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#first of all IN THE FIRST SEASON HE HATES LYING
sennqu · 2 years
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Will being unable to lie to Mike is so ingrained in his characterization that him actually doing so for the first time feels like such a huge, notable, and intentional moment. Especially with how it dominoed to Mike's monologue. Like honestly Will lying to Mike was a bigger and more affecting story twist to me than Henry saying he was the big bad all along.
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mxwhore · 6 months
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I want to draw!!¡ but first, education
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ellemj · 3 months
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Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope BONUS CHAPTER
Bucky Barnes x Reader
*Read parts 1-10 first for the full effect!*
Summary: It's been a little over a month since you and Bucky decided to begin your secret relationship, but he's grown tired of only getting to have you in the middle of the night. His possessiveness gets the better of him during the team's New Year's Eve party.
Warnings: profanity, teasing, possessive!Bucky, slight angst, public sex, unprotected sex, fingering, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!
Word Count: 4.1k
A/N: Merry Christmas everyone, thanks for all of the support this holiday season! We've made it to the end of the 12ish Days of Smut!
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            It’s been a little more than a month of sneaking into Bucky’s room every night and then sneaking back into your own every morning. It’s been a little more than a month of finding ways to discretely fuck your frustrations away after every mission. It’s been a little more than a month since the two of you realized that you were in love with each other. Truthfully, it’s been the most difficult yet rewarding month of your life. You might be lying to everyone you know and going out of your way to hide the best thing in your life, but Bucky is everything to you and he’s actually yours.
            As you smooth your hands over the tight black dress, feeling the scratchiness of the sequins against your palm, you smile at yourself in the mirror. It’s been a secret obsession of yours to wear Bucky’s dog tags hidden beneath your clothes the last few weeks. It feels so dirty, knowing that not a single person around you would ever have the slightest suspicion that you walk around with his name hanging over your chest every day. James B Barnes. No one would ever have the slightest suspicion that you moan his name every night either. You’ve done such a thorough job of keeping your secret, maintaining that you still can’t stand each other when you’re around the rest of the team but being completely infatuated with each other in private. You’ve loved every fucking minute of it. But Bucky? Bucky feels differently, though he hasn’t communicated that to you yet. He hates the way he has to pretend like you don’t belong to him, like he doesn’t have any right to grab you by the waist and pull you into his lap when you’re around the others. He hates the way other men look at you, like you’re a piece of meat in a damn butcher shop, available for purchase. If they knew who you belonged to, if they knew what he thought about doing to anyone who so much as cast a lingering glance in your direction, they’d all be running for the hills.
            Bucky knows better than to slip into your room before everyone has gone to bed for the night, but he’s been caring less and less lately if he gets caught. So, as soon as he pulls on his black suit jacket and slips his phone into his pocket, he crosses the hall and quietly turns your door handle. The sound of the door gliding over the threshold breaks your gaze away from your own reflection and your eyes flit over your shoulder, watching in the mirror as the door opens fully and Bucky steps in. He shuts the door behind him just as quickly as he opened it and then slides the lock into place before turning around to look at you.
            Fuck. He approaches you slowly, letting his eyes travel from your black heels, up the backs of your toned legs, straight to where the hem of your sparkly black dress is just barely covering the curve of your ass. Your eyes are settled on his face as his teeth sink into his bottom lip. You know him well enough to know that he’s fighting the urge to rip the dress off of you and make you both late for the New Year’s Eve party you’re supposed to be at in half an hour. That’s exactly what you don’t need right now, not when you’re trying to keep this whole thing a secret.
            “You’re not supposed to be in here.” You warn him, turning around slowly to face the man who insists on breaking the rules. Now he has a chance to admire the front of your look. His eyes always search for one thing first: the outline of his dog tags beneath your dress. He finds it instantly, though it wouldn’t be obvious to anyone unless they knew they were there.
            “I don’t care, I wanted to see you before anyone else does.” Bucky reaches out for you now, his hands landing on either side of your waist to hold you at arm’s length. “Why do you always wear things that make me want to fuck the shit out of you?” He pulls you to his chest and presses his forehead against yours lightly, his blue eyes meeting yours with a loving gaze.
            “Because I like when you fuck the shit out of me.” You admit. Bucky groans softly before letting both of his hands fall away from your waist and glide down your hips, curving around to grab two handfuls of your ass. His touch never fails to send the resident butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.
            “I’d do it more often if you let me come over earlier than midnight.” Bucky huffs. He ghosts his mouth over yours but he tilts his head to the side and gently presses his lips against your cheek instead, denying you the sweet taste of him. You know that he’s grown to hate how secretive you insist on being. He’s made that known in more ways than one, but he also knows that it was the only rule you set forth at the very beginning of all of this, so he tries his best to put up with it. If this is what he has to do to keep you to himself, then so be it.
            It isn’t long before you shoo Bucky out of your room, too worried that someone will knock on your door for something or start wondering where Bucky is if he isn’t in his own room. He heads down the hall and finds Sam, Torres, Wanda, Vision, and Clint all gathered around the elevator, ready to head downstairs and separate into a couple of cars to drive over to the club Tony rented out for the night.
            “It took you that long to put on a suit?” Sam questions jokingly, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “I thought you might’ve been curling your hair or something.” Bucky rolls his eyes but chuckles lightly, finding a little bit of humor in Sam’s joke. He wishes he could just say he was with you, but of course, he won’t. It’s only a minute later when the sound of your heels clicking on the hard floor of the hallway reaches everyone’s ears, and all eyes are on you as you finally appear, ready to head out. A few friendly whistles and compliments ring out from the group, but your eyes are only on Bucky. He stares at you with a hunger in his eyes and lust written all over his face. Before anyone can notice the way you’re staring right back at the super soldier, you break your gaze away from him and remind yourself that you have to spend this entire holiday evening acting like you can’t stand him. A heavy sadness settles in your chest as you pile into the elevator with your friends, feeling Bucky’s arm just barely brush against yours. You’ve just realized you won’t even be able to kiss him at midnight.
---
            “Just give him a chance, he’s a pretty decent guy from what I can tell.” Clint lifts his beer bottle to his lips and takes a small sip after urging you to go talk to the SHIELD agent that’s been staring you down since you walked into the club an hour ago. “Nat would’ve shoved you over there already if she was here.” The mention of Nat doesn’t come with as much sadness as it used to, it comes with a lot more nostalgia now, which you welcome.
            “I’m sure he’s a decent guy, but I’m not interested.” You respond with a sweet smile, dragging your fingertip around the rim of your own bottle. You glance over in the guy’s direction, and once again, find him staring at you shamelessly. When you turn your head back to the group, your eyes land on Bucky, who sits across from you and between Sam and Clint. His lips are pulled together in a taut line, he’s actually nearly scowling at the current topic of conversation. His stare is icy as his eyes rake over you. He’s pissed. The group continues on, all talking about why you should go over and talk to the guy, about how cute the two of you would be together if you just gave him a chance. You haven’t heard a word. You can’t ever focus when Bucky stares at you like he fucking hates you. Bucky, however, has heard and hated every single word that’s been spoken for the past minute since you started meeting his stare. He’s had enough.
            “Go over there and ask him if he has someone to kiss at midnight.” Sam teases, looking right at you as he points the mouth of his bottle in the direction of the guy.
            “She’s not doing a damn thing.”
            Everyone’s heads snap to look at Bucky. No way he just said that. There is no fucking way he really just risked it all over a harmless little conversation. The two of you are staring at each other as everyone else’s eyes dart back and forth between you, waiting for either one of you to say anything else.
            “Why not?” Sam finally breaks the silence, beginning to understand what might be going on here. He wants to hear one of you say it, he wants one of you to admit it. You give Bucky a warning glance that says don’t you fucking dare, but of course, Bucky simply raises an eyebrow at you and then he dares.
            “Why don’t you tell him, sweetheart?” Fuck. Him. Fuck Bucky Barnes. He chooses that moment to stand up and smirk at you, ignoring everyone else in the group as he leaves you sitting there. Bucky heads straight for the bar across the room, weaving his way through the crowd of people as smiles to himself. He knows he shouldn’t have done it and he knows good and well that you’ll be beyond pissed with him. But he was already pissed. You were really going to sit there and let them continue encouraging you to go out with some other guy? Even if you weren’t going to give the guy a chance, how could you stand to listen to everyone tell you how good you’d be with someone other than Bucky?
            “Why the hell did you do that?” Your angry tone rings out behind Bucky mere seconds after he’s stepped up to the bar. He doesn’t even turn to look at you as you come to stand on his right side. He waves over the bartender and lifts his beer bottle, letting him know that he’d like another, all while refusing to look at you.
            “I wasn’t going to sit there and listen to that shit any longer.” Bucky answers nonchalantly, like he didn’t just out your secret relationship to your friends and colleagues, like he didn’t just break one of the only two rules you’d set for your relationship.
            “You’re so damn possessive and I hate it.” You spit the words out like they’re poison. You don’t even have a moment to dramatically storm off like you’d planned, before Bucky’s turning to you and lifting his flesh hand to your chest. Your eyes flit down to the veins on the back of his hand just as the tip of his index finger comes to rest on the notch between your collarbones. You’re frozen in place as he drags his fingertip down your sternum. He’s searching for something. As soon as he finds the outline of his dog tags beneath the fabric of your dress, he stops moving his hand and looks into your eyes. He taps his finger against the tags gently, his tongue wetting his bottom lip.
            “Remember whose name you’re wearing right now, or I’ll take you right here to remind you myself.” An icy chill races down your spine at his words, raising goosebumps all over your skin. He gives you a few seconds to think about what he’s just said before he asks his question. “Whose name hangs around your neck?” You swallow hard, wanting so badly to answer him when he talks to you like this, but refusing to give him the satisfaction after what he just said in front of everyone. He tsks softly and lets his hand fall away from your chest. “I thought I fucked that stubborn attitude out of you the first night we spent together. Such a shame to see it back now.”
You don’t fight him when you feel his flesh hand wrapping around your wrist and spinning you around to face away from him. You don’t fight when he shoves you forward, moving his flesh hand to the small of your back and guiding you to the back of the club where the restrooms are. You don’t even know why you don’t fight him. You’re angry as hell and want nothing more than to throw a fit, to scream at him, to hurt his feelings for disrespecting your only wish.
“Why isn’t it being with me enough for you? Why does everyone have to know about us?” You demand to know as he shoves you through the women’s bathroom door and quickly shuts it behind you both. You stand near the door, crossing your arms over your chest and watching as his stalks across the bathroom, checking each stall to make sure they’re all empty.
Bucky runs his flesh hand through his hair as his eyes coast down to where his dog tags are hidden underneath your dress.
            “I only get to be with you between the hours of midnight and six in the morning, that’s enough for you?”
            “You agreed to this from the beginning Bucky, we both knew this needed to be a secret if we wanted to keep being partners in the field.”
            “I don’t agree anymore.” Bucky says pointedly, narrowing his eyes at you.
            “Yeah, I got that when you outed us in front of everyone.” Your tone is laced with malice. What else could it possibly be laced with when you’re as angry as you are? You want to scream, you want to break shit. Why didn’t he just outright tell you that he didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore? You could’ve talked about it in private before something like this happened.
            “You shouldn’t have sat there and let that conversation go on for so long. What would you have done if they tried to introduce you to the guy? Would you have let him fucking flirt with you?” Bucky demands to know, his fists clenching at his sides.
            “No, I would’ve found a way out of it. I told them I wasn’t interested, Bucky. You don’t have to get so goddamn jealous over nothing.”
            “Jealous?” He chuckles darkly, the anger seemingly melting away from his face. “I don’t get jealous when I have what I want.”  
            “Is that so?” You raise an eyebrow at him, taking a couple of steps further into the bathroom, closing some of the distance between the two of you as you wait for him to say more.
            “Whose name is around your neck, sweetheart? Tell me.”
            “No.” You refuse defiantly, stopping in your tracks. You’re still about two feet away from him and he hates it. Bucky closes his eyes and massages his temples with his thumb and middle finger. He knows you’re mad at him, he knows he broke your trust, but now he needs to break your stubborn attitude down just so he can have a damn conversation with you.
            Bucky closes the last bit of distance between the two of you and places his hands on either side of your face before you can tell say hell no. His lips are on yours in an instant, kissing you the same way he kisses you when you’ve just come back from a frustrating mission that left you both feeling on edge. He puts all of his anger into the kiss, sucking on your bottom lip before sinking his teeth into it a little harder than he normally would. When you gasp against his mouth, he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and caress your tongue with his. He hears that familiar hum rising from your voice as you deepen the kiss and he knows he has you right where he wants you.
            “If you won’t simply tell me whose name is around your neck, I have other ways to get it out of you.”  Bucky rasps, breaking the kiss and taking a step back from you. He begins unbuckling his belt in a way that makes all of the warmth in your body swim straight for your cunt. You can feel your cheeks heating up as you watch him. You should be telling him off, you should be telling him there’s no fucking way you’re doing this after what he just did out there, but your body is on an entirely different wavelength than your rational mind.
            Bucky’s belt comes completely undone and he uses one hand to undo the front of his pants as he tilts head to the side, beckoning you to step over in front of the sinks with him. Why your body chooses to listen to his silent command you have no fucking idea, not when you’re still so angry with him. But you find yourself standing in front of him facing the mirror, looking at him in the reflection as he slides the hem of your dress up your hips and leaves it to sit snug around your waist. He leans forward more, pressing the front of his body against the back of yours as he wraps his flesh hand around your throat gently. You’re no stranger to what he likes to do with that hand. It only took a week of sleeping with him to find out that he’s no 40s man in bed, though you could’ve figured that out from the night you were exposed to the sex pollen, or the night you spent stuck in the hotel together.
            Instead of choking you, Bucky slides his hand down your throat and beneath the neckline of your dress, fingering the chain of his dog tags and tugging them until they’re out of your dress and dangling in front of the black sequin fabric. He has a thing about seeing his dog tags around your neck when he fucks you, at this point it’s basically a kink.
            “One more chance, baby. Whose name is around your neck?” He asks. Your own body blocks your view as Bucky pushes his boxers and pants further down, freeing his cock and giving it a few slow strokes as he glances down at the black thong you’re wearing. You say nothing, you only bite your lip and try to prepare yourself for what’s about to happen. Bucky sighs and moves forward as much as he possibly can before dragging your thong to the side and guiding his cock between your legs, rubbing the tip back and forth along your already-soaked folds. Normally, he likes to give you time to adjust. He likes to work you up to being able to take his cock so he never leaves you too sore, after all, you never wanted anyone to find out about the two of you. You walking funny every morning would’ve definitely raised some questions. That’s why Bucky decides that this time, he doesn’t give a shit. He looks at you one last time in the mirror, taking in your stare of anticipation and the stubborn look in your eye. Then, he shoves his cock so deep inside of you that you cry out due to the mix of pain and pleasure. You feel more pain than pleasure at first, and you expect him to be still for a moment, to let you adjust to his size. But Bucky doesn’t so much as stutter as he begins to fuck his entire length in and out of you at a bruising pace. You’re a moaning, whimpering mess within seconds, trying your best to pull your hips forward and give yourself some relief from his deep thrusts, but failing due to the way he has you trapped between his body and the sink.
            “Bucky, it’s too much.” You cry out a little too loudly, gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles turn white.
            “No, baby, you can take it. You always take it so well.” He coos, leaning into you more and pressing a soft kiss to the side of your neck. The way his mouth moves over your skin heavily contrasts the way his hips are snapping forward, forcing his cock inside of you hard, repeatedly. He continues fucking you until he can tell that your legs are trembling beneath you, that you’re doing your best to stay upright but likely can’t much longer. He slips his flesh hand between your legs and does the exact thing that you needed him to do to send you over the edge, he starts rubbing fast circles against your clit. Arching your back, you let out a sultry moan as your eyes roll back into your head. Bucky loves seeing you like this, so overwhelmed with pleasure that you can’t even open your pretty little eyes and focus on him. For the past month, he’s made sure that every single time he fucks you, he cums inside of you. Not only has he never once wanted to pull out, but you likely never would’ve let him even if he did. Tonight is going to be different. Bucky continues fucking you while simultaneously rubbing your clit with his fingers until he feels the walls of your pussy squeezing his cock so hard that he has to bite his lip and let out a guttural groan to keep from cumming too soon. “That’s it, cum all over my cock, baby.” Your release is instant at the sound of his command, and your legs nearly give out as your orgasm wracks through your body. He fucks you through it until your moans die down to soft whimpers and you’re able to open your eyes and look at him in the mirror once again, then he pulls his cock out of you.
            “Bucky, no, don’t—” Ignoring your protests, he stops rubbing your clit and instead wraps that hand around his shaft, stroking it quickly as he edges himself. He uses his vibranium hand to snag the fabric of your thong and stretch it out enough to give him a small canvas. “Oh, fuck.” The curse falls from your lips as soon as you realize what he’s doing. Bucky groans out a string of filthy curses as he cums all over the inner fabric of your thong, thoroughly coating it.
            You’re silent, still trying to catch your breath, when Bucky tucks his cock back into his boxers and pants and then slowly runs his hands up either side of your thighs. He’s gentle as he pulls your thong back into its proper place and then slips a hand between your legs and rubs your pussy through the now wet fabric. Fuck. There’s a soft wet sound as his cum mixes with your wetness, trapped against your cunt by your thong.
            “Whose cum are you about to wear for the rest of the night? Whose cum might end up dripping down your leg?” Bucky asks in a serious tone, staring right into your eyes as he continues spreading his cum over your cunt.
            “Yours.”
            “Good girl. Who just fucked you so hard that you’ll barely be able to walk out of here on your own?”
            “You, Bucky.” His name falls from your lips with ease. Truthfully, you can barely remember why you were denying him before.
            “That’s right, you’re being so fucking good for me now. Not so stubborn anymore, huh? Whose name have you been wearing around your neck for a goddamn month now? Say it for me.”
            “James Bucky Barnes.”
            “You are so fucking mine, and every single person out there needs to know that.”
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cecilysobsessions · 11 months
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PURPLE HYACINTH (m.) | zuko
↬ word count: 12k
↬ fem!reader, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, “where is my wife?” line, zuko falls first and falls harder, reader & zuko are adults, some parts are from zuko’s pov
↬ summary: being the daughter of a powerful governor in the fire nation, you are married off to the new fire lord zuko. to the public, the two of you are madly in love. behind closed doors, you and zuko can’t stand each other. but you can fuck each other
↬ genre: fluff / smut smut smutty smut smut
↬ warnings: reader & zuko hate each other in the beginning, reader gets poisoned, assassination attempt, zuko likes being choked, oral sex (m.receiving & f.receiving), zuko is a slut in the bedroom, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, swearing, typos
↬ a/n: waiting on season 3 live action zuko glow up 🤞
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•••
“Tell me again,” Zuko breathes into the kiss.
“What?”
“Tell me you hate me.” he pulls away for a moment and waits for you.
“I hate you.”
“I love you.” he responds breathlessly, smashing his lips against yours. This time he’s impatient, kissing you like he’s running out of time or like you’re going to be taken away and this is his last moment with you.
•••
You take a deep breath in an attempt to calm yourself. Was Zuko always this loud of a chewer? Seriously, in this entire large dining room, where he is sitting several feet away from you across the table, you can still hear him chewing on his stupid steak. Zuko was a loud chewer, a lousy cook, and an even lousier husband. 
It has been nearly a year since the two of you wed in an arranged marriage and you’ve hated every second of it since those stupid wedding bells went off. Your father was a governor in the Fire Nation, and often helped out Zuko with his royal duties. Him and Zuko’s uncle Iroh were good friends, and when it came time for Zuko to find a wife, you just so happen to be at the right age of marrying and available. Although you had fought and protested the marriage, once your father made a decision, he would never go back on it. Even if the decision was to marry off his daughter to the new Fire Lord.
You hated everything about being royalty. From the fancy parties and charities to all the socializing you were required to engage in with old conservative firebending weirdos, to the stupid sham wedding and fake kisses with Zuko. Sure, it was nice living in the palace and having people cook for you and dress you up in pretty clothes, but you hated everything else. You hated socializing and partying, you hated being the Fire Lord’s wife, and you hated all the dumb royal duties you were required to do. It would be a lot easier to do all these things if you actually liked Zuko, but everything about him irked you.
He may have found himself during his teenage years, but he was still easily angered and hard headed. Not to mention he was still moping around and crying about his ex, Mai. She had already moved on and found someone new, but you knew Zuko was still upset he had messed up their relationship. Even though every time you confronted him about it he denied it, you were so sure he was still hurting from it and thinking about it. The blank stares and passing looks he gave to her with a softness in his eyes he had never given you made it so obvious he was lying. And even though you didn’t harbor any sort of romantic feelings for him, it still hurt that he was looking at Mai like that and thinking of her.
From the start of his reign, Zuko wanted Mai to be his wife, and not you, for very obvious reasons. It helped that he liked her and had already had history with her, so when you showed up and people were telling him that he was marrying you and not Mai, he had blamed it on you. He knew it would be better for his duty to put his feelings aside and marry you out of convenience, but he hated the idea of marrying someone he didn’t love. Being with someone he didn’t love.
“Zuko,” you started, trying hard to keep yourself from slamming your silverware on the dining table. “Will you please stop chewing so loudly?” you ask politely.
“I’m not chewing loudly.”
“Yes, you are.”
“You can’t even hear me! You’re sitting so far away from me!” his voice echoed through the large room.
“Exactly. I’m sitting so far away from you, but I can still fucking hear you.” you emphasized, rolling your eyes.
“Well, if it bothers you that much, feel free to eat somewhere else.”
You could practically feel your blood pressure rising. “Oh please, you think I haven’t tried doing that before? Your stupid advisors won’t let me eat anywhere else because we’re married, so we should be eating together.”
“Then stop complaining.”
“Maybe stop chewing so damn loudly and I won't complain.” you sigh, angrily blowing a stray strand of hair out of your face. You were beginning to feel heated and upset. All you wanted to do was eat your dinner in peace and go back to your bedroom, but his stupid loud chewing and stupid stubbornness just had to get in the way.
A familiar silence entered the room and you took in another breath, deciding to try and quickly finish your food so that you could just leave. There was no point in trying to fight with Zuko; you wouldn’t get what you want anyway.
“Do you ever stop sighing?” Zuko asked, and you felt something snap inside of you. You stood up abruptly, the steak knife you were using to cut your food flying towards his face. You had thrown the knife at him in anger, and hoped that it would hit him. Unfortunately, his fast reaction helped him and he moved to the side, swiftly avoiding your fast knife.
“What a shame,” you pushed out your chair and it squeaked against the polished floors. “I could’ve given you another scar on your stupid face.” you began making your way towards the door.
“Maybe if you had better aim you could’ve,” he replied, calmly going back to munching on his food as your eye twitched in annoyance.
•••
You couldn’t sleep. You had spent the last half hour tossing and turning and you still couldn’t fall asleep. Irritated, you decided that you were going to take a walk around the palace gardens to help calm you. In the time you’ve spent at the palace gardens so far, you began to make an effort to learn more about the plants and flowers and their meanings. You began to find it interesting the many messages you could send to someone through flowers, and hoped that someday you’d get a meaningful message through flowers from someone. 
You had thrown a robe over your light and sheer nightgown, and headed to the gardens. Since coming to the place, the gardens have been the only place of peace for you. This was the only space that didn’t have guards wandering around its perimeter 24/7 so that you could have a little privacy. You breathed in the crisp midnight air as you opened the gate at the entrance. You had been walking around and smelling the flowers when you heard a faint voice. 
Zuko. 
“Please,” you heard him plead to someone, and you hid behind a small bush nearby in hopes to hear more of the conversation. If there was one thing you were going to do, it was snoop. The palace had so much drama going on between the staff and royal members of the family, it was impossible to keep your nose out of it.
“Don’t leave,” he continued and you knew exactly who he was talking to. Mai.
You had never heard Zuko speak so softly and gently to someone it was almost as if it was out of character for him. Or maybe he just always spoke to you with such hatred and annoyance.
“No,” you heard her reply. “Is this seriously what you called me out here for? Get a life, Zuko. I’m leaving.”
Wait, that was it? That was everything she was going to say to him? You quietly chuckled to yourself; Mai sounded so over it and annoyed you were almost embarrassed for Zuko. When you saw her leave the gardens, you noticed Zuko sit on a nearby bench. Smiling to yourself, you took the opportunity to poke fun at him and make him feel bad. Who cares if it’s mean? It made you happy, and that’s all that matters really.
“What a pathetic loser,” you stepped out from your hiding bush and he turned to face you, his face furrowed in anger and annoyance. 
“What are you doing here?! Did you overhear all that?!” his voice was back to his normal angry tone.
“Not all of it, just the end.” you sat down next to him. “What, were you begging for her to come back to you? Begging for her to love you again? Oh you poor thing, maybe if you weren’t such a horrible boyfriend, she wouldn’t have left you.” you teased arrogantly, looking up to watch the moon.
“You don’t know anything about love.” he grumbled. “You threw a knife at me during dinner. And that’s not what I was doing. I wasn’t asking her to come back to me.”
“Uh huh. I wouldn’t have thrown a knife at you if I loved you. I did it because you deserve it. And anyway, what would people think if they saw you and her together?”
“Nobody saw.”
“Oh, but I did.”
“You’re a nobody.”
“I’m a nobody?” you laughed sarcastically. “As far as everyone knows, I’m the Fire Lord’s wife. What would people think of you if word got out that you were meeting your ex-lover in the middle of the night even though your first year marriage anniversary is coming up? Imagine what people would think and say about you…” you trailed off, you were sure he got the message. 
You weren’t warning him of his careless actions because you cared about him, but because you cared about yourself and yourself only. If this did come out and people would start gossiping, the people would start pitying you and feeling bad. You already didn’t like that you were only known as the Fire Lord’s wife, so you’d feel even more annoyed if you were known as the Fire Lord’s poor wife who got cheated on.
He was quiet, which meant he knew you were right. Although you and Zuko never got along, he knew when to admit defeat. And he did so with silence. After taking a moment to think to himself, he finally broke the silence.
“Why are you even here anyways? Stalker much?” he eyed your pajamas. “And you’re out here in your nightgown? Go back inside!”
“What? I’m wearing a robe, you can’t even see anything!”
“You idiot, if someone sees us, they might think we’re fucking in the gardens.”
“HA! Please, I’d rather jump off a cliff than fuck you. And if you’re so aware that anybody can see us, you should’ve taken that into consideration before you brought your ex here. Dumbass.” you stood up, quickly turning away from him and walking away before he could say anything.
Zuko’s eyes followed you as he watched you step away, his eyes dropping down to the slight sway of your hips as you walked. “Pfft,” he said to himself as he rolled his eyes. “She walks so arrogantly.” he whispered before forcing his eyes to look somewhere else.
•••
It was that time of the year again. A stupid Fire Nation festival called Sparring Day, or whatever. Essentially, it was just a festival where the best firebenders of the nation put on a show and play with fire and pretend to fight each other for charity. The proceeds for the tickets went to charity and although that was the only part you liked about it, you dreaded going. Sure, this was the first time you were attending as a member of the royal family, but you still hated when your parents dragged you to the festival every previous year. Aside from the charity part (the only good part), it was mostly just a bunch of old lame shirtless dudes throwing fire at each other.
This year though, was different. It was Zuko’s first year where he participated in the festival himself. You thought the festival was supposed to be for the best of the best, so why the hell was Zuko going to be in it? Sure, the original benders of Fire, the dragons, passed down the way of firebending to him and Aang, but that didn’t mean he was good, or whatever. He still sucked ass, in your opinion. Maybe you’re not one to be saying this since you’re not a bender, but you were Zuko’s number one hater.
You were sitting on the stands in the audience with the Avatar and his friends, frantically fanning yourself. The sun was practically cooking everyone alive, but they still went on with the stupid festival.
“LOOK!” Sokka exclaimed excitedly, frantically pointing at the stage below. “They’re setting up dummies for Zuko to burn!”
“I hope he misses.” you roll your eyes, fanning yourself as you wipe the sweat from your forehead. 
“Aww, don’t say that! That would hurt his honor.” Toph jokes, earning a laugh from everybody. You quietly smirk to yourself in response; people’s eyes were on you, so you had to act elegant and proper, like the palace ladies always tell you to do.
The blow of a horn signifies that the show is starting, and you see a lineup of several fire benders enter the stage.
Shirtless.
Including Zuko.
Your seat is high up above the stage, so you can’t see many details, but your eyes unconsciously check his body out. You knew Zuko was fit and lean, but you had never seen him shirtless. Aside from dinner or public events, you and Zuko almost were never in each other’s presence. You don’t even sleep in the same room, so you had never seen him shirtless.
You force yourself to look away from him; he wasn’t the only shirtless fire bender on stage after all. As the event begins, you watch the men perform a form of fire bending—what you assume to be the Dancing Dragon, and people begin to holler and cheer. You look away and doze off; you’ve seen this a million times in previous years. When they finish, an announcer starts speaking, and almost immediately brings everyone’s attention to you up in the stands.
“Where is she?! There she is!” he points upwards at you, and your heart stops for a second. 
“Doesn’t everyone want to see Fire Lord Zuko perform up close and personal for his beautiful wife?!” he asks the crowd, and everyone cheers. 
“HELL YEAHHHH!!!” Sokka screams, and you smack his arm. 
“OW! Come on, don’t you want to see him up close in all his fire glory?!” he asks you, his eyes lit up with excitement. 
“Not really.”
“BRING HER DOWN!” Sokka yells back at the announcer and the crowd hollers again in amusement. 
You purse your lips together in irritation. You know Sokka wants to see you in misery, so you make sure to step on his foot on your way down from the stands, smiling to yourself as he yells in pain.
It’s a lot hotter once you get down to the stage. There’s no cool shade you can sit under and the flames from the torches and other benders make it even hotter. The announcer drags a chair for you to sit on center stage, and Zuko comes up to stand beside you. 
You try not to look too much or make it obvious, but out of the corner of your eye you watch him struggle to catch his breath as he stands there—shirtless and sweaty. His abs are so beautifully defined and it’s obvious the work he’s put in to achieve that. His pecs are glistening in sweat and the sun rays are shining so brightly on him like he’s some God. He runs his hands through his long locks of hair, messing it up so easily but he still looks so effortlessly handsome. 
You’re staring—stop staring. Zuko is going to notice. The announcer is going to notice when he stops talking about whatever it is he’s talking about. Look away. You can’t look away. If you stare more, Zuko will notice and it will be weird. 
Stop staring.
It’s too late; he's taken notice of your gaze. He looks down, his sharp eyes bore into yours as he stares back down at you. You don’t know what he is thinking, or maybe you just don’t see it because the sun is in your eye. But he’s looking back at you almost seductively, but maybe you’re just imagining that and it’s probably just the sun. But he’s never looked at you before like this; usually he can’t hide his feelings of hatred and dislike in his eyes, but this time none of that is there. Your best guess is because the two of you are in public and he’s actively trying not to look at you that way.
“—will perform a fire bending performance he prepared in advance for his beautiful wife!” you snap back to reality, breaking eye contact with Zuko and looking back at the announcer.
A performance he prepared in advance for you? Please, what a load of bullshit that was. You knew that was just something the palace told him to say to continue to sell your cheap fake love story with Zuko.
The performance begins, and other fire benders join the stage again to show off their moves with fire alongside Zuko. Fire is dancing in the air and all around you and it feels a million times hotter and a million times more miserable because of the stupid heat. You’re not enjoying it at all, but you keep a smile on your face to fool the people. Your eyes found a way to follow Zuko’s movements: he is smooth, athletic and agile, and elegant. You had to admit he looked good fire bending, but you’d never say that. It had to be because he’s probably been practicing. It feels like a million more years until the stupid dance finally ends and Zuko holds his hand out to you to escort you back to the stands, but not before the announcer disrupts you two.
“Woah woah woah, where are you going so early?!” he stops the two of you from stepping off the stage. 
“Tell me dear,” he looks at you then gestures to the audience. “What did you think of Fire Lord Zuko and his amazing performance?”
You barely paid any attention to it. “It was amazing! I always love watching him firebend.” your response is automatic, and so is the exciting smile you put up for everyone to holler and cheer at. 
“She loved it, folks! Zuko, how are you feeling right now?”
“I’m happy she liked it, I worked hard to impress her.” His response and smile is just as automatic and fake as yours was.
“Wonderful, wonderful! Well, folks, what’re we thinking! A little kiss of appreciation between our lovely couple?”
Your heart practically drops to your stomach, and you feel Zuko’s hand tighten around yours. It’s not like you’ve never kissed him in public before, you have multiple times. But all those times were calculated and carefully planned out. This is a spontaneous kiss in front of thousands of people. Your hand feels a little sweaty, so you let go, but you quickly turn to Zuko and face him. You react quicker than him, standing on your tippy toes and tilting your chin up to give him easier access.
“Well?” you feel like throwing up. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, Zuko?” you feel yourself cringe. 
The crowd is loud, but Zuko quickly adjusts. “So eager to kiss me now, are we?” he automatically leans down and presses his lips against yours. 
Soft. Supple. Zuko didn’t think he would really feel the kiss out, and usually he didn’t, but this was the first time he noticed how good it felt to kiss you. Or maybe it was the rush of adrenaline he got from moving around. Yeah, probably that.
It’s almost as if his lips have a mind of his own and refuse to listen to him, because he’s tilting his head to kiss you more deeply and one of his hands are entangling themselves in your hair and the other is moving down to the small of your back as he holds you closer to himself. He can feel the erratic thumping of his heartbeat, fast and panicked. 
People in the crowd are yelling louder now, hyping up the two of you as you kiss and you pull away. You look at him, cheeks colored with pink and droopy eyes. He’s never had any sort of reaction to kissing you before, so why now? You figured he was blushing because of the heat; after all it was really hot.
•••
“You looked like you hated the performance,” Zuko observes out loud as he leads you back to the stands. The two of you mutually decided to go back to the stands through the palace halls instead of outside to get some cool air as a break.
“What do you think? You were front and center of the whole thing, of course I hated it.” you reply.
“Why were ogling at me then?” he looks down at you and smirks. 
Did he notice you staring at him earlier? Jesus, of course he did, you were so obvious! You do a mental facepalm, embarrassed he noticed.
“I wasn’t ogling; you just smelled gross, you were all sweaty. That’s all.”
“That’s not what I saw.”
“You saw wrong. Humble yourself for once.”
It’s quiet for a beat, then you decide to poke fun at his reaction to kissing you.
“You liked the kiss that much, huh?”
He stops in his tracks. “What? That was just for show.”
“Really? Then why were you all blushy and red?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he sounds serious. “It’s hot as hell outside, so don’t get your hopes up just because I can give the people a good kiss. It was all an act.”
You don’t know why, but you felt a little disappointed at what he said. Sure, it was true, but it still tugged at your heart a bit.
“Really?”
“Really.”
He’s walking again, but you have the absurd idea to test if what he said is true. Grabbing him by his arm, you tug him towards you with force, and when he leans down to you the slightest, you lean up to kiss him.
Zuko freezes in place. He panics, unsure of what to do or how to feel in the moment. It all happened too fast—the grabbing, the kissing, the—why is his heart beating fast? He’s unable to think, mind and heart cloudy with confusion. Why were you kissing him? And why was he kissing you back? He normally doesn’t find himself lost in kissing you, but that’s exactly how he was feeling right now. It’s like his head was empty and the only thing he could focus on was the sweet taste of your lips.
Oh, God.
Oh no. 
No.
No.
No.
Zuko was leaning into you again, but this time with more passion. It felt rushed, like he was in some sort of hurry to get as close to you as he physically could. His hands couldn’t help but hold your face, gently grabbing your chin to tilt your head into the kiss. God, your skin was so soft and felt so nice to rub. He softly moves his lips against yours, his nose brushing against yours as he continues to kiss you. It’s like his body has a mind of its own, acting on its own desires and refusing to listen to his head. He feels your hands grab at his neck, wrapping around his throat as you forcefully push him away from you.
Zuko coughs for a second, stepping back in surprise, his hand coming up to rub his neck. 
“Did you just choke me?” he accuses you.
“You did like the kiss!” you point a finger at him, a victorious smile planted on your lips. You wanted to test out and see if it was because of your kiss that he was all red and blushy, and you were right.
“What?” He feels his cheeks heat up. “No, no I did not. Why did you kiss me? Then choke me?” 
And why did he kind of like it?
“To prove my point.”
“What point?” he was still thinking about your hands on his throat.
“You liked the kiss! That’s why you were all red in the face like you are right now,” you told him arrogantly. “And I didn’t choke you, I just grabbed you by the neck to push you away. Why, you got a thing for being choked?”
“No!” Maybe. “That’s absurd.” I wouldn’t mind trying it out. “Let’s just go.” 
You watch him walk ahead of you, your eyes shifting from his back to the tip of his red ears.
•••
There was going to be a ball. Another stupid ball where you would have to dress up (the only fun part) and socialize with nobles and other random rich people. Sometimes, you’d fake being sick in order to skip out on these balls, but tonight was a celebratory ball for your first year of marriage with Zuko. A miserable first year. You roll your eyes, cringing at the thought that it would be like this for the rest of your life. Although you had accepted it long before the wedding, every time you thought about it, it still managed to upset you.
“Are you comfortable?” one of your maids asked you as she adjusted your dress. 
“Not really,” you had a sudden thought. “Actually, I’m feeling a bit ill…”
“You cannot skip your anniversary ball, your majesty.” she spoke. She knew exactly what kind of excuse you were trying to pull.
You roll your eyes in annoyance. “Fine.”
As your maids finished dressing you up, you were instructed to meet Zuko before the ball so that the two of you could arrive together. Your maids walked you to the entrance before the ball, where you saw Zuko standing there alone waiting for you. 
“Took you long enough,” he complained.
You looked towards the door, the loud music making its way through the closed doors. “Well at least I look good. You, however, look like you just rolled out of bed. As usual.”
He ignored your sarcastic comment. “Look, tonight we need to act in love, so none of that attitude you always give me.” 
