#DID THIS MAKE ME EMOTIONAL ABOUT WEDDINGS??? MAYBE SO!! MAYBE SO!

[jennyboom21]

In 2023 actor Sophia Bush made headlines when she filed for divorce one year after a storybook wedding. By the fall it was public knowledge that she was in a new relationship. With a woman. The internet seemed to be foaming at the digital mouth for a scandal, but to those who knew her, it was clear she’d never been more herself. Here, in her own words, Bush speaks to the power of finally learning to listen to her intuition.

In April of 2022 I was close to calling off my wedding. Instead of running away, I doubled down on being a model wife. In 2023 my now ex-husband posted a lovely tribute to our first anniversary on Instagram. When I saw it, I felt the blood drain from my face. Fans and friends were telling me how exciting this milestone was and how happy I looked. I felt nothing. Things hadn’t been easy at home, but everyone says marriage is hard, right? As the day wore on, I felt mounting pressure from strangers online waiting for me to post something—what a strange part of public life to have to navigate—so I sat myself down and chose a picture.

It was a black-and-white photograph of us running away from the camera. Yes, I see the bittersweet irony now. I wrote a really nice story about the people in that picture. Except it was just that: a story. I typed something about how incredibly happy I was and tried to drown out the familiar voice in my head. Make it look easy. Make it look perfect. If your smile is shiny enough, maybe no one will notice that up close all of your teeth are broken. But sometimes broken is just broken.

I hit post. And then I walked into the bathroom and threw up.

I believe in people and ideas so deeply—and those feelings are often so powerful to me—that I hadn’t realized I’d spent the last two decades moving through life showing up for others but often turning my back on myself. This time things felt different. Maybe it’s just cold feet, I told myself. Maybe I was too sensitive. Maybe this was the feeling you get when you settle down later in life and have to make space for another person. There have been moments in my life when it feels like the universe is screaming at me to pay attention. This was one of them, but I didn’t listen.

I kept repeating the adages we all know so well: Relationships are hard. Marriage takes compromise. You know the rest. And so I got married. We threw one of the greatest wedding weekends ever. We had an amazing time with our closest friends and family. It was truly one of the best parties I’ve ever been to, and we raised a ton of money for charity. I don’t regret any of that.

But after the wedding I found myself in the depths and heartbreak of the fertility process, which was the most clarifying experience of my life. It feels like society is finally making space for brutally honest conversations about how hard and painful any fertility journey is, but I kept mine private. I was trying to get through months of endless ultrasounds, hormone shots, so many blood draws that I have scar tissue in my veins, and retrieval after retrieval, while simultaneously realizing the person I had chosen to be my partner didn’t necessarily speak the same emotional language I did.

As I lost track of how many examination tables I had lain on alone, I felt something in me seismically shift. Six months into that journey, I think I knew deep down that I absolutely had made a mistake. It would take my head and heart a while longer to understand what my bones already knew.

And that’s why, when I got an opportunity to do a play in London, I had to go. I had to get out of our house. I had to get onstage. I had to get back in my body. Maybe that could shift things. Maybe that would jump-start the joy I’d been chasing. The play slowly began to put me back together. It was grueling, and it was also the most exhilarating experience. I loved every second of it.

But the book doesn’t lie. The body does, in fact, keep the score. When half of our company went down with a virus, everyone recovered fast except for me. I continued to decline. I would put every fiber of my being into my performance onstage, and then be packed in bags of ice as soon as the curtain closed. I spent multiple nights in the hospital, I was pumped with endless amounts of fluids, I underwent cardiac testing and organ monitoring. It was clear that my body was screaming and I had to listen. It was hard for me to accept. I was part of a team. But I needed to go home, where my doctors (and, truthfully, my health insurance) could get a better handle on my symptoms. My time in London was over. So was my marriage. It all came crashing down at once.

During the summer of 2023, I moved back into my empty home in LA. I was separated and preparing to file for divorce, and groups of women in my life started opening up about issues they were going through in their own homes. It seemed like every week there were more of us, including [former US soccer player] Ashlyn [Harris], whom I’d first met in 2019 and who was in the process of figuring out her own split from her wife. She’d been such a kind ear for those of us who opened up about our problems during a shared weekend of speaking engagements at a fancy conference in Cannes, and soon it became clear that she needed our ears too.

For those of us who had no solution in sight or Hail Marys left, having this community changed everything. We really wrapped one another up in support. It was tragic and hard. But it was also beautiful. There were moments of incredible sadness because no one signs up to get married thinking it’ll end. The days when we knew people needed to laugh, we sent inspirational memes and silly TikToks. We read books written by great therapists and shared emo quotes from poets. Our “Begin Again” Amazon shopping list, which we created for the ones moving out and starting over, has now been forwarded to so many other women.

I didn’t expect to find love in this support system. I don’t know how else to say it other than: I didn’t see it until I saw it. And I think it’s very easy not to see something that’s been in front of your face for a long time when you’d never looked at it as an option and you had never been looked at as an option. What I saw was a friend with her big, happy life. And now I know she thought the same thing about me.

It really took other people in our safe support bubble pointing out to me how we’d finish each other’s sentences or be deeply affected by the same things. When you’re so in the trenches of hardship—plus you have the added weight of having to go through it on a public stage—it can be hard to see anything but what’s right in front of you.

It took me confronting a lot of things, what felt like countless sessions of therapy, and some prodding from loved ones, but eventually I asked Ashlyn to have a non-friend-group hang to talk about it.

And that meal was four and a half hours long and truly one of the most surreal experiences of my life thus far. In hindsight, maybe it all had to happen slowly and then suddenly all at once. Maybe it was all fated. Maybe it really is a version of invisible string theory. I don’t really know. But I do know that for a sparkly moment I felt like maybe the universe had been conspiring for me. And that feeling that I have in my bones is one I’ll hold on to no matter where things go from here.

But there was a lot that quickly turned ugly too. People looking in from the outside weren’t privy to just how much time it took, how many painful conversations were had. A lot of effort was made to be graceful with other people’s processing, their time and obligations, and their feelings. What felt like seconds after I started to see what was in front of me, the online rumor mill began to spit in the ugliest ways. There were blatant lies. Violent threats. There were accusations of being a home-wrecker. The ones who said I’d left my ex because I suddenly realized I wanted to be with women—my partners have known what I’m into for as long as I have (so that’s not it, y’all, sorry!).

The idea that I left my marriage based on some hysterical rendezvous—that, to be crystal-clear, never happened—rather than having taken over a year to do the most soul crushing work of my life? Rather than realizing I had to be the most vulnerable I’ve ever been, on a public stage, despite being terrified to my core? It feels brutal. Just because I didn’t want to process my realizations in real time on social media and spell them out for the world doesn’t mean the journey wasn’t long and thoughtful and exhaustive.

It’s painful to be doing deep work and have it picked apart by clueless strangers. Everyone that matters to me knows what’s true and what isn’t. But even still there’s a part of me that’s a ferocious defender, who wants to correct the record piece by piece. But my better self, with her earned patience, has to sit back and ask, What’s the fucking point? For who? For internet trolls? No, thank you. I’ll spend my precious time doing things I love instead.

I don’t believe it’s my place to discuss details of Ashlyn’s circumstances or her children, but I will say that I am absolutely in awe of her relentless integrity. The way she prioritizes and centers her kids, not only in her life but in the core of her being, is breathtaking to behold. Falling in love with her has sutured some of my own childhood wounds, and made me so much closer to my own mother. Seeing Ashlyn choose to not simply survive, but thrive, for her babies has been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed a friend do. And now I get to love her. How lucky am I?

I sort of hate the notion of having to come out in 2024. But I’m deeply aware that we are having this conversation in a year when we’re seeing the most aggressive attacks on the LGBTQIA+ community in modern history. There were more than 500 anti-LGBTQIA+ bills proposed in state legislatures in 2023, so for that reason I want to give the act of coming out the respect and honor it deserves. I’ve experienced so much safety, respect, and love in the queer community, as an ally all of my life, that, as I came into myself, I already felt it was my home. I think I’ve always known that my sexuality exists on a spectrum. Right now I think the word that best defines it is queer. I can’t say it without smiling, actually. And that feels pretty great.

Would I have liked to make the public part of this journey a choice for myself, and not have it taken from my lips and set ablaze by gossip blogs and bottom-feeder online bots? Of course. I’m very aware, though, as we discuss bullying and harassment and being outed without consent—that I’m incredibly lucky this happened in my adulthood. I really love who I am, at this age and in this moment. I’m so lucky that my parents, having spent time with Ash over the holidays, said, “Well, this finally looks right.” I know it could have gone differently.

We’ve all learned about kids who have taken their own life after being outed or who have been killed simply for being who they are in a place or time that is threatened by their expressed joy. I am so lucky to be here, now. I have real joy. It took me 41 years to get here. And while I marvel at it, I will also make space for people’s pain. But I will not carry anyone’s projected shame. When I take stock of the last few years, I can tell you that I have never operated out of more integrity in my life. I hope that’s clear enough for everyone speculating out there, while being as gentle as I possibly can be.

After the news became public, my mom told me that one of her friends called her and said, “Well, this can’t be true. I mean, your daughter isn’t gay.” My mom felt that it was obvious, from the way her friend emphasized the word, that she meant it judgmentally. And you know what my mom said? “Oh honey, I think she’s pretty gay. And she’s happy.”

I finally feel like I can breathe. I don't think I can explain how profound that is. I feel like I was wearing a weighted vest for who knows how long. I hadn’t realized how heavy it was until I finally just put it down. This might sound crazy—but I think other people in trauma recovery will get it—I am taking deep breaths again. I can feel my legs and feet. I can feel my feet in my shoes right now. It makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time.

It is so, so scary to do the brave thing, to say, “I’m just not happy.” Especially if you’re in a partnership and you have to say it first. But if you do it, you get the chance to be happy. To find your joy. I turned 41 last summer, amid all of this, and I heard the words I was saying to my best friend as they came out of my mouth. “I feel like this is my first birthday,” I told her. This year was my very first birthday.

#sophia bush #her gf is an ass but I’d be hypocrite with any hateration #happy lesbian visibility week #coming out #the celesbians are restless

[notafunkiller]

out of style

Summary: A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.

Pairing: ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, fingering, oral séx, no condom (but f is on birth control), language, a little alcohol, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 7.2K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I really hope you'll enjoy it!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

What an ass... He has no shame at all. And the worst part? You’re still somehow surprised by it. As if you haven’t known him for years.

You look away, making sure to take a sip from your wine before focusing on the conversation again. It’s Nat’s big day, and you’re so happy for her, but listening to this story for the seventh time is exhausting. Same reactions, too: “Wow, he’s so well trained.” or “The wedding bands didn’t fall even once. Enzo is fantastic.” He’s a trained dog, you don’t get why they’re so fucking impressed.

You give Nat a smile before you excuse yourself to go to the bar. Maybe you should get a cocktail, the wine tastes terrible. On the way, you notice Steve talking to Miss Sunshine in the right corner, and you just nod toward him politely, trying to look unbothered. It’s his best friend’s girlfriend after all. What did you expect? Plus, maybe it’s just a polite conversation.

“A Sex on the Beach, please,” you murmur to the bartender.

“Vodka so early?”

You turn your head with a sigh just to see a guy you recognize from Nat’s engagement party. A fresh haircut, a simple suit and wandering eyes.

“Is there a time limit for a cocktail?” you respond, rolling your eyes when you notice he is still fixated on your chest.

He immediately raises his hands in defense as he takes a seat next to you.

God, if you hate one thing about being single besides the lack of sex is this… needing to deal with those men. It was perfect when Bucky used to take care of them.

“I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart.” You scrunch your nose instantly. God no!

“Here you go!” The bartender places the glass gently in front of you, and you’ve never been more grateful to see her.

“Thank you!” You smile before taking a huge sip, hoping it will turn him off and make him get away.

“A vodka tonic for me.” His tone is commanding, and you try not to roll your eyes again as he leans in closer. “We’re matching.”

“Huh?” You choke.

“Vodka lovers.”

Alright, time to get out of here!

You quickly grab your glass and stand up, making sure to fix your dress just in case, but his eyes are already on your breasts again. For fuck’s sake! How is he Steve’s cousin?

And talking about Steve, you almost jump when you hear him saying your name.

“Hey.” You’ve never been happier to see him.

You can’t say the same thing about his friend, who’s right next to him, looking the creepy blondie up and down.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks with obvious concern.  “Do you feel okay?”

“Hey, man! The food is great and the company even better. Look at her, such an eye candy, am I right?” He chuckles at his own disgusting comment. “I mean, you’re married. Don’t answer that, I don’t want Romanoff on my back.” And after all of this, he has the audacity to wink at Steve. But before you can throw your cocktail over his shirt and make a scene, Bucky’s already getting in front of you, blocking your view with his huge back.

“If you want to keep your teeth, get the fuck out of here and never, ever get even within three feet of my wife. Am I fucking clear?”

His tone is so cold, harsh, and arrogant at the same time, but also so possessive. It surprises both: you and Steve, because he immediately looks at you confused before dropping his eyes on your hand.

He must be looking for a ring.

God, you never hated Bucky more than when you see blondie standing up and going straight outside just like that. It makes you even angrier because it’s always a man who has to explain the obvious signs to these assholes so they leave. You say no? You are playing hard to get. You are with a man? Then it’s all off-limits.

You sip your cocktail with frustration, the taste of vodka lingering on your tongue.

Then, you take a step toward Bucky, grabbing his arm and turning him so he can face you. “Listen and listen good, I’m not your wife and I don’t need you to play the macho hero! I can handle myself, so back off!” You wanted to leave after saying this, but the way he looks at you makes you change your mind. His eyes softened, showing a trace of your old Bucky, and it only pisses you off more. He labeled you just like that... “I divorced you for a reason, I’m not your property or responsibility. Stay out of my fucking business or I’ll show you exactly how well I can take care of myself!”

You hand him your half-full glass and storm out, seeing red. Or well, blue.

You anticipated that he’d come after you, of course you did. You know him, as much as you hate to admit. You still know him well. Too well.

And when you hear his sigh behind you, you don’t jump.

“You can handle yourself, but he was all over you. Sorry for being a gentleman.” He apologizes sarcastically. “I guess old habits die hard.”

“Too bad, Barnes! I am not your little wife. I am not your girlfriend. I am not even your friend.” You turn your head to look at him as he’s standing on the other side of the balcony. “And I am not that flavor of the month of yours, you have to kill these habits.”

He raises his head. “Flavor of the month?”

“Yeah, your plus one. You know, you should take care of her instead of trying to play hero and calling me your wife.”

“Keeping an eye on me? He smirks. “Thought you divorced me for a reason.”

Fuck him! He thinks he got you... “I did! You couldn’t open your mouth to say what bothers you, remember?”

“Well, I opened my mouth to do something else, far more exciting.”

You gasp, incredulous at his audacity.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream, walking toward him. “Seriously!”

“What is wrong with me? You tell me! You divorced me for a reason.”

“Don’t you have someone else to bother? Fuck off already, Bucky!”

“You got angrier with me now than back there with him. Unbelievable!” He shakes his head.

You take a deep breath, trying not to have a crisis. You are not gonna let him get to you. “Look, can you just pretend this didn’t happen?”

He instantly looks at you shocked as he leans in. “This as in,” he waves between you two. “Our marriage? You think I can pretend our marriage never happened?” His voice grew louder, his words punctuated by sharp, angry inflections. “You think just because we divorced, you get to ask me that? How can you...”

You’re taken completely aback by his whole attitude, and it’s like you’re back in time at your wedding as he made you sneak out so he can make you come on his tongue after saying all sorts of things.

You don’t know why you suddenly remembered that, but you need to snap out of it.

“I meant the whole interaction, you annoying man!”

“How was I supposed to know?” He looks much more relaxed now, though, and before you can think about it, you’re poking his chest.

“Why would I tell you to forget about our marriage, Bucky?” You smile. “You are more than free to think about me as you fuck your little flavor of the month. I am not gonna stop that.”

You see his eyebrows raise instantly as his gaze drops to your finger. “My little flavor of the month? How many times did you think about me fucking her?” His hand finds your wrist. “Did you wonder if I’m fucking her from behind as I choke her? Did you imagine me coming all over her tits? Did you-”

You grab his cheeks, just the way he likes it, to stop him.

“You think I have nothing better to think about? I have my own dicks that occupy my thoughts,” you lie through your teeth, and he knows it. God, he knows it as he chuckles right away.

“What’s so funny, Barnes?” You let go, expecting him to do the same, but he’s still holding your other wrist.

“You have no dick to think about. I know you broke up with your last flavor of the month, honey.”

He knows how much you hate being mocked with the word honey, but you bite the inside of your cheeks. “It’s funny really,” you fake giggle, looking up at him. “You assume I don’t have someone already. Maybe I’m just enjoying my life after our divorce... new dick every month since I am a free woman. I don’t even need something serious. You know how much I love sex.”

His smile immediately drops, his face reddening.

“You are absolutely infuriating!” Even his tone carries a sense of irritation.

“Aww, what happened?”

It’s his turn to grab your face, making you gasp. You don’t remember the last time he touched you, and you’re shivering.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, and you know it!”

“I don’t play games, Bucky, that is your specialty.” You smile, trying to maintain your composure. “Now let me go and get back to your little girlfriend. You can be mad about how many dicks she thinks about.”

“You can’t do the whole non-attachment shit. I know you well, don’t forget that. You’re my...” He talks so fast you’re surprised he stopped. You know what he was gonna say, of course you know. The audacity!

“I am not your wife, Bucky. You literally have a woman with you here tonight. We divorced, we live in separate places, and we fuck different people.”

“Who are you fucking, huh?” He almost spits the last words. “Tell me! Nat said you’re single.”

“You’ve been asking Nat about my personal life?” And she is spilling to him? No way.

“Fuck...” he frowns, dropping his hand from your face. “No.”

“Steve!” You realize. “God, this is pathetic! Why do you keep tabs on me, huh? Can’t you just mind your own business? Is your life goal to piss me off?”

“I’m not the one calling Jessica the flavor of the month.”

“Ha!” You laugh in his face. “Well, you have no success in getting a girlfriend. And they all look pretty familiar.” You can’t hide the venom in your voice. “The differences are they’re just taller and with less in the chest department. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”

“So you’re keeping tabs on me too!”

“You flatter yourself. It’s quite obvious, look at Jessica. Does she know you were married to me? Does she beg you to fuck her mouth? Does she...” You take a deep breath. “Does she call you daddy, James? Does she ride you until you lose control and turn her on her back so you can pound her?” You don’t care anymore. Right or wrong, you’re gonna let it all out. “Do you praise her? Tell her how wet she is for you? How your cock is made for her? Do you... do you tell her you love her while she’s coming? Do you fucking call her your good girl?”

“Jesus-” You don’t let him continue his sentence, interrupting him.

“Does she take you like I did? Does she beg for you because she feels empty, James? Does she? Did any of them?”

“Stop. It.”

“Why? You didn’t stop!”

He sighs, reaching out to grab your cheeks gently. “No one does, are you happy? I don’t even fucking try. I don’t let anyone call me daddy, I don’t choke anyone and I definitely don’t fuck anyone like I fucked you. Are you happy? Seeing me miserable and pathetic? Are you enjoying it?”

You can’t deny the satisfaction and relief you feel when you hear that. Dating post-him was a very bad experience overall, so him not upgrading, indeed, in any way, makes you feel victorious. At least, you’re both suffering.

“Yeah, I actually enjoy that.”

“What about you?” He snaps. “Do you do all of that?”

“I don’t want to be called daddy, James.”

“You know exactly what I meant! You call those losers daddy? You choke around their cocks? Do you beg for their small dicks to go deeper and finish yourself off after it?”

“Like I begged for your small dick?” You ask annoyed, knowing how dumb this lie is, but what else can you say? No one compares to him and never will.

His response shocks you as he reaches down to the zipper of his worn jeans and pulls it down.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“Wanted to, you know… give you more mocking material in case you forgot how small it is.”

You have to think twice about what to say because the first thought was: I have enough videos, thanks. But you can’t. You can’t expose yourself like that.

“James, what the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to hurt me?”

“With my small dick?”

You look away for a few seconds, not wanting him to read you. “Why are you doing this? We divorced, you’re seeing someone, I’m good by myself... just let it go.”

He smiles at that, and you realize you indirectly told him you are indeed not fucking anyone.

“Why would I let go of my wife?”

You’re slapping his chest before you realize what you’re doing. “Stop this, Bucky! Just fucking stop.”

He’s hurting you, how can he not see that?

“You said you divorced me for a reason. You said...” he pauses. “You ordered me to leave you alone. Well, what if I don’t want to?”

“What are you, a fucking stalker?”

“No!” He almost screams. “I am fucking in love with you, you infuriating woman!”

“W-what?”

He can’t be joking about this, can he? He is not cruel. He is not vile. This isn’t a game.

“I’m in love with you. I love you. You own me... you fucking control me.”

“How?”

He laughs hysterically, running his hands through his hair before pulling. “I am fucking obsessed with you: how you are, if you’re doing well, if you miss me, if you’re fucking someone else, if your date went great, if you regret being with me, if someone else makes you smile wider. I dream about you, I am so miserable I couldn’t be with anyone. With Mia it lasted a month. I wasn’t... I wasn’t okay. I am not okay.”

You look at him, waiting for more. “Go on and zip your jeans, we’re in public.” You  watch him quickly do what you demand before you continue. “And what about Jessica tonight? Or Alexa a month ago? Why are you lying to me?”

“It’s not real. Jessica... I was just trying to make you jealous, okay? I was sneaking looks all night, have you not noticed at all?”

You don’t smile, despite your huge instinct to. Instead, you cross your arms, watching him drop his gaze straight to your boobs.

“Why would I notice, James?”

“Well, how did you notice Jessica looking a little like you, that she’s with me here?”

Fair point...

“Just...” You’re suddenly gripped by this crazy urge to just fuck him right here. You even regret telling him to zip back up. You could have just lifted your dress as he lowered his briefs and took out his cock. And just like that, you could have just fucked against the wall or something. You would have let him rip off your panties too. You just need his cock so badly! “Shut the fuck up!” You snap, grabbing him by his neck so he can lean in enough for you to be able to kiss him. And oh, you kiss him!

You don’t have to fight to dominate the kiss, surprisingly, because he lets you. He lets you bite his lip and almost draw blood, he lets you unzip his pants again and push down his unfit-for-a-wedding jacket, and most importantly, he lets you be his again, as pathetic as that might sound. You feel him emotionally, not just physically.

Without wasting more time, you drop to your knees, making sure only your dress and shoes touch the floor directly. You drag down his pants and briefs at the same time from your position, and he looks at you surprised.

“I thought we’re in public and you were fucking some-” his words die as you bring your tongue to the head of his cock, tasting the precum, but not sucking even a little bit.

“Weren’t you saying something?” You tuck your hair strands behind your ears as you mock him. You love being on your knees for Bucky. He has this dominant energy, but he always makes you feel in power even when he fuck your mouth. And you enjoy it, you feed on it. One of the reasons you missed him so much. And he can take mocking. “Please go on. I am all ears.” You breathe out on his dick. “And tongue.”

“Oh god,” Bucky’s voice is a moan at this point, and you laugh. So easy...

“I’m your god now? Aww! Come on, do I have to do everything tonight?”

He looks down at you confused. His blue eyes are almost grey, and you know he’s on cloud nine already just because you’re there.

“What?”

“Oh, you need translation. Well,” it’s all you say before wrapping your lips around his dick and using both of your hands to push him as deep as he can go inside your mouth. He moans at the same time you gag, and his balls slap you in the face. He instinctively looks at you to ask if you’re okay, but you are more than okay. You are fucking alive. You encourage him to fuck your throat at this point by squeezing his ass cheeks and touching his balls.

“God, look at you! That pretty black dress…” He pulls out and back in not as forcefully as he can, but enough to make you start tearing up quickly. “On your knees for your man. That mouth!”

You find yourself moaning at the feel of his fingers grasping and tugging at your hair. Jesus, how you missed this...

“You have the sweetest mouth.” Does he even realize what he’s mumbling? “I could die right here. Right now,” he says and thrusts harder, which makes you close your eyes. You can barely see anything because of the tears, and he’s already close. “My pretty baby, my fucking girl.”

You’re getting wetter and wetter the more he talks, and it’s crazy. You’re cold and your jaw is hurting, yet you love this.

“Not caring if someone can catch us, just making sure you mark me again. God, I'm gonna come, baby. Gonna... should I p-pull-”

You don’t let him finish his sentence as you grab his ass to make sure you keep him there, in your throat, as he comes while moaning your name.

When he finishes, he immediately helps you stand up, before he kisses you desperately, his tongue immediately licking your bottom lip to get access. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly. You moan in the middle of the kiss because his semi-hard cock is right where you need it, and it’s like torture...

“Need to taste you, okay, baby?” He asks with so much need in his voice. He sounds so whipped. “Need my pussy. Can I take you to my room?”

That is perfect, a dream at this point. But you need to make him a little more desperate.

“But the wedding… They would kill us.”

“I am sure you care sooooo much about this wedding and Nat’s stories. More than about getting my tongue on that pretty clit of yours and making you come all over my face.”

You can’t hold back your laughter.

“Fair point, Mr. Barnes. I deserve my orgasms, especially after listening to you pathetically trying to seduce me by admitting how desperate you are.”

“You dropped to your knees on this balcony just to mark my cock as yours.”

You pull his hair a little. “You said it yourself, it's already mine. Now get that ugly jacket and carry me.”

Bucky snorts, kissing your cheek. “You bought me that ugly jacket.”

“I know.”

*

You don’t know where you left your phone and even though you should feel panicked, you don’t. All you can focus on is Bucky taking off your dress and groaning at the sight of your cups. You couldn’t wear a full bra, so you improvised. They could barely hold your breasts, but no nipples showing? Win.

“Hurry up!”

“Jesus,” he moans and reaches for your cups. Desperate man... you roll your eyes, but let him uncover your breasts and grab them into his hands eagerly. He’s not just holding them, he looks and touches them as if he’s never seen boobs in his entire life, let alone yours.

“James...” You sigh, throwing your head back in pleasure when he finally gets your nipple into his mouth. Your hand finds his hair instantly, and you watch him suck happily while playing with your other nipple.

“You’re quite hungry,” you say with a smile, stroking his hair. You missed this so much. His need to always touch or sleep on your boobs, the way he grabs them while he’s pounding you... You shiver in anticipation when he switches to the other tit.

“Fucking shit, I missed them so much.”

You snort. “My boobs?”

“Mine.” He’s not sucking anymore, he’s eating them, shocking you.

“H-hold on a second, Bucky. They’re breasts, not my clit.”

“It’s been a year, love. Let me get my fill. I died without them. Died!”

As much as you wanted to think only about the part he missed your boobs, you can’t help the jealousy that clouds your mind. You were divorced, yet the image of him sucking someone else’s tits makes you want to hit a wall. Mia all over him... You pull his hair angrily. “You surely had other tits in your mouth, Bucky, for the past year. Don’t pretend this is any different.”

He immediately stops sucking. “You... you can’t believe this. Tell me you don’t believe this.”

You look away, too proud to face him. “What am I supposed to believe, huh? It’s been one fucking year.”

“I’ve been yours this whole year. I’ve been thinking about you, fucking my fist while watching... our videos, as fucked up as it might be. I tried to date, but I failed, and trust me, it has nothing to do with the size of my dick and my age. No one is you. No one smells like you or talks like you. No one is my brat with the god complex.”

“God complex?” You raise your eyebrow, keeping your face straight. “Fuck you.”

“I will fuck it out of you as I usually do, don’t worry.”

“Then why does it keep coming back?”

He chuckles. “Because you want to get fucked all the goddamn time.”

“Like you don’t!” You puff. “Come on, I breathe in your direction and you get hard, Bucky.”

“Did you see yourself? Did you have sex with yourself? You cannot judge me!” He grabs your breasts again. “There is no comparison, okay? You have no rival. Never did, never will.”

“That’s all?” You puff, amused. “My looks?”

“Do I even have to say… Your god complex exists for a fucking reason. You’re the smartest, most sarcastic, and feistiest person I’ll ever meet. One mocking comment, and you know how I get.”

“Pathetic?” You mock him on purpose just to get the reaction he is talking about. You love it when he compliments you.

“Is this why you divorced me? Cause I am a pathetic son of a bitch?”

You  take a deep breath. “I divorced you because you refused to communicate properly with me anymore, and you know it.”

“So not because of my small dick, either,” he remarks, making you roll your eyes.

“No, your small dick is one of the reasons I am here.”

Bucky dramatically touches his heart. “So you’re using me for my sex skills!”

“As if you don’t beg me to use you. Come on, put that mouth to good use before Nat comes after us.”

He doesn’t disappoint as he finally rips your underwear off, just like you fantasized about, and you use this as the perfect opportunity to fish for more.

“What happened, Jamie? So eager. Aren’t you a little good-”

The word boy comes out as a moan when you feel his index finger curled up inside you suddenly.

“What happened, honey? Too big for you?”

“Dick!”

“You’ll get that. I just need to erase the memories of having little pencils in here. That must have been traumatic.”

“You’re such a jerk!” You snort, but he’s right. It was really bad.

Bucky shrugs, finally kneeling properly between your legs before lifting them on his shoulders. God, yes!

“Gonna give my pussy some loving.”

“D-didn’t know you have a pussy, James.”

He smiles against your inner thigh. “I certainly keep what I lick.”

“Eww, what the fuck.”

He snorts, kissing your slit. “I am joking, baby. Tried to imitate one of those dicks you thought you could replace me with.”

Petty fucking bitch! You grab him by his hair and push him closer to your pussy.

“Shut the fuck up and eat!”

His tongue feels like heaven, indeed, on your clit. You’ve lost count of how many times you remembered him eating you out so you can come this year. He's just so good at eating your pussy.

You let out a satisfied sigh when he adds a second finger. You start to feel like before… like you and Bucky are still married and with no problem. Like you're happy. He makes you so happy. Made.

So you stare at his hair and stroke it as he sucks on your clit, completely squashed between your thighs, and try to hold back your tears.

When he adds his third finger and starts tracing eight figures on your clit with his tongue before he flattens it, you know you’re about to come.

There is something about the way he always manages to make you vulnerable even if it’s not intentional, to cut you open and get in... and you don’t want it to be over. You can’t let him go again after tonight. You’d suffocate.

Your efforts to delay your orgasm and not tear up are futile because when he sucks a little harder, you come and start sobbing somehow. The orgasm is strong and even though you’d want to watch Bucky, you close your eyes, letting yourself go, and shut your mind down for a second. Everything feels so overwhelming. So amplified…

You’re grateful he doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers, either, even though you felt him hesitating when he heard you crying. You really needed this.

As soon as you finish, you drop your legs, furiously trying to wipe your face. He knows the difference between crying because of a crazy orgasm and you being emotional. He instantly gets back on the bed next to you and pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve had in two years.

“God, I’m...” You don’t know how to continue this phrase. You should not feel sorry for crying and you’re not pathetic for it. “I m-missed you so much, Bucky. Why did you give up?”

You feel his warm breath on your forehead. “I never gave up, baby, I swear.”

“B-but you did. You didn’t even try for more than six months. When I told you...” You take a deep breath. “That I want a divorce, you didn’t even look at me. Once, Bucky! Not even once…” You show him your index finger. “You simply agreed. You gave up on us. I was waiting for you to say: no, let’s try. No, I’ll communicate. Your words...” You sob. “Your words would have been enough for me. You should know that.”

“Oh my god, baby, please, breathe!” He kisses your forehead over and over again. “I never gave up, I swear. I wanted to say no, I wanted to tell you all of that, but you asked me for divorce. It felt like you wanted out. You were tired of fighting... you were tired of me. And I didn’t want to tell you to stay just so you could either stay with me out of pity or reject me. I would have died... To look at you and beg, and to see you detached.”

You shake your head into the crook of his neck. He cannot...

“How would I be detached if I tried for six months? How would I get tired of you?”

“Exactly. You tried for six months. I thought you snapped out of it...”

“Out of what?” You whisper, scared to say it louder, but he hears you anyway.

“Out of love.”

You immediately lift your head to look at him. He’s crying, too. “Bucky...” You bring your fingers to his cheeks and start to caress them.

“I just couldn’t remember us like this. I couldn’t look into your eyes and see you staring at me like I’m a stranger.”

“Jesus Christ, when did we fail to communicate this much?”

He knows you don’t expect an actual answer, so instead of speaking, he holds you, and kisses you, and makes you giggle.

The more you move into his lap, the better you feel his erection pressing against your pussy. So close, yet so far.

He groans, placing his hands on your hips. “Careful.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be careful. I want you to fuck me raw right now.”

“Right now? He snorts, using his position to his advantage and moving. And just like that, you’re suddenly pressed with your back against the bed, and his mouth covers the valley between your breasts. That didn’t take a lot of convincing.

“Did you fuck anyone else without protection?” You ask unsure how to formulate it without it sounding a little weird. You’re not even sure you want to know the answer if it’s positive, but still.

“No. Only condoms and well... to be honest more my fist,” he chuckles, helping you get on your back again by bringing a pillow under your head. “I tested myself, of course.”

You nod, trying to hide your happiness. You selfishly wanted this: no one but you to feel him without any barrier.

“Good.”

“What about you?”

“No one for me, either.”

You would laugh at his proud face if you didn’t know he might use it to tease you later. You can use it too, though.

“Come on, baby, spread your legs for me. Daddy’s home.”

You laugh surprised, but you do what he says. You really missed having him between your legs.

Needy, you reach for his T-shirt, that for some reason is still on, and you tug it down, showing him you want it off.

He hesitates for a couple of seconds too long before grabbing his T-shirt by the neck.

“Come on, what did you do? Got a tattoo?”

You get your answer as soon as he’s finally naked.

“Oh, God!” You instantly lift your hand so you can grab his necklace. “What the fuck, James...”

“I told you I never gave up on us.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve been keeping it on since we divorced?”

He blushes, looking away. “Yeah.”

“Even when you were with other girls?”

Your heart is racing.

“Never took it off.”

You giggle, touching the surface of the ring over and over again.

“No wonder why nothing worked.”

“I had no intention to make it work.”

You say nothing, just looking into his eyes and letting him see how fucking much you love him, how he could never be a stranger, and you kiss him, wrapping your legs around his ass to show him what you need.

“I want you to pound me, okay? I want to feel you for days, do you hear me? I am so wet and ready. Please, just fuck me!”

You shiver a little when you feel the back of his hand brushing against your clit while he brings his cock to your entrance.

“Gonna make you mine again, alright? Gonna make you forget this year and everyone who,” He finally thrusts inside you. “Tried to get you.”

He’s thick. Really thick, and you can’t believe how you managed to survive without this stretched-out feeling for a whole fucking year.

“I hate you so much!’

He snorts. “I am pretty sure you love me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my cock inside you after one year.”

“This is the problem!” You hiss when he pulls almost completely out. “One year, Bucky!”

“Aww!” He says a bit mockingly before thrusting all the way in again. Oh my God... you close your eyes. “Is this your bratty way of telling me you missed my small dick?”

“Bratty? You think this is bratty?” You ask him sarcastically before bringing a hand to his ass. “Harder!”

