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cuteandhughesy · 24 days ago

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Love Looks Pretty On You | Jonathan Kovacevic

summary: dating one of the members of the new jersey devils roster was frowned upon, and breaching that rule could result in the loss of your job—however, when johnathan kovacevic comes into the picture, the rules seem to fade away

[word count] 15.5k

a/n: based off this lovely request! this is a player i’ve never written before, and before this request I wasn’t too familiar with (just his name and the team he plays for) so i’m so happy to have learned and now share! but i’m actually really happy with this, so I hope you love.

🎵 love looks pretty on you by nessa barrett

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part1: job of your dreams

you toy with the long stick of liquid eyeliner, biting the most sensitive part of your inner lip as you contemplate your next move. your eyes dart back to your own reflection, examining your usual makeup look that you'd just finished. is winged liner too much?

today is the first day of your new—dream—job. a job which before jessica campbell paved the way to woman leading jobs in the nhl, you never imagined you'd achieve...but here you are—in your bathroom, minus 1 hour until you needed to show your face at prudential center and contemplating if you wanted to add a small black wing on your eyelid.

you want to come off sophisticated and put together, and you can't decide if liner is the perfect way to showcase that...or the complete opposite. you look down to the drugstore branded stick, and with a rough sigh, you slot it back in your drawer—nestled between other coloured pencils you're always hesitant in using and a stack of blotting sheets you always forget to grab before heading out.

you leave your warm bathroom without another glance at the mess of makeup left on your bathroom counter, hastily making your way through the hallway and towards the kitchen—you still need to get your coffee ready. the sound of your feet padding along the hardwood has you cat, hazelnut, chirping sweetly, jumping off the back of the couch in favour of weaving through your legs.

you almost trip, and you curse gently. "hazy, baby, please—i'm nervous enough already? the last thing I need is to fall and break my nose beforehand."

she blinks her wide green eyes at you, and obviously that's as much as an answer you're going to get out of your sweet kitty. you sigh, carefully walking around her and to the previously brewed coffee pot. to keep with the professional vibe you're hoping to give off, you opt for a sleek black travel tumbler, filling it dangerously high with decaf—although the chances of you leaving it in your cup holder is so high, you could've chose a rangers branded tumbler and it wouldn't of really mattered.

you fasten the lid, turning and meeting the eyes of hazelnut—who's now sitting comfortably on your kitchen island, her striped tail wagging happily. you give your cat a nervous, closed lip smile. "wish me luck!"

and in some twisted way like your cat can understand you, she meows once, a slow blink of her eyes following. it has the nerves bubbling in your stomach settling down ever so slightly, and you finally feel like you can drag yourself out the house.

just before you open the door, you double back and speed walk back into your mess of a bathroom, pulling the top drawer back open and grabbing not only your blotting sheets, but the eyeliner as well—throwing them both into your purse.

the drive to the arena was filled with your own personal ferris wheel of nervous anticipation and self deprecation—accompanied by your cheesy pop playlist full of tate mcrae, the wicked broadway soundtrack, and everything in between. you're so focused on not only the road ahead, but with the thoughts of how you'll make the best impression on the men that you'll be helping coach.

the professional hockey players that you'll be coaching. it's so surreal, and just as exciting—so much so that you're not even positive it's completely sunk in, despite the butterflies in your stomach reminding you every single minute.

by the time you pull into the parking lot, you're only just realizing you left too early—the practically empty parking lot and time on your dashboard undeniable evidence as such. you turn off your engine, unbuckling your seatbelt with a deep breath. you fall back into your seat, attempting to get a grip on your sweaty limbs and racing heart.

"fuck it." you chime, digging through your purse while simultaneously flipping your visior down—the mirror lights shining in your face. you grab the eyeliner, and with another sigh, you begin lining your lashes, creating the smallest wing. you pull back, and surprisingly enough it looks really good—good choice, you think to yourself.

"okay," you smile, "now just the other side." talking to yourself has always been your favourite pass time, as clinically insane as that may seem. there's no friend—or critique—like yourself, and sometimes you needed you to tell yourself things—like the choice to bring your eyeliner for example...smart.

you drop the felt tip to the middle of your lid, and slowly begin dragging it outwards. you're pretty sure your tongue is poking out as a concentration method, and you can only hope none of your new team members are around to see the way your face is contorted.

a soccer ball smacks against your window, making you jump. the tip of your eyeliner follows the line of your face, a thick black line going all the way back to your hairline. "shit!"

shocked, and still flustered from the sudden scare you whip around to look through the driver's window in an attempt to see what the fuck just occurred. a battered soccer ball rolls away from your tires, back in the direction it came from. your eyes follow the pattern, slowly trailing the line until you're landing upon...oh it's a man.

a man who is jogging towards your car with a sheepish expression on his face. you open your door and quickly get out of the car just as the man stops in front of you—his guilty expression not yet letting up.

he's actually quite handsome, you think. beautiful tawny skin with a hint of dark stubble lining his sharp jaw and chin. he's also tall, like intimidatingly so—it has you feeling tiny in comparison.

"i'm so sorry," he starts, voice gravelly in a way that has your stomach swooping. "soccer has never been my sport of choice...for obvious reasons." the man gestures between the now still soccer ball and your open car door, a small, but hesitant grin taking over his face.

if you were angry before, you're not anymore—any remarks dying on your tongue at the sight of the attractive man in front of you. you clear your throat twice, blinking to regain focus—this is the last thing you needed to be thinking about on a day as big as this one. you're not sure exactly what to say, but you know the words that leave your mouth next aren't the right ones. "yeah, soccer sucks."

his eyes twinkle with amusement, his grin growing slightly. behind you, a small brunette with killer curves and a phone in her hands calls for him. "johnny, can you at least throw the ball back! i'm missing prime content—wait, luke come back!" the girl in question attempts getting luke hughes, an nhl player you're well familiar with, to participate in whatever video she's filming—clearly one that involves the soccer ball between you and johnny.

he picks up the ball before tossing it back in her direction, which another player who looks like dougie hamilton catches. johnny turns back to you, eyes following the black line on your face. "you've got makeup..." he trails off, gesturing to the area on his own face.

you gasp slightly, memories of only moments ago when you'd totally not only messed up your eyeliner, but your face makeup. "fuck," you curse hurriedly, darting back into your car and pulling the mirror as close to yourself as it can go. you're in an awkward position, half in your car while your ass juts out.

johnny clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he attempt to draw his eyes away from your backside—your ass and thighs that are perfectly hugged by the heather gray slacks you're wearing.

you lick your thumb, swiping the liner—but it only makes more of a mess. "double fuck." you pull yourself out of your car, turning back to the 6"5 god behind you. he's blushing now, eyes not quite meeting yours as he attempts to calm himself down—johnathan doesn't think he's ever been this turned on from dress pants in his life.

"do you have a napkin? or maybe some tissue?" you ask him, seemingly unaware of the tension in his shoulders and flickering gaze.

slowly, he shakes his head. "no, I don't, i'm sorry." his face falls as yours does. he hates the way your clear disappointment makes him feel...fuzzy. johnathan steps closer, his mouth opening as he tries to finds his wording. "but, I can help...If you want. ill just use the sleeve of my sweater, I can wet it and clean you up..." his eyes twinkle, an awkward chuckle leaving him. "you can even lick the sweater if you prefer."

you look up at him with what you can only describe as a combination of amusement and disbelief. johnny has already pulled his black sweatshirt over his fist, closing the distance between you with one large step. "you can lick it, I don't mind."

he's kind of relived that you don't want to lube up his sweater with your spit, because then johnathan would be really turned on. he nods, wetting the edge of his sweater before bringing it up to the side of your face, gently wiping away the mess of eyeliner smudged along there.

despite how odd this whole interaction is, you can't help but feel rather enamoured with the mystery man—a man who obviously plays for the new jersey devils, or at least works for them. but based on his stature and the size of his quads peeking out from his athletic shorts—you're thinking it's the former.

his eyes are filled with nothing but concentration as he wipes away the makeup off your skin, his sweater soft against the side of your face as he works. you watch as his tongue pokes out the corner of his lips as he focuses, and that has a smile blossoming on your face.

"okay," he begins quietly, using the other side of his sleeve to dry your skin. "you might want to double check that, but I got it all off—well, my sweater did." johnathan laughs that awkward rumble again, and you can't help the way it makes your heart leap.

so much for being professional.

"thanks." you hum, smile growing. "i'm y/n."

he breathes in something that feels like relief, shoulders dropping slightly as the tension he'd been feeling earlier begins dispersing. "johnathan."

your brows pull in confusion, but your grin stays. "that girl called you johnny, is that what you prefer I call you?"

"you can call me anything you want." the words slip from his tongue before he can think them through, and johnathan hates the way his cheeks flush at his own words—but he loves the way your cheeks do.

"okay," you hum, turning to grab your purse from the passenger seat of the car. you take a glance in your visior mirror, and surprisingly he did a really good job at fixing your makeup—the wing is a little wonky but all the men you'll soon be surrounded with won't notice...you hope. you stand up straight, shutting the car door with an echoing thump.

the parking lot has begun filling up, various hockey players and team members making their way inside—most participating in the game the admin girl had set up by the entrance.

"i'll call you johnny then." you hum lowly, adjusting your purse on your shoulder as you begin making your way towards the entrance doors—heels clicking the pavement as you do. considering you're actively meeting and speaking to one of the guys you'll be coaching, slapping on the faux confident personality came as second nature.

it's not that you weren't confident in your job ability to coach these professional athletes—you were more than prepared and qualified for such. but, you've never been super confident in your personal life, especially when it has to do with attractive men who you really shouldn't be forming an attraction for.

regardless, you glance over you shoulder—eyeing his frozen stature and slightly agape mouth accompanied with an amused, flushed expression. "you coming, johnny?"

your question seems to snap him out of whatever daze he'd been trapped in, blinking three times quick as he begins moving, catching up to you with two strides—honestly, screw tall men with their long limbs! or maybe you just want to actually screw them...you can't decipher that right now.

much to johnathan's dismay, as soon as you enter the building, you are swept away by a member of staff, leaving him to stand awkwardly by himself for a fleeting moment until he realizes what the fuck he's doing. before the devils on ice practice today, they'd all been called in early for what keefe and fitzgerald described as an 'introductory meeting'—whatever that means.

it's not long until he's walking through the threshold of the large room, finding most of his teammates and various members of staff already in there. some sitting and chatting, while others haven't yet taken a seat, but instead stand beside the long rectangle tables as they discuss whatever they might be discussing.

johnathan takes his seat beside brett pesce and curtis lazar, greeting his teammates with a closed lipped smile and quick nod, stretching his long legs out underneath the table. they make small talk as the rest of the team filters into the room, following suit and finding various spots throughout the room to take their seats.

it's not 10 minutes later that the head coach and general manager of the team join them—smiling politely as they come to a stop at the front of the meeting room. fitzgerald clears his throat, and although the room has begun quieting down at the authority figures presence, it completely silenced as he begins to speak. "thank you all for coming so early, we appreciate your time for such a special meeting."

special? johnathan thinks, frown tugging at his lips. what's so special about this meeting?

the GM continues, an easy expression on his sunkissed face. "as you know, we've been looking for a new fit for our open assistant coaching position behind the bench. sheldon and I wanted to make sure that this person was not only qualified, but was fun, exciting and above all knowledgeable...." he trails off, smile growing. "with that being said, id like to introduce you to our newest member of staff: assistant coach, y/n y/l/n."

it's then that johnathan notices you—you and your ridiculously faltering pants and sexy eyeliner. he swallows nervously, eyes darting around the room like he's done something wrong. he hasn't, so he's not sure by it feels that way. he should've known that you and your new, pretty face had something to do with the introduction meeting sprung on the team.

beside him, brett snickers. "how are we supposed to focus with that talking to us?" his words are hushed and slow, brett's eyes never once leaving your figure as you begin introducing yourself to the room.

that comment makes johnathan feel the upmost angry, and suddenly he feels very inclined to punch his defensive teammate in the jaw. but, he thankfully doesn't. what he does do though is narrow his gaze, shrugging his shoulders roughly. "learn."

johnathan doesn't wait for brett's reply before turning his attention towards you, catching the tail end of your introduction. he kind of feels like a sleaze anytime his eyes wander over your body, studying the curve of your hips and the round, full display of your breasts under your high necked cotton top. it also doesn't help that he knows what your ass looks like bent over, or how he knows that you smell like peaches doused in brown sugar—that he knows how your skin feels underneath his spit covered hoodie.

a low groan rumbles in johnathan’s chest—thankfully it’s not loud enough to draw the attention of any close teammates, because he really doesn’t want to explain that. subtly, he adjusts in his seat, palming his semi-hard bulge as if he's trying to tell his dick to cut it out. you're acting like such a douche, he thinks.

you stand on the other side of sheldon keefe, half listening as he goes over some minor details before the start of ice practice. you can't help the way your eyes wonder, analyzing the new faces of various players you'll soon be coaching. jack hughes, who looks tired and like he'd rather be anywhere else this morning. then there's curtis lazar, who is the complete opposite of the middle hughes brother—eyes wide and alert as he nods along to his head coach.

then like a magnetic pull, your eyes find johnathan's—or rather, johnny. he's not looking at sheldon like his table partners, but instead his gaze lingers on you. immediately you feel warm, interlocking eyes and not wanting to look away. the faintest smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, so faint that you're not sure if it's happening or if you're imagining it.

he's stupid hot. like so hot your entire body is on fire. it's dangerous and wrong—it's tempting. not only is he easy on the eyes, but he seems sweet and slightly awkward. which is the perfect combination to have you falling. subtly, you raise an eyebrow at him in silent question.

johnathan blinks, looking away from you. just before you can feel embarrassed about the situation or feel like you read him wrong, a more prominent smile pulls at his lips, eyes flickering back to yours in a fleeting moment.

you're in trouble.

for the entire time you're on the ice, even when you're going through drills and giving words of encouragement as well as discipline, you can't help but find johnathan through the sea of various faces staring at you.

it's truly like a magnetic force, and your body feels drawn to his—even though you've barley talked to the guy. you know interpersonal relationships with the athletes is frowned upon, especially when you're in a coaching position. the hiring staff made sure you were well aware of that before you were hired.

to which you told them it wouldn't be a problem—but now here you are, watching the sweat trickle down johnathan kovacevic's neck as he catches his breath with some other players next to you. and you're almost annoyed at yourself, because you really like this job, and the guys are all so welcoming and kind—well, to your face at least, and that's honestly all you can ask for.

you don't want to risk your dream job for some silly little heat of the moment crush—you can't. but as you get home a few hours and a tour of the arena later, snuggled on the couch with hazelnut beside you and a slice of cold leftover pizza in your hand—you're googling him. you dive into articles and video interviews that when he speaks in them, your belly twirls around in excitement.

but you know you're fucked when you start scrolling through his google pictures, mentally taking note of which ones are your favourites. your cat keeps giving you looks, like she knows you're doing something you shouldn't be.

but you just can't help it—stupid magnetic pull.

the next day comes with a little less stress, and a lot more excitement. you go through your morning routine with steady hands, and a content smile. todays schedule looks a little different than yesterdays, as today you'll actually be put to the test—coaching alongside keefe, colliton, and mcgill during a game.

you head to your local gym before lunch to get in a workout—hopefully burning all lingering nervous thoughts and energy out of your system. after a few hours out of the house, you make your way back home, feeding hazelnut some blueberry salmon treats before hopping into the shower.

as you dress yourself for the game, you don't contemplate anything—you know the exact outfit and makeup style you want and unlike yesterday you're leaving the black eyeliner behind. you're taking the mess up yesterday as a sign, and that you're better off looking professional without the black wing lining your eye. but then again, it's the reason you met johnathan—which, yeah you can't stop thinking about him.

but you can't start thinking about how you can't stop thinking about him or you'll spiral into a panic—which isn't ideal—so you're avoiding that itch in your brain for now. you make sure hazelnut has an appropriate portion of biscuits and water before heading out, driving to the arena.

it goes by in a bit of a blur, with various interviews and introductions that you needed to complete as the new assistant coach of the new jersey devils—which is still so surreal, and the cameras, athletes and smell of the ice rink is even more. soon enough the lights are dimming, and the beginning chords of the national anthem begin.

you try your best to stay straight faced and forward, but keeping your eyes from wandering is something you have no control over. the stands are packed, which is an electric feeling—but even with the buzz of the crowd and the various athletes in front of you, there's only one face you're seeking out.

your gaze lands on him, trailing over the number 8 on the side of his jersey and the tail end of his last name on the back. johnathan looks really good in red, you think—it complements his tan skin and dark hair almost perfectly. speaking of his hair, the curly locks are in a disarray, wet from the water he'd poured on his head during warmups, and frizzy from the towel he ran over his head afterwards.

he takes a deep breath, his cheeks puffing out as he exhales. johnathan shakes his limbs out before resting his chin on the end of his hockey stick. like he can feel your stare, his eyes flicker towards you, and your heart almost stops as your eyes lock.

he squints almost playfully, the smallest grin on his face as the anthem comes to a close. you blush, the overhead lights flickering back to life as the first period begins. johnathan fully turns in your direction, but his eyes find one of the trainers—calling for a fresh set of gloves.

the sleeves of his jersey are rolled up just enough for you to ogle his arms—veins under damp skin that look so tempting…you want to run your tongue along them. your breath hitches just as he catches the new gloves, eyes landing on you once more.

johnathan was well aware of your wandering eyes, not matter how subtle they were. it has him feeling giddy in the best way, and just before he takes his seat, he winks at you—so fast and soft that he's not even sure you've seen it.

but you did, and you force yourself to look away before you get caught. fuck the risk, you need him.

part2: wandering eyes and fluttering hearts

it's seems that the universe has plans for you and johnathan kovacevic—you can't tell if they’re positive or negative yet...but you know it's got something up its sleeve.

not only do you have to fight your urges to pounce on johnathan during work hours—like meetings, practices and games—but it also seems like you're running into him everywhere, and your desires for him are growing stronger every time you spot him out and about. whether he's letting his hand brush against your lower back as a playful greeting in the frozen isle of the grocery store, or seeing you in the lineup of a cafe and tapping his card before you have the chance to pay for yourself—none of it is helping.

johnathan is ridiculously kind, and an even better listener—you've learned such in the now two months you've been with the devils. where as some of the players aren't always friendly, and snap in frustration at you (even if they're not mad at you specifically), johnny was different. it's safe to say you've developed an embarrassing crush on a man who is technically below you on the professional scale. you know it's wrong, and you know you're his superior, but you can't help the way you feel—despite the ethics of it all.

and johnathan doesn't care either—he's been nonstop thinking about you since your wild, makeup smudged eyes met his through your cars window. everything about you is tempting and exhilarating, and he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to keep his hands to himself. the way you seem to look at him with a certain twinkle in your eye, and blush anytime he comes in close to ask you a question, isn't doing him any favours—it seems like most days end now with his large hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, stroking himself to relive the tension you bring him.

the best tension imaginable.

he's not sure what the rules are when it comes to interpersonal relationships within the nhl, but johnathan doesn't care because he'd be willing to never even look at a hockey puck again if it meant he got to kiss your lips even once—he's down bad.

just before your third month of employment with the devils, johnathan cracks. it's late at night, too late for him to still be awake when an early morning practice awaits him—but he can't find himself to sleep yet, not with thoughts of you running through his head.

the bottom of his phone rests against his bare chest as he thumbs through his list of contacts like he's on autopilot. johnathan pauses as he reaches your name, thumb halting on the gray contact icon. just the thought of your pretty lips framing your smile has his dick twitching in his pyjamas pants. johnathan sighs.

all the players had the coaching staffs numbers, so it's not like it was only johnathan who obtained your contact —so reaching out would be that crazy, right? he groans to himself, running his free hand through his tousled dark hair. johnathan only contemplates for a moment longer before opening a text thread. "fuck it."

he readjusts the cellphone in his hands, typing out a message. 'are you awake?'

johnathan clicks his tongue, deleting it before he can hit send. he shouldn't be giving into his temptation like this, especially as an athlete who practices control. it's too late, and probably too risky. he drops his phone to his chest, letting his eyes flicker shut—trying to calm his instincts.

his phone buzzes.

