#I was NOT ready for Frank to be that hot like goddamn

[savvylittlecoxswain]

Some days prior to the Poughkeepsie Regatta, a few of the boys decided to make an impromptu visit to Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s mansion, conveniently located on the river. They had been hoping to meet the President, but were instead eagerly ushered in by a young man about their age. He introduced himself as Franklin Roosevelt Jr., insisting they call him Frank.

Frank rowed on Harvard’s JV team, but had just returned from Connecticut where they lost in their annual race against Yale.

“He ushered them into the president's library and sat them down and began talking rapidly about rowing and about coaches. As he talked, the boys gaped at the room.”

While the boys gaped at the room, looking around at all the books and knick knacks and such, I bet Bobby was gaping at Frank like I mean come on, just look at him—

And Bobby suddenly finds himself very flustered because this very hot, 6’ 4” man who happens to be the President’s son is openly flirting with him. Frank’s so charismatic and charming that Bobby can’t help but get all shy and bashful because how often does someone show such blatant interest in him. And Frank is leaning into his space a little as he asks more about Bobby’s personal life, and his eyes light up and then very quickly darken when Bobby mentions wanting to attend law school.

And Don is Not a Fan™️ like he’s suddenly bottling up all of this intense amount of jealousy because how dare this man touch Bobby’s arm like that. But he can’t do anything about it because he hasn’t worked up the nerve to talk to Bobby about his feelings yet, so he’s forced to watch Frank and his bedroom eyes subtly try to coax the coxswain to go somewhere private.

[zomtart]

The Anatomy of a Stranger (Frank Castle x Fem!Reader)

This was supposed to be a fluff fic…oops!

Tuna-Tober Day 3: Broken

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Content Warnings: reader and frank are broken up, second chance, ends happily…or does it:D

Word Count: 1.1k

In simple words, the run-down diner was not where you wanted to be. You were given shitty hours, shittier pay, and the shittiest treatment from customers. The only upside was that it was close to your new apartment, so at least you didn’t have a long walk before you could crash into bed. 

Though lately, sleep felt like a scarce thing. All your classes had been scheduled early, an aspect that made you want to drop out of medical school more than you usually did. The promise of finally achieving your dream kept you going, even if you were doing it a little later than most aspiring doctors would. After your gap year had turned into a gap decade, you were certainly at a disadvantage from time. 

You were so focused on keeping your eyes open that you didn’t realize Frank had walked through the door and sat down at the table in the corner. All you knew was that the bell on top of the door had rung, and therefore you had someone to get a menu to. 

It was around two AM when you slid the laminated piece of paper to the table, your gaze fixed on your notepad as you pulled it out from your pocket and got ready to write. 

“Hello, what can I--”

The words died in your throat as you looked up and met Frank Castle’s gaze. The breath seemed to lock in your chest, a feeling of shocking numbness blooming across your body.

Frank didn’t fare much better, but he certainly had a skill at hiding it. While your mouth had fallen to the floor and sat there, he simply clenched his jaw, silent as he waited for you to gain your footing. You wish you could know what he was thinking. Did seeing you even affect him? Was he hurting like you were?

He looked like he always did, which was to say, like he just got the shit beaten out of him. A deep red mark ran across his nose, suggesting it was broken for the umpteenth time. He had a black eye, and at the edge of his collarbone where his shirt dripped down, a purple bruise peeked out across his skin. Even after all this time your hands itched to go towards him. To help. To heal, or, if that was impossible as it often was, to soothe. You still remembered the feeling of his skin like it was yesterday. The rough drag of it against your fingers. The way he’d pull your hand away when you traced a scar, like he could somehow shield you from the gallery of them right in front of you. Like you couldn’t handle it. Like you didn’t have scars of your own.

You tore your gaze away from his body and instead stared at your notepad. Nevermind the goddamn luck you wanted to curse the sky for, the luck that had placed Frank fucking Castle in this small-town diner when you hadn’t seen him in nearly two years. If you could just keep your eyes off him, maybe you could get through it.

You cleared your throat. “What can I get for you?” you ask, though you already knew the answer. The bastard had always needed constant caffeine for his nightly…endeavors. Part of you wished he had stopped doing that. Not that you thought about him.

“I’ll just have a black coffee, ma’am. Thank you.” 

You know he meant it as a show of respect, respect that you would show a stranger, but hearing that word out of his mouth made you want to slap him. How dare he call you that? Like he hadn’t ripped your life apart? Like he hadn’t known he was the only person in the entire world you felt understood you, really knew you, and then left you? What did he know about respect?

You simply gritted your teeth and nodded, turning around. As you walked back to the coffee bar you surveyed the diner, noting there was only one other patron in the diner besides Frank. There was a chef in the back, but you hardly saw him during these night shifts, the plates of hot food seemingly magically appearing after you leave an order slip. This was one of the only times you wished the place had been crowded so the noise could drown out the thoughts in your head. Mask the feeling you had gotten so good at pushing down. 

When you came back with his coffee, cursing yourself for how your hands shook when you set the mug down, he pitched his voice low and asked quietly, “You running the place all by yourself?”

“No.” you mumbled quietly, setting a couple sugar packets down on the table even though you knew he took it black. “Someone’s in the back.”

He nodded, looking around the diner again.

You should have left. You should have turned around and walked away. He wouldn’t order anything else. He’d stay there with his coffee for no more than an hour, and then he’d leave. You’d never have to see him again. 

You should have left.

“...you look like shit.” you said quietly. 

He laughed, and it was the best sound you’d ever heard. It was like sunshine after a long winter, or coming home after a vacation. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“Are you…safe?” you said, and you wanted to kick yourself for how small you sounded. You hated to admit it, but you cared about him. You probably always would. The sight of his bruised face still made your chest tighten.

“I’m actually…” there was a long pause, and for some reason it felt hopeful. “Yeah. I’m safe. Think I’m…I’m done.”

“Done?” the word flew out of your mouth as soon as he said it. “Done? Done with…with…”

He shrugged, taking a sip from his coffee. You murmured something about how shitty the brew here was. He laughed again. 

“Yeah. Trying, at least. To be done.” 

“...oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

It should have been awkward. It probably was to anyone who would have watched, if the diner hadn’t been so empty. But it felt like you were back in your old apartment, curled up in bed with him. It was like when you knew someone so well that even silence felt like a conversation. That you had something that progressed beyond words. You thought that…thing had disappeared, that it had been broken beyond repair. But here it was, like it had never left.

@tunatober

[mojowitchcraft]

🎃 STEDDIEWEEN RECS👻

STEVE’S FIRST BRUISE @cairparavel Not Rated | Words: 47k | Chapters: 7 | Complete

eddie’s new roommate sure does get into a lot of fights. a spider-man!steve story. or 6 bruises of steve’s + 1 of eddie’s.

🕸️ Listen, I LOVE Spidey-Steve, and this fic is SO GOOD. Not super Halloween-heavy but has some cute Halloween moments within the fic. Plus I just love Spidey-Steve being obsessed with Lush and their seasonal bathbombs.

saw myself shine brightly in your eyes - deadratz Rated: E | Words: 5k | Chapters: 1 | Complete

It was mostly Robin’s idea. It was partially Eddie’s idea. Robin said she knew the guy through someone else who knew someone else, which is usually how parties this big tend to go. It was also very last minute. ** Steve gets dragged to a last minute Halloween party. Eddie finds him hiding away in the laundry room and decides to keep him company.

🧛Hot lil Halloween Smutty Oneshot! 

Excuse me, Nurse? My dick isn't breathing, it needs CPR. @appledaggerstRated: E | Words: 9k | Chapters:1 | Complete

"He saw it there on the floor of Eddie’s closet. Robin and him were there to pick Eddie up for a party and the man had been arguing with Robin about what tapes to bring, her point being that no one was going to let him play any of his music anyway. Steve had been distracted by the dumb VHS tape. It was sticking out from under a magazine with a peeling label that had the word "NURSE" in all capitals." Steve finds a porn tape in Eddie's closet and decides to bring it home.

🏥Eddie in a nurse costume, need I say more?

A Chainsaw and Community Service - @eddywoww Rated: E | Words: 11k | Chapters: 1 | Complete 

Eddie gaped at him for a moment, rubbing a hand over his face like Steve's dad did sometimes. When Steve said something kind of stupid. "It's gonna be a weird month, Harrington."

👻Steve & Eddie working at a haunted house together, so cute and fun…then smutty 😈

Kids Like Us - hibud Rated: E | Words: 19k | Chapters: 1 | Complete 

Eddie hadn’t meant for things to end up this way – had just wanted to flirt a little and fuck with the guy. But seeing Steve blush like that; the way he’d responded to Eddie? He just had to know. Wanted to taste him, to feel him. Wanted to know what he sounds he could pluck from him, self-assured promises of no more straight guys be damned. Eddie felt sure, deep in his bones (in his balls), that if he signaled to Steve after the show, Steve would follow. And Eddie would signal. Or, Eddie moved to Indianapolis after graduation, ready to leave his memories of Hawkins in the past (where they belong). But when he gets the call to perform a Halloween show at the Hideout, he knows it’s too good of an opportunity to turn down. He’d been expecting a decent enough turnout – it was Halloween, and what else was there to do in a place like Hawkins? Definitely hadn’t been expecting Steve to look so goddamn appealing in that stupid Top Gun costume.

🎃 Eddie Munson dressed as Frank N Furter, need I say more? This whole series is great and I’ve rec’d it before but I love this installment starting out with Halloween fun and smut!

[indianamoonshine]

baptism | father paul x reader | one shot

summary: this is a really, really quick one-shot i wrote last night while feeling witchy. john talks you through it.

warnings: lots of smut. use of biblical passages during sex. typical priest stuff.

a gentle purr.

“jesus,” he murmurs. “creator of such lovely things…”

you arch against his chest as he holds you beneath the steady stream of the shower. the only light illuminating the bathroom were the sparse candles behind the curtain, highlighting the contours of your bodies.

soaked. baptism in motion.

pure blasphemy.

he takes your chin between two fingers, his lips just inches from yours as he breathes, “you’re a delicate sin, darling girl.”

you whimper, trying to kiss him - to feel his lips upon yours like a salve - but he teases you, moving just a hairsbreadth away before sliding his hand down your belly.

it burns. it burns like hellfire. you’re soaked, both by shower and by seduction. he’s smug, grinning the entire time his fingers dance around where you need him the most.

“please, john…” you whisper. “please. touch me.”

take away the pain.

your hands slide up to his hair, the angle slightly awkward but rewarding; his locks are long and vulnerable to your grip. you tug just slightly when his thumb ghosts over your clit.

finally you moan out, “father.”

and he gives in.

your sensitivity - between the hot shower and the anticipation - is heightened. your clit quivers as he rubs softly, watching from over your shoulder as you shudder in his arms.

he’s always fascinated by your body - by how it works and responds to him. “it’s like watching a work of art come alive,” he once said.

“your thighs shelter a paradise of pomegranates…” he quotes breathily.

you almost crumble in his arms when he gently prods a finger inside; the fit is snug - warm. it takes you a moment to adjust but you do with a groan that sounds both neolithic and angelic at once.

“that’s it, darling girl.” he crooks the finger, hitting a spongey part of you. you keen, bending a little in his grasp. “oh, yes. right there.”

one finger is followed by another until he’s three fingers deep. and despite how many times the two of you have had sex - have intertwined your bodies before god - you’re never prepared for his cock.

he kisses the side of your neck, slowly pulling out his fingers from you. “part your legs more, sweetheart…” you do, still gripping the back of his neck for support. “that’s perfect. you’re perfect.”

you snuggle into his shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings and blessings while he prepares you.

“you’re gonna grab onto the bar,” he gently untangles your arm from him and positions your hand onto the bar that was convenient for him when he was elderly - when his body was retired from such experiences.

he’ll use it for different purposes now.

john kisses your spine, hand caressing your thigh before he has you place your leg on the lip of the tub. having sex in the shower is no small feat; you were prepared for the positioning like a marionette doll. but now you were so desperate - so ready for him - that you were more than willing to do with as he pleased.

“john…” you whine.

he tsks softly, hands wrapping around your waist. “patience is a virtue; a fruit of the spirit.”

you can’t help but smile in your lust driven haze, especially when you feel the firmness of his cock nudging at your entrance.

“ame-“

you squeak, cut off by the harsh — but delicious — feel of his cock pushing in so slowly. every inch. every ridge. your limbs become like jello the further he goes. it’s heavenly. it’s sacred. it’s…

so goddamned hot.

you lean over in his arms, his hands gripping your hips so firmly you’re sure they’ll be blossomed with purple in the morning; a frank reminder of your blatant blasphemy against the church. john groans low at your ear and it sounds uneven.

“i have entered my garden, my treasure…” he pauses, pushing one more inch in and prodding at your womb. you gasp, white knuckling the bar. “…-my bride.”

a whine, pathetic and impatient, escapes your lips. your free hand grabs at his on your hip, searching for any inch of him to touch - to feel.

he intertwines his fingers with yours and begins to move.

it’s slow, at first, but then his movements are more forcible - precise - rather than gentle.

john’s length is more impressive than his girth but he makes up for it with each and every thrust. soon, your grip on the bar isn’t enough and your hitched leg is becoming like a limp noodle.

“john, oh my god.”

he’s crazed, like an animal in heat. he presses his face to your neck, sucking an impressive bruise beneath the skin. you cry out, all too aware of the hidden canines, but he doesn’t cut flesh. he wouldn’t.

unless you asked.

“that’s a good girl,” he grunts, one hand laying on your lower abdomen and the other fondling your tit. “best little pussy god ever created…”

your eyes roll back. “i am my beloved and my beloved is mine,” you gasp, each movement of his hips knocking each syllable from you.

john growls, which he usually does when he’s close. the crude sound of wet skin slapping against one another betwixt the exchanging of biblical passages can only be described as hedonistic, but he doesn’t care. he can’t bring himself to when your cunt is so tight and wet around him - when you’re so pliable and feminine.

when he comes, you do too. it’s a divine blessing, the two of you completely strung out on one another’s essence. he finishes inside of you, pushing his spend back in with each lazy thrust nearing the end. the noise you make when you come is his guilty pleasure - his pride. it’s a stark contrast against the state of the world, a breathy whine that rings hot with euphoria.

john gives you a moment before helping you step down from the ledge of the bath; apparently your limbs seemed to have stopped working. the two of you catch your breath, pressing against one another under the shower that slowly turns tepid.

you press a delicate kiss to his naked chest and then to his shoulder blade. “thank you.”

john finds you staring at him, the reflection of the candles’ light dancing in your pupils. he kisses the tip of your nose.

“for what, my love?” he asks in a soft voice. he’s always so gentle afterwards.

you smile, hand cupping his cheek. “for something so beautiful.”

[psychocharlie]

Charlie has uncle issues

For a month now, Dennis has been staying at the bar late into the night, locking it up himself. He took everyone's keys, leaving only Charlie's copy to open Paddy's in the morning. The Gang resented this and protested, but Dennis was adamant and took away everyone else's keys on the grounds that they were all a bunch of irresponsible shitheads who forgot to lock up the bar. The fact that someone had robbed the cash register one night was also a strong argument for Dennis' rightness (and no one suspected that Dennis was this "someone" who had robbed Paddy's to carry out his plan). So for a month, Dennis staying the longest and closing the bar. Charlie also often lingers, because the bar needed to be cleaned up before closing, which, as everyone knows, is Charlie work.

Of course, Dennis made this scheme so that he and Charlie would have time to be alone and talk about their business without looking suspicious. Especially since the Gang started noticing their odd behavior. Especially Mac. Oh, Mac has become unbearable. Suspicious, obsessive, and jealous. Reynolds should get something much better than this bar trick to distract him. And he was going to do it later.

But that night Charlie left early, while even Mac, Dee, and Frank were still at the bar. His mom called him and begged him tearfully to come over and help her with something, and he left. So it's only been about 15 minutes since everyone left, and Dennis was really getting ready to close up and go home, because Charlie wasn’t there, and Dennis hadn't been doing his «business» in a while. And neither had his friend. After that terrible nervous breakdown in his bad place he hadn't touched a single person yet. 

The man is briefly distracted by his phone before getting up from the counter and walking away. Grinning, he replies to a message from a pretty girl on a dating site he's been DENNIS'ing for a few days, anticipating the inevitable culmination of their dates – first passionate and then bloody, filling his entire being with power and strength. In those moments, he truly felt like the actual Golden God.  Only then did the gaping hole in his chest, the God Hole, cease to ring with its emptiness, and he felt whole. Then and in some other rare moments that Reynolds preferred not to think about.

Before he can even finish the message, the door swings open, causing Dennis to flinch and lift his head, and Charlie plops down behind the bar.

– I'm gonna kill him. – Charlie's voice is hoarse, and he's literally growling, looking sullenly like a beast ready to pounce on you and tear you to pieces. His eyes burn with anger, but it's not a hot flame of rage, it's something colder, even more sinister. Hatred.

Dennis quickly presses the send button, no longer caring what he texted to that sweet fool, and sets the phone aside. All his attention is on Charlie now.

– Who? – His voice is soft and cautious. He pulls a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from under the bar, deciding it is the best choice for the circumstances. «Is that the last thing his victims see?» – wonders Dennis. Charlie, meanwhile, empties a glass of whiskey under his gaze. In one gulp.

– Uncle Jack. 

Dennis sighs heavily and presses his lips together, sipping from his glass. Uncle Jack. Charlie was always out of sorts after seeing him. Usually he just got weird, twitchy or depressed. Sometimes he'd get irritable and start shouting at everyone. But this time it was the real hatred. Cold and full of contempt.

Dennis remains silent, and his buddy pours and drains another glass again. Gradually his face softens, the hatred fading from the green eyes, making way for deadly fatigue and despair and resentment. 

– I want him to die like a goddamn brute. – Voice's desperate, almost whisper. The formerly tense posture of a predator ready to pounce changes as well, Charlie's body slouches, shoulders droop. Then Dennis finally decides to speak, quietly and calmly. 

– I understand, bud, you have every reason to want him dead. He molested you.

Charlie stands up again and screams. Dennis sees the desperation in his eyes. 

– He didn't molest me!

– He did, – Dennis replies quietly yet firmly, bringing the half-empty bottle to his friend's mouth. He presses his lips together, digging his fingernails into the old wooden surface, exhales heavily and, closing his eyes, allows Dennis to get him drunk.

– He did. - His voice sounds like an echo, barely audible repeating Dennis' words as Charlie lowers his head, resting it on the counter. Reynolds flinches. This is the first time Charlie has ever admitted it. They all knew it, but Charlie had always denied it, indignantly and furiously, without admitting it. So had Dennis with his Ms. Klinsky thing. But now Charlie finally admitted it and allowed himself to be vulnerable around him. Dennis drains the rest of his whiskey and patts the bar next to Charlie's shoulder in a reassuring gesture, hesitant to touch him right away.

– Alright... – there’s a pause in the air as Dennis tries to think of what to say now, – you know... do it. You have every right to. 

– I'd like to. – His voice is muffled. – I wanna do it every time he reaches out to me with his creepy hands. He fucking hugged me today. But I can't. 

– Why not?

And Charlie lifts his head and shakes it. He looks now like an abandoned puppy who's lost all hope of finding a home. He sighs heavily and starts to talk. He talks and talks and talks. Talks about how much his mother loves that bastard Jack, how she's cared for him all her life. The stupid bitch throws a little family party of his birthdays and even bakes the cakes for him, but she can't even remember the exact age of her own son, not to mention wishing him a happy birthday. He tells how upset and hysterical she would be if her brother suddenly disappeared. She’d call the police and they would find Charlie. And after him, probably Dennis as well. And Dennis nods, nods, nods, doesn't understand why he didn't think of it himself. Like, it's so obvious and logical. He hadn't thought of it because his mind was busy thinking that Uncle Jack should die in agony like a filthy animal, which he was.

They drink another bottle of whiskey and gradually change the subject. Now they are discussing the failure of the gang's scheme this afternoon and who is to blame (It was all Dee! That bitch is totally unartistic and can't even play such a simple role in our plan!), when suddenly Charlie speaks up and changes his face again:

– But if I ever see him molest a child in person... I'll kill him. And then I won't care about the consequences. I just won't be able to bear it. I'll take a hammer and smash his ugly face in. I'll crack his head like a walnut. I'll hit and hit and hit his head until I stop recognizing him at all. He'll die in agony like an animal, he'll–

Dennis can see that Charlie is about to boil again: his hands are clenched into fists, his eyebrows are drawn together in a broad line, and his teeth are clenched tightly together, almost gritting. Dennis swears he can hear them grinding. 

– I'm staying out of his perverted business, but if I see this–

– Oi-oi-oi-oi-oi-oi-oi-oi-oi-oh-oi! – he grabs Charlie by the shoulders and shakes him, repeating an old tried-and-true ritual, trying to distract and calm him. 

– Oi-oi-oi-oi, yeah, – he mumbles back and nods, closing his eyes to calm himself. Dennis pours him another whiskey.

***

At home, Reynolds is met by Mac with his stupid questions about what took him so long and where he was. 

– I was with a girl, – Dennis angrily waves him off.

– Oh, with a girl? – Mac's eyebrows rise in a familiar expression as he spreads his arms across his chest, glancing at his neighbor, – I knew you took away everyone's keys just to fuck chicks at Paddy's! Did you fuck her on the bar stand? Or on the pool table? On my favorite pool table? Spit it out, man! 

– Get yourself a goddamn boyfriend, Mac, and fuck him on the pool table or wherever you want, but get the fuck off me! – Dennis yells at him irritably and disappears into his room, slamming the door behind him. Mac is really starting to get on his nerves. Something has to be done about this.

Finally, after a long day, Dennis lies down in bed with his eyes closed. His imagination immediately pictures Uncle Jack's mutilated body on the Paddy's basement. His face is unrecognizable - smashed with a hammer, it's just a bloody mess, pools of blood spreading around. His hands, which Jack had always been so self-conscious about, which he had always tried to hide, conceal, visually enlarge, were now severed. Jack's severed hands will never be pets for Charlie. Charlie will take the smallest jar he has and chop them up in there, slicing off each finger individually like sausages. «Oh, look, Uncle Jack, your hands are so small they can only fit in this silly little jar. How pathetic is that, Uncle Jack. It sucks to have hands small like this, doesn't it?» And then he throws the jar into the scalding heat of the furnace.

Dennis clutches the sheets with his fingers, his lips drawn together in a thin line. The last thing he thinks about before he falls asleep is Uncle Jack's dreadful death, which he deserves.

