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gf2bellamy · 20 days ago

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undercover — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: you and spencer have to go undercover content warnings: unsub watching spencer and reader, reader wearing a dress, both being awkward, unsub being led into a trap a/n: i had the best time writing this not gonna lie

The air in the police station’s conference room was heavy, a tense silence hanging over the team as Hotch stood at the front, detailing the latest developments in the case.

You leaned slightly against the table, arms crossed, standing next to Emily as you absorbed the information.

The unsub was targeting young couples, choosing his victims with chilling precision based on their public displays of affection and perceived happiness.

His next target location was an exclusive charity donation event scheduled for the following evening.

Hotch’s voice was steady, cutting through the quiet. “The unsub has a pattern, and this event fits perfectly within his hunting ground. If he’s already selected his next victims, this could be our only chance to intercept him before he strikes again.”

You shifted your weight, glancing across the table where Spencer stood, his brow furrowed in concentration. His hair fell into his face as he studied the board filled with crime scene photos and case notes, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides, the way they always did when his mind was racing.

For a moment, you let yourself look at him, caught in the soft focus of his profile—the way his lips pressed together in thought, the faint crease between his eyebrows.

You could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, each piece of information clicking into place like a puzzle.

Then you blinked, snapping yourself out of it. Now wasn’t the time to let your mind wander.

“...which means we need to go undercover,” Hotch’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling your attention back to the room.

Hotch continued, his tone all business. “This event is high-profile and heavily monitored, so we’ll need to blend in seamlessly. A couple attending as guests will have the best chance of moving through the crowd unnoticed while keeping an eye out for the unsub.”

The room went still, everyone waiting for the inevitable.

“I want you to be one to go undercover,” Hotch said, his steady gaze locking on you.

You blinked, slightly taken aback, but you didn’t dare argue. You nodded quickly, your heart skipping a beat. Saying no to Hotch wasn’t just unlikely—it was practically impossible.

But then came the twist that you hadn’t been prepared for.

“And you can choose who you’d like to go undercover with,” Hotch added, his tone calm but leaving no room for hesitation.

Your mouth fell open slightly, and for a moment, you were sure you hadn’t heard him correctly. “I—wait, I get to choose?”

Hotch raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of patience and expectation.

The entire team’s eyes were on you now, the tension in the room suddenly palpable. You could hear Emily suppressing a laugh next to you, her amusement barely contained as she leaned closer, her shoulder brushing yours.

“Oh, uh…” you stammered, glancing around the room. Your eyes darted from one teammate to another—Derek was smirking, clearly enjoying your discomfort, and JJ gave you an encouraging nod, her lips twitching as if to say good luck.

The pressure was mounting. Your pulse quickened as you looked back at Hotch, who was still waiting, his expression unreadable. Finally, your gaze landed on Spencer.

“I’ll… I’ll go with Spence,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s head snapped up, his wide eyes meeting yours as if he couldn’t quite believe what you’d just said.

Derek let out a low chuckle, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “Good choice,” he said under his breath, exchanging a knowing look with Emily, who was now biting her lip to keep from laughing outright.

Hotch gave a small nod, mercifully breaking the silence. “Good. I suggest you two get ready and run through the details before tomorrow.”

You nodded again, feeling your cheeks heat under the weight of everyone’s attention. As the meeting broke up and the team began to gather their things, you avoided eye contact with anyone, hoping to avoid further teasing.

Spencer, meanwhile, seemed to have frozen in place, still processing the situation. When he finally moved, he adjusted his satchel nervously and approached you, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Um,” he started, his voice soft, “you—you’re okay with this, right? I mean, if you’re not, I can talk to Hotch and—”

“Spence,” you interrupted gently, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s fine. Really.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly, but his expression was still uncertain. “Okay. Just… let me know if there’s anything I can do to make it less awkward.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re not the one making it awkward,” you teased, though your stomach still fluttered at the thought of spending an evening pretending to be Spencer Reid’s significant other.

The next afternoon, as you stood in your room going through the checklist of what you needed for the evening, there was a knock at the door. You frowned, glancing at the clock—you still had two hours before the event.

When you opened the door, Emily stood there, her usual sly smile in place, holding something draped over her arm.

“Something wrong?” you asked, your brow furrowing.

“Nope,” she said simply, brushing past you into the room like she owned the place. She flopped onto your bed with casual ease, holding up the item she was carrying.

“What’s that?” you asked warily, already sensing trouble.

“Your dress,” Emily said with a grin, letting the fabric unfold dramatically.

“My what?” Your jaw dropped as you took in the garment. It was stunning—and way too fancy. The kind of dress that belonged at a high-end gala or an awards show, not in your usual wardrobe rotation.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” you stammered, shaking your head furiously. “I’m not wearing that.”

Emily leaned back against the headboard, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Yes, you are.”

“I can’t wear that! It’s—it’s too much!” you protested, gesturing wildly at the dress. “I’ll trip, or spill something, or…” You trailed off, your words faltering as you realized she wasn’t going to back down.

“Too bad,” Emily said with a chuckle. “Hotch approved it. And trust me, it’s perfect for tonight. Besides, Spencer’s wearing a suit, so…”

Your arms crossed defensively over your chest as you glared at her. “I don’t see how Spencer’s suit has anything to do with me wearing that,” you said, your voice bordering on a whine.

“Oh, come on,” Emily said, rolling her eyes. “You’re supposed to be undercover as a couple, remember? Couples match.” She raised an eyebrow, daring you to argue further.

You opened your mouth to protest again but stopped yourself, knowing deep down she was right.

Still, the thought of walking into that event in a dress like this, with Spencer Reid as your “date,” made your stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with nerves about the case.

Emily seemed to sense your hesitation. Her teasing demeanor softened slightly as she added, “Hey, you’ll look amazing. Trust me.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you eyed the dress again. It was beautiful, you had to admit. But it was also intimidating.

“Fine,” you muttered, throwing your hands up in defeat. “I’ll wear it. But if I end up falling on my face, it’s on you.”

Emily grinned triumphantly, standing up and patting your shoulder. “You won’t regret it,” she said, heading toward the door. “And I bet Spencer’s reaction will be priceless.”

You groaned, already regretting agreeing to this. But as you glanced back at the dress, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder what Spencer would think when he saw you in it.

Two hours later, you stood frozen in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. The dress Emily had brought fit you perfectly, hugging and flowing in all the right places, but that didn’t ease the butterflies in your stomach.

You’d gone out with the BAU team countless times, but this felt different. This wasn’t casual drinks at the bar or a quick lunch between cases—this was undercover, high-stakes, and highly formal.

And the idea of stepping out dressed like this in front of them, in front of him, felt strangely daunting.

A knock at the door snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. You sighed, assuming it was Emily coming back to check on you.

With a deep breath, you opened the door—only to freeze when you found Spencer standing there instead.

Your breath caught slightly as you took him in. He was wearing a suit that fit him just right, tailored to highlight his tall, lean frame, and his tie was neatly knotted, adding a touch of elegance.

Spencer, however, seemed equally stunned. His eyes widened as he looked you up and down, his lips parting slightly in awe. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and you began to fidget nervously.

“Hi,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Spencer blinked rapidly, finally meeting your eyes again. “Uh, hi,” he managed, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. “We should probably… head out now.”

“Right,” you said, grabbing your purse.

Just as you turned to close the door, he added, “You look nice.”

You paused, turning back to him with a smile. “Thank you. So do you.”

Spencer’s face turned a faint shade of pink, and in his mind, he was kicking himself. Nice? That’s all he can say? You don’t just look nice; you look incredible—stunning.

But the words stayed trapped in his throat, his nerves getting the better of him.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t help but glance at him again as you stepped into the hallway. The way his suit highlighted his frame, the way his hair was perfectly styled—he looked far better than just nice, too.

As the two of you walked side by side toward the elevator, the proximity of his tall stature made you feel both comforted and acutely aware of every step you took.

Neither of you said much as you headed to the car waiting to take you to the event.

Still, as Spencer held the door open for you and you slid into the seat beside him, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this undercover mission wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The driver started the car, and the low hum of the engine filled the silence as the two of you settled into the plush leather seats.

Emily had warned you that this would be a high-profile event—fancy clothes, fancy venue, and, of course, a fancy car complete with a driver.

The quiet between you and Spencer felt heavier than usual, the kind of silence that wasn’t entirely comfortable.

Maybe it was the formal attire, the pressure of the mission, or the simple fact that both of you were hiding feelings you thought the other didn’t share.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was staring out the window, his fingers fiddling absently with the hem of his jacket. His profile was illuminated by the streetlights flashing by, and you could see the faint tension in his jaw.

“Spencer,” you said softly, turning slightly in your seat to face him.

He blinked, pulling his attention away from the passing scenery. “Hmm?” His tone was distracted, almost distant.

“Are you okay?” you asked, hesitating for a moment before reaching out and placing a hand on his arm.

His eyes flickered down to your hand, then back to your face, and for a second, he seemed caught off guard. “Oh—yeah,” he said quickly, offering you a small, somewhat unconvincing smile. “I’m fine. Just… thinking.”

You raised an eyebrow, not entirely buying his answer. “About the case?”

Spencer hesitated, then shook his head. “Not really.”

“Then what?” you pressed gently, your hand still resting on his arm.

He hesitated again, his fingers brushing over the lapel of his suit jacket as if the action might steady him. “It’s just… different. You know, being undercover like this. Pretending to be…” He trailed off, his gaze darting away as though he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Pretending to be a couple?” you finished for him, your voice quieter now.

His eyes met yours again, and there was a flicker of something unspoken in them—something vulnerable.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand gave his arm a gentle squeeze, and you offered him a small, reassuring smile.

“Spencer,” you said softly, “it’s just for the case. We’ve got this, okay?”

He nodded, but there was a shadow of uncertainty in his expression.

As the car came to a stop in front of the event venue, you turned to Spencer with a soft smile. The elegant building loomed ahead, lights sparkling in the cool night air.

“You ready?” you asked, your voice gentle but steady.

Spencer blinked, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Yeah. You?” His lips curled into a small smile, though there was an underlying tension in his posture.

You nodded, trying to ignore the nerves fluttering in your own stomach. “Let’s do this.”

He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the door handle, then took a deep breath. With a nod to himself, he opened the door and stepped out of the car.

Spencer muttered something to himself under his breath, his brow furrowed as if reminding himself that it would all be okay—that this was just part of the job.

When he reached your side, he opened the door. His eyes met yours for a brief moment before he extended his hand.

You hesitated for only a second, your heart skipping a beat as you noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.

His hand felt solid in yours and gentle. His fingers curled around yours, not too tight, not too loose.

The touch felt natural, familiar even, but still unfamiliar enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your eyes lifting to meet his.

His smile was small but real, and as you stepped out of the car, you couldn’t help but feel like, maybe for once, you were doing this together—not as agents on a case, but as something more.

Just as you and Spencer were about to head inside, the ear pieces crackled to life, and Hotch’s voice came through, sharp and clear.

“You two alright?” His tone was calm, but you could hear the underlying concern.

It was clear the team was likely watching you both, observing every move you made from their monitors, making sure everything was on track.

You glanced at Spencer, who gave you a small nod, then answered into your earpiece.

“Yes,” you said, your voice steady.

At the exact same moment, Spencer spoke too. “Yes.”

There was a brief pause, as if Hotch was evaluating your responses, then he replied, “Good. Be careful.”

The static of the earpiece buzzed for a moment before going silent again.

You felt a rush of nerves flood through you, the team’s eyes were on you—on both of you.

Spencer straightened up, adjusting his suit jacket, his hand still loosely holding yours. “Let’s do this,” he said softly, his gaze steady but warm.

You smiled at him, the nerves dissipating slightly as you saw his calm resolve.

You and Spencer made your way to a tall cocktail table near the edge of the room, its position giving you a good vantage point of the entrance and most of the main floor.

The soft hum of polite conversation and the clinking of glasses filled the air. You scanned the crowd, noting the guests chatting in small groups.

Everything felt so natural—except for you.

Spencer stood next to you, his posture stiff, his eyes darting between the entrance and the nearby groups of people.

His hands fidgeted slightly with the cuffs of his jacket, a sign that he was just as nervous as you were.

The sudden crackle of your earpiece broke your focus, followed by Derek’s unmistakably teasing voice.

“Hey, lovebirds,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “You might wanna tone up the romance a bit. You’re looking more like coworkers on a coffee break than a couple in love.”

Your eyes widened, and you glanced at Spencer, who immediately stiffened, his face flushing a deep shade of red.

“Derek,” Spencer muttered under his breath.

You could practically hear Derek grinning as he continued. “What? I’m just saying. Hold hands, whisper sweet nothings, maybe throw in a little eye-gazing. You know, sell it.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a laugh. Spencer, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

Then, Hotch’s voice cut through the chatter in your earpiece, sharp and stern. “Morgan.”

For a moment, you thought that was the end of it, but then Hotch added, begrudgingly, “He’s not wrong.”

Your cheeks flushed, and Spencer’s jaw dropped slightly, his wide eyes meeting yours in a mixture of disbelief and panic.

“Well,” you whispered, leaning in closer so only Spencer could hear, “it looks like we have our orders.”

Spencer’s lips parted, but no words came out. He hesitated, then cleared his throat, finally managing to say, “Uh… right. Okay. How do we… um…”

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “How about this?” Without waiting for him to overthink it, you slipped your hand into his, interlacing your fingers with his.

His hand tensed for a split second before it relaxed, his palm warm against yours. His eyes flicked down to your joined hands, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to process the moment.

“Relax,” you said softly, giving his hand a light squeeze. “We’re just… blending in.”

Spencer nodded, though his face was still tinged with a deep red. “Blending in,” he repeated, his voice a little shaky.

You smiled, stepping just a bit closer to him to complete the act. From the corner of your eye, you could see some of the guests glancing your way, but none seemed suspicious.

To anyone watching, you and Spencer looked like just another couple enjoying the event.

The comms crackled again, and Derek’s voice returned. “Much better. Look at you two, all adorable and undercover. Proud of you, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer groaned quietly, and you had to bite back a laugh.

You hesitated for a moment.Then, with a deep breath, you reached up and placed your other hand gently on Spencer’s chest.

The soft fabric of his suit was warm under your palm, and you could feel the faint, rapid rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.

Spencer’s reaction was immediate. His eyes dropped to your hand, wide with surprise, before slowly lifting to meet your gaze. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but no words came out.

“We’ve got to sell it, don’t we?” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you looked up at him.

Your eyes searched his, trying to convey a sense of reassurance.

Spencer swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. “Right,” he murmured, his voice soft and unsteady. “Sell it.”

His gaze flickered to your hand again, and then, as if summoning some inner courage, he placed his own hand gently on top of yours. His fingers were tentative, almost hesitant, but the gesture was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You both stood there for a moment, the hum of the event around you fading into the background. To anyone else, you might have looked like a perfectly content couple lost in their own world.

“You’re, uh… good at this,” Spencer said awkwardly, breaking the silence.

A small laugh escaped you, and you glanced down, trying to hide the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Thanks, I guess.” You tilted your head back up, meeting his gaze. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Spencer’s lips quirked into a small, nervous smile, and for a moment, the tension between you eased. Then, the comms crackled again.

“Looking cozy there,” came Derek’s teasing voice, his amusement practically dripping through the earpiece. “Careful, or you might forget this is a mission.”

You rolled your eyes, and Spencer shifted uncomfortably, his ears turning pink.

“Focus, Morgan,” Hotch’s firm voice cut in, but there was a faint edge of exasperation that made you think even he was mildly entertained.

You sighed, dropping your voice low enough so only Spencer could hear. “Looks like we’re the entertainment for the night.”

Suddenly, Emily’s voice came through the comms, low and urgent. “I think he’s here. Northwest corner by the bar.”

Your breath caught, and you instinctively turned your gaze to Spencer. His wide eyes met yours, and for a moment.

Pretending to be casually scanning the room, you let your eyes sweep over the crowd, focusing on the bar area.

And then you saw him.

A tall man in his mid-30s, dressed in a sharp but slightly ill-fitting suit. His movements were stiff, his posture too rigid. He didn’t blend in with the carefree elegance of the other guests.

Most telling of all was the way his eyes darted around the room, pausing on young couples with a gaze that lingered just a moment too long.

“That’s him,” you murmured under your breath, your tone even.

“I see him,” Spencer said softly, tilting his head slightly to mask his words as he leaned toward you. His hand remained on yours, grounding yet trembling slightly.

“Now get his attention,” Hotch ordered through the comms, his tone clipped and commanding.

Your stomach tightened as you exchanged a glance with Spencer.

Spencer’s eyes darted around, betraying his unease, his fingers twitching slightly against yours.

Keeping the act up was paramount, you reminded yourself, even as your pulse quickened. You inhaled deeply, steeling yourself for what came next.

Breaking the contact between your hands, you reached up, your fingers brushing against Spencer’s cheek as you gently cupped his face and guided his gaze to meet yours. His wide, startled eyes locked on yours, and for a moment, he seemed to forget how to breathe.

“Hi,” you whispered, your voice low, a contrast to the chaos brewing inside you.

Spencer blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His gaze flickered briefly down to your lips, then back to your eyes, his breath hitching audibly.

“I—uh—hi,” he stammered, his voice barely audible, his cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

You smiled softly, leaning in just enough to close some of the space between you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the unsub pausing, his gaze shifting in your direction.

“He’s looking,” you murmured under your breath, keeping your focus on Spencer.

Spencer’s hand instinctively found your waist, his grip firm but hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure where to place his hands. “You’re really good at this,” he whispered, his tone a mixture of awe and anxiety.

“So are you,” you replied, your lips curving into a soft smile. Your thumb brushed a faint circle against Spencer’s cheek, a tender gesture meant to sell the act—but it lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

Spencer’s eyes darted toward the unsub.His gaze locked with the man’s for a fraction of a second before Spencer quickly looked away.

You dropped your hand from Spencer’s face, but his grip on your waist didn’t falter. If anything, it tightened slightly, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress.

“Don’t react,” Spencer murmured, his breath warm against your temple as he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing the shell of your ear. It sent a shiver down your spine.

“React to what?” you whispered back, keeping your voice light as though teasing him.

“The fact that he’s practically on top of us,” Spencer muttered, his tone edged with unease.

You shifted your gaze subtly, catching sight of the unsub. He was now at a table barely a foot away, his posture casual but his eyes keenly observing you and Spencer.

He was close enough that you could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the tension in his clenched jaw betraying his outwardly calm demeanor.

“He’s closing in,” Emily’s voice came through, sharp and clear. “You need to keep moving—draw him out.”

Spencer straightened, his arm sliding fully around your waist as he guided you toward the edge of the dance floor.

“Let’s get some air,” he said aloud, his voice warm and affectionate.

You nodded, leaning into him as if his suggestion had been entirely spontaneous. “Good idea,” you replied, glancing up at him with a soft smile.

As you weaved through the crowd, you could feel the unsub’s eyes boring into your back.

A quick glance over your shoulder confirmed it—he was following, like a predator stalking its prey.

Spencer’s hand slipped from your waist to intertwine with yours, his fingers squeezing gently as he led you toward the exit.

The cool night air hit your skin as you stepped outside, the noise from the party muffled behind the glass doors.

Spencer’s hand remained steady in yours, his thumb brushing reassuring circles against your skin.

Hotch’s voice crackled softly in your earpiece. “Lead him to the alley on the left. The team is in position.”

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly even though Hotch couldn’t see you. Spencer must have felt the slight tremble in your grip because he glanced at you, his hazel eyes soft with reassurance.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured, his voice barely audible as he leaned toward you.

The cool night air was thick with tension as the sound of footsteps echoed behind you.

The unsub wasn’t trying to hide his presence anymore, his pace remaining just slow enough to keep you on edge.

The path curved, and the dim lighting gave way to shadows as the alley came into view. Spencer’s hand tightened slightly around yours.

“You okay?” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned closer.

You nodded quickly, your voice low but firm. “I’m fine.”

As you approached the alley, you could feel the unsub closing the distance. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, the weight of his gaze heavy against your skin.

Hotch’s voice came through again. “Almost there. Keep moving.”

Spencer cast a quick glance at you.“Just a little further,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

When you stepped into the alley, the atmosphere shifted, the noise from the party fading entirely. The unsub’s footsteps grew louder, the sound reverberating off the brick walls around you.

Spencer stopped suddenly, his hand slipping from yours as he turned to face the unsub, his body shielding you instinctively.

The unsub slowed his steps, a sinister smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You two make quite the couple,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery.

The unsub’s smile widened as he took another step forward, but before he could make another move, the alley exploded with motion.

“FBI! Don’t move!”

Agents swarmed in from both ends of the alley, their guns trained on the unsub as he froze, his smirk fading into a scowl.

Spencer reached back, his hand brushing yours briefly in reassurance before stepping forward to join the agents, his sharp eyes locked on the unsub as the man was cuffed and restrained.

Your heart was still racing, but as Spencer turned back to you, his expression softened, a small, relieved smile breaking through the tension.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentle as he stepped closer, his hand finding yours again.

You nodded, your grip tightening on his. “Yeah.”

A couple hours, you were back in your warm ( and safe ) room.

The soft hum of the bathroom fan was the only sound as you stood in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth.

Your reflection stared back at you, but your mind was miles away, replaying the events of the evening on an endless loop.

The way Spencer’s hand had lingered on your waist. The gentle squeeze of his fingers intertwined with yours. The warmth in his gaze every time he looked at you.

You spit out the toothpaste and rinsed your mouth, leaning forward to splash cool water on your face. It did little to calm the flush in your cheeks or the quickened pace of your heart.

You sighed, gripping the edge of the sink and closing your eyes.

Get a grip, you thought, shaking your head at yourself. But the feeling of his touch seemed to linger on your skin, impossible to shake.

It wasn’t the first time you’d felt this way about Spencer, but tonight had brought those emotions to the surface in a way that felt almost unbearable.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, making you glance up sharply. You weren’t expecting anyone, and for a moment, you considered ignoring it.

But the knock came again, more hesitant this time.

You grabbed a towel to dry your face and padded toward the door, your heart racing as you opened it.

"Hi," Spencer said softly, shifting on his feet as he stood just outside the door.

"Hi," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling a little more awake now that he was standing there.

A strange feeling washed over you as you took in the way he looked at you, the softness in his eyes.

"I just wanted to check up on you," he said, his smile a little shy, his fingers fidgeting nervously at his sides. "You know, after tonight…"

You couldn’t help but smile at his hesitation, the quiet vulnerability that he always seemed to wear so openly.

You liked that about him.

You liked the fact that, despite his brilliance, he still got nervous around you, still felt this awkwardness that was so endearing.

"I’m okay," you said, brushing a hand through your hair, trying to reassure him.

"Are you?" you asked, your voice gentle.

You glanced back at his fidgeting hands. Slowly, you reached for his hands, stopping the fidgeting that seemed to take over whenever he was unsure.

He stared down at your intertwined fingers, his expression softening.

"I'm okay," he said.His voice was a little quieter, and he seemed to be lost in the sensation of your hands together.

You both stood there in silence for a beat, your pulse quickening, suddenly aware of how close he was.

You glanced down at your hands, feeling a flutter in your chest. But there was still that nagging sense of awkwardness creeping in.

As if sensing your shyness, Spencer didn’t let go. Instead, his grip tightened ever so slightly.

He didn’t let you pull away, his fingers curling more firmly around yours, his thumb brushing across your hand in small, soothing movements.

"I’ll let you sleep," he said, his voice quiet, observing how sleepy you looked.

His eyes softened even more, and a small, gentle smile appeared on his lips as he looked at your tired face. "It’s been a long night."

You chuckled softly, nodding, suddenly feeling the weight of the evening press against your shoulders. "Yeah, it has," you agreed, the exhaustion creeping up on you in waves.

You finally let go of his hand.

Spencer stood there, taking in the sight of you—your sleepy eyes, the soft curve of your lips, the way your pajamas looked so different from the strong, confident agent he’d worked beside all day.

He smiled, a small, tender curve of his lips that made your heart skip. “Good night,” he said, his voice almost a whisper as he turned, clearly about to leave.

But before he could take another step, you felt a rush of confidence in you. Without thinking, you stepped closer to him, hesitating only for a moment before standing on your tiptoes.

You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your lips. You pulled back just as quickly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Good night, Spence,” you said softly, the words almost as fragile as the moment.

He froze, blinking in surprise as he touched his cheek where your lips had just been. For a second, neither of you moved, both of you caught in the tension of the kiss.

Spencer looked at you, eyes wide but soft, lips parted as if he didn’t quite know what to say.

Then, he smiled—genuinely. “Good night,” he murmured, his voice thick with something unspoken.

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, and you could see the way he wanted to stay, the way he didn’t want to leave.

But he didn’t say anything more.

With a final glance, he stepped back, turning slowly to leave.

You watched him go, your heart still racing, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he felt the same spark you did.

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Changing Lanes

Charles Leclerc x Horner!Reader

Summary: Charles Leclerc always thought he would spend the rest of his career racing in red. But you make him see that he deserves better than false promises and unrequited love

“Took you long enough,” you say, lounging casually on the small leather couch in Charles’ driver’s room, your fingertips tracing intricate patterns on the cushion beside you.

Charles raises an eyebrow, letting out a dry laugh as he kicks off his shoes. “Every single time I see you, Y/N, you always have something to say.”

You linger on him. “Is it my fault you had to chat with the entire paddock before coming here?”

He smirks, crossing the room. “It’s called being polite. Something you could learn from.”

“Polite?” You scoff, feigning innocence. “Oh, like how Ferrari celebrated that P3 like it was a win? That kind of polite?”

Charles stiffens but he keeps his cool. “We take what we can get.”

You tilt your head, eyes narrowing. “Starting on pole and settling for P3? Charles, you deserve better.”

“I know,” he sighs, avoiding your gaze. “But this is racing. Sometimes it just doesn’t go your way.”

You lean in closer, your voice dropping an octave. “It could, though. If you were with a team that actually valued you, that gave you a car worthy of your talent.”

He looks up, meeting your gaze with a challenge. “You mean Red Bull?”

A coy smile plays on your lips. “It’s not a secret that Dad wants you. And imagine … you, in a competitive car, and me, right by your side as your race engineer.”

Charles’ eyes dart to your lips then back up to your eyes. “Tempting,” he murmurs, leaning in just a fraction closer. “But is this for the team or for you?”

“Can’t it be both?” You whisper back.

His breath hitches and he pulls back slightly. “This isn’t just about racing, is it?”

You hesitate. “I see how they treat you. How they let you down time and time again. But with us ... with me ... it would be different.”

He looks conflicted. “It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?” You press. “With Red Bull, you’d have support, a competitive car, and … me.”

Charles sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not just about what happens on track. It’s about the politics, the contracts, the media ... it’s all complicated.”

“You make it sound like an impossible puzzle,” you say, tracing circles on his wrist. You gaze locks with his, trying to convey everything you feel.

“It might be.”

You lean in, lips just inches from his. “Then let’s solve it together.”

He hesitates, searching your eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N.”

You smirk, confidence oozing from every pore. “Isn’t that what racing’s all about?”

Charles chuckles softly, the tension in the room slowly melting away. “You always have an answer for everything.”

“It’s the Horner in me,” you retort with a smug smile. “Besides, aren’t you tired of being just another pawn in Ferrari’s game?”

“It’s not easy. To just switch teams, to give up on something you’ve worked for your entire life.”

You reach up, tucking a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Who says you’re giving up? You’d be making a choice. A choice to be somewhere you’re valued. Somewhere you have a real shot at the championship. With people who truly care about you and actions that reflect that.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just about the racing. There are so many other factors.”

“Like what?”

He opens his eyes, meeting yours. “Like us.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“If I come to Red Bull … if I work with you … it changes everything. Our relationship. Our dynamic. Everything.”

You take a moment, absorbing his words. “We can handle it. We’re strong enough.”

He gives you a sad smile. “I wish I had your confidence.”

You cup his cheek, your thumb stroking his skin. “You have me. Together, we can face anything.”

Charles looks at you for a long moment, his emotions raw and exposed. Finally, he speaks. “I’ll think about it. But whatever I decide … know that it’s not just about racing. I refuse to give you up.”

“Just promise me one thing.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. “Never settle for less than you deserve.”

He smiles, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “Same goes for you, Y/N Horner.”

***

“I still can’t believe they forgot to remove the radiator blank,” you murmur, your fingers softly tracing patterns on Charles’ bare chest as he lies next to you in his São Paulo hotel. The dim light from the bedside lamp paints soft shadows on his face, emphasizing the frustration in his eyes.

Charles sighs heavily, turning his head to look at you. “Neither can I. Another race, another issue. I don’t even know why I’m surprised anymore.”

You lean in closer, lips brushing against his ear. “You don’t deserve this, Charles. You’re better than this. Better than them.”

He chuckles humorlessly, eyes closing. “It seems like it’s one thing after another.”

“Come to Red Bull,” you whisper, fingertips dancing down his arm. “You know it’s the right move.”

He opens his eyes, looking deep into yours. “Y/N, we talked about this.”

You press a gentle kiss on his jaw, speaking against his skin. “Hear me out. If McLaren overtakes Ferrari in the Constructors’ standings, you can activate your exit clause. You could leave them, Charles.”

Charles swallows hard, feeling the warmth of your breath on his neck. “And if they don’t?”

“Then we’ll buy you out,” you say confidently, trailing kisses down his collarbone. “Dad’s already spoken about it. We want you. I want you.”

Charles’ breath catches as your hands explore his torso but he tries to focus. “Equal status with Max?”

“Of course,” you assure him, pressing your body flush against his. “You and Max, racing side by side. Just think of the possibilities.”

He groans, both from your touch and the tempting offer. “A car designed by Adrian Newey ...”

You nod, “With plenty of oversteer, just how you like it. No more one-sided compromises.”

He laughs softly. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

You smirk, lips hovering over his. “Always. And instead of Xavi, you’d hear my voice on the other end of the radio, guiding you, supporting you.”

Charles captures your lips with his, deepening the kiss before pulling back. “You’re making it very hard to think.”

“That’s the point,” you whisper with a playful grin, your hands tugging at his waistband.

He bites his lip, trying to resist your charms. “But Y/N ... it’s not just about the racing. It’s ... it’s us. What happens to us?”

You cup his cheek, gazing deep into his eyes. “We fight together, we win together. Every podium, every championship, we celebrate together.”

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “You make it sound so perfect.”

“It can be,” you promise, pressing soft kisses on his eyelids. “With Red Bull, you’d have everything you’ve ever dreamed of. And me.”

Charles smiles, caressing your cheek. “You’re very persuasive, you know?”

You grin. “It’s one of my many talents.”

He chuckles, capturing your lips once more. “I’ll think about it.”

“Whatever you decide, I’ll still be by your side.”

He smiles, pulling you closer. “I know. And that’s what makes this decision so hard.”

***

“Absolutely unbelievable,” your father mutters, watching the replay of Ferrari’s disastrous double stack. “You would think they’ve never done a pit stop before.”

You nod, equally shocked. But your attention shifts as the familiar figure of your favorite Monegasque storms into the Red Bull garage, his helmet still on and visor obscuring his face. You can feel the fury emanating from him.

“Charles?” You question hesitantly.

He doesn’t respond to you but instead turns to your father, “Christian, can we talk? Now. Somewhere private.”

Christian looks taken aback by the intensity in Charles’ voice but nods. “Of course.”

Charles glances at you. “You too, Y/N. Please.”

You follow, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. Once inside the small office, Charles finally removes his helmet, revealing eyes red from restrained tears. He takes a moment, collecting himself before he speaks.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Charles exhales. “Every single time I think they’ve hit rock bottom, they find a new low. Today was the last straw.”

You approach him, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Charles, I’m so sorry.”

Your father is equally sympathetic. “That was hard to watch. I can’t even imagine what it felt like.”

Charles closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “It’s not just today. It’s everything. I gave them everything. I wanted to win with them. For my father. For Jules.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “They would be so incredibly proud of you. No matter what.”

He blinks back tears, voice strained. “I wanted to drive that red car to the top for them. But I can’t keep sacrificing myself for a team that clearly does not value me in return.”

Your father speaks up, “Charles, if you’re thinking of a change ... Red Bull is ready to welcome you with open arms.”

Charles looks up, locking eyes with him. “I know. And as much as Ferrari has been my dream, my home, I can’t do this anymore. I want to be with a team that values me. I want to join Red Bull.”

You’re taken aback by his sudden declaration but the look in his eyes tells you that he’s made up his mind. “Charles,” you whisper, stepping closer. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“It’s hard,” he admits. “But this is where my heart is telling me to go.”

Your father gives the two of you a moment, leaving the office to give you privacy.

Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you close. “I never imagined leaving Ferrari. But after everything, I know it’s the right decision.”

You wrap your arms around him, resting your forehead against his. “They will be so proud of you, Charles. No matter what colors you wear or what car you drive.”

He smiles weakly. “Thank you. I really needed to hear that.”

You pull back slightly, searching his eyes. “This is a big step. I don’t want you to regret anything. Are you still sure?”

He nods, determination in his gaze. “More than I’ve ever been.”

You smile, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Then welcome to Red Bull.”

***

“I have to tell Ferrari,” Charles straightens, determination evident in his eyes. “I just need to get it over with. Will you come with me?”

“Of course.“

Charles grabs your hand, pulling you towards his driver’s room. “Wait here,” he says, going in and returning moments later with his Ferrari jacket. He places it over your Red Bull team polo, attempting to keep your allegiance concealed for now. You both then proceed to the debrief room where the Ferrari team is waiting.

Fred Vasseur begins his speech the moment you both enter, “This wasn’t how we wanted to end the year but looking ahead to next season—”

Charles cuts him off, “Actually, there won’t be a next season. Not for me.”

The room falls into a tense silence, all eyes on the driver who has given them his heart and soul.

“What do you mean?”

Charles takes a deep breath, “I’ve decided to leave Ferrari.”

Gasps fill the room. Fred’s eyes land on you, finally noticing the Red Bull logo peeking out from under the jacket you’re borrowing. “And you bring her, of all people, here to tell us this?”

Charles squares his shoulders. “Y/N is here because I asked her to be. This decision is mine and mine alone.”

Xavi stands up, “After everything we’ve done for you! This is how you repay us?”

You can’t hold back any longer. “Everything you’ve done? You mean the countless strategy mistakes, the endless car issues, the complete lack of support?”

Another team member cuts in, “This is not your place, Y/N!”

“It is today,” you retort. “I’m here to support my new driver.”

Charles’ voice shakes but he speaks with conviction, “I gave everything for this team. I bled Ferrari red. But I can’t keep doing this. Not when it’s clear that my effort and commitment is not matched in return.”

Fred’s voice softens. “Charles, we’ve had our challenges but we can overcome them together.”