“Harder, huh?” He quickly unwraps your legs and turns you on your belly before you can react.

You gasp, shocked by how fast he is and hating the emptiness, but he ignores it, bringing a pillow under your pussy.

“Ass in the air, come on.”

You comply immediately, staring at his face from the side. He looks like he’s on a mission, with his hair already in all directions and the wedding band hanging around his neck.

The first thing you feel is his mouth on your ass cheek, licking on a spot before biting.

You hiss. “James!” It hurts, not more than a spanking, but you weren’t ready for that.

“Mine.”

You snort, wiggling your ass. “Yeah, yeah. Now gimme my cock.”

And he does. He so does, he’s not slowly entering you, no. He pushes in almost fully with only one thrust, making you bite into your pillow.

“You missed that, didn’t you? The way I fill you up is so good. The way...” He slaps your ass. “No one can make you feel so good. No one can fuck you like the desperate whore you are for my cock.”

You moan loudly into the pillow. You love being called a whore like this. Because he is right and he is obsessed with it, anyway. “B-Bucky...”

“Tell me whose cock you love? Tell me.”

He’s thrusting so fast at this point that you can barely even hear him.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, no. That is not what you call me like this.”

“James...”

He suddenly stops thrusting, and you whine, lifting your spinning head to look at him over your shoulder. No matter how much you try to tilt your hips to make him move, you fail.

“If you want to get fucked, baby, you gotta call me the right-”

“Daddy. Daddy, daddy. Happy now?”

He rolls his eyes, obviously not that happy with your tone.

You smirk.

“I see you need a lot of battiness fucked out of you.”

“Then why are you not fucking me, daddy?”

“Oh, goddamn it!” He’s not holding back now, moving like he used to. “Tell me, baby. Tell me you love me... that no one, fuck- no one is like me!”

His voice tinges with a hint of neediness... maybe even urge. His vulnerability takes you a little aback because it’s stronger than his mocking. He’s genuinely seeking for reassurance as he gazes at you with a mixture of desire, desperation and longing. He’s searching for validation in your eyes the way you were earlier, so you give it to him.

“You’re the only one for me, J-James. I love you forever. I never... I n-never stopped!” You can’t keep your head up a second longer as you drop it on your pillow, moaning.

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

You half-snort, half-moan. “W-we can’t.”

“We can.” The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy almost covers the sound of his voice.

“We... we have to apply first.”

He spanks your ass again, and you scream, the sudden pain making you feel so good.

“So wet for me. They stood no chance. T-they don’t know how hard you want it.”

“Daddy, please... Please!” You’re a moaning mess. You just need a little harder. Just a little.

You’re not sure if you’re gonna have a voice after this. He’s pounding you so hard.

“My good, good girl.” He’s squeezing your hips, and the sound of your skin slapping is echoing. “God, gonna come for me? Jesus, wanna fill you up with my come too. Please, baby.”

You don’t know when or how he manages to do it, but he sneaks one of his hands under your body and pinches your nipple. You gasp, the wave of pleasure hitting you as he keeps fucking you. You feel your body weakening when he says your name over andl over again, but you don’t open your eyes for a while, letting him fuck you desperately while playing with your breast.

“Gonna- fuck, take my come, wife! Take me!”

He’s coming so much... surprisingly much even for him. You can feel him dripping down your thighs even when he slows down, then stops his movements before he falls on top of you as soon as he finishes.

“James...” You groan. “You’re heavy.”

He places a small kiss on your back, and you giggle.

“I love you.”

You melt, but he moves to the side before you can reach for his cheeks.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him. “So much that I let you drag me out of my best friend’s wedding reception.”

Bucky snorts, brushing his nose against your face. “Pretend all you want, I know you were bored as fuck.” You feel him slowly pulling out of you, and you whine. It’s a little uncomfortable. “Sorry, wifey.”

“I’m not your wife yet.”

“Yet, but you were and you will be again this week.” He takes your ring finger into his mouth.

“Bucky!”

“What? We need new rings.”

You try to pull out your finger. “No, we don’t. I have mine.”

“We need...”

“How about we use all that money for a vacation instead?”

“Neah, honeymoon is honeymoon.”

He finally lets your finger go. “We are not buying other wedding bands.”

“I am not debating a new engagement ring, though.”

You roll your eyes, but you know it’s the best deal you can get.

“Fine, a new engagement ring,” you agree while rolling ro his side and placing your head on his chest. “I don’t wanna move.”

“Don’t want to or can’t?”

You decide to surprise him by biting a spot right above his nipple. He groans while you simply laugh.

“You just can’t be subtle, can you?”

“If you’d wanted subtle you’d have gone for someone like Steve.”

“Eww, Bucky. I have your come dripping out of me and you bring up Steve?”

“You literally talked about Nat a sec ago.”

Then, as if a switch was flipped, your eyes widen. “Oh shit, my phone!”

“Where did you forget it?” Bucky asks casually, so used to gathering your things for you. You really missed that, too.

“Table. God... Do you think they know?”

“Know what?” He giggles, raising both of you until your backs touch the headboard. “That you dropped on your knees in the middle of the wedding to suck my cock? Or how I fucked you raw until you cried.” A sudden realization crosses his face. “You asked me to fuck you raw. Are you... still on the pills?”

You roll your eyes. “You think I’d let you fuck me like this for the first time we talked to each other properly since we divorced if there was a big chance to get pregnant?”

“I assume you are still on the pills, don’t be patronizing!” He kisses your nose, which he knows tickles you.

Ass...

“You are asking a dumb question instead of getting your ass downstairs to bring me my phone.”

“How is that dumb? I wanted to know if I should get you a pill or something.”

“So you don’t want babies with me!” You try not to laugh as you say it, biting your lip to keep your face serious.

“Why do you act as if I told you I don’t want a baby with you?” He chuckles when he sees you pouting. “We’re just getting back together and no way you’d want a baby now. But if I am wrong, let’s go for it. I can give you a baby, just get off the pills.”

“You don’t give me a baby, James. We have a baby together!”

He sighs, getting off the bed to get his clothes back on. “Obviously, but I am the one coming inside you. This is what I meant. I am all in. But we need some adapting time at least.”

You should stop this whole teasing-testing thing. You both have the same opinion after all. You might have a baby, and you know he’d be involved one hundred percent, but not now. Absolutely not.

“I know. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re such a tease.” He snorts, putting on his pants. “Before I go, do you want me to run you a bath or should I bring you a towel?”

“Do you plan on staying there?”

He turns his head to you instantly. “Yeah, sure. I am gonna eat some steak and brag about fucking my wife.”

“Alright, alright. Bring me a snack and we can take a bath together. Actually,” you think about it better. “I’m gonna clean up and wait for you.”

“You want me to fuck you again, don’t you?” He asks as he fixes his jacket.

“Why? Is this all you could give me?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Sure.” You spread your legs at the same time you grab your own breasts, making him groan. It’s so easy to get to him. And it’s hilarious.

“Jesus, you’re planning to kill me.”

“Not you acting as if it’s the first time this happened.”

“It is the first time in over a year, baby.”

You feel yourself softening again. “True. Now, please, please, please, don’t give them any details and bring me a snack.”

“What snack?”

“Anything, make me a plate, I don’t care.” He nods before reaching for the keys. “Oh, and Bucky? Tell your flavor of the month you don’t need her anymore.”

“I told you she is not-”

“And tell Nat I’ll make it up to her!” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. You don’t need him to defend a random girl’s honor.

“You’re so jealous.”

“Lock the door!”

You giggle satisfied when he closes the door and let yourself scream out of happiness while staring at the bite he left on your ring finger. Mrs. Barnes never got out of style.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfic #ex-husband!bucky barnes #divorced!bucky barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluf #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #my fanfics #my stories

[lnfours]

half of me, half of you | l.n

summary: welcome to the world, baby norris <3 and welcome back to part 3 of this little universe we have going on here! 🩷 requested by anonymous: ‘Omg part three for forevermore??? Like the wedding and then maybe kids🫣’

warnings: pregnancy, surprises, hormones, lando finding out he’s going to be a girl dad 🥹, a whole lot of fluff n stuff

masterlist | ask box

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

“how much longer?” you asked, sitting on the closed lid of the toilet in the bathroom. the brunette girl swiped down on her phone, displaying the timer she had set almost 2 minutes ago.

“30 seconds..” she trailed off, eyes meeting your nervous figure as you bounced your leg up and down. you sent her a soft smile back, beating yourself up for not taking a test sooner.

the past week you had felt terrible. felt like someone had hit you with a bus, thrown it in reverse and then backed up over you. your emotions were all over the place, you couldn’t keep anything down, and suddenly you were craving things you didn’t even like.

your suspicions had brought you to lily, your best friend. alex’s girlfriend, the girl you could rely on for anything.

the alarm of the timer echoed throughout the hotel bathroom. you jumped, eyes quickly moving to the box where the lily had shoved in the little white stick.

you felt like you were going to throw up again because of how the nerves were shaking through your body, “can you…?”

“you don’t wanna read it?”

you shook your head fast, “no, i’m scared,”

she frowned softly, kneeling in front of you, “whatever happens, whatever you decide, i love you and i’m here for you.”

you nodded, letting her hand you the box, “what if he doesn’t feel the same? what if he’s not on the same page? i mean we haven’t even really talked about kids yet, i-“

lily was quick to calm your rambling, coaching you to just breathe for a second. you nodded at her, following her direction as you sucked in a shaky breath.

“for as long as i’ve known lando, he’s always talked about wanting kids,” she said, “and it’s no secret that he wants them with you. he wouldn’t have put that ring on your finger otherwise.”

you smiled softly down at the ring on your left hand, letting out a shaky, “you’re right,”

“usually am,” she smiled back at you as you both let out a laugh, “you ready?”

you nodded again, opening the box and fishing out the little white stick that was about to change your whole life. you flipped it over, turned it the right way around and read it over and over again.

it was positive. you were pregnant.

your silence was an answer in itself for lily as she smiled, cheering and hugging you as you let some of the tears fall down your cheeks and splash onto the marbled tile beneath you.

she had tears in her eyes as well, “you’re gonna be a mom!”

you smiled, letting out a soft laugh in disbelief, “i’m gonna be a mom,”

“the best one out there,” she smiled, pulling you up for a proper hug, “oh i’m so happy for you.”

you laughed again, thankful to have her in your life before you pulled away. you wiped the tears off your cheeks, “guess i should call my ob,” you said and she nodded quickly, “and figure out how i’m going to tell lando.”

lily hummed, “i’m sure you’ll think of something special.”

and you did. you were fiddling with the ring on your left finger, dressed in a black slip dress you had brought with you to the uk. silverstone was the best place on earth, his home race, where his friends were, his family.

and where you were about to tell him he was going to be a dad.

you had given lily the ‘ok’ to tell alex so that you had two people to make sure he would get to the surprise. they both didn’t waste any time, making it their top priority to get lando and bring him back to where you needed him as soon as possible.

you were seated on the blanket in the grass, looking up when you heard footsteps making their way to you. you looked up, the boy dressed in black with his signature white mclaren backwards cap catching your eye.

“hey,” he smiled, letting out a puff of air and looking around at the blanket you had set up, “alex and lily said you had something planned?”

you nodded, “come sit,”

he joined you on the blanket, careful not to knock over the gift box sitting in the middle. you smiled over at him, sensing his nerves.

“what’s up, love?”

you tilted your head towards the white box with a pretty bow on the top, “open it,”

he raised an eyebrow at you, “is something going to pop out at me?”

you laughed, “no! just open it,”

he sighed, complying as he kept it at a safe distance while he took the lid off. once the coast was clear, he reached his hand inside. he felt the plastic stick in his hand and what felt like a photo. he fished them out, eyes landing on the pregnancy test and the picture of the ultrasound you had to confirm that you were pregnant.

he gasped softly, immediately looking over at you before his eyes traveled down to your belly. he looked closely, now noticing the small bump that had formed. the one you had done a pretty damn good job of hiding from him for the past week and a half.

“baby,” he started, licking his lips as he sniffled softly, “are you being serious right now?”

you smiled, “deadly.”

he dropped the things back in the box, moving to carefully pull you in the tightest hug he could get you in, “i’m gonna be a dad.”

you nodded, pulling back and wiping under your eyes with the back of your hands, “yeah,”

“and you’re gonna be a mom,” he was really stating the obvious but it brought more tears to your eyes when he spoke, “you’re gonna be the best mom, baby.”

you kissed his cheek softly, “and you’re going to be the best dad.”

he smiled, pulling you closer as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, “i love you.”

“i love you.”

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the months moved on and baby girl norris had finally entered the world, and lord did she have lando wrapped around her little finger already.

from the moment the two met, the nurses handing the little pink blanket over to him, it was game over. her big eyes, which resembled yours, looking straight up at him and her happy gurgles had his heart exploding as he looked down at his baby girl.

“hi, angel,” he cooed, fingers softly brushing against her skin over the tiny little moles and freckles that littered her skin, “oh, you’re perfect.”

you smiled over at your now husband, watching the two interact, “she is,”

he looked up at you, “and so are you, baby,”

you smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as he sat next to you with the little girl in his arms. she was starting to struggle to stay awake, barely keeping her eyes open.

the two of you watched in contentment, his eyes a little watery before he looked back over at you, “we made that,”

you let out a soft chuckle, “we did a good job, yeah?”

he laughed with you, pressing a kiss to your temple, “we did,” he said, “i think you did all the heavy lifting, though. i was just here for the ride,”

you laughed, meeting his eyes, “mm, true,”

he smiled back with that same boyish grin to you, releasing a soft breath, “guess we should probably name her, huh?”

you hummed, “still like the one we had picked?”

he looked down now at the little girl in his arms who now had her eyes closed, sometime during your conversation she had fallen asleep. she was so peaceful and perfect and everything he loved about you wrapped up into one tiny little human. a tiny little human he got to create with you, the other half of his beating heart.

“i do, yeah,” he nodded, “welcome to the world wren norris.”

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

you made your way up the stairs, a smile spreading on your face as you heard the little girls’ giggle coming from her bedroom. you leaned up against the door way, trying hard not to snicker at your husband who had found himself joining your daughter and her stuffed animals for a tea party.

you watched the two talk about tea and serve them to the dolls and stuffed animals sitting in their respective chairs for a couple minutes before you walked into the room.

“hey, baby,” lando said when you knelt down next to him, giving you the biggest smile, “joining us for some tea?”

“for a bit sure,” you smiled, “everyone will be here soon.”

“oh, mommy, look!” wren said excitedly, “daddy and i drew a picture for you.”

“oh, yeah?” you asked, watching the girl grab the piece of paper, “what is it?”

“we drew daddy’s race car!” she smiled brightly back at you.

you took the piece of paper, noticing the three other stick-figure men in the picture, another one in orange, one in blue and one in red.

“and you drew uncle carlos, oscar and danny?”

she nodded, “it was daddy’s idea.”

you laughed softly at your grinning husband, rolling your eyes playfully, “of course it was.”

you spent some time with you little family, letting them tell you all about their afternoon tea session with mr bear, kitty and mrs froggie, all the stuffed animals sitting in their respective seats.

you grabbed lando’s arm softly, pulling it towards you to read the time on his watch, “we gotta get you ready, wren. everyone’s gonna be here soon!”

she smiled, “can i still wear my princess dress?”

“of course, love,” you smiled. she happily jumped from her seat and ran off to her closet. you looked over at your husband, a smile still on both of your faces.

while you helped change wren into her princess dress, lando had started greeting those who had come to help celebrate your daughter’s third birthday.

it wasn’t long until the little girl left your side, immediately running over to her favorite uncle, “uncle max!”

you smiled when he bent down, picking her up and she squealed happily, “there’s the birthday girl!”

he tickled her sides playfully, her laughter booming as you joined your husband, his arm wrapping around your waist.

“did you get a pony this year?” he asked and you both snickered as wren shook her head.

“mommy said no,” she said, “but she said i could get a puppy!”

“a puppy?!”

you looked over at lando, “i said maybe,”

lando shrugged, “i know you’ll crack.”

“oh she has you wrapped around her finger, mate,” max laughed, looking back at the little girl he was holding, “don’t ya little one?”

“easy, fewtrell,” you laughed, “don’t give her ideas.”

he laughed softly, the little girl going back to her dad to say hi to her uncle alex and aunt lily, leaving you and max standing in the kitchen. he pulled you into his side, giving you a squeeze, “how’re you? i mean, other than enjoying being a mom.”

you laughed, “i’m good,” you let out of a soft breath, “where’s p?”

“she wasn’t feeling well, but she told me to say hi to everyone.”

you frowned, “damn, tell her i said hi and that i hope she feels better.”

he nodded, “i will,”

you both trailed off as you watched lando and alex playfully chase wren, trying to see who could pick her up first, “so, a puppy, huh?”

you rolled your eyes, “it was all him! not me,”

he laughed, “sounds about right, he’d do anything for that little girl.”

you smiled, watching your husband and daughter laugh as alex and lily talked with the birthday girl, asking her questions that made her giggle in response, “he would, and i wouldn’t want it any other way.”

#lando norris x reader #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader imagine #lando norris fluff #fluff #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #dad!lando #dad!lando norris #formula 1 #formula one #mclaren #mclaren formula 1 #mclaren f1

[mssainz]

PART 4 | AFTER FIVE YEARS

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x Reader

Summary: Carlos Sainz finally met his son he had with her ex-wife, Y/N.

Warning: Angsty

AN: A little backstory about YN , a flashback from five years ago. Thank you guys. I appreciate all your comments. Let me know your reaction and if you wanna be added to the tag list. Love y'all!

It's done. You are now divorced. You are no longer Mrs. Sainz. You are sitting on the bed feeling empty, looking at the bedroom floor.

So what now?

You grabbed your phone on your side table and dialed your Mom's number. It took a few rings before your Mom picked it up.

“Mom, I'm going home.” Your mom didn’t say anything and hope you have a safe flight.

You didn’t wait for a second and immediately grabbed your luggage. You gently fold all your clothes and stuff them into your bag. You then went to the bathroom to grab your skin care products and other toiletries. After making sure that all your things are complete, you zipped and sealed your luggages. You saw the gold commitment in your ring finger and a shiny diamond one you got when you said yes.

“You two are way more expensive than filing a divorce,” You whispered and scoffed at yourself. You removed your necklace, then your rings, and made them as a pedant.

“Maybe, I can take you to an auction. Engagement and wedding ring from Carlos Sainz.” You let out a painful laugh before putting the necklace in your bag. Your finger feels strange without them, after wearing them for almost three years.

You put on the most casual outfit you can grab, a black trousers, white shirt, and a black cap. You also put on a face mask to hide your face. You don’t want any paparazzi following you at the airport. You just want to leave in peace and make a simple statement of your break up. Being questioned about what happened and explaining everything is the least thing that you wanna do. It feels like squeezing lime on your opened cut.

You arrived at the airport earlier than your scheduled flight. Gladly, there are only a few people in the vicinity. You sat down in the waiting area and unlocked your phone. You deleted Carlos' phone number and even blocked him in all of your social media accounts. Painful for you but you also deleted any contacts of his family, his father, mother, and even his siblings. You also unfollowed anything related to Formula 1. But you didn’t unfollow some of the drivers that you are close with.

After almost a day flight, you finally arrived. It feels great to be back in your home country. Your mom fetched you at the airport. She initiated some small talks on your way home but didn’t dare to mention anything about your divorce. She wants you, yourself to open up about it if you are comfortable to talk about the whole situation.

You proceed to your old room after getting out of the car. You and your mom brought your luggages in your room and began unpacking them. You opened your closet and saw your white coat hanging. It has your name with MD on it. “Emergency Medicine,” you whispered as you read what's on your coat. Warm tears started falling from your eyes.

“What did I do wrong, Mom? I gave up my career for him. I let this go to be with him. I chose another path of my life and tried to settle down, followed him to the other side of the world. How could he do this to me?” Your mom looked at you and stopped unpacking your bags. She is disheartened, staring at you sitting on the floor, hugging your knees. It is her first time seeing you cry and break down after everything that happened. She is actually worried about you as you didn’t show any tears when Carlos filed the divorcement papers, when you found out about your baby, and after everything. It’s like your emotions shut down. You were just filled with mixed feelings and couldn’t even process it as everything happened so fast.

She walks towards you and sits beside you. She didn't say anything, she knows that words are not what you need right now. You need ears, who can listen to you.

“I hate myself, Mom. I let myself be fooled by a man and I'm now fucking pregnant with his child. He doesn't even know, I'm having his own blood and genes. And I don't even know where to start with my life again. I have nothing left, Mom. I am such a mess,”

She can feel how broken you are. She hates seeing you cry and hate yourself for something you are not the one to blame.

“I sold all my properties in Madrid, even the coffee shop Mom. I can't go back there. I can't be in his hometown. I can't even bear the thought of breathing the same air he breathes. I can't Mom, I don't wanna.” Your voice is broken and so you are. Your words are nearly inaudible and your face is filled with glistening tears which can't seem to stop pouring. Your sorrow left you having difficulty catching your breath.

“He knows how cheating and lying was my last straw. He always knew that. He knows about Dad, what he did and how he left us, Mom. Why did he have to repeat the same history as he did? Why do I have to go through this again? Why do I keep catching men in my life kissing another woman? How can they put me in this position?” You are on the verge of hyperventilating from crying. Hence, your mom gently held your arms and made you face her eyes.

“Baby, look at me. Breathe, my love,” She started exhaling and inhaling with you to calm your nerves down and control the pace of your breathing.

“Mom, I don't know what to do. What should I do?” You asked her while she was wiping the tears on your cheeks.

“You don't have to do anything, my love. You don't need to know what you should do at the very moment. I just want you to take care of yourself. Just have a meal, take a shower, and rest. Mommy got you, okay? I always do.”

She pulled you into her arms to give you a safe space to cry. Her words gave you an inner peace, a reminder to take it slow. You don't need to know what the future holds for now.

“And stop saying you have nothing left. You have me, honey. You have this,” your mom said before putting her warm hand on your belly.

I have Cael. When I thought I had nothing left, I had him. He is the only one I can call my own.

YN'S Private Instagram Post

"my sunshine Sebastian Cael Sainz"

TAGLIST:

@seasonswinter @charizznorizz @itsjustkhaos @celesteablack @openthenyoor01 @carlossainzbelongswithme @timmychalametsstuff @viennakarma @charlottef1 @i-love-ptv @evie-119 @somepeoplemaybe @amberpanda99 @gotthatname @karlossainz @wonderfulkawaii @khaylin27 @hc-dutch @avengers-assemble123456 @likedbygaslyy @xoscar03 @yukiotadako @barcelonaloverf1life @bearryyy @mahii7 @mxdi0 @heyheyheyggg @sunny44 @casperlikej @ironmaiden1313 @biitch-with-wifi @elia-the-bibliophile @nataliazzzz @bernelflo @madkohi @lillunna @loloekie @jinimon-tr @glai1023-blog @not-nyasa @jolixtreesunn @changetyre @thatsusbitch @distancedss @miarabanana @iawfwm @f1fanatic55 @taniamndez @voidsfics @jasminesacademia @ahahvalerie @a-beaverhausen @glow-ish @ccallistata

AN: Should YN put the necklace in an auction? Just kidding. Please unhide your accounts guys, I can't tag you if its hidden huhu. Thank youuuu!

next part

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x reader #formula one x you #formula 1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #afterfiveyears

[trivia-yandere]

request for yandere!ex-husband jk trying to prevent oc from divorcing him 💀😭 (only because they got a child together and he loves her more than anything but she just can’t take him anymore)

hello! yes we can :) this one might take a little turn but this is a yandere account so

nefarious

You knew who Jungkook was prior to having his children and marrying him, so you serving him with divorce papers wasn't going to do anything but anger him.

@momnomnom @darkuni63 @sweetempathprunetree

word count: 4.442

warning: yandere themes/tendancies, non-consenual touching/rape, smut, cursing, dark theme, spitting, degradation, possessiveness, fingering, dirty talking, emotional/mental manipulation, biting, restraining, crying, slapping,

“Get it out of my sight.” Jungkook tosses the paper away aggressively with a roll of his eyes. One of his men - Sung-ho, stands straighter to appear obedient. “That bitch thinks she’s going to divorce me after I made her?” Jungkook leans back into his chair with a huff. He shakes his head. “After I got her out of the slums she was living in?”

Jungkook’s eyes glance at the picture onto his desk - one of you and him on your wedding day. He grasps it and hurls it at Sung-ho who barely manages to dodge the attack. “You find that bitch and bring her back to me!” he screeches, eyes wide with rage. Sung-ho truly had no reason to be a part of Jungkook’s rage and he would make sure to apologize about it another time.

It’s been three months.

Three months since Jungkook has allowed you your little vacation away from him. And now you dare serve him with divorce papers that claimed that you wanted full custody of his daughters - you were insane. You had no job and had not worked in the last five years you and he had been married. You swiped his card without a care in the world and wasted close to millions since then - as a man and your husband, he never bat an eye.

But to think that you were willing to divorce him because - by your words - Jungkook was not the man he claimed to be was preposterous. You knew the type of man he was - the same man who you kept returning to every night to wet his cock and warm his bed. The same man who gave you lavish gifts every week and the same man who managed to not only marry you, but grace you with two of his offspring.

So what if he orchestrated a few murders every now and then? Or stole money and expensive pieces during heists? Sold a few (thousands) pounds of unthinkable drugs? You lived in a mansion, his daughters and you wanted for nothing - isn't that what a man was supposed to do? Ensure his family was alright? Why the fuck did it matter what he did as long as you and his girls were safe?

Jungkook knew you had no problem with what he did for work. Your problem was that you clearly missed him - he had to be gone the majority of the time and that left you in such a large mansion to care for the children alone. But a divorce? Wasn’t that a little excessive? No, this was nothing but a little stunt to get his attention and clearly, now you had it.

Sure Jungkook and you didn’t meet on simpler terms - normal people met at coffee shops. Maybe out grocery shopping. Hell, social media and dating sites were normal now. 

No, Jungkook and you met during one of many (unbeknownst to you) bank heists he had gone on. You recall the day had been fairly slow, only a few people coming in every hour. You had been assisting an older man when the doors slammed open and a group of men entered. 

The men wore all black and wore masks that covered their entire head. They pointed guns at everyone, telling them to get down. You - of course it had to be you - were escorted to the back. To think that this wasn’t even your shift initially and you picked it up from a fellow co-worker. 

But again, you weren’t as normal either. Jungkook noticed how you appeared to not take anything serious. He pointed his gun at you and though he would never use it - hurting women and children was not his forte - you didn’t know this.

Jungkook knew you were different when you flirted with him as you opened the safe. If this was your way to assure your safety, then it was a weird way to go.

“Do you do this often?” you speak as Jungkook fills the bags with stacks upon stacks of cash. “I always wondered what robbing a bank would be like.”

You. You were a weird one. But Jungkook liked it.

“I saw something like this in a porno once.”

Jungkook halts in his tracks, unable to control his thoughts. He turns towards you, eye sockets - dark and nearly invisible to you, stare at your grinning figure.

“The robbers break in and find a defenseless woman…” you lean back onto the wall, tilting your head. “...take advantage of her. But deep down, we both know she wanted it.”

Jungkook was ashamed of himself for allowing himself to be consumed by you. You had all the control that day and you knew it. You enticed him so much that he was able to forget about the heist all together and that’s when he found himself inside of you - ravishing you against the very wall you leaned against.

What could Jungkook say? He was a man and you were a willing participant. You begged him for more, edged him on as he fucks you. You liked the way he was treating you - hands clenching your neck, the manhandling. You started this, all Jungkook did was follow your lead.

“I could say you raped me.”

There it was - the kicker.

You could say that indeed. You had managed to not only get Jungkook off of his game to fuck you - but to do so without a condom. Jungkook had been so excited by you that he came the hardest he has in months - right inside of you. His cum drips out of your pussy and down your thighs, you not even bothering to wipe it up.

“Say that you took advantage of me and when they do a rape kit…” you shrug.

Jungkook points his gun at your head, but both of you knew that he wasn’t going to pull any triggers. You sensed no threat when it came from this man - Jungkook is who he would soon introduce himself as.

“What do you want?” This is the first time you have heard Jungkook’s voice. He was young, you note, his cock and stamina confirming it. Possibly around the same age as you.

“Money.” you shrug your shoulders. “But I can’t take it now.” you laugh. “I guess that means I’ll have to see you again, huh?”

Jungkook swallows. He’s thankful the mask remained on his face and you didn’t see his red cheeks and shocked expression.

“How about I give you my number and you can call me later?” you offer.

“I could kill you later.” Jungkook retorts. 

“You can kill me now.” you fire back. “Your friends can kill the entire bank and get away with it. Burn it down and get rid of any evidence you have left inside of me.”

Jungkook swallows.

“But you know that. You’re a smart boy.” There you were flirting with him again. “If you wanted to hurt me, you would have. Truth is, I could care less about this job and my life is quite boring. All I want is a little company. Who better than a random thief with obviously nothing else better to do?”

Jungkook found that from right there he was fucked and you were truly a vixen - an agent of chaos sent from Hell (Heaven would never allow something like you) to torment him. But he was rather intrigued for the first time in who knows how long.

“What’s your name?” Jungkook asked.  

“Y/N.”

 Jungkook lowers his gun. “Jungkook.”

You chugged the champagne down in nearly one gulp and slammed the glass onto your vanity. Your eyes dart to your reflection in the mirror and you scoff. You should have known Jungkook wasn’t going to let you go without a fight.

You recall the way all hell had broke loose when Jungkook had found you. Your daughters were at school luckily and didn’t have to see their father’s demeanor change. He told you it wasn’t hard finding your hotel room and slamming the door open. You had been dozing off when he entered and Jungkook was anything but content. 

“I allowed this little break to go on long enough, Y/N.” Jungkook was aggressively grabbing your belongings, hauling them onto the bed. “Pack your shit.”

“No.” you hissed.

“No?” Jungkook scoffs. “You think you’re going to divorce me and take my daughters?” Jungkook wants to laugh at how stupid you sounded. “With no job?”

“I’ve been saving money.” you retort, eyes glaring at him.

“Oh,” Jungkook snickers with a clap of his hands. “So you’ve been planning on leaving me for a while. What’s changed?”

Jungkook came closer to you. He looked manic, eyes wide and glaring into your soul. 

“You even threatened to expose me if I didn’t give you a divorce.” Jungkook is livid. “Take down all of my legitimate businesses just to divorce me? You think you’ll get away with that, baby?”

Jungkook was never one to be rough with you, but he’s pissed. He pushes you onto the bed and hovers about you. “You don’t think you’ll go down with me? You tell them what I do on the side, I’ll tell them you were alongside me the entire way. We’ll both go to jail and our daughters…” Jungkook shrugs. “They’ll go to my brother.”

Your eyes widen at Jungkook’s words. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Take me down, Y/N. You’re going with me.” Jungkook pushed himself away from you. “Pack your shit and let's go home.” he hissed, not waiting for a response from you.

And now here you sat in said home. You were fresh from a long shower, having ignored Jungkook the following days and only tended to your daughter's needs.

You were feeling bitchy today, however, and decided that if Jungkook didn’t want to give you a divorce - that you were going to force him to. That, or annoy him until you felt as though you were done.

You continued to lotion your skin until it glowed, then you grabbed the perfume bottle - one of the many expensive gifts from Jungkook - and sprayed it until you knew it would linger. You take one last look in the mirror before smiling to yourself.

“We haven’t done a bank heist in years.” Jimin says with furrowed brows, bored and a little offended with the conversation. “We aren’t children anymore. Are we going broke?”

Jungkook snorts, but leans back into his chair. He pours himself the whiskey - courtesy of Yoongi - and lifts his eyes to the surrounding men that he considers brothers.

“I agree.” Taehyung nods. “Bank heists are for the lower ranks. Who’s idea was this?”

“Mine.” Jungkook slams the shot glass down onto the table and shakes his head at the powerful taste. “Don’t you guys remember the adrenaline rush?”

Namjoon snorts with a roll of his eyes. “Leave it to the baby of the group to say this.” he murmurs, a smirk forming onto his lips.

The doors of the meeting room open and heads turn towards the noise. Jungkook’s eyes land on you - and your lack of clothes all together. You adorn lingerie, black and lacy that fits you perfectly. His eyes darken when he meets your gaze.

Jimin is interested now. He leans forward and waves at you. “Y/N, hello.” he says. You were always Jimin’s favorite out of the girls Jungkook had brought around - one of the main reasons being that you actually became a wife. You didn’t remain someone he left in the shadows of his bedroom and actually gave him two adorable nieces.

And of course, you and Jungkook were one of the same. You were stubborn and took no shit and Jungkook got a taste of his own medicine. One of the countless reasons why you two bumped heads often - but it made for great make-up sex.

“Jimin.” you wave back. “I missed you. You don’t come around as much.”

Jungkook watches you with glaring eyes as you make your way closer.

“Y/N.” Jungkook’s tone is low - a warning. Not now, he wants to say. He had no time for your petty bullshit.

“You know me, I always keep busy.” Jimin continues the conversation as if you aren’t wearing the bare minimum - but Jimin didn’t see you in that way. Plus, he loved annoying Jungkook just like you did.

“That you do.” You reach the edge of the table, grasping a glass and a half empty bottle of brandy. “I see you all been drinking without me.”

“Y/N.” Jungkook continues, leaning forward. His firsts were clenching as he awaits for you to answer him. 

Taehyung fights back the cackle. It was always something when it came to Jungkook and you. The fights were never to be taken seriously - it always ended the same way. You and he entangled together declaring how much you pissed the other off.

“You’ve been ignoring us lately.” Taehyung pipes in. “What did we do to deserve the cold shoulder?”

Jungkook could feel the atmosphere shift. You were mocking him - he was once told by Yoongi that he allowed you to walk all over him and he was beginning to agree. You had no respect for him - and even his brothers were going along with your foolishness.

“I’m sorry.” you sigh, pouring yourself the brandy and glancing at Jungkook. “Maybe when the divorce is finalized-”

There it was - the cherry on top. Jungkook’s chair screeches as he pushes himself away from the table and lifts himself up. He’s fast as he rounds it and lunges at you. However, you’re just as fast at hauling your drink into his face.

Jimin watches in amusement as Jungkook pulls you over his shoulder as if you were a toddler throwing a tantrum. He rushes out of the room - slamming the door open with a loud bang while you’re punching at his back.

“Well then.” Namjoon claps his hands, shaking his head. He allows a few laughs to be released from his lips.

“I think this little get together is over.” Hoseok continues.

Jungkook is livid when he slams the bedroom door open just to slam it shut behind him. He shoves you off of him and onto the king sized bed. You fall on your back with a grunt, bouncing off until you catch yourself. 

“You think you’re cute, huh?” Jungkook grumbles, towering over you. He would admit that he wanted to be furious with you - but your attire didn’t help him. You knew what you were doing to piss him off but you wearing his favorite perfume was doing nothing but distracting him.

“Had to do something to get your attention.” you retort, swallowing when your eyes meet the bulge in his pants.

“Ah, so that’s what it is?” Jungkook tsks. He isn't hesitant to push you back, hand wrapping around your neck. “You missed me, baby. I haven’t been as attentive to you as a husband.”

