#don't worry about the nicknames ok | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miley1442111 · 5 months ago

Text

reams and reactions (part 1)- r.cameron

------------------

------------------

a/n: HELLO! welcome to my new obx series, don't worry, if you follow me for cm or anything else I'll still be posting that, but i've just been on a obx binge recently so i cooked this story up in my head.

tropes: childhood bestfriends to lovers, enemies to lovers

pairing: rafe cameron x fem! reader (use of Y/n, and the nickname Bunny/ bun (but i promise not in a weird way there's a story to it i swear it's not just one of those weird smut things))

summary: how you and rafe fell apart, then finally meet again.

warnings: drugs, drug use, drinking, parental and sibling death, kissing, crying, violence, fighting, cursing, guys being creepy, misogyny, asshole dude. (i think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

2k+ words

------------------

When Rafe was 5 years old, he ran with you in the garden of Tannyhill, chasing you in a game of tag. When he finally caught up to you, you both fell to the ground, limbs tangled in the way only friends did, giggling the way only friends do, and he pressed the sweetest kiss to your cheek.

When Rafe was 8, he came sobbing at your doorstep, on the verge of throwing up. He’d run all the way there. His mom was dead. He didn’t know what else to do. Besides his mother, you were the only person you’d ever been there for him like that, showing him that emotions were ok, and normal. When he felt you hugging him, and crying with him, he knew he would be with you forever. That he would stick with you through anything.

When Rafe was 10, he came back to your house after a particularly long day (aka you had no classes together) and you two sat on your couch with your family surrounding you, Romeo and Juliet on the screen. He felt himself blush when your sister made the joke that he was like your Romeo, since your dads didn’t get on. Though you both adamantly denied it, a few minutes later he felt your hand holding his under the blanket, your matching friendship bracelet brushing off each other's skin. He was smitten. A smile landed swiftly on both of your faces.

When Rafe was 13, he watched as you walked down the aisle of his father’s second marriage, a bunch of flowers in hand. He thought you looked beautiful, you were so beautiful. The pale blue dress Rose had picked and, of course, white roses in your hand. You shot him a small smile, one he responded to by blowing you a kiss. You laughed it off and went to stand where you were meant to. Rafe’s eyes were glued to you through the entire ceremony, almost forgetting to give his dad the rings. After the ceremony, you two ran off, away from Tannyhill. You went to your ‘little cove’ as you’d call it. It was a tiny beach just beside your house, but it led into the most magnificent field full of wildflowers, insects, and tall grass. It was beautiful. You and Rafe spent the whole night there, joking and talking. Then he finally mustered up the courage to kiss you. You kissed him back, but you’d both never speak about it again, too scared to mess up your incredible decade of friendship.

When Rafe was 15, he saw you for the last time. Three months earlier you had come to him, sobbing about the fact that you were moving to California of all places. More than a day's drive away. 42 hour drive. He promised you, no, swore to you that you’d keep in touch, that you’d be there for each other even with the distance.

He was wrong. After a few months, he’d stopped texting back, stopped calling back, stopped being there for you. And he never saw you again.

------------------

Rafe woke up with a banging headache and an uncontrollable urge to vomit but swallowed it back and took the glass of water that remained on his bedside table for days at a time. Today was going to be shit. It was the 28th of July, the day you left him, and the day his world got turned upside down. This day was always hard. He was reminded of everything he’d messed up in life. What was he now? A drug addicted, drunk, piece of shit. He was barely getting by in college and he’d already had to repeat a year twice. Often, he’d go to your little cove and sit, thinking about what you were doing now. Were you a teacher, like you’d wanted to be as a kid? Were you an artist? He remembered how good you were at sketching. Were you even alive and he’d missed the funeral? What did you look like? What colour was your hair? Did you think about him?

Everything was too loud in his mind. He grabbed a beer, and set on his way. The cove was in full bloom, a sea of colours under the boiling sun. He sat in his usual spot, the spot where you two had kissed. You two had these small chairs that Rafe barely fit in then, and definitely didn’t fit in now, so he sat beside them. What time was it? Was the sun going down? He searched in his pocket for his phone, only to find it dead.

“Excuse me?” He turned to see a girl shouting from across the field.

“Yeah?” he called back, feeling rather inconvenienced by the whole ordeal.

“Do the Cameron’s still live in Tannyhill?” She asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Just an old friend, thanks!”

And she walked off. He tried to remember her physical features as best he could, but ultimately forgot them in his pursuit of washing his troubles away with the beer in his hand.

------------------

“Y/n? Is that you?!” Sarah squealed as she leant out the window of the Twinkie.

“Sarah?” You practically ran into the road to meet her. The car was stopped at a stop-light, and she pulled you in to properly greet you.

��Oh my god! It is so good to see you!” She smiled. Despite you and Rafe’s falling out, you’d stayed in touch with Sarah, even though you were a little older than her. You even followed Wheezie on instagram and texted back and forth sometimes. But Rafe… static. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I’m here to teach, I just finished my 2nd year of college and I’m doing my work experience here!” You explained, as she pulled away from the hug.

“So you’re going to be here, like for the whole year?”

“Not just the whole year, I’m moving back once I'm done with my exams,” you explained. “I’m doing this programme that means I can work from here and do college from here, I’m so fucking sick of California.”

Both Sarah and Kiara squealed with excitement, and the three boys cheered. You’d been friends with the pogues, being a sort of pogue-kook hybrid.

Kiara pulled you in for a hug, then Pope, then Jj, then John B gave your hand a squeeze instead, since he was busy driving.

“So you’re back for good?” Kie asked.

“I’m back for as long as you’ll have me,” you smiled.

“We have to celebrate tonight!” Jj cheered.

“There’s a party down at Figure 8, I’m sure Y/n’s kook heritage will get us in,” Pope shrugged and you all agreed.

You spent the rest of the afternoon hanging around the pogues and Sarah and got ready at Kiara’s place for the party. Her parents welcomed you back with open arms, and then asked the dreaded question of ‘how are your parents?’

Your parents had been dead for 3 years. They’d died in an accident, and you’d been alone since then.

“They’re good,” you lied. “Working hard back in California.”

That satisfied them, and they stopped asking.

------------------

The Figure 8 party was just how you remembered them to be. Loud, drunk, and almost too much. Even though you had been 14 at the time, Rafe had convinced you to come to one, since he was friends with some older kooks who wanted him there. Halfway through you told him you were going home, and instead of just waving you off, he brought you to your little cove, and sat with you for a couple hours. After that he brought you back to his house, and you had a sleepover.

When you’d asked him why he did that, he’d just shrugged and said ‘I prefer being around you.’

God, you could’ve married that man. You were supposed to, if your diary ‘ideal life’ had gone to plan.

Step One: Start dating Rafe

Step Two: Become highschool sweethearts and make it through college (even if it's long distance) and become a teacher!

Step Three: Work as a teacher and live on the mainland for a few years, have Rafe propose in the little cove, say yes, obviously and start wedding planning.

Step Four: Have the wedding at Tannyhill, move into a house on Figure 8 and start having kids, we’ll have 4 or 5 (Rafe wants 7 kids????? 4 or 5 is pushing it buddy), and live a long happy life as a teacher with Rafe and our family.

Step Five: Die happy.

Ok, it wasn’t exactly inspired, but come on, you were 13.

You noticed what looked like a grown version of Topper in the crowd and when he turned and saw you, a smile grew on his face. He ran over and scooped you up in a hug.

“Bun! You’re back!”

Bun was the nickname you were given as a kid because well, you liked bunnies. You had two as a kid, and for a year, you wouldn’t respond to someone unless they called you bun. It was ridiculous, but people obliged all the same. You'd never regretted anything more in your life in that moment.

“Hey Topper,” you smiled.

“Have you seen Rafe yet?” he asked.

“No, not yet,” you smiled slightly faltered, but you kept the smile up for good appearances. When you’d gone to Tannyhill yesterday, only Ward, Rose, and Wheezie were in, so your anxiety around seeing Rafe had grown. One day, he’d just stopped replying. Not one reason, not one apology. Nothing. One part of you wanted to say he didn’t even deserve to see you, and another missed her best friend/ supposed love of her life. “Is he around?”

“He is, but he’s high as shit,” Topper laughed. Rafe Cameron? Rafe Cameron was getting high?

“Rafe is high?”

“Oh yeah, he’s totally into all that shit now,” he laughed and you noticed the dilated pupils, the white residue on his nose, the red, irritated skin of his nose. He was high too. “It’s good shit too, you want some?”

“I’m good, just point me in Rafe’s direction,” you nodded, deeply uncomfortable with the drugs around. You’d grown up with a brother who did drugs, who’d died from drugs at the young age of 17. You didn’t want anything to do with drugs, but here you were, being led into one of the Figure 8 mansions to be led to Rafe Cameron, selling, and doing drugs.

“Gentleman, I present to you, the Princess of Figure 8, making her great return, Bunny!” he cheered as all eyes turned to you. The group of boys cheered, getting up to give you a group hug. Rafe stayed seated.

“How’s life on the mainland Bun?How was Cali?” Kelce asked, sitting down beside you as you joined the circle, trying to ignore the cocaine on the table.

“It’s fine, but I’m back in the Outer Banks for good now,” you smiled as another round of cheers rippled through the group.

“We’re finally good enough for you again?” Topper joked. “What’s brought you back home huh? Aside from the strapping young men?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m teaching here Top, I'm in my third year of college.”

“Shit no way, you’re a teacher?” Ryan, a sleeze you remembered from school. He was always the creepy guy, trying to look up girls' skirts and play kiss-tag at the ripe old age of 12. “You're way too sexy to be a teacher. You should be a pornstar or something.”

You felt bile rise in your stomach as a handful of the boys laughed at the joke.

“That’s not funny,” Kelce defended. “Fuck off asshole.”

“What? You and I both have eyes and we can both see her tits. Too bad Cameron has dibs.”

You froze and looked to Rafe who was looking at you through hooded eyes.

The silence was awkward, and you knew it was time to take your leave, even though you hadn’t said a word to Rafe, so you said your goodbyes and left in search of the pogues.

------------------

“Gentleman, I present to you, the Princess of Figure 8, making her great return, Bunny!” Topper announced as all eyes turned to you.

Holy fucking shit. You were gorgeous, and it was you. Rafe’s Y/n. Rafe’s Bun. He was shocked to see you in the Outer Banks again, let alone in person again. You were here. In front of him. Then he realised, you were here. Here, where there was cocaine on the table, and he was the one selling it. Here, where there were about three guys looking at you like you were a piece of meat. Here, where he sat at the top of the table, stoned out of his mind.

“How’s life on the mainland Bun? How was Cali?” Kelce asked, sitting down beside you as you joined the circle. Rafe could see you trying to ignore the table, staring directly at Kelce, all your attention on him. He couldn’t help but feel jealous. You were his best friend before you were anyone else’s friend. He’d known you better than anyone. And here he was, silent as he watched you talk to everyone else.

“It’s fine, but I’m back in the Outer Banks for good now.”

His heart almost stopped. Back in the Outer Banks, for good.

“We’re finally good enough for you again?” Topper joked. “What’s brought you back home huh? Aside from the strapping young men?”

You rolled your eyes at him, but Rafe could tell it was playful. God, his life was so fun when you had been in it. Impromptu boat rides and trips to the mainland, spending hours just talking and laughing about nothing and everything all at the same time. He missed it. He missed you.“I’m teaching here Top, I'm in my third year of college.”

“Shit no way, you’re a teacher?” Ryan. Rafe often wondered why he even kept him around. He could feel the awful comment coming, but he knew he couldn’t stop it. “You're way too sexy to be a teacher. You should be a pornstar or something.”

Rafe felt the anger boil in his blood the second he said it. Ryan should’ve known better than to talk about you like that.

“That’s not funny,” Kelce defended, beating Rafe to it. “Fuck off asshole.”

“What? You and I both have eyes and we can both see her tits. Too bad Cameron has dibs.”

Rafe stared back at you as you truly looked at him for the first time that night. He couldn’t tell how you felt, something he didn’t like. Ever since you two were kids, he could always tell how you were feeling, what you were thinking. He could always anticipate what you needed. He didn’t know now and it scared him. He just looked back into your beautiful eyes, allowing himself to be lost in the fact that you were here in front of him.

The silence was awkward and he knew it, so he didn’t protest when you took your leave, even if he wanted to. He spoke when he knew you were out of ear and eyeshot, he didn't need you know what he was about to do.

“Ryan?” he scoffed. “You have ten seconds.”

“Until what?” Ryan chuckled.

Rafe counted down the seconds in his head, Topper and Kelce became more and more uneasy as the seconds went by.

Rafe didn’t even give warning, he just got up, grabbed a nearby beer bottle, and smashed it over his head. Nobody dared to stop him, not even when he started punching Ryan, promising to kill him if he ever spoke about you like that again.