Charles shakes his head, tears threatening to spill. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m joining Red Bull. My manager will send over the necessary legal paperwork as soon as possible.”

The room is filled with murmurs, disbelief evident on every face. Charles takes one last look around, his eyes filled with pain, and turns to leave.

You follow closely, feeling the weight of every step as you exit the debrief room.

The second you’re around the corner, Charles breaks down. He rests his forehead against the wall, tears rolling down his face silently. “I didn’t ... I didn’t think it would hurt this much.”

You pull him close and try to find the right words. “It was never going to be easy. But you did what you had to. For yourself. For your future.”

He turns to look at you, eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I just wanted to make them proud.”

You cup his cheek, wiping away a tear with your thumb. “They would be proud of you. Not for the badge you wear or the car you drive but for the man you’ve become.”

Charles takes a shaky breath, pulling you into a tight embrace. The two of you stand there for a moment, finding solace in each other’s presence.

When he finally pulls away, he manages a weak smile. “Thank you. For standing by me.”

You squeeze his hand. “Always.”

***

Charles stands in front of the massive two-story trophy wall at the Red Bull Racing factory in Milton Keynes, eyes wide with wonder. “Ferrari would never do something so ... gaudy.”

You smirk, sidling up next to him. “And yet, you love it.”

“I do,” he laughs. “It’s … different.”

You lean in, whispering conspiratorially, “Well, Ferrari hasn’t had all that much to exhibit in the last two decades. Not for lack of trying from the drivers, of course.”

He playfully nudges you with his elbow, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Cheeky.”

The two of you walk further into the factory. “So,” Charles draws out, “I was wondering if you could recommend a good real estate agent in the area.”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Why would you need an agent when I have a perfectly good apartment we can share?”

“Really? Are you sure? I just … I wasn’t sure if you would want that and I don’t want to pressure you.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Of course I do, Charles. It’s not even a question.”

He smiles, the weight of the decision to move seeming a little lighter now. “Thank you.”

You wink, taking his hand. “Come on, let me show you around.”

As you guide him through the factory, he’s like a kid in a candy store, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. “This place is incredible,” he murmurs, running a hand along a piece of machinery.

You grin, pulling him towards the simulator room. “Wait until you see this.”

He steps inside, eyes immediately drawn to the impressive simulator setup. “Wow.”

You gesture for him to sit down, watching as he takes a seat, adjusting the settings. “Ready for your first sim run in the RB20?”

He nods eagerly, “Let’s do it.”

As he starts the simulation, you watch closely, monitoring the data and providing feedback. The two of you work seamlessly together, the connection between race engineer and driver already forming and growing.

After several runs, Charles steps out of the simulator, a huge grin on his face. “That was incredible! The car feels amazing.”

You smile. “I’m glad you think so. The team has put a lot of work into it.”

He pulls you into a hug, burying his face in your hair. “I can’t wait to get on track with you on the other side of the radio.”

You pull back, looking into his eyes. “Me too. We’re going to do great things together. I know it.”

He nods. “I know we will too.”

***

“I have to admit,” Charles says, eyes scanning the paddock, “I’m thankful that Mercedes and McLaren are between our motorhome and Ferrari’s. Makes things less ... awkward.”

You glance towards the distant red of the mobile Ferrari building, understanding the sentiment. “Must be weird being so close and yet so far.”

He nods, a hint of melancholy in his gaze as he looks at the place he called home for so long. “It’s bittersweet.”

Pulling him from his thoughts, you nudge him playfully. “Come on, Mr. Pole-Sitter. We have a race to prep for.”

Charles smirks, playfully rolling his eyes. “Always so professional, Miss Horner.”

You grin. “Only when it counts.”

The atmosphere in the Red Bull garage is electric. Mechanics and engineers hustle around, getting everything ready. The RB20 sits gleaming, waiting for its moment to shine.

Charles adjusts his gloves, taking a deep breath. “Feels different,” he admits, looking at you. “Being here, in this car, with this team. But a good kind of different.”

You lean in, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve got this. It’s just another race.”

He smiles. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one in the hot seat.”

“True, but I’ll be with you every step of the way. Just listen to my voice and trust me.”

“I always do.”

As he gets into the car, you lean in closer to his helmet, your lips touching it’s hard shell. “And Charles? Stay safe out there.”

He looks at you and winks. “I’ll come back to you.”

The race begins with a burst of energy. Charles takes off from pole, holding his position as the field jockeys for placement behind him.

“Good start,” you say through the radio, your voice calm and composed. “Keep it steady.”

“Copy.”

The race is intense, with Charles and Max battling for the lead, their cars dancing on the edge of perfection. The radio chatter between the two of you flows naturally, filled with technical details, strategy adjustments, and the occasional personal quip.

“Feeling the heat from Max?” You tease after a particularly close call between the two Red Bulls.

Charles laughs breathlessly. “Just keeping things interesting for the fans.”

The race continues at a blistering pace, with Charles and Max pushing each other to the limit. But through it all, Charles remains in the lead, with you guiding him from the pit wall.

“Final lap,” you inform. “Bring it home.”

He nods, pushing the car to its limit. The cheers of the crowd grow louder as he crosses the finish line, securing his first victory with Red Bull.

“Amazing job, Charles! I knew you could do it!”

He lets out a whoop of joy. “Yes! Thank you, team. Thank you, Y/N. I couldn’t have done it without you all.”

The two of you celebrate the victory, and as the rose water sprays and the cheers of the crowd fill the air, you know that this is just the beginning of an incredible journey together.

***

“You’re sure about the medium tyres, Y/N?” Charles asks nervously as he looks at the other cars lining up. “Everyone else is starting on softs.”

You nod confidently, tapping the race strategy on your clipboard. “Yes. The upside of using the mediums is it gives us flexibility. We can extend our first stint if needed, especially with possible rain on the forecast. While everyone else has to pit early for hards and then again for inters when the rain starts, we’ll only have to pit once. Trust me.”

He inhales deeply, trying to quell the unease bubbling inside. “I do trust you. It’s just ... Ferrari ... the strategies there ...”

“I know,” you interrupt softly, understanding the trauma and distrust years with Ferrari had instilled in him. “But this isn’t Ferrari. It’s Red Bull and we work differently. I’ve got your back.”

“Alright,” he looks into your eyes, finding assurance and conviction there, “let’s do this.”

The race begins, and Charles holds his ground well on the medium tyres, though the drivers running softs initially show quicker pace. But as predicted, the clouds soon darken and the threat of rain becomes increasingly evident.

“Stay focused,” you guide through the radio. “Remember the plan.”

He pushes on, expertly handling the streets of Monaco. The cars around him begin to lose grip and one by one they dive into the pits for hard tyres.

Charles keeps lapping. He moves up the order.

“You’re doing great,” you encourage. “Stick to the plan. We’re right on schedule.”

However, as the first raindrops begin to fall, panic sets in among the other teams on the grid. Those who just pitted for hard tyres are forced to pit again for intermediate tyres, losing precious time.

“Now,” you command, “Box this lap.”

He follows your instruction, driving into the pits, and with a flawless stop by his Red Bull crew, re-emerges in the lead.

The rain continues but Charles navigates the treacherous streets of Monaco expertly, maintaining his lead. When the chequered flag waves, it’s Charles who crosses the line first and finally claims victory at his home Grand Prix.

Tears of joy and relief pour from Charles’ eyes as he takes in the moment. “Thank you,” he says over the radio, voice choked with emotion. “I can’t believe it. We did it in Monaco!”

You smile, tears in your own eyes. “We did. I told you to trust me, didn’t I?”

He laughs, the sound full of pure joy. “You did. And I’m so glad I did. Thank you for everything.”

As he steps out of the car and jumps on its nose, arms spread wide, the crowd roars in approval, their prince finally crowned in his home race.

Then he rushes to the barriers and jumps into the cheering crowd of dark blue waiting for him. When his sweaty lips find yours surrounded by the celebrating Red Bull team, you take a moment to whisper a promise, “This is just the beginning. It will only get better from here.”

***

The season flies by in a blur of champagne showers. Heading into the Italian Grand Prix, Charles find himself leading the Drivers’ Championship with Max nipping at his heels.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Charles confesses, staring out at the Autodromo Nazionale Monza. “This was home. I don’t know how they will react now that I’m no longer wearing red.”

You rest a reassuring hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Many fans support the driver, not just the color he wears.”

He takes a deep breath and looks over the crowd. “The Tifosi are different. They bleed Ferrari red. I’m afraid they will see me only as a traitor.”

“You gave them your all,” you counter. “They’ve seen the struggles. They know why you left. They understand. Trust in them and in yourself.”

As the two of you make your way towards the paddock, the familiar chorus of cheers fills the air. But instead of the jeers and boos he feared, a chant begins to rise among the crowd of red: “Charles! Charles! Charles!”

Charles stops in his tracks. “They’re ... they’re cheering for me.”

You nod, a smile playing on your lips. “Told you.”

He’s soon swarmed by a group of fans, all clamoring for autographs, photos, and just a moment of his time. It’s clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi remains unbroken.

An older fan steps forward, his Ferrari cap worn with age. “You are still Il Predestinato. We wish it ended differently but we have eyes. We watched the races. We know why you left. No matter what team you drive for, you always have our hearts.”

Charles blinks back tears, deeply touched. “Grazie,” he whispers and claps the fan’s weathered hands in thanks.

Another fan, a young girl with a homemade sign that reads Once a Tifosi, Always a Tifosi, shyly approaches. “We still love you, Charles,” she says.

He kneels down to give her a gentle hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs, taking off his Red Bull cap and placing it on her head.

As the day goes on, the support from the Tifosi only grows. They cheer for him during practice, during qualifying, and every time he appears in front of the stands.

It’s clear that the bond between Charles and the Tifosi is as strong as ever.

That evening, as the two of you sit in the garage looking over data, Charles reflects on his day. “I was so afraid,” he admits. “Afraid of being rejected, of losing their love. But today ... today was incredible.”

You close the analytics. “The Tifosi love you. Not because of the car you drive or the colors you wear but because of who you are. Just like I do.”

He nods slowly. “It’s overwhelming. Monza has always been special to me. To feel this level of love and support ... it’s more than I ever expected.”

You lean closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “They see your passion. They see how much you give on and off the track. Anyone who does not love and respect you for that needs to reconsider.”

He exhales slowly, “I just ... I wanted to make them proud, to win for them in red and bring glory back to Maranello. But knowing they still support me no matter what ... it means everything.”

You look up into his eyes. “And they always will. Because they know you always gave and will continue to give your best. They love you because they are loved in return.”

He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he murmurs into your hair. “For always being my rock, especially in moments like these.”

“Now let’s go out there tomorrow and win.”

***

“Vegas, baby!” Charles shouts, swinging an arm around your shoulders, both of you holding champagne glasses that have been refilled one too many times.

You giggle, distinctly feeling all of the alcohol you’ve consumed. “We won! We did it!”

Charles laughs, pulling you closer. “We did! And do you know what people do when they’re in love and win in Vegas?”

You think about it for a moment, a mischievous glint appearing in your eyes. “Get ... married?”

Charles nods enthusiastically. “Exactly! Y/N Horner, will you marry me tonight?”

You don’t hesitate, “Hell yes!”

The two of you, in your drunken stupor, begin your mission to find a wedding chapel. However, before you can get very far, Max spots you and quickly catches on to what you’re planning.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Max exclaims, grabbing Charles by the shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going with Y/N?”

Charles replies with a sloppy grin, “To make her Mrs. Leclerc!”

Max bursts into laughter, trying to play the voice of reason. “Mate, as much fun as that sounds, I think you might want to sleep on that idea.”

But you’re not having it. “No, Max! We’re in love and it’s Vegas. We’re doing it!”

Before the conversation can escalate further, your father joins the fray, looking both amused and concerned. “What on earth is going on here?”

Max chuckles, “Your daughter and Charles here have some ... ambitious plans for the evening.”

You pout and stumble slightly, “Daddy, we want to get married! Right now!”

Your father’s eyebrows shoot up. “Married? Tonight? Seriously?”

Charles nods with absolute seriousness, though his precarious swaying contradicts his tone. “Christian, I love your daughter. And we won. In Vegas. So ... wedding?”

Your father places a firm hand on his driver’s shoulder. “Listen, Charles, I have no doubt about your feelings for Y/N. But my baby girl deserves the world. When and if you ever decide to propose, I expect you to get down on one knee, stone-cold sober, and ask her properly.”

Charles blinks, processing the words. “But ... Vegas?”

You laugh and go to hug your father, almost falling over in the process. “He’s right. Let’s just enjoy tonight. And if we still feel like getting married in the morning, we can discuss it then.”

Max smirks, “Trust me, you’ll thank us in the morning. If you can even remember this conversation, that is.”

***

“Charles,” you begin, your voice echoing in his helmet, “The team has made the call. You and Max are free to race. No team orders.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “Understood. May the best man win.”

The tension in the garage skyrockets as soon as the lights go out. It’s evident that this is going to be an epic battle from the very first turn. Max and Charles swap places multiple times, pushing their cars to the very edge of their limits.

“Breathe,” you remind him calmly as the laps go by, “Don’t loose sight of the race as a whole. There’s a championship at stake.”

The entire race is a blur of overtakes, pit strategies, and nail-biting moments. The two Red Bull cars battle wheel-to-wheel lap after lap. One side of the garage against the other.

Coming into the final laps, Charles is right on Max’s tail — the championship hanging in the balance between them.

You know there’s not much you can do to guide him anymore … it’s all up to Charles.

“Last lap,” you try to sound composed despite the pounding of your heart. “You can do this.”

The cheers and gasps of the crowd are deafening as Charles makes his move, taking the inside line and overtaking Max on the penultimate turn.

“Push now! Just a few more corners.”

As Charles crosses the finish line, the enormity of the moment crashes over both of you.

“Charles Leclerc,” you scream over the radio as tears stream down your face, “you are the World Champion!”

“Yeeeesssss! Yes! Yes! I ... I can’t believe it. This is ... thank you, everyone. To the entire Red Bull team, you’ve given me the chance to chase and achieve my dreams. To my friends, my family, to every single person who’s been by my side, believed in me, and supported me … thank you. And Y/N, you’ve been my rock and my oxygen. Without you, this wouldn’t have been possible. Thank you! Thank you. Thank you so much!”

***

“Whew! That was a lot of rose water!” Charles laughs, wiping the bubbly liquid from his eyes.

You chuckle and try to wring out your hair. “You didn’t have to drench me, you know!”

Charles grins cheekily. “It’s a special occasion, after all. Both of us on this podium? It’s a dream!”

Then suddenly, he turns serious and signals to his brother in the crowd below, who throws him a small leather box. Charles catches it and promptly lowers himself down on one knee in front of you, making the crowd fall into a stunned silence.

“I tried this in Vegas,” he starts with a laugh, “But I might have been too drunk and missed a few pretty important steps.”

Charles takes a deep breath and his eyes lock onto yours, saying everything that words would never be sufficient to. “Y/N, being on this podium with you, winning the World Championship, it’s the pinnacle of my career. But what we have ... it’s the pinnacle of my life. I can’t imagine going on this journey with anyone else, facing the highs, the lows, the in-betweens. Will you marry me?”

Tears flow steadily down your cheeks and you nod with a fervor that would make bobbleheads jealous, “Yes! There’s no one else I’d want to spend forever with.”

The crowd erupts into cheers and applause, the deafening roar echoing around the Yas Marina Circuit. Max gives a loud whistle, his face lit up with a big grin next to you on the podium stage.

Charles rises to his feet and pulls you close, attacking your lips as the crowd goes wild.

“Promise me we won’t head to a chapel right after this race?” You joke, sniffling and giggling at the same time.

Charles laughs, looking slightly sheepish. “I promise, mainly because I’m too young to die and your father would definitely kill me if I even thought about pulling the stunt we tried in Vegas again. You deserve a fairytale wedding.”

You press your face against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat as fireworks explode overhead. “All I need for my fairytale is you.”

4K notes · View notes

beomcharms · 2 months ago

Text

bound ᥫ᭡

pairings: beomgyu x reader

genre: arranged marriage au! childhood friends to lovers, they’re both idiots

warnings: angstt, beomgyu is mean, kissing, suggestive language, part 2 likely to have smut, mentions of food, exhaustion etc (lmk if i missed anything)

w/c: 5.2k (im so so sorry)

a/n : somebody should lock my hands up because i genuinely cannot stop writing this fic😭. wanted to post this as a full fic but i’m pretty sure it’d be over the word count so here’s part one. hope you guys enjoy!!

taglist: lmk and i’ll add you!

fic below cut

Beomgyu who didn’t think twice when his dad proposed the question to him. He was not one to be bothered by love or finding the right one and out of the options he had you seemed to be the best choice. Your family’s knew each other and he has known you since you were babies and all through high school. You guys weren’t exactly friends but you were always there for all the major events in his life.

You, who were taken by surprise at the news, felt even more puzzled out when you heard that Beomgyu had agreed to marry you. He could have any girl. Handsome and charismatic you wonder why he agreed to marry you. Sure, it made sense in a business sense. With you marrying Beomgyu it’d further cement the relationship between your families and really boost your dads businesses. Maybe Beomgyu had his own reasons like you did.

The wedding is a quiet affair, mostly consisting of family friends and couple of your own. The day passes by in a daze and before you even realise it you’re standing in front of Beomgyu.

He looked dashing in his suit. Beomgyu gives you a small smile before giving his vows. You repeat your vows and he leanes down to give a small peck on your lips.

Your families cheer for you and you watch as your mom cries, tears of your own falling down from your cheeks. Beomgyu quietly hands you his handkerchief and you wipe them away, thanking him.

Something in Beomgyu’s chest hardens at the sight of your tears. The marriage had been nothing but one of convenience for him and he wonders whether that was unfair to you. He didn’t really know you all that well. You were quiet and kept to yourself a lot. But when you were really small you would read out stories to him while he dozed off next to you.

Now, looking at you standing next to him as his wife Beomgyu slowly realises how much time has actually flown by. Feeling his eyes own you, you turn around. Beomgyu is staring at you with an unreadable expression. You give him a quick smile which seems to break him out of his daze. He smiles back at you.

-.-

It’s been a week of your marriage. You are slowly adjusting to his house trying to grow familiar with your new environment. Beomgyu leaves early for work and comes home late at night. You on the other hand do your job at the school. The new academic year has just begun and you were trying not to drown in your hectic schedule.

“Hey, mind if I use your hair dryer? Mine seems to be broken” Beomgyu’s question brings you back to reality.

“Huh- yea- no, go ahead” you tell him. You were folding your laundry. You and Beomgyu shared a room, but that was it. You didn’t know when he came to bed or when he rose. The slightly rumpled sheets the only evidence that he had spend the night with you.

It was rare for you to be together at the same time. Being the weekend, it was your off day and you usually spend it at home passing your time doing one of your many hobbies. Beomgyu usually stayed in the study and you figure that’s where he is probably headed after his shower.

Packing up your stuff in to your closet, you head to the kitchen. The dough you had gotten ready for the cookies would’ve probably cooled by now. Opening up your refrigerator, you take out the dough when you hear footsteps. You look around to see Beomgyu making his way towards you.

“Hungry” he answers to your questioning look and you nod your head.

“Would you like some pancakes ?” You ask him, setting down the dough.

“Uh- that’s cookie dough, sweetheart” he tells you with a smile leaning against the counter.

“Duh- I know, I made it” you tell him rolling your eyes. “I have some batter left, but if you’re going to be a smartass about it, then I guess no” you tell him going back to your business.

“Nooo” Beomgyu drawls out and you raise an eyebrow at him “Please I’d love to have some pancakes, if it’s not a bother for you” he adds.

You try to hide your smile, picking up the batter. You look around and Beomgyu’s still watching you. “Sit”

“Yes Ma’am” he sighs before sitting down on the countertop.

Beomgyu watches you as you work around the kitchen. It’s still new to have you around his house, but he likes it. He likes the little decorations you’ve put up on your bedside table. He likes the soft sound of your breathing when he lies down to sleep. He just wishes he had more time to spend with you. But business has been tough as of late. The new merger was taking up almost all of his time. He feels bad about leaving you alone immediately after your marriage but it is what it is.

“There you go, banana or strawberry? Wait- don’t answer that” you tell him cutting up strawberries for him.

“You remember” Beomgyu says softly and you look up at him.

“Ofcourse, can’t remember the number of times I’ve had to drink banana milk because of you and your obsession with strawberries” you tell him disdainfully.

“Yah- you liked bananas so was it really a sacrifice?” Beomgyu’s huffs at you before taking a bite of his pancake.

“How is it?” You ask him leaning down on your elbows.

“Delicious” he answers with his mouth full and you smile at him before picking up a strawberry from his plate.

“What do you plan on doing today?” Beomgyu asks you.

“Rotting on the couch with my new book” you tell him happily and he rolls his eyes which you ignore.

“What about you- lemme guess, hmm working!” You say tilting your head to the left and Beomgyu considers you for a moment.

“It’s called being productive, sweetheart” he tells you sweetly.

“Reading is productive and I’m not your sweetheart” you tell him mocking his tone.

“You’re literally my wife” he deadpans, “I’m legally obliged to call you sweetheart”

“Okay Honey” you tell him before heading off to the sofa and plopping down picking up your book.

Beomgyu is about to say something when his phone rings. He sighs before he answers. Work calls.

-.-

Blinking away from the brightness of the screen Beomgyu takes note of the time. It’s nearly four in the evening.

He wonders if you have had lunch, he’s been completely focused on his work that he forgot about his surroundings, about you. Guilt grips him again as he makes his way downstairs.

You’re passed out on the couch, the book resting on your chest. He wonders how long you’ve been asleep. Gently pushing away a strand of hair, he is about to wake you up when a message pops up on your phone

Sunghyun 🤍- Cant wait to see you tomorrow!!

Beomgyu scoffs. Who was this man ? Does he know you’re married? Why was he texting you ? WHY DO YOU HAVE A HEART SHAPED EMOJI NEXT TO HIS NAME???

“You know, it’s not nice to snoop through someone else’s stuff” you grumble quietly and Beomgyu nearly jumps.

“Fuck” he says clutching his chest. “I was not snooping, i was just waking you up when the notification popped up” he adds on quickly.

“Uh-huh” you tell him holding out your hand for your phone. Beomgyu gives it to you before sitting down next to you on the couch.

You open your notifications. A couple are from your work friends and one from your mom.

You type out quick replies, before putting your phone back down and turning around to face beomgyu.

“Who’s Sunghyun?” Beomgyu asks you looking down at his nails.

“Huh?” You ask, still disoriented from your nap.

“Sunghyun. Who is he?” Beomgyu asks again impatiently. He feels angry at this Sunghyun. “Does he not know you’re married?”

You take a look at Beomgyu before bursting into laughter.

“What.” Beomgyu asks you surprised at your reaction.

You’re still giggling when you answer him, “Sunghyun’s me friend” you tell him.

“And why is that funny? Does he not know boundaries?” Beomgyu huffs out.

“No silly, Sunghyuns a girl. And I’m unfortunately not into girls, neither is she I believe” you tell him grinning.

Beomgyu wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He clutched the bridge of his nose as if to ward off the reddening of his cheeks.

“Bet, you’re reallllyyy embarrassed right now” you tell him in a playful tone trying to see his face as Beomgyu hides it behind his hands.

“Stopp, I was just asking” he whines out.

“Yeah, yeah” you say smiling. Getting up you head to the kitchen to grab water.

“Does Sunghyun not know you’re married??” You do your best imitation of Beomgyu as you sit back on the couch. Beomgyu looks at you with narrowed eyes.

“Alright I’ll stop” you tell him. “What do you wanna eat ?” You ask him.

“Right now?” Beomgyu asks you wide eyes.

“Yeah- you haven’t had lunch yet, have you?” You ask him.

“No.” Beomgyu replies.

“So, let’s eat something. What do you want to have?” You ask him.

“You haven’t had lunch?” He asks you incredulously. His phone starts ringing again and Beomgyu mutes it.

“No, I was waiting for you, guess I fell asleep then” you answer him, moving around your kitchen.

“You don’t have to wait up for me” he tells you sharply and you look at him.

“I know.” You tell him curtly. Anger flares up inside you.

“No, what I meant was- you don’t have to wait like that for me, I eat whenever I get the time-“ Beomgyu tells you in a softer tone.

“I got it” you tell him. “Well, I’m making pasta, would you like to have some?”

“No- I mean- I’d love to- but I have a meeting to attend to right now” Beomgyu tells you getting up. He doesn’t understand why he gets muddled up with his words when he’s next to you.

“You haven’t had anything since those pancakes… you need to eat” you tell him, irritatedly.

“Work calls” he answers you curtly.

“On a weekend? You don’t see me answering mine. You need to set boundaries” you tell him. Beomgyu is going through his phone, not paying attention to you.

“Well, my job demands this. And anyways how hard is it being a teacher” The words are out of his mouth before he thinks through them. He looks up at you and you’re standing there staring at him in disbelief.

An awkward silence settles over the both of you. Beomgyu feels defensive and you feel hurt beyond words.

“Right. Um- guess I’m making dinner for one then. Why don’t you go ahead with your tough job?” You ask him turning away. You hate yourself for being sensitive like this.

“Y/N- that’s not-“ Beomgyu starts and his phone rings again.

“Work calls” you tell him, pointing at his phone before walking into your bedroom and shutting the door.

Left alone, in the hall, Beomgyu sighs in defeat as his phone starts ringing again.

-.-

Beomgyu is sitting on his side of the bed, looking through his phone with his earphones in when you walk in. You barely give him a glance as you tie your hair into its usual bedtime braid.

Beomgyu watches you out of the corner of his eyes. He feels restless and uneasy at the thought of your conversation earlier. He wants to say sorry and fix things with you but he doesn’t know where to start.

You fluff up your pillows before lying down on your side of the bed, completely ignoring Beomgyu’s presence beside you. What he said to you was unacceptable and you still feel angry at the thought of it.

Scrolling through your phone, you respond to texts, giggling at a few from your friends. Beomgyu clears his throat but you turn away from him. You know it’s childish but you can’t help it.

Beomgyu sighs once again before removing his headphones. He looks over at your back. He wants to reach out but he just doesn’t know how.

You finally turn around and lie on your back. You’re smiling at something on your phone and texting back rapidly

Beomgyu feels a spike of jealousy.

“Don’t you have to wake up early tomorrow?” He asks you and you ignore him, which successfully makes him even more irritated.

Beomgyu snatches your phone out of your hand suddenly,

“Hey-“

“I asked you a question” he tells you looking at you. You refuse to look back at him, trying to get your phone back, which he holds high up above you.

You try to grab hold of his arm but he is not even budging and you lie back down in frustration. Beomgyu tries to hide his growing smirk.

“I don’t know Beomgyu- my job is anyways not that important so does it really matter?” You huff out. Staring at the ceiling, still refusing to look into your eyes.

Beomgyu leans over you, trying to catch your eyes and you turn away from him, but he grabs your chin, making you look at him.

“You’re so childish” he tells you. How dare he?

You push his hand away, getting up. You’re about to get off from the bed when Beomgyu grabs hold of your waist, pulling you back in.

“Let me go-“

“No- I don’t care how angry you’re at me, we sleep in the same bed” he tells you trying to hold you down.

“Why” you ask him struggling to free yourself.

“Because it’s on our vows. In sickness and in health…” he starts

“Yes not in anger and in spite” you finally stop struggling, lying still. Stupid strong man.

“Give me back my phone” you tell him.

“Here you go” he says handing it over to you. “Who are you texting at this hour? Doesn’t Sunghyun sleep?” He asks you, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Who says I’m texting Sunghyun?” You tell him, adjusting the pillows around you. Beomgyu leans over you trying to read your texts and you push him away.

“Get your nosey ass away from me” you say.

“Who are you texting? Does he know you’re my wife?” He starts again.

“Oh my god- why don’t I get that tattoed on my head “Married to Choi Beomgyu” maybe that’d keep away everyone” you tell him tiredly, switching off your phone.

“Would make you infinitely more attractive” Beomgyu tells you lying back down.

You pretend to gag, setting up a pillow between you.

“What’s this for?” Beomgyu asks.

“I don’t want you crossing over to my part” you tell him, pulling the blanket over yourself.

“So childish” he mutters before turning off the bedside lamp.

-.-

Waking up you know something’s immediately wrong. Your body feels sore and a slight movement is enough to set you into a world of pain. You cannot be having a fever right now.

You’re about to get up when you notice a pair of hands and legs thrown over your body. Beomgyu has you in his grasp. Clearly a pillow fortress is not enough to keep this man away. Turning around in his hold, you take note of his sleeping form. He looks angel like when he’s asleep.

Slowly extricating yourself from his arms you get up and your world shifts.

“Whoa-“ you mutter grasping into the bed frame. Your ears ring and black clouds the edges of your vision.

You force yourself to walk upto the bathroom but your body gives up midway.

-.-

A thousand needles pin you. Or atleast that’s how it feels. Your entire body is aching when you wake up. You feel disoriented for a moment looking at the white ceiling.

You jump up in shock when someone pushes you back down.

“Your ass is not getting out of that bed unless I tell you” Beomgyu tells you roughly.

“What-“ you start but it comes out more as a croak. You take note of his appearance. He looks a little rough. There is stubble on his jaw and he looks like he hasn’t slept at all.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me if you were sick” Beomgyu starts again. He is sitting by your side. The curtains are closed around your bed.

“It’s not that serious” you tell him carelessly, noting the flowers on the curtains. Beomgyu follows your eyes.

“I requested for a private room but only the ward was available” he tells you softly and your eyes snap back to him.

“Huh? No, I-“ you start. He was getting this wrong. “I don’t like hospitals” you tell him in a small voice.

“Nobody does” he answers.

“No I know- I just, can we go home?” You ask him voice wobbly and you hate yourself for it. Beomgyu looks at you in concern.

“We’ll go soon, waiting for the doc you know?” He tells you arranging the blankets around you. You take note of how you’re wearing his shirt. Did you vomit on yourself? What happened? You feel too embarrassed to ask.

“Did you miss work because of me?” You ask him looking at him with watery eyes.

“No, no it doesn’t matter right now, please rest Y/N” he tells you pushing you down again.

You cover your eyes with your arm not wanting for him to see you in such a vulnerable position. You don’t miss the way he sighs.

-.-

It’s nearly evening when your doctor visits you, going over a few medications and advising you to rest for the next couple of days he finally gives you the green signal to go home.

Beomgyu’s arm rests around your waist, supporting you into the car. You barely remember the ride back home, crashing into your bed the moment you reach home.

When you wake up, Beomgyu is still beside you. He is sleeping, neck bent at an odd angle and you gently shake him awake.

“What- are you okay? Do you need anything” he asks you bleary eyed and jumping up.

“No-no. Calm down. I’m alright” you tell him and he settles back down. He looks extra bear like in his sleepy state and your heart swells a little.

“Go sleep. I’m alright now and you need to be in Office tomorrow” you tell him.

“Yeah” he tells you smiling sheepishly, starting to climb into your bed.

“No- not here. You shouldn’t be sleeping next to me” you tell him immediately, pushing him away.

“What do you mean??” He asks you confused still hovering over the bed.

“No you’ll catch my fever” you tell him shaking your head.

Beomgyu stares at you for a moment before climbing back into the bed. “If that’s the case, I’d have probably caught it by now” he tells you lying down and pushing you back into the bed.

You get up again, “I don’t want you to get sick on my account” you tell him, stubborn.

“God, just lie down Y/N, I’m more strong than you think” he tells you pulling you down next to him.

You cross your arms over your chest, annoyed. Beomgyu smiles to himself at the sight, before pulling you closer to him.

You look over at him and he is looking at you so softly that you feel shy.

“G’night Sweetheart” he murmurs before falling asleep.

“Goodnight”

-.-

It’s been three days. Three days since you last went to School. Beomgyu is driving you up the wall.

“I’m FINE” you nearly scream when he rushes over to help you as you get up from the couch that evening.

“Alright, alright” he tells you holding his hands up in surrender.

“I will be going to school tomorrow- NO- I’m not asking your permission- I will be going to school tomorrow” you almost stomp your foot in anger but hold yourself back.

“The doctor told you-“ Beomgyu starts and you cut him off immediately-

“To rest for a couple of days. It’s been three. THREE. I have so much of work to catch up on” you huff out. “Ofcourse my job is not a real job in your eyes” Beomgyu winces at that, “but I need to be there tomorrow”

“Okay. Okay. But I’ll drop you and pick you up” Beomgyu tells you. He can already see the arguments forming on your lips. “For my sake Y/N, do it for my sake” he nearly pleades and you take a moment before nodding your agreement.

Atleast you get to go back to work.

“Alright, now, will my precious little wife do me the honour of having her dinner?” He asks you.

“Depends on what my precious little husband has cooked for dinner. If it’s another bowl of oatmeal, you’ll be featured on tomorrow’s headlines” you tell him sweetly.

“Why is my oatmeal that good?” He asks you wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and you hold back your laughter.

“Wife kills husband in an interesting turn of events, wherein he served her oatmeal three times a day for three days” you do your best news anchor voice.

“Ha- ha. Here comes the airplane, open your mouth wooo” Beomgyu answers back, settling down next to you and bringing a spoonful of, surprise, oatmeal.

-.-

“Are you sure about this” Beomgyu asks, yet again, sitting at the foot of your bed.

“Yesssssssss” you drawl out applying your lip gloss. You were wearing your normal white skirt and blue shirt, tying up your hair in a low bun. You glance at Beomgyu through the mirror. He sits ready for work, waiting patiently for you.

“Hmm, which perfume should I wear for today” you ask more to your self that anyone else.

“The one that smells like caramel” Beomgyu immediately answers. You look over at him with an eyebrow raised and he shrugs his shoulders.

“Alright then, I’m done” you tell him. “How do I look ?” You ask him giving him a twirl as he gets up from the bed.

“Hideous” he tells you walking to the door, trying to calm his rising heart rate.

-.-

“Okay, leave. Now.” You tell him tugging off the seatbelt.

“Good day to you too” he mocks.

“Aw, have a nice day my lovely pumpkin” you coo pinching his cheeks before jumping off of your seat and waving him goodbye.

Beomgyu waves back his hand coming to rest on his cheek. He watches you walk towards the school. Your coat bellowing around you in the wind. He wonders if he should’ve forced you to wear the scarf too.

Looking over, Beomgyu notices a kid running as if to catch upto you. The little boy reaches you and you immediately pat his head, giving him a lovely smile. The boy holds up his hand to you, and Beomgyu watches as you smile down widely at the boy before taking the child’s hands in your own.

Without knowing it himself, Beomgyu is smiling too, watching you.

-.-

A few days pass in the same manner. You’ve grown so used to Beomgyu’s presence that it feels weird to go to work without him.

