.

At that moment, I was on cloud nine, loving the attention they gave me and not remembering that I was going to have dinner with him.

As I walked inside my room and saw the outfit my sister chose for me to take to the dinner, I tried to not think about it.

The black sparkly midi dress is one of my favorites, that hugs my body in the right places and is perfect to wear to formal events and even to parties. Just what I needed.

After I did my makeup and hair I grabbed my bag, taking a deep breath before opening the door of the room and walking out. The heels were uncomfortable, but at least I looked good in them. While walking downstairs to go to the restaurant of the hotel, I started to wonder if that girl Charles brought was going to be there too.

And to my surprise, she was. Dressing like she was in a high society gala. Again, it's like she doesn't know where she is.

“Did you explain to her that my nickname is only a nickname?” I said looking at Charles, watching how he rolled his eyes.

“She wears whatever she wants to wear” he groaned. “She looks fine”

“Fine?! You told me I look gorgeous!” she gasped, talking with that high pitched voice that made everyone close their eyes. 

I saw Charles sigh, grabbing a glass of wine and drinking half of it. Well, the dinner starts strong.

“Well, Melanie” I smiled looking at her. “What's your job? I'm curious”

“Oh, I'm trying to be an influencer” she said, looking at me with a smile. “It's starting to work, somehow”

Sure, because you are hinting you fuck Charles Leclerc.

“Mhm, which brands contacted you? Maybe we will meet in one?” I smiled. 

“Oh none…. Yet” she smiled weakly.

I felt Charles' eyes on me, his angry gaze piercing a hole in my head and how he drank the entire glass of wine. 

When the waitress walked us to the private room where the dinner will take place, our families did everything to sit us two next to the other. The long dining table separated us from our parents, yet it felt like Charles and I were worlds apart. The polite hum of conversation was just a background noise to the storm between us. 

My father stood up with his glass of whine, looking at me with a big proud smile. I sighed, grabbing my own glass and raising it like the rest of the table.

“To Dafne” he smiled, pointing his glass towards me. “The first woman to win a Formula 1 race”

I smiled and looked at everyone at the table. Arthur and Lorenzo were sitting next to each other, sitting in front of my sisters. My father was next to my mom and Pascale, and Melanie was just sitting next to Charles.

"To success," Charles said, his voice had a big amount of irony. "And to the people who think they can buy it"

"Success is earned, Charles. Some of us know the value of hard work" I shot him a look, trying to keep my composure.

"Oh, I know all about hard work," he scoffed, taking another sip of his refilled glass of wine "And the people who take advantage of it."

“Oh, really? You do?” I laughed, looking at him and then at Melanie. “I think you don’t, but okay. Good for you if you think you can recognize who works hard for something and who just buys their way to it. Clearly you should look around more often”

Our parents exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the undercurrent of hostility. Melanie, blissfully unaware, just sipped her wine and looked around the room with wide eyes.

"What exactly is your problem, Charles? Are you upset that I won today?" I leaned in closer to Charles, keeping my voice low so only he could hear. 

"I'm not upset that you won, Dafne. I'm upset that you think you can walk all over everyone to get what you want. That win should have been mine, I had more pace and better tyres” he groaned lowly.

“You did? Then why didn't you overtake me, hm? You clearly know that I would do whatever Ferrari orders me to do” I smirked. “And I didn’t hear a team order of letting you pass me”

Our families were now fully aware that something was off. My mother gave me a warning look, and Charles' older brother cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

"So, Dafne," he began, forcing a smile. "How did you feel about your performance today? It was quite impressive."

 "Thank you. It was a challenging race, but I'm happy with how it turned out” I said, taking a deep breath, ignoring the man next to me. Charles scoffed quietly, and I shot him another glare. "Is there something you'd like to add, Charles?"

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and something else I couldn't quite place. "Just that it must be nice to always get what you want."

I opened my mouth to respond, but Erica cut in, sensing that things were about to escalate. "The food looks amazing, doesn't it? Let's enjoy dinner."

The bass vibrated through the club, reverberating against the walls as red neon lights danced over the sweaty bodies of the dance floor. The music was loud, making everyone scream if they wanted to talk to someone or even take a step closer and talk to someone directly in their ears.

With the adrenaline of the race and the tension that took place during the dinner, I made my way towards the drinks bar, ordering whatever that doesn’t taste like alcohol but definitely has alcohol in it. With the cold glass already in my hand, I walked back to the table where my sisters were sitting with some girlfriends of the drivers.

“Have you seen Melanie?” I chuckled, feeling tipsy and looking around.

“Who?” Lily, Alex’s girlfriend, frowned. 

“Charles’ girl! She’s a wanna be influencer” I laughed, scanning with my eyes the crowd, trying to find the monegasque driver.

I heard my sisters sigh and sip their drinks, trying to ignore me. Alex and Carmen looked at me, frowning and following my gaze.

“Are you jealous? You sound jealous” Carmen pointed. “When will you stop talking about Charles? You say you hate him but you can’t stop looking or even talking about him”

“Me? Jealous?” I laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, that guy can take whoever he wants to his bed”

“Then let him live” Erica sighed. “Yes, we saw that Melanie is a gold digger. Yes, we saw she’s making everything to get his attention and fame. But that’s his problem”

“Erica is right” Soleil sighed. “You even sound worried about him, always talking about how bad the girls he choose are”

“I'm not!” I gasped.

“Mhm, whatever” the four of them sighed.

I groan and look away. They don't understand. They don't understand! 

I just stayed quiet, hearing them talk and focusing on a random spot at the other side of the club, drinking and drinking.

This is my day, no one will ruin it.

But then that idiot decided to grab a microphone and open his mind.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please listen!” he said, standing on top of a table. “I would love to say some words”

I frowned, getting up and already feeling tipsy, having to hold myself against the railing of the balcony where the VIP room was. He was holding a glass of some liquor, raising it up with a smile on his lips.

“I want to congratulate my fantastic teammate, Dafne! Daf, where are you?” he exclaimed looking around. “I guess she's hiding as always…”

“Fucking idiot” I mumbled, watching him look around.

“Well, maybe she's not here” he chuckled. “I'm sure she's with someone, maybe a random dude so she can keep going higher on her career. After all, that's how she got in Ferrari, hm?”

I looked at him and then I started to hear people talking, their eyes all moving around to search me.

“Jules always said that everyone has a chance in Formula 1” he giggled. “But her? Oh, no. She got in this sport sucking the dick of every person she found that could get her a seat. Mick! Mick, where are you? Is she good at that? Is she good at fucking you? I bet you two did it, she always ended higher than you… Head for some points? How pathetic, Daf”

My cheeks were red. My ears were red. Everyone who found me was looking at me. I heard steps behind me and a pair of hands trying to hold my arms, but I moved faster and ran downstairs towards him.

“Oh there she is! Who was the unfortunate one?” he giggled.

“Get down” I groaned, clenching my jaw. Somehow I am sober now. “Now!”

“Why?”

“Get down!” I screamed.

“No!” he laughed, drinking from his glass. “Aren't you satisfied? You had your win, you are in your dream team. I think you should take another step. Maybe… I don't know, suck Max's dick so he can give you a championship?”

“Charles Leclerc you are a dead man!” I screamed, running towards him and grabbing his leg, trying to get him down from the table.

This was supposed to be my day. My party, without someone like him ruining it.

Two pair of arms grabbed mine, stopping me and pulling me away from the club before I could do something worse. Soleil and Arthur were holding my arms, pulling me away from the crowd while Lorenzo and Erica tried to put down Charkes from the table.

“Let me go! I'm going to kill him!” I screamed.

“You are going to your room and stay there until you sober up” my sister said, frowning, sinking her nails on my arm to make me stop.

“That asshole is saying shit about me! And I'm the one that will be punished? Bullshit!” I exclaimed, but clearly they are not listening to me. “He should be the one that has to be punished! And you should wash his mouth with soap! And drown him on the toilet!”

“Enough!” Soleil exclaimed. “I'm so done with this. We all are done with you two. You are acting like kids”

“Why are you two like this?” Arthur frowned. “Why can't you two see that only you are the ones that hate each other? It's making the team and our families have problems”

“I did nothing wrong” I mumble, letting them take me to the elevator. “I didn't suck anyone's dick. I did every right”

“And we're not saying you did something like that. But you two always find a way to start a fight” Soleil sighed. 

“I did nothing wrong” I whispered.

Soleil sighed and grabbed my keycard, opening the door of my hotel room. Arthur and her helped me get in the room and then she took off my clothes to get me in bed.

“Don't do anything you'll regret tomorrow” Arthur and Soleil said before getting out of my room. 

I groaned, showing them my middle fingers before they walked out and closed the door. 

The silence in my room was too loud and the drum on my chest was beating too hard. I tried to walk side to side in the room,trying to calm down. The drops of the faucet in the bathroom are too loud, just like the air conditioner.

But then two hard knocks on the door broke the noisy silence in the room. 

I groaned, walking towards it to open it. 

And I shouldn't have done that.

“Oh fuck off” I groaned closing the door again, but he was faster and put his foot to stop me. “Charles-”

Before I could stop him, or even kick his balls, his lips were on mine, pushing me inside the room.

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @alltoomaples @ssprayberrythings @rach3164 @yvonne-dump @deliciousfestsalad @janeh22 @hc-dutch @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @ssararuffoni @itsjustkhaos @scaramou @tapedeck-hearts @apollosfavkiddo @sltwins @glitterquadricorn @ladystardust05

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mild sexy stuff (Just some very light hand business. Very light.)

Word Count: 1.1k

Previously On...: You moved out of the Tower :(

A/N: This is it! The last part! You guys. I can't even. It's been a magical journey, and I'm so honored that I got to take it with all of you. I'm scheduling this post on Thursday in my office, and I'm fucking crying, because you've made this more than anything I could have ever hoped for. I love each and every one of you, so fucking much. Thank you for coming on this adventure with me. Thank you for loving Pocket. Thank you for sticking with Bucky and not throwing knives at him and his stupidity. Just, fucking THANK YOU. You are all amazing, beautiful people, and I could not have done this without you. Thirty Chapters, One Hundred Fifty Five Thousand, Four Hundred and Fourteen Words, and more to come. Bucky and Pocket's journey is not over! POOKIE LOVES YOU SO MUCH.