“We’ve been doing this for a year now; I think I know how it works. And anyway, it shouldn’t be too hard for you to act in love with me.” you lectured him.
“A part of my soul dies every time I have to kiss you or even look at you lovingly.”
“Please, what soul?”
As Zuko looked down at you to respond, one of his advisors stopped him. The two of you looked behind you to see Jia, a frail elderly woman Zuko often sought out for advice.
“Ahem, um, maybe it would be better to separate the two of you for now. Fire Lord Zuko can enter first,” she then turned to you with a sweet smile. “We’ll just have you enter from the top of the staircase into the ballroom when it begins. Everyone’s eyes will be on your beautiful gown then.”
•••
Zuko was chatting with a couple nobles about the cabbage market, pretending to be engrossed in their conversation to kill time, but he was really just dozing off and staring into space. If there was one thing he had in common with you, it was that the two of you disliked ballroom parties. When a musical horn went off to call the attention of all guests, he looked towards the top of the staircase where he knew you’d be entering.
“Everyone, please welcome Fire Lord Zuko’s wife!” someone chanted, and people began to clap and cheer.
He watched you emerge from a door, only to notice that you had changed your appearance. Your dress was more casual, you were wearing shoes that looked more comfortable, and you had left your hair down. 
Perhaps it was the alcohol he had been sipping on, or the loud music, or everyone cheering and clapping at the same time, but for once since meeting you, he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of you. Your skin was glowing and your hair was so perfectly bouncy and lucious it was difficult for him to look anywhere else. It was as if there was nothing and no one else to look at but you. He felt the thump in his chest and was unable to focus on anything else until he had been staring for too long and you were already in front of him.
She looks beautiful… for once. That’s new.
He was admiring your beauty again, sharp eyes focused on your face, noticing all the details on your face, details he had never noticed before. He was sure you probably thought he was glaring at you, but really—he was in awe. He had never seen you look so comfortable in something the palace ladies dressed you in. 
His eyes were practically glued to your figure and he was having trouble snapping himself out of the sort of trance you put him under. He was feeling weak in the knees and could feel himself unsteady, you looked beautiful. Too beautiful.
Beautiful wasn’t even a good enough word to describe how stunning you looked. Ethereal, ravishing, alluring, bewitching—none of these words were enough to describe your beauty. None of them did you justice. To him, your beauty was thousands of times more beguiling than the flowers in the palace gardens you spent all your free time looking at. If he were to choose to either look at you or the flowers for an eternity, he would choose you. 
And God, did he hate that. He hated the way he was looking at you right now. He hated the way that he knew he couldn’t even hide how attracted he was to you. He hated the way he couldn’t even find the right words to describe how beautiful you looked, he hated how he couldn’t pull his eyes from you no matter how hard he tried, and he hated the way that you didn’t even know how beautiful you are.
“Zuko,” you bowed politely, and his eyes couldn’t help but follow you as you moved.
He snapped back out of your trance and shook his head. It had to be the alcohol. He probably had too much and that’s why he was feeling shaky and nervous, not because his jaw almost dropped seeing how breathtakingly beautiful you looked. He blamed the alcohol. There was no way he would feel this way if he were sober. He was tipsy. He had to be.
“You look nice,” he began, knowing everyone’s eyes and ears were on the two of you. I can’t take my eyes off of her.
“That’s it?” he watched you fake a chuckle. “I’m not beautiful?” If he didn’t know your real personality, he would’ve believed your fake laugh and fake smile you had plastered on your face right now. 
“You look beautiful as always,” he replied. Has she always been so pretty? Normally he would’ve felt himself cringe and had the urge to vomit calling you attractive, but this time he said it as if he actually meant it. He did mean it. 
Had to be the alcohol.
He felt you grab hold of his arm as he led you to the center of the ballroom and prepared to dance. As the guests formed a circle to watch the two of you dance, suddenly he felt a rise of panic in his chest. Normally he was used to people’s eyes on him and normally he was used to dancing with you and not making a big deal of it, but something about tonight was different.
It was the fact that you looked more like yourself when you had chosen to wear something that you felt more comfortable in and the fact that you wore your hair down which you almost never did in a ball for reasons he didn’t know and the fact that because you were so comfortable, your confidence was through the roof and he found himself drawn to that.
You feel Zuko’s hand snake around your waist as he pulls you in closer to him, your face dangerously close to his as you look into his amber eyes. It was like his eyes were drilling holes into yours: he was looking at you so intensely and with so much conflict swimming in his pupils if confused you. Was he mad at you or something? If he wasn’t, why was he looking at you as if he was and why was he gripping your waist so firmly like you were going to run away or something?
Your hand came up to rest on his shoulders, and on cue, the two of you began a waltz to the instrumental music. The two of you flowed so easily to the music, swaying with passion and chemistry. You lean in closer to him, knowing the guests would think you both are close and in love. You watched everyone’s eyes on you, admiring and watching as you know people thought you and Zuko were head over heels in love with each other.
Unlike how the two of you usually dance, Zuko began to feel stiff and tense, and you wondered why that was. This dance was no different than any other dance, so why was he acting like this?
You tilted your chin upwards to get closer to his ear so that only he would hear what you’re saying. “What’s wrong with you?” you whisper. “Why do you feel so stiff?”
“I’m not stiff,” he muttered passive-aggressively. He shuddered at the feeling of your hoarse whisper against his ear. 
“Relax a little, Zuko, everyone’s watching.” you warned him and assumed he forced himself to relax because he loosened his grip on you and was able to finish the dance with no more issues.
After your dance with him, you speed off to the refreshments in need of a drink and left him in the dust. As you pop some chocolates in your mouth, your eyes watch the crowd. You’re scanning faces when your eyes meet a familiar pair of golden eyes.
Zuko. 
His eyes bore into yours from across the ballroom. Though people walk across your line of vision and break your staring contest with Zuko, his eyes stay on yours, watching you. 
No. Admiring you. Almost longing for you. Zuko’s gaze softens, eyes filled with tender love, and for a mere second you think he might actually be in love with you.
You can’t help but stare back. Why was he looking at you like that? Did he hate dancing with you so much that he had to throw you a death stare? 
Although you question why he’s looking at you with so much passion, your heart can’t help but skip a beat. It feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest. It’s making you nervous. He’s making you nervous.
Zuko is making you nervous.
His eyes are still on you, watching your every move and even though people are trying to talk to him, he’s ignoring them. It was as if you were the only person in the room and he was begging for your attention with his eyes. 
You are the first to break eye contact.
Displeased with the bland tastes of everything, you looked around and noticed a waiter walking around with a tray of drinks. Waving him over, you grabbed a glass from him and downed it. It was sweet and carbonated, something you’ve never tasted before. As you turned to him to grab one more, you noticed the waiter was already gone. Shrugging it off, you turned to the desserts to eat. You were in the middle of tasting a chocolate when Mai came up to you.
“What’s up with Zuko?” she asked, popping a cookie into her mouth and leaning against the table of food.
“Did you see how stiff he was?” you asked her, sneaking a look back at him, but he’s nowhere to be found. You and Mai had become friends sometime after they had broken up and she was one of the few people who gave you comfort after you were put into this arranged marriage with Zuko. It was something small, but something you thought about often and were extremely grateful for.
“Yeah, it was painful to watch. These people are stupid to not realize that.” she watched you, eyes darting around your face to read your expression. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
Her eyes started to grow in worry as she looked closer at your face. “You look, I don’t know. Hot and red. Not the good hot. The ‘you’re heating up’ hot. Are you sick?” she held the back of her hand to your forehead. “Oh my God, you’re heating up! It feels like you have a fever!”
“What?” you questioned, patting your cheeks and neck. You were burning up. “Oh shit,” as you were heating up, your eyesight began to blur and your head was getting dizzy.
“Hey!” you heard her start to yell, but her voice sounded faint. You struggled to stay on your feet, wobbling as Mai grabbed your shoulders to stabilize you. You looked around the room and Zuko was nowhere to be found. Everyone began to stare at you and ask if you’re okay, but everyone’s voices including Mai’s were becoming more and more faint and harder to hear. You tried to stay on your feet and she tried to keep you upright, but you couldn’t help yourself and it was like your body was beginning to shut down. Your vision was almost completely blurred and so was your hearing, and very soon your body shut down and you felt yourself fainting as you fell to the ground.
•••
Zuko was out of breath as he rushed through the ballroom, grabbing random people’s shoulders and asking where you were. Some people had explained in a panic that you fainted suddenly while he was in the bathroom, and that you were taken by some maids somewhere else. After he had found out you were in the private clinic in the palace, he exited the party in a rush, practically sprinting down the hallways of the palace. He felt himself functioning off his adrenaline as he ran to you in a panicked worry. He was only gone for a couple of minutes, and in those couple of minutes you had fainted? What the hell did you even do to get yourself in a situation like that? Reaching the clinic quickly, he slammed the doors open and saw his friends sitting in the lobby. 
“Where is my wife?!” Zuko asked hurriedly in a state of panic and anger. How could this happen to you? Who could have caused something like this? Were you even okay?
“Zuko, you need to calm down first.” Aang said in an attempt to pacify him. Aang swore he saw fire burning in Zuko’s eyes and steam blowing out of his nose.
“Where is she?” he brushed the Avatar off, pushing him to the side as he opened one of the doors. He burst through and saw Katara healing you as you laid unconscious on the bed. Beside you was Mai, and as soon as he saw her, he couldn’t help but shift the blame to her and glare.
“What did you do?!” he turned his anger on Mai, stepping closer to her in annoyance.
Zuko wasn’t thinking straight (obviously) and was letting his emotions dictate his words and actions. Not knowing who the cause of your condition was pissing him off and hurting him more than he wanted it to.
“What? Are you stupid? I didn’t do anything! You should be thankful! She was poisoned and fainted, and I brought her here for some privacy!”
“Zuko, Mai only helped,” Katara calmly chimed in. “If you would please stop yelling, I could heal her faster.”
“Well, hurry it up!” he snapped as his eyes looked over your unconscious body. On any other normal day, Zuko wouldn’t have cared too much about you being poisoned, but tonight was different and he couldn’t figure out why. 
The fact that someone—another human being—went out of their way to poison you didn’t sit right with him. Why would someone want to poison you and not him? He was unable to come up with a reason as to why someone would want to kill you, so he had to find out. He had to find who wanted you gone and had to figure out why. Because even though you both didn’t get along, it’s not like he wanted you dead. Even if he were the one poisoned and you’d be happy, he would never wish for something like this to happen to you; he was well aware you already hated the royal life.
Zuko felt his jaw clench in anger as he left the room, heading straight to a close advisor of his: Jia. 
•••
“Jia,” he knew she was always in the kitchens around this time at night, drinking tea. Oftentimes his uncle joined her, but not tonight.
“Hm?” she barely looked up from her tea as she stirred it calmly.
He stood there in front of her, hands in fists as he waited for some sort of reaction. You had just been poisoned in front of everyone, and this was how she was reacting? 
“Hello?! My wife’s just been poisoned, and this is how you react?! Jia, my wife—”
“I already sent out a couple soldiers to search for the culprit, and they already have a lead on him. Apparently he was disguised as a waiter when she was poisoned.” she explained, and finally decided to look up at the distressed Fire Lord. 
“I got on it as soon as it happened. Don’t worry, at this rate, we’ll have him in cuffs by the morning.” Jia’s quick action calmed Zuko’s nerves a bit, and he found himself wanting to sit with her to get himself together. 
“She changed her clothes for the ball tonight,” he told Jia after pouring himself a cup of tea. “She looked different.”
“How so? All she did was ask to change her dress and leave her hair down.”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Just less annoying, I guess.”
The elderly woman chuckled, warming her hands with her tea.
“She threw a knife at me the other night,” Zuko said to fill the silence when Jia didn’t reply. “A steak knife.”
“You two are a match made in heaven.”
He nearly choked on his tea and almost spat it out. As he coughed into his elbow, he could barely get a response out. “Match made in heaven? Jia, are you blind or something? I just said she threw a knife at me the other night! Were you not listening?!”
“You should go see her.” she spoke, ignoring his complaints.
“I already did.”
“Really?” she raised an eyebrow in response, surprised he even went to visit you in the first place. “I didn’t think you would.”
“I’m not heartless.”
“I never said you were.”
“She doesn’t want to see me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. I know for a fact she will not want my presence there when she wakes up.”
“Well, maybe she doesn’t want you there physically. But, you could send a message to her another way.”
•••
Your massive headache was the only thing you could focus on as your eyes struggled to open. The pounding had you feeling cranky and groggy. You just wanted to go back to bed, but Katara insisted you sit up in bed and drink some water. Your lips feel dry and you feel shaky and weak as you force yourself to drink something.
“How long was I out?” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Couple days. Mai brought you here. And she brought you flowers.” Katara gestured to the vase of flowers on your bedside table. Purple hyacinths. 
You raised an eyebrow in confusion. Why was Mai apologizing with flowers? She didn’t even like flowers, and even if she did get them for you, her choice of purple hyacinths were bizarre. Purple hyacinths symbolize sadness, and asking for forgiveness.
“That’s nice,” you brushed it off; Mai probably didn’t even know the meaning of purple hyacinths. There was no need to overthink it. “Thanks for taking care of me.” you told Katara, looking up at her and seeing her eye bags. How long has she been there with you?
“No problem, get some rest.”
“You should too. You look like you haven’t been sleeping well. I’ll be fine on my own. If I need anything, I’ll call a nurse.” 
“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying with you.”
“I’ll be fine,” you assured her. 
When she nodded and stood up, she made sure to tell you she’ll visit once a day until you get better. You smiled at her; Katara was such a kind soul and friend.
•••
A couple more days passed and you were no longer bedridden after those days. You could finally muster up enough strength to get out of bed and walk around. In those couple of days, you were informed that the man who poisoned you was the waiter that served you a drink at the ballroom party. Thankfully, he was easily caught by soldiers who were sent out to search for him, and he was sitting in jail now as you recovered. You were told it was some scheme to try and hurt Zuko, but jokes on them because you and Zuko didn’t love each other. He didn’t even bother to come visit you or send someone to check on you. Not that it bothered you… it didn’t. You knew that you and Zuko didn’t get along, but you still felt your heart drop a little when Katara told you that he never stopped by, and that Mai was swinging by your room more to check on you.
You already knew Mai had been stopping by, because every day since you’ve woken up you noticed that there was a new vase of purple hyacinths sitting by you. You never saw Mai drop them off herself, so you assumed she did it in the early morning while you were still sleeping. 
Even your husband’s ex-girlfriend cared more about your well-being than he did. Even though it was an arranged marriage and you and Zuko never wanted to be near each other, you probably still would have gone to see him if he was poisoned, so knowing he wasn’t doing the same for you tugged at your heartstrings a bit, but you didn’t want to admit it.
You shook your head in a physical attempt to shake Zuko from your thoughts. Standing up, you decided that you’d take a walk around the gardens for some fresh air. As you threw on a jacket, you stepped into your shoes and opened the door to leave. Stepping out from your room, you turn and see a disheveled Zuko sitting on a chair against the wall next to your door. When he notices you, he opens his mouth to say something, but he’s quiet. You look down at him, partly shocked but mostly annoyed. His hair looked messy and all over the place, he was dressed down, and he was holding a small blanket in his lap.
“What are you doing here? You look like you haven’t slept.” you tell him.
“Not much,” he weakly said, a clear tiredness laced in his voice. “I’ve been sleeping out here and waiting for you to come out.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you retorted, walking away and not letting him respond. 
Did he really expect you to believe that he had been sleeping out in the hallway these past couple days waiting for you? Did he think you were stupid? Sure, it looked like he was telling the truth, but you doubt he actually did it. Why would he anyway? The two of you didn’t like each other and never wanted to be around each other.
“Wait for me,” he pleaded, and started following your footsteps like a dog. “And no, I don’t have anything better to do.”
“How about running your country? Did you forget you’re the Fire Lord?” you rolled your eyes and made your way to the gardens as he followed after you. 
Why was he still following you? Why was he acting like he actually loved and cared for you? It confused you and made your heart ache and you didn’t want to be around him. It was just too confusing and too much for you right now.
The gardens were empty like usual, so the only noise was your footsteps against the gravel and the chirping of the birds in the early morning. But of course, Zuko’s stupid loud footsteps just have to follow in your direction and ruin the entire mood.
“I couldn’t focus on anything else.”
You didn’t reply, instead choosing to walk faster in an attempt to shake him off. It was so obvious you didn’t want to be near him, so why wouldn’t he just take the hint and leave? You weren’t fully healed, so you were growing tired as you began walking in the garden’s maze in hopes to lose him. 
“Fuck off.”
You felt your heart beating faster because you were feeling weak and tired again, but you ignored it and kept going. You didn’t want Zuko to bother you anymore. He calls your name once more, and his voice sounds faint so you know you’ve already begun to lose him in the maze. 
Turning a corner to catch your breath, you grab your chest. Your vision was becoming hazy and it was hard staying on two feet. It was like you were poisoned again once more and you felt yourself wobbling and struggling to even stand. When Zuko calls your name again, it’s because he’s catching you as you fall to the ground.
He’s yelling your name again, but this time you can barely hear him and his face is becoming more blurry as the time passes. He’s shaking you and yelling your name, but your hearing is clouded and you feel yourself fainting in his arms, your eyes closing shut against your own will.
•••
When you awaken, the only sound in the room is the cackling fire by the bed you’re lying in. Except it’s not your bed. Sitting in a chair and half lying on the side of the bed is Zuko, sleeping soundly. You sit up and look around, the curtains are drawn so it’s almost completely dark in the room except for the fire going on the other side of the room. 
It’s Zuko’s room. 
You had never been in his room, but you could tell it was his from the portraits of his uncle and mother and a nearby wall and his dual swords sitting above the bed on the wall. Looking at his bedside table, you eye a book sitting on it.
Flowers & Their Meanings
Zuko reads? 
You grab the book, noting a corner of a page folded in, and you flip to it. The page is titled ‘Purple Hyacinth’ and below was some written information on it. Your thoughts run back to when you had first awakened after being poisoned, back to your conversation with Katara.
“How long was I out?” you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.
“Couple days. Mai brought you here. And she brought you flowers.” Katara gestured to the vase of flowers on your bedside table. Purple hyacinths. 
You raised an eyebrow in confusion. Why was Mai apologizing with flowers? She didn’t even like flowers, and even if she did get them for you, her choice of purple hyacinths were bizarre. Purple hyacinths symbolize sadness, and asking for forgiveness.
No.
There was absolutely no way it was Zuko that brought those flowers to you. Katara said it herself that Mai brought those flowers. You did think that it was weird for Mai to bring you flowers since she hated them, but Zuko? He hates you, and you hate him. So why on Earth would he bring you apology flowers? It didn’t make any sense.
“You saw the flowers?” 
You flinch in surprise, shutting the book and setting it down on the nightstand. Zuko is awake now, and sits back up in his chair. Crossing his arms against his chest, he silently and awkwardly avoids your eyes.
“That was you?” you stare at him in disbelief.
“You think Mai would give you flowers?” he stares deeply into your eyes, and you have the urge to look away.
“That’s what Katara said.”
He sighs. “I told her not to tell you about them.”
“Why?”
“I thought you’d hate it if I visited, so I sent flowers instead. I told Katara to say it was someone else.”
Actually, you thought the flowers were sweet, but that was because you thought they were from Mai and not Zuko. You and Zuko never got along well, so why would he give you flowers? It didn’t make sense at all and was confusing you. Why was he so worried when you got poisoned and why has he been following you around like a lost puppy since you woke up? 
“What is wrong with you?” you said without thinking.
“Huh?”
“You wait for me to awaken after being poisoned, you read a book about flowers to pick the right ones to send to me, then you won’t stop following me after I wake up? What the hell’s going on with you, Zuko? What happened to trying to get Mai to love you again, huh? What, now that you know you can’t have her, you’re paying attention to me now, is that it?” you were starting to feel furious, mostly out of confusion, but sadness as well. 
The sudden shift in Zuko’s attitude had you feeling lost and had you questioning how you felt about him. Since you had gotten married, you didn’t enjoy being his wife, so now that things were changing, you were questioning why that was. 
“No, stop. That’s not the truth at all. That’s far from the truth.”
“You’re a liar.” you stand up, stepping from his 
warm bed sheets as you walk towards the door. He quickly catches up to you, closing the door with his hand from behind you. He’s standing close to you, too close you can feel his breath tickle the back of your neck.
“Let me explain.”
You take a deep breath, debating if you wanted to hear him out. 
“Please,” he begs you, his voice small and careful. It was as if he was walking on eggshells around you. When you react with nothing but silence, he takes it as a cue to continue.
“Things have changed, okay?” he tells you, and you turn around to look up at him and face him. 
You’ve never been so up close and personal with Zuko, not like this anyways. He smells clean, and you eye his loosely tightened robe—it’s not covering his body entirely. His chest is slightly exposed, heaving up and down as he nervously tries to control his breathing around you.
“Oh yeah? How so?” you keep your eyes trained on his chest, because if you look into his eyes, you might just give in to him. 
“I know we’ve had our differences—” he begins.
“I never wanted to marry you.”
“I know, I felt the same way. Well, I did. I feel… differently now.”
“Different?” you look up at him with a glare, a hidden anger suddenly starting to rise to the surface the more you stare into his dumb pretty eyes.
“Listen, I never wanted to marry you either. And when we did get married, I hated it. I know you did, too. But I don’t know, recently—recently things have changed. In a good way. I don’t know if I’ve always felt this way, maybe I have, but I can’t help but be drawn to you. And it’s driving me absolutely insane. I thought I was insane. Because it’s like, every time I see you, I can’t help but fall for you. I can’t help but stare at you and I can’t help but want you.” 
Zuko speaks with such honesty and passion there is no doubting his words, and that’s what pisses you off. It takes getting poisoned for him to realize he’s in love with you? Where the hell did that even come from?
“I hate you.” is all you can say, because you don’t know how to feel. You’re lost and confused and you don’t know how to handle it.
“I know you don’t,” he speaks softly, his hand coming up to tilt your chin upwards.
His eyes look like a brighter shade of his stupid golden eyes, and he’s staring into your soul so intensely it makes you shudder.
“I do. I do hate you.” you whisper, your voice shaking and unsure. God, you probably sounded like an idiot.
“Oh yeah?” his tone is mischievous as he leans in closer, his eyes lowering to your lips.
“Yes. I hate everything about you.”
“Say it again. Tell me you hate me.”
“I hate you.”
“I love you.” 
Zuko leans in quickly, his lips meeting yours in an instant. You hesitate for a moment, relishing in his soft kiss. It’s like time froze all around you and all you could think of was Zuko’s lips on yours and his large and soft hands coming up to gently stroke your cheeks.
His kiss is so innocent and sweet it pisses you off knowing how good he is at kissing. He leans into you, just barely pressing his chest to yours, and you can feel his heartbeat quicken. One hand is in your hair, combing through the soft strands as his other hand holds your waist, directing your body to press back into his. His thumb is rubbing at your hip, trying to feel you through the fabric of your clothes and suddenly you have the thought and urge to rip it all off so he can feel you up as much as he wants.
“Tell me again,” Zuko breathes into the kiss.
“What?”
“Tell me you hate me.” he pulls away for a moment and waits for you.
“I hate you.”
“I love you.” he responds breathlessly, smashing his lips against yours. This time he’s impatient, kissing you like he’s running out of time or like you’re going to be taken away and this is his last moment with you.
His head tilts to the side, the hand that was in your hair moving to grab you by your chin, easily directing you to open your mouth into the kiss. He licks into you, desperate for more as he kisses you harder, like some starved man that hasn’t had a meal in forever. His chest is heaving and you feel the hand on your waist wandering the curves of your body, desperate to feel your bare skin.
You push him away from you slightly, but only because you’re out of breath and need a moment to process what just happened.
Zuko kissed you. And you kissed him back.
But he did more than just kiss you. He made you feel something. He made you want him back. Something you never thought he was capable of. 
“What about…” you start, unsure if you should say what you’re about to say. 
You either have no talent for hiding your thoughts, or Zuko knows you well, because it’s as if he’s reading your mind because he finishes your sentence for you.
“Mai?”
You nod silently. You always thought she was the one for him, after all up until a while ago he was trying to get back with her.
“Things have changed,” he starts. “Actually, they’ve been changing for awhile. And it’s not what you think.”
Please, did he really think you would believe that? “Okay, then explain calling Mai to confess your love to her again in the gardens.”
“That day in the gardens,” he explains as he leads you to sit on his bed with him. “I didn’t call her out to confess to her. I wanted to see her to ask about you.”
Your eyes narrowed at him; you didn’t believe anything that was coming out of his mouth. 
“I know you two are close, so I wanted to ask her for advice because I was already falling for you. But she was calling me a dick for bothering her so she left.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looks stunned. “You wouldn’t have believed me even if I explained it to you, so it didn’t matter.”
He’s right, you would’ve thought he was a liar and you probably would’ve called him a liar like you did five minutes ago.
“So… you’re not still in love with her?”
“No.”
“You’re telling me you’re not hopelessly, desperately, absolutely blind in love with her that you can’t do anything else or think about anyone else?” you tease in one breath, your heart feeling lighter.
“No, but do you want to know who I’m actually hopelessly, desperately, absolutely blind in love with that I can’t do anything else or think about anyone else?”
“I wonder who it could be.”
“Why don’t you take a guess.” he teases, leaning over you, sharp eyes watching your every move.
“I don’t know.” you do know.
“You don’t?” he chuckles, leaning into your neck, his breath lightly tickling your skin. 
“Nope.”
“Would you like a hint?” His voice is so deep and sultry you’re practically trembling at how sexy he sounds.
“That’d be nice.”
“Well, the woman I’m in love with is fucking crazy,” Zuko begins, his hand coming up to stroke your thigh. Your eyes move down to watch his muscular hands massage your inner thighs, moving closer and closer to your pussy with each firm stroke. It’s faint, but you feel yourself clench around nothing.
The veins on his hand are distracting.
“She tried to kill me with a steak knife recently,” he laughs as he recalls the memory, pulling away slightly to look at you. 
He is watching your face, trying to read and memorize your features as his eyes gaze into yours. There is a new softness in his eyes when he looks at you, unlike the usual sharp glare he shoots you when you both make eye contact.
“You’re in love with a woman who tried to kill you?” you laugh quietly, going along with whatever joke he’s making.
“Surprisingly, yes. I’m even looking at her right now. Do you know who I’m in love with now?” he smiles, his eyes curving into a smile as well.
“I might need another hint.” you answer, your eyes flickering down to his lips. You hope he will kiss you again.
He picks up on your hint, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “I’ve kissed her a couple times now. But the last couple times,” he kisses you again. “It’s like she’s laced her lips with drugs or something. I’ve become addicted to her lips in just a couple kisses.” he glances down for a second, grabbing your hand and leading it to where he wants it.
He’s hard.
He directs you to stroke him through the thin material of his loosely tied robe, his lips coming down to suck on the soft skin of your neck. 
“And in just a couple kisses,” he says again. “She’s managed to make me so hard.” he breathes against your neck. 
“You make me so hard.” Zuko whispers faintly. 
His voice sounds so sweet and sexy it almost pisses you off how much his tone is turning you on. You stroke him through his robe, feeling his hard cock underneath. You have the urge to suddenly rip off his robe, wanting to feel him. His abs, his smooth skin, his strong thighs, and his hardened dick. He lets out a soft moan against your neck, his hips unexpectedly bucking upwards for more friction. 
“You have no idea what you do to me.” he whispers in your ear, his voice a slight whine. 
“I think I have an idea.” you laugh, slightly tugging at the strings that tie his robe together. It’s so loosely wrapped around him that if you just tugged on it slightly, you would finally get to see him naked. He watches your fingers play with his robe, sensing your impatience. 
“Take it off.” he tells you, and you act automatically, undoing the knot. He stands briefly, letting the piece of clothing fall to the ground. You stay seated on the bed, your eyes practically groping his entire body. He’s so sculpted and muscular and perfect in every way it almost pisses you off.
His hardened cock springs to life, red and angry at the tip, he looks like he could cum from just a couple strokes. Your eyes make their way back to his, and he’s watching you with such an intensity in his eyes it makes you shudder in pleasure. You stare at him in awe, almost lost in his eyes you don’t notice him stroking your cheek, his voice a small whisper. 
“I love seeing you look up at me like that,” he grins, grabbing his dick as he continues to caress your cheek. “It makes me want to ruin you.” You watch him stroke himself, his pre-cum leaking at the tip.
“Then ruin me.”
He smiles a sweet smile in response, before he sticks his fingers in your mouth, forcing your lips apart before he shoves his dick into your mouth. 
He’s big, way too big and the biggest you’ve ever had, but you love it. You love how it fills your mouth and you feel like you’re going to choke and it makes you think about just how good it will feel when he finally fucks you. You’re taking him all in your mouth, desperate to hear something from him, to see some sort of reaction that you’re making him feel good. Your hands grab onto both of his thighs, feeling him tense beneath your fingertips. 
Strands of your hair fall in front of your face, blocking your view of him, so he grabs it, combing it behind your ears to clear your face. His hands grab at your head, shoving it further down his cock, and when you gag that’s when you hear it. 
A low, desperate, sweet sounding moan that makes you clench around nothing again. He bites down hard on his bottom lip in an attempt to quiet himself, but your mouth keeps sucking him in he can’t help but let out a moan of pleasure. 
“Fuck,” he groans, thrusting deeper into your mouth. Your eyes water and you rub your thighs together, anxious and impatient and wanting him to hurry and fuck you. “I love your mouth.”
He pulls out, a string of saliva connecting from your lips to his tip as he pulls his cock out. He’s visibly more turned on now; pupils dilated and cheeks red and heated.
“Your mouth feels good,” he easily grabs you by the hips to move you further up the bed. “But I bet this feels even better.” he forcefully spreads your legs with his knees and presses a hand to your clothed pussy. “For both of us.”
“It’d feel even better if you undressed me first.” you command him.
“Yes, ma’am.” he obeys, practically ripping your clothes off and throwing them behind him.
Your underwear is completely soaked, you look away and blush in embarrassment. God, did you look that desperate for some dick? Zuko seems to be infatuated with how wet you’ve become, because he leans down in front of you, his mouth hovering over your heat. 
“You don’t have to.” you tell him, grabbing his hair to stop him. 
“You’re right. I don’t have to,” he agrees, spreading your legs further so that you’re completely spread out for him, your entire body exposed for him and only him. “But all I can think about right now is tasting you.” he says before he places a kiss on the inside of your thigh. 
“You’re so wet,” he observes aloud. “I love it.” 
He leans in, his tongue sticking out to lick a strip up your wetness. He’s lapping at your pussy, licking and sucking and kissing everything it makes you dizzy. He sucks on your clit, his fingers teasing your entrance. You’re so turned on by the sound of him eating you out, you grab his hair by instinct to pull him closer to you. When he groans, you mistake it for a groan of annoyance or pain, so you let go. His lips leave your wetness for a moment, his eyes looking up to meet yours.
“Grab my hair again,” he takes your hand and entangles it into his hair again. “I love when you pull on it. I fucking love it.”
You can’t help but whimper, pulling on his roots as he moans in pleasure and you don’t know if it’s because you’re tugging on his hair or because he loves eating you out or both. Your hips are moving on their own, bucking upwards into his face as his fingers easily make their way inside you, fucking you slowly to loosen you up. 
“Ahh,” you cringe at yourself, almost ashamed and embarrassed you can’t hold yourself back. Your hands leave his hair to cover your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. Zuko pulls away from you, wiping his mouth before tugging at your hands.
“Why are you covering your face?” he asks, his hands gently wrapping at your wrists and rubbing your skin soothingly.
“No reason,” you shake your head, mortified.
“Come on now, let me see your face.” he grabs your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he holds you down, his face inches away from yours.
You’re even more embarrassed and red now. You’re both completely naked and he’s situated between your legs, his cock rubbing against your entrance teasingly. Your hands are pinned above you, and the weight of his hand is holding you down, you’re unable to move. He’s watching you, basking in your embarrassment.
“I love your voice,” he assures you. 
“When you’re yelling at me,” he kisses your cheek.
“Insulting me,” he kisses your other cheek.
“And especially when you’re moaning for me.” he leaves small kisses on your jawline as his hips move against yours, his hard cock rubbing against your wetness. You’re so desperate to have him fuck you it’s almost impossible not to whine in annoyance. 
“I love when you moan. I want to hear more of it.” he says before he pushes himself into you.
“Oh,” you gasp, struggling to take him in.
“Fuck,” he lets go of your pinned hands and grabs your hips. 
“You son of a bitch,” you curse, your walls clenching down and welcoming him. You feel yourself throb around him, sucking him in as your hands wrap around his back. “You’re too big.” 
“You like it though,” he mumbles, pleasure taking over his body it’s becoming harder for him to speak clearly. He thrusts slowly, swearing to himself under his breath again. You moan as he fucks you more, your hands holding the back of his neck as he buries himself into you.
“I love it, it feels so good.” you moan, stroking his hair as his hips roll against you.
“I love you.” he tells you. 
“I love you.” he repeats, practically chanting it like it’s some sort of prayer.
He keeps whispering it into your ear, and you lift your hips, wrapping your legs around him as he continues to thrust into you. He glides in and out of you so easily it turns you on even more that he gets you so wet and ready so easily.
Your hands are busy exploring his smooth skin, feeling his neck and collarbone when he moans in your ear, his voice almost silent and pleading. 
“Choke me,” he begs. “L-Like you did the other day. Do it again.”
“What?”
“Please,” he breathes out, his eyes looking into yours, desperate and aroused. “I want your hands wrapped around my throat.”
You steadily place your hands on the side of his neck, careful not to block his airway. You squeeze the sides of his neck slightly, and as soon as you do, his eyes roll back in pleasure and his thrusts are harder. 
“Mmm,” he moans, biting down on his lips as he fucks into you. “Harder,” he demands.
The harder you choke him, the harder he fucks you. His moans grow louder and he’s practically chanting your name, begging you to destroy him as his thrusts grow haphazard the closer he gets to orgasming. 
He explodes, filling you up with so much cum it starts leaking out. But Zuko keeps going, desperate to make you finish as well. You’re no longer choking him, but your hands are instead messing up his hair and his lips are on your breasts, biting and sucking and kissing, you feel dizzy. 
His lips feel so good on your body. He leaves kisses and marks and words of his love and devotion for you it’s all so overwhelming. When he starts whispering to you how good your pussy feels and how much he loves you, it pushes you over the edge and you feel yourself clenching down on him hard as you reach your high.
When there’s nothing but the sound of your heavy breaths, all of a sudden you feel awkward. You hadn’t realized it until now, but you had been slowly falling for his stupid face and you were in denial about it this whole time.
“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Zuko hovers over your face, looking deeply into your eyes as if he’s trying to read you.
“Your stupid face.”
He chuckles, leaning down to brush his nose against yours before he leaves a small kiss on your cheek. 
“I’m in love with you.” he tells you.
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Thank you.” you say awkwardly, because you’re not good with words and you’re too embarrassed to tell him that you’re also in love with him because you would probably cringe and feel even more awkward than you do right now. 
“So… you do have a thing for being choked!” you tease when you suddenly remember him asking you to choke him.
He tenses, his eyes widening as he suddenly pulls out of you and sits up. “No I don’t!”
“If I remember correctly, you asked me to choke you! Remember? You were practically begging—”
He leans down, quickly kissing you to shut up. “I don’t remember that. And tell me you love me back.” he demands.
“Admit you like being choked first.”
“No.”
“Fine, then I don’t love you. I still hate you.”
“Tell me you love me.” he demands again, unwilling to give up.
“Tell me you like being choked.” you fire back.
He’s quiet for a moment, and that’s when you know you’ve won. 
“Fine. I do like it, but don’t tell anyone!” he glares at you. “Now you say you love me.” 
“I hate you.” you tease.
“Whatever, I still love you.” Zuko rolls his eyes, leaning in to kiss you once more.
•••
a/n: i literally added in the part of zuko getting choked after seeing a tiktok on how to properly choke someone during sex 😂
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beefboyandbabygirl · 9 months
Text
Titty-Shirt! (18+)
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pairing: pervert!rollercoaster operator!jeonghan x bigtiddie!fem!reader
genre: theme park au??? lmao, coworkers to lovers, kinda enemies to lovers, smut, fluff, lil crack, lil angst
description: you start your new job and your mentor, jeonghan, is the biggest piece of shit you've ever met. you swear you hate him. you swear. he's just also the most gorgeous man you've ever seen.
warnings: whew this requires a lot of warning, first of all a lot of DUBCON BEHAVIOR FROM JEONGHAN INITIALLY (we know she enjoys it to some extent, but he doesnt know), hes a sleazy perverted fuck, tiddie playing, tiddie sucking, tiddie fucking, fingering (f. receiving), dry humping, mirror sex, praise (f. receiving), dirty talk, FINGER SUCKING HNG, a lil degradation (f. receiving), meanie condescending jeonghan turning all soft for ur tiddies :(, V TIDDIE-CENTRIC IF U COULDNT TELL, belinda loves jeonghan, WEED LOTTA WEED, explicit depictions of smoking weed, high sex, this fic sounds rough but it actually has some really soft cute moments, im pretty sure thats it lmk if i forgot smth
quotes from babygirl (@joshibambi): "shove ur cock down my throat treat me like the whore i am", "FUCKING STEP ON ME", "omg hes so disgusting..... im so attracted to him"
wordcount: 13.2k
a/n: the way i raced 2 finish this before im actually moving out... ALSO thinking ab making this a series? like one for each member, the theme being "unusual jobs". like not stuff youd immediately think of like coffee shop or lawyer or ceo or whatever. like. strange jobs. would u guys b on board?
“We’re so excited to have you working with us.” 
She had a mole on her nose that was hard to ignore. It was big and exceptionally round - your thoughts flitted back to your dearest Discovery Channel, and how amazing it was that nature could create such perfect spheres. The thought of your couch and your blanket and your most cherished nature docs brought upon a wave of uncertainty. You could just be lying at home, you thought. 
