#and arthur hears that and is just. a mess.
Note
please i'm begging you (please don't feel pressured if your life is busy 💕) we need pt 2 to the angst i can't handle this 😭 my heart 💔 the writing is too good that i'm feeling things 😓
was i stupid to love you?
★ : summary :: when he downplays your feelings
★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris
★ : genre :: angst; hurt/comfort
★ : word count :: 2.9k
★ : a/n :: open ending, don't forget to vote after so i can get a bit of feedback :3 kinda rushed so might contain lots of typos sorryyyy!!
( part 1 )
Charles Leclerc
The house party buzzed with music and laughter, a cacophony that drowned your thoughts as you stormed through the crowded rooms. Your heart raced with a mix of anger and hurt, knowing Charles was right on your tail, determined to catch you before you could reach Arthur.
Your boyfriend’s hand wrapped around yours just as his brother turned around to look at you guys. You stomped your feet as you shook your head to dismiss Arthur and follow your boyfriend who quietly kissed your head in gratitude before you could step away.
”What is going on with you?!” Your voice trembled with barely contained fury as you confronted Charles in a quieter corner.
Charles sighed, his brow furrowing in frustration. ”I don’t know, baby. I’m so sorry—”
”You told me off when you should know that I’m right!” Your voice rose involuntarily. ”She fucking leaned in thinking that you were gonna choose her.”
”Y/N, please listen to me,” Charles said earnestly, stepping closer to you. ”I messed up. I know. But I would, never in a hundred years, choose anyone let alone her over you.”
You looked into Charles' eyes, seeing the sincerity and pain reflected in them. Your anger began to melt, replaced by a swirl of conflicting emotions.
”You’re just saying what I want to hear and I don't like it,” you said, your voice softer now, searching for clarity.
”It’s the truth,” Charles declared, his voice tinged with regret. ”I know I’ve hurt you baby and I'm sorry for that but I can’t— I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I watched you leave with my brother. Let me drop you home, okay?”
Tears welled up in your eyes, frustration and hurt mixing with the love you still felt for him. Charles gently took your hands in his, his touch warm and comforting.
”Y/N, please,” Charles pleaded, his voice raw with emotion. ”I never want to make you feel like you need to run away from me. I want to talk this out, please give me a chance to make things right.”
You hesitated, feeling torn between wanting to forgive him and the pain of betrayal still fresh in your heart.
”Okay,” you finally whispered, feeling emotionally drained. ”Let's go.”
Charles nodded, relief washing over his face. He led you out of the noisy party, his grip on your hand tight and reassuring. The cool night air outside provided a stark contrast to the heated emotions inside.
As Charles drove you home, neither of you spoke. The silence was filled with unspoken words and the weight of what had just transpired. But Charles kept stealing glances at you, his eyes full of regret and love.
When you arrived at your shared apartment, Charles parked the car but made no move to get out. He turned to you, his expression soft and vulnerable.
”I'll leave if you want me to,” Charles said quietly, his voice tinged with sorrow. ”But please, Y/N, give us a chance to talk tomorrow. I'll do whatever it takes to make this right.”
You looked at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes and the love that still lingered despite everything. Tears fell down your cheeks as you nodded slowly.
”I need time,” you admitted softly, your voice barely audible. ”Time to sort through this.”
Charles nodded understandingly, reaching out to gently wipe away your tears. ”Take all the time you need,” he said softly, his thumb caressing your cheek. ”I'll be here, whenever you're ready.”
”Where will you go?” You asked, not wanting to leave just yet.
”To your brother’s house,” he joked and smiled cheekily when you let out a small laugh.
”I love you,” Charles continued and seemed satisfied when you saw your tinted cheeks, giving into the temptation to kiss your hand. ”I’ll stay at Arthur's for the night.”
With that, you stepped out of the car, your heart heavy with conflicting emotions. You watched Charles drive away, feeling the distance between you both but knowing that perhaps, with time, you could find a way back to each other.
Lando Norris
You sat in the break room at work, your lunch untouched in front of you. The memories of last night’s events still stung, the image of her hand on Lando’s thigh and the lipstick on his collar replaying in your mind.
Just as you were about to take a sip of water, the door swung open, and there he was, your— ex? —boyfriend, looking desperate and determined. You knew there was a possibility he’d try to catch you at work given that you’d taken away all other means.
”Y/N, can I please?” he said, his voice pleading as he pointed towards the hallway.
You nodded reluctantly and led him to an empty hall, away from prying eyes. The silence was deafening as you stood there, waiting for him to speak.
You nodded reluctantly and led him to an empty conference room, away from prying eyes. The silence was deafening as you stood there, waiting for him to speak.
”Y/N, please,” he started, his voice trembling slightly. ”I’m so sorry about last night.”
You crossed your arms, leaning against the table. ”Bet you had a good time, huh?”
”No, I didn't,” Lando said in disbelief before he took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. ”Nothing that happened there was intentional. We were all drinking, and she... she got too close. I should have pushed her away. I’m sorry.”
You scoffed, anger bubbling up again, finally fired up enough to speak your mind. ”Her hand was on your fucking thigh, Lando. And your collar— her lipstick was all over it. How do you explain that?”
He winced, clearly pained by the memory. ”I know it looks bad, but it wasn’t what it seemed. She leaned in close to talk to me, and I didn’t realize she had left a mark. It was a— just a stupid mistake, and I should have been more aware.”
”More aware?” you echoed, your voice rising. ”You should have cared about how it would make me feel! Instead, you shrugged it off like it was nothing.”
”I didn’t mean to shrug it off,” he said, stepping closer. ”I was wrong. I should have reassured you, should have shown you that you’re the only one that matters to me. Baby, please just let me—”
You looked away, the pain still fresh. ”It’s not just about the lipstick or her hand. It’s about how you made me feel like I was overreacting, like my feelings didn’t matter.”
”They do matter,” he said, his voice breaking. ”More than anything. I was an idiot. I should have pushed her away immediately. I should have come to you and told you everything before you saw it for yourself.”
”You know I only want you,” he added softly, his eyes pleading with you.
You shook your head, trying to hold back tears. ”That’s the thing, Lando. I don’t know that. I actually believe that y— you don’t at all.”
Lando’s eyes filled with tears as a broken whisper of your name left his mouth. ”I h.. have never, I never will. Ever.” He stressed. ”Want anyone— need anyone the way I want you.”
You kept quiet as you looked at him trying to catch himself. Lending him your hand that he squeezed in return.
”I can’t believe you would ever believe that but I understand and, I promise… I’ll be more mindful, more respectful. I’ll make sure everyone knows I’m taken, that I’m yours. Please, give me a chance to make it right.”
The weight of his words hung in the air, and you let out a slow breath, trying to not have a breakdown at your workplace. ”It’s going to take time, Lando. Trust isn’t rebuilt overnight.”
”I know,” he said, relief washing over his features. ”And I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I’ll prove to you that I’m worthy of your trust.”
”Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. ”I’ll give it a thought, Lando. But if you hurt me again, we’re done.”
”I understand,” he said, his voice filled with determination. ”Thank you, Y/N. I won’t let you down.”
Max Verstappen
The streets were bustling with late-night revelers, their laughter and chatter a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. The restaurant's neon sign flickered as you stepped out into the cool night air, your phone clenched tightly in your hand.
Three hours. You had waited for three hours, hoping Max would show up for your anniversary dinner, only to find out from the story of your mutual friend that he was out with her again.
On your anniversary.
You made your way through the crowded streets, not caring where you ended up. You just needed to get away, to think, to process the hurt and betrayal. Your phone buzzed incessantly in your pocket, but you ignored it. Max's calls and messages could wait. Right now, you needed space.
After wandering aimlessly for a while, you found yourself at the edge of the city, near the river. The quiet contrast of the flowing water was a welcome change from the city's noise. You sat on a bench, pulling your jacket tighter around you as a light drizzle began to fall. The soft patter of rain on the water's surface was soothing, but it didn’t dull the ache in your heart.
Minutes turned into an hour, and the rain intensified. Your phone buzzed again, and this time you glanced at it. Last message from Max was a minute ago
Max: Y/N, please. Where are you? Let me explain. I’m looking for you.
You sighed, wiping away the raindrops mixed with your tears. Your fingers hovered over the screen before you finally typed a reply.
You: By the river. Near the old bridge.
You didn’t know why you told him, but some part of you wanted to hear him out. To understand why he kept doing this. Why would he even waste time with you if he was already in love with someone else?
God. Even the thought of that brought up a real pain in your chest. The rain fell harder, and you huddled under the small awning of a nearby building, trying to stay somewhat dry.
After what felt like an eternity, you saw a figure running towards you through the rain. It was Max, drenched and breathless. He slowed as he approached, his eyes filled with worry and regret. HIs clothes were all over the place, untucked and wrinkled and you only drew the worst conclusion.
”Y/N,” he gasped, stopping a few feet away. ”Thank God, you're okay.”
You stood up, arms crossed defensively. ”You’ve got five minutes, Max. Make it count.”
He nodded, taking a step closer. ”I’m so sorry, Y/N. I know I’ve let you down. I was with her tonight because she’s going through a really rough time. She had no one else to turn to.”
You narrowed your eyes, the skepticism clear. ”On our anniversary? How convenient.”
He flinched at your tone but didn’t back down. ”I know it’s no excuse. I should have told you. I thought I could help her quickly and still make it to dinner. I didn’t realize it would take so long.”
You shook your head, the anger bubbling up again. ”This isn’t the first time, Max. How many times have I had to wonder if she’s really just a friend? How many times have you put her before me?”
Max stepped closer, his eyes pleading. ”I’ve been blind, Y/N. I didn’t see how much I was hurting you. There’s nothing romantic between us. She’s just a friend, and she needed my help. But I see now that I’ve been unfair to you.”
Tears mixed with the rain on your cheeks. ”I don’t know if I can keep doing this, Max. The constant worry, the feeling like I’m not enough. It’s tearing me apart.”
He reached out, tentatively taking your hand. ”You are more than enough, Y/N. I’ve been an idiot, and I’m so sorry. I love you, and I don’t want to lose you.”
You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of deception. All you saw was sincerity and regret. ”How can I trust you again, Max? What did she even need help with?”
He squeezed your hand gently. ” She saw her ex at the club and he was being an asshole. I just went over for five to put him in his place when one of her friends posted the story. I’m sorry for the delay, baby. I know I should've been more transparent about everything. Just please, give me a chance to make things right.”
”Is she okay?” You took a shaky breath, your heart aching with the desire to believe him and he exhaled when you pulled him under the shit excuse of shelter you had from the rain.
”She’s okay. I promise I won't ever embarrass you this way again, baby. You won’t ever have to sit and wonder if I'm bailing because I found someone else or not.” Max took another deep breath. ”I never will, baby, you are the only one I want. I will never find anyone.”
You closed your eyes, the tears spilling over as you hugged him. ”I wanna go home.”
”Okay let’s go home, baby.” Max gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears. ”But I need you to know. You are my priority, Y/N. I’ll never let you feel otherwise again. I love you more than anything, and I’ll spend every day proving it to you.”
You leaned into his touch, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the pain as you hugged him.
He sighed again, closing his eyes to soak in this. ”Happy anniversary, baby. I love you”
You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a tired smile.
Carlos Sainz
Carlos's pleas had grown quieter, the urgency in his voice replaced with a softness that seemed to seep through the crack under the door.
You could hear his breath hitching, a clear sign that he was on the verge of breaking down himself. But you couldn’t get yourself to stand up as you sat on the bed, knees drawn to your chest, tears still streaming down your face as you tried to block out the sound.
”Y/N, please,” he choked out, and you could hear the tears in his voice now. ”I'm so sorry. I... I don't know what else to say. I can't lose you.”
The sincerity and raw emotion in his voice cut through you in a vicious manner, and against your better judgment, you found yourself getting up. You hesitated for a moment, your hand hovering over the doorknob, before finally opening the door just a crack.
Carlos was standing there, his eyes red and swollen from crying. When he saw you, a look of profound relief washed over his face. ”Thank you,” he whispered.
You stepped back, letting him in. He walked in slowly, as if afraid to invade your space, and you closed the door behind him. The silence was heavy, each second stretching into an eternity.
”I'm so sorry,” Carlos said again, his voice trembling. ”I swear, I didn't know she was going to kiss me. If I had known, I would have never invited her. I would never do anything to hurt you intentionally.”
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your own shaking voice. ”But you did invite her, Carlos. And I told you to cut her off so many times. Why didn't you listen?”
He ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly defeated. ”I thought... I thought we were just friends. I didn't realize she felt that way about me. And when she kissed me, I was so shocked. I— I froze. I'm an idiot. I should have pushed her away immediately.”
”You should have,” you echoed, your voice breaking as you recalled that scene and it felt like someone was physically stabbing you. ”Do you have any idea how much it hurt to see that?”
Carlos stepped closer, his eyes pleading. ”I know, and I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, Y/N. You're the only one I want to be with.”
You looked down, tears falling onto the floor. ”How do I know that, Carlos? How do I know you won't let this happen again?”
He gently took your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. ”Because I can’t ever go through this again. I don’t want to know what it feels like to almost lose you. I'll cut her off completely. I promise you, baby, just, anything— it will never happen again.”
You pulled your hands away, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. ”It's not just about cutting her off, Carlos. I can never get that image out of my brain now. What if you just wake up tomorrow that you didn’t get rid of her because yo— you…?”
You trailed off but Carlos understood and immediately shook his head. ”No,” he said firmly. ”I will never wake up with anyone other than you in my heart. You’re the one I love, the one I am going to live my life with.”
He didn’t let you speak as he carried on,”I understand. Trust is earned, not given. And I'll do whatever it takes to earn it back. I'll prove to you that you can trust me.”
You sighed, feeling the weight of his words. ”I want to believe you. But it's going to take time. A lot of time.”
”I know,” he said softly. ”And I'm willing to wait. I'll wait as long as it takes for you to trust me again. Just please, don't shut me out. Let me be there for you.”
You looked into his eyes, seeing the genuine remorse and love in them. Despite everything, a part of you still loved him deeply. ”Okay,” you whispered. ”But you have to understand, it's going to be hard. I'm still hurt, and it's going to take a while for me to heal.”
Carlos nodded, a flicker of hope in his eyes. ”I'll be patient. I'll be here for you, no matter what. And I'll do everything I can to make it right.”
”Alright.” You nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope yourself. ”Just... don't make me regret it.”
”I won't,” Carlos stepped closer, tentatively reaching out to wipe a tear from your cheek. ”I love you, Y/N. More than anything.”
You gave him a small as you leaned into his touch, feeling a mix of emotions, ”I love you too, Carlos. That's why this hurts so much.”
He pulled you into a gentle hug, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. ”We'll get through this. Together.”
Lewis Hamilton
You paced around your apartment, the anger and hurt from the argument still fresh. The silence after the exchange with Lewis was deafening. You couldn’t believe he said those things. Your phone buzzed on the couch, but you ignored it, needing space to process.
A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. It was loud and persistent. You hesitated, hoping it wasn’t who you thought it was.
”Y/N, please open up. I need to talk to you,” Lewis’s voice came through the door, sounding desperate.
You took a deep breath and opened the door. Your boyfriend stood there, looking remorseful.
”What do you want, Lewis?” you asked, your voice cold.
”Can I come in? Please, we need to talk,” he pleaded.
You stepped aside reluctantly, letting him in. He walked into the living room, turning to face you with regret etched on his face.
”I’m sorry, Y/N,” he started, his voice soft as he ran a hand over his face. ”I didn’t mean what I said. I was frustrated— but that’s no excuse.”
”You really hurt me,” you said, crossing your arms defensively knowing you had to support yourself before you start crying again. ”And you were so fucking cruel about it!”
”I know, and I hate that I did that to you,” he replied, his eyes sincere. ”I’ve been spending too much time with her, and I’ve been blind to how it’s been affecting you— us. Affecting us.”
”Why do you keep seeing her then? If she’s just a friend, why does it feel like she’s more important than me?” you demanded, your voice shaking.
”She’s not more important than you,” he said quickly. ”I’ve let the boundaries blur, and I didn’t realize how much it was hurting you. I’m sorry.”
Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. This was not what you expected. You were ready for a fight, sure that Lewis would come with his own weapons out but this was undoing you.
”It’s not just about her, Lewis. It’s about us. You’ve been distant, and I feel like I’m losing you.”
Lewis nodded, looking pained and sick. ”You’re not losing me, Y/N. I’ve been an idiot, and I’ve taken you for granted. I want to fix this.”
”How?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Desperately clinging onto him to make amends because you couldn’t see any in hindsight.
”By being more present, by setting boundaries, and by showing you every day how much you mean to me,” he said, taking your hands in his. ”Please give me a chance to make this right.”
”Words aren’t enough anymore,” you said, looking down at your joined hands.
”I know,” he nodded. ”But I'm willing to go through any lengths, I’ll prove to you that you’re my priority.”
You searched his eyes, seeing the determination and regret. ”I want to trust you,” as your voice cracked, the very first tear fell down your face and Lewis immediately grabbed you as he pulled you to lay your head on his chest.
”I can’t though— I wish I could but I can't get hurt again.”
”I understand and I promise you can shoot me if I hurt you again” he said. ”I love you, Y/N. I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”
You leaned into his embrace, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the pain. ”I love you too.” You felt him take a sigh as he held you tight against his warm body.
”And I need you to understand that my feelings are valid,” you continued as you soaked his shirt with your tears. ”When I tell you something bothers me, I need you to listen and not dismiss it.”
”I promise I’ll listen,” he said, his voice full of sincerity. ”I’ll do better because losing you would end me.”
You took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift slightly. As you stood there in your boyfriend’s arms, you realized that healing would take time but there was no one else you would rather heal with. Though only time could tell what the future held for you.
Oscar Piastri
You closed your eyes as you heard the door of your best friend's apartment being knocked on again. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger, betrayal, sadness.
You replayed the messages over and over in your head, each one cutting deeper than the last as you contemplated whether letting Oscar in would be a good decision. You finally made the decision when you heard the neighbor’s lock moving.
You pulled him in before they could open their door or call the cops and finally took a look at him. He looked disheveled. His eyes were red from holding unshed tears as they glossed over once he finally took you in.
”Y/N,” Oscar started, moving towards you with open arms. ”Thanks for letting me in.”
”I almost didn't.” You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to keep your voice steady as you stepped away from his open arms. ”But you were waking up the whole damn building.”
Oscar nodded, looking down at the ground. ”I deserve that.” You took a deep breath, desperate to get this over with.
”Why, Oscar? Why did you lie to me?”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. ”I... I was scared you'd get upset. I thought if I told you the truth, you'd leave me.”
”And now?” you scoffed, your voice rising. ”You think I'm not upset now? You think lying to me makes it any better?”
He stepped closer, his eyes pleading. ”Y/N, I made a mistake. A huge mistake. But nothing happened between me and her, I swear. We were drunk, and she sat on my lap for a picture. It was stupid and irresponsible, but that's all it was.”
You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. ”Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Seeing her on your lap after you told me she wasn't even going to be there?”
Oscar reached out to touch your arm, but you stepped back once again and his eyes brimmed with tears. ”Y/N, please. I love you. I was an idiot, but I love you. I need you to believe that.”
You wiped your eyes, trying to compose yourself. ”How can I believe you, Oscar? When I don't even know if you really want me?”
He swallowed hard, his tears finally falling out of his eyes. Oscar looked defeated as if he was fighting a battle already lost.
”Please don’t say that. You’re the only person I want. I'll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. I'll never lie to you again. I'll be completely honest, even if it's something I think will hurt you. Just... please give me a chance to make it right.”
You looked at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. You saw only earnest regret and a desperate longing for forgiveness. You wanted to believe him, but the hurt was still so raw.
”I don't know if I can,” you whispered. ”You've broken my trust, Oscar. And that's not something you can just fix with words.”
He nodded slowly. ”I know. But I'm willing to do whatever it takes. I'll go to counseling, I'll give you access to my phone, my social media, anything you need to feel secure. Just please, don’t give up on us.”
You stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation heavy in the air. You looked around the dimly lit apartment, as you took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.
”Okay,” you said finally. ”I’m willing to discuss this in the morning. But if you lie to me again, if you hurt me again, we're done. Do you understand?”
Oscar's face lit up with a mixture of relief and determination as his chest heaved. ”I understand. I promise you, Y/N, I'll never give you a reason to doubt me again.”
You nodded, as your lips quivered. ”I hope so. Because I don't think I can go through this again.”
He stepped closer, cautiously taking your hand. You allowed it, feeling the warmth of his touch. ”Thank you,” he said softly. ”I won't let you down.”
You stood together, still holding hands. The silence between you was different now—tentative, but with a flicker of understanding. You had a long way to go, but for the first time since those fateful messages, you felt like maybe, just maybe, not all was lost.
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Rye Whiskey
♢ Summary: Celebrating Sean's return to camp includes a drunk Arthur, which allows you to discover this whole new side of him.
♢Words: 2057
♢Warnings: None except for the whole alcohol/drinking theme, basically it's just a one-shot of a fluff idea I had watching the video of drunk Arthur saying nonsense to Saddie.
♢Credits: These gorgeous dividers are from @cafekitsune!
♪ "O Mollie O Mollie, it's for your sake alone,
That I leave my old parents, my house and my home !" ♪
Even if someone didn't know Sean had returned to the gang, they could have noticed it right away hearing his cheerful singing, his thick Irish accent rolling the words even more musically. As the main entertainer of the gang, he was absolutely delighted to have a party thrown for him, and honestly, his big toothless smile made your heart feel warmer. Tonight, in the fresh air of New Hanover, it was only laughter, guitar notes, and drunken sounds that were echoing through the camp, everyone finally having a real good time since they had settled at Horseshoe Overlook after such a long time hidden in the ruthless cold of the Grizzlies.
You were sitting around one of the campfires, with Javier, Sean, Uncle, and John. Karen had also joined, gladly sitting on Sean's lap with a bottle in her hand; you were sure there was something between them, and the poor man probably deserved some sweet time after what he had been through. Talking about bottles, the floor was flooded with a large amount of them around your little singing group, almost like a big pond of green glass you all fed every few minutes when someone would empty one.
You had your fair share of drinks already, a slight blush burning your cheeks, the alcohol keeping you warm under the night's cold breeze and happy despite the gang's precarious situation. Funny, how whiskey would make everything easier and more entertaining, no matter who or where you were looking.
Alright, you had to admit it, you were a bit tipsy, but so were Javier, Sean, and Karen. But Arthur, oh Lord, Arthur was far beyond drunk, he was wrecked. Looking at him from where you were sitting and singing along, you could see just how much of a mess he was; at least three of his shirt's buttons were undone, said shirt opened messily; his hair scattered under his hat and looking sticky, almost as if he had put his whole head into a barrel of beer; he had a constant smile on his face, and his body was swaying gently as if he was an unstable bottle being tossed around by the waves of a tormented sea. You chuckled to yourself; he was quite a sight to see, and you wondered if you actually had ever seen him that drunk. A few weeks back, Lenny had told you about the wild night he and Arthur had at Valentine's saloon, but the man in question had slept in jail and came back to camp completely sober, which made you unable to see his incredibly drunken state and made you wonder what the hell he must have done to end up in jail.
♪ "If the Oceans were whiskey, and I were a duck, -Quack quack !-
I'd dive to the bottom, and get one sweet sup !" ♫
You almost burst out in laughter at how Arthur had added the quacking part. It was almost as if it was a whole new side of him, and you couldn't stop looking at him. His deep voice sounded surprisingly good as he was singing with the others, and you caught yourself liking hearing it. After all, you always had a sweet spot for him, so you wouldn't complain about having the opportunity to look at him as much as you wanted without him noticing it (or at least, being too drunk to understand what exactly was happening). His bright blue eyes, sparkling with the orange ashes of the fire, along with his light brown hair and stubble, his black opened shirt, his thin lips curled into this big stupid smile... It was all making your heart melt more and more. You almost lost it when he started drinking again, roughly grabbing a nearby bottle, probably without even knowing what it was containing, and bringing it to his mouth, the golden liquid sliding in his throat, making his Adam's apple bob, some glistening drops of it flowing from the bottle all the way down his scarred chin, then his throat, ending up in the dark hair of his chest.
You're suddenly pulled out of your starring trance by his loud voice cutting through the song's lyrics: "Lenny, mah boy !"
"Arthur... You had too many drinks again..." Lenny answered with an amused giggle as he was passing behind him, catching his inebriated eldest as he had got up to greet him, but ended up stumbling on the way and almost tripped on him.
There was no need to specify that Lenny had trouble holding him upright, Arthur being under normal circumstances quite a weight to carry, and even more so when he was in such a state not making any effort to prevent his face from kissing the ground. Quickly, you got up yourself, and took a few steps towards the men, helping Lenny on his difficult task.
"Look who it is, Miss Y/L/N !" Arthur greeted you with foggy eyes and a wide grin as if you two hadn't seen each other for years when you had talked only a few hours ago. He instantly put one of his arms above your shoulders and the other around Lenny's. "C-come ooon, let's dance !"
Lenny sighed before laughing a bit, letting Arthur carry him into his drunken enthusiasm; you chuckle along with him, not complaining about being so close to him, even if he was barely able to register what he was actually doing and with whom. As Javier started playing a lively song, Arthur, Lenny and you were throwing your legs up in the air; you laughed some more noticing how your favorite cowboy had a hard time actually following the rhythm.
The night continued and you blushed realizing Arthur hadn't let you go, his arms always ended up around your shoulders or on it as he was sometimes leaning against you. Maybe... You brush away your thoughts, he was really drunk, and he could have been like that with anyone. You spent the rest of the night having fun, drinking some more, laughing, singing, the whole gang having more and more fun as everyone had loosened up thanks to the booze. However at some point, the main man of the party, Sean, disappeared with Karen, and people started going to bed. After all, it was almost morning already, the stars of the night not as bright anymore as they were around the middle of the night, subtle sun rays making their presence known behind the outlines of the mountains, but not appearing just yet.
It was now only you, John, and Arthur left around the campfire, the dark-haired man looking down at his brother at heart, an amused grin on his face. Arthur was half asleep at you and John's feet, bottle in one hand, his other arm curled up around your leg. With all the proximity and physical contact he had given you through the whole night, your heart and body had gotten warmer, and you had to make enormous efforts to keep your thoughts in line, not wanting to have any false hope about him and his behavior.
"He's so goddamn drunk... " John sighed.
"Clearly."
"Come on, let's carry him to bed." John said to you, getting up with difficulty from the log you both were sitting on.
"Rah, you guys are no f-fun!" Arthur protested, his voice even hoarser than usual due to his intoxicated self. "Come on, one more drink!"
"Nope, you're going to bed." John's own croaky tone answered his partner. He then looked at you while bending down, expecting you to help him lift Arthur's poor body.
You leaned over, helping John. Arthur was barely able to walk, leaning heavily on you and John, one of his arms above John's shoulder just as earlier with Lenny, but his other around your waist. Your cheeks burned. Even if it was just drunken attention... You liked it.
The three of you started to walk to Arthur's tent, as fast as you could considering his feet were more brushing the ground than actually stepping on it. You weren't able to have any coherent thoughts at this point, your whole being living for the warm sensation of his big palm on your waist, feeling how his fingers were gently rubbing against your clothes.
"You two... Are the b-best..." Arthur slurred out in a rough voice when you had reached his tent. As gently as you both could, John and you were trying to lay him in his cot.
"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Arthur." John answered with an amused chuckle, placing one of his legs in its right place on his bed.
"Y/N, you're beautiful..." Arthur added in an almost unintelligible rumble, as you were pulling back from him. "I l-love you."
Your jaw dropped. What did he say? Did you hear that right? You froze, eyes glued to the outlaw, who was already turning around to sleep on his stomach, lips parted, a light snore emerging from his noose as he had instantly fallen asleep as if he had permission to now that he was in his cot.
John looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
"Don't take it seriously, Y/N." He advised you. "He already told that to Abigail and Karen before, even Saddie if I reckon right."
"Oh, erm... Alright, I won't." You answered your friend. Honestly, you probably would have slept better not knowing that; a sharp little sliver of disappointment subtly piercing through your heart. "Goodnight too, John."
"Goodnight, Y/N, thanks for the help." The scarred man greeted you before heading to his own tent. It was so late, you were sure Abigail would reprimand him for that tomorrow morning.
But that was John's problem, and you already had one yourself.
You took a last look at your sleepy cowboy before walking off to your own tent. He looked cute like this, hair messy, clothes completely disheveled; even his snoring was kind of endearing to you. You reluctantly turned your back to him, resisting the urge to actually lay with him in his cot. After all, he wouldn't have complained, wouldn't he? These thoughts got stuck in your brain as you got to your own cot, pretty tired yourself after partying all night.
Arthur opened his eyes. "It hurts"; were the first words that came to his mind. His back, his neck, his goddamn head, everything was hurting him. Getting old was definitely not a piece of cake. He rubbed his eyes, which felt dry and burnt, just like his thorny throat, even if a slight string of saliva had slid from his mouth. Getting that drunk was definitely too frequent for him lately, the other night with Lenny still engraved in his memory and his tired body, fed up with his poor drinking decisions. He slowly got up, rubbing his face, carefully avoiding his gaze from looking at the sun, its light way too powerful for him in this hungover state.