Making him laugh was your favourite thing. To watch his whisker dimples on full display and his eyes form crescent moons, you feel warmth spread through you. Sometimes it scares you. You were bordering on falling for him that it terrified you. You knew this marriage was one of convenience and Beomgyu would never feel the same way but your heart continued to hope.

Also, you were driven mad with need. To have one of the most handsome men you’ve met right next to you, laughing along with you was one thing. To have his hands brush against yours every once in a while, watching those thick veins work their way around a steering wheel was a completely different thing. Waking up next to him with his deep voice right next to yours, having him wrap you in his arms every night, albeit unconsciously was leading you to the edge of insanity.

Unbeknownst to you, Beomgyu was not faring much better. He has grown so attached to you that the thought of being away from you was unthinkable. Every job he did felt like a hurdle to reach you. He loved listening to you talk. You were so animated, hands flying around and having the most comic expressions, he wanted more and more. At the end of the day, Beomgyu was also a man. He knew you slept without a bra on. Your warm body pressed against his and your sweet smelling hair, the way you threw you head back in laughter, exposing your neck to him… Beomgyu felt like he was on a sensory overload.

Yet, he remained a patient man.

-.-

Beomgyu was working away on his laptop when you walked into his study. He looked up and smiled immediately. You were standing at the door, fidgeting, holding a cup and wearing your long camisole.

Beomgyu checks the time. It’s nearly midnight. He just had to figure out this assignment before he slept.

“Well, aren’t you gonna come in?” Beomgyu asks you and you walk upto his table.

“It’s hot cocoa” you tell him before placing down the cup on the table. “Do you have a lot to do?”

“Just this one thing” he tells you pointing to the graph “you go ahead and sleep, I’ll come soon”

You look over at the graph before you, leaning in to get a closer look.

“Ahh, you can’t figure out whether to sell or stay” you tell him looking at the stock market indicators. Beomgyu looks at you in surprise.

“I know my stuff” you tell him, “you neednt look so surprised”

“Is that so? Well would my lovely wife advise me on what i should do then?” He asks you smiling.

You lean down further to see the graph and Beomgyu without warning pulls you down onto his lap.

You turn to look over at him. “Was this your master plan to get me into your lap?” You ask him, dragging the laptop closer to you and adjusting around him.

“Sweetheart you literally came in holding cocoa, that’s code for “i wanna sit on your lap”” he tells you

“Goofy ass” you reply rolling your eyes and Beomgyu drags you closer to him. His breath is so close to your ear that you find it difficult to concentrate on anything but you force yourself to look at the chart before you.

Looking at the rise and fall of the stock you analyse it further to understand it’s behaviour.

“Hmm… I’d advise you to stay” you tell him quietly after a while.

“Why” his voice is close to a whisper and you try not to react to it, pressing your thighs together. An action not missed by Beomgyu.

“Uh…” you feel out of breath. Get a grip! You tell yourself strongly. “See here” you tell him pointing at the graph. Beomgyu rests his chin on your shoulder looking at the place you are pointing.

“The stock has always broken through every time it has hit a barrier and the highs and lows are getting closer and closer, so get ready for the boom” you say the boom looking at his face and Beomgyu grins.

“How do you know all this” voice so loving that you’re taken by surprise. He turns you around on his lap, so that you sit sideways, arms around his shoulder.

“I- uh- I used to do trading for dad” you tell him in a small voice.

“Why did you stop?” He asks you trying to look into your eyes.

“It was not for me. I hate how obsessive I got with it” how obsessive he got with it, you add silently.

Beomgyu rubs a soothing hand over your thigh and you resist the urge to shiver. He smirks at you and you roll your eyes at him, ready to get up, but Beomgyu holds onto your waist.

Beomgyu glances down at your lips and looks back into your eyes. Your doe eyed stare is enough to sent him over the edge, he pulls you closer to him, your body fitting perfectly into his.

“Someone’s eager” you tease him in a whisper, voice full of mirth and Beomgyu cups your cheeks with one hand.

“I’m your husband, sweetheart and husbands have rights” he tells you lowly, face getting closer and closer to yours.

“Hmm… do they?” You ask him, acting like you were thinking about it. Beomgyu nearly growls at you, frustration building up inside him.

“Easy tiger” you laugh, holding his face in your hands and placing a small kiss on his nose. Beomgyu’s grip on your waist tightens and he leans down to your lips, face impossibly close to yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks you before capturing your lips with his. The kiss is heated, Beomgyu’s tongue incessantly moving against your own as if to try and get back the last bit of cocoa from your mouth. Your head feels woozy and you try to calm yourself but you feel yourself losing control. You grip onto his shoulders and bite his bottom lip and Beomgyu moans into your mouth, the sound music to your ears.

Beomgyu breaks away first, eyes still closed as if trying to ground himself. You’re not doing much better. You’ve never wanted anyone more in your life. Beomgyu grins at you and you try to kiss his whisker dimples.

“Someone’s eager” he laughs and you shake your head.

“Ofcourse I’m eager” you tell him, “have you seen yourself?” You ask kissing him once more.

“Just - “ Beomgyu’s phone starts ringing and you both look down at it. You see Kai’s caller ID and try not to sigh. Do investment bankers not get the concept of sleep?

“Fuck” Beomgyu mutters. You get up from his lap, but Beomgyu tries to pull you down.

“Baby- just a minute” he tells you eyes apologetic and you feel bad.

“Take your time” you tell him softly before walking out the door.

-.-

Beomgyu is not beside you when you wake up. Slightly disoriented, you get up from your bed. What time was it?

It’s only 7, you make your way down the stairs. Beomgyu stands by the kitchen, already dressed for work.

“Hi” you tell him groggily. “Why are you up so early” you ask him, plopping down on the seat.

“Early meeting. We have a gala to attend tonight” He tells you adjusting his tie.

“What.” You ask him spluttering.

“Be ready by 5” he says turning around and looking at you.

“Beomgyu, I have a parents teachers meet today” you tell him urgently.

“Well, get done with it soon. This is important” he says taking out his phone.

“But- this is my job! I don’t even have an outfit-“ you start panicking.

“I know but this is really important. We need to be there” he says. “I’m sorry”

“Oh, are you really?!” You ask him angrily. You couldn’t understand him. One day he was acting all sweet and loving and the next day, it was like you meant nothing.

“I don’t have the time for this right now” he says walking to the door.

“When do you ever have the time?” You ask following behind him.

“Keep your voice down!” He tells you harshly.

“Oh fuck you-“ you nearly scream.

Beomgyu slams the door on the way out.

🎧this is the end of pt.1, hope you liked it 🥹PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE interact with this fic because it helps me out a ton and it feels less like i’m shouting into a void. xoxo🎧

#beomgyu x you #beomgyu fic #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu soft hours #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu smut #beomgyu au #txt beomgyu #beomgyu angst #beomgyu #txt x reader #txt au #txt x you #moablr #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x female reader

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iznsfw · 1 year ago

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IZ Days of Christmas 2023: Day 1 - Kwon Eunbi

IZ*ONE's Kwon Eunbi x Male Reader Smut

21,183 words

Categories | best friend!Eunbi, facefucking, cum swallowing, against the wall, anal

The most unrealistic thing about this, besides getting to fuck Eunbi, is that she has sex with glasses on.

“Two things. I need you to tell me two things before I kill you in front of everyone. And trust me, I’m very good with a gun.”

“Oh no,” you say grumpily, and a little more sarcastically, while you're gathering your things into the gray backpack you’ve used through its tatters. “How will I ever see the light of day again?”

Eunbi barely looks intimidating anyway in the toga that sags around her small body. The fabric’s a blackish-blue waterfall that drags on the ground. You’re surprised mud hasn’t done its wicked way with it. It began raining earlier, see, and now, except for the mud as evidence, it's as if it never happened. The heat has become too much.

Everything is too much.

“You won’t,” Eunbi says, tongue between her teeth, “but save yourself for once. Tell me what’s going on.”

Right above the garment, her long tresses fall over her shoulders. Earlier last year, she had it cut and everyone fell for her instantly. But you’ve always taken the speedy growth of her hair a victory for your side.

No victories right now though. It’s supposed to be a grand day—the scam that is college has finally run its course, and today you ought to celebrate and throw your cap in the air like everyone else.

But you’re still completely, royally pissed off.

Turn your back. Clear answer, with other possible variations that basically say the same thing: I’m not telling you shit. Nope. Stop bugging me. Brat.

She follows, and she’s a shadow behind you who’s too pretty to be one. But you lengthen your steps. Hope she doesn’t pursue you, but she’s always done that. Since you were kids on the playground, she’s never let you deal with things on your own. It’s forever been Eunbi will help you, Eunbi will stay with you, Eunbi will talk for you.

Why must that knowledge swirl a puzzling mix of emotions in you? She has not once left you alone, and yet here you are, forcing her to do so.

A pair of leather shoes and high platforms (which give way to the illusion that she’s barely shorter than you) pave through the cobblestone ground of the campus you’ll never dream of returning to. You say that yet you and Eunbi are the only other few graduates remaining on the premises. Why? It’s not like you have anything or anyone to be melancholic about.

She walks in the corner of your line of vision. Alright, maybe someone.

You’ve tried to avoid eye contact but you turn to her anyway. She’s always been this easy on the eyes, even when you were high schoolers with wild hormones and sensitive young hearts. Sharp nose, intelligent brown eyes, and pretty smile—she could’ve been a real heartbreaker back then if she weren’t hanging out with you. She could’ve been everything, because this town is too simple, too small for a girl of her caliber.

Turn your eyes away before she could notice. Broken out of your train of thought, you start to notice how your bag knocks your spine repeatedly. Painfully. With the way your notebooks from years and years ago are bumping around in there, you’d think you were carrying a luggage good enough to give you a week’s worth of supplies.

“Ugh.” Eunbi pinches her nose irritably, allows the sounds to continue for a good three seconds, then pulls the source off you. "Dumbass. Alright, now tell—”

“No. Become a nun. Live a good life. Go eat ice cream with Chaewon or something.”

“She likes mint chocolate, so no. I’m never eating that shit.”

“You’ll live.”

“Oh, I will”—she taps your bag, smiling evilly—”and I’ll take the bag with me.”

You sigh loudly. “Eunbi.”

Oh no, don’t get it wrong: she’s always like this. It's not just today that she pushes your buttons, catty with her negotiations and even more so when you turn them down. She discreetly takes control with a sleight of hand, and you never see it coming. You wish luck to whoever smug kindergartner she’ll be an educator to in the future. She’ll quickly show him his place, just like she’s shown you yours.

“What?” she says with a derisive smirk. She pulls on the arms of the backpack to boost its weight up. “No tell, no bag.”

At this point—

“I don’t give a fuck, Eunbi,” you spit. "You have bigger things to worry about.”

Pause. You briefly consider telling her how your grand day was shattered by your own self and thinking, but you don’t want to bother her. She's your best friend. You shouldn't be making her listen to your woes.

Close your mouth; you didn’t even realize it was hanging open for a while.

You exhale through your nostrils. “Do yourself a favor and take care of something else.”

You walk away. That was supposed to be the end of the story. It's the hashtag at the end of an article, the death of the conversation. But wide strides can’t keep her from coercing an answer out of you.

You know that because she’s suddenly pulled you by the wrist then so close to herself that even your cloaks can’t bar yourselves from each other. Her body presses below your chest. Her stern eyes hush you. You can quite literally feel her breathing.

“I think I can handle it,” she says, gaze steady and chin lifting, “much more if it’s you.”

Okay, so maybe you underestimated how intimidating she can get.

She’s a small girl, lying her way into five foot three, but she’s surprisingly strong. You’re more than aware of that to avoid testing if her palm on your heart is sturdy. Her fierce glare, needling into your integrity, is something new. Frightening, too. Her jaw—(oh, and you can never give that perfectly cut line it’s incredibly lucky to possess a normal glance)—is tight with determination.

For a moment, you think you know how to speak but just forgot to completely.

You get the hang of it after a few seconds when you crack a smile. “Can’t tell you anything if you got your hands on me, little raindrop.”

Eunbi squints her eyes, then folds her arms neatly. “A silver rain drop. And I’m not little, I’m one sixty flat.”

“Take that cap off and we’ll see.”

You’re not exactly a top student, but you’re smart enough to run away before she whacks you with her rolled diploma.

(It somehow lightens your mood, because if there’s anything you love more than your phone and street food, it’s Eunbi’s tiny, challenging self trying to one you up. Her light punches are like package peanuts trying to make a dent in you. And it’s just so adorable seeing her face turn dark as she aims for you, and fails.

Oh, and it’s all in good banter. It wouldn’t be a friendship if those jabs were spiteful. There are a lot of relationships out there, both platonic and not so, where insults are masked behind “jokes” and jokes behind insults—you’re glad that doesn’t count for you and her.

But even if we’re to say that Eunbi’s cornering you to the wall, suddenly having grown taller than you, and snarls, with a knife to your throat, “Say good night forever,” you’d kiss her and tell her: “I won’t let the bedbugs bite.”)

"Two, please. Thank you."

Slip the paper bills in the vendor's brown, rough hand and slap yours back on Eunbi's shoulder. You’re still surprised at the bareness you feel, then you remember she's since stuffed her toga in your backpack because of the heat. Now she’s wearing a sundress that flows around her like water.

Look at her discreetly. You’re wondering how she managed to hide all… that. The fabric fits and compliments her figure too much to go unnoticed. You have to pretend to be curious about the boiling process of the eomuk again to avoid staring at her slim arms.

"I still don't get why you call me that," she says. She pulls the drooping strap of her dress back up her shoulder, and you swear you’re gonna lose it.

Take deep breaths. You can do this. "Call you what?"

"You know." She daintily taps away a bead of sweat from her forehead and looks up at you. "'Little raindrop.'"

You return her stare eye for an eye. You have to admit it was a feeble attempt. Whenever you look at her, you're overcome with the realization that she's just so beautiful. Her brows are naturally curved and shaded, and there’s just the tiniest dimple at the side of her mouth when she smiles hard. Who in the world just has a face like that?

But you can't dwell on it. It's a dangerous premise, and you're a rightful coward.

"Ah." Your fingers tap comfortable rhythms on her skin. "Because… hm. Bi means rain, right? And you’re small, a.k.a little. So there you have it."

A crowd sifts through the streets and roads opposite your university, and occasionally daring motorists. Graduates fill the sidewalks to purchase street food. It's been this cramped since forever. You can't believe this is the last time you'd ever see this commotion: nameless faces that have matured through the years occupying every space, scentful smoke that wafts in the air, and, of course, the familiar sight of these stalls on wheels catering to young'uns like you short on cash.

Now that you think it over once more, perhaps you'll miss this place more than you thought you would.

"Well, would you say it, uh…” Eunbi taps her chin. “Hm, derogatively?"

"Oh, come on," you say, shaking your head emphatically, "I would never."

"Good, because I just lost your bag."

Your eyelids suddenly stop drooping. Realize only this second that you haven't felt torn fabric on the shoulder you’ve been caressing.

"Eunbi, what the—"

"Kidding, it's right here." Eunbi lifts it up in the air cheekily. "Gotcha."

"Oh, fuck off," you groan. Push her away, but not so much that she's out of arm's length. There are people whose intentions aren't so nice in this crowd.

Eunbi's adorable, you have to admit. Every day that rises is April Fools Day for her. She loves pulling pranks on you and commits to the bit perfectly. It’s been like this since… forever. It’s like you were born knowing her.

With all that fake innocence on her face when she tells you a white lie for her prank’s sake, she could be an actress. For a moment, you wonder what you'll do if she does become one, if she finds out that she's more than this place is worth. Would she leave you with no warning? Make a name for herself and never bother to reach out?

You gulp a little. That could happen even without the entertainer job. You've been friends with her for ages. One day, she'll grow tired of you and seek brighter horizons. Finer places. Better men.

"You alright there?" Eunbi asks.

You envy her for a lot of things—her charm, her easy way of making new friends, those legs that she’s worked hard to tone. But right now, you’re jealous because she isn’t privy to all those things that run in your mind about wanting to do things to her. Stupid things like hold her hand, tell her something you shouldn’t, the works.

Jealousy won’t amount to anything, so you just nod. It's not like there's much to say that you won't be embarrassed of saying later.

"Well—"

Just in time, the kind vendor raises two eomuks from the bubbling broth. The delicious scent makes your mouth water. "There you go," he says in his usual jolly way that always makes you laugh. "Congrats on the graduation!"

"Thanks!" Eunbi says, always the first to be grateful. She takes hers and the aforementioned dimple on her cheek shows itself again. Your chest squeezes.

"Don't forget me when you're rich." His jovial face almost looks sentimental. "One for the gentleman and one for his girlfriend."

Your smile fades into a nervous line. "She's not my girlfriend," you say carefully.

It's more embarrassing each time you have to say it. Are you too close with her? Probably; your arm is always around her and she's one of the few consistent friends you have. She's been by your side longer than anyone. People are gonna think something’s going on along the way.

The vendor nods mockingly, as if to say “yeah, sure,” and winks at Eunbi. She winks back, but fails to halfway—her left eye scrunches up.

"Don't listen to him," you tell her. You walk away from the crowd; it's suddenly begun to feel warmer than usual. "He likes to play around a lot. Even in first year he was like that.”

“Eh. It's not like he said anything bad.” She sinks her teeth into the skewered food and shrugs.

"It's invasive."

"Invasive," she repeats thoughtfully, (chewing thoughtfully, too.) “Okay. But how?”

"Because… ‘cause…" Suddenly, you find there's no appropriate reason you could dream up to justify your uneasiness. "It's, you know, strange when people do that."

“I don’t mind, honestly.”

You find that you swallow on nothing rather than the delicious treat you’re holding.

The place becomes too much, with the heated smoke eventually making Eunbi hack a cough and the sweaty people surrounding you more than they should. So you squeeze between them with her and go on for a resolute walk down the road. Just a few blocks up ahead, you can see the sun setting. It reflects back and pours a hefty amount of light on your figures. Your shadows synchronize with your steps.

“You don’t?” you ask, just to make sure you heard her right. The possibility of her being so comfortable with you that she isn’t bothered to be called yours… it’s a lot to handle. She shouldn’t just place that on your shoulders and expect you not to buckle.

Try to keep your knees from folding at the idea as you walk down the familiar streets. The roads reside in a subdivision that's humbler than the others, hence the houses being small and more trees standing above you. But you don't mind—you need a break from the urban place anyway.

Your university stays a little near the border between them. That's why more street food stalls come up to view and a few thrift stores. Is this the last time you'll come here?

The last time you'll see her?

“No. Why would I? Alright, now that we’ve got things all nice and settled…” Eunbi takes your wrist. Tightly. She's not going anywhere, and neither are you. “Back to telling.”

“Telling you what?”

“You really wanna play dumb with me?” She presses the point of her skewer to your stomach, seizing you by the waist. “Get those words out. Now.”

"Hit me."

"Two things, right? So answer me." Eunbi's fingers wrap tighter around your flesh. "Why were you crying in the bathroom? What happened?"

Oh.

That.

You're quiet. You look only forward, not daring to meet Eunbi's eyes. If anything, the stick could dig into your guts and it would be infinitely better than having to admit you’re weak. You’ll have to tell her one day. You’ll have to admit that you’re not a better guy just because you’re the only one who has the balls to approach her—you’re just like the rest of them. Nothing special. Grades barely there. Average, probably not even so. Everything but nothing.

“I wasn’t crying,” you say. You can’t remember what happened anyway, but saying what you do leaves a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

The eomuk stick drops to the ground with barely a click. “Are you lying?”

It’s rare that her voice gets solemn. It’s less rare that you rush behind words to cover yourself.

You fix the mortarboard on her head so that it doesn’t slip past her brows. The staff didn’t quite take her measurements properly, so you had to tip the cap backwards. Good enough. “Think you can figure that one out yourself, Eunbi.”

You give her a look that tells her all that she needs to know. It’s not like you can explain properly with this state of mind. What else can you say?

What else can she say?

Perhaps:

“Please.”

Everything stops.

Eunbi takes your hand, which looks large in comparison to her pale one, and traces a finger along your knuckles. Look down at them—those are the days that’ll go by, the months that’ll lose themselves into the void of timeless time. It could never be the same if fate wills itself to change one of these days, and you wouldn’t even know it. Not even a warning.

“It’s just me.” Her voice thins, and you figure out that she’s sort of like you, too: it’s not rare for her to hide behind words and wit. “I’m your friend. You can tell me anything. Please tell me what happened, okay? I hate seeing you get upset.”

You wish you could tell her that it’s the same on your end. Eunbi’s the girl you let climb in your lap after a thunderstorm provoked her, the girl you comforted after she had her heart broken by the man she was convinced was the one. Through it all, you tried to be strong for her, but there’s little foundation to build from.

The side of your mouth twitches upward. “Do you now?”

Eunbi’s shoulders descend as they release a tired little sigh. She nods, refusing to say anything until you take the lead.

“Well, if you want to hear the whole story,” you say as you ring an arm around her, “I was already having a pretty shit day to begin with.”

“Why?” She chews on her lip. Pink gets on her teeth.

“Didn’t feel like I deserved to graduate.”

See, there are a lot of justifications as to why you didn’t deserve to go on stage and receive your diploma. You aren’t worthy of this toga and hat when you’ve barely accomplished anything compared to the others. They’ve already scored internships and some even sealed some higher positions in well-off companies. You, on the other hand, haven’t got anything going on for you.

That rings true for as far back as first year. You cheated (rarely) but still barely passed. Studied but never got the answers right for the test. Kept a strong face but you’re still in pieces on the inside. Now that you’re graduating, you’re the same guy after all that time.

“I had a… very weird time in there trying to get myself together,” you say. “I did nothing to make mom proud. I just bullshit my way through college.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Eunbi hums quietly. Is that her side pressed to your hip? You suck in a breath.

“I mean, sure, but look at how far they got. I’m still in square one.”

“Different speeds for different people,” she says wisely, looking down at her shoes that begin their steps at the heel. “You don’t have to beat yourself up for going at your own pace.”

You chuckle deprecatingly. “When I’m a dumbass, I should.”

“You’re not.”

“You literally admitted you had a hunch I was stupid when I thought your name was Geumbi.”

“No, no, that was a long time ago. I was like, fourteen. It wasn’t my fault. And neither was it yours.”

She steals a bite from your food. A withdrawal from her as she finishes her robbery and yet you bring her back. Do it by stopping, then wiping away the broth on her lower lip with your thumb. Where did that come from?

Eunbi’s frozen. For a moment, she says nothing. She pauses, then looks up at you. Just a simple look from her makes you weak. There are galaxies in her eyes.

“Actually,” says Eunbi, hand floating to your wrist—her voice is soft, “you’ve got to stop thinking everything’s your fault.”

Where should your touch go when all it yearns for is hers?

It's easier said than done, too. Therapy fills your brokenness yet it drains out anyway. All those methods and you can't stick to one. Everything bad that happens is your fault. It's like you're connected to them all.

“I’ll try." Your words barely pass audibility. Should you be ashamed? "I don’t like this either.”

Eunbi presses her lips to the back of your hand then goes on strolling like she didn’t just save you from another spiral. Haughtiness rides her tone. Yep, she knows she’s your anchor. “You can start by carrying your own bag instead of me doing—” She pauses. All the sass is gone; just pure fear. “Shit.”

Your forehead creases and you look around. Nothing out of the normal, just the birds of seldomness and trees that sway with the wind. “What?”

“Don’t be mad at me.” Eunbi bites her lip anxiously. “Promise me. Please.”

“What is it?”

She tells you.

“Eunbi lost your backpack?”

For the hundredth time: “Yes.”

"Like actually?"

"Yep."

“With the notes and sketches you had? What the hell?”

“God, you don’t have to rub it in like that.” You navigate through the streets and try to catch onto anyone perhaps holding a familiar satchel. Nobody fits the description. “We didn’t notice until we were alone.”

You and Eunbi do the very thing characters in horror movies shouldn’t do: you split up. She returns to the food vendors to ask around. They’d cater better to a face like that. You’re left to do the hard work and follow random people to see if they’ve brought away a bag. You really should have reversed roles, but Eunbi’s gone now. You can’t call it off.

The crowds are starting to dissipate, but that doesn’t make your hunt for your bag easier. Whoever stole it must have thought it was his lucky day. That shit was thrifted off a store, but it could sell for thousands if refined just right.

All those documents, lecture takeaways, pencils…

It’s not like they matter anymore. You wouldn’t dream of going back to school, so they won’t have much use in the long run. But those things played a major part in your life, especially in college. Losing it feels like missing a piece of a puzzle you spent nights completing.

“That’s so damn irresponsible of her. Not like her, too. She's a fucking—”

“—adult. Like me. Yes. We’ve gone over this.”

You must look like a local pervert right now, peering at people’s lower sides in search of your treasure. You hope they don’t get you wrong. Women are already giving you dirty looks though. Shit, you’re going nowhere with this.

“You don’t have to defend her every time she does something,” mutters your friend Sakura from the other line. Her accent has lost its origins a long time ago. Now, it carries teasing scorn.

Where the fuck could your bag be? Turn your head to the right, then to the left. There you go, you’re a fucking bobblehead doll. Feel even more ridiculous. It’s all a little humiliating, exposing a vulnerability to people you don’t know. Hey, look at me! I can’t find something important! And I can’t ask you for help because that would mean I’m a shameless piece of shit with no dignity and I’m too childish to graduate and—

“I’m not defending her, Miyawaki,” you blurt out, a little louder than you’d like. More dirty and judgmental looks. Always the centerpiece, you, and for all the wrong reasons. “Go back to gaming, can you?”

“Ha. You’re the one who called me and said, ‘Oh no, I’m with Eunbi again and I’m so in love with her!’” Sakura lets out a smug little laugh. “Just ask her out, dumbass. That way you won’t have to play attorney all the time.”

“I’m not asking her out, dumbass. She's just a friend.”

“Ask her out or Hyewon will. Hyem’ll say shit like, ‘She can lose my bag anytime—“

“Hey.” Eunbi comes up empty-handed. Her words are heavier with each passing fragment. She doesn’t have to say them for you to know her search was fruitless, just like yours was. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see it. I asked around, too.”

Your hopes are dashed. “Call you back,” you whisper into the phone.

“Tell me how the date goes!”

With a small beep, Sakura is gone, (thankfully.) (And so is her song about you and your best friend sitting in a tree doing something so lewd you could only spell it out.) It’s just you and Eunbi, in the gentle end-of-September sunset.

“Now, would you look at that.” Eunbi laughs sarcastically. Sweat usually drips from the side of the face, right? Not the front? She throws her hands up and places them back down her sides anyway. “I guess I did lose the bag after all.”

Something’s wrong. What is it?

You stare at her, not knowing what to say. It is kind of ironic in a biting-you-back-in-the-ass way that Eunbi’s kidding threat about losing your stuff actually came true.

“You sure you didn’t see it anywhere?” you ask. You’re starting to lose determination. And for what? You did say you didn’t give a damn about it earlier. How easily your words come to you when you only think of yourself.

“W-well—”

Yep, there's definitely something wrong. Kwon Eunbi doesn’t stutter. Unless she’s mocking Minju, who’s almost always nervous, or does aegyo as a punishment, she doesn’t trip over her words. “What?”

“Fuck it, I’m sorry, okay?”

Tears come too easily even to the gutsy Eunbi. It’s always been her Achilles’ heel. She’s a great and friendly leader, but one nice word that hits her right where it needs it or a bad day has her reduced to sobs. She smiles through them, wiping the teardrops with the end of her wrist.

“And don’t tell me it’s fine just because I’m crying,” she says. The frustration gets to her and soon her sobs attract attention. “It was, a-a shitty thing to do on my end. I know it’s not okay, but I’m sorry.”

She’s a tearful painter of emotions under a night littered with starry skies.

She doesn’t have to hold the brush for the two of you all the time.

Take the brush from her just like how you take her into your arms. Eunbi says not to absolve her of her sin, but you’re a god whose mercy merges with bias. You like her too much. There’s something that pulls at your chest whenever she breaks down.

The tension partially leaves her stiff shoulders. She sniffles, and it’s an attack straight to your heart. It’s so rare that she becomes so weak.

“Eunbi—”

She shakes her head before you could go on. “Don’t say it. Please. Let me make it up to you.”

“I’ll say it anyway. It’s fine. I can’t use the stuff in there anyway.”

“I said no. Hmph.” Her tears blot the front of your shirt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I would cry like this. Don't feel guilty, okay? Okay? I just don’t like giving you a hard time.”

“You never could.” You’d trade more than a backpack for Eunbi’s wellbeing.

Somehow, Eunbi cries more. Her hug circles your waist in almost a chokehold, and you realize that the Kwon Eunbi from years back—the one who made everyone call her Madison, the one who’s always glued to your side—is still here. She’s just older, a little braver, and prettier than you could ever imagine.

Emphasis on the last. Her lashes carry her tears in a biblically beautiful manner, like you ought to kneel and venerate her. The southward curl of her lips is so cute yet painful that you’d give anything to see them lift again.

“You don’t have to say I didn’t do anything wrong…” she tells you quietly. You could hear the guilt infecting her words, evident in the cracks of her voice.

“Well.” You touch your mouth on her hairline. “You have a way of making me say it.”

There’s no mourning for your bag. You suspect that there was none at all, perhaps just shock? Must be why you’re cradling her, like a child would to a doll at night, and letting her feel your touch. Maybe the way she’s closing herself into your embrace is platonic, because at the end of day, you’re still friends. But you don’t feel her breath on your skin for a while after you indirectly forgive her.

Eunbi lifts her face from the comfort of your front. Pouting, she then laughs a little. “What are you doing? You don’t have to be so sweet.”

“I could be sweeter,” you offer. She sighs loudly, tired of your mischief; you grin and pat the small of her back. “Come on, let’s go home.”

The night has downed the temperature, and now the breeze whips her small form back and forth. It’s too cold for her to be walking with no sleeves or at least trousers. So you lift your toga up and slip it around her. It’s bigger than the one she had and lost with your bag. Her hands barely fight their way out of being hidden under the long blue sleeves.

Her eyes reduce to suspicious slits while a smile pastes itself on her lips. “You’re a flirt, you know that?”

You shrug casually. “Born and raised.”

“That’s not how you use it,” Eunbi says, wiping the last of her tears.

"Might as well go on. I opened the can of worms, now I'll lie in it."

"Jesus."

"What? I made my bed more than I could, now I'll eat it."

“Wow, it’s like you never listened to professor June.”

Wasn’t it just afternoon a few minutes ago? The sky has become a blueish black landscape. The only sources that provide illumination to the streets and alleys are the streetlights and moon, plus the twelve especially bright stars etched into the map of constellations.

“Okay, miss Oh My Gadnis,” you fire back. She gives you a dirty look. You immediately take it back.

She throws her head back and lets darkness take over her vision for a while. Gulp. The light welcomes itself back and she lets out a prolonged, wistful breath. Tiny sobs glaze it. “It’s Minju’s fault. She was always shouting that in the dorm. Makes me kind of miss her.”

In the last years of university, Eunbi made friends with eleven girls. She was the leader of their friend group, the one who made plans and provided solutions. But as graduation crept closer and eventually caught up with them, she won’t be seeing them much again.

“I can always drive you to your meet-ups. Didn’t get a driver’s license for nothing.”

“You don’t have to. I already fucked up your day.”

“You didn’t. It’s just a bag, little raindrop.”

The chilly atmosphere tracks your nighttime conversation with your best friend. What do the songbirds, sleeping yet eavesdropping, think of you and her? Does the moon brighten to increase your shadows? It’s like they’re listening in.

She looks down at the edges of her shoes as they mark their path to home. “What brand was it? I’ll buy you a new one. I-I’ll send the notes to you.”

“No can do. Just do this one thing.”

And now, the night quiets.

When time has chipped away at the lack of lines on your faces and brought forth hell, you’ll be there. Together. You won’t go back here anymore, but there will be prettier places for you and her. It’s what you pray for though you’re not all that spiritual, but you know it’s what you want.

“Let’s… be friends until we’re old and miserable,” you ask of her. Even admitting that you want to be with her makes you shy, and you’re anything than that when you’re around her. So why is this happening? Why are you doing this? “Spend more time together. Doesn’t have to be something grand.”

Eunbi blinks at you. There are undertones to your words, some kind of hidden message a veteran film critic could pick apart if your life were a movie. You’re asking her to be with you, yet there’s depths to it, almost like you’re telling her another thing.

“Sure,” she whispers, nodding. She can do that.

Again, a lot of subtext. But that’s for another night.

“Oh,” you add, “and be my backpack since you lost it anyway. Get up.”

Eunbi flinches, but she’s smiling the second you lower yourself for her.

“Come on. You’re tired, little raindrop. I’ll take you home.”

She sighs. She climbs on your back anyway. You support her legs with your forearms and boost her up. You pay your gratitude to the dark for hiding your flushed cheeks at the feeling of your friend’s body pressed so tight to yours.

“Please don’t do silly shit,” she begs, placing her face next to your neck and fearing the worst.

She’s right to be frightened. Lowering yourself nearly to the ground in preparation, you yell: “Here comes the rollercoaster!”

“No, no, no—ahhhh!”

You zoom Eunbi in the night, feet picking up speed and racing through the road. Her arms are rounded around your neck. She shrieks in delight, and while along the way your legs start to ache, you’re just glad to hear that laugh again.

Gently push the door to your house open with the help of Eunbi's keys, which come with a keychain of a knitted rabbit. Darkness greets you, spreading itself around the house like water.

“Why is it so dark?” whispers Eunbi, looking around and twisting her arms around your neck tighter.

“You’re such a baby," you chuckle. "It's nighttime, of course it's gonna be dark."

Eunbi whines and squeezes her legs around you. The feel of her fluffy thighs in the curve of your palms—it's… something. You can't think like that about her when she's your best friend, but she's so close, so perfect on top of you that your mind runs with ideas.

"Alright, fine. Turn on the light."

"Where?"

"You’ve slept over so many times and you don't know where it is?"

"Doesn't count when I can't see, genius."

"Right here." Twist your head to the wall, where a light switch stays. "Just near the door."

Eunbi reaches out her hand, and you're cohorts with the dark when you secretly inch the fluff of your sleeve against her fingers. She screeches, suddenly struggling, calling your name and whoever Fuck is.

This is the way of your prank backfiring on you: her limbs are surprisingly strong that her feather-light weight becomes too much. Your legs start to shiver. Your hands weren’t made to suffer this much wildness.

"Something touched me!" Eunbi screams, kicking you in the spine. You try to hold on to her but her legs don't behave. "A mouse, a mouse, a—"

You start to laugh. She's like a proactive rabbit trying to beat you up. "Calm down, it was just—"

"My hand, it touched my hand! Disgusting piece of shit, get it off—"

"Eunbi!"