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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Not even twenty minutes later– it was actually almost pathetic how close your new place was to the Tower, really– you were opening up the door of your brand new penthouse apartment. It was more extravagant than any other place you’d ever laid your head, and when Tony’s realtor had first shown it to you, you’d balked at the opulence of it. But Tony reminded you that you’d been shot, after all, and had almost died once, then actually died, all in the span of a few days, and after that, on top of everything else you had already endured in your life, wasn’t it time you treated yourself to something good? Besides, it wasn’t like you couldn’t afford it. So, here you were.

“Honey, I’m home,” you called out softly to the enormous, empty space. It would still be some time before the movers finished loading up and delivering everything from the Tower, and then you were going to have a lot of furniture shopping to do. Toeing off your shoes, you padded your way across the apartment to the terrace. Opening the glass doors, you stepped outside. You walked to the edge and rested your elbows against the railing. Taking a deep breath, you admired the view of the city before you, the Tower just a block away. Looking across, you could easily make out Tony and Pepper’s apartment. Waving at breakfast, indeed.

You felt a pair of strong arms slink around your midsection, tugging you into a broad, warm chest. “Thought I heard you come in,” Bucky said, nuzzling his head into the crook of your shoulder. 

“Hey, baby,” you smiled, reaching back to caress his face with your hand. You turned in his arms so you were facing him. “I missed you.”

 Bucky laughed as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I only left the Tower two hours ago,” he said. “But I missed you, too.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, pouring every ounce of love and affection you felt for him into the motion. “I can’t believe we finally did it,” you grinned.

“Took us long enough,” he mused back, but then turned thoughtful. “Probably would have happened a lot sooner if I hadn’t–”

You brought a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Stop. We agreed not to talk about that, remember? Dr. Whitmore said we can’t move forward if we keep hashing out the past, and I just want to move forward, with you.”

“Sorry,” he murmured, but you just smiled and kissed him again.

After you’d been released from the hospital, you and Bucky had had a long, emotional discussion about the future of your relationship. The only way you’d ever stand a real chance, you’d both decided, was if you committed to couples’ counseling and complete and total honesty. Bucky knew he didn’t deserve yet another chance from you, and you probably wouldn’t have given him one if you hadn’t loved him so fucking much. But you’d actually died, and you couldn’t stand the idea of wasting any more time without him. Now, after nearly a year of doing the work, both on your relationship and yourselves, you felt your connection was stronger than ever. And besides, when it really mattered, Bucky had proven, in the most definitive way, that he would pick you over Jade Carthage.

“So…,” you said once the kiss had been broken and you began playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So, what?” he asked. You raised an eyebrow at him suggestively. His eyes widened as he caught your meaning. “What? Here? Right now?!”

You tilted your head and looked up at him with the most innocent expression you could muster, given how completely un-innocent your current thoughts were. “Yeah, right here, right now. Don’t you think we’ve waited long enough, baby?” You trailed a hand down the center of his chest and his breath hitched. “Almost a full year, spent using my fingers, pretending they were you, never feeling full enough? Never getting off as good as I got off with you? It’s been so long since I felt you inside of me, Buck. So long, it fucking hurts.”

When you had decided to give your relationship a real reset, one of the rules you had established, with the advice of Dr. Whitmore, was no sex. You needed to establish emotional intimacy and boundaries once again, without the complications a sexual relationship would bring. She had even suggested you both try to date other people, to ensure that this was the relationship you both truly wanted, but neither one of you could bring yourselves to do it. And now, here you were, almost a full year since the last time you’d been together, and you were desperate. 

Bucky groaned at your words and you knew he was this close to giving in to you.

“Come on, baby,” you purred, reaching down and slowly unbuckling his belt. “Don’t you want me? Don’t you want to be inside of me?” You slowly began nibbling at his jaw, tasting the salty sweetness of his skin and letting it flood your senses.

“Always want you, Pocket,” he growled, tightening his grip on your waist and pulling you flush against his hips. You let out a low moan when you felt the evidence of his arousal press into your stomach through his jeans. 

“Then have me, Barnes,” you whispered, carding your hands through his hair. “Have me on this balcony, have me on every fucking surface of this apartment, as many times as you want.”

Any remaining sense of resolve Bucky may have possessed snapped, and he was on you, sucking on the skin of your neck as he rutted his hips against you, and it felt so. fucking. good. to feel him like that again. His hand dipped into the waistband of your pants, where he found you wet and eager for him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled into your skin as his fingers slipped through your slick folds to toy with your clit. “All this for me?”

You groaned as you felt one finger gently breach your entrance. “Only you, love,” you moaned. “Only ever you.”

You both froze when you heard the sound of the elevator ding, and Bucky quickly withdrew his hand, popping his finger into his mouth to suck away the evidence of his actions. Grunting in frustration, you looked around him to see the elevator doors open and the movers begin to unload dollies of boxes from the Tower into your new apartment.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “So much for reunion sex. I swear, I’ve got blue balls, Barnes”

Bucky grinned at you, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before redoing his belt and heading over to help the movers. “This’ll only take a little while, doll,” he winked at you. “We’ve got the rest of our lives together to make up for lost time.”

<- Previous Part / The End

[macfrog]

mile high sex on fire chapter three

we're going overseas baby! (this is gonna be a three-parter cause i hyperfixated and couldn't stop myself so BUCKLE UP) author's note: i absolutely do NOT condone the use of private jets. they are GROSS and terrible for the environment and just fucking fly commerical ok? but in this ceo!joel ficland, private jets are fuelled by delusion and emit only clean, pure oxygen. thank you for reading. now, with that in mind, please enjoy reader being railed in a plane cabin. i love u all to paris n back 🤍🥐

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: you accompany joel on a work trip to paris, to eat good food, drink expensive wine, and…get to know each other a little better

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) environmental crime, plane sex, fingering, handjob, unprotected piv sex, daddy kink, joel being a fucking exhibitionist menace, creampie, more gf representation, showering together, softdom!joel, sugardaddy!joel, heavy on the flirting, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), cursing, very ridiculous spending on very ridiculous things, workplace relationship and therefore odd power dynamic yadda yadda yadda

word count: 6.3k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

Joel’s fingers squeeze your hips, his pace quickens even more. “Louder.” “They’re gonna – ah – they’re gonna hear.” “Who?” Joel asks. He knows damn well who. You’re only separated by a thin paneled wall. You’d be fucking surprised if the flight attendants haven’t been hearing you for the last twenty minutes. “Baby,” Joel’s voice coos as he bends forward, sweaty chest flat against your back. His lips line with your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “They get paid not to hear.”

You’ve never been on a work trip with Joel. Usually, he likes to take them alone. Martha told you once about a time a couple years before you started when Joel took an intern to a conference in Canada, and the kid spent the entire first night in the hotel bar, missed the conference the next day, and only just made the flight home, scruff of his neck between Joel’s knuckles.

He racked up a bill of nearly a thousand dollars just on liqueur and finger food. Joel had sworn he’d never take anybody anywhere with him again.

But there’s this client over in Europe he’s due to meet – an annual thing where they sit on the terrace of some luxurious hotel, drink expensive wine that tastes like piss, according to Joel, and have a cock-off over their money and status.

Sounds like fun, right?

You’ve a pretty good idea why he asked you. And he made a pretty convincing pitch: he’d promised you a relaxing weekend. You didn’t have to sit in on any meetings, he’d let you amble around the city by day, take you for a fancy dinner or two at night. All expenses paid. You barely had to lift a finger.

As per the deal, Martha organized the travel documents. Printed them, collated them, handed them to you in a neat little folder with a paperclip on top and a Post-It note with Have fun! written in red ink. You’d slipped it into your bag and followed Joel to his car, nodding to Rand as you ducked under the starlit ceiling.

Joel’s left hand sits around your thigh – because where else would it be? – his right clutching his phone, thumb scrolling as he absentmindedly reads some document. You’re watching the city soar by from behind tinted glass. Before long, it’s the dark green of trees flickering by, and then, canvased by the clear blue sky, an air traffic control tower in the distance.

The Rolls saunters past the main entrance to the airport. You watch it roll by, leaning forward in your seat.

“Wait, what…?”

“What, baby?” Joel asks, looking up from his phone.

You usually knew every fine detail of the plan by heart. It was your job to. But with Martha being in charge of arranging your flight, you’d missed one crucial speck of information this time. And that is –

You’re travelling by private fucking jet.

The car drives across smooth tarmac toward a pointed white plane, bold against the brilliant blue sky behind it. There are four people standing at the bottom of the steps leading into it; what you assume are the two pilots, and two smartly dressed flight attendants.

“How did I never know you had a…?”

Joel smirks. “Never showed you it. C’mon.”

He gets out, strolls around to your door and opens it for you. You’re still gawking at the jet.

“Jeez…” you whisper, hopping out of the car.

“What is it?” he says through a chuckle, leading you across the tarmac.

“I feel so…Everyone looks so…I’m in my fucking sweatpants, Joel.”

He looks at you under low brows, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. Like he doesn’t want to hear one more word of it. He holds an arm out; his pinkie bumps into your tummy.

“I think you look beautiful, darlin’.”

It might’ve stopped you in your tracks. Might’ve crumbled the entire airport to dust. Might’ve made the sun drop out of the sky. You’re not sure. You wouldn’t notice if you dropped dead right now.

His words, his soft voice when he says them, send a pang of white noise through your ears, echoing around and bouncing off the walls of your head.

You swallow. Digest what he just said. And do your best to forget all about it.

Joel takes your hand and leads you to the plane steps, helping you up. He follows at your heels. “Thanks, Jerry, Lisa,” he says. You give both pilots a nervous smile as you pass.

The airconditioned cabin chills your arms when you reach the top, twisting around to look back to Joel.

“Go on.” Joel nods, palm ushering you inside.

You step forward and turn right, standing in the doorway to a pristine, white-walled, wooden interior cabin, leather seats dotted against the walls, dark brown glassy tables between them, soft gray carpet at your feet, vacuum cleaner lines still visible. There’s a long plush couch on the left wall, today’s newspaper on the side table next to it.

You feel Joel’s body shell around yours, his chin dips against your ear.

“Like it?”

“Not really. Feelin’ pretty guilty about all the air pollution.”

“How many trees you want me to plant to make up for it?”

You tut. “What are you doin’ in business? You’re so funny.”

You wander off without looking back, heading for one of the window seats.

“Uh,” Joel clears his throat, “there’s a separate cabin up back, too, if you want it.”

“Separate cabin?”

He nods. “’s got a bed. It’s cozy.”

A bed. Of course this asshole has a fucking bed in his private jet.

The pilots file in behind him, dipping into the cockpit. The flight attendants follow, and begin preparing for takeoff. Joel strolls over to the seat opposite yours, giving your legs a nudge under the varnished table when he sits down.

