#and what is wrong with that i ask 🤪 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moni-logues · 2 years ago

Text

Thirteen Rounds

Pairing: Boxer!Jungkook x f!reader

Genre: smut smut smut smut smut! sex ban smut lmao; established relationship

Summary: JK's boxing coach tells him he can't come for four weeks before his title fight. Ah, four weeks isn't that long, right? ... Right?

Word count: 13.2k

Content: oral sex (m. and f. receiving), unprotected sex, masturbation (f.), orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, sex toys, uh implied come eating? (It's not mentioned but he comes in her then eats her out sooooo it's happening 😂), cutesy nicknames that honestly even make me cringe these days lmaooo

A/N: as I said in a post earlier today, this hit 6k notes on the old blog and I know crowing about notes is tacky and no one cares (and even I don't care! That's not why I'm here!), but I never really got to celebrate this fic when I posted it and it took the fuck off. So here's to another 6k 🤪🤪🤪

FOUR WEEKS TO GO

Jungkook walks slowly, very slowly, down the corridor to the door of your apartment. He does not want to go through it. He really doesn’t want to have to tell you what he’s about to.

Four weeks no sex.

That’s what Coach said. No sex, no masturbation, orgasms 100% completely verboten. He knows this is not going to go down well with you. From the very start of your relationship, you have never gone that long without sex. Jungkook isn’t sure he’ll be able to make it; he’s not sure if you will be either. A tiny part of him worries what it might do to your relationship – you’re stronger than that, aren’t you? This won’t hurt your relationship, will it? You’ve been together for years now, four weeks without sex can’t change anything… Right? Jungkook knows in his heart of hearts that it’s right but the thought of four weeks without you is so unutterably awful that he also can’t believe it won’t change things.

He flops face-first onto the sofa next to you and squirms immediately as you rake a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. Absolutely none of that from now on.

“You ok?” you ask and he can’t answer because the answer is no and he’s not going to be for another four weeks, another 29 days in fact. He mumbles nothing into the sofa.

“Just tired? Training hard today?”

Training wasn’t hard, especially. This conversation we’re about to have is hard, Jungkook thinks. Keeping his face shoved into the sofa cushion, he breaks the news.

“Jungkook,” slight impatience in your voice now. “I cannot understand you when you talk into the sofa; what’s going on?”

He lifts his head slightly but can’t bring himself to look at you.

“Coach says we can’t have sex until the fight.”

“WHAT?”

“We can’t have sex until the fight,” he repeats, quietly, miserably.

He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side, still not daring to look at you.

“But that’s four weeks away! Four weeks!”

“I know!”

He takes your hand and kisses it, leaning up on his elbows. He rests his head on your thigh, bumping it gently as if he were hitting it against a brick wall. He mumbles under his breath, as close as he ever got to invective against his Coach (whom he nevertheless trusts and respects deeply). You’re being quieter than he expected you to be and it makes him nervous. He expected outraged protestations, reasoned arguments, begging and pleading. But you’re sitting and thinking.

“Why?” you ask. “What’s it for?”

“He says it’ll improve my focus, power, and aggression if I don’t come between now and then…”

You hum in response and he risks a peek at your face. You’re smirking and something about it makes his stomach drop.

“So… You can’t come, but I can do whatever I want, hm?”

He hadn’t considered that. Of course, that makes sense; you’re not wrong, but Jungkook realises this with absolute horror. Not being able to fuck you for four weeks was going to be bad enough as it is, but four weeks of getting you off without a single second of relief for him? He feels sick.

“Noooo! Baby, please. Please, you have to do this with me.”

It’s not his usual role, but he is not above begging. You shake your head.

“No way; four weeks is a long time and I’m not fighting anyone.”

“I know it’s a long time! That’s why we have to do it together!”

“On the contrary, my sweet, little biscuit, the whole point is that we don’t do it together, isn’t it?”

You lean down and kiss his nose but it is of no comfort. He’s pouting now, both furious and devastated at this turn of events. When you start running your hands through his hair again and his dick twitches, he groans; this will kill him, he thinks. Stone cold dead, this is going to kill him. He holds your hand tight and looks at you, finally, dead in the eye, eyes wide and pleading, his absolute best puppy dog.

“Please,” he begs. “Please.”

“Why don’t we have one last night?” you suggest and Jungkook groans because he knows that tone. “You can start tomorrow. One night won’t make a difference, surely?”

You slide down the sofa until your faces are almost level and Jungkook is about to rest his head where your thigh was, but discovers your breast in its place. He holds still. This is his first test and, while you might have a point, he’s got rules to follow and he can’t break now, not at the very first hurdle. He’s got better self-control than that, hasn’t he?

“Hm?” you continue. “Start tomorrow… Come on, Kookie, please.”

He wants to say yes, of course he does, but if he’s going to last four weeks, he’s going to have to practise saying no.

You slide off the sofa onto your knees on the floor and he eyes you carefully. You’re dangerous and you know it. When you trail your fingers down his spine and kiss the back of his neck, he shivers.

“I want you so badly,” you whisper in his ear and he groans. You slip your hand underneath his T-shirt and he’s sticky with sweat. “I didn’t have you yesterday and now we have to go four weeks? Kookie, I can’t take it… Be good to me, Jungkook, please.”

He loves it when you beg. Hearing his name in your mouth all high and whiny, tremulous with need and desire. If he wasn’t hard before, he is now. Goosebumps follow your hand on his back and he shivers, groaning into the sofa, fists clenched again.

“My love, stop it, please. We can’t.” His voice is weak and he can’t believe how weak he’s feeling; if you persist might longer, he genuinely feels he might snap and he’s ashamed that his self-control is apparently all but non-existent. He must do better.

“But I’m so wet already.”

Fuck. He snaps. He kneels up and looks at you, your innocent, little face, a devil in disguise. If you’re just playing with him, just teasing, you’re going to be in big trouble.

“Get up,” he commands, slapping the sofa. You obey without hesitation and he grabs you by the legs, pulling so you’re falling onto your back. He tells him yourself you were lying, of course you won’t be wet; you’re just teasing him and he’ll tell you off and ask you to take this seriously and it’ll all be fine. Then he yanks down your trousers and your underwear.

“FUCK.”

He brings his hands to his face and rubs.

“Fuck, I thought you were lying just to tease me, but fuck, you really are.”

You are. Looking at you is almost painful; he’s desperate to touch you. You’re right there in front of him, legs spread, and all he has to do is touch you. But he can’t. If he starts, he won’t be able to stop. He shuffles back away from you slightly, hands moving to reach you and then pulling back. He swears again.

When you spread your legs wider and shuffle yourself down closer to him, he has to stand. He has to do something with his hands: clenching at his sides, on his hips, on his head, over his face. He’s pacing, too, unable to look at you once again. It would be all too easy to take his own trousers off, let his dick out of its cloth prison and fuck you into the sofa. He has to bite down on his knuckles to stop himself doing just that.

“Kookie,” you coo. “Aren’t you going to touch me? I need you… No one touches me like you do.”

Jungkook is open-mouthed and he has to turn away. He growls, deep in his throat, and gently places his fists on the kitchen counter, when what he really wants to do is smash straight through it. His whole body is tense, fighting itself in an agony of indecision. He needs you to stop; he’s sure you won’t. Not when you’re having this effect on him. He should’ve seen it coming. He knew you wouldn’t take the news well; for some reason, he didn’t expect you to immediately be so defiant. You were always so pliant and obedient for him. But then, this isn’t really his rule and you and his coach didn’t exactly see eye-to-eye.

He freezes when he hears the unmistakeable squelch of you plunging your fingers in your wet heat. Then you moan. Then you whimper.

“Jungkook, please.”

He can barely control his breathing as he stands, still with his back to you, unable to block the sound of you from his ears. He should be the one drawing those moans from you; he should be the reason your breathing is hitched.

He decides quickly that you have a point. He can’t come but that doesn’t mean he can’t do anything he likes. He crosses the space to the sofa in three large steps and forces your hand away from you. He doesn’t see the expression on your face as you look up; he’s too busy staring at his next meal. He squeezes your thighs hard and lowers his mouth to you.

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe and it goes straight to his dick.

He moans loudly as he licks from your core to your clit, drinking you in. He licks through your folds, not wanting to miss a drop. He swirls his tongue around your clit before sealing his lips and sucking hard; you grab at his hair and he flicks his eyes to you but your head is tipped back, your back arching off the sofa. He pulls your thighs, bringing you even closer, smothering him, burying him but if he can’t breathe, he doesn’t notice. He notices the pitch of your whines tilt; he notices your breath come quicker; he notices your thighs twitching under his hands; he notices you tugging harder and harder at his hair. He watches you as he works, alternately swirling his tongue across your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking, until you’re screaming, your body writhing, shuddering under the waves of your orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears repeatedly, almost sure he hears you saying the same, but he can’t move his mouth from your lips; all that fresh arousal dripping from you has his name on it.

You squirm and bring your legs together, your feet pushing against his shoulders and he relents, shifting backwards but still gripping your thighs tight.

“I love you,” he says. “I love you, I love you but fuck, I fucking love your cunt.”

His hands move higher, his thumbs spreading your lips, running up and down, the slick noises they make like music to his ears. He whines as he drops his head to your thigh with a heavy sigh. He squeezes his eyes tight shut for a moment, trying not to lose all control even as his cock aches in his pants, desperate for you.

While he’s trying to keep it together, you extricate yourself from his grip and sink onto the floor. While he’s off-guard, you spread his legs and slot yourself between them. It’s only when his dick jumps as you slide your hands up his thighs that he realises what is happening. He leaps up and away from you in one, quick, fluid motion.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, hands tangling in his hair, twisting his T-shirt, gripping the kitchen counter, anything to stop them wandering to the bulge in his trousers. He’s painfully hard now, twitching with almost no provocation; his restraint is hanging by a thread.

“Jungkook,” you call for him, still kneeling on the floor. “Kookie, come here, let me help you.”

He growls and takes a deep breath. If he even looks at you right now, he knows he’ll snap.

“I’m going to shower.”

He has to get out, get away from you, anywhere will do.

“You better not wank in there!” you call after him. “Or I’m going to be really upset!”

He chuckles bitterly; as if he would ever choose his hand over your sweet mouth. He strips quickly and steps into the shower, turning the temperature as low as it’ll go and the power on full blast. He gasps as a strong stream of icy water hits him; he shudders and shivers and forces himself to stand still. He’s panting and his skin turns red under the blast but he can’t move, not until he’s flaccid, not until he’s stopped thinking about your beautiful pussy and your soft, hot mouth and no-! Enough of this. He calls to mind all his least favourite things, conjuring up the worst images he can, disgusting, horrible, anything. He just has to stop thinking about you.

When he’s finally showered and clean and soft, he leaves the bathroom. It’s not late, but you’re already sitting up in bed, naked as you always are, and he groans, trying to avoid looking at you.

“Hey now, that’s not fair,” you tell him, sulking with an exaggerated pout as he takes the towel from his waist and rubs it over his hair.

He almost chokes on his indignation.

“Not fair? Me not being fair? And what do you call that, out there? Is that fair, huh? And this?” He gestures to you, chest on display, arms just slightly squeezing your breasts together, as if you think he won’t be able to tell. “Is this fair?”

Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, he sits next to you on the bed; he simply will not survive the next four weeks if he can’t get you on-side. He has to stop you reaching out to touch his cheek; he’s only just been able to lose his erection, he’s not sure he can manage another.

“I’m serious, y/n, I cannot do this.”

He’s not sure he can look at you anymore. The thought of spending a whole night next to your naked form, your soft skin pressed against him… He can’t. He can’t even think it without feeling a stir in his groin.

“I can’t do this. I’m going to sleep in the spare room.”

Never in his life has he been more grateful to have one. He’d sleep on the sofa or the floor if he had to, but, if he’s doing all this to improve his fighting, he needs to keep his sleep up, too.

“Jungkook! Don’t leave me!”

When he risks a look at you, you’re wide-eyed and open-mouthed, dismayed. He doesn’t ever want to be the cause of that face; his heart aches. Maybe this would affect your relationship after all. He returns to sit on the edge of the bed and takes your hand. He kisses your palm.

“I can’t- I… I can’t even look at you, right now, without wanting to jump you.” He says quietly, sadly. “I just-“

“I can put some clothes on?”

Your hopeful face squeezes his heart and he wishes that would be enough.

“No, baby, thank you but we both know that isn’t going to help. I know what’s under there.”

“So, we’re not even going to be able to sleep together for the next four weeks?”

“No, we will, I promise. I just… Right now, I just need to get away from you.”

He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood, but fails. He misses you already.

“Can I at least kiss you goodnight?”

Jungkook isn’t sure. He’s not sure the one thread of sanity he’s clinging to will last, but he has to give you something.

“Of course, you can,” he answers, with only a little hesitation. “But please… Be nice…”

You take his face in his hands and he shivers. You kiss him once, firmly, and then again, softly, sighing against his mouth. He wants to wrap his arms around you and kiss you again, wants to melt into your mouth and roll your tongue with his. Then he feels temptation in his groin and has to pull away.

