#the boxer fic

[gingeraleluke]

𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝘅𝗲𝗿 ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ sɪxᴛᴇᴇɴ

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: underground boxer!vinnie hacker x fem!influencer!reader

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: it’s a night to remember!

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT!! , brief vomit, talks of drugs?, anxiety, brief talks of depression, negative self talk, abusive relationship, brief talks of cheating, gaslighting, homophobia if you squint?

𝗔/𝗡: HELLO!!! i’m back after a long and unexpected hiatus. i’ve been dealing with a lot of stuff and needed some time to heal before i could start writing again, so thank you very much for being patient and understanding (for those of you who were). i love you, enjoy.

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“oh, god! fuck, i…i can’t…think straight!”

her face contorted, mouth hung open as profanities left her lips. the slight rocking of her hips against his face was elevating her chest to the air, throwing her head back, she tried her best to keep it from thumping against the hard wooden floor beneath her. her back was killing, but his tongue was too good for her to care.

“don’t think, just feel, baby.” he pulled away, gasping, before immediately diving back in between her legs. she involuntarily grabbed onto the back of his head for support, her fingers tangling into his hair. “fucking, so good, love. should have done this sooner.”

“fuck, please.” she could feel his tongue dance around her clit, his lyrical fingers pumping in and out of her mercilessly. it was rough, yet she felt taken care of at the same time. y/n’s neck arched, hitting her head on the back off the floor. the pain wasn’t nearly as powerful as her nearing climax that was shadowing her every move.

“would have fucked you in front of everyone, sweetheart.” he removed his mouth, leaning forwards to look down at her. his fingers were making scissoring motions inside of her, making sure he hit every spot as deep as possible. “would have fucked you in the gym. i’d have taken off those boxing gloves just to play with you in front of your brother, princess. why didn’t you ask me to fuck you? it’s so obvious how badly you wanted me to.” his scissoring motions turned back into curled thrusts, pushing even deeper into her. she didn’t even know that he could go that deep until he did, letting the loudest cry leave her lips.

“wanted to taste you so fucking bad, didn’t care where you were, just needed to eat your pussy.” his words were unadvised and just so taboo that it made her want to release the coil in her stomach even more. “who knew i’d end up eating you on your floor.”

“fuck, keep going.” she begged, tears beginning to form.

“what a sweet girl. letting me play with her pussy like this, knowing how wrong it is. gonna let me fuck her in front of her boyfriend.” her eyes were screwed shut, but his eyes never left her face, spewing vulgar obscenities while quickening his fingers, hitting as deep as he could.

“god, please…fuck!” she whined, looking back down at him. he moved back down to the wetness between her legs and replaced his digits with his tongue, slowly fucking into her. his nose hit her clit in the most perfect way, while he reached up to feel her tits through her shirt. “keep going, i’m so fucking close, please.”

“mm” he mumbled, moving to wrap his lips around her clit. the vibrations sent waves through her body and he could tell from the shake in her legs that she was gonna cum. in the blink of an eye, his mouth left her pussy and his fingers were knuckle deep in her again. the constant switching was wrecking her insides, bringing her so very close and playing with pleasure points.

“do it.” he took his other hand to grab the back of her neck, forcing her face a mere inches from his. “fucking cum. cum on my fingers.”

“fuck, VINNIE!”

“there you go, say my name..good girl, my good girl.” she could feel her body weaken as she came onto his fingers, cries and whimpers leaving her body. she didn’t have time to calm down before vinnie’s tongue was in between her folds again.

“please, i can’t.”

vinnie mumbled, obscene slurping noises emerging from below her. “i’m gonna clean you up, and then we can go take a shower, yeah?”

“mmhmm.” she laid back, her hair laid out on the ground beneath her.

“gonna fuck you for real in there, so try not to slip.”

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y/n woke up with the familiar pounding in her head and sweat clinging to her back.

“hey.” drakes hand was on her shoulder, cautiously looking at her. she looked shocked more-so than scared, but her shaking body and ragged breath was alarming to him. he looked over his sisters face while her unfocused eyes darted to random points in the room before her senses gave in and she could finally feel the heavy hand on her shoulder and make out the worried face in her view.

the minute her eyes met his, it was like she snapped back to reality. her thoughts could finally form again and the brief relief that washed over her was quickly replaced by the telltale feeling in her throat. her mouth quivered ever so slightly, her eyes shooting a warning-like look towards drake before she flew out of her bed and ran towards the nearest bathroom. she was sure to lock the door behind her, a weary drake turning her alarm off and following after her.

“y/n, are you okay?”

the sound of the toilet flushing was muffled through the door. y/n wiped off the side of her chin and looked at herself in the mirror for a split second before closing her eyes. tears pricked at the corner of her eyes and drakes voice droned through her ears. the feelings of guilt became draconian and her fingers gripped the ends of the sink. thank fucking god she didn’t sleep at flloyd’s, or else this feeling would have been way worse.

lethal probably.

her and flloyd had already been in murky waters since drakes birthday. she couldn’t bring herself to forgive him for allowing drake to take ketamine that night. the words that vinnie told her, rung in her ears like an alarm. how apparently flloyd had been going behind her back and indulging in substances himself. that thought made her skin itch.

never in a million years did she expect that from flloyd.

roman? of course. but flloyd?

he was always sweet. he always seemed to listen to her. all the times she told him how worried she was for her brother, and this is what he does?

in all honesty, she would have still been ignoring him if it wasn’t for the event tonight. she was way too anxious about the prom to ignore him. that would just worry her more, so fake smiles and pushing feelings to the side was the way she planned to go.

you’re a fucking cheater.

“no-no i’m not.” she shook her head, her face hot. she couldn’t feel her legs and it was as if she was hovering above midair.

all she could think about was that night.

“it’s not my fault. i-i didn’t choose to dream that.”

but you liked it.

her heart broke. how could she be so careless? flloyd was a sweet boy and this is how she treats him?

flloyd deserves better. so did freddie.

“no, flloyd lied to me—“

you really believe vinnie? yeah because he’s a real reliable source, god. look at you, y/n! you’re fucking sickening.

she shook her head, drake’s fists stopped banging on the door. “no, he was telling the truth.”

you’re dumber now than you were in high school. no wonder you believe vinnie, you’re thighs are clenching together just thinking about him. you’re poor brother outside, worrying about you. little does he know that his little sister is a fucking whore who is using his best friend.

“that’s not what this is, that’s not true.”

why do you think freddie cheated on you in the first place? why do you think brittany left you? all you do is use people and then use ur sad tragic backstory to guilt them back.

drake pressed his forehead against the door, calling out to his sister again, before leaving to find something to unlock the door with.

it’s just like he said. you’re a-

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FLASHBACK 4 YEARS AGO

“fucking cheater!”

“that was wicked believable, i’m starting to take you seriously.” y/n laughed, a small ounce of worry in her stomach, boiling. she should have listened to it, but understandably she didn’t. i mean, the whole conversation was ridiculous, he couldn’t actually be upset by it, right?

“this isn’t a fucking joke, y/n!” he slammed his phone onto the table, the device sliding from the impact. “get the fuck out!” he slid his hands over his eyes.

wrong.

“wait, you can’t be serious… baby it was only a dream-“

“yeah, sure. get out.” he laughed coldly, looking up at the ceiling of his living room.

“are you fucking serious? freddie, you’re fucking delusional. it was a dream, it was funny. she laughed about it and so did i, we didn’t actually do anything! why are you being such a baby about this-“ y/n was cut off by freddie roughly grabbing her wrist and cornering her towards the wall.

“call me that one more fucking time.” his breath was hot on her cheek and her heart rate was racing. it was hard for her to focus on his words, with the sharp pain shooting through her wrist. she swallowed, her eyes too scared to leave his brown ones. if she knew that he was being serious, she wouldn’t have laughed earlier. now she knew she was in dangerous territory, like walking through a field of land mines. she knew better than to behave like that when freddie was upset.

“you’re hurting me.” her voice was only a mere whisper, and he tilted his head back laughing breathlessly, his grip staying the same.

“i never cheated on you.” she said sincerely, her eyes watering. her face looked like she was about to sob, while freddie’s stayed the same. cold like always.

her entire being changed that second. everything inside of her suddenly felt like it was working against her and not for her. she was internally screaming at herself.

you ruined everything.

how could your mind be so sick and perverted to do something like that?

why would he ever wanna be with you now.

“bullshit. that’s not what she fucking said.”

“what are you talking about?” she wiggled her arm slightly, to try and break his hold on her, but it only pissed him off more, as he bended her wrist backwards till she stopped moving, a small whimper leaving her lips.

“oh please, y/n!” he raised his voice, making her body jolt under his touch. “she told me about the night you two spent together. how you kissed her, how you try to join her whenever she takes showers.”

he’s right, y/n.

you’ve always been close with her. too close. the pet names and the cuddling. nothing in that is domestic.

you’ve been cheating on him this whole time. who’s to say that maybe one time when you were applying her lipgloss, that you didn’t get too lost in her lips and press yours against them?

“i don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, that’s not true!”

“oh, okay, so she’s just lying?!”

britanny would never lie. atleast the britanny y/n knew.

she was her best friend. they’d been friends since they were kids and she had never been uncomfortable before. his words felt artificial as they traveled through her ears. she knew there was no way in hell that this was actually happening. when she told britanny that she had a sex dream about her, the two just laughed it off. it wasn’t nearly a big deal and y/n never thought to tell freddie about it because why would she? it’s just a dream and didn’t mean anything.

of course she would be uncomfortable.

you cling to her like a lost puppy.

she’s your only friend and by the looks of it, it’s gonna change.

watch, he’s gonna leave you too and so you’ll be all alone.

“i-“ freddie rolled his eyes and went to walk away but she pulled him back. “she is! she’s lying! i-i don’t know why but i swear, freddie it’s not true!”

she started crying. her mascara ran and her lips frowned and all she wanted to do was limp away like a lost little puppy. she had no idea what was happening. her brain couldn’t process it. he began going on about how he couldn’t trust her. about how embarrassing it was for him and how he couldn’t be the guy dating the only lesbian in school, but he said it in a much graphic and cruder way that she couldn’t help but be glad to have droned out. he eventually got sick of yelling at her to leave as she was frozen in place and left himself, towards the door.

you cheated.

all you do is hurt people.

look how upset you made him, he’s starting to walk away.

“freddie wait!” the door opening broke her out of her trance and she felt herself drop to her knees momentarily. she stood back up, taking deep breaths and trying to figure out what was happening.

britanny was betraying her. the very same britanny who she used to play on the playground with and share secrets. who she used to sleep over and eat mac and cheese with. who she swore she would be friends with forever.

there was no kiss. no romantic chemistry between them. she never made a move on her nor vice versa. this whole smear campaign was deeper of a betrayal than she saw coming.

her eyes darted to his phone vibrating on the table. he forgot to grab it when he ran off who knows where.

it was a squalid thing to do, going through his phone, in his living room inside his house. under any circumstance, it was deemed messy. well, any other circumstance.

she didn’t expect the notification on his phone to have her best friends name on it.

she unlocked it, knowing the passcode from the previous times she had seen him open it, and she tried to blink her tears away in order to reach the instagram message.

did you tell her yet? ❤️

it was all a plan. freddie was planning on leaving y/n for her best friend. her best friend had been plotting to steal him away for some time now and when y/n confessed her dumb sapphic dream she had about the two, she saw it as a chance to break them up. it made her sick knowing how meaningless the friendship was if she was willing to hurt her this badly just for another boy.

he’s probably on his way to go see her right now. why wouldn’t he? she’s so much better than you are. you’re a monster.

they’ll probably get married and have kids and you’ll still have a body count of one and zero friends, just like you deserve.

she wished she didn’t keep scrolling through their chats, but she couldn’t help herself. it got worse and worse, pictures and heart emojis became fuzzy as the tears came back. once she swiped out of the chat, she saw numerous others. all girls.

she didn’t even have to click on them to know what it was. the last sent texts had already proven it. tons of ‘you’re so fucking sexy’ and ‘she doesn’t have to know’ with a few hearts and water emojis littered in between.

the list was longer than she thought possible. he’d been cheating since two weeks into their two year relationship. just freshman year and she found conversations multiple classmates. her classmates. ones that she thought she could trust. everyone knew they were dating, how did no one tell her?

one date stuck out more than the others and it was a conversation with britanny’s old instagram account on the day that freddie took y/n’s virginity.

she shouldn’t have opened it.

i thought about you when i fucked her tbh.

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the only physical sensation she could feel was the aching of her now-fucked-up ankles from the sixty minute walk home. it felt like her eyes never left the ground, as if the entire timespan was spent watching as her uggs got darker and darker from the rain. the puddles that she’d usually avoid, she treaded through. something about the sixteen year old and how she walked and felt that night, or more-so how she didn’t feel, haunted her. it was like she couldn’t move anything but her legs that were on autopilot. she imaged that she looked like a ghost, her robotic movements lifeless and her tears still kept inside.

the familiar coolness of the doorknob was the only indication that she had arrived home. y/n had never been so dead in her life. closing the door quietly behind her, she felt the harsh burning of her teardrops bundled behind her eyes and she could feel the sweet release of them falling any second. the sound of drake talking on the phone was cathartic, the tv playing quietly in the background.

“drake?”

he glanced behind him, all muscles in his face dropping at the sight of his baby sister. her lip quivered and a tear from each eye fell almost in tune. he didn’t even say anything to the person on the phone as he quickly hung up, y/n bolting towards him at the same time.

drake picked her up in his arms, her wrapping her legs around him and feeling his hands on her back as she sobbed loudly in his neck. she didn’t say anything for a while. she just remembered her brother holding her and bringing her to the couch with him as she wailed, her head laying on his lap for a while while he ran his hands through her hair. she’d never cried so hard or so much in her life.

he was so used to seeing her happy. even if she wasn’t happy, she’d want drake to think so. always strong for her big brother. it was a pain that was unbearable seeing her like this. he didn’t know what to do but his body was dying to do something and he had to convince himself to stay gentle for her. to do what dad would have done.

but god, did she wail that night. heart wrenching sobs that never seemed to die down.

she knew that freddie had anger issues, and would constantly try to convince herself that that part of him wasn’t real. that it was just in her imagination. that he was perfect. she’d put her feelings to the side. always dimming her glow just so he could shine, because she figured that’s how it needed to be. drake remembered the few times he’d heard freddie raise his voice at his sister a little too much for his liking. how badly he wanted to ring his neck then like he wanted to do now.

no man on the planet was good enough for drake havoks sister.

drake was a guy himself, he knew all men were the same. they would just taint her or hurt her and fuck her over, and god knew that drake wanted that to never happen, but he also knew how much she loved love. he couldn’t take that away from her, not when so much of her life had already been ripped from her grasp.

it made sense that he was fine with flloyd and y/n dating. if she was going to date anyone, he’d want it to be with a guy who he knows inside and out. one who’s predictable and knows how dangerous drake can be when he’s upset, especially when his little sisters involved. flloyd’s a smart guy, not super logical and a bit of a dipshit, but a smart enough guy to know well enough to treat y/n like a princess. anything less than that, and drake would tear him apart.

if he was sober at least.

he knew y/n would have to grow up and have her own teenage experience, once that drake would have to deal with and allow, but he had spent so long trying to shield her from it. doing whatever he could to make her appear like a normal girl. like she wasn’t being raised by her brother. letting her have sleepovers with kids, putting on his deep voice and pretending he’s her father over the phone. it made her feel good. it kept eyes from her, and made her less of a target. he even sold his guitar to help buy her uggs when they were in style.

he knew she was already cool but if she wanted to be the cool popular girl at school and needed materialistic things to do so, drake would do whatever he could to make it happen. no amount of money was too much for her. she deserved the things she wanted and more and it killed him that he couldn’t give her that.

that horrible, billowy feeling in his stomach, as the realization that prom was only in a couple days, made him want to break everything in sight.

everything but her.

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NOW

she remembered holding freddie’s phone when his front door opened. his face held an expression different than before, softer than before, until it dropped at the sight of his phone in her hand. the texts shining on the screen.

to this day, she wondered whether or not he was gonna apologize. if he would have still been with her had she never seen the messages on his phone. maybe if she had just stood there and waited for him, he would have come back, arms open and a complete speech about how sorry he was and how much he loved her. maybe he would have kissed her and she wouldn’t have ever found out about his cheating. they would have worn their matching suit and dress to the prom that weekend and they would have never had any difficulties in their relationship ever again. happily ever after from there on out.

but that didn’t happen.

her glossy eyes counteracted his dim ones and she told him that they were over. that there was nothing left.

she remembered how much it hurt her to do so, and to this day she wasn’t sure where the courage and strength to walk out that door had come from.

she remembered crying that weekend, while scrolling through the numerous posts of him and britanny at prom. she didn’t go.

he still wore the suit she picked out for him.

she remembered seeing the familiar ‘x’ symbol next to britannys name, signifying that she had unadded her, and marking the end of their long friendship. losing the two closest people to her, with little to no closure.

she remembered the bruises on her wrist. the night of their breakup wasn’t the only time that he had inflicted bruises there. in fact, there were only brief periods of time when her wrists weren’t bruised. he’d always drag her down school hallways, and even if she told him to stop and that it hurt, he’d just keep doing it.

she didn’t know better though.

she was 14 and never had a boyfriend before. she didn’t necessarily have a representation of what a relationship should be as a kid. so, she just ignored it and would wear bracelets to hide them. they weren’t too pigmented, usually just a bright red at the start and then a dim purple, but the night of the breakup, her wrist had never hurt so bad.

they were bigger and didn’t start a bright red like they usually did. instead, they were an awful deep color, almost like if she had smudged eyeliner on her skin, before turning into a agonizing orange color. she couldn’t fall asleep with her wrist touching anything, or else it’d hurt her and keep her awake. she had even gone to the doctors to make sure it wasn’t sprained. ibuprofen was her best friend for a few weeks.

y/n went into a depression for the rest of highschool. she started going to therapy again and was prescribed meds to help her. up till graduation, she was miserable. the worst part was the nightmares though.

she couldn’t sleep without waking up screaming and crying. everytime she woke up it was like the morning after their breakup, all over again. she’d feel the betrayal and the pain and immediately look to her wrists, expecting to see bruises. she’d pick up her phone expecting to see texts from her now ex boyfriend, thinking that they were still together.

it got to the point where drake started sleeping in her room with her.

it was one night where he went to check on her to make sure she had taken her pills, a bottle of water in his hand.

“drake?”

“yeah?”

“can you stay with me?”

if it wasn’t the absolutely heart wrenching look on her face of desperation, he would have said no. he told her to scootch over and got under the blankets, which were blue at the time. they’d gotten the habit of watching friends together in her bedroom before she’d fall asleep, once he knew she was out of it, he’d slowly make his way to his room. although, often times he’d fall asleep with her.

once she turned 18, he began sleeping on the chair next to her bed, or even on the floor at times, since she was too old to share the bed with comfortably. eventually she got better and the nightmares stopped, but the rest of her school career, she spent nights with her brother, and because of it, it was difficult for him to date or talk to girls. it was as if he was a single father, the way his little sister had taken up so much of his life.

when she finally left the bathroom, drake wasn’t expecting the first words to be about their old friends marathons.

“are you okay?”

“do you remember when you used to sleep in my room?” she asked, seemingly a lot calmer than he assumed she’d be considering she had just threw up and ignored his shouting.

“yeah?” he was puzzled, his demeanor still on guard to make sure she was okay.

“thank you. for doing that. for staying.”

“of course..” she started to walk by him, towards her bedroom. “are you sure you’re okay?”

“yeah! i’m just nervous about tonight that’s all.” she stated with a smile before grabbing her skin care products and starting her morning routine.

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y/n woke up earlier than usual that day, in order to pamper herself as much as possible in preparation for the night. she had been waiting for an opportunity like this for so long and she wasn’t gonna mess it up. she needed to look perfect.

at first, she was gonna wear something more casual of a dress, until kelsey sent her a picture of the dresses that charli and nikita were planning to wear. now, she was hoping her dress would be enough.

she had spent the day texting kelsey, frequently asking questions and pondering on about worries she had. she’d texted mo and even flloyd a few times, trying to push the image of her sex dream with vinnie to the back of her head.

she was extra jumpy, grabbing her bags and making her way to kelsey’s house. the girl had forewarned her that two of her friends, loren gray and brooke kier, would be joining them, which only added to her anxiety. they already were immensely popular and knowing that she would be spending the night with them, including getting ready in front of them, was freaking her out.

this could literally be the biggest day of my life.

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10:30 AM

��𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙠𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙚𝙮

@ 𝙠𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙚𝙧

prom anyone? <3

💬4.1K 🔁11K ❤️23K

replies

@ y/n: 👀

@ iamlorengray: oh i’m so ready

4:40 PM

𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙮/𝙣

@ Y/N

@ hypehouse see you soon 👀

💬2K 🔁4.2K ❤️6.9K

replies

@ userone: WHAT

@ usertwo: IM SO CONFUSED?? NEW HYPE HOUSE MEMBERv???

@ userone: @ usertwo SHUT UP ILL LOSE IT

@ userthree: MOTHER IS FINALLY FEEDING US 🥳

@ userfour: you better fucking post some tiktoks or i stg

@ userfive: UMMM Y/N X CHARLI CROSSOVER??

@ usersix: MEET NIKITA PLEASE

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

when y/n arrived at the address kelsey sent her, her heart stopped. she’d never seen the outside of the british girls house, only ever seeing inside her living room and bedroom in the background of her videos. the place made hazels house look like a kmart, and that’s not even being dramatic. the modern building was in a strange shape that resembled a tetris piece, it’s white walls holding the square windows that y/n could peer through to see the somewhat familiar staircase and halls of the house. she grew even more nervous at the sight of multiple, super expensive, cars in the drive way, one she recognized to be kelsey’s.

she’d spent all day working on skincare and planning, trying not to let the anxiety eat her away, but now that she was here, it all truly sinked in that this was happening. kelsey’s house was an hour away, so she offered to have y/n spend the night there along with brooke, loren, and their dates. she obviously agreed, given the opportunity to make more friends in the industry, yet would be lying if she said she wasn’t terrified. she quickly texted the brunette to tell her that she had arrived and waited for her response.

Kelsey 😘:

hey! come through the side door, i left it unlocked. ❤️💖😘

here goes nothing

she ignored the icky nervous feeling that sat in the pit of her stomach, as she continued her way towards the house, slamming the car door and leaving some of her stuff in the car while carrying the smaller things with her. her fingers gripped onto the bags she was holding, forming a tight fist till her knuckles became white, as a way to release some of the immense and sickly tension she felt in her chest. silver rings were worn on almost every finger, in honor of the special occasion. the girl felt weird walking into someone else’s house, especially one she had never been inside before, but since kelsey told her to, she opened the slider door.

entering the lavish building, she was immediately met with the sound of loren laughing nearby. it was a welcoming sound, despite not even seeing them face to face yet. her giggles were adorable and were sent through the hallways, leaving a light echo that traveled along the interior of the large, unexplored building. kelsey’s familiar berkshire accent droned out the laughs from the blonde girl, and while y/n couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying, kelsey was never known to be quiet— her booming voice always draping over others and gaining everyone’s attention. even though some may find it annoying, y/n thought it was endearing the way the girl’s personality shone through her voice.

“she’s here!” kelsey shouted, hearing the slam of the slider door.

“hi!” y/n called out, a smile on her face as she walked towards them. the two girls were seated at a black granite counter that was off to the side of the kitchen, contrasting the white island of the kitchen. it was a different set up, as if there was a mini area with just a table that separated the kitchen from the living room.

there was make-up scattered around them, multiple cosmetic bags and two round mirrors with white lights around the rim. she noted the charcuterie board in the center of the counter with numerous fruits, all cut into different shapes, and while brooke arrived back from her trip to the bathroom and loren and kelsey got up to greet the girl, y/n felt her worries slowly get dimmer.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

all of the blueberry’s laid out amongst the fruit, had been eaten by y/n by the time everyone was done getting ready. she loved her two new now friends, but loren was definitely connecting to her on a different level. brooke was sweet but seemed a lot more distant. they immediately did what they could to make y/n feel more included, which started by loren offering her to pick the songs that they played while getting ready. y/n mentioned one direction, knowing that loren liked them as well. truth is, y/n always liked them but after meeting hazel and knowing that she’s loosely linked to them, it made her wanna go back and listen to the heartthrob band again.

they made small talk while trying to get to know the girl, including them asking about who her date for the night would be which resulted in an awkward attempt at y/n briefly touching on vinnie’s existence— the one boy who the girl already couldn’t stop thinking about.

she felt like she had fucked him. obviously she didn’t, and it was just a dream—so moreso like her subconscious fucked him— but boy did she feel guilty. her entire body was pulsating with nerves about what it was going to be like seeing him again. it all felt so real. the way he looked up at her from between his thighs…and it was a clearer image in her head than most actual memories were. she had the feeling that he would be able to know that somethings up, he had a way of reading her like that, so she focused on the drink that kelsey’s boyfriend sebastian gave her and the eyeshadow brush in between her fingers.

her makeup was fairly simple compared to the other girls, but she opted for a blue eyeliner instead of a black one when applying her winged liner, which matched with her space cadet blue dress.

the dress was an a-line gown that was lacy and sheer at the top and had spaghetti straps to go around her shoulders. the dress was sparkly all over, so much so that it would shimmer even when in the dark.

loren had a dress a similar color, but was a lighter teal and hugged her body a bit more than y/n’s did. it was sleeveless and arched at the chest with a long slit down the side, and had more glitter than y/n’s dress did. she braided brooke’s hair back while brooke strapped her black heels on. brooke wore a hot pink satin dress that had ripples in the front and a trail in the back while kelsey wore a more casual bodycon dress that was a glittery black.

y/n’s dress was the most gown-like and because of it, she second guessed herself that she was overdressed, which prompted the girls to remind her what the other partygoers were going to be wearing which immediately shut her up.

the whole afternoon, she spent with her phone nearby. she told the girls that it was because flloyd kept texting her, but the real reason was that she was anxious about vinnie.

what if he comes in a pair of sweatpants?

what if he doesn’t show up at all?

am i gonna regret this?

her mind was going 5x speed through all of the possible outcomes that could happen, even as they all were leaving.

brooke’s boyfriend and loren’s date were going to meet them there, along with vinnie, while sebastian and kelsey sat together, hand in hand, in the center of the limo they were in.

“you really never went to prom?” her british accent cut through the girls thoughts as she mindlessly played with the multiple silver rings on her fingers, her nails blue with stars painted on them.

“no…i didn’t.” her lips made a thin line and she crossed her legs, looking at the other two girls who were smiling back at her. she sat beside loren while brooke sat on the end, kelsey and her date across from them. brooke and loren were drinking what looked like champagne and were playing some song from the speaker of their phone, chanting and clearly excited for the night.

calm down, y/n.

everything’s gonna be fine.

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

vinnie 🐞🤍

we just got here, are u close?

hello?

yeah

where are you

road was busy calm down i’ll be there in a sec

okay

everyone is walking in vinnie where are you

hurry up i’m holding everyone up

i’m here

“i’m sorry, he said he’s here.” she turned around, walking forwards down the path towards the gate and peered over the bushes and the cars, trying to see him. she had no idea what his car looked like, so she was a lost cause.

“hey.”

y/n jumped at the sudden voice in close proximity to her and her startled legs shook in her heels, causing her to lose her footing for a second till a hand grabbed her waist to steady her.

“hey, woah. you good?”

“god, vinnie— you scared me!” she put a hand on his chest, the space cadet blue suit sparking her interest.

she couldn’t believe it.

she assumed that he would wear something simple, but boy was she wrong. the color was exact and it fit him perfectly. not only that, but his nails were painted black, a detail she noticed as he scratched his scruff.

he looked so sexy that it was borderline dangerous.

y/n suddenly grew wary of the girls around them, a territorial instinct twisting inside of her.

oh god, get it together the night hasn’t even started yet.

“something wrong?” he asked, prying her eyes to meet his instead of looking at his tattoos that shown on his chest beneath the opened up white button up under his suit, perfectly placed under his silver chains. she couldn’t believe what she was looking at, it was almost too good to be true. his lips were puffy as if he had been chewing on them nervously and he leaned towards her, waiting for her to answer.

“i didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“yeah, well-“ he scoffed, letting his eyes wander downwards to land on her body.

he immediately regretted doing so.

y/n was a stunning girl, that was obvious, but something about seeing her in a gown like a princess with her hair straight and put together behind her shoulders, was killing him in ways he never thought would.

vinnie had never really found dresses attractive like that before.

but y/n? seeing her in one is changing his mind.

he cleared his throat, “you have something for me?” motioning to the box behind the girls back.

“oh, yeah. here.” pinning the white flower to his chest, she then noticed the corsage the boy was holding. “you got a corsage?” she asked, trying to ignore the way he gulped as he looked down at her while she applied it to the fabric.

“well, yeah.”

“have you been to prom before?”

“nope.”

“oh…” the two started walking towards the entrance of the mansion, “me neither.”

after awkwardly introducing him to the girls and their dates, they made their way inside.

“wait.” vinnie blurted, causing his date to turn around confused. the look on his face showed that he truly wasn’t expecting the word to leave his mouth, but once it did, he couldn’t stop.

“you look really beautiful tonight.”

an immediate blush arose to the girls cheeks but she tried to play it cool, thanking him. “you don’t look too bad yourself.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

this is the event she got all worried about?

sure, the place was filled to the brim with influencers, but it was filled with even more camera crews with cameras that were only focused on the hype house members.

she could barely get a word in with how busy with the crews they were. she assumed that they were talking about whatever drama was happening for their netflix documentary, but they forgot about everyone else in at the party, or they just didn’t care.

it was honestly pathetic.

there wasn’t really meeting new people, instead it was just groups of already friends with their dates talking in corners while trying to hide substances from the cameras that were lingering around the place. while brooke and kelsey were busy with their dates, loren was single but that didn’t stop her from being in the center of the dance floor (if you could even call it that). as soon as they finished taking pictures at the photobooths, they all jumped to doing their own thing. loren stopped to make sure y/n didn’t wanna join her, but she opted to stay alone with vinnie and uncomfortably be in the corner away from the hectic mess.

it wasn’t very ‘influencer’ of her, but honestly? her brain was so broken from vinnie’s presence that she found it more exciting standing beside him than meeting and gossiping with charlie and dixie.

she thought that she was fine, but then she’d get hit with flashes of the image of vinnie shirtless on top of her, and she’d lose focus. instead of paying attention to what could be the biggest moment of her life, she couldn’t help but wonder how big her dates dick was and she swore he could read her thoughts with the way he kept eye fucking her.

it felt good seeing how his focus stayed on her rather than the numerous hot girls that surrounded him.

that was until it didn’t.

one girl in particular started chatting the boy up and even though he clearly wasn’t interested, y/n’s vision made it seem that he was. he knew that this was merely for business. that y/n would rather go with any other guy, but he happened to be the best fit; but that didn’t stop him from wanting to give her a good time.

it started with him dragging her more towards the action, keeping his distance while dancing to whatever lil wayne song was playing in the background, but he grew more and more aggressive throughout the songs.

what y/n didn’t know was that some hype house guy kept staring down the valley of her breasts whenever she would face his way, causing hacker to clench his jaw and redirect her so she was looking at him.

“you okay?” she shouted over the music. he insisted he was fine just to keep her dancing. vinnie’s brain kept repeating the same thing;

she’s dressed like a princess, she shouldn’t be ogled so inappropriately by fuckboys.

in fact, she shouldn’t be talking to any guys here as far as i’m concerned.

vinnie hacker? possessive?

usually not, but tonight he was.

♫ 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙮 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙜𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙤

“come onnnn..” he dragged out, barely any liquor in his or his dates system.

“you seriously wanna dance? to this song?”

i used to know but now that shit don’t feel right

it made me put away my pride

every one was slow dancing with their dates and vinnie saw the opportunity to do the same with her. after seeing how upset she looked watching all the couples kiss and dance, he figured she deserved at least one good dance.

“if you don’t dance with me right now, i will take my pants off in the middle of the dance floor, havok.”

“fuck! okay, fine i’m coming. i just..didn’t think you’d wanna dance to be honest.”

i’m wishing i could make this mine

his tattooed hands found themselves on her waist, and for someone who hadn’t been to prom, he seemed to know a thing or two about slow dancing. he was a gentleman to her all night, and she couldn’t believe it. no lewd comments or crude jokes; yes, he would imagine her without the dress on whenever she’d look away and memorize her body, but she didn’t need to know that, hence she was doing the same thing. the slim line between her dream and reality was becoming slimmer by the second and that look in his eyes when she’d talk to him wasn’t helping.

think about flloyd.

think about drake.

if you need it

we could make it

“it’s prom, of course i wanna dance. i’m not a loser.”

usually vinnie knows the things that make him tick. what to do to get him going and what to avoid thinking about, especially in public, but right now he had no fucking idea.

if you want it

you can have it

her chest was in such close proximity to him that he could feel her body heat. while the thought of her sex dream with him finally left y/n’s mind, vinnie’s just got dirtier.

maybe it’s the fact that she doesn’t try to change him. maybe it’s how she is honest with him or maybe how she’s his polar opposite.

but then again, it could also be how she looks like an absolute royalty just begging to be fucked.

whatever he’d have to do in order to have her then and there at that party, he would do.

they gon find you

gon catch you sleepin

her cheek rested against his shoulder and he concealed his thoughts as best to his ability. he couldn’t let her know what he was thinking, he needed her to think that he couldn’t care less. vinnie hacker at a prom? never, he’s too cool for that.

but little did she know that he was just about red hot in her arms.

now don’t you close your eyes

is there sex pollen in the air?

what is it that is making the boy so fucking horny for the girl he was holding? while she talked he prayed that she’d keep her face where it was, scared that the sight of her lips and her eyes looking up at him would snap the cord that was in his chest.