Looking around the camp, he smiled internally seeing Karen emerging from Sean's tent. Little bastard had gotten himself a good time last night. While thinking back about what happened, he had a hard time remembering all of it, as often when he was that drunk. Maybe it was better that way, considering his impressive capacity to get in trouble and make a fool of himself in those kind of situations. However this time, something was lingering in the back of his mind.
You.
Your delicate smell, how the soft fabric of your clothes felt under his fingers, how your voice sounded into his ears, how smooth and mellow your leg was. How the hell did he knew about all that? He focused, frowning, trying so hard to remember what had happened, but all he had was these sensations, those pleasant, haunting sensations. He couldn't help but feel flustered all by himself just thinking of the reason why he suddenly knew so much about the grain of your skin and the warmth of your body against his.
He prayed deeply he didn't do anything stupid with you; Lord knows how important you were to him. Hell, he had thought about you a lot already, thought about offering you flowers or maybe a nice jewel, something that would be as pretty as you even if to him no physical object could ever compete with your beauty and your adorable personality.
But before all that, he needed to have a few words about last night with you. Probably would stumble on his words, make a fool of himself again, but at least he would be able to be close to you, just like in those sweet lingering memories in his head.
a/n : Alright so... Here it is! My first one-shot ever. Please, if you notice anything, any mistakes, or a weird-sounding sentence: let me know! English isn't my first language and I'm actually anxious as hell to publish this! Anyway, thanks for reading this until the end and take care <3
#rdr2 fanfic#red dead redemption 2#red dead fandom#red dead redemption#arthur morgan x reader#red dead fanfic#arthur morgan x female reader#rdr2 fandom#one shot#pinefic#arthur morgan fluff
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Pancakes Messes & A Reluctant Baby-sitter
Jason Todd X Wife! Reader
Warnings: suggestive content, explicit language, and FLUFF.
Words:1329
Requested taglist@too-strong-to-lose @asrainterstellar
Arthur's notes! Danny Phantom au! Good Dad Bruce Wayne. Danny's and Danielle's parents are dead. Danielle phantom is Danny's little sister.
It's Jason and Y/N's anniversary. So the kids want to surprise them however not everything go's according to plan
It was the morning of their wedding anniversary of 5 year's now. Jason and Y/N had to make a balance from keeping their hands to themselves to enjoying each other. In the meantime keeping quiet so two little ghosts didn't hear them.
It was early in the morning as Jason had his head comfortably rested on her thigh with his legs sprawled across the couch. She runs her knuckles through his hair. He smiled softly kissing her hand.
Just then a bedroom door opens by the smallest Todd member of the family. She had just woken up wearing her little burgundy pj's.
She sees her parents blissfully unaware of her presence. She uses the perfect opportunity to change to a ghost. Dani flew to her big brother's room.
Dani knocked softly on Danny's bedroom door. He groans softly irritated by the annoying sound. She leans her head against the door and could hear him sleeping. As a ghost she passed easily through his door and into his room.
As punishment for sleeping in, unlike he promised her. She wanted to take his book and throw at his sleepy face... Though she couldn't because then if he got angry.. Which he would. Her parents would hear them and she really wants to surprise them.
"earth to Danny" she orders rubbing the older halfa's arm "wake up Ghosty!"
He tried to fall back asleep, ignoring the chill go down his spine followed by the coldish blue air leave his mouth.
"Dani let me sleep" he whined to his little sister.
"it's their anniversary and you promised to help me make them breakfast!" she reminds him upset.
"oh man I totally forgot" he yawns followed by a deep groan "hmmm I need coffee"
"fine I won't tell Mom or Dad just get up already and come help me" she demands
Danny gets out of bed wearing his black pants and a dark blue t-shirt. The two ghosts sneak into the kitchen daring not to touch the floor. Their parents were still in the living room blissfully unaware.
Danielle gathered ingredients for the pancakes. Daniel poured himself a cup of coffee adding a little too much sugar and cream.
Dani began mixing the batter using her Dad's favorite recipe. He had made his own recipe book and added many recipes. Most of them were even Alfred's recipes.
"I could use, a little help you know" Dani accused with a, hushed tone.
"I'm just observing from a, safe distance. To make sure you don't burn down the house" Danny defends taking a sip of his coffee
Danielle's little eyes glare to her big brother. Danny put his hand up in a defensive manner. He starts the burner and placed the pan on the hot stove. Danny takes a bit of butter placing it on the hot pan.
Dani used a tin foil to fold in the shape of a heart, to make heart shaped pancakes. As Danny flips the third pancake... Everything was going perfectly perfect..
"should we go fix breakfast? I know you must be hungry" Y/N suggested
"nah I'm fine I just want to stay here! Just a few minutes.. Unless you want to eat?" he asked
"no I'm good" she smiled softly "do you smell something?"
"oh yeah.. I'm sure it's the kid's cooking. I say let 'em surprise us" Jason suggested
"ok, but we should listen incase something breaks" she responded softly chuckling.
Danny takes a drink of his coffee but sees the pancake is about to burn and Dani is not aware as she's drinking some orange juice. Danny puts his coffee down on the counter but misjudged and falls to the ground.. Shatter pieces fall everywhere...
"did you hear that?" Y/N asked her husband thinking she might be just hearing things fearing the worst.
"it's probably nothing" Jason shrugged off, but he wasn't convinced by his own words
Both parents get up from the couch. Recognizing the sound of broken glass they put on their house shoes... The couple went into the kitchen. As they see, the children, the mess and the adorable pancakes.
"I'm so so so sorry!!" Danielle cried
"it's my fault! I should've been more careful" Daniel apologized
"kids.. You both are so very.. VERY sweet for wanting to surprise us" Jason smiled giving Danny a pat on the shoulder "it's just a cup"
"it's, ok it happens" Y/N assured "nobody got cut from the glass?"
"nope" Dani said
"no" Danny answered
Jason helps Danny clean the glass and the coffee. Y/N smiled flipping the heart shaped pancake. She kisses Danielle's head as her daughter was not entirely happy the surprise ended in disaster.
"you kid's did a wonderful job in here" she smiles to her little girl trying to cheer her up
"yeah expect the broken glass and the ruined surprise" she scoffed arms folded
"well that's why we bought so many mugs instead of only buying 4... Accidents happen a LOT. Just ask Dad, he knows very well" Y/N laughs as did her daughter
"that's so NOT true" Jason defends, putting the last bit of broken glass in the trash can
The kitchen was, clean minus the pancake mess of course..
"maybe a little" Danny chuckled
"oh really?" Jason asked annoyingly
"Dad don't!" Danny begged nearly laughing as he recognized his Dad's expression "don't! Even think about it"
"get him Dad!!" Dani cheered
Jason reaches pulling Danny close and began tickling him. The young boy began laughing hysterically.
"D-dad st-stop it!" he laughs
He then went ghost causing Jason arms to move through Danny.
"you little cheater!" Jason playfully scowled
Danny sneaks behind his dad and began tickling him. Jason growled laughing.
"alright not TOO rowdy boys!" Y/N snapped laughing at their usual antics
...
Alfred looks after little Daniel and Danielle Todd formerly Danny and Danielle Fenton. While the children's parents are on their date. During which inside Wayne Manor.. Damian tries to avoid his nephew and niece.. Because he is a former assassin not a babysitter... He doesn't know how to take care of kids..
"Alfred I do not deem it wise I look after them" Damian scowled "Daniel is 3 years older than Danielle why not let him tend to her whist taking care of himself" he persisted
"I understand your reservations Master Damian, even so they do adore you. The children need to be looked after and your the only one currently home. Your father has acquired my assistance as for why I aquire your help" Alfred informed
"tt fine! But be quick!" he reluctantly agreed
Damian steps into the family room seeing Danny was watching TV with Dani. He sits at the edge. The children see their uncle greeting him kindly.. Don't feel. Don't feel. Don't get too close. Damian repeats in his head. What of they got too close and didn't like him?
Damian tried to be kind and.. Nurturing. Though he wasn't sure how. He knew how to read so he read Danielle a story.. He knew how, to play games.. So he played with Danny.. It was hard not to grow more found of them... Eventually Alfred was able to relieve Damian of the burden but he insisted that he could tolerate them a bit longer
.....
"mommy!! Daddy!!" Danielle gleed
"you're back!" Danny smiled
"hey kids!" Jason smiled
"hey Sweethearts!" Y/N sweetly said
Changing to a, ghost Dani flew to hug her parents necks. Danny hugged them both.
"did you two have fun?" Y/N asked
"yeah! Alfred made cookies with us" Dani said
"yeah all kinds of cookies. There's plenty for you guys by the way. Damian played games with me and I beat him twice!" Danny smiled
"and Uncle Dami read me my favorite story!" Danielle smiled
"well I'm glad you two had fun. Thanks Damian" Jason told his, baby brother.
"we really appreciate you taking care of them" Y/N told her brother-in-law
"my pleasure" Damian smiled softly.
#dp x dc fanfic#dp x dc#batfamily#Jason Todd X Wife! Reader#danny phantom batfamily#Danny phantom#Danny Fenton#danielle fenton#wedding anniversary#fluff#Danielle phantom#Dad Jason Todd#Jason Todd and Danny Fenton
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somehow some time magic goes wrong and young arthurs from different points in time are pulled into king arthur era. everyone kinda has this back and forth of who is going to watch the literal 8 month old. gwen and lancelot are pretty good at taking care of him, so is percival but he doesnt seem comfortable with it so no one forces him. elyan tried to hold him but baby!arthur started wailing after three seconds. leon is sorta good but he has like no idea how babies work or what they need so when baby!arthur found his sword and almost lobbed his own head off, leon was forbidden from taking care of the child. gaius is too old and busy researching how to reverse the issue. who the HELL would trust gwaine with a child? arthur has this Odd aversion to the child but no one pushes him on it. ofc merlin, magic incarnate, has this like aura or energy that draws all these innocent woodland creatures to him so obviously little arthur is also drawn to him. in fact, merlin seems to be the person he likes the most. and merlins a natural w kids apparently so hes often the one that baby!arthur is handed off to.
he complains about it at first but when baby!arthur breaks into a fit of giggles after merlin calls adult!arthur a clotpole, he has merlin wrapped around his little finger. merlin stops complaining but does let arthur know that the one thing he Will Not Do is change his diaper. arthur laughs and walks away. merlin talks to baby!arthur like they’ve been friends for years (bc they have). arthur points out that baby!arthur cant understand him and merlin retorts that its like how it normally is. merlin gets to perform magic in front of baby!arthur and he LOVES it
my point to this was merlin dotting on little versions of arthur is a way that no one ever really did for him growing up and adult!arthur seeing it and healing little pieces of his inner child as he watches merlin play games with baby!arthur and make sure he’s taken care of. it especially hits him when gaius finally finds a way to send baby!arthur back and while everyone seems torn between upset they have to say bye, they’re also relieved to get the baby back where hes supposed to be,, merlin is like choking back fat tears. everyone backs off to give them privacy and merlin just kisses baby!arthur’s forehead and whispers some encouraging and heartachingly sincere words that have adult!arthur choking back tears.
then BOOM the spell also backfires and while yes baby!arthur got back to where hes supposed to be, now theres toddler!arthur. he has this gravitational pull to gaius (can recognize him) and merlin (magic soulmates ofc he has an innate trust in the man). merlin is happy to have his little friend back and gaius goes back to the drawing board. now they have this little 2-3 year old toddling after them and blabbering something that sounds like english if you’re patient enough
(merlin makes another comment about how little arthur has changed over the years)
the cycle repeats, merlin and toddler!arthur get attached and adult!arthur watches and heals a bit more of his inner child. gaius finds another cure that falls through the same way and now they have child!arthur. he has a bit more of uther’s influence in him but hes still a child. he gets hurt and tries to fight back tears but merlin sees he’s in pain and tells him it’s okay to be hurt, to feel pain, to cry. child!arthur says in that stutter cry children do when they’re fighting back tears that his father says boys shouldn’t cry. merlin wipes a tear that slips down child!arthur’s face and whispers about how he cries and lets himself feel his sadness before picking himself back up and dusting himself off before getting back to it, that it doesn’t make him weak but stronger. adult!arthur hears this and this may not be the beginning of his deconstruction but it makes a tremendous amount of progress in him rewiring his brain away from his father’s toxic ways of thinking.
idk if they’d get a teen!arthur since gaius probably would’ve learned his lesson by then but if they did, we’d get to watch Merlin vs Arthur Showdown 2.0 as merlin humbles the young prince and i think that’d be funny. especially for gwaine since he didn’t get to see it happen the first time.
#bbc merlin#merlin emrys#arthur pendragon#fic idea#fanfic#fanfiction#time travel#child aquisition#sorta#i think arthur shouldve gotten to see how someone shouldve treated him growing up#what that sort of unconditional love looks and feels like#as a treat#and who else but from merlin?? the one person who above all absolutely afores arthur and would do anything for him#plus merlin would have that moment as hes putting little!arthur in the center of the spell circle to send him back#where hes like ‘oh god im sending him back to uther to be raised by him. im throwing him to the wolves rn. i need to protect him#from his father’ but he cant bc arthur HAS to go back#maybe thats what he whispers to young!arthur to have strength when facing his father and protect his heart from him#and arthur hears that and is just. a mess.#lancelot du lac#guinevere#gwen#sir percival#sir elyan#sir leon#sir gwaine#gaius#merthur
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dime, ¿esto es lo que tú quería'?
charles leclerc and oscar piastri x fem!reader
how about a reward for monaco's p1 and p2?
warnings/notes: smut, threesome, a blowjob, slight degradation, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it up, people!!!), cumshot, creampie, gagging, light choking
a/n: very ambitious and would not set me free until i wrote it...so please enjoy <3
.
You really had no idea how you ended up here.
Arthur is a good friend of yours, having met him when you first came to work for Ferrari under the communication department, mostly being assigned to handle the Academy and development drivers' communication needs. You and Arthur got on well, and eventually, you were hanging out with him and his other friends on the weekends.
The two of you were strictly friendly, something you've had to clear out multiple times to work superiors, nosy colleagues, insistent reporters, you name it.
Arthur isn't your type, point blank, period.
His older brother was a different topic altogether.
Charles was sensitive, artistic, a prince charming in all aspects. Being in close proximity to Arthur meant you spent some time with Charles, too, but those were few and far between and every time you were within five feet of Charles, you were reduced to a tongue-tied mess.
Regardless, Arthur insisted you come along to the celebrations after Charles' most recent win in Monaco.
"Charles knows who you are and you're my friend. He won't mind," Arthur pleaded earlier that day as you were packing up after the podium celebrations.
"What if you go running off and I'm left alone?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I won't go running off," Arthur promised. "I'll be with you the whole night. I'll even help you look for a guy you can go home with!"
And yet you're here in the present, sitting on a couch in the VIP section, alone.
Well, not really. You're surrounded by people but none of them are talking to you. Arthur had gone to get more drinks half an hour ago and you know by now that he probably was sidetracked by other friends or something to that effect.
You have half a mind to call it a night, your hand already reaching for your purse, when you hear a voice call out.
"________! You're here!"
You look up and your heart seems to jump right into your throat.
Charles is beaming down at you, a flag of Monaco draped around his shoulders, his previously styled hair now sticking up in all directions.
You caught a glimpse of Charles earlier when you arrived with Arthur, but the race winner was too busy doing shots for you to have properly said hi.
But he's here now. And he's sliding into the space beside you.
"Where's Arthur?" Charles asks, reaching for an unopened Heineken on the table in front of you.
"I have no idea," you half-yell, leaning closer so Charles could hear. You feel goosebumps erupt on your skin when Charles lays a tentative hand on your back.
"You can spend time with me, then," Charles grins, moving his arm further so it fully wraps around your shoulders.
A nervous laugh escapes you but your instinct is to lean even further into Charles' touch. He's still smiling at you, though clearly inebriated with the way his eyes seem out of focus.
"Ah, Oscar!"
You turn your head to see the other third of the podium finishers, Osar Piastri himself.
"Hey!" he calls over the din of the music. "I can't find anyone! I think they just abandoned me," Oscar adds, laughing.
He takes the seat on your left, effectively sandwiching you between him and Charles. You smile politely at Oscar, reaching your hand out.
"Hi, I'm ______," you say, smiling wider as Oscar takes your hand in his and squeezes.
"I'm Oscar," he says then pauses, realizing that you probably already knew who he was if you were any friend of Charles'. He laughs, practically giggles, hiding his face in his hand.
"Sorry, I see you around the paddock sometimes, so I probably didn't need to do that," Oscar explains, cheeks turning pink, or at least you think they do, given that the lighting in this club is atrocious.
Oscar is still holding your hand and you can tell that he's tipsy too by the way he's smiling, eyes hooded and sleepy-looking.
"________ is part of communications in Ferrari," Charles explains, rubbing his thumb over the exposed skin of your shoulder. You turn to look at Charles, and the way he gazes back at you, a half smile on his lips, breath hot on your cheek, has your heart pounding incessantly against your chest.
"She's very efficient," Charles praises with a chuckle. "I like seeing her around when she works."
You make a move to swat at Charles' thigh as if to tell him off. "Stop it, I'm not at enough races for you to see me that often."
You're laughing, mostly in disbelief at the words that just came out of Charles' mouth. He likes seeing you around?
Charles shrugs. "But when you are, I notice."
You feel your neck heat up and even more so when Charles maneuvers you closer, seemingly protective. If you moved any more, you'd be on Charles' lap.
Oscar eyes the two of you and you'd give anything to read the thoughts in his head right now. The younger man locks eyes with you and smiles, sweetly at first, but then his pupils glance down briefly at your chest, barely covered by the tube top you decided to don for the evening.
The sweetness quickly melts away as Oscar bites his lip.
"You're close, then?" Oscar asks casually, scooting closer to you and Charles.
"Arthur and her are good friends," Charles points out.
"So I guess by default, _______ and I are good friends, too."
You laugh and Oscar is grinning once more at you, and god does he look handsome under these lights. You can tell that he wants to come even closer, his fingers tapping nervously on his knee. Some slow song is playing over the speakers, bass loaded and making the entire place vibrate.
You reach out, laying a hand on Oscar's thigh, squeezing just enough to get the point across.
Oscar looks over at Charles and you follow his line of sight, seeing some sort of unspoken agreement cross the two drivers.
Charles dips his head, moving even closer to you. He breathes out right next to your ear and you shiver.
"Ma chèrie," he begins. "I think we need to take this somewhere else."
You turn to look at Charles, blood roaring in your ears. "What?"
Charles looks straight into your eyes as if searching for something. He rubs a soothing hand down your back, letting it settle on your waist.
"You want to, no?" Charles asks, momentarily glancing up at Oscar. "With me and him?"
You feel a rush of excitement course through you. Surely, this isn't happening. The idea of Charles bringing you home crossed your mind briefly the moment he touched you earlier, but that's as far as you allowed yourself to imagine. But the remnants of alcohol in your system and the intoxicating atmosphere of the club must have gotten to you with the way you so brazenly made a move on Oscar.
And now you reap what you sow.
"We can hang out at my place," Oscar throws out nonchalantly as if he was simply inviting you and Charles to more drinks at his apartment.
"I just moved in and it could use a little...housewarming," Oscar adds with a pointed look.
Charles bursts out laughing, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder before nuzzling into the side of your neck. You glance around, hyperaware that all eyes have been on Charles the whole night, and for sure it isn't any different now.
"Andiamo," Charles whispers. "We'll make it good."
Let's go. Your months of Italian as a prerequisite to working in Ferrari barely register with you now.
Oscar slips his own hand over your thigh, his large palm covering an expanse of your skin.
"You'll love the view from my balcony," Oscar offers, tilting his head towards you. He smiles, innocent and sweet once more, simultaneously squeezing at the flesh of your thigh.
You bite your lip, suppressing whatever sounds that threatened to come out.
-
You thought you'd never make it out of the car ride to Oscar's place.
Oscar had brought his own ride and being much, much more sober than both you and Charles, he took the initiative to drive. You and Charles piled into the backseat, giggling.
"Not fair, you guys," Oscar teased from the front, eyeing you through the rearview mirror. Charles merely snickers, hands sneaking up over your chest as you settle on his lap.
"Eyes on the road, Oscar," Charles ordered, yanking your top down, exposing yourself fully to Oscar. You gasped, the cold air of the air-conditioning lending to the stiffening of your nipples. Charles began to toy with them, pinching and rolling them between his fingers, reducing you to a speechless mess. You noticed just how hard Oscar was gripping the steering wheel, tight enough that his knuckles were drained of color.
You barely had time to cover yourself back up once you got to Oscar's place, with Charles tugging you out of the car as soon as Oscar killed the ignition. The younger of the two comes around to your side of the car as you and Charles stumble out. Oscar takes your hand in his and leans down briefly to kiss you, tongue darting out to lick at the seam of your lips.
Oscar pulls away, sending Charles a look. "I was on the podium, too, mate."
"Ah, sorry Oscar," Charles says lightheartedly. "Sharing isn't really my strong suit. But for her, I will try."
Charles lands a smack on your ass, the sound loud enough to make you flinch. You involuntarily whine at the sting, tripping over your feet a bit. Oscar steadies you, laughing along with Charles.
"We're gonna have so much fun with you, chèrie," Charles teases, kissing your cheek.
The elevator ride is even worse. Or better. You can't decide.
It's just the three of you, and you're backed up into the corner, Charles being the handsier of the two, creeping both hands up your sides, his knee pushing between your legs.
"Ch-Charles, not here," you manage to warn. He increases the pressure against your core, grinning as he watches you shiver.
Oscar watches from the side, arms crossed, leaning casually against the elevator wall. You meet his gaze and he winks, smiling languidly just as Charles kisses down the side of your neck.
Soon enough, the elevator doors open and you push Charles away, startled to see a pair of middle-aged women waiting on the other side. You hurry past them out into the hallway, following Oscar who saunters down towards the end with an easy step.
"Right here," Oscar declares, unlocking a door at the very end. Charles guides you inside just as Oscar turns the light on.
The living room is spacious, with a single couch and coffee table occupying it. A deep blue rug breaks the cream flooring. Past the receiving area is the dining and kitchen, set against floor-to-ceiling windows, a staple of Monegasque apartments, as you've come to figure out. A hallway veers to the right.
"You weren't kidding about the view," you comment, taking in the night sky and the sprawling harbor.
Oscar turns back to you, and only now do you get a good look at him. The first three buttons of his shirt undone, his hair the right kind of messy, and his eyes, darker than what you're used to.
"The view in here is just as good," Oscar replies, eyes raking over your body. He reaches out, a hand resting on your waist.
"May I?" Charles whispers from behind you, tugging down the zip of your skirt. He gets it open and you let it fall to your feet, kicking it off to the side.
"So pretty," Charles adds, kissing along your upper back. Oscar hikes your top up and you let him pull it over your head, leaving you bare, save for your panties.
"I could see your tits through your shirt the whole night," Oscar comments, pointer fingers ghosting over your nipples. "Imagined what they might look like."
You gasp, leaning further back into Charles. You had no idea Oscar had that kind of mouth on him.
It turned you on to no end.
"Better than what you imagined?" You breathe out, Charles' fingers making their way over your mound, pressing over the wet spot on your underwear.
"Chèrie, you're so wet," Charles curses, rubbing you through the thin fabric. "Will you let me get a taste of you, hm?"
You nod frantically, already buckling under the lightest of touch from both men. You can only imagine how pathetic you look right now, stripped bare, with them still fully clothed.
"We should move this to the room," Oscar offers, delivering a final pinch to both of your nipples. You yelp as Oscar chuckles darkly, taking your hand in his.
It hasn't even fully started and you're already made to do the walk of shame.
Oscar's walls are still mostly bare but you feel exposed somehow, shivering despite the fairly warm temperature. He leads you and Charles to the door at the end of the hall, stepping inside while undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt.
You're met with large double doors on one side of the room, leading to, what you can only assume, is a large balcony.
"We can do it with a view, amour," Charles says, wrapping both arms around your waist.
Oscar shrugs his shirt off and you watch as his muscles flex beneath his skin, taut and defined.
"We sure can," Oscar agrees, flinging the doors to his balcony open. The cool night breeze blows past your face and you sigh, heart rate picking up even more.
Charles gently maneuvers you closer to the open doors and your hands start to clam up. Shit, are you really doing this?
"W-Wait," you mutter. "Won't anyone see?"
Oscar approaches you, pointer finger hooking into your underwear. He tugs at it harshly, yanking it halfway off.
"We don't have to do it outside if you don't want to," Oscar says, voice low. He looks at Charles. "Don't wanna get kicked out after I've just moved in."
Charles snickers. "The bed is right there. We'll leave the doors open and let them hear you, instead."
And it's true. The bed is directly in front of the balcony doors, moonlight spilling onto Oscar's navy blue sheets. Oscar grabs fully at your soiled panties now, ripping them clean off.
You gasp, but any shock is melted away when you see Oscar ball up the torn fabric in his hand, bringing it closer to your face. He raises his eyebrows as if questioning you.
"Yes? No?" He asks, tapping beneath your chin. It clicks a little late what Oscar is asking of you but you nod, parting your lips.
Oscar grins, pushing your panties into your mouth.
Fuck.
You hear the metal clang of a belt being unbuckled behind you, followed by the crinkle of fabric as Charles lets his pants and underwear pool around his ankles.
"You and I are going to have so much fun with her, no, Oscar?" Charles asks, a hint of mischief in his voice.
Oscar undoes the button of his pants as well. "Yes, we are."
"How do you want to do this, baby?" Charles addresses you, taking hold of your hips. "Tell us."
"And maybe if you're good, we'll give you what you want," Oscar adds, a hand sliding up your chest before resting around your neck. Your breath hitches as you feel Oscar test the waters, squeezing lightly.
"Oh, wait," Charles laughs condescendingly. "She can't talk."
There's a glint in Oscar's eyes as he adds pressure around your neck. "Guess we have to decide for her then."
You whimper, arms reaching out to wrap around Oscar's own neck. He smiles at you, almost warmly, but you can still see the bubbling desire in his irises.
"You can take the gag out any time you want," Oscar instructs softly, releasing your neck. You take in a big breath through your nose.
"And if you don't like anything we're doing, say 'Monte Carlo'," Oscar adds. He nods at Charles and you feel yourself being pulled backward.
"Get on the bed," Charles commands and you scramble to do so, crawling over the mattress before turning around and laying back on your elbows.
Charles and Oscar eye you intently and you're tempted to cover yourself, but with how they've been acting the whole night, you're not sure how that would be received.
"You wanna go first?" Oscar nudges Charles lightly. The Monegasque grins widely like a kid on Christmas.
"Oh, yes," Charles concedes, getting on the bed with you. He scoots down so his face is level with your cunt.
"Hold tight, my love," Charles says before licking a thick stripe up your core. Your whole body jerks and you cry around the gag in your mouth.
Charles continues to work on your dripping pussy, alternating between flicking against your clit and circling your hole. You moan and whine and whimper, eyes tearing up as you look pleadingly at Oscar.
"Look at you," Oscar laughs. "We've barely done anything."
Charles spreads your legs even wider, licking even deeper. You're fully crying now, the buildup proving too much as you feel your body shake at your approaching orgasm.
Oscar reaches over and toys with your boobs, brushing over your nipples just the way you like it. Without warning, Oscar dips his head down and takes one in his mouth, circling the nub with his own tongue.
The added sensation nearly drives you crazy. The pressure builds rapidly inside you and you're left incoherent as you beg without words.
Not yet, fuck, I can't cum that fast–
You twitch and involuntarily press your pussy harshly against Charles' mouth as you come undone, toes curling and body seizing up. Oscar pulls away and watches as you throw your head back, fingers twisting into the sheets.
"Already?" You hear Charles' voice through the ringing in your ears. "You must really want it."
You blink through your tears, momentarily confused as you see Oscar reach for your face. You cough as you feel the dry fabric being pulled out from your mouth. Oscar tosses your ruined underwear to the side.
"I think she deserves a reward for getting there so fast," Oscar suggests, turning to Charles.
"Which one do you want a taste of first? You get to pick, sweetheart," Oscar says, wiping a stray line of drool dripping down the side of your mouth.
"Ch-Charles," you croak, throat still dry.
Charles and Oscar share a curt nod and the former moves to the head of the bed.
"Hands and knees, my love," Charles orders and you follow, getting on all fours. He settles against the headboard, leaning back as you take his cock in your hand.
"Guess you want me here, then?" Oscar says from behind you. You turn to peek over your shoulder to see Oscar stroking languidly at his cock, one of his hands coming down to spread your ass apart.
"Fuck, this view," Oscar hisses, smacking your ass once.
"I reckon, you don't need me to prep you? I can just–"
You shriek as you feel Oscar push in without warning, and though it was a surprise, the obscene amount of arousal coming from your cunt aids in the stretch that Oscar's cock brings.
He fully sheathes himself inside and he groans, grabbing your hips with both hands.
