#I don’t mind answering asks I do have a job now though so I can’t promise getting to them super fast

[rebeccccccaaa]

Too Sweet

______________

Spencer Reid x Reader

:: Practically at his beck and call, Spencer knows you’re too sweet for him. He knows he shouldn’t use you but he can’t stop himself when you’re also all too enthusiastic to fuck him ::

warnings :: smutttt, casual sex (kinda lol), oral (fem receiving), over stimulation, insomnia!spencer, spencer spitting facts (literally), reader is described to have hair length long enough to stick to your cheeks, obviously reader is described as afab, not sure what else i should tag so let me know what i miss :)

author’s notes :: hello, hello! honestly i saw this tik tok edit of spencer with this song (Too Sweet - Hozier) and felt a bit inspired by it and also loosely by lyrics too. please be kind as it’s been a couple years since i last wrote a fic and it’s my first one about dr reid too, so let me know if you guys like it, comment, reblog, all that jazz and critiques are more than welcome! Enjoy!

WC :: ~4k

_______________

It was pretty late into the night, it was the first weekend in weeks that the team was able to really enjoy. Spencer sat in a corner of his apartment, a glass of whiskey sat on the table as he flipped the pages of a book he’s read a thousand times before, albeit it was one of favorites. 

He was hesitant to call, he didn’t want to pull you away from enjoying your weekend but when it came to his pleasure, he put himself first. You were always too nice to say no to him and he knew that. It made him feel sleazy sometimes, but this was who he was now. Rugged, damaged, fucked up. He’d been through a lot. But in those moments where you squirmed and whined beneath him, he felt satiated. You were his drug now. 

“Hello?” he mumbled when the call picked up.

“Spencer,” your voice was a whisper as  you practically sang his name.

“You’re awake,” he said.

“Yes,” you responded.

“It’s a little late don’t you think?” he poked. 

“Then why are you calling?” 

You knew why he was calling. He only ever wanted one thing from you when the sky was dark. You didn’t mind it though. You basked in it. You kind of liked it. The feeling of having sex without commitment. Your job didn’t give you enough time for a commitment. You didn’t feel humiliated or belittled by Spencer’s desires. In fact, his lust for you turned you on in most cases. Most. 

Spencer was still a good friend to you. Regardless of sleeping with him, he was your closest friend. And recently, you noticed changes in him. Maybe you’ve kept a closer eye on him more than before but you were a little concerned. You had the right after everything he’s been through. He seemed more tired than usual, even though he was still punctual with work. Although you didn’t sleep in his bed after every time you slept together, when you did, you pretended not to notice his exits and long absences in between the long hours of the night. You could barely hear his ever so quiet footsteps roaming the living room. The clanking of coffee mugs in the kitchen and his quiet ‘Shit’ when he thought he was being too loud.

Three subtle knocks rapped his door, so quiet Spencer would’ve missed if he had breathed just a bit louder. A grin spread across his face subconsciously, glancing at the clock before taking long strides to the door. It was almost midnight. You stood in the doorway with heavy eyes, not the drunk kind, but the tired kind. He moved aside to let you in. Just like last time; and all the other times you showed up at his door for him. 

“I thought you went out tonight,” he questioned, rhetorically. 

“I did. For a bit,” you told him, “I just had one drink, then went home.”

“What are you doing up so late?” you asked, you already know the answer. And Spencer knows you know too, though he tried at first to be more subtle in his nightly fixtures. He simply sighed with amusement. You set your things down on his couch, eyes adjusting to the dim lights that hardly lit the room. The glass sitting on the table in the corner caught your eyes though. 

“What are you drinking?” you asked.

“Uh, whiskey. Neat.” 

“Ew, why?” you joked.

“It’s not that bad,” he shrugged. A whiskey wouldn’t exactly be Spencer’s first choice of drink but then again his first choice of drink wouldn’t even be alcohol. If it was, he would probably be content with a beer, or something of the sort. He was sort of going through a phase during nights. He was sleeping a lot less too. 

“I just didn’t take you for a whiskey kind of guy,” you teased.

“What kind of guy did you take me for?” he poked; he wasn’t really talking about drinks anymore though. 

“Water,” you joked, making him laugh. 

Spencer stood before you now. His hands were slightly hesitant this time to rest on your hips. 

“Is everything ok, Spencer?” you asked him. 

“Yes,” his voice was a whisper. 

You didn’t believe him, but you knew better than to press him. He was a stubborn guy and whether you did or didn’t you weren’t going to get an answer. You slid your hands up his chest before cupping the back of his neck with your hands. The kiss was chaste. You didn’t want to sleep with him if he was having second thoughts.

“Are you sure? If you’ve changed your mind I can head hom-,” you were telling him.

“No, don’t,” he rushed out. 

“I’m fine; I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he confessed. This surprised you, not because you didn’t know, but because you didn’t think he would tell you. 

“Well, then maybe I should go. That way you can finally get to bed before the sun comes up for once,” you joked with him, “Besides, you’re the one who's always telling people how important sleep is to the human body.”

Your words shocked Spencer this time. Admittedly, in the back of mind he suspected that you could sense him leaving his bed, or your bed sometimes, and that one or more times he’d been a little loud dwindling in the next room. But he didn’t realize you were fully aware of his nightly escapades. You knew him too well. You were too sweet to him. Spencer knew after all the fucked up things he’s been through he didn’t deserve your friendship; or anything more despite the fact.

“Did you know that elephants sleep the least of any other animal?” he told you, he doesn’t know why. Maybe to distract you, or seduce you. Both outcomes came often enough for him to make it a guessing game.

“You’re not an elephant.”

And then there were the ultra rare times when neither outcome happened; just now being one of them. 

“Sleep deprivation has been associated with reduced sexual desire and arousal,” he tried again.

“Well, I can help with that,” you teased. There we go.

He leaned down to kiss your lips but you pulled back in tease, smile on your face; you knew how pussywhipped you had this man. He didn’t want to fight it, he was growing desperate for you with every passing second. Rolling his eyes, he dipped his head in the crook of your neck. His hands left your hips, pulling you closer to him from your waist and lower back. Your hands began to unbutton his shirt, he was still wearing the clothes you saw him working in earlier that day. 

You stopped him, never been one to have sex anywhere other than the bedroom, taking his hand already knowing where to go after doing so many times before already. Although, it wasn’t like his apartment was a confusing labyrinth. He followed you like always. 

You reached the edge of the bed, sitting instinctively. Your hand went straight to his belt, undoing it with ease. Spencer pulled your hands away from his hips before sinking to his knees to the ground. He pulled your hips to the very edge, scratching the skin as he desperately pulled at your pants bringing them down your legs. Of course you let him.

He pushed you back and you fell on your elbows, still able to see him so clearly. See him dip his head and kiss the skin on the inside of your knee, his eyes lingering on yours. You let your head go for a second, basking in the feeling of his lips. They always made you feel so warm and tingly. One thing about Spencer, he loved foreplay. All the little things that lead up to sex. Most of the time, he craved the foreplay more than the sex itself. 

He moved your legs over his shoulders, his arms wrapping around your thighs, his hands holding your hips. His nose ran along your inner thighs. Your skin erupted in goosebumps at the feeling of his warm breath coming from his nose. His fingers fiddled against your hip bones and you wiggled a bit becoming desperate by the minute for something more than just this teasing.

“Spence,” you whined, looking back at him.

“It doesn’t matter how many times we do this, you’ll never learn patience will you?” Spencer bartered. 

“Spencer, I don’t come to you to learn patience,” you spat, not with any malice however.

“You won’t come at all with that attitude,” he snapped back, hiding a grin between your legs. 

“Spencer!” you gasped.

He chuckled lowly, bringing his hand between your thighs, pulling your underwear to the side to expose you to him. You were glistening, slick beginning to leak from you already. Spencer could feel himself getting hard. He precariously tried to not buck his hips into the bed like horny teenager.  

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath. 

He stepped up quickly letting your legs drop harshly. His fingers curled over the hem of your underwear pulling them down and tossing behind his shoulder before returning to his previous position. He felt like he was possessed. Acting and moving like it was primal, instinctive. He wanted nothing more in this moment than to satisfy you. 

He kissed all the places except the place you needed the most. You curled your toes anticipating his next move, longing for his lips, tongue, fingers, anything to bring you pleasure. Just when you were about to sit up, ready to nag at him, his lips wrapped around your bud. 

Your shoulders gave out at the feeling. Your body electrifying instantaneously. Your eyes trained on the ceiling, focusing on everything about Spencer in this moment, the sounds, his touch, his tongue. His tongue dipping in you every now and then, making you moan feverishly. His hands spread out, pinning your hips down to the bed to try and get you to stop wiggling your hips, but he wasn’t too successful in that. 

“Knock it off,” he groaned, removing a hand wrapped around your leg to bring his fingers to your entrance.

“It’s not enough; I need more,” you whined.

“No, you want more,” he debuted, “You’re being greedy.”

“And you’re being mean,” you quipped, you always had something to retort.

“Ok, fine,” he stood up.

“Stop!” you whined, “Please, come back. Do whatever you want.”

“I will,” he sat on his knees again, instantly bringing his fingers up to rub slow circles that made your toes curl. 

He purposefully let them every now and then prod at your entrance make your hips jerk in surprise. He could see how wet you were, all of the slick telling him how needy you were. He looked up to look at your face. His eyes catching your nipples peeking through the fabric of your shirt from the pleasure already, smiling to himself. 

“Sexual arousal can cause an increase in blood flow to not just female genitalia, but also the breasts,” he told you, feeling your thighs squeeze ever so slightly.

“Is that your way of telling me my nipples are hard because of you?” you teased.

“Yes,” he stated before diving straight back between your thighs. 

His tongue did circles like his fingers, the wetness and warmth much more stimulating than before. His fingers slid inside you, curling when he couldn’t push them any further. You moaned out, reaching your hand down to comb your fingers through Spencer’s shaggy hair. The noises of everything bounced off the walls of Spencer’s shallow bedroom. It sounded vulgar but so sexy. Your heavy breathing practically syncing together. 

Your thighs squeezed more and more as you got closer to your climax; you didn’t care if you were suffocating Spencer. If he died, he died pleasuring you and neither of you minded it in this moment. Your hips grinding against his tongue chasing you release frantically. Spencer pumped his fingers in and out of you rapidly, leading you to ecstasy. 

Your breaths became shaking, as did your moans. You were overcome with pleasure as your orgasm hit you so suddenly. You could feel Spencer’s smile growing against you, you knew that he wasn’t going to withdraw despite reaching your climax. 

“Oh god, too much, Spence.” 

“First it was not enough, now it’s too much?” he taunted you, fingers still pumping in and out you strenuously. 

“Spence!” you wailed, your voice trembling embarrassingly. 

When he wouldn’t give out, you pulled at his hair as you sat up and pulled his mouth away from between your thighs. 

“Oh ow, ow, ow!” he whined. 

“Jesus, you were gonna give me a heartache,” you whined. 

“Actually the possibility of having a heart attack during sexual activity is exceedingly low. So you wouldn’t have had anything to worry about; if anything you would get a small headache,” he explained. 

“You’re giving me a headache,” you whined, making him laugh.  

You pulled him from the back of his neck, crashing his lips against yours. You loved to kiss Spencer. You always felt the closest to him physically when you kissed. Which is ironic since he was quite literally inside you most nights. Kissing, the art of kissing, was practically your love language. You always gave small pecks when you were together, privately of course. 

Spencer was worried at first, that kissing was too intimate that things would complicate fast and feelings would get hurt. But as time went on and things continued to stay normal between you, he just began to relish in it rather than worry about nothing. At least that’s what he’s convinced himself of. 

He suddenly remembered the first time you slept together. You were in his apartment one night going over some details of the case. Nothing so major, or frightening, but something wasn’t adding up. You decided to take a break, cracking open some beers and just talk. One beer became two, then three, then four and then suddenly bottles littered the pitiful coffee table in front of you. You were very clear with him, “I don’t just sleep with anybody.” But you were a woman with needs just as much as Spencer was a man, “Neither do I.”

“Things have to stay the way they are if we do this,” he told you that night.

“They will,” you assured him. 

You rested your forehead against his seeing his eyes seem different. Spencer always did this. Everytime, just for a minute or even a second, he would disappear behind his eyes, like he was reminiscing on a memory you couldn’t describe. 

“You did that thing again,” you said with a small grin on your face. 

“I know,” he blushed, “Sorry.”

“You ever gonna tell me what you’re thinking about when you do that?” you questioned.

“Nope,” he smirked, making you giggle. 

Spencer stood straight up shagging his shirt off before scrambling out of his pants. He crawled back over you settling his hips between your thighs as he dipped his head down to attach his lips to your neck. Your hand curled around his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair as his breath and lips tickled your skin. Your hips fit together snuggly, grinding against desperate to chase each other’s highs.

Spencer reached into the drawer beside your head to pull out a condom. You snatched it from his hands with a devilish smirk on your face tearing it with your teeth. You spat the foil corner from your mouth, pulling the condom from its package before tossing it aside. You reached between your bodies stroking Spencer. His face blushing red, contorting with pleasure as it’s the first of the night to feel some sort of friction he needed from the beginning. The reason he called you in the first place. 

Spencer let his hands trace your skin. Though you wouldn’t react, your skin erupted in goosebumps. Feeling him prodding against your entrance, your breath hitched, your heart skipping a beat. You always anticipated this part. No matter how many times you and Spencer spent the night together, you couldn’t ever get used to the flips your stomach made at this time. 

Spencer pushed his hips into you, his length stroking your walls making your hum in delight. Spencer’s breath became heavy as he pulled out just enough before rutting back in you with skill. Your face began to feel hot as Spencer began to find a good rhythm. You could feel the sweat building on your forehead, the air cold against your scalp. 

You looked at Spencer’s face; the veins bulging from his forehead and his neck. You cupped his cheek with your hand, catching his rhythm with your hips. Your breath became heavy, your hums became moans. Spencer wasn’t exactly the most vocal lover you laid with. Not that Spencer was your lover of course. That‘s not what you meant.

“What’s going on in that pretty little brain?” Spencer’s voice took you from your sudden trance; his pace beginning to slow. He brought his hand to your face, pulling the stray hairs that stuck to your cheeks from your sweat away.

“Nothing, just don’t stop,” you sighed, pulling his lips down to yours again. 

Spencer picked up his pace again, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room. You felt overcome with an ambitious heat throughout your body. You pushed Spencer’s shoulders up trying your best to cool down without stopping your chase to your high. Spencer sat on his knees gripping your hips, practically ramming his hips into yours. Your back arched and you gripped the sheets beneath you. 

“Oh god, fuck,” you cried out. Your thighs squeezing Spencer’s torso as you began to get closer to your climax. 

“Shit, it’s like I can’t get enough no matter how many times I have you squirming beneath me,” he gloated. 

You could see Spencer's chest begin to get red, his knuckles however turning white. Your hands reached down gripping his wrists. Prying them away, before sitting up to straddle his legs, as they stretched forward, adjusting comfortably. You held on to his shoulders sturdily, finding an entirely new rhythm to chase your high. 

Spencer’s hands ran up your back, sliding under your shirt that you had yet to take off. No wonder you were overwhelmed with heat. He peeled the tight fabric from your skin, tossing it to the ground like he has so many times before. He unhooked your bra with ease, his eyes instantly trained to your chest. He couldn’t help his hands following, massaging the soft skin. Spencer looked up to you as you bounced up and down. Sweat dripping seductively down the valley of your breasts. 

“You’re so pretty,” Spencer whispered, staring up at you.

“I know,” you joked breathlessly, giving him a playful wink. 

Spencer let out a breathy laugh at that. The both of you were itching for a release now. Your bodies squirming against one another, aching to give the other the release. You leaned back placing your hands on his thighs, moving your hips faster and harder than before. 

“Spencer, I’m getting close, I feel it,” you whimpered, “Please tell me you’re close too.”

“I’m close,” he breathed out.

“Fuck,” you cried.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let go,” Spencer mused, he reached between you two, fingers circling quickly between your thighs to bring you to climax even faster.

You gasped out, chest heaving as you felt the waves of pleasures wash over you suddenly. You couldn’t help the loud moans escaping from you as you threw your head back; arched back and thighs tensed. Spencer’s hand held your body close to himself, and you curled forward wrapping your arms around his head as you climaxed indefinitely. Spencer grunted below you, his legs stiffening and jerking upward. Curses whispered from his lips. 

“Oh, shit,” you gasped, relaxing and slumping your body over Spencer. 

“Treat me good, like always,” he whispered, his hand coming briefly to stroke your hair gently. 

He rolled you over, laying you lazily on his bed before climbing out of the bed swiftly. He stumbled his way to dispose of the rubber. He grabbed a small towel from a drawer along with something to cover himself. He sat silently on the edge of the bed, gently cleaning you as your eyes slowly blinked, telling him you were exhausted. 

“You want to stay the night? I can see how tired you are.” 

“I’ll be gone first thing in the morning,” you quipped with a small grin on your face. 

Spencer laid beside you, covering your body with the blankets. You curled by his side, your leg falling over his hips. He turned the lights out, but the soft golden glow from the lights in the room next door streamed in. His arm wrapped around you, fingers softly stretching your back. Steady breaths against his chest gave him a sense of comfort. He was always a bit jealous how easily sleep came to you; how peaceful you looked when you did. Spencer tried to close his eyes. He tried to let rest wash over him like a blanket. What felt like seconds was an hour. And another hour. He peeked at his watch laying on the nightstand beside him, three o’clock the time read. 

Sighing, he sneaked out of bed, careful to not wake you. He skulked towards the kitchen, eyeing the small glass of whiskey still on the table. He couldn’t help smirk to himself over it. He opened the cabinet grabbing a mug, pouring a bitter liquid into it. He took a big swig of his favorite beverage, basking in all the flavors, when suddenly a beautiful figure stood before him. 

“Hey,” his voice was quiet. 

“I’m guessing you haven’t slept,” you tiptoed your way to him, you could hear him sighing. 

“Is there anything at all I can do to help you?” you whispered, carefully placing your hand on Spencer’s warm back. 

“No, but having you here is enough.”

You were beginning to blur the lines between your arrangement and your friendship. But neither you nor Spencer could muster up the courage to stop what you’ve started. Spencer indulged in your sweetness, the way you were always there to satiate his desires, the way you opened yourself to him like heaven’s gate. And you, well you would never admit it. Being in love with Spencer that is. You’ve known him for years; seen the best parts of him and helped him through the worst. You knew him the best of anyone you’ve known before. And he could say the same too. He’s never opened up to anyone as much as he has to you. 

You were perfect for each other. And yet, Spencer wouldn’t allow himself to bask in it. He truly believed he didn’t deserve you. That all the demons that haunted him in these dark hours were undeserving of your kindness, compassion, gentleness. Simply thinking about you was often enough to calm him in tense situations. But he would never tell you this. So here he was, standing in the kitchen with his coffee black at three in the morning wondering why you couldn’t see that he would never be enough for you. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #mgg fanfiction #mgg smut #first fic back!! #hope you enjoyed reading #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #mgg fluff #mgg x reader #reader insert #smut

[rachalixie]

can’t get you off my mind

all good love stories start with a drunk stranger, don’t they?

warnings: mentions of alcohol, fem!reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 4k

it starts at a bar. 

or really, it starts with a man at a bar. one that you’ve seen before in passing, a familiar face in a sea of more familiar faces. someone who you’ll later learn is one third of your best friend changbin’s production team, someone who you should have met years ago probably, someone who you would find is the perfect puzzle piece that fits into your jagged edges.

but right now, he is just a man at a bar with a beer in hand and a ridiculously dopey smile on his face. 

“marry me, please,” he says, absolutely serious but it’s a bit diluted from the way his words were slurred around the edges. “or i’ll have to kidnap you.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow at him, his image swimming a bit as you turn your head to fully take him in. you’re not drunk, but youre a couple glasses of wine deep and you’re not known for being fully articulate whilst sober anyways. 

“i swear i’m going to marry you,” he says, eyes wide as he looks at you. “you might be the most perfect person i’ve ever seen.”

you’re not overly fond of men you haven’t met hitting on you, but this one seems a bit harmless. if you ignored the part where he said he would kidnap you. at least he wasn’t grabbing onto you or trying to touch you - that would have sent your fist flying towards his face and probably a swift exit from the bar. it was a little weird that you didn’t find him weird, but in retrospect you must have known, even then. 

“okay, listen,” you put your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “if you find me when you’re sober, ask me again and maybe i’ll reconsider.”

“okay,” he nods, hair moving along with his movement like a puppy’s ears. “i can do that. i’ll find you, i promise. i’m gonna marry you, did you know?”

“so i’ve heard,” you roll your eyes, already feeling a bit fond about him. you didn’t think you’d meet him again, but you were sure that you’d look at this night with a fond smile later. 

he sends you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on a person and scampers off, and you stand rooted to that one sticky spot in the bar for longer than you want to admit.

–

he’s in the back of your mind when you wake up the next morning, in a better mood than most - you never liked waking up early, it always took you a good hour and some coffee to be able to stand without grimacing. this morning though, you float around your apartment as you get dressed with a small smile on your face. 

a cute stranger who kept his boundaries and called you perfect? that wasn’t something that happened often, at least not to you. 

the floatiness followed you all the way through your morning routine until you found your feet stopping outside the coffee shop that you and changbin all but owned. you had no stock in it, but you’re sure that you supply them at least half of their revenue, you probably sit on their rickety chairs more often than your actual couch at home. this place has nursed you through every college class and job interview preparations and beyond, and if it ever closed you might lose time off of your life span. 

your movements from the door to the counter to your usual seat were robotic, muscle memory taking over while your head did somersaults through the clouds. it’s only when you take the first sip of coffee, the bitterness and heat hitting your tongue in a delightful dance, that you notice it. 

another man is sitting next to changbin. a man that looks awfully familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize why. it’s the man from the bar. 

“changbin?” you keep your eyes on the other man as you direct your question at changbin, trying hard to keep your face neutral. “explain?”

“i’m chan,” the man interjects before changbin can answer, reaching his hand across the table for you to shake. it’s warm, his grip somewhere perfectly in the middle of too hard and too soft, and he lets go after an appropriate amount of seconds. despite the neutral passivity of the gesture, you feel something ignite within you, and it threatens to sputter out when you catch no spark of recognition in his eyes. was he that drunk last night that he doesn’t remember you? do his sober eyes not find you as perfect?

“he crashed at my place last night,” changbin’s voice filters through your turmoil, and you finally break away from chan’s gaze to level him with a look. “and he needed coffee, so i brought him along. chan, this is y/n, my best friend.”

the conversation that followed flowed more freely than the coffee dripping from the machines behind the counter, and you almost hate how much you like it. chan is a little goofy, the man from the previous night shining through moments of seriousness and rapt attention. 

by the time you had to leave to go to work you felt like you knew him. you learned where he lived (close to you!), that he worked with changbin (he’s a producer!), and that he loved all animals but he adored dogs (he has one named berry!). just an hour of casual conversation had led to you needing more of him in every aspect of your life, but still in the back of your head lived the thought of him not remembering you from the night before.

changbin leaves first, citing some meeting he had to run to in the middle of a yawn, and when you were left with chan the embarrassment began to set in. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he blurts out, startling you so much you almost jump out of your seat. 

“what?” you ask, a mixture of surprise and disbelief combining into a confusing vortex within your head - was he going to go through this again? you didn’t know if your heart could take it. 

“i mean, i remember you,” he says before you could awkwardly excuse yourself and commit to getting to work early for the first time in a year just to escape being in a room alone with him for much longer. “i’m sorry, i was just embarrassed. i didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of changbin.”

“oh,” your breath leaves you all at once and you slump into your chair, understanding hitting you like a train. “that makes sense? i think?”

“i’m going to marry you,” he repeats, a mischievous glint in his eyes, the boy from last night shining through. “one day. i’m going to do it.”

“take me on a date first,” you tease back, a genuine smile stretching across your lips when he laughs, a full bodied thing that drew in eyes from the patrons across the room. for once, you didn’t seem to care that others’ eyes were on you. he made you feel comfortable. 

“what are you doing tomorrow?” his mouth turns upwards into a beautiful smile that you can’t help but return. 

“eager, are we?” you open your phone, sliding it across the table with the new contact page open on it. “i’m free.”

“you’re the most perfect person i’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says, as serious and genuine as the way he had proposed to you last night as he taps his number into your phone. “sorry if i’m a bit desperate.”

“don’t apologize,” you take your phone back, making a mental note to text him later. “i like it, for some unearthly reason. you’re cute, chan.”

the sound of his delighted laugh follows your footsteps all the way to work. 

— 

he picks you up for your first date at noon, right on the dot. he wasn’t a minute late, a polite knock sounding through your apartment just as the hour turned, as if he had been waiting and watching the time outside the door. 

god, is everything about this man endearing? 

he’s wearing shorts and a light sweater, looking like something out of a posh magazine. his hair is curly and swept off his forehead and he’s wearing a smile with the most adorable dimples shining through. 

he leads you to his car and you have to hold back an impressed whistle. you knew changbin and his team did well for themselves, the name 3racha all over the credits of songs on the radio, but this car was nice. you were going to have a talk with changbin about why he still drove the same beat up sedan he’s had since college but that was a thought for later. right now all you wanted to think about was the man who held the door open for you to slide into the passenger seat and was now holding your hand over the middle console. 

“do i get to know where we’re going?” you ask, peering at the map open on his phone but it tells you nothing more than that your destination was 15 minutes away and that he had to make a right turn in one mile. 

“it’s a surprise,” he says, voice a little nervous but it was masked with excitement. wherever he was taking you, you would be happy to be there if he was this happy the whole time. 

four songs on the radio later, one of which you teased him for when he revealed that he wrote it, he was pulling into a parking lot illuminated by flashing colorful lights. he had brought you to the fair. 

“i’ve never been to the fair!” you bounced a little in your seat, wriggling in excitement. “i’ve always wanted to go, how did you know?”

“lucky guess?” he shrugs, avoiding your gaze as he cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“changbin told you, didn’t he,” you smile at the thought of chan asking his friend about what you’d like. it was cute, a word that you were probably exhausting when thinking about him even after a day of knowing him. 

“yes, but,” he flushes, the tips of his ears burning red. “i asked him after i had decided to come here, just to make sure it was a good idea. i didn’t steal it from him.”

“hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours that he had yet to let go of in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. you didn’t know what brought him calmness yet, but you wanted to learn. you wanted to learn everything about him. “now, take me to the fair, bang chan. i was promised a date.”

he finally meets your eyes again and he’s grinning so happily that you feel like you had just won a prize. who needed a fair when you had your very own carnival game right here? 

it turns out, you did. by the time the sun was beginning to set, your arms were full of various plushies that chan had won for you, each one earning him a hug and a kiss to his cheek. you treasured every single one, the fluttering in your chest when he stepped up to the booths to throw and shoot various things never ceasing. 

“let’s go to the ferris wheel,” you tug at him with your free hand, thanking the skies when you see no queue there. “i bet the sunset looks beautiful from the top.”

he’s quiet when he follows you there and into the carriage, his thigh pressing against yours as he slides in next to you, but you don’t notice in your excitement. it isn’t until the wheel ticks to the top and stops that he grabs your hand again, trembling a little. 

“chan? are you okay?” you ask, concern warping your voice as you turn towards him. your movement rocks the carriage a bit and he turns pale, ducking his head into your neck to hide. 

“yeah, ‘m okay,” he murmurs, his eyelashes ticking your skin when he blinks his eyes shut. “just don’t like heights very much.”

“oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?” you cry out, jumping a bit and regretting it when you rock the carriage again. “nevermind that, what can i do? it’ll go down soon, you’ll be alright.”

“just keep holding my hand?” he squeezes your fingers lightly and your heart melts. you may have made a joke that he was just trying to trick you into holding his hand any other time, but the fear in his shaking body was real and you’d never tease him for that. 

“of course,” you press a kiss to his hair, moving your other hand slowly to wrap around your intertwined fingers. the wheel begins to turn again, swaying the carriage as it descends. you keep your grip on his hand tight the entire time, all the way until you’re on your feet again on steady ground. 

“i’m so sorry,” you begin to say, the horror of subjecting him to his fear creeping up now that the crisis has passed. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he says, cutting off your apology and lifting your hands to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of yours. “no one’s ever been able to keep me that calm. thank you.”

you were left speechless after that and all you could do was smile at him, the ghost of it not leaving your face for the rest of the night. 

–

your thirty first date with chan ends with you crying into changbin’s arms, utterly confused and the feeling of despair creeping up your veins. you had met him your cafe as you had done several times since the fair, but when you arrived he wasn’t there. he came late, dark storms in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw and you didn’t understand what had made him like that. the usual smile and twinkle in his eyes were missing, and when you and asked him about what was wrong he had snapped at you in a way you hadn’t been talked to in years. 

you had left after that, brushing him off when his eyes had widened and he reached for you while calling out your name. you know that you should have given him a chance to explain, but at the time you were too hurt to consider it. 

you made your way to changbin’s apartment without thinking, your feet taking you to safety before your head could catch up. changbin had taken one look at your face before wrapping you up in his arm, walking you to his couch so he could cuddle you properly while words spilled out of you like a leaky faucet. you felt like you were back in college, crying and blubbering over a boy who had rejected you at a party, and you hated it. 

you didn’t notice changbin sending an angry text to chan, but the sound of changbin’s door opening with a bang startled you out of your tears. chan bursts in like a whirlwind, his hair sticking up at weird angles and a look of panic on his face as he takes you in. he reaches the couch in a few strides and falls to his knees in front of you, holding a crumpled bag from the cafe in his hand and taking your cheek gently into his other. his thumb wipes at the tear tracks there and you could practically taste the guilt emanating off of him. 