People knew not to fuck with Rafe and, even after all these years, you were an extension of Rafe. Too bad Ryan forgot that.

------------------

obx masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron one shot #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader fluff #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x reader angst #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader

453 notes · View notes

its-avalon-08 · 7 months ago

Note

Hi! i love daniel riccardo and lando norris, can you maybe do one where you are daniel's best friend and end up falling for lando? you grew up in an abusive childhood so daniel is fiercly protective of u, and he doesn't like that lando is flirting with u (daniel and y/n is purely platonic pls),

i'll always be your home (dr3 platonic + ln4)

tw- abusive household

the monaco grand prix was always a chaotic spectacle, but this year, the real drama was brewing off the track. you, ever the loyal friend, sat with daniel in the mclaren hospitality area, dodging champagne showers and lando's relentless teasing.

"hey bubs," lando sidled up, a mischievous glint in his eye, "think you can handle a real yacht party later? not like those snooze-fests danny drags you to."

daniel, already bristling at lando's nickname for you, snorted. "actually, y/n loves classic rock marathons. much better than your dubstep-infused ear torture."

you squeezed daniel's arm, stifling a laugh. "don't worry, honey badger, i can handle both." you'd picked up his playful nickname for himself, a constant reminder of his unwavering support.

growing up in an abusive environment had left scars, but daniel had become your anchor. he saw past your nervous flinches and forced smiles, his protectiveness a constant comfort.

later that night, under the twinkling lights of monte carlo, you found yourself drawn to lando's easy charm. you dueled with him on jet skis, his laughter echoing across the water, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. he felt like home, like a sense of comfort and safety.

noticing your growing closeness, daniel pulled you aside. his smile was strained. "y/n, are you ok?"

"yeah, why wouldn't i be?"

"lando," he said, his voice low. "he can be… a lot."

you sighed. "daniel, i can handle lando. i want to handle him."

silence stretched between you. daniel's gaze softened, a hint of pain flashing through his blue eyes. "i just want to make sure you're happy, safe. you deserve the best, y/n."

tears welled up in your eyes. you squeezed his hand. "i am happy, thanks to you. you're like a brother to me and i love you for it, but… lando makes me feel…" you trailed off, unable to articulate the unfamiliar butterflies in your stomach.

daniel chuckled, the sound laced with relief. "like you're on a rollercoaster? lando can be a bit of a daredevil." he paused, then added, "but if he ever hurts you…"

you finished his sentence with a mock glare. "honey badger unleashed, right?"

he grinned, the familiar twinkle back in his eyes. "exactly. now, go have fun. just… promise me you'll be careful, alright?"

you threw your arms around him in a hug. "always."

the next few weeks were a whirlwind. you and lando went on secret dates, stolen kisses under the guise of "team strategy meetings." daniel, ever the detective, noticed your flushed cheeks and lingering smiles, but a relieved smile played on his lips whenever he saw you genuinely happy.

the sun beat down on the budapest paddock, reflecting off lando's helmet as he peeled it off. daniel, ever the opportunist, snagged him before he could disappear.

"lando, a word?" daniel's voice was quiet, a stark contrast to his usual boisterousness.

lando followed him into a shaded corner, a playful grin fading as he saw the seriousness etched on daniel's face. "alright, mate, what's up?"

daniel hesitated, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "look, lando, i know you and y/n have been… hitting it off lately."

lando's grin returned, a touch sheepish. "yeah, she's pretty awesome, isn't she?"

"she is," daniel agreed, his voice heavy. "but there's something you need to know about her."

lando's smile faltered completely. he'd noticed the flinch y/n sometimes had, the way she seemed to shut down in certain situations. he hadn't pushed, but it had gnawed at him.

daniel took a deep breath. "y/n… she's been through a lot. more than you know." he hesitated again, then continued, his voice low. "she doesn't deserve to be hurt, lando. not again."

lando felt a pang in his chest. the playful teasing suddenly felt cruel in light of what daniel was implying. "hurt her? mate, i would never—"

daniel cut him off, his voice thick with emotion. "you wouldn't believe the things she's had to deal with. the strength it takes her just to get through the day…" he trailed off, wiping a hand across his eyes. "i just… i promised myself i'd protect her."

lando stared at him, his heart clenching. he'd never seen daniel like this, so vulnerable. a new respect bloomed for the man who was more than just a teammate, but a fierce protector.

"daniel," lando said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "listen to me. y/n is incredible. kind, funny, strong as hell. and the way she lights up when you talk to her… it's something special."

daniel looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "you… you care about her?"

"care about her?" lando scoffed, a genuine smile breaking through. "mate, i'm smitten. i haven't been able to stop thinking about her since that night in monaco. but trust me, hurting her is the last thing i'd ever do. i want to make her happy, to be there for her the way you have been."

daniel's shoulders slumped in relief. a watery smile played on his lips. "just… don't mess up, alright? she deserves the world."

"i know," lando promised, a newfound determination burning in his eyes. "i'll take care of her, mate. you can count on me."

from then on, things shifted. lando toned down the teasing, replaced by genuine care. he made an effort to understand your past, offering a supportive ear and a shoulder to lean on.

the hungarian twilight cast long shadows across the budapest track, the last embers of the setting sun painting the sky in fiery hues. you leaned against the railing, the city lights twinkling below, a bittersweet ache settling in your chest.

the race had been exhilarating, a nail-biting finish that left you breathless. lando and daniel did amazingly.

suddenly, a familiar voice broke the silence. "lost in thought, shoey queen?" lando stood beside you, his blue eyes holding a hesitant warmth.

you offered a small smile. "just reflecting on the race. it was incredible."

he nodded, then cleared his throat nervously. "listen, y/n, there's something i… something i've been wanting to say."

his vulnerability sent a jolt through you. you'd seen lando's playful facade, the charming daredevil who thrived on competition. but this lando, standing before you with a tremor in his voice, was captivating.

"alright," you encouraged, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

he took a deep breath. "these past few weeks… they've been incredible. getting to know you, not just as daniel's best friend, but as y/n. you're strong, funny, and you have this incredible spark in your eyes that makes me want to be a better person."

his words washed over you, each one a brushstroke painting a picture of affection you hadn't dared to imagine. tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of joy and a fear of vulnerability you hadn't fully conquered.

"y/n," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "i know you've been through a lot. and i want you to know, whatever it is, i'm here for you. to listen, to support you, to be your shoulder to cry on."

he reached out, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear that trailed down your cheek. the simple touch ignited a thousand unspoken emotions within you.

"so," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "would you like to… maybe go out sometime? just you and me. no strategy meetings or champagne showers, just a chance to get to know each other better."

the weight of his sincerity settled upon you, a comforting blanket against your past hurts. you met his gaze, a newfound determination sparkling in your own eyes.

"i'd like that very much, lando," you whispered, a single tear slipping down your cheek, this time a tear of pure hope.

he smiled, a radiant beam that chased away the twilight shadows. in that moment, under the budapest sky, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, you knew this was just the beginning of something special.

later that night, you found daniel by the pool, a beer in his hand. "so," he said gruffly, "what happened with lando?"

a shy smile spread across your face. "he asked me out. officially."

he raised an eyebrow. "and?"

"and i said yes."

his lips twitched. "about time, shoey queen." he held you in a tight hug. "just promise me one thing."

you pulled back, concern flickering in your eyes. "anything."

"take care of each other. and if he ever breaks your heart…"

"honey badger unleashed, i know."

you both laughed, the sound echoing through the night. you knew daniel would always be there, a fierce protector turned loving friend, and with lando by your side, you were finally ready for something more.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️��️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

leave a like! leave a comment! reblogs are appreciated!

492 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 9 months ago

Text

Date, Digger Style

KTJL!Boomer x Fem!Reader, word count: 6k hi i am sorry, this was supposed to be like. a lil silly thing about what a first date with george might be like. and it ended up being 6k words. i just want him so bad it makes me look stupid quite honestly and i am ok with that 💙 request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: sleazy behaviour, groping, tongue kissing, just the tip and then not just the tip but agreeably so, lots of physical affection, reader has tits and a vagina, reader is referred to with feminine pet names, descriptions of a gross kitchen, also let's pretend that he's always a lil bit drunk so his drunk driving seems like the normal state of things. he's a villain. he's allowed to break laws lmao (and it's fiction, so i'm allowed to decide what alcohol does to him)

Sitting on the edge of your sofa, you took a quick look at your phone to check the time and to see if you had missed any messages. Nothing. Not even a quick courtesy text with "on my way" typed hastily, or auto filled. You'd been sitting there for twenty minutes already, with no sign of George. If this was what he considered a good start to your first formal 'date' then you two were perhaps too different after all to make this work. He was laid back, to a flaw. Horizontal. And you were more organised, at least more so than George Harkness.

Just as you began typing out a message, you heard the tell-tale screech of the tyres on his van, followed by the rumbling of the engine as he put the brakes on and came out of the creaking door. The sharp buzz at your door was enough for you to know your suspicions were right, and without answering it, you headed downstairs. At the door, you could see Digger, picking at his teeth and tucking the stray strands of hair back under the rim of his hat before he noticed you and struck a pose, goofy smile plastered onto his face.

He moved to grab you when you met him on the steps leading up to your building, but you dodged him, spitting his nickname at him.

"Digger."

"Aw, are you mad cos I'm late? You're not some bloody princess, I think you can wait five minutes!"

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty, the- Twenty!?"

His eyes were wide as he looked to you, and you offered a solemn and unimpressed nod in response.

"Fuck... alright, that is a bit much. This'll be worth it though, I promise."

Raising an eyebrow, you silently questioned that. You'd known him for a while now, skirted around the conversation, flirted constantly, but turned him down at every offer of a date. And now, when you had finally agreed and given in to his constant pestering, he was going to show up late and not even dressed differently or in clean clothes? You weren't sure it would be worth it. But, if all else failed, you could always count on him to make you laugh, or at very least conjure up a smile. And despite wanting to still maintain an exterior of disappointment, you could feel the corners of your mouth lifting as he opened up the passenger door and gestured to it with his arm, bowing low.

"M'lady, your carriage awaits."

As you stepped up and into the front of the van, the smell was the first thing that hit you. Stale beer, sweat, and about five other scents just indistinct enough to elude your keen nose. Trying not to think about it, you turned to grab your seatbelt and noticed, out of the corner of your eye, that the back of the truck was filled with empty beer cans and bottles, piles of clothing, some dirty and some clean. And in the middle of it all, a mattress, some pillows, and a scattering of sheets.

"Do you live in here?"

"Don't worry about it, babe."

Before you could ask him any follow up questions, he pulled away from the kerb with a stuttering acceleration, and carelessly pulled into traffic. After a few minutes of teeth grinding, life-threatening driving at high speed, he pulled off the main roads and began taking back streets.

Granted, you didn't know where you were going yet, since Digger was insistent on keeping it as a surprise, you still assumed that after ten minutes of nothing but roads dotted with potholes and routes plagued by speedbumps that it was surely quicker to have stayed on the main route until you were closer. However, it became clear that there were intentions behind this path after all, when you turned to question George about the route and found him quickly glancing from the road to your chest, smiling wider every time a bump jostled your body, causing your breasts to jiggle. With a heavy sigh, you turned to look out of the window, concealing the smile that threatened to give away your façade. There was no way you could let him know how oddly flattering you found his constant gawking, that would be a nightmare.

When the van stopped at a red light, you spoke, still looking out of the window, to try and get Digger to tell you where you were going.

"I just would feel better knowing how long we've got left to drive is all."

He reached over to you, placing his hand on your thigh and pressing his fingers and thumb together, squeezing the ample flesh.

"Listen, don't worry about it, we're almost there."

His palm pressed down and skimmed further up your leg, and as you turned to catch his eye, hoping to at least shame him into not continuing his bold heavy petting, you were instead met with his lopsided, careless grin. With one hand on the steering wheel and one permanently on your thigh, he continued driving for another ten minutes, until you were well on the outskirts of the city. When the van finally stopped, you could still hear the tinny rumbling and sharp clinking of the empty bottles and cans bashing around in the back, feeling like it had shrilly inserted itself permanently into your head. But once you had stepped out of the van and the fresh air, plus the odd stench, hit you, you could hear yourself think clear enough to know that you were definitely beginning to regret this decision once more.

"Told ya we wouldn't be much longer! We're here!"

"Where is here?"

"About twenty minutes outside Gotham."

"Digger."

He slapped his hand on your back and pulled you into a side hug, dragging you along as he walked towards the door of the flat roof building with broken neon lights that stood in front of you.

"Ah, come on babe! Get a sense of humour, or you'll always look fuckin' miserable!"

You weren't sure if he could hear your sighing over the sound of the gravel as you made your way to the front door, and he definitely couldn't hear the louder second one you let out when you got inside. The one that was cut short when you realised you could taste the smell that lingered on the air.

