#standing by with a heavy stick that says 'he's a grown ass man' on one side and 'don't' on the other: just in case

[y-rhywbeth2]

Elven 'Physiology' and Quirks

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index[tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. There's a lot of lore; I don't know everything. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Physiology and quirks | Names & Clans and Houses || Pan-Cultural things: Social life | Time and Age Categories | Homes | Language | Art | Entertainment | Technology || Elven 'Subraces' still a wip || Philosophy and Religion & Pantheons || Half-elves | [WIP]

In my continued desire to procrastinate on reading two novels and cross-referencing about three sourcebooks for drow culture, I met myself in the middle and did this instead.

Also I really need to rehaul some of the lore compilations...

Unlike elves of other worlds, the Tel'Quessir – except drow – are as tall as humans, but finer boned and typically narrower in build – except for aquatic elves. An elf weighs less than a human of the same build and height, which appears to be something to do with their bone density, as elven bones (especially winged elves’) are light (though ‘surprisingly sturdy’). Their fingertips taper, and their hands and fingers are longer than a humans… although I still think saying they’re 50% longer (palm and fingers) is a bit much.

Elves are noted for their androgyny, which goes both ways; there's not much difference in the skeletal structure and elven women are noted by humans for their narrow hips, which led to a comment that it must make childbirth agonising in comparison.

Elves are also noted for their distinctive 'dance-like' motions while walking due to walking on their toes and the balls of their feet: 'Most seemed to have a lilt and swing, like dancers. Ah, that was it—none strode flat-footed; even the tallest and most hurried of the citizenry danced forward on their toes.' - Elminster in Myth Drannor

They don't grow much in the way of body hair - they appear hairless, with the only visible hair on their eyebrows and scalp. Elves unused to mixed company find non-elves disturbingly hirsute.

The shape of their facial features, regardless of ‘subrace,’ are as varied as humans. The only rules of thumb are about their eyes and ears:

Elven ears are always pointy – but can vary greatly in shape and length otherwise. They’re somewhat prehensile; elven children can move their ears, but generally this ability is lost with maturation. Maintaining it seems to be a genetic quirk. Whether the shape or whatever, elves have sharp hearing.

Elven eyes are larger in proportion to their face and spaced a little further apart than human eyes, slightly slanted in a manner that gives them a wider field of vision and more acute vision in general.

If you're using recent editions then elves can see in very low light conditions (able to see perfectly clearly by starlight alone). Drow can see in perfect darkness.

If you want to go by older editions you're looking at infravision: elves, like other beings that can 'see' in the darkness, were able to change their sight to the infrared spectrum, perceiving heat signatures. Drow vision was further ranged and more acute than surface elves'.

Elves aren't diurnal, and have no particular circadian rhythm, they just get four hours in whenever and communities are have a consistent level of full activity all day and night.

The elven olfactory senses are much sharper, as is their sense of taste. Drow raised in the Underdark have a sense of smell on par with humans, due to overexposure to incense and other strong fragrances used in ritual and covering up the fact that living crowded together in caves doesn't always spell great. Elves are picky eaters, both due to taste and texture, deriding non-elven cuisine as ‘over-spiced animal flesh and other abominable foods.’

Elves are biologically wired for music somehow, able to recall melodies flawlessly and engage in music theory , 'the elven faculty for music is uncanny in comparison to most other races,' which they credit to the divine influence of the Seldarine.

While this doesn't always come up in the rules, elves are immune to the paralytic effects of ghouls, due to an incident involving either Corellon Larethian or Lolth, and the ghoul deity Doresain, who in the version of his backstory given for the Realms was a green elf back in -11,200 DR whose recent ancestors were of the nation of Eiellûr and betrayed their people to the dark elven empire of Ilythiir. A rather brutal bastard and slaver who eventually killed and ate the raw flesh of the ruling family of the last surviving green elven nation of Southern Faerûn as part of a pact with the demon lord of the undead, Orcus for eternal life. When Doresain later fell in combat during one of the many skirmishes of the Crown Wars, Orcus brought him back as a unique undead horror and King of the Ghouls and Orcus’ proxy on Toril (so that Orcus could focus on important matters in the Abyss). Doresain eventually became trapped in the Abyss, trapped in service to Yeenoghu when Orcus ignored his pleas to save him (despite his ‘domain’ Orcus despises the undead). Most Torilian sages claim that Lolth intervened and freed him, bringing Doresain back to Toril in exchange for imbuing the drow with immunity to his children and swearing that ghouls would never attack them, which indirectly affected all elves (except for the ‘not attacking’). Others claim he prayed to the gods of his living years, the Seldarine, and they took pity on him in exchange for the same service.

The Seldarine are always depicted as genderfluid or agender – if depicted in art in humanoid form they are shown with two bodies as afab and amab, or possessing both characteristics in a single form. Occasionally a mortal elf is also born who takes after the gods; marked by their androgyny (by elven standards) and the ability to alter their sex characteristics at will, these elves are considered blessed by Corellon and closer to the gods by many elven cultures. They haven’t been given an official word, but the elven word for ‘Blessings of Corellon’ on Toril is ‘Cormiira.’ According to the most popular take on the elven creation myth, the People are born of Corellon’s blood (and possibly Sehanine’s tears as she wept at seeing him gravely wounded), which many elves attribute this as evidence for. The Tel’Quessir do have several other creation myths however.

Elves have an innate connection to the Weave, which is why they're 'the wizard race' and something to do with their connection to the world. Elves are more likely to have the innate ability required to become arcane spellcasters, and some say the Weave is what gives them their lifespans.

Going into purely non-published realmslore from word of god:

The elven gestation period takes two years (this I’m pretty sure is in published DnD somewhere?) Elves tend to avoid being pregnant unless they actively want to and have generally mastered the art of not being pregnant, the threat of being side-lined by shorter lived peoples who have more children and faster be buggered.

The elven diet primarily consists of raw plant matter and fish. The elven digestive system can handle vegetation that others’ cant. They can eat meat, and many do – especially those who grow up around humans, who have developed a tolerance that makes it easier for them to digest – but it’s not a ‘natural’ part of their diet nor does it play a large role. Apparently drinking small quantities animal blood is a reasonably common enough way to consume land animals (I’m not clear on whether this is in the form of soups or beverages).

Elves are severely allergic to cannabis and can't use it, though they have found unspecified alternatives.

While getting it is unpleasant, they are only inconvenienced by bubonic plague and its not considered a dangerous disease.

Elves also draw energy from the sunlight, which bolsters their metabolism, allowing them to eat less and possibly playing a part in their ability to digest previously mentioned plant matter. Access to fresh water (not just drinking it) also plays a part in their overall health. Somehow. Dark elves in the Underdark have adapted over the centuries (or maybe from the High Magic ritual that binds them to it) to draw from the faerzress radiation.

Elven vocal chords can reach pitches higher than humans can reach, and there's a gene that can allow the elf to produce two notes at the same time, which with training allows them to sort-of say two things at once (a 'ghost' vocalisation beneath the spoken words). This is described as 'genetic but not racial' so I assume it can pass to half-elves and any non-elven descendants through them.

---

Reverie/'Eedqa':

Elves do not sleep, unless something has gone wrong (injury, illness, exhaustion). They also can’t be forced to sleep, and are immune to magic that would do so (but not to being whacked over the back of the head and knocked out with something heavy).

- Elves enter a state called the Reverie (or just reverie) in Common, and ‘eedqa’ in Elven. The elf finds a quiet place to relax, gradually tuning out the world and slipping into a trance-like state where they re-experience their lived memories, occasionally interspersed with memories from past lives and visions from the gods – which will be vague and puzzling and probably require a priest to decode, the Lady of Mysteries did not earn that nickname for nothing. - They are somewhat aware of their surroundings in reverie, but pulling themselves back out of their mind is disorienting and waking early is extremely disorienting, much like waking any sleeping individual. Physically, they are immobile, not necessarily lying in a normal sleeping position (sitting or reclining is the norm), their breathing slows into a torpor and their eyes remain open and unfocused, which has occasionally caused panic in acquaintances who’ve never witnessed reverie before and think the elf has died (elves in turn are known to find the 'heaviness' of sleep disturbing to behold).

The only elves who deliberately sleep are priests of Sehanine Moonbow, who occasionally enter the deeper state of unconsciousness to communicate with their goddess, and the majority of drow (whose struggles to achieve reverie have been credited to the Underdark 'fragmenting' their natural instincts, and their inability to relax enough to enter the state).

Elves experience their first reverie in the womb, as pregnancy forges a temporary Rapport between parent and developing foetus where the offspring experiences the parent’s life and learns of their family and culture through them (how much the child can learn varies by parent; quality of education not guaranteed). Young children, lacking experiences of their own, are more likely to experience memories of previous lives unless they share in the reveries of other elves. The occurrence of the first ‘current life’ reverie is a life milestone and typically marks the end of childhood.

It’s very taboo amongst elves to interrupt another elf’s reverie.

-

Communion and Aleirin:

'Elves who lived even in reasonably close contact were so connected to each other through the Reverie and the Weave that they shared at least some shadow of each other’s emotional experiences.'

Elves have something of telepathic abilities, such as the ability to sense their own kind, a ‘sense of welcome,’ ‘warmth’ and ‘safety,’ although this can be obscured. This extends to the ability to enter each others minds and share thoughts, emotions and memory. Although that’s not to say that elves are living in each others heads, nor that they can (or are willing to) do it simply or constantly.

The state of ‘mind melding’ is communion, which is accomplished by sharing reverie while in physical contact (holding hands or pressing palms together, usually). The elven term for communion is apparently quor, however I can’t say for certain that applies to this mystical variety. Communing is credited with the sense of community elves experience, is an important part of elven religion, and they’re noted to anticipate sharing themselves with loved ones and struggle to understand non-elves due to their lack of ability to do so. However, it’s not a state entered into casually, as it requires deep trust and a willingness to be vulnerable with your entire being – you are exposing your every emotion and memory to another. Preparation may take weeks of mundane communication as the elves do away with any prejudices and air concerns to be resolved beforehand. It’s also physically and emotionally draining, and while in communal reverie the elves are entirely unaware of anything but each other and are vulnerable to surrounding hazards. Up to four elves may participate at once.

This awareness of each other lends elves an understanding that allows them to predict each others moods and actions acutely, and aids them to work in sync or borrow one anothers skills for a time (for example an elf who doesn’t know how to speak a certain language may temporarily ‘know’ after borrowing the knowledge from another elf.) Extended use of communion may cause loss of individuality however, as the elves begin to blend into each other.

Elves who isolate themselves from their people - whether this is by their own bitterness, malice, scheming, etc, or if the source is due to external magical affects like the Shadow Weave digging out these emotions (which; Shar, that’s what she does) - lose the ability to reverie and the ability to commune with it. Other elves cannot sense them, describing them as feeling ‘asleep.’

Drow may or may not be capable. They are capable of reverie, which would indicate that they can, they just don't know they can, or plain don't (Lolth would firmly discourage it with torture and death regardless).

Some elves, when they trust each other implicitly, may chose to make the link more permanent – a communion that never ends, in a form called Rapport or aleirin, or aleiryid if the nature of their relationship is romantic. The bonding is permanent, and can usually only be made a single time. Those born of multiple births like twins have rapport with their siblings, but outside of this it’s still uncommon for an elf to make this level of commitment and most are happier with normal, less co-dependent relationships (especially because, if you want to bring in the Complete Book of Elves, the shock of one partner dying can kill the other). A rapport can be made with non-elves, a ranger could even choose to establish one with their animal companion, but such bonds are so rare as to be practically unheard of.

The ability to commune has been attributed to a gland in the elven brain, which produces a magic that veils their minds. At rest it forms a shield that isolates them (and some scholars believe this is where the elven resistance to enchantment magic comes from), but they can lift it or expand it to bring other elven minds in.

The elven resistance to enchantment spells has also been credited to elven culture itself, since magic saturates their world so heavily elves grow up exposed to a constant background radiation of enchantment magic, for lack of a better word, and build up a tolerance. Others have said it’s the elves fey ancestry.

--

Souls/'Ues':

Like most sapient beings who are not humans – or mostly/half-human (excluding half-orcs) dwarves, gnomes or halflings – elven souls, ‘ues’ in elven, are somewhat different to the norm. sometimes differentiated in lore by calling them ‘spirits,’ and do not stay permanently in the afterlife, instead residing in the outer planes for a time (varying from days to millennia) before reincarnating back on the Prime Material Plane. While 5e claims drow are locked out of the cycle, the original lore included drow, and suggested that elves who decide to be evil little bastards in life and bar themselves from Arvandor will find themselves reincarnated as drow (vice versa: a drow who rejects Lolth is unlikely to find themselves reborn in her clutches).

(Elves do not have access to DnD sourcebooks and do not have any concrete idea of this kind of thing, so elven religion and philosophy varies heavily and may or may not reflect these things. Some elves don’t even believe in reincarnation.)

Another traditional side effect was that raise dead didn’t work on elves, only resurrection. Space was made for DMs to hand-waive this if it was getting in the way (because it makes elves expensive to have in the party), and the rule seems to have been officially side-lined for convenience by this point.

--

Ageing:

How elves age has varied by edition and writer. Sometimes they're human aging, sometimes a bit slower, sometimes much, much slower.

In most sources, including 5e core, an elf matures at the same rate, physically and psychologically, as a human, later developing into elven psychological stages as the centuries pass and they outlive the human experience.

It's also been said that Torilian elves are physically mature at 25.

In older editions, including realms sources, elves could age slower, taking between 30-60 years to hit puberty (which lasts another 50-85 years). Psychologically, non-elves are known to find elven youths to be rather mature for their age (due to longer lives and communing with the adults in their lives), though they’re still inexperienced by elven standards and hormonal. Elven children are left to pursue their ever shifting curiosity, instincts and impulses which means they generally don’t master any skills and end up about level with any other race by early adulthood. Drow have the fastest rates of maturation, Gold elves the slowest. Wheras in humans afab are known to hit puberty first on average, elves mature at the same average speed regardless.

Elves also have a mystical land-connection thing and are noted to be shaped by their environments, and it has been said of the latter version of ageing that elves may mature faster outside of the slow pace of elven cultures, particularly in dangerous and stressful situations where they need to grow fast.

Bizarrely, and I’m assuming this is a typo, it seems that the process of elven puberty is a bit like getting steroids because they get strength and dexterity bonuses. Or maybe elven teens are just stronger and more agile than their human counterparts, which is probably more likely if it isn't a typo.

[a-killer-obsession]

Brat [Kid x Killer x OC Nina]

Commissioned by @dissvicious

CW: third person pov, intox, recreational drug use, spanking, brat taming, blow job, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, threesome (f/m/m), very light bondage, double penetration (v + a), creampies, multiple orgasms, inappropriate use of devil fruit

WC: 4k

Masterlist || Comissions Info

The Kid Pirates gathered in the dining hall of the Victoria Punk, celebrating an overwhelming win against a ship full of marines who dared to think they could defeat the crew of the great Eustass “Captain” Kid. The raised platform where the commanders usually sat to dine had been cleared off, replaced with various instruments being played by a rotation of crewmates, filling the hall with music ranging from punk rock to heavy metal. Some of the usual dining tables had been cleared as well to make space for dancing and drinking, some crewmates opting to position their chairs in circles for drinking games and conversations, while others sat at the remaining tables to pick at the scraps of the feast or lose their share of the loot in gambling games. The four commanders sat together, passing around a joint and retelling their perspectives from the battle just been.

“Where's pinky?” Heat asked, before taking a hit of the joint and passing it along to Wire.

“Nina?” Killer replied, “she wanted to get the blood off her chainsaw before it got too dry and crusty, she should be out soon.”

“Maybe she finally fucked off,” Kid grumbled. It was no secret that Kid had a stick up his ass ever since Nina and Killer had gotten together. “Good fuckin' riddens.”

“Kid we're in the middle of the fucking ocean,” Killer sighed, “where would she go? Can you at least pretend to like Nina? For me?”

“They're a bratty little friend stealing bitch,” Kid snapped, yanking the joint from Wire's hand and hogging it, “should've kicked her off the ship when I had the chance.”

“Like you could get rid of me if you tried,” Nina teased, pinching the joint from a surprised Kid and making herself comfortable in Killer's lap. Killer wrapped his arms around her waist to steady her, bumping his mask softly against the side of her head in a makeshift version of a kiss. “Sorry I took so long, lion,” Nina cooed, scratching Killer's goatee, “fuckin’ chains were all gunked up with some asshole's brain matter.”

“Do you have to do that PDA shit here?” Kid rolled his eyes, trying and failing to snatch back the joint. Heat sighed and pulled another from the tin he kept in his pocket, handing it to the disgruntled captain.

“I'm literally just sitting,” Nina feigned innocence, taking a long hit of the joint. She held it up by the burning end so Killer could lean forward and slot it through one of the holes in his mask, leaning back as Nina returned the joint to her own lips, clouds of smoke filtering out of several of Killer's mask holes.

“On Killer,” Kid grumbled, “you look like a common whore.”

“First of all, thanks,” Nina said with an exhale of smoke before handing the joint to Heat, having caught up to the others with a nice buzz now, “secondly, would you say the same if I was on Heat's lap?”

“You're not keeping Heat away from my bed,” Kid complained.

“Heat goes to your bed?” Nina laughed, while Wire and Killer stifled their own snorts, “Nice.”

“No that's- that's not my fuckin point!” Kid replied in a fluster, a flush of red on his cheeks.

“Maybe I'm colourblind,” Nina teased, “cos you're lookin real fuckin green there, Kid.”

“You sayin’ I'm jealous?” Kid scoffed, “Of you?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying,” Nina replied confidently, “you just can't stand that Killer wants to spend his time with me.”

“You're fuckin hogging him!” Kid yelled.

“Kid…” Killer warned, exchanging a concerned look with Wire and Heat as they felt the tension in the air rising.

“He's a grown man,” Nina shouted back as she got up, getting ready to fight, “he can do what he wants.”

“And you're a thieving fucking bitch!” Kid barked as he stood too, trying to look intimidating, not that the comparatively tiny woman was at all frightened by him.

“KID!” Killer got up in a hurry, putting himself between the two.

“No, it's not fair!” Kid complained to Killer, “Ever since you two shacked up you spend all your time with them! You haven't fucked me in weeks!”

“Maybe you're just not as special as you thought you were,” Nina replied cruelly. Killer took a deep breath, knowing that the argument had just hit the point of no return.

“What the fuck did you just say to me, bitch?” Kid snapped, trying to get at Nina but held away by Killer, “I'm the future King of Pirates, you're nothing but some discarded bratty bitch playing at pirates!”

“You're about to be King of the Shark Shit, you thick skulled cunt,” she spat back, “when I send you to the fucking seabed!”

“Okay can we calm down and talk about this please?” Killer sighed. It's times like this he wished he wasn't wearing his mask so he could pinch the bridge of his nose where a headache was quickly forming.

“Like this bolts for brains would understand a word I say,” Nina scoffed, “Hey Kid - Me, Killer girlfriend. You, pigheaded cunt. Got it?”

“Fuck you!” Kid screamed. Now Wire and Heat had to get involved as well, struggling to hold the redhead back.

“Bite me!” Nina bit back.

“Stop it, both of you!” Killer yelled, “You're acting like fucking children!”

“Just fucking bang already,” Wire said under his breath, “fucking hell.”

“What did you fucking say?” Kid's head snapped in Wire's direction, the taller man not at all phased by his angry expression. Wire was observant, perhaps the only one who had noticed that it was Killer the captain was jealous of, not Nina.

“Nothing boss,” Wire replied flatly, “just that maybe you and Nina would get along better if you put that energy elsewhere.”

“He's got a point,” Killer hummed. He too had his suspicions about where Kid's feelings really lay, “it would solve the sharing issues…”

“Like this brute could make me cum,” Nina scoffed with a heavy eye roll. Did she want to fuck Kid? Absolutely, but she'd rather fuck her chainsaw than admit her attraction to the goop-brained asshole. “I doubt he even knows where the clit is. Probably why Killer prefers me over you, bet that mouth isn't good for anything except talking shit.”

“Oh I'll make you fuckin’ cum alright,” Kid purred, liking the idea of fucking the attitude out of Nina more and more by the second, “I'll have you screaming my fuckin’ name, just like Kil does.”

“Like I'd let a caveman like you get a taste of me,” Nina teased, turning to wiggle her ass in a seductive manner at Kid, knowing it would rile him up. She wanted to see how far he'd go with his threats. Her hands teased down Killer's front, looking over her shoulder at Kid to challenge him, hands moving possessively over Killer's toned chest as though to say ‘this is mine, what are you gonna do about it?”

“Alright, that's quite enough out of you,” Killer sighed, picking Nina up and throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as she squeaked in protest. He didn't like being used as a pawn in the middle of whatever this weird sexual tension going on between her and Kid was. Killer began walking away with his angry passenger, looking back at Kid who stood in the same spot as he had been, trying to not let it show that Nina's teasing had in fact had an effect on him. “You coming or not?”

“Ey?” Kid replied, confused.

“You got her riled up, you're gonna deal with her,” Killer replied sternly, making Kid forget for a second who the captain was. “She's being a fucking brat because of your inability to keep your mouth shut, and I don't have the energy for that right now, so you're gonna fix it.”

“He's the fucking brat!” Nina shouted, trying to fight her way off Killer's shoulder but unable to compete with his strength.

“You and I both know that's not true, princess,” Killer replied, continuing his warpath to his room. Kid followed behind, not getting to close since Nina was facing him, and she looked like she wanted to claw his eyes out. He followed Killer inside the first mate's private quarters, closing and bolting the door behind them as Killer dumped Nina unceremoniously on the bed, her body bouncing slightly on impact. She scrambled on the mattress like she was making to attack Kid, but Killer quickly grabbed her, pulling her by her ankles until she was bent over his lap.

“You weren't being nice out there,” Killer sighed, yanking down Nina's shorts and panties without warning. She and Kid suddenly went shy as Nina's ass was laid bare, the two of them not looking at each other. “Count.” Killer said plainly as he raised his hand and brought it down on Nina's ass, the clap of skin on skin echoing in the room. Nina whimpered in pain and arousal, Killer knew exactly what he was doing. It was punishment, but it was also foreplay to get her more comfortable with Kid. “Nina,” Killer growled when she didn't reply.

“No!” She spat back. Killer smacked her again, harder this time, leaving an obvious handprint on her soft ass. “One,” she whimpered. She knew better than to say ‘two’, when she hadn't correctly counted the first smack. Killer administered four more, Nina obediently counting each. At five he pushed her off his lap and stood, leaving her confused, and a little under sated. “You usually go to ten?” She asked, disappointed.

“Kid will do the rest,” he explained, gesturing for Kid to take his place on the bed. The captain hesitantly did so, and Nina was immediately bent over his lap by the blonde. She could feel his large erection under her belly, but it only served to flare her aggression. Killer saw the spark of rebellion in her eyes, and knelt in front of her face, running his fingers through her fringe and making a fist to pull it tight, forcing her head up. “Behave,” he warned. Nina furrowed her brows and spat at him, the saliva dripping down his mask. “Ten more it is then, on top of the five you have left. Kid.”

Killer had been careful to make sure Nina's ass was facing Kid's flesh hand, and he brought it down eagerly, his cock twitching as Nina whined. She refused to give in though, and Kid growled at the lack of counting and spanked her twice more. She squirmed and whimpered, but refused to give up on her defiance.

“No good,” Killer clicked his tongue, squeezing Nina's face between his thumb and fingers so her lips pursed, “we'll just have to fuck it out of her, till she's too fucked dumb to have an attitude.”

He grabbed Nina by the hair again and threw her on the bed, pulling off her goggles and shoes, pulling her shorts and panties the rest of the way off, and tearing her shirt open to free her tits. He was being rough, but he knew Nina would use her safe word if he went too far. He wrapped his hand around her neck as he climbed onto the bed, using his other hand to unfasten his sash and binding her hands with it. “Fuck, Kil,” Kid grinned, “you sure the tiny thing can take this sort of treatment?”

“She'll say ‘chainsaw’ if she wants us to stop,” Killer replied, unfastening his pants and pulling his hard cock free. He grabbed Nina by her hair again and pulled her onto all fours, her ass pointed at Kid, who had to hold back a groan as he got his first look at her cunt. “Put that mouth of yours to better use,” Killer instructed, tapping the head of his cock against Nina's firmly closed lips. She scowled up at him, refusing to give him what he wanted. “Nina, open,” he commanded. When she refused still he pinched her nose shut with a frustrated sigh, until she had no choice but to open her mouth to breathe. He forced his cock in her mouth as soon as her lips parted, making her whine, but she accepted her fate and started to bob her head on his cock. She was so addicted to him that once she got that first taste, she couldn't deny him any longer. “See there, Kid?” Killer hummed, “you just have to be firm with her. Quit standing there gawking, play with her cunt or something. You wanna fuck her or not?”

Kid, who had been not so casually palming himself over his pants, eagerly stepped forward, climbing onto the bed and kneeling behind Nina. He admired the red prints on her ass, giving her a softer, more playful slap that made her groan on Killer's cock, before soothing over the flesh with his cool metal hand. He spread her cheeks apart, labia shifting as he did so, exposing the glistening folds between. He ran two fingers down her wet cunt, before giving her no mercy and pushing two thick fingers inside her.

“Fuck!” Nina cried out, pulling off Killer's cock, “fat fucking fingers, be careful!”

“Yer fuckin’ dripping,” Kid gawked, “needy fucking slut.”

“No shit fuckass,” Nina bit back, "you gonna do something about it or not?”

“Keep talking shit and I'll show you fuck ass,” Kid warned, making her pussy squelch as he pumped her with his fingers, enjoying the way her gummy wet walls squeezed around him.

“Bet,” Nina struggled to get out between stifled moans, “I wouldn't even feel your tiny baby carrot fucking me, I've taken shits bigger than your cock.”

“What, is that a challenge?” Kid growled, “Cos I'll fuck yer ass till you can't sit if you don't watch yer fuckin’ mouth. You'll be feeling it for the next three fuckin’ weeks.”

“Then I guess I'm gonna keep talking shit,” Nina spat back, using her bound hands to jack Killer off, not wanting him to feel ignored. Killer would have forced his cock back in her mouth by now, but he wanted to see where this was going.

“You want me to fuck your ass?” Kid asked with a raised brow.

“How else am I gonna take both of you?” Nina replied, like they were both fucking stupid.

“I just assumed we'd spit roast you,” Kid exchanged a questioning look with Killer, who shrugged in response.

“Spit roasting is for pussies,” Nina growled, “do you think I'm a pussy?”

“No..” Kid replied sheepishly.

“Good, so shut the fuck up and fuck me already,” Nina spat, rocking backwards to fuck herself on Kid's fingers since he'd momentarily stopped moving them, “I want my holes filled, get to it, I’m gonna dry up from old age over here.”

“Fuckin brat,” Kid grumbled, pulling his fingers out of Nina and smacking her reddened ass, “Kil, you got lube?”

”Who do you think I am, of course I have lube,” he rolled his eyes under his mask, leaning back to rummage in the top drawer of his side table, “You want plain or strawberry?”

“Plain is fin-” Kid started.

‘Strawberry!” Nina cut him off.

“He didn't ask you, brat!” Kid complained, “Yer getting plain!”

“I wouldn't fight her if I was yo-” Killer began to warn, already grabbing the strawberry.

“I want strawberry!” Nina pouted, “I want a strawberry scented ass!”

“For fucksake,” Kid grumbled, holding out his hand for the lube.

“STRAWBERRY! SCENTED! ASS!” Nina shouted.

“OKAY FINE, FUCKING HELL,” Kid shouted back, “I'LL GIVE YOU YOUR FUCKIN’ FRUIT ASS YOU FUCKIN’ FRUITASS!”

Killer took the opportunity to remove his mask and tie his hair in a low ponytail as Kid squirted a generous amount of lube above Nina's asshole, letting it drip down before spreading it with one finger around the ring of muscle. Killer took his place back in front of Nina, who took his cock back in her mouth with no argument this time, looking up at him with half lidded eyes that closed as Kid sunk a finger inside her. She moaned on Killer's cock as Kid worked her open, and Killer grabbed her short pigtails to guide her movements as she got lost concentrating on Kid's fingers in her asshole as he added a second. His fingers were thick, she was probably stretched enough from just two to take any average man's cock, but Kid was far from average and knew he would need to work more to get her prepared to take him. He wanted to fuck the attitude out of her, but he didn't want to actually hurt her. His metal hand came up underneath her, and he pressed one finger to her clit and used his devil fruit to vibrate the metal, making Nina pull off Killer's cock with a surprised whine. “Fuck, Kid!”

“That's more like it,” he purred, “now we're getting somewhere. Go ahead and scream my name when you cum for me, little spitfire.”

“N-no!” Nina cried out. Kid replied by increasing the intensity of the vibrations and bullying a third finger into her ass, pumping her hard and fast.

“Then I guess you'll just have to not cum, aye?” Killer spoke in a voice that was so low it was almost terrifying, “You can scream your captain's name, or we can leave you here wanting. Maybe I'll just fuck Kid instead. Tie you to the bed and make you watch.”

“No! Please don't stop!” Nina whined, she felt like if they stopped now she might combust, “I'll be good!”

“Scream for me, bitch,” Kid growled, pressing his metal finger hard against her bud.

“Fuck, fuck!” Nina groaned, “cumming, fuck, Kid!” Her whole body shook as she let out a choked roar of a moan, Kid giving Killer a pleased grin as he pulled his fingers from her ass and she all but collapsed against the bed.

“You're not done yet, princess,” Killer purred, “we haven't gotten ours yet.”

“She's blissed out already and she ain't even had a cock yet,” Kid grumbled.

“She can take more, can't you princess?” Killer cooed as he squeezed Nina's face. She gave a weak whine and nodded, and he gave her face a soft appreciative slap. He let her lay back against the bed while the two men undressed, and Nina's eyes flicked between both of them hungrily as she rolled onto her back, thighs rubbing together as her need grew again at the two thick erections presented to her.

“Meow!”

“Oh for fucksake, ZAP!” Killer groaned, chasing the cat around the bedroom.

“Where the fuck did he come from?” Kid growled.

“My son likes to sleep in the laundry basket,” Nina replied matter-of-factly, “Zap! Come to mama!”

“No! Not to mama!” Killer complained, trying to grab the cat as it jumped up on the bed. He scruffed Zap and carried him out of the room, ignoring Nina's sad whines, placing the cat firmly on the hallway floor and shutting the door quickly before Zap could sneak back in. “Fucking cockblock.”

“Aw, Zap doesn't mean it!” Nina replied, before Killer grabbed her and made her giggle by flipping them both so she was laying on top of him. Kid took his queue to climb up on the bed behind her, settling between Killer's legs. Nina bit her lip as she reached between her legs to position Killer's cock, sinking down onto it with a relieved sigh. “Ah, doesn't get any better than that,” Nina grinned.

“We'll see about that,” Kid grunted, fisting himself to coat his cock in lube and applying more to Nina's ass. Killer held her flat against him, keeping her from squirming while Kid lined himself up. Nina squeaked as he pushed the head of his cock against her asshole, only pressing in the tip before pausing as he met resistance.

“Breathe, princess,” Killer soothed, “relax sweetheart, let him in.”

Nina whimpered against Killer's clavicle as Kid slowly pushed in further, attitude entirely forgotten as both her holes were filled and she clawed at the sheets either side of Killer. She let out a low whine as Kid fully seated himself, stilling inside her as she adjusted to the fullness. “Fuck yer tight,” Kid groaned. He made an experimental pull almost all the way out, before pushing back in again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nina groaned, “yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck me, fuck me!”

“Say no more,” Kid replied, grabbing her hips and giving her a hard thrust that made her scream. Killer exchanged a shit eating grin with the captain over Nina's shoulder as she buried her face against his chest, before he too began to move, making thrusts up into Nina's cunt to match Kid's harsh pace. Nina screamed like a bitch in heat as both men fucked her hard, making Killer grunt as she took out her overstimulation on him, biting and sucking at his chest and leaving marks all over his tan skin. Kid's hands were leaving bruises on Nina's hips as he held them tight, showing no mercy with his pace.

“Good girl,” Killer cooed, “does that feel good? Your holes nice and full now?”

“Yes!” Nina cried, “so- so full! Gonna cum again!”

“Cum for us then, princess,” Killer purred. Nina immediately bit down on his shoulder, making Killer swear as she let out a muffled moan against his skin and clamped down around their cocks. Killer's thighs grew wet with her release as she quivered, but neither man let up, prolonging the orgasm. She went boneless between them, a ragdoll for them to fuck, completely dick drunk and making weak moans.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Kid groaned, “can I cum inside her Kil?”

“Fill her up,” Killer replied with his own grunts, close to cumming as well, “fuck, I'm close.”

“One more from her?” Kid asked.

“Aye,” Killer agreed, the two of them working in tandem to hold back their own peaks while they forced Nina to another. “Come on Nina, one more sweetheart, I know you can do it.”

Nina shook her head against him, but the coil in her stomach was already pulling tight again, she couldn't deny it. She made a surprised gasp as Kid smacked her ass, feeling a rush of electricity through her body that reignited her. “Fuck, do that again,” she moaned. Kid complied, giving her a series of smacks, alternating which cheek he focused on as he kept up his brutal thrusts. “Fuck, fuck, cumming!” She screamed, seeing stars and shaking hard. She had a blissed out smile on her face as she collapsed against Killer, who groaned at her pussy still fluttering around him from the aftershocks of her orgasm and couldn't hold back any longer. He swore as he emptied his balls, and Kid quickly followed suit, giving one last hard thrust before stilling deep inside Nina's ass and painting her walls white.

“Fucking hell,” Kid panted as he pulled his cock out and collapsed next to them.

“Say thank you, princess,” Killer forced out between hard breaths.

“Th-thank you,” Nina stuttered, half asleep.

“Maybe yer not so bad,” Kid teased, patting Nina's bare ass playfully as he groaned at his stiff joints and climbed out of bed.

“Where are you going?” Nina asked in a sad tone that surprised both men.

“Oh I- I thought we were done here,” Kid replied unsurely.

“Go get a wet cloth from my bathroom, then come back,” Killer told him, “you're staying with us.”

“You sure?” Kid asked, eyes flicking between them as Nina rolled off Killer, who quickly untied her wrists and threw his sash to the floor.

“We're sure,” she confirmed, reaching out to hold his hand, “stay.”

“Okay,” Kid replied softly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “I'll stay.”

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[icyharrington]

Cat and Mouse- Billy Hargrove X Reader

whats up yall, i am finally back for the first time in like a million ass years with some content!!!! if it wasnt obvious already yes, i am going to be writing for stranger things now. y’all can thank @wroteclassicaly for getting me into it lmaoo. but yea since i havent written something in a while i’m gonna be doing something a little shorter and more to the point lmaooo. so yea anyone who knows me from my icylangdon days knows that i <3 fuckboys that are mean. so naturally i kinda fell in love with billy when i first saw him okay. i KNOW he’s a bad person and shit but like he’s not real and he’s also sexy so. plzzz don’t be offended by this, if you don’t like billy simply scroll past!! but if you AREEEE a slut for billy, well then you just might wanna stick around for this one 😛 also dont judge me if this sucks i havent written in a million years ok. PS i am planning to write for eddie and steve in the future too so stay tuned for that if ur more into those characters!! ok i’ll shut up now teehee

description: billy hargrove decides to seduce you at a party; you decide to let him.

contains: mean/fuckboy billy, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, face slapping, brief choking, degradation/humiliation kink

wc: 3.3k

He smells like musk and whiskey and cigarettes, like a grown ass man, and from this proximity it’s dizzying. He’s sitting beside you, thigh-to-thigh, right arm outstretched across the back of the couch just behind your shoulders. You will yourself not to turn your cheek, knowing that if you catch sight of his stormy, heavy-lidded eyes, you won’t be able to resist him any longer.

Billy speaks slowly, allowing the velvet sound of his words to simmer in your ears, rosy lips nearly brushing against them.

“You look so sad,” he’s saying, and the hair on the back of your neck stands up. “Why’re you so sad, hm?”

You keep your gaze fixed on your palms, feeling a prickling warmth flood your face. You can feel the danger emanating from his pores, hanging around him like a dark, bulbous cloud, but somehow that only tempts you more. “What makes you think I’m sad?”  

“You’ve been sitting here by yourself all night,” he mutters, his large hand finding your bare thigh, testing the waters. He doesn’t grope you, just trails his calloused fingertips down against your skin with a feather-light touch, and you don’t stop him. “Did your boyfriend dump you or something? Broke your heart?”

He’s mocking you, but it doesn’t register; all you can focus on is his skin against yours, his fingers tracing invisible patterns back and forth until you can no longer think straight. “I just don’t really like parties.”