“love, i am so sorry,” he starts, ignoring changbin when he scoffs at the apology. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you, i had no right to do that. i got some bad news this morning and i wasn’t feeling my best, and i should have been honest with you. i’ll never do anything like that again, please forgive me? i’ll do anything.”

it was more his voice than his words that did it - he sounded so desperate, like he was trying to hold

onto a ledge that was crumbling, threatening to hurl his body into eternal nothingness. you knew him, you knew he was sorry, and against your first instinct you trusted him when he said he wouldn’t do it again. 

“is that an almond croissant?” you eye the bag in his hand. 

“it’s two almond croissants,” he nods fervently, his hair swishing back and forth with the movement. you sit up, sliding out of changbin’s arms and onto the floor in front of chan. chan’s arms replace changbin’s easily when you lean into him, and it feels like coming home. 

“it’s not like i have a nice couch you could be sitting on,” changbin mutters as he leaves, shaking his head fondly at the two of you before making himself scarce. 

chan kisses you, cradling your head gently into his hands, and they’re so warm. he slides his lips against yours, slowly like he’s taking his time memorizing the planes of your mouth to commit to memory. even after kissing him dozens of times you still find new things to learn about each other. 

“i swear,” he says, pulling away to meet your eyes. “i’m going to marry you, someday.”

“keep getting me croissants as apologies and we’ll see,” you say, sniffling into his neck. 

—

your eighty seventh date was spent in your bed, your head spinning like both hands on a clock simultaneously and your body exuding more sweat than you ever have. 

chan is wringing out a cool cloth to place on your forehead and it feels so nice that you moan. 

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and chan has lost count of the amount of times you’ve said it at this point. “we had a date and i ruined it.”

“we were going to see a movie,” he says, running a hand up and down your spine. “and we will. we don’t need a movie theater when we have a screen right here, hmm?” 

“but the popcorn,” you complain, closing your eyes in bliss when he runs a hand through your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. an apology for being so sweaty was at the tip of your tongue but you hold it back in favor of enjoying the feeling of his touch. 

“i’ll make you all the popcorn you want when you’re feeling better,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the side of your head. “for now, how does soup sound?” 

“popcorn soup?“ you ask, a wave of dizziness taking over your body; if you weren’t lying down already, you’re sure that too would be falling over. 

“yeah, baby,” and even in your delirium the fondness in his voice was prominent. he couldn’t hide it even if he tried. “i’ll make you some popcorn soup. get some rest okay?”

you’re asleep before he leaves the room, and you only wake up when he shakes your shoulder a bit and helps you into an upright position. he feeds you bites of what is definitely not popcorn soup after putting a movie on your laptop, the screen sitting at the foot of your bed. the both of you fall asleep before the movie finishes, but you don’t mind. 

he stays with you for days, making you soup and tea and toast and feeding you medicine and being an all-around angel as he nurses you back to health. by the time you’re better you think you’ve fallen back in love with him several times. 

as you had expected and warned him about, he catches your sickness the next week, and now it’s your turn to be his nurse. you try and do the same job he did, but his delirium seems worse. the silver lining is that his fever isn’t as bad, so you’re babysitting a babbling boyfriend more than a sick one. 

the night before his fever breaks is the worst, since he doesn’t even recognize you. you shake your head at his silliness when he asks who you are and calls you pretty. you smile when he takes your hand in his and asks you to come closer. 

you tear up when he tells you that he has a girlfriend that he loves very much and so even though you’re pretty he can’t do anything else because his girlfriend is the prettiest one in the whole world. you let a tear slip when he tells you that he can’t wait to propose to his girlfriend and that he’s going to marry her someday. 

you tell him that you have a boyfriend that you're going to marry someday, trusting that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 

—

your hundredth and fifth date was not unlike your fifth, or your tenth, or your ninetieth. two and a half years later, you were just as endeared by him and he was just as obsessed with you - even more so, if it were possible. 

he takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you look when he picks you up just like he does on every date, and you hide your disgustingly fond smile for him behind his back like you do every time you see him. 

he parks and runs around the car to let you out like he does every time you habit this restaurant, a little fancier than your usual best but it was a favorite of the both of yours - across the street from the bar the two of you had met at. 

you start walking before he does, letting him jog to meet you and complain about how you left him, just like you do every time. before him. you might have thought the monotony would have gotten tiring, but he had a fantastical ability to make every moment feel like the first despite their practiced nature. 

he calls your name from behind you right on schedule and you hum in acknowledgement, turning towards him absentmindedly. the second you lay eyes on him you’re completely alert, though; he isn’t jogging after you, but rather he’s kneeling on the sidewalk, a small box in his hands as he smiles up at you. 

“i’ve told you that i’m going to marry you more times than i can count,” he starts, eyes shining like the stars twinkling in the night sky above you. “but this time i’m asking you.”

“chan,” you choke out, hands coming up to cover your mouth as it quivers. tears spring to your eyes and you silently curse yourself - you always thought you’d be level headed when you got proposed to, but nothing could have prepared you for this, not even the thousands of declarations he had made to you prior. 

“i love you. you’re the only one in the entire universe that i need more than blood or breath, you’re the song that runs through my heart and the fire that leads my path when i’m lost,” his voice is thick, like he’s trying to hold back his emotions long enough to get his words out. “i never thought that i would feel so strongly for someone, i never thought that i deserved a love like this until i met you.”

he pauses as you walk closer to him, letting you approach him before he continues. 

“my love, my eternal light,” he’s tearing up now, blinking fast to keep the salty water at bay. “will you marry me?”

“chan,” you start, kneeling down next to him and taking his wrists in your hands. “i never told you this, but ever since that first day i knew. i knew that the drunk idiot that was hitting on me would be my husband.”

he chuckles, smiling delightedly as the tears finally spring from both of your eyes in unison.

“so?” he trails off, searching your face with his eyes, waiting. 

“oh!” you tighten your grip on him in an apology. “of course i’ll marry you, gosh i love you so much.”

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids #skz fluff #bang chan imagines #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader

[luvrxbunny]

sweet

pairing: bf!Eddie Munson x f!reader

summary: Eddie is trying to see what it takes for you to ask him for help.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, praise kink, dry humping, cum in pants (lmk if i forgot anything)

wc: 2.2k

a/n: i blacked out after two sentences i have no clue where the rest came from. apparently i was too horny to give a proper ending?

Eddie can see your hyper-focus on your hands, his heart is melting at the way you’re trying so hard to follow what he showed you even though he knows you can’t focus when you’re high. 

It’s 10:37 pm, you and Eddie are high and he’s been trying to teach you the chords to his new song for 20 minutes now. He’s chuckling quietly as your fingers fumble over the strings again, drawing a frustrated whine from your mouth. 

“Aww, It’s okay, baby. You’re doing much better than you were earlier! You’re actually picking this up way faster than I thought you would.” Eddie is genuine when he says it but it’s your reaction that changes that.. that changes his intentions. He watches your face as he praises you, he watches your eyes glaze over, and your lips part gently as a soft smile spreads over your face. 

“Th- Thank you, Eddie. That’s so nice of you, thank you.” You sound so out of it. It shocks Eddie for a moment but makes perfect sense. He thinks of all the time you ask him for help with your studies, even though he knows you know the material. He thinks of all the time he cheers for you after getting the right answer, how he praises you and calls you his smart girl. He thinks of all the times you bake for him, asking for him to taste test them even though you’ve made the recipe a million times, he thinks about his exaggerated moans of delight, how he would get on his knees and beg you to make him a batch. 

He thinks about times exactly like this one, when he’s playing his guitar for you and you beg him to teach you. He thinks about how quickly you pick them up and how you beam at him when you finally get it. The only difference now is that you’re higher than he’s ever seen you. 

You wanted to celebrate for midterms so Eddie rolled you a blunt instead of his usual joints. Of course, his little lightweight got high out of her mind. You got so soft and cuddly that he could’ve never denied you when you asked him real nice to teach you the new chords. 

He comes out of his thoughts just in time for him to hear you nail the part you’ve been struggling with, perfectly. His blood rushes to his cock when he notices the way you look up at him, expectantly, almost… desperately. “Such a good job, baby.” It comes out more sultry than he meant it to but he’s never been able to hide his emotions with you. 

He watches your eyebrows, twitch in confusion but you don’t break his gaze. You’re waiting for more. He has to take a deep breath as his sensitive tip presses against the zipper of his jeans. His hands are twitching at his sides as he gets up, leaving his desk and making his way to where you sit on his bed. “That was amazing, honey. You’re better than I am, you’re perfect.”

He watches your thighs tense, trying to rub together as your hips lift to press you against his guitar as you get a faraway look in your eyes. You’re looking right at him as you grind yourself into his guitar, he doesn’t think you even realize you’re doing it. He lays down next to you, watching your bottom lip tuck under your teeth as you shake your head with a small smile. “No, not better than you, Eds. I could never beat the best, baby.” 

Eddie has to actively bite back a moan at the pet name, he feels like he’s gonna fucking pass out as all his blood rushes south. He knows you’re trying, he knows you’re trying to turn him on, asking him to make you feel good without actually saying the words. 

He’s told you time and time again how hot your pet names get him, he knows it’s silly but he cannot help it. Every time you speak to him with any ounce of sweetness he’s fattening up in his jeans. “But you’re perfect then?” He presses his hips forward, loving the pressure your plush thighs provide against his throbbing cock. His eyes almost roll back as he watches a silent moan fall from your mouth as your hips twitch, forward first against his guitar but back again to press into his boner. 

He smiles and raises an eyebrow at you, challenging you. You never initiate. He knows you’re shy, he knows it’s hard for you. He knows he’s all of your firsts but he needs— he craves to hear you beg him- to hear you ask him to touch you. He’s insecure, he can’t have this be so one-sided. He wants to see how far he has to push you before you say something. 

You’re nodding at him desperately. “Yes- Yes, I’m perfect.” He’s smiling so fondly at your agreement, his dick twitching painfully in his pants. He knows you feel it by the way your hips twitch, pathetically confused and you whine. It’s short and cut off as you turn to put his guitar away, placing it gently on the ground. You brush his cock and give him a beautiful view of your ass in the process. He’s silently begging you to say something, he doesn’t know how long he can keep this up. 

You turn back around and just stare at him, waiting for him to say something. He watches confusion bloom over your face, your head tilting like a puppy. He mimics your action with a teasing smile. “Do you have something to ask me, baby?” He watches realization and dread spread over your features. 

“Eddie…” Your thighs are rubbing together, nervously or for friction. He doesn’t falter, just looks at you expectantly as you pout. His hips are subconsciously thrusting up into the air, getting hot under your gaze. You press your hand to your forehead, astonishingly stressed at this seemingly simple task. Eddie considers letting up as he analyzes the distress on your face but you speak up. 

“Eddie can you-” You whine and avert your gaze. “Can you make me feel good? I—“ You huff out a breath of embarrassment. “I want you to make me cum… please.” His heart bursts at how nicely you ask. He’s taking a slow deep breath, trying to calm himself before answering you but you take his silence as a demand for more. “Eddie please!” You sound so upset, it's so cute. It makes him so hard. “Please, I- I need it. I need you, Eddie, please.” You’re still not looking at him as you whine. 

Eddie turns your head and smashes his lips into yours just to shut you up. If you had kept rambling about how bad you need him he would’ve cum in his pants. “Yeah. Yeah, I can make you feel good, baby. What do you wanna do, pretty girl? We can do whatever you want. You asked me so nicely, honey. You’re so sweet.” 

He’s desperate and all over you as he speaks. His hands are in your hair as he kisses all over your face and down your neck. You feel like you could suffocate in his need for you, it rushes over you and makes you need him more. “Your- Can we- Eddie.” 

He’s biting into your neck as you try to answer. You can feel him smirking in your neck as you struggle to answer him. “ ‘M sorry, baby. Go on, talk. You’re doing so well, honey.” He pulls himself closer to you so he can press his bulge into you again, his eyes fully rolling back at the pressure this time. “I want you to…. fingermeplease?” He moans at the way you rush out the last part of the sentence but still manage to use your manners. 

“You want me to finger you, baby? Fuck, yeah. I can do that. Mhm. You wanna sit between my legs? Let me open you up and play?” You’re nodding frantically and whining against his face as he lets filth spill from his lips. “Yeah? Will ‘ya squirm, honey? No, no I bet you’ll stay put like a good girl, huh?” 

He pummels you with his embarrassingly arousing words as he gets up to take his pants off (as you do the same), leaving his boxers and situating himself against the headboard. His thick thighs spread wide over his bed, leaving room for you to crawl between them. You don’t move though, you’re too mesmerized by the way his cock is pressing against the fabric, leaking into it and leaving a rapidly spreading dark spot. It can’t help but twitch as you admire him, he can’t take it; the hungry yet somehow innocent look in your eyes as you crawl towards him. 

Normally this is the part where you turn around, your legs spread and trembling over his as he shoves his fingers in your pretty pussy over and over until you’re quivering around his fingers, moaning and gripping his hair behind you desperately. Normally this is the part when he presses his boner to your lower back, thrusting against you in time with his fingers, imagining that it’s actually his cock inside you and willing himself not to cum when he pictures it for too long. 

Instead, you lift yourself to your knees. His face becomes level with your panties, his hips thrusting into the air as he groans at the pink bow resting on the band. You put your hands on his shoulder and slowly lower yourself onto his lap, letting out the sweetest moan as his soaked cock pushes into your dripping lips. His hands come up to your hips and force you down to him rougher than he meant to when he hears the sweetest whimper of “Oh, Eddie” slip from your throat. 

“Oh my fucking god, baby. You feel incredible, so fucking perfect. I can’t take it. Mm- Oh— What happened? I- I thought you wanted my fingers, sweetheart?” He’s throwing his head back and groaning when you collapse into him, leaning your weight on his bulge. You’re huffing out like you’re gonna cum, looking up at him with your pretty, glazed over, fucked out, high as fuck eyes. 

“I dunno, Eddie. I- It looked like he was- like he was crying for me.” Your hips stutter with a moan as your eyes roll back, Eddie’s hard cock rubbing against your clit perfectly. He feels like he’s gonna cum as you confess. It confounding to him; how you can say the most whorish things in the sweetest way. 

“You are in-fucking-credible, my love. I have no clue how you do this to me. I’m already so close, baby. You’re so amazing, so soft for me, love.” His eyes roll back and he’s losing it.

“You’re gonna make me cum— fuck. Holy shit—faster. Oh-h f-fuck me faster, baby. I love you so much. I- I’m gonna cum so hard. I- dammit. I wanna make you cum first. L-lemme make you cum first- shi-itt.”

You’re rabid against him, your hips moving at a pace that has him weak. You have him questioning who’s in control. He’s wound even tighter when he feels your hips falter, losing their rhythm as your mini whines evolve into desperate moans. “H-Help- Ed—” 

Your breathing is scattered as you whine and twitch against him. “Yeah, I’ve got you, baby.” He grabs your hips and grinds you against him, lifting his hips to meet your heavenly pussy and pressing magnificently into your clit. It has your hands digging into his shoulders, dropping down to his waist as you hug yourself to him. You’re moaning into his ear as he feels your thighs tensing on his sides.

“T-tell me-” You whine higher, more pathetically than he’s heard all night, his cock pulses, spurting out a dangerous amount of pre-cum into his boxers. “Tell me I’m good. T-Tell me I’m pretty—” You cut yourself off with a gasp as you buck your hips against him, a newfound energy coursing through you. “Oh- please- please tell me I’m pretty.”

Eddie’s right on the edge, moaning so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole trailer park heard him. “YES- Yes, oh my god. You’re so beautiful, my love. You’re a fucking goddess among peasants. You’re a flower in a field of fucking hay, you’re my dream. You’re my soulmate.” He dissolves into a whine as you cum against him. You’re moaning into his shoulder, trying to muffle yourself in his shirt but you’re too loud. 

“There you go, fuck yes. Good girl— Oh shit. I’m gonna-” His eyes are in the back of his skull before he can finish. His hips twitching insanely and spurting out an outrageous amount of cum into the fabric of your panties. He’s panting as he tries to come down but you’re deliriously humping him. Forcing more ropes of cum into his boxers, he just can’t seem to stop. 

“Oh. Oh my god- I- I can’t stop. You’re such a good girl. Mine. My good girl. Askin’ me to make you feel good, takin’ what you need. God-” A ragged moan bubbles out of him as his cock finally stops drenching your poor panties. 

thank you so much for reading!! please please please give any feedback you may have! I want it all! also if you liked it please take a look at my masterlist!

#eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #stranger things smut #luvrxsmut #luvrxfics #eddie munson imagine #stranger things s4

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Full Baby Back Guarantee Not Included (dp x dc)

“Look, lady. It was a joke, ok? I don’t actually want your newborn baby,” Danny said as he held up his hands trying to back away from the woman with a bundle of blankets in her arms.

“We made a deal, you can’t back out now,”  The woman said as she narrowed her eyes at him. “Your kind can’t break their words.”

“My kind?” Danny exclaimed incredulously, because what the hell was she on. “Lady, you are delusional.”

Then his eyes caught on the awkward way the woman was holding onto the bundle and he frowned.

“Wait a second.” The halfa’s eyes went big. “Is that even your kid?!” his voice turning into a shriek at the end. “Did you kidnap some random child?”

“It’s my sister’s,” the woman cut him off coldly. “She and the father are both dead.” That was pretty awful, Danny thought as he winced. But then she turned to look blankly at him.

“Nobody will look for her.”

Dear skies above, he was supposed to be the ghost here, why was he the one getting chills.

“Holy fuck,” the halfa let out softly. 

He had to get that baby away from that psychopath.

“What is it you want again?” Danny asked faintly.

“Make me the new chief operating officer,” the woman answered.

“What?” The halfa choked out.

“They’re giving the position to Shwartz this monday. You need to make sure that doesn’t happen,” she continued evenly as if she wasn’t currently selling a baby in exchange for a fucking promotion.

“Yeah sure, deal,” Danny answered, eager to get away from her as soon as possible. 

“Give me your word,” she insisted.

“I give my word, I swear,” the halfa said. “Gimme the kid and you’ll get your job.”

The woman looked at him for a second before seemingly being satisfied. 

She extended the bundle of blankets towards him and handed him the swaddle baby. As soon as the kid was in his arms, Danny zipped away, fully intent on never seeing the woman again. He sure as hell was not getting her that promotion. Not that he would’ve been able to, what the hell, lady? At least research better before making a deal for your sister's baby!

Though in retrospect, it was a good thing she hadn't.

As Danny flew over a few buildings, he thanked the ancients the woman hadn’t had any ghost restraining tech, and only the summoning ritual. Which was a thing he had not been aware existed but he he would have to circle back to that because, right now, he had a whole ass baby nestled in his arms.

What the hell was his life.

Danny slowed down the flight once he felt he had put enough distance between them and the psycho and landed on a nice patch of green next to a road. He looked around and took notice that they’d gotten out of whatever that city had been, or at least the more populated part. He gave a quick look for people or cameras around before de-transforming. If he was spotted with a baby in his arms, his human look would help his chance of not getting shot.

The halfa started walking away from the road and towards the green vegetation. Still walking, he took a deep breath before looking down at the baby.

“You ok, kid?” Danny asked softly as their small (so so tiny!) face twitched in their sleep. “Oh you’re sleepy, huh?” he murmured gently. “Sleep tight sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Then he secured the blankets around the baby again, making sure none of the wind was reaching her. It was probably a her? The blankets were pink but he couldn’t know for sure since the psycho had only called her an it. Danny felt his lips curl. And as the night replayed in his mind, he felt the weight of the situation settle down on him.

Ancients what was he going to do?

He couldn’t pull up in Amity with a baby in his arms and no explanation of how he got her. He’d be arrested for kidnapping, which was technically absolutely what he was doing. But then again he couldn't just give that baby back to her aunt.

“What are you doing here?” came a voice from ahead of him.

Danny startled out of his thoughts to find himself facing an older man in a suit with a severe look on his face. The halfa instinctively brought the baby closer to his chest and the movement drew the older man’s eyes towards it.

Danny could see the realization of what it was he was holding settle and the man's face softened. He sighed deeply as his gaze went back up to meet the halfa’s.

“Despite what the media fancy printing, Wayne manor is not actually an orphanage.”

Danny had no idea what he was talking about so he just stayed silent and did his best not to look like someone who kidnapped babies.

The older man took the silence in stride. “If you need some help, there are programs to help young people in your situation,” he continued delicately.

Danny frowned as he tried to figure out what the guy meant by that before his eyes grew wide. “I’m not her dad!” He cried.

“I see,” the man said evenly as he looked back down at the bundle. Danny held her closer in response. “I see,” the guy repeated with a slight change in his voice.

The two held each other’s gaze for a moment before the older man sighed again. 

“Shall we continue this inside? It is getting windy and we wouldn’t want the little one to suffer, would we?” The man offered in a soothing tone.

Danny hesitated but one look at the kid’s face that had grown pink from the cold decided him.

“Ok,” Danny said. “Lead the way.”

And with that the three of them started  across the grassy lawn.

#Alfred think the baby is Danny's sibling and they ran away from an abusive household #I know this is all tropes that have been done before but dammit I'm doing them again #The batam trying to be in denial of the imminent new addition to the family or unsurprised and way too chill about it #Danny thinking he's found an ally into getting himself kicked out with Damian #only for Damian to get attached to the baby and then refuse to let Danny abandon his “sister” #Danny trying to get out of this mess of lies without letting it out that he 1) is not human 2) has totally kidnapped that baby #dc x dp #dp x dc #roxpoxwrote #roxpox

[blueparadis]

LEMONADE + SHIU KONG // f!reader ( she's a sniper), smoking, mention of murder and violence, implicit smut, semi-public ( happens in a car ), little tension between them, rivals to fvck buddies dynamics, he is such a tease here. 1.3 (w.c)

special thanks to @poohbea for beta-reading. without her, i really wouldn't have posted this. i had something in mind and this is entirely different. so i said better luck next time to myself and found the courage to post this. | back to nav. | also tagging @yuujispinkhair

“You’re not nearly as inconspicuous as you believe yourself to be.” Kong mutters off-handedly under his breath, reaching for the latch of your belt. His minty tobacco-laced breath paired with that familiar musky cologne threatens to send your nerves into a frenzy. He’s too close for someone who claims to ‘just wanted to undo your seatbelt’. He had no reason to but he did it anyway, probably because you were asking too many questions. He could have easily pressed one of those buttons on the driver’s side door, the one that unlocks all seat belts at once. The car is fancy enough to have those kinds of luxury features anyway, but you can’t help the racing of your heart when his fingers brush your skin. It’s only when he sits back in his own seat do you register his remark. Did he just scold you? The possibility alone has you licking your bottom lip nervously. 

It’s not as though he never has, but given your history with him, he rarely comments on your professionalism. He has been your handler for almost a year now and has yet to actually correct or complain about the way you do your job. He’s proud of your skills, he has to be, otherwise, he wouldn’t be hiring you for every sniper-kill case he gets.

“I heard you were back in town,” he starts, tapping on his cigarette packet before taking one between his lips. “But I couldn't contact you until I got the green light. That, and I’ve been too damn busy with the bounty offers that keep coming up.” He digs into his breast pocket to fish out a lighter, the flame flicking to life as his thumb rolls over the spark wheel. You look at him visibly confused, something he acknowledges with an amused huff. “Were you really so busy that you couldn't read the briefing I sent you?” He is definitely scolding you, but for what exactly? Trying to stay neutral in the face of his crude teasing, you let out a small breath, choosing to keep his gaze despite the nagging need to look away. He’s changed a bit. There’s worry in his eyes, more than usual, eyebrows creased as he continues. “Ah! I can't let you slip up now — ” 

“Why am I here?” You interject with a frown. 

“What?” He has the audacity to look at you surprised, as if he wasn’t the one to call you here again.

“This is the third time this month you’ve had me meet you… and in case you haven’t noticed, I have a bit of a busy schedule.” Kong lets you speak for longer than ten seconds for the first time in a very long time, his bad habit of interrupting taking the backseat for once. When he doesn’t answer you, you click your tongue, irritation evident in the furrow of your brow. “Why am I here, Kong-san—?”

“Shiu.” He corrects. Guess you spoke too soon. “And you still didn't answer my question. Did you or did you not—”

“I did.” You respond sourly. “And it told me a whole lot of nothing. Which is why I'll ask you again. Why am I here, Shiu?” Despite your irritation, the glaring fact of his contributions to your career as a sniper sits heavy on your shoulders as you sit in weighted silence. He knows it too, and never fails to bring it up every time you try to walk away, try to tell him you don’t need his help. He’s pushed you farther than anyone else ever has. Certainly, you owe it to him, but his ego is already big enough without the offer of such a confession, and you would rather put a bullet in your skull than admit that. 

The air inside the car grows thick with smoke as he takes drag after drag of his cigarette, not that you minded, you’re a smoker yourself, but just to spite him you opened the window by your side. “Isn’t it obvious?” Kong soon discards the butt out of his own window, studying you all the while, observing the mix of question and frustration that creases your forehead as your frown deepens. His lips tug up in one corner ever so slightly, too slight for anyone else to spot, but being around him as often as you have, you knew it was coming. “I’ve missed you.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. What a horrible man… he’s toying with you.

“Hilarious,” you mutter, offering him a sarcastic chuckle. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t look away, that small smile growing at your skepticism. The realization has your heart beating in your ears, and suddenly finding it difficult to keep his gaze.

“Want me to prove it to you?” He dips his head slightly, the leather of his seat squeaking in protest as he leans closer.

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous but you do not move, his hand reaching to play with the necklace resting against your collarbone, the very someone he gifted you after your first successful case. “Aren't we supposed to be doing a job here?”

“You tell me. Haven't you read the briefing?” Again with the same question. He is far too calm in this situation, fingers caressing the hammering pulse that lies just below the surface of your skin. “You weren’t lying to me were you—?”

“This is going nowhere.” You huff, finally breaking the intense staring contest he had trapped you in, finding the courage to withdraw from his touch momentarily. 

“It could if…” he guides you back to him, grasping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gaze dipping to your lips. “If you wanted.”

You bite your lip lowering your head to hide your merriment. “Like the last time?” You ask with a knowing smile. If you wanted. Yeah. Sure. As if he didn’t. Because during the ‘last time’ in question, things were entirely different. You two weren’t out for a job. In fact, you were in a situation similar to this one, in his car, engaging in your usual back and forth. It’s unclear exactly what came over you that day, but those sly eyes and that cocky smile had you seeing your handler as less of a mentor and more of the man he was. The conversation devolved into his lips against yours, his hands against your hips as he encouraged you from your seat onto his lap. Thunder rumbled the heavens and rain battered against the windshield, the perfect mask for inevitable heavy breaths and throaty moans. Your skin tingled beneath his touch, his lips, his teeth, the press of his thigh between your legs that had electricity crackling up the base of your spine. His name fogged the windows, each syllable working its way through the tresses of your mind till that was all you could utter, all that truly mattered. He reveled in that, in the way you gave yourself to him almost entirely. How your body grew hot with every caress, every thrust, every kiss. What did you even call this feeling? Neither of you knew, but it was clear that either didn’t want it to stop. By the end of it, his presence spanned your body, inside and out. 

Shiu laughs at your subtle accusation. It has the kind of warmth that reminds you of cozy mornings during winter. There is a pregnant pause after he says. “Yeah.” Bobbing his head in a ‘yes’. You shake your head slowly, an amused breath leaving your nose as your nerves buzz with memories past.

You sigh, assessing him with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what exactly he’s hiding beneath that elaborately organized talk of his. But the man is a vault, hiding behind dark eyes that threaten to reel you in again. It has you playing with your tongue, curling it against the insides of your mouth before smacking your lips. “Was there really any job for me to begin with?” You retort. 

Shiu Kong smiles, his carefully crafted demeanor crumbling in the face of the woman he’s slowly beginning to fall for. “There wasn’t.” He says bashfully.

—

@angelshub @public-safety-network @underratedcharactercorner

#shiu kong x reader #shiu kong smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #anime smut #female reader #angelshub #x female reader #x female y/n #x fem!reader #jjk s2 spoilers #shiu kong #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x female reader #jjk drabbles #smut drabble #smut #smut fanfiction #smut fic #anime x female reader #anime x you #anime fanfic #kong shiu #shiu kon #cw violence #cw exhibitionism

[steddietogo]

Part two of this post on celebrity Steve and oblivious Eddie.

———

Eddie’s met with the first line of defense at Steve’s door. He had expected to at least make it into Steve’s place before being ambushed by Robin but it seems Dustin beat her to it. Eddie would’ve laughed if it was any other day, seeing Dustin guarding Steve’s front door on his bicycle like a mighty knight on his steed.

“You weren’t here yesterday,” Dustin says and Eddie nods slowly.

“I had a campaign with the guys,”

“So it wasn’t because of the pictures?” He has an eyebrow raised skeptically in a move so Steve, Eddie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Listen, Dusty, I love you and I know you love Steve but I’m not talking to you about this before I speak to him okay? It’s just not—” The door swings open halfway through his sentence, which was good because Dustin showed no signs of budging.

Steve’s standing there bundled in a hoodie, and says, “Get out of my doorway Dustin,”

“No,”

“Dustin,” Steve’s tone goes stern but Dustin only relents after a fifteen second stare down during which Eddie is too afraid to move.

“Fine,” He says, tossing Eddie a dark look. “But I’ll be back in an hour,” And then he’s cycling away.

Steve’s unusually quiet and withdrawn all the way to the kitchen and then occupies himself with the coffee machine, facing away from Eddie.

“We need to talk,” Eddie starts then cringes as how bad it sounds.

“Yeah we do,” Steve places two mugs on the island and stays on the other side of it, arms crossed. Eddie hates not being able to read Steve’s face. It’s not the first time they’re having a fight— if this even considered a fight— but he’s never been shut out like this. He prepares to grovel but Steve interrupts him again. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth,”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I thought you knew at first,” Steve sighs heavily. “I thought you just didn’t want to mention it, then you asked what I did for work,”

“And you told me you were in between jobs,” Steve mumbles something that sounds like technically but he still wasn’t looking at Eddie. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to ignore you,”

“Didn’t you though?”