"Chèrie." Charles' voice forces your attention back to him.
"Don't forget about me, hm?"
You try to compose yourself as best as you can as Oscar starts to fuck you at a relentless pace. You lower your mouth down to Charles' cock, wrapping your lips around the tip.
You take half of him in, coating him in your spit, going lower each time you come down. Charles is nearly as incoherent as you were earlier, curse words in three different languages falling from his lips.
You feel the tip of his cock reach the back of your throat and you stop, gagging around it. Charles threads his fingers through your hair, yanking you back up.
"Open your mouth," Charles says, tightening the grip on your hair.
You do as you're told and Charles angles himself better. He holds you in place as he fucks up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat each time. You will your breathing to slow, but the constant assault on your pussy muddles your brain and destroys your focus.
"She's so fucking tight," Oscar says through gritted teeth. You can feel his nails dig into your sides.
"Here as well," Charles agrees. "So warm and so wet."
All you can do is sob as you let the two of them use you, filled up on both sides, reduced to nothing but two holes.
"Fuck, I wanna cum on her face," Oscar says hurriedly, hips slowing down, probably in an attempt to keep his orgasm at bay.
Charles pulls you back off of him and he surveys you for a second.
"And I'll do it inside," Charles says. "Will you let me cum inside, chèrie?"
You nod, unconsciously clenching around Oscar. He curses, speeding up his movements again.
"Mate, I can't take it anymore," Oscar rushes, pulling out. You whine at the loss but Charles is quick to get off the bed, replacing Oscar's place behind you.
You feel the Charles' tip press against your hole and you plead, rocking back, desperate to be filled up.
"Charles, please, n-need your cum in me," you stutter. "Wanna be filled up, I need it, need you, please–"
Charles slides in one swift motion and your eyes roll all the way back in your head. He's thicker than Oscar and the stretch is almost painful but in the best way possible.
The older of the two wastes no time and starts pounding into you, rendering you speechless at how brutal his pace is. You're dizzy with arousal, spit and tears mixing on your chin and cheeks.
"Look here, sweetheart," comes Oscar's voice, rough around the edges, his hand cupping your chin.
He's stroking his cock at an impossible pace, bottom lip caught between his teeth. You look straight into his eyes as you stick your tongue out, waiting for him to release all over you.
"Fuck, you really are desperate for it," Oscar sneers, gripping harder at your face. "Open wide."
A warm spurt of liquid shoots straight onto your tongue, landing on your cheeks as well. You squint as it hits nearer to your eyes but you obediently lick up everything you can from your lips, swallowing Oscar's thick cum down.
"Oh god, baby," Charles warns. "Je vais bientôt jouir–"
Charles presses you closer to him, caging your hips against his own. He groans and you feel him twitch within you. You clench down as hard as you can around him, earning your hair a harsh tug from behind. Charles yanks you back against him as he gives a few more thrusts to ride his orgasm out.
"We are not done with you yet, amour," Charles warns.
Oscar's face comes into view and he's eyeing you up and down, his thumb swiping at a stain of himself on your cheek. He brings it to your lips and you lick his digit clean.
"Good girl," Oscar praises. "But he's right. You can give us a few more, right?"
You swallow.
You nod.
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you know what people are saying when a girl gets cheated on? go for his brother.
a/n not tryna offend anyone, I just love a lil drama
Part 2 here
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username1 Miss Y/n Y/l/n getting cheated on? No one is safe fr
↳username2 Yeah cuz how's he casually cheating on a literal goddess??
username3 they were together for almost 2 years😭
username4 My therapist will hear about this
↳username1 And Arthur is paying the bill
username5 that's it I'm NEVER trusting a man
username6 Isn't that girl Y/n's friend too? Poor girl getting cheated on twice
↳username3 yes it is 😭 guess Arthur got it from his brother
username7 Except Charles didn't cheat 😭 he's a homie hopper but he got morals
username8 I don't worry about Y/n, she's gonna find a new bf, but she wasted almost 2 years on him
yourusername excuse my state i'm as high as your hopes
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username2 Miss girl about to enter her hoe phase
↳username3 As she should tbh
charlottesiine Lots of fun last night🤍
↳yourusername nothing will beat an ex wags night out
↳username2 best ex wags fr 😭
yoursister Next time I'm going too to keep an eye on you wtf
username4 Wait so Y/n and Charlotte are friends? When did this happen?
↳username5 Yeah cuz we've never seen them hang out back when ChaCha was a thing and suddenly the girls are partying together?
↳username6 I mean it could be just a "we both suffered a Leclerc so let's hang out" kinda thing
username5 WE BOTH SUFFERED A LECLERC 💀 no okay but that's valid
username7 Am I the only one noticing this post was liked by Charles?
↳username2 He knows his lil bro messed up lmao
username8 Okay guys so what are we betting on - did Charles like this post because of Y/n or because of Charlotte? Also, isn't he in a relationship?
↳username3 Charles has been single for a few months now, he's free to like whoever he wants lmao
↳username9 It's just a like it's not that deep
arthur_leclerc You were my cup of tea but I drink vanilla latte now
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username1 The AUDACITY some men have
username2 and she was her best friend 😭
username3 I really want to believe they broke up before he got with the best friend but I don't think it's true
↳username4 Y/n and Arthur literally attended Charles' race a few days before we got the pics of Arthur with the other girl
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yourusername you don't mean nothing at all to me
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yoursister And I didn't even have to stop you from calling your ex
↳yourusername why would I even wanna call him anyways
yoursister Riiight, you were too busy getting to know some other interesting people:)
username1 What is Y/s/n talking about?
↳username2 Or rather WHO is she talking about?
username3 No Charlotte in the post but Charles is in the likes again 😶
↳username4 Have you seen what this one gossip page posted? Charles being in the likes isn't the thing I'd worry about here
username5 WHAT.
username3 Care to elaborate?
username4 Charles was also at the club with Y/n. It honestly looks like it was organized by a friend of his and he took Y/n there
username2 OH
username2 That's what Y/s/n is talking about
username5 Our girl Y/n is getting promoted from F2 to F1 and I love to see that
↳username6 LMAO it's so funny because it's true 😭
↳username2 Do we know who else was at this party?
username4 Allegedly the party was organized by Gasly, so obviously there was his gf Kika, but also some fellow drivers like Albon, Russell, Sainz, Ocon, Ricciardo and their gfs
username5 I was joking but now it looks like Y/n is actually becoming an F1 wag now lol
username7 Gossip girl on wheels I've been saying it for months
username8 But the caption SLAPS
↳username9 no because it looks like Y/n and Arthur are having a caption war lol it's funny
username8 It's childish but let a girl heal from a heartbreak in peace
yourusername karma will take it from here
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username1 MISS GIRL?? WHO IS THE MAN??
↳username2 We all know it's Charles (allegedly)
username8 Nah cuz I told yall she's gonna find another boyfriend soon
yoursister Loving to see you happy again ❤️
↳yourusername just needed a little upgrade
username3 I have no proof but I just know it's Charles
username4 Do we think she went for Charles because she genuinely likes him or just to get back at Arthur?
↳username5 Wait until someone starts a "she cheated on Arthur with Charles" gossips
username6 My two favorite red flags
↳username7 The homie hopper and the brother hopper, a match made in heaven
username6 The homie hopper is so real, Y/n recently hung out with his ex Charlotte 💀
username8 What kinda brother gets with his brother's ex?
↳username9 Imagine the next family dinner lmao
username10 Y'all it's not even confirmed that the man is Charles, y'all are crazy
↳username6 The post was liked by all the F1 drivers and their partners that were on the party from Y/n's previous post, it says a lot
↳username2 What @/username6 said and also Y/n is now followed by half of the F1 grid AND the wags
charles_leclerc Not your cup of tea, but my glass of wine
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yourusername KARMA IS MY BOYFRIEND❤️
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#f1 fanfic#f1 x reader#formula 1 x reader#f1 imagine#charles leclerc x reader#f1 smau#f1 social media au#charles leclerc imagine#charles leclerc fanfic#Charles Leclerc smau#Arthur Leclerc x reader
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Gotcha
Bounty Hunter/Cowboy!Leon S. Kennedy x outlaw!fem!reader
Warnings: smut, feelings (of regret) (and slight yearning), oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, fucking against metal bars. 16+ because I was you once just don’t be weird
Ummm I wrote this last year in, like, March? I posted and finished it December, though (yikes) with that being said I’m sorry if the writing is…I suppose questionable? Yeah, sure, questionable. On ao3 here if you prefer that site. Not proofread btw.
oh, right, reader’s outlaw name is ‘ranger’ but it’s mentioned once. I was inspired by Leon’s Arthur Morgan mod but you can imagine him in any outfit, all that’s mentioned is that he wears a leather hat (I think). cowboy Leon is the reason I keep on going, thanks.
tumblr is a scary, new place for me. Please be kind😱
The sound of the horse's feet running in the desert sand fills the hollow night. Gunshots and gunpowder making Leon’s nostrils flare, the metallic smoke filling up his lungs uncomfortably.
Close. He’s so fucking close.
You stop your horse and bolt for the abandoned bank you robbed just a month prior and wait . It’s hot and cold, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin as you try to keep your breathing still. The weight of your revolver is the only thing that feels remotely natural, the only thing that reminds you that you have at least some control.
His horse blows and grunts as it comes to a halt, a cloud of sand threatening his vision until he bats it away. The swinging door of the bank creaks along with the wooden floorboards of each step he takes.
You can hear him grow closer, the spurs on his boots jingling—a warning, a taunt. He’s got you, and had it not been from how fucking tired you were, you would’ve kept going.
“There’s not much use in hidin’ anymore,” Leon’s gruff voice breaks the low whistling wind, “Think we both know the only way you’re getting outta here is in cuffs or in a rug dragged across the sand.”
You hold in a scoff, the bandana muffling your steadying breath. Hiding behind the wall, you hear his steps come and go, small curses falling from under his breath and muttering you can’t put together.
After a moment of silence, you muster up the courage to peek around the corner. A mistake.
“Gotcha.” His cowboy hat casts a dark shadow across his face, the dim moonlight barely making the whites of his eyes visible. His own revolver is pointed to your head, the reflecting metal almost blinding — another taunt to your capture.
“Kennedy.” You speak through gritted teeth, sour and bitter as you say his name.
“Ranger.” A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, “Not one day goes by that I don’t get sick of hearin’ that name. Can’t even get a beer without a sad sap waiting to tell their story about encountering you.”
“Good to know I’m on your mind at least. Hadn’t seen you in sometime, thought you died.” You watch as his hand tightens around the grip of his gun, his index finger sliding towards the trigger.
“I’m not gonna die before I catch you, or kill you. One or the other.” He rolls his eyes as he watches you point the gun to his leg, “Put that down before I blow your brains out. The sheriff’ll get mad at me for the mess.”
“I think he’d be happier if you killed me, really.”
“Maybe, but I think they’d rather kill you themselves, and slower.” A sigh leaves you as you drop your revolver to the floor, not bothering to put your hands up because, well, there’s no use for it. “Back up. Don’t need you gettin’ any ideas. Get in the vault.”
The vault? He doesn’t give you time to protest, taking a step forward so his gun grazes your forehead, “Fuck, alright, I get it .”
You back into the vault, the metal bars making it your makeshift jail. He closes the door shut, watching you through the spaces between the bars and giving you an annoying smug smirk, “Look at that . Behind bars is a natural look on you. Can’t believe it’s taken this long.”
Leon takes a walk around, finding the key and locking the ‘jail’. Convenient. “Y’wanna start by telling me why you’ve been doing this? They’re gonna get it outta you anyway, best to let it out now. A pretty face ain’t gonna getcha freedom.”
“Pretty?” You muse.
“Shut up.” He scoffs.
“I don’t think my reason would really make a difference.”
His eyebrows furrow, “Maybe not, but every outlaw has some kind of story to tell.”
You slump against the back wall of the vault, letting out a small groan as your hand runs down your face. If you’re going to get locked up and eventually hung, you guess it wouldn’t hurt for at least one person to know the truth. He’s not…the best person but out of everyone else, maybe he is. “My family. Dead broke. Needed the money.”
He stares at you for a moment before laughing, gripping one of the metal bars as he snickers, “you really expect me to believe that? If I wouldn’t let a bastard cheat me in poker, I’m not gonna have you cheat me now.”
“‘M not cheating you for anything, I gotta family at home. Mouths to feed, debts to pay, shit to do.”
“That’s a real shitty thing, lying about your family like that.” He grumbles, looking at you like ‘lying’ was worse than all the money you’ve stolen. The lives you threatened.
This man’s priorities seriously needed to be straightened out. You pull down your bandana and toss it to the side as you get comfortable on the floor, the bank door’s small creaks making the night all the more eerie.
When you look up, he’s still staring at you. His lips are curled into a slight snarl and, had it not been for the bars, he might’ve lunged at you.
Leon’s wondering what your game is, he knows what you do when you lie—how you look away from him and take a step back and your lip always twitches without fail—you’re not doing any of that. “Even if you did do it to keep your family afloat, what about the rest of the people you wronged?”
“What, the rich? They don’t give a damn about us, why should I give a damn about them?”
“I’m talkin’ about the public robberies. Like the train robbery down in Georgetown, or the bank in Laredo, those were all big jobs, you tellin’ me those were victimless crimes? Bullshit. There’s oughta be a casualty.”
“If there was a casualty, it wasn’t from me. I’ve never fired a gun at an innocent.”
He scorns, “but you’ll fire a gun at the people tryna protect the innocents.”
“None of them are dead, are they? They’re at home with their families not needing to worry about eatin’.”
He feels conflicted, because fuck if you’re telling the truth then he feels like an asshole all those times he’s almost killed you. A family. You have children, a husband, maybe, unless he’s dead—is that why you’re doing this?—And he’s fought with you more than he can remember. He sniffles, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb and shaking his head, “how old are your kids?”
It was your turn to chuckle, “i don’t have kids. Well, sort of, if you include takin’ care of my siblings.”
Guess he got it wrong. He doesn’t know if he feels better or worse, his stomach churns at the thought of your younger siblings waiting for you to come home just to never return. Never to know if you died or ran away. No, he’s sure they’d figure out you died, if you were doing this for them, why would you leave them? God he needs a drink. “You don’t gotta momma or daddy or what?”
“My momma’s sick. Daddy’s gone.” You shrug as if it’s nothing, maybe it is nothing to you but it’s everything to him. He hates that he’s so easily swayed. You being fine with this should tell him this is a lie but—
But what? He doesn’t know. You’re a criminal that has added unnecessary stress to the public, even have other outlaws mad at you for taking their money. It’s simple as to what he needs to do.
“Doesn’t matter, I’m sure after your first three robberies you woulda had enough money to feed a church for the next 5 years. Didn’t need all of that, that’s just fucking greed.”
“I don’t keep all of it. I give it to people like me. Too many families have lost their kids just because they couldn’t feed ‘em for a week. Bet they don’t tell you that, though, do they?”
He knows better. He knows that he knows better. This is a lie, he’s the law, he needs to uphold the law, no exceptions. No hesitation. “So, what? You’re a modern day Robin Hood?”
“If I say yes will you shut the fuck up?”
“If you tell me the truth I will.”
“Mother fucker— I am. You have a gun, have me in a fucking vault, I’m unarmed say for my knife, but I’ll give it to you if it’ll shut you up. what do I have to gain from this shit? You’ve caught up people for way less, I don’t have shit up my sleeve to leave.”
A moment passes, and suddenly? He hates himself.
“God damnit.” He curses under his breath, turning his body away as he groans. He can still hear the horses outside, can hear the wind chiming, playing a small song. You keep quiet, watching him pace back and forth once before pinching the bridge of his nose. “‘M gonna fuckin’ regret this.” He mumbled to himself, putting in the key and swinging the metal door open.
He shifts to the side, motioning with his head, “Go. Get. Leave.”
“What’re you doing, Kennedy?”
His lips press into a fine line as he exhales through his nose, “What kinda man would I be if I took you away from them when I had the chance to save you?” He sighs, “They need you. God knows no one else will give a damn.”
You hesitate, you don’t know why—you should’ve ran as soon as the key went in the damn hole. You grab your bandana you threw off earlier, wrapping it around your neck with a curt nod. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t meet your gaze, a small frown on his face before he speaks, “yeah, yeah, just turn your ass around before I find a reason to lock you up again.”
You tip your hat to him, walking out of the vault. Your spurs are the one to jingle this time.
“ ‘sides, I always did like the back of you.”
You planned to keep going. You really fucking did.
When you turned around, your bodies were only two feet away. You swore you walked further from him but honestly, you couldn’t tell anymore. “Those are dangerous words you’re playing with.”
His back straightens and he peers down at you, “Are they?”
“You’re a confusing man, Kennedy.”
“I don’t remember telling you I was simple.”
You tut, “Haven’t you made enough mistakes already?”
He has, he knows it. The first damn mistake he’s made was making it a point to try and capture you. A year and 4 months he’s spent on this–on you. But, really, what bad would one last mistake do? He’s already made so many, it’ll just be another bullet to his chamber. He takes a step closer, chests nearly touching as his hands twitch to grab you, feel you without the mission of needing to hurt you and take you in. “I’d say not enough.”
All those times during his chase he could’ve gotten close, on top of you, felt your breath against his as you cornered one another. He hasn't, and he’s tired of letting it sit at bay. Learning a new side of you made him crazy. Crazier.
God is he an idiot.
Your breaths fill the tense atmosphere as he takes another small step closer, was it always so hot in here?
“We shouldn’t.”
“Who says?”
“ Everyone .” You stay like this for what seems like an eternity until Leon pulls you in by the back of your neck, his free hand moving to your waist as his lips crush against yours in a hasty kiss. He groans against your mouth and your fist coils the fabric of his shirt. Your hats tipped one another’s off and fell to the floor.
After a few seconds, he is the one to pull away from you. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him in confusion, he looks at you like it was the answer. He clears his throat and takes a step back, wiping away your kiss and he looks away, trying to deny himself of what he wants.
Who he wants so, so badly.
He struggles to speak, to move, to think. He watches you and you watch him, both of your breaths at a skewed pace.
“Make a mistake with me.” He whispers, he looks different. You can finally see his face, moonlight highlighting his sharp features. Never noticed how handsomely-pretty he was before.
God, fuck it.
You step forward this time, pulling him in by the collar of his button up and pressing your lips against his. He licks the seam of your lips and you part them, teeth clacking and tongues entwining as he grabs the wide of your hips and pushes you against the metal bars. Ouch.
He pulls away from you with a sigh, looking offended at the fact that he even had to leave the plush of your lips. His hand leaves you to unbuckle your belt with fervor and slip his hand inside your pants and panties.
His fingers slip between your wet folds and he dips his head down to kiss your neck. Small moans escape you as he slowly rubs your clit, feeling your wet slick coat his fingers. “All those pretty sounds for me? I think I’m flattered.”
You groan, “of course you’re a bitch even when doing this.”
“I take my words back, then.” He rolls his eyes and opts to bite down on your shoulder, your nails dig into his back through the fabric of his shirt and he shudders when you bite him back. “fuck, ‘s not enough. Gotta taste you.”
He drops to his knees and fumbles with your belt until it’s off and shoves your pants down, his breath stuttering when he sees the soaked fabric. He drags them off you and pulls one of your legs over his shoulder. You hold onto the bars for balance, “Jesus Christ, wait . Almost made me fucking fall—“
You’re cut off when he spreads your lips and licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moan, fingers grabbing a fistful of his hair and his eyes fluttered shut. He sighs at the taste of you, “fuckin’ delicious, can’t believe I didn’t do this shit sooner.” His voice, almost a groan, wavered before pushing his face back between your legs.
His tongue lapped at your entrance and his nose bumped up against your swollen clit. His fingers dimple the fat of your thigh and his cock twitches the louder your sounds get. He curled his tongue and pressed it deeper, despite the proximity, he needed to get closer somehow.
Trying to close your legs doesn’t work, smushing your thighs against his face only adds fuel to the fire.
You nearly sob when he pushed a finger inside your cunt, thrusting against your g-spot with a quick, steady rhythm. “ Leon , shit, shit , don’t you fucking stop. “ He slips in another finger, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes and a shit eating grin.
First time you’ve said his name, not kennedy or bastard or asshole – his name . And fuck, does it sound pretty coming out of you like that, how that alone makes his cock strain against his zipper.
Filthy squelches and moans flood the empty bank while Leon eats your pussy like a starved man. His own moans escaping as you buck your hips against his face. You pull on his hair roughly and you swear you hear him whine
“Gotta get you nice ‘n wet f’me,” He muttered against your pussy and his eyes fluttered as he tried to keep open to watch you. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard — a cry of his name and you’re so fucking close to coming on his face, panting and feeling uncomfortably hot.
“Too much—“ you gasp, “Oh shit, fuck, it’s too much.” You choke, uneven moans escaping you as you finally come. You expect him to pull away but he doesn’t falter. “Mnh, wait, fuck, get off, get off . ” You beg breathlessly.
Leon groaned again and pressed closer, “need it, give it to me, honey. Gonna make you feel good, just don’t make me fucking stop.” He pleaded, feeling dizzy as he got high off your taste. You attempt to push his head and mouth away but your attempts are in vain.
You let out yet another choked sob when he forces another orgasm out of you, reluctantly, he pulled away, licking his lips clean and wiping the rest with the back of his hand. His free hand rubbed your thigh to try and soothe you, asshole turned caring in a matter of seconds. “Sorry.” He murmurs, “couldn’t help myself.”
Your breaths are uneven pants as you look down at him on his knees still. “ Fuck me , Kennedy apologizing? I’m speechless.”
“Oh, we’re back to Kennedy?”
He gets off his knees while yours quiver, “It was a mistake. A fluke.”
A smirk plays on his lips, “yeah, sure. We’ll see.” He turns you around and wraps his arm around your hips and pulls them against his own, pushing you forward slightly so you’re bent over, “grab the bars.” And you do.
You can feel the outline of his cock press against you, “so fucking ready, didn’t waste a goddamn second—y’sure that was a fluke? Getting my pants all dirty, honey.” You feel embarrassed, but not for long when you hear his belt buckle clink and the sound of fabric rustling – heart racing and pussy throbbing as to what’s happening. You turn your head and see him spit and runs his hand over his cock to get it wet. He smirks when he catches you, you shake your head and look forward again. “Gotta be sweet to me or I’ll make you work for it.”
“God, kennedy–” You gasp when he slides the head between your folds and nudges it at your entrance.
“Leon.” he corrects, pushing the tip inside you, “C’mon baby, I know you can say it.” he grabs your hips to keep you from pushing back onto him. Fucker .
“ Leon.”
“Atta girl.”
He snaps his hips into you, body shuddering and your mouth opens with a sharp gasp and choked back moan. His grip on your hips tighten when he pulls out and pushes back inside to the hilt. His breathing is nothing but grunts, groans, and pants, you’re not much different – if anything else, you’re worse. “Can’t– fuck –handle it? Can rob every fucking bank but you can’t take some dick.”The way he fucks you is merciless, he wants you to feel good but also wants to punish you for everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve done to him.
He dips his hand lower to smack your ass, “Answer me. Had a lot to say just minutes ago.”
“Sh-shit, I can take it,” you shudder, “I can take it–” Your skin is wet with sweat and it gets harder to hold onto the bars, each thrust making you lose a bit more of yourself. Fuck him and fuck this but holy shit do you suddenly not regret everything you’ve ever done.
You’re mewling beneath him, happily and prettily so. “Pussy’s so tight, just needed a good dicking down.” he moans, “That all it took to get you to – fuck that’s good – listen?” he moves one of his hands from your hip to your clit, stimulating it as he fucks you a little harder, “Say my name, God, I need it.” he groans.
“Leon, Leon, Leon– ” You moan loudly, you don’t know when the sheriff is coming, but if he’s close you’re sure he can hear you easily. Your vision blurs when he touches you and your legs tremble with each spot his cock hits.
“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha, not lettin’ you go.” Leon’s an idiot, but if his mistakes will make him feel this good again, he’ll keep making them. His composure starts to dwindle when sweat beads his forehead and you start squeezing him like a vice. Made for him, he thinks. “ Take it , fuck yourself onto me honey, atta girl.” his breath stutters.
Who are you to deny him – you do as you’re told and he moans. His hand goes up to your neck and pulls your back against his chest. Within seconds, you come around him with his name on your tongue and a scream. He bites down on your shoulder with a desperate groan before he pulls out and streams of hot come hit your ass.
He holds onto you like you’re his life line, like he’ll fall if he lets you go (he will). You two stay like that for a good 20 seconds before he lets go of you and takes a couple of steps back. He turns away from you and you can hear him zip up his pants and belt clunk when he fixes himself. You do the same, a little slower, both out of lack of energy and embarrassment.
Leon also feels embarrassed. This is the part where he’d usually get whoever he was sleeping with a glass of water, a quick bath, and ask if they’d rather go home tonight or he takes them home tomorrow. He can’t do either of that, and he’s supposed to hate you and definitely not fuck you or let you go.
He swallows, “You need to get going. He’ll be here soon and he won’t hesitate to shoot if he sees you run.”
“Right.” you whisper, taking a deep breath to steady yourself as you bend down to pick up your hat. You’re both in a daze, he looks at you, all guilty and nervous. His hair is wet with sweat and his cheeks are flushed, had it been anyone else you would’ve pushed his hair back to get a better look at him. But he’s not anyone else, and this was all a mistake . “Gonna stop coming after me now?”
A weak smile tugs his lips, “In both ways, no. Can’t promise anything.”
You fight back a laugh but return his smile, turning away so he can’t see it. He picks up his hat next and watches as you walk away from him to the front of the bank. Like a lost puppy, he follows. “Need help getting up?” he motions to your horse.
“I’ll be fine, Kennedy. You need to worry about yourself rather than me.”
“Like I said, can’t promise anything.”
You hop on your horse, ready to put all that you did with him in a box and stuffed away.
“Stay safe. Be seeing you.” he whispers.
You don’t trust yourself to speak so you nod, not looking back as your horse takes you away.
You’re a good mile out when Leon hears a horse’s footsteps behind him, then heavy human ones. “Where is she?”
“I told you to follow me quick, Chris. She’s gone. Just thought I’d give you the message personally so you didn’t have to wait here alone.”
Chris sighs and looks at Leon with nothing but hate. Ironic. “It’s not hard to do your damn job.”
“Can say the same about you – so, drinks? Need one after today.”
Chris looks Leon up and down, eyebrows furrowed when he does so. “When did you change your hat?”
He blinks, suddenly realizing his is a little tighter.
Miles out, you realize yours is a little looser.
You suppose you two will be seeing another again after all. When you do, you'll finally be ready.
#resident evil x reader#leon kennedy x reader#leon s kennedy x reader#leon kennedy#leon kennedy smut#leon kennedy x you#leon s kennedy smut#leon s kennedy x fem!reader#leon s kennedy x y/n#leon s kennedy x you#cowboy!leon#leonfucker3000
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colour me in: translucent | jjk (m)
Summary: And whenever the world seems to fall apart and your thoughts cast a shadow over your heart, he rushes to lift you to your feet. Conjoining your hearts and souls, again and again and again.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader
➳ rating: 18+
➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some healthy angst, so much fluff, smut
➳ warnings: y’all. So. Much. Fluff, talk about stars, talk about his hometown, mention of a wedding 😁, 1 nara mention, a guest appearance!!, and another guest appearance…, daddy issues mention, oc has a tummy ache :(, banter, conversation with her mom, badass oc, their friends <3, moving and work stress, overworking, kook panics in this one, oc does too, tears and tears and tea–, abandonment issues, overthinking!!!, they communicate too late bc they’re scared, pregnancy scare, mention of throwing up, kissing and hand holding <3, petnames, insecurities/slight envy; explicit sexual content: diving right into the smut as the chapter starts 🤭, tie around oc’s neck ha ha, oral (f. receiving) (over panties and without 🥲), fingering, brief masturbation (m.), making out, jk takes the backseat and oc drives for a while <3, bit of choking, they’re half clothed for a bit, tiddie and butt love, tears, flirting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, emotions omg 😷, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, he unloads in her mouth 😄, and yeah, maybe more but i forgot – lmk if you notice smth! also… THE 👏 EN 👏 DING 🚨🚨🚨
➳ word count: 35.8k 💀
➳ a/n: here it is… after a long ass fight with tumblr and my tears, it’s here! i don’t have much to say this time except that this chapter means the world to me. and i hope you love it just as much. shoutout to @missgeniality for betaing parts of this and helping me with difficult scenes, i truly struggled!! <3 if you guys enjoy this one, let me know and don’t be shy to reach out!! love you and let’s dive in 🥺
➳ listen to: say you won't let go by james arthur | full collaborative playlist 🤍
SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST
MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER
The whispers cease the moment your door closes.
The whispers of the world, of all traffic, of all passersby, of all echoes. And those in your head, susurrating since you left the glass building and its conference hall.
They dim the moment you drop your palm off the door; your heart is still a nervous mess as you take your shoes off, watch him take his shoes off. He places them neatly in the shoe cabinet, jacket hung on one of the coat hooks.