[multipackers]

@khaosnihilo: tell me you love me… i won't hold you to it, just say it. | melt into me prompts (accepting)

Frank was old enough to know better than to fall hard for a guy he barely knew, especially one so much younger than him.

(Well, not that much younger, but there had to have been at least ten years between them...)

But something about Hunter felt... familiar. Or at the very least, he put Frank at ease in a way he didn't know he was still capable of feeling anymore. Maybe it was just his youthful energy proving too infectious for Frank to ignore. As old as he sometimes felt around Hunter, it never seemed like a conscious effort on the other's part. If anything, it was just Frank overthinking and projecting, as usual. Hunter certainly didn't seem to dislike his maturity, anyway.

He hated admitting it, but getting called daddy by him... never got old. Always so goddamn hot.

As their relationship progressed beyond the sexual and into more substantial waters, Frank found himself more and more ready to take the next step. Put a name to what they were. Say some particular words to him. And in the heat of this moment, the two of them relaxing together on the couch, under a blanket, on this crisp autumn day...

"I—" he begins, admittedly a bit nervous as he began crossing the bridge. "I love you, Hunter. And I mean it. Not just saying it cause you asked me to." His tone is as genuine as ever; Frank was chronically incapable of irony.

His eyes lowered a bit, furrowing in sentiment, wanting to convey his authenticity. "I've been wanting to say that to you forever, but I haven't had the courage... but I guess you're real good at getting me out of my comfort zone," chuckles Frank, pulling Hunter into a languid, lazy kiss, holding his chin as their mouths met. "Just don't go asking me to jump off a cliff for you anytime soon. We're not quite there yet."

[saintmurd0ck]

🍹are you thirsty? can i get you a drink? ❛ don’t you know what you’re doing to me? ❜ with frank castle

*rubs rat hands together* you have no idea what you've done to me with this prompt holy fucking shit. OH GOD YOURE NOT READY ! NO ONE IS. NO OOOOOOONE.

also, to my anon. you know who you are. i dont wanna say you inspired this, but....

let's have a sleepover at mine!

*warnings: tiny lil bit of dubcon touching.

siren song | frank castle x reader

It’s hot in the van. 

It isn’t the summer heat, or the fact that Frank’s stingy with the air-conditioning... it’s the unnerving kind of hot as you’re both wound up tighter than ever. With the way it sits thickly in the air, the tension binding you together has turned into a honeytrap. It’s a dangerous predicament.

Frank’s unusually quiet tonight as he brings his binoculars up to his eyes, laser-focused on the concrete compound up ahead, barely shrouded by a thicket of pine trees. Your head inclines forward to look up at the night sky, chewing on the inside of your cheek as a lone cloud drifts over the van, the silence almost too much for you to handle. As subtle as possible, your eyes glaze over Frank’s posture, heartbeat thundering as you notice his biceps flex, at the muscle now feathering in his jaw. It feels like your head’s been stuffed full of cotton; not a single coherent thought going through your mind as you begin to squirm in your seat. 

You almost yelp as Frank absently reaches over you to wind the window down, just an inch or two, but instead a shaky breath bubbles up from your chest, thankful for the sudden coolness of wind rustling past your ear. Despite the welcome distraction of the night air chilling you to your core, it still doesn’t take away from the heat pooling between your legs or the pounding in your chest. 

God fucking damn it. Frank Castle was supposed to be insufferable. He was insufferable, and you’d been stuck with him two weeks too long.

So what happened?

It’s not even like you two were working together, per se. He was looking for someone, you had the means to do so, and it became a case of you scratching his back while he scratched yours.

But, amidst the sulking, the cursing, and his incredible ability to jump to the worst conclusions every single time, he was alluring in a way you couldn’t place. Maybe you were just spending too much time with him, getting used to Frank in all his Frank glory. You felt it, that little wriggle of desire, the first time you saw him smirk, nevermind that he followed it with a snide comment that well and truly deserved a roundhouse kick to the face. Besides the occasional verbal back-and-forth, that was pretty much it for the two of you. You were wary after that, keeping your distance as best as you could, nevermind being holed up in the same basement together.

Smart, right?

As if it were a big cosmic punch to your gut, and self-control, then came the pull ups. It wasn’t enough that his body – chiseled perfection carved from marble – made you weak at the knees, no. That, and his grunts and sharp exhales, hips thrusting ever-so-slightly as he pulled himself up almost effortlessly. You had to bring a fist to your mouth to stifle the sounds that threatened to rack your body, knuckles going white as your fingernails left imprints in your palm. Your eyes roved over him, tracking the deep adonis lines that, at your dismay, vanished beneath the barrier of his belt and jeans. God, how you’d love to lick those abs.

For fuck’s sake.

Since then, it didn’t matter if he annoyed you, got on your last nerve… none of that mattered. The worst part is that you were stuck together, too goddamn close for your own liking, with no privacy to match. There was absolutely no way to relieve that frustration, that ache building between your thighs… not if you wanted him to hear. 

So, the ideas began to brew. You wanted to have fun, to take the edge off, and if you couldn’t bring about your own release the way you needed to, Frank was going to bear the brunt of it. 

You began to leave the door open a little wider when you were changing, often catching his reflection staring at yours in the mirror by your mattress, holding his gaze a little longer than necessary. Hell, maybe you did fuck yourself at night, all soft whimpers and shaky breaths, just loud enough that he could hear. 

Goosebumps erupt over your body as a rush of wind brings you back down to earth, cold and brittle against the mugginess of the van’s interior. He’s still fucking staring at God-knows-what, breathing controlled and steady as his knuckles squeeze tighter around the binoculars. Your lips press together in response to the flurry of thoughts that flash through your head, each one subsequently filthier than the other. Your eyes flutter closed as you will them away, but it’s getting too hard and – 

One tiny, little, breathy moan slips past.

And as your heart comes to a roaring halt, he whispers one tiny, little word in response.

“Stop.”

Your head snaps to the side, where his eyebrows have furrowed into the lens. “What?”

His voice is lithe, calm, unfaltering. Soft. “I said stop.”

You don’t have the words to respond. You’ve got nothing but the deep rise and fall of your chest, the embarrassment that sears your cheeks. 

Slowly, he puts the binoculars down, leaning across you to wind the window back up, shutting off all access to the air you desperately need to cool off. He turns to face you, spreading apart in the car seat, eyebrows pressed into a hard line as his stare worms into the very centre of your lust-blown pupils, burning its way into the back of your brain. His nostrils flare as his lips quiver, tongue running over his teeth before his mouth parts open. Gently, so gently.

He reaches forward to grab your wrist, calloused grip firm against your silken skin. His breath is shallow now, trembling as he lifts your hand towards the now-visible bulge in his jeans. “You think I haven’t noticed what you’ve been up to, sweetheart? Teasin’ me like that?”

Your eyes widen at where he has you, hovering over him, but you shake your head, each motion stuttering, unkempt. “N-no…”

It’s then he presses your hand against his hardening cock, squeezing your fingers around it with his, moving your palm up and down its length. You’ve never heard him sound so nervous in his life. “Don’t you know what you’re doing to me?”

[mjolnir-steve]

Holly Jolly Husband

Frank Adler x fem!reader

Word count: 2515

Summary: You and Frank ship up to Boston with Mary to visit your mother-in-law for the holidays. Unfortunately, you get snowed in, but that doesn't mean you and your husband aren't able to get a little hot and heavy. 😏

Warnings: smut (18+ only!!!!!!), some cursing, breeding kink, unprotected sex (m/f), tiny bit of fluff, sprinkle of corny jokes

Author's note: This is my second entry for @stargazingfangirl18, @navybrat817, and @drabblewithfrannybarnes’s Happy Hoelidays Challenge! I'm thrilled to be sharing this and happy that I've managed to write two fics for this challenge, a total of three fics in one month (a new record for me). 🥰

Thank you so much to Iva (@beefybuckrrito) for beta-reading this, making me laugh, and letting me blather on about my own breeding kink (oop!), especially when it comes to cranky Frankie. We all have to thank Thevy (@the-sal-del-mar) for the elaboration on nipple play and suggestions for reader's dirty talk. 🥴

(Dialogue prompts are in bold!)

-

Evelyn Adler was on your last goddamn nerve. It was your first Christmas with Frank after getting married in the fall, and you somehow ended up spending it snowed in at your mother-in-law’s home outside of Boston. Frank suggested that you and Mary join him in wearing ugly sweaters to dinner, insisting that he “had no idea” his mother required formal wear for the party she hosted on Christmas Eve.

From the moment you arrived that morning, Evelyn made you want to scream. She paid no attention to you or Frank until the two of you would try to sneak away for a moment. Then all of a sudden, she just needed Francis to check something with her car or she simply couldn’t allow you to attend the party with your hair looking like that. In a house as large as hers, you thought it would be easy to lose her, but she was always hot on your heels, deceptively saccharine insults at the ready.

For whatever reason, Evelyn stipulated that gifts be exchanged on Christmas Eve, after dinner and before dessert. She showered Mary with presents, including a desktop computer and several mathematics textbooks that were now out of print. Mary was elated, and you hoped that Evelyn had gotten at least one comparably nice gift for her son. To his (completely expected) dismay, Frank received two custom-made suits, one black and one navy. However, you were delighted, anxious to see how your newly minted husband looked in the expensive material.

“Thank you so much, Evelyn,” you smiled, hearing him mumble something about gotta be fuckin’ kidding me under his breath as your hand ever so slightly crept up his thigh.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Evelyn rushed to the other side of the tree, retrieving a small, but beautifully wrapped box. She handed it to you, and upon feeling its weight, you hoped it was the new Bluetooth speaker you’d asked for. Knowing your mother-in-law, it was probably some expensive tchotchke, but you were surprised she’d gotten you anything at all.

You untied the ribbon carefully, wanting to save it to make a headband for Mary. You removed the wrapping paper to reveal a plain, white cardboard box. You smiled at Evelyn as you opened the box, gasping at her audacity when you found a large scented candle similar to one you’d purchased recently at Target. And of course, it wasn’t even a scent that you liked, rendering the thoughtless gift useless, too.

Frank clocked the tic of your jaw and the new tension in your neck, your tendons straining as he willed the steam not to escape your ears when Evelyn grinned and asked if you liked your present. He decided to defuse the situation before the bomb inevitably burst, taking advantage of Mary’s preoccupation with working on problems in her new Moleskine notebook with her rose gold and pearl Montblanc fountain pen.

“Honey, will you come upstairs with me for a sec? I think we forgot something. Come help me look?”

You looked at him in confusion before you noticed the slight nod of his head toward the staircase.

“Oh, right! Let’s go check. Thanks, Evelyn.” You flipped her off behind her back as you passed, making Frank chuckle and give your ass a light smack as you walked ahead of him.

As soon as Frank closed and locked the bedroom door behind you, you launched yourself into his arms, screeching into his chest.

“Your mother is actually insufferable, Adler. I cannot understand how you came from her.”

You walked in circles around the room, waving your hands so wildly that you began to resemble an air traffic controller. “It would have been better if she just didn’t give me anything. Do you see how calculatedly insulting she is? You know this already. I know you know this.”

You pulled at your hair as you rambled, your husband sitting at the edge of the bed and listening as you let it out. “She bought a ten-year-old a thousand-dollar pen! Who the actual fuck spends that much money on a pen, Frank? For a TEN-YEAR-OLD. I’m tempted to throw the candle through the front window like a brick. That’s all it’s good for since it smells like shit.”

Frank chuckled as he listened to you. He hated that you were so angry, but he’d be lying if he said his dick hated your passion in the moment.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. We shouldn’t have even come. I just didn’t want to disappoint Mary. She wanted to see the snow and I should have said n-”

You walked over to him and pressed a finger to his pouty lips, one of your favorite features of his. “You have nothing to apologize for, babe. And I’m not going to get an apology from the person who owes me - us - one.”

His hands found your waist, thumbs brushing back and forth in the pattern he knew instantly soothed you.

You ran your hands through his thick, messy hair, pulling his face to your belly. “Frankie?”

“Mhm.”

“Just promise me when we have our own children, we’re not going to do this shit.” His grip on you tightened. “We’re going to buy them normal presents. If they end up being geniuses like Mary, then they can do math with a mechanical pencil from the drugstore like everyone else.”

He pressed a kiss to your stomach before leaning back to look up at you, his normally bright, sky blue eyes now darkened like a hurricane was coming, and you were in a fucking rowboat with one oar.

But he let you continue, slowly standing up as you rattled on. “And if Evelyn wants to spend the holidays with her grandkids, she can come to Florida. I’m not dealing with her nonsense when we have little ones running around. I don’t need her immaturity on top of ev-”

You yelped as Frank backed you up into the wall, pinning you there with his thick thigh between your legs. “So children, huh? Like… more than one?”

You rolled your eyes at him in a lazy attempt to hide the way he quickly affected you. “Out of everything I said, that’s the only thing that stood out to you?”

“No, lots of things stood out, but now something else is standing out because of it.” He pressed his body against yours, glancing down between you.

You tried to duck away, but he kept you caged in with his arms and thigh. “You know, you pretend to be this brooding, mysterious man, but you’re actually just a giant cornball.”

“You love it.”

“I never said I didn’t.” You couldn’t help but giggle at his impatience when he started fiddling with the hem of your sweater.

He hummed as you subconsciously ground yourself down on his thigh. “Well, since we’ve established you love my corny ass, let me help you out of that ugly sweater.”

“Frank, there’s a whole party going on downstairs. We can’t. Your mother or Mary will come looking f-”

“Sweetheart, I wasn’t really asking.” You knew you were fucked (literally) when he switched to sweetheart from honey. Frank only broke out that term of endearment when he was about to wreck you thoroughly.

He bunched up your skirt past your hips after removing your sweater, mentally noting that he should not have purchased you a sweater covered in jingle bells if his intention was to remove it during a holiday party.

“Frank, is this why you told me to wear a skirt instead of jeans?” The last word of your question devolved into some kind of broken moan as he got to work nipping and sucking at the tops of your breasts.

He huffed and looked you in the eyes. “I can neither confirm nor deny whether this was premeditated. Now come on.” He tapped your hip, signaling you to hop up and wrap your legs around his unfairly narrow waist.

You dipped your head to kiss him as he worked his thumb over your clit, your folds exposed now that he’d pushed your panties to the side. You whined into his mouth as he teased you, scratching your back against the wall.

“If I knew just talking about having kids would make you lose your mind, I’d have mentioned it SO much sooner, fuck.” Your eyes closed as his lips found one of the more sensitive spots on your throat.

With that, Frank harshly thrust two thick fingers inside you, pleased to find you were more than wet and wanting enough to take him. “Love getting you all worked up for me like this, sweetheart. Don’t even need to prep you.”

“Good. We don’t have time for you to prep me, Adler.” You clenched around his fingers for good measure. “Bed. Now.”

“So bossy, Adler,” he whispered in between kisses as he walked you over to the bed, laying you down gently before removing his jeans and boxers.

“Sweater, too. We are not trying to conceive while you’re wearing that thing,” scrunching your nose at his knit monstrosity depicting the Boston Tea Party, complete with 1776 emblazoned across the back in metallic silver thread.

He hummed as he kissed across your chest before standing up to remove his clothes. “So good to me, Y/N. Gonna give you the best gift of all.”

You raised your eyebrows at him as he rested his weight on top of you. “Yeah? What’s that?”

He smirked as he reached between you, lining himself up with your aching heat. “A belly full of me.”

“So corny,” you whisper-moaned as he sank into you, rendering you unable to talk back to him for once.

Although you and Frank had been sleeping together for the better part of three years, you were amazed by how full you felt every single time. Although his hands were rough from his work, his touch was always gentle, as if you were a rare book whose pages he couldn’t wait to turn. Even when you were in a rush or wanted it rough, he treated you with such care and warmth, only the sun itself might compare. The way he handled your body and your heart made you think you were meant to be.

Frank kissed you, using his tongue to silence your moans as he thrust into you once, twice, three times. Covering your mouth with his large hand, he nipped at your throat. “Love when you just let me take you like this, sweetheart,” he breathed into your ear. “So damn tight and all mine.”

Frank had you fluttering around him in what felt like no time at all. His filthy words combined with his expert motions brought you to the brink without fail, a skill in which he took the greatest pride. Each purposeful stroke had you arching your back beneath him, head empty apart from thoughts of how good he felt in and around you, completely oblivious to the knowledge of the party continuing mere feet away from where you laid.

Supporting his weight on his forearm, he used his other hand to guide your breast to his mouth, nibbling and licking at your soft flesh, then catching your nipple lightly between his teeth before sucking on the hardened nub. This was another trick he employed when time was of the essence, which was often, given your living situation. You certainly had no complaints when his stubble scratched against your skin as he pulled away to blow cool air over the wetness he left behind, causing you to clench. He chuckled when you bucked your hips to meet his, pleased with how worked up he’d gotten you through such a simple act.

“Frank, shit, I’m close. P- please, baby, please.” You were reduced to a babbling, whimpering mess as your husband continued fucking into you. He throbbed inside you and his pace faltered, both signs that he was reaching his peak as quickly as you were.

“God, sweetheart, you’re so beautiful like this, but the thought of you all round and glowy because of me? Makes me wanna keep you full all day, every day.” You couldn’t form a complete sentence, so your response was delivered in the form of scratches down his muscular back - souvenirs you were happy to leave behind once Frank told you he loved being marked by you.

On instinct, you wrapped your legs around his waist, your heels pressing into his toned ass, making it so his thrusts were shorter, but deeper. As you tightened around him, he let out a moan so feral, you were granted a moment of clarity and wanted to send him over the edge.

“Come on, Frankie, please give it to me,” you murmured in his ear. “Gonna let me make you a daddy?” You gripped him tight, holding him impossibly close to you as you mouthed at his throat.

Frank pounded into you with abandon, slamming the headboard into the wall again and again until you let out a broken whine, finally creaming around him. He damn near roared as he came, biting down on your shoulder and filling you to the brim. He chained kisses up your neck and across your jaw before reaching your lips, loving you sweet and slow in contrast to what you’d just shared.

He sagged against you for a moment as you both attempted to steady your breathing. “I love you so damn much, baby. Thank you for giving me everything.”

You smiled while you lazily ran your fingers through his hair. “I love you more, Frankie… We’d better get cleaned up before someone comes looking for us.”

He groaned and reluctantly pulled out of you, his cock twitching as he watched your combined release spilling from your swollen folds. He walked to the en suite bathroom, returning with a damp cloth to wipe up your thighs, avoiding your messy center.

He didn’t give you a chance to reprimand him, pulling your panties back into place and chuckling at your face, twisted in mild discomfort. He ghosted his fingers over the wet spot developing on the fabric.“Nuh-uh, baby. Gotta keep you filled with me. Make sure it takes.”

You squinted at him before your face broke into a grin. “C’mere, handsome,” you mumbled, kissing him once more before straightening yourselves up and returning to the party, astounded that you managed to restore your pre-sexcapades appearance.

As the two of you joined family and friends at the table for dessert, Evelyn took notice that Frank only had one slice of pie and two cookies on his plate. Anyone who paid attention to Frank for more than two minutes knew he wasn’t a big sweets guy, preferring chips and dips to cakes and puddings.

“Is something wrong, Francis? Is there nothing you like?”

He smiled warmly as he squeezed your thigh under the table. “Oh, everything’s great,” he simpered, mocking her fake concern. He slid his hand up your thigh, slipping his fingers past the hem of your skirt. “I think I just overdid it on the stuffing.”

[queen-haq]

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 17

Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 17

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and smut.

Words: ~3300 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost…

Part 1   Part 2   Part 3   Part 4   Part 5   Part 6   Part 7   Part 8   Part 9   Part 10   Part 11   Part 12   Part 13   Part 14   Part 15  Part 16

Part 17

Billy couldn’t stop gawking at you, wondering how it was possible you grew more beautiful each time he saw you. The red wrap dress you were wearing accentuated all your curves, and it took every bit of willpower he had not to rip it off of you and fuck you senseless right then and there. Unfortunately, he had to behave himself. Caravan was a pretty bouji place that had recently been labelled as one of the hottest restaurants in Manhattan and he had to pull a few strings to get a last-minute reservation for tonight. But seeing the smile on your face when you realized this was where you were dining had been completely worth all the hassle.

As the hostess guided the two of you to your table, he noticed a few assholes at the bar admiring you from afar. Immediately he snaked his arm around your waist to draw you in closer. You were his. If he could he’d pluck out every one of those fuckers’ eyes so they never made the mistake of looking at you again. Better yet, he’d keep you locked behind closed doors. Of course you wouldn’t agree to anything like that because you were too goddamn independent for your own good.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, taking a seat at your designated table.

Billy’s attention returned to your face as he followed suit, his gaze inhaling you in. “You look too hot. Too many assholes staring at you,” he grumbled.

The worried look on your face was replaced with a beaming smile, one that made his cock twitch.

“You’re being ridiculous” you remarked, scanning the menu.

His eyes drifted down to your chest, the swell of your soft, supple breasts just begging to be kissed and licked by him.

“Stop staring at my boobs, Billy,” you chastised even as a small smile graced your lips. “This is a proper first date. You can’t just ogle me like that. You have to behave like a gentleman.”

He quirked his eyebrow. “Sweetheart, I’ve never been that.”

“Well, try,” you ordered.

The waitress came by with the bottle of red wine you’d requested and poured some in both of your glasses. He noticed the redhead giving him a friendly smile, her green eyes lingering on him for a second too long. Fine, yeah, she may have been hot but she wasn’t you. No one was. So while he would have happily slipped her his number in the past, now the idea of being with someone who wasn’t you no longer excited him.

Once she left, he took the opportunity to move a few inches closer to you. What he really wanted was to get on his knees and bury his head between your legs, but something told him eating you out in in the crowded restaurant wouldn’t go over very well with you.

“I think she likes you.”

Hand propped on the back of your chair, he started playing with your hair. “Who?”

“Our waitress. She didn’t look at me once, her eyes were on you the entire time.”

He leaned in, ecstatic at the thought of you acting possessive. Even though you’d confessed to having feelings for him, Billy still worried you were ready to bolt at any moment. To see you jealous meant you genuinely cared and he didn’t have to worry about you leaving him. “She’s not my type. I have my eyes on someone else.”

You made a show of looking around the restaurant. “Oh, is Madani here too?”

“Funny,” he retorted, taking your hand in his.

“Your ginger’s lucky. I’m dressed way too nice or I’d take my knife and stab her with it.”

He smirked. “You’re vicious when you’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous. I just don’t like bad service.”

“Bullshit.”

“Billy, you’re hot. You know that. All the women here are checking you out. If I freaked out every time someone did that, I’d have a breakdown.”