“I was confused, Steve, and overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to say to you even if I answered your calls,”

“Now you do?”

“Yeah, now I do,” Eddie says. “It’s kind of intimidating you know, to find out your only boyfriend is a global superstar—” He takes the win when Steve snorts into his coffee.

“I’m not that famous,” Steve tries to protest but Eddie presses on.

“But I love you—”

“What?”

“And I don’t give a shit what anyone has to say about it—”

“You love me?”

“Have I not told you that before?” Eddie rounds the island to hold Steve face in his hands. “Do you have any idea how easy you are to love, baby?”

Steve blinks fast like he’s blinking away tears. “I can’t promise you it won’t happen again,”

“I know,”

“It might even get worse,”

“I was raised in a small town babe, I don’t mind being called your satanic boy toy once in a while,” Eddie says and Steve laughter rings out much brighter this time. They’re going to be just fine.

———

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie modern au #mine #there’s probably gonna be a third part not sure yet #it’s late so I’ll tag everyone in the morning

[thewulf]

Not Just Pals || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - Hello darling! I have a request for you if you don't mind... It's a hangman x fem! Reader pen pals to friends to lovers kind of thing. Like maybe when he was in the academy someone put his name in this program to write to college students but joke on them because he got paired with reader and they hit it off almost instantly... Read Rest Here

A/N: Whew! This one was for whatever reason really tough to write! I changed it up a little bit but I hope you guys still enjoy it. :)

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.9k +

T/W : Self-doubt

October 9th, 2014

Hi There Y/N,

I’m not sure how you’re really supposed to start one of these things? How are you supposed to go about talking to somebody you’ve literally never met before? Although the Navy/Army pen pal thing could be interesting. I’ll be honest, my buddy signed me up and I didn’t think I’d actually write anything down but then I got the email with your name on it, Cadet Y/N Y/L/N. Consider myself intrigued.

What’s it like up in New York? Is it cold? Do you get a lot of snow? It gets awfully cold down here in Maryland, so I have to imagine how cold it gets up there. I’m from Texas so I’m still adjusting to this weather… four years later. It’s not easy. I think it’s the hardest part of living in the northeast. I’d rather run a marathon with a thirty-pound pack on than sit outside in the snow for more than twenty minutes. I hope to get stationed somewhere warm when this is all set and done.

Your ‘about me’ says you’re going into the Air Defense Artillery after West Point… which is the exact opposite of what I’m doing. Consider myself doubly intrigued Cadet. What do you do? Fire missiles and rockets at jets? That can’t possibly be as much fun as firing them when you’re in the air. It’s cool just not nearly as cool as what I do, know what I mean? Maybe a close second though.

Have you even been in a jet before? I bet you’d like it. I obviously don’t know you, but I haven’t met many people who didn’t like it. There’s something so freeing about flying 1,000 miles per hour in a tiny silver tube. You should try it sometime. If this whole thing works out maybe I’ll even take you up one day, who knows?

I guess that was my attempt at 20 questions. Hopefully you didn’t find it too annoying. Hope to hear back from you soon!

Jake Seresin

November 23rd ,2014

Hello Future Lieutenant Jake Seresin,

I’m thrilled you actually decided to write. I’m glad my name was all you needed to pick up that pen. I have to admit you made me giggle a few times. You seem effortlessly funny Mr. Seresin. Even for a soon-to-be Pilot.

I find it comical you’re asking me about the weather of all things, Midshipmen. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on an awkward first date? But to answer your question, yes it’s cold as all get out up here. But I’m from Indiana so I’m used to it. Doesn’t mean I didn’t wish West Point wasn’t in Georgia or something. Why’d they have to put all the Military schools in the north?

What was it like growing up in Texas? Did you ever see snow? One of my favorite memories from this place is watching my roommate (who’s from Florida) see and play in snow for the first time. She froze her ass off but had the day of her life. She also hates snow now. So, it looks like you warm people have that in common.

To sum it up I guess you can say we fire rockets and missiles. My professors always say, ‘If it sounds like rocket science, it is’. Basically, we need to protect the ground troops from the flying bastards aka you. Although we do love our American flying bastards. So, I guess that doesn’t knock you down too many pegs in my book. Do you think they matched us up because our jobs are the antithesis of the other? If so, somebody had a hilarious sense of humor.

I’ve never been in a jet, and I have no plans to either. I don’t think I’d enjoy it if we’re being honest. You’re talking to the girl who gets sea-sick on cruises and had to take a motion pill if we’re going to an amusement park. My lil brain can’t handle the motion. A character flaw as they say. I also have a sense that you wouldn’t go to easy on me, being Army and all. I’ll stick to my calculations and rockets.

Don’t tell anybody I wrote this, but I do think what you guys do is so badass. I work with a bunch of jealous Cadets who couldn’t make it into the Army Aviation division, they’re just bitter. When I was little my dad used to take me to the Blue Angels shows in Chicago whenever they made their way across the States. Kind of the reason why I wanted to be in the military in the first place. But only my dad knows that. And well, I guess you now too. So, keep my secret safe Mr. Seresin.

I know the weather is less than desirable, but I do hope you’re finding things you love in Annapolis! There are some of the best crab cakes I’ve ever had there.

Thanks for the smiles after a long week!

Your New Friend,

Y/N Y/L/N

February 16th, 2015

Future Second Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N,

That has a right to it doesn’t it? Your name sounds good with a Second Lieutenant in front of it. Sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. Getting busy with graduation coming up and practical’s and all. It’s a lame excuse I know, but it’s all I got. I hope you know how big I smiled reading your letter to me. I read it about fifty times before I could write a decent response to you. You have a way with words that I haven’t read in a long, long time.

Was your father in the military? None of my family was. I also loved the Blue Angels when they came down to Houston for the air shows. I’d always beg and plead and finally my mom or sister would give in and take me. They’re also the reason I’m here. So, I guess we should thank them that we got to meet. Neither you nor I would be in these academies without them. Your secret is locked away in the drawer and safe in my head too. It’s super safe with me.

I’ll be honest, the food here is so damn good. I sure do miss my Texas barbeque, but the spread is better up over here. Plus, the snacks? I didn’t know there was different brands sold across the states and you guys have better girl scout cookies! That’s just not fair. I could’ve gone my whole life knowing that there were two versions of girl scout cookies and I got the worse version. I’ve enjoyed the move far more than I’ve regretted it. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done for myself. It doesn’t guarantee I’ll be a pilot, but it means I’m one step closer to getting there.

What all schooling do you have to do after you graduate this spring? Are you up for deployment soon? I’ve got a lot left to go. If I get picked after I’ve got a few years of flight school ahead of me. Then I’ll really be off. Wish me luck I make it!

With Love,

Jake

March 13th, 2015

Mr. Seresin,

I was getting worried! I thought it was something I had wrote. I’m glad it’s your negligence and not mine for the lack of communication. I forgive you though. It’s been stressful up here in New York as well. I luckily don’t have any practical’s I need to worry about. Just a few nuclear engineering classes are standing in between me and graduation.

I just have a year of Officer School (if I get selected that is) after this is all set and done come June. We have to apply this April so I’m getting a little anxious about the whole thing. I don’t really have a backup plan that I’d actually like to do so I really, really hope I get selected. Enough about me though, let’s talk about you. You’re going to get picked! Don’t let any bad thoughts get in between you and your goal. I think you’ll make a fine pilot Jake. You seem to have your wits about you which is the first step a lot of people miss.

My dad was in the Navy, like you. Don’t gloat though, it’ll ruin the finely crafted image I have of you. He was a deck hand or something like that. I wish I could ask him some more about it, but he passed when I was just thirteen. I just remember he loved being in the Navy. He loved everything about it. He made it seem like anything was possible with a passion.

I’m glad you’re enjoying the food and the girl scout cookies. It took me by surprise when I got Peanut Butter Patties instead of Tagalongs when I was down south for a winter. I’m so glad I grew up where the real GSC are sold.

I hope this letter brought you as much joy as yours brought me.

With the Same Love,

Y/N

(P.S. – Here’s my number if you’d like to text instead of write. No pressure!)

It had only been a week since you sent the last letter. Sure, you hadn’t really known the guy all too well but there was something so exciting about sending written mail. You felt like a little kid on Christmas waiting for a response from him. Who knew throwing your name in something so silly for your class would bring you so much joy.

You sat down on your desk setting your computer out front of you to study. Jake was right. It was an awfully busy time of the year. Applying for your future. Studying for you exams. When you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket you truly didn’t think much of it. It was only hours later when you finally closed the laptop shut that you went to check it that your face scrunched in confusion. You didn’t recognize the area code. It was then that it clicked that it could be him.

No pressure at all text! Hi there (it’s Jake).

You grinned reading it over and over again. That was quick! Maybe you made an impression? You sure hoped so. You hardly even knew what the guy looked like. You might’ve gone digging a little when you got his name. He was cute. Handsome even. But he seemed like that type. That arrogant pilot type. But even in just the two letters you received from him you got the hint that he wasn’t that type of guy at all.

I didn’t think you’d actually text me. It’s good to hear from you.

The messages between the two of you were infrequent at best as the semester ended. But he never failed to put a smile on your face. When you needed a pick me up you went through and read the messages that popped up.

On your graduation day you sent him a picture of you and a few friends in a cap and gown with the text: Beat you! You’re also looking at your newest Officer Candidate too!

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply. Your face only grew with glee seeing his response: Congrats Second Lieutenant. And future Captain. Knew you’d do it. You look beautiful as always.

Typing a quick reply, you hid your smile away just knowing your friends would make a stupid comment about the mystery man that always had you so smiley: You’re making me blush all the way up here in New York. I better get a picture next weekend when you do the same, future Lieutenant.

He came through on your request. When you got the text you could only smile. You spotted him in the picture immediately, your eyes drawn to him. He was so damned handsome. How lucky were you to get paired with a guy like that? Your smile grew further when you read the message: Lieutenant (and future pilot) Jake Seresin reporting for picture duty.

The messages occurred naturally between through the years as you were deployed, and he was in school. Some months you texted more and some you didn’t hear from him at all. It never bothered you. The silly little thing called life happened for both of you.

Still, the two of you often made time for phone calls when the time was right. The first time you talked on the phone you thought you were going to quite literally throw up you were so nervous. But in typical Jake Seresin fashion he made you feel cool as a cucumber. You talked and talked and talked into the morning. It felt so normal. Like you were catching up with an old friend. Jake Seresin. Who was this man that was making it hard to date? He was quite literally everything you wanted and needed in a partner. The universe had a funny way of working sometimes.

It had been six long years since you received that first letter from him. He was off on a mission now. A dangerous one he couldn’t tell you much about. But he wanted you at his arrival back home in San Diego and you promised him you’d be there. Assured him. That’s how you ended up in here pacing in the hotel room contemplating whether you should really go or not. It felt too intimate, like you were intruding. But he did say none of his family would be there, they had other things going on as the mission was a bit of a surprise to everybody. The pilots were all instructed to keep it as quiet as possible.

Your hands were shaking as you parked your car in the overcrowded lot. Gripping the steering wheel, you took a long breath in. You could do this. You had to do this. For him, for you. You stepped out of the car and made you way to the dock. The aircraft carrier was already docked by the time you got to the meeting site. You stood back and waited. Watched and waited. It felt like an eternity then finally the men and women started pouring out in their Navy Whites. You’d always thought they looked the sharpest of the bunch, but you’d never tell Jake that. He’d make fun of your Army uniforms or something like that.

It felt like both an eternity and seconds later that you spotted him amongst the crowd of sailors exiting the ship searching high and low for you. You promised you’d be there. And here you were. He either felt your eyes on him or had an uncanny sense of timing as his eyes locked with your own. His smile had melted you right there on the spot. You felt helpless as you willed your brain to move but it wouldn’t. You only began to panic a little as he moved with ease through the crowd making his way right to you.

He stood in front of you. Jake Seresin stood in front of you, much taller than you thought, “I knew I recognized you. First Lieutenant Y/L/N.” His eyebrows raised as you gaped at him with wide eyes as if he wasn’t really there. Closing your mouth, you knew you needed to pull it together but that sounded much easier said than done. Jake freaking Seresin, your pen pal was really standing in front of you in real life. He was more of enigma in your mind at this point. Somebody you could have deep life conversations with so easily but never having actually met the man it was hard for you to grasp he was really real. And standing in front of you.

“Jake.” You smiled hoping it sounded somewhat normal. He was so much more handsome than the photos he sent through the years. How was that possible? Wasn’t it supposed to go the other way? You continued once your head finally could form coherent sentences, “Well it’s actually Captain now. Got promoted a couple weeks ago.”

He turned his head to the side just slightly, “You didn’t tell me that.” Almost looking offended you hadn’t told him.

“Never felt like the right time to divulge. With this mission and all. Had to keep you locked in.” You looked up to him now studying his face as you gained more courage talking to him. He was something your dreams couldn’t make up.

He nodded not daring to take his eyes off you. He too thought you were even prettier than he could have envisioned. You’d sent pictures and he’d followed your social media, but nothing could’ve prepared him. Especially in your civilian clothes, he was a sucker already. Deep down Jake knew you were the reason he was so non-committal before. He was looking for somebody just like you and couldn’t find her. Yet here you stood in front of him. You were so funny and witty and smart, and yet he couldn’t put it all into words. You are the whole package and so much more.

“You still could’ve told me. We talked enough before I left.” He grinned seeing that the tension was already easing from your shoulders.

You shook your head, “Wasn’t about me Seresin. I just wanted you to stay focused and safe. And thank goodness you did.” You admitted a little more than you wanted, but he just made you feel so gushy. Like you were a sweeter version of yourself you could hardly recognize. And the words just kept flowing out when he gave you that look with those green eyes.

“Oh yeah?” He challenged you a bit sensing that you were starting to feel a bit more comfortable with him already, “Didn’t think you’d be so relieved darlin’.”

Ignoring the sweet term of endearment you shook your head, “And waste six years of my life on nothing? Jake that’s so inefficient. Of course, I want you safe.” The words came fast, and they were snarkier than you intended. But you truly couldn’t help it.  He had you relaxed within the first five minutes of talking to him. You felt like you could just be you.

He threw his head back in laughter. That same weight had lifted right off his shoulders when you snapped back at him like he was waiting on it, “There she is. My favorite mouthy girl.”

He said it so nonchalantly you thought your heart was going to combust on the spot. Your cheeks surely gave way to your reaction to his words. His favorite mouthy girl? Christ. He was trying to send you into a coma or something! Your brain quite literally short circuited as it failed to form any coherent sentence. He only chuckled in response seeing your cheeks heat up in a blazing blush.

“It’s so nice to actually see you in person. You know I’ve always told you this, but it rings even truer even now. You’re quite a stunner, Captain.” His eyes met yours before you looked away quickly feeling as though you were going to faint at those words. You weren’t sure how this interaction was going to go initially. But you really didn’t think he’d come right out and say that he found you stunning. The occasional letter and texts in between had grown flirtier the longer you had known him, but it never crossed your mind he’d be so outright with it.

You turned away out of sheer bashfulness. Never had a man been so bold with you before. It was foreign. Not uncomfortable, no. Nothing could be with him. He made it easier than seemed possible.

“You flatter me Jake.” You grinned up at him hoping your makeup would hide the darkening of your cheeks, “I should say the same for you. Handsome as ever.”

“Now you’re making me blush, Cap.” Sure as hell the faintest pink dusted his cheek, but he seemed much stronger than you. He kept the eye contact going.

You shook your head trying to bite back the big smile you had on your face, but it showed through anyway. How was he doing this? Making you feel so giddy just by looking at him. You knew this man but for the first time it actually felt like you might actually love him. You’d had the deepest conversations with him. When you needed a laugh you texted him. When you craved advice you called him. He was the guy you turned to. And it dawned on you that he never failed to answer you. He wanted to take your calls and answer your texts. He looked forward to it. He too had fallen for a woman he’d never met before.

You needed the change the subject and fast or more words would be tumbling out, “How was the mission? Everyone make it out okay?” You asked having no idea what you were getting yourself into. Jake hadn’t told you much about what they were doing, couldn’t tell you much. But now that it was over he couldn’t wait to tell you every nitty gritty little detail.

“I’ll tell you if you let me buy you a drink?” He gave you a smirk that sent nerves racing throughout your body. Jesus. This man was something else.

Giving him a curious once over you nodded, “Shouldn’t I be the one buying you a drink sailor? You coming home and all?”

“Absolutely not. I’ll never let you buy me a drink darlin’.”

Gosh, Jake was actually going to be the death of you. He was so good making his words come off so easily. You felt terribly high strung next to him, “And why not?”

“Because I’m trying to woo you sweetheart. When I get you to go on a date with me I have to impress you. Inevitably that’ll work and you’ll become my girlfriend. And I can’t have my girlfriend paying for my drinks, no. And it’ll only get worse when I get the pleasure of marrying you. If my wife thinks she’ll pay for a thing she had another thing coming.” He gleamed at you as if he didn’t just say all of that.

You gulped before a stupid smile grew on your face. Of course, you knew he was forward but again, he just took you on an entirely new adventure with that statement, “That’s quite a bold statement Jake.”

He shrugged, “I thought I should make my intentions perfectly clear. I think you’re one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. And you’re perfectly you. Sharp as tack. Funnier than ever. You’re you. And I really like you.”

You let out a breath not sure if you really believed all of that, “So not just pals, huh?” It was all you could think of quickly but that did it for him. Sealed the deal. He knew he was going to marry you right then and there. You’d complete him in every way he needed you and vice versa.

He shook his head taking his arm in yours, “Not just pals.” Leaning into his gentle embrace you led him to your car where he would not let you drive. He insisted that it was a gentleman’s job even if he was only running off four hours of sleep. You’d appeased the man who was on his very best behavior. Not that you minded. Nope, not at all. You were thrilled that Jake was exactly who he seemed to be. Your Jake. Not just pals indeed.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy

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[leclsrc]

more than anyone ✴︎ cl16

genre: childhood friends to enemies to lovers (a mouthful), smut, humor, Fluffff!!!!, angst

word count: 13.7k  

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen with an unrepaired friendship hanging by a thread. Ten years and a whole lifetime later, you’re forced to work with him confront it all over again.

auds here… hi hi hi!!!! HAPPY 4k to us guys!!!!! i am so insanely thankful for all of u and i will make this a longer note when i wake up tomorrow because i have so much to say but have this for now. i hope u like it,i love love love u guys forever also i changed the banner because i wanted to

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... penetrative sex, semi public sex, praise central, size kink (pretty tame smut in auds world)

You know it’s bad when your assistant-and-friend-aka-friendsistant (her vernacular) Rachel walks in with a free coffee without a quip about how dependent you are on this exact order of coffee (she’s a millennial, so caffeine and lack thereof are in her arsenal of Funny Jokes). You fear you didn’t correctly anticipate just how bad it was going to be when she stays instead of leaving to work on your schedule, combing a few fingers through her fringe and sitting herself on your couch stiffly. Maybe you’re intuitive, maybe you spend too much time with Rachel and you can spot the way she scratches at her eye, maybe both—but it’s bad.

You don’t take a sip from the Starbucks that sits idly on the coaster, opting to watch the latte sweat instead. You do stare, though, at Rachel’s stagnant posture, scrutinizing her every movement. She takes a few deep breaths and drops the bomb.

“David sent me to tell you he has good news. But there is, um. Bad news.” Dread writhes through you at the mention of your manager with bad news, and you clear your throat to compose yourself.

“What’s going on?”

She purses her lips. “He’s on his way over here. Just…” She cocks her head sharply to the glass door of your home office, expression antsy. “Sorry. Wait for him. I can’t tell you anything yet.”

You take a swig from the pity coffee. “Am I getting blacklisted?”

“God, you dumbass, no—” She makes an incredulous noise, but before she can open her mouth to elaborate, your manager walks in with an excited expression on his face, pocketing his Juul to take a seat by your table. His smile is the radiant one of a man over forty with a comical amount of Botox.

“Rachel told me you had”—you stifle the adjective—“news.”

“That I do, yes.” He hums, tracing the edge of your table. “Did you enjoy Paris Fashion Week?”

Beside the brash Frenchmen, God-awful timezone differences and consequent calls at half past three, hungover show attendances, posing for pictures until your ankles blistered, and a temporary diet of black coffee, cigarettes, and stale croissants—sure, it was fun. It was your job to attend anyway, your obligation to shake hands with important people and be photographed in designer clothing and benefit from the PR, but how often could people call work fun? 

“Sure.” You take another gulp off your coffee. “It was… fun.”

“Well, since your movie’s doing well,” David pauses and hums, “how do you feel about another few weeks of fun?” 

“Like Paris Fashion Week—weeks… this month?” You frown, eyebrows knitting together. Is this a new Vogue thing? You’re not sure how many updates they give the schedule, but you wouldn’t mind too much if you could travel again for a little bit. “So soon after spring? Did Anna want this?”

“Iiiit’s, er, Vogue’s new project. Capsule shows in Europe, coastal and summery. She wanted an exclusive guest list. She asked for you by name,” David says smugly. “Well, she called my office, granted. But to ask for you—”

“Are you fucking serious?” You stand up, and if you hadn’t had some fix of coffee you would’ve gotten dizzy. “David, tell me you’re serious.” Time seems to have suspended itself as you await his answer—which, if affirmative, would be a pretty big deal to you. 

“Yeah, I am.” He plays off a grin. “She loved your movie with Greta, and would love to send you to Europe to do PR on a few shows and pair up with some guests on a couple features. Exclusive stuff.”

You sit back down, mouth slack. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe it.” Your eyes dart to Rachel, who’s caught between a smile and an awkward purse of her lips. “Fuck! This is huge, David.”

“Yeah—okay, yeah, it is.” David shifts in his seat and crosses, then uncrosses, his legs, then his arms. He stutters for a second. “Good and bad news, remember?”

You blink a few times. You’d nearly totally forgotten the fact that this good news—and it is overwhelmingly good—comes with a bout of bad news, so bad apparently that it’s noteworthy enough to state alongside this massive deal. But it’s. Fine. It’s whatever. Worst case scenario, you’re going to need to fucking swim to Europe sans oxygen canister.

“So… the shows? Events, and shit?” He watches, waiting for you to signal that you follow. When you nod, he continues, averting his gaze to the face of his Patek. “They’re all in Monaco.”

Wrong.

“Monaco.” You repeat, deadpanning your delivery. It’s not out of the ordinary, the glitz and coast of the city being a perfect venue for high fashion. But Monaco is different for you, vastly different, and you tend to avoid the place to the best of your abilities. “Monaco. Are—you’re sure?”

“Mmm,” he hums in affirmation. “I know, I know you’re not exactly privy to Monaco because, bleh, childhood shit, whatever. But this—like you said, this is huge! And I don’t think we should jeopardize that.” He pulls a piece of paper from the folders tucked in his arm and waves it around.

“Well—yeah, I suppose. I’ll deal with it.”

“Yeah.” He sucks his teeth, eyes gliding over the scenery of L.A. that your window offers. “Okay, that’s it, so. Byeandhaveagoodlunch.” He slams the paper onto your desk, jostling you a little, but as he makes his exeunt, Rachel raises her arm to stop him.

“Is that it, David?” She asks, an edge to her voice.

You pick up the paper as they make hushed, stifled conversation, and find that it’s a call sheet of sorts, listing all the collaborators traveling to Monaco and what or who they’re in charge of, or paired up with, there. Models, athletes, celebrities, influencers—all making TikToks, or appearances, or brand deals, or interviews, or YouTube videos, the whole shebang.

“Yeah,” says David dismissively—nervously? “That’s it.”

You search for your name. “Okay. Um, hey.” Rachel turns to you, trying to catch your eye, which is busy scanning the sheet. “Did, um—did David mention you’re paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature? Because you are. Paired up with Charles Leclerc for a feature, I mean.”

David sucks his teeth. “Thank you very much for graciously reminding me of that, Rachel.” 

Still half-distracted and growing increasingly worried with the exchange happening in front of you, you make haste in your search—eventually, you find your name, printed in plain letters beside one you’ve wished to never read over ever again.

“Wait, my Charles?” You pause and look up, suppressing a yell as your eyes widen, and you blunder over a pathetic self-correction. “I mean—no, sorry—Charles, as in Charles Leclerc? I can’t work with him, you know this!” 

“Wh—well, Vogue apparently wanted a really good Monaco-born pair and they seriously lucked out on you two. Also,” Rachel says, adamantly defending herself, “you’re always saying you can work ‘with anyone’!” She raises two comically vigorous air quotes to further her (moot) point.

“I didn’t ev—I never say that,” you lie straight through your teeth, mouth dry. You definitely do. You can place all the exact moments. “I would’ve known if I did. Rach—David—I cannot, absolutely cannot work with Leclerc. He’s my… we…” You shut your eyes and sneak two fingers upward to massage your temple, slowly caving into defeat.

David makes an oh well face and shrugs passively. “Fine. Then it’s either Anna Wintour’s special job that will help the Academy campaign or not meeting the ex-bo—”

“—friend.” You look up to cut him off, eyes narrowed. “Ex-friend.”

“Alright, kid. Suuuure.” David leans against the back wall of your office as Rachel comes to comfort you, her eyes already sympathetic and droopy. It shouldn’t be so bad, right? She asks sweetly, nudging the latte closer to your catatonic figure. You have seen him since, anyway.

With a despondent gaze, you just remain silent, refusing to state the negative aloud, opting to stare at the latte. At your disagreeable silence, Rachel continues, tone anxious: You have seen him since. Right?

You moved out of Monaco at fourteen, right after the school year finished and your father had gotten the opportunity to transfer out. The whole thing would’ve—should’ve, even—been a sentimental affair, full of tears and dramatic caresses of your bedroom wall, whispering thank yous to the city air in French and Italian, but it wasn’t. Months prior, you’d been preparing yourself for this kind of goodbye; but when it came to it, you merely kissed your extended family goodbye and slept en route to the airport, silk sleeping mask pulled taut over your shut eyelids. The only thing you left in the city was a letter written only to Gi and Cha about how much you’d miss them, with your email address scribbled at the bottom for an added touch, in case they felt like sending you longer messages.

“Do you two at least get along?” David asks, noting how genuinely aghast you appear.

“It’s not that simple.” You tap a nail against your desk a few times. “But I think it’ll be fine. I hope, at least. We used to be… good friends? As teenagers.”

You feel like an alien hearing yourself talk about it, talk about him and the whole circumstance a decade later. Your friendship with Charles was the only thing that mattered to your adolescent self, all lemonade stands and long car rides and stealthy conversations about your futures (racing and acting, respectively). It was happiness, in what you consider to be its truest form, it was lovely and real. And it ended abruptly, no goodbyes, no nothing.

“So it’s a no.”

“I’m just saying it’s impossible for me to work with him, and in Monaco no less?!” Your eyes are wild with frustration and anxiety at the prospect of your past whipping you in the face, full-fledged. “I don’t even talk about the guy or the city, how can I spend time with him there?”

“Are you seriously going to junk this amazing fucking opportunity just because of some petty childhood fight?” David’s tone is comparable to that of a dad’s, scolding and horrified, almost. “Look. If you don’t take this, career-wise, it doesn’t mean much. You get paid a shit ton, you’ll survive—you’ll do well. But emotions-wise? Maturity-wise? Be the bigger person and do it—I mean it.”

You stare back at him because you know he’s right. “Maybe it won’t be a big, long feature?” Rachel offers as some advice, some comfort. “If you reject it, his team will know, and so will he.”

And yes, you were fourteen, and yes it was petty and unexplainable even for fourteen—but there was a catalyst to all of this, a reason why the move became easy and forgetting childhood memories became second nature. A reason why you’re selective with who you make contact with from home. A reason why Giada and Charlotte are selective with topics they choose to bring up with you.

So, fuck it, really. That’s how you end up in Monaco, booked for the next three weeks, sharing a studio and public appearances and a 24-hour shoot with the last person you’d ever want to be in a room with. Ten years later—the person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

—

“MAMAN!” Charles’ voice was loud, loud, and so incredibly loud. You followed not far behind, legs running at full speed to try and leap onto his lanky figure and wrap an arm around his head to quiet him. It’d been futile: he ended up at the dining table facing his family with a victorious smile on his pink face. He breathed heavy, waiting for everyone to turn their attention to him.

“Charles,” you chimed in warningly, breathing even harder with the effort you had exerted to chase him from the sidewalk to here. “Don’t.”

“Guess who got the lead spot in the recital.” He slowly turned to point at to your angry face, and then bent, rifling through his already messy, grubby knapsack for something that he raised with glee: a headress that read…

“But-ter-cup.” Hervé sounded amused when he looked at your fuming expression. “You?”

“Yes, Papa! Maybe, just maybe,” he sing-songed, using the term wrong yet again, “she got the titular role!” He walked over to you and placed the headress square on your head, beaming. 

“There is no titular role in a school recital,” you seethed, burning with embarrassment. Your stellar academic record had apparently granted you incentive to be centre stage during the routine year-end recital, where years were lumped into twos or threes (in your and Charles’ cases, Years 8 and 9) and the student body would dance or sing a variety of teacher-selected music.

In your case, it was Build Me Up, Buttercup, complete with choreography you’d be practicing over the next month and a half. Charles laughed at your pouting expression, didn’t stop laughing even when you’d both sat down and twirled through forkfuls of spaghetti, didn’t stop chuckling even when Lorenzo got the turn to speak and he started talking about how Bringing Up Baby was his movie of the month.

You allowed him to laugh—even laughed yourself at some point—because all day, you’d been absently wondering how you’d break the news about your moving away to him.

—

Charles is not okay. He’d gotten off a red-eye from a short vacation stint, and now he’s back in Monaco, sleepy and a bit jetlagged, being briefed on brand deals and press junkets he has to accomplish by three p.m. today. “On the dot, sharp,” said his assistant, like the two didn’t just mean the same fucking thing. He’s patient, though, smiling through the exhaustion, through the dressing room, the tape around his waist and legs to measure clothes for this fashion… thing.