'hey' it's your number staring back at him—and he knows that because he's been memorizing the seven digits for the 25 minutes he's been contemplating texting you. but here you are, lighting up his lock screen with your simple greeting.

across the city, you lay in your own bed—too hot and too awake to focus on anything other than your phone. you gnaw your lip as you await for a reply—if johnathan is even awake to see it. you know there's a morning practice, and the chances of him even noticing your message tonight is slim. just as you plan on turning off your phone, it vibrates with an incoming message.

'is this a you up text?' you can practically hear his rumbly voice through his text, a smirk pulling at his tempting mouth.

you breathe a laugh—one that is tinged with nerves. you were risking a lot by sending that that message, and you're well aware of how much shit you could get in—but what's so wrong about a hello? your skin has been on fire for weeks at the mere thought of johnathan, and you're finally willing to do something about it. no matter what.

you quickly send a reply. 'is that what you're hoping for?'

johnathan re-reads your message three times, and each time his blush deepens, travelling down his taunt chest. 'not telling' he sends back, and before you have a chance to reply, he types another message. 'I was about to text you.'

you gulp gently, a million questions plaguing your mind. 'oh yeah? about what?'

at this point, johnathan knows he's in too deep to start acting coy and secretive now—there's no point of pretending he doesn't want you, no scratch that, need you. 'about having dinner thursday night. my place.' it was the perfect opportunity to spend time with you—thursday night had no games and no weird evening practice or meetings. it was free. for both of you.

you and johnathan both know having dinner somewhere out in jersey was too risky, because anybody could see you and put two and two together. the chances of getting caught by fans or teammates is too high. so him suggesting dinner at his place was making your belly spin—even though it was seemingly the bare minimum (but let's face it ladies, what man even gives the bare minimum anymore).

'if I say yes, can we order in ramen?' you tag a playful emoji on the end to showcase some playfulness. your eyes don't leave the bubbles that move along the bottom of your screen, a soft grin on your face as you wait.

'i'll order anything you want, y/n.'

it's two antagonizing days of anticipation, both you and johnathan doing your absolute best at acting as nonchalant as possible—pretending like you haven't been sending flirty texts and borderline risky snapchats to one another (an app that you both had to download because you're both acting like horny teenagers) for the last two days.

when thursday comes, you're practically buzzing with excitement. after a meeting in the late morning, you get home and take an extra hot and long shower—double washing your hair with an expensive shampoo, exfoliating and shaving every inch of your body.

you lounge around in your housecoat until you have to start getting ready—two hours before you're supposed to head to johnathan’s apartment. you opt for your usual makeup and natural hair, and you decide on your favourite jeans and black long sleeve—keeping it casual, but still cute.

hazelnut blinks at you from her spot on your closed toilet seat, a tiny purr leaving her stripped body. you pause the last flick of your mascara wand, eyeing your cat. "what? should I change?" she blinks again, and you smile like a crazy person. "you're right, I think it's perfect."

your cat chirps like she agrees, and it makes you laugh, coating your lashes in the final coat of your favourite mascara. "okay hazel baby," you start, eyeing your small collection of fragrances. "which perfume gives off i’m sophisticated but also I want to have sex vibes?"

her head cocks to the side, and you sigh. "sometimes I forgot you're not human," you reach out and give her a few affectionate pats. "johnny is going to be so surprised when he finds out I talk to my cat." you mutter to yourself, eyeing the perfumes once more. before you can overthink the decision and ultimately be late for your date, you spray yourself with your usual perfume—praying that it's a scent that johnathan loves.

the drive to his apartment only takes about 15 minutes, the traffic not too much considering it was an uneventful thursday evening. the security guard lets you through the gates after you told him you're a visitor—the sweet old man must've got a heads up from johnathan about your arrival.

you park in the first available spot, unbuckle your seatbelt and send him a message, 'i'm here, should I just come up?'

not even 10 seconds pass before he answers. 'i'm on my way down to get you' you smile as you read johnathan’s text, opening your car door and stepping out into the clean but stuffy parking garage. it's not a minute later you hear him call your name, the sound of his voice sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine. you grin as he approaches, "hey."

his smile mimics yours. "hey yourself." before he can decide against it, he pulls you into a quick, but sweet hug, squeezing your waist affectionately—and you go easily, your grin growing ever larger as your engulfed in his chest. he pulls back, "you look really nice...wow."

you watch as johnathan’s gaze wanders over your body, like he can't decide if he wants to undress you with his eyes or simply just admire you clothed. it has your belly swooping, anticipation tingling your body. "thanks, johnny." you hum lowly, taking the time to let your own gaze wander him.

johnathan looks so handsome—a crisp black shirt, and light wash jeans wrapping around his large thighs so deliciously. much to your embarrassment (or maybe your liking), he catches your stare, and a deep smile settles on his face at you clearly checking him out. "let's go upstairs."

you nod, slightly dazed and already turned on, letting him slide his fingers between yours and pull you in the direction of the elevator. the tension between you is undeniable, and the flirtatious glances you keep giving each other on the ride up to his floor are almost embarrassing. you're both so infatuated with one another, and you haven't even been close to kissing yet.

johnathan opens his apartment door, and the smell of soy sauce and steamed vegetables hit you—your stomach lowly rumbles and your mouth begins watering at the thought of food. he gestures for you to enter first, and he follows behind, shutting the door with a soft click. "the food was early, i've been keeping it warm in the oven—hope that's okay."

his apartment is really nice, with dark furniture and exposed brick. it's definitely a man cave, but not in a single, frat boy kind of way—but a sophisticated, busy manly way. you run your fingers over a dark green throw hanging over the back of the leather couch, a small playful grin pulling at your lips as you shoot him a look over your shoulder. "you know johnny, you're not supposed to leave the oven unattended."

he's in the kitchen, and because the apartment is mostly open concept—minus the bedroom—you can see him perfectly. johnathan opens the oven door, a breathy laugh leaving him as he takes out the various takeout containers. it's definitely not healthy for a professional athlete to be eating salty, delicious japanese cuisine, and if you were a meal specialist, you'd be frowning. but you're not! so you're not complaining.

"guess im just a risk taker." he hums, placing some of the ramen broth next to the cooked broccoli container—popping the lids off both.

you walk towards the island, leaning against the counter top to watch him work. you practically ogle his body as it moves—muscles shifting and contracting under his shirt so temptingly. you remove the lid off the spring bean take out container, a small grin on your face. "i'm hoping so ."

all the food is on the counter now, and that leaves johnathan to grab some dishes for the both of you—opening the cupboard beside the microwave and grabbing two sloped bowls and match plates. "are you always so confident?" he questions, placing them on the counter in front of you. he pulls open one of the drawers on his side of the island, pulling out two of each utensil. "like I don't know, you always seem to know exactly what to say...it's hot."

you blush, his compliment laying heavy on your heart. you take one of the bowls, loading some of the vegetable mix into it. "no actually, my confidence is mostly fake." he hums in surprise, spooning some beans into his bowl. you continue, "like i'm confident in my job, but when it comes to things like this—like you—I gotta fake it."

johnathan’s brows furrow while he contemplates which meat he wants in his ramen. "what?! like me? what does that mean?" he shoots you an amused look, before inevitably choosing beef and adding it into his bowl.

you laugh once, rounding the island to better reach the small styrofoam container of green onion. "yeah, I don't know you make me...feel things."

"what kind of things?" he questions lowly, the sound making your head spin. johnathan knows damn well what you're insinuating, and as soon as you say the words out loud, he may pounce.

you put some liquid into your bowl, completing the ramen bowl. you break apart one of the many pairs of chopsticks—there's enough food on the island to feed the entire team and some, so the twenty odd pairs of chopsticks don't come as a surprise. you twirl the utensils through the coil noodles, "i'll tell you later."

johnny barks a laugh, a nod following suit. "okay, fine." he watches as you bring the noodles to your mouth immediately, and he stops adding broth to his bowl. "just be careful cause it'll be really hot-"

his warning is cut short as you jump, your mouth hung open as you attempt to fan the hot food in—so hot that the steam is pouring from you like a dragon. "fuck, oh my god." you curse through the mouthful of burning noodles. you can't believe you didn't think to give it a minute before shoving the food in your mouth, and now it's so hot that you can't even chew the food without pain. you're left to only fan yourself and wait.

johnathan abandon’s his bowl on the counter, walking towards you in two quick strides. a curse falls from his mouth, "okay, hold still." he instructs you firmly, but yet softly—large hands enveloping your head as he holds your face. slowly, as if to not startle you, johnathan begins blowing into your mouth, his breath coming in fast bursts that help cool the food in your mouth.

he's so close to you and his touch is so gentle that you can't do anything but blink at him dreamily, watching as he cools the food in your mouth like it's nothing. a moment passes, and his blowing stops. "better?" johnathan questions, pulling back just enough to gauge your reaction.

you nod, slowly starting to chew the significantly less boiling hot noodles in your mouth. he smiles gently, and drops his hands from your face almost reluctantly—already he misses the warmth of your skin under his touch.

thankfully the rest of dinner goes smoothly, and you blow on every single bite loudly before attempting to put it past your lips—which has johnathan laughing in amusement, sometimes even joining in on cooling your food, which should not be so hot, but it is. you're almost tempted to burn your mouth again just so he will hold you and blow into your mouth once more.

you're not even surprised at how well you and johnathan vibe and communicate—somehow it just all makes sense, and that really doesn't help the crush you have for him. after finishing your two bowls of ramen and johnathan’s three, you both clean up, easy chatter flowing between you. it's refreshing, and feels so right—you almost forget that it's wrong.

soon enough you find yourselves in his living space, sitting on the shaggy rug you claimed you needed to feel—your backs resting on the worn leather couch. you've got your knees bent towards your chest, balancing a wine glass between your two fingers and the top of your knee cap—looking over at johnathan as he laughs at the tail end of your story.

"okay wait," he smiles, eyes twinkling with the upmost amusement. "so your best friend just threw them on his lawn?" he questions, searching for confirmation that, yes, he did hear you correctly. he shifts, turning himself even further in your direction—so close that you can feel the heat of him against your side.

you nod, your own smile softly gracing your face. "yup, 20 boxes of instant mashed potatoes that turned into mush during the rainfall." he laughs once more, finding the story about your best friend and her revenge plan against her ex amusing.

"oh wow, remind me to never mess with her." johnathan teases, taking a sip of his mulberry wine. you follow suit, bringing the thin rim up to your lips and taking a gulp—the flavours spicing your tongue just the way you like. you've always had a hard time turning down wine, especially when a guy who looks like johnathan kovacevic is the one offering it. worse case, you'll just stay the night.

his eyes flicker with something you can't decipher, swallowing his sip of alcohol as he eyes you. "so what about you?"

you swallow, brows pulling in question. "what about me?"

"ever instant mash potato a guys lawn?" he asks with a tempting, playful smirk.

you laugh, placing your now empty wine glass on the rustic, chest style coffee table—the sound a gentle clink in the otherwise quiet apartment. you shake your head, "no, i'd be too scared of getting caught."

he purses his lips softly, brows coming together to create a small indent above his nose. johnathan hums quietly—the sound so charming you almost pass out. "I think you're braver than you think, y/n."

oh, you think—breath catching in your throat. johnathan’s eyes on you are too much, but somehow not enough. you can't decide where to look, your eyes darting all over his face to try and drink in as much of him as possible.

johnathan's breathing changes, his lungs working overtime like he can't quite catch his breath—the way you're looking at him having him feel nothing but breathless. his tongue swipes along his bottom lip, gaze finding your plump, wine stained lips.

he blinks, turning away to place his wineglass next to yours—there's a sip left in his, but he doesn't care to finish it. "you should probably go," johnathan mumbles, eyes finding your lips once more. "otherwise i'll end up doing something stupid like kissing you or..." he slowly trails off, taking a deep breath before he meets your wide, glossy eyes.

"or what?" you prompt, tone all hopeful and quiet.

johnathan hums deeply, the sound shooting signals straight down to your core—you clench your legs together to soothe the ache you've been feeling since you got here. he licks his lip again, slow and deliberate. "...or undressing you."

you almost whine—it's pathetic and johnathan finds it so unbelievably hot. you flush even deeper than the shade the wine has left you, and you slowly bring your lip into your mouth, nibbling on the edge. "maybe I want you to kiss me...and undress me."

he practically moans. "y/n...you can't say that unless you mean it." his words are almost like a warning—an out of the tension building between you. johnathan is giving you the opportunity to walk away, and not break the rules because of him—no matter how bad he wants you to. johnathan's fingers twitch as he desperately tries to keep to himself, watching you through half lidded eyes as he waits your response.

but you don't want an out—you want him. slowly, you shake your head, legs sliding down and away from your torso. the stretch is nice, but it does no favours for your throbbing core. "I wouldn't unless I did." you whisper, pushing up and onto your knees. gently, but confidently, you swing your leg over his lap and sit on him. johnathan's jaw goes slack, watching through his lustful gaze as you move.

he can't take it anymore—he needs to get his hands on you. johnathan's palms slide up the sides of your thighs, squeezing the flesh through your jeans. subconsciously you begin moving your hips, leisurely grinding your clothed core over his. your breath hitches, forehead resting against his. "I need you, johnny."

that's all it takes for johnathan to attach your lips together, kissing you like he's been wanting to since he first saw you. it's like your mouths are made for one another, perfectly moving and caressing and sliding around one another's like you've been doing it for years.

his hands slide to cup your ass, giving you a firm squeeze before he helps grind you over his clothed core—not once stopping the bruising, messy kiss you're engaged in. his lips feel so good it hurts, and if you were to die in that moment you wouldn't be upset. your hands card through his thick strands of hair, scratching his scalp in a way that his him sighing into your kiss.

suddenly, johnathan pulls away, leaving you to whine in disappointment. his glazed over eyes flicker open at the same time yours do—eyes locking. "i've been dreaming about this—about you." he says through heavy breathing, fingers flexing against your lower back.

"you have?" you ask through a moan, your covered clit perfectly sliding over his hardening length.

he nods, leaning in and pressing a hot kiss against your jawline. just when you think he'll stop, he moves farther down, littering kisses against the line of your jaw until he reaches your ear. "I want to please you." johnathan whispers before nipping at your lobe.

you sigh, pawing at the hem on his shirt. "please." you lift the item of clothing completely off, exposing the expanse of tan, defined muscles that you've only ever had glimpses of before this moment. you jaw goes slack, fingers absentmindedly racking down his pecks and abs. "oh my god, you're so hot."

he laughs once before kissing your lips firmly—a wordless thank you. johnathan's hands slip underneath your shirt, dragging it up and off your body like its second nature—leaving you in your polka dot bra. "shit, been dreaming of these too." he mutters, palming your tits. "you've been driving me crazy for weeks with these tits, baby."

all you can manage is a moan, hips moving on their own accord as you chase the tension building in your core. a whispered plea leaves you once again, and it has johnathan gripping your backside tightly and sifting you onto your back, skin melting into the soft, shaggy rug.

you exhale shakily, fingers fisting the carpet right next to your head as johnathan begins trailing kisses down your sternum, and further towards your belly button. "that feels good." you say, hips twitching under torso.

johnathan lifts his head, eyes twinkling with playfulness as he locks his gaze on your face. "can I taste you?" you nod eagerly, and his smirk shows once again—one of his hands fiddling with your button until it pops open. johnathan sits back on his heels, and you shiver at the lack of his body heat on top of you—but as he begins sliding your jeans down, exposing your damp paintes, you quickly forget about anything but that.

he shutters, licking along his lips as he locks in on your skimpy underwear. you bite onto your bottom lip, but your smirk isn't even hidden by that. "I need you so bad, johnny." the sight of your almost shy grin has him faltering, fingers itching to get you naked—and he does, hooking his fingers through your underwear and pulling them away from your wet core.

johnathan can't wait any longer, laying flat so his face is mere inches away from your throbbing pussy—licking his lips at the sight of your arousal pooling and slowly dripping onto his rug. "fuck, you're soaking wet for me, baby."

your hips jump upwards, desperate for some friction. you don't think you've ever been this turned on in your entire life, and for god sakes all you've done is a little amateur dry humping. johnathan's words further rile you up, and you can't help but whine out like a cat in heat.

"that noise," he breathes, spreading your legs even further apart with his large hands. "keep making it." johnathan doesn't give you a chance to answer before he's licking a firm strip up your folds, spreading your arousal with his tongue.

"oh...fuck." you curse, eyes fluttering with bliss and pleasure, johnathan repeating his movements in a lapid, expert manner. his long fingers flex on your thighs, digging into your flesh to continue holding you open—giving him the most range on pleasing you.

he sucks your clit into his mouth before swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud—a movement that has you approaching your peak quicker than expected. you breath hitches, nails digging into the rug. "oh, fuck i'm close."

johnathan moans against your clit before dipping back to your entrance, thrusting his tongue into your sopping hole—a squelching noise echoing through the room. he doesn't let up, and it has you reaching your peak, a frantic 'i'm cumming' leaving you in a hurry as your walls spasm on his tongue.

your ride our your orgasm while johnathan licks against your clit lazily, sending jitters through your body. it's ethereal, and so fucking good—you can't decide if you want to scream or sob. your eyes blink open, finding him hovering over you once more. "you okay?"

you hum blissfully, hands running over johnathan's arms and unapologetically squeezing and feeling his biceps. "better than okay." you watch him smirk briefly, his fingers tilting your chin up in an affectionate way before sliding back and caressing your jaw. and like the sex god he apparently is, his thumb parts your lips, rubbing along the surface before leaning in and kissing you.

you could be kissing for only 2 minutes, or it could be 20–time has completely slipped away from both you and johnathan as your lips move along one another. you can feel his hard length through his jeans, pressing against your thigh like a rock—you can also feel your own arousal building back up, dripping down your ass like you're some pornstar.

you disconnect your lips, pulling back just enough to talk. "I want you to fuck me." reaching towards his belt, you begin fiddling with the buckle, the metal clinking together as you unfasten it.

he kisses the corner of your mouth. "I must be dreaming."

you smile, tugging his zipper down. "you're not." johnathan assists you the rest of the way, briefly standing so he's able to completely rid of his jeans. just before he tugs his boxers down, he curses lightly—smile never wavering. "hold on, baby. need a condom."

you get the pleasure of watching him jog into his bathroom in the retrieval of protection—his ass looking mouthwatering under his fitted black briefs. without even thinking logically, your hands slide down your body until you're finding your wet folds, gathering your arousal and bringing it to your clit—circling the bundle slowly.

johnathan finds you like that, condom wrapper half torn in his hands. "you can't do that baby," he groans, "i'm already dying here."

you giggle, the sound broken by a moan at a powerful circle around yourself. your breath hitches, eyeing his almost completely naked body like you're an animal. "take your underwear off, johnny."

he's already in the process of removing the last article of clothing on himself as you ask, releasing his angry, heavy cock from the restraints of his briefs. the sight of him—the sheer size of him—has you gasping. johnathan drops back down between your legs, pulling the condom over his aching length.

you help guide him to your entrance, breathless as his tip brushes your slick folds. johnathan's eyes find yours, "you sure?"

too pent up to speak, you nod—eyes filled with nothing but need and aching, desperate to finally feel all of johnathan. and with that, he eases his entire length into you, stretching you perfectly—your walls molding around him like you're made for him. you let out a choked whine, watching his cock disappear into you. "oh fuck."

he bottoms out, balls resting against your ass—twitching as your gummy walls flutter over him. you can feel him in your stomach he's so deep and long—it feels like he's everywhere. "god, you feel so fucking good." johnathan babbles, already drunk on your pussy. he can't wait a moment longer, and begins thrusting, sliding in and out of your pussy easily due to your leaking arousal.

you're both so horny and worked up and only a few minutes of deep, passionate thrusts, messy kisses and hushed affirmations, that you're both growing close to your respective releases. you're whining like it's the only thing you know how to do, wrapping your thighs around johnathan's torso and he ruts into your hole—stabilizing yourself as best you can. it's a bit difficult when you feel like jello, but it's so good that you're not even caring.