She both clings onto you and pushes you away, scared of what lurks in the dark. You can't take it anymore and drop miserably to the floor. The tiles knock your back out. Eunbi won’t let go of you; her screams never stop.

"Help! My hand—"

"What's going on here?"

The light flickers on, letting you see what's happening. You're in the living room that connects portallessly to the dining room. The ceiling generates dizzy circles above you. And then there's Sakura, an unexpected presence, standing near you.

"Whoa there," she remarks, smug like she’s a journalist who caught a forbidden celebrity couple. "There's a time and place for this, right?"

For a moment, you wonder what she's talking about. You sit up and realize Eunbi's squeezed herself on your lap, with your arms tangled into hers during the mess.

Flush red. Sakura will never let you hear the end of this: you cradling Eunbi on the floor, with her looking so comfortable snuggled up to your touch. “Something couple something something perfect for each other,” that's what Sakura would say.

"It was just a prank," you mumble to the girl on your lap. Pat her head. Show her the fluffy fabric cuff of your sleeve. "See? There's no mouse."

"What the hell? You're such an asshole!" Eunbi's blade-sharp gaze, it cuts through you. You want to keep bleeding, It's unfair how pretty she is even when she's angry.

"Hey, I can do pranks, too." Turn to Sakura, because the next thing you're wondering is how she's here. "How did you get in, Miyawaki?"

"I drove," she says, like it explains everything. "Should we eat? Your dad left some food in the microwave."

Eunbi turns shy at Sakura's knowing look as she rises. She pulls you up. The veins in her forearm flex.

Sakura leaves anyway to fetch the food. You can smell spring rolls and freshly-cooked rice. Your stomach churns—running with Eunbi on your back has burned all that eomuk and left you hungry.

You look at Eunbi questioningly. "Do you know why she's in my house?"

"No.” She returns your curious expression. “I was hoping you would tell me."

“Christ, what's she doing here?"

"I'm here," butts in the Japanese girl, bringing forth a plate of crispy rolls and utensils, "because I personally want to help Eunbi unnie in making it up to you.”

She takes the liberty of scooping chunks of rice onto your plates. You dig your fork through one of the spring rolls, place it on Eunbi’s small plate, then get one for yourself. The wooden image of Jesus on watches you closely. You’re suddenly aware of every little sin you’ve made.

“Listen,” says Sakura, and you do just that.

So here’s Sakura’s brilliant idea, funded by her and her friends (somehow, Eunbi doesn’t get to contribute a cut): a trip for Christmas.

It’s out in Seoul, where it’s snowing at that time of the year, where you’ll get to roam the city and buy whatever you want—all on the house. There’s ice skating to do and restaurants to try, each new and exciting. You’ve never been to Seoul before, but the way Sakura narrates the whole plan makes you look forward to it.

She talks about how her new job is paying her great, and how the fact that the other girlfriends Eunbi has are chipping in makes it an all-in-all win. It’s a friend’s duty, she says, to stick up for when one of them is down, and since Eunbi made a mistake, she’ll gladly take the blame. You’re surprised at how dedicated the girls are. You’ve never seen a bond so deep that they’d pay thousands just for compensation. And for just a thrifted old bag, too.

It’s inevitable that you agree. You have nothing to lose. This is a chance of a lifetime, and you’d love to have a vacation anyway.

Sakura only has one stipulation:

You have to go with Eunbi.

Now it’s not that Eunbi is hard to be around, but she kinda is. It’s not in the usual way—she’s your best friend, not any other girl, and she’s not overly dependent that you have to act as her father or something. She can take care of herself, which can’t be said about a lot of people.

But this is what sets you off: you’ll be the only one with her in Seoul. A guy and a girl sharing a hotel room. Would it be awkward? Of course. How do you tell her that you won’t look when she dresses up? What do you tell her if you find her bra in your sheets?

Still, she’s your best friend. It shouldn’t be awkward around friends, especially when you’re on the journey of spending more time together. That’s the whole point of the relationship: to be free and careless around someone. It’s supposed to be like that until you see how pretty she actually is, with the flow of her long hair and the crinkle of her eyes.

That’s where it gets difficult. Really, really difficult.

“Hey,” she says, and that’s what breaks your reverie. Looking up at her, however, has you drowned in another.

Black-framed glasses sit on her nose, curling at the ends behind her ears. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, some fringes flying free from the band. It’s such a deadly attack. Then there’s the graphic shirt that hugs her too tight and the denim shorts that cut too close to the starts of her thighs.

You gulp. When you thought Eunbi couldn’t get prettier, she proves you wrong.

“You like it?” she asks. She twirls around. “I got glasses.”

“I see that,” you reply. Why is your chest immoveable?

Eunbi grins. “I couldn’t say that until I went to EO.”

You force out a laugh. You look at your phone, scrolling through your feed in search of a little reprieve from how pretty she is. At this point, it’s a constant run around your mine: Kwon Eunbi is so pretty. And she’s not just pretty, too. That’s what makes her so beautiful: the duo of feistiness and painful attractiveness. Can you say that? No. But that doesn’t mean you can’t think it.

The first thing Eunbi does when she takes the seat opposite you is swipe a finger through your ice cream. Glare at her. She beams at you. Your reprimand dissolves.

“How’d you know where I was?”

“Lucky guess,” she says. She decorates the sides of her face with her palms as she looks at you curiously. “What you thinking about?”

You. “I’m still not sure about the whole trip thing.”

"Come on," she says, and that pout knows how to break away at your attempts to ever hold her accountable for anything. "It's only weird if you make it weird."

Weird is fitting for October anyway. Should have ordered that Halloween special instead of this.

You were a solo customer in the ice cream parlor until Eunbi came out of nowhere. She always knows where to find you. Telepathy? Power of friendship? Power of something more than that?

You don't want to think about it.

"It's Sakura," you say, testily, as you shove another spoonful of double dutch in your mouth. The sweetness can't melt your anxiety. "It's always weird when it's Sakura."

Eunbi considers this. "What about when it’s me?"

“What?”

“I said: is it weird when it’s me?”

She’s clever at finding ways to make you stutter. “No,” you tell her quickly, “it’s not you, I promise. Just… it’s only us.”

You and Eunbi, alone in a hotel room. A straight man and woman in the same place, with nobody else around. You have fantasies about how it ends, but you know it'll never happen. But the thing is: you're stupid. You're going to do something you shouldn't, like watch her as she pulls long stockings over her legs. Think about more details than the shadow of her body on the glass shower panels let on. Want your best friend when it's everything you should never do.

“Is that so bad?” Eunbi sighs and looks around, thinking. As she takes in the jolly retro style of the parlor and the waitresses, she continues, “I mean, if you want to, I can find another way to, like, make things good. I can tell Sakura to call it off—”

“No!”

She looks at you surprisedly. Always, you speak before you think. To be fair, there’s a single thought behind your too-fast outburst: you can’t let this opportunity pass by. But rather than the grand city lights and expensive restaurants, you think about her.

You cover your mouth. Shit. You have no worries about fucking up in front of her. The worst thing she’d do is make a reference to it in future conversations or joke about it. But right now you’ve just revealed your true intentions.

You’re lucky Eunbi never takes things to heart.

“Okay, fine, geez.” She chuckles lightly, shaking her head at you. “You really need a vacation, huh?”

The only thing you need is silver rain, but you somehow always wield an umbrella.

“Do you like it?”

It’s what Eunbi says, on her knees before she sucks your tip. Groan you must because that tongue is too talented. It’s a skill you could only make faint guesses where it originated. For that, you don’t care anyway—not when she’s slipping and wrapping those perfect lips around your cock, the intent suction making you reel into her face. Almost knocks her specs away, and you wouldn’t want that to happen, would you? Her appeal just goes to an all-time high with them.

“Fuck, yes, Eunbi,” you say. “I love—”

“No. Now that I think about it, you don’t actually get to speak.” She teases your testicles and nurses on one, her hand attending to your stiff erection. “Not until I have my way with you.”

And she does. She switches back to your cock then, like an expert, she bobs her little head up and down, taking you in her throat like it was nothing. The chest of her tight shirt is stained with precum, and some of the foretelling liquid is in her hair. But when has she cared about that? Never, not in the time continuum of this room. She only likes to keep the propriety of servicing you, no matter how red her knees are or how sore her jaw gets.

Eunbi teases her tongue on the lower side of your cock then brings her lips up. You hiss. Her throat welcomes you again, and, with a hand on your thigh, she makes it work. She’s choking, and yet the clever little thing is so diligent with her work. Through choke and sob, those teary eyes looking up at you for validation, she continues. Spit dots your cock and so does lipstick. It’s smudged at the side of her chin.

She licks your cockhead repeatedly. It’s swollen, and she takes advantage of it by licking. And sucking. Then licking it again so rapidly you start to shake.

There’s a greedy glimmer in her tears. “Gonna cum?” she asks. “Please? I want you to.”

Fingers wrapping around your base, she goes down again. Her nose touches your pubic area. You can feel her hot breath tickling your flesh when she rises for a brief and subtle breath. Then it repeats: Kwon Eunbi is forcing her head up and down, lips wet with saliva and precum. The texture of her tight throat and the welcoming pleasure of her mouth brings you too close. Too damn close—

Fill her throat with white so much that she squeals in surprise. A little adorable giggle, then some more hardworking sucking to work your cum out of you. You want to tell her that you’ve become too sensitive, that she shouldn’t continue. But then you never want it to stop.

“Fuck! Eunbi, Eunbi, Eunbi—”

That’s what you say when she continues despite her breaths getting lost.

“Good girl. Good pretty girl.”

That’s what you say, with your hand on her ponytail, tugging it so she gets access to the oxygen she willingly deprived herself of. Her mouth’s filled with your semen. She’s gasping. Her chin’s lifted to the sky but her eyes gaze only at you. Your approval isn’t what she needs to get by solely, but god, does it make her think so.

“I love you.”

That’s what she says.

But like everything else—this blowjob that made you fail November’s challenge, the sweet talk, her on her knees, her actually liking you—

It could only ever be in your imagination.

December couldn’t come any sooner. Packing was an eventful occasion. You bunched up a lot of underwear in your carry-on like you had a habit of pissing yourself. It was only when you got to the airport that you realized that in all the rage to get clean underwear, you didn’t bring socks.

The twenty-third was a day you both dreaded and yearned for. But then you’re in the airplane, traveling through clouds you used to stare up at, and Eunbi’s beside you. Isn’t she always? She falls asleep a couple of times in the airport, head on your shoulder, and you pat her knee to slumber her. Her Sanrio neck pillow is of no use when you’re a better one.

Why can't you stop staring? She's been a tear in your heart for a long time, making it pulse and ache, but now she's gotten so much prettier, so much more friendly that it isn't really unexpected that you fall for her. Is that your confession to yourself? Perhaps. You could only ever say it to your own heart.

Picture this, (and, matching that of the many other scenes you’ve dreamed of her in, it would only be real for a while): Eunbi's wearing that shirt from the day she first sported glasses. On your lap. Looking at you with an aura any man with a heterosexual drawing could read. Hands on the edges of her knees.

She's leaning over, and she's saying—

"That little witch,” she spits, shoving her carry-on, “I can't believe we fly at seven and we had to be here at two a.m., I'm gonna kill Sakura!"

Close enough?

"You got a mouth on you, huh?" you remark. Pull her wheeled suitcase to the mouth of the plane.

Seoul is a paradise. You could see the greatness even from above. A couple of times you have Eunbi wake up to look, and she does. Her evident happiness shines brighter than the city lights.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs excitedly. Even her eyes that are heavy with sleep appreciate the view.

"So it is."

But you could think of other things that are prettier. Other people.

It's autumn, and the golden leaves are starting to fall. They crumple beneath your feet and release crackles that bring a strange sense of satisfaction. Step on another one. And another one. Somehow all your troubles are gone.

Look at her.

She’s reading from a book, paging through leaves containing yellowed words. She looks like a nerdy girlfriend with the new look, which you still haven’t gotten over. In any case, she’s so beautiful, and again, your heart is sore.

Eunbi’s deep into the story woven with Shakespearean words, but she catches your prolonged stare. Blinking, she lifts her head. Smiles. Cocks her head sweetly to the side and you swear she can’t look any better than this: long dark hair swaying ‘round her face and glasses making her more adorable. Says, “What ya lookin’ at, handsome?”

Yeah, all gone.

Eunbi loves playing around with nicknames, and she must think you’re vain enough for her to use that when she wants to rile you up. (She does.) You roll your eyes, and she laughs at her own ridiculousness and your attempt to be dismissive.

“Someone who’s prettier than ever,” you reply. Raise your chin. “You know her?”

“You really love me, huh?”

“Never said it was you.”

“Oh, darling.” Eunbi licks her lip. “I know it’s me.”

Well, shit.

Eunbi’s the only girl you know who could respond to your teasing. The only person, for that matter. Even the men start to back away. She’s the sole person who can handle you, and you yourself could barely handle her. Good friends don’t suddenly lose their breath when she gets near. Good friends don’t think of ever, ever crossing that borderline between platonicness and romance.

So it’s safe to say you’ve been a bad friend all along.

“Since you’re, like, so obsessed with me…” Eunbi rises and hands you her phone. The phone case is red—of course. “Take a picture of me, please?”

She rises from the bench, and you wince inside at how good she looks. It should seriously be prohibited to look that attractive. You've tried to keep your head clear of her, but then she stands up in those teeny tiny safety shorts, fucking hugging her thighs and that supple backside. Why did she choose to go in that? Not even a skirt to go with it, or dress pants? You’re not one to nitpick at what others wear, but you feel something stirring inside you when she dresses more freely.

And red—it just looks so good on her, doesn't it? That simple tight sweater has you begging for forgiveness. You'd go to a priest, confess your sinful yearning, and you don't think that he'd forgive you after how you describe it.

"Will do," you say, chewing on your lip. "Get to posing. We don't have all day."

"Not to burst your bubble," she tells you, " but we do. But I'm a good girl, so I'll do as you say."

Swallow. Why the fuck is she like this?

"You sure as shit aren't, little rain—"

She bends over.

The question repeats in your head. She bends over, (forward anyway), but if any shameless man were to walk behind her, they'd get an eyeful of her butt. You want to tell her she shouldn't do this, especially when her bottoms grip her thighs as a sole factor. But she's holding her bag in the edges of her fingers and angling her head to the side, and you know you’re over.

"—drop."

Eunbi smirks, haughty and proud. "Cat got your tongue back there?"

"Not even close. Give me a smize."

Proud of yourself for recovering quickly, you snap a photo of Eunbi. The look she gives the camera (you?): relaxed brows, slight pout, the black eyewear being the cherry on top—it's not easy baggage to carry for a man like you.

You put the phone down. Take a breather; you always have to when you're with her. Kwon Eunbi, national heart player. Kwon Eunbi, number one prank puller. Kwon Eunbi—

—your friend. Your best friend.

"What's wrong?" All that confidence evaporates from her as she walks up to you, concern taking its place.

She can be really scary sometimes. How could she be a flirt one second then a sweetheart the next? You're kept guessing, and you're guilty for liking girls like that. But as you study her, look at Kwon Eunbi—her hair and the band that sits atop it, her lips, her face—you kind of figure out that there's no other girl like her.

And that scares you.

"Nothing," you lie. "You wanna go get coffee or something?"

"Actually," she states seriously, rising, "I do wanna go get coffee or something."

The twenty-fourth. The malls are crowded with people buying last minute presents, so you and Eunbi sat on the bench outside. It might be Seoul, but you’re not fighting your way through a crowd. While you stayed there and waited for time to feel wrong, a rich woman mistook you for a beggar, pitied you, and gave you a coin. As you stared at the bust on the metal, Eunbi laughed so hard you were not totally uncertain that she was going to throw up.

"We should leave," Eunbi says, "before someone tries to bring you to a damn church basement."

And the scene repeats itself again: you talk with Eunbi, like you've done a million times, as you go to your home for this night and the next. You talk about everything, because conversations come so easily when it's her. Whether it's about stupid people or school or what happened that day, the words flow naturally.

Eunbi bites her lip, hands on her hips. "It's getting late."

"That a problem for you?"

"No. Nope. It's just that… I can't believe it's going to be Christmas tomorrow."

Christmas lost its spark back when you got into college. You've graduated and still you find no solace in the stockings and evergreen trees. School—oh, its deadlines, its pressure, its it-won't-matter-in-five-years-but-I'll-make-you-think-it-will papers—really ruined things for you. Forever.

She drags her vision around everything: the sky of stars, the roads that are just a bit cleaner than the ones at your home, the claw machine arcade just across the sidewalk. She goes there, and you follow. Don’t you always?

"It’s Christmas and we're here," she continues. She manages a snortle. "Doesn't your dad feel lonely? I know mine does."

"He likes you, Eunbi. He doesn't mind."

You pull out a bill and slip it into the old exchanger. Sure enough, tokens spill from the gap. Count them in your palm. Divide it between the two of you. You and Eunbi always share, no matter how hard you try to make it seem annoying. You only ask for one drink and one straw. You split rice balls from that trip in grade eleven when your parents forgot to give you allowance for lunch, up until college when the two of you were too broke to eat anything else. What’s yours is Eunbi’s, and what’s Eunbi’s is yours.

"What first?" She studies the old arcade. It's filled with machines that are either anciently old or freshly new. No owner patrols the areas, but instead, a CCTV does so mounted perfectly on the corner of the walls. It watches your every move, reminding you to behave.

"Wanna get a Piglet?"

“A what?”

“A Piglet. You know, the one who looks like an armadillo.”

“What the fuck is an armadillo?” Eunbi says the English name with spite, almost spitting it into the ground.

“Forget it. I mean like the cartoon pig people say looks like you?”

"Oh. Nah. A good ol’ vibrating egg for me." She thrusts a thumb into the glass of an 18+ claw machine, where it tempts the player with boxed sex toys and hentai copies.

Heat flares at your cheeks. Now it’s not that you’re thinking of it, but it’s Eunbi’s dirty jokes that make you think of stuff you shouldn’t. Her on her bed, legs spread wide open as the toy pulses on her clit, her throwing her head back and crying…

"Spend my money wisely, please?" you croak out. Slip a token into one machine and start to crank at the lever.

"I'll be good."

Your hand curls tighter around the ball of the lever. You hate how you picture double meanings with everything she says. She doesn't deserve that. And you don't either.

Eunbi prances over to the Piglet machine anyway. You want to snicker at her antics, but it gets broken when you see her bend down. The jeans could only hug her backside so much. Her shirt lifts and you could see her tummy—that flat, soft midriff that you’ve wrapped your hands around when you guide her back on the occasion she runs too fast. Or when she needs to move away. She doesn’t mind; she touches you more freely anyway. But you wonder if she’d let you come up behind her and place your hands all over it, not as friends but as something more.

Because for a friend, she sure does take up a lot of your mind.

Put your focus on this keychain. Yes, this one. This keychain is cute. Would be nice to bring something home to your father. You guide the claw to the nearest one and slam the button. To your surprise, the metal actually hinges around the keychain. You could feel your soul lift up to your throat. It just needs to make it all the way to the hole—

“Shit!” you curse as the claw lets go. That can’t be fair, right? It was doing so well, then it just spread open again. What a waste of time and money.

“Loser,” giggles Eunbi. She shows off a Piglet stuffie, pink and simpering.

“Wow, really needed to hear that. Thanks, Eunbi.”

She lifts her shoulders. “Hey, for what it’s worth: I just got lucky.”

Tokens become nothing to you. You try again and again for a prize to make it your money’s worth, only to end up with nothing. Eunbi scores a candy from the kids’ section, and you could see her consider trying out the 18+ ones. The appeal of the Playboy magazines and the Japanese girls looking back lewdly at her with barely no underwear on is beguiling.

“Do you think I should try to get a dildo or something?” Eunbi asks, running her knuckles along the markered glass.

“You don’t even know if it’s clean.” You’re leaning against the outside exchanger, staring into nothingness. But you always manage a little response for Eunbi, as absurd as her questions are and as wild your thoughts are about her. “You might get an STD or some shit.”

Her face squeezes up in disgust. “Ew, right. Forget it.”

You feel her warm body press into your side later. You’re still surprised even though the girl never leaves you alone. Then her head is on your shoulder, just like in the airport, and your heart surges. How do you deal with her? Pet her arm, and somehow she finds a way to sink deeper in your touch. She looks up at you and offers you a kind smile.

“I got you the keychain,” she says. She drops the Seoul keychain on the hand she forced you to open and looks away modestly. “Saw you sweating over it.”

“Thanks.” You look down at it on your palm and feel warm inside. She really is so sweet. “Appreciate it.”

“Yeah,” Eunbi replies quietly. “It’s the least I could do.”

She purses her lips tightly and exhales through her nostrils. Guilt floats in her face like a dark shadow.

“If it’s about the bag, I already told you it’s okay. I mean, it’s just a bag.”

“So? It means a lot to you.”

Your thoughts race with your words and win, forcing them out. “You do, too.”

Is she blushing? No. No, can’t be. But she’s stroking your palm with the keychain on it, a little tilt at the edge of her lips. That’s kind of close to that. Friends do this, right?

Her touch feels both foreign and familiar. You want to reel back and apologize for something you didn’t do, but then you want to hold her. Make her happy. Is that alright?

“Speaking of which,” she says pensively, staring into nothingness like you are, “what do you think happened to it?”

“The bag? I dunno.” Bring back her attention—eyes on me—by actually holding her hand. Sometimes you could be so brave. Toy with it, swinging your joined hands in the air then pressing them to your chest. You laugh at the suspicion clear on her face. “Probably in some lost-and-found counter. Or someone actually stole it and was like, ‘yep, hit the jackpot.’”

“Like trouvaille,” she says.

“What?”

“Trouvaille,” Eunbi repeats. She breaks her gaze from the space on the road and looks down at her sneakers. “A lucky find.”

A lucky find.

Staring at her is your pastime at this point. Your focus glazes over her once more, and you drink her all up. Two locks of her hair are pulled and tied at the back, making her look absolutely gorgeous. You’re lost in her eyes, like they’re an ocean and you’re on a raft floating on its waves. And of course, those glasses—you’re convinced they were made to make you want to do sinful things to her.

But the urge to sweep her in your arms takes over, and it outweighs your lust. Or are they equal? She looks so beautiful, yet so handsome. So pure and sweet, yet such a bombshell.

“Forgive me, but I must reiterate.” She tilts her head with a silly little grin. “What ya looking at?”

You’ve figured it all out. You wonder why you were ever worried.

"Well," you lead a runaway lock of dark hair back behind her earlobe, "guess I’m just lucky to have found you. Even if you're a nuisance."

Her eyes crease up into half-moons. "And I'm lucky to have met you."

"Even… ?"

"Nothing after. Just that: I'm lucky to have met you."

You never meant to actually do it. But it’s become too silent, like the world is leaving the cards on your table to play. And there’s her certain hold on your fingers, like she wants you to do it. There’s the birds tweeting as they gather into the trees for the night, waiting for the show of a lifetime. The stars, too, are bright tonight.

So who could blame you for nailing her to the claw machine and finally, finally kissing her? Her lips are as soft as they look, and you’re melting in them. You’re still holding her hand, keeping it pinned up to her side. Your tongues come out to play and it’s so much better than you imagined, so much better than your stupid little fantasies. Your eyelids shut, too, because this is an experience you never want to end.

That collarbone will be the end of you. It peeks from the neckline of her shirt, and you suddenly have all the courage to seal your lips on it. If only you could have mustered the same courage back in college to socialize, but you’re glad you saved it all up for this moment. Eunbi’s moan is sharp, and it almost makes you falter, almost makes you stop. Nope, can’t do that. When she’s letting out all these other little sounds as you have your way with her, there’s no way you’d let up.

“Hmmm…” Eunbi twists her head to the side and cries out. It unintentionally grants you access to her flawless neck. You leave some flaws: purple bruises she whines at, harsh open-mouthed kisses that trail saliva all over that pale skin. “I need to tell you something.”

You brush your mouth behind her ear. You can smell her faint perfume. “And that is?”

“I lied about wanting to get a drink.” She scoffs at her desperation, then sighs. She gives in either way. “I fucking hate coffee. Hate it. Hate it like a mother hates her firstborn. Or something. Just hate it, hate it, hate it.”

You shake your head. What an unfitting time to say that. Cradle her anyway. “Then why did you get some with me?” you ask.

“I-I don’t know. Guess I just wanted to be with you.”

Wait, so what about all those times you invited her for a study session at the cafe? She had always ordered a latte. Has she been hiding that silly secret each second, just for a chance to hang out with you? To have your company?

You didn’t know coffee would flatter you this much.

You pause. Does she like you? As much as you like her? You don’t know. You’re momentarily flustered. Step back and scratch the back of your neck, similar to a boy having been caught doing something wrong. Kissing your best friend is something wrong.

You shouldn’t be doing this. A friendship between two heterosexual people of the opposite gender could stray to lengths that are both painful as they are excruciating if someone dared to touch the other. So, if you kissed Eunbi, who could predict the consequences? Chances are you’ve ruined your friendship forever.

Then she grabs your waist and pulls you close. Kisses your chin ‘cause that’s all she can reach and she can barely reach it at all. But it sends shivers down your knees.

“Come on,” she whispers breathily. “Don’t be shy. Touch me.”

Foolish to stop and think. Your immediate yet hesitant reaction is to give her jawline one final kiss and slip your hands under her shirt.

“Oh!”

Alright, you’re a lot more confident now. You pull the cups of her bra down and start to squeeze. It’s no secret that she’s got a blessed bust, and now you get to feel it. Her nipples are hard in your palms and the flesh in your hold is just so soft. You could never get enough.

Eunbi laughs. Sort of; it’s kind of a moan, too. She lifts her chin to the sky as you knead and knead and knead. “H-how long… have you been waiting to do that?”

It’s an achievement making her stutter. More stammering breaths leave her lips when you thumb her nipples. Press, thumb, pinch, repeat. It’s how you find out she’s just so damn sensitive, and of course you’re abusing that fact.

“You don’t want to know,” you reply, brushing your lips over hers.

She gasps. “Again.”

“Huh?”

Eunbi kisses you. “Kiss me. Like this. Again.”

Is anyone aware, by the way, that you are completely incapable of refusing her?

You kiss her, like she asked. She sighs happily, her tongue suddenly coming out to play. More sensations of softness are at hand, and now you’re battling for the upper hand with your tongue responding to her gestures.

Two can play this game. You slip your tongue through her lips and she sucks it, almost like she’s aware of who’d be controlling who. You force her up to the claw machine glass (plastic? It’s pretty sturdy) so hard that your kissing isn’t gentle by any means. It’s leaving her breathless.

“You’re… you’re good,” she hums, when you finally reward her with a break. “I wanted to be the first girl you did that to.”

The revelation definitely isn’t linked to how hard you’re nibbling on her jawline. Her shuddering breaths are everything.

“Actually,” adds Eunbi, “I wanted to be the first everything for you. First kiss, first love, first time. But you just had to date Hyewon, huh?”

“Jealous?”

“Nope. Never. Just, oh, don’t stop–” Eunbi winces, ribbons her fingers through your own more. “Oh…”

Your tongue swirls on her neck. Meanwhile, your hands are busier. You squeeze Eunbi’s fantastic breasts so that her leg pulls you close. Your obvious erection pushes against her center. Her hips start to move, bringing herself closer to your rod and getting off on the feeling. Her little whines increase.

Then you remember something.

“Have to.” You retrieve your fingers from under her shirt. Regretfully. Fix her bra back on her.

She’s near tears. “No…”

“There’s a CCTV, little raindrop. You wanna get arrested?”

You’re out of breath. You pull the ends of her shirt down to hide evidence of the crime, though there’s the camera witness to it, and try to lead her outside. She refuses to budge. Her glare is clear.

“If that means you get to fuck me till I’m begging and drooling,” she says solidly, “then take me to court.”

You take her home instead.

She looks frail waiting at the glass doors as you purchase some contraceptives from the convenience store, almost whining when you take too long. How the fuck do they have lube, too? You buy that and all the contraceptives they have, because if you want to have Eunbi, you gotta do it fast and safe.

She manages to wait on the elevator, hand wrapped tightly around your palm. Then, when you get to the room, she pushes you down the bed as if she were actually taller and stronger. She truly is an actress—wasn’t she just squirming impatiently not less than five minutes ago? Directors would look at her for sure, a face to remember among plain ones, and say, “Oh, this is our trouvaille. This is what’ll make us billions.”

But now, she’s all yours. Your little trouvaille.

There’s pride in that.

“Fuck. Can’t wait to have someone like you.” She kisses you. Again. Another one to your chest. She’s a little greedy with the way she devours you. But you’ll spoil her as much as she wants; curve your body up so her cushiony lips could have more. Your back is buried into the white sheets. “Someone who is you.”

Grasp the small of her neck—her kisses are surprisingly passionate. "Wait,” you say, “you're not a virgin?"

It doesn’t bother you; just surprises you. Eunbi’s had a fair amount of suitors and boyfriends, and plenty looked too frail to even hold her hand.

"Virgin? Hell no," she replies, like it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever heard. The center of her jeans grinds against the mountain in yours. She bites her lip. "Mmm. You think with all this hotness a dude would go, 'Oh, I only want to take care of her'?"

"I do want to take care of you," you murmur, caressing her waist.

"Oh?" A grin stretches on her face. Her teeth still trap her lower lip, and it makes your stomach tighten. Your jeans, too. "Tell me more."

“For one,” you sit up and play with the belt loops on her pants, “I’d like to help you out of your clothes.”

“Typical,” she mutters amusedly. “But I’m not complaining.”

Eunbi continues grinding for long seconds that already feel like a taste of heaven, then rises. Her legs are jelly. You can’t imagine how wet she must be, and to think you’d finally see exactly how. She undoes your zipper, and you in turn pull down hers. Your pants are a whirlpool on the floor. It’s only when you roll on the condom and help her out of the shirt that you realize what she’s wearing:

Calvin Klein, from bust to bottom. Her navel sits above the band of the underwear. Her midriff looks even more perfect bare. Flatness travels through its front until it swells largely at her breasts, which look heavy behind the gray bra. Her hair falls messily over her shoulders, a sea of wildness, and her smile is dorkier with those glasses.

“Fuck.” Your Adam’s apple bobs. “Eunbi...”

“Will you?” she challenges.

You stand up and grab her ass to usher her closer, then kiss her. She smirks; she expected that to happen. Of course, the little devil, always getting her way. But you can’t help but give and give and give; you turn your positions around, push her gently so that she lands on the bed, and continue to kiss her.

Silky legs curl around you. Behind the fabric, you could already feel how wet she is. Drive your hips up because the friction is too good. The wet spot of arousal on her underwear prods your clothed erection.

Eunbi screams loudly. Chastise her with a squeeze on her butt cheek. She yelps, and your lips land on her again. “Easy there.”

“I hate you,” she groans, slapping your arm impatiently. She whines when you poke her cheek. “Give it to me.”

“Give it to me what?”

Eunbi huffs. “You want me to call you daddy on the first day? Really? I mean, that’s fine, I can do that. But can’t we dial it back?”

“You watch so much porn that you forget basic politeness.”

“Wow, hypocrite. Fuck you—”

“Baby.”

That shuts her up. Your thumb caressing teasing rhythms on her face plays a big role, too. Her ears are pink at the ends and she genuinely looks shocked. No, not shocked. Can’t be just that anyway. But that tiny pout pulling south at the ends and the tiniest of pants escaping it tell you what you have to know. You and Eunbi can communicate with just a look, and this one she gives writes to you a message of want.

“You alright? It’s okay, Eunbi. Baby.” Proud to have ruined all her feistiness, you tip her chin up. “I want you to say it.”

Wait, patiently. It’ll take time and you’re not one to rush. When she starts to talk again, her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Please.” She nods and nods, like she was doing it just in case you started to doubt. “Please fuck me.”

“Good girl,” you tell her. You’ve always wanted to. You can tell it’s the same for her.

You ease her out of her underwear and find her pussy prettily shaven, glistening wet. Light stickiness lines the insides of her thighs. Her lips down here are just as beautiful up there. You glide your fingers up and down between them, a choreography you’ll never get tired of performing again. Your touch is light yet you manage to put your hand on and in all the right places.

Oh, well, barely in. But that’s the fun of it; teasing Eunbi is a newfound hobby. In little time, it’s become your most favorite. Your touch is so light that when you edge the tips of your fingers inside, it’s already a lot to take. She lets out a humbled little growl, shoulders straightening. Mouth slacking. Thighs shuddering.

“No, no, why does it feel so—” Her voice breaks. Her face squeezes up and she’s crying out in strained, tiny sounds.

Your digits gently curl on the entrance of her pussy, touching her sore clit and making it throb with the stimulation. Eunbi’s lost count of the times she’s done the exact same thing to herself: lying in her bed screaming out silently with only her hand to turn to. And now she’s here, with you doing it for her.

Slip one finger inside, and even with that she’s already so tight. You start to pump her, each driving her nearer and nearer to the headboard. She’s whining, like no, no, oh, please don’t stop. You add another to hear it more.

“You prick,” she squeals out, palm to her mouth. “If you stop, I’m gonna kill you. I swear, I swear, don’t play around with me.”

“You’re in no place to be making threats, Eunbi.”

This is her punishment: a speed her little pussy can’t take. She’s so tight that you’re already struggling. Trust that she is, too. She’s thrashing around on the bed, disheveling the sheets the staff oh-so-carefully fitted back. Hold her down so she gets to feel the force of your pace.

How did she manage to peek in your mind, collect all your fantasies about her, and act them out? She’s there, in her Calvin Klein underwear, shaking at your fingerfucking and flashing you the most needy looks from behind those glasses. That’s gotta come from somewhere. Watch the float of her tummy when you jam your fingers harder; the quiver in her arms when you part her legs more. Now you’re certain.

Because see, it’s how it’s all so frightening: Eunbi’s Eunbi, your best friend and someone you’ve fallen in love with, and it’s the fact that you shouldn’t be crossing the line. You shouldn’t be fingering her with a madness of thousands when she’s your friend. You shouldn’t be touching and leading her on when she’s your friend. You shouldn’t be—

But oh, you are.

You’re doing it with the courage of someone who knows damn well what they’re doing is wrong, and with no regrets.

“In me.” It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command, veiled under a breathy tone. “Now.”

You pull your fingers out of her and lick them. You don’t know if she’s tangy or sweet or bitter, but you do know she’s fucking delicious. “Whatever you say,” is your reply, because you’re always spoiling her.

Eunbi separates her thighs from one another. Your protected cockhead bumps against her clit when you approach. She flinches, but scurries herself near. She can’t stop staring at you, your cock, your stomach. Everywhere. It makes you possess a kind of narcissistic theory that perhaps she’s just as obsessed with you as you are with her.