“A meeting for Ferrari, two TikToks, a vlog for your personal YouTube channel, three stories by noon… oh, and in the next few weeks, you’re going to film a Vogue-sponsored 24 Hours With… with—”

“D’accord, thank you,” he cuts in, already exhausted from the spiel alone. He’s a professional; no matter what people believed or what gossip rags liked to say about him, he maintains a well-kept reputation of being polite and kind to people he works with. Maybe it’s the jetlag, maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the heat outside, but today he just wants to close his eyes and sleep for days.

But the assistant follows, clipboard and Excel sheet and all, still spouting all his media obligations lest he forget (and mark his words, he definitely will). “Sorry,” he says. He’s new, probably assigned as a part of the Vogue team, lanky and tall and nervous looking. “I’m new. I’m Greg.”

Briefly, Charles is left alone to stare at his tired reflection while the assistants reconvene and connect. There’s several of them, each assigned or already committed to a different celebrity. Charles should know more details, but there’s only so much reading of a call sheet he can do before he’s conked out on Ambien; he trusts he’ll be around people much more famous than he is, probably American or English, actors and athletes alike. He’ll figure it out.

Yeah, she’s almost ready. Is Charles here? One of the assistants says, a bright-eyed American. They need to be introduced before 11. Her voice is quiet, quick and hushed, and Charles has to focus to hear what she’s saying. Greg chips in with something he can’t decipher; in response, the American whispers, Yeah, I’ll get her to sign it for you. Bring Charles out in five.

In five, he is indeed being brought out to the lobby of this hotel; the outdoor area is decked out with models, cocktail tables, Vogue signage and a carpet for pictures. It’s even busier inside, wait staff and event coordinators conversing in angry, aggressive French—table settings, mineral water, extra forks are needed. Greg keeps a steady pace transporting Charles through the indoor throng, and at 10:59, Charles is outside, by the pool.

“Um, right, yeah. Okay, uh—wait here. Your partner—not really partner, but like, mate? Fuck, definitely not. Um, partner. She’s on her way heeere…” He checks his phone. “Okay. You caught her name, right?” Charles nods to fend him off. “Okay. So, wait here.”

There are cameras taking pictures of him when Greg departs, some microphones waved his way; in the distance he spots fans waving crazily, sporting Ferrari merch. Charles is doing what he’s told (waiting, maybe posing a bit) when an even bigger crowd appears, surrounding one person; with their arrival, ameras click even faster, and an uproar follows. Greg waves him over, pointing at the person frantically, so Charles smiles, extends a hand, and when the crowd parts—

There you are, in all your glory. Pink dress, hair clipped into a bun, a tanline on your exposed skin, lithe hand coming up to shake his. Your eyes are flat but the lack of expression doesn’t inoculate them from beauty; they remain sparkling and pretty all the same. Cameras snap the interaction, seemingly innocent, seemingly the first.

He fights, he really does, to keep his hands shaking yours. He forces himself not to hug you, press a kiss to your cheek even if that might look friendly, caress a hand across your cheekbone, brush the tendrils of hair out of your eyes. It’s a valiant effort.

A valiant effort that pays off because, as soon as you’re ushered into a room by yourselves, your smile turns into a scoff; your hands are kept to yourself, slipping a pair of sunglasses on, and; underneath them, your eyes begin to roll. “I need a drink,” you huff, not even looking at him. 

You’re on two couches opposite each other, in what he assumes to be a foyer to a hotel room that’s much bigger than the one he was in earlier. A-list fame and that. The girl he’d seen earlier scurries off, mumbling something about a martini. Greg, beside him, goes: “Do you need a drink, too?” But he shakes his head.

“Are you voluntarily working for this guy, Greg?” You refer to his assistant by name, offering a sarastic, honeyed smile. You adjust the strap of your dress and he blinks his gaze away.

“Oh, no. I mean—yeah. Kind of. I was assigned to him.”

“It’s okay, I don’t expect you to do it of your own will,” you joke, crossing your legs.

Charles laughs dryly. “Who asked?”

“So he speaks…” You ping off his retort without missing a beat, a sardonic smile playing at your lips. 

“In the two minutes we’ve been around each other, you’ve insulted me and my assistant. I’d prefer silence, your highness.”

“Aww, did my joke and asking Greg a question piss you off?” You suck your teeth. “You must be fun at parties.”

“Do you two, um. I don’t want to, like, overstep, but do you know each other?” Charles notices that Greg’s forearm is signed by you and realizes he has no allies here, with an inward grimace. “Or if you don’t, like, are you two just… not in good moods or something?”

The girl comes in then, saying here’s the martini and catering you a sweaty glass with a smile. You offer up the empty space beside you, patting the white leather for her to sit down on. Your eyes meet his again briefly, catty and a bit challenging, before you turn back to the girl. “Sit.”

Maybe Charles spends too much time with Max, because he’s starting to become more and more inclined to getting the last word in lately. “Bossing people around, eh? Fame really does change you.” He offers a smile of his own.

“She’s my assistant, Rachel,” you say sweetly, but your smile is gritty. “We need to check my schedule.”

He wants to slap himself. “Too busy to open your calendar?” Nevermind, he’s a god.

Your sarcastic smile drops. “And what’s on yours? P6 this week, P7 next, DNF after?”

Fuck. The tension is so thick at this point, it’s almost steaming hot. Both the assistants stare at you, waiting for Charles to wedge something in, but he bites himself back. Thankfully, right as the silence just begins to settle like oil on water, the door swings open and one of the coordinators steps in, noisily rattling off the week’s plans and proclaiming you’re both free for the remainder of the day before things pick back up—Schiaparelli show at noon, both of you, front row—tomorrow.

The four of you filter out of the room, and you make a quip about your autograph on Greg’s arm, which grants your assistant some face time with Charles. She turns to him, combing a hand through her hair and furrowing her thick eyebrows. “Hey, I’m Rachel, by the way.”

“Charles.”

“I know,” she says sheepishly. “Listen. I know you two have history, she—we—she’s, um, told me about it before. I don’t know the whole story, and I’m not… like, I’m not saying I do, so I respect it, whatever it is. But I hope you can find it in you to work with her properly. It’s a huge gig for you both. So—yeah, uh. Great job, and good luck.”

She smiles with a nod before exiting the room, leaving Charles alone and stirring with thoughts and memories woken from wild unrest.

—

“Alors,” Charles had said, not turning from his position in front of your vanity mirror. He’d been picking at his face, stopping only when you tsked at him not to. “What is the problem?” His eyes flicked over to you, your lying figure on the bed exhaling little puffs of frustrated air to the ceiling. “Are you missing the recital?”

“Quoi? Non.” You gnawed at your lip, accepting your defeat. You couldn’t lie for much longer, not when you’d been keeping this under wraps for two months. “Listen. Charles.” He nodded, clearly preoccupied with something. “Charles.”

“Hmm?”

“Can you ple—look at me.” Your voice hardened.

He’d noticed it then, the curt cutoff of your voice, the absent look in your eyes. He knows you even through a mirror, even in the low light of your room. “Desolé. This pimple won’t go away.”

“Charles,” you said, groaning but allowing yourself to laugh. “Listen.”

“Okay.” He turned to face you, a spot on his chin red from how long he’d been scratching at it.

You shrugged then, suddenly scared to deal with the realness of it all. You didn’t understand why you felt so torn. “It’s something to do with me,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“I’m moving.” You rubbed at your nose, the cold draft coming in through the window causing you to sniffle. “Out of Monaco.”

A beat. “What?”

You closed your fingers around your necklace, scratching absently at the divots of the pendant. One, two, three little dips in the gold locket, tiny but comforting. “Yeah. In a few months, like, after school. It’s Papa—his job. It’s a whole thing.”

“Europe?” You shook your head. America.

“What… well, what does that mean, then?” His expression didn’t waver but if anything did, it was his eyes—desperate, seeking more answers, wanting them with a guttural, belly-deep desire. You’re his best friend, so if he has to let you go in this life, he at least needs to know everything about the move. 

“We’ll keep in touch,” you reassured, kicking your leg to further your point. “You were bound to get busy with karting anyway, so it’s like. Ça revient au même.”

“It isn’t the same,” he said, his voice thin and cracking. 

“You’ll be fine.”

“You have a very misguided idea of who I am.”

“Shut up. Come off it,” you laughed, sitting up straighter. “We’ll call everyday, and I’ll meet all the famous people who’ll get me a real acting job, and I’ll come for the holidays or summer or something. Things won’t change. Not that much, at least.”

“Maybe, just maybe.” He pauses. “Will you be here for my birthday, at least?” He’d made a big deal all year of his turning sixteen on the sixteenth.

“Charles,” you sighed. 

“No, yeah. I get it.” He looked down, rubbing his thumbs together, like he’s just been hit across the face. He will tell you one day it felt infinitely more painful than that. But at the time he shook his head and looked up at you, reached his pinky to yours, a thin slip of paper around the finger that matched your interlocked one, and didn’t say anything else.

Just: “We’ll be okay.”

—

You could pin a lot of adjectives on Monaco: picturesque, without a doubt; warm, glamorous, but you’d sooner die than pin the word home over it. The city is sprawling even with the little surface area it possesses, and only few things seem familiar. Your lodging is a hotel in Monte-Carlo, a penthouse suite that requires you to travel very little. It feels like a vacation.

And you embody the role of a vacationer very well—the first five, six days of your stay in Monaco went great, mainly appearances that lasted a few hours at most and several junkets to promote Vogue and your latest film, before you were free to do whatever you wished. You’d gone the touristy route already: shopping more times than you could count, trying your immense luck at the casinos, and eating at Michelin-starred restaurants; eventually all the fun blurred into each other and you found solace in naps instead.

Your troubles are not far behind, however, and they finally come after you on Day 7. The event coordinators had informed Rachel, who in turn informed you, that the first of next week’s agenda would be a photographed tour of the Musée Océanographique de Monaco, a grand seaside building right at the edge of the water. Today is, apparently, a day for you to “fraternize with” Charles, which meant you would once again need to put a façade over your less-than-kind appearance toward him.

Those are the concluding words of David’s very firm text, encouraging (read: coercing) you to settle things with Charles into some approximation of civility. You resolve things by calling him to skip over the awkwardness that comes with texting. It takes you all of twenty minutes and twice your body weight in courage to press the green telephone button.

“B’jour,” he goes, his voice quick. French people (he will hate that you called him French, even if it was just in your head; you relish in this) always talk rapidly. After some silence, he clears his throat: “Hello?”

Butterflies—some form of them, whatever—flutter in your stomach. “It’s me.”

He drops formalities and adopts a disinterested voice. “Huh. What do you want?” The butterflies have rotted to death.

“I need to talk to you.”

“To insult me again?” He sounds a little amused even over the phone, a breath of laughter landing in your ear. “Bah, I get it. We are enemies. You have no interest in reconnecting, et cetera. C’est tout ce que tu as à dire? I gotta go.”

Your face warms at his accusatory tone. “Wow, leave it to a guy to be charming, huh?”

“Why should I be charming with you?”

“At least be polite,” you taunt, but your voice lacks its usual edge. On the other line, Charles lets his own defiant tone ebb downward.

At least be polite. It’s the least he can owe you after ten years of forgetting. It wasn’t as if you two had a mutual agreement then, in 2013 when you moved away, to stop becoming friends. For months before you moved out, he completely stopped talking to you, like he’d forgotten you two were even connected, were even friends. What little words you two shared became petty and abrasive, and suddenly Monaco lost its color. The closeness you had with him, which for so long you’d convinced yourself was once-in-a-lifetime, was ripped from you, robbed from you—by him, no less, which hurt all the more. You’d given up on finding out why at some point. You waited for him to reach out. Maybe, you told yourself, just maybe, it would take a few months, a year.

Ten years of radio silence. He owes you that: politeness.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say to nobody in particular, in an effort to segue into the topic of your choosing. “Look, we’re supposed to be friends. In… on camera, at least. It’s disastrous if we look like we, you know, hate each other. We need to be professional.”

“For the cameras,” he says back, solemn.

“Yeah.” You wind a finger through your hair. “Just… for the sake of civility.”

You hear his little hums of consideration. “D’accord,” he says after a few minutes. “Truce, then.”

“Sure.” You smile a little. “I have to go.”

—

You were halfway through your mess of clothes when your mum peeked through your door, her hair held back by a headband. “Call you yet, poppet?” 

“Non,” you said, decimating your voice to a monotonous murmur. You looked up from the dress you’d been folding and offer a half-hearted, sardonic smile. “Je t’ai dit qu’il ne le ferait pas.” You were right: he wouldn’t call. What difference did a month make, anyway? This time, though, the usual victory of being right settled into an ugly disappointment in the pit of your stomach.

You wanted so badly to be wrong. To clamber to the telephone, to your Skype, to your cellphone, any of the three, and see his name flashed across the helm or his voice in your ear. Maybe he was dialing your number now, to ask if you wanted to grab dinner after the year-end recital, or to update you on karting, or to tell you Pascale wanted lunch.

She could tell, as all mothers can, that you’d been upset. The knit in your brows that didn’t go away, the bottom lip being chewed, the tight clutch of your fingers over the already-folded dress. She sighed. “I’m sorry, baby.” 

“It’s fine.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended and you have to roll it back, recede it, to sound more relaxed, more at ease. “It’s… fine. I’m fine.” She knew better than to pry, closing the door softly to continue packing up the living room.

You heaved a dry sigh to express the nausea that came with his absence. It began a month ago, two days after you first told him about it and poked at the zit on his chin. He’d buried his head in your shoulder until tears seeped into the cotton sleeve of your shirt, and you let him. You felt guilty, after all, for keeping it a secret for so long. You would leave in September, you told him. We have time.

Two days later he walked you home as always, on the “dangerous” side of the street, lanky legs skipping to the tree in front of your house. You pointed at the beginnings of clementines on its dewy branches, smiling, inviting him in, but he remained leaning against the trunk, playing with his mop of hair that covered his forehead.

“Bah, trop dramatique,” you said, poking fun. Lorenzo had showed you both some art house films he studied in class, and with the bout of French cinema, you and Charles had grown obsessed with making fun of overdramatic stills that often included the classic leaning-against-a-surface. “Come on, Mum made bouillabasse, I smell it.”

“We need to talk,” he eked out awkwardly. “I have something important to tell you.”

You dropped your knapsack, leather scratching against the concrete of the steps to the front door as you walked over to him. “Ouais?”

“I…” His lips moved, wobbled, but nothing left, so he shut them and his eyes, like he was considering something. His breathing slowed into one rhythm you find yourself unconsciously matching, just two kids looking at each other in the dusky breeze of Monaco, the orange sun casting shadows over the clementine tree. You closed your hand over his, a tight clamp over his knobby wrist with certainty. “I…”

“Say it.”

“I want to.” His eyes were shut. Exhale. Inhale, open. “I… I’m going… going home.”

You breathed out apprehensively and relaxed. “Oh.” You blinked. “That’s it?”

“Ye—ouais. Yeah. I gotta.” Already he was climbing to the gate, waving a half-hearted goodbye. “Save some for me, oui? Bye.”

“Charles,” you warned after him, voice tinged with concern. “That’s it, promise?” Your hand flexed around air.

“Cross my heart!” The last thing he ever said with any bit of something genuine.

—

You reunite with Charles at a meeting; under the guise of your truce, he makes the barely-necessary small talk. The rest of the staff file out of the restaurant in due time, but you both stay. You ask about Lorenzo and Arthur, leaving out questions you’d rather not listen to him answer, and he tells you they’re both alright. That his mum asks about you sometimes. That makes you smile. He asks if you’re still dating the guy you’d most recently been partnered with in Us Weekly.

“God, no. We never even dated, the… um, tabloids always make shit up.” You purse your lips. “Anyway. Is Lorenzo still in film?” You ask, turning your head a little. You don’t think you’ll ever forget his affinity for cinema.

“Not professionally, but I still sit through hours-long… you know, reviews, and stuff.” He laughs when he sees you laugh, eyes half-closed and meeting the ceiling.

“He introduced me to some of my favorite movies, especially when I got into acting and I was kind of… like, I wanted some inspiration, acting-wise. But not my actual favorite movie.”

“Which is?” He segues into a more personal topic. “Is it still Bambi?”

“Oh, it was, for the longest time!” You almost squeal with excitement. “Not anymore, though. It’s been dethroned, ha ha. I think it’s… I’d say it’s maybe Casablanca now.”

“How American.”

“Shut up.” Your face warms. “It’s so romantic. When he says—when he goes, um. We’ll always have Paris. And then, God—when Ilsa goes, I said I would never leave you—and Rick goes, And you never will… isn’t it so classic? Romance movies nowadays are—I, I, I… I get scripts sent to me that are just so bad, and they’re either too idealistic or too pessimistic, or too indie or too commercial, and.” You sigh. “It’s like nobody gets love right anymore.”

“Us Weekly disagrees,” he says weakly, after a period of silence.

“Stop,” you laugh warningly. “And don’t act like you’re not being paired up with different girls, too.”

For a minute you sit with the realization that you’ve both been keeping tabs on each other all these years, even just a little bit. It’s a bit jarring, it’s a bit warm, it’s a lot confusing. You make a move to ask for the bill but Charles is quicker, opens his mouth to implore your presence.

“Come see me tonight.” He says it like he didn’t mean to, like it escaped him on a whim, a blurted out confession born out of your memories and conversation. His voice is dreamy, faraway. “Earth to…?”

“Wh—sorry. Fuck.” You clear your throat and deduce your next words. “Where?”

“I’ll text you. A club, near your hotel.”

“Yeah… yeah, sure.” You hum an affirming noise. 

—

Your name is on the list, though you’re sure it doesn’t matter whether or not it was. No ID is needed, and paps catch a bouncer being dispatched to guide you through the nightclub toward the elevated area with significantly less people. It’s low-lit, smoky, vaguely blue and purple, smelling of flows of alcohol and fresh ice. An Azealia Banks song is playing, pounding through your head.

Tabloids don’t care about nightclubs. They care if you come out drunk or with a smidge of snow under your nose, neither of which have happened to you; entering is fair game, a fun affair, especially in a district like Monte-Carlo. You don’t have any explaining to do, not even to questions like are you clubbing with your professional Vogue collaborator, Charles Leclerc?

The collaborator in question is the first to greet you, getting up and approaching you with a smile so obviously tense. The picture in front of him is like if he’d conjured up a forlorn fantasy of his to life—your hair fell loosely over black lace, a hand pinched around the hem of your dress. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“So.” He realizes he’s in charge of the socializing, and turns to properly introduce you. “Um, guys, this is my—friend—you already know”—he fusses over your name, which everyone in the world knows, anyway—“and these are my friends. Pierre, Alex, George, Lando, Daniel… you know Joris.” He points to each guy's face as he goes, eliciting a beam every time he gestures.

You wave with a polite smile before you station yourself beside the only one you know: Joris, with whom Charles shares a longtime friendship. He greets you first, with a side hug. “Long time.”

“Yeah, it’s been.” You watch him turn toward the low table, and back around with two shots, offering them to you with haste.

You thank the Lord that he makes quick, dextrous work of it, and before long you’ve downed a glass or three of some strawberry four seasons thing, socializing with the different people around the table. One of them, Lando, talks about your latest film for five whole minutes (“I rated it five stars on Letterboxd. I left a review, if you wanna see”) before he leans close and asks: “Are you his girlfriend?” His is obviously referencing Charles, and you pull back from the proximity to shake your head.

“No,” you holler to emphasize it. “We used to know each other. I grew up here.”

“Oh shit! Native!” He whoops, offering you another glass. This must be your fifth, maybe, fifth G&T or Cosmo or something or other of the night. You take it, drinking as you walk, planning to collect your bag to take with you to the bathroom—another hand takes yours, though, dragging you down the steps. Halfway through, you realize it’s Charles.

“How’s the drink?” He asks, brows straight.

“That’s all you wanted to ask?” You raise your voice above the bass. “Someone needs to teach you fucking… proper small talk.” A laugh involuntarily bubbles past your lips, eyes crinkling. 

He laughs, too, despite himself. “Non, I was—I was just asking. We should—I brought you over here to—so we could…” He realizes he’s been talking too fast without getting to the point and pauses, resetting himself with a pinched sigh. “Dance.”

Your heart pulses. Dance? You hear yourself ask. For wh…Why?

“For the sake of the truce.” His voice is light. “We should try being closer.”

“We were close once,” you say, loose. “Did you forget?”

He’s looking right at you, and you’re warm all over. “How could I?”

It feels too real. Not the words—yes the words—but the alcohol, the alcohol is what you’re referring to, and all those shots and drinks suddenly seem not as harmless as they’d seemed earlier. You scan the periphery for the WC sign and try your best not to look deranged on your way there, offering the same pretty smile to recognizing passersby. Behind you, Charles calls out; but you wave him off, heaving dryly.

The restroom is clean because the nightclub is outrageously expensive; you push yourself into the available stall that’s in your direct path and crumple above it. You heave. Heave some more. Nothing comes. The nausea rises and recedes, so you decide to wait it out.

The bathroom door hauls open, bringing with it a few seconds of noise before it swings heavily onto the frame again, sealing the sterile silence. The momentary return of the bass from the dance floor sends your head spinning all over again and you freeze, willing yourself not to wind up hurling your guts into the toilet. It’s a futile effort, though, because you’re feeling nauseated beyond your limit again, and you need water and maybe a salve or something.

“This stall is open,” somebody says, a chipper American voice that grows in volume as it nears you. A gasp follows, and then: “Oh, my God. Are you okay?”

You turn, your face flushed and lips parted. “I’m so sorry. I just—I’ve been nauseous all night.”

“I have water,” she answers, reaching her arm outward, as if seeking it. “Carmen, the water!” A bottle of Evian is thrust into her hand by another girl (Carmen, you presume), and she doesn’t hesitate to bend next to you to feed it into your mouth. She stares for a second, then goes: “On the off chance I’m lucky, and you’re the famous actress, by the way, I just want to say I’m a huge fan of your work.”

Eyes wide, you lock eyes with her and pull away from the water. “Oh, God. Yeah, that’s me. I’m so sorry—this is so humiliating.”

“It’s not—it’s normal,” she assures, nodding. “We’ve all… y’know, puked into a club toilet before.” From the stall doorframe, Carmen nods. “What’d you drink?”

“Fruity stuff,” you recall, eyebrows knitting at the memory. “And shots.”

They both grimace at the same time, knowing the exact feeling, the exact taste, it seems. “Are you heartbroken or something?” Carmen asks; Lily shoots her a look that can only really mean don’t ask the world-famous actress if she’s heartbroken. But you laugh it off, shaking your head.

“No. There’s a guy, though, and he’s… we’re… it’s a lot. I think I thought alcohol would absorb all of it, but… clearly, it did not.” Your lips simmer into a straight line and you’re quiet for a few moments before remembering you’re on a dingy club floor being supported by two nice girls who are strangers. “Anyway! Sorry. I’m clearly, um, delirious.” You get up on semi-wobbly feet, swallowing the nausea as you go. 

You walk to the sink, and behind your back, the girl and Carmen share a telepathic exchange (should we ask her to elaborate? Yes! Should we really? Fuck, no.) You rinse your mouth out, washing your hands and focusing on your reflection—your tired eyes, your smudged lip gloss, your fussed-up hair. You turn after rinsing, offering a small smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” says the first girl, offering her hand and a tube of lip gloss. “I’m Lily, by the way. And just so you know—I’m so sure that guy has nothing on you.” Carmen, beside her, nods in solidarity, and your heart blooms.

Your smile grows as your hand shakes hers, accepting the lip gloss. “You’re too kind. Thank y—” 

“Lil? Baby, are you puking?” Comes a disembodied male voice from the door, ajar ever so slightly. Lily visibly cringes and walks over to the door, pulling it open further. On the other side—the detective of sorts—happens to be Alex, who you’d been introduced to a few hours ago. At the sight of you, his eyes widen with recognition. 

“We’re fine. Leave us alone,” replies Lily in a conspiratorial whisper. “Carmen and I have a new friend.” She doesn’t even need to drop your name; your face alone is enough to make people recognize who you are.

Alex, however, refuses to admit defeat. “Try harder next time.” He pumps his eyebrows. “We were introduced earlier.” He looks up and waves to demonstrate his truth; when you smile back, Lily’s jaw drops as she turns to her boyfriend again, aghast.

“What the hell? How?” A pause. “No offense. It’s like. Two levels of fame, right there.”

He makes a pinched face. “She’s Charles’… friend? I don’t—coworker? Something, something. They were both vague about it. Actually, George and I were talking about it, and we both think something is up. With them.”

“Wait—you might be right.” Her eyes are hyperfocused, and her voice drops to a whisper for a second. “Let’s talk about it at the hotel.”

You and Carmen watch their hushed exchange, and eventually Alex leaves you three alone again with a loud goodbye, which allows Lily to rejoin your conversation. “Sorry,” she says with a smile. “That was my boyfriend, Alex. I didn’t know you two were introduced! He told me you knew Charles?”

“Oh.” Your shoulders relax. “Yeah, um. We knew each other as kids, but I moved away and we kind of—we drifted apart, so. I’m here on a business trip, and he’s just welcoming me.” You try to reduce the decade-long mess into a sentence.

“So you’re friends?”

“Yeah.” You feel like vomiting all over again. 

—

The sky’s a searing blue at noon, silver clouds lining the horizon. Charles has to press a finger to the high point of his cheek to test if he’s sunburned from the heat, and the cameras catch it; he doesn’t doubt the fans will spin that into something cute later. You’re somewhere else on the property, this big, massive thing of a museum that’s crashed into by the waves.

He remembers Andrea first telling him about this whole arrangement. He and the team had deliberately left out any mention of you, like they could predict the immediate veto. He wonders if you knew, or if you, too, had been surprised when seeing him, a ghost of your past looking into your eyes. He wonders if you, too, are now in this endless emotional turmoil. Inside there’s a photoshoot ongoing, with you but also with some models in varying aquatic-related poses to convey the intent of the building; he’s done his share of pictures already, just needs to sit down with you for an interview. 

“And a B-roll of you guys, um, like, walking, like—around?” Greg’s voice invades his head again, the nervous man beside him running through a to-do list like this is boot camp.

You’d left him hanging at the club—he couldn’t blame you though. A truce hardly called for the bringing forth of memories you two are now supposed to have buried beneath you. Memories he buried first. But alcohol had loosened him, and maybe you had, too, your eyes in the vaguely bluish light and your smile.

He wishes to apologize. He makes up some excuse and finds you nursing an Evian by a faraway corner, against a screen of stingrays. Your eyes widen when you see him, in recognition. He waves and then, with a thumb, gestures to the catering outside.

You end up by the water eating one of the caterer’s churros, a recommendation he deems “very special.” (“Have you worked with these caterers before?” “No.”) It’s also his excuse to cheat on his diet and eat a churro or three—chocolate dip included, always. You rave over the taste, smile, enjoy the view. Charles realizes this looks deceivingly like a date, and at the same time realizes he would not stop to correct someone if they assumed so.

“Our truce seems to be working.” You say in-between chews, voice flat but eyes bright.

“It seems so. I owe that to my personality.”

You really laugh at that. “I didn’t know you had one. It’s very fit for someone as unapproachable as I am.”

“Who said that?”

“No, noth—nobody.” You comb a lock of hair behind your ear. “Aw, putain. I’m ruining my lipstick. Pat’s going to kill me. I look awful.” There are no reflective surfaces around you to affirm your statement, but you sound so sure of yourself.

He smiles. He enjoys the illusion, the mask that you two seem to wear, albeit involuntarily. The chocolate syrup he squeezes on your little paper box of churros. The muttered back merci when he’s finished. Your flushed face, eyes darting from the delicacy to the ocean, eyelashes fluttering, lips smiling, curving into a laugh at some random realization. Briefly he imagines what he might tell somebody if they stopped to ask if you were dating.

Some old woman, French accent and short in stature. You two are so cute. Si mignon! And she would ask how you two met. Charles would tell her the story. But that is imagination. He blinks out of it and focuses on the beauty in front of him, so very real.

“No. You are very pretty, you know.” He says then, and it’s taken him all his nerves and then some just to wrangle it out of his mouth and past his lips. Anticipatory, he watches you, waits for your response.

You comb the hair out of your face messily, licking over the cinnamon sugar on your lips; then you smile up at him, turning your head in question. “Sorry,” you laugh, and his heart’s frozen because it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. “What did you say?”

The wind roars in his ears, so Charles barely hears himself when he says, stuttering, “What? Nothing, I said nothing.”

You make a face—confused, suspicious—but all your allegations quell once you bite into another churro, stepping yourself a path along the area. Having blocked off the building, production staff and models are all that populate your surroundings, big headphones and even bigger cameras, rolling around racks of monochrome and Hermés, Birkins to match Loro Pianas. It’s easy to get lost in a crowd—in a city—where everyone looks the same, and knows the other’s name. Perhaps that’s also why, even at fourteen, you were excited to leave, he thinks.

“The coast was always my favorite part about the city.”

He notices. The way your eyes have softened, become more fond than when you’re in the centre of it all, in the bustle. Here it’s busy, but less busy; the distinction, perhaps, matters. Your gaze is not one of distaste, of disdain. It’s nostalgic, homesick, yearning. He supposes he describes this gaze so well because it’s the way he catches himself looking at you over the week. 

“I wanted to…” He trails off. “I wanted to talk to you because, ah. I’m sorry. It was foolish of me to put you on the spot last night. I should’ve been more… yeah. I’m sorry. I hope you’re okay.”

You stare at the sea and nod quietly. Instead of responding, you launch a story: “I always…” You’re clearly lost in a different sphere of thought, and you have to fall quiet while finding the right words to say. “I remember, um. In Year 3, we—I came here with my mum. And I was super mad, because I got, like, three mistakes on my Maths paper?” You laugh and he does, too, but more because your storytelling is so effortlessly enthralling and funny and he needs to shut himself up.