"I can—oh fuck—can feel you fluttering baby, you gunna cum?" he breathes, the rhythm of his thrusts begin to falter as he nears his first orgasm of the evening. but he holds on, focusing on your spasming hole and pleasure pulled face.

you nod, jaw slack. "so close."

johnathan pushes even deeper into your pussy, which you didn’t think was possible, but he does it—tip kissing your cervix with every delicious rut into you. his hand finds yours, and he interlocks your fingers together—grounding not only himself but you to the moment.

"please don’t stop," you mewl desperately, grip tightening around his warm hand as you find the tipping point of your orgasm. "i'm cumming." and you do, walls clamping down on his cock as your reach another toe curling release.

johnathan's brows furrow in concentration as he focuses on your orgasming pussy, groaning as he thrusts into you three unrhythmic times. "holy shit, me too, fuck." his seed shoot into the latex, hot spurts of cum filling the condom wrapped around him.

you smile at the feeling, pressing a firm kiss against the front of johnathan's strong shoulder—nipping his skin with your teeth playfully.

he grins, still nestled in your warmth. "stay with me tonight."

you don't need to be asked twice, and soon enough you're being ushered into the spacious shower of johathan's apartment—the two of you washing one another in the most intimate, soft way. you're completely ruined for anyone else, and now you'll never be able to stay away from johnathan. the way he looks at you, dressing you in his clothes for bed while you're hair is still wet and face flushed—it's something you'll never forget.

you fuck again in bed, riding him slowly as breathy moans leave you both. you're not even fully naked this time, johnathan's college shirt pulled up and over your hips as he holds onto your love handles, helping you slide up and down his length. you both fall asleep in a breathless, tangled embrace—soft conversation and adorning smiles shared before you both let your eyes flutter closed.

part3: kiss it better

from that moment on you're pretty positive you're falling for johnathan kovacevic. the morning after your date, you both wake up frantically, afternoon practice sneaking up on you. just before you left, all tangled mess of hair and mascara stained eyes, johnathan grabbed your wrist gently, tugging you close to him. "can we do this again? I don't just mean the sex..I mean the dating and talking and everything in between."

to which you responded with, "yes please."

for the next few months you and johnathan find yourselves in a very secret relationship. you're going on dates late after games, lounging in his apartment or your apartment until you both fall asleep. hazelnut approves, and you think she likes your boyfriend more than she likes you. johnathan is always sending you flowers, and ordering you food when you're cranky—which obviously makes you emotional and clingy. you watch each other's favourite movies, and you're the queen of stealing his clothes. and oh my god the sex.

johnathan is like ridiculously good when it comes to pleasing you—kissing, sucking, licking and pounding all the right spots until you're on the verge of tears. sex with him is addicting, you don't think you had as much intercourse since like...ever—not even when you were a horny driven teenager.

johnathan will never get tired of your flushed skin and pulled face—jaw fallen slack while you whisper johnny over and over like a prayer. he is as obsessed with you as you are with him—if not more so. he's only had two serious girlfriends between meaningless hookups in his lifetime, and neither of them felt like this.

it has the both of you getting a little...risky, to say the least. your gazes linger on one another for just a second too long while you're at work, johnathan stands close while in huddles, and his fingers brush the back of your hand in passing almost every time—it's dangerous but neither of you can help it.

2 months into your forbidden romance, you're both dressing (in separate homes, unfortunately) for the new jersey devils charity gala—an event where everyone dressed in beautiful gowns and/or sharp suits to mingle, participate in raffles and raise money for charities.

johnathan was expecting you to look phenomenal based on the mere fact that you always do, but when you walked into the decorated rink, covered in a soft cream silk dress that dipped low down your back—leaving little to the imagination—he just about ripped it off you right in the middle of the bustling room.

you knew you were in trouble by the way your boyfriends gaze followed you throughout the first hour of the evening, tongue swiping his bottom lip or biting it in an attempt to not run over to you and destroy you. it also doesn't help that you want him to, god damn you feel like you're in heat looking at johnathan—standing with staff and teammates in a perfectly tailored suit, sipping some champagne like a slut.

so from across the room when he gestures for you to follow him, you listen easily. it's only a few antagonizing minutes later when your boyfriend is pulling you into a coat closet, lips finding yours instantly in a heated exchange.

"you look fucking edible." johnathan groans against your mouth, hands running over your body and squeezing your flesh through the silky dress. he nips at your jaw, igniting breathless laughter from your heaving chest.

you drag his face back to yours, pressing your lips to his once again. the kiss isn't only hot, but it's risky, especially in the closet that holds all the jackets and personable teams of team and staff members. but as johnathan drags your dress up one leg, slipping his hand underneath the cream silk—your mind goes blank. two long, strong fingers brush your exposed core, spreading the sticky wetness that's pooling between your folds.

he curses lowly, the tip of his middle finger prodding your entrance—but then, the door handle rattles, curtis lazar's voice growing louder as he begins opening the door. you and johnathan pull apart, jumping to opposite sides of the room and pretending to look busy—stifling through various coats and jackets.

thankfully, curtis saw nothing and is to aloof to the tension lingering between his teammate and assistant coach. from that moment, you and johnathan both know you need to get a grip, and if you're not careful, your reputation and relationship will be destroyed.

so with that in mind, you both make sure while you're at work, you're strangers. johnathan doesn't look at you, and you don't let your gaze linger on his. and this crisp tuesday evening, surrounded by thousands of fans packed into the prudential center, it'll be no different. you're his coach, and johnathan is strictly a player to you. period.

everything is normal—how it should be, really. well, everything expect the lingering turning in your stomach and heat warming your skin uncomfortably. you've not been feeling the best today, and there's been a constant queasy feeling in your belly since you got out of bed.

you've done your best to try and ignore it, brush it under the rug until it goes away—but it's proving to be persistent, and as the hours tick by your symptoms are getting worse. you know you probably should've called in, but you didn't—and now your feeling dizzy watching the players skate past the bench.

a deep exhale leaves your lungs, eyes darting to the foam covered floor beneath your feet. the crowd has your head pounding and ears ringing—this isn’t good. your stomach feels like a shaky roller coaster on the verge of turning upside down and ruining your day.

the lights are impossibly bright as you look back up, and that's when you know something is wrong. weakly and with dwindling vision, you shuffle closer to sheldon, subtly nudging his side. "I think i'm going to be sick."

his brows raise, turning his full attention to you—keeping his face neutral as to not raise suspicion. "you've been pale since you walked in here—please, go get checked out. i'm getting worried, and I don't need us to be distracted."

you attempt to laugh, but it comes across as a painfully hushed groan. sheldon gently guides you in the direction of the hallway, and into the arms of a medical staff member. after you tell ronald, said staff, what's going on he's shuffling you down the hall and to the direction of the medical room.

you don't make it inside before your knees give out, falling to the floor as you go unconscious.

johnathan skates back to his bench after a 1:30 shift, chest heaving as he desperately fights for air. he throws one gangly leg over the boards, followed by the other—but he freezes as he notices you're no longer present.

his brows furrow in a mixture of confusion and worry. you were there when he left the bench, and you seemed fine—a little pale and quiet but still ordering the team around like the confident, sexy woman you are. but now you're missing. johnathan tries not to show emotion on his face, but he can't help but to look over his shoulder every few minutes to see if you've returned.

by the time first intermission begins, you're still nowhere in sight. johnathan is glad nico brings attention to your sudden absence after keefe's speech, because johnathan is dying and anxious about not knowing your whereabouts.

"coach y/l/n left to get checked out by medical because she wasn't feeling good. i'm not sure of her condition but I understand she will not be coming back tonight."

sheldon's words have johnathan's stomach dropping down to his ass. before he has to head back out to the ice, he shoots you a quick text—letting you know that he'll be at yours after the game.

the rest of the game goes by in a flurry of anxious waves and painfully slow minutes. he can't get out of his gear quick enough, speeding through a shower so he's able to quicker get on the road—get home to his girl.

johnathan definitely breaks a few laws on the way to your place, but he can't help it—he knows nothing about your state, only the brief text of acknowledgment you sent him in response, and he’s started to get really fucking worried.

the doors unlocked, and johnathan kicks his dress shoes off beside one of hazelnuts feathery toys, walking into your silent apartment. he finds you on the couch, still in your work clothes. the door shutting had your eyes blinking open, vision slowly focusing just as your boyfriend kneels in front of you.

"hey baby," he mumbles, running his hands over your sweaty forehead. "what's wrong my girl?" his eyes flicker over your dewy, pale skin, a frown pulling on his face at the sight of your obvious discomfort and exhaustion.

your cat perks up at the sound of his voice, and immediately jumps off the back of the couch to run against johnathan's legs. you pout, "i've been feeling sick all day, and it just got worse. I didn't even make it to the medical room before passing out, johnny." tears begin gathering in your eyes, making clear vision even more impossible—you feel awful. "it was really scary."

instantly he's leaning down to kiss your head. "i'm sorry baby. did they give you some meds?" he asks against your hair.

you hum—the sound strained. "yeah. they're making me tired."

he fusses over you for a few moments longer, pressing comforting kisses to your damp face—but he doesn't want you to be in uncomfortable clothes for any longer. johnathan strips you of your clothes and quickly changes you into your favourite sweats before slipping behind you on the couch—pulling you into his chest.

you're kind of out of it and all you can really register is your boyfriends dark button up under your cheek, his hand rubbing your back and the sound of sex and the city playing from your tv. it's so numbing and relaxing that it quickly has you falling back to sleep, soft snores passing through your dry lips.

you wake up the next morning in your bed, eyes slowly focusing as you catch the sight of johnathan pulling his suit pants back on in your bedroom—the morning sun streaming the the cracks of your curtains.

"hey," you start, voice croaky. "what's going on?"

your boyfriend whips around in your direction, shoving one arm through his dress shirt. "hey, sorry I didn't want to wake you up." he rounds the mess of blankets half off the bed, kissing your head. "how was your sleep?"

"I don't even remember you getting here yesterday." you admit sheepishly, rubbing the sleep out of your eye. "I was so fucked up, god."

"it's okay," johnathan reassures you sweetly, buttoning up his shirt. "you really had me worried—you looked so sick."

you cough, a sickly dry sound that is a rough reminder of the illness lingering your body. but as you eye your boyfriend, seemingly getting ready for morning practice, has all thoughts of sickness leaving you—replaced with panic. "oh my god, i'm going to be late for practice."

you try and get out of bed, but johnathan is quicker—gently pushing you back to the pillows. "you're not going—I dealt with it all through your phone, okay. and I must say, keefe was rather relieved that you're taking the day."

"oh," you hum with a small grin, body naturally melting into your bed. "okay. you going now?"

johnathan nods. "yeah. gotta stop at home and change quick, but i'll be back later." he tosses last nights suit jacket over his shoulder, "need anything brought back?"

you smile, "just you."

he smirks all slow and syrupy down at you, cupping your cheek with his warm palm. "okay baby—can I have a kiss?"

you slap your hand over your lips—which are rather crusty and has you cringing. "I don't want to get you sick." you say, words muffled against your palm.

johnathan brows pull tightly, his smirk not letting up. "I don't care baby." his words have you faltering, dropping your hand and puckering your mouth for a kiss—which he happily obliges in giving you.

later while he's getting changed, pulling his shin pads on, he hears jack asks about your whereabouts beside him. johnathan isn't sure if he's just speaking out loud, or asking him directly—but he turns his full attention to the middle hughes brother. "she called in sick today."

jack kind of makes a curious face, one that says and how would you know that?

and the following day when johnathan doesn't come to the rink because he's sick...jack has the smallest inkling that he may know why the defence man knew about you're whereabouts.

part4: you’re made for me

you think your least favourite part about being on the road is the lonely feeling you get lying in an empty hotel room—left with only your thoughts and the hum of the heating unit.

it doesn't help that johnathan is in the same hotel…on the floor below you, and you can't even see him. you're not long back from the game, a win nonetheless, and the vegas night life is still buzzing in the street below. you knew some of the guys would be heading out for a few hours to enjoy the casinos—but you heard your boyfriend decline curtis' invitation.

so you know he's in his room—but wether his roommate is with him is unbeknownst to you. you miss him, and are in desperate need of hearing his voice. you hum, grabbing your phone off the charger beside you—thumbing your screen until his contact comes up.

you've got him saved under the soccer ball emoji—ever since you two started getting serious, you knew that having johnathan saved as his name was risky, especially when he had a habit of sending you toe-curling texts. and the same goes for your name on his phone, and instead of the previous use of your full name, he's replaced it with the name of your favourite tv show character.

hey, you send. are you alone?

a beat passes and then your phone begins to ring, the soccer ball emoji filling your screen as johnathan calls you. your grin, biting your lip as you slide over the answer button.

you lift your phone to your ear, excitement bubbling and settling deep in your belly.

"i'm alone." johnathan answers lowly, the slow smirk evident through his voice.

you sigh softly. "didn't want to go out tonight? celebrate the win? mr. two point night." your voice is playful, and kind of sexy—it has him already palming himself through his sweatpants.

a low groan leaves him, the sound leaving you flushed in the other line. you already can tell the turn this conversation is going to take, and you're not opposed to it one bit. he laughs, the sound doing a million things to you and your needy clit. "got those points for you, baby."

"whatever," you grin, hand slipping under your loose pyjamas shirt, resting on your lower belly—absentmindedly tickling just below your belly button.

"you okay?" this question is more serious, because above all else, johnathan cares for you, and if you're texting him, he wants to make sure nothing is wrong before he asks to see your boobs like a schoolboy.

you nod, and then remember he can't see you. "yeah, just miss you." you admit shamelessly, fingers dipping below the band of your sleep shorts. your breath hitches as the pads of your fingers brush over your folds, slipping through the wet mess that's been building since you picked up the phone.

the sound has johnathan groaning again, his own hand slipping under his sweatpants and finding his now rock hard and aching cock. he’s been thinking about this moment since he say your game day skirt—hugging your ass delightfully. he squeezes the base, igniting another strangled moan from his chest. "yeah?"

you hum lowly, teasing your entrance with your middle finger before trailing back to your bundle of nerves, circling yourself slowly. "I wish you were here."

a small curse leaves his lips. "what would you want me to do...if I was in your room right now?" johnathan questions, his large hand sliding up the entirety of his length, fisting the tip three times before coming back down to the base.

you inhale sharply, but you're breathless regardless. your thighs tighten around your slow moving hand, trapping yourself—your body reacting to your boyfriends words instinctively and leaving you overwhelmed already.

"don't be shy," he grins, squeezing himself. "i'm so fucking hard, baby—your voice is so sexy."

you whine helplessly, johnathan’s words pushing you into a flaming pit of lava—igniting your body in molten flames. "I'd want you to tease me, run your fingers over my soaked shorts until i'm begging you for more." you admit, cheeks flushing even deeper at your dirty words.

there's something so weird about phone sex, but with johnathan's breathing against your ear, and the throbbing between your legs, you're starting to feel very different about the idea. it’s exciting and so fucking hot—mostly because of your sexy boyfriend on the other line, prompting you.

he curses, pulling himself out of his sweatpants so that his cock is standing fully erect. he hisses at the air touching his sensitive skin, running the pad of his thumb over his leaking slit. "holy—fuck me—and then what baby?

"and then..." your breath hitches as you slip your middle finger into your wet entrance, your throbbing pussy sucking you in, down to your knuckle. "then i'd take you out of your pants, and lick up your shaft—slowly—before sucking the head of your cock just the way you like."

"i'm gunna facetime you, okay?"

your stomach drops in excitement. "okay." you slip out of yourself before completely removing your shorts, just as the incoming facetime lights up your phone. you answer it giddy, gnawing on your lip as johnathan's face fills your screen.

he smirks, eyeing your plump pink lips and rosy cheeks—the lust clear in your gaze. "you look so fucking pretty."

your smile grows, and even the way your teeth enclose around your bottom lip can't hide the fact. "johnny," you hum slowly, legs falling open to reveal your core to the empty hotel room. "I need to cum so bad."

he licks along his bottom lip. "set the phone up so I can see."

your vagina throbs pathetically, grabbing a pillow before leaning forward and resting your phone against it—the angle giving johnathan the perfect view of your glistening pussy, the outline of your perky nipples under your shirt and flushed face. he groans, stroking himself as he gets off the bed and moves towards the desk.

johnathan props his phone against the lamp, angling the camera so you're able to see his cock. "slip your pretty fingers in that pussy, baby. wanna see you fuck yourself like I would."

he watches your chest heave as you attempt to catch your breath, hand slipping down your covered stomach and back down through your soaking folds. with a moan, you ease your middle finger and ring finger in your entrance.

"fuck." you whine, head falling back as you begin moving your fingers shallowly, not quite thrusting into yourself, but not staying still either. the perfect amount of stimulation that has your toes curling.

johnathan's jaw goes slack at the sight of you and your hand—a ring of creamy arousal pooling at the base of your knuckles before dripping onto the bed. it's embarrassing how close he is to cumming, fucking his hand while he pretends it's your gooey walls enveloping him instead. "that feel good?" he asks, voice husky. "you're so sexy."

you lift your head, lips parted as breathless sighs leave you. "feels good—wish it was your fingers." a high-pitched whine bubbles from your throat, the palm of your hand rubbing against your clit perfectly. through lidded eyes, you watch johnathan. his abs clench as he fists himself, the smallest drop of pre-cum trialing down the underside of his delicious cock.

you gasp, orgasm hitting you in a white hot surprise, leaving you fluttering around your hand as your release drips off your fingers.

the sight has johnathan following suit, ropes of hot cum shooting from his head as his eyes train on your fluttering pussy and blissed out face.

a beat passes, both of your still working on coming down from your high and catching your breath. johnathan smirks all lazily at you through the screen. "I'm gonna fuck you so good once we get home, yeah?"

his promise has your core jumping all over again, and if johnathan has to fist his hand once more in the shower before bed—that's nobodies business expect yours (because obviously he sends you videos on snapchat).

thankfully the road trip is only two more days, and you get your hands on your boyfriend as soon as you're back in the enclosed walls of his apartment.

a few weeks pass since then, a whirlwind of games and practices that leave you holding your breath and clenching your thighs—you'll never get over how handsome johnathan looks all sweaty and damp, and it never fails in sending butterflies straight down to your pussy.

it seems like weeks until you get a free evening, but eventually it comes, and you take the opportunity for an at home date night—realistically the only ones you can have. johnathan cooks you mouthwatering pasta, and you get to watch him work over the stove from the kitchen island—checking out his back muscles over the rim of your wine glass.

anytime he catches you doing so, he pauses to lean over the island and give you a heart stopping kiss. it's romantic, and you think you may love him.

you eat your food next to one another on the couch, your feet tucked under his thigh while you watch she's all that. johnathan is the kind of boyfriend you dreamed of having since you were little—kind, compassionate, sexy, funny and a little awkward (plus a sex god, but 6 year old didn't know about that).

soon enough your empty bowls are abandoned, and you’re on his lap while your mouths move together. just before anything starts to escalate—johnathan's hands fiddling with your bra—a knock on the door pulls you apart.