“Happy to be here,” you smiled tightly. She was your new manager and she was short and stout and had gray hair and a lovely smile and a round mole on her nose. You tried not to make it obvious you were staring at it. 
You were standing in your city’s local theme park under a long path with flower archways. People, kids and parents and ninth graders, swarmed around like bees, standing at booths and in lines to old, janky, rusted roller coasters. It was summer and you were wearing the branded shirt they’d given you, slightly too small, and the matching cap. Insects buzzed past your stray hairs and you looked up at the bright blue sky. 
You needed a job, you had known, and your mom had certainly known it too, so you could only lounge around after graduating for a short while, before you opted to apply. This had been your last choice. You’d tried to become some sort of lobby-worker, tried makeup stores and even regular stores. You used to make fun of the people who worked here. But now that person was you, and standing under the archways in the summer sun slathered in sunscreen, you figured you would make the best of it until the busy season was over. 
“So,” your manager, Belinda, began after a brief pause of polite nods, “new employees such as yourself are required to be trained and surveyed by an existing worker for a two-week period, but after that you get to run the rides all by yourself.” 
She said it like it was something to look forward to. You tried to believe that it was.
“Of course,” you said, and once again the space between you was filled with polite and exaggerated nodding. “Need to learn first before you get to be the master.”
“Exactly!” she said. Her lipstick was barbie-pink and a little overlined on the right side. She smelled faintly of gasoline. “So we’re handing you off to one of our star-employees!”
You hummed and noticed her taking a step backwards, indicating you to follow. She began walking, trudging over the cobbled paths and shuffling awkwardly in between walls of people. You followed behind. “He’s been working here for the past two years, so he knows the place in and out.”
As you walked, passing twisting, gnarly tracks with screams emanating from them and stands with oversized, China-made plushies hanging from them, you tried to imagine what a star-employee at Caratland Theme Park looked like. 
It was probably someone that loved roller coasters, maybe someone like yourself, who strived for approval and perfection, maybe someone that found a certain joy in being a good service experience for guests. Someone who was good with kids? 
“So you’ll be training with him for a bit before we leave you alone with the coasters, of course, but it should be no trouble, he’s a fun guy!” 
You passed by a haunted house, where a group of kids psyched each other up in the queue. Dodging a tree, you finally came up on a certain blue ride where Belinda stopped and put her hands on her hips, power posing in front of the creaky, old machinery. 
The Pirate Swing. That’s what it was called, and it was a big ship attached to a huge, metal pole on each side, and it was currently swooshing up and down with a large, grating sound. You cringed at it. Belinda noticed and frowned, fingers fiddling with the edge of her shirt. “Maybe we should oil that one.” 
Kids and parents were lined up at the stairway leading up to it in a parade of artificial polyester colors, and on the edge of the platform where the ship was shoveling through the air, a little booth was sat. Peeking through the frankly grimy windows, you could see him. He was slumped back in a wooden chair, wearing the same shirt as you and Belinda, and wearing big, blocky, black sunglasses. 
“Jeonghan!” she called, and you saw the figure jolt. He looked briefly dazed, before he snapped his head up to peer through the glass, smiling and waving. The kids in line turned to glare at you. He scrambled up from his seat clumsily and with sporadic movement, and you both watched how he hunched over the door, shaking it in its frame before it finally let open. He took one long step out the door and was finally outside, looking down at you from the platform and leaning on the railing. 
“Belinda! Nice to see you,” he breathed, smiling in a way that seemed to indicate he did not find the prior sequence of events embarrassing. In fact, he seemed to think he had the upper hand - the confidence rolled off of him in waves. You grimaced. 
You could see him much better now that he was outside, not broken up by the greasy glass, and whatever you had envisioned the star-employee to look like, this was not it. He was young, maybe just a little older than you, and he was thin, with long black hair that just kissed his shoulders. About half of his face was hidden away behind the frankly humongous sunglasses on his face, but he had pale pink lips and a pronounced cupid's bow, and even though you were a little skeptical of him, the cockiness in his smile was well-received. 
“This is Y/n!” Belinda said (yelling to overpower the severely loud child glee), gesturing to you, and you almost felt self-conscious when he looked over at you and smiled. “She’s a new employee and you’ll be her mentor during her training period.” 
“Sure thing!” he said simply. Again with the polite nods, you thought, before you felt Belinda’s hand on your shoulder. You glanced over and she squeezed. 
“Good luck, Y/n! You’re in great hands!” Now that you weren’t so sure about. Had the two of you not seen the same thing? 
You mumbled a thanks and she padded away, once more dodging and weaving through huge chains of people, and you squinted after her, before you turned back to Jeonghan. He was already looking at you, a lazy smile on his lips. 
“Welcome to The Pirate Swing, matey! Get up here and let me show you the ropes,” he padded back to the booth, now visibly more relaxed, as his back returned in a hunch. “I should probably stop the ride,” he mumbled to himself, pressing a button on a long controlpanel with a grid of eight buttons. 
You climbed up the stairs unsurely, hand smoothing over the railing as you went. At the top you squeezed in beside Jeonghan. It was a fairly small space, just big enough for the two of you to stand next to each other. Jeonghan smiled a straight smile at you, before brushing past you to let out the dizzy guests. 
“Was it a good ride?!” You heard him ask distantly, while you studied the interior of the booth. 
It was reeking with a sweet herbal stench, and for a moment you might’ve chalked it up to sweat and cologne, but when your gaze danced over the grid, you became aware of a small, open ziploc of weed on the countertop, crumbs of it dotted by the opening. An energy drink, most certainly warm from the sun flowing in, was perched next to it, and you saw more cans by the foot of the wooden chair (it seemed like a chair that had been dragged in from somewhere else - it was almost reminiscent of the one from your grandma’s house).  
You grimaced, looking over to where Jeonghan was waving kids off and shuffling over to let in people from the queue, a big sign for checking heights in his hand. The sunglasses, of course, you thought and frowned at the room. Luckily it seemed pretty straight forward, so maybe you could escape this Jeonghan character earlier than two weeks. 
“Right,” Jeonghan clapped his hands together, pushing past you again. “This is how you turn it on,” he said and pressed one long, skinny finger to a black button that read ‘dispatch’. 
Sure enough, the huge metal set to work again, screeching as it lifted a boat-full of nuclear families through the air. 
“You turn it off with this other one. Usually rides just stop by themselves when they reach the end, but since we got a little shitty one today it’s manual.” 
“Okay,” you said, nodding along and watching when his hand danced and pointed to the set of buttons.
“That’s pretty much it!” he said, collapsing in his chair again, sunglasses sliding halfway down his nose and revealing his bloodshot eyes. 
“What about the other buttons?” you ask pointedly, arms crossed.
“Don’t worry about them, sweet cheeks,” he waved you off. “They don’t do much.”
The empty cans by his chair clattered when he reached down a hand for one, toppling over and hitting the metal flooring. You scrunched your nose in disgust. 
“I like your shirt,” he mumbled, nimble fingers picking up a particular empty can. It was bent on one side, little holes pricked in it - it was a makeshift bong. You scoffed at him. This was the star-employee?
“We have the same shirt,” you deadpanned. 
“Yeah, but I like yours better,” he grinned lazily, can now in hand, when he leaned forward to fetch the ziploc of weed. “Nice and tight.” 
“You’re gross,” you spat, brows furrowed. “This is a kid’s establishment, you know that, right?” 
“Ninth graders fuck here all the time,” he shrugged. You gasped, not only because it was an extremely gross fact, but also because that was not what you were suggesting. “I’m referring to the fucking weed in your hand, jackass!” 
“Woah, calm down!” He shushed you, and you might’ve genuinely scared him, because he looked around each window of the booth, light cascading down his tan skin. He was wearing a pair of shorts, and you saw his knee bounce. When he’d secured the area, he turned to you with a hiss: “That’s a secret, woman! You can’t just throw words like that around.” 
“Then maybe you shouldn’t smoke here!” You snapped, but Jeonghan was doing exactly the opposite. Ducking down so it wasn’t totally visible from the windows, he’d placed a little nugget of weed on the grate, and was now setting it alight with Transformers-print lighter.
“This is your first day, right? Trust, you’re gonna end up being high on the job too,” he ended his sentence by placing his lips around the mouth of the can, sucking in smoke.
“That’s such a safety hazard,” you murmured, looking down at him from where you stood. He pulled away, smoke still in his mouth and you saw a twinkle in his eyes from above his falling sunglasses. Then he lunged forward and blew it into your face, a concentrated stream of weed smoke bouncing off your shiny cheeks. “Hey!”
You sputtered and spat, shoulders tense and straining against the fabric of your shirt. Jeonghan settled back down in his chair, legs spread.
“The kids love me! With or without weed!” he said, voice a little groggy from the smoke. You coughed, discontent. 
“Maybe they love you because you get them contact-high,” you mumbled under your breath. Jeonghan grinned at that. 
Suddenly he leaned back in his chair to study you, one hand on the can, the other taking off his sunglasses. He stared up at you with fire-red eyes and soft, long hair and a bemused grin on his lips. Seeing his full face, you gulped under his intense gaze. He was really pretty. Annoying. More annoying than pretty. But still. 
Distantly, kids screamed and a constant buzz of countless conversations overlapped in each inch of the park. Jeonghan reached out a finger and poked your jean-clad hip once. 
“You’re funny,” was all he said, something resembling curiosity in his eyes. “Yeah. Funny girl with the tight shirt.” 
You were going to retaliate (they truly had run out of your size and had opted for this as a temporary option, it wasn’t your fault!), but Jeonghan coughed suddenly, eyebrows furrowing as he sat back up in his seat. 
“Oh shit, should probably stop the ride now.”  _____________________________
You thought about quitting. 
You could honestly say that Jeonghan made you think about quitting, and maybe you would even have brought the plan into action, had it not been for the fact that you had been rejected from just about every other job that you’d applied to. It seemed you were stuck. 
You showed up the next day in your shirt and it felt even tighter than the day prior, and the cap tightened around your scalp like you were a toy in a claw machine. 
Fortunately for you, the park seemed much less crowded today. It was a Wednesday, parents were still working and apparently no one sought out the thrill of scary, old, decaying rides on such afternoons. You admired how much lovelier it was when it was still, as you walked up to The Pirate Swing. 
“Hey, titty-shirt!” 
The loveliness was ruined. 
Jeongan was standing on the railing with someone else you didn’t recognize, long, black hair swaying out from the rim of his cap. He waved enthusiastically, watching your form slump at his words. 
“Hey, Jeonghan,” you muttered, approaching the steps. The boy beside him looked mildly uncomfortable at the interaction. 
“It’s a good thing you’re here, N/n - can I call you N/n?” he didn’t let you answer, simply continued talking like a telemarketer. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here. Me and my buddy, Junhui, from the Beetle Bug ride were just discussing something that I think is extremely valuable to learn about this place!” 
“Are you gonna teach me about the rest of the buttons?” you drawled, eyes half closed in feigned boredom (as much as you disliked him, it certainly wasn’t boring). 
“No!” Jeonghan snapped his fingers at you. You noticed he had this way of smiling, that irked you. It was void of sincerity and was instead wolfish and teasing, something genuinely animalistic and mean-spirited. It was distasteful.
“On days like these-” he hovers and outstretched hand to gesture to the mostly bare land of the theme park, “- you can steal food from the restaurants.” 
After just one eight hour shift with Jeonghan, you find yourself not even remotely surprised at this. You cross your arms over your chest (Jeonghan’s eyes briefly flick down to them, and you think you might actually hate him): “I have a packed lunch.” 
“Packed lunches are for geeks and nerds,” he said, unbothered. “You can come along if you want to get some delicious, warm pizza, or you can stay here like a loser and explain to every kid that comes by, that you’re not allowed to give them a ride on the coaster and watch them cry until you get fired. Your choice, babe.” 
“Don’t call me that,” you snarled. Jeonghan shrugged with puckered lips and the Beatle Bug guy - Junhui - scrunched his face in disgust at the two of you. 
“Not gonna lie, I’m gonna go find Seungkwan,” he said, not even attempting to hide his dismay for your dynamic. He brushed past you on the stairs, hands buried in his pockets. “If you guys fuck, do it in the bathroom Chan uses!” he yelled, trudging past the pillars that held up the haunted house. 
“Sure thing, Jun!” Jeonghan smiled, and you could punch him. Again that animalistic, joyful, laughing-at-you-not-laughing-with-you smile.
“What if I snitch on you?” you asked, hoping it would knock some sort of sense into him, but he only shrugged.
“Belinda loves me. Whenever she works on Valentine’s day, she cries in her office and I let her rant about her shitty boyfriends,” the visual was somehow not hard to imagine. Belinda in her office chair (you’d seen it once, and all you could say was the interior looked like something from a log cabin) and Jeonghan, 19, feeding into everything she said. “You can say what you want, but she’ll just fire you for making up rumors.” 
Your brows furrowed. “That’s so concerning.” 
“Nothing about this place works right,” he admitted and it was maybe the only time you’d sensed an ounce of truth in his words. “So, are you coming?” 
You hesitated. You really were working up a real distaste for Jeonghan, but talking to spoiled, crying kids seemed worse than anything else at the moment. You decided you could live through Jeonghan’s lewd comments and maybe make friends with some other park workers. 
“Okay.” 
“I knew you loved me,” he teased, and then grabbed your wrist from the top of the steps, bouncing down and pulling you along with him. “Hey!” you yelped, but Jeonghan was, as always, unbothered. 
He pulled you by a narrow walkway into the toilets, passing by a single, confused family, as you stumbled behind him. There was a fountain with a hen figurine on top, which he steered around, your arm jerking limply, as he went down a flower-walkway. 
“You do this often?” you remarked, out of breath from jogging to match his strides. 
“Oh yeah. Mingyu works there and he’s like 16, he lets me do anything,” Jeonghan giggled evilly, glancing over his shoulder once, and you gulped, and hated the way his eyes were so big and pretty, and the way his hair blowed softly along carvings of his cheeks. 
“It’s great that you have so many people here to enable your bad habits,” you said. Whatever sarcasm you portrayed in your tone, Jeonghan ignored it, still smiling when he said: “Right?” 
When you stopped you were standing on the backside of a blocky building - one of the many offers of food you provided, prices marked up to drain the suburbs of their cash. You felt something underfoot, and looked down on the gravelly, rustic pavement, only to see circa 20 cigarettes jammed in between the rocks. You scrunched your nose. 
“What? You don’t like cigs?” you looked up at Jeonghan’s voice, to see him grinning cheekily at you. His eyes sparkled and for maybe just a second it was kind of attractive. 
“I don’t..” you broke off eye contact. “I don’t mind, it’s just.. Is everyone here like you?” 
“Sweetheart,” he tutted, and you nearly flinched at the feeling of his long fingers tapping your cheek, cool on the warming skin. You looked back up at him and he had tilted his head to the side. Why was he being attractive? Why were you finding him attractive? “There’s no one like me.” 
Before you could respond, Jeonghan pushed open the backdoor, the heat of the kitchen simmering out in one brief wind, before it slammed shut behind him, and you were left, alone and dumbfounded on the stones in a mountain of cigs. 
Then you scoffed.
You stood for a moment, letting the fresh air cool the inevitable warmth on your cheeks, huffing (because you were annoyed, you told yourself, not because he had just done something terribly, horribly attractive!) and puffing with your arms crossed over your too-tight-shirt. 
Then you pushed open the door and stepped inside the tiled kitchen. 
The room was filled with steam and it smelled like canned marinara sauce and fake cheese and most of all it was unbearably hot - so hot and humid, you felt the particles of water sitting on the fabric of your shirt. There was a decidedly oversize pot simmering with sauce on a stovetop, and on a hotplate three untouched pizzas sat; one with potato-topping, one pepperoni and one margarita. 
A very tall boy was running frantically around the kitchen, three different kitchen utensils in his clenched fist like claws. Sweat was dripping down the side of his frowning face and red speckled his shiny cheeks. Jeonghan draped himself against the counter lazily.
“It’s just me today,” the boy, Mingyu, cried, “Thomas sent home the other two because there’s no one in the park, but I can’t do this alone!” 
“Seems real stressful, Gyu,” Jeonghan mumbled, leaning on his hand. 
“Yeah, so if you aren’t too busy, maybe you could stir the marinar-” 
“That’s really great, man. You’re doing God’s work. But hey, we’re just gonna-” While Mingyu’s back was turned, the tall boy hunched over the sauce, Jeonghan limply pushed the pepperoni pizza to the edge of the hotplate with a pair of tongs. He winked at you, scooping the pizza into his open palm. “We’re just gonna head out now.” 
“Jeonghan, please help me out and don’t-” 
Mingyu turned around and his tortured expression dropped into one of shock, his tense limbs falling limp at his sides. Jeonghan stood, hand in the cookie jar and pizza in his palm, frozen in front of him with a sort of cartoonish ‘oopsie’-face. Steam clouded the room while you watched from the doorway.
Mingyu’s eyes narrowed and when he spoke again, his voice was lowered in warning: “Jeonghan. We’ve talked about this. Put. The pizza. Down.” 
There was a moment of indifferent silence. Jeonghan contemplated.
Then he nodded, lips pursed and eyes cast down to the pizza.
“You know… I would.. But. Y/N, OPEN THE DOOR OR KNOCK HIM OUT!”
“WHAT?”
“OPEN THE DOOR.” 
You did. Apparently Mingyu hadn’t seen you, because he jumped at your voice behind him, body twisting to see you just in time for you to open the door and Jeonghan came scrambling out of it like a rat. You cannot believe you just aided this man’s crimes, you think, Mingyu’s expression of horror forever imprinted in your retina, before you followed suit. 
However bad Mingyu’s puppy expression made you feel, the rush of adrenaline as you bolted down the pavement under row after row of flowers and sunbeams brought forth something sinister and mean that had you giggling at your evil-doing. Jeonghan was laughing as well, and his genuine laugh was bright and bubbly and very unlike him. 
Mingyu sprung open the door behind you, yelling over your shoulders: “HOODLUMS! THIEVES! YOU’RE LUCKY I CAN’T LEAVE THIS SAUCE.” 
This made the both of you laugh even harder, disappearing behind another building, leading up to the chicken-fountain. You caught up to him, still holding the pizza in his open palms, now sweating and panting in between bright, heart-thrumming giggles. 
“I thought-” you panted, bending at your knees and warding away the image of the betrayed Mingyu. “I thought you said he let you do whatever he wanted.” 
“Yeah,” Jeonghan heaved, cheeks rosy and shiny, as he gently padded over to a bench with the pizza out like the plate in the hand of Oliver Twist. “That’s my bad. I forget he was 16 two years ago and has since then lost all respect for me.” 
This made you laugh. This had your eyes squinting closed and a deep, ringing laugh bouncing up your ribcage and your throat and exploding into the summertime. Eyes closed, you missed the way Jeonghan’s face lit up at that.
“That made you laugh? Self-deprecation?” he asked incredulously, but somehow amazed. 
“Oh,” you cried, opening your eyes and willing your laughter to calm. “I think it’s just the first time you haven’t been baselessly confident and cocky.” 
“Baseless?” Jeonghan echoed, face screwed in poorly-concealed glee.
“Yeah,” you nodded, face also screwed in poorly-concealed glee.
“What? Am I supposed to collect, like, fuckin’ data?” 
“Yeah, evidence.” 
“EVIDENCE?” 
You and Jeonghan went back to The Pirate Swing, splitting the pizza in the booth and every 45 minutes or so, letting guests on when they came by. He was still annoying and in all fairness he’d dragged you into his crimes against humanity. But. He was also a little funny and sweet. 
And the pizza did taste better than your packed lunch. _____________________________
Two days of normal work followed. 
There were too many people to really fuck around, so you and Jeonghan stayed in the booth, and you even managed to pressure him into telling you about the rest of the buttons, as well as the mechanics of the bigger machines. 
Everytime Jeonghan saw you he greeted you with “Hey titty-shirt!”, equally enthusiastic each time. Everytime the clock hands read 8 PM he pulled out his weed and began smoking. Everytime he began smoking he snaked a hand on the back of your leg where you stood (still no chair!) beside him, rubbing the flesh under his palm. You shooed him away half-heartedly, then felt guilty for not meaning it. Jeonghan was a sleazy piece of shit, but his hand was warm and felt nice on your thigh. You liked to tell yourself you were just lonely or something. 
“TITTY-SHIRT!” 
That Saturday you came walking into work, still wearing your shirt and your cap, and was immediately alerted to the fact that something was off; Jeonghan was ecstatic. 
He always had this front of joy and constant bemusement, but you’d learned to read how he yearned for his shift to end - you saw it sometimes when he gazed out of the windows of the booth, thinking you were surveying the kids. That day, he was happy. Genuinely. 
“TITTY-SHIRT!” he called again, causing a family of blonde children to turn their heads in dismay. He paid them no mind, rushing down the stairs with loud, trampling steps, to meet you at the foot of the platform, before you could even settle down in the booth. He grabbed your forearms in his hands and grinned at you childishly. You couldn’t help the small, bemused smile that parted your lips.
“Great fuckin’ news,” he said, “Belinda is fucking gone. M.I.A.”
“Okay?” you grimaced, unsure of what he was getting at. 
“Okay?! Do you know what this means?” 
“No, not particularly,” you mumbled. 
“This whole fuckin’ area,” he let go of your arms to motion vigorously to your part of the park. "Unsupervised. Unaccounted for.” 
“Okay?” 
“Okay?! This means we’re gonna go shoot the shit at the arcade, come on!” He threw a hand over his shoulder to gesture to the arcade area. You frowned and crossed your arms challengingly. 
“Shouldn’t we go take care of our coaster?” 
“Are you kidding me? If no one is working it, people just assume it’s shut down for maintenance. Come on, this only happens, like, twice a year!” He whined, stomping his worn-down Nike sneakers into the pavement and pouting at you. You hated to admit it made your facade melt like an overpriced ice-cream in the hand of a child. 
“Alright, but-” 
“Yes!” 
Without further nonsense, Jeonghan grabbed your hand in his, and began to once more drag you through the park. As you ran behind him, you looked at your interlocked hands and thought, briefly, that it wasn’t too bad to look at. And it felt kind of good. 
“What happened to Belinda?” 
“God knows, I think it was something with her kids.” 
“She has kids?!” 
You and Jeonghan messed around at the arcade - Jeonghan miraculously had been granted the keys to the arcade by Belinda (something about her trusting him?), and unlocked the machines and you played games with already-used coins. 
First was Whack-A-Mole, then the boxing game, then those motorcycle races, and then you played the basketball game.
“I’m gonna beat you!” you squealed, throwing a miniature basketball through the hoop with a small jump. You grinned in triumph when it landed right, punching the air like a dork and turning to him with victoriously glean. 
Jeonghan wasn’t even played, you realized. You’d been so caught up in actually landing the ball in the hoop that you’d managed to forgo the way Jeonghan leaned against his lane, eyes half lidded and shadowed under his cap. You turned to him, now much more aware that you’d been acting like a dork. 
“Uh, aren’t you gonna play?” you asked sheepishly, blushing. You wished you’d missed how Jeonghan’s lips quirked upwards at the sight. 
“No,” he sang, “I think I’m just gonna stay here and watch you play.” 
You narrowed your eyes, suspiciously, and that was all Jeonghan needed before he sighed and shrugged in defeat, like a criminal caught for his crimes.
“Sorry, I just like watching your tits bounce when you get all excited,” he deadpanned. Your mouth gaped open and crossed your arm over your chest.
“You’re so gross, Jeonghan!” you said, now thoroughly uninterested in playing anymore. Jeonghan only scoffed though, to which you snapped your head back to him with an outraged expression. He smiled at you in that cheeky son-of-a-bitch way. 
“Oh, don’t act like that,” he said cockily.
“Like what?”
He laughed, rolling his eyes, letting a small pause linger in the space between you. You hoped he couldn’t see the way your eyes twinkled with excitement every time he said something like this. As hot as he was, Jeonghan was a cocky, sleazy piece of shit and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. 
“Like you’re scandalized,” he said simply. You wanted to respond, wanted to defend your honor, but Jeonghan saw right through you, and he took one step forward to speak again: “Like you hate the way I talk to you. You act all innocent and nice and so uptight, but you know what?” 
He took daring steps forward, one after another, until you were half-sat on the basketball machine and he stood, looming over you, surprisingly menacing despite the get-up. The air seemed to suddenly thicken and warm, tasting foul in your mouth. Then he leaned in, eyes glimmering brilliantly with amusement and that evil smile on his lips, breath hitting yours. 
“I think you love being treated like a slut.” 
Fuck.
He was so close to you, body heat rolling into you. You knew he saw the mechanisms of your brain turning behind your eyes, saw the fear when you realized he had seen right through you, and he smiled, and he might as well have had fucking horns.
He tilted his head, and, fuck, if every angle of his face wasn’t perfect. It was unfair. It was so unfair. 
“I-I don’t-” your voice was a meek, half-hearted protest, cut off before you could even begin.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “I think you do. You don’t just let any man massage your thigh, hm?” 
At those words, his hand dropped onto your thigh, finger digging into soft flesh. You mewled at the feeling, causing his grin to spread wider. 
“Oh, poor baby,” he pouted in fake-sympathy. “Am I making you wet?” 
“JEONGHAN!” 
Thank God for Kwon Soonyoung with the impeccable timing. 
Soonyoung was “the pool boy” - he did not work at the pools, but he was the victim of a dunking-machine that was set up in the summertime. Kids and adults alike paid to throw balls at a big, red button that would lower a trapdoor and dunk Soonyoung in ice-cold water. You’d seen it in action and it was pretty hilarious. 
At his voice, you and Jeonghan scrambled apart, his hand flying off your thigh and body twisting to back away from you, and you dropping off the machine and landing flat on your feet, blushing wildly and somewhat out of breath. 
Soonyoung, the poor boy, was sprinting through the park, stopping awkwardly where you and Jeonghan had been standing. He was out of breath and had a wild look in his eyes, like he was being chased by some supernatural monster. 
“Belinda is back! Get back to your coasters!” If he’d noticed your philandering he certainly didn’t mention it, breaking into a sprint again the second the words had left his lips. 
“Shit, thank you, Soonyoung!” Jeonghan yelled, receiving only a limp thumbs-up from the trackstar in response. Jeonghan grabbed your hand and the two of you ran back to The Pirate Swing as fast as your legs could take you. 
Your heart fluttered at your interlocked hands again, and you stared at them, focused on them, as the world became a blurred mess around you. His warmth streamed into you.
You couldn’t even look at him the rest of the shift. Something about his confrontation stirred a mimicking phenomenon in you. Did you want to fuck Jeonghan? You did, you realized, and thus you were unable to raise your gaze from the floor, pressing yourself against the wall to be far enough away from him, that he couldn’t touch your thigh again. He didn’t. He just let your cheeks blaze and pressed buttons and talked to kids, and he even waved at Belinda when she walked by, and she smiled wide and waved back. 
You went home at 9 PM, shirt too tight around your chest, and chest too tight around your heart. You simply couldn’t believe it, because not only did you want to fuck Jeonghan;
You had a fucking crush on him. _____________________________
Having a crush on Yoon Jeonghan was maybe the worst revelation you’d had in your life.
You’d kept all the things you admired about him hidden under the veil of your shirt; he was sleazy and gross and he smoked weed at work and had a certain disregard for child safety. But, and there was always a but, you realized, he was also witty and easy to talk to, and it was cute when he was happy or he got excited about something, and he was so damn charismatic, and you realized you would do anything to see him with that childlike joy again. 
The worst part was that Jeonghan did not like you back. In fact, you couldn’t even imagine him liking anyone. He thought you were hot and wanted to fuck and that was the end of it. All the ways you cared about him were unreciprocated. He did not care to see you happy. He did not care for the twinkle in your eyes when you were excited. He liked your tits in your shirt and was working his fingers up, day by day, to touch you. Yoon Jeonghan did not like you back. 
Three days of work passed, three days of being muted and awkward around him. Jeonghan’s shine was not dulled by your lack though. The kids loved him, Belinda loved him, and he didn’t love anyone back - just let himself be showered in admiration. He was greedy like that. He took all the love and gave none out.
On this particular day, all you did was lay in your bed before work, willing time to stop so you wouldn’t have to go. Legs flopped on top of your bedsheets, work shirt on and cap on your bedside. You waited.
You waited with a metal ball in your stomach, rolling around and causing a ruckus. It rested heavy there, rolling to and fro and grazing your heart from time to time, and it hurt. 
Maybe the reason it felt this bad was because you did it to yourself. Of course, Jeonghan wouldn’t like you back. He was Jeonghan. And yet, you’d had your guard down and his effortless charms had worked their way into your brain. You wondered how many girls had been in the same exact position as you; being graced with Jeonghan’s presence, being smitten by it, and now lying in bed, realizing the admiration would never be bounced back to them. 
You went to work. 
In the damn shirt, you walked in through the staff-door and journeyed towards The Pirate Swing. 
There were so many people that day, you could hardly believe your eyes. The queues were mile-long stretches, and every pathway was spotted with body after body, walls of families, crowds swarming like insects. It was enough to induce a slight panic. 
“It’s good that you’re here, Titty-shirt,” Jeonghan said, when you walked into the booth beside him. He had a bit of a wild look in his eye and he was chewing on a banana. You stood by the door of the booth, looking out at the queue - a genuine queue? To The Pirate Swing? - as the boat swung catastrophically behind you. “We’re fucking busy.” 
You hummed, then turned your head to him. He had sat down, seemingly exhausted and pouting a little. 
“You brought a packed lunch?” you asked, nodding towards the banana in his hand and he looked up at you. His cheeky smile made you want to die. 
“Don’t be ridiculous, I stole this from Seungkwan,” he said and you laughed, and you hated that he made you laugh. The walls of the booth muffled the loud, indistinct buzz and shielded you from the chaos. The flimsy, windowed walls had never felt as intimate. 
“It’s gonna be a shitty day,” you declared ceremoniously. He grunted something in agreement, voice strangled by the now finished banana. Forever himself, he discarded the peel on the corner of the control panel, among his ziploc of weed and empty cans. 
It was a shitty day.
The constant swarming of people, crying children, the non-stop screech of rusted roller coaster tracks; everything brewed together into a pounding headache, as you and Jeonghan hunched together in the booth. Beads of sweat collected on your skin, where the unforgiving sun streamed through the windows. 
Around 8 PM you’d had just about enough. Your head was pounding, you were hungry, and most terribly you were sad. You were sad, sitting next to Jeonghan on the dirty, hard floor of the booth, and you could cry every time he said something snarky and lewd to you. He would never like you and you were a fool for ever letting yourself get attached. 
The day was constant work, constant talking to kids and putting on an energetic front. Finally the crowd seemed to thin out. Slowly but surely, the suburban families returned home and only a few people remained, and the night time glowed soft and warm. 
“Dude,” Jeonghan said, neck craned to look at his phone. With most of the guests gone, he’d finally gotten a chance to waste away on his phone, putting his mouth to his makeshift bong and smoking pot. You kept the booth-door open to let the smoke out. “Wanna go see a crowd of teenagers dunk Soonyoung? Junhui just texted me.” 
You were so tired. Every inch of your body yearned to relax where you sat, cross legged on the metal floor. With dark, sunken eyes and no courtesy left, you simply shook your head. 
“You sure?” he asked, eyebrows raised. You were just tired enough to miss the small frown on his lips. 
“I’m tired, you just go.” 
Jeonghan shrugged then and stood up. He left the bong on the floor and stepped over you to exit. 
“I’ll be back ASAP!” he yelled out, and you didn’t even try to look at him, to call something witty back. You just sat. 
And as if it weren’t the last thing you needed today, just thirty minutes before closing, a woman and her son strolled up The Pirate Swing. You saw them, eyes glazing with worry as you flickered your head to Jeonghan’s empty chair.
“We want a ride!” cawed the woman, holding her son by the hand. You scrambled to your feet, stuttering as you dusted off your pants. 
“Uh, I-” hopeful, you looked around, hoping to see Jeonghan and his long, poodle-y hair somewhere near. The pathways were deserted. “I-I actually can’t-” 
Not waiting for an explanation, the woman clucked once more: “You’re still open, aren’t ya?” 
You nodded, tiredness painted thick and greasy on your face. “Yes, we are, um, open, but I-” 
“Well, then give us a ride?!” 
This woman was going to be the death of you. Why were they even here now right before closing? You closed your eyes, collecting yourself and mustering each ounce of patience you had left. 
“I’m not allowed to because I’m new-” 
“Well, where is the operator? Why are you here if you don’t know how it works!” 
“He’s, uh,” your face fell, “He’s using the bathroom right no-” 
You’re not even sure why you lied. 
“Alright,” she huffed, strained and impatient. “Well, you just ruined me and my son’s night!” 
She tugged her blonde kid by the hand and began to turn around, grumbling with a red face. 
“I’m so sorry, but- it’s a matter of safety-” 
“Next time just say you don’t know how to do your job!” she yelled over her shoulder, mean glare coming out over her shapely glasses. Then she was jiggling away with a pouting child. 
Your mouth fell open in shock. A part of you wanted to be angry - a part of you was angry - but you found yourself weighed down and sliding down the wall of the booth with a much heavier feeling; you were exhausted. 
This was the last straw for tonight, you decided, resolve melting like a dropped ice cream. Booth door half-creaked open and weed vapor in the air, you buried your head in your hands and began to cry. It was small. It was not loud and sorrowful, it was small and petty. Nothing grand about crying on the dirty floor at your workplace. Sniffles and single, wet tears and a quivering lip, all dying out in the soft glow of the fairy light decorating the park.
“Y/n?” 
“Shit,” you lifted your head from your hands, wiping hard on your reddened cheeks. Jeonghan was standing in the open door, looking down at you on the floor.
“Sorry, uh-” 
“Why are you crying?” 
You paused, hands fiddling with the collar of your shirt and effectively covering your breasts. Your breath was shaky and snotty, eyelashes coated in tears. Red patches your skin around your puffy eyes, and your lips pressed into a thin line. 
Jeonghan did not look like himself when you looked up at him. It must have been a completely different person, you decided, because his features had  tightened and screwed into an expression you had never even seen a hint of before: concern. 
It looked so utterly foreign on his face - there was always a lightness to his expression, a joking, teasing look, but now he was frowning and his brows were furrowed and his eyes were big and red and round. It made  you feel small and frail. You didn’t like seeing him like that; unwell. But it seemed that feeling was mutual. 
“Um,” you began, voice hoarse and shuddering like a frail old fence-gate, that’s been slammed shut. “I’ve just had a shitty fucking day and- this woman came and wanted to ride and she was just so fucking mean when I told her I couldn’t..” 
Telling it all again made you feel so pathetic, it wracked another sob from you, hurdling past your lips. You caught it in your hand, pressing it to your mouth and squeezing your eyes shut up. 
God, you were pathetic. 
But your heavy, heavy eyelashes blinked open and you looked up to see Jeonghan’s expression softened into something else entirely;
Guilt.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. 
“No, it’s fine-”
He dropped to his knees in front of you, now at your level and up close, so you could see every tensed muscle and every strain on his beautiful face. 
“I’m sorry I left you alone,” he said solemnly and for the first time since you’d met him, Jeonghan was merely expressing his regret, not bartering for some sort of gain. His words were dripping with sincerity and it was so strange, you had to laugh.
“What?” he asked, a small grin growing on his face. That was more familiar. 
“I just- I’ve never seen you so serious, it’s okay, Jeonghan, I forgive you-” 
He broke into a laugh as well, rhythmic clucks dancing through the air from the booth, and it immediately cheered you up: he was beautiful and practically glowing, a small rim of light encapsulating him. 
“I’m very serious, I think,” he said. You rolled your puffy, old eyes. 
There was a significant pause. 
Your head lolled over and your gaze landed once more on the makeshift bong by the chair, now abandoned. It reminded you of how different you were. You tried too hard because you liked when people liked you, you were a hard worker, your shirt was too tight. Your shirt was too tight and that’s what had landed you in this situation. 
“Can I…” you trailed off, daring to look at him again. “Can I smoke some of your weed?” 
Jeonghan’s face was practically split in half the way he was smiling. There was something akin to triumph in his eyes, but it was almost fatally overpowered by sheer, bubbling, striking adoration. It made you blush. 
“Of course, babe, I thought you’d never ask,” he breathed, still smiling when he scrambled forward for the bong and stretched out his arm to finger at the control panel, finally feeling the soft plastic and snatching it down to the floor with you. 
“Just put your mouth to the can, baby, I’ll light it for you,” he giggled giddily, scrambling for the lighter in his pocket. 
“I know how it works,” you tried to sound stern, but you were smiling and your eyes were twinkling. 
Jeonghan messily pinched off a nugget of weed and placed it on the gridded holes in the can (which he had pricked with his work badge; “Hi, my name is Jeonghan!”), and you placed it to your mouth, while he held the lighter to it. 
“You’re so hardcore,” he said sarcastically, face close to yours as he flicked the lighter, sending a warm flame onto the can, so the nugget lit ablaze. 
“Shut up,” you said, and then you inhaled and the flame went out and turned into a glow, and warm, crisp smoke traveled down your throat, leaving it sore and burned. It felt great. 
You held it in for a moment, then exhaled, and Jeonghan watched eagerly as your chest rose and fell under the restricting fabric of your shirt. 
You and Jeonghan sat side by side for the last half hour, smoking together, eyes turning red and breaths turning sour and casting laughs into the night air. There was a warm buzz in your chest, a low drum, and you basked in the proximity to him, in how the heat of his body met yours in a fierce battle, at how he caught your eye when he joked, and how he smiled when you laughed. Your responsibilities melted away; your shirt felt looser. 
“We’re closing now,” you hummed after a while, somehow lighter and heavier at the same time. Your eyelids felt heavy and your cheeks were warm from giggling. Jeonghan placed his hand on your wrist, squeezing and tearing your eyes to his. 
