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bro-atz · 3 months

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défilé de lingerie

in which: you're modeling the latest lingerie designs for your two bosses, and let's just say their designs are very effective.

pair: lingerie designer!san/lingerie model!afab!reader/lingerie tailor!mingi

word count: 3.1k

content: reader is a lingerie model but also sex doll, reader in heels is shorter than mingi, mingi's a horndog and san is more professional, nicknames (mon amour), unprotected sex (PLS REMEMBER TO WRAP UP IRL), double penetration, cunnilingus, oral, anal, creampies, completely consensual!

rated: R | nsfw — minors do not interact

author's note: loml @k-hotchoisan and i decided to exchange biases for a fic, so this is my fic for our exchange— enjoy (nd read aub's fic here!)

"Alright, you know the drill, Y/N," one of your bosses, Mingi, stated as soon as you stepped foot in the room.

"Yeah, it's like we don't do this every month or something," you responded with heavy sarcasm and the most obnoxious eye roll.

"Don't give me that sass. Just do it."

You bowed your head before heading behind the partition in the room.

That was one of the stipulations of being the personal model for a world renowned lingerie atelier— anytime the designer and stylist had new looks they wanted to test out, they would test them out on you. They loved the way the bra and panties would fit you just right, and there was also something about the way that you modeled the looks for them that made them obsessed with you.

"Wear the black one first," the other boss of yours, San, instructed.

"You mean the one with the garter belt?"

"Yes, and wear the stockings with them!" Mingi quickly added.

You sighed deeply before putting the stockings on first. The black set was an insanely intricate lace thong with pearls near the crotch— Hold on, these were crotchless panties?!

"Uh, since when did you guys start doing pieces like this?" you asked the two men nervously.

"We've always done this, Y/N. Hurry and put it on," San responded impatiently.

You swallowed the pool of saliva building in your mouth before slipping the panties on, the cool pearls rubbing against your exposed clit sending shivers down your spine. After adjusting the panties on your hips properly, you grabbed the matching lace corset and put it on, only to realize that there was no way you were going to be able to hook every eye closure.

"Hey, Mr. Song," you were still expected to treat your bosses with respect even after all you had done for them over the years. "Could you help me with the corset?"

"See, San, I told you the corset wasn't going to work well," Mingi said matter-of-factly.

"Shut up, this is why we test the sets before we launch them," San grumbled.

When Mingi came around the partition, he took one look at you and immediately bit his lower lip. He approached you from behind, and instead of helping you with the corset, he bent down and ran his fingers up your leg, his hand resting on the curve of your waist where the waistband of the garter belt sat, his waist pressing against your exposed buttocks, his hard-on rubbing against your leg.

Oh, yeah. That was the other thing. You weren’t just their personal model, but you were also their personal sex doll (but were you complaining?).

"Mmm, look at you in this set," his low voice rumbled in your ear. "I could just eat you up."

"Mr. Song," you whispered as you felt him brush your hair from the nape of your neck and leave a soft kiss. "Can you please help me with the corset first?"

"Why bother when I'm just going to take it off in two seconds?"

You moaned slightly when Mingi tiptoed his fingers along your waist and down your stomach before pressing the pearls against your clit. He unclipped the pearls from the front part of the panties before running two fingers along your folds, collecting the arousal that had started accumulating the second Mingi laid a singular finger on you.

"Mingi, cut it out. We need to see the sets," San's authoritative voice rang out, snapping you out of your lusty trance.

"Damn, he can't let me have you to myself for one second, can he?" Mingi tsked.

He finally helped you with the corset while you struggled to hook the pearls back onto the panties. Mingi, noticing your struggle, knelt before you and took the tiny clasp from your grasp. At first, you thought he was going to actually put the pearls back on, but instead he rubbed his nose against your clit and ran his tongue along your cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered while smacking your hand against the wall for balance, the other grabbing the roots of Mingi’s hair.

“Mingi!” San yelled.

“Ugh, fine,” Mingi groaned.

Mingi clipped the pearls back on, and he resumed his professional mode when he stood up to inspect the set, adjusting little things here and there to make you look absolutely perfect. Mingi left first, and before you left, you wore the pair of black platform heels on the ground— they also usually had a pair of designer heels for each lingerie set for you to wear— and checked yourself out in the mirror. You walked towards the two men in their leather armchairs slowly, trying to get used to the height of the heels.

“Turn around for me, Y/N,” San requested.

You did as he asked and turned on the balls of your feet just the way they liked it. You heard the leather scrunching and felt the cool touch of San’s ring on your shoulder moments later. He adjusted the fit of the thong quickly before rubbing his fingers between your legs to check the pearls.

“Okay, the bottom part seems fine,” he murmured.

“Check the corset, San.”

“I know, I was getting to it.”

San pressed the palm of his hand flat against your back, then he started tugging the top of the corset outwards, testing the durability of the hooks.

“I don’t see what the issue is— the corset is fine,” San argued with Mingi.

“She wasn’t able to get it on by herself, and if the point of this collection is supposed to be lingerie she can surprise her lover with, then it kind of defeats the purpose,” Mingi shot back.

“So then should we go with the ribbons like I had in the original design?”

Mingi pressed his lips together then nodded, admitting defeat. San let out a deep sigh and returned to you in the corset. He spun you around to face him, and you lost your balance as he did so, falling right into San’s arms.

“Maybe the heels were a little too tall for you,” San muttered, his hot breath flitting past your ears, making your body surge with warmth. “Are your ankles okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” you cleared your throat and stood properly once more for San to finish his inspection.

San held your shoulders and looked at the entirety of the set, his eyes lingering on the cups for your breasts. Gently, he cupped your breasts and pressed along the fabric before turning to Mingi and saying, “The underwire is too short for her measurements. You should know better by now. Like, look at this— the underwire won’t even support her breasts properly.”

Without looking at Mingi’s reaction, San turned back to you and reached around you to unhook the top portion of the corset, allowing you to breathe a little easier. You sighed softly as he unhooked more, but not the entirety of the corset. Then, San went on his knees and inspected the work of the garter belt and crotchless panties.

“Could we get different straps for this?” San asked as he snapped the strap against your thigh, making you flinch slightly. “I don’t like how thick this is.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, the clasps are ugly. Try again.”

“You approved of those clasps for the last set!” Mingi complained.

“The last set called for silver, but I want black for this one. Fix it.”

Mingi muttered under his breath as he took mental note of all of San’s stipulations. Finally, San arrived at the pearls. He tugged at the clasp and hummed in approval at the strength of the loop.

“The satin loop is strong. Good job.”

“I’m worried about the wear after several washes, though—”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. The only way this would get frayed is if she’s incapable of hooking the clasp on, and the loop is big enough for her to not miss.”

As San explained, he played with the pearls, running his finger up and down the chain. You stifled your moans as you felt him toy with you— you had no idea if it was intentional or not, but whatever it was, it was making your entire body flush with heat.

“You like that?” San whispered low enough so only you could hear— he was doing it intentionally.

“Y-Yes…”

“Mmm, I don’t think I can get through the other sets right now… Let’s take a little break, mon amour.”

That was the signal. Mingi immediately got out of the arm chair and made his way to you, the glint in his eye making you swallow nervously. Even with the heels on, Mingi was still taller than you, so he tilted your head up to meet his lips before moving his hand to your neck. You held Mingi’s shoulder as he kissed you intensely, blood rushing to your ears as you felt his fingers pressing into your neck gently. You wanted to grab his shirt with your other hand, but San, who was still between your legs, was stimulating you a little too much with his fingers that you had to grab the roots of his hair.

You thought San was going to unhook the pearls sooner rather than later, but instead, with the pearls still on, he ran his tongue along them. His tongue circled around the pearl on your clit, the smoothness of the pearl sending a stream of tingles through your body. It certainly did not help when San moved your leg so that it rested over his shoulder, giving him more space to fuck your wet pussy with his tongue. You unconsciously gyrated your hips into his face, your hand pulling him closer to you. It was when Mingi stopped kissing your lips and trailed them down your neck were you able to focus a little more on San.

“Fuck,” you hissed and inhaled sharply. “Right there— Ah! R-Right there…”

The pleasure only increased for you when San ran his fingers from the end of the pearl chain up the fabric of the thong, making the string ride up slightly and rub against your asshole just right. You whimpered and whined the more San toyed with the lower half of your body, unaware that Mingi was working on unhooking the remaining eye closures. The second it was completely unhooked, Mingi threw the corset somewhere behind him and latched onto your breasts. His teeth tugged on your nipples gently, the stimulation really getting to you.

“I don’t think she can stand much longer,” Mingi commented when he felt your grasp on his shoulder start to slip.

“I’m almost there, shh,” San waved the other man away before returning to feasting.

“Mr. Choi, p-please,” you cried. “I’m al-almost— Nngh!”

You gripped Mingi’s shoulder tightly when San slipped a thick finger into your cunt and curled it over and over inside you while fixating on your clit, the pearls continuing to stimulate you like there was no tomorrow. It was when San started rapidly fingering you did your final thread of sanity snap. You muffled your cry as you came, your cunt convulsing around San’s finger, your grip on his hair tight as hell as you shoved his face as far as you could into your pussy.

“You enjoyed that a lot, didn’t you, mon amour?” Mingi teased with his low voice. “I’m sure you must’ve been hot and bothered from earlier…”

He rubbed his nose along your jawline before peppering kisses along your neck and on your ear, the fingers on his other hand rubbing your ear. You sighed softly, sensually as you tilted your head towards Mingi the more he showed you affection.

“Let’s get her to the chairs, shall we?” San interrupted your passionate moment with Mingi when he stood up and wrapped his arms around your waist.

San lifted you and carried you to his armchair. He sat down first then sat you down on his lap, making you straddle him. He reached to your feet and flung the heels off before running his fingers along your legs and up the curve of your hips and waist.

“Mon amour,” San whispered breathlessly. “Would you like a taste of yourself?”

You nodded, and San immediately grabbed the back of your head and kissed you passionately, his tongue diving deep into your mouth. As you made out with him, Mingi approached you from behind and grabbed your ass cheeks, squeezing and pulling upwards tightly. You cried into San’s mouth when you felt Mingi slap your ass and pull up on your thong, the panties and pearls digging into your cunt.

You were still heavily focused on kissing San that after the pleasureful pain from Mingi subsided, you didn’t realize that he was finally removing the pearls from the panties. After setting the pearls down, he pulled the thong to the side and ran his tongue along your ass crack while inhaling deeply. When you felt his hands pull your ass apart and his tongue prod your asshole, you whined and moaned while pushing yourself further into San’s hold.

Mingi pulled your waist out and up, giving him a better angle to eat your ass out. As Mingi focused on loosening you up, you directed your attention to San’s bulging crotch. One hand on his shoulder, you unbuckled his belt with your other hand and pulled his thick cock out. You reached to your cunt and collected some of your arousal before stroking San’s cock, the man’s breath hitching when he felt your nails trace the tip of his cock.

“I want to be inside you, mon amour,” he said, his voice so low he nearly growled.

You heard Mingi complain behind you when you and San shifted, the man lowering himself in the chair while you pressed your upper body against his. You rubbed your cunt against his cock before he adjusted his cock himself and slipped it inside you, a long moan leaving your lips. You gripped the arms of the chair when you felt San place his hands on your ass and begin to move your waist up and down on his cock, letting out little moans and squeals whenever he bottomed out.

Mingi wasn’t about to let the fruits of his labor go to waste. He whipped out his own cock and spat on his hand before stroking it a couple times. He approached you from behind and got San to stop moving you on his lap, allowing him to push the tip of his huge cock into your tight asshole. He teased you over and over again, his cockhead entering and exiting you quickly.

“Mingi, stop teasing her and fuck her already,” San bit out.

“Do you want me to fuck you, mon amour? Do you want me to fuck you silly?” Mingi, ignoring San’s order, asked you gently.

“Please, Mr. Song,” you hiccuped. “I want you to give it to me.”

“You heard her, Mingi. Do it.”

With a deep sigh, Mingi spread your ass again and pushed his cock into your tight hole, a loud cry leaving your lungs when you felt his insane length fill you up. Once Mingi was all the way inside you, both men started moving your waist along their lengths. Mingi continued to smack your ass sporadically as his thrusts got stronger. San, on the other hand, bucked his hips upwards to meet your cunt, the added force driving you insane. The sensation of their cocks rubbing against each other through the layer inside only made the pleasure build.

“Fuck,” you whined as you aimlessly clutched at San’s coat. “Fuck me harder, Mr. Choi… I beg you…”

“Oh? Alright. Come here.”

Mingi pulled out, allowing you to turn around on San’s lap. You sat on his lap, your back facing him. He slipped his cock into your cunt again and tucked his hands under your knees to lift your legs before he started jack hammering his cock into you at a much faster rate. You felt yourself nearing your climax, but you weren’t quite there yet. It wasn’t until Mingi slipped his cock into your cunt as well did white fill your vision, the feeling of the two cocks spreading you wide making your entire body react.

“Fuck! Fuck, I’m cumming!” you cried.

“Cum for us, mon amour,” San hissed in your ear. “Cum all over us.”

You rubbed your clit several more times before your orgasm completely washed over you, your cunt clenching as you squirted through their thrusts. You thought they would stop to let you finish completely, but both men refused to pull out. You continued to cum as they stuffed their cocks inside you repeatedly, your loud cries of profanities echoing in the room.

Moments later, neither man could hold back any longer— the feeling of your cunt squeezing around their cocks was a little too much for them to handle. Mingi pulled out and let the older man shove his cock deep inside you to let his load out, strings of hot cum filling up inside you. San let out a huge groan of relief as he pulled out slowly, his cock still twitching inside you and releasing his cum. You knew he was completely done when he buried his face in the nook of your neck and groaned deeply, his heavy breathing starting to quiet down.

The second San’s cock left your pussy, Mingi immediately shoved his massive cock inside you. He held the back of your neck and pulled you towards him, his lips furiously locking with yours as he thrust violently hard into you. You cried and whimpered into the kisses as his cock kept rubbing past your G-spot, and it was when Mingi finally came did you cum again, your legs shaking as stars overtook you. His cum spurt inside you and filled you up, the cum from both men swimming inside you and threatening to spill out.

Mingi let go of your head, allowing you to completely melt in San’s arms, the man lowering your legs the second Mingi was done with you. You clenched your pussy to keep their seed inside you, afraid to make more of a mess.

“You’re always so tight for us, mon amour. Does your body not get used to us?” Mingi asked with a chuckle as he began to clean himself up.

“I don’t think she’ll ever get used to us fucking her into oblivion,” San joked as he nuzzled his nose into your neck. “Right, mon amour?”

You responded with a breathy sigh and a slight nod, making both men smile at how fucked out you looked.

“Now, clean up. You still have several more sets to try on for us.”

networks:

@atzhouse @cromernet @cultofdionysusnet @ksmutsociety

@newworldnet @san-network @wonderlandnet

taglist:

@/k-hotchoisan @eyeryis @sinnarols @hwallazia @yunhoszn

@juyofans @nebulousbookshelf @starryriize @skteezcursed @yessa-vie

@sunshineangel-reads @dazzlingstarrs @dutchessskarma @yourlocaljonghoe @st4rhwa

@frobin4ever @sanhwajjong @certifiedmoa @therealcuppicake @yuyubeans

@hyunukitty @startlinglyoongi @hyukssunflower @chewyhotteoks @bsehindu

@dinossaurz @woomyteez @minkilicious @isiloiale @ywtfvs

@nvdhrzn @khjoongie98 @jaerisdiction @ninoshome1 @aaa-sia

@tiredlittlevirgo @preciouswoozi @woohwababes @wmewtew @yuyusgirl

@exololyunho @everythingboutkpop @bath1lda

#atzhouse #cromernet #cultofdionysusnet #ksmutsociety #newworldnet #san network #wonderlandnet #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez smut #choi san #san smut #choi san smut #song mingi #mingi smut #song mingi smut #broatz

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ourdawnishotterthanourday · 3 months

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RAW [M] — Lee Seokmin

✧ If you're a freak and you know it, clap them cheeks ✧

In which Seokmin, your sweet doting boyfriend, fucks you raw for the first time, and ends up discovering his kinky side.

✧ Genre: domestic AU; SMUT [18+], established relationship ♥ Pairing: female!reader x boyfriend!Lee Seokmin ✧ Word count: 6.3k+ ✦ Warnings: nsfw warnings under the cut! ✎ Notes: hope y'all enjoy this little seok fic I wrote for you 🤭 was feeling a little feral, so this concept fit my mood perfectly hehe ♕ Shout out: thanks to my amazing bestie @whipped-for-kpop-fics for making me this masterpiece of a banner AND helping me brainstorm for this one. This one really couldn't have happened without you and your shrexy brain! I love youuuuu 💖 and thank you thank you thank you @wonuvs for beta-reading this for me!! Very much appreciated :3

♡ REBLOGGING AND/OR FEEDBACK WOULD BE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED — DON'T BE A STRANGER PLS ♡

nsfw warnings: outdoor/public sex, fingering, cunnilingus, squirting, spanking, raw sex (the title is there for a reason hehe), heavy breeding kink, feral seok dirty talk, messy creampie (pls let me know if I missed any!)

You had every intention to hang the wet laundry out to dry on this beautiful sunny day. It was a simple task, really, one you could have completed in less than five minutes had you not let yourself get distracted.

Said distraction came in the form of Lee Seokmin, your sweet doting boyfriend of four years, who had decided to take advantage of the nice weather and switch his usual gym session for a home workout in your garden.

It was quite the sight as he sat on the weight bench, his gorgeous sun-kissed arms and legs on full display, toned muscles pulling and coiling with every raise of his arms. His skin was coated in a thin layer of sweat, making his brown locks stick messily to his forehead. It was almost as if he was chiseled by the gods themselves with how absolutely breathtaking he looked in the bright and glowy sunlight.

You had to resist looking over every few seconds as you attempted to put the laundry pieces on the clothes line. But as the minutes passed, you quickly discovered that trying to suppress the urge to gawk at your hot boyfriend was a battle you weren’t going to win, especially when he was constantly releasing those sinful grunts that sent your mind into a frenzy.

Before you knew it, the laundry was long forgotten. The only thing that was going through your mind in that moment was how much you wanted — no, needed — to feel Seokmin’s sweaty body against yours. Thanks to your busy and exhausting schedules, it had been a few days since you and your boyfriend last had sex, which, with a sex drive as high as yours, had driven your need for the man to an all time high.

It was time to do something about that.

Your legs were already moving on their own accord as your hungry gaze settled on Seokmin’s thick thighs, a mischievous smile overtaking your features as you planned out your next move.

Your boyfriend was completely lost in his own world, totally oblivious to the thirsty thoughts floating around in your head as you crept up on him. The headphones he wore drowned out any distracting sounds as he focused on his reps, and with his eyes fully closed, he did not hear you approach him until it was already too late.

“What the f— baby?!” Seokmin nearly dropped the two 8kg dumbbells he was holding when you jumped him out of nowhere, trapping him with your arms and legs like a clingy koala.

“That’s me.” You giggled at the dazed look on your boyfriend’s face as you uncovered his ears.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he breathed, carefully lowering his arms to place the dumbbells into the grass.

You licked your lips, shifting your hips slightly to get more comfortable. “What does it look like?”

“Like you’re trying to kill me,” he groaned before firmly planting his hands onto your sides to get you to stop rubbing against his crotch.

A sly grin tugged at the corners of your mouth. “That’s what I was trying to go for.”

“Oh, were you now?” He raised his eyebrows. “I was almost done with my workout, you know?”

“Hmm, that really sucks then.” You tangled your fingers in his messy hair.

“Give me five more minutes,” he mumbled, briefly closing his eyes at the feeling of your nails scratching along his sensitive scalp.

“No,” you whined, immediately stopping all movement, much to your boyfriend's disappointment. “I need attention now. It's been too fucking long already.”

You didn't care how whiney you sounded. You needed him right at this moment, and you sure as hell weren't going to wait another minute, especially not for him to finish his damn workout.

“But I'm sweaty,” he argued with a scrunch of his nose.

You smirked at that, tightening your grip on his hair as you moved in closer, your lips now less than an inch apart.

“Even better,” you whispered before teasingly brushing your lips against his. “You're fucking hot when you're sweaty,” you continued, which was followed by you shifting your hips once again, this time with a little more force.

Seokmin released a sharp hiss at the throbbing sensation your hips left in their wake. The muscles in his thighs automatically tightened, and so did the grip on your waist, all of which you were more than excited about. You got him right where you wanted, and it was only a matter of time before he would take the bait.

“You're the devil.”

“Only when I have to be.” You grinned, your big twinkling eyes glued to his face as you slowly began to trail one of your hands down his chest. You only stopped when you reached the now very prominent bulge in his black shorts.

“Fucking hell,” Seokmin cursed under his breath when you gave him a little experimental squeeze. It was just a simple touch, but he already felt the arousal gradually starting to overtake his mind and body. Just a minute ago, he’d been in full workout mode, but now he suddenly couldn’t stop imagining you stuffed full with his cock, begging him to make you cum again and again until you could no longer move.

You took advantage of the moment and closed the little bit of distance between you to pull him into a deep kiss. Seokmin didn’t resist, already having decided that he’d much rather spend his time pleasuring his pretty and horny girlfriend instead of finishing the remainder of his stupid arm reps. Besides, you were right. It had been a while since he’d gotten his dick wet, so if you wanted to change that, who was he to object?

It only took a few seconds before Seokmin’s lips were just as hungry and forceful as yours, pulling at your mouth with an eagerness that made your gut clench with anticipation.

His hands navigated down to the swell of your ass, fingers digging roughly into the soft fabric of the yellow sundress you were wearing to press you into his growing erection. You moaned into the kiss at the sudden shift, your own hands moving to grasp at whatever piece of bare skin you could find as you felt yourself grow hotter by the second.

Your patience was slowly beginning to run thin the longer you sat in his lap with your panties soaked and your neglected cunt begging to be filled. You honestly hadn't felt this needy in a while, so you really didn't want to deprive yourself of Seokmin’s dick for much longer. And you prayed that he felt the same.

You knew the man liked to drag the whole thing out with a shit ton of foreplay, which often included endless make out sessions and bringing you to multiple squirting climaxes before he even got to fuck you. It was the whole reason sex with Seokmin had become one of your favorite pastime activities in the first place.

Your boyfriend was a natural at pleasuring you, and he had been since day one. You quickly learned that faking pleasure and Seokmin could never belong in the same sentence. In fact, more often than not, you’ve had to beg him to stop making you cum for fear of passing out from over stimulation. But even in those moments, he usually still managed to pull another few mind-shattering orgasms out of you like the magician he was, and you were certainly not complaining.

It was just that right now, in this particular moment, you needed him to skip the long foreplay and fastforward to the part where he fucked you stupid.

“Min, I need you inside me so bad,” you whimpered in between kisses, hoping your boyfriend would get the hint and give you just that.

He did not get it.

All you got out of it was an appreciative grunt and a harsh squeeze to your backside that did nothing to satiate the pulsing ache in your pussy.

Accepting that you were just going to have to speed things up yourself, your hand sneakily found the waistband of his shorts, fingers already tugging the material out of the way to grab a hold of his hard dick. If everything worked out in your favor, you'd be sitting on it within the next twenty seconds.

“Fuck, baby,” Seokmin groaned, one of his hands clasping around your wrist before you even had the chance to wiggle your hand inside his shorts. “Why don't we go inside before we start ripping off clothes, hmm?”

“No.” Confusion. That’s the emotion that flashed across your boyfriend’s face at the sound of your outright no.

“No? But I thought you wanted to…?” He frowned, slightly loosening his hold on you when he thought you didn’t want to continue.

You quickly wrapped his arms back around your waist before grasping his face in your hands.

“Oh, I do.” A cheeky grin pulled at your mouth. “Right here. You're fucking me here.”

“Right here? O-outside?” Seokmin stuttered, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he seemed to process your words.

Although your sex life was pretty active and more than satisfying, you couldn’t exactly call it adventurous. Despite many of your close friends believing that you and Seokmin were a couple of kinky fuckers, your sexual escapades were usually limited to your bedroom and definitely more on the vanilla side of the spectrum.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, of course. On the contrary, even the most vanilla sex with him felt a hundred times better than the riskier and more experimental sex you’d engaged in with some of your exes, so you didn’t even really miss it. Still, sometimes — like right now — you wished he’d just throw you around and fuck you into the next day for everyone to see.

You were, however, very much aware that asking him to fuck you in the garden was a complete one-eighty from your usual bedroom adventures, and it could potentially get you caught by your nosy old neighbors, which was definitely a con. But then again, you were feeling unusually risky today, so you honestly couldn't care less who got to see you getting railed. Your only concern right now was soothing the ache in your throbbing cunt.

All you had to do was convince your lovely, handsome boyfriend to make that happen.

“Yes, right here.” You nodded and reached up to undo the first two buttons of your dress, taking note of how your boyfriend's eyes automatically gravitated towards your fingers. “Got a problem with that?”

“Well, uh…” Seokmin swallowed thickly as you popped three more buttons, exposing the strapless, lacy, white see-through bra you were wearing underneath. Your hard peaks were poking right through the flimsy material, which made it nearly impossible for him to rip his eyes away from the arousing sight. Your boyfriend was a sucker for your boobs — or any part of your body for that matter — which is exactly why you hoped the next part of your plan would work.

“I think— uh…” He tried to form a coherent sentence, but failed terribly when you popped another three buttons, his eyes following diligently as your action revealed the smooth skin of your stomach. “What I’m trying to s— that…”

By the time you popped the remaining three buttons, Seokmin had completely forgotten what he was going to say. His eyes were practically glued to your body, in particular to the matching see-through panties that left little to the imagination. They gave him a perfect view of your puffy folds and the arousal seeping through the already drenched material.

Seokmin was — understandably — having a hard time keeping it all together.

“Well?” You suppressed a grin to hide the fact that you were thoroughly enjoying the effect you had on your handsome boyfriend. “You gonna help me undress or do I have to do everything myself?”

You got your answer when he planted his lips back on yours without another word, hardly giving you a second to breathe as he pushed his tongue past your lips. You instantly melted against him as your body flooded with heat once more, your hands fumbling to grasp onto his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself.

Seokmin’s fingers made quick work of your bra, skillfully unclasping the constricting garment and throwing it carelessly in the grass. He took a moment to admire your newly exposed flesh, eyes darting from one nipple to the other before they drifted back down to the drenched panties hugging your cunt.

He subconsciously licked his lips as he imagined his face buried between your legs, drowning himself in the taste of your sweet juices while you screamed out his name.

“Stop staring like a creep and do something, please.” Your hand was back in his hair, fingers tightly gripping onto his locks as you pulled at his head, forcing him to rip his eyes away from your pussy and back up to your face.

“You want me to do something?” An amused smile took over your boyfriend's features as he took in your desperate expression.

“Yes!” you nearly cried, feeling seconds away completely losing your shit. “I swear to god, Seokmin. If your dick is not inside me within the next twenty seconds I’ll d— ah!”

You didn’t get to finish the rest of your sentence as you were cut off by your own shriek, eyes going wide with shock as you gaped at a smug-looking Seokmin. Just a second ago, you’d been sitting in his lap, but now you suddenly found yourself trapped beneath him, sprawled out on the metal workout bench and completely at his mercy.

“You'll do what, baby?” Seokmin smirked triumphantly at your stunned face.

“Forget that,” you breathed, using the grip you had on his hair to pull him in for another kiss. “Fuck, that was hot. I want more where that came from.”

“Noted.” His eyes darkened as he pulled back slightly, and you released the grip you had on his head to allow him to lean back further.

Your belly fluttered with anticipation when he moved the fabric of your dress aside to make contact with your bare skin. His hands teasingly began to trail down your sides, sending a series of tingles down your spine as you let your mind run wild with desire.

A shaky breath left your mouth when your boyfriend hooked his fingers into your underwear, excitement filling your body instantly. You were already starting to lift your hips, eager to help him get rid of the one thing separating your cunt from his hungry gaze.

What you didn’t expect was for him to pin you back down and tear your panties right off your body with a single move. You were left speechless once again, watching as your boyfriend proudly held up the torn lace before letting it fall to the ground.

That was definitely going on your ‘Hottest Lee Seokmin Moments’ list.

“You’re really trying to drive me insane over here,” you mumbled when you’d finally found your voice again.

“You ask, I deliver.” Seokmin chuckled and continued to pull his shirt over his head in one smooth movement, revealing a set of mouthwatering glistening abs and a little dark happy trail that disappeared into his black shorts.

“Good.” Your eyes shifted back up to his with a new determination, your legs slightly opening to give him a nice view of your slick cunt. “Then I’m asking you to fuck me next.”

With one hand, you reached for the waistband of his shorts, fully intent on tugging it down just enough so you could pull his dick out and guide it into your dripping hole.

But Seokmin had other plans.

“Now what?” you whined when his hands stopped you mid-move, wrapping themselves around your wrists just like he’d done before.

What would it take for a girl to get some dick from her boyfriend?

“Not so fast, baby. I'm gonna take care of you first.”

You shook your head in protest. “But I don’t want to wait any longer, Min. Please.”

“Do you want my dick or not, baby?” You’d never nodded faster. “Then be a good girl and spread those legs wider for me.”

That little command had you automatically spread your legs wider, a soft moan rolling off your lips as your walls clenched hard around nothing. Never in the time you’d been with Seokmin had he called you a good girl, but you found that you liked it… a lot. And you wouldn’t mind if he called you that more often from now on.

“Oh? Does my baby like being called a good girl?” Seokmin smirked, his dark orbs burning into your own as he pushed your legs back as far as you could manage.

“Yes, fuck… so hot,” you whimpered, your legs twitching when you felt his hot breath ghost over your glossy cunt.

“Keep being good and I’ll keep calling you that,” he murmured right before dipping his tongue between your slick folds.

The debauched moan you released in response was enough to make Seokmin’s cock jerk uncontrollably inside his shorts. In return, he released a deep groan of appreciation, sending a wave of delicious vibrations to your core that automatically had you try to clamp your legs around your boyfriend's head. But Seokmin, who was way ahead of you, had such a tight hold on your thighs that it was nearly impossible to move.

He used that grip to bury his entire face in your pussy, hardly giving himself room to breathe to completely drown himself in the taste of you, determined to get you to squirt your juices all over his face.

With his skillful tongue alternating between flicking and sucking on your sensitive clit, applying just the right amount of pleasure in all the right spots to bring you to the edge, it took less than a minute before you were moaning his name like a mad woman.