You’ve never hoped this hard for a conspiracy to become true.

"Please." Eunbi's breath shortens, and she closes her eyes. She’s suddenly quiet, letting go of her harsh neediness. "Please rub your cock on me. On my clit. Without the condom."

Look at her throbbing nub and catch your breath. Barely. You run your fingers below the sensitive pearl. Then, on it. Under it, too, with little weight in order for the heat to circle around. "I don't know if we should, little raindrop."

"You can put it back on after, i-if you want." Her begging is borderline desperate. No wonder she isn’t sassing you. "I’m on the pill. Should have told you, I’m sorry. But I just want to know what it feels like. Please?"

“Are you sure?”

She nods. Not that you need it to know what she wants.

You unroll the condom. Her mouth waters, even more when you do as she says. She’s right to be curious—it feels so fucking good that you’re afraid you have to put it on before you cum all over her. She whimpers quietly, the heat gathering in her clit and her legs suddenly tensing.

“Gah—” Eunbi sobs and catches the side of her fist in her mouth. “Oh god, please.”

“Seriously, you’re so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Shut up,” she gasps. “Just put it in me.”

Sure you will, but you can’t resist flicking your cock between her lips. Your tip teases her entrance and slaps her clit. Eunbi lets out a lengthy groan. It transforms into a girlish cry, and you kiss it all away. What you don’t know is the moment you push yourself inside, no amount of petting would get her to quiet down.

So you do.

“You are so—” Eunbi’s legs stretch out. They require an anchor, and you’re glad to act as one. You place your hands firmly on her thighs and start to push yourself inside the delicious tightness. Every time you try to push past the limits, her pussy only closes more around you. She’s all wet and aroused yet she remains so goddamned tight.

She’s slippery but firm in holding your cock inside that warm, wet hole. She has to stop tensing her stomach so that she won’t deprive you of her. It’s hard to push, but one powerful thrust drives you all the way in, making it worth it after everything. She spreads her thighs more which gives you the chance to feel them, and you’re right for grabbing the opportunity. Grabbing her thighs, to be specific.

Each thrust helps spread her out. You’re pushing her apart and forcing her limits to be taken down. Her pussy sleeves your shaft so well, so tight yet so perfect. You slam harder. Take in the beautiful imagery of Eunbi’s small cunt taking more than it could. Its hold is so enclosed that you’re required to guide her legs up to welcome your dick deeper.

“I’m seriously so angry at you,” she hisses out. She bears every drill with a pleasured face and a fist that chokes the sheets to material death. “How did you not dick me down… all those years ago, huh? What a fucking tease, fuck—”

Make up for it by choosing a rocky pace. She won’t relax, and it’s straining you. You’re so deep inside her yet you can tell there’s more to excavate—her tensed body just won’t let up. It’s like every time you roll your hips, her velvety walls close more around you.

“Well, I didn’t know you were so tight,” you say, kissing her collarbone. Tiny nibbles here and there before you give it a lick. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Oh, you’re sorry? Then fuck me harder.”

You’re terrible at apologies, but you’re sure she’ll forgive you this time. Your core releases a mighty strength in shoving between her open legs. Even that sexy Calvin Klein bra can’t stop her godly tits from bouncing. Her glasses are lopsided while her vision goes loopy behind them.

Her cheeks inflate in labor as her lower body rises to greet you. She’s so adorable; it pinches your heart and leads your mouth down so you can kiss her shoulder and clavicle. See, you’re a good multitasker after all; you can destroy the heat in her center while worshiping her body. It’s good practice. Question is: would there be more times to exercise it?

“That’s it, yes,” Eunbi breathes out. Her hums of affirmation stutter even without her lips opening. “You know what I’ve always imagined? It’s this, it’s always this. When I’m supposed to be studying, I just think of how good you’d pound me. How you’d make me scream. Do what you want to me, okay? Hnnn, so big.”

Plenty of similarities between you and your best friend: your quickness to speak before taking the time to contemplate it, the clothes you accidentally mix and match, your ages. But what you didn’t know is when you sit down at your laptop plagued by thoughts of her, she’s somewhere in her own place being overwhelmed by ones of you. The heat somehow multiplies. Fills the room like a verse.

Therefore, you must hold her in place, give her a false reassurance that you’re going to take her slow. Do so, but then your thrusts become unmeasured and rapid. One hand on the side of that flawless waist, you lead the other to her bra. Harshly pull it down and let her boobs spill out of it. You start to squeeze them hard. Her chest is so bountiful that even the width of your hand can’t map it fully. So you squeeze, forcing it to fit in your fingers, and start to pinch. Her nipple is sore with arousal.

“Oh—oh—oh, shit.” She’s sobbing. But unlike the other times you’ve seen her cry, this one is out of pure bliss. “Just like that. Such a good dick, such a good boy, thank you.”

Your ears heat up. “You’re a pretty good girl, too, Eunbi.”

“You’re terrible at this.”

She mewls helplessly when you suddenly ramp up the pace. You’re doing her like you’re determined to make her pregnant. It’s the last thing you want to happen, but the grinds make it look otherwise. Along the expedition of your cock, it rubs her needy cunt and makes her drench your cock with more wetness. Enjoy the tightness, enjoy the squeeze of her hole. She’s so warm and wet that you don’t think you could live having only done this once with her. There’s gotta be more, right?

“What about now?” you ask, unable to resist smirking at how she’s now completely broken apart. Then, mirror her words from some days back that drove and still drive you crazy, as ridiculous as they are: “Cat got your tongue back there?”

She chokes up and is rendered even more lost for breath when you start to lose control of your own moans. They harmonize in an erotic chorus with hers and soon you’re muffling them with another torrid liplock.

“You’re a bully,” she says, the words mashing with your teeth and lips. “A heartbreaking, flirty, mean bully.”

Your noses nuzzle against each other. “You like me that way.”

“I’m not commenting… on, t-that.”

“Good. Because you know what you need to do? Cum for me. You’re shaking, Eunbi. Bet you wanna cry and get there so bad.”

“Y-yes!” Eunbi curses with that adorable lisp. She starts to stammer at the thumb floating and frisking on her clit, and she gives you this watery-eyed needy look that tells you, along with her stiff nubs and desperate gasping, she’s close.

You start to swipe at her clit and fit yourself lower in her. Eunbi gasps. She sits up though her forearms barely could handle the weight of what you’re doing, and stares down at your handiwork. She feels hot all over. You’re not helping calm her down. But you are aiding her orgasm, (which, by the way, is so near she can taste it.)

“What are you doing, you’re making me lose it—gonna—”

No need for her to continue for you to understand when she’s creaming all over you. Your rapid rubs on her clit don’t cease and neither do your thrusts. Eunbi’s yelling so hard that you’re afraid that even the well-built four walls of your hotel room won’t contain her noises. However, at the same time, you want them to hear her. That girl you always have your arm around on? Yep, she’s yours. That girl who always steals your socks and shirts? Just the same.

Eunbi’s mouth pinches up before sighing loudly, followed by a series of other gaspy breaths. You could hear a venerating one the moment the tightness becomes too much for you to handle and thus milks you of cum. You fill her so much that it drips off her lips. Your gentle thrusts guide the mixture of her cum and yours back inside her.

“That good enough for you?” you ask, pulling out.

Gently close her mouth and wipe the saliva that dribbles down it. When you lead it back to her mouth, she sucks on your aiding thumb. You take the liberty of running your finger along the soft pillows of her lips.

Add: “You’re incredibly demanding when you’re being fucked.”

Anyone could have guessed that it would be that way if they saw how she’s sitting there giving you teary puppy eyes.

“Of course. You know why?” She gives you a tired yet satisfied look, a triumphant one, too. “I know you would give me more if I asked.”

Fix her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. “You give yourself too much credit.”

“Okay. Fine.”

Eunbi stands up. She steals your attention from her heaving, heavy breasts when she gets on her knees. She squirms her thighs together, letting your creampie leave visible evidence. She massages your thighs, and it makes you even more turned on.

“Tell me,” she says, another challenge, “that you won’t give me your cum. Tell me I’m such a bad girl that I don’t deserve all of it on my face. Hell, tell me you won’t even dare give me a nice, hot load down my throat as a reward for taking you well.”

You’re speechless. How do you react to this? She’s on her knees, riling you up and about to get to sucking you off. It’s another dream come true. And you hate how she’s right to death. She always is.

“Tell me all of that,” she concludes, “and I’d know you’re a fucking liar.”

Your tongue can’t form a fragment. Not even a stutter is born in your throat. Eunbi stares up at you, her hands neatly folded on her lap. She’s waiting, and you want to tell her it’s fruitless. You can’t tell her anything because it would prove her point. Plus, she’s gorgeous, so what now?

She clicks her tongue. Hums out a contained, satisfied laugh. “Thought so.”

Here’s how it starts: she licks at your tip repeatedly, keeping in mind how sensitive it is after having just cum inside her. Sparks of heat knot there. Then she leads it between her lips, and you’re on your toes again. She just slides those full, pink lips over you so perfectly. From the base to the head she goes with barely a complaining mouth. To you, it’s everything already. But to her—oh no, don’t get it twisted: this is just the beginning of it. A teaser to what will happen.

Her tongue laps side to side while she takes you in her mouth. You let out a stilted breath.

“Damn, you really, really like that, huh?” She pauses momentarily to lick your balls, then travels her tongue to the sides of your rod. With one lick, there’s another ball of heat tightening in you. And another; you’re moaning.

“Y-yeah.”

“I see.” (She doesn’t; she’s closed her eyes while nursing your sore cock. Okay, now she does.) “What’s something you really wanted to do to me?”

You exhale. It’s the only laugh you can manage to create. “Ah. Where do I even begin?”

Eunbi brushes your cockhead over her pouted lips. Your toes curl. “Tell me? Please?” she says.

Talking to Eunbi is easy. You can tell her anything and she’d be there, listening patiently and adding a joke sometimes. But when you’re asked to narrate all the things you’ve wanted to do to her, it’s a difficult task.

How do you say you’ve wanted to bend her over a desk while you finish between her legs?

How do you say you’ve strained for the opportunity to ask her out, with the first date being consummated by steamy, romantic sex by the moon?

How do you say you’ve wished for everything, from romantically cheesy to filthily rough, when it comes to her?

“I—I’ve thought about cumming in your throat,” you admit. That’s the first step. You run your fingers through her hair. Take care not to mess the braids. “Making you swallow all of it.”

Eunbi looks smug. “Sure, I can do that,” she chirps. “I mean, I’m me, right?”

“You’re a brat.”

“So make me shut up. Stuff this fat cock down my throat. Make me gag with your load. You always wanted to, right?”

Eunbi’s a challenging girl. She pushes you to go the extra mile, makes you do things you never thought you could. Tonight is no different.

You don’t care to keep the aesthetics of her hairdo anymore. You bunch her hair up in one tight ponytail then shove yourself inside. No gentleness in your body, you feed her wet and waiting mouth.

What bests the other in terms of tightness: her pussy or her throat? You don’t know. Can’t choose properly either. Observe anyway: this orifice provides the perfect wetness and a tongue that services you with glides and licks. Then you have that tight hole when you push yourself deep. You can feel her breaths being blocked by your girth.

Start to thrust away. In the beginning, she still has it in her to suck. You can feel the strength of it doing away at your length. But now, she can barely breathe to even do it. You’re just pushing her face into your stomach and her nose to your navel. You’re using her, which you’ve sworn you never would do. But she’s asking for it. Can’t you break your oath just once? Or at least, whenever she asks for it?

“Can I say how pretty you look like this?”

The blush on her cheeks adds to the aura of it all. Her eyes are glowing with tears as they blink at you, and she’s started to salivate all over you. She can’t take it all, yet she’s so determined to that you want to stop and praise her. As you fuck her face sloppily, the thought that she’s beautiful still hasn’t left your head. Even when you’re ruining her, you’re still starstruck.

You’re a little flustered yourself. She’s so gorgeous that it sometimes makes you want to go call every visual storm in a rainforest ugly. She’s the prettiest little raindrop, and you stand by that.

“You’ll be good, won’t you? You’ll take all that I’ve got for you?”

She nods so innocently you wouldn’t think that she was having her face used.

She’s promised you to swallow all of your cum, and Kwon Eunbi? She never breaks promises.

Twist the ponytail you’ve bunched together to push her head firm to your stomach. She chokes, her throat constricting. Just what you wanted. You limit the movement of your hips so that you could shove that pretty face into you and make her put that mouth to good use. She’s good at that; even with her gags that somehow sound more heavenly than concerning, she takes and takes and takes your length.

Pounding away, you bask in the squeeze of her throat, her hold on your thighs, her eyes tearing up. Her glasses are lopsided, and this time you don’t fix them. You caress her cheek then tilt her chin up. Her mouth’s an easy place to access in this position. The imprint of your cock bobs in her thin neck.

“Oh!” she gasps for air once you retreat.

She sucks sloppily on you when you rub yourself on the inside of her cheek to lead you to a climax. After you’re certain it’s right around the corner, you start to jerk off in front of her face. As much as you’d love to completely release her, you want to see Eunbi fill her mouth with your semen.

Eunbi’s a good girl, so you found out. She doesn’t need instructions for her to cleverly part her lips and wait for it. Her heavy breaths fan your penis.

“Almost there, little raindrop,” you say, “just be good and wait.”

She sticks her tongue out and you aim for it. Eunbi closes in and fills the top of her tongue with your thick release. It pools in her mouth so satisfyingly that you almost wish you could keep cumming forever—not for the pleasure of it but to see her keep that desperate face on.

“Swallow.”

Eunbi shows off the plentiful evidence of your orgasm puddling in her mouth, then does so. After she gulps, she pants. Laughs a little, too. She has a way of finding humor in the most absurd situations. For example: your professor’s voice cracking in the middle of a rant. Your dad calling her “a very well-mannered young lady.” Having her face fucked.

“Do you know you’re, ah, shaking?” she asks, fixing her exposed bosom back in her bra.

(You are.)

(But, to be fair, she’s made a mess on the carpeted hotel room floor. That’s kinda worse. The saliva can’t be differentiated from her girl cum. But at least yours can.)

“Thanks for letting me know,” you say anyway.

“Anytime.”

Amazing how things could grow awkward after you just abused her throat. You’re like two strangers trying to make conversation, and you’re everything but that, aren’t you?

“How ‘bout this: d’you know that you glow after being fucked?”

“Shouldn’t you do it again?” She climbs onto the bed you’ve collapsed on. She places your hand on her thigh. “Keep me pretty?”

There’s nothing that could make her look unflattering. The messy hair is wild but she’s still a princess. But if that’s what she wants… well, she’s the last person you’d want to say no to.

“You’re insatiable.” Nevertheless, you let her bring your hand to her used core. You love how she stiffens when you start to rub circles around her clit.

“Don’t tell me you aren’t, too.” Eunbi presses her mound close to the heel of your hand. For a moment, she’s frozen. Then, her lips are next to your ear, telling you of a tale older than her lust. “I want you to do everything you want with me, everything.”

You’ve lost count of all the things you want to do to her. From things as sweet as tucking her in after a bad day to the filthiest like defiling that ass since that day she wore cycling shorts alone, your mind just runs with ideas. You can’t choose.

“You’ve kept me waiting,” she whines out. Her sighs grow sporadic. “So give it all to me.”

“Like I said: incredibly demanding.”

“You asshole.” She chokes this out as you start to roughly prod her nub. “You fucking… gatekeeper of dick.”

“Well, it’s my cock. I think I get to decide what happens with it.”

“You’re selfish.” Her voice gets higher. Her winces grow often, and Eunbi’s starting to babble out these little words of biteless barks. “You’re so, so cruel. You don’t know what I’d do, I will—I will—”

Before it happens, you place your hand on the back of her neck. She doesn’t even get to glare at you because it all happens so fast. You don’t know how you did it. Not just this, but everything else: how you managed to befriend her, how you managed to lay her.

How you managed to push her not too gently to the wall, her chest pressing its solidness. How you managed to perfectly time it so that her head is tilted to the side so you could still catch a glimpse of that face. How you managed to pull up her bra and free those tits.

How you managed to say: “Do you know what I would do to you?”

Because there’s a million things you could do to Kwon Eunbi—the girl you’ve got pinned beneath you who’s absolutely tense with want. Your little kisses melt the freeze of her shoulders; you can hear her soft moans again.

Her lashes flutter over the undersides of her eyes. “Please,” she squeaks out, “do tell.”

“I’d rather show.”

Eunbi hums strainedly. You pierce through her again, It’s the second time and her velvety pussy still barely budges at your contradictingly welcome visit. Press your stomach into her back till you’re buried deep inside her. As a result, she’s shoved harder into the wall. Then you retrieve yourself handlessly from her, then put yourself in again.

She pants heavily, matching those of yours. She’s shaking, the only leverage to stay upright is your body on hers. Your rhythm is not too different from earlier and Eunbi still finds herself seeing it as something so new. She still spasms and quakes around you. Anything you give to her, she takes gladly. Each thrust pushes out a feeble cry from her throat and from within.

Her arms stretch to support her stance to the painted wall. You adore them, like you do to every other part of her. But these—these beautiful, strong arms whose minimal bulges hint of well-trained muscles—they do a number on you. You run your hands all along them, not making it easier for her. Everywhere you touch delivers a quiver running through her body.

Although you touch first from the sides, her chest already feels big. You caress her curves before placing your hands right on her breasts. They’re your guilty pleasure, the kind that makes you pray for forgiveness because you don’t even know if you’re worthy of stealing glances at them. Maybe you are, because you’re getting to hold them. It’s a divine sign, if you do say so yourself.

Clutch them. Use them to plunge to places left unnavigated in her cunt. She’s dripping all over you, and it somehow plays the role of lubricant. It lets you thrust easily and keep her wet enough for more.

Any touch you trace on her beautiful body makes her quake. You brush your fingertips lightly over her clit, and the squeeze of her hole strengthens. You massage her fantastic hips and waist and you’re rewarded with a feral cry. Kissing her does no good in helping her calm down because, if anything, she gets more worked up.

“Oh, look at that, Eunbi.” You continue thrusting in her, pushing her limits far from the bounds, and she’s got her hands on her face, tears on her palms. “You’re so desperate. You squeeze so tight around me.”

Standing is something she’ll soon be incapable of doing for her legs are beaten down by your movements. “Not exactly my fault,” she says. “You know who’s to blame? You. You and that smug face and smug everything. You—”

How is it possible that you can make her garble but lose her words as well? Eunbi’s excessive whining comes to a halt as you plummet said cock deeper. Silent screams escape her open mouth and she’s clinging to the surface in front of her like she’d slip if she didn’t. There’s a possibility that that’s true—when you let go of her hip, she almost falls.

“You—” If you didn’t know Eunbi, you’d think her voice had contempt in it.

“What about me? Can you tell me?” You know that’ll annoy her.

It does, for she says: “W-wow, big ego.” She whimpers quietly at the soft kisses you place on her neck. The circumstances don’t allow her insult to hit properly. It just swells your pride.

“I know another thing from me and mine that's big.”

Eunbi growls. “Then put it to good—fucking—use.”

She has a point. Why are you fucking her rough when you could be even more so? Your touch climbs from her waist, tiny, to her boobs that can be described as every adjective in the thesaurus except for that. Afterwards, you carry out a brutal pace which drives her so into the wall that you’re not sure how she hasn’t made a dent in it yet. Her only protection from its hardness is your hands on her bust.

Nothing can protect her from your hardness, however. It’s almost cruel how pink that milky white skin is, culprit of the defilement being your core that slams and slams into it. But you know she likes it this way. So why stop? Of course, there’s no reason to.

“God, please– you’re—” Her expression changes. Pleasure becomes bliss as bliss becomes paradise. “Oh no, I think I’m close.”

No quote from philosophers and learned individuals could inspire you like that simple statement. Yes, she’s close to cumming. And it’s because of you, she just confirmed it. So you tweak her hard nipples and tilt your moves up. You must have hit a certain spot because a simple “oh” turns to a scream. Several of them actually, each increasing the smacks of your hips on her butt and your lips’ ravages on that delicate, vulnerable swan’s neck.

“Hngh, I can’t! I can’t, I can’t, harder, please!” she yells, falling back to the wall and shaking.

Your moves become frequent and rough. Your hands join in with the roughness; they begin to harshly pinch and grab her boobs until she unravels.

Eunbi suppresses her scream into a whiny cry and falls into you, unable to keep her balance anymore. The flood rages in her core and overflows. Your cum slides out of her pussy as she tightens and loosens. She frantically pushes her ass back into you to keep the climax on a high, coupled with sharp shrieks of affirmation.

“Keep fucking me,” she rasps, “keep ruining me.”

Her voice ranges between low and sexy to high and needy. Both sides, however, are draining you. It’s the way the sweat sticks to her gasping face and how her legs are practically limp. She’s completely under your control, and you… like it? Is that how it’s supposed to work?

“Yes, yes—don’t stop.” Her nails scratch the paint. “Don’t, wait, not inside me. Okay? You can’t.”

You manage to successfully quiet your groan of disappointment. You pull out reluctantly. Tell yourself you already ejaculated in her moments ago, so it’s only fair for it to be once. However, your cock’s still rock hard. What do you do about it? You’ve already done more than you should with her. It was all supposed to be just one kiss. How did you get here?

She turns around and places her hands on your shoulders. Her palms are sweaty in spite of the air-conditioner breezing in the room. The exhaustion on her face from sex is there, and so is this little serious look.

“I want you to cum,” she says, “in my ass.”

Thoughts. Too many of those, none pure. Thoughts of Eunbi that didn’t stay as fantasies because look at them bleeding into reality. Silence, too—you’re not saying they speak louder than words, but of course you can tell she’s serious with those watery bunny eyes.

“What?”

And of course you gotta act like a prude. What the hell? You? A prude? That’s a fucking lie. You’ve pleasured yourself countless times to the thought of her and that body, so why are you backtracking? As Eunbi would say, right after you made fun of lazy students while never studying much yourself, “Hypocrite.”

“What?” Eunbi drags your hands down that supple ass and makes you squeeze its full cheeks. “I want you to get your money’s worth from that expensive lube and pound me. And don’t you even think of stopping.”

You glance at the plastic-wrapped bottle on the bedside table, then back at her. It just doesn’t make sense. You—you and your awkwardness and spontaneous bursts of overconfidence—getting to cross the line? Everyone has probably doubted their worth one way or another, in stories written the same as yours, but is she serious? Does she really, really plan on letting you do it?

You look down at your bare feet. She sighs loudly, obviously and slightly irritated at your hesitation. Only an idiot would pass up that opportunity. But maybe you want to be an idiot—because fucking her would mean wanting her. You’ve already done both. You’ve made her cum twice and always wanted to do so, always desired her. To you, it just makes you worse than the rest of the men who vied and strived for her.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Eunbi,” you tell her quietly. Let them rage at your words as if your life were a movie and they were a judgmental audience, but it’s true. You can’t violate more unwritten rules.

She lifts her head, her face parallel to your own. “What if I want you to?”

You blackmailed everyone into reading your story, you’ll say it straight up. This isn’t a love story or tragedy, or whatever. This is a tale about you being too generous. You’re always giving Eunbi what she wants. Every key point’s been triggered by her wishes—from her bailing answers out of you right up to this passionate Christmas Eve. You’re the genie who keeps giving her extra. Oh, you’re a pretty girl, you see, you’d say, blue hand stroking her hair, so of course you can ask for more. It’s all on me, beautiful. All on me.

You keep granting. And granting. And granting.

“Spread those legs.”

Because it’s all written on paper, in the law of nature: she’ll be the one who calls you names and drags you around. But here? Nothing remotely close to that. She’s the girl who sits on the counter of the kitchen table, and opens her legs. Why? Because you told her to. You’ve already fucked all the sass out of that sharp-tongued mouth. There’s little left.

In this wealth-stealing coup of a hotel room, she’s the one who does what you want. She’d slacken her mouth to have you give her a throatpie. She’d ride you like she would a pillow if you asked her. But in a way, behind the scenes, it’s her screenwriting it all. She’s got it predicted from front to base—you’ll fuck her here. And there. You’ll do what she wants and do what you want. Make it meet in the middle.

Because, you think as you slick her asshole and your cock with the lubricant, that’s what friends do.

The edges of Eunbi’s palms are on the counter. You can see them struggle to keep her body upright. You can’t really say you blame the girl when the two of you have done too many things to fit into one night. Anal is another you’re trying to squeeze into a tight schedule.

But that’s what she wants. And, (heads up—skip if you don’t like spoilers): you just so happen to have a habit of being too easily swayed by pretty women.

“Open more.”

“There’s enough already,” she whines, words pitched and tiny.

“I know, Eunbi. Baby.” You’re clinging on that high of seeing the color rose her cheeks. In every way, red (can’t be pink when it’s that dark) looks good on her.

Eunbi’s breath skips a pattern. Her ass retreats at your touch yet goes back every time for you to hold. “You’re too good at this,” she says, speaking as if the words were a foreign language. Which is to say: cute. It’s like when she speaks English; it comes out sounding like fresh, pretty talk.

“Glad you’ve come to terms with that.”

“Wow.” Can’t tell if she said that at your cock pressing to her anal hole or at your quickness to speak. “Okay.”

“I mean, I’m serious. I only called you baby. How does that make me good?”

Eunbi coos when you touch the side of her face. Hold its jawline over the line your palm calls its own. Glimmering sweat and exhaustion and lust, she still has ways to make you go crazy. Your hand comforting her shudders nearly makes her forget you just want her to admit that you’re cut from the rest.

Both of you know what’s true anyway.

“I just…” Eunbi kisses the space between your index and thumb. “I just fall in love too fast.”

“How fast are we talking?”

“I won’t tell you, it’s been crystal clear since the time I met you. But for this?” She taps your hip impatiently. “As fast as you can.”

Her voice deepens, a stretch from her cheerful pitch. Where did that come from? She smirks at the change in your face, but she can’t hide the desperation in hers.

Her hole and your cock are shiny with the lubrication. Turns out the lube was a good buy; getting the tip inside her proves to be easy. However, it can’t help your job in hilting the entirety inside her. Thighs that glisten with wetness and lube wrap around you. Her midriff tenses, and so does her hole. So do her hands on your arms.

There’s already her cum and yours wetting her ass, as well as the lube you bought that was crazy expensive. So why is she still so tight? Her squeals thin and her face makes clear the labor. You’re spreading her apart in ways you can’t even begin to imagine.

She’s straining, too. Eunbi’s using every method in the book to allow your width to enter more: breathing deeply, relaxing her body, spreading her legs. But they don’t seem to work for her when her ass is only focused on closing around the little you’ve put inside her.

“Why do you have to be so big?” she whines. She pushes her cheeks to your stomach, inching you south and into her. “Why does it have to feel so good? Don’t just stand there. Fuck me. Split me open, I need it.”

Her wish is your command. That’s three wishes she’s making there and you’ll grant all of them. In a hard moment of pure will, you pull yourself out and slam yourself harshly into her tight body. Your attempt is successful; your whole girth is snugly hugged by her round butt. The enclosed walls of her anal ring are so overwhelming that you’re close to blowing your load already.

If you’re a genie, Eunbi’s the taker of wishes. She takes and takes and takes, even with your cock prodding past the hurting limits of her little asshole, and she does it oh so well. She’s probably seeing ghosts or the stars they’ve become with the way she’s not even looking at you anymore. No, her body is slanted up to allow you to give what you can. And by what you can, you mean your all.

Eunbi sobs and hugs you close. For comfort? Assurance? Speed? You’ll give her all three. That’s six wishes there, but with her, there’s no limit. You hold her as you find a perfect pace, one that makes her thighs squish on the ledge of the table and has her mouth gaping while you’re making another orifice of hers do the same.

When did pain feel this good? Eunbi doesn’t know. But she loves and accepts it. She’s reciprocating your thrusts with her own ones. It feels too good, so good that the sounds coming out of her are difficult to comprehend. She’s moaning, yet crying, too. Crying yet gasping in delight. Gasping in delight yet panting as if it were too much.

There’s one thing you’re certain of, though: she’s enjoying it. Wetness drools from her cunt and onto your shaft. It’s only a tiny bit of help, but it already aids in fucking her ass open sloppily. Her breaths are warm gushes of wind on your skin, and soon in the air as she throws her head back. Have to place a hand behind her neck to prevent her from bumping onto the all-too-near cupboard.

“So good, so big, can feel you t-throbbing,” she mumbles. Her lips purse before releasing a sharp moan. You’ve just placed your mouth on one of her breasts. “Know you wanted to do this. Saw you, hnn, staring at my ass.”

“Who can blame me?” You lightly slap her backside. “This thing is the best.”

“You got me so...” Eunbi’s gasp becomes a little lost ghost when you start to suck on her brown nipple. “I wore them, those ridiculous shorts, just for you. Wanted you to make me feel good, make me hurt, oh, I want it so bad—”

Her words pierce and break. Their propriety becomes worse yet the willpower they induce becomes stronger. Rapidity becomes a pastime when you’re pumping her. Of course, that’s already a given when the girl’s absolutely incapable of keeping quiet. Anything you do to her she reacts to. She’s still the same girl in the sheets as she is when she’s out and about, and it makes this sinful act—anally ruining her—seem like something so endearing.

Your thumb starts to rub her clit again. You’ve done this plenty of times in this hotel room right after the heat started, yet it still gauges the same reaction from her. She can’t stay still. She wants to stay in one place to receive you better but there’s the pleasurable pain in her ass, your mouth on her bosom, your hand feeling her up. She can’t take it, and you can’t either. She’s a combination of wetness and tightness and loudness and shrillness—you’re both too much for the other.

A lit match to a flamed lighter.

“Oh, god, no.” Eunbi’s teeth dig into your shoulder before retracting. Signs of her sobs linger and roll down her perfect face that wields an expression you admit to have fantasized often on her. “You’re gonna make me cum again. You're gonna make me cum again, I can’t handle it. Please—fffu—”

You stuff your fingers inside her. Match the pace with how you’re fucking her into the kitchen wall. She clenches around you and doesn’t let go. The wet squelching sounds compels you to be harsher with her. Fuck her like it doesn’t mean anything, just like she wants you to.

“Mmm!” Eunbi shrieks at the harsh intrusions she thought would be over.

“Not over yet.” You kiss her. “Still gotta cream this perfect ass.”

The promise of that makes her blush. Red and sweaty, she exercises those toned arms by using them in fucking herself on your cock. The pleasure is addicting, and she’s still keeping you to that oath to cum inside her a second time.

She’s so wet that it’s almost unbelievable. Your fingers curl, spread, jam themselves in her, and each time they pull out they’re soaked to the knuckles. Her clit twitches and you get your touch on there again. A little leak of cum wrinkles your hand from it.

“You really want it, huh?” Hiss at how she bounces that jiggling rear onto you. “Just a little more, baby. You’re gonna have to do much better than that.”

Since when did Eunbi do what you say? Since when did she do it with this much enthusiasm? Despite your shaft wrecking her insides and rearranging her guts, along with the orgasm she’s had, she perseveres. She rolls her body, a snake’s dance, and takes you in further. You admire how much you’ve spread her. Hold her backside to guide her.

You pity the housekeeper who’d have to clean up evidence of your sin. There’s her wetness on the kitchen table, the smell of carnal need in the air, sheets torn by the little power Eunbi’s fingernails have. But there’s no regrets, you think, for this one:

An explosion. The kind that doesn’t kill but brings her to life. Its origin is the base of your cock and birth inside her tight little ass. Hold her close. Slam inside her as if you were mad at her, while she lets out gasped repetitions of “oh, oh, oh.” Now you pull out your digits and resort to furiously rubbing her nub, effectively making her even tighter.

“That’s it, fuck, such a good girl,” you groan. Grip her ass so tightly that it draws a yelp out of her. After it’s all done, you pull out.

“You,” she drawls when you pull out. She spreads her legs and stares at the semen dripping out of her holes. At the mess you’ve made on the floor, the bed, the table, everything. “You…”

She doesn’t continue what she’s saying, but you’re pretty sure you got the gist of it. It was you who fucked her. It was you who made her climax so many times in one night. It was you, her best friend, who did her in.

“Yeah,” you say, laughing.

Somehow, the whole experience is making you guilty. You feel like the richest man in the world, the luckiest, too. So why do you feel you did something wrong?

Eunbi narrows her eyes. She knows you too well. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

You don’t.

“Now kiss me.” Her words fan your chin, a haunting love spell. “Again.”

You do.

Christmas comes, and by then you've flown home. You’re at Sakura’s house to celebrate. Green and red are all over the place: red cupcakes on a baking tray, old books leaning against each other, the rug beneath you and her friends. There’s a giant statue of Santa Claus, overweight and jolly, at the corner next to the Christmas tree. What used to be under the plant were gifts Eunbi specifically said not to touch until 12 a.m midnight. No sleeping in now that you’re well aware that the man himself isn’t real.

Sakura’s undoing the ribbon on her gift, but her eyes are on you and Eunbi. “There’s something really weird going on with you two,” she says.

The girls nod and hum choruses of agreement: yes, he and the bunny leader are acting odd lately. No, they don’t know why. Is it because of the vacation? Seasonal depression (but with Christmas lights!)? They’re gonna find out for sure.

You and Eunbi look at each other. Your faces hold an unreadable expression, until you take an interest in one evergreen branch and her in the collar of her ugly Christmas sweater.

“Nah,” you say.

“Nothing much,” she echoes, drinking her hot chocolate.

Yena groans, tired of your pretentiousness. “You fucked, didn’t you?”

A liquid spray of sugar lands on the rug, courtesy of Eunbi. The girls begin cackling, slapping their hands on their thighs and on each other. You look away to manage your laughter. Unfortunately, it’s as loud as Eunbi’s scheming little members.

“That means yes!” Yujin shouts gleefully. Her dimples are printed on her cheeks. “You owe me ten thou, Yena unnie!”

Christmas spirit truly is in the air. They’re jumping up and down, laughing and cheering, while you two are mortified. You’re the Grinches of the holidays, but even that can’t sour their happiness.

“It worked!”

“I can’t believe it worked!”

“They’re so obvious about it, too!”

“No wonder Eunbi unnie was limping when they came home!”

The whole thing was a setup. It’s all dawning in on you. Why else would eleven girls pool ridiculous amounts of money for a two-person trip? You’ve given them the best Christmas present of their lives unknowingly.

But with how much Eunbi loves them, she’s okay with that.

You are, too.

“Hey.”

You lift yourself up from the comfort of the pillows and sheets. Eunbi’s standing at your bedpost. She still has on the sweater, courtesy of your mother, and her ears are still pink. That’s one of the cutest things about her: when she gets shy or humiliated, it’s pretty obvious.

How do you go about this? It’s been awkward and silent ever since you had sex. It’s so unlike your dynamics, and it’s scaring you. You don’t want to lose her. Is that the same on her end?