He lets out a snicker. “Yet here you are.”  

“I know, it’s stupid.” You occupy yourself with taking a couple sips of your drink, which is lukewarm by now, but the accompanying buzz helps to dull your nerves slightly. “I honestly don’t know why I came.”

“Wanted to try playing cool girl this year, huh?” It’s like a power line has been cut when he draws his hand back from your leg, the absence of contact almost palpable. Finally you allow yourself to meet his eyes, stomach dipping at the smirk he has plastered across his picturesque features.

“No, it’s not that at all,” you say sternly, a little embarrassed he would assume that. You don’t want him to think you’re a try-hard, even though you know it’s stupid to care about his opinion of you. He’s just some douchey guy trying to get in your pants, after all. “I guess I just wanted to try something different.”

“Oh?” he says with a tilt of his head, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. He doesn’t take his attention away from you for even a second, now spreading his hands out across his denim-clad knees. You can’t help but follow them with your eyes, wishing hopelessly that he’d put them back on you. “So you’re adventurous, then?”

“I mean, in some ways, maybe…” Your vision darts away from his face once more, not noticing how suggestive the phrase sounds until it’s too late. Clearing your throat, you attempt to regain composure. “But I don’t want to go crazy or anything.”

“I think I know how to drive you crazy in a way you’ll really like,” Billy chuckles, beginning to stand up from his spot on the sofa. Your heart skips a beat, almost like you’re panicking at the mere idea of him moving away from you. It’s jarring, and so unlike you—what the fuck kind of spell does he have you under?

You watch him move into an upright stance, his muscular frame casting a looming shadow over your head as he extends a hand before you. “I can show you. If you’re not scared, that is.”

You squirm in your seat, eyes zeroing in on the greenish blue veins that run  from his knuckles to his forearms like rivers on a map. You have to remind yourself that you aren’t special, that he probably does this same routine with a different girl every weekend, but the thought doesn’t stop your body from making the decision for you.

His hand is significantly bigger than yours, and rougher in texture; he gives you a leisurely once-over as he pulls you to your feet, yanking you forth with little grace until your chest is nearly flush with his. He leans forward, sending a pleasant waft of whatever product he’s sporting in his overgrown hair directly to your senses. “C’mon.”

It’s difficult to ignore the other kids at the party who are witnessing the situation unfold, entertaining themselves with other peoples’ business in true Hawkins fashion. You’re sure some uppity bitch will call you a slut for letting Billy seduce you come Monday, but for some unfathomable reason, you really can’t bring yourself to care.

Billy walks in front of you, leading you into a dim wood-paneled hallway. It’s not his house (you’re not entirely sure whose house it is, to be honest), but he moves like it is, his steps lingering but purposeful.

His jeans are worn-out and ripped in some spots, and they’re form fitting enough that you can easily see the prominent curve of his backside. He peers back over at you as he uses one toned shoulder to nudge open a door at the end of the hall, catching you ogle him, which he appears to take rude delight in.

“I see you’re assessing the merchandise,” he snickers with a shake of his head, guiding you into the shadowed bedroom. This remark causes your cheeks to flush deep red, which becomes apparent to Billy when he switches on the light. His smile grows, eyes glinting deviously. “Aw, don’t be shy, sweetheart. I see you looking at school all the time.”

Your chest tightens at this reveal, which honestly, you hadn’t been anticipating. Is it really that obvious, or is Billy Hargrove a fucking mind reader or something? Do you really stare at his ass that much?!

You sputter out something nonsensical before you’re simultaneously rescued and pushed further into insanity- he takes your chin with a firm grip and directs it upwards, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss becomes rough in a matter of seconds, his teeth sinking into your lower lip, backing you up until you’re in front of the bed. You pull at the white beer-stained fabric of his shirt and whine against his mouth, having to stand on the tips of your toes just to reach him properly.

He’s laughing when he pulls away, shoving you back onto the pale blue comforter. You narrow your eyes irritably, offended that he apparently found your kissing techniques to be amusing. “What’s so fucking funny?”

Billy’s expression sterns at this, taking hold of your jaw so you’re unable to break contact with him. “I’d suggest watching your tone with me, sweetheart.”

He lets go, leaving you panting like a dog, but you manage to contain yourself before he notices. You lean back on your palms, crossing your leg to show off the underside of your thigh as you survey him with doe eyes. “Then explain why you were just laughing at me!”

“S’nothing, really,” he says, the corner of his lips twitching upwards as he tries to stifle a smirk. He knocks you onto your back with a quick prod to your shoulders, bowing down so he’s looking at you from above. He pets your thigh where the seam is currently hiked up, “I just love it when bitches get all worked up for me.”

You scoff, but your brain seems to have short-circuited, leaving you without any ideas for a witty comeback. His statement should have offended you, but instead it ignites a warm, tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach and somewhere else familiar to you.

Clearing your throat, you choke out a puny, “I wasn’t worked up.”

As if on cue, the tips of his fingers make abrupt contact between your legs, where arousal has apparently begun to seep through the fabric of your underwear. Your face flushes when you hear him gasp lowly, his fingers stroking you up and down to assess the damage for himself; your hands fly to your face to hide yourself in shame, but Billy doesn’t make any effort to hide his smugness. “I mean, I dunno, (y/n). I think your panties beg to differ.”

You close your thighs around his hand instinctively, which he obviously doesn’t like, because he grabs both of your knees and forces them apart again.

“You’re gonna fucking lie to me, huh?”

He’s awaiting a response, his nostrils flaring menacingly as his head cocks to one side. You’re intimidated but insanely turned on, even more so when you see his jaw clench at your immediate silence.

“I didn’t mean to lie, Billy,” you say slowly, keeping close watch on how his expression changes (it doesn’t, not really, and somehow that’s more unnerving than any other way he could’ve reacted). “I guess I just didn’t like how cocky you were being.”

“Oh, you didn’t like it.” His tone drips with sarcasm, threading his fingers through your (texture) hair to jerk your head up sharply. “Then why the fuck is your pussy so wet?”

Oh, fuck. You struggle a little under his tight grasp, but not enough to actually make a difference. He stares you down coldly as his hand returns to your underwear, reaching inside this time to actually touch you without a barrier of cotton in the way.

He starts to rub your pussy in unceremonious patterns, and your breath catches in your throat when his palm presses hard against your clit.

“Hear that?” He pushes one finger inside of you and pumps it in and out lazily, producing a crude, wet noise. “That’s the sound of a bitch that’s worked up.”

He laughs, letting your head drop back down against the bed. You’re humiliated, but some part of you wants to see how far this will go, how far he’ll take you from reality. Billy is bigger than you, and stronger than you by far, but even still as he manhandles and overpowers you, you strangely don’t feel unsafe. In fact, you feel almost euphoric.

“Nothing to say? Huh?” He adds a second finger and quickens the pace of his thrusts, sitting down beside you. “Nothing at all?”

You’re too busy moaning to make any sense of what he says, eyes going vacant and glassy as they fix on the ceiling above. You’ve never been fingered like this before- it’s evident he knows what the fuck he’s doing, despite the lack of grace within his demeanor. He places his lips to your neck for a brief moment, teeth scraping the sensitive skin there until you let out a yelp, his free hand snaking up underneath your t-shirt and bra.

“It’s okay to admit that you’re a slut, you know. You really aren’t fooling anyone, anyway,” he continues cruelly, licking his lips as he palms and squeezes at your breasts. When he notices that your eyes are on the ceiling and not his face, he smacks your cheek. “Look at me.”

He stretches his fingers inside you, groaning inwardly at the feeling of you wrapped snugly around him, and you do what he says.

“Say it.” He moves his arm faster, curling his fingers with expertise to thrust against your tight inner walls.

You only get wetter viewing his stern features, the way his brows furrow in a mixture of focus and indignation. You poise a brow, though you’re really only half-lucid. “Say what?”

He takes his hand off your breast and slaps you once again, a little harder this time. It stings, and you huff in frustration, not knowing what you did wrong. “Say that you’re a slut.”

“Wha- no! I’m not!” Why you’re trying so hard to preserve a sense of pride that ceased to exist the second you agreed to accompany Billy to the bedroom, you aren’t completely sure. You don’t have the chance to figure it out either, because in the next moment his fingers are fitted around your neck.

His lips turn up at the corners, but he doesn’t really look like he’s smiling. “We spoke for the first time not even a half hour ago, and now you’re letting me finger fuck you in a stranger’s bedroom. You know what type of girl does that?”

You blink, fairly confident what his answer will be. “A slut?”

“That’s right,” he practically spits, releasing you from his hold on your throat. It hadn’t been enough to restrict your breathing at all, but if he’d applied just a little more pressure, you would’ve been totally at his mercy. It should be a frightening idea, but secretly, it arouses you. “A fucking easy, dirty, dime a dozen slut. So say it.”

“I-I’m a slut,” you say half-heartedly, which is a struggle, considering that he hasn’t slowed his pace at all between your thighs.

“Yeah? And what else?” He keeps his momentum going, at the last minute deciding to add a third finger with a satisfied grin. You cry out, hips wiggling as you attempt to adjust to the intense feeling, which hurts in a way you never want to end.

“I- I’m easy? And filthy, Billy.” His breathing seems to grow slightly more ragged when you say his name, but he doesn’t let himself falter; still, the lapse fills you with a triumphant sensation, and you’re encouraged to continue. “I’m so lucky I came across a man like you, Billy. Somebody who can teach me a lesson for being such a dumb little slut.”

You stretch the word man, assuming it’s a title he’ll appreciate.

He takes in a breath, eyelashes fluttering so subtly you almost miss it. You know you got him, even if he’s not letting it show. “You’re goddamn right about that.”

He adjusts himself so he can run his tongue over your swollen clit, pumping his fingers in and out of you as he does. Your fingernails grasp at the covers underneath your writhing body, back arching as your chest rises and collapses, a long and pitiful moan escaping the back of your throat. He continues until your head is spinning and you don’t know who or where you are, latching his lips around your clit to apply needed suction there. In your moment of incoherence, you still are able to steal a look at the man who has made you come undone with the smallest of efforts; he’s eyeing you from underneath a veil of dark lashes, and though his mouth is hidden between your parted legs, you can see traces of a smirk reflecting in his dilated pupils.

“O-oh fuck. Billy…” you reach out and grab a fistful of his styled waves, your hips pushing against his face shamelessly. He grunts at this action, using his spare hand to swat yours away.

“Don’t fuck up my hair,” he snaps, your arousal glistening on his chin. “And you better not cum without asking me first, bitch.”

You can hear the hot blood pumping through the veins in your neck when he says this; you grind yourself against him, not caring how desperate it makes you seem. “I-I’m gonna, Billy.”

He stops, screwing his face up like he’s deep in thought. “Here’s the thing, (y/n). I don’t see the point in making a bitch cum if she doesn’t do something for me in return. And you haven’t exactly done anything for me, have you? Besides whine like a little cunt.”

You gape back at him, but truthfully, you're not actually that shocked he would pull something like this. Why would a guy like Billy Hargrove give in so easily anyway? Especially when it’s apparent that he takes great pleasure in seeing you squirm.

“I can! I can do whatever you want, Billy.” You bat your eyes at him sweetly, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip in a display that you hope is seductive. “I’m a slut, remember?”

“You think I don’t know that you’d suck my cock?” He sits upright again, and you’re forced to hold in a full-on tantrum. All you want is to cum on his tongue, call out his name until your voice is hoarse and raspy. Why did he have to be such a fucking asshole!? “Every slut I’ve ever met loves to suck me off. They fucking beg me for it. But I don’t think every slut deserves that, y’know?”

“You’re saying I don’t deserve to suck your dick?” you ask in sheer disbelief. He can’t be serious right now, can he? It doesn’t seem like he’s joking, and all he gives you is a prolonged shrug of his shoulders.

“I dunno, (y/n). Do you?”

You figure what he wants you to say- he wants you to degrade yourself, submit all your self-worth over to him for the night. You start to shake your head, and he nods once, ushering you onward.

“N-no, Billy, I don’t. But I really, really want to, Billy. I would do anything to make you cum. I’d be honored to.”

He apparently approves of your choice in words, returning to the former harsh rhythm of his thrusting. He follows this up by nudging your thighs open further and dipping his head to align with your most sensitive area, rolling his tongue effortlessly against your clit.

You’re on the brink of an orgasm within a minute, gasping and bucking your hips in total desperation. “Billy- Billy, I’m…”

You cum, and right then, whatever you were going to say disintegrates into  a thousand pieces right in front of your rolled-back eyes. It’s loud, and embarrassing, probably, but you’re not in the frame of mind to think about anything other than the tsunami of an orgasm that’s encompassing every inch of your trembling body. Only when you’re limp and temporarily braindead does he remove his fingers from you, getting off of the bed and stretching his muscles like he just got back from working out.

“You definitely aren’t sucking me off tonight,” he says flatly, bringing his slick fingers up to wave tauntingly in your face. “Except for this.”

You wordlessly take them into your mouth and taste yourself, not resisting when he purposely pushes them back far enough to gag you. “Maybe some other time, if you’re good, I’ll let you. But right now, you’re still just a cheap whore in my book.”

He retracts his fingers from your mouth, dragging the mixture of saliva and cum down your chin before giving your face a chaste pat. “See you around school, (y/n).”

Then he leaves, shutting the door with one last devilish look behind him. You’re still on your back, barely having recovered from the orgasm Billy inflicted upon you mere moments before, but your mind spins wildly in the wake of his absence. You want him bad- to taste him, to be fucked by him. You don’t care if he treats you badly, or if he even cares for you at all; it’s illogical, but undeniable, the way your body reacts so naturally when he’s nearby.

If you were of sound mind, you’d probably be worrying about whether or not he was telling his friends about you, or wondering if anybody had heard your unabashed cries of ecstasy while Billy was doing his number on you. But you aren’t of sound mind; that much is clear as day.

You roll onto your side, limbs aching. You don’t have it in you to leave the bedroom yet, so you remain in this position for several minutes, merely existing.

For the first time in your high school career, you can’t wait for Monday to come. You have to see him, make him want you; it’s a game of cat-and-mouse that he’s strategically unleashed upon you, but you’re more than willing to play.

All you have to do now is plan your next move.

[jjungkookislife]

Marry Me?

ღ pairing: you up!Jungkook x f. reader

ღ genre: established relationship au, fluff [18+]

ღ summary: Jungkook is ready to pop the question!

ღ wc: 1.5k

ღ warnings: some cursing, mention of nervousness, mention of low blood pressure, mention of alcohol, mention of passing out

ღ tags: @xmagicxshopx​ I’m so sorry it took so long! 

ღ date: July 6, 2022

│you up? │the only one│marry me│

“This is such bull shit,” Jungkook groaned as he leaned against his motorcycle. The heat was nearly unbearable even as the sun was setting. He knew he should have come earlier but his nerves got the best of him and it was Taehyung who had insisted he go today.

“What?” Taehyung asks as he walks up to Jungkook, smirking when he sees him in his leather jacket despite the humid summer evening.

Jungkook stands up straight. He runs his hand through his hair, long locks nothing more than an annoyance as they made the back of his neck sweat. He’d need another shower once he got back home. 

“Just this heat, man,” Jungkook grunts as he wipes his forehead. “It’s too fucking hot.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Come on, Romeo. Let’s get inside.”

“Yeah, fuck this heat.” Jungkook nods as he follows his best friend into the shop.

“Welcome!” the shopkeeper greets them.

“Sup?” Taehyung responds and Jungkook elbows him. Taehyung raises a brow. “What?”

“Be nice, that’s my mom’s friend,” he hisses in response.

“Shit,” Taehyung curses and the shopkeeper looks pale. 

“Ignore him, Lizzie. I apologize for his existence,” Jungkook sighs, ignoring the glare his best friend is sending his way.

“Your mom said you’d be stopping by soon,” Lizzie says happily. She moves to the side, opening a glass case and taking out a small box that she opens to show the ring. “For this?”

“Ah, mom spilled the beans, huh?” Jungkook rubs the back of his neck. 

“She’s excited! She never thought you’d be proposing to someone,” Lizzie admits. “Neither of us did but we love Y/N so much! We’re so happy for you!” 

Taehyung chuckles. “Ooh, you’re asking her to marry you? Fuck! Finally! You know, my girl’s been asking when you were gonna ask.”

Jungkook grows nervous, biting his bottom lip. “It’s a big step, Tae. I wanted to make sure we were ready. That I was ready.”

“And when are you asking your partner, Tae?” Lizzie asks him pointedly. 

Taehyung starts sweating. He can feel the clamminess in his palms as he shoves them into the front pockets of his pants. 

“I-I-I don’t know!”

Lizzie grins. “We have a lovely selection right here if you wanna have a look.”

Jungkook catches the wink Lizzie sends his way as Taehyung starts to panic, stepping backward until he bumps against a mannequin dressed as a bride. Tae apologizes, pulling on the collar of his shirt to fan himself. Suddenly, the ticking of the wall clock is too loud and the walls are closing in on him.

“She’s kidding, Tae.” Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Anyway,” Lizzie laughs as she turns her attention to Jungkook. “I can’t wait to hear the good news. Don’t think too much about it, okay? It’s okay to be nervous but we’ve all seen the two of you together throughout the years and you’re perfect together.”

“I’ve grown a lot since I met her. Fuck knows I was an ass to her for a while,” Jungkook shakes his head. 

“I know that’s right,” Taehyung mutters under his breath.

Jungkook looks over his shoulder to glare at him. He raises the ring in his direction and Taehyung has to sit down for a moment, his heart beating faster and faster as his blood pressure drops.

“Such a baby,” Jungkook scoffs.

“He’ll come around,” Lizzie chuckles as she hugs Jungkook. “Now peel him off the floor and bring him back when he’s ready to propose to his sweetheart.”

“Will do! Thanks, Liz!” Jungkook waves as he tucks the little box into his leather jacket pocket. He settles his feet on the floor, his heavy combat boots sturdy as he sticks his hand out for Tae to take before he hauls him to his feet.

“You’re such a drama queen, you know that?” Jungkook rolls his eyes as they leave the shop.

“I know how to have a good time,” Taehyung giggles. “Besides, don’t you feel more at ease now?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer, because he knows Taehyung’s over-the-top behavior was his way of calming him down and he appreciated it.

“Come on, I need a drink.”

“We’re just having dinner,” Jungkook assures you as you walk into a restaurant you had frequented. 

“Why is it so quiet?” you ask as you take Jungkook’s hand.

“I asked for a private dining room. I didn’t want too many distractions. Besides, Taehyung heard we were coming here for dinner and said he’d show up,” Jungkook lies.

“We could have added him and his girlfriend to our reservation,” you say as the hostess greets you and leads you down a hallway you’ve never been to. You thank her when you arrive at your dining area, taking a seat as the hostess leaves.

“No,” Jungkook shakes his head. “He would have found a way to get us banned from here.”

You laugh because it’s true. Taehyung had a love for theatrics and had been banned from a few establishments in the city. 

“Fair enough,” you say as you see the door open and a waiter walks in.

Jungkook is nervous as he sits across from you. Thus far, dinner has been going smoothly. He keeps looking at the time, trying to ease his nerves but this has been coming for years now. The both of you had plenty of talks about the future. A home, a marriage, a family. Everything just seemed to fall into place.

Jungkook was ready to be a husband. He had changed so much since that night he had shown up at your door, sobbing into your arms. You had been apprehensive at first, slowly earning each other’s trust and building your relationship from the ground up. Jungkook had changed his number, cut everyone off, and never gave you a reason to doubt him. He loved you, so much and didn’t ever want to lose you.

It had taken weeks for Taehyung and Jungkook to talk, to be friends again, and even longer for Taehyung to introduce you to his girlfriend but the two of you hit it off almost immediately, as long as you didn’t mention your romps with her man.

The box in Jungkook’s pocket seemed to burn as time went in. He couldn’t even appreciate his meal as you finished. You were wiping your hands on your cloth napkin, making sure your nails were holding up. You had gone to get them done that morning with Taehyung’s girlfriend, gotten your toes as well. You had been going every few weeks for the past year in preparation for tonight, though that was something you were unaware of.

“Would you like to have dessert in the garden?” The waiter asks as he comes to clear your table.

“That sounds lovely, thank you,” Jungkook says as he rises from his seat. His heart is racing. He wonders if he’ll pass out before he even makes it to the garden.

“Come, baby girl,” Jungkook helps you out of your seat as you lace your fingers together. He leads you down a different hallway, where the hostess meets you and opens the doors that lead to the garden.

Upon entering the garden, the doors shut behind you, and music starts to play. You look to the right and see a string quartet playing a familiar song.

You turn back to Jungkook but are in awe when you see the candles and rose petals leading to a giant sign spelling out MARRY ME? With Jungkook taking your hand in his.

“Jungkook!” you exclaim as tears pool in your eyes. 

Jungkook smiles, tears rolling down his cheeks as you stand in front of the sign. The lights blink as he drops to one knee and your hands cover your mouth. 

You’re shaking your head yes before he’s even asked and he laughs. “Wait for me, baby.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper in between laughs.

“I know we started off rocky. I was immature. I wasn’t the commitment type. I could go on and on but one thing I know for sure. I love you, baby girl. There’s nobody else I’d rather have by my side. You’re my other half, and I want to be yours now and forever. Will you marry me?” Jungkook asks as he looks up at you.

“Yes! Yes!” you jump and Jungkook gets to his feet. He’s grinning brighter than you’ve ever seen as he pulls you into a hug, careful not to fumble the ring.

Jungkook takes your hand in his, slowly sliding the ring onto your finger and you admire it. It’s beautiful! 

“I love it!” you gush as you hug him before pressing your lips to his. “I love you!”

“I love you too, baby,” Jungkook says as he holds you close. 

The doors open again and you turn as cheers fill the garden and your family and friends file in. There’s confetti and whistles blown as you’re pulled into hugs. 

Jungkook smiles at you, blowing you a kiss as you’re engulfed in another hug by a family member.

“I love you,” you whisper when you’re reunited again. Your family and friends are celebrating while the two of you take a moment to yourselves. Jungkook wraps his arms around you, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you,” he kisses your cheek.

You lace your fingers together, your ring sparkling. “Just us?”

“Just us.”

thank you for reading! ♡ if you liked it, please let me know! 💌

© jjungkookislife - I do not allow reposts or translations of my work on any platforms, this includes Youtube.

[scuttling]

Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

[multiplefandomsblog]

Fuyuhiko and Kokichi’s reaction to their s/o replacing them with a plushy

request; Rantaro, Fuyuhiko and Kokichi’s reaction to their s/o giving them almost 0 attention because they’re giving all their love to a plushy? Lol no cuddles for them- plushy’s too cute

warnings; fluff, lots of cussing, unedited, gender-neutral reader, implied human strangulation, strangulation of a stuffed animal, stuffed animals, jealousy?? minor neglecting, comfortyyyy, angst but like, so little angst, hard days at work :(

note; i didn’t do Rantaro’s because i did something similar, right here! also, sorry for making fuyuhiko’s so much longer— i don’t even know why i wrote that much, i have no reasoning-

Kokichi Ouma

“S/oooooo~? I’m cold, can we cuddle-?” Bright purple eyes widened, and a look of pure unfiltered betrayal dawned over his face, it almost looked as if you had poured the expression over his face. His eyes darted towards the plushy in betrayal; his expression almost convinced you that you had accidentally cheated on him. “K-Kokichi? What’s-” You were suddenly very rudely interrupted by his obnoxious shriek of horror—

“UWAAAAAAH! You’re-!” He snortled like a child, inhaling in all his snot loudly and grossly before screaming, “So! Mean!” Wincing at the loud and exaggerated sobbing, you frowned at him, only bringing the plushy closer to your chest. “You can’t guilt me into hugging you instead, Kokichi- Hey— Hey! Stop!” Before you could finish your sentence, Kokichi had pounced on you, his devastated expression from earlier long gone, as now his eyes shone pure rage. 

He was strangling the fucking stuffed animal.

Kokichi may be the hugest liar you will ever meet in the world, but he keeps to his word, that he’ll do anything for love. Even strangling someone.

And in this case, the ‘someone’ was a lifeless stuffed animal.

“K-Kokichi! You fucking dumbass— What do you think that’ll even do!? Kill it!?” You cried out, straining as you tried to yank the plushy away from his iron grip. “Stuffed animals can’t breathe!” Kokichi replied in between grunts, white knuckles gripping the plushy tight around its.. its neck. “Not after this, it won’t!” Cackling victoriously, the gremlin finally managed to pull the plushy away from, and the extraordinary momentum had thrown it across the room. 

“Kokichi! That was my favourite-” Your words had been taken away from you as Kokichi suddenly jumped you, tackling you to your bed as he wrapped his arms and legs around you. “I thought I was your favourite..” His voice was soft, the innocent, puppy-dog tone almost had you cave in. Almost.

“Kokichi…” You whined, “I want my plushy back; you’re too heavy.” Kokichi pinched your back, prompting a squeal out of you, “I’m not heavy, you meanie!” You squirmed, sitting up with the boy clinging to you on your lap. “You didn’t have to pinch me, you ass.” Mumbling, you shuffled up, chest feeling as if it had been crushed by the boy sticking to you. 

Kokichi didn’t reply to your insult, instead, shifting closer to you before stilling, almost like dried clay. “Nishishi! Now you’re all mine!” You stifled a smile, “What? Were you jealous of a plushy?” Kokichi shook his head, grin wide and bright as always, “Of course not! It never had a chance against me so I wasn’t even a little worried!” That was a lie. He was scared if you had gotten too attached to the plushy, you’d rather the plushy’s hugs instead of his—eventually, never hugging him again. Kokichi shuddered at the thought.

“I don’t know, the plushy doesn’t—you know—pinch me so..” Kokichi gripped tighter onto you, making sure to prevent your leave before sighing dramatically, “Fine, I’m sorry, okay? Now just promise to always hug me instead of that stupid pillow, kay?” Kokichi spoke in an annoyingly cute voice— but despite being shrill to your ears, you couldn’t help but melt as you heard the real meaning to it. The meaning behind his little act. In a frustratingly teasing voice, you tantalized him. “So you were jealous.”

Kokichi snorted dismissively, grip not loosening, “Nishishi! Why would I be jealous of a plushy? You’re lucky to even be touching an Ultimate Supreme Leader!” It was ironic, seeing as how you hadn’t even been hugging him back, let alone touching him—to which he had painfully noticed, and disliked. Yet he was acting like you were the one who had been strangling a toy for him.

His grin faltered, and you could catch the almost unnoticeable flash of jealousy that shone in his purple eyes. But despite the small tell, you let him win this round, you neglected him enough. you neglected him for less than a minute before he pounced on you, mans was insane.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu

Fuyuhiko had just gotten back from a rough day at work, he sighed as he opened the door, he was extremely exhausted from doing— what was he doing? Well, he’s a Yakuza, that’s a secret. “S/o, I’m home..!” His voice sounded drained, though relieved, he was finally home and all he wanted was to cuddle you— Ah. But it seems you’ve chosen a plushie over a real-life man. 

Fuyuhiko’s eye fell on the sight of you, snuggling a plushie whilst you watched a movie. He pouted, he was always the one you snuggled. Betrayal ran through his veins; what had changed? Did you not love him anymore?

No, I’m kidding; he’s just being a drama queen.

Despite his sulky demeanour, he refused to beg for your attention just so he could get your.. your soft and warm cuddles... that make him feel safe no matter where he was.

... Well, he tried to refuse. It seems, even Yakuza bosses couldn’t refuse the uncontrollable want to be in your arms. Could you blame him? The man just wanted to be held by his partner. 

He wasn’t going to admit that though. The boss baby had too much pride to demand cuddles, unlike Kokichi-

So he decided, you were going to be given the silent treatment. Yes, Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu, the ultimate Yakuza boss was planning to give you the silent treatment(and fail). It didn’t seem like he needed to anyway, you had been so invested in the movie you didn’t even hear him come in, nor did you greet him like you usually did. Sheeesh, that one must have hurt.

Fuyuhiko furrowed his brow and waited for you to notice him, dropping his shoes on the ground twice. It wasn’t until he started jangling his keys aggressively and slapping his bag against the counter, did you actually notice his presence. After you finally did, you spared him a meek hand wave before bringing the same arm back around your plush tightly. “Oh. Hey, Fuyu.” 

You didn’t even turn your head to look at him.

He simply stared at you, you who had just snuggled closer to your plushy— were.. were you giving it head pats!? His frown deepened, you were just doing it on purpose at this point. 

Scoffing, he sat next to your spot on the couch, glaring daggers into the plushy as you seemed distracted with the TV in front of you. He felt his heart sink as you didn’t cuddle into his side like you usually did. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned into the armrest opposite to you, feigning a grudge. 

He couldn’t even get comfortable on the armrest, he kept shifting every 5 seconds just to get your attention and because he really couldn’t seem to get comfortable on the chair. Fuyuhiko watched you with wide, astounded eyes as you only seemed to stuff your face in the plushy. And yup, you guessed it, he caved in. “Tch... if you’re mad at me for something, can you just tell me what I did wrong? This... plushy bull crap is irritating me.” You turned your head to finally look at him in surprise, he thought you were mad at him?

“Huh?” You perked your head up from the plushy, attention completely on him now. He felt embarrassment wash over his entire body; had you not been doing it on purpose?

“N-nothing- whatever, it’s nothing.” Fuyuhiko’s face flushed, your sudden attention on him; he hadn’t gotten used to it.

Drilling your eyes into him, you sent him an unconvinced look, but shrugged anyway— He’s a grown-ass man, if he wanted cuddles, he can ask for them. 

Fuyuhiko sulked as he watched you turn away, it obviously wasn’t nothing. You turned your head back at him as you heard him mumble something. Looking at him with a feigned-confused expression, you cocked your head to the side. “What’d you say?” 

He flushed and looked away, unconsciously scooting towards you, “I- You can cuddle me instead of that pillow, if you want or whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He murmured, moving to stand up. “Never mind.” You grinned at his brooding demeanour, yanking his hand back onto you and throwing the plush somewhere, “Okay, okay! I was just joking with you, I know how much you want my hugs.” 

He fell with an ‘oomph’ against your body, face blank as his mind didn’t seem to register what had happened yet. 

Ohh, but the moment he felt the warmth spread throughout his body, he let out a sigh of relief. “You’re such a cute fucking asshole.” You laughed at his somewhat compliment, somewhat insult, letting him wrap his arms around you tight. You could feel his body relaxing on top of you, and in response, your own shoulders dropped in relaxation. ‘Yessss..! This was the shit.’ Fuyuhiko’s bad day at work had been long forgotten, as his mind was currently occupied with running thoughts of you.

[looooooooomis]

Somebody’s Baby

a stu macher x fem!reader one shot requested by the lovely @slasherscream​ 

I try to shut my eyes, but I can't get her outta my sight. I know I'm gonna know her, but I gotta get over my fright.

pairing: Stu Macher x fem!reader word count: 5.6k warnings: s m u t, longing, fluff, angst, oral, teasing, honestly I went off (my bad)

Stu Macher never really did stand a chance. At least not when it came to you.

He was putty in your hands, whether you knew it or not. He’d do anything for you, everything for you – even if that meant taking a backseat to Billy Loomis. He had to admit, it was gutting to watch you and Billy interact the way you did. The two of you were close – hell, the three of you were close – but there was something about you and Billy that seemed to just…make sense.

And, for the most part, Stu was okay with that. For the most part being the key words. Because, fuck, he’d be a liar if he said that tonight of all nights wasn’t bothering him. It was a night not unlike any other. The three of you had decided on a movie that Stu couldn’t really bring himself to care about all too much as you and Billy harped on and on about whatever it was the two of you were talking about, but it was your attitude that was rubbing him the wrong way.

You were distant tonight. You were cold. You seemed to smile real big whenever Billy would make a comment about the movie but if Stu said a goddamn word it was as though he’d sucker punched you in the gut. It didn’t feel angry, or at least he didn’t think you were angry, but there was something off about the whole damn thing and it was driving him mental.

You were tucked away in the chair with your knees curled up into your chest, frowning at a particularly bloody scene on the TV, a seemingly important one too, but Stu couldn’t bring himself to watch it. He was far too busy trying to discern what the lines on your forehead meant, what the furrowed brow and small, barely-there frown on that pretty face of yours meant. Had he unknowingly done something wrong? He didn’t think so, but stupid shit came out of his mouth all day long so, he supposed, it wasn’t impossible.

But there was a niggling feeling in his gut that told him that couldn’t be it. You weren’t mad or annoyed, you were cold. You were distant. It was as though you’d barricaded yourself away from him and done so with purpose. But why?

Why, why, why?

“It’s eight, Stu,” Billy muttered, far too engrossed in the movie to bother looking his way. “Didn’t you have to be at whatsername’s by eight-thirty?”

Glancing down at the time on his watch, Stu stretched out his long limbs and chanced another look at you only to find that your eyes were solely focused on the wall just beyond the television. For a moment, he remained still, waiting for you to do something. To look at him, to make a quip about his date, to do literally anything besides ignore him, but when your stare remained cast ahead, Stu sighed and stood up to his full height. “Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” He griped. “Think she’ll put out?”

It was meant to be a joke, something to lighten the mood or, at the very least, get you to crack a smile or roll your eyes, but when all you did was continue in your stare-off with the fucking wall, Stu’s stomach fell.

What the fuck was your problem tonight?

“Tact, fucker. Y/N is right here.” Billy rolled his eyes but shot him a small smirk. “And if she has a brain, don’t count on it.”

“Hilarious,” Stu mocked. “You guys need anything before I go? Some water? Some beer? Handful of condoms?”

“Fuck off,” Billy cracked a grin. “Don’t do anything stupid tonight.” He gave Stu a knowing look, being sure to keep his mouth shut around you in fear of letting anything regarding their little charade slip.

“Me?” Stu feigned hurt. “Never.”

Once again, he waited for you to say anything – a goodbye, at the very least – but when he got nothing in return, Stu merely rolled his eyes and walked out of the house.

You, on the other hand, remained stoic as ever as you blinked back a flurry of tears daring to spill out of the corners of your eyes. Your heart was in your stomach and your nails, which had been digging into your palms for the better half of the evening, carved out tiny half-moons into the sensitive flesh as you fought back every urge you had to scream and yell at the idiot for leaving you yet again.

The sound of the front door shutting was enough to make your body relax just enough for a few stray tears to roll down your cheeks. You were just so mad and so incredibly hurt all at once and, while you should have been used to it by now, it never got any easier watching that tall bitch of a man you’d grown to love over the years walk out for yet another date with another woman who was not yourself.

“You okay?” Billy asked, lulling his head towards you from his spot on the couch. He was the one person in the world to know your true feelings about Stu Macher and, while he’d never admit to it out loud, you knew he was oddly protective of you when it came to Stu’s idiocy, especially where his dating life was concerned.

You swallowed hard, not quite trusting your voice in fear of breaking down in front of him. So, instead, you remained silent and barely nodded. Was it hot in here or was it just you? You suddenly felt like you couldn’t breathe as you sat in the dark room with Billy to your left and Stu now long gone. Deep breaths, you thought to yourself, squeezing your palms yet again. Deep, calming breaths.

You heard Billy sigh as he paused the movie. “Y/N,” he muttered, his tone careful, “how’s he going to know how you feel if you don’t actually say shit about it?”

Through the thick blanket of tears still gathering in your eyes, you focused your glare on the dark-haired man. “Fuck off,” you barked out, “like it’s that easy.”

“It is,” he shrugged. “What’s stopping you?”

“The idiot has a date every week, Billy,” you hissed, “am I supposed to show up with a bouquet of fucking roses declaring my feelings as his tongue’s down some other girls’ throat?” With your emotions at an all-time high, you stood up from the chair and raised a shaky hand to anxiously toy with your hair. “I mean does he have to parade his shit around here the way he does? It drives me nuts.”

Billy remained quiet and still as he watched you pace in front of the tv. He’d seen this frenzied look on your face only once before, but he knew what was coming next. It wasn’t often that you let your feelings finally bubble over to the brink of explosion, but if your current state was any indication, he was about to witness a breakdown.

Standing up to his full height, Billy quietly walked towards you and placed his hands on either shoulder, holding you in place as his brown eyes searched your own watery gaze. “Hey,” he cooed, brow puckered. “Stu’s a fucking idiot if he doesn’t see what’s in front of him.”

You chewed on your lip in an attempt to contain the sob desperately clawing its way up your throat. “I can’t watch him do it anymore, Bill,” you finally said, barely above a whisper. “It just hurts too much.”

It wasn’t often you were met with the soft side of Billy Loomis, but you cherished those moments – though so far and few between – each and every time. With a sigh, Billy wrapped his arms around your shoulders and tugged you close. He said nothing, though, because what could he say? Stu was a fucking moron when it came to you, he knew as much, but uttering those words at a time like this would only hurt you more.

