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s-brant · 2 years

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Papillon

While preparing themselves for the dangerous job ahead of them, Y/N moves into Harry’s apartment to remain under his protection. They are soon forced to convince everyone in their lives that they hate each other to keep Leo’s suspicion off of them as they grow closer. (or hitman!h part five)

17k (18+)

Warnings: smut, penetrative sex, daddy kink, soft dom/sub dynamics, dry-humping, public sex, strong language, referenced murder/death, referenced violence, substance use, and toxic relationship dynamics.

On the car ride over to the safe house the next morning, Harry laid down a few ground rules about how they'll have to conduct themselves to act as inconspicuous as possible about the new job they've been given, as well as their undefined sexual relationship.

"Y'have to stay with me until it's over," he said. And before she could open her mouth to tell him no, he held a hand up as if to tell her to keep quiet. "Listen, if we're doing this, we're doing it my way. I know Leo, I've known him since I was a teenager, and I know that I need you close to keep you safe from him. We can't spend any time apart."

What else was she supposed to do? Say no? Not when their potential escape from Leo depended on this future job going smoothly. Did she want to live with Harry? No, especially not with how they're prone to fighting and fucking like uncivilized beasts at the drop of a hat, and she still hadn't fully forgiven his treachery from that night at Leo's house yet.

Naturally, none of this could be spoken of outside of the four walls of his penthouse apartment. He made sure to check later for any recording devices or cameras that may have been planted by either Leo or Garrett, though he didn't know how they could've gotten inside, and gave her a strict story to stick to.

As they approached the safe house on foot, his Escalade parked around the corner, he said to her, "If anyone presses for information, tell them the original story. The one Leo thinks is true—that Perez sent his men after him in revenge f'me attacking Tate, and I had to kill the one that got away. That's it. If they keep asking more questions, stick to that. Keep saying it until it becomes the truth."

If this plan were to succeed, they would need to be perfect. She would need to be perfect in playing the part of the trapped damsel, forced to work alongside a monster she hates and who hates her in return.

That was another thing.

"When we're around everyone, Leo in particular, don't talk to me unless y'have to. Don't touch me, don't look at me too long—just don't let anyone suspect it." He paused, then went on, "Or since everyone already thinks we fucked, make it look like it was a one-time thing that ended badly. They already think I'm a piece of shit anyway, so let them think I used you. Y'have to hate me."

Y/N spun around to halt his swift walking pace and crossed her arms over his chest as she looked up at him. The morning sun warmed her battered face and haloed his head from behind, nature crowning him one of its angels—a dim shadow wreathed in golden light. His wording caught her interest, and it took every morsel of control she had not to call him on it.

Just don't let anyone suspect it.

It. What is it, then? They haven't fucked since the day Leo had her beaten on his behalf, a fact she's unfortunately reminded of every other moment due to the simmering sexual tension that never dissipates between them, and she didn't consider their relationship outside of sex to be more than friendly. So, what were they? What was it? If it was her as both the hitman's Achilles heel and his plaything, then so be it. She was beyond pretending to care about whatever title their relationship held after the news they received from "Perez".

Checking twice to ensure no one watched them, she asked, batting her lashes dramatically, "You mean I can't follow you around like a little puppy and beg you to date me in front of all our friends?" Her hands pressed into the center of her chest as she let out a forced sigh, staring at him. "You know that's my favorite pastime. How will I survive?"

As amusing as he found her teasing him to be, he kept his face blank and stared at her right back. The dominance in that stare, as well as the words that followed, sparked a rush of pleasure to life between her thighs that she missed in their time apart.

"Behave," was all he said, and some deep, primal part of her had no choice but to obey.

And, so, the dance began again—of him possessing her, body and soul, and her having to pretend as if that connection didn't exist whenever they found themselves in the company of others. In all fairness, it pained him as much as it did her when they met with the boys that morning after breakfast. To stand there and not be allowed to dote on her, to be her shadow with a hand resting on the gun strapped to his hip should anyone make a move against her, was torture whether she was aware or not.

They both followed the rules.

Niall, Liam, and Louis were easy. All they needed to do was stick to their agreed-upon story and not budge when additional pressure was added. There were endless questions about what happened at the club mere days prior to them all reuniting, and they answered with honesty in regard to that. Harry took responsibility for his part in it and left her blameless, saying it was an act of treason for Tate to try to hurt one of their own. Then, of course, there was the matter of what happened after. Of Tate belonging to Perez, Leo punishing them, and Harry being sent after the remaining attackers.

Zayn, however, was a whole different story.

The entire time they spent at the safe house, forcing themselves to indulge in their questions and wait around for Louis to pay them, he eyed the pair in suspicion. It occurred to him as they exchanged glares from across the room and refused to speak more than a few words to one another that the way they were acting was different from what he saw at her place. She'd been angry with him, but not like this. And, he'd never expect to see Harry ignore her. In a room full of people, Harry's eyes would never stray from her.

He hardly looked at her that day.

She already knew he had a talent for masking his emotions, but what he did at the safe house was nothing short of a winning performance. It brought her mind back to how he acted after they left Leo's house, the show he put on to distance her from him under the guise of keeping her safe, and she had to keep reminding herself that it was an act.

They didn't give Zayn the chance to pull either of them aside afterward. First, Y/N left as soon as she got the money from Louis, not offering more than a quick, "Goodbye," before sauntering out of the front door with her sunglasses, gifted to her by Harry, in place to conceal her black eye.

That was another thing. The gifts.

The gloves and sunglasses were for specific reasons. The gloves were for their job, something he was getting on her for not buying in favor of hastily wiping down the steering wheel, and the sunglasses were tossed to her before they got out of the car that morning to cover her eye. They could've been his, or an ex-girlfriend's, but he didn't offer an explanation other than telling her to keep them.

In the week following, however, the little gifts he left behind for her at his place while he was busy doing whatever he does in his free time were for no good reason.

Perhaps they were apologies—one for every offense he's made against her. If so, one for every day of the week isn't going to come close to everything he's said or done to her. Every day, whether it be morning, midday, or nighttime, she'd come out to find a box sitting on the coffee table beside the pile of folded blankets and pillows sitting on the couch he made up for himself every night. She ended up taking his room upon his insistence, though it took a solid hour of bickering on the way back from the safe house for him to wear her down.

The gifts were anything from a dainty gold necklace to lingerie. The latter of the two is the one she found seconds ago. It was left for her on her bed this time, a warning sign she didn't care to notice until she was lifting the top to the box to find a matching set of lace undergarments with a handwritten note on top of it. Scrawled in his handwriting, it read—

So I won't have to tear them off of you this time. H.

Y/N reaches down to pick up the thin material of the panties, running it between her fingers in quiet appreciation of its quality. A glance at the name printed on the box confirms her suspicions. Undergarments cost a ridiculous sum at a well-priced store in the first place, but buying them from the store he had must have cost him a small fortune.

They're a shade deep enough to match her blood-red nails, a detail she knows he caught onto and matched the lingerie to on purpose, and it's wholly transparent. Everything would be exposed to anyone who saw her in it. Even the cups of the bra are flimsy panels of lace with no true support short of the underwire and shoulder straps. The underwear is the true star of the show. Being the self-indulgent prick he is, it shouldn't surprise her that Harry picked a pair of crotchless panties to replace the ones he destroyed the first time they slept together.

A soft chuckle escapes her.

That's what the note meant, then.

On her personal phone, the one she bought weeks ago to replace her original one, she snaps a picture of her new undergarments to send alongside a text message to him.

Y/N In your dreams.

Harry peeks down at the notification the second it pops up, and it makes his lips curl upwards in a smirk. It's so easy to rile her, isn't it?

Harry I wasn't dreaming last week.

Y/N And that was a one-time lapse in judgment I'll be sure not to make again.

Harry *Three-time

She scoffs.

Y/N Don't make me pull a knife on you like I did last week.

The three dots indicating he's typing appear immediately, then disappear a few seconds later as though he's hesitating in his response. She's ready to click off her phone screen and shove the lingerie into the drawers in the dresser he gave up to her when her phone pings with a notification.

Harry Don't threaten me with a good time.

A minute later, she sends back a middle finger emoji and he must stifle a laugh in the presence of the others around him waiting in line to order their midday coffee.

For the rest of the day after their back and forth about the lingerie, Y/N takes it upon herself to pick up a few things from her apartment to bring over to Harry's place that she initially forgot to pack. The items of most importance and urgency are the framed photos of her family, her baking tools, and, ironically enough, the rest of the undergarments in her dresser. At first, she swore to herself that all she would bring were her toothbrush and a few day's worth of clothes at a time rather than fully moving into his place.

That lasted about five days before she finally admitted to herself that she would tire of running back and forth between the two apartments and decided to get the rest of her stuff. Half of the dresser and closet are hers, as per their agreement, and by the afternoon, both are filled with the rest of her clothes.

She folds up the last pair of pants she has, sets them down in the drawer, and falls back onto his bed with a heavy sigh. The plush comforter deflates under her body weight, soft on her skin as she shifts onto her side and nudges her cheek against it.

For a moment, she lies there in silence.

It's strange being in his bedroom. All alone without the excuse of being brought there for refuge after being drugged or to have sex somewhere other than a car park, she looks around from her spot on the mattress with a tender smile playing at her lips. Though she fought with him over his wish for her to take his room, she can't deny the comfort found in it. The floor-to-ceiling windows leave the space wide open for her, allowing a small bit of moonlight in at night and a generous view of sunset in the afternoon, and she doesn't feel trapped here as she has in her own bedroom. The walls don't close in on her the way they do at her own place, and, for that, she's thankful.

She's about to crawl beneath the covers for a nap when the sound of her burner phone buzzing on the bedside table has her head snapping up in surprise.

They haven't been called to do anyone's bidding yet, whether it be Leo's or Garrett's, since last week. After all the time that has passed, it's something she should've expected, but she was thrown off by what has happened in the meantime—staying at Harry's place, sending meaningless flirtations to each other by text to fill the yawning void inside of her, and looking forward to his daily gifts. None of those pleasantries could ever keep the devil at bay, though. Not for long.

Her approach is slow and careful, like a predator stalking down its prey, as she slides her legs off the side of the bed and reaches for the flip phone. It rings twice more in her hand before she picks up the call and brings it to her ear.

"Meet me in the building's parking garage."

The line goes dead.

The parking garage is deserted at this time of night.

Being the pest he is, Harry didn't specify which level of the parking garage to meet him at, so she's been scaling the staircase for the better part of five minutes, peeking her head inside each level to listen for any signs of life. By the time she finds the roof level of the car park, her entire body is strained from it, and she has to take a second to breathe before she walks through the door.

There's a chill in the air. It's something to be expected with it being the second week of November, but she forgot to throw a hoodie on over her long sleeve shirt, and the skirt she wears doesn't do much to protect her from the breeze either.

Her arms cross over her chest as she walks out into the mostly empty top floor of the garage and scans the area in search of her hitman. A few street lamps placed on the perimeter of the parking lot illuminate her path, but she's left mostly in the dark. It takes her an embarrassing amount of time to spot the shadowy figure leaning against the farthest wall of the parking level.

The closer she gets, the better her view of him becomes.

Harry stands with one elbow resting back on the top of the concrete wall to stabilize himself while the other hand is raised to bring a joint to his lips.

It's almost burned down to the end, and she realizes that the smell no longer annoys her as she comes to a stop and leans against the wall beside him. If anything, she enjoys the way it clings to his clothes. The shirt of his she inadvertently stole the day she stayed over at his apartment smells of a mixture of weed, his cologne, and his own personal scent. She would never admit it to him, but she wears it to sleep every night. Once the door to his room is shut and he's gotten all he needs from inside before he retires to the couch for the night, she slips it on over her pajama tank and allows the familiar scent of him to sing her to sleep.

There's no mask covering his face as there always is when they meet up for a hit. The gloves are never missing from his ensemble of clothing, of course, but the lack of a mask causes her brows to furrow.

"Why don't you have your mask on?"

With that, he puts out the lit end of the joint and tosses it over the edge of the roof.

"Cause, we aren't working tonight," he says, then cuts her one of his commanding stares. The type that tells her to follow along without him having to open his mouth to say the words.

And, of course, she is right behind him without question, eager as ever to follow in his footsteps until he leads her off the edge of a cliff. The wind blows around the hem of her skirt and threatens to expose her to the empty rooftop, so she spends the better part of the walk awkwardly petting the fabric down against her thighs.

"What are we doing, then?" she asks.

The question is promptly answered when they come to a stop in front of a parked car. Not just any parked car, either. Sitting in front of her, in all of its legend and glory, is his original 427 Shelby Cobra. It's still the most beautiful car she's ever seen. Painted with its original coloring, it robs her of her breath to see it sitting so close, knowing that it isn't a client at the Auto Shop's but rather Harry's car.

Breaking the silence, she says, "I will literally give you a lifetime supply of blowjobs if you let me drive that."

He cocks a brow at her.

"Is that all upfront or, like, once per week, 'cause I feel like that'd be kind of hard on your jaw?"

She doesn't even dignify that with a response. Instead, she crosses her arms over her chest and turns to him, staring with the same commanding expression he throws her way when he wants her to do something. Although, when she does it, she has all the intimidation of a disgruntled puppy. They remain this way for what feels like a while before he finally bends to the will of her silent demands.

"S'kinda cute when you try to act scary," he says with a coy smile. "Y'look like an angry little puppy."

A pause, then—

"I take back the blowjob thing. I'll just kill you and steal the keys instead."

His loud, cackling laugh fills the entire space of the parking level, and it takes a lot for her to not smile as an instinctive response to hearing it. For a person who has been entrenched in perpetual darkness for the past ten years, the lightness found in his laugh and smile has been a pleasant surprise. She'd never guess that a person with a laugh that infectious would be a cold-blooded murderer for hire. It calls to mind many questions she never thought to consider before. Questions surrounding how he grew up and his parents. Last week, he mentioned his mother twice. First, when she asked about the Bible in his bedside table. Second, when he was calming her from her panic and swore on his mother never to let anyone hurt her.

The way he said it implied death from her perspective. If so, when did he lose her? Was she all he had growing up, or was his father in the picture? Did he have siblings? She doesn't make the mistake of asking any of these and ruining their night before it has begun, however. It's clear that he's trying now. He apologized to her for what he said, something she never thought he'd do, and has made an effort to be nicer. For that, she must give him some grace. He'll talk about it when he's ready, if he ever is.

When she makes a quick move to snatch the keys from his hand amidst the distraction of his laughter, he dodges with ease. Her other hand shoots out to reach for where he pulled his away, but he simply lifts his arm as far as he can over his head to dangle them just out of her reach.

Harry says, his dimples appearing as he smirks at her, "Take 'em from me."

"What do I get if I do?"

"To drive the car, obviously," he instantly counters with, "...and a sexual favor if y'really want some incentive."

To this, she smiles back at him with mischief lighting up her eyes and steps up closer until her chest is touching his. With every rise and fall of their breaths, he feels her breasts pushing up against him, and, suddenly, he is hyper-aware of every place they connect. Particularly the places farther south where they connect...

Her head tilts to the side, their lips a few inches away as she asks, feigning innocence, "Just a favor?"

Their mouths brush in a tentative kiss under her insistence, once, twice, three times without his participation, until he starts to lean into it and truly kiss her back. Her lips taste like the berry-flavored lip gloss she constantly applies and reapplies, and he hums in approval of it as he reaches with one free hand to cup the back of her neck in a possessive grasp. It's the first time they've done anything together since the day they fought. Both of them are left yearning for more the second they get a taste of one another. She kisses him with a pang of desperate hunger and he returns the favor tenfold, head dipping to hers as if her every sweet, sighing exhale were the breath of life.

Y/N's hand slips down the length of his torso until it's wedged between their hips, rubbing at his cock through his pants. The sudden contact earns a muted groan from him, and she decides right at this moment that she'd do anything it took to hear him make that lovely noise again. It's music to her ears.

Another moment of breathlessness and heady desire passes, and she's whispering into his parted lips, "Fuck me." There's a whining quality to it that makes his knees go weak and his cock harden. "It's been too long." The last thing she says is what hammers the nail in his coffin. "Please, daddy..."

The hand placed on the back of her neck squeezes with an inexorable grip in reaction to her calling him that. It never fails to get him to do whatever she wants, does it? This woman has him wrapped around her finger, and he isn't sure if he ever wants to be set free.

Harry loses whatever remaining scraps he had left of his composure and starts to walk her toward the edge of the roof in pursuit of the short wall bordering it. The arm he had lifted over his head is now snaked around her waist to keep her body flush against his, and he feels her smiling into the kiss. Just before he pushes her back against the wall, she spins them around and traps him there instead, her hands sliding up and down his arms in a gentle touch, as if soothing a wild animal prone to lashing out at any moment. He isn't fond of being the one who's out of control, but, for her, he allows it.

She was right, it has been too long, and he already knows it'll be over too soon if she keeps rutting her hips against him like that. He unwinds his arms from around her hips and reaches back to place the forgotten car keys on the ledge, readying himself to slip his hands up her skirt and—

Before he can act on his urges, she disappears.

His eyes snap open, and there she is, retreating as quickly as she can with the keys to the Cobra dangling on the key ring hung on her pointer finger.

"You're so easy, you know that?" she asks with a teasing smirk thrown over her shoulder at him. Then, she waves an arm in the direction of the car, ignoring the obvious tent in his pants caused by her scheming. "C'mon."

The Cobra is everything she dreamt it would be.

Her dad once drove one as a birthday gift from a friend of his in the industry, but she never did anything but watch. On the sidelines, she dreamt of the day she could drive one, a day she assumed would never come, but here it is.

In the ten minutes it took for her to follow his directions to the mystery location he planned for them to go to, she thinks she was the happiest she's been since before her dad died. It brought her closer to him, in a way. Holding the same steering wheel he once held, hearing the gorgeous engine roaring like a great beast, feeling the wind whooshing through her hair—it was nothing short of magic.

The whole time, Harry watched her with a smile fighting its way to show on his face. Her little manipulation at the parking garage was something he tucked away for later, making a note to get her back for it another time. For the moment, he took pleasure in watching her in her element. The image of her grinning behind the wheel with the wind whipping her hair back from her face at a speed that far exceeded the limit set for the road was breathtaking. There was a certain discomfort to it due to this. He shifted in his seat, unsure what to make of the feeling stirring in the pit of his stomach, and it didn't go away until she followed his instructions to drive into the private raceway.

With the car put in park, she leans her head back on the seat and takes a deep breath to steady herself.

Harry sits with his arm propped on the passenger's side door, and the smile that's been begging to show on his face finally makes its appearance as he asks, "What's the verdict?"

Her head rolls to the side to meet his gaze. There's a hazy bliss visible on her face, not unlike the expression he's witnessed it wear as she comes down from the peak of an orgasm, and her lips curl up from her teeth in a smile to match his.

"You are my favorite person on earth right now. I'm so serious," she says. "How the fuck did you get your hands on this lovely creature"—her hand caresses the steering wheel affectionately as those two words are said—"in the first place?"

His previously sweet smile turns downright devious at this as he recalls the day, years ago, when he came across it.

"Well," he starts, and she already knows she's in for a treat based on the way he utters the word, "The debt with Leo isn't about money, even if he makes it seem like that. You're just doing jobs for him until he decides you're out. When I found this out, I was pissed. I knew he'd never let me have m'freedom back, so I got drunk." The smile widens for a second as if he cannot control himself. "And, back then, Leo trusted me enough to give me access to his funds..."

At the direction she thinks the story is about to take, pride flares up inside of her on his behalf. On behalf of the younger, wilder version of him that had yet to be fully broken by Leo's torment. There's a part of her that wishes that were the Harry she first met. Then, she's reminded of the good parts of him, however small they may be, that still exist today and cannot imagine wanting him to be different. She cannot imagine wanting another man to cut her pancakes for her, protect her, and argue with her.

The car is parked just beyond the automatic gates to the raceway. Neither of them makes a move to get out or continue driving, they stay locked into this moment.

"There's a reason Louis handles his finances. Back then, it was me. He actually trusted me to an extent until I emptied one of his accounts buying this. He was angry, for sure, but he was mostly just shocked and sort of impressed," he explains. "I thought he'd kill me for it. If m'being honest, that's why I did it. I wanted him to after I realized he could keep me trapped forever, but...I think he knew that. And that's why he let me keep it and get away with nothing more than a beating, so it could always be a reminder that he couldn't be outsmarted."

That wave of pride that rose up within her recedes the second he tells her the true reasoning behind it. What she thought was an act of defiance was actually an act of attempted suicide, and she doesn't know what to make of the ache this knowledge blossoms in her heart. Rather than show this concern, knowing it'd make him uncomfortable, she opts to ask him another question.

"Did he make you think the debt was about money?"

There's a flickering darkness settling over his face at this. The mere thought of the memories he has to recall to answer her must bring him pain, if she had to guess. Knowing his typical response when confronted with prying questions, she prepares for him to shut her out. She readies herself for him to tell her to mind her business, to stop acting like she's important enough to be entitled to the details of his past, but he says no such thing.

He worries his lip between his teeth for a second before saying, his voice low, "I was stupid and young. Long story short, I needed money I didn't have working at the bakery I had a job at, and Leo was a regular. He asked me how I was doing, so I was honest. He didn't seem like a bad guy, and he offered to help." There's a split-second where their eyes meet, and he immediately drops her gaze. "We were friends, I guess. He knew everything I went through with my dad and used it to get me to trust him."

Her stomach churns at the thought of such a young man being lured into one of Leo's elaborate traps.

"He lent me the money and said I had six months to pay it back. Obviously, I didn't have it, and he told me I could work for him to pay it off," he explains. "But it wasn't the money he wanted, it was me, and once I realized that it was too late."

She tries her best to keep her face as neutral as possible so as to not cause him any discomfort. Though he's shown great progress in opening his heart to her and not treating her with disrespect since they talked in her kitchen, she doesn't want to risk pushing him too far. It's much easier to reign him in from his intense reactions before they occur rather than after. If she avoids the triggers, sooner or later, they'll have to lessen, right?

Y/N, much to his surprise, offers him a grin.

"In that case, I'm glad we're gonna take that son of a bitch out together."

Anyone else would have taken the chance to coddle him. He remembers it well from the few times he tried to open up to the people he was sleeping with when it all began. Their eyes would go wide and flood with sympathy, and they'd scoot closer and try to touch him, offering softly spoken apologies he didn't want. But she doesn't. She has never coddled him, and as he looks at her now, he thinks she might be his favorite person in the world. If only for the duration of this moment.

Before he can say anything, she asks, "So, what are we here for? Just fun?"

Her question breaks him out of his trance, forcing him to confront reality again, and he turns his head to look out at the race track as if in answer.

"Garrett and I met up yesterday."

The silence that follows almost begins to ring in her ears. So, that's what he's been up to this week when he was out of the apartment. It probably took days to arrange a safe meeting spot outside of the prying eyes of Leo's spies, and it would also explain his strange behavior yesterday. He came home and, rather than poking his head inside the bedroom and telling her he was back, spent the rest of the night on his computer with a pair of headphones over his ears.

He says, "He told me to teach you to ride a motorcycle. You'll need to drive one with me on the back of it for the hit we're doing for him. Said a car won't be quick enough, you'll need to ride between lanes to get away fast enough. Even then, it'll be close."

"You know how to ride a motorcycle?"

A scoff leaves him at this.

"Y'really thought I didn't?" he asks.

When imagining the types of men who do and don't know how to ride motorcycles, she must admit, he appears on the side of one who does. With his tatted-up body, intimidating stare, and talent for murder, it only makes sense.

She shrugs.

"Fair point."

The car is parked on the side of the road leading up to the racetrack. Although he muttered to her as she put it in park that no one else would be here tonight, she felt the need to leave the path free just in case someone miraculously appeared. Their phones are both left behind on their respective seats as they shut the car doors behind them and continue along the paved pathway to the track. The back of their gloved hands brush as their arms swing between them, and, taking a bold chance, Y/N reaches her pointer and middle finger out and hooks them around his pinky. Not quite hand-holding, but not nothing.

He doesn't object, although, based on the way his shoulders stiffen up, he's tolerating it for her sake, not enjoying it. That small factor matters little to her, however. His acceptance of this small intimacy puts added confidence in her step. Ahead, she sees two identical bikes parked side by side on the straightaway of the track.

As they approach them, she drops his hand to run hers along the seat of the one closest to her.

"Holy shit," she says without turning her head to look at him. "These are gorgeous."

He walks around the side of the bike she's inspecting and smiles at her excitement while he thinks she isn't looking. Out of her peripheral vision, she picks up on it.

"They're the fastest street-legal bikes y'can buy. Garrett had these dropped off for us here. After we're done, some of his guys will come to take them back until we need to use 'em again."

Her focus lifts from the masterfully crafted vehicle to see him, and she thinks she could spend an eternity getting lost in those pale green eyes. Especially when they no longer look at her with constant disdain and annoyance.

"Are you sure it's safe to talk about this out here? What if Leo has people watching us after last week?" she asks.

One of his hands reaches into the pocket of his hands and pulls out a single key, which she assumes is for the bike, to slip into the ignition without turning over the engine yet. His face is wholly calm, and not hidden behind one of his many masks. It tells her the answer to her question before he can open his mouth to speak it aloud.

"Garrett has more reach than Leo does alone. He can afford to pay off the staff here," he explains, then continues on softly, "Leo likes to think he sees everything, but he doesn't. He sees a lot, but not everything. He didn't know we were fucking until last week. If he were watching us as closely as he wants us to think he is, he would've checked the security cameras from the parking garage."

"There were cameras?"

All he does is scoff in offense.

"Settle down. I went in and erased the footage the next day. Nobody really watches it closely unless there's an incident and they need to investigate. The club's watched much more closely than the garage." After a pause, he teases her, "I don't share, sweetheart. I'd sooner gouge his eyes out than let him see y'like that."

She teases him right back.

"I may have been rolling but I do remember you acting like a caveman when you noticed Tate talking to me."

"Enough," he says, only half serious as he uses her obedience to him to his advantage, "get on the bike."

For the second time tonight, he watches her eyes light up with mischief, and she shoots him a smirk as she swings her leg over the side of the bike and says quietly, "Yes, daddy."

Opting to ignore that jab, he remains quiet to not give her the reaction she seeks and forces himself to remain focused on what they're here to do. Never mind the fact that he can only think about what happened back at his building's parking garage and the fact that her short skirt is riding up her thighs as she settles into place astride the bike. The same skirt she wore the first time they worked together when he bent her over the hood of the car and promised to fuck the attitude out of her.

Later, he thinks to himself.

The downright filthy turn his thoughts have begun to take would typically prompt him to initiate sex immediately, but, unfortunately for him, he must teach her to ride a motorcycle in less than three months. And that's at most. Garrett told him it could have to happen sooner should any unforeseen obstacles, such as anyone ratting them out ahead of time, make themselves known.

Wordlessly, he reaches for the helmet sitting on the seat of the other bike and walks up closer to where she's sitting to place it over her head. She doesn't bother protesting, both because she knows very well the importance of helmets after what happened to her father and because he'd never let her start the vehicle without it on.

"Put the kickstand up and start it up," he commands, reaching out to turn the ignition for her while she gets to work doing as he says.

She simply looks at him with wide, pleading eyes that beg him to instruct her further.

"Pull down the clutch and press that button under the kill switch."

The engine roars to life and overpowers the sound of their voices as she begins to get feel for it, standing the bike up with her feet firmly on the ground on either side. After she's gotten her bearings, she looks over her shoulder at him once again with those puppy eyes again.

"How do I do this?" she asks.

Harry comes up as close to her as he can get without hopping onto the backseat of the bike and leans down over her shoulder, reaching with both hands to settle on top of hers. The leather of their gloves glides together with ease as he wraps his fingers over where hers are pulling back the clutch. His exhales cloud against the side of her next with a heat that takes her back to the less innocent moments they've spent together like this; with him pressed up against her back and his breath hitting her neck. The pressure of the seat against her clit draws a sharp breath from her.

"Start letting go of the clutch." His deep voice murmuring in her ear sends shivers skittering down her spine. With her gradual release of the clutch, the bike begins to roll forward at a slow rate. "When I let y'go, pull on the throttle to keep it from stalling and start to accelerate. Pull your feet up and ride in a straight line until you get to the end of the straightaway. Y'have to start with the front brake over here"—his right hand guides hers to the front hand break—"before y'use the rear brake to stop. Okay?"

With that, he pulls away from her and takes a few steps back until he's nearly leaning against the other bike, his arms crossing over his chest in preparation to analyze her every decision and minute movement. But, she doesn't start to ride right away. Instead, she stops the bike and looks at him one last time before speaking.

"I was just fucking with you."

The bike takes off with such speed, he almost stumbles back over the second bike in surprise.

It's hard to do so much as blink as he watches her fly around the track, turning around the bend of the track and guiding the bike with a practiced mastery only someone who's been riding for years can have. Of all the things she's done to turn him on tonight, this is what gets under his skin the most. There's nothing hotter than a woman who can ride, is there? He used to have those corny pin-up posters of women on motorcycles hidden between the pages of his books as an older teen to jerk off to, but now it seems he has a woman of his own to admire.

She whips around the track past him once, twice, three more times before he curses under his breath and mounts the second bike with little thought of what he plans to do once he catches up with her. Seeing that he forced her to take the only helmet, he starts it up exactly as he "taught" her to and takes off without one. The violent roaring of the vehicle vibrates through his body, rattling his bones as he faces the slight chill of the November night with the wind blowing against his face.

Soon enough, she approaches behind him at her faster pace, and right when he hears her approach, he pulls harder on the throttle and lets more of the clutch go until he's matching her speed.

He cannot hear anything but the sounds of the bikes they ride as they both take the corner of the track together. Nothing except for her loud laughter the second she sees him in her periphery and takes note of the unamused expression on his face. Her head is tipped back in laughter, her body operating on autopilot with her muscle memory from years of both racing on a track and riding a motorcycle, and he wishes he were better at riding so he could continue to turn his head to watch her throughout it. The skirt wrapped around her hips has ridden up so much that he can almost see all of her. If he cared less about the hit they're training to complete, he'd gladly crash in exchange for a few more seconds of watching her ride.

They proceed to pass and catch up with one another, swerving in and out of each other's way in a playful dance that'd threaten death were they less skilled at it. As per usual when it comes to driving any sort of vehicle, her skill outweighs his by a landslide. He should've suspected as much to begin with, but, foolishly, he let the confused puppy dog effect she had going take hold.

She finally comes to a stop ahead of him after another few minutes, and he nearly burns the side of his leg on the exhaust pipe with how quickly and carelessly he dismounts the bike in order to confront her. The helmet has been ripped off her head by the time he takes in the sight of her.

"Oh, come on!" The toothy smile worn proud on her face warms the center of his chest as he marches up to her. "It was funny, don't pretend it wasn—"

The remaining words of her defense are swallowed up by a surprised moan at the feeling of his lips melding to hers. His hands cup her face between them, keeping her locked into his grasp as he leans down to kiss her where she sits still straddling the bike. Her hands reach out to stabilize themselves on his hips. The tips of her fingers slip beneath the hem of his shirt, and she can nearly feel the warmth of his bare skin through the thick material of her gloves.

Seconds later, he pulls away to mutter, "Get off, we're going home."

The part of her that would've worried whether or not he was angry with her weeks ago no longer exists. Instead, she's excited. She knows him well enough now to understand that he isn't mad at her, he's antsy. He can't wait any longer to get his hands on her after all she's put him through tonight.

She shakes her head and leans back up to kiss him, but before she can reconnect their lips, Harry jerks away to dodge it. When she tries again, he does the same and refuses to let her proceed. The hands she has slipped underneath his shirt caress up and down the side of his waist.

"No, I want you here," she whispers. "Please."

It's visible on his face that he is having a difficult time deciding. On one hand, if they go home, he'll have the luxury of drawing it out and making it last all night if he pleases. On the other, here she is begging him to take her with a whining desperation that makes his cock twitch in his pants. And, this time, she isn't doing it to win a game going on between them, she's being truthful. Seeing that she already knows how to ride a motorcycle and all of the workers are inside with strict instructions from Garrett to leave them to their own devices...

"Put the kickstand down," he says.

She obeys.

He brings his unburnt hand up to his mouth and bites the end of the glove to tug it off. It's thrown somewhere to the ground behind her, but he doesn't pay it any mind, he's too preoccupied with her to care about anything.

Her lips taste of her berry-flavored lip balm when they next kiss, and his other hand raises to collar her neck with a demanding grip while the other descends the length of her torso. The tips of his fingers study every peak and valley found along the way, dipping between her breasts and ghosting over the softness of her stomach until he has reached the hem of her short skirt. Her breath hitches in her throat in anticipation of his reaction as his touch glides up the inside of her thighs—

The gentle rhythm of their kissing stops short.

Rather than finding a thin panel of fabric covering her, his fingers delved right into her slick folds without any resistance. It takes him longer than it should to realize that she isn't wearing no underwear, she's wearing the panties he gifted her today. To think he'd been seconds away from discovering this back at the parking garage...

He doesn't waste any time.

Harry hefts her up from the bike and repositions her so she's sitting sideways on it, no longer straddling it, and stands between her parted legs with an eagerness she can feel from how hard he is in his pants. Neither of them bothers with foreplay considering that she's already wet enough to have left a damp spot on the seat of the bike. It was difficult to keep her cool throughout the entire affair. The vibration of the bike on her bare cunt after their heated moment back at the garage had her halfway to orgasm on its own. With him kissing her as though his life depends on it, that arousal only increases.

With the bike leaning onto the kickstand on the side opposite to where he stands, it gives them enough stability to do what they wish without toppling it onto its side. He wouldn't let her get hurt, that much she knows, so she doesn't spare it another thought before reaching to undo his belt buckle. It's a fumbling process, but after a half minute of attempting to slip it out from around his pants, she lets it fall to the ground beside his feet.

Her hand dips beneath the waistband of both his pants and underwear to take his cock into her hand, using the drops of precum that have leaked from the tip as lubrication to stroke him a few times. Seeing that he's already hard, she doesn't continue on for much longer. She does it for just long enough to pull back and watch his eyes flutter shut in appreciation, his brows pinching together, and uses her other hand to tug his clothes down his thighs.

The tiger tattooed onto his left thigh is there to greet her as his pants and underwear are brought down to expose him to her. It's quite chilly out, so she makes certain not to stop the steady pace of her hand pumping up and down his length until she's guiding him into her. Her skirt is rolled up around her hips to allow him better access, and her arms twine around his neck to bring him in close as he slides home with a groan.

His mouth falls open against hers to take in heavy breaths at the feeling of her squeezing around his cock, the tight resistance making him have to thrust a bit harder to sink all the way in until his hips meet the soft backs of her thighs.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath. Their lips collide in a sloppy, languid kiss that is interrupted by their panting breaths. "I missed this."

That small confession brings a lazy smile to her face amidst the slightly painful stretch of having him inside of her. For the most part, it's easy to take him, but after spending a week apart, the longest they've gone in the past month, she isn't as prepared for the adjustment to his size. It's the type of pain she finds a strange pleasure in, though. She loves it, the pressure of feeling him so deep, she could press her hand down on the southernmost point of her stomach and nearly feel the bulge of him inside.

"Me too," she breathes out.

Despite her attempts to appear unbothered and hateful in their initial time apart, she did miss this. She missed him. His snarky retorts, his deadpan stares, and his giggle when she finally digs through the hard exterior built up around his heart and gets him to break. More than anything, she missed feeling close to him, and, when it comes to their relationship, this is currently the closest he will allow. Sex allows him to let his guard down in a way he can't consciously allow outside of it. The one time he let her hold his burnt hand was because he was too caught up in pleasuring her to notice or care.