At the end of the day, though, she remains your best friend. You’ll always reserve a place for her with you.

“Hi.” You pat your bedclothes, and she sits.

She looks away as she pushes a paper shopping bag in your arms. “Merry Christmas.”

You wonder how you didn’t see it peeking from her tiny back. The bag isn’t too heavy, but it obviously is something large with how much you can feel whatever is inside it. Quickly stapled and taped, it’s a last-minute present for sure. Did she forget you? Of course, your heart squeezes with the idea of it.

“Way to time your—”

“Don’t be stubborn and just open it. Please?”

Do so.

It’s a bag. Not just any bag—it’s a brand new original of the backpack she lost you all those months ago. She’s got it down to the same color (gray), design (two pockets, with black zippers and one for a bottle) and size (medium). The only thing that sets it apart from your first one is the unavailability of shreds and tatters on the bottom side.

Stare at it, dumbfounded. How did she track it down? It’s sure to be expensive, seeing as it isn’t thrifted and is wrapped in the branded plastic of an overseas branch. “Eunbi,” you say.

“It was shipped later than expected.” She shrugs, trying to play it off. Still, you can hear her laughing shyly. “Hope you like it.”

“I told you to save yourself the trouble.”

You lift the bag up and stare at it. The transparent plastic allows you to marvel at its beauty. The faint scent of newness fills your nostrils.

But the real beauty is the one who sits on your bed late on Christmas night, with her hands folded neatly on her lap like a Catholic schoolgirl. A few locks of her hair are braided with red ribbons to go with the season of giving. Her brows are as dark as her glasses, her cheeks as red as her ugly sweater.

“I like it when you trouble me.”

As always, her statements hold more meaning than they should. And, like you could through her eyewear, you can see right through them. Knowing what she tried to say causes you to inch closer to her. The sides of your thighs press against each other.

“Makes me want to trouble you more,” you reply.

She lifts her head. Already the light cockiness she so often brings with her pours back into her face, and you couldn’t be more relieved to see it again. “So do it.”

Things have a way of coming back to you. Your bag, the thrill of meeting her again, Eunbi. Not everything will return, but then it’s probably just a sign that things aren’t gonna be bad forever. There will be days you’ll get to have a vacation with her again, the promise of December’s Christmasses, being with her and her friends you’ve grown to love. There will be days for new beginnings, like this one. This is a fresh start with her. There will also always be days you’ll do whatever she wants, which somehow align with what you want too.

Refer to this:

You kiss her, your little trouvaille.

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machveil · 2 months ago

Note

the stuff you’ve written for gaz 🤩

I used to wish for times like these :,)

welcome to me slowly caving for all the CoD characters, I’ll be here all night⭐️✨

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is the type to slowly fall in love with you, only realizing the click when he looks back through his camera roll. it used to be a little sporadic - photos of documents for work, a snapshot he took of his homemade dinner to send to his mom (he always says hers tastes better), a couple selfies with Johnny, Simon and Price side-eyeing them from the background. but after meeting you? he didn’t realize how packed his gallery had become

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick who lounges in his bed, cheeks pleasantly warm, holding the back of his hand to his lips. he browses through all the photos he’s taken with you, of you. scrunching his nose while looks over you doodling on a napkin, swiping right and biting back a grin, you holding up a silly little sketch of him. his heart beating a little quicker when he remembers he put that napkin in one of his tote bags, how it’s still in there. snorting when he sees a photo of you drenched from a sudden downpour, miserable scowl on your face. “Garrick, this isn’t funny! I was having a good hair day!”, he vividly remembers you pouting, telling him off when he laughed

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick whose pupils dilate when he watches a short video of you, a measly seven second clip of you trying to tie your shoelaces, hands fumbling as you laugh at he something he said. swipe right, a blurry photo of you standing up while giggling. biting his lip to hold in a laugh. his breathing evening out, smile gentler when he looks at the next photo. he can hear your voice so clearly, a scrape to his knee after taking a tumble in the field. he was so adamant he didn’t need to get it checked out, how, “It’s fine, I can still walk.”. he had mentioned it to his mom while calling her, just needed to send a photo to her so she’d stop worrying. of course you photobombed him, nearly falling backwards from squatting down too fast - trying to get into frame too quickly

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick who remembers it crystal clear, the both of you laughing afterwards. “Need me to kiss it better?”, looking back, maybe that’s when all the pieces fell into place. the last puzzle piece to his heart clicking in, it was a joke, but you sounded so genuine. Kyle who turns his phone off, pauses before chucking it somewhere into his bedsheets. staring up at the ceiling, mind swirling with you. maybe one of these days he’ll take you to a photo booth, something cheesy to make your eyes roll. maybe, someday soon, he’ll confess while timer ticks down, four sweet photos of you printed - one with your surprised expression, one of you hugging him with a dopey smile on your lips, and two of you kissing. maybe, he thinks, that’d be nice

#gaz #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #gaz cod #gaz call of duty #gaz headcanons #gaz x you #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #cod #cod thoughts #call of duty #hit post

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poeghoul · 1 year ago

Text

hard times

in which harry is grumpy and mean and has a scary job

word count: 3,315 warnings: angst, semi-mafia!harry, a single mention of drugs, semi-gun violence, harassment. do not read if opposed to any of the topics mentioned. authors note: i haven’t written in years so this may be bad. inspired by "western nights" by ethel cain.

Harry met Niall at a small diner called The Vinyl booth at 9:37pm, an oddly specific time Niall gave to him, Harry thought. Niall had been interested in forming a connection with Harry, seeing as he’s the biggest drug supplier in all of northern California. Niall loved The Vinyl Booth; he loved taking his girls there every other Sunday after church. It was a warm, cozy diner, with checkered flooring and a jukebox that only worked if you kicked it in the right spot.

“Harry!” Niall exclaimed, excited to finally be meeting with him after hearing about him for so long. Harry gave him a curt nod as Niall put his hand out for him. Harry took his and grunted as Niall brought him in for a weird semi hug that men do. “Good to finally meet ya,” Niall smiled and held the door open for him, a little bell attached to the handle sounded. Harry walked in first as Niall followed behind and stood while they waited for someone to seat them.

“Niall? What are you doing here so late?” A girl approached the two men, smiling at Niall before grabbing two menus.

“Y/n!” Niall exclaimed, returning an even bigger smile than she had initially sent him, “just needed a little late night treat.”

“Of course you did, come on,” she led the two to a corner booth, “I’ll be back with some coffee.” She smiled at the two and Harry noticed she hadn’t greeted him or even made eye contact with him once, which infuriated him; he was used to everyone showing him the respect he swears he deserves.

She walked back with two small gray ceramic mugs in her hands before turning again to get the coffee pot (Harry assumed they hadn’t brewed a fresh batch in some hours, disgusting him even more than he already was with the sticky menu he was holding). She went to pour some into Nialls mug before Harry decided to speak up.

“When was that brewed?” Y/n looked up as she stopped pouring the coffee.

“Um,” she paused, trying to remember when she last even touched the pot, “maybe around 5,” she shrugged, phrasing it more as a question than a statement.

Harry scoffed, “and you expect us to be okay with drinking that?” he practically shouted at the girl; she was taken aback, furrowing her brows and cocking her head to the side. “Get him a new mug and brew a fresh batch, we’re not drinking coffee that’s been sitting out for nearly five hours.” he spat. Niall went to speak up and Harry shot him the deadliest glare the man had ever seen, effectively shutting Niall up.

“I’ll get on it,” she murmured as she bowed her head, picked up Nialls mug and spun on her heel, heading towards the sink to dump out the hour's old coffee.

“You didn’t have to shout at her, Harry,” Niall scolded the man like he was a four year old. Harry just looked at him and shook his head, going to speak up before deciding against it.

The bell on the door rang. It was one of his security guards; he had told both (one of them planning on coming in three before 10pm, the time they closed) to observe the interaction between the two men; one to scope out Niall, and two to make sure Harry made it out alive. With what Harry did, not making it out of the diner was an option. The burly man sat down in a booth facing Harry directly.

Y/n was at the coffee pot, pouring in new coffee grinds and pressing at the brewing options, though there couldn’t have been more than one option with how old the machine was. She looked up as the man sat down, a puzzled look taking over her features; Harry couldn’t stop staring.

Y/n approached him, “Hi,” she smiled at him, “I’m y/n I’ll be taking care of you today, can I start you off with some coffee? I’m brewing some right now so it’ll be the freshest coffee of your life,” she joked with him, purposefully being loud enough for Harry to hear; he just narrowed his eyes at her and, instead of gazing at her, he began glaring. The man just nodded. She gave a half smile before walking back to where the two men were sat, pulling out a small notepad and pen from her apron. “Oki doki, Niall I know what you want already,” she smiled at him, a dimple forming in her cheek. She looked at Harry, “how about you? Have enough time to look the menu over?” He hadn’t even opened it.

“No,” he said simply. Her smile faded, a puzzled look taking over her features.

“Oh, well, do you have any questions?” She tucked her pen and notepad into a small pocket on the black apron that was folded and tied around her waist.

“No,” he replied, a bitter tone, “I would like some fresh coffee though, if you’re capable,” he tried his hardest to contain his smirk.

If y/n didn’t care about her job, she’d bark at him. If y/n didn’t care about the owners and how close she had gotten to them, she would’ve taken her pen from her apron and jammed it in his hand with all her might. And if y/n had the guts to either of those, she would. She cares, though, far too much to do either of those; so instead, she smiled and prayed that her eye wouldn’t start twitching.

“Of course, sir,” she turned and rolled her eyes, mimicking him under her breath. Harry heard her, but didn’t say anything. She grabbed another mug and the coffee pot, almost burning her knuckles in the process. She placed Nialls mug before him and poured into his new one, making sure to leave room for creamer. “Room for cream?” She made eye contact with Harry. He shook his head, humming a ‘no’. She tried her best to fill it to where it would spill on him if he picked it up too quickly, and made her way to the only other patron in the small diner. The bell on the door rang again, but it wasn’t who Harry was expecting.

Y/n looked up at the character who walked into and watched as he walked past her and sat at the counter. Nobody ever came in this late, three of them looked scary and they were all men. She felt her heart skip some beats in the worst way. Thankfully, two of the cooks were here, but they were already upset with her for seating guests twenty something minutes before closing.

She walked behind the counter, setting the pot down on the heater, and walked to the man at the counter. She noticed his red ringed, dark brown eyes. “Hi, I’m y/n,” she started her script, “I’ll be taking care of you tonight, what can I get ya started with?” She grabbed her notepad and pen, again, hoping he knew what he wanted to eat so she’d have an excuse to go into the back, wanting to be with the men she’d known for some time, rather than three suspicious men and Niall (who, according to her, was far too gentle to hurt a fly).

He smiled at her; it made her stomach curl. “Orange juice, please, and a mixed cheese omelette.” She scribbled in her notepad, muttering a ‘got it’ before scrambling to the back to put the order in.

“So,” Niall began, causing Harry to finally look away from the door the girl had basically run through. “I know you didn’t agree to meeting me here for the chorizo and eggs plate,” he joked at Harry. He gave a curt nod. Niall cleared his throat. “I know you have a busy schedule, so I’ll get right to it,” the bell on the door sounded again. Three minutes before closing, right on time. His other bodyguard walked past the two and sat at another end of the counter. Y/n peaked her head through the swinging door, looking around before setting her eyes on the last patron to walk in. She sighed before walking out and giving him her whole spiel.

“Coffee, please,” the man smiled at her. She was grateful for someone, other than Niall, to show her some kindness in a non creepy way. She turned to grab another mug and the pot of coffee and made her way back to him.

“Long night?” she asked him while pouring into his mug. He nodded and smiled at her, offering her a thank you. Harry felt a twinge of jealousy in his chest.

Niall continued to speak to him, though Harry tuned him out, granting him responses in the form of grunts. He watched the girl bring out the orange juice for the boy at the counter before going into the back and returning with a bowl of prepackaged creamers. “Sorry, Niall, the creamers completely slipped my mind.”

“Not a big deal, y/n, I knew you’d get around to it,” he reached into the bowl, grabbing a package and ripping it open to pour into his coffee. He did that four more times, turning the near black brown to a light, almost white shade.

She looked at Harry, his eyes already on her, “finally decided?” he shook his head. She just stared, no emotion on her face.

“Just get him the same thing as me, please” Niall awkwardly cut in. Y/n’s gaze softened, looking at him and smiled, before nodding and walking off. Harry, still, couldn’t stop staring; watching how she walked and moved and how she reacted to every word said to her. He also noticed how the boy at the counter did the same. Niall continued to talk at him about a deal he was wishing to make. Something about expanding Harry’s territory and getting a small cut. From what Harry heard, it wasn’t a bad proposal.

+++

“Thanks, again, for meeting with me, Harry” Niall shook his hand, a beaming smile plastered on his face. Harry offered him a pursed smile in return. “Get home safe.” Harry nodded, watching as Niall turned to walk to his car.

Harry turned to his, getting in the backseat, greeted by his bodyguard, Daniel, who’d entered the restaurant earlier. They sat in silence as they waited for the final of the two men, Jax, to return to the car. Harry had sent him a message halfway through their meal, asking (more like demanding) him to stay in the diner until the skeptical character had left; he left a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth and he just wanted to ensure the safety of the girl he was fascinated by.

He waited. And waited. Bit at his nails, ran his hands through his hair, groaned many times and waited even more.

Time seemed to go by so slowly. He stared into the window, watching the three of them closely. His left leg was bouncing up and down, an unfamiliar sense of anxiety coursing through him. Huffing through his nose, he ran his hand through his hair. He hated how he was feeling, and judging by her body language, she was feeling similarly.

Y/n stood with the coffee pot, having had to make another batch as the group of men continued to order more and more cups throughout the night, waiting for the two men to leave so she could crawl into bed. She had been here close to eleven hours now, and was growing anxious being practically trapped in a room with two strange men she had never seen, especially since the two cooks had left for the night (she was too scared to ask them to stay, not wanting to be a bother but she desperately regrets that now).

The bigger man of the two sat glaring at the smaller one, watching his every move. Y/n could tell he was growing uncomfortable with harsh eyes on him at all times; it made her feel safer, though.

The small one offered her a small smile, asking for the check silently. She felt a wave of relief to soon have him out of her hair. She couldn’t wait to leave; she had already wiped down all the tables, swept, asked the two men if they’d be paying cash or card, and when they both replied with card, she closed out the cash drawer on the register. She was eager, practically vibrating. Nothing planned for the night, she just couldn’t wait to step outside into the fresh air, feeling suffocated in the small space of the diner.

She handed the small receipt to him and he immediately offered her his card, making sure to graze her hand with his. She noted how cold and pale it was. A small ‘thank you’ before a pursed smile graced her features. She ran his card through the machine, printed a receipt and handed the two over. He smiled at her, leaving a ten on the counter before walking out.

Outside, Harry noted the movement inside the diner, watching the weird man walk out of the restaurant and around the corner to where, he assumed, was a back alley. Jax walked out shortly after, y/n walking to the door behind him to lock it before heading to the back, but he hesitated to leave, still. The lights shut off shortly after. He couldn’t make out much more.

The door opened and, though he could barely see her silhouette, he could tell she was locking the door behind her. She stood in front of the diner, typing away at her phone. He groaned at how oblivious she was to her surroundings. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a head peeking around a corner. He unlocked his door, prepared to jump to her defense at any given moment. The man who peeked around the corner fully emerged and walked up behind y/n, his hands in the pockets of his oversized jacket. He said something to her, Harry couldn’t hear what, and she practically jumped out of her skin. She turned around with wide eyes and slipped her phone in her back pocket.

“Oh,” she gasped, “hey, did you leave anything inside?”

He grinned at her, “no, actually was just wondering what you were up to after this.” she gulped.

“Um,” she tried to think of something, anything, to lie about, but blanked. “I’m just, uh, gonna hang out with my friends,” she rushed out. His grin turned into a smirk.

“You sure?” She nodded. His smirk vanished. “You’re lying.” she shook her head, a small ‘I’m not’ escaping her lips. “Yes, you are,” he stepped closer to her, “I hate liars.”

“I’m not lying,” she backed up, her breathing picking up. He stepped even closer.

“Now you’re lying again,” he glared down at her, “must I teach you what happens to liars?” Her eyes began to well with tears. A car door slammed. A gun pressed against the boy's temple. His eyes widened.

“Touch her and I’ll blow your fucking head off,” Harry snarled, pressing the gun even harder against him.

“I-I wasn’t, I swear, I swear,” he barely made out. Tears began pouring out of y/n’s eyes.

“Okay, so then tell me what you were gonna do, hm,” with his free hand, Harry grabbed y/n, pulling her behind him. She hid her face in his back and gripped his shirt in both hands, trying to focus on controlling her breathing.

“Nothing! Nothing, I swear,” he cried out.

“You swear, hm?” he let out a breathy laugh, “Why’d you wait for her, hm? Why’d you hide back there?” The boy’s mouth just opened and closed; Harry held back a laugh. “Say something, don’t be shy. You weren’t a minute ago.”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I’ll leave right now if you let me, I swear, I promise!” He began to sob.

Harry just pressed harder, “that’s not what I asked, though, is it?” The boy shook his head as best as he could, “then answer my questions.”

“I just, I wanted to see her.”

Harry laughed, “so you wanted to see her, and you couldn't have done it in a normal manner? Couldn’t have asked to hang out rather than hiding in a fucking alley waiting for her when you knew she’d be most vulnerable, fucking scum,” he spat out, inching his face closer to his.

He sobbed, “I’m so sorry.”

Harry moved the gun from his temple, but not before he pressed a little bit harder. “Get in the car,” he muttered, keeping the gun pointed at him and ushering y/n with his back towards the backseat of a black Range Rover. She opened the door and jumped in before Harry did the same. He put the gun in his holster, secured under his jacket. He looked to y/n, who was shaking in the middle seat. “You okay?” She nodded, her face down, staring at her fingers picking at a loose thread on her jeans. “I’m sorry,” Harry apologized to her, anger surged through his veins and he wished he could get out and have the opportunity to pull the trigger pointed to the back of the boy's head. The car started and pulled out of the parking lot. “We’ll take you home, I’ll send someone to stay in the general area for your safety,” she looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Okay.”

“Can you give me an address, please,” he handed the phone to her, with trembling hands she took it and typed out her address. It was a six minute walk. “How were you planning to get home?” she handed back the phone.

“I walk.”

“For every shift?” she nodded. “I don’t like that,” he admitted.

“It’s only, like, five minutes,” she shrugged, still not making eye contact.

“Still don’t like it,” he ran his hands through his hair, sighing. She picked at her nails, chewing on her bottom lip.

The drive was short, two right turns and they arrived at her apartment complex. Harry opened the door and helped her out, following her up the stairs, standing close behind her as she unlocked the door.

“It’s a little messy, sorry,” she opened the door and led him in. He stood in the entryway, taking in the details of the decorations that filled the small space (it was a small studio apartment, big enough for Y/n, but far too small for Harry). Her bed wasn’t made, with halloween sheets and decorative pillows on the floor next to the bed, and the only chair in the apartment was covered in laundry.

“It’s not bad,” he looked down at her while she gazed at him. Harry loved the way she looked at him and hated that he loved it.

“Thank you for taking me home and ya know,” she smiled at him. He nodded.

“I’ll send someone to take you to work and bring you home for the next few days, need to make sure you’re safe,” he took a deep breath in, stepping closer to her, his hand reaching up to graze her cheek, resting it as he caressed the soft skin with the pad of his thumb. He looked down at her, a glint in his eyes she couldn’t make out. His gaze shifted to her lips, his hand stilled and she tilted her head up in the slightest.

His expression changed, he removed his hand, and he stepped back. “You’ll know when they’re here. Goodnight,” and with that, he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

Her cheek felt cold.

She missed his touch.

And that would be all she thought about for the rest of the night.

troubles always gonna find you baby, but so will i.

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fics #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fanfic #harry one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry #harry styles fiction #Ethel cain

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jesswritesthat · 1 month ago

Text

Aizawa Shōta: Quirkless

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [Masterlist]

Summary: ~1k, fluff, humour

• Being a vigilante puts you on a wanted list despite your good intentions, it’s only when Erasure Head tracks you down that your life starts to change.

Warnings: Slight spoilers

>>>>——————————>

It was easy skirting the line between good and evil, by definition you were on the fence. Technically you leaned toward the underground hero side, the only issue with what you did being the fact you didn’t have a hero licence.

That’s why they’d dubbed you a vigilante.

Naturally you’d evaded the radar quite well so far, hanging up petty criminals for the police, assisting civilians during villain attacks. Heroes hadn’t the chance to catch you since you’d disappear whilst they were distracted with villain clean up, and stealth was a specialty of yours.

However if anyone was going to hunt you down, it was going to be a fellow underground hero. Unluckily (or luckily) for you, the man to succeed was Erasure Head. He came from the shadows and wasn’t very talkative but under the shimmering stars, you engaged in battle with him, dodging his weapon and physical attacks.

“I’m not the bad guy here Erasure!”

“Yet, you’re on a wanted list.”

Then it hit you, Erasure Heads' infamous gaze befell your figure and just like that your quirk would be nullified. It was supposed to stop you, prevent you from moving the way you do by erasing your speed, agility, and strength. He’d clearly researched you.

At least, it would've. If you had a quirk.

As effortlessly as before you leapt high to dodge the attack, and whilst turning upside down during the dodge came face to face with the hero. So whilst you took a mental snapshot of his surprised expression of relaxation, he was met with a proud smirk overhead.

You landed with grace, grasping a piece of the cloth in your hand with the other readied your bo staff.

“It didn’t affect you.”

“Maybe I’m immune, or it’s a range issue?” You inquired with an upbeat tone, however even through his visor, you could see him analyse you.

“No, that’s not it.”

This time you maintain eye contact, no doubt he’d figure it out your abilities were purely products of training rather than a quirk, and since he wasn’t attacking your battle was at a stalemate. You gave a light tug on the cloth, hoping it’d encourage a reaction but it wasn’t one you expected.

"You can't keep doing this." Aizawa paused, pulling down his scarf with a slight lift of his lips. "Without a licence."

"What?" The cloth slipped from your fingers, pure shock radiating your form and if he wasn’t serious he’d have taken advantage of that. The fact he remained still and folded his arms only perplexed you further.

"I understand now, without a quirk the odds of getting into any hero course are practically zero. Without that, applying for a license becomes equally as difficult." The underground hero spoke casually, and though a degree of tension had been eased, trust was elusive.

"You work out I'm quirkless and everything comes into the light huh? Although technically, because I'm quirkless, I haven't broken any unauthorised quirk use laws." You wittily replied, and for a second you thought there was amusement but he was quick to make that.

"It was the missing piece of your puzzle."

His calming tone gave you a moment to think, gaze diverted toward the concrete of the roof as you spoke with greater sincerity.

"I hope you know even if practicing without a licence is illegal, I only wanted to help others. Hitting the pro leagues is unrealistic, but an underground hero? That was obtainable if I worked hard."

Erasure Head shoved his hands in his pockets, tilting his head slightly.

"You know, with a recommendation you can take the license exam."

"Haha, and what pro in their right mind would authenticate me? I'm a vigilante in their eyes.” You laughed mockingly, grin falling short when he stepped toward you and offered out a hand.

“I’ll do it.”

The offer was ever so kind and tempting, yet you leaned forward and inspected his palm suspiciously.

“…You’re not gonna slap some handcuffs on my wrist the second I touch your hand are you?”

“Depends if you shock me with that electric device on your palm.”

Small smiles were exchanged, hand slipping into his way far too easily.

“YO YO DID YOU GET THEM?!” The voice boomed as another joined the rooftop, the eccentric man taking in the meaningful look being shared and the still intertwined hands.

“Oho you did~”

———

“AND THATS how I wingmanned Aizawa the ultimate partner.” Mic proudly finished, far too enigmatic in his retelling of the tale to Class 2-A (who you were supposed to be assisting in combat training before Mic gatecrashed).

Meanwhile yourself and Aizawa stared deadpan at the man with a neutrality that could kill.

“Get out of my class.”

“You did not wingman at all.”

Even so, your justification didn’t nullify the awed looks of a few students, nor their cooing chatter. A few knew you were quirkless anyway, but it came as a surprise considering your combat skill. Deku in particular, Mashirao and Shinsō were dedicated students to learning your martial arts.

“That’s adorable! Y’know they worked as a team for a few years, talk about date night.” Mina joyfully told Momo and Jirō, whilst Denki commented next.

“Who knew Aizawa-Sensei was so in love? Oh wait Shinsō did you know about this?”

The student in question looked just as bored as yourself and Shōta, sparing the two of you a sympathetic glance before answering.

“Yeah, I’ve spent enough time training with them to find out.”

“So what happened next?” Uraraka questioned excitedly, the rest of the class seeming to have a similar curiosity.

“Uh, well Shōta helped me apply for a license and after that I became an official underground hero.” You awkwardly replied, only to be abruptly refuted by Mina.

“Nice try (L/n)-san, but that’s not what we’re talking about.”

“That’s—“

“Your ‘serious’ Sensei caught the feels - which were reciprocated but our two lovebirds didn’t know that - and after an explosion, a giant chicken, and a kiss, the rest is history.”

“Mic.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds so strange.” You hummed thoughtfully, recalling the memory yourself and naturally it sparked questions.

“You can’t leave us hanging like that!” Denki cried, urging Present Mic for further information but alas Shōta intervened by gently sending his best friend on his way.

“Alrighty, it was solemn evening in—“

“Out! You all start sparring else I’ll expel you!”

Watching as the class hurriedly partnered up to spar, Aizawa readjusted his scarf when rejoining your side with a huff escaping him.

“He missed out the egg.”

The offhanded additions of Shōta caught you off guard but you laughed regardless, playfully slapping his shoulder.

“Oh yeah, that was my favourite part.” Despite the bemusement, he flicked to you with a challenging raised brow - and quickly you amended your statement. “Aside from the kiss of course.”

“Sure, vigilante.”

<——————————<<<<

[ Masterlist ]

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mydearestbeloved · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 9 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Jinwoo had been mulling over a simple, yet increasingly puzzling question: How does one even contact you?

Despite weeks of fighting together, not once had he taken the initiative to reach out. The strange thing? You two hadn’t even exchanged numbers. You either planned your next raid before parting ways, or—more recently—you would simply show up because of your own schedule, or a butterfly of yours would come to him first.

The answer came to him, in a way that felt both obvious and absurd. Your butterflies.

Jinwoo wasn’t one to wait idly for answers, so he decided to test his theory. Concentrating on the familiar presence of your aura, he extended his hand, replicating that feeling in his mind. Moments later, one of your butterflies—the one that often remained hidden nearby, perhaps acting as your eyes—fluttered into view, landing lightly on his open palm.

Its wings faltered slightly, as if in acknowledgment.

This might actually work.

Closing his eyes, Jinwoo focused on the connection he had felt before, the distinct feeling of the red butterfly communicating with him.

Take me to her.

He didn’t know if it would respond, but soon enough, the butterfly took off, guiding him through the city.

---

He found you in the Hunter’s Market, haggling with a merchant. You were engaged in a rather intense back-and-forth, and judging by the merchant’s begrudging look, you were winning. In your hands, Jinwoo caught sight of what looked like a dormant magic beast egg, likely the reason for the negotiation.

"You're late."

You greeted him without even turning around, continuing to inspect the wares. Jinwoo raised an eyebrow. Not even a flicker of surprise from you. It was becoming clear that not much could catch you off guard.

By now, he was getting used to your way of doing things. "I need to talk to you."

There was an unspoken understanding between you that this wasn’t a conversation for public ears.

As you continued to browse the market, you hummed in acknowledgment. "I need to talk to you about some things too. Let’s continue this conversation in my domain. I’ll be done here in a few."

Jinwoo froze, staring at your back in confusion.

“Domain?"

"Dungeon," you corrected nonchalantly, still focused on the items displayed before you, your words casual as if you were discussing the weather.

Jinwoo’s brain paused for a moment.

"You own a dungeon?"

At that, you paused, a beat of silence passing before you turned toward him with a curious tilt of your head. "Did I never mention it before?"

"..."

"Ah."

For a split second, Jinwoo had the very distinct and rare urge to pinch your cheek. But instead, he just stared, half-amused, half-incredulous. You owned a dungeon, and you were mentioning it in the most off-handed way possible.

Of course, you would be the kind of person to forget to bring up owning something like that.

And just like that, another piece of the puzzle that was you fell into place, though Jinwoo knew he had only barely scratched the surface.

---

Jinwoo couldn't help but feel a rising sense of disbelief as he followed you into the alley. He had barely come to terms with the revelation that you owned a dungeon. Even now, he had to force himself to stop asking questions before they overwhelmed him.

He kept telling himself, Stay calm. Just get to a private place. Ask your questions there.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, a glowing portal materialized in front of them with a soft hum. Jinwoo froze mid-step, his eyes widening. The gate was far smaller than the typical ones he had encountered, just big enough to fit a full-grown adult comfortably—yet there was no mistaking it for anything but a dungeon gate. The shimmering silver-white wisps that surrounded it were unlike any other, almost blending with rainbow-like accents at the edges. It looked... strange, subdued compared to the usual ethereal blues and reds, but somehow still powerful.

It was just his luck.

Jinwoo had been trying to push the thousand and one questions flooding his mind to the back of his thoughts, but now, they came rushing back in full force. He glanced at you, but you didn’t even seem phased by the sudden appearance of the portal. Instead, you waved him forward, as if portals and dungeons appeared in alleyways every day.

He hesitated for a split second but, deciding it was better to follow your lead than be left behind in confusion, he stepped forward, his senses alert. The instant he crossed the threshold of the gate, everything seemed to shift. The world around him blurred for a second before stabilizing again, and he found himself standing in a vast open temple-like structure.

It was nothing like the harsh, ominous dungeons he’d been to before.

The structure was grand, with high ceilings and pillars that seemed to stretch endlessly upwards. The atmosphere had an air of serenity to it, something so starkly different from what he expected when entering a dungeon. But it didn’t end there. As he followed you forward, stepping through what looked like the entrance of a colossal, ancient temple, Jinwoo’s gaze was drawn outward.

The view beyond the floating temple was breathtaking.

The sight was nothing short of a dreamscape. Lush forests and vast gardens stretched far beyond what the eye could see. Gentle rivers meandered through valleys, their sparkling waters catching the sunlight. Towering, misty mountains loomed in the distance, and there were labyrinthine paths that seemed to lead into hidden areas, mysterious domed structures rising proudly in the distance. The land appeared to have been untouched by time, ancient and majestic in its quiet beauty.

It felt more like a paradise than any dungeon Jinwoo had ever seen.

This is a dungeon?

"I know, right?" you spoke, breaking his thoughts, your voice playful. "Trust me, the first time I got here, I thought I was dead and that this was paradise."

Jinwoo’s eyes flicked to you in surprise.

But you continued walking calmly ahead without a glance back, seeming completely at ease, at home.

This place, this dungeon, was a paradox. It was both beautiful and dangerous, serene and lethal. As you moved forward, he couldn’t help but make comparisons. It reminded him of the butterflies—so ethereal, so delicate, yet with a deadly bite.

Like you, Jinwoo realized.

As if sensing his thoughts, you shot him a brief glance over your shoulder. Your eyes caught his for a moment before you turned back ahead, leading him forward through the landscape. Jinwoo shook his head, his thoughts momentarily swirling. But something made him froze in his steps.

He watched you from behind, the soft fluttering of butterflies surrounding you, some of them trailing closely behind, others flitting about aimlessly.

One butterfly, the familiar red one, fluttered close to you and landed delicately on your finger. You brought it up to your lips and kissed it gently, a soft, quiet action that felt impossibly tender.

Divine.

Jinwoo couldn’t help but wonder again, and for some reason, his pulse quickened. But, before he could dwell too much on his absurd thoughts, he shook his head and hurried to catch up with you.

---

The two of you continued walking until you reached a beautiful outdoor gazebo. The serene atmosphere of the garden, complete with a quiet pond surrounded by vibrant flowers, made it feel just like the rest of this space shouldn’t had been, a paradise. The soft trickle of water from nearby waterfalls added to the peaceful ambiance. On the table in front of the gazebo, there was tea and snacks laid out, ready for the conversation he knew he had to have with you.

Jinwoo sat down across from you, his mind buzzing with questions. He had so many things he wanted to know, and yet, he wasn’t sure where to start.

You, on the other hand, took a sip of your tea, completely at ease, before setting it down. You studied him quietly for a moment, perhaps waiting for him to speak first.

It took a moment, but Jinwoo finally asked, "This place... this dungeon. How did you come to own it?"

You sighed, leaning back in your chair, looking out over the garden for a moment as if gathering your thoughts. "Ah, yes. The story of how I got this place. It’s not simple, but I suppose I owe you an explanation."

You paused, seeming to gather yourself. "The truth is, this dungeon was here long before I ever arrived. In fact, I... was lost here when I was a child."

Jinwoo blinked, surprised. You—lost?

You continued, seemingly unfazed by his reaction. "I was barely a teen when I stumbled into it. The Trial System... it didn’t exactly help me, if you know what I mean. But it gave me a challenge I couldn’t ignore. To leave this place, I had to defeat the dungeon’s guardians."

Guardians? Bosses? Multiple?

You caught his gaze, raising an eyebrow as if to ask if that was a question. Jinwoo didn’t say anything, but his mind whirled. It was clear that this place wasn’t like any other dungeon he’d ever encountered.

"So, how did you own it?" he asked, his voice quieter now, as if trying to make sense of this all.

“The Trial System gave it to me as a... reward, I guess,” you said, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It’s mine now, in every sense of the word. And because I own it, I can summon it whenever I need to. I can open a portal to it and leave at will." You looked at him, eyes gleaming. "That’s how I was able to summon that gate earlier. It’s a... special gift."

Jinwoo absorbed the information, slowly piecing it together. "So, you can teleport anywhere?”

“Not exactly, I need to have a clear picture of where I want to go." You shrugged nonchalantly.

Jinwoo exhaled sharply, his thoughts swirling. As much as he wanted to ask more—wanted to demand answers—he felt something within him pull him back. This was your secret to reveal, in your own time.

So, instead of questioning you further, he allowed himself a moment of quiet contemplation. You seemed to know what he was thinking. With a soft smile, you raised your cup again and said, "I don’t mind sharing more, Jinwoo. But just know, some things are better left unsaid.”

Jinwoo nodded, his gaze lingering on you. He would get the answers he was looking for, one way or another. But for now, he would have to trust you—because there was no other choice.

---

Jinwoo stared at you, completely flabbergasted, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You have to what now?"

You sighed, sinking a bit deeper into the seat of the gazebo, as if this whole conversation were some kind of exhausting memory you'd rather not dig up. "I have to level up my skills manually. Yes. Manually."