Seokmin relished in the lewd sounds he pulled from you, and the way you desperately gripped at his hair to steady yourself as he devoured you, completely drunk on the taste of your pussy. His dick was painfully hard, straining against the inside of his shorts, practically begging him to relieve some of that agonizing tension. But in all honesty, chasing his own pleasure was the last thing on his mind right now. All that mattered was you, your climax, and nothing else.

It was even at the point that he'd momentarily forgotten you were doing all of this outside, in the garden, where any neighbor would be able to hear or see the obscene things he was doing to you. Not too long ago, Seokmin would have reeled at the thought of engaging in risky public sex, but now, here he was, eating you out in the garden and enjoying every bit of it, not a single fuck given.

You found yourself in a similar position, eyes rolled to the back of your head and your body twitching and shuddering from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your nerves. It wasn’t exactly how you’d planned things to go — still no dick — but it certainly helped quench the worst of your sexual cravings. The way the coil in your stomach got tighter and tighter with every swipe of his tongue said enough.

“F-fuck that’s gonna make me cum so fast, holy shit!” you whimpered when your boyfriend suddenly slid two of his long fingers inside you, immediately curling them up to press against that sensitive spot he knew would make you lose your mind.

Seokmin only hummed against your pussy, his eyes catching yours as the corners of his mouth tugged up into a devilish smirk. Then, his hand was speeding up, fingers mercilessly batting against your sweet spot while his tongue lapped at your swollen clit. He watched you succumb to the pleasure with hungry eyes, your face contorted in pure ecstasy as your moans got louder and louder the closer you got.

“You like that, baby?” your boyfriend rasped, his mouth briefly detaching from your clit.

Your cunt clenched around his fingers in response, the only sound coming out of your mouth being a needy whine since you couldn’t find it in yourself to come up with a sane response with how scrambled your mind was.

That was met with a sharp nip at your swollen nub.

“Answer me,” Seokmin growled, apparently not satisfied with your lack of words.

You yelped loudly at the unexpected but very welcoming stinging sensation that had your nerves singing with pleasure. “Shit— yes! I fucking do!”

“That’s a good girl,” he praised with a harsh slap to your inner thigh before taking your clit back between his wet lips.

The sound of the pet name unraveled something inside you, drawing every muscle in your body taut as you were abruptly thrown over the edge. The full force of your toe-curling orgasm caused you to cry out your boyfriend’s name, your legs trapping his head between your thighs while drenching his pretty face with your arousal.

Seokmin was perfectly content like that, groaning into your cunt like a starved man as he tried to catch every last drop of your slick with his mouth. Even when you began pushing at his head to get him away from your overstimulated pussy, it took him another twenty seconds before he finally detached himself, looking up at you with a dopey, satisfied grin and his chin dripping with your arousal.

“You’re insatiable, Lee Seokmin,” you rasped, chest heaving as you tried to recover from the intense high you’d just experienced.

Said man leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss right below your belly button.

“Yes,” He moved up slightly, this time placing a kiss right above it, “I am.” His lips trailed over your breast, goosebumps forming along the way, “But…” He nipped at your neck, “you…” he whispered, his lips hovering right above yours, “were so good for me,” he finished, capturing your lips into another heated kiss.

The taste of yourself on your boyfriend’s lips lit a new fire inside your belly, your skin flushing hot with a new surge of desire. It also didn’t help that his hands were back on your thighs, kneading and rubbing at them, making every one of your nerve endings come back to life under his scorching touch.

“Min, get your dick out and fuck me,” you mumbled against his lips, determined to not take no for an answer this time.

Seokmin was fully prepared to give into your demands this time, no longer wanting to tease you because he was feeling just as desperate and eager to be inside you. There was, however, just one little thing he hadn’t thought of before. But now with you sprawled out before him in all your naked glory, begging for his cock, the little voice in the back of his mind decided to make an appearance.

“Fuck.” He grimaced. “Just hold on, okay? I’ll be right back,” he said, leaning forward to kiss you softly before making a move to get up.

You quickly grabbed onto his arm to stop him, confusion taking over your features at the sudden switch in mood.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

“Condoms… don’t have any on me. I’ll quickly grab one from inside.”

“We don’t need them,” you blurted out, immediately biting your bottom lip when you realized what you'd said.

Seokmin’s eyes visibly widened at your bold suggestion. “But you're not on any birth control. I could actually get you pregnant.”

“Would it really be that bad?” At that, the man’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head.

The topic of kids was nothing new between the two of you. It had come up on multiple occasions during the span of your relationship, and it was pretty clear that both you and Seokmin loved kids. The both of you always jumped at the chance of babysitting his two year-old nephew whenever Seokmin’s sister and her husband needed someone to watch him, happy to spoil him and play with him as if he was your own.

It was no secret that you wanted a big family, and so did Seokmin, so that wasn’t the reason he was a little hesitant to fuck you without protection. He just really didn’t want you to regret anything if you did end up pregnant by the end of it, because a child was a big responsibility after all.

But he also couldn’t deny that he wasn’t tempted by the idea of your warm walls hugging his dick without anything in the way, and being able to empty his load inside your greedy, slick-covered hole like he’d always wanted to do.

It was hard not to give in to that, especially when you were looking at him with those big, seductive eyes of yours.

“Baby, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you shot back, a mix of determination and lust adorning your face as you challenged your boyfriend.

Seokmin frowned, running a hand through his damp hair. “We should think about this…”

“I already did, and I want this. I wanna feel you… all of you… inside me.” You looked up at him with the biggest puppy eyes you could muster.

“Fuck, you’re not making it easy for me,” your boyfriend sighed, feeling completely torn between doing the responsible thing and giving in to his carnal desires.

“Then stop thinking and just fill me with cum.”

Seokmin gulped, letting out a shaky breath as he felt himself slowly start to lose the battle.

“Shit. Are you absolutely sure about this? Is this really what you want, baby?” he asked, placing his hands on either side of the bench to cage you in.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, leaning up to touch your nose to his. “If you're asking me if I want you to fuck a baby in me then yes, I totally want that,” you breathed, a small smile gracing your face.

Seokmin’s dick twitched in his shorts at your declaration, unlocking a new level of desire that he didn’t know existed. His body was full-on buzzing, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he felt the gears in his mind switch to a whole different setting.

You noticed the change in your boyfriend the moment the words had left your lips, the uncertain expression that had been on his face just now making way for a much more ominous expression, one you didn’t quite recognize.

“Min?”

“Bend over.”

“O-okay.” The slight edge to his tone had you scrambling to turn around for him, nearly causing you to fall off the bench in the process as your legs got tangled up in your dress. You planned to rip the clothing piece off your body to make your life easier, but the sudden hand pinning your wrist to your back made that impossible.

“Dress stays on,” your boyfriend’s low voice sounded from behind you as you felt him flip up the material to reveal the supple skin of your ass.

You were about to protest, but the harsh slap to your behind that followed made you think twice about opening your mouth. The impact of his hand connecting with your tender skin pulled a soft whine from you, leaving you with a pleasant stinging sensation that sent a hot streak of arousal right down to your pussy.

There was barely any time to recover from the first slap before he delivered a second one, this one even more intense and brutal than the last one, forcing you to fight down a scream as you jolted forward, barely able to keep your balance since you only had one hand available to steady yourself.

Your boyfriend was no stranger to delivering the occasional slap to your ass, but it had always been in a loving kind of way and never like this… so rough and thrilling. So if this kind of spanking was your boyfriend’s reaction to seeing you bent over in your half-discarded dress, then you had no problem keeping it on.

“Such a good girl for me,” Seokmin groaned, his cock twitching once again as he watched your ass jiggle for a third time when his hand reconnected with your delicate flesh. You could only moan in response as you felt yourself get wetter with every slap, hand gripping onto the bench for dear life while you let your boyfriend have his way with you.

Only after the tenth slap or so, when Seokmin noticed your legs were close to giving out on you, he released the wrist he was holding and allowed you to take a breather while he rushed to shove his shorts and underwear down his legs, finally freeing the raging boner he’d been neglecting for the past twenty minutes.

The man didn’t waste any time as he grabbed onto your waist with one hand, lining up his engorged tip with your dripping cunt with the other.

A shudder ripped through him when he pushed forward, greedy eyes fixed on his cock disappearing between your ass cheeks, slowly getting enveloped by your tight walls as they made room for him.

It was unlike any feeling Seokmin had ever experienced. Although he was barely halfway inside, he was sure he wasn’t going to last as long as he usually would have. Without the usual barrier in the way, he was able to feel it all, every little sensation — the warmth radiating off your walls as he slid in further, your creamy slick drenching his cock from head to base — it took everything in him to stop himself from bursting as he imagined how good you’d look with your ripe cunt stuffed full of his seed.

Seokmin’s pupils were fully blown by the time your ass connected with his pelvis, his jaw clenched and the grip on your waist bordering on bruising as he momentarily stilled to let you both get used to the new feeling.

You weren’t doing much better, trying to deal with the blissful ache whirling in your stomach as you tried to accommodate the familiar stretch. Only this time, you were able to actually feel the bulging veins forking along his length as they throbbed against your inner walls in the most intoxicating way.

“Shit, Min,” you moaned, tightening your grip on the bench, “Just fuck me already. Feels so damn good like this.”

At your plea, Seokmin pulled his hips back slightly, slowly dragging his throbbing tip along your sensitive walls before abruptly burying his entire girth back inside your warm cunt with a loud groan.

“Yeah? Like that?”

“Yes… harder,” you whined, impatiently wiggling your ass in search of more of that delicious friction.

“Fucking gladly,” he muttered, moving one of his hands to your shoulder before repeating the motion again, only this time with a lot more force and speed, which earned him a series of salacious moans that went straight down to his pulsing cock.

It didn't take long for Seokmin to completely lose every bit of sanity he possessed as he vigorously drove his hips into your ass, your pussy squelching loudly every time his cock slammed back inside your slippery hole.

He’d never felt like this before… fully overtaken by this primal need to breed you like the good girl you were, completely set on ruining you with his cock and stuffing load after load of cum inside your hot cunt until you couldn’t fit anymore.

The regular Seokmin, aka the sweet man who made you breakfast every day and made sure you had absolutely everything you could wish for, would have been a messy blushing puddle with all these nasty thoughts running through his mind. But this Seokmin, the pussy drunk, sex-crazed man who was fucking you as if his life depended on it, only felt himself get more riled up with every new lewd thought that entered his mind, not feeling bashful in the slightest.

You honestly didn’t know where the hell this Seokmin had come from, but you hoped that this wouldn’t be the last of him. His rough thrusts had you feeling like a complete wreck in the best sense of the word, causing you to release an obscene number of sounds you didn’t even know you could make. It was no doubt the best dicking your boyfriend had ever given you, but too much for your body to keep up — you discovered that when your legs suddenly decided to give out on you mid-thrust.

Fortunately, your boyfriend was prepared and caught you just in time, firmly wrapping one of his beefy arms around your tits to press you against his bare chest, while his free hand clamped around your neck, forcing you to tilt your head up to the clear blue sky as he continued to pound into your sopping cunt.

“Fuck, gonna fill this pussy,” Seokmin growled into your ear, his breath hot against the side of your face. “Gonna fill it with my cum, fucking show the world you’re mine… get your pretty belly round with my baby,” he continued, never slowing down his unrelenting pace.

“God, yes!” you moaned, eyes once again rolling to the back of your head as your walls fluttered in response to the filth rolling off your boyfriend’s tongue.

“Dirty girl. You like the thought of me fucking a baby into you?”

”Y-yes, fuck… want it, want your baby!”

You didn’t think it was possible but Seokmin’s hips sped up even more after you’d said that, making you cry out loud as you clung onto his forearm to center yourself.

“Gonna fill you up like you deserve, stuff you full till you can’t walk. This pussy is fucking mine… mine to claim.” Seokmin had fully lost himself at this point, spewing all the filth he could think of, completely and utterly enthralled by your sweet raw cunt sucking him in so deliciously.

“Oh god, Min, need you to cum in me,” you rasped, feeling the coil in your stomach start to wind and tighten as your boyfriend continuously battered against your sweet spot.

“So fucking desperate. Such a good girl.” That was the moment Seokmin released your throat and lowered his hand to attach his fingers to your clit, rubbing sloppy figure eights into it while his dick continued to stretch you out.

“Faster… faster,” you urged, feeling your body tense at the sudden surge of pleasure shooting through you.

Seokmin listened to your pleas and sped up his fingers.

“Oh, fuck, right there,” you whined, feeling like you couldn’t hold it anymore. “Gonna cum… gonna cum!”

White briefly flashed before your eyes as you came with a choked gargle of your boyfriend’s name, your cunt clenching around his cock as your body shook violently from the overwhelming sensations.

Seokmin didn’t stop at that, feeling like he was seconds away from reaching his own high. With your fluttering cunt continuing to hold his dick in a chokehold, and you begging for his cum in his ear, it didn’t take him long to get there.

With one last well-timed thrust, Seokmin buried himself all the way inside you, letting his own orgasm wash over him as he felt the first spurts of cum coat your inner walls. Both of you groaned in delight at the unfamiliar but arousing feeling of Seokmin’s cum filling you up for the first time.

Heat bloomed inside you as your boyfriend continued to spill inside you, holding tightly onto you as he rode out the remainder of his climax.

“Fuck, Min, so much cum,” you whimpered when you felt his seed begin to drip out of your swollen cunt and down your thighs. That’s how much there was. It felt like there was no end to it.

“Pussy feels so fucking good, can’t stop cumming,” he panted against your neck, moving his hands to rest on the smooth skin of your stomach.

You smirked, tightening your walls momentarily to pull a little whine from your boyfriend.

“Well, let’s say that I’m not complaining.”

Only when Seokmin’s cock had fully softened and there really was no more cum to give, he reluctantly pulled out of you, not being able to stop himself from gawking at the big globs of cum dripping out of your pussy with his cock no longer holding it in.

“Min?”

”Huh?”

Despite your extremely wobbly legs, you managed to turn around and threw yourself at the man in front of you, wrapping your arms around his neck as you stared into his eyes with a cheeky smile on your face.

“I love you, you know that? You’re a fucking freak!”

Seokmin’s cheeks began to flush at your exclamation, his eyes quickly averting yours in an attempt to escape your intense gaze.

“Oh…. uh, that? Well…” he stammered, one of hands coming up to rub at his neck.

“Are you seriously acting all shy on me now when you just fucked my brains out?” You giggled, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Well, when you put it like that…” He chuckled, a dopey grin on his face.

“Promise me you’re gonna show this side of you more often.”

Seokmin raised his brows in surprise. “You sure? It wasn’t too much?”

“Fuck no.” You shook your head. “It was definitely some of the best dick you’ve given me.”

“I guess I have no choice then, do I?” He smiled widely.

“Nope. Besides,” You leaned in to kiss him softly before whispering seductively, “if you wanna give me a baby, we better do that many more times, just to be sure.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Then your boyfriend scooped you up without another word, your surprised shriek echoing through the garden as he hurried to rush you inside the house, eager to do it all over again.

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HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS LITTLE SEOK SMUT HEHE! Would be amazing to hear your thoughts on this one 😋 and PLEASE look forward to the next one �� I got some good ideas planned for y'all!

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checosbluespring · 5 months

Text

secrets we keep (pt1) → mv1

max verstappen x perez!fem reader

genre: one night stand, teammates sister, pregnancy

cw: 18+ MDNI, smut, oral (male receiving), p in v, slight spit play, dirty talk, mentions of pregnancy, pls let me know if i am forgetting anything

word count: 3.1k

song: too sweet - hozier

sidenote: hi everyone! finally a new fic is here and it's a max one! this is going to be a two parter, so keep an eye out for the next one! please let me know if y'all have any ideas or requests for a fic (I write for all drivers), also not beta read. hope you all enjoy <3

♡♡♡♡

The roars of the crowd were loud as Max crossed the finish line, followed closely by Sergio. For a second there you had thought your brother would overtake the world champion, but nonetheless he fought hard and gave the team what they wanted, a 1-2 finish.

It wasn’t often you got to go to your brother's races, maybe only a handful a year but you were lucky to be able to get the time off to join your niece and nephews for the Japanese Grand Prix. Sergio would topple over if he knew you had the hots for his teammate. Every time you have met with Max, it’s been very cordial. Polite hellos, asking how life in Mexico is, what you have been up to since he last saw you.

A part of you wondered why he was so timid with you. Was it because of Sergio? Being the baby of the family left him feeling protective of you, but you don’t think that would affect how Max interacted with you. I mean you barely saw him.

Watching the pair on the podium set tears in your eyes. You were extremely proud of your big brother and his teammate.

Your dad absolutely adored max and had invited him to join us for a celebratory dinner after the race. Which to your surprise he happily accepted.

You were staying at the same hotel that both the bulls were at, so reconnecting for dinner would not be difficult. After the race you decided to head back to freshen up and change your clothes into something a little more fancy. At the race you were wearing a white tennis skirt with a red bull polo tucked in. For dinner you decided to wear a black over the shoulder dress that fit you perfectly. Finally ready you walk down and see that only Max is waiting in the lobby. Your stomach turns at the thought of being alone with him.

Picking his head up from looking down at his phone he notices you walking toward him and waves shyly. “Hi y/n, looks like it’s only us ready” he said in a tiny voice. You are always so used to him being outspoken it kinda scares you a little. “hi maxie, you know how my family is with time management, they should be down here soon” you said with a laugh, not even acknowledging the nickname that slipped from your mouth.

A sudden tinge of pink washes over Max’s cheeks and you feel heat radiating up your neck. Act cool, you keep telling yourself but you are so nervous. Max was all you ever wanted in a guy. Handsome, sweet, confident, the list could go on. You knew deep down though your worlds would never clash well. You lived in Mexico with your parents - working as a teacher. Max lived in Monaco and raced for one of the best teams in formula one history, surrounded by models throwing themselves at him. You couldn’t blame them, you would do the same, if you thought you ever had a chance.

“No worries, I always have to wait for Checo to come to our team meetings” he laughed. “I bet, if there’s one thing my brother isn’t know for it’s being on time, thank you for coming to dinner with us though, we really appreciate it, I know my dad and brother do a lot”

With a smirk on his face something shifts “oh just your dad and brother, not you?”. You feel the breath knocked out of your lungs, just as you are about to open your mouth to respond, tiny roars make notice in the room and you almost fall at your nephew running to you, so you could pick him up. Silently you thank your nephew for the interruption.

Dinner goes smoothly. You sat at the opposite end of the table with the kids, while your brother, dad, and max were deep in conversation. You swore that Max kept looking at you though, sneaking glances.

As the check gets situated, all of you make your way out onto the busy streets of Japan. You hear your brother speak up “Y/N are you gonna come get ice cream with us” and while you were deeply contemplating it, you decided to pass up the offer and head back to the hotel.

“No I think I'm gonna head back to the hotel and pack, I want to take the kids to get breakfast tomorrow morning before we leave” you say.

“no puedes caminar solo es tarde en la noche” (you can't walk alone, it's late at night) your brother worries.

“Sergio, I'm fine, it's not that far from the hotel, I'll grab a taxi” before he could protest, Max jumped in.

“I can take a taxi back with y/n, I'm super tired after the race, and I'll make sure she makes it to her hotel room”

“Are you sure Max?” Sergio asks.

“Yes I'm sure, it was a lovely evening, thank you for inviting me”

Your family bids their farewells and walks away, leaving just the two of you waiting for a taxi. As you guys are picked up, you both don't say a word in the car, sitting in an uncomfortable silence. Max pays the driver and you thank him quietly. Making your way up to the floor where both of your rooms are, you stop at his first. “Thank you for bringing me back Max, I appreciate it”

“Of course it's no problem, hey I'm actually not really that tired, do you wanna play Fifa or watch a movie?” he asks. Something deep down is telling you to decline. Spending time with him is just going to dig you deeper in a hole with how you feel about him, nonetheless, you can't let this opportunity go and accept this offer.

Walking in you notice the room is ten times bigger than yours, with a balcony and jacuzzi tub in the middle of the bathroom. Max must notice your awe because he says “I don't know why they give us such big rooms, we are hardly ever even in here”

“Haha it's nice for Checo because the kids get to play around”

“You are really close with them, aren't you?”

“They are practically my own, when their mom is out doing business I usually keep them, I also help homeschool them”

“Well that's very sweet of you” he says while taking a seat on the bed, while motioning you to do the same.

“Do you want something to drink” he offers

“No I'm okay” you politely decline. You still can't believe this, you are in Max Verstappen's room all alone.

“Okay let's put on a movie! What are you up for, should we do action” you sense a sudden shift in his mood, you can't quite place it, maybe excitement. You believe he can probably sense that you are nervous. The mention of action makes your ears perk up.“Can we please watch fast and the furious, I am on a mission to have all my friends watch it”

Max doesn't protest, just laughs quietly and nods, setting the movie in place. You make yourself comfortable and take off your big hoop earrings and heels- even though they werent big by any means they still hurt you. Once you are back in bed with him, you notice him looking at you.

“Is there something on my face?” You laugh

“No i just guess I never noticed how different but similar you look from checo”

“Really? How so?” You question

“Well for one, you are very pretty, but you have the same freckles that Checo does covering your cheeks and nose” Max’s comment has you feeling shy, you know you must be sporting a prominent blush across your face and neck.

“well thank you Max, it's funny because growing up, i never had freckles, but i think being out in the sun for races and the kids karting tournaments have really brought them to surface”

“That's interesting, I admire how close to your family you are, something I wish I had” he says so quietly you almost miss it. You don't know what possesses you to do this but you place your hand over his and say “you are always welcome in this family max, we all love you, and no matter where sergio goes next year- you will always be welcomed with open arms”

He stares at you with a blank face- unable to tell what he's thinking you begin to think that was the wrong thing to say when suddenly he leans down a plants a gentle kiss over your lips. You gasp at the touch. Max pulls back with wide eyes and says “shit I shouldn't have done that, Checo will kill me if he found out”. Instead of agreeing with him, you keep your hand held tightly over his and whisper “he doesn't have to know”. That's all it seems to take for max to lean back in and start kissing you.

You grab the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric in your hands. His palm cups your jaw, slowly deepening the kiss. Once his tongue makes his way in, you let out a quiet moan.

Grabbing your hips, Max shifts your position so that you are laying on the bed while he towers over you. “You are so pretty y/n, been wanting to do this forever” he says while tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. While you want to pour your heart out, your nerves stop you and all you can do is nod and say “want you so bad max”.

He continues to kiss you, tracing his mouth up and down your neck and along the junction between your shoulder and neck placing feather-like kisses. There’s nothing more that you want then for him to leave a big bruise plastered for everyone to see but you knew that wasn’t possible.

You grab his head and place your lips back on his. Moving his hand to your hair he grips it tightly, keeping you in his control. Slowly he rocks his hips down to meet yours, creating a union of moans to spill from the both of you. This must be the breaking point for max because he stops to take off his shirt and grabs your dress to do the same. Not before asking “is this okay”.

“Of course it’s okay, I want all of you” you whisper out. His pants also come off in the process. Both of you left in your underwear. You could feel yourself soaked through your panties. Max moves his hand so that his thumb is slowly running along your slit through the fabric. A moan is pushed out of you with a quiet plea of more.

Growing impatient you tug the straps of your bra down your shoulders exposing your breasts to him. This catches his attention because Max is on them immediately. Sucking and kissing them, basically worshiping them. “Fuck, these tits are perfect. They were practically popping out of your dress earlier, wanted to take you to the bathroom at the restaurant and just suck on them for hours”

You would have never guessed Max to be into dirty talk but it’s a pleasant surprise. “I want you in me Max, please, I’ve been waiting for this”

“How can I deny such a pretty girl? '' With that being said, Max gets up and walks to his bag to pull out what seems to be a condom. While he’s doing that, you shimmy your underwear down your legs and throw it somewhere in the room. Before he approaches the bed, Max takes his underwear off and you see his cock spring free. Your mouth instantly waters at the sight. He’s big, just like you thought he would be. Pale and veiny. Pink and wet at the tip.

You wanted him in you but not before you got a taste of him. You motion him up towards your mouth, so that his legs are on both sides of your shoulders. “I want to taste you, can I Max?” You said hoping your voice and eyes truly show the desire you have burning for him.

“Go ahead sweetie, suck me off”

That’s all you needed to hear before taking the tip in your mouth, lightly sucking. Max groans at the sensation and places a hand behind your head for support. Popping yourself off the tip, you lick a long strip under his shaft, following the prominent vein that lies there. You place feather-like kisses on the head hoping to tease him. As you look up at him, you see his mouth slightly agape, eyes stuck on you. “Don't tease me baby, c'mon”.

You start to bob your head, up and down, making sure you move your tongue back and forth. You palm at his balls and hear a hiss, thinking he must be sensitive.

“Fuck, you suck me off so good, this mouth was made for me, wasn't it y/n”

You whimper at the words and try to push yourself further down his cock. Grabbing your head, he pulls you off and says “I need to get in you”.

You nod your head fast and practically beg “please Max, please want you in me”.

As he positioned himself between your legs, he's looking directly at your core, you start to feel a bit insecure and try to close your legs, but he uses both his to keep them open. “You have such a pretty pussy, want to absolutely devour it” what he does next has you almost combust. He hovers his mouth over your core and lets a string of spit come done to coat you. Taking his index and middle finger he holds you open and lets another drop of spit fall on you. You are moaning so loud, you place your hand over your mouth to try and keep yourself quiet.

Max places two fingers in you while simultaneously rubbing slow circles over your clit. You are desperate for him to get in you. “Max I'm good, you can get in me”.

That's all he needs to hear before he puts his condom on and sinks into you. The burn is unlike anything you have felt before. You were definitely not used to his size but the stretch was addicting. As he builds up pace, you place your hands over his back, your fingernails gripping onto his shoulders, it feels so so good. “Faster” you whisper. Max listens. You could already feel the coil in your stomach about to snap, what pushes you over the edge is Max’s dirty talk. “You wrap around me so good, best pussy I've ever had, what would people think if they saw my roommate's sister coming all over my cock” you can't respond, all you can do is moan.

Finally catching your breath you say “you feel so good Max, you are gonna make me cum” and you tuck your head into his neck licking a fat stripe near his Adams apple. “I'm gonna come too, come with me y/n”.

The next couple of minutes go by in a blur, you feel yourself clenching on his cock, cumming while he pumps in and out of you with his hand rubbing at your clit. He kisses you hard as he groans into your mouth. “Fuck that was good” he states and all you can do is nod.

Max takes off his condom, and goes to the bathroom, returning in his underwear, with a warm washcloth. You feel embarrassed but you let him clean you up. You are left undressed so you ask if he could hand you your dress. The room is filled with an awkward tension. Max can tell because he lays down on the bed and pats it for you to lay with him.

You feel like you should decline and be on your way, not wanting to overstay your welcome. But you genuinely don't think this will ever happen again and want to cherish what little time you have in the same proximity. You lay with your head on his chest and his arm thrown over you with the tv playing in the background. Time passes quickly and within 30 minutes you hear soft snores coming out of max. You take this as your cue to leave. You slip yourself away and gather your belongings. Taking one last glance at him you smile and quietly make your way out of the room.

You don't have a lot of time to reflect once you get back to your room because you have to shower, and pack for your flight in the morning. You don't know if you and Max will ever reconnect like that, but you are grateful for the time you shared.

You don't see or hear from Max before you leave Japan, but maybe it's for the best. Your brother didn't expect anything and you are determined to keep it that way.

The first couple of weeks back in Mexico were rough, slowly recovering from your trip. Around 6 weeks after being home and two more grand prix taking place, you feel sick, like a stomach bug has really knocked you down. It was so bad that you weren't able to go to the Miami gp like you wanted.

Deciding it has been lingering for far too long you decide to go to the doctor. The first thing they ask you is if it's possible if you are pregnant. Your first thought is no, but you remember you and Max had hooked up around two months ago. You feel a pit in your stomach and your heart rate speeds up. You couldn't be right, he wore a condom, and you hadn't had sex for like a year prior to that.

After you take your pee test, you have never been more scared or felt more alone. You want your mom here. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor came in with a smile and sat down. “Congratulations y/n you are pregnant”. The world came to a stand still and all you can do is cry.

Because how in the hell are you going to tell your brother you are pregnant with his teammate's baby. How are you going to tell Max that you are pregnant?

Simple. You won't.

1K notes · View notes

celestie0 · 1 day

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.12 how you get the girl

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot, marijuana use, sexism, sexual harassment (verbal only)

ᰔ chapter. 12/x (probably 18)

ᰔ words. 11.3k

a/n. man the color scheme for this chapter is kinda giving BRAT lolol...i mean gojo IS brat. anywho, i don't have much to say at the beginning of this chapter but i do have a LOT to say at the end of it sooo see y'all at the bottom!! hope u enjoy. also BIG THANK YOU to @whereflowerswenttodie who beta read parts of this chapter for me n convinced me not to scrap it lol

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1 :: ♬.*ﾟplaylist

11:03am you: hi! 11:03am you: good luck today 11:03am you: incase i don’t see you

11:05am Gojo Satoru: Why wouldn’t you? Aren’t you gonna be on the field for your newsletter shots?

11:07am you: i mean yes but idk where i’m gonna be stationed so 11:07am you: it might not be on UTokyo’s side of the field

11:08am Gojo Satoru: Okay then I’ll look for you before the game starts

11:10am you: no pls don’t. coach yaga thinks i distract you. i don’t want to get yelled at again. he scares me :(

11:12am Gojo Satoru: Haha you’re silly 11:13am Gojo Satoru: East side entrance at 2 11:13am Gojo Satoru: Be there

11:14am you: or be square?

11:15am Gojo Satoru: Yea whatever shape you wanna be in is fine cutie

It’s a bright sunny day outside, perfectly blue sky with a scattering of fluffy clouds seen outside the window of your shared room in your apartment, and you realize spring is fully here from the way birds chirp past the glass. You’re stuffing your camera case full of chilled Kodak film rolls, your last stash left, and it’s the last piece of equipment you pack before slinging the strap over your shoulder and heading out the door.

Mina had offered to give you a ride to the stadium since your car’s still at the shop, but you’re happy you opted for the bumpy bus ride and although you come close to low-grade concussions from the bang of your head to the window at every other speed bump, the music in your ears while someone else is operating a public transport vehicle helps you think creatively before shooting shots.