Less than a minute after he first pushed into her, she rocks her hips forward, using the arms wrapped around his shoulders and neck as leverage to lift her ass off the seat of the bike, in the hope that it'll get him to start fucking her properly.

The message is intercepted with haste, which she assumes is because he barely had the restraint to hold himself back after their brief dry spell, and he makes good on her silent request. It's much gentler than it was in past times due to how she's balanced precariously on the seat of the bike with most of her weight held in his strong embrace. If his shirt were off, she'd be able to crane her neck down and watch his abdomen muscles contract and release with the effort of keeping her upright as he fucks into her at an unhurried pace.

It's the very antithesis of what their first time was like.

Their first time in Leo's parking garage had been flooded with rage and hatred. It'd been an aggressive yet passionate argument in the physical form, but this...it's even different from the last time they had sex in his bedroom. The circumstances of where and how they're doing it force him to take it slow and remain face-to-face with her through to the end of it, and she can't deny how overwhelming it feels to have him making eye contact with her during.

It seems that the inherent intimacy of it has occurred to him as well because he leans forward to press his forehead to hers and shuts his eyes to avoid the foreign feeling it sparks in his chest. The pace and depth of his thrusts pick up little by little, and, soon enough, it draws a strangled gasp from the back of her throat. Still, she remains as focused as she can on him.

Her hand slides from the back of his head, down his neck, and to his chin to grab hold of his face. It forces an inch or so of distance between them so they are no longer pressed together.

She whispers, "Open your eyes." It's a request he doesn't comply with the first time, so she clenches down around his cock and rocks her hips into his in time with his quickening thrusts. "Look at me." His eyelids flutter as though he's about to do it, and she juts her head to the side to make her face level with where his has been tilted down just so. The heat of her exhales can be felt puffing against his neck. "I'm right here, Harry."

The practiced cadence of his hips slapping against hers falters at the sound of his name falling from her lips.

His eyes open right away.

He hears it on a loop, Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.

He never saw the beauty in his name until he heard it coming from her at a moment like this. Every time they've had sex, she's only ever called him daddy, not his name, and he thought he preferred it that way. He thought he preferred the buffer the kink put between them, as well as the cruel irony of it, but, now, he isn't as certain. Most of the people he's hooked up with weren't aware of his name, so he never had to worry about that invisible line being crossed. But, it isn't the problem he assumed it would be when coming from her.

Invigorated by hearing her say his name, as well as the rush of getting to fuck her again for the first time in what felt like forever, he drops one of his hands to hold onto the other side of the seat to ensure it won't tip over and starts pounding into her just the way she likes it. He isn't a selfish lover. Contrary to the assumptions people may make of him at first glance due to his reputation and career, he is attentive and takes note of what gets the best reaction from her. As far as he's concerned, if she doesn't come, he hasn't done his job right.

He doesn't look away from her or close his eyes this time. The arm slung around her waist keeps her trapped against his body, pinned in place so he can drive himself into her soaked pussy with a relentlessness that earns moans and gasps from her on the upstroke of each thrust.

"Perfect," he whispers. "So fucking perfect f'me, baby." The use of the nickname while he stares into her eyes spikes the pleasure already rising within the pit of her belly, and she can't do anything but whine his name incoherently in response. "Do y'know how hard it was not to come in, like, twenty seconds the first time? God, s'like your cunt was made just for me, sweet girl. Could hardly handle it. Still can't—fuck—"

The indescribable sensation of her purposefully squeezing down around his cock as a non-verbal, "Thank you," for the sweet words whispered to her halts him midway through speaking. He doesn't let his face fall against hers the way it would've had she not told him to look at her. Along with that request came the silent urging for him to keep looking at her, to never let her out of his sight from now until the end of their time together, however short or long that time may be.

And while there's a degree of discomfort involved with having her in such an intimate way, he does his best to push that feeling away. He likes it. Even though there's a part of him that remains conflicted, he's getting more out of fucking her like this—impossibly deep and urgent with her eyes burning into his—than he has from doing it any other way. It doesn't mean he wouldn't take pleasure in fucking the way he's grown accustomed to, but, this...this is a bliss unlike anything he's felt in the past ten years.

It's so unknown to him, he doesn't know what to do other than welcome the feeling into him with equal parts gratitude and skepticism. The first time he had sex was with a woman he met at one of Leo's clubs when he was nineteen. It wasn't warm or caring. It wasn't like this. Sex has always been a release for him, a place to take out his frustrations and anger without being destructive. Whenever people spoke of it being a way to express feelings for another person, he didn't understand, but, right now, everything clicks into place. With her, sex isn't just sex. She was the missing component in his life, and, now that he has her, he'll never let her go.

The wet sound of their bodies smacking together fills the open air around them and pushes her closer to the edge every time she hears it. With a particularly well-aimed thrust that brushes that overly-sensitive spot inside of her, her mouth falls open and her eyes clamp shut from the pleasure.

This time, it's Harry who gets to chide her, throwing the same words she used right back at her.

"Open your eyes." His voice is nothing more than a tender caress. "M'right here, baby."

She doesn't risk going against his orders when she's already on the verge of coming undone, so she does as he says without question. Every time he thrusts into her, his pubic bone presses down hard against her clit due to the angle of their aligned hips and shocks her body with pulses of pleasure that push her closer and closer. It's not that that ends up pushing her over the edge, however, it's him. Looking up at him, feeling him, listening to his voice murmuring to soothe her amidst her cries and emphatic moans—that's what does it for her.

It's a yawning void of euphoria.

It opens up around her and threatens to swallow her whole, urging her to forget everything except the high flooding through her, but she still doesn't look away from him. Throughout every surging wave of her climax, she wills herself to obey his command and allows the sight of him, as well as the smooth drag of him sliding in and out of her, to prolong its effect. Her arms hold tighter around his shoulders as she rides it out. Soft, tired moans escape her at the rough pace that now begins to feel overwhelming in the sensitivity following an orgasm, yet she doesn't need him to stop. If anything, she wants him to go harder. To use her for his own pleasure until she can do little more than cling onto him for support and babble his name.

The sensation of her clenching and unclenching around him throughout her orgasm is what inevitably brings him to his end.

He crosses the inches of space left between them and claims her mouth with his own as it hits him, his body tensing up in her hold. His thrusts have turned desperate and sloppy, much less focused on finding the sweet spot inside of her and more intent on burying his cock as deep as he can. A wince is pulled from her lips at his tip hitting her cervix, and, even through the heady pleasure of coming undone, his kiss turns gentler in an apology for the rough intrusion.

Her tight walls milk his cock until he's unable to stand it any longer and must stop moving in her due to the sensitivity that comes along with the refractory period. As he slowly pulls out of her, his cum drips down from her hole and threatens to stain the seat of the bike, but he's quick to remedy that. His ungloved fingers wipe it up from between her thighs on instinct, then push back inside of her to gather as much of the rest as they can. The sticky substance drips down his middle and forefinger when he raises his hand to her mouth.

Those pretty green eyes are heavy-lidded and sleepy, and he doesn't allow them to stray from her face throughout the process.

"Clean it up," he murmurs. "Go on, baby."

Even if she hadn't originally planned to follow every order he gives her for the time being, hearing him call her that again—this time after sex, not during—has her wrapping her lips around his fingers in a matter of seconds. He hums his approval, watching her suck his cum off of his fingers with a stare that's downright predatory in its intent. If they weren't in the middle of a race track, he'd go down on her until he was hard again and go for another round. But, due to the fact that they've already risked being seen by nosy workers, he simply pulls his fingers from her mouth and reaches down to pull his pants and underwear back up his thighs.

In the time he takes to tuck his softening cock back into his briefs and zip his pants up, she stands from the seat to shimmy her skirt back down into place. And, after they've both pulled themselves back together and redressed, he catches her by surprise.

He squats down partway and hefts her up by her legs to throw her over his shoulder before she can say a single word. The rich sound of her laughter reaches far around the race track, so far that anyone walking by the property could likely hear it. Neither of them cares, though, least of all him. Her laughter is music as far as he's concerned, and anyone would be lucky to have their ears blessed by such a gift.

"Put me down, you brute!"

This does nothing to convince him. All he does is chuckle to himself and walk in the direction of the parked Cobra with a wide grin on his face. The feeling of his hand patting her ass makes her jump in his arms.

"No, m'gonna lock you up in my room and fuck you till y'can't stay awake," he promises. "You're lucky I let you come after that shit y'pulled back at the garage."

Parroting his text from earlier in the day back at him, she says, "Don't threaten me with a good time."

Now, it's his laughter that echoes around the empty raceway for any bystanders to listen to and admire. They may not realize it either, but for the duration of this fleeting moment, they're both happier than they've been in the years preceding it. For him, it's been ten whole years since he's felt as light and playful as he does with her tonight. For her, it's been since the day her dad crashed his car three years ago.

Her head bops up and down into his back with every one of his long strides, and she ends up relaxing over his shoulder rather than feigning protest and acting like she wants to be set free. When it all began, perhaps she did want to avoid him for the rest of her life. She had every reason to, after all. But, after tonight and all else they've endured side by side, she's his. Now and always.

Harry sets her down on her feet outside of the shut passenger's side door to the car, yet he doesn't let go of her. Not yet. When they meet eyes, his lips twitch up at one end in a smile he tries his best to fight, and it isn't long before he's leaning in. Every second it takes for him to close the distance is painful, a second she wishes she could spend lost in the pleasure of kissing him.

The second their lips are about to brush, the ringtone to his personal phone blares out into the night air.

At first, he considers ignoring it, but he doesn't on the off chance that it's Leo or Garrett. The former only calls his cell when it's a dire emergency, so he doesn't want to risk upsetting the man holding her life over his head. He mumbles a quiet, "Gotta take this," into her parted lips before shifting in place to grab his ringing phone from the seat below.

Whoever it is that calls him, she doesn't know. His shoulder blocks the name of the contact from view, even as he goes as still as death and refuses to respond to her questioning what's wrong.

"Is it Leo, or—"

He walks off in the direction of the motorcycles with his phone raised to his ear without a glance spared in her direction. It's as if a switch was flipped and she no longer exists to him. She doesn't bother calling after him at this point. Based on the look he wore on his face when he turned around, it was something worthy of his undivided attention. Definitely more of a priority than their second round.

She observes him from afar the entire time.

For the most part, he doesn't do anything other than stand still and nod along with whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying. The fear of it being Leo ties her stomach into knots, allowing her thoughts to run away with the idea that he has somehow unraveled their elaborate plan to partner with his enemy and take him down. The death he'll give them should he figure it out won't be a pretty one.

Across the ample distance he put between them in order to keep her from overhearing anything, she picks up on the only thing he says back to the other person.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

The phone is stashed away in his back pocket after the words leave his mouth, and right when she expects him to come walking back over to tell her where they have to go or what they have to do, he swings one of his legs over the bike she was riding and turns the key left in the ignition to get it started again. She doesn't even think before she starts walking over there. Her feet are moving of their own volition without her willing them to do so, steps hard and fast as it clicks with her what's happening.

When the engine begins to roar to life, she doesn't find it as beautiful as she had the first time around.

"Harry!" she shouts to be heard over the noise. "Where are you going?"

Just before she reaches him, he looks up at her one last time and pulls back on the throttle to drive away. The bike rips past her with enough speed to blow her hair back from her face. She stumbles back in fear of being run down, despite him leaving a decent few feet of space between her and the path he takes, and whips her head to the side to watch him disappear beyond the automatic gates to the property.

She doesn't see him for over a week.

In his absence, there haven't been any gifts left on the coffee table to remind her that he's still there, even if she doesn't physically see him. All that's there are the two missed phone calls she left that haven't been returned and his bag filled with weapons hidden away on the top shelf of his closet. That ruled out him having to work for Leo without her, so, she couldn't help but wonder, where was he? Who had called him away from her and why had he listened? The only living person she knows to have that amount of sway over his actions is their boss.

It's sheer dumb luck that the devil himself hasn't called her, screaming and asking where the hitman is and why he hasn't answered him in days. It's either that or he already knows where he is and is allowing his time away.

The lingerie he gifted her was ripped off the night he left and shunned to the bottom drawer of the dresser to keep any reminder of his abandonment away. How had she been foolish enough to believe he'd actually change? They enjoyed mere days of harmony and happiness before he inevitably led them back to ruin, refusing to speak to her or explain anything when he rode off into the night.

For the week and two days he has spent away, she has packed her schedule to the brim and kept busy. The thought of moping around his penthouse like a lovelorn schoolgirl was too pathetic for her to allow herself the downtime. In its place, she did everything she could think of.

First, she moved the envelope of money hidden in the air vent at her old apartment under the mattress in his bedroom. Were he home, he wouldn't go near the bed anyway. All he does is change his clothes and use the adjoining bathroom the few times he ventures into the room she now calls her own. She'd been meaning to place it somewhere she could keep an eye on it since moving into his apartment, but she was too distracted with him to prioritize it.

Second, she planned lunches, dinners, and movie nights with Alanis every night her dear friend had an opening. It ended up being two nights out of the nine he has left her for, but she was grateful for her company nonetheless. Although, she made certain not to clue her in on the fact that she started having sex with him again. As per their agreement after joining Garrett's team, no one could know what went on between them, and no matter how frustrated she was with Harry, she wouldn't break her word.

Third, she finally found time to do mundane acts of self-care such as going to the gym to exercise, getting her nails redone, and getting a haircut for the first time in over a year. All, of course, paid for by the money she stole from him. Although he'll never know, it brought a grin to her face to know she was getting back at him for his radio silence in the small way she knew how.

The fourth and final addition to her week-long break from Harry was nightly joyrides around the race track with the Cobra. Since he left it there for her to drive home and she had yet to chip away at her full anger for him, she took it upon herself to drive it there at sunset and ride until the urge to sleep made her weary down to her very bones. If the staff there had an issue with her presence, they didn't make it known. She soon began operating under the assumption that Garrett paid them well enough that either she or Harry could come over whenever they pleased. So long as they came after their closing hours.

Somehow, she still found herself idle during the late mornings and nights, and that is how she found herself baking an absurd amount every day. Cheesecake, apple pie, chocolate-chip croissants, pumpkin scones, Canelés de Bordeaux—anything and everything she could imagine. All of it she walked down to gift to any neighbors lingering on the ground floor, as well as the kind, old doorman who smiled at her whenever she came back to the building. By the fourth day of non-stop confectionaries, he told her his wife and children had begun to expect her delicious treats whenever he comes home from work. To this, she giggled and promised him she'd continue the tradition at least a few times a week once the frenzy calmed down.

Alanis' apartment building isn't much better than hers, but at least it has one thing her old place didn't: an elevator. It makes her task of bringing her her favorite type of baked good, simple raspberry thumbprint cookies, as a surprise gift easier than it would've been had she been burdened with climbing flight after flight of stairs.

She has to balance the large platter of cookies covered with plastic wrap in one hand while she lifts the other to knock at her front door. The last time they saw each other for a movie night, she mentioned feeling overworked and exhausted lately, so Y/N thinks this will be exactly what she needs to brighten her week.

There's no sign of life behind the door for the first minute and a half she stands there. Usually, Alanis can be heard playing guitar or talking with her latest fling on the phone while sitting on the couch, watching whichever Studio Ghibli movie she chose to fixate on for the week. On their most recent movie night, it was Howl's Moving Castle, so that's what she expected to hear faintly playing through the walls. Either that or a new song she's writing.

Her closed fist knocks on the door harder this time, and she tells herself that if she doesn't answer this time, she'll leave them at her doorstep and shoot her a text saying they're from her. A minute passes without anyone coming to the door, so she moves to set them down on the doormat without thinking anything of it.

Right when she's setting the platter down, the door swings open into the apartment to reveal Alanis standing with one arm braced against the frame. Her chest rises and falls at a rapid rate, her curls are wild and untamed where they frame her face, and her eyes have gone wide at the sight of her. Y/N knows with one glance that she's scared. Of what, she isn't sure, but there's no mistaking the look on her face.

"Hey!" Alanis exclaims and forces a wide smile, "Um, what're you doing here?"

Her brows furrow.

"I was just stopping by to drop off some of your favorite cookies. You said you were having a tough week, so..."

The strange way Alanis behaves isn't entirely foreign to her. She witnessed it one other time, two years ago when she walked in on what she assumed had been a heated moment between her and Peter in the kitchen of their old house. It was one of their movie nights, and when she excused herself to go to the bathroom, Peter took it upon himself to refill the bowl of popcorn the three of them shared.

This was back when Peter was still Peter. Before their mom committed suicide and with her also died what little resilience he had left in the aftermath of their father's crash. It was a known fact among her parents that Y/N was the stronger of the two, to the extent that her mom didn't worry as much about her in the grieving process as she had him.

When ten minutes had elapsed without either of them coming back to the living room, Y/N called out for Peter and started walking over to the kitchen. Whatever they were doing or talking about before she warned them of her approach, it was ripe with intensity if the looks on their faces had anything to show for it. And, right now, her best friend is wearing that look on her face again.

Alanis raises her hand to scratch the back of her neck, saying, "Thank you, I—uh—I really appreciate it, but I'm kind of, like, in the middle of something right now."

It's a fair reaction as far as Y/N is concerned. If she texted her saying she was coming to drop something off ahead of time, perhaps she'd feel somewhat scorned by the lack of enthusiasm, but it's understandable. In their friendship, they've been known to swing by each other's places whenever they please, so she didn't feel the need.

"Oh," she murmurs, then the buried connotations of what was said finally hits her, and a grin appears on her face.

Before she can say a thing, Alanis is shaking her head.

"Y/N--"

"No, no, don't mind me." She holds out the wrapped-up platter with a stifled laugh fighting its way out of her. "I'll just leave the cookies and let you get back to your orgy."

Just like that, the awkward tension that was bubbling up disintegrates with the light-hearted direction she drives the interaction into. This right here is one of the things they mutually cherish most about their years-long friendship. No matter how fumbling or awkward moments may become, there's always a way to bring them back to their natural state in minutes or less.

Alanis scoffs, scandalized, and steps out of the doorway to whisper to her, "I wasn't having an orgy, I just have a guy over. I may be a proud slut, but I haven't reached orgy status yet, let's be realistic here."

"Well," Y/N says, hardly containing her giggles, "There are about thirty tiny cookies in here so it should keep the group well-nourished for the next couple of rounds."

If it were a topic too raw to joke about, neither of them would touch it, but, as it stands, Alanis relishes in jesting about her various hook-ups and open relationships. Perhaps if they weren't such good friends from childhood, they would have something between them as well. She's of the belief that love and sex are things that shouldn't be withheld whether or not someone already has a frequent fuck buddy or not. Her parents, much to everyone's surprise, were not part of the "free love" hippie crowd she identifies with. In fact, her father is a pastor back in their hometown, and he thinks she's currently attending a Catholic college in the city.

The gasp Alanis takes in only fuels Y/N's stifled giggling.

"I won't be taking slander from the woman who fucked a literal murderer!" she whisper-shouts.

At this, the play-fighting pretense is dropped, at least on Y/N's side of it, and she hands off the cookies to the other woman with an overly dramatic roll of her eyes. Their hands brush as she takes it from her.

"Go on, enjoy your man," she says. "But, I expect a full report in the morning. I want all the nasty details."

It's a ritual at this point for Alanis to retell her adventures in dating and fucking to her over breakfast, working on the cars at the shop, or on their movie nights together. For Y/N, the reciprocation of this particular ritual hasn't occurred since she got into bed with Harry, but she doesn't let her guilt sway her into spilling anything about him yet. It isn't because she doesn't trust Alanis either, she does, but she promised Harry she wouldn't. Also, it is mildly embarrassing how easy it was for him to get her back after the disgusting things he said two weeks ago.

As Y/N turns to go, Alanis asks, "Breakfast tomorrow at the diner? I'll buy this time. You can tell me all the nasty details about you and the murderer, then I'll let you in on my next orgy."

Her cheeks ache from smiling.

"Deal."

The sun has set by the time Y/N gets back to his apartment building.

Part of her had been hoping Alanis would invite her in and help her chip away at another night she otherwise would spend alone in his bedroom, but she can't blame her for it. If anyone interrupted her and Harry on the race track, she probably would have ripped one of her shoes off and flung it at their head to shoo them away. The thought of it alone brings a dry chuckle out of her as she waits for the elevator to reach the top floor of the building.

Despite her not doing anything today other than baking cookies and watching television, there's a fog of exhaustion looming over her head and weighing her down. Her head is tilted back to rest against the wall of the elevator, and she shuts her eyes for a moment of peace and quiet, but all she sees when she does so is him. Somewhere underneath the frustration, she worries for his well-being. Wherever he is, whatever he's doing, she wishes he could find a way to tell her he's okay.

The elevator doors ding and open up to the single hallway leading to his front door.

At this point, she doesn't know what to expect from him. The way he acts around her has changed, that's for sure, but he's still prone to icing her out at a moment's notice. What they shared together on the race track was one of the happiest times of her life, and, yet, he managed to drop the ball. If he had to leave, why didn't he just talk to her about it? Why did he have to abandon her and leave no explanation, or at least a text message letting her know he isn't in danger?

The apartment looks the same as it had when she left it.

Dishes from her baking marathon have piled up to a tower in the kitchen sink, the mere sight of them making her groan to herself as she realizes that she has to get those finished before retiring to bed for the night. Other than those, the place is spotless for the most part. She tried to be a good house guest in the time he spent away despite her annoyance with him.

A glance at the clock hung on the wall of the living room shows it's half past nine, so she takes that as her cue to get everything set up for bed before she works on doing the dishes. On her way past the couch, though, something catches her eye. Since the first time she visited his apartment, the neatly kept bookshelf sitting against the wall across from the door is out of order. Not by much. There's a single book sitting on top of the shelf, face down and flipped open two-thirds of the way through.

"What the..." she mutters and walks off in the direction of it, her face scrunched up in confusion.

It's a battered paperback on the verge of ripping in half. When she finally arrives at the bookshelf and reaches to take it from its spot, she handles it as carefully as she can out of fear of breaking it. Every other book on the shelf is in pristine condition. They remain untouched, ordered in the Dewey Decimal system—which has her muttering a soft, "Nerd," under her breath at him—and covered in dust on their top sides. The only one of his books that doesn't have dust coating it on top is this one.

The illustration on the cover displays a butterfly breaking free of a set of chains and flying upward toward the burning sun. She's heard of it but never took the time to check it out of the library or go buy it for herself. She hasn't even seen the film adaptation of it.

"Y'changed your hair."

Hearing a man's voice speak from behind makes her shriek in fear and spin around with her back pressed to the bookshelf, the paperback raised as a weapon to whoever came to harm or rob her. But, it isn't Tate, Leo, or any one of the sort who she'd expect to break in and threaten her for information or the sick thrill of it. Standing with his arms crossed over his chest and leaning against the back of the couch, Harry stares at her with tired eyes.

She doesn't know what to do, let alone what to say. In the time he spent away, she thought she'd either fist-fight him, hate-fuck him, cry, start a yelling match, or all of the above when she next saw him, but all of those options evade her in the moment. What stops her from yelling at him right away is how he looks. The facial hair he makes sure to shave off every morning has grown out to a decent stubble, his eyes are sunken in from lacking sleep, and his shoulders are slouched as though the weight of whatever it is he was called away for presses him into the ground like gravity itself.

Leaving wasn't a choice, then, it was an obligation. One that he didn't take lightly. One that wore him down into a less put-together version of himself over the course of the week. It's at this moment that she decides that his leaving won't be a dealbreaker for her. She won't start a fight, yell, or cry, but he will be given a warning.

He speaks again, waving a hand at the book she's holding, "That's my favorite."

"What's it about?"

A heavy sigh of release sinks his chest at the sound of her softly spoken question, as if he'd be anticipating a hurricane of problems when returning home and found her merciful and forgiving instead. He doesn't move from his spot against the couch.

"It's about a prisoner wrongfully convicted of murder. The other inmates call him Papillon, that's the french word for butterfly, cause of the tattoo on his chest. S'where I got the idea," he explains, and his voice sounds so weary and broken, it snaps her heart in two. "He tries to escape so many times, they send him to this prison on an island where nobody's ever escaped from."

She flips through the pages to get a feel for it, noting the marked pages and places in which the paper feels more worn than others. By the time she flips through to the end, she notices that the last one hundred or so pages are in better condition than the rest. They've never been folded down to mark his place, or accidentally ripped in places as some of the others have been.

"How does it end? Is he ever free?"

He says, "I dunno. I always stop before he actually tries to escape from the island."

"Why?"

All she gets in response is an unsure shrug. Apparently, not even he knows the answer.

There's a moment of pause following this during which she can't do anything but fidget with the book and grasp for ideas of what to say to him in her mind. Everything she practiced saying alone in his bedroom for days had been scattered to the wind by his sorry-looking state tonight. He looks like a kicked puppy, and she can't bear the thought of hurting him anymore, but she doesn't know why. She used to have no problem hurling insults and picking fights, it became their "thing" after a while, but the words can't be said anymore.

She sets the book down back on top of the shelf and makes her way over to him. It's a slow process. Though she wouldn't insult or yell at him, she lets him feel the tension he put on her with his absence over the course of the week, and when she finally reaches him, she sees his chest halt in its pattern of breathing for a second.

Softly, she says, "Never do that to me again."

There's a brief few seconds he spends entertaining the idea of telling her what happened and why he left with such haste, but he catches himself before it can be done. He may not react as harshly as he wants to on instinct and push her away with cruelty, but he's not ready to let her in. In truth, he isn't sure if he ever will be, and that's what he decides to tell her.

Harry reaches up and cups her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze, and fights to keep the tears begging to fall from slipping over the veins of his eyes.

"I can't tell you everything. I know I should've said something, but I couldn't"—he takes a deep breath, and she can hear the wavering in his voice—"It was family. I couldn't say no."

"You don't have to tell me what's happening, it's your personal business, and I get that, but..." She blinks away the urge to cry that stings behind her eyes at the sight of him holding back tears himself and shakes her head, not allowing her hands to raise to touch him or comfort him with touch on the off chance it makes him uncomfortable. "I thought something really bad happened to you. You talk about how much you want to protect me, and how much you worry about me, but you don't even realize how much I worry about you. You didn't even text me to tell me you were okay. I used to have family emergencies a few times a month, I understand, okay? You just have to tell me you're alive so I don't spend a week going out of my fucking mind."

When he takes a breath in to speak, she keeps going.

"I felt kind of used. You just fucked me and took off. You just...you left me there all by myself. I know that's all we are to each other, but I'm still a person. I have feelings. I matter, and if you keep doing shit like this, I can't do this anymore. I won't," she finishes with a sob.

The hand cupping her face slips down to tug her into his arms, and when he wraps his arms around her, she just breaks. Her cries fill the open space of the living room as she shrinks down into his comforting embrace. What she hates most of all, she thinks, is that it helps. He may be the reason for her tears, but being held by him is the remedy to it all. With him, even the worst moments are beautiful.

His arms tighten around her the harder she cries, and his hand brushes her hair from her face in a soothing, repetitive touch that quiets her loud sobs to a volume that won't alert the downstairs neighbors of her distress.

"I promise I won't do that again," he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, "I promise."

And, for now, that's enough.

A sorrowful smile finds its way to her lips at that, and she reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. All the while, he's bracing his hands on her shoulders and looking down at her with genuine concern in his gaze. She realizes it's the first time in their relationship that a disagreement or falling out between them hasn't ended in total disaster, and she doesn't know what to do with it. The prospect of things changing between them is something she's longed for for the past few weeks, but, now that it's occurring, it's strangely uncomfortable.

The mutual chaos they fed off of kept them at a safe distance. Although they indulged in each other physically, it never had to pass a certain line emotionally. Tonight, however, she can feel the shift in energy humming in the air around them. She already began to feel it that day on the race track too. Things have changed, and what else can she do but hold on for dear life and pray he doesn't ruin her life more than he already has?

She sniffles, tears still shining on her face despite her attempts to wipe them away, and looks up at him. One of her thumbs brushes over the coarse facial hair poking out from his jawline in an inquisitive touch. It must be at least six days since he last shaved.

"No offense, but you look like you haven't slept or shaved in ages," she says, then allows herself to fully smile at the sound of him chuckling. The thumb caressing his jaw slides down to his chin and inspects the hair growing from it. "Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

"I don't understand why y'insisted on doing it like this, I do know how to shave my own face, y'know that, right?"

"Oh, hush. If you keep talking I might nick you," Y/N mutters back with an equal amount of sass from where she is perched atop his lap with a razor raised to his face.

Harry doesn't know how he allowed this to happen. Actually, he does. He knew damn well how badly he fucked up a few hours after he left her there on the race track, alone and scared that something terrible had happened, and when she asked to shave his face, he couldn't deny her. One look at those tear-filled eyes and he caved in a matter of seconds. Still, he considers it a better alternative to her holding a knife to his crotch. Knowing her, she'd make it a gun this time if he hadn't wanted to get back in her good graces.

The scent of the shaving cream smeared under his nostrils and along his chin is all he can smell as she dips the razor beneath the running tap to get the hairs off of it. When he reluctantly agreed to the proposal, she dragged in a chair from the kitchen and gestured for him to sit beside the sink. One of his hands rests on the curve of her hip, not to keep her steady but rather because he wants to touch her after spending a week away, agonizing over the reason behind the call he got and how Y/N would react once he returned.

Just for the sake of torturing him, she says, "You know, I kind of digged the stubble. I liked how it felt when I sat on your face that one time."

As per her request, he remains quiet when she has the razor to his face, but he does allow his lip to twitch upward in a slight grin at the recollection of that day. What a little brat, teasing him with talk about sex and face-sitting while he's on strict orders to remain silent. She’s lucky he's being a suck-up tonight or else he'd have her bent over his knee with her panties shoved in her mouth.

The second she moves to run the razor back underwater, he asks, "So, all I have to do to get you to sit on m'face again is not shave for a week?"

She scoffs.

"Keep dreaming. You've lost your face-sitting privileges for the week."

Before she can start shaving off more of the hair, he leans forward to nuzzle his face in the curve of her neck and nips at the stretch of sensitive skin just underneath her earlobe with his teeth. His next words are muffled by it, but not before she lands a playful smack onto his arm for the bite, as well as getting shaving cream on her.

"What about next week?"

"If you keep talking while I'm shaving you, I will toss you out of your bedroom window," she snaps.

Harry offers an overly enthusiastic, "Yes, ma'am," and tilts his chin up to present it to her dramatically, shutting his eyes in acceptance of his horrid fate. The feeling of her body jerking with sweet laughter brings a warmth to the center of his chest again, and he doesn't need to open his eyes to know how cute she looks right now. With her hair swept up away from her face with a scrunchie and pimple cream dotted over a few patches of disobedient skin, she looks better than he's ever seen her. Best of all, in his humble opinion, is the teeny tank top he can feel her nipples poking through against his chest whenever she inhales.

For the next few minutes, she works with diligence. Every curve of her wrist that brings the razor against his face is filled with care and caution, and she never, not once, cuts him in the process. All that's left to do is the mustache.

His hand grabs around her wrist to stop her from shaving it.

"Leave it," he says, his face unreadable.

Back in late October, he remembers her saying something along the lines of thinking mustaches are for firemen, dads, and pedophiles who like creeping around at the park, so he's trying to hold out on the little joke for as long as he can. Not that he's against the idea of a mustache. He isn't. Yet, knowing her dislike of them, he wouldn't keep it there.

Her eyebrows might as well be at her hairline with how high she raises them.

"I am not letting you ruin your beautiful face with a pedo-stache. I won't allow it," she says, then continues on with desperation tinging her speech as he tries to remain stone-faced. "Please, don't make me do this! I will literally never sit on your face again if you make me give you a mustache, you sadist!"

He tilts his head to the side, not unlike a confused dog.

"Beautiful face? Thought you were mad at me, sweetheart."

"Yeah, and I'm about to reach murder-level anger if you make me go through with this."

It's impossible to imagine her reaching "murder-level anger" seeing that she's the same woman who has berated him for killing people with nonchalance multiple times, but he puts a pin in that comment for another time. The razor raised in her right hand comes off as more of a threat than anything else, so he better come clean before she cuts his face up in revenge.

"I was just fucking with you," he says. "Y'can shave it, I don't care."

She takes his permission and runs with it as soon as it's given. It's almost comical how swiftly she has the razor to his upper lip after he gives her the go-ahead. And, as promised, he doesn't talk at all throughout the process of shaving it off. Instead, he watches her eyes narrow in focus at the task before her and takes in the sight of her straddled over his lap. His gaze slips down to look at her breasts, hugged tightly by the cotton fabric of the shirt she wears, and he watches her chest rise and fall with admiration gleaming on his face.

The degree to which he's grown attached to her scares him shitless, sure, but he ignores it the best he can. At every turn, she reminds him of the fact that their relationship is nothing more than a coworkers-with-benefits arrangement, and that reassurance puts him at ease more than she'll ever know. He doesn't have to worry about her developing feelings for him like he thought he did. They can simply exist together in mundane moments like this, and that's all he's ready for.

When she shifts in place to rinse off the razor and set it down on the counter, she goes still at the feeling of something semi-hard pressing up against her clothed cunt. Her accusatory stare settles on his face right away.

"...Are you seriously getting hard right now?"

His eyes avert to the ground for a second as his face flushes pink with what appears to be embarrassment. Much to her surprise, it seems he is capable of that basic human emotion without shutting down like a robot programmed to kill everything in sight.

He says, "I can take care of it myself if m'still on time out."

Back when the week began, she was infuriated with him. To the extent that she even went out of her way to do the little things that would piss him off even though he wasn't there to notice or care. She swore to herself that she wouldn't let him close enough to abandon or hurt her again, and yet...Yet here she sits, her heart hammering in her chest and arousal already bringing her back to life as she goes to war with herself over it. The sound of Alanis' disappointed voice when she told her she slept with him is clear in her mind when she recalls the moment, but having him right beneath her muddles her thoughts.

Her lip is bitten between her teeth with enough pressure to draw blood. She can already tell where this will lead. Her resolve is slipping, but she has a hard time forcing herself to care anymore. Maybe that makes her weak, maybe it makes her everything she swore to herself she wouldn't be, but when she shifts in his lap to feel his hard length pressing up against her, she can't help but sigh in relief at the contact.

She whispers, "It's okay."

His free hand slips down the length of her back until it settles on her other hip and slowly, very slowly, drags her hips forward to grind her against his cock through their clothes. The soft breaths he takes turn heavier the second he feels the delightful pressure of her on top of him.

If he were being honest, he'd tell her the real reason why he got aroused so quickly wasn't as cut and dry as going a week without sex and having her sitting on his lap, squirming around. It confuses him too much to put it into words, but he was watching her focus all of her attention on shaving his face, her eyes narrowing in focus, and found himself overwhelmed by everything that has happened. By her. He never likes being the one who gets taken care of, he's always been the one looking after her, but watching her dote on him like that made something inside of him click into place.

She'd never believe him if he told her that seeing her sticking her tongue out in focus and straddling his lap with pimple cream dotted on her face is what got him hard. It wasn't even for the sake of having sex, he could've ignored it, but she noticed, and who is he to pass up an opportunity to get his hands on her?