You both click your seatbelts into place, relax, and look out the window as the jet rolls by the airport, heading for the runway. The engine fires up properly, a deep hum you feel rattling up your spine, and then you’re pulled forward, body pushing heavily into the soft leather of your seat.

The plane races down the runway, the grass and trees blurring into a mix of dark and light green, before you’re lifting off the tarmac and into the air, your tummy flipping a little from excitement and maybe some nerves, and…Joel’s gaze on you.

When your eyes meet his, he scans down. Your little black t-shirt, skin tight. The way your breasts rise and fall with your breathing. Down to the waist of your sweatpants, then further down your legs. You know exactly what’s going through his mind.

And, honestly…being on a private jet on your way to a free weekend in Paris, accompanied by the best sex you’ve ever had…? Goes against a couple of your core beliefs about the world, but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t on your mind, too.

The flight attendants let you guys know you can unbuckle your belts now, and, like a hive mind, you both unclip them and stand.

“Was gonna go check out that, uh–”

“I’ll show you to it,” Joel cuts in, taking your bag and leading you down the aircraft. He dips his head as he walks, the cabin too small for him to stand straight. You follow like a fucking dog, trying to hide the spring in your step.

Through a door concealed to look like part of the wall is a small room with a double bed, soft white sheets untouched. There’s a little TV on the wall opposite, a small table with another comfy chair by one of the windows, and a rail for hanging up clothes. The shades over the windows are pulled almost all the way down, sunlight splintering through and lining the soft carpet.

Joel wasn’t wrong. It is cozy.

He sets your bag down on the floor and closes the door behind you. You notice he locks it.

The corners of your lips tug, your eyebrows raise. “Might be classier than my bedroom.”

He scoffs, and you turn, falling back onto the bed and kicking your shoes off.

“Alright,” you announce, flat-out on the sheets, “I’m gonna get some shut-eye.”

Joel looks surprised. Almost – offended. “Sh…You’re gonna sleep?”

“’s why you got a bed, ain’t it?”

He narrows his eyes, runs his tongue along the bottom of his teeth. Steps forward. Sticks a knee between yours. “Not exactly.”

You smile up at him. He’s pulling the jacket from his shoulders, plain white tee underneath. He looks so fucking good. The man always looks so fucking good. He tosses the jacket to the floor and bends down over you. Hands pressing deep into the bed either side of your head, torso hovering over yours. Hips just too far away for you to lift yours up to meet them.

You take hold of his wrists. “Then…show me what it’s for.”

Joel looks from your lips to your chest, then back up to your eyes, grinning like a devil. He lifts one hand and his fingers come down to play with the drawstring of your sweatpants, tugging painfully slow on them. You want to whine, but that’d be letting him win too easily.

He loosens the waist and his fingers find the hem of your tee tucked beneath.

“You gonna show me those pretty tits, baby?”

You nod, biting your lip as he peels your top from your body, your back arching, arms splaying out on the bed. Joel uncovers your chest and slips the top over your head, discarding it to the side and leaning back to take the view in.

You didn’t wear a bra today. Wanted to travel in as much comfort as possible.

One of your wiser choices.

“Fuck, darlin’…” he breathes, eyes set on your perky tits, your round, hardened nipples. His reaction sends a fleet of electricity down to your core.

“C’mere,” you whisper, taking his shirt in your fists and dragging him down against your naked torso. And then his hips are there, right against yours, and you grind up into him, feeling his bulging crotch between your legs.

Your fingers dance along the hem of his shirt and he lifts off of you, letting you tug it over his head before his chest is pressed back against yours. You part your lips and he fills your mouth with his tongue, hands in your hair, body grinding against your own. He’s pushing you further up the mattress until you’re both in the center, disturbing the sheets and shifting the cushions decorating the bed.

Joel’s hand trails down your naked stomach and under your pants, cutting past the lace of your underwear to cup your mound, middle finger daring ever lower. You moan and drag your hips forward to edge his fingers further, until they’re dipping between your folds and your body’s rolling with pleasure.

“Yeah,” Joel murmurs, “that’s it, huh? That’s what you want?”

“Uhuh,” you nod, bottom lip between your teeth, eyelashes batting in a plea for him to keep going. Keep fucking going.

His mouth dips between your jaw and your shoulder, teeth picking up your hot skin to suck a bruise while two fingers push inside of you, lifting your back from the mattress and into Joel’s rock-solid body. Some noise escapes his lips, something caught between a laugh and a groan.

“So tight, baby,” he murmurs, drawing a smile across your face.

And then your hands are messing around at his waistband, fingers fumbling with the button. Wanting him in your hands as much as he has you around his own. Needing to feel what you’re doing to him, since he’s well aware of what he’s done to you.

Joel’s hand slips gently out from under your pants and his weight lifts off of you. In the slivers of light streaming through the cabin windows, his silhouette steps back off the bed and shoves the denim down his thighs. His jeans hit the floor and as quick as he left you, he’s back pressing into you again, hard outline of his length nudging against the top of your thigh.

You slip a hand under the elastic of his underwear and take hold of his cock, while he picks up where he left off between your legs. Your lips connect, breathing laughs and pants and desperate moans into each other, hands working to push each other closer and closer…

Joel’s fingers pump in and out, curling just enough to hit your G-spot every time. His thumb’s bumping at your clit, pushing waves of pleasure with each circle. He adds a third finger when you start to gasp, the movement of your fist around his shaft becoming messy and staggered. You’re trying to focus on him, trying to get him there as fast as he’s getting you, but he’s so fucking good at it, and you’re starting to fade out of the cabin.

Your eyes roll shut; head falls back against the bed. You’re still trying to fucking jack him off, as if he’d even let himself cum in your hands before he’s been inside you. But you’re desperately trying not to give him the satisfaction of having you unfold on his hand less than ten minutes into this. Desperately trying not to give in to him and his stupid private jet.

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel whispers in your ear, pressing a delicate kiss to your hair, “you can cum. Do it for me.”

“F-uck you,” you whisper, and you cave.

Let’s put it down to the air pressure when you’re this high up. In fact, let’s just say: you’re on a plane, and you’ve never had anything remotely close to sex on a plane before, and that’s why, when your orgasm bursts through, you cum harder than you think you’ve ever done before. It’s because of how fucking insane this is.

Let’s just say.

You come to with your face buried in the crook of Joel’s neck. His chest is vibrating, Adam’s apple bobbing. You pull back and notice the dimples in his swollen cheeks, the crow’s feet by his eyes, and then…the wide smile spread across his lips.

“That feel good, darlin’?” he asks through a laugh.

You curse at him again, eyes screwing shut. His hand’s still between your legs, slowly moving in and out, lulling you through the tail end of your orgasm. Your hands have deserted their original job; they’re clutching Joel’s shoulders. You don’t even remember grabbing onto him.

“Got somethin’ that’ll make you feel even better,” he breathes, and before you’re fully awake, his hands are on your hips, flipping you over. He drags your pants down your legs, discarding them to the floor beside his.

You sigh when he pulls your ass up into the air, resting your ear on your folded arms. Accepting defeat, or maybe just…letting him do what he does best.

Joel slips your panties to the side and runs his cock up and down your dripping cunt. You flinch, still sensitive, and feel him slow down.

“Gonna make you feel real good, alright?”

“Mhm,” you reply, eyes closing again as he lines up.

It sounds like a bit of a dumb thing to say. Joel makes you feel good every time his hands are on you, without question. Even that first night, in that dive bar, before he’d ever really done anything. His hands sent electricity through your body that you failed all weekend to rid yourself of. But you hear what he’s really saying.

You haven’t had each other yet without someone on the other side of the wall, waiting for one of you. It’s always been a rush, always been about that race to the finish line just to satisfy your needs, and then return to Earth as soon as you’re done.

There’s no need to rush to that finish line this time around. Nobody’s waiting. Joel can do whatever he wants, can fuck you however he likes, and have you under his hand for as long as he wants. As long as you both last.

The bed makes sense now, doesn’t it?

He pushes inside you, thick, hard, full. You gasp, face burying into the comforter, legs spreading to accommodate his size. Your fingers grasp onto the sheets, nails digging into the soft fabric as he fills you up, pulls halfway out, and rocks back in.

“Fuck, Joel,” you cry, and his hips slam into yours.

“Huh?” he asks.

“Daddy,” you correct yourself, still gasping.

“Better.”

Joel pounds into you, strong grip on your waist, pulling you up and down his cock at a punishing pace. His grunts match your whines. Your hand stretches out to grab something – anything – to hold onto, to steady yourself as your body begins to collapse.

“Daddy,” you mewl again, muffled by the cotton of the sheets, like it’s the only word coming to mind. “So – fuckin’ – good.”

“Louder, baby,” he replies, groaning when you tighten around him.

You whimper. “F-fuck, daddy.”

Joel’s fingers squeeze your hips, his pace quickens even more. “Louder.”

“They’re gonna – ah – they’re gonna hear.”

“Who?” Joel asks.

He knows damn well who. You’re only separated by a thin paneled wall. You’d be fucking surprised if the flight attendants haven’t been hearing you for the last twenty minutes.

“Baby,” Joel’s voice coos as he bends forward, sweaty chest flat against your back. His lips line with your ear, his breath hot on your skin. “They get paid not to hear.”

His hips crack into yours again once, and then halt. You cry out, the sudden feeling of him in his entirety, filling you up, pushing right up against your cervix, too much to bear. Too much to be muffled by the mattress beneath you.

“Let – them,” Joel’s hips drag back, slow, leaving you empty, “hear – you.”

He thrusts forward again, painfully, and you moan. Loud. “Ah, daddy,” you cry out again, and you swear Joel’s chest rumbles behind you with a laugh.

“That’s it, good girl. Tell ‘em how good it feels.”

You feel your mind start to slip, the cabin going with it. Your eyes roll closed, your mouth falls open. The only sound escaping your lips a whine, over and over, shaped just like the word daddy, daddy, daddy.

Joel’s forehead rests on the crown of yours, his voice a soft hum at the nape of your neck.

“See? Sound way too pretty to keep quiet, darlin’.”

He’s panting, words spilling out of his mouth between gasps and grunts. Hips are snapping at a grueling pace. You reach for his wrists again, planted in the bed either side of your head, and squeeze as if it might relieve the building tension in the pit of your stomach.

But he’s going so fast, so hard, fucking you dumb. And you can feel him start to falter, when your walls hold him snug, tightening around him as you reach your high.