“Anyway.” You pace around again, and he follows. “So, I’m mad, and she’s trying to cheer me up, buys me glace and everything, but no. So I go sit myself on a random bench. It must’ve been around here, I think.” You look around and point at an empty area. “There. But it’s—they must’ve ripped it out. Whatever. So yeah, I’m sitting there, and moping, and all of a sudden All You Need is Love by The Beatles comes blaring into the entire area.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit confusedly. “What, the bench area?”

“No—the whole pier, I guess? Like, it was loud, I almost jumped. And then this guy comes in holding this huge—this, um, board? Sign? Poster? And he’s got half the pier in on his whole thing, and I’m totally… it was just… yeah.” You smile. It’s the biggest smile he’s seen on you since you got here and the fact that he’s even around to see it gets him all warm.

“So what happened?”

“It was a flash mob. You know those—yeah, they’re usually insufferable, but that one was a little calmer. Nobody was, you know, dancing and yelling. It was just a bunch of people cheering and all, and the guy was actually proposing to his girlfriend. It was so cute.” You sigh a little, a brief exhale of air, and it turns into a smile. “I’d love that.”

He raises his eyebrows and, despite himself, laughs. “Vraiment?” 

You turn to him, ready to defend yourself, mid-laugh. “Heeey. Everyone says they find big, romantic gestures cheesy, but I think deep down, if you trust the person enough, you’ll like it. Maybe not a proposal, though—can you imagine the pressure?” You pause. “But I don’t know. There’s something so nice about just knowing that person loves you so much they think it’s worth it to share it to everyone around you. So even if it’s cheesy, I wouldn’t mind much. You?”

“It’s cheesy for me,” he disagrees, shrugging. “But I see your point.” Truth be told, he didn’t see you as a romantic type—but all he’s ever seen you do lately is work, and even back in childhood, all you ever did was study. He likes learning these little facts, ones you wouldn’t share in interviews—likes knowing you feel comfortable enough to share with him. “Dancing is a bit overboard.”

“Oh, definitely.” You throw your head back to laugh, eyes half-shut and crinkled and reflecting the sun. Would you look the same if he was dancing to The Beatles, proclaiming all the words he hasn’t had the courage to say?

—

Next question is who your first love was—we’re rolling in three…

“First love?” You laughed a little, facing the camera to continue your Screen Test interview with W. The questions had been candid and lovely, but they were about your career, which you answered with familiar ease. First love is different—uncharted, private territory. But you’d realized all this too late, and the director called go, and you let words spill out of you like a bag popped open.

“I want to be funny and witty and say acting, but that would be a lie. Um, my first love was a childhood friend. We lived near each other, our parents were friends, and I… I really did, I liked him a lot. But these—there were so many factors at tension with each other, like me moving away in 2013—that’s, what, six years ago now? And us being young and not really knowing how to communicate. When you’re a teenager, you’re kind of just like, oh, no worries, um, that’ll sort itself out, and then you grow up and look back and realize, these things never do. But I miss him a, a, a… a lot, and I think of him always.” Your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you looked at the camera again. “We learn a lot from childhood loves.”

Cut. Lovely. Just lovely.

“Thank you, Lynn,” you said with a small smile. A pause as silence creeps up onto the room, and then, quieter: “Could we omit that? I—sorry. I could answer anything else. First kiss, or something? I’m sorry, I just. Sorry.” For the first time in five years, you realize, you’ve conjured his memory again.

—

“Okay. What else do you remember?”

“I… do you remember the recital song?”

“Of course I do! The dance is… that’s a different story.” You’d been at Charles’ hotel room earlier to go over some video shoot regulations for a 24 Hours With video you’re doing in a few days. You stayed because—that’s beyond you at this point, and you’d rather not delve into the rationality of it all. You’re content with thinking about how nice this conversation is, a trip down memory lane.

“The dance, mon dieu, the dance.” He smothers a hand over his face, smiles fondly. “You were at the center!”

“Stop. Stop,” you protest, letting laughter settle into quiet. “It’s crazy, you know? How we… like, we share a life. Not—but like, we had a whole childhood together.” 

“And nobody knows.” It’s not something you keep a secret on purpose—it’s just that neither of you feel like name-dropping the other. Some stories have surfaced, but none of you have fully commented. Somehow, that’s a good thing for you.

“Do people ask?”

“People ask, yes.” His accent is a reminder of your past—you’d once had the same thick wraparound, the loose reign over English you’ve now grown to master. Now your accent is a lot thinner, to the point where it’s barely perceptible, and if it is, your coworkers and fans call it cute, chic, use it as a jumping off point to ask where you grew up. But in this hotel room, legs folded underneath you and glass of wine in hand, you have no coworkers or fans, it feels like; no one to perceive you but Charles. Charles and his accent, nostalgic and so very his, which you wouldn’t describe as anything but home.

“What do you tell them, then?” Quickly, you add: “The truth, or…?”

“That we knew each other as kids,” he says, smiling absently. “That is the truth, no?”

You cover a smile with the rim of your wine glass, nodding. There’s no revisionist history in that statement, but it hides a lot of the truth, the nitty gritty of it. You know it, he knows it, you both know it. “What would you want me to say?” His voice is soft and thin and imploring, so different from the boisterous voice he uses in public, from the slurred voice you heard in the club. This sounds real. This sounds like a conversation you would’ve had years ago in your childhood bedroom before everything went—

“Nothing, that’s fine.” You cut your own reverie off, clearing your throat. You even laugh, to alleviate the tension, but he sees right through you so many years later. “Unless you’re privy to telling people how we didn’t talk for months before I left.”

He blinks, smothers a palm over his face again, and sighs, eyes meeting yours. “I’m sorry. I don’t—I… I’ve wanted to bring it up.”

“I’m not mad.” It’s a half-lie. “Okay, no—I am, a bit. It just—it would’ve been nice to hear it two weeks ago.”

“I know.” He doesn’t even need to say it, but him saying it sends a low thrum of reassurance in you. Charles has found, in the two weeks of being in your company, that he accomplishes a sense of self—a sense of quiet, a sense of privacy—when he’s alone with you. Perhaps it’s your natural ability to bring out the best in people, to talk and loosen tongues and make everyone around you feel safe. Or, and this is on a likely front, maybe he misses being one of those people. 

He pretends he’s back to last week after another club rendezvous left you tipsier than the first time, dropping you off at your hotel room with two hands taut at your shoulders, one pinching a keycard. You’d been muttering something under your breath, stumbling as you went—you weren’t tripping too much, really; he didn’t need to hold you, but he told himself he had to—and leaning against the doorframe of your room, staring at him blankly. When he met your eyes, you said: maybe, just maybe. Just those three words. If he tries to remember right, you’d been smiling, but he was sufficiently tipsy, too, so he could just as well be wrong.

He does remember a few things right. The eyeliner smudged across your lower eye, lipstick smacked to a point where it looked like you wore none, beads of salt by your lip, your hand wrapped around your necklace. 

The silence is anything but awkward; still, he resolves to break it. “When you were drunk last week.” He looks up. “You said—you kept saying, maybe, just maybe.”

A laugh escapes you, stilted and a bit nervous. “Oh. That was—yeah, okay.”

“What’s it mean?”

“You seriously don’t remember?” You’re laughing for real now, your hair bobbing with it, eyebrows furrowed to emphasize your confusion. “Oh, my God. Charles, it’s all you ever said in Year… what, 7? I don’t… anyway. But when we were maybe twelve, I…”

Momentarily, you’re stunned by the memories of him—you’d forgotten they were even there. You press a few fingers to your lips and clear your throat. “Sorry. Yeah, I, um—I think you heard it in a movie or read it somewhere, and for ages it was your favorite saying. Maybe, just maybe.”

“I don’t underst—”

“—You were always just saying it,” you cut in, laughing, your voices layering as you discuss the origin of his former favorite term. “No, you really—”

“I don’t—I do not ever remember say—”

“—Well,” you say,  “I remember.” He stays silent for a few seconds, the intensity of your stare and the little smile on your face and everything beating down on him. For a split second he thinks of opening his mouth and getting on his knees and telling you everything, all the apologies, all the things unsaid in the months and years you became strangers. He seriously does. The pressure is almost physical, beyond overwhelming.

“I have to go.” You swallow the lump in your throat, disentangle your legs and clamber off the couch, setting the empty glass on his coffee table. “Good?”

“Yeah,” he says, blinking. “Yeah. Take care. Should I drive you?”

“God, no.” You laugh breathily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He closes the door after you leave, stares at it, as if that will conjure you back to him. It occurs to him, jolts him almost, that he’d almost let slip a quiet utterance of love you as you slipped out. His stomach boils. With thankfulness over not having said it, he wonders—or with regret?

—

“Best friends now, are you?” Lily, Carmen, and Rachel look up to the sound of your voice, their serious faces breaking out into smiles. If you could chart the time you spent here, there are definitely people you’ve spent the most time with—these three are at the top of the list. You hang your coat and drop your Chanel bag on the entryway seat, already picking up on the British noises of Love Island UK from the telly.

“Wait, so she’s hooking up with him?” Lily asks, confused; her train of thought is cut off by your flopping onto the bed. “Hiiii. Where’ve you been?”

Muffled by the bedspread: Charles’ place.

Silence. The television switches off and you hear the precarious preparation of three girls readying themselves for a debrief-or-sobfest of a lifetime, a noise you’ve heard and partaken in countless times over your life. You suddenly feel too watched, too spectated; you break the quiet by looking up, displaying your tear-streaked face.

“Talk to us,” Rachel encourages, her voice raspy with unuse (Love Island will keep one occupied and quiet for hours on end). Three of them are touching you in some way or other, reassuring grips on your hair or shoulders. “Did you two fight?”

And, oh Christ, fight? It’s not like you’re dating. You aren’t even halfway to that (not that you want to be, but that’s a discussion for another time). The idea of a fight with him is so terribly juvenile, so horribly reminiscent of secondary school and Monaco and being together and being friends. You can’t fight with a guy who’s not your boyfriend. You can’t fight with a guy you’re not close to, for Chrissake. You squeeze your tears out of your eyes and breathe hiccups out.

“Do you want gelato?” No, no.

“Love Island?” In a minute.

The truth is, you want both, but you really just want to sort everything out with Charles. It was no use—hating each other was futile, but pretending everything was fine in some pathetic attempt at a “truce” seemed even worse. You just want to talk everything out, even if it excavates feelings you’d once been able to suppress.

“What kind of crush doesn’t disappear after ten years?” You ask through tears. It’s almost funny, but the question comes straight from the heart. “I’ve dated guys, lived across the world, started a whole new life pretending he never—pretending we were—fuck. Pretending he didn’t exist. It was—I’m not lying, it was easy, pretending. But one glimpse—I see him one time and suddenly it feels like all of it was in vain. It’s the same crush I had before, coming back, like it’s never going to leave me alone.”

“Maybe it’s not a crush,” says Lily, slowly.

“So what is it then?” You ask, hopelessly. What is this—this revival of memories? This little feeling, this sense that no matter where he is or what he’s doing, you’ll be just as in tune when you reunite even if it takes a decade? A decade spurred by months of being given the cold shoulder? What kind of magic is that?

She doesn’t answer, because you already know.

—

“Hey Vogue—I’m here with Charles Leclerc, and we’re here to take you along with us on all our little adventures here in Monaco.” Your smile is rehearsed, the perfectly-orchestrated blend of fun and serious, and when the cameraman calls cut, it falls into a more natural resting face. It’s the one Charles turns to and observes for any signs of a grudge.

The day is busy, which is precisely why it was chosen as the film day: three shows in the morning, press junkets for your movie and Charles’ season in the afternoon, and then a gala in the evening, hosted and attended by Anna Wintour herself.

The day’s business is only trumped by its tension, which reaches its crescendo in the janitor’s closet of the fourth floor of your hotel. It’d begun with a fight over the color palette, then a fight over last conversation you shared, then a fight over him fucking up the color palette, and then kissing against the door. Ironically enough, this floor houses a fair number of honeymoon suites.

It’s ironic beause hardly anything about this is or should be romantic—it’s a temporary fix, a pause from the turmoil, his hand squeezing your thigh. He’s gentle but you feel his possessiveness, lingering longer, higher and higher up until he’s playing with the high hem of your skirt. You knot your fingers in his hair, smell the shampoo and hairspray and cologne in the wispy curls there.

He kisses your jaw, then downward, until he’s licking, nipping at your throat. Charles.

“Yeah?” His voice is rough against your pulse point.

“Make it—we gotta—quicker.” Your hands tremble, heart hammering loud and bold in your chest. His voice is sure, gravelly, quiet, and you have to focus on something—so you centre on his hands, up your thighs and slipping under the lace of your skirt, bunching the fabric up around your hips. His hands, big and calloused, fingers resting on your hipbones, on your ass.

He’s hard against your thigh, straining against his jeans. You could cry. “I want more.”

“I know, baby. I know.” The pet name, so new but so natural, sends you into a dopamine rush.

You squirm when he doesn’t let up on his touches, over every inch of your body, groping you. He wants to take his time—he hates that he can’t—and counts on the possibility of a next time. You pull him in for a spit-slick kiss, needy and whimpering, sloppy and tongues knotted. It feels good—fuck, it feels like this was all you were ever made for, his touch. 

You buck your hips into the air desperately. “We really—fuck. We don’t have time.” Cameras, a shoot, a video; reminders ring in your head like alarm bells. He nods, goes I know, and you pick up the strain in his voice as he tugs his jeans down just enough to rub his clothed cock under your entrance, hard and drooling through the fabric.

You moan softly. “Please, I can take it,” you breathe. You’ve never been this wet, this worked up, this teased. You need to feel him, be full of him; he presses you flush against the door with a hand at the small of your back to keep it from aching too much, and drops forward as he pushes into you. Your noses brush and he goes deeper, air thick and muffled with little moans and whimpers.

His mouth is against your jaw, thrusting slowly to get you used to the size of him. The angle gets you dizzy, draws a burst of wetness out and gets you clenching around him. You’re flushed and sweaty, moaning. Feels s’good. So good, Charles, so, so good. He fucks harder, the door rattling, dirty talk cooed from his lips to your ear: Yeah? Feels real good? You’re so good for me, baby, come on.

Your needy voice, needier movements, are driving him crazy, getting him to fuck you harder, licking over his lips as he watches you fall apart on his dick. Relax, he slurs. You squeeze around him and moan, wretched and raw. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck. You’re so big. You’re getting his dick wetter and wetter with every thrust, shiny and drooling with cum.

Yeah? He says it so well, the best kind of reassurance. Come on, we don’t have time, baby. Let me feel you cum.

I know— you whine. I’m cumming—it feels too good—

You cum first, thighs shaky around him and lip curling into your teeth. You lean forward, mouth to his shoulder, and bite at the cotton. Fuck, he grunts, and releases then, a groan spilled into your hair. You watch, laughing breathlessly, and feel the world click into something different. 

You two will do anything, apparently, but talk this all through.

—

The gala is big and extravagant and you’re seated not with Charles this time, but with a roster of celebrities straight out of an LAX red-eye. Anna is at the table adjacent, andy you were able to talk to her about the experience, though not without leaving out bits with Charles in them.

You’re beside Florence and she’s talking about something, about a new movie she’s working on, and you chip in with jokes and laughs but your smile doesn’t really reach your eyes. You’re still caught in a web of fragile confusion. “I need to excuse myself for a moment,” you say after a while, after you’ve done nothing but smile and push broccoli puree around on your plate.

Consolation comes with isolation, at least tonight, at least right now. You find an empty balcony on the third floor, stare into the black sea. You try and try to remember what life was like three weeks ago, but it’s irrevocable now, the change that’s come since then. You tap the glass of your beer bottle against the marble banister, solid and probably expensive—a match for the rest of the hotel, you realize. It’s starkingly clean and smooth, and white, the kind of things you’d only say about a marble banister when you’re trying to avoid an adult introspection.

Behind you: “Are you okay?” 

In response, you say, “We shouldn’t have had sex.”

Charles settles himself into a spot near you, not totally beside but not too far—he, too, holds onto a bottle of beer. There are fancier drinks around, but somehow the dry taste of ale is all that brings you comfort right now. Your gears turn and, without prompt or question, you spill yourself forth.

“It was hard, when you didn’t… when we didn’t talk, and you didn’t ever tell me why, so I didn’t know anything. I keep remembering it, even now, what—ten years later, ha ha, even after… I don’t know, after the fact. We’re supposed to have moved on from shit that happened to us when we were fifteen but I’m finding it to be the hardest thing in the world. It was so… like, I had no trouble saying goodbye to anything else but you. And I’m famous now, my life is a whole thing, a—this whole party, and I’m supposed to… fuck.” You shut your eyes, and you can feel, through the thick fog of embarrassment and delirium, the tears that stain your cheeks. “It’s like. You know when you’re a teenager and you see all of it in movies and TV, this, like, moment where you’re staring at someone from across a room, and you’re smiling and talking to other people and you’re happy because you know in a few hours, you’ll be with that person anyway? At home, rearranging furniture, feeding the dog, eating leftovers? That… I always thought you’d be that person for me. Maybe because you were the only—you know—the only love I ever knew, and now, what. Four? Boyfriends and ten years later, you might expect me to feel differently—hell I expect myself to feel differently, but, unfortunately for you and me, I don’t. Sorry. I’m not—I’m not drunk, or anything.”

He stares at you, his expression soft and unreadable. It feels like it’s just the two of you in the world today, twenty-somethings, ten years later, unearthing all you left buried. “I…” he says, before pausing. “I’m sorry for leaving.”

You nod in response. 

“I always thought you would forgive me.” His face is sullen and handsome and your heart seizes. “I wanted to be your person.”

“How could I forgive you without an apology?” Your voice comes out fragile. “I leave in three days. You’ve fu—you’ve… you’ve kissed me, had sex with me, flirted with me. You’ve done everything but that.”

“I did apologize. I don’t think it was enough, but—”

“But you didn’t,” you reply, a jagged response. “You never said anything.”

“I wrote you.” His eyebrows knit. “I wrote you.” 

“You wrote me.” You repeat, deadpan. Your head spins with it. “What, a letter?”

“An e-mail. Before your first film came out—2014? A year after you… yeah.” He’s quiet and timid and nervous. “I forced Gi to tell me your address.”

“I didn’t… I wasn’t using that e-mail anymore. I haven’t in years.” You pinch your nose and let the silence settle like fine dust onto the room, an unspoken bomb that explodes over the both of you, raining regret and unsaid words. “I have to go.” You push yourself off the banister, turning already to the doors of the balcony. He stops you before you can step any further, a hand closed over your wrist, rough and warm.

“If you find the message,” he says, “will you read it?”

“I don’t plan to,” you lie. “Goodnight.”

—

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Urgent!

hey buttercup, I asked Giada for this email address. my bday in 2 days. Will you be home for Xmas this year btw? ill show you some new places that open ed + we can bike around. mum misses u a lot too. parfois je souhaite que tu ne partes pas… not sometimes but always. i think i need to edit this a little let me try ag

From: Charles Perceval Leclerc <[email protected]>

Date: 14 October 2014

To: You

Subject: Buttercup

j’appellerais mais je ne pense pas que tu veuilles répondre. it’s been more than a year since you moved out, in two days i’ll be celebrating my second birthday w/o you. i’ve been karting a lot, things are looking up, just like we always said they would :) just want to say i miss you a lot, and i hope you’re doing good. i would say i hate radio silence but i know it’s my fault all this happened in the first place. i’m sorry i stopped talking to you last year when you were moving away. i was being childish, but the truth is it was the only way i could handle it - by pretending we werent friends at all… i don’t want to make you pity me or anything (ne pense pas que je suis) but yeah you’re my best friend and you always will be. i’m sorry for being a knot head.

i was always scared to tell you but it’s been there since forever: i love you. i should’ve enjoyed your months here instead of leaving you in the air. i know i ignored you but it’s the 1 thing i regret. should’ve done a lot more, i know.. but i didn’t. we have a lot of promises i broke because i was being selfish. i kept the paper ring to remind me. remember that? we had a “playground wedding” when we were 5/6?

tu ne me dois rien - i just want you to give me a chance to make you happy, even if it’s just in the way we’ve always been (as friends). if you write me back i’ll try and fly there. mum is always asking me if we’ve talked yet. if not, that’s ok. i love you all the same and i will love you as you reach your dreams. this will never change. 

charles

p.s: est-ce que je te manque?

p.p.s: call me if you can and wish me a happy birthday?

—

“Rachel, I would sooner die than wait another two hours for the tarmac to clear again.” You try to up the firmness in your voice but it fails, only serving to make you sound less angry and more agitated. When all you get in response is a muffled I’m coming! you grumble and hang up the phone. Your plane was delayed all of three times, and the instant it arrives and is scheduled to take off on time, your friendsistant is nowhere to be found.

Lily and Carmen had thrown you a goodbye party the night prior, with sprinklers and music and cocktails, and promised to be on the next flight to L.A. Vogue and David had emailed you for a job done spectacularly, and to watch out for the videos and interviews’ release dates. Twitter is raving about your movie. Everything should be good, and yet, it’s not.

You check your inbox. IM COMJNG LILTIERALLY IM RUNNING THRU AJRPPRT!!!!!! You scoff again, hoping the plane doesn’t somehow take off for the fourth time, and take a seat on the VIP waiting area sofa again, shaking your now-empty chai latte. The room, sectioned off from economy and business, is fairly full.

A woman paces over to you, a bright grin on her face. “Hi. I’m a huge fan.”

“Thank you,” you smile, despite your tiredness.

“This is so embarrassing—but do you happen to have the time?”

“Sure”—you tap your phone open—“half past four.”

“Great,” she says. “Thanks, Buttercup.”

You’re opening your mouth to say you’re welcome, but it catches like cotton in your throat. You watch her depart like nothing happened, a strange feeling settling in your chest. You have barely any time to answer it, because a flight attendant is tapping you on the shoulder, addressing you by name, thankfully. She maintains a tone of professionalism all throughout her announcement that the aircraft under your name will have to evacuate the runway in ten minutes or less.

“I know, I know—I’m just, um. I’m waiting for somebody. She should be near now, though.”

“Tremendous. Merci, Buttercup.”

“Wh—” You stutter, blinking and watching her leave. “What?”

She doesn’t turn, walking to the kiosk to exchange information with her coworkers. You look around the airport, for a camera hidden somewhere maybe. Perhaps you’ve been unknowingly listed in some Impractical Jokers skit.

Rach hurry you text instead, leaning back and hoping you’re in some grandiose delusion. Your phone dings. Omw promise! It reads. Then: Look up buttercup

Your head snaps upward faster than you can register what you’ve just read, matching the opening notes of a song you’ve grown all too familiar with in your lifetime. The opening beat to Build Me Up, Buttercup flows like honey through the room’s intercom and floods it with life.

Mouth agape, you watch as the staff and guests perform the routine you’d learned at fourteen, complete with hops and turns you were too embarrassed to do even then. They’re smiling and whooping themselves and each other as they go, finishing the entire first verse before turning collectively to the entrance of the room. There, in all his glory: Charles, wearing an entirely too-small headdress that reads Buttercup, worn dusty from years of being stored away.

He’s dancing, too, closer to you. You refuse to budge for the express purpose that he dance some more, which he complies with, though not without an eyeroll and an exasperated sigh. Your heart beats with something irregular and warm. You’d told him about this before. He’d listened.

The music settles for a little and the dancers do, too, so he takes the time to raise his sign. Will you forgive me? It reads. No pressure. Except kind of. You laugh, throwing your head back at the gesture, at this entire affair that must have taken some amount of effort to prepare. As the lyric comes on, so does his sign: I need you… more than anyone, darling.

He drops the sign when you approach him, arms crossed over your torso. He removed the headdress and places it gingerly on yours. “I believe that belongs to you.”

And, hyperaware of all the eyes and yet the complete lack of cameras—you’re grateful for it—you finally, finally, finally pull him in for a kiss. You’ve kissed before, done your worst, but still means volumes to the both of you.

In-between kisses and cheers (from voices belonging to Lorenzo, Rachel, Lily—so many familiar ones), he says it again: “I’m sorry. I’ll make it all up to you.”

“You better,” you tease into his lips, smiling. “I know. I love you.” Ten years later—your person still is, and no doubt will always be, Charles Leclerc.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

[the-boy-meets-evil]

you're mine | c.sc

you thought you had finally gotten the upper hand on seungcheol. you were wrong. pairing: idol!seungcheol x fem!reader genre: idol!au | smut, pwp rating: explicit | minors DNI warnings: this is mostly just smut so take that how you will, reader is kinda bratty, scoups is possessive, slight dom undertones (? idk i don't usually write this), swearing, kissing, biting, marking, restraints, sensory deprivation (blindfold), fingering, brief mention of a hand job, slight nipple play, use of a pet name (baby, pretty girl), oral sex (f. receiving), vaginal penetration, protected sex, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything word count: ~3.5k

a/n: idk what to say, this kind of got away from me lol. credit/blame to @seungkwansphd for putting the idea in my head and scoups for whatever bullshit he was on in macao. it was supposed to be a drabble and this isn't what i'd normally write so go easy on me. unbeta'd and mostly unedited. thank you to my baby @playmetheclassics / @classicscreations for the last minute banner and divider!

You’ve never been much of a brat with anyone else. It just isn’t something that crossed your mind. Why would you want to rile someone up on purpose? Why would you want to get under their skin just to see their response? Why would you want to do the opposite of what they asked? So no, it hasn’t crossed your mind.

Until Seungcheol. 

Until you met the man that made you want to cause problems. The man that made you discover a lot of things you didn’t know about yourself. The man that had you from the moment he told you that he was going to go easy on you. You didn’t realize then, but you were fucked. Talk about being in over your head. 

He really did start easy, in hindsight. And he let you get away with things you didn’t even realize. Thought you had the upper hand, actually. How many ways can one person be wrong? You don’t have the answer beyond knowing it’s a lot. 

You love the moments that Seungcheol lets you think you’re in control. You know now that’s all it is. Pretend. He’s always the one actually pulling the strings. And you’re always the one trying to press his buttons, press your luck, gain some ground. 

Today’s test? You want to mark him up. You want to leave your claim on him, but you know you can’t make it obvious. Don’t feel like you can push his buttons quite that hard. So even though you want to mark up his neck, you settle for his chest. You keep telling him that it’s getting too big anyway. Just who is he trying to impress?

Seungcheol is lying in your bed, one arm tucked behind his head and eyes closed. You know he’s not asleep, though, know he’s just enjoying a minute of peace before he has to leave and return to the chaos. And you know now is the best time because he really does have to go soon. It’s the best time to be able to get him and win, even if just for a moment, because there’s a lot of things he’ll do. A lot of things you still haven’t learned. But he’ll never be late. Never miss a schedule or leave his members waiting. 

So you adjust your position under the premise of stretching, not really sure if he buys the act but also not really caring. You push yourself up and quickly swing a leg over his thighs, feel them clench under you quickly as you’re settling on top of them.

“And just who are you working out for?” you challenge, quirking an eyebrow.

“I don’t hear you complaining,” is his only answer as he opens his eyes to look up at you. 

“Maybe I don’t want everyone else to see how good you look,” you pout.

“Maybe you should behave yourself then,” he retorts and you huff.

“I’m pretty sure you prefer it when I don’t,” you say.

You lean forward to kiss him before he can answer, lips meeting softly as his hands move up your thighs to grip your hips. He’s anchoring you to him and you know he’s mentally counting how much time he actually has. But you don’t want to give him that chance, don’t want to give up the tiny bit of control this position and the element of surprise have given you. You get the smallest bit of satisfaction when you break the kiss and he follows your lips. It’s not the time to get distracted, though, not now. So you kiss down his neck, suck just enough to earn a hiss out of him without it being enough to leave a mark. Not there at least. 

When you get to his chest, the muscles in his thighs tighten again. On purpose, you think, to distract you. It’s hard to ignore too, especially when his hands grip your hips harder. When you can tell he’s trying to throw you off.

“Baby,” he whines and you know that whine, know that it’s designed to distract.

All you do is hum against his chest as you continue to kiss across it and down his stomach. His moans are low, the kind that really get to you. The kind where you know he’s enjoying himself even if he’s not fully in control. You kiss back up to his chest and can feel his breaths as you go.

“What are you going to do now, baby?” he asks. You hear the confidence in his voice. The confidence that usually makes you stutter.

Not today, though. You suddenly suck the skin of his chest into your mouth. Seunghcheol hisses in the most satisfying way at the combination of pleasure and pain. His fingers dig into your skin where they hold you in place, making you hum into his skin. It just makes you keep going, managing to suck two marks into his skin before his alarm goes off. 

Without needing to be told, you slide off of him and allow him to get out of the bed. You know he doesn’t want to leave, but you know he’ll be back. Know that he’s got to keep to his schedule or he won’t be able to come over at all. After he’s pulled his shirt back on and gathered his things, he comes to stand in front of where you’re sitting at the edge of the bed. His kiss is soft, at odds with yours from moments ago.

“Listen carefully,” he whispers into your ear in that low voice. “I expect you to be waiting in bed when I text you that I’m headed back.”

“Is that so?” you challenge.

“Yes, pretty girl,” he says.

“And if I’m not?” you press.

“You’ll find out,” he answers.

That alone sends a shiver down your spine. You always want him to come back, never feel like you’ve had quite enough, but this is something even more. You’re looking forward to it. 

The text comes a little later than you’re expecting saying that he’s on his way back over. And it comes without an apology for the lateness (though Jeonghan had texted you earlier to let you know things were running long). No, this text just comes with a reminder that expects you to be waiting for him in bed. He’ll let himself in.

It gives you too good of a chance, one you don’t want to pass up. He’s expecting you to listen, especially after you marked him earlier. But you’ve been waiting for this. And you’re not going to listen. 