Taking your hand, an oddly gentle move from Digger. The moment was gone quickly when he smacked your ass as he ushered you into the dingiest looking booth at the back of the bar.

"George, really? Here?"

"Yeah, babe! This place is great. Cheap beer, good food. I promise, you just gotta trust me, alright?"

Taking a quick look around the place told you otherwise. But there was just something about him you found hard to say no to. Which you imagined would land you in much bigger problems later on, but for now, potential food poisoning and a hangover of the worst order seemed like a fair risk for what would no doubt be a fun night regardless. It always was with George.

"Aw, I know that face! You're on board! Right, I'm gonna go to the bar and get us some drinks and food."

"I don't know what I want though, I haven't looked at the menu."

"Don't have to, I'm getting us the usual. You'll like it, tr-"

"Trust you, yes, I know."

With a wink, he slid out of the booth and you watched him make his way to the bar, leaning on it with his oh-so-cocky attitude as he ordered for you. And when he sat back down, he slid a pint in front of you and began chugging at his own. Looking over the tip of your glass as you sipped, you tried to get a glimpse at the kitchen. From what you could see, it looked like the kind of place that might give any decent health inspector an aneurysm. The chef's clothes were dirty, the walls were a stained yellow colour that seemed as though it was dripping down the walls, and every surface had a strange assortment of crumbs and stains on it. But still, you persevered.

And still, when the plates were slammed down on the table in front of you by the uninterested waitress, you were optimistic. Because you were determined to have a nice time. It was likely that which annoyed you the most of all, because the moment you bit into the greasy sandwich you didn't care in the slightest what kind of health hazard it was prepared in. You just wanted more.

"See, told you it was good."

Nodding in agreement, mouth too full to speak, you swallowed down the rest of the sandwich, although by the time you had finished it and your accompanying beer, Digger was already onto his third pint, and the sandwich was but a memory. Until he burped and you could smell it on his breath, something he found hilarious.

"Lighten up! You try, give it your best shot."

"I'm not having a burping contest with you, George. We're on a date."

"Yeah, but you're on a date with Digger. Way more fun, far less stuffy. Go on."

You mustered up the best you had to offer, cheese and beer and lettuce the most noted flavours in the air you expelled. Closing his eyes for a moment, Digger reached out across the table and took your hands.

"That was, without a doubt... the most pathetic fuckin' burp ever. We gotta get you another drink!"

Before you could say anything, he was already shuffling out of the booth and shakily making his way back to the bar. A bad decision being made and you couldn't really stop him. He could handle his alcohol, definitely, you'd seen him do it a number of times before. Digger could put away what might kill a lesser, for want of a better word, man. But it didn't make him any easier to be around. You'd already found yourself flushing hot, cheeks darkening, a heat building in your stomach with each lingering touch or flirtatious stare. So far this evening, you'd almost kissed him twice. It wasn't going to be any easier to prolong what you felt was the inevitable if he got far too drunk and became his usual, handsy self.

Of course, that's exactly what did happen. One more pint in and Digger was all over you in the booth. He'd leaned in at first to say something to you, speaking over the noise of the bar, close to your ear, his arm reaching up and around you and pulling you close and then keeping you there. As his fingers stroked at your shoulder, the other hand fell to your thigh, periodically squeezing it between his fingers and thumb. And every time you got distracted by how far up your thigh he was snaking his palm, fingers splayed out, pinkie grazing over your crotch, his other hand would pull your attention away as his fingertips skimmed over the top of your breasts.

It was difficult to try and hold him off. You were both tipsy, or at least you were tipsy, Digger seemed to be wasted. No good decision could come from that. But the way he touched you, the way he smelled as he leaned in, sweat, cheap body spray, acrid beer, it was intoxicating. If you'd been any less sober you might have leaned in then and there in the booth to kiss him, tasting the alcohol on his tongue, letting him put his hands all over you, anywhere, anywhere. But luckily, before you could make what you knew was a mistake, he sat back and laughed, one loud and sharp 'ha'.

"I fuckin' love this song, babe! C'mon!"

Before you could argue otherwise, you were being dragged out of the booth to join Digger on the tiny dance floor in front of the band. The song was difficult to dance to, at least you had assumed, given the heavy rock riffs that underlined the inaudible, high volume lyrics. But George wasn't deterred. It was almost endearing, how horrendously embarrassing he was, standing there with his air guitar, throwing goat horns at the band as he bounced on the spot. Cute, nearly. But mercifully cut short as the song ended.

"Aw, just as I was finding my groove."

You smiled at him, rubbing his shoulder in sympathy, biting your inner cheek as you felt how strong he was, impressed by his muscular arm as you let your hand slip down to graze over it.

"A real shame, George. Let's go back to- "

The band started up again, this time, a slower song, one that lent itself well to the kind of 'end of prom' vibes all young lovers were hoping for. And before you could finish your suggestion of heading back to the booth, Digger had pulled you close, his arms around your back, falling to your waist as he swayed back and forth. It could have been dancing, it could have been the uncoordinated shuffling of a man who had one too many beers, but either way, you leaned into it, allowing your head to rest against his chest while you placed your hands, linked together, at the nape of his neck.

It was almost too romantic, in its own, strange way. The dim lights, the other couples around you, the unique twang on the guitars, the stench of the greasy food, and the way George kept his hips, his crotch, pressed tight to you as you leaned against him. Not particularly from a storybook romance, but perfect all the same. You'd known this would happen. One date, and you were already falling for him. Not because of anything he'd done, but because deep down you knew you had been into him, since almost the moment you'd met. But you'd fought it, because men like George Harkness, you assumed, weren't the kind of nice boy you dated.

But here he was, holding you, swaying you, sighing softly as the music swelled. Granted the movements weren't exactly graceful, but they were surprisingly fluid, as though he might be good at dancing when he was sober. Yet another surprise for you to learn about, but obviously not right now. He was trying though, his hands at a respectable height, his head leaning on your shoulder. Every so often, he nuzzled into your cheek, placing a soft kiss to it when the notion took him. And when the song finished, you could hear his words clear, spoken gently into your ear.

"You wanna head out?"

You weren't sure if that was "out" as in "get some fresh air" or "out" as in "let's head home, yours or mine" but either option seemed good. The last remaining bit of sun and a soothing breeze might be enough to sober George up before you brought him back in for more dancing. And if it didn't, you were happy to take him to your place for a coffee, nothing more. Although, you were potentially considering letting him sleep on the sofa. You couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to nurse a hangover in the back of his van.

Outside, finally able to breathe without choking on the stench or the thickness of the air, you watched as Digger shielded his eyes from the sky. His stumbling stopped, and he began walking with his usual confidence, almost sobering up immediately in the light of the day.

"Christ! Still pretty bright out here..."

"Yeah, it's not that late. You tapping out early, George?"

"Nah, nah. Not at all! If I've got you for the night, then I'm havin' you for the night. C'mon, I know a place."

Admittedly, and strangely enough, you really hadn't had enough of him yet. It was one of the few things you agreed on, actually. This was supposed to be a date, you'd set aside the evening for it, so you were keen to make it last as long as possible. You couldn't let George know that, though. Keeping the upperhand seemed to be key with him, so you offered him a reluctant smile and rolled your eyes dramatically.

"Well, I suppose so."

Stepping up into the passenger seat of his van you caught him smiling back at you, knowingly. You weren't kidding him, he wasn't as stupid as he seemed at first pass, but he was kind enough to let you keep up the ruse. It didn't stop him getting a little dig in at you, however.

"Are you sure? If you're not keen I can take you home, babe. Wouldn't want you to be bored or something."

"And where are you planning on taking me that isn't boring, then?"

"Eh... just a little spot I know of. Quiet, secluded. Up that back road to the overlook. But again, if you're not into it..."

"No, no. It sounds... well, it doesn't sound boring, anyway."

Digger laughed, starting up the van which groaned horrendously before sputtering to life. Before he drove off, he turned to you and winked.

"Definitely won't be, it never is with me, babe."

Pulling out of the parking lot, he turned away from the city and onto the quieter roads which led out past the city lines and into the expansive countryside that secluded Gotham from the rest of the world. From the window, you watched the sun slowly setting, clouds turning purple and navy as they pushed in from the sides like curtains on a stage show. You had all the time in the world to gaze peacefully, as George was driving in complete silence, way below the speed limit, focusing intensely on the road. He'd seemed to sober up once you were out of the bar, but you didn't want to distract him while he was doing his best to keep you both alive.

The van bounced along a short dirt trail until it stopped in a small clearing, surrounded by trees on all sides and far above the dim, intrusive glow of the city, which buzzed against the now deep, navy sky. Shutting off the engine, George turned and shot you a smile, eyebrows raised playfully, before he leapt out. He walked quickly to the back of the van and you followed, waiting patiently as he opened the two back doors wide, finally giving you a better look at what had been rolling around there the whole time he had been driving.

There wasn't much you could think to say, being of the opinion that you should only speak if you had kind things to say. From where you were standing, you could definitely tell that you had been correct in your earlier assumptions. This was where he lived. His rolling apartment. Convenient, yes. But it was a long way away from being one of the trendy 'tiny homes' you'd seen. The walls were adorned with four posters in total, all of them the kind of cheap standards you would expect in the bargain bin of some ancient music store, miscellaneous women in very little clothing gazing out as seductively as they could from the airbrushed backdrops. On the floor, there was a stick and poke tattoo kit that looked like it might be the source of several new variants of hepatitis, and it was littered with empty beer bottles and cans, some of which may have been half-full at the point he decided to drive off given how sticky the surfaces looked. And to top it off, there was a worn out mattress. No sheets on it, no sheets around it save for one scruffy blanket. It was covered in stains that you couldn't quite place, which matched the single, dented and almost flat pillow that lay haphazardly to the side.

"You live like this?"

That was what you had wanted to say, but again, your polite nature stopped you.

"Handy to just get in the van and sleep, or get out of bed and go."

George smiled, looking oddly proud of himself.

"See, you get it. You won't believe the amount of people who have been put off by- uh... well..."

He looked to the ground, rubbing at the back of his neck with his hand.

"Not that there's been that many people I've invited into- A-and not that there haven't been any people that have been-"

"George."

You placed a hand on his shoulder and raised your eyebrows, offering him a sympathetic grin. He took the out, thankful that you'd put an end to his suffering, and reached in for the blanket, placing it flat over the top of the bed before offering his hand to you. Taking it, he helped you shift yourself into the back of the van, watching as you got comfortable on the mattress as best as you could, at which point he joined you.

Leaning back on his arms, he looked to the sky, sitting in silence for a few minutes. You had joined him, watching the stars start to sparkle as they became visible against the darkening backdrop. At some point, you realised that he was staring at you, and you wondered how long you'd had his gaze trained on the side of your head. Not on any other part of your body, you noted. He was looking at your face, gazing at your eyes. When you turned, you caught his stare immediately, smiling softly when he blinked and looked away with a cough meant to clear the air of the awkwardness he was bringing about.

Rooting around behind him, he eventually found two unopened beer cans, both of which were loose amongst the rest of his belongings. Keeping one for himself, he passed the other to you. He raised his, tipping his head with a 'cheers' and then cracked it open. You watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, a small trickle of foam slipping past his lips and down his chin. The urge to lean in and lick it off was disturbing, most of all because you felt yourself moving towards him before you even realised it. Settling back down into the strange romance of the moment, you pulled the tab on your own can.

The immediate explosion, the build up of pressure and gasses from the can being jostled around as you drove up the bumpy, dirt track to the spot you now sat in, left you in shock. Your shirt was soaked, completely, and the cool air was already beginning to chill your body. You blinked in shock, watching as Boomer tried to conceal his giggles while he stood up.

"Take your shirt off."

Looking to him, you raised an eyebrow, a look that said "is this really how you're going to make that move?" in a way that he read almost straight away. He began unzipping his blue hoodie, turning from you and passing it behind him, generously, and uncharacteristically, offering you some privacy.

Taking it from him, you quickly made the swap, your body exposed to the cold night air only briefly before you zipped up the hoodie, still warm from Digger's body. You tucked your bra and shirt under the mattress, making a mental note to collect them before you were home, hoping they would be dry. Making sure the zip was up completely, not offering any suggestive cleavage for Digger to hook his ideas into, you settled yourself, noticing that you were smiling. You could smell him on the fabric that covered your body. Beer, sweat, lingering smoke, an acrid smell you couldn't quite place and a sweet one on top of that. As the fabric grazed over you, you could feel your nipples hardening. It wasn't the cold though, it was faint arousal at the way you felt so close to him.

"You done yet, you're only putting a hoodie on!"

"Shit, yeah, sorry."

"I can look?"

He raised his hands, pulling them from his pockets and holding them up to his side, questioningly.

"Mhm, yeah."

When he was facing you again, he let his lips turn into an appreciative expression.

"Looks good. Suits you!"