“Night night, my little custard cream.”

“Night night, my love.”

He leaves, and shuts himself in the spare room, wondering just how on earth either of you will make it through the next 29 days.

THREE WEEKS TO GO

Jungkook isn’t home so you’re taking the opportunity for a little Me Time (courtesy of your favourite rabbit). It’s been a week since the last time you came (courtesy of Jungkook) and you’re on edge. You feel a little guilty for the way you behaved, but you’ve been good this week in penance, even though you’re already missing him terribly.

At night, when he wraps himself around you, his hard chest against your back, his strong arms holding you tight, you feel a steady pulse in your core. You want desperately to shift, just push your hips back a little, bring his hand to cup your breast, do something to address your need of him. It’s worse than usual because, of course, you always want most what you can’t have. Isn’t that a universal truth? Last night, you even wished he would go and sleep in the spare room again; having him so close to you, knowing that you can’t touch him like you wanted to was beginning to get unbearable.

Hence, Me Time.

Jungkook is out and not due back soon so you have plenty of time to take things slow. Or at least, that’s what you intend. You take a nice, long, hot bath; apply your favourite body lotion: a rich, thick, cocoa butter that makes you feel expensive; you potter around the apartment for a while in your sexiest lingerie – there’s no one to see you, but it makes you feel sexy anyway. You think about Jungkook. You think about his hair, too short for your preference at the moment; you like it a little longer, a little wavier, giving you plenty to grab onto at the nape of his neck just as at the crown; you like it when it flops into his face and he pushes it back; you like when he lets you plait it and style it, just for the two of you, just for fun.

You think about his beautiful, brown eyes: huge and wide, bright and shining, so open and innocent. You think about the way he looks at you sometimes, like you’re his entire world, like he’s looking at the most beautiful, peaceful sight he’s ever seen. You think about the way he looks at you at other times: like you’re prey; like he’s calculating exactly the right way to destroy you; his eyes dark, black, piercing; eyes that silently command and will be obeyed.

You think about his mouth: his soft, pink lips and two straight rows of perfect white teeth; you think about his mouth on yours, the unyielding pressure of his lip ring, the hard bite of his teeth on your bottom lip, his soft, wet tongue rolling against yours; his soft, wet tongue swirling around your nipple; his soft, wet tongue licking through your folds, flicking across your clit, his lips tight around you as he sucks. You think about his long fingers, their reach; his strong hands and how they direct and control you, pinning you down and lifting you up.

You think about his cock, the prettiest you’d ever seen (though you weren’t surprised, given the rest of him); in perfect proportion, neither too long nor too thick, a slight, gentle curve, smooth but for one thick vein running the length of it. It makes your mouth water just to think of it; your pussy throbs, missing it and you settle on the bed. You can feel the crotch of your underwear is already sticky and your heart is already thumping but you’re still telling yourself that you’re going to take this slowly, because you have plenty of time.

You discard your bra, teasing your nipples beneath it, twisting at the barbells that run through each of them, remembering the way Jungkook had reacted the first time he saw them, as if it were Christmas morning and they were a brand-new puppy and a skateboard. You slip a hand down behind the waistline of your knickers and exhale sharply as you spread your juices across your clit. You’re aching now, with desire, with frustration but you take deep breaths to calm yourself down. You let your fingers work slowly, gently, dipping down between your lips to your entrance, exploring your folds, teasing and tapping your clit. It was almost like stepping into a bath: enveloped in warmth as blood rushed to the surface of your skin, cocooned in pleasure as it radiates outwards from your core to the tips of your toes. Goosebumps spread as a shiver rushes down your spine.

Then you get out your rabbit and the lube and shuffle out of your underwear. You coat the toy with lube, wipe your hand against yourself and turn it on, letting it rest against you for a moment, cycling through the settings until you reach your favourite. You think, not for the first time, as you slip it inside you, smoothly, easily, how much you wish you had one of these moulded from Jungkook’s cock. He thought you were joking the first time you said it, but you weren’t then and aren’t now. You want to be able to have him inside you even when he wasn’t around – or at times like this when he is around but isn’t allowed inside you. Nothing compares to him and while this toy might get the job done, it will never be the same.

The little rabbit ears press intently against your clit as you angle it inside you and start to rock your hips, working out a long, soft moan. You tip your head back and close your eyes, focusing on the coiling pressure in your abdomen. You cycle to another setting – higher, faster, more insistent now – and whimper with every breath as your climax comes closer.

“God, I’ve missed that noise.”

You sit up with a jolt to see Jungkook at the bedroom door, eyes roving hungrily over your naked body.

“Jungkook,” you gasp. “What are you doing here? I thought you had plans.”

He shrugs.

“Changed ’em... Though I might be sorry I did.”

“I thought you were going to be out... But since you’re here...”

You beckon him to the bed as you switch off the toy. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head with a sigh as he approaches you on the bed. You’re surprised; you thought he would refuse, hold back, protest even a little. Maybe this would be easier than you thought.

He looks at the rabbit, appraising.

“How does it compare, baby?” he asks, his voice low, a smirk just ghosting over his lips.

“It doesn’t, Kookie.” You flop backwards onto the mattress again. “Nothing compares to you.”

“Let me help you.”

You sigh with relief, waiting to hear his trousers unzip or the shuffle of cloth as he undresses but it doesn’t come. Instead, you hear the quiet whirring of vibration as Jungkook turns the rabbit back on. He chooses a different setting – short, intense pulses – and slips the toy back inside you, pushing the ears hard into your clit, forcing a choked moan from your throat.

“Jungkook... Kookie, no. I want you.”

The look on his face is fierce but softens when he looks into your eyes. He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear.

“You know you can’t have me now, baby. Stop playing dirty.”

He takes a hand and pushes low on your stomach as he rocks the toy inside you and changes the setting: insistent, hard vibration that almost sets your teeth chattering.

“Fuck,” you whisper as your walls start to clench and all your muscles tighten and you’re whimpering, mewling, seconds from climax, your breath catching in your throat. You’re a band stretched to its limits and just as you’re about to snap, Jungkook pulls the toy from you and sits back on the bed, not touching you.

“Wh-.. I...”

You look at him, dazed and confused, as he stands up and takes the toy with him out of the room.

“Where are you going?” you call after him, your voice weak and strangled.

You’re itching with frustration and impatience and when he returns, only a minute later, you turn to him, outraged. He’s empty-handed and he sits on the edge of the bed next to you and tucks your hair behind your ear sweetly.

“What are you doing?” you ask, still breathless, heart still pounding in your chest.

He leans closer to you, resting on his forearm on your chest, lightly crushing you beneath his weight as he takes your hand in his and directs it to his crotch, where you can feel his dick, semi-hard under his trousers.

“I’m showing you how hard this is,” he whispers menacingly in your ear. “You’re still not playing fair, little miss.”

He stands and walks out of the room, looking back over his shoulder at you.

“If I don’t get to come, you don’t get to come!” he calls.

You give a little, angry shriek and throw a pillow at him, which misses by miles, and you storm out after him.

“I did not sign up for that!” you shout, giving him a shove.

He grins at you and raises his eyebrows.

“What’s mine is yours, baby.”

“No way! No way! You know the second you leave, I can just make myself come.”

“That’s true,” he admits as he checks his watch, “but I’m not leaving again tonight.”

Furious now, you move closer to him, your hands on his hips. You lick your lips and move a hand between you, palming his erection. His eyes flutter closed.

“Two can play at this game, Jeon,” you hiss, sliding your hand between his trousers and his boxers, running your finger up his turgid length.

“Don’t call me Jeon.”

“Isn’t it your name?”

He tips his head back and bites his lip as you finally breach his boxers, wrapping your fingers around him, squeezing lightly.

“You only call me Jeon when you’re pissed,” he chokes out.

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”

His head tips forward again and he looks at you as you sink to your knees, pulling his clothes down with him. You see him swallow hard.

“Not sure you thought this through, did you?” you ask, swiping your tongue across his head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum. “Here you are, all hard and ready for me...”

You take a hand through your lips, sweeping up your arousal and spreading it on the head of his dick.

“And me all ready for you...”

You wrap your lips around him and take him until he hits your throat, looking up at him through your lashes, then you come up and pause, just holding him in your mouth, your tongue running back and forth across the underside. Jungkook grunts and his eyelids flutter closed. You can see his fists clenching on either of him.

“Y/n...” he groans, quiet and strangled.

“Mm?” you hum, not taking him from your mouth, and you notice the muscle in his jaw jump as he clenches. “You started this,” you remind him, as you trail sloppy, wet kisses down the length of his hot, smooth cock. “I was going to be nice to you, but you had to go and spoil it.” You run your tongue flat across his balls as your hand continues to pump his shaft and he moans.

“Fuck, I miss you,” he whines, his voice high and tight as you run your tongue back to his head, enveloping him in your mouth once again. “God, fuck.”

You hollow your cheeks and suck, your hand and mouth moving as one. Jungkook’s fist moves to your hair, gripping tight, not directing you, just to have something to hold on to. As you push lower, tipping your head to take him into your throat, he jerks.

“No, no, no, stop! Stop.”

He pushes you back by the shoulders and stands, his breathing ragged, looking up at the ceiling and blinking hard. You let him stand there, recovering; you stay kneeling at his feet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, each more aggressive than the last. He pulls his boxers and his trousers back on and looks at you, eyes wild. “No.”

“Kookie... Please.”

You pout up at him, put your hands on his thighs, and shuffle just an inch closer.

“No. Fuck, no, I can’t. I can’t.” He looks at you, alternately desperate and resolved and then shakes his head. “Baby, god, I want to. You know I want to. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

His hand is in your hair again, gently pulling you upwards, pulling you closer. He kisses your cheek and your lips, each little peck lasting a little longer than the last, until he just barely parts his mouth and you grab his bottom lip in your teeth. He moans and pulls away.

“No, no, no, no,” he whispers. “I can’t.” He swallows hard and looks skyward again, praying for strength. Then he repeats his no before stalking off into the spare room, cursing under his breath.

You sigh, more frustrated than ever, and, having spotted your stolen sex toy on the bathroom counter, you go back to finish what you started.

TWO WEEKS TO GO

Jungkook is sleeping in the spare room again. He says it’s because you’re not to be trusted, but what he means is that he isn’t to be trusted. He could barely trust himself around you before, but two weeks into the ban, he can’t risk taking any chances. Especially not with the way you’ve been behaving.

Apparently, so you tell him, there’s very little evidence to suggest that sex before a sporting event has as negative effect on performance.

“I even read,” you say, not for the first time, “that not having sex for a while lowers your testosterone so it’s not just that having sex isn’t bad, it might even be good! Don’t you want that?”

He’s trying to block you out. You’ve already told him this and he’s already told you that he’s doing as he’s told. He focuses on the TV, trying to get invested in the storyline, trying to care about the characters while you pester him relentlessly. He has to grit his teeth together and breathe carefully.

“Don’t ignore me, my little hobnob.”

You always pull out that biscuit when you think he needs to lighten up. He tries not to grin, not very successfully, because it’s such a ridiculous name – who calls a biscuit that, really? Then you slip your hands around his waist and rest your chin on his shoulder.

“I miss you,” you say, kissing his shoulder and rubbing his back.

He sighs, dropping his head, carefully trying to revel in your touch without giving in too far.

“I miss you too, love. Just two more weeks.”

You sigh, aggravated, and sit back.

“Yeah, two more weeks; we’re only halfway through. We have to do all of this all over again. Is that really what you want?”

“No, of course it’s not!”

Of course, he doesn’t want it. What he wants is to pin you down and eat you out ’til you’re screaming and then he wants to fuck you like his life depends on it, spend himself on you so hard he literally can’t move. What he wants is the opposite of this. Why can’t you understand that?

He turns to you, shifting his body around and reaches for your hands.

“Of course, it’s not what I want. I want you all the time. Why do you think I’m sleeping in the spare room again? I can barely stand sitting with you like this; every part of me is screaming at me to just take yo-“

“Then do it! Do it! I’m telling you, the science is on our side!”

He has to take a deep breath; he knows you may well be right. And he doesn’t like the thought of doing all this for no reason, for, if the article you read is right, the possibility that he’s actually less strong, less powerful in the ring, but he’s on a path and he has to stick to it.

“I’m doing what Coach says,” he tells you, sounding more resolved than he is. “I hired him for a reason and he’s already said he can notice a difference. This fight is so important and I have to follow him to the letter. I am sorry. I am…”

He is what?

He puffs out his cheeks and sighs. He doesn’t know what to say. There aren’t words for this or, if there are, he doesn’t know them. He leans forward and grabs the back of your head, pulling you in for a kiss. He knows he shouldn’t, knows how dangerous this is, but he misses you so much and he’s so upset and you’re so upset and he has to do something.