Ten minutes later, you hear the key turn in the lock and you sit further back into the couch wearing only one of his t-shirts he’s left behind and underwear. Maybe you’ll get to see a little of his control slipping. 

His eyes are on you the second he’s through the door, narrowing at the open defiance. Seungcheol is serious as he regards you sitting there. It’s like he’s waiting for you to break first and confident you will. It makes you fidget a little in your seat, which seems to be enough for him.

“I asked you to be waiting in bed,” he says.

“I know,” you respond without missing a beat. “I guess I’m not so good at following directions.”

“And what do you think I should do?” He’s more so asking himself the question than you.

“Whatever you want,” you answer anyway. He raises an eyebrow.

“Careful what you ask for, pretty girl,” he warns. 

“I think I can handle it.” It comes out just as bold as you mean for it to.

“We’ll see about that,” he says without missing a beat. “Follow me.”

Every part of you wants to protest, wants to keep pushing him further to see what happens. But your curiosity is also piqued and you really want to see what it is that he’s planning now. That must be why you let the intrusive thought win and follow him back into your bedroom where you find him already reaching into the drawer of your nightstand. The same drawer that he filled so you were always ready.

“Are you going to behave now and get on the bed like I asked?” Seungcheol asks with his back still to you.

“I’m not sure,” you say and smirk at the way it makes him turn around.

“Oh you’re not?” he asks. 

“What’s in it for me if I start listening? Who’s going to rile you up?” you fire back at him.

“You like seeing me riled up,” he notes.

“Of course I do,” you offer.

He closes the space between you in a matter of steps and crushes his lips against yours to prevent another retort. The surprise gives way to desire as you wind your arms around his neck. You’re not even that surprised when he grabs you and lifts you up to deposit you onto the bed, despite the gasp that falls from your lips. He puts a knee between your legs and kisses you hard again before he breaks the kiss to pull off your shirt. You reach to remove your underwear and he stops your hands.

“Leave those,” he says before getting off the bed.

His back is to you again as he looks for something in the drawer. You have to squeeze your legs together when he turns back to you with silk scarves in his hands. But then he’s silently asking your permission before attaching each wrist to the headboard and you’re nodding even as you’re squirming. It’s not until you realize he’s still got something in his hands that you remember he promised you’d find out what happens when you don’t listen.

“What’s that for, Cheol?” you ask as he straddles your lap.

“I told you that you’d find out,” he answers and leans forward so his lips are nearly on your ear. “You don’t get to see what I’m doing. Just remember the word to use if it’s too much.”

That makes you swallow hard. You’ve talked about sensory deprivation and explored it a little, but you’ve never been blindfolded from the start. And part of you thinks that he’s going to leave this on you the entire time. A reminder of who’s actually calling the shots. He’s still gentle when he secures it behind your head, so careful that he doesn’t get any of your hair caught. You blink your eyes when it’s in place without it making much of a difference. You’re not totally blinded, but you might as well be. You can barely make out a shadow.

The next thing you’re aware of is Seungcheol’s lips against your neck, carefully trailing kisses that make you want to press into him. His thumb brushes across your nipple and you whimper, earning a chuckle out of him. Not being able to see is making everything feel a lot bigger. Just making it feel a lot more. There’s no knowing where his hands or mouth will be next and it’s turning you on. Making you want everything all at once.

Seunghcheol drags your nipple between his teeth and you arch into him, careful not to pull too hard against the restraints. The hand he runs down your side as he continues to tease your nipple should tickle, would under any other circumstances. It doesn’t this time, though. 

“Are you going to listen to me next time?” he murmurs against your skin.

“I don’t know,” you manage between a moan. Your nipples are so sensitive.

“What was that?” he asks before he returns to kissing along the underside of your breast while his hand massages the other.

“I said I don’t know,” you repeat, fighting against the answer he wants.

“I guess the blindfold stays on,” he muses. 

With that, he works his way down your stomach, leaving a trail of kisses mixed with goosebumps from the warmth of his breath. Part of you wants to anticipate his moves and you open your legs, just slightly. He chuckles so quietly that you think usually you wouldn’t hear it. Except now everything sounds louder. You feel him remove his lips from your body, feel the bed shift from him moving somehow, and then feel his lips make contact with your skin again. But he’s kissing down from your knee, completely avoiding the place you want him the most. Even your moans and squirming do nothing to make him move on from kissing along your calf.

“Please baby,” you beg. 

“Please what?” he asks, smirk clear in his voice. 

“I need you,” you answer.

“Do you?” is all he asks 

“Yes, Seungcheol, please,” you whine.

“Are you going to listen next time?” he wonders. He runs a finger up your inner thigh, stopping just shy of the material separating you from what you need most.

“Cheol,” you plead.

“Are you?” he repeats. This time he moves your underwear to the side and runs a single finger between your folds. It’s over entirely too fast. “So wet.” 

“Fuck, yes Cheol, whatever you want, I just fucking need you,” you beg again. 

His answer comes in the form of pulling your underwear down swiftly, leaving you naked before him. He runs his finger along your folds again, collecting some of the wetness there. You’re so hyper aware of him that you’re moaning from the barest touch, moaning when you feel his fingers pull away again. But then you feel him move around you and he licks into you without warning, spreading your folds with his fingers to get his tongue deeper.

“Fuck, baby, fuuuuck,” you yell. 

You want to have your hands in his stupid blond hair, the hair he knew was going to drive you crazy. Want to hold his face between your thighs. So you lightly squeeze your thighs together instead and he moans into your cunt. It’s annoying, actually, how good he’s always been at going down on you because just the thought of it makes you agree to damn near anything. 

Everything just feels that much more intense. Usually you love the sight of Seungcheol between your legs. Love to watch the way his head moves, love to see the way his hair falls, love the way the muscles move. Still do. But damn there’s something about not knowing what’s coming that’s making it that much hotter. 

Seconds later his mouth moves up your clit and your back arches into his mouth again. He follows it by sliding a finger inside you and you really think you see stars. Hearing the way he moans into you along with the way his fingers move is almost too much. You don’t need to see anything, he’s setting your entire body on fire. When he slides a second finger in and hooks them to hit you just right, you scream out again. 

He pulls his mouth away. “Oh, do you like that?”

“Fuuuuu- oh my god Cheol, yes yes,” you manage.

“Who fucks you the best, baby?” Seungcheol asks. “Hm? Who does this pussy belong to?” 

It’s honestly into cocky territory and you don’t care. Didn’t realize it was this much of a turn on for him to be possessive over you like this. Didn’t realize how much you wanted to be his, even if it’s confined to these four walls. 

“I’m waiting,” he says, stilling his fingers inside you.

“It’s yours, Cheol, I’m yours,” you whimper.

His fingers start moving again and he doesn’t answer until you feel his mouth on yours, taste yourself on his tongue. He’s catching every moan with his mouth, pushing you to let go, urging you forward. Part of you wants to pull away, knows that he must feel you clenching around his fingers, but doesn’t move his lips from yours. Catches the screams you want to let loose and guides you as you come around his fingers.

Your breathing is still coming back to normal as you feel Seungcheol untying your wrists, massaging each one as he does so. The last thing he does is remove the scarf covering your eyes and you blink even at the low light in the bedroom. His gaze is soft but confident. He knows how hard he just made you come, yet still wants to make sure you’re okay.

“Can we do that again some time?” you wonder and he chuckles.

“I guess it wasn’t a punishment,” he notes.

“Oh no, I’ve definitely learned my lesson,” you tease and he rolls his eyes but there’s nothing behind it.

“Hm,” is all he says.

He’s sitting up on the bed next to you, one hand lightly stroking his cock. You’re not sure when he took off his clothes but just getting you off clearly turned him on. Without even thinking about it, you’re moving to straddle his thighs. His eyes watch you intently as you spit into your hand and move his aside. Your strokes are slow and he lets his head fall back, eyes closing. It’s not often that he lets you set the pace like this, so you’re going to enjoy it while you can. When you run your thumb over the tip, you watch the way the muscles in his stomach contract. And you know his patience is wearing out.

“Enough,” he says and reaches over to the nightstand for a condom. He’s ripping it open with his teeth and then rolling it on the next second.

Seungcheol reaches out to pull you toward him and you realize he’s not planning on moving. No, he’s planning on you riding him. Which is fine by you since you already went this long without being able to see him. You try to lower yourself down slowly because he’s big and as many times as you’ve fucked him, you’re still never quite ready. But he has other plans and pulls you down in one motion.

“Fuck,” you draw out.

“I don’t wanna wait anymore,” he says in that low voice that shoots straight to your core. 

You’re not sure which of you moves first with his hands guiding you as you fuck yourself on him. One of his hands slides up your back and into your hair, pulling it so you arch into him. The new angle has a string of words mixed with moans flying out of your mouth. And it makes it easier for him to pull your nipple between his teeth again. Except this time he doesn’t focus on your nipple. This time he moves to the skin at the side of your breast, sucking hard. Much harder than you sucked earlier. Definitely hard enough to leave a mark. Fucker.

That thought flies out when he snaps his hips into you suddenly, quickening the pace and angling so he’s hitting exactly where you need him too. Each thrust stretches you out and brings you closer to another orgasm. You don’t even register that you’re sensitive from the first. Seungcheol pulls at your hair again and focuses on your exposed neck, a constant contrast of pain and pleasure. He kisses up and down the base before he lands at your pulse point right below your jaw. 

“Cheol fuck,” you yell as he sucks another mark into your skin. Another mark reminding you that you’re his. 

“Are you close, baby?” he asks when he finishes marking you. “Gonna come for me again?”

“Yes, fuck, yes, I’m so close,” you whine out. 

Seungcheol removes his hand from your hair to put both hands on your hips, anchoring you in place while he takes over thrusting into you. You know he must be close too with the way his brow furrows and the way he stutters.

“Fuck baby, come for me, I want to feel you come,” he urges.

It’s all you need and you’re releasing again, a string of fucks leaving your lips as he comes right after you. You try to carefully move through his release before collapsing down on his lap with him still inside you. You lean your head forward onto his shoulder to try and steady your breaths. He kisses lightly along your shoulder, hands trailing absently across your skin.

You like every version of Seungcheol, but you think this version, in the immediate aftermath of fucking him, might be your favorite. The contrast of how soft his touches are does things to your heart that you’re not entirely sure you want to admit. Not to yourself at least.

After another long moment, you gently pull yourself off him and flop back onto your side of the bed. You feel, rather than see, him get off the bed and assume he’s walking off to the bathroom. When he returns with a washcloth a minute later, you’re running your fingers absently along the mark you’re sure he left below your jaw.

“Just in case you forget,” he says before he runs the wet cloth along your skin.

“Forget what?” you question.

“That you’re my girl,” he says. “You can try to be cute and mark my chest or be friends with my members like Jeonghan. But you’re mine.”

“Yes sir,” you say and appreciate the way his eyes darken. Maybe he’s not done with you for the night yet. 

thank you for reading, let me know your thoughts <3

#svthub #kvanity #seventeen fic #scoups fanfic #scoups x reader #scoups x you #scoups imagines #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x you #scoups smut #seungcheol smut #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : FWB!Yang Jeongin x F!Reader TW : Jeongin is an extreme asshole in this ; reader is pregnant ; lots of arguing ; one of those super cool fast forward moments so I don't keep reusing the same plot ; Jeongin sort of redemption ark but it came too late ; Word Count : 2.9k Request : no, but he's the last one! A/N : The last angsty dad in the series!!! Gonna miss writing these! Also, this one is definitely getting a part 2 which will have MORE angst but a happy ending.

“That was a nice prank you pulled, bud. Had the whole group laughing.” Jeongin muttered into his phone as he walked down the halls of the JYP building. “It’s not funny to fuck around like that though. Especially not at my job. I know that you don’t really give a shit though because your job isn’t as important as mine and something like this won’t fuck up your entire life, but… Ya know, can’t really have a scandal like that going around even if it is a joke.” 

“You done yet?” You asked, trying to hide your agitation at the belittling of your job and pretty much everything that you do, doing your best to hold it together just long enough to tell him that it wasn’t a prank, that it wasn’t some joke. “I haven’t seen you in 2 weeks, and I honestly couldn’t care less about seeing you… But I needed to let you know, and you suck at answering your phone. I’m pregnant, Jeongin.” 

If this was a scripted television show, they probably would have added in the sound of a record scratching just to emphasize the way Jeongin stopped dead center of the hallway, his eyes going wide and his heart feeling like it had frozen. “No the fuck you’re not. That shit isn’t mine if you are though.” You knew that this was exactly how it would go down, you weren’t the slightest bit shocked at the disregard and downright arrogant behavior he was exhibiting right now. “I mean, you obviously sleep around, it could be anyone’s kid. Not my problem. Don’t try to stick me with that shit.” 

“It is yours. If you want to do a paternity test, fine, but I honestly don’t give a damn if you’re around anyway.” You retorted, and you heard him scoff loudly as if he didn’t believe you. “It’s not like you’d be a good father. You’re never around. We weren’t even dating.” You continued, and you could tell that he was getting pissed off by your comments, the way his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth and he very loudly ran his hand through his hair. “I just wanted you to know that you will have a child in the world, although I’m sure this one isn’t the only one considering your track record.” 

“Have you always been this big of a bitch or is it the hormones?” He snapped, and you suppressed the chuckle that threatened to escape your pursed lips. “And I’ll have you know, I’d be a great fucking dad. I’d be there for him or her whenever they needed me. And don’t try to be a cunt and keep my kid from me either. I know you’re that type of person.” 

“Aww, baby bread sounds a little upset.” You mocked him, and you could tell he was seething, harsh breaths shooting through clenched teeth whistled through the speaker of your phone. “I thought you didn’t want to be stuck with this shit? Sounds like someone changed their mind.” 

“Fuck you. Set up the paternity test and let me know when it is. If that kid ain’t mine though… I’m fucking done with you.” Jeongin hissed, and before you could sarcastically comment back, he had hung up the phone. 

There was no doubt that the child was Jeongins though. You were quite loyal to your beneficial relationship, and while the agreement was that neither of you would catch feelings, it was kind of hard to not catch feelings. Jeongin was the biggest sweetheart behind closed doors when it was just the two of you together. Sometimes he made it feel like you were dating, but that bubble burst just as fast when he’d leave without a kiss goodbye. He didn’t have any feelings for you. You were simply there for his satisfaction and that was all. 

///

“I told you that you were the father.” You mumbled as the test results were handed to both you and Jeongin on separate papers. You didn’t need to stay in the doctor's office any longer though, you had gotten the answers that Jeongin wanted, and now you could leave. “Do with that information what you want, but I was serious when I said I didn’t need you. You don’t have to prove anything to me, and you don’t have to prove anything to the baby.” Was supposed to be the final remark as you got up and started to head out, but Jeongin was quick to follow after you. 

“You might think that I’m an asshole…” Jeongin began and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, walking faster now to try to get away from him, but it was easy for him to keep up. “Just because I don’t want to be with you doesn’t mean that I don’t want anything to do with my kid. It’s my responsibility and my right to be a part of my kid’s life. You don’t get to decide whether I can or can’t be there.” 

“Thank you, Jeongin, for that… sweet sentiment. Make sure you tell all the reporters about what a nice guy you are so that all the fans will love you more.” You spat the words at him as you, quite aggressively, pushed open the door of the office. “I’ll keep you updated. Thank you for coming out today.” You started to walk towards the bus stop, but Jeongins hand wrapped around your elbow and tugged you back towards him. “The fuck are you doing?” 

“You’re carrying my child. You’re not riding the bus.” Jeongin said it as if it should have been obvious as he walked you towards the car that he had rode in. “Get in. And let me know when all of your appointments are so that I can have someone come pick you up and take you back home.” There wasn’t any emotion when he said it, it was all very bland, as if you should have known better than to take your usual way of transportation. 

“This is ridiculous…” You mumbled as you climbed into the backseat, but deep down, you were grateful that you didn’t have to hunt for a seat on the bus like usual. You’d be able to sit comfortably, at least for the next 8 to 9 months. “I still have to take the bus to work so I can afford my appointments and everything that I need.” 

“That job isn’t safe for you in your condition.” Jeongin said, still void of emotion. “I’m going to take care of my child, and my child is currently residing in you, therefore I’m going to take care of you as well. Again, you might think that I’m an asshole, but I’m not going to let you strain yourself and potentially lose the baby. I know it would hurt you, and whether you believe me or not, I’d be upset as well.” 

Although there wasn’t a hint of kindness in his tone, the words alone were enough to show that he did care. It was hard to hate him and be mad at him when acting like this, but you knew that it wasn’t because he cared about you, it was because he cared about the baby… And truthfully, that’s all you could really ask for. “Thank you…” 

///

“Why didn’t you call me first?” Jeongin asked, having spent the better half of his morning pacing the practice room, screwing up his dances, unable to focus at all due to the fact that you didn’t contact him like you usually would. Now that he finally had a break, he was able to call you, which shouldn’t even be a thing considering you didn’t have to work anymore and he was taking care of everything. The least you could do was keep up with the scheduled calls. 

“Because I woke up this morning and things just felt a little… weird… ya know…” You sarcastically stated back, and he hated the fact that you couldn’t just be clear with him. Everything had to have just the tiniest hint of sarcasm in it. You were 8 and a half months pregnant and his worries for the baby were through the roof. He didn’t know when you’d go into labor, he didn’t know anything, and of course, you just had to be a smartass. “So I’m in the hospital-” 

“Hold up! You’re what?!” Jeongin screeched, not even waiting to hear the reasoning behind your sudden trip, he just wanted to get to where you were as soon as humanly possible to make sure his baby is okay. “I told you to stop trying to clean the damn house by yourself. That’s what I hired the maids for. I hired literally everyone that I could to make this easier on you, yet you still act like a fucking idiot. What’s wrong with the baby? Is she okay?” 

“Don’t be a dick.” You huffed, and Jeongin could faintly hear the sound of a machine beeping during the short moment of silence. “Sorry that she doesn’t work around your schedule, but your daughter decided that she wanted to come out today. So, if you feel so inclined to do so, you can come see her be born. I’m not sure how much time you have, I’m already like… I think they said 5 centimeters dilated so… better haul ass.” 

And that he was. He never thought in a million years that he’d be skipping out on practice without even saying anything to one of the guys to watch his beneficial friend give birth to the daughter that he was already devoted entirely to. It was crazy how just the prospect of being a parent made him want to be a better version of himself. “Well tell the doctors to shove a cork in there or something, at least until I make it to the hospital. I’m not missing it.” 

“Will do, buckaroo.” He could just hear the eye roll that came along with it, but then he heard the sound of your pained, labored breathing, and the beeping of the machine sped up momentarily before going back to a steady rhythm. “Just hurry the hell up, I don’t think she’s waiting for anyone. She wants out.” 

///

Raising a child was hard, being an idol and a father at the same time was hard, but coparenting with the girl that you had managed to catch legitimate feelings for over the last 6 years was even harder. How could he not fall in love with you though? Watching you with his daughter was the most strangely attractive thing he’s ever witnessed, and he regretted not asking you to just be his officially when he first found out you were pregnant. That would have saved him from the feeling of jealousy and anger that he felt when you started going out on dates. 

“I don’t know why you’re wasting so much time on these low grade losers. You could do so much better.” Jeongin called to you from the living room as he sat at the makeshift table where he was currently being served Cheetos and a Caprisun by his daughter. “None of them are good enough to even get close to my baby anyway. I feel like I should have a say in who you potentially start bringing home around her, shouldn’t I?” 

You peaked your head out from around the bedroom door and he swears, he’s never seen you look more beautiful. He hated whatever guy was lucky enough to be going out with you right now. “Coming from the biggest eff word boy in the industry… I think that’s quite hypocritical of you.” You teased, sending him the most gorgeous, heart stopping smile, even though he knew it was supposed to irritate him, it only made his stomach fill with butterflies. 

“I’ve changed my ways. The only two beautiful girls I want to spend my days with are Jeongsoo and you.” He leaned back on his hands so he could try to see through the bedroom door where you were getting ready, hoping to see some kind of reaction, even just a smile at his flirtatious attempt. Sadly, Jeongsoo wasn’t too keen on the idea of not being the center of her fathers attention, so she walked over to him and tapped him on the shoulder, his gaze quickly turning to look at her sassy, cross armed stance, trying hard not to laugh. 

“Dad. You are gonna go to tea party time out if you do not play right. Do you want to go to tea party time out with Mr. Oink?” She pointed her little finger into the corner of the room where her stuffed pig was sitting staring at the corner and Jeongin quickly shook his head no. “Good. No time out for you.” She nodded her head before going back to her play kitchen. She was almost a carbon copy of you, at least in the attitude department, but he absolutely adored her and he couldn’t imagine a world where she wasn’t sassily living in it. 

“Are you sure you don’t mind babysitting her? I know you’d rather be out with the guys right now.” You said as you came out of the bedroom, the little dress that you were wearing hugged all of your curves, and while Jeongin didn’t know anything about the guy that you were going out on a date with tonight, he hated everything about him. “I’ll pay you back tonight for watching her.” 

He rolled his eyes, wanting nothing more than to get up off the floor and go over to you and grab you by the waist and kiss you, but the thought of being in tea party time out was keeping him from doing so, especially since Mr. Oink had been staring at the corner for a good hour and a half now. “You don’t have to pay me for spending time with my daughter. It’s not even considered babysitting. I think you’re forgetting that she’s literally half me.” He commented, hoping that maybe pointing out the fact that the daughter that you both loved so much was the most perfect blend of the two of you would have you second guessing going on that date. 

“Well I’ll still pay you. I think the girls you hook up with at least deserve a good dinner before they find out they’re just your friend.” You teased, but he knew that was also a jab at the way he had gotten with you. He had only taken you to McDonalds once before taking you to his bedroom, and for that, he feels like shit because you did deserve better, you still do. “He’s here. I’ll be back in an hour or two…” You said, and he absolutely despised how giddy you looked to go out and meet this stranger who was most definitely not good enough for you. 

You ran over to where your daughter was still working at her play kitchen, ruffling her hair and then bending over to press a kiss to the top of her head before telling her you love her. “Call me if he does anything weird. I’ll have a guy from security pick you up. Just let me know where you are.” Jeongin said as you headed towards the door, and while you always thought that it was simply because he didn’t want anything happening to the mother of his child, it was because he didn’t want anything to happen to you. He loved you, and every single time you walked out that door to meet someone new, he was one step closer to never being with you at all. 

The door closed behind you and he let out a heavy sigh, running his hand through his hair before taking a sip of his juice box and falling flat onto the floor. “Daaad!” Jeongsoo whined when she heard his head land against the hardwood floor. “You getting sleepy? You didn’ even finish your cheetos.” She huffed softly, the sound almost like a recording of your own voice. “Whatchu wanna do now?” She asked, and Jeongin pushed himself up off the floor, scooping her up into his arms in the process. 

“Let’s watch a movie. Get Mr. Oink out of time out real quick though, I think he feels a little sad.” Jeongsoos mouth popped open in shock as she ran over to retrieve her forgotten stuffed animal before returning to the couch and sitting next to Jeongin. “We’ll watch a movie and eat some ice cream, and then it’s time for bed, okie dokie?” She nodded her head in agreement as Jeongin flipped through the movies on the tv. 

It was a good night, he tried to remind himself of that as his daughter peacefully slept curled up against him. The movie was turned down almost completely, the only sound filling the silence was Jeongsoos soft snores. He waited for the text from you, telling him to send someone to pick you up and bring you back home to him and your little family, but it never came. He didn’t want to go out with the guys tonight, he didn’t want to meet anyone else… All he wanted was you. How perfect the night could have been if you had been here, sitting opposite of Jeongsoo, his arm draped over the back of the couch to gently run his fingers through your hair as you both focused on the movie in front of you. That would never happen though. He was too scared to ask you now, and surely there would be someone else out there that you thought was more deserving of your love than he was… And maybe you would be right… He had let you go, and now he had to sit back and pretend that it didn’t break his heart each time he’d watch you leave. 

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[notafunkiller]

cherry

Summary: During your family getaway, things get a little messy when you meet Bucky's old friend.

Pairing: (fake) boyfriend’s brother!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: age gap (r is 26, Bucky is 38/39), teasing, pet names, language, alcohol, mentions of sex, jealousy, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 4.5K

story masterlist

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: This story will have around 4 parts, this is the 2nd part.

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

You keep coming across each other in the morning and during dinner for the next couple of days. He’d refused the offer, you heard from Jessica. You noticed he doesn’t enjoy talking about business in general, so you never open the conversation about it.

His family is really lying to him without shame, and you can sense how cold their bond is, but what can you do? You wish he knew... you wish you could talk about it with him. If only...

That’s why you are surprised when both of your families decide to organize a getaway in Austria for the weekend, and Bucky is coming along.

Thankfully, the cabin you’re staying at has more than enough rooms even with Bucky and William’s sister there.

Rebecca is a physiotherapist, she’s thirty and she lives in France. She seems very close to Bucky. They’ve been hanging around a lot since you arrived.

You wish you could say you are close to your family. You’ve been barely speaking to your mom since this whole arrangement became a real thing. But you didn’t say even a single word to your dad. And Bucky noticed, but he didn’t comment on it even as he helped you get your luggage to your room.

“You know I could have done that myself, right?” You smile.

“No need to. Your boyfriend should have, but he’s a punk.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. “No wonder why you won’t...”

You immediately puff, anticipating what he wanted to say. Why does he want to bring that up? “What, fuck him?”

“I was gonna say share the room with him. My little brother’s sex life is none of my concern.”

You nod, all flushed. “Good. I’ll go take a shower and be right back.”

You don’t know why you tell him this because it’s not like it’s his job to inform anyone. That should be William’s, but he’s not here. And even if he were, you know you wouldn’t ask him to.

“Alright. Uhm, see you later.”

Bucky didn’t anticipate Rebecca waiting for him in the doorway of his room. She has a “I know everything” look, making him blush even though he did nothing wrong.

“How old is she?” She asks soon as Bucky closes the door.

“Who?”

“You know who, Bucky.” She jumps on his bed amused. “Your little crush.”

He puffs in response as if that’s a real answer.

“Come on, don’t be mad. It’s okay. Maybe she’ll realize she is into older guys.”

“Rebecca!”

“What?”

Bucky groans. “You are talking about our brother’s girlfriend.”

Rebecca’s eyes glow, and he has no idea what he’s just started.

“They haven’t been together long though. I doubt two people who live in different rooms-”

For some reason, he gets defensive immediately and interrupts her. “That is their choice and you should respect it.”

So it’s hers, Rebecca puts two and two together.

“You think he is that bad?” Rebecca changes the subject a bit to get more out of him, and Bucky realizes, but he can’t help but ask.

“What?”

“In bed. She seems angry all the time.”

She doesn’t remember the last time she saw her brother looking like this. This is more than a crush at this point. He’s annoyed, angry and livid, all at once.

“What? You never thought about it? Never heard them?”

“Can you go to your room now?” He snaps, trying to brush the images of you with William off his mind. It makes him sick to his stomach. “I don’t wanna talk about my little brother’s sex life!”

Rebecca laughs, walking to the door.

“You didn’t deny she’s your crush! And I didn’t even say her name, by the way.”

Shit... He didn’t even realize.  Things are going too far, he needs to snap out of it.

“Your room, Rebecca.”

“Such a bad man, mid-life crisis hitting you for two years..” She stops for a few seconds before she corrects herself with a wink. “One earlier.”

Bucky groans. “Rebecca!”

“She’s into you anyways, Buck. You’ll save him from dating or even marrying someone who doesn’t love him.”

Somehow, her words set him on fire and cool him at the same time. Rebecca is good at reading people, and he sensed something is off about you and William, too, but how can he hope... how can he think about kissing his brother’s girlfriend even after a break up?

“She was checking your ass on the stairs.” She adds with a smirk. “And it was not subtle.”

And then he’s left alone with his confusing thoughts and feelings.

*

Something’s wrong with him. He’s been completely —and obviously— avoiding you ever since he helped you with the luggage, and you wonder what you did wrong. As soon as you get inside any room he is in, he finds excuses to leave. Was your tone too rude earlier? You didn’t intend to get mad, but you couldn’t help it.

You know he is an adult, and he should be able to face you even if it bothers him, yet you can’t help but feel bad when you see him outside, in the cold.

You take the nearest blanket without thinking twice and open the door.

His head snaps in your direction, and you smile shyly, wrapping the blanket around his back.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bother you, I just came to give you this.”

His shoulders relax, and he reaches out to take your hand. “Thank you! You’re not bothering me at all. You can sit with me if you want.”

Neither of you has any idea where this came from. You thought he didn’t want to be around you, but how can you say no to this?

You sit on the chair next to him and smile when he covers you with the blanket.

“No, no. This is for you.”

“I’m not gonna let you catch a cold, love.” His voice sounds authoritative but not distant.

“Then let’s share.” You grab the end of the blanket and adjust it until you are both covered. “See? Perfect!”

After that, you’re quiet for a few seconds, trying to find the right thing to say or ask him.

“Are you alright?”

Bucky smiles. “I’m alright.”

“Well, you look alright.”

He blushes and laughs at the same time, making you giggle. He looks so adorable like this.

“Then why did you ask that?”

“To make you smile. You were quite tense.”

“When?” He tilts his head, and your shoulders touch under the blanket.

“Ever since we arrived, to be honest. Did I do anything to upset you?”

“No, love, you didn’t upset me.” He immediately assures you, but you’re not certain he’s being honest, and he senses it. “I mean it, I’m sorry if I gave you that impression and made you uncomfortable.”

It’s easy to notice when he is lying at least. He surely didn’t intend to make you feel bad, but he’s been avoiding you.

“Don’t worry about me.” You sigh. “You can just tell me next time, though. So I won’t be in your way.”

“What does that mean?” He can feel the panic rushing through his whole body.

“I mean, it’s your family, and they decided to have this random vacation. I could have stayed home.”

Not entirely true because you were asked to come along.

“Well, your family is here too, plus your boyfriend. But it’s irrelevant, anyway. I am sorry for ignoring you, I was just… consumed by my thoughts,” he says honestly, and you smile.