“i’m sorry for dragging you to this…it’s not as fun as i assumed it’d be.”

it was true. she thought that she’d be right in the middle of the hype house members, filming tiktoks with them and listening to their dirty secrets, but instead it was clearly just for pr. she wondered what a real hype house party would be like. one that wasn’t monetized and full of camera men. she assumed that she’d like it a lot more than this.

“i’m just glad that you’re actually making an effort and not fucking some girl on a bathroom sink.”

too late

you wanna make it right but now it’s too late

those words were enough to push him over the edge.

hearing her say ‘fucking’ and ‘bathroom sink’ made him think about how it felt when he hooked up with hazel after seeing y/n’s chest covered in water that she ‘spilled’ onto herself. he wondered how loud her moans would be against shower walls. would the partygoers be able to hear them through all the noise? he’d make sure that they did.

“jesus fuc-“ he lightly pulled away, y/n looking up at him confused.

“what’d you say?”

vinnie felt a buzz in his pocket, signifying that he got a text message. “nothing-no, i was just saying that you really owe me for this..” his hand went to the back of her head, keeping her against his chest as they swayed. he snaked an arm out to check his phone, cursing mentally about how perfect the night would have been if it wasn’t for his immense horniness;

that, and the fact that the text he got was from hazel who was outside of the hype house calling his name.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

@justalostgirl @obliviatevamps @letsjustbeourselves

@starslcve @bakerkells @mrs-woodwesleyobrien

@isabelleforest73 @creepytoes88 @wrldofspice

@soapiaa @tremendousalpacawitch @devilsbooksworld

@lidiyabest @maurauderswhxre @tranquiiit @etleseraphin

@heizenka @radioblah-blah @eilishbby @laylasbunbunny

[cute-sucker]

boxer!rafe holding his baby for the first time, and knowing him he made sure you had a private room and good food.

tell me why he would be so jittery though ??

୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀 ୭ 🧷 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀

boxer!rafe never had gotten as scared as he did when you had given birth.

waiting. rafe had been waiting for hours, holding a lucky charm that you had given him. the strands of the bracelet were frayed as he toyed with it, over and over again. the smell of the hospital was nauseating, and the feeling of being in a place that smelt like antibiotics and sickness made his skin crawl.

he had gotten the call that your baby was born in the middle of a fight. he was on top of a guy before someone stormed in the middle of the fight. that was uncommon, and the referee quickly had them separated before rafe realised it was your work friend, delany. she looked frantic, as she tried to mouth something.

the minute he realised what it was, he was pulling the ropes of the ring, and yelling at people to get out of the way. blood was splattered across his mouth, and his swelling knuckles stung with pain, as his sweaty t-shirt stuck to his chest.

your water broke.

he was there in minutes, swearing as he tried to close the car. he'd run into the hospital with a huff, demanding to know where you were. to be quite frank it may have been sweet to you - but it was downright scary to the nurses.

a bulky guy with blood splattered all over him, holding a silly pink baby bag. the first nurse let out an uncomfortable laugh before telling him to sit down. now, rafe would have started yelling, but there was this drumming in his heart that made him feel as if he was going to vomit.

he couldn't lose you, no, this was a critical part of all of it. he'd read those stupid books that you had gotten him about pregnancy, and how dangerous it was, and how many mothers had died and how to hold a baby, and, and-

(goddamn it, he was scared.)

"mr. cameron. would you like to come in?"

he looked up to see a nurse with a painful smile, he took a deep breath before nodding his head. rafe felt his hands shake, as he took a step inside the room.

there you were, pretty as always with that discharge night gown, and a relieved sweaty smile on your face. you look so calm, but his eyes zone on your hands. the baby isn't in your hands, and he found himself wondering where the baby was, but he watched you get up to touch him.

"hey, hey baby. calm down. you need to stay like that," he muses, coming closer to rub your shoulders. you close your eyes, a soft gasp coming out of your mouth.

rafe gives you a soft peck on the shoulder, "why didn't you call me?" he whispers in that gentle tone of his. you squirm, peeling open your eyes with those pleading doe eyes,.

"i didn't want to bother you. i knew-" you gasped out, "i knew you had that important match and shit, and i don't know i thought it was like a bad time-"

rafe cursed, "didn't i tell you it was the two of us together? i shoulda' been there for you. shoulda' have held your hand through this shit-" and he knew he's going on a tangent as your lip wobbled and he quickly licked his lips while shaking his head.

"nah, it doesn't matter now. aw, my sweet girl did this all by herself. let me," he muttered, rubbing tears off your cheeks, "where's the baby?" you sniffled, nuzzling your face in his hands, before pointing to the sinks where he saw a small tiny girl.

she's squirming in the nurse's hands, as she gets washed off. her tiny face is squished up as she lets out small squeals. he's struck by how small, how tiny, how he made that little thing with you.

"i-" he choked up unable to take his eyes off your baby, "thank you sweets. thank you." his head bowed down into your lap, the words like worship. he was a devout in your temple.

"here's the baby, ms. cameron."

you looked up at her, a little bundle of joy as the doctor put her in your lap. rafe felt like everything was complete, feeling his throat sting and his hands get clammy. god, what did he do to deserve this?

the baby was perfect, a tiny sweet thing and rafe's hands shook at his sides as you looked up at him with teary eyes.

"do you want to hold her?"

he swallowed hard, his voice that soft whisper you knew so well, "can i?"

you laughed something that was so sweet, ringing in his ear like a song he never wanted to end. yet, he couldn't help but look at you with approval and when he looked into your eyes all he saw was love. all he saw was the truth. finally, he reached for his baby girl, calloused hands cradling her.

he finally had found his family.

[freedomfireflies]

Knockout*

Summary: The one where Harry is a handsome stranger who always comes to your diner covered in bruises.

Word Count: 9.4k (jeepers, sorry!)

Content Warning: 18+, smut, slight exhibitionism, very brief violence

Your stranger is here.

He’s sitting in his favorite booth, fifth one down from the first row, directly next to the window.

He’s got his usual hoodie pulled over his head, obscuring any view of his face. His clothes are dark and seem to cover nearly every inch of his skin. His knuckles are wrapped in white gauze, but are stained with streaks of red.

And he’s looking down. Staring at the menu on the table as though he doesn’t order the exact same thing every time.

A cup of coffee – black – and a slice of pie.

He’s like clockwork. He comes in exactly five minutes after midnight, takes a seat in his booth, and orders his usual.

Then, he pays his bill, and he leaves.

You’ve grown used to him. Comfortable with the idea of his face and his voice and the strange, but unsettling presence he brings with him.

You find that it’s more unnerving when he’s not here than when he is. 

“Hi, Cherry.”

Your stranger’s voice cuts through the quiet diner and forces your attention from the mug of coffee you’re pouring. 

You glance up, finally able to see his face now that he’s lifted his head. His skin is littered with deep cuts and vicious scratches. There’s a bruise just by his eye that’s dissolving into an unsettling shade of purple and his bottom lip is split down the middle.

Even still, he’s smiling. A gentle upturn that looks almost painful given the cracked fibers and dried blood.

“Hi,” you reply softly, feeling your heart race beneath your chest as his eyes find yours. “Would you like your usual?”

Somehow, his grin gets a bit brighter. As though he’s touched by the question. “Of course,” he answers calmly, in a voice you imagine you’d recognize anywhere. It’s deep and sultry, but it crackles like lightning. Sensual in a way you can’t exactly explain. “What have you made tonight?”

“Chocolate,” you tell him, glancing back toward the counter where the pies are displayed. “With extra whipped cream.”

“Mm.” His hum is playful, and it matches the glint in his eye. “How much extra?”

“As much as you want.”

He laughs, and you swear fairies are born. “Then I will have a slice of your chocolate pie, with as much whipped cream as you’ll allow.”

You feel your cheeks warm as you nod and turn on your heel to grab his order. Setting the coffee pot down before grabbing a small plate.

Once it’s ready, you return, sliding it across the table beside his mug. “Is that all?”

“No,” he says simply, gesturing now toward the seat across from him.

And just like every other time, you feel your pulse jump. “I’m…I need to get back—”

“You don’t need to go anywhere,” he interrupts with a wry grin. “Please?”

Your lips roll into your mouth, and your heart lands in your throat. Your stranger has always been good at getting you to do what he’d like, and it seems tonight is no different. 

So, with a sigh, you glance back toward the kitchen. Checking to make sure you aren’t needed too direly before you slip off your apron and slide into the booth.

“There,” he hums, placing his arms on the table to learn forward. “S’much better, hm?”

And you can’t help but smile as you nod and glance toward your cuticles. Avoiding that vivid green that always seems to send your stomach into a frenzy. 

“How are you?” he asks next, and his voice is soft, as if attempting to draw your attention back.

Braving a glance, you lift your head, and meet his eye. “I’m all right. How are you?”

“Good. Better now.”

The flirtatious remark sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. But you don’t respond, instead reaching out your hand toward his. Allowing your fingers to dance along the gauze that’s wrapped around his knuckles. 

“It’s bad again,” you whisper, and you feel him study you. 

There’s a gentle pause. And then, “Not by much. It’s been worse.”

You suck in a quiet breath and hold it deep within your lungs. Turning his arm around in order to inspect the wounds painted near his wrist. “You promised.”

Even without seeing the full of his face, you catch his expression fall. 

“I know, Cherry,” he murmurs. “And I’m trying, I promise. S’just…not that easy.”

Your throat constricts, growing dry from the implication. “I know.”

It’s almost inaudible, but your stranger still hears it, and he sighs as he slips his fingers between yours. Pulling your focus back to him. 

“You know you don’t have to worry about me,” he says, squeezing your palm as if to cement the point. “M’gonna be okay.”

“Are you?”

He looks gutted. Ashamed of your disappointment. “It’s just something that I have to do.”

“Why?”

He considers this before shaking his head once. “I don’t know.”

It’s the same answer every time. You ask him who does this to him. Why he does this to himself. Where he goes, why he keeps going back.

But he never offers anything concrete. Just enough to keep you hoping.

He leans closer. Desperate to make you understand. “I’m gonna be all right, Cherry. I promised, didn’t I?”

“But this isn’t ‘all right,’” you argue quietly, once again studying his scars. “You hurt yourself. Or you let somebody else hurt you. And I don’t know why.”

He takes in a breath before setting it free. “I don’t know why, either. But it’s not forever. And I promised you I would be okay. So, I will be.”

You release him and pull yourself from his grasp. Creating a physical distance much like his emotional one. 

“I have to be,” he adds, and that charming smirk reappears. Popping a dimple from his cheek. “I’d miss your pies too much.”

Even if your insides have twisted, you can’t help but laugh. “I suppose they’d miss you, too.”

“Good, I would hope. Might be my second-favorite sweet thing here. Only after you.”

Again, his coy remark leaves you entranced. Hands gathering on your lap as you look out through the large window beside you. “You’re quite forward tonight.”

“M’forward every night. You just don’t notice.”

“Is that right?”

“It is. Can’t really help myself, Cherry.”

The familiar nickname feels like home. It was coined after the first night he’d come in. He’d sat in your section – this very booth – and made small talk while you served him. 

He asked for your recommendation, and you suggested one of the desserts. The pies were your specialty, and you made a new one every evening. He seemed charmed by this and ordered two slices.

That night was cherry. He ate every bite between sips of his coffee and compliments to you. Leaving nothing but crumbs once you came to collect his plate.

He told you he loved cherry pie. It was his absolute favorite. But he’d never had a pie as good as yours.

And from that night on, you became his Cherry.

He never asked for your real name, and you never offered. You supposed this was intentional. A way to protect you from whatever life he led outside the diner doors.

And in the few weeks he’s been coming back for yet another slice of your pie, you’ve learned only three things about him:

He always pays with big bills.

He drives a vintage, black ’69 Mustang.

And his name is Harry.

Anything past that you suppose isn’t yours to know. Yet despite that, you feel drawn to your stranger. Even if he only seems to exist after midnight.

“You weren’t supposed to be working tonight,” he says, calling your attention back. 

You glance away from the window just in time to see his frown. “Joshua asked me to cover a few of his shifts,” you explain. “I’ll be here through the weekend.”

“You covered him last week,” he reminds you, with just a touch of disapproval. “And a few weekends before that.”

Your stranger is right, but you merely lift a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t mind. The extra money is nice, and the night shift is always quiet.”

“Not always,” he retorts, and you notice the pull of his eyebrows. “Not everybody is as kind as you, Cher. Not in this part of town. Or this late.”

You can’t help but smile at his need to shelter you. “I know. But Owen is here, and he makes sure to check on me from time to time.”

However, Harry’s expression seems to settle into something hard and unnerved. “And what if he gets distracted? What if he doesn’t see some loser trying to grab for you? Or talk to you? Or take advantage of you?”

His voice is rising, a gentle but obvious crescendo that turns the heads of the few patrons scattered about the diner. 

You reach for his hand once more, squeezing it hard to implore him to listen. “Then I will use my extensive training as a waitress and kick their ass.”

You can tell he doesn’t want to, but he smiles. Brushing his thumb along your wrist before looking down. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

“I know,” you whisper, dipping down in order to find his eye. “But I’m not the one who needs protecting.”

The air is charged with a sort of tension you can’t explain. He feels so close and yet so very far away. Your heart aches for your stranger, and for his scars that never heal.

“Hey,” calls a loud voice, ringing through the small diner until you and Harry both turn. You find a man sitting near the counter, wearing a camouflage baseball hat and flannel shirt. His beard is long and scruffy, and his expression is wildly annoyed. “Do you fucking work here or not? Been waiting on a refill for ten goddamn minutes.”

Feeling rather embarrassed of the way you’ve neglected the other customers and deserted your post, you quickly slide out of the booth and stand. Cheeks warm and heart racing. “Yes, of course. I’m so sorry, sir.”

You rush to check on the coffee pot near the counter, making sure that it’s hot and fresh before you approach. Then, you tip the spout into his mug, and refill his drink that’s already three-fourths of the way full.

You can see Harry watching you from his spot. A similarly irritated look behind his eye as he studies the man sitting before you.

Once the coffee has been refilled, you nod an apology, and begin to retreat.

“Not so fast,” the customer grumbles, clearing his throat as he straightens up. Forcing you to hesitate. “I want my check. And a slice of pie on the house. For my troubles.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, but you nod again. The Starlight Diner doesn’t exactly offer free pastries, and anything that a staff member has to comp comes out of the employee’s paycheck. 

Granted, one slice won’t set you back too far, but the shame will. The idea that you left a customer waiting while you chatted with a man you hardly know. It’s unprofessional and not at all how you’d like to be perceived in the workplace. As a mindless girl who merely doddles her day away. Fawning over handsome strangers and daydreaming about a life she can’t have.

“Absolutely,” you tell him, rushing to grab him a fresh piece just as Harry begins to stand from the booth. “Will that be all?”

“Don’t be stingy with the whipped cream,” he instructs. “In fact, I’d like to see you put it on in front of me. So I can make sure you aren’t trying to fuck me over.”

The blood drains from your face. You feel humiliated under the warm hue of lights strung up around the restaurant. Grabbing the can of whipped topping in a desperate attempt to please and end the interaction all together.

“Why don’t you watch your fucking tone,” Harry grits, approaching the man from his left.

But the customer merely scoffs, refusing to offer him even a disinterested glance. “Yeah, and why don’t you mind your own business?”

Suddenly, Harry’s hand smacks down onto the counter beside him, inches from his plate while the coffee inside his mug trembles.

You can’t help but jump, arm recoiling away from the pie while the entire diner grows quiet. Everybody’s attention has turned to your stranger. Watching him closely as he leans forward, and dips down to catch the man’s eye.

“Wasn’t a question,” he murmurs darkly. “You watch your fucking tone when you speak to her. Or I’ll watch it for you.”

And you can tell the older gentleman is a bit off-put by Harry’s distressing demeanor. Yet he remains rather calm, clearing his throat again before leaning back. “And what are you gonna do about it, cupcake?”

Harry’s head cocks to the side. “Would you like me to show you?”

“Harry,” you whisper, just loud enough to force his eyes to yours. ���It’s okay. It’s fine.”

“Yeah, she’s fine, buttercup,” the customer snorts, spinning around to face you once more. “Now let’s go, princess. I don’t have all fucking night.”

His fingers snap together before he points toward the pie. Instructing you to continue applying the fluffy cream until you hesitantly continue.

The whipped desert sprays out of the can in a steady stream, piling higher and higher atop the pie until it begins to spill over onto the side.

Yet he doesn’t stop you. He simply nods and mutters for you to keep going. To fill the plate until he’s satisfied. 

And you know exactly why he’s doing it. Not to satiate a sweet tooth but to demean you. To force you under his cruel, sadistic stare until you fold like a house of cards.

Your stranger fumes from his place a few feet away. You can tell he’s desperate to intervene, but he obeys your look of frantic insistence. Remaining quiet while you oblige the customer’s request. 

Soon, the can runs out. The last few drops spewing from the nozzle until you’re left with nothing but air and an empty bottle.

With a hitch in your breath, you begin to withdraw your hand. He’ll have to drop this degradation act now, and you hope that he only demands the rest of his check before going about his night.

However, before you can fully retract your arm, a collection of grimy fingers dart out and curl around your wrist. Keeping you in place while the man’s eyes narrow and he hisses, “Did I say you could stop?”

But the moment his palm touches your skin, Harry is stepping forward, grabbing a fistful of his collar, and hoisting him from his seat. Then, he shoves him back against the tile wall just behind him, the connection so forceful, it knocks the gentleman’s hat askew.

The other customers, including yourself, gasp from the sudden act of violence. Watching as Harry steps up to him and sneers in his face with the vilest look of disdain you imagine you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t ever…” he seethes through deep, even breaths, “…put your fucking hands on her…again.”

And he’s terrifying. So utterly terrifying, with his busted knuckles, his cracked lip, and his bruised jaw. It’s clear he’s a threat, and the man he’s holding goes deathly pale as Harry keeps him trapped against the wall.

All he can do is nod his understanding, choosing to end the fight before it can begin while Harry – after a very long moment – finally lets him go and allows him to flee from the diner.

There’s a stillness in the café that makes your heart race. The few regulars that are left watching on with a mixture of sympathy and embarrassment. It’s not until Harry shoots them their own venomous glare that they quickly turn away and continue on with their meals.

You slump into the counter, letting the can drop to your side while the sound of a door flinging open echoes from somewhere behind you.

“The hell…is going on?” Owen calls, exiting the kitchen in order to get a better look around. He finds you first, raking his stare up and down your frame before looking to Harry. “What happened?”

“You fucking left her out here, alone,” Harry barks. “That’s what fucking happened.”

Owen’s eyebrows raise as he moves his attention to you. But you quickly side-step into Harry’s path, attempting to end another confrontation before it can begin.

“Just…a customer,” you finally answer softly, reaching for the plate in order to clear your regret away. “It’s fine. He left.”

Your boss nods once. “But he paid first, yes?”

Again, your heart sinks into your toes. Lashes fluttering when you realize his bill will be coming out of your paycheck. “He…um, no, he…he left before I could collect it—”

“Darling,” Owen sighs, and it’s heavy with disappointment, “what did we talk about?”

“I…I know. I’ll…I’ll pay for it—"

Harry’s palm suddenly smacks down onto the counter for a second time this evening. Yet now, there’s a wad of cash beneath his hand. From the looks of it, well over a hundred dollars.

“This will cover it,” he mumbles, turning his unforgiving stare to your boss. “And it’ll cover the rest of her shift, too. She’s done.”

With that, his fingers are wrapping around your upper arm before you can even wrap your head around his offering. Blinking wildly while Owen glances from the cash to you in an effort to piece together Harry’s instruction.

 But your stranger leaves you no room for questioning or bargaining. He’s pulling you out the diner door and into the dark parking lot before you can even bid your boss goodbye.

He strides between the cars before hooking a left around the building. Leading you toward the back alleyway where he normally keeps his car, the wet pavement squeaking beneath his sneakers.

 And during this fervent stalking, his fingers slide down from your upper arm and into your hand. Grasping it tightly as if to make sure he won’t lose you.

Perhaps a part of you would like to feel miffed or ashamed of what just took place, but you can’t seem to fault him for his reaction. He’s always been nothing but kind to you – even if he doesn’t always lend that kindness to others. Expressing his desire to protect you, even if he doesn’t know you.

You wonder if this need to defend is part of the reason why you’ve only ever seen him covered in scars and bruises. If he comes to the diner in the dead of night in order to watch over you. Like a guardian angel or vigilante. 

Right now, however, he disappears into the shadows, gently pulling you along with him until you see his car only a few feet away. He releases you at the same time that he releases a heavy sigh, running a hand through his dark curls as his hood is pushed down. 

“Harry…” you begin quietly, tentative of startling him.

“I’m sorry,” he says before you can even finish. “M’sorry, I lost my temper. I know.”

You watch the way he turns away from you. Bracing himself against the hood of the Mustang while dropping his head in what you only assume is remorse.

And your heart aches for him. For the gentleman that lives beneath the outlaw. “Harry,” you whisper again, stepping closer in order run your fingers down his back. Feeling the way his muscles tense before melting beneath your touch. “I’m not mad, I promise.”

“I know you don’t like it when I interfere,” he mumbles, and it’s almost swept away by the cold, early morning air. “But he fucking touched you, and I—”

“I know,” you interrupt tenderly. “I know, and I’m not mad. I’m glad you did it. I’m glad you were here.”

He hesitates, face turning toward his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You allow your chest to meet his spine. “Always feel safer with you.”

He exhales deeply, releasing something heavy before he’s turning around, and reaching for your cheeks. The soft, stained gauze slides against your skin, and his touch is firm. Keeping you in his embrace while he gazes at you warmly. 

“Are you all right, Cherry?” he asks now, thumbs sweeping beneath your eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

Your head shakes. “No. Scared me a little, but I’m okay.”

It’s clear he doesn’t like this, that familiar frown reforming as he holds you a bit tighter. “He never should have spoken to you like that. Much less put his fucking hands on you—”

“I know, but it’s okay,” you interject again, hoping to ease his stress. “I’m okay because you were here.”

And this is the only thing that seems to calm him. That familiar smile of his the perfect remedy for such a strange night. You don’t want to tell him how often this happens. Especially during the later shift. But that’s what you get for working at a 24-hour diner, and you’re starting to think this is merely part of the job.

And truth be told…you think he already knows.

His forehead meets yours, and you can’t help but grin yourself. Grateful for the comfort he provides – stranger or not.

“Speaking of which…why are you here?” you ask gingerly. “I thought you didn’t come in on my days off?”

“I don’t. But…I saw your car.”

“Oh…how?”

His smirk transforms into something coy. “I was driving by.”

“Oh, really?” you tease. “On purpose?”

The smile slips now, a more reverent look in his eye as he nods. “I like to check on you. Make sure you’re okay.”

And maybe in any other universe, this would strike you as odd. Perhaps even unsettling or disconcerting. 

But even if you don’t know him, you know him. You know his intentions have only ever been pure, and even without having much more than his name, he has always made you feel safe. 

You choose to believe in him. In the goodness of your stranger and the care he provides. Inside and out.

“You do?” you murmur, allowing your hands to rest on his chest. “How often?”

A beat. Then, “…every night.”

The alley grows quiet. Scattered streetlamps reflect off the pools of water that are sprinkled across the cement, warming the dark night with their sepia-toned beams.

And you stand there, just you and him, while the weight of the world seems to rest on his shoulders.

But instead of chastising him or asking any further questions, you push yourself up onto your tiptoes…and kiss him.

It’s not the first kiss you’ve shared, and you know, undoubtedly, that it won’t be your last. Your stranger has been stealing your kisses for weeks now.

And you suppose stealing isn’t exactly a fair comparison. After all, you’ve nearly pleaded with him to kiss you every time he’s come in. 

Not that there’s much need for begging when he’s so willing to offer them to you. Sneaking you away the moment your shift is through. Chasing you through the parking lot…pulling you into the backseat of his car.

It makes you giddy. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush on the handsome senior. Slipping into the shadows where he waits. Letting him hold you, kiss you, touch you.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t know more than his name or what he does behind closed doors. You choose to share these special – albeit somewhat scandalous – moments with the mysterious gentleman in booth 505.

“My sweet girl,” he breathes against your lips. The wonderfully delicious nickname melting on your tongue. “Missed you.”

You want to remind him that it’s only been about two days, but you can’t. Because you missed him, too.

“And m’so sorry,” he says next, trailing his quick but fervent kisses down your neck. “So fucking sorry for being so bad. Never wanna scare you or make you anxious.”

A soft, delicate noise bleeds from your throat, and you cling to his much stronger frame as though you’re afraid you’ll simply disappear without him.

“Wanna make it up to you,” he whispers. “Will you let me, Cherry? Let me be good again?”

You nod, needing him to keep himself as close to you as he’ll allow. You want to settle him in your lungs, keep him snug inside in your chest. Against your heart.

And a large part of you just wants to keep him…always.

“Let me make it better,” he says, hands dropping to your hips in order to push you toward his car. Placing you against the door in order to trap you and deepen his kiss. “Let me be good, sweet girl. Be good for you.”

And he’s always good. Good to you, good for you. It doesn’t matter how he is with everybody else. 

“Please?” he asks again, leaning back just far enough to catch your eye. “Will you let me?”

He wants your explicit consent. Wants you to say the words before he continues, and you appreciate this stricter habit. 

“Yes,” you manage to answer, exhaling the word with the little strength you still possess. “Yes, please—”

He takes your hand before you can finish, guiding you over toward the backseat before swinging the door open and stepping aside.

“Lay down, baby,” he mumbles gently, pressing a kiss to the side of your head while guiding you in. “On your back, okay? Want you comfy.”

You do as instructed, dipping down into the vehicle before settling into the soft, leather seat. Flipping over until you can find a position you like. 

Harry is quick to follow, landing between your thighs before pulling the door shut. You both maneuver until he can hover his body above yours, keeping you beneath him as he runs a palm up the side of your leg.

His warm hand feels good against your bare skin, the dress you’re required to wear as part of your waitressing uniform bunching just at the top of your knees from the new position. But it’s like ecstasy, heating up your goose bumped skin from the nippy air outside. 

“How’s this, hm?” He squeezes your hip. “You all right, Cher?”

You rest your head against the door and nod, fingers already itching to reach for him again. “Yes, I’m okay.”

“Promise?”

“Mhm. Promise.”

The side of his mouth curls up, and it makes your stomach flutter. “Good girl. Gonna go slow, okay? Earn my forgiveness.”

He continues the lazy strokes to your thigh, falling all the way down to your ankle before going back up. It is slow, and it almost drives you mad. Because he knows what you want. And he knows just how badly you want it.

Things with Harry never go further than you. Something you’re almost tempted to find odd, but he’s a giver. That was made clear from the first time. He derives more pleasure out of your orgasms than he apparently does his own. He only ever wants to touch you, taste you, feel you. It’s never about him. 

You often wonder if there’s a deeper reason for this. If he’s denying himself release on purpose or if he’s merely terrified of getting close. And occasionally you wonder if he simply just doesn’t want to fuck you, but something tells you that’s not the case.

Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to ask.

Tonight, however, it seems he’s still determined to put the attention on you. Long fingers gently scratching at your leg until you shiver. It makes him grin.

“Can I see you, baby?” he asks softly, letting his eyes trail beneath the hem of your dress. “See how pretty you are?”

Again, you can only whine pitifully as you motion your head up and down quickly. Wanting to succumb to his strong touch. Only feeling grounded if he’s there to hold you.

“Thank you, sweet girl,” he breathes, using his scarred hands to push your outfit up a bit higher. Revealing your quivering stomach and the delicate pair of panties around your hips. 

They’re nothing special. In fact, you imagine they’re rather embarrassing. A simple, tan fabric that does absolutely nothing to make your pussy look more desirable. 

Perhaps it’s a little silly, but you like to look nice for him. On the nights you know he might be coming to see you (which has been every night you’ve worked since you met), you tend to pick prettier pairs. 

Some with lace, some with little bows. Sweeter colors, sexier colors. Anything that might make him smile.

But you hadn’t anticipated seeing him tonight, and now, you almost want to shy away. Lashes fluttering as you look up toward the roof of his car.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. Nor does he seem to care about the color around your waist, his eyes growing wide as his attention glues to the mesmeric sight before him. Pink, bruised lips parting with wonder while he moves closer. 

“Cherry,” he exhales, the feel of his breath sweeping against your bent knee, “missed you so much. Been forever, hm?”

You nod again, braving another glance just in time to see his hand lower. And then you feel him. Feel his thumb pressing gently into the front of your underwear, just above where your clit lies.

Your entire body seems to spark to life like the flicker of a flame. And you gasp, subtly bucking up into his touch in search of more. In search of him.

He smiles. “S’it feel good, honey?”

You let out a soft breath, chest nearly caving in as you whisper, “Harry…”

He looks up, eyes flicking to yours as that coy smirk grows. “What, baby? You okay?”

Of course you’re okay. He knows you’re okay, but you’ve noticed he likes to hear you say it. He likes to know he’s making it better for you. That he’s helping, that he’s doing good.

When you don’t answer, he returns to your pussy, fingers strumming up and down your covered cunt like he’s playing an instrument. Tuning your body to his needs. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks now, dipping down to nudge his nose beneath your jaw. Pressing a soft kiss to your throat. “Wanna touch you…be good for you, Cher. Was so bad…just wanna make it better.”

He’s attempting to atone for what he did in the diner. To apologize, offer his remorse.

And even if you know he has nothing to apologize for, you can’t find it in you to deny him. Reaching up to tangle your fingers in his curls as you tug him closer. Kissing him fiercely.

He’s hard on himself. You know he is. You don’t know why. You don’t know what the cause is. But you can see the repercussions. They’re painted all over his body, and he wears them proudly. 

He curses against your mouth, and you’re reminded then of his busted lip. Instantly pulling away while you mumble an apologetic, “I’m sorry. I forgot—”

“No,” he nearly groans, slipping his other hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind, I promise. I like it.”

His kisses become hard again. Anxious, desperate, and rushed. As though he needs you in order to survive. His nose knocking into yours from the way he readjusts himself. Wanting to take you deeper, really taste you. 

You’ve never been so happy in your life.

He only pulls away in order to slip your panties down your thighs, pushing them to your ankles until he can really see you.

His entire expression softens the moment his eyes find you. Filled with a certain kind of hope and indulgence as he gazes at you almost tenderly. Unable to resist reaching out and letting his finger brush down your folds. 

You make another noise, but he doesn’t notice this one. Too content to be touching you. Feeling you. Spreading you open just to watch you drip.

“So fucking good to me,” he murmurs. “You know that, sweet girl? So perfect for me. Exactly what I need and far more than I deserve.”

You aren’t sure what he means, but the implication makes you frown. Pulling on his hair a bit harder while he moves to your clit and begins to press down.

The pressure of his thumb against the more sensitive nerves leaves you breathless. Squirming beneath him from the rush of pleasure that only serves in making you needier. 

“Always so warm,” he muses quietly. Almost as if to himself. “So soft. So sweet. Can’t ever get enough of you.”

It makes your head spin the way he seems to adore you. The way he talks about your body as if he can’t believe he’s lucky enough to behold it. To feel it, to get to indulge in it. Worshiping you like you’re his religion.

He begins to rub your clit in slow, teasing circles. Kissing you once more in order to taste your whines and feed off your desperation. Wet noises fill the car. Not just from your pussy, but from his frantic kisses that echo between the foggy windows. 

It makes you shiver, loving the way he nips at your bottom lip just to leave you restless. The way he whispers your nickname before moving to your neck, pulling your skin between his teeth and smoothing over the mark with his tongue.

He goes faster. Chasing after your whimpers and the way you arch your body into his. Loving how excitable you get from only a few flicks of his thumb across your sensitive clit.

Then, he slows down. Exhaling a heavy breath as if bracing himself to edge you. Like it hurts him more than it hurts you.

And you mewl pitifully as you cling to his broader frame and tug him down into your arms. “Harry—”

“I know,” he coos, and it’s gentle the way he speaks. Sympathetic almost. “I know, sweet girl. But m’not done with you yet. Just wanna keep you a little longer. Is that okay?”

You bury your face in his neck and make another noise. Something akin to his name that gets lost in the way he curses.

“It’s okay,” he tries again, allowing you to use his body like a lifeline. “I’ve got you, baby. All right? M’right here, I’ve got you.”