"kovy?" an all too familiar voice calls on the other side of the door. "we know you're home. saw your car." we? as in plural? as in there's multiple of his teammates on the other side of the door?

you go stiff on johnathan's lap. "is that curtis?" you question wildly, words barley above a whisper.

he squeezes the flesh of your hips, nodding once. "and brett and erik." johnathan admits through his teeth. "i forgot they wanted me to come out tonight—someone's birthday."

one of them knocks again. "open up you little shit." the voice who sounds like brett laughs, sounding already a few drinks in.

"oh my god," you hiss, getting off johnathan's lap, pulling your discarded hoodie over your head. "oh my fucking god."

johnathan moves quickly, taking your empty bowls to the sink. "one second!" he calls in their direction, running a hand through his messy hair after wetting the dishes.

"are you fucking naked or something?" erik questions, leaning against the wall with an amused expression.

you hear curtis snicker. "he's probably jerking off."

your boyfriend looks at you, eyes full of guilt. "i'm so sorry baby, I totally forgot." he grabs your arms firmly, keeping your attention on him. "i'll get rid of them, okay? I promise."

you look almost scared—blinking up at him like everything is falling apart before your eyes. after all, you're a door away from being caught. "okay."

he nods, kissing the side of your pouting lips before guiding you to his bedroom. "just stay in here, okay? and if you hear me say watermelon, jump into the closet."

if you weren't so anxious you'd probably laugh. but obviously you don't laugh, sitting on the soft mattress as johnathan gives you one more hurried look, shutting his bedroom door with a soft click.

he quickly makes his way to the front door, pulling it open to reveal his three teammates—all of them with splitting grins on their faces. "we've been texting you, man! you forget about us?" brett grins, slapping johnathan's shoulder as the three of them walk into his apartment.

he chuckles awkwardly. "yeah, sorry—meant to text you but i'm not feeling up to going out tonight."

"boooooo," curtis drags out loudly, spinning on one of the bar stools like it's a carnival ride. "boring."

erik picks up the wine glass you left on the coffee table, a visible print of lipgloss on the rim. "you got a girl here, johnny?"

"no." he says all too quickly, face pale and red all at once. "I mean, not anymore. she left."

brett smirks, grabbing the glass out of erik's grip. he inspects the mark closer, that shit eating grin never leaving his face. "you know who wears lipgloss like this? coach y/l/n."

on the other side of the bedroom door, you feel like you're going to faint. you press your ear further against the wood, listening in.

the barstool squeaks under curtis' weight, a mixture of a disgruntled groan and laugh leaving him. "why do you know what kind of lipstick our coach wears? fucking weirdo." much to johnathan's delight, curtis' response has all three boys moving on from the marking on the wine glass. which, thank god because he had no clue how to respond to that observation.

erik eyes the ending scene of she's all that, a knowing grin on his face. "so if she's gone, you're gunna come out with us, right?"

"not really feeling it." johnathan reiterates with a shrug, subtly grabbing your keys off the counter and tucking them into his pocket.

brett groans like a naughty kid, sluggishly making his way back to the door. "fine—we'll let you beat off in peace." the other two follow suit, sending johnathan snarky little grins as they leave.

he rolls his eyes, a tiny grin pulling at his lips. "whatever—have fun." as soon as johnathan can't hear his teammates loud voices anymore, he's shutting the door and flicking the lock. he bounds back to the bedroom, and you pull open the threshold before he has the chance—your eyes wide with unshed emotion and stress.

it has johnathan feeling nothing but guilt, and he wastes no time wrapping you in his arms. "are you okay?"

you nod, but then stop. "no. I thought we were fucked—especially with the lipgloss, oh my god johnny."

he kisses your head three times, each one longer than the last. you sigh into him, letting johnathan hold you like the delicate flower you feel you are in that moment.

you hate this feeling—because secretive behaviour makes you feel dirty. and with the secret you're keeping, you're much more than just dirty. you're breaking the rules, and risking not only your job, but johnathan's. the last thing you want to do is ruin his reputation—you fucking love him for fucks sake.

it’s not even about you anymore. because for him, you’d leave everything if it meant being with him. but you know johnathan, and he would never let you give up your job for him—ever. but you can’t keep going around like this, it’s running you.

you pull back, swallowing roughly as you drop your arms from around his waist. “we can’t do this anymore.”

he freezes. “what do you mean? can’t do what?”

you blink. “johnny…” your voice is laced with a knowing edge, because you know johnathan knows exactly what you mean—you can see it on his face. you look away, as you can’t bare to look at him any longer, it may kill you otherwise. “if we keep sneaking around, it’s going to end badly—it almost blew up in our face tonight.”

his brows furrow, cupping your face firmly so that you have no choice but to look into those eyes you love so much. “but I didn’t-It won’t if we do this right.” a rough swallow makes his adam’s apple jump, looking over your face like he can’t decide where to go. “tell me what I can do to change your mind.”

a tear falls down the round of your cheek, and the sight stabs him right in the chest. you shake your head, licking the salty water off your cupids bow. “I just…I think we need to stop.”

his hands fall from your face, and he runs them through his hair—pulling at his root until it hurts. johnathan respects you, and he loves you—even if he thinks you don’t love him in this moment. he will fulfill any wish you ask of him, and he’d do it with a smile, because you’re the most important thing in the world. so he nods firmly. “okay. if you want to stop, we’ll stop. I don’t care what’s happening. all I care about is you.”

you nod—too many emotions lodged in your throat to speak. johnathan reluctantly hands you your keys, your fluffy keychain tickling his skin for the last time. you pluck your purse that’s wedged between the pillow and side of the couch, slinging it over your shoulder before making your way to the door, leaving without another look in johnathan kovacevic’s direction.

part5: love looks pretty on you

as soon as you get back to your place you break down in embarrassing sobs—falling onto the couch while hazelnut licks your chin. although you think she just likes the taste of your tears, rather than it being a comforting thing, but you pretend it’s the latter.

as much as it hurts you and you regret it, you know breaking things off with johnathan was the right choice. you don’t want to burden him, or hold him back—you can’t be that girl. so as much as you want to call him and tell him you’ve changed your mind, you don’t. it’s for the better, even if you have a hard time believing it right now.

the next week is nothing short of painful. you can feel johnathan’s eyes on you constantly, but you’re strong in ignoring him—going about your drills like he’s just another face in the crowd. if keefe notices something is up with you, he doesn’t say anything. which honestly seems worse than if he was to ask.

johnathan is no better. he’s slacking on the ice, and it’s showing even during practice—slow and uncertain and clearly distracted. he can’t stop thinking about you, or looking at you. johnathan cant help but think about all the things he wish he said to you, before you ended it.

how he’ll always care for you. how he’d quit hockey for you if that’s what you wanted. how he’s never felt about someone the way he feels for you. that he loves you.

it’s lonely without you. he misses your laugh and your smile and the way you kiss his peck every morning when you wake up. johnathan even misses hazelnut and her persistent chirping.

he so desperately wants to get you back. show up on your doorstep with flowers and a speech that would probably make you cry. but he doesn’t do that—because it would go against your wishes, and break whatever trust you put in him. it’s killing him, and he can only hope you’re happy.

—

you’re lingering with the uneasy feelings that come with a loss, tossing your purse on the counter before kicking off your heels. although the loss was a team issue, you can’t help but remember how johnathan was -5 tonight, and how exhausted and defeated he looked the entire game.

you can’t help but speculate—scratch that, there’s no speculation. you know it’s because of your breakup, and that makes you feel really shitty. if it’s still affecting him this much, hell if its still affecting you this much, you can’t help but think it was the wrong choice to make.

months of a healthy relationship down the drain for…what? because you were scared? that’s not you. johnathan brought out the best in you, he listened and cared for you like nobody before. in jersey, you’re alone. no friends or family close by to talk to or spend time with, only hazelnut. but with johnathan you had family. and you fucking threw it away.

your eyes flicker to the clock on the microwave. it’s almost midnight. you take your bottom lip between your teeth, contemplating your next actions. are you really about to do this? show up to your exs door and what? apologize? beg for him back?

you don’t know. but you know you love him, and you think letting him go forever will be the worse decision of your life.

coaching is a dream job. working with athletes in such an authoritative manner is a dream—it was your dream. but you have a new dream, and his name is johnathan. and if there’s one thing you’ve always lived by, it’s that to never give up on your dreams, especially for someone else. but that’s not what you’re doing—your dream has shifted, and you’re following its path in hopes of fulfillment.

before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re slipping on the first pair of shoes you see—a pair of heart print sandals that aren’t appropriate for the spring chill. you grab your keys and nothing else, getting into your car and following the familiar route to johnathan’s apartment.

the doorman recognizes you by now, and he lets you in with a smile. you’re anxious on the way up the elevator, a million things to say running through your mind—but as the doors open on johnathan’s floor, your head goes blank.

you force yourself to knock, a quiet sound that is barley heard from the bedroom at the back of the apartment…but johnathan hears it. he trudges over to the front door, nothing but a black hoodie and his boxers on.

as soon as the door is pulled open, revealing you in summer shoes and your game day pant suit from the game, johnathan is exhaling lowly. his eyes dart around your face, analyzing you. “you okay?”

your stomach clenches. he’s so fucking caring. “you’re my dream, johnny.” you blurt out, definitely too loud for this time of night.

his brows furrow, like he’s not sure what you mean. and fair enough, you think, because what does that mean? you continue shakily, “I love you. so much that it actually hurts. I would give up everything if it meant being with you forever—and I know you’d never let me, because you care about me and my dream. that’s why I ended things, as stupid as that sounds, because I didn’t want to put you in that situation. I didn’t want you doing something crazy like requesting a trade or fucking retiring early so that I could work for the team—because I knew you would do it.”

you swallow, but your mouth is so dry it almost hurts. “but you’re not going to let me forget about my dream, johnny—because you are my new dream. and if you love me, you’ll let me live with my new dream. being with you is all I need.”

johnathan shakes his head in amused disbelief, the faintest grin tugging at his mouth. “c’mere.” he mumbles, fingers wrapping around your wrist and pulling you into his apartment—only lit up by the lamp next to the tv. “you love me?” he asks, fingers leaving your wrist in favour of tucking some loose hair behind your ear—the strands that have escaped your once tight braid.

you nod all too quickly, “so much. i’m sorry.”

johnathan’s smile deepens, cupping your face like he’s done hundreds of times. “it’s okay, baby. I don’t care that you ended things with me—well, yes I care because I love you too—but if that’s what you needed in that moment, I would give it to you over and over again. even if it killed me.” he wets his bottom lip, looking deep into your watery eyes. “are you sure?”

there’s not hesitation in your words—there never has been with johnathan. “positive.” you nuzzle into his palm, “I love you so much.”

he leans in close, lips brushing yours. “I love you.”

and as he leans in and kisses you, you know that everything will work itself out. you’re not worried about the outcome, or what the future holds for your position with the team, but as long as you have johnny to come home to—it doesn’t matter.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

playlist

glitch by taylor swift

stuttering by jack & jack

cry your heart out by adele

fantasy by mariah carey

love looks pretty on you by nessa barrett

sports car by tate mcrae

babydoll by dominic fike

#🤍⊹˚₊ cute and hughesy fic #jonathan kovacevic #johnathan kovacevic smut #johnathan kovacevic imagine #johnathan kovacevic fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl x reader #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #nhl smut #nhl fanfic #hockey x reader #new jersey devils imagine #new jersey devils smut

285 notes · View notes

demonicbaby666 · 8 months ago

Note

hi pookie🥰 any chance you’d write a fic where fem!r has never had an orgasm and Emily thinks she can change that?!

Never Have I Ever

One shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2.9k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, oral sex, fingering (r!receiving), top!Emily, bottom!reader, reader is also a bit yapper, there's like the tiniest bit of fluff if you squint at the end

Summary: A history shadowed by unfulfillment and shortcomings in the bedroom was an unfortunate reality for you. It was why one night, when you found yourself alone at a bar at the centre of a certain stranger's attention, it didn't seem so outlandish to give something new a try.

A/n: She's backkkkkk! and probably not gonna post for another month UwU... Also, thank you as always to the lovely, amazing @hotchscvm for reading it through and giving me live reactions MWAH <3

The music, that’s what you remember: the sound of smooth saxophones, sweet piano chords and the occasional tick of a snare drum. It played perfectly in your ears as you sat alone at a local bar, nursing an exceptionally balanced martini on that sublime Friday evening. The weather was pleasant, and the previous company was friendly after a tiresome day—interesting enough to engage you but casual enough not to exhaust you. And it all ended with the quiet buzzing of a vacated table and an inviting presence beckoning you to the bar.

End the night at an appropriate time, take an Uber home and perhaps dodge a frightful hangover or walk over to the exceedingly beautiful brunette sitting alone, get close enough to her lips to smell the rich whiskey that was being lazy swirled around in her tumbler, and perhaps taste the sharpness of the distilled grain on her tongue? It was your decision to make.

Her eyes, the bitter shade of coffee, sweetly called for your attention, flickering to and from the empty seat beside her. It was not so much a command as it was a challenge. The playful glint in her eyes told you as much. She studied you with piqued interest that was far from unwelcome and filled your stomach with a reverent fire you had not experienced in quite some time. You ached for more.

Mind made up, you grabbed your drink, slung your purse strap over your shoulder, and walked over to this enticing stranger. And as you did so, you took care in matching the sway of your hips to the lulling melody of a saxophone, enjoying the view of the brunette’s pink tongue peeking out to wet her lips. The fire in your stomach roared.

You set your drink down and slid onto the bar stool, noting how you were observed. It was neither clinical nor invasive. It was more inquisitive. Like the older woman was trying to figure you out without so much as asking you a question, and honestly, with how her eyes squinted and her lips curled ever so slightly at the edges, you believed she might already have you read.

It was nothing short of intimidating to feel so bare whilst completely clothed, well completely clothed with a generous helping of cleavage. There was an itch to be on evening footing with this illustrious stranger, enough to start a dangerous game.

“Never have I ever…” you purred.

The game was well received, and you found that Emily, you discovered was her name, was rather bold. She didn’t shy away from any question you threw her way. If anything, they seemed to amuse her. By the time she’d come to ask you the question that turned the evening’s tide, Emily was coming close to needing a third drink.

“Never have I ever slept with a woman,” she said, her gaze so attentive it was almost unnerving to leave your drink untouched.

She was disappointed. You saw it in her eyes, in the way she threw her head back to down the remainder of her whiskey. You knew she wasn’t grimacing from the burn. No, the ice had melted a long time ago and watered down the rich liquor. The lines of displeasure around her mouth came from realising the evening was probably all for nothing, that she should have gone home instead of trying to find stress relief in the bed of another stranger.

“It’s not that I haven't wanted to,” you began, trying to find the confidence to continue in her shifting expression. “I’ve never really had the chance.”

Emily wasn’t giving you anything, and unfortunately, in an effort to drive away the awkward silence, you kept talking. “I find women attractive, and god knows I imagine it.” Blabbering was more appropriate. “Not in a weird way. I mean, is there not a weird way? What I mean is I seem to attract men, specifically ones with an aversion to loyalty, which is crazy as none of them could get me to,” You cut yourself off, far too embarrassed to even look the older woman across you in the eyes. “Please say something before I dig a hole deep enough to bury myself alive in.”

“No.” Emily drawled, suddenly glowing with a newfound sense of purpose. “I want you to finish. What could they never do?”

You looked up at her wide eyes, then carefully around the bar as if one of your aforementioned exes was hiding in plain sight.

You muttered, “Can’t you put two and two together?”

“Oh, I can. I’m just desperate to hear you say it.”

Did you want to answer? No. But there was something niggling away at you—the feeling that this woman would not let this go. She seemed like the determined type.

“Fine,” you huffed, looking down at your drink, using your straw to stir the clear beverage. It was painfully obvious you were avoiding Emily’s eyes, but you couldn’t care less. “None of them could make me cum.”

There was another bout of silence, stretching long enough for your cheeks to turn to fire. You took small sips of your drink, trying to occupy your mouth before you started blithering on again.

“I could change that.”

Your head snapped up.

“What?” You asked, winded, slightly dazed, and mildly alarmed that if you had swallowed a second later than you did, you’d probably have spewed your drink all over yourself and Emily.

“Never have I ever let a stranger give me my first orgasm.” And the way her eclipsed eyes twinkled under the overhead light left no doubt in your mind that Emily had found a goal for the night, one she would not easily let go of.

“Okay,” you whispered.

—

Leaving the bar together, standing side by side in the chilly evening breeze, Emily took out her phone. One sideward glance told her all she needed to know. Your hands were clasped together, fingers desperately grasping at the sides of your trousers. Your jaw slung to the side as your teeth gnawed the sides of your mouth. Your eyes followed every moving vehicle that sped past, though Emily suspected you didn’t see much of anything beyond the subject that seemed to plague your mind. That’s when the older woman passed her phone over to you.

You shot her a puzzled look, to which she simply rolled her eyes teasingly enough to colour your cheeks rouge. Apparently, it was obvious what she wanted from you, though you seemed to miss the memo completely and continued to stare blankly at the lit screen.

“You’ll be more comfortable somewhere familiar,” Emily wittingly sighed.

A meagre ‘oh’ was your only response, that and finally taking the phone from Emily’s outstretched hand and entering your address into the blinking search bar. When you handed it back, you didn’t miss the humoured smirk on her face or the little shake of her head as she slid her phone into her back pocket and looped an arm around your waist.

As it turned out, Emily was right. The moment you stepped into your apartment, your anxieties did not disappear but did lessen. The excitement of your predicament bubbled in your stomach, no longer masked by nausea, excitement that only grew with each kiss Emily placed on the back of your neck.

It felt a bit like being young again, staying out past curfew, playing tag with friends and toppling over one another in and among all the excitement. Hell, you almost did fall over on the way to the bedroom, laughing and wrangling with your trousers until Emily calmed you, dropping to her knees and pressing light kisses along the outskirts of your thighs. She helped you out of your pants, making no effort to get back up. Instead, she continued to map both your legs with her hands, kissing up and down and occasionally marking the spots she found you most responsive to.

“Lay back on the bed,” Emily instructed, finally standing up.

Despite spending the last year of your life in that bedroom, you couldn’t quite remember anything. Not where your wardrobe was, not where your bedside table was, and not where the end of your bed started. That’s why when you greedily tried to continue to kiss Emily, walking back, you completely misjudged the distance between the back of your knees and the edge of your mattress and went tumbling back.

It would have been slightly mortifying had the look on the older woman's face been anything less than thoroughly amused as she followed you onto the bed. You met her eyes with a shy smile, in contrast to your brave hands that led her to your breasts. Once there, Emily squeezed and kneaded them till you were sure you’d go mad if you didn’t feel her touch directly against your skin. The older woman seemed to have the same thought, with fingers at the bottom of your shirt pulling it up and up and up till she had to break away to remove it.

Then there you were, in your bed, in only your bra and underwear, a stranger above you admiring the contours and curves of your body. What you expected was that uneasy feeling deep in your stomach, which people usually get should they find themselves in a position in which they are singled out, like a deer caught in headlights. Instead, what you felt had a stark resemblance to waiting in line for a ride. There was, of course, some unease churning in your stomach, a sprinkle of fright hastening your heart, but unsurprisingly, excitement seemed to be the dominant emotion. It bubbled away in your chest, rumbled low in your tummy, left your head dizzy, and it was perfect.

You were smiling like an idiot by the time your senses came back to you. A moment short-lived and stolen away when Emily decided it was time to do away with her clothes, ridding herself of them piece by piece till she too was left in only her bra and underwear.

She was perfect, from head to toe, pure perfection that it became a challenge to find something to settle your eyes on. There were her shoulders, toned and balmy, begging to be touched; her breast, firm yet soft like silk, demanding to be kissed; there was her heat, hot against your thigh with only a piece of lace shielding her arousal from wetting your skin. It was a new sensation, but not an unwelcome one, and as if possessed by the need for more, you latched onto her ass, pushing her firmly against you and tasting her tongue as her mouth fell open in a silent gasp.