He wanted to destroy the fucking world at the thought of someone even looking at you but apparently you were simply ambivalent about him. “So it’s that easy for you? Your brain tells you to turn off a feeling and your heart just does it?” Even to his own ears he sounded bitter. “Guess you’re not all that invested in me.”

Your eyebrow quirked up, apparently surprised by his edgy tone. “Do you want me to go nuts?”

“Just want you to give a damn.”

“You think I don’t?” you snapped. “Every time she looks at you I want to tear her hair out. Even though the rational part of me knows she’s probably just flirting with you because it’s part of her job or she’s hoping for big tips. Or maybe she really does want to fuck you. Either way, I want to punch her across the face. Happy?” You gulped down your wine.

Grinning, he squeezed your hand. “Then why not just tell me that? Why act like you don’t care?”

The agitated expression on your face was replaced with tenderness, your eyes soft. “Just because I don’t have a jealous fit doesn’t mean I don’t care. I just…” You exhaled a sigh, and he sensed this was difficult for you. “I express my emotions differently than you.”

“I noticed. You put on an act while holding everything in.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“But I want you, the real you, not the version everyone else sees.”

“It’s not that easy, Billy.”

He brought your palm to his lips. “I’d never told anyone about my mother.”

“You didn’t tell me either,” you pointed out.

“You found out anyway, and I’m so fucking glad you did. Otherwise I wouldn’t have realized I could be real with you.” He placed a tender kiss on your skin. “I don’t want to hide anything from you, Y/N.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Then tell me about William Rawlins.”

Your request gave him pause, his eyes roaming over your face. He’d taken painstaking measures to keep his partnership with Rawlins a secret yet you’d discovered it. “What do you want to know?”

“He gave you a lot of money.”

“I earned that money,” he said in a defensive tone. “He and I were partners for a while. Then he died.”

“You went to a lot of trouble to hide your connection to him.”

“You found out about it though.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m good at what I do.”

“Yeah, too good,” he muttered. He released your hand, watching you intently. “So what do you want to know?”

You leaned in closer, your voice barely above a whisper. He was momentarily distracted by the sensation of your tits pressed against him but he forced himself to concentrate.

“What happened to Rawlins, did you have anything to do with it?”

Billy took a swig of his wine. “Why do you think that?”

You quirked your eyebrow at him. “Knifed by someone in the parking lot. They never found the guy who did it.”

“He had a lot of enemies,” he pointed out.

“Okay, so maybe I was wrong.”

He studied you for several seconds, trying to decide if he should take the leap or not. “You’re not wrong.”

Realization dawned on your face as the truth set in. “Why did you do it?”

“You sure you want to know?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

So he told you, about Operation Cerberus, his role in it and the money he earned, how he’d eliminated Rawlins a year ago when the prick plotted to take out Frank and his family. To this day Frank didn’t know about Billy’s partnership with Rawlins or how close he came to dying and he intended to keep it that way.

Throughout his confession his eyes were glued to your face, gauging your reactions. The part of him determined to do anything to be a success, the one who didn’t let society’s morals get in the way of his ambitions, would never be accepted by his closest friends. Despite the myriad of reasons to have kept that side of himself hidden, he didn’t want to do that with you. Because as risky as it was to be so open with you, it was also exhilarating. There was no one in this world he’d ever been this honest with and that kind of intense connection with you was addictive. He wanted you to know everything about him, all of the dark and vicious thoughts that ran through his head, the burning ambition that kept pushing him forward. He wanted you to know him inside and out and he wanted the same from you.

Before he could prod you to speak your mind the server came by with your dishes, setting your meals on the table. The redhead took her time, all the whilst your gaze was focused on the table, avoiding his. Billy’s heart started to pound in his chest, he was suddenly filled with doubt. Had he made a mistake in telling you the truth? Did he just completely fuck this up? Every second the goddamn redhead lingered at the table felt like an eternity when all he wanted was to shake you out of your stupor.

The second the server left, he moved in on you. “Are you gonna say something?”

You finally looked at him, your forehead burrowed. “We need to do a better job of hiding your history with Rawlins. I found it, that means someone else can too.”

“You gonna help me with that?”

You shook your head ‘yes’. “Yeah, I have to. You need me.”

“What I did doesn’t bother you?”

You exhaled a heavy sigh. “Of course it does, but there’s nothing I can do about it. You’ve seen me at my worst and you didn’t judge me. I won’t do that to you either. Besides, when the universe deals you a shitty hand you’ve got to find other ways to even out your odds.”

A strange feeling of warmth flooded over him, compelling him to angle forward and kiss you on the lips.

You pulled away a second later, smiling at him as you rubbed the corner of his mouth. “This lipstick isn’t kiss-proof.”

“I don’t care.” Wicked visions of you flashed through his mind. Your bold red lips wrapped around his cock, sucking him off the way he liked it. His cum spread over your tits, your neck, your lips. The taste of your sweet, delicious cunt on his tongue as he fucked you with his mouth. The heat of your tongue against his as he rammed into you over and over-

“Stop looking at me like that,” you warned.

“Then stop looking so hot,” he snarked.

You smiled, biting down on your bottom lip.

It blew his mind how sweet and shy you were when he paid you compliments, like you didn’t expect that from him. Obviously he needed to fix that, because you deserved to know how insanely beautiful you were all the time.

“Has Anvil been okay without Rawlins?” you asked, taking a bite out of your butternut squash ravioli.

Swallowing his steak, he wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It was tough for a while but we’ve been doing pretty well the last few months.”

“You should be proud of what you’ve accomplished, Billy. You took a big risk going into business for yourself and you made it work. That’s amazing. I could never do that.”

Billy’s insides radiated with happiness. Other than Curtis and Frank he never really had people who genuinely believed in him so to have you cheering him on was exalting. Especially considering you were great at what you did and he had so much respect for you.

He poured himself and you more wine before reaching for your hand again. “I think you could. You’d make a shitload of money if you freelanced.”

You shook your head ‘no’. “No way, I’m too much of a coward to take a risk like that.” You took a sip of your wine. “Plus I get to go to Paris for work.”

“Or you could go to Paris on vacation and not work.”

“Then I’d have to pay for it,” you pointed out, grinning. “When you grow up the way I did, you learn to appreciate free things.”

Your enthusiasm was infectious, he couldn’t hep but smile back. A part of him was hoping this would be the perfect opening for you to talk more about your childhood, about everything you went through, because he desperately wanted you to trust him as much as he trusted you with his secrets.

“I’ll be there for two weeks,” you continued, oblivious to his disappointment. “We’re going to scout out locations for the new branch and-”

“We?” Billy interjected.

You cast him a quick glance. “Roger’s coming with me on the trip.”

The jealousy that struck him felt like a swift kick to his gut. Images of you and that goddamn bastard traipsing around and enjoying romantic date nights in Paris assaulted his mind. Agitated, he pulled his hand from yours. “I bet that fucker can’t wait to be alone with you.”

“Billy, come on. You can’t be serious.”

“How would you feel if I took off with someone who wanted to fuck me?”

“First of all, he doesn’t want me.”

His jaw clenched with frustration as he glared at you. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s thought about fucking you.”

“Even if he does, I don’t want him.” You reached out to cup his face, your voice so soft and tender in your attempts to placate him that he momentarily forgot how upset he was. “You really think I’d jeopardize what we have for a fling with Roger? I wouldn’t do that.”

“Then don’t go. Turn him down.”

Irritation flickered over your face, he could tell you were done coddling him. “Billy, you have no right to ask me that. I’d never interfere with your work.”

Underneath all that jealousy he knew you were right. As much as he despised the idea of you going away to Paris with another guy, he couldn’t demand that you not go on work trips. If you did that to him, it would annoy the fuck out of him. Yet despite his rational side recognizing he was asking for too much, he couldn’t help but feel bitter. “That asshole’s gonna make a move on you, I know it.”

“What if he does? What do you think is gonna happen?”

Hs eyes met yours, urgently seeking some kind of validation from you. “You tell me.”

“Do you think I’m going to sleep with him?”

He flinched. “Don’t talk about fucking another guy, please. You’re gonna make me lose my appetite.”

You took his hand and placed it over your left breast, probably to distract him from all the disgusting images that were running through his brain. “I wanted you so badly and even then it took me like a month to fuck you. Trust me, I’m not going to sleep with him when I’m not even attracted to him.”

Spotting the earnestness in your eyes, the knot in his stomach finally loosened. Roger may have had a hard-on for you but Billy knew you felt nothing for the fucker. He’d noticed that even at the night of the gala. So that meant he had to trust you, there was no reason not to. “Call me every night when you’re there,” he grumbled.

“Every night? You’re probably going to start blocking my calls,” you laughed.

He booped your nose. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

You beamed. “Fine.” A wicked glint flashed in your eyes, a seductive smile on your lips as you slowly moved his hand lower, his fingers now on your nipple. “Hey, just ‘cause you’re not there with me doesn’t mean we can’t have fun.”

He stroked your nipple over the fabric of your dress, enjoying how the nub hardened under his touch, the way your breath hitched in your throat when he continued his ministrations. With his other hand he tucked your hair behind your ear, whispering to you. “Phone sex is alright, but nothing beats this.” His tongue curved along the shell of your ear, and you trembled against him. “Right?”

The waitress seemed to come out of nowhere this time to ask how your meals were, and you jumped back. Disappointed, he sighed.

“Food was great. Thank you,” you replied, smiling stiffly at the redhead.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Privacy would be great,” Billy muttered.                                                            

You kicked him under the table. “Dessert menu?”

“Sure. I’ll bring it right over,” the waitress said, taking your plates away.  

“I’ll give you all the sugar you want once we get outta here,” he murmured seductively, caressing your thigh.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “That’s a terrible line!” You took his hand and removed it from your thigh. “Billy, I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

“Why not?”                                                      

“Because it’s our first date and I don’t put out on the first date.”

“Now that’s a terrible line,” he fired back, mimicking your earlier tone.

“Also, we already had sex this morning.”

“So? I’m greedy. I can’t get enough of you.” There was that shy smile of yours again, and he reached out to give you a sweet peck on the cheek. “You blush every time I tease you.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, it’s adorable.”

Your cheeks grew even more red. “I’m not used to it from you. A part of me still thinks you’re bullshitting me.”

Billy stiffened. “Really?”

“I know you’re not playing me,” you reassured. “It’s on me, not you. I just have a hard time accepting when good things happen.”

The waitress came by with the dessert menu. He briefly glanced at it before ordering a slice of pecan pie while you ordered a piece of chocolate cake.

As soon as the redhead left, he broached the topic with you again. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. You have to believe that.”

You didn’t look at him, your eyes fixed somewhere on his chest. “I do. You were so pissed off at me last night. I honestly expected you to hit me because you were so angry. But you didn’t.”

It made him sick to his stomach that you actually thought him capable of hitting you. It hadn’t even occurred to him that you would worry about that, but of course you would. With your childhood it made perfect sense, he was just a fucking idiot who hadn’t realized how much it still impacted you. “I’m never gonna lay a hand on you. I swear.” His eyes locked with yours, hoping you can sense how much he meant those words.

“I believe you.”

His voice was insistent, his gaze boring into you. “Why did you think I would?”

Your eyes wavered from his eyes to his lips for a long time, the atmosphere thick with tension. Your facial expressions ran the gamut of painful emotions, from uncertainty to fear to sheer panic.

It finally sank in that maybe the reason you were keeping the truth from him had noting to do with if you trusted him or not. Maybe you didn’t want to be assaulted by memories from the past that caused you so much pain. The last thing he wanted was for you to experience that hell again. Regretting his demanding tone, his hands caressed down the length of your arms. “You don’t have to tell me, It’s okay.”

Your eyes brimmed with aching vulnerability as you looked up at him. “I want to… I just… give me some time, okay?” You pressed your lips against his, giving him the softest, sweetest kiss. “I’ve been looking forward to tonight for so long, I don’t want to ruin it, you know?”

His heart felt full, his mind reeling with wonderment at the thought of you truly reciprocating his feelings. His arms wrapped around you as you sank into him, burying your face in his chest. His fingers stroked the back of your hair, murmuring soft, soothing words to you. Somewhere in the distance he heard the server’s voice trying to interject, but he didn’t give a damn.  He was yours and you were his and nothing was going to ruin that. Nothing.

Part 18

A/N - I realize not much happened in this chapter but I just reallly wanted to write a dialogue heavy part where they simply get to know and enjoy each other. I think they’ve earned some fluff. LOL.

As always, thank you for your kind words of encouragement. Please let me know your thoughts.

Tumblr tag list:

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[voidmadisonrecs]

chris evans recs

these are more for me then anyone else but here are my fav chris evans (and co.) fics, blurbs, headcanons, etc.

feel free to message or comment with suggestions that i should read and make sure to check out these writers other works because they are all amazing <3

Chris Evans

butterflies - @chanelfaerie

chris has got butterflies for you—do you feel the same?

pop the questions - @angelkurenai

you are costars and in a relationship with Chris and while on the set of ‘Gifted’, you are very clingy. when Chris sees you interact with your youngest costar, he realizes you would make a great mother

white - @agentofbarnes

chris can’t seem to function while seeing you in a white dress

ask me properly - @twittytelly

while spending time with his family, chris realizes that it's the perfect time to put his 'plan' into action

red carpet w/ chris - @avenging-fandoms

your chris’s costar with Chris and you’re both tipsy in a red carpet interview and giggling together, making no sense but just being all happy and sparking dating rumours

happy goddamn new year - @fluffymisha97

the morning after your new year with the evans’ which doesn’t go all that smooth

sweet creature - @buckyhoney

domestic shit

ass man headcanon - @agentofbarnes

chris evans sure does love ass

and then he came along - @teebarnes

you haven't had the best record when it comes to relationships, you thought you couldn't be loved. until one day as you sat on the beach shivering, everything changed when chris came along

granola bar and lots of love - @planetofawe

with the kids away, you and chris have more than enough time to practice some aftercare (smut)

claim - @cloudystevie

your husband puts a baby in you (smut)

beer gut - @violetlilysunshine

chris gets self conscious after gaining a little bit of weight and not working out as hard as he used to during his Marvel days (smut)

dumb - @agentofbarnes

chris evans makes you dumb and you are a little touchstarved (smut)

red, white, blue’s in the sky, summer’s in the air, baby heaven’s in your eyes - @cloudystevie

sunday’s are for football games and attention (smut)

the big 4-0 - @rocketrhap3000

chris being insecure for his 40th bday but reader makes sure he knows just how much she loves him (smut)

my girl - @punani

chris loves calling you his girl (smut)

the fluffer (masterlist) - @punani

it’s the 70′s and the erotic videos industry is experiencing another boom after the risen popularity in the previous decade. the studio’s are hot, gemini flanagan is a brand, and you’re a newly hired assistant at shaggin’ studios. chris takes a liking to you, altering your job description so that you get to work more closely with him. is this all just physical, or is there something more? (smut)

wedding shenanigans - @flowerbouquet

in which you and chris have a sneaky fuck in the bathroom during your best friends wedding (smut)

grocery run - @bucksfucks

innocently wearing chris’ shirt leads to you finding out just how much he can’t resist you (smut)

chain - @bucksfucks

chris tells you to bite down on his chain (smut)

home late (part 2) - @violetlilysunshine

smuttttttt

severance - @punani

the divorce process with chris is messy, seemingly never ending, and ultimately: heartbreaking. you had to be strong for your son, yourself, and eventually you wanted someone else to be strong for you, so, it seemed only natural that you would venture into the arms of another. however, sometimes the line between something officially ending or simply taking a break blurs when you’ve known someone for longer than you can remember (smut/baby fever/ex!reader)

so beautiful to me - @uprootbasic

despite being broken up and coparenting, chris still want to show you how much he loves you (smut/baby fever)

sundress season - @jurassicbarnes

in which all it takes is a pretty little dress to break his resolve (ex!reader/smut/baby fever)

mwah - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

ur little bubba is obsessed with kissys and keeps leaning in to kiss you (baby fever)

long hair lover - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho

chris comes back from filming red sea diving resort and his baby daughter is crazy in love with his long hair (baby fever)

slobbery kisses - @iguessweallcrazyithinktho 

chris wakes up to sloppy kisses by his baby (baby fever)

baby rose - @fluffymisha97

reader and chris had a little baby girl. but not everything is going that well, you're both trying to navigate life as new parents (baby fever)

eve - @kiwisomething

you drop your son off with his father and he invites you in (baby fever/ex!chris)

parenting is hard blurb - @lokiscu

chris and the reader have just had a baby and the lack of sleep mixed with lack of physical affection and time they have with one another gets to both of them and they end up fighting because of the stress (baby fever)

isla - @uprootbasic

the reader is a famous singer and always sings to her little girl. one night, chris and the reader decides to have this little jamming session with their baby. chris plays the piano while the reader sings I wanna hold your hand by the Beatles (baby fever)

the neighbours lights - @lokiscu

it’s your first Christmas with a baby (baby fever)

paparazzi - @ozarkthedog

chris evans and reader are both famous and one day they are out with their daughter when paparazzi start to follow them (baby fever)

thunder - @worksby-d

your daughter is scared of the thunder (baby fever)

she’s the one - @worksby-d

chris x singlemom!reader masterlist (baby fever)

protective stepdad chris x single!reader - @worksby-d

masterlist (baby fever)

truth be told - @kthynes

chris finds out he has a 6 month old baby because his partner didn’t have the chance to tell him that she is pregnant because they broke up (angsty??/baby fever)

not her - @agentofbarnes

chris wants a family and you just aren’t ready yet, but that doesn’t mean he wants you any less (angsty?)

the love we have - @kthynes

the reader is chris's ex wife and she's about to be married again to a guy she doesn't really love. so in the night of her bachelorette party she's really drunk and she ended up going to his apartment and tell him that she still loves him and that she wants to hate him because he was the one who file for divorce but she can't, then she leaves. on the day of the ceremony their 10 year old kid tells Chris that he should go after her before is too late (angsty??)

Frank Adler

i ruined our sweet tune - @rodrikstark

the last person you’d expect to see in florida is the hot professor from your undergrad philosophy class 

buttons - @rodrikstark

buttoning franks shirt headcanon 

waffles - @amylillian22

the morning after their usual saturday date night, y/n runs into mary unexpectedly. frank wakes up to find them making waffles

remember - @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

frank wakes you up at the ungodly hour of 3:30 am and will not even tell you why

breeding kink - @stargazingfangirl18

as the hot single dad everyone wants to get with, frank turns a few heads at back to school night, and well, you may get a little possessive (smut) 

magic demeanor - @bloodiedskirtts

after moving back to Florida in the middle of a heat wave, things seem to be getting worse and worse. the only thing to make her days any better is her neighbour, Frank. with neither of them willing to admit that they can’t get enough of each other, a pesky shower malfunction may be the only way for them to tell each other how they feel (smut)  

Ransom Drysdale

2:27 am - @cloudystevie

it’s 2:27 in the morning when ransom shows up at your doorstep, and he wishes he could tell you why 

cold (third part of his return) - @kiwisomething

hugh is cold sleeping on the couch by himself 

new man - @worksby-d

ransom loves to pretend he’s not whipped for you, but here he is letting you do your skin care routine on him

morning dew - @agentofbarnes

it was only supposed to be one night, but ransom can’t seem to get you out of his head (smut) 

Andy Barber

the proposal - @fairyevans

andy takes the reader on a gorgeous vacation but everything goes wrong except the proposal 

consequences - @stargazingfangirl18

life after your breakup with ransom (smut)

yes, mrs barber - @jurassicbarnes

in which you’re down on your knees, about to suck his dick within an inch of his life because it was the only way to shut him up (smut) 

[welcometothereturn]

❤️‍🔥 MCR TACOMA HIGHLIGHTS ❤️‍🔥

Because I’m still riding the high and I wanna document it lol-

Everyone clapping/cheering for vacuum guy, and when he came out a second time rainbow lights and sexy music came on as well

THE 10 MINS OF STATIC/CICADA SOUND WITH RED & WHITE LIGHTS THAT PLAYED BEFORE MCR HIT THE STAGE THAT MADE ME VIBRATE AT A VELOCITY SO INTENSE

Gerard’s weird little moans/noises between music lol

The fact that the entire concert was pseudo-Twilight themed and Gerard wore a goddamn Team Edward shirt, like, he llo?

“Well are you ready Ray?” “Yeah!“ “How ‘bout you Frank?” “OUUUUGUUUO-“

Gerard Floor Time™️ after the second or third song 🖤

GERARD AND FRANK’S SCREAMING LIKE HOLY FUCK I WAS NOT PREPARED 😩😩😩😩😩😩 THEY SOUNDED SO FUCKING GOOD 🥵🥵🥵

Also y’all were RIGHT, Ray DO be lookin fine this tour 👀👀👀 He was glowin, singing beautifully into that mic, like damn ❤️‍🔥

THEY ALL LOOK SO HAPPY!!!!! KILL ME!!!!!!! ALL OF THEM ARE SHINING AND SMILING AND SO HAPPY 😖😭😭😭 When I saw them in 2011 it was NOTHING like this! Both in performance and demeanor!

Gerard also saying that he watched the new Batman twice with Lindsey and that Robert Pattinson was hot… Only to reappear on stage with the Team Edward shirt right after LMAO

Me screaming my goddamn guts out to I’m Not Okay, Destroya & Famous Last Words to the point where I was choking & lost my voice. So goddamn cathartic y’all ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

The Ghost of You & the stadium lighting up with all of the camera lights ✨

Also my cry count was like 3 (if you don’t count me sobbing through the entirety of FLW) my best friend cried like 5 times, and my favorite/funniest part was when I could hear my fiancé behind me going “😭 We’Ll 😭 cArRy 😭 oOoOnN 😭😭😭”

THEY FUCKING ENDED THE CONCERT ON CANCER MY HEART 💔💔💔

[missgeniality]

A Date With Destiny (m)

“Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves, alone - we find it with another.” - Thomas Merton

➺ Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

➺ Trope: Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU

➺ Genre: Fluff, Smut, one comedian in the mix

➺ Rating: 18+

➺ Word Count: 11k

➺ Summary: You are a boss lady in the tech industry travelling to world for work. He is a chart-topping artist touring the globe to perform in front of millions of fans. In the cosmos of life, you are not likely to cross paths. Luckily, fate has a different plan for you two.