You scoot forward and sit yourself in his lap. His heart hammers in his chest, anxiety or desire or a heady mix of both, he’s not sure but his mind is slipping away from him and he’s not sure he cares anymore. He wraps his arms around you as his tongue finds yours. You’ve hardly had this much of each other over the last week and he’s ravenous. You moan into his mouth as he sucks on your tongue and he feels a stirring in his crotch. He can feel you, just above him, and he wants to push you down, roll your hips over his, but he daren’t; he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself if you do.

He's breathless with the need of you and it catches in his throat as you grind into him. He moans and bites hard at your bottom lip; you keep going, kissing him hard so that he can’t speak.

Jungkook gathers up his strength and pulls back, holding you tight in place so you can’t chase after him. He’s breathing heavily and his hand trembles as he reaches up to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Y/n…” He doesn’t know if it’s a plea or a warning; he doesn’t have any more words to follow. There isn’t anything he can say or do that will make this situation anything other than torture. Nothing will make you feel better than being fucked by him, fucked hard, nothing more and nothing less. He knows because he feels the same. He’s almost dizzy with desire; he’s giddy but clinging with desperation to the last remnants of his self-control. There’s a tiny voice at the back of his head proud of him for having come this far, but he can’t listen to it because we all know what comes before a fall and he can’t afford a fall like this.

It's the title. It’ll be his first title. This win will put him on the map. This win will establish him as a real, professional boxer, one to beat; this will be, he hopes, the first of many belts, many titles. His coach has real faith in him, he believes he can make it to world champion if he works hard enough. And Jungkook wants it. He wants to work; he wants to win. And now, he has to win. Losing is not an option. And once he has won, once this is over – in two, long, painful weeks – it’ll have all been worth it and he’ll be able to have you six ways from Sunday, every day of the week.

“Please don’t stop,” you whimper and the open, desperate pleading of your glistening eyes goes straight to his dick. “Please, please.”

He’s had to resist your pleading before; he’s even enjoyed resisting your cries and pleas, but that’s when he’s been in control; that’s when he’s been ramping up to wrecking you once, twice, three times, as many times as you can take. This is ramping up to nothing and your pleading only makes him feel broken.

You bring your face to his again and he can’t back away. You kiss him with urgency, running your hands over his body beneath his T-shirt, teasing his nipples until he’s fully hard, straining against his boxers, pressing against your crotch. You strip off your own top and Jungkook’s resolve crumbles. He dips his head, lifting you slightly from his lap to kiss your breasts, to flick his tongue over your nipples and swirl them in his mouth, one at a time, until they’re tight and hard. He bites hungrily and you mewl above him, whining his name. It’s like heaven to him and he can’t believe he hasn’t had this for two weeks; the two weeks stretching out in front of you are paling, forgotten in some faraway corner of his mind.

He's kidding himself that he can last a little longer with you lifted up like this, your hips no longer grinding your core into him. He keeps his mouth occupied at your chest and squeezes your glutes in his hands, then slipping them into the wide legs of your shorts. When he pulls your underwear to the side with one hand, and slips the fingers of his other hand into your warm, waiting slip, he sighs with satisfaction. You’re tight and soft and so, so wet.

You take his face in your hands and pull him back to your mouth. The kiss is all tongue and heavy breathing, messy and far from pretty but you’re each so desperate for the other that nothing else matters. You kiss his cheek and his jaw and bite down on his earlobe, whining breathily as he presses insistently against your front wall, each curl of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge. He slips his other hand behind your underwear and spreads your slick over your clit, rubbing insistently, knowing you’re getting close. He can tell by the sounds you’re making, sounds he’d work out of you every day of his life if he could.

“God, Kookie, baby, yes.”

You plant your lips on his neck, muffling your whines and whimpers as the heat builds inside you. Jungkook groans, shivering as you suck on his neck, as your cunt clenches his fingers tight, as your legs shake on either side of him. He doesn’t stop, can’t stop even when you’re tugging his hair, even when you’re squirming, even when you’re screaming his name. He’s far away now, lost in the bliss of your velvet heat. He’s insistent and you’re so sensitive that he pulls another orgasm from you with a cry and a shudder that takes your whole body. He’s so focused on you as a way of distracting himself from his own intense, aching desire. He’s painfully hard; he can feel the spreading circle of pre-cum on his boxers; he’s not entirely sure he won’t come even if you don’t touch him.

Then you flop against him, spent, and your hand grazes his crotch and he jerks violently.

“Fuck!” he gasps and tears prick in his eyes. He can’t look at you; he stares far away, out of the window, trying to stop his dick throbbing, trying to slow his heartrate, trying without success to calm himself.

“Kookie,” you whimper, your voice shaky. “Let me-“

“No,” he whispers, no strength in his voice, no strength anywhere in his body except his stiff, swollen cock. He closes his eyes and he can feel a tear trickle down his cheek, followed by your lips as you kiss it away. He flinches at the contact and whimpers when you stroke his hair.

“I can help you,” you whisper but he doesn’t hear you.

He’s lost, his mind strangled with desperate desire. His brain is whirring, swimming, floating away from him; his fingers tingle and shake and his heart thumps erratically in his chest. He’s never been this excruciatingly turned on before and knowing that he can’t see it through is heart-breaking.

You move your hand towards the waistband of his trousers and he grabs your wrist. He’s gripping so tightly, he’s sure it’ll hurt, but he can’t be gentle now.

“Don’t-,” he starts but his words are swallowed by a sob.

You press your forehead against his and he can’t stop the whimper as you kiss him, so light, so soft. He holds your face in his hands, barely even really touching, trying not to tangle them in your hair and pull you closer. You stay like that, just looking at each other for a minute or more, his eyes never leaving yours. He knows he needs to calm down, knows he should be calming down now that you’re still but his breathing doesn’t settle and he can hear the thump of his heart and the roar of his blood in his ears.

“Baby,” he says eventually, his voice croaky and hoarse. He has to do something and it has to be something drastic. He needs a shock to the system, a full reset. “I need-… I need you to get something for me.” And he needs you to get it because he’s not sure he can walk, not sure he can move at all.

“Anything.”

“Ice. And water.”

“Huh?”

“Ice and water; I need a big, big glass- a jug of iced water please.” His voice wobbles at the end and he’s trying so hard to regulate his breathing, trying so hard not to feel the pulsing in his underwear.

“Ok…”

You shift on his lap but he can’t let you go. His fingers twine in your hair and you have to pry them out to allow you to get up.

With the relief of you off him, the air around him clears and he jumps up, taking off his T-shirt and pushing his trousers to the floor. Once again needing to do something with his hands while he waits for you, he holds them out to the side, not daring to let them anywhere near his erection, fists clenching and unclenching. He feels like he might really be on the edge of a heart attack or an aneurysm. He feels abnormal, like nothing he’s ever felt before. He could keel over.

He can hear you, the ice clinking in the glass and he taps his feet, impatient. When you hand it over, he takes it with both hands and up-ends it all over himself.

“Jungkook!” you cry, as water splashes all over the floor and the sofa and the coffee table, but it sounds distant, the shock of the water temporarily sending him far away. He’s gasping and shivering and blinking hard, then screwing his eyes tight.

“I need you to go,” he tell you, still unable to look at you.

“Go where?”

“Anywhere, baby, literally anywhere,” his voice is still wobbling, his teeth chattering. “If we’re still in the same room in five seconds, I think I’m going to die. Come or die, either way, I don’t know but please, please just go.”

“Ok, I’m going, I’m going.”

He can barely hear you; he scrubs his hands over his face, swearing over and over and over again, begging the universe to let him calm down, to make these next two weeks go as quickly as they possibly can.

ONE WEEK TO GO

Jungkook hasn’t taken any more risks since that night. And he has also told you, almost every day since, to behave yourself, to stop doing that; he’s asked if you’re trying to kill him and the truth is: yes. You’re sick of it now; it takes almost nothing to get you hot: just the thought of him, randomly popping into your head as you’re trying to send emails at work, and you’re getting wet. You can’t sleep anymore. He’s still in the spare room but you lie in your bed, thinking about him lying in the other bed, and you can’t help yourself. You make yourself come again and again but it’s never enough. You can’t believe that he’s not only managed to ruin all other men for you but also your own damn self. You know how to push all your buttons but it’s not the same when it’s you doing it, it's not the same without Jungkook between your thighs.

You know there’s only a week to go, but it’s too long and you’re too frustrated and you’re reaching your boiling point. So, you do what any other sane person would do: naked protest. You stop wearing clothes in the house entirely, getting dressed only to go out and stripping as soon as the front door shuts behind you. When you first walk into the kitchen as Jungkook is eating breakfast, he chokes on his cereal and you have to slap him on the back; you feel his eyes following you as you make yourself a cup of tea and some porridge.

Now he’s just ignoring you. He’s doing his best to stay out of any room you are in, but that’s fine. It’s a small apartment and you’ve hidden his noise-cancelling headphones, so you know he can hear you when you moan and whine, wanton and gratuitous, as you do your best to fix your frustration.

He still hasn’t broken. You’re impressed, honestly. You didn’t think that he would be able to hold out this long and, as aggravated as you are, as deeply, unutterably frustrated as you are, you can’t help but admire his self-control. Unable to be in the same room as you, he texts you and tells you that his trainer is impressed with his performance and is confident about the fight; he believes he can win. He had fucking better win is what you think, but you text back something a little more supportive.

Six days before the fight and Jungkook is in the shower. You’re at a loose end, so you decide to join him. You thank the lord that he didn’t lock the door; he’s got his back to you and doesn’t notice you there until your hands are on his waist. He cries out in surprise and goes to turn around but you hold him still, kissing his shoulder and his back and the nape of his neck. You run your hands up his abs, grab his fulsome pecs, and peeking around his shoulder, you’re delighted to see he’s already hard.

“Were you about to masturbate in this shower?” you ask him, only half-serious.

“No,” he groans. “This is how badly I want you, y/n. Why are you making this so hard?”

You giggle at his choice of words and he growls deep in his throat. He turns around and cages you in against the screen with his hands either side of you.

“In six days,” he tells you, his voice low, face serious, eyes pinning you to the spot. “In six days, I am going to fucking destroy you. I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight for a week; I’m going to fill you up so completely, my cum never stops dripping out of you; I’m going to make you scream so loud, our neighbours want to call the police; I’m going to fuck you and fuck you and fuck you again, then I’m going to fuck you some more and I’m still not going to be done. I’m going to take this cock,” he says, grabbing it at the base and hissing hard through his teeth as he does, “and I’m going to wreck your pretty little throat and your pretty little pussy, is that what you want?”

You can only nod, mute with desire, as you can feel arousal drip down your legs and you shiver, despite the warm, steamy atmosphere. Jungkook nudges his nose against yours, eyes still black as pitch, and he whispers in your ear.

“In six days.”

Then he leans back and stands back under the stream of water.

“Now get the fuck out.”

You’re so overwhelmed, you just do as he says and he follows behind you, shutting the door – and locking it – as soon as you’ve crossed the threshold. You blink hard and, as you come to your senses, you feel too many things at once: hot, frustrated, desperate, livid, heartbroken, a little bit intimidated, a lot excited, and over and above everything else, impatient.

Jungkook stands in the shower, turning the water icy again. He’s shaking, trembling all over, and before he can get himself under control, he’s sobbing. Hands against the tiles, shivering with cold and shuddering through ragged breaths, he drops his head and cries. Cries because he’s so frustrated, because he misses you so much, because he’s so tired, because he hates disappointing you, because he’s anxious, because he’s not sleeping well at night without you, because a tiny, paranoid thought niggles at him that this is going to make you leave him, because he can’t live without you and if he didn’t know it before, he knows it now.

He cries under the cold water for so long that it stops feeling cold against his skin and when he finally steps out of the shower, his skin is livid red and icy to the touch.

He goes to stay at a friend’s house that night.

“Look, I love you so much and I miss you so much that I can’t be around you,” reads his text. “Just thinking about you makes me want to die a seriously Little Death. The fight will be over soon; just six more days and I promise, I’ll give you everything you want and more. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, please, please wait for me.”

“I love you, too, my little Bourbon,” you reply. “But I might never forgive you for this.”

“I promise, I’ll make you forgive AND forget, just wait ’til Saturday.”

He stares at his phone, wishing the messages said something different. He knows you’re joking, thinks you’re joking, hopes you’re joking, at least a little bit.

He sends a string of different kiss emojis and you toss your phone down beside you. Considering your small arsenal of sex toys without hope, you pick one at random, knowing even before you’ve started that it’s not even going to touch the sides of your desire. Your need for Jungkook has become a yawning chasm that stretches further than the eye can see; and it is a need for Jungkook specifically. For one mad moment a few days ago, you had considered the possibility of going out and getting fucked by someone else, but the second you thought it, it repulsed you: you don’t need a dick, you need his dick; you need his mouth; you need his hands. You need him, no one and nothing else. Accept no imitations. Which is really rather a pain right now.

You try to focus on your body, on the pleasure building there, the pleasant thrum in your core as you work with the vibrator in your folds and against your clit. You try to think about nothing, removing Jungkook from the equation, just emptying your mind and focusing on the physical sensations of your body.