He cums when you do. You feel him empty inside you as you hurtle through your own orgasm, rippling bliss all around your body. You both cry out, filling the tiny room with groans of pleasure and release together.

Your hips give, fall flat to the mattress, Joel still inside, slowly rocking back and forth, pushing his cum deeper and deeper inside you.

His elbows sink into the bed at your shoulders, caging you under his body as the remnants of your highs wash away. He’s running soft, wet kisses from your neck down the top of your spine. When your body stills, the pulsing of your cunt a mere flutter, he slips out from between your legs and pushes up off of your body.

Joel collapses alongside you atop the tangle of sheets and pillows, skin sticking, bodies thrumming with energy. You roll over to lie next to him. Chests rising and falling in unison, fingers intertwining at your sides. You’re staring at the ceiling, head tilting to rest on Joel’s shoulder, and he places a soft kiss to your hair.

You glance up to look into his brown eyes, lit by the thin rays of bursting sunlight seeping through the windows. The way the light moves across him as the plane turns, brilliant rays sweeping over the horizon and reflecting every angle of his face.

When he notices you, he dips his chin, and you prop yourself up, pressing your lips to his. Joel holds your jaw softly, thumb grazing over your cheekbone. His other hand scoops around your back, holding your body close to his.

“Sleepy,” you mutter, and he nods.

“Get some rest,” he tells you, but you’re already laying your head down on his chest.

Your heavy eyes blink the jet out of view; Joel’s hand stroking your hair sends you off to sleep.

----------

You wake under the white sheets, still wrapped up in Joel’s arms, to the sound of voices on the TV. Some comedy movie. Sounds like Adam Sandler. Joel mutes it when he notices you stirring.

“Afternoon,” he mutters, voice husky.

“Hi,” you reply softly, and his hand runs through your hair. “How long was I out?”

“Only a little while. They’re probably getting ready for lunch. You want me to head out first?”

You nod, suddenly feeling ashamed…and hungry. “Yeah. ‘n can you…make sure they don’t ask?”

“They ain’t gonna ask,” he groans, laughing as you roll off his body and let him up.

You watch as he dresses himself, toned arms pulling his tee over broad shoulders; tan legs slipping back into neat jeans. He slings his jacket over his arm and bends back down over you to let you kiss him again – slow, deep. Something of a thanks, a you’re welcome, maybe. A marker, anyway. A prelude to this weekend.

And then he slips out front. You lock the door behind him and start collecting your clothes, hopping around the cabin as you pull them on.

Before you leave, you grab a hoodie from your bag, feeling a little more exposed than you did when you first boarded. You toss it over your shoulders and open the door.

“Couple more hours,” Joel tells you as you sit opposite him, propping your ankles on his lap. His hands run over your socks, brows furrowing when he notices the pattern. “Bart Simpson?”

“Comfiest socks I own. Good plane socks.”

“Alright.”

“Go on. Make fun of ‘em.”

“I didn’t say anything. You want somethin’ to eat?”

You smirk. “Sure.”

He pours you a glass of water from the metal jug on the table between you both, and one of the attendants appears as if by magic on your right.

“Got you gluten free stuff,” Joel says as you gulp at the ice water.

You almost choke. “Seriously?”

His face twists, confused. Mirroring your astonishment. “Yeah. You think I’d let you starve?”

You almost laugh before you hear it, and realize how sweet it is. You didn’t even know Joel noticed this stuff. Didn’t think it’d be on his radar.

“Thank you,” you whisper, lifting your glass to mask the blush burning across your cheeks.

Joel nods once. Then turns to the attendant and asks for a burger, side of fries, side of onion rings. “We got sweet potato fries, Len?” he asks.

“Think so,” Len replies. “Want them instead? Or both?”

Joel thinks it over for probably two seconds, before he shrugs and says, “Both. Thanks, man.”

Len turns to you, but you’re still staring at Joel. “Unbelievable,” you mutter.

Joel holds his hands out. “I’m hungry.”

You give Len a smile. “What’s…What can I have?”

“We got gluten free flour, bread, pasta, uh…garlic bread for sides, too. And a couple desserts.”

“What the f…?” You stare at Joel. “You didn’t have to–”

“Just order, baby,” Joel says, palm facing you, stopping you from going on.

“I’ll, uh…You do fried chicken?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll have fried chicken, side of fries, and coleslaw, if you have it, please.”

Len nods curtly and heads back up front, leaving you and Joel on your own again. You finish your thought.

“What the fuck?”

He’s chuckling. “What?”

“You…This is…Nothing, you just…you blow my mind, every time.”

Joel shrugs, grinning. “Blow your back out, ‘n all.”

“Alright.” You snatch your ankles from his grasp – Bart’s toothy smirk slipping from between Joel’s fingers – and sit up straight, looking out of the window to the dazzling sky; bright blue on top and fluffy white clouds beneath.

Your food arrives shortly after and the pair of you eat in comfortable silence. Joel checks through his emails, you sit back in your seat with your headphones in. It’s nice, not having a phone to answer or Joel’s schedule to fix. Nicer, still, having him feet away from you, giving you all the attention you could possibly want at the drop of a hat.

You land in Paris at 10PM local time. Straight off the plane and into another sleek, black car, driven by a gray-haired, sharp-suited man named Denis whose hand Joel shakes before climbing in beside you. He slides into the leather seat and you fall against one another, your head on his shoulder. Partition wound up, though neither of you feel much like doing anything that’d require privacy. Your eyes are tired, heavy, you smell like eight hours’ worth of plane, and you’re basically salivating at the thought of collapsing into a huge, soft, clean bed.

Which is exactly what the pair of you do when you reach the hotel. You’re in some extravagant suite picked by Joel; you manage two glances around the dark place before he’s leading you by hand off to the bedroom, cases still parked at the front door.

And before you know it, you’re sinking into the plush sheets of a king-size bed, limbs entangled with Joel’s, city lights twinkling through the window into your sleep-glazed eyes as you drift off.

----------

Day breaks across Paris around seven in the morning. You wake with the blue glow of the sky, dusty pink on the horizon bleeding upward as the sun rises higher. When your eyes open and adjust to the light, you glance over Joel’s still sleeping body and notice the view behind him, split in half by the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower.

The curtains are still pulled back – neither of you noticed nor had the energy to shut them when you arrived. You’re both still in your clothes from yesterday, too. Joel managed to kick off his shoes, and you remember him pulling yours off before he fell into the bed next to you. You didn’t even sleep under the bedsheets.

You push yourself up off the bed, stretching your back and glancing around. This room is fucking nuts. Gold accented – gold handles, gold light switches, gold frames. Pretentious modern art decorating each wall, an upholstered headboard that almost touches the ceiling in front of you. Marble-topped nightstands with spotless silver lamps, glinting in the light.

You roll off of the bed, Bart Simpson socks landing on soft carpet, though his face has been awkwardly twisted around your ankle in your sleep. You shuffle off to a door on the left, leading down a small hallway – past some fancy ornate vase – to the living room: a wide, open space with the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the bedroom, looking out to the same view.

Two velvet couches sit opposite one another, a white marble coffee table sat between. Behind them, a dining table with eight chairs. Gleaming varnished wood. And then, through a couple more doors, a kitchenette with modern white cabinets, a coffee machine, a microwave.

Fucking. Nuts.

You hear Joel stirring in the bedroom and wander back through, dazed with sleep and amazement at this place. He’s rubbing his eyes when you walk in and spring down on top of him on the bed.

“Mornin’,” he grumbles, voice thick and husky. His hands fall onto your thighs, sat either side of his waist, and his eyes flutter open. “You’re energetic.”

“Have you fucking seen this place?”

“I have. Stay here every year.”

You press further into him, feeling a swell in his jeans and doing your best to ignore it.

“Can we go explore?”

“Outside?”

You nod eagerly, despite the way his face screws up.

“Baby,” he sighs, “I’m still in my damn jeans.”

“So, go shower. Get dressed.”

He’s not done protesting. “We travelled for, like, nine hours straight yesterday.”

“’n now we’re here and we ain’t here long, so let’s go do something. C’mon.”

You lace your fingers through Joel’s and pull him up toward you, sitting in his lap on the bed. He buries his face in your chest, mumbling something incoherent into the cotton of your shirt.

You giggle. “Huh? Can’t hear you.”

Joel pulls back with a sigh and rolls his eyes dramatically. “Alright,” he says, “go get ready.”

You leap off of him with a quiet squeal of glee.

As you pace around the suite, dragging your case into the bedroom, fishing some clean clothes and your toothbrush out, practically skipping into the marble-tiled shower room, Joel lays back in bed watching your every move. Smiling, eyebrows lifting with encouragement anytime you look over to him. Head resting back in the crook of his arm, sleepy eyes taking in all of your excitement.

You’re rinsing shampoo out of your hair when he slides into the shower behind you, a quick kiss to your shoulder.

“No sex,” you tell him with a pointed finger, squeezing the lemon scented gel into the palm of your hand.

“No, ma’am,” he says with a smirk, dipping his head to let you lather up the suds in his salt and pepper hair. “So, where we goin’?”

You shrug. “Wherever. Lots to do in Paris.”

“Wanna get you somethin’ nice,” he says, eyes screwed shut as he runs his head under the flow of water, “a thanks for comin’ with me.”

“I think maybe the private jet, the hotel room, plus the free trip in itself is thanks enough, Joel.”

But Joel disagrees. Heartily, apparently.

He takes your hand and helps you out of the car on a tree-lined street, tall cream buildings on either side. It looks like a movie set. You’re following Joel’s lead, spending more time craning your neck to look up at the huge, ornate windows guarded by black balconettes while he guides you across cobblestone toward the smoothly paved sidewalk.

You’re not even paying attention to where he’s taking you until you’re stood in the middle of a glistening store, plush rug under your feet, lavish chairs in the center of the room, a rainbow of fashion surrounding you.

“What…? No, Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes scanning the room. He takes a step, and you tug on his arm.

“I can’t fucking afford Gucci,” you whisper, pulling his body back against yours.

He hands you a bemused smile, eyebrows low, corners of his lips pulled. “All expenses paid, baby.”

Your arm falls limp and he drags you through the store, past mannequins in patterned gowns and silk shirts, past shelves of obnoxiously huge purses and accessories gleaming in the spotlights from above.

Your fingers stay locked around Joel’s hand, your head swiveling so much you worry it might fall off, looking from the vibrant floral wallpaper down to the spotless tiled floor, glancing politely at attendants and then dipping your head and wandering by them behind Joel.

“See anything?” he asks, turning to you at the opposite end of the store.