Thudding back down beside you, George immediately lifted his arm up, wrapping it around your body and pulling you close. You found yourself settling into the hug, a natural embrace, one that made your heart flutter slightly as you let your head rest entirely against him. And then it happened, the moment that secured your confusion about him and his intentions. He sighed wistfully. So deep and joyous, his fingers digging into your arm to let you know you were the reason for the warmth spreading through him.

"It's nice out here, you can actually see the stars. Couldn't tell you what any of them were though."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

He turned slightly to look at you.

"What?"

"What? What are you doing? You brought me up here to look at the stars?"

George narrowed his eyes, his brow furrowing in confusion and slight irritation.

"Yeah! I thought it would be romantic!"

"Exactly!"

"Exa-... what?"

"You're so confusing. This whole evening, you yourself, it's not how I thought it would be. I mean, it wouldn't be you without the occasional grope and cheeky wink, but you've been so... You're so... It's weird to see you being so..."

Digger's hand fell to your thigh, a light pressure aiming to calm you down.

"So what?"

You couldn't answer it, because you weren't even able to settle on a definitive answer yourself.

So confusing?

So disgusting?

So gentlemanly?

So romantic?

So hot?

All of that and more.

And when words had failed you, you decided that you'd have to express your feelings another way.

It was less of a romantic, graceful move and more that you sank into him, falling against his body, your lips luckily making contact with his as you both found your way in the kiss. Neither of you expected it, both of you surprised. The tenderness, the hunger behind it. You could taste everything about him, smell him even better than you had when you had put on his hoodie. You expected he was experiencing the same.

Digger fell back, his hands catching your waist as he pulled you with him, both of you laying now on the mattress in the back of his van. His hands pawed, grabbed, skimmed over you, oddly restrained in fact. That was until you shifted yourself up and onto him, straddling his hips and staring down at him, panting heavily as you both caught your breath and took stock of the situation you were now in. His hands on your waist made their way up to your shoulders, your neck, cupping your cheeks as he grinned at you. Watching your face, your expression, for any subtle changes as he let his hands trail back down your front, fingers catching on to the zip of his hoodie and pulling it down slowly, opening it to expose you to him before he cupped at your breasts as you bit your lip.

"Fuck me..."

Digger let out a low groan that followed his short, to the point statement. His fingers circled your nipples, tightening around them as he teased you. His hips bucked up, jostling you, letting you feel how hard he was. You could tell just from that motion that the rumours about how gifted he was had truth behind them.

Bending down to kiss him again, you let your tongue slip past his lips, his own meeting in your mouth. He tasted divine. Sweet, but acidic. Earthy almost, definitely addictive. Everything felt dream like, surreal. Mostly, you assumed, because you were doing something you'd never dream of, something you knew was ill-advised, a little bit silly, embarrassing in the right company. But it was hard to care.

You were quickly brought out of the dream like state however, as you felt Digger's hands between both of your crotches, unbuckling his belt and fiddling with the zipper on his jeans.

"Wait... on the first date? You think you've charmed me enough for that?"

With the smug, self-satisfied grin you had grown oddly fond of, George looked into your eyes as he spoke.

"I think you started this, so it's a pretty good indication of how much I've charmed you."

He winked as he let his fingers tug at the waistband of your own pants, pulling at them as you leaned in to another kiss. Your attempts to stop him, or at least to pretend that was your intention, were put to one side as your body reacted to the feeling of the cool air against your bare skin, his hands, rougher than you expected, holding your thighs, pulling your pants down further until he needed you to move.

"Well... have I charmed the pants off you at least?"

Smiling back at him, you nodded your head from side to side as though you were weighing up his efforts over the evening.

"I suppose you have charmed the pants off me, yes. But... I'm not sure how much further your winning personality has gotten you."

"There's plenty of time for me to catch up, then."

Clumsily, and with very little grace, you shifted and removed your pants, blushing as you noticed Digger watching you intensely, taking note of every movement, every second of you undresssing, as though you were offering him the performance of a lifetime. As you steadied yourself, he hooked his fingers into the band of your underwear and pulled you back to him, landing you flat on top o f his body, your hands on his chest.

Teasing at the band of your panties, he dipped two fingers underneath the fabric, skating over your mound and down to your lips, stroking them gently before spreading them apart. He rubbed one finger up and down, collecting your slick as he licked his lips, desperate to know how you tasted. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he ran them on his tongue, sucking them with his eyes rolling back.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me."

He continued unzipping his pants and pulling them down, boxers included, to reveal his more than impressive cock. At least ten inches, easily, thick, perfect, topped with a tuft of almost flaming red hair. Trying to control yourself, you leaned back.

"What are you planning on doing with that, Harkness?"

He squirmed, pressing his eyes shut and biting his lip before he managed to strain himself enough to speak.

"I just want... I want you... touch it... feel you... something... come on, please!"

Shuffling forward, teasing him knowingly as you felt his head, his length, against your thighs, you mused out loud, humming as though you were actually considering it, as though you hadn't already made your mind up yet.

"I suppose... this was a pleasant enough date. I could give you something, throw you a bone."

He nodded furiously below you, muttering his words of agreement.

"But! Just the tip. I'm not sure how much more of that I could take. It should come with a warning."

George actually blushed, looking away from you for a moment, as though the comment had genuinely embarrassed him. It did seem odd to you in that moment that he wasn't constantly bragging about his prowess in that area. He struck you as exactly the kind of person who would mention the size of his cock at any opportunity. You wondered if had the effect on others that it had on you. It was daunting, a little bit nerve-wracking. How many of the few people who had made it this far had given up at the sight of it, you wondered.

Most, you assumed, as despite how desperate he seemed to fuck you, he agreed enthusiastically, happy to be offered any opportunity to get as close to you as possible. He was already pulling at your underwear, grasping at it, trying to pull it down before deciding to push it to the side as he lined up the head of his cock with your swollen lips.

Looking directly at you he maintained the intense eye contact as he slid himself between your lips, pushing at your tight entrance slowly, carefully, only allowing his head to enter you. It felt amazing. So good, better than you thought. It stretched, filled you up, and that was ten percent of what he had to give. He hissed, gritting his teeth in concentration, trying his hardest not to move his hips, to buck them, to push himself any further inside of you.

As you balanced yourself, trying to contend with the little of him that was inside of you, he brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing it, making you twitch, contracting against him, tightening the grip your cunt had on his head. As he groaned, you couldn't help yourself anymore. You wanted him, all of him. You were willing to risk it.

"God, George... just fuck me."

"Wh-what?"

"Fuck me! Just..."

Realising you might need to take matters into your own hands, you let yourself slide down his cock, each inch stretching you further, a shockwave of pain followed by dull throbs of ache and arousal coarsed through your body, the pit of your stomach feeling pressed, your insides stuffed with him. Llike you were being entirely consumed, enveloped, in George Harkness.

"Christ..."

It was all he could manage with the limited breath he had, his whole body stopping any other function to focus on not letting himself cum inside of you immediatel. The sudden warmth, the tight, wet embrace, the way you leaned back, breasts bouncing as helped yourself to him, riding his cock as he lay back and held your hips. His thumbs, stroking against your skin, where the top of your thighs met your lower stomach, feeling your own desperation as you worked him harder, faster, palms resting on his chest to balance yourself as you took everything he had.

Brows furrowed in concentration, pursuing your orgasm, you wailed as his fingers found their way back to your nipples, teasing them, grabbing at your breasts as you rolled your hips and felt his cock twitching agaisnt your walls. It hurt, but in a way that was delicious, a way that felt like it should be borderline illegal, like most things that provided such a wonderful, addictive experience were. But there you were, enjoying it. Loudly, explicitly. And very publicly. It didn't matter to you, and it really didn't seem to matter to George. You were quite happy to scream it from the rooftops then and there, how much you were enjoying it. Being fucked by Captain Boomerang, as ridiculous as his name always seemed to you. You'd be quite content to tell everyone that he was making you cum, that he was one stroke of his thumb against your erect nipples, one tap of his cock against the exact spot inside of you, from losing all composure.

"George... George..."

"Yeah... yeah, it's good... eh? I'm good."

"Fuck, you are. Yeah. Yes! Yes!"

One final, loud, resounding 'yes' echoed around you, filling the air, bursting through the trees. You imagined that anyone within a five mile radius might have heard Digger coming. His cock, falling from you against his body, still dripping with your slick, still spurting streams of his thick, white cum all over his abdomen, covering his thick pubic hair. His hands, still embedded in your skin, creating deep, red marks where the grip was far too tight, stinging so perfectly pleasantly.

Your own notes of pleasure hadn't exactly been all that much quieter than his own, but still drowned out by the amped up grunting and wailing of George. At least you could hold that saving grace. Allow yourself to cling to that modicum of your dignity.

Because you certainly weren't bothered about any other facets of it, as you slid down beside George on the dingy mattress, curling around his body, hand on his chest, smugly satisfied to know that you had contributed to the stains that would no doubt be a permanent feature.

#captain boomerang #digger harkness #george harkness #captain boomerang x reader #captain boomer x you #captain boomerang fanfic #finnie writes

635 notes · View notes

cntloup · 8 months ago

Text

After almost four months of working for Simon, you take a maternity leave... and your feelings for him start to bubble up

Simon bumps into you, a troubled woman whose boyfriend kicked her out after he found out she's pregnant

He holds you, gently rubbing your back as your stomach heaves and you throw up your lunch. You're in your third trimester and it’s been hell for you.

You sob onto his chest while clinging to him, from the agonizing pain in your abdomen and the unbearable nausea.

“Shh, it’s ok, luvie. I've got you.” he coos, holding you tighter and cradling your head against his chest as you bawl your eyes out.

Even though your mind is somewhat dazed, your heart still flutters at the nickname.

In almost four months of working as his assistant, you slowly drifted closer and closer to each other.

But you still don't know if you'd call yourselves friends or not, it's something more, yet less than what you wish to be.

After a few minutes spent on the bathroom floor in his office, you finally calm down a bit.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can work like this.” you apologize sheepishly while looking up at him through glossy eyes, still in his arms.

“That’s fine. You'll be on leave until you’re ready.” he says, looking back at you through hooded eyes.

“Really? There's no problem with that?”

“Yeah. It's ok. We'll get a substitute for now. The leave is with pay of course so no worries about money problems.” he responds and you throw your arms around him happily and hug him as well as you can with your swollen tummy, “Oh, Simon! Thank you so much.”

“ ‘s nothin’.” he replies while hugging you back.

“You can come stay with me, you know?” he mentions as he pulls away to look at you, your hair disheveled and your eyes puffy and red while sitting on the bathroom floor after throwing up for nearly half an hour, but oh how he still adores you... in this state... or in any state to be honest.

“Are you sure?” you whisper, throat too hoarse to speak any louder.

“I’m sure.” he replies sternly with a nod and you gaze into his eyes gratefully.

“I’ll help you pack up.” he adds, taking your silence and the look you just gave him as a yes.

“Thank you.” you say and try to get up, but fail miserably with your huge belly and utter exhaustion.

He gets up first and helps you up, “Careful, luv.” he murmurs as you stumble a bit, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you steady.

He helps you gather your stuff and carefully walks you to his car to drop you off at his place, his hand finding your waist and the other one holding yours.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be fine alone?” he asks with concern as he pulls up into his driveway.

“Yes, I'm gonna be fine for a few hours. In fact, I'm gonna take a nap.” you respond reassuringly with a smile.

“Take care, luv.” he smiles and you wave goodbye.

He leaves as you step inside the house and close the door.

You lean against the door and let out a squeal and giggle like a schoolgirl.

And you don’t even know why. Is it the hormones? Is it him?

It’s been a while since he’s making you feel some type of way.

You settle on the couch to take a nap, not wanting to take up his bed even though you know he wouldn’t mind. But still, it feels like an invasion of his privacy.

You don’t get much sleep as your mind and heart are encompassed by him.

You keep tossing and turning. For hours. Even though you’re utterly exhausted.

Until he returns home and walks over to you, “Hey... why didn't you sleep on the bed?” he asks with furrowed eyebrows.

“Well, I didn’t really sleep at all.” you mumble as you try to get up, looking at him over the back of the couch.

“Why? You ok?” he asks with a concerned look etched on his face as he helps you sit up on the couch and he sits beside you.

“I’m fine, Si. It's just that... the hormones are making me feel weird is all.” you ramble, not really knowing how to answer him, also using the nickname which he insisted on you using. It just makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Do you need to go to the doctor?” he questions further, worry creeping up on him.

“No. It's fine. I'll take some pills and try to get some sleep. Don't worry.” you try to play it cool and shrug it off.

He gently carries you to bed and brings your meds, sitting on the edge of the bed and handing them to you with a glass of water.

“Get some rest, luv. I'll make you something to eat.” he mutters while tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear as you lie down, eyes locked onto one another, making your heart skip a beat.