It doesn’t work and you get so frustrated that you throw the vibrator in the bin and then, that not being enough, scoop up the others and chuck them in there, too. What’s the point of them, you think to yourself bitterly.

These had better be the fastest six days of your life or you aren’t sure you’ll survive.

FIGHT NIGHT

It was finally here. Jungkook had been working towards this for months, years, for his whole life in a way. It was both the pinnacle of his career and the first step of what he hoped would be a very long journey to the top. The final fight in his bid to be The Ring’s Super Middleweight champion: his opponent, Saul ‘Canelo’ Alvarez. Jungkook has him on reach and height, and he’s also lighter, which he thinks will be to his advantage. Canelo might be a slugger, but that’s where Jungkook excels. People think that his lightness is a disadvantage, that he doesn’t have the strength to throw hard enough punches, that he’s weak, that he’s Amir Khan. But he’s better than that. He’s agile and yes, slighter than other super middleweights, but he’s also strong and he’s also powerful and there’s nothing like seeing the surprise in his opponent’s face when he got his first punch in and they realised that for themselves. Of course, now he’s getting better known, he’s losing that element of surprise but it’s hardly the only thing he’s got in his keep.

But he’s not thinking about that. Today, just like all the other days this week, he’s thinking about you. His coach keeps telling him that he’s strong, that he seems focused, that he seems strong, but Jungkook isn’t entirely convinced. All he can think about is you; his mind is already beyond the fight and he’s anxious that this is going to be his undoing, that he’s going to have survived these past four weeks only to be so keyed up and desperate in the ring that he loses.

He wishes he could see you, just for five minutes, but you’ve been banned from his presence on fight days. You’re also banned from the gym on training days. Jungkook agrees with Coach that that’s probably for the best but it doesn’t mean he likes it. You are a distraction, there’s no denying it, but today, he really feels like he needs it. He needs you. Even an ounce, even a drop of you will do.

He pulls out his phone and dials your number.

“Kookie! Are you ok?” You sound concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“We never speak on fight days; I thought something might be wrong.”

Jungkook sighs and leans his head back against the wall.

“Something is wrong: I miss you.”

“Jungkook! Don’t scare me like that!”

He laughs and knows he was right to call you; just hearing your voice is like a balm to his fraying nerves. He already feels more relaxed.

“I’m sorry, love,” he replies. “I just wanted to hear your voice; we haven’t spoken this week.”

“I know and whose fault is that?”

“I know, I know, it’s mine, but I can’t wait to see you. Even if I lose this fight, as long as I’ve got you, I’m good, I’m a winner.”

“Hey now, you’re not going to lose, my little oat and raisin cook-”

“You don’t like that flavour cookie, do you?”

“Well, I don’t, no, but I thought I’d go with the least sexy flavour, in respect of how easy it is to get a ‘rise’ out of you at the moment.”

He snorts, appreciative of the weird, little effort.

“I think you’re right: raisins are not sexy but cookies are sexy biscuits, aren’t they? By default? Sexier than normal biscuits, right?”

“So you’re saying we need a raisin biscuit that isn’t a cookie.”

“Yeah.

“Garibaldi?”

Jungkook laughs.

“I don’t even know what that is, love, but sure, it doesn’t sound sexy.”

“Ok, then, I know you’re not going to lose, my little garibaldi.”

He laughs again and tells you that his coach has said the same thing (“… not in the same words”). He wishes he could stay on the phone with you longer; having barely spoken to you this week, he misses your voice, your presence, your conversation, just as much if not more than he misses your body. He sees his coach crossing the room, approaching him and he rings off reluctantly, but relieved he got even a minute with you before tonight.

He’s pacing in the dressing room; it’s almost time. He considered asking you not to come to this one; he’s not sure that he’ll be able to focus knowing you’re so much as in the room. The usual rule is that you’re allowed to attend but you have to sit somewhere in the back, somewhere he won’t be able to see you; he’s not sure if that’ll be enough tonight. Coach is talking to him, trying to hype him up, but he can’t hear a word. He just knows he needs to end this fight as soon as he possibly can and that means not going out there all guns blazing like a reckless thug in a bar fight; it means taking a step back (and he physically does it, takes one step back), taking a deep breath, and remembering the strategy, remembering the training. He’s ready for this (“You’re ready for this, JK,” Coach cries); he’s going to destroy Canelo (“You’re going to smash it, mate; you’re going to destroy him!”); and then he’s going to destroy you and himself in that order.

Canelo seems thrown off by Jungkook at the start: his size, maybe, his strength, his Southpaw stance despite being right-handed, Jungkook can’t be sure, but he wins the first round decisively and it’s exactly how he needs it to go: he likes to be the underdog but he likes an early lead. Spite and competitiveness can get you surprisingly far in life. He was right that Canelo is heavy and Jungkook is able to run rings around him; he thinks he might genuinely be able to get this wrapped up early, if he can just manage to hit him hard enough.

That turns out to be an ambitious goal and, halfway through, he’s slightly down on points. He’s frustrated; he can’t quite work out why his punches aren’t landing. Are they really not connecting? It certainly doesn’t feel like it. Are the judges just not seeing them? He’s not sure what he can do about that. He spits out the water Coach squirted in his mouth and he’s nodding at his advice. As he stands to get ready for the seventh round, his eyes roam the crowd, not looking for anything, just looking. Then his stomach flips. He sees you.

You’re sitting in your seat, anxious and uncomfortable. It always makes you anxious to see him fight, even though you know he’s trained for this and he’s as safe as anyone else would be in the same situation, but you flinch every time Canelo lands a punch. Jungkook hasn’t lost a fight all year and you’re surprised to see him losing – even if not by many points. You hadn’t really considered the possibility of him losing, because he doesn’t. He’s Jungkook. He’s the Baby Assassin of Busan. He doesn’t lose.

But things go from bad to worse. The next rounds see Jungkook falter, making uncharacteristic mistakes and misjudgements that cost him points. As the bell rings at the end of the tenth round, you can see the frustration in Jungkook’s face from here. Your stomach twists; you know how much this fight means to him and how upset he’ll be if he loses. You try to rouse yourself; it’s not over ’til it’s over. There are two rounds to go and he’s not so far behind he can’t make it up. There’s still a chance.

When Jungkook stands for the eleventh round, you see him scanning the crowd in your direction. You panic, should you hide? Duck? Cover your face? Too late; his eyes find yours and the second stretches into eternity, just you and him, before he’s tapped by the ref and he turns away. You shouldn’t have come. You’re a distraction. You’re going to make it worse.

Jungkook is going to lose.

The bell rings and Jungkook feels sprightly, buoyed, suddenly less tired than he had done in the last round. He dances energetically around the ring, keeping Canelo moving, keeping him throwing punches and missing, throwing more punches and missing again and again. You’re on the edge of your seat; this is the Jungkook you know. All at once, he lands three punches on Canelo and leaps back out of his retaliatory reach. Then he settles in a bit closer and lets Canelo land a couple on him; this… isn’t the Jungkook you know. You can’t work out what he’s doing; you’ve not seen him do this before. You turn to the clock, watching the seconds of the round tick by. Thirty seconds left. You check the points. Jungkook still behind.

This is more like it, Jungkook thinks. He can end it. He knows he can. He just has to let Canelo let his guard down a little more, tire him out a little further. Jungkook is not letting this get to twelve rounds. It won’t happen. Not on his watch.

You’re so focused on the screen: the points, the time, that you miss what causes the crowd to suddenly surge and scream. Canelo is standing with the referee in front of him, looking a little dazed. The ref lets them continue and the round commences again. Before Canelo has even blinked, Jungkook has hit him with a left hook that you know he put all his weight into. Canelo falls to the mat and doesn’t get back up. The ref starts counting. The crowd count with him.

“8… 9… 10!”

The ref waves a wide cross in front of him; the commentator declares it a knockout; and the crowd is screaming. Jungkook’s arms are in the air, his coach lumbering into the ring to envelope him in a hug, along with everyone else, it seems, the ring suddenly full of people. You lose sight of Jungkook. You’re on your feet, straining to see over the heads of the people in front of you, who are doing the very same thing. Tiny red fists emerge from the mêlée and it’s him; you exhale a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. You’re desperate to get to him. It’s over. The fight’s finally over. And he won. By knockout after a hard fight. This is absolutely the best outcome, better even than you’d hoped for. You bet he’s on cloud nine and you can’t wait to join him there.

Jungkook is buzzing. He’s done it. It’s finally over. And that means there’s only one thing on his mind. He can’t focus, is barely there as they hand him his belt, as he lifts it above his head to show the screaming crowd. People are congratulating him, slapping his back, rubbing his hair; at some point, someone takes his hands and rips off his gloves – he’s not sure where they end up. The fight was televised and a man with a microphone approaches him. He tries hard to focus on the questions, answering as quickly as he can and then the presenter asks just what he’s going to do now he’s won his first Super Middleweight title.

“Well,” he answers, “I haven’t come in four weeks so I’m going to go find my girl and fuck her in the dressing room ’til neither of us can walk straight!”

He points right at you, flicks a peace sign to the crowd and jogs back the way he entered 45 long minutes ago.

He keeps jogging all the way to the dressing room, stopping for precisely nobody. Coach tries to grab his attention, tries to grab his shoulder, but he shrugs him off. Wild horses can’t keep him from you now.

He swings open the dressing room, for a moment disappointed that you’re not there before him, but, of course you wouldn’t be. He’ll have to wait; it’s been four weeks, he can cope with another four minutes. Probably. He paces back and forth, back and forth; he chugs half a bottle of water; he almost wipes the sweat off his body, dries his hair, but then he remembers how much you like him dirty like this. Just the thought of you has got him hard already. He palms himself through his shorts and immediately has to stop himself; to come before you’ve even got in the door is unthinkable, unforgivable.

The door opens and there you are.

“Fucking finally.”

Jungkook slams his hands either side of your head, leaning down over you, sweat still dripping from his hair. He lowers one hand slowly to lock the door, his dark eyes never leaving yours, and then returns it next to your head.

“Did you have to wear fucking jeans?” he asks, laughing lightly. Of course, she’d wear jeans, he thinks, fucking tease. “Couldn’t find a dress? A skirt?”

“Sorry,” you answer, and you’re already breathless.

Jungkook kisses you, pressing his whole body against you and you sigh; god how you’ve missed this. He turns you around with one knock of his hand on your hip and he unbuttons your jeans impatiently. He shoves them roughly down your legs and you step out of them and your shoes at the same time.

“Oh baby, I don’t care. All I care about is finally getting to fuck you like you deserve. Please tell me you’re wet already. I don’t think I can wait a second longer.”

He’s usually more considerate; he would usually take his time. But this is not a usual situation. You laugh.

“Kookie, I’ve been wet for weeks, just hurry the fuck up, would you?”

He doesn’t need telling twice. He strips off his shorts and boxers and as he presses the head of his cock against your entrance, and it twitches, he gasps.

“Shit.”

He takes a few breaths, tries to steady himself. He kisses your neck, buying himself some time. He’s on a hair trigger and he’s not entirely convinced he won’t blow his load in one thrust.

“Just so you know,” he tells you, figuring there’s nothing else for it. “I’m going to last about ten seconds right now, but I promise, I’ll be ready to go again. I swear this won’t be it.”

“Just fuck me, please, Kookie. I’ll take ten seconds over none.”

Your whole body shudders as he presses into you for the first time in four weeks. You both moan low and Jungkook pauses at the bottom. You can feel him breathing heavily against your skin and he takes your trapezius in his teeth, taking a generous bite and not letting go as he drags himself backwards before thrusting in again. Your walls are spasming already; you’re so tight and he’s stretching you just right, filling you up like you’ve not been filled for 29 long days.

Ten seconds, as it happens, was an over-estimation. The way you grip him, the way he can feel your walls fluttering against him; you’re so hot and wet and tight and it’s been so long and he’s so sensitive. He lasts for all of a handful of thrusts before he’s groaning and shooting hot, white ropes of cum into you.

“Fuck, shit, sorry, baby, fuck!”

You can’t help but laugh as you turn around, keeping your legs tight together. He grins sheepishly at you and runs a hand through his sweaty hair.

“I’m sorry, love, I did tell you.” He rests his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed you so much.”

His hands meet across your lower back and he pulls you close for a kiss.

“I’ve missed you, too, Kookie,” you mumble against his lips, half your words eaten up by Jungkook’s mouth. You feel his tongue against your lower lip and you open up for him, sliding your tongue over his as he licks into your mouth. God, even this you’ve missed. You’ve barely even seen him in the last week, let alone got close to him, let alone touched him, let alone kissed him, even chastely. It’s overwhelming now to have him so close to you, all over you. You never want him any further away.

He moves his hands lower and lifts you up under your bum, carrying you to the sofa, where he strips you of your top and bralet – the black, lacy one you know he likes. You almost pout that he takes no notice of it but he catches you eye and grins.