It’s his knee you feel so close to your heat, the friction causing you to groan. Jungkook was always the one to take control, never fully allowing you to unless it's what he desired.

“Why must you always take things too far?” Jungkook loosens his grip onto your neck, palm gliding down to your breast. “Am I not good to you?”

“You see me as nothing but a whore!” you hiss, turning away from him. Jungkook does notice the way your thighs quiver and your hips jut towards his knee for friction. 

“A whore, no.” Jungkook shakes his head with a laugh. “My whore? Yes.” His eyes are burning into yours, offering the same venom you were giving him. “My whore to fuck, to please, to care for. You’re mine, Y/N.”

Jungkook moves his knee from your heat to replace it. His palm slaps it roughly, wet spot not going unnoticed. You shiver at the impact, ashamed that your body was giving away just what he was doing to you. You felt weak when it came to Jungkook - married for five years and together for nearly 7, he knew your body like the back of his hand. 

Jungkook slaps your clothed clit more - over and over again until your juices are soaked through the lingerie, and even then he doesn’t want to stop his torment.

Jungkook’s fingers dig through the lacy fabric of your lingerie to toy with your clit. So wet - so inviting. He could never get enough of your pussy.

“You ignore me days just to show up in lingerie you knew was going to drive me crazy.” Jungkook rubs along your throbbing clit, bulge twitching at just how sopping wet you are. “Then you say it again. Threaten me with divorce.” Jungkook’s scoffing now. He doesn’t want to waste anymore time.

Jungkook enters two fingers inside of you, not bothering to give you any warning - nor be gentle in the slightest. 

“You make it seem like life with me is bad.” Jungkook begins pumping his fingers inside of you. Your body gives him the reaction he always expects - clenching walls, juices flowing down his wrist and flinching form. 

You want to push Jungkook away, to say that you aren’t his anything. You wanted out of this marriage from him - you were nothing but someone he had control over and you allowed it for far too long. It didn’t feel like a marriage between two lovers, instead you felt trapped in a home and made to be nothing but a body to warm his bed every night. The only gift you could truly appreciate from Jungkook was your daughters.

However, it was your body. Your body could never agree on what your mind was telling it to - you find yourself moaning lowly at his thrusting fingers. Jungkook is pissed, and when he is it tends to show in the way he pleases you. Dominant and in control.

Jungkook’s tongue licks upon your cheek. Hot, wet and slimy - all before he spits onto you. In his eyes, the ultimate sign that you were truly his.

“I fucked over enough people in my lifetime that they have given up trying to take it out on me.” Jungkook’s pumping only increases. “You and our daughters are the true targets that they know could truly get to me. I’ve done nothing but kept you and them safe.”

Your eyes roll when you feel the familiar bubbling churning in your stomach. The wet slapping of Jungkook’s fingers inside of you are echoing filthy throughout the bedroom.

“Leave.” Jungkook removes his fingers from inside of you just when you were seconds away from releasing. “If you want the divorce so bad, then I’ll give it to you. Our daughters are staying with me.”

You’re panting, high coming back down to Earth. Your eyes flutter open to see Jungkook pushing himself away from you.

“I’m not leaving without them.”

“Too bad.” Jungkook shrugs. “You want the divorce. You leave and you’ll see them whenever you come here. Take whatever money you saved and find yourself somewhere to go.”

“You’re bluffing.” you find the courage to say, but your voice is so low and meek.

Jungkook hums, lips twitching as he watches you. Poor you, eyes wide and chest heaving. You never truly thought he would give you what you asked for - no matter how brattish and petty you’ve been towards him. 

Jungkook was going to show you just how much you needed him and not the other way around. You were his woman regardless and no divorce was ever going to change that - not even in death would he allow you to part ways with him. He just had to show you how truly vile the world was without him.

Jungkook strokes your hair as you continue to cry in his arms, visibly shaking and trembling. Your fingers are clenching onto his shirt tight as if never wanting to let him go.

How the tables have truly turned - but all Jungkook could think was “I told you so”.

You were only gone a week and it was all it took for you to find yourself in trouble. Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said that revenge toward him was sought out by harming those he loved.

You sat in your hotel room when the knock sounded onto the door. You had ordered food not long ago, so when the knock sounded you wasted no time in going to open it.

Your first mistake.

Your door crashes open when you unlock it and you’re shoved onto the ground. You don’t manage to scream when you feel your screams being muffled. There's two of them, you note, both men. Their clothing was dark and loose fitted and their face had been hidden completely, you can see from a facial mask to cover their mouth and scarf on top of their heads. You couldn’t make out the eyes, yet you weren’t intended to. You were flipped onto your front quickly when one man had yanked you onto your feet, face burying into the hotel bed.

Your legs and arms thrashed around in an attempt to free yourself from the men, but you quickly realized that it was pointless - and that you were doing nothing but exhausting yourself. 

Your eyes swell with tears, anxiety peaking when you realize that this might be what Jungkook was talking about - your mind telling you that there was no way you were leaving here alive. 

Your arms are restrained by one man while the other pulls at your clothing. Your legs shiver when your pajama pants are ripped and you’re exposed to the cool air of the room

You feel nauseous and your head is pounding at the thought of you being defiled by these men - that you were in this situation at all.

You managed to lift your head to breathe, a choked sob releasing from your throat. Your tears blinded your vision, but you could see in the corner of your eye flesh - the man behind you ripping your clothing off. Without thinking, you sink your teeth into his skin in hopes of buying you time for an escape.

A hiss sounds through your ears and you feel a sting across your cheek. Your arms are being restrained tighter until you feel them cramp and sob.

You pleaded and begged for them to leave you alone - that you’d give them whatever money you had saved. Your pleas fell on deaf ears and you realized what they truly wanted was you.

You clenched your eyes shut when you felt yourself being stuffed by the man behind you. He wastes no time in pumping inside of you, not caring just how uncomfortable it felt for the both of you. You feel something wet, warm and slimy drip onto your folds, you conclude he had spit onto you to get any form of lubricant.

The thrusts are brutal and his hands upon you are tight and unmoving. Your sobs do not subside and you feel as though your body is betraying you. It didn’t feel good to you - you felt disgusting and utterly embarrassed; especially with the grunting sounds from the man defiling you. But your body is allowing this to happen, naturally lubricating your walls for more - your stomach churning and bubbling to reach a high you didn’t desire.

Skin slapping echoes off the wall and you had no tears left in you to cry. You wanted this torture to end, to be freed from the nightmare -  but the man was cruel. You feel his hand tuck themselves beneath you and fingers twirl at your clit. You cry upon impact, shaking your head. 

“She likes it.” you hear faintly - it had to be the man restraining you. His voice felt so far away even if he was right across from you. 

The man behind you grunts, hips snapping into you roughly, fingers toying your clit harshly. Your pussy clenches around him unwillingly and you remain shaking your head - you didn’t want this. Your body doesn’t understand the difference between this and what it's use to.

“She’s about to cum.” the muffled voice from the man restraining you says. He holds onto your arms tighter as his partner flips you around. You come face to face with the masked person and your heart drops. You close your eyes, not wanting the man to see your reaction.

“It’s okay to like it. Whore’s like you love this, don’t you?”

The man doesn’t stop his thrusts - no, he appears to be thrusting into you even harder. Your moans of protest fill the room, but to these men, they were moans nonetheless.

Hands clamp around your neck and another around your lips. It silences you completely and you no longer have any strength in trying to protest. You felt your walls clench around the masked man until you were finally letting go around him unwillingly, but by then you were losing consciousness.

“I told you the outside world isn’t the place for you, Y/N.” Jungkook murmurs into your hair. “You’re lucky I came just in time. Who knows what they were planning on doing to you.”

Your tears are now soaking Jungkook’s shirt, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to let you go - and now he would never have to. 

“Come on. Let’s get you in the shower, yeah?” Jungkook says, pushing you away to look at your tear-stained face. “I love you, Y/N. Always.”

You sniffled, feeling yourself fall apart all over again. Your head crashes into his chest and your hold on him becomes tighter. “I-I’m sorry.” you apologize. You should have heed his warning - that you were safe with him. He kept you in this mansion for this long because the outside world was indeed not safe - you and your daughters could never be safe if it wasn’t with Jungkook. You’re grateful that you had not taken them with you. Who knows what the masked men would’ve done to them.

Once Jungkook manages to get you into the shower, he closes the bathroom door behind him with a sigh. He gets your pajamas ready for you when you’re out and some sleeping pills - you’d need it if you were going to get a good night's sleep. 

Jungkook proceeds to lift his sleeve up and sigh at the mark on his wrist. It was beginning to sting. You managed to draw blood when you bit him - but he was grateful that the wound wasn’t too severe. 

After all, Yoongi’s plan had worked. Jungkook regained his control over you - even if he had to take desperate measures and insert fear. But, he had you nonetheless - his wife.

part two (prequel) a look back into your and jungkook's fatal attraction - before the marriage, kids and the detachment coming soon...

#bangtanwriters net #bangtanwritershq #bangtan smut #btswritingcafe #btswritersclub #btswriterscollective #jungkook smut #yandere bts #bts smut #trivia-yandere #jungkook x reader #jungkook yandere #jungkook angst #jungkook husband #mafia bts #mafia jungkook #gangster jungkook #gangster bts #nefarious

[andy-15-07]

If you’re inspired could you do a fic about Paul Atreides and Y/N’s first night as enemies to lovers? Like they hate each other but they’re in an arranged marriage? Maybe Y/N is scared of the pain she’ll experience during sex? Would love fluff at the end…

Thanks!

From Enemies to Lovers

masterlist ! pairing: Paul Atreides x reader

Dune Masterlist

In the grand halls of the Atreides palace on Arrakis, a tense atmosphere hung in the air as Paul Atreides, the young heir to House Atreides, stood before his bride-to-be, Y/N. The marriage between their families had been arranged as a political alliance, a union meant to strengthen their houses in the turbulent times ahead. But for Paul and Y/N, the prospect of marriage was fraught with tension and resentment.

As they stood face to face, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills, Paul could sense the fear and apprehension emanating from Y/N. He knew that she harbored doubts and insecurities about their impending union, just as he did. But duty and honor compelled them to carry on with the charade, to fulfill the obligations thrust upon them by their families.

"Y/N," Paul began, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation, "I understand that this marriage is not of our choosing. But we must make the best of it, for the sake of our houses."

Y/N's eyes flashed with defiance, her resolve unyielding. "I will do my duty, Paul, but do not expect me to pretend that I am happy about this arrangement."

And so, on their wedding night, as they found themselves alone in the opulent chambers of the Atreides palace, the tension between Paul and Y/N was palpable. Neither knew what to expect, their hearts heavy with the weight of obligation and uncertainty.

As they stood on opposite sides of the room, their silence filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions, Y/N's fear threatened to overwhelm her. She had heard stories of the pain and discomfort that awaited her on her wedding night, and the thought sent shivers down her spine.

Sensing her apprehension, Paul approached her slowly, his movements cautious yet determined. "Y/N," he said softly, "I understand if you are afraid. But I promise to be gentle with you. We are in this together, whether we like it or not."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes searching his for any sign of deceit or malice. But all she found was sincerity and understanding, a rare glimmer of compassion in the midst of their tumultuous circumstances.

With a shaky breath, Y/N nodded, her walls beginning to crumble under Paul's reassuring presence. "Thank you, Paul," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "I... I will try to trust you."

And so, as they lay together on the bed, their bodies trembling with anticipation and uncertainty, Paul and Y/N embarked on a journey that would forever alter the course of their lives. With each tentative touch and whispered caress, the barriers between them began to fade, replaced by a newfound connection forged in the fires of adversity.

As their bodies moved together in a dance of longing and desire, Paul and Y/N found solace in each other's arms, their fears and doubts melting away in the heat of passion. In that moment, they were no longer enemies bound by duty, but two souls united by love—a love that had blossomed from the ashes of conflict and resentment.

And as the first light of dawn filtered through the window, bathing the room in a soft golden glow, Paul and Y/N lay entwined in each other's embrace, their hearts overflowing with a newfound sense of peace and belonging. For in each other, they had found not only love, but also the courage to defy the expectations of their world and forge their own destiny together.

#paul atreides x female reader #paul atreides x you #paul atreides imagines #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides imagine #paul atreides #dune x reader #dune imagines #dune imagine #dune fanfiction #dune part 2 #dune movie #dune 2 #dune part two #timothee chalamet x you #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet #timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet x y/n #paul atreides x fem reader

[justlemmeadoreyou]

Serendipity*

Summary-Harry meets you at the most unexpected of places, and helps you like a knight in a wedding suit. It all starts at your best friend's wedding, where you find yourself in a predicament without an escort. As panic sets in, Harry appears, sent by the groom's brother to fill in as your last-minute companion. From that moment, a serendipitous connection begins to bloom between you both.

Words: 5k

Warnings: LOVE! SO MUCH LOVE AND SWEETNESS AND SOFTNESS IN THIS ONE! BUT ALSO-kissing, bathing together, p in v sex, a bit of cursing, loads of fluff.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

You stood in the bridal suite, your best friend Amelia bustling around in her stunning wedding gown. The room was a whirlwind of emotions—excitement, joy, and a hint of nervousness. It was her big day, and you couldn't have been happier for her.

Months of planning had led to this moment, and you had been Ame’s right-hand woman every step of the way. The dress, the flowers, the decorations—you had been there for it all. Today was the culmination of her dreams, and you were thrilled to witness her marry the love of her life.

As the time for the ceremony approached, you could feel your heart beating faster. You had the honor of being her maid of honor, and you couldn't wait to stand by her side as she walked down the aisle. But there was one small hiccup—the absence of your escort.

Panic set in as you looked around the room, realizing that you were missing the crucial piece of the bridal party puzzle. "Where's my escort?" you asked, your voice betraying the tension building inside you.

Ames looked at you with concern. "What do you mean? Did something happen to your partner? He was supposed to be here long ago–"

Your mind raced, trying to figure out a solution. The best man was missing. Great. Now, you were left without a partner, the groom was left without the best man, and the thought of walking down the aisle alone made your stomach churn.

You fiddled with your fingers, heart throbbing in your chest as your mind reeled. This was a disaster. So many people couldn’t make it–most of them were supposed to be there for backup if anything bad happened and now, along with them,–your escort was missing too. You were beginning to think if you were the bad luck here.

“I’ll see if someone else is willing, the guests are already out there and I’ll look like a moron but I will–” you rambled, sweat forming on your forehead. This was a bad habit of yours. Panicking so much that you wore yourself down, and if you didn’t breathe and relax, your makeup and hair would be ruined and–

Just as you were about to leave the room in a haste, the door knocked. You all looked at each other with curious gazes, oblivious to who it was.

“Who is that? All of us are here and maybe it’s your dad–” 

You stood by the door, taking a deep breath, preparing yourself to explain it all in case they ask what is taking so long.

But, as you opened the door, you opened it slightly, just in case it was the groom, Eddie.

To your surprise, it was someone else–someone you haven't met before. He was sharply dressed, suit and all, piercing green eyes looking straight into yours.

“I’m sorry-I don’t know you” you asked, and he smiled.

“I’m Harry. I’m a friend of Amelia’s brother. Your escort wasn’t here and Eddie was freaking out, so he sent me here”

You searched his eyes, and they were so calm, so soft. Your heartbeat began to steady, and you walked out of the door, closing it shut, even though it was time.

“You’re sure you won’t mind? Or you're not taken by someone else?”

He chuckled, a sound that you know you will be longing to hear once again. 

“No-I’m not taken by someone else. That’s why I came here. To help you in case you need it. What’s your good name?”

You were lost in the way his lips moved as he talked, completely phasing out and not listening to a word he said. God, he was so pretty.

“Hello?” he asked once again, completely aware of how your gaze was fixated on him. He couldn’t lie, he knew he looked irresistible. But the way you were ogling him in the time of crisis–it was something he hadn’t seen before.

“Hello” he said again, waving his hand over your face to obstruct your view, and that’s what broke your gaze. You blinked rapidly, mumbling “Sorry” before asking him what he said.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/n. But–what about the best man?”

“I am the best man. It was supposed to be Archie, I know. But this wedding was a last minute plan and he’s drunk as hell right now in Vegas.”

“Oh God. I told them not to get married one week after the proposal. But who would listen to me? I’m just the maid of honor after all. I swear if anything, anything happens, I will–” You were stopped by him, as he said,  “Y/n. The wedding”

“Yeah. sorry”

You pulled the door back open, Ames coming out, and Harry fawned over how perfect she looked. He was like a brother to her, and you never met this gorgeous, gorgeous man till now. How?

Her father came soon, ready to walk her down the aisle.

You look at her one last time, her face glowing and so, so pretty. Her hair, the dress, the veil–it’s all so perfect.

“Let’s walk you down the aisle.”

>>>

As you made your way down the aisle, all eyes were on you and Harry. You couldn't help but feel a little self-conscious, but Harry's hand on your arm gave you the confidence to keep walking with your head held high.

You could see Amelia and her soon-to-be husband at the end of the aisle, both looking nervous and excited. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of them, knowing how much they loved each other. The priest stood behind them , ready to commence the wedding.

As you reached the altar, Harry stepped aside and you took your place next to Amelia. The ceremony began and you couldn't help but feel emotional as you watched your best friend exchange vows with the love of her life. The rings were exchanged, and kisses and promises were made. It was the perfect wedding that she had planned, and you were so glad you would make it happen for her in such short notice.

During the reception, Harry proved to be the perfect replacement for the missing best man. He made everyone laugh with his witty jokes and kept the party going with his dance moves. After the dance of the bride and groom, everyone was slow dancing–even your father and mother, and they looked so cute together.

You were sitting by one of the tables, sipping water and looking at them all.

Harry appeared beside you, letting you finish up your water, before looking down at you, offering you his hand, “Can I have a dance?” he asked.

You smiled, wiping some of the drops from your lips carefully, and nodding happily.

“I would love to dance with you, Harry”

You held his hand and got up, letting him lead you to the dance floor. Once you stood in front of each other, you instinctively placed your arm on his shoulder, his coming to rest on your waist. You both held each other’s hands then–intertwining your fingers, and they fit so perfectly.

As the music started to play, you could feel Harry’s body moving in sync with yours. He led you gracefully around the dance floor, his steps confident and smooth. 

You couldn’t help but admire his movements, the way he effortlessly glided across the floor.

“You’re a fantastic dancer, Y/N” Harry whispered in your ear, making you blush at the praise.

 “Thank you, but I think you’re the one making me look good,” you replied, teasingly. He chuckled, spinning you around before pulling you back into his arms. Your chests collided, and you looked up at him, getting lost in his piercing green eyes. 

“You know, I could get used to dancing with you like this” Harry said, his voice low and husky, his words meant for your ears only. You couldn’t resist the urge to press your body closer to his, feeling the heat radiating between the two of you. 

“I could too” you breathed out, feeling your heart flutter at the intense gaze he was giving you. The two of you continued to dance, your bodies moving fluidly together as if you were one. You could feel the music pulsing through your veins, heightening every touch and every movement. 

As the song came to an end, Harry pulled you into a gentle embrace, his hand caressing your back soothingly. 

“That was amazing, Y/N” he said, his voice full of admiration. 

“I couldn’t agree more, '' you replied, a smile spreading across your face, and a blush spread across your cheeks. 

As the night went on, you and Harry found ourselves lost in each other's company. You talked about everything and anything, laughing and sharing stories. You found yourself enjoying his company more and more as the night went on. He was charming, funny, and easy to talk to. You couldn't believe you had just met him today.

But as the night came to an end, it was time for the bride and groom to leave. You both rushed back to the reception, saying your goodbyes to them before they left.

But before, it was time for her to toss the bouquet.

Everyone cheered as she came into view, holding the bouquet as all the single girls gathered behind her, ready to catch it and be the next to marry. You didn’t have a boyfriend, but you wanted to be there for her.

"Alright, here goes nothing!" Amelia exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement.

As the bouquet soared through the air, you watched in amazement, hardly daring to believe her luck. In a surreal moment, the bouquet seemed to be heading directly towards you, almost as if guided by fate itself. Without even consciously trying, your hands instinctively reached out, and to your astonishment, you felt the soft petals and stems of the bouquet in your grasp.

Gasps of surprise echoed around the room as you stood there, stunned, clutching the bouquet tightly to your chest. You quickly glanced around, wide-eyed, as the other girls congratulated you with genuine smiles, though perhaps tinged with a hint of envy.

Amelia, the radiant bride, beamed at you, her eyes shining with joy. "Looks like someone's next in line for love!" she teased, her voice filled with excitement.

You couldn't help but laugh, feeling a rush of happiness and disbelief wash over you. "I-I can't believe it! And I don’t even have a boyfriend" you stammered, voice shaky and still in shock from the unexpected turn of events.

Soon, it was time for them to leave, and as Ames and Eddie said their goodbyes, kissing and laughing as they sat in the car, ready to leave.

You hugged her for one last time, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. Pulling back, he pulled her back, and they both got in the car, driving away.

It was all like a dream. A perfect dream that had come true.

You were happy, smiling as you watched their car disappear into the darkness, and it was after a while that you realized you had lost harry.

Panic started to set in as you searched every corner of the reception hall, but Harry was nowhere to be found. You asked around, but no one had seen him. Just as you were about to give up and accept that you had lost him, you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you saw Harry standing there with a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry, I got lost in the crowd, and then some girl came to talk to me, and I think she was trying to get my number, but I shrugged her off. I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to you,” he said, his eyes full of sincerity.

Relief flooded through you as he pulled you into a tight hug. “I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to you either,” you replied, hugging him back just as tightly. It was instinct, and none of you cared that you had hugged.

Pulling back, you stared into each other’s eyes for a moment too long. You wanted to say something, wanted to ask him if he was taken, but you were scared.

He definitely was taken. A charming British man who looked so good, made you laugh and was so perfect.

So, you decided to shrug it off, the feeling of wanting to hold him once again, pulling at the strings of your heart. He was perfect, so perfect. And so dreamy.

“So–you shrugged off a girl?” you asked, trying to lighten the mood, and to dissipate the thick tension in the air between you two.

“Oh–yeah” he chuckled, one which you were maybe hearing for the last time.

“Yeah, so was being a bit touchy, and I was uncomfortable, so I told her. And–then she asked for my number, so-”

“So?”

“I said no”

“Because–you’re seeing someone? Because if you’re not, that was kinda stupid–I think. Weddings are real meet-cutes.” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

“No–uh, um, I’m not seeing someone, it’s just–I didn’t want her number. I–I wanted yours.”

The words hit you like a brick wall. You were not expecting him to say that. The girl who approached him was probably pretty, and definitely prettier than you. Then why did he say no to her, and yes to you?

“Me–cool cool cool cool cool” you stammered, and looked down, blushing and having no idea what to say next.

He sensed your dilemma, and held your hand in his.

“Y/n–please, look at me”

But you couldn’t bring yourself to. He was so pretty and so perfect and here he was, standing in front of you, asking for your number after rejecting someone else.

And you knew, if you looked up, you would definitely fall in love with him.

Harry waited for you to look up at him, and when you didn’t, he lifted his right hand, holding your chin softly and lifting your face up, making you look into his eyes.

And it was over for you. You fell for him.

“Y/n–I really like you. And what we shared today–the dance, the talks, the laughs–it was so perfect. You’re so perfect. And I didn’t talk to that girl or dance or laugh with her. I did all that with you. And–I think I’ve fallen for you”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you choked out a laugh. It was so unexpected, but it felt like it was meant to be. His hand was in yours, and he was holding it with so much promise. And on your other hand, was the bouquet. A promise. 

“Y/n–will you go on a date with me?” he asked, and you nodded immediately, wiping a stray tear that had fallen on your cheeks. You immediately pulled him in for a hug, holding him close tightly, never wanting to let go.

>>>

Your first date was a week later.

Harry called you to his house, and he had texted you his address. He didn’t say what he had planned for tonight. He wanted it to be a surprise, and you knew it would be beautiful.

As you arrived at Harry's house, your heart fluttered with anticipation. You had no idea what he had planned for tonight, but you knew it would be something special, just like him. Stepping out of your car, you made your way to his front door, excitement bubbling inside you.

Harry greeted you with a warm smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he led you inside. "I'm so glad you're here," he said, taking your hand in his. "I've got something amazing planned for us tonight."

You couldn't help but smile back, feeling a rush of excitement coursing through your veins. "I can't wait to see what you've come up with," you replied, your heart pounding with anticipation.

After a quick drive, you arrived at a secluded spot far from the city lights, where the stars shone brightly overhead. The air was crisp and cool, and the sound of laughter and music filled the night.

"What is this place?" you asked, gazing around in wonder at the vibrant scene before you.

Harry grinned, his eyes dancing with excitement. "It's a lantern festival," he explained, looking so happy. "I thought it would be the perfect setting for our first date."

You felt a surge of delight at the sight of the colorful lanterns lighting up the night sky. "It's incredible," you exclaimed, taking in the festive atmosphere around you.

As you wandered through the festival, hand in hand with Harry, you felt a sense of peace and contentment wash over you. Everywhere you looked, couples and families were gathered together, laughing and enjoying each other's company.

"We should release a lantern," Harry suggested, his eyes shining with excitement. "But what should we write on it?"

You paused for a moment, pondering the question. And then, a smile spreads across your face as an idea forms in your mind. "How about our initials?" you suggested, squeezing Harry's hand gently.

He smiled back at you, his eyes soft with affection. "I love that idea," he replied, pulling you close for a hug.

Together, you made your way to the lantern station, where a kind elderly man handed you a lantern and a marker. 

“This is so beautiful, Harry. Thank you for this” you thanked him, as he, with trembling hands, wrote your initials on the surface of the lantern. He smiled at you, finishing it up, and taking your hand once again, ready to light it up and set it afloat.

You reached the top of the hill, heart pounding in your chest as you stopped. He held the lantern, and you carefully lit the matchstick, lighting the tiny wick under it on fire.

With Harry by your side, you watched as the lantern soared gracefully into the air, its soft glow illuminating the darkness around you.

After that, there was a second date. And then a third, after which, you both started dating.

It was at dinner at a restaurant, and he had specifically naked you to dress up for it. You knew he was going to ask you to be his girlfriend. But that didn’t help calm your nerves.

You had worn a red dress, one that you had bought a long time ago. It still fits you well, and you couldn’t wait for Harry to see you in this. 

As you stepped into the restaurant, your heart raced with anticipation. The soft glow of candlelight danced across the elegant dining room, casting a warm and intimate atmosphere.

Harry's eyes lit up as he saw you, dressed in the red dress you had carefully chosen for this occasion. "Wow," he breathed, his gaze lingering on you, for a moment too long. That was exactly what you had wished when you put it on.

 "You look absolutely stunning." he complimented, finally lifting his gaze from the dress and bringing it to your face.

A blush crept onto your cheeks as you took in his handsome appearance as well, dressed in a sharp suit that accentuated his strong features. "Thank you," you replied, smiling shyly. "You don't look too bad yourself."

As you settled into your seats, the air crackled with anticipation. Harry reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "I wanted tonight to be special," he began, his voice soft and earnest. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you."

Your heart skipped a beat as you met his gaze, sensing the gravity of his words. "What is it?" you asked, barely able to contain your excitement.

Harry took a deep breath, his eyes shining with emotion. "I've enjoyed every moment we've spent together, and ‘m really happy when I’m with you," he confessed. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

"Yes, Harry, yes!" you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him in a tight embrace.

He pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a tender kiss that sent sparks flying. The world fell away as you melted into each other, lost in the sweetness of the moment.

After dinner, you made your way back to Harry's place, the anticipation building with each step. As you entered his apartment, the air hummed with electricity, charged with the promise of what was to come.

You kissed each other, hands pulling at each other’s clothes and pulling them off. You reached the bedroom, laughing and giggling,and locking the door.

You stood in front of Harry, your hands running down his chest, you couldn't help but admire the muscles that rippled beneath his skin. His hands traced the curves of your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze filled with adoration.

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, a shy smile forming on your lips. “And you're so handsome,” you replied, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him in for a passionate kiss.

His lips were soft and warm against yours, moving in perfect sync as your tongues danced together. You could feel the heat building between your bodies, the need for each other growing with each passing moment.

As you broke apart, gasping for air, Harry's hands moved down to your hips, pulling you closer to him. “I want you,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

You nodded, your own need for him evident in the way your body pressed against his. He led you to the bedroom, your hands never leaving each other's bodies. As you entered the room, the soft glow of candles greeted you, casting a warm light on the bed.

Harry gently pushed you down onto the soft sheets, his lips trailing down your neck as he peppered kisses along your skin. “You're so fucking perfect,” he murmured, his hands caressing every inch of your body.

You moaned at his touch, the sensations overwhelming you. His lips moved down to your chest, his tongue flicking over your nipple before sucking it gently into his mouth. Your back arched off the bed, your fingers tangling in his hair as you let out a soft moan.

He moved lower, his lips leaving a trail of fire down your stomach. Your breath hitched as he reached your core, his tongue tracing circles around your clit. You let out a low moan, your hips moving in rhythm with his mouth.

“Harry,” you gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets as he continued to pleasure you. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire as he added a finger inside you, making you cry out in pleasure. His finger was moving so well, hitting all the right spots. 

You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with need. “I'm going to come,” you moaned, your fingers tightening in his hair.

As you reached your peak, Harry's lips never leaving your body, you let out a cry of pleasure, your body shaking with ecstasy. He crawled back up to you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss, his hand moving to pleasure you once again.

As he entered you, your bodies moved together in perfect harmony, the pleasure coursing through every inch of your being. Your moans filled the room, mixing with Harry's as your bodies moved as one.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he approached his own climax.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice filled with emotion as you reached your peak together, your bodies trembling with pleasure.

You lay in each other’s arms, breathing ragged, but bodies satisfied and contented. He pulled you close, kissing your forehead and cheeks, making you feel so pretty.

“We should clean up. Have a bath with me?” he asked after a moment or so, and you nodded. He pulled you close, but your legs were like jello, so he lifted you up like a koala, and carried you to the bathroom, making you sit on the toilet seat in case you wanted to pee, and went to get the shower ready.

You both cleaned each other. Blowing bubbles and suds, throwing water at each other, gigging, and so happy. 

You threw some water at him, and a bit of soap got in his eyes. You panicked, immediately running the tap again and helping him wash it.

“Oh fuck—I’m sorry, Harry–I dodn’t mean to, I was just playing, are you alright?”

He started giggling, throwing his arms at his chest and laughing at you like you were a clown.

“Ahhh” you yelled, throwing water at him again, and yelling at him for making you scared. He pulled you close once again, kissing your mouth as you lay in there for what felt like hours.

>>>

The next few months of your relationship were a blur, each moment with Harry feeling like a dream come true. You both were incredibly compatible, sharing laughter, adventures, and countless memories together. But just as your love was blossoming, a job opportunity arose for Harry – one that would take him to another state for a year.

At first, the news felt like a punch to the gut. The thought of being apart from Harry filled you with an overwhelming sense of sadness and uncertainty. But as you talked it over with him, you realized that this was an opportunity he couldn't pass up. It was a chance for him to advance in his career, to chase his dreams, and you couldn't be prouder of him.

So, you made a promise to each other – to make the most of the time you had left together, to cherish every moment, and to stay connected no matter the distance. As the days passed, you cherished each date, each kiss, and each shared laugh as if it were your last.

And when the day finally came for Harry to leave, it was bittersweet. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you held him tight, unwilling to let go. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw nothing but love and determination.

"I'll be back before you know it," he promised, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "And I'll call you every chance I get, I promise."

With a heavy heart, you watched him drive away, the distance between you growing with each passing mile. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you stayed connected through phone calls, texts, and video chats.

And despite the distance, your love only grew stronger. You supported each other through the challenges, celebrated each other's successes, and counted down the days until you could be together again.

>>>

The days apart seemed to stretch on endlessly, each one filled with a longing that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of your being. You counted down the hours, the minutes, the seconds until you would once again be reunited with Harry, your heart aching with the absence of his presence.

But even in the midst of the pain, you held onto the memories of your time together, each one a beacon of light in the darkness of your separation. You replayed the moments you had shared in your mind, savoring the warmth of his touch, the sound of his laughter, the depth of his love.

And then, at long last, the day arrived. You stood at the airport, your heart pounding in your chest as you scanned the crowd for any sign of Harry. And then, there he was, striding towards you with that familiar smile that melted your heart.

You ran into his arms, tears of joy streaming down your face as you held him close, unable to believe that he was finally here, with you, where he belonged.

And then, in a moment that felt like something out of a fairytale, Harry got down on one knee, his eyes shining with love as he held out a small velvet box.

"Y/N," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. "I never want to spend another day apart from you. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Your heart swelled with love as you nodded, tears of happiness blurring your vision. Harry slipped the ring onto your finger, a perfect fit, just like the two of you.

And as you embraced, you knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for. This was the moment that made all the distance and all the struggles worth it. You were here, in each other's arms, and nothing else mattered.

"I promise to always love you," Harry whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "To support you, to stand by your side no matter what."

"I promise to make every day with you an adventure," he continued, his eyes locked on yours. "To cherish and adore you for all eternity."

And as he leaned in to kiss you, you knew that this was just the beginning of your magical love story. A story that had been tested by distance and time, but had only grown stronger because of it.

And as you held each other close, you couldn't help but smile, knowing that you had found your serendipity – a love that was unexpected, yet destined, a love that would guide you through every twist and turn of life's journey, forever and always. You never knew that you had found the love of your life at that wedding, the person who was your last-minute escort would be the one you would marry one day, and love and cherish forever.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

i love you all 💌tell me if you like this! please reblog or comment if you like, it makes my heart happy :)

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[anadiasmount]

hello again? - jude bellingham x reader.

quick sum: weddings and dates. feelings tested to their breaking point when one of you appears with a date. the night is young, is there still a chance to make things right even when it feels wrong?

wc: 4k | masterlist | jude’s masterlist

psa 🗣️: HAD SOO MUCH FUN WRITING THIS!!! this wa smeant to be posted yesterday so I'm sorry for the small delay!! i love the drama and angst but fluffy ending as promised!!🤞🏻 like always hope you enjoy! 🤍

“i going to need five painkillers by the end of the night,” the bride, well, your best friend says. you laugh as you finish tucking in the last few bobby pins in her updo, making sure no flyaway or small bumps are seen, everything sleek and perfect. “i am too. or maybe many many many tequila shots, whichever is first available,” you joke. 

“you should be all set!” you say cheerfully with a full smile on your face, hands resting on her shoulders as she admires your work. “it looks absolutely perfect, thank you! you’re truly a life savor i was ready to cancel the whole wedding,” your friend's eyes glimmer in relief, having a huge weight lifted off her shoulders as you did her hair. the hairstylist had to cancel the day of due to having a family emergency, but refunding her money was the least she could do. 

all the bridesmaids surrounded you, complimenting the hair and most importantly the bride who could just be overall thankful and full of emotions. the photographer came in, taking individual and group pictures of everyone, and opening a bottle of champagne to start the day. 

there were still a couple of hours left so you did some touch-ups on hair and makeup, assuring to add some powder to set and spray a setting mist to ensure it would last all day, also being generous with the hair spray. you changed into the olive green-toned dress and the black pumps for the evening, the dress hitting the correct angle and not interfering with you walk. a simple gold bracelet and matching earrings completed the look, walking out and earning praises from your girlfriends. 

your heart began to race faster approaching the reception, suppressing any feelings away because you felt it wasn't the time. the wedding nerves were killing you but also seeing jude again was making you stress more than it shouldn't have. how he was. what he'd wear. if he was even going to be there?

with jude's schedule, it was hard to even make time for each other, being one of the main reasons for your messy breakup. your promotion to the law firm, move to spain, his recovery, media, games, and the always questioning each other's every move. it took a toll especially on you, crossing yourself every night knowing you couldn't do anything about it except long for him.

he was your every thought since then. if he missed you? how his life was going? if he also desired to get back together? as hard as it was you still felt more than love for him. the feeling in your tummy spreading as you remember the first times with him. the kiss, the date, the sex, the love, all of it.