You let out a sigh and shut your eyes after he leaves, in hopes of getting even a little bit of much-needed sleep.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #cod x reader #ghost x reader #cod fanfic #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #mw2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader

1K notes · View notes

avatar-anna · 2 years ago

Text

Unknown Number

someone made a request about reader accidentally being given harry's number, but i accidentally deleted it, so if you requested it, here it is!

(the text chain will be from harry's point of view)

italics: y/n (unknown number)

bold: harry

Part Two

Part Three

Unknown Number (UN): heyy. i had a really good time the other night. maybe we could do it again sometime? xx (click to download image)

Harry Styles (HS): How did you get this number?

UN: you gave it to me?

UN: last night at the pub? marcus, right?

HS: No. You have the wrong number.

UN: is this a joke? are you fucking with me right now?

HS: No.

UN: oh my god

UN: i feel like such an idiot

UN: one of the first times a guy gives me his number at a bar and he gives me the wrong number

UN: probably on purpose too

UN: i should've known when he left his OWN APARTMENT the next morning but i was actually hopeful

UN: and now i've made an ass of myself here too. sorry to bother you i'll leave you alone. sorry again

(one hour later)

HS: It's okay. Sorry about that guy. Sounds like a jerk.

(twenty minutes later)

UN: it's fine, i guess

UN: i wasn't in love with him or anything but he could've had the decency of expressing his disinterest himself instead of hiding behind a fake number.

HS: That is quite a dick move.

HS: I'm not gonna lie, I wasn't expecting that text. I didn't open the picture either by the way.

UN: thank you. for a moment i was worried i was messaging a creep, but hopefully you're not a creep

UN: i mean you could be still and i'd have no idea

UN: maybe i should stop texting you

(ten minutes later)

HS: I'm not a creep.

UN: that's exactly what a creep would say

HS: I don't really know how to prove it to you. You're the one who sent me a photo of yourself half naked. You could be the creep.

UN: you said you didn't open it!

HS: I was trying to be polite!

UN: great now some 40 year old living in his parents basement has one of my nudes

HS: I'm not 40! And I don't live in my parents basement

UN: you text like an old man

HS: wuld u rather i txt like ths???

UN: no but i'm just saying i don't know many people my age who use proper punctuation in text messages

HS: Well I might not be your age, but I'm certainly not 40

UN: "certainly not." you're right. you sound like my grandpa

HS: I suddenly regret restarting a conversation with you

UN: you know despite the fact that you might be catfishing me, i've enjoyed this. i feel like i'm doing what all the other teen girls did in high school at sleepovers

HS: So you're out of high school.

UN: creep!

HS: You outed yourself, that's not on me.

UN: you...might be right

UN: can you tell me something about yourself to make it even? there's always a possibility that you could be lying and i have no reason to trust you, but...idk i feel like i can

HS: Well that's stupid.

HS: But I suppose since I've already seen you partially naked...

UN: i'm blocking your number

HS: My first name is H, and I'm 20 years old.

UN: h? just the letter h?

HS: You could be a creep too for all I know

UN: fair enough. i'm june

HS: Full name? Wow, you really are a dummy.

UN: don't get your 60 year old panties in a twist. it's a nickname

HS: June is a nickname?

HS: And I'm not 60.

UN: june. june bug. that's what the folks call me

HS: Folks? Now who sounds old?

UN: whatever

(thirty minutes later)

HS: Well, it was nice talking to you, June. June bug.

UN: you too h

(three days later)

June (J): you're a guy right?

HS: I'm sorry?

J: well when i first texted you i thought you were a guy, but you weren't THAT guy, so i have no idea

J: i just assumed but i thought i would ask

J: plus i need solicited guy advice and if you're not a creep i would really appreciate it

HS: We're back to me being a creep?

J: it's a risk every time i text you

J: so? are you a dude?

HS: Yes.

J: great! can i ask you something?

HS: Um...I guess...

J: ok. would you ever get offended if a woman covered their drink during a conversation with you?

HS: I'm not following...

J: like say we're at a bar and we're talking and i turn my head away for some reason but i put my hand over my drink until i look back at you to prevent it from being spiked. would you be offended by that?

HS: No. Why?

J: see? i don't think that's unreasonable. some loser got mad at me for doing that. well EXCUSE ME for not immediately trusting the guy i matched with on tinder

J: who was not as cute in real life i might add

HS: You don't have the best taste in guys.

J: that is not advice!

HS: Okay, here's my advice: don't swipe right on guys who have mirror selfies in their profile.

J: ...

J: ok fair enough but it's not like prince charmings are falling from the sky. it's hard out here

HS: I'm sure.

J: what you don't have the same problem?

HS: I don't really date.

J: in like a douchey way? are you one of those guys who say they just fuck?

HS: I just don't have time for dating, I guess.

J: so no special someone?

HS: No.

(four hours later)

HS: If you asked for advice, does that mean I can too?

(one hour later)

J: sorry i was at work

J: and i don't see why not

HS: What do you think about guys who wear skinny jeans?

J: hm...i think styled right it could be nice

J: YSL is kind of pushing the whole skinny jeans and chelsea boots thing which might eventually trickle down to the losers i match with on tinder so...why not? i say dress how you want

J: any guy who has a good sense of style is sexy to me

J: sorry if that wasn't the answer you were looking for

HS: Yes and no. I've been experimenting with different styles. Sometimes I get a little in my head about it.

J: doesn't everyone?

HS: I guess you're right.

HS: Do you follow fashion shows and things like that?

HS: That's not too personal, is it?

J: no, but it's kind of embarrassing

HS: Not as embarrassing as sending a complete stranger a picture of yourself in your bra

J: harsh...but fair

J: fashion is kind of my religion

J: i'm trying to become a stylist. keyword trying

HS: That's cool!

J: tell that to my family

HS: they don't support you?

J: nope! but i'm gonna do it anyway!

HS: Do you have a favorite designer?

J: it kinda depends on the year and who was creative director at the time, but the first time i got my hands on vintage vivienne westwood i was hooked

J: you?

HS: I'm just starting to explore the fashion world I guess you could say.

J: well lucky for you i happen to be a bit of an encyclopedia when it comes to house codes

HS: House codes?

J: oh boy. i hope you're comfortable. we might be here a while

(two days later)

HS: Have you ever had rumors spread about you?

J: i don't think so

J: oh wait! in eighth grade this girl in my class told everyone i made out with a boy at the school dance which was NOT true

J: it was just a peck

HS: Naughty.

J: it was harmless. why do you ask?

HS: There's a rumor going around about me. It's just frustrating when people actually believe it. sometimes it gets to the point where i start to believe it myself.

J: i'm sorry. i won't pry or anything, but i know what it feels like to not be understood

HS: I just hate the feeling of being under a microscope. It's exhausting. I feel like my life isn't my own sometimes.

J: that sucks

J: sorry that was in no way helpful, but i don't really know what to say. is there someone you can talk to about this?

HS: ...

J: oh! i actually feel kind of honored

J: well, obviously i don't know the whole situation, but maybe try and surround yourself with people who don't scrutinize you so much?

HS: Easier said than done.

J: true but i think if you have a solid group of people who know you and understand you and like you for who you are, it's easier to deal with things like rumors and being under the proverbial microscope, you know?

J: and don't be afraid to get rid of the toxic people in your life! it's not easy but you'll be better off in the long run

HS: sometimes it's hard to tell who's toxic and who's not

J: start with the people who would never believe a rumor about you, or the ones who would never START one about you

HS: Well said, June Bug.

J: thanks! maybe i should entertain a career in counseling

(one month later)

HS: Why June Bug?

J: i was born in the summer. it was a nickname my grandparents gave me. been called that ever since

HS: That's sweet.

J: there are worse nicknames i suppose. i have a cousin that got stuck with chip because he used to stuff his face like a chipmunk when he was little

HS: Yikes.

J: you're telling me

(three weeks later)

J: have you ever danced alone in your bedroom to stevie nicks?

HS: Have you?

J: i have, and can i just say she does NOT get enough credit as a songwriter?

HS: Edge of Seventeen?

J: edge of seventeen

J: i went on a date last week with a guy who had the AUDACITY to call her music mediocre

HS: You didn't see him again did you?

J: ...

HS: June!

J: just once! and only because he had really nice hands

HS: I don't get how that would make you stay with a stevie hater...

J: REALLY nice hands ;)

HS: You disappoint me sometimes.

J: ;))))

(fifteen minutes later)

J: hey you never answered my question about dancing in your room!

HS: ...No comment...

(one week later)

J: you ever been in love, h?

HS: I can't say that I have. Have you?

J: no ://

J: i think i want it too much. i've always just been in love with the idea of falling in love, you know?

J: but the reality isn't what i thought it would be

HS: I'm sorry.

HS: It probably won't help but I'm sure you'll find someone. You seem like a great person. Anyone would be lucky to be with you.

J: aw h you're making me blush!

HS: But perhaps you should stop looking for love on a hookup app

J: annnd good feeling gone

(two weeks later)

HS: Guess who has two thumbs and got invited to Paris Fashion Week!

J: no fair!

J: and that joke doesn't work if i can't see you point to yourself. it doesn't work period

HS: I will let that slide because I know you're just jealous.

J: are you kidding me? OF COURSE i'm jealous! i can't believe you get to see Alessandro Michele's work up close

HS: Who?

J: don't think because we only communicate through text that i can't strangle you

HS: Relax. I'm only joking.

HS: Alessandro is a friend ;))

(ten minutes later)

J: sorry i just had to scream into my pillow

J: what exactly do you do again?

HS: I told you. I work in the industry.

J: but that could mean anything! the cosmetics industry, the movie industry, the meat packing industry...

HS: Meat packing?

J: you know what i mean!

HS: I do a lot of PR.

J: see. that wasn't so hard now was it?

HS: Can I go back to gloating?

J: only if you promise to give me a full report afterwards you go to all the shows

HS: Deal.

(four days later)

HS: Favorite movie?

J: that's hard...

J: it's probably cliche but the devil wears prada

HS: Good choice.

J: what about you?

HS: The Notebook.

J: really?

HS: Yes. Why?

J: do you say that to impress girls or because it's actually your favorite?

HS: Would you rather I have said a film with lots of car chases?

J: no

J: but i went out with a guy who was a film major once

HS: Is that a bad thing?

J: let's just say it won't be happening again

J: he thought he was superior for disliking popular movies. i hate that

HS: Well, I love The Notebook and I love Ryan Gosling

J: now THAT is something we can agree on!

(six weeks later)

J: BIG NEWS

J: LIKE HUGE

J: GROUNDBREAKING

HS: And here I was thinking you forgot about me.

J: i texted you yesterday

HS: You asked me if my dick could move on its own.

J: a legitimate question! i nearly had a heart attack when i saw it in person

J: but i was also weirdly fascinated. my question was purely scientific!

HS: You said you had news?

J: right!

(twenty minutes later)

HS: Are you making me wait to create anticipation?

J: no sorry i got a phone call.

J: i got my first real gig as a stylist

HS: That's great! Congratulations!

J: thanks

HS: You don't sound excited anymore. What happened to all caps?

J: my mother happened

HS: Still not on board, then?

J: she told me it was a waste of time and that i should get a real job

HS: You're still gonna take it though right?

J: i don't know. maybe she's right. the pay is less than ideal. more like i'm being paid in experience, and it's not the clientele i was imagining...

HS: But it's a foot in the door, right? That's something.

J: i guess

HS: Make connections. Get good references. And who knows, you might actually enjoy yourself.

J: you're right.

J: it's for some up and coming band that's going on tour. pretty sure i was what they could afford

HS: Don't sell yourself short. You're gonna do great.

J: thanks. i hardly even know you and you're currently my biggest supporter

HS: What happened to Bill?

J: ancient history

HS: What was wrong with him? He seemed nice.

J: yeah

J: his girlfriend thought so too.

HS: On behalf of all men: Sorry. We truly are the worst.

J: agreed. what about you? still single?

HS: Yes, though people keep trying to set me up on dates.

J: the horror!

HS: Ha ha

HS: I just want to meet someone on my own terms.

J: i get that

J: i just want to meet someone who's actually a decent human being

HS: I'll be on the lookout.

(three weeks later)

J: i think i've decided that tour life is not for me

HS: oh?

J: yeah. sitting on a bus for hours and hours with only myself to keep me company? no thanks

HS: it can't just be you on the bus can it?

J: no but i have a hard time making friends right away. and a lot of the crew for this tour are older than me

HS: are your clients nice at least?

J: yeah. one of them tried to hit on me, which i guess i should take as a compliment, but i am on the clock. no flirting for me

HS: a professional then. or are you not into the musician type?

J: not sure. i haven't dated one before

J: i told you that the other day

HS: right. must've slipped my mind

HS: but back to taste in men. is it all about looks for you or do you like funny guys?

HS: are you the type to sleep with someone on the first date? because i feel like that's very telling about a girl

J: who is this?