Right here, you’re surrounded by a tranquil, quiet dome. Not as subdued as the emotions the outer world elicits; just an arena that feels perpetually warm, sepia and still.
And amidst that warmth, there’s yearning. You feel it in every nerve of your body, burning through your limbs. Stunning sentiments pull at your soul, making it heavy; and your heart floats, perpetually above the clouds.
As he rubs his cheek with a soft hand — you know, because you were holding it just two minutes ago, clutching it in the car for dear life —, you take a step forward, your mouth open, but not quite capable of saying all that’s weighing on your tongue.
They’re good things; amazing things. And he hasn’t yet gathered all his thoughts either to truly voice what he’s been hiding since you left the chaos. Only opting for the living room, painfully slowly, as if he’s waiting to face you again.
And maybe… maybe he really is. And maybe he doesn’t need to talk at all.
Because he stops the moment you speak, tenderly calling, “Jungkook.”
It’s all he needs. Combined with the lightest touch to his elbow, a hint of your voice is all he needs. He wants to keep hearing his name. Again and again and again. And today, announcing it to the world, you promised that you’ll be doing just that.
Shit. What have you done to his heart? He wants to ask questions that neither of you has an answer to; or, not one that can be verbalised. One that could explain this euphoria.
So he doesn’t say anything at all.
Instead, he stumbles as he turns back to you again, taking a deep breath before his head tilts. The unbounded amount of want is swimming in his tired eyes, and you barely manage a hushed, “Should we—” before his fingers flutter and he—
Dashes straight toward you. One large step, both hands jacking up to take your face captive. He raises your head, eyes closing, mouth parting an inch before it’s locked with yours.
If he hadn’t started, you would have.
The same thumb always caressing your skin pulls your lower lip down. An unfaltering habit, tender whenever he spirals. You trip backwards, with him in tow, immediately gripping his arms with a wild, accelerating heartbeat.
Your soul was already awake, lit up from today’s events; but he dunks it in a brighter shine — and now it flushes pink.
For a while, your kiss’ sounds are all that echo off the wall, mixing with your sighs. He starts gently, head angled, diving deeper.
Every now and then, he tugs at your lip ever-so-slightly, teeth and tongue dragging over it. The wet muscle is soft against yours, and you let your touch drop down to his waist to hold him closer.
But there’s not that much time to dissolve into him right here, against your entrance door, because Jungkook backs away before you can bid your sanity adieu. Maybe that’s for later.
Maybe you need to be okay with his breath grazing your skin for now, for the words he murmurs so close to your lips, “You’re crazy for this. Absolutely crazy.”
You are. Both okay with this, and incredibly crazy.
There’s never been more certainty in your actions or your intentions than whatever you do with him. For him — if that deems you crazy, then you absolutely are.
Heated from the kiss, Jungkook steps away, but not without entangling your fingers with his. On the way to the bedroom, you ignore everything that doesn’t entail him.
Like, the humming of the fridge. Or the sound of the traffic outside, audible through the tilted window. And the buzzing of your phone; it’s been doing that for a while now.
Of course it is.
But you don’t hesitate to deposit it on your bedside table mere seconds later; you barely manage to put it there, nearly watching it slide down as Jungkook pulls you back. You clash against his body, and the tongue once again mingling with yours only enhances your disorientation.
God, you’re a lost cause. Nothing else to expect with his palm holding your jaw, arm slung around you, kissing you senseless.
Time slows down; the sensation turns electric. His motions are rhythmic, fingers brushing your neck. And despite the bitterness he must have felt at the conference, he tastes so , so sweet.
Heady desire growing, you grip the back of his head, pushing it closer. You’re insatiable. Yearning for more of his damp, soft lips, hysterical when he lets out a craving, small moan.
“Do you have any idea,” he starts, giving your neck no more than a handful of teasing pecks, “what that did to me?”
He moves back until you plummet into the mattress; your eyes follow when he leans in and falls to his knees. Placing a hand at the nape of your neck, tenderly moving your face a bit closer to his.
“Without a warning, too,” he continues, “what, were you planning to drive me mad for so long?”
Not the angry kind of mad. His smile and the fondness in his eyes reveal that much. No — the mad that a lover is.
“Did it work?” you ask, and he flashes his teeth, beloved crinkles around his eyes.
“Did it? What do you think?” He kisses your nose; then, the apple of your cheek. “You didn’t notice any of it today? Or any other time before that?”
“I wanted to… I want everyone to know. I was going to tell you when you came home, but… I wanted to say it in front of everybody. That,” you touch the collar of his blazer, rubbing it between your fingertips, “I’m done with their games. I don’t care anymore, Jungkook.”
“I know… You don’t care.” His hand leaves the nape of your neck, caressing your face. “But you care about me, yes? You care so much.”
It’s not really a question. It’s a statement, a reassurance to himself. A mantra, as if he needs to repeat it and let it reverberate in his mind until he’s grasped its meaning.
“I do,” you whisper, peeling the blazer off his shoulder by only a few inches, “and I want to stay. Can I… just stay here?”
“You’re crazy,” he echoes once more, emphasising his words with a shake of his head, “to think I’ll let you go again. You’ll see.”
Although he still establishes a brief, temporary distance between the two of you right after; you’re reluctant to stop feeling his warmth when he stands. He towers over you, and you muster utmost courage to not faint.
Because the sight is one to behold.
How he removes the blazer in a swift movement, discarding it on top of the table at the wall. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, but only one side, glancing at you throughout the ordeal.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask.
“Why is your mouth open like that?”
“Do this exactly in front of a mirror, and… and you’ll know why.”
He smirks. “Right. And stare at yourself in the mirror for longer than a second, and you’ll know why, too.”
God, this guy…
And he actually doesn’t stop.
His pupils keep wandering; to your eyes, to your lips, to your heaving chest. To how you close your legs when he loosens his tie with tattooed fingers, lettered knuckles on full display. He opens a single button of his dress shirt; enough to reveal a patch of golden skin.
The tie dangles off his neck, doing wonders to your mind, and you resist the urge to grab it and pull him down to you. But you don’t need to; you only get to cherish the sight for another second.
Because right after, he pulls it over his head, baring the highly kissable mole on his neck before—
“What are you doing?” you wonder, eyes wide, and probably filled with anticipation as he puts the tie around your neck. “I’m…”
“Looks a lot better on you.”
One more shake of his head. You subtly catch a jerk behind his pants, and your gaze drops instantly. Behind the dark slacks, he’s already waiting for you, and the thought leaves you frothing at the mouth.
“You’re not looking bad yourself…” you say, drifting off, barely looking into his face as your hand reaches out. “May I?”
“What, baby?”
“Just…”
You move forward, a palm to his thigh, and close your eyes before placing a kiss to the growing bulge. It twitches under your lips, and you drag your mouth lightly over his dick’s outline.
“Should’ve known,” Jungkook breathes, affected straight away, “but somehow, this is worse than your hand.”
“Really?”
He clicks his tongue when you do it again, unfazed by the layer between you as you give his clothed cock an open-mouthed kiss. Two of his fingers settle underneath your chin, and he raises your head in order to meet your gaze.
Then, he pushes you back a little, within a second back to one knee; then the other. He cocks an eyebrow as if to reprimand you, but then gulps down a chuckle as he says, “Really. But wait a bit more.”
You need to wait, because he prioritises your pleasure. One demand you’re ready to give into.
So, so prepared, when he asks politely, “Open your slacks?” You do. The way he drags his hands over your thigh and up to your hips, starting to discard your pants, is arguably less polite. “Here we go. Raise your ass.”
You help him out as best as you can. But he attaches his lips to your naked thigh the moment it comes into view, scattering kisses over your hot skin as he casts it off of you entirely.
You raise your feet a bit above the ground, and he uses the moment to separate your legs. Doesn’t even bother taking off your panties first; casually making himself at home between your limbs.
Light-headed, you open your eyelids halfway to glance at the blurry ceiling light; you never noticed when you closed them. Maybe when the sweetness spread over your thighs’ skin.
Maybe he’s as dizzy as you — only, when your whirling stare descends to his face, he’s smirking. And for a second, you don’t understand why. Puzzled, you keep looking, observing the tempting lick over his lips; the deep exhale; the barely-there blinking.
And then he says, “Never thought about it. But you should wear light-coloured panties more often.”
“…Why?”
But you soon get why.
Because you feel the arousal behind the fabric. How it glues your pussy to it, the damp spot probably growing. It’s visible — that’s what he’s liking so much.
He can see all of the desire you harbour for him, showcased so blatantly. And despite the embarrassment, watching his face flush in that rosy dust boosts your ego, too.
Your face burns.
“You’ve been like that for…” he starts, shrugging his shoulders in curiosity, “how long now?”
“Long enough. And I dare you to do something about it.”
Because fuck, he talks too much. In hindsight, only really when you need him to shut up; deliberately.
“Oh god,” he exclaims, dramatic as ever; as he raises a hand, you nearly think he’ll place it on his chest for further effect, but he only touches your knee, “now if you’re daring me, I’ll have to.”
“Mhm. I’m sure you’re not a sore lo—”
“Yeah, yeah.”
It’s a rude interruption, and the sudden push of his fingertip against your clit is ruder. It’s a momentary touch, fleeting, as opposed to the slow and calculated way that he buries his face in your panties. Eyes glued to yours for a moment.
And then…
Then, you relish the first taste of Heaven — as does he, you suppose.
Because the satisfied sigh is outrageous, hot against your covered folds. He licks over the damp stain, only the tip of his tongue; thoroughly salivated, because you feel the wetness seeping through the clothing.
There’s no moment between the start of his action and your immediate, ”Fuck.”
And to him, your reaction sets just the tone for a woozy night to come. He nods between your legs, gelled back strands tickling, hums so sweetly. You adjust on your seat, though the subtle change affects nothing; only drives you wilder as you shift deeper into his face.
His tongue is painting circles over your clit. Drawing out sensations, and you don’t understand how… there’s underwear between him and you. A barrier, aching to be removed, so how is he doing this, howishedoingit—
“No! Oh god—”
You can’t decipher why you voiced the rejection; you don’t want him to leave. Frustrated when he does, mouth open, waiting for you to speak up until you do, “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t fucking know…”
“Babe…” He shakes his head… He’s doing so much of this today. But one of the loose strands keeps moving so gorgeously over his forehead, so if it was up to you, he could keep doing it. “Don’t scare me like that.”
“Sorry…”
“Nah.” He says it when you press your lips together, hot and bothered as he licks another stripe along your cunt. “Didn’t mean it that way. Open that pretty mouth. Do scream, yeah?”
You could melt into the ground. Or into the sheets; he always knows what to say. No matter what the situation. A verbal monster once, a graceful poet another time.
They say, get you a man who can do both. But he can do all million things known to humankind and the book of romance.
His mouth works deeper into where you ache. Tongue action expanded, he returns to the panties, seeking one of your nether lips to tease it, pull at it. He’s ruining your garment, making it stick to your pussy.
Pries your legs open when he comes back to the clit, and then drops down to the overflowing sex again. The sensual gestures are toying with your nerves, and you still can’t figure out how. Leaves you waiting, yearning, craving the lack of a blockade in between.
And once the uncomfortable, wet cotton of your panties rubs against the inside of your folds, you finally speak up, “Why are you—”
“Sorry,” he interjects, aware of his bestiality. You see it in his stupid wicked smile. “I know. This is just…” Big eyes stare back down, albeit hazier than before; his finger touches the drenched patch for a second. “So good to look at.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Of course.”
Shit, he’s so cheeky. If you had the strength, you’d wipe that bubbly smile off his face; not good for your heart. Would smooch it away. But fret not — you’ll get your chance, too.
For now, you need to grant him this win. Not least of all, because it feels so good for you, too.
So you don’t defy him when he suddenly moves in more. Hooks a finger into your panties and slides them aside, letting them snap back against the juncture between your pussy and leg. And then, you guess the actual fun starts.
Because he throws one carnal look at you before his arms wander under your legs. You can barely gather your thoughts before he digs in again, properly this time. Lips directly attaching to your skin, he starts diligent work on soiling your body.
And god, does he do it well…
So experienced. Aware. Studied you and your body well enough — because the agonisingly slow tease isn’t random. He knows how much you hate it; knows how much you love it.
How it builds anticipation, and how it grows your desire.
He’s a little fuck, but maybe that’s why he never fails to break you this hard. You know he’s enjoying this — delighted when your eyebrows furrow, close to weeping as he breathes against your pussy.
Even though a man starved, he takes his time. For a second. Then another. And then parts your folds with his fingers, whispering, “Would you say that’s better?”
Like he’s at some meeting. Goddamn.
You blink, responding, “I don’t know. Better than the panties, worse than…” His finger slips in mid-speech, just halfway through when you manage a breathy, “this.”
“I… Shit, you’re… hot as fuck.”
Right.
Even you’re turned on by how your head tips back again, eyes rolling inward when he diminishes the distance and kisses your cunt. Nobody else is going to raise your confidence like he does.
“Mmmh,” he voices as the make out session intensifies, smacking noises sounding from below. He lifts his lips by a mere inch, only to mumble, “So hot. So fucking good.”
And that’s it — back to business.
“Nnnghkook…”
The arms he dropped under your legs sling around them, hooking in, and somehow, he’s able to reach to your back like that. Raises your legs in the process, pulling you in. Deeper in your heat, big button nose against your pelvis.
Your right hand attempts to grip his hair before you threaten to fall backwards, failing miserably. You immediately place both your palms back on the bed, because you doubt you can trust that damned left arm to hold you upright — quivering like this.
The tip of your tongue touches the arch of your upper lip, and then you tilt your head, warning him, “Fuck… if you don’t fuck my brains out today, Jungkook…”
Brains? Plural? Acting as though even one’s present in your head right now.
Jungkook chuckles, licking you dry; the little sound combined with the sinful ordeal is a delightful one. Contrary, but gifting the moment some reality. Some tenderness. You’re having fun.
He stops to throw the escaping strands back again — all in vain, of course — and brings his hand to your ass, moving you over the bed until you’re off the edge. You yelp, close to falling, but he holds you carefully.
Ass half dangling, he throws your legs over broad shoulders, kissing your thigh before he promises, “Don’t worry at all. Won’t leave a single thought in either of our heads.”
You wince when he bites the flesh of your leg, and then proceeds to advance his soft lips to the tender ache. He collects saliva on his tongue, probably ready to dive in again; moves in at least, tickling your pelvis with his breath.
His nose takes a deep breath, inhaling you, dizzy from your scent. And his thumb — it floats over your clit, preparing for more insanity. But when the position elicits some discomfort, you say, “Put me on the bed. Can I… bed properly.”
Fragments of sentences. They make him smile.
“Sure,” he says rather calmly; you’re anything but.
It’s not normal. Watching a guy like Jeon Jungkook push his hair back with his jaw on full display; tongue darting out.
He signals his approval once more as he pats your thigh, and you make quick work at weakly turning around and crawling onto the bed. You’re still trembling as you get on all fours, very conscious of what you’re doing.
Casually, you say, “I’ll get the lube, too.”
Of course you know what might follow. What will follow. He never stops raving, daydreaming, bragging about your ass — walking past you in the kitchen, just to grapple a handful and to innocently claim, “What? I love your butt.”
But before he strikes this time, you’re only barely able to grab the lube out of the drawer, placing it next to the pillow instead of handing it back to him. Because… because before you know it—
There’s already a finger to your pussy.
“Shit,” you curse, “you and your impatience.”
“Do you want me to wait?” he asks, as purely as the butt-love-statements as his touch retracts. Mellow voice; only a flutter of his lashes is missing, really. “I can wait.”
No, he can’t. Liar.
“No,” you repeat, readily letting your upper body fall. You bring your fingertips back to your ass, tracing it down until met with your arousal. “Don’t do this to me now.”
You know his answer before he utters it, “Don’t you do this to me now.” You hear a click of his tongue; a poised beam plays around your lips. “Alright. But.”
He snatches your legs from under your body until you’re flat on your tummy; you grunt just a bit. Not expecting the soft, little, “Do tell me if I do too much.”
As if…
He knows his limits. But the constant, caring pleads still always grip your heart; so you nod.
“Okay.”
Simultaneous with a fond slap, that word is the last verbal sign of his presence that you receive for a while. Whatever follows is a pure testing of limitations; of jumbling up your senses.
Because the moment Jungkook lifts your ass to his face, his tongue is already out. Experimental at first, of course, patient. He takes a second for languid kisses and soft necking, fingers exploring the inside of your thigh as if to soothe your restlessness.
And it helps. Your limbs shake a bit less, your mind focused on where his touches go. Fingertips near your folds. Lips kissing around your pussy. Then, repeating the same brush of his hands as before, but on your other leg, moving inward.
Despite the first taste he already got, he’s suddenly changed his tactic; and you’re greedy. Mewling in tiny, quiet sounds, barely realising that they’re coming out of you. You repeat his name over and over, but it never quite tumbles out in its entirety.
So you keep it at moaning, eyes closed, so infinitely relaxed.
He moves back, gently asking, “All good?”
“So far… do more, please.”
It’s what he always waits for. You know. Jungkook has a fetish for your pleas, and the tiniest fragment of your beseeching voice is usually enough for him.
Like now.
Encouraged, he pushes your shirt up to your tits, halting right under them. He touches your naked stomach, brushing your belly button, grazing a palm over your lower back and straight to your ass.
The tongue ghosting around your sex finally dares a step forward. Gets a little taste of what’s to come. Circles around your folds, then to your nub; spit gathered on the tip, never too hard, oh-so-mildly — and maybe that’s what makes it even worse.
The lack of any force. How pleasant it feels. And you let him know — respond with a desperate, unheard sound, goosebumps sprawling over your skin.
Jungkook discerns it as a signal to go on; to do more. His nose buries between your ass, pushing his tongue in a little further, alternating between licking and kissing and collecting spit. Your lust shoots to the sky; you twist and move, but he holds you in place with a single hand.
And when he disappears, you regret it immediately. You hear him say, “Hey, hey… Don’t you want me to fuck your brains out, sweetheart? Isn’t that what you said?”
“Mmhyes, yes, please.”
“…Then stop moving.” His nails are harsh against your waist, and you whimper. “The more you behave now,” he leaves a kiss on your butt, loosening his grip around your waist, “the harder I’ll go later.”
“…Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”
He chuckles. What an ass; leaving you physically and mentally covetting, and then enjoying your reactions.
“Are you okay with this?” he asks, biting a little, stroking your hips, holding onto your ass cheeks.
“Mhm.” It’s all you can voice at this point. You don’t have any power over your body; can’t lift it off the mattress. “Love it.”
“Perfect.”
And then, everything seems to happen faster.
Arousal and orgasm have already built from his advances, and he gives you the rest when he starts drawing circles around your pussy again. Heightens your senses, slurps and drinks you up. Every single time it feels like he’s learned something new; you swoon at the attention to detail.
What might he be looking like right now?
Perhaps he’s biting his lip. Maybe his eyebrows are furrowed, usually tell-tale signs of either him enjoying his meal or him enjoying his meal.
“Shit,” you mumble, but you don’t think he hears it — too busy sucking at your folds, adding a finger to the mix.
Sometimes, the licks are generous, wide-tongued; sometimes, he focuses on each part individually. The insides, the clit; how you sound, how you wind.
There’s truly an utter craze you feel for this man; no matter which hazy or soft or delicate situation, he fits you like a missing puzzle piece. Like a match made in Heaven. Knows what he’s doing.
Because he knows you. Because he studies you. Observes you.
Sex is only one instance of his attentiveness.
And perhaps that’s the whipped thought that pushes you over the edge eventually. Maybe that’s why the moment passes so quickly and explosions blind you all of a sudden. Why your face glows so hot, sweat collecting over your upper lip.
It must be.
Because as he stimulates you for another minute, your sensitive cunt submits, the knot in your lower stomach unwinding. He unties it fully, eliciting a stirring feeling that makes your pussy flutter.
“Holy shit…”
You only register your voice when the peeping in your ear stops. Your voice is still damped, the world around you vanishing a bit; except for him. Always except for him.
And.
You also notice that your fingers are hurting. Did you dig them into the sheets too hard? Tug too hard? You don’t know… but their pads are almost numb.
Jungkook’s mouth is still there, though lighter now, and his finger is slightly slapping your cunt, encouraging you to keep letting go. Catching you on his tongue.
And then… it’s over. You remain quiet.
You’ll be a mess for the foreseeable future; or at least, the upcoming one or two minutes. Your back and neck are already covered in a sheen of sweat; it’s so unbearably hot, as opposed to the recklessly approaching cold outside.
Remaining like this, you let him kiss your body through your orgasm, delicately soothing the pain his fingers caused across your ass. Hovering above the small of your back, he asks, “Can you move?”
“Not yet. But…” You scan the spot next to the pillow until you find the lube, throwing it back to him at last. “I can watch.”
No objection. So you turn around.
When you finally meet his gaze again, having started missing it, he’s already unbuckling his pants. Right there, towering above you, looking directly at you. Jaw chiselled, lips swollen.
You decide to spur him on; bring the tie between your covered tits before gentle fingers grasp them deftly. Rolling your digits around their outline before squeezing them. There’s an instant reaction: The hard bite of his lip, the rushed discarding of his clothes.
And fuck, he’s beautiful. So pretty how he despairs bit by bit, only letting his pants make it to his knees before his cock has sprung out. A true monster, bloodshot like this, further growing as it twitches and jerks… blue veins wanting to be licked.
But it’s lube-day, and neither of you can wait.
So you let him make a fist around his thickness, stroking it and momentarily letting out a groan. His chest seems to deflate, shoulders dropping as he jerks himself off once more, squirts some lube into his palm, and returns to his intentions.
“Good,” you praise, watching his cheeks grow rosier, “wish you could go all out.”
“I can’t.”
You know. You know, because he’s storing all his patience for what’s to come. With and for you.
Breath stagnating, you watch a drop of sweat trail down between his tanned pecs and then into his shirt; fabric sticking to his skin. He doesn’t notice it, dazy as hell, wiping his tip clear of the precum. Every damn time you’re in disbelief when his cock grows in size, firmer and rock hard.
So many veins adorning it as it rises to his belly button; you’re sure you’ll feel them against your walls, too. You get on wobbly knees, hair already a mess, both of you still in your soaked white dress shirts.
Jungkook’s mane is falling apart much as yours, messier now, but soaking him in so much more sex appeal. There are no boundaries to his beauty; it transcends your understanding.
Enough of watching, you mentally capitulate a minute later. Too many moans and clipped vocals fill the room, whiny once, deep later; so you float up once your body allows, targeting his cock straight-forwardly.
You only deliver one surprise kiss, helping him out as you drag your tongue along the tiny slit. He reacts, caught off guard, voicing, “Oh—”
But against his possible expectations, you don’t continue. Instead, you drag your hand along his cock only twice — up and down, feeling the smooth skin, the slippery lube, the hardness underneath.
And then, you order, “Sit. Please.”
“What?”
“Here,” you point to the headboard, on your knees, kissing his sides and up his chest until you reach the open button. “Sit down for me.”
He pauses. Waits for a moment, touching your cheek when your face aligns with his. And when you keep your begging, soft gaze intact, he huffs out a broken laugh, and states, “Not sure if I can trust you to not kill me. But…” A kiss to your left eyebrow. “Anything for you.”
And whatever happens next, passes by fast.
How he obliges, dick dangling in front of his body, waiting for ruin. How he hisses a little when the sweat-drenched back touches the cold headboard. And how you adjust your body, soon sitting in reverse, facing the closet.
Floating over his cock, straddling him, spreading your pussy with your fingers. He stutters behind you, grasping for words, but silences when you move and wiggle your ass a little, only dropping a few inches until your cock can prod your entrance.
And that’s all you do. Multiple times. Practising restraint, focusing on the closet, blinking rapidly. Perhaps you’re more patient this time, because from behind, you hear another sharp hiss, and then a somewhat agitated, but endlessly turned on, “The hell are you doing to me?”
“Nothing,” you promise; the jest costs you all your energy, “what are you talking about?”
“You’re so funny, aren’t you?”
His words are accentuated by sudden grabs of your ass. One or two pinches. You should’ve known. But despite his impatience, he never forces you down onto his cock. Lets you do.
“I’m not trying to be,” you argue, aligning yourself with him gradually. Preparing yourself mentally and physically. Leaking to no end. “You’re just delusional.”
“Must be. Too good to be real.”
If you had it in you, you’d laugh. But the approaching sins and the image of his affected expressions fog your brain. Your body burns, your lower tummy tenses; your muscles feel heavy as you loom over him, and you only endure another moment.
Because soon enough, your thirst overpowers every other thought; the weight of your desire drags your body down, thankful that he’s keeping his cock upright. And then, just like that… so easily, no resistance detected, you slide down.
His tip splits you open first, eliciting an immediate sensation. New every freaking time; like the craze he fucks your mind into space with wipes your memory each time.
“Hnnngh, this is just…”
Whatever it is, there’s no word yet invented for it. So you give up right away, squinting your eye shut until you see dots and forms, breath stuck in your throat. The lack of regular inhales muddles your mind, and you feel further heat rise to your cheeks.
“Go— slow,” he pants behind you.
Of course he’s not all the way in yet. No matter how much it feels like it; you could keep going and going. Hard and monstrous, burying inside you, no end in sight.
The filling feeling catches you off guard each time; the way he leaves no room inside, causing butterflies in your stomach, wandering straight to your pussy. A ridiculously perfect phenomenon, like a key to its lock.
God. You’re overspilling.
As soon as he’s bottomed out, you relish the feeling of his skin against your ass for a moment, registering how his fingers sneak to your flesh slowly. And then, you angle your body forward, clutching the sheets before you start moving.
You keep your pace slow. Put all your intention on delicate motions, all the way up with a whimper, and then slamming back down with a gasp. The farther you go, the wetter you get. Until you’ve probably left a shimmering liquid all over his cock, gliding too damn easily.
“That’s… that’s new,” Jungkook mutters. At least that’s what you think you hear. “Gotta do it again.”
And you’re not even done with this time. But you understand — oh, you fucking understand. There’s something about not yet seeing his face but imagining all of it. How fucked out he must look. How red the apples of his cheeks must be. How sweaty his hairline is.
You grip the sheets tighter, legs closer to his, head between your shoulders. All you manage between the heavy breathing is a high-pitched, ”Jungkook—”
“Yes. Yeah, baby. This is…”
“I know. I know, keep talking.”
Which is an unfair command. He can think as much as you; you can barely comprehend letters, even less put them into actual words. But somehow, he still mutters whatever nonsense he can think of.
“Gotta do it again,” he repeats as you fasten your pace.
“Why always play such an angel, huh?” he asks as you moan and whine.
“When you’re a… a fucking demon. Literally,” he declares when you blow out breaths, letting out a crying sound.
He feels glorious inside you. Solid and gorgeous. He holds your ass cheeks in a tight grip, the strength nearly bruising when you let a hand wander back between your legs, grazing his firm balls.
When you turn around to check briefly, slowing your motions, he looks up, meets your eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t gazing at you directly at all; and you imagine there wasn’t much to see other than a bouncing mane anyway.
What he’s actually so distracted by must be…
“How’s it… it look?” you ask, circling your hips, feeling every vein, as predicted.
“It looks…”
Must be art.
Combined with his love for your ass, he must be enjoying the view; at least judging from the constant kneading and spreading. Allowing a direct, front-seat show of his cock appearing out of you, disappearing inside of you.
Glistening. Sucking him in. It must…
“Looks so fuck—ing insane from where I sit.”
The swear word is interrupted by a millisecond, breathy as hell. Allows a glimpse into how delirious he might already be, possibly faring worse than you. Impatient, seeking more.
And you do know your Jeon Jungkook well.
Because not even another breath later, his body that slid down halfway, bolts up. You feel the shift clearly; it pulls you backwards along with him. Only, you realise the movement isn’t the only source straightening you so fast.
First and foremost, it’s the freaking hand. Covered in letters and more ink, tugging at the dangling tie and following it up to the slowly unravelling knot before… abruptly snaking around your neck. Fingers right under your jaw, lifting your head.
He tugs you in until your back collides with his chest, and to your chagrin, you notice that neither of you has gotten rid of those stupid dress shirts. You won’t be able to wear them again without drifting to this memory…
Sleeve open, he wraps his arm around your body, just under your tits, and whispers, “Why… drive me mad like this?”
“H–huh?”
“So far away. Weren’t you ffffu—” The messy zero you’re drawing with your hips interrupts his string of thoughts, and he spends a second finding it again before he finishes, “Weren’t you far away long enough?”
Shit…
This isn’t just an affair. This isn’t temporary. Your brain still can’t quite understand that you’ve actually occupied this man’s heart.
That your gestures and touches aren’t a fleeting dream, but blissfully real. That you’re his, and that he’s yours.
He’s right. You were far away for too long.
So you sneak your arm back, around the back of his neck and pull him closer by his hair. His lips brush your cheek and then retreat to your ear. Nibbling for a moment. Kissing it.
You don’t know what to focus on — on the way his teeth light up your nerves, or the way his hand moves down your shirt and bra, and up your body. Soon taking your tits captive, squeezing hard, pinching your nipples.