You sniffed, your tears bleeding into the cotton of his white t-shirt. “I swear he—”

“Wow,” Stu’s voice rang out into the silence of the room. Snapping your head towards his sudden appearance, you froze in Billy’s arms, terrified of just how much he’d heard. At first, he seemed to just stand there for a second, staring at the two of you wrapped up in each other’s arms with a resigned, almost defeated look in his blue eyes. But all at once, in typical Stu fashion, that serious undertone slowly morphed into an almost amused sneer. “You two move fast, huh? Guess I should’ve grabbed those condoms.”

You rolled your eyes, barely hearing Billy’s sly comeback as you gently pushed him away. That heaviness in your chest that had made you cry only seconds prior was now a raging fire inside of your chest. The audacity this big, dumb, ass of a man had.

“Hilarious, Stu,” you griped, sniffing as you walked back to your chair. “Forever the comedian.”

“Hey,” he held his hands up in surrender. “No shame in it, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t interrupt shit,” Billy said. “And you know it.”

“What are you even doing back?” You snapped, glowering across at the idiot. “Or did you get bored of this one already?” You made a show of looking down at your watch-less wrist. “Five whole minutes, that’s got to be a new record.”

Stu pretended to laugh. “I forgot my wallet, ice queen,” he grabbed his wallet off of the table but continued to glare down at you. “What’s your problem tonight, anyway? You’ve got a stick shoved so far up your ass it’s practically coming out of your—”

“I wouldn’t go there,” Billy warned, flicking the play button on the remote. “Stop while you’re ahead.”

Stu barely glanced at him. “Nah, Billy,” he shrugged and took a seat on the edge of the couch closest to where you sat. “I’m curious. Can’t a guy be curious as to why a broad suddenly decides to give you the cold shoulder?”

“I warned you,” Billy merely shrugged.

“A broad?” You growled. “Get fucked, Macher.”

“What is your issue?” Stu reiterated. “I’m serious. You’ve been acting like a—”

“I’m not getting into this with you.” Pushing yourself off of the chair, you stormed passed both men towards the front door. “Enjoy your date, dipshit.”

Stu watched you go in utter confusion but before he could get up to follow you and continue this entire fiasco, Billy smacked him upside the head. “Leave her be, idiot,” he merely said, not tearing his eyes away from The Exorcist. “Let her cool off.”

“Cool off?” Stu asked with a furrowed brow. “Cool off from what? You two got that heated that fast that she stormed out because I came back inside?”

A long, deep, heavy sigh escaped Billy’s lips as he – yet again – had to pause the movie. His eye twitched in irritation as he surveyed the almost dopey look on Stu’s face. “I just want to watch this damned movie and it’s like a fucking soap opera with you two.”

Stu blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“You seriously don’t know, do you?” When all he received was a blank stare from his friend, Billy pinched the bridge of his nose and swore under his breath. “You’re even dumber than you look, you know that?”

»»————-¤————-««

It was a few hours later when there was a casual knock at your front door. Your parents were gone for the night and, as you glanced at the time, your stomach gave a nervous twist. It was nearing midnight and, while it was a Friday and you were by no means tired, just who would be knocking at your door this late at night eluded you.

Debating on whether or not to answer, you remained firmly situated on your couch as you eyed the front door in disdain. Maybe if you waited long enough, they’d move onto the next house and your life could be spared for another night. But, before you could get too much hope on the matter, another loud knock erupted from the door. This time, however, followed by an all too familiar voice.

“Hey dipshit,” Stu’s muffled voice rang out, “open up.”

“The fuck?” You whispered in confusion before making your way to the front door. Sure enough, as you unfastened the lock, there he stood. Stu Macher in all his glory. His eyes were somewhat wild as he silently stood on your front porch, soaking you in from all angles as his Adams apple bobbed up and down in his throat. For the first time in…well, ever, it appeared Stu was at a loss for words.

“Stu, what the hell?” You asked. “My parents could have been home do you know how late it is?”

“Yeah,” he simply said, not moving an inch from where he stood. “But this couldn’t wait.”

You blinked. “What couldn’t wait?” You asked, glancing over his shoulder to see if this was some weird prank that he and Billy thought up. “Come inside, you’re freaking me out.”

“I—” His words seemed to die on his tongue. “I just need to know if it’s true.”

You frowned. “If what’s true?” You racked your brain for a possible answer but came up empty. “Did something come up on your date or something? If it’s about that rumour with me and Matt Sewinski, I promise you that’s not true. The guy’s a creep.”

Stu shook his head but his eyes remained glued to your face, unblinking. “No,” he simply said, “and I didn’t end up going out with Heather.”

You wrinkled your nose. “I thought it was Sarah tonight?”

Stu shut his eyes in sheer annoyance. “Heather, Sarah, whoever the fuck it was,” he opened those blue eyes open again and the raw intensity inside of them made you take a small step back. “I didn’t go.”

You swallowed hard and suddenly felt a wave of nausea overcome you. “Why?” You gulped out.

Stu licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair. He was yet to step foot inside your house and between the maniacal look in his eye and the chilled breeze seeping in through the open door, you shivered absentmindedly. “I talked to Billy.”

Four words. Four tiny little words was all it took to make the room around you spin on its axis. A cold sweat broke out across your chest as you averted your eyes to the wall directly beside his head. Maybe if you didn’t quite look him in the face, you could get out of what was about to become an incredible awkward, painful situation. With your breath trembling, you swallowed again and tried to find your voice. “About what?”

Stu cocked his head to the side. “Y/N,” he warned, “cut the shit.”

Another painful gulp. Your throat felt like it was closing in on you as you stood there facing the boy you’d been in love with for as long as you could remember. You’d often dreamt of this day, the day where he’d finally realize your feelings only to have them reciprocated fully – but when you’d pictured it, Stu looked a lot less crazy than he did looking back at you now. But, even still, there was a glimmer of emotion shining brightly behind those blue eyes that made your breath hitch in your throat.

It made you nervous.

Worse, it made you hopeful.

“Stu,” you tried to find some conviction in your tone, but your nerves got the better of you. “Can you just get inside first? You’re scaring me.” Despite feeling as though you were going to faint, you managed to reach across the divide to yank him inside of your house. Locking the door behind you, you took a few even breaths before turning back around to face him. “What did Billy say?”

Stu ignored your question as he began to pace around your hallway. He was this tall, broad, string bean of a man on a regular day, but the mass of him tonight was all encompassing as he governed your foyer. “Seven years,” he began, his voice slightly shaky. “We’ve known each other for seven fucking years, Y/N. And I’ve hung on your every fucking word for all of six years, eight months and a handful of days, give or take.” He turned on his heel rather abruptly to face you. “But you liked Billy.”

You opened your mouth to respond to the first half of his statement before realization dawned on you. Grimacing, you shook your head. “Billy? He’s like my brother, where the hell did that come from?”

“You act like he hung the fucking moon, Y/N!” He exclaimed, emphatically. “What was I supposed to think?”

“What?” You shook your head in sheer confusion. “Okay, one thing at a time. Billy is one of my best friends. So are you. What’s the problem here?”

“The probl—?” Stu laughed. “The problem? For seven fucking years you’ve been the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of before I go to sleep. And literally every fucking second in between. And this whole goddamn time, I thought you were in love with Billy.”

You were reeling. You weren’t entirely sure if your heart was beating as loud as it appeared to be, but you were sure he could hear it from where he stood a few feet away. “I—” You tried to form a sentence – any sentence – but nothing seemed to suffice. “But the dates?” Were the only words that seemed to spill from your lips. “You were dating – are dating – constantly.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, “wonder why.”

You weren’t sure when you’d done it or just how your legs managed to carry you back into the living room, but you found yourself falling against the arm of the couch in an almost dream-like state. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything,” Stu fussed. “I want to know if what Billy told me was true.” He walked up to you and searched your face. “Do you love me?”

You didn’t answer at first. You couldn’t. Not when it felt as though your lungs were about to explode in your chest. You must have opened your mouth a dozen times over, each time with the promise of a formative sentence, but nothing seemed to suffice.

Suddenly Stu’s hands were on you. Squeezing your thighs with those large hands, he demanded your focus as he swooped down and caught your eye. “I need you to answer me, doll.”

You were so focused in on the overwhelmingly glorious feeling of his hands on your thighs that you forgot to answer. Hell, you forgot to breathe. It wasn’t until you slowly managed to tear your eyes away from his hands to trail up the rest of his body towards that striking face of his, that you found your words.

“You came to my house at midnight. You’ve been the one going on dates like it’s a part time job. You’re the one claiming to have been hanging on my every word for the better half of our friendship so, no, Stu, I’m not saying a fucking word until you tell me what it is that brought you here this late?” You pushed his hands off of your thighs and stood up. “All I’ve done this entire time is sit idly by and watch you carry on like Heffner at the Playboy Mansion. You want me to answer you? Not until I get a—”

Your answer came in the form of a kiss.

On instinct, your hands tangled through his hair as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. He might have been on your shit list at the moment, but fuck he was a good kisser. You’d been thinking about this very moment for as long as you could remember. Longer, even, and god was it everything you thought it would be and more.

His hands were on your face at first, cradling it gently as he backed you into the sofa, and then they were on your neck, holding you close as his tongue massaged against your own. Shivering beneath his touch, you instinctively leaned into his broad chest as the pair of you continue to stand there, kissing like your lives depended on it.

“Stu,” you mumbled against his lips. “What are we doing?”

“Kissing” he rasped out before finding your lips yet again. “Bed or couch?”

Every red flag in your head was going off to stop this and properly talk about what was not so subtly insinuated only seconds prior, but he just felt so good and you’d wanted this so so long. “Bed,” you told him breathlessly, without a second thought.

Stu wasted no time in leading you towards your bedroom, kissing his way down your neck as you stumbled down the narrow hallway. Obviously losing his patience about halfway through, he pushed you up against the wall and trailed sloppy kisses down your jaw and neck. “I love you, if that wasn’t obvious.” He breathed out. “Like, a lot.”

His words struck you blind. Ever the dutiful distraction, however, Stu’s hand trailed down your sweatshirt before settling on the waistband of your pajama shorts. Your body reacted to the promise of his hand. Arching into him, you bit your lip and sighed in contentment as his fingers slipped beneath the band. You were already soaked. Your body responded to the man in a way you couldn’t begin to comprehend, and you weren’t sure you wanted to. And as his middle finger slid into your folds, instantly finding your clit, a soft moan escaped your lips.

“Is this the horny part of your brain talking?” You growled, tugging at the ends of his hair so that you had full access to his lips. “Or are you serious?”

“So fucking serious.” He hummed into your mouth. He pinched your clit, garnering a rather surprised hiss to escape from your lips as your entire body lurched forward. Hearing him chuckle, you popped an eye and began to pull his shirt over his head. When you tossed it across the hallway, his eyes met yours. “Do you love me?”

“Yeah, but I have bone to pick with you first,” you chided, doing your best to control your breathing as he quickened his pace on your clit.

He ducked his head down to bite your lip. “Unless it’s this bone,” he ground his hips into you, and you could feel his rock-hard erection even through his jeans. “It can wait.”

You laughed before you could think of stopping yourself. “Jesus Christ, you’re disgusting.”

He was smirking across at you. “You love it.”

Still grinning, you rolled your eyes before your lips took refuge on his neck. Which, as it turned out, was a massive turn-on for Stu Macher. Running your tongue along it and nipping at the sensitive flesh, was getting him incredibly riled up if the bulge in his jeans was any indication. Biting down on the sensitive flesh, the groan it drew out of his mouth was enough to make your already wet pussy clench around his fingers.

“Fuck,” he drew out, sliding the finger that had been assaulting your clit only seconds prior inside of you.

You let out a small moan of your own as you hurriedly got to work on his belt. “Why the fuck wouldn’t you just tell me how you felt?” When you’d managed to practically rip it off of his waist, you wasted no time in unzipping his jeans. His cock sprung free within seconds.

“I thought you liked Billy,” he rasped out gruffly as you began to pump his cock with your hand. “What was I supposed to do?”

You wiggled free from the hand currently down your shorts and dropped to your knees. Looking up at him through your thick eyelashes, you raised your brow. “You could have asked me?” You reminded him, swirling your tongue around the tip of that perfectly girthy cock. The man might have been a pain in the ass but good god he had the assets to make up for it.

Stu braced himself against the wall behind you and threw his head back. Fuck, you were lethal with that mouth of yours. “Hindsight,” he breathed out.

You released his cock with a pop. “You’re an idiot.” Was all you said before getting back to work. With your hand, you circled the base of his dick and took the length of him inside your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip each time you made your way back up.

He grabbed your hair and gave it a firm pull. “Fuck,” he growled. “Keep going.”

You hummed against his dick, digging your nails into his thigh briefly before looking back up at him. “Or what?” He allowed his forehead to fall against his forearm currently stabilizing him against the wall. You knew you were driving him crazy, but he’d done the same thing to you for the last seven years and you were nothing if not a petty bitch when you wanted to be. “Say it again.”

He furrowed his brow. “Say what?” Realization dawned on him. “Fuck, baby, you keep doing that I’ll put a ring on your finger tomorrow.” Stu’s blue eyes were hungrily taking you in. How you’d managed to stay fully dressed as he stood there with his jeans around his ankles and his cock out was beyond him but, sure enough, that was his reality. “I love you. A lot.”

You dug your nails into his thigh again, and slowly licked up the base of his cock. “Hmm,” you hummed with a nod of your head, releasing it to stand up to your full height. His eyes were pleading with you to finish him off, but as you slinked up the wall and mirrored his hungry gaze, he surprised you by sliding his calloused hand up the side of your neck until it cupped your cheek. You were practically nose-to-nose as he slowly pinned you against the wall and, as he leaned forward and nudged your nose with his, a slow, lazy grin broke out across your face. “I love you, too.”

Slowly, you leaned in and kissed him. Unlike the deliberate make-out session you’d had minutes prior, this kiss was slow and methodical. When you pulled away, you kissed the tip of his nose and nodded towards your bedroom. “Get on the bed.”

Stu’s eyebrows shot up in amusement. “Pushy.”

You gave his dick a tug. “Go.”

He swooped in again and kissed you before haphazardly kicking off his shoes and jeans, punting them across the hallway as he backed you into your bedroom. When you were close enough to your bed, he broke the kiss to peel off your sweatshirt. Throwing it across the room, his hands were back on you within seconds, kneading and massaging your breasts before taking one in his mouth. Expertly, his tongue ran along your nipple before he began to suck and nip at them. Arching into his mouth, you fisted a handful of his hair and groaned as he pulled you in even closer.

“Stu,” you moaned, shutting your eyes momentarily as you allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of his mouth on your tits. The man truly was a god with his tongue.

But you had a trick up your sleeve. A little payback, if you will. And this, melting into his mouth, was not part of the plan.

Hating yourself, you pushed him away. The back of his knees hit your bed and you watched as he fell back onto the soft mattress with a slight bounce. There was confusion in his stare as he sat there ogling you. “Get over here,” he beckoned, voice low.

Slowly, you shimmied out of your pajama shorts, feeling his eyes on you every step of the way as you stepped out of them and walked towards the bed. Towards him. Sitting himself up, he opened his legs so you could step between them. His hands were slow as they trailed up and down your thighs, hips, and waist before sliding around to your ass. Squeezing and pulling at your cheeks, he pulled you closer and placed a tender kiss to your sternum before craning his neck up to peer up at you.

“I always knew you had a thing for my ass.” You raked your fingers through his hair, pushing it back and away from his forehead as you grinned down at him.

His answer came in the form of another firm squeeze of your ass only rather than stop there, he tugged you closer until you were tumbling onto his lap. You gripped his shoulders as you straddled his lap, subtly grinding your hips so his erection settled between the folds of your pussy, rubbing against your clit.

“Lay down on your stomach,” he uttered. When he noticed your apprehension, he raised a single eyebrow up at you and squeezed again. “Do you trust me?”

You nodded mutely and did as you were told. And, before you knew it, you were sliding off of his lap to lay stomach-down on your bed. You felt the bed shift as Stu crawled towards you but before you could question him on it, you felt his hands slide beneath your hips to pull you up so that your ass was raised in the air.

“What are you—”

Your words died in your throat as you felt his tongue glide along your pussy. Gasping, you nearly buckled forward, but caught yourself on your pillow. You were face down, buried in the comforter and pillows of your bed, but with your hips bent at the level Stu had moved them into, he had full access to both your pussy and your ass. You could feel his fingers kneading into your ass as his lapped up your every fold until settling on your clit. You groaned and buried your face into the pillow as he began to suck your clit. You could hear how wet you were as his mouth imbibed every inch of your pussy.

His name tore out of your throat and your knuckles whitened as you gripped the bedsheets. The veins in your neck swelled with every laboured breath you managed to draw and you found yourself bucking into his mouth as an orgasm rippled through your body. You moaned and groaned and cursed into the bed but Stu’s mouth was relentless. And as he pinched your clit all the while still lapping you up, you all but collapsed. When he was sure you couldn’t take another second of torture, he pulled away and allowed you to collapse onto the bed. Your cheeks were flushed, and your lips were parted as you attempted to catch your breath. With a quiet chuckle, he kissed his way up your spine, grinning against your skin as your legs continued to twitch.

“Can I?” He asked, his cock at the ready.

Nodding, you gasped when you felt him slide inside of you. He bit down on your shoulder as he thrust into you and his quiet moans and unsteady breath was enough to kill you. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You feel so fucking good.”

This was a high unlike any other for Stu. Watching his cock slam into you, watching your ass slap against him with every wild thrust and pump he provided and feeling just how fucking wet you were for him – this was the unattainable high. You were the unattainable high.

He reached around to play with your clit again. He could feel it throbbing between his fingers and, feeling you tremble made him weak. Quickening his pace on your clit and steadying his thrusting to ensure you finished again, Stu bit down on your earlobe. “Come for me, baby.”

Your answer came in the form of another thick, guttural moan as you came undone yet again. He watched you quiver and shake and the vision of it was enough for him to quicken his thrusts. Groaning, his hands fell from your clit to hold your hips as he pounded into you. The sound of your cheeks slapping against him was drawing him closer and closer to one hell of an orgasm and as you let out one last breathy moan, his whole body seemed to erupt in fire.

His breathing was heavy as he came inside of you and the more sensitive his cock got with every thrust, his pace slowed. For a moment, neither of you moved. Instead, he allowed his forehead to fall back against your shoulder before he slowly pulled out.

“If I’d have known that’s what I was missing, we should have had this talk a lot sooner.” You teased, earning a playful smack to your ass from the man. Grinning, you flopped back onto the pillow and stared up at him. He was leaning on one arm as those blue eyes scraped over every inch of your face. You could see the words he wanted to say splayed out across his face and found yourself reaching up to brush his hair back and away from his sweaty forehead.

“Right back at ya,” you smiled.

Fuck, you really were in love with the idiot.

[jisungsplatforms]

Humph!!

Pairing: Seo Changbin x fem! reader

Genre: NSFW! Smut, minimal amount of angst (if you squint), fluff (happy happy ending!); non idol au, enemies to lovers, college au

Warning: Mature content! (DNI if you are uncomfortable or UNDERAGED); language, name calling, reader is kind of a jerk, erotic asphyxiation, use of pets names, hint of degrading, praise kink (implied), fingering (f), oral (f&m), PIV, unprotected sex (be careful with this!), unintended voyeurism (Chan and Jisung accidentally hears reader and Changbin getting it on)

Seo Changbin.

Or as you like to call him, the bane of your existence. You wouldn’t exactly call yourself the ‘petty type’ but how could you ever forget about the boy who pulled on your hair and cut in front of you during lunch time, only to get the last middle piece of pizza- a slice that was supposed to be yours, in middle school? And yes, while it is something so small, so trivial, that you should’ve easily forgotten all about it, you just couldn’t for he just seemed to pop up around you every. single. day. Oh, the list of ways he picked on you could go on and on. It was like whenever he saw you, he just had to push your buttons as if it’s his little demented mission to irk you for the rest of your life.

No one has ever made your blood boil more than he has. It makes your blood boil even more when you, yourself, couldn’t even deny the fact that the once scrawny, immature boy turned to the hottest, most muscular (and fuckable) man you’ve ever seen. Now here you are, as college juniors, and you two are still going at each other’s throats. And of course, no matter how older you get, the two of you will always find time to bicker with each other for the littlest things

“WHAT KIND OF AN IDIOT ARE YOU?” you yell, looking at Changbin in disgust. “WHAT NORMAL HUMAN BEING DOES THAT?!”

He rolls his eyes at you, clicking his tongue, “Well, excuse me for having COLD FEET. SO WHAT YOU THINK ITS WEIRD? I GET COLD EASILY AT NIGHT SO LET ME WEAR MY SOCKS TO SLEEP IN PEACE, WOMAN!” Changbin yells back, glaring at you.

Ahh, yes. Today’s fight is now on whether or not wearing socks to bed is considered ‘abnormal’. Cause what else could you argue about?

“BUT…It’s so WEIRD! Can’t you, like, invest in some thicker blankets instead? There are better options than wearing SOCKS IN BED.”

“WHAT? IS IT A CRIME TO WEAR SOCKS TO-”

Jisung interrupts Changbin by slamming one of his hands down onto the table. “God… SHUT UP! CAN YOU TWO JUST FUCK ALREADY?!” he moans in irritation. Chan lightly shoves Jisung in retaliation, scolding him for being too loud. Jisung looks at him and pouts, mumbling a quick ‘sorry’. Chan sighs, finally looking at your startled faces .

“He’s kinda right though,” he says, calmly, “not exactly about the, uhm, having sex part, though the sexual tension between you two is nauseating. But I mean about getting along with each other and finally putting an end to this ‘rivalry’.”

You and Changbin glance at each other for a brief second before scoffing. “Please. Hell would freeze over before we do,” you sneer, side eyeing him.

“I’d rather kiss an electric eel than make up with that snake of a woman,” Changbin mumbles, looking away from you.

“How about I arrange that for you?” you smile, using the fakest sweet voice you could muster. Changbin turns to you with a scoff.

“You are such a-”

“Enough!” Chan says with a stern tone he almost never uses. The look Chan was giving you both was enough to shut you up and intimidate you; hell even Jisung was scared! “Either make up on your own by the end of the month, or else. Understand?”

Both you and Changbin sigh in irritation before agreeing. “Yes…”

“I mean it! Y/n, Changbin! This is getting ridiculous now. Honestly, you guys are full grown adults but you act like children, and not the good ones! Think of the other people you’re affecting with your behaviors.”

Silence fell upon your whole table. You could only nod your head shamefully at Chan’s words, while Changbin clicks his tongue but not say anything else. Jisung looks around the table, the uncomfortable silence making the poor boy feel antsy.

“Good,” Chan leans back, his cheerful demeanor coming back, “One month, that’s it. And play nice!”

“This is stupid,” Changbin groans, leaning back on his chair. You roll your eyes at him.

“Shut it. Remember, this is for the sake of our friends.”

Ever since that day- the day Chan scared the shit out of you both- you and Changbin made an agreement to try and be civil around one another. It wasn’t very nice, but you both knew Chan was right. You didn’t want to lose your friends because of some stupid rivalry that started 9 years ago. To fix your problem, the two of you, begrudgingly, decided to hangout with each other for the next month. Today marks your one week anniversary of your treaty.

Needless to say…you both hate it.

“If we have to hangout, can we not spend our time in a library?” the short man complains, looking at you with his sharp eyes.

“Well, sorry, but I have a chemistry test in a few days and I’m sure as hell not failing that. You know Science isn’t my best subject.”

Changbin groans, sliding down his chair. “Whatever.” he mutters distastefully. You shook your head.

“Don’t you need to study for anything too?” you asked, not even sparing him a glance.

“No. I’m done with all the tests I have to do and none of my other teachers prepped us for another one. So I’m basically free, doll.”

You cringe at Changbin calling you ‘doll’, hating how that simple pet name sent a delighted shiver down your back. You scoff.

“Disgusting,” you grimace, “Never call me that again.”

Changbin smirks, now sitting up on his chair to lean closer to you. “Whatever you say, doll.”

You look up at him with a nasty glare, resisting the urge to yell at him. “You are so lucky we’re in a library.” He laughs sardonically at you. You huff, standing up to look for a chemistry book. Changbin looks at you questioningly.

“Where’re you going?”

“Looking for more books.”

He sighs, starting to stand up as well. “No,” you stop him, “By myself.” He put his hands up, slowing sitting back down. You turn around and walk to the aisle containing the textbooks. After almost 10 minutes of searching, you still couldn’t find the book you were looking for.

“Damn, I was beginning to think you left me here by myself.”

You jolt at the sound of Changbin’s rough voice. You turn to see him leaning against the bookshelf.

“I’m not that much of a jerk,” you answer scornfully, going back to your search. You could hear Changbin’s heavy footsteps grow closer. You turn to see him standing right beside your crouching figure, looking down at you. The angle you’re seeing him in shouldn’t be making you think of such indecent thoughts. You snap your head back to the shelf as Changbin crouches with you, softly groaning as he goes down. You were trying your best not to make contact with him.

Changbin helps you look for a chemistry book, trying to be nice. You could feel yourself getting hotter at his courteousness. You really didn’t want to admit that Changbin was actually a decent person, so you couldn’t help but put up a front.

“I don’t need your help, you know?”

He sniggers, “I’m not trying to be nice. I just wanna get out of here faster.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not getting his joke. “Geez, then get away from me,” you raised your voice, still keeping the fact that you’re still in a library in mind. “I can do it myself.”

Changbin looks at you, a little shocked. He huffs, sticking his tongue against his cheek. “Honestly, you don’t have to be such an ass around me all time, you know?” he says, quietly. You stop your actions, feeling a little bad for snapping at him. “You said yourself, you want us to try getting along, why can’t you act like it?”

You bit your bottom lip, still not looking at him. “Simple. It’s cause I hate you,” you lied. He looked at you for a few seconds before standing up. You didn’t see the look of defeat on his face.

“You know,” Changbin says slowly, “I thought we could be friends. Deep down, I really thought we actually could.” You stayed quiet, looking down. “But now I know, you’re really just a stone-cold bitch.”

That. Now that lit a fire in you. You stand up abruptly with cold eyes. “Never call me that ever again.”

“What? A bitch?” He challenges, eyes equally as cold as yours. “See, here’s the thing; It’s true. I’m trying to be nice here and you’re just shutting down every single nice act I try to do for you. And what have you done for me? Drag me around like I’m some dog? You couldn’t even have the decency to even ask where I wanted to go.”

You could feel yourself get smaller and smaller with every step he took closer to you. For someone who was only 5’6”, damn did he look big. You bit the inside of your cheek when you felt your back hit the wall.

“What’s your problem with me, Y/n? I’ve seen the way you are with Jisung and Chan. I’ve seen the way you are with your other friends. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but ever since we started college, I’ve been trying to be nicer to you. But I guess it makes sense that someone as self-centered as you wouldn’t notice.”

You let out a sarcastic “ha”. You shake your head and stare into his eyes. “I told you. I. don’t. like. you. Do I need any more of a reason?”

“Yes. Yes, you do actually.”

“Hm. Find then. You’re annoying, you’re loud, you’re simple-minded, childish, irresponsible, you don’t take things seriously, you’re whiny, messy, irritatingly cocky and seeing your face is just so infuriated that it makes me nauseous,” you list. “Want more?”

The deadly look on his face simultaneously frightens and arouses you. The sarcastic smirk he gave you, though, was hotter. “Continue.”

“You’re nothing but a show off.” With those words, Changbin’s arrogant facade broke. “You act so cool and cocky when really you’re just average at best. Everything you do. Average. You don’t have much to show for. Nothing you do is worth being proud of.”

Changbin slams his hands onto the wall, making you gasp. You stare at him with wide eyes. “Take that back,” he snarls. If you thought he was intimidating before, boy were you wrong. But something in your touch starved mind made you more horny than frightened. Feeling bold, you tilt your chin up, maliciously. “Or what, Seo?”

All of a sudden, he wraps his veiny arm around your neck, choking you. It was so arousing and so sudden that you let out an embarrassingly whiny moan. “Oh?” Changbin raises a brow with a smirk. He tightens his grip on your neck, laughing cockily when you let out another whine. “Oh, I see now,” he whispers in your ear, “You act so high and mighty, always trying to take control of things, when really you’re just some sub in disguise. Isn’t that right, doll?”

You bit your lip, eyes tearing up in sexual frustration. You eyes roll back, biting your lip harder, when his grip on your throat tightens. “Aww~ how cute. You look so pathetic like this, baby,” he says, biting the shell of your ear. You arch your back at the stimulation, grinding your hips into his with a whimper. You were so glad that you were at the farthest corner of the library. Changbin moves away from you and grabs your arm. “Let’s go. We’re leaving.”

He drags you back to your table and carelessly stuffs your belongings into your bag. He slings it over his should and harshly pulls you out of the library. His apartment wasn’t that far from the library so the two of you didn’t bother picking up a cab. The walking distance between the library and his house was only about 10 minutes or less, but to you guys, it felt like hours.

Changbin fumbles with his keys, wanting to unlock the door faster. When he succeeds, he pushes you inside, slamming and locking his door roughly. He throws your bag to the ground then proceeds to pull you into his room. He turns the knob and kicks his door open.

Once inside, he pushes you onto his bed, hovering above you. The two of you were panting heavily from the tension. “Please tell me to stop,” he breathes shakily, staring at your lips, finally saying his first words since the library. “If you don’t want this, tell me to stop before I lose it.”

Did you really want this? Do you really want him? Or is it just your hormones talking? You contemplate, thinking back on all the years you’ve known him. Yeah, you thought that he was annoying when you were younger, wanting nothing more than to push him down a well. However, as you grew up, you started to notice how mature he has gotten throughout the years. He still does make fun of you, but it wasn’t as bad as before. He did treat you like an actual human being when he wasn’t irritating you. Especially recently. He really did treat you nicely but you were too prideful yourself to admit that.

Even up to now, you said some really hurtful things to him, and he was still making sure you were okay when he could’ve just lashed out on you and done whatever he wants. Changbin is genuinely a really nice guy and you were just too stuck up to see that. In that moment, you realize that you actually like Changbin, as in, have genuine feelings for him. Maybe even way longer than you realize but you were being stubborn to acknowledge it. Speaking of, you seem to realize that you were so lost in thought that Changbin took your silence as a ‘no’.

Just as he was about to remove himself from your body, you grab onto his shirt and push your lips onto his. He was taken aback. He was convinced that you truly didn’t like him but you seem to have proved him wrong. Before he could kiss you back, you parted away from him, leaning your forehead against him. “Make me yours, Bin,” you whisper.

Without any hesitation, Changbin kisses you with fervor. The kiss held so much passion, desperation, and desire that it made you moan. You wrap your arms around his neck, messing with his dark hair. Changbin groans, grinding his hips against yours. He pulls away to take off your shirt and start marking you up. You mewl, feeling him suck, lick, and kiss your neck.

One particular suck on the juncture of your neck made you moan out loud. He smiles against your skin, taking extra time on that area. You cry out, pulling on his hair to get his attention. “Changbin…” you say breathlessly. He looks up and nearly loses it on the spot. You laying underneath him, neck covered with sexy red marks that he created. You already look so dazed out that Changbin wonders how much more beautiful you will look when he actually fucks you.

He moves up to your face, stroking your hair. “What’s wrong, doll?” he questions you softly. You whimper as you roll your hips up to meet his. Changbin hisses at the feeling.

“Inside,” you whine, “Want you inside me, please.”

“Do you now?” Now his tone was condescending. You pout, nodding your head. “Cute. What makes you thing that I’d just give it to you after how much of a brat you were earlier?” You rub your thighs together, pouting.

Tears starts forming in your eyes. “Please? I’m sorry for being a brat. I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”

Changbin chuckles darkly. “Oh, you will, doll,” he says, rubbing both your thighs. He glances up at you to read your expressions, only continuing when you gave him a confirming nod. He sits up and takes off your pants. He chuckles, licking his lips when he realizes that your bra and panties were a matching set. “How adorable.” he sings, making you flustered.

Changbin kisses your stomach before slipping his hand down your panties. You clench your thighs, trapping his hand, as he plays with your clit. He rubs slow circles on your clit, stroking your slit before sliding one finger inside you. You grab a fistful of his bed sheets, moaning. He lazily moves his finger in you, adding another one to fill you up a little more. You were already breathless. Your sweet moans filling up the entire room. Changbin starts to move his fingers faster, bending them, making you arch your back and whine louder.

You could already feel your high getting closer. You start squirming around in response. “Close, baby?” he asks, rhetorically. You nod your head frantically.

“Y-yes, fuck. Oh shi- yes.”

Changbin pumps his fingers faster for you, feeling yourself clenching tighter and tighter before you finally cum around them. He lets you ride out your high before slipping out of you. He brings his fingers to your lips, prying them open. “Open up, doll.” You let his fingers inside your mouth, swirling your tongue around his digits, tasting yourself, making the two of you groan. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, sliding down so his face meets your wet core.

You look down at him, questioningly. You were about to ask him what he was doing until he licks up your slit. Your eyes widened as you threw your head back, letting out a moan loud enough that it borderline sounded like a scream. His tongue explores your pussy, occasionally sucking on your clit as you pant.

“N-no,” you stammer, “that’s not-n-no. I-I’m still sensi-ah!” You grip his hair, not sure if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. Changbin chuckles at this, the vibrations from it shooting up your core. Your sensitivity from your first orgasm brought you closer to your next release. You start bucking your hips, thighs closing in on his head as your core tightens. He grabs your thighs, prying them open. One last harsh suck on you clit made you cum again, this time on his tongue. Changbin licks up your slit, gathering up every single drop of your juices.

He sits up and smiles at you, his chin covered with your excess wetness. He rubs your thighs to calm you down. “You good, Y/n?” he worryingly asks, “Think you can handle one more?” You lazily nod your head, a little overwhelmed with the over sensitivity. Changbin wipes his mouth before crawling back to your face. He kisses you leisurely, taking his time with your lips to give you more time to calm down.

You hold onto his muscular biceps as he cups your face. You were still panting harshly even before he started making out with you. He peppers your face with gentle pecks, encouraging you to continue. “How ‘bout now? Can you handle one more orgasm, babe?”

This time, you could actually reply to him. “Y-yeah. ‘Think I can.” you said, quietly. Changbin smiles and gives you one more peck on your lips. He leans up and takes off his clothes. Even after two orgasms, you still felt needy for Changbin. Your eyes rake down his form, eyeing each one of his bulging muscles. Damn, no wonder why he’s always bragging about going to the gym everyday, cause he has every right to do so.

Now, if you thought his body was impressive, then his cock was another story. Your eyes widens, breath hitching when you see it. Holy shit, now I know why he’s so short, you thought. He has a monster cock that totally makes up for it. “Holy fuck-“ Changbin looks at you with a smirk.

“What’s wrong, doll? Bigger than you expected?” You nod dumbly, mouth ajar. Changbin could feel his ego skyrocketing. He pumps himself, throwing his head back in pleasure, finally feeling some kind of pleasure before lining himself to your hole. He adjusts his position, spreading your legs wider as well. “I’ll go as slowly as I can,” he mutters. You mumble a quiet ‘thank you’ as he starts pushing in.

Your mouth opens in a silent scream, eyes clenching as you try to take him in fully. Changbin moans rather loudly, your tightness a little too much for him. “W-wait. Fuck…” you call out with slight hiss. He stops his penetration, waiting for you to adjust. Your grip on his shoulders tightens, silently giving him the ok to move. He continues his advancement slowly until he bottoms out inside you. The both of you moan, giving each other time to relax.

Changbin leans down to kiss your cheek, whispering encouraging words to you. You stay in your positions for almost a minute before pleading for Changbin to move. At first, his thrusts were slow, testing out how well you could take him in for now. You moan softly, the way his hips move softly is already shooting bursts of pleasure throughout your body. Gradually, he picks up his pace, his once slow, loving thrusts are now hungry, desperate ones.

His hands were now on the back of your thighs, folding you in half. The new position allows him to reach deeper inside you. “B-bin,” you whine, clawing at his back, “hmm…fuck. M-more. Fuck me harder.”

“Harder? You really think your pretty little pussy can handle my cock, doll?”

“Yes! P-please g-give me more. I can handle i-it!”

Changbin laughs at your desperation, picking up his pace. You moan louder, moving your hips to meet his thrusts. Changbin’s soft moans and growls and your own whiny moans filled his bedroom. Neither of you knew who would break first, both of your releases nearing. The tip of his cock starts hitting right on your sweet spot, making you scream. He throws his head back with a loud, raspy moan when he feels you tightening around him.