It was surprise enough that Mina of all people was going to this game, and when you questioned her about it in the morning, she looked at you like you were absurd to assume anyone from UTokyo wouldn’t be at this game, and sure enough, it’s all anyone on Instagram has been repping on their stories or talking about in the bustling minutes before lectures. Even Utahime was going to this game, and she hates all intercollegiate sports. You knew the game was a big deal, given the way Coach Yaga was yelled at via email by the Dean of UTokyo to make sure the team wins today because a multimillion dollar Nike sponsorship would be greenlit by the prospect (for some reason you were cc’d in an email chain among divisional higher-ups, but you weren’t opposed to snooping in on conversations that were entirely outside of your tax bracket).

It’s because it’s the second to last home game before the season ends, and apparently this has been statistically the best season the UTokyo D1 Men’s Soccer team has played since the new millenia. No pressure to the players on that fact, but failure wasn’t much of an option for them anymore.

And you can feel the stakes the second you step inside the stadium. Packed would be an understatement, there were people flooding the aisles, overbooked for the sake of the university pocketing an extra buck no doubt, but spectators could care less since they were able to at least get in on the basis of that irresponsibility in the first place, despite the stadium’s capacity having long been reached before the pregame festivities even start. Banners and signs drape over railings with the school’s striking blue and golden colors, every single replay screen is lit up and brightly pixelated at every north, south, east, and west entrance for inclusive viewing. As you pass VIP security and make it into the lower field-level entry, the scattered chants from the crowd amplify in volume and you almost wince a little to yourself from the noise. The stadium felt like a living, breathing entity, pulsing with the collective heartbeat of everyone inside.

You’ve never been more overstimulated in your life, except instead of finding it frightening, it was electrifying. And for once, you think you can understand what an athlete must feel when playing on their own home turf surrounded by those that are wholeheartedly rooting for them.

Hana is quick to spot you, panic clear across her face as she regards you with a couple pages with your assigned vantage points, a rushed briefing session, and then she’s darting down the sidelines to make sure equipment is set up appropriately where needed. She’s understaffed, given you told Utahime about Kai’s little intervention last week and she made a nasty point to the university (and possibly a handful of legal threats) and they relented in firing him. So now the three of you were down a photographer, and the extra work shows in the instructions she gave you as you skim the sheets.

A glance at your phone tells you it’s close to 2pm, and your eyes take in the expanse of green on the field. UTokyo’s players practice kicking shots off to the right goal post, while YCU’s players practice shots off to the left. You can’t spot where Gojo is, but you faithfully head down to the East Side entrance like he asked you to.

When you round the corner, you almost crash right into an Ichiko mascot, but swiftly dodge, and then you stop in your tracks when you see Gojo standing right at the concrete entrance. He’s leaning back against the adjacent wall, arms crossed at his chest, and he’s stretching his neck side to side with a creased brow, an intense look in his eyes, lost in serious thought, scanning the wall across from him like he’s mapping out plays in his head.

When you approach him and catch the corner of his eyesight, he leans off the wall and flashes you one of his so extremely charmed to see you grins on reflex, and suddenly there’s nothing your senses seem to pick up on except him. Like everything else around you just disappears.

“Hey, you,” he says when he comes up to you, and you walk him like a dog back to a corner that’s tucked further away from noises and sights. You lean your back against the wall now, the coolness of concrete seeping through the fabric of your shirt, and he stands a step in front of you. Your hands toy with the strap of your camera.

“Are you ready to win today?” you ask him, and look off to the right into the flourishing seats that are still being filled to the brim, “clearly there’s no pressure.”

He breathes in deep, and releases it slowly, like there really was tension to relieve. “We’ve got no choice but to win.”

“Is that something Coach Yaga says to you guys often?” you ask him, because the man recited the same thing about five times in that email chain. “Also, apparently you take years off of his life.” Another thing he recited about five times in that email chain.

Gojo only addresses what he wants to address, as per usual. “Yeah, it’s something he says to us often.”

“So,” you say, “what did you want to talk about?”

He looks at you puzzled, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing. I just wanted to see you.”

It’s hard to assume that he didn’t have something to talk about with the intention of telling you to meet him here, because this is the same place you confessed to him a few weeks ago, and so is also the place he so painfully rejected you. But maybe he doesn’t think about these kinds of things as much as you do. “I see.”

His tongue pokes to his cheek as he studies your anticipating expression, and then he sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “What are we doing? I mean, I like you, and you like me too, at least I hope you still do. Why don’t we—…why don’t we just give it a go already? I don’t see how we can move forward if you won’t at least let me take you out on a date.”

Your hands stop fidgeting with your camera strap from his words, and you lick your lips, suddenly unable to keep eye contact with him so your gaze drifts down to his chest in front of you. His uniform is clean, no smudges of dirt or grass, just pure white fabric underneath heat-pressed blue and golden accents, and of course, that signature number 10. You’re sure he’s all you’ll ever think of when you see that number now for the rest of your life.

You know when you want something so bad you don’t know what to do once you have it? Because it almost seems too good to be true?

“I just wanted to let stuff between us breathe for a little bit,” you confess, “it’s just, it was a lot to deal with. Being around you when I thought you didn’t want me the way I wanted you. I don’t know if this is odd to say, and maybe I’m overthinking it, but I just feel like somewhere along the way, I kind of…forgot who you were for a little bit.” This kind of vulnerability would have you running away with your tail between your legs with anyone else, but not with him. Not after everything.

His expression softens, melting away that confrontational energy he had earlier, and he nods slowly. He opens his mouth to speak, but he can’t seem to find words. The presence of them is there, though, you can feel them. But what good are his thoughts if not voiced?

“I just wanted to spend a little bit of time getting to know you again, I guess.” You squeeze your arm in reassurance of yourself because he wasn’t giving it to you. You let out an awkward laugh. “I don’t really know what I’m saying right now, to be honest.”

You can tell he’s at a crossroads, and you think back to this week and his efforts to get you to open up to him again. You know how he feels right now, because it’s exactly how you felt when he rejected you. Like when someone is so close, yet so far, you can feel that they’re within arms reach but never truly. And they’re slipping away for some reason that you may never know, but all you can do is assume that it’s a fault of your own. You’re not really sure what he can do to make you feel secure about this whole thing anymore, and you can see the slight panic in his eyes when he realizes that too.

“I don’t mind waiting,” he tells you, rushed with a desperation entirely contrary to his words, “what’s a week or two when I want to spend a lot more of those with you anyways.” But he takes a deep breath, like he’s already mentally preparing himself for an agonizing wait in his head.

There’s a sound over the stadium speakers, something technical and sporty and goes entirely over your head in dismissal, but to Gojo it seems to have a different effect, as he’s suddenly attentive and stands up straighter, that focused expression on his face from earlier resurfacing. You realize he needs to get back to the field.

“Can we continue this conversation after the game?” he asks you hastily, already turning towards the center of the stadium. And he adds an obligatory, “sorry.”

“Yeah, sure,” you quickly agree, suddenly feeling like you’re taking up his time.

He gives you a small smile, unsure in its presentation but pure in its intention. But he can only take one step towards the field before you reach out and pinch the fabric of his jersey to keep him still. He feels the tug of it and fully faces you once again.

“Um. Just a sec,” you say, “I have something to give you before your game.”

“Oh?” he looks at you with interest, “I fucking love things.”

“You have to close your eyes though.”

“…what is the thing…” He squints at you with a what are you up to expression.

“Just close your eyes!” you snap at him.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” he holds his hands up in front of him in surrender, shaking his head to get his hair out of his face and then he closes his eyes. “You’re scary as hell sometimes. Excuse me for being cautious.”

You roll your eyes, useless because he doesn’t see it, and then take a step towards him. You cup his jaw with the palm of your hand, his cheek twitching slightly from the unexpected contact, and then you raise on your tiptoes to press your lips to his cheek. It’s short and sweet with the sound of a peck.

“For good luck,” you whisper, then you quickly lower yourself back onto your heels, take a step back and tuck some strands of hair behind your ear. The ground suddenly interests you.

He opens his eyes, blinking a few times with shock and his hand comes up to brush the tips of his fingers against the spot you kissed him, and then his gaze goes comically dazed when he reaches out to hold you. “Alright, c’mere you,” he says, closing his eyes and puckering his lips as he leans down to kiss you but you laugh and push his face away.

“No no no, only on the cheek for now,” you say with a small laugh.

He does nothing to restrain his frustrated groan. “You can’t do something that cute and then expect me to be chill about it.”

“If you win, then, maybe I’ll let you kiss me for real.”

“Maybe?”

“Yes. Maybe.”

He’s close, towering over you near this bustling east side entrance that he seems to like so much, and his eyes drop to your lips. “Alright. I like those odds.”

You give him a smile and slip away from him to get back towards the field, and you feel his eyes on you as you walk away.

The pregame events are a blur, with blaring music accompanied by the sounds of the sports announcers clipping across the speakers, finally quieted down in time for the players to line up on the field for the national anthem which was then followed by UTokyo’s alma mater.

You’re stationed on the same side of the field as Minato, UTokyo’s side, while Hana is covering the sidelines of the opposite end with the opponents goal post. Minato’s filling up a cup of Gatorade for himself at the athlete’s station and then he comes back around to find you.

“Are you ready to take your shots? I see Hana wanted you to shoot on film today,” he says to you as he sloshes around Glacier Freeze in a flimsy plastic cup.

You twist your aperture dial with your thumb. “Yesss, all set. I’ll try to keep up.”

He nods at you in approval.

The atmosphere feels nerve wracking. Something felt different about this game, the stakes feeling high. Well, of course they’re high, because if they lose today then they’re out of the tournament. But the stakes feel high for other reasons too, an energy you can pick up on but can’t quite discern.

Your eyes drift across the field where you can see a referee placing a ball at the center of the field. Off to the right, you can see Gojo standing with a few of his other teammates, including Geto, Nanami, and Choso, and they’re all gesticulating to various corners of the field as they discuss what you can only imagine have to do with their plays for today. And you realize— it’s their last college soccer season. Their second-to-last official home match before the championship, and for those of them that haven’t qualified for the national league, it may be their second-to-last match of this caliber for the rest of their lives. One of the final chances that they have to prove something of themselves. The determination was palpable.

The chief referee’s whistle cuts through the air with three short chirps, and that gathers the attention of all the players on the field. UTokyo wins the coin toss, choosing to kickoff, and YCU’s players choose to attack the left side goal.

Your stomach churns with anticipation, the crowd hushing too as all the players take their places on the field. If you feel nervous, you can only imagine how the athletes feel. There’s a rhythm that you’ve learned over the past couple of months getting to know the sport, where players stretch out their necks and kick out their feet and take subtle deep breaths as they survey the stands. Idle moments before the start of the match where they have no choice but to look forward and only forward, so they take a moment to stay in the present for as long as they can gather. You’ve never been much of a sports spectator, and perhaps you’ve only recently had some personal interest in the team, but you realize you feel pride in your school as you stand behind chalk sideline and see UTokyo’s colors scattered across the field in uniform. And fuck, you wanted them to win. You wanted them to win with fierceness and wrath, and it’s a desire you share with the crowd.

Gojo spends a minute talking to the referee before the black and white striped man pats him high on the back in the good sport and urges him towards the center of the field. He lifts his foot up onto the ball, rolling it back and forth underneath the spikes of his cleat, and you can see it in his eyes, even from all the way over here, that he seems to have different ideas in mind for this game too. High stakes. Pre-determined, set with will, evident in the clench of his jaw and the concentrated furrow of his brow as he surveys the field with his eyes, and you’re lost in the sight for what feels like forever because you can hardly register the chirp of the ref’s whistle.

And then the kickoff starts.

The ball is tapped to Geto to start the play, and the first few minutes were intense as the ball was passed back and forth between UTokyo’s players, placing pressure on YCU’s defense as they inched closer and closer towards the goal. A pass between UTokyo’s #4 was intercepted by YCU and the ball was rushed down towards the left side, the crowd’s horror evident in the uproar as they raise to their feet in fearful anticipation, and with ruthless offense, YCU’s forward takes a clear sink shot towards the goal, and the crowd holds their breath before they watch Choso lunge for it in air, gloved hands firmly grabbing the ball and then pulling it to his chest with a possessiveness you can only expect to see from a skilled goalie, before he crashes down into the ground and the crowd releases relief in the form of rowdy roars.

Ten minutes in, with everyone on their toes, each team tested each other’s defenses. UTokyo were known for stellar offense, especially within the past few years with players like Gojo Satoru and Takuma Ino joining the league as powerful forwards, but UTokyo’s overall offense was still statistically second to none other than YCU. And the pressure YCU was putting on UTokyo’s defense was wearisome to say the least. You glance to see Nanami, who is UTokyo’s best defensive player, huffing and puffing as he stands between two light-footed YCU players in an attempt to guard, and fails an attempt to steal the ball before it gets to the feet of YCU’s striker #6, passed in a split second off to his teammate, with a fake so seamless that it has Choso just a couple inches away from touching the ball before it’s sent flying into the net.

The noises from the crowd are still loud, but dampened in spirit.

With the referees hand signal up in the air, the current score is confirmed. 0-1, YCU.

Coach Yaga calls for a sub, in which he switches Nanami out for who you believe is a 2nd-year defensive player name Yuta you’ve seen around practice with a promising statistical record for interceptions, and you watch as Nanami takes the bench before he swipes the sweat off his face in exhaustion. God. Just fifteen minutes into the match, and YCU already has UTokyo’s defense winded from play.

You bring your camera up to your face, forgetting for a moment that there was still a job to do here, and you position the direction of the lens towards the center of the field, where Gojo takes his place at the ball once more. Yuta briefly passes by him, signaling some play to him by holding up a number three, likely something Coach Yaga asked him to pass on to Gojo, and you see him briefly nod, his mouth slightly agape as he breathes slowly and pulls his jersey up to wipe at the sweat at his forehead.

The referee chirps the whistle, Gojo taps the ball to Yuta, and the play starts.

YCU immediately puts pressure on UTokyo’s offensive play once more, with eager movements to steal the ball, but it’s passed between UTokyo’s players with ease, more practiced and more sure. The kind of play that you and the rest of the school was used to seeing from them. However, Geto loses the ball on a left-back pass, but right when YCU makes attempts to cover field in a long-shot kick towards the left, Yuta intercepts the ball and swiftly passes it to Gojo.

The crowd immediately rises to their feet in anticipation, watching as Gojo shuffles the ball down the field, dangerously close to off-field boundaries, a signature tactic he uses because he knows there’s not a single player in the league that can match him in precision and control to keep the ball in-field on a steal, and he swiftly passes it towards Geto with a side-swept kick, beelining down towards the goal post, in perfect time for Geto pass-back to meet his feet and when Gojo was this close to a net, there was no stopping him.

He draws his right foot back, and explosively kicks the ball forward, chipping the grass under it in the motion, and it’s sent flying towards the goal, and then threaded past the goalie right to the back of the net. The cheers that erupt across the stadium rumble the ground beneath you.

1-1, even match.

UTokyo spends no time celebrating, other than a few pats to Gojo’s back as he nods in acknowledgement, no emotion on his face other than pure concentration and greed. The greed to win, like a righteous sin. He stretches his neck out, panting slightly as he takes his place towards the right side of the field and the referee chirps his whistle to signal YCU to start the kickoff.

They quickly make attempts in moving the ball towards their scoring-end of the field, but face push-back from UTokyo’s defense, unable to make it much further past the midfield line, and you bring your camera up to take a snap of Gojo, who you see is still standing off to the right side of the field. But when you position it and peer through the viewfinder, that space he once stood at was empty. You pull your camera down, and blink at the sight, and then the crowd is picking up in volume once more.

Gojo sprints down the flank, cutting past every defender, and moves towards YCU’s attacking goal, which was a shocking place to be for a center forward, but you could feel his desire and determination to steal this back-and-forth ball, and succeeds when YCU makes an open pass, thinking they were in the clear, only to have Gojo sneak in at the last moment and get the ball at his feet.

The play moves by in a flash, a blur that you or anyone else in the stadium could hardly keep up with it, movements so fast you were shocked a human being was capable of even running that far in such a short amount of time, and in an almost embarrassingly easy play, Gojo makes a fool out of YCU’s defenders as he slips the ball through the legs of his last obstacle before he struck it with sharp precision, sending it soaring to the corner of the goal, past the outstretched arms of the goalie, and into the net.

2-1, UTokyo.

It was electrifying, the feeling that strikes through the stadium, one that reaches you in your own blood. You’re shocked, standing here, after witnessing Gojo score two goals within the matter of minutes, against one of the top three teams in the league. It’s a shock that reaches everyone, including Coach Yaga who’s standing about ten feet down the line from you, his arms crossed, and you see his eyes for the first time as he takes his sunglasses off to get a better look at what he’s seeing.

You trail his sight, dragging your gaze across the field until it lands at Gojo, who is barely acknowledging the encouraging pats and shakes and goodhearted shoves that his teammates were giving him, because he was focused. It might sound crazy to say, but you swear his eyes looked like a fiercer shade of blue, like they were lit up, and you’re insanely glad you’re not one of YCU’s defensive players at the moment because you feel fearful of him even just standing on the sidelines.

Your gaze trails back to Coach Yaga, who slowly puts his sunglasses back on but his brows are narrowed tightly as he crosses his arms over his chest tightly.

The “athletic zone”... You’ve heard of it before. A state of pure focus, of peak performance, where an athlete experiences optimal concentration and a sense of effortless control over their actions. In which they perform at their highest level, where time slows down, any and all distractions fade away, and they’re completely immersed in their sport at hand. At the task at hand.

Coach Yaga seems to pick up on the fact that Gojo was on the edge of tapping into that state.

YCU makes a substitution, and you watch in anticipation as they begin the kickoff.

There’s fire in their veins with desperation to even out the score once more, rushing the ball down the off-field line, one of their center forwards mimicking Gojo’s signature attack pattern, and Yuta struggles to keep up with the expert dribbling of a fourth-year player with more experience on him, so much so to where he completely leaves the ball unguarded and there’s an open shot, but Geto places pressure at the last moment, in a fierce battle for the ball, before YCU’s center forward loses the ball over the goal line.

Choso picks the ball up, tapping on it harshly a few times as he surveys his eyes down the field, and all offensive players begin to shuffle towards their attacking goal in anticipation for the goal kick. He signals his hand down and then holds up two fingers in the air before placing the ball down on the six-yard box. He tightens the strap of one of his gloves, eyes squinting, and you follow his gaze down to a part of the field where you note UTokyo’s best aerial players are located and being guarded by YCU’s defense. And with complete trust in his team, that’s exactly where he kicks the ball.

Geto makes first contact with the ball, his chest colliding with two other YCU players as his head comes out on top and he headbutts the ball closer towards the inner field, and Gojo immediately gains access to it with a bounce of his knee. The crowd holds their breath, fear that they’ll lose the ball to a steal in the split second it spends floating in the air, but Gojo urges it forward with a bounce off of his chest and then rushes it straight down towards the goal post.

You wonder what sight he sees right now. Where you’re dead center, at no angle, lunging towards the sight of an open goal with a sole goalie standing in the center, anticipating to block your shot, and three defenders on your tail. There’s no room for error, no time to think, only instincts that you cultivate in the last leading milliseconds. They say that, in sports, athletes channel one hundred hours of practice in just a brief second on the field. A split second success that was years in the making. You can’t even imagine possessing that level of perfection in your body, or possessing that level of confidence that you can follow through with it in a moment as dire as this.

It was unreal, the way Gojo fades away from all the defenders, and faces no fear when confronted with the sight of the goalie in front of him while drawing his foot back to kick the ball. You lift your camera up at the last second, no time to think about aperture or ISO, just like he had no time to second-doubt a single twitch in his muscles, and his foot makes contact with the ball so harshly that you can hear the explosive sound even among the delirious cheers from the crowd, before he hook, line, and sinks it straight past the goalie’s head, rushing by like a scarcely deflected bullet, and into the net behind him.

3-1, UTokyo.

The whole stadium is momentarily speechless, all players and referees and recruiters and reporters and coaches and employees alike, before the most deafening cheers you’ve ever heard in your life scatter across the stands.

There’s a moment of brief reprieve, where the players can catch their breath while YCU makes yet another substitution, as if they’re just trial-and-erroring it at this point, and the cheers in the stadiums remain idle as you can’t tear your gaze away from Gojo.

It’s one of those moments where you realize that someone who you thought was so familiar to you was actually someone you hardly knew at all. You knew he was a talented soccer player, everyone on campus knows it, potentially one of the best to ever grace the league, and the amount of times you passively watched his plays on a lecture hall projector screen as your professor enthusiastically broke them down during class, even before you met him, was good enough for you to realize that he was insane, a one-in-a-million, a talent you cannot replicate, one you have by divinity. One you were born with.

And yet, somehow, getting to know him these past couple of months, he just felt so human. For someone so seemingly beyond you, he felt so…close? In those moments where it was just the two of you, it was hard to imagine that he was capable of such greatness, and that so many people were rooting for him with wholehearted tears in their eyes and cheers from their hearts, because most of the time, when he was with you, he was just a dorky idiot. You find that your heart is beating fast in your chest, that feeling of being unsure of what to do with what you’ve been wanting resurfacing powerfully.

“This is insane,” you hear Minato say from beside you and you jump a little from your thoughts being interrupted.

You twiddle with your camera straps. “I know…almost done with the first half and we’re up 3-1…I thought YCU are number one in offense for the league?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, yes, that is insane too. But what’s even more insane is that three of the goals so far have been scored by one player.” He tips his chin towards the right sight of the field and you trail his line of sight. “By Gojo Satoru.”

Your brow furrows as you watch Gojo, his hands on his hips and his mouth slightly open as he indulges in a few shallow breaths to gain energy while YCU prepares for kickoff. Three goals, by just one player. Your eyes widen when you realize that is insane, especially for a D1 semi-final qualifying match.

“You know what the divisional record is for most goals scored by a single player during a championship match, y/n?” Minato asks you as he lifts his camera up to take a picture of the area Gojo was standing in.

You shake your head and wait for his response.

He drops his camera down and glances at the photo on his screen. “Four. During Keio Uni vs. Osaka Uni, near the beginning of the tournament back in 1997 by Osaka’s center forward number 24, Yuji Nakazawa. Meaning no one’s managed to beat that record since the new millenia, for a couple decades. Although a few players came close.”

You blink at him, and Minato is jerking his chin over in the direction of Gojo again.

“I think he’s trying to beat the record.”

You can only widen your eyes at Minato in realization, and then the chirp of the referee’s whistle draws everyone’s attention back to the field.

The sports announcers go wild on the speakers, the crowd raving all the same, standing to their feet like the team just won the championship match.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! We are watching HISTORY in the making!! Gojo Satoru, UTokyo’s very own 3-year consecutive MVP, has scored his 34th goal of the season, highest of any player in this year’s season so far, and is now on the road to beat the league’s long-standing record for most goals scored by a single player in a championship match since 1997!!” And the crowd roars even louder as you stare out at the field in awe.

YCU starts the kickoff following the prompt short chirp of the referee’s whistle, and with two minutes remaining on the clock for the first half, make desperate attempts to book it down the field towards their attacking goal, one of their midfielders making a clumsy attempt to strike the ball to the net in the final minutes of the half, and Choso easily catches it in his arms, right before the buzzer of the timer sounds, and the match moves into halftime.

All of UTokyo’s players immediately flock towards Gojo in sportful glee, finally having a chance to surround him and harass him with harsh pats on his back and ruffles of his hair for his play in the first half. Choso even puts him in a headlock because they all don’t know what else to do with their excitement and adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Their win for today was basically confirmed with the way he was playing.

You catch a glimpse of him through the crowd of people, and he has a boyish grin on his face, reveling in the embarrassing amount of attention from his teammates, that focused look from before dissolving into his normal self again. But you can see through him, as well enough as you’ve learned to at least, and you can tell he’s not satisfied. He’s thinking it’s not enough. There’s still more to be done, and it’s not time to celebrate yet.

His eyes scan down the sideline until they find you.

Your heart jumps a second in your chest. He stands up straighter, despite his teammates still clinging to him, and there’s a twinkle in his eyes when your eyes meet.

Cheerleaders take their place out onto the field, performing their numbers with loud music blaring, and the recruiters seated at their white tables get up to roam across the sidelines in discussion with referees and with Coach Yaga and with whatever players they can sink their greedy teeth into, as well as sneak at refreshments while they’re at it. You can see off to the right that Hana has reunited with Minato and she’s showing him some of the shots she took over at the opponent's side.

UTokyo’s players start to make their way to the benches to grab for towels and drinks of water and to sprawl across in rest, and you hear loud familiar laughter approaching as you watch the players sprawl across the benches, so you avert your eyes towards the source of the sound.

You see Gojo approaching the benches, two of his teammates slung with their arms around him in some type of adrenaline-drunken glee as they talk dramatically and theatrically which Gojo entertains with his own drunk-off-of-adrenaline glee. And you raise an eyebrow at his demeanor when he makes eye contact with you.

“There’s my freaky little photographer,” he says, and he’s standing up straight and—wait, is he puffing his chest out as he makes his way towards you? Oh for fucks sake.

Gojo has always been confident around you, for as long as you can remember, but in the fair few moments he’s been cocky, he’s been a menace. And you can only assume the testosterone-induced high of being on the verge of breaking a league record in front of the entire school then subsequently getting homiesexually praised by his teammates for the better part of the past five minutes, not to mention with the crowd and the reporters feeding his ego with a spoon across the speakers, he’s been transformed into the final boss of cocky.

His teammates surround you too, their hands on their hips as they assess you and Gojo when he meanders right up to you, arms held out to hug you, a sleazy sight you’ve seen probably six times this week, and you feel a rush of warmth in your cheeks as you place a hand on his chest to keep him away.

“You’re sweaty and gross, please stay away from me,” you reprimand him, “this is an expensive lens that is not humidity-proof.”

“Hey, you’re the girl that Kentaro socked in the face with a ball the other day at practice, right?” one of his teammates asks, leaning in towards you to take a closer look at your face.

“Oh yeahhh, ‘cause Satoru wasn’t paying attention,” another one of his teammates chimes in teasingly, hardly heard over the loud remix playing in the background as the cheerleaders continue to perform on the field.

You shrink a little from where you stand. Gojo’s got an irritated look on his face and he’s shrugging his teammate’s elbow off of his shoulder.

“I really hope you’re getting my good angles,” his teammate to the left comments before winking at you, and you purse your lips together.

The one on the right leans in too, looking at your cheek with an assessing look in his eye. “At least it didn’t leave a scar on your cute face—”

Gojo shoves the both of them back and away from you by elbowing them in the chest, and they make deep eugh noises before stepping away and rubbing at their sternums with pouts on their faces.

“Get the fuck away from her,” he grumbles, “she’s mine.”

Your cheeks flush slightly with warmth at the attention, and you watch as his teammates scurry away to adhere to some social hierarchy Gojo seems to possess over them.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Yours?”

“Yes. Eventually. Whatever, did you see me out there?” he turns his torso towards the field and points behind himself with his thumb, “when I—”

“Oh god, you know what’s soooooooooo super sexy to me?” you interrupt him. “When guys are humble.”

“Oh c’monnn,” he curls his arm around your waist and pulls you to him, to where you stumble a little on grass and he holds you when you fall into him with more clumsiness than grace. “Tell me you aren’t at least impressed by me.”

You pout, because you are, and you’d really like to give him some reassurance and validation, but for some reason his cocky attitude is setting you off. “Satoru,” you sigh, wiggling a little in his hug, but he holds you tighter, “I’m working right now. Cut it out.”

He lets go of you at that, sober enough from the adrenaline to realize you’re being serious, but he steps into your space so only you can hear him. “What? Are you embarrassed?”

“Of what?” Your face twists with confusion.

“Of me. Are you embarrassed of me?” he asks.

“No. Why would I be embarrassed of you?” you ask with sharpness.

“I don’t know, just, sometimes I feel like you’re always annoyed by me,” he says with a sigh. “It’s like, you’re really sweet sometimes, and then kinda rude out of nowhere, and it’s sort of messing with my head.”

You pout. “You were messing with my head for weeks.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” he quickly interjects, like he already knew you were brewing up that counterargument, “but you don’t have to act like you’re all disinterested and indifferent just to get back at me for it.” He places his hands on his hips and wipes his temple on the round part of his shoulder when he feels a drop of sweat trickle down from his hairline. “You don’t have to act embarrassed around me either.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you deny, and your cheeks feel hot, and for some reason you feel angry. “In fact, I’m the one that should be asking you that question. Because I still very clearly remember that time you said I was just someone you know in front of your friends.”

He groans and tilts his head back with frustration. “Can you just let that go? Things have changed between us since then. Move on.”

“You kissed me and then pretended I was just a stranger to you in front of your friends,” you grit as you cross your arms. “That’s the level of sincerity that I know from you, Satoru.”

“Oh, okay, so there’s nothing else I’ve done that shows you that I’m serious about you?” he asks rhetorically with incredulity, throwing his hands up in the air in disbelief.

No. That’s not true, not true at all. But he’s pissed you off now and so all logic was to the wind. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re not embarassed of me, and if you’re really serious about me this time, then fucking prove it.” You’re speaking out of spite, and you fear you’ve just set him off too.

“Fine,” he says, and he grabs the microphone straight out from a passing reporter’s hand, replacing it with a gatorade bottle. The reporter stares at the bottle he’s now holding with confusion. “I will.”

“W-Wait—” you squeak out, feeling the hair at the back of your neck bristle in anticipation and a shiver gets sent down your spine. The cheerleaders are making their way off the field at the end of their routine, and you can hear the thumps across the loud boisterous speakers when Gojo whacks his palm to the microphone to make sure the thing was on before he jogs to the center of the field.

The crowd is already cheering, ecstatic to see the afternoon's star player and pride & joy of their school, and Gojo takes a moment to soak in all the glory in comical appreciation with bowing towards all 360 degree angles of the stadium.

“Uhhh,” you hear Choso from beside you, who’s strapping his thick goalie gloves tightly to his wrists, “Why the fuck does Satoru have a microphone while standing in the middle of the field.”

“It can’t be for any publicly decent reason,” Geto muses.

All you can do is watch.

“Hi, uh,” Gojo starts, static blaring slightly across the speakers and the crowd winces with him, “sorry. I’m Satoru, Gojo Satoru, you might know me from—uh, the game you’ve been watching?”

Cheers all around, because as if a single person wouldn’t know who he is. The stands were rowdy and most definitely drunk off of sidestep beers the stadium has been serving all afternoon long.