It’s ridiculous. This entire trip…is ridiculous, and you’ve only been here twelve hours. Following around at Joel’s heels like a puppy, watching as he clicks his fingers – no, before he even gets the chance to click his fingers – and everything and anything either of you could dream up just…happens. Right in front of you.

He won’t let up. You know him. If you tried to pull him back outside onto the street, he’d buy you something for the hell of it.

You know him. So, you decide to use that to your advantage.

“Gucci…I dunno…” you muse, squinting at him.

“Not your thing?” he asks, and he seems curious, but – you know him. You know that behind that polite mask is a smirk thick enough to make your knees wobble. He knows what you’re doing. “Where to, angel?”

You lead him out of the store. Feel his shadow behind you, watching as you thank the doorman and take a left around the corner, passing under the shade of the gently rustling trees. Arm in arm, you arrive before a huge archway, pristine windows surrounding the door to…

“Dolce & Gabbana…” Joel looks up at the stone writing atop the arch. “Alright. Classy girl.”

You giggle, pulling him past the wrought-iron fence and inside.

It’s sleeker, moodier. Less in your face. Suits you a bit better, though you can’t quite swallow back the guilt that sticks in your throat as you saunter around, Joel right behind you. It catches you when an assistant touches your arm, snapping you out of your daze, and asks if you need anything.

“No, thank you,” you reply, mirroring her smile. “Thank you.”

She nods and floats off.

Joel’s frame shells around yours, dipping his jaw to lean against your shoulder. “What about that one?” His eyes flit up to a mannequin just past a lit table of purses.

“The black one?”

“Mhm.”

“You like that?”

He repeats, a little more exaggerated: “Mhm.”

You shrug. “I do look good in black.”

“Look better in nothin’.” Joel steps forward and takes the tag between two delicate fingers, deliberately hiding it from you. He turns back, lifts his eyebrows in question. “Buy you it if you promise to wear it tonight.”

You smile. This man knows how to barter. And you take no convincing at all.

“Alright,” you accept, “deal.”

----------

Three hours later, you’re strolling down another cobbled street with an ice cream in your hand. And not much else, by the way. Joel’s taken all the shopping bags back to the hotel. He slapped your hand away when you tried to lift one of them from his clutches.

The wind sifts gently through your hair, cooling your face and neck, toying with the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing. It flutters the French flags overhead, red, white and blue blowing in the breeze. Cars roll by, engines humming as they weave in and out between one another, horns calling out in the distance.

Joel hadn’t let you come up to the counter to pay with him, had insisted you stay right where you were standing, and when he finished up and laced his fingers through yours, it was like a surge of energy had shot through him.

He led you out of the store and into another, and another, and another…until his hands were wrapped around, what, six bags? All carrying different components of your outfit for tonight.

And then he’d noticed the time – unlocked his phone with a curse under his breath, and kissed your temple. Midday. He was meeting Jean-Marc in an hour.

“You wanna come back with me? Chill at the hotel?” he’d asked, dialing his chauffeur’s number.

“I’m good,” you said, smiling sweetly as he squeezed your shoulder. Then, he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you his card.

“’case you see anything else you want.”

“Joel,” you protested, but he’d shut you up by clicking his teeth and walking off, leaving you to follow after him, shamelessly beaming.

He’d apologized another three times before Denis had pulled up, then once more as he loaded the trunk with your bags.

“See you later. Enjoy your meeting,” you teased, laughing at the way his face twisted into a grimace as the car rolled off.

It’d been a pretty nice afternoon. You’d dipped into a couple more stores – though, without Joel to impress, the low-cut dresses and short miniskirts were somewhat less exciting.

That is, until you passed by a lingerie store. You stood outside for a second, peering by your reflection in the window to study what lay behind. Suddenly lace and satin – and the idea of Joel seeing you in them – seemed a lot more enticing.

You’d pieced together an entire getup: bra, panties, garter belt, even a pair of stockings, and a silk robe to go over the top. You handed over Joel’s card, ignoring the way your cheeks began to heat and focusing instead on how smug you felt, and skipped out of the store, bag in hand.

You’d called Denis five minutes ago to ask for a ride back to the hotel. He called you Madame, he said Nonono every time you apologized for bothering him again, and he promised he’d be there in less than ten minutes.

You pace back and forth along the curb, waiting for the shiny black Maybach to pull up. You’ve checked your phone, like, five times already, kinda hoping there’ll be a text from Joel. You swing the bag between your fingers.

A door swings open behind you, giggles filter out into the street, and you turn to see a couple bounding out of a jewelers, hand in hand. She flicks her left wrist up, tilts it in the sun. It’s hard to ignore the light bouncing off of her ring finger. You feel nauseous at the sight.

Suddenly the Parisian street dissolves, and what sweeps over in replacement is a long, empty lawn, maple trees swaying menacingly in the distance. There’s a blur of bright blue sky, sunrays bursting across your vision. Your hand comes up to shield your eyes, and there he is. There he was.

He was on the grass. You told him to stand up; his suit trousers would be stained green. He did it anyway. Trembling hands, expectant stare. You stuttered and stammered your way through a sentence fueled by shock and horror and…resentment.

And then you did it anyway, too.

The crackle of tires coming to a stop on the road in front drags your fraught gaze from the couple, now strutting off down the avenue. You reach for the door handle, but Denis is already out of the car and leaning down, hand on your back as you duck into the backseat.

----------

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[vivwritesfics]

Hooked On A Feeling

Chapter Twenty - Monaco Daniel

Daniel is a Formula One driver, but, more importantly, he was a single dad to a wonderful little girl. He wants her to be a normal little girl, to have a normal social life, so he sends her to daycare. That was where she met Milo, her future best friend.

Milo's mother was incredibly stressed. She worked so hard to provide a good life for her son. But then he makes a new friend, a friend who has a hot dad (ofc they fall in love)

2.7K

Single Dad!Daniel x Single Mum!Reader

Warnings: light smut, eating out, handcuffs, Daniels gorgeous nose being put to work

Series Masterlist

"I can't wait for you to meet Monaco Daniel."

He'd said it after she'd explored the entirety of the gorgeous apartment, had looked out onto the balcony and then put her bags in the room they would be sharing.

She was looking at the pictures on his walls when he walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and placed his chin on her shoulder.

"Who is Monaco Daniel?" She asked him, placing her hands on top of his.

Daniel moved his chin from her shoulder and whispered in her ear. It was enough to make her choke as she pulled away from him. "Monaco Daniel sounds..."

She had no response. Not because she didn't want Monaco Daniel. Quite the opposite. She wanted Monaco Daniel real bad. "Who are the friends who would look after the kids?" She asked.

"Max and Lando," he answered.

Y/N knew very little about Max and Lando. But Daniel trusted them, and that was enough for her. Plus, every time she had met them, they'd been friendly towards her. "Sounds brilliant," she said, turning to kiss him.

Daniel gave her a bit of time to shower, freshen up and change into something else. As soon as she was done, she walked out of the bedroom and got herself a glass of water.

"Milo, Olivia and I were thinking about going out for lunch," Daniel said to her, his arm settling around her waist.

All he wanted was to be near her. He was like a teenager in love again. Of course, he didn't notice the way that Milo refused to look at him, the way Milo looked down at his lap.

"Sounds great," said Y/N, leaning against him. "What're we thinking of getting?"

That was how the four of them found themselves walking around Monaco, looking for somewhere to eat. Daniel let the way, pointing things out of them as they went.

They sat in a café. Milo and Olivia got sandwiches and juice, and the adults got coffee's. "Hey Milo," Daniel called, wearing a grin. "Do you wanna walk the track after this?"

Milo looked up at Daniel. He'd seen the Monaco Grand Prix that year, had seen the other AlphaTauri crash into the wall. He didn't realise it wasn't Daniel, at first. It had panicked him slightly, until he saw the driver that wasn't Daniel climb out of the car, safe and sound.

Milo nodded his head, chewing on his lip. He finished his sandwich and looked towards his mother.

But it wasn't his mother who spoke to him next. "My daddy won the Monaco Grand Prix a few years ago," she said proudly.

"You did?" Y/N asked, turning her attention to Daniel.

Daniel grinned and nodded his head. "The year that Olivia was born. I had technical problems but I pushed that car over the finish line and brought home the seventh win of my career."

"That's incredible," she said, reaching for his hand under the table. "We definitely need to watch it, right Munchkin?" She asked, turning her attention to Milo.

Again, Milo just nodded.

After they had eaten, the four of them headed out of the café. Daniel let the way, walking them around the streets that made up the Monaco Grand Prix. He walked beside Milo the entire time, pointing things out and telling him facts and stories from the Grand Prix he'd taken part in.

Y/N could see what Daniel was trying to do. She just had to hope it was working. At first Milo nodded along to what Daniel was saying, not offering much in terms of conversation. But Daniel kept going, kept trying. He wasn't going to stop until Milo was talking to him.

And it worked. Soon, Milo was talking back to Daniel, asking him questions. Daniel pointed out the breaking zones and the two of them visibly slowed their steps before taking the corner. It was adorable.

"Are you excited to go to America with your dad, Olivia?" Y/N asked as she walked beside her.

Olivia nodded her head. "Yeah! Daddy said we could go to a ranch and go horse riding!"

"That's great, Livvy! Can you do me a favour and get your daddy to send me pictures? I'd love to see it," she replied.

Olivia looked up at her. "Can't you and Milo come with us?" She asked innocently.

Y/N gave her a grim smile. "I'm sorry, Liv," she said quietly, shortening her name even further. "But Milo and I need to get back home. We'll try to call you as often as we can," she promised.

"Can you guys come next time?"

"We'll try our best."

***

There was a knock on the apartment door. Daniel got up from the sofa and pulled it open, greeted with the faces of two of his best friends. He stepped to the side, letting Lando and Max walk into his apartment.

"Uncle Max!" Olivia cried, running towards her favourite uncle.

Immediately, Max picked her up. It lasted maybe two seconds before Olivia was back on the floor. "Hey Milo," Max called, waving across the room.

Lando stepped out from behind Max and opened his arms for Olivia. "You gonna come say hello to your Uncle Lando or what?" He asked, wearing a grin.

The hug Olivia gave Lando was less enthusiastic than the way she hugged Max. But she instantly broke out into giggles and gave Lando a proper greeting.

"Hey guys," Called Y/N as she walked out of the bedroom, putting in earrings.

Daniels breath caught in his throat. She was dressed in a red satin dress that fell to her knees. The material hugged her body. The neckline dropped slightly lower at her chest, but revealed nothing, and two thin straps went over her shoulders.