Emboldened, you raised your thigh, pressing it to the growing wet patch of Emily’s underwear. You relished the small moan that came from the older woman, how it echoed into your throat, but that was as far as you were allowed to press before control was seized from your grasp, quite literally. In a flurry, you found your wrists pinned beside your head, Emily sitting up above you, smiling like a Cheshire cat, though you were not oblivious to the rapid rise and fall of her recovering lungs.

She took a moment to gather herself, letting her eyes wander over your body. The brown pools of her irises had eclipsed black with lust, forcing a whole-bodied shudder to traipse down your spine. She looked hungry, needy, and determined.

The pressure eased over your wrists, and you were given a look that told you enough not to move but instead observe Emily freeing her breasts from the shackles of her bra. And that you did. You watched, enraptured, breathless and in awe, and said nothing when she leaned down to reach behind your back. With practised ease, she pulled your bra from your arms, tossing it to the floor and turning back to give attention to your air-kissed nipples. Her teeth played around one pebbled tit whilst her fingers taunted the other.

Foreplay was something you had experienced, but Emily was taking the trophy home for stretching it out to perfection. Already, you could feel the beginnings of your arousal slick between your thighs. There wasn’t a second where her touch left you as she wormed her way down your torso, her fingers tickling the sides of your belly, the underside of your breast, her mouth insistent on kissing every inch of your skin. Her warmth surrounded you like a blanket.

Eventually, when she reached low enough to come face to face with your panties, did she raise her eyes to your own and ask without so many words to remove the last barrier standing between her mouth and your waiting sex.

“Never have I ever let someone go down on me.”

She waited for your nod of approval, small as it was, to peel the soaked panties down your legs.

There was a moment’s pause when the evening air of your bedroom kissed your tender flesh, forcing the emergence of a little gasp to leave your throat. The inhalation and pleased sigh that came from between your legs beckoned your attention, but there was nothing to do but throw your head back when cold was replaced by warmth—the tickle of Emily’s breath and the tip of her tongue slipping between your sex.

Bated breaths were all you knew. Breaths that chiselled away at your lungs till they both felt simultaneously deflated and full, till the first appearance of sweat glistened over your brow, and the dawning of slight tremors shook your belly. And only when a single digit was eased into you did you finally breathe again, a breath so sharp it felt like your body was reawakened.

Vaguely, you registered the shuddering of your limbs; you weren’t so far gone to have lost all control of yourself, and the soft caresses of Emily’s tongue against your clit weren’t enough to have you writhing. They were, however, enough to pry small whimpers out of you.

Being vocal had never been your thing, though, in truth, it was hard to be vocal in earnest when you were gaining nothing out of the inconsistent jamming of a cock inside you or the never-ending cycle of a vibrator pressed against your cunt, buzzing and buzzing till you felt as though maybe you’d tip over the edge, only to come to a standstill and a slow torturous come down from nothing. In those situations, it was hard to get even a moan out, excluding the fake pornographic ones men go crazy for. Emily, however, was successful in changing this.

One finger suddenly became two, then three, and whimpers and little gasps were a thing of the past. For a moment, you thought the neighbour was banging against your wall, screaming out, only to be muffled by the dense wall dividing you. That was, of course, till you realised the banging was the blood rushing and thudding in your ears, and the screams were none other than your own. They were loud and boisterous, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to care because this was surely heaven. The perfectly paced pumps of fingers, the sucking, licking and occasional nibble against your clit, and most importantly, the encouraging squeeze of Emily’s hand against your chest, it was all heaven.

Every grain of pleasure you felt was monumental, simmering and exploding inside you over and over again. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything other than simply exist under the tense pressure that was reaching a colossal peak. Your hips moved purposefully, matching Emily’s rhythm until the push and pull between the both of you was symbiotic.

The closing act, the final push, was the press of fingertips curving against a spot within you so sweet you tasted honey on your lips, sugar on your tongue and nectar spilling from your sex.

When you came, you cried.

It wasn’t an outburst of pouring tears nor a cry of eternal joy. It was simply a few tears running down the sides of your face as you smiled and let out a sigh of contentedness, one, perhaps, you had been holding in for years. Years of bending to people’s wishes, even if it meant giving up your pleasure, years of shameful attempts at fucking yourself to exhaustion only to gain no reward, years of yearning for precisely what you were just given.

“You’re loud,” Emily whispered against your belly, kissing the small divot of your belly button.

You waited for a spell, colour draining from your face. Dawning on you was the realisation that whilst you may have thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed yourself; your counterpart may not have.

You shifted uncomfortably, turning your head to mask your blush.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, hoping the blotchy red patches on your cheek mirrored ones of exhaustion, not embarrassment.

Emily shook her head, making no rush to work her way back up your body. Each kiss felt like fire and ice.

When she finally did meet your eyes, she gave you a small smirk.

“I like it. It’s refreshing,” the brunette muttered, touching her lips to yours, painting your mouth with the tang of her tongue.

If the kiss wasn’t reassuring enough, the next thing Emily said ensured she would find pleasure only momentarily.

Slipping her underwear off to her ankle, she flicked the offending garment far across your room and sidled up your body till her sex was waiting directly over your mouth.

“Never have I ever…”

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bratzkoo · 4 months ago

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merging arrangements | wonwoo pt. 3

Author: bratzkoo Pairing: chaebol heir! wonwoo x chaebol heiress!/ nurse! reader Genre: angst, fluff, smut Rating: NC-17 Word count: 4k~ Warnings/note: for my Anna, my beautiful nurse. No smut scene here but I'll keep the rating NC-17. I'm sorry for rushing the fic but I'm planning on taking a break for a while and want to queue up as many fics as i can so my blog will update even if i'm technically on hiatus.

summary: Jeon Wonwoo's been smitten with you for years, as the two of you enter an arranged marriage, he hopes you'll feel the same.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries , @childish-fear

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The Seoul skyline glittered in the early evening light as Wonwoo stood at the window of his office, a tumbler of whiskey untouched in his hand. The past few weeks since returning from his honeymoon with Y/N had been a whirlwind of business meetings, family dinners, and stolen moments with his new wife. Yet despite the growing comfort between them, Wonwoo couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. Y/N seemed distracted lately, her smiles not quite reaching her eyes.

A knock at the door interrupted his musings. "Come in," he called, turning to see Mingyu enter, looking uncharacteristically nervous.

"Hey," Mingyu said, fidgeting with his tie. "Got a minute? There's something I need to talk to you about."

Wonwoo nodded, gesturing to the plush leather chairs in the corner of his office. As they sat, he noticed the tension in his friend's shoulders, the way Mingyu's eyes darted around the room, avoiding direct contact.

"What's going on, Mingyu? You look like you're about to confess to a crime," Wonwoo joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Mingyu let out a strained laugh. "Not a crime, exactly, but... well, it's complicated." He took a deep breath, then blurted out, "I'm married. To Ela. We've been married for six months."

The words hung in the air between them. Wonwoo blinked, trying to process the information. "Married? To Dr. Ela? But... how? When?"

Mingyu ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Wonwoo recognized as a sign of his friend's agitation. "It happened fast. We've been dating for a while, and when her father started pressuring her to consider an arranged marriage with some businessman's son, we just... we couldn't bear the thought of being separated. So we eloped."

"Six months ago," Wonwoo repeated, his mind racing. "That was right before..."

"Right before your engagement to Y/N was announced," Mingyu finished. "I wanted to tell you, but with everything happening so fast with your marriage, and the merger... it never seemed like the right time."

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, trying to reconcile this new information with what he thought he knew about his best friend. "Does anyone else know?"

Mingyu shook his head. "Just Y/N. Ela told her recently. We've been keeping it quiet because of Ela's family. Her father... he wouldn't approve of her marrying someone who isn't from old money."

The irony of the situation wasn't lost on Wonwoo. Here he was, in an arranged marriage that was slowly evolving into something real, while his best friend had secretly married for love and was forced to hide it.

"Why tell me now?" Wonwoo asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

Mingyu's expression softened. "Because you're my best friend, Wonwoo. And because... well, I've seen how things are developing between you and Y/N. I thought maybe, if you knew about Ela and me, it might give you hope. That love can grow in unexpected places."

Wonwoo felt a warmth spread through his chest at Mingyu's words. Despite the shock of the revelation, he couldn't help but feel happy for his friend. "I'm glad you told me," he said softly. "And I'm happy for you, truly. But Mingyu, you can't keep living like this. Hiding your marriage, sneaking around... it's not fair to either of you."

Mingyu nodded, looking relieved to have finally shared his secret. "I know. We're working on a plan. Ela's making a name for herself at the hospital, building her own reputation separate from her family. Once she's more established, we're hoping her father might be more accepting."

As they continued to talk, Mingyu sharing stories of his secret romance and married life, Wonwoo found himself reflecting on his own relationship with Y/N. They had started as strangers, brought together by family obligations and business interests. But now, weeks into their marriage, he was beginning to see glimpses of something deeper, something that made his heart race and his palms sweat like a schoolboy with his first crush.

Later that evening, as Wonwoo made his way home, his mind was still buzzing with thoughts of Mingyu's revelation. He entered the apartment he shared with Y/N, calling out a greeting as he removed his shoes.

"In here," Y/N's voice came from the living room. Wonwoo followed the sound, finding her curled up on the couch with a medical journal. The sight of her, glasses perched on her nose, hair pulled back in a messy bun, made his heart skip a beat.

"How was your day?" he asked, loosening his tie as he sat beside her.

Y/N marked her place in the journal and set it aside. "Busy. There was a multi-car pileup on the highway, so the ER was chaos for most of the afternoon." She rubbed her temples, and Wonwoo resisted the urge to pull her into his arms. They were still navigating the boundaries of their physical affection outside of the bedroom.

"Sounds stressful," he said instead. "Have you eaten? I could order something in."

Y/N shook her head. "I grabbed something at the hospital. But thank you." She paused, studying his face. "Is everything okay? You look... preoccupied."

Wonwoo debated for a moment whether to share Mingyu's secret, but decided against it. It wasn't his story to tell. "Just a long day," he said with a small smile. "How about we watch one of those medical dramas you like? I could use a good laugh at their inaccuracies."

Y/N chuckled, the sound warming Wonwoo from the inside out. "Alright, but don't blame me when you start yelling at the TV about improper CPR techniques."

As they settled in to watch, Wonwoo couldn't help but marvel at how comfortable this felt. Sitting with Y/N, laughing at the ridiculous plot twists of the drama, occasionally brushing hands as they reached for the snacks between them. It wasn't the passionate romance of Mingyu and Ela's secret marriage, but it was something. Something real, something growing.

Little did Wonwoo know, the peace of this moment was about to be shattered by revelations that would shake the very foundation of their budding relationship.

---

The next day found Y/N in the break room of the hospital, her head in her hands as she tried to make sense of the turmoil in her heart. The door opened, and she looked up to see Alexys and Ela enter, deep in conversation.

"I'm telling you, that new resident is a disaster waiting to happen," Alexys was saying. "I swear, if he mixes up another blood sample, I'm going to— Y/N? Are you okay?"

Y/N tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "I'm fine, just... thinking."

Ela, ever perceptive, sat down beside her. "Thinking about what? You look like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders."

The concern in her friends' eyes broke something in Y/N. Before she could stop herself, the words came tumbling out. "I think I still have feelings for Seung-cheol."

The silence that followed her confession was deafening. Alexys, who had been reaching for a cup of coffee, froze mid-motion. Ela's eyes widened, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise.

"But... but you're married," Alexys sputtered, finally finding her voice. "To Wonwoo. Tall, handsome, ridiculously rich Wonwoo. Who, might I add, looks at you like you hung the moon and stars."

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands again. "I know, I know. God, don't you think I know that? It's just... Seung-cheol and I, we have history. And being around him every day, seeing him care for patients, remembering all the plans we used to make..."

"Oh, Y/N," Ela said softly, rubbing soothing circles on her friend's back. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

"Since the wedding, I think," Y/N admitted. "Maybe even before. I thought it would go away, that once I got to know Wonwoo better, these feelings for Seung-cheol would fade. And they have, in a way. Wonwoo is... he's wonderful. Kind, supportive, everything I never expected in an arranged marriage. But then Seung-cheol will do something, say something, and it all comes rushing back."

Alexys, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly exploded. "Are you kidding me right now? Y/N, do you have any idea how complicated this is? You're married! To a chaebol heir! Your families have merged companies! And now you're telling us you have feelings for the guy from ward?"

"Paid department," Y/N corrected weakly, but Alexys wasn't finished.

"Whatever! The point is, this isn't some drama where you can just follow your heart and everything works out. There are real consequences here. For you, for Wonwoo, for both your families. Not to mention poor Seung-cheol, who's probably been pining away this whole time thinking he missed his chance."

Ela shot Alexys a warning look. "What Alexys is trying to say, in her uniquely tactless way, is that this is a very delicate situation. Y/N, have you talked to Wonwoo about any of this?"

Y/N shook her head, feeling tears prick at her eyes. "How can I? We're just starting to build something real. If I tell him I have feelings for someone else... it would destroy him. And probably end our marriage before it's really begun."

"Okay, okay, let's all take a deep breath," Ela said, ever the voice of reason. "Y/N, you need to really think about what you want here. Are these feelings for Seung-cheol just nostalgia for what might have been? Or are they something deeper?"

"I don't know," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking. "That's the problem. I don't know what I feel anymore."

Alexys, who had been pacing the break room, suddenly stopped. "Oh my god," she said, her voice rising in pitch. "Oh my god. This is insane. We're in the middle of a real-life love triangle. A married love triangle. With chaebols and secret feelings and... oh my god, I think I'm having a panic attack."

"You're having a panic attack?" Y/N said incredulously. "I'm the one living this nightmare!"

"Ladies, please," Ela interjected, but her own composure was starting to crack. "We need to stay calm and— oh, who am I kidding? This is a disaster. Y/N, how did we end up here? First Mingyu and I with our secret marriage, and now you with your secret feelings, and... oh god, is this karma? Is the universe punishing us for all those times we sneaked extra pudding cups from the cafeteria?"

Despite the gravity of the situation, Y/N couldn't help but let out a watery laugh. "I'm pretty sure the universe has bigger concerns than stolen pudding cups, Ela."

"You'd be surprised," Alexys muttered. "Those things are like gold around here." She took a deep breath, visibly trying to collect herself. "Okay, so let me get this straight. You're married to Wonwoo, who you're starting to have real feelings for, but you also have lingering feelings for Seung-cheol, who you've known longer and had a connection with before your arranged marriage. Meanwhile, Ela here is secretly married to Wonwoo's best friend, which adds a whole other layer of complication to this mess. Did I miss anything?"

"Just the part where both our families are expecting an heir to secure the company merger," Y/N added glumly.

"Right, because this situation needed more pressure," Alexys said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Anything else? Any other bombs you want to drop? Maybe you're secretly a long-lost princess or something?"

Y/N shook her head, a hysterical giggle bubbling up in her throat. "No, I think that about covers it."

The three friends looked at each other, the full weight of the situation settling over them. Then, as if on cue, they all burst into laughter. It wasn't happy laughter, but rather the kind that comes when a situation is so absurd, so overwhelming, that the only response left is to laugh or cry.

"Oh god," Ela gasped between giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. "What are we going to do?"

"I have no idea," Y/N admitted, her own laughter subsiding into hiccups. "I just... I needed to tell someone. To get it off my chest before I exploded."

Alexys, who had slid down the wall to sit on the floor, shook her head in disbelief. "Well, consider it thoroughly off your chest and splattered all over this break room. Seriously, Y/N, only you could turn an arranged marriage into a K-drama worthy love triangle."

"It's not like I planned this," Y/N protested weakly.

"Of course not," Ela soothed. "But Y/N, you know you're going to have to make a decision eventually, right? You can't keep going on like this, torn between Wonwoo and Seung-cheol. It's not fair to either of them, and it's certainly not fair to you."

Y/N nodded, feeling the weight of her friend's words. "I know. I just... I need time to sort out my feelings. To figure out what's real and what's just... nostalgia or fear or whatever this is."

"Well, you've got us," Alexys said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Whatever you decide, whatever happens, we've got your back. Even if I think you're certifiably insane for getting yourself into this situation in the first place."

"Thanks, I think," Y/N said dryly. She looked at her friends, feeling a rush of affection for these women who were willing to weather this storm with her. "I don't know what I'd do without you two."

"Probably make much more sensible life choices," Ela quipped, earning a weak smile from Y/N.

As the three friends sat in the break room, the gravity of Y/N's confession settling around them like a heavy blanket, none of them noticed the shadow that passed by the partially open door. None of them saw Wonwoo, who had come to surprise Y/N with lunch, freeze in his tracks at the sound of his wife's voice. And none of them saw the play of emotions across his face – shock, hurt, confusion, and finally, a deep, aching sadness – as he quietly backed away from the door, Y/N's words echoing in his mind.

"I think I still have feelings for Seung-cheol."

The lunch in Wonwoo's hand suddenly felt like a lead weight. He turned and walked away, his mind reeling, his heart breaking with every step. The truth had been unveiled, but at what cost?

---

Wonwoo found himself wandering the streets of Seoul, the bustling city a blur around him as Y/N's words played on repeat in his mind. He had come to the hospital on a whim, wanting to surprise Y/N with lunch from her favorite café. Now, he wished he had never set foot in the place.

He replayed every interaction he'd had with Y/N since their wedding, searching for signs he might have missed. Had her smiles been forced? Her laughter hollow? Had every tender moment between them been a lie?

No, he decided. Whatever Y/N's feelings for Seung-cheol, Wonwoo couldn't believe that everything between them had been false. He had seen the genuine surprise in her eyes when he supported her career, felt the real warmth in her embrace when they lay together at night. There was something there, something real growing between them. But was it enough to overcome her history with Seung-cheol?

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the city, Wonwoo found himself in a small park. He sat heavily on a bench, his head in his hands. What was he supposed to do with this information? Confront Y/N? Pretend he had never heard? The thought of facing her, of seeing the guilt in her eyes when she realized he knew, made his stomach churn.

"Wonwoo-ssi? Are you alright?"

The voice startled him, and he looked up to see Seung-cheol standing before him, concern etched on his features. For a moment, Wonwoo felt a surge of irrational anger. This was the man his wife had feelings for, the one who might steal her away. But as quickly as it came, the anger faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness.

"Seung-cheol-ssi," Wonwoo acknowledged, straightening up. He gestured to the empty space beside him. "Please, sit."

Seung-cheol hesitated for a moment before taking a seat, maintaining a respectful distance. An awkward silence fell between them, the air heavy with unspoken words and shared history.

"I didn't expect to see you here," Seung-cheol finally said, his voice carefully neutral. "Is everything okay? You looked... troubled."

Wonwoo let out a bitter laugh. "Troubled. Yes, I suppose that's one way to put it." He turned to look at Seung-cheol, really look at him. This was the man Y/N had history with, the one who still held a piece of her heart. Wonwoo searched his face, trying to see what Y/N saw.

"Can I ask you something, Seung-cheol-ssi?" Wonwoo said abruptly.

Seung-cheol nodded, a wary look in his eyes. "Of course."

"Did you love her? Before... before our marriage was arranged. Did you love Y/N?"

The question hung in the air between them, charged with emotion. Seung-cheol's eyes widened, a myriad of emotions flashing across his face – surprise, pain, regret.

"I... yes," Seung-cheol admitted softly. "I did. I do. But Wonwoo-ssi, you have to understand, I never—"

Wonwoo held up a hand, cutting him off. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just... I needed to know." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I heard Y/N talking to her friends today. She still has feelings for you."