“I’m s-so fucking close, Bin,” you cry, “Don’t s-stop!”

“My, what a desperate slut you are.”

He bites his lip, hips moving harder and deeper, as he leans closer to kiss you. Remembering the scene from the library, Changbin’s right hand snakes around your neck, firmly but gently choking you.You let yourself enjoy the feeling of him blocking your airways, closing your eyes in pleasure. You whine loudly when he slips his tongue in your mouth. You let him explore your wet cavern, loving the feeling. Your eyes shot open when you felt his thumb playing with your clit.

“Sh-shit! Changbin!” You moan, arching your back. You could feel the beginnings of your release.

“C’mon,beautiful,” Changbin whispers, “Cum for me.” His words seem to have triggered your orgasm. Your body went stiff, cumming around his cock, mumbling a bunch of expletives. You start trembling, the feeling of your orgasm was too intense. Changbin hisses, pulling himself out of you when he felt his own release nearing.

He pulls you up, pushing your head close to his throbbing dick. Getting the memo, you lean down and take him into your mouth. You bob your head up and down as you pump the rest of his cock. Changbin moans, his rough hand in your hair. He starts rocking his hips, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. One harsh tug on your scalp made you moan, the vibrations sends waves of pleasure down his cock making him throw his head back yet again.

“What a dirty little girl,” he pants heavily. “Love my cock that much, huh, doll?” Tears pool your eyes as you try humming in agreement. The second round of vibrations sent Changbin over the edge. Hot spurts of cum shoots down your throat. He holds your head in place until he finishes cumming. “That’s it, beautiful. Swallow it all. Don’t let anything go to waste.”

He lets go of your head and gently pushes you down his bed. He cups your cheek, rubbing it tenderly with his thumb. Changbin reaches behind you to unclasp your bra, throwing it down onto his floor and rubbing at your breast to soothe you, only letting go of them when you let out an uncomfortable whine. He moves up to your face and kisses you softly.

“Are you okay, Y/n?” he questions you. You nod, too fucked out to respond verbally. Changbin giggles, moving to lay beside you and petting your hair as you calm yourself. You turn your body to hug his, slightly catching him off guard. He immediately relaxes, however, and continues stroking your hair. The two of you lay comfortably until Changbin broke the silence.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, quietly. You note the tone of uncertainty in his words. Your eyes meet his in question.

“Mean what?” you slur, still having a bit of trouble talking.

“Did you mean what you said in the library? Do you really hate me? Was this just a…one time thing?”

You look at him sadly, his expression matching yours. He didn’t want this to be just a one night stand. He genuinely wants to be friends with you. Scratch that, he wants to be even more than that. You nibble on your lips, shaking your head.

“No…I don’t actually hate you…Yeah, you piss me off a lot but…I can’t actually hate you,” you say, moving your hands to cup his face. You could feel Changbin leaning into your touch. “Honestly, I don’t even remember when I started liking you. I guess I only just realized it now when you pushed me onto your bed.”

Changbin moves away from you in shock. “You…like me?” You timidly nod your head, a little embarrassed now. He lets out the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on him and kisses you. This time, this kiss was soft, filled with so much love and unsaid feelings. You giggle into the kiss, holding his face. Changbin pulls away from you and rests his forehead against yours, his eyes twinkling in joy. “You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.”

You smile, moving to peck his lips. “I’m sorry,” you tell him, “For everything I said. It was uncalled for and kinda mean. Scratch that, I really was a fucking bitch to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

Changbin hums, rubbing your back. “It’s okay. I’m sorry too. I get why you said all that. I mean, this whole rivalry started ‘cause of me, so this was kinda my fault to begin with.”

“No, it’s not. We both brought this upon ourselves, Bin, so we’re both at fault.”

“I guess…Let’s just start over?”

You contemplate. “I think,” you start cautiously, “It’s better if we don’t.”

“Huh?” Changbin was confused. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean, I don’t really want to forget about our past and pretend our years of bickering never happened. We already fell for each other’s bad qualities, so why should we, you know? There’s nothing for us to hide at this point.”

Changbin had a look of realization on his face, drawing out a long ‘ah’. “I like that,” he laughs. “You’re right. Let’s do that!” He pulls you closer to his broad chest, kissing the top of your head. He hugs your form tighter, as if he was afraid that this was a dream. “Oh yeah, what’re we gonna tell Chan and Jisung when we show up together all lovey-dovey?” he wonders out loud.

“No need to tell us anything!” a voice sounding a lot like Jisung’s calls out from the other side of Changbin’s door. “We’ve been home for 15 minutes now. We heard almost everything! Chill out goddamnit!” You both could hear Chan in the distance, yelling at Jisung for saying that while he goes on about how you two “actually did it, they finally got laid!”.

“Oh my god…” you groan in mortification while Changbin drowns with laughter. You hide your face on Changbin’s chest, feeling it shake from his laughs. “Looks like we got that down!” he jokes. You slap his chest with a whine.

Yup. Today now marks the end of the Seo-L/n war, and damn were you glad it did.

~End~

A/n: hi. if you didn’t know, this is actually a repost yay :) cause after all this time, this fic still hasn’t shown up in the tags cause t*mblr is a little bi-

[youbloodymadgenius]

What Could Have Been (Ivar x reader)

A/N: This piece wasn’t requested;  the idea just popped into my mind and I had to write it. I don’t write smut often - I find it very hard in a foreign language - and I know I’m not very good at it. I hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

@geekandbooknerd​ - thank you so much for beta reading this for me ♥️

@pomegranates-and-blood​ - I hope you don't mind that I borrowed the last sentence from you. It fit perfectly 😉

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: When Ivar calls for a healer, he does not expect you, his occasional lover, to enter his tent.

Warning: smut.

Words: 2385

"Go and fetch the healer!" Ivar commands, exploding as the guard outside the tent doesn't react quick enough. "YOU GO NOW OR I SWEAR I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A STICK BEFORE NIGHTFALL!" His roar loud enough to be heard all over the camp, the frightened guard runs away while babbling apologies, his cheeks burning red.

 Sweating and in pain, Ivar enters the tent, heading slowly toward a straw mattress. Grunting, he flops down on the makeshift bed and closes his eyes briefly, trying to keep the agony in his legs at bay. The battle had been harsh on his twisted limbs, leaving him with stiff, aching muscles. 

 "You asked for a healer, Prince Ivar?" Your fresh and youthful voice startles him and he raises his head, furrowing his brow as he looks at you. "I was expecting Una." His dry, annoyed tone doesn't unsettle, nor surprise you. Prince Ivar is not exactly the most easygoing person. And you know he's very secretive when it comes to his pain. He trusts Una, the main healer, who has been taking care of his legs on a daily basis for many years.  

 "I'm sure you were." You just nod, undeterred. "We may have won the battle, Prince Ivar, but the wounded are countless. Una is taking care of Hrafn, whose arm had to be cut off. She's the one who sent me to you. So, sorry if it bothers you, my Prince, but I'm afraid you'll have to do with me. As for myself, rest assured that I know precisely what I must do. " 

The truth is, tending to Ivar's legs is nothing hard, nor complicated. A meadowsweet and nettle infusion to ease the pain, a salve made with a concoction of boiled blackcurrant and ash leaves collected on Midsummer Night to undo the knots in his thighs and calves, that's all you need, and both are in the small leather pouch you wear at your waist at all times. 

In addition, a hot bath of course wouldn't do any harm, but there's no such luxury while fighting a war.  

 Seemingly unconvinced, Ivar scowls and snorts, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his head as he weighs pros and cons, longing for relief but at the same time reluctant because you're not his regular healer. And perhaps also because you're… you.

 Your suspicions are confirmed an instant later, as Ivar wearily rubs his face with a bloody hand. "No other healers were available? Surely there are not just the two of you, right?"

 You shrug, hardly suppressing a grin. He's right, of course. There are many of you here in Wessex, alongside the Great Heathen Army. However, you and Una are the only ones who are not terrified of Ragnar's unpredictable youngest son. Therefore, since Una was busy, you were the only one willing to go and take care of his legs. But telling him that wouldn't be very wise, right? So, you choose another way.

 "My Prince, if I may say so, don't make things harder. I'm already here, and I can tell you're in pain. So, please, let me do what I'm here for." Inhaling deeply, you give him a small smile. "If it's easier for you, let's say that what happened in the past stays in the past. I'm here as a healer, nothing more, I intend to do my job in the most efficient way and I know I can help you."

 Back in Kattegat, when Ivar was still a boy and not yet this bloodthirsty man obsessed with revenge, before Aslaug's and Ragnar's deaths, before all Hel breaks loose, you and he used to fuck from time to time. At first, you agreed to do it because you wanted to help him. Not because you were a healer, but because Hvitserk, your best friend, was worried about his baby brother after his tremendous failure with Margrethe. You taught Ivar how to please a woman and showed him that he was much more whole than he thought. You then kept sleeping with him because sex was great, Ivar a skilled and fast learner. Yet, there was no real bond, no love between the two of you; just some kind of mutual respect, tinged with an undeniable physical attraction. 

 "My Prince?" You ask softly, your hands ghosting over his thighs as you kneel down in front of him. "May I?" Remembering Una's words – this leg is so broken, so twisted, I do not know how the prince can manage walking, but I do know its iron equipment is like a torture device which causes him an unbearable amount of pain – you gesture first toward the metal armor encaging his right leg.

 Ivar barely nods, a long sigh escaping his lips as he closes his eyes shut. You never did it. Back then, you weren't allowed to. But today is different. Ivar is tired, in pain, and you're not his occasional lover, but a healer. There's no hesitation in your movements; your skillful hands undoing the loops of the brace, you're working fast. Soon, you're able to carefully remove the heavy contraption, and then give your full attention to his left leg. 

 When both his legs are free, you stand up, "Can you take off your pants, my Prince?" and step away, rummaging around the room for a water bucket and a cloth. Actually, you want to give him some privacy. You never really saw his legs and are aware it's a huge matter of concern for him. Once again, you remember what Una told you – I usually work under the furs – and add without turning around, "And please, cover your legs with as many furs as you can, we need to keep them warm." 

 ***

 After making sure his legs are well covered, you grab the cloth Ivar used to clean his hands and face, placing it on a nearby table, next to the water bucket. You then put your supplies in your pouch before turning towards the prince. Eyes closed, his head on a fluffy pillow – the perks of being a prince, you can't help but think, slightly jealous – Ivar seems completely relaxed. You're sure he's not sleeping, though, so you clear your throat while turning toward him. "If you don't need me anymore, my Prince, I'll go back to Una." 

 Ivar exhales slowly as his eyelids flutter open. He just looks at you without uttering a word for a long time, looking a little confused, as if he doesn't exactly remember your presence. He then gives you a small smile – his way of thanking you? – but shakes his head no. Something sparkles in his gaze and Ivar licks his bottom lip. You know him well enough to know that's the exact moment when his mood swings. He props himself up on one elbow, reaching out in an attempt to grab your hand, but to no avail. He lets out a frustrated groan, but his voice is soft, and so are his eyes. "Come closer." Yet, you know you don't have a choice. Denying a prince is anything but a wise option; denying Prince Ivar could be life-threatening. 

 Taking two steps forward, you join the bed and place a hand on Ivar's shoulder. "What else can I do for you, my Prince?" 

 Wrapping his arm around your waist, Ivar pulls you toward him, leaving you no choice but to sit next to him. "Kiss me." He breathes, his blue orbs never leaving your eyes. 

 "Your wish is my command." You whisper while leaning forward to close the gap between the two of you. Your lips find his and Ivar immediately takes charge, a hand behind your neck. His tongue invades your mouth while his free hand slips under your dress, his thick fingers finding the bare skin of your thighs. You let out a gasp, surprised, and delighted. 

 This is new. 

 Back in Kattegat, whenever it was just the two of you, Ivar was always this insecure, tentative boy, eager to learn but clearly grateful that you were willing to take the lead. 

 He's no longer the same. War changed him. The boy has grown into a resolute man, who knows what he wants and who doesn't wait to take it. You won't lie: if you found the boy alluring, this – the warlord look, the confidence, the straight-to-the-point thing – is a whole new level of attractiveness. And a major turn-on.

 When Ivar deepens the kiss, fierce and hungry at once, he pulls you closer, your breasts pressed against his chiseled chest, you cannot help but arch your back as a wave of heat spreads in your belly.

 "Ivar…" You moan and he captures the sound in his mouth, delving deeper again while slipping a rough knuckle against your clit. You nearly choke, almost missing his next words. "Scoot closer." He mumbles, his lips against yours and you don't have to think twice about his demand as you are all too happy to surrender. Straddling him, you push him down onto his back and drive your tongue into his ear. The feeling of his solid, muscular torso between your thighs consumes your senses, a blinding heat coursing from between your legs to fill your entire body. You can't wait any longer. You need him. The craving of being filled up is almost unbearable but when you move your hand downward, your fingers grazing his erected cock, he stops you, a wolfish grin on his face. "I want to taste you first." 

 When he runs his hands up the insides of your thighs after you had moved up to sit on his face, you practically die and clamp your legs around his face, shoving your wet pussy into his mouth. Rewarded with a slap on your ass, you gasp in excitement as he slides a knuckle along your lips. It drives you so wild that you can barely breathe, and Ivar keeps going, his mouth just inches from your clit, drawing shapes around your sensitive skin, teasing you, blowing air into you. Heat is slowly building in your core, burning you inside. You curl your toes and contract your lower belly, panting and moaning, and suddenly, Ivar touches your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue. You almost lose it. Your whole body is about to break into a thousand pieces and you struggle, sucking in several short breaths. 

 "Gods…" Eyes closed, you shiver as Ivar picks up a rhythm. He knows exactly what he's doing. Barely moving his skilled tongue, he applies a warm pressure, each tiny move bringing you to the edge. It doesn't take long for your stomach to be drenched in sweat, and as much as you want to make this last forever, your entire body is taken over by a wave of spasms and pleasure and you explode in orgasm, biting your lip to keep from screaming. 

 Ivar doesn't give you time to settle down or to come to your senses, lifting his head, a cocky grin playing on his glistening lips. 

 "Ride me." He commands, his voice hoarse and loud as he pulls the cover off his groin. A wild laugh escapes your lips when you scoot downward, still on top of him, kissing his nipples, then his toned stomach; you find his cock hard under your fingers, your other hand massaging his balls. Without a warning, you plunge him into yourself, gasping as you feel his cock slide deep inside you. Leaning forward until your head is just above his, you kiss him hard before grounding your hips against his. You then pull up, all the way to his tip, constricting the muscles in your lower belly, and then push back down as far as you can. It sends a rippling wave along your inside walls and Ivar moans, his hands grabbing your ass. 

 As you pump your hips up and down, Ivar squirms beneath you, meeting each one of your thrusts, pushing his hips up as you speed up the pace. Back and forth, back and forth… You move your hips faster and faster, a drop of sweat trickling down your back. The rhythm is frantic now and you almost black out as you suddenly climax once again, Ivar groaning loudly while spreading his hot seed inside you. 

 You fall heavily onto him, sated and exhausted. "Gods, that was amazing!" You finally say, and Ivar chuckles, a smirk on his face. "It was, indeed." Wrapping his hand around your waist, he then does something surprisingly sweet, kissing your forehead tenderly. With your head resting on his tattooed chest, you just hum, and since your eyelids are getting heavy, you close them, sated and exhausted.

 You're dozing off as Hvitserk's voice outside the tent, startles you awake. "Y/N, you're still in there?"

 Sitting up in bed, you give Ivar a confused look while stretching out your upper body. "Yes." You want to ask why but Hvitserk doesn't give you the time. "Hurry up then! Una is looking for you."

 Sighing, you give Ivar a quick peck on the cheek and stand up hastily. "You heard your brother; I have to go." You give him one last look and are about to get out of the tent when his voice stops you. "Wait, Y/N."

 You turn around, and to your surprise, there's no longer a bloodthirsty warlord in front of you, but a boy, shy and insecure, who bites his bottom lip and lowers his gaze. The new Ivar turns you on, there's no denying it, but this one, the timid one, is absolutely adorable, and your heart flutters. You flash him a reassuring smile. Ivar inhales deeply, blinking a few times. "Will you…" He starts but stops immediately. 

 You raise a brow questioningly, but the moment is gone, his face now expressionless. Ivar just nods at you, his gaze steady as he gestures to his legs. "Thank you."

 You're sure that's not what he was going to tell you; that's not what you could read in his eyes. Will you come back later?

 Stifling a sigh, you straighten your dress as best you can. Sadly, there's nothing you can do. "You're welcome, my Prince." You say softly; and with that, you walk away, your mind filled with regret.

 You would have said yes.

🛡⚔️🛡

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[tooweirdforyou]

Maybe how mihawk and ace and zorro would handle a fem! s/o's crazy and mean ex. Like I am feeling down about mine. Anytime hes sees with someone new, instant asshole, screaming at me in of the person I'm with. I feel with him around no will want to stick around. I just need heavy fluff

Mihawk, Ace + Zoro And A Fem! S/O With A Mean Ex

A/N : absolutely hope that this makes you feel better. I’ve never dated but I can’t imagine what that feels like ;-; I hope everything gets better and I’m so sorry this took so long to get out for you :(

Summary : these three boys and their reactions to your mean and crazy ex bothering you.

note : this seems like one of those emergency requests I’ve seen, so I wanted this out quickly but never got around to it :(

Warning : triggering scenes, harmful / harsh wording, etc.

Law, Shanks + Crocodile » Here!

-

Ace

Raging flames.

That is all that can be seen when a bystander passes the three of you in the streets on an island.

Ace is standing in front of you, keeping you behind him in a protective stance as his jaw and fists are clenched tightly, flames erupting from his body.

And the unconscious body of your ex lying down on the floor.

-

You and Ace were just exploring a new island the Whitebeard Pirates docked at, Marco picking up some medical supplies and a few others just seeing what they could find.

The two of you strayed off and stuck with each other to go sight-seeing, and unfortunately..

This happened to be the same island your ex lives.

And so when you two are walking and you hear an all too familiar voice, your blood runs cold.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t little [Name]. Come back for more?”

Ace would be so confused and just glances back at the male who walks up behind you. “Do you know this guy, [Name]?”

“Who’s this? Your new boyfriend? Doesn’t look all that great to me.”

You bite down on your tongue to prevent yourself from saying anything but Ace can immediately sense something is wrong when he feels your grip on his hand tightening.

“Cat got your tongue? I bet you are speechless. You must be thinking to yourself, how you could go after some worthless guy like him and perhaps come back to me, begging me to take you back.” The condescending laugh is heard as he smirks at you.

Ace’s sharp glare is immediately sent to your ex and flames are slowly building with each passing second.

“If you do beg me, I may or may not consider it. It depends on how low you go down on your knees for me. But then again, I might have to reject you just so I can admire your horrendous face full of fear and sadness as you wallow in regret for—“

You were too busy looking down and feeling yourself shrink at his words to even notice Ace had pulled away from you.

And at a distance he stood, towering over your ex with pure hatred and anger burning in his eyes, with his fist in flames.

“Shut up. If you ever even look in [Name]’s direction again, I won’t hesitate to burn you to hell.”

Anger quickly subsided as Ace turns from the unconscious male and faces you with pure worry and concern.

“Hey, are you okay?”

All you could do was stare in shock, unable to process anything that happened as Ace takes your hands in his and brings it to his face.

“Don’t listen to a word he said, okay? Come on. Let’s go get some ice cream before heading back to the ship.”

-

Mihawk

“[Name]? What the hell are you doing here?”

The all too familiar voice makes your eyes widen out of its sockets, stopping you in your tracks from wandering the halls of Mariejois.

Turning back to face the one you least expected and absolutely dreaded most, color drained from your face when you finally came face to face to your ex.

“[Ex Name].. I didn’t realize you’re stationed here.. how are the other marines?” You try to make some light conversation but just wanted to eagerly run away.

The male only scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Better now that you’re gone, I’ll admit. Now why the hell are you here?”

“Actually..-“

“And why is that any of your business?”

Hearing the new voice cut in, your ex scoffs and turns to face the owner before his eyes widens.

“A warlord?! What are you doing out here? Whatever! Just get out of here, you pirate! This doesn’t concern you!”

Mihawk exhales quietly in disappointment, clearly becoming annoyed at the male’s loud and head-aching yells.

Making his way over to you, Mihawk gently grabs your hands in his. “Is this man bothering you, mi amor?”

Glancing to the shocked expression of your ex, you have a shy nod. “H-He’s my ex..” you mumble out, rubbing the back of your head as you grasp his hand tightly.

“I see.” Mihawk nods in understanding before closing his eyes and turned to face the marine, who was recovering from shock.

“Y-You?! Dating her?” He let out a dramatic scoff. “Of course you’d go after a pirate. It’s such a disappointment to see you stray from the Navy, [Name]. But whatever, you’re just— AGH!”

“That’s enough out of you now.”

Wielding his smallest sword, the mini cross that hung around his neck in a necklace, Mihawk gave one slice into the air before the loud cry of pain was heard.

Staring down at the fallen marine, he looks unimpressed at the lack of strength shown and how easily the marine fell from just a measly swing of his arm.

“Don’t you ever dare to utter a word or mind a thought about my [Name]. Otherwise I’ll have you buried six feet underground. Is that understood?”

Slipping his cross back together into his necklace, he turns over to your with his lips in a firm line but his expression softened in the slightest.

“Let’s go, my dear. We’re done here.”

Bringing his hand to the dip of your back, he began to guide you out of the large palace to head back to his castle and perhaps enjoy a nice evening together with some wine.

-

Zoro

Zoro may not be the smartest, but he certainly picks up on certain behavioral cues, especially yours after having been together for so long.

So when the Sunny is sailing the seas and come across another pirate ship, which causes Luffy to seek after them to converse and greet them.

At first, everything’s alright, the Pirates were somewhat friendly like the Straw Hats, until the Captain goes to board the Straw Hat ship, to personally greet each member.

But when the captain goes by you, his kind smile is immediately dropped to one of a frown of distaste. “[Name].”

You couldn’t even express how you felt. Shock? Misery? Pain? Disbelief? Were you usually this unlucky to have to come across your ex like this? How could you not recognize the Jolly Roger of the ship?

His next words seem to snap you back from your thoughts. “Blanking and zoning out once again. I see you haven’t changed much, [Name].” He tuts, shaking his head and turns away dramatically.

“It’s a shame you can never grow. Still the same old, same old. It’s truly a shame.”

Biting your lip, you look away and took a step back, ignoring him as the others watch with confusion.

“Eh? How do you know this guy, [Name]?” Nami asks, tilting her head.

Zoro, who was resting against the mast and listening to everything, opens his eye to glance at you. He clearly noticed your discomfort and pained expression, but withheld from doing anything.

His eyes only drifted to the cause of your discomfort.

The others weren’t too sure how to react, only sensing that something happened between the two of you. With the tension in the air, even Luffy could tell.

It wasn’t until his next words that something in them all snapped.

“Honestly, you’re better off having just stayed in your pathetic lonely life at your small island. This pirate life is not meant for you. After all,”

Eyes boring right into your soul, his stare pierced your body and his words pierced your heart.

“No one wants a pathetic and useless weakling around, right?”

Mere seconds later, the Captain, your ex, was knocked right into the railing of the ship, successfully denting the wood and breaking the pieces off with the amount of force brought into the impact.

Your ex was laying there, shifting in and out of consciousness and blood dripped from cuts over his body.

Zoro, with a hand gripping Shusui, was standing in front of the crew, no one even flinched at the movement but you. Your eyes were widened in shock, unable to say a word.

“I’ll have you know, [Name] is nothing like that. She’s grown, a hundred times stronger than you and I will make sure to kick your ass if I ever hear her name come out of your lips again.”

The other straw hats were all watching with heavy glares piercing the opposing pirate ship and specifically the Captain, each member getting ready to attack as needed.

“Get the hell off my ship, now.” Luffy demands, his voice cold, quiet and the most intimidating stare that would even make an Emperor tremble.

It didn’t take long for the opposing crew to pick up their captain and flee in a panic, especially when Luffy cracked his knuckles.

Releasing a small breath of relief you didn’t even know you were holding, you felt someone dragging you away from the deck and the crew, and you look up to find Zoro.

Finding that he was pulling you to the bedroom, he forces you over to the bed and then pulls you on top of him when he laid down.

“Just sleep with me. Forget everything he said and everything that happened.”

-

A/N : I hope you liked this, and I apologize you have to deal with that. So sorry this took so long.

I might allow emergency requests, it depends, I’ve never seen too much of it. I hope everything’s okay though.

[herstarburststories]

tolerate it

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: your love for Dean used to be celebrated, but now he tolerates it.

A/N: here it is, hunters! First fic of the year, wow! I hope you guys like it! Based on Taylor's song tolerate it. Also requested by @ashleyygeza!

Warnings: so much angst, language, smut

There was this thing you always liked to do. It was mostly the learned behavior of a child that grew up in motel rooms. It was usual for the adult that called a bunker her home, too. You’d lay on your back, staring at the light on the ceiling and squint your eyes to the point the glimmering white light could be mistaken as the moon. You never thought you’d end up doing that to people as well.

It used to be something so sensual and sequin back then, but now the fact that he's so much older and wiser only makes you quiet. You see his bruised hands and worried glances; the stubble on his face growing as his sense of self starts to fade with borrowed time. Dean used to love you in screaming colors; now he just sits in silence reading with his head low, researching the next case under the dim light while you watch him. Sam can't seem to stand slow deaths either -- he just clears his throat and leaves the bunker with the empty excuse of a supply run. 

Still, you remain here. You stand still like a good ornament in Dean's collection of lovers. It seems like it's a matter of time until he leaves you too. Yet, you’re sitting and watching him, and you can't help but wonder if you aren't just another wrinkle on his face. You’d been a memory of something worth dying for, once, but now you were starting to believe you were just another battle scar; marred skin that had spent so long settling that he didn’t even notice the scarification anymore. 

Hours pass as quickly and emotionally draining as dry heaving. His huffs of annoyance and thirsty fingers of whiskey were difficult to ignore. The eldest Winchester doesn’t dare to approach you; to throw those dust-collecting books away and make love to you with dumbfounded grins and breathless groans like he had done so many times before. That was when you were a complete person and not just the husk of a lover destroyed. Once you held the strength of Jeanne d'Arc, now you sit and wait for a man to love you back. You’d be disgusted by your weakness if you had any pity left to spare.

If you look at someone too much you can confuse it with love. And if you already love someone and keep looking, you might waste all the rose-colored visions love could create. Maybe that's what happened to Dean. It’s a treacherous game, and it seems like he’s winning. Perhaps it’s your fault, your snide mind speculates against your will. You should try harder.

You don’t miss Dean’s hidden sigh of relief when the door makes a noise, announcing Sam’s return. How could you? You notice everything he does or doesn't do. At first, you fantasized that, even if it started getting messy before, he was pushing you away because of the whole fighting God problem, now you aren’t so sure. The clues were all over the place when Chuck was gone. Dean smiled at Sammy as if there was no tomorrow and said we’re finally free without sparing a glance at you. When they-- when he started building other worlds, where were you? That long-fraught, battle-ridden past of the Winchesters might be gone, but the more you try to turn the page, the more they stick to each other.

‘’Sammy,” his gruff voice says. It is the first word in hours that wasn’t half-hearted mumbles agreeing with your occasional comments or the tuneful hum of a classic rock song between reading and drinking. ‘’Did you bring any bacon?’’

‘’Yeah, but they need cooking--’’ Sam interrupts his brother, already familiar with this conversation. Dean’s half-open mouth and wiggling brows meant one thing. He was such a kid sometimes. ‘’And no. I’m not frying this cardiac embolism waiting to happen for you, dude.’’

You get up, aiming a smile at the long-haired hunter. ‘’Don’t worry, I can cook it. I was gonna make some pasta anyway.’’

Sam slightly nods before tilting his head towards you. ‘’You sure?’’

‘’Yeah. My butt’s already sore from the research. Those chairs aren’t that comfortable.’’ You scrunched up your nose with a good-humored grimace. 

‘’Okay, thanks.’’ You nod, throwing a last glance at Dean, who barely moved since you got in the conversation. You turn around, walking to the kitchen when Sam’s voice reverberated through. Deciding to overhear against all your sense of privacy, like a schoolgirl in the bathroom, you lean against the wall. You can’t believe the point you got to at those moments, but the answer to the question Sam asks may be the solution for your personal tophet. ‘’What’s up with you?’’

Dean doesn’t seem phased by his brother’s prodding. ‘’What do you mean?’’

Sam arches his eyebrows. ‘’No butt jokes?’’

At least you aren’t going crazy here. Even Sammy noticed something peculiar about Dean and you. There had to be an explanation or reason.; something broken that you could fix.

‘’I’m a grown-ass man, Sam.’’ He scoffs as you heard the chair being pushed. You nibble on your bottom lip, catching your breath as they continue.

‘’Yeah, sure,” the younger man snaps sarcastically. Dean rolls his eyes. ‘’Actually researching when I leave you two alone? Come on, Dean. Did you guys argue or something?’’

‘’We are just fine.’’ His boots scuffing against the wood floor makes a well-known melody, just like Sam’s loud sigh. You know him; he thinks this his brother’s way to avoid the subject and run away. You can’t say you don’t agree with that.

‘’Dean…’’

“I’m gonna take a shower. I spent two hours reading. I gotta get ready for my bacon.’’ It is a simple answer that made your heart spin like a girl in a brand new dress. You had the sudden realization that at least he spent those hours with you, right? Deadly in his quietude, but he was there. Women always are excellent at convincing themselves that crumbs are a whole meal. Therefore, convince yourself this is enough.

You hear the creaking under his strong, heavy steps as he leaves, and a couple more from Sam as well. Ultimately, you turn around, clapping your hands together as you glare at the food still waiting to be made. You give yourself a comforting smile as you speak: ‘’Time to get to work.’’

Then you go. You pace around the kitchen, preparing the lunch with everything you have. Make it perfect, make it delicious. Fuck, even make it deluxe with pre-made bacon and vegan pasta on a Tuesday afternoon. It’s so silly how you make such a lavish effort with the smallest things only to maybe catch a glimpse of his attention. As if Dean would see, truly look at you again. You gave him the best you had, and when you ran out of that, you gave him what was left too. 

The pasta is smelling good. You two used to be each other's better halves, but since the coin had been tossed, you are now each other’s worst reflections. He’s your coldness; the gelid nature that was so useful as a weapon to hurt those who came before him. The ignorance, the lack of care for the ones who claimed to cherish you with their ripped out chests and open hands. You can see you in the way he moved, told white lies and walked away. All the most brutal aspects that your soul built through the years. You almost burn your hand, but at least it isn’t his bacon. And in you, you hold all Dean hated in himself lately. The clingy behavior, always urging to serve and make someone else happy. So needy for a gentle touch, one single proof that his lurking was wrong and he was worthy, that he could be loved someday if he just tried hard enough. Desperate in earge for aprovation, just like you grabbing the Men Of Letters’ sumptuous tapestry and the elegant candle holder, laying the table with the fancy shit.

‘’Wow.’’ Sam says once he arrives in the dining room. Dean refrains his reaction to arching his eyebrows in an unspoken question: what the fuck is happening there?

‘’Is the queen visiting us or somethin’?’’ You catch the pissed off glare that Sammy gives him, yet the older Winchester just shrugs. His little brother had the same eyes as him in many aspects, he had to agree that all those snobby objects were too much.

Unbothered, too used to his butch nature, you chortle. ‘’I just thought we deserved some nice things tonight.’’

Dean hums before adding: ‘’As long as there’s bacon.’’

Sam praises how good the sauce you made tastes. Of course, Dean just nods and agrees with a grumble, not even taking a second glance at you. He doesn’t notice that you are watching him, neither does he compliment your cooking. You never get the reaction you expect from him. Not a thank you, or a true smile, or even a drop of love in the saliva of his kiss, but you keep trying. Just like he tried to make daddy proud for so long. You both should know that's not how it works, but who can argue with a broken child mosaic in an adult damaged heart?

The green eyed man purposely sets the scene in a manner that his brother would be between the two of you. And yes, you manage to double cross this signal and sit down on another chair by his side. Although, when your elbows accidently meet during the homemade feast, Dean doesn’t look at you with the lopsided grin that you love so much. He doesn’t lean in to steal a kiss. Instead, he moves to the side discreetly. You were the roots of hope once, the one who could grow inside him and wrap around his organs for some relief of the hematoma and blood. The Winchester held the arm that pulled you closer and made sure you would stay. But he no longer touches you and the plants died of thirst and you are still here. In these moments, your trick mind asks: why are you still here? You can’t answer.

The lunch goes by filled with your and Sam’s chatter, Dean’s loud chewing and Miracle’s ocasional barks until there’s no food or reasoning to postpone staying together. All the three of you raise up, adamantly ignoring the strange atmosphere. 

‘’We’re leaving in an hour.’’ It’s all Dean says before leaving the room. Sammy dares to squeeze your shoulder softly before following his older brother’s path. With a suspire, you collect all the plates and lead to the kitchen again, starting to put the 60 minutes to good use. Polish plates until they gleam and glisten, maybe Dean will sneak in and wrap his arms around you, press a kiss to your neck and tell you to go to bed, that he will take care of the dishes. He used to do that. This was then and this is now. It’s easy to get lost in the tangles of time.

Of course he doesn’t. Though the hunter shows up with a bag and shouts from the living room for you to hurry up, so you do. Sleeping in the backseat of Baby through the streets of the United States, you wake up with Sam gently shaking your shoulder. Dean is already inside the restaurant. You try not to think too much about it, he could’ve been needing to hit the bathroom or something. As you and the youngest Winchester enter the establishment, four trained eyes fall on your boyfriend and the waitress, who’s clearly leaning forward to make her cleavage more evident. You two pace towards the table just in time to hear the end of their conversation. 

‘’Call me if you need anything.’’ The name tag says that the brunette is called Andressa. She's tall, tan and beautiful, smiling in a way that you never can never conquer. You miss having that confidence, how you’d walk in a room and be sure people would stop and stare. Remember when you used to be like that?

‘’Betcha.’’ He gives her a lopsided grin, the one that used to be directed to you. Andressa winks at him and leaves, swapping her hips in the most seductive way, which catches Dean's eyes like it's the whole Aurora Boreal and not just a woman's ass.

‘’Nice shirt, yeah?’’ You take his indiscretions all in good fun. Dean, though, takes a deep breath and wipes his face, as if he's the one with the right to be annoyed in this situation. It's so stupid how you keep making yourself smaller to fit in whatever expection is comfortable for him. At some point you'll disappear-- but hey, no body no crime. You attempted to explain yourself, ‘’I was just kidding.’’

He tightens his mouth into a thin line. ‘’I know.’’

‘’I saw one on Shein.’’

‘’Come on, Y/N.’’ The green eyed hunter scoffed. ‘’That’s like, Belladonna’s boobs sort of thing.’’

It’s so stupid how his opinons can change your whole weekend, as if your emotions were some sort of board game that Dean played by his own rules. You hang your head low, playing with the menu. You can ‘’Yeah, you’re right. It was dumb.’’

‘’That’s not what I---’’ He stopped himself with a deep inhale. Why did it seem easier for him to criticize than compliment you? You are using your best colors for his portrait of stares, yet all you gain are vacant side eyes. That man killed for you, and now every second by your side seemed to be murdering him. ‘’You’d look good on it.’’

You decide not to go on the next hunt, give both of you a break from the grey skies that always seem to suppress you and Dean. What if you two just need time apart? You live together, work together, and even have the same group of friends. Putting the whole monsters and multiple deaths aside, it was pretty much like a normal relationship. You must just need some time alone to miss each other. So you start going on less and less hunts. God, past you’d hate that scared little girl act, begging to be seen like a shiny toy.

Your cell phone buzzes, causing a smile besides the burning anticipation building up in your veins, crawling under your skin like a million little stars, or bugs. It depends on how you choose the perspective, no surprise you’d go for the romantic one. Well, it's a text from Dean. Plaid and crude: getting home in ten minutes. Why’d you be unpleasantly anxious about that? He’s your boyfriend and he’s coming home after a week! Your fingers dance around the keyboard before answering a sweet waiting for you, with a couple hearts in the byline.

You get his favorite burger and a whiskey older than you in the Deancave, which is settled up with a three hours marathon of Scooby-Doo. It was always so adorable when Dean and you made bets to see who’d guess the episode villain first. Even his hot dog pants and his robe are on the armchair. As for you, you are waiting by the door like you’re just a kid, in a vat to greet him with a battle’s hero welcome. One, two, three, minutes piling up as uncountable as the hidden tears that you cry each week in after the city’s asleep. Let’s be fair, you should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. What was the last time Dean accomplished something he promised to you? He doesn’t even reply to your text message asking if he was okay. Minutes trapped into hours, and you’re sitting with your back to the wall, right next to the door he should have burst out long ago. Time’s ticking, your mind is so tired and your body is sore; it’s exhausting to love someone like this, so you take a rest when sleep wins your hopeful, unclever thoughts.