Gojo is about to continue speaking, when he catches sight of the table of recruiters in the corner of his eye and he turns to face them out of respect. “Oh, yeah, uh, number 10,” he tugs his jersey up at the shoulder to stretch out the fabric, the 1 and the 0 flattened in view, “division player ID 233-997. Coach Yaga keeps my business cards in his purse if you want one.”

“SAAAAATTOOORRUUUU!!!!!” you hear Coach Yaga yell from somewhere in the distance.

“Anywho,” Gojo continues, and the music dims slightly, so he glances at the stop clock on the screen, which shows him he’s got roughly five minutes left to pull off whatever idiocracy he had in mind before the second half of the game starts. “Just here to say that there’s this girl I really like.”

The crowd gets louder, almost deafening, and sonically mostly feminine in (delusional) hope he’s gonna name call one of them.

Gojo’s voice is crisp and clear through the speakers as he clarifies. “She’s standing over there,” he says as he nonchalantly points to your exact latitude and longitudinal direction, “with the big camera slung around her neck that looks like it could pull her down to the center of the earth. Yeah. She’s super cute and I really like talking to her.”

“Uh-oh,” Geto murmurs from beside you, and you glance at him to try to get a read on the situation but you can’t.

Gojo starts to pace across the center of the field now, like he’s working the crowd. “But get this—she thinks I’m not fuckin’ serious about her!!!”

The crowd groans with him in unison. Yep, most certainly drunk. Or high off of glee. Either way, he’s playing them like a violin.

“Huh?” Gojo’s voice sounds distant now, away from the mic, and you can see on the large pixelated screen that he’s being interrupted by someone that looks like one of the videographers, “oh, what’s that? This is being broadcasted? Uh-huh. Oh. I’m not allowed to cuss? Oh fuck, okay. Er— shit, okay. Wait—shoot, okay.”

Choso’s smirk is heard from beside you, and you catch Geto and Nanami shaking their heads in your periphery.

“LIKE I SAID,” Gojo continues into the mic, “the girl I like thinks I’m just messing around, so. Uh. To show her that I’m serious about her, I’m gonna…” He looks up at the sky to ponder, and you can hear people shouting all sorts of suggestions of nonsense from the crowd. And instead of saying proclaim my undying affection for her through a romantic soliloquy straight from my heart in the presence of the entire school, he says—“I’m gonna strip. Yes. Down to my tighty whities, Imma strip.”

H–

Huh?!?!?

You don’t even have time to be horrified or scared, you’re just bewildered beyond belief that that’s what he came up with.

What the fuck kind of reassurance did you ask for. And what the fuck kind of reassurance were you about to get?

The crowd goes wild, it’s no surprise to say everyone and their mothers wants to see him naked, even the straight dudes would dig it for the gym inspo. And he points straight to you, sleazy look on his face and you’re going to ignore the fact that he just winked at you too as he crosses his arms to hold the hem of his jersey and pulls it up over his head in the most raunchy and slutty way a man can take his shirt off.

The music manager is quick with the bit, and is most definitely a fellow Gen Z college student, because Justin Timberlake’s SexyBack (ft. Timbaland) starts playing across the speakers and the crowd goes ballistic.

“Ayo why’s Satoru Magic Mike’ing the field right now?” one of his other teammates calls out through a mouthful of protein bar, “What the fuck did I miss?”

The cameraman does God’s work in a hella zoom-in of Gojo’s sweat glistened abs, then pans up the naked expanse of the perfect taut skin across his chest, and you can’t help but stare even among all your horror. It’s like when a male bird embarrasses the fuck outta himself to attract a female bird sitting on a perch, except instead of within the context of a NatGeo documentary, this was your real life. Everyone wants him, but he’s making a fool out of himself for you.

He pretends to stretch his arms up into the air, a cover-up to flex his biceps, and then he kicks his cleats off, and the socks come off too. Entirely unnecessary, as showing one's ankles is simply too slutty, but alas he’s a whore. And when his thumbs dip into the waistband of his shorts, and there’s anticipating screeching from the crowd, he finally gets chased by security.

Except he’s an intercollegiate D1 athlete, why the fuck wouldn’t he be able to outrun a bunch of dudes in black?

The camerawork on him is phenomenal as he runs across the sidelines of the field, eliciting a wave down the bleachers. So good in fact that you’re pretty sure the camera man could shoot for the Olympic track and field, with the way the stadium’s got a clear sight of Gojo mouthing the lyrics Them other fuckers don’t know how to act from the song still blaring with satirical rage on his face as he makes a fool of the men chasing him around the perimeter of the field.

And then he does it, drops his shorts, discards them with a kick, and he’s down to his tighty whities as promised. Cameraman has got to be displaying some previously undiscovered level of talent as he zeroes in on a shot of said tighty whities, with Gojo’s—forgive me, I need to be crass—huge bulge prominent in Big Dick Energy fashion except his tighty whities have little red hearts in rows across the fabric so do with that duality what you will.

He’s outrun security with a steady grin on his face as he eats up the drunken crowd’s cheers and riots and roars and you feel like you’re the only sane person in this stadium, or maybe you’re just not used to the fanatics of a college sports crowd. You peep the men in black trailed all the way on the left side of the field where they abandoned their pursuit of Gojo.

He taps imaginary pockets at his thighs, very muscular thighs you take indulgence in noticing, as if he expected to find something there, and he looks around when he doesn’t. He shrugs and grabs the microphone of the next passing sports commentator he spots, and then he makes his way back to you.

His breathing is a little shallow, and he inhales deep to catch his breath. “Baby.” The crowd SCREAMS at the way he purrs the word into the mic. “Will you do me the honor,” he’s huffing and puffing, heard across blaring speakers, “of being my lawfully wedded girlfriend?” And then he holds the mic to your lips.

“W-Wha—” you stutter, and there’s chanting across the crowd with words that barely make sense until you finally realize they’ve started to yell say yes! say yes! say yes! “Oh my gosh, okay, yes, fine, now please, for the love of god, put some freaking clothes on!”

The crowd goes wild with cheerful glees, and Gojo shoots fists up in the air in celebration as he runs all the way towards the center of the field with high knees, and you’re gawking at the sight, before he falls backward onto the grass and makes delirious snow angels on the ground. You see Coach Yaga’s vein popping in his neck from pure agitation as he storms off towards the center of the field to knock some sense into Gojo, but you know that Coach Yaga can’t kick him out, because they still have a game to win. The perks of being the most valued player in the league is getting to act like an absolutely insane idiot because you know they still need you in the end to bring it home.

You glance to the right, seeing his teammates nodding slowly then getting back to wrapping athletic tape around ankles and stretching out shoulders, with immediate acceptance of his actions like it wasn’t even out of character for him to do. And you realize again that you don’t know Gojo as well as you think you do.

And then the halftime timer is up.

You see Gojo approach the benches in a quick jog, squeezing some water into his mouth with his green gatorade squirt bottle, and when your eyes flit up to the screens on all four entrances, you see that the cameramen are still all focused on him accompanied by the continued buzz of conversation among the crowd following his public spectacle. But he seems to already be past any semblance of embarrassment as he takes the attention with ease, before he glances up to make eye contact with you and then lightly jogs right up to you.

“Did that prove to you that I’m not embarrassed of you?” he asks you, cocking a brow with a smug look on his face as he gets all up in your personal space.

“I don’t know, but I’m certainly thoroughly and expeditiously embarrassed of you now,” you say, cheeks feeling flush when he leans forward so he can make eye contact with you at eye level. “I’ll have to move to a different country.”

His grin is relaxed. “Yeah well you asked for it.”

“Maybe. But I underestimated what a lunatic you are.”

“You’re my girlfriend now, you’ve gotta get used to it.”

Your heart skips a beat in your chest. “Satoru–”

“Tomorrow,” he cuts you off, “Hinode pier. I’ll pick you up at six. It’s a date, so wear something cute. And preferably easy to take off.” And then he’s attentive to the chirp of the referee’s whistle in the air before jogging backwards towards the feel and eventually turns on his heel towards the field while you’re left with warm cheeks and a heart that felt like it was moving at a mile a minute.

The timer for the second half refreshes on the screen while you loosely hold your camera in your shaking hands. It occurs to you that you haven’t taken a single photo of him before the start of the kickoff, and so you bring the piece of consolidated metal up to your eyes, peering through the viewfinder and focusing it on the center of the field. And there he was. Your muse.

Gojo lets out a breath, which you can see even from here that it’s shaky and staggered with resistance, and he lifts his jersey up to swipe at the sweat trickling down his face as he eyes the ball underneath YCU’s player’s foot just prior to the start of the second half. There it was—that look again of pure focus.

3-1, forty-five minutes on the clock. And the referee chirps the whistle to start the second half.

It’s immediately evident that YCU has returned to the field following halftime with renewed energy, pressing high down the flank relentlessly past UTokyo’s defense, so fast it was hard for anybody to even keep a steady eye on the ball with the fluidity of their passes. The persistence pays off in the fake double-pass that slips past Geto’s feet, a moment of hesitation in the broken flow of UTokyo’s defense, and one of YCU’s strikers has the perfect line of shot towards the goal before digging his foot under the ball and sending it flying towards the corner of the goal post, scoring themselves a goal within just the first five minutes of play.

3-2.

The pressure mounts at the next kickoff, and with about seven minutes of solid play, with back-and-forth passes, multiple attempts at both goal posts to no avail on either side, it was clear that exhaustion was bustling in the veins of all the players.

One of YCU’s offensive players seems to capitalize on this, jumping on a defensive lapse of a pass Nanami attempted to make towards Yuta, and the ball is swiftly stolen then raced back towards the goal post. Choso prepared himself at the line, light on his feet paired with a solid stance, but in a millisecond of a moment, YCU’s offense unexpectedly passes the ball to a player racing up the midfield, and the player chips the ball neatly into the exposed corner of the goal despite Choso’s attempt to lunge for it in mid air.

Equalized, 3-3 game, momentary shock across the players’ faces, and the crowd bustles with something that sounds less like glee and more life fear. YCU was prepared to live up to and hold onto their title as the league’s number one offense, and as Minato explained to you during your time working in this job, an offensive team isn’t good at scoring goals, but rather exceptional at breaking down the other team’s defense.

Your eyes zero in on Geto, who stands in the center of the field for kickoff, and he’s huffing and puffing. He's the lead of defense for the team, and you can only imagine the level of pressure he feels right now. He glances around to his players, over to Nanami who seemed to share the same level of exhaustion, and then he glances towards Gojo who stood in front of him off to the right. Except you notice that Gojo looks relaxed, albeit still exhausted, but there’s a composed expression on his face even in the moment of heightened stakes. With locked eyes, Geto nods at Gojo and raises two fingers up into the air to signal a play, of which Gojo seems to respond to by closing more distance between him and the goal post prior to the kickoff, positioning himself almost directly in front of it, to which YCU’s defense immediately begin to guard him in a tight radius.

The kickoff begins, with Geto making a few passbacks with Nanami as they close distance towards the field before passing it off to UTokyo’s string of offense and then receding back to their defending goal. UTokyo continues to close distance, raising stakes for YCU as their defense begins to falter under pressure, and the ball gets passed to Gojo, who only keeps it in possession for less than three seconds before he passes it back to Yuuji, a risky decision to make in the second half of a semifinal match, but the first-year swiftly unleashes a powerful shot that rockets past YCU’s goalkeeper, up towards the corner, except–

It bounces off the metal of the goal post, shot off with projectile speed back towards the center of the field, but with razor-sharp reflexes, Gojo headbutts the ball in air, twists his torso and strikes the ball with his foot past a dumbfounded goalie who can’t even move an inch to guard the ball that he already knew was going to sink right into the goal, and that’s exactly what it does.

The stadium erupts with the momentum.

4-3, UTokyo.

It was a sweet moment, one you manage to capture on camera of Gojo running up to Yuuji and ruffling his hair in reassurance, despite the missed goal. Your heart feels warm in your chest, feeling your own sense of melancholy that this was one of the last times they’ll ever get to play together on a team.

Your eyes widen when you glance at the scoreboard, realizing that he’s tied. Gojo is tied for the most goals scored during a championship match. There were less than three minutes left on the clock. UTokyo either preserves their lead, or they risk moving into overtime, which, judging by the exhaustion on the UTokyo players’ faces in the wake of YCU’s relentless offense this entire game, moving into overtime would be a hefty, hefty risk.

YCU’s center forward takes his place in the center of the field, fire evident in his eyes as he glances across the field. YCU are light on their feet, channeling everything in their bodies into these last moments of the game as they prepare to start the kickoff. You glance across UTokyo’s players, and although they look spent, there was a resolute look to all of them. It wasn’t the time to give up or feel at ease even near the end of this grueling battle. Now was the time to play.

The referee chirped his whistle, and the kickoff began.

YCU immediately presses hard, as all their other plays have been all game, in their desperation to score. You can already see UTokyo’s midfielders move sluggishly in comparison to YCU’s offense, a drag to their feet as YCU pushes past the first layer of defense towards their attacking goal. Geto takes an aggressive approach, making moves to steal the ball while Nanami and Yuta guarded both flanks, and there was a relentless pass-off happening that ate up more than a minute of the remaining time.

Nanami succeeds in stealing the ball, but immediately loses it under his feet by a YCU midfielder, who makes a broad pass down the sidelines to YCU’s star forward who then powerfully kicks the ball towards the unguarded area of their goal, a dangerous shot that was clear towards the crossbar and Choso makes a leap for it, high into the air, his glove brushing against the ball, the entire crowd holding their breath in anticipation–

And the ball lands in the net.

4-4, tied game. With one minute and seventeen seconds left on the clock.

There was no time wasted in getting back to center field. No time spent dwelling in the horrific roars of the crowd as they watch with anxiety and fear. No time spent to process or consider or signal any plays. Not even a single second used to catch breath. When there is this much at stake, an athlete thrives on momentum.

To your surprise, Gojo isn’t the one that takes place at the center of the field to start the kickoff. Yuta stands there instead, and you notice his eyes are erratic as he surveys all corners of the field.

The referee chirps his whistle.

Yuta immediately passes it off to the side to UTokyo’s midfielder, who curls it towards their attacking goal with a swift pass to Ino, who closes distance towards the goal, but one of YCU’s defender slips in, undoing any progress they had made in their offense by stealing the ball and sending it back towards mid-field. Forty-three seconds. The crowd’s roars heightened as YCU continued to push forward, thirty yards now from scoring, and UTokyo’s defense was desperate to stop them but their momentum was cracking in the wake of their exhaustion.

It was a moment you don’t think you could ever fully or truly recall, one that you wish you had focused all your energy and attention to so that you could commit it to memory for the rest of your life. The image of Gojo pushing all the way to ten yards before their defending goal, a place where no center forward should really be at in a game like this, but it was exactly what their defense needed. It was exactly what the team needed. It was exactly what the school needed. For the ball to be in his possession.

With twenty-two seconds left on the clock, he steals the ball from right under YCU’s offensive feet, and then charges towards the opposite side of the field. The crowd rises to their feet, thunderous roaring that overtook any and all senses, as Gojo weaves through forwards, center forwards, midfielders, and defenders, covering the entire span of the field in lightning time. Fifty yards, forty yards, thirty yards, twenty hards, ten yards–

In a moment you couldn’t believe, he digs his foot underneath the ball, and sends it flying out towards the goal. There was not even a margin of an inch in which it slipped past the goalie’s hands, past his head, and swiftly flew right into the net.

With three-two-one seconds, the match was over.

5-4, UTokyo’s win.

The final whistle blew, and for a moment, there was silence. As if the world paused to catch its breath. Then, all at once, the crowd erupted with glee that shook the entire stadium at its core. Flags waving, scarves held high, toasts of beer held up to the sky, it was deafening, and it almost makes you want to cry. Thousands of voices shouting in unison, celebrating the hard-fought victory of their school’s team. A type of pride that was fostered, and well-deserved, and long-lived.

You quickly glance towards the field again, and see Gojo standing right at the same spot where he had kicked the last and final goal, staring towards the net. You can’t see the expression on his face, but it surprises you how still he is. Like a statue, staring at the goal with the ball tucked into its corner. The very epitome of what it means to succeed in this sport was right in front of him, and it seemed like he wanted to soak the visual in for as long as he could.

His trance is abruptly interrupted when his teammates swarm in, rushing over like a wave of pure adrenaline. They slap him on the back, ruffle his hair, shout his name, the sounds of gleeful disbelief mixed with exhausted sighs of relief swarming into the air. And Gojo finally melts away from the tension of the match and into the celebration as he weakly returns the embraces of his teammates while he catches his breath.

“IT’S OFFICIAL!! IT’S OFFICIAL!! UTOKYO’S VERY OWN GOJO SATORU HAS OBLITERATED OSAKA UNIVERSITY’S RECORD FOR MOST GOALS SCORED BY A SINGLE PLAYER IN A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!!”

The speakers are blaring the voices of the sports announcers, along with ambient music to match the intensity of the match that everyone had just witnessed.

You should probably be doing your job. You know, take a picture of the huddle of players on the field as they bask in the glory of a close victory, but instead your feet start moving on their own. Like a magnet drawn to him, you make your way towards Gojo, only a slight hesitation in your step as you stop about ten feet away, suddenly unsure. But when he makes eye contact with you, all that fear melts away.

He hastily pats the backs of some of his teammates, acknowledging their praise at the center of the huddle before tightly squeezing past them to make his way over to you. Your heart is beating fast in your chest, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of pride in your school’s team, but more importantly, in him. What was the acceptable thing to do? Run to him, into his arms, and hug him while he twirls you around? Tackle him to the grassy ground? Kiss him like your life depended on it? You have no clue what the acceptable or sane or normal thing to do is. But he’s made his decision for you when he walks right up to you, his hands holding your waist as he pulls you towards him. He smells earthy, of grass and salt and sweat and of all the hard work he poured into today, the wear and tear of the game evident in the wear and tear of his jersey. He only manages to huff out an exhale at the sight of you, like some relief washing over him just by looking into your eyes. Forget the fact that the crowd was all watching and that all of the screens you could see past his head were focused on the two of you, because all you could hear or see or think was him.

“I believe you owe me a kiss,” he says, huffing as he catches his breath but that doesn’t stop the smile that makes its way onto his face.

You nod your head, giving him your own version of a sweet smile as your arms slide up past his shoulders, crossing behind his neck, and he leans down to kiss you.

You hear a swell from the crowd, some teasing comments off in the distance from some of his teammates, you’re pretty sure you hear Coach Yaga yelling at him to get back to the benches, but it all melts away with the feeling of him smiling against your lips as he kisses you at the center of this stadium.

It was a moment so pure, so sweet, so picture perfect, and for once, you’re not the one behind the camera taking the photo. You’re the one that’s in it.

[end of kickoff ch12]

a/n. aaa thanks a lot for reading!! pls the fucking public stripping scene was so stupid i apologize on behalf of kickoff gojo for his behavior 😂😂 i’ll put him in his cage dw this chapter had some of what i consider to be the most challenging aspects of writing for me (internal conflict, grand public gesture, sports jargon) and so writing it felt like an uphill battle the ENTIRE time i wrote it and edited it. i considered scrapping it sooo many times cuz i just wasn't happy w it...but whatever i can't expect to be 100% happy w every chapter i put out there haha. i think kickoff has become a lil sacred for me since i've been working on it for a while now but likeee...sometimes u just gotta say fuck it we ball (tbh kickoff gojo probably says that to himself before a match) anywho, i am veryy thoroughly excited for what i've got planned for the chapters to follow, especially moving into the last angsty arc before the end of the series!! so i look forward to picking up momentum w this series again :0 honestly chapters 10 through 12 were the most difficult things i've written so far for a lot of reasons, but i have a feeling things will go more smoothly for me creatively going forward since what i've got planned falls well within my writing comfort range oh also there seems to be a little confusion about the number of chapters left, as i know i had originally said 12, but i anticipate that there will be about 18 chapters of kickoff total!! so still around six chapters left before the end :)) much lovee thanks for reading!!

OH WAIT ONE LAST NOTE I'M SORRY i didn’t really have a way of organically incorporating this into the story n i’m not sure if i’ll get a chance to in the upcoming chapters, so i just wanted to share this part of ch7 (gojo’s pov chapter) that is relevant to this chapter:

During the thrilling semifinal match between Keio Uni, Gojo’s father’s team, and Yokohama Uni during the end of his senior year, spectators witnessed a game that most college soccer enthusiasts would deem was a once-in-a-lifetime watch. Both teams engaged in relentless offense, and Gojo’s father was on his way to shatter the record of the most goals scored in a single championship match within the history of the league, but when he received a call from his wife during a timeout with the most life-altering news he could have ever heard, he abandoned everything on the field that day to go home and be with her. Grainy footage from the televised broadcast still exists online today—the moment he sprinted across the field, confused players glancing in his direction, amidst the uproar of the crowd. She called to let him know she was pregnant.

the record that gojo broke in this chapter is the same record that his father almost broke before he got the call that he was going to be a dad :0

➸ you're all caught up!

additional notes. please do not pressure me for updates or ask when i will next update (read rules); taglist is currently closed (consider subscribing to the story on my ao3 for email updates if you'd like! :0)

taglist:

@megumisdivinedogs @witchbybirth @avatarl0v3r @mwtsxri @asherheed

@wynney @delulux3 @higurumapet @zombriesworld @xenop0p

@phoenix-eclipses @who-can-touch-my-boob @mo0nforme @reagan707 @lost-resonance

@foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @beabadobeee @thexmistress

@tsukikourito @pickuptruck01 @gabriiiiiiii @4y3sh4 @tiredflame132

@cliosunshine @btszn @izayas-rings @semra4 @ethereally-lyann

@drthymby @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010

@joemama-2 @horisdope @banenemilk @nanasukii28 @spindyl

@ri-sa20 @thexmistress @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @sashisuslover

@chwesuh-imnida @megumisthirdog @imjustaweirdnerd @angelicscribe

[taglist is closed]

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skymar13 · 2 months

Note

OMGAAA QUEEN, CAN YOU PLEASE DO SOMETHING ABOUT BAKUGOU ESPECIALLY “Class sweetheart x class hot head” SMUT? I WOULD REALLY LOVE THATTT, YOUR WRITE SO GOOODDD AHHHHH🫶🏻

my first request🙏🙏 and yes I can.

: smut MDI all characters aged up!

Class hot head x class sweetheart

Bakugo katsuki x virgin!fem!reader

TW : hardcore, dom bakugo, orgasm denial/ multiple orgasms, oral (male receiving) unprotected sex (pls wrap it) and probably others but it’s smut so you know

Not proof read bc im scared to read it

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

You’re just so sweet. He couldn’t help but ruin you. He wanted to take that stupid smile off of your beautiful face.

You were too sweet for your own good always smiling at people giving them sweet compliments he had to teach you a lesson. He pounded into you with fast snaps of the hips going impossibly deeper stretching you farther than your fingers ever could.

You let out moans and gasps as he licked your right nipple his hand that wasn’t circling your clit massaged your left breast. It was all too much for you.

“I’m- I’m-gonna come-“ you tried saying he stopped moving his hips making you let out a whine. “Don’t you dare. You cum when I tell you to and I’m not done.” He knew he was being mean. But you needed it you needed to be taught a lesson on being mean. He moved at a rougher pace sending your eyes to the back of your skull. Your moans getting higher pitched. You reached for the bed sheets trying to stay connected to this world. He pulled out of you completely making you feel empty you whined and tried to put your pussy closer to his body.

“Get on your knees” he said and you did as told getting on all fours. He pushed your arms down so now your face was smooshed against the mattress. You expected a warning but instead he plunged deep into your sopping cunt putting his forearm around your waist pulling you into him to match his thrusts. “You - gotta - learn - the - consequences- of - being - nice- to everybody” he said between thrusts these being slower and deeper making you see stars as you babbled out I’m sorry and I’ll never do it again.

Truth be told you had no idea why you were being punished. You’d had multiple talks with bakugo about how you’re too trusting or too nice and one day you’ll get hurt. But when bakugo came into your dorm forcing you to your knees and pulling out his hardened cock talking about how he can’t wait for your lesson to come to you and that he will have to show you. He came all over your face twice before showing your pussy some love.

You couldn’t hold it anymore you squeezed around his dick sputtering his movements. “P-please kats- I need to omfg- I need to cum” you moaned out some words a whisper some a yell for help. “Fine then bitch cum on my dick yeah? Be good and cum f’me” he said and your orgasm came crushing down on you as he rode out your orgasm you expected him to slow down and give you a second to catch your breath but he didn’t he kept going at full force. You tried to push his waist away “‘s too much” you cried. He took your hands holding them behind your back “take it” he growled in your ear. He pulled out giving you some release before he picks you up and spears you on his dick fucking you in the air. You had no where to go nowhere to hold and this new position had you seeing the galaxy. At this point nothing came out of your mouth but gasps and groans as your body went limp. “You’re so fucking good for me. Letting me use you as a doll. You’re going to be so full, Yeha you want to be full of my cum dripping for days?” He whispered to you as you nodded furiously at the thought of him filling you up. You feel the knot form again squeezing onto him viciously. “You ready baby? Come with me please? Please baby can you do that?” He said as he toyed with your clit. You nodded as you felt his cock throbbing and his hubs sputtering as the two of you came together. As he came you rested on his cock feeling so full.

He placed you back on the bed and you thought you were done. Oh dear you were so wrong. He blessed you both with the opportunity to catch your breaths “oh god katsuki that was amazing” you said looking at him as hit face contorts into a smirk. “We’re not done”

That night you had learned two lessons. 1, you were too sweet to everybody and that the world wasn’t as safe as you believed and 2, bakugo can dick you down for hours.

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kookslastbutton · 6 months

Text

Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter ii

✒ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, fighting, confrontation, tornado of emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, public shaming (both direct and indirect), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of abandonment issues, mentions of therapy, attempts to self-regulate but reader is pissed, mentions of self-blame though oc knows its not entirely her fault, mentions of defamation charges, JK is just 🤬 while KTH is 😇

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: Woah okay....so had I fun writing this, even though it took me a hella long time to decide whether to continue the story as a series or not 🫣 Anyway I altered the summary slightly from chapter one (and updated for consistency purposes), but it doesn't change my overall plans! As you read this chapter, I hope you will be able to see my vision (I'm nervous af! haha)! Enjoy 🥰 (edited but pls forgive me for any oversights...my typos are ridiculous)

series masterlist | next >>

You’re seated in a wide sofa chair, surrounded by four blank walls, and the gentle sound of water tricking from a faux rock waterfall. Every element of the space is carefully integrated as a means to calm you. Yet it doesn't calm you in the slightest. Your hands are clammy. Muscles tense with the adrenaline spiking through your veins. It doesn’t help that you’ve been running on nothing but black coffee all week either, refusing to eat until the first promo shoot with your company’s new endorser was launched.

A natural in front of the camera, Kim Taehyung was able to speed the process up, yet it didn’t stop the massive dark circles from forming under your eyes. This morning, he'd told you they were unnoticeable but you've seen how you look in the mirror, and they're anything but unnoticeable. Still, you find his gesture to soothe sweet. Thankfully, your new partnership has been smooth sailing which is quite a blessing considering the disaster he nearly walked into.

Yes. You’re referring to that disaster in particular. When, in some desperate last-minute attempt for validation, you threw yourself into the arms of your ex-husband.

More like fixed the collar of his shirt and whoops, slid right on his dick…again.

What is wrong with you?

You’ve been asking yourself the question far too many times. You’d think being a hot-shot CEO of a million-dollar tech company would make you like titanium, resilient as finely pounded steel but no; you're just barely keeping yourself together. You regret your rash decision that day, you regret ever marrying Jeon Jungkook, and you regret ever giving in to your stupid feelings.

That’s why you’re here now, waiting in the office of your therapist’s private practice, hands restless in your lap. You’ve been seeing Melody for just over two months since your divorce was finalized, ready to move on; trying to, more like.

‘JeonX CEO Jeon Jungkook’s ex-wife compensated $1.8 billion in divorce’

‘South Korea’s Golden It couple split with ex-wife taking half the company revenue’

These are the lovely words that greet you from your phone screen.

You have the urge to grab your special red ballpoint pen from your bag and scribble out the entire paragraph, except it’s not a printed gossip magazine— it’s a newspaper column on the internet. Instead, you close out the pesky tab on your phone and reply to its sender.

Chim 🐥: can you believe this crap they’re saying about you?! It's no shit you were given a hefty divorce settlement. You brought in half the income! They’re making you look like some kind of gold digger. I swear if I ever lay my eyes on that pretty ex-husband of yours, I will end him! 😡 [sent at 5:06 pm]

Park Jimin, your childhood best friend, sends you a follow-up text when you don’t immediately reply to the news articles he forwarded over. He’s been extremely overprotective of you lately and especially pissed at how the media’s been portraying you, while Jungkook is seemingly getting a free ride. He’s always had an axe to grind with your ex-husband, to be honest, the divorce gives him only more reason to hate him.

You: Thanks for your concern Chim, but nothing they say surprises me anymore. If you don’t mind, can you stop sending these to me? [sent at 5:12 pm]

You hope your message doesn’t read as cold or dismissive. Jimin’s concern for you is a light in a dark place, but you don’t really want to be reminded of the amount of slandering articles still targeted towards you.

Gone are the days when the public saw you as a powerful woman in business, the one to watch, or the CEO of the fastest-growing startup in the last ten years. You're now simply Jeon Jungkook’s conniving ex-wife; as if you’ve merely seduced him for his money and ran when the going was good.

Of course, the whole situation is skewed to his side; half the world is in love with him after all, and that includes the few lingering reporters who've been practically salivating three feet from you at any given chance, hoping to get an exclusive “inside look”. Your marriage was a sham, you wanted to scream, a mutual business transaction.

Too bad rather than an increase in status, resources, and market share, you gained a pile of twisted, unwarranted emotions and regrets.

“I apologize for the wait Ms. __."

The door swings open as your therapist rushes into the room. She stops at her desk to retrieve last week’s session notes, then takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you with crossed legs.

“It’s okay,” you assure, straightening your posture. “I understand how crazy busy the day can get. It wasn't a long wait anyway."

Melody gives a small smile and jots a few words on her notepad. “Thank you for understanding. How are you doing this week?”

You take a deep breath. "Tired," you respond, "especially this week at work. It's like as soon as I wrap up one project, there's another jumping out from nowhere." You used to be ahead of the game. Now you're barely surviving.

"That's right," she hums. "Last week you mentioned having to attend a charity gala soon. Would you like to start there today?"

Crap, you're suddenly reminded that you have to pick up your gown by 7 pm tonight. You entertained the idea of not going to the gala at all, but that would do you no favors in the end. Given your situation, you can't skip out on such an important charity event.