He proves this by resuming his sweet torture. Circling the nerves a time or two more before moving down. Smoothing through your folds and lowering toward the pooling of arousal that waits for him. 

You hear him hum. “So precious. S’this all for me, then? Mine to play with? Mine to taste?”

You whine, “Yes, yes, yes,” as quickly as your mouth will permit, and he chuckles. 

The tip of his finger dips inside, presumably to collect everything you have to offer him before he’s lifting it toward his lips.

And you settle back against the door to watch. Enchanted by the way he places you on his tongue and sucks. His lashes fluttering and cheeks flushing from the taste.

You don’t imagine you’ll ever get used to watching him do that. After all, you’ve never been particularly…unbothered by the idea of somebody tasting you. Not even with past partners. You get too caught up in your own head. Worried about the taste, the feel, the smell.

Truth be told, most of the men you’ve been with before were never interested in you. They wanted what you could give them. And then they wanted out.

By all accounts, Harry is nothing like anyone else you’ve ever known. Not just because of the mystery that follows his persona, but because of his endless attention to you. To what you need, what makes you feel good. 

He devotes every second to making you feel like you’re God’s gift to Earth. A gift to him. Praising you for simply existing. Indulging in your taste as though you're the sweetest dessert he’s ever had.

Like now, while a deep moan reverberates from the depths of his chest. Filling the car and your ears like music, making your thighs clench around his hips.  

“S’why I call you my sweet girl, you know that?” he murmurs, sucking on his fingers until you’re sure there’s nothing left. And even then some. “So fucking sweet for me. Can’t ever get enough. Gonna get me addicted, baby. Might already have.”

The moment he takes his hand back out, you’re lifting up, and pressing your mouth to his. And you don’t even care if you can taste yourself on his tongue because all you really taste is him.

But the mixture of him, and you, and the slight tang of blood from the busted fibers of his lip is euphoric. Strange but lovely in a way you hadn’t anticipated. 

He seems to understand this despondency, growing a bit more frantic in his need to please. No longer focused on edging as he drops his fingers back to your cunt while his other hand moves for the buttons on your chest.

He pops them free one by one until your equally plain bra is revealed to him. But again, he doesn’t take notice of such things. Instead swallowing thickly at the sight of your breasts that swell behind the cups.

He kisses you again. And again, and again. Then he moves to your cheek and down your neck. Trailing his tongue toward your collarbone and along your sternum. 

You feel restless. Waiting for something – for him. You already know how magical his touch is. You already know the kind of pleasure he provides, and it nearly drives you mad to simply sit in anticipation. Stuck on his time.

Eventually he reaches your chest, lips moving for the curve of your tit before he’s making another noise and sucking into the tender flesh. Nipping at it, pulling it between hungry teeth. Smoothing over the marks with the warmth of his mouth while you reel.

Your hands disappear back into his hair. Stroking the curls almost fondly, nails lightly scratching at his scalp.

He’s always seemed to enjoy this. Instructing that you pull on him as hard as you’d like. That you tug and scratch. That you use him to inflict your pain and your pleasure. That you think of him first and foremost.   

Now is no different. He nuzzles himself further into your breasts while simultaneously sighing with contentment at the way your hand feels against his head. The way you keep him close to your heart. 

You’d keep him forever if you could.

You hardly even notice the way his finger has slipped inside. The way it strokes your delicate walls that flutter from the intrusion, tensing before relaxing in order to allow him in.

“There,” he whispers, pleased with the way your body obeys him. “S’okay. Gonna make it better. I promise.”

And you know he will.

“So tight today, baby,” he says, leaving another kiss to the swell of your chest. Open-mouthed and messy. “Has it been that long?”

You don’t know. You can’t remember the last time he touched you, although you’re almost sure it hasn’t been more than a week. The two of you have become rather insatiable for each other. Chasing after a kind of release you only seem to find within the hands of the other.

Those beautiful green eyes flitter up to yours, studying you closely. Benevolently. “Have you not been taking care of yourself, sweet girl?”

You take a moment to consider what he means before you feel your cheeks warm. Offering him nothing more than a quick shake of your head.

He frowns, brows pulling together. “Why not, hm? Thought you promised you’d try for me. Help make things better when I’m not around.”

You shrug, growing a touch embarrassed. “I know, but…it’s not the same. Don’t like it.”

“Is that right?”

Another shake. “Get bored.”

“Bored,’ he repeats, and there’s a certain glint in his eye. But instead of disappointed, he seems empathetic. “Cause it’s not the same, yeah? Your fingers too small?”

Now you nod, making a noise of agreement. 

He nods along with you, beginning to smirk. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Bet it’s just so frustrating, isn’t it? Trying to find all your sweet, little spots, but just not quite being able to reach?”

You cling to him as he stretches you a bit further. Doing everything you can’t do for yourself. Effortlessly curling his finger into that one spot until you begin to shake.

“Just like that, hm?” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your collarbone. “S’that what you can’t find, baby? S’that what’s so achy?”

And it is. It’s so infuriatingly sore that it almost makes you cry. Wishing you could chase after that feeling until your heart gives out. 

“I bet.” More kisses to your chest. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix it, okay? Make it all better again.”

“Please?” you whimper, nails scratching down his broad back. Attempting to pull him closer. 

“Mhm.” He leans forward and brings his lips to yours now. His kiss quick but full of promise. “Always gonna take care of you.”

He begins to thrust the longer digit in and out. Slow enough to work you up but fast enough to leave you wanting more. Coaxing the muscles open before bringing a second finger into play.

The sounds of your wetness being pushed and pulled by his hand are sinful. Sending a chill down your spine and directly into your cunt.

You moan when you feel them, writhing a bit beneath his body until he has to press his leg into yours to keep you still.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he mumbles. Leaving another kiss below your jaw. “Know you can take it, baby. You always do. Don’t you?”

And even if that’s true, you aren’t opposed to the slight sting. Instead invigorated by it and the way he uses great care with you. Wanting to make sure you’re all right so he can please you the way he wants.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough. Even with the way he curls, and pumps, and thrusts those beautiful digits into your pussy, you feel empty. Barely scratching the surface of that itch as he presses his chest to yours to calm you.

Your noises are becoming more pathetic. Your entire being heaving with the weight of promised pleasure in a way you can’t seem to understand.

His thumb presses into your clit every few minutes, attempting to guide you closer to your release, and it works. The combination making your stomach coil until you nearly see stars. Every cell in your body tightening.

“You close, Cherry?” His free hand moves for your face. Palm pressing into your jaw as the bandage on his knuckles sweeps across your cheek. “Hm? You gonna cum for me?”

And you are. You are, you are. You can almost taste it. Can feel it bubbling up from between your thighs, ready to unravel like the seams on your favorite sweater. 

“Yes,” you gasp, arching from the leather seat. “Yes, please…please don’t stop. Please—”

“Won’t stop,” he promises in a soothing tone, lips ghosting atop yours. “Never stop, I promise. M’gonna be right here until you do, okay? Go ahead. I’ve got you.”

And this is all you need. It happens suddenly and yet far too slowly. Pulling you apart from the inside out. 

You moan so loud, your chest shakes. Eyes rolling back and nails scratching down his spine as it hits you. 

Instantly, he moves his hand from your jaw to your lips. Palm pressing hard against your mouth in order to silence you as he whispers, “Shh, baby. Gotta be quiet for me, okay? It’s okay, you’re all right. Just let go—"

And you do. Allow your body to deplete itself of all energy as he works you through every goddamn second. Dragging it out as far as it’ll go. Increasing the speed of his flicks and thrusts. Pumping your orgasm out of you until it sits in his waiting hand.

“Good,” he breathes before finally removing his hand in order to kiss you quickly. Fingers squeezing the back of your neck as he brings you closer. “So fucking good, there you go. S’okay. Keep going, come on.”

And it’s so good, so wonderful. You feel like you’re floating, high up into the clouds. You decide then that he must be an angel, carrying you in his wings and setting you on a sunset.

But you’re still squirming, seemingly discontented, and he notices far too easily. “You okay, Cher?”

“More,” you whisper faintly. “More…please…”

“More,” he echoes. “My sweet girl wants more. More what, hm? What do you need?”

“More,” is all you say. Once again wiggling your hips down as if to sink his fingers in further. “More, Harry, please.”

“Oh. You want another one. Is that it?”

You nod silently, too strung-out to think in coherent sentences.

He chuckles again, kissing your other cheek before pinching your chin. “All right. Give you as many as you want, baby.”

Feeling incredibly grateful, you allow your trembling limbs to fall slack. Once again settling beneath him as he works to get you to your second.

But even as he resumes the languid but practiced thrusts of his fingers, you feel unsatiated. Eager for something else, but you aren’t sure what.

He realizes before you do. “S’not enough, is it?” he coos. “Need something bigger, don’t you?” 

That’s what it is, and you nod eagerly as your nails scratch down the sleeves of his hoodie. 

“Think you can take something bigger? Think you can take another finger, baby?”

Another nod. Faster, more fervent. Eyes pleading with him to give you anything he has to offer.

He obliges this, glancing down before lining his fingers up, and slowly slipping all three inside.

This stretch is a bit more prominent. He’s deliberately gentle, never giving you more than he assumes you can handle. 

And he watches you closely. Searching for any grimaces or winces of discomfort. 

When he finds none, he seems relieved, kissing up from your chest to your throat once more. “Good girl. There you go.”

You begin to writhe a little more ardently until he has to bring his other hand to your knee in order to press it down into the seat. Keeping you spread and still until you settle.

“Easy,” he coos gently, placing some of his weight onto your thigh. “Gonna have to be good, baby, and relax for me. Let me make you feel good, okay?”

You want to obey. You do, really. But the overstimulation and sensitivity from your first orgasm is almost too much. Making you choke on the heated air until you can hardly breathe.

“Like it when I take care of you, don’t you?” he asks you now. Licking a stripe along your jaw. “Like it when I steal you away from them?”

He’s right, you do. Perhaps you shouldn’t, but there’s something about the way he makes you feel as though you deserve more than this. As though you’re meant for more than the diner. He makes you feel invincible.

“Maybe one day I’ll take you away,” he decides. “Fucking take you from them and make you mine. Forever. For always.”

And you decide you like the sound of that.

Another moment of his strenuous torture passes before he leans back to watch. And you notice something in his face. Utter fascination and lust over the way your body bends to his will. Over the way it stretches around his fingers, the way he pulls it open.

He releases a deep, coarse groan through clenched teeth. Fixated on the way his fingers disappear into your pussy. “Taking me so well, baby. Know you’d take my cock, too, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper miserably, undone by the thought. You can’t deny that you’ve wondered what he’d feel like. All of him, stretching you open. Fucking into you while leaving you a panting mess.

You often imagine what he’s like in bed. In an actual bed and not in the backseat of his car or yours. What he might be like when he’s truly lost himself to the pleasure. Guiding his hips to yours, bending you into a hundred and one positions meant just for his indulgence. 

You wonder if he’d be just as careful as he is now. Just as devoted to you. If he’d be hard and fast or soft and slow. If he has dirty kinks, secret fantasies. If he likes the lights on or off. If he likes the bed or if he likes it up against the wall. 

You hope one day you get to find out. 

“Think you would, yeah?” he continues, sliding his digits all the way to the knuckle. The fibers of the gauze brushing against your clit. “Know you would. Be so good for me. This sweet little pussy would treat me so well, wouldn’t it?”

You nod quickly, pouting at him anxiously.

“I know,” he tuts, finally leaning back over to kiss you again. “Know you’d be such a good girl for me. Let me work you open until you could fit me…let me stretch you just right.”

You reach out for his wrist in search of something to squeeze, and it makes him chuckle. Teeth sinking into your bottom lip until you moan.

“Might take a while,” he muses. “Might take hours. Days. I’ll have to just keep you in my bed until you can fit me, hm?”

He attempts to pull away, but you chase after him. Looping an arm around his neck in order to yank him back to you. 

His smirk feels good against your lips. “M’not going anywhere, sweet girl. Just like to watch you. Bet it’d be fun to watch you take my cock, wouldn’t it? Watch it sink right into this tight little hole.”

He’s evil. Absolutely sadistic and it makes you groan against his tongue until he has to soothe you.

“I know, baby. One day,” he breathes. “I promise. M’gonna take you away and do it right. Make it worth it.”

The thrusting of his fingers becomes more poignant. Enough to drive a plethora of desperate moans from your chest as he nuzzles his nose below your jaw and simply breathes.

“Gonna worship you. Give you everything you deserve.” He sucks in a quiet inhale before dancing his lips along your throat. “Have you sit on my face until I can’t breathe.”

The image has your eyes rolling back. Even if you aren’t sure you’d ever feel comfortable doing so, you’re enamored by the idea. Of the thought of him holding onto your thighs, pressing you down to his mouth. Completely controlling you. 

“Can never breathe when I’m with you, anyway,” he whispers, and you almost don’t catch it. You wonder if you were meant to. “M’gonna do it right, sweet girl. I promise.”

And this is the vow that pulls you through to the other side. Large digits curling up into that one spot that makes your legs shake and you’re falling apart for the second time.

But he still doesn’t stop. Stroking, pressing, pumping even after the tears have begun to slip from your eye. 

“Keep going, there you go. Does it feel good? Feel so good, cumming all over my hand?”

And it does, but you can’t exactly answer. Can’t seem to do anything but cry out as you ride the wave and his fingers as though your life depends on it.

“Doing so good,” he murmurs gently, raising up to kiss you once more. Swallowing your pitiful mewling. “So fucking good, baby. M’so proud of you. Took me so well. So beautiful when you cum, Cherry, you know that? Could watch you forever.”

The sentiment makes your entire body grow warm. You’ve always wondered what you might look like when you orgasm, and truth be told, you imagine it’s not very pretty.

But to hear him say it now – so earnestly – makes your stomach wrench. Nails curling into the seat below as you lift off the leather and knock your chest into his.

He holds you as tight as he can before slowly pulling his fingers out. Relieving you from the overstimulation before putting you back in his mouth. Sucking until a string of saliva drips down his into the gauze on his knuckles. Painting it a much prettier picture than the red has.

After swelling every drop of you with a lewd groan, he finally pulls his hand out, and takes you into his arms. Kissing you through the remnants of the blissful rush.

“So good,” he says again, face burying back into your neck while stroking your thigh with his soaked fingers. “Always make me so proud.”

Your limbs tangle with his as you both slouch into the backseat. Allowing your heart beats to synchronize into one, steady rhythm. 

And once they have, you begin to grin. “Harry?”

“Mm?”

“Thank you.”

He exhales a soft laugh before leaning back onto his knees to get a good look at you. “What for, sweet girl?”

“Just for…this, I suppose,” you mumble shyly. “For all of it. Tonight. Standing up for me and…you know, this part.”

His chuckle becomes a bit more smug. “Are you thanking me for making you cum?”

“I’m…trying. I think.”

“Hm.” His grin is playful and so damn charming as he dips back down to hover his lips near yours. “Don’t have to thank me, Cherry. Believe me. It’s my pleasure.”

His teasing remark makes you giggle, and you kiss him hard before he has the chance to leave you again.

You kiss for a while. A long while. Until you can hardly breathe, your muscles beginning to ache and your eyelids beginning to grow heavy from the lack of sleep in this early morning hour. 

It’s not until you actually yawn that Harry finally remembers to pull himself away and reach for the panties around your ankles. “Shit, it’s late, isn’t it? Know I’ve kept you longer than I should have.”

With a quick shake of your head, you push up onto your elbows. “No. I’m fine, I promise. Just…cumming makes me sleepy, I guess. And you’re so warm. It’s nice.”

This makes him smile again, and that dimple of his makes your heart ache. “You know I’d keep you in this car until the sun came up if I could.”

“I know.” Your fingers outstretch for his hoodie, tangling into the material on his stomach while he guides your underwear back up around your hips. “Maybe one day, yeah?”

His expression softens, and you almost swear you see a flash of sadness behind that sage green. “Yeah. Maybe.”

It’s quiet as you rebutton your dress and pull the hem back down. And even quieter as Harry opens the door and slips out of the car, extending his hand toward you in order to help you out as well.

But once you’ve straightened up and turned to face him, you see that something has changed. A look of longing that hadn’t been there before etched between those scarred features.

His thumb brushes just beneath your eye and then down to your lips. Tracing the lines and dips before he sighs and cradles your cheek in his palm. “Are you gonna be all right?”

You place your hand over his and squeeze. “Are you?”

Another deep breath. Heavier and more forlorn. “You know I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

His forehead meets yours, and you both still. “I promise.”

And you choose to believe him.

You say goodbye, and regretfully let him go. Shaky legs carrying you back to your car as his eyes follow you all the way. Making sure you get there safely before you take off down the road and leave him behind.

A few nights later, you’re back for your next shift. And truth be told, you’re almost excited. Because having to go so long without him feels like a form of punishment. Like your days aren’t nearly as bright without him. And neither are your nights.

You can’t help but count the seconds as you go about your evening. Unable to distract yourself with the pastries no matter how hard you try. Thoughts drifting back to those chocolate curls and that devilish smile.

When midnight strikes, you feel relieved. Releasing a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you grab your notepad and slip out of the kitchen. Ready to greet him in his favorite booth.

But the moment you slip past the door, you find that the diner is empty. Not a single customer to greet you as you scan the floor in search of that familiar face. Even a glimpse of his shoes or the sound of his voice.

But the booth is empty, the diner is quiet, and it’s 12:06. 

Your stranger isn’t here.

I know not too much has happened yet but we are building up to tons more smut and plot and angst and fluff, I swear!! 😭💞

Next Part:

~ Whiplash*

~ Main Masterlist

~ Blurb Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @lovebittenbyevans @caynonmoondreams @amberbambridge

[sonarspace]

KNOCKOUT KISS, SUGURU GETO

CONTENT: friends to lovers. (boxer!suguru x reader). slight violence. nsfw! (not proofread) WC: 6K A/N: back after a long break! hope you guys like this <3

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

suguru sits on the bench in his locker room after his boxing match. his face covered in cuts and bruises and his body batttered. despite that, a delirious smile takes place on his face as you approach him with antiseptic swabs and bandages.

his smile is so bright that for a moment, you forget he's covered in blood. "looks worse than it is darling," he rasps, his voice hoarse from exhuastion.

you stand in front of him, carefully tending to his wounds. "you're going to be the death of me, suguru," you mutter, gently dabbing a cut near his lip. he presses his lips against your finger teasingly, earning a glare from you.

"you worry too much," he chuckles. "you've got the money, i don't get why you're still doing this," you retort with a huff.

"adrenaline baby. no high compares to the one i get after winning. hearing the crowd cheer for me. hearing you cheer for me," he smiles his hand rubbing mindless patterns on your waist, his touch warm against your skin.

your eyes lock with his. you gulp, feeling the weight of his stare. you take a step back, your gaze shifts to the wound you've patched. "all done," your voice is slightly unsteady — courtesy of suguru geto's stare.

"thanks, sweet thing," suguru says softly. "let's grab a few drinks and play some pool" he suggests. you could never understand how he could easily bounce back after a fight like the one he just had, acting so casual. sensing your worry, he adds. "i'm fine, i swear".

"i have a date," you reply, your lips pressed into a thin line.

"great. another guy i have to compete with for your attention," he grins, his tone playful yet tinged with jealousy.

"his name is mark. he recently signed a deal with dad. dad said to give it a shot, said it could be good for the company." you sling your purse over your shoulder.

"so a douche bag?" he teases.

"suguru! he's actually sweet. don't be mean," you defend your date. he huffs, rolling his eyes. "when's your next match?" you ask, trying to change the topic.

"next month," he says, eyeing you intensely. "then i'll see you next month," you reply with a warm smile. he lets out a dramatic sigh and stands, his tall frame looming over you. "stay safe," he murmurs, his voice laced with concern and affection.

"don't drink too much. and don't let him push you into doing anything you're not comfortable with," he warns.

"are you done, dad?" you tease, but suguru's expression stays serious. he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your hair and cups your cheek. "just lookin' out for you," he says softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"see you champ," you say with a smile moving toward the door. suguru nods in return. you step out of the room and take a deep breath.

a month later

the roar of the crowd fills the arena as suguru steps into the ring. he waves at the crowd and then his eyes land on you. you're wearing a sleek black bodycon dress that hugs your curves jut right. his smile fades into a scowl as he notices the man beside you. he quickly masks it, turning his attention back to his opponent.

they touch gloves and return to their respective corners. the bell rings, silencing the crowd. suguru's focus narrows down to the man standing in front of him. whispered conversations flow through the crowd as they wait for the first punch to land.

suguru's gloved hand raises and connects with his opponent's jaw., and the crowd erupts into a chant of his name. but only one voice—yours, matters to him. "YES SUGURU! LET'S GO!!" you cheer.

mark beside you is taken aback by the fervor of your cheer. he claps politely. your squeeze your boyfriend's arm, your gaze fixed on your best friend in the ring.

it's the final round. the decider of the match. suguru is worn out, breathing heavily, his shoulders slumped and his lip cut once again. he sits in his corner taking deep, ragged breaths. his eyes find you again, watching as you whisper something to mark and share a laugh. it's a punch to the gut, more painful than any of the hits he's taken tonight.

the bell rings and both fighters raise their gloves. suguru's attention shifts from his opponent to you. he sees your boyfriend's hands wrapped around your waist. your back pressed to his chest as you cheer, mark's lips pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

POW!

suguru's body jolts back as his face turns from the force of the jab. his ear rings and his vision blurs momentarily. the arena falls into a hushded silence. "suguru!" you shout, reaching out instinctively as if your hand could somehow bridge the distance and stop the blow.

"mark, wait. let me go," your voice quivers with desperation as suguru's figure wavers before you. mark's grip tightens, holding you firmly against him. "where would you go?" he taunts, the amusent in his voice deepening your frustration.

the metallic taste of blood fills suguru's mouth. he spits it out, straightens up and touches his jaw, trying to refocus. his gaze drifts between you and his opponent. he notices your anxious expression and the way you're straining against mark's grasp.

mark's hold on you slackens, allowing you to step away. but before you can react, he grabs your chin and pulls you into an unexpected kiss. your eyes dart between you're boyfriend and suguru, who narrows his gaze and then delivers a hard blow, knocking out his opponent.

as suguru's eyes meet yours, he smiles through blood stained lips. strands of his hair fall loose from his thight bun, framing his face. he raises his fist in victory and the crowd erupts in applause.

you pull back from the kiss, clapping and cheering his name along with the crowd. he stands there grinning, looking like an angel—a bloody and sweaty angel. your bloody, sweaty angel. the thought tugs at your heart with a bittersweet pang at the reminder of what could've been, but you quickly push it away.

your boyfriend squeezes your shoulders, "looks like he won after all, huh?" he says, half amused.

"he always does," you smile, proudly. "let's go to the bar. i'll ask him to come meet us over there."

you make your way to the bar, exctied to introduce suguru to the man you're quickly getting close to. you wait for twenty minutes and then text suguru. "hey. you coming? we're at the bar."

he sighs as he reads the message. his body aches, his head throbs, and perhaps his heart aches too. the win feels hollow without you there to patch him up like you usually do. he contemplates just leaving but he knows how much you were looking forward to this. the last thing he wants to do is let you down. "be there in five," he texts back.

he rises with a groan and pulls on a black fitted shirt and heads out of his locker room. he makes his way to the bar near the arena. it's packed with people. some of them smile and congratulate him on his win. he returns their smiles but it never reaches his eyes.

he spots you in the corner, your boyfriend’s arm around your shoulders as you chat animatedly. when you see suguru approaching, your eyes light up. with a loud cheer for him, you leap out of your seat and pull him in a tight hug.

suguru stifles a grimace as he tries to return the hug. his head nuzzles into your hair as he breathes in the comforting scent of your shampoo and a wave of calm washes over him.

you introduce the two men to each other. suguru takes a seat across you and mark. a teasing smile on his face as he leans back. "i was really looking forward to your usual post match check up in the locker room," he says with a playful glint in his eye. "did you skip it to make me miss you more?"

mark shifts in his seat, annoyed but keep his comments to himself. you laugh at suguru's playful comment, as the tension you felt earlier between the two of you melts.

as the conversation flows, you try to get mark to speak more but he doesn't comply. eventually you turn to suguru and ask "so, when's your next match?"

"next weekend," suguru sighs with a small smile. "you'll be there right?" he asks.

just as you're about to respond, mark interjects. "actually, we won't be able to make it. we've got dinner with my parents." he puts an arm around you pulling you closer. suguru's smile falters slightly and a flicker of annoyance passes over his face as he hears mark's use of, "we" and the sight of his arm around you.

"oh, i didn't know things were getting serious between the two of you," suguru says, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of hurt.

mark glances at his watch. "we should probably get going. it's getting late and i've got a meeting in the morning," he says to you.

you nod, standing up and smoothing down your dress that had ridden up slightly. suguru's eyes follows the movement but he quickly looks away, a light shade of pink coloring his cheeks.

suguru stands up as well and shakes mark's hand. you squeeze suguru's arm gently, giving him a warm smile. "go home and rest, okay?" you tell suguru.

suguru returns your smile, his eyes soften as he looks at you and nods.

mark places his hand on your waist as he guides you out of the bar and to his car in the parking lot. once you're in the car and on your way, he finally speaks up. "so, you and suguru, huh?" he asks glancing, over at you.

"what about me and suguru?" you ask, tilting your head.

"you looked pretty cozy back there with him," he says, his voice laced with jealousy.

you huff a chuckle. "mark. you know how long we've been friends for, i've told you this".

his irritation deepens, "didn't seem like just friends, back there. with all the flirting and touching. that's not what friends do."

you feel a surge of frustration at his implication of something more. you try to keep your voice steady as you speak "you're making this into a bigger deal than it is. i told you. we're just friends. have been for ages now. that's all."

he's silent for a moment before he speaks up again glancing at you sideways. "that dress," he says his tone dripping with disdain, "it's really something. almost like you're asking for everyone's attention."

the atmosphere in the car tenses. you don't respond instead you look outside the window.

"i don't like you hanging around him" he says. you look at him, taken aback. "what?"

"you heard me. i don't want you being around him, i don't like how he flirts with you and you let him."

"mark. it's not like that," you try to explain. but he cuts you off.

"it doesn't matter what it's like. i'm telling you i don't want you to hang out around him. i know you've been friends for a long time but things change. this isn't just about him- it's about us. you're dating me now."

you feel a wave of frustration and all of a sdduen the thought of being in relationship with someone like him has you feeling nauseous.

"stop the car," you say, your voice cutting through the tension.

mark glances at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "what? why?"

"just stop the car," you insist.

you step out of the car and mark follows you out. "where the hell are you going?" he demands. he grabs your wrist pulling you between him and against the car. "you think you can just ignore my feelings and walk away? that's not how this works." his voice rises, his eyes flashing anger. "i won’t let you disrespect me like this."

he presses himself further against you, the cold metal pressing to your back felt harsh. "mark," you tried to sound commanding, but your voice trembled with fear.

his hands move to your hips to keep you from moving. his hands move over your body uninvitingly. his touch felt like fire on your body. "you want to be a whore? is that it? want guys to look at you, drool over you. well here i am," he gives you a smile so twisted, it makes your stomach churn.

just as his hand reaches out to touch your face, you act on instinct. with a swift move, you bring your knee up and slam into his groin. the sudden pain is enough to make him double over and a guttural cry escapes his lips as he falls to the ground.

without looking back, you sprint off leaving your heels behind. your heart pounds in your ears. you hear mark's furious shouts echo behind you, "you fucking bitch!" you keep running until the familiar lights of the bar you had just left come into view.

you burst into the bar, dazed and disheveled, breathing heavily. as you push through the crowd, every face blurs together, your only focus on finding the one that offers you comfort and safety.

he’s getting up from the table where you left him not even an hour ago. he pulls on his jacket, turning around as he spots you. his expression shifts from confusion to deep concern as he takes in your appearance. he calls out your name, reaching for you as you half-collapse into him.

"what happened?" he asks, his voice laced with worry as he wraps his arms around your frame keeping you upright.

“suguru... mark... he—he—” you struggle to speak through the tears. suguru’s face hardens with a fury. “i’m going to kill him,” he says, his voice sharp with anger.

"suguru. please, just get me out of here,” you beg, your voice trembling. "okay, okay." he says, his heart clenhing at the hurt and fear laced in your voice. you cling to him as he guides you out of the chaotic space and into his car.

once you’re settled into the passenger seat, suguru’s gaze falls to your feet. he notices the blood staining the undersides. “you’re bleeding,” he says, his voice tight with worry. he opens the glove box and grabs a bunch of tissues, gently wiping the blood from your feet.

“i’ll clean this up properly when we get to my place,” he says softly, his eyes filled with tender concern. he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the road. the car is silent except for the hum of the engine. he reaches over and places his hand gently over yours in your lap, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. 

he pulls the car into his designated parking spot. as soon as you step out, you hiss in pain, your feet throbbing. suguru is by your side instantly. he scoops you into his arms, holding you close. his body heat seeps into you as you press your head into his chest. warm and reassuring.

he steps into his penthouse and gently carries you to the bathroom. with careful movements, he sets you down on the counter. he grabs the first aid kit from the cabinet and kneels before you. placing one of your feet on his lap and holding the other in his hand. his focus unwavering as he begins to clean and tend to your wounds.

once he's done, he places a tender kiss to your ankle. his lips soft against your skin. his eyes meet yours as he stands to his full height, towering over you sitting on the counter. "i'll grab you some clothes," he says stroking your cheek.

he helps you into his bed, pulling the sheets over your body. he starts to move away but you grab his wrist. “please, stay,” you whisper. his eyes soften as he nods. he slips under the sheets beside you. you move closer to him and he wraps his arms around you.

as you rest against him, you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing you. he breaks the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “do you want to tell me what happened after you left?”

you recount the night’s events, your voice trembling. tears stream down your face but suguru's quick to wipe them away. "that asshole," he lets out a deep exhale as you finish up.

his arms tighten around you as he pulls you closer. "he'll never be able to hurt you again. i promise," he murmurs against your hair as his hand moves up and down over your back, soothingly.

you spend the week at suguru's penthouse, both of you falling into a comfortable routine. each morning, he heads to the gym to train for his fight before you wake, always leaving a soft kiss on your forehead. he makes sure to return by the time you’re up, so you can spend the rest of the day with you.

the day of the fight.

you weave through the backstage corridors, the noise of the crowd buzzing faintly in the background. you finally find suguru's locker room and knock softly. his coach opens the door, glancing back at suguru. he's seated in a silk robe with his name embroidered on the back, chatting with his team. "suguru, your girl’s here," the coach announces and your heart skips a beat at being called his girl. the coach steps aside to let you in.

suguru looks up. his face breaks into a warm smile and he asks everyone to excuse you both. "there she is," he smiles. he gets up and takes a step towards you, placing his hands on your waist. "you're dressed nice," he murmurs with affection. "looking goreous, darling."

“big day today,” you say with a lighthearted chuckle. “thought i’d dress up for the soon-to-be three-time champion.” suguru’s smile widens, and he chuckles, a blush rising to his cheeks. “it means the world to me that you’re here,” he says, his tone turning serious.

you smile in return. for a moment, both of you simply gaze into each other’s eyes. a knock on the door breaks the silence, followed by a voice calling out, “five minutes till you need to be in the ring, geto!”

he takes a step back, his hands falling away from your waist. "gotta go," his voice is quiet as he moves toward the door.

before he can take another step, you pull him close and press your lips to his. a rush of warmth spreads and floods through both of you. the world around you fades into a blur and time stands still as you feel the softness of his lips. his one hand wraps around your waist, pulling you in close while his other moves to the underside of your jaw, tilting your face upward so he can kiss you better.

before the kiss can turn into something more, he pulls back and rests his head against yours. "fuck," he breathes. "i have to go."