Harry drops his face into her neck as she begins to rock back and forth against him, her arms thrown over his shoulders while his cinch around her waist to guide her through the motions of it. Her cheek presses into the top of his head, and she relaxes against him. Curls of brunette hair brush against her face with every lazy thrust of her hips that heighten the inklings of arousal swirling in the pit of her abdomen little by little.

Whatever problems they may have, no matter how complicated and fucked up they are, she knows now that there's no looking back.

Hey, guys! I hope you enjoyed this, I had so much fun writing it and would love to hear all of your thoughts, so shoot me an ask or comment to let me know how you liked it :)

#harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #fanfiction #dark harry #getaway car

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six-demon-bag · 10 months

Text

an (incomplete) list of sixdemon fic

eta: ok i write too much to update a list, so. yknow. it’s all on ao3

my ao3: six_demon_bag

on my blog for tags and excerpts: #sixdemon fic

✨ Bucky Barnes/Helmut Zemo ✨

even in the silence i can hear your song (NR, MCD, 2k)

The hate between Bucky and Zemo seems unchangeable, until Bucky kills Zemo at the memorial. It’s too late for anything to change after that.

Depths Unplumbed (E, 2.5k)

Zemo accidentally discovers Bucky is unable to come due to past HYDRA trash parties, and many sexual situations send him into flashbacks. Zemo is determined to find something HYDRA didn’t ruin for Bucky.

the power in my violence (makes me go insane) (NR, 1.5k)

Captured by HYDRA scientists, Zemo is injected with the supersoldier serum and left to deal with his worst nightmare.

August Heat 2023 - event (E, 27.5k)

Nine standalone fics for DeadDoveKink's August Heat (A/B/O) event - all but two are WB, check the tags

Toe the Line (E, 2.5k)

Zemo has to wear an ankle monitor on parole, and Bucky has to change it out every night. He doesn't understand why Zemo acts like it's a big deal, until he realizes: Zemo's feet and ankles? His biggest erogenic zones.

Balance the Scales (E, 5k)

Zemo insists on keeping his body count - both of them - the same number. Bucky and Sam make an unsavory post-mission discovery.

One Two Many (E, 23k)

Bucky and Zemo meet on an anonymous dating app and find a deep connection in each other. In the meantime, they grow closer in person without realizing they’re falling in love online too.

Hellfriend (E, 17k)

HYDRA summons and binds a hellhound to serve them. Decades later, they lose control of it and it becomes attached to a young Helmut Zemo.

Open Carry (E, 5k)

Zemo buys the Winter Soldier from a HYDRA auction as a failed breeder with the intent to use him as a weapon against HYDRA, breedable or not.

home is where your teeth sink (E, 3.5k)

Things go sideways when Zemo tries to rescue a kidnapped Bucky only to find him entirely feral and entirely focused on him.

Souper Soldier (E, 1.5k)

Zemo uses the soldier as a bargaining chip to get information from Selby. Bucky is more into it than he means to be.

If the Glove Fits (T, 5k)

Bucky is an orphan trapped under the steel fist of his horrible uncle Pierce. When the realm’s Prince Zemo holds a ball to find a husband, Bucky decides he has to find a way to attend, if only to get out of the house.

and nothing is the only thing you ever seem to have (E, noncon, MCD, 3k)

Bucky gets possessed by a creature that controls his body, and he’s trapped watching as it toys with Zemo’s feelings for him.

is there any chance you could see me, too? (E, 5k)

Zemo and Bucky fall into bed together, over and over. It's perfunctory. Business-like. Bucky never kisses Zemo, never lets him get close. Zemo just wants a soft touch. Just once.

eat clen, tren hard, anavar give up (E, 3k)

Zemo gets bored in prison and starts working out. Endless time and money can build wonders, and Bucky is not prepared to behold those wonders when he breaks Zemo out.

Tiny Favors (E, 2.5k)

Zemo offers sexual favors to the Raft guards in exchange for small luxuries, but never fucks them. He’s loaned to Sam and Bucky for a mission and Bucky finds out about the Raft deals Zemo makes, and he gets very, very jealous. When Zemo asks him for a favor, he’s more than ready to leverage it right back.

just say i'll serve you my lord (i will sell you my soul) (E, 12k)

Instead of activating the Winter Soldier by force, Zemo decides to try persuasion - he approaches Bucky in Romania, offering him protection in exchange for assisting him in his revenge against Steve for the death of his family. Bucky reluctantly agrees, unsure of what Zemo intends, but knowing it’s his best bet to stay out of the hands of people who want the Winter Soldier.

love soldier (i want closure) (E, 8k)

Zemo is paroled from the Raft a few years after the Flag Smashers events. He and Bucky grow close, and Zemo is left with one-sided feelings he struggles to handle. (second half of Matched Set)

Keyhole (E, 3k)

The missing scenes from the prison break in episode three. Just how did that keycard get into Zemo’s cell?

Wrist Deep Honesty (E, 8.5k)

Bucky gets dosed with sex pollen on a mission. He seems completely under control, at least until Zemo comes in.

if you want my love (let me pull my hair back) (E, 1.5k)

Bucky grows his hair out, and Zemo can’t handle it.

Miss America (of Being a Power Bottom) (E, 4k)

It's a bad day for the Winter Soldier when HYDRA discovers a clean source of short-acting super soldier serum they can extract from his ejaculate. Instead of being put in cryo, now the Asset gets tied securely in a milking chamber, sometimes for weeks at a time. In order to Improve the Yield, HYDRA searches for the person who the asset has the strongest reaction to. It’s a bad day for Zemo when the results come back.

HYDRA Tupperware Party (E, 7k)

Zemo is convinced Hydra Trash Parties were a real thing and is determined to pry that information out of Bucky. Bucky has made it through life without being kissed or realizing he’s gay. The combination is lethally stupid.

I don’t do the walk of shame (I strut) (E, 7k)

When Bucky and Sam break Zemo out of prison, they aren’t expecting his hot girl summer. Bucky isn’t expecting to be jealous over Zemo. Sam can’t believe this is his life.

Rigged to Blow (E, 2k)

The trio are captured by HYDRA on a mission. Under threat to Sam, Zemo has to keep Bucky hard by giving him blowjobs. If he gets soft, then the bombs tied to Sam will go off.

compromised from how you say my name (E, 5k)

Zemo gets dosed with sex pollen on a mission and Bucky has to help him through it, despite his deeply buried feelings and knowing Zemo will never forgive him.

Sudden Focus (E, 2k)

On the plane to Madripoor, Zemo puts on a pair of glasses to read Bucky’s book. Bucky abruptly discovers a new kink.

oh, euthanize my heartbeat (as i set more in the concrete) (E, 8k)

A few years after the Flag Smashers events, Zemo is paroled indefinitely. He and Bucky grow closer as friends, and Bucky accidentally develops feelings for the baron. He doesn’t know how to handle it when Zemo picks up a secret lover. (first half of Matched Set)

Hold Your Breath (And Steal Your Baron’s Away) (E, 1k)

Bucky barges in on Zemo in the bath.

You’ve got those eyes that drive me crazy (and I’ve got eyes to watch you sleep) (T, 9k)

As a control mechanism, using the trigger words on the Winter Soldier also triggers a bone deep devotion to his handler. When Zemo activated the soldier in Berlin, he was unaware of the consequences.

take and take until you lose (E, noncon, 4k)

A mutual hatefuck turns into a forced pregnancy, and Zemo has to deal with the fallout in prison.

Moderfucker (E, 4k)

Zemo’s family was killed when HYDRA caused the fall of Sokovia, and he sets out to destroy them in revenge. He is captured and dropped into a forest as a sacrifice for their captive monster. Zemo’s always been good at adapting.

soft touch (E, 3k)

Zemo knows exactly how to make the Soldier into a perfect gift for Selby.

✨ Bucky Barnes & Helmut Zemo ✨

when you can’t dream, well, what’s life mean? (NR, 1k)

Zemo struggles to stay connected to a world that’s moved on without him.

are you dreaming of death (are there ghosts in your chest) (M, 3k)

From the scene Ayo takes Bucky's arm off. Wakanda told Steve, who told Sam that they could do that. Zemo knows they knew, and he tells Bucky.

✨ Bucky Barnes/John Walker ✨

Melt Your Walls (E, 3.5k)

When a mission goes wrong, John and Bucky are caught in a blizzard on a remote mountain. It’s up to John to make sure the cranky vampire doesn’t freeze to death, and in the process some feelings are exposed.

take my time and take my heart (E, 3.5k)

John gets hit with sex pollen that Bucky recognizes from his time as the soldier. Sure, it’s not fatal to ride it out alone, but it’s much less painful to fuck someone on it. Of course it’s totally selfless and involves no ulterior motives if Bucky offers himself up for that, right?

Communication for Dummies (T, 2k)

Bucky is nursing unrequited feelings for his straight best friend John, only to get hit with a tsunami of jealousy when John goes on a date with a man.

tonight is gonna be the loneliest (E, 9.5k)

John and Bucky have reached a cold truce after working together for years, no matter what other feelings John is suppressing. Bucky going into heat unexpectedly throws their connection into a new territory.

can't get enough, no, you burn me up (E, 4.5k)

Bucky and John get dosed with sex pollen on a mission, and it makes them discover feelings they didn’t even know they had. Loudly and repeatedly.

Left Behind (G, 1k)

A fire throws John into the past and forces Bucky to confront his feelings.

know you got my blood running (E, 14k)

Bucky and Walker have undeniable chemistry, but it’s buried under resentment and mutual dislike. What happens when it erupts?

✨ Helmut Zemo/John Walker ✨

touch the light and let it burn (E, 6.5k)

After getting severely burned during a mission, Zemo takes to wearing his mask all the time to hide his scars. He finds an unexpected connection in John Walker, and has to reevaluate his opinion and assumptions alongside his developing feelings.

The Whole World is Listening (against their will) (E, 2.5k)

Things go a little differently when John and Lemar show up to the apartment in Riga to arrest Zemo.

the upside of rock bottom (i've seen everything) (E, 4.5k)

No one ever says they’re sorry when Lemar dies. No one cares enough to visit the Sokovian Memorial either.

Skillset (E, 3k)

An urgent need for obtaining information from their captive ends up with Zemo deeply appreciative of a kindred spirit in Getting Things Done.

Fakers (E, 3.5k)

Zemo and Walker are captured by some HYDRA agents on a mission, and have to distract the guards from killing them while they wait for Bucky and Sam to rescue them.

✨ Bucky Barnes/John Walker/Helmut Zemo ✨

Rolling Hitch (E, 2k)

John, Bucky, and Zemo are trapped in a safehouse when Zemo goes into heat.

Shut Me Up (E, 2.5k)

Bucky and Walker find common ground in shutting Zemo up.

✨ misc MCU fics ✨

i got a love (and i know that it's all mine) (E, 1.5k)

(John Walker/Olivia Walker)

Olivia can appreciate her man coming home hot and sweaty, and she is going to make sure he knows it.

Poor Life Choices (M, 1k)

(Steve Rogers/Howard Stark (past), Steve Rogers/Tony Stark)

Prompt: What if Zemo showed Steve, Tony, and Bucky an old sex tape between Steve and Howard instead of the tape when the Winter Soldier killed Tony’s parents, and Zemo and Bucky just awkwardly watch Tony beat up Steve.

got me in the worst way, got me in the best way (E, 6k)

(Helmut Zemo/Everett Ross)

Zemo flirts as easily as he breathes. It’s a fun diversion for him, and an extra bonus if he gets an edge on someone. He hadn’t expected to get anything when he flirted with Ross when he got to the Raft, but Ross’s reaction has him perking up like a hunting dog.

Double down on the Sokovian (E, 2k)

(Helmut Zemo/Helmut Zemo)

Sam, Bucky, and Zemo are on a mission investigating an old HYDRA base when Zemo accidentally gets cloned. Zemo is more than a little appreciative of Zemo.

slippery thoughts - two part series (E, 40k)

(Bucky Barnes/Brock Rumlow)

What happens when you accidentally get bonded to the Winter Soldier? Brock Rumlow and HYDRA are gonna learn what happens when you fuck around (rumlow) and find out (hydra)

Mine (E, 2k)

(Brock Rumlow/Jack Rollins)

Jack can see how much the soldier wants Brock, and he’s going to make it clear who the commander belongs to.

✨ Stiles Stilinski/Peter Hale ✨

Strange Neighbors (E, 8.5k)

Peter buys a little haunted cabin on an empty lake to hide after a bad breakup. The cabin might be empty, but the lake…

Efficiency (T, 1k)

Yet another mediocre blind date for Stiles yields unexpected fruit in the form of a very attractive wolf interrupting.

✨ and more! ✨

(but you have to go to ao3 for those)

#sixdemon fic #it was always a partial list to start with #but man.

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themculibrary · 1 year

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Flowery/Plants Fic Titles Masterlist

part two

A Hint of Rose (ao3) - CallipygianGoldfish steve/bucky T, 6k

Summary: Steve needs chocolate, Bucky provides chocolate. And copious amounts of caffeine, which might be the only reason Steve keeps coming back. Whatever the reason, Bucky's going to try and not let his runaway tongue completely ruin this, because somehow, this one feels different... In the meantime, however, he just needs to keep Stark from poisoning everybody.

All The Leaves Are Brown (And the sky is gray) (ao3) - AvocadoLove steve/bucky, pepper/tony T, 17k

Summary: The Winter Soldier's mission is nearly complete. Howard and Maria Stark are dead, leaving him to dispatch their four-year-old child. One quick twist of the neck is all it will take, but the Soldier finds he cannot do it.

So instead of killing Tony Stark, the Winter Soldier takes him away to raise as his own.

Blessings of the Bluebells (ao3) - AsteriaBellRose tony/stephen T, 1k

Summary: Bluebells represent eternal love. It is a deep love for your significant other that transcends time. The bluebell flowers blessed the love life of Tony Stark and Stephen Strange from their first meeting to their deaths.

bloomed (ao3) - bisamwilson sam/bucky G, 3k

Summary: “I don’t want to marry you,” James says, and Sam tries not to let it wound his pride.

Delivering Flowers & Deflowering (ao3) - Fake_Ruby sharon/natasha T, 1k

Summary: Pride Month Prompts Day 5: flowers

Desert Rose (ao3) - Golden_Asp bucky/tony E, 8k

Summary: Deputy Tony Stark has been chasing the nameless thief across the country for two years. He has a collection of hand carved wooden flowers that the man left for him in banks that he robbed. Outside a small Nevada boomtown, he finally catches up to his thief and Tony decides he's never going back to New York.

Garden Party (ao3) - vextant G, 1k

Summary: Steve finds Bruce's secret project.

Gardens of Asgard (ao3) - hermionesmydawg, kjanddean steve/bucky E, 11k

Summary: They were warned numerous times - don't veer off the path in the Gardens of Asgard.

Of course, Steve Rogers heeds the advice of no one. Ever.

Gladiolus (ao3) - orphan_account tony/stephen G, 1k

Summary: “Tell me, Tony, do you know what the Gladiolus flower symbolizes?”

Tony glances up from his drink with an arched eyebrow. “A gladi-what?”

“A Gladiolus,” Stephen states. His back is facing Tony as he stares out into the night sky through Tony’s penthouse window. He rocks back and forth on his feet, before he takes his right hand and waves it, revealing a long stem with several purple flowers stacked on top of each other. “Do you know what it stands for?”

Guns and Roses (ao3) - nomical clint/phil G, 2k

Summary: A bad op results in Clint getting shot and Phil revealing his knowledge on the language of flowers. No one is surprised about either of these things.

Pink Camellias (ao3) - Styx_in_the_mud bruce/tony G, 348

Summary: Pink Camellias- Longing for You

Rose of Jericho (ao3) - tarot_card bucky/tony G, 1k

Summary: Given their relationship began using flowers, Bucky figured it was only appropriate to use a flower to move it a step further.

Somewhere That's Green (ao3) - circ_bamboo bruce/betty E, 5k

Summary: Bruce expected an evening at the theater to contain excitement and drama--but somehow he'd expected it all to stay on the stage.

Sunflowers for the sun in my life (ao3) - Windfighter steve/tony T, 1k

Summary: Tony works under Nick in a flower shop. It's great, especially when Hot Stuff comes in and Tony gets an opportunity to train his flirting skills.

The Garden (ao3) - amidtheflowers, Sigridhr carol/darcy T, 2k

Summary: Carol suspected Darcy was up to something, but she could never have imagined it would be quite this lovely.

thigmotropism (ao3) - owlinaminor bruce/thor T, 1k

Summary: Thor pokes the top of the plant again. This time, he exerts more force, so that the stalk bends down and springs back at him, sending a thorn directly into his index finger.

He’s in love.

Tulips (ao3) - WaywardKeener harley/peter G, 1k

Summary: Harley is getting a flower and a note from a secret admirer.

When the Red Spider Lilies Bloom (ao3) - ourladyofwoe fandral/loki G, 3k

Summary: Fandral and Loki send each other flowers. From Fandral courting the young prince to Loki returning his feelings, even their goodbyes.

#themculibrary #mcu #marvel #fictitles #fictitles masterlist #masterlists #flowers #flowers masterlist

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astralpenguin · 2 years

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thanks to @newtmsa / @newtstommy for tagging me !! i’m not going to be keeping this all to one fandom bc i’m a multifandom mess and i’ve written some genuinely good things across multiple fandoms

all these fics are rated T, and this list is in no particular order:

1. 3am - death note, L/light, 34k

Everybody knows that 3am is the best time to have a crisis

if i’d known that the ventfic that i wrote because i was having some feelings about being asexual would spawn a 34k fic with an actual plot then i’d have made it a multichap from the start instead of a series, but here we are lmao. this is an au of the yotsuba arc in which light realises both that he’s asexual and that he’s kira, told through conversations he and L have at about 3am. there are two possible endings, a happy one and a canon compliant one. i’ve had multiple people tell me that this series has helped them come to terms with their own asexuality, and it means so much to me that something i wrote has been able to help people like that

2. i tried to kill dean winchester and all i got was this lousy t-shirt - supernatural, gen, background dean/cas, 17k

When Claire and Jack touch the wrong thing in one of the bunker storerooms, they're flung backwards in time, landing in early 2012 in Seattle. Waiting until someone comes to get them should be simple enough, shouldn't it?

Except there's a case in town. One that Claire and Jack soon learn has a very personal connection to the Winchesters

There's no way they're going to leave Dean's daughter to die

i wrote 17k in under two weeks because i was possessed by the need to save emma winchester’s life again, but this time with time travel! this fic is from claire’s pov, and explores the complicated relationships she’d have with jack and does have with cas, and i think i did a really good job of it! also this title is possibly my favourite out of all my fics, it makes me smile every time i see it. every day i fight the urge to order a t-shirt with this on

3. Righteous - supernatural, gen, implied dean/cas & implied onesided meg/cas, 4k

“It says righteous mortal. Do you even count as mortal at this point?”

Dean blinked at Sam.

“Shut up."

The ingredients for the weapon to kill a Leviathan calls for the bone of a righteous mortal. The Righteous Man is right there.

supernatural is a fountain of wasted potential, but when i rewatched season 7 of this godforsaken show in early 2021 this particular instance of wasted potential really stuck out to me, and i couldn’t find anything on ao3 fixing it, so i had to do it myself. i also accidentally included a lot of sam introspecting about his decision to lock himself in the cage and how this could be compared to cas’ mental state at this point of the series, which i wasn’t expecting at all when i started writing, but i stand by all of it

4. Snowballed - maze runner, newt/thomas, 8k

“Even ignoring how obviously uncomfortable you’re making him, Newt’s my boyfriend. You aren’t going anywhere with him.”

Miyoko detached herself from Newt so quickly it was almost as if she’d been burnt, but Newt barely noticed.

Thomas? Had just?? Called him??? His boyfriend????

Thomas tells a white lie at a Christmas party to make a girl leave Newt alone, and it very quickly has unexpected consequences

this was my first tmrss fic! i was given the fake dating prompt, and at first i wasn’t going to use that prompt because i generally don’t like fake dating stories, but then i started to think about what exactly it is about fake dating that makes me dislike it so much of the time, and then set about writing a fic that did away with the elements i didn’t like. this fic has a heavy focus on communication, honesty, and consent, not just with your romantic partner but with your friends too, and i’m still really proud of it

5. i was the only one who was looking at you - maze runner, newt/thomas, 137k

When Thomas was in his last year of primary school, a serial killer targeted some of his classmates. A suspect was arrested and convicted, but Thomas remains convinced that the police have the wrong person

When tragedy strikes again, he barely has time to process what's happened before he's somehow transported back in time to before those murders took place

He knows what he needs to do

He can save everyone

The Erased au that nobody asked for but I'm writing anyway

this was the first novel length fic i ever managed to complete, so it’s always going to have a special place in my heart. i’ve never flown through writing something quite like i did with this. i put a lot of work and effort into it while genuinely thinking that i’d be the only one interested in it because of it’s highly specific and self indulgent premise, and i was blown away with the response. my writing ability has definitely improved since i wrote this, but i’ve reread this so many times and have a great time every single time i do, so i can get past 18-year-old me’s apparent obsession with one particular word (which i will not name on the off chance that it’s just me who’s noticed it)

i’m pretty sure angie tagged the whole glade already lmao so i’m gonna tag some spn mutuals instead: @charlie-bradbury, @fellshish, @doctorprofessorsong, @8daysuntiltheapocalypseiguess, @lighth0uses, and anyone else who wants to do this !! obviously no pressure at all <3

#tmr #dn #spn #fanfic #tag games #el creates #long post

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neonlane · 10 months

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life/job musing

so i just sat down and did some rough maths on my income and worked out that even if i got my 12hr shifts back which i most likely wont that im still earning under 9k a year. i work part time and even that is physically killing me. if i work 2 days in a row i have to spend the third day in bed and in pain so i basically cant go up to fulltime even if i would be making more money.

yesterday my friend came to me and said she could get me a job working for her employer which is base 17k a year working from home but it is taking insurance policy customer calls. so my choice now is do i keep working a job i enjoy but is giving me poverty wages and exhausting me on the regular or do i take a job i would most likely hate but would give me enough money to hopefully move out and wouldnt put me in physical pain

#lanetxt

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griefpersevering · 2 years

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Daredevil Fic Recs: Hurt/Comfort

this is one of my all time favourite tropes, so i just had to rec some fics! these are some of my favourites that i have bookmarked:

Day Forty-Seven by Marchling // @dreaming-marchling (17k)

honestly this is one of my favourite fics of all time. the angst is so in character but also so sad and the comfort is just... mwah. i keep coming back to reread this fic because i love it so much.

None So Blind by prettybirdy979 // @prettybirdy979 (29k)

i'm not going to lie... i love a 'daredevil meets the avengers' fic and this one is probably the angstiest of the ones i've read. it's also absolutely hilarious (to me, anyway)

The Nelson & Murdock Scale of Pain by Marchling (3.9k)

this fic is so cute... I try not to put the same authors on the list twice but this series is just !!!

Under the Hide of Me by poisonivory // @pluckyredhead (25k)

i don't know why but i find fics that deal with identity absolutely amazing and this one... is somehow hilarious and adorable all at the same time. matt is a badass and foggy is head over heels and it's just the best

my head's killing me, can you hold me close? by RAT_BAT // @ratbatz (3.1k)

sharing a bed? at christmas?? with hurt/comfort??? this fic has literally everything. they are SO SAPPY and i love them so much

anyway i hope you enjoy them all and if there are any other fic recs lists you would like then feel free to send me an ask!

#mattfoggy #daredevil #matt murdock #foggy nelson #fic recs #hurt/comfort #ao3 #lina lore #nmcu

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witchersgoldenbard · 2 years

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Do you have any geraskier fic recs for the weird slump that happens when you’re anxious about the semester, but that surfaces as deciding you’re a fucked up weirdo and then crawling into bed and hating yourself? Bc that is where I am 🥺 I’m in the US so the semester starts next week for me, and I am barely functional

hello my darling nonnie, i am sorry you’re in a slump, please know i am sending you all the hugs and cuddles 🥺💛 you’re not a fucked up weirdo, you’re lovely and deserve all the snuggles! In lieu of snuggles, i’m giving you some of my personal favourite geraskier fics – which are not nearly as many as i would like because i spent a long time in a (reading) slump myself. i tried to sort them for you becuase they got... a bit out of hand 💛

Canon-world AUs

of music and motion and love by WriteThroughTheNight

T | 12k | Jaskier and Yen are siblings, many feels, magic jaskier

When Jaskier was four, he slipped his mother’s watch and went to the field to gather a bouquet of dandelions. He climbed back into the yard, as stealthy as a child really cared to be, and crept over to the barn. In the barn, lived a secret. OR Jaskier comes from a far humbler background, and would really like to know why Yennefer never came back for her youngest brother.

the heart is a winged beast by @greyduckgreygoose

E | 99k words | warlord!geralt, mutual pining, intrigue

After the turmoil of war robbed him of his birthright, Jaskier endures life as a simple Bard in the court of Kerack, under the protection of his cruel, ambitious cousin. Until the night that Jaskier catches the attention of the Geralt of Rivia, Lord of the Clan of the Wolf, and is terrified to be gifted to the barbarian mercenary as a bed-warmer. However, Jaskier soon learns that the White Wolf is not the man his dark reputation makes him out to be. He might, in fact, be Jaskier's only hope of escaping his harsh circumstances. If only Jaskier can convince Geralt to allow him to remain at his side... if only Jaskier can avoid losing his own heart in the process...

Geralt Deserves Soft Things (series) by Bedalk05

mostly T | 200k words | wolf shifter jask, soft boys, all the feels

This series is almost entirely pure fluff, featuring shifter!Jaskier and a whole lotta cuddles and feels all around. Most of these can be read as a stand-alone if you’d like.

(i honestly love this so much, some of the first geraskier i read. perfect comfort 💛)

Modern AUs

Yours, Dandelion by dapperyklutz

T | 17k words | teenagers, soft boys, all the feels, pining

Jaskier has a secret. Well, he has two. The first is that he's in love with Geralt Rivia, captain of the rugby team and his childhood best friend. Only, they're no longer best friends. His second secret is that he writes poems dedicated to Geralt and anonymously posts it at the school's Freedom Wall under the pseudonym of Dandelion. And the thing is, Dandelion has become so popular - more popular than Jaskier - that it's getting more difficult to keep his silence when it's clear that Geralt is starting to develop feelings for the mysterious lovesick poet. How naïve was Jaskier to think that it would be so easy.

velvet and steel by balladofwolves

E | 21k words | mob!au, singer!jask, slow burn, action, epic

Reckless up-and-coming singer Jaskier lands himself in hot water when one of his more political songs goes viral, and nearly gets him killed. Queen Calanthe of Cintra wants his head, but Jaskier is placed under the protection of the Order of the Wolf, the most powerful crime organization in the Continent-- And finds himself falling in love with none other than Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf himself, and leader of the Order. Jaskier’s never been known to make good, or safe, choices.

Opposites Attract by tinyjaskier

T | 28k words | autistic geralt, adhd jaskier, college au, softness

When Geralt is paired with Jaskier by the University accommodation team, he’s sure there must’ve been some kind of mistake. The guy is loud, unorganised and messy. Geralt likes peace, order and cleanliness. He’s going to drive him absolutely insane. But, there’s no more accommodation left. How will they cope?

Soulmate AUs

Nothing to Lose But My Secrets by @handwrittenhello

E | 45k words | enemies to lovers, warlord!geralt and assassin!jaskier

Jaskier is the best assassin in the Northern Kingdoms. On the most important mission of his life - kill the Warlord of the North or die trying - things go terribly wrong, and he's taken prisoner. During his time as a captive in Kaer Morhen, he's forced to confront some uncomfortable truths: witchers aren't what the stories say, his soulmate is most definitely somewhere in the keep and he may have found himself on the wrong side of this war.

Batshit by fungumunguss

E | 80k words (though the main storyline is like 60k?) | modern au, witchers in modern times

Jaskier is attending Comic-Con to promote his show, "Dandelion" a musical thriller. While everything on the show is fiction, Jaskier has a penchant for danger and very quickly finds himself in a bit of trouble and into the arms of one delectable man who he feels drawn to. His heart whispers soulmate, but after his previous disaster with his soul mark, he can't bear to believe it true. The punch in the gut tells him that much.

Other

The Reanimator of Rosemerrow by @cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness

E | 35k words | supernatural & horror elements, modern witchers

In 1819, Jaskier accidentally buys an old abandoned inn in the middle of nowhere, England. Haunted, as if this mountain of dust and debris wasn't already enough of a problem. At least he has a handsome carpenter to help him renovate it.

endless wonder by @kotemorons

M | 50k words | Warehouse 13 AU, a/b/o (but not really), magic

Jaskier knows three things for sure: One, most of the items stored in Kaer Morhen actively want to kill him. Two, all of the people he works with are absolutely gorgeous, terrifying alphas that want nothing to do with his flirty omega self. Three, he wouldn't have it any other way. Oh, did he mention the end of the world?

The Lesser Evil by @dont-tempt-me-frodo

E | 79k words | pirate captain!jask, assassin!geralt, epic, all the feels

1674 and piracy is rife throughout the Caribbean. Plenty of work for a Pirate Hunter such as Geralt. But when he takes a contract to hunt down a pirate captain who is interfering with important trade, a harsh truth arrises that will question his morals and he will be forced to choose between two evils, and risk the one thing he never thought he would find. Love.

💛 i also asked some of my friends for their geraskier fic recs, so here, have some more! (though i didn't sort them this time, sorry)

Life's Blood by @resident-lambert-hoe (T | 3k)

It had taken fifty-years of fighting tooth and nail for Geralt and Jaskier to be allowed to legally marry. After the deed was done, they chose to commemorate it in their own way. tattoo au

Secret by @mordoriscalling (M | 8k)

Based on artistsfuneral's take on the prompt "love confessions: in a language you didn't know they understand".

Taming the Wolves by @saltytransidiot (T | 9k)

When Geralt offers to bring Jaskier to Kaer Morhen that winter, the bard is overjoyed, but anxious as well. He desperately wishes to make a good impression on his lover's family. It turns out easier than he had thought, although Eskel isn't convinced just yet.

Sweet Nothings by @saltytransidiot (M | 10k)

Kaer Morhen is a warmer place than Jaskier had envisaged, and Geralt's family is nicer, and bigger, than Geralt had ever spoken about. Walking into the keep brings up some feelings that Jaskier hadn't realized were bubbling, and he has to delve deeper into his own feeling and who he really is. (God Jaskier)

Sweet Sorrows by @saltytransidiot (M | 19k)

Ciri doesn't find Geralt at the end, she finds Jaskier. She has known him all her life, and she trusts him. He decides to bring her to Kaer Morhen so that she will find Geralt. He dreads the moment it will happen.

Three Steps from the Sky by @bunnyofnegativeeuphoria (M | 30k)

Dear Reader, I present to you a tale of love, the value of faith and communication, and quite a ridiculous amount of horse content.

No King Among Wolves by IndigoDream (M | 32k)

Prince Julian of Kerack has been having nightmares recently. On the day of his twenty-first birthday feast, a week before his official coronation, he tries to ignore those nightmares and focus on the party. However, when a princess of Creyden greets him, accompanied by her witcher bodyguard, Julian starts feeling like he can't escape the dreams anymore. --- Jaskier was a son, a brother, a prince. One sweep at his mind, and he is only a Prince.

we could be married (and then we'd be happy) by @a-kind-of-merry-war (E | 50k)

Geralt and Jaskier have been playing this game for nearly a year, now: staging a proposal in an expensive restaurant to see if they can get a meal on the house. But pretending to be engaged to the person you're secretly in love with is starting to take its toll on both of them - especially when they're caught in the act.

To give without knowing by @flowercrown-bard (T | 108k)

Jaskier finds a wooden figure that Geralt carved and threw away in the woods and thinks it's a gift from the fae.

my dear friend (hehe) also compiled a list of geraskier fic recs

so! i hope you're not overwhelmed now, dearest nonnie. i hope you find something that lets you escape your slump. i love you 💛

#geraskier #geralt #jaskier #geraskier fic recs #the witcher fanfiction #witcher fanfic #witcher fic rec #nonnie asks #i love you nonnie #also just go to the profiles of all these writers they're lovely and have many more stories #also IndigoDream i kiss your hand darling #💛#nat rambles #nat recs #thanks everyone who gave me their recs!#i would have asked more people but then that would have escalated even more but feel free to reblog this with your own recs

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cocobeanncteez · 3 years

Text

ATEEZ Hongjoong: Tame (Part 1)

Genre: Fluff, angst, smut, mafia au.

Pairing: Mafia!Hongjoong x OC (written in 2nd person)

Word Count: 17k in total, 5k in this part. (Part 2, Part 3, Final Part)

Warnings for all parts combined: Mafia themes such as torture, abuse, violence, human auctions, murder, drugs, guns. Mentions of rape, human trafficking, sex slavery, organ trafficking. Unprotected sex (pulling out), facesitting.

Other than Ateez, all other names are fictional.

"Where have you brought me?" you questioned, looking up at your uncle in pure detestation when he pushed you into a dark room and took off your blindfold.

"Change into that dress quickly," he replied, ignoring your question, pointing to a red dress lying on a chair. "It's time for me to make some good money." He smirked, giving you a look before leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.

You don't know why your uncle had brought you here. Your father recently went missing and now you were certain your uncle was behind it.

You rarely saw your father since you lived with your uncle and his family. Your mother passed away when you were a newborn and you have no siblings.

You glanced at the red dress your uncle told you to wear. It was quite short and had a deep V-neck. You sighed as you quickly wore the dress, looking into the dirty and damaged full-length mirror to see how it looked on you.

A woman dressed in a similar dress came inside the room. "I'm getting sold too," she said softly, making your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

"Sold? What do you mean?"

Before she could reply, two built men came into the room and grabbed you by the arms, forcefully dragging you out.

"Where are you taking me?!" you yelled, struggling to get your arms out of their strong grasp.

"Shut the fuck up if you don't want a bullet in your head," one the men said nonchalantly.

You could hear the familiar voice of your uncle and you assumed he was talking through a mic. You were thrown onto a stage, bright lights shining on you that blinded your vision.

Once your eyes adjusted to the light, you could see about a hundred people in the room, staring at you from head to toe.

"So who would like to buy this beauty?" your uncle yelled. All the men and even some of the women started yelling while raising their hands. You shivered, realizing that you were in some sort of human trafficking auction. Your eyes immediately teared up. How cruel could your uncle be? How cruel could all these people here be, selling humans like that?

You looked around, checking to see if there was any way to escape, but there were way too many guards, so you decided to go with the flow for now.

"We're starting from 50 million won," your uncle stated after the crowd calmed down.

You saw someone in the crowd raise a sign with their name and a number on it. "50 million!"

"70 million!"

"140 million!"

"250 million!"

"400 million!" a man yelled, causing everyone to keep quiet.

"400 million... going once, going—"

"500 million!" another man yelled. You could hear whispers all around you. You couldn't even believe how rich these people were, all their money obviously obtained through illegal means.

"500 million... Going once... going twice... sold!" your uncle said cheerfully and started clapping. "Congratulations, Mr. Byun! She's all yours!"

Two of Mr. Byun's men took you away and made you sit in a black car while their boss made his payment. They were really handsome and dressed in suits. You were actually terrified, but you tried to act normal.

You saw a man with long hair and thick bushy eyebrows approach the car. He was wearing spectacles and had a thick moustache. He got into the car, looking at you as he sat beside you. You noticed that he had a gun in his pocket, making you wonder what exactly he does for a living, albeit you had a fair idea already.