Dean arrives one hour later, an oral scarlet letter on his tongue that tastes like beer and unregrettable priorities, an apologist expression accompanied of a very grumpy-ish Sam as the door is pushed open. The short haired hunter purses his plump lips at the sad sight; you sleeping on the floor next to the door, probably waiting for him. Maybe he should've answered your text earlier and not just rolled his eyes and ordered another drink. What a suburban mistake for a Winchester.

Dean doesn't turn around to face Sammy; his brother made his opinion on that matter very clear during their roadtrip. Instead, his aching body just leans in and picks you up bridal style — that would've made him smile in the gentlest way his blood-stained mouth and sharp teeth could, eye dipping with joy and a silent promise for the future, but now that only gets a stoic expression as he walks towards your shared room. 

He dares to sigh. There you go, taking too much space and time. This might be a deceiving concept dappled with melancholic nostalgia, but to take space and time wasn’t a trouble before. Dean once worshiped the light-hearted emotion you could bring out his inner little monster - or his soul, whatever you wanna name it. The time wrapped around your finger as he was, and things were just good. Raw good. Yet, now he sees it; time’s always running, and so is him. It’s no surprise the heart he was holding fell and was left behind at some point of the race.

The hunter bumps on the door with his shoulder, leading inside the bedroom and placing you on the mattress. Your body can’t help but to cling to him as you mumble in your sleep; maybe it’s your fond memory, used to Dean’s body seeking some human contact only in the middle night.

Clicking his tongue, he pulls away. The movement is docile, just enough to wake you up. Dean can’t help but to groan at this.

‘’You came back.’’ You murmur, while Dean adjusts on the spot next to you in bed.

Arching his eyebrows with some comedic background, he answers: ‘’Of course I did. I live here.’’

Live. You wouldn’t call what he does living. More like a ghost hunting his old house when you are around. Or maybe you were the ghost and sure, most people would run away from it, but Dean always goes looking for the supernatural beings anyway. Unnerving that he’d make someone he loved out of one.

‘’Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I was worried.’’

He shrugs and kisses your hand. ‘’Was busy.’’

It’s a poor excuse, but those are all that have been holding you two together lately.

Here it is. Your inner anger for being treated wrong, the mad woman inside you scratching to come back. He has been treating you like a coat in Texas’ summer, like a stained flannel, like a forgotten feeling. You deserve more than this. You are so much more than this. Who he thinks he is?

But he has those green eyes that cried single man tears, and he’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. And you love that man so.

Instead, you smile and reach out for his hand. ‘’I missed you.’’

Dean doesn’t answer. He restricts any emotion to a grin, and suddenly you are under him. He pushes his lips against yours in a desperate act of recovery, to gain back what he somehow lost through the way. The green eyed man might not find his love in you, but there’s something else he can work with; luxury. Love was always harder to spell than lust anyway. To you, the way he howls against your lips is love. To him, it’s the confirmation of the absence of it. But he can’t let go.

Your hands and his, still together coaxing each other into giving in. It’s so easy that way. Dean rushes to rip your t-shirt, gaining a laugh out of your and a kiss to his jaw. He’s out of his pants before you can even pull away to assist him. The male catches your earlobe, kissing that sweet spot to make you whimper his name.

‘’Dean.’’

Your wince, his shirt is tossed away, just like your skirt. You aren’t wearing a bra, and quickly your cherry panties are pulled apart with a simple move of his finger.

‘’Gonna make you feel so good, babe.’’ His index finger is shoved inside your tight cunt. You throw your head to the back, spreading your legs open. You want to beg him to make you feel anything good, for him to be the reason of the holy and not hollow, just this once. ‘’You are so wet--’’ Another finger, they move inside of you in an attempt to find the right spot. ‘’So fucking tight for me. I’ve fucked you so many times and you’re still so tight.’’ Dean’s thumb caressed your clit as he licked his lips, relishing how you squirm and whine his name. What a good girl. ‘’Can’t wait to fuck you.’’

It doesn’t take much longer. The eldest Winchester quickly replaced his skilled fingers with his pulsating cock. His member begged to be inside you, squeezed by those warm and tight walls. Your pussy was always so good for him, taking him so nice. Dean moans at the sensation, his hand losing yours to hold the bedpost, his thrusting wildly against yours.

No more praising words, no more foreplay. He comes to get what he wants and you’re willing to give. He used to touch you like a priceless wine, now his hands are hustled and careless like you are just another bottle of cheap beer. Dean fucks himself into you and you can’t do anything but groan in pleasure. Sometimes the hurting can be delicious, too.

You crave more, though. Your hands, tiny compared to his, meet Dean’s back, nails digging into the bare skin in a reminder I’m here, you’re still mine. Your legs wrapped around his torso, which only caused his moves to go faster and more ferocious, destroying your needy cunt for any other. It feels so good to have him inside you, fucking you up to the point you are an inchorent ball of cum and sweat. He’s gonna get you there, it’s certain, Dean always does.

His thumb comes back to your vagina, digital press to your clit as he attacks your neck. You try to move your head and get those plump lips against yours, but he sounds like an animal, increasing his rhymin and sucking your tender skin.

Everything is so hurried and irrational and not intimate. He comes inside of you after your own release, marking you up with his orgasm. As soon as he’s dones, he crawls out of you and lays on his back. Sure, you come around and rest your weary head on his chest, but that’s what it is. Deep silence. Not the one where love or magic or whatever Aphrodite is made of fills the void and makes the lovers comfortable. No, this one is visceral, like a chuckle empty of joy. It’s like the tie of gold that tried you two were tangled and ripped. Your love should be celebrated, but he tolerates it. He tolerates everything you do. He tolerates your presence. 

The wrath sneaks in smoothly and astute. You aren’t just one night stand or a sweetheart. How can Dean act like you are? You lift your head and watch him breathing with his eyes closed. It’s so brutal, emotionally violent how you are aware that he’s only doing that not to have pillow talk. Where’s that man who’d throw blankets over your barbed wire? Easily misplaced by the one who threw your boundaries away and out the trap there nowadays. You made him your temple, you mural, your sky, now you’re begging for footnotes in the story of his life.

In the rare cracks of lucidity, you picture what would happen if you did what your old, better self would do. Dean appears to assume you are fine, but what would he do if you break free and leave you two in ruins, took this dagger in you and removed it, gain the weight of you then lose it? He was so comfortable with you. Maybe he didn’t think you would ever do that, but there’s just so much a woman with your determination and cleaverity can take. Believe, I could do it. You did it before with others. Sometimes you need to leave to breathe. Perhaps it's time. 

But then, he embraces you. Just like that, all your doubts and fears and bruises caused by his kisses are reduced to paranoia. You decide maybe you got it wrong somehow. Not even blinking at the thought that Dean enjoys cuddles. No, he’s pulling you closer and snucking his nose into your hair because he loves you. Convince yourself. You are majestic with lies, it gets surprisingly facile to tell them when you nuzzle into the Winchester’s neck like his smell is some sort of placebo.  

You aren't tiptoeing around it, or even stepping on the doubts with tiny hoaxes. You are barefoot on his love-- but his love feels a lot like walking through a street of fire and thorns. But hey, isn't that the point of devotion? To put something, someone first? To go through any suffering and starve to get to the prize, to walk through the golden gates? If this was a church, the priest would tell you to get on your knees and pray harder. You can see where he’s going. You’ll do better. Be everything Dean needs. You can be worthy-- you are worthy. You were his everything once and you can be that again. Pick up the soul tapestry he shrewd so unintentionally and patch it up. Most of those things must be in your head anyway, and if they aren't… Well. He will love you that deeply again, right? Right? It’s an echo. Right.

Tomorrow you’ll try again. In the name of love, condepedency, or whatever it is. Sit and watch him.

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!

[karahalloway]

(Un)Common Attraction: Chapter 1 - One Fateful Night

Series: TRR (following the events of Book 1, with some changes)

Pairing: Drake Walker x OC (Harper Gale)

Rights belong to Pixelberry, most characters and some dialogue belong to them.

Book Synopsis: Harper Gale is a small-town girl working as a waitress at a seedy New York dive bar. After a chance encounter with nobility sees her jetting halfway around the world to compete for the hand of the Prince of Cordonia, her dream of seeing the world starts to come true sooner than she expected. But as the completion heats up, Harper quickly learns that life at court is a lot more than just pretty dresses and fancy balls, and that the polished aristocratic smiles often hide deceit. Does she have what it takes to rise above the gossip and intrigue of the social season, and beat the nobles at their own games? And, more importantly, does she actually want to become the queen of a small European country? Or will her heart have other ideas?

Masterlist: (Un)Common Attraction

Chapter Summary: Harper’s night as a waitress at a seedy New York dive bar isn’t going great. But that’s all about to change when a bachelor party rolls in...

Word Count: 6,400

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing)

Chapter Theme Song: 

Bonus Material: Maxwell’s NY Photo Collage

Please read: Author’s Note

Also available on Wattpad.

Chapter 1 - One Fateful Night

"Oh, my God! What has the kitchen put in here? Dead bodies?" I grumble as I attempt to man-handle a heavy bag full of trash into the dumpster without ripping it open.

"Here, let me help," says Daniel, lifting the bag by the end to give it a boost. "Whoo! You're right, it is heavy!"

The bag makes an ominous squelching sound as it hits the bottom of the dumpster.

"Ah, man...!"

"What?"

"I got bag juice on my shoes..." moans Daniel, trying to dislodge the gooey mess from his sneakers. "I only bought these a few weeks ago..."

"Just one of the many perks of being on dumpster duty on a Saturday night," I quip. "I'm sure it will wash off."

"Yeah, I know..." mutters Daniel, squinting unconvincingly at his shoes. "I guess it could be worse. There could have been... RATS!"

"Huh?"

"Jesus Christ, Harper! There's a mutant rat out here!" he cries, scrambling away from the dumpster. "What if there's...more of them?" he breathes, eyes wide.

"You mean, that fuzzy little thing?" I ask with a smile, catching sight of a sleek black rodent just before it disappears under the dumpster. "I think he's just trying to get by, like us."

Having grown up in the sticks, I was used to seeing all sorts of wild animals, so the sight of a fat New York rat really wasn't going to phase me.

“Well, he can get by somewhere that doesn’t involve giving me a heart-attack!” snips Daniel accusatorially.

I cast my co-worker a sidelong glance. "Shouldn't you be used to rats, being a born-and-bred New Yorker and all?"

"One can never get used to rats..." he replies stiffly, crossing his arms.

"Hey! Harper, Daniel! Quit slacking off! I pay you to work, not to chit cat!"

Jovan, the manager, is standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, wearing his customary scowl of disapproval.

"You told us to take out the trash," I reply tersely. "That's what we're doing."

"And now I'm telling you to go wait on the bachelor party that just rolled in. Chop chop!" Jovan snaps before slamming the door shut.

"Eugh... I don't get why he needs to be such an ass all the time..." I sigh as I fling the last bag of trash into the dumpster. Luckily, this one is as light as a feather.

"Don't take it personally," says Daniel, clapping me on the shoulder.

He's been working this job longer than me and was used to Jovan's temperament, which swung between grumpy on his good days and murderous on his bad days.

"It's just the way he is," Daniel continues. "Maybe he didn't get enough love as a kid, or maybe there's something going in his life that we don't know about."

"Or maybe, he just likes to make himself feel important by bossing us underlings about," I snip, trudging back inside.

Before heading into the dining room, I make a quick detour to the staff bathrooms, so I could wash my hands. Jovan may want me back on table duty poste haste, but there was no way I was going to be responsible for causing a Health Department investigation because someone got food poisoning from me not following proper hygiene etiquette.

Glancing into the cracked mirror, I could see that a few caramel coloured strands had escaped from my high ponytail. Turning off the creaky tap, I dry my hands and retie my hair before exiting the bathroom. I had quickly learned that in the waitressing trade, appearances were everything, and a little bit of effort went a long way, especially with male customers.

I had moved to New York from Bozeman, Montana soon after finishing college, in a bid to expand my horizons and to escape my parents' superliminal expectation to settle down with some rancher and start making babies, given that my three older brother seemed determined to live out their lives as eternal bachelors, so I was my mom's last hope for grandchildren.

I had done waitressing back home to build up some savings before making the move, but waiting tables in a small town had not prepared me for life in a New York restaurant. While the tips were much better than what I had gotten back home, the hours were erratic, the customers were demanding, and the bosses generally horrid. I had moved from job to job, promising myself that waitressing would only be a temporary stint while I saved up for the 'round the world trip I had been planning since high school, at which point, I was outta here.

Giving myself another quick once-over, I heave a breath and exit the bathroom.

Back to the grind…

Rounding the corner, I nearly crash into Daniel.

"Oh! Sorry, Harper!"

"No worries. What's the rush?"

"I'm really sorry, but I totally forgot that I had a date tonight, and—“

"Let me guess... You want me to take the rowdy bachelor party?" I could hear boisterous shouting and laughter echoing from the dining room.

"If that's alright with you? I will make it up to you next time, I promise!" Daniel was already in the process of changing out of his uniform, even before he got to the broom cupboard that doubled as the staff room.

"It's fine," I reply. "I have three older brothers, so I can handle them. Plus, the tips will make up for any rowdiness."

"You're the best!" Daniel shouts from the broom cupboard.

“Yeah, yeah…” I mutter wryly under my breath, turning back towards my destination.

"What the hell are you doing in the corridor?"

“Jesus Christ!” I gasp, coming face-to-face with Jovan again. For his size, the man sure knew how to sneak up on you unnoticed.

"I've already seated them,” he hisses. “Get in there right now, before I dock your pay!"

"I'm going, I'm going!" I snap.

God, that man needed to take a chill pill!

I enter the low-lit dining room with its squeaky faux-leather booths and greasy wooden tables that no amount of scrubbing could ever make new again.

The bachelor party was seated at one of the corner booths, laughing and joking amongst themselves. Even in the dim light, I could see that they were monied, and not from these parts.

Two of them, a slim guy with dark, slicked back hair and an aquiline nose, and a tall guy with blue eyes and a chiselled jaw were dressed in that preppy way that rich people thought passed for casual dress, sporting jewel-coloured shirts and expertly tailored pants.

Meanwhile, the third guy with messy brown hair and a five o'clock shadow must have taken fashion advice from Mark Zuckerberg, being dressed in faded jeans and a rumpled white t-shirt, over which he had slung a blue cotton button-down, almost as if in afterthought. And despite his company, he was the only one of the trio who didn't stick out like a sore thumb in this place.

Local showing his upstate buddies around…?

I clear my throat as I approach. "Good evening, gentlemen. My name is Harper, and I will be looking after you this evening."

"Waitress! There you are!" exclaims the slim guy with the slicked back hair. He speaks in that nasally voice that posh people probably think is the epitome of sophistication, but just ends up coming across like he has a six-foot pole lodged up his ass. "I had expected prompter service."

"My apologies for having kept you waiting," I demure. "What can I get you?"

"Steaks for the table!" declares the tall guy, blue eyes glinting in expectation. While he also sounds posh, his demeanour is much more amiable. "Lots of steaks!"

"Make that Kobe ribeye — medium rare — and prepared with an umami sauce," interjects the first guy imperiously.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Who did this guy think he was...? A more importantly, WHERE did he think he was? Because last time I checked, the flickering neon sign out front still said 'Bobby's Corner'… not 'Keens Steakhouse'.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen,” I reply, “but this is not a fancy steakhouse. The closest thing we have to ribeye is the deluxe burger."

The thin, stuck-up guy stares at me as if I had sprouted another head. "No wagyu beef? Dare I ask for your wine list?"

"We have a house red..."

"A house red?" The guy looks like he's about to have a stroke.

"...it also comes in white," I add dryly.

The third guy with the messy hair smirks.

"I knew it was a mistake agreeing to an establishment that didn't even have one Michelin star..." grumbles the thin guy as he glares accusingly at the tall guy.

"But, this place came highly recommended!" interjects the tall guy.

"From a hobo!"

"Hey, hey!" shouts the previously quiet one in an accent that I cannot quite place. Canadian, maybe? He doesn't sound quite like the other two... "Pack it in!"

Turning to me, he says, "We'll be fine with a bottle of whiskey and four burgers."

I frown. “Four?"

"Sorry, I'm late," says a smooth, softly accented voice from behind me. "Thank you for your patience, Miss...?"

"Harp...err..."

Turning around, I am greeted by a vision of a guy who looks like he had just stepped off a photoshoot for some high-end fashion house. He's dressed casually in beige slacks and a dark navy shirt, but the perfect fit and luxurious materials gave away the designer pedigree of his clothes. His clear green eyes gaze at me expectantly from underneath finely sculpted eyebrows. The only flaw in his otherwise perfect appearance is a wayward lock of sandy blond hair that had escaped from his expertly-coifed comb over, no doubt in his rush to the restaurant. It only makes him look hotter.

"Ehm!" I clear my throat, and my mind with some difficulty. "Harper. My name's Harper."

"Charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Harper."

"The charm's all fine." I blink, mentally smacking myself on the forehead. "I mean, the pleasure is all mine! Now, let me go put your order in!"

I beat a hasty retreat towards the pass and shove the paper slip through with the order for the four deluxe burgers.

Get a grip, Harper! Those guys are SO not your type! And even if they were, they are WAY out of your league...

As I turn around to head over to the bar to get the drinks order, I nearly collide with Jovan.

Seems everyone was trying to run me over this evening...

"I can see that you finally dealt with the bachelor party," he observes. "But where has that weasel Daniel got to?"

"He had to take off early. Personal, erm... emergency," I lie quickly. I was sure that Jovan would not be best pleased to learn that Daniel had rushed off to a date, and I knew that he needed this job to cover his university studies. "I said I would cover his tables for him."

"Then you have your work cut out for you. While you were flirting with the bachelor party, two more groups walked in, as well as some of the usual late-night regulars. So, you'll have a busy one tonight."

Sure enough, the rest of my shift passes in a blur of activity, and before I know it, it is closing-up time.

As I am wiping down the tables, I feel someone approach behind me. "I know, I know," I grumble. "I’ll refill the condiments in a minute..."

"Actually, I think your manager has already left."

Turning around, I come face-to-face with the fourth member of the bachelor party again. "Oh, right," I blush. "Sorry, I thought..."

"It's alright." He flashes me a dazzling smile that makes my heart flutter.

I realise I'm starting at his mouth.

For God's sake, Harper!

"We're about ready to head out. I just wanted to thank you... and apologise. I know we kept you late, and my friends can be... demanding."

"Heh. That's one word for it," I scoff, turning back to the table.

The slim guy with the never-ending demands had sent his burger back three times, complaining that it was overdone, and I was sure that the chef was going to come out of the kitchen and throttle him. In the end, he had simply settled for spitting on the patty.

"You're right. They deserve far worse, but I didn't want to offend you with my language."

"It's okay," I reply. "No need to apologise. Demanding customers are part of the job."

"Even so, I want to make it up to you." He reaches into his pocket and pulling out his expensive-looking wallet, extracts a crisp $100 bill. "I hope this is sufficient?"

My mouth drops open in surprise. "I—"

"However," he continues, either oblivious to my shock, or politely choosing to ignore it, "if I am honest, there is one other reason why I wanted to catch you before you left."

"Oh?" I ask dazedly as I gingerly take the bill from him, my mind still fixating on the huge tip.

"You see, we're not from around here..."

I snort in amusement, my brain finally kicking back into gear.

"Was it that obvious?" he asks.

"I picked up on it as soon as you guys walked in," I reply with a smirk, tucking the money into my apron. "No New Yorker would ever make the mistake of confusing this place with a fine-dining establishment."

A smile plays on his lips. "Well, you are right. We are a bit out of our depth here. We were hoping to go to a club after this and I thought a recommendation from a local could..."

"...help stop you from accidentally stumbling into some seedy dive bar?" I ask innocently.

"Exactly." His smile turns into a self-deprecating grin. "So, is there anywhere you would suggest?"

I rack my brains for a minute. Living in New York on minimum wage plus tips meant that I did not have a huge amount of disposal income to spend on going out, so I was probably not the most in-the-know person when it came to the city's hottest clubs. But then I remember a conversation I had overhead between two of the other waitstaff.

"There is a club not too far from here that opened recently, called Kismet. It's supposed to be quite good, based on what I've heard."

"That sounds perfect! I know the guys want to go crazy tonight. And maybe I could buy you a drink?"

Whoa... Was he asking me out?

He had been quite chatty every time I had swung by the corner booth, but some people are just like that, so I hadn't really thought much of it. Plus, I hadn't seriously expected him to take any kind of interest in me, given that he was obviously some kind of rich foreigner who was used to the high life — and the type of women that no doubt came with it. And I fit neither bill.

"By way of thank you?" he adds, looking at me hopefully.

"Sure!"

The word is out of my mouth before I can blink.

Seriously? What was wrong with me tonight...?

"Perfect," he declares with a grin that could outshine the sun. "We'll meet you out front?"

"Yeah," I reply, throwing my rag into the bucket of cleaning supplies.

It had been a long night, but since I'd said yes, I might as well reward myself with a drink and a change of scenery, especially if a hot, rich guy would be the one paying.

"I'm Christian, by the way," he says, holding out his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Christian," I reply, shaking it. "My name's..."

"Harper," he says. "You..."

"...introduced myself already," I finish, blushing again.

After a slightly awkward moment where we just stare at each other, I blurt, "I'll just grab my bag, and I'll be right with you."

*            *            *

"So, are we all ready?" I ask as I step outside.

The guys turn around and there is a moment of stunned silence.

"Sweet Je—“ the messy haired guy starts to say under his breath, before catching himself and quickly focusing his attention on his boots with a scowl.

I quirk an eyebrow at him. "What? You didn't seriously think that I would show up at a club dressed in my work clothes, did you?"

He scoffs… more to himself, I think. But it's kind of hard to get a read on him.

I had changed out of my uniform of short-sleeve polyester white shirt and black slacks that smelled like a deep fat frier, and was now wearing a form-fitting black V-neck, a white ruffle mini-skirt that showed off my legs, and wedges. I had let my hair out of its ponytail, tousled it into waves and touched up my make-up. I was by no means dressed to the nines, as I had not expected to be going out tonight. But, based on the guys' reactions, I looked decent enough that the bouncers should let me into the club.

"Who knew the waitress was this banging underneath her uniform?" quips the thin guy, elbowing the tall guy with a leer.

I resist the urge to stick my tongue (or middle finger) out at him.

"Her name is Harper, and I doubt she appreciates you talking about her like that, Tariq," says Christian. His voice is soft, but there is a hint of steel underneath.

"Of course, Christian," replies Tariq, backing off. Though he is not a hundred percent sincere as he adds, “My apologies, Harper."

"So, what?" asks the messy haired guy, fixing Christian with a pointed look. "She our tour guide now?"

"Harper has kindly agreed to show us to a local club," replies Christian. "She's doing us a favour, Drake, so play nice."

"Oh! A club!" the tall guy exclaims. "Where is it?"

"Not far," I reply.

Spying a minivan cab amongst the late-night traffic, I quickly step towards the road with an arm in the air and whistle sharply, causing the guys to startle in surprise.

The car pulls up and I open the sliding door ceremoniously. "Your carriage awaits, gentlemen."

"Ha! Brilliant!" guffaws the tall guy as he bounds towards the cab. "I'm Maxwell, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Maxwell."

"Neat trick," admits Drake begrudgingly as he approaches the cab as well. "Thought they only did that in movies."

"Well, it is certainly not something that you will see me doing," huffs Tariq. "It is most undignified."

I roll my eyes.

"Don't take Tariq too seriously," whispers Christian next to me, green eyes twinkling in the light of the streetlamps. "He's always putting on airs and graces."

"I'll keep that in mind," I reply, squeezing into the cab as well. "Club Kismet, please."

*            *            *

"This is AWESOME!" hollers Maxwell.

"You said that like ten times already," groans Drake exasperatedly.

"I know, but it's so awesome!" Maxwell cries, rushing into heaving mass of humanity in front of the DJ booth.

I agree with him – the club is quite good, in an over-the-top, fantasy-esque sort of way.

The theme of the place is Arabian Nights – bold colours and exotic patterns are splashed on the walls, Moroccan lanterns hang over low tables surrounded by plush, tasselled cushions and private booths are enclosed by lush silk and velvet curtains. Waitresses dressed in harem pants and crop tops sashay to and fro, serving colourful cocktails and expensive bottles of champagne, while the house DJ pumps the latest hits overlayed with some hypnotic Middle Eastern beats from the gold speakers spread out over the mosaic tiled dancefloor.

"A bottle of Bollinger!" shouts Tariq at a passing server, before taking a long look at her swaying hips that are accentuated by a bejewelled hip belt.

"Thank you for bringing us here. Looks like the guys are having fun already," says Christian into my ear. His breath tickles my neck and I shiver involuntarily.

"Maybe a bit too much fun," I reply, watching Maxwell let it rip on the dance floor.

"Heh," grins Christian. "You can count on Maxwell to be the life of the party."

"If anyone needs me," mutters Drake, pushing past us. "I'll be at the bar getting wasted."

I raise a brow. Who took the jam out of his donut?

But I don't have time to think on Drake's grumpy demeanour for long as Christian places a hand on the small of my waist.

"Shall we?" he asks.

"After you," I reply.

Christian steers me towards one of the low tables, where the music is ever so slightly quieter.

I sink blissfully into the plush pillows. "Were it not for the deafening music, I could sleep here," I sigh contentedly. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather join the others?"

"Maybe later," he shrugs offhandedly. "Now, about that drink..." Glancing around, he spots a server, and manages to flag her down. "So, what will the lady have?"

"Mojito, please," I reply. It may not be the flashiest of cocktails, but a good mojito is hard to come by, and I was hoping that a club of this pedigree would be able to pull off a decent one.

"Make that two," says Christian.

The server taps a couple of keys on her tablet and extends it towards Christian. "That will be $75," she says.

My jaw drops to the floor.

Christian, however, seems unphased by the exorbitant price and calmly takes out his wallet. He taps a platinum credit card against the server's tablet and then pulls out a crisp $50 note and hands it to her. "I believe it's customary to leave a tip?"

The server's eyes widen in surprise. "I'll be right back with your order!" she gushes and disappears into the crowd.

"I am expecting great things from this mojito," I quip, while wondering who this guy was that he was willing to so casually drop $125 on two drinks plus tip with someone he had just met.

"Me too," agrees Christian. "I have not had a decent one in years."

"I know, right? It's such a simple drink on paper, but so many bartenders get it wrong... There needs to be the right balance between the zestiness of the lime, the kick of the rum and the sweetness of the sugar, otherwise it just ruins the experience."

"You seem to be an expert on mojitos. It's a good thing I ran into you then."

The server re-appears with our drinks in record time. "Enjoy," she says, laying the drinks on the table.

"Wow," I say, eyeing up the heavy crystal glasses, the rims of which had been frosted with brown sugar. "These look good."

"And hopefully their taste meets expectations as well," replies Christian, picking up his glass. "Cheers."

"Cheers," I respond, clinking my glass against his before taking a sip. "Oh, wow. This is great!"

"Hmm," agrees Christian, taking a long draw through his straw. "This has to be the best part of this trip so far."

"Because of the mojito?" I ask, running my finger along the rim of the glass to gather up the sugar crystals.

"Because of the company."

"Oh? The bachelor party not lived up to expectations, then?"

"It's been great, but..." He glances at me with a twinge of sadness. "There's something missing. I really wanted to do one thing in particular while I was here..."

"Which is...?"

"It's... well... You're probably going to think it's silly, but I've always wanted to see the Statue of Liberty. And when we decided that we were coming to New York, I was really excited. But it wasn't really in the guys' plan, so we just never got around to it. And now it's my last night here, so..." He sighs. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful... It was thoughtful of my friends to throw me this party. They've done their best, but I'm just not in the mood to celebrate."

"Wait a second. It's your bachelor party?" I ask, gobsmacked.

He was not behaving like any fiancé I've ever seen before!

After a moment, I add, "I guess, congratulations are in order?"

Christian smiles ruefully, twirling the straw in his glass. "If you knew the whole story, you might not congratulate me so quickly."

"Oh?"

"I actually don't know who I'm going to marry yet. Only that I have to pick my fiancée in the next few months."

"Okay...? Did your parents make you agree to some kind of arranged marriage?"

Who WAS this guy?

"Not quite. The truth is, Harper..." Christian takes a deep breath. "I'm the Crown Prince of Cordonia. Royal protocol dictates that I need be betrothed before my coronation."

"Shut the fuck up!"

Christian jumps back in his seat at my sudden outburst.

"I'm not going to fall for something like that!" I exclaim. "You are loaded, sure! But a prince? That's a bit of a stretch..."

Christian is staring at me with raised brows. "That... that was not the reaction I was expecting..."

"What? You seriously thought I'd just swallow that little prank?" I ask pointedly.

"No, that's not what I..." Christian sighs. Pulling out his phone, he taps a few keys and shows it to me. "Here."

"And these are...?"

"My parents. The King and Queen of Cordonia."

"Uh-huh," I say, still not convinced. "That just sounds like a made-up country..."

"I can assure you that it's not. Do an online search, if you want."

I give him a sceptical look.

He continues to look squarely at me, completely unphased.

Groaning in exasperation, I ask, "How do you spell it?"

"C-O-R-D-O-N-I-A."

Tapping the name of this place into my phone, several hits instantly come up. Clicking on the Wikipedia article, I can see — much to my annoyance — that Christian had been telling the truth. There really was a country called Cordonia, nestled between France and Italy on either side, with one end facing the Alps and the other the Mediterranean.

"Okay, fine," I grumble. "But just because the country exists, does not mean that you are a prince."

"Keep reading."

Rolling my eyes, I continue scrolling through the article. About half-way down, I come across some pictures of the Royal Family. And... right there at the end, is a photo of the guy sat across from me.

"Holy shit..."

"So, you trust the internet, but not my word?" asks Christian, giving me a wry look.

"I've only just met you," I reply, still reeling. "How was I supposed to know you were telling the truth...? I mean, I had clocked that you were a bunch of fancy guys who tried to order wagyu beef at a dive bar, so obviously you weren't just visiting from Jersey..."

Christian smiles.

"...but a prince? That's not something you come across every day."

"Well, it's not something that I like to advertise..."

"No, of course not," I reply quickly, mentally chastising myself for my stereotypical reaction. "You probably do not get a lot of chances to escape from your royal responsibilities and just be a normal guy. So, I totally get that you would want to remain incognito, even if it's just for a night. And I'm sorry for not believing you."

"That's... surprisingly astute of you, Harper," says Christian, assessing me in a new light. "Not everyone can take a revelation like that in their stride. And it's not a problem – being from America, I suspect you do not chance upon royals that often."

"No kidding," I say with a long exhale. "So, why did you tell me? We've only just met..."

"To be honest, you are not like the ladies that normally run in my circle," he explains. "Pretty much all the people at court are there because they serve the kingdom in some way, or they are trying to curry favour with the monarch. So..."

"...you can never really be sure if people have an ulterior motive when they are chatting you up?"

Christian blinks. "Yes, I guess that's one way of putting it. So, it's been a nice change to talk to you without the usual protocols getting in the way. But, while getting to play the pauper for a night has been refreshing, I cannot escape the fact that I am the Crown Prince, so I guess I wanted to be honest with you, after all you have done for us tonight."

"I'm just happy I could help."

"Now, enough about me. What about you? What's your story?"

"There's not much to tell, really," I shrug. "I moved to New York a few years ago to get away from the monotony of my po-dunk hometown. My family was hoping that I would settle down with some nice guy and start a family, but I was not ready for that yet. I'm saving up so I can go travelling."

"Oh, yes? Where do you want to go?"

"Everywhere," I reply. "I want to see everything – The Northern Lights, the Eiffel Tower, Machu Pichu... It's sounds dumb, I know, but growing up in the sticks, the only places I have been to is Disneyland and a trip down to Mexico after graduating high school, so I just want to explore all that the world has to offer."

"Well, I for one hope that you have the chance to make your dream come true." He sighs morosely. "I often wish that I had the same choices..."

"Don't you?"

"Unfortunately, no," he admits. "My whole life has been dedicated to serving Cordonia. I do not have the luxury of following my heart..."

"But we're not in Cordonia now..."

"What do you mean?"

"The guys are having fun." I incline my head towards the dancefloor.

Maxwell was gettin' seriously jiggy with it while Tariq was doing a weird tap dance, chugging down a bottle of expensive champagne. Drake was nowhere to be seen.

"So, why shouldn't you?" I say. "It's your bachelor party, after all..."

"What are you suggesting?"

"You said you wanted to see the Statue of Liberty. I know a place where we can catch a boat and get the best view in town."

Christian's eyes light up before clouding over again. "Right now? But it's well past midnight. Won't all the boats be docked for the night?"

"Not when you’re in the company of someone who has the inside track on this city."

"Inside track?" He quirks an eyebrow at me. "Are you seriously saying you can get us a boat at this hour see the Statue of Liberty?"

"Hopefully?” I admit. "But when, if not now? Your friends are having a good time and they probably won't even notice that you've gone. If you're serious about seeing the Statue of Liberty, this is your chance."

"You're not going to take 'no' for an answer, are you?"

He still looks uncertain, but I can see a smile playing at his lips.

"Think of it as my humble engagement present for you."

"I wouldn't call it humble," he smiles. "But, if you think we can do it, then lead the way!"

*            *            *

Thirty minutes, a cab ride and a hasty ticket purchase later, we are standing on the deck of a boat, looking out over the water at the glowing New York skyline.

"You know, part of me still can't believe that you managed to pull this off," admits Christian, leaning over the railing, the breeze ruffling his hair.

"Obviously, you don't know me very well, but I can be very persuasive when I want to be," I reply smugly. "But I think luck was also on our side tonight."

"I agree. This definitely feels like it was meant to be. And you were right."

"What about?"

"This really is the best view in town.” His eyes drop down to mine and I feel myself flush.

"It is, isn't it...?" I mutter, brushing my hair behind my ear. "Now, I'm dying to know why you're so eager to see the Statue of Liberty."

"Can't you guess?"

"Okay, if I had to guess, knowing what little I know about you, I would say you want to see the Statue of Liberty because she symbolises freedom, which is something you wish you had more of."

Christian's eyes widen in surprise. "You are an astute judge of character, Harper." He sighs. "You're right – freedom is something that I've always wanted. Despite being born into great privilege and opportunity, being the Crown Prince means that my personal desires often need to be relegated in the face of duty and responsibility to my country. There are so few opportunities for me to step away from my role that I have to seize these precious moments, or forever regret not having done so."

My mouth goes dry as I feel him take my hand and brush it against his lips.

"Thank you for doing this for me. You really didn't have to."

"It... it wasn't completely selfless," I admit, my hand tingling in the wake of his kiss. "Seeing the Statue of Liberty at night has been on my bucket list for ages, but I have just never gotten around to it. But this way, I had the added bonus of being able to help out a prince in distress."

"I was not in distress," objects Christian, though I could see that he is trying not to smile. "Nevertheless, I mean it when I say that I am grateful. No one has ever done anything like this for me before."

"Really? But you're a prince. Surely you have people at your beck and call doing what you ask them to?"

"Yes, but no one's ever listened to me the way you did to come up with a spur-of-the moment plan to make my dreams come true. Apart from Drake — who's my best friend — no one's ever seen me as just... me."

"That sounds... lonely," I admit. "But, I am glad that at least you now have a fond memory from this trip."

"I have more than one," murmurs Christian, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You're an amazing person, Harper. I really admire your selflessness and your adventurous spirit. I wish we had more time together..."

"Well, the night's not over yet," I say. "Look."

As he looks up, I hear Christian's sharp intake of breath as he catches sight of the Statue of Liberty as it emerges from the sea mist.

"Magnificent," he breathes. Turning back to me, he says, "I've heard that art has meaning because of what it makes the viewer feel. Whether it's ink splattered on a canvas, or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, it only matters if it moves you."

"So, what are you feeling right now?" I ask softly.

"That right now, looking at this view with you, anything is possible." Staring into my eyes, he takes my hand into his again and say, "Thank you for this moment, Harper. This feeling... it means more to me than you could possibly imagine."

Gazing up into his eyes, I feel my heart beat loudly in my chest.

Maybe the mojito had been stronger than I realised, but when I had planned this escapade back at the club, I simply thought it would be a fun little adventure. I had not counted on Christian looking at me like he was doing now, especially considering that he was engaged to be married.