"i've ordered your favorite, now tell me where i can help you," jude says kissing just below your ear returning from outside where he placed a call. you hand him your flashcards pulling out your notebook to read the different scenarios that match with the words.

"just so you know, before we start, i'll have you know i want something in return," jude whispers with a cheeky grin. "of course you do, what is it," you ask teasingly your arm wrapping around his shoulders waiting for his response.

"a date. i want you to go out on a date with me y/n..." jude says earning a silence from you. your nails rake against the back of his neck, "i'd love too. just so you know, depending how much you help me with determine the commitment to our first date..."

"i promise to be on my best behavior then."

"y/n! are you ready?" your friend waved her hand in the air with a confused look, you immediately snapped back into reality as you stepped out to the reception. "does everyone have their flowers? remember they go in your right hand!" the party organizer reminded you as you quickly got into line with the groomsmen.

it all happened quickly, you smiled at alex who quickly got into place arm wrapped with yours as you walked down the aisle as rehersed. the reception was absolutely beautiful. the tears, the vows, the laughter, the ceremony couldn't have been more perfect. you hated to admit but your eyes did search around for jude, and once you saw him, a sensation in you went numb.

there jude sat with a girl to his side who clearly hadn't read the dress code. placing kisses all over his hand and cheek, the love dazed in her eyes as she stared at jude. jude did reach over a few times and she giggled, making your weak heart wrench further.

jude on the other hand started to get impatient, especially with carla who wouldn't stop annoying him and trying to get his attention every few seconds. since breaking up with you he couldn't stand the PDA towards him or seeing it. jude quickly found it difficult since most of his teammates were married or in committed relationships.

it seemed like everywhere he went, there were reminders of you lingering around. the library you studied and where he took you on a desk in a quiet corner, the cafe where you'd get your morning coffee with him, even his training center, and the beranabeu where he hoped and waited you'd be there. he was miserable and driven to his breaking point.

jude began to regret bringing carla, as she got the wrong message and was all over him. the wedding you planned to go to together, where you were supposed to be his date, not her. but his stupid jealousy and talks from others were the fault he was here today. he was anticipating meeting your boyfriend or date, make the message clear he was going to be in the picture.

he hated to think of someone else when it wasn't him. it ticked him off and he knew he couldn't do anything about it because you weren't there anymore. but no one said he couldn't feel the way he felt. to hate the man who would forever make you laugh, or earn your love at the end of the day.

all those promises, the kisses, the hugs, the forever after you guys created was long gone. it hurt jude to the point where he had nightmares, not being able to sleep. it didn't help when they teased or made comments to him. or the fact a rumor went around you moved on and had someone else.

"carla, do you mind getting some drinks while i say hello to some friends?" jude kindly asks removing her hands from his chest. "anything for us jude! i'll wait for you by our table," she winks at him making jude internally cringe as she walks off.

he dabs up his friends, congratulating the groom and making small talk. "oye jude! que pasa chaval!? i didn't think you'd come," his shorter teammate brahim greeted him. "well i'm here aren't i? how are you? como estais?" jude mocked earning a chuckle from him.

all of his teammates suddenly surrounded him, laughing and discussing the plays for the game before, and the tactics for the upcoming one. jude looked around trying to look for you and carla. he fixed his suit every now and then, entranced with his friends. "who did you come with?" asked brahim, looking around for what presumably could be you.

"an old friend, her name is carla," jude winces at his friend's look. “i thought you were coming with y/n?” asks brahim earning a deep scowl from jude. “no we uh- we broke up a while ago,” jude squints his eyes, eyes finding you where you laughed loudly with your friends.

“but she’s here?”

“yeah but probably not alone,” jude retorted still convinced you were seeing someone and they were here. “what?” brahim laughs at him earning an eye roll from jude, “you can’t be serious! i’m pretty sure she’s single,” brahim says. “what are you playing at here jude?”

“nothing. i’m here for the wedding,” jude scoffs. “yeah sure you are,” brahim squints his eyes then looks around starting to walk off. “when you come to your senses, i’ll wait for you over there. remember not everything seems to be exactly as you seem jude…” he smacks his shoulders and walks off.

you’d probably been on your third glass of champagne by now, enjoying the presence with your girls as you spoke about the wedding and old throwbacks together. the speeches were made and the newly weds had their first dance already. anyone at the event center was dancing, talking, or drinking.

“i’ll be right back, i'm pissing myself,” you excuse yourself laughing at joke as you step away to do your business. you brought along your bag, washing your hands and touching your your makeup that had smudged a bit after the maid of honor speech. applying a fresh coat of lipstick and gloss you dabbed the excess off and headed outside.

you motion to your friends you we're head to the bar, them mouthing to bring shots of tequila and some peanuts to eat. “i don’t think we’ve met before,” a strange voice says behind you, you turn slowly, feeling your chest sink deeper as you place a small smile. “i'm carla,” the girl introduced herself, watching as you hesitated taking her hand.

“i feel like i’ve seen you around somewhere, i just can’t put a finger to it. you know huge town but small circle of friends, i was invited last minute to the wedding so,” carla spoke falsely making you want to walk out the conversation. you nodded along not really caring and wanting to go back. part of you hated the way you were treating her, but it was all the jealousy talking. she had done nothing to you besides show up here with him.

“i’m sorry but my friends are waiting for me,” you apologize letting the bar tender know where you were seated. you grabbed a fresh glass of champagne and standing up, grabbing your bag and walked away. “leaving so soon? i was hoping we could talk,” she approaches you again making you turn again but this time a bit agitated since you were catching on to what she was doing.

“like i said, my friends are waiting for me,” you shrug nonchalantly seeing her cock her head to the said and look you up and down. “well i didn’t catch your name,” she sarcastically says, the anger building in you slowly as she spoke and wanted to rub onto your face who she was here with.

“i’m y/n, but i feel like you know that already.”

“oh you’re the ex-girlfriend!” the girl enhanced the oh, with a fake smile. rage burned in your veins, needing to have resistance before you put her in her place. she had been on it the whole night, and she began to test your limits now. 

“you must be the new girlfriend!” you returned the fake smile and took a huge sip of the champagne. “almost couldn’t tell…” you shrugged looking for an escape route but landing eyes with the man you avoided the whole night. his mouth agape and wide eyes. 

he wore a black suit and white button up, leaving three buttons undone, hair styled and a fancy watch adorning his wrist. you felt tugged into the eye contact, needing and wanting to be the one next to him tonight. but instead here you were, giving your attention to the person you hated most. 

your jaw clenched, turning your attention to your glass where you swirled the drink. “it’s a shame you guys didn’t work, but don’t worry! i’ll take better care of him,” she snarled. “jude spoke so much of you, honestly don’t see anything fascinating about you. have a goodnight.” 

you downed the drink in one go, feeling the burn in your throat as you placed the glass onto the empty table. jude frowned at your state, still overly confused and waiting for your date to appear. then it all clicked in his head, you didn’t bring anyone, you didn’t bring a date. the jealousy and anger disappearing in him slowly as he watched you sit down and sigh covering your head in your hands. 

“what did you say to her?” he questioned his date, seeing a smirk appear on her lips. jude turned back to you where you looked around in a trance, knowing immediately you felt the anxiety in you. 

“what had to be said. it’s all done.” 

“what’s done? what are you doing?” jude spit out dragging her to an empty hall where she just chuckled. “i told her what needed to be said. closed a chapter and now we’re starting a new one,” carla spoke crossing her arms. “i brought you here as a companion, not as my girlfriend or anything more. i think you’re getting the wrong message here,” jude said shaking his head.

“what do you mean jude?”

“i never asked you to do that, carla. you had no right to do that. i brought you here as a companion, not my girlfriend or anything else,” jude makes it clear to her seeing confusion flash into her eyes, now beaming with embarrassment. “i don't get it jude?”

“that i don’t intend to start a relationship with you. i’m sorry if i have given that impression but i can’t. what did you say to her?" jude demands his tone going softly as he walks towards her. "i thought i had said what needed to be said so we could finally be together!"

"y/n is too busy with herself. she got herself a promotion and is focused on her studies! she can't give you what you want and ask for jude! she's nothing compared to me," carla points to herself as she speaks all mumbled.

"and you can? what you did just now, what impression does that give to me carla? the way you're speaking about someone who you don't know, and never will?" jude defends you, deeming the need to even if you weren't there. she opens her mouth to speak but closes it immediately, knowing nothing could fix the situation. "i'm sorry-"

"save it. we both know you don't mean it," jude scoffs and walks off, back into the reception where you're nowhere to be found. he wandered off for a few minutes looking for you, even asking some people around him and they all gave him the same response that they hadn't seen you.

you had walked off back to your friends after a mini breakdown and questioning your life. beginning to blame yourself for everything when it shouldn't. it was both your faults but yet it hurt to hear her say nothing was fascinating about you. you shouldn't have let her words get to heart but what if they were true?

what if you were stuck in your own world and couldn't bother to make time for him? what if you didn't give enough attention especially when he most needed it? to be worried only in the moment and not live your life to its fullest? a couple shots and dancing later you found yourself seated at your table alone, watching you friends dance without their heels drunkly laughing off.

"where are you even going?" jude asks you, seeing how you packed every item away into suitcases. "clearly far way from you. i can't stand it anymore, you're never here jude!" you yell throwing your hand sin the air.

"you're never here and i'm tired of it jude. it's always some bullshit excuse and if you truly cared you'd see that but you don't. i'm not wanted here so the faster i leave, the better for us," you say zipping up the final case.

"you're being ridiculous," jude laughs in disbelief, approaching you but you warn him to not get near you. "this is what i mean! i can hardly recognize you nowadays! i'm done jude. done," you say loud and clear.

"leave. i never needed you anyway." you turn around facing him, a flash of regret filling in his eyes as you look at him in pure disbelief. "you did, or you wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for me."

you share your head at the memory, heading to the empty bar to return the empty glasses, feeling the need to clean up the mess and grab a small snack and final glass of champagne walking out to the outdoor balcony for a breath of air. "y/n?" you look up, not feeling sleepy or drunk anymore, standing up straight as jude approaches you.

was it possible to feel your heart shatter into millions of pieces over and over again? to feel the pit of your stomach turn at the sight of your ex-boyfriend? to feel utter pain when it was supposed to be a happy day? "jude..." you croak, looking away and biting the inside of your cheek.

he rests his forearm on the bar railing looking at you, trying to read you as you looked forward. silence fell upon you, but there was no denying that your hearts began to sprint faster at the closeness of the two of you. "did you need something?" you softly ask, taking a sip of the drink. "i wanted to talk," jude states firmly.

"are you sure? i don't think your girlfriend would like that," you attempt to joke but it earns you a frown from jude who just shakes his head. "i'm not sure she would, i'll just leave this here and go-" you try to walk away but he stops you, softly gripping your wrist refusing to let you go.

"she's not my girlfriend, she also left a while ago..." jude says, seeing you finally lock eyes with his. a deep laugh rumbles from his throat a painful smile stretching along his adorned face, "my first reaction would've been that too, if you had shown up here with someone else."

"i don't get it, why are you here then?" you feel the need to ask, get some sort of answer to relieve the pang in your chest. "why bother being here when you still brought her."

"because i was jealous, there i said it. i was so convinced you'd show up with someone who wasn't me. that i'd have to face reality and finally accept we're not longer together. that i can't call you mine anymore..." jude confesses, making your eyes glisten with new tears again.

"do you not know how it feels? to still be stuck in the past and longing for hope that one day you'll come back to me? having to face everyday with you on my mind anywhere i go? to have vivid dreams of you?" jude frowns, his once rough voice turning delicate as he brought a hand wiped your tears. "i can't stand it anymore."

"i thought this whole time before coming here, you were with someone else. everyone told me you had moved on and looked in a better place and all i could feel was bitterness. it wasn't fair, but i was so wrong y/n. so wrong to the point where i brought someone who could never love me like you did..." jude wiped his own tears away at the state of you.

you felt like you couldn't move, stuck in the same place as you heard his voice. the voice that one day soothed you to sleep, to calm you down, to look forward to at the end of the day. was it possible to feel this emotionless? to have no more tears left to cry? a sob emerged you, covering your face and attempting to control your breaths.

"who said i stopped? i may have an idea of what you feel like, let's be real. i don't know quite frankly who told you i moved on, but that's all lies. i can't do that knowing i still feel the same i did when i first met you," you sniffle taking a gulp and feeling the knot in your throat. "i thought i was fine and could handle seeing you, but my oh my was i incorrect... to see her with you, for her to come up to me and speak the way she did? for a second i thought 'where is my jude'?"

"i'm right here..."jude grabbed your hand and placed it on his heart, bringing it up to his jaw and resting his face on your palm. "don't you see it though? we're back where we ended off. do you possibly think we're good for each other when it seems like we're only hurting?" you question him.

"i've lived everyday thinking i wasn't enough or that i couldn't give you what you wanted jude," you shook your head in disappointment, "i want to fix things i do, but i'm scared that if we do this again, we're going to end up back here confessing our wrongs and tears. the way i felt the day we broke up doesn't compare to now..." you say, jude going quiet and looking down in defeat.

"i miss you so much jude," you choked on your own words, a fresh wave of tears overpowered the dry ones, holding onto jude upper arms as he leaned down and engulfed you into a deep hug. jude repeatedly kissed your head, choking on his own sobs as he repeated how much he missed you.

"i hope you know i'm still so madly in love with you y/n. i've never felt this way for anyone and it seems like its meant for you and you only,"j jude says making you giggle. "i'm serious pretty girl. i'm serious about you and us. i always was and i made the mistake of letting you go once, but i'm not here to do that again. i'm here to grant all of the promises we made," jude holds your face, seeing your red eyes and slightly smudged makeup, still more beautiful than ever.

"all of them?"

"every single one of them."

"i feel like we should talk more about it," you insist, seeing jude nod and agreeing with you. he tightens his grips on you waist leaning further down closer to you. "yes we do and we will, but right now i want to kiss you..." he asks and you grant. he sucks in a breath lips devouring yours after months, holding and kissing you how you liked and deserved.

you held onto his suit, tiptoeing up and deepening the kiss further, being able to taste his minty whisky scent. "come with me. we won't talk about everything tonight but i really just want to be here with you," jude says, sitting down on a small couch laid outside. you immediately follow and cuddle into him like you used to. you place a final peck onto his lips. "wait my drink-" jude holds your waist giving you a look with a playful smile.

"i think that's enough for tonight."

#jude bellingham #judey thoughts 5️⃣ #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham fanfic #football fanfic #footballer #football x reader #football imagine #football x y/n

[aspirationalpeony]

Dark Horse

Summary: As a cameraperson on the Abbott documentary crew, you've always had a good working relationship with Melissa Schemmenti. One flirtatious night at her home sends you spinning as you try to figure out if this is really real—not to mention how everyone at Abbott seemed to know about Melissa's crush on you, long before you ever did. (See author's note at the end for prompt credit.) Content Warnings: Lots of smut, a bit of emotional confusion, and me having absolutely no idea how filming anything works. I just faked my way through it, very horribly. Oops! :) AO3 Link

It all starts with a late shoot.

It's just you and the mic guy and one other crew, and your camera trained on Melissa Schemmenti. She talks, in a way she's done rarely so far. A season and a half and she's always conscious of the stare of the lenses, quick to dart around a corner or cut herself off if she knows the opps are listening.

She takes big sips, almost gulps, from her wine glass. She leads you back and forth across her house, reaching over tables or pointing along walls to find a photo here, another there, and talks. "Me'n Kristen-Marie... This one—" pause for more wine—"from my college graduation." It's the two of them, almost mirror images of each other at that age, with a tall man whose lean face makes you think he has to be their father; on the other side of the girls is their Nana.

There's no trick in this photo: no wedding dress, no blood, no hint of drama between the sisters at all. They just look hopeful and desperately young. This feels private, that Melissa could have been so young—something that shouldn't be content for the show—and you feel an impulse to duck the camera away, hide her secret. When you look at Melissa again, she’s watching you; there’s a glitter in her green eyes you can’t interpret: not hostile, and not the look she gets when she’s hustling someone, either. The gaze she’s giving you is strangely soft.

“Whaddaya think?” she says, to you, not to the camera.

You swallow. Nothing you say will make it to the final cut, but the editors will hear your answer, so you can’t tell her she’s beautiful in that picture. “I think I’m lucky you’re showing me this,” you say at last.

Her eyes move over your face. You feel it almost like a touch, intimate and slow, and you aren’t making it up: her gaze stops at your mouth and hovers there. She bites her lower lip before she lifts her wine glass again for another pull. “Maybe I like ya,” she says. “Maybe you’ll get luckier.”

You’re still blushing when you wrap for the night. You sit on your couch at home—you’re always insomniac after shooting at night, your brain and body still buzzing with the work—and put on Netflix on low volume and you don’t watch, just feel your cheeks still burning, thinking about her lipstick on her wine glass.

Of course, the whole crew knows the story by the next morning. When you turn up, Pedro, your best friend on the crew, says, “Look at you! Dark horse!” and it makes your face sear with heat all over again. He lowers his voice, leans in and nudges you. “C’mon, nothing in the contract about that. You deserve a little fun. Let your Italian mama take care of you.”

You cringe. “Please,” you say, “never say ‘Italian mama’ to me again. Okay?”

“Just sayin’,” he says, and leaves it alone.

Of course, it doesn’t leave you alone. You’ve learned the best way to sneak up on a conversation with Melissa and Barbara is to come at it around a corner, so you’re hovering down the kindergarten hall, camera on the two women, when you hear your name, making you stiffen.

“You said that?” Barbara’s voice is incredulous, sharp. “What did she say?”

“Nothin’, really,” Melissa says, “she was on the clock, y’know.” The smile starts in her voice before it grows on her face. It’s a Cheshire smirk bigger and deeper than you’ve ever seen. “She got all flustered. It was cute. You think she knows I was shootin’ my shot?”

“I think you could have ‘shot your shot’ with a little more dignity,” Barbara says crisply. “Like an adult does. Politely. Pleasantly.”

“Soberly,” Melissa says. “Listen, if it works, it works. I just gotta find out if it did, y’know. Work. She’s kinda shy.”

“I didn’t know you cared for that.”

"What, the quiet ones?"

You have to pull away. You're going to miss the rest of the conversation, but your face is burning again, your heart is pounding, and you're grappling with the reality that Melissa and Barbara are talking about you, that you're subject enough between them to be chatted about so casually, that all this footage is... God, are you ever going to live this down?

You'll go shoot some Janine and Gregory. That's always a crowd-pleaser; the audience loves the sweet tension between them, the way the space between their bodies turns tangible the longer their eye contact holds. You try not to think about Melissa's gaze on yours last night. You try to do your job.

That goes as well as you might expect. Fifteen minutes into some uninspiring quiz-grading ("oh, I never fail anyone," Janine says, "I just give 'em a different colored star—they like the gold ones best, so—") Pedro comes to find you.

"Hey, listen," he says, "I need you to come take care of your Calabrian chili pepper."

"What?"

"You know, your spicy linguini. Your Italian ma—"

"Stop." Your head whips toward Janine at her desk and then back to Pedro. The only thing you can think of to say, your heart thumping all over again, is "She's Sicilian, not Calabrian."

"She's giving us nothing. You got to come do her talking head. She keeps trying to square up to Kai and he doesn't wanna fight her."

"What makes you think she won't fight me?"

He gives you a look over his glasses.

The change in Melissa is instant when she sees you approach. Those folded arms, her squared shoulders, her broad, foot-planted stance—it all melts. She leans into the wall, her head tipping, one booted foot lifting for her toe to play in idle lines along the floor, and, yeah. Whether you picked her or not, this is your Sicilian chili pepper, and you swallow hard as you approach.

"Heya, hon," she says, "who's this clown they got me workin' with? Don't they know I only do this with the professionals?"

You mumble a little as Kai looks between the two of you, rolls his eyes, and backs off.

"We were talking about her Friday night plans," Pedro says. "It's school game night and she's not going."

"Yeah, the kids are too easy to hustle," she says, "it ain't even fun. What, do I look like I wanna spend all Friday winnin' their, I dunno, their Yu-Gi-Oh cards?"

Now's when Pedro should prompt her, ask a question. You glance at him; he nods his permission. "Not sure those are a thing anymore," you say.

"Their Pokemon cards," she says. "Whatever. Point is, it'd be like taking candy from a... Jacob."

You don't look at her; you focus on the camera. It's easier than holding her green gaze. "Is that where you draw the line?"

"Gotta draw it somewhere," she says.

You can't help it. Cautiously you look up, try to make your voice neutral: "So how are you going to spend Friday night?"

She lolls her head to one side and looks at you. She sticks her tongue into her cheek. "Prob'ly practicing tricks," she says.

"Tricks?"

"Yeah," she says. "With my magic wand."

You don't really remember the rest of the interview. You sure you babble some other questions, and she gives you some smirking answers, but your head is full of white noise and a singular image: Melissa Schemmenti with a vibrator between her legs.

You're sure other things happen that day. Pedro definitely ribs you some more, you and Kai go get lunch and he complains for a while, Gregory and Janine have one of their not-flirting conversations where he draws up a tightly-plotted itinerary for game night, trying to prove it's possible to run a children's event without delays (it all goes back to his father, of course), at some point you go home and numbly resume your post on the couch in front of your TV screen, trying to make sense of it all.

That picture won't leave your head. You think of the look she gave you that night at her house—intimate, caressing—and how she'd look deep in her pleasure, drunk eyes half-open, her face pink, her hair wild. Does she get naked when she touches herself? She seems too impatient—more like a jeans around her thighs kind of woman—but for a night she's planning ahead—a night she's set aside, just for her pleasure...

Your head drops back and you shut your eyes to see her more clearly. You can imagine the scattering of freckles over her shoulders and chest, the shift of her heavy breasts and the hard peaks of her pink nipples—how does she like to be touched there? Maybe she grabs one breast while she uses the vibrator, plays with a nipple, imagining the rough, confident hand of a lover. You can see the soft field of her belly, the abundance of her hips, her thighs, picturing her cunt, the head of the vibrator against her clit—she doesn't tease, can't tease herself, you imagine, not Melissa.

You can almost smell her sex, you think, until you realize it's yourself you're smelling. Your cunt throbs. You could shove a hand into your underwear now and just take care of it, but...

Your small toy collection lives in a box under your bed. It's nothing fancy, but you do have a small wand vibrator. You peel off your trousers and underwear and drop onto your bed, back against the pillows, holding the purple toy in one hand. Does Melissa have one this size? Or a big, classic one, the kind that could buzz your clit right off? You click the toy on and draw it up your thigh. As it nears the sensitive crease between your leg and your sex, your thigh twitches without meaning to, your clit aching, and you think, okay, no foreplay.

You can't help but wonder as you delve the thrumming head between your folds: does she know you're doing this? Was that the idea—plant herself in your head, grow over everything, including your common sense and your inhibitions, until your whole world flowers Melissa? Could she be doing the same—getting a head start on Friday's plans—thinking of you, right now? You're normally quiet when you do this, but that makes you groan aloud. Your clit pulses.

How does she do this, on a school night, like tonight? Back to the image of her with her trousers halfway down her legs, her hand and her toy crammed into the space between the fabric and her body. You can't help but see her in the outfit from today, that green, clinging top, the black blazer discarded somewhere, slacks caught just above her knees, her hair mussed and tangling against the pillows as she works the vibrator over her clit. No playing games for her, either; just getting the job done, hard and fast.

You come, watching her in your head, her name on your lips; you hope she comes tonight, too, thinking of you, of what she’s doing to you.

The next day, Janine, Gregory, and Jacob are in hushed conversation by the supply closet. You pick an angle from just inside the nearest classroom and train your camera on the slight crack of the open door and you can hear them, even though they think they’re being quiet—classic them.

“I don’t know, what do you think?” Janine is saying. “I think it’s kind of nice.”

“I think,” Gregory says, “it’s like…” He pauses, picking his words. “Like watching a dog shake a chew toy.”

“I think it’s very brave of Melissa,” says Jacob, and your heart drops into your stomach. “Considering the historical era in which she grew up and started her teaching career, being openly bisexual in the workplace must be a very—”

“Please don’t let her hear you call her ‘historical’,” Gregory interjects.

“It’s cute she has a crush on the camera lady,” Janine says. (“Cameraperson,” Jacob corrects.) “I just want it to turn out nice. You know, the vending machine guy didn’t work out, so. And now he doesn’t stock Gushers anymore.”

“Maybe she’ll be a little more relaxed,” Jacob says. “A little more… Open, fun—”

“She’s not going to start liking you because she’s dating somebody.” Gregory, with characteristic bluntness.

“One can hope,” Jacob says.

“The camera lady—person—is so quiet, though,” Janine muses. “Melissa is so intense.”

“Bet that’s what she likes,” Mr. Johnson says, making them all jump. He steps out from the supply closet; he’s holding a Teachers Without Borders coffee mug you know has to be Jacob’s. He takes a long, slurping sip, making sure everybody sees the logo on the cup. “Melissa gets a sweet little thang to take care of. Camera lady gets an Italian mama.” He says it eye-talian. (Where is everybody getting this phrase from?)

“Please don’t say ‘Italian mama’ again,” Gregory says, giving you a little flush of vindication.

“Why not?” Mr. Johnson says. “When I was on tour in Rome—”

That’s enough for you. You decide the rest of the conversation can go unrecorded. You check the time and it’s nearly lunch—thank God, because you don’t want to make eye contact with any of them for a while; you don’t know how to feel about them all talking about you. You know it’s not you, really, they care about. It’s Melissa, her caginess at odds with how boldly, openly she’s been flirting with you, an attraction so obvious even the younger teachers that she’d never confide in can see it.

Something light and effervescent swirls in your stomach, but there’s a leaden weight there, too. Nerves. And desire. You let Pedro know you’re taking lunch and leave your camera behind, finding Kai a block down, away from the school, hitting his vape. He passes it to you and you take a pull, letting candy-scented vapor out of your nose. You don’t really smoke anymore, but anybody would need a little comfort under these circumstances, you think.

“So what are you going to do?” he asks.

“What?” You didn’t know Kai cared about that. “I mean, I guess I’ll talk to her, maybe give her my number, then see—”

“For lunch.”

“Oh.”

You get hoagies together, eating them over a public trash can, standing up. Back at the school you scrub your hands clean in the bathroom and duck Pedro and your camera and you find your way down the second-grade hall to the classroom that's usually the noisiest. It's quiet now: the kids are at the library doing a reading circle with the librarian. Maybe it says something that you know their schedule.

She's in there, glasses low on her nose, working. You pause just on the threshold of the open door. You try to piece together everything you know about her, to make it all fit into the person you see, just a small woman with a love of pleather and a never-ending supply of high-heeled boots, a baseball bat taped under her desk (you've seen it), a guitar propped in one corner of the classroom (does she ever play?), how now she's focused and reading with scrupulous intensity, doubling back on a sentence from time to time, her manicured hand coming up to twitch away a lock of red hair.

You knock on the open door. You see her hand pass under the desk toward the bat before she realizes who's standing there. She cracks a grin, lifting her glasses up to the top of her head. Her eyes travel up and down your body in another look that feels like a touch.

"I was wonderin' when you'd stop by," she says.

You give a little hum. You cross the room to lean against a student's desk, just opposite hers.

"No camera?"

"No," you say, "I wanted it to be just us."

"Huh." She taps her pen on her paper a few times. "You here to let me down easy?" She lifts her chin. The look she gives you isn't intimate now: it's far-removed and challenging, like the gaze of a duelist across a plain. You've seen this before, the way she starts closing herself off, armoring up.

You shake your head. There's a shift in her expression, but the walls don't quite come down. "I guess I wanted to ask what you want."

"That ain't obvious?"

"I mean..." Your arms come up, folding over your chest. "You know, I was here last season, when you were dating that guy... Hulk Hogan."

It surprises a laugh out of her. "Yeah, Gary."

"You asked him out and it was... Different. I mean..." You can't think of how to say it. At last, you say, "Do you take me seriously?" No, that's not it. "I mean, are you just trying to hook up with me? Because, I..." You're starting to burn up again. You rub the back of your neck. "That's not the kind of... Listen, you're beautiful, and sexy, but that's not what it would—I mean, to me, it—"

"You're so cute when you're all shy," Melissa says, sounding equally mystified and amused. She stands. "Look... Maybe I did this all wrong." She circles the desk. "Kinda treated you like a piece of meat."

"Just a little bit," you say.

"I take you serious, hon." She doesn't cross the gap between you two, but mirrors your pose, leaning on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over her chest. "Look, Gare was a nice guy. But he didn't have, you know... He didn't make me wanna..."

You think of Gregory's metaphor. "Shake him like a chew toy?"

Another laugh. "Yeah, that. And I guess I felt... You know, I'd kinda uncorked the bottle, datin' him, when I thought all that part of my life was done, and when you were at my place the other night, you just looked so good, and I just wanted..."

You smile, eyes down. The cold uncertainty is trickling away and there's warmth pouring into the spaces it's left behind. "Okay," you say.

"Okay?"

When you look up, she's moved a little closer. You can smell her perfume again, warmed on her skin over the course of a long day. You've had the privilege of seeing her in detail, so many times: the fine, thin skin around her eyes, the creases at the corners of her mouth that forecast her smile, the tiny hint of gray growing in at her temples, the mellow warmth of her green gaze, the slope of her nose crooking slightly to her left. It's different with no lens between the two of you, when you're close enough to touch.

"Yeah, okay," she says to whatever she sees in your eyes. She lifts her chin and drops her gaze to your mouth. It's a clear request.

You answer it. You dip your head; there's a moment where your noses nearly bump, but you change your angle, catch her lips with yours. There's a tackiness from her lip gloss and an incredible softness underneath. The warmth of her almost shocks you, vivid past your imagining. Her hand pets at your jaw; you feel the other curl into the collar of your shirt. She pulls you closer by the fabric and you gasp.

You renew the kiss, lips sliding over hers. Your hand rubs down her lower back. You can feel the divot in her spine where it meets her pelvis, just above the generous curve of her ass. Before you can overthink it, your palm is gliding over that curve, your fingers digging into its lushness, Melissa gasping against your mouth as you squeeze.

"Oh," she says faintly when the kiss is over and you're catching your breath. "Huh." Her look is glazed and a little bewildered.

"I, um, I don't want to send mixed messages," you say, "but about Friday..."

"Friday?" she echoes.

"Yeah." You bite down on your smile, watching her try to remember what the hell you're talking about. "I was thinking... I know a few magic tricks of my own."

"Oh," she says again. You watch her eyes spark with understanding, her smile appear slowly, then all at once. "I guess you could come over and show me your stuff." Her hands tighten in your shirt and pull you back in for another kiss.

"Hey, gimme your phone," she says, much, much later, when you're wearing more of her lip gloss than she is. "I want to give ya my number." You don't think before you're unlocking it and passing it into her hands. She lowers her glasses from the top of her head to the bridge of her nose and thumbs her way around your phone, creating a contact for herself.

You have a flash of nerves—what if she opens your Instagram and sees all the stupid accounts you follow? A vision comes of her seeing all the dog-using-buttons-to-talk videos you've liked, her libido instantly withering... Then she's giving you back your phone and smirking at you, wiping at your lip with her thumb. "Might wanna stop in the bathroom before you get back to work, hon," she says.

When you leave her classroom, it's like floating; you've never felt so light. You stop in the bathroom and you wipe all the lip gloss off your smiling mouth. You catch yourself humming as you and Kai catch some footage of Ava pretending to organize game night, Gregory trying to involve himself, Janine admitting to a little competitive streak.

Your phone buzzes, chimes. "Sorry," you say to Janine and Pedro, who's leading the interview. You wait until you can lower the camera lens to check the notification. You always keep it silenced during the day—did Melissa turn the ringer on?

Italian Mama iMessage

Your face burns. You take a corner away from Pedro and unlock the phone.

Italian Mama You made me real happy

Your blush intensifies; something flutters in your chest. The phone vibrates in your hand as another message comes.

Italian Mama Don't know how I'm going to wait until Friday

The echo of your own thought in her words makes your heart flutter again. You bite your lower lip and type back, Me neither. An electric spark of daring moves you, makes you send her, Maybe I'll practice some magic just to make sure I'm on top of my game.

Is that too much? You hope not. You've basically made a sex appointment with her for Friday—sex appointment, you think, and wince at yourself, your own awkwardness; it's a date—and you don't—your breath hitches as three dots appear on your screen, showing that she's typing.

Italian Mama Oh yeah?

Italian Mama Better practice hard

You feel a pulse low in your belly. You're ready to type a little more flirtation when another message arrives and makes you gasp aloud, quickly clamping your hand over your mouth before Pedro or somebody else can hear you.

She's sent you a photo. It's herself pulling down the scoop neck of the hot pink blouse she's wearing today. You can see just the tip of her nose, her chin, the proud line of her soft neck, her freckled sternum, and, holy shit. She's showing you her breasts cradled in a bra made of black lace. And you stare. And you stare.

Italian Mama Little incentive for you

Your mouth is watering. You can see the rosy shadows of her nipples against the lace. You barely register yourself typing back, You're perfect.

Italian Mama Thought you'd like em

You're typing before you can stop yourself. All I'll be able to think about now is what I'm going to do to you.

Three dots appear, then disappear. Appear, then disappear. Your confidence wavers.

Italian Mama I want you to tell me

You've never imagined you'd be turned on in the halls of Abbott Elementary, but suddenly you're so aware of your cunt, you can't stand it. You're throbbing. You peer around the corner; Pedro isn't even looking your way, he's talking something over about the schedule with another producer. You have time. You glance up and down the hall; nobody except an aide going into a room at the far end.

Your fingers fly over the keys. If you stop to think, you'll psych yourself out, so you blurt out every thought, the iMessage equivalent of babbling—what you'd be doing in Melissa's ear if you could have her right now, in your arms, again...

You're so fucking sexy

I've thought about you so much

I touched myself thinking about you the other night

I'm going to kiss you until you go crazy and you're so turned on you can't take it

I'm going to undress you and I'm going to kiss every fucking inch of you

I'm going to play with you until you're begging

Do you like it rough or gentle?

Three dots.

Italian Mama Little of both

You're typing again in a flurry. You can feel your heart pounding, your breath coming in harder. You probably only have a couple minutes left to really make her feel it.

I'm going to be so gentle with you until you beg me to be rough

I want to bite you

Do you like being bitten?

Italian Mama Yeah

I know you do

On your neck, on your breasts

I'm going to bite your thighs before I eat you out

"Homie, you coming?" Pedro says, with the best and worst timing—and phrasing—he could possibly have.