➺ Warnings: dom!jk, unprotected sex (sex is cleaner when you pack your weiner!), hickeys galore, lot of spit, oral (male and female receiving), balls receive attention, throat fucking, cum eating, edging, masturbation kinda?, cum play, pussy slapping, pussy sniffing, fingering, squirting, spanking, pain kink?, tit slapping, reader teases a bit but this man is a tease maestro, cum stuffing (is that a thing even?), Jungkook’s THIGHS need their own warning

➺ Author’s Note: @ppersonna​​ is an angel among us peasants. Thank you so much for all your help with this!   This is my first attempt at writing, and the tiniest feedback goes a long way! Hope you enjoy! 

When you die, the first pit stop you make is to the coffee gods. 

Without coffee, this whole month would have been a disaster. Back-to-back meetings, daily flights, countless documents being read, it’s a miracle your eyes are open and fully functioning. 

Being the Chief Technical Officer of a well-established company at your age had been anything but a cakewalk. You had strived hard and crossed many boulders to come to where you are. But if reaching that point required huge amounts of effort, now your work is tenfold. 

“Why can’t I just get longer flights so I can nap in them?” You mumble into your nth cup of coffee - not keeping count is for your own sanity. 

“Because longer flights apparently have crying children. You, our resident baby-magnet hypothesized that shorter flights equal more time in hotel rooms ‘sleeping’. Guess who sleeps in said hotel rooms? Everyone but you.” Your personal assistant and part-time truth-spouter Jake offers helpfully. 

“Past me was such an idiot.” You shoot back, wondering if you could inject the espresso right through your veins.

Jake pouts. “Woman, you take on jobs that an intern could do. If you weren’t such an unnecessary perfectionist I would be on the beaches of Thailand, getting sensual massages and eating some pretty pussy. But here we are, on our way to Seoul. So quit your whining because clearly, I have lost more.” 

“What if I wanted to do that too?”

“Can I watch?” 

“Right.” And that was the end of the conversation. 

Passengers on flight KE654 from Bangkok to Seoul are requested to report for boarding at Gate 45A. First Class passengers will be boarded first, followed by Business class and lastly Economy. Please keep your boarding pass ready for checking.

Jake stands up, groaning. “This is where we say goodbye. Do you wanna pretend like we’re strangers and have a hot one-night stand when we land?” 

“Sometimes I think it’s your natural response to flirt with a breathing being. Do you ever accidentally just, you know, flirt with a tree?” You try to sound sarcastic, but you’re genuinely curious. 

“If a day comes when a hot specimen like me has to flirt with a tree, humanity is doomed. Catch ya later!” He blows you a kiss before leaving for the restroom. You shake your head in awe, a small smile finding your lips. He knew how to get your mind off things.

For all his flirting, Jake’s interest in you is perfunctory. He looks after you, keeps you from starving or gouging your eyeballs out, and calms you when things are too hard. He’s seen your worst. You’ve seen him drunk out of his mind, bailed him out when he “accidentally” smoked up, and heard every new pick-up line his ingenious brain churned out. Basically, you’ve seen his worst as well. 

You take a look at your boarding pass. 3C. Jake would be in business class, and you in first. Not your choice, the company makes the rules. It's for the better, he says. Apparently, he can ‘prowl for his hunt better’, without your judgmental glare. You nearly vomit on him just for his choice of words.

Entering the flight, you stash away your hand baggage the first place you find the room and head to your seat and-

Holy. Shit.

Jeon Jungkook is sitting on your seat.

Jeon Jungkook is on your flight? 

BTS is on your flight? 

What are the odds?

Granted, you’re not a 16-year old obsessive fan, collecting photocards and waving light sticks through the screen, but even in your adulthood you’ve admired their music and shows, routinely keeping up with their discography. 

Hell, you even learned Korean years ago to better understand their songs. Maybe you are an obsessive fan.

But you can’t approach them like that. They no doubt want some privacy and not be recognized. God forbid you approach Jungkook with crazy eyes, just to be escorted off the plane for stalking. While you liked their work, you had your own, and getting thrown off this flight does not help you there.

So, you’re just gonna have to speak to him like just another passenger. 

BTS who? 

Biggest boyband who? 

You only listen to Frank Sinatra. 

“Excuse me?” You call out, a shiver of a whisper leaving your lips. You immediately chastise yourself for being so star-struck.

Big, round eyes glitter under the bucket hat. The softest ‘huh’ throws a lasso over your heart, and holds it captive. He adjusts his hat, inked fingers making a brief yet lasting appearance. The epitome of tenderness, you muse as his eyes flit here and there to figure out the situation. After finding no one to help him out, he gently offers “Yes?”

You feel extremely guilty for marring his serene face with creases of trouble. “I think this is my seat. See, 3C.” you say, pointing to the seat and then to your ticket for good measure. Did he suspect you recognize them? No. Do you look like you’re over-gesticulating? Totally. 

“Oh.” His brow distresses further, the sight has you ready to give the man your seat and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the flight. “But even I am 3C.”

His ticket shows the same characters as yours. 

Huh?

With both your faces contorted in confusion, an air hostess comes forward to help. 

“We both are booked on the same seat. How does that happen? Do I need to catch another flight?” You suddenly pour out, remembering the countless commitments you have in Seoul that would go down the drain if you don’t make it by tonight.

She's quick to reassure you. “Do not worry ma’am, I’m sure there must have been an error in the printing. I’ll be right back.” At the same time, Jungkook is approached by someone, probably one of their staff, to discuss the issue.

The air hostess returns smiling. “Ma’am, you both were booked on the same seat but this adjacent seat was left empty. We are extremely sorry for the error. You may take 3B.” She reiterates the same message to Jungkook in Korean, who then looks mighty relieved. 

Goddamn, his eyes got bigger. How much bigger can they get?

“All okay then?” He glances sideways, smile irradiating your senses and waking you up better than all the coffee could. 

“All good. Sorry for the trouble.” You add, even though it isn’t your mistake in any way.

“No no. No trouble” He beams back. 

Aw, you are in trouble. 

As the flight is about to take off, you can see the rest of BTS in the rows ahead of you, with some other staff members taking up other seats. There’s one old man with a scowl on his face, whom you can’t place with the BigHit group. Great, no crying kids. Unless the frowning grandpa snores to the heavens, you can actually catch a good four-hour snooze. Take that, Jake. Hope a kid blows snot in his face. 

Looking at your neighbor, you find him busy searching for a good video game on the screen. The other members seem to be using this flight to catch a nap, except him. You always wondered whether their on-screen persona was real or not. Now you could say at least one of his characteristics is true. 

Turning away, you bring your focus back to the document at hand. The schematics for a new product your company was launching. You had spearheaded its conception and looked over every single detail in its manufacturing. The Seoul branch is one of the main players in its production, and your last stop before heading back home. You must have every word in this file burnt in the back of your eyelids to make this deal smooth. 

Reclining your seat, and putting your legs up, you got down to business.

An Angel was calling you. 

You want to wake up, but you couldn’t, fearing the Angel would stop singing to you. Something is poking you, but the voice just drowns it all out.

Wait...

Fluttering your eyes open, you see Jeon Jungkook staring right at you. 

“Hi... They, umm--Food? Want to eat?” the Angel utters. Jungkook utters. Tomato, to-mah-to. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, wiping non-existent drool on your face. His palm on your shoulder quickly retracts at your exaggerated attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Thank you so much.”

Then, he does that thing. He smiles. Eye scrunch and all. 

Fuck the coffee gods. When you die, you want to meet the Grand Master and ask him what crack he was on to hand over so much power to one man’s smile. 

The food is placed on your table, and you thank the hostess graciously. 

“Do you need anything to drink?” She asks, to which you only shake your head. There was enough caffeine in your system to shoot a horse to the moon and you were still drowsy. There was no need to catalyze this process with booze.  

“Your Korean accent is pretty good.” Your next-seat resident comments. Ah, you had conversed with the hostess in Korean. 

“Thank you very much.” You giggle, roleplaying an acne-prone teenager talking to her hunk of a crush.

“Have you been speaking for a long time?” He pops a huge morsel of food after asking. Well, that’s another on-screen quality found to be accurate.

“Six years now. Comes in handy for my work.” 

“Oh! Did you have to learn it for work? That’s fascinating.” Another mouthful went in. You didn’t even know it was physically possible to hold that much rice using chopsticks.

“Uhh.. no..” You tussle your hair, trying to stop your cheeks from turning beet red, “I just listened to some music and consuming more content.. and subtitles are a bore, plus I needed a hobby at the time so..” 

Your unnecessarily long explanation was cut short by Jungkook’s child-like laugh, enjoying the pickle you were putting yourself in. 

“Hey! I just didn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation, that’s all.” you try to be cross, knowing it’s inconceivable since God himself seems to have given him whatever he wanted. If big ol’ Almighty can’t stand against his charms, you are but a mere pleb. 

He looks at you kindly. “Thank you, that was very thoughtful. I’ve been speaking to so many foreigners trying to get across to them I got surprised when you spoke so fluently.” 

He went back to chomping on his food like it was his last meal, completely unaware of your staring.  

You both speak for a long time. He explains their latest shoot and fan meeting, and you listen to him pour out his love for his job and fans as much as he could articulate. The rest of the emotion is portrayed by his now widest eyeballs (they cannot get any wider, you confirm by asking him - a request he apparently gets a lot) and intense gesticulation. It is very gratifying to listen to his past schedules, and you slip in a quick prayer for not having a job where you had to maintain public appearances while having a schedule as persevering as theirs. Sure, you had a ton of commitments. But can you throw your hair in a bun and aggressively scowl at a monitor and still meet your target? Fuck yeah.

You went on to tell him about yourself - your job, your travels, the reason you were in Seoul. He listens to them with rapt attention throwing in appropriate questions without interrupting your flow. He gives the right amount of sympathy; just enough to show that he understands why you have three sets of nightwear and a futon in your office, but not too much where it seems like you should “take a break” and “think about the joys of motherhood” - as you are often told. 

During the conversation, you digress a little to take in his slight features. The apple of his cheeks, in full display, when he tells you about how he pranked his members. The light pout of his lips when he talks about the times their path seemed too far-fetched, when every single obstacle felt like the end of their career. The stars in his eyes when he speaks of how he feels during tours, meeting the endless number of fans, the drive that keeps him going. They all make an endearing package. Eager to please, you kept the conversation going with gusto. The meal is followed by a snack break, after which you had effectively exhausted all conversation topics that could be brought up with near-strangers.

A quick alcohol break later, (yes, you caved, the catalyst was welcome) you both doze off, seemingly exhausted from recollecting respective timetables. He wakes up soon after to play video games and talk to the other members. But you fall into a deep slumber, with an Angel’s chuckles in the background guiding you through the sleep. 

Jungkook wakes up to see his character dead. The video game was forgotten after his conversation with you began. 

He spent an inordinate amount of time talking to you. And now that you’re asleep, he is only thinking about how much he enjoyed the conversation. Jungkook is not a speaker. His introversion leaves much to be desired in that department. Most of the time, his members cover for him, play the role of dutiful wingmen, and introduce him to their friends. And still, it took him a long time to talk freely.

But something about you made him open up.

Maybe it was the way you listened to him, lips slightly parted when you were absorbing every single word he let out. Maybe it was the questions you asked, treading lightly and skirting any personal questions. Maybe it was the fact that you pretended to not know him at first, mindful of his privacy. The butterflies in him could be explained by this.

But.

It could also be how graceful you looked, even though you’re dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. It could be how you carried yourself, with great elegance and poise, even though your work was taxing. It could also be your toe socks, and your glee when he showed you his.

Your personality is infectious. He already misses you, despite you being inches away, desperately wants to exhaust every second of this journey engrossed in you. 

He wonders if you feel that way too.

Speaking of whom-

A snicker escapes his lips when he turns to face you. 

In your sleepy haze, Jungkook sees that a) your mouth is wide open, b) your hands mindlessly fiddle with the reams of pages on your lap, and c) your eyes scrunch as sunlight pierces through the flight to bounce off your face. Cute, he muses, trying to locate the source of the criminal rays irking you. 

The window letting the sunbeam in is beside an old man sitting on the other end. He is eyeing the magazine in his hands with abject disapproval, like the booklet had sullied him and his family. 

Gathering up the courage, Jungkook calls out for the man.

“Excuse me, sir. Do you mind pulling the window shade?” He asks, in the sweetest voice that his hyungs would melt at first listen. 

Puppy eyes are met with the geezer’s piercing glare, making Jungkook wonder if he accidentally said something strikingly offensive instead of what he thought he said. About to backtrack his words and try again, he gets interrupted by the man letting out a big grunt, after which he continues in his endeavor to telepathically set fire to the magazine. He does not forget to give a nasty side-eye but completely refuses to comply with Jungkook’s request. 

“And my team thinks my glares are spooky.” You pique, having witnessed the whole interaction, “I ought to have him on board”. Jungkook snorts, and you take that to be his agreement. 

Pausing, you throw caution in the wind and add, “Thank you though, that was very sweet of you.”

He eyes you demurely. “No problem, you looked like you needed the rest.” 

“Listen, I-”

“So I was think-”

Ladies and gentlemen, we have just been cleared to land at the Incheon International airport. Please ensure your backpacks and suitcases are stowed away in the overhead compartments or underneath the seats ahead of you. The flight attendants are currently passing around the cabin to make a final compliance check and pick up any remaining cups and glasses. Thank you.

High-quality curses almost make it to heaven (speakers). The announcement dissipates all the courage you had mustered, feeling a rush exit your body. You had almost asked for his contact - and by the looks of it, he had wanted it too. Or maybe your hair is a rat's nest and he was just going to point that out. Guess you will never know.

You shyly smile at each other before going about following the instructions. Your half-read document gets stuffed back into its bag, to be read once you have no distractions in the form of eye candy armed with saccharine speech. Well, you have Jake to distract you plenty, but you can shoo him away by threatening his paycheck. 

As the flight descends, you look over to your neighbor - one last time, you guess - and surprisingly lock eyes with him. Anything that had exited you comes rushing back, veins in full alertness. A moment’s awkwardness later you both burst out laughing, each doing their best to hide their crimson cheeks. You find one more online fact to be true - Jungkook’s peak happiness laughter, eye crinkle and nose scrunch, can melt your whole entire heart. 

“Hey mami, come here often?”

“For the last time Jake, I will not hesitate to donate your bones for science.”

“Well, I heard bone, it's already a win for me.”

You let out a sigh of exasperation. There is no reforming him. 

“How was the flight?” Jake questions as you approach the baggage belt. Looking out for your somber black suitcase, you try to play it off like you did not spend the whole time in the company of a stranger who is on the fast track to your heart.

“The usual. Sleep, eat, read needlessly printed out documents that could have been shoved into on email, repeat. What about you?”

As Jake starts an account of his flight experience in exorbitant detail, you took the opportunity to try and find your ride. Once you locate it and get in, you catch the end of his sermon. 

“-and the name of the book will be ‘How to manage a farm - ‘cause chicks gon’ be crazy!’. What do you think?”

“I think it was a good idea I chose to zone out.”

“Y/N come on! It’s a self-help book for poor souls born without my raw charisma. Men and women out there want me, but I can’t satisfy them all. I will just resort to making more of me! It will have pointers, DIY’s and pick-up lines crafted by yours truly - wanna hear one?”

You throw your bag in front and turn to him. “Do I have a choice? Go ahead.”

Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he starts. “Am I cute? Squish my cheeks. Am I hot? Clap my cheeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Points for creativity. You’ll still get wine splashed at you.”

Jake was not one to give up. “‘It’s good we don’t need eye condoms, or you’d be on your way to delivery.’”

“Just… don’t have kids, okay? This gene must be stopped, right here.”

“Okay, this one is my all-time favorite. ‘Rack so big, I don’t motorboat, I motorship.’”

That’s it. The guffaw itching you since the start of this conversation is out of its cages, populating the air in the car. Wiping stray tears from your face, you face Jake, seeming very pleased with himself. Undoubtedly, he is coming up with absurd scenarios to ease your nerves. No book is in the works (one could only hope).

“Thank you, I feel much better now. You can stop coming up with these.”

The goof has the gall to look appalled. “I was going to cut you ten percent of my book commission but I guess that’s out. Hmph.”

“I’m at the receiving end of all these pick-up lines. I should make twenty at least for all the nuisance I’ve put up with.” 

“All right mami, we’ll shelve this for later. Here’s the schedule for today. You have a 10 a.m. breakfast meeting with Dr. Park Shin Young, Lead Research Scientist of the project. Then you have a bunch of seminars to attend, which will go on all afternoon. There’s a bar right beside this venue.”

“How is that pertinent?”

“So you know where to find me.” He continues, unperturbed. “After which there’s an evening meeting with the whole team to demonstrate the product and a marketing meeting right after.”

“Am I required for the marketing meeting?” Your expertise is limited to the technical field. PR work isn’t your cup of tea, but they stubbornly demand your presence. 

Jake exhales. “We’ve been through this. You CAN doze off during the meeting, but you have to be there. Just pretend you’re a college student, sitting in one class, completing assignments for another.”

“But if I’m there I feel the need to pay attention.” you whine.

“Clearly you weren’t one of those college students,” Jake says, perusing through his diary, “Stop being a pedant and do one of those things people do. Loving their jobs and whatnot.”

Before you can retort a reply, the driver pulls up to your destination and you exit the car. 

Eleven at night is when you finally check in to the hotel. The tedious day warrants your heels coming off before you even reach your floor. There’s an irritant drumming, from the balls of your feet right up to your temples, that beg for your attention. Setting your footwear on your bags, you massage your feet for temporary relief as the lift took you closer to a more permanent one.

Once your suitcase gets parked in the closet, you head to the bathroom to soak your day away with the bath bomb kit you were gifted in one of the seminars. The ball fizzles as soon as it hits the water, dispersing in tiny bubbles and a heady aroma of vanilla and lavender. The soft amber tones of the walls, the lambent gold lighting, and the ambrosial air put all your senses at ease. You sink in; the bathwater permeating warmth through your skin. Crackling bubbles with every move; the water teases your neck, soothing the laceration with every lick. Every pulse point on you is enhanced - you let yourself float wherever your mind takes you. 

A familiar face makes its presence known. You allow yourself to think about him, after pushing his visage away all day. Something about him… felt like home. Soothing, comforting, always speaking in dulcet tones unless something humorous pulled out a loud laugh. Even that wasn’t jarring; it was the exact opposite. Felt like sunshine filled your lungs every time he cracked up. Made you want to keep talking to him, keep him amused and entertained. You can’t imagine he converses with every stranger like that. 

But maybe he did; maybe this is some unspoken celebrity culture you were unaware of. 

All you know is that this was a once in a lifetime experience. There’s no way you are encountering another personage ever again. There’s no way you’re encountering him again. Luck can only thrive so far. 

So when you exit the bathroom, clad in a towel, remnant bathwater dripping from every end, the last thing you expect is Jungkook, spread out on the bed, casually flipping through his phone like it’s his own abode. 

“J-Jungkook?”

Y/N. In his room. In a towel. Dripping wet hair. Emanating a delectable aroma. 

Y/N. In person.

He is dreaming. He has to be. He's been thinking of you ever since the flight, so now he is delusional. Nothing else. There’s absolutely no chance that you’re in his room, let alone… like this. 

Right?

“What are you… what are you doing in my room?”

Wrong. 

Jungkook knows he should say something. He should not be gawking at you like he is doing now. But God. You look so pretty, eyebrows arched up in confusion, jaw about to be unhinged, hands fluttering around not knowing what to do. 

He forces his body to action.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, finally averting his eyes to face the wall. 

Pause.

"Wait, what do you mean MY room? This is my room!"

You’re baffled. "Huh? How is that possible? This was given to me!" 

“I really don’t know, Y/N, there must have been some confusion! Please, you have to believe me!” 

Jungkook wants to turn around and face you. He desperately wants to clear the air. He can see that this looks bad. He obviously looks like an enamored creep, waltzing into your space. You probably think he does this all the time. Many a time people have misunderstood him, his celebrity status not earning him many points. You must think the same.

And now you’re going to tell him to get out and never see you again, he hypothesizes. His brain is working overtime trying to remedy the situation, without noticing your now relaxing demeanor. 

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll fix this, I’ll go to the reception and fix this. You don’t worry, I didn’t see anything, you can trust me, I’ll go an-”

“Hey, hey,” your tone gentle, “it’s okay, trust me. Just, let me get dressed and I’ll come down with you.”

Your soothing response almost has Jungkook on his knees. Whoever orchestrated this meet, he is just thankful for this good turn. Anyone else would go berserk, and rightfully so. 

But you’re not anyone else. 

He isn’t just anyone.  

Technically, he isn’t a stranger, you try to justify. You should have been more shocked, enraged, or at least doubtful of his intentions. But you weren’t. You had accepted his explanation, let him stay in your room while you changed in the bathroom, and now are en-route to the main desk to rectify this error.

The air around you two is strained; he won’t even look you in the eye. Any question you have is replied to concisely, leaving no room for a chat. Nothing to disperse the tension between you two. 

Like now, in the elevator, Jungkook has done the math and maintains the maximum distance between you. Opposite ends of the diagonal of this lift, his peripheral vision probably barely picks you up. However, his evasion helps in a way--you are able to study his full form.

He is dressed casually, and any lesser man would have seemed casual enough. On him, it is a whole new game. Ripped jeans hugging his sturdy legs, the slashed fabric allowing you a peek of his dangerous thighs. A plain white t-shirt tucked in to show off his lean waistline. The only thing holding you back from having a full-blown wet dream, wide awake, is his chestnut overcoat, saving his modesty and yours. 

Jake was right, eye condoms are the need of the century. 

To be fair, Jungkook had the worse end. He saw you scantily clad, post-bath glow and everything. You wonder what is going through his mind. 

Definitely nothing like the debauchery unfolding in yours. 

He has probably seen his fair share of women, and one hot to trot lady isn’t anything new. If anything, him dodging you is a sign of his civility, something you are lacking apparently--ready to jump his bones.

Stop thinking about his thighs, you whore. Get back home and trusty old Vlad the Impaler will take care of you.

The employee’s jaw almost hits the desk as Jungkook explains the situation. 

“Ma’am, Sir, we are extremely sorry about this confusion. We usually keep another key for family members, but somehow you got them both. We are deeply apologetic.”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’d just like my room key now and-”

“We will give you the best of our service to make up for this disorder. Not that we didn’t plan on giving you the best anyway, but now it will be top-notch! Please allow us to have your room cleaned again ma’am. Kyuyoung-ah! Get the people to prep 5338 and set 5337 again, and add more flowers!”

“Hey, that really won’t be necessary, we can just go back and forget about all thi-”

“And!” She continues, relentless, fully intent on doing her job, “Here are coupons for our round the clock pub! The ambiance is phenomenal, and our bartender makes a mean drink! You can use the facility for free during your stay. Hope this compensates for our gaffe. Once again, we are extremely sorry!”