Seung-cheol's sharp intake of breath was the only sound in the quiet park. "Wonwoo-ssi, I... I don't know what to say. I never meant to come between you and Y/N. When your marriage was announced, I stepped back. I've tried to be respectful, to maintain proper boundaries."

"I know," Wonwoo said, surprising himself with the lack of anger in his voice. "I've seen how you interact with her at the hospital. You've been... a good friend to her. A support."

"She's an amazing woman," Seung-cheol said softly. "Brilliant, compassionate. Any man would be lucky to have her love."

Wonwoo nodded, feeling a strange mix of pride and pain at Seung-cheol's words. "She is. And that's why... that's why I can't just let her go without a fight."

Seung-cheol looked at him, surprise evident in his expression. "What do you mean?"

Wonwoo took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "The truth is, Seung-cheol-ssi, I've been in love with Y/N for years. Long before our marriage was arranged. I fell for her at a charity gala years ago, watching her passionately discuss her dreams of becoming a nurse. Her determination, her compassion... I was captivated from that moment on."

Seung-cheol's eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting this revelation.

Wonwoo continued, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "When our families arranged this marriage, I thought it was a dream come true. A chance to finally be close to her, to build a life together. But I never wanted it to be just a business arrangement. These past weeks, getting to know her, seeing all the sides of her I'd only imagined before... it's only made me fall deeper in love with her."

The admission hung in the air between them, a challenge and a confession all at once.

"So what now?" Seung-cheol asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wonwoo stood, brushing off his pants. "Now, I go home to my wife. I fight for our marriage, for the love that I've carried for years and that I hope can grow between us. And you... you respect her choice, whatever that may be."

Seung-cheol nodded slowly, standing as well. "For what it's worth, Wonwoo-ssi, I think you're a good man. Y/N is lucky to have you."

"Thank you," Wonwoo said, extending his hand. Seung-cheol took it, the handshake firm and respectful. As they parted ways, Wonwoo felt a strange sense of clarity. The path ahead wouldn't be easy, but he knew what he had to do.

When Wonwoo arrived home, the apartment was dark and quiet. For a moment, he thought Y/N might not be home, but then he saw a sliver of light under the bedroom door. Taking a deep breath, he made his way down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last.

He knocked softly before entering. Y/N was sitting on the bed, still in her scrubs, her hair a mess as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly. She looked up as he entered, and Wonwoo's heart clenched at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes.

"Wonwoo," she said, her voice hoarse. "Where have you been? I was worried."

He moved to sit beside her on the bed, maintaining a small distance between them. "I'm sorry. I needed some time to think."

Y/N nodded, twisting her hands in her lap. "Wonwoo, there's something I need to tell you. I—"

"I know," he interrupted gently. "About your feelings for Seung-cheol. I overheard you talking to Alexys and Ela at the hospital today."

Y/N's sharp intake of breath was loud in the quiet room. "Oh god," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "Wonwoo, I'm so sorry. I never meant... I didn't want you to find out like this."

Wonwoo reached out, taking her hand in his. "I know. And I'm not angry, Y/N. I'm hurt, yes. Confused. But not angry."

"You should be," Y/N said, a sob breaking free. "I'm a terrible wife. We're just starting to build something real, and I'm ruining it with these... these lingering feelings."

Wonwoo squeezed her hand, waiting until she met his gaze. "You're not a terrible wife, Y/N. You're human. We entered this marriage as strangers, with our own histories, our own emotional baggage. It's natural that there would be... complications."

Y/N stared at him, disbelief written across her features. "How can you be so understanding? I just admitted to having feelings for another man."

"Because I love you," Wonwoo said simply, the words falling from his lips with surprising ease. "I'm in love with you, Y/N. And I believe that what we're building together is worth fighting for."

Y/N's breath caught, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. "Wonwoo, I... I don't know what to say. I care for you, deeply. What's growing between us, it's real and beautiful and I don't want to lose it. But these feelings for Seung-cheol, they're confusing everything."

Wonwoo nodded, reaching up to wipe away her tears. "I know. And I'm not asking you to make a decision right now. I'm not giving you an ultimatum. What I'm saying is... I'm here. I'm committed to us, to our marriage. And I'm willing to work through this, together, if you are."

Y/N leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly. When she opened them, Wonwoo saw a mix of gratitude, affection, and determination in their depths. "I want to try," she whispered. "I want to work through this. With you."

Wonwoo felt a weight lift from his chest at her words. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she cried, her tears soaking into his shirt. They had a long road ahead of them, full of difficult conversations and emotional hurdles. But as he held his wife, feeling her heartbeat against his chest, Wonwoo felt a spark of hope.

Their marriage may have started as an arrangement, but it had become something more. Something worth fighting for. And fight they would, together, against all odds.

As the night deepened around them, Wonwoo and Y/N remained entwined, the first truthful words of their new chapter hanging in the air between them. The truths had been unveiled, painful and raw. But with those truths came the possibility of a deeper understanding, a stronger bond.

The future was uncertain, but for now, they had this moment. This honesty. This chance to build something real from the ashes of their arranged beginning.

And for now, that was enough.

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inkdrinkerworld · 8 months ago

Note

Couls iequest a Soft dom! dealer! Remus x Autistic! Reader wher Rem has a set of rules for r to keep her safe but she always forgets them and one of the big ones is no getting high when he's not there to look after her, but when they are at a party rem goes off with a customer and leaves a brownie behind and R eats the brownie because she's hungry but by the time rem gets back shes really high because the brownie was really strong and if she had waited for rem to get back he would have only let her have half of it because she can end up having a meltdown from overestimulation much quicker when she gets too high.

I read like every dealer! Remus fic you've written and I just have to say I'm OBSESSED Like ridiculously obsessed

“Sit pretty dovey. I’ll be back soon.” Remus kisses your forehead and is off.

You’re at another party, Remus has a lot of customers at these things.

You sit with your legs crossed under you, iPad on your lap as you play a game waiting on Remus.

It’s not that you’re trying to be rude to whoever’s party this is. You just get bored of it, there’s only so much drinking and dancing you can do before it gets boring.

Plus, Remus has rules in place. They help you stave off overstimulation and shutdowns so you try not to stray from the rules.

He’s left a brownie beside you, wrapped in the pretty yellow bags he lets you choose every time he needs new ones.

Remus had promised you an edible, this seems like yours; decorated with hardened melted chocolate on the top of it to give it a nice crunch when you bite into it.

Your mouth waters a bit. Then you remember the biggest rule you have- ‘No getting high when he’s not around.’

It’s a good rule, one that keeps you from getting too overwhelmed. From being pressured into having too much. You love this rule. Remus loves this rule- he gets to help you turn off your brain for a little in a safe way.

You don’t forgo the rule on purpose.

You just intended to have a little piece, just a nibble. It’s like you blink and suddenly the brownie is finished and your head is foggy.

Your mouth feels stuffed up with cotton, your eyes low and burning as you sit on the sofa.

You can feel every stitch of your top rubbing against your skin, the waistband of your shorts suddenly cutting into you in a way that’s too much.

You swear you can feel the blood rushing through your body and it’s too much.

You don’t remember where you are, the party blurring and blending into just another thing that’s overstimulating you.

Remus comes just as you begin to panic. “Hey,” he tips your chin up, frowning when he notices the dilation of your pupils.

“I had the brownie.” You say swiftly, shame burning your chest when Remus tuts. “M’sorry.”

“Dovey,” he says softly, reprimanding but not much. Not when you’re like this. “This one was stronger. You were only supposed to have half.”

You bite your lip, tears filling your eyes.

“Hey, you’re not in trouble.” Remus isn’t cruel. “Let’s just work on the comedown.”

You let Remus guide you outside to his car. “Here,” he opens the door and passes you your tumbler of water. Remus watches you take a couple slow sips, then he reaches in the backseat for a sweater. “Something softer, dove.”

He doesn’t want to be tugging you out of your t-shirt in the open like this, but you might start picking at your skin and he doesn’t want that more.

In the sweater, you relax a little. Your eyes aren’t as wild now, Remus taps your tumbler when you stop sipping.

“Three more.” You take three slow sips, Remus leans against the car watching you arms crossed over his chest.

“How do you feel now?”

You sigh, “Better. I’m sorry.” Your fingers twitch against your cup.

Remus nods, opening his arms and you shuffle right into them. “C’mere, my love.”

His hands hold onto your hip and the back of your head.

“If you weren’t so high I’d spank you.” Remus chuckles when you stiffen up. “No more rule breaking.”

“I won’t Remmy,” you whine, Remus pulls back a smile playing on his lips.

“I know you won’t, dove.” He tips your chin up, lips ghosting over yours. “Ready to go back or leave?”

You hum, pressing your lips together. “Do you have anything else to sell?”

Remus shakes his head, “No, I’m all yours, sweet girl.”

You smile, more than a little shy as you say, “Can we go back in and have a cuddle for a little bit? I’m tired.”

Remus laughs, shaking his head as he presses his lips to your jaw. “Yeah baby, lead the way.” The way he says it makes your stomach trip, even more so now that you’re high. He pats at your ass when you walk off to the door, revelling in the shriek that leaves you.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 year ago

Text

Dirty Work 13

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Ew, Monday.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The taxi lets you out just outside the darkened estate. Your heart lurches as you stand on the curb, the car slowly rolling away as you stand in a cone of light beneath a street pole. You stare up at the ominous facade with its cavernous windows.

You want to believe it was just a faulty wire or some anomaly but you have to be sure of it. The gate is locked, just as you were certain you left it. You key in the code and shut yourself in. The hedges and looming trees lendthe property an unearthly feel as you creep along, aided only by slivers of moonlight.

You stop and look down at the phone clutched in your hand. You search for the flashlight app and shine it ahead of you. By habit, you go around the back, even as the chirp of crickets and hum of the night adds to your foreboding.

The beep of each digit pressed into the keypad pierces the night. The electronic chime is unceremonious is the nocturnal din. Inside, there is a haze of light from just down the hallway. Did you leave it on or did someone else?

You turn off the light on the phone and drag up the call app instead. Just in case you need to call for help. You proceed without flipping any switches, careful not to make a noise as you advance. You reach the entryway and turn to face the glow emitting from the broad archway.

You hold your breath as dread bubbles up to your throat. You stop short as the clink of a glass cracks the silence. Mr. Laufeyson’s back is to you as he sets down the short tumbler, a stray droplet clinging to the brim. He rescinds his arm and wipes his mouth with his cuff.

You could sigh. It’s okay. He’s only come home early. It’s not some sinister intruder or covetous criminal. It is only him.

You could go and he’d never know of your foolish panic. You lean back on your heel as you tuck away your phone. He strides to the tall glass cabinet and presses the door so it releases. He pushes it open and drags out one of the dark bottles. You sidle backwards, stretching an arm out to feel around you.

“What are you doing here?” He sneers and stops you in your tracks.

You gulp and blink. Speechless. Caught.

“Yes, you,” he turns and uncaps the round-shouldered bottle.

“Mr. Laufeyson, I…” you sputter and step out of the shadows, “the alarm.”

He fills the glass and clunks the bottle down heavily, resting the cap on top but not sealing it. He swipes up the tumbler and brings it before his mouth. His green eyes sparkle like emeralds in the low light of a single lamp.

“And you came oh so quickly,” he scoffs.

You rub your lips together, uncertain what to say. He seems unhappy. His early return is likely for unpleasant reasons.

He swigs and strides, his free hand patting his thigh in agitation as he paces. He spins and retraces his steps, mouthing to himself. You peer down the hall and back at him. You feel you’ve walked in on a very private moment.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Laufeyson, I’ll go,” you say.

“Hm, you do not want to stay?” He challenges as he halts and faces you, his sole scuffing sharply, “I’m certain this place is preferable to whatever sty you reside in.”

“I only came to make sure all is well–”

“And why wouldn’t it be?” He pauses to toss back the last of his drink, liquor by the looks of it. “Were you neglectful in your duties, mm? Shall I take inventory?”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I was only… nevermind,” you shrug.

“Bah,” he waves you off and twists on his feet, once more strutting away. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he goes to stand by the mantel, tilting his head as he gazes along the ornaments. Just where the camera hides. “While you’re here, pour me another drink.”

You chew your lip and wring your hands as you come forward. You break the threshold of the den and near the round table beside the armchair. You peek at him as he toys with the globe, flicking it around with one finger.

“Do take your time,” he hisses.

You grab the bottle and lift the cap. You tip it carefully but still hit it against the top of the glass. The liquid glugs out and the scent rises to tinge your nostrils. You set the bottle down and take the glass, wondering how anyone can stomach it.

You go to him as he leans a hand on the mantel, his other on his hip as he huffs. He shakes his head at some irksome thought. You stand nearby but don’t dare disturb him. He frightens you as he turns and snatches the glass.

“You know,” he begins, stopping himself to drain half the glass, “the last thing I need to worry about is this place. I hired you for just that and I find you looking at me as if this house should be aflame.”

You look down and take a step back. He clucks and pivots, stomping around the sofa. You stay as you are, rigid and uneasy. The anger roils off of him and you are the only one there to hear it.

“My father… of course, couldn’t be happy for my visit. No, never is. I swear he must’ve despised my very birth,” he snarls, “but my brother, oh, he can do no wrong.”

He empties the last of the glass as you peer over your shoulder. He grips the glass tight and bares his teeth at it. His eyes are drawn to yours as if he can sense them.

“You’re still here,” he growls.

“Mr. Laufeyson, sorry, I–” you hurry around the other side of the sofa towards the door, “I was only–”

“No, no,” he stops you as he waves his palm, “another.”

He presents the glass in his other hand. You stare at it. There’s a cloudy tint in his eyes. As you approach, you hear him exhale. You take the glass and his fingers brush yours clumsily as he drops his arm.

You look at the empty tumbler and back to him. You don’t know how much he’s had or how much more he should. You don’t drink but you suppose he wouldn’t need more than a few glasses.

“Are you sure you should–”

“Are you questioning me?” He snips.

“No, Mr. Laufeyson, I only… it’s late and you’ve been traveling–”

“Don’t tell me what’s good for me,” he raises a finger to point in your face, “left alone for one day and you presume a bit much.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, not at all,” you swallow, “I will get you more–”

“No,” he grabs you before you can retreat, his hands on your shoulders, “why…”

His word dangles between you as his question remains unasked. Terror courses through you as he grips your shoulders tight, the size and strength of his hands locking you in place. You bat your lashes as you stare up at him. The liquor clings to his breath as it fans over you.

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you squeak.

He holds on to you, almost trembling. He steps closer as he draws you in. He is almost hypnotised as he glares down at you. His hands slip away only to grasp the bulk of your hood instead, bunching it in his fists. He leans, teetering on his feet, looming over you.

You are trapped in your own shock. You cannot pull away, you can’t push him off, you can’t move. You’re horrified as you wonder what he’s thinking. As you fear what he might do next.

He is drunk, that isn’t a question, but is he dangerous?

“The light plays tricks on me,” he whispers before he lets you go, swaying as he turns and finds his way to the sofa. He flops down, leaning against the backrest. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. “You are correct, I am drunk.” He takes a breath and blows out with a groan, his lashes flicking open suddenly as he sits up, “go.”

You nod and put the glass beside the bottle. You march back to the archway and stop, glancing back at Mr. Laufeyson as he drops his head and cradles it in his hands. He looks almost pathetic as he slouches forward.

“I said leave me,” he snaps without looking up, “now!”

🧹

The night is short and fruitless. Your sleep is splintered with anxiety and the morning sees you twitchy and uneasy. As you get ready to leave, you wonder if you should even bother. That rotten feeling in your gut assures you you’ll meet no different than the previous night.

Yet, Mr. Laufeyson hadn’t fired you. He only told you to leave and you can’t afford to give up, though for the first time, you're considering it. As Leslie gets your father’s coffee ready, you’re reminded that you can’t. No, he needs you, he is only too stubborn to admit it.

You set off as the knot in your stomach draws tighter. You don’t sit on the bus, instead standing as your nerves get the better of you. You rock, leaning into the motion of the bus and your stop comes too soon. You drag yourself off and shudder as you look down towards your fate.

You’re on time. Five minutes ahead of expected. The gate code works, that’s a good sign. Your usual trawl through the gardens is hazy and dull. You don’t notice the blue jay winging or the lady bugs crawling on the brick. You can only focus on what comes next. You’re completely blinded by the unknown.

Inside, the house is as empty as the day before. Not truly. You know Mr. Laufeyson will show himself eventually. You hang your bag and put on shoe covers and gloves. It’s Monday, a cleaning day.

You begin if only for the distraction. Down the hall, into the kitchen, room to room, until you reach the den. There is no sign of the previous night’s run-in. The bottle is neatly back in the cabinet with the rest, the short glass is gone, and all appears as it should be. So why does it feel so off?

You work through the room almost ritualistically. You have a pattern and you stick to it. The familiar has always been safest.

As you near the table, something sparkles on the dark hardwood. You bend to pick up the small shard of glass, careful not to let it cut into your fingertips. You glance around to see if it broke off anything close by. No cracks, no chips. It’s clear and tiny. Almost indiscernible.

You cup it in your hand and take it to the kitchen to put in the bin. Something so small can cause a lot of pain. You shake off your palm and let the lid close.

“Ah, I see you are working hard,” Mr. Laufeyson’s voice rolls through you.

You tense and turn slowly from the bin. You keep your head down as you cross the kitchen, “yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

As you try to pass the counter, where he stands, he steps out to block your path. You stop and back up, your gaze stuck to the tiles before his leather shoes. He stands close enough for his warmth to cloud around you.

“Coffee,” he states the single word and in an undeniable demand.

He’s never asked for that before but you can figure it out. It must be a test. Or a lesson. He’s reminding you of your place. You can’t just barge in after hours, even if you are trying to help. Well, that’s the thing, he only wants the help he asks for so you better stop thinking so much.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

You turn and go to the cupboard. You don’t know where anything is. You clean but you don’t cook or go through anything. You open one door; wrong. The second; wrong. On the fifth, you find a bag of coffee.

As you unfold the top, you reveal aromatic beans. You stare at them. You make coffee for your father all the time but you buy grounds, not whole beans. You look around for a hint. You’ve seen people grind beans on television but they don’t exactly show the grinder; it’s always just a loud noise in the background before the balding blonde brings the metropolitan cast their wide brimmed cappuccinos.

You flinch as Mr. Laufeyson struts around the bend of the counter and slides a square device across the granite. He pushes it in front of you, crowding you again. You thank him and stare at the grinder. What do you do now?

You take the little scoop from inside the bag and spoon up a heap of beans. You hover them above the rest as you touch the grinder, turning it as you examine it. He sighs and taps a silver button. The lid pops up and reveals a compartment. You pour in the beans and close the top.

“Are you truly so ignorant?” He accuses.

“Sorry, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter, not bothering with an excuse.

“It is a simple task. They train teenagers to do it,” he scoffs.

You nod and press the button that reads ‘grind’. You hold it, happy for the noisy reprieve from his criticism. When it’s done, you look around again. There’s a machine but it looks a lot different than the drip machine in your own kitchen. You go over to it and feel along the upper part, searching for a catch. Surely there’s somewhere to put a filter.

He nears again. He slides a drawer out and takes out a little metal canister. He pushes a button to open the top of the machine and wiggles it over it to say, it goes here. You open your hand and he lets you have it. You return to the grinder and scoop out the ground beans into the little canister.

You return to the machine as he taps his fingers on the counter. You slip the canister into place and close the lid. The screen lights up and shows several options. You don’t know which one to choose. He huffs and selects ‘bold’. You stare at his tie in shame.

“How can you not know how to brew a coffee?” He sneers.

You shrug, “sorry, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Mm, there is much you don’t know, isn’t there? Much I know which you wouldn’t,” he snickers, “oh but I know something about you. Something… interesting.”