"Yeah, one sec," you say, and you're proud of how your voice doesn't wobble at all. "Let me just send this. Sorry."

I have to get back to work

Italian Mama Fuck you

Italian Mama How am I supposed to teach like this

Italian Mama Come here and finish what you fuckin started

You laugh, breathless and surprised. You text her, YOU started it! If she hadn't sent you that picture... You scroll back up and look again. In the bit of her face you can see, she's smirking, because of course she is. The luscious curve of her breasts—you can almost feel them, what it would be like to drag your nose down between them, mouth at the soft skin...

Pedro's waiting. You send her a bunch of blowing-kiss emojis and put your phone away again. You're still buzzing with arousal, but you feel a strange satisfaction, knowing that Melissa is a few halls away, squirming behind her desk, thinking about all the promises you've made.

The day passes, somehow. It's a strange mixture of slow, syrupy boredom and electric, frenetic activity as more preparations are made for game night, and your phone periodically buzzes with another message from Melissa. Thankfully (for your pussy—you think it might fall off if it keeps aching like that), the two of you leave the subject of sex, and just talk.

She asks you your birthday, your favorite food. Where did you grow up? What's your favorite color? Each one makes you smile. You feel like you're on the receiving end of a Schemmenti interrogation, a mob boss with her goons behind her. You get her answers back in turn: July 19. (You respond in shock, You're a water sign??? and you can almost hear her voice when she dryly responds, I got no clue what that means, hon.) Pasta con sarde. Grew up here in South. Pink.

Your heart flutters with every new thing you learn. Even though you go home (and rub one out) alone, she's a presence with you, not just in your fantasies; you find you're texting her until you fall asleep, phone sliding out of your hand onto the bedspread. And when you wake up the next day, preceding your alarm by a bit, you find a text from her waiting for you, just a few minutes ago: Good morning, baby.

You levitate all the way through Thursday. You spot Melissa a few times that day, but it's a packed day for her two classes, so mostly it's in the hall as she marches lines of students to and fro. She gets you back for yesterday, though: pauses in the doorway of her classroom as she's filing the kids in after lunch, and gives you an up-and-down look of such searing intensity that your body heats, scalp to toes. She smirks before she vanishes into her room.

She makes you crazy. God, she's incredible. You're texting her every chance you both can get, though she's sparser while she's with the kids; it's all light stuff. Get lunch here today, she tells you, Shanae made beef patties, and when Shanae slips you a couple of golden-crusted pastries, you bite into them, smelling warm, floral curry, savory beef on your tongue, and think of how Melissa it is, feeding you from a distance.

That afternoon, just after dismissal, she calls, "Hey," to you from her classroom door. You try not to jump to attention. "I gotta do a lot of work," she says, playing with the strap of her Apple Watch, "or I'd ask you over, but..." Strangely, her eyes drop. It's a hint of shyness and it makes your heart patter, tenderness and affection for her pouring into your chest. "I was thinkin', why don't we go out and get, like, food or a drink or somethin' tomorrow? You know, before you come over."

"Okay," you say. Her eyes flick up and as soon as she sees your goofy grin, her shyness melts away, turns back into the smirking self-assuredness you're more familiar with.

"You pick the place," she says, knocking the wind out of you at once.

Oh, crap. You remember what it was like with her and Gary: he tried to take her to a shitty spot for their first date, and she flicked him away from her like a bug. She's challenging you, you think, asking to be impressed.

You can do that. Dark horse, right? "Okay," you repeat. "I'll pick."

She leans back against the doorframe. All at once she's in that lolling, casual, flirtatious posture that she assumes for you and only you, her face tilted up, gaze intimate and a little sly. "You headin' out? I get a goodbye kiss, or what?"

"Okay," you say a third time, and you can barely kiss her, you're smiling so widely. You take your fill of her, in every sense, one more time before you leave for the day, nerves and excitement and that thread of arousal all tangling together, like a knot of live wires.

You're texting her later, because of course you're texting her later. Do you want it to be a surprise?

Italian Mama I dunno

Italian Mama Surprises never seem to work out for me

That gives you a little twinge. You find yourself running the tip of your finger up and down the side of your phone, the way you'd touch her hand or her cheek, if you could. How about just this one? you ask. And if you hate it, I'll never surprise you again?

You wish you could see her face. It would help you know if she's resigned or wary or scared. You don't want her to be antsy or nervous going into tomorrow; you want her to feel like she makes you feel: like you've got balloons and not bones, like a wind could catch you and carry you off, you're so light and so happy.

Italian Mama Ok

Italian Mama I'm gonna trust ya

It makes your heart do its now-familiar flutter in your chest. It's like there's a bird in there, some delicate fledgling thing eager to start flying. It wants to soar, holding its precious cargo: Melissa Schemmenti's trust.

The next day. Friday. Friday. Somehow, the school day rockets past you. Game night preparations have gone disastrously, and it's time for a patented Ava save, with the help of Janine and Gregory.

"Wow, who could've guessed," Kai mutters to you, and fidgets in the pocket you know holds his vape.

Your hand fidgets in your own pocket, around your phone. You and Mel exchanged good morning texts, a few kiss emojis, promises to meet up before dismissal to solidify your plans, but you haven't had a chance to see her at all.

"I don't know," you say, "I think they'll get it figured out."

"I think she's probably going to use it to mine Bitcoin somehow," Kai says.

Honestly, that sounds plausible. You shake your head anyway and make an excuse and scoot past Pedro. He's not encouraging Ava to stream game night live on Instagram, per se, but everybody knows that will guarantee some Coleman-style silliness, so he needs to get her there somehow. (Can you mine Bitcoin through Instagram?)

You don't need to send any directions to your feet; they're already walking you toward the second grade classrooms. Mel doesn't have lunchroom duty today, so you know she'll probably be catching up on two classes' worth of quizzes, or restocking art supplies, or prepping the next lesson's props and tools. Her door is shut and you peek in through the window.

She's writing on the whiteboard, looking back and forth from a worksheet in her hand, glasses on her nose. You knock. When she sees you, the narrow-eyed look of interrupted concentration melts away; she gives you a smile that shows her teeth, the kind that changes her whole face, turning her girlish, almost a little goofy. It makes your heart melt.

You open the door. "Hey," you say as she puts her glasses on top of her head and caps the marker. Being in the room with her, after not seeing her all morning, feels like coming out of the cold to a blazing fire. "Uh, hi. You look beautiful today." Then, for the third time, stupidly, adoringly, "Hi."

"You missed me, huh?" she says, putting down the marker and paper. "C'mere."

As soon as you're in grabbing distance, she takes two handfuls of your ass and pulls you in for a kiss. You're lost in it for long, long seconds.

She pulls back after giving your lower lip a bite that makes you squeak. She tucks her hands squarely in the back pockets of your jeans, holding you against her. "You look beautiful today too."

"Thanks," you say, barely registering the compliment, the way you're chasing more contact, kissing the corner of her mouth, nosing at her cheek. She's so warm in your arms. She's wearing one of her tough-girl outfits, a blazer and matching top in military green, and you sneak your hand under the jacket, finding a little stripe of bare skin between her shirt and her slacks. You touch her there with a teasing trace of your fingernail.

She shivers. Is she sensitive on her lower back? You file it away to investigate later tonight. The thought of being able to have her all to yourself tonight—hours and hours—sends sparks skipping through you. You have to kiss her again.

"You think it's unprofessional, doin' this at work?" Mel asks you breathlessly when you part again.

"I don't know," you say, "but whatever Gregory and Janine have been doing is worse, kind of."

"Yeah, that's for sure," Melissa says, and gives you a third kiss; this time, the delicate muscle of her tongue laps at you, little frissons of heat that go right between your legs.

"I came to talk about dinner," you say at last, when you think you can survive without kissing her.

"Oh, yeah," Mel says, "right. What am I wearin'?"

"Uh..." You hadn't considered it. You're just going in your usual date outfit—a button-up, a nice pair of trousers. "Business casual?"

"Okay, easy. Do I get a hint where we're goin'?" One eyebrow goes up. Her gaze acquires a competitive glint, one you've seen a hundred times through your camera. "I bet I can guess it."

"Here's your hint," you say, "it's not Italian."

"Smart cookie," Melissa says, which leads you both into another kiss, and then another. "It ain't a sandwich shop, is it?"

"No," you say, "I can't beat cousin Rocco."

"Soul food," she says.

"No. I'll come pick you up, is that okay?"

"Yeah, come, like, at five. I gotta change and do my face and stuff." She leans back, giving you a squint-eyed look of scrutiny. "Tell me it ain't French."

"It ain't," you promise, and seal it with a kiss. "I have to go. I'm pretending to be in the bathroom."

"Oh, shit," she says, eyes going wide, "we gotta catch up on this freakin' math unit and I forgot, I haven't peed in, like—"

"Go, go," you say with a laugh, letting her extract her hands from your pockets.

When you return, Kai narrows his eyes at you. You shrug at him and you're ready to get back to work, when he reaches across and plucks something off your shoulder: a single red hair. Crap.

"Damn," he says. "Dark horse."

"What's up?" Pedro glances over at you two. Fuck, you don't know if you can take his teasing today—you know he'll want all the details, and you love him, but you want to just get through work and get to Melissa...

"Nothing," Kai says, and drops the hair. He gives you a nod.

You nod back, warmth and gratitude making you smile. He doesn't smile back—you don't think you've ever seen him smile, actually—but you think you see the corner of his mouth curve up, just a little, as he peers into his camera.

Dismissal, a quick goodbye kiss with Melissa, home to get ready. You're normally an all-black kind of girl—it's just easy—but you pause in your closet and find a pink button-up. It's a mellow, soft shade, the same color as a silky blouse you've seen Melissa wear.

You put on your cologne, you style your hair. You look at yourself in the mirror. It’s funny: this is the same face you’ve always had, but three days of Melissa have done something to you. Your eyes look larger, softer; there’s a smile on your lips, small but persistent, that’s been there all day.

You haven’t always been lucky with women. You have love in your heart—God, a lot of it. Sometimes it feels like the water of an ancient lake, going down almost infinitely deep, and yet somehow about to overflow. You spent years going around offering it to anyone who would take it, and once they’d drunk their fill, they just moved on, satisfied, never giving a thought to you, never thinking you might want something back, even just gratitude.

So you pulled away. You just hurt too easily: keep them at arm’s length, never close enough to bruise. The quiet one, the shy one; that’s who you became over time, knowing that if you gave out of your abundance, you’d only be depleted. No one’s ever filled your cup.

You find yourself chewing your lip, staring at yourself. You want this to be different. You want this to be something else. Can it be?

You park your car in front of Melissa’s and find yourself wondering: text, or knock? You’re starting to get out of the car when the front door opens, and a rush of surprise and pleasure comes at the thought of Melissa waiting, watching for you. Then your breath catches hard in your throat.

She’s wearing a little red dress that… “Wow,” you say, before she’s even close enough to hear. The square neck of the dress is cut lower than her usual wear, and shows an abundance of skin that makes your mouth water. There’s a princessy quality to the cap sleeves, a delicate detail that’s perfect for Melissa: blazing, challenging red, with a hint of sweetness. The hem stops just above her knees. The fabric shows her body in intimate detail, the delicate rounding of her stomach and the flare of her hips, straining across the perfect shape of her thighs.

Her hair is down. Even late in the day it has a bit of curl. Her green eyes are like gemstones in the early evening light. Her heels have got to be four inches, but she walks with the steadiness of a queen. She’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen.

You circle the car to get the passenger side door. “Hey,” she says, surprised, coming closer, “it’s pink,” and touches your sleeve. It’s not even contact with your skin, barely contact, period, but it sends tingles up and down your arm. “That’s my favorite color.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, grinning like a fool.

Her eyes drop—that hint of shyness again, that tenderness that makes your heart strain against your chest, trying to reach her—before they flick back up. “How do I look?”

“I could look at you for hours,” you tell her honestly.

"I'd kiss ya, but you'd mess up my face," she says. "Here, you get one." She turns and offers her cheek.

You're smiling as you lean down to kiss the offered skin. She's soft and warm, and you get the powdery scent of her makeup, the richness of her perfume.

"Now, c'mon, feed me," she says, and you laugh and open her door.

You drive. She's exactly the kind of passenger you expected: "Hey, check it," every time she sees a car nosing out past a stop sign, or "On your left," when you're trying to merge. "Hey," she barks when somebody cuts you off, a gesticulating, accusatory hand in the air, "cazzo, you wanna watch where you're fuckin' going?"

Melissa. Abrasive, loud, bossy, and you don't feel bulldozed at all. You feel charmed. The smile won't leave your face. You don't know if she could be more herself than right now, in your ancient Volvo, wearing the sexiest outfit you've ever seen on her, looking simultaneously bold and delicate and delicious, and hollering out the window like an angry truck driver.

She's checking her phone as you pull up outside the restaurant, and doesn't look up again until you're opening her door. "Oh," she says, surprised, looking at the place: it's a red brick building, no sign; just a single hanging red lantern beside a white door. You can see her trying to puzzle it out, glancing at you and back to the door.

"It's a bar," you explain. You open the door to your favorite izakaya. Low, golden light and warmth spill out with the Jrock playing over the speaker system.

Melissa cocks her head and looks at you curiously. You only notice that her hand's in her clutch purse when she draws it out again; you hear the rattle of her keys dropping back to the bottom. "Thought you might'a been about to take my other kidney," she says. "I was gonna fight ya."

You blink. It's one of those Melissa-isms, delivered in her dry voice, that you think might be a joke, but it might not be, either. "I wouldn't win if you did."

"You sure as hell wouldn't, baby," she says, and lets you hold the door for her as she steps inside.

You love this place. It feels a bit like your first apartment after you left home, a lot of exposed brick, shoddy white paneling creating an accent wall, and decor that's a little vintage, a little silly: a big, ornate mirror that might have once decorated a cheap theater, brass sconces for lights, Gojira posters in the style of classic ukiyo-e. There's booths on one side of the room and a mirrored bar on the other, with a wall of sake and Japanese whisky.

The hostess recognizes you, waves hi, gestures toward the room for you to seat yourself. It won't start filling up until a little later, so you have your pick of the booths; you take the side that puts your back to the door, letting Melissa have the sightline to the exit.

The low light flatters her. Any light flatters her, but there's something about the dim, intimate, golden warmth of it that makes you stare as she studies the menus, first the drinks, then the food; her eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her cheek, the curve of her lips carving lines there.

She looks up and catches you. The thoughtful twist of her mouth turns into a smirk. The question, though, isn't what you were expecting. "What made you pick here?"

Huh. "I..." You rub the back of your neck, dropping your gaze. "I really like it." That's a start, but not all of it. "I thought you might not have this kind of food all the time. I never see you eating it and I wanted you to have a nice change. And..."

"I come here alone a lot." You shrug. "I have... Good memories here." They are good memories: people-watching, trying new drinks and food, chats with the bartenders, a karaoke night where you fell in with a group of laughing, drunk women who all worked at the same office, who tried to persuade you to bar-hop with them until last call.

But it's always been you, alone; sometimes folded in with somebody else out of goodwill, sometimes noticed for your familiar face and your generous tips, spared a few more minutes of a busy mixologist's time, but always a separation, a glass wall between you and the rest of the room. No one's been on this side of it with you before.

"I wanted you to have a good memory," you say, finally. "I wanted to share it with you."

You glance at Melissa. She's watching you with a look you recognize. It's the one she gave you that night at her house—just earlier this week, but it feels like a lifetime ago. It's tender and intent. It's encouraging. Like she's watching a flower bloom.

"It's already a good memory for me, hon," Melissa says. Something nudges your ankle. It's her foot in its killer heel, gently insinuating between both of yours. You feel her knee against yours, your calves aligned together. She smiles at you. "We're here together."

Your heart does one of its aerial flips.

"You sure get shy for somebody who was talkin' about suckin' my tits before, though," she says.

You choke on nothing. Your face and ears burn. She laughs, her head dropping back, the light glinting on her saints' medals.

"Biting," you squeak, when you can get air. "We were talking about biting."

"Biting," she says, "right. How come you can say all that to me but you're nervous tellin' me you like a bar?"

It's not a bad question. You trace the grain of the wooden tabletop for a second or two, eyes down. "I'm used to giving other people what they like," you say. "I don't mean—it's not that I was lying or faking. No way. I meant it, I mean it, everything I say to you. So much, Melissa." You dart a look up to make sure she understands. "I mean, it's easy for me... For other people, I can express..."

Her hand finds yours on the table and stills it. Her manicured finger gently swipes along the curve below your thumb, down to the sensitive inner skin of your wrist, and traces slowly there, back and forth. She's giving you that look again, gentle and focused and intimate. "I get it," she says simply.

A rush of relief fills you, settling the rattle of your anxious nerves. You turn your hand over and hers settles into yours.

The server appears for your drink orders. You order the house sake, and Melissa says, "Yeah, me too." With your small glasses of sake, the two of you pore over the menu, picking a few things Melissa knows, a few things she's never had before.

The first few plates come out: shumai, hamachi, a bowl of spicy pickle. She gets pieces of toro, unagi, and salmon, and you get a roll and a plate of chashu buns. She gives those a look of pure lust.

"Take one," you say, and push the plate toward her.

She doesn't hesitate. At her first bite, she lets out a guttural moan that goes right between your thighs. You're suddenly much more aware of her ankle still caught between both of your own.

"You think I could get this recipe?" she says of the chashu after the bun has vanished.

"I think you can get whatever you want." Especially from you, especially if she keeps making those noises.

"I sure can," she says with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes.

You've seen Melissa eat before, scraping the last bite of salad out of a tupperware or sipping from a Stanley Tucci mug, but it's different like this, sharing a meal. You love watching her small, plump hands with her chopsticks, her drinks; you love her expressive eyes, the way they widen or flutter shut at a perfect bite. Everything she tries she makes you try—insistent, "Here, you taste," like you're not the one who's had the whole menu before, and you oblige, trying to taste it for the first time, like her, letting each one blossom over your tongue, letting yourself fall under her spell.

The bar is packed by the time you're through and she's nibbled her way through a couple of frozen mochi. "We gotta come back here," she declares as the two of you leave, hand in hand. "I wanna try more. You got good taste."

"Yeah, I do," you say, looking at her. It's full dark now, but the streetlights and the moon illuminate her, outlining her red hair in silver, the shape of her hips.

"You gonna take me home now?" she says. She moves closer. "You made a lotta promises, you know."

"I know." Your hands settle on her hips. She tilts her head up; you catch her lips, tasting the plum wine you two shared. It's your first real kiss of the night, and she's mellow, soft, delicious. Still, you tell her, "We don't have to, tonight. I want to, but I don't want you to think..."

"I know," she says, and gives you another kiss. "If I thought you were buyin' dinner to make me put out, I would'a had way more food." Another kiss. "Come on, let's go. Or maybe you don't wanna get lucky?"

You drive back to Melissa's place, her hand on your thigh the whole way. Back over the welcome mat that reads GO AWAY, into the picture-lined place where it all started over a glass of wine.

Melissa takes your coat and her own and gives you her back, hanging them up in a closet by the front door. "I can get you another drink," she's saying, but all you can see is the back of her dress: the silver line of the zipper running from collar to hem, almost invisible.

You move closer and she stiffens when she feels you there, your chest to her back. You gather her hair, move it aside. Above the collar of the dress you can see the line of her nape and the muscle where her neck and her shoulder join. You lean down and kiss it.

Breathing in, you can smell her perfume again, her makeup again. Now, her skin. It's a scent you couldn't begin to describe, something living and animal and sensuous. And her hair: warm, intimate, a little bit of hairspray. You kiss the side of her neck.

"You have no idea," you say quietly. You nose against the shell of her ear. Its soft cartilage is cold from the night air outside, but warming quickly, flushing pink as you kiss it. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are. You don't know what you've been doing to me."

You lift your hands and find the tongue of the zipper. Her breath hitches. You slowly draw it down. The rasp of it is loud between your bodies.

The band of her bra. Red lace. Down her back to the luscious curvature of her hips. You're holding your breath. Her panties are red lace, too, a high-waisted thong that hugs her belly and hips but, oh, fuck: leaves her ass almost totally fucking bare. Of course, in that clinging dress. Couldn't risk panty lines.

"Jesus fucking Christ," you say, and slide the dress fully off her body. It's a puddle of red fabric on the floor. You push her chest-first against the closet door and drop to your knees.

"Oh my God," she says weakly as you hold her hips and kiss your way up the back of one thigh, then the other. The flesh here is dimpled with cellulite, a mark of her perfect abundance. You nose over the curve of her ass and bite one cheek and she squeaks and gives a weak, "Huh," afterward, like she'd surprised herself, and you bite the other cheek and her hips rock back into you.

She's still in her heels. You're starting to smell her sex. You think about having her bend over and put her hands against the door and let you eat her from behind until her knees shake and give out. Fuck, you want to, but you've been making promises; you have plans.

You straighten back up, brushing kisses up the line of her spine. "I want to see your bedroom."

"Fuck," she says dizzily. "Okay. Uh..." She starts to step away from the closet door and for the first time all night, she wobbles in her heels. She gives a little growl of frustration that's so Melissa you can't help but laugh, making her glower your way as she toes out of the shoes.

She leads you up to her bedroom. The big bed is made, but there are plenty of signs of life: the vanity against one wall, scattered with makeup; the bedside table with a dog-eared book and a pair of her glasses; there's a bra tossed over the cracked closet door.

She turns to face you, unself-conscious, and grabs you for another kiss, deep, dirty, her tongue licking into your mouth. "Can't believe you wore my favorite color," she says breathlessly, and starts fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. "God, you look so hot."

Your shirt's halfway open when you get your mouth on her neck. She groans, hands loosening on the fabric. Soft, right along the line of her jaw, under her chin, down her throat where you feel a moan vibrate through the skin. "Harder," she says.

You stay soft. The hollow of her throat, her clavicle. You nose one strap of her bra. She whines, "Harder," and grips your hair.

"I told you," you say. "I'm going to make you beg." She gasps. Your cunt pulses. You wonder if the same thing happened in her classroom that day, if she sat at her desk squirming, little hitches of her breath betraying her.

You squeeze her ass and she sways into you. Your hands shape her hips, up her sides, over her back, feeling the landscape of it, the valley of her spine. You trace the band of her bra. It's so pretty, you almost don't want to take it off.

"Where's your vibrator?" you ask.

"Huh?"

"Your vibrator," you patiently repeat, and lean back. You see in her eyes when it clicks. She leans away from you toward the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer. Inside, there's a pack of melatonin gummies, a lavender and chamomile room spray, a mini bottle of Jack Daniels, and a hot pink wand vibrator. Her sleep aid drawer, you realize.

You pick up the toy. It has a good weight, and the silicone is almost as soft as her skin. You find the power button, click it on, and cycle with a few presses through the three strength settings. You settle back on the first one and test it against the inside of your wrist, feeling the rumble against the sensitive skin there.

You look up again and Melissa's sitting on the edge of the bed. She's breathing hard, staring at you, and she's blushing.

"Lay back against the pillows for me, baby."

She scoots back, gives you a challenging look, and spreads her legs. You can really smell her, a thick, rich, saline scent that makes your mouth water. The drawer's still open and you spot a small bottle of lube; you take it out just in case, then slide the drawer shut.

"You gonna get naked?" she says as you join her on the bed.

"Not yet," you say and kiss her again. And again. The vibrator sits on the mattress, turned off, and you want to make her forget it's there. You take your time, licking at the serrated edge of her teeth, sucking on her lower lip until she's whimpering.

You couldn't have imagined that sound coming from Melissa Schemmenti. You chase it, have to have it again. Her lipstick is smeared, almost gone. She keeps tugging on your hair as you kiss her, starting to squirm beneath you, saying things like "More," and "Harder," but not please—not yet.

She slides down against the pillows, laying herself more fully under your body, and the motion makes the vibrator roll down the mattress to bump her side. Her breath speeds up all over again, and her eyes flick from it to you.

You pick up the toy and click it on. "Keep your legs spread."

"Oh, fuck yes," Melissa says, then whines aloud when you touch the vibrator not to her clothed pussy, but to the inner crease of her thigh. "Fuck, c'mon."

"C'mon, what?" You trail the vibrator up the inside of her thigh, toward her knee, and back down again.

"You know—" her breath stutters when you switch legs. "You know what I want."

"And you know what I want."

That makes her moan. Her head drops back, her chest heaving. You lean down to kiss her sternum, to finally nose against one perfect breast, the way you've hungered for it since that photo. The lace of her bra scratches your cheek. You can feel her nipple through the cup, taut against the fabric. You bring the vibrator up and tease its rumbling head over that peak, making her shudder, then replace it with your mouth, letting her feel the heat and wet, just barely, still separated from you by her bra.

"God, fuck," she says, "fuck you," and you switch breasts, teasing her other nipple to aching stiffness. You nuzzle the skin that her bra offers up, the plump perfect roundness of her breast, part your lips, drag your teeth over it. She's so soft here, so much, and it's perfect. Your hand drops with the vibrator and you trace it over her hip toward her sex, making her squirm, as you busy yourself with soft bites and sucks.

You change your angle a little, propping a hand against the pillows so you can lean over her. Your body casts a shadow and her green eyes look up at you from beneath it, somehow both pleading and mutinous. You idle the vibrator back up along the waistband of her underwear and then slowly down toward her cunt, playing it over the plumpness of her mons.

"Fuck," she says, "fucking fuck you, okay, please," and you smile. "Please, I said please, will you fucking please—"

You bring the wand down over her pussy. Her head rolls back and she groans, starting to squirm. "Pull down your bra for me," you say.

"What?" Her voice, face, are foggy and vague, but after a few seconds she understands, lifting her hands to tug down the bra's cups, showing you her perfect breasts. They're begging for your mouth, and you promised her you'd give her what she wanted when she begged, didn't you?

You drop your head. Kiss over one breast, then the other. Mouth at the flesh—so fucking soft, so good against your lips, sucked into the wetness of your mouth. The tops of her breasts have a small scattering of freckles that you have to dust in turn with adoring kisses. Her hard nipple brushes your cheek and you draw it past your lips as you trace the wand vibrator up and down, from her clit to the entrance of her cunt, back again, never letting it linger.

You switch to her other nipple, leaving her breast damp and reddened from your mouth. Her head tosses back and forth against the pillows as she whines, squirms, moans, says, "Fuck," and, voice breaking a little, "You're still fuckin' teasin' me—please, please, I said it, please—"

The words, her need, are electricity surging straight to your aching clit. Your voice is a rasp to match her own when you lift your head and breathe in her ear, "You sound so good like this, Melissa." She gives a broken whimper. "You're so perfect. I'll give you more. I promise. I'll take care of you. Take your panties off for me, sweetheart."

With a grateful sob she lifts her hips and shoves her underwear down her thighs, no further. You flash on that fantasy you had of her, getting off after a school day, slacks and panties around her knees as she fucked herself. Looks like you were right.

"You might need," she starts to say, but you're already reaching across to pick up the bottle of lube. You click off the vibrator and let her watch you drip the lube over your fingers, slicking them up. She's panting harder and harder just watching you.

With your other hand freed from the vibrator, you can pull the thong all the way off her legs, leaning back on your knees to do it. You push one thigh then the other wide apart. Her pussy is plump and gorgeous, red and swollen, her own wetness gleaming from between her spread labia. You add to it: the softest touch of your fingertips against her sex, trailing up and around the peak of her clit, not touching it directly.

She makes a noise you can barely describe, a groan of misery and arousal and desperation. Sliding your fingers back down toward the heat of her cunt, slipping one slowly inside, watching her as you do it. Her eyelashes flutter, her lips parting. Once you're sure she's wet enough, you add a second finger. The lube and her own gathering wetness makes a slick, dirty sound as you begin to stroke inside her, all delicacy, all torment.

"Oh, fuck," she says, "don't stop, Jesus Christ, please, don't stop, I need it, I, I..." Now she's babbling, the way she's made you do, one hand fisted in the bed covers, the other grabbing your wrist. "I need it so bad, I need you to fuck me, I've been waitin', please..."

"You've been waiting?" It occurs to you that this version of Melissa, already begging, might be willing to tell you some embarrassing truths. "How long?"

"Since we met," she gasps. "Since—oh, fuck..."

Since you met? That was the very first day of shooting—getting all the establishing shots, the very first moments and interviews. She intimidated you—her and Barbara both did—but Barbara, at least, gave a little, showed a bit of herself to the camera. You remember how Melissa was, arms folded over her chest, cool and hostile with Pedro as he tried to coax her out, get her to introduce herself.

Her eyes had moved from him to you, looking past the camera. "You Sicilian?" she'd asked you. She smiled at you that day and it transformed her sullen, cagey face, turned her, however momentarily, sweet. "Italian?" she'd continued, then her eyes darted from you to Pedro, over to the boom mic guy, trying to get a read on all of you. "You from South?" Her smile vanished. Her voice tightened up again: "Okay, you guys workin' with the cops? 'Cause you gotta tell me."

You reward her for the honesty with a press of your palm against her clit. Her hips jerk up. "I remember that day."

Her head drops back again, her eyes squeezing shut. The words leave her in a breathless rush: "You were so cute'n I hated the cameras but whenever you were there I would just—and you were always so, you were gentle, and—I always knew when you were lookin' at me—"

"I was looking at you every chance I got." You watch her face as you begin to ease a third finger inside her. This one has to burn a little; you can feel her body, resistant at first, starting to stretch to take it, and you don't push; you wait to see her eyes open again, their needy, yielding look. She lets go of the covers to grab one leg under her knee and pull it wider apart to help you. You add a little more lube, just in case, not wanting to hurt her.

"I was always looking at you, Melissa." She stares up at you. There's a crease between her brows, her swollen lips parted; she looks stunned, overwhelmed, face pink, as you slide that third finger inside her.

"I was always looking at you," you repeat, and begin to gently fuck her. Her cunt opens for you and desperately clenches against your fingers, grasping and irregular, trying to keep you. "You're so beautiful. I always wanted you. I thought you were the sexiest, meanest—" that surprises a panting laugh from her—"woman I'd ever seen. You were so smart, so funny—you protected everyone, and you took care of everybody—" her eyes squeeze shut. "Let me take care of you now."

You reach over and pick up the vibrator. You click it on. Her eyes open again at the sound of its buzz. You press the button again, then a third time, bringing it to its strongest setting. Melissa's eyes are huge. She's panting, staring, knowing what you're about to do, and the look of vulnerability and desire on her face, her smeared lipstick, her messy hair, she's perfect, so perfect, and you need to make her come now.

"I need it," you tell her, holding her gaze. "I need it. Let me feel it, Melissa." You bring the vibrator to her swollen, begging clit.

A moment of nothing but her breath caught in her chest and her wide-eyed gaze on yours. Her pussy clamps down around your fingers and you feel the ripples of her orgasm start before she drops her head back and gives a wounded, animal cry.

You chase the waves of her climax, fucking her through them, coaxing them toward you; you rub the head of the vibrator along her slippery clit. Her head tosses back and forth on the pillow like it's too much, but her hand still grasps your wrist, keeping you right where you are, and her hips are working, riding your fingers.

"I can't," she starts saying when she can heave a breath back into her lungs, "I can't, I can't, oh, please—" you click the vibrator off and throw it aside; it nearly rolls off the mattress. You spread the lips of her pussy wide and you lean down and bite one shaking thigh, then the other, then seal your lips over her swollen, tender clit.

Fuck the vibrator: this is your new favorite toy. You play with it and play with it and Melissa comes again, or keeps coming, you're not sure which. One leg goes over your shoulder and her hips twitch and writhe until you have to hold her down.

"Oh my G—oh my God, oh, baby," then, just chanting over and over again, like you could ever tell her no again, like you can deny her anything in the world: "Please, please, please..."

Anything she wants. The whole fucking world, if it were yours to give. You suck and lick at her cunt as her hands find your hair and yank.

How long can she go for? How many times can you make her come? You want to know. You want to fuck her until she faints. But that's not for tonight—not without planning, not without her consent—so when she starts making airy noises that are weak and almost pained, you ease off, slowing your mouth and fingers, letting her come down.

You rub her hips and thighs and her soft belly, and give light kisses to the mound of her pubis. She stops pulling on your hair, grip going slack at first; then, as she comes back into herself by slow degrees, she scratches her nails gently against your scalp.

Kisses for her stomach, her ribs. "Here, baby," you whisper, and reach under her body; she lifts up so you can unhook her bra, sticky fingers brushing her skin. You ease it off and drop it to wherever her panties went. She's nude under you now, flushed all over, body loose and relaxed against the mattress; you pet every inch of her you can reach.

You cup her cheek. Her head turns into the contact. There's sweat gleaming along her hairline and her upper lip. Her eyes, mascara and liner blurred, open to meet yours; her gaze is bleary at first, then sharpens.

You expect another fuck-you, or a joke, or even a "thanks, I needed that," but what she says is, "Now you sit on my face."

Your mind whites out. It's possible you forget the English language for a second or two. When you're back from wherever your soul departed to, she's pulling on the buttons of your shirt, brow knit and wearing an impatient little scowl, yanking the last ones open. "What?" you say weakly.

"I said," Melissa says, fully herself again, no longer the begging, needy, squirming creature of minutes ago, "now you sit on my face. C'mon. Get this off." She grabs the buckle of your belt and works the tongue out of it with a metallic clink.

"I," you say, "I," and she drags your trousers down your legs. You have to lean back off her to get them and your underwear all the way off. Your shirt still hangs open, showing your bra, your bare stomach. She leans up to kiss your sternum with an open mouth, tongue flickering hot against your skin.

"I told you," she growls against your neck, "to sit on my fuckin' face," and there's no more of anything in your world but her, you scrambling up onto your knees, spread wide, her sliding down the bed to get under your cunt.

You falter for a moment; she grabs your hips and yanks you down. There's no playing, no teasing. She drags the flat of her tongue up the folds of your pussy and takes your clit into her mouth and sucks. Her green eyes are open and staring up at you and you see your own dazed pleasure reflected in them.

It takes about five embarrassing seconds before you come in her mouth. She moans loudly against you and tries to hold you where you are, but your legs are shaking badly; imagine if you broke her nose the first night, God—you lift one knee so you can get off of her and drop onto your back.

She follows you. Clambers on top of you intently but unsteadily, still wobbling from her own orgasms, and kisses sloppily down your stomach to get back to your pussy.

"Melissa—" you're gasping, and she's putting her tongue inside you, angling her head to get it in as far as she can. She licks, sucks, wraps her arms around your hips and holds you against her as you try to buck away. The wet noises of her mouth against your cunt are obscene.

You come again, and maybe one more time, you're not sure; your mind blanks again. When you can think, feel, process again, she's giving little kitten licks to your sensitive sex that send shudders up your whole body.

"Okay," you say. Your throat hurts a little—how much noise were you making? You clear it. "Okay. You win." You tap out on the mattress like a boxer. She's wearing a look of supreme satisfaction as she lets you go, her face covered in slick wetness, her makeup a disaster, her hair a messy tangle. She's so beautiful. Your heart does a now-familiar backflip.

She crawls up your body and flops onto her side next to you, curling onto your chest. There's long minutes of just you two breathing, the sound filling the room, a tingling starting in your pussy that you know is the herald of after-sex soreness, her damp fingertips tracing idly on your skin.