"Hi Y/N!" Both Max and Lando called across the room.

Her small heels clicked against the floor as she walked over to where Milo sat on the couch and crouched to his level. "Milo, munchkin," she began as she moved Rexy to one side. "Max is gonna take you and Olivia to go play with his cats. Would you like that?"

Milo picked up Rexy yet again. "Can I ask him about racing?" He asked.

"I'm sure you can, Munchkin," she said.

Taking his hand, she got Milo down from the sofa and walked him over to Max and Lando. "Hi, Mr Verstappen," he said. Milo immediately began showing off Rexy.

His mother turned to Lando. "Thanks for taking them," she said and leaned against the wall. "He's probably gonna spend the night asking you about racing."

"It's no worries, seriously," Lando replied. "He can have a go on our sim if he wants. You two just go have fun, you crazy kids," he said and grinned.

Lando and Max took the kids with them as they left Daniel's apartment. They said goodbye, Milo hugging his mother, and followed the F1 drivers away.

As soon as they were gone, Daniel turned his attention to her. His hands were on her hips, pressing her against the wall. "You look incredible," he whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Tempted to skip dinner and show you Monaco Daniel right here and now."

She leaned forward and kissed him quickly. "You know I can't wait to see Monaco Daniel. But lets get food first. For stamina and all that, you know?"

Daniel grinned. He stepped away from her, holding her hand and pulling her away from the wall. She followed her into the bedroom and sat her on the bed as he began getting dressed.

As soon as he was ready, they were heading out of the apartment. Daniel held her hand as he led her down to the parking garage. He pulled open the car door and held her hand as she climbed in. "Thank you, Danny," she said. He kissed her hand before letting go of her and shutting the car door.

Throughout their dinner, it was hard to concentrate on anything but each other. For Daniel it was hard to concentrate on anything but the way she pressed her leg against his in the rounded booth they shared. For her, it was hard to concentrate on anything but the way his hand gripped her thigh.

Daniel could hardly pull himself away from her to eat. He had no idea what he ordered, wouldn't be able to tell Max and Lando if they later asked. He was far more interested in her.

After the dinner, Daniel parked up near the beach. As he walked her across the beach, the waves crashed against the stones and pebbles. "Milo would love this," she said as she leaned against Daniel, looking out across the sea. "He'd sit here and draw the view."

"Tomorrow," said Daniel. "We'll bring them here tomorrow."

And suddenly, Y/N got an idea. She pulled away from him, pulled her phone from her bag and placed it on the ground as it softly played music. "Come on," she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck and began swaying. "Just like our first date."

Daniel was more than happy to move with her. His forehead was against hers and he kissed her as they moved. Soon the dancing stopped and they were kissing beneath the stars.

She pulled away from him and rested her head against his chest. "Take me home and introduce me to Monaco Daniel," she whispered.

Before she knew it they were driving back home at such a speed. A thrilled laugh ran through her as Daniel pulled into the parking garage. He parked quickly, grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the car, up to his apartment.

"You're gonna love Monaco Daniel," he said as he rushed to unlock the apartment door. "Monaco Daniel is all about you."

As soon as he got them into the apartment, he kissed her. Her back was against the door and he kissed her as he pushed the straps of her dress off her shoulders.

Monaco Daniel wasted in time and undressed her, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. It seemed unfair that he was still fully dressed as he led her into the bedroom. "Sit on the bed," he commanded, and she did just that.

Monaco Daniel stripped himself as he dug through his closet, looking for something. "Aha!" He called when he found what he was looking for, pulling a box forward from the back of the closet.

Daniel presented her with handcuffs. "Oh, so Monaco Daniel is kinky," she said, reaching forward to take the handcuffs off of him.

But Daniel held them just out of reach. "Whose wrists do you think these are going on, baby?" He asked, pocketing them. He reached back, unclipping her bra, and laid her on the bed.

He pulled her bra away from her body and dropped it to the floor. Daniel kissed her, raising her arms above her head, until her wrists were up by the headboard.

There was no protest as Daniel used his handcuffs to secure her to the bed. She tugged once, testing out the strength of the metal. She let out a satisfied hum when they held up.

Daniel kissed her again. He kissed down her body, kissing between her breasts and down her stomach, until he was where she needed him most. "Monaco Daniel is gonna eat you out until scream my name."

Monaco Daniel dove in. His hands were on her stomach as his tongue moved across her folds, pushing in.

She couldn't deny that she had thought about Daniel's nose before. At first she thought it was gorgeous. And she still did think it was gorgeous. But she couldn't wait to see it in use.

The moment his nose bumped against her clit, she let out an almost pornographic moan. "Holy shit," she cried as she tried to reach for his hair. But, fuck, the handcuffs held her back. She settled for gripping the headboard instead.

***

"Ugh, you beat me again!" Cried Lando as Olivia once again beat him in a video game. "How are you so good at this, Liv?"

"You're just really bad, uncle Lan," Olivia answered as she started another game.

In another room, Milo was asking Max any and all questions he had about being a racing driver. Max leaned against the counter as he cooked up something for the four of them to eat. He'd made the effort to go shopping to get something for Milo and Olivia to eat the minute Daniel texted him.

As Milo asked his questions, he had a piece of paper in front of him, drawing away. Max had opened his laptop in front of Milo, giving him a picture to draw.

"Do you wanna be a driver?" Max asked as he began plating things up.

Milo shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno," he answered. "I don't think my momma has the money for it."

Max gave a grim smile. "Well then, I guess you'll have to just watch me and Daniel race until you can join us on track."

"Really, Mr Verstappen? That would be so cool!"

Milo grabbed his colouring pencils from his bag and began to fill in the F1 car he was drawing with colour. Dark blue, just like the car Max drove.

He put the plates on the table, calling Lando and Olivia to sit and eat with them.

"My daddy said I could start karting soon," Olivia said as she ate. "Uncle Maxy, Uncle Lando, do you think you could come to my races?"

Lando nodded. "Are you gonna go karting too, Milo?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Probably not," he said.

The look Max sent Lando told him everything he needed to know. "Well, Olivia said it's your birthday in a few months," he said. "Maybe Max and I chip in, help you pay for karting as a birthday present."

"Really, uncle Lan?!" Olivia called excitedly. "That would be so cool!"

After they ate, Lando stuck on a movie while Max cleaned up. Full up, both kids found themselves nodding off as they watched the movie. Max and Lando made a decision to take them home. They gathered their things, put them into their bags and checked their phones.

Suddenly, Max's phone began ringing. He swiped his phone across the screen, silencing it before it woke up Milo or Olivia. "We're just about to take the kids back to yours."

"Don't!" Cried Daniel, his voice panicked. "We're having a little emergency here. Y/N and I will be by to pick the kids up in a little bit. Just keep them there!"

"What the hell is going on?" Max asked, his voice hurried. "Are you guys okay?"

They were, in fact, not okay. Y/N was still stuck to the headboard, her body sweaty. She had only just stopped shaking and Daniel was desperately searching for the key.

"Maybe we should have made sure we had it before sticking me to the bed," Y/N said. It was obvious now. She desperately pulled as Daniel searched through his closet.

"Fuck," he cried, digging through his things. But it was nowhere to be seen. "Shit, babe. I think we might have to find another way to get them off."

She looked up at the handcuffs. "Do you have a bread knife we can cut them off with?"

Suddenly Daniel was out of the bedroom, running towards the kitchen. He searched through his kitchen drawers, desperately searching for the serrated bread knife.

"AHA!"

Daniel ran back into the room. "Danny! Stop running with the knife!" She cried and he slowed down. "I can't have you stabbing yourself while I'm stuck here," she said.

Placing the knife between his teeth, Daniel crawled on top of her. He took the knife from between his teeth and instantly began cutting at the leather of the handcuffs. It was a good minute before the knife went through the leather.

But Daniel kept going, until the knife went all the way through and she pulled her hands apart.

The handcuffs were still around her wrists as she and Daniel rushed to get dressed. "We'll get them off later," he said as he threw a clean shirt towards her.

Together, she and Daniel rushed to the front door. But he stopped her before she could pull it open. "I love you," he said and kissed her.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @hellowgoodbye @cassie0sstuff @spideybv28 @andydrysdalerogers @aundercover @lou-bean28 @landossainz @purplephantomwolf @ggaslyp1 @layazul @phantomxoxo @minkyungseokie @gills-lounge @hollie911 @annispamz @lily-ann-b @cixrosie @notyouraveragemochii @charli123456789 @amalialeclerc @teamnovalak @tallrock35 @teenwolf01 @chiliwhore @darleneslane @sava207 @thatsusbitch @formulaal @leptitlu @angiesw0rld @yunakynn @landosgirlxoxo @msolbesg @cherry-piee @catmouseggy @bathedinheat @chanshintien @ilove-tswizzle @woozarts @evie-119 @trouble-sistar @mysticalnightenthusiast @lewisvinga @spilled-coffee-cup @starkeyellow @fxrmuladaydreams @viennakarma @radiator101 @lightdragonrayne @angelxxrose @millinorrizz @xemiefx @ellies-world61 @the-depressed-fellow

[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Five:: [Why Do They Call It Love?]

Summary: Jake spends time with his side of the family and your kiddos in Texas. The lies quickly come to an end though when an overworked and overwhelmed nursing student makes the wrong call to your not-so-emergent contact.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Overbearing mothers.

Word Count: 5K

Author Note: The last chapter update before Christmas! EEP! It's one of the moments we've all been waiting for too.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It’s not too late you know—“ Jake watched as his father, the man who had many times throughout his childhood and teenage adolescents put his hands on him, poured himself a drink at the small but decent bar in the room Jake and his groomsmen were getting ready in. “To call this whole thing off that is.” 

All Jake could do was press his lips together in a fine line of disappointment, he’d expected this. Hell if anything he was actually pleasantly surprised Rod had been able to hold off for as long as he could. 

“I wouldn’t have asked Y/n to marry me if I didn’t want to marry her, Dad.” Jake sighed as he watched his father smirk and swirl his scotch around in the glass he held firmly in his ageing hand. 

“You're not afraid of being reductive, are you son?.” Rodney Seresin was a hard man to understand, he showed little empathy towards others or emotion in general. Jake had never even seen the man drink anything beside single malt scotch. “I doubt you have more fear than the average asshole who decides to get hitched.” The almost self deprecating follow up did little to soothe the frown etched almost permanently onto Jake's face whenever he was around his father. “If anything you seem pretty fearless walking headstrong into a marriage that will surely end up on some poor clerks desk just waiting to be stamped as null and void.” Jake couldn’t find the right words to say as he watched Rodney take a swig of the amber liquor that would surely give the bastard liver cancer at some stage. But Jake mustard up the first few that came to mind. 