"i know," you squeeze his arm. "win for me." you smile, your eyes twinkling with mirth. "and maybe you'll get more than a championship belt tonight."

he chuckles, the sound low and warm, as he strokes your cheek. “i will,” he says, his voice carrying a promise. he presses a quick kiss to your lips, his thumb grazes your bottom lip before he reluctuanly pulls away and walks out.

after a couple of minutes, you follow him. you find a spot near the crowd, your eyes scanning the ring just as the fight begins. the energy in the arena is electric, every cheer and chant adding to the tension.

the match is intense, with both fighters exchanging heavy blows. suguru's focused, moving with a purpose. by the fourth round, it's over — he lands a hard punch that send his opponent down in the ring, knocked out cold. the crowd erupts in a chant of his name as he stands tall and the ref raises his hand in victory

his eyes meets yours. he points at you with a triumphant grin, pumping his fist. your heart races as a thrill runs through you, imagining what’s coming next. you can’t help but chuckle, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks.

he waves as he exits the ring, then disappears backstage. you chat with his team while suguru wraps up his post-match interviews. just as you’re about to head to his locker room, your phone buzzes with a text from him: “wait by my car. i’ll meet you there.”

a grin spreads across your face as you read the message, excitement fluttering in your chest. you lean against his car, heart racing as you eagerly await his arrival.

suguru walks over proudly holding up his third championship belt. "i told you i'd win!" he declares, his voice laced with victory.

you can't contain your excitement as you rush into his arms with a joyful squeal. he laughs heartily as he lifts you off your feet, holding you close. the weight of the belt presses between you. your laughter mingles with his as you both savor the moment.

he sets you down and quickly drops the belt into the car. then, cradling your face in his hands he leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. you melt into the kiss. his hands on your cheeks are warm and gentle. he pulls back slightly, a soft smile playing on his lips as he murmurs “my good luck charm,” against your lips, his voice full of affection and gratitude.

your heart swells with love, but the moment is abruptly interrupted by a distant sound. your smile fades as you see a stumbling figure makes it way towards you and suguru. a cold wave of dread washes over you as you recognize the slurred voice calling your name. "mark," you utter.

suguru's expression hardens as he takes in the sight of mark approaching. he steps in front of you protectively. mark scoffs taking in the sight of you and suguru together. “i knew it. i knew you couldn’t just be friends,” he sneers, his voice thick with bitterness.

you take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure. "suguru, please," you say trying to keep your voice steady. "let's just go," you squeeze his arm.

suguru's jaw tightens but he nods. just as you turn to walk away, mark's voice cuts through with degrading edge. "you're just a whore looking for attention from anyone who’ll give it. first it was me and now it's him, huh?"

your heart sinks at mark's cruel words. "suguru!" you go on to grip his hand but his patience snaps. without a second thought he turns around and punches mark. the force of it sends mark sprawling to the ground. a grunt of pain escapes his lips.

mark scrambles back to his feet and lunges at suguru. you watch in horror as they fight. the sound of their fists hitting flesh and bones crunching echoes around you and you're not sure whose it is.

suguru manages to pin mark to the ground. he lands a few more punches, mark's face becoming a bloody. “suguru!” you plead, your voice breaking as tears begin to fall down your face. “stop, let him go!”

suguru finally drops mark and wipes the blood from his hand onto mark's shirt before standing up. mark groans on the ground. suguru takes a few heavy breaths then turns to face you. his expression immediately softens.

he wraps his arms around you, guiding you to the car. you slip inside, still shaken from the encounter. suguru slides into the driver's seat next to you. his hand finds yours with a comforting squeeze.

you take deep breaths as the car starts moving. the drive is quiet as you arrive back at his place. you're both silent as you step into his penthouse. you notice blood seeping between his fingers and you gasp. suguru looks down at his hand and then at you "it's okay, i'm okay," he says.

you shake your head and guide him to the bathroom. gently, you clean his cut and wrap a bandage around his knuckles. suguru watches you with a quiet chuckle. “this feels just like old times,” he murmurs.

“you always playing nurse after my fights.” you glance up at him. “someone’s got to take care of you,” you reply, your tone filled with affection.

his smile deepens reaching his eyes. "i'm glad it's you," he says sincerely. he gently tucks a strand of behind your ear and caresses your cheek.

"i really want to kiss you," he says lowly, his voice filled with longing.

you nod and his lips are on you in an instant. your eyes flutter close and his bandaged hand slips out of your grasp and moves under your jaw tipping your head up for better access.

“i always want to kiss you,” he whispers against your lips, his thumb stroking your bottom lip. your heart flutters at his admission. boldly you part your lips and kiss him again. his tongue slips in your mouth and he groans at the taste of you.

your hands move to the hem of his shirt. "eager," he chuckles stopping your hands. he tuts at your pout. "don't pout." he pulls your bottom lip in between his letting it snap back against your teeth.

"just don't wanna rush and ruin this. don't want you to regret it." he speaks softly, his finger lightly caressing your jaw in a way that feels almost instinctive.

"i won't regret this," you say, your voice a mix of desperation and hope. "want this suguru. want it with you. want you. please?"

"jesus christ," he murmurs under his breath. his hands move to the back of your thighs, carrying you to his bed. he gently sets you down and moves atop you. he parts your legs and sits on his knees in between. with a smirk, he reaches behind his neck and pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion.

you've seen him shirtless countless times before, but seeing him like this—bathed in the soft light of the lamp, every dip and muscle accentuated—feels different. the sight of him, shirtless for you, leaves your throat dry.

"suguru," you say his name in awe.

"sweet girl," he replies softly. "going to make you feel so good, you'll never want anyone else."

his hands move over your shoulders, pulling the straps of your dress down. he tugs the dress further until it stops at your chest, causing you to laugh shyly. "there's a zip on the side," you murmur. he chuckles softly in return. you can feel the way his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he lowers, a stark contrast to his usual confident demeanor.

"you're nervous," you state, propping yourself on your elbows. he doesn’t respond, instead focusing on pulling the dress down until it rests at your hips. you lift your hips, allowing him to take it off completely.

his breath hitches as his eyes roam over your body, now only covered by a bra and panties. his hands linger on your hips for a moment, his touch gentle. he meets your eyes, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. "you're my best friend," he whispers, his tone serious. "we can’t go back from this, you know?"

"i—" he takes a deep breath. "i can't go back to being just your friend after this," he says earnestly.

you reach up and cup his face, grounding him with your touch. "i don't want to go back to being just your friend either" you tell him, your voice steady and warm. "i want to go forward."

he looks at you with a mix of relief and determination, his smile widening as he takes in your words. leaning in, his forehead gently touches yours. “then let’s move forward,” he says softly, pressing his lips to yours. the kiss melts away all his doubts.

his hands shift from your hips to your back. he undoes your bra, he pulls it away from your chest and drops it on the ground beside the bed. he pulls back from the kiss, his smile spreading into a wide grin as he tips his head back and laughs joyfully. he lowers his head back and his eyes glisten with a need you've never seen. "can't believe you've hidden this from me," his hands cup your boobs.

his lips trail acseries of kisses across your. chest. when he reaches your nipple, he wrap his lips around it and sucks it eagerly. he lets out an appreciative moan as his tongue teases and circles around it. his hand explores your other boob, mimicking the movements of his mouth, pinching and rolling your nipple.

the sensation sends a wave of heat rushing betwen your legs making you gasp. your hips arch up, seeking fricition and contact to bring you closer to the relief you crave. he smirks, his mouth still on your nipple before he lets it go with a pop. his lips move lower, kissing your stomach and swirling his tongue around your belly button. he nips softly at your hip, leaving a mark just for him to see later.

he tugs the band of your panties back with his teeth, then lets it snap against your skin making you hiss from the sudden sting. he chuckles at your reaction. you glare at him "stop teasing!"

"okay darling," he grins. he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and slides them down over the smooth skin of your legs. his hands brush against the skin of your inner thighs, sending a shiver up your spine.

his lips follow the path of his hands. he bites and sucks the tender flesh of your inner thighs making you moan in pleasure, as your arousal intensifies. his nose nudges against your folds and you instinctively try to close your thigh but he keep them open with a firm grip.

he tuts softly, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “you’re being a bit greedy,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse with desire. ���keepin all this sweet stuff for yourself”.

his tongue lolls out to taste you. he hums his eyes fluttering shut as he tastes you at last. he can't help himself but need more. his tongue presses further into you, exploring every fold and contour. he releases a deep moan, the sensation vibrating through your body prompting you to echo it into the room.

your fingers curl into his long hair, gripping the strands tightly as he plunges not one but two fingers into you. "she's so eager," he mumbles talking about your pussy. his lips wraps around your nub, sucking it enthusiastically.

your walls tighten around his fingers making his brain short circuits with thoughts of how you would feel around him. he pulls away trailing kisses up your body. when he reaches your lips, he murmurs, "sorry, pretty. i need to be inside you."

you whimper as he pulls out his fingers and gripping your chin, smearing your arousal on it. he leans in and hums as he licks if off before kissing you. his tongue entwines with yours, letting you taste yourself.

you arch up into him craving more. desperate to feel him just as much he does. he fumbles with the button of his pants, anticpation coursing through him making his hands tremble. your hands move to his hips, helping him out. he sits back on his heels as he gets rid of both his pants and boxers.

"fuck," you breathe looking at his length. he chuckles, his ego visibly stroked. "i'll go easy, don't worry". a deep blush spreads across his cheeks as he notices your unwavering gaze. he begins to stroke himself. his cock is a vibrant shade of crimson which thick veins running along the length, pulsing with each stroke — the head a darker hue, slightly glistenig with pre cum. he swipes his thumb across it and then brings it up to your lips.

"want a taste?" he asks with a teasing smile. you nod eagerly and he pushes it between your lips, making your eyes roll back. "as much as i'd love to feel your mouth on me" he says positioning himself between your thighs, "i think i'd lose my mind if i don't fuck you right now".

the tip of his cock nudges against your wet folds, brushing against your entrance. his eyes lock onto yours as he presses forward, easing into you. the fullness makes you gasp and your hand comes up to grip his arm as he stretches you open. he pauses, letting you adjust. his breathing heavy and uneven as he holds himself still above you.

“god, you’re so tight,” he growls. your walls cling to him as he starts to move but stops. "baby, breathe for me," he murmurs, his voice rough with need. "i can't move." you let out a giggle at his words and unknowingly clench around him making him gasp. his head falls onto your chest. "fuck, dont do that," he groans.

"you can go harder," you whine. he grins as he pulls out and drives back in. the force of his thrust makes you shudder with pleasure. he reaches that senstive spot inside you making you mewl out in pleasure. each stroke brings you closer to your climax, his head pressing against your g-spot.

"yes, right there suguru!" you gasp, your hips move in rhythm with his. his sweat-slicked body rubs against yours, his thrusts growing faster and more urgent. “fuck, thought about this for so long” he murmurs into your ear. his tongue traces the shell of your ear before he nips it and nudges his nose into your cheek. the action soft and gentle unlike his pace.

he kisses you with an intensity that turns your brain into mush. the kiss is messy and unrestrained. his teeth occasionally bumps against yours as your tongues tangle together. "suguru," you whine into the kiss and he grunts in response. his thumb finds your clit, pressing and rubbing in tight, steady circles that make you moan.

his pace quickens and you can feel the pressure building deep in your belly, your body strains with the need to come. “come for me, sweet girl,” he commands, his voice rough with his own impending orgasm. “i need to feel you cum around me.”

another hard thrust of his has you crying his name when you reach your climax. "suguru! hngghhh!!" your body arches and trembles beneath his, waves of pleasure crashing over your. he follows suit, his movements becoming erratic as he spills into you. your name escapes his lips in a broken, breathless moan.

he collapses on top of you, both of you gasping for air. the intensity of your release leaves you both breathless, your bodies entwined in the afterglow. his hand gently caresses your sides as he comes down from his high, and the room is filled with the lingering echoes of your shared passion.

a quiet settles between you, both of you lost in thought. you reflect on how everything has shifted. doubts swirl in your mind—wondering if suguru sees this as a one time thing or something more. you remember him saying he wanted more, but what if he just said it in the heat of the moment.

the silence stretches, and he can sense the turmoil in your thoughts. with a sigh, he pulls away from your shoulder. his gaze is warm and reassuring, “just ask me whatever’s on your mind".

he looks between your eyes, understanding what you're thinking before you can voice it. he presses a tender kiss to your lips, catching you off guard. he rests his forehead against yours. “i meant what i said,” he murmurs gently. “i want this. i want to move forward. i want more of this—more of us.”

you run your hands through his hair as he reassures. "i want to be your boyfriend," he mumbles, a shy smile spreading across his lips. your heart swells at his vulnerable expression, not used to seeing him like this. you chuckle softly and return his smile. “i’d like that,” you say, your voice warm and filled with emotion. unable to help himself he peppers your face in wet kisses making you laugh heartily.

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

A/N: please drop a like, comment or reblog!

© SONARSPACE 2024 | DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[euphorajeon]

trippin' over, gettin' lost on you | jjk (m)

— pairing: jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, smut | college au, slight coffee shop au (?)

— word count: 12.4k

— warnings: pov change after the first part (its kinda obvious.. i hope), sleeveless jk, jealous jk, like really jealous, side character yoongi, cameo jimin and hoseok, they work tgt in a coffee shop, boxer!jk is back to his nature (he's boxing again, at last), cocky jk (but he's hot so its ok), usual banter between jk and oc, also banter between oc and jimin, mentions of cuts and bruises from boxing, references to the movie Real Steel, uhh what else i dont rmb anything else this thing is GIANT for me, smut in the form of: kissing, marking (hickeys), making out, an attempt at dirty talk, dry humping, cumming in pants, hint at unprotected penetrative sex at the end (don't do this!). [pls lmk if i missed smth]

— summary: a visit to the coffee shop you work at rewards jeongguk not only with a cup of coffee and a plate of brownie, but also with something else simmering deep in his veins. a challenge is issued, and all hell breaks loose.

— author's note: okay first of all full disclosure i started this in sept 2022 and just finished it today ^_^ i tried to edit it as best as i could, so if you see any mistakes, pls kindly... ignore... thank you... ^_^ that aside, i also feel the need to disclose that this is only my second time attempting to write smut so pls.. be kind.. hehe. okay! i hope you enjoy this absolute giant baby of mine!!

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

There’s an advantage to knowing someone for years. Jeon Jeongguk can attest to this fact from first-hand experiences he’d had with you throughout the many years you both have known each other. He’s seen you cry after you almost drowned when you were ten and you’ve seen him throw up his breakfast after drinking skimmed milk when he was twelve, where both life-threatening experiences had been deemed not serious by young-you and young-Jeongguk who used both experiences as means to roast each other. (Though growing up, your hands automatically grabbed the whole milk carton when grocery shopping with him and he’s never let you go within a five-meter radius of a swimming pool without his supervision.)

Years of friendship with you has also given him the advantage of being familiar with your likes and dislikes, from trivial ones like how you don’t drink coffee because it upsets your stomach to more serious ones like the type of boys you would date in your teen years. He’s never had a problem with the former, instead using it as another mean to annoy you (“You can’t drink coffee? What are you? A child?”), but the latter had always bugged him for reasons unknown prior to his big epiphany a little over a year ago. (Spoiler alert: it was the first time he came home with piercings on his eyebrow and lower lip, when he tempted you into kissing him stupid.)

Now he’s confident that the type of a boy you’d date would be someone who is handsome, tall, has a great smile and tattooed bulging biceps on the side. Add a lip piercing (and a fake tongue one!) as well and he’s sure you’re never going to look at other boys ever again. If you do, well, he’d just make the piercing on his tongue a permanent one, even though that means he wouldn’t be able to kiss you for weeks after. But as said earlier, he’s confident that you only have eyes for him alone.

With that same confidence, Jeongguk struts through the glass door of the coffee shop you’re working at for the summer, going up to the counter with a grin painted on his features. Said grin goes unnoticed by you, though, as you’re busy taking the order of the person in front of him. His lips stay tilted upwards as he watches you work, writing the customer’s name on the cup with your big, round, cute handwriting. Only when you’re done taking the order and the customer’s cup has been given to your coworker do you notice his presence, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” you greet him in your customer-service voice and smile like you do any other customer that has come before him. Jeongguk gives you an amused smile, making you chuckle as you key in his order even before he says it himself. He eyes the small screen in front of him that displays his usual choice of beverage, making a sound to stop you from ringing him up.

“Actually,” he says when you hum in question, “could you add milk to that? Make it a latte?”

“You want a latte?” you emphasize the last word, making sure you didn’t hear him wrong. “Like, with milk and foam on top?”

“Uh-huh,” Jeongguk confirms, leaning his elbows on the counter to stare at you as you change his order from an americano to a latte. “Can I also order you on the side? Look too good not to be devoured,” he adds, a sleazy smirk on his lips.

You scrunch up your face at his innuendo, his words hard to believe when you’re wearing a murky brown apron and a matching cap on your head. “I’m adding a brownie,” you deadpan. “That would be seven dollars.”

“You don’t want anything?” Jeongguk asks as he straightens up, hand reaching for his wallet to take out his credit card. “No coffee though, babe.”

“Nope, I’m good,” you answer as you accept the card Jeongguk hands you, swiping it through the card reader. “Yoongi said I can try the new menu in large for free! I’m saving calories for that so no sugar allowed for now.”

His forehead creases upon hearing the new name. “Yoongi? Who’s Yoongi?”

“Him,” you tilt your head towards a mint-haired guy who’s busy making all the drinks, hands skillfully moving from one cup to another. It’s a wonder how he doesn’t spill even a drop of liquid. “I’ll introduce you later but now you have to move, there’s a line. Shoo.”

Jeongguk gives you a playful pout as a protest but complies with your request to move, sliding down to the pick up counter as you greet the next customer in line. There are two people lined up after him, barely a line like you made it sound like, but he figures because it’s an hour before closing that you consider any amount above one person a line. He also notices that you and the mint guy (Yoongi, was it?) are the only ones manning the counter, so it’s not like you have any spare time to deal with him given the amount of work that has to be done.

“An iced latte and brownie for Jeongguk!” Mint guy shouts as he slides the drink and dessert on the counter, lingering for a second when he sees Jeongguk’s hands reaching for his order. Mint guy’s gaze trails up his arms to his face, eyes meeting Jeongguk’s confused ones. Recognition bleeds into his cat-like eyes as his mouth forms into an O shape.

“Kiddo’s boyfriend?”

The low baritone of his voice is unexpected, though that’s not the only thing throwing Jeongguk for a loop. ‘Kiddo’? He has a nickname for you??

Mint guy—Yoongi!—doesn’t take his lack of response personally, instead opting to turn around and talk to you who have just finished taking orders from the customers. Jeongguk can’t hear what words you and Yoongi are throwing around, but from the way you glance at him, it looks like the mint-haired guy is just trying to confirm the answer to his two-worded question directed at Jeongguk earlier.

Your response to Yoongi’s inquiry makes the guy give you double pats on your cap-covered head, triggering a laugh to come out of both of you. While Yoongi’s laugh looks like he’s teasing you good-naturedly, yours looks like a shy one if the pink dusting your cheeks are any indication. It prompts a scowl to appear on Jeongguk’s handsome visage, furrowed brows and clenched jaw. It is not in your nature to get shy.

As much as he wants to stay rooted to the pick-up counter to keep you and Yoongi in his close watch, he has to move his ass somewhere less crowded to avoid getting eye-fucked by the girl next to him who has been staring at his tattoos for the past five minutes. Prior to dating you, anyone who displays interest in his tattoos would make pride swell in his chest, an ego-booster guaranteed to make his day a thousand times better. He used to subtly flex whenever he caught someone looking at his sleeve tattoos, an equally subtle wink on the side if that someone is a girl he found attractive. But after dating you, he realizes that the only attention he wants (and matters) is yours. Now anyone staring at his tattoos with the intention of flirting or getting in his pants just makes him shiver in disgust.

Though, in this particular instance, Jeongguk admits it’s his own fault by showing up to the coffee shop in a sleeveless shirt. It wasn’t intentional, he just grabbed anything within reach when he packed for the gym earlier in the day, but the way he left his hoodie in the car is definitely intentional. He thought he would give you a distraction surprise by baring his sleeve when you’re working, but you seemed unaffected even when he leaned on the counter to flex his muscles. Which is weird, considering you never missed any chance to ogle his inked bicep whenever he’s boxing.

As Jeongguk plops a small piece of brownie into his mouth, he just realizes that your roles are reversed now, with you doing your thing and him doing the staring. His eyes never leave your figure as you ring up three more customers since he sat down, transferring plastic cups onto Yoongi’s never-ending queue of orders. He watches as you take the last two cups by yourself, re-reading the order before moving to grab the ingredients needed for the drink. Your hands don’t work as fast as Yoongi’s, the muscle memory not yet settling in, but Jeongguk can tell that your help is appreciated by the way the mint guy smiles at you while patting your shoulder.

When the orders are all done, you go up to the glass door to flip the sign so it shows the Sorry, we’re closed! side. A glance at the clock tells him that it is thirty minutes until closing time, meaning thirty minutes until you can get out from behind the cashier and into his waiting arms. He hasn’t seen you all day today and all he wants to do is kiss you breathless the second you get rid of that horrendous apron and cap. Jeongguk starts counting down from the thirty-minute mark, hoping time would tick by faster.

Behind the counter, Yoongi is still busy making one more drink while refusing your offer to help. It’s weird seeing your kindness being offered to someone that isn’t him, but Jeongguk supposes this time it’s strictly work-related as he knows Yoongi has been making all the drinks (except the last two that you did) ever since he sat down with his order. Though, it seems like the drink in his hand is not an order at all, because he gives the plastic cup to you instead of putting it on the counter for a customer to take. There’s an almost childish grin on your face as you sip on the drink, eyes lighting up as you shoot Yoongi a thumbs up. After you exchange some more words with Yoongi, Jeongguk watches as you skip happily to his table with your drink in hand.

You place said drink next to his cup of latte on the table before your hand reaches for his drink to steal a sip. “I just have to clean up and wait for everyone to leave, then we’re good to go.” You steal two more sips of the latte just because you can.

“Okay, babe, but I still want my latte, you can put it down now,” Jeongguk chuckles, watching you do as he says with a guilty smile on your face. But then your hand takes the little spoon that came with the brownie to cut a sizable chunk from his half-eaten treat, quickly plopping it into your mouth. “Finish your brownie so I can take the plate away to wash it.”

“Are you just here to steal all of my food?” Jeongguk jokes, no menace behind his words as he reaches up to thumb away a stray piece of brownie from the corner of your lips. “And you said you didn’t want anything when I offered earlier.”

“I didn’t,” you confirm, “stealing from you is just too hard to resist.”

Jeongguk would’ve continued the banter if not for Yoongi calling your nickname from behind the counter, signalling for you to get back to your job.

“Boss calls,” you say, sneakily stuffing some more brownie into your mouth. “Should get back. Bye!”

“He’s your boss?” Jeongguk asks incredulously, glancing at the mint-haired guy who’s still busy moving around behind the counter. “That young guy is your boss??”

“Yeah, I’ll explain later,” you wave your hand dismissively, turning to leave. “Don’t steal my drink!”

In true Jeongguk fashion, of course he steals a sip from your drink. He does it just to be petty that you won’t explain anything about Yoongi, but he’s also curious what the new menu tastes like. He doesn’t remember seeing any banner for a new menu when he entered the shop earlier, so he’s guessing it hasn’t gone on sale yet.

He scrunches up his face the moment the drink touches his taste buds, tasting the bitterness of coffee among the layers of other flavors. It’s not as strong as the americano he usually has, but he can still feel it linger even after he swallowed the drink. Definitely not the type of drink you’d order on your own, though, so why were you so excited to try this new menu?

Looking around the shop, Jeongguk’s gaze falls on Yoongi. You did say he was your boss, didn’t you? Could it be that this free drink is just a plot to use you as a guinea pig for his experimental weird recipes, knowing that you can’t refuse your boss? Was that why he refused your help earlier? So he could make the drink taste as bizarre as it is right now?

His eyes continue following your and Yoongi’s figures behind the counter, squinting them in distaste whenever he sees you laughing at something the mint-haired guy said. Your smile, your lowered gaze, your shy demeanor, all remind him of a feeling he thought he had buried a long time ago—the same feeling he got whenever you got a boyfriend in your adolescent years. Suddenly, Jeongguk feels fifteen all over again—a clueless doe-eyed boy who donned t-shirts in every color of the rainbow every day of the week and strutted like he owned the school just so you can see that he was cool, only for you to deny him of a Sunday together.

Those years have become a core memory for him that it inspired him to get one of his tattoos: Rather be dead than cool, because he realized the way to your attention was not by being cool, it was by just being himself. (Yes, the ‘him’ who showed up unannounced at your doorstep after two years and ended the day with you on his lap stealing all the breath straight from his lungs.)

Anyways, all of that doesn’t matter because currently, your eyes are not on him but on your mint-haired boss who’s busy grinning while washing some equipment. Why are you both smiling so much around each other? Do you have some kind of inside joke that’s so funny you can’t stop laughing? What is so pleasing about Yoongi’s presence that you keep beaming at him?

Jeongguk chews the straw of your drink in anger, not realizing that he has inhaled almost half of the cup’s content despite claiming that he hates the taste. Sipping on your drink has become an afterthought as he was busy analyzing how wide your smiles are while working with Yoongi and how friendly the shoulder and head pats you give each other are. It’s sickening.

Eventually, everyone else in the coffee shop left and you’re in front of him once again to get rid of the brownie plate from his table, whining when you see the half-empty cup in Jeongguk’s hand even as you’re chewing the rest of his brownie in your mouth. Fair trade, he says as you walk away with the plate and spoon in hand.

Not even five minutes has passed since you left his table, yet Jeongguk feels tired of being patient, taking your and his coffee cups in each hand before coming up to the counter. It seems like Yoongi senses his presence, because he looks up from the calculator app on the tablet in front of him to give Jeongguk a curious glance. Their eyes meet for a split second before Jeongguk moves his gaze past Yoongi’s shoulder to you, who’s still busy wiping down the counter. A knowing smile curves on Yoongi’s lips.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Yoongi turns towards you, the nickname still irritating to Jeongguk’s ears. “I’ll finish closing up, you can go. Great work today.”

“No it’s okay, I can help you mop the floor after I’m finished with the counter.” You don’t even look up as you wave him off, oblivious to Jeongguk’s presence and his increasing impatience in front of your boss. He clears his throat comically loud, making you turn around to see a frown etched on your boyfriend’s face and Yoongi tilting his head towards him with a small, almost teasing smile on his face.

“Oh.” You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay then. Sorry about him, Yoongi.”

“No worries, Kiddo.”

Yoongi’s nonchalant response is laced with a chuckle, which for some reason, upsets Jeongguk even more than the nickname he keeps calling you by. Is Yoongi not scared of him? Of his tattoos, of his muscles? Is he not intimidating? Can’t he feel the piercing stare Jeongguk keeps giving him ever since he walked into the coffee shop?

“You.” Your stern voice tears his hot gaze away from the mint-haired guy, whose focus is back on the calculator on his tablet to count the sales they made today. “I’ll clock out first then we can go. Please don’t do anything weird in the five minutes that I don’t have my eyes on you.”

Jeongguk follows your figure with his eyes until you disappear into the backroom, leaving him alone with Yoongi. Yoongi, the guy with the mint hair, whose surname he doesn’t even know, who is your boss that strangely have an endearing nickname for you. Things that stream steady questions into his head, about your initial meeting with Yoongi to the extent of your relationship with him. It’s the nickname he can’t seem to shake off of his mind, the way it rolls easily off Yoongi’s tongue, as if he’s been calling you that for years. Has he known you for years like Jeongguk has? Been through near-death experiences with you like Jeongguk has? Has he deserved the right to call you by a nickname like Jeongguk has?

“You can stop shooting daggers at my head, you know,” Yoongi’s low drawl almost makes Jeongguk think that he’s talking to himself, but the sentence is clearly directed at him. The older guy finally looks up from his tablet to look at Jeongguk in the eyes for longer than a second, no coffee orders to complete to interrupt their interaction this time. “Kiddo’s boyfriend, Jeongguk, right?”

As Jeongguk gives a nod to confirm Yoongi’s question, a hand is extended towards him to complete the introduction. “I’m Yoongi, Kiddo’s coworker-slash-boss.”

Jeongguk grips Yoongi’s hand with more strength than necessary, unintentionally flexing his muscles too. He thought that would be enough to tell Yoongi that Jeongguk is your boyfriend and he has no business being so friendly with you, but Yoongi only glances at his tattooed arm before letting go of his hand with a comment about how strong his grip is.

“Thanks, I do boxing,” Jeongguk mutters curtly, upset at the degree of nonchalance Yoongi is showing. He starts glancing at the door to the backroom where you currently are, wishing you would emerge right this second so he can go and doesn’t need to face Yoongi’s mint hair ever again.

“Yeah, Kiddo might have mentioned that a few times, just like she won’t shut up about your sleeve tattoos,” Yoongi says, going back to his tablet. “I used to box too, by the way.”

If you asked Jeongguk what Yoongi used to do, he wouldn’t be able to answer at all as he chooses to focus on the part where Yoongi said you won’t shut up about his sleeve tattoos and tune out the rest of his sentence. “My tattoos? What about them?”

“She said you have tons. Shoulder to fingertips. That’s how I recognized you when giving your order,” Yoongi answers lightly, which piqued Jeongguk’s interest even further. Wouldn’t it be fun to use this coworker-slash-boss of yours to get information about what you’ve been saying about him at work? What else does Yoongi know about him other than he does boxing and has a sleeve tattoo?

“Really? Does she gush about how hot they are to you, too?”

It’s not a question meant to be answered, its sole purpose to show off that you indeed gush to him about how hot his tattoos are. Though, if one thinks about it, why would Jeongguk need to boast to Yoongi about the compliments you give him about the strokes of ink on his arm? What business does Yoongi have knowing about it?

Yoongi seems to be unaware of Jeongguk’s inner dilemma as his face breaks out into a grin. “I think she’d be mad at me if I told you half the things she gushes to me about you.”

So you do gush about how hot his tattoos are to Yoongi. Interesting.

The fact that Yoongi insinuates there’s more to that is both endearing and terrifying to Jeongguk, because while he’s giddy that you talk about him with other people with so much enthusiasm, too much of it could end up in you sharing something about him that you should not have. Not to mention you’re sharing it with your boss, someone you should keep at an arm’s length when it comes to sharing about your significant others. One wrong move and he could use it against you.

Jeongguk is just about to ask Yoongi to elaborate further on his statement when you step out of the backroom, now out of the murky brown cap and apron and in a white t-shirt that looks like it belongs to Jeongguk. All thoughts of Yoongi knowing all sort of things about him evaporates right away, his mind focusing on how cute you look instead. If only Jeongguk doesn’t know basic human decency, he’d pull you by the waist to taste the mouth he’s been deprived of for the whole day, not giving an ounce of care about your boss watching the whole thing.

No, he’s a good boyfriend so he opts to pull you by the shoulders instead, letting your arms go around his waist before squeezing you in his arms. The kiss he drops on your cheek is chaste yet lingering, like he wants to let you know just how much he missed you. You tighten your arms around him in return, wordlessly saying the same thing back.

“Ready to go?” Jeongguk mumbles into your hair, not yet letting go of the hug.

“Ye—oh, wait!” You pull your face away from its initial position on Jeongguk’s chest. “You haven’t met Yoongi yet.”

“We did, Kiddo,” Yoongi waves you off. “You’re free to go. Your boyfriend here has been waiting long enough.”

“No,” you say, pulling away from Jeongguk’s hold. “I mean I haven’t introduced you two properly.” You gesture to the both of them back and forth as you say their names. “Yoongi, meet my boyfriend, Jeon Jeongguk. Jeongguk, meet my boss, Min Yoongi. His family owns this coffee shop.”

“That’s what you mean by proper?” Jeongguk says to you as he takes Yoongi’s hand for the second time that day, regular grip this time because you’re watching his every move like a hawk. “I didn’t know you own the shop. Nice place,” he nods to the older guy, releasing his hand.

“Thanks. It’s my dad’s, though. I just help from time to time,” Yoongi shrugs.

“You ‘just help from time to time’ but willing to dye your hair mint in honor of the new menu.” You nudge his elbow playfully. “Speaking of the new menu, did you finish the whole cup, Jeongguk? I’ve only had a few sips.” You frown as you bring the cup to your eye level, examining just how much of it is left. It’s an exaggeration, obviously, as the cup in your hand is still half-filled. But Jeongguk plays along, saying the reason why he inhaled your drink is because he’s tired from having just gone back from boxing.

“You have your own latte,” you point out, finally taking a much-deserved sip from your free drink. It still tastes okay, so you stop grilling Jeongguk about stealing your drink (even though you kinda stole his too, in the middle of your shift nonetheless.) “Oh, and did you know Yoongi also—”

Yoongi clears his throat loudly before you can finish your sentence. You look up from your drink, alarmed, afraid you might have said something wrong. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s and he gives you a tiny shake of his head, one Jeongguk doesn’t notice because he’s busy taking sips from his own cup of latte. (And because he’s more focused on you than Yoongi.)

“He knows, I told him I used to box too,” Yoongi says.

“You did? I didn’t catch it,” Jeongguk averts his eyes from you, turning to look at Yoongi. “Wanna have a match? I could use an opponent for my session tomorrow.”

“I said I used to, Kid,” Yoongi re-emphasizes on the two words. “I have a shoulder injury. It’s healing, but I still shouldn’t do too much to it.”

“Oh come on, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Jeongguk!” A slap lands on his bicep courtesy of you.

“What? He said it’s healing!”

It’s only now that Jeongguk witnesses the exchange between you and Yoongi using only your eyes, yours looking frantic while Yoongi’s looking as cool as a cucumber. Maybe he should dye his hair a shade of green resembling a cucumber rather than a mint.

After watching you and Yoongi have a silent conversation for a minute, Jeongguk lets out a sigh as he takes the final sip from his latte. “It’s okay, babe, I was just kidding. It’s fine if Yoongi doesn’t want to have a match with me.” He throws the empty cup into a trashcan nearby. “It just means that he backs down easily from a challenge.”

You physically face-palm at his sentence, missing the way Jeongguk throws a challenging smirk Yoongi’s way. The older doesn’t seem fazed at all, instead letting a small smirk take over his features as well. “That’s not a really nice thing to say to someone you’ve just met,” he drawls.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Just stating the truth.”