You start to smooth out her hair. It'll take a shower and a comb to really fix—maybe you'll suggest it. You trail your fingers down and follow the freckled curve of her shoulder, the roll of flesh on her side along her ribs, the dip of her waist before it opens onto the perfect field of her hips and ass.

Her eyes flick up to yours. They're softer and happier than you've ever seen them; the look on her face is gentle and content. You bring your questing hand up to cup her cheek. She kisses your thumb.

"I'm hungry again," she declares.

A laugh bursts out of you, full of affection. "What?" she says, clearly about to be offended, but before she can go any further, you pull her fully into your arms, wrap around her and squeeze.

You press your face into her neck and inhale, smelling her sweat and skin and sex. "You're perfect for me," you say into that warm curve, muffled against her skin. "You're just perfect." You peck a kiss onto her jaw and lean back to touch her cheek again. "Should we make something? Do you want pasta?"

She grins at you. It's that big, Cheshire smile you saw on her face a few days ago, telling Barbara about how she shot her shot, full of preening satisfaction. She leans in and brushes your nose with hers.

"I knew I picked right," she says, simply, happily. She laces her fingers with yours. "Come on, I got a robe you could wear. You like carbonara?"

She leads you off the rumpled bed. You can see you've left a blurry pink bite mark on one cheek of her perfect ass. She brings you a fuzzy shortie robe ("I like your legs, baby, lemme see 'em") and puts on a silk one herself, and takes your hand again as she opens the bedroom door.

You feel good. You're happy. You realize as she brings you to the kitchen, to the very heart of her home, that you're not alone anymore.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Author's Note:

I received the following prompt from an anonymous reader on Tumblr:

"can you write some fluffy smut for Mel x reader where everyone thinks Mel would be in charge in the bedroom because she’s so tough and reader is so shy. but actually reader takes care of Mel."

Back when Season 2 was airing, I saw a few fan posts saying that Lisa Ann had suggested there was a cameraperson on the crew that Melissa thought was cute, which led to the rare scenes where Melissa opens up to the camera. I'm not sure if this is accurate to what she said, but that idea has stuck with me. When I received the above prompt, it went into a blender with that thought, and this is the smoothie that resulted.

I hope I've done justice to this lovely prompt!

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti #as an FYI: this is my longest fic yet and may be easiest to read on AO3 :)

[thef1diary]

A Danny ric x reader fic where they get promise tattoos instead of promise rings? Maybe they tattoo the other’s initials on their ring finger.

Promise Tattoos | D. Ricciardo

Summary: instead of promise rings, you and Daniel decide to give each other promise tattoos.

Warnings: 18+, allusions to mature content but no actual smut, fluff.

pairing: daniel x fem!reader (established relationship)

wc: 2.2k

"I can't wait to marry you" Daniel spoke, taking you by surprise.

Holding a glass of wine in hand, you and Daniel were basking in the moonlight while enjoying the soft waves in the hot tub. The waves were essentially created because Daniel couldn't sit still.

His hands itched to hold you close to him.

Downing the rest of his wine, he placed the empty glass on the side. He swam towards you, immediately grasping onto your hips as he placed a kiss on your lips.

Earning a sweet moan from you, he tasted the small droplets of wine left on your lips, mixing with your distinct taste that never failed to intoxicate him.

"Is that so?" You asked once you parted away, but not fully moving away from each other. You liked the warmth his body brought to yours.

He nodded, lifting your left hand closer to his lips before placing a kiss on each finger. He pecked your ring finger twice, making you blush.

"I can't wait to get married to you too, Mr. Ricciardo, but you know how it's a horrible time right now." You rested your arms on his shoulder, clasping your hands together behind his neck after you placed your empty wine glass next to his.

He groaned, placing his forehead on your shoulder, "I know, but I wish things were different."

You and Daniel had spoken about your future together and there was no doubt that you wanted to marry each other. However, both your work schedules, especially yours as you were recently promoted, were quite demanding making it difficult to enjoy a new beginning together.

You two could barely spend time with each other now, and if a wedding was added to the mix, it would make matters a lot worse than better.

There were a few moments like this one, where you two would create your own little bubble, disconnected from the rest of the world for a few hours—maybe a day—before continuing on with your busy lives.

"It makes no difference if we get married now or later; what counts is that we verbally promised to do so one day," you spoke up after a few moments of silence.

He lifted his head to make eye contact with you, an idea sparking in his mind but before he could say it out loud, he got lost in the depths of your eyes.

Your eyes held so much emotion, and in this exact moment, they held a lot a of love for the man in front of you.

You had a smile on your face; a drunk-in-love smile that you only had when you were with him. He noticed how the corner of your eyes wrinkled whenever you smiled, and he lightly kissed it, deepening the wrinkles as your smile grew.

"What's going through that mind of yours?" You asked after he looked at you for a few moments without speaking a word.

He did that often, almost getting lost in admiring your beauty that he forgets all his thoughts except one. "You're perfect. So beautifully perfect, and I wonder what I did right in life that I get to spend the rest of my living days with you."

"Daniel," you softly muttered. Despite spending years with him, you never truly got used to his praises, and quite frankly you didn't want to. He knew just the right words to make you speechless.

"Words can't express how much I love you," you responded. "Then you can show me later tonight," he cheekily responded, making you tilt your head back with a laugh.

That's how these moments between you two ended, either with a flirty or dirty remark. You weren't opposed to either.

"You know I will," you replied after composing yourself. One of your hands travelled to the base of his neck, fingers playing with the wet, matted curls flat against his head.

The other rounded to his front, playing with the chain clasped around his neck, the same one you bought him as a birthday gift.

"You remember how I told you that the first time I’ll buy you a ring, it'll be an engagement ring?" He began once he remembered his train of thought before losing himself in your eyes.

You nodded, "that's why we decided on no promise rings."

"Since I can't properly propose to you-" he continued but you opened your mouth to interrupt him. However you couldn't speak as he held a hand up, telling you to let him finish.

"I know you said that you don't need an extravagant proposal and all but I want to give you one." He explained, making you shake your head with a smile on your face.

Although you knew that he would go all out with the proposal, he never actually told you what he would do.

But you didn't ask either, knowing that even if he proposed to you with a simple paper ring while laying in bed, you'd happily agree.

"Go on," you urged. He reached behind his neck and grasped your left hand that was playing with his hair.

"What if we get promise tattoos? Right here" his fingers grazed your ring finger.

You thought about it for a moment, both you and Daniel had quite a few tattoos scattered across your bodies, so you weren't opposed to the idea of another. However, this one would be the most meaningful one you've ever gotten.

The other tattoos you had still held some significance but were also random at the same time. You had an ace of spades on your upper arm, and you almost laughed at the memory that tied to it: a girls trip to Vegas.

Looking down at his hand grasping yours, you questioned him, "what would we get?"

Daniel tried holding back a smile but failed to do to as a cheesy smile made its way to his face. "Don't judge," he spoke and you raised an eyebrow because whenever he says that, you definitely judge him.

"Let's get each other's initials." He suggested and you paused for a moment as you remembered a specific memory you shared with Daniel before you started dating him.

You chuckled, your reaction taking him by surprise but what happened next was something he didn't expect at all.

You smacked the back of his head, causing a confused expression overtaking his smile from earlier. "What was that for?"

"You told me to smack your head if you ever thought about getting someone else's initials or name tattooed on your body." You reminded him, and he racked his brain for the memory from almost six years ago.

Then came the boisterous laugh, nodding along as he remembered. "You still remember that?"

"Of course I do, you practically engraved that into my mind," you shrugged.

Daniel brought his fingers up to your jaw, slightly tracing the edges before grasping your chin. "You are everything to me, not just someone, so technically that doesn't apply to you."

"You never fail to amaze me, Danny," you state as you look at him with a certain fondness.

"So I'll take that as a yes?" He asked, his smile growing bigger when you nodded.

"Let's get them tomorrow," you suggested but he shook his head, "today, right now."

"Have you seen the time? What place is going to be open?" You stared at him incredulously as another idea came to his mind.

"I'm going to make some calls," he told you as he finally parted away from you, stepping out of the tub. You frowned once the chills set over your body since Daniel took his body heat with him.

You remained submerged in the water for a few moments, but with the lack of heat, goosebumps erupted across your arms. Standing up, you grabbed a towel from the stack next to the tub and stepped out.

As you headed inside your shared bedroom, you heard Daniel speaking to someone on the phone just like he told you earlier.

Deciding to take a quick shower, you moved towards the bathroom, past Daniel. He grabbed your hand before you could walk away, however he was still on the phone.

He paused, not paying attention to the person speaking on the other end as he eyed you from head to toe. You were wearing one of his favourite two-piece, and he always stopped to admire you in it every time you wore it.

You gestured to the bathroom, silently telling him that you're going to shower but didn't pass an invite to him, knowing that you'll be wasting both water and time.

As you stripped bare after setting the shower to your desired temperature, you heard Daniel call out to you, "I'm gonna be back in a bit, don't use all the hot water."

Then once you heard the door click shut, you stood under the strong stream of steamy water.

You didn't hear when the front door opened again, nor did you hear Daniel's words spoken with excitement. So, to say the least, you were quite surprised once you saw him holding a towel out for you once you stepped out of the shower.

His gaze followed the water droplets sliding down your body, eyes darkening due to the beautiful sight he was blessed with.

You didn't give him much time to dwell, walking towards him and letting him wrap the towel around your body.

His arms wrapped around your smaller frame, engulfing you in a hug. "Where did you go?" You asked after he kissed your forehead.

"Called a friend and got some supplies to make our promise," he vaguely told you, but you knew him well enough to understand his words.

"We're gonna tattoo each other?" You asked and he eagerly nodded.

He let you dry off and wear something comfortable which included one of his shirts and a pair of cotton shorts.

Meanwhile, Daniel set up the tattoo gun and ink among other supplied needed. You sat down next to him, “alright how are we doing this?”

Daniel briefly explained what his friend told him as it was their first time holding the gun rather than being on the other side of the process.

“Rock, paper, scissors to see who tattoos first?” Daniel held out his hand and you nodded.

You won, your hand forming scissors while Daniel chose paper. “Ready to get the best tattoo of your life?”

“Careful, I might ditch my artist and have you do all my tattoos if you’re good,” Daniel teased, making you smile as you held the tattoo gun in your hand.

“Freestyle?”

“Freestyle,” Daniel confirmed.

His gaze remained on your face as you carefully pierced his skin. He noticed how your eyebrows scrunched up along with the tip of your tongue sticking out in concentration.

It took you a good five minutes to write the letters on his ring finger, looking up and smiling at him only to realize he was already looking at you.

“Might just have to ditch my artist if this is the view I get,” he commented, deepening the blush on your cheeks.

You gestured him to look at the design, and his smile widened once he saw it. Instead of your two initials, you added another letter; R.

“For Ricciardo,” you told him, watching as his eyes lit up in amazement.

“Shit, darling, that’s the best tattoo I’ve ever gotten.”

While he admired the tattoo, you threw away all the disposables as well as disinfecting the work area, preparing for your turn.

Daniel snapped the edge of the latex glove loudly, smirking when you raised an eyebrow due to his antics.

Leaning closer towards him, you whispered in his ear, “if I had you as my tattoo artist, I’d never leave until every inch of my body was covered in your artwork.”

“Every inch?”

“Every fucking inch,” you clarified, watching how he bit his bottom lip as he imagined you at his mercy, to do anything he wanted.

“Your body is already a work of art,” he commented before piercing your ring finger as he began the tattooing process.

He was used to his initials as one of his nicknames, but seeing the two letters; DR, on your skin gave him a newfound joy.

Even after everything was over, all the supplies put away, he couldn’t help but stare at your finger. The place where he imagined a beautiful diamond ring, now holds his initials, a promise of the next chapter of your lives.

Laying on the bed, you turned to face him as your leg rested on his thigh while your fingers drew mindless designs on his bare chest.

A mischievous thought crawled into your mind and you couldn’t help but say it out loud to him.

“I can’t wait to get myself off using my fingers with your initials inked into my skin,” you spoke casually and felt him groan before you heard it.

“Fuckin’ hell, you better record that,” he instructed, knowing the only time you use your own fingers or other toys is when he’s not there with you.

“You know I will,” you told him, shifting closer to him as you yearned for a kiss.

He tilted his head closer, catching your lips in a filthy, sensual kiss. “I can’t wait to call you my husband,” you spoke against his lips as he grasped the back of your thighs to move you even closer, straddling him.

#daniel ricciardo #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #thef1diary fic #f1 x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fluff #daniel riccardo imagine #daniel ricciardo smut

[hypnos333]

Sloth + lust = Fizz

fizzarolli x Reader x asmodeus

Synopsis: Fizzarolli and Asmodeus purposed to you but only Asmodeus can announce his proposal and Fizz is upset about it

“Just in we have wonderful news for Lazy town and lust city it seems like Asmodeus purposed too the sin of sloth and united both the town and cities-” the Tv cut off with Fizz turning it off pouting as He sat next to a still sleeping you with your diamond ring on your ring finger from both him and Asmodeus.

“Lovely aren’t you supposed to be making deals today” Fizz asked shaking you gently to wake up. Making one of your eyes open as you look at him in a sleepy way.

“Hmm, nope i’ll just have Asmodeus do it” You simply said closing your eyes, Fizz thought maybe he could ask you since even if lazy you were reasonable and less busy. “Why does Asmodeus only get to announce his proposal to you but I can’t do mines publicly” Fizz bluntly ask emotional making you tiredly stare at him as he fiddle with his hands.

You tiredly reach holding his hand, “Me and Asmodeus are overlords hun, but you are different, your special but your also below us it would be a disgrace to every overload if we show up unannounced with you hun” You said reasonably 

Fizz teared up making you instantly sit up and hugged him, he nuzzled into your neck. He sobbed into you. “I-I hate us hiding, I h-hate it so much” He cried.

“Shhhh I know hun, but this isn’t permanent until we can find a right time to announce you before our wedding, I promise honey” You vowed to him kissing him all over his face.

“IM BACK WITH SOME FOOD MY LOVES” Asmodeus yelled out making you jumpy but luckily Fizz was able to calm you with a reassurance hand squeeze. You sigh tiredly before wiping Fizz tears with your sleeve. “Dry your tears hun, everything’s gonna be okay” You said before dragging him downstairs to go downstairs for food.

“Ah hello my sleeping beauty it’s nice to see you awake with your beautiful self” Asmodeus greeted you lifting you up placing kisses all over your face.

“Hello to you too my king” You mumbled before you threw yourself down from him making Fizz panic before clinging to you before you fell off the floor trying to injure yourself. They both looked at you unimpressed as you dragged yourself to get some food in your sluggish both.

“She is something else” Asmodeus bluntly said making Fizz hum in agreement as his heart was still racing from you almost getting hurt.

“Hello Fizzy, How are you?” Asmodeus asked doing the same thing to him too what he did to you.

“I’m okay” Fizzarolli said simply but with a fake smile and sadden voice. Asmodeus gave a questionable face and before he could ask his other lover you came running with baked honey garlic chicken stuffed in your mouth.

You pulled Fizz down from your lover making him try the chicken that claim “Taste better then anything else in hell” making Fizz feel better with you cheerfulness.

“Okay okay I’ll try it” He said making you silently cheer before holding the chicken up to his mouth with a fork, He bit into the chicken before chewing it.

“What did you think about it hun?” You asked

“It’s delicious baby” He answered smiling at you, Asmodeus watched you and Fizz love sickly being loving to one another. He loves days like these.

“Oh right My sleeping beauty I had handled your deals and you have a couple of good ones” Asmodeus stated making you sigh tiredly. “Now now my Beauty we both know you have no choice but to do this” Asmodeus added.

“I know but you know I don’t get nothing done” You said tiredly.

“Let’s go baby we can do it together” Fizz said cheerfully making you nod in agreement before dragging both of them into you office.

“Thank you my loves” You said kissing Fizz lips first before kissing Asmodeus lips. They both sigh in content as you turn to lead them in your beautiful office that your man’s did for you.

#Fizzarolli x reader x asmodeus #Asmodeus x reader x Fizzarolli #asmodeus x reader #fizzarolli x reader #asmodeus x fizzarolli #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss imagine

[milaisreading]

Wedding day

Pairing: Itoshi Sae x Isagi's sister!Reader

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

"Can you please calm down, sis? Everything will be fine." Yoichi said as he walked around the room after his sister. The older Isagi was panicking a little as she thought more and more about the whole wedding that was supposed to happen in an hour.

"You think?! Yoichi, what if I am not good enough? Sae is a literal football star and I am just-"

"The best sister and future wife. Exactly!" Yoichi quickly chimed in, annoyed that she had let the recent gossip on the internet get to her. While he did have sympathy for her, marrying a high profiled person lime Sae Itoshi wasn't nothing, he was also mad that she was doubting her own worth.

"Yoichi... You of all people know how the news are. They will nitpick on the most smallest things about me." (Y/n) sighed as she went over to sit on a chair in the room, Yoichi following close behind.

"What if they are right about me not being the one for Sae?"

"That's ridiculous! He loves you!" Yoichi argued again, but he knew it was useless. He wasn't Sae. The one whose opinion mattered the most right now.

"I don't know... What if I am just hindering him? There are so many better options than I am. Did you see all those models from Madrid who talk about him? What if I am not the one?"

(Y/n) held back a few sobs as Yoichi went to comfort her. He would be lying if he said he didn't expect the news to make such a huge deal out of the wedding. He did. But, seeing the state his sister was in just broke Yoichi. She didn't deserve all this stress now. Nor did Sae deserve to be doubted.

And, while Yoichi was comforting (Y/n), he didn't notice Rin peek into the room and catching some of the conversation the were having, and catching the distressed state (Y/n) was in.

'Shit!' The younger Itoshi thought as he slowly closed the door. He didn't expect to walk into all of that. While Sae was on cloud nine in his room, (Y/n) was over here distressed over some gossip.

'Wait? What gossip? Big brother never mentioned anything about that.' Rin wondered as he took his phone out to search for anything that remotely could mention either Sae or the wedding.

Meanwhile...

Sae was happily drinking the water Rin brought him earlier. The older Itoshi never expected to be excited over anything like a wedding. Well, he never saw himself marry anyone until he met (Y/n). The love of his life.

'Ahhh~ I am all excited for our future. I can't wait for us to finally tie the knot. Maybe even a few kids down the line, but that can wait for another few years. For now, I just want to enjoy my time alone with her.' Sae smiled softly and blushed, not hearing the footsteps approaching his room.

'My sweet (Y/n). She is so clumsy and cute. So adorable and always kind to me and others. I am so lucky to have found-'

"Big brother!"

Sae snapped out of his thoughts and looked over at the door as Rin walked in, looking oddly nervous.

"What's up with you? You are more nervous than I am." Sae joked but Rin ignored him as he kept on glancing between his phone and the older.

"Well..."

"Anyway, how is (Y/n) doing? How does she look? Bet as stunning as ever. She is so adorable."

Sae went on a ramble and Rin knew he had to cut it out now before he went into an endless loop with it.

"I... There is something you need to see, and I think you won't like it."

Sae stopped and raised an eyebrow at Rin.

"What do you mean?"

"It's about (Y/n). You didn't read any of the news some of the Spanish and Japanese media reported?"

"No. Why would I? They mostly say dumb stuff, anyway."

"It might be dumb, but the stuff nearly has (Y/n) crying right now."

Sae froze up for a moment and quickly took the phone away from Rin.

The younger Itoshi was used to seeing a lot of emotions on Sae, but anger, genuine anger was not one of them. The more Sae read through the articles Rin had found, the redder his face became and the more his eyebrows furrowed.

'I would pray for the reporters, but they deserve whatever happens next.' Rin thought as an eerie silence took over.

----

Once Yoichi had left the room to let his sister cool down, (Y/n) had finally realized how ridiculous it was that she was crying about these things. After all, if Sae really didn't want her, he wouldn't have asked to marry her. Right?

'I need to have more faith in him, and also be less sensitive.' She thought as she put down her phone, not noticing Sae walk inside.

"Why didn't you tell me about those articles?"

(Y/n) yelped , and turned around to see Sae walk into the room and towards her.

"Sae! You shouldn't see me before-"

"I don't care. Rin said you were distressed over what those journalists were saying. Why didn't you tell me about it?"

For the first time since they started their relationship, (Y/n) was left speechless by the anger Sae was radiating. Sure, she was used to him being angry over what Shidou would say at times, or even when he would lose a game. But, this was a different type of anger. It was more genuine than the previous ones.

"Why?" Sae's voice got softer as he grapped her hands into his, causing (Y/n) to turn red a little.

"I thought it was stupid to bother you with that. It's just me being sensitive-"

"It's not. The stuff those idiots said about you is disgusting, and I will put an end to it on my next interview." (Y/n) raised an eyebrow as Sae pulled her in closer.

"I thought you don't have one yet."

"I asked my manager the schedule me one after our honeymoon. As much as I hate going on these, this is a different circumstance."

"Oh? Thank you." (Y/n) said as she grew flustered, causing Sae to finally smile again and chuckle a little.

"Don't thank me for stuff like this. And, have a little more faith in me. I have my eyes only set on you."

"You are right, I an sorry. I know you do."

She smiled as the door opened again, revealing Sae and (Y/n)'s moms.

"Sar Itoshi! What did I say about seeing (Y/n) before the wedding?! And why did you make Rin guard the entrance?" Sae flinched at his mom's yelling as Rin could be heard apologizing to him from behind her. (Y/n) laughed a little as her mom tried to calm the other woman down, finding the whole situation equally amusing.

"Well, today is an eventful day." (Y/n) laughed, and Sae smiled at her.

'At least you calmed down.'

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock scenarios #blue lock #isagi's sister #itoshi sae #blue lock sae #bllk sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae x y/n

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | vi.

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

An eternity seems to fly by as you wait for Coriolanus to do what you’re too terrified to do on your own. During the agonizing minutes, you picture William’s face. The confusion, the hurt. Tears skip down your cheeks as you curl over the blankets, knees against your chest.

Hopefully your reckless actions haven’t ruined what you two have. Maybe one day, you’ll even jest about it, the pre-wedding jitters that caused you to hide for a week.

It’s the meager hope you cling onto as the soft tap on the door draws you from your thoughts.

Coriolanus nudges the door open, a silver tray between his hands. A matching porcelain kettle and cup sit on the tray.

The mattress sinks as he sits on the edge of the bed, placing the steaming teapot at your bedside. Your gaze drags over the colorful roses painted on the porcelain set. 

Tearful eyes rising to his face, you ask “H-How did it go?”

His long fingers drape over your cheek, wiping your tears as he smiles down at you. “Everything’s alright.” His deep soothing voice brings you comfort as it rolls over you. “Things will work out the way they’re supposed to, just like I promised you.” He collects the tea cup from the tray. The steam rising from it caresses your face.

“It’s my own personal blend of chamomile, peppermint and lavender, for your nerves.”

“I don’t need that.”

Concern sways in Coryo’s blue orbs, his thumb collecting another stray tear.

“You had an emotional day. It’ll help you sleep, trust me.”

You don’t reply, laying the side of your face against the pillow. Do you even deserve to sleep soundly after causing the people in your life so much unnecessary distress?

Maybe this is what you deserve, unending nights wrestling with your own mind while you drown in a river of your own tears. After all, if you hadn’t overindulged in alcohol that night, you wouldn’t be here. You still remember the way Coryo described it. Were you truly that desperate to bury Sejanus’ memory, to forget?

Coriolanus strokes the crown of your head.

“I just want you to get one good night of rest. You need it. Do you really want to spend the entire night torturing yourself when you’ve done nothing wrong?”

For a while, silence hangs between the two of you, Coriolanus letting you weep as he patiently cups your face. The aromatic scents of the herbs he mixed in the tea tickle your nose. You have to admit, it smells heavenly. Like peace. The thing you’re craving most at this very moment. For your thoughts and emotions to fall silent, allowing you to drift into a dreamless slumber.

So you surrender.

You sit up and graciously accept the cup Coryo offers you. As soon as the first few drops of the warm liquid coat your tongue, a heady, pleasant feeling swaddles your mind. It makes your body feel heavy, pleasant warm tingles swirling over your flesh.

“I’m starting to feel…”

Coryo’s beaming face starts blurring in your line of sight. Your grip on the cup weakens. He assists you in holding it, tipping the rim against your lips so you gulp another sip.

“Drink more. All of it.” You heed his instruction. The drowsiness grows tenfold. Your lids sag. Your body slumps over the pillows. You feel the soft brush of Coriolanus’s lips on your forehead. “Sweet dreams, princess.”

You awake from the best sleep you’ve had in literal weeks, a wide smile stretching over your lips as you unfurl from the sheets.

Unlike the nights before, you didn’t wake up in the middle of the night, screaming, crying or tossing and turning in bed.

You pivot to the sun rays spilling from between the curtains. You bask in the rejuvenating warmth kissing your skin. For a while, you stay like that, in awe that your mind isn’t crowded with anxious thoughts. Instead, you’re calm, rested, your head light as feathers. Even your grief is a faint noise when it’s usually so loud, its uproarious presence twisting your heart first thing most mornings. 

It’s a newfound serenity you haven’t known in many weeks.

Even the bone-deep ache sitting in your limbs cannot cast a pale on the day. As you step in the rose-scented bath that’s been drawn for you, the soreness lingers. You grimace a little.

Perhaps you slept so heavily, your entire body is tense from it.

But as you lie back and let the hot water work its magic, the pain starts to fade. You let the strange sensation melt away, smiling once more.

You enjoy your bath. A bright, wonderful day awaits you.

When you’re done, you put on one of your favorite day dresses and hop down the stairs.

You find the entire Snow clan having breakfast in the dining room.

Coriolanus peeks from above the morning paper, his face brightening as his gaze flicks over you.

As you approach the empty chair near Grandma’am, Coriolanus rises and pulls it for you.

“Good morning,” you chime while plopping into your seat.

Tigris beams at you. “Good morning. I see someone’s feeling better.”

You tuck your hands into your lap as a maid places a scrumptious plate of eggs and meat in front of you. Your stomach growls at the sight and you pick up your fork, excited to dig into the food. You haven’t had a proper meal since you left Ma and Dad’s house.

Although, even that is a fuzzy memory, as you can’t remember the last time all of you sat down and had a proper breakfast as a family since Janus passed away.

It’s been too hard.

Shoving the fork into your mouth, you acquiesce, “Much better.” You hum as the flavors melt on your tongue.

The corner of Coriolanus’s lip quirk as he observes you. He returns to his seat and bends forward.

“I take it you’ve had a restful night, princess?”

“Yes, and I have you to thank for that. I don’t know what’s in that tea exactly but it works wonders.”

“I’ve had the opportunity to experiment with many natural remedies while working under Dr Gaul.” A glint dances in his blue eyes. “Some plants have the most…fascinating benefits.”

“I think I’ll take some with me home, if you don’t mind. Not just for me but Ma has struggled with sleep ever since…”

Your voice dwindles as an abrupt wave of sadness passes over you.

Tigris grabs your hand and squeezes it across the table.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Coriolanus nods in agreement. “She’s right. Take it one day at a time, princess.”

You ponder what he just said. You are feeling markedly better today, but you loathe thinking about your mom and dad alone.

You swallow a wide lungful.

“Maybe I should go back home tomorrow.”

Coriolanus’ gaze narrows, his smile vanishing momentarily before sliding back into place.

“This early? Shouldn’t you rest a bit more first? It’s clear that you need it.” He studies you for a long time. “You can’t be here for others when you aren’t healed yourself.” You shudder. Sometimes the blond seems to possess the uncanny ability to peer right inside your head. He reaches over the table to place his hand over yours. “Don’t rush it. Like I told you before, our home is your home.”

You don’t find it in yourself to argue, Coriolanus’ gentle yet firm grip on your hand and his smile chasing away your doubts.

“O-Okay.”

Satisfaction glimmers in his gaze at your response.

As Coryo advises, you remain with his family a little while longer. Everyday, he finds gentle words to convince you to extend your stay. It doesn’t take much for you to believe him as you trust him fully, his caring demeanor reminding you of your brother. If Coryo thinks you need a bit more time, he must be right. He only wants what’s best for you.

So a few days turn into a week, which eventually becomes two weeks. Surprisingly, you and the Snows’ daily routines twine with ease. In the morning, you have breakfast together in the dining room. Then you tend to the roses with Grandma’am while she hums songs to herself, an endearing habit you’ve grown quite fond of.

And you usually spend the rest of the day with Tigris, chatting or playing board games, or on your own, reading most of the time. Coriolanus’ library is massive enough to rival the one you have at home. You never run out of things to do in the gigantic penthouse, even sometimes cleaning and cooking to pass the time, efforts Coriolanus never fails to praise you for.

Whenever he returns home to a spotless house or one of your delicious meals, his blue eyes light up with happiness.

And of course, at night, Coryo talks to you in your bed while you dutifully drink your tea, regaling you with stories about his apprenticeship and the University. Most of the time, you never get to learn how they end because you fall asleep.

Thanks to Coriolanus’ herbal mixture, your sleeping schedule is back to relative normalcy. The only downsides are the tea’s peculiar side effects, as near everyday you wake up sore and aching. But the slight inconvenience is minor compared to the benefits you’ve experienced.

All is good and well until one day glimpses of lost memories flash in your brain.

You’re starting to remember the night of Clemensia’s party.

It first happens as you’re gardening with Grandma’am. You’re watering one of the rose bushes when something rushes back to you, something so vivid the watering can in your hand clatters to the ground.

You stumble back, your breaths quickening. Placing a hand between your shoulder blades, Grandma’am helps you find your way to a nearby bench. You collapse atop the bench, your mind whirling.

Her wrinkled features crease in concern.

“Are you alright, sweet girl? Should we call a doctor?”

“I’m fine, grandma’am. Just got dizzy for a bit.”

You smile, hating that you just lied to the older woman. You’re not fine. You’re starting to remember things, things that don’t match up, make no sense.

Terrible things.

I knew you’d feel just perfect around me.

Chills bounce across your spine. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the bench as your breath flows back to your lungs.

You come to a decision. 

You need to talk to Coriolanus. 

Your brows squeeze together in frustration as the balding man checks your pulse and shines a light in your eyes again. It’s the third time tonight. Coriolanus insisted upon it.

“I told you there was no need for a physician, Coryo.”

“Grandma’am said you almost passed out,” the blonde retaliates.

You heave out a deep exhale as you glance at Tigris and Grandma’am standing nervously by the wall. They’re wearing the same concerned expression. 

You wished Grandma’am hadn’t made such a big deal of your little moment in the garden. You feel fine…well, physically at least.

You flash a feeble smile at Coriolanus.

“I didn’t…it was just a dizzy spell. Nothing honestly.”

Brows knitting, he turns to the bespectacled older man at his side.

“Doctor?”

As the man nearly approaches you again, you shoot him a warning glare. You refuse to be poked and prodded once more. Lifting his hands, the man falls back.

He adjusts the stethoscope around his neck.

“I see nothing wrong,” he says. Your shoulders sag in relief. “Still, I’d recommend that your wife takes it easy, sir.”

His words make every hair on your skin stand on end.

“I’m not his wife,” you snap.

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks. 

He turns to the others and instructs, “Everyone, leave us alone.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation on Tigris’ face. She lingers at your doorstep after Grandma’am and the doctor take their leave.

“Are you really sure that you’re okay?” she asks.

You purse your lips. “I’d feel better if everyone stopped fussing over me.”

She nods before leaving as well.

As soon as the door to your bedroom closes, Coriolanus sinks to one knee in front of you. He takes your hands in his, his thumbs brushing circles into your skin.

His cobalt eyes are wide and worried.

“Is something wrong?”

Your stomach knots. “Coriolanus…”

“Yes?”

You draw your hands back, placing them on your lap. His gaze tracks the tiny motion and he squints. 

“That night…” You lick your lips, nerves flaring as your fingers bounce. Just these two words have Coriolanus’ attention on you sharpen in a way that turns your blood to ice. Still you gather your courage and continue, “Did I say no at any point, tried to…stop it? Did…Did you, Coryo?”

The moment your doubts are uttered aloud, you loathe yourself. It’s an awful thing to even suggest. But you can't shake the feeling that there is something Coriolanus isn’t telling you. 

And maybe you always felt that way, like something isn’t quite right, but you craved so badly to have a piece of your brother near that you ignored the glaring signs. 

Shock paints Coriolanus’ handsome face.

“What? I already told you everything that happened, that I was drunk, we both were.”

You peer at Coriolanus. It hurts. So goddamn much. A knife twisting in your chest, again and again. Especially that look of utter betrayal on his face. You don’t want to casually toss those kinds of accusations at your friend. 

But your mind…

It’s bursting at the seams, moments you’re beginning to recall seeping through the cracks. You can’t ignore that. Not the sick echo of Coriolanus’ lustful tone. Not the terrifying glint swaying in his blue eyes. Not the way he panted and grunted above you as you told him to stop. Or at least you think you told him?

You’re not even sure. You’re torn. Coriolanus wouldn’t do that…right? Someone you trust. Someone Sejanus trusted…with you.

Tears swell in your eyes, threatening to break past the confine of your lashes.

Anger flashes in Coriolanus’ eyes. “Really?” he scoffs, bolting to his feet. “You don’t trust me?”

He blurs in your tear-stained vision, distorting to hazy colors you don’t recognize anymore.

“Coryo…” you sob.

He hunkers in front of you again. The anger vanishes, making space for disappointment and sadness.

He cradles your face, his tone softening.

“I would never hurt you,” he mumbles. “How could you even imply…after everything I’ve done for you.”

A shaky breath flutters through your lips. You search Coriolanus’ face, hoping to find something. A truth, an emotion, a lie. Anything, really. Any proof that you’re not crazy, that your mind isn’t just spinning wild stories out of thin air.

Nothing comes up. Coriolanus’ face is a perfect mask of genuine concern and sincerity, right down to his glistening gaze. Doubts even begin to creep inside you beneath his intense stare. 

But the longer you look into his eyes, the more unnerved you grow. 

Something is off. No one can convince you otherwise. Not anymore.

Goosebumps erupt all over your skin.

“I-I think I need to go home now, Coriolanus.”

You don’t want to be here anymore, in this house you don’t know, with this man…you’re beginning to realize you don’t know either.

You want to be back home, your real home. You crave the safety of your own bed, of Ma’s warm embrace, of the familiar walls of your childhood home.

Instead of acknowledging what you just said, Coriolanus flashes you a bright grin.

“We can discuss it tomorrow.”

A sinking feeling spreads through you. You frown.

“But Coryo-”

He leans to place a tender kiss on your forehead and you freeze. Every cell in your body longs to flinch away from him but gut-gripping fear keeps you in your spot.

“Tomorrow, princess,” he whispers. He fondles your cheek. You can’t tamp down your shudder. Coriolanus’ brow pinches as he gets to his feet. “It’s getting late. You should go to bed.”

Coriolanus heads for the door. 

“Sweet dreams,” he coos, smiling. But it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

When the door slams shut, a sound you never heard before echoes from outside. The sound of a key slotting and turning inside a lock. The kind of sound suggesting you’re now trapped in the room.

Your gut sinks.