"Sure," you nod. "The Winter Gala's tomorrow night, actually. It's funny how I used to look forward to it every year, being an opportunity to network and catch up with my peers. I can't say I feel the same thrill this time around."

"Because of the divorce you mean?"

"Exactly. Being the CEO of one of the largest software corporations in the world, my ex-husband's influence far exceeds my own. So whether out of loyalty or political agenda, anyone who's anyone will be on his side of the room. I'm gonna end up being that one awkward person in the corner in a far too expensive Dior gown who no one wants to dance with." You nervously chuckle out the last sentence.

Melody opens her mouth to respond, yet stops when she notices you're not quite finished.

"It'll be the first time seeing my ex-husband after months of no contact too. I guess that's what I'm looking forward to the least."

When you think about it, the most you've seen of Jungkook is his face appearing on the massive screens downtown. He's been featured in at least a dozen interviews lately, teasing a brand-new product his company's planning to release in the spring. Seems he's doing well.

"What you feel is valid Ms. __." Melody seeks to assure you. "In the past, you used to go to these events with Jungkook right? He provided you with a sense of safety, as you did for him, no doubt. I wonder if it's a lack of consistency and belonging that worries you, more than it is about seeing your ex-husband and your peers. Companionship too, of course."

"I suppose that makes sense, but it never used to be this way." Your voice raises to match your sudden argumentativeness. "I used to be very comfortable in my own skin. I used to be confident going to these events alone, long before Jungkook came into the picture."

You pause to take a breath before continuing.

"When Jungkook became CEO of his family's software company, JeonX, he was steps away from being bought out by both our competitors, so a partnership was proposed. We married at 27 as nothing more than two ambitious, rising leaders in business. Neither of us was after love or romance when our careers were at stake."

"But then that changed for you," your therapist carefully observes. "Combined, you both held the largest share of the tech market. You and Jungkook were also in an extremely intimate relationship, yet treated it as a business contract. Unfortunately, those don't always come out clean in the wash. It appears to me that while you gave him three honest years of your life, he stole those three years from you."

The words take a moment to sink in; Jungkook stole three years from you. It conflicts with what you want to believe, though from the bottom of your heart, you know she's right.

"I feel so...guilty. I hate that I fell for him, and I hate that I'm struggling this much to let him go." As you tear up, Melody hands you a tissue from the side table with an empathetic gaze. You mouth a thank you and gently dab your eyes with the soft fabric.

"I'd give yourself some grace Ms. __. But if I may ask, what about Jungkook?" she gently probes. "Do you think he feels the same?"

"No...," you say with remorse, shaking your head. "He's moved on."

Melody remains silent for as long as you need in the moments following, cautious to follow your lead. The last thing a therapist should do is rush their patient through the session, so she sits patiently and waits for your go.

"Sorry," you finally say. "We should continue."

"No need for apologies," she replies. "Take your time."

It takes a good minute or two longer of sitting in your car before you can fully compose yourself. As usual, your session with Melody was intense and insightful, but it was far too short. You're gripping the wheel with both hands when her final words of the session echo through your head: "Give yourself some grace; blaming yourself won't do any good."

Seemingly simple advice, yet tough to follow when you constantly feel responsible for the mess you're in. Yes, even though Jungkook has the bigger end of the stick, you made your share of mistakes too. You should have looked into other options when you found out your competitors were looking to buy out JeonX instead of eloping with their CEO.

Just what were you thinking __? you harshly scold yourself. You were trying to protect your company. You both were. Too bad you placed the cart in front of the horse.

Forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath, your eyes widen in alarm when you catch the time on the clock— 6:38 pm. Fuck! The boutique that's holding your gown for tomorrow's gala is closing in twenty minutes. Without a moment to spare, you yank the seatbelt and slam your foot on the gas.

"Good evening Ms. __." A young woman, fitted in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, greets you with a faint bow as soon as you step foot into the posh boutique.

"Hello, Hana," you refer to the young lady by name with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry to be coming in this late. I came by to pick up the gown I sent in for alterations two weeks ago. The event's tomorrow and I know the shop will be closed for the day."

Knowing the exact dress you're referring to, Hana responds with a soft tone, "Please don't worry Ms. __. We have the gown ready." She disappears to the back of the shop to retrieve it.

As you wait, your mind drifts to memories of last year's gala. You had worn a vibrant, gold gown that evening, slightly risky with a low neckline. Jungkook liked it though, as he wore a matching gold vest himself. You can imagine how crazy the press went when you both set foot on the scene, arms linked and appearing to have coordinated your attire perfectly.

Every investor at the gig wanted to be your friend that night, anxiously pushing through the crowds to speak to you. One of them nearly split your dress in two, as he had accidentally stepped on your gown after one too many drinks. You recall Jungkook scolding the man before turning his full attention to you, making sure you were alright. You consider this to be the first time you truly started looking at him as your husband, a feeling of warmth blooming inside you.

How foolish you were to let that feeling grow.

You're attending the gala alone this year, without him.

Possessing no desire to call attention to yourself this year, you've chosen a rich, navy blue gown instead. It's subtle yet sophisticated. Made out of the finest silk, its silhouette is sleek and falls straight down to the floor without any extravagant frills. The neckline is simple too, paired with a tasteful open back. There are no flashy accessories or embellishments, just a straightforward, classic design. You find the gown beautifully elegant, and nowhere near as bold as your previous one.

"Here it is Ms. __," Hana chips from afar, her heels clacking against the polished floor tiles. In her hand is a generously sized garment bag, your dress flowing underneath.

"Thank you so much, Hana," you say, taking the gown from her hand. "Again, I'm sorry for my tardiness picking this up. I hope you have a wonderful night."

You leave the boutique, the sun having already set.

The Winter Gala takes place on the top floor of Seoul's most luxurious hotel, specifically in its grand ballroom. The walls are adorned with gold trim, and its floors are elegantly lined with polished black marble. Above, a magnificent glass chandelier glimmers, catching the moonlight filtering through the surrounding glass windows.

Despite being a private event, the gala attracts a whole slew of press and locals who eagerly gather on either side of the hotel's front doors, treating it as a prime spot for viewing the red carpet.

Physically, you're ready; dressed to the nines, and makeup done just right. Mentally, you're absent; secretly sipping a margarita at the end of the earth, wherever that is. The day finally comes for you to make an appearance at the Annual Winter Gala and it's clear, you're not prepared in the slightest.

Your nerves consume you as you sit in the backseat of your limousine. You protested against being dropped off at the front entrance. Hell, you hadn't even wanted to arrive in a limo. However, your PR team insisted you be seen arriving, happy to be supporting a charitable event for the eighth year in a row.

Reluctantly, you complied.

Chim 🐥: I wish I could be there with you tonight 😞 No matter what, don't let those snobs get into your head. You look stunning and you have nothing to be ashamed of! [sent at 6:23 pm]

"Thank you, love," you whisper to aloud upon reading your best friend's endearing message. Before you can craft a reply, your door is flung open, with harsh flashes of cameras blinding you. When you step out of the limo, you hear a mix of passionate cheering and interrogative remarks.

"Ms. __, could you share with us your experience of attending the gala without Jeon Jungkook by your side for the first time?"

"Ms. __, it's unexpected to see you here this year, especially considering your recent separation from your ex-husband, who is also on the guest list!"

"Ms. __, how do you plan to navigate the evening's festivities without the familiar presence of your former partner?"

Just keep walking __. If you can just get inside the building and tune out the noise, you'll be fine. You coach yourself with every step, but make little progress with the amount of discomfort only skyrocketing. Your photos are being taken, and questions barrage you from all angles. To top it off, you feel a strong migraine coming on and oh fuck— is that the devil now?

You don't have to glance back to guess the sudden increase in cheering is due to the arrival of another hot A-lister. It has to be Jungkook with a new woman by his side. You think he wouldn't bring a date to an event like this, even if she were a hire? You'd be horribly mistaken.

You fight against the urge to turn around and confirm if your suspicions are true.

"__!" a voice calls out, which you ignore.

But wait a minute.

You stop in your tracks—that's not Jungkook's voice at all; it’s far too raspy.

Peeking over your shoulder, your jaw falls open as you see Kim Taehyung steps behind you wearing a boxy grin on his face. He's dressed to the hills with a shiny maroon, Louis Vuitton suit hugging his slim waist. Quite handsome, per usual, but what is he doing here?

Taking the initiative, Taehyung strides next to you and waves to the crowd charismatically. “My movie shoot wrapped up early so I thought I’d swing by and see what all the excitement’s about,” he says.

You observe how easy it is for him to appease the crowd, a skill you’re still working to sharpen.

“Tae-” you begin.

He then turns to you and looks straight into your eyes. You shiver at from the sudden intensity.

“I got an invitation too, and the gala happens to support a cause that I find close to my heart.” His voice lowers for the next part, allowing only your ears to hear. “I also didn’t want you having to be alone this evening, __. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Taehyung’s words manage to coax you away from your previously frazzled state, comforting you as the chaos quiets around you.

“Thank you, Taehyung. You didn’t, don’t worry,” you reply, giving a tight-lipped smile. “It’s actually a good thing you came since you’re basically the second face of my company after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’ve been working so well together recently, and I don’t want to ruin it. May I?” He offers you an arm.

“You may.” You slip your arm into his and continue towards the hotel entrance. You admit you’re glad to see him.

With Taehyung nearby, your apprehensions of the night start to subside. He’s not always beside you, slipping away to mingle often, yet his mere presence relaxes you. You haven’t even thought about Jungkook to be honest. Well, maybe a little bit.

You take a sip of the drink in your hand and casually scan the ballroom until bingo, you spot your ex-husband by the bar in the middle of half a dozen people. Figures he’s the center of attention, effortlessly tethering people to himself. Jungkook loves the spotlight, and the spotlight loves him. As you continue watching him from across the room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within you; longing, sorrow, anger. You haven't seen him in over two months, it feels surreal.

Memories of your time together come flooding back all at once—both the good and the bad, yet mostly bad. It's strange how someone you were once so close to can suddenly feel like a stranger. You allow your gaze to linger a moment longer, curious to conclude a date is nowhere in sight. Perhaps you’re mistaken and they’ve merely slipped away for a second. You’re positive he would’ve brought someone.

Bitterly, you gulp down another sip of your drink. When you place your glass down, you nearly choke at the sight of Jungkook's dark eyes burning holes at you. You avert your gaze immediately, silently begging that he didn’t just witness you staring at him and take it as an unsolicited invitation to come over.

“So,” a provocative voice unexpectedly slides next to you. “Looks like you just traded one bachelor for the next __. I’m shocked to see you’ve shown up to our little soirée.”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, recognizing the owner of the slithery voice like the back of your hand. You do not have the stamina for this tonight.

“Kathy," you greet with the fakest, yet sweetest smile possible. "Nice seeing you again. I haven't seen you since last year. How's the baby?"

"Oh please," she scoffs. "Don't try to deflect, sweetie. We both know it's you who is of far more... intrigue. If you understand my gist."

You want to hurl at this woman's condescending tone. Nothing gets under your skin more than someone your age calling you sweetie. It's not endearing in the slightest, especially when it's Kathy Lee, Director of CommaTen. You despise each other, likely because you both hit it big in the industry at a young age. Meeting someone who reminds you so closely of yourself isn't always a blessing.

“Anyway, as I was saying," she continues, brushing her hair behind an ear. "I have quite the bone to pick with you about stealing that actor from me. Kim Taehyung was mine first, you know."

Hers? She speaks as if a person can be owned. You won't lie, you're surprised Taehyung agreed to partner with you at a time when most of Seoul's elites have turned against you. You're naive to assume that his support wouldn't backfire on his reputation. On the other hand, he's been your endorser for two months now and his following remains fully intact.

“To be frank, I didn't know the two of you were talking business at all," you respond to the accusations with composure, though burning up inside. "But of course, he's free to make his own decisions, can't he? Whatever the reason, something must have enticed him."

“You—" Offended by your insinuation that your offer was better than hers, Kathy doesn't stop what comes next. "We both know the only reason why Kim Taehyung's with you is because Jungkook left you! And you need the extra publicity, isn't that right?"

Fuck. Well, now you're really fucking embarrassed because, at that moment, everyone in the room shifts their attention your way. A pin drop could be heard in the entire ballroom since even the live band ceased their playing.

This is why you didn't want to come. Your fingers fumble with the fabric of your gown.

“Don't act like you're above me just because your company might be worth more than mine, __. We'll catch up with you soon," Kathy spits her final words before spinning around and triumphantly walking away.

Don't cry, you tell yourself. Everyone's staring at you; the press, your peers, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Don't you dare cry.

As the murmurs of conversation gradually resume around you, you force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. Kathy's words were nothing but a feeble attempt to save her own face. Besides, what company doesn't have at least one endorser?

"Are you alright?" Taehyung's low, gentle voice catches your attention as he swiftly returns to your side, no doubt influenced after witnessing Kathy's verbal jab.

You manage a tight-lipped smile, nodding faintly as you attempt to push back the overwhelming wave of humiliation. "I will be," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I hope you don't take her words to heart, __," he mutters. "I chose to become your partner because I genuinely believe in your product. I'm selective about who I support, so please trust me when I say it wasn't because of material gain or pity."

You're on the verge of responding to his reassurance when you catch sight of your ex-husband from the corner of your eye, striding his way over to you for the first time tonight. His expression is unreadable, so you brace yourself, unsure of what to expect.

"__," he starts, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable urgency. "Can we talk?"

You and Taehyung share a quick glance before you follow Jungkook out of the ballroom, seeking privacy.

As soon as you're out of earshot, Jungkook turns to you, his features softened by a hint of concern. "Hey," he starts. "I meant to get over to you sooner but got tied up. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you respond, though you'd rather he didn't come over at all, especially after being dragged into the spotlight in front of all your peers and colleagues.

The two of you share an unsettling silence before he speaks again.

"You-You look good." He allows his eyes to rake up and down your body, causing you to cross your arms in discomfort. There was a time when his gaze brought a flutter of excitement, but now, you're not so sure it brings you the same pleasure.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there," he says. "You okay?"

"What?" you repeat, your eyes wide with surprise, stunned by his unexpected apology. "Am I okay?"

Where was this concern when he handed you the divorce papers nine months ago? Or when he willingly took advantage of your vulnerability that time in your office, only to disappear afterward, as if he hadn't just torn your heart out of your chest? You clench your fists, trying to contain the rising temperature of your anger.

"Yeah, about what she said about you," he clarifies. "It was uncalled for, and I feel horrible about it." He reaches out to touch you, but you instinctively step back, as if his touch would scorch you.

"Please, don't," you sigh, a trace of weariness in your voice. "It's fine."

"I'm serious __, I can have her charged with defamation for that. It wouldn't take much!" His insistence is unwavering, and it strikes your last nerve.

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Jungkook," you suddenly snap, voice stern. "I'm not completely helpless now that you've divorced me!"

Jungkook's expression darkens, regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" you repeat, doubtful. "How do you think that's going to look for me in the media? Jeon Jungkook slaps another high society member with a defamation charge for ex-wife. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that as is."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know they've been difficult on you recentl—"

"Difficult?" you interject, your anger bubbling to the surface. "In case you haven't noticed my face is on every gossip magazine, billboard, press release, and anything else they can use to scorn me with. It's unbearable, especially since I still have a business to run."

Jungkook winces, clearly stung by your words. "Then let me help. I'll get them removed for you. I still care about you, __."

You scoff. "You care about me? Is that why you made me sign our divorce papers three months after you found out I wanted more than a fake marriage?"

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping to the floor guiltily. "It's not like that, __. I'm not trying to be an avoidant asshole. I want you to-"

"Find someone else. Yeah, I got it," you mutter bitterly, feeling a fresh wave of hurt wash over you.

"I'm sorry, __. I am."

You stare at him, torn between resentment and a lingering ache for the connection you once shared. Now, he's apologizing?

"So am I," you say, slowly backing away from him. "You don't have to do anything, Jungkook. I'm fine."

You then turn on your heels to return to the ballroom where Taehyung still waits for you, leaving your ex-husband standing in the hallway, alone.

a/n: A much-needed confrontation between oc and jk eh? But... *laughs evilly*..this is not the end...LMK what you think! 🤔🤍

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side note: I tried tagging readers in comments but most of them didn't go through, so i'm sorry about the clutter here...😬

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

#jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook imagines #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts au #bts imagines #bts fanfics #bts x reader #fic:guiltypleasures #kookslastbutton

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ovaryacted · 4 months

Text

HOMECOMING

PAIRING: Jackson! Joel Miller x afab! reader || WC: 1.8k

SYNOPSIS: After a long day of patrol, Joel comes home later than he said he would be back. You are just happy to welcome him back into your arms.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: FLUFF. Suggestive content - 18+. Established relationship. Soft & affectionate Joel Miller. Ambiguous age gap (Joel is in his late 50s, reader is 25+). Mentions of early pregnancy. Cute stuff. Banter and teasing. No use of y/n.

A/N: Hey there, been a while. In case y'all forgot, yes I do still write LMAO. This is a little something that I wrote miraculously on my free time, and it is my first Joel Miller piece. I'm also slowly getting back into writing so pls be nice! I did originally write this with the new Pedro Pascal picture as Joel in mind, but I'm a gamer Joel type of girl at heart so that's what I went with. Hopefully, it is enjoyable for those who choose to read it. Any likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Dividers by @saradika-graphics.

➣ TLOU was created by a zionist and is based off of the Israeli occupation of Palestine. Please refer to this link to learn how you can help the Palestinian people.

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

Night fell over Jackson, soothing and quiet as it usually was. You��d think after some time, you’d get used to the stillness that often consoled others in a world full of unsettling clicks and gunfire, but you found yourself troubled with the calmness that followed once the sun went down. The change of the seasons propelled a temperature shift outside; bitter winter exchanged for the rebirth of spring, which hopefully meant the sun would stay in the sky just a little bit longer.

Your face nuzzled into the pillow beneath you, the material not yours to claim, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. Digging your nose further into the bedding, you subconsciously chased the faint scent of pinewood and gunpowder, one of the few things that eased your anxiety. It was a smell you got used to recognizing over the past few years, not that you’ve been keeping count.

Despite the warmth the sheets provided you as you rested on the left side of the bed, your body felt cold, missing a familiar set of strong arms and a welcoming chest pressing up against you. He had told you before he left for patrol that he’d be back before sundown, that was the plan anyway. But you knew better than anyone that stepping outside the protective gates of Jackson always left room for the unpredictable.

In the haze of your dreams, you faintly heard the click of the front door opening and closing, the floorboards of the stairs creaking with the ghost of muted footsteps. You stirred in bed, ears trained to pinpoint the noise, yet too stubborn to wake up entirely. A breeze entered the bedroom before you sensed something else sharing the space.

That’s when you felt the phantom touch of plush lips skimming along your hairline. If you weren’t awake then, you certainly were now.

“Joel?” A call of his name equivalent to a whimper at the sudden contact you craved. You caught the slight intake of breath and the exhale that followed.

“It’s me darlin’. Didn’t mean to wake you,” Joel spoke quietly, the peaceful baritone of his voice awakening you fully. As you sighed, you met his tired gaze with your own, bruised knuckles raising to brush your cheekbone affectionately.

“Things went okay on the patrol?” You questioned him, pleased that he was here with you in one piece rather than focusing on the fact that he came later than you’d like.

“Yeah, had to check something out with Tommy to be sure before coming back. I’m sorry honey, didn't want to make you stay up for me.”

Even if it was unintended, Joel felt guilty whenever he didn’t stick to his word. He was not much of a virtuous man, lived a large part of the past two-plus decades giving less of a shit about honesty and ethics. But when it came to you, it killed him when he couldn’t follow through on his promises, even if things weren’t within his control. The last thing Joel wanted was to upset you or make you worry, but no matter how many times he reassured you of his return, you still tried your hardest to wait for him to come back home, back to you.

“It’s okay, I’m just happy you’re here,” you blinked slowly as his voice filtered through the lagged mess of your head. Leaning your face towards his hand, you kissed the inside of his palm. “Go freshen up and come to bed; I’m cold.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled with a smile at your forgiveness, parting from you for a second and heading to the bathroom, not planning to make you wait any longer.

You watched his silhouette from where you lay on the bed, fluttering your eyes closed at the sound of running water. When the door opened again, Joel’s broad figure returned wearing a worn-down flannel and some fleece pants he had snagged long ago.

“Scoot,” he jutted his chin to gesture to the right side of the mattress, your side, suggesting to reclaim his on the left. Shifting to the right, you let him slip into the bed feet first, hauling the sheets to cover the both of you. A bulky arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you close to him, your body molding to his like a missing puzzle piece.

“Not too far now,” Joel grinned as you nestled right into his warm chest, seeking his attention and attempting to siphon more of his warmth. It takes you off guard how your nerves instantly settled once you had Joel near you again. In his arms, that was where you belonged—protected, loved, safe.

“I missed you,” you mumbled, eyes shutting to breathe in his typical musk. One of his hands cradled your lower back, thumb running circles into your skin.

“I missed you too, darlin’. Too damn much.” Joel kissed your forehead, drawing lines up and down your back with his fingertips.

His hand moved again from behind you to the front of your body, palming your stomach protectively. A smile crept up on his face as he felt your tummy under the material of the flannel you stole from him, the only thing you preferred for pajamas. The gentle curve of your belly was not yet prominent enough to be overly detectable, but he knew what you carried. Precious cargo. That’s what he called it after you both adjusted to the shock of adding to Jackson’s current population count.

“Still feelin’ sick?” Joel asked you in the room’s darkness, his eyes shifting to watch over your facial features. The moonlight illuminated the edge of your jaw and the roundness of your cheeks, and his chest ached at the thought of witnessing other growing changes over the next couple of months.

“Sometimes. It bothers me, but nothing I can’t handle.” You reassured him the best way you knew how, having to rely on Maria’s advice for all things related to childcare and Ellie being your new overly protective guard and nurse when Joel wasn’t around.

If someone had told you that you’d find yourself alive after the apocalypse in a safe community and pregnant at that, you’d consider them crazy. Yet here you were, carrying a man’s child when you least expected it, a man years older than you with memories of a reality you couldn’t experience or remember. But you didn’t mind; the end of the world didn’t leave much room for strict morals anyway.

Make the most of it. You don’t know when you’ll miss something once it’s gone.

Joel had told you that after the first few patrols you had with him once you adjusted to Jackson, growing comfortable with the stoic and quiet man who grabbed your attention everywhere he went. He shared stories of a time before the world fell apart, discussing things like watching the sunset, listening to music from artists you’ve never heard of, and sweet treats he missed tasting. Things changed after the seventh patrol together, where you saw him smile for the first time after successfully hunting some game for the town.

That night, one thing led to another. It started after some drinks, a hungry and messy kiss on your doorstep that led to clothes on the bedroom floor, and hands pawing at one another. You woke up the next morning with an arm wrapped around your waist and his nose rubbing the back of your neck.

Simply put, you haven’t left since.

“Oh, I know. Can handle a whole lot, strong woman you are.” Joel taunted you a bit, his memory fleeting momentarily and recalling the spitfire you always were with him in particular. He could never seem to tame your spunk and attitude, but he grew to love it like the rest of you.

“Mhmm, real strong, if you ask me.” You held his gaze with a gleam of mischief, bringing your body closer to his wide chest and tilting your chin upwards, silently asking for more than a cuddle.

“You tryin’ to tell me something I don’t already know?”

“I don’t know. Am I?” You were a tease, always have been, jerking Joel’s chain more than he cared to admit.

“Those hormones are messing with your head, darlin’. Got you acting feisty,” he smirked, shifting nearer to your face.

Curious hands reached up to curl through his thick, graying curls. The contrasting streaks along his temple became more noticeable as time passed, matching the graying beard you’ve come to love and adore. He hesitated to let his hair grow out initially, thinking he’d look too much like his younger brother. Much convincing later, paired with hiding the shears, you got the desired result, and now you were lucky enough to enjoy the fruits of your labor.

The kiss was velvety as it was intimate, your tongue lining his bottom lip before he groaned, granting you entrance into his mouth. You swallowed the rumble he released, drawing a path of your touch from his neck down to his lower abdomen. Antsy fingers itched to skim the waistband of the fleece that concealed him, reaching close to the hardness you felt before he seized your hand away.

“Aht aht, no. As much as I want you there, it’s bedtime.” Joel didn’t necessarily want you to stop. Hell, if it were up to him, he’d let you go to town on him however you wanted. But his energy levels were dwindling, and all he wanted to do after a long day was get some proper rest with you in his arms.

“But-”

“Sweetheart, if you let this old man sleep, I’ll wake you up to a real nice surprise in the mornin’.” It was an effortless proposition, easy to keep you at bay until the next day and enough to curb your insatiable appetite.

“Promise?” You beat your lashes at him, knowing the last thing Joel would do was deliberately not provide for your needs, even if that meant having to keep up with you physically.

“Pinkie swear.” Joel gave you another peck before letting you get comfy against his chest once more, cuddling into him as much as your growing belly would allow without being squished. You started to drift off as sleep called to you, listening to the gentle rhythm of soft beating in your ear.

“Breakfast too, Miller.” You murmured to him, peeping how he laughed in the dark with his eyes closed. The pleasant and lively sound made you smile and your heart pound.

“Oh, I’ll feed you. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

The peace in your bedroom matched the serenity that fell over Jackson. Now that you had Joel wrapped around you, you didn’t mind how quiet it was. So long as you have him, you can handle anything that comes your way.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

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un-lawliet · 1 year

Text

“He Knows”

— in which you’re avoiding Gojo and he wants you to tell him why.

(or i’m coping with rejection rn pls god help me)

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Huh?!” You jump back, almost dropping your pen as you turn to see frowning Gojo Satoru staring down at you expectingly, the usually relaxed demeanour he wore crumbling in the slight dip in his brow.

It wasn’t a question, Gojo stated it as fact, and if you looked hard enough, the downwards tilt of his lips could tell you about his complete (and utter) disapproval in his conclusion.

“I have no idea what you mean.”

You were running, sprinting even away from your problems.

Avoid, avoid avoid.

You refused to let it come to this, cornered in a library with Gojo Satoru, a man you definitely were not avoiding, nope not at all.

“You.” Gojo leans down, capturing your eyes in his, “Are avoiding me.”

And you’re leaning back, in your seat, away from him. Attempting to create any distance between the pair of you, unable to stand the giddy rush of joy that the proximity generated.

A moment passed.

And then another.

And deep down you pleaded, with conviction similar to that of a desperate man crying out for God, that the floor would fall in, taking you with it and allowing you some leeway to escape.

Gojo cocks his head, blue eyes scanning your panicked face before he sighs and stands back up again, resuming his position of elevation before you.

“Why?” His voice lacked the sentiment of interrogation, he couldn’t find in himself to dwindle on anger, he missed you and he selfishly wanted you to know it, to feel guilt in your mistreatment.

“Gojo.” You started, moving your eyes away from his face to glare at the book your reading instead.

Were you sweating? You felt like you were. Oh God.

Jujutsu sorcerers were not supposed to fall for another, it was an unspoken rule shared between sorcerers.

An unspoken rule that constantly plagued your thoughts when you were near Gojo. And so, you decided confidently to yourself that you could easily get over this silly personal flaw. Surely it would be easy.

But Gojo isn’t an easy man, and falling out of love with him followed that damn trend.

At every turn of your head, your gaze found his, longing for him to catch your eyes and reassure you with his presence, boisterous, like how he handles everything. And at night, when you tossed and turned, the cruel Summer heat forcing you to wither in your bed, you wondered if he could ever dream of you like how you longed for him.

It was pathetic really.

And so yes maybe you were avoiding him.

But you were doing it with good intentions!

You weren’t about to burden him with your childish wish for his unreturned feelings. Not in this world, under these circumstances, not when he was already holding the weight of being the strongest.

“Is there something bothering ya?” Gojo paused, “Cause y’know you only have t’ ask, and I could take care of it.”

And you wanted to cry.

Because Gojo Satoru is loud, and unabashedly himself, but he cares in silence, through actions hidden behind a loud laugh and a cocky grin.

“No, no it’s nothing really.” You had to do something, to say anything.

“Nothing? I haven’t seen you in days Y/N.”

“I’ve just been busy…” You mumble, fidgeting awkwardly in your chair.

“Oh yea? With what? Reading?” Gojo scoffed, his shoulders dropping in poorly hidden exasperation.

Your cheeks burned as you nodded, unable to form words, “And missions too I guess.”

“I asked Yaga, you haven’t been on a mission since September.”

Fuck.

“Preparations for missions then.” You cringed at yourself, lowering your head in the shame of being caught in your own shitty lie.

“Come on Y/N cut the bullshit.” Gojo all but whines, “I know somethings off, I know you.” You look at him then, his shoulder slumped, and face pouting, and you felt horrible.

“It’s really nothing Gojo I swear.”

“See there!” Gojo jumped, his eyes wide with determination, a look you only ever see on him in the middle of a mission. “You called me Gojo, you never do that, it’s Satoru to you, just Satoru.”

“You’re upset because I’m not calling you by your first name?” You asked, unable to break eye contact with him.

“You use to call me Satoru.” He huffs, crossing his arms.

You had to get out of there, the fact that your confession was all but resting on your tongue scared you beyond words, and you moved to pick up your stuff.

Then you felt his hand touch yours and your froze.

“What’s going on inside that head of your Y/N.” He was so close, so, so close. You could feel the warmth of his chest that was almost pressed against your arm, “Please.”

And you crumbled, because your weak and you could never escape the way you felt when he was near you, how you could barley hold yourself back from leaning into his chest and breathing in his scent.

“Satoru.” You whispered, your confession hushed, your head down and eyes closed, “I think I like you.”

And silence.

Silence.

Silence

And you were running walking away, avoid, avoid, avoid, your feet moving fast, abandoning the books you had brought because oh my god you had just told Satoru Gojo that you liked him and that was stupid, you’re stupid, everything was stupid and-

You were pulled back into him, effortlessly turned around so that your face was in his chest, the sound of his chuckling encasing your shameful state.

“The fuck are you laughing for?” You protested, unsuccessfully trying to wriggle your way out of his embrace, his arms circling you close.

“You’re pretty when you’re embarrassed y’know?”

And you had to hold yourself back from punching him right then and there, because of course Satoru Gojo knew you liked him, of course he was teasing you.

Nothing can escape those damn eyes, and he’s smarter than he lets on.