“Move a bit,” he orders, though you don’t really have to.
His hand remains on your neck, so he pulls you forward; guess he’s sick of the shirt, too.
“You too,” you murmur.
“Yes. Patience, love.”
No. Fuck no.
Is it the nickname or his actions that empty your head this time? You don’t know. But you react.
Moaning, but it soon transitions into a yelp when he jerks up suddenly, balls deep. Your voice breaks, and you’re breathless; grateful when he unbuttons your shirt, dragging it down your shoulders.
Helping him however you can, you pull at the clothing almost aggressively, over your hand until it’s stuck there. Sporting a shirt paw, you hear Jungkook laugh behind you, peppering more kisses to your shoulder as he says, “Ah… take it easy. You’re with me tonight.”
One quick pause, and then, “You’re always with me. No rush anymore, okay? Yeah, baby?”
He aids you out of the shirt and tie with tender pecks. Thoroughly affected when you only nod so softly, eyebrows kissing. He unclasps your bra swiftly, breathing against your neck as he bares your body once and for all, putting the garment aside.
And then his forefinger moves along your neck again, only barely touching over your vocal cords; feeling your gulp before he journeys further down, back to your tits. Probably leaving scars; his nails are reckless today.
“Wanted to see those pretty tits so bad,” he says, though he doesn’t halt here — tiptoes south to your pelvis, and then to your clit. “Been thinking about this all day.”
Really?
So each of these touches consume his thoughts every damn moment of the day, too?
“You wanna see them… properly?” you wonder. You haven’t moved in a bit, lost in him, mentally tracing the lines he draws on your body. “‘Cause I wanna see you.”
“Mmmmhm. Doesn’t sound too bad.”
��Then I’ll…”
You don’t speak further; busy with your further advances. Your pussy feels lonely the moment you let him slip out. You’re terribly wobbly on your knees, your thighs visibly shaking as you turn around.
Jungkook holds a hand towards you, a safety net in case you tip over. He holds your wrist gently as you move over the mattress; never more than now are you glad that his isn’t as soft as yours back at the house.
Keeping your balance, you straddle him again, back in a similar position, albeit finally facing him now. And your eyes roll back just the moment he fills you up again.
Your legs are exhausted; the moment you start moving, you barely make it far enough, and Jungkook notices immediately, whispering, “My baby tired?”
And when you nod, he holds you tight, wrapping you in his arms, and—
“Hold– hold onto me, okay?”
You do. And then — he thrusts up once.
When your head falls, his eyelids drop a little, nose touching your jaw as he says, “I could fuck you all goddamn day.”
“Do it… you can now.” His head descends to your chest, mouth open. You’re not sure what you’re opting for, but you still call his name, “Kook…”
Repeatedly lunging in, he collects the words he needs to say, so irresistibly frenzied when he vows, “I’m yours. Okay? And… I need you to stay. Am yours, baby.”
Out of nowhere — or maybe not. Maybe these very sentiments were swimming in his eyes all the time; you could just not see them yet.
Lips a hair width apart, you opt for one single kiss, only a ghost touch. You tell him, “Promised the world. Will promise it to you… too.”
“Good.” His nails scrape your back, and you tug at his hair. A moan tumbles out of him, transforming into words as he holds your body in place, pumping into you, “Fuck, you– feel so good. Just you. So, so good.”
“Ngh, I—”
“I know, I can… can’t breathe, either.”
He kisses your shoulder, the skin flaming under his mouth. Although late, you imitate his prior gesture, peeling off his intruding shirt as smoothly and fast as you possibly can. It’s been a wall between you for too long now; you need to see those pretty tits, too.
And once the buttons open and the shirt flies, you finally bask in the toned beauty. Soaked chest, brawny, chocolate chip nipples as hard as yours. Soon pressing into you, lips thirsting for you, slamming against your mouth.
The fever rises, the temperature akin to lava. Your sounds are desperate and wanting, and you hold onto him for dear life. And before you know it, you’re not claiming your throne anymore.
Suddenly, you find yourself floating for a moment, and then sinking into the mattress, and then curling your hands into fists and him slamming into you harder, deeper, all the way in...
Fuck.
Towering over you, he spreads your legs wide, temptingly licking his thumb before it presses down onto your swollen clit. One jab. A second. Another and another and another.
“Yes. Yes, please—” you beg and yell, letting him pound you into oblivion.
The first hint of stars already grace the darkness behind your eyelids, but then Jungkook starts delivering rapid, light slaps to your nub. He’s chasing your high as much as you are; you know. The chaos unfolding doesn’t hold him back from observing your reactions.
Only focusing on his own end of pleasure when you’re done.
Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, and you cling to his arms, his hands pushing into your waist. And it takes just a moment longer. And another second. Several more shoves, the curve of his cock dragging along your walls and your sensitive spot.
Thoroughly drenched, both of you, as he drives all of him into you. Parting your legs whenever they attempt to shut again. And the universe finally expands, a million celestial bodies dying and imploding, much like you and…
Suddenly, you’re off the cliff.
Falling into a deep ocean. Or the vast night sky. You don’t know — you don’t feel real.
All you know is that your thighs and ass are wet. That you ruined yet another sheet. That Jungkook is out of breath, fucking you through your high, ensuring that you come back to him only bit by bit, so, so slowly.
Gentler now, you feel his body subside, down to you. His skin is glowing with sweat when your eyes crack open just a slit, though they instantly drop close again when he kisses you once more.
He does it only softly this time, as if he’s trying it out. Gauging your reaction. And you do reciprocate the touch, even if weakly. You’re still too gone to look at him properly, but that doesn’t deter him from casting another spell in your heart.
Because his words reach every fibre of you. Butterflies swarm your stomach as he says, “I still can't believe that you’re staying. You did this… you fucking did this—”
“Why not? Wh–why can’t you believe it?”
“Because you’re staying with me. You stayed with me. And…”
Somewhere, it stings. That he’s surprised by constant company. By someone not leaving… by someone worth all his affection glueing themselves to him. And yet, you understand.
That’s a pain the two of you share.
He stares through your gaze, as if he’s frisking for something specific. With each passing moment, it’s like he’s realising something new, yet unable to really verbalise it.
Like something’s burning on his tongue.
But all he does whisper is, “How do I ever stay away from you now, huh?”
“Don’t.” You touch his face, and he doesn’t waste a second to lean into your touch, kissing your palm. “Please just don’t.”
“Won’t be able to… And it sucks that—”
He frees your face from your stick hair strands, still moving inside you. His own tresses hang into your forehead; his thumb touches your lower lip.
“That I can’t be with you every damn second of the day. I mean…” He leans in. Pecks your eyelids; your heart bursts. “What if I can’t move an inch from you?”
You keep staring. Unable to answer. Keep looking and drinking in every emotion laid bare in his confessions. Your misty mind feels calm; not as heavy as hours ago.
And you’re woozy; so indescribably giddy when he adds, “You… you mean so much to me.”
Damn. Damndamndamn.
And you’re fucking obsessed with him. Want his kiss on you all the time; words tattooed on your brain, etched into your soul.
“Jungkook.”
“Huh— yeah?”
“Can you…” You gulp, drooling at the thought, and then spitting it out at once, “Finish in my mouth.”
“Shit,” he exclaims, though the word is more a maniac laugh than anything else, “you know exactly you— you can’t say this to me.”
You know. Because any image of his cock ramming your throat empties his head.
Once more, he mumbles, ”Damn it,” before he’s picking up on pace. You move your hands over his broad shoulders, soon curling your fingers in to hold tight — it’s what the situation suddenly requires. Because gradually, his hips slam into you faster.
The dull sound of his thighs meeting yours repeatedly is lewd, volume increasing when he starts jackhammering into you. Your rhythmic, breathless cries become irregular and broken, turning into screams, and you feel a droplet escaping the corner of your eye.
Throat dry and jaw aching from the parted mouth, you keen from the sensitive feeling inside. You’re so full. So invigorated. Holding onto him tight, so you don’t crumble.
And just as you yell out a dozen curses, Jungkook, voice raised, states, “Fuck, fuuuck, gonna come, babe, f— open your mouth—”
You do. Instantly, tongue out, choking because it’s so much harder to breathe like that. Jungkook trembles over you, lips wet; his arms threaten to give out, letting his body nearly collapse on you, but just a moment before he does, he pulls out.
Hurrying, his knees dig closer to you, cock and ass right above your face as he holds the length between strong fingers. Secured in his palm, he strokes himself over you, glancing into your hungry eyes.
“Pretty girl,” his other digits raise your head by your chin, and his body is swinging, unstable; shoulders high. “My sweet baby… You can’t just…”
Pinching your chin fondly, he digs his cock into your mouth, still pumping the base and touching his balls. You raise your head to not suffocate in the process, and he lets your chin go to grip your hair, lifting you halfway just in time before—
His load finally spills. All of it. So much of it. Hot and sticky, thick as the ropes shoot straight into your throat. You nearly gag, keeping yourself together, swallowing diligently as he empties his balls.
There’s fucking buckets of it, shit…
You close your eyes, focusing on breathing, and once he’s done, you close your lips around his cock. Still hard, although slowly softening, you lick the remnants of his arousal and whatever’s left of you. The tastes mingle, and your head spins…
And then, he pulls back. You’re beaten, gulping, smacking away the saltiness.
Still overwhelmed from the taste, you let your head fall back onto the pillow; but your fingers still seek his touch. The mattress next to you flattens again as his knees retract, and soon enough, laying down beside you.
Both of you are too done in to speak, even less to move. So you let a few minutes pass. Then, you find his fingers, entangling them with yours; waiting a bit more.
And only when your heart rate calms a bit, you stir, hearing him suggest, “Quick shower?”
You smile. The kisses aren’t over yet.
For a while longer, the profuse heat lingers.
The radiator is off, and some of the windows were open when you came home. And despite choosing to stay bare after the shower for some more, you don’t register any of the cold yet; you’re sheltered, safe and so, so warm.
Jungkook’s fingers keep trailing up and down way after you’re done, lips planting generous kisses to your scalp and face. He paves his way to the corner of your mouth and then up to your eyebrows; and when he reaches your nose again, you lift your head abruptly.
Chasing his kiss, even if for just a second, a hand on his cheek and shoulders rising. Occasional giggles and smiles, tickles and pinches keep you busy temporarily; you don’t know how much time passes, nor do you care.
You only snap out of your daydreams when his kisses gain on urgency, tongue diligent. A palm creeps dangerously close to your ass, threatening to slink to your beaten sex.
But your reaction is quicker than his sly attempt, and you say, “Wait— no. Can’t do it again.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Of course.” Damn his shoulder shrug. You tap his pelvis before you wrap a leg around his waist, teasing, “I didn’t feel the twitch at all.”
He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. But it’s not my fault that you’re so stubbornly sexy.”
“Stubbo—” You giggle mid-sentence, imitating the shake of his head. “I hope you know I’d let you tie me down and do whatever the fuck—”
“My god. Stop saying it like that.”
“—but my body won’t let me yet. I also still stink.”
“Stink?” He shifts dramatically, burying his nose between your tits. His voice is muffled when he asks, “Do you?”
“Stop. You’re so weird,” you scold, but the word is drenched in laughter; you forcefully lift his head again. “We still need to change the sheets and the shower was quick. Do I not?”
“You kinda do. Like cherry blossoms.”
“Shut up.”
“What? Sue me for telling the truth. My girlfriend smells like cherry blossoms.”
Oh… oh?
Wait.
Your mouth shuts tight.
Did he…
The beam that spreads on your face is almost embarrassing; surprise, joy and affection conjoin, your guts twisting. You take a breath. Feel the sparkles in your own damn eyes; tender gaze directed at him.
And the freaking flutter in your heart; the temperature in your cheeks. Do these things ever stop?
The words sink in slowly; and Jungkook takes the time to ask, “What?”
“You… you haven’t called me that yet, have you?”
He’s perplexed. Guess even to him, it was a Freudian slip, because his eyes are wider than ever. He waits, thinks for a moment; then admits, “Uhm. No. I don’t think so.”
“Well, I… like the sound of it.”
“It’s… it’s true. You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?” His eyes smile before he does; unrestrained devotion in them. “My baby?”
He says it so innocently, so sweetly that you can’t help but coo. Teasingly, you pat his cheek, telling him, “I mean I hope I am. Considering I’m moving in with you.”
“Yes. You are. Of course you are.”
“…Girlfriend.” Sheepishly, much like a teenage girl, you keep your twinkle intact, still feeling the lasting gleam on your face. You must be reminiscent of the sun and the moon. Emboldened, you start, “Then… boyfriend. Can I ask you something?”
The term elicits similar glee in him, teeth out, grin bright. He waits wordlessly with sparkling eyes, and you touch his lip, asking, “How do you feel right now? About all that?”
“I feel… I’m in disbelief. You’re moving in with me and just. Somehow, even saying it feels surreal.” He sighs, searching for words. “I’m in disbelief and crazy for you. That’s all I know.”
Falling deeper and without an end is possible. Jungkook has taught you that; still does.
“…I was so scared you wouldn’t like me doing this,” you confess.
“What? Saying yes to being with me all the time? Sounds horrible.” He laughs. “I’m happy. And I’m happy that you’re happy, too. Okay?”
“I wasn’t for a while, you know? You make me feel good. Take me by my word and give yourself credit for it.” He needs to. He might have doubted his role in everyone else’s life so far, but his value to you needs to be clear at all times. “Not just now, Kook, but, you always make me feel good. I hope you know that.”
“I do. This time, I do…” Content, you smile; until he stalls for dramatic effect, mouth open to indicate something to come. Your beam expands to exhilarated laughter when he squeezes your ass again, adding with another snicker, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make my favourite munchkin feel good?”
“…There’s more than one?!”
Hmm…
That’s what you’d been yearning for all this time.
Because there’s something so vulnerable about your elation; the enlivened titter. About your newfound feelings. About these very first phases of a sensitive relationship. Something serene.
And the meaning behind your words keeps changing with him; carries much more weight, and makes you feel so much lighter. As if levitating on cotton clouds.
Girlfriend. Boyfriend.
Peace reigns supreme and for a while you’re hopeful enough to doubt anything could disrupt it. Even the world is quiet when you look out the window.
September isn’t yet harsh enough to cover all above pitch black, but it’s still dark grey and drab. The sky still somewhat illuminates the unruffled room through the tilted window.
But just when tranquillity reaches its peak, your phone vibrates on the bedside table; you flinch.
The screen’s shine overshadows the faded monochrome of the world. It’s unwelcome, intruding — and once you lean over, holding the blanket over your chest, you realise that the message is just as unsought.
Mom [7:12PM]: We need to talk.
Mom [7:12PM]: I’m still at Charmante for another hour and a half.
…At this time?
Did you leave her this desperate?
“What is it?” a dulcet voice asks from behind.
You hear the bed creak a little, his body cold without yours. Despising the distance, he puts a gentle hand to your shoulder, planting a kiss right next to it; when you lack his desired reaction, he asks again, “Everything okay?”
“Hm?” You barely tilt your head, eyes still glued to the words that you’ve already internalised. You cover his hand with yours. “Yeah. Just. Look.”
You hold the phone into his face; the penetrant white floodlights his skin. The warm gold shines in the glow, his lips drier than before. They move as he reads, and then, they close, giving way to a hum.
The initial silence suggests that he might be thinking the same as you — to bail. To shut the phone again, slide it to the edge of the bedside table and drop back against his chest, above his heart.
But you should know Jungkook better; he won’t discourage a familial reunion, praying for a better outcome than he ever had. He’s always spoken for your relationship with them — thinking back, he has never truly badmouthed your mother.
So you’re not too surprised when he hands you the phone back, careful to not turn your mother’s two marks blue, and suggests, “Maybe you should go.”
You sigh. You don’t want to. It’s too early for confrontation; time hasn’t passed, and the issue hasn’t yet marinated. Then again, the problem might only grow if you postpone this.
But your heart is biased, angry, refusing to oblige to her demands one more time. So you ask for yet another confirmation, “Right now? But I…”
You turn back to him, shaking your head slowly, troubled. He props his head up, eyes staring down to you as you lay flat on your back, hands folded under your breasts.
“Give yourself closure, babe.”
“I got closure.”
“No,” he strikes back, fingers lifting to your jawline. He touches it lightly, brushing it delicately, “Actual closure. To finish this. And she deserves it, too, you know? She’s still waiting there, angel.”
“Jungkook, you…” You click your tongue, gaze swerving to the unlit ceiling light and then back to him. “You’re too good.”
“I’m sorry.”
You smile, and he throws a palpitation-inducing twinkle back. You know he’s right — it must have been a shock for her after all. More or less double-crossed by her own daughter, humiliated in a public setting — her brain must be frying.
Reluctantly, you stretch your arm to the side, tapping for your phone, and roll your eyes at Jungkook playfully when you open the message to type back. His body floats down, lips planting a barely-there kiss to your collarbone.
You [7:14PM]: I’ll be there in half an hour.
“Alright then…”
Your body lifts off the mattress with the idlest of movements. The afterglow might die once you’re there, but you guess you need the confrontation–fight? Argument?—to ensure more, blissful nights.
This time, you don’t bother with your clothing as much as you did when you prepared for the press conference. You slip into the first best jeans you find, throwing a cosy pullover over your torso.
Busy with the rush, you don’t notice that Jungkook isn’t standing behind you in his usual grey joggers but in jeans, too. He’s fiddling with your car keys, stuffing his wallet into a pocket, and you stare wide-eyed, waiting for an explanation.
And once your digging stare pierces through him, he reciprocates it with similar confusion, half his hand still in the pocket as he inquires, “What?”
“What are you doing?” you ask, gesturing up and down his body.
“What do you mean?”
The back and forth of questions leaves you further bewildered, and you step closer, softly snatching the keys out of his fingers as you say, “Babe… It won’t take long.”
You don’t think he quite understands — it seems that to him, it was a given this entire time that he’d accompany you to your work building. But when it seeps through, his expression changes, more relaxed.
His head tilts, blinking slowly as he assures, “I won’t let you go alone.”
“Kook—”
“It’s honestly not a big deal. You said it won’t take long, so I’ll wait outside.” He shrugs, forefinger at the nape of his neck, scratching. “Plus, I’ll just get bored here alone.”
A warm flutter engulfs your heart. You wonder how couples spend days, months, years together without burning up every moment during their togetherness. Because you don’t think you’ll ever get over the fire he sets ablaze in your lungs — how does one get accustomed to affection like this?
You don’t know.
Maybe you don’t need to know.
Not more than what his eyes say, at least.
“What did you do all the time I wasn’t here?”
His grin is playful, but there’s tender truth in his words, “Something any guy waiting for you would do,” big brown irides meet yours, fingers fiddling, “counted the seconds until I could see you again.”
Your laugh is sudden before you ask, “Is that a quote from SpongeBob?”
And the joy holds on as you leave the apartment and rush down the flight of stairs. The short comedic journey to your car is distracting — most of reality only dawns on you when you step into the car.
Reminiscent of the last time the two of you drove over to a confrontation — just a little after his vacation; just a bit before the heartbreak.
The streets are quieter and emptier at this hour, the repose enhanced by the gentle drizzle. It’s significantly darker than when you arrived home, though it hasn’t been too long since you drove this exact way in the opposite direction. Two hours?
Maybe it’s the cloudy, almost black sky, accompanied by the hushed sound of the rain that’s amplifying your fears. Because the calming ambience from a minute ago worries you the closer you get — this once, you’d rather bask in sunshine and daydreams.
But no.
Hope is on your side; you’re done worrying, right?
As you sit up straight in your seat, Jungkook glances from you from the driver’s seat, eyes shooting to and fro between you and the street. His lips part as he operates the wheel with one hand, using the other to wrap around your fingers.
“Don’t be nervous,” he says, squeezing once before he lets go, brushing over the back of your hand and gripping the wheel again, “there’s just so much she can say. You made a decision as a full adult and she’ll have to accept it.”
“Yeah.” You follow the streetlamps and their warm radiance, redirecting your focus on the next as you pass each. “I hope so.”
The ride home was different; you were filled to the brim with energy and adrenaline. Your legs were putty, so he insisted for you to freeze on the passenger’s seat, reluctant to hand you the keys to drive.
You were waiting for the streets to end, to shut his door behind you, and to breathe and sigh through a sleepless night with him. The anticipation, combined with the aftermath of the press conference made you restless — you wouldn’t stop gnawing on your thumb.
And he didn’t interrupt your thoughts, let you flick through them until he finally looked at you at a traffic light. Raising the back of his digits to your cheek, assuring, “It’s okay, angel.”
Maybe the breathy tone and the hundred promises wrapped into one reassurance prompted your reaction at his place at all.
Jungkook turns into your work street, and you hold your breath. Your heart knocks violently against your ribcage, disabling a proper thread of thoughts. Which is a shame, because you really wanted to draw a collection of snappy remarks you could retort in there.
Instead, you merely look at the entrance far at the end of the street, unmoving as Jungkook moves into a parking lot and kills the engine. You blink; then blink some more. The gulp, you think, is audible in the small space of the car.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.
“No… I don’t think she’d want that.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, leaning forward to pinch your chin between two fingers. He moves your head toward him, eyes a liquid, wavy ocean at night. Affectionate. “She’s your mom. Despite everything, I know she loves you.”
“I don’t know…”
“She does. I saw it the night I picked you up and I saw it Monday morning, too. So.” The head tilt, the soft curve of his eyebrows, the care in his pupils — they’re a healing bandage around your heart. “Don’t be scared.”
He leans over the centre console armrest, still holding your face in his grasp, and presses his lips just barely, sweetly to your wrinkled forehead. You think the muscles react immediately, temples relaxing.
For a second, he lingers, and then he pulls back a fraction, looking at you from an inch-wide distance, and whispers, “Don’t be. I’ll be here all the time.”
Right — armour-clad, like a knight. You finally nod, a weight dropping off your heart. You cement his smile deeper into your mind; a coping strategy in case things escalate in there.
Once more, you squint at the entrance doors, though barely visible from here. Hand on the handle, you say, “If I’m not out in twenty minutes, call the police.”
Jungkook tsks, eyes rolling with badly hidden amusement, ordering, “Just go. Will be here.”
Yes. Breathe.
He’ll be right here when you come back. And it’ll all be over then.
The building feels sinister, empty like this. Nothing of the busy and lively mood remains; the lack of the chatter and footsteps drenches the entrance hall in gloom.
It reminds you of horror movie locations; you can’t help but hesitate as you walk in.
Especially today, the silence is unbearably odd; the press isn’t lurking anymore, isn’t swarming you anymore. You don’t want to imagine how hard it must’ve been to convince the reporters to finally leave.
You sigh…
In less than a day, they’ll have today’s highlights printed in newspapers and posted; feasting. Big, bold headlines will narrate the words you uttered; of course they will. With your family relishing a local celebrity status, the media would be damned if it didn’t make any profit out of you.
For the first time, however… you don’t care. You inhale.
And as you walk past the glass walls and up the stairs, clutching your work keys, you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to run away from this place anymore.
You’ve liked your job since you started, no doubt, despite your initial worries and fears. But the thought of losing against the world, or of losing him terrified you. Maybe you were too naive to fight those who wished you harm mere months ago, freshly out of college.
But now that you realise that you won’t be roaming these hallways in a couple weeks, that you have dropped the mic in a way they won’t be able to pick it up to hurt you again, you feel relieved.
Feel a sense of responsibility. Like an adult.
Okay.
She told you she’d wait in an unoccupied office on the first floor — you usually frequent it with Zara, sifting through theories and changes. You wonder why your mother didn’t settle on her own office — then again, you imagine it must hurt to suffer defeat in the very room where she’s supposed to reign.
As you reach the room, your fist lifts to the door. Though you soon realise that it might be entirely unnecessary, judging the slight gap and the soft noise from within. So you gently push the ajar door open, met with a tired figure behind an imposing desk.
She’s lost in thought, but as you enter, her gaze slowly ascends, her posture reclining. And you see it immediately.
The usually cold eyes, now brimming with disappointment and sorrow.
Her eyes flit, as you assume unintentionally, into a corner. She dodges a simple greeting when you mumble a timid, “Hi,” and you drop the formalities right away. Don’t even attempt to sit — stand there, towering in front of her, not intending to stay long anyway.
And it seems her thoughts and intentions align, because she refuses to beat around the bush, a weary voice asking, “Why did you do that?”
“Mmh… You’re asking like I shouldn’t have.”
“Because you shouldn’t have.” Typical. Her point of view will always be her only truth. You listen on, but can’t help but tense. “Your father and I built this for you, and we intended to forward it to you. You know that.”
You don’t like that tone; you never have. It always ran over your spine as a shiver, weakening your knees. Even today, you’re conditioned to buckle just a bit. You exhale.
“Mom, have you ever heard yourself speak? You’ve never even remotely tried giving me anything else that way,” you complain, leaning to clutch the chair with one hand, the other gesturing around the room. “You built this stupid empire for yourself and kept it intact for me, so I can continue your work.”
You huff out a mocking breath, shaking your head just a little. “You never even asked me. You just told me to do it all.”
Her voice is sharper when she responds, “We didn’t hand it to you to make you suffer, for god’s sake.” She’s irritated, eyebrows deeply furrowed. “Christ, you were supposed to have a good future.”
“Yes, and I will! I’m happier than I have been all summer. Do you even have any idea what happened during that time?!”
You pause. She doesn’t answer, clearly sorting out a hundred answers.
Because a lot happened — most of it a direct effect of her or the media’s bullshit. Of course she won’t be able to pick out just one single thing.
So you explain, “Did you even understand that Jungkook broke up with me because of the thing you pulled with that dumb journalist?” You spit the word like a curse, grimacing. “And that he avoided me because he thought he was ruining me?”
You try to make it sound as ridiculous as you can muster, wondering if the realisation is dawning on her.
“Did you even notice how I didn’t come out of my room for da—”
“Just why,” she interrupts, eyes shutting tight in disbelief and agitation, palms toward the ceiling, “would you jeopardise your life and emotions because of him?”
Jeopardise. Holy fuck.
She has a whack understanding of villainhood.
“Because he’s important to me! You can’t even imagine how hurtful it is to only be talking about work to you. You never ask me if I eat or sleep enough. You didn’t even give me a graduation present. He did! But you wouldn’t know!”
You think back to the lamp in your room, the one she has never seen — remember the dark ceiling, the aurora and stars projected to it. The touches that followed.
“He’s unbelievably important to me, Mom. Okay?”
“You’ve been with him for just a while.”
You grit your teeth. It’s like talking to a wall; a daycare child would catch the sentiment better than her.
“Yeah,” you say, scoffing, “and it makes me embarrassed for you, because I’ve known you my entire life and you never cared this much. Like, fuck, even Dad did.”
Her jaw clenches as you swear, nostrils close to flaring as you concede more pain, “Jungkook actually makes me feel human.” There’s a sting in your eyes. You blink it away. “I’ve been feeling like a person, which just… made me understand that—”
You gulp, your throat tied and your head heavier now. You wait, shrugging. Then—
“That I can receive affection, too.”
Your friends are your first memory of care; barring them, you only had a faint idea of what devotion entailed. Learning what it means to be genuinely important to someone had been on your bucket list — this year, you ticked it off.
“I just hate that he had to glue me together first for me to understand.”
Because she broke you first. The contrast couldn’t be more crystal clear.
She doesn’t dig your monologue. Her countenance fills with different shades of ridicule and embarrassment, shreds of anger thrown into the mix. Filed nails tap against an open folder, the other hand rubbing her forehead.
“You sound ridiculous,” she derides, “you can’t throw your future away because of love. It won’t pay your bills.”
“I’m gonna be a manager, though. I’ll pay my fucking bills. And Jungkook is working his way up, too.” Your latter statement gains a sceptical stare, followed by a skyrocketing eyebrow. It satisfies you. “He is. He’s getting his own part at an exhibition. We’ll be fine.”
She frowns, mouth already agape as she psyches herself up for another answer, and you already roll your eyes, prepared to interrupt.
“You—”
“You were so grateful last weekend,” you argue.
“Because you almost killed yourself!”
“No! If you’re so worried, then call! You could’ve called and asked where I was like mothers do. Made sure I was well and not drunk out of my mind!”
“Stop it,” she stands, her voice as damaging as a serrated knife. You flinch as she charges for you, and you breathe out, ready for a slap — but her body halts in front of yours. “How do you expect to run from this just by switching to another company? Novaura’s still mine, too.”
No…
You hold your breath. Straighten your back, hands sweaty as your nails dig in. She’s been predictable half her life; not always quite vile. But you know what she’ll say next, and you know it’ll be the most odious thing she’s ever uttered.
“And I could keep you here if I wanted to. They’d throw you out if I told them, too.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink, scorning, “You’re serious?”
A breath of laughter escapes your chest, and you shake your head in disbelief. You’re done.
You press your lips into a thin line before smacking them, nodding in faux agreement before you say, “Okay. Go ahead. But if you do, I won’t shut up this time. Today, I was being nice. I praised you, and none of my nice talk was actually deserved.”
Choosing your words carefully, you pronounce every syllable as if explaining molecular biology. She listens, not spitting an answer immediately.