“I notice, I know, I love you, thank you, but god, I don’t want a stitch on you right now. Nothing is better than you like this.” He stretches his hands out over your naked body and climbs over you. He ducks again, swallowing your next moan as he pinches at your nipple.

His mouth is everywhere, burning wherever it touches. You’re sweating and breathless and you think you won’t last much longer than ten seconds either when he finally touches you. Your cunt is quivering in anticipation, your clit throbbing a hard pulse, its echoes shuddering through you. Your back arches as Jungkook moves lower, his mouth on one nipple and then the next and then lower and lower still. He crawls off the sofa onto his knees and pulls you around, legs dangling from the edge. He spreads your thighs wide and takes a moment, looking down at your soaking wet pussy through half-lidded eyes. He licks his lips and clicks his neck from one side to the next before fixing you with a mischievous grin.

“If you even think about teasing me,” you gasp out. “I will fucking murder you.”

He laughs and kisses your inner thigh.

“You over-estimate my self-control, my love. I’m at my fucking limit.”

He is. He isn’t even close to finished with you. His cock is already stirring again as he dives straight in, licking a broad stripe from core to clit and moaning lasciviously as he does. You’re already so sensitive, whining and whimpering as he sucks and slurps at you, his face buried so far into the crux of your thighs, you don’t know if he can breathe. Almost immediately, you’re cresting, arching off the sofa, thighs clamping together on Jungkook’s head as a streak of hot pleasure surges through you and fresh arousal gushes over his face.

He brings his hands to your thighs and forces them apart without breaking contact with your cunt. He doesn’t stop, no matter how you squirm; you can’t catch your breath to tell him you’re over-stimulated, to beg him to stop, to give you a second’s break. A scream breaks in your throat as he pushes three fingers inside you and you’re seeing stars. He finally takes his mouth from you and breathes heavily against you, his breath sending sprinkles of goosebumps across your skin. He curls his fingers inside you and then tips your hips just slightly, suddenly hitting the perfect spot. You’re incoherent, animal, as you moan and whimper, stuttering to another orgasm under his ministrations.

You don’t have to find a way to ask him to remove his fingers as the waves of your orgasm roll through you but just as you are about to breathe a sigh of relief, his mouth is back on you. He’s gentle this time, more patient. He kisses your lips, licks through your folds slowly, moaning, his brows knitting together because it’s been so long since he’s tasted you and there’s nothing he’d ever rather eat. He buries his tongue in your hole, bumping your clit with his nose; if it were anyone else, it might be accidental, but you know Jungkook knows your body perfectly and knows exactly what he's doing. You’re raw, over-wrought, dehydrated. Your vision swims and your voice gets stuck in your throat, able only to gasp and stutter, not even able to scream his name out loud as you scream it in your head. Your hands tremble, one pushing back the hair on your head, the other finding its way to Jungkook’s hair, tangling there as if you could even dream of giving him direction right now.

His eyes flick to yours and they’re black, pupils dilated, lids fluttering quickly to a close again as he moans, vibrating lips sealing around your screamingly sensitive clit. Your hand pulls sharply at his hair, but he doesn’t even seem to notice. You feel like every atom in your body has been electrified, every touch, every movement – yours or his – sending sparks straight to your core, where they’re churned up into a tight ball. Like the death of a star, your body collapses in on itself, contracting and tightening as you are reduced to little more than a silent scream, and then explodes, a supernova of ecstasy exploding within you, scattering bits of you all over the room.

When you open your eyes, you can see stars wherever you look, which isn’t far because you can’t find it within you to move a single muscle.

“You ok, my love?”

Jungkook’s face swims into view, a dopey grin on his sticky, wet face. He looks drunk or high or both. He pushes the hair off your face, your flushed cheeks, fucked-out, dilated pupils staring straight at him; he thinks you look high or drunk or both. He kisses you so you can taste yourself on his lips and you’re suddenly hungry again.

“Kookie.” Your voice is hoarse and low, still strangled with need.

Jungkook hums against your mouth as he lifts you up, pressing your back into the back of the sofa.

“Kookie.”

You manage to grab his face between your palms and hold him still, giving you a chance to focus on him, see him properly.

“Tell me what you need,” he says, as eager to please and energetic as a new puppy and you have no idea how. He should be tired; he knows he’s going to crash hard, but right now, there’s adrenaline surging through him like there’s no tomorrow. He’s wired; he’s excited; he feels almost manic with love and lust and he’s so high, he can’t see the ground. He feels like he could go all night and he’s certainly going to try.

“I need you inside me, right now, right this second. Please, please, please.”

You aren’t exactly unaccustomed to begging but nothing will stop the stream of ‘please’s tumbling from your mouth. Nothing, that is, except the head of Jungkook’s perfect cock in your folds, waiting, teasing at your entrance.

He’s lifted you again, setting you on the arm of the sofa, him kneeling on the cushions; with nothing to rest against, you cling to him tight as your breath catches in your throat. He watches closely as he pushes into the tight, wet slip of your cunt, watching himself disappear into you. You want to make a joke about lasting another ten seconds but you don’t have the energy, the capacity, the mental agility to make it; you just about manage to cry his name as starts to thrust, smooth and slow at first, but soon, quicker, harder, accompanied by quiet growls and grunts as he grips you tight. You really do feel drunk, giddy, hysterical as he’s finally, finally back where he belongs. You feel tears prick in your eyes at the relief of it, the pressure, the pleasure.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispers. “Shit, I can’t wait to fill you up, stuff you fucking full. Can you take it, baby?”

He’s relieved he hasn’t come again already, though he knows he could. He’s holding back because he’s still so close to the edge. If he isn’t careful, he’s going to lose it again.

“I can take it,” you reply, voice high and tight. “Give it to me, Kookie- fuck.”

He grabs the hair at the back of your head and pulls it back, exposing your neck so he can kiss you, lick you, bite you there, moaning against your skin as you whimper and stutter.

“Kookie, shit, please. I need you to fuck me forever. God, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Never,” he grunts. “Shit, won’t stop. I’m yours, baby.”

“Only mine.”

“Only yours.”

You press your lips to his clavicle, then lick a bead of sweat travelling down his throat. Jungkook moves faster still, his grip on you painfully tight as he threatens your cervix with every thrust. You’re so sensitive, you’re at an almost constant spasm around him; your limbs still heavy and weak, tingling like they’re both going numb and coming back to life. You simultaneously want this to last forever and feel like you’ll die if a single extra ounce of pleasure is put on you. Then Jungkook sucks at that one spot on your neck that makes you melt and you swear, voice wavering and breaking.

“Give me one more, baby,” he demands, so low you almost don’t hear it.

“I don’t have it,” you whimper.

“Yes, you do, c’mon, y/n.”

And he slips a hand between you, never letting his pace falter.

“Jesus, fuck!”

He touches you gently, but it’s enough to have reality slipping from view, your vision burning white, your blood roaring, screaming in your ears as you cum again. You hold him tight, your nails digging into his back, your teeth hard on the delicate flesh of his neck. It rolls through you, knocking your breath from your lungs, and once it’s passed, you’re trembling, shaking.

Jungkook is holding his breath, straining to last to fuck you through your orgasm; you’re so tight around him it’s like his brain loses signal, just a siren wailing an emergency. No thoughts, no words, when you collapse against him, he exhales, and releases into you with a long, high-pitched sigh.

He lies back onto the sofa, taking you with him.

“That was more than ten seconds, right?” he asks, breathless.

You laugh and pat his shoulder.

“Well done, little jammy dodger; I’m proud of you.”

“For lasting more than ten seconds or winning the title?”

“What title?”

The question leaves your lips before your brain has engaged and Jungkook laughs, first a little and then a lot, so much that you can’t help but laugh with him, can’t help but laugh until you’re crying, your abs hurting, you’re silent in your mirth, breathless and voiceless and hysterical.

When you finally stop, you bring your face level to his. He still has tears of laughter in his eyes and streaking his cheeks. You wipe them away with your thumb and he turns his head to kiss your palm.

“Both, I guess?” you answer.

He grins and shakes his head.

“I almost lost. I thought I was going to fucking lose,” he tells you. “That second half, I-…”

“What happened?”

“I saw you. I saw you in the crowd and I almost fucking came right then and there.” He laughs, though it was anything but funny at the time. “I couldn’t concentrate on the fight; all I could think about was trying not to get a fucking boner. Shit what a stupid fucking idea it was not having sex for four we-”

“I fucking told you!”

“I know, I know. I will never not listen to you ever again for the rest of my life, I swear. God.”

“No more sex bans?”

“No more sex bans. I am never, ever not having sex with you again.”

“Good.”

You lift yourself onto your elbows on his chest and kiss him first on the lips, then the jaw and neck and anywhere within reach.

“Speaking of never not having sex… Are you ready to go again?”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook #bts x reader #bts smut #bts fic #bts #mmm repost

4K notes · View notes

realcube · 5 months ago

Text

ASKING THEM TO CHOOSE A BATHING SUIT FOR YOU

characters ♡ (all aged up) midoriya, todoroki, kirishima & kaminari

request for ♡ anon

tws ♡ implied sexual content - minors dni!

IZUKU MIDORIYA

♡ so flustered by the request

♡ no matter the circumstances

♡ like y'all could be going out for a couple weeks or you could be married for ten years with children, homie still doesn't know how to act

♡ and he is so apprehensive to ask why you want him to pick it out for you because on one hand he's curious about the implications and wants to explore that further but the LAST thing he wants is too ask too many questions for you to then turn around and be like "you know what, nevermind. i'll just buy it myself."

♡ so he will try to get information out of you covertly

♡ "well i think you'd look great in anything.. maybe something floral. unless you are dressing for a specfic occasion?????? 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨"

♡ "you know i like the red one you have. you should wear that if i get to see you in it 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨"

♡ "oh you like the orange one? ... orange like the colours of pro hero dynamight ? 🤨🤨🤨🤨"

♡ he somehow manages to spiral and come to the conclusion you are having an affair

♡ but then he remembers he's with the most faithful partner in the world and moves on

♡ he also so believes that this is like.. a relationship milestone

♡ like "omg we are dressing each other now ow 🤪"

♡ if it turns out y'all are going to the beach or pool or something he will ask you to choose his bathing suit too

♡ but yeah he just thinks its so sweet you let him choose what you wear and he gets a strange (temporary) power trip from it

♡ whenever you get changed next he'll silently be praying you let him pick your outfit for you

♡ the power trip doesn't last long though because when he actually has to pick the outfit he is lowkey kinda nervous especially if you are gonna wear it out in public

♡ he is so afraid of making the 'wrong' choice

♡ like he doesn't want to be held responsible if you go out in a ugly fit and people give you funny looks

♡ overthinks asf

♡ it takes him like 10 minutes of pinterest surfing and coordinating to decide and eventually he goes with the same bathing suit you wear almost every time

♡ if you guys are staying indoors though, he is too respectful to say it aloud so he simply blabbers on for ages in hopes you get the hint

♡ "uh well i mean me personally i just don't see the point of going to all the effort to put on a whole new bathing suit after taking your clothes off if it's just going to get wet anyway i mean it's just a waste of washing machine power, pro hero wash doesn't risk his life everyday for people to just throw things in the laundry when they don't need to , right —"

♡ there's more

♡ like he goes on for ages but you pick up what he trying to say after two sentences

♡ and you give the man what he wants 🤷‍♀️

SHOTO TODOROKI

♡ so confused

♡ like he is genuinely baffled; he just doesn't understand why you would want him to choose for you and why, out of all the outfits you wear, it's your swimwear you want him to pick

♡ he is going to ask a million questions before he even tries and i wear he's not doing it to be difficult or defiant , he is just so incredibly curious and WANTS to know what thought process led you to entrusting him with your ootd

♡ you explain that it's just a cute thing you wanted to try, so you could see what colours and designs he prefers on you

♡ he still doesn't fully get it because he's made it inexplicably clear by now that he loves the way you look in virtually anything — you could have rolled up to your wedding in crocs and he would've still been completely enamoured. in fact he'd fall for you even harder for making practical footwear choices.

♡ (not that he's a fan of holes in shoes , he thinks it defeats the purpose. but he'd find something positive about them if you were to wear them)

♡ but after being with you for so long and being a pro hero in an evolving society , he has learned to be open-minded and entertains your idea

♡ he is naturally quite stylish , so it likely goes into your wardrobe and picks something very understated and minimalistic

♡ anything you own that happens to all be one colour; a boring colour too like beige, grey or off-white

♡ even if it happens to be a skimpy piece he truly pays no mind to it, he's more focussed on the design and colour (or lack thereof)

♡ so likely he'll end up handing you a two-piece that is essentially just two pieces of thread on a hanger , and of course you will think there are implications behind that and start eyeing him 👀

♡ but having been married to him for x years, you recognise the blank expression he wears when there is not a thought in his head and you quickly realise that he wasn't suggesting anything by handing you such a provocative outfit

♡ he just likes the colour and fabric lol

♡ "it will really bring out your eyes"

♡ (doesn't know what that means; heard someone say it on tv once and now it's his go-to fashion compliment) (what he really means is "fashion fashion style bags purse clothes purse")

♡ it's only when you actually put it on and show him when he realises what he has done lmao

♡ standing there and staring at you like 🙂 "cute. where's the rest of it?"