“I have such a good idea right now,” he grinned lazily and you couldn't help but echo it. His eyes were red and half-lidded, and his voice was groggy from the smoke. He had run his hand through his hair one too many times and now it was puffier, poodlier than normal. He looked so handsome, you thought, studying the tan from many days in the sun. You figured he didn’t use sunscreen. 
“What is it?” you breathed.
“Come on, come with me!” 
Then the two of you were sneaking from building to building and giggling indiscreetly, two hunched silhouettes becoming one with the backs of buildings. Jeonghan insisted the two of you go to the toddler playground (Sunshine Dance Club, as it were called), because, in his words: “those dumb prick security guards never bother to actually check it”. He pulled you into the pastel green, red, blue, and yellow dreamscape, pulling you up a wooden tower, where you would be shielded by the railing. 
The two of you sat against the railing and waited while a security guard checked the place before closing. 
The mischief had made the two of you even more giggly, scratchy throats producing choppy snickering, as you leaned into each other on the wood, breathing in each other’s air. You liked being so close to him, you thought, and you were almost high enough to just spit it out. The distant stream of light overhead revealed his pores, but you liked those too. 
“Shut up, shut up,” Jeonghan whispered at one point. “I think he might be coming!”
“You’ve said that three times-” 
His hand clasped over your mouth and he fought not to laugh at the surprise in your eyes. Sure enough, this time he was right, as you heard booted footsteps in the distance, and the beam of a flashlight danced across the sloping and bouncing playground. 
You held your breath, not only because you feared, for the first time that night, getting caught, but also because Jeonghan had leaned so close to you, that you could see every stirred acrylic in his eye, every color of brown, swirly sundae. 
Both of you stopped laughing and stared at each other. 
His hand dropped from your lips. 
“I have cotton mouth,” he whispered, footsteps fading away. You couldn’t tell if it was the weed or what, but the air seemed thicker and you felt heavier, like imaginary hands were tugging you down. Jeonghan was no better - you couldn’t quite place the emotion on his glowing face. He almost seemed vulnerable.
“Me too,” you whispered, breathless. 
A pause.
His eyes flickered down to your lips, pink and plush.
“Can I kiss you?” 
You were almost bristling for a moment in pure surprise, before you recollected yourself and nodded eagerly.
“Yeah.” 
You thought his lips would smash into yours; you thought he would conquer you, because that would simply be the most Jeonghan-thing he could, to take what was his, to be cheeky and horny and sleazy.
To your utmost surprise, his hand was shaking when he lifted it, brushing so softly, so gently across the skin of your neck, resting on the back of it, cold from the icy, night breeze. His hand kissed the tips of your hair, and he gently slid it up, breath shaking, as he stared at your lips. Then he leaned in. 
His lips were soft like the bouncy castle on the edge of the playground, so impossibly gentle and flowing and warm. He breathed out shakily against your skin, eyes squeezed shut. Had you seen it, you would’ve almost believed that the kiss pained him, with the furrowed brows, but you didn’t, and it wasn’t painful at all, it was just that his heart was exploding and so was yours. Tender and slow, that was what it was, and you had never thought you’d use words like that to describe him.
A moment of entangled lips, slow making out and warm air covering your skin, his hand in your hair. The Sunshine Dance Club was filled with the sound of spit.
Then he pulled away, breath still shaking, but now, less vulnerable. His lips curled into a smile, spreading that childlike joy on his face. It made you smile as well. 
“That was-” he shook his head at himself, cringing. Then he restarted: “Can I show you something?” 
You chuckled, cheeks heavily flushed and eyes twinkling. “What is it?” 
The cheekiness returned to his eyes, as he scrambled to his feet: “A surprise.” 
And once again the two of you were giggling through the park, this time hand in hand, looking over your shoulders for the security guard that by this time had definitely gone home. The halted steps over the cobbled paths echoed in the dead, empty park. 
It would’ve been a strange feeling - seeing everything closed and dark and empty, every inch usually crammed with people strangely void - had you not been entirely consumed by Jeonghan’s presence. His hand in yours, his laugh, his starry eyes, his face softening when he looked at you.
Jeonghan led you into Belinda’s office (he had a key because he was her favorite, he said), allowing you to sit on the edge of her desk, while he sauntered off into an attached room. You sat there, overhead light dull and buzzing, and basked in the log cabin aesthetics. Your chest was warm.
Then, from beyond the other room, sounding much further away and thereby being much bigger than you had initially imagined the attached room to be, you heard the mechanical sound of several switches. They sounded heavy and important, having a sort of resonance that continued into your room, where Belinda’s desk chair was spun halfway. 
“Jeonghan?” you called, a twinge of worry in your voice. “What did you do?” 
He came jogging back into the office, all wide grinned and puffy-eyed. 
“You’ll see.” 
Once again he grabbed onto your hand, pulling you off the desk and barging out of the doorway.
The night air enveloped you completely, stealing you away from the warmth of the office, kissing your warm skin, as you stood on the cobble. The feeling was so great, you almost missed what Jeonghan had done.
It was beautiful. 
The switches had turned on the lights everywhere. In every color imaginable, illuminating dramatically sloping tracks in the distance, fairy lights on the pathways, signs re-lit, and the whole park before your eyes seemed to have become a disco-ball, sending faint streaks into the star-spotted sky like aurora borealis. 
You, now red and green and yellow and blue, let out a disbelieving laugh, smiling wide. You squeezed his hand, unable to communicate further. There was something about it that left you entirely speechless. It was an inability to overcome and conquer the lights before you - your eyes feasted on them much too eagerly. 
“What do you think?” 
Jeonghan was looking at you. 
“It’s-” you sucked in a breath, trying to compose a sudden sincerity you felt. You looked over at him. “It’s so pretty, Jeonghan. It’s really beautiful.” 
“I knew you would like it,” he murmured happily, body turned to yours. You turned to him as well. 
There was a moment of silence. The two of you basked in the light and in the gentle glow and the cool night, and in each other. 
“Thank you for cheering me up,” you said and pursed your lips. He smiled in a gentle way. It looked nice on him. 
“It’s nothing,” he said, “we were having fun.” 
The conversation lulled again, and while you turned your head back to the light show, the flickering lights and the ombre, Jeonghan continued looking at you. 
You felt his eyes on you, and you turned to him, shyly: “You should look at the beautiful lights.”
He shook his head, lips twisting upwards: “No.. Not right now…” And that was all he said.
The words left a bit of a void in you, like a black hole sunk in your stomach and you turned to him curiously. Jeonghan sensed your confusion, because he licked his lips and gave you a knowing smile, and then explained. 
“I wanna kiss you again, love.”
And his voice was so angelic, such a grave contrast to the boy you’d come to know, but he’d been so strange tonight. Your first kiss had been so tender, now he was looking at you and his pupils were dilated and a smirk spread across his face, and you needed to know something; just one thing, before you threw yourself at him, and gave to him, something you would not be able to take back. 
“Do you just wanna fuck me?” your voice echoed off the walls of the empty park, resounding accusingly. He laughed.
“Of course, I wanna fuck you, baby,” he laughed a little, shaking his head in disbelief. You stayed staring at him, bristling. “You’re hot as shit.” 
“No, I mean,” you paused, because suddenly your heart was climbing into your throat and it seemed like everything you’d worried about was true, that you were just another girl that was hexed by his charms. “Do you just wanna fuck me?” 
His smirk dropped. There was a moment where all you could hear was wind and the electrical whirring of the many, many lights, draining energy from the earth by the second. 
“Do you honestly think I’d do this for just any girl I wanted to fuck?” 
“I-”
“I thought you were smarter than that, N/n,” his lips spread once more in a smile, but this one seemed more fitting on his face - condescending and confident. Whatever vulnerability had hung in the air was replaced by warmer, thicker danger. Was it the weed making you feel this way? On edge or excited?
“I just-” you stammered, feeling bashful suddenly. Did that mean he liked you? Yes, that meant he liked you. You had truly not even considered the possibility, not really thought it through the way you had the negative outcome, so now you were standing and you didn’t know how to respond. A stuttering, blubbering mess of red cheeks and avoidant eyes. “I just- I thought you just- because you talk so much about my boobs-” 
“Shhhh,” he shushed you. The cocky motherfucker actually shushed you, staring you down in a way that made you feel like prey and taking two steps forward, and closing the gap between you. He was so, so close to you, chest inches away from yours and leaning his face down to tilt his head at you. 
“You’re so cute, baby,” he cooed, eyes dancing around your face. 
You and him watched it, as one lean hand lifted itself to your chest, tightly wrapped in polyester-fabric. You sucked in a breath. His fingers lightly grazed it, trailing over the soft plushness of it. Then he cupped it, experimentally, like feeling the weight of it in his hand. You whimpered pathetically. 
“Hm,” he hummed, ripping his gaze from your tits very briefly at the noise, “you sound so pretty.”
In an effort to steal more noises from your pretty lips, his delicate thumb rubbed over your nipple, watching it harden under the fabric with a bemused smirk. Your breathing became heavy and shaky. 
“Can we– please?” you whined, but he only tutted, watching the fat crook under his finger.
“Hang on, sweetheart, I’m having my fun,” he said, nonchalantly, another hand snaking up to your other tit. “Been waiting for this since the first time I saw you.”
You couldn’t help but whimper quietly, his caresses and his intense gaze sending electricity straight to your core. You fingers wrapped around his forearms where they flexed, as he kneaded your chest eagerly. 
“That’s right,” he whispered and leaned into you, eyes half lidded and lips wet from spit. “Be a good girl and let me play with your pretty titties.” 
Then he kissed you again, groaning into your mouth at the weight of your tits in his hands. His groping became more rough and hurried, as he bit your lip and slipped his tongue in your mouth. 
“Fuck, baby, need to get your shirt off, it’s so tight,” he groaned, licking into your mouth. You whined, back arching into his hand. “Poor baby, shirt so tight it’s strangling your pretty tits.” 
“Jeonghan, please!” You cried, putting one hand on his chest to push him away from you. He pulled away, lips red and swollen and cheeks delightfully flushed. 
“Okay, baby,” he whispered, comfortingly. “Okay, okay, I’ll take care of you, sweetheart.” 
You could cry. The way he was touching you so intimately, but refusing to snake his hand down to your burning core, where you could feel yourself fucking dripping. Your body was on fire and your voice was hoarse from the weed that still coursed through your body. 
“Please, please,” you mumbled, and it was desperate enough that Jeonghan pulled his hands from your chest (which took more willpower than he was willing to admit), sliding them over your back and pulling you into him. You nosed into the crook of his neck, sighing happily. 
“Alright, baby,” He breathed, hand in your hair. You felt his neck crane, looking around. 
“Come with me, baby, I know just where to go.” 
You didn’t even have time to whine that you didn’t want to go anywhere, you wanted him to touch you. Jeonghan grabbed your hand and crossed the pathway, and you saw the yellow, lit-up sign for the funhouse before you disappeared into the entrance. 
The first room had a large circular hallway, and when you stepped onto the red plastic, it rolled a little. You and Jeonghan both stumbled rockily, and you nosedived into his chest. He laughed, steadying you with warm fingers on your waist. “Silly girl,” his voice cooed in your ear. 
“Jeonghan, please touch me-” 
“We’re almost there, baby,” he said, and he was being a little annoying, because he’d just played with your boobs and made you so fucking wet that your panties were sticking to your folds, and now he was trudging you through the hallways of a funhouse. You both skiddered out of the circular hallway with much trouble. 
The next room was slanted, and in your intoxicated mind, this was more than a challenge. The whole room was blue and your knuckles became celeste, as you gripped the slanted railing. 
“Jeonghan, I can’t-” 
Not another word out of your lips, before Jeonghan was scooping you up in his arms, walking with seemingly no problem through the room. “Shit!” you yelped when he did so, but he only smiled at you, a mixture of adoration and teasing. He ran with you, his bride, through a black and white doorway. 
The next room was the mirror maze, and Jeonghan’s face lit up at the sight of it. 
“We’re here!” he panted giddily, gently lowering you. You found your footing and looked around, a little speechless at how quickly he’d constructed this plan. There were at least 20 different angles of you, and you cringed at your own disheveled appearance and how your tiny shirt dug into your skin. A hall of reflection, the roof and flooring was pitch black and only you and him existed in the void, copycats at every corner.
You saw Jeonghan in the mirror, walking up behind you. He was smirking, planting his head on your shoulder and peering up at you, as his hands caressed your waist, riding up your shirt and exposing your stomach 20 times over. You hated to say it, but seeing his veiny, big hands on you made your breath hitch. 
“Was it not worth it, hmm?” he sang innocently, blinking at you with a bunched up cheek on your shoulder. His sleazy hands worked the fabric upwards, just under the impressive bump of your chest. 
His eyes flicked over to the most nearby mirror. Breath becoming shaky, his hands lifted the shirt, finally, over your chest, exposing your simple, black bra and the soft skin of your tits. You could breathe easier, without the fabric digging into your chest. 
“Fuck,” he hissed, soft hands immediately dipping inwards to touch over the skin. “Shit, you’re so perfect,” his voice was strangled, all composure gone as he looked at your chest with something akin to wonder. 
You moaned, feeling his dick, fully fucking hard from just playing with your soft mounds, grinding into your ass. Like a horny teenage boy, he moaned shakily, big hands covering your boobs and squeezing, and rutting into you from behind. As much as you wanted him to touch you, you couldn’t help but enjoy the sight of Jeonghan so utterly fucked out, using your body to pleasure himself. It was so erotic, the way his pretty face twisted in place and his fingers dug into the fat of your chest, panting into your neck. Then the sight untangled itself from your body.
“Sorry, sorry,” he was out of breath, removing his hips from your ass. “I got too caught up.” 
“It’s okay-”
He spun you around, pushing your body against the mirror. You stood back to back with your reflection. 
“No, it’s not,” he breathed, working your shirt the rest of the way off hastily. You lifted your arms to help the fabric off. 
You very barely registered Jeonghan snaking your pants off, and then his own clothes. You leaned your head on the mirror and you could finally breathe without the tight shirt, and you somehow felt stronger, not vulnerable like you would have expected. And when your eyes flicked to another mirror and you saw Jeonghan shirtless too, you realized the two of you were much more similar now. 
Jeonghan was standing in his boxers now, and you in your panties. 
“You know, I always thought you’d be more composed during sex,” you mused, returning your focus to him and smiling teasingly, because even now he was transfixed on your bare chest, heaving for air. Jeonghan scoffed, seemingly genuinely offended by this. 
“It’s not my fault your fat fucking rack has been staring at me through that tiny fucking shirt every day,” he spat, and in a sort of retaliation he cupped your pussy through your panties. 
Finally, he touched your cunt, and God, was it worth the wait, because it shot straight through your stomach, even the slightest touch on the cold, wet fabric. Jeonghan grinned cockily at the state of your underwear. 
“You’re one to talk,” he teased. “Your pussy is fucking weeping for me.” 
You moaned and your back twisted against the cold surface of the mirror, as Jeonghan slipped his finger upwards to circle your clit slowly. 
“N-ngh, fuck..” 
“There you go,” he said in fake sympathy, pouting, and even with his hand on your clit, you could almost believe it, because he just looked that angelic and pure. “Finally your greedy cunt has my hand, hm? Bet you’ve been thinking about this since we met.” 
He couldn’t help himself. He trailed his free up to your chest again. It just looked so delectable, unblemished skin, jiggling at every twitch and shake from you, and nipples hardened to pebbles. “I’ve been thinking about you since we met,” he sighed happily, pinching the nipples between his fingers and relishing in your strangled whine. 
Jeonghan slipped his hand in your panties, scoffing to himself at just how fucking wet you were, leaking from your hole like a slut, when his finger prodded at it. 
“P-Please, Jeonghan, please, fuck-” 
Your plea was cut off by Jeonghan’s hand gripping your throat. He smirked at your tortured expression, one hand circling your hole and the other wrapped around your neck, thumb climbing up your chin to rest on your lip.
“What do you want?” he tilted his head challengingly. You gulped, face flushed and baby hairs sticking to your sweat-gleamy face. 
“I-I want you to finger me,” you mustered, building up all the courage you could to hold eye contact with him and his lopsided grin. He raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. 
“Really?” he sang, “you want gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up your tight, pink pussy?” 
You squeezed your eyes shut. Of course, all those moments of shaming him for thirsting over you. Now you were basically fucking naked, tits perked up from your arched back and writhing under him for just a single finger in your glistening hole. 
“Jeonghan, I’m sorry-” 
His thumb on your lip tugged downwards, effectively muffling your words and shushing you. He watched your pretty lip bend to the will of his thumb, humming. 
“Then say it,” he shrugged.
“Wha?” your speech was slurred by his heavy thumb.
“Say you want gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up your tight, pink pussy,” he repeated, acting exasperated, like it was your fault for not being able to keep up. Legs spread and utterly naked, you flushed and felt dumb, and you felt even dumber when you began to speak, and his thumb stayed where it was, weighing down your lip.
“I-I wan’ gross, sleazy, perverted Jeonghan’s fingers up my tight, pink pussy,” you slurred. Somehow the embarrassment translated into a wave of slick exciting your hole and landing on Jeonghan’s hand. He grinned at your obedience, hand pushing up so his thumb entered your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and the rest of his hand cradled your face. 
“Good girl,” he purred, head craned down to look at you, suckling his thumb with wide eyes. He finally heeded your request, two fingers pushing into your sopping heat. “Now suck on my thumb like the good, big-titted girl you fucking are while I make you cum.” 
He was immediately bullying his fingers in and out of you, curling them. Drool escaped where your lips wrapped around his thumb, as you moaned on it, feeling him poke and prod at your tongue with an evil smirk on his pretty face. You saw his dick print straining against his boxers in the corner of your vision.
“Been waiting for this pussy to be mine,” hummed Jeonghan, long eyelashes coming over his eyes when he looked down at you. “You know, if you’d been a little more cooperative I could’ve had my cock in you everyday for the past week.” 
You sobbed around his thumb, panting for air through your nose. His fingers felt so good, pistoning into you and so thin you could feel the bulge of each crooking knuckle churning in and out. His thumb sneaked back up to rub your clit again, and you clawed at his shoulders, trying to stabilize your suddenly shaking legs. 
Jeonghan let out the most erotic, guttural moan you’d ever heard, when he watched drool slip from your swollen, red lips and languidly ooze on your trembling chest. His face twisted in pleasure at the sight of them, becoming all shiny and slicked up from your own spit. 
“Fuck, you’re so pathetic. Can’t believe you’re fucking drooling all over your tits,” he spat, cheeks flushed as he leaned back to look at them, all pretty and slick and glowing under the maze’s fluorescent tubes. He slipped his thumb from your mouth to begin smearing the spit all over your skin. 
Your cunt pulsed around his fingers, clenching and unclenching as something in your belly tightened. You heaved for air, moaning loudly into the maze and practically crying. 
“F-Fuck, Hannie, f-feels s’ good!” you whined, chest thrashing under his needy hands. He lifted his gaze to smile at you, where he was crooked over to look closely at your spit-slick boobs. 
“I know, baby, I know. Cum on my fingers, now, m’kay?” He smiled cheekily, pressing especially hard on your clit. You saw white, orgasm so potent, you almost didn’t even register how Jeonghan dived into your chest, wrapping his lips around one of your nipples 
The wet, smacking of his lips and his pleased humming into the soft skin only spurred on your orgasm, as your cum coated Jeonghan’s fingers. His nose, buried in the flesh of your tit, breathed out a dam of warm air into it. 
His fingers stilled within you, slowly pulling out, while he continued to lap at your chest, warm tongue on your areola. You tried to catch your breath, but it was hard with how he moaned around your fucking tit, sucking and smacking his lips, while holding you to him. You cried out softly when he nibbled at it, to which he finally pulled away, smiling teasingly. 
There was something about the way he was so shameless about it, that almost made you feel even more ashamed, especially when you saw your form in the mirror, and how wet and red your boob was from his insistent sucking. You blushed deeply. 
“You gettin’ shy on me now?” he tapped your cheek, eyes twinkling. 
“Not used to seeing myself,” you mumbled sheepishly. Jeonghan’s ever lust-filled gaze was overtaken with a very deep, fundamental adoration. His smile became genuine - not teasing nor in feigned sympathy. Despite being the sexiest person he’d ever met, Jeonghan found you so severely cute in that moment, all heaved breaths and glossy lips and rosy cheeks.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said, tapping your nose. The action would’ve been annoying were not entirely too fond of him at this moment. His eyes wandered, trailing down your collarbones and back to your cleavage. Then returned the lust: “Beautiful, pretty, gorgeous girl with big, bouncing fuckin’ tits.” 
His fascination with them was genuinely insane, but you thought he was pretty and sweet, so you let him marvel.
As if he could never get enough, he reached out one hand and cupped your tit again. 
“Are you gonna be a good girl and let me fuck your pretty tits?” Jeonghan asked, experimentally pressing the mounds together and licking his lips at the sight. He had to swallow (and he would never admit this) because the idea actually had him salivating. 
“Yes, Hannie,” you said sweetly, because although you really wanted his dick inside you, he had that twinkle in his eye that made your heart burst, and, indeed, you would do anything to keep the starlight blazing in his pupils. Jeonghan looked up with raised brows - this time, the surprise was not feigned. Swiftly, he grabbed your head and kissed you, deeply and appreciatively licking into your mouth. 
“Good girl,” he murmured, rowing the two of you away from the mirror-wall with his tongue down your throat. “Good fucking girl.” 
He pulled away from you, frantically looking around, and you simply waited for his command. He began to crawl onto the floor, lying down on the hard, sleek black flooring, resting on his elbows. 
“C’mere,” was all he said, and you sat down on top of him, confused. He wantonly pushed you by your shoulder so you rested further down, while he lifted his hip to free his cock. 
It was long and right by your fucking face. 
Impossibly pretty and pink near the tip, it oozed sticky, white liquid, dripping down the veiny side, and now you were salivating, because you almost wanted to take it in your mouth and suck his soul out. 
“Shit,” he groaned, studying your face next to his hard, heavy dick with a tortured expression on his face. It seemed his thoughts had traveled the same road as yours, because when he spoke, he said: “There’s so much I wanna do to you, doll. Give me another couple shifts, I’ll have your cum all over the fucking park.” 
Without another word, he leaned forward and grabbed each of your tits, hovering just below where his dick extended out, proud and tall like a gothic church. You helped by crawling further over his tan body, lying down on your stomach with your chest raised up. 
Jeonghan enclosed your tits around his dick, breath shaking and eyes blinking shut. The sounds he released were angelic, wetting and rewetting his fiery lips, and he struggled to keep his eyes open from the pleasure. He didn’t want to close them though, because the sight of you was insane. 
You were so pretty, smiling in adoration where you laid between his legs. Prettiest girl in the world, he thought, just letting him bounce your fat tits up and down his shaft like a good, obedient girl. Your rack was like a fucking cloud around him, jerking him off and spurting pre-cum on the already slick skin. 
“S-Shit, you’re so fucking- pretty-” he stuttered, breath trembling and face flushed. From every angle he saw you, perfect, pretty, cute and sweet you. Every version of you in the mirror was perfect, he realized, every copycat a perfect picture. 
“You’re pretty,” you mused, wrapping your hand around the lower part of his shaft where your tits didn’t quite reach and squeezing it. Jeonghan moaned, stammering the breathy noise. He gulped then. 
“I-I’m gonna cum, shit-” he sucked in a harsh breath. He could not believe how lovely you were, how witty and funny and sweet and how big your fucking tits were bouncing up and down around his cock. “C-Can I cum on them, baby?” 
“Of course, Hannie,” you obeyed sweetly, watching how he desperately bucked his hips upwards. Squeezing your hand around the base of his cock, you let out a final admission to help him cum: “Want you to cum on my tits, Hannie, want it so bad.”
Sure enough, it was that easy, because without warning long ropes of thick, white cum spurted into the valley of your breasts and climbed up to your collarbones and neck. Jeonghan cried out when he came, eyes finally squeezing totally shut and hips stuttering into your chest. He sounded angelic, even with his voice hoarse from the weed and grunting. 
You let him calm down, waited until his pants turned into soft, regular breaths, and released his now flaccid cock from your cleavage. 
“Oh shit, baby,” he sighed happily. “Come up here.” 
You crawled up to his chest, curling into his open arms and feeling him under your cheek. Your legs entangled on the funhouse floor, mirrors a little foggy from the sweat and the sex. It was perfect, lying in his chest, having him, knowing he wanted you and liked you. Perfectly timeless, you draped over each other limply. 
Or almost perfect. 
You wiggled your hips away from his body, hoping then he wouldn’t notice how you were still leaking from your poor, puffy hole. Jeonghan frowned when you did so, though, both hands grabbing your waist and tilting his head down to look at you. 
“What is it, baby?” he asked.
You looked away bashfully, shaking your head, but Jeonghan gripped your face in one hand, just as condescending as his thumb had been earlier: “You’re covered in my cum, baby. You’re not getting shy on me now. Tell Hannie what’s troubling you.” 
His voice was stern. You tightened your lips the best you could with his hand squeezing your cheeks together.
“I just..” you were embarrassed again, with how your words became muffled and slurred by his flexed hand. He paid it no mind though, looking at you intently to continue. 
“YouweresoprettyearlierIgotwetagain.” 
You squeezed your eyes shut. From beyond the dark void, you heard Jeonghan laughing. You opened your eyes and he removed his hand from your face, instead brushing it through your hair lovingly. 
You were gonna get whiplash with how lovingly he looked at you, how sweetly and with so much wonder and adoration; and how it stood in such a stark contrast to the words that left his mouth: 
“Baby, you just get up and bounce your fat tiddies around a little bit, I promise you, I’ll get hard in the next five fucking minutes. Then you can get my cock in your cute, greedy pussy. How’s that sound?”
Really fucking good.
2K notes · View notes
astonmartinii · 6 months
Note
HI! Hope you are well! I have no clue if you are taking requests or not, but if you are, could you maybe do a smau with carlos sainz x ferrari!reader? Where the reader is part of the ferrari family, and when her father passes away, she will take on the company? And like, all of the tifosi love her loads, bcs she's just lovely to them all no matter what, and they see carlos slowly 'fall in love' with her then soft launch their relationship, and it turns out they had been dating for ages? If you can, ty!!
are you going to be my girl? | carlos sainz social media au
pairing: carlos sainz x fem ferrari!reader
it's not a HR violation if you were dating before she became your boss and it's not nepotism if it's her company.
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yournameferrari
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liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 872,309 others
yournameferrari: first race weekend, let's go girls 🏁
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user1: i am SCARED i am weirdly optimistic 🤔
user2: i have faith, the article about her and the whole new team... she's cooking
carlossainz55: excited to take her out for a spin
yournameferrari: lets keep all the spinning for the doughnuts at the end of the season please
carlossainz55: i'll try my best, no promises though
yournameferrari: okay stop commenting on my post and get ready to drive, you're wearing my name
carlossainz55: let me know when you want to wear mine
user3: yall it's not even been one race and carlos is flirting with his boss, they weren't lying f1 drivers really are fearless
sebastianvettel: feels like just the other day when you first visted the garage, you'll smash it!
yournameferrari: thanks seb! can't wait to see you again, give hanna and the kids my love
user4: i love that she's 23 but literally talks like a grandma
user5: the stress of ferrari does tend to age a person
charles_leclerc: forza ferrari ❤️ we'll make you proud
yournameferrari: i have all the faith in the world in you boys
user6: a ferarri owner who actually publicly supports the drivers? i've prayed for times like this
user7: ahhh i met her this weekend and she really loves the tifosi like she spent so long with us and signed as much as she could
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carlossainz55
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carlossainz55: great weekend all round, happy to be back on the podium - thank you to y/n and all the team for building us a car we can win in !!
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user9: don't shoot me but did we all see the way carlos was looking at y/n on the podium
user10: bestie i hate to tell you but there was like 100 ferrari workers at that podium he could've been looking at literally any of them
yournameferrari: you boys made the ferrari name proud this weekend ❤️
carlossainz55: couldn't have done it without you and the team
yournameferrari: you're too kind, take pride in your own achievements
carlossainz55: only if you celebrate with me
user11: are we witnessing the smooth operator in real time?
user12: it's like seeing a unicorn in the woods
landonorris: congrats chilli 🌶️ are we all celebrating or is it just you two?
carlossainz55: all of us? why wouldn't it be everyone?
landonorris: no reason ....
user13: maybe it's because carlos' eyes pop out of his head like a looney tunes whenever he's around y/n ferrari
liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc
carlossainz55: you realise i get the notifications when you guys like comments, right?
landonorris: well my PR team wouldn't like it if i commented it myself
carlossainz55: i wonder if there is a reason for that 🤔
user14: carlando domestics in the comment section we are so back
scuderiaferrari
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tagged: yournameferrari
scuderiaferrari: no race this weekend? we'll give you a #️⃣ asky/n to give you your ferrari content this weekend!
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user15: what is your favourite race?
yournameferrari: besides the obvious choices of imola and monza, i really enjoy suzuka and spa !
user16: who is a driver you would've loved to have managed?
yournameferrari: the obvious answer is michael schumacher, but i also would've loved to work with seb and kimi and jean alesi!
user17: how do you feel about taking over ferrari so young?
yournameferrari: it's definitely daunting, especially when no one really knew i existed. i was scared when it came to the staff overhaul as they had been there for so long and i was scared that it would massively backfire, but so far so good.
user18: tbf it's been a long time coming
user19: what would you do if you weren't owning ferrari?
yournameferrari: to be honest, ferrari and motorsport is all i have ever known, but, i also enjoy most other sports like football, ice skating and golf. but outside of sport i would've loved to pursue writing, i love poetry and essays!
user20: GOLF? cue carlos sainz in 3...2...1
carlossainz55: let's go for a round after my next sim session ⛳️
yournameferrari: only if you're ready to lose
user21: i am having ... feelings about this pairing
user22: how do you feel about charles' music?
yournameferrari: i always think it is good to have another passion, especially with how all-consuming formula one can become. i personally love charles' music and will often put it on when i do yoga or read (though my favourite is AUS23)
charles_leclerc: thank you y/n !!!
user23: is this *rubs eyes* an owner with a good relationship with the drivers???
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f1gossipgirl
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liked by user28, user29 and 4,130 others
tagged: yournameferrari, pierregasly
f1gossipgirl: AWKWARD MOMENT ALERT 🚨 y/n ferrari had harsh word for pierre gasly when they crossed paths in the paddock. gasly, whose dangerous driving put carlos sainz in the medical centre, seemed shocked that ferrari would have a problem with him. sources in the paddock said that ferrari admonished the frenchman, "you have a lot of gall in the media gasly, everyone saw how dangerous that was, you can't blame your own shortcomings on alpha tauri or adrian newey now. keep your car away from my drivers or we'll have a real problem." oop. allegedly gasly only replied with a wink and a "anything for you sweetheart" which caused y/n to storm off and knock his shoulder on the way past. who is in the right?
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user30: THAT'S MY OWNER RIGHT THERE
user31: y/n owned gasly
user32: not only was he dangerous on track he's also super disrespectful off, y/n is expressing her concerns over her driver who could've been seriously injured and he just flirts with her ???
user33: pierre is super in the wrong here but also it's so refreshing to see someone in management actually have the drivers back
user34: gone were the days of begging ferrari to even appeal penalties
user35: my friend was in the paddock and apparently vasseur had to hold sainz back after he was told about what pierre had done
user36: the way he's more mad that pierre disrespected y/n than nearly killing him
user37: idk why she's getting involved, no need to talk to the drivers like that, you're the owner, know your place
liked by pierregasly
user38: something insidious about the man liking a comment telling a woman to know her place 🤨
user39: he acts the victim in every situation and yet HE is the common denominator
user40: after ^^^ this whole mess i need carlos to scrap pierre
user41: i feel like he actually would that man is in love with y/n lol
yournameferrari
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yournameferrari: happy summer break everyone !! going into the break leading the constructor's championship lead is amazing but we aim to finish the season with both trophies back in maranello. see you in zandvoort x
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user42: A MAN?
user43: i was delusional to think that a young successful and smart woman wasn't cuffed :(
sebastianvettel: are you still planning to swing by switzerland?
yournameferrari: we'll be there!
this comment was deleted
yournameferrari: i'll be there!
user44: girl we saw that
user45: the way she posts her soft launch but deletes a comment that says she might bring him to visit seb?
user46: visiting seb is a big deal tbf
user47: the way carlos HAS to have her notifications on mans was here after 30 seconds
user48: has better reaction time for y/n's instagram post than a race start 😭
carlossainz55: working on my swing, ready for our round of golf
yournameferrari: get ready to be humbled
carlossainz55: if you're as pro as you say i may have to upgrade us to crazy golf
yournameferrari: as long as i get the red ball
carlossainz55: deal
user49: are we FLIRTING 👀 ???????
carlossainz55
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liked by landonorris, yournameferrari and 703,458 others
tagged: yournameferrari
carlossainz55: took a break from swimming to get my ass whooped by my boss on the golf course
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user50: oh the fit - Y/N CAME TO PLAY
landonorris: just how bad was the whopping? before i propose a paddock golf tournament
carlossainz55: she'll ruin the sport for you it's not fair
landonorris: you didn't put up any sort of fight?
carlossainz55: i TRIED but as soon as i saw the custom clubs i knew it was over
yournameferrari: i have a confession, i was literally on my college golf team, i had a lot of practice sorry x
carlossainz55: so you're basically a professional? that's comforting
yournameferrari: not really a professional but a very dedicated amateur
user51: babe you literally won the national championship at stanford stop playing with this man
yournameferrari: oops? 😬
user52: right, i don't mean to sound crazy, but i have a theory. the third pic looks very familiar to me, is it a lake in switzerland? the switzerland one SEBASTIAN VETTEL lives in and that y/n ferrari said she was going to visit this summer with someone?
user53: i fear you've made a point
user54: as much as they'd be literally the hottest couple in the world ... is it not a bit weird for carlos to date his boss? like... also what does this mean for potential favouritism?
user55: i get those concerns but we've already seen this season that decisions have been made both ways. unlike the binotto era ferrari actually are making the two first drivers thing work
user56: based on what y/n has said in the past i don't think she'd favour carlos because of a relationship, i think she's too ruthless to potentially sacrifice points to benefit her potential boyfriend
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f1
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liked by landonorris, carlossainz55 and 1,239,861 others
tagged: carlossainz55
f1: the smooth operator is back to winning ways with his win under the singapore lights. it was a double podium for ferrari and a DNF for sergio perez means that ferrari are constructors champions once again!
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user60: Y/N FERRARI THE WOMAN YOU ARE AND HOLY SHIT HER AND CARLOS KISSING DID SOMETHING TO ME
user61: we really went from xavi and not having any tyres to proper professionals and the WCC trust the WDC will be coming back home soon
carlossainz55: tifosi, we'll get the big one next year ❤️
user62: CONSTRUCTOR CHAMPIONS AND YOU BAGGED Y/N FERRARI U WON AT LIFE
landonorris: so you made me find out with everyone else? i see how it is
carlossainz55: sorry landito, didn't intend for anyone to find out just yet but i guess i got a little carried away..
yournameferrari: a little?
carlossainz55: sorry but i've been good all year and finally got the win and the championship i couldn't help myself (you also looked so good sorry)
yournameferrari: i guess i can give you that (you're also very sexy post-race)
charles_leclerc: well i for one am super happy that i never opened the door when i heard a suspicious sound coming from y/n's office
yournameferrari: omg delete please i stubbed my toe i swear !!!!
charles_leclerc: no one is believing that i'm sorry
carlossainz55: we've never done anything untoward on ferrari property
landonorris: untoward? who are you?
carlossainz55: my gf is super duper college educated and it's rubbing off on me
landonorris: AHAHAHA RUBBING OFF
yournameferrari: 🤨
landonorris: sorry.
carlossainz55
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tagged: yournameferrari
carlossainz55: suprise ! i guess it wasn't to be just ours forever, but i love you y/n and will give everything to you and your name x
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user62: boyfriend in the first slide and girlfriend in the others he's so real
yournameferrari: i know this secret was hard for you to keep so i'm proud of you regardless, i love you 🫶
carlossainz55: honestly any time anyone in the paddock flirted with you i thought i would explode
yournameferrari: i've seen your dm requests, spare me
carlossainz55: but now they know, i can unleash all of my pictures of you and i can flex on everyone
user63: dream threesome list just got a new update
landonorris: first slide for me i know that's right
carlossainz55: i am forgiven for not telling you about my relationship? the two years were tough
landonorris: TWO YEARS?
carlossainz55: your tone sounds kinda off
landonorris: you can shove your first slide up your ass 👍 TWO YEARS?????
carlossainz55: tbf i couldn't really announce to the world that i was dating the woman who would someday become the owner of my team
landonorris: give me three business days and i'll be okay
scuderiaferrari: parents ❤️
charles_leclerc: happy for you guys but never ask me to take pictures of you again x
yournameferrari: you did such a good job though!
charles_leclerc: unless i see a photographer bonus in my contract i will not be third wheeling for free
yournameferrari: noted (you're not getting the bonus)
charles_leclerc: it was worth the try
yournameferrari
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tagged: carlossainz55
yournameferrari: what a crazy first season. i am unbelievably proud of the boys and the team, we'll bring both championships back to maranello next season ❤️
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user64: she is everything i want to be
user65: tbf after last season i never thought we would win a race this season and her overhaul and ruthlessness has actually changed the game. also her and carlos are super cute
carlossainz55: i love you and thank you for our season. here's to the best winter break with you
yournameferrari: finally you can spend christmas the ferrari way
user66: how do we also get an invite to this christmas.. do you have any brothers? cousins? uncles?
carlossainz55: you're so so so beautiful, pretty, bewitching, ravishing, stunning and irresistible
yournameferrari: i love you too handsome
carlossainz55: can you also humble my dad at golf please and thank you
yournameferrari: we'll go doubles for the sainz golf tournament and have NO MERCY
user67: someone tell y/n the season is over and that she doesn't need to ruin sainz snr's christmas on the golf course
yournameferrari: the ferrari name never rests sorry not sorry
user68: yeah yeah the constructor championship finally came back to ferrari but this relationship is the real win from this season
user69: carlos finally found someone as old money as him
user70: and is actually old money, babes has that ferrari money
carlossainz55: i can retire early and be the house husband
yournameferrari: you will not retire early i expect you to be kicking it in that car until you're at least alonso's age
carlossainz55: but after that i can be the house husband a HAB?
yournameferrari: to your hearts content :) no one prettier i'd want on my arm x
note: hope you enjoyed i was BATTLING the writers block on this one lol. but i hope this is what you were looking for
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leclsrc · 1 year
Text
you know it ✴︎ cl16
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genre: porn WITH plot (for once?! everyone cheered), humor, bit of fluff... oh inaccurate depictions of the 2022 season sorry
word count: 7k
Charles is a bit disappointed the pretty girl he harbors a crush on doesn’t have him listed as a Formula 1 crush. He is a lot disappointed that you two can’t fuck.
nsfw warnings under the cut!