HS: what do you mean? it's me

J: it's not. you're not texting like a middle aged woman and you're acting like a total ass

HS: Sorry. I thought I'd try something new. And I was just curious. Can't blame a guy for asking right? You did send some guy you barely knew a picture of yourself

HS: It was very wholesome by the way. Maybe try a little more skin next time and you'll get the response you want. You can practice here if you'd like.

J: oh my god

HS: What?

J: this was a mistake. i'm such an IDIOT

J: was this some kind of prank?

J: whoever you are, you're sick

J: don't text me again

HS: June, I'm so sorry. That was my friend he was just being stupid.

HS: Last time I leave my phone anywhere.

HS: June?

HS: June please.

HS: That wasn't me I swear!

HS: I'm sorry.

(three weeks later)

HS: Day 21 of trying to get you to respond.

HS You probably blocked me which is fine. I don't blame you.

HS: But if you DO happen to read these and are just ignoring me...

HS: I'm sorry. Again. For like the millionth time.

J is typing...

HS: June?

J: i should've blocked you

HS: Why didn't you?

J: because as insane as it sounds, you've become a close friend

HS: I feel the same. I'm really sorry about before. I swear it was one of my mates. I would never say something like that.

J: that's what makes this whole thing crazy! i don't actually know you, so how do i know if i can trust you?

HS: I mean you even noticed that he wasn't texting like me. I would never ask you questions like that, June. I never have.

HS: And I do NOT text like a middle aged woman by the way

J: i guess that's true

J: i think it just doubled down the fact that we don't actually know each other. this whole thing is ridiculous if you think about it too long. it gives me a headache sometimes.

J: i know we've joked about it but...this could be potentially dangerous

HS is typing...

HS: I could send you a voice note.

J: you would do that?

HS: You're right. This whole thing is ridiculous but...I don't know, I trust you, and I consider you a friend.

J: a friend you say?

HS: That's all I'm willing to admit for one day

J: and what about tomorrow?

HS is typing...

HS (voice recording): Maybe tomorrow I'll admit a little more.

(one day later)

Y/n hated how much her stomach flipped every time her phone pinged with a new message.

It was so reckless and dangerous and utterly ridiculous. She didn't know who H was, she didn't even know what time zone he lived in, and yet she felt like she knew him.

And after hearing his deep voice—deep British voice—on the voice recording, Y/n determined that he wasn't some creep in his forties like she'd originally thought.

Since sending that voice recording, they'd sent each other messages like that all night. And by all night she meant all night. They stayed up late sending voice recordings back and forth. It was the longest conversation they'd held to date, which was surprising considering that they often missed each other during certain hours. Just based on what hours of the day they texted the most, Y/n figured H lived somewhere in Europe, which gave her peace of mind considering he couldn't exactly kidnap her if he was a whole ocean away. But the last couple weeks their schedules seemed to be lining up, though Y/n chalked it up to all the traveling she'd been doing lately.

One thing she was certain of was that she adored H's voice. It was soft and deep, but got raspier the longer they spoke. And at times he would whisper in his messages, like he had to keep his voice down. The hushed tones made her shiver.

Y/n didn't call H, and he never offered. But she wanted to, boy did she want to. No matter how terrifying that thought was. A full-fledged phone call seemed more...real to Y/n. With the messages, she and H were still in their little bubble. It was stupid, but she needed that bit of separation. She was becoming attached to someone she'd never met.

Walking through the halls of a stadium in Canada, Y/n pulled up past conversations with H. It was too embarrassing to admit to anyone out loud, but she felt like she really knew him. He was endearing, had a silly sense of humor, had good taste in music, and was honest. Well, as honest as either of them could be. Outside of the one slip up with H's friend, Y/n believed what he said to her over text. Maybe that made her naive, but their conversations were legit. He felt like a friend, and she knew he felt similarly.

Maybe tomorrow I'll admit a little more.

Y/n had no idea what that could mean. She of course knew what she wanted it to mean, but what she wanted rarely ever lined up with reality.

Y/n looked up from her phone to make sure she didn't pass the right door. The one in front of her read, Harry Styles in big bold lettering. She quickly hurried past and continued down the hall to where the dressing room for Five Seconds of Summer was.

Harry Styles was a bit of an enigma. Even though she was on the same tour as him and One Direction, Y/n hardly ever saw him. And when she did, his nose was always in his phone, completely closed off to the world around him. He just had this vibe that said, "don't talk to me," and Y/n received that message loud and clear. The Five Seconds of Summer boys seemed to get on with all the members of One Direction, but Y/n usually made herself scarce whenever they came by the dressing room, for no other reason than too much testosterone in one room.

"You want to come out after the show, Harry?" Y/n heard one of the boys ask. Michael.

"Um...No. I think I'll have to pass tonight, boys. Sorry."

"What? Big date tonight?"

"Something like that."

Y/n felt frozen to the linoleum floor. She knew that voice. She'd spent all night listening to that voice.

"Holy shit."

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

3K notes · View notes

livelaughloveloak · 1 year ago

Text

🌷 H.E.R

pairing :: neteyam x human! reader

summary :: Neteyam headcanons if he was dating a human reader 😋 he's a cutie patootie (James Cameron pls bring him back)

author's note :: I literally pulled this out of my ass

the type of guy to cup his hand under your chin when he feeds you something

PRINCESS TREATMENT ONLY!!

draws circles on your back when you do your lab work

brings you a fresh bouquet of flowers every week

"Aw Neteyam you didn't have to." You held the flowers in your hands as Neteyam smiled at you. "Pretty flowers for my pretty lady."

gives you random trinkets from when he was out hunting because it reminded him of you

since he's way taller he could reach your stomach while sitting down. You would be standing up with him sitting beside you, head leaning on your hip and an arm wrapped around your thigh

KING OF NICKNAMES 🤑🤑 example: my girl, mate, ma y/n, yawntutsyip, yawne

a shy guy but not afraid to show you off or to stick up for you

begs his dad to have his own camera so he can take pictures of you

has you sit on his lap while you two go for a ride on his ikran

does your hair for you. don't worry if he doesn't know a certain style you want he'll figure it out. (He begs norm or his dad for help)

this man ADORES spoiling you. If you mention something don't be surprised when Neteyam comes in your room with it in his arms

over all gentle person. he could never yell at you

"me and my gf don't argue she tells me to shut up and I do" type of guy

always plans a date at least every once a week for you guys. he loves quality time especially when he's busy with Olo'eyktan training

doesn't care about his mom's hatred towards humans, he loves you for you and her opinion won't change it

PIGGYBACK RIDES. we all know that man is tall so he's always carrying you around so you're not behind

the type of guy to sneak in your room at night so he could see you

he's very good at expressing his feelings with words

"Y/N" Neteyam whispered as you snuggled up in his chest. You hummed in response. "Mhm?"

"I love you."

he swore that he'd have a proper marriage ceremony with you one day. since you're unable to preform tsaheylu he'd go with marrying you like how "earth" people do

if you like doing your make-up he'd ask you to do his. his eyelashes were extra long after putting mascara on

he adores seeing you and Tuk bond. he wishes to have a family with you in the future when you're ready

your go to person when you're sad

"shh my love it's ok, cry it out." Neteyam rubbed his hand on your back as he felt your hot tears fall on his chest. You hiccuped and wrapped your arms around him. "talk to me once you're ready my love, I'm always here for you."

#atwow #avatar #avatar imagine #imagine #neteyam sully #neteyam #neteyam x human reader #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #neteyam imagine #avatar the way of water

2K notes · View notes

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

cz19y · 9 months ago

Text

MERCHES !? [HCs]

Multiple × Bllk Player!GN!Reader

THEME: You start getting famous in the NEL. You have merches now! How'd they react? Would they buy a keychain? A plushy? Your jersey??

∆ Reader is part of Blue Lock, fluff, SFW, some of them will be extremely short, they have a crush on you, OOC[?], grammar & spelling errors.

[!] reference for plushie at the bottom.

NOTE: This has been sitting on my drafts for half a year now. Finally decided to finish.

∆ FT: Isagi Yoichi, Rin & Sae Itoshi, Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness, Shidou Ryusei, Niko Ikki.

[ Starting … ]

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ISAGI YOICHI

"Cool/Cute!" First thing he thought about when he saw the plushy.

Def buying the plushy. He also looked into the jersey but dropped the idea cuz he's just shy like that.

Silly keychain hanging from his wallet.

Gets all awkward when someone teases him(Reo + CHIGIRI).

“You got [L/n]’s merches? Can I tell them??!” Bachira was so excited to tell you.

“No.”

Anyways,

Gets all awkward next time talking to you but pretends it's ok. (It's not ok)

Loves the fact that you're having somewhat of the attention you deserve for being the great player you are.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ RIN ITOSHI

You really think he's buying it? What a joke.

He is.

Just because you annoyed him to do so, of course.

Just the keychain tho. The idea of a jersey would "decrease" his ego and he thinks that the plushie is a waste of space.

Jokes, he bought the plushie.

Almost died on spot when you mentioned that you saw the plushie on his bed.

BUT he’ll kill you if you mention it to others.

Has the keychain on his keys.

When waiting for a bus or something, he fidgets with it.

Likes to start a staring contest with the plushie.

AGHhH ok but he's so cute.

Since you're “important or whatever”(his words, not mine), I'm imagining him taking good care of the plushie.

Ok but he def drowled on that plushie.

Blushes if you ever buy his merches. Like in the Sae scene after the U20; eyes shining and all.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ SAE ITOSHI

Debated if it was worth it or not.

He means, how lukewarm..

But those keychains are adorable, no?

Yeah, why not.

Keychain hanging out from his phone.

Fidgets with it too.

Ignores his teammates if they ever mention it and glares at them if they push it.

Will not tolerate Shidou.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ MICHAEL KAISER

Bought the plushie to annoy you. That's one of the main reasons why he bought it.

The other reason is because he actually wanted one.

Has it sitting near the mirror.

Poses and talk to that thing like it's actually someone.

Unboxing time was def something. Smug smile with brows acherd, inspecting the mini version and humming in approval.

Ness doesn't know how to feel about this.

NOT buying the jersey. You're a good player too, his pride is gigantic and would NEVER betray himself.

He may be pinning on ya but that's different.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ALEXIS NESS

Bro's smile got even happier when he got the plushie[HE'S SUCH A CUTIE STOP].

Has a jersey somewhere in his closet.

Shy about it.

Keeps everything clean and neat.

Finds it so cute, he absolutely loves the plushie.

Keychain keychain keychain-

Inner child coming alive once more.

Unboxing with ultimate happiness.

Loves you and all but would prefer if you don't know about it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ SHIDOU RYUSEI

The moment he heard about it, you can bet he was already ordering it.

Keychain, plushy, or jersey?... huhh.. Nah, he's buying it all.

But his favorite is the jersey.

Would start wearing it as a joke, but then it becomes part of his weekly clothing.

Shidou ordered a GG size plushy and named it "[Lame Nickname]".

Ordered a small size plushy too, and named it "[Lame Nickname Jr. The II]".

Will talk to it like it's an actual conversation when bored or when he wants to get something out of his mind and there's no one around for him to pester.

Not shy about it.

Brags, even.

Makes your and his plushie kiss in front of the whole team hahaha-

Sometimes you're worried about the plushie’s safety.

Bros 100% pleading forcing you to buy his merches so you two can match.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ NIKO IKKI

Got too embarrassed when buying.

I can picture him with his neutral ass face unboxing the plushy but inside; he's jumping and giggling while he stares at the eyes of the small goofy mini version of you.

Gets quiet the next time he sees you.

Gets embarrassed when spots the plushie looking directly at him.

*Cutely goes and move its head to another direction* /j

He’s an anime fan; probably and will make a secret collection of those merches.

Plushie sitting at the top spot of his shelf among the mangas or anime merches he has.

Will delete himself if you ever mention it.

If ever hanging out at his place, expect having to wait for some minutes outside his room because he's trying to find a good spot to hide it.

Bro has pride to keep, give him some time.

Lmao. Feels bad whenever the plushie falls off his bed and pets it to make up for it(just like me fr).

[!] Plushie Ref

They're so cute.

580 notes · View notes

petew21-blog · 3 months ago

Text

Fitness coaching, part 2

(a different inbox request 😈) I'll refer to you as kid and combine the stories. Hope you don't mind

Warning: The kid is just a nickname. The person in this story is of age

A high school assembly where Kevij Hjenas talks about his success and motivation

Kevin (or is it Kevin really?):"Hey everyone, today I am here to talk to you about following your passing and lack of motivation. First I gotta tell you how I started. How I wasn't so different from all of you..."

Kid to himself:"Yeah, you got it easy. You had the looks, you had the muscles and no one was beating your ass when you went to high school"

Kevin continuing:"So whenever you feel like giving up, you gotta stand up to that thing and beat it. And the biggest fight there's gonna be is the one that will be in your head"

Kid;"Sure, I wanna be the one in your head. Try being me for a sec while everyone is beating your ass, looking you in the lockers and picking on you for not being good enough."