“Jeongguk, please stop,” you whine from behind your hands, still facepalming because you don’t want to become a witness in case this coffee shop becomes a crime scene.

“Alright, I’ll have a match with you,” Yoongi says finally, tone resolute. You peek out from the cocoon of your hands, glancing back and forth between your coworker-slash-boss and your boyfriend who are having a staring contest, both refusing to back down. “Tomorrow after my shift works? Kiddo here can take the same shift so she can watch us too.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk agrees without a pause. “It ends at three, right?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. See you then.”

Then Jeongguk puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the counter to finally go take you home as it’s the reason he came here in the first place. You hastily give your coworker a wave goodbye over your shoulder, getting a wave back accompanied with a laugh. Jeongguk uses the opportunity to steal yet another sip from your drink.

“Stop it! You’re gonna finish it all!”

“What even is it? It tastes really weird.” Jeongguk scrunches up his face.

“It’s mint mochaccino, you ass.” You pull the cup away from him, who chases the straw with his mouth while grinning wide. “Stop or I won’t kiss you until tomorrow morning.”

“Always withdrawing kisses when I need them the most,” he pouts, retreating from your drink to let you finally finish the cup yourself. “Can I kiss you in the car or should I wait until we get home?”

(Does not matter what you answer is, because he grips the back of your neck in the car to make out with you for five minutes, and then finish what he started in the safety of his room, under the blankets.)

“Are you sure you want to fight with Yoongi later?”

You and Jeongguk are back in his car, on the way to the coffee shop for you to start your shift and for Jeongguk to get his americano to kick off the day. His nod to your question is firm.

“Yeah. My coach said it’s good to train with an opponent sometimes.”

“You could’ve fought with your coach instead, then,” you point out.

“True, but—” Jeongguk tilts his head, sucking in a breath. “He’s the one who trained me, so he knows my fighting style and pattern. It’s good indeed, but it’s missing that element of fun.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Besides, I want to know what your Yoongi is made of.” He casts a glance at you to see your reaction.

“What ‘my’ Yoongi, what are you talking about …” You heave a sigh, massaging your temple. It’s not even 9 AM yet but you can already feel a headache coming. Sometimes you wonder why you’re willing to date this childhood friend of yours, knowing all of his flaws and bad habits like this. Though it’s given you the advantage of being able to read between the lines of his actions, often you wish he’d just say things outright without you having to dig it out of him.

“You know, the Yoongi you work with? The Yoongi who gives you head pats? The Yoongi who has a nickname for you?” Jeongguk’s tone gets more annoying near the end of his sentence, almost as if he’s trying to get a certain reaction out of you.

“The Yoongi who owns the cafe I work at, which is the sole source of income I have?” you reply instead, refusing to give in to Jeongguk’s silent provocation. “Also, the Yoongi who used to box. I think you should keep that in mind when you fight him later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bet he wasn’t even that good.”

You manage to arrive at the cafe unscathed, only losing a tiny piece of sanity because your boyfriend couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Yoongi and his non-existent boxing skills (Jeongguk’s words, not yours.) It doesn’t help that the Yoongi in question is already standing behind the register, greeting you with a smile and throwing a lopsided smirk your boyfriend’s way. You don’t like the thick tension between them at all so you quickly slip into the backroom to let Jeongguk be a big boy for once and order his own americano for the day.

Stepping out of the backroom in your mandatory work apron and cap, you’re kind of relieved when you see the shop is still intact, not thrown upside down courtesy of your boyfriend and his inability to control his strength (and emotion) in the face of a threat (read: Yoongi.) Upon seeing you, Jeongguk pushes himself off the counter he’s leaning against before reaching for your waist despite your boss standing just a few feet away. The cup of americano on the counter tells you that you took too long in the breakroom, which if anyone asks, you’d justify with adjusting your work attire. In reality, you just don’t want to face your boyfriend and the sour look he has whenever he so much as glances at your boss.

“You can always cancel the fight with Yoongi, you know,” you murmur, biting your bottom lip in worry. “You could hurt him, he could hurt you … it’s not ideal.”

“Hmm.” Jeongguk purses his lips. “What’s not ideal is your boss having a nickname for you.” There he goes again, always having something to say about Yoongi. “Aside from it being highly unprofessional, it’s also inappropriate since you have a boyfriend and that is me. Jeon Jeongguk. I am your boyfriend.”

“Jeongguk, he knows,” you groan, fed up with the back-and-forth about this whole Yoongi thing. You don’t even know why your boyfriend is so threatened by the older guy when he’s a whole lifetime ahead of him. “It’s not even a nickname. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

Jeongguk’s reply never makes it out of his mouth as he’s interrupted by Yoongi clearing his throat, making you both look at him tapping on his wrist to signal the time. It’s a reminder that you’re here to work, not to continue the argument that sparked in the car. Your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your boss, sharing a hard stare with him before deciding to do something one should not do in front of their boss: dip down to kiss you, using your surprised gasp as a way to slide his tongue inside your mouth. In the five seconds he manages to tangle his tongue with yours, you completely missed the sound of the glass doors opening and the low whistle that came after, along with Yoongi’s chuckle and greeting to the person who just came in.

Shoving Jeongguk away by your hand on his chest, you try to cover your burning face with your other hand as an attempt to save your dignity in front of Yoongi, though you doubt it’s working at all. Jeongguk licks his lips then winks at you, squeezing your waist in his grip before stepping back to grab his cup of americano, now full of condensation sliding off the plastic cup. He takes a sip to taste test before scrunching up his nose.

“Could’ve been better,” he sneers, making you glare. “Alright, I’ll let you get to work. See you later, babe.” Then, after a second, turns to Yoongi to add: “you too.”

When Jeongguk disappears into his car, you put your head in your hands and let out the loudest groan known to man. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

The mint-haired guy only gives you a gummy laugh, eyes turning into crescents as he shakes his head. “Your boyfriend is really something, Kiddo,” he muses. “A really … fun early morning entertainment, you could say.”

“Entertaining it was!” You hear the voice first before you see the person, the one who must’ve come in when you were rather preoccupied with your boyfriend. Park Jimin, your other coworker, slides behind the counter in a brown apron identical to yours and Yoongi’s, just minus the cap. Good, that means he doesn’t have a bad hair day today and can take the position at the register instead of you. You could use some more time to learn to make the drinks, anyway.

“Didn’t know you and your boyfriend were such exhibitionists, Kim,” Jimin taunts you, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Although, if my boyfriend were that hot, I would have wanted to exhibit him too…” He purses his lips in an exaggerated manner of faux thinking, obviously trying to rile you up. “Lucky you, Kim.”

“Shut up, Park,” you seethe through your teeth, slapping him with a dish rag while he cackles happily. “We’re not exhibitionists. You just have terrible timing.”

“Oh, it was perfect I’d say, just in time to catch sight of his tongue going into your mouth—”

“JIMIN!”

When Jimin continues making fun of you by making gross kissing sounds, you turn to Yoongi for help. As the oldest amongst you three, he must have a sound solution to get Jimin to stop making those awful sounds and put you out of your misery. Although, your trust in him is probably misplaced as Yoongi just chuckles and tells you something your own mom would tell you whenever you’re telling on Jeongguk: “Just ignore him, Kiddo.” The sacred word of ignore. “Go prepare the breakfast pastries now.”

So much for sound solution.

You go about your shift as usual, with Jimin manning the register like you planned to. Time goes by quickly when you’re busy working (and when your coworker is Park Jimin) that you didn’t realize it’s almost time for your shift to end. You glance at the line in front of Jimin and see that there are still three more people he needs to serve, while you and Yoongi still have about five tickets to finish before you can clock out and leave. Scratch that, might be eight tickets to go considering the workers who have their shift after you aren’t here yet. It’s gonna be a while before you can see your boyfriend and be a witness to an unnecessary fight between him and Yoongi.

“Hey, Kim, where’s your boyfriend? Didn’t you say he was gonna pick you up from work?” Jimin nudges your elbow when he finishes taking one customer’s order, sliding a plastic cup into the queue in front of you. “I want to see just how hot he really is,” he continues while wiggling his eyebrows.

Before you can slap the guy with your dish rag again—it’s looking more like your weapon rather than a cleaning tool at this point—Yoongi pipes up from his position in front of the sink. “Just look for someone with a tattoo sleeve. He loves brandishing it.”

“Ooh, a hot guy with tattoos,” Jimin whistles. “Add some piercings and I might steal him away from you.”

“Jimin, quit drooling over my boyfriend,” you sigh, taking the next cup in line as your coworker turns back to the register. He’s already starting to greet the next customer when you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, sliding next to him to brew the espresso needed for the order you’re making. “He has one on his lip, but he’s mine. Note that, Park,” you whisper to him while he’s keying in an order, earning a light chuckle from the man.

“He’s just messing with you, Kiddo, don’t mind him,” Yoongi chuckles from beside you, eyeing Jimin whose focus is currently on the cup he’s scribbling a customer’s name on. “He has his eyes set on someone else already.”

“Gossiping, aren’t we?” Jimin turns to you and Yoongi with a sleazy smile. “Careful now, unless you want Hoseok to know about your hot boyfriend too, Kim.” He gestures to the glass doors, where Hoseok from the next shift just walked through. He’s a great guy, but you’ve only shared a couple shifts with him, so you think you haven’t got to the point of sharing about significant others.

With the mention of Hoseok, you and Yoongi move to finish the orders you have left before handing over the shift to the aforementioned man. When all your orders are done and you’re ready to head to the backroom, you turn to ask Jimin to go with you only to find him still rooted in front of the register. “Jimin, you’re not going?”

“Oh, I’m actually covering for Eunbi.” Jimin shrugs, sliding a cup into Hoseok’s line of orders. “Go, Kim. Have fun with your boyfriend,” he grins, sending you a teasing wink.

Hoseok, a clueless witness, looks at the both of you with a scandalous stare. “What, what, what did I miss? Why are you winking like that, Park Jimin?” he says, urging Jimin to elaborate while pouring drinks into a plastic cup.

“You should ask her, Hobi,” Jimin snickers into his hand as he turns to greet a customer. Hoseok turns to you, his expression hopeful that you will shed light on the reason behind Jimin’s wink.

“My boyfriend is about to fight with our boss and I don’t know how to talk him out of it,” you say through your teeth, giving an overly-sweet smile to a confused Hoseok. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet him and make sure he’s not gonna bite Yoongi’s head off.”

“Bye, Kim,” Jimin sing-songs, waving his hand to you. “Say hi to your boyfriend for me!”

You’re already walking away, turning to tell Jimin off when you bump into Yoongi who’s just came out of the backroom, void of his work apron and ready to go. He grabs your shoulders to turn you around, pushing you into the backroom to prevent anymore banter between you and Jimin. “Let it go, Kiddo.”

In the backroom, you catch a text from Jeongguk saying that he’s already in the coffee shop, ready to go when you are. You emerge from the room after clocking out, moving your feet to the dining area of the cafe while waving to Jimin and Hoseok behind the counter. Scanning the room, you search for a familiar mop of black hair that belongs to your boyfriend.

It’s easy to spot Yoongi’s mint hair amongst the sea of other natural-colored hairs. What’s not easy is believing your eyes when you see the person sitting in front of Yoongi waving wildly at you, grinning like a mad man. It’s your boyfriend, the person you’re supposed to see after work, the person you’re supposed to supervise when he fights your boss later, alright, that part you know. The part that you don’t know and have a hard time believing is:

Jeongguk’s hair is mint.

Not black, not brown, not the experimental half-half he tried in high school. Mint.

The exact same shade as Yoongi’s.

It feels like you’re on autopilot when your feet carry you to their table, jaw on the floor while your eyes are stuck on Jeongguk’s freshly-dyed strands.

“Hi, babe,” your boyfriend has the audacity to say, lips stretching impossibly wider. He reaches up to run his fingers through his mint hair, an act so deliberate even Yoongi sighs at the sight of it, but it makes your heart skip a bit nonetheless. “Do you like my new hair?”

The light green strands previously tangled with his fingers fall back to cover his forehead and frame his face perfectly, the light hue somehow blending well with Jeongguk’s skin tone. It also accentuates his jaw more, making it appear sharper when the grin on his lips morphs into a smirk once he notices that you can’t stop staring. Oh, that smirk. Usually hot with his previously black hair, it is now lethal with his mint hair, toeing the line of playful and dangerous at the same time.

You want to scream at the obvious and cheesy question.

Yoongi, the third person who’s been watching the entire interaction unfold before his eyes, clears his throat. “If you’re done eye-fucking your boyfriend, can we go now? I have somewhere else to be after this.”

“Yoongi!” you whisper-shout, half scandalized, half disbelieving that your boss can say something so crude in the middle of his own buzzing coffee shop. Maybe he’s been hanging out with Park Jimin too much. (Or maybe he’s just sick of you drooling over your boyfriend time and time again … yeah, maybe that.)

“Can’t wait to lose to me, Min?” Jeongguk snickers, taking your hand in his as he follows Yoongi—who pointedly ignores his taunting question—towards the glass door of the coffee shop.

You catch Jimin’s eyes as you’re stepping out, his eyes rounding in surprise before a sly smile takes over his features. Have fun! he mouths, giving you a wink. Ugh, you’re gonna face a lot more questions the next time you have a shift together with him.

After another futile attempt at talking Jeongguk out of fighting with Yoongi, you’re seated where you usually are, on the sidelines of Jeongguk’s gym, this time with heightened anxiety out of fear that your boyfriend and your boss could hurt each other. You’re worried less about the physical part—boxing is a very physical sport, after all—and more about the mental part.

Boys are full of pride, full of ego. They pride themselves on their ability to box, delivering punch after punch until their knuckles bruise. They pride themselves on their muscles, bulging biceps that took years to build and maintain. They pride themselves on their strength, how they are able to hold you up against the wall when you’re busy sucking air off each other’s lungs.

Oh, and in case it’s not clear, by boys you mean Jeongguk.

You have a lot of faith in your boyfriend, of course, but knowing Yoongi’s boxing skills, no matter how long ago it was, the outcome of the fight today could just be the one that would hurt Jeongguk’s pride. The possibility of it happening is so high that you’re already preparing yourself for when Jeongguk comes back to you with his ego bruised. God, you can only hope Yoongi won’t hit too hard.

You’re too busy thinking of the many possible outcomes of this fight that you don’t realize when Jeongguk is back from putting his gloves on and warming up, now standing in front of you. “Wish me luck?” he says, along with a toothy grin your way.

“Yeah, good luck, Ggukie,” you reply, lacking your usual sarcastic bite. Jeongguk seems to pay no mind to it, though, ducking down to peck your lips before turning around to face his opponent for the day.

You catch Yoongi’s eyes when Jeongguk has his back to you, quickly mouthing don’t hurt him! to your boss, which he only responds with a smirk. All the blood drains from your face. Looks like your worries about someone getting his ego bruised won’t be just worries after all.

When the fight has started (Jeongguk’s coach started it—you’re grateful he’s there because then you don’t have to worry too much about Jeongguk and Yoongi beating each other to a pulp), you can’t help but watch. You just realize, in the years you’ve known Jeongguk and watched him box, you’ve never actually seen him fight anyone else other than his coach. He’s said before that he only took boxing as a way to work out, not to actually fight, so you guess that makes sense.

You don’t watch boxing matches a lot (actually, you don’t watch them at all), your only knowledge of boxing you get from watching Real Steel, a movie about boxing matches for robots, set in the far future when human boxing is not interesting anymore due to the limited brutality. You’re not sure how much information you retained from the movie, and how accurate they are, but you’re pretty sure you don’t need much boxing knowledge to know that right now, Yoongi is playing defensive while Jeongguk is playing offensive.

Alright, you admit, you have no idea if the terms you’re using are right, but it’s the simplest ones you can use to describe the sight in front of you. Since the start of the fight, Jeongguk has been throwing punches continuously, while Yoongi has had his gloved hands covering his face the entire time. Okay, not the entire time, but he’s only thrown one punch compared to Jeongguk’s one hundred ones.

As the fight goes on, Yoongi starts throwing punches here and there while still dodging Jeongguk’s aggressive fists. You’ve never seen Yoongi move this much in the entire time you’ve known him, and it surprises you how agile he is. The way he ducks under Jeongguk’s arm and throws him off balance is admirable, sometimes a little bit funny (just a bit, you promise) because it shows just how calm he is compared to Jeongguk’s aggressive, almost-angry boxing style.

When Jeongguk’s coach declares a break, your boyfriend walks back to you with his brows furrowed, tearing off one of his gloves so he can remove his mouth guard and grab his water bottle. After chugging down half of its content, Jeongguk heaves a frustrated sigh.

“I can’t grasp his fighting style,” he grumbles to himself. His eyes are set on Yoongi, who’s on the other side of the room, drinking from his own water bottle. “Who the fuck ducks all the time while boxing?”

“Maybe it’s because you keep throwing angry punches at him, babe,” you say, initially to keep his frustration at bay, but instead it makes him raise his eyebrow at you in a duh way. You backtrack immediately. “Okay, okay. But it’s just your first time fighting him, isn’t it? Be patient, Jeongguk, and maybe let up your punches a little bit?”

“Baby, it’s boxing,” he says exasperatedly. “Someone has to throw some punches.”

“I know, but you just seem so … angry. Yoongi’s only ducking to dodge that. I’m saying maybe you can tone it down so he could stop dodging, so then you can see his fighting style better.” You’re saying this while gripping his biceps, hoping your words can go through his seemingly-clouded mind. “When you see his fighting style, won’t it be easier to figure out a way you can beat him? Isn’t that what you taunted him with at the cafe?”

You know it’s not even remotely possible to learn one’s boxing style just from a single fight, let alone “figure out a way to beat him”. Somewhere in his fogged mind, you believe Jeongguk stores this fact as well, he’s just currently too deep in frustration to place it in the front of his mind. You’re not even sure your suggestion to learn Yoongi’s fighting style is registered well in his head, considering your boyfriend is now back to eyeing your boss with fire in his gaze.

“Jeongguk?” You give his shoulder a firm grip as he puts his mouth guard back on. “Tone it down. Yoongi could just be waiting to punch back. You don’t want that.”

Jeongguk parts ways with you with an absent-minded nod and two pats to your head with his heavy gloved-hand. On the other side of the room, Yoongi looks ready to go back into his fighting stance. You sigh internally. Jeongguk is so going to punch him aggressively, again.

The next thirty minutes of the fight goes like a blur in front of your eyes. Jeongguk throws a hook that Yoongi dodges, Yoongi retaliates with a jab to Jeongguk’s side which makes you wince, rinse and repeat. Maybe you’re wrong about your boyfriend for once, you think, seeing his calmer fighting style now. With the way he left your conversation minutes prior, you really thought he was gonna continue raining punches on any part of Yoongi’s body he could reach. You’re relieved that that’s not the case.

Although, perhaps your relief came too soon because a boxing match isn’t over until it’s over.

Watching Jeongguk fight with Yoongi is like watching a cartoon character with an energy meter atop his head, except for Jeongguk, it measures his patience instead. As the minutes went on, you feel like you could see the patience meter above his head depleting until it’s all gone, and that’s the moment he went back to his initial fighting style: aggressive and angry. You almost pull your hair out in frustration because you just know that this is what Yoongi has been waiting for ever since the fight started.

The next thing that happens reminds you a lot of one fighting scene in Real Steel, where Atom was waiting for his opponent to run out of energy so he can fight back. In the movie, Atom knocked the other robot down with a final uppercut, gaining him a win and advancing him to the next round. Well, uh, in this case, just replace Atom with Yoongi and the other robot with Jeongguk.

Yoongi’s clean uppercut wiped your boyfriend out, who’s now lying on the ground clutching his face—which you’re sure is beginning to swell right now. Despite already knocking Jeongguk down, Yoongi is still in his fighting stance, never lowering his guard even as Jeongguk’s coach counts to ten. Your boyfriend remains immobile, though, and the second the count is up you’re running towards Jeongguk’s limp body.

“Gguk, are you okay? Baby, look at me,” you say hurriedly as you try to pry his arms away from his face. He doesn’t budge, and for a second, you’re scared that Yoongi has maimed your boyfriend for life. “At least let me know you’re alive,” you continue when his silence becomes concerning.

“Hmmph,” Jeongguk grunts. You heave a huge sigh of relief.

“Okay, good.” You run your fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to offer some comfort even though you know he had this coming. Gigantic ego, big talk, cocky as shit? Yeah, you understand that Yoongi would want to knock him down a few pegs. But now is not the time to launch into an ‘I told you so’ spiel, not when Jeongguk is still freshly bruised—both his body and his ego.

So instead, you lash out at your boss.

“I told you not to hurt him, Yoongi,” you snap-slash-whine, a frown on your lips. You thought, as the oldest among all of you, Yoongi could be trusted to knock some sense into Jeongguk’s mind without physically hurting him like this. As it turns out, all boys are the same.

The older guy just shrugs. “Probably wouldn’t get my point across if he weren’t knocked down.” He shakes the sweat out of his hair as he starts taking off his boxing gloves. When he sees you’re not impressed, he chuckles. “Relax, Kiddo, I didn’t even hit him that hard. He’ll be okay.”

“Really, Yoongi?” You roll your eyes. “You gave my boyfriend an uppercut just to prove a point!”

Yoongi just continues laughing as he chugs from his water bottle. His nonchalance about this is starting to piss you off. Maybe it’s your turn to put on the boxing gloves and sock him in the face, give him a taste of his own medicine. You scoff to yourself, picturing your own body lying next to Jeongguk if you really did that.

“Just tell your boyfriend here that there’s no need to be jealous of me, Kiddo,” Yoongi says, picking up his bag. Just then, Jeongguk’s coach appears with an ice pack in his hand, offering it to you so you can place it against Jeongguk’s swollen jaw. Despite your attempt to coax him out of his arm cocoon, he still refuses to move.

“Yoongi, look at him, you really broke him.” You’re flat-out whining now, kicking your feet like a child. It doesn’t even occur to your mind that you’re all still in the middle of a public boxing gym, with other people around you, being witness to this ridiculous scene.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi laughs before crouching down at Jeongguk’s legs. “Hey, Jeongguk, you hear that? Your girlfriend is worried about you,” he says, nudging Jeongguk’s leg lightly. “She only has eyes for you and your tattoos, too, you don’t need to be jealous at all.” You smack him on the shoulder for that.

Jeongguk finally removes his arms from his face at Yoongi’s words, his doe eyes menacing. “Go away,” he grits out at the older male, his scratchy voice making him sound less threatening than he intended. Despite that, Yoongi still holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Yoongi relents, standing up while adjusting the hold he has on his bag. “Was gonna go anyway, I have a date to get ready for,” he throws a grin your way. “Alright, I’ll be going first. Take care of your boyfriend, Kiddo.”

Yoongi retreats with a wave towards you both.

Jeongguk lets out a groan, shifting your attention away from your boss who’s already backing his car out of the parking lot. “Quit your job tomorrow,” he says. “I hate your boss.”

“Stop moving around!”

“It hurts!”

You’re both back at Jeongguk’s house now, with you sitting atop his outstretched legs on the bed, attempting to take care of his battle wounds courtesy of his fight with Yoongi. Aside from the swollen jaw, Jeongguk has a cut on his eyebrow and a split bottom lip. For a boxing match, you’d say these are minor injuries—proving Yoongi’s words right, he didn’t hit Jeongguk that hard—but your boyfriend is acting like a baby. He keeps jerking his head away every time the alcohol swab comes in contact with either of his cuts, it irritates you to no end.

“You have a goddamn full sleeve of tattoo and a lip piercing, quit acting like this hurts more,” you hiss, pressing the cotton in your hand to the cut on his lip as Jeongguk hiss back in response.

“At least when I got my tattoos and piercing, the artist didn’t do it while yapping my ear off,” he lisps through the cotton. “What happened to the caring girlfriend at the gym? Did she go away too, alongside Yoongi?”

“Oh, shut up, if I yapped back there Yoongi would’ve stomped on your ego more than he already did, do you want that, Jeongguk? Huh?” Your words are harsh, but you try hard for your hands to be the opposite, gentle as they cover the cut on his eyebrow with a band-aid. Jeongguk’s forehead is still damp from his quick shower earlier, beads of mint clinging to his skin. He might look smoking hot with his newly dyed hair, but the way the color rubs off on anything is starting to get onto your nerves. You wipe lightly at the color to make sure the band-aid sticks to his skin and does not come off the second he jumps around again.

“My ego is fine, you don’t need to protect it like this,” Jeongguk grumbles, adjusting the ice pack he’s holding to his jaw as you press a new cotton ball on his lip, discarding the one stained crimson red to his bedside table. “Maybe if you care about me as much as you care about my ego, everything would’ve been better.”

The way he’s rambling like he got his sense knocked out of his head as well makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Don’t test me, Jeon. If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t be here sitting on your thighs patching your minuscule injuries like they’re fucking wounds from a war.”

“Maybe,” Jeongguk half-agrees, a pout on his lips. “But you haven’t kissed me even once ever since the fight ended. Do I not deserve a kiss because I lost? Do you not want to kiss me ever again because I can’t beat Yoongi in boxing? Do you think Yoongi is way better than me now? Do you want him to be your boyfriend instead of me?”

With every nonsensical question, his pout deepens, and his eyes droop to stare blankly at nothing.

“Hah, ‘my ego is fine’ my ass,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you turn the gears in your head on how to stop the bleeding on Jeongguk’s lip. It keeps gushing out blood, and you can’t exactly stick a band-aid to it like you did his eyebrow. At last, you just hold a cotton ball against it and hope it stops bleeding soon.

“Yoongi was right, you know,” you say clearly now, the tumble of Yoongi’s name out of your lips making Jeongguk glance up and focus his sight on your face. “You don’t need to be jealous of him at all. Heck, you don’t need to be jealous of anyone, Jeongguk. I’m your girlfriend and will always stay your girlfriend, no matter what. You don’t need to beat anyone in boxing or dye your hair the exact same shade as anyone for me to stay. You, Jeon Jeongguk, are enough.”

Jeongguk’s eyes, gazing into yours, are glassy with unshed tears. You don’t know if they are there because he’s touched by your words or are leftovers from crying over his bruised ego from the fight with Yoongi. Either way, it throws you off balance. Next thing you know, you’re being tugged down by the nape for a kiss.

Jeongguk’s lips are warm, like usual, but the tinge of metal you taste on your tongue is making you worry. Before you lose yourself in his kiss, you pull away to thumb at his lip lightly, seeing streaks of red on your skin. You’re about to continue pressing the cotton ball in your hand to his lips and stop all forms of kissing immediately, but your boyfriend has a mind of his own as he instead sucks your thumb into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the digit delicately as he holds eye contact with you.

Gone is the trace of any tears from his eyes, now replaced by something you can only identify as lust. As flattered as you are that Jeongguk finds you desirable in your current situation, it also makes you confused. He’s hurt and the only thing in his mind is getting his dick wet? Unbelievable.

The ice-cold feeling on your waist tears your attention away from Jeongguk’s dark eyes as you yelp, hand instinctively prying the cold thing away. The ‘thing’ turns out to be his hand, which was previously holding the ice pack to his swollen jaw. He’s sneaked his fucking cold hand under your shirt to hold your waist when he should’ve kept holding the ice pack to his jaw—his swollen jaw!

Your boyfriend has a swollen jaw, a busted lip and a cut eyebrow. This is not the time to be screwing around.

Pulling away your thumb out of Jeongguk’s mouth at the speed of light, you attempt to climb off his lap, but he’s read your mind even before they are conjured up in your own brain. His hands are back on your waist—yes, the cold one too—and they hold you firm in place. The side of Jeongguk’s lips turn up into a sickeningly sweet smile, before he tugs your body towards his, making your hips come in contact with his crotch. He’s hard. Oh, fuck.

“You know, I never really understood why you’re so bratty whenever you’re horny and I can’t tend to you right away, but I think I get it now,” he says right by your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. “I’ve been trying to will away my boner ever since you sat on my lap, but your weight on it is so damn distracting, it’s hard.”

“So,” he punctuates the word with a kiss on your neck, “I started saying anything to get my mind off it, but the way you care for me just … turns me on even more, if that was even possible.” He noses his way down your throat, coming to a stop at your collarbone. “And then all that talk about how I am enough … holy shit, I lost it. All I could think about was how I want to kiss you and fuck you into next week on this very bed.”

You can barely hear the last few words Jeongguk is saying, because he’s mumbling them into your skin as he peppers kisses and nips there. His fingers are now pressing into your back, pulling you closer and closer to him until there is no space left between you. You crane your neck so he can have more room to splash reds and purples onto your skin, sighing to the top of his mint head.

“You know, for someone claiming to be horny, you’re doing a terrible job at dirty talk,” you jab at your boyfriend, earning you a bite on your neck and a tightened grip on your body, making you close your eyes with stuttered breath.

“Easy, babe,” Jeongguk chuckles. “You talk as if you won’t be a moaning mess by the end of this,” he continues with much confidence. “But also, my lip is still kinda bleeding and my sides are still throbbing from the bruises. Kinda debating should we continue or just go to sleep.”

“Jeon Jeongguk I swear to God if you leave me high and dry—”

“Maybe you should kiss them better,” he cuts you off with a suggestion, his lips still trailing butterfly kisses on your neck and collarbone. The hands still on your back sneakily climb up and up until they’re reaching for the clasp of your bra, easily opening it to free your breasts from its confines. Your sound of protest gets stuck in your throat as a strangled moan comes out instead when Jeongguk massages your breasts tenderly with his fingers.

“Maybe I would—fuck—if you get rid of your shirt,” you say, tugging on the offending piece of fabric still covering your boyfriend’s gorgeous body. It’s not fair that he’s got you half naked already and he’s still fully clothed.

Jeongguk parts himself from your body long enough to tug his t-shirt off from the back of his neck in one smooth motion, exposing the golden expanse of his skin to your hungry eyes. If you thought his mint hair was smoking hot with his shirt on, it’s literally burning a flame of desire deep in your belly with his shirt off. You’re tongue-tied as you marvel at the sight in front of you, you almost jump when your own shirt and bra are taken off your body.

Now both bare from the waist up, Jeongguk wastes no time leaning back in for a kiss on the mouth, this time open-mouthed so he can slide his tongue inside. You keen happily, slipping a sigh in between as he slowly lowers you to the bed. Jeongguk anchors his hands on your hips, teasing at the waistband of your sweatpants as he keeps your mouth busy with his own. In contrast, your hands are everywhere, from his broad shoulder to his firm back, from his bulging biceps to his rock-hard abs. You even tease your fingers past his waistband, grabbing onto his ass and squeezing, making him groan hotly into your mouth. It’s only when your fingers brush against his sides that he winces, reminding you of his earlier request.

“Flip around,” you whisper against his lips, “so I can kiss your bruises better.”

“Hmm?” Jeongguk hums, your words a murmur in his head. “But I like having you like this. Under me, naked, panting, wet,” he says, slipping his hand beyond your sweatpants to prove his words right—you’ve soaked through your panties. He drags a finger slowly up your center. You shudder.

“Yeah? I can be naked, panting, and wet on top of you as well.”

“Ooh, tempting.” Jeongguk licks his lips. He flicks your clit with a cheeky smile dancing on his lips, before settling his hands back on your waist. “Alright, I’ll flip over.”

The next second, you’re staring at him from up top, admiring how his mint hair looks against his dark grey bed sheets. Although, his hair is the least of your concern right now, as you’re tugged back down for another bruising kiss. Now that you’re on top, Jeongguk takes the opportunity to return the favor that is slipping his hand into your pants to squeeze your ass, but his version involves pulling your hips down while his thrusts up, creating a delicious friction between your body that makes you exhale a moan into his mouth.

You move away from his lips, down to his jaw where you take care to land a kiss light as a feather, before moving to his neck and collarbone where you have your own share of bites and licks. Aside from your infatuation with his tattoos and biceps, you actually have another one with his collarbone, this one you keep secret from him lest he goes around the house shirtless more often just to brandish his clavicle. But maybe he’s already noticed from the way you always make sure to cover that body part of his in blooms of red and purple, taking care to trace each and every bite mark slowly with the tip of your tongue.

While you’re busy with his collarbone, Jeongguk keeps dragging your crotch steadily over his, like he can’t get enough of the feeling and wants to keep chasing it. The delicious pressure on your center is a bit distracting, so you smooth your palm across his chest to pinch at his nipple in warning. Jeongguk lets out a broken whine from his throat.

“Stop humping into me, do you want to cream your pants?” you chide, fingers still giving tiny pinches to his nipple to keep him on his toes.

“Was trying to get you to cream your pants,” Jeongguk grins guiltily, his hips snapping up yet again to collide with yours. Even if you roll your eyes at his antics, you still continue your journey of kissing down his body, making sure to suck and lick on his sensitive nipples. You love the moans and groans that slip out of his throat every time you do things to his nipples. He likes it so much that his hips keep chanting up, searching for friction, that you have to pin them down so you can slide down to pepper kisses on his abs and waist.