“It’s okay. It happens to me too.”

Especially when it comes to him.

“Why are you not with William?”

You try not to look disappointed as you answer. He has a point to ask you that. After all, William is your official boyfriend, and you two didn’t spend much time together. But you hate it anyway.

“You want me to leave, huh?”

You try to take off the blanket, but he doesn’t let you.

“No, no. Don’t go, I mean... I just expected you two to spend more time together.”

“Well, I wasn’t too keen on coming here. I have a lot of work to do on Monday, and I wanted to prepare some docs beforehand, but my parents forced me indirectly to...” Bucky snorts, amused for some reason, so you stop talking.

“You don’t like spending time with old people much, do you?”

Old people? Does he mean your parents?

“By old people you mean you?” You ask jokingly and turn to him just to see him smirking. The little beard he grew over the last few days makes him somehow even more gorgeous. He’s probably, truth be told, the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

“Yep. I’m turning thirty-nine after all.”

Holy fuck... The question is why you find this so sexy.

“That’s a very nice age,” you comment amused, playing with the edge of the blanket. “You make thirty-eight look very good.”

You don’t have to look at him to know he is smiling again. Good, he should know, and it’s not wrong to compliment someone.

“Thanks.”

You start to talk about random things shortly after: jobs, projects, random hobbies. He is shocked you enjoy origami, and you can’t believe he was in a band during high school. Well, you can imagine it, but it still surprises you. It’s comfortable and nice, but every time he calls you love, you feel yourself shivering more and more. And he senses it, immediately starting to brush your arms with his hands under the blanket.

“Maybe you should go inside.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” you protest, melting under his touch. It feels so good. “Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

“Ha, funny!” You playfully roll your eyes. “Is it your parents’ anniversary or something?”

Bucky lets out a chuckle. “No, no special occasion for them. Why?”

“Saw a birthday cake...”

“It’s not for them.”

Fuck, is it William’s birthday? No way. Your parents would have told you… you wish you checked the calendar with everyone’s birthday before starting this conversation.

“Is it Rebecca’s?”

“Nope.

“Then...” You think for a little and when it hits you, you gasp. “Yours?”

“Yep.” He pauses, turning his head just enough so he can look into your eyes. “My daddification era is starting.”

Your immediate reaction is a burst of laughter as the lightheartedness of the moment caught you off guard, followed by a flush of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks. It feels like your face is on fire.

“But you’re not turning forty...” You mumble, your words barely audible. “I mean, I had no idea. I’m so, so sorry, it’s so embarrassing!”

“So no gift for me, huh?” He teases, utterly unfazed. He hadn’t expected anything at all, and seeing you blush so furiously is endearing. “I feel deeply hurt.”

Without thinking, you lightly slap his chest. “Shut up!”

“That’s not how you talk to your elders, ma’am.”

“Okay, dad,” you snort in response, but there’s a momentary pause from Bucky. He holds his breath, a flicker of different emotions crossing his face.

*

The knock on the door doesn’t wake him up, but it surprises him. He slowly drops his phone on the bed and puts on the nearest T-shirt before opening the door.

There’s no one there waiting, instead, he finds a tall cocktail glass made of paper with a note inside it. Confused, he carefully picks it up from the floor before getting back inside again.

If you don’t drink anything today, I’m gonna punish you... with my presence.

So think twice before refusing :)

Happy birthday, Mr. Barnes

*

What Bucky doesn’t expect when he gets downstairs in a great, great mood is to see you, Rebecca, and Cherry talking on the couch.

He freezes, shocked, but he doesn’t have time to recover before everyone starts to hug and wish him a happy birthday. Cherry kisses both of his cheeks and hands him a small gift, which he assumes it’s a watch based on the size.

“Surprise!”

Bucky smiles. “It’s actually a surprise, I really didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Becca said we should keep it a secret. When did I ever miss your birthday?”

He instantly looks in your direction, worried for some reason you might misunderstand this situation, but you don’t seem mad at all. And why would you? You are with his brother. You’re not his. Not even a little. Because if you were...

Rebecca smirks satisfied and hugs him too. “Happy birthday, grandpa!”

He hears you laugh, and before he can think twice about it, he sticks out his tongue playfully toward you.

“Keep it low with the flirting, will you? Your little brother is in the room,” Rebecca whispers, amused, in Bucky’s ear before letting you wish him a happy birthday.

You stop awkwardly in front of him, wondering if you should hug or kiss his cheeks.

He makes the decision for you, grabbing you by your waist and getting you closer. You open your arms and wrap them around his back, shocked, knowing how intimate the way he’s holding you might look. But you don’t care. You let yourself enjoy this as you rest your chin on top of his shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Barnes.”

“Thanks for the drink, love. The best gift I received.”

You hide your smile in his shirt.

“You haven’t even opened others yet.”

“I don’t have to.”

You bite your lip, breaking the hug before it gets too suspicious, and give him space so your mom can wish him a happy birthday.

Rebecca winks at you, which makes you even more confused, but you don’t think much about it, focusing on Bucky.

The breakfast goes well, with Bucky in the center of attention despite his obvious attempts to shift the focus to anyone else. Your parents decide to get some shopping done around lunch and get some food for all of you, so you don’t have to worry about much. William tries to do some affectionate gestures from time to time, but you ignore them as much as you can, without making it obvious. You still have to play your part.

Cherry seems like a nice girl. She’s Rebecca’s age and they met during university. They all have been friends for a couple of years, and it’s easy to see that by how comfortable they act around each other.

As they talk about some fancy place in Spain you’ve never been to, you scroll randomly on Instagram.

You decide to search Rebecca and Cherry up so you can follow them, and as you look at Rebecca’s photos, one post in particular catches your eye.

You can’t hold back your gasp, which immediately draws Bucky’s attention.

“You good?”

“Yes,” you answer absently and zoom in on the first pic. There are around ten people there, including Bucky, Rebecca, and Cherry. It’s clear they are all close, but you didn’t realize how close Bucky and Cherry are. They are sitting next to each other in almost every photo. In the second to last one, he is holding her by the waist in a very boyfriend way, which makes you close your eyes.

Of course they were a thing. Of course! And now she’s here... You feel close to crying and you don’t remember the last time you felt so stupid.

Why do you care so much? You are officially dating his brother and you’ve been just friends.

You close the app quickly and stand up, ignoring Bucky’s eyes on your back as you announce, for the sake of appearances, that you’re gonna take a nap.

You don’t let yourself tear up until you close the door.

What if they hook up again here? What if you’ll hear them?

Jesus, anything but that! You couldn’t bear it... You’d be sick for real.

*

You don’t go down for lunch. Your mom comes a few times to check on you, then William, then your mom again with lunch.

You feel hurt and annoyed with yourself. You can’t act like a kid all the time, so when Rebecca comes to check on you, you decide to go downstairs with her.

Bucky looks at you immediately, concerned and confused, but you don’t let your eyes linger too much on him, especially since he is sitting next to Cherry. You drop onto the couch, next to William, and he smiles.

“Feeling better?”

“Much!” You lie, but you do it well enough not to get questioned.

“So now that we’re all here, can we see the surprise, Buck?” Rebecca asks excitedly.

You watch Bucky get up without saying anything, and everyone stays quiet until he returns with a tray full of drinks. He keeps one to himself and takes another one that looks like a cherry mocktail while everyone else hurries up to take one of the drinks. Bucky heads toward you with a smile. “I guess I am not as rusty as I told you last night.”

You know exactly what he means: his first job was as a bartender. He shared stories with you about glasses he broke in the first month, but how he learned, yet it’s been years since he’s made a drink.

You can’t deny the drink looks tempting, especially with your penchant for cherries, but the mere thought of sipping it turns your stomach. “Thanks, but I can’t drink this.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows, the wrinkles on his forehead becoming more pronounced. “What’s wrong? Still feeling sick?”

“No, I just hate cherries. I can’t drink it,” you lie in a disgusted tone, keeping your eyes on the table.

“Do you want me to make you another one?” He asks immediately, surprised because he saw you eating cherries before. Why would you hate them all of a sudden?

Cherry herself is walking toward you with Rebecca, so in a moment of madness, you extend your hand. “Can I taste yours?”

Bucky nods, and you immediately take the glass from his hand and take a sip.

It tastes okay, but it’s not your favorite, for sure.

“Thanks, but I’m okay.”

“Is it bad? Should I-”

“I’m fine, enjoy your drinks, Bucky. It’s your birthday.” You try to sound as casual as possible. “Gonna get some wine.”

“Wine?” Your mom's surprise is evident in her voice. “Since when do you drink wine?”

“Special occasion. My brother-in-law,” You have to force the words out of your mouth without choking. “Is turning thirty-nine.”

You haven't even gotten tipsy until now, so the half glass of wine, combined with the lack of a proper lunch, makes you feel a bit dizzy. Rebecca immediately catches on and nudges Bucky, who’s been on the edge all night, to help you. William and your parents have already gone to their rooms.

You’re half asleep when you feel Bucky’s arms wrapping around your waist, causing you to open your eyes in shock.

“What are you doing? Let me down.” Your face makes contact with his chest as you speak.

“I’m taking you to bed.”

You snort immediately, letting him climb the stairs with you in his arms. “You can’t take me to bed, silly. Go back to your p-pretty... friend.”

“I’m carrying my pretty friend right now.”

“Smooth talker.” You sigh when he opens the door. “Not me.”

“Who do you mean then, love?” He helps you sit on the bed, and you instinctively reach for his hand, running your fingers along it. His skin feels remarkably soft and warm. You don’t remember the last time you found hands attractive. Or veins. At least, not like this…

Deep down, you know you never stood a chance anyway. Even if you weren’t officially with William, you’re far from Bucky’s type. Cherry, from what you've observed, is an amazing woman, and you can admit that he has great taste.

He probably sees you as too young for him, perhaps even as a little girl. 

You scrunch your nose, and Bucky sits on the bed too since you won’t let go of his hand. He allows himself to enjoy this fleeting moment for a few seconds, aware that it won’t last. This won't hurt anyone, right?

“She’s so pretty and nice, I get it.”

“Get what, love? And who is pretty?” He lets you take his other hand too as he gently asks.

“Cherry.” You sigh, tapping his palms with yours lightly. “I guess she came here to win you back. And I understand. But like... you’d be wasted,” you complain, grabbing his face all of a sudden.

Bucky leans in instantly, closing his eyes.

“If something didn’t work once, why would it work now?” You stroke his beard gently, taking your time. “I mean, sometimes it does, but I can’t see it happening for you. You’re old,” you laugh, making him laugh too.

“I’m old?”

“Ihm, you are. The daddification era looks good on you.”

Bucky’s mind is racing now. From your touch to your words... he feels weak.

“Thank you, love. But how do you know about Cherry?”

“Saw some photos on Instagram this afternoon. You looked gorgeous and all over each other,” you bite your lip, unable to stop touching him. Even if he doesn’t belong to you...

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t serious, love.” He brings his hand to your face too, caressing your cheeks, which only makes you giggle.

“Hmm?”

“We’ve been friends for ages and we just had some... fun for a little while, but it wasn’t a relationship.”

You puff. “That is a form of relationship too! And maybe she wants you now.”

“I doubt that. But even if she did, I don’t want her like that, okay?”

“But she’s so pretty and funny,” you add, surprised.

“Many women are. But I told you, there is nothing like that.” His tone is serious, but you can’t understand.

“But you had sex with her,” you point out, visibly upset. You hate that even though it’s silly.

“O-kay, you need to get some sleep.”

You move your hand down to stroke his chin. “I’m serious, you’re...” You find yourself glancing down to his lap for a brief moment. Although you can't see anything, you just know it’s big. “A whole package. Don’t waste yourself.”

“You think I want Cherry?”

You don’t understand the surprise in his voice. Why wouldn’t he want her? If he wanted her once...

“You’re so confusing,” you murmur, and your eyes fall on his bottom lip the moment he licks it. It’d be nice to feel how soft it is. His mouth seems so soft and wet, and you bet he knows how to use his tongue. Ah... “You wanted to have sex with her, but you wouldn’t want anything with her now?”

Bucky smiles widely, surprised by your interest in his past. He knows it’s silly, especially since you are with William for some reason and he’s pushing forty, for fuck’s sake, but he can’t help himself.

“It was only for a summer.”

“Is this what you do with everyone?” He gasps when he feels the tips of your fingers on his lips as you speak.

“W-why?”

“Don’t waste yourself, okay, pretty boy? They don’t deserve you.”

Bucky literally chokes, completely taken aback.

“What?” He gently grabs your chin. “Who doesn’t deserve me? Cherry?”

“All of them.” You yawn, trying to keep your eyes open. “You deserve a better family.”

You’re so sad for him. They’re lying to him, and he’s so lonely.

Bucky’s confused but also touched by your words. You probably noticed how tense his relationship is with his parents, and you paying attention to that gets him emotional.

“We all do. But right now, you need to rest.”

“Don’t go to her tonight, okay?”

“Jesus, princess.” He strokes your cheek gently, and you giggle for a second.

“I’m not a princess. But please don’t do it. I can’t hear it…”

“Hear what?”

In response, you clap your hands together three times, mimicking the sound of skin slapping. “Please.”

“You mean sex?”

“Duh! At least...” You shake your head, trying to fight tears. You don’t want to cry. “Not tonight. I don’t want to hear it.”

Bucky sighs. He’s already told you he isn’t going to, but you mean sex now, and he wants to make that aspect clear too.

“I am not going to be with Cherry in any way, okay, princess? You won’t hear a thing because there isn’t a thing going on, alright?”

You nod happily and giggle. “Yes, sir.” You move your hand to your forehead, imitating a military gesture.

“Wow, such a good girl,” he snorts. “I expect this attitude from you tomorrow too, love.”

You roll your eyes, still in a good mood. “I’m sleepy, go away.”

“After you made demands about my sex life?” Bucky laughs. “Should I make demands about yours?”

“Go away!”

“Oh wait, there’s no sex li-” You hit him with the nearest pillow you find before he can finish his sentence.

“Augh! So aggressive.” He leaves the room still giggling.

*

You wake up in the morning feeling well-rested, without any headache or stomach ache. You can’t believe how embarrassing you acted toward Bucky. Like who are you to ask him not to sleep with someone? You wonder how he hasn’t told you to fuck off already.

He’s so kind, and here you are, lying to him, just like the rest of the family. Just like William. You’re deceiving him… 

Even if he was into you after all, you lying to him like this would ruin any potential relationship before it even begins.

You need to stay away from him.

Packing doesn’t take as long as you anticipated. William helps you get your bag in the car, and your family makes sure to remind you to be a good girl as if you are a naughty kid being left with a new nanny.

As much as you avoided Bucky until then, you can’t help but stare at him as Cherry hugs him. Indeed, there is nothing but friendliness all over his face, and you wonder if this is how it’d be if you fucked him —in another universe. You’d still be his friend? You cannot understand this. Not even a little.

Unfortunately, you don’t notice Rebecca looking at you until it’s too late. As she hugs you goodbye, her words make you freeze.

“Take care of yourself, and please don’t play with both of my brothers’ hearts.”

The shame floods your entire body, overwhelming you. You rush to the bathroom to splash water on your face, attempting to hide the tears staining your cheeks.

You fucked up really badly.

Tags:

@charmedbysarge @identity2212 @vicmc624 @cjand10 @mayusenpai666 @abitofblues

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #boyfriend's brother!bucky #boyfriend's brother!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #bucky fanfiction #my stories #my fanfics #sebastian stan #fake dating

[seungmoonandstars]

Thoughts on how you think it went when Seungmin discovered he likes bwing called 'puppy' intimatly?

Say it again...please

Kim Seungmin/female reader

wc: 1.3k

rating: explicit/18+ ✴

comments: hopefully you don't mind this written as a oneshot! Please let me know if you'd like a fluffier version, though

⋆˚☆˖°

Seungmin rolls over in bed and faces you. It's dark, and he's looking at his phone, so it's casting a harsh light on his face. He's smiling at something.

"Why are you still up?" You ask, then look at your own phone. It's almost 2 in the morning. Both of you went to bed late, but it feels like you've been asleep for hours.

"Why are you still up?"

"I was asleep. You must have woken me up rolling around over there."

"I wasn't rolling around!" He sets his phone down on the bed, “I can’t sleep.” He puts on his best pout, but you can never tell if he’s playing around or if it’s real. He cries wolf too much. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m never mean to you.”

Seungmin narrows his eyes at you and licks his lips. He scoots a little closer. Now there’s only enough space between you to breath. But he doesn’t do anything yet—just stares at you for a long moment.

“I’m tired and I can’t relax,” he coos, finally, and you can see the tiny disturbance under the blanket, and you can hear the sound of his hand moving to you. His fingers find your hip and grab, knead deeply. It makes you jump and he laughs. “Did that hurt?”

He keeps doing it, though. His hand slides down your thigh and grabs the softest part.

You shake your head. “Are you gonna make me work?”

Now Seungmin shakes his head, and it turns to a nod. His eyes are big and soft, and he’s still pouting at you. The warmth of his hand is on your inner thigh, moving up, squeezing; fingers spread roughly across your cunt and make you jump again “Pleeaase.” He whispers.

He smiles when you whisper his name.

“Minnie what?” His touch softens, and then it’s gone. You can hear it snaking back to his side. “Baby?”

“Talk about being mean.” You lift yourself and throw the blankets away from him, “giving me those eyes and that pout…that’s mean.”

The look of satisfaction on his face—his big smile, eyes squeezed shut—as you straddle him makes up for his manipulation, but you won’t tell him that. You reach down and run a hand across his thigh, and you can tell he’s hard. His cock is pushing against his briefs, desperate to be freed.

“Don’t tease.” The soft, anguished look on his face is his specialty. His hips buck up to make contact, and his eyes light up when you give him a little moan.

“So cute,” you lean forward and kiss down the side of his face before taking him in your hand.

The fabric between his cock and your hand is killing him. He tries to cry and protest, but your mouth is on his, keeping him quiet. His knees bend and his feet are flat on the bed as he lifts himself up, trying to make as much friction as possible.

“Okay okay…” you say into his mouth.

He opens his eyes and pushes his nose against yours until you’re looking directly at him. He whines.

“Okay baby…” you leave him there, crawl down until you can hook your fingers under his briefs, and yank them down.

Seungmin moans when he’s finally free.

When he reaches for his cock, you grab his wrist. You can tell he’s aching to be touched. “Relax, puppy. Your job is to look cute.”

“Hmm?” He bucks his hips and squirms when you run the same hand up his thigh. “What did you call me?”

You don’t answer—now you’re busy getting yourself out of your underwear. He watches you crawl back, place your knees on either side of him. He can’t help but grab you—squeeze the soft skin on your hips. He pulls you down a little and you let him do it. The head of his cock is touching you, just barely.

“Say it again...please.” His eyes grow even bigger. They somehow sparkle back at you in the dark.

“Say what again, puppy?”

He smiles and pushes up until you slide over his length, and it gets a soft sound out of you. You try to keep yourself together, but you’re soaking wet, and now he knows it.

“Am I your little puppy?” He pokes his tongue out and licks his lips.

“Yeah, my horny little puppy. You like that? Do you like begging for it?”

“No…” he whines again. “Don’t make me beg, baby.”

“Those big sad eyes are telling me you like it.”

One hand drops from your hip, and a moment later, his head is pushing in. And he slides in so smoothly, you have no choice but to just let it happen.

Seungmin grips you again and slams himself into you, over and over until you fall forward, palms open on his chest. He pulls you down to meet each thrust, and the sound of skin on skin as he fucks you fills the entire room.

“Does that feel good?” You breath out between thrusts.

He nods and smiles sweetly, “you’re so—” he moans and tiny laugh sneaks out. “…wet.”

You are. You can feel the mess you’re making on him every time your bodies meet.

He groans and slows himself down, but he doesn’t stop yet. The room goes quiet, save for the ragged breaths coming from both of you. Seungmin’s arms fall to his sides, leaving you alone to move slowly up and down on him.

“What’s wrong, pup, did you go a little too hard?” You roll your hips to get a rise out of him, “you gonna come already?”

Seungmin whines dramatically and reaches up to grab the pillow. He squirms and lifts himself, very lazily, to feel you when you purposely slow yourself down.

“Yeah, if you keep calling me that.”

“Puppy?”

He smiles, moves his hips again.

“You’re so cute,” you lean forward and kiss a few spots on his chest. “Stop it.”

“No.”

He grips you again and sends you forward with the force behind his thrusts. Fingernails are digging in, and you know he’s going to leave marks—maybe a bruise in the morning. It feels like he’s trying split you in half, but when you look down at him, his face is calm and sweet—he’s flushed, but he hasn’t broken a sweat.

“Minnie,” you cry out, but you can barely find your breath now. “Min—”

“Who?” He releases you from the grip of his fingers, but slides his hand up your sides.

“Puppy…puppy,” you whine.

“Is puppy gonna make you come?”

You nod. The pressure is getting to be too much already. You’re full of him—too full, and too stretched out around his size. He’s hitting you exactly where you need it.

He picks up his pace and fucks relentlessly. Seungmin takes the control away from you every time, and sometimes you don’t know how he does it. The other times, it’s just you purposely teasing until he can’t take it anymore.

Seungmin watches you take every inch. His grip on your waist tightens, and he’s pushing you down hard, slowing down for a moment just to watch you swallow him over and over again. But he can’t handle it anymore. His stomach muscles flex, he speeds up.

“I’m gonna…,” he says, eyes half closed, dark with lust. His lips are red and swollen from his licking and biting.

Before he can say it, he feels you tighten around him, and he knows you beat him there. He lets go as you squeeze tight around him. You feel it, he keeps pumping himself into you, slowly and carefully. And a moment later, his come is running out of you and making even more of a mess.

His body is tense and you know his orgasm is still working its way through him. It’s lasting much longer than yours. Lucky for him.

Eventually, his body relaxes. His face softens again, and a satisfied smile creeps across his face.

“That was fast,” you come down and kiss him on the lips, “…puppy.” You whisper the last part.

“Yes, and very nice,” Seungmin says it sweetly into your neck, kisses, sighs against your skin, and growls softly.

#kim seungmin #kim seungmin x you #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x y/n #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #skz seungmin #seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin smut #skz x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #requests #asks #oneshot

[whiskersz]

Husk and cuddly drunk reader who flip flops from happy giggly silly to oddly philosophical within seconds

+ Husk and Angel with reader who goes back and forth between being super giggly and silly when drunk to really serious and introspective

Hey you guys! Your requests are very similar, which is why I decided to give you some headcanons instead of a full fic, so I could kind of combine them if that makes sense. Hope this is okay!

Husk

I feel like Husk doesn’t love it when you’re drunk; it makes him worry that you’ll do careless things or say something out of pocket that will result in people getting frustrated with you, which he doesn’t appreciate as he is fairly protective of his loved ones.

But, if you’re simply a little giggly he won’t really mind, as long as you don’t get too drunk of course. What he doesn’t really expect is for you to switch from being silly to being serious, if not philosophical.

He nods as he pours drinks if you’re inside the Hotel rather than at a bar, he has a job as a bartender to do after all, but even though you’re obviously drunk and probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow he still feels bad just straight up ignoring you.

So he gives you a little bit of attention, asking you questions which you can or cannot really answer to... it really depends on when he asks, if you’re not really in the introspective mood you’ll just give him a giggle and call him a silly cat which makes him shake his head endearingly.

At the end of the night he drapes a wing across your back protectively and walks you to your room or to the Hotel, all while you’re blabbering about something that sounds so deep that even he can’t really makes sense of it.

He brings you some water once you’re in bed and, even if you can’t really understand him as you’re already falling asleep, he grumpily tells you that he loves you and that you can keep talking about whatever you were on about earlier tomorrow.

Angel Dust

Angel plays along a little more than Husk does; he will agree with you on whatever you’re saying, or even argue that your theories are wrong. He will also pinch your cheek affectionately when you get into a fit of laughter, but after all he knows you’re drunk so if you’re not within the safety of the Hotel he’ll try to keep an eye on you at all times.

He definitely tries to hold off on how much he drinks to be able to be in his right mind in case something happens to you.

Just like Husk he will drop everything to walk you back to your room and even keep you company while you’re falling asleep. He finds it very funny that once you get to his room – he decides to bring you there as it’s more spacious – you try to engage in a very deep conversation with Fat Nuggets. He admires the ‘exchange’ for a while, before reminding you that it’s time to get your silly ass to sleep.

He already has everything prepared in case the next morning you’re on a hangover, and he’s ready to keep you wrapped up in his arms if it comforts you to have him close to you.

He definitely teases you once you wake up though...remember when you said that one thing about the values you’ve learned in Hell, and then started laughing at yourself over it? You probably don’t, but he was sober enough to, and now he’s going to giggle over it whenever it comes to his mind!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin x reader #x reader #husk x reader #angel dust x reader #husk hazbin hotel #angel dust hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #drunk reader

[gukkie01]

Pair: Racer! Jungkook x Police officer! Fem reader

Rating/Genre: 18+, smut (little to no plot), humour (I tried but failed again 😐)

Words count: 5 649

Warning: explicit content, oral sex (F receiving), semi-public sex (I guess??), penetrative sex, vaginal sex, jungkook is a very very hot racer, fingering, car sex, sassy Y/n, dirty talking, unprotected sex (pls don’t be dumb like them)

Summary: Y/n was starting to get bored of being a police officer. She needed the thrill. Thank god, Jeon Jungkook was there to help her.

Note: very much liked writing this one. It was inspired by a book I read on wattpad (that I forgot the name of :/) but I switched the roles and decided Y/n was going to be the police officer 👍. Hope you guys enjoy this one! Sorry for any typos :(

💞 quick little reminder that comments and likes are appreciated 🥹. Enjoy! 💞

Can’t Catch Me

Being a police officer was not your dream anymore. For the solemn reasons that it was boring as hell. Nothing like in the movies. There weren’t any arresting criminals and interfering in mafia cartels and saving the day.

No. It was sorting documents and sometimes, if you were lucky enough, arresting cars. But where was the thrill in that? The excitement?

Sitting down behind a desk clearly wasn’t saving anyone or helping in that case. It was just making phone calls, watching some people here and then to make sure they didn’t leave. You never had to interrogate anyone. You didn’t even have your opportunity at playing the mean cop!

Because there was no doubt that you would’ve been the mean cop. You let no one step over you or cross any boundaries.

So yeah, being a cop or police officer if you would, was not thrilling at all. It was a shitty job that paid just enough so you could survive the month. Just enough. In the end, you always had to ask yourself if it was even worth it. And most of the time, your answer ended up being no, not at all.

Your superior was not even—

Speaking of, you suddenly received a phone call from him. Picking up, you cleared your throat, trying to sound as professional and calm and cool as possible. “Y/n,” he said and shifted a little. “I need you in my office. Now.” He ended the call, not giving the slightest bit of details.

But you were used to that. Didn’t make it less annoying though.

With an exasperated sigh that earned a few amused glares from your coworkers, you got up and made your way to your boss’s office down a little hall. Three knocks and a barely audible ‘come in’ later, you were sitting down in front of him, Mr. Kang or Monkey Face as you liked to call him.

“Yes sir?” You asked, quirking an eyebrow and shifting to the edge of your chair. Were you in trouble? You couldn’t see how that was possible. How could sitting all day bring you in trouble?

Monkey Face, without once letting his eyes divert from his laptop, clicked his tongue. “I’m assigning you to a new route,” was all he said, typing away on his laptop and munching on his gum a little too loudly for your taste.

“What? Where?” The idea of finally leaving this hell of a place brought interest into your features as you wiggled more on the edge of your chair. It was embarrassing really. It wasn’t like you were arresting criminals but at least, you were going to be outside, arresting cars.

Give or take. And you decided to take.

“Route 30. You can go now.”

So, apparently, route 30 ended up being more of a stretch of highway rather than an actual route. By the time the moon set, you saw two cars, and they were exasperatedly slow. But there was no one else behind so you let it pass.

You were sitting inside your car, radio playing but you paid it no mind. It was just nice having some background noises that stopped you from falling asleep although let’s just say it wasn’t doing its job right.

When you glanced outside, the sky was pitch black; no stars, no moon. It was like someone purposely painted it black. It made the outside much darker and duller.

You sighed and decided to exit your car. Take some fresh air. You stood outside, kicking rocks with your boots and after some time, you even started playing soccer against yourself.

But you quickly got bored once again.

It turned out that being assigned to patrol a road was worse than you thought. Sitting in your car, switching the radio multiple times until you’d get so frustrated you would just shut it.

At one point, you got so bored you were on the verge of tears. Which was pathetic but true.

You started singing off-tune to a song that you vaguely remembered, singing as loud as you could before that too would become boring.

And that was when the universe heard your wishes.

Your ears perked up at the ramble of an engine, far in the distance but no doubt getting nearer pretty fast. Too fast. With your heart thumping almost loudly, you buckled your seatbelt and waited until the roaring got closer and closer and you finally saw it.

It flew past you so quickly it was like it was never there in the first place. You flicked on your lights as well as your sirens and started the car, following as closely as you could.

It was hard. Whatever car it was surely surpassed your own speed. And if it didn’t slow down any time soon, you’d lose sight of them eventually.

They made a turn to the left so quickly that you almost couldn’t follow. Your car had been on the verge of driving off the road. You weren’t really on the highway anymore but more on a small route hidden by immense trees.

You were breathless and nervous but driving that fast was the biggest thrill of your entire life and it was so liberating.

Finally, the car decelerated soon after, swerving into the side and parking swiftly. With how fast it had initially been going, you were impressed with how smooth it parked. Whoever it was behind the steering wheel, they were clearly experienced.

Slowly, all the while trying not to make a fool of yourself, you pulled up behind the bright neon blue car. You stepped out and approached the vehicul, taking in deep breaths. Be cool, be cool.