You find yourself wondering; will tomorrow ever come?

#dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas fanfiction

[astridthevalkyrie]

honeymoon period | jumin han x reader

After Jumin marries you, slowly, his threads start to untangle.

a/n: my first and probably last long jumin fic. this has been in the works for months, literally what i've been stalling on superior for (pre keigo 😭) i hope you all enjoy! i love this man <3

warnings: afab reader with she/her pronouns, some depressing thoughts, smut, oral (m and f receiving), penetrative sex, references to kinks that they both have, references/nightmares about abuse including sexual harassment, insecurity, jumin's comedy lol

word count: 13.2k (only a little less than the last superior chapter that is cray cray)

There is a knock on your door.

It makes you jump. Not that you’re nervous—it’s a hotel and several of your friends and family are here to see you get married, so naturally many of them know where your room is. The room itself is, of course, lavish, a paradise compared to most of your previous lodgings. Honestly, you miss the penthouse.

No, that’s not quite right. You just miss being curled up on the couch, tucked into Jumin’s chest with Elizabeth on your lap, wine on his lips and love in his eyes. You miss him, even though you saw him last this morning. You know he’s in the hotel lobby being forced to get wasted by Luciel, because the hacker in question has sent you dozens of videos of your fiancé. In one of them, when Zen reminds him he’s getting married tomorrow, a goofy smile breaks out on his face as he ducks his head.

Maybe the wedding wasn’t necessary. Maybe you two could have just signed the necessary papers without having to go a full day without seeing each other. How are you supposed to sleep tonight? You could call him, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Sighing, you make your way to the door. If it’s one of your friends trying to convince you to let loose or a family member coming to check up on you, you’re not in the mood.

When you open the door, your fiancé is standing there.

“Jumin!”

All questions on the tip of your tongue disappear when he brings you into his arms, burying his face in your neck with a content sigh. There’s no urgency in it, just a quiet, sudden happiness, like he’s fully aware that in just a few hours he won’t have to worry about you being anywhere but in his arms again.

“Thank you.” His voice breaks the silence, muffled on your skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your eyes well up with tears. What an emotional bride you’re turning out to be. And what a wonderful groom you have, to somehow know exactly what you need even when he’s not completely sober.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him as well, breathing in the scent of his shampoo as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re welcome, Jumin.”

///

There has never been a lovelier sight than your smile, and Jumin hopes you know that.

If you don’t, he’ll just have to convince you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You’re sporting a grin for him—just for him—wearing nothing but one of his shirts with Elizabeth the Third scurrying out from between your feet when she sees him. There’s a pink bottle on the counter. Frosting, he thinks. “I hope you don’t mind, but having a chef cook for us for a month straight has ruined my palate for anything else. I had to cook for myself again before I got spoiled. I can call him to make you dinner if you don’t want to eat what I made, though!”

“Of course not.” The urge to embrace you is unbearable. A month after the wedding, and his first day back at work after the honeymoon, he still can’t seem to keep his hands off. “What did you make? I’ll eat anything.”

He leans down to take Elizabeth the Third in his arms, scratching the back of her head softly. “Alright! I made stew and baked some cupcakes, I hope you like it. But you should probably change first. Slip into something more comfortable.”

“Ironic, considering you and I are wearing the same thing.”

“Well…” You lean over the counter, making a show of ogling him. “If you really want to match, you can leave the shirt on and take off your pants.”

It’s impossible to even try and stop the smile growing on his face. “Would you like that?”

“Come over here and find out, hubby.”

The nickname makes him flush pleasantly, but instead of taking you up on that extremely tempting offer, he simply walks up and presses a kiss to your forehead. You pout, and with the tact of knowing Elizabeth is still in his arms, you tug on his tie and kiss him properly. Jumin’s brain turns off, if only for a few seconds. As long as you kiss him and he kisses you back, the only thing he knows is you, you, you and nothing else.

Now, instead of changing, he’s holding his cat and kissing you in the kitchen. With just a minor breakaway and murmured apology, he’s no longer holding his cat. His hands slide around your back and pull you in, and your hands meet at the base of his neck. You. Only you. 

“Ju-min,” you admonish breathlessly, the second he pulls away to trail hurried kisses down your neck. “Dinner first.”

“Mm. I’m not hungry.” Or he is, but not for dinner.

Your hands come to rest on his chest, but you don’t pull away, and Jumin is beyond grateful. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to sleep or shower or do anything else when he could be showing you just how much he’d missed you at work today. 

Slightly pressed into the counter, you place your hands back and jump onto it, and he eagerly steps in between your legs to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair—a habit of yours, he’s noticed, to mess his hair up. He doesn’t mind. Not if it makes you happy. 

Finally, you pull away and before he can dive back in for yet another kiss, you dip your finger into the bowl next to you and offer it up to him. Without even considering it, he takes your finger in between his lips and licks the gravy off.

It’s only after he registers the taste does Jumin realize how intimate the action is. And of course, he knows that you’re married, that you and he have seen each other absolutely bare and open to one another, that he is literally making out with you in his—in your—in your shared kitchen. He knows that despite everyone thinking that the marriage was rushed and impulsive, this will be a long road, and he plans to stick by you for each and every single step. He knows that tasting something off your finger is hardly the most domestic thing you two will do.

But it doesn’t stop the flurry of butterflies he feels in his stomach. It doesn’t stop him from thinking my wife is letting me taste what she made, because she’s perfect. That’s not to mention how wonderful the taste actually is.

“Good?” you question, with gleaming eyes.

“Incredible.” He takes your hand and dips your finger in the bowl, stealing another taste right after. “More than incredible. The best stew I’ve ever had.”

“I know you’re flattering me.” Leaning forward, you take his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Softly, gently, like he’s something fragile that will break if you use any force. “But I’m not complaining. Keep going.”

“Food is always better when a beautiful woman is the one serving it.”

You beam. The butterflies in his stomach do a victory soar.

Jumin Han is in love.

///

Zen has a dream about you. That’s when the problem starts.

He tells it to the group in great detail—it’s not anything romantic or sexual, but Jumin doesn’t see a reason for you to be in his subconscious at all, even if you were just the supposed director for Zen’s dream movie. You’re not any sort of movie director, so the dream is ridiculous at any rate.

It doesn’t stop him from pouncing on you the second you two get back home. You don’t even get to take a seat before he’s pressing you against the door, ensuring it’s locked (the last thing he needs is for one of the security guards to see this and have dreams about you too) and kissing you possessively. 

“Jumin—?” There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but it cuts off into a delicious moan when he starts sucking and biting all the same spots he knows he left hickeys on during your honeymoon. 

“Spend the day with me,” he whispers. “Just me, no one else.”

An amused giggle bubbles from your throat. “I was already gonna do that, honeybunny.”

Good. That’s plenty of time for him to mark up your neck (and other places) so that everyone knows you’re his, and other people can stop dreaming of you. Already his mind is filled with wicked thoughts, of how he can make you cry and beg and scream today. From the time you two spent on your honeymoon, he knows you can get quite loud if he puts his mind to it.

The only limit is his imagination.

“Jumin.” Your head tilts back against the door, eyes closed as his tongue soothes a bite mark he just made. “Ah, J-Jumin, are you jealous?”

“No.” He is.

“I know what possessiveness looks like.” You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to each fingertip. “You know that me being in Zen’s dream isn’t something in our or even his control?”

“Of course I know that.” He huffs, impatiently fiddling with the buttons on your shirt. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He kisses you again, and you hum in understanding, sliding your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. It’s amazing, no matter how many times he thinks everyone would dismiss him for being ridiculous over something like this, you are always there to prove that at least one person wouldn’t. And you taste. So. Damn. Good. 

So why not taste you all over? Jumin hungrily slides his tongue over your teeth, seeking entrance. When your mouth parts for him, he tastes you intimately, swallowing your soft sighs. 

“For the record,” you mumble, out of breath, “I only ever dream about you.”

“As do I, darling.” He pulls you closer still, thinking about how good you’ll taste when he has his mouth on your pussy. “As do I.”

///

This need to prove himself to you extends beyond the sexual—you laugh so much when you’re around Luciel and Yoosung. Actual laughter that is so different from the polite smiles and chuckles that are in response to his own words.

He hates it. He hates it so very much. He wants to make you laugh, full blown and unabashed. As much as he likes making you giggle, he wants to make you laugh so hard that there are tears pouring down your cheeks. And his experience has quite readily set him up for the expectation that if he wants something, he will have it.

And now, what he really, really wants is to see his wife lose her in laughter because of him.

That means it’s time to bring out the big guns.

Right now you’re under the covers, reading glasses on as you flip through a book. The book in question is something from his personal library (when he showed it to you, mentioning a scene from Beauty and the Beast, you had promptly told him that he was not a beast, but that you finally understood how the princess felt in that scene). 

To an extent, Jumin feels bad when he distracts you from work or requests your attention. But he tries to remind himself that if you didn’t want it, you were more than capable of telling him as much. And your reaction to him crawling on top of you with his arms on either side would certainly not be to put the book aside and pull him down to lay on your chest with a kiss to the crown of his head.

For once in his life, Jumin is certain that he is loved.

“I have a joke,” he tells you matter-of-factly, and your brow raises.

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he raises himself up so he can take a good look at your face.

“Hit Seoul, hit Daejon, hit Daegu, hit Busan, hit it!”

There’s a long pause, and your surprised expression slowly morphs into a giggle, then at his grin, a chortle. Jumin laughs first, and then you do too, throwing your head back. It’s single-handedly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“W-what—“ You’re wheezing now, shoulders shaking. “What does that even mean?”

“I cast a spell on you. Those who laugh are no ordinary souls, for your information.”

“You are so perfect.” The praise catches him off guard, but your body is still shaking from laughter, and in your eyes he sees something like adoration. “How are you so perfect?”

That is definitely not a word he associates with his humor. His status, money, company, business acumen? Yes, perfect, as they were always meant to be. But the little flips in his stomach tell him that none of those things are what you’re referring to. The look in your eyes—he never sees you look at material objects or money that way. He has only ever seen it aimed towards him, and Jumin realizes with a start that there is no need to compete with Zen or Yoosung or Luciel—because really, there is no competition to begin with.

///

Being a workaholic comes with benefits. Everything always gets done. And he enjoys doing business, so there is no negative side effect…other than the lost time that could be spent with his wife. Typing away on the computer he has set up in his study, Jumin sighs, cracking his neck every half hour or so. He’s been at it for hours, but there’s still more left to do.

A soft knock makes him look up. You peek your head in, blinking sleepily and all wrapped up in a blanket. “Sorry to disturb,” in a whisper that barely reaches his ears, “can I sleep here, honey?”

Jumin beckons you in, looking around dubiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s any surface here you’d be comfortable on. I don’t want you to have an ache by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Your eyes keep blinking closed, as though you’re barely staying awake. All your words are hushed, but you still manage to clamber over to his side of the desk, blanket in tow, and fall onto his lap, burying your face in his chest. 

With a start, he catches you, holding you close. “What is it, sweetheart? You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, getting even more comfortable. “The bed’s too cold.”

Something indescribable squeezes his chest. Above everything, the pleasure that you would rather seek warmth from him rather than get another blanket is all-consuming. Without another word, he stands with you in his arms and walks to the bed. The second he steps into the bedroom, your grip on him becomes a little tighter.

He huffs back a small laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. I’d just rather you sleep here.”

Pulling out a second blanket from the closet for good measure, he lays down on the bed with you, throwing both blankets over your bodies before wrapping you up in his arms. You sigh happily, legs mixing with his and face pressing in his chest once more.

“Sorry for distracting you.” Now your voice is barely audible. “Mm…you’re just…so much warmer…”

“Can I ask you a favor?” You hum softly in response. “Please never apologize for demanding my attention. I am yours, that includes my body, my soul, and my time. Should you ever need me to sleep and I am in the office, please call me and I’ll come home immediately. I’ll take the jet home if I have to. That doesn’t just stop at my time either. If there is anything, anything, you would like, then all you have to do is ask me. I’ll buy you anything. The world is at your disposal.”

There’s a pause and Jumin thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you break the silence, quietly asking, “Is it okay if I ask you for something, then?”

“Anything.”

Cute but glossy eyes peer up at him, and you blink rapidly. “A kiss?”

Jumin places his hands on your cheeks, catching the stray tear that falls. Then he leans in, and everything is right with the world.

///

Ice Prince.

Jumin has no idea where the title actually came from. He doesn’t see what’s wrong with someone having control of their emotions. Is he expected to cry or rage at every little thing? That’s a genuine question. Maybe he doesn’t show much emotion at all, and he should. He’s open to advice.

It shouldn’t even be on his mind. He’s watching a soap opera, and the most beautiful woman in the world is in his arms. He enjoys watching your reactions more than watching the show itself, whether you’re holding back an aww or wincing. Every so often, you look up and meet his eyes, giving him a sweet smile each and every time before placing your head back on his chest. 

Still, he can’t get the article he read earlier out of his head. Has the Ice Prince really settled down? What kind of life does the new Mrs. Han lead? One can only imagine that she does not get many warm moments with Jumin Han. A speedy divorce would not be surprising.

Just the thought makes him tug you in closer, the idea of you leaving never failing to terrify him. He’s gotten better, he doesn’t freak out over you exiting the penthouse or hanging out with friends or working. He’d told himself harshly that he would not drive you away with his overt possessiveness.

But maybe he’s going to drive you away if he can’t learn to show you his emotions and instead continues to be…well, an ice prince, as much as he hates the term.

“Jumin.” You’re pressing a kiss to his throat, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you tired, honey? We can go to bed.”

When he looks down, you’re gazing concernedly up at him. He doesn’t feel like a villain when you look upon him like this. And holding you close is not the only privilege he has here. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you, and you melt in almost immediately. Jumin knows that you’re starting to get sleepy because you don’t make any move to straddle him further.

The man who knows you best—that is what the articles should be about. Doting husband. Family man. Your partner. How could anyone think he was cold or heartless to you?

“Juju,” you mumble softly, not bothering to break the kiss, “we should get to bed.”

Yes, you’re right. However…

“May I ask you a question?” His curiosity and slight anxiousness requires him to make sure. If he’s ever done anything to make you think he’s some kind of robot, he needs to get rid of such behavior immediately.

Your lips quirk like he’s said something funny. “You may.”

“Have I ever seemed…cold to you?” Almost as if to remind you before you answer, he holds your hand, squeezing gently, while the other hand remains on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “Since we’ve been together, I mean. Have I ever acted anything like an…” Jumin cringes just saying it out loud. “Ice prince?”

The question seems to take you aback, and you blink a few times. Your eyes—warm, beautiful eyes—first stare at him with a certain confusion, then quickly become infused with a sudden anger.

“Did someone say that about you? Who was it?”

“No one,” he responds, then hastily amends, “there have always been articles calling me that. I just happened to see one today, so it was on my mind.”

Now, you really do straddle him, threading your fingers through his hair. The anger has dulled into a stubborn crossness. With a deep scowl, you kiss his forehead and say, “That is ridiculous. You have been nothing but warm to me, Jumin Han.”

The same warmth you’re talking about spreads across his cheeks, painting them pink, but you’re not done.

“Since when do you care about those articles anyway? They’ve always been inane. Remember when everyone was convinced that you would marry Sarah?” Here you huff, and he hates to admit that he loves seeing you jealous, even if over someone he never even considered getting to know. “And you had to set them straight for them to print anything accurate. Maybe I should give a press statement of my own. Ice Prince my ass.”

“Such language,” Jumin says lowly, already hiding his face in your neck. You’re still peeved, muttering things under your breath as you stroke his hair, angry kisses pressed to his skin in the middle of your rant.

Eventually, you tire yourself out, falling asleep right there on his chest, a common occurrence. He doesn’t mind it one bit, it’s actually really easy to carry you to bed. For some reason, Jumin feels much, much lighter.

///

His wife is a party planner. An event planner, technically, since you’ll take some requests for meetings as well, but it’s mostly parties. He knows that due to your marriage, there’s been an increase in the amount of clients wanting you to plan their events. Even before, you’d said your schedule had always been sporadic, revolving around whatever the current most pressing event was.

Frankly, he shouldn’t be surprised, with how masterfully you pulled off the RFA party. 

He’s more than proud of you, of course. He’s now attended quite a few of the events you put together, and it always leaves him impressed. You’ve confided in him about how you’d like to either switch to a company that exclusively does weddings or start your own, and despite your protests, he’s fully prepared to finance such an endeavor when the time comes.

The only issue about your job, and his job as well, is that your schedules can be sporadic. There are days where you can work without even leaving the penthouse, and then there are days where you are running around and don’t return until 2 AM. Jumin can hardly get upset when he’s taunted the clock with his record times at coming home as well.

Can’t get upset at you, that is. Being upset at the situation is perfectly reasonable. He wants to spend time with his wife, dammit. You’re his favorite person in the world, all the things he wants to do involve being with you.

So when he’s the one who’s arriving at 2 in the morning, he deflates to see that you’re fast asleep, a couple documents and your phone in the bed next to you. How many times has he told you he would set up a separate room for you to work in? Each time, you shake your head and say all you need is your phone and laptop, and you can work anywhere. That doesn’t take into account your health, though. The place you relax should not be associated with work, or it leads to a less relaxing sleep cycle. He once read a study about that.

It might be hypocritical, but Jumin misses you. He wants to talk to you so badly it pains him, and not just longing phone calls that always leave him wanting more.

Loosening his tie, he waits for a second before falling hard onto the bed.

Your eyes flutter open immediately, and in your daze you take in your still-dressed husband. With a sleepy smile, you push away all the papers next to you to snuggle into his arms. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” One arm secured around your back, he pulls you as close to him as you can. He sees you breathe in his lingering cologne, and it makes him downright giddy that his scent seems to bring you comfort. “Shouldn’t a loving wife be waiting up for her husband?”

You yawn, throwing one leg around him. “Not when the husband returns at an ungodly time and the wife has an early morning site inspection. Did you have dinner?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Mmh. Yeah. I refrigerated some in a container if you wanna take it to work tomorrow.” 

This is one of his favorite domestic things you do—and he doesn’t even think you realize how much he appreciates it. If it’s between having something from a five star restaurant or having your cooking, the latter will win each and every time. Sometimes he wants to brag  to the whole world, although the most he’ll do is slip how tasty his lunch was today to Assistant Kang (who will almost always respond with a dry, “Glad to hear that, Mr. Han.”).

“I will.” Jumin kisses your lips, smiling when he feels you respond with little effort. “I’ve missed you.”

Your arms snake around his waist as you tuck your head under his chin. Jumin sighs when he feels you kiss his collarbone. “I’ve missed you too.” All he needs is your breath on his skin, or your hands on his face, or your voice filling his ears. It relaxes him instantly. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in the office all day.” Already he groans, burying his face in your hair in the hopes that it will preemptively soothe the headache sure to form tomorrow. At first he didn’t understand why you insisted on using the same hair conditioner you always did instead of a much more expensive one he could buy for you, but the smell of your hair is so exquisite that now he wholly prefers it (although there is a special kind of tingling in his chest reserved for the moments you smell like him). 

“Same. After my inspection, I’m going to be meeting four new clients, and I’m going to guess they all want priority.” You roll your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow is also Mr. Wang’s wedding, so I’ll be back late.”

At his wordless whine, you giggle, kissing his cheek. Then after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, a soft hum sounds from your throat.

“I have an idea.”

///

The click of Jaehee’s heels alerts him to her entrance, and Jumin straightens in his chair, accepting the papers that she hands him. 

“Thank you. Have you eaten, Assistant Kang?”

Jaehee blinks at him once, then twice, like he’s grown an extra head. Then she slowly nods, the surprised expression melting back into her perfectly professional one once more. “Yes, sir. And you?”

“Not yet. I brought a container my wife packed for me.”

“Honey, I don’t think she really cares to know that.”

“I see. She is a pretty good cook if I recall correctly.”

“Everyone cares,” Jumin insists. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so sweet, it’s annoying. I want to kiss you all the time.”

“Mr. Han, are you alright? You look a bit out of it—should I call for a doctor?”

“Do it.” He smiles at the papers in his hands. “I won’t stop you.”

“Call…call the doctor?”

“Will you kiss me back, in front of all your employees?”

“Yes. Of course. Whatever you desire.”

“Right away, sir,” Jaehee responds in a sort of strangled voice, and it’s not until he hears the click of her heels again that he remembers she was there. In almost a flash, she leaves his office. 

“What did she say?”

Jumin touches the tiny earpiece that’s been on all day, adjusting it only slightly. “I honestly have no idea.”

///

Jumin hates leaving. But he does, well, what is the phrase? Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? Something along those lines, is what you’ve said to him. He’s not sure it applies here, since he is actually leaving to go abroad for a few days, and already he’s looking forward to his reunion with you, but he didn’t expect that both of you would be so needy for each other the night before the flight.

It starts with a few kisses, a pout on your lips that he thinks he can kiss away if he just tries hard enough. Telling you in hushed whispers that he’ll miss you an unfathomable amount. Your understanding on a pragmatic level, and your clinginess the second you both laid down. Both are appreciated more than he can say.

“What if I want to watch a movie with you?”

Kiss. “Just wait a week for me, my love.”

“What if the bed is too cold and I need you to warm me up?”

Kiss. “One week, I promise. No more than a week.”

“What if aliens invade the penthouse and I have no one to protect me?”

Kiss. “Tell them that your husband is going to kill them…in a week.”

For a few minutes, it goes on like this, with you proposing other scenarios and Jumin doing his best to both reassure you and make you laugh. He lays kiss upon kiss to your lips, and perhaps subconsciously, they become more ravenous, demanding. Seeking more. Seeking your conviction on just how much you will miss him.  

“Jumin,” you breathe into his mouth. Jumin, Jumin. He loves how you say his name.

You’re seeking something as well, the warmth that you are so certain will disappear along with him. On one hand, he hates that his princess has to sleep without him at all, especially when she clearly doesn’t want to. And on the other hand, knowing that you’ll be here, missing him so desperately, makes his heart flutter. You’ll miss him. You’ll miss him.

Within moments, you’re on top of him, seated on his lap and unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He’s responding in kind, leaving love bites on your neck as he slides your night robe off your shoulders. 

“What if I get lonely?” you ask, more demure than you actually are. “What if I need you, and my fingers aren’t enough?”

His hands press into your hips, hard enough to bruise. You mewl at the slight pain, and he manages to hiss, “I never want your fingers to be enough. If you wait for me, princess, I’ll make you cum more times than you can handle when I get back.” Even if just the idea of you sending him a video or even calling him as you touch yourself was incredibly appealing. Maybe next time. This week, he would have you think of nothing but his own fingers, his tongue, his cock.

And what better way to do that than to remind you how they feel?

“I’ll be gone seven days exactly.” Spoken more to your breasts than you, but he does gaze up at you reverently as he kneads them in his hands. “Maybe tonight I can make you cum once for every day I won’t be here. Would you like that?”

He jerks his thigh up against your core before you can answer, so you nod frantically, mouth falling open. “Uh huh!”

And who is Jumin to ever deny you?

///

The trip right before Valentine’s is the worst. It’s all Jumin can do to finish work before running like a madman through several different stores, picking up this and that. He insists on a different bag for each purchase, despite the clerks gently pointing out that he can put a lipstick tube in the same bag as a pair of heels and nothing will happen, but he doesn’t want to. He would like to see you open every item with a new spark of delight in your eyes.

Usually, he would return late at night, always opting to finish the day’s work and catch a flight right after instead of waiting for morning, because this way he would arrive home, gather you up in his arms as you slept soundly, and then bask in your surprise and delight when you woke the next morning. 

And this time would have been no different if one of the departments had not messed up, forcing him to wake up on Valentine’s Day still out of the country. After five days’ worth of work forced into two hours, a shopping spree and a quick call with you, he nearly takes the wheel from the pilot himself before Jaehee begs him to just sit and try to enjoy the ride home. The rest of the trip, they are engaged in a glaring contest every time she looks up from the video she is watching on her laptop. 

As soon as the door opens, he hears a surprised cry of his name, and then you’re barreling into him—all the bags in Jumin’s hands fall to the floor in favor of catching you and hefting you up in the air for a spin. 

“I thought—“ Kiss. “That you—“ Kiss. “Weren’t coming back today!“ Deeper kiss.

“I couldn’t miss my first Valentine’s with you, my love.” The deepest kiss of all.

The two of you only stop because his bodyguards are coming into the room after him, with more bags. Your eyes widen as you take in all of them, and your sharp mind has already pieced together what’s going on. “Is this all for me?”

“Of course.” Jumin knows that the way you’re latching onto him with such a tight grip is a more priceless gift than anything in these bags. “Why don’t you open everything? I wish to see your reaction.”

And so you do. The makeup, the shoes, the clothes, the jewelry, the books, the decor, all of fine quality and all things well thought out with your interests in mind. With every single item, no matter how big or small, you gasp, or squeal, or simply smile ever so widely. And without fail, you kiss him right on the lips each time.

Jumin is dizzy only halfway into the opening process—he must start buying you gifts far more often if this is the reward he gets.

However, you see beyond just his outward appearance, and you place the next bag he hands you aside without so much as a glimpse at it before clambering onto his lap. Hands on his cheeks, your thumbs smooth over where he’s sure eyebags are forming. “My poor Juju,” you whisper, “you look really tired, honey.”

Honey, honey, honey. How joyful he feels when you call him honey. “As always, you see right through me. I can’t hide from you, can I?”

“I never want you to hide from me.” A sweet kiss pressed to his cheek makes his stomach jump, like he’s a teenage boy with a crush. “Let’s lay down, shall we? We can finish opening everything afterwards.”

Jumin concedes, rising hand in hand with you until you’re both on the bed, curled up in each other. “What a terrible Valentine’s this turned out to be. I’m sorry, my love.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him slow, soft and smooth. “What are you talking about? You’re here where I can hold you, we’re both off work, and you’ve gifted me more than anyone else ever has or will in my life.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied that he’s set a standard that no one else can ever match for you. “But is that…enough?”

“Enough?” Your tone is incredulous. “Jumin, just you being here is more than enough. I love you so, so much, and I—“ You cut yourself off, slightly backing up as though you’re trying not to overwhelm him (a ridiculous notion, he would love nothing more than for you to overwhelm his every sense). “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have married you.”

This time he kisses you, the idea of sleep slipping further and further away because really, why should he close his eyes when he can only see you when they’re open? Why should he rob himself of the privilege to gaze upon your lovely face and listen to your quiet, soothing voice? Why should he do anything else, eat or drink or work or play, when he could simply kiss you for the rest of his life?

“I love you,” he breathes, pulling you closer because you simply can never be close enough. “Happy Valentine’s, my precious wife.”

///

Of course, the first time your schedule allows you to accompany him on a business trip he’s ecstatic. Finally a week without the headache of returning to an empty hotel room, and instead what will feel like more of a vacation, especially once he completes the necessary work and the two of you can spend the rest of the days lazing by the beach.

Because of the honeymoon, Jumin had become well acquainted with your fear of flying, and had arranged your seats in his private jet to be close together. As the jet takes off, he holds your hand in his as you squeeze, eyes shut tightly for the takeoff. Reassuringly, he kisses your hand, rubbing the back of it while his other hand strokes Elizabeth the Third’s head through the carrier she’s in. 

“Poor Elizabeth,” you manage to whimper, still looking quite pale even after the takeoff is done, “I hope she doesn’t get airsick.”

“She doesn’t,” Jumin reassures. Elizabeth is used to such flights, unlike you. He’d much rather you focus on your own health right now.

The stewardess for the flight comes through with the cart of food and drinks. “Anything for you, Mr. Han?”

“A glass of wine.”

“Of course, sir. And you, Mrs. Han?”

“Oh, um…” You smile sheepishly up at her. “Would you happen to have apple juice?”

The woman blinks once, then, as though she’s fighting back a laugh, says, “Apple juice, ma’am?”

“Is that a problem?” Jumin cuts in sharply before you can answer, glaring daggers.

“No, no! O-of course I can give you apple juice, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend—“

“No offense taken.” Even nauseous and teased, you smile kindly, eyes lighting up when you have your drink. If he remembers correctly, he used to drink apple juice when he would get airsick as a child as well.

When the stewardess leaves, you lean over and press an apple-tasting kiss to his lips, and he catches a few drops of the juice in his mouth. It tastes yummy, or maybe it’s just the taste of you that he likes. 

Probably the latter. Either way, he’s eager to get this vacation started.

///

“I feel so good that you’re here. Thank you so much for coming. I…never want to let you go.”

…

“I’ve trapped you here, haven’t I?” he asks one night, after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.

You’re wide awake, though, and he feels your lips on his throat as you whisper, “I’ve never once felt trapped with you, Jumin.”

///

You’re a lightweight, and it’s the most adorable thing Jumin has ever seen. Including cat photos. Including Elizabeth the Third. And you don’t realize just how cute you are, which only makes you cuter.

“Juju,” you whine, when he starts to guide you to bed.

“You have to sleep, my dear.” Almost smugly, he places a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Sleep and allow me to take care of you in the morning.”

The protest you seemed to be ready to fire back morphs into a happy giggle as you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “I do like when you take care of me.”

“Likewise.”

For some reason, that sends you into more giggles as you press against him. “You talk so smart like. I love when you use big words.”

Biting back a smile, Jumin raises a brow. “Is likewise a big word?”

“Anything is a big word when you say it.” You kiss him softly, sliding your hands in his hair. You love messing up his hair, almost as much as he loves letting you do it. “You’re so smart. So clever. Your brain is like…” To exaggerate your point, you lean your head away, with his hands on your back to keep steady. “Soooo huge.”

“Not the only thing,” he hums slyly.

“Jumin!” Laughing, you hit his shoulder, only for him to tug you in close, making you squeak. The only downside to how well you two know each other now is that he doesn’t get to see your beautifully embarrassed face, but he still gets some wins when he catches you off guard.

“I’m only kidding, my love.” Watching your lips part for him as he leans in, Jumin kisses you this time, gently sucking your lower lip between his teeth. Let no one say he wasn’t out and open with his oral fixation when it came to you. “I’m honored to know you find me intelligent.”

You beam, nearly blinding him with how brilliant your smile is. “Intelligent, and funny. So, so funny. I love your jokes.” Now you turn your cheek, placing sloppy kisses along his jaw. “And handsome. I have the most handsome husband in the world.”

Jumin, only now realizing the difference between being happy and being giddy and knowing he’s both, can only close his eyes, tilting his head back. “Ironic for you to say, considering no one with your beauty has ever existed before nor will exist again.”

The way your cheeks flush make him realize that he, too, must be quite tipsy. Surely his stomach does not flip so violently just to see how your eyes glow at his praise.

“I love you.” You swallow, and he watches the movement of your throat closely. “Do you know how much?”

He exhales, not having realized he inhaled before. “M-more than is reasonable, I presume.”

“A lot more than is reasonable,” you whisper before kissing him again. This one is different, he can tell. Something more desperate. More wanting. More likely to make him lose his mind.

How does he know? It’s because you’re not just kissing him, you’re also borderline riding the knee he’s slotting between your legs. With a whine, you tug on his collar, as though you want him closer. Need him closer. 

Losing his mind is just the beginning.

“Sit on the couch.” The tone with which you beg makes his already hardening cock twitch. “Please, Jumin.”

He obeys—how could he not obey?—and just the sight of you dropping to your knees to unbuckle his pants has him throwing his head back with a lustful groan. How did he get here? How did he get so lucky? 

You kiss the head of his cock, and Jumin is gone.

When you start bobbing your head, eagerly sucking with your eyes closed in concentration, it takes every inch of willpower he has ever had to not cum immediately, so that this can last. With every slow caress of your tongue, he can feel himself getting lost in his own base senses, every coherent thought fading away and leaving only an animalistic need.

“Princess,” he moans, fingers in your hair. His words escape him in a slurred, barely coherent manner. “I, ahh, won’t last—shit—”

Coming inside your warm, wet mouth is not in the top five moments he remembers when he thinks of his favorite times with you, because he likes to think he’s classier than that, but regardless, he’s never going to forget this.

///

Growing up, the one trait that he was always told to avoid and to find disdainful in others was laziness. There is nothing worse than a person who is not efficient. People who waste time just doing simple tasks are not worth his time, he was told.

But surely, surely, that does not apply to you. (Or maybe it’s a silly lesson in the first place, another one to add the list he has started to garner since he married you.)

It does not apply when you have to get up early for work and you sadly try cuddling with him in the five minutes you have left to remain in bed. Most days Jumin leaves before you, pressing a kiss to the lips of the princess in bed before heading out. Your parted lips in sleep do such a number on him that he has to make sure not to linger too long.

Days where your job demands you wake with him are no less enjoyable, and perhaps even more so as he gets to witness your clinginess. Jumin tugs you to the bathroom, where you close your eyes and rest your head on his chest as both of you brush your teeth. When you finally make it to the kitchen, he seats you on the chair by the counter and amuses himself by watching your sleepy eyes follow him while he makes a quick breakfast.

“Maybe I could eat ‘n your lap?” you ask cutely, poking at your scrambled eggs with a fork. 

“My dear,” Jumin answers, intertwining your fingers to kiss the back of your hand, “I would love nothing more, but you will fall asleep again.”

Not even an argument as you nod with a lazy smile, head falling forward on the counter. “I want to fall asleep again. How do you do this every day?”

“It’s what I’ve always done.” He’s finished with his eggs, so he stands, sweeping your hair aside to lean down and press a kiss to your nape. You squeal, squirming away as he catches you and tugs you to him, watching you immediately give up this play fight and snuggle into his chest to catch a bout of standing shut-eye. “Now come, Driver Kim is waiting to drop us both off.”

You shake your head, clutching onto him stubbornly.

“You can sleep on my lap in the car.”

And he feels inordinately pleased with how fast you move after that.

///

The days that he knows you will be at the penthouse when he returns, there’s always an extra breath in his steps, as if the air itself knows he must return home immediately.

Tonight, for example. He has a whole night planned. The two of you would cook the next thing to try on that list of recipes you printed and excitedly taped up in the kitchen, then after dinner he plans to play some soft music and waltz you around the rather spacious living room, and then both of you could go for a swim in the pool, and the night would end with you dozing off in his arms.

A perfect night. The kind he dreams about, the kind that he never can quite believe are real.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t hear any call of his name nor is he tackled in a hug, which only makes his shoulders deflate slightly. Elizabeth the Third softly mrrows at him from where she’s sitting on the couch. Placing a kiss atop her head, he pokes in to check a few rooms, searching for his wife. 

You’re nowhere to be found. The only place left to check is the bedroom. His sweetheart usually doesn’t fall asleep so early, though.

He opens the door, then freezes in his tracks.

With a couple of candles lit up around the room, you sit on the bed, nothing on except the set of lingerie he ordered a few weeks ago at your request, black as the night sky (“because it reminds me of you”). A few pillows support you as you lean back, eyes trained on him. There’s a glass of wine in your hands, and another on the table next to you clearly reserved for him. 

You take a small sip, and some drops purposefully miss your lips and slowly drip down your neck, down over the swell of your breasts.

“Care to join me, husband?”

Jumin swallows.

None of his plans end up coming to fruition that night, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

///

(You’ve pointed out how the most random things turn him on—when you wear his clothes, but specifically his striped shirts, when you let him buy something ludicrously expensive for you, when you do simple things to take care of him, when you wait for him at home after work, cat ears—cat ears, cat ears, cat ears!—and the rare moments where he gets to see you pissed off.