18+ because... degradation, praise, charles is a bit switchy here lol, penetrative sex, a bit of ass play sorry...., oral (m receiving), semi public sex, yeah
title from this. i love u guys im so sleepy
Joris insists there’s some big present waiting for Charles in his car, to celebrate the middle of the season that has, and will no doubt continue to stretch into a period of conflict and strategy woes. He yanks off the beanie sitting on his head, listens to small talk drifting between Joris and Carlos as they all walk toward their cars to alleviate the bubble of nerves in the low of his stomach. 
Sure enough, there’s an unassuming box lying on the driver’s seat. Joris slides into the passenger seat after Carlos drives away with his girlfriend, his grin shit-eating and mischievous. The door is half open when Charles takes the box to inspect it. White, with the Ferrari logo printed neatly on the centre (very classy touch), the sides are signed by different members of his team. He scratches through the seal and pulls the flap open.
He’s been given a quasi-official Ferrari box of condoms.
Thirty-six condoms, at that, small squares neatly lined up next to each other. Talk about a welcoming present. Not a camera, not racing memorabilia, not a new pair of shoes. Just condoms. Thirty-six of them.
“A mid-season pick-me-up,” presses his friend, giddily. The shorter male lounges comfortably on the seat, a blissful look of pride on his face. Laughing with exasperation, Charles wedges the box shut and tosses it carelessly into the backseat, preparing to drive. This isn’t his first rodeo with weird gifts—he’s half-sure he got adoption papers from an especially excited fan once before.
“You are such an asshole.”
“It’s also a congratulations on winning literally every race so far present,” Joris adds. It’s hyperbole but has a ring of truth to it. As the season closes, Charles’ chances of holding up the trophy this year increase. 
Despite himself, Charles has a better outlook on his chances for the remainder of the season, driving-wise. He’s given it his all so far, and the rest looks promising enough. He only hopes he’s right. Netflix also increased the amount of people getting into the sport, so he’s dealing with tons more fans and nosey DMs, but it’s not too much of an impediment to a hopefully stellar season.
Charles makes a right. “Do you plan to use them?” Joris asks then, a teasing tone taking on his voice as he scrolls through his phone.
“No, not really,” Charles says, lying straight through his teeth.
“You’re a fucking liar, you are.” He whips his head toward Charles, observing his stoic side profile. “You’re single, haven’t gotten laid in months—”
“—weeks.” Corrects Charles with a cough, the defense coming at an embarrassing speed.
“…Case in point. And sports gets everyone horny. And if you didn’t know, Mattia actually OK-ed the condoms, so you’ve basically been greenlit by your boss to fuck half the world. Thank me later. I’m proud of myself.”
“Sports gets everyone competitive. Because it’s sports. Which, you’re conveniently forgetting, is my life profession.”
“Loosen up,” Joris whistles lowly. “You think Lewis got seven titles by being a closed-off celibate? It’s practically tradition to fuck around if you’re single in sports. And, for others, being in a relationship is barely an obstacle, anyway.”
Charles hates to admit that Joris is right—because he is. Racing isn’t racing without the extravagant parties that follow, and the girls and guys brought back to hotels for reasons known to everyone. People from everywhere come to the paddock and the clubs—models, influencers, actors. The pent-up energy has to go somewhere, he supposes.
But even if the little shit is right, Charles still maintains a level of dignity. Ergo, he’s steadfast in his belief that he will not be sleeping around or putting this godforsaken box of condoms to any semblance of use while the rest of the season progresses. He just hopes he won’t eat his words.
Monza kicks off with a 1-2 and secures Charles with a comfortable lead ahead Max.
He is high on adrenaline all night, toasting and chugging to the win, snapping pictures with Carlos, proud out of his mind. It’s everything he’s wanted and more, a quench to the thirst he’d developed over the season, a slap in the face to his doubters, a kiss on his. He texts his family, friends who aren’t present, some other people who he feels are deserving of a personal announcement, and pockets his phone.
“Now would be a great time to put that gift to use,” Carlos says at some point, when everyone in the garage is kicking back alcohol and slowly preparing to move the celebrations someplace else.
Charles cringes visibly, having almost forgotten about the dreaded gift, and totally forgotten Carlos’ knowledge of it. Even with the recent win, he’s already thinking of the next, the promise of a two-peat, another podium, hell, another 1-2. The condoms were honest to God the last thing on his mind.
They break apart an hour later, when Charles is heading to the hotel and Carlos is headed somewhere else. He’s almost to the exit when someone calls his attention in a curt English voice.He turns and finds Lewis jogging toward him, outside of his race suit and back in the fashionable apparel Charles merely wishes he could pull off.
“Lewis,” he waves, pacing toward him to save the extra few seconds of waiting. 
“Amazing, amazing race, man,” the elder compliments. “You’ve got the best chance at the title here.”
Warmth melts into Charles’ body and he offers praise back, which—praising Lewis is just about the easiest thing in the world. Nerves bleed out of him as the conversation continues, the atmosphere of a finished race a welcome accompaniment to their strategic talk. 
“Headed to a party, yeah?” Lewis asks when they’ve both exhausted the topic. Charles gives a half-hearted shrug, already energized enough from such a momentous win, and he nods in response. “Nah, I get it. Sometimes you just gotta sleep. But hey, if you’re ever free, we should go get dinner sometime.”
The “dinner sometime” happens in Singapore. Having gotten P1 beside Lewis and therefore once again high off the adrenaline, Charles claps Andrea on the back and retrieves his phone to view two texts. One reads Put the condoms to use yet, champ? from Joris, and the other Can I take you up on the dinner? from Lewis. One goes answered and the other goes muted on his iMessage.
A little something he failed to remember was Lewis’ plant-based diet, a fact that hurtles back toward him when he can’t find steak on the menu of this classy, hole-in-the-wall type of restaurant. Of course Lewis would know these types of places, he thinks. He’s a millennial semi-hipster with a separate Instagram account for his dog.
Charles ends up ordering pasta, and Lewis beside him orders a cacophony of very vegan, hippy sounding meals, the quantity of which could feed the two of them. “I hope you don’t mind,” Lewis says when the waiter departs, “but a friend is actually joining us tonight.”
“Sure,” Charles says honestly. As long as it’s not some deranged hyperfan, he does well in social situations. Right then, Lewis calls someone over. Charles looks up, squints through the dim mood lighting to try and make out the nearing figure. And then you’re sitting down across them, smiling softly, exchanging hellos with Lewis.
A little something Lewis fails to remember is his “friends” can just as well be called “celebrities,” because he is, after all, a sporting legend. So if Lewis says “friend,” Charles will assume it’s a “friend,” and not a world-famous model whose face is plastered everywhere on and offline.
“Charles Leclerc,” he says blankly.
You introduce yourself, sliding easily into a bout of questions, apologies for missing the race, you’re impossibly jetlagged, it’s crazy. Lewis chips in with something about how he’s already ordered food for the both of you, and this and that, and Charles is hopeless, staring at your face the entire time. He hopes he looks more sexy than aloof or, worse, starstruck, because it’s turning out to be the kind of situation where he looks like the deranged hyperfan, and not the other way around for once.
To be clear, Charles isn’t a fan of you. He just knows of you, because honestly, who doesn’t at this point? You’re talking on and on about how your latest shoot with Jacquemus was a pain because you shot in a tank top in sub-zero weather, but you express it like it’s the most profound topic on Earth.
Lewis turns to him and, in an (eventually successful) effort to include more of Charles in the conversation, goes, “She’s a big Formula One fan, Charles.”
Okay. Common ground. Charles lifts both brows smugly, his eyes flickering back over to you. “Really?”
You meet his eyes and smile, looking downward and blinking owlishly. You’re so pretty, long lashes fluttering as you blink and try to find an answer. Christ, you’re so painfully his type.
Lewis chimes in again—“Really. And not just because she and I are friends. I mean she was into racing before we got acquainted. Honestly. Quiz her and everything”—then excuses himself to “take a call.” (His phone wasn’t even ringing—total bullshit—but Charles is ultimately grateful for it.)
You make a face of shut up toward the departing Lewis, and Charles exhales a quiet laugh at your defiance. You clear your throat and come up with an answer.
“I’m not a big fan,” you say. “I’m more of a casual, ‘every once in a while’ type of fan.”
“That’s what every big fan of sports says,” Charles says smoothly. 
“Is it?” You ask, cocking your head to the side, making a tch noise. You chuckle before going, “Well, if you insist, I’ll be honest. I didn’t want it to come to this, but okay. I am a fan… of Red Bull.”
Charles fakes extreme offense, his jaw dropping as if totally scandalized. You laugh, throwing two hands up in faux surrender. “Not Red Bull,” he says, his tone making him sound even more devastated. “You’re telling me you—don’t tell me you think Max Verstappen is attractive.”
“I mean, a bit!”
Charles makes sarcastic sounds of disapproval, and you laugh. Charles leans forward, and you do, too, both of you smiling. “So you’re into the angry drivers?”
“I’m not into a specific kind of driver,” you say casually, your tongue peeking out to lick over your bottom lip. Your voice is as soft as it is firm, slow and demure, matching the way your eyes glint. You’re impossibly pretty. He almost can’t handle it.
“So who’s making the cut?” He prompts, interested.
“Well, for starters, drivers who are my age,” you say slowly. “I turned twenty-four this year, so anyone within that bracket.”
“Oh?” Charles pretends to delve into deep thought, teasing. “Maybe Stroll? He’s very funny, speaks good English. You can never really say no to a Canadian.”
Your face warms, and you hope your flustered state isn’t too obvious as you shake your head. “He seems fun, but I prefer somebody a bit… a bit older.”
“Older…” he hums. “Pierre, perhaps? Tad bit older, real charming, great driver. I can introduce you. We’re good friends, you know.”
You click your tongue, smiling shyly. You bite your lip and it takes everything in Charles to not turn on his horny gears when he sees you, big eyes and lip bite, look so pretty. “You tease me,” you say meekly. Charles covers a cough with a chuckle and adjusts his position on the seat.
Later, after Lewis comes back in (“Long call, eh? It was about Roscoe.” Bullshit again) and you all get to order drinks, and you’ve departed in your private car, pressing an air kiss to Lewis and waving goodbye to Charles, he turns to the Mercedes driver and hums.
“Next time you have one of these”—he points to the restaurant, gestures to the front door—“dinners, let me know, okay?”
“Ah.” Lewis winks, smirking. “I’ll be sure to.”
Understandably, your schedules never seem to mesh well together. Lewis ends up giving Charles your number as compensation.
He stares at the contact longer than he’d like to admit, when he’s marinating in the sweltering heat of Austin. He’s finished much of his work for this half of the day so he’s mostly watching the engineers work on the last bits of modification for Sunday; he cherishest the free time and drafts, reads, and rereads texts, scours Google and Instagram for pictures of, and anything related to, you.
There’s a few new articles about buying a new car (a Benz, much to Charles’ chagrin) and new photoshoots intermittently scattered across Europe, with all sorts of brands. He sees a picture you’ve posted of yourself smiling at the camera and thinks of how pretty it would look as his lockscreen. 
Am I seeing you soon? He texts finally. He hopes it’s enough to let you know who he is.
Hopefully is the reply. He smiles the whole day.
You’ve been texting and calling almost everyday, conversations stretching continents. He only sees you next in Mexico, Friday night, at a club Lewis has rented out for a crazy price that will no doubt be replenished in days anyway. He’s dropped to second here, but the thrill riding in him makes up for his disappointment. The place is so crowded—everyone and their mums seem to have been invited here—room blinking purple and blue, each step vibrating with the heavy bass of EDM. He catches you right as you exit the washroom area, and you look pleasantly surprised to see him.
He saw you earlier, when you were doing shots of tequila and chatting with with Bella and Lewis, but just as quickly as he spotted you, you’d dipped back into the sea of people. Now is better, he thinks. You two are alone.
“Charles, hi,” you say casually. You’re wearing a tight top and a short skirt that, despite Charles’ best efforts, always cast his gaze downward. He wonders what’s underneath, hungers to get his hands there. But he’s nothing if he’s not patient, willing to play the long game.
He takes a step forward, his gaze steady on you. Charles isn’t the tallest driver, but he’s got a big presence. You swallow, taking a step back to accommodate him. He smirks. “You look pretty.” 
“You flatter me,” you say thickly, smiling, inviting him closer. The air is hot around the both of you—when your eyes flit around, they see nobody. You’re alone together. His eyes pierce into yours so deep you feel like breaking eye contact, exhaling as you take another step back—evidently, you’re distracted, because you stumble.
His arm circles around your waist, and once you steady, the hand moves down to your hip. It stays, a reminder of what you might be getting soon. You smile curtly, wondering what this might look like to a bystander, a stranger. Somebody might want to piss and walk in to see the strongest world champion contender’s hand on Chanel’s poster girl’s waist.
“Is this okay?” He asks softly against your ear.
“More than.” You say, breath shaky. “It’s more than okay.”
He chuckles. “Good. I’d hate if we couldn’t fuck before Abu Dhabi.”
Your finger traces down and wraps around the belt loop of his jeans. “Who said anything about fucking?”
Charles exhales a laugh, his lips curling upward into an amused smile. “Ah? I can’t fuck you, then?”
“I’ll let you fuck me when you’re holding up the world champion trophy,” you say sweetly, tugging him closer. “That’s okay, right?” You stare up at him, blinking, pouty. He wonders, is this how you might look with your lips wrapped around his—
“That’s about a month away.” His composure barely wavers, his hand traveling lower, blunt nails digging into your ass. Your breath hitches. 
“I’m aware,” you say lowly. So be it, Charles thinks—he’s got thirty-six condoms for a reason.
“Define fuck,” he says, voice rough.
“Penetration.” You’re quick with it, cocking your head to the side. You lean back confidently, testin him, eyes batting flirtatiously. 
It’s time he get a little creative.
Daytime weather is hot and the paddock is swarming with people, but Charles has his sights set on somebody sitting in the Mercedes hospitality. He manages to get out of morning meetings earlier, wedging himself out of the room and passing by a mirror to fix his hair with admirable concentration. He’s in the middle of combing through it when a force tugs at the hem of his polo, causing him to stumble backwards.
“Uh—Carlos? What the hell?” He asks, brow raised defensively. Facing him are Carlos, Joris, and Pierre, arms crossed over their torsos and amused expressions on their faces.
“What are you doing?” Asks Pierre, cocking his head to the side.
“Fixing my hair.” 
“Pussy appointment?” Joris interjects; the vulgarity of his statement earns him a poke on the side from Carlos, who clicks his tongue.
“Wh—I don’t—”
“You are shit at lying, mate,” says Pierre, his lips curled into a devious smile. “Who is it?”
“It’s nobody,” he lies.
“Charles,” says Lewis suddenly from behind them, waving his arms to get the former’s attention, “are you going to go over and say hi?”
Hook, line, and sinker. He’s been caught. “Well, well, well,” Carlos starts, mischievous.
“Guys—” Charles says, attempting to make an excuse.
“Looks like your vow of celibacy isn’t so far off after all,” Pierre adds. “That one over at Mercedes is going to break it, eh?”
“Yeah.” Joris says, smirking.  “Lucky George, huh.”
The three face him, incredulous. “I was kidding,” he fibs, once he realizes his epiphany is wrong. “Kidding.”
Charles walks off, and ends up seeing you right where he expected you, sitting beside Lewis in a tiny dress with your hair pinned up into a bun. Almost naturally, your words fall into the flirtatious back-and-forth you’d started at the dinner, hyperaware of the cameras snapping your pictures. At some point, the Brit excuses himself to “take a call” (again, bullshit) and leaves the two of you alone.
“See anything nice on the paddock?”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” you say with a teasing smile, head cocking to the side to gauge his reaction. He chuckles.
“Did you get a picture with Max?”
“Only a ton.” You pause. “And Daniel, too.”
“Ah, you’re just crushing on the whole paddock, now are you?” He pokes his tongue into his cheek, leans forward.” Uh, Checo?”
“Pass,” you say with a nose scrunch. You’re so fucking pretty.
“Lewis.”
“God, pass. He’s not ugly, but he’s my brother at this point.”
“Pierre.”
“Horribly French, but… smash.”
“Are you not into the French?” He smiles. “Good to know. Hmm—Carlos.”
“I’d be stupid to say anything other than smash.” You narrow your eyes, licking over your lips. “I’m into the Ferrari guys, is the thing.” His gaze travels to your crossed legs, long and disappearing into the hem of your dress.
He smirks. “Are you?”
“I really am,” you hum.
“Are you staying long? All weekend?”
“Yeah, I’m free from work for now,” you say casually. “Any recommendations on what fun things I can do here?”
“I can think of…” he says, smirking a little. “A few.”
Stupid places to have sex, number one: a motorhome.
Still, Charles is crowding you up against the wall of the room, swallowing the whimper that leaves your mouth with his own. And still, this isn’t sex. At least not the kind he wants the most. He mentally praises Carlos for being able to decipher the typo-laden text he’d sent out on the way here, one hand around your waist, the other barely capable of typing with how fast his brain ran. Clesr the fuckng room npw now npw it read. Thank God.
Your mouth tastes like champagne, and everywhere else smells divine. Your hands roam impatiently over his shoulders and you make muted noises of frustration at your inability to pull his shirt off. You settle for letting your hands crawl underneath it, stroking over his abs.
“D’you remember what I told you,” you pant, his lips insistent on your neck, “at the club?”
“Yeah,” he says, grunting at the memory.
“Okay.” You breathe. “Let me suck you off.”
“Fuck,” he groans. “Jesus. Okay. Fuck.”
You giggle, and he watches intently as you drop onto your knees, looking up at him through thick lashes. You’re insistent, pulling the zip of his jeans down and tugging his cock out. It’s pretty, thick like the rest of him, already hard. 
He’s at his limit, having you here like this, on you knees and stretching your lips around the tip of his dick. Your eyes barely leave his, fluttering as they tear up when you take him in your throat.
He throws his head back, squeezes his eyes shut, lets a hand unpin your bun and thread itself into the untangled hair. If he looks at you, he’ll see your head bobbing up and down on his cock, and he genuinely needs to hold off the orgasm first.
He rocks forward into your mouth and feels your throat close up around him. That’s enough to weaken his resolve, send grunts out of his throat that he can’t keep quiet.
“Oh, shit,” he says, feeling every part of your mouth and throat around him, warm and tense. He can’t help but thrust harder, steady but not too rough, growing more aroused with every sound of you choking on him.
His gaze flickers toward you. You’re teary-eyed, lips dotted with spit, choking yourself on his cock. Just for him, here in public. You pull off, blinking tears away from your face and looking up at him smilingly.
He laughs, guiding his cock back into your mouth, watching the way your brows knit together, pleading, almost. You're at his mercy, he thinks, thrusting harder, listening to your coughs. He loves seeing you like this, innocent face messy and slick with spit and precum, eyes big and needy.
“You like that?” He grunts. “Look at me.”
You nod the best you can. Yes, you want to say. Give me more, I love it.
“Yeaaah, fuck. I know you do,” he says through his teeth, staving off his orgasm the best he can before he releases all over you. The image alone of streaking you with his cum, claiming you all over-eyelashes, tits, cheeks splashed with cum-is enough to send him closer to the edge. “Gonna cum,” he grunts.
You moan around him, the vibrations causing his eyelids to flutter. You shake your head, pulling off and wrapping your hand around his dick, stroking slower. “Not yet,” you say sweetly, watching him throw his head back in pleasure and frustration. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, exhales shakily.
“Shit.” He whines. “Come on, baby. Make me cum.” He cups your jaw, stares down at you.
You stroke him faster, lip between your teeth. “Okay,” you say with a smile. “Cum for me, Charles.”
He stops staving himself off, falls into the pleasure and relief of your hand around his cock until he’s tense all over, knitting his hand into your hair and pushing you backwards so he can press his tip on the flat expanse of your tongue and let his cum shoot there. It drips from your tongue and lips onto your chin and you giggle, swallowing it, scooping up the rest to push into your mouth.
You stand, licking your lips slowly. “I owe you,” he pants, zipping himself up. Already he’s thinking about what he can do to you in return. Tease you, like you did him, bend you over his lap or sit you on it and make you whine and writhe and wait and cum. 
“I’ll hold you to that, champion,” you murmur, kissing his cheek and slipping back outside.
Ferrari’s advice is shit and despite his good mood and quick-witted driving, Charles finishes in fifth—not too shabby, but disastrous for his overall standings.
He suffers through a horrible debrief where attempts to defend his honor go unheard, his mood wilting and wilting until he’s at the media pen and ushered in front of some network he hasn’t heard of. They’ve probably paid to get a good seat here.
He’s in a shit mood, he hasn’t seen Joris or Pierre or you in hours, and has only faced red-faced frustrated superiors and now, wide-eyed journalists with loose mouths. The media’s done the mandatory speculation between the two of you, so he already expects questions of that variety, but it’s still hot and angry when he does.
Are you banging the Marc Jacobs model? The Irish reporter asks with a wink, so very unprofessional and not at all belonging to reputable media. The hot leggy one who has fuck me eyes?
Charles clenches his jaw, rolls his eyes, says fuck off mate and shoves him backward a little, then walks away and readjusts his cap. The clip makes Twitter and he feels even worse with the amount of troll accounts telling him to Jeez, take a joke.
After the ordeal, in your hotel room, you sigh softly and run your hands through his still shampoo-smelling hair. “You didn’t need to do that,” you say, a bit strictly. He knows you’re grateful, though, and a bit proud.
“I wanted to,” he insists softly. He forgets to leave before morning; when he does, he forgets his official Ferrari shirt hanging on the seat, leaving in a spare one instead. It’s got his number across the back. You don’t tell him.
In between Mexico and Sao Paulo, he manages to catch a flight to New York to peek into one of your photoshoots. It’s for Chanel and he’s half-sure he’s taken more pictures of you than the official photographer did. At this point your vague relationship status has caught onto headlines everywhere, and he doesn’t miss the curious murmurs from paparazzo that follow him as he enters your apartment later to greet you.
You’re in a pair of shorts and a tank top when you open the door, greeting him with a tight hug and leading him inside with a loose grip.
“Wine?”
“Please.” He eyes the wide area, the big floor-to-ceiling windows and the art on the walls. “Hungry?”
“Mmm.” You hum, sliding a glass toward him. “Starving.”
“Pizza?”
“Something else.” You smile. He tears his eyes away from your tits, poking out of the thin cotton, and coughs.
The both of you end up on the couch, your legs draped over his as you talk about racing.
He’s ranting about how he’s neck to neck with Max now, and the final verdict will likely be decided at Abu Dhabi, a fact that sends nerves all through him. You’re listening, you really are, but it’s difficult to keep listening because his hand, big and rough, is stroking your bare calf as he talks absentmindedly. 
You offer the occasional mmm-hmm and uh-huh and even the oh really to sell it, but he doesn’t seem to be conscious of how many sparks are coursing through you because of his hand on your leg. He just talks and talks, accent curving into curse words elicited by the competition.
And his voice, rough and deeper when he slides into Italian phrases, gets in your head, reminds you of the way he’d moaned when you had his dick in your mouth. You like that? he’d said, panting, heavy, hot. His hand remained in your hair, controlling you the same way you did him. Fuck.
When you blink, he’s stopped talking, and has likely noticed your wandering imagination if his teasing smile is anything to go by. You cough, clear your throat, adjust your thighs. You’re thinking—you can’t stop thinking—about what happened in Mexico, not just in the motorhome but in the club where he’d let his hand sprawl over your ass and stay there, possessive.
The tension rises. I owe you. He really does. You reach over and grab your phone from the coffee table, snap a few pictures of him. “—Hey!” He protests, scrabbling to grab it from you while balancing his half-full glass. “I look god awful.”
You stand up, review the picture. He looks so impossibly handsome. “You’re right, you do,” you say, pouting. 
He reaches over again, chuckling, and you avoid him. “Foul play!”
“Tch. At least show it to me,” he says defeatedly, so you do: presenting your screen to him.
Quickly, he makes a grab for it, but you just escape his grip, ending up right in front of him and leaning over. You’re losing your balance, digging your toes into your carpet to maintain stance. He spares a glance at your shorts, riding low on your hips, showing a bit of thin lace.
Charles tugs you forward by the hem of your top and then takes your wrist into his grip—the force of his grab makes your tits shake underneath your flimsy tank top. It’s dragged down so far your tits are spilling out. His eyes flicker down to them, dark, and a pretty smile spreads across his face.
“Come on, give it,” he challenges, eyes narrowing a little. You bite your lip, inwardly liking this a little too much—being at his mercy, trapped in his strong grip. You’re flustered and it shows.
He wrestles you onto his lap with ease, his arms steady around you. You stare downwards, dark eyes meeting his, hand on his broad shoulder for leverage. He’s so pretty, you think, so hot and handsome and you need him right now. Through his jeans you can feel how thick he is, his dick growing, getting hard and huge under you. It feels big even through a few layers—you can’t help but imagine how it might feel inside you.
Your phone clatters to the carpet behind the couch. “I win,” you say breathlessly.
He grabs your hips and jerks his upward, letting his stiff dick press up even more against your shorts.
“I think I’m the winner here,” he says gruffly, hands feeling you up all over. He thumbs at your chest, rubbing over your tits. You shiver—it feels good having him on you like this, your mind turning to mush.
“Shut up,” you laugh, shakily. A hand wanders in between your thighs, another coming to squeeze your barely-covered ass. You can’t focus on much, just his hands roaming everywhere and his hard dick pressing against your core. He shoves your hips downward again, his cock hard and perfectly against your pussy.
“You feel that?” He asks; it leaves him in one low breath.  
“Yeah,” you say, whimpering. “I want it.”
He grinds up against you again, his thumb teasing the hem of your shorts. Closer to where you want it. “Don’t think you could even take it, baby.”
“I hate you,” you say. “You know I can.”
He laughs. “We’ll see, yeah?” You find a rhythm of grinding down against his cock, nestled right against your ass. He’s everywhere and you can’t handle it anymore, finding yourself craving him more and more.
You moan against his neck—and then come to your senses. “No.”
He smirks when you pull away. “Tempted, were you?”
“Not…” You pause. You’re sweaty, flushed all over, and your panties are sticking to you from how wet you’ve grown. “Not very.”
Abu Dhabi is a son of a bitch.
It comes with meetings, meetings, debriefs, calls, meetings. Everything is riding on the night’s race, the flurry of social media a welcome source of anxiety for him as he watches the hours whiz by. You’d missed seeing him, understood he was busy; you send a selfie to compensate and it gets him calm enough to last the pre-race buzz.
Time speeds by with lunch, coaching, drills, talks with Carlos and Mattia and even Max, who displays support as strongly as competitiveness. Before he even realizes it, he blinks and he’s in his suit, adjusting his balaclava, inhaling, exhaling. Everything is just the way he likes—needs—it to be.
He drives himself to P2 behind Max, eyes shut.
All else seeps into him, natural method, natural routine. He flexes his thumbs. Through the team radio his engineer goes good luck, and Charles’ practice bleeds into his subconscious. The air is heavy, with tension and excitement, the division of blue and red. Everyone’s eager to see who claims the title. 
The lights go off and everything is left to skill, blurring into noise and turns and expletives yelled into the team radio. He can’t even feel himself think, turning with dexterity and overtaking with the kind of vengeance he hasn’t let out in a while. 
For all his trying, Max keeps up just the same, keeping a neck and neck level for the relative entirety of the race. They’re milking out the last few laps together, and Charles feels every fibre of his being work toward this, just this, nothing but this right now. Nothing but the finish line.
You got this, Charles, says the engineer, voice heightening. Maiden world championship.
He nods to himself, trusts his instincts and when he catches sight of the finish line, he thinks: he’s the best driver on the grid.
So he revs faster, and the rest descends into—
Absolute fucking chaos.
He’s smiling when he approaches the reporter, who’s already holding the mic with wonder. He asks for a message in Italian, then reminds him—and the crowd—that, in case he forgot, he’s world champion. Charles thinks he genuinely can’t ever.
“What are you doing to celebrate?” He asks then, smiling.
Sweaty, with damp hair and shiny skin, he smirks and leans closer. “Someone, I hope.”
“Hey there, champ.”
You’re already leaning against his hotel room door when he gets there, after the chore of wrestling himself free from the rest of the team pressuring him to get drinks. Carlos helps out, babbles something or other about Charles being “busy with something else”—which isn't wrong, not at all. He offers a smooth wink, bending down to kiss you.
Your mouths meet, softly first then increasingly messy as he pins you against the door. You push away, breathing heavy. “I don’t know what you’re into, but I don't want the top floor of this hotel seeing us fucking.”
“I wasn’t into that, but now that you brought it up…” You swat his arm and he laughs, unlocking the door and pulling you inside. You’re clinging onto him—his arms, his chest, anything, kissing up his neck and jaw. He groans at how needy you are. All for him, he thinks. Probably soaked through your panties and it’s all because of him.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he says gently, voice low as he leads you to the bed. He catches sight of your shirt and a brow raises. “Did you buy that?”
“Hmm?” You look down, following his gaze and blinking. The shirt you’re wearing is loose, hanging off your shoulders and hastily tucked into your miniskirt so it looks like you actually have trousers on. “Oh. No, this is yours.”
“Mine.” He smiles a little. “You look so good in it, princess.” His hands mindlessly grope at you, hungry, sneaking underneath your skirt to feel at the lace there. 
In retaliation, you lean forward, unbutton his jeans and tug at it.
“You left it at one of my”—you gasp, feeling his finger sneak its way beneath your panties—“my hotel rooms.”
“Pretty girl, pretty shirt, pretty lace, yeah?” He tugs, lets the garter of the skirt loosen and fall off your hips on its own. “Red.”
“You take too long,” you groan.
“You’re just eager,” he laughs, thumbing at your clothed cunt.
You’re so wet, evident even in the lazy circles he rubs over your entrance. You’re aching, desperate, begging almost. So he gives you what you want, maneuvers you onto his lap and pushes your (his) shirt up to stuff your mouth with it.
It won’t work for long, but it’s enough. He pushes your panties to the side and pulls his hard dick out. You’re sitting against it now, leaking slick onto it, at his mercy, branding his name and his number across your back. It’s hot. 
He stares at the way you rock softly against him, hungry eyes meeting yours. “You’re so pretty, baby. Ruined.”
“Fuck me already,” you say, voice throaty, innocent.
“Can you take it?” He asks, teasing you, slapping his dick against your clit softly. You whine.
“Please,” you insist. “I want it. Make it fit.”
He’s a massive tease with it, his breath fanning against your skin, hands sticky on where they’ve hiked your shirt up. He lowers you, slower, against the tip of his dick and he watches your eyes flutter when you sink onto it. After ages of waiting. Your grip’s like iron on his shoulders, moans leaving you in quiet bursts of pleasure. 
You’re far away, dumb from the feeling, you barely register the way he shoves the shirt back into your mouth to keep you quiet. “So fucking tight, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you say. It’s muffled, barely intelligible. “For you.”
You’re only able to take it because you’re so wet, so turned on, face and brain filled with nothing but pleasure. He can’t take it.
“Mmmfh,” you say, muffled by the bite of cotton in your mouth. You’re sweaty, flushed, overstimulated—you don’t know where to focus. On his lips against your jaw, his hand on your neck, the way your pussy swallows his aching dick. “It’s so big, I—”
“You okay?” He asks, breathily. Smiling. He’s in control, but still he sounds whiny—almost, if not as desperate as you. “You’ll take it all for me, won’t you?” 
“Oh god,” is all you muster, letting him stretch you out even more, gushing all over his cock. “I, I—”
He moans, his grip tight against your waist, watching his dick bury itself in you. “You’re getting me so full,” you whine. “So deep, I feel it—” you taper off into a moan again when he presses hs thumb to your clit, distracting you from the stretch as he finally, finally bottoms out.
“Good?”
You nod. So good, give me more.
You grind against him, let the shirt fall out of your mouth. “You’re getting my dick so wet,” he comments, breathless. “So pretty for me, too.”
Growing antsy, he attempts to move, but you whine. Your turn to tease, you think, after he was a dick to you just now. “Not yet,” you say, lip caught between your teeth. His hands are tight around your waist. Desperate.
You squeeze around him, watch his brows knit together, a grunt leave him in a frustrated exhale. “You wanna fuck me?” You tease against his neck, blinking innocently.
“Yes,” he replies, not missing a beat. You pout, like you’re empathizing with the problem you’re causing; you grind slowly against him and he lets out a guttural fuuuuck. He’s so big, so hard—you can feel every inch of him inside you.
“Tell me again, Charles,” you say with a giggle. You’re so hot like this, face flushed and timid, hips moving slowly. He could cum just from the way you bite your lip, the way a whimper slips out of you when he hits the right spot.
“—Yeah,” he says, sweetly. “I want to—please, let me fuck you. C’mon, baby, can I?”
“Aww,” you tease. 
“Can I?” He asks again, voice deep and thin with the need to fuck you, thrust up into you and make you the dumb one. His face is flushed and desperate. “Can I move, baby? Let me, please.”
You’re not stupid. You know—if his flushed, pleading face and big green puppy eyes are anything to go by—that he’s going crazy, growing antsy. But you’re not complaining.
“Hmm,” you say, feigning genuine thought. “I don’t know, Charles. Feels good just like this. And you want to make me feel good, yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says.
“Yeah.” You repeat, staring into his dark eyes. He’s frustrated, desperate, flushed all over and sweaty. His fingers dig into your hips. “I’ll make you feel really good, baby, if you let me.”
“Go ahead,” you say softly, “fuck me, please.” And he’s thrusting upwards to meet you halfway. It’s knocking you out, almost, the pleasure of it, the dizzy onslaught of euphoria. He’s stretching you out so well, whining softly into your neck and yeah, you two have waited far too long to have this. You 
“Fuck,” he grunts, lids squeezed shut and head rolled onto your shoulder. “Go on, baby, ride it, make me cum.” He cups your jaw, reaches his thumb into your mouth. It’s too much, all of it. He makes you suck on it while thrusting up, dizzying you with his cock.
He grabs handfuls of your ass, teases his thumb at your tighter asshole just to watch your eyes flutter, feel your cunt grow wetter. “I’ll fuck you even fuller next time,” he says; the implication gets you hot.
You bounce harder, chasing release as his thumb teases over your ass, the tip of it just thrusting in enough to elicit strings of moans out of you. “Come on, ride me,” he goads. “So good for me.”
“Fuck,” you pant, “cum in me, please.”
You cum first, writhing around him and riding your orgasm out in lazy grinds over his hard cock. You want to see him cum, see his eyebrows knit and his mouth release pretty whines, feel him claim you inside, hands hot and heavy on your ass. He does, with a guttural fuuuuck, shoving his dick up in you to the base and spurting all his cum in you.
He thrusts, watches his cum leak out of you, fucks it back in, in a vicious cycle. You shiver, blinking coquettishly and watching along—and then you’re both crumpling over each other on the bed behind you. You pant heavily against his chest.
“Hey.” He muses out loud, drumming against your skin.
“Yeah?”
“I have thirty-six condoms we need to go through. Wanna go on a date?”
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redwinterroses · 7 months
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It's not like it's hard to get Tango taking about Decked Out, but buy him a couple of potions in the museum speakeasy and he gets downright confessional.
Grian leans across the stat poker table, his wings rustling eagerly. "Truth or dare, Tango," he says. "Is Decked Out... alive?"
“Aren’t I supposed to pick truth or dare before you ask the question?” Tango tosses back another potion and gives the group a half-smirk.
“We all know you’re going to pick truth because you’re too particled to get up.” Etho’s face is obscured, but they can hear the laugh in his voice and see his fox ears twitch with amusement. “So spill.”
Tango shrugs. "Well," he says, "It's not exactly not NOT alive, if you know what I mean."
Grian glances at Doc on his right and Etho on his left. They shrug at him.
"Yeah, no," he says, looking back at Tango. "I don't think we know what that means."
"Is it like that Grumbot robot that Mumbo and Grian built?" Doc asks, scratching thoughtfully at his chin, his blunt black claws scritching loudly against the stubble of his beard. Grian tries to catch a peek at his stat tokens and gives a sheepish grin when Doc notices and quickly angles them away.
"Hey, now," Doc starts to say, but Tango interrupts.
"Nah, no -- I mean, Grumbot was pretty... Simple. No offense."
"None taken." Grian pulls a token from his stack. "Number of villagers traded with," he offers. "And I'll up the ante to three diamond blocks, gentlemen."
Tango lays down his own token, and taps a finger on it in an aimless rhythm. “The dungeon is… aware,” he says. “Not alive, I guess, but it knows things. It recognizes people.”
“I’ve noticed,” Etho says dryly. “That place hates me.”
They all laugh, but Tango shakes his head. “Does it hate you?” he asks and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Or does it want to impress you?”
“Oh, I’m impressed enough.” Etho drops his stat token on the table with a soft click. “So it can stop glitching and trying to kill me now.”
“Aww, you’re just playing hard to get.”