"Start driving, Mingi," he said in a mellifluous voice to the red-haired man who was sitting in the driver's seat. Mingi nodded and started driving immediately while you kept quiet and looked outside the window, pondering about how you could escape.

"Take that shit off, hyung. It looks hideous on you," the other guy with blue hair said, grabbing your attention.

Mr. Byun took off his spectacles, fake moustache and eyebrows, and the wig. You didn't even realize that he was wearing a disguise before.

Your eyes widened when you saw him. His features were sharp and absolutely perfect. He looked like he was going to shoot for some fashion magazine. He seemed to be around your age; so did the other two guys.

You didn't realize that you were gawking at him until Mingi chuckled. "Someone is shocked."

You blushed in embarrassment, instantly looking away. You cleared your throat. "I was just wondering why Mr. Byun was wearing a disguise."

"Oh Byun is just a fake name he used," Mingi said. "His name is actually Hongjoong."

And that's when it hit you.

"Hongjoong? As in, Kim Hongjoong of Ateez?" you blurted out, making all the three men's eyes widen.

Hongjoong quickly reached under the car seat, pulling out handcuffs before swiftly handcuffing you. He took his tie off and used it as a blindfold for you.

Your hands were handcuffed to the armrest of a chair. You really hoped these guys weren't Ateez. But after seeing the other five men once they removed your blindfold, you knew it was really them: the eight most feared men in the crime world in the country.

You were so fucked; especially since you were in an interrogation room with an unconscious bleeding man in the corner.

"How do you know me? How do know Ateez?" Hongjoong asked coldly, a small hint of panic in his eyes. You regretted opening your mouth before.

You averted your gaze from the bleeding man. "I... overheard my uncle talk about you," you answered honestly.

"Hongjoong, let San take care of this," one of the taller guys with black curly hair said.

"No, Seonghwa, I've got this," Hongjoong said, his eyes not leaving you.

Seonghwa only rolled his eyes. "San."

Another guy with pink hair nodded before approaching you. Hongjoong sighed in frustration before moving to the side, letting San replace him. You could easily tell that Hongjoong had a short temper.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions so please cooperate," San said with a sweet smile, letting his dimples show. You would've melted for that smile if you didn't know that he was extremely dangerous. "So tell me, what is your name?"

"Kiah... Moon Kiah," you replied.

"How old are you?"

"I'm 21."

"Who is your uncle who told you about us?"

You took a deep breath, already exhausting from the questioning. "Moon Younghyun." All the eight men look surprised.

"Your uncle sold you, his own niece, at a human auction?" Seonghwa asked with a frown and you nodded in response.

"That bastard," Mingi growled, surprising you. Why was he pissed about that?

"What did your uncle tell you about us, Kiah?" San questioned.

You bit your lip nervously. "I can't tell you."

"Why not?" San asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Cause you'll shoot me or rape me to death due to how offensive it is," you mumbled. "And honestly, I'd rather not die that way." The boys were shocked at your sudden boldness, not expecting you to say that at all. Half of them looked offended.

"Excuse me, woman, we're not rapists," the guy with purple hair said, clearly offended.

You raised an eyebrow. "That's not what I heard." You were wondering where your sudden confidence came from when these men could literally kill you in a fraction of a second.

"Well, then what did you hear?" San asked. "Tell us and we'll honestly tell you what's true and what's not." You contemplated that; you had nothing to lose anyway if they choose to kill you.

"I heard that Ateez is a mafia gang engaged in mostly human trafficking, drug deals, raping and murdering innocent people."

The guy with light brown hair, who looked like a Greek God, cleared his throat. "Out of everything you said, only the drug deals were true."

You snorted. "And why would I believe you?"

"Well, why would you believe your uncle who just sold you?" he retorted.

"But you guys fucking bought me at a human auction!"

"Would you rather be bought by someone else who would actually treat you like a fucking sex slave?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. You kept quiet at that. "Believe me, Kiah, that's what the people there were for. They were all looking for sex slaves."

"Yeosang's right," San stated. "You should be grateful that we saved your life."

"What were you guys doing there then?" you questioned. "If you claim that you don't do all that, then why were you there in the first place?"

"Your uncle is our enemy. We had to see what he was up to," Yunho answered.

"Then why did you buy me?"

"You ask way too many questions," Hongjoong snapped in an annoyed tone, trying not to lose his temper completely.

"Joong, chill," Seonghwa said, making Hongjoong roll his eyes.

Mingi moved to stand in front of you. "I was the one who begged Hongjoong to adopt you," he said with a smile.

"Terrible decision," Hongjoong muttered under his breath.

You snorted. "Adopt?"

Mingi shrugged. "I don't like the word 'bought' so we're just going to say that."

You smiled a little at his words. "All right, Mingi, care to explain why you... adopted me?"

Mingi grinned. "Well, I've seen you a couple of times near your university’s hospital," he stated, making the guys look at him in surprise; they didn't know Mingi knew your face before. "And besides, you're beautiful. It would be such a waste if you were sold as a sex slave when you're so talented." Hongjoong gives Mingi a look that didn't go unnoticed by you.

You chuckled. "What makes you think I'm talented?"

"I've done my research," he said. "You're the only nursing student intern who is allowed to watch surgeries and help in minor ones."

"No wonder you wanted to adopt her," Yunho remarked.

You heard a groan behind you, coming from the bleeding man who just gained consciousness. You felt really bad for him.

"Don't worry about him," Yeosang said, noticing the concern in your eyes. "He deserved it."

"Why?" you murmured. "What did he do?"

"You wouldn't want to know," Seonghwa laughed before turning to one of the guys. "Remove the handcuffs, Jongho."

Jongho nodded and unlocked the handcuffs around your wrists with a key. You stretched your arms out in front of you, feeling a little free now.

"All right, I can go home..." you trailed off, realizing that you didn't have a home anymore. Your uncle would definitely sell you again if you went back there. Looks like you would have to crash at a friend's place.

"I'm afraid we can't let you go," Hongjoong stated.

Your eyes widened. "You're keeping me hostage?!"

"You know too much about us," San said with a small smile. "We're sorry."

You scoffed, getting up from the chair. "I refuse to be a fucking prisoner here in your dungeon!"

"Holy fuck, you're so tiny!" Yunho said in awe, stepping forward to tower over you. "I think I'm a foot taller than you! How cute!" he squealed. Was this guy really in the Mafia?

Before you could respond, Yunho lifted you up like a baby. "I'm gonna show you the house."

He carried you out of the interrogation room and up a flight of stairs until you reached a living room that could easily fit more than three hundred people. Your eyes widened at the sight of it; surely this was a joke, right?

You were in a luxurious mansion.

You glanced around in awe, noticing how one side of the living room had floor to ceiling windows, complemented with maroon and gold curtains. There was a large open-kitchen right next to the living room, and a wooden staircase on the other side where pictures adorned the wall. You wondered how many rooms were in this mansion and what the exterior looked like.

Yunho set you down on your feet. "You're free to move around the house, Kiah. We aren't going to lock you up," he said, chuckling at your stunned reaction.

"How many rooms does this place have?" you questioned while walking around the living room.

Wooyoung plopped himself on one of the sofas. "There's nine bedrooms, ten bathrooms, and six other rooms for different purposes."

"The guest room is still under renovation, so you will be sleeping in Hongjoong's room for the time being," Mingi informed.

"What?!" You and Hongjoong yelled in unison.

"Not the bad temper guy of all people!" you whined, making all the guys except Hongjoong laugh. "Can't I sleep in your room instead?"

"You could," Mingi laughed. "But then my girlfriend would have my head."

"There's a woman in this house? Thank fucking goodness!" you sighed in relief.

Jongho chuckled. "There's three, actually. Well, now four."

"Where are they?" you questioned.

"Seonghwa's girl is on a mission so you'll see her next week," San replied. "I don't know where Mingi's girl is, and my girl is—"

"Hi!" you heard someone yell before running and pulling you into a tight hug. She pulled away and gave you a bright smile; you liked her already. "I'm Jiwoo!"

San chuckled at his girlfriend's actions before moving to wrap his arms around her waist. He kissed her forehead, making her smile. They were so cute! "This is my girlfriend, Jiwoo. Babe, this is Kiah."

"San and Jiwoo are the hyper couple here," Yunho stated. "They're both just so full of energy."

"We're going to be great friends, I'm sure of it!" Jiwoo said, making you smile.

Maybe living here wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Hongjoong's bedroom was huge. The walls were a penny brown and most of the decor was white and beige. There was a large TV right in front of the king sized bed. There was also a small flight of stairs leading down to a Jacuzzi that could fit six people in it.

You realized that you didn't have any clothes except for the red dress you were wearing right now. You didn't even have a phone anymore.

You heard footsteps behind you, making you turn to the source. A shirtless Hongjoong walked past you to the wardrobe, stripping until he was left only in his Calvin Klein hip briefs. You couldn't help but stare as he picked out some clothes to sleep in. You absentmindedly bit your lip when he wore his grey sweatpants and a black tank top. You quietly left the bathroom after washing your face, hoping he didn't notice you staring.

After several seconds, Hongjoong came into the bedroom, stretching his hands above his head. "You're gonna sleep in that?" he asked.

You rolled your eyes. "I don't have anything else to sleep in."

Hongjoong sighed before heading back to the wardrobe, coming back with a plain white t-shirt. He tossed it to you and you went to the bathroom to change. His t-shirt smelled so pleasant, you couldn't stop inhaling the scent.

When you went back to the bedroom, Hongjoong was in deep thought. "You know," he started, looking at you from head to toe, secretly loving the way his t-shirt looked on your small form. "I just realized that you didn't really protest to live here."

You sat on his springy bed. "Well, I don't have anywhere else to go."

He scoffed. "Or maybe you just want to live here."

"I used to live with my uncle. If I had my own place, I wouldn't even spend a second here," you deadpanned.

"So you've never worked?" he asked. "Not even a part time job?"

"Do you think medical students have time for that?" you retorted.

"Whatever," he mumbled. "Looks like you'll get along with Yeosang and Seonghwa."

"What makes you think that?"

"They're Ateez's doctors," he stated. "Well, Yeosang mainly works as our hacker, but he's almost as skilled as Seonghwa.

There was some silence for a while until you spoke, "Are we even in Seoul right now?"

"We're at the outskirts," Hongjoong answered. "Gwanak-san, to be precise."

"Ah, near my university!" you said happily. "Actually, you know what?"

"What?"

"I can stay with a friend," you said. "He has an apartment right beside my university."

Hongjoong chuckled, but he clearly wasn't amused at all. "I'm afraid that's not possible, love." Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said 'love' but you ignored it.

You frowned. "Why not?"

"Well, you already know too much about us," he stated. "Besides, you've already entered the Mafia world. There's no going back."

Your blood boiled. "I don't give a fuck, Hongjoong. I didn't ask you to buy me and pull me into your stupid Mafia world!" your voice was rising.

Hongjoong got annoyed at the way you raised your voice at him. "For your information, you got pulled into this world the second your uncle got involved in it! You lived with someone who's in the fucking Mafia!"

"At least my life was normal!" you retorted.

"You know what? Fine!" Hongjoong raised his voice, scaring you a little. "I'll personally drop you at your fucking uncle's house tomorrow, okay?!"

"You don't get to decide that and I'm not going back to that monster!"

"Then shut the fuck up and appreciate the shelter you've been given here goddammit!" Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair in frustration. You just keep quiet, looking away while your eyes filled with tears.

"Why the fuck did I even agree to buy a brat like you?" he murmured, but you heard him.

"Fuck yourself," you whispered.

In a flash, you were on your back, Hongjoong hovering above you.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that! You make me want to punish you so fucking bad," Hongjoong growled. Your heart was racing at how close he was.

"Get the fuck off me," you said, avoiding eye contact.

He grabbed your chin, making you look at him. "You piss me off so much, Moon Kiah."

You controlled the urge to roll your eyes. "Well, then tame your damn temper, Kim Hongjoong."

"Tame your attitude first, love," he chuckled bitterly before getting off of you. He lied on his back, looking up at the ceiling of his room. He clapped twice and the lights turn off, making the room pitch-black.

You bit your lip, wondering what to do. You couldn't stay here; you didn't even want to. You weren't meant for the Mafia world— you decided to get into the medical field so that you could save lives, not take them away.

You wanted to run away right now, even though it was half past midnight. But you needed a plan since you don't exactly know where you are were.

"I just realized," Hongjoong starts, smirking in the dark. "You haven't protested to sleeping on the same bed as me."

You snorted. "Why would I?"

"That's what girls usually do, don't they? And the guy will offer to take the couch instead of her."

"Well, I'm not like other girls," you stated. "I'd rather sleep on a bed than a couch outside, and I'm sure you'd prefer that as well. Besides, this is a king-sized bed. There's plenty of room for both of us. In fact, there's extra space cause you're tiny."

Hongjoong snorted. "Excuse me, I'm not tiny."

"You are."

"I'm more than half a foot taller than you, Kiah."

You shrugged. "Doesn't matter, tiny boy. You're still tinier than the other seven boys."

"But I lead them," Hongjoong said proudly with a smirk that you obviously couldn't see.

"What do you mean?" you questioned without thinking.

"Think, love," he answered.

You gave it a thought before your eyes widened in realization. "You're a... Mafia King."

He chuckled. "We actually use the term 'boss' but I like that," he said, pulling the blanket over your bodies.

"So the other seven boys follow your orders," it wasn't a question. You actually thought Seonghwa was the boss.

"Yup."

"I pity them," you murmured, but he heard you.

He scoffed. "You will be following my orders too," he said. "That's if we decide to make you one of us."

"Yeah... no, that's never gonna happen," you remarked. "I want to save lives, not take them away."

"Actually, you would want to take these lives away if you knew what these people do," he said, lying on his side to face you. "Ateez doesn't kill innocent people." You felt a little relieved at that; at least you knew you wouldn't die by a gunshot or something.

"And what do those people do that makes you want to kill them?" you questioned, turning onto your side as well so that you were facing him.

He snorted. "Do you really want to know?"

"I wouldn't ask if I didn't."

"We usually kill rapists and human traffickers. These people mostly target women and children. They kidnap children, rape them, and then sell their organs within the country or internationally. The women are usually sold as sex slaves or kept in prostitution centers. Some mafia gangs own strip clubs where their strippers get assaulted or raped by customers and they do nothing about it."

"Your uncle used to run a fake orphanage," Hongjoong continues. "I came across that place when I was fifteen years old and found out that they were keeping those kids there to sell their organs. I told my parents about it and we bombed that place after rescuing those children, and put them in an actual proper orphanage. Two boys who were just a year younger than me had escaped from the orphanage. They ran after my parents just to thank them for saving their lives. My parents saw a lot of potential in the two boys and decided to take them in. That's how Yeosang and Wooyoung became a part of my family."

The story really broke your heart; you couldn't even imagine what those two had to go through when they were just in their early teens. You were curious about the other six boys' stories too. You wanted to ask Hongjoong about it, but now didn't seem like the right time.

You don't really know how and when you fell asleep after hearing all those disturbing things, but somehow you did.

And when you woke up, you were in Hongjoong's arms.

You tried to escape from him, but his hold around you was too strong. You gave up on trying and chose to admire his beautiful face instead.

You had to admit, Hongjoong was extremely handsome. You've never seen anyone look this good while they're asleep. He looked so soft and angelic, you found it hard to believe that he was in the mafia, let alone a mafia boss.

You heard a knock on the bedroom door before the door opened, revealing San and Jiwoo.

"Hi!" Jiwoo greeted. "Good morning!" You wondered how she had so much energy in the morning.

"I see you've slept well," San commented with a smirk while gesturing at Hongjoong's arms around you.

You blushed. "Help me." San easily lifted Hongjoong's arm off of you.

"He sleeps like he's in coma," San said, making you chuckle while you stretched your arms.

"We're going shopping today," Jiwoo said to you. "You need clothes."

"I don't have any money, Jiwoo," you said.

She snorted. "You don't have to worry about that, we're paying for you."

You opened your mouth to protest, but San interrupted you. "We don't have any plans of letting you go, Kiah. Think of it as a gift for joining us." You just nodded in response even though you wanted to disagree. You weren't going to join a mafia gang; that was the last thing you wanted to do.

You had to escape.

You had just come back from shopping with Jiwoo, exhausted from walking around the mall; you were pretty sure that she made you spend more than ten million won.

"So Kiah," Yeosang starts, sitting on the sofa beside Mingi and Seonghwa. "You're a medical student, right?"

"Yup, majoring in nursing," you nodded. "Hongjoong told me that you and Seonghwa are the doctors of the gang."

"What were you planning to do after graduation?" Seonghwa asked. You didn't miss how he used 'were' instead of 'are.'

You gently cleared your throat. "Well, I want to become a surgical nurse for the cardiac department."

"Ah, that's great!" he said with a smile. "I wanted to get into Neuro."

"Why didn't you?" you asked while absentmindedly playing with a strand of your hair.

"Once you join the mafia, you have to sacrifice having a normal job," Yeosang replied nonchalantly. You couldn't tell if he was sad about it.

"I wanted to ask you all something," you murmured, but the three of them heard you clearly.

"You can ask us anything you want, Kiah," Mingi encouraged. "We'll answer everything."

"Well, if you're gonna keep me here..." you hesitated for a second. "Um, does that mean that I can't work?" Yeosang and Seonghwa exchanged a glance that didn't go unnoticed by you.

"You'll have to ask Hongjoong about that, but mostly yes. You won't be able to work," Seonghwa said. "It's too dangerous. You can only work for us." You only nodded, unhappy with the words you heard.

"Can I at least attend my own graduation?" you were mentally begging they would agree.

"When is it?" Yeosang asked.

"It's on the day after tomorrow."

"Of course you can," Hongjoong said, entering the living room and plopping down on one of the sofas.

"Really?!" you squealed in excitement.

"I was being sarcastic," he stated, making your smile immediately falter.

"I didn't study my ass off for nothing, Hongjoong," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

He scoffed. "Do you think I care?"

"Well, I do." You were starting to get angry. Yunho entered the living room, not saying anything due to the tense atmosphere.

"You'll put us and people you know at risk," Hongjoong shrugged.

"That's your problem," you remarked, pissing him off. "I didn't ask you to buy me, Hongjoong."

"Adopt," Mingi mumbled, but you ignored him.

You and Hongjoong were locked in a glaring contest. Yunho cleared his throat after a while, catching Hongjoong's and your attention. "Hyung, you disguised yourself. No one knows that it was you who bought her."

"Adopted," Mingi murmured, getting ignored again.

Hongjoong gave it a thought. "Fine," he agreed. "But we all will attend it too, whether you like it or not."

“Deal.”

You were seated in your respective seat, desperately waiting for the graduation ceremony to get over even though one of Seoul's top doctors was invited to talk. All eight boys and Jiwoo were attending your graduation. You wished your father was here to watch you graduate.

Once the ceremony was finally over and all the students collected their diplomas, you all gathered around to throw your dark blue caps in the air.

"I can't believe we successfully survived four entire years," Dongyoon remarked.

"Time to try to survive med school now," Yonghwa said and Chanhee nodded in agreement; they were on the road to becoming doctors. "But for now, let's get fucking wasted!"

You were at one of Seoul's best nightclubs in Gangnam; you didn't tell anyone in Ateez that you'd leave with your university friends. This was your way of running away. You were going to stay with Chanhee until you found a place.

Being a Tuesday night, the club wasn't crowded. Most of the people here were definitely high school or university students. After all, it was graduation week in Korea.

You drank and danced with your friends until you were drunk as fuck and your feet hurt. You felt so relaxed, just paying attention to the blasting music while the alcohol in your system gave you some energy.

"Oh? Who do we have here?" you heard a familiar voice say behind you while you took another shot. You had no idea where your friends were.

You turned around and squinted to look at the man. "Moon Bojoon...?"

"Hello, sister," your cousin chuckled, putting his arms around your drunk form. You hated him with every fiber of your being— he tried to sexually assault you a couple of times. Living under the same roof as him was hell.

"Get your hands off me," you yelled over the loud music, weakly trying to push him away; he didn't even move an inch.

His grip around you tightened. "I wonder who father sold you to. How lenient are they to let their sex slave go out to party...? Or did you run away?"

You tried to push him away again. "Fuck off!"

He grabbed you by your arm and pulled you along until he reached the parking lot of the club. He pushed you harshly against his car, making you groan in pain when your head hit the window.

Bojoon moved his face closer to yours. "I'm gonna sell you this time," he whispered in your ear. "But I'll have my fun with you first, of course."

"Get away from me!" you yelled while your vision got blurry. Before you could comprehend what was even happening, you passed out.

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1kook · 4 years

Text

EXPLORER

jjk x female reader

FOR GCN’S ❝ 23 | JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY PROJECT ❞ ! Alien AU | “I want to have your last name!” | “I like when you do that, it makes me crazy.”

summary; Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning. warnings; smut in the forms of cunnilingus, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, anal, tit play, and all that jazz bc surprise its tentacle porn rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous; FLUFF, strangers to friends to lovers, curious alien kook, there’s a saber tooth tiger mention, virginity is a social construct, they both have skewed perceptions of sex and love, and idk what else word count; 17.8k

notes; someone said once “all u ever do is write college aus 😃” and i was like lol true but i was also a virgo and was like “i’ll prove u wrong” and next thing i knew i was writing a 17k alien au clap for me lads

special thanks to; my savior and editor rumu ( @kigurumu ) who very politely tells me when im making up words n also when shit doesn't make sense but lets me make stupid final decisions that will come back to bite me in the ass<3 and also my gf yeji @suqakoo who watched me crash and burn about ten times while writing this monstrosity of fic and just laughed her support amazes me<3

BEFORE READING SEE HERE; body marks, under eye marks, sixam that i stole from the sims 4

He comes with the sole purpose of populating this uncharted territory with his seed.

Jungkook has been on many missions abroad. He’s visited about every planet in Sector 76 before this, the largest collection of neighboring galaxies known to exist. And because of that, he likes to think he’s well educated in extraterrestrial affairs, quite knowledgeable in the barbaric ways of the foreigners. They see, they mate. Pretty simple.

For the past couple years, as leading field researcher of Sixam, Jungkook has been exclusively studying every creature he comes across. He enjoys cataloging their habits, their mating cycles, and the unique culture they develop, sometimes intentionally and sometimes not.

Granted, he’s never been on a mission like this.

This type of mission has never been his.

When the great planet of Sixam wishes to settle colonies of new species— Sixamian bred with whatever other species that have deemed suitable —they usually task people like Namjoon or Seokjin, both high ranking generals of the Sixamian Intergalactic Corp. with a near immaculate genetic makeup. Their genotypes carry strong traits, and are oftentimes most reflected in their phenotypes as well. Beings like Namjoon or Jin are the epitome of what it means to be Sixamian, which is why Jungkook is surprised when they ask him to place his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7 of the Via Láctea solar system, otherwise known as ‘Earth.’

It wasn’t that Jungkook had major self image issues, nor did he think he was particularly bad to look at. In fact, Jungkook thinks he’s pretty amazing. Of course he doesn’t compare to Namjoon or Jin, but quite frankly, the comparison is skewed by the fact he works in a different field than them. You cannot compare black holes to asteroid belts; in a similar fashion, you cannot compare military generals to scientific researchers.

Anyway, Jungkook has never been to Planet 43 Z-7, but some of his coworkers have. They all claim it is a beautiful place, filled to the brim with life and culture never before seen.

Frankly, Jungkook doesn’t believe it.

He’s seen hundreds of planets, thousands of species, so he hardly feels amazed anymore. There is nothing enjoyable about other planets when he comes from Sixam, quite possibly the most intellectually advanced one in the universe. And he says this having met Yoongi of Planet 732 T-1, another being near immaculate in terms of cognitive abilities.

But not as perfect as Sixamians.

Hoseok says Planet 43 Z-7 has all sorts of unique artifacts, like these edible arrangements called ‘hot dogs’ you eat between two pieces of raised yeast. Planet 43 Z-7 has been unmarked for eons now, but is a popular hideout for rebelling Sixamians during their early years. Jungkook was never one of those types, but he has a handful of friends who were.

Needless to say, Jungkook isn’t looking forward to his mission. He asks Namjoon and Jin for tips on how to approach the reproductive members in the species, if there’s any protocol he needs to follow, but they simply laugh it off. They’ve both had the pleasure of, well, pleasuring some of the most beautiful creatures in the universe, so Jungkook’s incompetence must be a sight to see.

Airship handler Jimin is the last face he sees on Sixam. He’s as relaxed as ever, strapping Jungkook into his travel pod like this is just another one of his research trips and not his first ever population operation. He pats his shoulder once, tells him to bring him back something called a ‘Nintendo DS’ that his partner Taehyung has been begging for since the last time they went to Planet 43 Z-7, but Jungkook has no idea what that is.

And then he’s off.

Jungkook has long since grown comfortable with the emptiness of space, a desolate feeling that oddly made him feel at home. But, as he hurtles towards his destination, there’s a newfound sense of anxiety that consumes him at the thought of this unknown planet— this ‘Earth’ that his fellow Sixamian friends speak so highly about.

He lands in a field. Well, ‘lands’ is a bit of a stretch; his pod comes to a stop a few feet above Planet 43 Z-7’s surface, hovering over the natural flora that seems to grow in abundance in this part of the planet. It’s… dirty, compared to the sleek skyscrapers and glowing structures of Sixam.

He steps out tentatively, the vegetation crunching beneath the boots of his skintight spacesuit. The folks back at Sixam had told him that whatever the residents of this planet breathed in was compatible with Sixamians, but he still hesitates to click off his helmet.

The planet is quiet, save for the quiet chirping of some creature underground. The AI on his helmet pulls up the information before his very eyes, the advanced technology quickly tapping into wherever it was these beings stored their information. A mole cricket, he reads, first documented by a researcher about two hundred human years back. Very annoying.

His pod seals itself shut again, presumably heading back into orbit until Jungkook calls for it again. With it gone, he’s faced with the vast nothingness of Planet 43 Z-7, just grass and trees with very few things in between. He’s beginning to suspect Jimin might have sent him to the wrong coordinates, a void space on the planet with nothing but vegetation for miles.

Part of him is frustrated, beyond annoyed that he cannot even complete the one thing he came to do if there is no being in sight. But another part, the part of him that had been nervous to even accept this mission, feels grateful. Well, there was no use complaining about it now, he thinks. He pulls up his virtual journal, ready to catalogue every bit of vegetation he can set his eyes on.

After a while, his helmet becomes stuffy, the digital screen that plays over the glass piece fogging up with his breath. So Jungkook takes his chances and clicks it off, the sudden wash of oxygen filling his lungs quickly. It’s fresh and moist? It smells like his laboratories back on Sixam, the ones that took years of countless trips around the universe and meticulous gardening to cultivate. Yet here on Planet 43 Z-7, this type of phenomenon is common, and apparently, ignored by its residents.

One man’s trash was another man’s treasure, he supposes.

He’s scanning a peculiar organism, reddish and dome-shaped, when he hears the first crack of a twig. Immediately, his defenses rise. Jungkook was by no means a skilled warrior, but most Sixamians fared better than other creatures in the universe. Save for the few barbarian, primitive species they’ve encountered, 9/10 times any wild encounter was in their favor.

His eyes scan over the perimeter of the field, scanning, scanning, scanning— until he spots two, huge, glowing yellow eyes from distance. His eyes widen, flicking on the retractable blaster from his wrist and pointing it at the creature.

It’s bigger than him, with eyes that look over only a short distance before gradually dying down. He wonders if that’s the scope of its field of vision, crouching down along the vegetation. He creeps closer, rounds the bright beams until he can see the creature’s side, an oddly shaped thing, almost like a shell. It has wheels, he realizes, mentally jotting down the fact this species is advanced enough to develop such technology on their own.

Right as he’s beginning to lower his wrist, deciding this metal creature posed no threat from its lack of movement, something smaller moves around it, carrying a compact version of those glowing eyes.

Jungkook panics, wildly clicking through the modes on his wrists. He jumps from his blaster to the thermal detector, and the smaller creature that moves around the metal beast has a heat signature he’s never seen before, warmth that begins at its core but doesn’t drop drastically as it fans out. And then he’s switching to his electroscope and is startled to see that the smaller creature even carries an electric charge beneath its outer membrane.

This is terrifying, he thinks to himself, wondering why his friends back home had decided to trick him into believing Planet 43 Z-7 was remotely safe.

Before Jungkook can act rashly and accidentally kill that terrifying creature, he’s blindly stepping into a hole in the ground, a dip in the field. An uncontrollable yelp tears itself from his throat at the roll of his ankle.

Immediately, the yellow eye is upon him, flickering over his kneeling form in the vegetation. Jungkook freezes, caught in the all-seeing rays of the yellow eye. He wonders if this is the end, the end of an undoubtedly legendary run, as the creature slowly approaches.

Its figure is shrouded, the blinding eye turning them into just a silhouette that closes in on Jungkook fairly quickly. He squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he never stepped out of his pod, when the beam flickers off.

“Hello?” a hesitant voice calls out, and then he’s met with you.

You had always believed holding out until marriage would come as an advantage. You played it safe your entire life, always did what you were told. You had grown up in a relatively traditional household, always following the rules like a good kid. Your parents said no dating until seventeen? You waited until seventeen. Your health classes in school said practice abstinence? You practiced abstinence.

Following the rules was what got you into a prestigious university. Following the rules is what got you your first, quite admirable, job. Following the rules is what had gotten you into your first serious relationship with your boyfriend, who became your fiancé, who would become the man to cheat on you three nights before your wedding.

Being a virgin— that symbol of purity —was supposed to make you desirable to men, you thought. It was supposed to protect you from bad experiences, keep you perfectly polished until the time came. You had many a friend who had engaged in sex at a young age, experienced mind blowing sex that would never be topped, even by their own future husbands. You had saved yourself from disappointment by saving yourself in general.

Except that concept, that meticulously followed tradition, was what ultimately drove your fiancé away.

Three days.

Three days before you would marry and lose that treasured thing you had been carrying around for the past twenty-five years, flushed clean down the drain all because he couldn’t wait any longer. He had managed four years with you, four memorable years where he had religiously told you he loved you every chance he got, regardless of your lack of sex life. Just to blow it for some barely legal chick at a bar.

Needless to say, you were done. Absolutely finished with him and your friends who claimed they “weren’t surprised” only after the fact, or your parents who had urged you to try again. You were done with this saving and waiting all for a man who ultimately did you dirty. You needed to get away from it all, and the only way to do that was to leave the city all together.

Your parents were uncomfortable with the idea. They said it was too brash a decision to give up after one try. But your whole future had been riding on this one try, and to have it completely ripped away from you crushed not only your hope but your pride.

On the other hand, your grandmother and her lifelong experiences with men understood you just perfectly. She was old, living in a retirement home near your parents’ home in one of your city’s many suburbs. There was a house out in the countryside, about a two-hour drive from the city. She had grown up there, and even though she hadn’t lived there in years, she simply couldn’t bring herself to sell it off. So she gave it to you.

It was a cute little thing, a stereotypical farmhouse surrounded by miles and miles of nothingness. Well, your neighbors were about half a mile off on either side, but who was walking half a mile for a cup of sugar? No one.

You loved it.

It was peace and quiet, long days of focusing on yourself and your tiny garden outback. There was no societal pressure to act right, or forced ideologies to make yourself the ‘perfect woman.’ It was just you and a stray cat that visited now and then, spending day after day reading and writing, working from home.

The trips into the city were far and few between. There was a general store close to your house, nestled into a quaint little town you visited every so often. And the mailmen still had to make their stops through here, so everything was practically at your fingertips. The only thing you had to do in the city was drop by the main branch office of your job. Your work had mostly been over a computer before, so moving to work at home was rather easy. However, there was still the occasional board meeting to sit through.

So here you were, three months into your new living situation and on your way back home from the city. The evening sun is beating down hot on your yellow Beetle. You were in desperate need for a check up, but you kept pushing it off and telling yourself tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow. It seems tomorrow should have been today, because by the time the sun is setting, home is still another thirty minutes away and the temperature gauge is climbing to unhealthy levels.

The Beetle pushes for another two minutes before wheezing to a stop in the middle of nowhere, your angry slaps against the dashboard doing nothing to revive it. With a muttered curse, you switch the car off. The front lights remain on even as you round the dead car, angrily kicking the tire with your heel. It doesn’t budge.

You sigh, sinking down to your knees beside the opened door you came out of. The nearest mechanic was still a forty minutes’ drive from here, and you doubt anyone is still open. The con of small towns is that most of the businesses close after sunset. One glance at your phone lets you know it’s way too late to call anyone for help. You contemplate just walking to your house, but it’s dark and far, and your heels were only meant to be worn for an hour or two during your meeting. Not for an entire transcontinental trek back home.

Sighing, you decide your best bet is tinkering around yourself. You weren’t a total idiot, so you hope whatever is wrong with your car is something you can fix on your own. You shoot back up to your feet, patting the blood back into your face as you round the car.

There’s nothing but you and the Beetle for miles on end— or so you think.

Just as you flicker your flashlight over the expanse of grass, there’s a startled shout that scares the living daylights out of you, flashlight fumbling in your hand in your haste to see what it was.

Great, so not only were you stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing but your heels to carry you to safety, but now there was also a man out there, hiding in the tall grass like a voyeur.

It’s a terrible idea, but you approach him anyway. There’s a huddled figure, a gleam of a bizarre outfit that has you shaking in your heels as you step closer to the edge of the road. And when you finally get close enough, the light shining over their figure, you’re not exactly sure what you’re looking at.

“Hello?” you call out, and are met with the most violet eyes you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

Jungkook thinks you are an odd creature.

To begin with, you carry an electrical charge at your fingertips but are unable to revive your rickety metal ride with said touch. It is undoubtedly a trait he does not remember cataloguing in any other species before yours; it might rival the Sixamians’ aura sensing abilities, the little triangular markings beneath their eyes that allowed them to alter another’s emotions. Electricity beneath surface, he mentally notes for the nth time that night.

The inside of your vehicle is disgustingly mediocre, a mixture of old clogs and pipes he’s only seen in ancient Sixamian textbooks. Still, they’re devastatingly easy to figure out. One simple twist of a lid later and your car is revving back to life. You squeal and clap, clacking around on the frankly terrifying footwear you call heels that are practically knives as stilts.

Amazing, you cry, moving like a mini tornado around him. You don’t seem the least bit phased by his appearance, despite the initial shock you’d gotten when you first made eye contact. Actually, Jungkook thinks you might be the quickest extraterrestrial being to accept his existence as fact. He has to wonder what exactly goes on here that has these Humans, as Jimin has called them, so desensitized to the appearance of otherworldly figures such as himself.

You invite him into your moving death trap, not the least bit concerned with the chest piece of armor he removes and tosses into the seats behind him. Jungkook has been in a lot of near death situations, and somehow your manner of driving this metal box marks high on the list.

“My home,” you tell him when you finally pull up to a tiny shack of a house. It’s about the same size as his personal lab back on Sixam, so he wonders just which one of you is being deluded by the size. The car engine shuts off with a practiced flick of your wrist, and then you’re making your way up the front steps without sparing him a glance.

“Lovely,” he says at the entrance. He moves to travel deeper inside, but you warn him to remove his shoes. He does, hesitantly, bare feet padding along the wooden floors behind you. “Forgive me,” he apologizes, watching you bumble around a small space with a standing cooler and heat box. “I haven’t asked your name.”

You hum, tugging out two cups from a hanging cabinet. You fill them with a white substance, followed by a light brown powder that almost makes you sneeze, before shoving them into the heat box that begins suspiciously counting down. “__ ___,” you offer.