“You’re such an asshole I hope you know that, as soon as I leave this room I am never speaking to-’

Your rambles were cut short when you felt a tiny kiss on your forehead, and you finally looked at him fully, only to see the softest expression on his face as he looked down at you.

“I think I like you too Y/N.” He winked, his hand tracing the indent of your spine as he pulled you back into a hug, rocking you gently.

And you hugged him back, finally allowing yourself the closure you had dreamed of for months.

End.

feel free to leave a request !!

masterlist here <3

( authors note: do we all wanna hear a mini rant about how the girl i fucking adore just got a boyfriend and my heart is in SHAMBLES- anyway i wrote this to cope pls enjoy,,, i love u thank u for reading have a great day <3 )

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x reader #jjk leaks #hurt/comfort #soft gojo

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dilf-c0nn0isseur · 2 months

Note

hey it’s your best friend 😇

can i request a sub logan smut. pls. if not it’s okay. i just need to read something for once instead of writing it and your stuff has me on a chokehold!!

anyways love u!

anything for you bff🤭ilyyyy

sub!logan x fem!reader - SMUT! MDNI!

a/n: for the purpose of this specific writing, be aware reader possesses telekinetic abilities.

wc: 1.3k

After a long day spent out on a mission, Logan was now lying between your legs, his face resting on your lower abdomen. One of your hands was holding a book you were reading, the other mindlessly twirling around the soft, dark tufts of his hair. His tired eyes looked up at you from where he laid between your thighs. They looked drunk on affection for his lover, every inch of his body in a state of pure bliss as you continued softly playing with his locks.

You took a quick break from the page you were reading to glance down at the man nestled against you and were met with his infatuated gaze. “Hi,” you spoke gently with a smile. The harsh side of Logan that he showed the rest of the world was not the side of him that he portrayed while with you. Despite his unrelenting stubborn attitude and brisque nature, there was a soft spot that only you were lucky enough to experience.

“Gorgeous, gorgeous girl,” Logan murmured, his chin now resting just above the hem of your underwear. Your hand moved to caress his cheek. He nuzzled into it, eyes still fixated on yours.

“Tired?”

“Just wanna be close to you, Bub.”

The idea of him, tired and pining for your touch and affections after an exhausting mission, sent a wave of arousal through your body, down to your core which manifested itself in a wet spot that appeared against the thin fabric of your underwear. As much as you loved the dominant side of Logan that took control over you and had you answering to his every beck and call, it was just as erotic to see him fall under acquiescent spells such as this. Although this was quite rare for him, you enjoyed every last second of it.

Logan’s breath hitched in his throat as his next inhale caught the strong scent of your arousal, something he was specially attuned to with his gifted sense of smell.

“Oh, fuck,” he groaned. “You smell so good.”

You cocked your head down at him, an eyebrow raised. “You like the smell of my wet pussy, huh Logan?”

The sudden change in your demeanor made a lump raise in his throat. He was so used to having you wrapped around his finger that he was almost unsure of how to process these emotions. He indulged in another long inhale, his eyebrows furrowed at the scent radiating off of your body. “I don’t like it baby, I fucking love it.”

His hands traveled up to your sides, fingers hooking into your underwear at an attempt to slip them off. Instead of giving in just yet, you decided to take advantage of his unusual state of submission. Your book now forgotten on the bedside table, you used your hands as leverage to slide yourself back away from him, pressed against the bed frame behind you. Logan frowned at the space you just created.

“Get back here,” he grunted. Words that would usually have completely different meaning, his possession over you, now had a tinge of pleading laced in them. You caught onto this and an amused look fell over your face.

“Are you asking?”

He slid up so that he was on his knees, resting back on his heels. “You know I don’t ask-”

His retaliation was interrupted as you pulled your panties down to your knees, and then let them fall around your ankles. He let out a low hiss as you let one leg fall open, and then the other, revealing the sight of your dripping pussy. Your hand slid teasingly slow down between your spread thighs, running around your clit in circles. His lips parted slightly in surprise and his eyes were immediately captivated on the sight of you touching yourself.

“Fuck, I need to touch you.” His voice had grown shaky with desperation. He leaned forward, making an attempt to crawl towards you and satiate his need, but he was frozen still. When he realized what you had done, he let out a low, defeated moan. “That’s not fucking fair.”

A cocky laugh escaped your lips as you focused your mind on holding him still, the only contact made being his eyes on your pussy. “Am I hearing this right?,” you continued your charade. “Is Logan Howlett begging?”

Logan’s face began to flush with warmth, embarrassment but, underneath that, a hint of arousal. You released your invisible hold on him without warning and he stumbled forward slightly. His boxers grew tight around his forming erection. “Say ‘please’,” you pushed further.

He pressed his lips together and met your eyes again. When a few seconds passed with his hesitation to outright beg, you let a finger slide through your folds, from your clit to your entrance, and slip in. “Say ‘please’, and you can have it.”

“Fuck, please,” he all but moaned, rock hard now. “Please let me taste you.”

Your eyes glistened with satisfaction and spread your legs a little further, now inviting him in.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.” He said this unprompted, overtaken by his desire to taste you.

“Then get down here and prove it, Bub.”

Your mockery of his own phrase made him groan as he resumed his crawl up to your pussy. Before he had the chance to let his lips make contact with your clit, you slipped a hand through his hair, gathering it with a firm grip, and forcing his face into you. You heard a low whimper from him. A whimper. His hands flew to your thighs, not only for support, but for more contact.

“Show me how bad you wanted this.”

Logan planted a wet kiss against your clit, followed by him wrapping his lips around it, sucking. He began kissing down, and back up again. He was making out with your pussy.

“Slut,” you managed to hiss through clenched teeth. This earned a groan from him and he looked up at you through hooded eyes as he let his tongue flick back and forth against your now swollen clit. Your grip on his hair tightened and forced him closer against you. “Faster.”

He sped up his pace obediently. “How’s that?,” he managed to ask without stopping, his voice muffled and sending vibrations through your core. Logan was seeking your validation, wanting to know that he was pleasing you. Your head fell back against the pillow. “Just like that. Just like that, baby.”

Your approval only increased his desire to please.

Your free hand slid over his larger one that was gripping your thigh and forced it between your legs. With his tongue still working tirelessly at your clit, you guided his fingers toward your dripping hole where they easily slid in, with the aid of you pushing them in.

“God Logan, you’re perfect.”

This earned yet another moan from him. He began dutifully pumping two fingers in and out of you, curling them up to hit your sweet spot. “Fuck, right there, keep fucking doing that.”

You managed to lift your head up for a split second to drink in the beautiful sight at your hips. Logan’s jaw muscles strained as he fucked your clit with his tongue, his two fingers invisible as they worked at your insides, hearing the sounds that escaped him as he lost himself in his desire to please you. Seeing this pushed you towards your climax and he felt your walls tighten around his fingers.

“Let me finish you off,” he almost begged. “Want your cum all over my face.”

His dedicated pleads tightened that knot inside of your stomach and with a couple more curls of his fingers, his tongue never faltering at your clit, you came undone. Your back arched and your hips bucked into his face, praises falling from your lips.

“You’re so good, such a good boy for me Logan.”

As your orgasmed finished out, you cupped a hand to his cheek and lifted his face up to look at you. His lips glistened with your cum, his beard not spared. “God Logan, you’re perfect.” His head rested against your stomach, resuming how the two of you had previously been laying.

“All I ever wanna do is make you feel good,” he said, placing soft kisses against your skin. “I live for you.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x you #logan howlett oneshot #x men logan #x men wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine

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teaspacebar · 20 days

Text

spiced chai

pairing: carmen "carmy" berzatto x reader

summary: you've been living in chicago for about a year, and you're suddenly managing the coffee shop in the well beloved bookstore, nan's. you meet carmen berzatto on a not-so-good day. you're thrust into the everchanging societal landscape that is making friends in your 20s..

word count: ~9.7k

warnings: language, depictions of mental illness, barista!reader, afab!reader (but tried to be as neutral as possible), neurodivergent!reader, they don't kiss, could be read as platonic tbh but there's crumbs in there if you look, takes place over the course of a few months, probably doesn't follow canon fully (i'm not caught up yet forgive me)

a/n: *dumps this here and runs* but actually this piece of writing appeared in my brain and i've been picking away at it for a couple of months. i feel like i've put more of myself into this fic than with anything else i've written, so this is definitely more of a self insert (pls be kind or don't read if that's not your vibe). i'm queer, non-binary, and autistic and i just wanted to insert that into this space. i feel like there's more to explore here, so i might write more for this if i feel so inclined.

Meeting Carmen Berzatto was not on your to-do list for Tuesday morning.

Not that having to run down to the nearest corner store to grab milk - since the milk fridge was on the fritz…again - at 4am was in your plans either. It always seemed like one step forward, three giant leaps back with the little shop on the corner you basically called home. It was weird, to be thrust into leadership as your manager made an abrupt exit.

The small bookstore, with an even tinier coffee shop, had been your place of work for the last year or so. You loved it. The people were great, and Nan, the shop owner, was absolutely lovely. She was getting up in her years, but the genuine care she had for the employees made all the difference. She put her trust in you to run the cafe, saying “You have the experience, and the care you have for people shows. I know this. Everyone knows this. Now you just have to see it - have confidence.”

“Confidence my ass,” you mutter, carrying five gallons of milk around the corner.

What happens next might have been considered the beginning of a rom-com, but you’re a realist, and the world is shitty.

There’s a crash, and the distinct sound of three of the five gallons of milk dropping onto the sidewalk. You stare, watching in slow motion as the milk forms into a river, dripping off the sidewalk into the gutter.

The person who ran into you curses, “Shit — fuck, sorry, I—I wasn’t looking where I was…dammit.”

You grip the other two jugs in your arms, blinking out of the haze to let out a hysterical laugh. “Great…cool cool.” Cold plastic bites into your fingers, and you take a deep breath. “Yeah, okay, what else was gonna happen?” You finally look up to see the one you collided with. The man looks extremely uncomfortable, foot tapping like he wants to bolt. Plastering on a smile you shake your head, “It’s fine. I’m the one who thought carrying five gallons of milk would be fine.” You ramble on, trying to ease his nerves, “I mean — why would I drive, like, thirty seconds. Park, get the milk, come all the way back. Seemed stupid…but now there’s milk in my socks.” You grimace, fighting the urge to chuck the remaining jugs of milk in the street so you could also hurl your milk-soaked shoes and socks after them. It makes the ache in your chest sharpen.

“Here, where are you —“

You cut him off, “No, no, it’s okay. I got it, thank you.” You gesture to the door that’s just a few feet away from you. “This is me, anyway.” You adjust your hold on the milk, brushing past the man to pull open the door. You catch it with your hip, not daring to look back as you head behind the counter. You release a sigh, setting the bane of your existence on the black speckled marble.

“Fuck,” you whisper, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. You shake out your arms, biting your lip. “Okay, asshole, let’s get your shit together.” You quickly put the milk into the small fridge below the bar and walk to the back. The squish of your socks curdles your stomach, and you breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell. You take off your shoes, throwing them into a plastic bag to take home. Tossing your socks into the garbage, you grab your replacement sneakers and socks from your cubby. It wasn’t the first time you’ve dropped something on your shoes, it wouldn’t be the last.

You take your time in the back. You had gotten to the shop around 4am, unable to sleep. You were messing around with recipes, seeing if there was a possibility of baking some of the food in the cafe fresh, instead of outsourcing. It was something you put on your own plate, and you didn’t want to disappoint Nan. You had shown up early, looking to try out some muffins, and noticed the fridge had been hovering at sixty degrees all night. You’ll have to grab some more milk before the day starts, but that could be a problem for 8am you.

Walking through the swinging doors, you jump as you see someone at the bar counter. Pressing a hand to your fluttering heart, you finally take in the man that had run into you earlier. A mop of curly hair on his head, white tee, very blue eyes…and standing behind eight gallons of milk.

“Um…” you look between the milk and him a few times.

“The…uh – the door was unlocked. Figured I owed you one.” He rubs the back of his neck.

“How’d you even get it all here?”

“Made two trips.” His gaze snaps back to you as you laugh, this time more genuine. “Fridge go out, or somethin’?” You’re still staring at him like he has two heads, and he rambles on, “Sorry for just…barging in. I used to go to this place…when I was kid. My sister and I would grab whatever pastries they had left for the day. And, yeah, we’d just sit, read random shit. I work at the restaurant just down the street…’s why I ran into you. Wasn’t paying attention – sorry, again.”

Suddenly, it all clicks. “You own The Bear.”

“Uh, yeah – yeah, I do.”

You feel nervous, out of the blue. Nan hadn’t stopped talking about the Berzatto’s, and Natalie had become a regular while the restaurant was being remodeled. You’re sure you’d seen other employees come in as well, for reading material. You vaguely remember talking to a very sweet man about baking, as he carried a ton of cookbooks in his arms.

You knew Carmen Berzatto, but only through the words of others – and the research you did late one night because you were nosey. To have him standing in the bookstore you worked at, for him to have gotten you milk, is sending you for a loop. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you begin to put the milk in their new home. You really need to call the refrigerator guy again.

“That’s so cool,” the words fall from your mouth, others staying in your head.

It's insane that someone like him is even speaking to you. He’s around the same age as you; He owns a restaurant and you’re barely able to run a tiny coffee bar in a bookstore. You’re an idiot who dropped milk onto the sidewalk. Why didn’t you just take the car? You should’ve just taken the car. Now Carmen fucking Berzatto has bought you milk at 5am because he feels bad for you. How pathetic. Call the fucking refrigerator guy.

“Thanks…for the milk.” You back away from the counter, gesturing behind you, “Lemme grab some money from the cash box real quick.”

“No, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really fine, you didn’t have to go out of your way. I’ll be right back.” The itch creeps its way up your spine, and you push through the door as a shudder passes through you. You shake out the twitch, going and grabbing the cash box. You do mental math, trying to see how much you should give him. Did he even need the money? “Idiot,” you chide yourself. Today was not the day for your brain.

Snagging a twenty and a ten, you rush back out to the bar, only to find the store empty. A groan escapes through your teeth, and you clench the cash in your hands, crumpling it. You walk to the front door, peering out to see if you can spot the chef. He must’ve made a quick getaway. As you turn to get prepped for the day, you spot a brochure on the counter, far away from its home of the stand at the front of the bookstore. Eat Your Way Through Chicago!

Scribbled on the front is a phone number, and the words:

Fridge Ask for Fak Say Carm sent you

“Fucking fuck.” You whisper, a smile creeping on your face against your will, “Asshole.”

It’s later in the week when you hear the bell attached to the front door – ding! You poke your head up from where you're arranging some alternative milks under the counter, seeing a familiar blonde.

“Hey, Natalie!” You pop up, an easy grin appearing on your face. “Half-caff?”

She nods, “Please.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, you know.”

You ring her up quickly, then grab a pitcher to steam some milk for her latte. Natalie walks away from the counter to browse some books. The steam wand whirs, and you watch the vortex inside the pitcher. You touch the sides every so often, waiting for it to get to the right temperature. Making drinks is all muscle memory now, and you tamp the espresso grounds into the portafilter with precision. Wiping the excess from the lip, you lock it into the machine and press the shot button. As the shot pulls, you wipe down the steam wand with a wet cloth.

“Is this any good?” Natalie has come back over, holding up a book with a half-naked man on the front.

You laugh, “It’s a Nan recommendation, so…” The shots are poured into the paper cup, and you swirl the milk into it, doing a quick tulip design. You sprinkle a little cinnamon over the top, before placing it in front of the woman.

“Smutty then, for sure.” Natalie laughs, then does a little excited gasp when she sees the latte art. “It looks so good every time!”

“Thanks,” you reply, “Gets covered by the lid, but it’s fun to practice.”

“Too bad you don’t have for-here mugs,” she says thoughtfully.

“Ever the idea-haver! There'd be more spills to clean up – Nan would lose her mind if any books got ruined.” You point to the book still in her hand, “You want me to ring you up for that?” It was early enough in the afternoon that the only other person here was a part-timer, Jack, somewhere between the shelves stocking books. You had convinced Nan to upgrade to a different register system (which ended up saving money in the long run), so you’re able to ring up both books and café products at your register.

She shakes her head, sighing. “I barely have any time to read, these days. I was thinking about trying out audiobooks? I used to listen to them at my old job, but it’s way too loud in the kitchen for that to work out.” The latte goes to her mouth, a pleasant hum leaving her as she takes a sip. “You’re the best.”

“Thanks, Natalie.”

She squints at you, “It’s Nat, c’mon.” A big conspiratorial grin makes its way onto her face, “So, I heard that you got some help with your fridge.”

A sharp pain twists in your chest. “Oh, um…yeah.” You let out a soft chuckle, “It’s working, which is great. Neil was a big help.”

“He said you made him the best hot chocolate he’s ever had,” Natalie taps the counter with her pointer finger twice. “Said he didn’t know how you got his number, though.”

You shrug, wiping down the counter, “Nan had it. And the usual guy wasn’t calling me back.” Neil had told you the exact same thing, both about the drink and the number. Something had held you back from saying where you got the number from. Embarrassment, maybe? It felt weird, feeling like you owed anyone favors, or that things would be unbalanced. People usually never give without looking to receive.

“Frankie, right? He’s an asshole. Overcharges for everything.” Natalie doesn’t push you for answers, something you’re grateful for.

“Right! He disappeared one time and said he’d ‘be right back’ and then was gone for like, two hours! And he added that to his hourly!” The two of you giggle at the shittiness of people for a minute, when a ping causes Natalie to pull her phone from her pocket.

“I should run.” She reaches into her purse, and puts a five into your tip jar. “Thanks again!”

As she turns to go, you call out her name. “Would you - maybe - I have some extra muffins. The place we get them from gave us some of the wrong ones…or they’re a tad over baked, or something. I can’t sell them. Would you wanna take them with you?”

“That’s so sweet of you! Yeah, I’m sure they’ll get eaten up.”

You grab the box of muffins, handing them over to her, “Thanks.”

“Thank you, babe.” She leaves with a smile, and you look down to brush the flour off your apron.

“Hey, guys, I got some goodies!” Natalie sets the box of muffins on the table, where everyone is seated for family meal.

Neil immediately grabs the box, pointing to the sticker on the top, “You went to Nan’s? Man, I could use a hot chocolate right now.”

“I’m sure you can walk over there and order one, my love.” Natalie replies, waving for him to put the box back on the table.

Marcus snags two muffins, handing one to Sydney who is sitting on his right. Taking a bite, he stops chewing, eyebrows raised. “Dude,” he nudges the girl next to him.

“Dude,” Syd parrots, popping some muffin into her mouth. “Wait, woah.”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

“Nat, where did you get these?” Sydney calls to the woman now sitting at the end of the table. The muffins are passed down the rest of the table.

Marcus has started dissecting the muffin, “Macadamia nuts, sick.”

“Oh they’re from Nan’s just down the corner!” She tells them how you offered them to her since they were the wrong ones from a vendor and possibly over-baked.

Syd snorts, “Over-baked? These are perfect!”

“What’s perfect?” Carmy walks out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“Bear, come eat!” Natalie waves him over, pulling him into the seat next to hers. “You’ve been at it all morning, take a minute, okay?” She gives him a look that tells him not to argue, and he huffs in response, but does as she says.

“What’s perfect?” He asks again, taking the muffin box from Sweeps as it’s passed to him. As the cinnamon crumble topping hits his taste buds, he leans back in his chair. “Shit.”

“That’s what we’re saying!”

Syd and Marcus begin talking over one another, the dull roar of family making its home in Carmy’s ears. He has another bite of muffin, thumb swiping over the sticker atop the box.

Nan’s Books & Brews

Simple lettering, surrounding a doodle of a coffee cup sitting on an open book.

“When did they,” he clears his throat as he leans closer to Nat, “when did they start doin’ stuff like this?”

Natalie purses her lips, “Not sure, honestly. They only had that small coffee machine and that plastic pastry case when we were growing up, remember? I think they added the actual coffee bar right before Covid?” Carmy nods, looking out the windows, a curdle in his stomach.

“A lot’s changed,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Nat sighs, a hand over her stomach, “a lot has.”

A few weeks go by, as uneventful as they can be. You try out more recipes, and the staff of Nan’s is always sent home with one treat or another. Muffins, cinnamon rolls, croissants (which were a bust), and the like. Natalie is still a regular, and Neil has shown up to save your ass more than once. The brochure with his number on it taunts you from where it’s stuck up on the corkboard in the back.

Which is what has led you to standing in front of The Bear, a joe-to-go in one hand, paper bag in the other. An envelope burns in the inner pocket of your flannel jacket. Steeling your nerves, you knock on the door. Some yells are heard from inside, nicknames getting passed around like it’s a holiday dinner. You see a man walk towards you, in a nice suit, and he opens the door.

“Can I help you?” It’s not said unkindly, but there’s a look in his eyes that’s making you nervous.

“Coffee delivery?” You say sheepishly, holding up the coffee traveler by its cardboard handle.

“Richie, who’s at the - hey!” Natalie immediately smiles when she sees you, and you sigh a breath of relief. Things were easy with her; she had this amazing way of comforting you without even trying.

“Hi,” you wiggle your fingers, still keeping hold of the objects in your hands. “Wanted to say thanks for all the help Neil’s been giving me, and when Nan found out, she insisted I bring over some coffee for the team, so…”

“You workin’ at Nan’s?” The guy - Richie - asks.

“For the past year or so, yeah.” You reply, thanking Natalie as she grabs the paper bag from you.

“Let them in, Richie, c’mon.” She presses on his chest, causing him to back up with his hands in the air. “Come in! I’ve been meaning to ask if you wanted to come by for a tour.” You follow behind her, taking in the layout of the place. It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a sense of awe falls over you. She has you set the coffee traveler on the bar, letting you take the paper bag from her hands. You pull out a cup holder with two cups in it.

“One half-caff french vanilla latte for you and…a hot chocolate for Neil.” As if by magic, Neil pops through the door to the kitchen.

“For me?!”

You chuckle as he pulls you into a hug. When he pulls away, he grabs his cup with a happy sound, rushing back into the kitchen when “Fak!” is yelled.

“The fuck Fak get a coffee for?” Richie frowns, causing you to bristle. Natalie swats at him, beginning to explain as you continue to walk around the restaurant. As you pass by a wood table, your fingers tap on it, the sound echoing in your ears. It sends a shiver through you, and a small smile appears on your lips.

Natalie calls out to you, tearing your gaze back to her. People have begun to swarm around the bar, placing food on it, and your coffee is suddenly surrounded by things that smell amazing. “Did you want to eat with us, babe?” Attention turns to you, and the itchiness in your limbs reappears with a vengeance.

A tall man, wearing a beanie, grins, “Hey, those muffins were amazing, by the way.”

You sputter, “Oh. Um—“

“Tell the chef, or baker — whoever,” he laughs at himself. “They were fire.”

Warmth rises in you, “Yeah, I’ll pass it on.”

“Babe, lunch?” Natalie says again, louder this time. More of the staff have begun digging into their meals.

“No, it’s okay!” The corner of your mouth curves up in a small smile, this one less genuine than before. You begin to back up towards the door, a gnaw of guilt in your gut as Natalie frowns.

“Cousin! Food!” Richie yells out, followed by laughter from everyone else.

“I’m coming!” A familiar figure bursts through the kitchen door, “You don’t gotta yell like an asshole.”

Carmen Berzatto stops in his tracks when he sees you; the envelope in your pocket burns hotter. You look down at your shoes, but they just remind you of the milk dripping down the sidewalk.

“Carm,” Natalie introduces you, “they work at—“

“Nan’s.” Everyone chimes in, and you have to stop yourself from flinching. You look over at Carmy, eyes meeting.

There’s a moment where you feel like you’re going to get swallowed whole. The pipes are going to burst and water will fill up the room and you’re going to drown.

You walked straight into a den of hungry beasts, and you’re just a measly rabbit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” Natalie’s words are muffled in your ears, but you manage to shake your head.

“I have someone from books covering me, and they barely know how to work the espresso machine.” You force a laugh. It grates against your vocal chords. “It was nice meeting you guys, though.” With a meek wave, you turn on your feet and speed out the door. Rounding the corner, you keep walking until you’re sure they can’t see you. Veering into the alleyway behind the restaurant, you let out a shaky breath, leaning against the brick.

You press your thumb into the palm of your hand. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. Inhale, hold four seconds, exhale. It’s over before it starts, but your chest remains tight. A reminder, which will eventually dissipate once you're back in the shop.

The coffee bar, your shield; apron, your armor.

A door opening causes you to jump, startled. Your eyes meet blue, widening like you’ve been caught. “Sorry! I was just–” You push off the brick.

Carmen seems just as surprised as you, “No, s’fine.” He clears his throat, as the two of you settle into silence.

A fwip of a lighter. Four seconds. An exhale of smoke.

You’re unsure if you should leave, but it’s like the bottoms of your shoes are stuck to the ground. “Did you-” He starts, lifting up his hand that holds a lit cigarette.

You shake your head, “No, but - um, thanks.” Your fingers twitch, and you reach to pull the envelope from inside your jacket. Something that appears so insignificant, held out in the space between you. When he just stares, you wave it a bit, until he takes the envelope with his free hand.

“What’s this?”

“Cash, for the milk you bought.”

“You didn’t have to-“

“I did.” You bounce on your heels, “I should actually get going this time. Just wanted to give you that but…” He doesn’t respond, something you’re getting used to. You wonder where the man who rambled about reading with his sister at Nan’s went, but decide now is the best time to make your escape. As you start to walk toward the street, you turn, “The restaurant looks great, by the way. Good luck with the opening.”

“Good luck with the opening.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

"Let it rip, Bear."

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“-a complete waste of fucking time.”

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Carm.”

Natalie invites you to Friends & Family.

You don’t go.

The next month flies by. Marcus, Richie, and Syd have joined your little group of regulars. Richie even brings his daughter, Eva, whenever he’s able. She’s a joy and absolutely hilarious to have around. Richie has grown on you, the rough edges of him softening after a few cortados.

One night, he had rushed into the shop, Eva in tow, all but begging you to watch her for a few hours. He was supposed to be off for the day, to spend time with his daughter, but they’re understaffed at The Bear. A few weeks in, which confused you, but questions weren’t asked. You said yes - obviously - and had Eva help you with little things around the shop, until you close. The two of you bonded over a shared love of Taylor Swift while making muffins. By the time Richie came to pick her up, Eva was tuckered out in a loveseat, patchwork blanket tucked up to her chin.

“I owe you one,” Richie had whispered, holding his daughter in his arms.

You shook your head, “You deserve to have time with her.”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, bring it up with the Bear himself.”

You weren’t planning on it. The man is barely on your mind. Except for every time someone from The Bear walks in. They look drained, more and more each day. It’s a certain type of pain, to watch people – that once had so much life in them – lose the light that you felt so harshly the first time you walked into the restaurant. You hear inklings; mentions of a changing menu every night, nonnegotiables, and the like.

It worries you. It’s not your place - you’re more than aware of that. But you’ve come to care for these people. And by extension, some part of you wants to see how he’s doing. It’s an odd - biting -feeling. How strange it is, to know someone through everyone else’s eyes but your own. You have to fight back the urge to force yourself into the places you do not fit. You’re resigned to watching from afar, providing comfort behind your coffee bar. It’s what you’re good at. It might be all you're good at.

Some sick twist of fate decides to upturn it all one Friday night.

Carmy had stayed late, to nobody’s surprise. He’d been adjusting the menu, preparing it for tomorrow, when the flashes hit him. He decides to walk it off, popping another thing of nicotine gum into his mouth. He walks aimlessly, trying to push the overwhelming thoughts out of his head. The street is dark - most places being closed - but light pours onto the sidewalk, just a few feet ahead of him. Almost a reflex, he peers into the windows.

A laugh of disbelief - more a huff of air through his nose - leaves him.

You’re dancing, headphones over your ears, as you mix something in a large bowl. It’s unlike anything he’s seen - from you or otherwise. There’s a sense of freedom in your movements, so different from the few times he’d seen you before. The tightness in his chest lightens, some, at the sight of you so obviously in your element.

And you're looking right at him.

“Shit,” he mumbles. You tilt your head at him, doing a little wave. He lifts a hand in reply, and you point haphazardly at the door. Before he can respond, or walk away – anything, you’re heading around the counter. A click of the door unlocking, and you pull it open part way.

“Hey,” you say, a little loud. With a wince, you pull the headphones off to rest around your neck. Music can be heard – a muffled, upbeat song that he doesn’t recognize. “Hey,” you say again, quieter this time. Silence passes between you, and he watches your nose twitch. “…did you wanna?” You jut your thumb behind you. You’re almost unrecognizable from the first time you met, calmer, somehow.

“Yeah, sure.” The words come out, easier than he thinks, and slips through the door you hold open. You lock it behind him, turning back around to slide behind the counter.

You grab a muffin tin, beginning to fill each one with a scoop of the batter you had been mixing. You make quick work of it, pushing them into the small commercial oven, wiping your fingers on the towel that’s pulled through a loop in your jeans.

Leaning against the counter, you finally look at him, “Okay, Pick your poison.”

“What?”

“Coffee? Americano, latte, cappuccino?” It’s like you’re trying to read him, wanting to crack the spine of a book and see what’s inside.

“I don’t really do the…caffeine.”

You hum thoughtfully, tapping your fingers on the counter in some type of rhythm. “Can I make you something? Low-caffeinated, of course.” He nods. “Anything you hate?” A shake of his head.

You grab a cup and get to work. You’re singing under your breath - the song that’s playing from the headphones around your neck. With your eyes off of him, he takes a moment to actually observe the shop. Warm lighting, with dark wood bookshelves making it feel cozy without being too claustrophobic. There’s smaller tables, with different recommendations for certain genres. A sprinkling of string lights and hanging plants just adds to the homey feeling, one so different from the pristine, white kitchens he’s used to being in. So different from his own restaurant. The coffee shop portion is close to the front, dark marble countertops and a chalkboard menu - swirling letters describing monthly drink specials.

“Alright, order up,” you call out softly.

Carmy walks back up to the bar, eyeing the cup. Warmth presses into his skin as his fingers curl around it. You mention that it’s hot, to let it cool for a bit. Silence falls between the two of you - in a way he finds comforting. Your eyes flick between him and the counter you’re wiping down.

“Do you normally do this?” He asks.

“The making drinks thing, or the staying at the shop way too late thing?” You give a wry smile. “Could ask you the same.”

He scratches at his nose, “Noted.”