♡ it looked a lot bigger when he was holding it and he didn't take into consideration how it stretches

♡ tries to subtly get you to change without admitting its revealing

♡ "very pretty. but i heard jean shorts are in season, why not try those?"

♡ "oh— is that a loose thread? hmph. i think you'll have to throw bathing suit away since it's ruined."

♡ "it's nice but i doesn't bring out your eyes like i originally thought. more so your chin."

♡ tbh he does not want to even admit to himself he has a problem with you wearing revealing clothes because there is no rational reason as to why he should have an issue with it but he just does and it hurts his brain

♡ even if other guys are checking you out that shouldn't matter bc he knows you're loyal and would never cheat so WHY does the thought make him want to freeze an entire city ???

♡ anyway you can tell just by looking at him that he's conflicted and fighting internal battles so you put him out of his misery by just changing into a different one

♡ (after that chin comment tho , he did NOT deserve your compassion 😞)

♡ once he has successfully styled you into a cute outfit he feels so proud of himself lk??

♡ also he still has a hard time understanding why you wanted him to pick your bathing suit 'just because' so in his head he rationalises that dressing each other is just something all long-term couples do and you guys have reached a relationship milestone

♡ similar to izuku except todoroki takes it WAY more seriously

♡ like randomly when he is getting ready, he'll ask you to pick the tie he is going to wear or even his shirt

♡ and if he is getting ready in the morning and you're not awake yet , he will literally make you help him plan his outfit the night before

♡ even for super formal pro hero related events where he is likely being styled by professionals, he will ask you to choose his cufflinks or belt or something like that

♡ just so he has a piece of you on him at all times ( besides his wedding band ofc 🤪)

♡ and yeah this isn't a temporary thing either. unless you ask him to stop, he will be asking you for your input on his clothing for the forseeable future

♡ he'll even start asking other people ( who he knows are married ) stuff like "what did your wife choose on your outfit?" or "oh nice watch, did your husband pick it out for you?" and he gets weird looks every time

EIJIRO KIRISHIMA

♡ he's probably the most normal about it

♡ like he doesn't see it as any sort of test so he isn't nervous or confused

♡ and he is able to aknowledge that it is only an outfit for one day so even if it isn't his best work, at least he tried ??

♡ but yeah he thinks it's sooo cute that you want him to pick your bath suit , makes him feel like he's putting his own mark on you (in a wholesome way) and he finally gets to dress you in his favourite colour

♡ RED!!!

♡ if you don't have any red swimwear he will fr go out and buy you some because that is all he wants to see you in lol and he would LOVE to match with you

♡ red bikini + red truncks combo question mark

♡ if you don't own any red or you don't want to match with him , he'll probably choose a top and bottom from two different sets and pair them together and think he is some sort of style icon for pairing neon pink and sage green but in reality it such a crime against fashion

♡ but you wear it anyway just to see the big dumb smile of his face when you walk out wearing his "creation"

♡ oh and be warned that after you let him style you once he is going to be obsessed with giving his input on your outfits for at least the next six months or until you tell him to stop

♡ it'll be like "kiri, i'm gonna wear this white blouse to the dinner tomororw. does it look better with these black trousers or this brown skirt?"

♡ you'll show him the two options and he'll STILL reply, "hm, have you considered jorts ?"

DENKI KAMINARI

♡ wants to be nonchalant about it sooo bad but is internally screaming dancing and doing backflips

♡ like he is THIS close to blowing a fuse when you ask him

♡ and like you've been married to him for this long so you knew it would drive him crazy and that is exactly what you wanted mwahaha

♡ yeah he tries to play this off casually like a cool , reserved guy who couldn't care less

♡ but we both know that is NOT who he is , in fact that is the furtherest thing away from what he is in this moment

♡ "i- i get to choose?" he stammers, pointing at himself before he clears his throat. plastering a confident grin on his face, "yeah, duh. i'm your husband of course i'm going to choose what bathing suit you wear."

♡ pro hero chargebolt recently saved a politican from a very life threatening fajita incident so naturally your household has come into a lot of money and thus had a pool built in your back garden so he assumed you wanted to take it for a test run

♡ you've both been so busy with work that the pool has been finished for over a week and neither of you have tried it out yet

♡ so he saunters over to the warbrode and shoves his arm in and rummages around

♡ less like he is sifting through clothes; more like he is pulling out a prize from that mystery bag filled with random treasures at the carnival

♡ after a couple seconds of searching, his face lights up as though he has found the perfect outfit for you

♡ he pulls out his arm; lo and behold he has his hand in the air with his fist wrapped around... nothing

♡ literally nothing

♡ he still looks at the air where a bathing suit SHOULD be with wide eyes and an impossible grin, "this would look great on you !! you've not worn it in so long. try it on!!"

♡ he throws it towards you and of course you 'catch it' despite there being nothing there because you are plenty familiar with his antics and have learned by now exactly how to deal with them

♡ you 'hold it' in your hands and nod along, "yes! i forgot about this old thing. i'll go put it on right now." you muse, walking out and towards the bathroom, "i'm sure the dads at the beach will love this one."

♡ denki nods confidently, chuffed with how awesome and fly he is .. until he caught that last part

♡ "(Y/N) WAIT !!!"

#bnha x gender neutral reader #todoroki x reader #kirishima x reader #kaminari x reader #midoriya x reader #deku x reader #mha kirishima #kaminari headcanons #todoroki headcanons #bnha x y/n

250 notes · View notes

satorusugurugurl · 2 months ago

Text

Power Outage

Summary: When your office building looses power, you get a surprise visit from your boyfriend who finds toy there alone!

Characters: Ryomen Sukuna (Modern AU) x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: making out, public smexy stuff, oral sex fingering, language, (a little doctor play if you squint)

Word Count: 3k

A/N: I missed my modernau!sukuna so there's a fix no one asked for while I try to finish these last few requests. Its super busy the first of the month for me at work, but I'm getting my fics finished! 🤪 (my modern!au Suluna is markwe in other fics I love him)

“Ugh!” You groaned, moving the computer mouse in lazy circles and glancing at the black screen in front of you, “Why do I always volunteer to do stupid shit?” You asked no one, seeing that you were the only one left in the office.

It was the end of summer, but the head was still scorching, making your office with no power stifling hot. The blackout had happened two hours ago, and there was no clue how long it would take to return. Everyone was bitching and complaining about how hot it was. Instead of listening to the neverending complaining, your boss sent everyone home while she waited for the electrician to show up.

The only problem was that your manager was pregnant and about to pop. So it didn't make any sense for her to stay and wait. So you made the foolish decision to stay there for her instead. Your boyfriend Sukuna was picking you up, and you didn't have your train pass, so you didn't have much choice. But as sweat began to bead on your forehead, you started questioning if you had made the wrong decision, but you knew deep down it was the right choice.

Karma might reward you for your good behavior after she kicked your ass all morning. You overslept, didn't have time to grab your lunch, left your train pass at home, and ran off a couple of hours of sleep thanks to good old insomnia. But maybe it wasn't karma; perhaps it was just your rotten luck. Whether it was luck or karma, you were still a sweating, suffering mess.

“Sukuna’s gonna be pissed,” You said to yourself, twirling around in your computer chair and staring at the clock on the wall. “He‘s always telling me to stop volunteering to do stuff; I really need to start listening to him more.”

You could practically see the disappointment on his tattooed face. Not only were you burning up, but you were starving, running off of nothing, but the remains of coffee from the breakroom rested in the pot of your stomach. Yeah, maybe you should have told her to have the electrician call her when he was on the way because this was torture.

“I'm starving,” Your voice echoed off the walls of the empty waiting room. You had no clue why, and it wasn't like there was anyone out there to care for you. But would that stop you from complaining? Hell no.

Just as you began twirling around in your seat for the thousandth time, the bell to the front door jingles. “Oof!” Fearing it was your boss, you attempted to make it look like you were busy unwrapping syringes, but you twirled in your chair so fast that you ended up falling back with a loud thud. “Owww.” You groaned, rubbing your head as a tall figure loomed over the front desk.

“Kitten?” The familiar deep voice asked. He leaned further over the edge. “What the hell are you doing?” Looking up at familiar crimson eyes, you blew your hair out of your face, smiling at your boyfriend.

“Thank God it’s just you, Sukuna. I thought for sure you were my boss.” Sukuna hopped over the desk, helping you off the horrid multicolored carpet. “Thanks,” you groaned, releasing your grip on his hand. What brings you here to the dark office of boredom?” Your boyfriend scoffed, shaking his head as he held a bag out to you, one covered with grease stains.

“I came to your rescue, " he smirked, placing the bag on the desk in front of you. “Choso texted me that you left your bento box in the fridge. And since my last client canceled, I figured I’d bring you by some food before I went home.”

“Choso, you gothy little angel. How I adore you.” Opening the bag without hesitation, your stomach growled in pleasure at the smell of food. “And I love you, Kuna, thanks.”

“Of course, baby.” Humming in response, you took a burger from the bag, plopping it on your desk and licking your lips, “So where’s everyone else? And why are all the lights out?” Sukuna asked as you took a big bite out of the burger

“Power outage. No one wanted to sit in the head and wait with our very pregnant manager, so I offered to stay.” You wiped your mouth with a napkin. “And before you say anything, I was doing the right thing.” Your boyfriend laughed, sitting on the ledge of the desk watching you.

“At least you're honest about it.”He grinned, pursing his lips together. “Why didn't you text me? My voice could have made your time alone much more entertaining.”

Entertaining; what the hell did he mean by that? “What?” you coughed into your shirt as Sukuna grabbed your hand and looked at it. “Sukuna, what do you think I could have done while here at work? Do you honestly think I would call you for ‘entertainment’ while on the clock?”

“Oh, don't play coy. We could have sexted each other or sent nasty voice memos to each other.”

You took a drink of water, laughing, “Oh yeah, Sukuna, I'd rub one out while here at my desk.” Your boyfriend’s eyebrows rose in shock.

“You’re joking, right?”

“Of course, I’m joking!.” You laughed, turning your gaze to focus on looking at him while you ate, “I would never do something like that here at work.”

“Is that so?”

The burger suddenly doesn't taste that good in your mouth as you eye your boyfriend skeptically. “Yes.” you pointed a french fry at the mischievous smirk tugging at his lips. “Don't even think about it.”

”What? I didn't say anything.” He crossed his arms over his chest

“You don't have to say anything; it's written all over your face.”

“Having sex at your workplace was on your bucket list.”

You felt the heat across your cheeks as you took another bite of your burger. That was something you had drunkenly confessed to wanting, but you had never been given a chance to have sex in your office. You and Sukuna had done it several times at his office, and that was different because everyone knew Sukuna at the tattoo parlor. That was the sort of behavior they expected from him.

You, on the other hand, were employed for a doctor's office. To have sex in your office would be a new, thrilling adventure. But the consequences could be great, especially if they caught you on camera. But there was something in your boyfriend's eyes that had you feeling just as mischievous as he looked.

What was it people were always saying? You only live once?

You didn’t say anything; all you did was grab him by the collar of his leather jacket. His eyes widened as you pulled him down to you, kissing him deeply and passionately. He was clearly taken by surprise at your sudden actions because it took him only seconds to grab both sides of your face and kiss you back. His lips moved hungrily against yours, and his teeth nipped at your bottom lip.

“Mhmm,” you moaned, opening your mouth and allowing his tongue to slide in. As his tongue slowly slid against yours, your fingers tightened on his jacket as his tongue fought for dominance in your mouth.

“What’s this, Kitten?” Sukuna growled, lifting you out of the computer chair and placing you on his lap on the countertop. “What happened to not suggesting such a scandalous thing?” He moved his thick fingers into your hair, forcing your head to the side as he began nipping and trailing hot, opened-mouth kisses down your neck.

“I-I guess I’m feeling adventurous.”

You tilted your head back with a heavy sigh, allowing him more access to your sensitive skin. Sukuna always had a way of making you melt. He knew you; god, he knew you like the back of his hand. Where to touch you, how you loved him nipping and biting your ears. Every inch of his hands grazing your breasts, to how he gripped your sides had you shaking, panties soaked in anticipation. Every move made you gasp in pleasure. It was like his fingers were sending electric shocks and shivers down your spine, causing you to rub your thighs together, searching for sweet release. With every passing second, you felt yourself growing wetter and wetter. The silky wetness usually would have left you embarrassed with how turned on you were, but you didn't give a fuck right now.

“S-Sukuna,” You whispered against his kiss-swollen lips. The breathless tinge of your voice had your boyfriend groping your breasts harder, massaging them through your scrub top. The entire time his hands pleasured your chest, his crimson eyes remained glued on you, so focused on the way he was making you feel.