And even if I did think he was seriously hot, he was also seriously out of my league – after all, I was an American waitress living in a five-storey walk-up and he was a European prince living on the other side of the world in a palace. And since this was the real world, and not some soppy rom-com, I knew that we could never make it work, even if a part of me wanted to get caught up in the romance of the possibility.

"Christian..."

But before I can say more, Christian's phone rings.

"You should answer that,” I tell him. “I bet it's the guys wondering where you have disappeared to."

"You're probably right..." sighs Christian dejectedly as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Checking the caller ID, he says, "It's Drake. Will you give me a minute?"

I nod, and he moves to the other side of the deck to take the call.

While I wait, I gaze up at the Statue of Liberty, her serene face illuminated by the light of her torch shining brightly in the darkness. I exhale a deep breath into the cool air, part of me secretly glad that Drake's phone call interrupted whatever was going to happen next, and part of me imagining what could have happened.

I had only met Christian a few short hours ago, and while he was definitely sweet and very attractive, the truth was that I really did not know anything about him apart from the fact that he was a prince of a country that had some rather strange protocols. And while there had definitely been something in the air tonight, I was not one of those girls who would throw herself at a celebrity for a one-night stand, just for the sake of bragging rights. So, it was probably for the best that nothing had happened.

"Sorry about that," says Christian, returning to my side. "Apparently our disappearance caused quite the upset."

"Oh. I hope I didn't get you into any trouble..."

"No, don't worry. I explained everything to Drake and told them that I would meet them back at the hotel."

"And tomorrow, you're flying back to Cordonia."

"Yes. I promised the King and Queen that I would be back in time for the Masquerade Ball to officially launch this year's social season."

"You don't sound very enthused."

"Truth be told, I would much rather stay in New York." His hand has found mine again, and his thumb is gently running back and forth over my knuckles. "But..."

"...duty calls."

"Duty calls," he agrees with a sad smile. "I am glad to have met you, Harper. This has been a night that I will cherish forever."

The story continues in Chapter 2 - Destination Unknown

A/N: I updated Harper's conversation with Christian at the club where Christian reveals that he is a prince. I originally followed the dialogue from the game, but it is a bit unrealistic for Harper to just accept what Christian tells her, so I changed it up a bit.

Also, having done a bit of research, I discovered that there is a 24-hour boat taxi that runs around the New York harbour, so getting a boat to see the Statue of Liberty from the water is really not as complicated as canon would make you believe 😆

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[troubatrain]

better man - m. tkachuk

a/n: a repost from my old blog!

Matthew’s life was a mess. Well, you thought his life was a mess, he thought everything was just fine. You’d watch your friend, or mutual acquaintance if you were being honest, make poor decision after poor decision and you weren’t sure if you could take it anymore. When you’d first met Matthew, after Noah introduced the two of you at a team party, his antics were normal. He’d go out a little bit, but never the night before a game, and aside from the fact that he slept with every girl that walked into his life, things weren’t too bad. You bit your tongue about that one, knowing Matthew would just tease you for being jealous if you’d tried to say a thing about it. But, things were out of control now, it was the night before you knew the Flames had an afternoon game and Matthew was standing across from you at the bar, slamming back a shot with whoever his flavor of the week was.

“Just let it go, if he’s going to ruin his life, it’s not your place to stop him,” Your best friend, Madi, comments, “I’m serious Y/N.”

You watch the girl who’d been under Matthew’s arm slip away and head towards the bathroom, you turn to Madi, “This is the last time, I promise.”

While you didn’t actually consider Matthew your friend, mainly because you don’t think he thought much about you at all, you’d been in this position before. That time ended with Matthew hunched over you for an hour while you prayed to whatever higher power there was that he didn’t throw up in the back of an Uber. You walk over to the bar, a hand on his back while you leaned onto the bar next to him.

“What are you doing here?” Matthew asks, amused with running into you, “I thought you didn’t go places without your boyfriend who’s not your boyfriend.”

“Noah’s not my boyfriend,” You remind him, just like you always did when he accused you of liking Noah. In reality, Noah moved across the hall from you when he’d first got traded to Calgary, and while he’s moved out since, you were still close, “And you have a game tomorrow.”

“I know I do, I’m also a little busy right now,” Matthew smirks, a smug look on his face. His words were slurring together, and the bags under his eyes told you he hasn’t slept in days. Your heart broke, you didn’t understand why he was doing this to himself, the once lively sort of pain in the ass guy you’d met forever ago has turned into a shell of his old self.

“Matt, let me take you home,” You plead, your eyes boring into his, a pout present on your lips, “You need to be home.”

“I’m a grown ass man Y/N,” Matthew argues back, “I can do whatever, and whoever I want.”

“I will march into that bathroom and tell that girl that we’re dating and you’re a cheater, and then I’ll call Gio and tell him his winger is blacked out at a bar when he has an afternoon game tomorrow,” You threaten, hoping it’ll be enough to get him to go. Matthew’s eyes widen, “You wouldn’t call him.”

“I won’t if you go home,” You say, “I’ll pretend this never happened.”

Matthew sighs, closing his tab and calling himself an Uber. He slid off the barstool to head out, and his body hit the ground as soon as he stood up. You turn back to your friends, watching Madi shake her head at you, while you mouth that you were leaving to her.

“C’mon,” You say, grabbing his arm and tossing it over your shoulder. Matthew was a big body, and lugging him out of the bar was no easy feat, but you knew he was in better hands with you than anyone he’d been surrounding himself with lately. You get him into the Uber, sliding in next to him. You watch as the city passes you by, glancing over at Matthew to make sure you weren’t going to have a repeat of last time. His eyelids were starting to get heavy, and he leaned his head onto your shoulder.

“You’re too nice,” Matthew whispers, breaking the silence in the car, “Too nice.”

You smile to yourself, you knew you were too nice sometimes. You forgave too easily, and you definitely cared way too much about other people. But you couldn’t stand back while you watched Matthew continuously ruin his own life - it just wasn’t going to happen. The car finally halts in front of Matthew’s building, and you head inside with him. You were going to get him to bed, and you were going to slip down to Noah’s, who lived on the floor just underneath his, to crash in his guest room, that was the plan.

You’d never been in Matthew’s apartment before, but it certainly looked like a more barren version of Noah’s, despite the fact that Matthew lived in this building way longer. The furniture in it was the furniture that was staged in the apartment, and that you knew for a fact, and he was in desperate need of some curtains. You look around, not noticing one remnant of the fact that anyone actually lived here.

“I can get myself to bed,” Matthew huffs out behind you, finally slipping his shoe off, “Unless you want to join me.”

“I just wanted to be sure you were actually home,” You snark back, turning to look at him with an amused look on your face while he struggled to slip off his other shoe, “Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“No mom, I got it,” Matthew chirps, tossing his shoes in the front of his door and stumbling into his bedroom. You heard a few drawers open and shut, followed by what you assumed was him brushing his teeth. You waited a few minutes, grabbing a water and some pain relievers to ease the hangover you knew he was going to have. You slip in, setting them on his nightstand.

“You should just stay here, it's late,” Matthew mutters into his pillow, causing you to jump.

You knew you should go down to stay with Noah, your key to his apartment was hanging on your keys as you stood there. But, you didn’t want to tell Noah what you just had to do, afraid it was going to become locker room talk that you were sure Matthew didn’t want to be a part of. He trusted you, at least enough to leave with the addition of your threat, and you couldn’t break that. So you nodded, stepping into Matthew’s guest room and opening the closet to pull out a pair of his shorts and a shirt - falling asleep almost immediately.

--

You woke up the next morning before the sun rose, slipping out of bed after your stomach started growling. You padded out of Matthew’s guest room, hoping he had some sort of groceries in his fridge. Your options were slim, but at least he had some eggs and a coffee maker. You get to work, pulling out a pan as quietly as you could, and brewing a pot of coffee for yourself. Your logical half of your brain screamed to just leave, slip out of his place before he woke up and you learned what kind of hungover monster he probably was, but you couldn’t help yourself. You just wanted to show him some kindness, hoping that could push him a better direction than the one he’d been flying full speed in.

“Are you making breakfast?” Matthew asks, causing your head to snap up from the eggs you’d been making. His curls were a mess, sticking out in all directions while he ran a hand through them as if that was going to help.

“I was hungry,” You admit, whispering because you were afraid to set him off, “I can go if you want-”

“No, stay,” Matthew waves you off, “I’m sorry I had like nothing in my fridge, I haven’t been the best about that.” You watch Matthew walk behind you, throwing open his fridge door and grabbing the orange juice from his fridge, smelling it to make sure it was still good, “I could teach you how to grocery shop you know.”

“I can handle myself Y/N,” Matthew rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and sitting on one of the stools in his kitchen, “Nice shirt by the way.”

You blush, looking down at the USA hockey shirt that hung on your frame. Matthew’s last name printed boldly on the back, you knew it was his, and it had been for a long time. It was soft and comfortable, and it looked like the coziest thing in his guest room closet the night before, “It was the only one in there.”

“I’m sure,” Matthew says, stealing a bite of the eggs you slid in front of him, “Oh these are good.”

“They’re eggs?” You say, confused as why he thought you made a gourmet meal out of the three ingredients he had in his entire apartment.

“I’ve used my stove once since I moved in here three seasons ago,” Matthew admits, shrugging and digging back into his food. You lean against the counter, putting your face in your hands. He was hopeless wasn’t he?

--

You bit your lip while you rode the elevator, skipping Noah’s floor and heading to the one right above it. You hoped he was home, prying the Flames current practice schedule out of Noah without him questioning it further. You walk up to Matthew’s door, knocking lightly. Hopefully he answered you, and hopefully he wasn’t doing anything too reckless this early in the day. Your mind starts to race, what if you were crossing a line?

“What are you doing here?” Matthew asks, confused as to why you were lost in your own thoughts in front of his apartment door, “Are you lost?”

“No, I just,” You start, trying to find words that sound better than Hey, I think your life is on a downward spiral and I think that I can stop you before things get too bad, “I’m going to teach you how to grocery shop.”

“I told you I can take care of myself,” Matthew reminds you.

“Is your fridge still as empty as it was the other day?” You ask, smirking when you saw his eyes shift. “Fine, I’ll go with you,” Matthew says, grabbing his hoodie that was hanging off his couch, stepping out and following you to your car, “I don’t know what kind of brownie points you’re getting for this, but it’s fucking annoying.”

You smile, you were still getting your way regardless of how annoyed Matthew was, “You came here willingly.”

“I was just hungry,” Matthew grumbles.

Grocery shopping with Matthew was an experience to say the least. He’d found a new way to pester you throughout the entire store. He complained about everything you told him to buy, reminding you that he didn’t even know how to cook. You responded quickly, telling him you could teach him easily. You weren’t a chef, but you had a few tricks up your sleeve that you were proud of. Matthew just teased you, telling you that you just wanted to spend more time with him. He poked your sides every time you tried to reach up and grab something, causing you to giggle while he gently nudged you out of the way to grab it himself. He called you mom in the store with every chance he got, the elderly couple across from you giving you an odd look as to why he was acting like a grumpy teenager. You were straight up exhausted by the time you were done, leaning against the counter in Matthew’s apartment while you watched him put away all of the groceries he’d bought against his will.

“So when are you going to teach me how to cook half this shit?” Matthew asks.

“I can show you now?” You ask, wondering if maybe he had plans that didn’t include for the evening. You saw him debate it internally for a moment, looking down at his phone and typing out a message before he nodded at you.

You started with something simple with him, salmon and some veggies, it was healthy and easy enough for him to cook on his own without you. Matthew was a little chaotic at first, unable to stand still while you tried to show him how to cut the lemon you were using to add to the Salmon. But you worked at it, calming him down enough to watch him searing the fish in his pan, his tongue sticking out of his mouth a little bit.

“Am I doing this right?” Matthew asks, and you peer over his shoulder, nodding when you inspect his work, “So, do you do this with Noah or am I your only project?”

“Noah knows how to cook for himself and stay in when he has to play the next day,” You remind Matthew, “So yes, you’re my only project.”

“Why aren’t you dating him? I mean you, spend enough time at his place and you’re always together,” Matthew pries, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You didn’t actually spend all of your time with Noah, but Matthew only ever saw you when you were with him.

“He hooked up with my friend Madi,” You explain, the exact reason why Noah was a no go zone for you, “And then he stopped talking to her.”

It was true. When you’d been neighbors you introduced the two, hoping they’d end up together like you wanted. It worked out at first, noticing that they both had chemistry but then Noah didn’t call her after they hooked up and Madi was devastated over it. The pair had talked it out a few months ago, but that still didn’t mean you were going to date Noah like everyone assumed you were.

“Dick move,” Matthew mutters under his breath, “I mean I’m not better but-”

“I’d honestly prefer to never talk about it again,” You shake your head, tensing up at the thought of the year you had two of your favorite people at war with the other, “That’s done.”

“I can’t believe you’re domesticating me,” Matthew chirps, sitting across from you on his couch because he lacked a dining room table, “This is pretty damn good though, compliments to the chef.”

You roll your eyes at his smugness, “Some girl is going to be very lucky after I’m done with you.”

“So I am your new project?”

--

Phase two of Matthew’s transformation was that you were going to help him make it seem like someone actually lived in his apartment. You’d walked into his apartment with some plans, mostly a firm belief that it wouldn’t kill to own a throw pillow but you didn’t know what kind of monster you were actually dealing with. Apparently, Matthew’s time at home was spent watching an unhealthy amount of HGTV with his mother and he knew more about home decor than you initially thought. Shopping was actually fun, until you mentioned that you really thought he should get a dining table, reminding him of the empty space in his place that needed it, and now you were bickering in the middle of a furniture store.

“I don’t like have people over for dinner parties Y/N,” Matthew argues, his voice growing louder, and you could feel how tense the poor person who was showing you around the store was.

“What about when your parents are in town?” You ask, “I’m sure your mom would appreciate it.”

“In my experience, your girlfriend is probably right,” The man standing next to you squeaks out and you both turn to him at the same time.

“We’re not dating!” You both yell out in unison, reminding this man for the third time that there was nothing going on between the two of you.

“Just get the table,” You huff, tired of embarrassing yourself in public. You pout, mustering up your cutest face, desperate times call for desperate measures.

Matthew closes his eyes and throws his head back, “I’ll get the table.”

You clap silently to yourself, watching as Matthew scheduled a delivery for the table. You really didn’t think pouting would work, especially because Matthew can be exceptionally stubborn when he wanted to, but you were happy he did.

“I can’t believe you convinced me to buy that table,” Matthew says, leaning over to look at you while you drove back to his place, “Not cool to bring my mom into this, but you were right, she’s going to love it.”

“You’ve lived here for almost four years, your place needed some work,” You say, you wanted to tell he needed a home but you knew the teasing that ensue so you bit your tongue.

“You’re going to like, help me with this right?” Matthew asks, pointing to the things you’d bought in the back of his car, you nod. Silently making a mental note to cancel your dinner plans with Madi, you knew she was going to be mad, especially because your reason was because you thought you could guide Matthew into being a better person. But you wanted to spend time with him, because despite how much of a grouch he was, he wasn’t all bad.

--

Sometimes you thought Matthew was invincible. You thought nothing could hurt him, especially after sitting close enough to the glass and hearing just how hard he’d taken a hit. But it turns out, a bookshelf was going to be what took him down. It’d been hours since you got back to his apartment, and while you set out some of the other things you’d bought, Matthew insisted he could put together the bookshelf. You leaned against his couch, watching him struggle in the middle of the floor.

“Matthew let me just-” You try and interject, yet again, and offer your help.

“I can do it,” Matthew says, “I just keep losing pieces.”

Matthew’s demeanor was frantic, he had nails and pieces of the bookshelf scattered around him while he read the directions for the hundredth time. You squat next to him, placing your hand on his back and rubbing up and down. You can feel how tense his back was, and how he was calming down under your touch, “How about you order us some food, and I just finish this real quick?”

Matthew lets out a breath, “Why are you so much better than me at everything?”

“I don’t even know how to skate so,” You shrug, there was one thing he definitely had on you.

“I’d teach you, but you’ll find a way to outshine me and we can’t have that,” Matthew jokes, standing up to go get his phone from another room and call and order you food. By the time he came back, you had half the shelf built already. He rolls his eyes, jumping on his couch and picking a movie on Netflix - telling you that was the only other thing he was better than you at.

--

You sat in the stands with Madi at the Saddledome, cringing as you watched Matthew skate to the penalty box for the third time that evening.

“What the fuck is he doing out there?” Madi asks, “Collect your man Y/N.”

You were too confused to go into defense mode on how Matthew wasn’t yours. He wasn’t. But you spent all of your time together when he was in the city, so you knew he wasn’t someone else’s either. You shake your head, your eyes moving to the penalty while you watch Matthew break his stick against the boards. The Flames were down 4-0 and it just seemed like everything wasn’t going in their favor. With three penalties under his belt, and two of those goals scored against them on the power play you understood why he was so mad but you didn’t understand why he’d kept retaliating against whoever was trying to get under his skin.

When the third period ended, you felt your phone vibrate while you were heading back out to your car. A text from Matthew appearing on the screen.

Come over?

You hear Madi scoff behind you, “If you go you’re never going back and I promise you that.”

“We’re friends,” You argue back, a little annoyed with your best friend's constant disdain for anyone that went near you.

“He’s going to do to you what he's done to countless other girls,” Madi retorts back, “Just like Noah did to me, they’re all the same.”

You roll your eyes, “Then I’ll worry about it when he hurts me.”

You stomped over to your car, leaving Madi to go to hers alone. You take a deep breath, pulling out of the lot and into the direction of Matthew’s apartment. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes while you thought about Madi’s words. You weren’t anything more than friends with Matthew but if he walked out of your life today you weren’t sure if you could recover as quickly as you thought. You slip in Matthew’s building unnoticed, sitting outside of his apartment door and allowing yourself to have a quick cry before you heard the elevator ding, signifying that he was home.

“I’ve got to give a key,” Matthew grumbles, “My neighbors probably think you’re stalking- are you crying?”

“I’m fine,” You rush out, standing up and wiping your eyes, “It’s fine.”

Matthew sighs, his eyes going soft, “Come inside.”

Matthew’s hand landed on your lower back, guiding you into his place. You take notice that he’d moved a few of the things you scattered around his place, making them his own. You also took notice of the neatly folded laundry on his table, meaning he actually did his own laundry instead of taking everything to the cleaners. You watch Matthew stomp around his apartment, still in a mood from his game, and while you were upset you knew calming him down was the first thing you had to do.

“Matty,” You whisper, a nickname you’d taken a liking to, mostly because while he claimed he couldn’t stand it, he never stopped you from saying it, “What can I do?”

“I don’t know,” Matthew shrugs, leaning against his couch, “Usually I’d go out after a game that bad, but then I could hear your reprimand me in my head.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You suggest, a small smile at his confession, you were getting through to him.

“Do you want to talk about why you were sitting in my hallway crying?” Matthew says, raising his eyebrows at you.

“You first,” You push, hoping you could pry it out of him.

“I’d really rather not relive the fact that I’m the sole reason that we lost that badly tonight,” Matthew mutters, “I’m going to have to watch it all over again tomorrow anyways.”

“It’s a team sport,” You remind him, even though you were there, the Flames may have lost but you know it wouldn’t have been by a four goal deficit if he could stay out of the box, “It wasn’t-”

“You were there, and you’re a terrible liar,” Matthew interrupts, a look on his face that you told you to just admit it, it was his fault.

“I’m not going to pile onto the guilt you’re feeling,” You say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Fine, tell me what’s up with you then,” Matthew says, nodding at you, waiting for an explanation.

“I got into it with Madi, it’s fine,” You brush off, you really didn’t want to admit to Matthew that he was the reason you’d been getting into it with her a lot lately.

“You said no secrets the other day,” Matthew reminds you, opening his arms for you to step into him, “That goes both ways.”

“Let me keep this one,” You say, wrapping your arms around his waist, “Please.”

“Just this once.”

--

Matthew’s family were some of the loveliest people you’d ever met in your life, and it was honestly shocking to you that his parents raised such a pest. Especially now, watching Matthew move around his kitchen while you sat on his couch with his brother who was in town along with his parents and his sister. You’d declined his invitation for dinner at first, not really sure if there was a line that you were crossing having dinner with his family, the whole thing just felt so domestic to you.

“So did you just switch his brain with someone who’s nicer?” Brady asks, pressing you about what you did with this brother, “Or is it like a clone situation?”

“Brady leave her alone,” You hear Matthew call out from his kitchen, showing off to his parents the new cooking skills he’d acquired over the past month.

You laugh, taking a sip of your wine, whispering to Brady, “It was a brain switch.”

Brady nods, whispering back, “I knew it.”

Watching Matthew with his family definitely wasn’t helping the feelings you’d been harboring. You thought it was a small crush, that was probably because you spent most of your time with him, but it’d been snowballing into more as of late. You watched him talk to his sister and about his sister like she was the most important person in the world, and you think to him she probably is. You heard how soft his voice would go when his mother called out to him or how hard he laughed when his dad cracked a joke. This was the Matthew you knew was shoved under a million layers of angst.

“I can’t believe you actually taught him how to cook,” Chantal muses, smiling at you gently, “I’d never been able to stop him from making a mess, even when he was a kid.”

“Mom,” Matthew protests, trying to stop her from embarrassing him with stories from his childhood, “She doesn’t need to know how bad I was as a kid.”

“I think she can figure it out for herself,” Brady calls out, holding his hand for a high five to you. You slap your hand against his, laughing when you see Matthew pout next to you.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Matthew protests, “No loyalty around here.”

“I am on your side,” You remind him, your hand squeezing his thigh under the table. He smiles, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers with his. The gesture was so small, but the electricity you felt through your body was unmatched. Matthew’s hand didn’t leave yours for the entire night - until he’d gotten so mad at Brady for “cheating” at the board game you’d all decided to play that he stomped away leaving you alone with his parents.

“Should we do something about that?” Brady asks, trying to read the room.

“Yes go apologize to your brother,” Keith sighs, as if this was something that happened often. You couldn’t be surprised, in a family that athletic there was no way that they weren’t a little competitive.

You watch Brady walk out of the room to go say he was sorry to Matthew and you feel Chantal’s hand on your arm.

“I know my son isn’t good with his own feelings,” She starts, her voice as warm and kind as it could be, “Just don’t give up on him.”

You smile, nodding, “I won’t.”

--

When Matthew woke you up on a Saturday morning with a heavy knock on your door, you were worried. You didn’t even know what he could have done in the ten hours since you’d last seen him but he didn’t always do the right thing - so naturally you panicked.

“Are you okay?” You ask, throwing your door open and forgetting the fact that you were still in the shorts and t-shirt you were sleeping in.

“Nice fit,” Matthew smirks, his eyes scanning up your body and you realized you’d been wearing the same shirt you stole from the first night you stayed over at his place, “I’m never getting that shirt back am I?”

“No it’s way too comfortable,” You say, because it was, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m teaching you how to skate,” Matthew smiles, proud of himself for the idea.

“I thought we couldn’t have me outshining you?” You ask, throwing his own words back at him.

“I want you to come to our Christmas skate but I don’t want you to embarrass yourself in front of that many other people,” Matthew shrugs, “Please?”

Matthew knew you couldn’t resist his stupid pouty face as much as he couldn’t resist yours. You were eachother greatest weakness and that’s just how it was. You nod, telling him you needed to change before you headed out to wherever he was going to take you.

You didn’t expect much, and when Matthew started to head in a direction opposite of any ice rinks you were severely confused. You pulled up to a park, a large pond that had frozen over ahead of you. You step out, watching Matthew pull two pairs of skates and hockey sticks out of his trunk.

“How did you-?” You start to ask how he even knew what size skate to get you.

“I asked Noah,” Matthew shrugs, “Apparently he knows more about you than you think.”

You laugh, the text that Noah sent you about Matthew being soft as hell making way more sense now than it did the other day. You follow Matthew to a bench, watching as he bent down to tie your skates for you, “You’re not going to let me get hurt right?”

The question was simple, but the glimmer in his eye when he told you nothing would happen to you told you that he meant more than just the skating. Your hands were in his while he skated backwards, pulling you around the ice.

“You know a month ago I probably would have let you fall on your ass,” Matthew comments when your skates started to slip underneath you, “But you’ve really turned me into a better person.”

“If only I could get you to stop getting into scrums,” You tease, even though you secretly loved to watch him defend his teammates the way he did. He always justified it to you after a game, telling you if he didn’t do it, someone would bully Johnny and he couldn’t let that happen. It was part of his game, and it was the way he liked to play.

“I told you,” Matthew says, dragging out his words, “I need to do it. Stay here.”

Matthew skated to the end of the pond, grabbing two sticks and two pairs of gloves for the both you, tossing them to you. You looked ridiculous, in hockey gloves that were four sizes too big and a stick that wasn’t cut to your height.

“Wait stay like that,” Matthew pulls out his phone, snapping a picture while you stood in the standard peewee hockey pose, laughing to himself while you assumed he sent it to Noah, but when you opened your phone you say a tag from Matthew’s instagram story and you knew he posted it for the world to see.

“Matty!” You call out, about to reprimand him for posting it while your phone continued to vibrate with follow requests.

“What? You look so cute right now,” Matthew says, while you started to charge at him, forgetting he hadn’t taught you how to stop yet. You skate right into his chest, unable to knock him on the ground like you’d intended, “Easy there killer, you don’t get to start fighting with people until you learn how to stop first.”

“You’re a bully,” You mutter, crossing your arms at him.

“You love it,” Matthew teases back, but in reality, you think you actually did.

--

Matthew didn’t owe you an explanation for anything he did, and you knew that. But with him gone on the East Coast for almost two weeks, you were grateful for his daily check ins and silly snapchats. It made you smile, to see he was in bed watching a movie instead of out partying like you knew his teammates were definitely doing. You were internally counting down the days until he’d back, trying to pull off a little surprise for him in the meantime.

You sat in his apartment, using the key he’d given to you before he left, with a bunch of empty picture frames you bought a few days ago, a package from St. Louis right to them. After you had dinner with his parents you’d talked to his mom once a week. Mostly for her to tell you thank you for forcing him to call her more often, but other times it was just to gossip.

But you’d asked a few weeks ago for some pictures to hang up around his place, realizing he didn’t have one picture of his family anywhere in his place. His mother sent over every family photo she had a copy of, slipping in a few photos of Matthew as a toddler that made your heart melt in a puddle. You smile pulling a photo of the Tkachuk siblings together, Matthew probably showing off the loss of his two front teeth. You learned from his father during that dinner, that Matthew didn’t actually lose his two front teeth, instead they were knocked out by his younger brother before they had the chance to fall out.

You set the last photo on the bookshelf that you put together, tilting it so it leaned against the others in a perfect way. You heard the knob of his front door turn, revealing a very sleepy Matthew in front of you.

“I thought I saw your car,” Matthew smiles, dropping his bag to the floor, “What are you doing here?”

“Notice anything different?” You ask, gesturing around his place, his head turns to scan the room, a growing smile on his face. The kind of smile where his dimples were on full display, one you noticed he reserved for his family and for you.

“How did you get these?” Matthew says, picking up a picture that you picked out of him and his siblings at one of his father’s All Star games.

“I asked your mom for them,” You shrug.

“How often do you talk to my mom?” Matthew asks.

“Once, twice a week,” You mutter out, like your calls with his mother had been your little secret.

Matthew laughs to himself, muttering something under his breath you couldn’t quite make out, “Thank you.”

“I’m confident you’d do the same for me,” You say, because at this point you were sure he was at least 50% less selfish than he used to be.

“I’d do anything for you,” Matthew says, looking over at you to gauge your reaction. Chantal’s words about how terrible her son was with his own emotions running through your head.

“Hey Matty,” You say, trying to get his attention while he walked away to change out of the suit he’d been wearing on the plane, “You said no secrets right?”

“I believe that was our agreement,” Matthew smiles, turning around to look at you.

“I love you,” You say, you couldn’t take it anymore, you just needed to let it out. Matthew stood there, his eyes moving to everything in the room besides you, for the first time in his life, he was silent, “Oh my god this is embar-”

Matthew took three long steps over to you, placing both of his hands on your cheeks before he took a deep breath, “I needed you to say it first.”

You smile, connecting your lips with his,

“You’re going to say it back right?”

And in his apartment that you’d turned into a home, Matthew stood in his living room, pecking your lips while he repeated the three sweetest words to you.

“I love you”

[curiousconch]

Chase You/Chase Me (Pt. 7)

Part 7: Round and around we go

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The attack in McGraw Byrne's offices reveals a deeper conspiracy that runs to the top of the law firm, which Alex pursued head on. But when the dust settles, she is forced to face the music of her own troubled mind.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 2.1k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / themes of violence, and trauma, language. Reader discretion advised.

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

A week after, New York City

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The gunman panted as he ran through the dark and unfamiliar side streets of New York, the covering on his face not helping alleviate the sense of panic overtaking him.

His current state of mind paled in comparison with how calm he walked into the offices of that freakishly bright law firm.

The task was simple - get the phone and get out.

But when he found himself face to face with the woman who'd sent his life into a whirling clusterfuck, he didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.

He missed.

A brute of a man rammed into him right before he took a shot. Who knew corporate slaves can be combative? By then he knew he was fucked. He snatched the phone then ran.

An earlier scope of the building gave him an easy way out, but the shitty maze of the streets of the business district didn't give much of a reprieve.

I fucking hate this city.

He didn't know how long he'd been running, not until he had to stop by the dead end wall in front of him.

Blue and red flashing lights caught him in a daze, his breath heavy, realizing he was boxed in by police officers in an alley.

"Freeze!" one had shouted. "Raise your arms over your head!"

He didn't have a choice. He's not willing to die for his uncle, nor take another sentence in prison. That scumbag wasn't worth it, regardless of how many times that man tried drilling the thought into his head.

I'm tired of this shit anyway. Though I'll miss the perks.

He raised his hands, then felt his knees buckle when someone kicked him from behind, forcing him to the ground. Someone pulled the ski mask off his head, his face now exposed for everyone to see.

He was the younger, spitting image of Koenig's CEO. Except for those piercing blue eyes.

Now everyone will know, he thought. Poor uncle Peter will be burned to the stakes after he spill every single sordid detail of all the crimes Max was ordered to do.

From that pretty little celebrity in L.A., the poisoned man from Oklahoma, the researchers from Massachusetts, and all of those other victims in between.

Good thing he kept all those souvenirs. He will prove to them that he was just a pawn.

The pawn that was Maximilian Koenig Cornell.

**

A few days after, Rooftop of McGraw Byrne

Alex took another hit of nicotine from the cigarette between her fingers, standing by the edge of the fancy rooftop lounge. She exhaled a plume of smoke, the friction in her throat giving herself a temporary reprieve from her chaotic state of mind.

By the rest of the world's standards, it should have been a beautiful day. The skies above her was indigo, filled with streaks of orange from the setting sun. The peacefulness of it a far cry from the storm that was brewing inside her.

Success shouldn't feel this way. She was having a hard time basking in her recent victories.

Alex was just named junior partner this morning, after successfully taking Peter Koenig and Sadie McGraw down. Max Cornell, who turned out to be Koenig's nephew slash hitman, had confessed. He revealed who really was pulling the ropes, all in the form of well-kept call logs and text messages.

The backlash of it all reached McGraw Byrne's founding partner. The same form of proof exposed Sadie's hand on the Koenig class action suit, as well as her involvement in tipping off authorities to paint Marcus Sharpe as Aliana's murderer. The intent was to veer suspicion away from Koenig, making thousands of dollars along the way.

Alex had completely unraveled the conspiracy, with the help of Aislinn and Gigi. Beau, surprisingly, was more than participative. But it was obvious for everyone at the firm who led the crackdown, and it didn't take long for recognition to come to pass.

In everyone else's eyes, she emerged the winner.

And now, when all is said and done, there was nothing to escape to.

Alex can no longer disassociate herself from the sight of the gun barrel held by the ghost she tried to forget all these years.

The sound of applause, soured only by Martin Vanderweil's display of pain-in-the-ass arrogance, should have made her want to enjoy the fruits of her labor. Instead, here she was, wallowing with herself to be overcame by old bad habits.

What happened in the library was etched in her mind, clear as day. The memory of that close encounter with death, being brought up to life by the lack of distractions, made her shudder.

Every waking hour was consumed by the man with the haunting blue eyes that meant death. Those same eyes from the past that suffocated her for so long.

A decade spent running away from them, yet they still caught up with her.

She worked so hard not to remember, not to let it bring her down, for it not to be her end game. She's at the top of the fucking career ladder, yet why can't she still have a sense of freedom?

Everything just felt wrong. She felt out of place.

Lost in her frustrations, she didn't hear the whirring of the elevator and the approaching footsteps that followed.

"Thought I'd find you here," Gabe said, stopping inches away from her.

It took everything of her not to swivel and look at him, opting to curse at herself for how her body quickly relaxed by the softness of his voice.

The storm clouding her mind instantly dissipated, leaving her bare. Gabe's presence made the oceans within her stand still, as if awaiting to be stirred.

"Didn't want to be found," she mumbled, closing her lips on the still burning stick of nicotine. Alex struggled to keep her gaze steady at the slowly darkening skyline.

I know. Gabe wanted to say. He knew that finding her here, seeking out the comfort of isolation screamed her desire to be left alone. He had seen her internal turmoil, hiding behind the air of stoicism she projected for everyone else.

That's why he was never more determined to find her. He wanted, no, needed, to be there for her.

Gabe knew he'd been a dick to walk out from her that morning in L.A., right after he admitted what he felt for her.

But there was rarely an opportunity to make it right. Whenever there was, there was no getting through her. No matter how much he tried to reach out, to make her see that he regretted his actions that day, she wouldn't let him in.

He couldn't blame her.

Gabe told himself he'd give her time, to give her space. However, fate had other plans.

He almost lost her that night, and it was a wake up call. When he watched helplessly as Cornell aimed at her, something in him shifted. He's no longer stuck in a limbo questioning who Alex was for him, or why he constantly wanted to be near her, wanting to make everything right.

He was decided to run after her, to stay with her, no matter what. He was done chasing after dreams of the past.

Alex was his future.

"Can't get rid of me easily," he settled on that reply, leaning on the glass railing beside her.

"Really?" she quipped sardonically. "I honestly didn't take you to be the staying type."

That had to sting.

He knew he'd hurt her by leaving, so he deserved that. It wasn't enough to make his resolve waver.

"I am," he insisted. "It just takes me some time to find my footing."

She lifted a hand to him. "Don't go there, Gabe. Just don't - "

"I'm not walking away from you again, Alex," he professed.

She whirled to face him with a look of sullen resignation. "I know."

Deep down, she wanted him too. But not in the fucked-up state she was in. She needed to think, she needed to recover, she needed to get a grip on herself.

But she needed to do it alone.

"I can't deal with us now, it's just.." She sighed. "Everything else that's happened is too overwhelming."

Gabe deflated.

It was the first time he heard her admit defeat. He's gotten used to seeing her fighting every step of the way, that finding her in this state of hopelessness felt alien to him. His chest tightened, hating himself on taking part of what pushed her to breaking point.

"I need to take a step back from everything, Gabe," she said, almost begging. "That includes you."

"What do you mean?"

"Can I to take some time off?" she pleaded, wrapping herself in her own arms. "I have to hit pause for now."

"For how long, Alex?" Gabe's voice was strained. She just made it clear that he wasn't what she needed.

Still he hoped. So he held his breath.

Alex thought quietly for a few moments, before looking back at him in determination. He found a semblance of the Alex he knew.

"A couple of weeks," she answered with a tone of finality.

He didn't want to. But in his heart of hearts, he had to respect her decision. He understood that even the strongest needed to heal. Even the brave Alex Keating.

"I'll arrange it," he relented, closing his fists at his sides to stop himself from reaching out to her. "Anything else?"

She hesitated, biting her lower lip before she continued. "Actually, there is one more thing."

"What is it?" Gabe watched intently as she raised her head to look at him, her mouth curved into that familiar signature smirk that he'd grown to chase after.

"Will you wait for me?"

As per her usual modus operandi, Alex took his breath away by her unpredictability. Almost immediately, Gabe wrapped his arm around her to pull her close. He raised his free hand and let his knuckles brush against her cheek.

He smiled softly, a tad afraid that by holding her this close could break her. And yet, the effect she had on him couldn't be stopped from spilling out, as if it was what he wanted to say all along.

"I've waited my whole life for you, so what's a few more weeks?"

Alex beamed at him, relieved. "I knew you'll be up for the challenge."

"Because I care about you, Alex," he whispered.

"I care about you too."

Alex then dared to take it forward.

Before he had the chance to move away, she tiptoed and surprised him with a tender kiss on the cheek.