Jeongguk works really hard to maintain the body he has, clearly evident in the eight pack he’s sporting on his stomach and the tiny, minuscule waist that’s way too slutty for a man to have. Sometimes you’re jealous of how nice his body looks, how firm it is to touch. You told him this one time, along with your regret that you couldn’t give him a similar experience, but he’d only laughed and said that admiring and appreciating him was enough, before proceeding to show you how he admires and appreciates your soft body (he kept biting into your inner thigh as he was eating you out, coaxing you into four orgasms back to back that day.)

And so, you admire his body by kissing the taut muscle one by one, tracing the lines outlining them with your hot tongue, caressing his bruised waist with the pillow of your lips and the feather of your touch. You know he’s hurt, but you can’t hold yourself from nipping on his slutty waist, gifting him another bruise that’s not a result of a punch. From the choked sob that rips out of his throat and the jump of his dick somewhere on your stomach, you take it he likes the bite.

“So,” you say as you mouth at the seam of his waistband, hand massaging his hard cock through his pants. “Do you want to cum in your pants, in my hand, in my mouth, or—?”

“Fuck, in you, please,” Jeongguk begs, eyes glassy from your ministrations. “But can we go back to dry humping for a while? Kinda like the friction on my sweatpants,” he breathes.

“Like this?” You move your hand up and down his cock, dragging the material of his sweatpants with it, paying special attention to the head. With every rub of the sweatpants against his head, a bead of precum comes out, with Jeongguk throwing his head back in silent pleasure. “Yeah, fuuck, that feels good.”

“But babe, want you, on top,” he demands, making grabby hands at you. “Was serious when I said I wanted you to cum first,” he continues, sighs in content when you oblige, resuming your position on top of him and lining your clothed crotch with his. He starts dragging your hips against his, building the pleasure up the faster he goes. “Want to fuck your swollen pussy, dripping with cum. Oh, I’ll slide right in, no problem, so wet, warm … fuuuck.”

The grip Jeongguk has on your hips is bruising, you have no choice but to let your body be manhandled by him. Slowly but surely, the band inside your stomach begins to tighten as your hold on his shoulders does as well. You’re so close, just one more move to tip you over the edge. When Jeongguk sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, the band inside you snaps and you come with a jerk of your hips and a whine from your throat.

Jeongguk slows down his move, taking care not to cum before being inside you, before stopping altogether and wrapping his arms around you to bring the both of you into a sitting position. Your limbs feel like jelly, still trying to come down from your high, when Jeongguk pecks your cheek before carefully lying you back down on the bed with your face down. He then maneuvers himself behind you, lifting your hips off the bed. You’re starting to have an idea what position he wants you in when he spreads your knees and slowly peels back your pants and panties to reveal your bare ass and pussy.

He takes his time caressing the globe of your ass, inching his fingers towards your pussy lips before spreading them apart, tearing a low whine from your chest. You guess he’s admiring the way cum still drips out of your cunt, because he’s silent, immobile for almost a minute.

“Gguk…” you whisper out. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

Jeongguk scrambles to get his pants off. “Fuck, yes, of course, baby, you just look so beautiful like this, I want to stare all day long,” he breathes, lining up his dick with your entrance.

God, I’m so thankful you’re mine, is his last warning before he slides home in one thrust.

Later, when you’re both freshly showered and cuddling on Jeongguk’s bed—with blue bed sheets this time, because you forced him to change the sheets as the grey ones smelled gross after your activities—you ask him a question.

“Are you still jealous of Yoongi?”

There’s a three second pause before Jeongguk’s answer comes. “Maybe a tiny bit,” he says, nearly connecting his thumb and forefinger together in a ‘tiny’ motion. “Of his boxing skills only. Amazing how he could still move like that with an injured shoulder. I want to be like that too.”

“You want to injure your shoulder?”

He gives you a flat look. You giggle.

“His shoulder is actually healed, you know, so he’s still actively boxing until now. He trains the boxing club at my campus whenever our coach can't, that’s where I know him from and how I’d gotten the job at his cafe.”

Jeongguk purses his lips. “So he lied to me.”

“Hmm,” you agree. “I figured it was to ‘teach you a lesson’, that’s why I asked him not to hurt you before your fight. Did you, though? Learn your lesson?”

“What? To not be jealous of him?”

You pinch his waist. “To knock your ego down a peg and stop feeling insecure whenever I interact with other men?”

“Baby, the guy had a nickname for you. My insecurities were valid!”

“You mean the ‘Kiddo’ one?” you ask. Jeongguk nods. “He calls Jimin Kiddo. He calls Eunbi Kiddo. He calls you Kiddo. He calls everyone younger than him, Kiddo.”

More silence ensues.

“So … my jealousy was for nothing?”

“Yes! What I’ve been saying!”

Jeongguk giggles. Then he kisses you. Then he giggles again, while still kissing you.

“How about an apology?” he offers.

“In what form?” you challenge.

“Round three?”

“No.”

Well, at least he’s not jealous anymore.

a/n: thank you for reading!! please let me know what you think of this, i literally almost cried in the process of writing it and when i finally finished it :') and yes this started because of that one mint jeongguk in memories 2020/2021, i think? the one with him in a black sleeveless and a pair of sunglasses, hahah. wish he'd dye his hair mint again (he looks rly good in it ugh)

→ request is open for my 1k folls celebration!

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jungkook fic recs

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· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

i´ll be constantly updating this list so make sure to check it out often for new recs ;)))

pls remember to reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

disclaimer: if you came back to read that one fire fic you liked but can´t find it, its bc the link wasn´t working anymore so I deleted it :/

last updated: 25/11/2024

yandere / mafia / bad boy

romantic dreams - ( @kooktrash ) yandere!jungkook, tattoo artist jk, boxer!jk, UGHH ITS GOODDD, he´s so toxic frfr, namjoon is sick of his ass lmao, totally obsessed with reader, jealous and possesive af, he´s crazy sdlfjs but i´m into it

toxic noona - ( @aajjks ) yandere!noona, toxic controling relationship, jk is a victim, he´d rather die than leave, reader likes to make him cry, manipulation

yours insanely - ( @smileyoongle ) yandere!jk, serial killer jk, detective!reader, he kills women who look like you, so interesting to read

darknet - ( @darkestcorners ) yandere!jk, the internet is scary, human trafficking, jk is scary dangerous, it´s a LOT, just wow

who is in control? - ( @ctrlsht ) yandere-ish, lawyer!jk, posessive jk, obsessive jk, toxic relationship, stalking, manipulation, secret relationship, he´s cray-cray

hybrid au / soulmate au / super hero au / alien au / supernatural au

bunnytalk - ( @woncon ) bunny hybrid jk, owner reader, jk is a sad bunny bc reader won´t return his feelings but it´s all just a misunderstanding

night vision - ( @bonny-kookoo  ) e.r, alien!jk, suggestive, lowkey smut, bunny hybrid reader, jk has tentacles ,,,,,nothing else to say, flirty fluffy jk, this is dIFFERENTTTT i love it

closer - ( @blublublujk ) smut, step siblings au, noona reader, yandere!jk, jk is obsessed with him older step sister, WHEWWW this is intense, very detailed, loved it

your eyes tell - ( @angellesword ) soulmate au, angst, fluff, happy ending, artist!jk, lawyer!reader, "you live in a world where people see in black and white. The solution to finally see the colors? It's simple. You need to meet your soulmate and look at him in the eyes, but what if the person bound to you is already contented with the monochromatic world? What if your soulmate, is already in love with someone else?" a whole 2020 throwback, we don´t see fics with multiple chapters often, back then they were so good, like this one!

obsessed with your scent - ( @angelguk ) soulmate au, alpha werewolf!jk, omega!reader. jeongguk’s obsessed with your scent but he doesnt know he’s your mate bc you take suppressants. PLEASEEE I NEED A MOVIEEE, miss author you really made my 2020 better, thank you and ily

slice of life / university-college au / idol

you make him go crazy - ( @onlyswan ) fluff, idol!jk, slight angst, multiple scenarios, reader is constantly making him go nuts, he is STRESSED lmao, it´s cute anyways, reader is kind of a careless brat but jk wouldn´t have it any other way

you wear his clothes - ( @nochukoo97 ) fluff, thing is...HE gives you his clothes, he´s so boyfriendd

screw up; over wine - ( @koocycle ) finance major jk x model!reader, first date drabble, he is really into reader so he takes her to a fancy pricey wine and dine but guess wHAT.. he is broke lmao so he straight up PANICS, lowkey highkey secondhand embarrasment but it´s jk so it ends in a cute way

kiss me better - ( @jaykaysthicthighs ) angst, jerk jk, mean jk, misunderstanding, manhandling, he is crying bc he assumed she was cheating but he was sooo wrong, now he is begging, crying, throwing up,,, they make up anyways, its angsty in a satisfying way

you´re sleepy but you promised you´d go grocery shopping with him - ( @thvhoe ) e.r, its cuteeeee

couple questions with vogue - ( @kjdkive ) fluff, e.r, idol!jk, supermodel!reader, I LOVE THISSSS, he is the best boyfriend/fiancé soon to be hubby EVER UGHHHH its so cute

devoted to trouble - ( @jeonsweetpea ) fluff, lil angst, smut, comedy, spiderman!jk au inspired by seven??? a masterpiecE. the world finds out he is spiderman but he dgaf bc he only cares about you, #pininggg, reader playing hard to get, man i love tHIS

show you what devotion is - ( @thvhoe ) boxer!jk, ballerina!reader, fluff, angst. you´re like his safe place, it´s giving exes to wannabe lovers, they deff like each other and jk wants to eat her uP but he´s wants it to be romantic and stuff, idk idk I liked itttt

you surprise him for his birthday - ( @nochukoo97 ) he´s so boyfriendddddd, this is so wholesome and cute

he can´t sleep bc he loves you so much - ( @onlyswan ) now THIS makes me want to drink bleach and die bc of how cute it is, THEY ARE SO IN LOVEEEE, there´s a lot of giggling, a lot of praising, a lot of disgustingly sweet loving talk after sex :´)))))) its such a good read i promise

fighting heart - ( @kooktrash ) boxer!jk, fluff, angst, he´s so stressed sldfkj, reader gets in a small accident and jk went crazy when a nurse answered your phone

daft pretty boy - ( @jeonqkooks ) basketball cap!jk, classmates to lovers ig, see he´s smart but when he´s with you he gets nervous and forgets how to exist, he lowkey confesses and he´s sraightforward with itt, he´s got a hUGE crush on you lmao

ride - ( @ohjeon ) strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, jk is a fucc boy on campus, reader has tattoos and rides the coolest bike, jk has an instant crush, love at firts sight i would say, got him blushing and sweating lmao, this is an on going series but I KNOW it´ll be gREAT, I love it already

in your arms - ( @kookslastbutton ) e.r, fluff, smut, morning secs, waking up by his side for the first time after moving in

encore - ( @jjungxkook ) game designer!jk, he is cool af, has a fat crush on reader, this is just the teaser of the fic but I really like it

crave you - ( @7deadlysinsfics ) idol!jk, crack, smut, fluff, hispanic choreographer reader, texting, taejikook, jk is HORNY but he´s a softie too, he´s got a big big fat crush, strenght kink bc we all know he can throw her around like a ragdoll

pretty girl - ( @bts-trash-blog ) smut, tattoo artist!jk, chubby reader, THIS IS ITTTTT, he´s tall, dark and handsome, flirty af too, "pretty girl" stFUUUU, they both want to fuck so he shoots his shot at the tattoo appointment

easy - ( @itsamejin ) angsty, fuckboy jk, bet!trope, jk plays you so he can get his rent paid, i read this one a lawwngg time ago and decided i was an angst loving hoe

Inevitable - ( @ahundredtimesover ) angst, fluff, smut, lovers to exes to lovers, baseball player!jk, dad!jk, parents au, you break up with jk years ago after you got pregnant bc you wanted him to follow his dreams and now he´s back home just to find out there´s a boy who looks just like him.. this is a masterpiece, honestly one of THEE best jk series out there, it has it all fr, the angst is angsty and the fluff is FLUFFY, i love it sm i´ve read it 3 times and never get tired of it

finish line - ( @bonny-kookoo ) fluff, nerdy!jk, racer!jki loooooveee itttttt, so cute, so fluffy, this blurb uGHHHHH, just read the whole thing pls

ungodly hour - ( @explicit-tae ) crack, smut, fluff, college au, broke college student!reader, lowkey slutty!reader, jk is thirsstttyyyyy, simping atp, "who´s dick do i have to suck for a hulu account?" this series is honestly so funny ksjakskjs

disney + and bust - ( @1kook ) angst, fluff, smut. yall already know i love to see man crying and begging for forgiveness :p, so kook is ur succesfull "app developer" bf and he says some very hurtfull things to you out of anger

rattled - ( @gukslut ) complete series, single dad au, angst, smut. honestly? one of the best fics out there. I read this a long time ago and i´m still in awe. The way this is written makes you feel every word. also, the plot is so so unique. i love it.

pu$$y fairy - ( @angelguk) smut, college au, non-idol, fuckboy!jk, virgin!reader, this is a 2020 old but gold, i read this a long time ago and still love it to this day

sweeter than strawberries - ( @cinnaminsvga ) shy baker!jk, college student!reader, noona!reader ??, s2l, mutual pining, cute cute cuteeee, another 2020 banger, i love how lenghty they used to be

you wrote jk a confession letter but he didn’t see it - ( @angelguk ) fluff, small brain big heart!jk, college au, non-idol, LMAOOOO this was funny asl, 2020 did it again, i loved this

frost impressions - ( @fortunexkookie ) soccer coach!jk, teacher!reader, gamer au, work au, idiots to lovers, one sided pining at first, it´s a longggg one. another 2020 masterpiece, one of my favorite fics out there, he´s so disgustingly smitten with his new coworker that he ends up making a terrible first impression. so so so entertaining and fun to read, jk is silly af lmao, can´t stop putting his foot in his mouth, theres a bunch of cute second hand embarrasment situations

ceo au / sugardaddy au / rich bf au / coworker au

Over The Odds | The Confession - ( @jungk0oksthighs ) ceo jk, sugardaddy jk, jealous bf jk, sugar baby reader, he gets mad and yells bc he is lowkey insecure of her ex but reader is equaly in love. this is a series

wrong time - ( @spideyjimin ) smut, angst, dilf!jk, ceo!jk, exes to lovers, workaholic as a scape mechanism, the one that got away type of stuff but she broke things up first for valid reasons, big big heartache but she´s still the love of his life

don´t blame me - ( @ctrlsht ) sugar daddy!jk, ceo!jk, soft yan!jk, obsessive!jk, student!reader, unhealthy behavior on his part, manipulative behavior on her part, jealousy on both parts, he goes a lil too far but reader is bitchy and annoying, he lit gives her everythinggg she asks for, the man is..creazy about her in a very unhealthy way and she takes advantage of that, toxicc

failed quickie - ( @vminizzle ) cowerker jk, suggestive, they´re about to fucc on an elevator but it didn´t work, he likes his hair pulled!!1!

someone older - ( @bonny-kookoo ) smut, ceo jk, divorced jk, 30 something yo jk, taehyung has a kid, younger oc, its a nice read, would do it again

break up au / cheating au / fuckboy au

night after night - ( @brown-bi-beautiful ) smut, angst, crack, fluff, semi-retired fuckboy jk, red flag jk, stalker jk, break up au, lovers to exes to lovers, he fucked around and found out so he is FREAKING ouT, also he is beggING okk.. we love that, he also has a Harley bc he is bad boy™, they make up anyways bc he is pussy whipped.. or in love, whatevs you wanna call it

seven plus one - ( @jvngkoos ) smut, angst, they break up for like a week and that shit got him SIMPING fr, standing under the rain begging and stuff, the man is obsessed, we love it

pwp / fwb

you good?? - ( @mono-moonchilds ) drabble, smut, "what if you gave jungkook head?" is righT bc i´ve been thinking about it for a min!!! he is mean ok yall know he is a brat buT, the head is too good to do all that, the man was shaKINg for godssakeee, so good he had to answer with a thumbs up bc reader drained him fr, left him so brain dead he couldn´t even speak

afterglow - ( @elitekook ) smut, fwb!jk, slight possessive!jungkook, dirty talking, degrading nicknames, but he cares ok, he´s trying to get out of the friend zone

come sit on my lap - ( @euphoricfilter ) pwp, lots of praisingg, they way this is written is good yall, "use me" , “so polite” shUT UPPPP im literally blushing, AND he is also cute at the end?? i hate it heREEE :´)

he has a lot of cum - ( @euphoricfilter ) boyfriend!jk, the title I- , he DOES have a lot of cum, lots of stamina, lots of everYTHING, and on toP of those small details, wdym he wants to see how many times he can cum in you before it´s too full and it starts to spill????? somebody stop this man

riding jungkook´s nose - ( @euphoricfilter ) we´ve ALLL thought about this, and if you haven´t you´re lying, periodt. pRAISINGGG, he´s in a pussy-drunk frenezy, he likes feeling used, he likes getting his hair pulled, he likes getting his face wET, it´s sickenINGGGG goreaditplease

fucking in the gym - ( @euphoricfilter ) this was inspired by that one pic of him and jimin with their back out, I SEE THE VISION, fucking with ceiling mirrors

wicked - ( @noteguk ) smut, incubus!jk, big big corruption kink, lots of dirty ploting and dirty talk, yupppp this is a good one, so detailed, love me a fic that lit makes me see what i´m reading

fuck buddies - ( @angelguk ) smut, angst, non-idol, fwb au, jk wished you were more than just fwb

[guummy]

ANTIDOTE

pairing : boxer!jason todd ⠀𝒙⠀ fem!reader | words : 0.78k

summary : where jason finds a deep desperation to get rid of his anger using his darling girlfriend after a loss

contents. shower sex, angry jay, p in v sex,

note. thank god i was looking through my google docs bc i found this little gem that i was so proud of yet never ended up posting. if not for my obsession w clean spaces, especially digitally, i would have never posted it. constructive criticism is welcome & enjoy xx

#. main masterlist. | dc masterlist. | jason todd masterlist.

THE LAST THING Jason would ever call himself was a sore loser. If there was a winner, there had to be a loser, and if he ever lost, he’d simply live with it and move on.

However, this loss seemed to pick at his nerves in the worst way.

He was needy, and desperate.

Needy and desperate to claw or strike at something, but instead he decided to spend his time under the water of the locker room showers.

The bathroom was a tint of blue, the walls were light in contrast to the deep ocean hued tiles of the showers, almost opposing the slight temper he still had.

The water littered his skin, painting over his bruises and scars that adorned his body. It soothed him almost, but it couldn’t possibly distract him from the annoyance he felt from his pathetic loss.

He could have won, he knew he could have won and yet he let that chance go. Pounding his fist against the wall, he still craved a chance to cleanse himself of this intoxicating and poisonous distress from his body.

He craved you.

Yet, coincidentally, the one thing he craved the most entered the locker room quietly, trying to avoid fuelling his frustration.

“Jason?” You called out, crossing your arms as you leaned against the lockers, your eyes softly gazing over his bare body. You could easily tell he was tense, the way his body hunched over in disappointment, his muscles tautening under his skin.

“Come here,” he beckoned, resting his back against the shower tiles as he glanced over at your frantic posture.

You raised your eyebrows at his instructing, yet yearning tone, slowly understanding that he didn’t simply want to talk to you but he wanted to rid himself of his turmoil by fucking you senseless. Making your way over to the showers, you stripped yourself of your clothes, stepping into the sauna-like section of the locker room. His hands made their way to your waist as he spun you, pushing your back against the cold wall.

“Fuck, I need you,” he mumbled, resting his head on your shoulder as you fingers gently ran through the soaked strands of his hair. You could feel his semi-hardened cock press against your torso, a small groan leaving his lips as your other hand wrapped around his throbbing shaft, your thumb running over his leaking tip. Turning you in his grasp, he felt you shiver underneath his touch as your front pressed against the wall.

“God, I’m so fucking angry,” he mumbled under his breath, pressing a kiss to your neck as his cock slid inside of you, your gummy walls clenching around his length.

“Fuck ──,” you moaned, closing your half-lidded eyes as his hands gripped tight at your waist, setting a steady pace for himself as his tip brushed against your most sensitive spot. “You deserved to win, baby,” you comforted him, your speech breathless. One of his hands creeped to paw at your breast, the sound of flesh colliding drowned in the shower.

“It should’ve been you,” you hiccuped, whimpers softly falling from your lips as he pounded into you, his tense figure unbinding his temper as he fucked you, your hips meeting his as you clenched around him in desperation.

His fingers pressed into the plump flesh of your stomach as he bullied his girth inside your cunt again and again, you cunt fluttering around his cock, your audible wet and sloppy slick mixed with your gasps and curses.

“Yeah, it should have been,” he grumbled, placing his head in the crook of your neck before he pressed a kiss to your shoulderbone, his movements becoming uncontrolled as he let out muffled groans. “Should’ve been me up there.”

The aching pleasure overwhelmed you that the idea of someone walking in on the two of you had left your mind. Your back arched into his chest as he pistoned in and out of you, forcing your mind into a drunken state.

“You looked so good though,” you whispered, choking on your moans. “I needed you so bad,” you added, confessing that your mind had been consumed by lewd thoughts the entirety of the fight.

“Noticed you staring at me with those eyes of yours,” Jason hummed, chasing both yours and his release as he cradled you in his arms, thrusting against you harder.

Soon, you buckled underneath him as you let out a small cry, gushing over his now softened cock as he filled you up with his load. He let out a small laugh as he felt you tremble, ultimately showing his lack of anger.

“Let’s go home,” you shivered, leaning into his touch as you bathed in the still dripping and warm water of the shower, and all he did was nod.

[zombholic]

BOXER ABBY HEADCANONS 18+ — abby anderson

— 🥊　　 ◦ ✺ 　 🚩　 ⟢ —

— She was really mean when you first met, like she was a big fat bully.

— She’s a hothead!! she gets angry over the smallest things it scares you at times.

— When you guys first met she was comphet, she thought you were the most stunning thing ever but she didn’t know that thinking about ramming her thick fingers into you wasn’t normal for a straight girl.

— You two were always butting heads but she wouldn’t dare lay a finger on your delicate self, she would definitely say very horrible things but never will she touch you like that.

— Slowly you guys started tolerating each other, a soft spot was growing between you guys.

— Boxer!Abby definitely has her nose pierced, she wears a silver hoop, majority of her ears are pierced but when she boxes she has to replace them with her plastic jewelry and puts tape on them.

— She wears dutch braids, she would kill someone if they touched her hair but slowly you were becoming the exception. You started braiding her hair for her, she sat with her knees up and her arms over them between your legs as you were on the couch probably watching a show you two unintentionally decided was gonna be YOUR GUYS show.

— She loves when you help her after a match, unwrapping her hands, taking out her braids, forcing her to shower.

— If she had cuts or bruises on her you were quick to make her sit on the toilet seat as you hovered over her telling her stop whining when something burned.

— After awhile you made the first move, you took her to chilis after she won a match and for some reason you just couldn’t keep your eyes off her.

— You kissed her in the car and confessed your feelings to her, she looked like a kid in a candy store, a big toothy smile as she kissed you repeatedly.

— Abby never had many people in her life that actually stayed so she was constantly on her toes that you would leave her and she couldn’t have that.

— She was a whole different person with you, you truly made her a better person.

NSFW mdi NSFW mdi NSFW

— She loves when your arched on the bed with your ass up, she could fuck you for hours in this position.

— Abby has thick fingers and she loves that she can just curl them inside your cunt and it has you screaming her name.

— This girl has stamina, you would be out cold after two rounds and she’s trying to get you to last a couple more.

— She definitely will mock your moans and whines.

“Oh, is it too much baby? Too much for your little pussy to handle?”

— She has a skin colored strap, girthy with veins, a good 7.5inches.

— She loves having your legs around her shoulders with her cock deep inside you, your nails digging into her arms. God she fucking loves when you leave her in scars.

— 🥊　　 ◦ ✺ 　 🚩　 ⟢ —

[tsukisrants]

First Prize - Jeon Jungkook

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Word Count: 3.068

Warnings: Boxer!Jungkook, Possessive Behavior, Violence, Spankings, Manhandling, Dom/Sub undertones, Name-Calling, Hair-pulling, Fingering, Rough sex, Spit, Creampie.

Summary: "I need these eyes, little one. I need my number one fan, huh? Or I'll lose my mind, and we don't want that, do we?”

smut under the cut

A blow.

Another one.

The pungent smell of blood intoxicates him.

His mixed with that of his opponent.

Anger rises in his chest, overwhelming and distorting him.

Clouding his senses.

The gaze of the audience turned towards him. People look at him and devour him with their eyes.

Among them, yours.

You, who look at him with your childish eyes.

With that curiosity and desire.

Your eyes, his fuel.

Everything around him catches fire.

The flames blaze uncontrollably and his body is moved by an intoxicating adrenaline that creates addiction.

Despite the pain, the fatigue.

He wins.

The opponent falls to the ground.

He, on the other hand, stands triumphantly.

The shouts rise, the screams caress his ears, and he revels in every moment of glory.

He was born for this.

You, on the other hand, tremble.

You look at him with dreamy eyes, as you have been doing for a long time now.

Since you were dragged, against your will, to one of these fights.

You didn't want to come at all, but in the end, you gave in, and thank heaven every day that you did.

You saw him, and since then you have done nothing but come back.

Come back to him, for him.

Enchanted, bewitched.

At every encounter, you stand in the front row.

At every encounter, you have eyes only for him.

You scream his name, you smile.

You smile and everyone's eyes are on you.

But yours? Yours are only on him.

Your gaze belongs to him completely, like every single part of you.

And fuck, he likes it.

Jungkook lives for the desire he has for you and for the desire you have for him.

At every encounter, he checks if you’re there.

But as always, he does nothing.

He looks at you.

He observes you, and burns your skin with those dark pits.

Jungkook keeps playing this little game with you for a while.

Then, one evening, you don't show up.

You miss a fight.

You didn't want to, but exhaustion didn't allow you to move.

Too tired from work, you skipped a fight.

That night, they had to urgently take Jungkook's challenger to the hospital.

Furious, he ended the evening by downing a bottle of vodka, and then picking a fight with a group of idiots, emerging victorious.

Jungkook never loses.

At the next fight, you are there.

You are there, you have returned, and when you look at him, your curiosity turns into confusion, then fear.

In his eyes, the deepest darkness.

Jaw clenched, he delivers precise and devastating blows.

He wins, because he can't do otherwise.

He wins, and you timidly exult.

He steps down from the ring, drinks a drink.

He downs it in one gulp, and you remain enchanted watching his neck shine under the dim light of the gym, his Adam's apple moving up and down.

He redeems the winnings, and leans against the wall.

His friends congratulate him, now accustomed to his successes.

He crosses his arms, and then you notice.

Jungkook is looking at you.

Your hands tremble, and you look around, as if to make sure that he is really looking at you.

You want to run, to escape from him.

But your body seems unresponsive.

It is no longer yours, but his.

Dominated by his eyes.

With a nod of his head, he gestures for you to follow him.

Before you can realize it, you are following him.

A dark corner, and a hand that grabs you.

He pulls you.

You are in a room you have never seen before, you realize it is the room where he prepares before the fights, before dominating the whole world with the strength of his fists, of his body.

"You weren't there last friday," he says.

You gasp, trying to find the words to answer him, completely caught off guard.

"I-I... no, I wasn't there," you reply.

He approaches you, making you step back.

Your body collides with the wall, and he towers over you.

One of his hands next to your face, and you feel your breath catch.

With the other, he grabs your chin.

He forces you to look at him.

You part your lips, and you have to forcefully suppress the moan of astonishment that tries to escape from your throat.

"Don't do it again. Don't miss again, I need you there."

His confession leaves you stunned.

Your confusion clear and evident on your face.

"I need these eyes, little one. I need my number one fan, huh? Or I'll lose my mind, and we don't want that, do we?"

You shake your head. No, you don't want that.

God.

He needs you.

He just said it, and he did it with his eyes locked into yours. He meant it.

He means it.

"I will never miss a fight again, never," you promise him.

As you say it, you truly believe it. You would be ready to do anything for him, and it doesn't matter if you don't really know each other: you belong to him.

He smiles, and Jungkook's smile scares you.

It excites you.

It makes your panties wet.

You feel warmth spreading through your body, your skin filled with uncontrollable shivers.

"Good girl," he says.

His words burn: they set your mind to flames.

There’s nothing in the world you want more than to hear those two little words over and over again.

As he speaks, the hand that was holding your chin moves.

Jungkook rubs his thumb against your lips, his tattoos marked with scratches and splatters of blood make the image even more exciting than it already is.

Jungkook pushes his finger into your mouth, pressing it against your tongue.

The taste of his salty skin is enough to elicit a faint moan from you.

"These eyes, little one. They make me want to hurt you, do you understand? I want to destroy you," he growls, hungry.

He pushes his finger even deeper into your mouth, making you gag.

Jungkook fucks your mouth with his thumb, and you take everything he gives you.

You cough.

He moans at the sight, releasing your mouth.

A trail of saliva connects his thumb to your parted lips, and Jungkook's breath becomes more labored. Heavier.

"Do it. Hurt me. Do whatever you want to me," you beg him.

In an instant, he grabs you by the hair.

His hand tightens with force at the base of your neck.

The strength with which he pulls you excites you: you love the idea that he can do whatever he wants with you, that Jungkook is so much stronger than you that he can bend you and fuck you whenever and wherever he wants.

A cry of pain escapes you, and he laughs.

Jungkook laughs as he drags you by the hair across the room, until he positions you in front of a table.

Once there, he forces you to move as he pleases, shoving you around like a rag doll.

He pushes you down, bending you over the table.

You flinch, tears of pain streaming down your cheeks, meeting your lips, still wet with your saliva.

You feel the taste of your own tears, let it intoxicate you.

The cold surface of the table against your cheek keeps you anchored to reality, and when Jungkook pushes your face forcefully against it, you find yourself squeezing your thighs together.

You love to suffer for him.

You've dreamt of him at every encounter, and finally it's reality.

He’s finally giving you the pain that you craved for so long. Too long.

"From now on, you're mine. Say it."

"I'm yours."

Then, he spanks you.

Hard.

Jungkook's hand collides with your ass, again and again.

Over the skirt you're wearing.

The black one, the one you know is a provocation made for him.

Designed for him.

The one that hugs your body, short in just the right places.

Then, he pulls it up, making it tangle around your waist.

He grabs your panties, and then Jungkook tears them.

They're the pink ones, with the sweet pattern you love.

He loves them even more.

Jungkook gets off to the thought of corrupting you, ruining you for anyone else.

Scraps of fabric from your ripped panties fall to the ground, forgotten.

"If I see wearing a skirt like this again I’ll make sure you regret it, you hear me? You don’t wear shit like this, not without me, do you understand?", he asks.

In another circumstance, you would have probably screamed and resisted.

But now, for him, you would do anything.

Everything is so wrong that it feels so fucking right to you.

When you don't respond, he spanks you one more time.

"Do you understand?", he asks again, leaning forward to grab your face, pressed against the table, and forcing you to look at him.

Your gazes meet and you feel insignificant under the weight of Jungkook’s.

You love feeling this way.

You don't want to be anything other than a little toy for him to use and fuck.

"Y-yes! I understand!", you exclaim.

He smiles satisfied, before pushing two of his fingers deep inside your mouth.

In their rightful place.

With his other hand, he unbuttons his pants.

He pulls down the zipper, then pushes them down, letting them slide down his thighs.

You can't see the scene clearly, but you hear the metallic sound of the zipper being pulled down, the buckle of his belt briefly hitting the table.

He lowers his boxers, stained with his pleasure: a wet spot that marks the level of his desire for you.

He pulls out his cock, and you widen your eyes.

It's big.

Thick, long, and shining from how wet he is, drops of pre-cum sliding down his pulsing tip.

You want it in your hhmouth, in your pussy.

"Good girl, lick them for me, make them wet," he encourages you.

He fucks your mouth with his fingers, once again forcing you to choke on them, pushing them deep into your throat.

As he watches the scene, he touches himself.

His hand moves quickly against his cock, his hips pushing forward in a desperate attempt to receive more friction.

Jungkook grunts and hisses in pleasure, gritting his teeth and wetting his lips with his tongue.

Then, your mouth is left empty.

Jungkook brings those same fingers between your legs, rubbing them against your pussy, before plunging them into you without any regard.

"So tight, so warm for be, fuck...", he murmurs.

He's not talking to you, but to himself.

As if you are nothing more than a little fuck-toy. Nothing more than a flashlight.

Perhaps you really are nothing but that.

He moves his fingers quickly, thrusting them inside you.

The sound of your wetness, of your pleasure, echoes in the room.

It’s all so fucking messy.

You are wetter than you have ever been before, and it is solely and exclusively for him.

Hot droplets of your juices splash down his hand, down his wrist. The veins of his forearm popping out with the strength that he’s using to finger-fuck you.

You feel your wetness trickle down your legs in rhythm with the thrusts of his fingers inside you.

As he touches you, he rubs his cock against your flushed and sensitive skin, against your ass.

He leaves behind a glistening trail of his pleasure, his pure desire for you. Your ass wet with his pre-cum.

When Jungkook deems that he has stretched you enough, he pulls his fingers out of your pussy.