The minutes pass; you go about cleaning the shop, rinsing dishes and setting things up for the next day. It’s an art he’s well versed in. The muscle memory takes over for you, and Carmen becomes invisible. It feels nice, to just be in a place where nobody has anything to ask of him. He finally tries the drink. It’s good, milky, if a little sweet, but it eases the last of the sourness in his stomach away. A timer on your phone goes off, and you tug on a flowery oven mitt to pull the muffins out of the oven. Chocolate and spice invades his nostrils, soothing him even more. You grab one, hissing a bit since it’s hot, and put it on a plate, bringing it back over to him. Leaning over the bar, you reach for forks that are in a metal cup, right near Carmy. You’re close, with no care about being in his personal space. It’s only for a second, and then you’re back in your previous position.

“You can have some, as long as you promise not to be an ass about it.” You hold out a fork for him. The words cause him to cringe, but he takes the utensil from you.

He stares at the muffin, running his thumb on the underside of the fork. “How much trouble am I in?”

You shrink back a little, “W-what?”

He’s met you what - twice? Both times felt clunky, an awkwardness to the both of you. Here, it’s simpler. Under the cover of night, huh? A voice that sounds awfully like Mikey’s says in the back of his mind. His family won’t stop talking about you. Or drinking your coffee.

“The Bear,” he mutters. “They talk to you, right?”

You laugh, surprised. “Do you actually want to know?” You hold up a hand before he can reply, “Actually, no. They don’t talk to me. I see things, sure. But I’m not getting anyone in trouble with the boss.” You’re on the defensive, not even for yourself, but for his kitchen.

“They-They’re not in trouble.” One look from you and he deflates, sighing. “Okay, yeah. Just…just say something.”

“I haven’t even been to eat there.”

“You should come,” he says.

Another laugh - a scoff, more-like, “You think I could afford your place?” You bite your lip, pinching the bridge of your nose. After a moment, you continue, gently, “Do you have any fun?”

“Fun.” The word is like poison in his mouth.

“Yes, fun. I know that food service isn't the best, but it’s good to have fun, or to at least enjoy it.” You wave your hands around, “That family meal stuff you guys do? That’s so sweet, and you have a whole family unit going on in that kitchen, or whatever. If this restaurant is supposed to be the rest of your life, you should like it, at least a little bit, right?” Your torso melts into the counter, and you rest your head on your arm. “And like, maybe? Don’t change the menu every night, or something. It’s new, right? You gotta work out the kinks first before jumping in all-” you blow air out through your cheeks.

A beat of quiet, then, “The menu, huh?”

“Eleven thousand for butter?” You parrot back. At his frown, you hold up your hands, “I’m just a barista, what would I know?” You say it without heat, and yet he feels guilt crawl up his throat.

“That’s not-”

“I know, Carmen.” A sigh leaves your lips, “You asked, so I talked. Again, take everything with a grain of salt.” The words get softer, as if you’re talking more to yourself than to him, “Just remember who’s going down with you if it ends up crashing and burning.”

You stab your fork into the muffin, tearing it in half. He follows suit, lifting a bite of it to his lips. Spice floods his taste buds, and he grunts. You blink up at him, fork hanging from your mouth. He’s suddenly starving, and he eagerly gets himself another forkful. “S’good.” He mumbles through the food. Carmen watches as you process his words, pressing your lips together to hide a smile. You two finish the muffin, and there’s an ominous sense of peace that covers him like a blanket. “Thanks.”

“For yelling at you?”

Carmy lets the chuckle spill out, “If that’s what you call yelling…” He trails off, sobering, “Do you have fun?”

You hum, contemplating. “Yeah. I mean, it’s coffee, at the end of the day. It’s just nice to see people, to make their day a little better than it was. I like to try out new things, to create, to get recommendations.” You stop, seeing him staring at you, “What?”

“You’re different…from the other day, s’all.”

You’re perplexed, scrunching your nose, “Well I had a bad day, the first time. And I don’t do…well, with new people.”

“Unless you’re behind the counter.”

Your eyes widen, something flickering behind them, like he’s seen something you didn’t want him to. “Touche.” Checking your phone, you clear your throat, “Alright, we should probably get out of here if we want any semblance of sleep.” He follows your lead, as you flick off the lights, throwing you backpack over your shoulder. He waits while you lock the front door, small key dangling on a keychain. You turn, looking at him, before holding out a paper bag, “Muffin for the road?”

He grabs it, an odd feeling bubbling in his chest, “Oh - uh, thanks.”

You suddenly look sheepish, fiddling with the strap of your bag, “And if you’re out late again, feel free to stop by. If you need a break, or something.” A beat. “Oh, again, take what I said with a grain of salt, yeah? Just - maybe - try to take care of yourself a little.” You laugh nervously, and Carmy sees the truth of his earlier observation. You’re still more relaxed, but the nerves have crept in as you step outside your comfort zone. Something he knows all too well. “Anyways, have a good night - morning.” You shake your head, blowing a raspberry through your lips.

“Night. Get home safe.” He murmurs. You turn on your heel, walking down the street. He tightens his grip on the paper bag.

Take care of yourself.

At least enjoy it.

You should like it, at least a little bit, right?

Carmy doesn’t know if he truly remembers what liking cooking is like. He’s found little bits of it, in moving back home. In Marcus’ eyes as he creates something new. In Syd’s determination to make amazing food. There’s a passion there that he’s lost somewhere along the way.

He sees it in you, and it calls out to him - the tide being pushed and pulled by the moon. A curious feeling, gnawing at his stomach. A hunger for something he can’t make sense of, but he pulls the muffin out of the bag to eat on his walk home.

Carmy keeps showing up at Nan’s, usually late at night. You didn’t expect him to take you up on your offer, yet a smile graces your lips every time he does.

He was right, when he said you feel most comfortable behind the counter. You knew it, but having someone else acknowledge it felt…weird. Like you weren’t playing your part right. Yet it also felt good, to be seen.

Conversation between the two of you still feels stilted, occasionally, but you find comfort in the quiet moments. And the not-so quiet ones; with music playing at just above a reasonable level, you mouthing the words as you dance around behind the bar. The mask slowly slides off when he comes around, and it’s easier to be goofy.

You think it surprises him. He’s not quite sure what to do, when you’re cruising on the linoleum tile you call a dance floor. But he never tells you that you’re weird, or too much. You’ve maybe even seen him bite back a smile. You swear there’s dimples hiding somewhere — a fleeting thought that you let fly away before you linger on it too long.

“What do you think?” You’ve turned the music down, notepad on the counter, your favorite pen in hand. You click it a few times, sound satisfying the little itch in the back of your brain.

“Not sure if I’m a matcha fan,” Carmy murmurs. You nod, writing down his response onto the paper. It’s almost filled — you’ll have to turn to the next page soon — with different drinks you’ve had Carmy try, determined to find the right one. He’s harder to pin than others, something you’re not necessarily surprised by.

That's partially on you. You're unsure of how much to ask. How much could you poke the both metaphorical and literal Bear until it breaks? You've been enjoying your time, but you've yet to ask him how work is going. He doesn't ask you about your personal life, so why would you ask about his?

There's a curiosity there, though. To see what makes Carmen Berzatto tick. You fear the two of you might be a little too similar.

You turn to go back to cleaning your mess — the reason being a fresh tray of cookies cooling on the counter, when he says your name. “Did you get a new tattoo?”

Gaze flashing to the wrap you have on your arm, peeking out from the sleeve of your shirt, you turn bashful. “Oh,” you hum, “I did. It’s been on my list for awhile. I’m keeping it wrapped at work while it heals - god knows I spill everything all over myself.”

“Can I — What did you get?” He’s just as sheepish as you, a boyish glow about him. You’d never talked about tattoos before. His evidence is on his arms; yours are mostly concealed — easy to hide with the oversized button downs and jeans you wear.

You pull your phone from your back pocket, “Here, I’ll pull up a photo of it.” Placing your phone on the counter, Carmy grabs it, zooming in on the two-headed calf that’s found its home on your bicep. The tattoo is fresher in the photo, line work popping out against your skin. “The longest living two-headed calf lived 17 months. Her name was Gemini — a little on the nose, I think. There’s also this poem by Laura Gilpin, that just kinda struck me.” Your ramble tumbles off, a half smile pulling at your lips. “It’s sad, but the kind that makes you hurt in a nice way? If that even makes sense.” You wave a hand around, then reach to take a sip from his cup.

The matcha settles the nerves hiding under your skin, the earthy flavor dancing on your tongue. As you set the cup back on the counter, you point at his hand, “What’s that stand for?” Your own fingers twitch, fighting the urge to brush them across his own. “S.O.U?”

“Ah, sense of urgency.” He says, fiddling with your phone.

You laugh, quickly covering it with a hand, “Sorry, I — sorry, that just makes so much sense.” Before he can speak, you shake your head, “Not in a bad way, necessarily. It’s just so obvious how little work-life balance you have.”

“We’re literally at your shop in the middle of the night.” Carmen huffs exasperatedly, corner of his mouth curling up.

You hold your hands up, conceding, “Okay, I get it. Misery loves company - or whatever. God, we’re both crazy, aren’t we? We should get out more.”

He hums in response, tapping his phone twice to check the time. Anxiety swells up in your throat, and there’s something biting at your heels. The silence doesn’t feel comfortable anymore.

You said something wrong, the little voice in your head whispers. You lost the script and got too close and now he’s pulling back. How can you fix it? You have to fix it.

“What’s your favorite one?” His blue eyes glance up at you. Invisible hand squeezing your lungs, you stammer, “Tattoo. What’s the one you like most?”

His words come out softly, “A house boat. I, uh, got it before leaving Copenhagen. I stayed in one while I was over there, and put out water for an invisible cat.” Relief floods you as he talks. It’s the most he’s spoken about anything, and you see a glimmer behind his eyes.

It feels a little too close to home.

“You really loved it over there, huh?”

As if caught, he clears his throat, “It was cool…different.”

Different from Chicago, you don’t say. “I get that,” you murmur instead.

You knew what it was like, to run away. The need for escape pushing you into flight as the metaphorical dog chases the rabbit.

You wonder what Carmen’s dog was. Or is. If it’s even a dog at all.

“What about you? What’s your favorite?”

You’re pulled from your thoughts. “Oh! Um, it’s silly.” You worry at your bottom lip.

“You don’t—”

“No, hold on, it’s just,” you push yourself onto the counter with the palms of your hands. Carmen leans back as you swing your legs over the bar, letting your feet rest on the barstool next to him. You lean over, pulling up your pants leg to show the tattoo on the right side of your calf. He stares at it for a moment, confusion clear in his gaze. “See, I told you.”

“Is it a moth, or something?”

“Moth-man, Carmen. Mothman.”

“Am I supposed to know what that is?”

“He’s a cryptid. There’s literally stories of a Chicago Mothman.” He peers up at you in amusement, causing you to scrunch your face at him. “I swear on my life Carmen Berzatto, don’t be an asshole.”

“I’m not.” He laughs, and your chest loosens. You got Carmen Berzatto to laugh. “It looks good, the style is nice,” he gestures to your leg.

You smile, “Thanks.”

Nodding, he goes to sip from his cup. He makes a face, pulling it away from him, “Yeah, I don’t like this.”

He holds it out to you as you reach for it, laughter spilling from your lips, “More grass for me.” You drink, and let the cup rest on your thigh, fingers tapping on the plastic lid.

“I’m not…” Your head turns to look at him, watching as he runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not really good at this.”

“...at what?” You whisper, scared if you talk any louder you’ll scare him away.

“Talking? Not working? Who the fuck knows,” his hand leaves his hair and passes over his face.

“I’m not either, really.” You pick at your jeans, “But we’re trying, right? You come by more than I thought you would.”

“Really?”

You snort, “Dude, the first time I was surprised you even came in.” Gently, you add, “And you don’t have to be perfect at conversation to be friends with someone.” His eyes meet yours as you nudge his shoulder with your knee. “I’m weird, you’re weird, that’s okay.”

Carmen rolls his eyes good naturedly. His legs are bouncing, and you can almost see him chewing the word around before it finally leaves, “Friends?”

“Friends.” You affirm. Silence passes between you, until a growl comes from your stomach.

The man laughs, looking all the prettier for it, “You hungry?”

“Starving,” you groan.

He gets up from his seat, grabbing his denim jacket that’s hung over the chair on his left, “C’mon.”

It takes a moment, but it clicks. “Oh my god,” you gasp out, hopping off the counter. With a speed you only have during a lunch rush, you run to the back. You untie your apron, hang it up on a hook, and grab your tote bag. “Wallet, keys, phone…phone!”

“Out here!” Carmen yells. You grin, rushing back out to the front, bouncing on your heels. “You good?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You shake your keys with enthusiasm. He laughs as you both leave, and you turn to lock up. There’s excitement buzzing through you, like caffeine would if your brain weren’t wired a bit funky. A thought cuts through the haze, “Oh shit, I forgot to–”

“I got the trash.” The street lights reflect off his blue eyes.

Your heart twinges a little, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He gestures with his head, “Now let’s go before your stomach eats itself.”

“Hey Carm?!”

The man pokes his head into the office, one hand wrapped around the door, “Yeah, what?”

Natalie raises an eyebrow, “You busy?”

Carmy scoffs, “Yeah, Sugar, I’m busy.”

It’s lunch time. Marcus has pastries, Tina’s running prep. Syd is around…avoiding him. He tries not to think about it for too long. Richie is who knows where.

Fuck, don’t be an asshole, asshole.

Deflating, he asks, “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“I’m spending my hour of alone time figuring shit out here, while Pete watches the baby.” His sister sighs, glancing down at the paperwork on the desk, “I’m managing. Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

He wants to ask about the baby. His niece. But Natalie barrels over the topic to say, “Were you here late the other night?” He must have made a face because Natalie sighs, exasperated. “I know you stay later than everyone else, doing god knows what, but I got a notification on my phone the other night-“

“What notification?”

She rolls her eyes, “The alarm system, dummy. I get alerts.”

“No, yeah, I get that. But I turned it off.”

It could only be from the other night, when he brought you back to the restaurant. He’s not sure why he did — he almost had a panic attack in front of you while debating what to make. It's strange, how much an environment can affect someone. Nan's feels so comfortable to him now, like nothing can happen to him when he's in those four walls. Where was the last place he felt like that?

You don’t need to impress anyone, Carmen. It’s just me, you had said.

Simple words that cut through him like a knife. You asked for comfort food, so he made you grilled cheese with tomato soup. The little dance you did every time you took a bite relit a fire inside of him that had been burnt out by years of working in kitchens.

“I know. I’m asking because the alarm was set, and then you turned it off again a few hours later.” Natalie unlocks her phone, showing him her screen that has some app pulled up with timestamps on it. “Are you sleeping? Look, I know things aren’t great right now—" Natalie cuts herself off with another sigh.

“It’s fine. Things are fine.” At her pointed look, he holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m working on it, okay? Just…are you good? Do you need anything?”

“About 48 hours of interrupted sleep would be great.” Her gripe falls off into a laugh, which he returns.

Stepping into the room further, he pulls the door closer, just a slim crack of clean white light coming through. “I’ve been a shitty brother lately.”

“No…” Natalie snorts, “Okay yeah, a bit. I love you, though.”

He mumbles the words back, tapping out a rhythm on his thigh, “Maybe I could come by, sometime. See the baby.” It’s a blessing and curse how his chest aches when he sees the way her eyes light up.

“I’d love that, Bear.”

“Yo, delivery!” Marcus yells out, pulling the attention of the Berzatto siblings.

“The fuck?” There isn't supposed to be a delivery today.

Natalie gets out of her seat, “Oh thank god.” She ushers Carmy out of the office, pushing past him into the dining room. He follows after her, confused, only to stop in his tracks.

You’re here.

You stand next to Richie, talking animatedly, albeit shy. You’re wearing clothes he doesn’t regularly see you in, the worn denim jacket catching his eye in particular. It’s clear that you aren't working, yet you hold two cups from Nan’s in your hands, a few drink carriers littering a table.

“You’re literally my savior, thank you.” Natalie pulls you into a hug, and you look at Richie with wide eyes. Carmy has to hold back a snort at your expression.

“You should expect this reaction by now, kid.” Richie takes a sip from his drink when you gape at him in exaggerated outrage.

“Shut up, Richie,” Natalie is barely paying attention, saying the words more out of habit. Grabbing a cup from a drink holder, she says, “You’re coming home with me.”

Giggles bubble from your lips, and you go to cover them with the back of your arm. There’s a pull Carmy feels, instinctual, to urge your arm away from your face and hear your genuine laughter fill the room.

Your eyes meet his, finally noticing that he’s there. The smile you give him is earnest, a gentle hello without words. He forces his feet to move, closing the distance. Carmy blatantly ignores the looks both Richie and Natalie are making. You hold out the cup in your hand - the one you weren’t drinking from - and he takes it from you.

Condensation clings to the sides, his name hastily written on the side.

⋆⁺Carmy!⁺˚⋆

There’s a heart in place of the dot at the bottom of the exclamation point, little stars doodled around his name. His stomach flips.

“Iced?” He swirls the drink in hand, mixing it up.

You shrug, “Thought I’d try something different. It’s hot outside.”

“You off?” Bringing the straw to his lips, he hums at the taste. You’re watching him eagerly, head tilted to the side as you wait for his review. “This is nice.”

Squinting at him, you huff, “Not perfect, though.” You type something into your phone — most likely to add to your notebook later. “Had to run some more syrup by the shop. Saw Natalie’s car on the street so I texted her to see if she wanted something to drink. I have errands to run after this.”

“You a regular too now, Cousin?” Richie barks, and Carmy watches as you remember where you are. Who you’re with.

A protectiveness rises up in Carmen, hating the way you recoil into yourself. “Fuck off, Richie.” He looks over at you, “Hungry?”

“Dude, we got shit to do.”

“Richie!” Natalie hisses at the older man, shoving him back toward the kitchen. She calls back to you, “Thanks for the coffee! I promise I’ll come by when I feel more like a human again.”

The customer service clicks into place behind your eyes, “Take care of yourself! Hope the baby is doing well!” Once it's just the two of you, you sigh, knocking the heels of your boots together. “I should get going.”

Carmen nods, “Can I grab you a sandwich, first?”

“Grilled cheese?” You tease, stifling a smile.

He huffs, shaking his head, “Nah, but Ebra’s got window right now. I could throw something together real quick.”

“You don’t have to do that.” He glances down; you’re pressing your thumb into the middle of your hand. It's uncanny, the semblance of himself that is mirrored in you.

“I know.” He wants to, though. “Give me five minutes?”

A moment of hesitation, then, “Okay.”

“Cool.” And he’s off.

Chaos erupts the minute he’s back in the kitchen.

“Since when did the two of you become buddy-buddy?”

“Can we please get back to work? Richie, respectfully, what are you doing back here?” Syd is working on pasta, flour covering her work service.

“I got shoved outta my space, so here I am,” Richie waves his hands around.

The overlapping voices turn into white noise, and Carmy inhales sharply, “Fak!”

“Yes, chef!” Neil appears out of nowhere. Sometimes Carmen thinks there’s a series of underground passages that makes it so easy to get ahold of him. It’s not that crazy of a notion.

“Go and say hello to them, okay? I’m gonna throw together something, give it to them, and then I’ll be right back.” The last part is meant for everyone to hear, but is pointed more toward Richie. “Seriously, just leave it, alright?”

“I’m leaving it,” Richie snarks, but nudges Fak with his elbow. “Think there’s a drink out there with your name on it anyway. Snag me another one of those apple-donut-things too, eh?”

“Fritters!” Marcus calls out from his station.

Carmy sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s queasy; he’ll have to take some pepto later.

Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale.

Let it rip, Bear.

Neil barrels into you, wrapping you in a hug. He talks your ear off for the next couple minutes; you smile when you need to, laugh when you remember.

The yells from the kitchen are playing on repeat in your ears.

They’re talking about you.

The urge to flee tickles the back of your throat. You thought it would be nice to stop by and bring Natalie a coffee, but then you had felt bad about not bringing anything for everyone else, which turned into you jumping behind the bar to make ten drinks. It’s not like you were going to make Morgan, the barista on shift, make them all.

You always had a hard time not working on your days off.

“You should absolutely come!”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.” You reply, still not fully checked back into your conversation with Neil.

He smiles, “Great! I’ll send you the info!”

Before you can ask what you actually agreed to, Carmy pushes back into the room, to-go container in hand. “Hey, uh, Fak, can you go take a look at the toilet for me?” You barely notice Neil leave, focusing more on how your chest releases as Carmen walks closer to you.

He hands you the container, and you murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

“I’ll walk you out, yeah?”

The thought is nice. Glancing behind him, you see Natalie and Richie watching through the window. “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.” You take a step back just as Carmy reaches out to you. You can’t run, they’d see you. Ask questions. They probably see a caged animal.

“Hey,” he whispers your name, “it’s just me.” He’s repeating the words you said to him the night you were here. You tear your eyes away from the kitchen, looking at him. “Lemme walk you out?”

With a nod, you let him guide you out the front door. The warm summer air washes over your skin, and you take in a deep breath. You count the lines in the sidewalk as you pass them, sipping at your iced latte. “It was cool of you to come by,” Carmy says. “And your jacket’s dope.”

He’s trying to make you feel better.

“Did you just say dope?” You peek over in his direction, catching his shrug. “You’re so old.”

“Fuck off,” he laughs, and your smile widens.

You make it to your car, a little thing that has a new problem every other week. It’s been with you for years, moved with you to five different states. More of a sentimental object, than a real mode of transportation. You mostly used CTA these days if you were able, but it was nice to have a car for when you’re running errands all around the city.

“Sorry if they bothered you,” he apologizes, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“No, no, no,” you push out the words, throat tightening, arms hugging your middle. “I thought I was going to try to be a human today. May have jumped the gun on that one.” Fiddling with your keys, you continue, “It was nice to see you. Thought you might be a vampire or something, since I only ever see you at night.”

The joke causes Carmy to roll his eyes, “Is that considered a cryptid?”

You perk up at the word, “Oh, don’t get me started.”

He smiles big enough for his dimple to appear, “Oh, yeah?”

“Unless you want me to talk for hours on end. I’ll make a power-point presentation and everything.” You might already have one in the works, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You could - I mean, it wouldn’t bother me. If you did, you know?”

You blink a few times, frozen in shock. He looks shy, almost. Like the first time you met him, but there’s something between you now. A plant that will keep growing - might even bloom - if the two of you keep watering it. He keeps pecking away at your carefully crafted walls that let people see exactly how much you want them to.

Carmen Berzatto keeps seeing you. Whoever that is.

He coughs, scratching the side of his head. “I’ll see you later?”

“You know where I’ll be.”

“Yeah.”

You walk around to the driver’s side of your car, opening the door. You slide in, turning the key to let your car sputter to life. You roll the windows down, and music starts to blare from your speakers. “Kick ass tonight!” You yell the words as you pull away from the curb. You spare a glance in your rearview, watching Carmy wave before he starts walking back to his restaurant.

When you're parked outside your apartment, it hits you. You dig into your tote bag, pushing aside old receipts, chapstick tubes, and fidget toys. You cheer to yourself as you pull your notebook out, favorite pen hooked over the cover. Flipping to the back, you stare at the list of drinks you've had Carmy try.

You think you want to keep seeing him, too. Whoever that is.

You scribble at the bottom of the page, circling it twice.

Spiced Chai ~ HOT, xtra cinn

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fanfic #neurodivergent!reader #— moth writes

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yeosgoa · 5 months

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10:11 • ғᴇ̀ᴄᴏɴᴅᴇʀ (NSFW)

♡ assistant!Hongjoong x witch!afab!reader

♡ academia, witch, smut

♡ WC • 3845

♡ Warnings!! (tags) • Sex potion, witchcraft, swearing, kissing, praise, spit/drool, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, edging, overstimulation, handjob, titjob, blowjob, manhandling, fingering, creampie, breeding, lactation, multiple positions, anal, knotting, semi-public sex, mutation, vampirism, reader wears long nails, reader has fangs, reader is implied to be shorter than Hongjoong. (pls lmk if I missed anything.)

♡ A/N: this isn't proofread, will do sometime in the future. féconder means fertilizer/pollinate in French if I'm not mistaken. Any French speakers feel free to correct me.

♡ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ

ೋ❀❀ೋ═══ ❀ ═══ೋ❀❀ೋೋ❀❀ೋ═══ ❀

The rain pattered on the window rather heavily. You and your assistant, Hongjoong were in your school’s greenhouse, while you finished up on your latest potions and he read to you.

“It is the eve of St. George’s Day. Do you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway? Do you know where you are going, and what you are going to?” Hongjoong recited, pacing slowly back and forth behind you. The novel ‘Dracula’ is in his right hand while his left hand rests behind his back. His glasses perched right on his sharp pointed nose as he tilted his head to the side continuing. “She was in such evident distress that I tried to comfort her, but without effect. Finally, she went down on her knees and implored me not to go; at least to wait a day or two before starting. It was all very ridiculous but I did not feel comfortable. However, there was business to be done, and I could allow nothing to interfere with it. I th-”

“Yes come here, business,” You interrupted right then, beckoning him over. Hongjoong placed a ribbon in between the pages before closing the ages-old novel. He walked over to you until you were side by side, and he looked down at you.

“Yes, darling?” He raised a brow a bit, watching as you poured a yellowish iridescent liquid into a rather small goblet. “What's this?”

You handed him the goblet, looking up into his eyes, “it’s supposed to suppress arousal.” You inform, turning back to the pot where you grabbed a bottle to store the rest in.

“It’s supposed to make me not horny?” He clarifies, looking intently at the potion. You nod in response, “Exactly.”

“How long is it supposed to take effect?” Hongjoong takes a smell of it, it smells of Gingko Biloba, Red Ginseng, and Yohimbe. There’s also a dollop of a poppy scent in there too. “I’m not sure, we'll just have to see.” You reply, watching the rain pour outside.

Hongjoong takes a swig, swallowing the potion that felt rather thick in his throat. The taste itself was bitter but sweet. He could get past it.

“It tastes like…like-” “Anti-horniness?” You turn your head a bit to notice a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Very much.” He answers, smacking his teeth. “What purpose was this for by the way?”

You paused, thinking about it. Truth be told you actually weren’t sure why, but you could list reasons as to why. “Hmm…” You trailed off. “Maybe for uh… people who struggle to keep it in their pants? I don’t know. People who struggle with sex addiction?” Hongjoong nodded slowly, “I guess that could make sense.”

There was a comfortable silence passing for a few minutes before Hongjoong felt his slacks tightening. Was this supposed to happen? He believed not, the potion is an arousal suppressant. He opted to keep it to himself, figuring it would go away quickly and that this was just a part of the process.

However, more minutes passed, and Hongjoong’s breath grew heavy as his slacks suddenly felt twice as small. He let go of his novel and looked down at the floor. “...Y/n?”

“Yeah?” You kept your eyes on your own spell book, skimming through pages without actually reading them. Your back was faced towards him, bent over the counter. His eyes fell on your ass which your long, tight godet skirt shaped perfectly. His breath hitched, his skin growing hot.

“I… I don’t think this is a suppressant, Y/n.” He states. His cock is visibly hard, fighting against his slacks.

“What do you mean, Joong? I-” You turn around to see the view. His cheeks flushed red, visibly sweaty under the layers he wore. His hands gripped the counter, and he gulped. “R-Read that spell again.” He stutters.

You grab the spellbook, turning back to the page where you followed the steps to create the suppressant. Looking at the header you creased your brows. “Joong, it says aféconder, that’s a suppressant.” You say, feeling bubbling in your stomach. Hongjoong felt his stomach tighten himself, he shook his head. “No… it can’t. Let me see the book.”

He leaned over and grabbed the book, skimming over the page with a deep sigh. “... oh Y/n…” he closes his eyes, placing the book back down. “Y/n, this is féconder. The ‘a’ was a stain.” Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose, turning away from you.

You felt your mind slap you right across the face, and you rested your head in your hands, propped on your elbows. Your hands ran across your face, and through your hair, as you let out a soft but low groan. “Sorry, Joong,” you whisper, and you feel his hand rake up your back. “There has to be a way to reverse it, right?” he mutters, his voice huskier than usual.

“There’s no spells in this book that could reverse it, I believe.” You reply, flipping through the spellbook. “But… but we could try something else…?” You suggest, turning your head to look at him.

“Like…?” He trailed off, brows creased. You turn to fully face him, and hesitantly you reach for his trousers. “We could do this the natural way…” you whisper, not wanting to make it awkward.

Despite Hongjoong’s obvious distress, he looks at you with an unsure look. “We’re in public, Y/n,” he says, looking around the greenhouse.

“But no one’s around, right?” You also look around, the rain had gotten heavier, and the doors to the greenhouse were closed. It was just you, Hongjoong, and the plants, along with the dim lights inside.

Hongjoong gulped, feeling the knot in his stomach twist more before he nearly whined. “Please help me…”

You didn’t waste time, he looked miserable. Your hands fumbled with the button and zipper of his trousers, then unclipped his suspenders. Your long, black French almond nails raked against his stomach, making him tense up. Hongjoong looked down at you as you cupped his painfully hard bulge, his eyes then fluttering shut as you rubbed him with your palm to at least soothe him.

He let out a sensitive whimper. His hand then grabbed your jaw, pulling you up as he swooned down for a kiss, encasing your lips in his. At that moment your hand squeezed at the wet bulge in his underwear, feeling the beads of precum against your palm.

With your finger hooked onto the waistband of his black underwear, and with one swift motion, you tugged it down to his midthighs. Pulling away from the kiss you cupped your hand under his lips, making him spit all his excess drool into it before taking his leaking, wet cock into said hand.

Hongjoong whimpered again softly. Hair was already sticking to his sweaty forehead due to how strong the aphrodisiac was. He felt like he could cum untouched, but at the same time, it felt as if everything was holding itself in. The tip was drooling and deep red as if irritated, and as you started to pump his cock into your hand you could feel the veins on his shaft pulsating. You looked up at him, his pretty pink spit-covered lips slightly agape. He breathed like he was making noises, but only small broken whines and deep breaths left him. Certain strokes elicited no noises at all, his chest tightening and making him freeze, breath caught in his throat.

Your eyes visibly dilated at the sight. He’s so pretty it hurts. You’ve taken note of your long-time friend, who was also your assistant’s beauty before, but you opted to keep the relationship platonic. This… is platonic, right? Having his pretty cock in your hand as he silently begs you to take care of the problem you caused him with your stupid mistake. Your honest but dumb mistake. A part of you was lowkey grateful about your unconsciousness though, because then you wouldn’t be here so close to him, seeing the drool dribble down his chin and eyebrows creasing in pain and pleasure. You could feel heat pool at your core, slick dripping onto your panties.