She extends two passport-sized coupons that you hurriedly grab, wanting this quandary to end. 

The walk back to the elevator is less tight-lipped, only because Jungkook starts his deluge of apologies. Even though you had felt the same way on the flight, he was going overboard. You quickly assuage him and deflect his concerns.

“It’s okay, Jungkook. It really is. I know it was a mistake.”

“I know, but I shouldn’t have just walked in like that. I should have checked.”

Your expression is the visual form of a question mark. 

“Do you go around making sure your hotel room doesn’t have a surprise occupant?”

You’re taking this too lightly; it's obvious you are doing it for him. He can only laugh, broad delicious shoulders loosening in relief.

After a delay, you add, “You can’t help it if fate wants us crossing paths like this.” 

The quip makes Jungkook lose a beat. He cocks a brow in surprise - at that juncture, his features lose all boyish charm and turn unquestionably irresistible. 

Then, in a flash, the expression is replaced by his usual grin, back to his boy-next-door spirit. Are there world records for this speed? Jungkook needs to sign up to one.

Collecting the stars floating around your head, you return the favor, thankful that the barrier is now broken. 

After a quick break of courage gathering, you turn to him. “How come you’re staying in this hotel? Thought you’d be home.”

A thought is building in your mind; that this is too personal a question. But before you can take it back, you hear a chime. Jungkook moves. And somehow, you are moving with him. 

The elevator door opens, and people walk out. 

But that’s not where your attention is. 

You are focused on the sole patch of your body in contact with Jungkook’s arm. 

The palm of his hand sitting at the small of your waist is what had guided you away from the elevator. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, his hand is sending goosebumps all over your body. The air feels twenty degrees too hot for you.

Jungkook is simply being his chivalrous self, while you are ready to get arrested for public nudity.

Woman, you are a disgrace. Get laid.

Jungkook will high five himself once he gets to his pad. 

Is it right to get so euphoric about the smallest act of intimacy? That too with a near stranger? He has no answer. You are special to him; that much he knows. And someone up there agrees with him as well, letting him run into you again (albeit under crude circumstances; he’ll take what he gets). In this proximity, he can hear the slight gasp that escapes you once you recognize his hold, feel your muscles tense, smell the flowery fragrance you still carry. The fragrance that takes his mind on a rewind routine; one he forces to a halt. He feels lewd for taking pleasure in that misfortune, but he can take pleasure in the present. 

Entering the elevator, Jungkook has taken note of one thing: the roles have been reversed. On the downward voyage, it had been him avoiding you. Now, even with the closeness, you refuse to meet his eye. Something on the carpeted floor has your unrelenting attention. Letting his gaze dip to you, he bit back a smirk. Good to know you are as affected by him as he is by you.

“It’s a shoot.” 

You relent, looking up to him. “Huh?”

“You asked me why I’m here, it’s a shoot. The site is close by, so we don’t waste time traveling. Once the shoot is done, we will get back home.”

“Ah, that makes sense.” 

You beg your grey matter to find some topic of conversation to halt the blood rushing to your cheeks. The atmosphere is frozen again, but not like last time. Any unease earlier present has drifted. The tension that once kept you from closeness now keeps you from moving apart. His hand sits unmoved, continuing to rest on your hip. Jungkook can hear the loud thudding of a heartbeat, but he cannot discern whether they are from his heart or from yours.

Continuing after a pause, “I will be here for a few days now.” he adds, the suggestive hint of the words masked by his innocuous smile. 

“Ah.” You lamely add. You ought to kick yourself - but at this closeness, you might hit him too. 

The span of your separation is contracting, even though none of you move. Like the land underneath you is shifting, because even Mother Earth can’t handle the sexual tension in this confined space. 

“Ma’am, Sir, you’re here!” 

The booming voice of an employee disrupts the scene. You jump, wondering how you didn’t hear the door open, while Jungkook takes a graceful step back unscathed. 

“Your rooms are ready, please follow me.”

The walk back is quiet, except for bashfully exchanged glances and racing pulses. When you finally reach your respective rooms, he speaks again. 

“Want to accidentally cross paths with me at the bar?”

The heat reaches your ears. A moment of silence prompts you to look up, and you are held hostage by his eyes. His gaze flickers, intense and probing. Then, as if it never happened, his eyes narrow and his smile softens, harmless and easy. Again, this has to be witchcraft.

“Maybe we’ll let destiny decide. Hasn’t failed us so far.” 

Now, alone in bed with nothing but your thoughts, you wonder when it will ever happen again.

Three days. Three days before it happens again.

Three days filled with conferences, a ton of files, and a lot of battery acid disguised as coffee. Apart from the success of your work, the highlight of your time is when Jake tried to fix his shoe heel at a meeting and ended up gluing his fingers together. In a quiet room filled with immersed employees, he had yelled, “Superglue, my ass!”. 

The punctuation was not vocalized. 

Tonight was your last night in Seoul. It was supposed to be a night to yourself, but an office party pulled you out of your cavern to get dressed. You put on an elegant dress, a black and silver number, only to find the ‘party’ was the most monotonous excuse of networking. High-end businessmen exchanging cards over non-alcoholic fizz was not your idea of a party, so you quickly excused yourself. 

The coupon still weighed heavy in your purse, carrying memoirs of the last time you saw him. You had wanted to go earlier, but always held yourself back. What if he wasn’t there? What if you missed your chance? Why did you have to sashay away with a cool statement that night instead of clawing your way through the lust-filled air and settling things then and there? 

You supposed a drink at the hotel bar on your last night couldn’t be a bad thing, even if Jungkook didn’t show up.

So here you are, sipping on your wine and trying to appear nonchalant as you look out the window overseeing the city’s skyline. One ear is trained to the door of the pub, the slightest peep from that corner alerting your antenna. 

So far, no sign of him. 

This won’t work, you tell yourself. Second time’s a charm, third time’s pushing it too far. 

But as you wave the bartender to top up your drink, the corner of your eye catches movement; one, two, three heads appear through the door. Signature multichromatic mops of hair make their way in, forcing your pulse to marathon mode. 

And then you hear it. 

You hear his trademark cachinnate echoing through the structure. Multitudes of contrasting sentiments fill your gut. Are you sensing relief, that fate served its purpose without fail? Or is it the anticipation of how events will unfold? A sense of titillation, that a three-day old bond makes you feel more than year-old relationships you’ve had? You pry your eyes from that direction, trying to appear aloof when you are anything but. 

When you think you’ve gathered your composure, you look up. Like a hare falling for its bait, you are trapped, because he is looking right back at you.

Jin and Jimin are laughing about something that happened on set today, but Jungkook only has eyes for you. He can’t believe his luck. 

The past few days, his schedule had no give. After every shoot, the only thing he remembered was taking off his shoes and falling into a deep slumber.

So today when the shoot wrapped up earlier, Jungkook grabbed his trusty wingmen and open bar enthusiasts to utilize his coupon, and possibly test his kismet.

“Wasn’t she on our flight?” Jin observes, tracking Jungkook’s sight. 

“Oh yeah! Dude, is she the one?” Jimin keenly notes. “How do you keep bumping into each other like this?”

Jungkook downs his whisky, the burn felt from the throat to his diaphragm. “I don’t know, hyung. I don’t know what to do.” Beckoning the bartender for a refill, he tears away from your sight. 

 “Okay, liquid fortification is all good but how about,” Jin stops briefly to pluck the coupon out of Jungkook’s hands, “we handle the drinks department while you attend to her?”

Jimin nods in assent. “The worst thing you could do is spend time with her slurring and garbling while she ditches your sorry ass.”

“Hey! I won’t do that. Just, ” Jungkook gulps, “I don’t know... We’ve met like, hardly a few times. It really doesn’t make sense. What if we’re not on the same page?”

Jimin frowns, and even Jin seems unhappy with his reasoning.

“Things don’t have to make sense. You’re two consenting adults. You like her. By the way she’s eyeing you right now, I’m sure the feeling is mutual. You said it’s easy to talk to her right?”

Jungkook pouts, but sees his point.

“Then go with that. Don’t chart out a plan, just go with your heart.” Jin adopts a soft smile of encouragement. 

“Meanwhile we will grab the others and exploit this coupon to the full extent!” Jimin gleefully appends.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he laughs with the other two. They are right. Carpe diem, right?

Finding you again, his breath hitches. You look beautiful. The sleek black dress with silver embellishments over the torso. It hugs you in the right places, accentuating your already alluring frame. Your shoulders bare, elegant collarbones waiting to be tasted. Hair tied up, exposing the delicious curve of your neck, a stretch Jungkook wants to pepper kisses onto, without missing a spot. You look exquisite against the backdrop of the night.

Carpe noctem it is. 

“Did you really dress up to use the coupon?” The tongue-in-cheek query breaking your line of thought.

A breathy chuckle leaves your lips, hopefully masking the frenzy in your heart. 

“I had a party. A very dull party. Figured I preferred my own company over that.” 

“Do you prefer your own company over mine?”

He’s still standing, tall frame waiting for your permission to occupy the next seat. God, he looks amazing.

“Not at all.” The words leave huskier than you intend, but they convey the message.

He takes the seat, a mere step away, his cologne wafting over to your side. The alcohol buzz makes the scent feel stronger, every bone in you wanting to dive in nose-first. 

Apparently you have been staring, because he nervously chuckles “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Should you go the modest route or fuck it?

Fuck it.

“You look... great today,” is all you get out. Stupid brain spewing half-baked goods.

Understatement of the year. He looks like sin incarnate. All black attire highlighting his golden skin, the dichotomy of his whole look has you understandably tongue-tied. Black jeans - no rips, sadly- with a dark grey high-neck t-shirt, tucked in of course, because pain is the only constant for you. A black trench coat is thrown on top to seal the look. The obsidian outfit sends desperate need through your body, an intense desire to rip it all off surging through you. Somehow, through all these layers you can sense his fit body, his rippled muscles, his sturdy pecs, like they have an aura of their own. 

“Ah, thank you. You look amazing as well.” Halting a moment to sip his drink, he resumes.  “Sucks that you dressed up for nothing.”

“Well, you liked it. So it's not for nothing.”

If looks were potent, Jungkook’s own could set you on fire. Gaze coolly raking over your figure, the tick in his jaw betrays his reaction. A chill passes through every part of your body under his intense scrutiny.

“Are there other things you would wear… if I liked it?” He carefully treads.

“There are certain things I’m wearing right now that I’m sure you would appreciate.” 

If not for the shrinking distance between you two, you couldn’t have caught the low hiss. His animalistic need, usually kept well under control, is raging against its bonds, screaming to let go. Your exquisite gown, flowing down your curves, accentuating the swell of your ass - God save this dress from his feral hands. Against his will, he restrains himself. He would make this a lasting encounter. 

“How many drinks have you had?” He needs you to remember every single moment.

“Two glasses of wine, don’t worry. You?” 

“A shot of whisky, that’s all. Haven’t even finished my second drink.”

Gone were his cherubic appearance and dimpled smiles; the man in front of you is oozing pure sex appeal. His clenched jawline, furrowed brow, and perfectly placed tresses add to his raw masculinity. The cusp of your thighs is damp; if this is his effect here, what will it be behind locked doors? You wonder whether this is the same man that gushed about old-era video games in the flight. 

“Well, if you are wearing them for me, I’d be a fool to miss them.” he brings you back to the present. Twinkling eyes match your eager ones as you give a small nod.

Every step you take shoots a thrilling tingle through your spine. Every inch of distance closed forces you to close the next with doubled speed. Every foot forward adds to the thick air, laced with hunger, desire, and an inordinate amount of trust placed in the hands of a stranger. 

The first time you two walked back to the elevator, his move had caught you unaware. 

Now, the arm wraps around your entire waist, body flush against his, yet you yearn to get closer. 

Last time, you couldn’t match his gaze, skin burnt a crimson hue. 

Now, your eyes are locked together, any movement in your surroundings be damned.

Michael Jackson rising from the dead and performing Thriller wouldn’t tear you away from your current view (sorry MJ, maybe next time).

When the doors close, he places a palm on your bare back, bringing you to his chest.

“I’ve wanted this so bad, ever since I met you. It’s insane.”

The hand caressing your back makes you sigh. “Not if I wanted the same.”

His grip tightens. “The things I want to do to you...” eyes searching yours, ”tell me you can handle it.”

“Oh baby,” you drawl, “I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever it is,” your lips hover on his, “I can take it.”

The elevator doors opened too soon for your liking, and Jungkook drags you through the corridor. You’re practically hanging on to him, feet barely responsive, the faint buzz of wine making you giddy. His hawkish gaze soaks in everything you do, memorizing every response to his touch. 

You lean over to lay wet kisses on his neck. Pleasure searing through his veins, Jungkook’s knees almost buckle. He pushes you against a wall and locks you in with his form.

“Uh-uh-uh, honey,” he tsks, “you’re not making this easy on me?”

You pretend to ponder. “Well, I didn’t plan on making it easy.”

He smirks, all sex, and the wetness between your legs is making its presence known. Leaning into your ear, he whispers, “Unless you want me to have my way with you right here…” and all your brattiness dissipates. 

Satisfied, he grins. “Your place or mine?” 

“Hmmn, depends.”

He cocks a brow. “On?”

“Am I gonna be able to walk tomorrow?”

That damned smirk. “Your place it is.”

Jungkook’s lips are on yours the moment your door is locked. He cages you against its frame, teeth clashing and biting anything they find. You let your hands roam all over, searching for something to hold on to. A throaty sound leaves Jungkook when your digits card through his hair and tug on it, a sound you gladly swallow.

Time seems to have taken a break. Your thoughts are blank. You chase the kiss like it's the only thing you know, the only thing you’re born to do, your sole mission in life before you die. The bruising pace Jungkook set is eagerly matched by you. Gravity is slowly losing its meaning, and you’re nothing but a stray entity floating in space. And this kiss is your only source of air. 

Jungkook pulls you towards him, closing the nonexistent distance between you. Heat rises from his chest, the feeling is hypnotic beyond reason. A taste of you has ruined every other flavor. He kept his eyes half-open, sneaking peeks at your flushed face whenever you come for air. His fingers explored your body, grabbing your ass and pulling you into him. Your clothed crevice jolts at the friction, hips hounding for more.

The moan that leaves you gets muted, because Jungkook takes this opportunity to take control. Tongue forcing its way in to explore every corner of your mouth, it melds with your own muscle. If this were a dance, it would be a fierce tango, oozing with sexual tension. Breathing is now trivial, this kiss is imperative. 

Jungkook’s hands grab your hips and twirl you, both of you now facing a full-length mirror. You can witness your neckline being abused, mulberry blossoms left in place. The sight has your sex clenching, and lips liberated, you couldn’t stop yourself from mewling.

“Fuck, Y/N. I’m going to make you scream so loud, the hotel reception will hear you.”

With your head spinning in lust, you try to form your words right. “An- And what? Discuss how a second room for you was - oh god - was useless?” 

Jungkook pauses to admire his craft; your neck, shoulders, and collar are now littered with bruises, like a garden of hyacinth at his disposal. The view is maddening, your lusty gaze locked on to him in the mirror. His mane is tousled, no doubt your handiwork, and his hand is tracing the outline of your dress. 

“That cursed day,” He chokes out, “You were so fucking hard to resist you know?”

You turn back to face him, hand reaching back to undo your halter neck, “You have me now.” Stepping back, you let your gown fall.

He froze. You are standing in front of him, robed in only your black lace-embroidered strapless bra, and matching panties, each adorned with a white bow. The swell of your breasts barely caged in the cups, making Jungkook drool at sight. All the wind was knocked out of his lungs; you look like a prisoner’s last meal, waiting to be devoured. 

“On your knees.” he commands.  

Not a second is put to waste. You begin undressing him, unbuckling the pants and aggressively pulling them down. Next come the boxers, and you are faced with-

Wow.

You mean this in the nicest way, but, what a dick.

He is already hard, the mushroomed tip angry and red, leaking a drop of precum begging to be tasted. The girth exceeds your expectation, already visualizing the delicious visual of your cunt stretched thin. He is going to reach places even Vlad the Impaler couldn’t; you are already brimming with anticipation for the final act.

And his thighs. Nothing angelic about them. Taut. Muscular. Sinewy. Something uncivilized in you wants them to trap your frame between them, caging you, pinning you down. You press kisses on his inner thigh, letting your tongue poke out when you hear him exhale. A sharp bite shocks Jungkook, but you only smirk.

“Wanted to do that since I saw you.” 

The stare that meets you is practically challenging you to try that again, and perhaps reap some delicious consequences.

You bring yourself back, giving his cock the full attention that it deserves. Looking up, you see his half-lidded eyes, assertive and arresting, compelling you to go on. 

You bring your palm up to him. He raised a brow in question.

“Spit for me.”

Jungkook almost busts his load when he hears you. “Fuck, so dirty.” he garbles out. Rolling his neck in an attempt to divert his blood, he takes your hand and drops a thick glob at the center of your palm. 

A throaty moan arises from you, and his dick is harder than ever.

“Go on baby, show me you can suck dick like a champ.”

You give him a confident look; you’re about to rock his world. Starting with small licks, you tease the slit and taste the pre-cum lodged in it. Meanwhile, you work the spit along the shaft; you spit on it again, the original amount insufficient to cover the length. You can feel his dick twitching against your attention, eager to be sheathed. Interspersing with some long drags on the underside, you zero in on the pinched skin under the head. 

Jungkook is staring at your jerking him off. The sight of you, clad in lingerie is blowing his mind. If that was not enough, the mirror in front is providing a sumptuous secondary perspective. The smooth stretch of your back, the swell of your ass, the panty fabric barely able to cover the expanse, everything on you is making him short circuit. Seeing you on your knees, your deferential nature stirs something in him. If he doesn’t control himself, he will bend you in half and ride you to sunrise. He doesn’t want to scare you, but fuck, his depraved early man instincts are telling him otherwise. 

“What are you- ohhh, holy shi-”

Instead of slipping his cock fully into your mouth, you hold it up, and pay careful attention to his balls. Jungkook’s hands come to rest on your head, a telltale sign of his unraveling. With a smile, you let your tongue swipe through every nook and corner till they are coated in saliva.

“You think you’re such a fucking tease, ” He grabs you by your now unraveled tresses and pulls you back, “Ease up baby, your throat is in for a treat.”

In one quick swoop, he lodges himself at the base of your throat, provoking your gag reflex, but you restrain the urge to pull back. Breathing through your nose, you suck and swallow whatever you can; his girth isn't giving you much to work with.

Jungkook growls. “Such a tight fit. Like you’re meant to be like this. Forever.”

The last word slips out unwittingly. 

Alarmed, his eyes flit down to gauge your response, but all you are doing is looking back at him. 

Fuck, your dovelike eyes are captivating. They look so angelic, a complete contrast to the perverse posture you are in. Not an ounce of displeasure in response to his words. Pure, unadulterated affection for him. Only for him. 

“God, you’re going to be the death of me.” Jungkook husks. “You’ll do anything for me, you said?”

Muffled whimpers impart your compliance, and you bob your head up and down for good measure. The tip of his cock hits every ridge of your throat, the vibration releasing more fluid down.

“Pleasure yourself, baby. Touch yourself, but don’t you cum.”

Your brow distresses further, a disgruntled whine leaving you and reverberating around him. Already so turned on, the lightest friction would make you combust.

Jungkook’s teeth clench. “Edge yourself for me, sweetie.” 

It's like your body is tuned to his command. Slipping two fingers under the band, you part and slide them on either side of your throbbing nub. Despite you avoiding any pressure point that might push you over the edge, the pleasure threatens to tip you over. 

You look over for his approval. Swallowing, he nods. Your self-stimulation is making him dizzy. It's time to get serious.

“Such a good girl. Don’t stop, okay? I’m going to fuck your throat raw.” Starting with mellow jerks, “Hope you don’t have to speak anytime tomorrow.” he rasps.

The carpeted floor grazing your knees only adds to the revelry. You’re not in control of yourself anymore. The back of your gullet is aching as Jungkook shoves into you again and again. An amalgamation of his salty juices and your dribble lewdly coats your chin and neck; you must look ravished. Everything with Jungkook feels augmented; every single motion of his making your sex clench. 

He is close - you can feel his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Can I cum on you?” words slither through his clamped teeth. You frantically nod. 

With a loud grunt, he pulls you off and releases all over your chest, a stray pump landing on your chin. Thick liquid, dripping from your jaw onto your collarbones and breasts, the whole scene is filthy good. Your unfilled cunt is aching to be replete with the cum. 

Post-orgasmic glow is dazzling on him--hair drenched in sweat, tufts sticking to his forehead. His breathing is heavy and resonant as dilated pupils take in your soaked state. Bending down, he crooks a finger under your chin, anchoring his attention on your dewy stare. The onyx embers in his eyes bore into yours, studying for any hesitation in them. A microscopic moment of tenderness, unspoken words exchange between you. 

Satisfied to find only searing hunger, his digits collect the beads of cum on your jaw, pushing them back into your mouth. Your eyes roll skyward, relishing the briny taste, nearly asking him to do it again. Leaning further, he grabs the wrist of your hand that is thoughtlessly rubbing your sex - you didn’t even realize you were still doing it. You feel drained, like you orgasmed vicariously through him. 

“My turn.” He wears a devilish expression on his archangel eyes.

Lips connect once again as he pulls you up. If he tastes himself, he is relishing it, with his tongue exploring the deep cavern. With wobbly ankles, you let him guide you to your bed, dropping on your back. He follows you, pouncing on you, plunging into your mouth again like a beast hungered. Bodies melting together like an icicle under the summer blaze, your hands hunt to frisk his skin. Realizing he is yet to undress, you yank at this t-shirt, attempting to liberate him from the offending fabric.

“Tsk, greedy.” he bit your ear, soothing the sting with a kiss. 

“Cruel is what it is.” You huff, like everything he’s doing is not a blissful affair. 

How do men do that? Violently ripping their shirt off and leaving a messy mop of hair in its wake, nevertheless looking like they could walk a runway the next instant. Jungkook was no exception. The moment he pulls his shirt off, you are rendered speechless.

Chiseled chest like the work of an artisan. Droplets of sweat race down the paths traced by the sculpted abs, an intense desire to taste them forming in you. He is a mesomorphic dream who puts Greek gods to shame. Swallowing, you let your hand trace the outline of his pecks, feeling him shudder against your touch.

“Jungkook, please.”

Who was he to deny you?