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough to drink pops, you’re projecting your own fears about love onto me, on my wedding day.” Jake had a lot of big emotions about his father. Deep down Jake wanted him to be proud of the man he’d become, especially on his wedding day. But Jake also knew, after some pretty intense therapy sessions, that his father’s approval never really meant anything. 

“Oh please, everyone’s scared of love dipshit—you learn that in your twenties, or at least I did anyway.” Jake's father grumbled as he went about pouring himself another drink. Only this time he reached for another glass to pour Jake one too. “It takes a special kind of lunacy to not be afraid of happiness and my boy do you fit the bill.” 

“That’s so dumb—“ Jake scoffed, he wasn’t about to stand here and listen to a cranky old man project his beliefs, he’d done that all throughout his childhood whenever his father made comments about his mother only being good for two things. Those two things eventually evolved into three once Jake was old enough for the ‘birds and the bees’ talk. 

“No you’re dumb and that’s exactly why you aren’t afraid of happiness.” Rodney huffed. “The smarter you are the more you know, happiness is a fucking trap that can’t and won’t ever last forever.”

“That woman out there is about to be my wife—“ Jake argued as he tried to contain his rage. The vein in his neck throbbed as he clenched his jaw and balled his fist to maintain his control. This guy wasn’t worth it, he never had been and never would be and the last thing Jake ever wanted was to be any way, shape, or form like his father. “You don’t get to tell me I won’t be happy marrying the woman I love, who I’ve been in love with since the first time I saw her. The woman, who mind you, is one of the most intelligent people I know, loves me for me! Without the goddamn last name or family values, she loves me for me which is something that you wouldn’t understand.” Jake would never forget this, that on his wedding day or all days his father felt it was necessary to get up on his soap box. “You’re unbelievable—“ 

“You really think that some aspiring author who’s biggest accomplishment is working a full time position at the local bookstore is the love of your life?” Rodney asked with enough conviction in his tone that Jake thought for a moment it was a genuine question—but as always it was used to mask a dig at your chosen profession. The real question was if Jake loved you for you, the answer would always be wholeheartedly. 

“I’ve experienced more love knowing Y/n these last few years than you ever had with Ma and as much as I hate that for her I’m glad she doesn’t give two shits about you.” Jake argued, the anger had materialised across his face in a deep shade of red. 

“Jacob, even if you consider this girl to be the love of your life It’s still going to end.” Jake stepped a little further forward to close some distance between himself and his father. The older man reached out to extend the amber liquid to his only son. The disappointment, the mistake. Jake reluctantly accepted the vessel. “It's inevitable, whether it be by the slow pull of disease, or the shock of loose footing on a hiking trail.” Rodney grumbled on as he eyed his son down trying to make a point that this day for Jake would eventually be as meaningless as his existence. “Or perhaps in your case it’ll be the corrosion of two different personalities that reshape each other until they’re no longer compatible.” 

“You’re just a cranky old bastard aren’t you?” Jake couldn’t think of anything else to say to his father as his groomsmen filed back into the room all laughing and ready to lead Jake out to the ceremony. 

“Maybe, but I’m a bastard with a point—happiness always ends.” Rodney smirked. “Think about it, the best case scenario, son, is that you both die at the same time.” Jake felt like he couldn’t breathe as his best man slapped his hands on his suited up shoulders. They’d just gotten back from their own first look with you. Some still had tears in their eyes. You were just that beautiful. 

“You ready man? It’s time.” Jake looked down at the drink in his hand his father had poured him before he took the entirety of the amber liquid he hoped one day would be the reason for his father’s demise in his mouth. The eye contact between father and son never broke as Jake swallowed without a fuss. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

***~***~***~***~***~

The Oncology ward was never your favourite place, hell it was never a place you thought you’d have to frequent, but the copious amounts of Christmas decorations that lined the halls and boarded the nurses station, put a smile to your weary face. Those decorations hadn't been there the last time you met with your oncologist to discuss your treatment plan. That meeting had felt like a lifetime go, but in reality it was only a mere few weeks. 

“Okay so this is your room.” One of the nurses that had helped admit you as a patient to Rhode Island Hospital oncology ward smiled behind you as you and your mum carried your bags into the room. “Try to make yourself at home, we find that the more homely people make their room the easier the stay is.” 

She was young, fresh out of college and still had those brown baby eyes that looked like they just wanted to save every person she came into contact with. High hopes that would soon come to realise that in life you couldn’t save everyone. Lydia was her name, or so the badge credentials that hung from her scrub top told you.  

“Will do.” You smiled, nothing would make this easier. Nothing about this entire situation was or would be easy. 

Lydia left you and your mother alone to settle your things, knowing you were about to spend a your holidays couped up in a hospital room made your heart ache for the holiday memories where your children were opening presents under the tree as you and Jake drank coffee spiked with Baileys at six am in the afternoon. 

The ever looming crisis of impending death always made you wonder if last Christmas would be your last Christmas with your little family. It made you wonder if you’d ever get to spend a holiday like this with them again. Lucy and Lennox would turn seven in February, Samuel would be three in August, it dawned on you as you placed your toiletries in the bathroom, would you get to see your children grow? Watch them fall in love for the first time, learn new skills, develop into adults, get married, graduate. All the things you wanted to see as a mother. 

“Where do you want me to put these?” Your mother called out as you turned around to see her holding up a string of multicoloured Christmas lights. You frowned at the woman who had been there for you through thick and thin with her childlike mannerisms and christmas cheer. 

“Mum, why do you have Christmas lights?” You sighed softly like you were trying to be brave and take all of this on the chin. 

“I thought that the least I could do would be to help decorate your room, you are in here over the holidays afterall, why not spend some time decorating while you can?” She beamed as she took you under her arm and wrapped her arm around your shoulders. “Brought you a little Christmas tree too.” 

“You didn’t have to do that—“ You appreciated the festive atmosphere though and knew over the coming days that you’d appreciate the warmth even more. Right now though all you wanted to do was sleep. 

“I know, but you’re my baby—“ She whispered back softly as you both looked around the blank space, the sterile environment that was about to be your home for the next three weeks at the minimum. “So I reckon we put them all the way around the room.”

“It’s gonna look like the first season of stranger things in here.” You chuckled which quickly turned into a throaty cough your mother frowned in worry over, but you reassured her you were fine once you caught your breath. “I’m fine, promise—“ The world felt off for a split second. Like tunnel vision was threatening to take you hostage out of nowhere–a blackening darkness loomed behind your eyes as spotted fragments came and left in the space of a few seconds. “Woah, that was a little odd.” 

“Sweetheart?” Your mothers eyes nearly popped out of her head when she realised what was happening. “Do you feel okay?” It was a hard question to answer, it always had been. But right now it was harder than ever. 

“I’m a little light headed, why?” It wasn’t anything unusual, but with the way your mum was staring at you like you’d just grown another head from your shoulder made you think it was something more serious. “Mum?” Something was off as you stood trying to figure out what was going on, your body felt weird, like a tingling sensation had tickled its way across your skin. 

“The left side of your face is drooping.” Your mother explained as she put the lights down on your bed. “Your cheek is–”

“What?” You asked nearly in disbelief at her reaction to face slightly drooping opposed to your right. “What are you even talking about?” 

“I’m getting the nurse, I think somethings wrong, I think you're having a stroke.” This couldn’t be happening, what more could life throw at you? First a breast cancer diagnosis and now a fucking stroke? “Stay here.”

“I’m literally admitted! Where do you think I’m going to go!” Your voice followed your mother out towards the nurses station as you tried to take a few steps, that’s when you realised though that the entire left side of your body had gone numb and tingly. “Oh god—“ Panic soon set in as you took a seat on your hospital bed. Tears flooded your eyes as an immense wave of anger and despair erupted out of your soul. 

This wasn’t fair. None of it was. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~

“Dad!! Push me higher!” Lenny laughed as Jake pushed him on the swing set in the backyard of his family’s home. 

“Any higher and you’ll do a loop around man.” Jake chuckled but he obliged by his son's wishes and gave him a little more of a chesty send off when the swing carrying his son came back his way. 

More of the Seresins spending Christmas and new years at home had since arrived and the festivities were well and truly underway. Jake watched as the sun set below the rolling hills along the horizon as his mothers festoon lights illuminated the back deck. They reminded him of Penny’s, the ones that always made the Hard Deck balcony seem so much brighter. 

“When mum told me Y/n wasn’t coming this year I thought she was lying.” Jasmine called out as she made her way across the backyard to where Jake stood playing with his two boys. Sammy sat by his leg fixated on the tonka truck Jake swore was gonna leave the biggest bruise on his shin if the kid kept ramming it into him. “What’s going on with you two?” 

“You know—“ Jake groaned, he was just about over the question as much as you were. Everyone knew, it wasn’t a secret Jake kept close to his chest. He knew he fucked his marriage up, he knew he was the problem. But it didn’t help when everyone asked what was going on between the pair of you over and over and over again. 

It was like opening up an old wound over and over again. Watching the infection spread, watching the tissue decay and slapping a gauze on it hoping that it’ll heal in time. 

But as you pointed out, time didn’t always heal old wounds and you were still very much healing from the damage Jake had caused when he lost focus and sight of the things that mattered most to him. 

He didn’t realise you were gone until you had locked the door behind you and taken the key. 

“I just thought it was a rough patch. I didn't think you guys wouldn’t spend Christmas together.” Jasmine Seresin was the youngest daughter of all the Seresin Siblings and Jake's most fearsome protector. She was always in his corner ready to go into bat for him just as much as Jake was for her. “What’s she doing anyway?” Jake assumed it was because of their close age gap, Jasmine always said it was because Jake couldn't throw a solid punch to save himself.

“Uh she’s going on a trip to Banff—“ Jake continued to push Lenny on the swing set his uncle had built over thirty years ago. It was a ridiculous thing with its over the top attachments and its stainless steel finishing. The slide used to burn the crap out of your ass if you went down the thing in the midsummer Texas heat. But it was still good as it was the first day Jake and his sisters took it for its very first spin. Now he was a dad, pushing his son on that same damn swing he cried on when he scuffed his knee playing tag. “Some friend's trip she was invited on.” Jake wished he knew more but he never wanted to pry. You had a private life now he wasn't privy to. “She hasn’t really told me much about it and I didnt wanna ask in case she thought I was being controlling.” 