Doc lays his tokens down on the table and stands. “I will sit out this round, I think,” he says. “I have done almost nothing with villagers this season. Will anyone have more to drink?”
“I’m not playing hard to get!” Etho protested, ears lying flat. “If anything, I’m playing easy to get – I just walk right in there!”
“You heard it first here, folks,” Tango says. “Etho’s easy.”
He ducks, but not in time to dodge the rolled-up napkin Etho chucks at his face. It lands in his hair and goes up in a miniature whump of flame.
Grian snickers, waving away smoke.
“So if the dungeon’s not alive, but it’s not quite not alive,” he says. “How does one maybe go about… making friends with it?”
“That,” Doc says, thunking a fresh bottle of Cub’s custom-mixed potion onto the table. “Is cheating, you pesky bird. No flirting with the possibly-not-not-alive dungeon.”
“You’re telling me you’re above flirting for a few extra keys and crowns, Doc?” Tango asks with teasing skepticism.
Doc sniffs, flipping the cork from his bottle with his thumb. “I don’t need flirting,” he says dismissively. “I have skills. Game strategies, man.”
“He’s already planning how to get the dungeon’s attention.” Etho flips his token over, exposing the total. “Aren’t’cha, Doc.”
Doc tips back his drink and shrugged. “Eh… that is for me to know, and you to worry about.” He winks.
“Tango, what’s your total there?” Grian fiddles with his token.
“Well, I know it’s higher than old three-digit Minecraft master over here.” Tango holds up his token and pinches it between his fingers. “Under three hundred, Etho? What’ve you been doing all season?”
“Not hiding out in a hole for thirteen months,” Etho grumbles good-naturedly, pushing his diamonds into the center of the table.
“Yeah, well, that’s what I have been doing and look at that stat.” Tango displays the count. “Seven k, baby – read ‘em and weep.”
Grian makes an exaggerated sad face that immediately morphs into a triumphant grin. “Rookie numbers, fellas,” he crows. “Try over twelve thousand.”
Tango groans and rolls his diamonds toward Grian with a grimace. “Yeah,” he says. “Definitely not telling you how to flimflam my dungeon, you shyster.”
“Tango, I’m hurt.” Grian, entirely unbothered and very un-hurt looking, scoops the pile of diamonds into his pouch. “My stats are all ethically earned.”
“And that’s how your dungeon runs will be too.” Tango stashes his tokens and stands. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure. Mostly.”
“Back to your cave, Tango?” Etho doesn’t stand, but his bushy white tail wags a little in barely-contained excitement. “So, Decked Out will be open again… soon?”
“You bet your foxy good looks,” Tango says. “Or… maybe don’t. Not with those stats.”
This time he does duck the thrown napkin.
He exits through the museum, the laughter of his friends fading behind him as he steps out into the cool afternoon air. For a moment, he stretches, shaking out his elytra and clearing his head a bit of the potion particles.
Is Decked Out alive?
Tango grins, sharp teeth glinting. Of course the dungeon’s alive, who’s he kidding? And she’s hungry, too, he can feel it even from here. His friends should just be grateful he’s only ever built friendly monsters that want to devour them.
“On my way,” he mutters to himself. Or the dungeon. “And Etho’ll be coming over soon too.”
He feels the dungeon’s excitement.
“Oh…you’ve gotta be kidding me.” Tango launches himself in the air and spirals over the shopping district, angling toward Decked Out and laughing so loudly the sound bounces off the buildings below.
His dungeon totally has a crush on Etho.
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Rainy Season - Part 3
Storm Warning
Azriel Eris x Reader
We’ve got a time jump and are swapping points of view for this chapter y’all.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 4
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3 months later
Eris Vanserra hated the Summer Court. The humidity anywhere outside of the temperature regulated zones of Adriata, the way his hair clung to his forehead and caused curls to form in his otherwise immaculate hair, but most of all it was just insulting to be so bothered by the heat itself when he quite literally had fire in his veins. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
Tarquin strode alongside Eris through the open air lower levels of his keep, three of his guards and two of Eris’ own flanking them several feet behind, one could almost forget they were there if not for the “click clack” of feet echoing through the halls. Eris would be lying if he said he didn’t have to try very hard to focus on the mundane talk of trade routes and port authorities instead of getting lost to the sounds of crashing waves and gulls outside.
Tarquin broached the riveting subject of tariffs on imports from the continent as the first rumble of thunder boomed in the distance. Now that - Eris enjoyed that aspect of the court. Autumn had no shortage of rain but the turbulence of storms often mirrored his own inner peril - made him feel less alone in the world. And truthfully, there was nothing like taking cover from the rain and listening to the rumble outside, watching the lightning dance across the skies as the loud cracks of thunder commanded the attention of anyone within earshot.
“Have your people felt the same effects, High Lord?” Tarquin broke Eris from yet another drift of his thoughts. He really should have brought a secretary or advisor along for this meeting.
Sparing Eris from the embarrassment of asking Tarquin to repeat his last three minutes of speech a cry broke through the hall. The battle cry of a…. Child?
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Followed by a yelp of “ow!”
Eris’ head jerked as he found himself drifting toward the action.
Turning a corner he found a woman laying on the ground, curled into a ball - a child of no more than 10 with a large jagged stick standing over her with his chest puffed out, pure smug joy on his face.
Eris looked to Tarquin who only grinned with satisfaction. Eris gaped before Tarquin quietly whispered, “just watch.”
The woman didn’t move. The child’s look of satisfaction slowly turning to that of concern as she lay there. He bent over the woman placing a hand on her shoulder, his brows knit together. “Lady L/N?”
So focused on the woman on the ground before him, the boy didn’t notice her arm slowly sneak around him and “Oof!” The kid let out a startled breath as she grabbed his ankle, ripping it out from beneath him, effectively leaving the child on his behind.
The female lept up into a crouching position. Her tanned, muscled thighs pushing her up to stand effortlessly. “And that, little ones, is why you never let your guard down with an adversary.”
Eris turned, wondering how he could have missed the group of children sitting on the other end of the room watching the scene unfold.
The boy remained on his behind, hands resting on his forehead in defeat.
“Hey-“ She reached a hand out to help him up. “You did a great job. You quite literally swept me off my feet! Nobody has done that in quite some time.” She paused, sadness twisting her features as if her own words struck her before shifting back to that of a proud instructor. “In fact - I have something for you.”
She reached into the pocket of her calf-length, flowy pants and reaching handing him a shell. “Add this to your leather strap.” She tapped a leather bracelet on his wrist, one shell already strung on it. “You did great, kid.” The boy gave her a genuine smile as he returned to the rest of his classmates.
Eris shifted involuntarily. How much had he wished for someone to say those words to him when he was a child?
Tarquin chuckled “An excellent motivator. Shells. Who knew?”
Eris gave a small smile - brief but genuine before adjusting back into his usual mask. The instructor turned to face them and cauldron damn him if she wasn’t the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. Radiant skin that came from plenty of time in the sun, silky hair that practically begged to have fingers run through it, a soft and curvy yet toned build. A body that told him she indulged herself in what she enjoyed but was active enough to define her plush features, likely blessed with great genetics - lithe yet perfectly squeezable in all his favorite places.
“High Lord.” Her voice carried to him like an ocean breeze. She bowed her head in a respectful greeting, long lashes fluttering. “How may I be of service?”
“Lady L/N,” Tarquin beamed. “It’s a pleasure to introduce you to Eris Vanserra, High Lord of the Autumn Court.”
Her brow puzzled for a brief moment before bowing her head again. “It’s an honor to meet you, High Lord.”
“A pleasure to meet you as well, lady.” Eris replied sincerely, meeting her bright eyes. “I didn’t realize Tarquin was hoarding such beauty within his keep.”
“We have many treasures in our court, High Lord. She is one of our brightest.”
Rather than blushing, the female held her head high, giving a polite “Thank you, High Lord.”
“We must be getting to lunch now. Have a pleasant rest of your class, Lady L/N.” He turned to the children with a stern look “And children, behave for her.” following the reminder with a smile and cheeky wink.
—————
It was hours later that Eris was released from meetings for the day. Unfortunately, there was still more to be discussed that would have to wait for tomorrow. Making the way to his guest suite, Eris found himself wondering about the instructor from earlier. Something about her felt vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place it.
After changing out of his stuffy clothes into something more befitting of the climate, Eris paced his room. He’d forgotten how much longer daylight lasted here than in his own court, with several hours remaining before dusk. He supposed he could brave the heat and take a stroll through the palace grounds, preferably without his entourage of guards.
Relieving the pair from their duties, Eris wandered through the gardens and toward a small grove of trees on the other side of the palace grounds. He could hear running water from a garden tributary that likely connected into the river that emptied into Adriata’s harbor.
Sauntering through the grove, he was pleased to find reprieve from the heat, the cool air wafting off of the stream and shade from the trees turning the grove into a private oasis. It wasn’t particularly trekked through. “Finally.” he thought to himself. A moment of peace.
Situating himself on an iron bench, Eris looked up, only to find that through a thicket of cattails, Lady L/N was standing on a rock upstream, eyes closed and balancing on one leg. Given her steady, intentional breathing he supposed she was meditating. It was odd - seeing her like this - strangely intimate to see someone in such an isolated state of catharsis, unaware of his own presence before her. The sun rays shone through cracks in the leaves, shrouding her in tiny fragments of light that made her tanned skin near golden. Her hair was wind blown from the breeze winding through the grove off the ocean, and she’d changed into a thin cotton sundress. Gods, maybe the Summer Court wasn’t so bad after all. The way it effortlessly flowed over her body perfectly accentuating her ample curves, and those tanned, toned legs - yeah, he should probably leave.
After momentary internal warring he began to stand but before he could sneak off, she gasped. Clutching her arms to her rib cage. “MOTHER FUCKER!” she screamed. Vulgar words coming from such a pretty mouth.
What an interesting method of meditation.
She took several breaths before resuming her position. Another minute went by when she audibly growled. “Bastard!!” She clutched herself again, keeling over. Finally she sat down on the rock, the hem of her dress soaking in the stream’s rippling water, and pressed her head into her hands. Eris thought she was crying.
He really should leave but - memories of his mother crying over the years flashed into his mind. All the years that she only had he or Lucien to console her, kindered spirits brought together by Beron’s casual cruelty. His other brothers being the emotionally void carbon copies of their father they were, paid no mind to their mother’s plight.
Yet still, he didn’t know her. She didn’t know him. She likely didn’t want him bothering her.
Against his better judgement, he found himself drawn in by her familiarity and approached. As he drew closer, he realized her sobs were not sobs at all. She was muttering the raunchiest, most vile slew of curses that he’d ever heard. Lucien would enjoy this female.
As he approached, she jerked her head up. The lovely, collected face from earlier twisted into one of contempt. He wondered if she knew that, that face was, well, adorable like a fierce little kitten. Although, something told him to tread carefully. She may look adorable but he’d bet good coin that her bite matched that of a lions.
“What do you want?” She spat.
Eris only smirked. “And here I thought you were a lady.”
Baiting her. Genius idea, Eris.
“Only within the palace.”
“You’re still on palace grounds.” Shrugging with the statement, Eris put his hands in his pockets - damn these Summer Court linens really were comfortable.
“Well, I was alone until you intruded.” she murmured, not meeting his eyes.
“Did you win Tarquin’s good graces with such manners?”
Her expression filled with ire as she looked up at him. “Did you take your throne by being such a prick?”
Eris couldn’t help but laugh at her bravado. This female either REALLY didn’t like him or truly didn’t care about consequences. “Ah, so you do know who I am.”
“You’re a High Lord. Of course I know-“
Her words cut off as she clutched her ribs again, tighter this time. A shudder escaping her. This time the pain seemed to last longer. And this time he could have sworn her voice cracked as she swore.
“Hey” Eris stepped into the creek, not bothering to step out of his sandals. Before he could hesitate he crouched down before her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe.”
The thing was, he recognized that pain well. It has been centuries but damn he remembered it so clearly.
“Breathe through it. Think of something that makes you smile.”
She clutched herself harder, shaking her head. “Think of the look on your student’s face when you gave him that shell today.”
She breathed in deeply this time instead of letting out another curse.
“Good. Hold for three beats.”
“Now let the breath out.”
She breathed out. “In again.” He instructed. She followed suit. “Now out.”
As her breath steadied, she met his eyes - momentarily soft, a little broken, before ire crossed them again.
“For fucks sake, High Lord.” She spat. “I came here to meditate. I know how to breathe.”
She sure as shit seemed to have forgotten how to for a moment there, but he kept that to himself.
He only let out a soft laugh.
“There she is.”
She scowled in return.
“So, Lady L/N” he began, standing and extending a hand to help her up.
“Y/N.” She interjected, taking his hand. “Call me Y/N.”
Y/N. Fitting, he thought. The kind of name a tropical storm would be given.
Wait. Y/N L/N. Oh, he knew exactly why she was so familiar now. No wonder she’d given him that puzzled look in the palace. And, if Eris recalled correctly, his brother actually was rather fond of her - in a friendly and platonic sort of way. Though in his tales of the Night Court he’d certainly never mentioned the fact that she looked like a gods damned deity.
He led her out of the creek, not quite ready to drop her delicate hand. “So, Y/N, tell me about this idiot mate that let the Summer Court’s brightest treasure go.”
She gaped, jaw dropping into a look of genuine shock. “How-“
“I had one too. I believe you know her.”
—————
Eris and Y/N spent hours talking in the grove. He gave her all the details of his mate, Morrigan. How it killed him to leave her that fated day. Had he touched her, his mate, Beron would have claimed her as Autumn Court property requiring a Blood Duel for the Night Court to retrieve her. Though, Beron would have ensured she never left unharmed. That aside, Eris didn’t want that blood on her hands, the blood of a blood duel or any battles over her. He didn’t want it on his hands either. It killed him to feel her pain down the bond starting from their forced engagement and through the torture her father had inflicted upon her, and the trauma that lingered thereafter. The gut-wrenching, immobilizing pain that only a mate could feel shooting through to them.
He never wanted her to feel that pain. If it hurt him that badly to only feel it down the bond, he couldn’t imagine the strife she’d felt. He wanted to run to her, to comfort her, to tell her everything he couldn’t risk saying. He was too young to face the ramifications from his father and he had his mother and Lucien to protect in those days. So he protected her in the only way he knew how to at the time. Through cold, calculated indifference. He still regretted it.
As time went on, the mask he wore became heavier and heavier, burying that bond deeper within himself. It took him until after the war with Hybern to finally lay it all out to her. Y/N never knew any of that part of the story. She knew Mor and Eris had made amends but nothing of their bond, and she knew that Mor was happily committed to Emerie, an Illyrian female now. He was happy for his mate, as happy as a rejected mate could be.
Eris never claimed to have been in the right. In fact, what he did to Mor was wrong. The way he spoke to her as if she was no more than a common whore when facing her in front of his father at the High Lord’s meeting. Yes, it was an act but it was never okay. He’d live with that for the rest of his days. His apologies to her since never felt like enough.
Y/N empathized with Eris. He could see that she was torn but her gaze toward him softened although, never into that of pity. He liked that about her.
She shared the story of her mating bond with Azriel. And how the waves of anger and grief down the bond had increased in strength recently as she had continued healing. She laughed bitterly at the typical trajectory of females in her situation getting better over time while unfaithful males seemed to spiral as it went on. She didn’t say who he had cheated on her with but Eris had his suspicions. The Shadowsinger apparently had a thing for Vanserra mates. She laughed and cried over the hours they talked. They’d eventually ended up back in a palace seating area for a drink.
Eris hadn’t been so open with someone like this in so long that it felt foreign. Hell, opening up always felt unnatural for him. Perhaps he was stupid for sharing with her. After all, mating bonds could make people do crazy things. She could always take Azriel back and share the details of his little sob stories with the Night Court.
She’d occasionally let out a sharp breath as small jolts of emotion came rolling in. It was nearing dusk when she finally huffed, slapping her hands on her thighs saying, “Enough! This tea is weak. I need something stronger.” Pouring them each a glass of brandy, and another, and another.
As the conversation shifted from the heavier topics to lighter ones, Eris let it slip that he wasn’t fond of the summer court and found all of the sand and humidity to be unpleasant at best.
Her inhibitions were down and if Eris were being honest with himself, his were too. He hadn’t drank much since becoming a High Lord though he often felt the need for a stiff drink. No, there was too much work to be done and he was still getting his own inner circle acclimated. Trust was harder to give in the Autumn Court, especially after being under his father’s rule for so long. There were plenty of good people in the castle but just as many were corrupted under Beron’s rule. Weeding them out was consuming more of his time than anticipated.
Somehow, after their fourth drink, Y/N dragged him out onto the beach, determined to show him all the merits of the crusty, sand-infested shores.
Admittedly, her joy was contagious but he was going to make her work for any positive reaction.
“Okay!” She eagerly squealed. “First - sand castles! Have you ever built one?”
“I live in a castle.” Eris feigned boredom, inspecting his nails. “It seems unnecessary to build one out of… that.” his nose scrunched up, lip curling into a sneer as he gestured to the sand surrounding them.
“Ughhh.” Her eyes rolled back into her head as her little sun dress blew in the wind. And damn if he wouldn’t love to see her eyes going back into her head like that in other circumstances.
He was a gentlemale but a male nevertheless.
“Being High Lord doesn’t mean you have to be such a bore, but fine… No sand castles. Maybe next time!”
Next time. He liked the thought of that. My how far she’d come from practically snarling at him just this morning.
“Look!” She squealed, bringing her hands to her chest and clapping with excitement. “Dolphins! Now I know you don’t have those in the Autumn Court, Eris Vanserra.”
Fuck, his name sounded so good coming off of her lips.
He couldn’t resist smiling at her enthusiasm and then at the dolphins. They swam so peacefully in a pod through the harbor. One even let a young water wraith trail alongside it as a hand carefully gripped onto its dorsal fin as the creature pulled her along.
“The wraiths and dolphins coexist well together.” Y/N mused wistfully. “There’s a common misconception that they are territorial due to food supply but they have plenty in the harbor.”
She smiled softly. “The younger wraiths tend to bond with them and the dolphins have even been known to protect them from certain dangers.”
As the pair continued walking along the shore, the conversation occasionally faltered as Y/N would stare off distantly, as if looking for something that wasn’t there.
His heart ached for her. From what he’d gathered during their talk, she’d left the Shadowsinger, but the heart is slow to heal after losing a mate in any capacity.
Eris nudged her with his shoulder. “Hey little minx, where’d you go?”
Coming back to reality she halted. “Oh! Oh my gods. The sun is setting and you have to come with me! Hurry.”
She grabbed his wrist and he didn’t hesitate to follow along as she all but dragged him down the beach. “Hurry! We’ll miss them!”
They ran until reaching a secluded inlet of the bay. They climbed up a small rocky ledge where she sat, dangling her feet over the edge. “There’s an underwater cave-“ she breathed heavy, catching her breath. “here, beneath us and every night-“ another pause to breathe. “something magical happens as the sun sets.”
Eris, catching his own breath, waited patiently for more details but she only dropped a small pebble into the water and as she did, a rainbow of luminescent fish rippled to life below the surface. There had to be thousands of them, leisurely swimming out of the cave as if they were just waking up. Shades of bright pink, green, blue, orange, and purple lit up the small inlet. Eris was awestruck, so awestruck in fact that he didn’t hesitate planting his ass next to her on the crusty sand-coated ledge.
With a wave of her wrist she pulled a bottle of rum out from the pocket realm, tugging the cork out with her teeth and taking a swig, then handing it over to him.
They sat in silence as the remaining fish left the inlet and the remaining colors of the sunset disappeared into night. Clouds began rolling in as they drank and began chatting again. Much like that morning, thunder rolled in but this time he was disappointed to hear it. He didn’t want the evening to end, wasn’t ready to let her go quite yet.
He wished he’d had a warning before the ocean winds blew this wild, beautiful storm into his life that morning. Something to brace himself against the inevitable fallout of the precarious situation he found himself in. It was a storm he was prepared to ride out and he had a feeling it would be worth whatever debris she’d leave him with.
The base of the distant thunder rumbling, the cymbal-like crash of waves on the shore, and singing of the creatures of summer nights blended together into a beautiful melody that flowed through Eris. Quickly he stood, extending a hand to her. “Dance with me, Y/N?”
She froze, that distant look crossing her eyes again for a second. He braced himself for her decline but the life returned to her eyes as a smile graced her full lips. She accepted his hand and didn’t hesitate as he tucked her into his chest, her warmth and scent lulling him into a state of bliss.
No, Eris Vanserra did not hate the Summer Court at all.
————————
This was a long one and I know it wasn’t from our girls POV but I hope you all enjoyed it 🥹 Stay tuned for more! Her story is not done yet.
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hippiepowrs · 13 days
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one night lookin' pretty
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eddie munson x fem!metalhead!reader
you and eddie hate school dances, but you decide to go to the prom this year--with someone who isn't eddie. eddie does not like that, but can't say anything.
a/n: this is my first longer fic so i hope you like it. prom season is coming up so this is kinda self indulgent (as if all my fics aren't). this one is for all my weird girls out there! title from one night in the city by dio btw. :)
warnings: hurt/comfort. angsty for a while but gets fluffy. swearing. a guy being a total asshole to reader. reader wears a dress. reader and eddie both self-described as 'freak.' eddie being a jealous and insecure idiot. both are oblivious as fuck. eddie is REALLY dorky. eddie's backstory and parents--i did not read that book so i don't care if it's canon. idiots in love in the end. pretty cliche but i don't care!
wc: 3.8k
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It’s prom night, and Eddie is sitting alone on his couch. Without you. 
Usually, you guys skip every school event together in favor of watching a shitty movie and smoking half of his stock, but tonight was different. Someone asked you to the prom, and it wasn’t him. 
He’s been acting off for the past two weeks, you noticed. He’s been quiet and snappy, and has been opting to jack up the stereo instead of talk on your drives home. When you asked him what was wrong, he pushed you away. So, you left him alone about it. He made it clear he wanted his space.
He didn’t even want to show up to see you in your dress. You called him last night to see if he would come over–he told you he was sick. He wasn’t fully lying, though. The thought of you going to that stupid school dance with that stupid school boy made him nauseous. It didn’t make sense to him. How did you switch your views on the prom so fast? Months ago, the two of you laughed at the idea of going. Now, you were dressed up all pretty, just like all those popular girls you claimed to hate. He had to watch that sleazy ass car pull into to the trailer park, right up next to his. He’d never admit that he watched you step out of your trailer with that guy, and wished it was him. 
Being completely honest with yourself, your date isn’t even exactly your type. Todd isn’t some freak like you or your friends, but he isn’t a complete asshole either. He asked you in the hallway two weeks ago, and your instinct was to laugh at him. You laughed in his face, but he didn’t budge. He really wanted to take you to the prom, so you told him you’d go. It felt nice to be wanted. It was okay that he wasn’t some rock n’ roll dude like you’re into–it’s not like you’re marrying him. It’s just the prom. 
You and Todd arrive at the Hawkins High gym, hand in sweaty hand. Pushing the anxiety clawing at your throat back down, you give him a smile as you walk to get your photo taken together. The frilly, glittery background reminds you that this place isn’t for you. Again, you push that down. 
The music isn’t really your style, either, but everyone is having so much fun you feel the need to pretend. None of your friends are here, so you’re stuck. Maybe you should have pregamed, you think. Too late now. Todd pulls you onto the dance floor with a fervor you’ve never seen in him. You don’t understand how a person can have so much fun dancing to this shitty music. It’s a lot easier to get through when you pretend that Todd is Eddie, and you’re dancing to mixtapes in his room. You decide not to think about the implications of that right now. When the song ends, you offer to grab punch for the both of you. Maybe it’ll be spiked. 
As you make your way back to Todd, you see him chatting with a few of his friends, and from this distance you can just begin to hear them.
“So, when do I get my twenty bucks from each of you? She’s totally ruining my reputation right now.” He laughs, and your stomach churns.
“Okay, yeah, you proved us wrong. You got her here, you danced, you win.” His friend confirms the fear that’s been looming over you like a dark cloud since Todd first asked you out. 
“You at least better hold onto her long enough to get her home with you tonight, man!” Another friend cackles, and you think you’re going to vomit.
How were you stupid enough to think that he actually liked you?
God, you’re so gullible. 
At least there’s nothing to lose now, you think. Walking over to him, drinks in hand, you dump both of them on his head. They splash on his stupid hair and drench his stupid suit. The music keeps playing. A few people turn to look. The room doesn’t stop for you like some trashy romcom. Everyone just keeps going. 
Storming out to the parking lot, nothing can stop the burning tears from pouring down your face. You slump down against the brick wall, fabric of your dress sticking to the rough sidewalk. The warm spring air feels sticky on your cheeks. You wish you had stayed in with Eddie.
Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. You need to call Eddie. Todd drove you here, so it’s either Eddie or walk, and these heels already hurt enough. Your body feels like dead weight as you drag yourself to the payphone on the wall, punching in the number that’s engraved into your heart. 
“Hey.” You greet, choked up. You’re trying to keep your composure. You know it won’t last long.
“…Hey. Havin’ fun with Mr. Popular?” There’s a bitterness to his tone. Usually he would’ve picked up on the fact that you were crying in a split second, but tonight he was too angry.
“Uhm, not really. Could you, uh,” you sniffle, blowing your thin cover, “pick me up? Like, now?”
You can almost hear his demeanor shift over the phone. A beat of silence passes.
“I’ll be right there.” He’s clearly still upset, because he hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. But his one-sided irritation can’t override the facts: he cares about you so much that he immediately hops in his van and starts speeding to the school, even faster than normal.
You sit back at the edge of the sidewalk, staring into the empty night over the parking lot. God, this is so cliché. Freak gets taken to prom as a joke; left crying outside. You know how pointless it is to cry over this guy. You don’t even care about him, to be honest. But it’s not really him you’re crying over. It’s the extensive disappointment you repeatedly put yourself through after expecting different results—it’s the fact that you haven’t stopped thinking about Eddie all night. 
As you begin to probe deeper into the ethical implications of falling in love with your best friend, said best friend whips into the parking lot, tires skidding as he pulls right up to you and parks. He drives just how he lives his life—with a sense of urgency and passion you don’t see in many. His van stops diagonally in the middle of the pickup lane, and he hops out of the driver’s side door, so worried he can’t be bothered to close it before sprinting to your side. 
For the past six minutes—which is Eddie’s new personal record on getting to the school from Forest Hills—his mind has been racing with every possibility of what could have happened to you tonight. Maybe Todd had another girl, or is just boring, or maybe you got totally Carrie’d and some assholes poured pig’s blood all over you. Not likely, but hey, you never know the determination of Hawkins’ resident assholes. At least if you got Carrie’d you’d look metal as fuck. That would be a good album cover. But that’s not the point. What he’s more worried about is the possibility that that dickwad touched you in any way. Just the thought is enough for him to completely light up—he got pretty close to breaking his steering wheel from how hard he was gripping it. 
“What happened?” He tries to act nonchalant, but that’s something he’s never been good at. 
Your head is held between your knees, looking down into nothingness. He’s staring daggers into the top of your head, and you can almost feel the fact that he wants to say ‘I told you so.’ Reluctantly, your wet eyes tilt upwards, the rest of your head following. 
“Let’s just talk in the van.” He sighs. 
You don’t budge. Your legs feel far too wobbly to imagine getting up right now. He has zero patience at the moment, it seems, as evidenced by the fact that he almost immediately picks you up bridal style and carries you directly to the passenger’s side of his van. He fumbles with the door handle for a second before setting you down gently in the seat. You watch him drag a frustrated hand over his face through the windshield as he walks back to his side, and although you know you didn’t do anything wrong, you’re worried that you did. 
The engine roars into life, turning your seat into a makeshift massage chair. Eddie pulls out of the parking lot as quickly as he pulled in, but with a little more focus. He doesn’t turn his music on, which is a bad sign. 
“It was a bet,” is all you can say, voice soft and defeated, “because, of fucking course it was.” You stare out the window, head tapping against the glass as he hits a pothole straight on.
“I told you that asshole was bad news.” His voice is laced with venom. He’s never been good at controlling his anger—especially when it has to do with you. 
You stay silent. Anything you say right now will probably just piss him off more. 
“Why do you—why do you always do this to yourself? You’re always finding these guys that just want to take you out to say they were able to take you out. They treat you like a fucking trophy.” He scoffs. 
You look at him again, tears still silently falling. Even if you wanted to say something to that, you can’t seem to find your voice. 
“I just don’t get it. You’re, like, totally perfect,” he coughs, gripping the wheel harder, “and these guys you find are total douches. You can do so much better.”
“It’s not like there’s anyone better around here,” you mumble while staring out the window, like some kid talking back to their parent for the first time. 
“That’s not my point!” His yell rings out against the hum of the engine, the dull drumming being the only sound left as he hangs a sharp right turn. “I just don’t understand why you’re so eager to find some guy that you throw your morals out the door.” Eddie’s eyes dart to you for a moment before looking back at the road. 
“I haven’t thrown my morals out the door.” You argue softly. 
“Yes, you have! We always said we’d never suck up to the bullshit they want us to do, that we’d never let them turn us normal, and here you are at the fucking prom.”
“Eddie, it’s prom! It’s not like I fucking stabbed my mother!”
“We’re supposed to be the freaks! We’re Hellfire! We piss people off! That’s our whole thing! You can’t just—fuck—just throw that out!” He groans angrily, pulling into Forest Hills, slowing down as you near the Munson trailer. 
“I’m not throwing it out.” You say, much more firmly. 
“You’re throwing me out!” There it goes, the root of the entire issue. He’s always been worried that you’ll find someone cooler, someone less abrasive, someone who will make you laugh and smile more than he can. Logically, he knows that would never happen, but he can’t help his fear. He throws the van into park and slams the door as he gets out. 
Eddie was eight when he met you. He’d been living with Wayne for a little over a year by the time you moved next door, but he was still struggling. His mother left him first, then his father. He missed his mom a lot, but his dad probably caused him more pain, knowing that he had the choice whether or not to stay, but Eddie wasn’t enough. Uncle Wayne was nicer to him than his father had ever been, but that can’t fix a broken kid. 
Then one day, you showed up in your ratty hand-me-downs, a year and a half younger than him. He thought that girls had cooties, but you were different. You didn’t giggle or try to hide your gaze like the other girls did when they made fun of him to each other. Instead, you walked right up to him and said hi. 
You were new, and you didn’t have the best clothes—he could tell you were probably going through something similar to him—so the kids at school kicked you to the curb. You were just as pretty as the other girls, he thought, if not prettier, as much as a seven-year-old can be. But that didn’t really seem to matter to them. Your lunchbox was plain, theirs had characters. 
When the two of you got to be in junior high at the same time, him in the eighth grade and you in sixth, he thought for sure that you would find new, more popular friends. It was incredibly shocking to him that you’d rather hang out with some dorky boy with an ugly buzz cut who’s two grades ahead of you than the other pretty girls, but he wasn’t going to complain. 
He’s lived with that fear constantly since then, always preparing himself to see you walking into school one day in some pastel sweater instead of your band shirts and battle vest. He knows you won’t, he knows you’re better than that, and he feels so guilty for always expecting the worst, but he can’t help it. 
You hop out of the passenger’s side of the van, holding up the skirt of your dress like some elegant princess. But instead of some grand, ornate staircase, you’re simply walking up the concrete steps of the Munson trailer and following Eddie, who’s storming inside. 
“Eddie.” You sound like a scolding mother, tears having dried up a few minutes ago, and you shut the door behind you. “Why do you think so lowly of me?” Your voice cracks with the weight of the question. 
Eyes widening, Eddie never realized quite how much his thoughts could affect you until right now. “I don’t,” he says softly. “You’re the best person I know.”
“You say that, but you always think I’m gonna leave you for someone else. You’re my best fucking friend. I’m not just gonna cut you off at the drop of a hat.”
“I- I know that,” he stammers out, a little shaken. 
“Do you?”
“Look, I,” he sighs, finally turning around, “I’m just scared. I’m scared that one day you’ll wake up and realize how fucking lame I am, and you won’t want to deal with me and all my bullshit anymore.” 
“The world isn’t against you, Eddie.”
He opens his mouth to quip back something snarky, but he closes it as he thinks about your words again. 
“You hate yourself so much that it’s beginning to rub off on me, because I’m friends with you, and if I like you, you think that surely there’s something wrong with me, too.” 
He’s stunned into silence, your words stabbing him straight through the heart. 
“Can you at least tell me why you were being a dick for the past few weeks?” You switch the subject slightly with a sigh. 
Eddie takes a deep breath. “Because of Troy asking you to prom.”
“Todd.”
“Yeah, whatever. He was my problem.”
“Why were you mad at me for that, though?”
“I knew he was gonna hurt you.”
“You didn’t say anything about that, though. You just said he was an ass once and then pushed me away for two straight weeks.”
Standing in the middle of the dark trailer, Eddie is presented with two options: confess his lifelong, undying love for you, or don’t. He knows that the only good and honest explanation he can give you involves a love confession, and he hates lying to you. But one thing trumps the fact that he hates lying to you, and it’s that Eddie is a complete and utter pussy. 
Eddie is, and always has been, a pussy. In middle school, you acted as his bodyguard—self-appointed, and very passionate—which only made him get bullied worse. You didn’t care. You’d defend him until the end of time. You’d take a hundred tugs to your ponytail or face-plants in the lunchroom so that he wouldn’t have to. You weren’t very loud or talkative in school, until it came to defending Eddie. 
To Eddie, you’re this glowing beacon of light and hope in his life. Everything good comes from you. And if he confesses his feelings to you, and you don’t feel the same, that pillar comes crashing down. 
But…what if? What if you did feel the same? That’s stupid, he thinks. Clearly you don’t, because otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to prom with another guy. And he’s sure you already know about his big, fat crush, and you’re choosing to act like you don’t notice.
“I’m sorry.” You can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s fingering riffs on the side of his thigh. 
“You always get so upset when I talk to guys. It’s not like there can be only one guy in my life.” 
“I know that, it’s just–” This is going to be the worst decision he’s ever made, and he knows it, but he can’t stop himself. “--I’m jealous, okay?”
“Obviously you’re fucking jealous, dickweed.” As you call him your favorite nickname, the intent behind his words reaches you, and your cheeks begin to heat up. “…Wait.”
“Have you seriously not picked up on this yet?” Eddie is genuinely surprised at your reaction. “You—you’re perfect, you know that? You’re the coolest person I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how you do it.” His voice is softer than normal. 
“Yeah, but—like, are you serious?” You ask. 
“I wouldn’t joke about this. I’ve been, like, totally into you forever. I’m surprised Gareth or Jeff didn’t say anything to you.”
“They did a while ago, but I thought they were messing with me.” 
“Okay, I honestly can’t blame you for that.”
A moment passes in silence, and you think about how to respond. 
“You know, I didn’t really want to go with Todd.”
“What? Why did you then?”
“I hoped that you would ask me,” you admit, eyes drifting to your feet, “but it was kind of a stupid thing to expect.”
His jaw goes slack as he hears you speak. 
“I guess that I’ve just kinda had this pipe dream where we’d go to prom together, and I’d be able to dress up all pretty, and we could dance together.” You avoid his gaze, until you hear him scurrying down the hallway. 
He emerges back out with his stereo in one hand and a cassette in the other, scrambling to place it down on the kitchen table and shoving the tape inside. He immediately skips to the song he has in mind. The familiar sound of Tommy Lee’s piano starts from beside you, and before you can figure out what’s happening, he’s offering his hand to you. 
“May I have this dance?” 
A smile grows on your face. “God, you’re such a fucking dork.” Your insult doesn’t come without placing your hand in his. He’s bright red, and he’s never slow danced in his life. 
Mötley Crüe’s Home Sweet Home is interrupted occasionally by the sound of feet stepping on feet and the subsequent ow!’s that follow, as well as the flustered giggling of two idiots in love. 
Eddie pulls you a little closer, his hands firmly planted on your waist. “You look really beautiful tonight,” he murmurs, “sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” 
He feels extremely underdressed compared to you, him in his favorite torn up pair of black jeans and an Exodus muscle tee, and you in your stunningly gorgeous dress, looking prettier than any princess he could ever imagine. 
“Thank you,” you mumble back, flustered, “you don’t look too—fuck!—too bad yourself, you know.” A playful giggle comes with your words, and a huge grin grows on Eddie’s face. 
“Yeah?” He teases, looking right in your eyes. 
“Yeah.”
“Can I kiss you?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” you giggle, staring right back. 
Leaning in, he lets out a nervous laugh before pressing his lips to yours. It’s not some magical explosion of energy that cures all your problems and fixes world hunger; but his lips are soft and warm, and he tastes like weed, gummy worms and a hint of shitty beer, and it feels right. 
You kiss him a few more times before the song ends, all quick and chaste but completely full of love. Pulling you along with him, not wanting to let go, he pauses the tape and the trailer goes quiet again. 
“Was I better at that than Troy?”
“Todd.”
“Point still stands, fuckface.”
Eddie drags you down the hall to his bedroom, the familiar ambiance warming you like a comforting blanket. Jumping onto the bed with a plop, the boy pats beside him invitingly.
“Can I change first?” You ask, ecstasy of the moment wearing off, allowing you to remember how itchy this damn dress is.
“‘Course. Your shirt is clean if you want it.” He calls it your shirt, but it was his at one point. The old Metallica tee used to be his favorite one, too, which meant it got a lot of wear and tear. But then you started wearing it at sleepovers, and it quickly became your shirt. Eddie didn’t like to wash it afterward because it smelled like you. He always felt like a creep for that.
Your hand tries its best to wrap around and pull the impossibly tiny zipper down, but it doesn’t want to budge. Eddie, watching you as intently as ever, quickly notices and jumps up to help you. His fingers move to your waist, soft and nimble, and gently undo the zipper for you. You let your dress fall to the ground, and he looks away, flustered. It’s not like he hasn’t seen you in your underwear before, but now it feels a lot more serious.