But he’d only responded how the things you were into were equally as random—seeing him disheveled after a hard day’s work or a visit to the gym, the way he answered business calls simply by saying Jumin Han speaking, what do you need, and every time you’re naked on his lap while he’s fully clothed. 

Shall I remind you how desperate you get, my dear? he growls into your ear. Your cheeks flush, and Jumin reaches for the ribbon in the drawer, even more impatient than you are.)

///

There are other times where Jumin will arrive home and if you aren’t leaping into his arms, kissing him full on the lips as he spins you around or pins you to the wall depending on the mood, you’re sitting on the couch, typing away on your laptop either for your job or for the RFA.

In those moments, he finds himself easily sliding his arms around you and burying his face in your neck, absolutely reveling in the subconscious way you rub his nape and kiss his hair.

Sometimes you both will exchange stories of your day, expanding on something a phone call simply couldn’t cover or something that perhaps you had wanted to say in person to fully soak in the reaction (you seem to particularly enjoy how he insults the difficult clients you tell him about). Other times, there is a serene silence, only broken by Elizabeth the Third’s purring and the clack of your keyboard keys. 

You smell so good, all the time. He wonders if he should be capitalizing on the perfume you use so that no one else can buy it. That way this scent would solely be yours, just like he is. Something about that idea blooms a warmth in his chest.

The best part of the night comes when you finish, closing the laptop and setting it aside before wrapping your arms around him. “I love you,” you say, only for his ears, just like how your lips are only for his skin, just like how your scent is only for his nose, just like how Jumin is only here to be yours entirely. 

///

In the past, when he’s fallen ill, he’s either ignored it or simply just taken the necessary amount of time to recover. The last time he was pampered like this was as a child by his nannies. And even their doting paled in comparison to yours (but then, didn’t everything, when it came to you).

Because this. This, is heavenly.

Every single ounce of your affection is solely for him. Your soup that you feed him, your fingers stroking his hair, your voice sweetly singing him to sleep. Your lips on his forehead, whispering, “How are you feeling, Juju?” 

Granted, because he’s sick, he can’t fully appreciate it without the feeling that his body is turning against him. But it’s worth it, it’s easily worth it.

So, the day that he wakes up with a low temperature, feeling absolutely fine, he still manages to cough pitifully and throw out the word to Jaehee that he simply has to take another day off.

You have a knowing smile on your face, but when he slips his arms around your waist, with his face buried in your neck, you still hold him just as warmly, and Jumin is so, so, so in love with you. Nothing could possibly stand to be better than this. One hand absentmindedly strokes his hair while you type on your phone with the other hand, communicating with someone from work. 

Your phone starts to ring; he only shifts minimally to get closer as you answer it. “Hey, what’s up?”

He can hear the person who called—it’s one of your friends. “Hey! Check your messages, I won that ukulele I told you I would win last time.”

The sound of your laugh is so melodious, he’d do anything to get drunk on it. “Win another one for me, I’ll hang it up in my closet.”

“Yeah, right.” Your friend snorts. “I wish you were able to come. It’s been so long since we’ve been here.”

“I know, but Jumin really doesn’t feel well. I couldn’t just leave him at home alone.” As though your friend can see, you plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll go another time, definitely.”

“I’ll hold you to it. Alright, I have to go. Give the husband all my love, I hope he feels better.”

“Will do. Bye, have fun!”

With that, you hang up, resuming the scrolling through your phone and the stroking of his hair. Jumin is still, for good reason. 

You had meant to go out with your friends today. And due to his not-actually-sick state, you had canceled on them.

Hadn’t he told you to put him second to your own self? But he can’t pin this on you, not when he was the one faking. A terrible feeling begins to rise in his chest, causing him to move away from you and stare at you with a guilty expression.

“Is your neck finally tired of…” You trail off when you look at him, furrowing your brows. “What happened?”

“You were meant to go out today.”

A small frown forms on your face. “Um…we made plans, yeah. But you were sick—“

“I wasn’t,” he confesses, ironically sick to his stomach. “I just wanted to take another day off and spend some time with you.”

“I know that.”

“I—you know?”

The frown on your face is replaced by a tiny smile, as you tug gently to bring him back into your arms. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Yes I am.” He pouts, still upset but more calm now that you don’t seem disappointed. 

“Honey, the one time I kissed your finger after you got a papercut, you somehow got a papercut on every finger the following week.”

Jumin blushes, but you’re not wrong—he just craves your attention. You simply make everything better.

“More importantly,” and now you pull him into your chest, settling back into the same comfortable position with a kiss on his forehead, “I’m faking just as much as you, because I love it when you do things like this. Why would I complain? I get to spend time with you.”

This is what it feels like, Jumin is certain, to be loved. To be cared for and adored so deeply that it leaves an ache in one’s chest. “The next time,” he murmurs, as your hand finds purchase in his hair once more, “The next time you would like to go out to an amusement park with your friends, please let me know. I can buy it out for the day.” A thoughtful pause. “Or forever.”

Another soft kiss, he’s tempted to keep going, to make more and more outrageous promises just to earn each and every press of your lips to his skin. “My friends will appreciate that. I think the park is already owned by C&R, actually.” You chuckle. “Some fast passes though? I wouldn’t say no.”

Fast passes? He’ll ask you what in the world those are just as soon as he finishes kissing you (something a fake sick person can, thankfully, afford to do).

///

A soft knock on the door. 

“Mother?” He makes sure to keep his voice to a polite volume. “I’ve played with all my toys. May I please come out now?”

Silence. 

Jumin clears his throat, trying his best not to look behind him, just three steps down. It’s dark down there, and he knows it is not logical to be afraid of the dark, but even the logic does little to quell the growing fear inside him. 

“Mother? It…it has been a few hours now.” Fourteen hours, he counted on the tiny clock that ticks a little too loudly in the basement. “May I please be let out? I’m starting to get hungry.”

That’s a lie, but he doesn’t think she’ll know. The truth is he began to get hungry hours ago, and is now close to starving. As if on cue, his stomach growls. 

Jumin knocks again, the dread he feels growing with every second. “Please, Mother, I’ll be good. I’ll play with my toys. I’ll be normal. Please let me out.”

None of it makes any sense to him. In all the books he reads, none of the mothers lock their sons up in the basement. But then maybe none of the sons are as strange and abnormal as he is. They didn’t need to be locked up like he did. 

Still, even if he deserves this, the loneliness is starting to scare him.

“Please.” Childish tears start to prick at his eyes. “Mother? I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”

The only response he gets is the silence, beckoning him to come back to the darkness where he belongs. With a trembling lip, he turns to face it once more.

The doorknob jiggles.

He whips his head back, not daring to believe it. Is this punishment finally over? 

The first thing he’s going to do after he eats is call Jihyun, ask him if he’d like to go to the park nearby. Anything to go outside, in the light, with other people. 

Except, to his horror, when the door finally opens, it’s not his mother standing at the top, but his stepmother.

“No,” Jumin whispers, stumbling back. He misses one step and trips, hands on the cement floor as he stares, terrified, at the woman. “Please, no. Where’s Mother?”

The woman at the top laughs, a sound that seems to make others happy but only serves to suffocate him further. He’ll choose to stay in the darkness for a hundred more hours before going upstairs to see her. “What’s this? Another woman in your life, Jumin? What a lady killer!”

He shakes his head desperately, as though to tell her that there’s no one, there’s no need for her to get possessive.

It doesn’t work. 

“I’m your mother, Jumi.” He hates that nickname. “Shouldn’t you spend more time with me? You know I love our time together. I know you love it too.”

No, no, no, no, no. He’s on his feet in an instant, scrambling back away from her as fast as possible. His back hits the shelf, no longer a child but an adult, and yet still equally as pathetic.

“Your father doesn’t even pay attention to me anymore. You’re all I have, Jumi.” Her eyes turn cold. “But it looks like you’ve found someone else, haven’t you? You’ve replaced me so easily.”

Now her gaze is focused somewhere else. Jumin follows it, peers through the darkness, only to see…

You.

Relief floods his chest all at once. You are his solace, to hold close and worship. You are the only person to ever understand him, to love him without hurting him. You have accepted him no matter how much he’s shown you that he doesn’t deserve any of your care. As long as you are by his side, he can face anything.

“Jumin.” Even his name sounds so much nicer coming from you. Everything and everyone else seems to melt away.

He takes one step towards you.

You speak again, but it doesn’t sound the same this time.

“Jumin.” Now that he can see your face properly, you look…angry. “Don’t come any closer.”

Immediately, he stops, and that sharp fear grips his throat, squeezing.

“You’re fucked up, Jumin.”

The words spit out of you like a spear, hitting him right in the center. 

It can’t be you talking. You don’t say things like that. You always tell him you love him, that you understand him, that you adore him.

But maybe you’ve just…had enough.

Tears begin to spill from his eyes. You stand before him, his heart in your hands, and you look at him with such disgust that he hopes the darkness in here opens up and swallows him.

“I’m leaving,” you say firmly, “don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he gasps, shakily reaching a hand out. “Please don’t leave me here, my love.”

But you don’t listen. You step up the stairs, grip the door, and with one last look of vitriol, you slam it shut, damning him to the darkness forever.

Jumin wakes with a gasp that’s really a sob, head jerking up and slamming against yours.

“Ah!” You grip your forehead, wincing in pain from your position above him. “Ow ow ow, that hurt!”

Like he’s in auto mode, Jumin sits up, touching your cheek with a terrified expression. “I’m so sorry, my love, let me call the doctor. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You wince again, rubbing your forehead. “It’ll probably bruise later, but I can deal with it.”

He hurt you. He hurt you.

But you don’t have any of the hate that your dream counterpart did in her eyes. Instead, yours are filled with concern, and you cup his cheeks with such gentleness that he closes his eyes, immediately melting in your hands.

“Were you having a nightmare?” You kiss his forehead. “You were tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep.”

As much as he wants to bask in your worry for centuries, it doesn’t stop the guilt that threatens to spill. “I apologize for waking you, my love. And for hitting you. I—I was having a nightmare, yes, but I’m alright now.”

“Jumin.”

“If you’d like, I can make some tea for you to help you go back to sleep—“

“Jumin.” Your lips are on his forehead again. “You’re crying, sweetheart.”

So he is. It’s strange he didn’t realize, but there are indeed tears wetting his cheeks. He opens his eyes to meet your gaze, looking at him so sincerely and with such care that this time he actually feels the tears pour down.

“Oh,” you breathe, brows meeting in concern. Your thumbs wipe his tears away diligently, and your lips begin to kiss every spot you wipe. Jumin trembles under your touch, hating himself for being so pathetic in front of you and simultaneously considering crying forever so that you stay here forever too. “What is it, honey? Please tell me how I can help.”

He wants to. But all he can manage to do is grip the back of your shirt in his hands, bury his face in your shoulder, and sob.

Not even for a second do you let him go. He doesn’t know how long he stays in your arms, seconds, minutes or hours. He cries, and cries, and cries, until his eyes feel swollen. and all the while your hand strokes his hair, your lips kiss his cheek, and your voice comes out in soothing whispers.

It’s okay. 

I’m right here, I’m here for you. 

You have me forever. 

We’re going to get through this.

I promise I’ll stay with you as long as you want.

Even though he hasn’t told you what his nightmare was about, you still somehow know exactly what to say. 

Even when he finally tires himself out, Jumin can’t stand the thought of not being held by you. He’s never felt this safe, this protected, in his entire life. He continues to grip your shirt tightly, breathing in and out, chest heaving. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now, you’re going to pull away and see how awful he is when he clings to you again, like a child.

You do no such thing. Instead, you lean back against the headboard, gently guiding his head to rest on your chest. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he shifts so that he’s sitting curled into you and pulls you forward gently to place a pillow behind your back. This way, he can hear your heartbeat.

And it’s that steady rhythm that makes his eyes start to droop.

But if he falls asleep again, he risks having another nightmare.

“Sleep,” you murmur, kissing his temple. Jumin’s eyes close on instinct. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise knocks him right out.

///

When he wakes, you’ve kept your promise, and you’re in the same unfortunate position, head lulled to the side as you snooze. 

An indescribable feeling settles upon him. It’s not just one feeling, in fact, but multiple. Guilt, because he forced you to sleep like this throughout the night. Gratitude, because he’s pretty sure he’s in the arms of an angel sent from above. And most importantly, he feels white hot love, because he has clearly married the only person in this world worth a damn.

And as much as he wants to stay like this, he knows that will surely not bode well for the chiropractor appointment he plans to schedule for you. So Jumin slips out of your embrace gently, taking good care to lay your head down on the pillow. With you picturesque in front of him, he places a kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Ju,” you mumble in your sleep. Your hand seems to reach for something, stopping when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

An angel, indeed.

Jumin gets up fully, taking the time to brush his teeth and freshen up before going into the kitchen to whip something up for breakfast. He wasn’t expected at the office until after lunch, so he had time to really make something nice. Chocolate chip pancakes, instead of his usual strawberry.

As he makes the batter, he thinks. Last night was…an anomaly. There should be no reason for him to dream of people that no longer matter anymore. His present is the most important, and his present is, thanks to you, leagues and leagues ahead of his past anyway. He wants to forget it all, forget his mother and stepmother and even Sarah Choi, who, while she hadn’t made an appearance last night, had been in his nightmares more than once, in a bleak alternate reality where he actually married her.

But he knows who he really married. It’s the person whose arms are sneaking around his waist right now. You.

“Morning.” Your voice is exceedingly pleasant, especially when it’s cooed in his ear. “You’re going in late, right?”

“Yes.” He places a kiss on the back of your hand, pressing his lips to each knuckle. “And you, my princess?”

“All from home today, my prince.”

Inwardly, he feels a quick twinge of irritation. “I wish I could spend the whole day with you. I should call out.”

“I’m never going to dissuade you of that.” You kiss him right on the nape of his neck; Jumin shudders. “But it’s up to you.”

“I’ll end up burning these pancakes if you keep distracting me.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Your laugh is so pretty, he thinks, and he didn’t think he could describe laughter as pretty before you. “Um, before I get too off topic…don’t you think we should talk, Jumin?”

He knew you weren’t going to simply forget the fact that he had cried himself back to sleep last night. Luckily, before you’d woken, he’d already prepared for such a scenario.

“I apologize for disrupting your sleep. I had a disturbing dream, but it will not happen again.”

For a second, he thinks it’s enough to stop you from asking any further questions, up until he feels your arms slide out from under him. The next thing he knows, you’re turning off the stove before he can start on the next batch of pancakes. 

Then, you’re gently turning him so he’s facing you, looking at you right in the eye. Jumin has seen that look before. It’s way too determined for even his stubborn nature, and it always comes out when you’re about to do whatever you want (a rare delight, given your selfless nature, but one he enjoys every time).

Your hands loop around his neck, and you kiss his cheek. Jumin closes his eyes as you speak softly. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you, love?”

It’s amazing that you think anything could bother him when you’re this close, calling him that. 

“Just a nightmare,” he says softly, but you clearly don’t buy it.

“I have nightmares too, it’s very rare that one of them affects me that much after I wake up.”

“A bad nightmare.”

The other version of you flashes in his head again. You’re fucked up, Jumin. But she’s not you, and even though he thinks for a terrible second that you’re going to shove him away, you pull him in for a hug instead, warm and welcoming and cozy. The scent of your nameless-brand shampoo fills his senses—it makes him desperately want to go back to bed.

“Please,” you breathe on his neck. “That’s what you were saying last night. Please, Mother. Please, no. Please, don’t leave me.” 

His hands grip the back of your shirt.

“Please talk to me, Jumin,” you plead. “Please.”

Somehow, he has to keep from crying this time. How pathetic can one man be? But he also has to acquiesce to your request, because you’re you, and he cannot deny you no matter how hard he tries. If you want him bare, you shall have him bare. If you want him destroyed, he will destroy himself in an instant. 

“Alright,” he concedes, trembling.

Not wanting the kitchen, where you and him cook together and laugh together (and a couple other things too), to become associated with these tainted memories, he guides you to the couch, hands holding yours. You promptly get into your favorite position, on his lap with your knees on each side. With a sigh, he rests his head on your shoulder, the fabric of your shirt seemingly smoothing out the creases in his forehead.

Your lips on his skin and your whispered words of encouragement give him a courage he wasn’t aware he possessed. Jumin talks.

“You have not met my mother yet. There is…good reason for that. A week before our wedding, she sent me the profile of a woman she wanted me to marry. I refused, of course. But that is the first time she has reached out to me in years.” He clears his throat. “She and I did not have a pleasant relationship. I think some part of me was very disappointing to her, because instead of giving her the true challenge of parenthood I molded to exactly what she wanted me to be. She recognized that I was…abnormal.”

In the span of a few seconds, your eyes have hardened more than he’s ever seen them harden before. This isn’t determined. This isn’t even pissed. This is raw anger.

“Abnormal?” There’s a bite to your words. “Is that her way of saying she was blessed with an intelligent, kind child?”

“You are kind,” Jumin whispers, cupping your chin to press a short kiss to your lips. “As a child, I was perhaps more robotic than I am now. I took to the world of business rather quickly.”

“You were brilliant, Jumin. Were and still are.”

If he kisses you after your every reassurance, the two of you will never leave this couch (not that he necessarily minds that idea). The more disturbing risk is that he will break down in front of you, if he starts elaborating, not to mention when he begins to talk about his stepmother as well.

But that’s a risk that Jumin can now accept. He understands now, that he hasn’t known love before you, and that there will be a great many times he will feel afraid, but he also knows that there is no one in the world he trusts more. 

Taking a deep breath, he continues.

///

Jumin is addicted—addicted—to making you cum.

The face you make when you orgasm—eyes shut, mouth open in a silent scream, head thrown back—is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life. He considers spending eternity with his head between your legs, recklessly licking you to completion again and again.

The sounds you make—God. They have him rolling his hips against the sheets, so close to finishing just from your taste. It’s an obsession now, one that’s been growing ever since you two were married. A stressful day or a bad meeting or even projects being set back for whatever reason, Jumin can get all that frustration out as long as you allow him to spread your legs and devour you. As long as you squeal on his tongue, make a mess of his face, cum on his lips once or twice or more. He only stops when you beg him to. 

He could taste you forever.

But he reconsiders this commitment after he experiences the feeling of you coming on his cock once more.

A choked cry escapes him when he feels your walls clench around him. For a second, he can’t move, too lost in the way your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his skin. It’s the most pleasurable pain he’s ever had the fortune of experiencing.

“Ju-min,” you whine, legs clasping around his waist as he continues to thrust lazily, seeking his own release, “more, please.”

It really is always nice to know that he’s not the only one affected, enthralled and addicted to this madness.

///

Returning home to silence is still better than returning home to the sound of soft crying.

Jumin is on high alert in an instant, not bothering to take his suit or even his shoes off. You’re curled up on the couch, wiping your cheeks aggressively when you catch sight of him.

“J-Jumin, I didn’t hear you come in. Um…” You swallow, dried tears still obvious on your face. “I haven’t made anything, let me call the chef.”

He crosses the rug over to you almost blindly. There’s nothing else in his head, only you—your tears—you’re crying—you’re crying and he wasn’t here. His hands cup your face, wiping another fresh tear that rolls down your cheek as you look up at him, shaking.

“Who did it?” There’s a white-hot anger pulsing inside of him. He never sees you cry. “Tell me who I need to kill.”

A soft gasp escapes you, and you shake your head frantically as he sinks to his knees, taking your hands in his own and pressing reverent kisses to your knuckles. “N-no one did anything—I promise I’m fine, h-honey, please get up—“

Your laptop is set to the side, but the only thing on it is an email draft, giving him no clues at all. The last thing he desires is for you to have to recount that which distresses you, but he wants, needs, to ensure that you never get upset again.

“My love,” he swears, pressing his palms to yours, “please, tell me what happened. Was it something I did? One of the employees in the building?”

You whisper frantically, “No,” but even as you do another fresh wave of tears drip down your face.

Jumin wants to scream, wants to hurt someone, whoever is responsible, but he’s helpless, and so he lets intuition guide him, rising up until he’s next to you on the couch, and he’s pulling you in.

With a firm grip on his suit, you bury your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. In this moment, he recalls the predicament from that night, when the roles were reversed. How you’d simply let him cry, and held him all the while. Is he capable of…can he possibly bring you the same peace you bring him? Could you allow him to comfort you in the same way?

No matter what, he’s going to try. Anything for you.

Placing a kiss to your hair, he tightens his arms around you and murmurs sweet nothings, making sure you hear all of them. Everything from you’re the strongest person i know to i’m here for you, my love, i’ll be with you till the end of time.

“It’s just so much,” you finally hiccup, sniffing, “I’m busy all the time, they dump every project on me, I never get a chance to just take some time for myself and breathe! I’m always on some call, writing some email, visiting some area, I just want it all to stop. And you’re busier than me, and you do it so effortlessly, I can’t imagine how pathetic I must look compared to you.”

“You’re worth a hundred of me.” His voice is fierce, and he meets your eyes with his entire honest conviction. “Nothing about you is pathetic. You…you’re hardworking, you’re talented, you’re brave, and you’re the kindest person I know. I do not deserve you. I’ve never deserved you.”

“Please don’t say that,” you whimper, face still wet. He squeezes you tighter.

“I apologize. This isn’t about me. You need a break, sweetheart. Please, just request a week or at least a day off.”

“Jumin, I can’t—”

“I’ll request off too. Whenever you get a break, I’ll schedule one at the same time, and then I’ll take you wherever you desire, or we can simply spend it in the penthouse, and lay in bed all day. Or I could buy your company,” he half threatens, half jokes.

You let out a weak laugh, sinking into him, but he feels the tension in your shoulders release just slightly. Placing a kiss at the top of your head, he quickly texts for the chef to come by within the next hour, then tosses his phone aside to hold you better, which is when he catches sight of your own phone. On the screen is an image of the chatroom—a screenshot, he realizes, since his own messages are in it and he hasn’t been on the messenger today.

Your gaze follows his, and a slight smile finally forms on your face. “Messages from when we first met. Ah, the day I came to your apartment, I think.”

Oh, no. To put it lightly, those days were not a good time for him (although he’d never say such a thing, because he finds it cruel to say that some of the hardest days of his life included the one where he met the most wonderful woman in the world). Heaven knows what foolish things he’d said, he’s tried to block out most of the times that didn’t include the sight of you in front of him.

“They calm me down,” you admit softly, “the screenshots I have. I’m glad I took them, I have almost a hundred pictures that remind me of all the butterflies I would get when I talked to you. Knowing you’re my husband is the biggest calm of the storm.” Your cheeks are still stained with tears, but in your eyes is a newfound admiration as you and him look at each other, as though you have all the time in the world.

Jumin’s heart seizes.

“I’ll request a week off.” You reach up, a thumb on his cheek. “Thank you, Jumin.”

Surely, he thinks, being needed by you is the best experience of all.

///

“Thank you.” Your voice breaks the silence, muffled on his skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your husband kisses you, impatient as always, and you adore it.

“You’re welcome,” he breathes.

#jumin x reader #jumin x mc #jumin han #mystic messenger #mysme x reader #jumin han x reader #jumin han x mc #jumin han smut #valkyrie stories

[yanderestarangel]

HEADCANONS MW3 - "HE TOLD ME TO TAKE CARE OF YOU" | GHOST X READER

TW: spoilers about the canon story of mw3, death, mourning, angst, smut, praise, comfort, care, gn reader, use of medicines, breakdown, ghost soft spot, reader moves on after Mactavish's death, nsfw, reader's mixed emotions and ghost, post death of "soap mactavish" , dark themes.

A/N: People who are fighting in the comments: this is a work of fiction, if you take it seriously just DON'T READ IT.

Your world collapsed after the news that your fiancé "John Mactavish" aka "soap" had died, and what's worse, for Makarov. You felt your feet tremble and your breathing hitch - Price himself gave you this news, making you sob on the phone while Price, Gaz and especially, Ghost, listened to your pain and anger.

Ghost already knew you, he was soap's closest friend, he had been to your house several times and was even going to be best man at your wedding, along with Farah, however, Mactavish's young death took that away from you - and the man felt guilty, maybe if Ghost had been quicker, maybe if he had been close to Price he would have stopped Soap from trying to play the "hero" and getting shot in the head, maybe - Simon's mind was filled with "maybe " mute and would never have an answer.

You couldn't go with Ghost, Gaz and Price to throw Soap's ashes into the sea, you really wanted to - but part of you was paralyzed, as you clung to old photos and videos of Soap, or rather, your boy, your Johnny. Ghost went to your house, carrying the jar - now empty - of your fiance's ashes, he saw how weakened you were, and how quickly you tried to close the door in his face, however, he obviously didn't let you, using one of the hands to stop the blow. "-We need to talk (Y/N)." He just said that, muffled by the skull mask, his hard and cold eyes now carried a dead glow of sadness, anger and concern, Simon entered your house, without even hearing a vocal response from him.

"-I know things can be difficult for you, I know you loved Mactavish... But he asked me to take care of you (Y/N)" he paused significantly, a silence of understanding crossed the small and empty space between the two of you, while Simon squeezed the handle of the suitcase with all his strength, while holding back the single tear that tried to slip from his eye. "-He told me to take care of you if something happened to him and I will keep my word, whether you want my help or not." he added, as the cold gaze returned to you, searching for some kind of understanding on your face, he knew what it was like to lose someone you loved - however - he was focusing on you now, he could handle the pain, but you couldn't.

Then he did something he never did, he let the head of the impetuous and soulless man collapse slightly and letting the suitcase fall to the ground in a light tumble, the sound called you back to reality making you look at the tall and muscular form of Ghost with his arms open to you, while he was teary-eyed but refused to shed any tears, mixed emotions between the two of you, but the same feeling - the pain of sudden loss - you ran into the soldier's warm grip, feeling the smell of clothes wet from the rain and the thick, uncomfortable fabric of his sweatshirt, however, there was a warmth there, a warmth that you needed. You allowed yourself to cry, cry until your throat hurt, Simon's big hands made a pattern on your back and went to the top of your head, he didn't need to say anything at that moment, he just needed to give you the comfort you needed, you felt It allowed you to be taken care of, even if it was by a person you never thought would take care of you.

Simon watched you sleep after crying so much in his arms, lifting you in his arms to the upper staircase and placing you on the double bed, empty, due to the lack of John. He sighed heavily beneath his balaclava as he sat on the edge of the bed, watching you sleep. "-I will truly keep my promise, I swear to you my brother..." Ghost whispered as if he was talking to Soap, or, the ghosts that haunted him.

The next few weeks were calm and uneventful, with Simon offering to help you with the household expenses. "-You just took care of the house right? Totally dependent on Soap?" He asked calmly, no judgment reverberated in his voice, just doubts and an attempt to get closer. You nodded silently, as you watched him hand you a notepad and a pen. "-Write down all the groceries you need for the house, I'll buy them, I may not be Johnny, but I'll take care of you just like he did." he said seriously, his penetrating gaze looked at the floor as he rested both hands on his knees, waiting for you to finish the list. You didn't question it, his look was serious, a statement you couldn't deny.

So, slow steps were worked into these daily narratives, with Ghost always checking in on you, whether you were taking your medicines right, whether you were eating right and even whether you were well enough - with rare occasions of you not being able to eat and Simon preparing some soup. for you, ordering you to sit at the table while he himself fed you with a spoon, some small compliments were whispered under the typical skull mask. "-You're doing well (Y/N)." "-I'm glad you're accepting the food I made." "-Just this spoon and you can go rest, ok?" - he wasn't used to being soft with someone, but, besides the promise he made, something about you made him want to see you well, but he pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind like many others.

Soon the two of you began to live together more and more, not just polite everyday conversations or routine silent care, but rather, verbalizing some abstract feelings from both your hearts. Some nights Ghost would stay with you in the dimly lit kitchen, a hot coffee in front of you both, the steam dancing between you as you smiled sideways - a sad smile, full of hurt and nostalgia, but still a smile - showing some photos of Soap, some photos of you together traveling the world on the few vacations he had while he was alive. Making him smile beneath the fabric that covered his face. "-Oh, I see... He was really quite an adventurous man." he spoke calmly, seeing your sad look as he ran his finger over the cold screen of his cell phone, so Ghost had the idea of ​​telling some stories he shared as a protagonist with Soap - like the time Captain Price made him and Mactavish clean the entire barracks because caught you both listening behind the meeting door - you smiled, now, genuinely happy, making Simon's heart warm a little, as if he was on a mission and it was finally bearing fruit, your happiness.

He accompanied you to doctor appointments and shopping, he insisted that you should take better care of yourself - Ghost dragged you to an expensive clothing store and gave you permission to spend his money however and on whatever you wanted, you couldn't deny it just nodding and swearing he could see a chaste smile appear slightly on the black fabric he wore. You changed for him, trying out some clothes while he approved them all, making you smile beautifully, questioning him if he was being sincere. Simon just crossed his arms and let out a breath through his nose "-I'm just being honest, you're a beautiful person, any clothes you wear look great on you." he spoke sincerely, not noticing the words slipping off his tongue. You thanked him for the compliment, while selecting the clothes, the two of you heard the attendants talk about what a beautiful couple you made. You didn't say anything and neither did Simon correct them, just holding your shoulders in a gesture of shy affection.

Your feelings were confused, you practically lived with Simon now, even giving yourself the freedom to walk around the house in just a towel, you felt good, good about yourself and the man who took care of you - even if your mind wondered if it was right to accept such intimate contact with your late fiancé's friend -

Questions were also present in Ghost's mind, but he liked to take care of you, it wasn't just an obligation for a promise but for pleasure and self-satisfaction, the two of you now practically lived together - something that happened naturally, over time , just proof of a greater connection that was growing in both of you - soon you found yourself arranging Ghost's clothes, like you did with Soap, taking care of his lunch, even though nothing more intimate had ever happened, nothing more than pleasant conversations and warm touches, but covered by the fabrics of your body and Simon's gloves. The spark that was igniting there transcended any bond he had formed and any morals built during his time with Mactavish. He wondered if it was worth going over everything he believed in and trying something with you, touching your skin, feeling you on his fingertips, seeing your happy face and contorting with pleasure because of him - thoughts he didn't think about. he managed to free himself, after all, no man is hypocritical in his pleasures and desires - and Ghost was one of them.

It didn't take long for it to happen, a few glasses of wine, a few laughs between you like any ordinary weekend you were both having in that routine of caregiver x person who was dying from care. But something shone in both your eyes and his, a look that didn't need words but just actions - when you saw it, you were leaning over the kitchen counter, the taller man's thick cock hitting your holes, the swollen balls of cum hit your skin, leaving your skin red. It had been so long since you felt a cock filling you and Ghost was there, fucking you without much thought, just sweet compliments as he ravished your needy hole against his hard, cold marble on the counter. "-Yes fuck... You look so beautiful like this, take it all baby..." "-Don't be ashamed, just let go, I'm here, you've endured so much, haven't you? Yes, you're so strong... So beautiful... Let me take care of you sweetheart." "-Mmm... Fuck (Y/N)... You're squeezing me so good, keep it up okay? I'm going to make you cum, I'm here for you." He spoke between moans in the air, holding your thighs, you forgot everything, the mourning, the past, who you were, just focusing on the blur with each thick thrust and hoarse praise, full of Simon Riley's accent to you. You two didn't know how you were going to act after that, but it didn't matter about the momentary carnal pleasure.

After the post-orgasmic bliss, you and Simon exchanged more glances. "-Sorry, I just... We can't do that." Ghost spoke first, while he was still physically connected with you, leaving slowly, seeing your satisfied form but full of doubts and guilt, even so he helped you take a shower, the two of you sitting in the same bathtub, just an oral silence and the sound calm of the water filled the air particles. You didn't know how to feel, nor what to say. Ghost agreed with the idea of ​​pretending that nothing had happened between you... And that didn't do anything.

It happened again, it always did, another cold, rainy night, with Ghost above you, Simon's thick hands caressing your thighs, his warm breath on your neck. "-I promised to take care of you, I think... Soap would be happy if I made you happy in other ways too." he whispered against your wet, sweaty skin, pushing the shaft already covered in his semen even deeper, from other times he had cum, and maybe, he was right, Mactavish wanted you happy, and you were happy. He reached out his hand, grabbing yours, as he looked you in the eyes, pushing you to your limit. "-Tell me dear... You want another chance to be happy, right?" he spoke from behind the skull balaclava softly and with expectant eyes, all that was needed was your answer to your future, a future with Simon or, a future trapped in memories of the past.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

#yanderestarangel #cod mw3 #call of duty headcanons #call of duty mw3 #mw3 #mw3 x reader #ghost mw3 #ghost mw3 x reader #mw3 headcanons #ghost x you #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #ghost headcanons #mw3 spoilers #simon riley x reader #gn reader #cod #tw angst #tw smut #cod x reader #cod x y/n #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley mw3 #ghost mw3 x you #ghost smut #simon riley ghost mw3 #call of duty angst #soap x reader #call of duty fandom

[ikyw-t]

kay im gonna try to have a good and productive day today so help me god

#but i did wake up feeling rly sad bc yesterday i thought about my rs with my twin sister for more than 1 minute #and started crying about it to my mom yesterday bc my sister has literally by far been the most unsupportive person in my life #like throughout my entire life no exception #she's told me im bad at singing and will never get better when i was like 14 which is just. stupid #anyone can get better at basically anything with practice. and i obviously have gotten so much better since then esp bc i took some classes #but also i woke up today and randomly just started remembering on how many separate occasions over the years #she's been so mean to me for seemingly no reason and made me cry like #when we would visit our cousin and i wanted us all to play together or whatever she'd always turn it into a 2 v 1 #even more recently with him she'd always end up making fun of me and id have to just hang out alone #instead of with my cousin who i only see maybe once a year at most bc she was always mean to me #once in hs when our parents were out of time for a few days she took my laptop and phone away? #i cant even remember why but i think bc it was late at night? and i wanted to talk to my bf at the time? #i cant for the life of me imagine wtf compelled her to do... like what was the fucking point besides making me upset? #one time even before we were going to a wedding with the family she was just being so mean and rude #and youll never believe it. made me cry. #ive just always been a sensitive and emotional person like yes that's true. #but she's also only ever been mean and unsupportive to me ever. like... i wish i was exaggerating but im just not #the only time she's ever supportive is if you do the exact thing she also does. #her only advice for me ever has been to do yoga and eat better #whatever i could go on it doesnt rly matter she's always been mean and selfish #it's never made any difference how nice ige been or tried to help her or how many favors ive done she's just never cared to be nice to me #so... whatever. hashtag sorry for being so depressing this early on main #i mean whatever rly what else is there even to say #if u didn't know i have a twin bc i rarely ever mention her well that's why #anyway gonna go try to have a normal day now and not think about it #p #ok i am actually done but also i sometimes remember how she made me parents buy her a ticket to see the 1989 tour with me #when id been wanting to see taylor since speak now and that was my first chance and i was obviously over the moon with excitement #just for her to spend the entire concert making fun of taylor and making mean jokes. literally what is the fucking point #like even then. she couldn't be nice for two fucking hours like... jesus. anyway whatever. just stupid shit ig