Jungkook frowns. “You have two names?” he asks skeptically. In Sixam, rarely anyone had two names. “Are you a government official?”

You laugh. “No, but I do work for an office. I have one name, and then my last name,” you explain.

This only perplexes him more. “A last name?” he repeats. “What is the purpose of this last name?”

You shrug, and the heat box beeps loudly. Jungkook twitches, ready to aim his blaster once more but you calm the beeping box with a gentle click that has the front opening, the most heavenly scent wafting into his nostrils. Oh Jungkook definitely needed to take that back. Much to his surprise, you hand him one of the handled cups, the sweet smell making his eyes roll into the back of his head.

“Well,” you say, seemingly unaware of the way you just changed Jungkook’s entire life. “I have my name, and then I have my family’s name. Like, to show we’re in the same group, kinda,” you explain. “And it also helps sort of differentiate you from other people with the same first name.” You settle down on a seat in front of the counter, carefully blowing across the liquid contents of the mug. Jungkook doesn’t get why until he tries to take a sip and the liquid scalds his tongue. You laugh. “Gotta cool it down, silly.”

He feels silly. In fact, he feels beyond embarrassed that someone who is not a Sixamian is looking at him with the same eyes you look at an infant with. He has a strong need to reinforce his superiority over you.

“Well I am Jungkook,” he announces proudly. “Jungkook of Sixam. The only Jungkook of Sixam, because we do not believe in sharing something as intimate as our names with another,” he huffs. You scoff, a genuine look of amusement crossing your features that Jungkook simply does not understand.

It’s with a practiced grace that you set your cup down on the counter, face coming to a rest in in the palm of your hand as you watch him talk over himself about the intricacies of Sixamian names, and how each one is carefully selected at one’s first celebration to honor the first long year of life they overcame. That look on your face, that disgustingly entertained expression does not melt away, even when Jungkook hastily calls your people imbeciles to your face.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, staring deep into the contents of your hot cocoa, as you had called it when offering him a second cup, as if you don’t seem to disagree in the slightest. “Humans are like that.

There’s a quality to your voice, a rather melancholy tone that curls around your words that stops Jungkook’s tirade against your race for a moment. There’s a look in your eyes, hollow and alone, that he cannot place. He wonders if it’s from past experiences or from a shared Human trauma. Either way, he does not understand.

It’s with a shake of your head that you look up at him again, sweet smile back on your features. “Humans are selfish creatures, Jungkook,” you say.

He is not sure if he believes you.

Jungkook has traveled to many parts of the universe, has visited places your tiny Human brain may never comprehend. Yet he has not always received this treatment. There have been missions where he has been picked on and abused for his curiosity, rudely ejected back into the vast emptiness of space just because he wanted to know more, learn more. Not every planet welcomes him with a soft smile and a warm place to stay.

Despite the initial unimpressed confusion he felt upon entering Planet 43 Z-7, there is something about the quirk of your lips and gentle tapping of your fingers that intrigues him.

Huh, he thinks, subconsciously cataloguing your mannerisms in his head. He will write about this later.

You let Jungkook sleep in your quarters, a small area with a mattress that he sinks into with delight. There’s a change of clothing you set out on the edge of the bed, a rather shabby set that matches yours. He is reluctant to peel away his bodysuit, even more so when he realizes he is standing naked on a foreign planet with a very strange creature clattering around downstairs. He hurries into the clothes.

You peek your head into the room later on, carefully flicking off the lights as he settles onto the mattress. Jungkook is beyond tired, body fatigued from hurtling thousands of light years through space in such a short amount of time. The abundance of breathable oxygen is still something his body has to grow accustomed to. Your voice is soft as you whisper out a goodnight farewell that he can only sleepily mumble back.

Jungkook is quite literally the most gorgeous person you have ever seen. Well, person is a stretch considering you’re not entirely sure what he is, or where he’s from. When you found him, sadly crouched in the middle of nowhere, you wanted to convince yourself he was some random college boy lost on his way to a costume convention. But he’s not. His big purple irises are oddly bright, practically luminescent, and that’s definitely not something one could achieve through stage makeup. And he’s not a college student either, despite how youthful he looks, but a foreign being at least three times your age.

Or so he says.

Honestly, you’re torn between wanting to write him off a nutjob or believing he is this highly intelligent extraterrestrial being. In the case he is the latter, you find it odd that of all the planets in your solar system— a whopping eight, maybe nine —he chose crappy old Earth to visit.

Jungkook moves like a fine tuned instrument, graceful limbs wandering around your home and backyard the next morning. His little head piece, a unique accessory that wraps around the base of his skull like a microphone headset or something, seems to keep him in constant communication with his fellow brethren so long as he wears it. So he wears it all the time.

Still, you’re able to differentiate between his messages back home and his mindless mumbles. Those usually happen more often than not, soft muttering as he inspects your garden, vivid descriptions of the plainest things like an onion.

“Lemonade’s ready,” you call, stepping into your backyard. Jungkook peers over your rosemaries like a bunny, wide eyes scanning the pitcher you set out on your back porch’s table. Carefully, he steps around your meticulous rows of vegetables. He’s wearing the clothes you lent him last night, a pair of shorts and a shirt your brother had left when he visited a few weeks ago. They fit him nicely, shorts just shy of his knees.

“This is lemond-aid?” he asks quizzically, tentative hands reaching for the quickly perspiring glass. He has unique markings that begin at his hands, twisting and curling carefully around his arms. They’re gold in the sunlight, contrasting softly against his relatively peachy skin. There’s a matching set on his knees that wrap over and around his thighs, beneath his shorts. He looks every bit the celestial being, yet here he is marveling over the lemon slice balanced on the rim of his glass.

“Lemonade,” you correct, sitting down on your rocking chair. Your floppy sun hat protects you from the brutal rays of the sun, practically scorching in this summer heat. It reminds you of the honeymoon you were supposed to take a few months back. You stomp out the memory.

Jungkook takes tentative sips, stopping every few seconds to smack his lips at the taste. Then, suddenly, he’s plopping down on the wooden planks of your porch criss-cross applesauce. The bracelet-like contraption he had removed from his suit is sitting on his wrist by itself, with Jungkook rapidly tapping some unseeable button on it until a blue hologram appears between the two of you.

“Woah,” you gasp, the projection flawless and stable. Jungkook gets to work tapping at it, unrecognizable symbols appearing on the screen. His glass of lemonade is by his knee, ice tinkling inside.

“Lemond-aide,” he repeats, mouth moving awkwardly around the world. He glances at you for confirmation. You shake your head. Frustrated, he scoots up beside you, pressed against your leg like a puppy. “Say it,” he commands, tapping at his screen once.

You clear your throat. “Uh, lemonade?” you offer. Jungkook nods, clicks something else, and then your voice is repeating itself back to the two of you. He looks for your approval once more. “Perfect,” you nod, slightly bashful to hear your own voice played back like that.

Content with your approval, he gets back to work, clicking and typing wildly at the screen until it’s filled to the brim with those strange symbols. When he’s done, he says his name and date into the same recording device and shuts off his hologram. “It is an interesting thing,” he says quietly, bare feet swinging over the edge of the porch. “A sweet drink procured from a tangy fruit.”

You nod, can’t stop the smile that consumes your features at his childlike wonder. You know it’s not his fault that such simple things astound him, but there’s something about Jungkook’s genuine curiosity and snarky tongue that make you feel young again. Like a teenager in her prime, sitting with a silly high school boy. Not a woman sitting on the cusp of thirty, alone and untrusting of the world.

“What are hot dogs?” Jungkook cuts in abruptly, turning to face you with those purple eyes of his. You can’t help it; you laugh.

“I have some in the fridge,” you answer, leaving your rocking chair and him on the porch. Jungkook doesn’t sit still for long, quietly trailing behind you inside the house. The stray cat is here today, slinking around your ankles as you scour the fridge for the hot dogs. It’s a perfect day for a barbecue, you think, with hot dogs and lemonade.

The cat wanders over towards Jungkook, sniffing at his ankles before nuzzling against him too. “You also have smilodon on your planet,” he comments. “You are comfortable with such murderous beasts in your home?”

You furrow your brows. “It’s just a cat,” you shrug, leaning down to pick up the furry baby. He purrs against your chest while Jungkook glares at it.

“Have you taken its teeth for your own?” he asks.

“What?” you laugh. “He has all his teeth.”

Jungkook frowns. “No, his unusually large canines,” he explains, mimics two giant fangs with his fingers. “Is this a kitten of a smilodon?” You have no idea what he’s saying at this point, rubbing the cat’s back gently as Jungkook talks over himself. He does that a lot, you realize, ramble about facts you would otherwise see as of little importance.

The afternoon is spent grilling hot dogs, Jungkook carefully trailing the cat he has taken to calling Smilodon. You watch from the grill as he follows the cat around the garden, gently shooing it off when it gets too close to your broccoli plants. He’s cute, you think, watching him maneuver around your plants with the grace of a trained dancer.

He absolutely adores the hot dogs, spending another twenty minutes typing out one of those funky journal entries into the computer in his wristband. He asks about the Nintendo DS, something that makes you laugh boisterously at the absurdity of the question.

When it gets dark outside, he stands in one place and stares up at the sky, rendered motionless at the sight. Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, but he loves hot cocoa. He settles in to watch the nightly news with you, every five minutes filled with an abundance of questions about your planet— which he refers to by a unique set of numbers and letters you’ve never heard before —and what you like to do. Every tidbit of information is documented in his wristband.

He sleeps on the couch this time, feeling shameful to have pulled you away from such an amazing mattress. He says goodnight shyly from the bottom of the stairs, followed by a tentative wave he saw you give the mailman that morning. You say it back and fall asleep, the alien in your living room not making a peep.

Thus a whole week passes with Jungkook of Sixam.

On the seventh day of his stay, Jungkook is woken up by the quiet beeping of his headpiece. It’s Chief Kim Namjoon, calling to ask how his population operation of Planet 43 Z-7 is going. Jungkook stills, the quiet chirping of the birds outside your window filling in the space. The water is running somewhere inside your house, signaling your conscious state.

His answers are quick and sharp, nervous laughter falling from his lips as he rushes to end the call with Namjoon. He manages to do so just as you appear in the living room, skin nice and dewy from your morning shower, eyes still showing signs of your peaceful slumber.

“Good morning,” you rasp quietly, a soft ruffle of his hair as you pass by Jungkook on your way to the kitchen. His face feels warm, under eye markings surely glowing a vivid red at the gesture you have gradually ingrained into him, one that makes his heart rev up like an engine preparing to shoot off millions of light years into the distance.

Jungkook enters the kitchen behind you, your pet smilodon greeting the two of you with a gentle head butt against his ankles that is unlike any other smilodon he has encountered before. He sits at the counter as you work on breakfast, the faint scent of your cucumber body scrub wafting by with every turn you make in the small kitchen.

And then he’s thinking.

There are a few crucial bits of information that Jungkook has come to realize over the past week, some of which he hears directly from you, others he picks up from watching your ancient projection in the living room.

One: of the variety of human genders that exist on Earth, you are one that seems to carry the specific set of bodily structures necessary for reproduction. He’s inspected you carefully the last few days, watching the way you move and carry yourself, just to ensure such is true. By finding you right away, Jungkook was halfway to his goal of settling his seeds on Planet 43 Z-7.

Two: unlike most humans of Planet 43 Z-7, your body seems oddly… preserved, to say the least. He knows you are familiar with their reproductive rituals as he’s watched a few of said rituals on the projection box in your living room with you. They were very normalized among your people, with almost every broadcast including at least one mention of them every day. Despite that, your body shows no significant reaction to the scenes, and one sneaky scan of your vitals shows Jungkook that you have yet to participate in this ritual yourself.

Lastly, Jungkook has come to the terrible, godawful conclusion that he does not wish to rope you into breeding with him for the sake of Sixam’s colonialist ways. There’s something about you and your people that does not deserve to be seized by Jungkook and his people. A sort of untouched quality of the progression of your species.

As the oldest and most advanced planet in quite possibly the entire universe, Sixam holds significant power over everyone else. Their higher order brains have helped many a planet follow the right path in attaining the same level of perfection. They were saviors of some sort, touching every planet they visited with the finger of a god. While there were certainly some Sixamians who did not believe in this way of life, of stretching their hold across entire galaxies, others did.

Jungkook had always fallen in the middle. He had no particular desire to reign over the planets he visited, because his interests had always laid with the existence of the individuals on said planets. He was a researcher, not a military official like Namjoon or Jin. But he has to admit that time and again his research has procured the same results; while there were certainly other planets where the beings were more beautiful or the landscape more stunning than that of Sixam, there was not a single planet that matched their advanced mental capabilities.

Until now.

Your civilization moved in a rather fluid way, always changing and never settling. There were eras he learned about on TV, revolutions where one invention rose to prominence, where one sub-race rose to power. Even now, a simple scan through your news broadcasts leaves Jungkook curious. For the first time in a long time, his countless journal entries of information do not lead him to a plausible conclusion. Would you make it right and settle your disputes? Or would this endless fighting, sometimes carried out passively and through words, other times with the use of advanced weaponry, continue until the end of time? Jungkook didn’t know.

And it was wrong of him to ask you to carry the burden of introducing an entirely new species— a Human and Sixamian at once —for the sole belief that it would somehow “fix” your planet. For the sake of your people, it was best if Jungkook just bugged off.

And yet, the soft scent of your body lotion, the gentle brush of your hands against his scalp, the delicate way his name rolls off your lips like you’re tasting it for the first time, they all make his heart beat unnaturally fast beneath his skin. They make him yearn for a feeling, an emotion, he cannot quite describe.

He was in trouble.

Ovulation creeps up on you early into the next week.

You hadn’t been too focused on it this time around, mostly just worried about your period and how awkward it would feel around Jungkook of Sixam. Preoccupied with stockpiling pads and finding your heat pad, you forget about the few days before the period. The time where your libido rages like an animal that has been poked at one too many times.

The realization dawns on you slowly. Jungkook is sitting on the couch, avidly watching a documentary on ancient civilizations. He’s got one hand in a bowl of popcorn you set out for him, another mindlessly toying with a stray thread on a throw pillow. It’s when he looks at you with those big purple eyes, lips pouty and pink, that something distinctly carnal flickers on inside of you.

You ignore it. You wrap those feelings in a box and shove it deep into the recesses of your mind.

But Jungkook was devastatingly handsome, that much you’d known from the moment you saw him. When he’s not in the sun, those Sixamian markings wrap around his body in charcoal streaks, peeking out from the hem of whatever clothes you find for him everyday. For the most part, he’s been running through the pack of plain shirts you picked up from the general store, and the same two pairs of shorts on rotation. His body is artfully toned, thighs big and bulging, but waist small and tapered. His lower lip is the juiciest pink color you’ve ever seen, plush and soft, framing two rows of pearly white teeth. His hair is jet black, part favoring one side more than the other.

His hands are firm on the rare occasion he touches you; on your hips when you stumble around the kitchen, on your shoulder when he’s pointing out a particular constellation to you. Jungkook’s presence slowly begins driving you to insanity.

The worst thing is, you cannot tell if his curiosity comes from your status as a potential partner or his overall interests in your species. You want to convince yourself that he is just as interested in your body as an individual as you are his, but those hopes are dashed with every question he asks. Where does the sink drain? Where does the chocolate powder come from? How far is the nearest government official?

So you calm your thoughts, push them away with the same practiced ease you’ve mastered from a young age. Your purity remains untainted by others, only teased in the shower when Jungkook is wandering around outside. Then and only then do you offer yourself a reprieve, press your fingers down between your thighs and wonder what it is like to have someone else there.

You picture two purple eyes peering up at you from below, a pink tongue carefully licking against your puffy folds until you’re shaking. How well endowed was a Sixamian? You didn’t know, but you imagine them to be quite big if the subtle shifts you catch of Jungkook every now and then are any sign.

One finger wiggles past the tight ring of muscle surrounding your hole, the intrusion makes your knees buck. You sink along the shower wall, huffing and puffing as your fingers dance along your swollen clit, thumb swirling hurried circles around the bud until you’re cumming, body spasming from the force.

The water rains down on you, washes your shameful acts down the drain. Vaguely, you wonder if Jungkook is still outside or if the heat drove him into your air conditioned home. Did he hear you? For all his curiosity, you’re certain there are some aspects of the human experience that Jungkook did not want to see. His roommate/caretaker/only-human-friend masturbating was probably one of them.

It has been years since your fantasies included any other man, faithfully revolving around your ex-fiancé until the very end. It is scary how quickly the mere idea of Jungkook riles you up, how that violet gaze is enough to tear you apart.

When you resurface in the living room, the house is still. The only sounds are that of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the occasional creaking of the pipes. Jungkook is still outside, you sigh in relief, catching his fluffy head of hair bounding across the front yard with Smilodon on his heels. When he turns, you catch his eyes and he pauses. He offers you that same cute wave he learned last week, gentle smile gracing his features.

It’s the soft curve of his cheeks, eyes crinkling at the corners, that make the rapid thumping in your chest settle. You raise your hand, waving back through the window. All was well.

For now.

The next morning brings with it an overwhelming sense of anxiety. Namjoon calls him again in the morning, and this time Jungkook cannot skirt around the truth. He hurriedly tells his friend of his findings, of the beautiful society that flourishes on Planet 43 Z-7, and the never-ending personalities he has the chance of encountering. There is an author fansign, you told him, of a book he thoroughly enjoyed taking place next week. There is a woman in town who can fix any technology sent her way. There is a group of children who pass by and sell you food, these flattened things called Girls Cout Cook Ease. There is so much to see and so much to learn that it has Jungkook unconsciously projecting his excitement via his under eye markings.

You come downstairs mid-call, smiley and ditzy. You were normally a bubbly person, but this much excitement can’t possibly be yours. It’s the sign Jungkook needs to settle down, but Namjoon offers him one too.

Much to his chagrin, he warns Jungkook against getting too comfortable, tells him to finish his operation and scram as quickly as possible. The Higher Sixamian Court does not take kindly to Sixamians becoming enamored with other planets, especially if they are as advanced as Jungkook claims them to be. He’s rushing out information, begging Jungkook to finish or abandon his mission, anything but stay too long, and before Jungkook can respond, their comms are abruptly shut off.

He’s left blankly staring at your coffee table, Namjoon’s caution ringing loudly in his ears.

After the effects of his accidental influence wear off on you, you shake yourself awake, confusedly glancing around the place before shrugging it off. “Morning,” you say, the same as ever, patting his head softly. Jungkook watches you begin your daily routine, the kettle running on the stove as you get to work preparing his hot cocoa.

For a moment he wonders what it’s like to be like this, to live like this. Free from the standards of Sixam as you go about your morning. There is no drive in you to conquer everyone, no overwhelming need to ‘fix’ those around you. You exist by yourself in this tiny house outside the city, like a moon always circling but never interacting. He knows you have your own circumstances that drove you here, issues where you suffered that same grueling past of people forcing ideas and beliefs upon you as Jungkook. But now you’re here, housing an extraterrestrial being such as himself without any payment.

He wants to be like you.

He wanders over towards the kitchen, returning your sleepy smile when you catch his gaze. Jungkook likes this. He enjoys seeing you in the morning, still trailed by the remnants of sleep, with skin tender to the touch. The smell of cocoa filling his nostrils, the chirp of the birds outside your window. He likes Smilodon and the mailman, and the woman half a mile from here who brought you peaches the other day.

Most importantly, Jungkook likes you.

Not as a breeding partner or convenient hostess, but as a person. Your laughter makes him feel warm inside, like he is genuinely appreciated as is. You’re gentle with your words, and even more so with your touch; hands pat his head, hold his arm when he stumbles too close to the garden.

Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.

He wants to remain beside you.

It’s a little stuffy inside your house today, a problem you solve by cracking open the kitchen window. A nice breeze flows over the two of you, pushing the scent of the cocoa and your coffee his way. But a sweeter one follows, something thick and earthy that rolls off of you in waves. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, tries to ward off those sounds he heard from you just yesterday afternoon.

Those whiny sounds, airy whimpers that had drifted down from upstairs. A wet squelch that had registered a little too loudly to his superior ears. It had haunted him last night on the couch, made Jungkook twist and turn until the fuzzy image of you relieving yourself went away.

Jungkook wanted to help with that too. He wanted to put his hands and his mouth in places you needed him most, pleasure you like you deserved.

But how could he tell you all this and more? Did he even have the right as an invader to profess his infatuation to you? This Planet 43 Z-7, this Earth, was filled to the brim with interesting things, yet you remained at the very top of Jungkook’s list. He couldn’t leave, not now, but he couldn’t stay either. His entire presence in itself was a ploy to spread his seed, a fact you continued to be unaware of.

Namjoon’s words bounce around his brain, twist and wrap around him until he’s shakily reaching for his mug. He couldn’t stay here any longer under this false pretense. He couldn’t lie to you another day, another second more. He was tired of being a sheep. It’s with this conflicting resolve that he commands himself to confess this to you at once.

So he spills it all out to you.

From the complex history of the Sixamians to his assignment of this mission. You listen quietly as you munch through breakfast, nodding along to each new point he brings up that changes the story. He tells you about the population mission, about how he was sent here to spread his superior genes over the land, but how he’s let that sit on the back burner while you taught him all sorts of new things. If you are unimpressed with Jungkook and Sixam, you don’t show it.

“So you came to... breed?” you ask when he has finished, hands neatly folded on your lap. Breakfast is finished, plate scraped clean.

Jungkook nods shamefully. “I was asked to contribute to the reconstruction of Planet 43 Z-7,” he says, repeating the practiced reasoning every Sixamian has heard at least once in their life. But in front of you, it makes him cringe.

The grandfather clock in the hallway clicks along quietly, the soundtrack to Jungkook’s desperate read of you. Your eyes are focused on the plate before you, lost in thought at the abundance of information he has just thrown on you. He could easily switch his influential abilities back on, brighten your mood like he has been taught to do with countless other species since the beginning of time. But it feels wrong to subject you to that, to strip you of your emotions, even if it would save him the discomfort.

Instead he sits in silence.

Jungkook waits patiently, even though every fiber in his being is telling him to get up and make a run for it. Escape before he can see a look of disgust aimed his way. But he has come to value your opinions as equal to his, and the thought of leaving you by yourself does not sit well with him. So he waits.

It takes a few minutes of contemplation before you grace him with an answer, nervously rubbing your hands over your thighs. “I understand, Jungkook,” you exhale tightly. “But I don’t think I’m the partner you are looking for.”

“No! I was not— It was not my intention,” he stammers, waving his hands all over the place in his hurry to explain. He sucks in a sharp breath. “I do not wish to force such a burden on you, __,” he manages, “I would not do that to you.”

He is about to pat himself on the back for his save, when suddenly the corners of your lips take a sharp drop. “Oh, I see,” you mutter, arms self consciously wrapping around your frame. “So you don’t see me as a suitable partner?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your drawn conclusion. “No,” he chokes, and your frown deepens. “I mean, yes, I do see you as a viable partner to engage in reproductive activities,” and now he’s spiraling, the surprised look on your face only fueling his pea-brained ramblings, “I just—I assumed you did not enjoy that?

His excuse sounds so unbelievably weak even to his own ears.

“What made you think that?” you ask. At the rate this conversation is going, Jungkook fears his brain will soon fry itself out.

His mind is a spinning mess, like the inside of a vacuum that rumbles and turns with each new thought that enters. What was he supposed to say? That he’s heard you in your most intimate moments, moments where you hid from him? Or that he’s done countless scans on your body when you weren’t looking and came to the same result every time; that result being that you have never been touched by another before? And what was he supposed to draw from these conclusions if not that you abhorred such intimacy?

“I-I heard… you,” Jungkook admits quietly. “And, I felt your emotions. They were nervous.” He does not need his thermal detector to feel the heat that floods your face. “I did not want to impose on such a fragile moment,” he continues. “And I apologize if my actions have made you uncomfortable.”

“No, no,” you wave off, pressing the back of your knuckles to your cheeks. “I apologize for doing something so inappropriate with you in my house.”

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Do you not enjoy participating in sexual activities, __?” he asks curiously.

You gulp loudly, obviously startled by his question. Which part of it, Jungkook doesn’t know. He nudges your knee with his, urging you to answer. A shaky exhale, and then you’re rambling. “I-No, I do,” you rush out, avidly avoiding his gaze. “I, um, I just have never, uh, been with anyone.”

“Oh,” Jungkook blinks. “Is that why your reproductive areas are strangely well preserved for a being your age? I was beginning to wonder about the complexities of Human reproduction after meeting you, __. Is there a certain tradition one must follow to copulate with you?”

“No, no,” you rush to correct. Jungkook has obviously said something that upset you, because when you speak again your aura is tainted with the hints of irritation. “Tradition is stupid,” you explain slowly, a sense of heartache consuming him at your rather lonely figure. He is beside you, yet feels a thousand light years away from your heart. “I was just a fool.”

His gaze softens, carefully placing a hand on your knee comfortingly. He doesn’t have to say anything more, just let you know he isn’t far at all, and you understand. You lean against his shoulder, the same sad look in your eyes. The grandfather clock ticks on in the hallway, in sync with the slow rhythm of your heart. Jungkook places a kiss to the crown of your head.

The day drags on.

Your morning chores are finished quickly with Jungkook at your side. He obsesses over the plants and plays with Smilodon. You make apple juice today with the fruits that fall from the tree out front. Jungkook enjoys it, but not as much as lemonade. Still, it gets its own entry in his log.

He asks more questions about your world, straying away from the ones he had last week that seemed to exclusively revolve around the fauna and flora. Now, he is interested in your Human way of life. The TV confuses him, and he doesn’t quite understand the difference between dramas and news stations. So you explain as best you can for him.

His main issue lies in his inability to comprehend the constant strife within your planet, especially when you explain to him topics like poverty or homelessness. Sixam is nothing like Earth, he says, because everyone on Sixam is looked after and taken care of as deemed appropriate. There is no division of classes because deep down, every Sixamian acknowledges they are superior to the rest of the universe. It sounds like a utopia to you, but you’ve read enough books to know how those usually turn out.

That fact intrigues Jungkook as well. How Humans can be aware of so many altering concepts and beliefs, yet desensitized to all. He doesn’t get it, and explaining the concept of fiction existing on a separate plane only confuses him more.

Eventually you bring it back to tradition, somehow, that dreaded word you’ve come to abhor. Jungkook enjoys learning about your culture and your way of life, little things you do here and there. But as most things do in your life, the conversation circles back around to your failed marriage.

“Ah,” Jungkook says. “So it is tradition to save your first reproductive act for the one you ‘marry’?” You nod, toes tucked up into the couch. It’s a little before sunset now, the orange hue of the outdoors leaking into your living room. “And then you take their last name? That is very confusing, __. I thought this last name identified you to your fellow Human, how can you so easily change it around?”

You laugh. “It's complicated,” you offer. Jungkook chuckles as well, obviously overwhelmed with all the new information you provided him with today.

Jungkook nods pensively but you doubt he understands. “I see,” he mumbles, fingertip tapping against the armrest he’s leaning against. It’s a tell tale sign that he desperately wants to document what you’ve said in his supercomputer bracelet but is holding back for the sake of this moment. You think it’s rather sweet. “So copulation does not always secure you a partner.”

You shrug halfheartedly. “People have different drives,” you say. “Some of them want love and some just want sex.”

“And you?” he asks suddenly, big purple eyes swirling with entire galaxies. “What would you like?”

A lot of things, you think, but when it comes down to it, when Jungkook asks you with his pretty eyes and pouty lips, you can’t find the right words. “Both,” is your measly reply. “What about you?”

He seems just as thrown off by your question as you, eyes widening as he leans back. The living room is bathed in warm splashes of color, the last of the sun’s rays painting Jungkook in a rather romantic light. You can’t look away. “I too would like both,” he admits, idly tracing the tip of his finger along the markings that decorate the tops of his knees. “This notion of attraction beyond the physical realm is not common in Sixam,” he answers. “Sixam is very… strict about what a relationship entails.

You set your mug down on the side table, shuffling around until your toes poke his hip, arm thrown over the back of the couch. “How so?” you ask.

Jungkook’s lips push out into a frown. “The Higher Sixamian Court has long since ruled that mating rituals between citizens are strictly limited to those that will produce the most immaculate genome,” he says, as if that is just another simple, everyday fact of life. It is for him, but not for you.

“So, are you like… assigned?” you press, suddenly wondering how a being as curious and sentimental as Jungkook has survived so long in a place like Sixam. “And like, do you raise kids together?”

“Until the end of their first era,” Jungkook supplies, as if that makes the slightest bit of sense. “And sort of. Sixam is not that oppressive,” he jokes, but there is something about his eyes missing their usual glow that tips you off. “I have yet to copulate for reproductive purposes.”

You pause. “But you have for… fun purposes?”

Jungkook looks at you seriously. And then, ever so slowly, the little marks beneath the corners of his eyes, the little triangles that usually flare blue, fade into a lovely pink shade. “I-“ he stammers, obviously flustered by your question. “I have.”

Your mouth parts into a little o. “With other Sixamians? Or….” Jungkook flushes, nods meekly. His expression seems off, like it isn’t a particular fond memory he carries. “Was it bad or something?”

He sighs. “It is… very lacking. Nothing like the scenes depicted in your projection box.” He nods towards the TV, you barely contain a giggle at its name. You reach for your mug instead. “There is no,” he waves a hand in front of his face. The last rays of sun catch on his hand and turn his charcoal markings a pretty gold. “No expressions of adoration beyond what is necessary. And I do not particularly enjoy that.”

You nod understandingly. “You're soft,” you tease, watch his little triangles light up again at your words. “It’s okay,” you reassure him, “so am I.”

He says nothing, just stares blankly out the front window as the sun disappears behind the horizons, leaving thousands of glittering lights in its wake. Not man made but natural; right. “I think your last name is lovely,” he suddenly announces. You chuckle against the lip of your mug, but Jungkook doesn’t find it amusing. He turns to you with that sparkling purple gaze, like you’ve hung those stars outside yourself. “There is no other __ ___ like you.”

Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from the coffee steam rising from the mug or Jungkook’s unexpected reassurance. It makes your heart tender, sends a shock through your system that leaves your body buzzing. “Thank you,” you say sincerely, covering the palm he rests over the couch with yours.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t need to.

Ovulation ends, but your blossoming feelings for Jungkook do not go away.

The next morning his comms remain shut off. Jungkook has never had his communications back home cut off, save for the time in his first era where he brashly spoke out against his superior in a lab. He was young and had much to learn, took too many risks and didn’t consider the consequences. He guesses he hasn’t grown much since then as he watches you tend to your garden.

“Smilodon urinated in the closet,” he announces, witnessing the smile slowly slip off your features. He lets you revel in your annoyance for exactly two seconds before following with the phrase he heard on your box the other day. “Just kidding! You are being prank’d.

Your frown is nothing like the expression the program’s contests exhibited following their supposed pranking. “Jungkook, that’s not funny,” you huff and his heart sinks. A soft snort. “Okay, maybe a little,” you concede with a terribly contained smile.

He bounds over, kneels down beside you, and begins pulling the overgrown weeds out with you. “I saw it on the projection box the other day,” he explains excitedly, tossing the weeds into the bag between you two. “I did not know such pleasure could be received from silly broadcasts like that.” You nod, say something about all kinds of dumb shows existing before a pout taints your lips. “What's wrong?”

A long sigh from you. “I think the sun isn’t reaching these,” you tell him, lifting the stem of a sad looking tomato plant. It’s the closest one to the house, often covered by the house’s shadow when the sun shines best. “They’re sad.”

He tilts his head to the side quizzically. “Sad?” he repeats, reaching for his wristband before he can stop to think. If his extensive journaling reads right, your planet’s vegetation follows similar patterns to that of another’s, requiring allotted amounts of sunlight and water to flourish. “How can it be sad?”

Caught up in his notes, he doesn’t realize you’ve migrated to the other side of the garden now, dutifully picking out more weeds. “Well, it looks sad doesn’t it?” Jungkook glances back again. The tomato stalk is significantly droopy and malformed, smaller than its brethren who sit only a few inches away in direct sunlight. It’s colors are dulled and almost… sad. Huh. How peculiar.

He chances one glance back at you, deems you far enough, and then channels the entirety of his energy towards the tomato plant. It wiggles a few times, kind of like it’s dancing, before you’re calling his name from the other side. “What’re you doing?” you ask, hand on your hip. Jungkook stills.

“Um,” he drawls. The plant returns to its sulky state.

Garbage bag full of weeds, you pass by him with a shake of your head. “Don’t do anything weird to my plants, silly,” you chide. Jungkook huffs, follows behind to take the bag off your hands. You thank him, join him for his walk around the house until he tosses the bag into the garbage can out front. Before he can retort and engage you in a playful argument regarding his superior abilities, you’re crouching down by the spigot out front. It’s making a weird hissing noise that has Jungkook frowning as he walks over.

Right as he approaches, you make the amateur mistake of turning the handle, water spewing out from the gap between the spigot’s mouth and where it’s supposed to meet the hose. You screech, and Jungkook can’t shut it off fast enough.

In the end, both of you are drenched.

“Ugh,” you groan as you walk around the house to the unlocked back door. Jungkook trudges behind, just a teensy bit annoyed by the mud that quickly stains his rubber sandals. “This is so annoying!” you complain loudly, shaking yourself off like Smilodon when it accidentally fell into the sink the other day. “Ruined my day.”

At that Jungkook frowns. He does not want your day to be ruined, especially not by some faulty spigot outside. You were too good for such emotions, too perfect in his eyes. Sadness and the like did not suit you; they had no place ruining your beautiful features. You’re huffily patting yourself down at the back porch now, distress prominent on your features as you most likely consider the second load of laundry you will have to do today.

The tomato stalk glances at him sadly from the ground, and before Jungkook can stop himself, he’s breathing in deeply and pushing his generally relaxed attitude onto you. You can be mad later, but right now Jungkook doesn’t want to see you sad. It’s effective immediately, your gloominess quickly fading away. You breathe in deeply, eyes falling shut, and when you open them again you’re offering him the most gentle smile he has ever seen.

And a soaked through shirt that highlights the shape of your red undergarments. Jungkook’s eyes widen, unconsciously flicking down to the sight you present him with, and a different emotion floods his senses.

It’s quite possibly his biggest mistake. Because while he can easily look away, it takes longer for those emotions to fade, and soon they’re being reflected on you.

“Wow,” you exhale, shaking your head in confusion because these aren’t your emotions— you probably know they’re his. Jungkook feels terrible instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes out, scrambling up the steps to guide you inside. Simultaneously, he’s shutting down his influential abilities, scolding himself for slipping up with you like this. You most certainly did not want to feel this way around Jungkook, yet here he was quite literally projecting onto you. “Please, let’s go inside.”

You nod, jolt when his hand touches the small of your back as he guides you in. “Oh,” you gasp, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to force himself from making the situation worse, from thinking thoughts you would not approve of. “Why— what's happening?” you ask in a breathy tone, lingering by the staircase Jungkook tries to push you up.

He sighs. “I— I was trying to brighten your mood,” he admits, metaphorical ears pressed against his head like when Smilodon gets scolded for knocking down a plant. “And, um. There was— the, um, sight of your undergarments distracted me for a moment.” You glance down and seemingly become aware for the first time that your bright red bra is on display, shyly covering yourself with your arms.