Quickly throwing on the hole-filled Metallica shirt and a clean pair of his boxers, both of you hop back into his bed. You’ve shared plenty of nights here before, but once again, now it feels different. You sense that it will become a common theme for your life in the near future. His hands snake back around your waist and pull you next to him, and you allow your head to rest against his chest.
“So… does this mean you’re, like, my girlfriend now, or what?” A goofy smirk is plastered across his face as he asks. 
You try to playfully shove him off of you, to no avail. “Are you seriously fucking asking me that?” You’re trying so hard to act angry, but your giggles give you away.
“Yes, yes it does.” You seal it with a kiss. Then one on his cheek, and the other, and his forehead, and the tip of his nose.
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reblogs and notes always appreciated! | requests are open!
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romeosharpae · 8 months
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“FOUR MONTHS”
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theodore nott x reader
(Yes after one year I'm back with toxic Theodore Nott). You don't have to read part one..
Warnings; Possessive behavior, manipulation, toxic relationships, mentions of obsession, mature sex scenes, unprotected sex, rough sex, swearing, smoking, degradation (Not a lot), theodore nott × female feader, toxic! theodore nott
parts: 1,
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There was something in the air this morning, a soothing feeling that made you a little more peppy. So as you skipped to the great hall, books clutched tightly to your chest, a small smile couldn’t help but to be on your lips.
It was the winter — your favorite season, so perhaps that was the reason for your sudden happiness this morning. You’d even wore a little grin through transfiguration, your least favorite class at Hogwarts.
But you were a happy girl generally, nice to everyone who crossed your path. You helped little first years avoid experiencing the wrath of Draco Malfoy. You also helped professors (For sure not Mcgonagal) help clean up after compliance lessons.
That’s just who you are.
“You look pretty today,” Is what Hermione Granger, your best friend, greets you with as you took a seat aside her. No you weren’t a Gryffindor — but you often found yourself sitting at the orange and red more than your own.
“Yeah, I like what you’ve done to your hair.” Harry Potter lowly added in with a sly smile, and you simply reflected it. Ron Weasley, who was aside Hermione let out a little snort in response to his best friend’s attempt to flirt.
Harry Potter – the boy who lived, the boy who everyone without any sort of spite or jealousy in their body adores. Sometimes you even found yourself admiring him — considering him as a form of replacement from your last fling.
“Thank you both,” You giggled,
“Well, I’m happy that your happy, Y/L/N” Hermione declared with a smile, “You see how much happier you are now? Compared to when you allowed that psycho to contr--"
And just like that, there was a damper in your happy mood.
Hermione always made extremely bold comments about your previous unhealthy relationship with Theodore Nott; Which is probably why he hated the fact you two were friends, not because she was a muggle. Truthfully, she’s the one that hyped you up to end things with him — but as you more think of it, she forced you too.
Because despite everything the tall raging brunette put you through, you still found your self right underneath him with a dizzy smile. But that hasn’t happened in four months, not since the day he dragged you out of the party. Shivers roll down your spin as you remember the events that happened that day,
You’ve got fourth months with his touch, without his complications.
And despite missing Theodore some nights, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t a breath of fresh air. Like the air didn’t feel lighter without him breathing down your neck about showing any other male besides him attention – without him declaring that despite his lack of commit now, you’ll be baring his children later.
You recall how hearing those words made you feel months ago — Well, it did make you finish, but that’s completely besides the point — it finally made you realize that Theodore Not didn’t actually love you.
And neither did he want anyone else too.
Not because he loved you, but because had a unhinged obsession for you. The more you thought of it, the more you realized how clear Theo’s behavior displayed fixation.
How did you not realize it back in first year when he got seriously angry with Blaise Zabini for trying to be your friend?
It makes your stomach twist to think that you and Theodore's friendship was build off of an obsession – one that clearly grew worse as the years progressed.
"You alright over there, Y/L/N?" Ron questioned reluctantly,
You pulled yourself out of your thoughts, turning to him with a small awkward smile across your lips, "Yes I'm fine, just got a little distracted, that's all."
"You always seem to suddenly get distracted when I bring up Nott." Hermione mumble, rolling her eyes. Because you're always telling me to leave him.
Is what you wanted to say, but instead you settle for a simple shrug.
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You were sitting criss-cross on an knitted blanket in front of the black lake, skimming over the newest daily prophet in your hands. The full moon reflected softly against the lake water, making you awe.
Everytime a full moon lit the sky your found yourself out here, enjoying the peace. And no one knew about it — you weren't a prefect and your house leader would kill you if they found out you were out here past hours.
Well, you thought no one knew about your secret adventures to the black lake.
It was not until the loud familiar scent of smoke filled your nostrils that you understood that someone was here also. And with the heavy cologne that mixed with it, you didn't have to look back to know who it was.
"Leave. Me. Alone" You growled sternly, ignoring the thudding in your heart.
Of course you'd still hang with Blaise and Pasny every now and then. But when Theo walked in you immediately flee, knowing that being around him would result with him being inside of you in moments.
And your sure he knew that, which is exactly why the brunette is here. "So you don't think I've done that enough for the past four fucking months, Y/N?"
Venom dripped from Theodore's voice, and had you not been so used to Theodore being upset with the stuff you do — The coldness of his tone would have made you scared enough to jump away from him.
Your head snapped back in his direction, generally you were a nice happy girl. But during the times you weren't so sweet, it was Theodore Nott who got that wrath.
Who brought out that side of you.
"No, No." Theo's jaw clenched at your harsh words, lips parting slightly to allow smoke to slip past them. "Because I want you to leave me alone for the rest of my life."
"Did Granger help you come up with that?" Theodore snickered. There wasn't a actual thought in your brain when you rolled your daily prophet and launched it in his direction. He kissed it teeth when the parchment landed softly on his cheek.
The brunette takes another hit short of his cigarette, not giving your outburst a reaction. You stand up to your feet, preparing to collect your stuff and go back on school grounds.
He threw the cigarette on the ground, approaching you. You take a step back, not wanting to feel his touch — the touch that you have been craving for four months.
“Why does everyone get the sweet little Y/N except for me?" He cooed, eyebrows raising.
"What did I do to deserve this nasty side of you Y/L/N, huh?" Everything. "Did I not fuck you good enough last time?"
"You know it is not about that!" You defensively shouted out. Tears began pricking at the corner of your eyes, processing that the only thing you are to him is a fuck. "--You know that it's never been about that!"
You had like Theodore since third year, immediately awed with the matured boy that he became over the summer. And Theo knew your feelings for him — in fact, you told Theo about your feelings right before you had sex for the first time — he just didn't care.
He stared down at you, beautiful eyes glistening underneath the moon light. For a moment you swear you see pity flash in his eyes.. or maybe regret?
It makes you frown — You didn't want Theodore to pity you. It made you feel weak, always finding yourself with him when your in your weakness moments. Because despite his blunt toxic behavior, before your separation, Theodore always is there when you fail a test you study hard for or had complications with your family – He's the shoulder that you lean on, and the root of your problems.
“I miss you"
Something about those words fueled your feelings more, anger bubbling higher. "No you don't Theodore, you miss having me wrapped around your finger."
That regret.. or pity fades away quickly, replaced with anger in seconds.
“Do you even know how many girls I have wrapped around my finger, Y/N?" His mean tone makes you let a small sob. "How many girls wish upon stars that I had the feelings for them that I do you?!" Theodore takes this moment to grab your chin, yanking you closer to him before you got a chance to stop him. He hovers over you, fingers digging into the flesh of your skin. Blue eyes looking down at you like your prey he's prepared to fight for.
“You don't really care about me!"
"Shut up." He growled.
His mouth attacks yours in a feral manner, making you gasp loudly. The faint taste of his chapstick spreads is in your mouth,
And being that naive girl you are, you welcomed his lips eagerly. The hairs of your skin stood up fully, mind becoming foggy while Theodore desperately slides his tongue into your mouth. It makes you sob out louder, tears slipping from your eyes.
Hermione would be so mad if she knew how easily you allowed him in — The lack of fight that you put up with Theo. But you tried, you really did for four entire months..
You really tried your best too stay away from the boy that you loved so deeply.
“I--T--" Is what you choked out moments before Theodore hand slides to the back of your throat, making the kiss much deeper and tongue sloppier. Your noses were smushed against each other — there was nothing you could make out but his scent.
You didn't exactly get to register when it happened or how it happened. But someway, probably with magic, you ended underneath Theodore on your blanket.
Without wasting another second Theodore hooks his finger into the waist band of your shorts and underwear. "Why is things always so complicated with you?"
His words were harsh and the glare on his beautifully structured pale face makes you cry out even harder. The pad of his thumb catches one of your tears when it falls,
“Y/N Why can't you understand that this is perfect?" He wondered bluntly. His eyes look down at your exposed area, "That this is where you should be, with me."
“No--No I shouldn't--" You shouted, Theo grabbed your legs and spread them as far as they could go. "-- Your no good for me"
That makes the brunette scoff defensively – surely thinking that Hermione fed you that. But you knew it was true – If you stuck beside Theodore, you'd be mental by thirty.
A loud gasp fell from your lips when Theo pushed himself into you without any warning. Theirs something in your body that became at ease with the familiar stretch,
As if it been begging for it.
Not giving you a chance to prepare yourself, Theodore bottomed out in you. He groaned loudly as you flutter against him, practically welcoming him in you.
Theo begins snapping his hips forward at a pace that makes your eyes squeeze shut. You wish that you could hate him,
"Yeah, but that doesn't matter.." He finally responded to your comment. The loose curls of his hair brushed against your forehead as Theo leaned down, lips grazing softly against yours. A high pitched whimper left your lips at every thrust he gave you, an hot pain spreading inside in your lower half. Yet you couldn't stop your hips from jumping up, begging for more. “I'm good right now, aren't I?" He mocked,
His tongue invaded your mouth, like he's attempting to swallow your face whole. You kissed back instantly, tongue lapping over his as you both moaned.
Some moments you wished to know what Theodore was thinking when the two of you were together — and other times you didn't, not actually wanting to be right about his lack of love towards you.
His mouth left yours, spit following suit. Instead he began sucking on the skin of your new and chest, leaving bruises. "Mine." Theo growled, squeezing your breast.
You just shook your head frantically at his possessive words, not being able to form a literal disagreement. You weren't Theodore’s.. and unfortunately he wasn't yours.
He squeezed you harder, thrust forming a harsher pace as well, knocking the wind out your chest and making you gasp.
Tears slipped from your eyes from the pleasure, and your fingers began scratching against his arms. If your mind hadn't been so fogged out, you'd be embarrassed from how fast your release caught up.
“Say you won't leave again..." Theo spoke words were stone cold and you tried ignoring them — knowing that you planned on going back into hiding from him.
His cold hand snakes up around your neck, giving it a tight squeeze that makes you squeal. Your sure he notices that your avoiding his request and perhaps that's why his hips began to move at a slower pace – But you really had not expected him to completely stop,
The was absolutely no way he was going to leave you on edge like that. As your eyes flew open you sobbed out, Theodore wore a plain expression. His light eyes were already looking directly into yours,
You attempted to take matters into your own hands by beginning to slip up his length. But Theodore, who clearly wasn't having none of it, pushed you away by your stomach, pulling out of you completely now.
"Say it, Y/N!" He slightly shook you, "Or I swear I'll leave you like this-- Say it--"
"I--I'm not gonna leave!" The words left unexpectedly from your lips. And you really wish you could say you only said it to get your release but that wouldn’t be true. “..Ever again"
Theodore smiled widely at your words, pressing his face against your neck. And you both let out a loud sigh of comfort when he slid back inside of you,
You don't even know how you lasted four months without him.
Part three>>>
2K notes · View notes
emmyblues · 2 months
Text
by the beach
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summary - joe and Y/N take a trip to hawaii to relax after the stressful season
pairing - joe burrow x fem!reader
wordcount - 2.3k
A/N: the first of the three requests for joe... i adore this sm
masterlist
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Joe was not a big fan of long flights, or flying in general, so he rarely did it outside of work. But this April, he thought the anxiety and nausea would be worth it.
He knew he had made the right choice when he and his fiancée Y/N laid side by side on their rented beach, a content smile on her relaxed face with her eyelids fluttering closed. Her hand was loosely wrapped in his, their legs tangled together on the day-bed, and being so close to each other wasn’t unbearable anymore with the looming evening, as the temperatures started steadily but slowly dropping.
It was like something out of a movie, lying next to the love of his life as the sky changed to a violet and tangerine hue and the waves crashed over the pale sand. Every now and then, Joe ghosted a finger over the diamond on her ring finger, the one that had only been there a few months. It still felt surreal, and this trip helped celebrate that and her.
He knew the last few months had been very difficult for the both of them. The torn ligament in his wrist had yet to heal, and he’d been down about it for weeks on end afterwards. He didn’t want it to, but he let it affect his relationship with Y/N.
They’d gone through a rough patch, just like they had when he’d injured his knee, gotten his appendix out, and with his calf injury. Each time Joe had become distant and moody, angry at himself for being hurt. But Y/N stayed, for reasons Joe still couldn’t understand – even if he was indescribably happy that she did. 
And this time, too, she’d supported him through it all; shaving his face when his left hand couldn’t do it well enough, helping him do his rehab, and letting him shamelessly cry into her chest when everything got too real or heavy. So she deserved to be pampered and loved, and taking her to Hawaii – where she’d always wanted to go – was perfect, even if he generally hated the idea of leaving Ohio during the offseason. 
Everything aligned perfectly with his surprise engagement after new years, when he found an off day to finally show her the ring that had been burning a hole in his pocket for nearly a year. 
“Do you think we could just stay here forever?” Y/N mumbled from beside him, breaking him out of his reverie with her soft voice, so quiet and careful not to break the rare calmness of their lives. 
“It’s peaceful,” Joe answered, knowing he hated saying no to her, but that the only actual answer he could give was a negative one. “I’d stay anywhere with you forever.”
“That was cheesy,” she mumbled, a lazy grin slowly spreading across her lips, purple light casting a bright shine over her face as she turned her head toward him, her fiance.
“Yeah, but it’s fine,” he shrugged. “You like it when I’m cheesy. That’s how I landed you.”
“That’s true,” she giggled, snuggling closer to Joe, still being mindful of his hurt hand.
Turning the rest of the way around, she laid on her stomach with her head on his chest, his injured arm on her upper back and his fingers tangled in her salt-water treated hair. His left hand came around to rest on her lower back, slipping under her beach coverup – one of Joe’s white Spongebob t-shirts that came to mid thigh on her. 
He traced patterns between the top of her bikini-bottoms, and the shirt, leaning his head back to get a better look at the sky. It was all so perfect.
They never really got that peace, the one where it’s so silent you never want to leave, and nothing feels like it could go wrong. There were always practices or meetings, fans to greet or ads to film. They didn’t have to worry about any of that, or any disturbances by family, friends or coaches. They were truly just all alone.
The small beach house Joe had rented also granted them the privacy they so dearly needed. He was even comfortable enough that no prying eyes were around to publicly hold Y/N and kiss her as they swam in the crystal water. And now as she listened to the steady beat of his heart, her head on his bare chest, she couldn’t believe her luck.
“What do you wanna do tomorrow? I thought we could go for a run in the morning before it gets too hot,” she mumbled against his chest, her eyes wide and looking up at Joe through her eyelashes. 
He smiled sweetly, brushing some hair from her face. “Yeah, that sounds like fun. Maybe we could cook dinner ourselves, too. Y’know, just the two of us, whatever we want.”
“We could try that recipe I sent you last week – I really think you’ll like it.”
“I’m sure I will, babe,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Can you show me the ring again?”
Y/N’s entire body shook as she laughed, not particularly loud but still lighting up her entire being and face. “You’re the one who picked it out, haven’t you seen it enough already?”
“Well, it’s different when it’s on your finger.”
Before complying, she pressed a quick kiss to his lips, before turning her left hand toward him, diamond shining in the sunset. He could still remember trying to find a reason why he had to use her phone, just so he could go look at her Pinterest, where he knew she would have some pictures of rings. 
And he searched for months, but they just never seemed to be the one he was looking for, the one she’d want. Eventually, after his brothers knocked some sense into him after he’d all but given up on the idea of even proposing since he couldn’t even find a ring, he had one custom made. He accidentally woke her up one night as he was measuring her finger with a piece of string, and had to play it off as if she was still dreaming – he still felt a bit guilty about it after all the time passed. That was more than a year ago now, and he felt ridiculous for ever being worried about finding ‘the perfect ring’.
After proposing, Y/N made it very clear that she’d have said yes to him even with a paper ring, or just a tied ribbon. As long as it was with him, it didn’t matter. But now, looking at it on her sunkissed hand, he didn’t regret a minute of it. 
Kissing her hand, he let it fall back down as her eyes fluttered close, her burrowing closer to his chest. Her hand came to rest on his bearded jaw, which he had been growing out since he couldn’t shave all that well, and Y/N refused to take a blade to his neck for fear of accidentally nicking him and his pretty face – in the beginning she’d gladly helped him, but after accidentally drawing blood once a month ago that option was off the table for good.
“Do you want to get married next off season?” she asked, stroking his jaw lovingly. “Then we’d have plenty of time to plan without having to worry about games or practices.”
“Or we could do it this spring,” Joe suggested, his hand on her lower back resuming its motions. 
“This spring? Joey, it’s April,” she deadpanned, severely unimpressed. “There is absolutely no way we could pull together a wedding on such short notice.”
“Then we’ll elope.”
“Fuck no,” she laughed, causing Joe to pinch her butt in retaliation. “I don’t even want to imagine the absolute ass ripping we’d experience if we excluded your mom. No way I’m doing that.”
“Then we can have a small ceremony back in Ohio, in the backyard or something.”
“You’re making our wedding sound like a chore,” Y/N raised an eyebrow, shaking her head lightly at Joe – sometimes he really acted like such a stereotypical boy. 
Joe immediately descended into panic, his back stiffening as his blue eyes went wide. “No, no, god no. I want to marry you, I want to be married to you. I don’t care how or when. I just want to be your husband.”
Not really finding any words that would be able to describe anywhere near how much she felt about him and every word out of his pretty mouth, she just pressed her lips to his softly, lingering to prolong the moment as much as she could. 
“You know, no one’s probably out swimming at this time,” Joe ‘casually’ said, his lips moving into an upside down smile. “And the water does look very pretty.”
Locking eyes with him, a smirk growing, she replied, “Bikini or no bikini?
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but with it on.”
With laughter bubbling out of her, Y/N climbed off of him – still mindful of his injured hand – and took off toward the darkened ocean. Mid run, she pulled his shirt over her head, tossing it mindlessly to the side as she continued on until her feet were wet. Only then did she turn around and see him still sitting on the daybed, a lovestruck look on his slightly sunburned face. 
“Are you coming or not?” she yelled, taking slow steps backwards toward the ocean. 
Joe immediately shuffled to stand, kicking his shoes off before walking toward her. She thought he looked like some being sent from the gods above as the sunset illuminated all the planes and crevices of his muscles; from his biceps and wide shoulders to his pecs and abs. He had definitely hit the genetic lottery.
The quarterback didn’t bother picking up his pace as he walked toward his fiancée, happy to just admire her as he neared. Even with her slowly backing away, his long legs made it more than easy to catch up fairly quickly. Soon enough, a playful grin spread across his face, and Y/N broke out into a sprint through the water, running along the beach with her feet breaking the waves.
Joe was no more than a step behind her as he noticed her take off, immediately, taking the shortcut over the white sand as he listened to her laugh flow effortlessly through the air, blending with the waves and the soft wind flying by his reddened ears. 
A step behind her, he reached out to pull her into his chest, laughter bubbling out of her as he lifted her off of the ground, water splashing all around their legs. His arms were locked around her torso, her damp hair flowing ever so slightly in the wind as he swung her around, just so she’d laugh once more.
Her hands clung to him, desperate to not be dropped – though she knew he’d never do that to her, she trusted him implicitly. Joe didn’t even realize he was smiling or laughing, it just happened so naturally. And as a larger wave crashed against his legs – not strong enough to tip them over but enough to be felt – he shifted her in his arms, turning the carry into a bridal one in one fell swoop.
He held her tightly against his chest as he took steps out into the sea, laughter and giggles flying out of his fiancée faster and louder than ever before. “Don’t you dare, Joey!” she squealed, looping her arms around his neck in an effort of delaying the inevitable.
“I’m not doing anything,” he laughed, pretending to drop her once, twice, in a row.
“I swear to god–” 
He didn’t drop her that time, instead all but flinging himself backwards into the clear blue water, her still firmly in his arms as the waves swallowed them. When they broke the surface, Y/N tried to look mad, tried keeping her eyes as cold as she could, but when she saw the childlike look on Joe’s face and the giggle he tried so hard to suppress just flow out, she could help but smile along with him.
“You’re such a dick,” she mumbled, splashing water at his face.
He didn’t try to hide his satisfaction, swimming further out to sea and dragging Y/N along with him until he couldn’t touch the bottom anymore, forced to tread water. He pulled Y/N into him, their legs tangling into each other as she kept her afloat with her arms on his broad shoulder, forcing him to do all of the work.
They just stared into each other's eyes for a minute more, trying to find all the ‘imperfections’ and stray hairs, finding constellations in the moles on their skins, admiring the golden and – at least for Joe – reddish glow the sun had caused them. 
“Marry me.”
“You’ve already asked that,” Y/N deadpanned, pressing a kiss to his jaw, as it was one of the only places her lips reached comfortably with their position. 
“Still, marry me.”
“I already said yes, dummy.”
“I know, I just wanted to hear you say it again,” he smiled softly, eyes closed and unfairly long eyelashes fluttering lightly across his cheeks. 
Joe was only thinking of the future at that moment. Maybe they could buy a house somewhere nearby, one they could visit with their future family as the season ended. He considered flying all their friends and family out there with them the very next day, so they could get married. He thought of the white picket fence and the big backyard, a cat playing with their two kids inside their family house. 
He couldn’t wait for the future.
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sunny44 · 9 months
Text
Ruin it
Pairing: Max Verstappen x journalist!reader
Warnings: SMUT, cuss words, cheating and probably other things.
Summary: You and max were always teasing each other and over the years it turned into a huge sexual tension, until the fights of all the years and the accumulated lust turned into one long night of great sex.
Next chapter
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Max Verstappen.
We certainly had our moments.
Max and I used to race in go-karts together with Charles, Pierre, Alex and a few other drivers from the current grid and he hated the fact that I always beat him.
Which means he hated me too.
Over the years our fights became teasing and a huge sexual tension that we both realized but pretended we didn't since Max was with Kelly and for obvious reasons she didn't like me either.
Over time I realized that karting was just a hobby that I enjoyed so I didn't invest in a racing career and went into journalism becoming a formula 1 reporter.
We were in Vegas for the first Grand Prix in the city and I was very excited, especially as today it could be decided between Max and Charles who would be the world champion.
The cars were lined up in their positions and when the red lights went out the chaos started, at the first lap we lost George, Magnussen, Piastri and Ocon.
On lap 34 Charles takes Max's position taking first place and me as a reporter who can't have favorites follow me too much not to celebrate in front of everyone.
Charles was my friend and I really wanted him to win but I think I wanted Max to lose much more.
But unfortunately in the end Max passed Charles and became 3 times world champion.
The podium was fast, the champagne looked great and now I was here doing the interviews with the drivers and finally my arch enemy appears.
"Well Max we can say it was a great day for you today."
"Absolutely, we were flying."
"How does it feel to have become Formula 1 world champion for the third time?"
"I'm very happy, this result means that all the hard work team and I have put in over the year has not been in vain and now I'm looking forward to having a drink and celebrating."
"That's great, hope you have an amazing night and we see you next year." He smiles and waves leaving."Well guys that was 3 time world champion Max Verstappen, I'm
Y/n y/l/n and we end our 2023 season, see you next year."
They turn off the camera and I thank the whole team and pick up my things leaving when someone calls out to me.
"I could almost see the look of disgust on your face, lucky it's only me."
"Don't you have a party to go to?" I ask turning around and seeing Max.
"We do and it's at the Plaza, your name is on the list in case you want to go."
"And why would I go?"
"To celebrate that I won."
"I wasn't rooting for you to win."
"I know, and you have no idea how much that motivated me to win." He says stepping close to me. "I'm counting on you being there."
"Your girlfriend doesn't mind you being here trying to convince me to come to your little party?"
"She's not the boss of me and she didn't come to the race."
"Got it, I hope you have a bad night." I say walking out and just hear him yell one back.
...
I was lying on my bed staring at the ceiling with a lot of boredom thinking about the party Max had invited me to. Obviously I didn't want to go somewhere where he was but staying here in the room alone while I could be there drinking and having fun was also not an option.
So I got ready and asked for an Uber to the place where the party was going to be, I gave my name at the entrance and they said I was in the VIP area which I wouldn't go because obviously there would be few people and Max would be one of them.
I went to the bar to get something to drink and I felt a presence behind me and when I turned around to see who it was I saw only his chest and I looked up and Max was there with those damn blue eyes that I could spend the day looking at.
"I thought you said you weren't coming."
"Yeah but I was lying naked in my hotel bed with nothing to do so I thought a free drink wouldn't be a bad idea."
"I have lots of ideas of what you could have done naked in your hotel bed." He says coming closer.
"And are you in any of them?"
"Maybe."
"Then put it out of your mind because as far as I know you're committed to miss I’m dating an f1 champion."
"Imagining is not cheating as far as I know."
"If you say so." I downed my drink and looked at him. "Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go dance and maybe find someone to take me back to my hotel room."
The party was great and I was sweaty from dancing, I went to get a drink of water and saw Daniel coming towards me.
"Can I ask you a favor?" He says taking a deep breath after seemingly circling the whole party looking for me.
"Sure."
"Can you take Max back to the hotel? I already tried but he said he won't leave unless he goes with you."
"Fucking hell." I say following him and see Max drunkenly calling my name.
"There you are." He gets up and almost goes but I hold him back. "Where have you been all party?"
"Having fun far away from you."
"Ouch." He runs his hand over my face, taking away the hair that was there. "Wow, you're so beautiful."
"Thanks, let's go."
After a lot of effort we managed to get to the hotel, I couldn't find his room keys and Max muttered something about them being with Daniel so I took his hand and we walked to my room, he was already much better since the city traffic was crazy and took us an hour to get here, he was still a little altered but he knew what he was doing.
"Are you going to let me sleep in your room?"
"Well I'm not going to go chasing someone to get another key to your room and I'm not going to let you leave like that either so it looks like we don't have any other option."
That said I go to get my pajamas but when I went to pass he put his hands around my waist and put his face close to mine.
"You're beautiful you know that right?"
"You already said that, like a while ago."
"I know but I wanted to say it again." I hated it when he looked me straight in the eye because I couldn't look away from those damn blue eyes.
"I hate it when you stare at me."
"Why?"
"Because I hate that I can't stop looking into your eyes."
"Good, because I don't want you to stop looking at them." He comes even closer. "Do you even know how hard I'm trying not to ruin my relationship right now?"
"Ruin it." I say without even thinking.
"What?" he asks shocked.
"I said ruin it."
Max and I start kissing and at the same time his tongue enters my mouth, it was a wild kiss that I could not separate even if I wanted to.
We walk without separating the kiss to the bed where he lays me down and gets on top of me.
One of his hands was on my face and my hands pass through his back going to the hem of his shirt trying to take it off.
He understands my gesture and takes off his shirt and he stops for a few seconds and just stares at me before taking off my blouse and starts kissing down to my neck and my breast.
I lift my back from the bed for him to open my bra and Max wastes no time in starting to suck my breast making me squirm on the bed.
He goes down the kisses to my belly and with his hands squeezes my breasts, he kisses my pussy still covered with the thin lace of my black pantries and soon removes all my clothes leaving me completely naked.
He kisses my thighs and starts massaging my clit with his fingertips making me moan and soon I feel his tongue on my pussy making quick movements.
He stared at me and the exchange of glances was what was making the environment even hotter than it already was.
I raise my hips giving him access to all my pussy and he holds my hips and leaves a strong grip on my ass, then he sticks two fingers inside my pussy without cutting the movement of his mouth.
"Fuck." I grumble trying to hold back my moans. "Keep doing it like that, that's how I want it."
He adds a third finger and I can't control any more moans, they are getting louder and louder.
I feel my legs starting to shake, signaling that I'm going to come at any moment.
I warn him and he intensifies his movements until I reach my limit.
He swallows my cum and continues in my pussy until he starts kissing my whole body, leaving some hickeys on my breast and going to my neck and reaching my ear.
"I knew one day I would make you scream my name in the middle of the night." he bites my lobe and kisses my mouth again.
I take off the bottom of his clothes, also leaving him naked, and switch our positions getting on top of him.
I sit on his lap and start to make a delicious friction in our intimacies hearing a muffled moan from the blond and his cock getting more and more bigger.
He holds my neck tight and makes me lie completely on top of him while he attacks my lips.
I stop the kiss and make a trail of kisses down his neck leaving some hickeys on the way until I reach his cock and kiss the tip.
When I was about to start sucking his cock, Max holds my hair tightly and starts making the movements himself making me choke a few times, his moans were getting louder and louder when he increases the movements and cums in my mouth.
I don't usually swallow, but this time I did it without thinking twice.
"How about you sitting on my face?" I walk over to him and sit on his face.
I hold onto the headboard, making back and forth movements while he sucks me and holds my breasts tight while I go up and down doing all the work while his tongue remains still.
He stops sucking me and I sit back on his lap as he looks at me, seeming to have an idea.
"I want to fuck you in a different way." he says in his sexy voice. "Face the window, I want everyone to see that you're mine tonight."
I do as he asks thanking that my room is on the second to last floor because they would never be able to see that it's the two of us.
"Good girl, now I'm going to fuck you, but you choose." He grabs my neck. "Do you want it tender or do you want a fuck with all the positions we can handle?"
"Fuck me hard, make me yours." I try to turn towards him but he won't let me.
"Your wish is my command schatz." he begins to fit his cock in my intimacy.
At that time I didn't care about anything, I didn't care that it was him, I didn't care that we were having sex let alone that he had a girlfriend that he was cheating on right now.
Soon he begins to give strong strokes in and out of me holding my neck with one hand as he squeezes my breast with de other.
He gets out of me and turns me over, putting my back against the window and grabbing my legs with his arms and fitting his member into me again in a strong and aggressive way.
The thrusts continue stronger and stronger and the only noises we hear in the room is our bodies colliding and heavy breathing.
We try to hold back our moans but every exit and entry inside me makes me want to scream his name.
I pull him into a kiss and he bites my bottom lip and still kissing me, Max leads me to the bed leaving my back against the mattress and him on top of me fucking me like it's the last thing he would do.
The last thing we would ever do.
Due to lack of air we stop the kiss and my hands go to his back leaving several scratches, I see him staring at me while I call his name.
I announce my apex to him who is also reaching his.
When I reach my limit and he continues inside me going faster and faster making me scream for him until he comes.
He gets out of me and I change position to doggy and he leaves a slap on my ass, entering me again and going slowly to torture me, until he increases the speed.
He squeezes my breasts and massages my nipple.
He pulls out of me and lies down pulling me to sit on his lap.
I fit his member inside me and start to ride slowly while he squeezes my waist and I start to move up and down when taking his member out of me, until we cum again and I fall tired on his chest.
He leaves a kiss on my forehead and keeps messing with my hair without changing position.
After a while of caresses between the two of us, we left and went straight to the bathroom, he discarded the condom while I went into the shower but he came after, I was on my back to him when he takes my wet hair off my neck and starts kissing him all over and turns me to him starting to kiss my mouth leaning me against the wall while the hot water falls on both of us.
He goes down and leaves a hickey in the middle of my breasts and goes down the kisses and penetrates me with three fingers, I put my hand on my mouth to contain the moans while he fucks me once again.
Soon he leaves a kiss on my pussy and goes back up making a trail of kisses through my body and he lifts my left leg and fucks me mercilessly.
With each thrust he says how beautiful I am and what a wonderful woman I was.
He bites my ear and my nipple in a pleasurable way, while his hands are on my ass.
He squeezes and moans softly in my ear, until together we reach our limit.
We shower together while he washes my hair and I do the same with him.
Leaving the shower, Max put on his underwear and I took his blouse and my panties and put them on too.
When we lay down he pulled me on top of him and soon he was asleep but I kept thinking about how we would react tomorrow morning after we recounted the conscience of our deeds, but honestly I wasn't going to lose my sleep thinking about it now, it was already done and I decided that tomorrow I would worry about it.
This is probably going to have more parts so let me know if you want to be tagged in the next ones.
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jungshookz · 4 months
Text
smitten: y/n (reluctantly) agrees to go to jimin's big halloween bash and she forgot how much she actually hated parties
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➺ pairing; jeon jungkook x reader
➺ genre; smitten!miniseries!! bff!kook and smitten!y/n!! university!au!! honk honk humour!! the boohoo angsty wattpady fic of your dreams!! the pining and yearning is off the charts!! jimin’s still an asshole but what’s new!! 
➺ wordcount; 9.2k
➺ summary; putting on a smile while watching ji-eun cuddle up to jungkook is already hard enough, but when y/n is (reluctantly) invited to jimin’s massive halloween party, she can’t help but even more out of place. 
➺ what to expect; “you know, you’re my best friend and i wanna make sure that everything is… good between us.”
➺ currently playing on cee.fm; favourite crime [olivia rodrigo]
➺ smitten: part one [the almost confession]; part two [the incriminating note]; part three [the date]
»»————- 👻 ————-««
you’re pretty sure you’re in hell. 
you’re not sure what you did in your past life to have deserved this, but past-life y/n must’ve killed a baby or set an entire village on fire or something to that degree because you’re pretty sure that in this current timeline, you’re in hell 
you stay quiet as you munch on your (slightly soggy, unfortunately) sandwich, scrolling through your phone (but not really paying attention to your instagram feed because apparently you’re a glutton for punishment and you keep wanting to look up and just stare at jungkook and ji-eun in all their coupley glory) while your foot taps anxiously against the ground 
you know that if you say you can sit somewhere else to give the two of them some privacy that jungkook will insist that you stay, but you feel like the longer you sit here the faster the people around you will see that you’re just a big ol’ monster truck sized third wheel
you could lie and say that you have to go to the library to get some work done, but jungkook’s really good at knowing when you’re lying to him (apparently you have VERY obvious tells which you were very unaware of) so that’s not going to be a feasible plan either 
it’s just that being here is incredibly uncomfortable but it seems like the only option you have is to stay and sit through it — which, again, reiterates your point of you being pretty sure you’re being punished for something you did in your past life
“my handsome boy…” ji-eun giggles lightly, reaching over to adjust the collar of jungkook’s jacket before leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, “i like this jacket a lot.” 
“yeah?” he gives his girlfriend a boyish grin, looking down at his jacket before looking back up at her, “lucky for you, you can borrow it anytime you’d like-“ you glance up at them, the little voice in your brain stopping you from interrupting them to say that that is a nice jacket because you chose it for jungkook — and you feel like that comment could potentially lump you into the pick-me-girl-best-friend category which you’d very much like to avoid 
“borrow? no, i’m stealing it-“ 
“no way! i got this thrifted for, like, fifteen bucks, i’m not letting you steal it-“
“alright, then you better sleep with one eye open the next time i stay over at yours because this is a nice jacket-“ 
you can’t help but look over at the empty seat next to you on the bench as you let out a quiet sigh… you have never felt so horribly single in your entire life. 
and it doesn’t help that it’s cuffing szn this cuffing szn that all over your social media — your tiktok feed has not been very friendly to you as of late, the app flooded with countless videos of cute couples bundling up for the colder seasons
if anything you need to be cuffed to the wall before you go crazy and rip your eyelashes out from frustration 
unsurprisingly, jungkook and ji-eun are a couple now, but really, are you surprised? jungkook is great, ji-eun is great, they went on a great first date (thanks to you, let’s be honest) and all the dates after that went well too because it lead to jungkook asking ji-eun if she wanted to be exclusive with him 
you knew that things were going well when jungkook started hanging out with you less and less
and then when they officially got together, you didn’t think it could possibly get any worse but your already puny twice a week hangouts turned into two hours a week before he’d zip off to spend time with ji-eun
in fact, within the last two weeks, he’s only hung out with you once… which is fine, because you understand the honeymoon stage and you understand how giddy people can be when they get into a brand new relationship and just want to spend all their time with this new person 
you know for sure that if you were the one who’d gotten into a new relationship, you’d definitely want to spend as much time with your person because why wouldn’t you want to do that? you really can’t blame the guy 
you have other friends you can hang out with, but it’s just not as fun because even when you’re having a good time with them, your mind keeps wandering back to what jungkook is doing with ji-eun 
and of course, when jungkook mentioned to you over a quick lunch one afternoon that he was planning on asking ji-eun to make things official, it’s not like you could tell him that it was a horrible idea and that he shouldn’t be dating ji-eun without ruffling feathers and raising brows of suspicion 
the only person it would be a horrible idea for would be you, and you’re not enough of a dickhead to ruin a potentially good thing because of your own desires  
and obviously, she said yes because why wouldn’t she say yes?
you know, there really isn’t a way for you to talk about this situation without sounding like the most bitter person on the planet, so perhaps you should move on now  
“okay, i’m putting you two on drinks duty for the party!” jimin seems to appear out of thin air and you turn your head to look at him standing at the front of the table with an armful of flyers and the usual bossy, snarky persona that literally drains you every time you have an interaction with him, “unless you’re too busy making out to handle that.” 
“no, we can handle it-“ ji-eun rolls her eyes playfully, pulling away from jungkook before reaching over and plucking the list from jimin’s slim fingers, “jesus, jimin. twelve bottles of vodka??” 
“i’ll give you my credit card, just put all the charges on it-“ jimin shrugs, sliding in next to you before nudging you over a little, “this is going to be my greatest party yet. i’m charging $10 an admission and i’m renting out this huge house- i don’t think you can even comprehend how massive this party is going to be. it’s gonna be so much better than last year’s one.” 