You feel empty without a part of him inside of you, and it feels so wrong not to have him inside of your body.

"Open," he orders, tapping those fingers on your lips.

You open them, and he forces you to taste yourself, pushing those wet fingers against your parted lips and then against your tongue.

"You make me so horny, baby..."

When he's satisfied, he cleans his fingers on your face, on your cheeks.

He grabs you by the hips first, then his hands slide down your body: he spreads your legs, firmly grabs your ass, and keeps you open for him.

From above, he lets his saliva slide onto you, onto your throbbing pussy.

He spits on your pussy and the sound is enough to make you moan loudly, gasping his name.

Your fluids mix, becoming one.

He rubs the tip of his cock against you, pushing it inside your pussy.

Just the tip.

It's not enough, not even close to being enough for you.

"Beg me. Beg me to give you my cock, come on, you fucking slut," he groans.

You can clearly feel that Jungkook is teasing you.

The humiliation burns fiercely in your stomach, and only serves to make your pussy even wetter for him.

You are now lost in your own perversion, and decide to let go.

To embrace your deepest desires and needs.

"G-give it to me. Please, Jungkook, please... fuck me, fuck me..."

He does. Jungkook satisfies you, because he can't resist when you beg him so sweetly to fuck you.

"Fuck, baby," he pants.

He buries himself in you completely, and a moan similar to a scream escapes your lips.

Your folds open up to accommodate his length, the lips of your pussy hugging him tightly as your tight walls suck him in.

"You're such a dirty little whore. You like getting fucked like a bitch in heat? You were made to take my cock, made to get fucked like nothing more than a flashlight."

You tremble. You nod and moan.

Jungkook laughs as he fucks you. He laughs at the state you're in: desperate and lost in the pleasure that he is giving you. His cock thrusts inside you again and again, hitting all the right spots, driving you crazy.

"Yours. Only for you. Your whore, only yours, y-yours only, J-Jungkook please..."

Hearing you say it drives him crazy.

He grabs your wrists and, pulling at them, he holds them behind your back, bending your arms.

With one hand, Jungkook keeps you still, gripping your wrists so tightly that you're sure you'll wear his marks for days. While he fucks you he releases the adrenaline of the encounter, the anger of not having seen you last time, and the explosive desire he has had of you for weeks.

He spanks you.

Again, and again.

He does it until the mark of his hand is imprinted on your ass, a mark that will last on your skin for a long time.

You are his.

His and only his.

You belong to Jungkook.

With each spank, you thank him.

He grits his teeth, thrusting into you forcefully and violently. He pushes his cock into your wet pussy with precision and fervor.

The sound of his length slamming into you makes you tremble, it's a sound so obscene, so wet that it brings you close to the edge.

He understands, recognizing the signals of pleasure building relentlessly in your belly.

One of his hands slips between your legs, his rough fingers teasing your swollen and pulsating clit.

He moves his fingertips against you in fast circular motions, in rhythm with the impetuous thrusts of his cock.

You pulse around his length, the orgasm getting closer and closer.

"Come. Come on my cock, little one, go ahead," he growls, abusing your clit until all you can do is tremble, caught in spasms.

Jungkook's voice caresses your ears and gives you the final push you need to finally let go and surrender to pleasure.

"C-Cumming, K-kookie! F-for you, I'm cumming for you!"

You cum, just like that, trembling and covering his cock with your pleasure.

Drops of it splash down his cock, and your pussy pulses against him again and again, making him grunt and moan.

Even Jungkook trembles.

He leans forward, burying his face in the hollow of your neck and bites you.

He bites your shoulder, sinking his teeth into your sensitive skin, and Jungkook buries himself even deeper in your hole, now almost at his limit too.

You are exhausted, hypersensitive. Your clitoris begs for mercy, and he shows a little compassion by stopping teasing it.

He pants against your neck, his warm breath colliding with your skin, and your body feels like it's filled with pure electricity.

Then, he grabs a piece of skin between his lips and starts sucking.

Next to the bite, a purplish bruise now occupies your otherwise pristine neck.

Despite the tiredness, despite your body begging for mercy, you take his cock, again and again.

You let him use you to pleasure himself.

You let Jungkook use you to empty his balls, thrusting inside you as much and as hard as he wants.

"I'm gonna cum, fuck, kitten..."

You beg him to do it, to fill you up, to mark you indelibly.

You beg Jungkook to cum inside you, to give you every drop of his thick, warm cum.

"Take it. Fuck, baby, I'm cumming. Christ, can you feel it? Feel it, feel my cum inside you, take it all, every fucking drop."

As he says this, he releases your wrists, now adorned with the marks of his hands.

Deep bruises that will hardly fade.

He grabs you by the hair and turns your face to the side.

He kisses you, bites your lips.

Jungkook's saliva mixes with yours and drips onto your chins.

"All my cum in your pussy, little one. The best pussy I've ever fucked, all mine..."

With these words, he buries himself in you one last time, fulfilling his promises: he fills you. He claims you. He makes you his.

Hot spurts of his cum fill you, and part of you believes to feel every drop filling your pussy.

He thrusts into you and both moan in unison, seized by violent spasms of pleasure.

You both stay still for a while, locked together.

Your breaths mirror each other.

You both tremble and gasp.

Jungkook gently kisses your shoulder, right where he bit you minutes ago, leaving the mark of his teeth.

The gesture is gentle, contrasting with everything you just shared.

Yet, it feels so right.

"Mmh, baby. Here it is, the first prize," he whispers, softly rubbing his cheek against yours.

You smile, reveling in his tender caresses.

Despite his words, though, you feel that in reality, it is you who have won.

[gingeraleluke]

to my the boxer vinnie fans

when i tell y’all this next chapter is so fucking long, i mean it.

THE BOXER: CHAPTER 16, OCT26TH

[cute-sucker]

all i can think about is boxer!rafe with his cute clumsy gf??

𐙚˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

rafe being a boxer did not help your situation as an unnaturally clumsy person.

you're always on the brink of failing down, head face first into concrete, or something even worse. you feel like an idiot every single day as you try to get through obstacles that face your everyday life.

going up the stairs? yes, you have fallen going up the stairs.

going down the stairs? check that off the list too. that was done a hot minute ago. it's all a blur to you, but when you and rafe first got into a relationship it was alarming the amount of bruises you got.

it was strange to be with someone so coordinated as him, as if every single on his moves was strategic. you had watched him box and every move deliberate. power and strength oozed off of him, and you wondered what you even offered in the relationship. after all he was the one taking care of you.

he could tell when you were about to fall - his hand stuck out to catch you, he could tell when you were going to trip, hands reaching for your shoulders. you would always give him a cute smile afterwards, and a welcoming kiss.

but there were other times when you felt worse about it, crying to him about how incompetent you were, "can't do it, rafe. i'm so, so clumsy," and you could tell that he was fighting the urge to laugh as you pouted.

"nah. i like it," he would mutter, before gently smudging your lipstick with his finger as he tilted down to give you a peck, "keeps me on my toes."

and yet there were times when being clumsy did not help at all.

you were snuggled to his side, smelling his hoodie in deeply before sighing. the movie was playing in the background as he held you close to his chest, as a soft humming escaped your lips. it was a moment you knew you would always remember, and you raised your arms to stretch.

little to your knowledge the sleeves of your shirt went down to uncover a litter of blue and green bruises. they looked fairly recent but still were blossoming on your skin. unbeknownst to you, rafe's eyes quickly traveled to your arms.

"hey? you good?" he sputtered out, and you gave him a smitten nod, burrowing deeper into his chest. rafe looked even more concerned, readjusting - which forced you to get up as a short whine left your mouth.

he tugged at your sweatshirt, "what the hell was that?"

you furrowed your eyebrows, "what the hell was what? you have to be more specific rafe-" you hated this, and even though you didn't know what he was talking about there was this inkling of fear that stuck into your heart.

rafe let out a grunt, before pulling away down your sleeves again, and then he pointed at the bruises, "these? who hurt you?"

dumbfounded you stared at your arms, and then looked at rafe - his eyes practically bugging out of their sockets, jaw clenched as if a vein was about to burst and you couldn't help but start giggling.

"hey. hey, focus," a hand reached for your jaw as you stared into his steely eyes. suddenly you saw another side of him, the rafe that everyone talked about. the one that could knock out a guy with one punch, the one that came home with bloody knuckles and a chewed mouth guard. and yet it was the same rafe that slept in your bed comfortably and whispered your name gently as if he wanted to etch it on his heart.

that rafe.

you had zoned out again before you noticed his furious expression, and then an unpleasant smile that crossed on his face. it looked as if he was trying to feign being calm, and you felt tears prick your eyes.

"rafe-"

"no crying. c'mon baby, just give me a name."

now you were chuckling through tears, and he gave him an incredulous look.

finally he pecked your lips, his words oddly sweet, "listen. i've always told you i'm gonna protect you right. it's jeff isn't it-" his words came out sharp, and you knew exactly who he was talking about - your boss at the restaurant you worked at who complained about your inability to do anything right.

but that was definitely not it.

"rafe!" you finally sputtered, "rafe it's me."

finally he stopped, his mouth gaping open, "what do you mean it's you sweets?"

you huffed, looking down at your arms, "i'm so darn clumsy that i have bruises everywhere. i always check before i go to bed, yk' to check how many i have."

rafe's concern quickly shifted to a mix of frustration and worry as he examined the bruises on your arms, letting soft clucks. he let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair before turning to you with a furrowed brow.

"sweetheart, you have to be more careful," he said, his tone tinged with annoyance but softened by genuine concern, and then he finally tugged you in closer as you started to protest.

"we'll talk about this later. maybe you'll start boxing, huh? you'll be my little champ."

𐙚˙✧˖°📷 ༘ ⋆｡ ˚

taglist for all my fics; @wearemadeofstardust0

taglist for boxer!rafe: @maybankslover @vogueprincess @spookyscaryspoon

let me know if you'd like to be added!

[rustedhearts]

frosty (boxer!steve harrington x fem!(pregnant)librarian reader)

⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆

summary: it's a turn of events for the harringtons this christmas! due any minute and ready for it to be over, you're grumpy and mean—and steve is a perfect doting husband.

⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

❆ the king of the ring (1996) ❆ the most wonderful time of the year

⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ ₊⋆⋆꙳•❅°⋆❆

tags: pregnancy, fluff, this took forever to finish purely because I didn’t have time and it’s still shit, sorryyyyyy. not edited.

°⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆ the harrington residence. christmas eve, 1996. °⋆❆.ೃ࿔:･*❆

"Smells good in here."

A ball of sticky, cinnamon-scented dough rolls quickly between your palms. With your back to him, Steve can see nothing but the messy strays of your hair flouncing with every work of your hands. You have his largest sweater on, made to fit over the belly you're aching to get rid of.

Literally.

"Don't eat them yet," you command over your shoulder as Steve shuffles toward the counter of cookies.

He pulls his hand back from its destination toward a cookie tin, eyes rolling. "Don't you think—"

"—Steven," you interrupt, dropping the ball of dough into the plate of cinnamon and sugar. Steve watches granules fly across the marble. "If you tell me I'm 'going overboard' with anything today, I'm going to lose my mind."

The stiffness to your voice is like a high-pitched squeal to a dog—it kicks Steve into gear immediately. He pulls off the counter and hurries across the kitchen, hands soft against your rigid shoulders.

"Alright, alright," he coos. "'m sorry."

He tips his head and squishes a kiss against your cheek. You sigh into it, and, fortunately, the love you have for your husband is stronger than your tendency for irritation these days.

The circular motions of your hands around the next ball of dough come slower this time, coaxed to stillness by Steve's hands massaging your shoulders. His thumbs work into your shoulder blades and you tip your head back with another sigh.

From a radio on the clean counter, tuned to the Christmas station, Joni Mitchell's "River" begins to play. Steve lets his chin rest on your shoulder, hands slipping lower to the center of your spine where he uses both of them to brace you.

"Can you do the thing?" you murmur, letting your head rest against his.

Steve slides his hands without word, letting them smooth over the front of your belly and toward the bottom where, gently, he places a delicate pressure, and lifts. You're immediately freed of a fraction of the weight of your child directly on your bladder, and the groan you release is guttural and relieved. It makes Steve chuckle, lips pressing another kiss to your cheek with a mind of their own.

"That what you wanted?"

"Uh-huhhhh."

He holds you like this for some time, the pair of you lulled to relaxation together. Joni Mitchell fades into the radio announcer by the time you’re interrupted—by the trill of your egg timer on the counter and the stench of burnt butter.

“Shit.” Your eyes fly open, jolting toward the oven mitts beside you.

Steve gently releases you and watches the oven door fall open, releasing a plume of grey smoke.

“Noooo! No, how did they burn?” you whine, sliding the sheet of blackened snickerdoodle cookies on the stovetop.

Steve feels it coming, can see it brewing in the furrow of your brow and pout of your lip. He slides backwards just as the oven mitts slap against the floor, accompanied by your agonized groan.

“Ugh!”

“Honey,” Steve coos, hands stretched out as if to catch you. “It’s ok—“

You turn sharply to point an accusing finger at your husband. “Don’t touch me, Steven.”

He holds his outstretched hands up in surrender, taking another step back. “Okay, okay. It’s alright, angel.”

“No, it’s not.” Despite yourself, you stomp your socked foot against the tiled floor. “They’re burnt. And it’s hot!”

You tug at the collar of Steve’s sweater around your neck, scowling with every pull.

“I-it’s snowin’, baby. I can turn the heat off if you want—“

“Ugh, whatever! Just…I gotta make more to replace the burnt ones now.”

With your back to him, you return to feverishly rolling dough balls into shape, blackened cookies abandoned and glared at on the stovetop. Steve huffs under his breath as he heads toward the thermostat, turning the heat as low as it can go without forming icicles on the windows.

In the living room, the tree twinkles before the view of a white front yard. Mounds of fluff pile over every inch of the world beyond the house, powdered over rooftops and the Mustang’s windshield.

Steve knows how much you love the snow, and how uncomfortable you’ve been in your own stretched, aching body. Which is why he’s learned to gather all the patience he can muster and lend it to you. You’re forming life within your body, and all Steve can do is make you comfortable.

The radio in the kitchen crackles into a Nat King Cole song. Under the violin slow tune, Steve can hear you huff alone to yourself. He glances at the fluffed tree before the window, lined with boxes and bags perfectly wrapped by either yourself or the store Steve paid extra to jazz up.

He tiptoes back into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway. “Uhhh, angel?”

Your sigh is lengthy and dramatic. “What, Steve?”

“D’ you want t’ open some presents early?”

You falter a moment, fingers slowing once more. You plop the dough ball into the cinnamon and sugar and the granules crackle with the pressure. He waits against the doorframe, fingers tapping rhythmically on wood.

“I don’t know,” you reply, but it’s so quiet and mumbled that he knows you’ll give in.

He hurries and grabs one for show: a shiny red bag with pink tissue paper, fluffed by the woman at the store who promised his wife would adore its contents. In the doorway, he rocks it around like a treat, paper and bag crinkling over the radio.

“Come onnn. This one’s all for you, angel.”

You place the sugared dough on the cookie sheet and turn an inch. Eyes over your shoulder, they meet the brightness of the bag in his hand and the sheepish grin on his face. Oh, that damn wedding band on his finger. The sight of it under the kitchen lights immediately wipes your anger like a hand over fog.

“All for me? Not baby presents?”

Steve takes your hand from its hovered place above the cookie dough, using it to steer you completely around. You waddle a few steps his way, frustration fizzled to a pout that creases your brows.

“All for you,” he promises, dipping down to kiss your knuckles.

Your sigh is short and weary this time. “Fine, I guess.”

Placing your other hand on your back, you let him pull you out of the kitchen and into the living room. He gently guides you onto the couch, placed on the edge of the cushion and then hoisted a bit backwards until you’re resting back. He knows you’d usually opt for the floor, directly in front of the tree where you can watch the lights shine.

But being on the floor hasn’t been an option for a few months now, and he wouldn’t dare to try.

So, he brings your gifts to the cushion you’re uncomfortably slouched on, placing an array of bags and boxes in your lap and around your legs. Your cheeks grow warm, as they always do, when you take in the sheer amount.

“Steve—“

Yet he interrupts your sigh. “Libby. If you tell me I spent too much, I’m going to lose it.”

A small smile hems your mouth. Standing before you, hands tucked behind his back, Steve shows no humor but has a familiar twinkle in his eye. You thank him in his favorite way: by reaching for the first red bow with excitement.

Ribbon after ribbon, bow after bow, you unravel thousands of dollars worth of affections from Steve. Bracelets, books, candles, glasses, and, of course, shoes.

He plucks a pair of pink Manolos from their box and bends at the knee, sliding it over your foot. Fastening the buckle around your ankle, he places a gentle kiss on your ankle bone and rubs his thumb into your calf.

“I wish I could see them,” you huff, leaning back into the couch with a pitiful pout.

“Aw, you’ll see ‘em again soon, angel,” Steve coos, finding a patch of cushion between piles of paper and tissue to sit beside you.

You tuck into his side with ease, concealing your pout in his neck. His hand is warm and heavy on your arm, rubbing and squeezing gently. He feels like a cozy, sturdy pillow around your body, and suddenly all your hormonal irritations are slowly, but surely, dissipating. Like sugar in the sun or snow on a warm windshield, it all begins to melt away.

Steve’s lips press against your temple. His voice hums through your bones. “Feelin’ better?”

You nuzzle against him a little more. He smells like laundry detergent and pine soap from this morning’s shower.

“Mhm. ‘M sorry for being so crazy—“

“Shhh.” His hand comes up to pinch your lips together. “You’re not, baby. Right, Janey? Mama’s not crazy.”

Steve rubs his hand over your belly and you giggle, shifting a little. “She always kicks when you do that.”

Steve cocks his head, waiting for the thump against his palm. “Think that means she likes me?”

You pull your face from his neck and blink up at him. “Of course she does. We love daddy, don’t we, Janey?”

Steve smiles when he feels the thump. “Yeah…yeah, I guess she does.”

It was Steve’s favorite Christmas present yet. The family of two that was soon to be three.

[freedomfireflies]

Counterpunch*

Summary: The one where Harry comes back from a boxing match to find you overstimulated on the bed.

(Based on this concept!)

Word Count: 3.1k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, pain kink, size kink, overstimulation, squirting, daddy kink

By the time Harry returns home, you’ve already cum 5 times.

It’s been a long few hours. Three and a half to be exact. And in that time, you’ve been edged, teased, tortured, and spent. You’ve been left to sweat, writhe, cry, and drench the poor sheets beneath you. 

The vibrator between your thighs is relentless. As cruel and sadistic as the man controlling it from somewhere across town. A pre-programmed punishment that only ends for a few minutes at a time, giving you just enough peace to catch your breath before preparing to do it again.

When you hear the apartment door open, you’re thrilled. Your aching muscles call to him as you strain against the silky ropes keeping you trapped to the bed. Your voice is raw from the excessive whimpering and whining but you cry out his name, nevertheless.

And he’s fucking thrilled.

His smirk is wide and condescending as he leans against the doorframe to watch you. You catch his newest marks through the tears in your eyes. Tonight doesn’t seem to be as bad. He’s got a subtle bruise beginning to form near his eye and a faint cut along his eyebrow. 

But he doesn’t seem too concerned with his appearance. Rather yours. The way your skin is damp, the way your pussy is red and swollen, and the way your lips quiver as you plead his name and beg for mercy.

“Hi, sweet girl,” he murmurs in a soft, low call. And somehow, even just the sound of his voice helps calm you. “What’s your color?”

“Green,” you answer weakly, fingers curling into your palm. “Green, but…but please, Har…”

He chuckles to himself and glances toward the ropes around your wrists. He left them loose enough that if you had felt scared or wanted to stop, you could easily slip yourself free, turn the toy off, and call him. Something you were almost tempted to do at one point, but…the truth is, you loved the pain. You thrived off the idea of him coming to find the mess you’d made. That you’d been a good girl and done what he’d asked. That you took your punishment and you took it well.

He strides closer. Slow, like stalking prey. He looks now toward the vibrator between your thighs as it buzzes and hums in a rhythmic pattern, giving you just a taste of pleasure without ever actually letting you swallow. 

He smiles brighter. “Oh, you poor thing. S’all red, isn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “Can’t…can’t take it anymore. Hurts. And s’empty.”

“Empty, huh?” He tuts to himself and takes a seat near your left leg. Close enough to send chills down your spine as you catch a whiff of his cologne. You nearly cum for the sixth time right then. “I bet.”

You whine harder and attempt to reach him. But he’s still too far and your chest aches. “Harry, please—”

“What, Cherry?” He brushes a piece of hair from your cheek and the gentle touch of his hand makes you want to cry. “Do you need some help?”

You nod again, fast and fervent. Desperate to feel his skin on yours. Overstimulated or not, he’s the only one who can fix you. Make it better, make you whole. Fill you to the brim the way only his cock can.

“Yeah? Well, let’s see.” His eyes trail down your naked chest, along your stomach, and back to the toy. Studying it almost curiously before he reaches for the tie keeping it snug to your thigh and flicks it free. 

The vibrator is taken away, turned off, and discarded. Leaving your pussy to clench and unclench around absolutely nothing while he moves to the foot of the bed in order to see.

Slowly, his large hands push your legs further apart, allowing him just enough room to settle his body between. His face is inches from your throbbing cunt and the collection of arousal that’s drenched the sheets below and he seems thrilled. Exhaling a pleased breath that fans across your swollen clit and makes you jolt.

“Shh,” he coos, pressing your hips back down almost forcefully. “You’re okay, Cher. Just wanna check on you, hm? See how she’s doing.”

His thumb finds you first. Reaching out to swipe down your clit and through your folds as you arch from the mattress and gasp something pitifully close to his name.

“So sensitive,” he muses, almost to himself. “And so wet. Just can’t stop soaking yourself, can you, honey?”

You only gasp for air, desperate to squirm away from the painfully sweet sensation.

He flicks the digit across the delicate nerves and sighs to himself when he sees a large drop of your arousal drip down onto the sheet. “There you go,” he whispers. He shifts a bit to get closer before parting his lips with a gentle exhale.

And the feel of his breath on the swollen bud brings tears to your eyes. You’ve never felt this kind of pleasure before. The kind that hurts and feels euphoric all in the same wave. You want to push him away and drag him closer. It’s strange but addictive and you peer down at him through stained lashes pleadingly. 

He does it again, taking hold of your thighs in order to lift them toward his cheeks, as though caging himself between your legs and suffocating himself with your pussy. Giving you no other choice than to let him have you.

“S’so pretty,” he says between torturous breaths. “God, could stare at you all day, baby. Your little hole looks so sweet like this.”

He brings his hands back to your folds and spreads you. Giving him the perfect view of the way your hole flutters and begs for his cock. His finger. His tongue. Anything.

You mewl to yourself and watch the way those pretty green eyes of his glaze over with lust. “Harry…”

“What?” He glances up and smiles. Feigning oblivion. “What’s the matter? You don’t mind me playing with her a bit, do you?”

You find the strength to shake your head.

“Good girl.” He pulls your pussy back again before dipping down to ghost his mouth along your clit. “Taste like fucking heaven. Always taste the best when you’re desperate.”

He makes a V with his fingers to keep you spread and lets his tongue do the rest of the work. He flicks and licks and savors the taste. The slurping sounds are sinful and pornographic, and your entire body begins to shake as you’re teased.

“Har…Harry,” you mewl, desperate to reach for his curls. “Harry, it hurts—”

“I know. But this is what you wanted,” he reminds you, glancing up while you drip from his chin. “Color?”

You swallow thickly. “Still…still green, I just…I need…need…”

“Need…more?” That arrogant smirk returns. “Oh, I know, sweet girl. Just aches without me, yeah?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes, please—”

He hums, one large digit slowly pushing past your fluttering walls. “How’s this?”

A sigh catches in your throat. It’s good, but it’s not nearly enough. And after 5 orgasms already, you don’t want to be teased any longer. You want the main event.

And he knows this, which is why he pushes and pulls his finger from your cunt at a tortuously slow pace before adding a second. 

“Harry,” you wail. “Harry, please—”

“Uh-huh. If you complain, I won’t give you anything at all,” he tuts. He licks your clit while adding a third finger, too. “I’ve already been nice enough to let you have all this fun without me. Do you really want me to stop?”

Your bottom lip quivers. “No…”

“Didn’t think so.” He sucks you into his mouth before nipping at your clit with his teeth. Your back arches from the bed, tits covered in a glossy sheen of sweat, and his lashes flutter as he looks at you. “Fuck.”

You feel proud. Even when he’s trying to dominate you, he can’t help but be mesmerized by you. Desperate to adore you. Appreciate you. Let you know just how much control you really have over him.

Your fingers twitch, desperate to thread through his curls. And sure, you could slip yourself free now, but where’s the fun in that? You know eventually he’ll set you free and that moment will make everything else worth it. To hold him and be held by him. 

Still, this consistently slow thrusting of his fingers inside your used and abused cunt doesn’t scratch that itch. So you whisper, “Please…Harry, please I need you. I can’t…I can’t, it hurts, Har…please.”

“I mean…I’d love to, but m’having so much fun like this,” he coos with an air of false sympathy. “Besides, I don’t think your little cunny can take me right now.”

Your expression falls as you look down your body at him. “What…? Why?”

“Think she’s too sensitive,” he says, running his thumb back over your pussy while you whine. “Look at her. All swollen and pitiful. Think I’d split you in half if I tried, baby.”

“No…no, I can take it—”

“Can you?” He meets your eye while reaching into his sweatpants to pull his cock free. And the sight of him—red tip leaking pre-cum that’s just begging to be tasted—makes your mouth water. He is big. And maybe he’s right. Maybe it would ruin you, but the truth is…you want him to. “I’d have to go slow, and it might hurt with how overstimulated you are.”

You pout again. “I can take it,” you blubber, tears returning to your eyes. “Just let me try. Please…please let me try.”

He seems genuinely touched now as he watches you cry, moving up your body to press his lips to your cheek. The first time you’ve felt truly close to him in hours.

You sigh happily at the feel of his mouth near yours, even if he’s not directly kissing you yet. In fact, the warmth from his body is enough to slow the racing in your chest, and you whisper his name as he leans back.

“My good girl,” he praises, cupping your jaw and tilting your head up. “Brave girl, too. Just wanna make me proud, don’t you? Even if hurts.”

“Yes,” you agree softly.

“I know, Cher.” He kisses your other cheek, right over the stain of tears. “You know I don’t actually want to cause you any pain, don’t you?”

Another nod.

“Good. Because I’d never forgive myself.” He plays with your bottom lip a bit before smiling. “And honestly, I hated leaving you here like this. Knowing I wouldn’t get to watch.”

You nuzzle into his palm and trail your eyes down the parts of his body you can see. “Did the fight go okay?”

“Mhm. I won.”

“Obviously.” You giggle. “Are you in any pain?”

He dips down to brush his nose against yours. “Not anymore.”

You frown. “Har…”

“Not bad pain, I promise.” He shuffles back down between your legs and lines his cock up. “Plus, you know I like it.”

“I know…but I worry,” you tell him. “Some of those bruises look bad, Har.”

“I know,” he echoes. “But I’ll take some painkillers and be fine. Until then, I can pretend they belong to you.”

You feel a deep sigh leave your lungs when he brushes the tip through your soaked folds. Even now, despite his condescension…he’s careful with you. He knows what you’ve been through, and he never wants to give you more than you can take.

“Want you to do something for me, okay?” he calls softly before getting into position. “If it starts to hurt…I want you to bite down on my lip. As hard as you can. Deal?”

Your eyes widen as you nod quickly, anxious to have his mouth on yours. 

The moment he pushes in, he kisses you. Swallowing the heavy moan that melts from your throat.

You do as instructed, clamping down on his bottom lip when you feel that poignant stretch and he groans in response. And the two of you are nothing but a mess of noises and animistic fucking. His nails scratch down your skin, tongue dancing circles around yours. 

Then, his hand comes to your throat. The same hand that causes so much harm to the men inside that boxing ring. The same hand that’s been shattered, broken, and torn. The same hand that wears a variety of scars and scratches, and the same hand that you love more than anything in the world.

It closes around your neck, gently and purposefully. Enough to excite you but not enough to scare you. Instead, you succumb to it. To the weight of his body on yours. To the peaceful trance you feel lulled into as your mind grows distant and all you really understand is the feel of his hips slapping against yours.

“Cherry,” he calls after you’ve gone quiet. “Baby, are you with me?”

You nod lazily, lashes fluttering. “Yes…feels good.”

“Yeah? S’it making your little ache go away?”

“Uh-huh…feels good.”

He smirks. “Good. S’it getting hard to talk to me?”

“Mmm…”

He chuckles to himself before kissing you again. “Honey, I think you might be going into your subspace.”

“What?”

“S’okay, don’t worry,” he assures you gently. “Not a bad thing. Just means I’ve been playing with you so long that you’re starting to feel a bit…spacey. Needy, in a sense.”

“Oh.” Your brows furrow. “But I’m always needy for you. Does that mean I’m always in it?”

 He shakes his head. “This is a special kind of needy. And it means I need to be extra careful with you.”

“Okay, Daddy.” You stop, sucking in a sharp breath. “I’ve never called you that before.”

“No, you haven’t,” he agrees. “Do you want to call me that?”

You think. “I don’t know. Do you like when I do?”

He rolls his lips into his mouth before nodding once. “Honestly? I kind of do. But that name can mean different things for different people. And I don’t want you to say it if it makes you uncomfortable. I like to hear you say my name, too.”

Another pause. “I like it,” you decide. “Feels…dirty. But good.”

“Just like you.”

You giggle. “Then you can be Daddy?”

“I can be Daddy.” He squeezes your tit in his palm. “Fuck, I never thought I’d like that so much. But I really love the way you say it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He dips down to take your nipple in his mouth, giving it quite a bit of attention before moving to the other one. “Just reminds me how fucking sexy you are. Cause you are. You know that, right?”

You feel your skin warm and you try to hide in the crook of his arm. However, he quickly snatches hold of your jaw to force your eyes on his.

“Baby, you’re beautiful,” he tells you earnestly. “You’re so fucking beautiful and I still don’t know why you waste your time with me. But I’m very grateful. And I love you. A lot.”

“I love you, too, Daddy,” you whisper, pushing your lips together as though begging for a kiss.

He obliges. “Think I should let you cum now?”

“Yes, please.”

With that, he fucks you. Hard and deep into the mattress with a tenderness you don’t imagine you’d ever find anywhere else. Because even when he spanks your leg and squeezes your throat and sucks on your tongue while demanding you cum undone for him…he loves you. You can feel the way he loves you through every brush of his body against yours. Every thrust of his cock into your rather abused pussy. Every promise of his adoration.

And it’s everything. You bite so hard on his lip, you taste blood. And he loves it. He curses to himself and begs you to do it again. So, you do.

He plays with your clit, pinching it tight between his fingers that are slightly stained with blood from tonight’s fight. He rubs and he presses and he uses you like some sort of toy. And maybe you are. Maybe you’re his to use and abuse any time, day or night.

And maybe you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Shit, know you’re close. Huh, baby?” he hisses in your ear. He moves his hand to your chest and gropes it in his large palm. “You trying to hold back for me?”

You nod. “Want…want to feel you first.”

He laughs before his features twist with pleasure. “Well, that’s not our rule, is it? And I know you want to, so…let Daddy feel you, okay? S’gonna feel so good…gonna soak my cock and clean it up. Make me proud.”

And you do wanna make him proud. Wanna do anything to make him feel good. Wanna make him throw his head back as he fists your hair and fucks himself down your throat. Stomach clenching…thighs flexing…back muscles rippling.

The image is lewd and beautiful and everything you’ve come to adore about your stranger from the diner. And just the promise of getting to be witness to his pleasure tips you over.

And you cum.

But you don’t just cum. You squirt. All over his cock, and his bedding, and his thighs, and your thighs, and you make a noise that sounds so depraved, you don’t even recognize yourself.

And through this orgasmic fog, you hear the way he moans your name and gives you two sharp thrusts before following suit. Along with soft whispers of, “Holy fucking shit, Cherry. My god…y’just squirted, didn’t you? Fuck me…fucking hell, baby, m’so proud of you. Did so good…so good, honey. Feel amazing…that was the best thing I’ve ever seen. You’re so goddamn hot.”

You feel proud, truthfully. Exhausted…but pleased. Because he’s so happy right now, a dopey little smile on his face as he drops his face into your neck in order to catch his breath.

“Was that…okay?” you ask softly, desperate to run your hands over his body the way you always do after he cums. 

“Baby,” he nearly sighs, “that was so much more than okay. That was perfect. Why, are you okay? You feel all right?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you whisper. “That was…fun. Don’t think I’ve done that before.”

“Don’t think you have, either.” He lifts up to run his thumb over your cheek and study you. “Lot of firsts tonight, hm?”

“Mm.” You nudge yourself back into his hand and he laughs. “Daddy?”

“Yes, sweet girl?”

“…can you untie me now? So I can touch you?”

“Fuck—shit, yes. Sorry, baby.” He quickly reaches up to undo the knots and gently guide your hands out. Once your arms are back beside you, he offers a rather guilty look. “Does it hurt?”