“You alright, pretty?” You cooed softly, your free hand cupping his shoulder, your thumb rubbing against the fabric of his dress shirt. He let out a subtle nod, whining like a bitch in heat. The noise made your clit throb, your hole clenching around nothing. “You’re so pretty, Joongie..”

You picked up the pace, running your thumbpad over his slit every time your hand got to his cockhead. You made sure to let your long nails brush against his full, purple-hued balls, and occasionally you would swoop down to massage them for a few seconds before coming back up and pumping his shaft again. Hongjoong sucked in a breath, biting the inside of his cheek. Your hand that was once on his shoulder went to the back of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

Hongjoong slid his tongue into your mouth immediately. You could taste the bitterness from the potion when your tongue slid on his, forcing it into his mouth and running over the roof. Both moaned into each other’s mouths, and you grabbed his jaw, pulling back to spit in his mouth. Hongjoong swallowed it without hesitation, his hands trembling as his grip on the counter tightened.

Your grip on his cock tightened. Your fingers felt every vein pulsate under your touch, and the shaft twitched. Your thighs shut against each other, and the hot slick gushed out your hole onto your panties, making a wet spot. You could feel a weighed pool, the aphrodisiac now in your system since you kissed Hongjoong.

Eventually, you let off and unbuttoned your black Lolita-styled dress. Crossing your arms your fingers pinched at the shoulders of your sleeves, pulling them down until your breasts were exposed. Leaving a gentle kiss on his jaw you grazed your fangs down his neck, undoing his button-up and taking it off him. Hongjoong’s skin was covered in sweat, red and hot to the touch. His nipples erect under the caress of your hands, the buds feeling hard enough to hurt without any stimulation.

Lifting your skirt you kneeled before him, making him lean against the counter for a better angle. You pulled off the rest of the top of your dress, bunching it to your waist as you unclipped your bra as well. Hongjoong’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked down at you.

“W-What are you doing now?” he stuttered, watching you drool onto your tits. You look up at him and his lost expression, shaking your head. “Helping you, Joongie,” you mutter, rubbing your saliva over the valley of your mounds. Your hands running over your nipples make you moan, your cheeks heating to a pink flush. Hongjoong stutters out incoherent babbles, and his words are caught in his throat when your tits encase his cock between them, your mouth sealing around the cockhead. Hongjoong’s lips formed an ‘o’ shape, drool falling and directly hitting your tits.

You start to move, tongue swirling and gliding up and down his slit and tip, the salty, pearly beads of precum leaking into your tastebuds. Your hands hold firmly onto the sides of your boobs, guiding them up and down his shaft as your mouth goes to work on the head. Hongjoong’s shaky hands move from the counter, one raking up to move his wet hair and the other firmly seated on your head.

“Y/n,” He moans out prettily, petting your hair. Your eyes flutter shut, focused on making him feel good while also trying to relieve him of the rather painful aphrodisiac. You moan softly around his cock, the vibrations of your hum making his balls tighten. Hongjoong whines out a pathetic “mm’ sorry-” before grabbing your head with both hands and shoving his cock down your throat. Your tits drop out of your hands and you choke a bit, taking a deep breath through your nose as he thrusts rather soppily, creaking out little ‘sorry’s and ‘please’s back to back. His voice cracked a couple of times, whimpering out your name. You grab onto his thighs, nails digging into the sides of them.

Your chokes and gags on his cock echo throughout the greenhouse. The rather humid heat inside makes you yourself sweat as your hair sticks to your forehead and cheeks. You swallow around his cock, his head rubbing against the wet, plush oropharynx.

“G- I- gonna- gonna cum Y/n. m’ so close m’ gonna c-cum,” he whines, his thighs tensing up. He unintentionally pulls on your hair, making you whine out as tears sting your eyes. Your teeth nearly bite down on his cock, the slight graze making him stutter his hips.

‘F-Fuck do it again-” he whimpers. You suck and graze your teeth again over the veins of his cock, and without warning he spills into your mouth. You pull off, choking. His hands move to his cock, jerking desperately as his cum paints your face and hair. You squirm on your heels, your heels digging into your ass. You open your eyes and watch the last of his cum leak out, and you felt your nipples swell at the sight. Like before Hongjoong now grabbed your jaw, spitting whatever aphrodisiac he had left into your mouth. You swallowed, it was fair game.

Getting up onto your now aching feet you let your dress pool at them, leaving you in your lace white panties. Both of you breathed heavily, your head against his chest as your arms ran down his biceps. His hands cupped your ass, pulling down your panties as he pressed his knee against your cunt.

You whimpered, his knee rubbed against your clit before he lifted you up, sitting you down on the metal counter. The heat made you wince, sucking your teeth.

Hongjoong gave you no time to adjust, he hooked his arms under your knees and dragged you to the edge, opening your legs up for him. “H-have t’ fuck you,” he muttered, his cock still rock hard despite cumming seconds ago.

Your eyes met, irises fully taken up with dilated pupils as if you two were cats. You whimpered, and he spit on his hand, gathering your juices as he slid his hand up and down your slit. He entered a ringed finger into you, the cold silver eliciting a hiss from you. Pulling out he entered a second finger, both his ring and middle fingers curling up inside you. His fingers weren’t all that long but it felt so good. He managed to find spots inside your spongey walls that you hadn’t touched without having to go deep inside you, he was skillful in this as much as he was skillful with his large grand piano that he composed his music with.

Hongjoong’s cock rubbed against the metal counter, the hot metal sending shivers down his spine as he felt his cock swell.

When you had enough, you pulled off his fingers, grabbing his waist and pulling him to you. Hongjoong got the memo, slapping his wet cock onto your clit a few times before slowly inserting himself into your hole, making both of you let out loud gasps and whines. Hongjoong was average, about five and a half inches, but you could swear that when he went inside you you felt him grow to at least seven, or eight. His newfound girth stretched you out deliciously, and his manicured, painted nails raked against your thighs. Tears pricked at both your and Hongjoong’s eyes. He sniffled, his nose turning a shade of pink.

“Fuck,” You whispered, laying against the counter. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting a couple of stray tears fall. Your gummy walls fluttered around him a few times before he started to move. His hands went to your swollen tits, fondling and massaging them. His palms were sweaty and covered in cum, fingers pinching and pulling at your nipples turning the hard buds to an irritated shade of red.

With every languid thrust, he hit deep inside you, balls touching the rim of your puckered asshole. The squelching noise of him moving inside you along with the soft claps of his balls against your ass made you feel lightheaded. Your assistant sniffled again above you, hand moving down to your waist as he started picking up the pace of his thrusts.

Your hands moved to your fluid-covered face, covering your teary eyes as his cockhead hit into your cervix snuggly. You sniffled, opening your eyes to look up at the man above you, rutting into your pussy like a pup in heat.

“You feel so good,” He sniffles, swallowing down whatever pathetic sound he may produce next. His head is thrown back, then falls forward as a babbling whine leaves his lips. “Wan m-make you feel g-good Y/n.”

He sucks on the two fingers he used inside you before and rubs them on the rim of your ass before gently pushing inside. You gasp, moaning out loudly as he starts to move them rather languidly compared to his thrusts. The feeling of his cock hitting the right spots inside you quickly and his fingers in your ass going slow made you micro-orgasm, clenching around him as the genuine knot started to build in your tummy. “J-Joong-” You whimpered, before fluttering around his cock as you came, legs tensed up and wrapped around his waist. “Fuck it feels so good,” you sniffle again.

Pulling his cock and fingers out you quickly sat up, shoving Hongjoong to a nearby discarded chair. You stumble off the counter, holding his shoulders as you open his legs, and hike a leg over his lap. Grabbing his face you stamp your lips against his once more, sinking down onto his cock. Despite just being connected the stretch makes both of you moan into each other's mouths, Hongjoong letting out a guttural, broken cry.

You started to hump your clit against his pelvis, but that soon turned into bouncing heavily on his cock. The sound of wet slapping skin resonated loudly throughout the greenhouse, along with a now sobbing Hongjoong along with you. The rain attempting to drown out your sounds was almost futile, your head spinning and ears ringing. You didn’t want to stop, and neither did he. He pulled away from the kiss and grabbed your hips, guiding you up and down his shaft at his own pace.

“Joong!” you cry out, holding the top rail with tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. His hands were firm on your hips, fingers tight enough you were sure it would cause bruising tomorrow. Your ass collided with his thighs harshly, causing red marks to appear on your plush and flushed ass cheeks.

Lifting you and slightly hurling you over his shoulder, Hongjoong held your thighs, keeping your legs apart as he began pistoning up into you. You moaned at the sensation of being filled, physically feeling your womb protrude out from your stomach.

Sitting you back down on him you started to bounce again, rather sloppily this time. Your lips formed in a pout as you whined, hums being produced every time his cockhead met your cum filled cervix.

“D-Don’ wan’ stop,” you murmured, lips pressed against Hongjoong’s sweaty forehead in a sloppy forehead kiss. His black dilated eyes were glued onto you, tears also running down his cheeks.

You began grinding in circles, smothering his cock inside you. You both moaned out sweetly, fangs digging into your bottom lip drawing blood. Hongjoong reached upward, grasping your bottom lip with his teeth as he suckled on the blood. His tongue ran over your bottom lip before pulling away, looking up into your eyes. You started to bounce again, feeling your second orgasm impending.

“all over y-your cock, Joongie,” you babble, your swollen lips blabbering nonsense as you clamp down onto him, the heavy bounces building up again.

“Cum, please cum,” you whine, holding your orgasm back. “W-wan it all inside me.”

Hongjoong started thrusting up again, syncing up in time with your bounces. It didn’t take much, as he started to spill inside your cunt once more, taking one of your breasts into his mouth. He suckled, and as you let go, milk flowed freely from your erect nipples. Hongjoong moaned at the sweet taste, lapping it all up.

You shivered at the sensation, and Hongjoong pulled away with a pop as he flipped you over, bending you over the counter. With a smack to your ass, he entered your pussy from behind, grabbing a hold of your hair. “C-can’t stop-” he sobbed, pounding into you with no sign of slowing down any time soon. “Gonna keep cumming inside your fucking pussy.”

“Please,” you whined, shutting your eyes. Your leaking tits raked against the metal counter, painting it a transparent white with your milk. Hongjoong’s hands sneaked from behind you, reaching around to grab your tits. Squeezing them, he pulled you up against his chest, his pelvis meeting the sore, red skin of your ass. Nonstop was he cumming again and again back to back. Your womb visibly protruded, sticking out like a sore thumb. He wrapped one arm around your tits, the other snaking down and feeling at your tummy, feeling the way his cock slid up and down inside you.

You came again for a third time without warning, legs shaking. Your eyes rolled back to the inside of your head, and a fourth came on when he didn’t stop.

“O-oh- oh fuck!” Hongjoong cried, stilling inside you. You fell forward, grasping the counter. You felt his cock literally knot inside you. It grew in size and locked in you like a key. Cum filled you to the brim, you felt like you could vomit from how full you were. Hongjoong was shaking behind you, and he fell forward as well, arms caging you.

He whimpered softly, sniffling. Heavy pants and sniffles were shared between you as the last of his cum was milked from him. He finally started to soften, and slowly pulled out of you as your minds went back to being levelheaded. His cock departed with a soft, wet pop, and loads of cum pumped out of you in what felt like gallons onto the floor below.

“Gosh…” He breathed out, taking a deep sigh. Your legs trembled, and you, exhausted, kept yourself laying forward on the counter.

“S-So full,” You murmured, the last of his cum spilling out before your womb felt relieved again. Your skin cooled down, the aphrodisiac starting to wear off on the both of you.

Hongjoong gently scooped you up and sat you down into his lap, as you both regained clarity. He nuzzled his nose into your hair, closing his eyes.

“Thank you,” He murmured softly.

“I'll be careful next time,” you murmur back, taking deep breaths.

“Yeah, make sure it's afèconder, not fèconder.”

980 notes · View notes

plasticferal · 8 months

Note

hey queen! can you pls do an angst story with chris. where they get into an argument and chris said things he never meant. then he apologizes to her afterwards. ( basically angst to fluff)

damsel in distress | chris sturniolo.

i added my own twist to this ask. it's my favourite prompt so thank you! 18+ protective!ex-boyfriend chris x fem!reader. fighting, touches on themes of unwanted attention, mentions of alcohol, explicit language. reader discretion is advised. p.s inspired by the unreleased olivia rodrigo song 'prison for life'.

the house is filled with familiar faces and strangers. a small gathering turned into a full blown house party from the moment the word got out. where the sturniolo triplets are, a flock follows. you sigh, pushing and shoving your way through the unwanted crowd.

all you want is to make it into the kitchen, miraculously being the only place no one wants to linger. the last person you need to see right now is your ex lover. chris is standing ahead of you, leaning on the kitchen counter, alone in the room. you shut the doors behind you, needing to escape. even if it means with him.

“if you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked." he speaks smug, before taking a sip from his red solo cup.

“i'm not in the mood,” you dismiss. you open the fridge, eyes scanning the shelves but nothing calling your name.

you know you're not actually looking for anything, you just don't want to look at him. the entire night has you shaking with anger. from the mess in your home, the lack of care everyone is taking, the noise complaint you know you'll be getting later, and worst of all, that one guy who won't leave you alone.

you've never seen him before tonight, you don't even know his name, but all he's done is make you uncomfortable. try to dance with you, try to give you drinks. he brushes your waist every time he walks past.

all of your friends have been encouraging you to go for it, to get over chris. and honestly, you consider it for a moment. just to finally move on, but you can't bring yourself to. at least not with some random creep.

the break up is still raw. he tells everyone it was 'mutual' but it was a part on your request. he'd never throw you under the bus like that. he knows why you made your decision, he's never questioned it.

chris feels like it's unrequited love. although, you haven't lost any love for him, no matter how much you try to push him away. he has every right to despise you, but he doesn't.

every time you close a chapter with him, you find yourself in a sequel. it's like you're re-reading different stories, but the ending stays the same. your heart wants him, your brain wants to hate him.

"what's wrong?" he asks, sensing you're genuine in your frustration.

"nothing." you refuse to let him know what's happing in your world, let alone your mind. you don't need to let in him anymore, even though you want to let it out. he's the one person who could just sit and listen to you for hours on end.

"alright, just askin" his words trail off into a hush. he switches the tone, not wanting the conversation to stop.

“your friends are nice” he speaks in a sickeningly sweet tone, because if anyone knows how to kick you while you're down, it's him.

"you would think that" you scoff, implying that you've seen them throw themselves at him all night. him pouring them drinks, smiling and frothing over the attention he's receiving.

"the fuck is that supposed to mean?" his temperamental side seeps out, and you grow only more irritated.

"chris, can you get out please?" you huff, hands crossing over your chest. an unintentional way to seperate yourself from him, a metaphorical wall being put up.

"such a party pooper. you really gotta let loose, relax a bit." his words come out a lot more nasty that you hope he meant them, and it makes your face hot.

you give him the benefit of the doubt and think he's speaking with resilience, at the fact you keep shutting him down.

"i wonder why we ever broke up." you reply sarcastically, a fake smile on your face. he rolls his eyes, finishing off his drink and letting out an audible "ah," like a child finishing a juice box.

"i haven't seen you all night, y/n" his voice softens, and it becomes clear he's speaking for the sake of talking to you. he always wants to talk to you.

looking at the counter quickly to place his cup down, he looks back at you, tilting his head to the side slightly. he's not being horrible to you, he never has been. he's still in your life whether you like it or not, despite your hostility.

"sorry. i'm just tired." you lie. he knows it.

"your poker face isn't very good. i learnt that the hard way," he bounces his eyebrows, biting the tip of his tongue, eyes a bit wider as he stares at the ground and you can tell he's having a flashback.

you chuckle at the reference. the one time he caught you faking an orgasm didn't end very well, and he's been able to catch you out ever since. he's never been afraid to pull you up on your own fibs.

"sorry, again." you hug your body tighter, avoiding his eyes. he pushes himself off the counter with a stretch like hum and walks over to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"stop apologizing, you sound like matt," he rolls his eyes lightheartedly, and you let out a small laugh. that's always his intention, to make you smile.

"c'mon princess, let's get you a drink. seems like you need it." he nods toward to the door, rubbing your shoulder enthusiastically.

you let him try to fix your mood, because god knows you do actually need to stop stressing. you can't control what happens, just how you react. that's what chris always used to say when you were together.

feeling safe in his embrace, he security guard style moves you through the party. he hollers "excuse me!" and "coming through!" and everyone just listens, parting like the red sea. he's not the biggest guy in the room, but he sure is the most assertive. especially with you under his arm.

when you finally get to the drinks table, he makes you a vodka lemonade, saving the rest of the can for himself to finish off. it's not the most thrilling drink, but enough to keep you settled. ease the tension a bit. plus, it tastes good. no harm, no foul. as chris is mixing the liquids into cups, you feel an unwanted hand snake up around your hip.

"there you are. are you hiding from me?" your stomach drops at the voice of the mystery man towering over you, and you look ahead to watch chris's eyes snap up instantly.

chris lowers the cups, holding his eyes on the man behind you. you watch as he kinks his neck and his jaw tenses, taking a step closer. you shake your head at chris, holding a hand up subtly to tell him not to come any closer.

turning around, you stare up at the man. his breath reeks of liquor, and his shirt is drenched is sweat. it makes you sour your face and tense your entire body.

"i don't know what you want from me, but it's not gonna happen. i think you should leave." you speak sternly, trying not to let your voice shake with pure nerves. not even liquid confidence could help you right now.

"the party's just getting started," the man smiles, stumbling toward you in what you think is an attempt at a hug, but you begin pushing his body away from yours with a shove.

"dude, she doesn't want you. walk away." you hear chris's direct voice over your shoulder.

the last thing you want is negative attention on chris in a room full of people who would spread the news like wildfire. you never want that for him.

"it's okay, i got this." you dismiss chris in the nicest possible way, but you're being serious.

"come on, we'll have fun," the man hiccups through his words, mumbling them and tripping over toward you again.

"get the fuck away from her." chris's breath hits the back of your neck as he moves even closer to you.

"christopher, i'm serious. stop." you speak through grit teeth, so people can't read your lips, as he lingers next to you.

you try to be as inconspicuous as you can in your rejection to his advances, but he won't give up. the man appears more annoyed, and he grabs your wrist with a tight grip.

"let go of me." you grab the mans hand, trying to pry his grip without making it obvious.

you’re shaking at the thought of attention drawing. not for you, but for chris. eyes are already on you, being his ex. it's not what he ever wanted for you either. if he could make it all disappear, he would. it becomes more difficult when chris notices, and this time, has no intention of backing down.

"i'm not gonna repeat myself, back the fuck up." chris walks around your body, face to face with the guy who has a hold on you now.

"please, chris." you beg, voice quivering.

you know his temper can change in the blink of an eye. him and matt both have that in common.

"she doesn't need your help, pretty boy." the man splatters his words, a malicious smile on his face as he leans toward chris, almost nose to nose.

chris smiles criminally, flashing his teeth.

"you're right," chris puts his hands up in defence, a downward smile on his face as he chuckles darkly, taking a big step backward.

there's a feeling of relief, and intense fear as he actually does start to back away. but you know chris. unfortunately, it's unavoidable.

you try to catch his eyes, and speak through a begging stare without using words. he looks at you with sadness, and you mime the words, 'please don't'.

the moment the man tugs your wrist as if to leave with him, making you wince with the grip he holds. you regret your counteraction instantly, because chris reacts viscerally.

he flares his nostrils and squeezes his nails into his palm, balling up his hands by his hip. his knuckles are turning white.

before you can get pulled away, chris lunges forward with a tight fist, throwing a strong, perfectly aligned punch to the mans cheekbone. it throws the man to the ground in the blink of an eye, relieving the pressure on your skin. you stumble backwards, out of the line of fire.

chris steps heavily forward, shoving a foot into his ribcage before straddling his legs, completely overpowering him. the man projects forward to swing and hit chris's mouth. chris doesn't even flinch, like it was painless. you watch chris raise his arm up again to pummel down onto the now defenceless stranger.

the surrounding crowd gasps and yells, clearing the space that chris has created with his actions. iphone cameras flash, making you feel sick. the whispering and gossip you can already hear pounding in your head is overwhelming.

you feel so futile. chris is too in his own world to even realise the repercussions. you're not saying the guy didn't deserve it, you have no care in the world for him. you care about the aftermath.

in a fantasy world, a daydream, a fairytale even, this is attractive. a knight in shining armour, fighting for his lady. a world where there are no consequences, or social media, or fear. a reality chris has suddenly forgotten about.

he looks natural doing it, too. the veins in his arms so prominent, his tight mouth and huffed breaths as he gives it everything he's got.

you're frozen in shock, watching chris pelt another punch into the man, and you want to pull him off, you know you need to, but all your body can do is watch. watch the two men roughhousing and exchanging blows, chris taking every hit with pride.

you're numb to the feeling, screaming in your head.

appearing out of thin air, nick and matt are in your line of vision, hiding the chaos ahead of you. his brothers move into action before anyone else needs to.

they've obviously been summoned, but there's a part of you that believes they could just sense it. like they telepathically knew chris was getting himself into trouble by the lack of surprise they express.

nick grabs chris by the collar of his shirt, pulling him off. matt grabs his wrists, to stop him from using his fists. the fight comes undone, finally, but chris is disoriented. he spits onto the man as he's being escorted into the kitchen by his brothers.

your eyes burn with tears that refuse to fall, and matt sweeps your hand up, guiding you with them in a hurried manner. matt is trying to snap you back to reality, but it's just white noise.

chris hits his palm aggressively with frustration against the door frame of the kitchen as you all walk through, and you take a deep breath to compose yourself. your eyes are still welling as you choke back a sniffle, and you're not sure if it's shock, hurt, or anger anymore.

you're in a trance as you walk over to the freezer. your body is in autopilot, moving without you even knowing. you grab a frozen bag of vegetables out of the tray.

"so fucking stupid," you say nastily under your breath, slamming the door shut.

walking over to chris who's sat up on the ledge of the sink. you throw the packet at his chest, and he grabs it, questioning you for a second before matt walks over and shows him to place it on his bruised and red raw knuckles.

the room is filled with tension.

matt is biting his nails, you're leaning against the closed door, and nick finds himself squatting on the floor.

"what the actual fuck was that?" nick is too stunned to even yell, he just speaks aloud.

"i asked you not to, chris. i could have handled it myself." you shake your head, vision blurry as you stare vacantly ahead. you want to lash out at him, but for some reason you can't.

"yeah, it really looked like you had it under control." he crushes the frozen packet harshly against his hand.

"we'll leave you two alone." matt cuts through awkwardly, shooting nick a warning glare.

matt knows it's not his place to go off at chris right now. he'll do that later.

"but-" nick begins, and matt snaps toward the door. you hear nick sigh, knowing he would love nothing more than to stay and listen to you tear into chris. alas, they both leave promptly, matt flashing you a sympathetic smile on the way out.

you can hear from the other side of the door, both nick and matt are hustling trying to kick everyone out. it’s a weight lifted off your shoulders. the literal mess being left behind is the least of your worries now.

you're alone with chris in the kitchen again, the second time not being anymore pleasant than the first. you blame yourself fully for dropping your guard, even if for a second.

“i begged you not to, chris.” you repeat with a stern tone, laced with betrayal and genuine hurt.

he’s silent for a moment, staring at you from across the room with no emotion on his face. you know he feels terrible, he doesn’t have to show it. or tell you.

“did you think i was just gonna stand and watch?” he rebuttals.

“i would have preferred that, honestly.” you don’t understand how he can’t grasp the intensity of the situation.

"did you want him? go back out there then." he's bitter, pointing at the door. you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.

"chris," you start. he keeps talking.

“because i’m sure he’s still laying on the floor. go ahead. he might have a hard time talking now, though.” chris shrugs, speaking in a provoking manner.

“you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t press charges." you apprise.

“he should feel lucky i didn’t do worse.” he takes another step toward you, presumptuous in the way he carries himself.

"you've done a lot of stupid shit, chris. but that," you raise your hand as you speak, laughing in shock.

"that was unbelievable." you pinch the bridge of your nose, taking yet another deep breath.

"you know what's unbelievable is how you haven't even thanked me once" he ignores your words and bites back with irritation, face growing more twisted with upset.

"thank you?" you repeat, jaw dropping. you step toward him this time. you feel dejected trying to get him to understand.

"thank you for what? for causing a scene? for putting yourself in danger?" you step forward again, feeling like you could drive your heels into the ground beneath you.

"you're acting insane" he brings his hands to his head, tugging at his own hair with despair. his words sting, despite the back and forth arguing.

"you're the one that lashed out on that guy with no consideration for anyone else around you. that's insane" you speak with physical gestures unconsciously.

you're trying to reason with him, but with the state he's in, it's like trying to put a brain in a statue. you examine him, trying to search for his eyes but his body won't keep still, twisting and moving around.

"fuck, okay, i get it! i get it, y/n. you're not happy with me. you never fucking are apparently," his words trail off and he waves you away, turning his back to you. he sounds desperate for it to end.

you want to scream at him at the top of your lungs, and quite frankly, you could. your face burns and steam is about to shoot out of your ears.

"you don't need to protect me anymore, chris."

"i saved your ass out there." he speaks with his hand, four fingers direct to your chest. his words are like salt being rubbed into an open wound.

"saved me? that's a fucking stretch. your brothers saved your ass, because you don't think before you fucking act!"

"this is about YOU, y/n! what i did for you!" he slaps the back of right hand into the palm of his left.

"i'm not some damsel in distress that you need to sweep up and put in a tower, chris"

"yeah well at least in a tower you can't attract trouble." he speaks as if it's your fault, and of all the things he's just spit out, that's by far the worst. the most menacing and cut to the bone tone he's used.

"that was low, even for you." you huff, emotions at an all time high.

your breathing feels tight, but instead of reacting, you force yourself to seperate your emotions from the reality of the situation. you're both feeling very intensely, and expressing it the same way.

in hindsight, you could have redirected some of your emotions, but you also wish chris would take back some things he's said. there's no excuses.

chris re-collects himself and turns toward you again. he shrugs his shoulders, like he has nothing left to say. no fight left.

the closer chris is standing the more prominent his face is, and more specifically, his busted open lip.

you gasp in a mix of being upset, and shock. it feels like a piece of your heart is breaking off, seeing his delicate, pale skin so sore.

"your lip, chris." you exhale, stepping toward him.

he flinches when your hand raises to touch his face, and you know now that you've acknowledged it, it's hurting him. neither of you paid any attention to it amongst the turmoil.

"come here." you sigh, pulling his arm, bringing him over to where the paper towels are, in the corner of the sink.

tearing a white square into your hands, you rinse it under cold water lightly before squeezing the saturation out, leaving a damp cloth in your hand.

turning into chris's body, he looks down at you. he's still at last, and looks like he has no thoughts behind his now seemingly innocent eyes.

you cup his cheek gently, to turn his face downward. you bring the towel up to his lip, wiping his stained chin and mouth. he lets you, and doesn't even wince. he visibly gives into your touch. he's content.

"i need you to promise me you'll never do something like that again." you pull back, folding over a clean side and then wiping his lip softly, trying not to cause him pain.

"i can't promise that." he speaks in a whisper, as if he doesn't want you to hear his word.

with his lip no longer being red, you toss the damp and crumbling paper into sink, making it a problem for another time.

"why?" you look into his eyes, wiping your hands on your shirt.

his blue eyes are big but blameless, pupils dilated. holding his stare as your arm lowers.

"because if anyone lays a hand on you again, i'm going to prison for life." the piece of your heart that broke off earlier reattaches at his words alone.

chris's much shorter hair is spikey around his ears, and wet at the ends, turning dark brown from his sweat. you caress his messy curls, tucking it over the curves of his ears and taming the wispy strands. you hold his head in your hands, tiling him up and your mouths are inches apart.

"how hard did he hit your head?" you ask against his lips. he chuckles, genuinely.

he's an idiot, undeniably. but the gut wrenching, lawless love he has for you makes him that way. his low, smooth laughter, makes your heart skip a beat.

"i mean it, y/n."

"but i know, i know it was stupid." he admits.

"yeah, it was." you agree, shaking his head around slightly.

he grabs your hands with his own, engulfing them and holding them in his palms. he squeezes your hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing your knuckles.

"i'm sorry." he speaks on your skin.

"like really fucking sorry." he strains his head back with remorse, making his adam's apple more prominent, and he swallows hard. like he's swallowing his guilt.

"i said some nasty things. i wish i could take them back, y/n. i really do."

"i know, chris."

"no, you don't. i'll apologise to you everyday for the rest of my life if i have to. i've been horrible tonight."

"chris, enough," you hush him, the calmness in your tone making him understand you hear him. loud and clear. you need some time to forgive, but you absorb his words.

"i don't know how you didn't smack me in the mouth." he jokes, and you giggle through your breath.

"there's still time," you joke back. and he knows it by your tone.

"i could never bring myself to do that. as much as you deserve it." your banter eases the pressure, and you feel chris squeeze your hands in his again.

you rub your thumbs over his knuckles, looking at the little purple marks forming. he notices your face drop with stress, and he slips his hands away, moving to your hips instead.

"hey, i'm fine. i don't care what happens to me, i just need you to be okay."

"i am okay," you reply. he drops his face with a look that expresses he doesn’t believe you. you give a light eyeroll, and small smile.

"i mean it, i swear.” you raise your pinkie finger to him, to keep your promise. knowing it’s the only way he’ll actually believe you.

chris smiles, weak with his bruised lip, and wraps up your pinkie with his own, wriggling your hands around.

"i'm always gonna want to protect you." he pulls you toward his body. he's so warm, and radiates a magnetic energy that makes you want to collapse into his arms.

you know you don't need him to, but deep down, you would like his protection. his unconditional love. selflessness.

"i'll be sure to send you love letters in jail" you grin up at him, and laughs from the chest.

his voice is like a scratched record, fatigue taking over his body. you swallow hard, all of your senses coming back. he feels so real standing in front of you all of a sudden, like it's not just a dream you're about to wake up from.

"stay the night." you speak mindlessly.

chris brushes your hair from your face, cupping the back of your neck lightly to pull your forehead to his lips, kissing just above your eyebrows gently. he rests his chin on the crown of your head, pulling you tight to his chest in an embrace.

"i'll stay forever if you ask me to."

this is the feeling he fights for. requited love.

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