“Distracted?” you mumble softly, leaning against the banister of the stairs. Your skin is radiating more heat than Jungkook ever recalls, face demurely turned down towards the floor. He could have sworn he stopped projecting minutes again— why were you still behaving like this? Did he break you? Did he exude more energy than he meant to, accidentally extend the length of the emotions? “I’ll go upstairs now,” you announce quietly, touch his arm almost sensually as you pass by.

Your skin is warm, that heavenly scent that Jungkook craved rolling off in waves— but he was certain he’d stopped himself before anything became too overwhelming. Were his emotions stronger than he had fooled himself into believing? There was no way he had felt or looked as riled up when he accidentally influenced you. So where exactly were these emotions coming from? What exactly was making you behave this way even after he’d withdrawn his influence? Could it be...

Jungkook watches with wide eyes, almost certain that your behavior, though sparked by his initial slip up, was entirely your own at this point.

There was a lot of weight behind that.

The water turns on upstairs, and he has to strain his ears, still his breathing, just for a hint of your sounds. But they’re there, quiet successors to the louder moans you’d let out the other day. They make him shiver, melt against the staircase as his cock twitches in his pants. His body comes alive, something distinctly carnal twitching beneath his skin, blossoming out at the base of his spine.

And still, as he grinds his hand into his palm, it is not merely the sight of your red undergarments that render Jungkook useless. No, the ghost of your smile at his poorly executed prank follows, brands itself into the inside of his eyelids as he slowly falls apart.

Was it your own emotions that had made you like that? he wonders, sinking to his knees in the hallway. If you came down right now, you’d certainly catch him. But Jungkook can still hear your muffled cries from upstairs, and furthermore, Jungkook wanted desperately for you to catch him. He knows you won’t, but the idea makes him shiver, has him coming in his bottoms shamefully.

“What the,” he huffs, sweat trailing down his forehead. His brain replays that look in your eyes. That emotion you displayed that, although it may have been planted by him, was taken by you and magnified. Had you been just as excited by the sight of Jungkook’s wet body as he had yours? And if such was the case, was your attraction to him limited to the physical realm?

He doesn’t want to delude himself, but your words from the other day ring loudly in his ears. Soft, you had called him, for wanting something both physically and emotionally intimate. But you were the same, or so you claimed.

Was it so wrong for Jungkook to think that ideology applied now?

That night you join Jungkook outside for his routine stargazing. He sits on the porch while you sit on your rocking chair, mugs of hot cocoa in hand as Jungkook retells his adventures across the universe.

Space is bigger than you thought, with a culture far more complex than Earth’s. It makes you wonder how Jungkook, who has quite literally seen it all, can become so enamored with this place. There’s bigger and better somewhere out there; planets that won’t force terrible traditions on him or task him into ungodly missions. Yet he lingers here, in this quiet space between your garden and your house, head on your lap.

His hair is soft, almost like silk, and he enjoys having it touched. “I do not wish to leave,” he admits quietly, empty mug long since set aside. You hum, encourage him to elaborate. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7.”

You snort. “No way,” you say, trace your hand down his jawline. Jungkook says nothing of your wandering hands, skin warm to the touch. Some of his markings decorate his neck, curl around the pale skin in perfectly symmetrical swoops. They creep beneath the hem of his shirt, and you wonder what they look like down there.

You flush those thoughts away, that afternoon’s events still fresh in your mind. From your understanding of the events, Jungkook had been excited at the sight of your body, so he obviously had to hold some attraction towards you. But how much of that was purely physical and how much was emotional?

“I want to have your last name,” he announces suddenly. You choke, breath caught in your throat from the randomness of the statement. Your reaction makes Jungkook pull away from your touch, stare at you with wide eyes like you do him.

“I— what?” you stammer, having gained back your composure. Or at least some of it. “Jungkook, I don’t think you know what that means.”

He frowns, shuffles around until he’s facing you, and lays his head across your lap again. This time, those purple eyes that dance with nebulas and stardust zero in on you. His hair tickles your bare thighs, makes you unconsciously press them together when his warm breath fans across your skin. “You amaze me,” he murmurs, eyes glazed. “I have never seen a being like you, who lives so far off from society, thrive in their own bubble— is it too much for me to want to live like you? Be with you?”

“Huh?” you ask, ever so eloquently.

Jungkook smiles, turns his face to hide it against you. Pink lips brush against your skin, your hands unconsciously shooting into his hair to guide him away. When his head rolls back, he’s got this rather melancholy look on his face. “The beauty of the universe lies entirely on Planet 43 Z-7,” he says again, “and I am looking right at her.”

Your face burns.

Heart hammering in your chest, palms sweaty, you don’t know what to say. He looks at you with that vibrant gaze, drinks you in like you’re the finest of wines and your heart absolutely cannot handle it. Your brain fumbles for a response but by then Jungkook is standing up, head tilted downwards cutely as he observes you. One hand in his, thumb gently swiping over your knuckles. “I would like to show you every expression of adoration possible, __,” he murmurs, presses a kiss to your knuckles before disappearing back inside.

You stay outside, turning his words inside and out, backwards and forwards, until you deduce that Jungkook of Sixam most definitely harbored the same feelings for you as you did for him. It’s odd, because it is exactly what you want but the idea scares you to death. The last time you let a man into your life under a similar guise you ended up wasting years of your life, clinging to this grand finale you never got. And now this foreign being was proclaiming his feelings for you, possibly propositioning you for the same thing.

Did you want Jungkook? Yes, undoubtedly yes. He was free from the shackles of tradition that had held you down so long, didn’t believe in this twisted notion of your body being “sacred.” He was a breath of fresh air, unlike anyone you’ve ever met before (although part of that was due to his alien heritage).

However, he was not free of flaws, and perhaps that is what entices you more.

Jungkook, though he looked and spoke like the perfect man, was a being of his own, with struggles of his own. He too had his own handful of painful memories, toxic ideologies that followed him around. But Jungkook was willing to learn, to change. And you admired him for it.

Tip-toeing back inside, you find the house shrouded in darkness. The steady tick of the grandfather clock lessens the rapid beating of your heart. Jungkook is sitting on the living room couch, legs pulled to his chest. Muscle memory has you reaching out for the top of his head like always, ready to pat his fluffy hair as if you hadn’t just spent the last twenty minutes outside doing just that. He turns around just as your fingers touch his soft strands, purple eyes meeting yours. You trace your hand down the side of his face, knuckles brushing over his cheekbones; he puckers his lips, bestows a second tender smooch against you.

“I like when you do that,” he says, voice unexpectedly loud in the otherwise silent house. As he speaks, he shifts to the side, arm thrown over the back of the couch to look at you completely. You swipe your thumb over his bottom lip and he gulps. “Makes me crazy.”

You chuckle, releasing him to round the couch. Jungkook’s got this sweet smile on his face, hand outstretched for you. When you take it, he tugs you onto the couch, flush beside him. Your thigh is practically thrown over his, his other arm wrapped around your shoulders. You heart flutters and you can no longer look him in the eye.

But that’s okay because Jungkook can. He ducks down, dark hair tickling your skin as his breath ghosts over your lips. “May I?” he asks softly, nose bumping against yours. “May I have the honor of pleasuring you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, answering with a tiny nod that makes his lower lip brush against yours teasingly. “I-If I am suitable,” you mumble, tingles spreading all over your body.

Jungkook smiles, pretty and bright, as he turns his head to slot your mouths together. “No,” he says, “if I am suitable. You are more than enough.” Lips brush against yours, shaky breath meets yours, and then he’s kissing you. Slow yet suave, carefully molding against you as if he is afraid of breaking you. His lips are like two soft pillows, moving against yours in a practiced rhythm that makes you tremble against him. Every bit the measly virgin, but Jungkook likes you just so.

He pulls away with a pop, his figure shadowed by the darkness of the room. But his eyes, purple irises, glow brightly. Like two pools of cosmic dust swirling around his dark pupils. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this before, but you hardly saw Jungkook in the dark anyway. He hides them too soon, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in again.

The second time, there’s a faint flick of his tongue against your bottom lip. The action makes you gasp quietly, lips parting for a fraction of a second. But Jungkook is quick, slips his tongue past your lips. It’s lewd; his breath mingles with yours, tongue pushing against yours. Slick and dirty, spit traveling between your two mouths, but Jungkook makes sure you’re okay, sinfully wrapping his lips around your tongue when you get too brave. A moan escapes you, fingers squeezing around his.

Jungkook squeezes back, pushes forward until you’re pressed against the back cushions of the couch. “This okay?” he husks, low-lidded eyes meeting yours when he pulls away. You nod, words caught in your throat. Jungkook’s gaze lasers in on your mouth, and he seems to have an internal debate before eventually pulling away to kiss your neck.

You tilt your head back, choppy exhales creeping out from between your lips as he kisses down the column of your neck, untangling his hand from yours to press against your hip instead. It’s with a devastatingly slow speed that he eventually slinks away, finds himself kneeling between you on the floor with hands dancing over the tops of your thighs. Your heart is beating a thousand miles in your chest, threatening to rip itself right out when he meets your eyes a second time.

He pushes your legs apart, not once looking away as he gently encourages you to raise one. Lips pressed against your knee, slowly trailing down the skin of your thigh. Your hand squeezes at the couch cushions. Jungkook pulls a startled yelp from you when he tugs at the backs of your knees, makes you slump down the couch with your legs perfectly spread out for him, feet flat on the floor. Then he’s back to kissing you, languidly pressing smooch after smooch against your scorching skin until he’s reaching the apex of your thighs, stilling once to look your way.

“Go ahead,” you choke out, hands clutched over your chest, as if that’ll keep your heart from up and running away. Jungkook takes your admission and moves on, puckered lips meeting your mound through your clothing. It’s the first time you’ve ever had someone else so close to your most sensitive areas, and rightly so, you whimper.

“Shh,” he soothes, thumb pressing against your hip as he carefully hikes one of your legs over his shoulder. You’re quivering like a leaf, lower lip bitten raw between your teeth as you watch him move between your legs. “I don’t wish to hurt you,” Jungkook murmurs.

Another press of his mouth against you, this time right over where your bud hides, and the sensation makes your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers tighten around the waistband of your shorts, take your underwear with them when he begins pulling them down your hips. You push yourself up briefly, let him slide them down your legs and bare yourself to him for the first time.

Your cheeks flood with warmth, hands unconsciously reaching to pull your shirt down, but Jungkook catches you. Fingers tangle with yours, warm breath fanning over your slick folds. Unconsciously, you tense up at his proximity, the stark realization that this was the moment you had waited for for a good chunk of your life suddenly hitting you. Jungkook seems to notice you crawl inside your head, drawing you back with a squeeze around your hand, luminous eyes meeting yours.

“If you need me to stop, I will,” he reassures you.

The blood is rushing to your ears, his words nearly lost in the madness. “Aren’t you scared?” you ask quietly, voice wobbly, holding his hands so tightly you’re surprised he doesn’t complain.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No,” he answers. “Would you like to know how I feel?”

Hesitantly, you nod. Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut, but the little triangle markings beneath his eyes begin to glow. Like fireflies in the dark, two little lights that intensify as he exhales.

And then, suddenly, you’re flooded with a new wave of emotions, similar to yours but not. They feel like yours, but are distinctly his, make you arch against the cushions with a soft groan.

At the forefront, lust that swarms your senses and makes your body melt into the couch beneath you. It makes you shiver, nipples peaked beneath your top as his feelings and their intensity grow on you. It feels like drowning, like swallowing a thick and sticky substance that lingers in your throat and refuses to go away. It’s how he feels about you at this moment, so strongly it could drown him.

So overwhelmed with that sensation alone, you almost don’t recognize the second emotion that Jungkook takes and pours into you.

Warm and comforting, like being embraced by a thousand doves, kissed by a swarm of butterflies. It’s different from the first, doesn’t tap directly into your physical body, but wraps around your heart, creeps into your thoughts. Until you’re rolling your eyes back open and meeting his, the feeling so plainly spelled out across his features.

Sheer and utter adoration.

“Oh,” you breathe, face scorching to the touch following the emotions Jungkook’s just revealed to you.

He grins, shy, and squeezes your hand. “What do you want to do?”

Biting your lip, you take initiative and hook your knee over his shoulder, the same way he had shown you just moments prior. “Please,” you murmur, “show me more.”

And Jungkook does.

A soft kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose running along your skin teasingly. And then he’s faced with your puffy lips, pink skin slick with arousal. Jungkook sighs softly, tilts his head as if he’s analyzing his next course of action, and then carefully places his mouth against you.

“Mmmh,” you whimper, hips instinctively bucking into the touch, never having felt such intense pleasure before. Jungkook doesn’t mind as he languidly kisses your folds, eyes shut as he loses himself in the motions. The first swipe of his tongue makes you twitch, arms flailing but Jungkook holds them down, entwined fingers pressed against the couch.

His tongue is an entity of its own, wet muscle pressing and licking at your most sensitive areas like it was made specifically for this. Never mind talking, Jungkook’s tongue was made to lap at your pussy like this. He licks a long stripe up from your quivering hole to your engorged clit, curling at the end as if you were nothing more but a sweet for him to mindlessly play with.

Your muscles clench up, the leg thrown around his shoulder unconsciously pulling him closer until his nose is pressed flush against your clit. Jungkook breathes in deeply, moans softly but it sends earth-shattering vibrations up your core until you’re a whimpering mess. “O-Oh,” you cry, sweat clinging to your skin as Jungkook continues lapping at your folds.

He releases one hand, uses it to push your other leg further away to properly slot himself against you. You take the opportunity to wildly reach for him, grabby hands lost in the silky waves on his head as you urge him closer to where you need him most. You’re not even sure where that is anymore, your clit or your entrance, but Jungkook switches between the two just fine.

That warm tongue prods at your entrance, tip sinking inside just enough to make you gasp. It’s a new experience for you, someone’s tongue touching and stroking you there, and it feels like an entirely new door opens from that action alone. You whimper his name, dig your nails across his scalp like maybe he’ll grant you a reprieve and pull away. But you don’t really want that, and so you’re happy when he stays where he is.

The hand that had rested against the juncture of your hip glides up, lays flat over your mound with his thumb idly swirling around your clit. The combination of his tongue breaching your hole and his fingers playing along your clit makes you spasm. “Wait,” you sob, the muscles in your thighs twitching as he licks away. “I-I’m gonna—“

An overpowering wave of relief floods your senses shortly before that last syllable can escape your lips; everything goes tight and then suddenly you’re on a cloud, cum spilling from your heat and onto his waiting tongue. Jungkook licks it all up, slurps loudly against your clit as the last waves of your orgasm run their course. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing up your navel, t-shirt pushed away as he goes.

When he reaches your face, you’re quite embarrassed to find the area around his mouth to be glistening with your juices. “You’re incredible,” he says, easygoing smile on his lips. But there’s something hard and heavy against you, snuggled between your thighs, that makes your face heat up all over again.

You can’t find the words to respond, and lose the opportunity when Jungkook captures your lips with his again. He’s more assertive this time around, roughly pushing against you until you’re certain you’ll bruise. But it feels good, makes you wrap your hands around him as Jungkook grinds down against you. When he pulls away, he’s got this dark look on his face, out of place against such bright eyes.

He says nothing as his hands creep up your waist, push your t-shirt and bra out of the way, until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. Experienced hands massage them thoroughly, roll the soft skin between his fingers. His mouth is against yours again, tongues pressed together; Jungkook groans and the sound shoots straight between your thighs. He pinches a nipple between his fingers and you whimper, break away from his kiss to hide your face against his shoulder.

His cock is heavy against your folds, the thick material of his pants slowly stimulating you again. The cotton brushes against you, most certainly picks up your wetness as it goes, and Jungkook lets it as he continues to grind down against you with his hands on your tits. Your hands tear their way down his back, fist the material of his shirt in your hands. “Off, off,” you plead, desperate to feel more of him against you.

Jungkook complies, sitting up to yank his shirt over his head. You were right about his markings, dark swoops and circles that decorate his chest and abdomen before tapering down around his waist. Your mouth salivates at the sight, blindly reaching for your own clothes as if one look away will make him disappear.

He doesn’t.

In fact, the removal of both your tops only makes Jungkook hungrier, completely abandoning your lips to suck your breast into his mouth instead. “Jungk— fuck,” you wail, slipping further down the couch as you lose yourself in Jungkook’s embrace. His teeth nibble at your swollen bud, roll the sensitive skin around before pulling off with a wet pop.

Your breath jumps when he reaches behind you, corded arm locking around your waist as he repositions the two of you, unsatisfied with the previous position. He lifts you up with his undoubtedly superior strength, one palm beneath your thigh as he plops you down across the couch more comfortably, head neatly resting on a throw pillow.

Your heart is in your throat, desperate to memorize the man before you, inked skin, lean and meaty, vibrant violet eyes that focus solely on you. Before he can join you on the couch, Jungkook steps away, tucks his thumbs into his waistband and swiftly removes them. His engorged cock, bigger than any you’ve seen in any erotic video— and that was saying a lot —springs up against his navel, flaming tip glaring right at you. Your pussy quivers at the sight.

“Come here,” he husks out as he moves towards you. You welcome him with open arms, a soft groan of his name against his lips as he shoves his tongue past. His hands are everywhere now; one squeezes at your breast, hand molded to the flesh, while the other runs along the underside of your thigh, guides it over his waist. And another tickles around your navel, soft—

You shriek, eyes snapping open as you tug Jungkook over you as a shield. “What was that?” you heave, wide eyes roving over the dark living room, like maybe you’ll find Smilodon traversing the carpet and it was his silky tail that came too close.

But Smilodon doesn’t usually appear at night, nor is there anything else in the living room with you and Jungkook. Your heart hammers in your chest, carefully meeting his dark gaze until something thin and distinctively alive appears over his shoulder. Another scream tears itself from your lips.

“Hey, hey,” Jungkook shushes, pulls away to cup your face in his hands. “Forgive me,” he says tenderly, “we are so similar, I forget you do not possess extra arms.”

You pale. “E-Extra arms?” you choke, eyes focused on the thin ‘arm’ that slinks out from behind Jungkook, almost screeching again when a second one appears on the opposite side. And then a third, a fourth.

It is no arm, but rather… a tentacle? Sans the weird suction cups. They’re thin little things, no thicker than his wrist, that dance behind him as if they have a mind of their own. They move as if suspended in water, soft lilac skin tenderly touching yours. You shiver, its smooth skin odd against your supple flesh. Jungkook relaxes, but draws them back anyway. “Forgive me,” he says again, taking your hand in his to press a peck against it. Your heart flutters at the gesture that was slowly driving you insane. “I shall keep them at bay.”

You nod shakily, but cannot deny the curiosity that picks at you when they slink back into the base of his spine, blend seamlessly against his skin. “What… what do they do?” you ask tentatively.

Jungkook hums as he descends upon you, featherlight kisses against your shoulder and up your neck. “Hmm? They help me out,” he explains mindlessly, pulling you flush against his cock again. A moan tears itself from your throat, eyes fluttering shut as you force yourself to focus on the moment again.

But your hands unconsciously wander down his spine as he kisses you, circle the skin where your swear they had to have disappeared beneath, until Jungkook is pulling away with a confused expression on his face. “Would you like to see them again?” he asks quizzically, sweat forming along his hairline.

You cannot play it off any longer; meekly, you nod. “I— they were interesting,” you admit in a quiet voice, nervously twiddling your fingers over your chest.

Jungkook says nothing for a second, until he’s lightly chuckling and pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Okay,” he concedes, and goes back to rolling his hips against yours.

About to protest, the words are robbed from your throat when something soft and blunt tickles your thigh. “Oh,” you shudder, prevailing through the initial shock as Jungkook’s ‘arm’ slides around the diameter of your thigh to brush against your cunt. It’s silky and smooth, pushes against your lips until it’s emerging past them, slipping inside of you.

You gasp, head lolling backwards as the sensation gets to you. It feels the same as your fingers do when you’re in the shower, but it moves differently, gauging your reactions as it curls within your walls. Jungkook muffles a low chuckle against your chin, kisses spread over you until his tongue is back down your throat.

“Feels good?” he asks, hot mouth against yours. You nod jerkily, hands digging into his biceps. Another appendage tickles around your waist, dips into your navel and makes you giggle. It’s a sound that’s frankly out of place amongst your moans and whimpers, but it makes Jungkook smile. It eventually moves away, continuing its soft caresses elsewhere.

The one that plays in your pussy has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, jaw slack. Perfect for Jungkook who pushes and prods until his saliva is dripping down your throat, catching in the corners of your lips. It impossibly fattens inside of you, makes you choke just as a different one dances around your neck. “I— I,” you stutter, boneless beneath him as the soft tip traces around the column of your neck tenderly, lovingly.

There’s so many different areas to focus on: one rubs comfortingly beneath your breast, while another fucks into your cunt. The contrast has your head spinning, unsure of where to look.

There’s something about the one inside of you that makes you feel so sticky and wet, more so than before. Like it’s oozing something out, making the glide against your walls smoother than before. It makes your body tingle, sends a feeling down your spine that you’re almost certain isn’t normal.

At the same time, there’s a brush along your thigh again, a tight coil around the flesh of your skin tightly that encourages your legs apart. More room for Jungkook to squeeze in. It wraps around you, slithers past its sibling and prods against your ass. Your heart skips a beat, buck into Jungkook’s embrace as it slips between your cheeks— you gasp. It releases that same substance that makes everything so wet. You tremble at the touch, body already so overwhelmed.

Your attention is snatched away before anything can happen, Jungkook tugging you closer until the ridges of his cock are running along your folds, each push sending his goddamn tentacle deeper inside of you. You moan, hands shakily traversing his skin until you’re cupping his face in your palms. “More,” you hoarsely whisper, dazed eyes meeting his. “Please.”

Jungkook nods, presses one more kiss against your lips before shuffling around. The appendage inside of you swiftly recoils, has you shivering from the way it slips out of you so easily. As it finally emerges from your folds, you find it’s slick with cum and something slightly pink, sparkly and wet as if it’s got precum of its own. The sight amazes you, makes you want to touch it. Before you can, it’s moving again. Much to your surprise, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t return to hide within Jungkook’s body, but wraps around his cock tightly. Purple tendril against engorged skin, makes him sigh at the squeeze.

He holds the base of his cock, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek as he regards you with an unrecognizable look. One hand on your thigh, fingers gripping tightly even before he’s done anything. “Tell me you want this,” he exhales, “please?”

You nod hurriedly, hands reaching for his hips to urge him closer. “Want this,” you assure him, quiver when the head of his cock presses against your folds. Bigger than your fingers, bigger than that damned appendage, and it was going inside of you. “Want this so bad,” you whimper, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. A squeeze around your breasts, a flick against your nipples. It’s not Jungkook’s hands, and that fact makes you shiver.

They curl around your breasts, frame the mounds gently before the flatted tips meet your nipples, tease them with featherlight nudge.

Eased by the certainty of your words, Jungkook relaxes. He places a hand on your hip, the other still holding his cock as he lines himself up with your throbbing entrance. You’re so wet, dripping in your own cum and whatever that tentacle released, thighs slippery and shiny. The anticipation in your chest swells, pushes against your rib cage until you’re afraid it’ll break. The little markings beneath his eyes flash and suddenly it’s gone, replaced with a sense of comfort that only doubles when he flashes you a tiny smile.

The first press of his cock makes your back arch, has you knocking every throw pillow off the couch as he slowly eases his way in. “Oh god—“ you sob, the sudden intrusion being questioned by every muscle in your body. Immediately, two of his tentacles snap forward, release their soft grip on your neck and their wrap around your breasts to caress up your sides, smooth ends practically kissing your skin with their soft nudges.

They by no means lessen the pain, but their butterfly touches are a nice distraction that tickles your skin, makes you whimper softly as Jungkook slowly sinks into you.

Jungkook ducks over you, tip of his nose against yours. “Breathe for me,” he instructs, even though his breath is labored against yours. One appendage cups your cheek, curls softly around your ear to hold your head still— you feel so spoiled with all the attention. You make an effort, breathe in swiftly through your nose as Jungkook pushes in deeper.

Slowly, the discomfort fades away. It melts and in its wake you’re left with a dull numbing sensation that starts in your toes and magnifies as it reaches your ears. It grows until the weight of his cock inside of you has you drooling, eyes unfocused as you watch Jungkook push himself to the hilt, the ridges of the tentacle wrapped around his cock making you jolt with every push.

At the same time as his cock thrusts inside of you, a sneaky little thing continues it’s dance between your cheeks, pokes and kisses at your hole like it’s testing you. It is, really, because you've never had anything up your ass before— up until a few moments ago, you had barely had anything in your pussy.

This was your first time, yet two seperate holes were begging to be filled, clenching tightly at Jungkook kisses along your chest, hands wound beneath the small of your back. The playful tentacle near your behind does just that— plays until you gently reach back for it, trembling hands giving it the go ahead it needs to finally plunge itself within you. Like an excited little being, it flutters against your hand a soft, kiss-like press against your palm before returning to its favored spot.

It chooses the perfect moment to press in, takes advantage of Jungkook’s first few slow thrusts to slip its way inside. A loud moan tears itself from your throat, and Jungkook joins along. “I-I’m sorry,” he pants, mouth against yours. “I-I just want to feel you.”

You shake him off, body twitching from the utter fullness you felt, the weight in between your folds and your ass that moves in opposing strokes. His cock, wrapped in those bulging ridges, pushes in just as the tentacle in your rear pulls out, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper and sob.

It feels good, amazing even, and you almost can’t believe it’s happening. Jungkook’s lips slot against yours, slow and lazy as he lets your body grow familiar with the stretch. He kisses you until the cat-like grip you have on his shoulders weakens, replaced with wandering hands that trail down his spine. The base of his spine where his protrusions appear is unique, makes him buck against you when you wrap your hands around one appendage.

“S-Sensitive,” he says as an apology, never mind the fact you want him desperately to fuck into you like that again. You voice such thoughts and Jungkook groans against your skin. “Really?” He chokes out, “I can move?”

One nod and then he’s off, for real this time.

He’s slow at first, like he’s hesitant about hurting you, but you tuck one leg around him, pull him closer until he’s forced deeper inside of you, and from there everything is a downward spiral. You forget Jungkook of Sixam is superior for more than just one reason, harsh reminder given in the strong snap of his hips that would have otherwise sent you flying off the couch if that same strength wasn’t channeled into the arms he held you with.

You reach for his hair, desperate to feel that comforting silk between your fingers, but then there’s something wrapping around your wrists. It pins your hands down, twists around your wrists twice before snaking up and curling along your fingers. Like it wants to hold your hand, wants to fill the spaces for Jungkook. The thought makes you burn, insides a boiling mess as he fucks into you, hands held down above your head.

“Jungkook,” you sob, squirming in his hold. It’s like whenever you move, there’s something there, holding you down or fucking you senseless. He responds with a grunt, roughly thrusting into you over and over until all you can manage is a series of hiccups.

The ridges around his cock, the added thickness lended to him by his extra appendage, has every shove past your lips sending tingles like an ascending xylophone shooting throughout your body. The rhythmic stretches make you huff like a dog against him, brain fuzzy and overwhelmed.

At the same time as he delivers killer grind after grind, another arm, the one that had been left out of the fray, slithers around your chest, looping twice around your frame and caging your breasts between them. Like bondage, except it’s Jungkook’s own body holding you down.

You don’t think about the absurdity of it too much, couldn’t anyway. Your brain is a scrambled mess of Jungkook’s lips and incandescent eyes, lost in the purple galaxies and stars he holds, slowly slipping away from reality with each brutal thrust he gives. His name tumbles from your lips, and yours from his. He holds you like you’ll slip away, sweaty skin pulling you impossibly closer with each roll of his hips.

The thick appendage buried within your ass makes you squirm. It’s a tight fit, one you don’t get too stuck on because for every reprieve from its maniac thrusts you are met with the equally ferocious slam of Jungkook’s cock. So it stays in the back of your mind, this curling tentacle that stretches the tight rim of your ass apart.

You were stuffed to the brim, eyes rolling back as you struggled to keep up. A soft brush along your jawline makes you gasp, before your mouth is tentatively filled with something soft and pulsing. Oh, you would die, you think, mindlessly sucking around the tentacle squeezed between your lips. It fattens in your mouth, pushes roughly against your tongue in rhythm with Jungkook’s cock. You cough, gag even, but it doesn’t move away. It drips a thick substance down your throat, disgustingly sweet.

“Please, please,” he pants, quiet and lost among your own higher-pitched moans. Your leg hikes itself further up, accidentally brushes at the base of where two of his tentacles protrude, and Jungkook jolts against you. His cock presses so deep into your walls, you swear you feel him kiss your cervix. “__,” he pants, tongue lapping at the skin of your neck, picking up the sweat and replacing it with his thick saliva. “Be mine, please.”

Your heart pounds with the beat of a marching band's pace, loud thundering that competes against the slapping of Jungkook’s skin against yours. You whimper around the weight in your mouth, the idea he places in your head only fueling that lifelong dream of yours. Your grip around the appendages that hold your wrists down tightens, its faint heartbeat-like pulse felt between your fingers.

“Let me be yours,” Jungkook moans, pulls out once only to slam his cock past your folds, hold himself there as your brain scrambles to rewire itself. As he says this, your mouth is freed, saliva and that sticky wet substance sloppily splattering across your lips and chin at the rather harsh exit. “And you will be mine.”

“Yes, yes!” you choke, dribbling drool down your chin.

It ends too soon.

Jungkook reaches a hand down, thumb feeling for your clit, but he’s pressed so tightly against you, it takes a second before the rough pad makes contact. That simple swipe, one half circle, is enough to make you unravel. “J-Jungkook,” you wail, biting down against his shoulder, “I’m—“

Your orgasm swallows you whole, his tentacle in your ass joining alongside you. It bursts inside of you, makes your ass leak with cum when it finally pulls out.

“I’ve got you,” he shudders, stills when your pussy clenches down around him, creamy pleasure dripping down around his cock. Your cries fill the air, body falling slack against the couch as you struggle to recover. Your head is a foggy mess, clouded by the slow snap of Jungkook’s hips as he reaches his arousal. Each push against your folds feels even more intense now, overstimulated walls fluttering wildly around him as his cock slips in.

His body stiffens and he swiftly pulls out, every ridge of his cock sucked back by your pussy, and when he finally frees himself— from your clenching walls and his tightly-gripping tentacle—he spills over your abdomen. Sticky and pink, like the strawberry lube you keep in your drawer, except its come out of Jungkook as a result of your rump in the sheets.

As quickly as his body locked up, it slumps just as fast, heavy muscles and long limbs crashing down over you before you can react.

“Jungkook—“

The sun shines in through the front window, wakes him from his slumber slowly and then all at once. He accidentally shifts into a patch of sunshine, the blinding light irritating his eyes until Jungkook is forced awake. His body aches but has never felt better, a weird sense of relaxation flooding his senses. For a moment, he is confused.

Eyes scan over the room, purple irises carefully calculating every bit of information until he catches sight of Smilodon’s furry tail and the memories of last night come swarming back in. He sits up quickly, whirling around for any glimpse of you, only to find you’re nowhere in sigh—

“Morning.” A small hand atop of his head, fingers stroking against his scalp. Instantly, Jungkook melts into the touch.

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where you get to work making the usual breakfast for you and Jungkook. He watches you from the couch, naked beneath the blanket you’ve so graciously covered him with. The sun leaks into the kitchen, paints you in soft shades of orange as you amble around the area.

The scent of hot cocoa fills the air, calling him to the space behind you after he dresses. “Good morning,” he says shyly, presses a kiss against your shoulder. Hesitantly, he lets his hands slide around your waist, lock over your navel. You don’t push him away, simply pat the side of his head as Jungkook snuggles into you.

You don’t speak about last night and neither does he. You eat eggs for breakfast and Jungkook playfully knocks his foot against yours beneath the table. “Don’t play footsies with me,” you laugh. Jungkook quite likes footsies.

Morning chores are skipped, pushed off in favor of sitting in front of the couch. You sit beside him, flush against his side, but Jungkook doesn��t mind. The projection box tells him about the weather, says something about a stock market, but other than that, it is relatively quiet.

There is no mission to complete, no tradition to uphold. It is just Jungkook in this new and not as scary world. The mailman always visits, and Smilodon shows his face every now and then. It is a routine he adores, but not as much as the Human at his side.

He doesn’t remember taking his headpiece off until it beeps from its spot on the coffee table, three distinctive chirps that signal an incoming call from the Higher Sixamian Court.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #alternative ending by rumu omits the last paragraph and we all pretend to live happily #but im evil so we suffer together #jeon jungkook x reader #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #jungkook fic #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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talesofstyles · 4 years

Text

Stitches and Pucks

i swear i tried writing the whole fic from the 3rd and 2nd pov in the beginning but hockey harry is so dang loud he’s like hang on honey this is MY story so let me tell this one ☠️ so here we are. i had loads of fun getting inside his head though, i hope you like it!

massive thank you to my biggest cheerleader @smokeinherperfume 🥺💛 and ken i’m so sorry for making you read an LA Kings fic 😂 @emotionally-imbruised

warning: smut. there’s no actual bow chicka wow wow stuff though but there’s some thigh riding 👀

[17k]

Harry

I swear I’m gonna kill Zayn.

That fucker just slammed my face into the boards, and as I’m trying to push back while flexing my jaw because that’s the right thing to do when you’ve got your face smashed into the boards, he tries to push me back again. Well, not a fucking chance. I give a particularly hard push back to get him off my back and I’m able to free my stick from the boards and put the blade to ice.

Because we’re playing on home ice here at Staples Center and I know its speed and consistency like the back of my hand, it takes nothing but a short tap on the puck and it shoots back between both of our legs. We scrabble, throwing elbows and shoulders and even kicking at it with our skates to expel it out. It’s a hard-fought battle, probably not lasting more than a few seconds, but it’s starting to wind me up because fuck if I’m gonna let them score. We’re up 4-2 against The Sharks, and with only under six minutes left to play in the game, I’d like to keep it that way.

I really don’t see it coming. And as much as we hate each other’s guts, it probably wasn’t even intentional, but it still hurts like a mother when Zayn’s stick pops upward, the end catching me just above my left eyebrow. I don’t feel any pain at first, but red, blurred vision definitely lets me know I’ve got blood streaming down my face. The ref blows the whistle and the play stops as the penalty is called.

The pain hits me next, and I bend over at the waist, my clear eye watching as a stream of blood hits the ice and freezes. In just about a few seconds, I feel a towel covering the cut and I hear the new team doctor say, “alright… let’s get you off the ice.”

Her hand stays steady at my back as I lift up straight, taking the towel in my own hand to hold it in place. The doctor walks alongside me while I skate to the bench, which has an exit door on one end that will lead back to the locker room. A few of my teammates slap me on the shoulder as I walk past. Harvey, who plays the same position as me but on the second-line yells out, “get stitched up so you can come back out and kick his pansy ass.”

I can’t help but chuckle, because that’s exactly what I plan to do.

“Up on the table,” the doctor says briskly and I watch with my one good eye as she quickly starts preparing the necessary supplies. I hop up onto the table, and in just under four minutes, my very own Doctor McSteamy has my injury evaluated, lidocaine injected, and is now closing the cut with stitches.

Good grief, she’s a fucking vision. Has a slammin’ body too, which no doubt would feel fucking fantastic underneath me. She probably doesn’t even realise it, but she’s got her little tongue sticking out the side of her mouth and I bet that’s something she does when she’s trying to concentrate on what she’s doing. I can feel my dick starting to twitch, so I close my eyes and get my mind out of the gutter before I get a hard-on. Fucking embarrassing.