“Baby, you sound so needy~ it reminds me of the closet at Gojo’s when we first met.” You shivered at the memory of Seven Minutes in Heaven with a man who’d been a mutual acquaintance. Long story short, Seven Minutes turned into a very steamy make-out session in Gojo’s room, which both were now banned from. Sukuna’s hands sliding up your scrub top drew you back to reality. He pushed it up just enough to expose your bra. “It makes me wanna recreate that moment, maybe in an examining room~ we could play doctor.” His voice was thick with need as he pulled the thin fabric of your bra down, exposing your breasts. “What do you say, nurse~? Will you let me examine this perfect tit?” his lips took hold of one of your nipples, swirling his tongue around it. You gasped loudly, gripping his short strand of pink hair and tugging on it.

“Yes Dr. Sukuna~”

“Ooh fuck, I like the sound of that.”

Moans trailed out of your mouth as his tongue continued to tease your sensitive nipple. His sharp canines gently grazed it as you gave a rough tug on his hair as you cried out. That action had your boyfriend moaning around the nub as he continued to nibble on it. This was so hot, being the best at work, grinding, and having your boyfriend tease you. More heat began to pool in your panties, your body craving more of Sukuna. You needed him more than you ever had before. Soft moans escaped you as you began rocking your hips against his denim jeans, resulting in him moaning in satisfaction at the friction.

A wet pop echoed off the walls of the empty lobby as Sukuna pulled off your breast. “Fuck,” He snarled as his hand found its place on your hips, holding them in as you rocked harder against him. You could feel an orgasm beginning to build within you.

Seeing how close you were left, Sukuna smirked as he rocked you faster against his bulge, causing you to moan louder in ecstasy. You just needed a little more, and luckily, Sukuna knew exactly what to do. His right hand left your hip as he slid it down your exposed stomach, tugging your scrub pants down to your midthigh. Those devilishly talented tattooed fingers slipped under the hem of your scrub pants, resting at the front of your lace panties. The second he made contact with your wet panties, he growled against your ear. His middle finger began tracing slow circles over your clothed clit, resulting in you bucking your hips.

“Kitten, you're soaked~”

“I-I need m-more Sukuna.” He nodded, placing your back on the computer chair and looking down the hall to the examination rooms. ”We should lock the door for —” Just as the words left your mouth, a cool air hit your bare thighs, your cell phone rang.

“Shit fuck, What’s my boss gonna say?!” You quickly pulled your bra up and your shirt back down.

“Lucky girl?”

Sukuna chimed in with a smirk before you started smacking his chest and shoved him under your desk. “J-Just shut up!” With a deep sigh, you sat up straight, trying to compose yourself as you answered the phone.

“Hello Hun.” On the other line, your boss said in a chipper tone, “I thought I'd call to check on you.” You opened your mouth to speak but quickly shut it as Sukuna pulled your panties to the side, dragging his pierced tongue over your clit.

“Nngh—I-I’m doing fine, Boss.” You stuttered as Sukuna smirked. He kept licking the bundle of nerves,s“My goodness dear, are you okay?” one of your hands held your phone while the other gripped the armrest of your chair as Sukuna took your clit in his mouth, sucking at it like candy.“Sweetie, are you okay?” You quickly covered your mouth, moaning into it as your boss kept talking. ”Are you sick? Oh my god, you’re getting too hot, aren't you? Fuck, the AC is out.”

Sukuna's mouth expertly sucked on your clit. “I-I yeah! Yeah, it’s s-suuuper h-hot!” You shakily responded as Sukuna began sliding his tongue up and down your wet throbbing slit. Fuck, this was hard; it was taking everything in your power not to continue to moan. You tried not to give her any ideas that your boyfriend was currently going down on you. Which was harder than expected, especially when Sukuna’s tongue teased your entrance, the fill of the metal stud sending shivers down your spine.

“You know what, I’m going to have the patience come out tomorrow! I'm going to call your boyfriend to come pick you up. I don't want you to walk if you're overheated. I want you to take the rest of the day off, okay? What was your boyfriend's name again? So I can call your emergency contact.” The second she asked this, Sukuna took it as an opening to shove two of his thick fingers inside you, causing you to launch forward, gripping his hair.

“S-Sukuna!” you gasped shakily, looking down at the smug bastard. “R-Ryomen Sukuna.” Your boss placed you on hold as you sat there whimpering.

Not even three seconds later, Sukuna roared against your sex as his fingers moved deeper inside of you, pumping faster. Several seconds passed, and he continued his pace. He was doing this when his phone started ringing. and he let it ring twice before he answered it, looking up at you as he did.

“This is Sukuna,” He groaned as he dragged his tongue along the soaked folds of your pussy, sending your hand shooting up to cover your mouth as your boss came through the other line. “ooh no, oh my poor baby.” Sukuna cooed as he sucked relentlessly on your clit, causing your toes to curl as you felt your orgasm approaching. “Oh, of course,” he pulled completely away, leaving you groaning in protest as he kissed and nipped at your inner thigh, “I’m on my way right now. Thank you for letting me know.”

“K-Kuna—” You whimpered as he grabbed your hips, bringing your cunt back to his mouth, making you mewl in pleasure as you heard a rustling on the other line.

“Hun, Sukuna’s on the way to pick you up now, dear. Do you need me to stay on the line with you until then?”

You shook your head as if she could see you while you bucked your hips forward, grinding against Sukuna's mouth, making him grunt in pleasure, “N-no, I-I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I-I’m positive, h-he’s nearby!”

“Okie dokie hun. Thank you for staying; enjoy your weekend, and lock up when your boyfriend arrives, okay?”

As soon as Final goodbyes were exchanged and the line was hung up, Sukuna went crazy. You covered your mouth, stifling the scream as he pumped three fingers inside you, curling them up against your g-spot. All the while, his mouth continued to suck on your bundle of nerves as he looked up at you with hungry, narrowed eyes. The desperation in his eyes left you gasping and moaning, trying to push your thighs together around his head as the coil in your abdomen tightened.

“F-Fuck~ Kuna!” You gritted through your teeth as Sukuna forced your legs open, moving his fingers and mouth at the same fast pace. It was no surprise you came right after that. You screamed into your hand as Sukuna lapped up and down your opening with his tongue as you gushed over his tongue. You leaned back in your chair, panting roughly as your boyfriend finally released you from his grasp. He slowly licked his lips, smirking up at you as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, sucking them clean.

“Mmm, tasty as always, Kitten.” He said smugly, pushing your chair back, freeing him from under the desk. He leaning up, kissing you roughly. And thanks to me, you have the rest of the day off.” You kissed back, running your hands through his soft tufts of hair before he stood up. He smirked down at you as you readjusted your clothes.

“I may have the rest of the day off,” you giggled between deep breaths, running your hand down his well-built chest, “but you're in for a long shift tonight ‘Dr. Kuna~”

Sukuna grinned like the Cheshire cat humming in response, “Will it require overtime, Nurse~?” You smirked up at him, grabbing your bags.

“Oh, lots of overtime, doctor~.” You squealed as he picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You gasped as his hand slapped you on the ass as hard as he could.

“Well fuck,” he smirked, grabbing your saddle bag and turning the lights off, “let's get your sweet ass home, STAT, nurse. I need to thoroughly examine you.”

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

352 notes · View notes

hellion-child · 14 days ago

Text

building off mine and @usercelestial groomzilla tommy tags on this poll (go vote)

im not a writer but. ive been plagued w visions lmao it goes like this:

the engagement is announced. everyone is happy and celebrating. until someone says the words "wedding planning" and everyone but the happy couple freezes. chimney, hen, bobby, eddie, ravi, etc. their eyes widen as they make eye contact w each other bcos this can only mean one thing: the return of clipboard!buck 2: groomzilla edition. ravi audible gulps. hen casually slides a nearby clipboard into the bin idk. no one says anything but they are clearly v concerned. buck and tommy dont notice lmao

the looming threat of groomzilla buck haunts the rest of the shift. no one is saying anything to buck yet, but they are trying to plan a pre-emptive intervention in between calls and any free moment during calls (all hissing whispers across patients and dramatic expressions and gestures in the truck)

they have the next day off, chimney mentions checking in on tommy, the poor guy. a "hey tommy just checking in on how ur coping. hope bucks not driving u too crazy already" and he gets back an immediate "hes driving me insane" and a "we need everybody to be at our house 1400 sharp please. for the love of god DO NOT be late." and its all, Oh no its begun already. better go save tommy from his fiance lol

theyre entering the bucktommy house like its their execution only to be greeted by a buck whos all, "hey guys! 😄 hows it going 😄" and clearly on his way out, cool as a cucumber, happy as a clam, not a clipboard in sight. when asked (very suspiciously) whats going on, he just replies "😄 oh i gotta go get the right linen squares for the tablecloths 😄 i accidentally got the wrong ones for tommy! 🤪 brb!"

the sound of the door shutting behind buck is deafening. the silence is broken by tommys "ur all late." from the next room (its 1402) (no one points this out) together they make their way further into the house. there is so much dread and confusion. the tension breaks when tommy drops an over flowing folder labelled Wedding Planning on the table. "ur here now. we can get started" he says, "maybe one of u will be more helpful than evan"

"is what i think is happening, actually happening?" hen whispers. scattered around the room are folders brimming w tabs, and cut up magazines, and sticky notes, and— "what is that?" chimney asks. tommy turns towards the mostly full corkboard taking up an entire wall. "oh that? thats my vision board."

eddie: i had no idea that youd been planning this for so long, tommy

tommy, still in yesterdays clothes, surrounded by several empty coffee mugs: ?? i havent.

(cue horror sting)

#groomzilla tommy u are so special to me 😌😌#tommy dropping a stack of tabbed magazines and scissors on the coffee table: oh good u brought jee-yun #chim gently removing a pair of scissors from his daughters grip: tommy shes three #ANYWAY yous see the vision??#if someone wants to write this i would love u forever #groomzilla tommy kinard #bucktommy #tommy kinard

95 notes · View notes

javierpena-inatacvest · 1 year ago

Text

Take Me Home

Summary: After a night out at the bar with your co-workers after a long week at school, Javi picks you up and takes you home

Word Count: 3.2K

Pairing: husband!Javier Peña x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: Alcohol/drinking (girl, you're plastered), allusions to smut, being a drunk, horny mess, mentions of food/eating, being hungover, Javi taking care of you, the Backstreet Boys (?!), just sweet, sweet fluff 😩

A/N: This was inspired by an ask from a sweet anon!! This made me giggle the whole time I was writing it, drunk Osita is my favorite 🤪 You know Javi would absolutely get a kick out of your drunken antics and would take such good care of you and your terrible hangover. Also who doesn't love a drunk Pop-Tart?!

This can be read as a standalone or as a part of the It's Never Too Late Series!

If there was one thing you knew, it was that the first few weeks of school were never easy. You were tired, stressed, and feeling like you were running on empty. You were hesitant when some of your new coworkers had suggested all of you head to the bar for Happy Hour on Friday after work, knowing damn well you’d be absolutely exhausted. But after the week you’d had, getting drunk with your teacher friends and commiserating about the chaos that was each of your classrooms couldn’t have sounded like a better way to cap off the craziness that had been the past 5 days.

You had offered to ask one of your friends for a ride to the bar so Javi could enjoy his Friday night without having to worry about you, but Javi being Javi, had more than happily dropped you off with your friends, and planned to pick you up around 11:30, giving you what you thought was more than enough time to enjoy a few drinks and de-stress with your co-workers.

4 margaritas and 2 surprise shots of tequila later, it was safe to say the state you were in was a little more than just de-stressed.

With how much you had to drink, you had found yourself paying absolutely zero attention to any clock, and had completely forgotten that you told Javi you would meet him by the front doors when he came to pick you up. Javi had a sneaking suspicion when he pulled up to the parking lot and you were nowhere to be found, that you were probably having a much better time at the bar, and were a few drinks deeper than you intended. Well, Javi wasn’t wrong to assume that you had downed more than just a couple drinks, but what he wasn’t expecting was for you to be absolutely hammered.

Walking through the door, Javi couldn’t help but smile as he saw your familiar frame leaned against the ledge of the edge of the bar, gently rocking your head and swaying your hips to the muffled music playing under the chatter of the bar patrons. You must have been very focused on ordering whatever it was you wanted from the bartender, because you had been seemingly oblivious to Javi’s presence behind you. He firmly placed his broad hand on the small of your back, pressing his fingertips into your hips, making you immediately whip your head around in concern.

“Woah, woah, woah, don’t you dare fucking touch me, I am happily married and will glad beat the shit out of- AH! JAVI!” Your demeanor quickly shifted from a woman ready to throw down in a fist fight, to absolutely ecstatic, realizing the hand resting on your back belonged to your husband. Setting your drink down, you threw your arms around his neck, wrapping him in a tight hug, pressing your face against the soft fabric of his button down shirt. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you, I thought you were some creep trying to grab my ass. But you’re not a creep, you’re my hot husband, and you can grab my ass all you want. What time is it? You smell really good.” From your giggles and rambling, Javi could tell you’d had more than your fair share to drink, trying to gently put down the glass you had picked up to take a sip from back down on the bar.