You shake your head and run your fingers down his back. “No…this is much better.”

“Good.” He gives you a quick peck. “I think you deserve a bath, hm?”

“Ooo, yes, please!” You pause. “Will you stay with me?”

“Cherry,” he nearly tuts. “Of course I will. Where do you think I’m gonna go, hm? I’m yours.”

Your eyes brighten. “Mine?”

He kisses you again and it makes your heart soar.

“Yours.”

Ew why did I miss them 😭 THANK YOU FOR READING, ILY SO MUCH AND HOPE YOU'RE ALL HAVING AN AMAZING WEEK AND WEEKEND!!! 💞

~ Full Knockout Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

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[sonarspace]

BATTER & BRUISES, BOXER SUGURU (PT.2)

READ PART ONE BEFORE YOU CONTINUE !

SYNOPSIS: their sensual morning spirals into chaos as a call reveals the aftermath of their first night together. CONTENT: nsfw. fingering, oral kinda (fem receiving), nipple teasing?, sex on the counter, missionary?, sideways. WC: 2.8k

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

suguru wakes up just as the sun begins to rise, the soft light filtering through the curtains casting a warm glow over the room. instead of heading out for his usual early morning workout, he decides to make you breakfast.

you stir awake, a small pout forming on your lips when you realize his warm body isn’t beside you. the faint sounds of clattering dishes from the kitchen pull you further from sleep. you grab his discarded shirt from the floor and slip it on, the soft fabric falling just to the top of your thighs, wrapping you in his scent.

as you enter the kitchen, you see him standing there, an apron tied around his waist, his back muscles flexing as he mixes the batter. he’s so focused at the task that he doesn’t notice your presence.

with a soft smile, you walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso. his skin feels warm beneath your touch, and you lean your head against his back, relishing the moment. he pauses, a grin spreading across his face as he leans into you, the warmth of his body enveloping you.

“good morning, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“thought you’d left me,” you reply softly, pressing a gentle kiss between his shoulder blades. he turns slightly, his hands finding yours, intertwining your fingers as he leans back against you.

“never,” he replies, turning slightly to capture your gaze. his eyes are bright, filled with affection, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

he continues stirring the batter at hand. “want to taste?” he asks, dipping a finger into the mixture and bringing it to your lips. you open your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around his finger, savoring the sweetness.

“sweet,” you comment, a teasing smile playing on your lips. you move from behind him, dipping a finger into the batter yourself. “not sweet,” you pout, glancing up at him.

his smile widens. without hesitation, you grab his finger and dip it into the batter again, bringing it back up to your mouth. “sweet,” you hum, your eyes sparkling as you look up at him.

he chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “you’re insatiable,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. leaning closer, he brushes his thumb over your cheek, a flutter ignites in your stomach.

he brushes his thumb over your cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead, like it’s second nature—something he just has to do everytime he sees you smile at him.

“how’d you sleep?” he asks, pouring the batter into the muffin tray.

“like a champion,” you reply, and he lets out a hearty laugh that fills the kitchen.

you pull yourself up to sit on the counter, and he slides the tray into the oven before removing his apron and setting it on the counter. he places his hands on your thighs, squeezing gently. his smile is soft as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and your heart races, feeling like it might burst.

he steps between your legs, pulling them open wider, his fingers trailing dangerously close to your core. one hand grips your inner thigh, the heat of his palm seeping through your skin as the other hand tips your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. his eyes—so intense, so hungry, you can’t help but melt under his gaze.

“you’re gonna kill me,” you whisper.

his thumb lazily traces over your lips, eyes flicking to your mouth with a dark, amused smirk. “that’s not the plan.”

he leans in, his breath fanning across your face, fingers slipping higher up your thigh, dangerously close to where you need him most.

“what is the plan then?” you ask, breathless, your lips brushing his as you speak.

he presses his lips to your ear, voice low and dripping with intent. “the plan is to make you feel alive... and to worship you.”

his hand dips between your legs, cupping your heat through the thin fabric of your panties. a moan escapes you before you can stop it. his mouth ghosts over your jaw, trailing kisses down to your neck, each kiss leaving a mark, as if he’s claiming you.

with one smooth motion, he pulls your panties down and off, tossing them aside. his fingers find your wetness, teasing your entrance, circling it. “so wet already,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, “all for me.”

“suguru,” you gasp, hips bucking into his hand, craving more. he pushes a finger inside you, filling you slowly, his touch sending shocks of pleasure straight to your core. his other hand reaches up, brushing over your shirt, finding your hardened nipple and pinching it lightly. you let out a desperate moan, needing more of him, all of him.

he leans down, mouth closing over your breast through the fabric, his teeth grazing your nipple just enough to make your back arch off the counter. “suguru,” you whimper, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. he switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud before biting down softly.

his fingers inside you curl, hitting that perfect spot that makes you cry out, your legs trembling around him. he moves them deeper, harder, finding a rhythm that has you seeing stars.

“you're so warm” he growls against your skin, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight, slow circles that make you squirm. 

“please,” you whine, craving that release.

“please what?” he teases, his pace unrelenting, keeping you right on the edge. “use your words.”

“i need to cum,” you plead.

“not yet,” he replies, pulling away his fingers just enough to keep you hanging. you whimper in protest, your grip on the counter tightening. “i want you to remember how this feels,” he mumbles, kissing along your collarbone.

"i can't... i need-" you stammer, caught between pleasure and desperation.

he shushes you softly, leaning down to listen between your thighs, his fingers moving in and out of you with a steady rhythm, creating a sultry squelching sound. the bandages wrapped around his knuckles begin to soak, your juices drenching them, a ring of white forming at the base of his fingers.

"listen to that," he whispers, voice thick with desire.

still leaning down, he pokes out his tongue to taste you. the sensation makes you moan softly, your body arching toward him, craving more of his touch. his gaze locks onto yours, dark and intense, the heat between you growing unbearable.

“can feel you tightening around my fingers,” suguru growls, his voice low and hoarse with desire as he grinds against your leg, unable to control himself. his tongue flicks over your clit, teasing you with slow, deliberate strokes, while his fingers pump into you, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

"put it in," you whimper, pulling off your shirt, voice raw and desperate with need. your body aches for him, every inch of you on fire.

he pauses for just a moment, sliding his fingers out slowly, watching the way your body clenches around nothing. a low, guttural groan escapes him as he hastily shoves his sweatpants down, letting them pool on the floor. his eyes are dark with lust as he positions himself between your thighs, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. the sight of him, hard and thick, sends another wave of heat pooling in your belly.

"fuck..." he breathes, the word slipping from his lips in a breathless moan as he presses the tip of his cock against your entrance. he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you with a pressure that has your back arching off the counter. every ridge, every vein drags along your slick walls, filling you completely. the sensation is so overwhelming, the heat of him almost too much to bear, but the pleasure—god, the pleasure—makes your toes curl.

"so tight," he mutters, voice trembling, his lips brushing against your ear. "you feel... incredible."

he sinks deeper, his cock buried to the hilt, and your walls flutter around him, gripping him tightly as if your body refuses to let go. you can feel the pulse of his arousal, throbbing with each slow, deliberate thrust. his hips roll in a languid rhythm, dragging along that sensitive spot inside you with every movement.

"suguru," you gasp, your nails biting into his shoulders as he thrusts deeper. the stretch, the fullness—it sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, lighting up every nerve ending. his pace is slow, torturous, each drag of his cock making your breath catch, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

"you're perfect," he growls, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. "fuck, i could stay buried inside you forever."

he pulls out, leaving you feeling empty for just a moment before slamming back into you with a force that has you crying out. your legs tremble, and his hips snap harder this time, the force undoing the messy bun holding his dark hair. strands of it fall loose, cascading over his face, obscuring his eyes. he doesn’t even try to fix it—too lost in the heat of the moment, his focus locked on the way your body reacts to him, gripping him tighter with every thrust.

the sight of him—wild, unrestrained, his muscles flexing beneath a sheen of sweat, his hair falling over his face—drives you mad with desire. you reach up, brushing his bangs away, wanting to see him clearly, to watch the intensity in his gaze as he takes you apart. when his dark, half-lidded eyes meet yours, it pulls a moan from deep in your chest.

he leans down, kissing you with desperate urgency, his lips slanting over yours as if he needs you to breathe. his body shudders as your hands slide down his chest, brushing over his perked nipples. the moment your fingers graze them, a soft whine escapes him, muffled against your lips, and his hips stutter in their rhythm, faltering for just a second.

his kiss grows more frantic, deeper, as your fingers continue to tease his nipples, rolling them between your fingertips, dragging your nails lightly over the sensitive skin. every touch, every graze, sends tremors through him, his hips losing rhythm before slamming back into you with a groan. he presses harder, his breathing ragged, his forehead falling to yours as he pants against your mouth.

"fuck," he gasps, his voice trembling with need. "you're driving me insane," he mutters, as he struggles to hold himself together.

you take it as your cue, moving your lips from his, trailing hot kisses down his neck and over his collarbone, tasting the salt of his skin. when your mouth lands over one of his perked nipples, his gasp turns into a needy moan. his entire body twitches inside you, jerking with raw pleasure as you flick your tongue over the sensitive nub. his moan deepens, the sound vibrating through you as you suck gently.

“oh god,” he chokes out, voice hoarse with need. his hips falter, losing control as he presses into you harder, each thrust more erratic than the last. you can feel him throbbing inside you, on the edge, every muscle in his body trembling.

his hands find your hair, fingers tangling in the strands as his chest heaves with every breath. the muscles under your mouth flex, taut with tension as you continue to tease his nipple with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue. he pulls you away with a firm grip on your hair, his breath ragged, pushing you flat against the counter, his control slipping.

your body, glistening with sweat arches as he growls low, turning you onto your side, making you face the mirror. the reflection before you is intoxicating—a wild picture of sweat and lust, your skin flushed and shimmering in the soft morning light. his broad frame towers over you, moving in you relentlessly. the sight of him—his messy hair clinging to his forehead, muscles flexing with each thrust—makes you dizzy.

he plunges deeper, his rhythm unyielding, and catches your gaze in the mirror—your eyes wide, mouth parted, your body pliant beneath him. "my sweet girl's takin' me so well," each word a rough growl as he glances down to watch himself disappearing inside you.

your breath falters, the pleasure swelling into an unbearable wave, his cockhead pressing right against that perfect spot that makes your whole body tighten and toes curl. your fingers dig into his forearm, nails leaving little crescents in his skin craving more of him, all of him.

his body trembles now, every muscle wound tight with the effort to hold back, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, chasing the climax. without warning, he pulls you upright, one arm wrapping tightly around your waist while the other grips the back of your neck. his lips crash into yours, the kiss messy and urgent, his moans spilling into your mouth as his pace turns desperate.

“i’m so close,” you whisper against his lips, your voice shaky and breathless, completely undone by the intensity of it all.

his breath comes out in ragged pants, a deep guttural sound leaving his throat as his hips slam harder, more frantic. the slap of skin against skin fills the air, and his forehead rests against yours. "me too," he mutters through clenched teeth. "cum with me."

before you can respond, the coil inside you snaps. your orgasm crashes through you, leaving you trembling in his arms. "suguru! nnghh!!" you cry out, his name spilling from your lips as your walls clamp down around him, pulsing wildly.

his growl rumbles deep in his chest, his body going taut as he pulls out at the last second. his release follows, spilling hot and thick liquid across your thighs and lower belly. he slumps against you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, breath uneven and warm against your damp skin.

the beeping of the oven pulls you both from your haze, soft chuckles escaping your lips as reality creeps back in. he grabs a few paper towels, gently wiping away the remnants from your thighs and abdomen, a playful smile lingering on his face. “i’m gonna have to clean this counter.”

his lips brush against your hair as he steps away, pressing a soft kiss. he pulls his sweatpants back on and moves away to grab a mitt and carefully removes the oven tray, the warm aroma of freshly baked english muffins filling the room, making your stomach rumble in anticipation.

just then, your phone rings, the sound slicing through the cozy atmosphere. you grip his forearms as he helps you stand, your brows knitting together as you see your dad’s name lighting up the screen. a knot of anxiety forms in your stomach. he notices the shift in your demeanor.

you pick up the phone, forcing a calm tone as you say, “hello?”

“you broke up with marcus?” he asks, disbelief lacing his voice.

“yeah, umm, i was going to tell you, but—”

“he’s in the hospital,” your dad interjects sharply. “is this because of that lowlife boxer??”

the words hang heavy in the air, and your heart races as you glance at suguru, who watches you intently, concern etched across his features. you swallow hard, trying to steady your breath. “no, it’s not like that. it’s complicated.”

“complicated?” your dad snaps, frustration palpable. “what’s complicated is marcus’ situation right now. his face is beaten to hell, and his parents are calling me, asking what happened because all he can say is your name and suguru’s.”

guilt tightens in your chest, but you take a steadying breath. "dad, marcus and i… we aren't compatible. i couldn’t stay in that relationship."

“not compatible?” he echoes, his disbelief sharp. “he makes one comment about your outfit, and you just up and leave him? you couldn’t just talk it out like a normal couple?”

“it wasn’t just that, dad! it’s everything about him, i felt trapped!” a knot of emotion tightens in your throat. "i thought you'd understand."

"understand?" he scoffs, his tone sharp. "you expect me to side with you when you dump a good man to be with a boxer? i told you to stay away from that guy."

tears begin to line your eyes, your throat tight as you try to keep your composure. suguru notices immediately, stepping closer. without a word, he takes the phone from your trembling hand and hangs up.

"no, that was my dad—" you protest, your voice wavering, but he pulls you into his chest, wrapping you in a tight embrace.

"i don’t care who it is," he murmurs into your hair, his tone gentle yet firm. "no one makes my girl cry."

you cling to him, his warmth grounding you as the tears fall freely now. your phone vibrates between you both, the screen lighting up with another incoming call. when you don’t move to pick it up, the ringing stops, replaced by the buzz of a text from your dad, asking you to meet him.

☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸☼︎｡𖦹°‧𓂃 𓈒𓏸

A/N: are we liking the series so far?? let me know! and ask me any questions you'd like about boxer sugu :D

© SONARSPACE 2024 | DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS!

[bobardo]

how would carmy react if he ever accidentally hurt his girl…like not in a fun sexy way but in a real way…whether it’s genuinely fucking/spanking her too hard or saying something rather mean during sex

oh god i feel like he'd literally burst a blood vessel 😭

tw!! carm hurts his cub (emotionally). allusions to domestic ab*se (carm is a healing boy, all right?) happy ending.

i can see this happening after carmy loses for the first time. like, it sucks to lose for anyone, but this is carmen we’re talking about—the definition of a loser; a boy small and quiet enough to frighten into a corner, terrorize into a blank mind (poor, bruised boy. built a name for himself out of hollow self-confidence and false healing, a persona that crumbles with one (hundred) too many punches).

he walks through the tunnels with his head hung low, eddie’s hand massaging his right shoulder and benny’s soothing his left; nacho in front, his larger form shielding carm’s blotchy face from the inconsiderate paparazzi. y/n trails timidly beside her bear—hurting and erratic.

the locker room is stock-still silent as they file inside. usually, there's hollering and chanting in celebration as soon as they step through the threshold, and after congratulations and hugs (and kisses from his sweet cub), carm heads for the shower to wash away the grime of his brutal victory.

this time, though, there are no congrats to be given.

everyone seems to be walking on powder eggshells, overly tentative and precautionary as they tend to him. any questions they have for him are low and prudent, and any answers he has to offer them are clipped, and slightly cruel—finds it difficult to show kindness when their own is unwarranted, he lost. he failed (and failing does not call for sympathizing but for reprimanding, punishment; not consolation but condemnation).

"jus' fuck off, dude," carmen huffs, shrugging benny's hand of his shoulder. he sighs, drops his palm from figure and turns on his heal to walk out, anxiously twirling his toothpick along his tongue.

he steps next to y/n, where she waits, pretty in pink, like always, with her hands folded in front of her legs, eyes to the floor. he bumps his boney shoulder to hers, "think he needs you." her eyes flit up to meet his, and he gives her a small smile, and look of encouragement. "go get him, tiger," he whispers gently.

famous last words.

everyone silently gets the message and leaves the locker room to give carmen his space; all except his girl, his sweet cub.

"carmy," she utters softly, stepping toward him.

he throws her a look over his shoulder, "not now, cub, i'm... not now."

she frowns—presses still.

"carm," she tries again, sliding a supple palm up the curve of his back.

he jerks away from her touch, "not fuckin' now, y/n!" he keeps his back to her and starts toward the medical bed, blood dripping from his fingertips.

she bristles, but doesn't let him see it. takes a defesive step back, kicks up her chin, and swallows the lump in her throat (she hated it when he yelled, when he bunched himself up and tucked himself away in that corner of his mind, away from everyone, even her, but his protector. she couldn't help him there, couldn't pry him from the clutches of claws).

"please don't speak to me like that, carmen," she says, soft but firm. "i'm your girlfriend, not on payroll."

he snorts as he rips a white towel off the overhead shelf and starts soaking up the blood from his various wounds. he's rough as he scrapes it up and down his battered body, hurtful. y/n longs to reach out and do it for him—delicate and caring, the way he deserves—but keeps her twitching hands at her sides.

"fuckin' act like it," he mutters under his breath.

her eyebrows rise with indignation, "excuse me?"

"i said y'fuckin' act like you're on my payroll, shit!"

y/n's spent a long time trying to learn how to not be sensitive. she came from a household of men—four brothers, all boxers, thanks to her father—but just because she was constantly surrounded by their brutality doesn't mean she ever fully adapted to it. she inherited their tough skin—took the chipped pieces on the gym floor and melded them to her flesh herself, thicker, harder to pierce—but she couldn't bury her very being, no matter how hard she tried; she would always be a sensitive soul.

she exhales a shaky breath, her fingers curling into her palms, nails digging. he didn't mean it, he was just upset with himself.

"watch your damn tone, carmen."

"or what?" he scoffs, whipping around to face her, tossing the bloodied towel to the side. it's the first good look she's gotten at his face since the start of the fight, and it makes her want to scream.

he's got a swollen, bruised left eye and a crooked nose, a swelling jaw and busted lips; battered and bloodied, from his collarbone, scattered all across his torso.

her throat threatens to close up, and carmy's taking a looming step closer to her too fast for her to combat it.

"what the fuck are you gonna do? fuckin' bitch at me like you always do, huh?" she flinches as he gets in her face, stumbling back. "carmy this and carmy that, but s'never fucking good enough, is it? you just get to sit there and look pretty—live in my house, use my fuckin' money—and god fuckin' forbid i ever ask anything of you!" he throws his arms up, exasperated, huffs out a laugh, though it's certainly humorless. "i'd screw those precious fuckin' feelings a'yours, get y'cryin' like the fuckin' crybaby y'are..."

his voice trails off, the fiery blaze in his eye faltering—like he knows he's fucked up—but his face hardens again before she has the chance to decipher it.

there's part of her that wants to hurt him the way he's just hurt her, put up a fuckin' fight and scream at him the way they're both so used it. another part, though—a much stronger part—is too hurt to hurt him; too sad that her bear would take violence and cruelty over the kindness of others because he'd never been taught how.

she looks at him with a broken furrow between her brow—a bitter smile on her lips. her voice is watery as she starts, "i never asked you for any of that. you offered, and i accepted. and my sincerest fucking apologies for being a human, with emotions." she scoffs, let's out her own humorless laugh. she bites her lips to try and stop the river of tears at bay, looks to the side so he won't notice as a tear slips down her red cheek.

carmen exhales a long breath—he went too far. "cub—"

she lifts a dismissive hand, "no, y'know what? it's fine," she sniffs harshly, rubs underneath her eyes to stop the stray tears from slipping. "i'm— i'm gonna give you some space," she utters, turning to find her purse and coat. carmy watches her gathering her things uselessly, stuck. "seems like y'could use it."

she doesn't look back at him as she rushes to the door, and only stops when she feels a large paw grazing the exposed skin of her back.

"y/n," he whispers, wavering, unsure.

she brushes his hand from her figure.

"i'll be at your house," she mumbles, and slips out of the door.

when it slams shut, carmy can't help the chocked sob that works its way up his sore throat. he stumbles backward, trips over his feet and crumbles to his knees. he curls into himself (like the boy in his mind, tucked safely in the corner), wraps his aching arms around his bent legs a cries like the crybaby he'd just accused his girlfriend of being.

his sweet cub.

god, he fucked up. they fight, so much—too much. he knows her mannerisms, has studied the inclinations of her sadness, frustration, irritation, and anger. he can't ever recall being faced with her disappointment, however, her utter hurt.

he fucked up, bad. but he's gonna fix it (has to, or the boy in the corner will never stop shaking with fear, sobbing, wailing—waiting for his protector to return with his cub).

——

it's late when carmen gets home. their home, not his (couldn't call it his, was never his when she's the one who made his house a home). he walks through the door of their penthouse with his hands full—his duffle bag, a bag of take out (from the three michelin star joint down on 39th), a heart-box of chocolates, and a large bouquet of flowers—and his tail tucked between his wobbly legs.

he places her gifts on the kitchen counter when he walks by in passing, groaning in relief as weight is lifted away from his body (he got beat the shit out of—had to if he fuckin' lost).

he walks into their bedroom as quietly as he can, softly kicking the door shut behind him. in their king-sized bed lay his sweet cub, curled up beneath the blankets—chin tucked and knees pulled to her chest—in a baby pink nightie and matching bonnet. he watches the subtle rise and fall of her back, smile fondly.

he shuffles to the foot of the bed and sets his duffle there, then moves around to her side, kneeling before his sleeping beauty.

"cub," he whispers, feather light as he presses stray baby hairs peaking through the band of her bonnet back underneath. "wake up f'me, baby, 've got some grovelin' t'do."

she groans groggily into the sheets as she starts to come to, stretches out like a cat as her tear-clumped, heavy eyes peel open.

"hey, sweet cub," he murmurs. she eyes him blankly through fluttery lashes.

he deserves that.

"i'm sorry, my girl," he sighs heavily, beginning to pet at her blotchy cheek. "i didn't mean it, fuckin' any of it. you don't bitch at me, y'never ask too much of me," he brings his free hand up to cradle her pretty face as tears begin to well in her eyes. "this is your house, your home. my money is yours, more than it's mine—fuckin' spend it all, cub, i don't care," the both huff out a short laugh, his fond, hers snotty. "y'not a crybaby, you're my baby—my girl, my sweet fuckin' cub, and i'm so goddamn sorry i said those things to you, baby."

she sniffles, curls her fingers around his wrists to keep him close. "y'mean it?"

his lips twitch up in a gentle smile, "i mean it, cub; m'so fuckin' sorry, sweetheart."

"good."

she pulls him in by her grip on his wrists, mouth pressing to his.

safe to say he's forgiven (he carries her out to the kitchen—arms clasped around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist—and presents her gifts to her for good measure, though. sits her in his lap and feeds her yummy pasta and chocolate with a glass of sangria, one of her go-to drinks, to see that giddy smile.

then eats her out of the kitchen counter, too).

——

a/n: how to make the writing process go faster no glue no borax

not edited/proofread!!

[francixoxoxo]

🂱 Dogs’ White Teeth ☠︎︎

𝐁𝐨𝐱𝐞𝐫!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝, 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬, 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡-- 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥.

Coryo wasn’t a violent guy. He didn’t know why he fought in the ring.

That’s what he told himself. He wasn’t violent, ‘cause he didn’t deck the first guy who looked at him funny. That was Coriolanus Snow’s logic. He wasn’t violent, ‘cause he felt nothing as he pounded the punching bag until his knuckles bled, he only felt a thirst for cash. Not blood.

But the first time his glove connected with a guy’s stomach? Oh, Coryo was violent. He’d never admit how stupid gratifying it was when he threw a punch to knock the other dickhead’s lights out.

Coryo shouldn’t be with you. He doesn’t deserve a girl like you, he could live a hundred times over and never deserve a girl like you. You’re kind, and generous and so, so thoughtful and fucking smart, you’d think you’d be smart enough to stay miles away from him.

But no. Here you are, standing in the dingy basement the fights are held in, among a crowd of shitty and disgusting people— Coryo’s people. Not yours. He’d rip his own teeth out before he let them be your type of people.

Speaking of which, he has one of his guys standing beside you, a looming warning that nobody could touch you. Coryo knew somebody would try. You were wrapped up like a piece of candy in a prison yard, and he was nothing if not protective. You already didn’t belong in the dank room, watching your boyfriend either scramble somebody’s brains or get his brains scrambled— he got some peace of mind knowing you atleast weren’t alone in a crowd of violent assholes.

Coriolanus was a good boxer. A damn good fighter. Of course he knocked the other guy out, short and burly with a mop of stick-straight hair, by the time Coryo was done he was missing a tooth. Coriolanus was baring his own teeth in a sneer, lip curled and nostrils flaring as he spat out a bit of blood onto the ground beside the man.

He stumbled a bit as the referee grabbed him by the forearm tugging him to his feet and raising his glove up to announce his win. Coryo's bare chest was heaving, covered in a sheen of sweat. His nose was surely broken, blood drying under his right nostril, his eyes wide and crazed as he looked 'round for you. A crooked smile split his lips, revealing his maroon mouthpiece as he lifted his brows at you.

Coryo, bloody and battered, was definitely a sight.

Maybe it was wrong to find it so hot, as you cheered with the rest of the crowd for him. But that attraction always, always delved into a distraught concern for your boyfriend by the time he was in the locker room.

Coryo lifts his head as he hears footsteps. His elbows are on his knees, his hand that had been rubbing his shaved head falling down as his lips pulled into a smile. “Hey, baby.” He’d cooed to you while you stepped close, slotting yourself between his spread legs. His hands found a home on your waist as he grinned dopily up at you.

“Hi.” You mumbled, your hands cupping his cheeks. Your brow furrowed, you gently pressed both thumbs along the length of his aquiline nose. Coriolanus curled his lip and grunted at the pain, you sigh. “You broke it again.”

“It’ll heal.” Coryo shrugs, watching you with puppy-dog eyes as your thumb swipes some blood from under his nostril. He rubs your hip affectionately as a thanks. God, he was love drunk. Absolutely whipped for you. He just hated how much he made you worry. Coryo didn’t think himself worth your peace of mind.

“Oh, but it looks like it hurts.” You frown, your thumb dropping down to brush over his busted lip. Your gaze trails over his blackening eye.

Coryo shakes his head a little, pressing a kiss to your thumb pad. “I’ve had worse.” He reaches up, clasping your hand in two of his. He thinks he catches a smile, but it quickly falls when you see the state of his hands. Bloodied and battered, his skin split at each knuckle, your expression melts.

He doesn’t protest as you reach for his bag, rifling through the duffel. When you find what you need, you slip into his lap, your knees straddling his hips. The boyish grin that splits his face is almost hilarious as you reach for one of his hands.

The alcohol wipe is ripped from its packaging with help from your teeth. With a tender, delicate touch, you swipe the pad along Coryo’s knuckles. His fingers flex against the sting, his lips pulling in a grimace. “It’s not that big a deal.” He whispers almost plaintively, pressing the concave ridge of his nose into the slope of your shoulder like jigsaw pieces.

“It’ll make me feel better, how about that?” You huff, letting go of his hand to fully unravel the wipe and clean the blood caking on his skin. His nostrils flare, but he nods. Coriolanus watches as you lean for the bench beside him. His hand on your side tightens to keep your balance for you as you grasp the roll of bandages, coming back upright and wrapping the material around his knuckles.

He lets you go about fixing him up (though he’d argue there wasn’t anything to fix, nothing worth your peace of mind,) with surprising lenience. Only when he grits his teeth against the sting of alcohol on the other hand does he speak. “You didn’t bet on me, did you?”

“I did.” You let a faint smile creep across your features. Your thumb brushes along his metacarpal bones. Coryo scoffs, averting his eyes with a shake of his head. “I told you not to.”

“So? You won anyway.”

“It’s the principle.” He insists, his nose brushing your jaw as he cranes his neck forward in frustration. You orbit those bandages ‘round his hand, on and on until you’re satisfied. “What principle?”

Well. On plenty of things, Coriolanus thought. He wasn’t something to waste money on. He wasn’t even something to waste time on, frankly. There wasn’t a point in putting in effort with him. He felt a bit like a vicious mutt; who cares if he’s got a muzzle on him? Or if he can sit, and fetch, and give you paw? He bites. In the end, he will always bite.

“What if I lost?”

(What if he screws up?)

“You’d lose money. It’d be a waste.” Coryo mumbles, presses a faint kiss into the tender skin of your neck. Your pulse is warm under his lips.

(You’d lose time you could be spending with somebody… he doesn’t know, better.)

“It’s not a waste. It’s just trust.” You shrug, and he wonders for a moment if you can crack his head open like a walnut, peer inside and read his mind like a book; one you were simply rereading for lack of new novels.

With his newly dressed hands he rubs his palms over your back. Coriolanus studies every crease of your face with a strange reverence, his brows tense for a brief moment to match the divots twixt your own. “You shouldn’t bet on losing dogs.”

Your shoulders lift, fingers sneaking ‘round his head to run your nails through his cropped blonde hair, “Who says you’re a losing dog?” A laugh sings from your lips. Coriolanus only smoothed his hands down your waist, his own lips pulling taut in a guilty expression.

You’re putting all your money on him, and it’s not literal. You love him, that much is true, and that much is too much. It tightens his chest, it chokes the air from his lungs and the pink from his cheeks. Atlas had a puny burden to carry, since he never had to fear letting you down.

Come on now. He just made a couple hundred bucks off of decking a guy until he looked more beetle than boy— all spasms and twitches and whimpers that make Coriolanus’ head spin with a power trip to put vermillion behind a man’s eyes. They all say violence is gut-churningly horrific, and maybe it is. But it isn’t if you’re winning, if you’re the one with his fist curled. If you’re the one landing on top.

Coriolanus is the kind of guy to get high off the crunch of somebody’s nose under his glove. You creep into the deeper corners of his mind, weaving cobwebs to lay in and inadvertently instilling a disgust, a self-loathing that not even a parent could plant. You don’t mean to, sure.

He wants to be better. He wants to cut his bad leg, he wants to behead the serpent in his belly, so that it’s safe for you to reach your delicate little hand in there. He wants to be deserving of all the goodness you wreath him in.

He’s fully aware you deserve a guy that doesn’t have to carve himself to be good to you. What can he say besides Snows tend to be selfish?

Coryo would slit his skin from his Adam’s apple to his navel to let you crawl inside. But he’s certain. It’s in his nature, it’s his body, not his heart and not his mind, that will reject you like an organ donation, will spit you out. Perhaps you would fit better elsewhere, in another man’s cavity, for his is too large to be comfortable. He felt like a scrambling man trying to sew you in, a rare organ, a piece that he’d fill his own gaps to make fit.

“All roads.” Is all he could whisper, his azure eyes glassy, hoping that his eyes were glassy in the sense of a window pane. That way you could see without forcing him to wrap his tongue ‘round the words, which is getting increasingly difficult. Coriolanus speaks like an Olympic sprinter, he’s sure that he’ll chicken out of it if he takes his time. “All roads lead to Rome, to me being a shithead.”

Your lips pull taut. For a moment, a gut-churning, pain-staking, bile-rising-to-the-throat moment, Coryo thinks he got through to you. Maybe you’ll dump him right there in the locker room. He didn’t think the prospect would put such an anchor in his stomach. Again, he thinks, Snows tend to be selfish.

But then your lips are moving again, your hands are bracing the back of his head with intertwined fingers, your perfume filling his nostrils and distracting from the dank stench of the locker room, it’s not too strong, it’s the best thing he’s ever smelled, but he can’t focus, he can’t, words the greatest poet couldn’t conjure after a lifetime of pensive thought are rolling off your tongue, somehow to him, somehow all of this is for him, and it’s all so sickly sweet that he’s dizzy with it.

“You’re doing your best.” Already your visage is blurring like ink in the rain. He believes he’ll chew through his cheek. “You don’t see what I see, Coryo.”

Damnit. A pearly tear slips down Coriolanus’ flushed cheek, the scarce light shooting diamonds from his azure eyes, your hands twisting to hold his face. He looks like a boy in your hands, and if it weren’t for his purpling eye, his lip split, you think he’d pass for a little boy.

He sucks in a breath through his nose as your lips connect, his lip painful whether the kiss was tender or bruising. Coryo was fierce in his love, fierce in everything about you, always, but oh, how grateful is he for how soft your lips move on his. His hands roam to the plane of your back again, a relieved exhale leaving his nostrils against your cheek.

It didn’t seem to matter whether Coriolanus thought you fit into the crevice (gaping hole, ravine, sink hole, call it what you will,) of his heart or not. You found your way in, you’d crawled deep into his heart, his body, his soul, and sewn the door behind you. How silly of him to believe that he had any choice in allowing you in or keeping you out. How foolish to believe that if the hole in his belly was too weeping for a single other soul to fill, that you wouldn’t stretch your arms high above your head and your legs as extended as possible.

How utterly idiotic of Coryo to believe that the hollow in his chest was a tower to selfishly keep you in, and not your rightful home.