When I’m sure I’ve got my downstairs head situation under control, I open my eyes again. She’s placing what I’m guessing the last suture on the cut and I make sure I put on my most dazzling smile as I look at her because I can be devastatingly charming when I want to be.

“Hey Doc,” I lean a bit closer to her when she’s done and murmur, “you should let me cook you dinner at my place tonight. You know, as a thank you.”

“No, thank you,” she replies without even looking towards me, preferring to busy herself with putting away the supplies that she used to tend to my cut. “I was just doing my job.”

“Alright then, no dinner at my place tonight,” I say with a sly smile. “But how about giving me your number so I can take you out sometime?”

She snorts in reply. “I’m not one of your puck bunnies.”

“No, you’re not,” I smirk at her. My tone is matter-of-fact when I add, “you’re one hot doctor.”

Not sure what I’m expecting, but this is definitely not it. Most women would blush and drop their knickers in an instant when I give them the tiniest bit of my attention, let alone a compliment, and let’s just say that’s why my bed is rarely empty. But it seems like my charms don’t work on this doctor since all I get is a fucking eye-roll.

“Are you always this forward?” She asks, still not looking at me.

“I’m a simple man, Doc,” I tell her with a shrug. “I see something I like, I go and get it.”

“Good for you,” she says dismissively, but I don’t miss the hint of amusement in her tone.

“Does that mean I get your number?”

She lets out a chuckle and finally turns to look at me. “That means I like your way of thinking.”

“So, no number?” I pout like a damn child, and apparently, the sight is hilarious to her. She throws her head back and laughs, and when she looks back to me, I get a wink.

“Sorry sunshine,” she smirks at me and I can’t help but ogle at her lips.

Perfect fucking lips.

“I don’t shit where I eat,” she adds.

Now, this is funny, so this time I’m the one tipping my head back laughing before I bring my gaze back to her. “You know our General Manager, Sloane Knightley?”

“Of course,” she replies, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“She’s with Alex, right-winger,” I tell her with a grin. “Now, Brynne Adams, have you met her yet?”

“The Athletic Trainer?”

“That’s the one, and she’s dating Matt, left-winger.”

“What?” Her jaw drops and it’s the cutest fucking sight. I’ve always thought of myself as a tits-man, but apparently now I’m a jaws-man too.

“Oh I’m not done yet,” I smirk at her. “Sarah Jones, Head of Equipment Manager, do you know her?”

She nods. “I’ve met her twice.”

“She’s with Mitch, right defenseman. Now, you probably haven’t met this one yet, but our goalie, Adam, is the only one married between us first-line players. His wife, Rachel, is the head of our in-house legal team. So look around Doc, everyone’s bloody shitting and eating around here,” I finish with a grin.

“Yeah, that doesn’t change a thing,” she insists. “That won’t be me.”

I give her one last glance as I hop off the table before I walk towards the door, pretty sure my eyes glitter with mischief as I say, “yeah, we’ll see, sunshine.”

—

The Owner’s Box is a local sports bar in El Segundo. Located only a stone’s throw away from the team’s practice facility at Toyota Sports Center, it has become the go-to hangout for a lot of the players ever since the facility opened in 2000. I like this place because it carries 140 types of beer and I like beer, and honestly the food is great as well.

As much as we like to mix and mingle with the fans, which is super fucking cool in my opinion, the manager always ropes off an area on the second floor for the players so we can drink and chill out without fans swamping us. Usually when we arrive, we’ll hang around the first-floor bar area for a bit to give the fans an opportunity to take pictures and ask for autographs before we head upstairs.

It’s always crowded after the game because everyone knows they can find us here, but it always gets extra busy whenever we win. Tonight, there’s an actual line of people waiting to get inside.

I nod at a bouncer and enter, and it takes me a good half an hour to make it to the second floor where I find several of my teammates sitting at some of the tables or standing around talking.

Winding around tables, teammates, and hot women since several puck bunnies have been allowed to go up the second floor and are doing their best to get noticed by the players wearing outfits that fit them like a second skin, I make my way over to Alex and Matt who are already sitting at one of the tables nursing their beers. Those two are my best friends since we’re linemates, but normally I’d go stand over with the single guys and start my selection process for whatever woman who’d warm my bed for the night.

Not tonight though. Never thought this day would come but I’m not here for a hookup tonight.

Alex gives me a knowing grin as I sit down since I told him in the locker room after the game about my exchange with the hot doctor earlier when she tended to my cut and how she turned me down. Well, he and several other of my teammates since there were a few there in the locker room with us and they had ears to listen. I’m pretty sure I could even hear Mitch chuckle, which is honestly one of the world’s seven wonders since the guy barely talks let alone laughs.

“How’s that cut feeling?” Matt asks as I take a seat in front of him.

“Feels like a butterfly kissed me there,” I tell him, which gets a deep belly laugh from both him and Alex. We hockey players would never admit to being hurt in a fight. Ever.

The voices in the second floor immediately go silent and I see all eyes swing towards the stairs, and when I look there I see our General Manager walks in alongside Coach Higgins, followed by some staff of the team. Cheers start ringing as she walks towards our table, no doubt to sit next to her man, and then I hear a low chant, “Sloane! Sloane! Sloane! Sloane!”

Matt and I do the same since not only Sloane is more of a close friend rather than a boss who signs our paycheck once she steps outside of the GM office, but as the only female GM in the league, she managed to turn our team into champions. We won the Stanley Cup last season and no doubt she’s going to push us to victory again this season. Alex has a shit-eating grin plastered across his face as his gaze focuses on his girl, looking so damn proud of her. Man, my best friend is fucking whipped.

Sloane blushes, slides a grin to Alex, and when the sound dissipates and the guys all start sitting back down, she says, “shut up you big jerks, do you want me to cry?”

We all bark in laughter.

I stand up to give her access to the booth so she can sit between Alex and I, and Alex immediately wraps his arm around her shoulders when she’s within his reach to pull her closer to him and proceeds to give her a searing kiss. I whip my head at Matt and we both make a fake gagging noise.

“God, I think I’m going to be sick,” Matt says and Alex flips him off, still giving his woman a hell of a kiss and without even looking at us.

“I know, right? Not used to you being so fucking mushy mate,” I add. “Gives me the willies.”

Sloane laughs as she breaks the kiss. She leans over and playfully punches me in the arm. “You’ll have a good woman one day, Harry.”

“Yeah,” I drawl, then I give a faux shudder to make sure they understand I like being single. “No thanks.”

“You sure?” Matt cocks an eyebrow, but before I can reply, something behind me catches his attention. “Ooh, isn’t that the new doctor?”

I whip around so fast I fucking knock a bottle of ketchup off the table and it goes flying across the floor. Matt is laughing so damn hard he almost falls off from the booth, Alex is leaning over as he laughs, pressing one palm down on the sofa with the other to his ribs as if they hurt from laughing and Sloane is dabbing at her eyes as she laughs hysterically.

But yes, holy shit, that’s the doctor stepping off the stairs and onto the second floor with Brynne and Sarah. Now, I know Brynne will most definitely walk towards our table since Matt is here, but Sarah will most definitely walk towards the bar where Mitch is talking with some other guys.

Come here. Come here. Come here.

Fuck, she goes with Sarah to the bar.

“Oh no,” Alex says low and in warning. “I know that look.”

I don’t bother to give him my attention, keeping my eyes pinned on my girl. But I do ask him, “what look?”

“Your gaze just became predatory,” he says with a laugh.

“God, you have it bad for her,” Sloane teases but I ignore her as I stand up. Brynne gives me a wink when I walk past her and now I have a suspicion that my teammates blabbed to their women about what happened earlier tonight and now they’re trying to set me and the hot doctor up. Otherwise, why would she even be here? Fucking crazy, I know, but they’re all nuts.

“Go get her, tiger!” Matt quips as I walk towards the bar without looking back at their table.

The doctor has ditched the white lab coat that she wore earlier tonight at the arena, and I’m glad she has her back to me since I don’t make a secret of my ogling. My eyes are pinned to her ass in those skinny jeans and fucks sake I need to get a grip.

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine,” I say with a smile as I stand next to her, trying to get her attention. That was lame, I know, and I feel like I want to punch myself for not being cool.

She laughs and fuck if that’s not the best sound in the world. It’s warm, rich, and husky, which warms my blood and speaks to my dick for some reason. Not sure if she’s laughing because she genuinely thinks I’m funny or is that just a pity laugh, but honestly I could listen to her laughing all day. Wouldn’t be opposed to hearing her moan one day, preferably with her underneath me, but if her laugh is all I can get at this moment then I’ll take it.

“Can I get you a drink?” I ask her and I mentally prepare myself for her to decline since she turned me down earlier in the arena, so it totally takes me by surprise when she only shrugs and says, “eh, why not.”

I’m sure my smile is ten times wider and she sees it. “What’s your poison?”

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“What if I want the hard stuff?” I raise a single brow. “Sure you want that?”

“What?” She smirks at me and my inner caveman is screaming for me at the sight to just throw her over my shoulder and take her home right this instant. But obviously I won’t do that, since I’m pretty sure that’s called kidnapping and I know I won’t look good in prison stripes. “You don’t think I can take it?”

“Oh honey, I know you can take it,” I laugh as I lift my finger to the bartender. “I’m only wondering how you’ll handle it.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to wait and see.”

—

It’s three hours and many beers later, well for her anyway since I limit myself at two because I’m driving, and we’re stumbling out of the bar, laughing our asses off.

She’s telling me about the funniest thing that happened at the hospital a few months ago. At the beginning they thought they had a domestic situation because the couple came separately; one via ambulance and one via police car. But when they finally got the whole story, it turned out to be an anniversary celebration gone wrong since the wife had a seizure when she was going down on her husband and bit down on him.

“Are you joking?!” I stare at her, mouth gaping in astonishment before I burst out laughing hysterically.

She shakes her head and laughs with me. “I wish.”

“Did you manage to save his manhood?” I ask with a half-grin and half grimace.

“My colleague did,” she replies. “I was busy with the wife, she had rather extensive head trauma.”

“From the seizure?”

“Well, in panic and pain, her husband didn’t think much and just grabbed the closest thing he could find to try to get her to loosen her bite, which sadly was an old rotary style telephone and hit her in the head with it. She was okay in the end, though.”

“That’s one hell of an anniversary to remember for sure,” I chuckle, and the giggle she emits pretty much confirms she’s bladdered. Well, not the kind of drunk where she wouldn’t remember tonight I’m sure, but I bet she’ll wake up with a massive headache.

“I sure hope you’re not driving,” I say as I steady her by the elbow when she wobbles as we step down the stairs.

“Sarah, Brynne and I took an Uber here from the arena earlier,” she mutters as she pulls out her phone from her handbag.

“Let me drive you home,” I quickly say before she gets the chance to order a ride. Not sure why I did that because I certainly have never offered women a ride home without the promise of getting in their knickers, and I can assure you that I won’t be getting anywhere near hers tonight, but maybe I just don’t want this night to end yet.

We’ve been glued at the hip from the moment I bought her first drink, and three hours purely just talking with the same woman? That’s a record in my book. While I’m not ashamed to admit that I also like looking at her, honestly, to me that’s just an added bonus. I think it’s safe to say that I have never met anyone like her before. Granted, with most women usually there wasn’t much talking, but from what I learnt in just the span of three hours is that this doctor of mine is a hell of a lot of fun.

I swear she’s just a pure fucking joy to be around. Conversation with her is like a never-ending merry-go-round and she makes me laugh a lot. She’s bright and witty and she’s one of those people that knows no strangers. She can easily talk about anything from politics to sports even to crude jokes, and add on to that, she’s just so kind and inclusive that several times tonight I actually had to drag her away to one of the back tables so we could have a proper chat without the crowd around us.

“You don’t have to,” she gives me a hesitantly sweet smile.

“But I want to,” I gallantly insist as I turn and offer my arm to her. “Come on, I just want to make sure you get home safe.”

“Well, alright then,” she smirks, her hand easily slides into the crook of my elbow. “I could save a few bucks.”

I roll my eyes and tease her, “didn’t take you to be such a skinflint.”

“Hey!” She playfully slaps my arm with her other hand as she laughs and I’m glad I amuse her.

No, seriously... I like her laugh.

There’s no doubt that she wants me, just as there’s no doubt that I totally want her. We’ve got this really heavy flirting going on all night, and plenty of innuendo, but I won’t be surprised nor disappointed if she doesn’t invite me inside when we get to her home and nothing happens tonight.

We’ll get there, I’m sure.

Until then, I’m completely fine drinking beer, being her personal chauffeur, and getting to know her a little better.

—

We always finish team practice with battle drills. From the end zone face-off spot to either the left or right of the goalie, we pair up and battle for a goal. One on offense, the other on defense, we shoulder, bump, and juke our way across the short distance to the net. It’s a four to five second drill that will make us sweat, and then it’s over. We skate to the end of the line, where we wait to do it again.

“Saw you left with the new doctor last night,” says Matt, my battle partner today, with a shit-eating grin as he taps his stick against my leg. “How was she?”

I ignore his question not only because I don’t have the answer that he’s looking for because nothing really happened after I dropped her in front of her house, but also because this feels different. She is different. Had it been just another one night stand, I wouldn’t think twice before I blab all about the dirty details with my teammates. Great lays, lousy lays, I honestly have no filter and I tell them all.

But this is YN, and fuck if I know why and what this really means. All I know for sure is that I want more than to just tap that. The thing is, my teammates will probably not understand because they can’t really see past the fact that the new doctor is a gorgeous woman who I’ve been lusting after for about a week.

“Dude,” Matt says to get a reaction from me, smacking me a little bit harder with his stick. “How many times did you score her last night?”

“Don’t talk about her like that,” I growl.

“Whoa, dude,” he apologises and I swear his grin gets even wider. “Sorry. I guess you’re serious about her?”

“Serious about what?” Alex pipes up from in front of us. He’s paired with Adam, our goalie. There are four pairs of skaters in front of Matt and me, but there’s an equal number on the other side. We’re alternating.

“None of your fucking business,” I mutter, willing the line we’re in to go faster so I can escape from my nosy teammates and head to the doctor’s office.

Alex and Adam take off, Alex with the puck. They ram their shoulders into each other, legs braced and skates digging hard all the way to the net.

“Did you at least kiss her?” Matt nudges me with a sly grin, still trying. Man, he’s not a quitter.

“No,” I answer shortly, hoping that will satisfy him. “Just dropped her at her house and left after I made sure she got inside safely.”

“No. Fucking. Way,” he quips dramatically. “Who are you and what have you done to my teammate?”

Play continues, the next set of skaters in our line taking off and I ignore Matt but apparently he’s not done poking his nose in my business. “Oh, we’re not done yet buddy. Let’s go out tonight so we can squeeze some more gos out of you. Just you, Alex and I, how does that sound? Brynne said the girls are going to have a girls night out so I know he’ll be game.”

The girls means my teammates’ better halves, and honestly, hanging out with just my bros does sound good. Don’t get me wrong, those girls are cool—yes, my boss, Sloane, included—and they’re fun to hang out with. My teammates sure hit the jackpots with their women. But before Sloane and Brynne came along, the three of us were thick as thieves. There was a time where we went out almost every night and that’s why we’re more like brothers than teammates. Sometimes I miss that since we don’t get the chance to do it as often now that they act like old married couples, so yes, this does sound nice.

However, as tempting as it sounds, I want to hang out with my hot doctor more than my mates. That is if she’ll have me though.

“I can’t,” I say, clearing my throat. I lean in towards him and whisper, “I want to take YN out to dinner tonight.”

“Seriously,” he drawls dramatically. “Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”

Again, I ignore his comment.

“Alright, I guess that’s a definite no to dinner with me and Alex then, huh?” Matt says in an exaggeratedly glum tone.

“The doctor is way prettier than you,” I reply blandly.

“Fine, go on your date,” he says with a slap on my back. “But I want to book some time with my best friend in the near future if it’s not too much trouble.”

“We’re going on a four day road trip in two weeks,” I mutter as I roll my eyes at him. “I’ll snuggle you then.”

Matt sidles up to me, lays his head on my shoulder, and bats his eyelashes. “Oooh, I can’t wait.”

I shove him off with a chuckle. That bastard.

—

“Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope,” I say after two knocks on her office door. I can hear her chuckle as she tells me to come in.

God, I have turned into such a dork. But I like hearing her laugh and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to hear that sound again and again.

“Hey,” she smiles at me as she looks up from her computer. “What’s wrong?”

“Knee’s a little sore,” I tell her, not feeling the slightest bit of guilt for my lie just so I can have a few moments to talk to her. “Thought you could take a look at it.”

Her brows draw inward with concern and she motions towards a table. “Did something happen?”

“Nah,” I shake my head as I hop onto the table with my legs hanging over the edge and kick off my slides. “Just came off the ice and noticed it.”

“Alright, go ahead and lie back,” she says as she turns to the sink and washes her hands. “I’m going to do some range-of-motion tests.”

I stay silent as she maneuvers my leg, trying not to focus too much on the feel of her soft hands against me or the smell of her perfume. Fuck, she smells good. Fruity and flowery. Like berries and the heart of rose and bitter wormwood, and the scent is fucking delicious.

“Do you feel any pain when I do this?” She asks with one hand on my calf, the other on my thigh as she rotates my knee.

“Not really,” I shake my head. What happens here today will go in my chart and I don’t want to call any attention to my knee.

“How about this?” She asks, rotating the opposite way.

I shake my head again. “Nope.”

The hand on my calf slides down, grasping the bottom of my foot firmly. With the other hand still holding onto my thigh, she pushes hard into my foot. “This cause any pain?”

“Nope,” I say quickly, and then add, “I think it’s nothing more than my muscles getting back in shape. But I figure some ice can’t hurt, right?”

She slowly lowers my leg and gives me a sweet smile. “Well, I don’t think anything’s loose or torn, but if you’re worried about it, I can schedule an appointment with Dr Green.”

She is the team’s orthopaedic surgeon, and hell I’m not about to do that. Talk about an unnecessary red flag. “I think it’s just a lack of conditioning. Got lazy this summer.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” I nod firmly. “I just need some ice and I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Well, alright then,” she says as she turns back to wash her hands again at the sink. “I’ll let Brynne know and have her prepare you an ice bath.”

“Oh hell no,” I quickly shake my head and grimace. “That bloody thing is pure torture and my balls will go into hibernation until next summer. Just an ice pack will do, Doc.”

She laughs again. “Okay, just an ice pack. I’ll be right back.”

She turns and heads through the door to the treatment room and I take a moment to admire her gracefulness as she moves. She looks delectable today in her scrubs, which are the typical light blue you see in the hospitals, and they hang on her tiny frame loosely. I’d actually never seen her in them before since she usually just wears normal clothes underneath her white lab coat in the arena, but I swear this might possibly be the sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen her in. I’m sure that has to do with the fact that I respect her so much as a doctor that it just heightens my attraction to her, and I can’t help but wonder if she’ll play dress-up games with me in the bedroom when the time comes. Because, well… I certainly wouldn’t mind getting a thorough exam from her.

“Here you go,” she says when she comes back. “Scoot back on the table and stretch your leg out. Keep this on for twenty minutes, then you can go.”

She places a towel over my knee, then lays the bag of ice on top.

“Thanks, Doc,” I tell her.

“Just doing my job,” she quips, and then walks back over to the box of supplies she had been unloading.

“Well, you’re very good at it,” I add and I can hear her chuckle. But I got nothing in response, so I add, “speaking about good things… I had a good time last night.”

“Did you?” She quips, still not looking at me but I can hear from her tone that she’s smiling.

“Well, yeah,” I say with a confident nod. “Didn’t you?”

“Eh, it was alright,” she smirks at me over her shoulder as she walks towards her desk.

“I want to do that again,” I tell her nonchalantly before I ask with a lopsided grin that I hope she finds charming, “will you let me take you to dinner tonight?”

“I can’t,” she shakes her head as she turns to look at me.

“Why? Got a hot date already?”

“Nah,” she chuckles. “Sarah invited me to a girls night at her place. I wasn’t gonna go because they seem like a tight-knit group and I don’t want to intrude, but Sloane came by here earlier to ask me again and she’s bribing me with tacos and margaritas, and well… I can’t say no to both.”

“Fair enough,” I laugh. “But have fun then. They’re all really nice, you’ll fit right in.”

“Thanks,” she gives me an easy smile, and I hope it’s subtle enough that she doesn’t realise this, but my breath actually hitch a little while I stare at her lips.

“How about tomorrow night then?”

“Well-” she begins, but she’s cut short when she hears her pager beeping. “Oh shit, I need to go back to the hospital. You think you’re okay there? Go to Brynne if you need something else.”

“Okay, don’t worry,” I tell her with an encouraging smile. “You go and save some lives, Doc.”

—

The arena is packed, the fans are at a fever pitch, and we’re in the midst of a fierce battle with the Anaheim Ducks. We’d taken them on in the first round of the playoffs last season, and while we swept them, they’re still a formidable opponent. Not to mention there’s a long-standing rivalry between the two teams, and add on to that, we’re in the regular season now so every win counts. The pressure is on.

As a center, I’m a shooter, not a fighter. That means I’m relied on to score, not to play defense or get tough with other players. My body is too valuable to mess it up in a slugfest, so I’m rarely enticed into a fight. Sometimes it takes everything in me to keep my cool, but I know I’ve got to trust Mitch and Marcel, our defensemen.

Just like right now. We’re late in the second period tonight, and one of the Ducks players, Jeff Azoff, is being a dick. He cross-checked me in the back, not strong enough to slam me into the boards, but it was enough to alert Mitch who’s skating right behind us.

“Do that again and I’m going to kick your ass,” I hear Mitch tell him. That guy doesn’t really talk, but he wouldn’t think twice before beating the hell out of someone if they mess with our team. He takes his job as a defenseman seriously. When he’s on the ice, nobody dares to touch his guys.

The fucker did it again, still not forceful enough for a penalty to be called, but Mitch was quick to drop his gloves and took on that Azoff guy. He kicked his ass good.

Man, I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side. Mitch is a badass. Unfortunately though, the fucker did land a lucky hit to his temple and his skin split just to the side of his eyebrow. Knowing Mitch, that will be nothing but a ten-minute trip to the treatment room where YN will stitch him up. I’m sure as hell he wouldn’t let her give him anaesthetic so he can get back on the ice as soon as possible. As I watch him skate towards the exit, I make a mental note in my head to buy him a beer tonight as a thank you.

The play resumed, and there are about forty seconds left on the clock before intermission. The Ducks are down 3-0, and they pull their goalie once they gain possession of the puck since they have nothing to lose. Luckily our stamina is stellar, so our legs are still fresh as we defend.

They pass the puck back and forth, looking for the long shot or a quick dump inside for a goal. My back is to Adam, our goalie, as I keep myself facing the action, letting my stick play loose.

The crowd’s screams escalate in tune to the clock ticking closer to zero. With a sharp flick of the wrist, the puck makes it past Alex, our right-winger, to the inside. Players crash the net, Marcel poke checks, and the biscuit shoots out towards me.

It’s a full-on breakaway as I shoot down the ice, one on one against the goalie.

Tap, tap, tap… back and forth… puck to blade of stick.

I close in on the goalie and juke left.

He goes left and I juke right.

He keeps going left, so I keep going right and flip the puck up and over his shoulder into the back of the net. The red light burns bright behind the net and the fans go wild. That was my third goal tonight, and it’s the perfect timing for intermission since there’s no way we can play with all the hats being thrown onto the ice.

It takes merely a second before I’ve got my teammates surrounding me. Alex, Matt, Marcel, Adam and Niall, one of the defensemen from the second line who’s filling in for Mitch. Pats of their gloved hands on my helmet, stick blades gently against my calves.

We skate to the gate that would lead us to our locker room. We all trudge there, taking up spots around the open space as we wait for Coach Higgins to address us. It’s what he does at the end of every period. If we play poorly, we get our asses handed to us. If we play stellar though, like tonight, he’d be effusive in his praise.

But as much as I’d love to hear nice things from the Coach, there’s nobody I want to see more than my very own Doctor McSteamy. And yes, just to put it out here since I’ve been calling the hot doctor by that nickname, I’ve got to admit that I did watch too much Grey’s Anatomy in the summer because there’s not much I could do during the off-season. My sister didn’t let me watch past season 10 though, because she said it’s not worth it.

“Need to get my knee taped,” I tell Alex on my right as I stand up. We have 17 minutes before we start the third period and I figure that should be enough time to see the Doctor and secure a date in the near future. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bullshit,” he grins and there’s a clear amusement in his eyes. “You want to see your girlfriend.”

“Shut up,” I growl.

“What’s this?” Matt asks curiously as he takes a seat next to Alex.

“Our buddy here wants to see his girlfriend,” Alex’s grin doesn’t lessen as he tilts his head at me. “Needs to get his knee taped, he said.”

“Conjugal visit in-between periods? Classy,” Matt says with a salacious grin and I glare at him. When his laughter dies down, he points out, “okay, jokes aside, that’s a shit excuse. If you really need your knee taped, you’d see Brynne and not YN.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got nothing else here,” I grumble like a stroppy child. “Can’t hit my own head just to get a cut, can I?”

“That would be outright dumb,” Alex laughs. “But come on, I’ll go to Brynne and make up something so at least you can tell the doctor that she’s busy.”

The treatment room is just down the hall from the locker, and when I get there, I notice the door is half open. I see her sitting on the little desk with her computer, so I knock lightly on the door to get her attention.

“Hey, you got a minute?” Her head swings up when she hears my voice and it takes everything in me not to just march there and kiss the fuck out of her when she offers me the sweetest smile. Crazy how much effect this woman has on me. “I need my knee taped but Brynne’s busy.”

“Sure, I was just reading the players’ medical chart,” she replies. “You were on fire out there by the way.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I smile at her.

“Skates, socks, shin pads and pants off,” she says as she walks towards the supply cabinet.

“Jock strap too?” I can’t help but smirk.

“No,” she rolls her eyes playfully as she grabs a towel and hands it to me. “Put this over your lap.”

“Do I have to?”

“Well, yeah, unless you want me to get a peek of your dick.”

“You know I wouldn’t be averse to that, Doc,” I say with a waggle of my eyebrows.

She gives me a school teacher, disapproving-type look but the slight twitch of amusement in the corner of her mouth is hard to miss. “You’re so bad.”

“You have no idea,” I grin, but she doesn’t see it because she has her back to me. She’s pulling another cabinet open to get adhesive, gauze and tape before knocking it close with her shoulder.

This is ridiculous but I’m actually a bit self-conscious of getting practically half naked in front of the hot doctor. I have absolutely no clue why and this had certainly never happened before.

I shed my gear from the waist down and she keeps her back to me until I get on the therapy table and the towel is covering my lap. She lays out her supplies on the table beside us, her slender fingers using a pair of scissors to open a new package of tape.

I take a moment to admire her as she cuts off uniform lengths of tape and attaches them to the table. She’s not in the scrubs I saw her in last week, but if you think I’d be disappointed, even just slightly, then you’d be wrong because you could put her in a burlap sack and to me she would still absolutely look edible.

Tonight, she’s rocking a mustard-yellow trouser suit with wide legs and a cross-over pleated blouse underneath her white lab coat. The crisscross swath of silk that wraps around her upper body does lovely things to her tits, and I realise I’m quite the pig to be thinking about her this way.

“Left knee?” She asks. “I’ve just finished reading your medical chart when you came in. Arthroscopic medical meniscus repair two years ago.”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Sometimes it feels a little loose. A good taping is all it needs.”

“Any soreness?” She asks as she steps up in between my legs that dangle over the table.

I shake my head and say, “nope.”

“Clicking or popping?”

“Nope.”

“Locking?” She inquires as she lifts her face up to mine.

She’s fucking close enough I can smell her minty breath. I could easily kiss her, but I’d probably get kneed in the nuts, so I just shake my head and say, “nah, just feels a little loose.”

“Okay,” she says, laying a soft pat on my thigh. It’s nothing but a move of reassurance, but fuck if I don’t feel it all the way through my gut.

She grabs her supplies and I can’t keep my eyes off her as she gets to work taping my knee. It takes merely a few minutes, and then she finishes the wrap, holding the end while taping it with the precut pieces. “There you go,” she says, stepping back.

“I’ve got something to confess. My knee was absolutely fine,” I blurt out, the words popping out of my mouth so suddenly, I’ve got no clue where they came from. Clearly my subconscious decided to overtake my sensibility and make itself known. “I came here because I wanted to see you. Thought I’d try to get your phone number and a date one last time before I give up.”

She gives a tinkling laugh. “You’re not a quitter, are you?”

“Well, no,” I reply with a grin. “So, tomorrow night. I’ll pick you up at seven. How does that sound?”

“Listen,” she smiles at me sweetly as she begins, but I don’t like the sound of it. Nothing good ever comes after ‘listen’. “You’re a nice guy-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I cut her as I hold my hands up. “Don’t go with the ‘nice guy’ brush off. Clearly I’m not if you won’t give me the time of day.”

“I just don’t think we’re looking for the same thing-”

“What?” I ask incredulously.

“Look, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem more like the bang ‘em and leave ‘em type to me.”

“Is that really how people see me?” I ask her curiously, without an ounce of defense in my voice because there’s no point in denying that. I really don’t care what people think, but I’d like to hear her opinion.

“You’re a player, Harry,” she says with a chuckle. “And there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re young and in your prime. You should totally be sowing all your wild oats. It’s just… I’m at the point in my life where I realise that meaningless sex without something deeper isn’t very fulfilling. I don’t want that anymore.”

I feel a metaphorical light bulb goes off in my head.

I know she doesn’t mean to, but fuck, she hits me right where it hurts. She’s called that exactly right. This is something that I’ve actually realised and known for a while, especially after seeing my best mates being the happiest they’ve ever been after they found their women. There’s not an ounce of regret in what I did though, because just like my girl right here said, there’s nothing wrong with that. There was a time when burning my way through all the hot women in LA and having them take turns warming my bed had its appeal, but not anymore.

Maybe this is why I’ve been feeling unfulfilled lately. I know I’ve got a great career, more money than I could ever need in a lifetime and endless selection of gorgeous women to warm my bed every night. What more could a man possibly ask for, right? But at the end of the day, it’s just me in a monstrosity of a house that I call home.

Maybe deep down I know I don’t want it to be just me anymore.

“I think I’ve actually known that for a while, but the way you point that out, I think it’s drilled home now,” I admit as I face her.

“What do you mean?”

“That casual, meaningless sex without something deeper isn’t very fulfilling,” I say with a smile. “I mean, yes what I did was fun, but then I look at my best mates and see how happy they are with their women. Of course I rib them good because hey, that’s my job as their best mate…”

She laughs.

“...but that doesn’t mean I never look at them and think, fuck, I want that one day. Maybe the idea didn’t really appeal to me because I had never found the right person, who knows. But I swear I don’t want just sex with you. I want more. Do I know what I’m doing? Fuck, no. I haven’t even been on a proper date in years. But I do know that I genuinely want to get to know you better, Doc, that is if you give me the chance.”

She gives me a dopey smile when she asks, “you mean all that?”

“I really do,” I nod solemnly. “Now let me prove it to you. Go on a date with me.”

“Tell you what,” she begins, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “If you go back on the ice and win the game, we can go to The Owner’s Box when you’re done to celebrate just like the other night. And if you behave, I’ll give you my number this time.”

“Want me to behave, huh?” I say teasingly with a waggle of my eyebrows. “Don’t fancy a bad boy?”

“Oh I actually have it bad for bad boys,” she smirks. “My favourite character in Harry Potter is Draco Malfoy.”

“Okay, I’ve got a counter offer,” I say as my laughter dies down. “If I get MVP tonight, which I’m pretty sure I will since you said it yourself that I’m on fire tonight, you give me your number straight away after the game and let me take you out to dinner. I’m thinking seven tomorrow night.”

Another roll of those gorgeous eyes that twinkle slightly at me. “Pushy, aren’t ya?”

“Only when I want something,” I tell her with a grin. “And I want you.”

“So do you want me or do you want to go out with me?” She asks slyly, tilting her head to the side.

“You gonna kick my balls if I say both?”

“I admire honesty,” she murmurs softly in that sexy, husky voice that seems to flow through my body and straight down to my dick.

“Hey boyfriend and girlfriend,” I hear Matt chirps from the doorway and my spine stiffens involuntarily. His shit-eating grin doesn’t lessen a bit even when I give him a glare. “Hate to steal your man, Doc, but the game is starting again soon and we kinda need our favourite asshole right here.”

“You two break a leg,” she chuckles. And then as an afterthought, she adds, “just so we’re clear, I don’t mean that literally.”

—

Manhattan Beach’s high-end strip of boutiques and restaurants are hugged by the beach on one side and some of California’s most expensive real estate on the other. It’s southern end blends seamlessly into smaller Hermosa Beach, which is similarly quiet but has a tight concentration of bars and restaurants near the town’s pier that attract bar-hoppers at night and sun-bleached dropouts during the day.

The Kings players’ houses are scattered evenly across the two towns. Some of us are clustered within a block or two of several teammates; others sprinkled little more than a mile or two away. All but one of the first-line players live in Manhattan Beach though, and we can easily walk or ride a beach cruiser to everyone else’s house.

YN lives in Silver Lake, and the drive to pick her up takes me about forty minutes. I know she must make a pretty good bank being an ER doctor, not to mention that she works at two places, but her house doesn’t scream that. It’s rather tiny, I’m betting not more than seven or eight hundred square feet max, and there’s not much of a porch but on the outer edge is a hanging basket of flowers.

There’s no doorbell so I rap my knuckles on the door. Flecks of peeling paint get knocked loose and fall to the concrete porch.

“Coming,” I hear her yell from inside and I can imagine her plopping in an earring, grabbing her handbag, and wondering if she turned the curling iron off. She sounds frazzled and rushed and I can’t wait to fucking see what she looks like when she opens the door.

And there she is.

She has a black dress on, and it’s not little but it’s spectacular. The neckline of the dress skims just below her collarbone so no skin or cleavage is exposed, but it doesn’t matter because the narrow waist and flared hips, all cocooned in black is sexy as shit. The hem of her dress comes down below her knees and the dress is so well fitted that I know there has to be a slit up the back so she can walk.

“Good grief you’re a sight for sore eyes,” I mutter as I let my eyes roam down and then back up again to find her smirking at me.

She’s got an off-white clutch bag tucked under an arm, and her head is leaning to the side so she can put her last earring in, exactly as I’d imagined.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” she says, still smirking at me. I’d worn my best suit tonight in black with black shirt underneath and no tie. Glad she likes what she sees.

I step back so she can lock her door, and she turns to me as she tosses her keys in her clutch. I hold my arm out to her and ask, “ready?”

She nods and smiles as she curls her fingers in just below my biceps, then I escort her to my car.

I’m taking her to this new restaurant that both Alex and Matt recommended when I asked them last night for the finest restaurant in LA. It had been so long since the last time I took a woman out for a proper date, so I knew I needed to ask my mates and that they would have the answer. They both swore by this place called Apron, but then told me it took at least two weeks to get a reservation. Luckily though Alex had booked a table for him and Sloane tonight, and they gladly gave me the reservation. Sure I had to take a good deal of ribbing from my teammates and their women last night at the bar where we celebrated our win, but I knew it would be worth it.

The drive to the restaurant is short, only about ten minutes. And we lapse into the same easy conversation right away, just like we did the other night at The Owner’s Box. Today was my day off and I did absolutely nothing so I’ve got nothing interesting to tell, but she had plenty of exciting cases at the emergency room today, which included a toddler swallowing a penny.