Gabe wasn't able to react as quickly, the contact catapulting his senses. Just as his mind plunged back to the ground, she was already walking away, the clicking of her black heels syncopating along with the beating drum inside his chest.

His sight followed her until she stood by herself in the employee elevator, her brown-eyed gaze melting him with earnest affection. As the doors shut closed, so did the heart of Gabriel Ricci.

It shut down in anticipation of her return.

**

Two months later

Mind hazy and craving for Chinese food, Gabe had asked the driver to take a quick detour.

He had just flown from Los Angeles, spending two weeks to assist on a big hotel chain M&A. He got out of LaGuardia at around 10pm, and now his jet lag and empty stomach were taking its toll on him.

The car stopped at the familiar block, and he got out of the vehicle, grabbing his suitcase. He walked the rest of the way, enjoying the craziness of New York City on a Friday night.

For a minute, it reminded him of her.

He heard rumors of her coming back, but HR had been heftily secretive on all things concerning her. With the firm fidgety over Vanderweil's recent harassment lawsuits, he erred on the safe side and didn't poke further.

It didn't take long for him to find Hoi On. Once inside, he greeted the servers in flawless Cantonese, striding straight to the counter.

As he gave his order, the kitchen crew brought out a bag of hunger-inducing takeout box. He was almost tempted to bargain for it instead of waiting for another 20 minutes. Until...

"Order complete for Alex!"

Gabe froze.

His senses were instantly filled by the familiar scent of coffee and vanilla and the echoing beat of heels hitting the floor.

There was no doubt about who was approaching the counter.

He found her standing beside him, the woman he'd missed every single day since he saw her last. The powerhouse junior partner with the easy smile and confident aura.

The woman whose return Gabe eagerly waited for.

"So," Alex began. "I take it tinsel town's fusion of cuisines can't match authentic Brooklyn takeout?" she teased, smiling at him in the same red dress she wore the first time she walked into his office.

He looked down over her - closely looking at the tiny changes in her features. Regardless, she looked more beautiful, taking note of the longer, loose tendrils of brunette hair framing her face.

"No," Gabe shook his head in amazement, his lips breaking into a lopsided grin. "Everything else couldn't compare."

She chuckled. The radiance of her laughter showed Gabe she was really back, and that she was finally ready.

"I bet they couldn't," she winked.

In an instant, Gabe's heart awoke from its slumber. It's as if it knew that this time, the wait was over.

The chase has come full circle.

Author's Notes: This may be the end of this series, but Alex & Gabe will return.

How did you find it? Let me see in your comments/reblogs! Thank you! 💖

Tag list: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @latinagiraffe @sarcastic01lily  @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer @thegreentwin @mkatschoicesblog @made-of-roses @lillijill @kachrisberry @weaving-in-words @peonierose @wanderingamongthewildflowers

@choicesficwriterscreations @lawsofattractionfanfiction

[xjoonchildx]

guarded | jhs x reader | chapter five: italian leather gloves

summary: you’ve tried to separate yourself from your infamous crime family, but a new case has your carefully-constructed world crashing down around you.  now you have to figure out how to heal old wounds and handle the new man who enters your orbit.

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: mafia AU, E2L, slow burn, tsundere, smut

rating: 18+

word count: 6.0K

A/N: so the smut warnings start to go into effect in this chapter, guys! i can’t believe how many kind messages i’ve gotten about this story. please just know that i read every single one and i promise they all make me so happy.  i really hope you guys like this chapter and i hope it answers some questions.  of course i must thank the squad @ladyartemesia @taetaewonderland @ppersonna for being an amazing support system and kick ass beta readers.  love you guys.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | EPILOGUE

****************

Everything hurts.

The moment you open your eyes, you wish you hadn’t.  Late morning sun streams bright and unforgiving into your bedroom, making the ache in your temples even more pronounced.  You spend a good ten minutes lying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling and remembering everything that went wrong last night.

So terribly, terribly wrong.

Your punishment today -- apart from the pounding headache and sour stomach -- is that despite doing your very best to drink yourself to blackout, you remember every minute of last night in painstaking detail.  There’s a cruel clarity to the way your mind replays the awkward dinner with your boss and the confrontation with Donghyuk.

And your fight with Hoseok.

Shame curls in your gut when you recall the nasty things you’d said to try and get a rise out of him. The nasty things he’d said in return when your goading finally worked.

“People like me do the dirty work so people like you can impress rich assholes at stupid parties.”

It’s not like you didn’t already know Hoseok saw you as some kind of entitled rich bitch -- but that didn’t make hearing the words spoken out loud any easier.  It didn’t make the anger you provoked in him any less jarring.

And it didn’t make the moment he saw your scar any less humiliating.

That’s when you feel like you might be sick -- when you remember the way Hoseok went completely still at the sight of your damaged skin.  The way he’d tried so hard to look like he wasn’t staring and failed.

You get out of bed and slip an oversized sweatshirt over your head, take a few deep breaths to try and calm the wobbling sensation in your stomach.  

That’s when it hits you. 

You don’t smell coffee.

****************************

Kim Seokjin looks like he’s made himself quite at home when you finally work up the nerve to leave your bedroom. He’s reclined deep into your couch, long legs propped up on your living room table, tablet in hand.  He looks up from the screen to take in your bedraggled appearance with wide eyes.

“Rough night, huh?”

“Something like that,” you say quietly.  You make your way to the kitchen in search of a glass of water and Seokjin stands up from the couch to follow you.

“Hoseok, uh --”, he pauses for a moment, rubs one hand across the back of his neck,  “ -- said he needed a couple of days to take care of some personal stuff.”

You pour lukewarm water into a glass, take one tentative sip and say nothing.

“So you’re stuck with me,” Seokjin continues slowly, “For a little while, anyway.”

You stare into your glass, unwilling to meet Seokjin’s eyes.  It shouldn’t surprise you one bit that Hoseok took off after what happened between you last night.  It probably shouldn’t hurt either.

But it does.

The little water you’ve managed to get down feels like it might come right back up.

“You okay?” Seokjin asks after a long pause.

“No,” you admit.  “I don’t feel good.  Probably going to stay in bed for the day, so it’ll be a quiet one for you.”

Seokjin nods sympathetically. 

“You know what’s good for when you’re feeling sick?” he asks.  “Samgyetang. I found some in your fridge.  It’s pretty good too, kinda --”

Your stomach lurches at the mention of that goddamned soup.

You leave Seokjin mid-sentence to retch in the privacy of your bathroom.

*****************************

The next time you open your eyes, it’s to complete darkness.

You wake disoriented, not sure if you’ve slept for hours or for days.  The last thing you remember after getting sick was barely getting down some painkillers and a little more water before crawling back into bed.  

Then it was lights out.

Physically, you feel better.  The hammering headache is gone and the motion sickness is gone with it.  But as you lie awake in the darkness, there’s no way to escape your tumultuous thoughts.  The ones that keep going back to Hoseok and that fight.

“People like me follow orders so people like you don’t have to.”

No doubt the story of how you left the Gajog has been distorted over the years, passed between gossips in some twisted game of telephone. No doubt the story that’s told now is not about the scared teenager desperate for any semblance of stability; it’s about some spoiled little girl who decided she was too good for everyone else.  

“People like me stay behind and handle our responsibilities so people like you can walk away from yours.”

That was definitely the worst blow of the night, though.  

There is just enough truth to that accusation to make it stick, to make it sting.  You did walk away. You did leave your brother behind.

You run a hand through your hair and reach for your phone to check the time.  9:30 PM.  

You feel almost human by the time you get out of the shower and walk out into the living room to find Seokjin dozing on the couch.  You feel guilty for rousing him, but it’s his job.  You know this is something you have to do right now.

“Jin,” you call out, nudging him gently.  His eyes blink back, unfocused as he tries to get his bearings.  

“Yeah?” he’s alert at once, looking around.  “You okay?”

No, but I’m going to be.

“I’m alright.  I need you to take me to see my brother.”

****************************

Namjoon has a beautiful penthouse on the water, a luxury apartment high above the Han River.  But there’s no wife, no children waiting for him at home.  Nothing in that place but echoing walls and modern art.

So he spends most of his nights at the office.

Seokjin called ahead, just in case -- but you knew your brother would be there.  He’s still dressed in his suit, a tumbler of scotch in hand when you arrive.  Seokjin doesn’t have to be asked to leave.

“You don’t look well, Amsaja,” he says quietly as you sit in the chair opposite his grand desk.

“You are not the first person to allude to that today,” you say with a humorless laugh.  You look down at your giant sweatshirt and jeans, and shove a hand through your still-wet hair. “Message received.”

His eyes are soft with concern.  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing,” you say, blowing out a heavy breath.  “Everything.  I just -- I just needed to see you.”

You were still a little girl when you learned the hard way that tears were futile and pointless and only served to make you a target. But you feel them welling in your eyes anyway.  The reflex feels foreign and rusty after so many years of disuse.

“I’m so sorry, Namjoon,” you choke out, voice thick.  “So, so sorry.”

Namjoon sets his tumbler down on the heavy wood of his desk, walks around it and over to you. When he gets down on one knee and reaches out a hand to brush your cheek you don’t see the grown man at the helm of Seoul’s largest criminal empire.  You see the brother who took care of you when no one else would.

Despite your best efforts to stop them, the tears come anyway.

Namjoon holds you close, strokes your hair while you cry into the jacket of his expensive suit.  He doesn’t say anything for a while, just waits for your body to stop shaking with the force of your sobs and for your breathing to even out. 

“Why did you let me leave?” you ask once you’ve managed to regain some control.  “Why didn’t you ask me to stay?”

Namjoon sighs, standing to stretch his legs.  He grabs his drink before walking over to the window to peer down at the lights streaking by below.

“One of us deserved to have a choice,” he says quietly.  “It was never going to be me.  I didn’t want the same for you.”

Your heart breaks all over again, hearing Namjoon say those words out loud.  Your brother, born into a legacy he never asked for and a responsibility he could never run from. Your protector who let you walk away from the life he couldn’t escape.

“You saved me,” you whisper.  “He would have killed me if I hadn’t left Seoul.”

“I know that,” Namjoon admits, “I saw it coming, too.  The worse his drinking got --  I couldn’t let that happen.  I refused to let that happen.”

You stand out of the chair to walk over to the window.  Your brother’s profile is illuminated by the passing lights, mouth set in a grim line.

“You forced him to let me go.”

It’s not a question. Namjoon nods.

“I told him I would disappear if he didn’t let you leave.  And then what? He’d have spent his entire life grooming me for nothing.  He was just weak enough from the drinking to agree. He couldn’t fight me on it anymore.”

You shut your eyes against the fresh tears that come.

“I’ve been so selfish.”

“We’re all selfish, Amsaja,” he sighs.  “We all want things we can’t have. That’s human nature.”

It makes your chest squeeze -- how desolate that admission sounds.  You think about your brother’s massive, empty apartment.  Who takes care of him? Who does he have to talk to?  You swallow past the taste of guilt in your mouth.

“We could leave all of this behind, Jaegyueo. Start over.  Make our own choices this time.”

Namjoon huffs a sad laugh into the rim of his glass.

“How I got here is not the point anymore,” he says.  “You think if I dismantled this organization right now that all of this would just stop?”

He turns away from the window to look you in the eye.

“There would be ten syndicates ready to fill the hole we would leave overnight. And I promise you,” he shakes his head, “None of them would conduct business as neatly as we do. This organization keeps everything from going to shit. This is our way of balancing the scales.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look back out the window, out to the lights that make the city glow at this time of night.  You know your brother is right.  

This is his destiny.  

“You talk about being selfish,” he continues quietly,  “How’s this for selfish?  No matter how much you’ve suffered in the past, I still want you here by my side.  I still want you to come back.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest.

“Namjoon, I --”  He interrupts you with a raised hand.

“You don’t have to defend your stance.  You have every right to leave this all behind you forever. Just know that you are the only person on this Earth that I trust without question.”

The ice in his scotch tinkles in the quiet of the office as he swirls the contents of the glass.

“Just know that there is a part of me that will always be waiting for you to come back.”

*********************

HOSEOK

Hoseok had to get out of there.

He had to put space between you and him or he was going to lose his mind.  

Thankfully, Seokjin didn’t ask too many questions when he’d phoned in the middle of the night asking to be relieved for a few days.  Seokjin didn’t press too hard when he asked about how you were doing and Hoseok nearly took his head off.  And Seokjin hasn’t asked why Hoseok is texting him every day to make sure you’re alright.

Sometimes -- rarely -- Seokjin knows exactly when to shut the fuck up.  

Hoseok knows he should be using this time to get his shit together. 

He knows he’s this close to doing something stupid.  He knows he’s got to figure out a way to release the pressure building inside of him before he explodes.

He thinks about how satisfying it would be to put his fist through Kang Donghyuk’s face.

He stares down the stone-and-glass entrance to Kang’s apartment from the driver’s seat of his car, one hand tight around the steering wheel.  He tightens his grip on the wheel and loosens it, over and over and over.

A call comes through.

“Hey, it’s Jimin.”

“Yeah,” Hoseok says flatly, eyes never leaving the entrance to that apartment building. “What’s up?”

“I already briefed Namjoon but he wanted me to call you, too.  We finally got a hit on Lee Hyejin.”

Hoseok sits up straighter in his seat.

“What did you find?”

“We got access to her accounts.  Regular payments, every two weeks -- coming through an offshore wire.  Started about three months ago.”

“Shit,” Hoseok says under his breath.  “A Ssijog account?”

“We’re still working on confirming that -- but yeah, like 99% sure.”

Hoseok scrubs a hand down his face.  

Who gets to break the news to you that your only friend has been fucking with your case -- fucking with your entire life? He thinks back to how blank and despondent you’d looked the night of the snake incident, how withdrawn you’d been the night of the charity dinner. 

How much more of this pressure can you withstand before you explode?

“What about the guy?” Jimin asks, after the line is silent for too long. “Any news on him?”

“Not yet,” Hoseok murmurs, tightening his grip around the wheel again.  “But it’s coming.  I know it’s coming.”

“Okay.  Tae is still trying to get a complete list of accounts linked to that offshore one.  If we find out more, I’ll make sure you know right away.”

Hoseok ends the call just as another call comes in.

He takes one look at the screen and rubs his fingers across his tired eyes before sending it to voicemail.

He knows he could have handled the situation with Dae with more care. He knows he could have done more than end their casual arrangement with one call.  Dae had been furious, demanding he give her some kind of explanation so she could understand why it was over.  

Hoseok hadn’t been lying to her when he said he didn’t know why.

But as he sits in the dark -- staring at the entrance of Kang Donghyuk’s apartment building -- he considers for a moment that he might have been lying to himself.

His phone rings again.

“Jung,” Namjoon’s voice comes over the line. “You in the middle of something?”

“Nah,” Hoseok lies easily.  “Just relaxing.  What’s up?”

“Come have a drink with me.”

*********************

It’s nearly midnight by the time Hoseok makes it across town.

Namjoon appears to be in a contemplative mood tonight, glass of scotch in hand, long body leaned back into his plush chair.

“You’re off-duty tonight,” Namjoon says, taking a sip of his drink.  “Scotch?”

Hoseok makes a face.

“Definitely not.  Have any whiskey?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve got a bottle around here somewhere.”

Namjoon picks up his desk phone to reach his assistant, who makes quick work of finding a bottle and a clean glass.  She delivers both with practiced silence before slipping out of the room.  

Hoseok can’t help but notice his boss’s gaze lingering on the pretty young woman as she retreats. He keeps his mouth shut because he’s not an idiot.

Once he has a tumbler of whiskey in hand, Hoseok leans back into his own chair, undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt.

“Something specific you want to talk about?” he asks, sipping his drink.  

“Just checking in,” Namjoon says quietly.  “I’ve barely seen you these past few weeks.  Want to make sure everything’s alright where you’re concerned.”

“I’m fine,” Hoseok says.  “Jimin called me about the shit he found on the Lee girl, though.”

“Yeah. I don’t think my sister’s going to take that news well,” Namjoon murmurs.  “She’s not exactly the trusting type.  A betrayal like this -- ”

He trails off, abandoning one thought for another.  

“Does she talk to you?”

Hoseok clears his throat. 

He tries not to think about the last time he saw you and the terrible things you’d said to one another.  He tries not to remember the look on your face before you turned away from him.  

“Not really.  Keeps to herself a lot.”

“Yeah, well.  She’s had to put up with a lot of shit over the years,” Namjoon admits, rubbing his fingers across his lips. “She keeps things close to the vest.”

Hoseok sags deeper into the plush chair and takes a drink, welcomes the burn that comes with it.  He already knows Namjoon is not looking for some kind of dialogue tonight.  Namjoon is looking to unload.  

Hoseok keeps quiet and lets him do just that.

“My sister has been punished for things beyond her control since the day she was born,” he continues.  “My role was clear from day one and hers much less so.  My father was too ignorant to figure out how to raise a little girl without a mother and too disinterested to even ask for help.”

Hoseok’s fingers tighten around his glass.

“She spent half her time trying to get his attention and the other half regretting when she finally did.”

The image of that scar comes into Hoseok’s mind, unbidden.  The jagged lines of it, the deep indent of it.  All of the tiny details that speak to the brutality behind the wound.  

“He hurt her,” Hoseok says quietly, looking past Namjoon to stare out into lights outside the window.

“A thousand different ways,” Namjoon sighs, shoving a hand through his hair.  “I did what I could, but I couldn’t keep her from all of it.”

The ice in his glass tinkles as he empties his drink.

“I know what people say about my sister, Hoseok,” Namjoon exhales.  “None of them know what they’re talking about.  She was going to be damned either way.  She did what she had to do to survive.”

Hoseok swallows the last of his whiskey around the knot in his throat.

************************

He almost took the night off.

Hoseok’s body could have used the rest, and his mind certainly could have, too.  But every time he closes his eyes he sees you, hears your brother’s words.  

The pressure inside him keeps building.

He woke up this morning thinking about that photograph inside Namjoon’s desk -- the one taken inside your apartment.  The one taken while you were sleeping and at your most vulnerable, inside your own home.  

Every cell in Hoseok’s body is telling him that Kang Donghyuk took that picture.  

That’s why he’s in his car tonight, following Kang home from the office again.  That’s why he’s pulled into a space just outside the man’s high-dollar highrise prepared for another night of waiting and watching.  

Fuck, he’ll do it every night until he gets the answers he’s looking for.

A call comes in from Seokjin.

“Hey,” Hoseok answers on the first ring.  “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin sighs.  “Quiet.  She’s busy working in her room or something.  Why do I have the feeling you’re not at your place taking the personal time you said you needed?”

“Mind your business,” Hoseok mutters. 

Seokjin laughs.

“Honestly, I just called because I’m bored.  Wondering if you ever plan on coming back to your post.  I’m going out of -- “

“-- Shit,” Hoseok interrupts, sitting up straight in his seat.  “I gotta go.”

He ends the call before Seokjin can ask why.

Hoseok squints against the dark when he sees Kang Donghyuk walk out of the entrance to his building.  Kang stands on the curb, hands shoved into the pockets of his dress pants.  Even from a distance, Hoseok can see he’s looking up and down the street.

He’s waiting for someone.

Hoseok’s entire body is tense as he watches a sleek silver car pull up outside the building’s entrance and Kang slip into the passenger seat.  The car takes off and Hoseok’s pulse picks up.

This is it.

He waits until the sedan is a few hundred feet ahead to pull out into the street.  He’s careful to keep pace with the surrounding traffic so he doesn’t give himself away.  And after a short drive, the silver car parks outside a run-down warehouse in one of the shittier parts of the city.  

Hoseok pulls into a dark space, cuts the ignition and hides the bright display of his phone.

He watches Kang Donghyuk get out of the passenger seat, followed by the driver of the car.  A man Hoseok recognizes as Ssijog right away.  The men have a short conversation in the street before disappearing into the warehouse.  

Hoseok’s hand tightens around the steering wheel, then loosens.  Again and again and again.

He knows the protocol.  He knows he should have called this in five minutes ago.

He hasn’t.  

He won’t. 

Instead, he reaches into the console to pull out his favorite pair of Italian leather gloves.

*************************

Dressing the part has always served Hoseok well, even in this line of work.

Tonight -- his meticulously chosen suit and tie are his ticket inside Kang Donghyuk’s secure high-rise apartment building.  Hoseok walks right past the security guard on duty so casually that the man barely looks in his direction.

It takes him only a few minutes to find the door to Kang’s apartment and the entrance to the service elevator nearby.  Hoseok stands back into the recess and balls his hands into fists.  He concentrates on the stretch of his leather gloves.

Then he waits.

Kang Donghyuk doesn’t keep him waiting long.  

Just a short while later, he’s at his apartment door, fumbling with his keys.  Hoseok waits until he nudges the door open before making his approach.

One firm hand to the back of the neck and one firm shove is all it takes.  

Kang Donghyuk falls through the entrance to his apartment just as Hoseok is closing the door behind him.  He rolls onto his back on the floor, eyes wide and sputtering.

“What the fuck man?”  

Hoseok doesn’t bother to answer that.  

He pulls out his pistol and points the barrel at the cowering man.  Kang’s pupils blow wide and Hoseok feels a pulse of satisfaction at his obvious fear.

“Start talking,” Hoseok says, voice low and controlled.

“About what?” Kang squeaks -- voice slipping out an octave too high.  

Hoseok clicks the pistol’s safety into place and off again just to ensure Kang hears the sound.  The coward reacts immediately, covering his face with his hands.

“Alright man, I’ll talk.  Just chill -- “ he wheezes.  “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know.”

“I need to know everything, Kang,” Hoseok says between clenched teeth.  “Start fucking talking.”

Donghyuk sits up slowly, hands raised and eyes fixed on Hoseok.  

“They came to me a few months back.  All they said is they wanted her to fuck up the case.  That’s all, I swear.”

There’s no feeling of satisfaction for Hoseok when he hears the words spoken aloud.  There’s no victory in confirming the guy he thought was a piece of shit all along is actually a piece of shit.  

The pressure inside him continues to build.

“You’re working with the Lee girl?”

“Yeah,” Donghyuk admits miserably, eyes unmoving from the barrel of Hoseok’s gun.  “She would help me make copies of her keys and shit.  She knew where the important files were, too.  I mostly had to keep her out of the apartment when they needed to get in and -- ” he clears his throat, “ -- other stuff.��

Hoseok sees red. 

Fury ignites inside of him at the innuendo packed into those two short words.  His pistol seems to warm in his hand. 

“You took that picture,” he whispers, finger tightening around the trigger. Donghyuk winces, swallows so hard Hoseok can see his Adam's apple jump in his throat.

“Yeah,” Donghyuk admits, curling in on himself.  “They asked me to.”

Hoseok turns the gun in his hand so fast Donghyuk barely has the time to put his hands over his face again.  He cracks the butt of his pistol against the side of Donghyuk’s skull and the man whimpers as he rolls over in pain.

The pistol whip should have been enough to take the edge off of Hoseok’s rage.  

But it’s not enough. 

He holsters his gun and Donghyuk stares up at him from the floor, terrified.

“Get up,” Hoseok hisses.  

Blood has started to seep from a gash on the side of Donghyuk’s head but the man complies.  He stumbles to his feet just in time for Hoseok to take him off balance again.  He wraps one hand around the man’s throat and squeezes tight, pushing him back against a wall.

Donghyuk’s eyes bulge as Hoseok pins him to the wall with that hand.

“Never, ever --” Hoseok spits the words, grip crushing the man’s neck,  “-- go near her again.  Do you understand me? That’s not something I have to repeat even for someone as stupid as you, right?”

Donghyuk’s face is mottled, features frozen in fear as he attempts to nod his agreement. 

 Hoseok tightens his grip and the man starts to turn a satisfying shade of red.  The color deepens as Hoseok squeezes harder and all he can think about is how easy it would be to end him, how just a few more seconds of this pressure could cause his windpipe to collapse. How one more hard press of his fingers could solve the problem of Kang Donghyuk forever. 

But protocol.

Hoseok finally releases his grip on the man’s throat and Kang immediately slumps down the wall, into a pile on the floor.  He gasps, hands clutched to his chest as he fights to regain his breath.

Hosok stands back, straightening his coat and adjusting his jacket underneath.  

He gives Kang Donghyuk one last glance before walking to the door.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he warns quietly.  “I’d hate to have to pay you another visit.”

Hoseok waits for the door to click closed before pulling out his phone to call Namjoon in the quiet of the hallway.  He’s a little breathless when his boss picks up on the first ring.

“Regarding Kang Donghyuk,” he murmurs. “There’s been a development.”

**********************

Namjoon’s call comes late the next afternoon.

“Hey,” Hoseok breathes into the receiver, balancing his phone between his shoulder and ear.  He drops his hand back into the bowl of ice water at his side.  “What’s up?”

“I need you to come in,” his boss says evenly.  “So we can discuss next steps.”

“Be there in ten.”

It’s a little pathetic, the way Hoseok perks up at having somewhere to be.  

Even meeting with his boss to explain how he broke protocol and nearly choked a man to death beats sitting in his apartment, icing his sore hand.  It sure as hell beats sitting on his couch, staring at the TV and trying not to think about you.

Namjoon takes the news of Kang’s involvement and Hoseok’s insubordination surprisingly well.  

He’d listened to Hoseok’s account of how he’d tracked Kang to the warehouse and ambushed him outside his apartment with quiet calm.  Maybe it’s his imagination, but Hoseok could swear he almost saw Namjoon smile when he described pistol-whipping Kang inside his apartment.

Yoongi -- pragmatic as ever -- laid the options out plainly.  

He argued that the Gajog could get rid of either Lee Hyejin or Kang Donghyuk, but not both.  Killing both, Yoongi reasoned, would put an entirely different kind of target on your back.  Both Hoseok and Namjoon agreed with that assessment.  Yoongi has always had a mind for strategy, even if his delivery leaves a bit to be desired.

Namjoon promised to think over the options before dismissing them both.

*************************

Hoseok’s hand still aches.

He’s been driving around the city for more than an hour now, not ready to go home and not certain which move to make next.  Each turn of his steering wheel sends a throb of discomfort through his grip.

Fucking up Kang Donghyuk was satisfying, no doubt.  But it’s not enough.

Hoseok doesn’t feel the sense of relief he’d expected to enjoy after choking that man to within an inch of his life.  There’s still a dull ache inside his chest too insistent to ignore.  

He tries to focus on the street signs that come and go, the traffic lights that glow against the backdrop of the setting sun.  He drives until the night takes over completely and then he drives until he parks outside of your place. 

When Hoseok cuts the ignition, it’s like he’s just come out of a fog.  He looks up at your high-rise and takes a deep breath before climbing out of the car.

******************

Seokjin’s bag must have already been packed.  

After a quick debrief he’s out the door in seconds, leaving Hoseok alone inside the quiet apartment.  He sinks down onto the couch and stares at your closed bedroom door.

He should knock, he thinks to himself.

He should get the apology sitting on the tip of his tongue out of the way so the two of you can move forward from what happened the other night.  He should apologize for the way he’s treated you and he should beg for your forgiveness.

Hoseok scrubs a hand down his face before resolving to do just that -- at the same time your bedroom door opens.  He watches you walk to the kitchen without so much as a glance in his direction and then he hears the sound of running water.   

He follows you.

Hoseok worries for a split-second that you might drop the glass in your hand when you finally spot him.

“Oh,” you breathe, “It’s you.”

Hoseok thought the last time he’d seen you -- when you’d worn that incredible gown and pulled out every stop -- he thought that was the most beautiful you’d ever looked.  But somehow that pales in comparison to how you look right now, figure swimming in an oversized sweatshirt, hair loose and framing your bare face.  He can’t even bring himself to look lower because you’re wearing those godforsaken shorts.  Has Seokjin seen you in those things?

His brain derails and it takes a moment to get back on track.

“Sorry,” he says slowly.  “Yeah, it’s me.  I’m back now.”

“Okay,” you exhale, setting your glass of water down. 

“I’m sorry.”

Hoseok had planned on saying something a bit more heartfelt, something with a bit more depth.  He had not intended on blurting out his apology the moment he saw you.  

“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me,” you say softly.  “I don’t want your pity or anyone else’s.”

Hoseok steps closer and you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, a nervous gesture.

“That’s not what I said,” he insists, shaking his head. “I’m not sorry for you, I’m sorry for me.  I’m sorry because I’m a fucking jerk.”

You blink back at him.  “What?”

“I’m sorry -- ” Hoseok takes another step forward, “ -- that you have to put up with assholes like me who think they know everything about you when they really don’t know anything.”

Hoseok ignores the voice inside his head warning him not to press you too hard, not to take this too far.   

“I’m sorry anyone has ever tried you because I promise you they are going to pay,” he vows, stepping even closer.

You lean back against the heavy stone of your kitchen island, eyes wide. 

“And fuck -- ” Hoseok practically chokes the words out, “-- fuck, I am so sorry for wanting you as badly as I do when I know I have no right.”

There is a moment after those words tumble out when Hoseok thinks he may have just fucked everything up for good.  A moment when your mouth drops open but you say nothing and Hoseok is certain you’re going to make him leave.

But you don’t.

So he kisses you.

Hoseok swallows the sound of surprise you make when he slants his lips over yours.   You reach your hands around his neck to pull him closer and go up on your tiptoes to make up for the difference in height. Hoseok groans into your mouth when your nails scrape against the back of his neck.  

Any moment now -- any moment now he’s certain you’re going to come to your senses.  You’re going to demand he take his filthy fucking hands off of you.  He braces for it.

But you don’t.

Instead, you melt into his touch and whimper into his mouth and what’s left of Hoseok’s sanity evaporates. The sounds of panting and groaning echo off of the stone in the kitchen as you meld your body to his.

“I want you so much,” he whispers, gripping your waist to lift you onto the counter.

It’s easy to ignore the way his hand aches in protest when you’re wrapping your legs around his waist and sinking your fingers into his hair.  His cock is so hard in his pants he feels like he might explode.

You pull away from him, breathless, to lift your sweatshirt over your head and Hoseok’s chest tightens at the flash of doubt that crosses your features.  The heat that creeps into your cheeks when your scar is bared and on display.

He leans close to brush feather-light kisses against it, lips soft against the rough skin. “Every inch of you is perfect,” he whispers, sucking gently at the indent in your collarbone. “Just the way it is.”

You suck in a sharp breath and release it with a strangled sigh as your fingers grip the back of Hoseok’s neck.  He trails kisses from your scar, slowly down your breast, onto one aching nipple.

“Hoseok -- please,” you beg.  “I want -- “

Your plea breaks apart he takes your nipple into his mouth, teeth teasing at the straining bud.

“Tell me what you want,” Hoseok murmurs, burying his face into the soft skin between your breasts, “Tell me and I swear to God, I’ll give it to you.”

Your fingers fumble for his belt and Hoseok groans when you work it apart.  There’s no way he’s ever been this hard -- ever.  He’s certain he could come just from rutting against the counter with your voice in his ear.

“Hoseok,” you whisper again.  “Hoseok -- “

He doesn’t catch on to the panic in your tone until you go rigid in his arms.

“There’s someone at the door,” you whisper, eyes wide. 

“Shit.” 

Hoseok shuts his eyes, leans his forehead against yours.

You slip out of his hold and he leans over the kitchen counter, arms braced against the stone while he tries to collect the last remaining scraps of his self-control.  You pull your sweatshirt back overhead and run quietly to the door.

You’re back only a moment later.  

“It’s my brother,” you whisper.  “And Yoongi and some guy I don’t know.”

Holy shit.

Hoseok grits his teeth, takes a deep breath, and silently wills his rigid cock to stand down. Thinking about Kim Namjoon’s face on the other side of that door helps, actually.  It helps a lot. 

The door knocker thuds again loudly and Hoseok can hear Namjoon’s voice coming from the hallway.  You wait until he’s managed to straighten his shirt and secure his belt before opening the door.

He can see your brother’s frown from ten feet away.

“Hoseok should really be the one to answer the door, Amsaja,” he says, eyes narrowed.  “Is he not here?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Hoseok calls out, hoping like hell that his voice sounds even.  “Sorry. I was just -- uh, in the middle of something.”

Actually, I was trying to be in the middle of something.  That something being your sister.  That’s not going to be a problem, is it?

Yoongi looks between you and Hoseok and Namjoon but says nothing.

“So what’s going on?” Hoseok asks, desperate to move the conversation along.  “Something wrong?”

“Jeon is going to stay over tonight,” Namjoon says, pointing to the youngest man on his team.  Jungkook walks into the apartment and bows to you before taking a seat on the couch.

Namjoon nods at Yoongi before turning to Hoseok.

“The three of us have somewhere to be.”

**********************

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[parkmuse]

Not So Honest (M)

Word Count: 9322 (Reposted) (Wonhopes Masterlist)

Jungkook has got a pretty BIG problem, and he desperately asks you for your help.

cr.

Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong! Dingdongdingdongdingdon-

You let out a heavy sigh, pausing your show as you get up from the couch to answer the door. That annoying repetitive doorbell rings could only come from one person.

“YAH! Where’s your fucking keys you brat-“ You stop mid-sentence from yelling at him because your eyes catch onto the large package he’s struggling to hold along with a mountain of grocery bags in his hands.

“Yeah, I forgot them this morning and remembered once I was at the store. By the way, this was at the doorstep-“ You immediately snatch it out of his grasp, twirling around as you let go of the door and let it slam back in his face. You run to the table, squealing as you set it down to try and go look for something to open it with. “My package arrived!”

You hear the front door rattle a few times before its shoved open again, him struggling to get all the bags in as he forces the door closed with a bang. “What the fuck Y/N? And I don’t even get a thank you for picking that up for you?”

“I didn’t ask for your help, Jungkook,” You replied, waving him off before you walked back over to your package.

You’ve been waiting a whole two weeks for another one of these Amazon packages. You did a little contract with some sellers there that you would test out their products for free and give your honest review in return that you get free samples of the items. So far you’ve gotten blenders, make up, wireless head phones, even a decent cellphone all for free. And all you had to do was type up a quick, honest review with the pros and cons of the product that took less than 5 minutes, then you could enjoy all your free shit. Did I say free already?

“What’s in the package? Another crappy phone?” Jungkook yells from the kitchen, placing all the food in their designated locations. You let out another heavy sigh before responding to him. “Why do you care? Go hangout with Jimin and suck each other’s dicks or something.”

“You’re just jealous cause I could probably get more dick or actually scratch that, any dick at all compared to you if I really wanted to.” You shot him a glare and he smirks, then sticks his tongue out before placing the milk in the fridge.

God, you hated that brat. You’ve hated him for so many years, basically all of your life since you’ve known each other since elementary. Your parents were great friends so you always had to hang out with him when you would go to each other’s houses, dealing with him pulling your hair and stealing all your food and toys from you almost three times a week. Once you hit high school you were even forced to baby sit him even though you were only two years older, but his parents baby him so much and think he’s not fit to stay alone in his own damn home that they’d throw him over at yours.

Even now, as two damn grown adults you are still stuck with him, forced to share an apartment since you two go to the same college because his parents don’t trust him alone or with strangers. It was a living nightmare since you basically had no privacy with this brat, always meddling in your stuff and your life and him walking out of his room practically naked every damn day. Sure, he’s grown up really well, and he’s always been cute I guess, but holy hell he gets on your nerves so much he’s lost the on chance that you would ever find him attractive. The only upside to this is that you get help paying rent, but honestly you think you’d rather live on the streets than be with this annoying kid.

At least your annoyance will be at its minimal today, too excited to let him cloud your day when you got more cool free shit-

“What the fuck?” You spit, eyes bugged and jaw dropped once you comprehend exactly what Amazon just sent to you.

“What? Another flip phone or some shit- woah,” Jungkook’s eyes widened as well once he peeks over your shoulder to see what the big deal was.

Sex toys.

Not one, not two.

A whole box full.

There were different kinds of toys like vibrators and silicone dicks in all the colors you could possibly imagine. You didn’t even know what half the shit in that box was either; there were weird looking eggs to obscure shaped things you assumed were supposed to replicate a dick but had an extended side that you couldn’t figure out what it was actually intended to do. You pulled out a box and on the cover read Sassy Anal Beads in fancy cursive lettering, finally making you lose your patience.

“Why the fuck would they send me this shit!?” You huffed, tossing the stuff back in the box. You had no use for any of this. Sure, they could keep you company since you were single as hell but you really wished they would have sent you something way more useful.

“Maybe they knew you needed it— OW!” Jungkook yelps as you punch him in the chest. He pouts as he clutches onto his pecs but you just roll your eyes.

“Shut up, you deserved it.” You walk back to the couch and plop on it with a sigh, resuming your TV show.

“Aren’t you supposed to review all this shit?” He says, digging through some more of the box as he pulls an unrealistic sized purple dildo.