You knocked on the window three times before it slid down and goddamn it—

Your heart literally stopped beating for a fraction of a second when your gaze met a pair of doe eyes. Your own trailed lower until it stopped at a particular shiny object on the driver’s face. A lip piercing.

For a moment, you completely forgot what you were here for, too dazed by the same piercing being bitten and played with. You shook your head, regaining your composure. Or more like tried to.

Question number one.

“Do you know how fast you were driving?” You asked, trying to muster the scariest voice you could. His pierced eyebrow raised up and he smiled innocently. He had this little bunny smile that made you giddy despite trying to calm yourself down.

“I’m sorry officer, I wasn’t paying attention.” He was amused. It was clear in the way his eyes twinkled and the mocking tone of his so fucking deep voice. You gulped a lump in your throat, trying with all your might not to look at any of his piercings and maintain your professionalism.

Question number two.

“License and registration?” You managed to ask without stuttering and the driver reached into the glove box compartment and handed you his papers.

You glanced down at them, letting your eyes trail along the information.

Jeon Jungkook. Born September 1st, 1997. He was a year older than you. His hair in the picture of his license was shorter and lighter. More like a soft brown whereas now, it was almost black. You didn’t know why you were even paying attention to that. You didn’t deign a look at his registration papers and gave them back to him.

He arched an eyebrow, clearly finding the whole situation amusing and to his advantage. He must have known just how much he had an effect on you right now.

Your inner thoughts consisted of:

I’m gonna get fired

But he’s so hot, I don’t care

I wish he could take me right here, right now

I am so getting fired.

Jungkook’s smooth husky voice quickly pulled you out of your thoughts. It was kind of funny how your heart dropped at how deep and soft his voice sounded. There was this little witty and sarcastic tone behind it.

“Aren’t you supposed to use these?” He asked, wiggling his license and registration in his hands. It was then that your eyes caught the tattoos hiding every inch of his skin. It was covering a big part of his hands and went up under his sleeve and you found yourself wanting to see more. You needed to see his entire full sleeve tattoo.

You cleared your throat, the air around you thickening by the seconds. You wondered if you were the only one feeling it. The tension. The want. The desire. Maybe it was only your brain playing tricks on you. Telling you that Jungkook’s eyes definitely trailed down your body, mentally undressing you.

Yeah, your mind was clearly playing tricks. Maybe it was his little grin tugging at the corner of his lips or his sweet cologne that made your brain alter like that. Surely, he had done something to you.

After a couple of seconds, you realized you still hadn’t answered him. You straightened up, flattening your hand on the top of his car, glancing down at him with what you hoped was your most serious glare. “I’ll let you off with a warning, Jungkook.” It was a little strange saying his name out loud, but you quickly found out that you liked it. A lot.

“But I better not see you here again or it’s a ticket,” you continued and saw his smile widening.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ok, your mind was definitely going a little crazy. You had just seen Jungkook sending a little wink your way. You probably imagined it. Yeah, it was all your brain.

He gave a little nod and started his engine once again. It roared loud and hoarsely and you had to admit that it was nice to the ears. You took a step back and watched as Jungkook drove away, ignoring your words from mere moments ago and going fast.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth.

You had told Jungkook to never come back here but deep inside, you wished to see him again.

A week later, the job didn’t get better. If possible, it probably got worse. You hadn’t arrested one single car yet and all you did was sleep in your car. You knew that if your boss found out, he’d surely fire you and it would be over. He was paying you to work, not sleep. That would be his words.

You sighed for the millionth time this afternoon, whistling along the song playing on the radio. The sun wasn’t bright today. Your mood was down.

The radio was on as per usual and you could hear some of your coworkers communicating with each other, wishing you could do the same. You had nothing to say, nothing to warn. Today was pretty boring.

But then again, someone seemed to have heard you and a loud roar could be heard at the far end of the highway. Your heart thumped loudly and you felt your chest vibrate. Finally. You felt a smile curve up your lips as you turned your car on just as a vehicle flashed before your eyes.

You quickly drove away from behind the small bushes you were once parked at and started your pursuit. But it was quickly over. The car parked on the side road after a short while and you did the same a couple of meters behind. You stood outside your car, looking around quickly before jogging and knocking against the tinted window.

“Do you know how— Jesus! You?”

Fucking hell. Of course it was him. Jeon Jungkook. You should have known by the unique rambling of his motor and at the speed he went earlier. You should have known since the start. This job was seriously making you lose some brain cells.

Jungkook grinned. It was a little devilish and teasing and smug. He leaned on the inside of his door, looking up at you. Fuck. He had dimples.

“Hi to you too, officer…” his eyes trailed down to your badge, “Y/n.” The way your name rolled off his tongue so well made you shiver. His voice had gone an octave lower. It had that little rasp to it that almost made you drool. You secretly wished you could hear it right to your ears.

Just the thought of it gave you goosebumps.

“Jungkook, it’s the second time I catch you exceeding the speed limit. I have no other choice but to give you a ticket this time.”

You didn’t really want to. If you could, you’d let him off with another warning that would actually never get anywhere. He was too pretty to have a ticket. Too fucking perfect.

Jungkook’s wicked grin didn’t falter once even after your words. If it made sense, it seemed to only get wider. Was he finding this entire situation funny? It made your blood slightly boil. You felt like you were getting laughed at. Humiliated maybe. But there was also this little feeling, this tightness at the pit of your stomach when Jungkook got closer.

His cologne hit your strong and gosh, you wanted to breathe it forever. Bath in it. It smelled so good on him.

“Is there a way I could pay? I don’t have money right now.” His tone was suggestive and it took you a while before you got the proper meaning behind his words. And to say that you were shook was an understatement. You choked on nothing, face flushed and so warm, it was embarrassing.

Jungkook didn’t miss the way you suddenly avoided even looking at him, focusing on his steering wheel instead. You heard a low chuckle that shouldn’t have sounded this good. It shouldn’t have made your knees slightly fold.

Jungkook was an attractive man. You couldn’t deny it and it was pretty hard to miss. It was also hard not to stare at his piercings, at his pink lips that looked so soft or at the tattoos that were much more visible than last time. They peeked from his white top and reached the middle of his neck. They were simply magnificent. You wanted to let your fingers run along each of his tattoos.

But even with his fucking god-like appearance, you had to stop yourself from even thinking of further things about him. It was not professional to let your brain wander at these places.

So, in other words, you were a little too close to taking his offer.

“Don’t worry, you’ll have a week to pay, so if you don’t have the money on you right now, it’s no worries.” You replied, mentally high-fiving yourself for keeping your cool.

Jungkook shifted closer, and the tip of his index grazed your arm. It was covered with your uniform but it still sent a wave of fire through your entire body. “But I would really like to pay now. I have something better than money.”

Shit.

Fuck.

No, no no.

He shouldn’t have said that. You were on the verge of saying ‘yes’. On the verge of letting him take you right here, in the middle of the highway. His words were very powerful and from the way his eyebrow arched, he knew it.

“Do you know what you’re implying right now, Jeon?”

Something in his eyes twinkled when you said his last name. He smirked. Literally smirked. “I know that very well, officer. So, what do you say?”

Oh my god.

You couldn’t say yes, even with how much your heart—or more like your cunt— begged for you to accept his offer. But that would only bring you trouble. You didn’t need that.

“I say we’re going straight to the station, Jungkook. Come out.” His smug expression dropped for a moment, and you saw how disappointed he was. Maybe he thought that his sexiness and his pretty voice and pretty tattoos and piercings would have saved him, and it almost did. But you had to remember that you were the mean cop.

He sighed and opened his door, standing up in front of you.

You breath hitched when you realized how easily he was towering over you. He looked so intimidating from this angle, you almost dropped to your knees. It was then that you realized he was wearing a white top that was so tight you saw the entire shape of his pecs. He had a racer vest on top—blue with black lines and his name written on the back.

He looked at you for a second, toying with his lip piercing before eventually turning around and putting his hands behind his back.

“You know officer, it seemed like you were ready to take my offer. What made you change your mind?” So cocky. His ego was so big and normally it would piss you off, but with Jungkook, it was almost like a part of his charm.

“Stop talking,” you ordered in your most stern voice although it only made him chuckle. You unclipped the handcuffs from your uniform, ready to wrap them around his wrists.

“So bossy. I like it.” You swallowed on nothing over and over again, losing focus. The more he talked, the more you were overthinking. You wanted to push him in his car and let him fuck you.

“Jungkook, I said stop talking.”

“You like having control, hm? I bet you’d love to control me, even for just a few minutes…” And then, well, you kind of snapped.

You handcuffed his wrists together harshly, your fast movements making him take a sharp breath. You turned him around, slightly pinning him to his car door. “I told you to stop talking. You’re only bringing yourself further into trouble,” your voice was simply a mere whisper directed to his face. Jungkook bit his lips, bowing his upper body to reach your level.

“One thing you should know: I love trouble,” he said and his voice was suave and smooth and warm on the side of your face. His knee touched your crotch and he pushed it between your legs. You sucked in a long breath and let out a muffled moan.

Well shit. You were doomed. Because now, you couldn’t stop thinking about how his knee felt so good pressed against your pussy and how much his cock would be even better.

“Seems like you’re enjoying yourself,” he commented, looking down at your lower half grinding on his knees. He pushed it up more and added some pressure to your core. You were wet. Wetter than you’d been in a while and all because of a little asshole named Jungkook. He had his proud face on, enjoying the way your face darkened in a deep shade of pink and the way you obviously shook. He knew you wanted to go further.

“Remove those handcuffs, sweetie.” He said suddenly and his face was dark, serious and so dominant. You really couldn’t say no to that face.

So you nodded, taking out a key from your front pocket, fumbling with it clumsily until the handcuffs were off and Jungkook’s hands found their way on your waist.

He didn’t wrap his arms around you. He simply let you feel his hands for a while, getting used to the burning feeling they left even on top of your entire uniform. It tickled as if he touched you straight through your clothes, right on your skin. Thinking about it, you were dying for some skin to skin contact. To touch his tattoos while he was pleasing you.

Jungkook’s eyes were staring straight into yours. You knew right then that he had been thinking about that moment for a while now and to say that it turned you on was an understatement.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep eye contact without failing but it was hard. His stare was deep and intense and the way he continually licked his lips made it difficult to keep your eyes up there. They looked so soft.

You briefly wondered how they tasted before Jungkook’s voice interrupted your train of thoughts.

“Are you gonna stare at them longer before you finally kiss me?” You hated how his voice made your inside wiggle and giddy and your heartbeat accelerate.

You hesitated, on the tip of your toes. You were so nervous. And Jungkook seemed to catch in, as with a wide grin, he plunged down, lips crashing against your, and teeth colliding. His cold lip piercing touched the corner of your lips and made you gasp.

He snorted into the kiss, this time, wrapping his arms entirely around your waist and exchanging your positions. You were the one pinned on his car. And quite honestly, you liked this position way more.

“I’ve been waiting to do that since the moment you knocked on my window.” His sudden confession stole the air out of you. Just like you, he had been waiting to touch you and feel you up.

Fucking butterflies. You hated how they swam in your stomach and made it difficult to keep up with the kissing without feeling like you would pass out. Jungkook was a good kisser. Scratch that, he was fucking amazing. He moved his lips with expertise against yours.

You guys weren’t really taking your time but you still enjoyed it very much. They way it was heated and impatient and filled with want made it all the more exciting.

You wanted him so bad.

“Let’s take this further in the car, hm?” He mumbled against your lips, struggling to open the car in the position you were both in, but after a while, you were swiftly thrown in the back seat.

Jungkook hovered over you like a scary predator ready to attack and eat its prey. And you were very glad to be his prey.

His right hand lifted up and stopped at your cheek, letting his thumb rub over the softness of your skin. He was in literal awe as he let his eyes trail around every feature of your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Can’t wait to ruin you.”

If it wasn’t hot enough, it became too much. You were sweating, desperate to get out of your clothes and let the AC of the car wrap around you. And even more desperate to get Jungkook to fuck you.

Jungkook’s rough hands explored every inch of your upper body until he got tired of your clothes. He sat you up and as fast as he could, succeeded in removing the top of your uniform. His eyes twinkled as if he was a kid that just received his favorite toy for his birthday.

You let him touch you everywhere, he squeezed and massaged your breast until you were whimpering. He pinched your nipples, earning multiple cries from you. He seemed to love every second of it, considering the smile—worth probably a million of dollars—plastered on his face.

He didn’t linger on your breasts too much, though. You could see in the way his fingers always found themselves at the waistband of your pants, that he was more excited about what was down there.

He looked up at you, stopping his hands that were ready to slip off the last item of clothing (except your panties) covering your body.

“Can I remove them?” He asked and it warmed your heart that he remembered to ask you before going any further. You gave him a shy nod and kept in your breath when the cold air hit your lower body, more specifically, your inner thighs.

Jungkook’s hands covered your skin almost immediately. His nails slightly scratched your skin as he ran his fingers up and down your entire legs. But his eyes were stuck on the wet patch on your panties.

“Aren’t you a little excited, huh? Soaked even when I barely even started.”

You moaned. It was a small moan that was more due to your embarrassment and your need for him to touch you, combined together.

It was music to Jungkook’s ears.

He let his finger push on your clothed core, breathing in loudly when he felt the dampness. And then he slipped his fingers in your panties without any second thoughts or any warning.

He settled on rubbing his middle finger on your clit, looking up every now and then at the way your face contorted in pleasure. You were moaning continuously, asking him for more but he wouldn’t give it.

Jungkook loved teasing you and even though you barely knew him at all, that information was pretty obvious from the way he enjoyed slipping in snarky little remarks from the first moment you saw him. He loved how your face became red instantly, how you avoided his eyes. He felt so confident around you.

You liked the tease. You liked feeling on edge every time his fingers almost entered your pussy but then he’d move them away.

“Be patient, babe. You’ll get what you want soon enough.”

Babe. You wanted to hear him say that again on repeat.

“Jungkook,” you mumbled with closed eyes, internally screaming when he avoided your hole again, “I need more. Please.”

He chuckled, stopping the motion of his fingers. “Look at you begging for me. I should have known you’d be an impatient little slut.”

You whined at his choice of words. Dirty talking never failed in turning you on, although it was clear that it depended from who.

And it seemed to fit Jungkook very well.

“Please,” you asked again, not even caring how pathetic you sounded.

“Aw, you’re asking so nicely.” He slipped one finger in and you involuntarily arched your back. “So good for me, so tight too.” Another finger. “Are you gonna come from just my fingers?” A third digit, this time, curling inside.

The stretch hurted a bit. But it was good. It felt so amazing. It only added onto the pleasure and after a while, it wasn’t even uncomfortable anymore.

Jungkook’s eyes were plastered on your pussy and the way you swallowed his fingers so well. You were so wet, it dripped down your inner thighs. He kept biting and licking his lips, moving his head down by the seconds.

And then you understood what he wanted to do so bad. He wanted to eat you out.

“Do it,” you told him, wiggling and pushing yourself closer to him, his fingers hitting a particular spot that had a little yelp come out of you.

“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows, slowing down his fingers. You straightened up a little bit and took his wrist, pulling his three digits out of you. “I know what you wanna do. Eat me out. Please.”

He swallowed and nodded, pushing you further in the back seat and against the door. He properly positioned himself between your legs, tapping on your right thigh. “Open up,” he signaled, pulling them even more apart until you were wide open in front of him.

He licked his lips and plunged his head right in your crotch. Locks of his hair fell on your thighs, tickling you and making shivers run up your entire body. And then his tongue touched you. So warm. So soft. So pleasurable.

He licked the lips at first before slipping his tongue inside, grunting. He had mumbled something but with his face between your legs, the words came out muffled and unclear.

“Fuck, it’s so fucking good. Please don’t stop.” He dug his fingers in your thighs to keep them apart. He thrusted his tongue in and out of your cunt, sometimes, keeping it in deep, filling up all the right places, grazing all the right spots until you were wiggling, and legs wrapping around his face, bucking your head up.

He let you do it. Let you suffocate his face until your juice rolled down his mouth and he pulled himself away. White liquid covered his lips and something in your belly tightened at the sight.

It was so obscene but so hot. You pulled him by his vest to smash your lips on his and taste yourself. He slipped off his vest in the process, tearing down his top and struggling out of his black baggy pants, his boots already off.

He was left in those Calvin Klein sinful briefs that allowed you to see is bulge and fuck, he was big. Perfect length and thickness and that had you drooling literally. You wanted to touch every inch of his body. He was perfectly sculpted.

“I’m gonna fill you up so good, babe. Can’t wait to fuck you into oblivion.” He whispered in your ear and let you remove his boxers until his cock sprung free and stood proudly.

You were astonished and couldn’t tear your eyes away. You were never one to find dicks beautiful, but with Jungkook, you could stare at it and a suck it all day.

But not right now. There were more important matters. Like your desperation to have his cock fuck you.

“Jungkook, I need it inside. Please.”

Jungkook couldn’t get enough of your begging. He wanted to go as far as recording it and jerking himself off at night.

He aligned himself right in front of your entrance and looked up at you. “Are you okay? I really want to fuck the shit out of you but if you changed your mind—“

You cut him off with your finger, grinning at him. “I’ve never wanted something more in my entire life. So please, do it already.” Jungkook’s face brightened up at your response. He liked how you had shut him up and ordered him.

You pushed yourself against his cock just as he began slipping it in slowly, groaning and snuggling his face in the crook of your neck, biting right under your jaw.

“Oh my fucking god, I won’t last long,” he mumbled, sucking in multiple sharp breaths. One of his hands was holding himself beside your head and the other was wrapped around you, securing you in his grasp.

When Jungkook was fully in, he stayed still for a couple of seconds, enjoying the way your walls were so warm and perfectly wrapped around his cock. But then, he slowly slipped out until the head of his dick was at your rim and slammed back in. “Oh fuck—”. You bucked your hips up, meeting his thrust and letting out a scraped moan along with Jungkook’s groan.

“If I knew it was this good,” you started but cut yourself off when he picked up his pace, squeezing your flesh, “I would’ve accepted your offer from the beginning.”

He chuckled, looking down attentively as his cock disappeared in and out of your pussy, being soaked with your slick. It was warm and it drove Jungkook crazy. He wanted to stay inside forever.

“Well, I wanted to fuck you the moment I laid my eyes on you,” he admitted and slowed down his thrusts.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion until Jungkook flipped you over and you were straddling him. From this position, everything felt so different. He felt so much deeper, as if you could feel him with your hands if you touched your belly.

He gripped your hips tightly to the point when it almost hurted and glanced up at you. “Ride me like the naughty little slut you are, hm?” His voice was so hoarse compared to earlier, and so much more seductive and his sinful words rolled off his tongue in a way you found so satisfying.

You nodded and wrapped your hands around his neck. As you bounced up and down, your breasts followed the rhythm and they were practically jumping in Jungkook’s face, basically calling out to him to suck on them.

Which he ended up doing, letting go of your hips and licking, biting and squeezing the sensitive skin of your chest. He marked your entire cleavage until he was happy at how dark and red it looked.

Your pussy clenched around his cock, earning a strangle moan out of you two and then a moan from Jungkook when you clenched again.

“Is my little slut already so close?”

“Y-yes. It’s so good, I can’t hold it in much longer.” His hands grasped your waist and slid you down his cock until it was buried so deep, you couldn’t find the voice in you to make a sound. He was fucking you so well.

“You’re taking my cock like a good girl. I think you deserve to come.” He mumbled, moving his head closer to yours and nibbling on your bottom lip.

“Please, Jungkook. I want to come so bad. Please please.”

“Fuck, begging like that, I don’t think I can last longer too.”

His words made you keep going, bouncing on his length over and over again to the point where you reached some overstimulation, shaking violently in his arms.

Your voice was loud and the only word that was heard was Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook.

Your cum ran down his length, to his thighs and made his skin glisten in white. Your head was dizzy and your eyes hazed as you glanced down at Jungkook. Your stomach kept tightening every time he moved his hips upward.

He came no longer after, slamming you down his cock and keeping you there for a long moment, moaning how good you were and how hot you looked.

You leaned on his chest after a moment, catching your breath although it proved to be a difficult task. Your lungs felt empty, devoid of any air. But it was fine because you had just been fucked by Jeon Jungkook. And it was the best sex of your life.

After Jungkook regained his composure, he wrapped his arms around you and looked up. One of your hands was running along his tattoos and the other was busy, combed in his sticky hair. Jungkook was a fucking piece of art.

“So,” he started, pushing a few locks of hair away from your face, “Do I still need to pay for that ticket?”

“Heck yeah.”

#bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jjk #jjk fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungguk #bts jungkook #oneshot #jimin #namjoon #jin #yoongi #jhope #hoseok #taehyung #smut #jungkook imagine

[spacecowboyhotch]

Kinktober Day 7 (& 8): Soft & Slow (Cockwarming)

pairing: college!miguel o’hara x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, smut, rivals to lovers, teasing

wc: 735

an: wrote this for the sweetest most lovely @campingwiththecharmings, i hope you enjoy bb 🥰

kinktober masterlist | misc. masterlist

“Are you giving up?” Miguel asks you after several moments of silence.

“What? No!” You glare down at him breathlessly.

Why does the man who grinds your gears like it’s job have to be so attractive? Smooth skin, deep brown eyes, the cheekbones of Adonis. It pisses you off, but at least he can make you feel good. That’s all this is, all you want it to be. It’s sex. Just sex. Or maybe that’s what you keep telling yourself.

His grip on your hips tightens, shifting them up and down slowly. The sweet drag of his cock makes your mind blank, a shiver skating down your spine. He watches you with hooded eyes, drinking in every expression and sound that leaves you. He loves you like this, warming his cock just on the edge of pleasure as he quizzes you over and over again on this week’s physics lecture.

“Then answer the question,” He says, eyes glittering with mischief.

“I-I’m thinking,” You insist, though that couldn’t be farther from the truth. He’s been teasing you for a while now— keeping you pinned on his cock with a thrust or roll of hips here and there. You’re dizzy and needy, all you can focus on is him. On him making you cum.

“About how good my cock feels?”

“Fuck you.”

He laughs beneath you, loud and full, and your breath catches at the way it sends him a hair deeper. “You can’t think that was a good comeback.”

You groan, swatting playfully at his chest, “Please, Mig, can’t we just get off first?”

He sits up in a move that makes you whimper, nuzzling his nose against yours, “Where’s the fun in that? You could just admit that I’m smarter. I’ll fuck you however you want after that.”

“You fucking wish.”

Snaking his hand between your slick bodies he presses two fingers to your clit as he continues to goad you, “We both know it’s true, c’mon angel, don’t you want me to make you cum?”

“Yes,” You moan, head falling to the side. You don’t care anymore, you just need more. You need him.

“Yes, what?”

“You’re smarter, just fuck me. Please.”

He holds you tight to his chest, pressing you into the mattress and pinning your hands down above your head. While he’s fucking you earnestly now, his hips grind against yours at a leisurely pace, pressing against that sensitive spot inside you. All you can do is gasp and groan beneath him, listening to the filth that pours out of his mouth.

I’ve got you. There you go. So cock drunk, look at you. Cum for me, honey.

You do just that, cumming for him with a high pitched wail that he cuts off with a kiss. Your mind whirls, so much so that you don’t notice when he joins you in your peak, or when he rolls to lay beside you, still holding you close.

“I take it back. You don’t play fair,” You quip once your mind returns to you, breath still labored.

He raises a brow at you, cupping your face with his hand to tilt your chin up, “When has this rivalry ever been fair?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“And clearly, you need some tutoring,” He teases, grin widening when you roll your eyes at him. “Stay— I’ll make us dinner.”

“Dinner,” You repeat skeptically, looking over at him to gauge his seriousness.

“Yes, two people eating a meal together at night. A common occurrence, querida.”

“Like…like a date?” You ask softly.

Miguel’s gaze flatters— something you’ve never seen before. He’s the spokesman for confidence, even if he’s wrong he’s always ready to assure you that he can do better. But right now…he looks shy. It throws you off.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, like a date.”

Silence spreads between you two. You have to be cautious about this— what if it’s one of his jokes? A way to get in your head.

“What happened to this being a rivalry?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’m tired of fighting,” He looks up at you, and there’s something soft, something gooey about the way he’s looking at you.

Your mouth pulls up into a shy smile as you say, “Well. Dinner’s not gonna cook itself.”

He snorts, shaking his head as he rises out of the bed, shimming into his boxers. Leaning down he kisses you, murmuring into your mouth, “Stay put smart ass.”

oscar: @honeybrowne, @pastanoodles11, @steven-grants-world, @stevengrcnt, @greg-montgomery, @lesbianhotch, @mccn-bcys, @marc-spectorr, @whatthefishh, @simpforbritgents, @maisondenachtai, @silversprings-mp3, @flightlessangelwings

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara smut #arson’s kinktober #fawktober2023 #not sfw

[enheene]

Rich kid boyfriend heeseung fucking you into oblivion as you try to study- can you make it a fic?

He wants it? He gets it.

18+ MDNI

Lee Heeseung

}^Warnings: spoiled!boyfriend!hee x afab!reader, unprotected sex, pet names, idk just annoying hee but then both of them being all lovey dovey, reader crying cuz a bit overstimulated, oral (female receiving), idk semi?squirting, breeding

}^Words: 1022

}^A/N: I’m new into writing this kind of stuff, sorry if you’re disappointed by it!! I’m as well hoping for my fast improvement in writing fics^^

Studying isn’t a thing you enjoy at all, but to get a well-paying job, that’s the only thing you can do. Having a part-time job as a waitress in a small café isn’t paying you enough for you to pay all of your bills alone. What about the food you need to survive? Well, your boyfriend Lee Heeseung, who is a young man, from an upper-class family with a playful lifestyle, helps you out. A lot. To which you’re of course grateful, but he just doesn’t take anything serious. Why would he though? He’s one of the most spoiled people you’ve ever met. He doesn’t need to study as much as you do, he doesn’t need to care about the bills, he gets whatever he wants and that means he also wants you most of the time.

„Seungiee, not now. Later”, are the only words repeatedly leaving your mouth for about 3 hours now. Your boyfriend still doesn’t seem to care, that you’re busy studying for your upcoming final exam of this semester.

,,But y/nnn, I can’t wait anymore. Do you know how hard it is to not throw you on our bed and fuck your brains out? Just, please, get a little bit of a break.”, seeing him all pouty, whiny and horny just for you, makes you less concentrated on your studies. As always. He already knows how to make you give up on your assignments, chores, etc. It annoys you sometimes, but what can you do? He’s your lover after all and you appreciate all of his efforts to make it less stressful for you.

„No, I have more important things to do.” You answer him. „More important than me? Is that so, angel?” Cocky and horny. Nothing new about your boyfriend.

As you continue to study with a book and pen in your hands, he picks you up and lays you down on your king-sized bed. „Heeseung! What are you doing?! Did you lose your mind!?”

„I actually did, yeah”, he informed you with a smirk on his face. Slowly taking off your sweatpants, as you try to get out of his grip, unveiling your pink, laced panties with a wet patch on them. ,,You’re losing your mind as well, princess. Aren’t you?”, Heeseung chuckled with a now slight smirk remaining on his face. He took the pen you were still holding in your hand and started moving up and down your clit with it. You started whining at the sudden touch of something unfamiliar but yet satisfying to you. ,,Princess, do you mind reading out loud what’s in your book?” He asked you while pulling your shirt up, uncovering your breasts. Right after, he’s pulling your panties down and throwing it on the floor. As the wetness is dropping down your cunt, Heeseung decides to take off his own shirt and pants, being left in his boxers only. You start whining asking him to touch you already but he just answers you with a ,,I asked you to read.” Scrunching your face you start reading the quotes first, making him finally put two of his fingers into your pussy moving them in and out. ,,Hee, please stop”, your trembling voice telling him throughout reading the book as your back started to arch slightly. „Is that what’s written in your book? Besides, I don’t think you actually want me to stop”, he teases you as his mouth starts kissing your thighs and then licking and sucking on your clit harshly but yes so lovely. Your moans of being close to your climax and struggling to read the book makes him harder and harder each second “Cum for me, baby”. He’s moving and curling his fingers in your cunt even faster than before, untying the knot in your belly as you moan his name out loud losing the concentration from reading the book. All of your juices being slurped by Heeseung leaving his chin wet. ,,So fucking sweet, princess. You did so well for me.” He doesn’t wipe it away as he starts kissing you making you taste yourself. ,,Don’t stop reading.“ are his only words while he’s taking his boxers off enough to free his leaking with pre-cum dick. As you start reading again, Heeseung puts the tip of his cock into your still sensitive cunt making you squirm. ,,Please, no more.” Just these 3 words falling out of your mouth made him put his whole length in as you let out an almost pornographic moan. “I’m pretty sure you can take it, my angel baby.”

Tears slowly falling out of your eyes as he’s thrusting deeply into you at a fast speed, making you moan his name over and over, as the book is fully forgotten by you. “Princess, I didn’t tell you to stop reading, did I?” Your boyfriend reminded you, while breathing hardly, about the book laying next to your head. You reach out for it and start mumbling some nonsense that isn’t even written in the book. Heeseung chuckling deeply with a smirk on his face only to speed up the pace. “Fuck, so tight, baby.” He groaned. “I’m about to c-cum.” Were your last and only words coming high-pitched out of your mouth, including his name and the mumbling of the nonexistent phrases out of your book. Your cunt throbbing and releasing even more juices than before, makes Heeseung curse under his own breath as your clenching cunt brings him to release his seeds inside of you. “I’m so proud of you, angel. We should do this more often though.” Hee chuckled as you agreed with him. You whined as he pulled out of you, feeling empty and surely telling him about the feeling of emptiness. He smirked at the common sight of his babies dropping out of you. Picking you up and walking to the bathroom now him fully undressing both of you. You and him stepping into the shower feeling the warm water falling down on your skin as you both hug.

“I love you, my princess.” “I love you too, my prince”

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #enhypen #heeseung #enhypen heeseung #lee heeseung #heeseung hard hours #heeseung smut