Leaning up to you with a wicked smirk, Jungkook drops a thick line of spit right on your hardened nipple. The concoction of his cum and spit soaks through the lacy material. A lone finger circles, avoiding the spot that requires the most attention. You arch your back, begging him for more, just more of anything. The wet fabric amplifies the emptiness in your cunt. 

“Aww,” he coos, clearly amused by your neediness, “undo this for me, sweetness. Let me see you.”

Moving at lightning speed, you unhook the bra, swinging it away to a corner of the room. 

“Oh no.” He mock-frowns, veins bulging on his arm as he controls himself. “Look at these tits, fuck.” Mind reeling with ideas, filthy ideas, of all the things he wants to do to you. “You’ve ruined everything else for me.”

You tremble. “Good, so have you. Want you for myself. Want you,” pulling him close, “to do your worst.” you end with a whisper.

Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “Careful what you ask for,” he grits before diving headfirst into your bosom. 

He licks and laves and bites and laps--your breasts are on fire. Continuing his marking spree, new blemishes make an appearance on your torso. Nibbling on one nipple, he pinches the other; pulling moan after moan from you. 

Your hips barely touch the bed, bucking up in response to Jungkook’s sinking teeth into your ample bust. He has decided to not leave an inch without his saliva, and like a man on a mission, covers every part with rapt attention. 

“Yo- You don’t have to--oh holy fuck--you don’t have to, cover me in marks you kno--ohh my go-” The sentence is spastic, piercing mewls breaking your flow of speech and thought. 

“These fucking tits,” roughly clasping your pert breast in his large palm, “they look so much better like this.” The proud smile he shows has not the slightest hint of regret. 

Catching a break, he twiddles your nipples, letting his other hand sit on your covered sex. He is teasing you; you recognize that. Just giving you opportunities to disobey, to take all the pain he has to offer.

It’s a good thing you like the pain.

You slowly roll your hips, trying to grind against his palm, taking whatever help you can get.

A sharp smack lands on your clit, shooting your eyes open - you don’t even know when they closed. Jungkook’s hand is soothing the site of the blow, the pain converting to pleasure under his touch. 

“Patience, sweetness,” the gravely whisper sending tingles down your spine, “such a good girl for me.”

You give him a slight nod - he smacks you again, once, twice, thrice, without a break. Your entrance is smarting, but you want to give him everything. Biting your lips to stop the labored moans escaping, you clench your eyes and savor the burn.

Your show of obedience has Jungkook’s heart thronging. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you. Playing you like a fiddle. You produce every tone he desires in the form of wanton melodies, he wants to play them over and over again like his favorite song.

“How are we doing?” he asks, a shit-eating grin plastered on him. Before you could answer, his fingers shallowly enter your soaked pussy, still hampered by the cloth. 

“You- fuck, you said I was the tease here?” Your hands are at his wrist, begging to pull the scrap of cloth aside and have his way. 

He comes to face your sopping mound, pausing only to speak “Never said I wasn’t,” and starts pressing soft, feathery kisses. “That day, seeing you dripping in that towel, I dreamt of having these legs around me.”

“I swear, at least take it off - oh Jungkoo-”

Without warning, he kneads your ass and pushes you into his face. 

You feel like you’ve been on the edge for hours. The suckle on your engorged clit along with the abrasion of the lace gets you so close. So damn close. So, so clo-

The tightness in your belly finally snaps and you howl, gushing your vat of arousal onto his face. The high was more intense than you had imagined, so high that you wonder if you will ever find your way back to reality. You feel like a rock in space, aimlessly floating in the vast nothingness.

You dimly notice Jungkook toying with the lacy hem of your panties, pulling it back to snap it against your hip. The sting is soon forgotten, along with your panties flung across the bed, as he parks himself back between your legs.

“You smell incredible.” He approves, taking a long whiff of your honeyed center. “Look at you, so messy.” He licks a long stripe along your crease. “Messy girl, I should clean you up.”

“Wait Jungkook-” you oppose, lids heaving in pleasure. “I need you inside me, please. I can’t take -oof”

Gnawing at your sodden folds, he let his nose press against your clit. “You’re so fucking tight, you think you can take me?” He shakes his head. “Gotta stretch you out, gotta make me fit.” He presses his tongue against your nub, feeling it throb in anticipation. “And I think you can give me one more.” He ends, before invading your drenched channel with two fingers. You are putting up with his torments the best you can; walls fluttering against his lips, legs entwined behind Jungkook’s back trapping him between your thighs. 

“Ah! God - I, I can’t-” Your eyes are screwed shut, hands bunching the sheets in your grasp.

His fingers fluctuate between scissoring motions, their lengths opening you up for him and curling inside, fingertips finding the rough patch inside. He adds a third finger, pussy straining to accommodate them all. Your thighs clench in the burn, and he groans into your pussy at the pressure. Increasing the pace, he pumps into you harder and faster, sucking your puffy lips in tandem. 

“Please, please, harder - let me cum - please oh go-” 

“Fuck yeah baby, your pussy is just sucking me in. You like that? You like me shoving into your cunt?”

“Uungh yes yes I love it!”

“Doesn’t it hurt? Or are you such a slut for pain? Tell me, tell me you’re a pain slut.”

“Fuck, Jungkook, don’t you stop- I am! I am a pain slut! Your pain slut!”

“Goood girrrll,” he husks out. Even though he is taking charge, your words are what control him. “Only mine. My pain slut will come for me now.”

A spray of cum ejects out of you, coating Jungkook’s chest and inundating your legs. The coherent part in you recognizes that you just squirted, but the neanderthal side shuts all recognition of anything that is not Jungkook’s cock. Even after two climaxes, you are hungry to get more. More of him. 

If you don’t fuck him now, you will lose your capability to reason. 

Limbs still heavy and reeling from the ravaging, you pick your pieces and drag Jungkook to the headboard. 

“I’m going to ride you.” you declare and straddle him. 

Jungkook is staring fixedly at your still-leaking cunt. Running his tongue over his lower lip, and licking the remnant syrup of your release. You position yourself, letting the drippage fall directly on his erection. He twitches, eyes still feasting on the mess you are making. 

Finding purchase on his shoulders, you lower yourself. Jungkook’s breath staggers as you drag your inner lips along his hard shaft. You repeat this motion till your fluids drip to his balls. 

“Y/N, I swear to God, if you don’t stop with this-”

“You’ll do what?” you challenge, an eyebrow raised in response to his threat. 

He grabs you by your waist, jerking you up before bringing you down on his dick. Your cunt, creamy from his earlier ministrations, gives no resistance to his hardness. His cock twitches inside as you bottom out. Pulling you closer, he bites your lip and tugs at it. 

“I’ll do this.”

A sharp spank makes you clench around him, the supple flesh of your ass ricocheting in response. 

“Go on baby, ride me.” 

The low-grained command sets you in motion. Slowly gyrating your hips, you feel every ridge of this length inside. Jungkook’s grip on your waist tightens, and you’re sure you will see evidence of it tomorrow. Your grasp on his shoulders isn’t faring any better. 

“You’re so tight, fuck, and so wet. Who made you like this, huh?” A second spank punctuating his question.

“Oh God, you-”, you barely manage to recognize your own voice, “You, Jungkook! Only you!” 

“That’s fucking right, only me.” 

Hips snapping, he meets you halfway. Both of you are lost in each other, lewd sounds of your skin slapping and juices quelching barely muffled by your desperate whines and moans of passion. Eyes locked in like magnets, neither of you could look away. 

Jungkook pulls back a little, slapping your jiggling tit. Your sex clenches, and the following slap has you lodging yourself in the crook of his neck, searching for a reprieve. 

“Want some help?”

One swift move and you are on your stomach, face pushed into a pillow, and ass out. A final spank lands right in the middle, and you can feel it pulsate everywhere. He pushes back into your glistening core, taking control of your pleasure and pain. One hand carding through the nape of your neck, pushing you down, the other hand grabbing your waist and setting the pace. The new angle hits deeper, you feel so full. 

“Jungkoo--unghh I need to cum! Need to- umph- cum so bad!” You are wailing at this point, shame lying somewhere near your flung clothes.

“Fuck, babe, me too. Go ahead and play with yourself, nice and slow.”

It takes a few swipes for the tightness in you to detonate. Tears flood your face as you unravel, your orgasm crashing into you like waves of a tsunami. You clench tight, wetness flows out of your hole as Jungkook pumps in and out, chasing his high. 

He comes undone soon after, ropes of his ejaculate filling your insides. He stays in, plugging you as if to not allow any of it out. But as his member softens, he gives in, turning you on your back to meet his face. 

Butterfly-soft kisses are exchanged after the blazing encounter. He asks you if you’re okay between breaths, a tender murmur you almost miss, as if you weren’t screaming your lungs out moments ago. Nuzzling into his neck, you confirm.

A snort disrupts the silence. Looking up, you see Jungkook chuckling.

In response to your cocked eyebrow, he says “Want to talk about what a freak you are?”

“Want to talk about what a hypocrite you are?”

“Hey, you asked me to spit on you!”

You mock-gasp, hand on chest for the extra effect. “My breasts need medical attention after your attention! Freak!” 

Laughter echoes in the room as you two tumble in the blankets, and you feel his release seeping out of you. Turning to him, you pout, “Your mess is leaking out of me.” 

Jungkook gets up to leave the bed, and you expect a wet towel coming your way. 

What you don’t expect is him parting your legs, gunmetal eyes following the rivulets escaping your abused hole. 

“Your cunt smells so good with my cum on it,” he purrs. 

He gathers the escaping thick liquid and pushes it back into your quivering core. 

Jolting with oversensitivity, you try to stall him but he is fingering you with a vengeance. The ache and soreness soon dispel, bringing forth a new wave of ecstasy. His unrelenting stare concentrates on the mix of fluids on his fingers. With a few strokes on your sensitive bundle of nerves and fingers stuffed inside, you come again, legs shivering and pussy overflowing, his juices intermingled with yours. 

You are dazed; you’ve lost track of everything. The room is spinning in front of you and your body feels like lead. All you can manage is to arch your neck, and plead, “No more, you freak.” 

Jungkook giggles, eyes crinkling in good humor. Ah, the duality of this man is a force to reckon with. You can’t believe this is the same man that fucked you into your bed like a primordial beast. There’s no way you can move anytime soon. 

After a clean-up interval, you are wrapped in each other's arms, melting into the embrace. His musky fragrance putting you at ease, you tuck your in the nook of his neck, basking in the aroma. Hands pressed against his broad chest, exuding warmth for you. His hand cradles your head, snuggling in closer till there is no space to cover. Sweet nothings whispered into each other’s lips, tender kisses exchanged in place of the scorching ones that had passed. You drift in and out of your slumber, fearing the sun would ascend too soon and break you apart. 

A dim glow from the other end of the bed wakes you up. On turning you find Jungkook, dressed in his now-wrinkled clothes, seated on the edge. His gaze, pensive. You lay a hand on his thigh.

“Oh, did the light wake you?”

The alarm on his face makes you smile. “No, your absence did.” 

The corners of his mouth turned up, eyeing you with softness. 

“I have an early schedule. I didn’t want to wake you, but, ” he lets his palm rest on yours, “I also didn’t want to leave without it.”

Neither of you know how to walk away from this. The silence is deafening, unuttered sentiments hanging in the still air. Jungkook’s chest is heavy. 

This is insane. He wants to lay you against a bed of flowers, treat you like the delicate petal you bear resemblance to, worship your body till the sun succumbs to your blazing passion. How is he to explain that his heart is beating through his chest for someone he knows for mere days? He rifles through his memories for a similar instance. 

He finds none. 

Maybe you don’t feel the same way. Maybe, you are blissfully unaware of the tumultuous emotions lurching in the pit of his belly. He can’t assume you will echo his lovesick needs, but he can’t let go. 

You inch closer. 

Fervid feelings die hard. He probes your eyes searching for an intensity matching his. 

You let your lips convey the answer.

Passionate as ever, you draw him into the kiss. His lashes flutter against your rosy cheeks. At the moment, there is no dominance in him. Almost like his tongue, dragging across your swollen lips, is healing the brutality of last night. If you pull back, he comes after you; an incessant tug of war no player wants to win. 

“Please Jungkook,” you choke between kisses, “Please tell me this isn’t the last of us.”

He is hovering on top of you, the galaxy in his eyes twinkling at your words. 

“Please, I don’t want this to end.” You continue against his lips. Head versus heart, you fought a losing battle; how were you to stall the inevitable? Fueled, you plunge your tongue into him, determined to make your ardor known. The void of ferocity is filled with slow sensuality; like he is the sole reservoir to quench your thirst. 

“Y/N”, he breathes out, “I feel like I know everything about you and nothing about you at the same time.” Resting your foreheads against one another, he continues. “I’m not about to let fate decide when we cross paths again.”

A grin finds your lips. “Destiny really pulled its weight here, didn’t it?”

He wordlessly nods, not wanting to break the tranquility in place. However, it is short-lived; his phone’s ringer makes sure of it. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right down.” Something the speaker says turns Jungkook scarlet red. “I said I’ll be right there!” he yells before ending the call.

“The members are asking why I wasn’t in my room.” he clarifies, waggling his brows.  You join his laughter, happy to have just the simple moment with him. 

After exchanging numbers (and a photo for keepsake), Jungkook presses one last kiss, lips promising to find each other again. Somehow, you don’t say goodbye. You just stare at his disappearing body, confident that the next encounter is not far. 

Jake is babbling about his night, how he managed to ditch the god-awful party and hang out with some overenthusiastic college-goers who paid for his drinks with their trust fund dough. This is usually the time you ask him if he’s proud of mooching off of children, but today his exaggerated narrative is cracking you up. 

His forehead creases. “What’s up with you today? You haven’t vowed to skin me alive even once.”

“You like it when I threaten bodily harm?”

“I’m kinky like that.”

You just shrug. Erotic images make a fleeting appearance in your mind, but they are interrupted by your flight announcement. 

“Aren’t you glad this is over? You can go back to overworking yourself in your office instead of a hotel!” Jake remarks, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “At least your back won’t break in the travel.”

Thinking over your experience in the city, you confess “Actually, I look forward to returning here.”

A thought slips in, curving your mouth into a smile. You quietly add,

“And yeah, my back was broken all right.”

Thank you for making it to the end! Please do let me know what you think!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Your Daddy Don't Know 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Not really a full series, more a little drabbling here and there ft. dilf!Frank Castle. Leave a comment or some feedback if you like! <3

Warnings: age gap, slight dubcon so far, fucking, smut, this is just a smut series.

You pull down your eyelid and streak the black liner across it. You hear the buzz of your phone. Not a short jolt but a long drone that shakes the table and the small mirror you’re bent over. You still the pencil and hit answer and put the call on speaker without checking the ID.

You expect Lydia to be chirping on the other end as Frank's gravelly voice cuts through you. You shiver as you remember the night before in the hot tub. Then the couch. Then again before you left a few hours past midnight.

“Hey, sugar, whatcha doin’?” he asks as you switch eyes.

“Gettin’ ready,” you answer vaguely, “ugh, this goddamn thing.”

You stop to sharpen the pencil as he chuckles at your frustration, “where ya goin’?”

“Mmm, oh!” you stand up straight, “you know what, you should come! Lydia’s bringing this guy Dylan, and they’re probably gonna be making out all night.”

“Uh huh,” he grumbles and you realise you didn’t answer his question.

“We’re goin’ down to a bar--”

“Aren’t you underage?” he intones.

“Didn’t you give me beer?” you counter, “jeez Frank,” you put down the eyeliner and sit on the flimsy stool with the fluffy seat, “I knew you were a hard-ass but you don’t have to sound like my father.”

“Don’t go there, little girl,” he warns and you feel a peculiar shock ripple through you; you can’t say if it’s his words or the lilt of them.

“Well, havin’ you with us would help, the fake IDs aren’t exactly foolproof. Last time I trust Calvin with anything,” you sigh, “but I get it if you wanna stay home… rest up.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snarls.

“Frankie, I’m just having fun,” you trill, “I’m sorry, but really, you can stay in--”

The line clicks and dies and you flinch and look down at the screen. You scowl and think of calling him back but you’re somewhat afraid and more than a little irked.

It’s not like you were doing anything more than having fun. He was a good fuck, more confident than the young boys, and bigger to be fair.

You put on lip gloss and hear a tick at the window. You ignore it, thinking it’s another bird fucking around on the ivy. Then it comes again and the rock bounces through the open window and onto your floor. You scoff and flit over to the window, poking your head out.

“You ready?” Frank calls up.”

You glance around. The yards are mostly empty as the sky dims and your parents have gone down the blocks for Diane’s mixer. You sigh and roll your eyes.

“Really?” you pout.

“What? I’m good to go,” he grips his hips, his dark jeans and black tee will fit right in at the small town bar.

“Get up here,” you pull your head back in and go back to the mirror to check your reflection one last time.

You search through your closet as you hear the front door and the stairs creak. He opens another door before he finds yours and pushes it open slowly. He bends his arm against the frame beside his head and watches as you pull on a pair of cutoffs and a flowery shirt. His eyes linger on your chest as you admire how the cotton limns his chest, his figure thick but not excessively so.

“Well,” you scoop up a pair of platform sandals, “you’re coming?”

“You callin’ me old,” he crosses his arms.

“I didn’t say that--”

“You implied that,” he growls, “I can always remind you--”

“Trust me, I remember,” you near him and poke his chest, “but let’s not leave it as just a memory, huh? Lighten up.”

“Mmm,” his nostrils flare as he stands straight.

“Right, let’s hurry up so we can get a beer in you,” you chide as you shove your phone in your purse, “and something stronger in me.”

“I’ll put something stronger in you,” he mutters as he steps back and lets you out into the hall.

“Try to keep it in your grumpy pants,” you tease as you swing your purse over your shoulder.

☠

The bar's electric with energy but not overcrowded. You see a few former classmates who made it past the bouncer as Lydia dances up by the jukebox with Dylan. Frank sits at the bar, nursing a bottle as he faces away from the room. He hardly looks excited and seems out of place even as the other regular drunks sit along the stools.

"So, you gonna mope all night or you wanna dance with me?" You play with the strap of your shirt and sip from your straw.

"Dance?" He scoffs and empties his beer, "lotsa things I wanna do with you but that's not one of em." He stops and signals for another beer, tilting his head to listen to the music, "couldn't figure how to with this racket?"

You shake your head and look across at Lydia. She's grinding on Dylan and they kiss. You sigh. You're not one for PDA but you'd live a little fun after a long work week. You glance down at your drink and empty all but the ice.

"Can I get a double, no ice?" you ask as you place your glass on the bar.

"You sure about that?" Franks says as he watches you.

"Don't worry," you clap his shoulder, "my chaperone is here."

"Girl," he growls.

"Old. Man." You say pointedly as you grab your refill and thank the bar tender as you pay.

He bares his teeth and tuts at his beer. You lift your brows and sip the bitter rum, the soda barely discernible to your tongue. You should've just left him behind. You don't know what you were thinking.

"Well," you toss back the alcohol to fast and the soda burns your nose, "I'll dance by myself then."

"Go ahead," he shrugs and focuses on the label of his beer.

You leave him and go off to join Lydia although she's reluctant to detach from Dylan. You don't care, your favourite song begins to blare and you throw your arms up. You swing your head around as you rock your hips.

You sense someone behind you and peek over your shoulder. It's a guy you know, you were in math with him. Mitch is cute and you got along mostly. He didn't have to ask as you let him press himself to your back.

You lean into him as he grips your hips and you giggle.

"I didn't know you were the type," he bends to whisper. He's slender where Frank is thick but he's tall and smells good.

"The type for what?" You call back.

"Just… free. Fun," he urges you back as the warmth of the alcohol and his body mingles.

"I didn't think so either," you rebuff and turn to face him. He keeps his hands on your hips as you writhe against him.

"Who was the old man?"

"Hmm?" You look over, you barely see Frank's shoulder as he heads for the door.

You feel a moment of panic, of regret, but you keep on. He's the one who chose to come and play the party pooper. Besides, you were only hanging out and if he didn't want to dance, it didn't mean you couldn't.

"A friend," you say as you return your attention to Mitch, "you know, he got us past the door."

"Ahh," he draws you even closer, "did I tell you how much you've grown since high school? You're so fucking hot."

"Sweet talker, huh?" You trill and hook your arms around his neck, "go on, let me hear it all."

You bask in the attention. Maybe it's because you're drunk or because Frank made you feel more wanted than anyone ever did, but you believe Mitch. And you feel pretty good. You sway with him but avoid more than his flirty words and wandering hands. You just can't handle two men at once, you aren't looking for anything messy.

You excuse yourself as you feel the alcohol shift down to your bladder. You head over to the hallway that leads to the bathroom and drunkenly wobble down.

It's late, close to last call and the kitchen shut down an hour ago. You pass the dark open doorway but don't make it past as you're pulled off balance. You hit the wall just inside as the music streams down the hallways. A hand covers your mouth and keeps your voice from rising any higher than the speakers.

"If you're tryna piss me off, it's working," Frank hisses as he smothers you with his palm.

You know then you fucked up.