“Holy shit, how did you get the coin out?” I ask her.

She laughs. “You don’t take it out. You’ve got to let the kid pass it naturally.”

“He can do that?”

“Well,” she begins. “I did take an X-ray first to make sure that it was small and could pass safely.”

“Okay, okay, okay… what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever had to remove from a patient?” I ask her with childish curiosity.

“Honestly, I think I’ve removed everything on the surface of the earth,” she snickers. “Coke bottle, tapeworms, coins, candles, but the strangest has got to be a stuffed animal. It was a Curious George doll, and… let’s just say that he’s no longer curious.”

“You’re joking right?” I bark in laughter as I park my car. We’ve arrived and I swear that was the shortest ten minutes of my life. “I mean… who does that?!”

“I wish,” she says with a wrinkle of her nose. “You’d be surprised if you know how many weirdos out there.”

I’m still chuckling as I exit my car, then I walk over to the passenger side to get her. I hold my arm out to her, and her hand so very easily slides into the crook of my elbow.

“You don’t think I’m one of them, right?”

She gives me a playful shrug. “Well, I don’t know, you might be a weirdo... I mean, I don’t know you well enough yet.”

I give her a smart-ass smirk. “Let’s remedy that then.”

—

“How’s that one?” I ask her as I finish a mouthful of this chocolate thingy. It was a chocolate ball concoction the waiter had poured more hot chocolate over, which then melted the ball to reveal a raspberry chocolate torte inside. She had a bite, but it was too rich for her. I agree though, it was a lot of damn chocolate.

“You’ve got to try this,” she says, spearing the lemon meringue pie with her fork, top it with a little bit of pine nut ice cream and holding it over the table to me.

It’s a completely intimate move and one that I didn’t expect from her tonight. I mean, she was reluctant to go out with me in the beginning and needed some convincing, so I expected her to be reserved and cautious. But hell I’m not complaining.

I lean in and let her feed me the dessert. The flavours explode on my tongue and I think that’s the best we’ve had tonight.

I don’t normally indulge in dessert, but they all sound good so I told her we should order all the ones we like the sound of. Which was most of them except that cucumber mousse and pickle ice cream because those sound like disasters on a plate.

“Good, huh?” She asks with a smile.

“Really good,” I tell her. “I think I like that one best.”

“Finish it then,” she says as she pushes the plate towards me. “I can’t possibly take another bite. I’m stuffed to the brim.”

“Alright,” I say with a chuckle as I pull the plate closer to me. “So, when are you free again so I can take you out to another date?”

She chuckles. “We’re not even finished with this one.”

I roll my eyes at her, then I ask, “are you having a good time?”

Her smile turns dopey and I know she’s just as smitten with me as I am with her. “This is definitely the best first date I’ve ever been on.”

“If we were finished, considering how things have gone, would you go out with me again?”

“I would.”

“Good,” I say with an emphatic nod. “So, weekend or weekdays? When will it work best for you?”

—

I slow the speed on the treadmill, taking me down from a brisk run to a slow walk so I can cool down. Normally I like to run outside in the morning, but I woke up late this morning and we had a team skate scheduled at ten, so I figured I’d just do my workout afterwards at the arena.

Only a few of us actually have a gym membership outside. Most of us prefer to work out at the arena because not only is the equipment better, but we also have an abundance of teammates to work out with and that’s always nice.

I walk for about five minutes to cool down, then I turn the machine off and wipe my face with a towel. I grab my phone and water bottle and turn for the barbells, as today I’m working my chest and shoulders. Mitch and Marcel are already lifting, both defensemen who tend to focus on brute strength versus speed and stamina, so I’m not surprised they didn’t go for the treadmill. I also see Matt there, and I bet Alex will join us too after he’s done cooling down.

“Have a nice run, princess?” Marcel asks dryly as I set my stuff down near the bench press.

“I’m not the one who has to prove my manhood by how much weight I can lift,” I return with a sly grin.

“Yeah, well, your manhood is in a dry spell,” he says as he loads some weight onto the bar. Pre the hot doctor, both Marcel and I were the only single guys in the first line. He’s just as much as a player—on and off the ice—as I was, but now I gladly pass the title to him.

“Not true,” Matt quips with a grin. “He went on a date last night.”

“No shit,” Marcel turns to me in astonishment. “With who?”

Before I can even answer Alex throws a quick glance at us, flashes a shit-eating grin, and yells from the treadmill, “the new doctor.”

“But I saw you two got pretty cosy at The Owner’s Box last week,” Marcel says, as if he’s still confused as hell.

“Well yeah, she was cool, so I took her out again,” I say firmly.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” He blinks at me. Eyes all round and not comprehending. “You never look at the same woman twice.”

“So?” I ask, playing dumb.

“Ooh, I get it,” he says with a smirk. “Pussy that good, huh?”

“Hey,” I cut in with a warning. “I’m not there yet.”

They all suddenly stop whatever they’re doing and turn to me with raised eyebrows. Yes, Mitch included, which I’m actually quite surprised.

“Whoa, hang on,” Marcel says. “You haven’t tapped that yet?”

“You’re serious?” Matt looks at me in disbelief. “Not even last night?”

“Dude, I gave you that reservation last night to give you the opportunity,” Alex says as he walks towards us. “I was genuinely worried about your balls.”

They’re still looking at me confused, but Adam howls with laughter. “Don’t listen to these pigs. Rachel and I took it real slow at the beginning of our relationship too, and I got to tell you, the anticipation was half the fun.”

It’s true. I’m in no rush with YN because I know we’ll get there sooner or later. I can be patient when I want to be, and right now I honestly want to. I want to prove to her that when I said I wanted to get to know her, I meant her as a person and not just carnally.

I could tell that I confused her last night when I dropped her off at her doorstep after our date. I gave her nothing but a soft, brief kiss to her cheek, then told her to get inside, lock up and get some rest. Sure, she was confused for a few seconds, but the smile that I got after she realised that I really did want to take things slow was so much more than worth it.

“So you think this thing with the hot doctor is going to go the distance?” Matt asks me.

“I do,” I say confidently. I’m not dumb enough not to realise that she hasn’t fully let her guard down yet for whatever reason. Maybe she’d been badly hurt in the past, maybe it’s my past that causes her to be a little bit sceptical, I mean... let’s be honest, I was a player through and through. But that doesn’t scare me though, because I know I’m in it for the long haul. So yes, I can say it with confidence that this thing between us is going to go the distance.

“Well, if you fuck it up, I’ve got the first crack at her,” Marcel says with a salacious grin. I don’t think twice before I grab my wet towel and throw it at him. It hits him right in the face, and my teammates howl with laughter.

All this talk about her makes me want to see her again. I’ve secured a second date last night for next Wednesday since that’s when both of us will be free, but that’s still four days away and I can’t wait that long. So I pull up my phone and type out a quick text to her.

Hey, what are you doing today?

I grab my water bottle and take a slug. Before I put my water bottle down, I already got a response. I need to go and get a new bed frame. Really can’t stand this old thing anymore.

I can’t help but chuckle. She did tell me last night about her bedroom set which was apparently really old, but she couldn’t get rid of it since it’d been in the family for a few generations and her grandmother gave it to her when she bought her house.

Want some company? I quickly type.

She’s just as fast in her response. You want to go with me buy a bed frame?

Well, yeah. I’ve finished the team skate this morning and will be done with my workout soon. I’ve got nothing to do after and I want to see you. I reply.

Alright then. She texts me back within a minute. But I’m on-call though so I can be called to the hospital any time.

Doesn’t matter, I still want to see you. I text her back. When can I pick you up?

Give me half an hour.

Perfect.

—

I’ve bought three houses in my twenty-seven years of life; the one I currently live in, one in Toronto when I was still with the Leafs before I got traded to the Kings and one for my mum back in London. And yet not once have I ever gone on a furniture shopping.

Until today.

That was something I never in a million years would have dreamed to do, simply because I hated shopping with a burning passion. Hell, I didn’t even buy things for my own house because I paid the previous owner to leave everything behind. That kind of thing was honestly just something that I would have never taken the time for.

And yet, in shuffling through my memories, I really can’t remember having such a great time before. All I know is that I don’t want the day to end, and I also know that it has everything to do with the company.

I know we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, and technically we’ve only been on one date even though we saw each other quite often at the arena. But there was nothing odd when my hand would find its way to her thigh, or when she’d drape her arm across my shoulders so her fingers could play with my hair as we cruised along from one furniture shop to another. I love that we’re at ease with each other as if we’d known each other forever, not to mention that she’s also one of the easiest women I’ve had the pleasure of talking to in a long time.

Sadly though, it had to end when she was called to the hospital. Luckily, it was just in time after she chose a particular bed frame that she liked. It’s a classic canopy bed in live-edge oakwood with a brushed brass iron base, and I felt like a pig because even as we were still at the shop, I was already thinking about which ties from my collection would work best.

They offered same-day delivery since they had it in the storage, and since she was needed at the hospital, I offered to wait for the delivery at her home for her. She agreed, so she gave me her key after I dropped her at the hospital.

And here I am. Sitting on her bedroom floor trying to build this bloody nightmare because apparently they didn’t offer assembly service. I’ve been at it for an hour and a half now. Okay, no, more like an hour and ten minutes because I spent about twenty minutes fixing the sink in her en suite. I noticed the faucet was leaking, and I needed to step away from that bloody bed for a little anyway.

Now I don’t have another excuse, so I’m back on hammering one of the bazillion nails into the wood. I’m so focused on the task that I didn’t realise YN is home until I hear her chuckling as she walks into her bedroom and say, “you know, that is the kind of pounding that’s supposed to happen after you’re in the bed.”

I can’t help it. I fucking throw my head back and bust out laughing. “Sod off.”

“You don’t have to do it, that looks complicated. I’ll just hire someone to put it together tomorrow,” she says with a sweet smile. “Just get up and go sit on the couch. I just need to go to the bathroom real quick and then I’ll join you.”

“Yeah, that won’t do, Doc,” I say firmly. “I’ll still finish this bloody thing even if it kills me.”

“Stubborn,” she quips affectionately with a roll of her eyes as she heads towards her en suite.

“Smart-ass,” I reply with my eyes pinned to one of the million pieces of her bed frame, also with affection.

“Harry?” She calls out from her en suite.

“Yeah?” I answer, when I look up, she’s leaning against the doorframe and looking at me confused.

“Am I crazy or did you actually fix my sink?” She asks with an arched eyebrow. “Because I swear the faucet still leaks a little this morning.”

“Yeah, I did,” I say with a wave of my hand. “I needed to walk away from this for a minute and when I went to your en suite, I noticed it leaked. Not a big deal though, took me only about fifteen minutes.”

“Well, good to know that if you ever quit your day job, you have a career in plumbing,” she snickers. “But seriously, you didn’t have to do that, and you certainly don’t have to finish that.”

“It’s what any boyfriend would do, Doc,” I say with a nonchalant shrug.

“You’re not my boyfriend.”

“Yes I am,” I roll my eyes. “I took you on a date last night and I’m taking you out again on Wednesday. I’m not seeing anyone else, so that means we’re dating. And technically that makes me your boyfriend.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she sputters but I can see the amusement twinkling in her eyes. “Besides… I might be seeing someone else.”

“You’re not,” I say with relative certainty.

“How did you change just like that is beyond me,” she murmurs, the appreciation in her voice evident.

I let out a chuckle. “Just get your butt in there and go chill on the couch after. I’m pretty sure I’ll be done in about half an hour, then we can order something for dinner.”

“Yes sir,” she says with a mock salute, which makes me snort.

—

An hour later, her bed is finally built and as I walk into her kitchen I see her putting the plates on the table. It smells phenomenal here, and I’m surprised when I look at the table because how the hell did she manage to cook all that in an hour?

I take advantage of her back facing me by putting my hands at her hips and pressing my chest onto her back. I nuzzle my face into the crook of her neck and it takes everything in me not to kiss her there. The combination of her perfume and the faint smell of antiseptic is sexy to me. So I can’t help but hum and mumble, “smells delicious.”

“The chicken?” She murmurs.

“Among other things,” I reply softly.

She chuckles. “Come on, let’s dig in while it’s still hot.”

I take a seat in front of her before I select a drumstick from a plate of fried, spicy goodness and put it on my plate. There’s something about the fact that YN made it that makes me believe it will be the best chicken I’ve ever had. Today will no doubt go down as one of the best days ever, which I seem to think a lot when I’m around this woman.

As she dishes me some salad, I honestly can’t wait anymore and take a bite of the chicken. Her eyes snap to me when I let out a groan.

“Good?” She asks with a grin.

I can’t help but let out another groan of approval as I take another bite. “Damn, Colonel, you never told me you make a mean fried chicken.”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” she shrugs smugly.

“Or a fine ass,” I tease. “If you want to quit your day job you can totally open up a fast food chain. Your fried chicken puts KFC to shame.”

She laughs as she cuts some cornbread and puts it on my plate. “Now try this, I make a mean cornbread too.”

“Mmm,” I say in pleasure as I take the first bite.

“Okay, you need to stop with the sexy moaning,” she grumbles with a tiny smirk before she turns back to her dinner. “You’re so bad. I think you’re trying to take advantage of me.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I laugh. “And besides, you’re just as bad.”

“True,” she replies with a sly smile. “I can be bad too.”

“But just how bad are we talking here?” I ask with a smirk.

“Not bad enough to sleep with you tonight,” she says before she takes a sip of water. After she swallows, she adds, “but totally bad enough I might get frisky with you.”

I give her a mock groan and look up to the ceiling. “A tease. I’ve saddled myself with a tease tonight.”

She laughs.

We talk about what she did at the hospital today as we eat, and her job in general, and it never fails to thrill me the things that she can do. She’s a jack of all trades when it comes to medicine, needing to be able to diagnose and stabilise, often in pressure-filled situations where time is of the essence. I can’t even imagine having the responsibility of someone’s life in my hands like that, and yet she seems to be able to leave it all behind. She talks openly and often with humour about her work, but she also admits that sometimes she can’t help but bear the burden of death too when her skills just don’t make a difference.

I admire her so fucking much. Never admired a woman before, but in fairness… I never looked too deeply at them.

I’m seeing YN through unfiltered eyes and I like everything that I’m seeing.

—

Something is squirming in my arms and it wakes me up.

I tighten my arm around it in response to the movement and pull it back slightly against my body.

Wait? What?

Sleep.

Couch.

We fell asleep on her couch while watching a film.

It all comes back in a rush. Our totally awesome conversation over equally awesome food she cooked that I couldn’t stop raving about all night. I had three pieces of chicken by the way. We talked more about our backgrounds, me growing up in Cheshire and her childhood in South Carolina. We had a few beers, and when she asked me if I wanted to stay a bit and watch a film or something, of course I said hell yes.

The fact that she asked made me smile, because it meant that she was having a good time too with me. So we ended up on her couch watching Jaws, and I liked that she didn’t even hesitate when I lay down on her couch, pressed my back against the cushions and patted the area in front of my hips. I’m pretty sure she can see the devilish gleam in my eyes when I said, “come on… let’s cuddle.”

“Wow… Harry Styles, big bad hockey player, shameless flirt, total panty dropper. Didn’t peg you as a cuddler.”

“I’m a big teddy bear, honey,” I said with a grin and open arms.

She fell asleep first, and I know I should’ve left but the slightest movement from me would definitely wake her up. I know she must be tired so I decided against it and closed my eyes instead.

“Morning,” she says in a husky, raspy, ‘I just woke up’ voice and it’s sexy as fuck.

“Morning,” I reply, my own voice is still rough with sleep. I wonder if she thinks that’s sexy too. “You slept good?”

“Mhmm,” she hums softly, but then immediately groans as she glances at the clock above the telly. “Ugh, I have to be in the hospital in about an hour.”

She then tries to extricate herself from my arms, but I pull her back in close and nuzzle her neck as I point out, “you work a lot.”

“Ha, tell me about it,” she says with a dry laugh. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love my job. It’s just I wish I could sleep for three days straight sometimes.”

“Do you even have a day off in the week?” I ask curiously.

“I do,” she answers with a nod. “It was actually my day off yesterday, but I was filling in for a colleague.”

I loosen my hold and let her sit up in front of me. “Go get in the shower, I’ll make us both a quick breakfast.”

“You can cook?”

“Well, if I give you food poisoning you’re heading to the hospital anyway,” I chuckle.

In the kitchen, I grab some eggs and a pack of English muffins from her fridge. A quick breakfast sandwich sounds good, and portable just in case she needs to eat on her way to the hospital. I crack open a couple of eggs, scramble them with a fork and add salt and pepper while my skillet heats up. I put a bit of olive oil in the pan before I toss the English muffins into her toaster to crisp, then set coffee to brew in her Keurig. I’m moving around her kitchen as if I was born here.

By the time I pour the eggs into the pan, she walks out of her bedroom in her scrubs. I smile and nod at the Keurig as I say, “coffee’s ready.”

“And damn, you’re hot in those scrubs,” I add with a grin, giving the eggs a last scramble before pulling them off the heat.

“You’re joking right?” She says, wrinkling her nose as she grabs the milk from the fridge and turns my way, letting the door swing shut on its own.

“I’m serious, Doc,” I say with a smirk. “I wouldn’t mind getting a thorough exam from you. Preferably in your new canopy bed though so I can tie you up after for a payback.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. It’s eight in the morning,” she laughs and I snort in return.

She then pours some milk in her coffee, pulls the cup to her mouth, and blows across the steaming surface. Her eyes meet mine over the edge of the cup as she takes a tentative sip. “Are we still on for Wednesday?”

“Of course,” I say with a confident smile.

“What have you got planned?”

“Well, you’ll have to wait and see,” I tease her. “Just to warn you though, I may or may not gonna put my hands all over you.”

I don’t tell her that by putting my hands all over her, I mean on the ice to keep her from falling since I plan to take her ice-skating on the team’s practice rink. I don’t want to spoil the surprise, and besides, I’d be lying if I said I never thought of other ways too. The way she’s looking at me right now assures me that she does too, and well, that’s good.

We can compare notes on that later when we get there.

—

Blinking at me with a sleepy smile on her face, YN stands up from my couch. I walk up to her and she pushes me down into her seat, and then crawls onto my lap.

This is nice.

Our date on Wednesday was amazing, and as we walked inside, she turned to me and asked, “so this was your big plan to put your hands on me?”

I just laughed in response, and I did have to put my hands on her quite a lot in the end since she didn’t know how to ice-skate. Fuck if I’m complaining though.

Now we’re snuggled up on the couch at my house with full bellies. Last weekend she cooked me amazing food, so today, I wanted to impress her by cooking a roast dinner and introduced her to Yorkshire pudding. Sure, I was on the phone with my mum the entire time so she could give me directions, but I only almost burnt down my kitchen once so I’d call that a success.

I lean forward, which pushes her slightly to the edge of the couch, then I reach an arm over her and grab a packet of KitKat from the coffee table. I’m glad when I learnt that it is actually her favourite chocolate too, because KitKat is elite and it’s good to know we’re on the same page.

“Want another?” I ask her.

“No,” she groans. “I’m so full.”

I chuckle and awkwardly unwrap the chocolate. Awkward because I have to open it in front of her face since I have my arms around her, and once I got it opened, I hold the naked little chocolate bars in front of her mouth and tease, “want a bite?”

She shakes her head.

I wave it under her nose and I guess the smell of the chocolate changes her mind because then she says, “okay, a little bite.”

I break the bars and feed one of it to her, letting her take a bite and then chucks the rest in my mouth. We chew silently as we watch Marlin looking for Nemo, and I sigh in contentment when she tucks her face into my neck and drapes one arm across my chest.

It takes no more than ten minutes before I notice her breathing has slowed down and she’s fallen asleep. I rest my cheek on the top of her head and continue watching these fishies. I’m a little drowsy from all the food, but I resist the urge to fall under. For now, I just want to savour my existence at this moment because as Dory says to Marlin, “I look at you and I’m home”, I truly realise that’s how she makes me feel.

I’m sitting in my house, but for once, it doesn’t feel empty anymore. I just had a wonderful meal where we talked and joked and flirted, and now I have a gorgeous woman who I’m crazy about curled up on my lap.

There is absolutely no other place I’d rather be right now.

—

“Dude, you’re so fucking whipped,” Alex says as he punches me on the shoulder. I jerk slightly and reluctantly take my gaze off YN to look his way.

“What do you mean?” I ask as I take a swig of my beer and promptly look back at my girl. She’s standing just ten feet away, sipping on her own beer and talking animatedly with Sloane and Brynne. We’re at The Owner’s Box tonight having our first triple date, and I’m having a brilliant time. The only thing better would be if YN would quit chatting with the girls and get her sweet ass over here to sit next to me.

“Fucking hopeless,” Matt mutters and Alex snickers.

I blink and turn to look at them. “What? Why am I hopeless?”

“Because you can’t fucking take your eyes off of your girl for more than two seconds,” Alex jeers at me. Then he leans in towards me and murmurs with a mocking sneer, “pussy.”

“Bollocks that,” I say haughtily. “I can take my eyes off of her longer than that.”

“Good,” Matt says, handing me an empty beer bottle. “Go get us some more beer.”

“Assholes,” I say with good nature and head towards the bar. Stopping beside my girl, I kiss her on the temple. “You girls want anything else to drink?”

Sloane and Brynne shake their heads, smiling coyly at me as they watch my uncharacteristic display of affection. I’m immensely pleased when YN smiles at me and rests her hand on my chest. “I’m good, but thank you.”

“Be right back,” I tell the girls, and then I set out to prove Alex and Matt wrong.

I swivel my gaze back to Matt and Alex, and I give a sheepish grin when Matt mouths the word pussy at me. I flip him off and head towards the bar, intent on not looking back at my girl for at least the next few minutes it takes me to get the beers.

“Excuse me,” I hear and feel a tap on my shoulder. “Harry, can we get an autograph and a picture?”

As I turn around with a warm smile in my place, the word sure is out of my mouth before I even see who’s asking. I’m met by a vision of holy hotness as two women stand there with tight-as-hell t-shirts cut obscenely low and with plenty of silicone boobs pouring out.

Just a mere month ago, I would have whispered a prayer of thanks to the big man upstairs for sending these two my way, knowing well that I’d be banging the hell out of one of them before the night was finished. Instead, my stomach tightens and I glance past them to see YN still deep in conversation with Sloane and Brynne.

I bring my gaze back to the women… a brunette and a blonde, both looking at me with promise in their eyes.

“Do you mind taking your picture with us?” The blonde asks with a bat of her eyelashes.

I give her a quick smile and say, “sure, no problem.”

She steps up to me as she hands her phone to the brunette. I lift my arm to sling it companionably around her shoulders, but she uses that opportunity to press intimately into my side, bringing both arms around my waist and mashing her breasts against my ribs.

“Thanks so much,” the blonde says in a seductive voice. “Can we buy you a drink?”

“No, thanks,” I decline with a smile. “I’ve got some friends waiting for me.”

“An autograph, then?” She asks.

“Sure.”

The blonde digs in her handbag and pulls out a sharpie. She then hands it to me and says, “can you make mine out to Kourtney with a K?”

“You got it,” I say, eager to get this over with because it feels awkward to me to have this woman coming onto me with my girl standing just a few feet away.

“Just sign here,” she says and my jaw drops as she pulls the edge of her t-shirt down her chest, practically exposing her entire right breast to me.

“Uh, you got a piece of paper instead?” I ask her. “I don’t think my girlfriend would like that.”

“You bet your ass she won’t,” I hear my girl quips from behind me and I’m trying my best not to laugh. I like that she immediately snuggles into my side so those women now would have no doubt that I’m totally hers, “wanna go play some pool, baby? Loser buys the drinks.”

“You’re on,” I tell her, Kourtney with a K and her friend are long forgotten. “But just to warn you, I’m really good.”

“Honey, I was practically born on one of these tables with a beer in my hand,” she says smugly, “you’re going down.”

—

“Do you want to come in?” YN asks as she pulls out her keys from her handbag. We’ve just got back from The Owner’s Box and as usual, I walk her to the door.

My tone is low, soft, and barely audible when I say, “Doc, if I come inside tonight, I don’t think I can promise you to keep my hands to myself.”

“I don’t want you to promise me anything,” she replies firmly. “Whatever happens, happens. Now, let’s not dawdle on my porch and get inside. Want some more beers?”

“Whoa, don’t hand me ammunition,” I joke and she laughs. “I’ll take some water though.”

“There’s some water bottles in the fridge,” she says, pointing to the tiny kitchen that sits at the rear of the house, past the living room. “I’ll be right back.”

I get two bottles of water out of the fridge and head back into her living room. I take a seat on the couch and pull out my phone, scrolling mindlessly as I wait for my girl.

When she reappears, she’s wearing a pair of sleep shorts and a white t-shirt. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail and her makeup has been washed off. Her in a t-shirt and tiny shorts is a hundred times sexier than her in literally anything else—yes, including her scrubs—and there’s no stopping my downstairs head from waking up.

“Come here.”

Her eyebrows rise, but I don’t miss the clear interest in her eyes. “Come there?”

I tap my thigh, “right here.”

Her cheeks flush and a little puff of breath blows out of her. With absolutely no hesitation, she crawls onto my lap. Our gazes are locked tight and her eyes darken with intensity. When her chest comes level with mine, and her knees are pressed into the cushion just inches from my crotch, she asks me softly, “you going to finally kiss me?”

“I’m thinking about it,” I tease her as my hands come around her lower back, pressing her onto me.

Fuck, she feels good against me. Just her soft curves and warmth and I’m already starting to get hard before I even lay my mouth on hers.

She looks at me with sizzling eyes as we stare at each other, knowing that once we take this step, our relationship is going to another level.

Leaving one hand on her lower back, I slide the other up and over the shoulder, letting my palm glide up her neck so my fingers can tangle in her hair. She shivers when my thumb strokes her jaw before I cup my hand around the back of her head.

Her hands reach out and circle behind my neck. Then she whispers as she licks her lower lip, “so this is it?”

“This is it,” I tell her, and because I absolutely cannot wait one second longer, I put pressure on the back of her head to lock our mouths together. The first touch of her lips against mine causes pleasure to punch straight through my groin, and the world just absolutely melts away.

There’s nothing else but her.

Lips so fucking soft, tongue tentative and sweet. Her hair silky to the touch and her skin warm as my hand snakes up just under the edge of her t-shirt.

She tilts her head, opens her mouth more and kisses me deeper. I groan and pull her tighter to me. My hand fists tighter into her hair, hampered by the hair tie somewhat but not giving a fuck. Her hips start to rotate slightly, rubbing herself along the top of my thigh. My dick gets achingly hard as she starts to make tiny sounds of need in the back of her throat.

My other hand slips down her back and palms her backside, then I give a tentative squeeze. I think she likes that, because her hips shift forward and she starts to grind her crotch on my leg. I press against her ass, encouraging her to keep moving against me. She does it again and shudders in my arms, so I know it’s hitting her in the right spot.

Pulling on her hair, I break the kiss just enough so I can growl at her, “get yourself off, darling. Right here. On my leg.”

Her eyes fly open and they’re full of fire and sexual need as they stare back at me. Her lips curve up in a wicked smile of acquiescence and I pull her back down to my mouth for a hard kiss.

She rotates her hips in circles, then alternates flexing back and forth. I clench my thigh muscle, wanting to give her as hard a surface as possible to stimulate herself. I slip my hand down the back of her shorts, finding bare skin. I squeeze and push her down on me, helping her to move faster on my leg.

She pants and moans softly as she works herself up. I have to force myself not to push my hand down further between her legs. I’m bound and determined not to go there yet, and besides, this is hot as fuck and completely satisfying to me.

She moves faster and faster, making tiny cries of yearning into my mouth as we kiss. Then she punches her pelvis down hard onto my thigh, going still for a moment before her entire body starts quaking in silent orgasm. I hear nothing but a soft sigh of pleasure escape her lips and slither over my tongue.

Her body goes limp in my arms. She lifts her head, our lips parting, and looks down at me with glazed eyes. I press my lips to her briefly just once more, before I pull my hand out of the back of her shorts and roll her body off me. As I stand up and hover over her for a minute, I see her cheeks flushed rosy and her nipples pebbled hard, even through her t-shirt.

Placing a hand on the couch cushion, I lower myself to her and brush my lips across her forehead. “Get a good night’s sleep.”

“Wait- you’re leaving?” She asks, confusion coating her expression.

“Yes,” is all I say.

“But-”

“I’ll take a cold shower when I get home, no worries,” I assure her with a smile. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I had a great time tonight, Harry,” she tells me, still looking like a wet noodle on the couch so I don’t think she’ll be getting up anytime soon.

“I did too,” I smile at her over my shoulder as I reach for her door.

It’s in this moment that I’m pretty sure I’m a goner for her.

—

I see the hottest, sexiest, most adorable doctor walking across the darkened parking lot towards me. Well, towards her car. Her head is tucked down and she looks tired. When she finally looks up and locks her eyes on me, the exhaustion melts away and I’m rewarded with a happy, welcoming smile from her.

“You really have to stop stalking me in parking lots,” she quips as she walks closer.

Then closer still until the tips of her shoes touch the tips of mine and she’s offering her mouth to me for a kiss. Obviously, I take it, because who wouldn’t? Her lips are perfect. She tastes like mint gum and smells faintly of antiseptic, and that right there is my favourite combo.

When she pulls back, she tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and asks, “seriously, what are you doing here?”

“I wanna take you somewhere,” I tell her as I grab her hand and take her towards my car that’s parked the next row over.

“Where?”

“Just get in the car, Doc.”

“You’re being vague,” she says with an arched eyebrow. “Is this where you kidnap me, take my kidney and sell it on eBay?”

“This is where I’ll find a way to occupy that beautiful mouth of yours if you keep asking questions and ruin the surprise,” I tell her and she gives a tinkling laugh.

“Promises, promises,” she singsongs and I just roll my eyes.

It only takes about fifteen minutes from Cedars-Sinai Hospital where she works to the closest beach where I plan to take her for an impromptu picnic date night. We only had to stop by to get some pizza because I already have a cooler with a six-pack of beers loaded in the back of my car. It’s a little too late for sunset, but the purplish black of twilight is lush.

“The beach, huh,” she deadpans. “You brought me out here to seduce me?”

“You naughty girl,” I clutch a hand to my chest and make an exaggerated gasp of disbelief. “That’s indecent exposure that is.”

She laughs as she opens the door of the car and hops out. I do the same, then I open the back door to pull out the pizza, blanket and the cooler with beers inside before letting her help by taking the blanket.

Somehow we have the beach to ourselves tonight, and she points out a nice spot for us to sit. I agree, so I let her spread out the blanket. After both of us have our butts firmly planted, side by side, facing the ocean, I take two beers out and hand one to her.

“Ooh, we’re going fancy tonight,” she says when she sees that I brought microbrews instead of cheap beer.

I chuckle as I open the pizza box and grab a slice of the cheesy goodness that will probably clog my artery, then we talk about our day as we eat. I tell her the funny things that happened at practice today, including a joke that Marcel told us in the locker room which most would probably find insulting, but I know my girl is used to locker room talk and would find it hilarious, and she tells me what she did in the hospital. Apparently, they were so busy today that her lunch break lasted less than ten minutes.

“You never cease to amaze me, Doc,” I tell her honestly. “It’s so cool what you do for a living. Impressive as hell.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she says softly. “That means a lot.”

It’s completely dark by the time we finish our pizza, but the view is still lush since the moon is bright, causing the water to look like it’s covered in floating, crushed diamonds.

We’re silent as we sip our beers, and I love that we can sit in comfortable silence as well as talk for hours. It’s crazy to think that it’s only been a few weeks that we’ve known each other yet I just feel such a strong connection with her. I love that we’re so in tune with each other that sometimes we say the same things and steal lines from one another. We have a similar sense of humour and we can even exchange an inside joke with just a glance.

I loosen my hold of her when she pulls away from my side embrace. Her head swivels to me, and I can see the moon glittering in her eyes. “I owe you an apology.”

“What?” I look at her in confusion.

“I misjudged you, Harry,” she says with a tender smile. “When you asked me out, I outright told you that you’re a player without even giving you a chance to explain yourself. I made an assumption, and that was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

“And your assumption was right,” I tell her honestly with a light chuckle. “There is nothing to apologise for. It was common knowledge, I was a manwhore.”

She snorts. “Shut up, I’m serious.”

“Me too,” I squeeze her hand. “You didn’t misjudge me, Doc, you knew exactly the type of guy I used to be.”

She has a dreamy smile on her face when she says, “kiss me.”

“No, you come here and kiss me,” I say, and I’m pretty sure she can see my eyes sparkling with mischief.

She rolls her eyes and mutters “fine” under her breath as she plants her knees on the sides of my legs, but I don’t miss the light in her eyes which tells me that she likes the idea.

Closing her eyes, she dips her mouth to mine and now I’m wondering if the two years of jail time and a fine for indecent exposure is worth it if I were to take her right here right now.

—

We’re in New York for two away games in a row, tonight against the Rangers which we won 3-1, and tomorrow night against the Devils. I’m chuffed not only because we won and I played great, but I also had a great day today before the game with my girl. We didn’t do much since she wanted me to save my energy for the game tonight, but we did walk around our hotel and ended up napping on the couch in the room that I share with Marcel.

We all ride on the team bus that takes us from the hotel to the arena and back to the hotel after we finish the game. I wanted her to sit next to me, but for both trips, to the arena and back, she gave me a slight shake of her head and sat with the girls along with the rest of the staff in the front.

When I hop off the bus though, I see her waiting for me with a grin on her face. I kiss the fuck out of her, not caring about my teammates who whistle and yell, “get a room.”

“Which floor are you on again?” I ask her as we enter the lift. I want to walk her to her room just to spend a few minutes more with her.

Yeah, laugh all you want. I know I’m fucking whipped.

“Tenth,” she says, pulling her room key out of her handbag and hands it to me so I can scan it then tap the button on number ten.

“Wanna catch an early breakfast with me tomorrow?” I ask her as we approach her room that she shares with the team’s orthopaedic surgeon, Callie.

“Sure. What time?”

“We’re leaving for light skate practice at 9:30, so we should have plenty of time if we meet down there at 8:30.”

“Sounds good,” she nods as we reach her door.

There’s a handwritten note stuck in between the door and the jamb. She puts her key in the card slot, opens the door slightly, and snag the piece of paper. She opens it up and I look over her shoulder at the note as we read it silently together.

YN,

Marcel and Joslynn are hooking up and they’re in his room which means Harry has been kicked out. I’m going to sleep with Macy instead, so you and Harry can have this room. Unless you want Harry to go sleep with Macy?

No? Didn’t think so.

Have fun you two.

Callie

“This is Alex, Matt and Marcel’s doing,” I tell her with absolute certainty as she twists her neck to look at me. “I’ll just get an extra room for tonight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chuckles. “You can sleep here. We’ve spent the night together before.”

“Yeah, but that was different. We fell asleep on the couch, it wasn’t intentional,” I point out. “I don’t trust myself sleeping in the same bed with you, Doc. I’m not going to be able to help myself.”

“Well, good,” she says, smiling mischievously. “Cause I’m done wait-”

That’s as far as she gets before I push her through the door, backing her into the room. My mouth hits her only moments before her legs hit the edge of the bed and we both go tumbling onto it.

This is when we realise there’s a huge box of condoms with 144 packs inside it in the middle of the bed. On the top, there’s another note and I recognise Matt’s handwriting on it.

You’re welcome by the way

“I freaking love your teammates,” she says with a laugh.

I guess I owe those fuckers some beers.

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