So you challenge further, “You want to throw me out? Do it. It’s your reputation. I didn’t say anything wrong at the conference today, because it’s my right to choose the career I want. You’d be abandoning your own daughter if you pulled this through.”
You have her attention. Her lips stay sealed.
“And when they ask me,” you continue, eyes now fiery; you’re so done. So, so done. “I will let them know that you did it out of spite. Try finding an excuse why you did when we’re there. I won’t be at any disadvantage.”
You press into your palms one more time, relaxing your jaw, and opt to turn and walk away. Hurling one more glare towards her, you spit, “I have a degree, just a reminder.”
And that should be it.
Pride unfurls across your chest, warm in your stomach as you take long strides out of her office. You hear the quiet call of your name, suddenly desperate. But now that you’ve said your part of the truth, you don’t turn around anymore.
Only shut the door behind you hard; shutting all she’d hoped for with it.
Despite the satisfaction still bubbling in your stomach, you can’t shake the clump in your throat and the anxiety in your heart. The post-fight adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your fingers shake.
There’s discomfort in deserting your own mother; the irrational fears were to be expected. You didn’t do anything wrong, you know, you know. But your organ still thumps like drums, and you lift a hand to your chest. A vain attempt to calm your breathing.
And then… something miraculous happens.
The brisky gust of the evening brushes your cheeks; the bright lights of the city contribute to your sudden peace. They’re a reminder that the world is far wider than this damn building. Than her.
But more than anything, your worries dissipate when the strolling figure grows in your sight. As you walk the short distance to your car, you feel your heart lighten — your forehead and temples relax.
He has his hands on his waist, chin slightly raised as if watching the stars that hide in the city sky anyway. His steps are small, and his eyebrows calm. He looks serene.
And once his hands slide into his open jacket’s pockets, he looks down the street again, surprised when you’re mere steps apart.
“Ah,” he voices, one palm already out as he stretches it toward you, “barely fifteen minutes. I was about to come in.”
Deep sigh in, you let his arm pull you in his embrace, swiftly wrapped around your torso. He smells like fresh clothes, after-rain, and vibrant, like the lights in the sky.
Your arms sling around his body with an urgency, and you muffle your voice against his chest as you ask, “Already?”
“Already?” he repeats, though dragging the word more than you did. His arm squeezes you once as his other hand escapes his pocket, too, stroking your head. “Those weren’t days? I swear I felt myself ageing in there.”
Your fist thumps against his chest lightly, and you giggle against his sweater. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes slowly unfocusing, you rub the zipper teeth of his jacket between your fingers, softly mumbling, “Thank you for being here. You’re the best.”
You feel a movement over your head; he’s lowering his chin to your hair, still caressing your head as if lulling you into sleep. And it’s working — you feel drowsier by the second.
But then, his chest rumbles as he hums, cautious as he asks, “Are you okay?”
Are you?
You’re about to start a new life where you desire, with whom you desire. Finding permanent residency in his presence the way he finds it in your thoughts.
A few more steps, and you can make yourself home. Not in those rooms, but in him. Because that’s what he is.
A blanket, a radiator, the comforting voice that soothes and heals. Worshipping you within the same four walls every single day.
You’re not just okay — you’re craving.
Leaving his warmth and scent, you lean back and look at him. His eyes are as big as you’re used to, awaiting an answer, genuinely curious. Your heart threatens to burst; the sting is painfully sweet.
“Yeah,” you answer, touching the purple sweater, “I promise I am.”
Because. Because that’s all you ever wanted.
It’s over. You’re going home — you are home.
You can’t remember whether it was your fingers clawing into Jungkook’s shirt or his hand brushing through your hair that kept you in the sheets twenty minutes longer than anticipated.
The plan was to snooze once and get into a routine with divided work. One prepares breakfast, the other makes the bed and cleans up before leaving the apartment.
But it seems that so far, your routine has consisted of lazy mornings. Tired hums. Quiet, hushed and slightly hoarse good mornings and entangled limbs.
You pressed between his shoulder blades as he strokes your head, planting kisses on your temple and your forehead.
“Slept well?” he asked today. Another peck in between. Then, drowsy and sighing, “Is the mattress okay, by the way? I like the firmer ones better since they’re good for your back, but I know you had a softer one, so if you need…”
“No, not at all,” you promised, warm and safe under the covers. “This is perfect.”
No… the softness wasn’t needed. Your muscles were so relaxed, you were sinking into the bed anyway. Sleeping a dent into it. At peace as his nails gently scraped over your scalp, massaging and caressing.
He could’ve lulled you into sleep like that; and his voice served as soft, white background noise. The words he used. The honey sweet tone. The past tense in what you had, and what you have now.
If you hadn’t been so lethargic, you would’ve floated through your chores. But when the clock ticked too dangerously fast and brought your working hours sickeningly close, you decided to eat out instead.
You always fool around at breakfast too much — stretching it longer than it needs to be. A café was, surprisingly, the smarter, more time-efficient option.
And a great opportunity and excuse to explore the places near you. Jungkook promised there was an amazing bakery nearby, and you trudged along, tummy rumbling, now that you weren’t in bed with him and satiated anymore.
“You’re sure you’ll be at home by the evening?”
You gather the remaining crumbs of your pastry with the pad of your thumb, waiting for Jungkook to slurp the last of his coffee. He nods, soon answering, “Mhm. I won’t be at work for long. Might come home before you do, actually.”
“Okay,” you suckle at your thumb, shoulders relaxing as you stare at the drizzle outside. The day started out grey. “And then tomorrow, I’ll be off work by the afternoon, so I should be able to bring more things over from the house.”
Tired from the morning, your eyes remain on the customers trudging in and out of the café. They shake the water drops off their umbrellas, or sigh at the prospect of stepping out into the rain again.
Their expressions aren’t quite dispirited, but… perhaps a little dim.
You raise a side of your lips in empathy, and then continue, “And then on Saturday, I’m getting the truck to the house, for the rest of my stuff.”
“Babe,” Jungkook interrupts, pausing to smack the coffee’s taste away. His hand slides over the table, wrapping his fingers around three of yours. “Let me come with you tomorrow. You’re already doing too much.”
“Absolutely not. I won’t drag you there unless I absolutely have to. Besides,” your voice is soft when you lean forward, raising your entangled digits to your lower lip. “You’ve been busy plenty, too.”
And it’s true.
He’s been taking care of the apartment and cooking dinner these days. Organising documents with you, so you have whatever needed to change your address and whatnot. Doing small purchases for the household and vacating some of the closet to make place for your stuff.
Two weeks have passed since the press conference — and Jungkook has been a pillar of strength and sanity as much as you have been his. You communicate each night, regulating finances, dividing roles and sharing comfort.
You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed or felt a relationship as symbiotic as this one… and you’re just starting out.
His thumb brushes over your fingers, still reassuring you, much as you expected, “I honestly don’t mind.”
“It’s okay,” you argue, “we still have a lot more to do. Save your energy for that. I’d still love these deco vines for the living room, remember? Let’s get them together.”
Your words are breathy, as if you’re being reborn. A breeze of refreshment — and he feels it, too. There’s something about the thought of simplicity livening up your bustling days.
Mundane tasks, like shopping for casual things together.
Groceries. Decoration. Plants.
With all the planning of switching work and homes, the two of you have been incredibly breathless. You even told him about a meeting at your new place today, a discussion about trivial matters, general know-how and preparation you need to do.
The sliver of stress is visible in your eyes — you’ll be seeing the other managers today. And you’re nervous about it, unsure what vibe the meeting might set.
But despite the stress, you’ve been as bright as Venus in the night sky. He understands. If anyone does, then him.
Because the idea of strolling through Ikea's tableware department is balm to his mind. Your laughter sounding through its hallways, half your body leaning over the shopping cart, because you surely seem like the type to do so.
His voice is as gentle as the mizzle outside when he promises, “We’ll get anything you want.”
“Really?” Your smile is radiant, cheeks glowing as you press the lightest kiss to one of his knuckles. “Sounds good to me.”
Time passing has always been a bummer. Despite the quiet noise in the café, the clock ticks as if in a deafening volume, a reminder that you need to let this hand go soon.
Sometimes, you do worry. About the attachment, and the healthy obsession with him. And on the other side, about every moment he worships you, and every second he misses you.
How there’s discomfort in being apart, even if for mere hours. Maybe that’s why he holds you so tight at night. Or why you’re constantly itching to get home.
Perhaps there’s a lingering fear that your time separated brought, a sneaking anxiety of being dragged apart again.
Yet, instead of dwelling in improbable what-ifs, you breathe in the air of the room, direct your senses away from the clock and toward the increasing patter of rain against the window panes.
You squeeze the fingers around you harder, delving into one last soft conversation as you ask, “You’re at lunch with Joon later, right?”
“Yeah, he promised me burgers today.”
“What for again?”
“Because I’m his favourite staff member?” Jungkook lifts your hand to your mouth when you open it, shushing you with your own fingers. “Don���t say it. I am his favourite staff member.”
“‘Kay. Understandable.”
“You know…” He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly, but the soft drop of his gaze, fingers fiddling and toying with yours betrays him. He’s still so delicate around you. “If you want, you can join.”
“Oh. Mmmh,” you think for a moment, but then click your tongue, insisting, “it’d be weird, I think. Dunno if he’d want it.”
“I would want it.”
He always does.
Yearning. Obsession. A humane way of falling in love.
You feel like a person. No matter how odd the phrase might sound in your head, the painful truth behind it is undeniable. You feel like a person.
“Okay,” you reply, slowly reclaiming your hand, reluctantly preparing to leave. “I’ll see if I find time and energy during my lunch break.” You halt, unblinking, before you look back at him with squinting, uncertain eyes. “Totes Bag Street, was it?”
The sudden, choking laugh erupting out of Jungkook is a surprise. If his coffee cup wasn’t empty yet, he’d still be sipping, probably ruining the white, silky shirt you’re sporting today.
You actually mean it, don’t you?
His trademark laugh is high-pitched, melodious, though a little more controlled in the public space, but the flashing of his teeth and his dimples implies genuine joy.
You already know: the lighthearted banter has become a hallmark of your connection. Doesn’t get old. Heartwarming — albeit right now, very confusing to you.
So you cock an eyebrow, questioning, “What?”
“Babe,” he simply mutters, hands coming together in a mock prayer. “Shit, you’re so fucking cute.”
He lowers his head between his shoulders, torso shaking, and you pull his palms apart again to dig with another, ”Hey. What?”
“Boats Track Street. Not Totes Bag Street,” he corrects, endeared by your wide eyes. The back of two of his fingers grazes your temple, and then down your face, before playfully pinching your chin. “You’re so cute. And a dummy. I mean it.”
“You’re a dummy,” you reply, forcing your face back and out of his grip. “Besides, that’s a pretty stupid name.”
“To be fair… I agree.”
A hesitant smile spreading on your face, your gaze wanders to the clock at the opposite wall again. The beam drops a little, giving way to a small sigh.
“It’s okay. I’ll probably be busy anyway… will join you guys another time.” You shove the chair back, getting off with a fatigued groan and a hand rubbing your tummy. “And I feel a bit weird today, too. Shouldn’t have eaten before bed because I’m feeling the effects right now.”
“Ahhh, I told you. No worries. I’ll make you something light tonight. And some peppermint tea.” His hands wave you goodbye, making a begone motion. “Go for now. The longer you stay, the worse the next hours will be for me.”
“Dork. You must survive.”
You huff, eyes rolling at the dramatics, and push your bag behind your body before you lean into him. A hand on his cheek, you watch his eyes close, setting your lips onto his.
The two-second long goodbye peck remains just that before his fingers, pushing against the nape of your neck, tug you in again.
Against your lips, he mutters, “Eat, okay? Call if your stomach bothers you. Anytime. And don’t be nervous. You’ll have fun.”
And before you can answer, he kisses you again.
Once, and then twice more. Your guts somersault, even when he finally lets you go. Your lungs feel dry all of a sudden.
All you have left in you is to nod. For your wobbly legs to step away. Looking back a few more times until the door opens, the bell chiming, your transparent flower umbrella spreading over your head.
Jungkook watches as your careful steps wander away, your head never lowered like every other passerby’s. They’re hiding from the rain, but you’re staring up, observing the movement of the clouds before your focus falls on the road — and a minute later, you disappear out of his sight.
His chest and muscles relax, a quiet laughter still tumbling out as he repeats, “Totes Bag Street.”
The sky may be colourless. The people might look into the world dimly.
But despite the rain tapping against the window, no inch of you is painted in a dismal, drab grey. You’re the brilliant, gleaming sun.
The location of your new job isn’t as fancy as the area around Charmante. The building certainly isn’t made of reflecting glass throughout.
There’s wood and actual walls; not every door opens with a chip, but a key, and the luxuries are limited. Compared to your old building, this one is humble, but it still oozes wealth and success — guess that’s what a subsidiary looks like.
The meeting room for today is somewhere on the third floor. Your mind races as you fix your clothes in the elevator, throwing regular glances into the mirror to guarantee that your hair sits as perfectly as three seconds prior.
You breathe deeply, exhale through a rounded mouth. Whether it’s this meeting or something you ate, your stomach does not feel great.
As the nerves start kicking in, you think of Jungkook’s hand in yours and the everlasting smile. You use him as your safe place; close your eyes for those few seconds that the elevator floats up.
And it works. Feels like an oasis, calm and lovely.
That is, until the bell pings, forcing your eyes open. You stare up at the number, nearly stepping out until you realise that — you’re not on the third, but on the second floor. Were you supposed to halt here?
No. And there’s nobody outside, waiting.
Until, someone is.
Rushed steps move to the elevator, a nice but stressed voice urging, “Ah! Keep the doors open, I’m coming!”
Strange. Oddly familiar voice.
You can’t say why, but you already prepare a polite smile, trying not to let the ticking seconds stress you out. Rationally, you know you’re not late, but the time passing messes with your nerves.
And it seems it doesn’t get better when the figure finally rushes in, pressing the already lit number 3 before he says, “Good. Just in time.” Looks back at you, delighted as if he expected you somewhere around, and adds, “Ah! Hello!
It takes a moment. Then another.
One more until you figure out who he is, why you feel like hurling and how maybe, just maybe, he might be heading to the same room as you — as another new manager of Novaura.
You blow a raspberry at the boxes in your backseat.
Deciding to at least take your favourite box up with you, you leave the rest here for now; you don’t want to bug Jungkook yet. You can heave it all upstairs on the weekend, in peace.
It’s only moderately heavy — but with both your hands busy, the task is a hassle. You secure it under your arm as you close the door of your vehicle with your hip, clutching the phone previously tucked between your cheek and shoulder.
You straighten your head, reflexively looking up to Jungkook’s apartment window. To your apartment window. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue just yet.
Somehow managing to open the entrance door, you sigh into the phone, giving Taehyung a relieved, “I’m finally back home.”
“Mmmh,” Taehyung voices, and you imagine his full lips in a line, tiny nods serious, “how’s it feel? Knowing that this is where you’re gonna be for the foreseeable future?”
“It feels… quiet.”
“What, he bore you to death like that?”
You giggle, taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase; though slightly irritated by the slowly and constantly slipping box. You heave it back up.
“Absolutely. You’ve no idea, really.”
Taehyung laughs, but your joke doesn’t stick for long. You feel bad immediately — even in a playful tone, your heart knows nothing for Jungkook but praise. You guess that’s how kindness affects people.
And your brain stays mean, prolonging your pout — because it conjures pictures of a crooked smile, wrinkles around tender eyes, a tilted head as shoulders rise when the laughter reaches its peak…
A sting jabs your chest.
The longing is unbearable, and you’re barely another level from the apartment. He’s waiting for you on the other side of that flat’s door, and you know his pupils will widen in his dark brown eyes the moment they fall on you.
“No, that feels horrible to say,” you correct, shaking your head. You pause in the middle of the staircase for a moment, gaze fixated on a dirty spot before you shake your head once more. “You know Jungkook. If he’s not joy personified, then I don’t know.”
And it’s true — despite his own demons, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone spread this much comfort.
“I just meant that my mind’s been quiet. And a lot more peaceful. Not a hundred worries whirling around anymore,” you tell him, your steps upward slower now.
“Just ninety-nine, huh?”
You smile. “Maybe. But he’s not one of them.”
Dull background noise interrupts your thoughts; Taehyung doesn’t respond to you, but reprimands Yoongi in a distant mumble. He’s been doing it since he called, covering his phone to argue with his friend.
Apparently, Yoongi had been with him for hours before you picked up Taehyung’s call; they’ve been settling the rest of the arrangements, scurrying through paperwork. The apartment you considered is entirely their adventure now, but you aided in anything they needed.
Which basically just meant clearing things with the landlord and then answering his new tenant’s million questions.
As in — how were you thinking of decorating it? Why were you going to take it? Did you calculate monthly costs including rent, water and gas? You didn’t mind, because Yoongi might be one of the most polite people you have ever met.
But it seems he’s reluctant to return to his dorm’s lonely walls, too.
Because Taehyung values alone-time, and Yoongi hasn’t granted it for hours. You feel kinda bad for Yoongi. And while the younger man attempts his hardest to maintain the gentle tone, you hear the exhaustion in his voice.
“I’ll drive you home after this, ‘kay?” he tells Yoongi; you snicker at the groan that returns. “You got this, bro.” Attention back to you, a murmur of your name. “Anyway. Everything should be good now.”
“I’m glad. That was… quite something.”
A euphemism, really. The handful of visits weren’t fun; not to mention the stuff you had to get over with for your own move. And then all those calls. You needed minutes upon minutes of preparation for each of them. One hell of a businesswoman, you are.
“No, say it as it is. ‘Cause it knocked me the fuck out. You guys really had to drag me into this.”
You feel guilty about making Taehyung your spokesman here; but as an already residing individual of the building, he was a great support in this matter.
“We— love you,” you tell him, inhaling deeply between your words. You rub the dirt off your soles on the welcoming mat and hold the box tight, not opening the door yet. “Tell your forehead to feel kissed.”
“Nah. You’re gonna upset Eun.”
“Why? Eun and I are more in love then the two of you might ever be. She’ll choose my side.”
“Ha. Fair. Whatever.” His voice doesn’t carry an ounce of solemnity. Once again, you imagine him pulling a face, waving your statement off. “Enjoy your life. Your voice has been echo-y forever. Also, don’t forget to talk to Jungkook about what we discussed.”
Ah… yeah. There’s more than just one thing you need to clear, actually.
“Aye, aye, Captain,” you confirm, though arguing, “I’m surprised you haven’t done it yet.”
“You do it. I know he’ll like hearing it from you better.” He pauses to answer his friend; you don’t even know what he said. “Okay. I’ll go grappling with Yoongi then.”
“Good luck.”
“Buy me sushi.”
One last laugh before you cut the call.
The clicking sound of your keys turning in the lock is music to your ears and balm to your feet. You skip the threshold with a relieved release of air; the apartment smells like diffusers, so warm compared to the declining temperatures outside.
You don’t hear a movement until you get to your knees, seating the box next to the shoe cabinet. As you start working on your jacket, you register a shuffle from the living room, but no voice — Jungkook said he’d be home before you. Perhaps he’s painting; or gaming.
A short text message during lunch assured him he could start dinner without you; deep down, however, you understood he wouldn’t listen anyway. And the obvious lack of aromatic scents wafting from the living room proves it.
You don’t enjoy eating alone — and he knows.
Clearing your throat, you announce your arrival, bent as you take your shoes off and rub your aching heels for a moment. You wish you could float. Offer them reprieve.
Stumbling in the anteroom, you wait for a greeting, but it seems he didn’t hear or notice you. You lick your lips, standing straight, and then speak into the hallway—
“I swear I don’t have a foot fetish,” a short pause — nothing, “but can you massage my feet again today?” You wait. Not a word comes back. So you joke, “Actually, just massage my whole body? I don’t mind. Need some hands-on relaxation.”
Subjectively, you think you’re hilarious. You giggle on your way to the living room, cheerful despite the jam-packed day — but your laughter ebbs down soon. Because he’s standing in the middle of the room, lips pressed into a tiny smile, head lowered, hands in his pockets.
And right in front of him, a timid woman in a coat. Blinking at you.
Your eyes dodge her gaze immediately. It’s an impolite reflex, heart pounding as you watch Jungkook’s hand lift to his forehead, hiding behind his bangs as he rubs. When he looks at you again, there’s an equal amount of worry and amusement in his expression.
“Shit,” you mumble, another mishap, and you continue cursing internally. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And then, “I’m sorry.”
She looks like him. Same sweet aura, short hair, big eyes.
Her right digits are wrapped around the fingers of her other hand, mouth shut tight, though smiling. She knows less what to say than you, and the moment stretches and stretches and does not end and—
“Hi,” you finally murmur, bowing slightly before you cringe. Too much? Not enough? You clear your throat again, and then introduce yourself quietly. “You must be Mrs. Jeon. I… I didn’t know you’d be here or I would’ve come earlier! I’m very sorry.”
Are you rambling?
How horrid. You’d feel so uncomfortable if you were her.
Only, she barely showcases any sign of displeasure or irritation. Despite striking you as an introvert, her movements soon prove confidence — the type to know what she’s saying or doing, but in a humble and gentle way.
She unfolds her fingers and lets them dangle, soon moving up to clutch the strap of her bag. Looking between Jungkook and you once, she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head, as if to promise that there’s no reason for any tension.
You sigh when she speaks, “Oh, it’s alright. I didn’t stay long and I need to go in a minute anyway.”
“Oh?”
“I was going to leave ages ago, but,” she points to her son with rolling eyes, and the man in question shrugs in faux guilt before she speaks on, “that one wanted me to see you for at least a second. I wanted to meet you properly… prepare dinner and all, but. It’s still nice to meet you.”
Her eyes are kind, taking you in; if you could guess, you’d say she’s… excited. Urging to finally speak to her son’s girlfriend.
She moves a teeny tiny bit, as if opting to offer her palm to you, or to— maybe hug you? But maybe she realises the timing, or sees your terrified expression, because she holds back for now politely.
“I see. It’s wonderful to meet you, too.” Incredible how you spoke about initiatives just this morning, rambling in the office until someone had to interrupt you for their own turn. Now, you can’t get a word out. “But, I… I am still sorry I barged in so rudely.”
She grimaces, moving closer to you with a waving motion, “You didn’t barge into your own apartment. It’s all good.”
Jungkook doesn’t interrupt much; doesn’t interfere with his own jests and statements. They mirror each other so much, though. In the way they smile, and in the way they talk.
Even the manner in which she places her hand on your arm, reassuring you, delivers the same warmth. You tense for a moment, not quite expecting the touch; but it’s motherly. Soft.
A new emotion floods your heart, but you can’t decode it. Too many thoughts streaming in, brain working overtime to come up with a full sentence without stuttering, without those dumb hesitation markers that your studies taught you to avoid.
And maybe you’ve succeeded — only, the clump in your throat, accompanied by a strange twist in your stomach builds a barrier now.
Her touch feels… good.
“Do you… would you like to sit?” you ask, voice softer by an infinite amount. “I have a variety of tea here, and you could choose one. If you…”
You want to talk. About whatever. Not the slip occurring a couple minutes ago; maybe you just finally want to know who made Jungkook the man he is today. It wasn’t necessarily his father, was he?
Somewhere, this incessant, constant comfort derived from. But.
“I’d like nothing more than that,” she admits, “but I have massage therapy in a bit, and should get going. An adult’s back.” You laugh, and she gestures towards you with an open palm. “Oh, don’t you work in an office? Take care of yourself, too.”
“Not just an office, Mom,” Jungkook interrupts, inching closer until next to you and rubbing your back, proud, “she’s a manager. She walks around a lot, so the problem are,” he nods toward your feet, “these.”
True. Just today alone, your heels made it feel like you ran a marathon. Learning about each corner and wandering around that building drained you.
“Ah… I thought so,” she says.
You blink in faint confusion until you realise. Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, brief but telling, and his mother smiles in awkward amusement. Hell.
Your blood shoots back into your face, warming it thoroughly, and just before you can opt for another apology, she says, “You have him to take care of you. Make him spoil you! You do, don’t you?”
Her voice changes the moment she faces her son, a little strict but all in good fun; her eyes squint and he exclaims, “I do!” the moment you defend, “Oh, he does! He definitely does.”
She seems to like this. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, similar to the one you already know; perhaps she’s just as endeared as mothers–usually?–get, realising their children are happy and settling.
“We take care of each other,” you tell her then, and she responds with a content nod.
“Good. It’d be a shame if not. Taught him how to treat people.”
“He knows for sure, ma’am. I don’t think you’ll ever need to worry about that.”
You’re careful with your gestures, your smiles, your movements. Even though she’s made clear as day that she’s not to fear, you still shift your entire focus on the delivery of your words.
If you weren’t, you’d be more lax. Looking through the room, exchanging glances with Jungkook. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d notice that he’s playing with the ends of your hair.
And you’d see the way he looks at you.
With those barely blinking, calm eyes. An ocean of fondness in them, a light, lost smile around his face. As though you’re soothing him, pumping oxygen into his lungs.
You don’t see any of it; but his mother does. And you register the drift of her pupils, the minimal upward movement in her eyebrows as she shoots a glance at him — then back at you.
But when you follow her gaze to him, he’s already snapped out of it, clearing his throat.
“You should go before you’re late,” Jungkook reminds her, removing his hand from your hair, “I’ll go spoil her as you taught me, Mama.”
“You better. Pressure’s on.”
He smirks, lopsided as he slings an arm around her shoulder. She’s so much smaller than him. “Tell Dad Hi from me.”
A slight drop of his lips. He doesn’t look at her but the ground. Tell-tale signs of a distant ache, hidden behind an attempt to find a cure.
The sting is palpable, right in the middle of your heart, but it dissipates bit by bit as he smiles at you again. Genuine once more, back to where he was only five seconds ago.
You nod at her, one last, non-verbal confirmation that you feel cosy here. There’s something inarguably sweet in her instant care. How she instantly roots for your happiness. How she’s pouring all her empathy into you with a single look.
A stare that usually understands someone else’s pain; and then hopes for eternal peace for them.
She doesn’t even know you — does she? You wonder if he ever did speak about you.
“Okay then. Tell me if you need anything,” she says it to Jungkook, but promptly turns to you, promising you, “you can, too. Of course.”
“I will. Thank you so much.”
Purse lifted further up her shoulder, she starts a move toward the exit, already starting to wave you goodbye before she suddenly stops. Looks at you, and blurts, “Oh, and— has he uhhh…?”
She starts the sentence with hesitation, ending it with uncertainty and a look over her shoulder. You follow her eyes, barely catching him throwing a warning sign. His eyes are ripped open, head delivering tiny shakes, but he returns to normal the moment he catches you staring.
Okay. Something happened there that you’re not part of.
But that you’re supposed to be part of? You don’t know.
You’re curious, though. Already aware of what you’ll be pestering him with tonight.
She shuts up, letting out a short, tiny breath. Her small, sweet fingers curl just once before she releases them again, and she flattens her coat, nodding.
“I’ll leave you two alone then,” she declares.
“You should stay for dinner next time, though!” you offer.
“Of course. I’m eating with my husband after the appointment, so he’ll probably already be waiting, but. Next time for sure. And you should come, too, someday.”
Right.
It doesn’t stop. It’s permanently odd hearing someone talking about that man other than Jungkook. Shouldn’t be, because she’s the closest and dearest individual to him, sharing a home and marital bed. But…
It’s like people don’t quite feel real from stories until one actually faces them. His mom’s subtle, harmless words about her husband make him feel realer, and Jungkook’s issues with them.
But most of all you wonder — why has he never visited here? You wish he had. You wish he would sometimes. But she didn’t even suggest bringing him with her next time. Or how his father would be delighted about a visit, too.
It doesn’t seem to faze Jungkook. Or maybe it does, but he doesn’t let it show. Or — worse. Has he gotten used to it? His father’s absence, or the term that defines their relationship.
Because he nods, a soft smile as a son usually throws at his mother. Casual but loving. He says, “Won’t keep you here then.”
Jungkook kisses her head at the door, and she stuffs her hands in her coat, politely bidding you goodbye.
You watch as she approaches the staircase, still waving when she turns around one more time. You sigh in relief — she was friendly. No panic. You didn’t fuck up entirely.
And despite the last moments of gloom that the mention of her husband evoked, you hear Jungkook’s chuckle resonate once the door finally closes. His steps move toward the living room, his shoulders shaking.
You nearly slide down the closed door as you watch him, head falling back before he falls into a wholehearted laugh. You imagine deep, multiple crinkles around his eyes, mouth wide in joy.
Eyebrows kissing, you follow him inside, nearly bumping against him when you realise he’s standing in the middle of the room, body still shaking from the chortle. He’s facing the ground, and you hit his arm from the back.
“Shut up,” you only order, opting to walk away.
But he turns to you, a hand around your elbow; he can barely breathe when he assures, “Okay. Okay, I’ll stop. Sorry, I just—” He sniffles as you look at him, sulking and trying his gloating not to make you laugh, too. “What were you doing?”
“That’s not funny!”