You furrow your brow and look up, not far, just at his throat. His hand slips across the counter and he looms over you. His gaze bores into you as he hangs over you like a shadow. He pulls back and turns to lean on the counter, lifting his wrist to adjust his watch. He’s certain to turn his hand to show it off.

“What I know is that you’re a liar,” he states, “and sneaky. And nosy.”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I only came last night because the alarm–”

“Last night? What do you mean?”

“Uh…” you blink and look him in the face. “You don’t remember?”

“Ha,” he snorts, “of course I do. You were concerned after I triggered the alarm. So be it. I am not talking about that,” he faces you as he smirks, “you like to hide, don’t you?”

You frown and shrug. You don’t know what he means. He laughs and once more touches his watch.

“I know exactly how you came upon my watch that day,” he announces, “and I suspect you discovered a few other curious sights.”

You blanch and shake your head vehemently. Your cheeks are on fire and your whole body is buzzing. You could disintegrate right then and there. You almost wish you could.

“I didn’t– I didn’t see anything at all. I just– I just– Mr. Laufeyson, I wouldn’t ever– you’re my boss. I was afraid but I couldn’t see out from under the bed.”

“But if you could…” he hums.

“No,” you insist, “no, I wouldn’t want to.”

“Wouldn’t want to?” He echoes dully.

“I understand, I was wrong to not say anything but I was only trying to clean–”

“Wouldn’t want to?” He repeats even louder.

You snap your mouth shut and frown. You don’t know what to say. You’re embarrassed. You should’ve just told him yourself. Before you can apologise, he throws his hand up and sidesteps you.

“You may bring me my coffee,” he orders harshly, “be certain to knock.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #dirty work #au #maid au #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

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currentlylivingonaprayer · 1 year ago

Text

my top favorite kimchay fanfics

In no particular order

(Even though nobody asked)

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40707996

dancing with our hands tied by MajorinMonster

After Chay gets jumped by a rival mafia gang he decides he needs a reputation so people won't touch him again. Kim is just there, trying to get back into chays good books.

9/10 recommend

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3061830

The idiots & idioms series by snickerdoodlles

Chay steals kims official wik account and post absolute unhinged things. Kim does nothing to stop him.

A must read for giggles

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45252880

Five Minutes by littlemisslawyer

Chays is a doctor and has been sent out of Thailand for many years. The day he comes back and wants nothing more than to take a break from work Kim has the audacity to get shot right in front of him.

Lots of cussing and chay calling kim 'pretty boy' and 'asshole/bastard'. Perfect

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/43953225

Idolistic by ditchlilly

Wik centric fic. Kim likes to post false information of himself from a side account and chay somehow know what of the things he says are true or false. Kim gets suspicious and tries to find out who this boy is.

Lots of TENSION. And kittens. I absolutely love this one. Stayed awake till 3 am giggling so much I thought I would wake my family up. A must read. Definitely in my top 2.

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50830555

Progression by Azile (WitnessMarks)

Porchay trains to becomes stronger after their break up, kim, meanwhile, doesn't handel it well and then gets kidnapped. Chay is one of the people to come to his rescue. Kim comes back quite damaged and chay is one of the only people he feels really comfortable being around. Both of them are confronted with their still existing feelings for the other.

absolute masterpiece. Read in one sitting, even though it's still updating. Can only recommend. This story is batteling with Idolistic for first place.