[asterlark]

ok. samwell college of music au. i wrote all four years let's go babey

eric bittle is this lovely southern tenor (sounds kinda like mitch grassi or ben j pierce) who posts covers (& sometimes originals, but always with neutral or no pronouns because he can't post anything that says he or him ☹) on his youtube channel and has major stage fright but is very talented; he also plays ukulele

he got into samwell college of music on a voice scholarship and his dad doesn’t exactly approve but eric was never the 6′2″ masculine football player he wanted anyway so why not go for his dreams

he auditions for the very competitive samwell men’s contemporary chorus (there’s like 20 choirs; chamber choir, jazz choir, a cappella groups (lax bros do a cappella), combined choirs, etc- smcc does contemporary pop/rock music) and while he’s very very nervous and shaky as he auditions, directors hall & murray see a lot of potential in him (with major grumbling from student director jack)

(the rest of this ridiculously long au under the cut)

the group is small, for a chorus, because the point of the group is not a wall of sound but a focus on all of the very talented guys’ voices coming together in these gorgeous harmonies and basically they’re like one of the best choruses on campus and all the male singers want in

so there’s jack zimmermann, who of course eric knows because everyone knows who he is, he’s the son of bob and alicia zimmermann, both incredibly talented and famous musicians, and basically those genes were in his favor because he’s mega fucking talented

(jack was supposed to sign a recording contract to be in a band with his best friend kent parson when he was 17 but something happened between them and the pressure was too much and jack overdosed on something- there’s so many rumors no one knows what’s real- and kent signed solo in LA & went on to win grammys for his albums about a mysterious ex and jack disappeared for a few years to be a counselor at a music camp and reappears at samwell, knocking everyone’s socks off again like he’d never left, except with a renewed vigor and intenseness that freaks everyone out)

jack is a contemporary writing & production major, freaky talented and sings like a modern day frank sinatra, and he plays like 20 instruments and can read music like breathing air and writes songs like if he stopped he’d die; his music is folksy and mournful and he plays all the instruments on his tracks himself- guitar, piano, strings, drums- it sounds like a full band but nope. just jack. he’s intense

“we all get nicknames in this choir,” justin informs eric on his first day, “we’re those kinda guys.” so he’s bitty, which he finds vaguely offensive (bc he’s not that short!) but still cute, & the rest of the group is introduced to him:

“shitty” knight (voice like colyer) is a musical education major and an enigma of a singer with this awesome, earthy, raspy voice that’s really interesting to listen to and a very.... unique style & look; he writes cheesy but shockingly good raps about social justice topics and he will sing-lecture you if you’ve said something offensive (he also plays banjo)

justin “ransom” oluransi is a music business & management major with an angelic voice you can’t help but listen to; he’s sultry and has an incredible range and does runs like nobody’s business (with a voice like daniel caesar or leslie odom jr UGH)

adam “holster” birkholtz is a voice performance major, wants to be on broadway and it’s all he ever goddamn talks about basically, he’s a belter and has a lot of charisma and starpower and he’ll charm the pants off of you within one note; can also play piano and irritates everyone constantly because his regular volume is like a level 11 (voice like the frontman of my brothers and i combined w/ x ambassadors lead singer)

larissa “lardo” duan is at the local art institute because performing arts is not her jam and she’d much rather paint; she’s a barista at annie’s and supervises open mic nights and keeps the annoying choir dudes from driving away all her patrons

“i’m not even in your dumbass choir,” she says when the group gave her her nickname. holster just told her that she was an honorary member and then started sing-shouting a song at her about how good she is

bitty’s first year is hard because he’s talented and he works hard but he shies away when anyone asks him to sing outside the group and like, he can sing to a camera by himself but being on a stage with everyone looking at you and the sole responsibility of the song on your shoulders is terrifying and no thanks

jack does not. understand this. he’s been performing practically since he came out of the womb and he doesn’t really get performance nerves (what he gets is anxiety about how he did after he gets off stage that follows him home and makes it so he can’t sleep) - so he bothers bitty about it constantly like “you just need practice, you just have to sing by yourself a lot and then you’ll get over it” which like.... that’s true but it’s also hella scary and bitty’s like “no thanks!!!!”

but jack’s annoying and intense so he makes bitty do open mic with him every saturday night and it’s going okay and bitty loves his choir and loves his school and these new friends he’s making and he finally feels comfortable enough to come out to them during his second term

then during their spring choral showcase at the end of his freshman year bitty has a solo and he’s worked really hard on it and he’s feeling good- okay he’s completely freaked out but he’s trying to feel good- but when he gets up on stage there’s so many people and the stage lights are so hot on his face and he flips out a little and maybe he passes out from anxiety and stress right on stage and it’s terrible and he’s so embarrassed and ashamed that he ruined their set at the showcase

of course jack blames himself because “we shouldn’t have given you a solo before you were ready, i misjudged it, i’m sorry” - and they all feel kinda bad bc holy fuck they didn’t know his stage fright was that bad like they didn’t know someone could pass out just by being anxious to sing

he practices all the time over the summer and goes to his local open mic at jack’s insistence and it actually helps a lot because instead of a sea of strangers judging him it’s a bunch of people he knows and they’re all smiling at him and when he finishes his song they cheer for him and it boosts his self-confidence a lot

his sophomore year they have three new members- chris ”chowder” chow (voice like ieuan), an excitable music education major with impressive rapping skills, derek "nursey" nurse (frank ocean or leon bridges type), a songwriting major who can also play violin and guitar, and will ”dex” poindexter (like tom west), a production & engineering major who tried out with chowder bc he needed moral support and didn't expect to get in but impressed the directors with his voice

the year’s going pretty good, bitty’s still pretty scared of singing alone but more confident now and the open mic nights with jack haven’t stopped, so he’s getting better. and one night they’re hanging out at annie’s after closing waiting for lardo to be done so they can walk her home, and bitty suggests that jack sing with him one of these nights, and jack says he doesn’t know any of bitty’s songs and bitty says they can write one together half jokingly but then jack is like “yes.” with that Intense Look

SO they get together a couple days later in jack’s room at the house they all live in together (bitty moved in at the beginning of the year after previous smcc member john johnson called him- how’d he get his number?- and told him he could take his room if he wanted), jack with his guitar and bitty with his ukulele, and it’s a little awkward until bitty says jack should play him one of his songs

and, okay, he doesn’t really know what to expect because the only music jack ever released to the public was that one single he did with kent parson when they were 17 so bitty doesn’t even know if he has anything to play him, but he does- he starts playing these soft, sad notes on the guitar and opens his mouth and sings about being lonely and scared and unsure, about false starts and shaky ground and not knowing where you stand with someone, about expectations and lying awake at night and wishing so hard you were someone else, and bitty watches him sing and just kind of... realizes he’s head over heels for this boy and internally Freaks Out a little

he tries to put that aside and they start to write this song, at first it’s weird because jack’s like “all your songs are love songs i can’t really relate to happy love songs” and bitty’s like “listen... i’ve never even had a boyfriend i just write a bunch of sappy love stuff because it’s not about me it’s about whoever’s listening to it, they’re gonna project their own experiences on my music anyway so it doesn’t matter if it’s my real life or not” and jack’s like “alright while fake af that’s smart and i respect you” (what bitty doesn't say is that he writes about what he really wants which is to fall in love & be in a happy relationship)

they say they’re just gonna write this kinda vague sad song but they both secretly write lines about their actual lives so it ends up being really personal and real and raw for the both of them

they sing the song at open mic that saturday and the crowd at annie’s is never that big but they’ve never got a standing ovation here before, and some girl shouts “MAKE AN ALBUM” (it may or may not be lardo) and they both blush furiously and bitty’s like “... that was really nice, jack” and jack’s like “... yeah it was good good job you’re really getting some confidence out there nice work” (bitty: “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT AAAAH”)

around this time jack’s really thinking about what he’s gonna do when he’s done at samwell, talking with his parents and his agent and looking into different record companies and deciding if he wants to sign with anyone or possibly start his own company- the head of a small company called falcon records in rhode island has been talking to him a lot, and jack talks to bitty about how he thinks it’d be nice to start small, and the record exec georgia and the producer marty had both been really nice and welcoming, and bitty’s so happy for him but also just... sad that he won’t be around jack every day after he graduates

THEN at a haus party celebrating their win of a local choral competition, who shows up but none other than pop star kent parson to Ruin The Fun

bitty sees the way jack pales when kent walks in, notices them disappear upstairs together and feels a little sick worrying about jack but chalks it up to the highly alcoholic concoction shitty and lardo had cooked up but nonetheless decides he’s sick of the party and goes up to his room and hears.... a little too much

and YIKES he’s standing right there and kent parson, pop star, two-time grammy winner, is looking a little rumpled and staring right at him and he puts his hat on and clears his throat and snaps at jack- “hey. well. call me if you reconsider. but good luck with rhode island. ...i’m sure that’ll make your parents proud.” and jack’s shaking, and bitty doesn’t know what to do but jack goes back into his room and bitty’s just kind of standing there like What The Fuck

so.... he kind of stews over winter break but tries not to think about it too much and he and jack text a bit and jack tells him to practice and bitty’s like “oh, you” and jack’s like “im serious” and bitty’s like “>:( it’s christmas”

spring semester starts and they're doing well in competitions and they go to semifinals and then finals for a prestigious collegiate choir competition and the pressure is mounting but they all are so optimistic and really feel like they're on the same page and bitty’s confidence is better than ever and then.... they don't win

jack especially takes it very hard, but then he also has signing to worry about, which everyone helps him with and he decides to sign with falcon records and start work on an album after graduation

speaking of graduation, shitty and jack graduate and it's hard for them but harder for bitty who feels like he's losing jack in a way, he knows how intense jack gets when he's making music and it doesn't feel like he'll have any time for bitty anymore so when they say goodbye bitty goes back to the haus and listens to his and jack's song and just cries

but, like in canon, dadbob has words of wisdom to impart and jack has an "oh" moment and races across campus to kiss bitty

they get together and the next few months are spent with jack working nonstop on his album (which tbh, he'd had many of the songs written already so it's mostly recording and producing) and texting bitty constantly and coming to visit him and playing him demos of all the songs

jack also asks bitty if they can record the song they wrote together & have it as a bonus track on his album & bitty says of course, so when jack visits they set up an impromptu studio and record vocals in the guest bedroom and this deeply personal song they wrote before they were ever together means so much more to them now

and bitty is so happy but so scared and sad too because jack is playing him these songs telling him "they're all for you bits, & a lot of them are about you" and he just doesn't know how he's going to keep all this love inside even though it feels like jack's career is at stake

he tries to shove it down and stay strong though, especially since he's now an upperclassman and they're taking on new members- connor "whiskey" whisk (voice like finneas or the male singer in valley), a music business/ management major who seems to hate bitty's guts and tony "tango" tangredi (like chaz cardigan), a jazz composition major who astounds everybody with his endless questions but also his ridiculously impressive composition skills & naturally perfect pitch (he can also play saxophone??)

i want ford in this au so fuck it she is a composition major with dreams to write scores for musicals and she stars training as a barista at annie's (aka training to corral the smcc)

the pressure of it all proves to be a lot and bitty and jack have their hi, honey moment where bitty's like i can't be this deep in the closet!!! and so they tell the smcc and also jack's label that they're together and that eases things a bit

jack's album comes out to much critical acclaim and shouting in the groupchat ("#1 ON ITUNES BRAHHHHH!!!!!!!!") and several months later, when smcc has already been eliminated from choral competition in an earlier round, jack is nominated for SEVERAL grammys including best album, song of the year, and best new artist

when the time comes he takes his parents and bitty on the red carpet which, everyone keeps being like "who are you here with jack?" and he's like "my family and my good friend :)" and yes it is awkward

jack wins... all three awards. it's the comeback everyone is stoked to see and when his third win is announced, he and bitty are so elated that they kiss before he goes to accept the award

his speech is basically just "um... wow. thank you. i just kissed my boyfriend on live tv. this is amazing and i'm so humbled. i'd like to thank my boyfriend and georgia and marty and my parents and my friends and my boyfriend"

obviously the press has a FIELD DAY with this but bitty & jack are honestly vibing and so happy that it doesn't matter untiiiillll bitty's mom calls and he has to tell her "mama i'm gay and i'm going on tour with jack this summer okloveyoubye"

the last few months of bitty's junior year pass quickly and he's voted student director which is a huge honor considering how much he struggled with stage fright and confidence & how he'll now be stepping into ransom & holster's shoes

r&h and lardo all graduate (the smcc basically crashes the art school graduation and all scream when lardo gets her diploma lmao), which is a bittersweet occasion and they all do a bit of tearing up

that summer bitty goes on tour across the u.s. & canada with jack and his touring band (snowy is a bassist, tater is a drummer and poots does backing guitar, he also brings nursey to play violin on a few songs) as well as georgia who's there to manage logistics

and tour is so fun & chaotic with many bi and rainbow flags in the audience that end up thrown on stage and draped around jack's neck and they spend so many nights in the bus drinking and laughing and fooling around on the guitars and bitty's uke and exploring new cities bitty has never been to before and it's the freest bitty has felt in a long time

summer ends though, and jack leaves for the uk/europe leg of the tour, and with the new school year brings a few new members- river "bully" bullard (voice like gregory alan isakov), a music therapy major who draws his own cover art for his songs, lukas "louis" landmann (like jr jr), an electronic production and design major with a penchant for EDM, and johnathan "hops" hopper (like keiynan lonsdale), a film scoring major who wants to write music for movies and video games

bitty meets and befriends some of the other student directors- shruti, sd of the women’s contemporary chorus; sharon, sd of the chamber choir; and edgar, sd of jazz ensemble (even chad l., sd of the all-male a cappella group)

senior year passes similarly to the comic; coach visits and sees one of bitty’s competitions, jack comes to madison for christmas, smcc does well in competition and goes to regionals etc

however… bitty keeps putting off and putting off gathering the songs for his senior recital

he has a hard time doing that because he’s so focused on the group and making sure they’re performing well and as they advance in competition, everything else starts to fall away

eventually the rest of the smcc has to lock away his uke and change his youtube password and FORCE him to choose songs for it and start preparing because he cannot graduate without doing this recital and doing well on it

he chooses (of course) a beyonce song, a few of his own songs, an ellie goulding song, and an adele song

with all that his breath hitches and his hands shake before he goes on stage, he does really well and his voice instructor prof atley tears up a little in the audience as does his mom

meanwhile smcc goes to semifinals, then finals, of the national collegiate choral competition they participate in

and i imagine bitty faces somewhat less homophobia in this au because i mean, he’s in the performing arts, but i think it’s still there and he also faces a good amount of classism from richer students and performers who think they’re better because they had the resources and money to be performing professionally from a very young age, and he has been practicing via filming himself on a shitty camcorder and posting it to youtube

but they still get there! and the national finals are fucking HUGE and a big deal and a little overwhelming

bitty’s stage fright is Present because this is the biggest stage and the biggest stakes he's ever had and he has a big solo in one of their songs so if he fucks up, he fucks up a national championship for his whole group and school

luckily though, when he steps on the stage with his best friends and sees his boyfriend and family and smcc alums in the audience and they perform their first song, a high-energy pop medley that always gets the crowd going, everything seems to melt away and it's just him living in this moment and singing his heart out

when it gets to the next song and his solo, he forgets to be nervous and belts it out, getting screams of approval from the audience when he finishes

(dex and nursey do have a duet together that they had to practice for many long nights in the practice rooms alone but that's neither here nor there)

their time on stage seems to last both hours and no time at all and then they're done, the crowd gives them a standing ovation and it's at least 30% r&h & shitty's hooting and hollering and jack's enthusiastic clapping that makes bitty & the others beam with pride

then it's just waiting, giddy and nervous beyond belief in their green room, for the judging to be over

after what feels like forever they're back on stage, arms linked together waiting and hoping for their name to be called and it is, they win and it feels like years have built up to this moment, and bitty tears up because years ago when he was fainting from anxiety at having to perform in front of people he never could've imagined that he'd do this, that he'd be the student director that led them to a championship

they get the trophy and a ridiculous amount of flowers from their loved ones and they all are just in giddy disbelief that this is happening, they're national champs!!! they are the best choir boys in the nation!!

they come home and the rest of the school year passes by so quickly that it's very suddenly graduation and bitty can't believe his college career at samwell is over 😢

(he and ollie and wicky take pictures together, o&w talk about how excited they are to devote full time attention to their band & wedding planning and bitty's just like wait you're gay??)

bitty got plenty of offers from record companies but he likes his freedom of creativity and he has a built in fanbase from doing youtube all these years so he decides to make an album independently (jack helps him produce & master it 🥰)

when bitty's album comes out about a year later, full of bops about being gay and in love and having struggled but come out the other side more confident than ever, it doesn't get any grammy nominations- and he didn't expect or need that.

what it does do is it resonates. it makes the rounds in youtube and queer internet circles; people his age reach out to him saying this is the music they wish they had as a kid and kids reach out to him saying he's a role model and they're so glad to have his music to listen to. his album is written about as an underrated gem that shines with queer brilliance and is sure to start a party when it comes on.

his parents may not fully understand the road he's chosen for himself but they're still so proud and promote the album as hard as any of his loyal fans (especially the one country-inspired song on the album that he wrote and dedicated to them).

and jack, jack who saw this album from its infancy to its release date, who took the film photo that ended up being the album cover, who worked with bitty to make sure his vision was realized exactly how he wanted it to be, is proud beyond words.

jack starts using his semi-abandoned twitter again to tweet "stream [album name]" every day and bitty retweets them sometimes, with just a "this boy. ❤"

and they're happy. they're good. they have come so far and they are reaping the rewards of all the hard work they put in to make the music that they truly love.

the end :)

[unstoppableforcce]

dirty, pretty, beautiful

— “goddamn… I love to watch you work”

pairing: billy russo x f! street fighter! reader

masterlist | 5.2k | ko-fi

warnings: [18+], fighting, blood, blood kink (?), semi-public sex (? it’s a bar bathroom), slight choking, just overall violence (?) but enthusiastically consensual, all smut is from Billy’s POV

a/n: so maybe, I ignored every other WIP I have to write for billy russo. and yeah, this is 9000% inspired by the scene in 1x12 where billy is clearly turned on watching frank kill a man. but i really like the way this came out so I don’t even care

The warehouse had a stink to it. Musty, heady, metallic… Metallic like the remains of a handful of change against his palm. Metallic like waft of hot rain off the highest train tracks. Metallic like the taste of blood, coating his teeth, smothering his tongue until it was all he imagined he would ever taste again.

Fresh blood had a sweeter smell, a saltier smell even, but as more time passed, as the heat of the daily sunlight poured in through the windows left unboarded, as the frigid, damp night settled within the empty body of the building, the smell grew rancid. A ripe fruit passing it’s best by date, left to sit for far too long. A living liquor left to die, to rot, to stink. It was a smell he was far too familiar with, a smell that laced more of his memories than he cared to ever voice. A smell that, on his worst days, he found himself missing.

With hands heavy like weights, stuffed into his pockets to keep him anchored as the smell flooded his head, he managed his way forward towards the hum of the crowd. Hustlers worked the crowd, kids barely old enough to enlist waving hands full of crumpled bills and corralling bet after bet.

“We’ve got three fights! Three fights left until the main event!” One called.

“Place your bets and place them fast!” The next one chanted, over and over again, louder and louder each time a new wad of cash was pushed into his hands.

“This is a night you won’t want to miss.”

Clearly, the crowd agreed.

The itch of his sweater brought a new heat as he moved deeper into the crowd circled around the main cage, a cold sweat gathering at the back of his neck where the collar of his leather jacket met his skin. He knew better than to wear one of his suits to an event like this, but he still found himself missing the fond feel of the expensive fabric, the protective layer it granted him, the height it added to his already intimidating form. A few sideways stares told him he still stood out plenty on his own, but something about being dressed down struck a chord with him he didn’t like.

It was wearing a different skin, a more vulnerable skin, one that left him desperate in a way he hadn’t felt in far too long.

Billy Russo was a powerful man, but he hadn’t always been. It didn’t matter how many years it had been, he spent far too long walking on the edge, toeing a line. The group home, the bullies, the stares that followed his pretty fucking face wherever he went… one wrong move, one bad decision, and he could’ve ended up here under much different circumstances.

It could have been him in the ring, fighting for his next meal, fighting for his life.

His hand scratched at his beard as he shouldered further into the crowd for a better view, doing his best to ignore the brutal stench of violence and the unclean men surrounding him. It didn’t matter what feeling bubbled in his chest, nor what aching memories echoed in the back of his head, he was here for a reason. Recruiting discharged soldiers could only sustain their workforce for so long if special forces remnants and women remained hard to come by. When rumors started to grow, flowering up from the filthy underbelly of the city, a fighter to end all fights, he knew he had to get his offer on the table before anyone else could.

Anvil needed operatives. He had a job to do. The stench of blood and the avalanche of feelings that came with it, that was just… well, he could handle it. With or without his suit and tie.

“... El Tigre and the Mountain!”

The crowd roared for the first fight of the night.

There was a particular bias for the Mountain, which, upon laying eyes on him, made enough sense. He didn’t get the name out of irony, he towered over his opponent by a good foot, and no amount of speed on the smaller man’s part was going to make a difference. The fight lasted, violent hit after violent hit, but within a few minutes, the Mountain prevailed as expected.

Then another fight, just as brutal. Then another.

Watching men beat the shit out of each other, however, was nothing new. If he wanted unthinking violence and filthy brutality, he knew where he could get it a lot cheaper, he was here for overlooked skill, an underestimated killer. He was here for—

“The crowned royalty of chaos, the duchess of destruction, the princess of pain… the one and only…” his voice echoed across the warehouse, rumbling as the crowd grew uncontrollable. “The Queen of Combat!”

If the crowd had allowed enough space between where their rowdy bodies pressed against one another, Billy thought some of them might get on their knees and submit to you right there and then. Hell, the second he laid eyes on you, the thought even crossed his mind.

And he’d be lying if he said it didn’t linger.

The warehouse shook with unflinching loyalty, his ears defeaned by the corresponding cheers. Shoulders hit into his, shoved from behind, pushed by the guy in front of him, some of the crowd climbing up on the cage just to gain a mere inch closer to you. And yet, you made your way into the cage without sparing a glance to a single one of the aggressive animals clawing at the fencing, unphased by the noise, unflinching. Your chin lifted just above the noise and your graceful stature carried you the rest of the way in. Regal was an understatement, but, watching you as closely as everyone else, he wasn’t sure he even had the vocabulary to find a word that worked better.

Blood stained your hoodie, bruises scaled the ridges of your knuckles, and yet, he was sure that one word from you could summon an army out of the screaming crowd surrounding you. One word from you and Billy… well, the things he’d do for you.

His eyes locked on your knuckles, watching closely as you wrapped the brutalized skin away, then moved to your body as you tossed the old hoodie away. Scars and marks lined your torso—bruises left over from a fight a mere few days ago judging by the healing, scars from fights so long ago they were nearly faded, burns, cuts, slices, bumps… your skin was a war zone.

And he knew war zones. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, a hot pressure in his jeans apparent, he was sure he could lose himself in a war zone like that.

If the man who entered behind you was your opponent, it was clear there wasn’t more than a handful of souls in the whole arena who cared. There wasn’t a single clap out of beat, not one change in the roar of support aimed at you and you alone. He was bigger, sure, but if energy was anything to go by, he could be Paul fucking Bunyan and it wouldn’t have even come close to matching your unwavering support.

“Fighters, get ready.”

Your opponent took a few jumps, slapping his arms like he was Michael Phelps. You took one step forward, rolled your shoulders and leveled your stare.

There was no doubt in his mind who he considered a threat, who he considered a future asset.

“Tap out or knock out.” The kid stood between them reminded, and when neither of their deadly stares shifted, he nodded his head once, blew his whistle, and got the fuck out of the way as fast as possible.

But you… you waited.

Your opponent jumped at you, feigning left then right but not putting much strength either way, hoping for a flinch. A flinch he didn’t get. You didn’t even blink.

You just waited.

And when he opened up his left side in frustration after a series of perfectly blocked hits, you turned it on. He couldn’t even get his hands up fast enough.