“Oh.” Jasmine had to stop herself from saying what she was thinking straight off the top of her head, but Jake knew her better than that. He could practically see the cogs in her brain twisting and turning and working together to formulate her next opinion. 

“Say it—“ Jake encouraged. “Go on, I know you want to.” 

“It’s just Banff can be awfully romantic this time of year and all.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to tell my ex husband about a new fling that’s taking me to Banff for Christmas either.” 

“I wonder how the conversation will go when she tells that guys she fucked said ex husband the night before she flew out then.” Jake smirked as he pushed his son a little higher to hear his screams of joy as Jasmine cupped her hand over her wide open mouth. “I don’t think there’s a guy.” 

“Holy shit you two are so getting back together.” 

“If mum had it her way I’d be divorced six ways till Sunday and have an open day down at the church for potential candidates she approves of.” Jake couldn’t have rolled his eyes any harder as Jasmine groaned and rubbed her temples. 

“You’re her baby boy Jake, she’s obsessed with you—god she never did like Y/n all that much did she?” 

“Nah—and I honestly think this whole separation has just made her delusional self more delusional.” 

“I don’t want you two losing sight of the love you have for each other because of a rough patch.” Jasmine nearly warned as she bumped Jake's hip with her own. “You're too pig-headed sometimes.” 

“Funny, I’ve got a wingwoman who says the same damn thing.”

“Sounds like my kinda gal.” Jake had to scoff at the idea that immediately popped into his mind. Phoenix was very much his sister's type and he knew that. 

“You tell mum about Racheal yet?” What Janeen Seresin didn’t know about her youngest daughter was that she and her husband Eric, who stood grilling away with Jake's father, had recently decided that monogamy just wasn’t their thing. Racheal had started off as a babysitter for the couple's two kids, ten year old Stacey and eight year old Lewis. When Jake found out that Jasmine was bisexual he didn’t blink and eye, but he did spit his beer all over Rooster when she told him she and Eric where both happily fucking the nanny. Sometimes together. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? She’s already on the verge of an eruption over one of her kids on the brink of no fault divorce, could you imagine what would happen if I came out at the family Christmas party?” Jake just chuckled and shook his head pretending like he didn’t already know it would end in disaster. “I’d meet our ancestors Jake, all the way back to pre colonial times my guy, you’re my scapegoat right now.” 

“Happy to be of assistance.” Jake just laughed at his sister's chaos. He watched with a smile half the size of his face as she turned to walk off. Not before she turned around and gave the most obnoxious salute she could have. 

“Appropriate your service, Lieutenant.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“Your daughter’s going under for a procedure we call a thrombectomy to remove the suspected blood clot from inside her artery.” Your mother sat in the waiting area of the emergency surgery floor she’d been escorted to once you had been whisked away. “Luckily for her we caught this so early she should have practically no defecates depending on how the surgery goes.” 

First your separation, then your breast cancer diagnosis and now a stroke, what more could you possibly have to deal with. 

“What caused it? She's been rather sick the last few days, throwing up, not sleeping, eating.” Your mother explained to the resident who had come out to update her on your status. “She's already dealing with so much.” 

“Unfortunately this isn't uncommon in young woman who go through severe bouts of stress, i've read your daughter's file and its safe to say that the clot was probably due to her current oral chemo, plus a combination of high stress from the diagnosis, her blood pressure and her bodies inability to sustain proper nutrients, it's a perfect storm for these sorts of things.” It made sense but the explanation didn't make the outcome of the situation you were facing any easier for your mother to handle. “Rest assured your daughter is in really good hands and the fact she was already inside the hospital when the stroke started to manifest itself means her chances of a full recovery are rather high.” 

“But now she’ll just live long enough to slowly deteriorate and be taken by the cancer, won't she?” Your mother wouldn't ever admit it to you, but the phone call where you told her that you had been diagnosed with Stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma, was one of the worst days of her life. The first being the day your father and the love of her life died far too young far too quickly. “My daughter is strong, Doctor Phillips, but she's just one woman, how much is she expected to be dealt before she gives up.” 

Doctor Phillips, the resident who had been tasked with updating your mother, just flashed her a look of sympathy laced in professionalism that truly showed a testament to her ability to not let her own feelings get in the way of her patients and their families. 

“Let's take this one step at a time, Miss O’riley.” She added politely before saying goodbye and left your mother to sit in silence watching the clock tick, although she didn't take her eyes off the clock on the wall for a mere second, time still felt like it stood still while you were on that operating table.

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

The day had been long, overdrawn, and full of mindless family drama over dinner on the back deck the first night Jake and the kids were in Texas. One night down only.. “Oh God–” Jake groaned as he finally let his head rest on the pillow and realised he would be here for a full two weeks before he could escape the family he never wanted to be anything alike. 

The kids had gone down relatively easy with little to no tears, Lucy was a little upset that you never called like you said you would and Jake was slightly concerned that you never returned his calls or texts. However he also understood you didn't owe him a damn thing and for all he knew, you were still up in the air, on your way to the very beginning of what he hoped would be a fantastic kid tree trip. You did after all deserve some time away. 

Jake had thought quickly on his feet before the tears could start though, he told Lucy that you had said you'd call in the morning because you knew that you'd keep her up far too long. He just hoped as his own head hit the pillow that you would in fact call in the morning. 

Ten o'clock seemed rather early to be heading off to bed but Jake needed to reset his mind in order to be able to handle his family for two more weeks. He needed at least a solid eight hours before his sister Abigail joined in on the festivities for tomorrow with her own family. Jake was the only Seresin sibling this year without his partner present and god did he feel like the black sheep. 

What really cemented that fact he was the family disappointment was when his father had handed him a beer and said the only thing he’d spoken to Jake the entire time he’d been home. A quick, monotone “I told you so son, happiness never lasts.” 

His childhood bedroom hadn’t changed a single bit. As Jake laid in the twin bed he lost his virginity in, he listened to the baby monitor that kept a watchful eye on his three kids just down the hall. Little Sammy was sound asleep, Lucy and Lenny thought they were in the clear but they were up talking about whatever it is young twins talk about late at night while they’re visiting their grandparents place. 

Jake wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep but the sound of his phone going off on the small bedside table surely woke him up in enough of a frazzled state to know it had been a few hours, long enough for his body to truly settle into a deep state of rest. 

“Fuck–” Jake growled as he reached up for his phone. “The fuck is–who the hell is–” Jake grumbled as he sat up in the twin bed and tried to remember where he knew that area code from as the unknown number illuminated his phonescreen. “Hello?” It was a last minute decision to answer once Jake had actually seen the time, two thirty in the morning to be exact. 

“Hi, would I be speaking to Mr. Seresin?” Lydia asked politely on the other end of the line, she sat at the nurses station on the ass end of her double shift. A double shift she wasn't supposed to be working. She couldn't feel her feet with how badly they were throbbing, her eyelids were far too heavy to keep up and she hadn’t eaten since noon yesterday, but her patients came first. Lydia Hudson was determined to be the best nurse she could be and that included updating your emergency contact on your post-op recovery. 

“This is he.” Jake replied rather roughly into the phone as he held it to his ear in the darkness of his childhood bedroom. His voice was an octave deeper than it usually was with how tired he was. 

“Hi Jake, this is Lydia calling from Rhode Island Hospital.” It took Jake's brain a moment to catch up to his heart as the women on the other end of the line spoke, but it caught up soon enough. “I'm just calling to let you know how your wife went in her emergent surgery, it seems as though we were able to retrieve the clot before it could cause any irreparable deficits.” Jake frowned as he ran his hand over his face, he wasn't sure what the hell he was listening to but his heart was hammering inside his chest. “There doesn't seem to be any critical deficits at the moment, she's on some pretty intense pain medication but we’re hoping that it won't interfere with her upcoming Mastectomy and chemotherapy sessions.” 

“Im–I'm sorry, do you have the wrong number?” Jake questioned. “You said my wife?” 

“Y/n Seresin?, I’m so sorry if no one had updated you sooner, but while she was setting up her room in oncology she suffered a moderate stroke we think was brought on by the–” 

“Oncology meaning?” Jake was beginning to break out in a sweat as his heart raced. No, no you were supposed to be on a plane to Banff, you should have been in Calgary by now. 

“The cancer ward–?” Lydia replied. “Mr. Seresin you do know your wife was admitted for stage three A, triple positive grade three invasive doctoral carcinoma, right?” Lydia frowned as she read over your notes again trying to understand why the man she had just called, your husband, didn’t seem to know a damn thing about your situation. “She was just put through admission today when she–” Lydia paused when she saw it, your actual emergency contact. It wasn’t Jake Seresin who was listed as your emergency contact on your paperwork, but your mother who was currently sitting at your bedside watching your chest move up and down post your operation. “Oh my god–” 

“Y/n—“ Jake couldn’t make sense of what he’d just been told. “Has cancer? My wife Y/n has cancer?” Jake had to say it out loud for the realisation to kick in. “She has cancer? My wife had a stroke? What the hell is–” 

“Mr. Seresin I’m so unbelievably sorry but I can’t share any more details with you under HIPAA, I’ve just realised you weren’t listed as your wife’s emergency contact.” 

“She has cancer? My Y/n has cancer?” The vomiting, the flu that Lucy said you had had for weeks now, how tired you looked, it all made sense. “Oh god—“ Jake felt the tears spilling down his cheeks as he jumped out of his childhood bed and hit the light switch. “No, oh god no.” He felt like he was going to throw up as he rummaged through his duffle for a clean shirt and shorts. “How long has she known?” The call, the need for Jake to take the kids, the way you wouldn't even give him a chance to right his wrongs, divorce…. “How long has she known for?” 

“I’m so sorry Jake, I can’t share any more details with you.” Lydia apologised before she began to panic and hung up the phone, leaving Jake in his newest existential crisis. 

Jake had to go, he had to get back to you, why the fuck would you not tell him this? How long have you known? How long did you have left even? What was your prognosis? Jake had so many questions that were left unanswered as he changed and grabbed his wallet. He was booking the next available flight back to Rhode Island as he shoved all his stuff back into his duffel bag. 

The kids would have to stay—oh god the kids. Your kids. No. No this wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. Jake felt his heart racing as he silently cried in the middle of his childhood bedroom. His hand came to cover his mouth, minimising his cries to a silent but painful whale. He couldn’t lose you like this. What did that nurse mean when she said you had a stroke? 

But out of everything Jake had been told he knew one thing for sure as he tried to pull himself together off the floor and get back to you as soon as he could. 

That there never had been a Banff trip planned.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

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