“Hi, Hermosa. I’m coming to pick you up, remember? Maybe let’s get you a water instead of finishing the rest of this, okay?” Javi smiled, passing your cup off to the bartender, and exchanging it for a new glass filled with water. Handing it off to you, your face scrunched in confusion as you took a long swing.

“This isn’t a margarita?” You questioned, handing it back to Javi, thinking that he had clearly made a mistake in ordering for you. Laughing, Javi nodded, trying to hand the water back to you.

“I know, Osita. It’s water, baby. Have a few sips and then I’m gonna take you home, alright?”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you gave him a little smirk before obliging, taking a few gulps of the water and setting it back down, crossing your arms against your chest. “Did you say you’re trying to take me home, Javier Peña?”

“Yes, I’m taking you home, you dork.” Javi laughed to himself, shaking his head as he picked up your coat and your purse from the back of the chair you had been perched next to. “Why don’t you go say goodbye to everyone and make sure no one else needs a ride home, okay?” You nodded, speeding off into the dwindling late night crowd, quickly finding your friends, hugging them and then pointing over at Javi, biting down on your lip, as the rest of them giggled, waving at him as he politely waved back. A few moments later, you found Javi again, stumbling through the bar, grabbing a fist full of his button up shirt, pressing up on your tiptoes to give him a long, tender kiss.

“Take me home, baby.”

After your 3rd trip to the bar bathroom and your self pep-talk in the mirror earlier, you knew you were drunk, but you hadn’t realized just how drunk you were until you found yourself trying to crawl your way into Javi’s truck, the passenger’s seat seeming much higher up than usual as you took several missed steps trying to hoist yourself into the car.

“You want help, hermosa?” Javi tried to keep his best from laughing as he watched you struggle.

“....Maybe. Jav, I think I’m actually really drunk. Or the seat got higher. I think it would be less embarrassing if the truck grew. Or maybe I shrunk… Drunk and shrunk, those rhyme, Jav!” You sighed, placing your hands on your hips, looking up at Javi’s car in frustration.

“I think you and the truck are both the same size, baby. Here… 1, 2, 3.” He smiled, grabbing you around your hips, lifting you into your seat, reaching over to click your seatbelt in before making his way to the driver’s side, strapping himself in and starting up the car. As Javi pulled out of the parking lot, you reached down to turn up the volume on the radio, turning it up even louder when you heard it was “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)” by the Backstreet Boys. Even in your plastered state, you knew how much Javi despised this song, claiming he’d heard it enough times to last him a thousand lifetimes. You, on the other hand, thought it was catchy as hell, even more so now that you were drunk.

“I don’t understand how you don’t like this song! You yelled over the music, dancing in your seat, singing along to the lyrics.

“Am I original?”

You pointed at Javi, waiting for him to sing along to the “yeah’s”, frowning when all he did was laugh at you,

“Am I the only one?”

You pointed at him again, this time getting a half assed “yeah” out of him as you poked at his shoulder.

“Am I sexual?”

You outstretched your arm towards him, raising an eyebrow and biting down on your lip as you smirked, watching Javi reluctantly sing along to the last “yeah”, shaking his head, laughing at you.

“Am I everything you need, you better rock your body now- EVERYBODYYYYYY!” You screamed, pumping your fist in the air, pretending to sing into your imaginary microphone, Javi trying to keep from bursting into hysterics from your over dramatic performance. You paused mid chorus, looking over to see him lovingly laughing at you, making you give him your most sarcastic stank face. “Are you laughing at me, Javier Jesús Peña? Are you not enjoying your concert?”

“Osita,” He grinned, reaching down to grab your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, “there’s nothing I love more than watching you sing along to whatever song it is while we drive. It’s my favorite thing. Even if you’re fucking ridiculous sometimes.”

“Nuh uh, you’re the ridiculous one, Jav. Ridiculously fucking hot. Do you like, ever look in the mirror and just admire how attractive you are? All the girls at work think so, too. They told me when I was leaving tonight that I was a lucky lady and you know what I told them? Bitch, absolutely I am. My husband is so fucking hot and sweet and perfect and to top it all off, he’s got a huge dick. Wait, maybe I didn’t say that last part to them… If I did, I’m sorry. But I’m not sorry, ‘cause it’s true.” Javi practically choked on his own spit, his quiet laughter to himself halted by your last comment.

“Well, you’re very sweet, Osita. I hope for everyone’s sake you spared them the last part.” Javi laughed, giving your hand a little squeeze as you rested your head on his shoulder across the center console.

“I’m being serious, Javi! It really isn’t fair to everyone else how fucking handsome you are. Or that like, you’re fucking sex god. Can we have sex when we get home? Please please please?” You begged, trying to give him your best drunken puppy dog eyes and pouty lip, Javi gently patting your leg knowing you were in absolutely no state to do anything besides get force fed some Gatorade and ibuprofen and go to sleep.

“I think that we need to get you into bed, baby. Maybe tomorrow, okay?”

“Into the bed where we have awesome sex all the time.” You retorted, shooting him a clumsy wink, pointing your finger at him. “Except this morning when we had sex in the bed and the shower. The shower is also a good place for sex. Do you remember when we had sex this morning?” You giggled, rubbing your hand over Javi’s thigh, working your way further up the denim before Javi reached down, placing your hand back in his, pulling it away.

“Yes, Osita, of course I remember. Tonight we’re just gonna get into the bed and sleep.” Javi chuckled, smiling at you with your bright red cheeks, still dancing in your seat to whatever song was playing on the radio as he turned to pull into the driveway of your house.

“Oh my gosh, we’re already home?! That was so fast. Let’s go to bed so we can sleep.” You gave Javi an overexaggerated wink as you parked in the garage, fumbling with the door handle to try and get out of the truck. Wanting to make sure you didn’t topple out of the passenger seat, Javi quickly unbuckled his seat belt, walking around to your side of the car, helping you down. You shot off to the door, fighting with the locked doorknob to try and get it open, instantly turning to panic when you realize it wouldn’t budge. “Jav! Jav! I forgot to bring my keys with me, I think we’re locked out of the house, I’m so- Oh. Nevermind.” Javi came up behind you, dangling his keys before reaching down to unlock the door. You stumbled through the mudroom and down the hallway, your eyes lighting up as you realized you were passing the kitchen. Trying to dart your way towards the pantry, you forgot that you had kicked off your shoes only a few moments earlier, making you slip and stumble on the hardwood floor, promptly landing you right on your ass.

“Jesus Hermosa, are you okay?” Javi rushed over, eyes wide with concern as he watched you tumble, trying to pick you up from the hysterical heap you had fallen into.

“I forgot I had socks on and I slipped. I’m such a fucking idiot, oh my god, that had to have looked so funny. My butt is gonna hurt tomorrow.” You cackled, hoisting your body up as Javi pulled you to stand, holding his hands firm on your hips, making sure you were stable.

“Alright, c’mon Osita, we’re almost to bed.”

“Wait, wait, I want Pop-Tart though! That’s why I was running to the kitchen!” You protested, Javi grabbing you to stop you before you tried to run full force down the hallway and slip again.

“I will get you a Pop-Tart, you just get yourself into bed, okay? I’ll be there in a second.” Javi pleaded with you, trying to direct you back down the hallway towards the bedroom, hoping you would go and he wouldn’t have to wrangle you any further.

“You promise?” You frowned, poking Javi’s chest, standing your ground until you were positive you were getting a Pop-Tart before you fell asleep. Javi leaned down, planting a soft kiss in your hair, brushing a stray piece away from your face, giving you a reassuring smile.

“Yes, I promise.”

That was all it took to have you dancing down the hallway towards the bedroom, back to singing to yourself with each step.

“Everyboddyyyyy, rock your booooddyyy. Rock your body right. Back Street’s back, alright!”

Finally seeing you had made your way into your room, Javi made his way to the kitchen, shuffling through the pantry to grab a shiny silver Pop-Tart wrapper, a red Gatorade and a bottle of Advil from the medicine cabinet before quickly heading back down the hall, your singing now muffled as Javi found you laying face down in the bed, still fully clothed. Javi wasn’t going to let you fall asleep in jeans and a sweater, so he carefully flipped you over, making you giggle as he began to unbutton your pants, shuffling them down your legs.

“I thought you said we weren’t having sex tonight, so why are you undressing me, hmmm?” You sassed, wiggling your bottom half to help Javi get your jeans off before he grabbed your arms, pulling you up to sit and prompting you to lift up your arms, stripping you of your top. “Are you trying to look at my boobs? I want a piece of Pop-Tart before you get a free show.”

“I’m just trying to get you in pajamas, baby. I’m not gonna let you fall asleep in what you wore to the bar. How about this, if you can get yourself in some pajamas, I’ll give you your Pop-Tart.” Javi chuckled, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous compromise he was finding himself making with his drunken wife.

“You strike a hard bargain, Mr. Peña. Fine, I will put on pajamas. Only because I love you very, very, very, very, very much. And I really want that Pop-Tart.” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as Javi threw you one of his t-shirts and a pair of sleep shorts, haphazardly trying to wrestle them onto your body before flopping back down on the bed. “Okay, they’re on! Pop-Tart me, bitch.”

“Did you just say Pop-Tart me, bitch?” Javi snorted, looking at you, sprawled out like a starfish, his shirt draped over your body backwards.

“Pop-Tart me, bitch. Please.” You replied, smugly nodding your head, pointing finger guns at him.

“You’re lucky you’re cute. I’m gonna go close up the house and then I’ll be back in bed. I love you, Osita.” Javi grinned, planting a kiss on your forehead, gently brushing your hair out of your face.

“I love you too, Javi. My Pop-Tart and my pussy are both ready for you when you get back.” You giggled, reaching over to grab the shiny, silver snack package Javi had left for you on your nightstand, now grabbing it like a microphone as you sang into it. “Back Street’s back, alrightttttt!”

“Jesus Christ…” Javi laughed, shaking his head as he gave you one last kiss before making his way back out of the bedroom, leaving you happily humming as you nibbled on the corner of your Pop-Tart, propped up on your stack of pillows. It didn’t take long for Javi to close up around the house, making sure to grab an extra package of Pop-Tarts and a big glass of water from the kitchen on his way back. “How’s the Pop-Tart, Osita?” Javi asked, gently closing the door behind him.

Silence.

“Osita?” He asked again, this time turning around to see that your singing and giggles had come to an end as you were passed out cold, sprawled out on top of the covers, Pop-Tart resting on your chest, rising and falling slowly with your soft snores. Javi laughed to himself, carefully taking the Pop-Tart off your chest and lifting you up to tuck you in under the covers, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. “Ducles sueños, Osita. Te amo mucho, loca (Sweet dreams, little bear. I love you so much, crazy.)

The next morning, you could hear yourself audibly groan as you turned over in the bed, shielding yourself from the sunlight peeking through the cracks in your curtain, head pounding from the brightness. You rubbed your eyes, squinting as you looked over at your nightstand to see the red letters of your alarm clock reading “10:37 A.M.” and the shiny glare of an opened Pop-Tart package, covered by a blue sticky note. You twisted over, realizing that Javi’s side of the bed was empty, before turning back with a grunt, reaching over to grab the sticky note.

Morning Osita. There’s Advil and Gatorade for you when you wake up. I think you may need it. I’ll have breakfast for you whenever you get up, unless you just want the Pop-Tart.

Love you

-J

Slowly, you hoisted yourself up, grabbing the Gatorade and pills Javi and left for you, popping them in your mouth, followed by a big swig of your drink, running both your hands over your face before letting out a deep sigh and sliding out of bed. You trudged down the hallway, rubbing your hand on your hip to ease the bruising pain you had felt since getting out of bed, greeted by the smell of breakfast in the kitchen, and Javi sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper, sipping on a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Javi chuckled, peeking over the top of his newspaper as he watched you as you stumbled your way into one of the empty kitchen chairs next to him at the table.

“I feel like shit.” You groaned, propping your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. Javi set down his paper, draping his arm over your back, tracing small circles with his thumb along your still backwards shirt as he planted a soft kiss in your messy, sleepy hair.

“You were pretty drunk last night, Osita. Did you see the note I left for you?” Javi laughed quietly, shaking his head as he continued to rub your back. You turned your head over, looking up at Javi’s sympathetic gaze, scrunching your face as you let out a deep sigh.

“Yes thank you, oh my god, that Gatorade and Advil is gonna save my life. Why the hell was there a Pop-Tart on my nightstand?” You mumbled, reaching over to steal a sip of Javi’s coffee, accidentally letting a little dribble fall down onto your shirt, you were just now realizing it wasn't on right. “Wait, is my shirt backwards? My ass hurts like hell too, what the hell happened last night?”

“Why don’t I get you some breakfast and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Taglist:

@cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns@blackfemalenerd @deppydelta

519 notes · View notes