It wasn’t like he was some nobody they pulled out of the gutter to have you fight tonight, he was clearly a skilled fighter of his own, it just didn’t matter in comparison. You were quick, controlled, deliberate. Two punches for every one of his. Perfectly placed to have him grunting and groaning while his landed with nothing more than a hiss or blink.

If he thought his sweater was suffocating him before, god, he had no idea what he was getting himself into.

He could feel the hum of his heart, and the sudden staccato everytime your fist connected with a crack. He could feel his pulse beating through every inch of his body, from his temples to his toes and every throbbing inch in between. Another hit, he could see the blood coating the wraps across your knuckles. Another hit, he could see the crimson staining your teeth.

He wanted a taste—no, he needed one.

A hit to the ribs had your opponent crinkling, a jab to the face had him spinning. A kick to the knee buckled him over, a knee to the chin sent his teeth up into his brain. As blood splattered up your bare thigh, your opponent collapsed to the concrete.

Knock out.

Even if he wasn’t truly out, he knew better than to move, his eyes already swelling shut, his unscarred skin bruised and bloodied.

The crowd went wild, but Billy couldn’t hear. He watched you swipe your wrapped hand against your chin, wiping away the blood from your lips, and he swore his mind short-circuited as his blood rerouted elsewhere. You were fucking gorgeous, you were delicious, you were his new religion, you were… Royalty.

A Queen.

Fuck, he was hard.

With your hand lifted in victory, the crowd reached a volume Billy hadn’t even thought possible, and when you ripped your hand away and moved back for your discarded sweats, the crowd again tried to swarm you. To touch you, to feel your power, to feel you up. He just watched. He’d catch you when you came back out, showered, with cash in your hand. In his experience, people were much more open to recruitment when they weren’t being verbally and sexually harassed by hoards of disgusting men with filthy leering stares.

It took about an hour, stood outside in the back alley where the late night wind beat him up with freezing gust after freezing gust, but when you came out, you were alone. That alone made it worth it.

Shouldering open the heavy metal door dressed in fresh sweats hanging loose off your hot muscles, you made it a whole two steps before you caught sight of where he lingered in your peripheral and nearly jumped out of your skin. “Staking out this door is a good way to get the shit beat out of you, you know.”

The cool bite in your tone hit even harder than the wind, but neither did anything to cool him down. In fact, his smirk only grew as you raised your chin in a stubborn challenge.

“Don’t worry, I come in peace.” He defended, lifting his hands where they held in his jacket pockets for the warmest show of surrender he could muster.

“Not interested.”

He took a careful step forward, eyes holding your piercing stare. “You haven’t even heard my offer.”

“Don’t have to.” The bag hanging over your shoulder shifted as the wind whipped by once more, and you quickly moved it down your arm as the weight found one of your more grueling injuries stretching the length of your collarbone. If he hadn’t been looking so closely, maybe you could have hidden your shrug, but he saw it all, he wanted to see it all, even as you argued back. “Whatever it is, I don’t need it in my life.”

Your feet found two more steps away before he pulled you back with his sly smile and slimier argument. “Just one drink.”

It’s not frustration that stops you this time, it’s curiosity, one brow raised as your arms cross over your chest. “Are you serious?”

For the first time, he doesn’t have an answer. For the first time, that perfect exterior cracks, his brow furrowing and his mouth left open. “What—“

“I mean…” your laugh shook him out of it, the sound something rough and throaty. “Seriously? I thought for sure you were here to recruit me for something, with this whole pretty boy soldier off-duty look you’ve got going on but no… you want to get a drink? Seriously? You waited out here for an hour in the cold because you want to fuck me?”

He cleared his throat as his stare and smirk absconded, was it really that obvious? Did he really even care if it was?

Business Billy, he reminded himself chastely.

Cutting the distance between the two of you in half, he extended his hand for a shake he knew he’d never get once his mouth opened. “Billy Russo,” he introduced.

Your smirk fell in the same second

“That Anvil guy?”

His hand pulled back and his disposition shifted to the only defense it knew, a cocky smirk and casual shrug. “My reputation precedes me, huh?”

“You take good people who get out and you toss them right back in.” The cold bite had vacated your tone entirely, and what replaced it, the heat of your righteous indignation, reignited the fire he felt when you were fighting. A match strike. A sharp cut against a stick of flint.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t gotten it before, but coming from you… well, he just couldn’t turn his cheek to it. “I help those who can’t get back on their feet—“

“You help them get back to the hell that messed them up in the first place, you mean. How charitable.” The sarcasm was a slap to the face, and still, he couldn’t find it in himself to take a step back.

“At least I take care of my people, I pay better, I—“

Your scoff echoed around the empty alley, bouncing off the dumpsters and brick walls, reverberating in his ears until it was all he could hear. “Yeah? And just how much is a life worth to you?”

His jaw clenched. “More than the government, sweetheart.”

“That’s not really saying much, is it?”

He let loose a sigh, a breath of tension he didn’t even know he was holding as his shoulder twitched and his stare found anything to look at that wasn’t you. What was he supposed to say? What argument could he voice back? You had a point. Hell, he could see a younger version of himself making the same argument back when things first got bad over there, back when he first thought about getting out.

The sentiment was respectable, and your stubborn tenacity was nothing to scoff at, but this wasn’t about heart.

Some people just don’t make it out. Some people can’t. Why was he so wrong for offering them a path back, what was so immoral about offering the opportunity for them to profit off of what they were previously exploited for? If he didn’t do it, then someone else would. And at least… at least he cared. At least he knew what it felt like to come back home and not have a home waiting for you, to have blood on your hands so violently red that you can’t go back into the real world without people noticing.

Your knuckles, scarred and scabbing, told him that you knew too. You found your way back to the fighting, just like the ones he recruited to work for him. Were you really so different?

And still, a part of him knew that voicing that question, in that way, was a good way to get beat up.

His eyes found yours again as his hands lifted and fell back down to his sides, defeated. “You’re right, but it’s just the way things are. Not all of us come home and end up underground fighting royalty.”

Your head shook as you muffled your rough laughter. “It’s not as glamorous as it looks.”

“Nothing ever is.”

Now it was your stare that redirected, eyes dropping to your feet before you let them scale their way back up the rocky terrain of his dressed down form. Worn boots, dark jeans, tight sweater, leather jacket, and that face. That pretty face. Exhaustion buried in the bags beneath his eyes, frustration laced in the furrow of his brow, a familiarity in the darkness of his eyes, a void of everything you remembered, skilled violence and inescapable grief, a void so familiar, a void you could lose yourself in.

It was late. It was cold. And you were alone. You were always alone.

You had made worse choices.

Sucking your bottom lip in tight between the bite of your teeth and slowly letting it out, you cocked your head to the side and began working on the last of your stubborn defenses. “If I say yes to the drink, is it just going to be more of this recruitment talk?”

His head twisted into a similar quirk, his smirk slowly gaining back its traction on his lips as he took you in with a similar once over. He inched one hesitant step forward, and when you didn’t shy away from the renewed heat of his attention, he took another. “Well I mean… I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

“On how much talking we do.”

—

It had been a while since he last had bathroom sex.

His boots stuck to the filthy linoleum floor, making every shift of his footing an extra effort. The shitty fluorescent light overhead flickered in and out with an infuriating lack of rhythm, blinding one second and pathetically inadequate to see you beneath him the next. But as his fingers gripped tighter around the flesh of your thighs, pushing you down into the cool porcelain of the sink he had you sat on, he had to admit that you were right. For everything it was, at least the sink was clean.

“So…” The burn was exactly what he remembered it to be, the cheap liquor clawing at his throat as he forced the shot down, chasing it with a quick swig of the even cheaper beer you had ordered for him. “This is your bar of choice?”

There had been six shots, three for each of you to start with, but you smirked around your final shot and he couldn’t even think ahead to his second. “Is that judgement I hear?”

He could feel his shoulder tick as he corrected with a slow drawl, “curiosity.”

“There are worse bars.”

“There are better ones too—“ His hand caught yours as you reached for one of his two remaining shots, his fingers wrapping carefully around yours. “Do you mind?”

You tried to pull back but his grip didn’t budge.

“You didn’t seem interested,” you fought, following his eyes as they dipped down to your busted lips. Again, you tried your hand. Again, he refused to let go.

“I’m plenty interested.”

You could feel his grip loosen, but this time, you let him hold it there. If anything, you leaned into it. Reaching with your other hand, you brought your bottle to your mouth and wasted no time licking up the remnants of your sip left behind across your bottom lip. Again, his stare followed, his nose scrunching as something deep in his chest began to burn. Again, you leaned into it, close enough for his cologne to overtake any of the thousand other smells swirling around the packed bar.

“Actually,” setting your beer back down, your unoccupied hand found the inseam of his jeans, his legs perched open on his stool with you sat between them. “I like this bar because the bathrooms are the cleanest.”

Picking up his next shot, he couldn't help the twist of his brow nor the uptick of his heart rate as your fingers teased higher. “The bathrooms?”

“Yeah…” your casual tone betrayed the tension pulled taut between the two of you. Every point of contact had him burning. Your hand in his, a candle flame he couldn’t stop drifting his hand over even as it burned. Your hand inching on his thigh, a creeping flame following a line of detcord towards explosion. Your stare, a rumbling volcanic heat mere seconds away from erupting. The rowdy crowd surrounding the two of you was nothing, the stuttering breath fleeing your chest all he could hear.

He leaned in, his brow still furrowed in confusion.

You leaned closer, pulling your hand from his thigh to take his last shot for him. “You ever been fucked over a filthy sink, Marine?”

He prided himself on his composure, in battle and in bed, but fuck, with two fingers inside you feeling you clench around him and his head buried deep in the crook of your neck inhaling the harsh stench of industrial soap trying it’s best to cover the smell of blood, he could feel himself skirting dangerously close to an edge he wasn’t ready to fall off of yet. His dick wasn’t even out of his pants and still, when he thrust a third finger into you and saw your brutalized knuckles wrapped around his bicep, nails digging through the thick fabric of his sweater, his name falling wrecked from your lips, he very nearly lost it.

“Russo— Fuck—”

“You like that?” He challenged breathlessly back, biting down hard on your battle bruised shoulder to keep it together as you grew closer and closer to the same edge. The light flickered and his stare shifted back up towards your face. A Queen brought to a trembling mess, teeth piercing the already torn center of your beaten lip. “Yeah, you do, don’t you?”

“Shut up.” The whine that accompanied your words betrayed the cut of them and his smirk only grew.

His lips scaled the scarred terrain of your shoulders, climbing up the bruised battlefield of your neck, nipping at every inch you offered him with your head thrown back against the steamed up mirror. “Shut me up.”

Your chuckle intercepted your heaving breath, the hot pants hitting his skin and flushing his cheek. “Yeah?” You challenged, your words ghosting over his lips as he drew ever closer. The cut of your nails dug into his arm pulled back, your grip settling comfortably around his throat instead as you inhaled his violent groan. “Make me cum.”

He fought against your vice-like grip as you squeezed tighter and tighter, stealing a singular kiss from your lips. “Yes, Ma’am.”

These were his cheapest jeans anyways.

Dropping slowly to his knees, his neck pulled from your grasp and his mouth found your ready and weeping heat. With one lick, your thighs closed around his ears, one suck of your clit between his lips and one of your calloused hands found his hair while the other gripped tight to the sink for any hope of stability.

“Billy—”

His fingers had worked you too close to the edge already, it didn’t take long before his fingers, still deep inside you, found the right spot and the burning pressure of his mouth on your clit had you soaring. The beating pump of your blood filled your head, the thumping echo all you could hear as your vision began flickering in time with the ancient fluorescent over head. You could feel him moaning into you, your stubborn grip holding tight to his previously pristine head of hair, dragging you closer as your screams no doubt echoed around the small bathroom.

Maybe the music and the boisterous crowd outside in the bar would be loud enough to cover the sounds. Maybe not. He couldn’t care less.

All he cared about as he fought his way back to his feet was the lazy pull of your hand in his hair. All he could ever imagine caring about for the remainder of his lifetime was the effortless drag of your tongue over his chin and lips, collecting the remains of your orgasm before sucking him in for the longest kiss of the night. Loose. Languid. Luxurious.

“Was that up to your standards, your highness…” he murmured with a smirk along the side of your mouth, his hands scraping down to your thighs, dragging himself closer.

Your grip found itself again in his hair, tugging tight. “Take your pants off.”

“Ask nicely.”

He felt the warmth of your scoff against his cheek, but you agreed in the only way you knew how, your hand not buried in his hair dropping to the bulge in his jeans. “Please…” your lips pressed once to his chin, then to his neck, soothing the crescent mark your own nails had left. One kiss, then another, and before he could reach his hand to his own belt to comply, you bit into the mark and deepened the color. “Take your fucking pants off.”

His lips twisted into a snarl, but he had his belt off and his pants open in record time.

The condom in his wallet was only supposed to be a backup, but he had never been more grateful for his disgustingly hopeful thinking than he was to find it exactly where he had remembered it being wedged between the folds of leather. And as you pulled him out of his boxerbriefs and rolled it on with a few lazy pumps, your satisfied smirk told him you were equally grateful.

Still, your fought. “It’s not expired, is it?”

“God, I hate you.” He swore back, but his heart left halfway through the words, his chest deflating, a nearly whimpering moan leaving his lips as he pushed into your soaking folds. “I fucking—“

Your hips rolled as he seated himself fully within you and again, his breathing stuttered. If he thought he was close before, this was just embarrassing.

He remembered the ruthless violence of your fight, the blood running from your nose and staining your teeth, the strong pull between your shoulders as you landed hit after hit. He gripped tight to one of your thighs with one hand and flattened his other palm to the mirror behind your head as his pace picked up. He remembered the echoing crack as you landed your final blows, the utter brutality that oozed from you as you moved from one hit to the next. He dragged your hips closer, he pulled you flush against his chest, muffling your cries into his sweater.

He remembered your knuckles and every groan they elicited. He kissed your jaw, unable to stop himself from thinking of how many you had broken.

The rough drag of him inside of you was taunting, the feel of him so full yet your climax still dancing out of reach. It was too much and too good all at once. Too little and too overwhelming in the same breath.

“Billy—“ your broken sob tore through his chest with a heat he didn’t even recognize, a burn so heavenly he swore a sunburst sliced through him. “Fuck— Russo, yes—“

Every muscle in your body tightened around him, squeezing him, clawing at him, destroying his composure. He tried to draw it out, he tried to fight back from the edge, but your moans turned to music and his head emptied out. “I—“

“Come on,” you cooed, your words slurring as you forced his lips back to yours. He was melting, the heat was too much, searing his insides, charring his heart and fuck… he was melting into you. “That’s it.”

His nose scrunched, his teeth baring, a guttural snarl escaping his fiery chest as he powered himself even further into you. Again and again and again and— “Shit…”

You whimpered as his hips stuttered, you whined as he fell still.

“Shit…” he repeated, trying one last languid thrust as he found his way back down from his blinding high. “That was… fuck…”

“Yeah,” you muster just enough breath for a chuckle. “Yeah it was.”

He barely had enough time to catch his breath before you were pushing him back on unsteady legs, he barely managed to catch himself on the neighboring stall before you hopped down of the sink. He wanted to laugh at your sudden urgency, make some kind of joke, or pull you close and disregard it entirely, but he still couldn’t breathe. His hair fell in his face, his sweater rucked up around his waist and his dick barely soft—

He was a mess. A wrecked mess without the words to stop you. You already had your pants back on by the time he had the condom tied off in the trash, you were fixing yourself in the mirror before he even found a hold on his belt.

“You know, I know some bars with nicer bathrooms.” He finally fought, catching your attention as he fed the tongue of his belt back through. “Better beer too—“

A battering knock sounded on the door, making both of you jump. “Can you two hurry it the fuck up! Some of us have to pee!”

Neither of you two could hold yourselves back from laughing at that, breathless or not, even Billy felt a subtle heat rise to his cheeks. Not for getting caught—no, surely that was inevitable in a place this packed—but because he really didn’t care, because he wanted nothing more than to do it again.

You had to feel the same, that had to be as good for you as it was for him, god it was better than good. If you wanted him on his knees, he would beg. If you wanted to wreck his shit, he’d say ‘yes, please’—

You pressed a firm hand to his chest, forcing him back to the stall wall. Your lips hovered over his, so close, he could taste your breath. “This won’t happen again, pretty boy.”

His head quirked with a glare, your hand keeping him in place as he fought towards your lips. “No?”

“No.” Your lips grazed his as they formed around the word but it wasn’t enough.

“That’s a maybe then?”

“No, it’s not.” He could feel your pulse, the beat of your chest pounding against his as you keep him just close enough and still too far away. He could feel the lie as you made it.

His smirk only grew as his lips touched yours. “Well, if we’re not having sex, you should just come work for me.”

You hand slammed him back but he just laughed.

“Not fucking likely, Russo.”

He surged against your grip for one last kiss before you pulled back. “Well,” he sighed, slumping back against the wall and finally accepting his defeat. “I know where to find you, at least.”

Even your stubborn tenacity couldn’t hide your smirk as you unlocked the door. “Maybe so.”

That wasn’t a no.

[unbridgeabledistances]

whipped up this little gallavich father’s day one-shot bc i woke up and had feelings!

(to everyone who has a complicated relationship to father’s day—know that i love u 💗)

tw for mention of dead parents / abuse (terry 🙄🙄)

***

It was quiet when they woke— it had been months, and Mickey could finally admit that he had gotten a little bit used to waking up to the silence and blinding sunshine, the light reflecting off of the shiny glass exterior of their neighbors’ apartment complex windows and the soft chatter of people sitting down below at the pool as the slow summer mornings turned into lazy afternoons.

He turned to face Ian, shifting under the plush duvet they were wrapped in tightly; usually summer heat meant sleeping in underwear and a pool of your own fucking sweat in the South Side, but this boujee-ass place had fucking air conditioning that blasted all night long— Mickey nearly wore a fucking sweats and a hoodie to bed the first hot summer day when they’d started blasting it in the place. Ian had just grinned, making fun of him for being dressed like he was about to climb Mount Everest, and had pulled him closer under the sheets to wrap him in warmth.

Mickey rubbed at his eyes, reaching for his phone and clicking it to see the time. 7:52, the asscrack of dawn on a Sunday morning as far as he was concerned. No wonder Ian was still sleeping.

He had a couple of notifications— a few texts from Sandy, livetweeting when she was out last night and probably drunk out of her mind at some gay bar she’d started going to on the West Side at Ian’s recommendation; while Mickey had resisted those expensive-ass hipster beers at every fucking turn, Sandy had been coming by his and Ian’s place a lot more these days, and Ian had kept convincing them to all go out at the boujee queer spots along the block. Whatever— so what if he blew $9 on a fucking IPA that tasted like fucking battery acid? Ian loved it, Sandy loved it more, and he could afford to spend a few nights at some hipster-ass bar with his cousin and his husband hanging off his hip. He could do that shit now.

He scrolled through some emails, trying desperately to tune out the work bullshit and ignore the unread emails in his inbox— he and Ian had been making bank lately, the business growing more than ever especially now that COVID restrictions were all but nonexistent and people were ready to fucking party. He and Ian definitely spent more hours than not attached to their fucking Gmail app, scrolling through new requests and niche demands from growers; but they’d agreed that weekends were off-time, and talking about work was strictly forbidden. “Weekends are husband time, not co-worker time, Mick.”

Even so, Ian was still sleeping, and Mickey didn’t know what else the fuck to do until he woke up— he filtered idly through the inbox, then opened Instagram and started scrolling mindlessly, through pictures of his few dipshit cousins and their new gun purchases and questionable tattoo choices.

It was then when he saw the picture that V had just posted: a black-and-white photo of Kev and the girls, sitting at some sidewalk restaurant in Louisville.

To the papa bear of my amazing girls. Happy Father’s Day.

Fucking Father’s Day.

It’s not like Mickey didn’t know when Father’s Day was— it was more that its occurrence was knowledge that he passively avoided. The only time he remembered knowing when the fuck it was was in elementary school, when they’d been forced to draw colorful cards for their dads on thick sheets of construction paper. He’d drawn a fucking cool one for Terry, with scribbles of skulls and snakes and a picture of him and Mandy. He remembered clutching it tight between his fingers the walk home from school that Friday, and immediately shoving it deep into his backpack when he returned home and it was one of the bad days, the days filled with screaming and sobbing and him and Mandy huddled together in his bed.

“Hey, you okay?” Ian’s arm was snaking around Mickey’s waist under the blankets—a heavy weight, welcoming the air back into Mickey’s lungs.

Mickey reached over to ruffle Ian’s hair. “G’morning, sleepyface.”

Ian’s eyes searched Mickey’s face, then squeezed tightly shut as he yawned. He leaned to rest his head on Mickey’s shoulder, a dull weight on his chest.

“You know it’s Father’s Day?”

Ian craned his neck back again to meet Mickey’s eyes. “Huh.”

From his pensive gaze, Mickey could tell that the realization stunned Ian in the same way it had hit him. “Yup.”

They were silent. Ian reached his arm aimlessly under the covers, searching for Mickey’s hand— intertwining their fingers.

“It’s fucking weird, man.”

Ian breathed out a silent laugh of relief, a gust of air through his nose. “Was just thinking the same fucking thing. I could hate Frank on Father’s Day when he was alive, talk all the shit I wanted— seems kind of hard to do now that’s he’s gone.”

Mickey pressed his lips together. “Yeah.” The heavy feeling—the loss, the dread, was still heavy in his chest, beating next to where Ian’s head was resting. “Homophobic that this shit is during pride month, anyways. Don’t they know all the gays have fucking daddy issues?”

Ian snorted—and they laid there, breathing. Ian’s thumb started to trace a pattern on Mickey’s inner palm— soft, slow. “What d’you wanna do today?”

“I don’t know, man. A distraction would be nice. Can’t fucking scroll through Instagram without thinking about my dead dad, kind of a fucking mood kill.”

Ian laughed. “Yeah.” He took in a breath. And then:

“I know I keep talking about the kid shit. But I can’t stop thinking about when today will be, like. Exciting for us. Someday. Y’know?”

Mickey felt something lurch in his chest—he didn’t really know what it was. He and Ian had been talking about the kid thing— Ian dropping hints here and there, Mickey giving his wary consent that he’d tell Ian when he was ready. And now—this.

There was gonna be a day, some day—when Father’s Day didn’t feel like the hardest goddamn thing in the world anymore. Even after a lifetime of bad ones.  

Mickey felt the beginning of tears pricking in his eyes—stupid, stupid.

“Yeah, man. Guess so.”