Kevin:"And if you ever have a problem, don't worry to walk up to adults and ask for help. Most of the adults are willing to help you win your fight"

Kid:"Jesus, Kevin. I admire you and yet you come to school and talk to us about this bullshit? Nobody cares. Of course they don't. They don't want to fill the paperwork, talk to the parents. It's easier not to care. Damn. I wish I could be Kevin Hjenas and him to be me so that he could see what it's like to be a kid in high school again"

BAM

Kid tries to open his eyes, but can't. He can feel... stretched? Around something. He can feel something hard inside of him. He can feel a butt? What is going on?

He tried to scream:"What happened? Where am I?"

Kevin stops his speech as the voice inside of his head now turned more louder, but it sounds different. "Kevin? Go back to being an obedient speedo, would you? I got a presentation to finish."

Kid:"Kevin? What? I am... I am a student. I was just watching Kevin. Why are you calling me Kevin? Where am I? Did you just call me a speedo?"

Suddenly a kid's in the audience gets up from his seat. "I can see again. I can talk! Somebody help me. Someone stole my body." He stares in disbelief at his previous Kevin Hjenas body, or atleast the one who looks like him. "You did that! Give me my body back!"

Teacher:"That's enough of this outburst young man, you'll come with me to the principal."

The other kids lost it and the whole auditorium started laughing. This kid is gonna get beat up today so much more than usually.

(Not) Kevin to Kid as his speedo:"Look kid. Let me finish this and I'll explain. Ok? Just stay silent and I'll fix this. Ok?"

Kevin finishes the presentation and goes to the nearby park

Kevin:"So tell me what did you do before you ended up as my speedo?"

Kid:"I couldn't believe the bullshit you were talking at the assembly. I had the worst time yesterday and I envied you. Your body, your fame. Everything. So I wished to be in Kevin Hjenas body and him to be in mine"

Kevin:"Oh... I see what went wrong"

Kid:"It didn't work, that's what went wrong"

Kevin:"Well technically you are in Kevin's body. Cause... I'm not really Kevin. I'm wearing his body as a speedo and that gives me the ability to look like him. I'm a different person. So the one screaming in your body at the auditorium was the real Kevin in your body"

Kid:"Ok, then change me back to his body then. If you have the power."

Kevin:"It's not that easy... we gotta contact this writer. He writes stories and if you ask he grants you the wish in a form of a story/transformation. He likes to play with his subjects after. But the waiting time is horrible. He works all the time and only writes a few stories a day. So that is the tricky part"

Kid:"So what if we ask him nicely? Maybe if we explain the situation to him, he might understand"

Kevin:"You really are naive, kid. But it's worth a shot. Let's go home. You gotta get used to being a speedo and there is not better time to let you learn like now"

Kevin's dick gets visibly hard

Kid:"Oh, this is strange. But... it feels nice. I can actually feel it"

Kevin:"Just a few benefits of being a piece of clothing. Just wait till you feel me stroke myself or have an orgasm. Oh jesus. How old are you kid?"

Kid:"Don't worry. I'm old enough to feel you cum onto my... fabric?"

Two months later

Author:"Oh hey Kevin. Sorry for the waiting time. You wouldn't believe what kind of wishes all the people have. There was thos guy who wanted to be merged as Hulk and..."

Kevin:"Stop. This can't wait. I need a favour. And so does this kid." Kevin pulls down his shorts and points at his speedo

Author:"Is there something wrong with the real Kevin? You still look like him so what's the issue?"

Kevin:"The issue is, that this isn't Kevin anymore. Some kid from local High school wanted to swap bodies with him and he did. Kevin is now attending school again, while he is stuck embracing my dick as speedo"

Author:"Oh... well. I don't have good news for you boys. Because another spell intervened, I can't really do much about the appearance of Kevin's original body. But... there might be a solution. You may not like it"

Kid:"I don't care, I just want to feel what it's like to be a human again. Atleast for a while"

Kevin:"The kid is on board with whatever plan you got. Depends what it means for me."

Author:"It's quite simple, guys. You might have to learn how to share. You'll both have the ability to control your body, swapping with the speedo. Only one gets to control the human body, while the other rests as speedo"

Kevin:"I'm not giving this up. I worked hard to look like Kevin"

Kid:"You can't do this to me"

Kevin:"Can't you place his soul into something else, please?"

Author:"Wish I could, but both of these spell are now combined and can't be broken. If I take his soul away, you won't look like Kevin anymore. It's either this or full reversal. And let me tell you... Kevin is gonna be really pissed"

Kevin:"Would you be ok with that? Sharing a body like Jekyll and Hyde?"

Kid:"Who's that suppose to be?"

Kevin:"Jesus you kids these days. So... like Moon Knight?"

Kid:"Oh cool. If it means I get to be human and also Kevin, I'm in."

Kevin:"Ok, let's do this..."

Two weeks later, pier beach

Kevin:"You should stop with all these carbs. We'll get fat"

Kid:"Oh shut up. I'm enjoying myself."

Fan:"Hey, Kevin. Could I take a photo with you?"

Kid:"Oh yeah. Right on"

Fan:"Thank you. Could... could I touch your biceps, sir?"

Kid:"Oh of course. Go on. I can't get enough of these things too. They are massive right?"

Fan:"Haha. Yeah. Thank you"

Kevin:"You need to tone it down a bit. People are gonna get suspicious."

Kid:"Oh relax. You'll get your turn soon. I'm just enjoying my part of the day. I still think it's unfair that you get the night. I wanna party and fuck other people too. And not just as a speedo"

Kevin:"You'll have a chance soon. Don't worry"

Who knows if the boys will learn to share

A request from Inbox story set as a second part. Guys, you two might have to learn how to share 😁

Hello today is worst day of school someone just randomly pick on me and the worst is no one at the school cared for me, tomorrow kevin hejnas is coming to our school i just wish i could be him so i could feel what life would be as a famous man.

#body switch #body swap #celebrity body swap #male body swap #gay to straight #clothes body swap #clothes tf #clothes transformation #body transformation #Kevin Hjenas

225 notes · View notes

javierpena-inatacvest · 9 months ago

Text

Promises

Summary: When you wake up to find your house quiet, your first reaction is panic. But after you find Javi and learn what he has planned for you this morning, your mood becomes a whole lot better.

Pairing: Dad!Javi x Wife!reader (Reader's nickname is Osita, no use of y/n)

Word Count: 4.1K (Y'all I wrote this in like a few hours I was feeling some typa way)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (don't do this pls but also they want another baby), vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving) creampie, cum play (ig??), praise kink, the biggest, fattest, nastiest breeding kink (... Don't look at me), ass slapping (but affectionately), mentions of body insecurity post pregnancy, Javi being the biggest menace of all time (this man has a MOUTH on him, lawd have mercy), Javi being the best husband and literally being so in love, it's honestly sickening, Chucho patiently waiting for his next grandchild 9 months from now LMAO

A/N: ... Hey... I'm gonna need all of you to not look at me for the next 7-10 business days after this one.... I'm not sure what's in the water over here, but uh... Yeah. I'll leave it at that. Thanks to @endlessthxxghts for letting me share my horny thots about our favorite dad, sorry for waking up on the feral side of the bed this morning 🥴

Part of the Forever and Always Series!

It was quiet.

Way too quiet.

You couldn’t remember a time in the past 5 years where you had woken up to the house being so silent.

No TV, no commotion, no little squeals and giggles from your girls waiting impatiently for you to get up and out of bed, and if you weren’t already confused enough, you rolled over to be greeted by the empty space where your husband should have been, the usual warmth left radiating after he had gotten out of bed before you long gone.

But the real kicker was that when you turned back over again to peek at the flashing numbers of your alarm clock, your eyes went wide at a number that you hadn’t seen since well before kids.

10:39 A.M.

“Jesus Christ…” You whispered to yourself, frantically rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and tossing the comforter off of your body before scrambling out of bed in distress, as your brain pieced together the worst sort of panicked puzzle as to why it was so late, so quiet, and Javi was nowhere to be found.

You pushed open the bedroom door, peeking into the hallway, just as ghostly and empty as you had suspected, each of your daughter’s bedroom doors wide open with neither of them in sight. Rushing back down the hall towards your stairs before stopping in front of Javi’s office, you paused your search at the sound of familiar, muffled humming coming from behind the door.

Pushing it open, you were shocked to see the image of your husband sitting at his desk, leaning back in his seat with a book in his hand and feet propped up against the wooden surface, quietly humming to himself as he turned a page, seeming completely unbothered by his solitude. As the door creaked open further, it caught Javi’s attention, peeking up from over his book with a smile on his face as he dogeared his current page, pushing himself out of his chair to walk towards you.

“Wow, look who’s up! I was gonna give you ‘til 11:00 before I really started to get worried. How’d you sleep, Hermosa?” He cooed, wrapping his arms around you to pull you in for a hug, pressing a soft kiss into the sleepy tangles of your hair, gently cupping your face and forcing your worried gaze up towards him.

“Javi, what’s- what’s going on? Where are the girls? Is everything ok-” Before you could finish the rest of your thought, Javi’s lips were pressed against yours, the familiar bitterness of black coffee and minty gum still lingering in his mouth as he caught the rest of your sentence with his kiss, the hand cupping your cheek now letting his thumb swipe gently across your soft skin.

“Relájete, mi amor (relax, my love)” Javi laughed, pressing another kiss onto your forehead, smiling down at you, “I know how tired you’ve been the past couple of weeks, and rightfully so. You take such good care of our girls- you are the most incredible mom to them, but it’s only fair that you deserve a break every once and a while, too. So,” he smirked, tightening his grip around your waist, letting his hand creep slowly towards your ass, “I asked my dad last night if I could drop Lucy and Elliot off with him this morning so we could have a day just the two of us. He’s more than happy to keep ‘em for as long as we want, so I figured I'd take him up on the offer and I can get some time alone with my beautiful wife to help her relax and show her how much I appreciate her.”

You could the anxiety and worry instantly wash away from your body, the fear that had been consuming you since you had woken up now replaced by excited butterflies swirling in your stomach, heat creeping through your cheeks as you smiled back up at him, tears welling in your eyes in appreciation for how goddamn lucky you were to have someone who cared about you as much as Javi did.

“Thank you.” You whispered, biting at the inside of your lip to try and keep yourself from crying, Javi immediately tilting your chin up towards him in response, softly swiping away the wetness pooling in your eyes.

“Hermosa…” He cooed, looking you up and down with an empathetic smirk, brushing a stray piece of hair from your bed head out of your face, tucking it behind your ear, “It’s the least I could do. Now, why don’t you go get back into bed. I picked up a breakfast sandwich and coffee for you from Leo’s on the way back from Pop’s place, figured you might be hungry, considering you slept until almost lunch time. And after you finish eating,” He rasped, leaning his head down to nip at your neck, the hot words of his breath dancing against your skin, the shift in his tone instantly sparking a fire in your core, “I think I might be feeling hungry, too.”

“You are a menace, I hope you know that.” You sighed, trying with every ounce in you to keep your composure, the tickle from Javi’s mustache at least providing some relief from the tension as you burst out into giggles, Javi playing along by digging his fingers into your hips, running his hands along your sides until you had exploded into a fit of laughter, flailing and squirming in his broad grasp. “Stop it, you meanie! You can’t just promise me food and sex and then hold me hostage like this!”

Finally releasing you, Javi grabbed your face to pull you in for another kiss, this one slow and tender, an electric energy pulsing between the two of you as your lips brushed against one another, only pulling away after Javi’s hand planted a loving smack on your ass, making you squeal in surprise.

“Go get your ass back in bed, Osita. I’ll be back in a second with breakfast.”

“Okay.” You giggled, turning back on your heels out the door, but not before turning back around to peek your head through the doorway with a sneaky grin on your face. “And you’ll also be back with sex?”

“Baby, you have no fucking idea.”

As you jumped back into bed, tucking yourself back into your sheets, it wasn’t long before Javi was back in your room with the first part of his promised bargain- Your favorite breakfast sandwich and an extra large coffee, grinning in delight as he passed both over to you before settling next to you, wrapping your arm around your shoulder as you demolished the better part of your food.

“Oh my god, I haven’t had one of these in so long. God, I love you so much.” You sighed, taking another bite of your breakfast as Javi laughed at the ferocity at which your sandwich had disappeared. “I bet the image of this is really doing a lot turn you on for the second half of your promise. If I would have known, I would have at least put on cuter pajamas.” You snickered, gesturing down to your nearly finished food and Javi’s worn, oversized shirt and boxers you still had draped over your body.

“Shut up. You know I think you look sexy in anything. I love seeing you in my clothes. Drives me fucking crazy. I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.” Javi smirked, rubbing his hand along your thigh, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your skin.