You could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to wrap his mind around it. "Wait, so… no shortcuts? No automatic leveling?"

"None." You let out a dramatic groan, leaning back and stretching your arms out. "The system basically made me work my way up through blood, sweat, and endless labor. You’d think the trial version would offer at least some quality-of-life updates, but nope. If I wanted to get better at farming, I had to actually go out and till the fields. If I wanted to improve cooking… yeah, let’s just say that was a nightmare."

Jinwoo blinked, half in shock, half in amusement. "Wait… so, all those skills that the system grants—crafting, mining, cooking—you had to actually do all those things?"

"Yep," you replied, with a roll of your eyes. "No instant boosts for me. While you get to succeed or fail with crafting based on your intelligence stat, I actually had to sit down and grind every skill point myself. And, of course, I started off just as badly as you’d expect.”

He tried to picture it and stifled a laugh. "So you’re telling me… you burned a boiled egg?”

"Listen," you huffed, giving him an exasperated look. "It was the lowest-level cooking skill, okay? Apparently, it was so low that I couldn't even be trusted to make something as simple as a boiled egg. Somehow, it just… burned." You buried your face in your hands, grumbling, "It’s still a mystery to me how boiling water and an egg turned into charcoal. But that was my life. Trial version for the win."

Jinwoo couldn’t hold back his laugh anymore, and the sound of it filled the air, rich and full of genuine amusement. "You? Burning an egg? You?"

"Hey, don’t laugh! It’s not funny," you protested and pouted at him. "Let’s just say I made my fair share of… tragic cooking attempts before my skill level got high enough to handle basic meals without a disaster."

You watched him try to stifle his laughter, but your own lips twitched, betraying a smile as well. "And it wasn’t just cooking," you added. "Farming was another story. I didn’t even know the basics—soil preparation, crop rotation, pest control. Do you have any idea how long it took me to produce anything that wasn't... wilted? Even mining was brutal. There I was, chipping away with an old pickaxe for hours just to get a sliver of ore."

He shook his head, still grinning. "Looks like you went through your own personal training arc as well."

"Of course I do." you agreed with a snort. "If the system hadn’t taken feedback from me eventually, you’d be the one cursing it out every time you tried to do something simple. But yeah, thankfully, the system decided to cut you a break. Guess my suffering counted for something, after all."

You straightened in your seat and took a sip of your tea, a satisfied smirk crossing your face. "But at least, once I got a skill to a decent level, it stayed there. Permanent. I don’t have to touch a frying pan for years, and the skill level’s still as good as ever. And the skills I invested in heavily—those have even broader effects."

Jinwoo’s brow furrowed, curious now. "Broader effects?"

You nodded, glancing up thoughtfully as if reliving memories. "Take my language skill, for example. I leveled it up while studying Monster Tongue, which was excruciating at first. But once I maxed out that skill, learning other languages was a breeze. The system gave me a boost, kind of like an automatic enhancement for anything similar. If I tried learning another language now, it’d be easy compared to when I first started out.”

He gave a low whistle. "So basically, the more you leveled up, the easier it became to learn things related to that skill?"

"Exactly." You placed your cup back on the saucer with a gentle clink. "Though there’s a catch. Back then, whenever the system went through an update, some skills would get expanded. The cap would get set higher, and I’d have to grind all over again to max them out."

You gave him a look of exasperation. "Imagine maxing out a skill only for the system to update and say, 'Hey, you can go up to Level 50 now instead of 30!' That happened so many times, I lost count."

Jinwoo leaned back, his expression growing more serious. "So… what happens now? Are you stuck with your current stats forever?"

You took a slow breath, letting the question sink in before nodding. "That’s exactly it. Since the trial stage ended when you became the player, there haven’t been any more updates. My levels, skills, and stats… they’re frozen as they are. I can’t adjust my stats, I can’t level anything up, that’s why I don’t get EXP anymore. It’s like I’m in a kind of… stasis."

He was silent for a moment, digesting the weight of that statement. It was strange to think that someone with as much knowledge and power as you would be… limited.

"I still have everything I gained during the trial, of course," you continued, your tone turning thoughtful as you gazed out over the garden. "But it’s a strange feeling, knowing that I’ll never improve again. All my stats, skills, and levels are frozen in time. There’s no ‘growth’ anymore—not like what you have."

Jinwoo frowned. "And that doesn’t bother you?"

You shrugged, meeting his eyes again. "It did, at first. But after a while, I came to terms with it. I put in the effort back then, and I reaped the rewards. Sure, I miss the feeling of progress, of leveling up. But the fact that you’re the player now means the system’s finished with me." You managed a smile, though it was a bit bittersweet.

He looked at you, quiet for a moment, perhaps feeling a hint of the sacrifice you'd made just for the sake of his journey.

"So now," you said, breaking the silence with a brighter tone, "I’m basically a living relic of the trial version, here to help you navigate the system’s quirks."

Jinwoo smirked at that. "The legendary burnt-egg chef, my official guide through the system."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "That title better not stick." Then, with a playful nudge of your cup in his direction, you raised an eyebrow. "And hey, if I’m going to help you, maybe you could use a few pointers. Starting with, oh, I don’t know… naming tips? You’re downright horrible at that."

The two of you shared a look, both of you smiling. And despite the strange circumstances, Jinwoo knew he was glad to have you by his side, guiding him, burnt eggs and all.

[Oh, he’ll not let that go, will he?]

“And whose fault do you think that is?”

---

"The meals with healing properties, the intricate mana stones, and how your butterflies can affect my daggers' stats... So that's why..." Jinwoo trailed off, connecting the dots.

You nodded, munching on a biscuit. "Mhm, pretty much. Since I have to actually *learn* the fundamentals of each skill, I can manipulate and craft related items more easily. It makes altering, replicating, or even making things from scratch a lot more natural."

You paused, reflecting for a moment before continuing, "It’s a blessing that the last system update allowed me to max out certain skills to the point where I can do these things in reality without relying solely on the system."

You brushed the crumbs from your fingers and leaned back, satisfied. "Anyway, that's all I wanted to tell you. Now, what is it you wanted to say?"

Jinwoo took a deep breath, locking eyes with you. "Join me for a week."

"...Eh?"

Without a word, he held up an item—a key.

<Castle Door Key>.

It was the entry to the Demon Castle, the S-rank dungeon created by the system itself.

"There’s no rule saying I can’t bring someone with me. You don’t gain any more experience, so there’s nothing for me to lose. But you might get materials you won’t find anywhere else, not even in the hunter's market—"

"I refuse."

Jinwoo blinked, surprised. "What?"

You looked away, your mind racing. The offer was tempting—you had several experiments in mind, but there was too much at stake. There were bigger forces at play—the plot, the system's interference, and Jinwoo's crucial development. You couldn’t afford to be too involved in this one. You needed a good excuse, something he would believe.

"Jinwoo," you began, "you’re aware of my powers' limitations, right?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"Listen." Your voice, suddenly sharp, cut through the air, and Jinwoo froze.

For the first time, Jinwoo felt uneasy, confused, like he had said something wrong. He didn’t like the shift in your demeanor, especially when it was directed at him.

"'Demon' Castle," you continued, your tone softer but firm, "just by the name alone, we can assume the majority, if not half, of enemies there will be undead."

"..."

"My powers thrive off life. In an essentially ‘dead’ land, I’ll be at a severe disadvantage—"

"I'll protect you."

"And that’s exactly the problem. I’ll be a deadweight."

"Just focus on supporting me and my shadows."

You stared at him, the determination in his eyes unwavering. He was serious—dead serious.

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache coming on. "You’re really persistent."

"I know," he replied, not once backing down.

You exhaled, resigned. Deep down, you knew that continuing to refuse him would lead to something far more troublesome. There was no winning against Jinwoo when he was this determined. "Alright," you finally said, "I’ll join you. But if things go south, you have to trust me to pull back. Understood?"

As if you could leave him, the nagging thought echoed in your mind.

Jinwoo’s gaze softened slightly, and a small, rare smile crept onto his lips. "Understood."

You only hoped that the system wouldn’t interfere or cause any unexpected complications this time. But one question remained: why was Jinwoo so insistent on bringing you along, despite the risks?

Unbeknownst to you, Jinwoo was asking himself the same thing. But it was something he wasn’t quite ready to admit—not to you, and perhaps not even to himself.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [023/10/2024] -

The middle part of this, the convo between Jinwoo and (Name) feels a bit weird, so I apologize for the OOC-ness. I'll come back to this later.

#solo leveling #solo leveling imagine #solo leveling x reader #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x reader #yandere sung jinwoo #only i level up #solo leveling jinwoo #fanfic #fanfiction #solo leveling fanfic #sung jin woo #fem reader #x reader #reader insert

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help-itrappedmyself · 11 months ago