“I’m not trying to be funny! I’m serious.”
Which he clearly isn’t. The smile is too infuriatingly wide, and the tug at your arm too affectionate. He’s amused and you hate–love?–that you are, too. You keep the act of agitation intact for another moment.
But pieces of you break, your heart a melting mess when you watch his eyes nearly close, nose scrunched up. His shoulders rise — they always do whenever his laughter increases, bunny teeth protruding and the mole under his mouth a magnet to your lips.
And when he raises his hands to your face, cradling it, and speaks, you lose it entirely.
“What were you even saying, munchkin, huh? You’re such a little idiot, you know?” he playfully scolds, squishing your cheeks; peppering kisses on your skin and your lips; barely allowing you a moment to talk.
“And you’re—” you say between tiny kisses, distracted by the childlike, muah-ish sound effects that accompany his pecks, “so mean.”
“And you are the sweetest thing to exist.” The lovingly aggressive touch vanishes from your cheek to be replaced by sudden pinches; your protests are high-pitched, and unfortunately, enhance his statement. “Okay, okay. Come on.”
He flicks your chin as if to provoke you further, but dodges all your teeny tiny rage to come when he moves past your body. Warning abandoned, his fingers tweak your ass as he targets the kitchen, and you yelp, instantly slapping a hand over your butt.
“Freshen up and let’s get to dinner. And hurry. Gotta give you hands-on relaxation later.”
“You’re the worst, I mean it.”
But his evil snicker isn’t.
He might make your hackles rise, and test your patience the way he used to so long ago. Back when you’d seek him out in a miniscule dorm room, eyebrows furrowed just to see him a bit longer after class.
You’re always baffled how your foundation still stands; after all the shattering and agony and stings that fractured your heart. Only now, you’ll be surrounded by the bicker every hour of the day.
And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Living through an odd day at work, driving around town and embarrassing yourself in front of your boyfriend’s mother makes one dizzyingly hungry, you realised. Stress didn’t let you eat properly today.
Even now, there’s something you need to reveal to him — but the moment you sit down to eat and crack the first joke, you don’t have the heart to. And then, combined with the rush still lingering from the awkward, wholesome interaction before, and the shift in mood, you soon do the worst:
Forget about the issue.
Your eyes meet the bottom of your bowl sooner than preferred, your stomach still seemingly as empty as before. Whatever magic Jungkook seasoned the dish with, you want him to sprinkle it on your tastebuds every day.
Jungkook is sipping on his water when you suddenly look up and place a hand on his bicep, shaking him for attention. A guilty Oh slips out of you as you watch droplets roll down his chin, and he tries not to choke as he puts the glass back on the table.
“Babe—”
“I’m sorry!” you exclaim, thumb wiping at the fluid dampening his chin. “Just. Can we have more? That helped with that sickness all day, and… I’m still hungry.”
Along with the lack of appetite, you assumed the stress and the constant overworking dragged the feeling of illness and stomach ache throughout the day, too. Jungkook keeps warning you about burnouts — doing a thousand things at once, you’ve been thoroughly burdened.
But honestly. Maybe it was just hunger for a real meal.
“Oh? I'm so glad it helped then! And sure,” he responds. “Go ahead, there’s enough for like four people.”
You blink. “And you?” He shakes his head, patting his full tummy, attempting another try at drinking. You argue, “I’m not eating alone, though!”
“Angel, I’ve had like two portions. I'll be full until next dinner.”
“Lame!” You shift on the couch, half of your ass holding you onto it, “And if we found ways to burn it off?”
“…Ah?”
“I mean… You like working out. So just work me out.”
“Shut up. You’re impossible.”
You’ve long given up — you’re not an ass. You would never force him to eat or not to eat, unless he hasn’t in hours. But you also need a foolproof way of amusing him.
Which, despite his very unimpressed expression, you know you did. His lips still twitch.
Sombre, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he shakes his head. You pat his strong thighs, standing from the couch with a hungry groan.
“Fine. I’ll go heat up some for myself then,” you announce, but Jungkook’s shrill alarm bells ring immediately, his body jumping off his seat.
“Not the microwave.”
“Jungkook—”
“Not! The microwave. Just toss it in the pan and heat it up there.”
You tiptoe to the kitchen just a little faster, playful as he hurries after you. You spend your seconds explaining why the microwave won’t explode; how tickling you won’t change anything; how you’ll break something if he doesn’t stop.
But most of all, you spend your seconds allowing him to chase away all sorrows you carried for so goddamn long.
Shut up. You’re impossible.
His prior agitation truly wasn’t one at all.
Because despite your obvious jests, the calories lost on the couch rob you of all sanity at last. A hand in your hair, a body pushing yours down, free fingers roaming your sides and your legs, and lips never separating from yours.
He doesn’t strip you off a single piece of clothing. Doesn’t dig a hand underneath your shirt, focused on how your mouth feels, how his name rolling off your tongue sounds.
The eyes he stares into are vivid and bright, and he uses up all his power to not let them kill him. Your body wraps around his like the most tender of all embraces; he doesn’t need you bare for it, no matter how blank the thought leaves his mind.
Only needs the proximity. The tongue touching his, the nails testing his shirt’s quality.
You miss most of the movie that he suggested, eating each other up, a fist around the hem of his shirt until he nearly falls off the couch and wakes you from your dream. You giggle and joke, spending the second half of the film yawning, sipping the peppermint tea.
Jungkook uses the quiet time for whispered conversations; massages your feet as you pleaded for, repeatedly asking for your comfort.
The moments aren’t anything big, in theory. You’re not in a fantasy novel, not throwing a ring into a volcano. You’re mortal and here, surrounded by humane domesticity and drowning in casual conversations.
Yet — even though you’re not living through spectacular adventures, you’re breathing through special moments nevertheless. Because not a single second spent with him feels mundane, after all.
Sometime as the ending nears, you let your legs fall, pulled close to Jungkook by your hip. You don’t quite understand when or how he does it, but miraculously, you land half on his lap, ass barely on the couch and cheek pressed to his temple.
Jungkook pushes a hand against your thigh, heaving you up further and moving you until you’re comfortable. There’s a light groan, followed by a feathery kiss to your jaw; and you wrap an arm around his shoulder to hold on, shifting even closer.
Your touchy warmth isn’t new to Jungkook; but it seems that the changes in your lives made your inhibitions disperse. Like you broke the bars trapping you so far.
Because the increasing clinginess feels carefree; you don’t overthink your movements tonight. Even before, there was lightness in your interactions; how you’d breathe in his presence, compared to when the world intruded.
The difference was still never quite veiled.
He saw it when he called from so far away all those weeks ago, staring at the distress in your face through a device — versus when he returned to your world.
Or just recently, when you stood on that tiny stage, talking down to reporters — as opposed to when you whispered for him to get you home.
Your shoulders always dropped in relief the moment you stood in his soothing radius. And yet—
There was quiet discomfort in your eyes. And today — today he doesn’t see that usual steam frying your brain. Your smile isn’t burdened; you’re weightless, like you’re breathing.
Overwhelmed and endeared, Jungkook gulps. The pricking needle rods his heart, simultaneously flicking the wounds. He could cry.
He watches you busy your fingers with his shirt, unable to put his thoughts into a coherent string of sentences; so he only says, “You’re so cosy today.”
“Hm? I’m always cosy.”
“Mmmh… a bit more tonight.”
Your forefinger traces the outline of his pecs over his shirt, and you nod with a hum before you declare, “That’s because I’m trying to establish a healthy balance.”
“A healthy balance? How so?”
“I need to be nice, because you’re not.”
His eyes follow your finger’s slow movements, so his voice is soft, barely concerned. But his brain can’t quite compute as he asks, “I’m not nice?”
“You’ve always been mean, actually.”
He laughs. Taps your thigh rhythmically, close to your butt. “How am I mean to you?”
“Like,” you press your palm flat in the middle of his chest, looking at him. There’s a crease between your eyebrows, the slightest hint of a pout on your lips. “You ass could’ve answered when I came home. You didn’t say anything! Or did you really not hear me?”
Oh.
Ogling into your anticipating, subtly piqued eyes, he suppresses a laugh. His lips form a thin line, but the glow in his dark eyes betrays him. Your hand lifts a little, ready to spank his pecs, but you close the gap again as you grant him another chance.
“Hey, if you tell me you didn’t hear, I’ll let it slide.”
You’re well aware Jungkook graduated as the best of his year in Teasing You, and holds the degree proudly to your face every day — but you also know he’s honest.
So you’re not surprised when he admits, eyes mischievous, “I heard you.” Your slow blinking, the scolding gaze are hilarious to him; he looks unspeakably pleased. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”
Now you do slap his tits.
“And you didn’t expect me to say that shit?!” you reprimand. He wraps his arms around you, his laughter a deep, genuine emergence from his chest. “I’m an idiot, in case you didn’t know.”
“Of course. I do know,” he suddenly deadpans. Wow. That couldn’t have come any more naturally. “I know you well, baby.”
“And yet…”
He waves your concerns off, hand soon returning to your back to pull you closer. “She’s chill. I knew you were gonna amuse her right away.”
“Oh god. You planned this… Wait. You didn’t shush her when you heard the door open, right?”
He doesn’t answer. Just keeps looking at you. And then… is he…
Is he zoning out?
“Jungkook,” you call again.
“Hm?” He stares at you beguiled, as if utterly distracted by whatever. “Sorry. Can’t hear you—”
“You so can. We’re alone and I’m speaking loud and cl—”
“Nah, you’re just so pretty. I can barely focus.”
“I hate you.”
But you don’t.
He doesn’t need to spell his intentions out for you to understand. He might be testing your patience, but there’s a hidden meaning in his words that he can’t hide as well as he intends to after all.
Because you know he just wanted you to be yourself instead of playing a different role; just like he has never pretended in front of your parents. He knows you’d try extra hard for him — but he needed you to come in and receive affection as the person that you already are.
Guess whatever you blurted was the first impression he wanted to leave of you.
“So,” you start after a moment, back to tapping his chest, “do you think I did amuse her?”
“Oh, she loved it.” Of course she did. You could see the Jeon-esque endearment in her eyes the moment you stepped into the living room. Humbles you. “She’s gonna adore you, too.”
“Ah. Like you adore me.”
Jungkook’s response arrives in the form of a long, semi-damp kiss, delivered to the corner of your mouth. You grimace, torso moving backwards at his gentle force. He adds another Mmmhhh to the gesture until you’re nearly falling off his lap, pushing him away again with a giggly, “Stop!”
He leans back with a content sigh, eliminating more of the distance between you until his head almost rests against your chest. But when you speak again, he looks up into your face.
“Hey. Your mom was saying something as she was leaving. What was it again?”
“Uhh…”
His pupils roll up in thought, one shoulder already rising to shrug, but then it drops again before he voices, “Oh… Yeah…” A break in thought; then, “I figured you’d be busy with everything going on, so I was being reluctant about asking. Didn’t wanna put you in a difficult position.”
You wait. He speaks on, “But my cousin’s getting married next month, and I’m invited.”
There’s a beat of a pause, and you anticipate, already sensing a presentiment before he spits it out—
“And you are, too.”
Hold on.
Weddings. More often than not, weddings happen in big places, filled with a great number of guests. Of friends. And… of family members.
If what he’s suggesting isn’t a hallucination, it means that’d be how you’d step into the battlefield. Attempting your best to be yourself, to charm his family with whatever strategy.
Is he thinking of the same thing?
Because you’re speechless.
You close the mouth you only now notice stood agape, trying not to show the bubbling exhilaration too blatantly. That’d be your first joyful event together.
Oh god.
You might squeal; faint of nervousness. If you could, you’d press your fists to your lips and stomp your feet and twirl your hair and—
“Wait… You want me to go to a wedding with you?” you finally ask instead, keeping your voice in a normal pitch.
“Only if you feel like it.”
“And… and you?” you inquire, wide eyes looking into his wider ones. He’s nervous, too. “Do you want me to?”
“I… yeah. I do. I really, really don’t want to go without you, actually.”
Shit.
“Where is the wedding?”
“Yeah, see, that’s why I was afraid to ask. You’re so busy and your job’s so new. But we’d—” He hesitates, as if scared of rejection. Clicks his tongue, evaluating his words. “The thing is that we’d have to drive all the way down. It’s back at home.”
You need a moment. Back at home; you’re home. Meaning, it’s not here.
Meaning, it’s in his hometown. Meaning, you wouldn’t just meet his family, but walk through a place of memories and deeply rooted, nostalgic affection, too.
Which is… such a huge fucking thing.
Especially for a girlfriend.
Eun always says it doesn’t do bringing a girlfriend or boyfriend to big events such as birthday parties or weddings. It’s disadvantageous for the pictures, she claims. Who knows how the future might play out?
But Jungkook isn’t concerned with these issues. Jungkook wants you all the way down there, lurking on streets with him that he grew up on; tripped on; played on.
These are places with core remembrances. So easily expanded when more are added to them in later years; and so easily shattered when hearts break.
But a heart breaking is not an option, is it? Not anymore.
“You’re… taking me to your hometown?” you ask. You immediately realise the choice of words, and don’t hesitate as you add, “I mean. You’d be taking me home. You’d like to—”
“Is that—” he interrupts, suddenly unsure, “bad? Did it change your mind? You don’t have to, I promise.”
“No. I actually might cry.”
His expression momentarily softens, a big, clear Awwwh written in it. Gentle fingers brush your hair back, observing the vulnerability in your eyes. But shit, you mean it.
You could cry.
Because you talked about this so long ago.
Back when he was miles away, yet so deeply settled in your heart. Sneaking his way into your head, eating you up inside. When he broke off a piece of you and took it with him as he left, no relief for weeks on end.
And when he came back, he promised he’d take you with him one day.
Is that it? Is that now?
“Fuck,” you curse under a quiet laugh, confused by the burning in your eyes.
Jungkook’s hand brushes over your cheek, eyebrows slightly cocked. He might not have expected you to react with such… emotion. You hadn’t either.
“Hey,” his voice soothes, “don’t cry. It’ll be good. And if it’s not, or if you don’t want to, we can just stay here and never go again.”
You’re gonna sob. How did you deserve him?
Of course you want to go. Of course you’d make the best of it. No fibre in you wants to reject his offer.
In fact, you’re already daydreaming. Because…
How’s it gonna be? Will you see more stars there? Will his family like you? His Dad like you? And what are weddings with boyfriends like? Will you be seeing him in every flower in the hall, in every kiss the couple shares?
“No,” you say, “I’ll go. I will go because you’re too obsessed with me to leave without me.”
Jungkook chuckles immediately, but not speaking before rolling his eyes, “And you’re a brat.”
You wait a moment, smiling in unison with him, and then ask, “Honestly, I… I’d love to. Can I just still ask…” You’re curious; but you also want to keep feeling that warmth. More tranquillity from his words. “Why would you not go without me?”
He doesn’t stall.
“Because it’s such a big event, and… so far away. I don’t want to leave you here. And the thought of being at the most lovey-dovey place without my favourite person sucks.”
You’ll freaking screech.
“Jungkook!”
Half of the name is muffled when your lips drop to the crook of his neck, back uncomfortably arching and face heating up. Your ass threatens to fall back on the couch, legs still over his, and he hugs you close as he snickers again.
He shakes your body gently, trying to lift your face. Calling your name when your breath tickles his skin, asking, “Are we embarrassed?”
“No.”
But when you look at him again, your smile is wide enough to freeze your muscles in place. He shakes his head, flooded with aching joy, and makes sure again, “So you want to go, yeah? Don’t need time to think or something? It’s okay if you do.”
“As if. I really wanna go. I’m gonna make this,” you touch his collarbones, then your own, “work.”
He smiles. Grants you a short break to organise your thoughts. And while what you query next shouldn’t come as a surprise, it does introduce a delighted shift in mood.
“What am I gonna wear?”
Jungkook puffs out a breath.
You don’t notice; your focus drifts, directed to the carpet. You mentally scurry your closet, quietly trying to recall appropriate attire for weddings. Which is odd, because you should have the entire catalogue of your and every other place cemented in your mind.
“What do I wear?” you repeat, back to looking at him, barely allowing him a moment to think. “And don’t say anything would look good on me. Serious answers only.”
“You know a question like this prompts nothing but unserious answers from m—”
“Kook—”
“Okay. I mean, you have such pretty dresses. Lemme just choose one and we’re supplied.”
It’s an easy idea; fair enough. Only, you’re barely listening, earning a side-eye from Jungkook when you say, “I should buy a new one.”
Which still doesn’t deter him, though. “Cool. I’ll go with you then.”
“Or will I seem overdressed?”
“It’s a wedding, baby. Overdress like hell.”
“And… if I’m underdressed?”
“You’re still gonna be the hottest around!” he exclaims, and you flinch just a little. He’s not truly agitated, but there’s playful frustration in his voice, a grin around his lips. “Don’t worry about the dress, okay? It won’t stay on you anyway.”
Jungkook expects you to react with similar scolding, using it to hide how timidly flattered you actually are. But you’re too fired up, restless in his grip as your voice grows shriller, “I’m so. Fuck, I’m so excited!”
“I am, too. But…”
His palm moves up and down your back, one eye squinting shut as you start swaying a bit, pumped with serotonin. Like a thrilled child. You’re so…
He lowers his gaze; you might just see the heart eyes otherwise.
“Okay, hey,” he tries again, calming you as his fingers grasp your wrist. “Should we go to bed for now, though?”
You wait with your answer, relaxing your body. Stopping your elevated sounds, you draw the deepest breath in history, and then breathe out a whispery, “Yeah.”
“Yeah. Good. Oh.”
“Hm?”
“You haven’t actually been to the bedroom yet, right?”
“Oh…”
True. Since you came home, you only conversed with his mother, then rushed to take a shower as she left, still filled with prickling and nervous emotions. And then you hurried back to him, starving, eating, watching TV.
And now you’re here.
Was something different about the bedroom, though? You don’t think so.
“You’re right,” you tell him, “no, not really. Just to shower. Why?”
“Just…”
“…What?”
“Okay. Hold onto me.”
“Hold ont— oh, f—”
You gasp for air when two strong arms replace his soft hands, settling under your kneepits and around your back. He shifts dangerously on the couch, moving forward before he starts to lift with a self-motivating grunt.
“And— off we go.”
You sling your arms around his neck immediately, hiding, letting out a panicked, ”Be careful, I’m sli—”
“All good. Relax.” His arms wrap more properly around your limbs, and you dare to listen. Allowing your legs to dangle, you let him carry you calmly, breathing air through O-shaped lips. “Good girl. I won't just let you fall.”
“You better not.”
“No. Just wait.”
He looks at you with a comical grin, throwing a kiss into the air and down to you. Using your feet to kick the door open, he halts at the threshold; for a second, he looks… up.
And just when he finally enters the room, you quietly follow his gaze. The question as to what to wait for gets stuck in your throat when you realise what it is he needed you to see.
Holy shit.
the chapter isn't over yet – much to go!! tumblr just doesn't allow more than 1k blocks/paragraphs. apologies for the scrolling, but i promise it's worth it :'D here's the rest! <3
#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#bts smut#bts fluff#jeongguk smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#bts x you#bts imagines#jungkook fic#bts angst#jungkook angst#jungkook
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Chapter 1 - Wishful Thinking
“AND THAT IS A CHAMPIONSHIP WIN FOR Y/N L/N! THIS MAKES IT THREE BACK TO BACK RACE WINS FOR THE DAMS’ RACER”
The roar of the crowd is almost deafening. Well, it would be if you could actually hear it.
“Good job, well done on another season. We couldn't be more proud,” your strategist Stella tells you over the radio. You can only sigh as you raise your hand to wave at the crowds. You don’t even know if they can see, but you try your best.
You finally reply, “Good work team.” The switch to the radio is flipped back off, you don’t really want to hear anything else. You and your car finally arrive to Parc Ferme and stop right in front of the number 1 sign. It’s a familiar sight to behold. A second home if you will, since most of the season had been dominated by you.
The steering wheel is turned off and undone and you gently place it down below. Reaching for the hallo, you pull yourself up with a grunt. Standing on the nose, you quickly turn around and raise your fists, earning you multiple cheers and screams.
Instead of a usual jump, you quickly clamor down and walk to your team. You reach their open arms and are met with the multitudes of pats and hits to your helmet. Your eyes never settle on two specific people that you try to look for. Oh well, they didn’t have to come anyway. It wasn't like you were making history. However, Stella is right in the middle and you give her a giant hug.
A second sigh is released, but a good one this time. It was more of a relief to be in the arms of one of your closest friends.
A pat on the shoulder brings you out of your reverie. Turning around, you are met with the helmet of your teammate.
“Arthur!” you yell and open your arms. It was a P1 – P2 finish for your team for the fourth time this year, the first where Arthur was on the top pedestal. This race not only decided your first championship, but his third second place since becoming your teammate.
He quickly returned the hug and led you over to the weigh-in stations. After the number had been jotted down by an unknown official, you are finally allowed to take your helmet and balaclava off. Your baby hairs stick to your forehead, but you know your hair is going to get messed up by the champagne in just a few minutes.
“Think I will have a turn next year, non?” Arthur asks with a cheeky smirk, his accent emerging on the last few words.
"Well, you will have all the chances,” you respond, setting your helmet down on podium. You both make your way to the cool down room and sit in your respective 1 and 2 chairs.
“And welcome back to the y/n podcast,” Arthur jokes and you take a giant swig of your bottled water.
“Ah Bearman is late today,” you say, “I guess he got tired of being number 2 guest.” You grin as Ollie walks in a few minutes later.
“Already started without me?” he asks, watching your impressive overtake in turn 2, which in the end, helped you reach the finish line in a comfortable P1 finish.
You just shrugged, “You were late.”
Your eyes were glued to the screen. An impact between Ollie’s teammate Frederik Vesti and Theo Pourchaire had red flagged the race about halfway through. You possibly could have won by 30 seconds, if you had been able to continue and not have a second standing start.
But oh well, you won anyway.
A steward came to get you three a couple of moments later.
She shook her head with a smile, “Why is it always you three?”
The three of you looked at each other, shrugging.
It just so happened that the only female, the one who was dominated the F2 world, her teammate, and his best friend almost always found themselves on the three podiums. Most of the time it was her, and others, her teammate, and then the rare sighting of the bear.
But you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Well, that was a lie.
But for now, you wouldn’t want it any other way. Just the three of you.
Ollie went first, followed by Arthur.
Then it was your turn to take the middle and highest podium. Taking the trophy from the man, you raised it above your head, fist clenched above. It was truly a sight to behold. Your head was held high as your national anthem blared through the sound speaker, and then the French anthem played for the team.
Right when the anthem finished, the familiar tune of “Les Toreadors Carmen” began. You quickly picked up your bottle of champagne. Slightly shaking the bottle, you quickly pointed it towards the two boys, who had already started spraying theirs at you.
Trying to get away, you accidently kicked your trophy off the top step. With wide eyes, you watched at the top popped off, leaving the base and the actual trophy apart. You quickly looked up and saw both the boys pointing and laughing. You stood in amazement and looked around as if to see if anyone had seen it. Who were you kidding though, of course people had seen it and cameras as well. Oops. At least it was your trophy.
Your hair soon became sticky with the sparkling liquid, your race suit becoming a darker color as it was saturated. You wiped your eyes and you brought the over-sized bottle to your lips. Looking straight into the go-pro, you took a swig and crossed your eyes.
The F2 page would definitely use that footage later.
After the celebrations were over, you quickly made your way towards the journalists that were waiting outside of your garage.
They all shouted your name, wanting to get a quote for whatever paper or website they were writing for. You quickly walked up and grabbed one of the microphones.
A familiar blond woman spoke up first, “Wow, what an amazing accomplishment you’ve done today. How are you feeling?”
There was the overused question.
You took a deep breath before replying, “Ah it was a good run. Not everyone gets an opportunity to do this so I am very happy.” Your smile, however, never really reaches your eyes.
A man with glasses speaks up next, “I know you must be ready for the break after this history breaking win. Do you have any plans for the upcoming winter vacation?”
“Well, you know. Just be at home and enjoy it,” you paused before smirking, “And get some more hours in on the sim. Just doing what I normally do when I’m home.” You shrug after you finish.
They reporters jot down things on their pads of paper. You think that you can finally go back to the comfort of your driver’s room when one more man speaks up. This time with a weird colored tie.
“Regarding the recent hiring of Bianca Bustamante at McLaren for their Driver Development Program, how are you feeling knowing that a woman, not even in F2, now has a chance to drive an F1 car before you do?”
Now that question gets you and you pause.
What?
You stutter out, “I’m sorry?”
The man takes a deep breath. “Well I know that you recently projected that you’d be interested in an Formula 1 team as big as McLaren and hoped that you’d be able to get one foot in the door. I mean, you’ve been in F2 for three years now, and you aren’t even a reserve driver?” The man pressed his recorder closer to you.
Suddenly, the outside felt like it was closing in. Taking a deep breath, you try to answer to the best of your ability.
“Well, number one, I wasn’t aware that Bianca had been signed, but good for her. There always needs to be more openings for women in motor sports and I’m glad that she got in. Am I disappointed? Sure, but that’s life. My turn will come soon.”
The man nodded and looked away.
Seeing as no one spoke up after your statement, you said a quick thank you before handing the microphone to someone else.
Finally you could retreat back to your room and finally change.
The minute the door close, you leaned back against it and slid to the floor. Reaching for your phone, you quickly open the Instagram app. Orange upon orange is the first thing you see.
Headlines of “BUSTAMANTE SIGNS WITH MCLAREN FOR DRIVER DEVELOPMENT” were all you could see.
Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Of course they would go with her. Much more pretty, definitely meets the CEO’s look of younger drivers, would look gorgeous in papaya.
All the things you believed yourself not to be.
You knew it was a long stretch sending an email wanting to discuss future plans with the papaya team. They already had all the reserve drivers they needed, and apparently the development drivers too.
It seemed like every door for every team was closed at the moment.
Hauling yourself off the floor, you peeled your racing suit off, leaving the champagne soaked material to hang at your hips.
Walking over to the small desk in the corner, you grabbed your headphones. Connecting them to your phone, the familiar voice of Noah Kahan filled the void.
You were there for a little more than an hour before someone came looking for you. Not surprised, you let Arthur into your own little paradise. Someplace where the reporters and cameras could not get to you.
He sat down on your bed while you sat down on the floor.
He inhaled sharply before speaking.
“I saw the interview.”
Your head bowed in defeat. “Yeah.”
“You know, it’s not true what they’re saying. You deserve a seat and you know this.”
You nodded. “Well, they don’t seem to think so. What is it going to take Thur? I've already exhausted my options. There's nothing here for me. I don’t think I’ll ever be promoted. I’m not…” you trailed off, not knowing what to say.
Arthur quickly shakes his head before sliding down to join you on the floor. He places both hands on either side of you head and maneuvers you to look at him.
“Listen to me,” he tells you, accent a little heavier, “you are one of the best drivers of our age. You cannot go bashing yourself when a reporter thinks it good to get a rouse out of you.”
“Well, I’m no Max Verstappen…or your brother.”
“And you don’t have to be. All you need to do is be Y/n L/n.”
He smiled. You only nodded again, soaking in his words.
After a small bit of silence, you spoke up in a wishful voice, “If you were to sign with any F1 team, which one would it be?”
He thought for a moment, “I think the answer for me better be Ferrari, to be with my brother. But with their shit season so far, I don’t think I’d want to drive that tractor.”
You wheezed and held him tight as the giggles shook your body. Arthur could help but join in. After you both calmed down, your breaths were only heard.
“What about you?” he turns his head, wishful asking.
“With my luck, I’d also have to drive a tractor,” you cracked a smile.
“Then we’d be driving tractors together. But I’m serious, which one?”
You hummed, before silencing. Thoughts scrambling to come up with an answer. Sure, you had dreams. Dreams of papaya, green, teal and black, white and navy, burgundy. But never red as Arthur wishes.
You finally answer, “I’d take the Bull. Drive a little illegal rocket ship.”
Arthur huffed. “Are we destined to be rivals Miss L/n? I don’t think the racing world could handle another Leclerc-Verstappen rivalry.”
“Oh be quiet. I’m not on his level. And besides, if something were to happen, it would be nothing but an inchident…on the race.”
Now it was Arthur’s turn to sputter and laugh. You decided to disconnect your headphones and let the music fill the small room.
Placing your head on Arthur’s shoulder, you both let out sighs.
Wishful thinking, that’s all it was.
#f1 x reader#max verstappen x reader#f1 imagine#charles leclerc x reader#carlos sainz x reader#lando norris x reader#ollie bearman x reader#arthur leclerc x reader#f1 x driver!reader#platonic grid x reader#oscar piastri x reader#logan sergeant x reader#formula 1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1#george russell x reader#lewis hamilton x reader#alex albon x reader
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What about 🧸 and Charles Leclerc ? Literally whatever you desire, maybe featuring his family or other drivers?
thank you for requesting!🫶🏽
.
“I’m going to cry.”
“Charles—”
“Look at him, mon amour! He looks so cute!”