“You just like it when I don’t wear a bra.” You snorted, rolling your eyes at Javi as you crumpled up the wrapper of your finished sandwich, setting it on your nightstand before rolling over to rest your head on Javi’s chest, draping one of your arms across his stomach. “You’re sweet, Jav. Sexy in anything seems like a bit of a stretch, there’s about half my closest I refuse to make eye contact with after having Elliot.”

You let out a quiet sigh, trying to hide the frown pursed between your lips, thinking about how much your body had changed since the first time you had ever worn Javi’s clothes all those years ago. Two kids and lots of time later, you couldn’t help feel a little self conscious about how different you looked from when the two of you had first met. And even though Javi said it to you all the time, it was much easier said than done to always believe it yourself.

“Hey…” Javi replied softly, looking down at you with a frown on his own face, “Osita, you know I’m being serious, right?”

“Well, you’re my husband, you kind of have to be.” You huffed, half forcing your laughter as you immediately began to feel yourself become more and more conscious of your weight laying on top of him, almost trying to shift yourself away before Javi’s hand was wrapped around your back, pulling you over to lay completely on top of him and forcing you to look at his serious expression.

“Out of all the women in the world, you are the only one I ever want. You are just as beautiful, if not even more beautiful than the day I first met you, you know why? Because your beautiful body that I love every fucking inch of has grown and carried our daughters. You’ve made me a dad, you’ve given us a family, you are the most incredible wife and mom I could ever imagine. Baby, if that’s not the fucking sexiest thing, then I don’t know what to tell you.” You could feel the warmth blooming in your chest as Javi looked up at you with his sweet brown eyes, his hands roaming down the sides of your body until his fingers were digging into your hips and ass, kneading the soft flesh in his grasp. “Promise me.”

“Promise you what?” You whispered, an ache beginning to grow between your legs as you could feel Javi’s bulge hardening beneath you, his hands roaming relentlessly around your body, making it hard for you to even think straight.

“Promise me,” He paused, nipping at your neck, the bridge of his nose dragging along the side of your face until his mouth was ghosting over your ear, his words dancing against your skin, “Promise me that you believe me. That I think that you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. That I know you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. That I love your body so fucking much, that I wanna put another baby into it.”

His last sentence had your heart literally skipping a beat, a quiet moan escaping from your lips as Javi carefully rolled your body off of his, flipping you onto your back and caging you under his broadness, planting hot, wet kisses down your neck as his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, his hands creeping below the fabric to palm at your breasts, rolling your pebbled nipples between his fingers as he waited for your response. Unfortunately, the best you could muster was a soft gasp of his name.

“Fuck… Javi.”

“That what you want, Hermosa? For me to fuck another baby into you, huh?”

Javi knew it was exactly what you wanted, the two of you agreeing you were going to try for a third a few weeks ago, considering he was almost more ecstatic at the thought of growing your family than you were, and that the thought of knocking you up was something that made both of you absolutely insatiable.

With the wet patch in your underwear growing damper and damper by the second, you barely had enough power in your brain to respond, especially now that Javi had pulled your shirt over your head, letting his kisses travel down your collarbone, chest, and now to your breasts, taking the nipples that he had been toying with between his fingers into his mouth, his tongue flicking and sucking at the harden buds as your moans began to grow like the fire in your belly.

“Yes, oh fuck- yes. I want you to fuck another baby into me, Javi. Please.” You whimpered, your body squirming under his touch as he let his kisses drift down your stomach and hips, his fingers hooking over your shorts to pull them down off your legs, gently nudging them to fall open for him as he nestled himself between, admiring the wet, aching mess you had already become.

“Then you have to promise me,” He smirked, draping each of your legs over his shoulders as he brought his face to your soaking heat, gently kissing your clit and letting the strong bridge of his nose ghost over your folds, “You have to promise me that you believe me. That you believe that you’re the most fucking beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Then, I’ll fuck another baby into you, okay? Can you do that for me, Momma?”

“I- I- pr-promise.” Your voice trembled, ragged with want and desperation as Javi’s mouth hovered painstakingly still over your cunt, waiting for you to fulfill your promise so he could fill you with his.

“There’s my good girl.” He cooed, feeling his smug smile bury itself into your pussy, letting a long, broad stroke of his tongue drag through your folds, the satisfying sensation making you shutter, your hips instinctively bucking towards Javi’s face as his grip around your legs tightened to hold you in place. His tongue languidly dragged across your cunt, slowly circling around your clit, soaking up the juices of your arousal that had been pooling between your legs, drinking up every single last drop.

He let the presses of his tongue become firmer and more focused as he unhooked one of his arms, snaking his arm between your legs to gently press two fingers into your soaking entrance, easily sliding through your slick to curl against the soft spot inside you that had you relentlessly crying out his name.

You couldn’t help but feel your bottom half squirm against your sheets, reaching down to tug at the dark curls of Javi’s hair, trying to find any sort of relief to keep from being a loud, moaning and whimpering mess as his tongue worked along your cunt, lapping you up like a man starved. His mouth latched along your clit, sucking at your sensitive bundle of nerves as his fingers pumped inside you, making the tingle at the base of your spine already begin to build in a needy desperation.

“Javi, holy fuck- oh my god baby, don’t stop, please don’t stop.” You whimpered, somehow managing to keep your voice just above a whisper as Javi pulled away to respond, still holding a steady pace with his hand as he felt your pussy start to flutter around his fingers.

“I’ve got you, Hermosa. Want you to soak my face before I feel you cum again around my cock. Give it to me, baby. Cum all over me before I fucking fill you up.”

With that, he was back between your legs, relentlessly working along your heat with his mouth as the coil in your belly wound so tightly, you were on the brink of snapping.

“Javi, Javi, Javi, oh shit- Fuck, fuck, I’m gonnaahhhhhhhhh.”

It was barely seconds before your orgasm flooded through your body, pleasure spreading through every inch of you as you clenched around Javi’s fingers, soaking his hand and face with your arousal as you came, screaming out his name as you reached your high.

That’s it, Hermosa.” Javi smirked, squeezing his hand into the meat of your thigh as you rode out your orgasm, still slowly fucking you with his fingers as you came undone around them, your cunt clamping down on the delicious curve of his digits. Javi peeked his head back up as your breathing began to even out, your chest rising and falling in satisfaction as his kisses began to travel back up your body, stopping at your neck to take extra time to nip along your jawline, his teeth tugging at your earlobe as his voice rasped against your skin.

“Such a good girl for me, Osita. So fucking wet. Fuck, I need to feel you, baby.”

Before you even had time to catch your breath, Javi had his arms wrapped around your waist, flipping you over on to your stomach, dragging his hands down your back, stopping at your ass to grab a handful of the plump flesh and smack it, nudging your legs to spread open for him wider, pushing them out with his own.

Javi worked behind you quickly and methodically, shedding himself of all of his clothes to free his painfully hard cock from his boxers, leaking with precum from the minute he had thought of the prospect of putting another baby in you.

He stroked himself a few times, using his other hand to swipe through your folds, coating his fingers in your slick before wrapping them around his cock, now shiny with your arousal as he lined up with your entrance, filling you up inch by inch, almost painfully slowly, until he had bottomed out inside you, his hips flushed against your ass, letting you adjust to the sweet sting of his stretch.

“Javi… Move, baby, please. I need to feel yo- Oh fuck!” You whimpered, your words drowned out by your moans as Javi had pulled himself out, only to thrust his whole length back into, gritting his teeth while a groan rumbled deep in his chest, draping his body over yours, burying one of his hands in your hair, gently tugging at the ends as he whispered into your ear, keeping his slow and meticulous pace.

“You wanna feel me too, sweet girl? Wanna feel me fill you up when I fuck every last drop into you? Fuck myself so deep inside you it’ll fucking take? That what you want, baby?”

“Yes, fuck, fuck, yes, please. Fuck, I want you fuck a baby into me, Javi. I wanna make you a Daddy again.”

Another deep moan feel from Javi’s lips, scooping his hand under you to sit in his lap, your back flushed against his chest, one hand palming at your breast, the other wrapped around your waist, holding you in place as his pace began to increase, just enough to hear the wetness between the two of you with each thrust of his hips.

You couldn’t help but let your bottom half grind deeper into each stroke, pushing yourself further and further down onto his cock, the sweet stretch of his fullness making your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head, the wanton moans and whimpers babbling from your mouth almost as lewd as the sounds your bodies made as they melded into one another as you let him take everything you had to give.

“Fuck me- That’s what you want, Momma? Fuck, I can’t wait to get you pregnant. See how beautiful you look carrying our baby again. Let everyone know you’re fucking mine with our baby growning inside you.” Letting his hand shift from your breast, he began sliding it up your chest, wrapping it around your jaw to tilt your head over your shoulder towards him, staring into his deep brown eyes before engulfing your lips in a long, wet kiss, your mouths becoming a tangled mess of tongue and teeth without ever relenting his pace.

His other hand dipped between your legs to circle your clit, still sensitive and swollen from your first orgasm, now throbbing even harder from his touch and feeling the heat beginning to bloom in your belly as you felt your second high begin to approach.

Javi knew just as well as you did that you were close to cumming again, feeling your pussy begin to flutter around his cock as his hips slapped against yours, breaking from your kiss to tug your earlobe between his teeth.

“Give me one more, Osita. Cum all over my cock and I’ll fill you up. Fill up this pretty little pussy ‘til she’s fucking stuffed and it’s got no choice but to fucking take and I knock you up.”

“You promise?” You whispered, your breath shaky and legs trembling as Javi rubbed tighter, faster circles around your clit, still cradling your jaw to force your gaze on him.

“I promise, baby. I fucking promise.”

Almost instantly, you could feel the coil that had been winding tighter and tighter in your core suddenly began to snap, screaming out Javi’s name as you felt your second orgasm crash through you, consuming every inch of your body in euphoria, feeling like you had turned to Jello, the only thing keeping you up being Javi’s firm grasp around you.

“That’s it, sweet girl. That’s it. Fuck, I’m close too, baby.” He mewled, his pace becoming frantic and sloppy as he held you up, fucking you through your high with reckless abandon, wanting to, no needing, to make sure he made good on his promise- that in 9 months from now, you’d have one more member in your family.

Even though you were barely hanging on by a thread, you could feel Javi’s grip tightening around your jaw, tilting it back towards him, the firm pressure cupping your face enough to force your eyes open to meet the wrecked and ragged expression plastered across his face.

“Eyes on me, Hermosa. Fuck, I need to- mierda- need to see that pretty face when I fuck you full of me. God, I love you so much, I love you so-ahhhhhhh, fuck.” It was then Javi’s turn to follow suit, only needing a few more pumps before he thrusted up once more, keeping himself buried deep inside your cunt as hot ropes of his spend covered your walls, making sure to milk himself of every last drop before even thinking of pulling out.

Holding you in place still sitting on his cock, you could feel the mixture of the two of you beginning to drip down your thighs, prompting Javi to gently ease you off of him, letting your back hit the bed as carefully lifted your hips to slip one of the pillows underneath your bottom half, briefly admiring the wet mess between your legs before taking two fingers and collecting the arousal that had leaked from your cunt, attentively dragging it up your thighs and pushing it back into your heat, making you gasp at the sensation.

“Gonna keep you full of me all day, sweet girl. Gotta make good on my promise.” He smirked, leaning down to pepper soft kisses to the inside of your thighs before slowly making his way back up your body, stopping at your lips for another tender kiss.

“Given what just happened, I think you’re trying to kill me before you can make good on that promise, Jav. Jesus Christ.” You sighed, your voice riddled with breathy giggles as you playfully nudged your husband, now lying next to you, pulling you in to rest against the warmth of his bare chest. “You think Peña number 3 is gonna make an appearance soon?”

“Like I said, mi amor, promise is a promise.” He smirked, boyish grin plastered across his face as he laid your hand across your stomach, gently rubbing it back and forth across your skin. “Plus, I think the girls will be thrilled to have another sister.”

“Sister, huh? We don’t even know if there’s a baby in there yet you dork, let alone what it’s gonna be.” You snickered, rolling your eyes at Javi.

“Been right about the other two. I’ll bet you all the breakfast sandwiches you want that it is.”

“You’re absolutely ridiculous, I hope you know that. Thank you for this morning, Jav. The girls and I are so lucky to have you. I love you so much.” You sighed contently, smiling into Javi’s soft skin.

“I love you too, Hermosa. All of you are the best things that have ever happened to me. All of my girls.” He winked, gently squeezing the curves of your belly, gesturing towards the daughter he proudly assumed he would be meeting in 9 months.

“Well, all of us, or your new son and my unlimited amount of breakfast sandwiches.” you snickered, “When did your dad need us to go pick up the girls? We probably owe him a few breakfast sandwiches for watching the gremlins on such short notice.”

“He said any time later today. Which means…” He smiled, caging his body over yours once again, as much time as we need to make sure that I win our bet.”

“Game on, Peña.”

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 @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @pedr0swh0r3

444 notes · View notes