“I’m not going to bother. I’ll just say they were all shitty or something,” You say as you bring your feet up to the coffee table.

“Well that’s not really fair. You have to give your honest opinion. What if King Cock Deluxe deserves five stars?” He snickers, waving it over in front of your face.

You scrunch your face in disgust, “Stop being gross.”

He laughs and tosses it back in the box, then pulls out another item. “What the hell is this thing?”

You see him examining it in his hands, his face scrunching up in confusion. It was small and black, a ring attached to the end and the top having two protruding bumps.

You’ve actually heard of that one before from one of your girl friends who was gushing all about it. It was a rabbit designed cock ring, the two ends from the top was actually a vibrator so when you had sex the “rabbit ears” would stimulate your clit. Your friend said although it looked really ugly it really did the trick, but her boyfriend never liked using it because it was way too tight on him.

“It’s a cock ring,” You said unamused, standing up to walk over to the kitchen.

“Cock ring?” Jungkook responded, still sounding confused as ever.

“Did I stutter?” You said, digging through the pantry.

“Does it make you feel really good or something?”

You turn back to face him so you can yell at him for asking so many questions, but stopped once you saw his face. He was still looking at the toy, examining it in his hand intensely.

A small smile crept on your lips, and you’re glad he was still too focused on the toy in his hands to see. “Yeah Jungkook, it makes you feel real good.”

He looks up at you with wide eyes, but quickly replaces his surprise with a lazy smirk. “Yeah right, this free shit would never work.” He tosses the toy back into the box.

You snicker at his response. How has he never heard of a cock ring? Was he that inexperienced? Jungkook’s a grown man, but you’ve always seen him as the little brat next door. “I mean, I heard that got a lot of positive feedback for being one of the best sex toys out there. Men go crazy about it,” You chimed in, continuing to tease him.

“That piece of rubber? Bullshit.” He walks back into the kitchen, throwing some more groceries into the fridge. After a couple of minutes of silence and fixing up the kitchen, Jungkook speaks up again.

“I mean, what does it even do? How is it that good?”

“I don’t know, but must be pretty amazing.” You were getting kind of tired of your little white lie, and his constant repetitiveness of the topic was staring to annoy you. Before he was about to speak up again you interrupted him.

“Jungkook! I told you to buy some more damn cereal!” You whack him on the back of the head and he groans.

“I got most of the stuff on the list!” He pouts.

“You had one job kid, and now we got milk and no cereal.” You huff, walking over to grab your purse. “I always have to do things on my own around here. I’ll be back in a bit.” You grab your keys and walk out the door.

-

You finally made your way back home after being stuck in traffic for a good thirty minutes just for some cereal. Damn that Jeon kid for forgetting one measly thing.

You were starving since you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and you were too lazy to cook anything so why not just have some cereal? You walk to the kitchen to pull out a bowl, opening the box of Frosted Flakes and filling it up to the brim. You walk over to the fridge to grab the milk, opening the door. You were met with nothing but water bottles on the top shelf and some groceries at the bottom. Confused, you looked all over the sides and in the drawers. There was a whole carton before you left and now it disappeared!

Then it clicked in your head. Your eyebrows crinkled and you let out a heavy sigh, closing the fridge. “JUNGKOOK!”

That damn kid always brings the carton of milk into his room, sometimes drinking it straight out of the container. You hated sharing food with him for this very reason, and you should really get him to stop drinking that shit because he’s getting way too big for his own good.

You waited for a good minute just to give him mercy, but by now he should have answered you, walking out of his room with a yeah, yeah as he brings the carton back out.

But there was complete silence.

You groan, walking down the hall to where your bedrooms were. He better have a good ass explanation for why he hasn’t answered you by now. You twist the knob and roughly push the door open. “Where’s the fucking milk Jungkook?!”

You pause at the door, making eye contact with a seemingly alarmed Jungkook. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed faced away from you, shirtless again, head turned with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly ajar. He looks like a deer in the headlights, his hand clutching onto the sheets crumpled beside him.

“You’re just sitting there doing nothing but didn’t bother answering me?” You thought it was a little weird, but quickly brushed it off.

“Um—well, I—“ Before he can give you an explanation, your eyes catch the item you were looking for at the night stand beside where he was sitting.

“There it is, I fucking knew it!” You strode over to the carton.

“NO! DON’T COME HERE!” He hollers, causing you to stop in your tracks.

“Whoa no need to yell, what’s on your dick?”

“N-NOTHING! Just…go to the store and get more! This is my milk!”

You could have sworn you felt a vein pop out of your temple at his remark. “I just came from the damn store! That’s a brand new carton! And my milk your ass I paid for that!”

You were seriously getting tired of him. When will you finally be able to get away from him? 5 years? 10 years? Are you really going to have to spend the rest of your life with this brat?

You don’t even know why you’re listening to him at the moment. You can do whatever you want, he can’t stop you. You continue to make a beeline to your milk, running past him to grab it and run out. Your feet catches onto his blanket, causing you to trip over and onto the floor in front of him with a loud thump.

You groan on the floor, pushing the sheet off of you and sitting up as you rub your head. You turn your head to look at a mortified Jungkook, completely colorless as he stares back at you in complete fear and embarrassment. Confused, you were about to ask what his problem was but your eyes flicked south.

A mere inches from your face was his dick in his hand, semi hard and just…all out there. What definitely made your jaw drop was that right at the base was a familiar looking object, black with bunny ears sticking out at the top.

You covered your mouth, embarrassed to have caught him in the act but also trying so hard not to laugh in front of his face because you cannot believe he’s actually doing this.

“Y/N, I-I can explain-“

You get up on your feet and grab the milk from the night stand, walking straight to the door avoiding eye contact with him. “No need to Kook, pretty self-explanatory. You have fun with that!”

You just wanted to get out of there as quick as possible before it could get even more awkward, but he calls out to you, making you stop.

“No wait! Don’t go! I-Um…”

“If you think I’m going to sit here and watch you jack off you have another thing coming-“

“NO! It’s not that! Why the fuck would I ask you that? I’m not some sicko.”

“Says the one with a bunny cock ring on his dick-”

“OKAY! You got me there,” He sighs. “But I was just curious! What was so good about this piece of plastic? And then I put it on a-and…”

“And what?” It probably didn’t feel good as he expected it to. Hell, it’s supposed to be the complete opposite.

“Well, it’s kind of…kind of stuck.”

A few seconds of silence pass as you comprehend what he just said, then you burst out laughing. He jumped in his seat, surprised by your reaction but then gives you a glare and a pout. “Why are you laughing?!”

You grab onto your sides, tears coming out of your eyes. You just can’t control yourself. This dumb kid has a sex toy stuck on him and he can’t get it off.

“Y/N!”

“I’m sorry! It’s just so…so hilarious. Wow.” You wipe the tears from your cheeks as the last bits of chuckles come spewing out.

“It’s not funny! It won’t come off…a-and it really hurts.”

You can hear the pain in his voice and for a second you actually felt bad for him. Maybe you shouldn’t have teased him that much.

But then again, he deserves it.

“Well, seems like you got a real problem on your hands. I’ll leave ya to it.” You say as you start walking out the door.

“Y/N WAIT! You have to help me!”

You turn back to face him, your brows knitting in confusion. “And why do I have to do that?”

“Please Y/N, you know I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t mean it.”

You stare at him for a moment, taking in his facial features. You were a couple of feet away from him but from there you could see the tears threatening to fall from his big doe eyes. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, probably to stop it from quivering in front of you. His broad shoulders visibly shook, and you sigh. He must really be in pain.

“Please, Noona.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, taken aback by his response. He hasn’t called you Noona for years. The last time he called you that was years ago, during a small phase where he was actually really sweet and nice to you. You actually loved that Jungkook back then, but then he went a full 180 on you and went back to being a brat.

You bite your lip, contemplating on what to do. He winces in pain and lets out a long drawn out whimper, which immediately shot to your core. What the fuck?

You don’t know what overcame you but you had the sudden urge to touch him.

What the hell were you thinking?

You just want to help him, that’s all.

You let out a heavy sigh, then placed the milk on the TV stand, proceeding to walk over to him. “Fine, let’s just get this over with. I don’t want your parents to blame me for not watching you and you coming home dickless.”

His eyes light up in admiration for you, excited to finally be free of this dumb torture-like pleasure free device. You stop in front of him, sitting on your knees as you push his legs apart to get a better look.

Surprisingly, Jungkook didn’t have a micro penis like you thought he had all these years. It was actually really, really generous, probably one of the biggest you’ve seen. No wonder this kid had a big ego.

“Alright, let’s see what we got.” As awkward as this was supposed to feel, it didn’t feel as weird as you thought it would. Why did it feel normal to be on your knees in front of Jungkook’s dick? You honestly didn’t want to think about why other than the fact that you’ve known him all your life and being naked in front of each other probably isn’t a big as a deal as you would imagine. You guys used to bathe naked all the time; that counts for something right?

“Wow Kook, you got it lodged pretty good. How the fuck did you get that all the way up there?” You stared at the small device, tightly clenching the base of his shaft.

“I-I thought it was supposed to hurt in the beginning, and then it would feel good later. That’s how sex is for girls, right?”

You snorted. “Does it look like you have a vagina, Jungkook? I mean maybe you will after your dick falls off-“

“Stop!” He whines, pouting at you. “Don’t say that! I would die without my dick.”

“That actually sounds like a good plan, maybe we should leave it then-“ He grabs your hands in his, squeezing them tightly as you were about to sit up again.

“Y/-Noona, please, please help me. I’ll be good to you from now on. I won’t be a brat anymore if you help me. Just…please.”

He softly caresses the back of your hand, looking at you again like a lost puppy.

Was Jungkook really being obedient right now? He seems like he would do anything for you, listened to anything you said. He seemed so…submissive.

You unintentionally licked your lips, but immediately came back to your senses. It was really getting hot in here and your hands were starting to sweat.

You ripped your hands away from him. “Okay, okay. Jeez.” You played it off like you weren’t phased by what he said and his sudden new name for you. You just needed to get this shit off of him and then you could finally eat. Starving yourself is definitely not good for your head.

You take in a deep breath, then reach for him. You didn’t want to bother addressing the elephant in the room, the surprisingly pretty big elephant in the room, because you didn’t want to make this even more awkward as it is. Asking if you could touch his dick would probably make this situation even worse, so you’re just gonna do what you need to do.

You grasp onto the base of his shaft where the toy is, tugging it forward in attempts to take it off.

“OW!” Jungkook yelps, grabbing your wrist. “You’re hurting me!”

“I barely even touched you brat, suck it up.” You whip your hand away from him, bringing it back to the toy.

He really got himself into a real mess here. There’s barely any space between the toy and his dick. Did he really think this wasn’t going to happen?

You attempt to pull at it again while your hand rested on his abdomen. You didn’t expect Jungkook’s abs to be so defined and rock solid under your fingertips, but you quickly brushed the thought away while you focused on the situation at hand.

When you pulled, the toy stayed put and your hand ended up grasping through the rest of his length to the tip, leaving you empty handed. You cupped the toy again, firmly pressing against his stomach while you pulled again, only to bring your hand against him again without the toy. You hear him whimper under your touch but again you don’t let it get to you, thinking he’s just being a little wuss about the pain again. After another attempt of tugging it off and your hand unintentionally grasping his length, you accidentally squeeze the end of his tip, feeling the warmth on your fingertips.

All of a sudden Jungkook lurches forward, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing tightly. His face is a few inches away from yours, his heavy pants tickling your face.

“Noona,” He chokes out.

You look up at him to see his adam’s apple bob, licking his partly chapped lips as he lets out open mouthed pants while his other hand clutches the bed sheet. You could see him breaking a sweat down his temple, looking so fucking hot for some strange reason but then something breaks your thoughts.

You feel a pulse under your touch, and you realize you’re still grasping his tip. You look down to see his dick erect, the tip partly red as you slowly feel the palm of your hand get wet. You slowly open your hand to see pre-cum leaking from his tip, some smeared along your hand.

You instantly get red, looking back up at Jungkook with the best glare you could muster up at the moment when in reality you’re freaking out and heating up inside. “What the fuck Jungkook!?”

You were about to stand up to leave when he grabs you again. “I-I’m sorry! I can’t help it!”

“You’re gross!” You try to rip your hand away, but he keeps a firm grip.

“Y/N I’m sorry! Your hand just feels really, really soft…please, just help me get it off!” He pleads. “I’ll do anything Y/N. I promise!”

You look back at your hand covered in Jungkook’s residue, groaning at the sticky substance. You hate to admit that you loved the fact he got like that because of your hands, because of you touching him. You grab the blanket off the floor and wipe your hand, not wanting to think about it. You gulp once you face him again, his cock looking bigger than before and a bit more constricted against the toy.

You press your fingertips against the toy, attempting to twist it off of him. He whimpers, eyes shut tight as you can’t help but notice his stomach clench against your touch again.

“Noona, please...” He says again in what was like a husky whisper, sounding like he’s begging for you. The high pitched whine that came after striked right at your core, causing you to bite your lip. Your stomach was doing somersaults as you tried so heavily to focus on getting this damn toy off of him, but he was making this so, so hard. No pun intended.

You tried whatever you could, pushing it upwards and to the side and downwards, but none of it seemed to be working.

“I think we need to get some oil or something and maybe it’ll slip off,” You thought. “I’ll go get some in the kitchen.”

“You won’t find any,” He said hesitantly.

“What do you mean? I thought you just bought some?”

“I…was that on the list too?” He looks at your warily, biting his bottom lips as he slowly cowers away.

Your eyes turned to slits as your brows crinkled in distress again, letting out a long, slow sigh. “Well, I can’t think of anything else.”

“Why don’t you spit on it?” Your eyes bugged out while you looked at him like crazy woman. What did he just say?

“What?” You say, looking at him incredulously.

“Well, water isn’t going to work. We don’t have anything else and that’s all I could think of.”

“Do it yourself!” You yell, red as a tomato at what he just actually asked for you to do.

“I can’t! My hands are too big! Your hands are perfect and it’s easier if someone else does it. I’ll just hurt myself. Please, just do it it’ll work!” He pouts at you again, biting his bottom lip as he shifts uncomfortably on the bed. “You’re so gentle Noona. Help me,” He begs.

You know his words weren’t supposed to sound dirty in any way, but god why do you keep thinking like that?

Your empty stomach was messing with your head. Not only was your head throbbing, but you can’t ignore the ache between your legs either. You thought of just telling him to fuck off and leave him there to figure it out himself, but he speaks up again.

“It really hurts…I’m begging you Y/N,” He whimpers, whispering your name with a groan at the end. You notice his uneven breaths as his stomach vibrates, his veins protruding along his arms as he still clenches the sheets, the other hand holding onto his hard cock. He grasps himself, letting out a high pitched whine as he grits his teeth, seeing his eyes water yet again from his action.

You gulp at the sight of him before you, so helpless and vulnerable that causes your core throb even more.

You press your thighs together to ease the tension. You don’t know why such a helpless Jungkook was turning you on uncontrollably, and you’d love to see how much more he could beg and sob under your touch if he’d allow you to.

You shake your head, pulling yourself out of your crazy thoughts. This is getting really bad and you knew you had to get away from him quick. You needed this to be over as soon as possible.

“Fuck, okay! But we’re never fucking talking about this again. This never happened,” You say as you kneel in front of him again. You bring a hand to your face, spitting into it and smearing it along your palm. You cup the base of his shaft and glide your palm around the skin near the toy, trying to lubricate it as much as you can.

“It’s not enough Y/N, just spit directly on it,” He groans. You were going to yell at him for telling you what to do, but spared him once you saw his flushed and pained expression. You silently obeyed, sitting up so your face hovered over his dick. You collected enough saliva in your mouth and spit on the skin below the toy, letting the liquid slip down and over his cock. You bring your fingertips to massage the area, spreading your fluid as much as you can over him. Once you think it’s enough, you try pulling the toy again but it still didn’t budge.

“I-I think you still need to add more,” He pants.

“You think I got gallons worth Jungkook? That I’m a human sprinkler?” You spew.

“Well how about you just use your mouth?” He said nonchalantly.

You gaped at him, about to tell him off but then he cuts you off. “It would be easier! You wouldn’t have to keep spitting and have it dry up. You can get it all over and then it would pop right off!”

Your patience was really wearing thin with this kid. But then he grabs you by shoulders, pressing his sweaty forehead against yours.

“You’re my only hope Noona. You can only help me with this. I’ll do whatever you want after I promise.”

  “I swear I’ll be a good boy.”

  Good boy?

  Hearing that made the last strings of your sanity cut loose.

 Fuck it.

 You push him away by his chest abruptly, making him almost fall back on the bed. He caught himself before he could fall, hands flat against the bed. Before he could ask you what your problem was, you flatten your tongue along the base of his shaft.

“Y/N!” He moans aloud, bucking his hips up and into your face. You glide your tongue along his vein, swirling your tongue against his tip. You press an open mouthed kiss, then wrap the tip around the lips as you suck lightly.

“Oh fuck! Noona,” He rasps, trying so hard not to lose control and grab your hair to push you further into him. His moans egg you on and you tease his slit, earning another strangled moan of your name from him. Then you bring your mouth down onto his cock, taking him inch by inch.

You try your best to use your tongue, trying to wet every inch of his throbbing cock until you finally reach the base where the toy was. You hear him panting like he just ran a marathon above you, groaning as he watches your pretty lips around his thick member.

“Your mouth is so warm, it feels so good,” He groans, licking his lips before he gulps as he watches you intently. You stop your movements and look up to him, making direct eye contact. He looks at you in confusion, seeing the subtle glint in your eyes. Before he could say anything you swallow hard, causing him to thrash his head back and fist your hair.

“Fucking shit!” He moans, bucking his hips upward into you, causing the tip to hit the back of his throat. It hurt of course, but seeing the way he reacts to your ministrations was definitely worth it.

You pull your mouth off of him just until the tip, then bring him all into your mouth once again, sucking harshly.

“Holy fuck Y/N,” he moans, grasping the back of your head as you bob up and down his length.

“Keep fucking doing that.” You scratch his thighs, telling him that you’re the one in control instead of him before grazing your teeth slightly against his length. He whines in response, slightly nudging your hair back to stop you.

“Y-Y/N please…I’m sorry, just please keep going.” You release him with a pop, wiping the saliva from your chin as you look at him with a glare.

“Why are you telling me what to do? I thought you said you’d be a good boy?” You say as you slightly dig your nails into his massive thighs once again. “Or should I stop?”

“No! No please! Don’t stop I’ll be good I promise!” He whimpers at you, bringing his hand to your cheek to slowly caress your face.

“I’ll be good Noona.” You pretend to contemplate on your answer when you definitely weren’t going to leave him like this now, but you seem to think he’s had enough when you see his arm shake and his lips quiver.

“You better be.” You bring your mouth back to him, sinking your mouth down his hardened length as you take all of him again. You didn’t really think of Jungkook as the vocal type, but hearing him shamelessly moan and whimper your name aloud to the point the next door neighbors could hear heightened your ego tenfold.

You release him, bringing your hand up and down his shaft. You lift his dick so it’s against his stomach, about to run your tongue against him once again when you noticed something odd. A very thin line was visible on the cock ring, located on the bottom side of his dick. You bring your face closer to the line, looking at it curiously. Very small and slightly faint read the letters OPEN right above the line, in bold lettering.

Aha! You thought. Finally. Before you could bring your hand to the little slit, Jungkook calls out to you.

“Why did you stop? I’m being good Noona. Please, keep going.” He cries, and you swear it’s a tear that slips from his eyes and down his cheek than his sweat.

You lick your lips, looking back down at the toy then back at his cock.

He deserves this for being a brat all these years.

You look back up at him, giving him a sweet smile which felt seemingly odd to him. You never smiled like that at him. “Okay, since you’re being so good for me Kook,” You say sweetly.

“Why are you- fuck!” Jungkook groans when you take him all in one go, his tip hitting the back of your throat. You slightly gag, your mouth so full from his thick length but you push through it. You wanted to see this boy suffer.

You continue to go all out, hollowing your cheeks and deep throating him in the best ways possible, drowning in all his whines and cries of your name and how you were so fucking good.

“N-Noona, fuck, I think I’m gonna-“ You smile at his words.

Any second now.

At one particularly harsh suck he grabs your head, sinking you further down his cock as your mouth hits the toy. He moans at first but quickly cries in agony, fisting your hair harshly as you try to focus relaxing your throat.

“What…What the fuck…?” He whimpers, eyes squinting closed as he groans.

You release him with a pop, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “What’s wrong Kook?”

“I-There’s something wrong,” He says, grabbing his dick and wincing.

“Does it still hurt Jungkook? You want Noona to make you feel good?” You pull his hand away from him, grasping his length once again and pumping up and down slowly. He cries again, grabbing your wrist to stop your movements. “It fucking hurts Noona. What’s happening?” He sounded so lost, so helpless.

You never thought yourself to be a sadist but fuck, you loved it.

“Shh, Kookie,” You slowly rise to your feet, standing between his legs as you grab onto his shoulder. You bring a finger to his chin, lifting his head so he can look up to you. “Let Noona help you. I’ll make you feel real good.” With that, you pushed him harshly on the chest, causing him to fall back into the sheets. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts leaving you in your black lacy underwear, then turn back to him.

You lick your lips, staring at him sprawled on his bed looking so fucked out, completely naked. You climb up over him, bringing one leg over to straddle his waist.

“Y/N, what are you-“ You muffled him with a kiss, soft and sweet at first but slowly getting rougher to the touch as seconds go by. He moans when you bite his bottom lip, allowing you to delve your tongue into his hot cavern. His hands quickly find purchase on the soft flesh of your hips, holding you tightly. You suck on the tip of his tongue, earning you a groan.

You bring your mouth to his ear, nibbling his lobe before you whisper, “Just relax, Kook. And let Noona do all the work.”

You rise above him, your hands running along his arms as you meet his hands on your hips. You bring your hands to the hem of your shirt, quickly lifting it off of you and exposing your matching black lace bra.

“God damn,” he choked, eyes as wide as saucers as his mouth gaped at your beautiful figure. You chuckle at his response, then bring your hand down to your underwear. You rubbed yourself through the fabric, lightly moaning as you feel your juices seep through. You were definitely ready for him already. You use two fingers to hook your underwear, pushing it to the side while using your other hand to grab his dick.

He groans, watching your movements as you align yourself with his dick.

“Y/N, are you sure you- ahh!” His nails dig into your hips as you slowly sink onto him, your mouth slightly ajar as he fills you up perfectly.

His length and girth is the perfect size for you, filling you up to the brim as you settle perfectly onto his cock. You moan once your ass meets his thighs, sitting still as you adjust to the new found fullness.

Then, you move. You bring yourself off of him until just the tip is left, then sit back down with a slap. You moan at the sensation, but Jungkook is crying from your action.

“Holy f-fuck! Fuckkk,” He whimpers, chest heaving as you bring yourself up only to come down with another harsh slap. You continue these movements until you set a steady pace, bouncing on his length.

“Y/N! Oh my god, fuck, fuck Noona,” He writhes below you, looking like he’s about to lose his mind as he twists his head back and forth with his eyes tightly shut.

“You feel so fucking good, god, keep going please,” He whines, continuously licking his lips as his mouth constantly lets out a string of profanities and whimpers.

“Am I making you f-feel good, Kook? Ah, fuck,” You groan, speeding up your pace as the room fills with constant slap, slap, slaps.

“Yes yes yes, fuck yes, you’re so fucking good, I’m losing my mind,” He chokes, bringing one hand to squeeze your ass while the other tightly grasps onto your upper thigh. You continue going hard against him, him hitting you so deep and in just the right spots. Every time you drop down you feel something hitting against your flesh, then you look down.

You forgot the cock ring was still stuck on him, then realize it was the bunny ears. Memories of your friend saying how good the vibrator was rushed into your head, then you bring one of your hands to the toy. You press the switch on the toy, the low buzz sounds filling the room along with Jungkook’s whines. Once you sink down onto him again the product lands right on your clit, vibrating at an inhumane speed which causes your eyes to roll back.

“Oh my fucking god!” You scream, pausing your movements as you let the vibrator run against your bundle of nerves. You’ve never felt anything like it before.

You attempt to squeeze your thighs together, slowly rotating your hips instead as you let the vibrations of the toy work its magic against you. You moan aloud again, throwing your head back as the feeling of Jungkook’s cock so deep inside you along with the toys ministrations make your mind go hazy. All of a sudden you feel Jungkook’s hips lurch forward, pounding into you from below as he holds you by the hips to keep you still.

“Jungkook!” You scream, scratching his chest with his hands as he takes over.

“Y-You’re getting tighter on me, fuck, you feel so fucking good,” He moans, filling you to the brim each time as the toy continues to rub against your clit.

You can’t contain your voice now, moaning nonstop as Jungkook keeps ramming into you, the toy helping you reach your high quicker than you ever thought possible. After a few more strokes you come undone, moaning loudly as you tightly clench Jungkook’s dick. He lets out a deep groan, continuously thrusting into you as you ride out your high.

“Y/N, Y/N, fuck fuck fuck, I’m gonna-“ Jungkook grabs onto your ass tightly, letting out a strangled moan. You watch as his head falls back into the bed, his stomach clenching tightly as he releases a choked sob. You felt his cock throb from within you, but no release. The side of your mouth twitches upward, but when you see his eyes fill with tears once again, him crying aloud, you finally actually start feeling bad.

You lift your hips, letting his hard cock slip out of you as you roll over beside him. You take a few seconds to catch your breath. You’re about to sit up to take the cock ring off of him but all of a sudden he rolls over to hover above you, spreading your legs open and pushing your panties to the side.

“Hey, what-“ He grabs his cock and roughly shoves himself into you again, causing you to throw your head back with a moan. He has his hands on either side of your head, then brings his mouth to your ears.

“You’re so fucking tight Noona, you feel so warm.” He grabs your hips as he starts pummeling into you, making your eyes roll back.

“You’re fucking hot as hell, you moaning my name and coming all over my cock,” He grunts, “You don’t know how many times I’ve came imagining what just happened. But why can’t I fucking come now?”

“J-Jungkook, stop,” You moan, trying to get him to stop so you can take the ring off of him. But he doesn’t let up, too focused on trying to reach his release as he fucks you harder, grunting and growling as he picks up his pace. The toy continues to buzz, occasionally rolling over your nub if Jungkook angles it the right way, causing you to yell out. He spreads your legs further, tossing one of your legs over his shoulder to reach into you deeper.

“That picture of you bouncing on my dick, fucking me, using me to make you feel good, I never imagined how fucking sexy you’d actually look. And the way you moan my name, fuck I’ll come just from thinking about that next time I touch myself,” He groans, reaching behind you to rip off your bra. His mouth latches onto your nipple, sucking your breast as you grab his head to bring him closer. He laps your nub, licking up the valley of your breasts and brings his lips to yours.

You moan into his mouth, allowing him to ravage you some more. He brings both of your legs around his waist and you cross them, shoving himself into you faster. At this angle the toy is hitting directly on your clit each time he pounds into you, making you scream out his name as you clutch the bedsheets beside you.

“Jungkook!” You moan his name like a mantra, your release getting closer and closer. He continues kissing you, and after a few more deep strokes you come all over him again, squeezing him so hard he yells your name aloud, his cock throbbing uncontrollably as you clench tightly around him. His hands are holding your hips so tightly you know there’s going to be bruises in the morning, but you don’t care. You move your hips against him as you embrace the waves of pleasure, panting as you finally go limp. You’re about to slowly doze off from being so tired, wiping the sweat along your temple when you hear another choked sob. Jungkook pulls out of you, his dick still hard and swelled. The tip looks painfully red, the rest of his shaft looking constricted as he whimpers again.

“I-I fucking can’t,” He cries, his cheeks red and wet with tears of frustration as he looks at you with pleading eyes.

“Oh Kook,” You bite your lip. Maybe you really went too far.

You crawl over to him on his knees, carefully touching his length. He winces at your touch, whimpering as you lift it up. You press the button to turn off the vibrations, then use your fingernail to dig into the slit of the toy, pulling it forward as it pops open. He groans in relief as you slowly drag the toy off of him, tossing it to the side.

“And that’s what you get for being a brat all these years.” You say as you plop onto his bed, grabbing the sheets to cover yourself.

“What?” He looks at you confused, then his eyes widen.

“Wait…you fucking knew?”

You chuckle, “Of course, who doesn’t fucking know what a cock ring does? It stops you from coming, Kook.” You shuffle onto your side, getting ready to fall asleep.

“So you fucked with me this whole time?” He said in a low tone, venom laced in his voice.

“Fucked and fucked,” You said. “You’ve always fucked with me all these years. I was just making it even. Also we’re not telling anyone about this, okay?” You pointed back and forth from yourself to him, then plopped back onto the pillow.

Silence filled the room and you accepted it with open arms. You were just completely exhausted at this point, not having really expected such a good fuck from Jungkook. But hey, he made you feel good and you got your revenge, so it all works out. You were slowly slipping off into dreamland but all of a sudden the sheets are ripped off of you. Your legs were pulled downward, dragging your head off the pillow.

“What the fuck-“ Jungkook grabs your waist and flips you over onto your stomach, pushing your head down into the mattress while your ass is raised in the air. You attempt to turn around to ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, but you cry as a hard slap echos in the room.

He smooths his rough palm against your right cheek where he spanked you, then brings his hand once again over the spot making you choke.

“You think this is a fucking joke? Making me lose my fucking mind, not letting me come three times?”

“Let go brat-“

Slap.

“The girl of my fucking dreams comes in here and sucks me off, fucks me twice, yet I couldn’t even fucking enjoy it cause I was in so much pain? You know how fucking horrible that is?” He grabs your underwear, tearing it in half as he lets it fall on the bedspread.

“Jungkook-ahh!” You moan once he brings his hand to your core, running his fingers along your slit.

“You call me a brat all the time, yell at me, yet I do everything for you,” He says as he lets a finger slip in, pumping into you as your wet juices fall down your thighs. “But you didn’t even let me come once.”

“Jungkook I can’t, not anymore,” You whimper, fisting the sheets as he plunges a second finger into you.

“Oh you can’t? But you came so many times Noona. Fuck, I even called you Noona cause I knew you secretly loved that,” He grunts. “I hate saying that. But I did it for you, to make you feel good Y/N.”

“Please,” You beg, trying to move away from his touch. But he doesn’t let up, continuing to touch you.

“I think you can go again. You never do anything for me, so you can do this. I haven’t even come yet,” He drags his fingers out of you, then leans forward so his dick sat against your cheeks and his chest leaned against your back. He brings his fingers to your lips, prodding them at your entrance. “Suck.”

You complied, opening your mouth as you lapped up your juices on him. You hear him groan behind you, slowly rubbing his length against your ass.

“God, you’re so fucking hot.” He leans back, pumping himself a few times before he aligns his tip at your entrance. You were going to attempt to stop him again but he pounds right into you, causing your face to fall flat onto the sheets.

He immediately starts off rough and fast, holding you by the hips as he drags you to him, fucking you onto him. You mewl, so sensitive from the last two rounds that you didn’t have the strength to do anything.

“Fuck, you’re still so fucking tight,” He groans, “God, I imagined fucking you so many times before, but I never thought it’d feel this good.”

“Jungkook…” You moan, slowly feeling the coiling in your stomach return.

“All these years Y/N, having to deal with seeing you in those short shorts, those low tops, fuck, you were such a fucking tease,” His thighs slap harder against your ass.

“Did I ever tell you I walked in on you changing once? I fucking ran to my room and jacked off that entire night to that image.” You moaned in response, thinking about the thought of Jungkook touching himself, pumping his shaft hard and fast as he thought of you, moaning your name as he came. And he was only a couple of feet away from you in the other room.

“But I never did anything about it, because you always treated me as the little brat next door,” He growled, flipping you over so you were on your back, then pushing himself right back in.

“Tell me Y/N, do you still think of me as a kid?” He grabbed one of your breasts, kneading it as he sucked on the other. “Would some brat make you feel this fucking good?”

You moaned in response, grabbing his hair as you tried to pull him closer to you. He sucked harder, pinching your nub between his fingers as he continued thrusting you at a harsh pace. He let you go, rising up to adjust you again, hooking his arms around your thighs as he fucked you into his mattress.

“Fuck, Jungkook! Oh my fucking god,” You moan aloud, slightly arching your back as he drilled into you, making your body slowly inch upward and closer to the bedframe. The hinges squeaked uncontrollably, the bed frame hitting against the wall each time he thrusted into you.

The angle was causing you to see stars, his length hitting you in your deepest and most pleasurable spot.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna-“

He immediately stops his movements, causing you to groan at the loss of your blissful release.

“Why the fuck did you stop!?” You yell, tears of frustration clouding your vision.

He smirks at you in return, leaning forward until his face is a mere inches from yours.

“I don’t think you deserve it. Why should I let you come again?” You try to move in response, but he still has his arms around your legs, keeping you in place.

“Please,” You beg, wanting nothing more than to just drown in euphoric feeling of letting go against him.

“How are you gonna make me?”

“I’ll do anything! I won’t call you brat anymore! Just please, let me come,” You whimper, bringing your hands to cup his face.

“Hmm…” He contemplates for a little while, then you whine another please before he chuckles.

“You’ll do anything?”

“Anything.”

“Will you be my girlfriend after this?”

Your eyes widen and your jaw drops, not expecting that request at all. You thought he’d want you to suck his dick again, which you wouldn’t mind. But girlfriend?

He grabs your hand into his, then slowly caresses his face into your touch. He turns his face to kiss the inside of your palm, then each of your fingertips.

“I’ve loved you since I was 7. You’re the only girl for me, and we’re practically going to be together for the rest of our lives cause of our parents. My parents don’t want me to be with anyone else either, so we already have their blessing.” He smiles at your speechless face, then brings himself forward to give you a kiss on the nose.

Butterflies fill your stomach, and you feel like you can’t breathe for a moment. This brat has been with you for so long you never realized you actually loved him too, and you wouldn’t know what you would do without him.

“So do I take that as a yes?” He says, peppering sweet kissing along your jawline.

You bite your lips, but slowly your mouth curves into a smile. “You’re such a greaseball.”

He chuckles, bringing his lips to yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, melting into his kiss.

“Okay not to ruin the moment but I’m kind of fucking dying here and I feel like my dick is going to fall off,” He groans, feeling him still hard within you.

You giggle, giving him one last kiss on the lips before moving away from him. “Where do you want to come?”

“Fuck,” He grunts, licking his lips as he contemplates.

“I want to come inside you.” You nod at his response, “That’s fine, I’m on the pill. And how do you want me?”

“On top.” You nod again, smiling at him as you lift yourself up, changing positions with him. He falls back on the sheets and groans while he watches you straddle him, lining his cock with your soaking entrance. Once again you sink onto him, allowing him to fill you up to the brim. Both of you sigh in content, him kneading your breasts and you holding onto his chest.

You quickly start bouncing on him, wanting him to have his relief as quickly as possible. He groans as your ass slaps against his thighs harshly every time you come down, eyes closed shut as his mouth hangs open. You clench against him, trying to milk him out for his release, and he moans your name louder. You feeling the throbbing occur and you know he’s close. You were so focused on trying to get him off that you didn’t realize Jungkook reached for the toy again, turning the power on as the slight buzzing filled the room. Your eyes pop open and you cry aloud once he presses the vibrator part of the cock ring against your clit, making you writhe above him.

“Oh fuck! Fuck, Jungkook, fuck,” You mewl, moving faster against him as he keeps the toy against your bundle of nerves.

“Come on Y/N, come for me babe. Come all over my cock,” He grunts, and after a few more seconds of the toy against you you let go, lurching forward as you throw your head against Jungkook’s chest, crying his name aloud. He grabs onto your hips and plants his feet flat on the bed, fucking you through your high, and after another half dozen strokes he chokes your name out, coming inside of you in long, hot spurts. Jungkook’s warmth felt nice inside you, and you continued moving as best you could until he finished, groaning as he slowly went limp inside of you.

Both of you were panting and you could feel his rapid heartbeat slow against your cheek. He brings a hand to brush through your hair, bringing a blanket to cover the both of you before wrapping an arm around your waist.

“I love you Y/N,” He said, kissing your temple.

“And I love sex toys now even though it hurt like a bitch, but at least it brought us together.” You slap his chest, causing him to let out a chuckle. “We should give it a 5 star review. The toy sucked ass for me but it also brought me this beautiful ass,” He said as he squeezed one of your cheeks. “Pretty great if you ask me.”

“You’re still dumb and a brat,” You said as you rested your chin on his firm chest, staring up at him. You leaned forward to kiss his bottom lip, right where his mole was that you always secretly adored.  

“But honestly, I love you too.”