The Monaco Grand Prix was important for every driver due to its history and nostalgia, but it meant so much more to Charles. Ever since he was a child, he dreamed of racing on the streets he grew up on. He dreamed of being in a car, hearing crowds scream his name as he crossed the finish line. He dreamed of standing on the top step of the podium and holding the trophy in the air proudly at his home race.
The Monaco Grand Prix meant everything to him, and it meant everything to him to have the people he cared about most there with him. He wouldn’t dream of racing without having his friends and family and biggest support systems by his side. It was what truly helped him and motivated him through the day.
With you, that circle extended. And now, it extended once more when little Matteo Leclerc was born.
It was Charles' dream to have a family. To meet the love of his life, to grow and live with her, to take that step into creating a lovely family together. And Charles knew you were the woman for him when he first met you. He had blurted as much in your face the first time he spoke to you. And now years later, to have the son you both created in his arms, it felt like a full circle moment.
Yes, the Monaco Grand Prix was always important to Charles but this one was more important than the rest—this was the first time his son was coming to his race, to his own home race.
“I would not have dressed him up like this if I knew you’d get so emotional,” you teased your husband, watching as his eyes welled up as he gently cooed at the giggling boy in his arms. Mattheo was still young, just shy of turning one years old in a few weeks during the summer break.
“Oh hush,” Charles sniffled. “I would have cried anyways, regardless of what he was wearing.”
“So the Red Bull merch would have been too much?” You joked.
Charles narrowed his eyes. “Don’t say bad words around my son,” he said with his chin held high before he turned to Mattheo, his face softening in seconds as the boy garbled and reached for his father’s face. “My son is a Ferrari fan, through and through.”
“Don’t disown him if you find him in the McLaren garage later,” Arthur piped up, walking towards the two of you with a mischievous grin on his face. “I heard Norris has baby merch waiting to change Matteo into.”
Charles’ hold became more protective of his son. “Over my dead body.”
You rolled your eyes, lightly hitting Arthur’s arm. “Stop messing with him.”
“But it’s so fun,” Arthur whined in response.
You snorted. “It is.”
“Ah, ma vie, look at your mama and uncle teaming up on me,” Charles whispered loudly to his son, gently rocking him back and forth as the young boy stared up at his father with eager eyes. “It’s just you and me against the world.”
“Stop turning my son against me or I will let Lando change him into that horrendous orange merch,” you jokingly threatened, trying to bite back your own grin when you saw Charles grinning.
“I’ll make it up to you later, mon amour,” Charles winked.
“Aw, bleh! Not in front of my nephew!” Arthur fake gagged, which only seemed to make little Matteo burst into a fit of giggles. “Go get ready before you miss the start of the race! And give me my nephew before you scar the poor boy for life!”
It took ten minutes to convince Charles to let go of Matteo, his heart shattering a little when the young boy became frustrated and fussy after being parted from his father. But you kissed him on the lips, whispering good luck and telling him to return safely to his family on the other side of this race.
And that was exactly what he did—and more.
It didn’t even hit him until he was standing on the top step, the national anthem blaring through the speakers as his eyes glanced over the crowd below to find you and Matteo at the front of the crowd. He couldn’t really see you but he knew you were crying, he knew he was probably crying too.
And little Matteo looked up at him from the crowd, cheering and clapping his hands once he spotted his father and Charles could’ve sworn his life had peaked. This was what he dreamed of long before he realised. To win his home race, to stand on the top step, to see his family waiting for him as he raised the trophy in the air and drowned in champagne sprays before rushing straight towards them.
“Mes amours,” Charles murmured, tears streaming down his face and a grin so wide that nothing would have wiped it off his face as he reached to hold you both.
“Our winner,” you responded, your free hand cupping his cheek to swipe away a few stray tears with your thumb.
“Dada!” Matteo cheered happily, causing both you and Charles to let out laughs of disbelief as your son uttered his first word.
“Yes,” Charles laughed, nodding his head as he reached for his babbling son. “Me! Dada!”
“Dada!” Matteo repeated, a gummy grin on his face as he squished his father’s cheeks together, and this time neither of you could stop the tears streaming down your face.
This was the day Charles had always dreamed of and he had finally achieved it.
.
#cece's slumblurb party#charles leclerc#formula one#f1#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x you#charles leclerc x y/n#charles leclerc fic#charles leclerc one shot#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#formula one fic#formula one one shot#f1 x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 fic#f1 one shot
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Hi K, I hope you’re doing well!🤍
I just wanted to make another request, if that’s alright with you. “I’ll break before I bend.” with Tommy?
Loving your blurbs by the way!
Thanks for sending this in, Reb @peakyswritings ! I’m sorry it took me a bit to write it — I hope you like what I did with it! I decided to use my family from my Girl Dad series because it’s been too long since I’ve written for them (a thank you goes out to the anon who messed me a little while ago asking about them). Enjoy! :)
I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!
Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!
Just Some Puppy Love
Tommy Shelby x Reader (family from the Girl Dad series)
Warnings: none - just Tommy being overprotective of his daughter
Word Count: 922
Summary: Tommy’s unhappy about the fact that his eight year old daughter, Thea, has caught the interest of a boy in her class. (Y/N) tries to tell him that he’s overreacting.
“How was school today, darling?” (Y/N) asked her daughter as the she entered the home.
“It was great, mum!” Thea answered, a beaming smile on her face. “I even got to see Evie’s class during lunch!” she added, turning to look at her younger sister, who was nodding profusely.
“That sounds lovely,” (Y/N) smiled, thanking the family’s driver, who tipped his cap at her before returning to the vehicle. “Did anything else exciting happen?” she asked no girl in particular as the three went into the front room.
“Billy was being very nice to me! We played together at recess, and he even shared his purple crayon because mine was too little to use,” Thea was the first to speak up.
“Uncle Arthur’s Billy?” (Y/N) asked out of curiosity. She didn’t think that the cousins were in the same class, but she could have seen him during some other point in the day.
“No, Billy from my class,” Thea chirped while collecting her papers from her bookbag, “he’s always very nice to me. Sometimes we even hold hands and walk around the playground.”
“Oh,” (Y/N) drew out the word, nodding her head slowly. Thea said this in such a nonchalant way; like her mum was supposed to know about this beforehand.
“I scored the highest on my maths test today, mummy!” Evie jumped into the conversation, a beaming smile now present on her face.
“That’s lovely to hear, Evie,” (Y/N) smiled at the little girl while looking at Thea - who had now started on her homework - through the corner of her eye.
Boy, oh boy did she have something to tell Tommy this evening.
“The girls are all down?” Tommy asked as his wife entered his office later that night.
“Juniper fused a little, but they’re all asleep now,” she answered him with a smile as she made her way over to her usual spot on the chaise lounge. She couldn’t help but purse her lips to hide her smile as she finally made eye contact with him.
“What?” Tommy asked, catching onto her expression rather quickly.
“Nothin’,” she brushed him off, glancing down at her fingernails as she picked them.
“You can’t just send that expression my way and then say that it’s nothing,” he commented.
“Well I’ve just done that,” she countered.
“Tell me, (Y/N),” he demanded, his voice dropping to a low level.
“It’s nothing…” she started looking to him again, watching as his mouth opened to argue with the words she said. She continued before he could, “but you’re going to make a big deal over it.”
“Over what?” he asked with furrowed brows.
“Thea might have a boy in her class that fancies her.”
“No,” Tommy shot the idea down within seconds, “impossible.”
“Quite possible considering she told me all about it when she came home this afternoon,” (Y/N) commented. “It’s not a big deal,” she brushed the matter off then.
“Oh but it is. She’s only eight. The boys in school don’t need to be fancying her,” he insisted.
“She is eight, Tommy. There’s no harm in a little puppy love,” she flipped the narrative. Tommy didn’t seem to be buying it. “Besides, they’re not even…”
“Oi, I’m being serious here,” he cut into her defense, his eyes wide, “I’ll break before I bend on this one, (Y/N). No boys. Not for a long time.”
(Y/N) looked at her husband with pursed lips. The intense expression that he was wearing surely worked on his adversaries, but it did nothing to her. “You’re being dramatic about this,” she stated after a few moments had passed.
“I’m not,” he shook his head.
“You are,” she doubled down with a nod. “There’s no reason for a response like that. It’s not like she’s going to go and marry this boy tomorrow. They’re just holding hands on the playground and sharing crayons in class,” she explained the reality of the situation. One look in his direction told her that he wasn’t quite convinced. With a sigh, she stood from her chair. “I know…” she started, moving around his desk so that she could rest her hands on his shoulders, “she’s your first born…your little girl.”
“She is,” Tommy answered in a huff, pressing the pads of his fingers into his eyes.
(Y/N) paused for a few beats, leaning down to rest her chin on top of his head as she looked at the photograph of their three girls that sat on his desk. “You don’t need to be worrying about this stuff right now,” she said in a soft voice as she clasped her hands together over his chest. She heard him sigh as he rested his head against her arm. A smile graced her lips as she thought of something to add, “you have another ten years, at least.”
“(Y/N). Don’t,” his voice was low, the two words coming out in a warning. She couldn’t stop herself from giggling anyway.
“I’m teasing you, Tommy,” she told him, pressing her lips to his hair.
“I know. But I still don’t appreciate it,” he answered her, his voice soft now as he turned his head and pressed a similar kiss to the skin of her arm.
(Y/N) smiled at the gesture. This wouldn’t be the last conversation about boys fancying their daughters that they would have. But she knew that Tommy would do whatever it took to make sure that his girls were safe and got the best.
*tags in reblogs so that they hopefully get sent out
MASTERLIST
#tommy shelby#tommy shelby x reader#tommy shelby x y/n#tommy shelby x you#tommy shelby blurb#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby fanfic#tommy shelby fanfiction#peaky blinders#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinders x y/n#peaky blinders x you#peaky blinders blurb#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders fanfiction#fanfiction#fanfic#k’s 3.5k celebration
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saw a tweet saying fingering is a lost art and it’s kinda true sooo how about arthur making reader come over and over again with just his fingers 👀
“Yer such a good girl.”
You’d smack him if you had your wits about you.
But the only reply you can manage is a smattering of syllables that sound like his name - melting into a throaty moan, needy and high pitched.
He chuckles, deep and warm and rich, as you clutch with both hands at his bicep, your fingers unable to circle it completely.
“Ar-ngh- Arth-”
He shifts his arm and your eyes go impossibly wide, your head falling back as your entire body jolts, your eyes water over as he continues his ministrations.
“Yea, that’s right - gimme more o’ that.” He rasps as he leans over you, his voice hoarse in your ear. You whine as you raise your head again, looking down to where his hand is under your skirts, the movement visible under the fabric.
His other hand clamps down on your hip as he moves to trace your earlobe with his tongue. Tears have begun to stream down your cheek as you pant, out of breath as if you’ve been running for miles.
“Arthur-”
He smiles against your neck, and moves his hand again, and you wail in response, digging your nails into his solid arm.
“Y’can take another.”
He slides a third finger next to the other two, pushing past the rim of your cunt, stretching you, making you mewl as he continues thrusting as he had before, obscene wet noises coming from beneath your skirts.
“There’s my girl - so wet ‘nd warm for me. Comin’ every time I ask.” His honeyed voice groans into your hair, dripping praise as much as your cunt is currently dripping with your slick.
“How about another one, sweet thing?” A thumb presses down on your clit and you shake, sobbing, a delirious mess of overstimulation as he coaxes yet another orgasm for you, your body feeling spent, your head light and your limbs feeling like jelly.
Arthur smiles as he finally removes his hand from under your skirt, and you lay boneless atop the smooth rock in the clearing along the creek, hopefully far enough from the road that no one could hear the pitiful sounds you were making.
Your slick is smeared between your thighs, obscene, and you pant as you lean up your elbow to look at him.
Before your hazy gaze can truly center on him, the sound of his gunbelt hitting the mossy ground makes your cunt clench around nothing.
#arthur morgan#red dead redemption 2#red dead redemption#red dead fanfic#twolafic#arthur morgan smut#arthur morgan x female reader#voluptatem
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Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU
LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PARTE 1 , PARTE 2 , PARTE 3, PARTE 4 , PART5 (you're here) , PARTE 6
In "The Beginning of the End"
Morgana: Merlin! I need your help.
Merlin: (worried) What is it?
Morgana: Just come with me (brings Merlin to her chambers and shows him Mordred behind the screen)
Merlin: (Who's been ignoring Mordred's calls for help in his mind on purpose and still hates him to guts for what he did to Arthur in his timeline, trying to remain compose) That's... That's the druid boy.
Morgana: (Who did hear Mordred calls for help and helped him instead) He's injured. If we don't give him medical attention he'll die.
Merlin: (almost histerical) If Uther finds out you've been hiding the druid boy in your chambers you'll die! We'll all die! What were you thinking?!
Morgana: I couldn't just leave him! He's just a child! He's innocent!
Merlin: To Uther he's guilty.
Morgana: And to you he is? He has done no harm. His only crime is having magic. Do you think he deserves to be executed for that?
Merlin: ... No. Of course not.
Morgana: Then help me. Just tend his wound. Please. (puppy eyes)
Merlin: (Still full of resentment to Arthur's future murderer, but loving Morgana too much to deny her anything. Sighs) Alright.
...
Morgana: Arthur. To what do I owe this pleasure?
Arthur: (enters her chambers) Where is him?
Morgana: Who?
Arthur: I know you're hiding him Morgana.
Morgana: I don't know what you're talking about.
Arthur: Well, I need to search your chambers, kings orders. (starts searching)
Morgana: You will not do such a thing! Stop messing up my things!
Arthur: (opens the screen where Merlin and Mordred are hiding) So this is where you've been lazing around.
Merlin: Sorry 😅
Arthur: (To Morgana) You drag him into this, I can't believe you! Do you know the risk you're putting yourself in?
Morgana: Arthur, please! (putting herself between Arthur and Mordred) Don't turn him in. I beg you, he's just a child.
Arthur: (who resents Mordred, not really because he tried to kill him, that part just hurt him, but because Merlin had to make the deal with the sidhes and was turned into a tree due to what Mordred did in his timeline) I'm sorry I have no choice. I can hide your involvement in this. No harm will come to you or Merlin. Now step aside. (Morgana doesn't move) Morgana.
Morgana: You'll have to go throught me first!
Arthur: I'm trying to protect you.
Morgana: If you hand him over, I'll never forgive you.
Arthur: (Conflicted cause he still have mixed feelings about Mordred but doesn't want Morgana to hate him again. Looks at Merlin for answers, but Merlin's avoiding his eyes at all cost)...
Morgana: We can take him out of Camelot, back to his people. He'll be safe there and Uther will stop searching for him eventually.
Arthur: This is treason. If my father finds out-
Morgana: He won't. Not if you help us. Arthur, please. (puppy eyes)
Arthur: (sighs, giving up) We'll have to be careful. And I'm not doing this again, you hear me?
Morgana: (jumps happily and hugs him) Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're going to be a great king one day. I know it!
Arthur: Yeah, yeah whatever 🙄(but he smiles and hugs back)
Merlin: (touched by the scene and very proud of Arthur despite his feelings towards Mordred) I agree. You'll be the greatest king of all.
Arthur: (separating from Morgana's hug and extending his arms at Merlin to which Merlin just looks at him confused) So?
Merlin: So?
Arthur: Where's my gratitude hug?
Merlin: (shocked)... what? 😳
Morgana: (Who already knows something is going on) Oh, don't be shy (pushes Merlin towards Arthur)
Merlin: (wraps his arms around Arthur hesitantly, but Arthur presses Merlin to him instanly and Merlin melts in the hug)
Morgana: (thinking) Awww. Next time I'll just have Merlin seduce him into doing stuff. It'll work faster.
#merlin bbc#merlin#bbc merlin#merthur#merlin fanfic#merlin and arthur#arthur and merlin#merlin fic#merthur fic#merlin prompt#merthur prompt#Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU
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RDR2 relationship/sexual headcanons -- F!reader
(Arthur, John, Dutch)
I've been seeing these a lot, and it would be fun to share my own. So, here you go! Warning for NSFW stuff though ;) I might make more of these in the future but I'm out of ideas for other characters at the moment.
__________________________________________________________
Arthur:
Absolute sweetheart, will do anything for you.
Can’t stand to see you crying. Usually, he’s reserved, but around you, he’ll coo softly and hold you in his arms.
“Shh… hey, I’m here. You’re safe.”
Always shares his food when he’s around you. And if there is no food, he’ll share his cigarettes.
He won’t admit it but loves it when you pick flowers for him. Usually, he keeps them in an empty whiskey bottle beside his bed.
Will ask you to help him pomade his hair, though you both know it’s because he likes getting scalp massages.
He’ll somehow always find a way to escort you.
“I’ll walk with you to your horse” “Need me to come with you?” “You sure you’re okay goin’ on your own?”
Not a fan of holding hands, though he’ll have his arm over your shoulders or around your waist most of the time.
Looooovessss hugging you from the back.
Not opposed to you grabbing his ass once in a while.
Loves forehead kisses, whether it is receiving or giving them.
~~~~~
Not rough in bed—rather thorough. He won’t break the bed or have it slamming against the wall, but he spends a while preparing you. Foreplay lasts an hour minimum until he decides you can take every inch of him.
Will overstimulate himself if it means you’ll cum.
Not loud, but he takes pride in hearing you moan his name.
If he doesn’t have the energy to have full-blown sex, he’ll sit you on his lap and finger you until you’re trembling.
Not the biggest fan of receiving head, since it makes talking practically impossible for you, and he hates silent sex.
Enjoys handjobs while making out, though usually he’ll only accept one if he’s drunk.
Constant compliments.
Lap sex??? To Arthur, there is nothing better than holding you close while you bounce on his cock.
John:
Not all too touchy, but he’ll stare at you like you’re an angel 24/7.
Likes it when you hug his side, especially if you're shorter than him so he can tuck you under his arm.
Will randomly polish your shoes or your saddle.
Never forgets to give you a kiss when he leaves camp.
Usually confused when you’re upset or angry, but he’ll try his best to talk you through it.
Very protective of you, especially around other men. He's constantly worried that you might get hurt.
Stubborn as a bull, though he means well. The two of you always seem to be making up for arguments.
Always the big spoon.
Never skips out on a night of drinking with you.
Lets you sit on his lap, though usually only when he’s tipsy.
~~~~~~
Obsessed with hearing you plead. He’ll make you beg for absolutely anything.
If you’ve misbehaved in any way, he’ll punish you with abstinence.
On the other hand, he praises you for everything you do right.
“Yeah, that’s it, good girl.” “atta girl…” “You’re doing so well.”
Always on top. Probably because his ego is a little fragile.
Likes to switch between quick sex and passionate sex every once in a while. One day he’ll be ramming into you for twenty minutes, while the other he’ll spend the same time just getting you undressed.
Dacryphiliac—he loves watching you cry for all the right reasons.
“You look so pretty like that, sweetheart.” “Look at you, such a mess for me.”
Only loud when you are.
Very courageous in bed, but he gets shy the next morning when the majority of the gang starts teasing him for the marks on his neck or the foul noises they heard coming from his tent.
Dutch:
(This one is for the girls with daddy issues, bear with me.)
Almost exclusively calls you pet names, never your actual name.
Stuff like “Sweetheart”, “sugar”, “My girl”,,, etc.
He’ll make sure everyone knows you’re his, usually introducing you as his girlfriend right away.
Likes picking out your clothes for you.
Tells you about the books he reads whenever he can.
The absolute master at calming you down. Whenever he sees that you’re upset, he’ll take you to his tent and sit you on his lap, then he’ll calmly talk things over with you until you’re calm again.
Yeah, loves having you on his lap.
Enjoys braiding your hair or pinning it into a bun.
Loves hugging you from behind when you’re doing your chores or talking with other gang members.
Will bathe you whenever he gets the chance.
~~~~~~
Rarely ever takes his clothes off, but forces you to be completely naked all the time. It adds an extra layer to the power dynamic that the two of you have In bed.
Bends you over his lap and spanks you whenever he feels you pay too little attention to him.
Also loves fingering you on his lap, though it’s more to tease than to make you cum.
Will go absolutely crazy if you sit on his lap and grin your ass into his bulge. It doesn’t even matter if anyone’s around because he’ll just excuse himself and drag you into his tent.
He wants everyone to know how good he makes you feel. If you’re not moaning his name or whining under his touch for everyone to hear, he’s not interested.
He expects you to follow every order that he gives you. You’re not getting his touch if you disobey.
You calling him “sir” makes him instantly grow hard.
Always leaving scratches and hickeys on you for other people to notice.
Enjoys lightly choking you when making out, just to show what could happen if you were to misbehave.
#arthur morgan#john marston#red dead redemption 2#rdr2 smut#red dead redemption 2 smut#rdr2 headcanons#Dutch van der linde#rdr2 fanfic#Dutch van der line x reader#john marston x reader#arthur morgan x female reader
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Little Girl Gone
Little Girl Gone / T.S. (pt. 1)
part two: here
Synopsis: Having been several years since you’d last seen your favorite gangster family, you return to Small Heath a changed woman with a stronger attitude than you had when you left.
information: this will be a multi part story! idk how many parts exactly, but there will be more!
warnings: none for this chapter!
please leave all comments and reccommendations below! thank you for reading!
“Aye, what does a woman have to do to get a whiskey around here?”, you shouted, rapping your hand on the bar counter.
You were seated at The Garrison, it was your first stop back in town. You had lived in Small Heath most of your early life, but five years ago you were forced to leave due to your fathers death and your mothers general distrust (and dislike) of the Shelby family. Your mother had kicked you out a few days ago, claiming that you were old enough to be married now, and that she wouldn’t stand for you staying in her house if you weren’t going to look for a husband.
“Calm down Lady, I’ll- Holy Shit! Y/N, what are you doin’ back!”, a man's voice rang out, making you and the rest of the bar look in his direction.
Arthur Shelby had always been one of your favorite Shelby siblings, and for good reason. He was loud, funny, and typically a gentleman if you caught him on the right day. You leaned over the bar and wrapped your arms around his neck, nearly bruising him in the process. You had hoped your whole journey here that he would be the first Shelby you saw, and luck had worked out for you this time.
“Arth, I am sure glad to see you! It’s been a long time, aye?”, you spoke, removing your arms from him and sitting back on your barstool.
“Hell, it’s been about, what, five years? You don’t show your face around these parts for five fuckin’ years and then you just come back?”, he said, staring you in the face, with a somewhat more serious look in his eye than you had expected.
‘Yeah, had some family troubles, but I’m back for good now,” you swallowed, “how's all the Shelby’s doin’?”
“Eh, the usual. Tommys about to run himself ragged, Pol acts like she owns us all, I’m workin’ here now, I actually own the place!” he said, spilling out most of that information in one breath.
You took a quick survey of the bar, noticing how the decor and table setup had changed since you’d seen it last. The floor was still the same sticky, slimy feeling though.
“Glad to see you doing well, Arth. Now, please get me a whiskey an i’ll be outta your way!” you spoke, glad to have reunited with Arthur, but not glad to have been out in public this long.
“Ah, ah. If you think I’m letting you get out of here without seein’ Tom, you’re messed in the head!” He joked, but as you watched him move towards the window to the private room, you realized he wasn’t joking.
You had not come prepared to see Thomas. He was the only one who never got a goodbye, even though the rest of them didn’t know they were goodbyes at the time. When you were being forced to leave, you managed to sneak over to Watery Lane and have one last conversation with all the Shelbys before you left, and you never told them you were leaving that night. Thomas had been on business, but got home a few minutes after you left. You had regretted not speaking to him then, but now that regret had turned into a fear after hearing about the man he had become while you were away. You had heard things about Thomas Shelby, and they were not things any girl would like to hear about her long-time crush.
‘Oy, that Tommy Shelby is a real whore’
‘I heard he gets around Small Heath like its a full time job’
‘He pays them ya know? Every girl he fucks gets paid, even if theyre not workin’ for it!’
Those were all just some of the things you had heard, and those weren’t even the things you had heard that were related to his newfound habit of murdering those who crossed him. You’ve had your eyes on Tommy Shelby ever since you were 16. Now aged 21, it had been a long enough time that you realized what kind of person you needed to settle with, and logically, he wasn’t it.
While this entire catalog of thoughts was running through your head, your eyes watched as Arthur got closer and closer to that window. You knew you weren’t ready to see him yet, if you ever would be. So acting on those primal prey instincts, you ran. You hopped off the barstool, and started pushing your way through the crowd of bar patrons, finally having the door insight. You wrapped your hand around the handle, and pulled it open. Stepping into the cool air of the night, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes as you closed the bar door behind you. Just as you were stepping away from the door to begin your walk to the apartment you were renting, you bumped into something, or rather, someone.
“Thought I’d let you run from me a second time, aye?”
Fuck.
Fuck.
“I-I-”, you stammered, not having any idea what to say, now that you were staring at the face of one Thomas Shelby.
“It’s okay, I’d be nervous too if I ran into someone I left in the dust five years ago.”, he laughed, letting a puff of cigarette smoke roll out of his mouth.
“Tommy, how did you even know I was out here? I watched Arthur and left before he even opened the window, I don’t underst-”
“Shh. I have my ways, ya know I have my ways.” he spoke, that cool, gravelly voice still hadn’t changed, even after all this time.
You finally looked up at him, releasing the death stare you had on his chest. He was more handsome now, if that was even possible. His dark hair styled perfectly, like he had touched it up before meeting you outside. His hat was missing, which was a rare occurrence, but you were enjoying the unobstructed view of his face. He was lean, only muscle was visible through his white shirt, and his pants hugged his legs perfectly. He was beautiful, especially in the face. You could see more defined freckles in the glow of the street lamp, along with more defined lines carved into his forehead. You continued to study his face, while his studied yours. You had definitely matured in your time away, but not only on your face. Your lips had gotten fuller, cheek bones more pronounced, and hair longer; but you had also grown tits and an ass. You knew you had assets, and fully planned on using them to your advantage, just not on Tommy Shelby.
“My God, Y/N, I’d say you grew up…”, he trailed off, eyes looking all over your face and body.
“Yeah, that tends to happen to people as they age, Tom.” you laughed, feeling suddenly insecure as you stood under his microscope.
“What are ya doin’ back in town? I imagined you ran off and got married or somethin’,” he spoke, “But, I don’t see a ring on that finger so either that can’t be right or you married a poor bastard.”
“Not married Tom, never was. It’s part of the reason I’m back in town, but-”
“What are ya doin’ tomorrow evening?”, he cut off, not even letting you finish explaining how you didn’t want to talk about it right now.
“Nothing I know about, why?”, you asked, having no idea what was about to come out of that pretty mouth of his.
“Join me for dinner, yeah? I’d love to sit down and have a chat with ya, but I got to go handle some business right now.”, he spoke, suddenly sounding strained.
“Uh, I guess I’ll get dinner with ya, where at?”
“My place, I’ll come pick you up tomorrow at 6, Goodnight, Y/N.” Tom spoke, brushing shoulders with you lightly as he passed by, heading back into The Garrison.
#tommy shelby imagine#tommy shelby x reader#thomas shelby x reader#thomas shelby#peaky blinders#tommy shelby x you#tommy shelby fic#thomas shelby x y/n#thomas shelby fic
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We don't talk about Arthur Weasley fighting Lucius Malfoy enough.
In that bookstore, when Lucius insulted Arthur's family (not only that, but Hermione's as well), Arthur snapped. He didn't even bother drawing his wand - he just lunged at Lucius and started swinging.
It was pure instinct. He was defending his family. Like he always has. Because Arthur has spent his whole life defending his bloodline, his wife, and his family from people like Lucius Malfoy.
It all goes back to the early 1900s when the "Pure-Blood Directory" was published. The Weasley family were one of the first families to publicly denounce their inclusion on the list, claiming that their ancestors were tied to many muggles - and proud of it.
This earned them, as well as a few other families (including the Prewett's) who separated themselves from the list and from pureblood ideology as a whole, the title of Blood Traitor.
This means that from a very young age Arthur was made aware of his place in the Wizarding World. He grew up hearing "blood traitor" thrown at him and his family. But he also grew up proud of who he was, where his family stood, and their place in history.
He went on to marry Molly Prewett - another "blood traitor" with a similar background. She, like Arthur, was protective of her family, having known what it was like to grow up being ridiculed.
It's only natural they would raise their family to be the same. Protective, proud, and resolute. And that's exactly how we see the Weasley children in the books. Specifically, how Fred, George, Ron, and Harry react to insults made about their family and friends.
(It also wouldn't be OOC to assume Bill, Charlie, and Ginny did the same. Percy too.)
They grew up seeing Arthur defend them. Not always violently, as it seems rare for his character, but without ever tucking his tail between his legs. And they saw how Molly protected them.
So of course they're like that. Of course Fred, George, and Harry would whoop Draco for insulting Molly. Of course Ron would jump to defend Hermione with his fists, not his wand. Of course Ron would threaten their classmates for doubting Harry.
TLDR; don't mess with the Weasley's.
#not to say that molly cant defend herself#just ask bellatrix#arthur weasley#molly weasley#ron weasley#fred weasley#george weasley#charlie weasley#bill weasley#ginny weasley#percy weasley#harry potter#hp#jk rowling
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