Text

Summoning Game Show Part 4

Masterpost

Look. I don't know how to write a sword fight and if I tried this part wouldn't be coming out for a month. So here's this and if I ever do write the sword fight I'll shove it in as part 4.5 or something.

~~~~~

Turns out that Fright Knight bleeds green. Weird. It had taken a moment, both of the fighters taking the time to get to know their opponent before truly engaging in the fight. But after the fight had well and truly started, it hadn’t lasted long. Damian had quickly taken advantage of his speed and the fact that Fright Knight was clearly not used to being limited by gravity.

“So the puzzle currently stands with four letters showing.” Danny gestured as the screen reappeared.

“For winning against Fright Knight, what letter would you like to guess?” Danny asks Damian, who has returned his borrowed sword and is now standing back on the stage.

“I choose the letter O.” Damian’s quick with his answer.

“An amazing choice, Robin. There is an O!”Danny waves his hand and the screen changes.

“The next game is a race! You can pick how you want to race from: bike race, flying race... Can any of you fly?” Danny’s face scrunches slightly as they all answer no. “Apologies, your options are bike race or swim race!”

“Nobody is swimming in radioactive substances!” Nightwing interjects.

“Bike race it is!” Danny agrees cheerfully. “Who will our biker be?”

Tim and Jason turn to look at each other. “Look, if it’s between the two of us to do the brain puzzle at the end, I think we all want that to be you.” Jason states. “Let me take this one.”

Tim nods and Jason stands up. “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful! You’ll be racing Johnny.” Danny says. “Skulker will be playing defense.”

They are approached by a blond man wearing driving gloves.

“Wait, defense on a race?” Jason asks.

“Yeah, his goal will be to try and let no one win!” Danny is getting very excited. “He makes his own weapons, so I asked him to make some traps and things for this, he was excited to be able to participate.”

Danny jumps off the podium, but floats gently down until he’s next to Johnny, but now his forn doesn’t have any feet, just a wispy tail. Then waves for Jason to join them. As Jason is walking over someone with flames for hair wearing a lot of metal floated past through a door that said 3. Danny noticed Jason’s eye tracking him.

“That was Skulker. He’s going to set up the racetrack. Now we need to go to the garage so you can pick out your bike!” Danny starts walking over to yet another door. “Johnny will be on his usual bike, but you can pick whichever you want out of these.” Danny opened the door and flung it open for Jason, who stood still in the doorway.

“These are all motorcycles.” Jason muttered.

“Well, yeah.”

“Is that a problem?” Johnny asks.

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “I had thought bicycles when I heard bike race, but this works out great.”

Jason goes and looks around at all the bikes, they had a large selection.

“Johnny, remember to keep Shadow in line. I know he’ll want to ride with you because it’ll be fun and everything, but he is not to interfere with the race.”

Johnny nods. “You got it. I’ll make he sure he doesn’t do anything.”

“Good! When Jason is done grabbing his bike, get yours too and I’ll meet you outside room 3!”

Johnny starts walking over to help Jason pick out a bike and Danny heads back into the main room. He floats up to the stands to talk to a few people, then floats back down to the podium and lands on it with two feet again.

“We’ll be watching from here.” Danny tells the boys, who had huddled together sometime while he was gone.

Skulker comes back out of room 3 and heads over to Danny. “Got everything set up.”

“Nothing lethal? You remember that one of them is mostly human, not ghost. He will actually be hurt if you go too far.”

“Mostly?” Tim mouths at Dick. Dick shrugs.

“Got it covered. Non-lethal weaponry, and set up some road hazards.”

Danny nods and Skulker heads back through door number 3, as Johnny and Jason leave the garage, both pushing bikes next to them.

Danny heads over to lead them to the track and get them set up at the starting line.

The room is large, with what looks like three separate zones and the track looks like it’s made of glass, reflecting as green as almost everything else in the Infinite Realms. The first zone looks like a mountain, with the track starting on ground level and going up in winding circular trails up and around the mountain before heading back down. Then there’s a quick jump in it, a ramp leading to a gap in the track, which separates the zones. Zone Two looks like a series of mounds, or small hills like a dirt racing track, some grassy, some muddy, some sandy, all sure to make driving difficult. Another jump leads into Zone Three which looks like a cityscape. There are many different paths you can take through it but you have to go around buildings and what looks like fake traffic.

Johnny and Hood get the bikes set up at the starting line while Danny starts explaining.

“You have to go through all three zones, but the actual paths you take are pretty optional so long as you go through all of them in order. The first zone really only has one path, but the second one has some splits and the third is almost a maze, so you wont get penalized or anything for going down different streets or anything. Main points are you make it up and down the mountain, through the hills, and across the city. If you crash or skid, or Skulker gets you, you are free to keep going so long as you are uninjured.”

Danny then goes back to the podium and gets the screen up and ready to begin.

#batman #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #fanfiction #my writing #jason todd #red hood #skulker #johnny 13 #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #alternate universe #dp x dc crossover

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justlemmeadoreyou · 11 months ago

Text

Serendipity*

Summary-Harry meets you at the most unexpected of places, and helps you like a knight in a wedding suit. It all starts at your best friend's wedding, where you find yourself in a predicament without an escort. As panic sets in, Harry appears, sent by the groom's brother to fill in as your last-minute companion. From that moment, a serendipitous connection begins to bloom between you both.

Words: 5k

Warnings: LOVE! SO MUCH LOVE AND SWEETNESS AND SOFTNESS IN THIS ONE! BUT ALSO-kissing, bathing together, p in v sex, a bit of cursing, loads of fluff.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

You stood in the bridal suite, your best friend Amelia bustling around in her stunning wedding gown. The room was a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, joy, and a hint of nervousness. It was her big day, and you couldn't have been happier for her.

Months of planning had led to this moment, and you had been Ame’s right-hand woman every step of the way. The dress, the flowers, the decorations—you had been there for it all. Today was the culmination of her dreams, and you were thrilled to witness her marry the love of her life.

As the time for the ceremony approached, you could feel your heart beating faster. You had the honor of being her maid of honor, and you couldn't wait to stand by her side as she walked down the aisle. But there was one small hiccup—the absence of your escort.

Panic set in as you looked around the room, realizing that you were missing the crucial piece of the bridal party puzzle. "Where's my escort?" you asked, your voice betraying the tension building inside you.

Ames looked at you with concern. "What do you mean? Did something happen to your partner? He was supposed to be here long ago–"

Your mind raced, trying to figure out a solution. The best man was missing. Great. Now, you were left without a partner, the groom was left without the best man, and the thought of walking down the aisle alone made your stomach churn.

You fiddled with your fingers, heart throbbing in your chest as your mind reeled. This was a disaster. So many people couldn’t make it–most of them were supposed to be there for backup if anything bad happened and now, along with them,–your escort was missing too. You were beginning to think if you were the bad luck here.

“I’ll see if someone else is willing, the guests are already out there and I’ll look like a moron but I will–” you rambled, sweat forming on your forehead. This was a bad habit of yours. Panicking so much that you wore yourself down, and if you didn’t breathe and relax, your makeup and hair would be ruined and–

Just as you were about to leave the room in a haste, the door knocked. You all looked at each other with curious gazes, oblivious to who it was.

“Who is that? All of us are here and maybe it’s your dad–”

You stood by the door, taking a deep breath, preparing yourself to explain it all in case they ask what is taking so long.

But, as you opened the door, you opened it slightly, just in case it was the groom, Eddie.

To your surprise, it was someone else–someone you haven't met before. He was sharply dressed, suit and all, piercing green eyes looking straight into yours.

“I’m sorry-I don’t know you” you asked, and he smiled.

“I’m Harry. I’m a friend of Amelia’s brother. Your escort wasn’t here and Eddie was freaking out, so he sent me here”

You searched his eyes, and they were so calm, so soft. Your heartbeat began to steady, and you walked out of the door, closing it shut, even though it was time.

“You’re sure you won’t mind? Or you're not taken by someone else?”

He chuckled, a sound that you know you will be longing to hear once again.

“No-I’m not taken by someone else. That’s why I came here. To help you in case you need it. What’s your good name?”

You were lost in the way his lips moved as he talked, completely phasing out and not listening to a word he said. God, he was so pretty.

“Hello?” he asked once again, completely aware of how your gaze was fixated on him. He couldn’t lie, he knew he looked irresistible. But the way you were ogling him in the time of crisis–it was something he hadn’t seen before.

“Hello” he said again, waving his hand over your face to obstruct your view, and that’s what broke your gaze. You blinked rapidly, mumbling “Sorry” before asking him what he said.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/n. But–what about the best man?”

“I am the best man. It was supposed to be Archie, I know. But this wedding was a last minute plan and he’s drunk as hell right now in Vegas.”

“Oh God. I told them not to get married one week after the proposal. But who would listen to me? I’m just the maid of honor after all. I swear if anything, anything happens, I will–” You were stopped by him, as he said, “Y/n. The wedding”

“Yeah. sorry”

You pulled the door back open, Ames coming out, and Harry fawned over how perfect she looked. He was like a brother to her, and you never met this gorgeous, gorgeous man till now. How?

Her father came soon, ready to walk her down the aisle.

You look at her one last time, her face glowing and so, so pretty. Her hair, the dress, the veil–it’s all so perfect.

“Let’s walk you down the aisle.”

>>>

As you made your way down the aisle, all eyes were on you and Harry. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, but Harry's hand on your arm gave you the confidence to keep walking with your head held high.

You could see Amelia and her soon-to-be husband at the end of the aisle, both looking nervous and excited. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of them, knowing how much they loved each other. The priest stood behind them , ready to commence the wedding.

As you reached the altar, Harry stepped aside and you took your place next to Amelia. The ceremony began and you couldn't help but feel emotional as you watched your best friend exchange vows with the love of her life. The rings were exchanged, and kisses and promises were made. It was the perfect wedding that she had planned, and you were so glad you would make it happen for her in such short notice.

During the reception, Harry proved to be the perfect replacement for the missing best man. He made everyone laugh with his witty jokes and kept the party going with his dance moves. After the dance of the bride and groom, everyone was slow dancing–even your father and mother, and they looked so cute together.

You were sitting by one of the tables, sipping water and looking at them all.

Harry appeared beside you, letting you finish up your water, before looking down at you, offering you his hand, “Can I have a dance?” he asked.

You smiled, wiping some of the drops from your lips carefully, and nodding happily.

“I would love to dance with you, Harry”

You held his hand and got up, letting him lead you to the dance floor. Once you stood in front of each other, you instinctively placed your arm on his shoulder, his coming to rest on your waist. You both held each other’s hands then–intertwining your fingers, and they fit so perfectly.

As the music started to play, you could feel Harry’s body moving in sync with yours. He led you gracefully around the dance floor, his steps confident and smooth.

You couldn’t help but admire his movements, the way he effortlessly glided across the floor.

“You’re a fantastic dancer, Y/N” Harry whispered in your ear, making you blush at the praise.

“Thank you, but I think you’re the one making me look good,” you replied, teasingly. He chuckled, spinning you around before pulling you back into his arms. Your chests collided, and you looked up at him, getting lost in his piercing green eyes.

“You know, I could get used to dancing with you like this” Harry said, his voice low and husky, his words meant for your ears only. You couldn’t resist the urge to press your body closer to his, feeling the heat radiating between the two of you.

“I could too” you breathed out, feeling your heart flutter at the intense gaze he was giving you. The two of you continued to dance, your bodies moving fluidly together as if you were one. You could feel the music pulsing through your veins, heightening every touch and every movement.

As the song came to an end, Harry pulled you into a gentle embrace, his hand caressing your back soothingly.

“That was amazing, Y/N” he said, his voice full of admiration.

“I couldn’t agree more, '' you replied, a smile spreading across your face, and a blush spread across your cheeks.

As the night went on, you and Harry found ourselves lost in each other's company. You talked about everything and anything, laughing and sharing stories. You found yourself enjoying his company more and more as the night went on. He was charming, funny, and easy to talk to. You couldn't believe you had just met him today.

But as the night came to an end, it was time for the bride and groom to leave. You both rushed back to the reception, saying your goodbyes to them before they left.

But before, it was time for her to toss the bouquet.

Everyone cheered as she came into view, holding the bouquet as all the single girls gathered behind her, ready to catch it and be the next to marry. You didn’t have a boyfriend, but you wanted to be there for her.

"Alright, here goes nothing!" Amelia exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

As the bouquet soared through the air, you watched in amazement, hardly daring to believe her luck. In a surreal moment, the bouquet seemed to be heading directly towards you, almost as if guided by fate itself. Without even consciously trying, your hands instinctively reached out, and to your astonishment, you felt the soft petals and stems of the bouquet in your grasp.

Gasps of surprise echoed around the room as you stood there, stunned, clutching the bouquet tightly to your chest. You quickly glanced around, wide-eyed, as the other girls congratulated you with genuine smiles, though perhaps tinged with a hint of envy.

Amelia, the radiant bride, beamed at you, her eyes shining with joy. "Looks like someone's next in line for love!" she teased, her voice filled with excitement.

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a rush of happiness and disbelief wash over you. "I-I can't believe it! And I don’t even have a boyfriend" you stammered, voice shaky and still in shock from the unexpected turn of events.

Soon, it was time for them to leave, and as Ames and Eddie said their goodbyes, kissing and laughing as they sat in the car, ready to leave.

You hugged her for one last time, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Pulling back, he pulled her back, and they both got in the car, driving away.

It was all like a dream. A perfect dream that had come true.

You were happy, smiling as you watched their car disappear into the darkness, and it was after a while that you realized you had lost harry.

Panic started to set in as you searched every corner of the reception hall, but Harry was nowhere to be found. You asked around, but no one had seen him. Just as you were about to give up and accept that you had lost him, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you saw Harry standing there with a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry, I got lost in the crowd, and then some girl came to talk to me, and I think she was trying to get my number, but I shrugged her off. I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to you,” he said, his eyes full of sincerity.

Relief flooded through you as he pulled you into a tight hug. “I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to you either,” you replied, hugging him back just as tightly. It was instinct, and none of you cared that you had hugged.

Pulling back, you stared into each other’s eyes for a moment too long. You wanted to say something, wanted to ask him if he was taken, but you were scared.

He definitely was taken. A charming British man who looked so good, made you laugh and was so perfect.

So, you decided to shrug it off, the feeling of wanting to hold him once again, pulling at the strings of your heart. He was perfect, so perfect. And so dreamy.

“So–you shrugged off a girl?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood, and to dissipate the thick tension in the air between you two.

“Oh–yeah” he chuckled, one which you were maybe hearing for the last time.

“Yeah, so was being a bit touchy, and I was uncomfortable, so I told her. And–then she asked for my number, so-”

“So?”

“I said no”

“Because–you’re seeing someone? Because if you’re not, that was kinda stupid–I think. Weddings are real meet-cutes.” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

“No–uh, um, I’m not seeing someone, it’s just–I didn’t want her number. I–I wanted yours.”

The words hit you like a brick wall. You were not expecting him to say that. The girl who approached him was probably pretty, and definitely prettier than you. Then why did he say no to her, and yes to you?

“Me–cool cool cool cool cool” you stammered, and looked down, blushing and having no idea what to say next.

He sensed your dilemma, and held your hand in his.

“Y/n–please, look at me”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to. He was so pretty and so perfect and here he was, standing in front of you, asking for your number after rejecting someone else.

And you knew, if you looked up, you would definitely fall in love with him.

Harry waited for you to look up at him, and when you didn’t, he lifted his right hand, holding your chin softly and lifting your face up, making you look into his eyes.

And it was over for you. You fell for him.

“Y/n–I really like you. And what we shared today–the dance, the talks, the laughs–it was so perfect. You’re so perfect. And I didn’t talk to that girl or dance or laugh with her. I did all that with you. And–I think I’ve fallen for you”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you choked out a laugh. It was so unexpected, but it felt like it was meant to be. His hand was in yours, and he was holding it with so much promise. And on your other hand, was the bouquet. A promise.

“Y/n–will you go on a date with me?” he asked, and you nodded immediately, wiping a stray tear that had fallen on your cheeks. You immediately pulled him in for a hug, holding him close tightly, never wanting to let go.

>>>

Your first date was a week later.

Harry called you to his house, and he had texted you his address. He didn’t say what he had planned for tonight. He wanted it to be a surprise, and you knew it would be beautiful.

As you arrived at Harry's house, your heart fluttered with anticipation. You had no idea what he had planned for tonight, but you knew it would be something special, just like him. Stepping out of your car, you made your way to his front door, excitement bubbling inside you.

Harry greeted you with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he led you inside. "I'm so glad you're here," he said, taking your hand in his. "I've got something amazing planned for us tonight."

You couldn't help but smile back, feeling a rush of excitement coursing through your veins. "I can't wait to see what you've come up with," you replied, your heart pounding with anticipation.

After a quick drive, you arrived at a secluded spot far from the city lights, where the stars shone brightly overhead. The air was crisp and cool, and the sound of laughter and music filled the night.

"What is this place?" you asked, gazing around in wonder at the vibrant scene before you.

Harry grinned, his eyes dancing with excitement. "It's a lantern festival," he explained, looking so happy. "I thought it would be the perfect setting for our first date."

You felt a surge of delight at the sight of the colorful lanterns lighting up the night sky. "It's incredible," you exclaimed, taking in the festive atmosphere around you.

As you wandered through the festival, hand in hand with Harry, you felt a sense of peace and contentment wash over you. Everywhere you looked, couples and families were gathered together, laughing and enjoying each other's company.

"We should release a lantern," Harry suggested, his eyes shining with excitement. "But what should we write on it?"

You paused for a moment, pondering the question. And then, a smile spreads across your face as an idea forms in your mind. "How about our initials?" you suggested, squeezing Harry's hand gently.

He smiled back at you, his eyes soft with affection. "I love that idea," he replied, pulling you close for a hug.

Together, you made your way to the lantern station, where a kind elderly man handed you a lantern and a marker.

“This is so beautiful, Harry. Thank you for this” you thanked him, as he, with trembling hands, wrote your initials on the surface of the lantern. He smiled at you, finishing it up, and taking your hand once again, ready to light it up and set it afloat.

You reached the top of the hill, heart pounding in your chest as you stopped. He held the lantern, and you carefully lit the matchstick, lighting the tiny wick under it on fire.

With Harry by your side, you watched as the lantern soared gracefully into the air, its soft glow illuminating the darkness around you.

After that, there was a second date. And then a third, after which, you both started dating.

It was at dinner at a restaurant, and he had specifically naked you to dress up for it. You knew he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. But that didn’t help calm your nerves.

You had worn a red dress, one that you had bought a long time ago. It still fits you well, and you couldn’t wait for Harry to see you in this.

As you stepped into the restaurant, your heart raced with anticipation. The soft glow of candlelight danced across the elegant dining room, casting a warm and intimate atmosphere.

Harry's eyes lit up as he saw you, dressed in the red dress you had carefully chosen for this occasion. "Wow," he breathed, his gaze lingering on you, for a moment too long. That was exactly what you had wished when you put it on.

"You look absolutely stunning." he complimented, finally lifting his gaze from the dress and bringing it to your face.

A blush crept onto your cheeks as you took in his handsome appearance as well, dressed in a sharp suit that accentuated his strong features. "Thank you," you replied, smiling shyly. "You don't look too bad yourself."

As you settled into your seats, the air crackled with anticipation. Harry reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "I wanted tonight to be special," he began, his voice soft and earnest. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you."

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze, sensing the gravity of his words. "What is it?" you asked, barely able to contain your excitement.

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes shining with emotion. "I've enjoyed every moment we've spent together, and ‘m really happy when I’m with you," he confessed. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, Harry, yes!" you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him in a tight embrace.

He pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss that sent sparks flying. The world fell away as you melted into each other, lost in the sweetness of the moment.

After dinner, you made your way back to Harry's place, the anticipation building with each step. As you entered his apartment, the air hummed with electricity, charged with the promise of what was to come.

You kissed each other, hands pulling at each other’s clothes and pulling them off. You reached the bedroom, laughing and giggling,and locking the door.

You stood in front of Harry, your hands running down his chest, you couldn't help but admire the muscles that rippled beneath his skin. His hands traced the curves of your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze filled with adoration.

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, a shy smile forming on your lips. “And you're so handsome,” you replied, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

His lips were soft and warm against yours, moving in perfect sync as your tongues danced together. You could feel the heat building between your bodies, the need for each other growing with each passing moment.

As you broke apart, gasping for air, Harry's hands moved down to your hips, pulling you closer to him. “I want you,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

You nodded, your own need for him evident in the way your body pressed against his. He led you to the bedroom, your hands never leaving each other's bodies. As you entered the room, the soft glow of candles greeted you, casting a warm light on the bed.

Harry gently pushed you down onto the soft sheets, his lips trailing down your neck as he peppered kisses along your skin. “You're so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his hands caressing every inch of your body.

You moaned at his touch, the sensations overwhelming you. His lips moved down to your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple before sucking it gently into his mouth. Your back arched off the bed, your fingers tangling in his hair as you let out a soft moan.

He moved lower, his lips leaving a trail of fire down your stomach. Your breath hitched as he reached your core, his tongue tracing circles around your clit. You let out a low moan, your hips moving in rhythm with his mouth.

“Harry,” you gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets as he continued to pleasure you. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire as he added a finger inside you, making you cry out in pleasure. His finger was moving so well, hitting all the right spots.

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with need. “I'm going to come,” you moaned, your fingers tightening in his hair.

As you reached your peak, Harry's lips never leaving your body, you let out a cry of pleasure, your body shaking with ecstasy. He crawled back up to you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss, his hand moving to pleasure you once again.

As he entered you, your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the pleasure coursing through every inch of your being. Your moans filled the room, mixing with Harry's as your bodies moved as one.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he approached his own climax.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice filled with emotion as you reached your peak together, your bodies trembling with pleasure.

You lay in each other’s arms, breathing ragged, but bodies satisfied and contented. He pulled you close, kissing your forehead and cheeks, making you feel so pretty.

“We should clean up. Have a bath with me?” he asked after a moment or so, and you nodded. He pulled you close, but your legs were like jello, so he lifted you up like a koala, and carried you to the bathroom, making you sit on the toilet seat in case you wanted to pee, and went to get the shower ready.

You both cleaned each other. Blowing bubbles and suds, throwing water at each other, gigging, and so happy.

You threw some water at him, and a bit of soap got in his eyes. You panicked, immediately running the tap again and helping him wash it.

“Oh fuck—I’m sorry, Harry–I dodn’t mean to, I was just playing, are you alright?”

He started giggling, throwing his arms at his chest and laughing at you like you were a clown.

“Ahhh” you yelled, throwing water at him again, and yelling at him for making you scared. He pulled you close once again, kissing your mouth as you lay in there for what felt like hours.

>>>

The next few months of your relationship were a blur, each moment with Harry feeling like a dream come true. You both were incredibly compatible, sharing laughter, adventures, and countless memories together. But just as your love was blossoming, a job opportunity arose for Harry – one that would take him to another state for a year.

At first, the news felt like a punch to the gut. The thought of being apart from Harry filled you with an overwhelming sense of sadness and uncertainty. But as you talked it over with him, you realized that this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. It was a chance for him to advance in his career, to chase his dreams, and you couldn't be prouder of him.

So, you made a promise to each other – to make the most of the time you had left together, to cherish every moment, and to stay connected no matter the distance. As the days passed, you cherished each date, each kiss, and each shared laugh as if it were your last.

And when the day finally came for Harry to leave, it was bittersweet. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you held him tight, unwilling to let go. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw nothing but love and determination.

"I'll be back before you know it," he promised, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "And I'll call you every chance I get, I promise."

With a heavy heart, you watched him drive away, the distance between you growing with each passing mile. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you stayed connected through phone calls, texts, and video chats.

And despite the distance, your love only grew stronger. You supported each other through the challenges, celebrated each other's successes, and counted down the days until you could be together again.

>>>

The days apart seemed to stretch on endlessly, each one filled with a longing that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of your being. You counted down the hours, the minutes, the seconds until you would once again be reunited with Harry, your heart aching with the absence of his presence.

But even in the midst of the pain, you held onto the memories of your time together, each one a beacon of light in the darkness of your separation. You replayed the moments you had shared in your mind, savoring the warmth of his touch, the sound of his laughter, the depth of his love.

And then, at long last, the day arrived. You stood at the airport, your heart pounding in your chest as you scanned the crowd for any sign of Harry. And then, there he was, striding towards you with that familiar smile that melted your heart.

You ran into his arms, tears of joy streaming down your face as you held him close, unable to believe that he was finally here, with you, where he belonged.

And then, in a moment that felt like something out of a fairytale, Harry got down on one knee, his eyes shining with love as he held out a small velvet box.

"Y/N," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I never want to spend another day apart from you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Your heart swelled with love as you nodded, tears of happiness blurring your vision. Harry slipped the ring onto your finger, a perfect fit, just like the two of you.

And as you embraced, you knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for. This was the moment that made all the distance and all the struggles worth it. You were here, in each other's arms, and nothing else mattered.

"I promise to always love you," Harry whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "To support you, to stand by your side no matter what."

"I promise to make every day with you an adventure," he continued, his eyes locked on yours. "To cherish and adore you for all eternity."

And as he leaned in to kiss you, you knew that this was just the beginning of your magical love story. A story that had been tested by distance and time, but had only grown stronger because of it.

And as you held each other close, you couldn't help but smile, knowing that you had found your serendipity – a love that was unexpected, yet destined, a love that would guide you through every twist and turn of life's journey, forever and always. You never knew that you had found the love of your life at that wedding, the person who was your last-minute escort would be the one you would marry one day, and love and cherish forever.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

i love you all 💌tell me if you like this! please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)

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here-lies-they-ran-outta-luck · 1 year ago

Note

Hi, I saw a note that you are accepting requests and if you aren’t totally ignore this

But could you write something with Theo nott, where she speaks a different language and her English isn’t perfect so she makes a mistake instead of saying she’s going to meet someone she says she’s going on a date and he gets all upset and jealous, maybe angst to fluff or something <3 I think it would be cute

- Thanks 🪐🪐

It's A Date (Theodore Nott x F!Reader)

warning- she/her pronouns, google translated french, i changed it a little from the request but it's basically the same.

a/n- I am in a very Theo Nott mood if you can't tell.

word count- 721

“I don’t know, I just really like her,” Theo says, his cheeks slightly rosy due to Pansy’s prying.

“Oh come on! There’s got to be something specific you like about her,” Pansy says, giggling at the tall boy’s embarrassed state, “Just give me three things you like!”

“I like her french accent, I guess,” He answers after a small pause, “She’s also pretty and so sweet. I’ve got no Idea how she was ever sorted into Slytherin.”

“I think you should ask her out. She would definitely say yes, you’re an absolute catch!” Pansy says, getting more excited about Theodores crush.

“I’ll think about it. Let’s get going for breakfast,” He answers, grabbing his satchel and walking out of the common room.

Not soon after the two get settled down at the Slytherin table, the lovely smell of your vanilla perfume fills Theo’s nose. “Bonjour Theo!”

“Good morning,” He replies, giving you a small smile and scooting over to give you some room.

“How has your morning been?” You ask, he blushes slightly at your strong accent. His Italian accent was never that strong, he only ever spoke Italian around his mom and her family. You however spoke it all the time, you and Draco had a plethora of conversations in French.

“Better now that you’re here,” after a small pause he gains a slight amount of confidence, “I was wondering if maybe-”

“Hi, (Y/n),” a boy from Ravenclaw says, cutting off Theodore before continuing, “Would you want to accompany me to our next Hogsmead weekend?”

“Yes,” You say with a smile, “It’s a date!” You didn’t really mean that it was a date at all, it was simply just an expression you’d heard. However it broke all of Theos confidence he previously had.

“De toute façon, what were you saying Theo?” You ask, turning back to the pretty boy with hopeful eyes. Unknown to anyone, you also fancied Theo.

“I was um- just wondering if you got the paper on alhistoy?” Theo says, ending his sentence with a large gulp of orange juice.

Your smile deflates a little bit, “Oh, yeah I did.” You pull out your paper and hand it to him. Theo had already gotten the paper finished, so he just silently stared at the prettily written page for a few seconds before handing it back.

Theodore didn’t talk to you very much for the next few days, he spent a majority of his time alone talking to Pansy about his heartbreak.

Theo didn’t plan on talking to you until after your trip with the boy, and even then he wanted to wait a while.

“Hé! How have you been Theo? I’ve missed you!” You say, finally getting to see him.

“How was your date?” He asks, angry, not looking at you.

“I didn’t go on a date?” You reply, puzzled.

“Did you end up not going then?” He asks again, looking up at you.

“I went to hang out with a friend, but I didn’t see it as a date,” You answer, taken aback.

“You didn’t?” He asks, standing up and walking towards you.

“Non, we’re just friends,” You answer with a smile, now looking up at the boy.

“But you said it was a date,” He says, with a flat face.

“Isn’t that just an expression you English people use?” You reply, laughing slightly at the boy.

“Okay,” He replies, slowly.

“Are you okay Teddy?” You ask, stepping closer to him.

“Yeah,” He says, absentmindedly, “I think I’m in love with you.”

“What?” You reply, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Teddy, are you sure?” You ask, sucking in a breath, waiting for his response.

“I was a little heartbroken when you said it was a date,” He breathes, pulling you into a hug, “Now I would like to do what I was too scared to do. Would you like to go on a date with me?” He asks after pulling away from the hug slightly.

“I would more than love to go on a date with you, Teddy,” You say, giving him a smile and pulling him back into a hug, smiling even wider when you feel him smile into your neck.

“It’s a date then? For real this time?” He says, muffled by your neck.

“Obviously,” You say, laughing at his lame joke.

#theodore nott x reader #harry potter #lorenzo berkshire x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine #slytherin #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x you #theo nott x y/n

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alwaysmoncheri · 11 months ago

Text

summary: you’re sick and spencer takes the day off of work to take care of you

cw: female!reader, cheesy writing, throwing up, spencer being an all around sweetheart, 782, spencer reid x reader

you wake up with a pounding headache and a throat scratchier than sandpaper. the flu has taken residence in your body, and you feel utterly defeated. but you refuse to take a day off of work. so you somehow manage to stumble into the bau office, feeling the weight of sickness pulling you down. spencer glances up from his desk, concern etching his features. he notices your pale complexion and furrowed brows.

"hey," he says softly, rising from his chair as you pass by. "you don't look so good. are you okay?" he asks, as you slowly sit down into your chair and lean back with a pained expression.

you shake your head, managing a weak smile. “just a bit under the weather. i’ll be fine." you say and spencer sends you a questioning glance but believes you nonetheless.

as you attempt to settle into your workspace, working on paper, and glancing through files, the queasiness intensifies. numerous co-workers glance you way, the concerned expressions watching you from behind their desks. when you come across a particularly gruesome file you feel the contents of your breakfast surging up from your stomach and panicking, you reach for your desk drawer, contemplating using it as a makeshift trash can.

spencer, quick to understand the situation, rushes over, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "no, no, honey, don't throw up in there." he whispers, gently, rushed, but profusely worried.

more panic sets in as you glance around the office, desperately searching for an alternative. spencer, ever resourceful, leads you to the nearest restroom. you make it just in time, sparing your desk from an unpleasant fate.

"maybe you should go home, take the day off," he suggests, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back while the other holding your hair back.

you shake your head, determined to soldier on despite the discomfort. "I can't let the team down. we’ve got a case and i’ve got a job to do.”

spencer looks torn between concern and understanding. “if it gets worse, i’ll take you home, okay?” asks and you nod, grateful for his caring nature.

the day unfolds, each passing hour adding to your misery. spencer keeps a watchful eye on you, offering water and snacks in an attempt to alleviate your symptoms. however, nothing seems to be enough.

during a briefing, your stomach rebels, and you struggle to maintain composure. spencer notices your distress, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder. you manage a weak smile, appreciating his support. as the team delves into the case details, you focus on breathing steadily, determined not to let your illness hinder the investigation. but when your face goes a shade lighter than it was before and you look as though you’re about to pass out, spencer quickly gathers your belongings and takes your burning hand in his.

"okay, honey, I think it's time for you to go home," he insists, his worry palpable.

you nod, grateful for his insistence. as you head towards the exit, spencer supports you, making sure you don't stumble. the team watches, puzzled, as you leave unexpectedly.

once outside, spencer uides you to his car, helping you settle into the passenger seat. he drives you home, his concern evident in the glances he steals between navigating traffic.

when you reach your doorstep, you fumble for your keys, but spencer intervenes, unlocking the door for you. once inside, you collapse onto the couch, relieved to be in the comfort of your home. spencer settles beside you, offering a comforting presence. spencer retrieves a blanket, covering you gently. "rest up. I'll make some tea and check on you in a bit."

“thank you, spence.” you whisper gently before falling into much-needed sleep.

the next morning, you wake up feeling slightly better. your pounding headache is gone and you stomach doesn’t seem to feel as queasy as it had the day before. spencer who stayed the night, much to your surprise, greets you with a warm smile.

"how are you feeling?" he asks, the same concern from yesterday lingering in his eyes. he kneels in front of you and brings his hand up to brush your hair away from your face.

"better, thanks to you," you reply, genuinely appreciative of his care.

spencer chuckles softly and you can’t help but examine the crinkle of his eyes and soft curve of his lips. “well, it’s the least I can do. but you’re still not going into work today. and i’m staying right here until you’re all better.” he adds, pivoting on his heels, grabbing a cup of tea from the coffee table behind him and offering it to you. you can’t help but smile.

“okay, doc.”

masterlist . spencer reid masterlist . taglist

thank you for reading, my darling! remember to like! reblog! and comment! i’ll give you a smooch if you do, ily! send requests to my inbox!

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joelalorian · 4 days ago

Text

Under False Pretenses - Chapter Six

Stepdad!Dave York x f!reader | wc: 5769 | masterlist

Summary: A challenging mission, whirlwind marriage, and an unexpected yet captivating stepdaughter push Dave York to the brink as secrets, feelings, and loyalties collide.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ mdni. Stepdad trope. Unspecified age gap. Feelings are acknowledged. Soft, sexy, and intense Dave. Domestic Dave. Good Dad kink. We like thick thighs in this house and so does Dave. Nicknames and terms of endearment. Mummy is a whole lotta bitch. No use of y/n. We finally have the sexy times! Dry humping, oral, unprotected P in V.

a/n: work is going to be insane this week so posting this earlier than planned. hope you enjoy the hell out of it!

Series Masterlist

Chest heaving, Dave slowed to a walk along the frigid shoreline, his sneakers crunching the frozen sand. The steady roar of waves crashing ashore, the sharp bite of winter air in his lungs, none of it was enough to clear his mind. Five miles at an eight-minute pace – usually enough to drown out the noise in his head – had done nothing to shake you from his thoughts.

He kissed his stepdaughter. Slept with his stepdaughter…

Not in the biblical sense, but literally. Last night, with you curled up in his arms, was the best fucking sleep he’d had in years, decades even. You’d fallen asleep against his chest, breathing even and steady, and your body fitting against his like a puzzle piece he didn’t know was missing.

Dave barely remembered slipping into your bed. What started as a conversation about everything you’d been holding in – your frustrations, your doubts – had ended with his arms around you, his lips pressed to your temple as you drifted off. He hadn’t thought about Lisa once.

Why would he when he had you in his arms?

The pull to stay in bed with you that morning was almost impossible to resist. Even as the first rays of dawn broke through the curtained windows high up the wall, bathing you in the softest, ethereal glow, he hesitated to leave. You looked so peaceful, lips curved into the faintest smile, eyelashes fluttering against your cheeks as you dreamed. It tugged at his hardened heart, leaving him almost afraid to shatter the spell.

Dave kissed your forehead tenderly before finally slipping out of the room, his bare feet soundless on the carpet. He knew if he didn’t leave then, he never would at all.

And now, here he was, running himself ragged in the biting cold, trying to convince himself this wasn’t insane. That he could somehow compartmentalize this – keep the lines clean and unblurred. He was good at that, compartmentalizing.

It had been a survival skill, his ticket through years of bloody assignments and moral ambiguity. That skill alone kept his marriage to Carol stable and his family safe with plausible deniability of his darker deeds.

But this? Starting something with his stepdaughter, of all people? This was uncharted territory, even for him.

The vibration of his phone pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. Fishing it out of his pocket, he frowned at the screen. Roger.

Roger: How did your meeting with Anna go?

Might as well get this over with, Dave thought, hitting the call button instead of texting back.

Roger answered on the first ring, his voice oily with satisfaction. “Anna’s taken with you, York. Insisted on moving the meeting to tomorrow instead of next week. You must have made quite the impression.”

Dave exhaled slowly, willing his irritation to stay buried as he ignored Roger’s remarks. “Fine.”

“I’ll book a hotel for you,” Roger added cheekily. “Give you a chance to… cement her trust after the meeting.”

Over his dead fucking body, Dave thought. Jaw tightening, he responded in an icy tone, “I prefer the café if you don’t mind.”

Roger’s chuckle echoed down the line, grating his ears. “Suit yourself, York. Shame to waste this opportunity. Women like her don’t grow on trees.”

This conversation was already his blood pressure to rise. “I’m a married man, Roger, or did you forget that fact?”

“We’re all married men, York. What the wife doesn’t know won’t hurt her. It’s a motto to live by,” the other man replied.

The truth of that statement was not wasted on Dave as his thoughts immediately turned back to you. Hitting the end call button without saying another word, the conversation ended as abruptly as it began. Dave clenched his phone in one hand, the waves crashing endlessly behind him matching the sudden building headache.

By the time he reached home, the kitchen buzzed with life. The smell of pancakes and syrup mixed with the aroma of coffee filled the air, mingling with the sound of laughter – your laughter – rising above the exuberant chatter of his daughters.

Dave’s lips twitched into an involuntary smile, but it faltered when his gaze shifted to his wife.

Lisa sat at the island, nursing a steaming cup of coffee in an oversized mug, her expression sharp enough to cut glass as she glowered at the scene before her.

The girls were doubled over in giggles as you balanced a piece of pancake on your fork like a morsel from the finest meal. “I swear, I could eat pancakes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner!” you declared with infectious enthusiasm.

Dave leaned against the doorway, taking it all in. The warmth of the scene, the way his daughters looked at you like you hung the moon, giggling maniacally – they hadn’t done that with anyone since Carol passed – and the way you smiled as though nothing bad could ever touch you. It was a stark contrast to the cold knot in his stomach from everything pressing down on him.

Lisa’s eyes flicked to him, her glare shifting from you to him in a blink. “Nice of you to join us,” she muttered with a razor-sharp tone.

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer before he straightened. “Went for a run,” he said simply, walking past his wife to grab a glass of water.

“I can see that,” she shot back. “How very… productive of you, especially after a night out with the boys. You must’ve had fun. You didn’t come home last night.”

Dave didn’t take the bait, his focus was on draining the glass of water before refilling it. He grabbed a pancake from your plate with a wink as he strolled from the room, calling over his shoulder, “I’m going to shower.”

It was going to be a long fucking day.

You were just clearing the table from breakfast when Dave returned dressed in dark jeans and a light blue sweater, his socked feet silent on the wood flooring as he entered the kitchen.

You noticed him immediately as if sensing him before hearing or seeing him. His soulful eyes flickered toward you with something unspoken shining in them. It wasn’t just the casual acknowledgment of your presence. It was deeper than that. A thread of awareness that tightened whenever you were near each other. You knew because you felt it, too.

Grateful that your mom left to go shopping and the girls played with Ranger in the living room, you enjoyed the private moment with Dave. You didn’t have the chance to talk to him about last night yet. You wanted, needed to, but suddenly the nerves kicked in.

“Have a good run?” you asked keeping your voice light and easy, though your hands stilled where they were piling dirty dishes next to the sink.

“Yeah,” Dave replied, his tone much softer than it had been with your mother earlier. “Beach is damn cold, though.”

You hummed, biting your lip as you glanced at the girls – they were glued to the TV as another Disney movie played – before stepping sideways to stand closer to Dave than necessary. You needed to feel his heat, feel him. The proximity made your pulse quicken, a rush of heat blooming in your chest and traveling upwards toward your neck and face.

“Did you want coffee?” you questioned, a breath above a whisper, tilting your head as you reached for the nearly empty pot. “I saved the last bit for you.”

Dave turned to you, eyes like raw umber searching yours before shaking his head, his damp hair flopping over his forehead with the motion. One large hand reached up to sweep his fingers through the locks, slicking it back into place. “I’m good, thanks.”

For a moment, it felt like the kitchen faded around you.

Neither of you moved, the air between you charged with something you both felt but hadn’t dared name yet. Your fingers brushed his as you moved the coffee pot, the brief contact enough to send a shiver down your spine while dumping the remaining contents down the drain.

Without uttering a sound, Dave helped you rinse and load the soiled dishes and flatware into the dishwasher. As the last plate was placed in the bottom rack, you turned to grab a dish towel, only to find Dave standing closer than before. His broad frame filled the small space between you and the counter, his proximity sending a flicker of electricity through the air.

“Thanks for helping,” you said, voice soft yet filled with nerves. Your limbs were practically trembling with the electricity arcing between you and him.

Dave’s lips quirked into a small, almost hesitant smile. “Didn’t seem fair to leave you with all the cleanup after you did all the cooking.”

Folding the dish towel over the edge of the sink, you avoided his gaze. “Doesn’t mean I’m not used to it,” you replied lightly.

“Doesn’t mean you should be.”

When you looked up, his eyes were on you – dark and steady, filled with a tenderness that made your heart stutter.

“Dave…” you started but lost your words as he stepped ever closer.

His hand reached out, hesitating for just a fraction of a second before his knuckles brushed your cheek. Your breath hitched, the skin-on-skin contact causing the world to tilt on its axis. His hand shifted, the pad of his thumb running along your jawline in a gentle, grounding touch.

The last of your resolve, and nerves, wavered under his mesmerizing gaze, the nearness of him making it nigh impossible to think clearly. “What are we doing?” you asked, voice trembling along with the rest of your body.

Dave’s lips curved into the faintest smile, yet his eyes remained steely. “Something we probably shouldn’t,” he admitted, his voice a deep rasp barely louder than a rumbling whisper. “But I don’t know how to – don’t want to – stop.”

Neither did you.

The space between you disappeared in a heartbeat, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was equal parts hesitant and fervent. The dam finally broke after months of increasing tension and building feelings.

His hands cupped your face, grounding you as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing lightly against yours and his broad form blocking any view of what you were doing from the girls. You melted into him, your hands roaming the solid warmth of his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his sweater.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic. But, damn, was it intense. It was deliberate as if Dave wanted to memorize every detail of the way your lips moved against his, the faint hitch in your breath, the way your fingers trembled slightly as they fisted in his sweater. He moved you backward along the counter into the hallway until you both stood in front of the door to the basement, never breaking the dizzying kiss.

He tasted of mint and something so uniquely him when you licked into his mouth. The flavor had you melting against his body.

When Dave finally pulled back, you followed, lips eager to continue. He rested his forehead against yours, staring into each other’s eyes with a level of intimacy you never experienced before. Both of you were breathing heavily, the charged silence between you broken only by the hum of the dishwasher and the girls’ laughter in the background.

“This is crazy,” you murmured, though you made zero effort to step away.

“It is,” Dave agreed, his solemn voice rough but steady. “But it doesn’t change how I feel. How I can see you feel about me.”

Heart thundering in your chest, his words sinking in with a weight you weren’t sure you were ready to carry… yet you couldn’t, wouldn’t disagree.

“What do we do now?” you asked with a barely audible voice, dazed eyes darting back and forth between his own.

Shifting you slightly to the side, he opened the basement door and turned his head toward the living room. “Girls! We are going to do some work in my office. Stay here and finish the movie, we’ll be back up in a bit.”

“Okay Daddy!” Alice called out before quickly laughing at something that happened onscreen.

You stared at him in wide-eyed shock. What was happening?

“Come on,” he said, chuckling softly at your expression before taking your hand to lead you down the stairs.

He wanted to take you to your bed instead of his office as he told the girls, but Dave knew you had no guarantee of the time or privacy needed for what he wanted to do to you, for what you deserved for your first time together. So, he bypassed your bedroom with nary a glance, leading you into his office.

His dark eyes searched yours, pupils growing larger by the second as he closed the door behind him, turning the lock with a subtle ‘click’.

“So, this is the mysterious, private office of David York,” you snarked, attempting to downplay your nerves as you glanced around the room.

A large mahogany desk occupied one wall upon which two large monitors and a laptop sat. A worn leather loveseat backed up to another wall. A large gun locker, safe, and file cabinet were placed along the wall opposite the door. There were no windows and just one exit.

“I wondered what you were hiding in here.”

Dave watched as your fingers ran along the metal of the gun locker. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere safe to keep records and weapons without nosy little fingers touching things they shouldn’t.”

Your hand snapped back as if stung and he chuckled. You wanted to see the arsenal in that cabinet, imagining weapons of all types, but you didn’t pry. Not this time. You sighed, wondering what came next. Picking up on your hesitancy, Dave took your hands in his.

“I need you to know something.”

You swallowed thickly, curious and hopeful yet fearing what he was about to tell you, and merely nodded for him to continue.

“I didn’t plan this,” he began, quiet but firm. “I didn’t plan to feel this way about you. But I do and I don’t want to stop.”

Your heart raced as his words sank in. Opening your mouth to respond, Dave continued before you could utter a word.

“This thing between us – it’s not going to be easy. You know that, right?” Again, you nodded, and he added, “There are things… I haven’t always been a good man and there are things I can’t, won’t tell you. If you don’t want this or decide at any point that you don’t want to continue, you’ll have to be the one to end it, understand? I won’t be able to.”

The sincerity in his voice took your breath away. The world narrowed to just the two of you, alone in his basement office, and everything else – the doubts, fears, complications, his marriage to your mother, all of it – faded into the ether. Something a lot like that four-letter word you knew it was too early to acknowledge or give voice to fluttered in your tummy like a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

“I won’t be able to, either,” you admitted breathlessly, the admission causing an almost feral look to cross Dave’s face before he pounced.

With quick, desperate movements, his hands slithered around your wide hips, pulling you with him as he fell backward to sit on the leather loveseat. Strong hands guided you to straddle his lap, thighs snug against him as the hardness of him pressed against the crux of you. The feeling was divine.

“I wish we had time for more than this,” Dave murmured against your lips as he kissed you soundly. “But with the girls upstairs and your mom due home at any time, we can’t risk it. Not if I want to take my time with you.”

It was the truth, and you knew it. However, it didn’t stop the wave of disappointment from washing over you. Fighting to keep it from showing on your face, you ducked your head into Dave’s neck where you pressed open-mouth kisses against his salty skin.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t make each other feel good, Firecracker,” he insisted, catching on to your disappointment. “We’ll just have to keep our clothes on and be quick about it, is all.” His fingers digging into your hips, Dave ground you down against his cock, the jeans doing little to hide just how hard he was, how hard you made him.

The fullness of him pressed against you just right, sending jolts of pleasure through your core. “Ahhhh, Dave,” the sound slipped from your lips like music to Dave’s ears.

“Like that?” he purred in your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. “Making me feel like a fucking teenager again, dry humping like this. Use me, Firecracker. Make yourself feel good.”

Dave’s hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt to caress your breasts as you moved your hips against him. Muted mewls and moans filled the air in the room as you ground yourself against him, the layers of clothing doing little to dampen the pleasure as your clit rubbed along the seam of his jeans and the hardness beneath it.

It didn’t take long for you to approach the edge with Dave’s fingers plucking and twisting your nipples, his mouth alternating between nipping at your neck and licking into your mouth, the hard press of him rubbing against you deliciously.

“Does that feel good?” he questioned, his hands moving to grip your ass after one more sharp tug at your nipples. “Are you going to come for me? You’re so wet I can feel you through all these layers between us.”

Dave was right, you were drenched and only getting wetter as your orgasm approached at breakneck speed.

“Come on, my little Firecracker. Come all over me. Make me go upstairs with a visible wet spot on my jeans and have to change.”

The thought of him walking past your mom with the essence of you staining the front of his pants sent you plummeting over the edge, coming with strangled moans as you fought to keep quiet lest the girls hear something.

“That’s it,” Dave encouraged, his hands on your ass guiding you to move against him faster, harder. He gazed at you with blown pupils. “You’re so beautiful when you come for me. I love the feel of your juicy ass in my hands as you move on top of me.”

“Dave!” you cried breathlessly against his mouth as his hips jolted upward and you felt the hard pulses of his cock beneath you as he came in his pants with a growl.

“You just made me come in my fucking pants, you vixen,” he said once you both caught your breath again. His voice held more teasing than bite and you chortled giddily.

“That’s fucking hot,” you replied, sitting back on his thighs to get a glimpse of the mess you made together.

“Think so?”

“Oh, hell yeah!” you admitted emphatically. “No one’s ever done that for me, so it’s extra special.”

“I’m glad I could be of service then,” he teased, kissing the tip of your nose. “I like having firsts with you.”

The sudden slamming of the front door followed by the clacking of heels on the wood flooring sounded above you. The two of you froze, staring wide-eyed at each other.

“Shit.” The bubble burst with the knowledge that your mom arrived home and you slid from Dave’s lap. “You should probably get upstairs before she comes down here looking for you.”

“Yeah,” Dave sighed, staring at the mess staining his lap before standing. He tugged his sweater down fruitlessly, the material too short to cover much. Giving up, he flashed you a bashful smile. “Not sure how I’m going to explain this if she sees me.”

You shrugged. “Just tell her to mind her own damn business,” you retorted, spinning on your heels to go take a shower.

Dave stood watching you longingly for a moment before deciding to make a run for it. He could hear Lisa talking to the girls, the sharp pitch of her voice carrying down to the basement, and knew he could sneak out to the garage and then into the laundry room to change really quick.

The rest of the day was a bit awkward, neither you nor Dave was sure how to act around one another in front of your mom and the girls, trying your best to act as you normally would. Everything felt exaggerated after your moments together that morning. So, you focused mostly on the girls and Ranger, playing fetch and chasing each other around in the chilly backyard while Dave stayed inside with your mom, talking about work, holiday preparations, and other trivial matters.

He couldn’t keep his eyes from gazing at you during lulls in the conversation, longing to be out there with you and his girls, but he didn’t want to push his luck with Lisa. She was up his ass enough already; he didn’t want to give her more reason to nag him.

The next day, Dave entered the café, careful eyes scanning the room until he spotted Roger and Anna seated at a corner table, looking cozier than business associates normally do. Roger’s grin was as smug as ever, but Anna’s expression was sharp, her green eyes assessing Dave as he approached.

“You’re late,” she said smoothly, her tone edging more toward playful than accusatory. “It’s rude to keep a lady waiting.”

Dave blithely ignored her comment, sliding into the seat across from her. “Traffic,” he replied curtly, his tone betraying no emotion.

Roger leaned back in his chair, swirling the coffee in his cup. “You’re lucky Anna was so insistent about moving this meeting up. There’s been movement.”

Dave’s jaw tightened, yet his expression remained neutral. Movement was good, but he mustn’t let his eagerness to bring this op to a close show. He had to play this carefully to maintain his cover. “What’s the latest?”

Anna leaned forward, her red-painted nails tapping against the table as they inched closer and closer to where Dave’s forearm rested. “We’ve made progress. My counterparts have vetted you and like what they saw. The deal with our…” she glanced at Roger before continuing, “mutual friend is moving along nicely.”

“Mutual friend,” Dave repeated, his tone skeptical. “You mean the military asset you’ve been dangling like a carrot? The one you refuse to tell me anything about?”

Anna’s predatory smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Patience, handsome. All will be revealed in good time.”

Roger chuckled, clearly enjoying the building tension between his new friends. “She’s right, York. You don’t rush these things. Especially when you’re the new man on the team.”

Dave’s gaze flicked to Roger, barely contained irritation bubbling beneath the surface. He knew he was walking the knife’s edge, yet still he pushed. He needed to establish that he was not fucking around. “And what exactly are we waiting for? Another week of vague updates? For one of the agencies to catch onto what we’re doing?”

Anna’s green eyes glinted with amusement, but her tone turned icy. “Careful, Dave. Impatience can get you killed. Or worse, caught.”

The tension at the table turned palpable, but Roger cut through it with a lazy smile. “Relax, York. We’re all on the same team here, working towards the same goal. Isn’t that right, doll?”

She didn’t respond immediately, clearly unamused with Roger’s nickname, her gaze remaining locked on Dave. Finally, she leaned back, a devilish smile gracing her painted lips. “Of course. We all want the same thing.”

A chill ran down Dave’s spine, his mind racing with possibilities as he forced a tight smile. They – or at least Anna – were clearly holding something back, and he needed to figure out what it was. Fast.

As the conversation shifted to logistics for their next meeting, Anna checked her calendar as Roger rattled off dates and times, Dave’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, his focus remaining on the business at the table, even as growing unease oozed in his chest.

The meeting ended with Anna brushing her hand over Dave’s arm as they stood to leave. “Until next time, Handsome,” she purred, her gaze lingering on his before darting down with a satisfied smirk as if assessing his bulge. He wasn’t the least bit hard, but he was a shower, not a grower, and he knew it looked impressive. She looked like she wanted to say something more, but Roger ushered her away.

Dave waited until she and Roger were out of sight before pulling his phone from his pocket and heading for his SUV. The message sent blood rushing south as he raced home.

After the exhilarating time spent together in Dave’s office, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. You were distracted all day Sunday while he was out – a work meeting that couldn’t be avoided, or so he told your mom. You took the girls and Ranger to the park for something to do, staring at your phone while they played.

You must have typed out six different messages, deleting each one before settling on a sexy photo you took of yourself in bed yesterday morning. You wanted to have something to commemorate the first night you and Dave spent together and a photo of you in a barely-there tank top, hardened nipples peeking through, bedhead, and a sleepy smile the morning after was the perfect way to do it. You couldn’t wait to see how Dave reacted to being sent such a pic.

The delay in his response made you regret sending it though. Chewing your nails down to the quick, your eyes darted between where the girls played and your phone, willing Dave to respond. Just when your nerves were at their peak, the message status changed to ‘read’, then dots appeared as he – finally – typed a response.

Dave: Don’t tease me, Firecracker

You: I’m not teasing I’m giving you a preview

Dave: Oh?

You: You know where to find me when you’re ready

Shoving your phone in your pocket with a satisfied smile, you called out to the girls and Ranger. It was time to go home.

Once the girls were home and settled, you slipped off to your room to pamper yourself. You took a long, relaxing bath with the lights off and a lavender-scented candle burning. You plucked and shaved all the necessary bits, exfoliated, and moisturized until your skin gleamed. Night settled over the house by the time you went back upstairs to heat leftovers for dinner.

Your mom went out with some friends, Dave informed you before putting the girls to bed leaving Ranger to watch over them, his eyes communicating what his words didn’t say. Tonight, he was yours.

You ate quickly, knowing you’d need the fuel, and cleaned up before heading down to your room to wait for Dave to join you. Part of you couldn’t believe what was about to happen. The other part of you dithered over your clothing.

You had on an oversized tee shirt and a robe, no bra or panties. Not exactly the sexiest attire for your first time with Dave, you thought.

If the goal was to get naked, you wondered how much clothing mattered.

There was an element of sophistication to Dave. Would he prefer you in some sexy negligee?

A sudden idea struck you and you darted up the stairs to the laundry room to grab one of Dave’s dress shirts before rushing back down to your room. You just finished buttoning the shirt where you could when Dave came down the stairs.

The startled yet appreciative look in those big brown eyes told you the shirt was the right choice.

“Fuck,” he breathed, stepping slowly into your bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him, just in case. “You look fucking gorgeous in my shirt.”

Neither of you could stand it anymore, the heat between you growing too overwhelming to fight or hold off. You crashed together in a clash of lips and teeth, tongues tangling as you licked into each other’s mouths like it was your last meal.

“Do you have any idea how often I’ve thought of you… of doing this with you?” Dave’s raspy voice rumbled against your neck as he peppered the sensitive skin with open-mouth kisses.

“I’ve thought about you, too,” you admitted breathlessly. “I, uh, even touched myself to the thoughts.”

A fire blazed in those dark eyes as he growled, “Tell me.”

Powerless against him, you did just that. Telling him about the very first time, how you knew your fingers would never compare to his, how you imagined he would touch you with equal parts softness and unbridled need, how you thought he would rip your orgasm from you with fierce, single-minded determination, how you would beg for it to never, ever end. But you didn’t mention anything about watching him in the hot tub. You weren’t sure why.

Dave’s mouth roamed your body as you spoke, tugging layers of clothing off both of you as he went. When you were both naked, soft heated skin pressed against slightly rougher heated skin, you added, “Another time, I used my bullet vibrator as I imagined going down on you. I came to the phantom feeling of the weight of your cock on my tongue, the pulsing of it as you came down my throat.”

“Jesus Christ, Firecracker,” he groaned, pressing his hips down more firmly against yours. “You’re fucking killing me.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” you teased, drawing a rumbling laugh from deep within Dave’s chest. “No, we cannot,” he agreed, slithering down the length of your body, large hands squeezing your wide hips and thick thighs as he went, delighted that he finally gets to touch you like this.

“Let me show you what I’ve thought about, my sexy Firecracker.” He looked up at you with a boyish grin, hair flopping down over his forehead when he settled with your thighs over his shoulders. “I need to know how you taste.”

Words failed you as Dave tipped his face down, dark eyes locked on yours as he licked a stripe through your folds with the flat of his pink tongue. Holy fuck. You never saw anything so fucking sexy as this man staring at you from between your thighs while he feasted on your pussy.

Lifting his head ever so slightly, he moaned. “I’ve imagined this so many times, wondering what you’d taste like.” Another lick, a little suckle on your nub. “My imagination is nothing compared to the real thing. You are fucking delectable.”

Dave ate pussy with the same intensity he maintained during missions – single-minded focus, expert precision, and refusing to stop until the objectives were met. You came three fucking times on his tongue, his fingers providing an assist for the last one. Bordering on overstimulation, your eyes watered, and tear tracks ran down your cheeks as your chest heaved.

Aftershocks were still rolling through you as Dave slithered up your body to kiss you, his chin glistening with your juices. His tongue dipped into your mouth, feeding you the taste of yourself mixed with his unique taste and you moaned softly against his lips.

Your palms glided down the smooth muscles of his shoulders and back, grabbing handfuls of his ass to press the full weight of him against you as the kiss continued. You loved the feeling of his broad chest pressed against your breasts, his hands gripping your hips and caressing your face. When you snaked one hand between your bodies to feel the thickness of his cock, Dave pulled back.

“No, sweetheart. I’m too worked up. This will be over before it starts if you touch me right now,” he admitted in a raspy, stuttering voice. “I want to come in your pretty little pussy the first time, ok?”

Overwhelmed with need, you nodded, and Dave grinned down at you. “Cock drunk already, are you?”

Swatting at him, you whined, “I just need to feel you. Please, Dave.”

He paused, staring down at you. “Do you… should I wear a condom?”

“No. I want to feel all of you. I’m clean and on birth control, I promise.” You pawed at him, trying in vain to pull him onto, into you fully.

“Me, too,” Dave admitted, sinking into you, finally.

Ohhh. You could barely breathe as he fed you his cock, the sheer size of him taking your breath away. There was a slight pinch of pain at first, your body out of practice when it came to penetration, but the way Dave moved against you, inside you, had you moaning in no time.

“That’s it. There’s my little Firecracker,” he encouraged you when your moans increased. “It’s ok, you don’t have to be too quiet.”

“Dave,” you drew out his name in a long mewl, fingertips clawing at his back when he hit that spongy spot inside you. “Fuck. I didn’t know it could be this good.”

He kissed your face – forehead, cheeks, and the tip of your nose – before smiling down at you with glazed eyes. “It’s all you, baby. You feel so good like you were made for this cock. I could live here, inside this tight fucking pussy for the rest of my life.”

Dave continued thrusting his hips in the perfect rhythm, occasionally grinding his thumb down against your clit as the wave of pleasure began to crest. He talked you through it with debauched praise, letting you know how good you made him feel, how he never wanted this to end. You came first, crying out his name like a siren song until his thrusts stuttered and his cock pulsed, filling you with ropes of cum as he moaned your name in your ear.

Afterward, you cuddled together – it still surprised you how much Dave liked to cuddle with you – talking and chuckling in low voices, enjoying the private moment. Eventually, Dave cleaned you and himself up before going upstairs for a snack. Your mom came home, tipsy from a night out, and Dave helped her up the stairs to bed before telling her he had work to do in his office.

When he reached the bottom of the basement stairs, Dave veered towards your room and climbed back into bed with you, curling his body around yours. He was right where he wanted to be.

tbc

Chapter Seven

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