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/series/3489094

The KIM IS SO LOVED series by wayupthere

No comment. Read the tags, you'll know what it's about.

~~~

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45749062

Idle Talk by Iamabudgie

After someone posts a blind item on a gossip site, Kim is forced to confront something he has been delaying for months.

Absolutely amazing. Much deeper plot than you think when you first start it. Updates are months apart, but they deliver every time. Definitely in my top 3.

Edit:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52988125

I Fell for You by @liesineyes

Kims family treats him like absolute shit. Chay and Porsche just want to find out out why, while also planning to show Kim real family love.

Love this story. Not many chapters yet, but beautiful and makes me sad and happy at the same time.

Edit edit:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52593382

BREAKING NEWS by Pens

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48575617

Back on the Beat by Pens

It's kimchay works, with the most beautiful fanart I've ever seen and it makes my cheeks ache form smiling.

Also check out their tumbler account @shou-jpeg for more kimchay content.

and of course the overall classics like an elegant mechanism by Laughsalot3412, or meet me where the light greets the dark by froginthesun.

I know some of these authors are here on tumbler, but I habe no idea how to tag them in a post, so I will tag them in the comments. Please tell me if I forgot someone. Check out their accounts too.

Also, if you have a recommendation, I'm open for them.

#kimchay #kim theerapanyakul #porchay kittisawasd #kinnporche the series #kinnporsche the series #Kimchay fanfic #Kimchay fanfic recommendations #fanfic rec #ao3

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woods-and-adlers-left-hand-dude · 7 months ago

Text

Whenever I read a fic and it's got something to do with ears like biting or kissing behind then I always have a good giggle because I know full well if that was me they would be biting mental or having there face scratched by the amount of earrings I have like "jokes one you I have a anti ear biting device"

#i need new tumbler fics #ao3 writer #writer stuff #writers on tumblr #reading #reader smut #smut #why am i like this #cooper howard x reader #john hancock x sole survivor #john seed x reader #doctor strange x reader

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stars-forever · 29 days ago

Text

It's been an honor...

After some thinking, I have decided that due to some personal things, I will be taking a Writing Hiatus. I don't know how long it will be, but figuring my last one was for over two years, there is a pretty good chance this one will be a couple months at the least.

All my mutuals on Tumbler, and friends on Discord, it's been an honor writing and getting to know you guys. I thought I should tag all of you so that you guys, don't worry if I stop posting. The flash fests, sprints, collab works, tag games, posts, and everything else were amazing and I had so much fun with you guys! I wasn't planning on taking this break until this morning, a lot has happened and I really need a break. But I am still going to read your works, share them, and leave comments.

Some things that I would like to point out before I stop writing:

I will not leave Tumbler, so feel free to tag me in stuff! I might not post/reblog as much as I used to, but I will still try to get on. Please know that I have a lot of posts in my queue currently, so it'll take about a week for them all to be posted.

You can still message me here on Tumbler, or on Discord. I will still be checking both of those accounts. Though I might be a bit slower for Tumbler.

I will still be a beta for your works and will continue to help you with it. I am not stopping being a beta, I'm just stopping writing. I will be taking fewer beta roles, though.

I will still be a mod for @pjo-equinox-solstice-exchange, and will still write a gift fic for the spring exchange.

I am still going to run @character-a-character-b, and all the Tumbler blog and the events that go along with it.

I will be going through my inbox soon and responding to any message I have there.

I will not be posting any of my works on AO3. I might decide to edit some of them and make them available for viewing again, but I will not be posting any new ones.

I will not be deleting any of my works. The last time I took a hiatus, I didn't delete anything, and I'm not going to this time. Yes, some of my fics were moved to collections where they cannot be viewed at this time, I was editing them but didn't have a chance to finish them.

I will not be deleting any of the requests that people have asked me for. They are so good, and I would love to write them when I am happier with writing. I am not leaving any of the Discord servers or Tumblr Communities I am a part of.

My last work as of now will be for @rynrising44 Flash Fest for @character-a-character-b. I posted a couple days ago before I decided to take a break. It will still be released as part of the event.

You can still give me asks for the writer asks game. Even if I'm not writing fanfiction, I'm still writing a novel so I don't mind talking about it! You can find them here!

I will not be taking part in any events other than, @pjo-equinox-solstice-exchange. There are a couple of events that I would like to take part in later this year, but I'm not sure if I am not going to take part in them.

I will still be approving comments on AO3. So feel free to leave them on any of the works I have posted there.

If you have any questions about this, you can always reach out to me.

I'm going to take this time to focus on my studies and the novel I am co-writing. I am going to come back to writing fanfiction, I have been since for years, but for now, I just need a break. I hope everyone can understand and I look forward to when am ready to join all of you in writing about our favorite characters.

My wonderful mutuals: @deception-united, @hellsresidentfallenangel, @theneverwriter, @alchemicalwerewolf, @zestialdragon, @eclipsingbingo, @blackwood4stucky, @evadne01, @evilwriter37, @queenofsliferred, @endlesstwanted, @bisexualbiancatruther, @littlelilliana15, @nothankyou543, @wyked-ao3, @rynrising44, @freddy-eynsford-hills-cuck-chair, @piperslovebot, @starlight-write, @teine-mallaichte, @fallenangelics, @fallenangelicss, @hallsoffandom, @cssnder, @the-ellia-west, @lexywrite, @illarian-rambling, @fractured-shards, @lumpofsand, @exactlydelicateflower, @jamestsmirk, @sizzlingkingdomsheep989, @fandomsandfoxlore, @redlion8123, @randyzdz, @sincerelyrushwriter, @lillyrosenight, @deadpoolredhoodwintersoldiergirl, @aleheartilly, @hamsteriffic, @emmaspersonaldiary, @akemisalem, @wendydarlingfics, @urnumber1star, @thedragonchilde, @scarletbeast, @hozier-cried, @midnightwhispersinthemoonlight, @abdquffa9, @bizships, @anamateurhumanbeing, @subukunojess, @otaku-girl-ao3, @igottherapy, @peri-crone-al, @winter-doggo, @huskyblader, @dawnepiphany, @busyasabbey, @1attheedge, @iputhepinprincess, @lilac-hecox, and @melvinjr23!

I hopefully this will tag everyone.

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qqueenofhades · 2 years ago

Note

Your tags on the Dreamling/Good Omens cross over have me frothing at the mouth and I just need you to know that if you were to write that “Crowley stumbles into the New Inn” fic, I would be highly supportive of your life choices

The place isn't otherwise busy. It's edging into the lull period of late afternoon, when the day drinkers have shuffled out and the evening drinkers aren't quite off work, when there are only a few tourists taking snaps for the 'gram and the bartenders are out back for a cigarette break by the bins. Hob is sitting at his usual table, confronted with a pile of papers, a brewing catastrophe about the autumn schedule that for some reason he is expected to sort out, three passive-aggressive emails from Philippa about the prospect of him becoming Head of School next year (not on your fucking immortal life, mate) and other mundane academic crises, when the door flies open and a bloke at the end of his rope staggers in.

Thing is, Hob knows this particular bloke, at least by casual sight. He's been in from time to time, has a drink, stares at the wall, looks moody, and goes out again, either to a vintage Bentley filled with houseplants or just the streets of Poplar. Hob has made friendly conversation with him a time or two, knows that his name is Anthony Crowley and he lives in Soho, and he has a husband/boyfriend/life partner of some description who often drives him bonkers (join the club? Though the Stranger isn't even really that). But from the look on Anthony Crowley's face, as much as can be discerned from beneath his ever-present black sunglasses (not really a fashion item one otherwise needs in London), this is a five-alarm fire, and Hob gets up in some concern. "Hey. Mate. Everything -- ?"

Crowley stumbles past him without answering, which is probably only what Hob deserves. He reaches the bar, and since the bartenders are still on fag break and nobody else seems around to do it, Hob scuttles around the back. "Get you something?"

"Beer. Whiskey. Drink. I don't care." Anthony digs in his wallet and flings the first assortment of bills he can find at Hob, which is far more than it costs for a drink even in this terminally overpriced city. "Make it strong. Want to forget my own fucking name."

"Right. Got it." Hob only worked the bar when the New Inn was first opened and they were still hiring staff, but he hasn't forgotten. He selects a Scottish whiskey, neat, and pours it into the bottom of a tumbler, sliding it across the bar. Anthony throws it back without even seeming to breathe and shoves the glass in search of another, and Hob frowns. "Oy. Take it easy."

Crowley mutters something about that being the last thing he intends to do, thanks, and Hob's curiosity, the one thing that has often propelled him through the centuries, gets the better of him. "Not my place," he says cautiously. "But is everything, y'know? All right at home? Your, uh, partner, is he -- "

The effect of this utterance is not dissimilar to waving a red flag in front of a bull. Crowley rears back, looks for a moment like he's going to bolt, and is only prevented by Hob strategically shoving the refilled whisky glass into his hand. He tosses it down the hatch without turning a hair, wipes his mouth raggedly with the back of his hand, and with that, and no further prompting, launches into an absolutely nutty jeremiad. Something about Heaven and Hell, something about Aziraphale (that's his partner's name, yes) being a stubborn angelic idiot who's going to get himself killed, something about people named Gabriel (also an angel?) and Beelzebub (also a demon -- wait, demon?) running off together and he just thought -- he thought -- like a bloody fool he thought they could -- but no. Nooooooooo.

"Er," Hob says at the end, blinking hard. "Sorry, I don't quite follow."

"Course you don't." Crowley heaves a heavy sigh. "Even though you're not an ordinary human, I suppose it's just too...." He searches for a word, slurs a little on the end (maybe that whisky, of which he has just chugged the third glass, is having an effect on him after all), and enunciates with bitter, drunk precision. "Ineffable."

"Wait. What?"

"You're Robert Gadling." Crowley tips his head like an owl, trying to size Hob up in his progressively more lubricated state, and his dark glasses slide to the end of his nose, revealing lucent golden eyes beneath. "The special one. The immortal one. Right?"

Hob opens his mouth. Hob shuts his mouth. He realizes vaguely that it's quite possible Crowley has not, in fact, been talking in convoluted celestial metaphors the whole time. "How did you...?"

"I know your boyfriend," Crowley snaps. "Bit bloody full of himself too, isn't he? He and Az -- Azz-- Aziraphale probably sit around having secret societies for technology-hating, stuck-up, idiotic, holier-than-thou, utter total fucking prigs who can't use their words and constantly deny their feelings, eh?"

"My boyf -- " All at once, Hob feels as if a grand piano has been dropped on his head from a great height, like something out of an old cartoon. Yes, things with the Stranger are going well-if-you-squint, ever since their last meeting here: the idiot actually turned up, he apologized, he smiled, they had a long conversation, there were definite sparks. Considering the last, er, six hundred years or so of dismal precedent, that's a low bar, but still. "Afraid," Hob says at last, "he and I -- well, we aren't exactly like that, but -- "

Crowley keeps staring at him like he desperately wants Hob to sit him down and give him a clinic in how to get with the fussy, standoffish, excessively rules-bound immortal being he has been, evidently, also bloody pining after for Christ only knows how long. "Why not?"

"Ah." Good question. Hob isn't sure. "It's complicated."

"Complicated." Crowley stares moodily at the mirrored bar. "Sure. Yeah. Six thousand bloody years of complicated."

"Did you say six thousand -- ?"

"Yeah." Crowley holds out the glass again. "More."

Hob's mouth is still open. He's going to say something, but he doesn't know what. Six thousand years? God's wounds. He and the Stranger, at their piddly six hundred, are practically fucking married.

(He gets Anthony Crowley another drink, on the house. Can't help but feel that the poor bastard deserves it.)

#anonymous #ask #good omens s2 #good omens spoilers #neil gaiman cinematic universe #ineffable husbands #dreamling #dreamling ff #see this is what i mean #when i say i am easily enabled #alas

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zablife · 2 years ago

Note

I used this gif the other day for one of my fics, but I also wondered what you could do with it...thanks, Lee! 💙

Now You Know the Truth

"I think it's a conversation at least," you pleaded, desperate to be heard.

"We're late for dinner," Tommy stated, brushing past you and walking into the drawing room to pour himself a tumbler of whisky.

The family was already assembled, sipping cocktails before dinner and you eyed them nervously as Tommy stood smoking and drinking without so much as a glance in your direction. He hadn't looked you in the eye since he declared his intention to align himself with Oswald Mosley's new party and it gutted you to be shut out so harshly.

"We need to talk, Tom," you urged once more, placing a hand on his forearm gently.

He withdrew his hand stiffly to rummage for his cigarette case. "If you have something to say, fucking say it, Y/n," he mumbled, rubbing a cigarette across his bottom lip. The last thing you wanted was a fight in front of everyone, but Tommy left you no other choice.

You were sick of pretending to support every bad decision he made in the wake of his grief, addiction and insanity. In that moment you snapped. "Fine, I will, because it's the truth," you said looking about the room before unleashing your tirade. "You're spent in the head, Tommy. You would never even have considered this before Pol died," you said, voice cracking with emotion. If Polly were here she would tell him it was a mistake to get involved with such a dangerous man. He would listen to her, you thought bitterly. "She would tell you this business with Mosley is going to get you killed!" you shouted.

The room was silent as everyone in the family looked down into their drinks or at their shoes suddenly. They knew it was best to let you argue without interference. They only wished you'd done it privately as this was becoming increasingly embarrassing for all of you. However, it was about to get worse.

Swirling the amber liquid in his glass, Tommy looked up at you slowly with icy blue eyes glaring a warning before he'd even spoken. "You know Pol didn't always know best," he countered in an even, measured voice devoid of all emotion. "She wanted me to make an honest woman of ya because she said it would be good for me. But you don't know a fucking thing about my business and some nights I wish I'd just gone on paying you for it," he spat cruelly. "So now you know the truth as well," he said, turning to leave without looking back.

Part 2

#zablife ask box #Peaky Blinders fanfic #Peaky Blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby imagine #Tommy Shelby x you #Tommy Shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby x reader #dark!Tommy

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avastrasposts · 1 year ago

Text

Pickled Interruptions - a Pickled Peña Production

Hello!

As you've probably seen, we've been gearing up for a writing challenge these past few weeks - Pickled Peña! A brain child of some of my lovely friends here on Tumblr. Anyone who joins in will be added to the Pickled Peña Master List over at @pickled-pena and I cannot wait to see what everyone comes up with based on the prompts that were randomly selected.

Below the cut is my contribution. I ended up using an OFC I created for another fandom but there's no need for prior information about her to read this fic. I just wanted to bring her out to play again because she's such a firecracker and would give Peña a challenge.

There are no warnings for this fic, it's just a bit of spicy fluff, mentions of pickles, sticky floors and Peña's half hard dick because...you know...

“Daniels! No fucking pickles in the vodka orange!” Eve snapped at the new bartender on her shift as she grabbed a pair of tongs and picked the sad, floating cucumber from the orange juice.

“Who the hell even hired you?” she growled at him as he shrugged and slid the drink over to the disgruntled looking patron on the other side of the bar.

Eve sighed and went back to serving her side of the bar, keeping an eye on him from the corner of her eye. It was New Year's Eve, the busiest night of the year in any decent club but instead of making drinks and getting big tips, she was now babysitting the dumbass newbie. The imbecile further down the bar had been hired just yesterday to cover for a skinny kid, Lenny, who’d suddenly called in and claimed he had a broken leg.

And she could see why Daniels had been hired, the cluster of women surrounding his section of the bar made it very evident. The man was undeniably good looking, his broad shoulders and narrow hips emphasized by the uniform worn by all the bartenders at the club, tight fitting black slacks, a white shirt open at the neck, rolled up sleeves and a black vest. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t say she was tempted, but she pulled her eyes away from his butt as he bent down to pick up a tumbler he’d dropped. It was a very good butt, but she had a job to do, and she could see almost every woman, and some of the men, stare at it when he turned around to grab whiskey from the top shelf.

“Daniels!” she yelled, making him jump and almost drop the five hundred dollar bottle of bourbon he’d just grabbed. “We do not put JD Gold Medal in a fucking Jack and Coke,” she hissed at him as she took the bottle from his hand, “get a fucking grip, regular JD is just fine.”

“Yes, boss,” he replied, grabbing the right bottle this time, pouring a much too generous measure into the glass as Eve rolled her eyes.

“Put this back on the shelf when you’re done,” she snapped, “Considering your name I really thought you’d know more about Jack Daniels, Jack Daniels,” she scoffed at him and went back to her section of the bar.

Javier Peña seethed under his breath as he poured the Coke into the glass, trying to remember his bartending crash course from two days ago. Who’s stupid fucking idea had it been to give him the alias Jack-fucking-Daniels? This last minute undercover thing was dicey as fuck as it was, even if was just to be reconnaissance to figure out when the next drug shipment this club was a front for would come in. He just needed to get a look at the office in the back, but so far the bossy know-it-all they’d stuck him with at the bar had gone back there herself every time something was needed from storage.

He glanced over at her, she was leaning over the counter, smiling at some clearly drunk blonde guy, the open buttons of her white shirt straining against her cleavage, giving the man a perfect view. And he was taking advantage of it, not even attempting to hide the way he was staring at her breasts. But judging by the generous tip he gave her when she passed him his drink, it had been worth it. And he had to give it to her, she had the looks to make all the men at the bar hang on to her every movement as she swiftly made their drinks. He had noticed that most of the men were on her side of the bar, and the women on his side. He didn’t mind, he just wished he was as fast as her when it came to making drinks. He fucking hated having to ask her for instructions, her barely contained eye rolls becoming more and more pronounced the further the night went. But she was right, he wouldn’t have fucking hired himself either, the only drink he knew was whiskey, neat.

Javier had tried flirting with Eve, hoping to get some information from her while she showed him where everything was in the bar before opening on his first night the day before.

“The ice is here, it usually needs to be refilled once a night if it’s busy. The big ice machine is next to the storage room out back,” she thumbed behind her to the door, “but I’ll handle that. You just keep the patrons happy for now.”

“How about keeping you happy,” he smiled, wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, “I don’t mind carrying the heavy stuff for you, cariño.”

“Yeah, thanks, I can handle myself,” she snorted, turning away from him and nudging the bar fridge with the toe of her shoe, “This is where we keep any garnishes for the cocktails, we’ll need to cut up some more during the night so keep an eye on how much we have left.”

“So, you’ve been doing this long? You seem to know your way around a bar,” he asked as he leaned on the counter next to her, making sure he was down on her level as he smiled, reaching up to tuck a strand of her copper red hair behind her ear. She swatted away his hand and he chuckled, “Feisty, jus-”

“If you say what I think you're about to say about redheads and temper, just shut it,” she snapped at him, her eyes flashing, “I’ve heard every possible variation.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he grinned, holding up his hands in surrender as she turned on her heel and stalked off to the other side of the bar, grabbing the dish cloth and throwing it at him with a flick of her wrist.

“You’re on dishwasher duty, don’t fuck up.”

He caught it mid air before it hit his face, sauntering after her as she pulled up the hood of the dishwasher.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be less predictable in the future,” he grinned and changed his tact, giving her a softer smile this time, leaving some space between them, “I’ve always had a soft spot for redheads, never dated one though,” he said, tilting his head as she scowled. He was making sure to keep his eyes on her face and not let them drift down to where the shirt of her uniform opened up.

“Good for you;” she replied, pulling out the tray of clean glasses and pointing to them, “They need to be dried or they’ll have water stains, get to it.”

“Yes, boss.”

“And put them with the other clean glasses when you’re done,” she pulled down the hood again and started turning away but Javier put his hand out to stop her.

“Wait, I apologize, I was an ass, I didn’t mean to come on so strong,” he gently put his hand on her upper arm, careful to not grab her, just let it rest there as he gave her his most sincere look, “but if you get an evening off, I’d like to make it up to you and take you out, just for a drink or something.”

He smiled at her again, keeping it soft and honest looking as he removed his hand from her arm, “I’m serious, you’re a beautiful woman and clearly a much better bartender than me, and I’d like to get to know you. If you’ll let me.”

He kept his eyes on her as he stopped talking, reading her face for any tell tale signs of her softening but she wasn’t budging.

“I don’t date bartenders,” she smirked, picking up an empty tray and leaving the bar area.

“Make it your New Year’s resolution to try something new and date one?” he called after her with a grin as she began collecting dirty glasses

“Not dating bartenders is my New Year’s resolution,” she threw back at him over her shoulder.

The first night at the bar had been a disaster and the second was shaping up to be even worse. The bar was quickly getting packed with people out to celebrate New Year’s Eve and it was all hands on deck. Eve cursed as she saw Daniels attempt a gin and tonic, adding far too much tonic as the guest protested. To adjust he poured more gin into the tall glass and made the G&T strong enough to knock out a bull.

“Daniels!” Eve called, jerking her head in the direction of the back door, “We’re gonna need two new kegs of Stella, get ‘em for me. Patty, take over for Daniels, we’ll be faster without him.”

Javier tried to look pissed off but in reality this was what he’d been hoping for. Handing the G&T to Patty, who gave him a dirty look, he left the bar and hurried towards the backdoor. If he moved quickly he’d get a few minutes to snoop around.

The backdoor led to a large storage room, the kegs were stacked in a corner. But at the other end of the room was another door that led to a hallway, and at the end of that, the office. Javier knew this since they’d managed to pull the blueprint of the building from city hall, and now he quickly grabbed a keg and brought it back to the bar.

“Gonna take a few minutes for the next one, I knocked some shit over, I need to clean it up,” he told Eve, shrugging as she rolled her eyes at him, handing a patron a bright cocktail.

“Just hurry up, Daniels.”

“Yes, boss.”

Javier turned and hurried back to the backdoor, closing it behind him and shutting out some of the loud music from the night club, the dull thud of the base reverberating through the walls.

The office was locked but the cheap mechanism easily gave in and Javier slipped inside, scanning the room for any paperwork. He quickly got to work and flicked through a stack on the desk, moving on to opening the drawers when he found nothing. Next was a thick ledger on the bookshelf and bingo! Tucked between the pages were several shipping manifests, certain rows underlined. The next ship was due in three days. With a satisfied grunt Javier slapped his hand on the ledger.

The door to the office swung open and Javier froze by the desk, staring at Eve who looked at him with annoyance written clearly across her face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snarled, her hand slipping behind her waist in a movement Javier knew far too well, his hands shot up immediately as she pulled a gun from the back of her pants.

“Nothing, boss, I was just looking for the pay statements, I think Patty’s stealing my tip,” he bullshitted and he knew she hadn’t bought a word.

“Bollocks, Peña, you’re fucking DEA and you’re messing up my case.”

Javier felt his mouth fall open as she moved across the office, coming to stand next to him and looking at the shipping manifest.

“How the fuck do you know?” he finally spat out as she ran her finger over the rows he’d just scanned.

“Because I’m CIA, and you’re the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever met.”

“That doesn’t explain it,” Javier replied, “How are you CIA? You’re a bartender!”

“I wasn’t always CIA,” Eve tapped one of the rows, “This one, that’s the one I’m after, and I’m guessing they’re bringing in drugs on it too? Since you’re here?”

“Yeah, that’s one, the same one we’ve seen three times before. Just didn’t realize it’d be coming in this week.”

Eve looked over at him and rolled her eyes, “If the DEA put a bit more effort into their cases you’d know that this ship comes in exactly every twenty-one days, always from one of three ports. But they rendezvous on international waters with a ship from Colombia and transfer over their goods. We’ve had our eyes on the girls they bring at the same time, usually about ten poor things dreaming of a better life, but it makes sense for them to bring in drugs the same way.”

“But how do you know I’m DEA?” Javier asked again and Eve closed the ledger with a snap and put it back on the shelf.

“Because Lenny ‘breaks his leg’ and you’re magically available two days before New Years, the busiest night of the entire year. Any bartender has been booked months ago. But you’re also the worst fucking bartender I’ve ever seen,” she shook her head, tucking her gun back in the back of her pants. “So I lifted your prints and did a run, Javier Peña, DEA. I like to know who I’m working with.”

“Well, fuck…” he huffed, “let’s hope no one else is a thorough as you, CIA.”

Eve gave him a crooked smile, “No one rarely is, Peña.”

“So these guys traffic women too and that’s why you’re here?” he asked as Eve moved to open the office door and he followed behind her.

“Yeah, my boss has been on them for months and got a tip off about this place a few weeks ago, I’ve been undercover here since.” The hallway was empty and they moved out, Javier carefully closed the door behind them, making sure it locked again.

“You had me fooled,” he chuckled, “I thought you were in with them, that’s why I asked you out, to see if I could get you to spill.”

“Sure that’s why you asked me out,” Eve smirked, “Had nothing to do with the fact that this ridiculous uniform shirt is open halfway to my belly button.”

“That may have been a deciding factor in choosing my mark,” Javier grinned as they started making their way back to the bar. Suddenly the music from the club increased in volume, the door of the storage room was thrown open and over the sound of the music, they heard heavy footsteps.

“Shit,” Eve hissed, “we’re not supposed to be back here! Quick, in here!” She grabbed Javier’s arm and pulled him in through a door halfway down the hallway and quietly closed the door. The room was a small storage space, jars of cocktail garnishes mixed with cleaning agents stacked on the floor. The space was cramped and Eve found herself pressed up against Javier’s chest as he squeezed in and closed the door quietly behind them.

“You’re on my foot,” he hissed, shifting, his hands on her hips to move her to the side.

“Stand still, they’re coming,” she whispered back at him, grabbing on to his arms to keep her balance as her foot knocked against a jar on the floor. The footsteps echoed through the hallway and passed the door, as they held their breath.

“Wait outside,” came a gruff voice that Eve recognised as Mason’s, the guy who ran the club and was, supposedly, second in command.

“Yes, boss,” came the surly reply as the door to the office clicked open and shut. Eve tried to keep her breathing as quiet as possible as she and Javier listened to the shuffling boots of the henchman outside the office door, efficiently trapping them in the storage room.

Javier was uncomfortably aware of how her soft breasts were pressed up against his chest, her hands on his arms to keep her steady. The top of her head was just by his cheek and with each inhale he could smell the light flowery scent of her shampoo. It reminded him of springtime back home and without meaning to, he inhaled deeply and held his breath, closing his eyes. He shifted his body weight, his hands on her hips sliding up every so slightly as the warm press of her body made his cock twitch.

She shifted next to him, her hips brushing against what could only be his half hard length, hearing a low intake of breath from above as he adjusted his stance. Pressed up against him, her nose was right next to the soft looking skin of his neck, a smattering of freckles visible in the dim light. She could feel him inhaling softly above her and she did the same, catching his aftershave and fresh sweat from the long shift. She carefully tilted her head up, watching his lips part as his tongue came out to wet his plush bottom lip, before he slipped it back inside, meeting her eyes as he looked down at her.

In the hallway the office door opened and closed again.

“Alright, all under control for tonight, get Jones and head on over there an-”

The crash of a glass jar interrupted the man’s orders as Eve cursed under her breath, somehow the stacked jars by their feet had toppled over and now the vinegar smell of pickle juice filled the storage room.

“What the fuck is going on, check that room, Mendez!”

Javier grabbed Eve’s face between his hands and pressed her against the wall, his lips on hers a split second before the door was yanked open. He groaned loudly into her mouth, rolling his hips into her soft belly and thanked her quick mind as she pulled him closer by his arms, whimpering against him.

“I don’t fucking pay you for fucking in the storage room!” Mason yelled and Javier yanked himself away from Eve as if they’d just been caught red handed.

“S-sorry, boss,” Eve stuttered, smoothing down her shirt as Mason growled.

“Clean this fucking mess up and get back to work, I’m docking both your pays for this. And for the pickles!”

The door rattled as he slammed it shut, leaving the two of them in the dark again. Javier still had his hands on her face and she was holding on to his arms, exhaling slowly as the footsteps faded down the hallway.

“Quick thinking, Peña,” she said, looking up at him in the dim light with a smile.

“I hope you won’t judge my kissing skills on that,” he grinned, “I had planned to give you a much nicer first kiss if you’d said yes to that date.”

“You’re telling me that wasn’t your best work?” Eve asked, taking in the way his eyes dropped to her lips before finding her eyes again. Her hands were still on his biceps, the warmth from his body seeping into her palms as his muscles flexed and moved.

“Not even close, honey,” his smirk was audacious as he leaned in again, bending down towards her lips, waiting for her to make the final move or pull away. He didn’t need to wait long, her grip on his arms tightened as she moved closer. Her lips were soft when she pressed them against his, parting slightly as he gave her a light kiss, capturing her bottom lip between his own, moving slowly. He felt her open her mouth for him, her tongue touching his lip and he pulled her closer, his fingers sliding into her hair, cupping the back of her head as he deepened the kiss and she responded with a moan.

The small space reeked of pickle juice, it was sticky under her shoes, she could hear Peña’s shoes slosh in it as he pushed her up against the wall. But his big hand, cupping her head, his warm lips over her own, all conscious thought melted away. Even those about how he really was a DEA prick who couldn’t mix a drink to save his life. At the back of her mind, her conscience hissed at her; ‘unprofessional’. But a much larger part of her brain was drowning in the way his tongue licked into her mouth, and the way his hands felt holding her against him as the evidence of his own excitement grew between them.

He groaned into her mouth, rolling his hips against her and she gasped for air, before pulling him closer.

“Please, cariño, tell me you’ll let me take you on that date,” Javier mumbled against her as she kissed the corner of his mouth, moving her lips along his jaw, “I’m not about to fuck you in a storage cupboard, so I need to take you on that date.”

Her teeth scraped across his neck and he hissed as she sucked a mark into the thin skin, his fingers digging into her hips as he sought out any friction he could get.

“I don’t think we need a date, Peña,” she mumbled, letting him tilt her head back and reciprocate the mark she’d left on his neck. He pushed her shirt to the side and found the soft skin over her collarbone hidden just out of sight. Eve curled her fingers through his hair as his mouth made her gasp into the dim light of the small room.

Javi pulled away and straightened up, his hand sliding down from her hip, grabbing the round shape of her ass, pulling her core closer and letting her feel how hard he was as he looked at her, his dark eyes half closed, breathing heavily.

“Javi,” he muttered, bending down to her open mouth again, “it’s Javi.”

“Javi,” she mumbled, “I don’t think we need a date, but…” she trailed off as his teeth closed over her bottom lip and gently sucked it in as she moaned into his mouth. He shifted his weight, lifting his shoe from the sticky floor and pressed his leg between her thighs, feeling the heat of her core through the thin fabric of their uniform pants.

“Fuck, Javi,” she gasped, the pressure of his thick thigh rubbing just where she needed him the most, but with a groan she pulled away from him, putting her hands on his warm chest and pushed him back, “Fuck, don’t, we’re never getting out of here if you do that.”

“What’s the rush?” he chuckled, “Are you really gonna finish the bartending shift now that we have the shipping info?”

“If we don’t, we’ll raise suspicion, better to finish it and leave normally,” Eve replied, trying to catch her breath as his dark eyes continued to trail over her lips, down her neck and the shirt he’d pushed open.

He inhaled slowly, thinking while he lifted his hand and ran the tips of his fingers down her cleavage, caressing the soft skin, finding the lacy edge of her bra, the same white shade as the shirt.

“You’re right, we should finish the shift,” he sighed, reluctantly removing himself from her warm body, carefully stepping back across the wet floor, “I’ll clean up in here, you get back to the bar, they’re probably swamped.”

Eve nodded as Javi opened the door, letting them both out into the empty hallway, his hands still on her waist, reluctant to let go of her, now that he’d had a taste.

“There’s a mop in the other room, and some rubbish bags,” she said as he followed her back towards the club, feeling him caress her hips, cupping her ass as they walked, giving it a light squeeze that made her throw a smile back at him over her shoulder.

“Be careful, don’t cut yourself on the glass.”

“I won’t, I’ll see you out there.”

Javi cursed the sticky pickle juice, and sloshed water over the floor to get it all up once he’d picked up the pieces of glass. He glanced down at his watch as he tossed the trash bag in the bin and opened the door to the nightclub again, it was getting close to midnight.

The place was swamped, people packed in on the dance floor, pushed up against the bar, where he could see Eve holding up a shaker, the vigorous movements making her breasts shimmy under the white shirt. The movement wasn’t lost on the three men hanging on the bar, all three of them clearly transfixed by her cleavage as she prepared their drinks. Hot jealousy shot up Javi’s spine, making him take longer strides, stepping up behind her as she placed the shaker on the bar counter. He scowled at the three men, staring them down as they pulled their eyes from Eve and were faced with his furious face right behind her.

“Patty, quit slacking,” Eve called out, glancing over her shoulder down the bar where the tired looking brunette was leaning against the till, arms crossed, waiting for the bar helper to cut up orange slices.

“I’m waiting for the oranges,” she snapped back at her as Eve accepted the bills from the three men and deftly took another order for a round of complicated sounding cocktails.

“So take another order while you wait, the line is a mile long, how did it-”

“What the fuck, you stand there and accuse me, but where you all this time?” Patty’s voice cut through the music of the club like a shrill fog horn, “You two were gone fucking ages, while we had to fight off this crowd!” She gestured at the throng of people by the bar, some of the patrons watching her angry face with glee, spoiling for a good shouting match behind the bar.

Eve bit back her retort, Patty was right, she and Javier had been gone much too long and she knew the rest of the bar staff noticed.

“It was my fault,” Javier said behind her, “I knocked over a couple of jars of pickles, had to clean them up and that pickle juice is a bitch to get off the floor.”

Patty growled and swiped the orange slices off the cutting board, nearly knocking it to the floor as she stomped over to her section again.

Eve put the last few drinks on to the bar as champagne corks started popping and the music was turned down. Across the nightclub people started to cheer as the manager, and a few of the waiters, began handing out flutes to the guests as midnight approached. There’s temporary reprieve at the bar as the guests turned towards the small stage in the corner where the manager stood, next to the big screen tv streaming live from Times Square.

Javier found Eve’s hand out of sight from the rest of the staff and pulled her with him, around to the back of the bar. Guests were still milling around but they’re all focused on the screen as they started chanting, counting down from ten.

“A kiss at midnight, cariño?” Javi asked, pulling her into his chest, hands landing on her waist and her cheek, sweeping away a damp curl from her forehead.

She didn’t reply, instead she smiled at him and cupped her hand around the back of his head and pulled his mouth down to hers. Around them the crowd shouted but the noise fades as he parted his lips and let her tongue in. She tugged gently at his curls, angling her face to better reach him and he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her up on her tiptoes so that he could taste her properly.

The crowd cheered, loud yells of ‘Happy New Year!” erupted as the ball dropped, but it faded into the background as she let a low moan escape into his mouth and he felt her tongue lick into him. The music kicked off again, people began to dance, clinking glasses, hugging and kissing, but Javier let his hand cup her cheek, stroking his thumb over her soft skin, her body warm pressed up against his. Neither of them paying attention to the man who’s just spotted them from across the club as Patty waved at him, pointing in their direction.

“Alright, that’s fucking it,” Mason yelled as he grabbed Javier’s shoulder and yanked him away from Eve, “You’re both fucking fired, and you can kiss your pay checks for the night good bye.”

He raised his hands to shove them both in the direction of the staff changing rooms, but pulled up short as he saw the furious look on Javier’s face, Eve’s hand on his arm to hold him back.

Mason settled on growling; “Get the fuck out of my club, you fucking slackers, go make out on someone else’s dime.”

“Gladly,” Eve scoffed, her hand sliding down and grabbing Javi’s, tugging him along as he scowled at Mason.

It didn’t take long before they were both outside the club, back in civilian clothes, their bartending uniforms left behind.

“So, any plans for the rest of the night, querida?” Javier asked, sticking his hands in his leather jacket, fishing out a packet of smokes.

“A bodega sandwich and falling asleep on the couch,” Eve replied, shaking her head as Javi offered her a cigarette.

“I was thinking,” he said, taking a first drag, “you said your New Year's resolution was to not date bartenders?” He tilted his head to the side and gave her a smirk as she chuckled, realizing where he was going with this.

“Yeah, no bartenders,” she smiled and he grinned back.

“Well, it seems I’m no longer a bartender…”

“Thank god, worst bartender ever, Javi.”

“So how about that date, cariño?”

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