“i remember hearing about your party last year!” you chime in, offering jimin a polite smile even though he’s not looking at you, “it sounded like it was super fun.” 
“so, you guys are on drinks, so that’s covered-“ jimin makes a tick on his clipboard before nodding to himself, “decor is covered, catering is covered, rent for the night is covered…” 
you poke your tongue against the inside of your cheek, slumping in your seat a little and resisting the urge to roll your eyes
you still have no clue what jimin’s problem is with you, but at this point you’ve gotten used to the way he acts like you literally do not exist at all 
you mentioned it to jungkook one time, wondering if maybe you were just looking too far into it and that there was nothing to take personally to which he responded with an enthusiastic nod and a “no, i also get the vibe that he doesn’t like you and i have no idea why… just let him be an ass if he wants to be one, don’t stoop to his level. life is too short to waste energy on weird people.” 
so if jimin wants to continue being an ass to you, you’re just gonna let it roll off you like water off a duck’s back 
“funny enough, y/n and i were gonna go to your party last year, but the kids in y/n’s building were trick or treating so we decided to stay home and watch horror movies and hand out candy instead-“ jungkook clears his throat, eyes flickering over to you for a brief second, “we also, like, decorated the doorway like it was a haunted apartment to freak the kids out. and y/n had this great idea to have a cauldron filled with warm spaghetti and she told the kids it was brain stew-“ 
“oh my god, i forgot about that-“ you snort, “i feel like we should’ve done, like, warm pudding instead or something, but the spaghetti kinda had the same effect and my kitchen smelled like an italian restaurant for two weeks after that-“ 
“let’s talk costumes!” jimin interrupts you, smacking his palm down on the table before pointing his pen at ji-eun and jungkook, “please don’t show up in anything tacky.” 
“we were thinking barbie and ken!” ji-eun grins, “not tacky, totally trendy — i know we probably won’t be the only barbie and kens in the room, but it’s just so trendy and i loved her pink sequinned cowboy outfit- or if that’s not available, i think the 80s skater costumes were a vibe-“ 
“i can’t whait to talk about horshes and capitahlism wiv a bunch of ovher kensj.” jungkook laughs lightly with a mouthful of sandwich, dabbing his mouth with his napkin before crumpling it up into a ball and tossing it at you
you scowl playfully when it bounces off your forehead and lands on the ground 
“you could go as allen, y/n. that’d be pretty funny.” jungkook swallows his bite, and you want to tell him that he doesn’t have to include you in every part of the conversation because you can practically see the pity for you radiating off of him in waves 
you know for a fact he feels bad that he’s not been able to hang out with you as much lately because every time you do hang out he always brings you a drink or a snack with sympathetic little puppy dog eyes
and every time you have lunch with him and ji-eun he’s always making an effort to include you in the conversation — especially when jimin is around because again, it’s pretty clear the guy doesn’t like you 
you and jungkook spent an entire afternoon trying to figure out why he didn’t like you so much, but you couldn’t come up with any conclusive results, so now whenever jimin is around, jungkook makes even more effort to include you in the conversation 
“allen was my favourite character, so that’s not even a bad idea.” you chirp, pulling out one of the flyers from jimin’s neat pile before looking at it for the details
“oh, right. yeah, you can come too, i guess.” jimin clears his throat quietly, taking the flyer back from you with a chuckle, “…you don’t seem like you’d have anything crazy going on on a friday night.”  
“i can come too? i thought that everyone was invited to this thing?” you raise an eyebrow, pointing to the little note on the flyer, “all it says is general admission.”
“…right.” jimin smiles sweetly at you, “and i suppose i’ll waive the fee for you since you’re… friends with jungkook.” 
“how sweet of you.” you respond curtly, offering a smile just as sweet before letting it drop as soon as he looks away
you are absolutely dreading having to go to this party. 
»»————- 👻 ————-««
“are you sure you don’t want us to come and pick you up? ji-eun has space in her car, you’d just have to sit in the back with all the drinks n stuff-“ 
“i’m good, jungkook, really-“ you mutter, pausing for a second to smudge out your lipstick before leaning back in your chair and turning side to side to look at your finished look 
not that this is jungkook’s fault, but the fact that the two of you really haven’t been hanging out as often gave you a lot of time to think about what you wanted to dress up as for jimin’s halloween costume, and after a solo spooky movie binge the other weekend, you decided that you wanted to dress up as emily from the corpse bride
sure, it’s been done so many times — but you love the movie and you love emily and you had so much time to get everything you needed for this costume so why not dress up as her?? 
you reach up to adjust your blue wig, tugging at it slightly to make sure it’s nice and secure 
“i’m just gonna uber there! plus, my place is kind of out of the way if you guys are already headed to jimin’s.” you clear your throat, “thank you for the offer though. make sure to let ji-eun know i really appreciate the gesture.” 
“okay, i will…” jungkook murmurs, and you can tell by the tone in his voice that he wants to say something but he’s holding himself back, “i guess i’ll see you at the party, then? we’ll probably be there in about forty minutes.” 
“yes, i’ll see you guys at the party.” you nod, wiping the leftover blue lipstick on your fingers on a tissue before reaching over to get ready to press the hangup button 
“y/n?” jungkook’s voice crackling out from your phone speaker makes you pause, and you pull your hand back 
“yea?” 
“we’re- we’re good, right?” the question is somewhat of a surprise to you due to its weirdly serious, non-jungkook nature, your eyes flickering down to look at the contact photo you have set for your friend
he grins like a maniac at the camera, eyes wide and lit up with excitement at the cheesy corn dog he’s holding in front of him 
the corner of your mouth twitches in a fond smile at the memory of that day — jungkook was convinced he’d be able to eat three corn dogs in one sitting and the day ended with him basically destroying your toilet and then refusing to let you use it until the smell cleared out 
“what do you mean?” you clear your throat quietly, lips parting to say something else before you press them together and decide against it
“i mean- i know we haven’t been hanging out a lot lately so i just-“ jungkook coughs, “you know, you’re my best friend and i wanna make sure that everything is… good between us.” 
“i-“ you pause again, gaze averting to the side as you think about his comment 
if you’re being completely honest, you don’t think everything is good between the two of you — the first reason why being the fact that you are still completely and utterly head over heels in love with him, and the second reason being that he’s in a relationship with someone else and you’re really not sure how much more of this you can take before you go insane 
but this isn’t exactly something you can hash out over a crackly phone call, and you’re really not in the mood to potentially destroy two relationships at once 
you really don’t know what you’re going to do about this emotional mess, but what you do know is that you’re going to have to take it day by day until you’re eventually ready to face it head on — and tonight, your only job is to smile, enjoy being young, and have lots of fun at what you’re sure is going to be an amazing party despite it being hosted by someone who hates your guts for no reason 
“we’re- we’re good, kook.” you manage to push out, despite the words practically fighting their way out of your mouth, “you’re my best friend, too.” 
“okay. so i’ll see you soon?” 
“yea.” you look at yourself in the vanity mirror, wondering if the sadness in your eyes will make your costume that much more believable, “i’ll see you soon.” 
»»————- 👻 ————-«« 
the six pack of lime seltzer water (you got the fancy kinds in glass bottles) clinks in their cardboard carrier as you walk on the sidewalk, blue heels clicking against the pavement as you follow the path leading up towards the house that-
“holy shit.” your jaw drops at the sheer size of this literal mansion — what looks to be an endless number of burgundy bricks separated by neat, thin layers of cement that are stacked on top of each other, two large, white columns that cast identical shadows on the curved sidewalk leading up to the large, black front door, and not to mention, the insane halloween decorations: huge spider webs stretched over the door and windows, fairy lights wrapped around the columns, a stack of pumpkins sitting by the front steps kardashian-style 
you don’t like jimin but you have to hand it to him, he sure can throw a party 
“s’cuse us, sorry!” a trio of girls dressed up as sluttier versions of the powerpuff girls brush past you, bubbles turning around to shoot you a grin, “love your costume, by the way!”
“oh, thank you!” your face immediately breaks into a wide grin, “you guys look great, too-“ 
the random compliment lifts your mood up slightly — you know you’re more than capable of making friends anywhere you go, so if jungkook is too busy mingling with the other couples, you know you’ll be fine 
and hopefully jimin will be too busy playing host to give you any attitude tonight 
you lift your dress up as you make your way up the steps, the corners of your mouth lifting in an excited smile when you see taehyung standing by the door greeting people and collecting their $10 by… having them tuck the bills into the waistband of his boxers
“magic mike?” you laugh, taehyung’s right eye dropping in a wink before thrusts his hips towards you 
“you know it, baby-“ he coos, reaching over to pinch the fabric of your dress to pull you towards him, your cheeks flushing when you stumble into his chest, “be nice to me and i’ll give you a lil lap dance in one of the private rooms-“ 
“taehyung, i swear to god, do not let any of those bills fall into your boxers because i’m not touching anything that touched your penis-“ jimin pops up behind taehyung dressed in a veryaccurate joker costume, his usual blonde hair dyed completely green for the look 
“hi, welcome to the party, $10 an admiss-“ the sweet smile immediately drops from his face when he realises it’s you, jimin leaning back slightly, “wow, corpse bride!” jimin nods, looking you up and down, “seems fitting.” he mutters under his breath, watching as taehyung tapes the neon orange bracelet around your wrist 
“nice to see you too, jimin.” you raise an eyebrow, lifting the six pack up with your other hand, “i didn’t want to come empty-handed, so i brought some drinks!”
“you brought six drinks for a house party? six sparkly waters, too… interesting.” jimin scoffs lightly, plucking the carrier from you before offering you a saccharine sweet smile, “how thoughtful of you. drinks are in the kitchen - first two shots are free, and then it’s $15 a shot after that. cocktails are $5 each, mocktails are $3- you seem like a shirley temple girl anyway- and all of it can be paid through venmo. the bartender will answer any other questions you have. bathrooms are upstairs, and the results to the costume competition will be announced at the end of the night. there are fifteen winners, and the votes are made by everyone here, so you might have a shot at winning something here.” jimin steps aside, gesturing towards the party, “have fun!”
“thank you, jimin.” you smile politely, stepping into the house and immediately rolling your eyes as soon as you turn away from him
so you weren’t able to completely avoid his dickheadedness, but hopefully that’ll be your only interaction with him tonight considering he’s probably going to be busy playing businessman all night 
$15 a shot is kind of insane, though 
you keep your phone pressed flush to your chest as you manoeuvre your way through the packed floor, the neon lights flashing and disco ball glimmering from above making it damn near impossible to navigate this place without bumping into backs and stepping on toes  
the DJ pumps his arm up into the air as he continues spinning his fingers against the discs, the crowd going wild as the song builds up to the chorus 
you can already tell that most of the people here are drunk (you can smell it, too) and you know, if you can’t beat ‘em, why not join them? 
you can find jungkook later, and alcohol is definitely going to make this night a little easier to handle 
“hi!” you smack your hands down on the marble countertop when you finally make your way to the bar, the vampire bartender turning to glance at you over his shoulder before tossing a cloth over his shoulder, “i want- something. shots, a drink, anything-“ your voice is already straining from the way you’re basically screaming over the music but this seems to be the proper way to communicate at a party like this 
“wait, y/n?” your eyes light up when you realise that it’s none other than namjoon in charge of the drinks (and you wonder if your friendship with him will mean he gives you more drinks without charging you for it) and you let out a gasp as you lean over the counter to grasp onto his wrist
“namjoon!” you grin, “oh my god, thank god, finally someone i know at this damn party. why didn’t you tell me you were going to be here??”
“why didn’t you tell me you were gonna be here?! i haven’t seen you at the library at all, otherwise i definitely would’ve talked to you about it- what can i get for you?” 
“top-shelf tequila, baby. i saw the list of brands that jimin bought - i want the most expensive one.” you raise an eyebrow, namjoon laughing to himself before nodding 
“alright, i gotcha- you need any chasers with that?” 
“you got cranberry juice?” 
“for you, i’ve got anything-“ namjoon smirks, holding a finger up to excuse himself  
it’s five seconds later that you’re presented with not one, not two, but three shots of tequila, namjoon winking at you as he slides the cranberry juice chasers over to you as well
“you better take these before jimin realises i’ve given you a freebie- i’m about to take a break here, someone else is gonna come in a sec to replace me- you wanna dance?” 
“um, of course i do!” you can’t help but squeal excitedly, “take one with me!” you push a shot glass towards him, namjoon shrugging before picking up the shot and downing it in less than two seconds
you take your second shot, eyes squinting as the burn of alcohol trickles down your throat 
you immediately shudder, reaching for the cranberry juice and tossing it down the hatch 
“oh, jesus-“ you hiss, shuddering against before sticking your tongue out in disgust, “god, that cranberry juice does not help whatsoever-!” you don’t get much of a chance to say anything else before namjoon has his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, giggles bubbling out of your mouth as he drags you towards the crowded dance floor to join the rest of the drunken crowd 
»»————- 👻 ————-«« 
okay, so maybe this party didn’t turn out to be as bad as you thought it was going to be! 
“that- oh my god-!” you throw your head back in laughter when namjoon pulls out the worst dance moves you’ve ever seen, your eyes pinching shut as you clutch at your stomach 
you’re not sure how much time has passed (to be fair, it’s gonna be hard to tell how much time has passed when you’re at a massive house party with flashing lights and nothing but the sound of speakers booming to guide you) but you know you’ve been having a lot more fun with namjoon than you’ve had with jungkook these last few weeks) ((in fact you’re having so much fun that you almost forgot you were supposed to be heartbroken that the love of your life is with someone else, but also, that could probably be the alcohol taking over)) 
you know at some point you’re going to have to go over and say hi to jungkook eventually because you don’t want him to think that you’re purposely ignoring him or something — after all, it’s not his fault that he likes ji-eun and it’s not something you can pin on him and grill him for — but for now, you’re going to dance a little more, sing a little more, and- 
“i gotta pee!” you gasp all of a sudden, realising that you haven’t peed once since coming here and there’s a lot of tequila sloshing around in your system
“what?” namjoon furrows his brows, reaching up to tap against his ear, “too loud, can’t hear you!” 
“i gotta go pee!” you repeat yourself, pointing towards the staircase leading upstairs, “’m gonna go pee n then ‘m gonna come right back-“ 
“oh, pee?” namjoon nods, finally catching your words before stepping aside a little, “okay, i’ll be right here!” 
»»————- 👻 ————-«« 
the silence of the bathroom is more than welcome as soon as you step in and flick the lights on, not at all surprised to see a pair of elegant looking wall sconces lighting up the space 
you squint your eyes as you lean into the mirror, double checking that your makeup is still somewhat intact and you don’t look insane 
“hm. not bad.” you mutter to yourself, turning your head from side to side before nodding, reaching down to pull the endless amounts of tulle up so you can hopefully not piss all over yourself in your tipsy state 
you set the lid down as the toilet flushes, turning the tap on and rinsing your hands underneath the cool water 
“oh, damn-“ you wince when you realise you’re washing some of the blue body paint away and you quickly turn the tap off, shaking the water off your hands before reaching for a neatly folded cotton towelette of course, because regular paper towels aren’t fancy enough for a park jimin party 
you give yourself one last glance in the mirror (you could use a little more lipstick but it’s dark down there so no one’s going to be able to tell anyway) before flicking the lights off 
“oops! i’m sorry-“ you apologise instinctively when you open the door and stumble right into someone, taking a few steps back before looking up to see that it’s jimin, “oh, hey…” you clear your throat quietly, standing up a little straighter before offering him a meek smile 
you always feel like you’re in trouble when you’re around jimin and it’s the worst feeling in the world 
like he’s the principal and you just got caught cheating on a test and he’s about to call home to tell your parents as punishment 
or he’s an officer and he’s about to test you with the breathalyser and you know you’re going to fail because you definitely can’t walk in a straight line right now 
“why am i not surprised that you clearly don’t know how to handle alcohol?” jimin snorts, holding his hands out in case you fall over, “you better not throw up all over me, this suit is custom made-“
“i wasn’t throwing up in the bathroom, i just went in there to pee-“ you roll your eyes, placing both hands on your hips before shaking your head, “you are ridiculous, you know that? even if i was throwing up in your stupid fancy toilets, the normal thing to do would be to ask if me i was okay and if i needed some water! you- you are just so self-centred and just-“
“yeah, uh-huh-“ jimin reaches up to pat the side of your face with a smile, “by the way, if you were looking for jungkook, he’s at the VIP booth with ji-eun and the rest of us.”
“oh, perfect!” you nod, thankful for the information, “i’ll pop over and say hi in a bit, i think it’d be good to sit down too because my heels are kind of killing me and i wouldn’t be surprised if i had, like, a million blisters right now-“ 
“woah, i never said you were allowed to be in the booth with us.” jimin scoffs, pressing a hand against your shoulder to keep you from moving, “silly girl.” 
your lips part slightly as you look at him, and for a moment the only thing that can be heard is the faint boom and bass of the music playing from downstairs 
“are you… serious?” you ask, unsure if jimin’s joking with you or not
the bored expression on his face tells you that he is indeed, super serious 
all of this just feels so incredibly cliquey and immature and stupid and you know that you’re supposed to be the bigger person because jimin clearly won’t be and you like to think that you’re ten times more emotionally mature than him but he’s making it harder and harder for you to not want to shred up his nice suit with a pair of scissors and cuss him out in front of everyone 
“i’m dead serious. i’m just telling you this so that you don’t embarrass yourself when your drunk ass stumbles over and tries to join us.” jimin says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world, “enjoy the rest of the party, sweetheart.” he brushes past you to head into the washroom and-
“you’re a fucking dickhead, you know that?” you snap, jimin stopping in his tracks before turning his head slightly so you can just make out the side of his face, “i think i’ve been nothing but nice to you ever since i met you, and to be honest, i can’t even think of one reason why you are constantly so fucking rude and overall just unpleasant to me. i don’t say anything when you purposely cut me out of the conversation, i don’t nag when you ignore my questions and comments but respond to everyone else’s, and most importantly, i’ve never called you out for being a jackass when i think i’ve had every chance and opportunity to. if you have a problem with me, then just say so so that we can hash this stupid weird rivalry out and just get along. your best friend and my best friend are in a relationship, and i think it’s in everyone’s best interest that we at least try to get along-“
“oh, shut the fuck up, y/n.” jimin scoffs, turning around to face you, “you know, you always act like you’re better than everyone else, that’s why i don’t like you.”
you feel your shoulders stiffen at the comment before you shrug, crossing your arms over your chest, “well, i’m sorry if i’ve given you that impression but that’s not my intention, i don’t think i’m better than you, i don’t think i’m better than everyone else, and i can’t control how you feel about me but-“ 
“oh my god, even when you’re confronting me about being a dickhead to you you’re still being a sensible goddamn person, it’s like you’re purposely trying to piss me off-“ 
“okay, well, i’m not going to apologise to you for literally being myself because there’s nothing i can do about it. this is a you problem, not a me problem, so if you insist on being such an unreasonable drama queen for however long we’re going to have to spend time together, then i think the solution here is just for you to ignore me — which, you’re already doing a stellar job of, congratulations — and in return, i’ll happily ignore you.”
“i hate when people aren’t themselves. i pick up on that shit right away, and i gotta tell you, y/n, you might be the fakest person of them all.”
“what the hell are you talking about?” 
“i think we both know you’re hiding something from all of us. i think you’re hiding something from yourself, too. i think you’re lying to yourself.” 
there’s a pregnant pause in the conversation and for a second you want to ask him what exactly he’s implying here, but… 
“alright, jimin, well-“ you turn around to head towards the stairs, “you’re fuckin’ being weird, and i’m just trying to have a good time, so i’m just gonna go back down-“ 
“yeah, have a wonderful rest of your evening, corpse bride-“ 
you resist the very strong urge to whip around and literally just strangle the man, but you remind yourself that before you had this little interaction you were actually having a very good time 
“y/n!” jungkook stands at the bottom of the staircase as you make your way down, being careful not to trip over your heels, “hi!” 
“jungkook! oh, there you are- i was wondering where you were-“ you loop an arm with his as you drag him through the hoards of people and towards the bar (you really need a drink and it looks like namjoon is back on the clock)
“there you are!” he laughs lightly, reaching over to tap your hand gently, “i’ve been texting you all night trying to figure out where you were but- is your phone on do not disturb or something?“
“no, it’s not! i’m sorry, i should’ve checked my phone-“ you smile sheepishly, “i’ve been dancing with namjoon this whole time but- where are you guys sitting?”
“i don’t know, some area that jimin squared off for us and a few others- ji-eun’s been asking about you, she wanted to say hi-“ 
“oh! oh my god, yeah, i should probably go say hi to ji-eun-“ you gesture for namjoon to get you some water and he nods, grabbing a cup and filling it up for you, :your ken costume turned out great, by the way-“ you laugh, patting jungkook’s bare chest, “it’s, uh- it’s really giving horses and the patriarchy.”
“thank you, thank you- and your costume turned out so cool too, we should watch corpse bride again when we eventually have another movie night-“ 
“sure! sure, for sure.” you clear your throat quietly, a moment of awkward silence settling in between the two of you 
your friendship feels so… different now 
like there’s this unspoken air of something in between you and jungkook like an invisible brick wall 
and maybe it’s the liquid courage currently sloshing around in your body and the leftover exhilaration from finally calling jimin out on his bullshit, but now you have the urge to talk to jungkook about the weird tension 
“hey, kook, listen-“ you reach up to scratch the back of your neck, “there’s something i’ve been meaning to tell you but i’ve definitely been putting off for a while…” 
all of a sudden, a drum roll begins to boom from the speakers, the spotlights darting around the crowd before shining towards the main stage at the front of the room, whoops and cheers bouncing off the walls as jimin waltzes his way towards the microphone, a cocky smirk on his face as he raises his hand to get people to quiet down 
“oh, shit, the costume competition results!!” jungkook nudges your side as the two of you turn to face the front, “we can talk about it later, i wanna see who won what- i voted myself for best ken costume, so-“ 
you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding and you nod, thankful for the interruption 
maybe it’s a good thing you were interrupted 
telling him in the middle of a party probably wasn’t the best idea, anyway
»»————- 👻 ————-«« 
once again, you really have to hand in to jimin 
the man truly knows how to throw a party, because it seems like just about everyone is having the time of their lives — and this costume competition just made things so much more fun
there are definitely a lot of good costumes here tonight and jimin decided to change it up with twenty-five different categories to go through so he’s kind of speed running through the names 
most scary costume, most realistic costume, most well-made costume: he’s got a lot of categories to get through 
you keep a content smile on your face as the costume contest continues to go on, enjoying jimin’s commentary to the point that you nearly forget that the two of you hate each other and he totally just disrespected you like he’s never disrespected you before twenty minutes ago 
“i wonder how that guy made it look like his head was floating… that shit was so cool.” jungkook claps his hands along with the crowd and you nod enthusiastically
“i know, right?! i’m sure he probably took it off tiktok or something - we can definitely look it up after the party and maybe we can try to recreate-“ you stop yourself mid-sentence, suddenly remembering that you guys haven’t exactly been the closest as of late so it feels weird to be offering to do something together, “um-“ you clear your throat, offering a half-hearted shrug, “yeah, we can, like, look it up later or something. maybe you and ji-eun can figure it out and let me know.” 
“yeah! or- you know, you and me-“ jungkook licks over his chapped lips, “like- you know, like- old times or whatever-“
“yeah, yeah- maybe! maybe-“ 
“now, before i announce this special category, i have something to read because-“ jimin sucks in a breath through his teeth before cocking his head to the side, “well, let’s just say it’s some context for the best simp costume of the night.”
you can’t help but frown at the strange category — out of all the halloween costume competitions you’ve been to, “best simp” has certainly never been one that you’ve seen before 
“just wanna remind everyone that this is just a costume competition, everything is based off the costume you’re wearing.” jimin adds, taking a slip of paper out of his back pocket before unfolding it with nimble fingers, “so, uh- you know. don’t take anything seriously, you know? just gotta loosen up and have fun.” 
your brows dip slightly at the weird disclaimer 
something about this doesn’t feel right.  
“dear j, this is something that i’ve wanted to tell you for a while but have never had the courage to until now. throughout our entire friendship, you’ve been so kind and loyal and honest with me, and i think that you deserve the same, so this is me being honest with you.” jimin speaks into the microphone, reading the words off the slip of paper with a tone of amusement laced in his powder-soft voice, “to be honest, i’ve liked you for nearly a year now, and i’ve tried so many times to push those feelings down but it’s clear that my feelings aren’t going anywhere anytime soon…” he recites, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth as he puts the piece of paper down, “any thoughts on who the winner could be? or should i keep going?” 
your eyelids flutter slightly at the weird change in mood of the lines and a strange feeling of familiarity of those words
“me at that one hot english professor.” a voice pipes out from the crowd and that gets a round of laughter 
you laugh along politely, but you can’t help but feel as though something is off 
something is off
something is very, very off
“i cherish you as a friend and the last thing i want to do is to make things weird, so… you don’t have to worry about my feelings, you know?” 
oh my god. 
you feel the blood immediately drain from your face when you finally realize why these lines are so familiar — it’s because they’re from the note you wrote for jungkook when you were going to tell him you liked him. 
your brain begins to work overtime to figure out how the hell jimin got his hands on that note and why the hell he’d think it’d be okay to read it aloud to this massive group of people and what the hell he’s even doing right now  
“what i’m trying to say is that i like you, j. i like you so much that i don’t know where to even put my feelings, and i’m sick of holding my feelings back and pretending that i’m fine with being just your friend.” 
you know that jimin’s never really been a fan of you, but even this seems like too much of a dickhead move even for him 
you pluck at the cuff of your sleeve anxiously, tracing your steps all the way back to the day you were going to tell jungkook about your feelings for him and the note that you’d accidentally given him that you were hoping was rotting away somewhere in a dump yard but clearly isn’t 
jungkook said he’d given ji-eun the note to spit her gum out into 
but what if she uncrumpled the paper and saw the note?
and what if jimin was there when she uncrumpled the note? 
and then they read it together and ji-eun mentioned that you were reciting this aloud in the bathroom and-
your heart starts to race in your chest and you feel the hairs prickle on your arms as anxiety begins to bubble in your stomach, and you know that no one’s looking at you but you feel like everyone’s looking at you 
you feel sick
you feel like you’re going to throw up and explode at the same time 
“how could you like someone for a year and not tell ‘em?” jungkook snorts, nudging you with his elbow, “who do you think the poor sucker is who said that?” 
“beats me.” you breathe out, feeling yourself shrink slightly when you notice jimin starting to scan the audience, clearly laser-focused on finding you, “i have to- um, i think i need some fresh air, it’s a little warm in here-“ 
“oh- okay-“ jungkook doesn’t get the chance to say much else before you’re turning around, pushing yourself through the crowd of people and trying your best to stay calm 
just breathe
in and out
in and out 
in and out in and out in and out oh my god HURRY UP MOVE MOVE MOVE-
you’re sure that no one will notice if you slink out through the back
and you can always text namjoon later and say that it was great spending time with him but you had a personal emergency and needed to leave the party earlier 
and if jimin decides to expose you, at least you’ll be gone and out of this house and nowhere near any of these people and you don’t have to look at their stupid sympathetic faces and you don’t have to deal with- 
“and the best simp of the night goes to our lovely corpse bride.” 
you freeze when the spotlight lands on you, your heart going a hundred miles a minute as it starts to beat harder and faster in your chest 
you only manage to turn your head weakly to glance over your right shoulder, catching jimin in your peripheral view before you’re slowly twisting around to face him, feet glued to the ground 
“why don’t you come up here and accept your sash, corpse bride?” jimin smirks, plucking the satin sash from (a shocked looking) taehyung’s arms before raising it up in the air slightly, “congratulations on winning, you get two free drinks from the bar. one for you and one for… well, probably also you. get on up here and claim your coupons!” 
you feel your face burning bright red in humiliation and you’re unable to tear your eyes away from jimin, your hands clenched into tight fists at your sides
this is a nightmare
this is actually a nightmare 
this is traumatising in so many ways 
the music seems to quiet down, a loud silence washing over the room as people look at you with expressions of confusion on their faces, everyone clearly a little thrown off at the weird category 
eyes, there are just a million pairs of eyes on you and you feel like you can’t move or breathe or even do anything but stand still in shock
it’s only then that you notice the calculating look on jungkook’s face, his eyelids fluttering slightly before his eyes widen and his head snaps up and over to look at you
his lips part slightly as his eyes dart over the features of your face and you feel your entire body flushing in humiliation and shame, forcing your eyes away from your friend and back to the dickhead on the stage 
“you are really something else, park jimin.” you manage to mutter out before turning on your heel and pushing your way through the crowd, people stepping aside to let you out 
“aw, where are you going? you had a great costume, that’s all we were trying to say!” jimin laughs, actually laughs into the microphone before shrugging, tossing the sash over his shoulder before moving on, “alright, well, more drinks for me, i guess. the next category is best couple’s costume-“ 
“y/n- y/n, wait!” jungkook’s voice is the one thing you hear among the music and bustle of the crowd but he’s the last person you want to talk to right now so you pick up your pace upon spotting the front door 
tears blur your vision as you finally burst out into the open air, your chin trembling as you try your best to keep your composure and not completely burst into tears
“oh my god, oh my fucking god-“ you whimper, sucking in large breaths of air 
run, run, run, the only instinct you have is to run, and you reach down to yank both heels off before taking off into a sprint, the grass slightly damp beneath your bare feet 
it feels very cliché to be running out of a mansion in a big poofy dress, but you can’t even take the moment to laugh at yourself because the only thing you can focus on is the fact that everything has changed completely and you’re forced to face reality a lot sooner than you would’ve liked 
“y/n, come on!” you turn to glance over your shoulder to see jungkook hot on your trail, “you can’t just run away from a discussion you don’t want to have, we need to talk because we both know that things have been off since i started dating ji-eun and now-“ 
“okay, well, now you know, then!” your chest heaves as you come to a stop to catch your breath (you have no idea why you thought running would be a good idea, you get winded after thirty seconds on the treadmill), spinning around to face your friend who skids to a stop, tripping over his feet a little before standing up straight, “the secret’s out, jungkook. we finally solved the puzzle. i love you. i’ve loved you for so long that i don’t even remember when i started feeling this way, but all i know is i love you. you’re the first person i think of when i wake up and you’re the last person i think about before i fall asleep. i would literally drop everything i was doing if you needed me, and you’re the only person i want to spend my free time with.” all the words that you’ve been holding in for the last who knows how long finally spill out, your mouth running uncontrollably, “i love you so much that i helped you set up your date with ji-eun, i love you so much that i’m willing to run in the rain just to get you a teddy bear and a bouquet that’s not even going to me, jungkook, i-“ you blubber, reaching up to wipe at your eyes, “i don’t know what to do. there is no one else in the world i’d rather be with than you, jungkook, and i- to be honest, maybe it’s a good thing that jimin did what he did because you do deserve to know the truth and you do deserve to know how i really feel about you. if this didn’t happen i think i’d just keep it to myself for the rest of my life, but you deserve to know this. i love you, jungkook. i love you and i don’t know if i can keep being friends with you if you’re dating someone else because it’s actually killing me on the inside-“ 
“i love you, y/n,” jungkook breathes out, and you feel yourself letting out a breath that you didn’t even know you were holding
relief 
for the first time in a long time, you feel relieved, like a massive weight’s just been lifted off your shoulders 
you feel your heart soar in your chest, and suddenly it’s like all the humiliation and shame has completely washed away, and suddenly you have the feeling to run back into the house to thank jimin for doing this because you know you wouldn’t have said anything if it weren’t for this slightly traumatising experience 
“i love you, i do, but… not in that way.” his shoulders droop slightly and you feel your heart beginning to crackle like a delicate glass sculpture, each splinter creating more damage than the last, “i love you like you’re the first person i call when i get good news because i know you’ll be proud of me, or when i get bad news because i know you’ll be there to comfort me. i love you, like i envision you standing next to me at my wedding fixing my tie or calming me down when whoever i end up marrying is walking down the aisle. i love you like you’ll be fun auntie y/n who spoils my kids with shopping sprees at the mall and who allows them an extra scoop of ice cream after dinner. i love you because you make me a better person, i love you because you encourage me to be the best version of myself i can possibly be. i love you because you remind me to be smart and kind and humble and honest and i trust you to be the one to put me in my place if i ever need it but i-“
“stop.” you feel nauseated hearing all of these words coming out of his mouth, telling you that he loves you because and he loves you because but not just i love you too. “just stop, jungkook.” you know that you can’t control someone else’s feelings but you can control your own reactions, and if jungkook would’ve kept rattling on you don’t know what you would’ve said but you know you probably would’ve lashed out at him 
and it’s good that you finally got your answer, right? he loves you, but not in that way — not in the way that you love him 
“y/n, please-“ jungkook whispers, reaching out for you, his eyebrows scrunching together when you take a small step back, wrapping your arms around yourself, “please, i can’t lose you as a friend, you mean so much to me-“ 
“i need some time.” you manage to force out, the sickening feeling of humiliation and shame and embarrassment and disappointment and frustration and anger swirling around in your stomach, “i just need some time.”
“how much time?” 
“you should probably go back to the party.” you clear your throat quietly, offering your friend a weak smile, “i heard you and ji-eun were up for best couple’s costume. not saying that jimin rigged the system or anything, but-“ 
“y/n, how much time?” jungkook’s looking at you with sad puppy-dog eyes, and though it breaks your heart to see him like that, you need to put yourself first for once 
every instinct inside of you screams to console jungkook, to reassure him and let him now that you’ll still be around but you just need some space from him and the whole situation 
your eyes begin to water again as you press your lips together, shaking your head quietly, “i’m gonna go see if i can catch the bus home.” 
»»————- 👻 ————-«« 
(- “the FUCK is wrong with you, huh?!” jungkook barks, slamming jimin up against the wall before grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt, “you sadistic fuck, who in their right mind would ever fucking do that to another human being?!” 
“i’m the sadistic one?” jimin laughs, reaching up to wrap his fingers around jungkook’s wrists, “are you fucking serious? you’re the one whose been dangling yourself in front of y/n like a damn carrot to a starved rabbit-“ 
“what are you talking about?”
“you can’t stand here and honestly say that you didn’t have an inkling that y/n liked you more than a friend. i’ve seen the way you talk to her, i’ve seen the way you look at her, i’ve seen the way you are around her- you think i’m the evil one? at least i don’t take advantage of my friends who are CLEARLY head over heels in love with me and would obviously do anything i wanted them to do and ask them to help me set up a date that i’m taking someone else out on-“ 
“get a fucking life and mind your own damn business for once, you motherf-“) 
🎙️ console y/n or call out jimin because what the hell was that?! (talk to my characters!) 
📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!) 
💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)
🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits!) 
569 notes · View notes
astro-b-o-y-d · 2 years
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Can’t wait to get to the part in Triangulum where Ford puts together that he was literally tricked and manipulated by the trillion-year-old equivalent of like...some young teen who hated being told what to do and went to the complete extreme with it.
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wheresarizona · 6 months
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Terra Incognita
pairing: Javier Peña/f!Virgin Reader (no physical descriptions)
summary: Being the secretary for the attaché, Javier Peña, isn’t too bad. In the months you’ve worked together, he’s warmed up to you. Having flirty conversations daily and being the only recipient of his rare smiles you know all means nothing since he’s your boss; your unattainable, unbelievably attractive boss you have a raging crush on. Then he decides to do the unthinkable and asks you out for a drink, and not an innocent, HR-approved drink between colleagues, but a forbidden, going on a date drink—that goes so well you ask him to take your virginity and make you orgasm for the first time. 
He happily obliges. 
rating: E (18+!! No y/n, can be read as age gap (reader’s age is unspecified, but she’s at least 23), Soft Javier Peña, Inexperienced Reader, boss/employee relationship (very consensual, he puts you in control), explicit smut, loss of virginity, first time, first orgasm (Javier teaches you how to touch yourself), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie (it’s me), oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, masturbation (f), mirror sex, dirty talk, praise kink, spit mention, (1) spank, Javier being a consent king, sneaking around, insecurity, self-esteem issues, Javier making you feel beautiful, feelings, Javier being cute and flirty, talks of the future, Javier hating you think he’s too hot for you)
word count: 12.8k+
a/n: I got an ask about doing reader’s first time with Javier months ago, and this week, I finally had a chance to write it. There’s plot, there’s a lot of porn, this took on a life of its own, and I’m sorry about how long it took me to get around to it. I hope you enjoy! Takes place during Season 3 of Narcos, a couple of months before they get Gilberto. Thank you so much to @senorabond for betaing super last minute!
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
Masterlist
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“Peña,” he answers on the second ring. 
Sitting at your desk outside Javier Peña’s office, you have the corded phone receiver held to your ear and documents in front of you that you’re preparing for his signatures. 
“I have someone from the ambassador’s office on the other line,” you tell him. “I’m going to assume you’re in a meeting?”
He isn’t. 
The smile is clear in his voice when he replies, “Yeah, I’m definitely in a meeting.”
“I’ll send them to your voicemail.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s no problem, sir.”
“Just Javi.”
“It’s no problem, Just Javi.”
An amused breath leaves him. “Smartass.”
“I’m just calling you what you requested. I need to take care of this call. Bye, Just Javi.”
“Javi. Bye, Florecita (little flower).”
The nickname makes you smile, knowing he calls you it because there’s always a bouquet on your desk—today, it’s daisies. 
Pressing a couple of buttons has you back on the line with the other person, apologizing that your boss is indisposed in a meeting and transferring them to his voicemail. Immediately, you return to the task you were working on before being interrupted. 
Being the secretary for the attaché isn’t too bad. 
For months now, you’ve worked with Javier, and at first, he didn’t even know what to do with you until requests started coming in for him to attend meetings, be on conference calls, and turn in paperwork by deadlines. That's when he tagged you in to be the keeper of his schedule. He was polite and professional at the beginning of your partnership, and a little sulky, which you figured had to do with the job. Over time, he still sulked, but he’s warmed up to you, especially with how you run interference with his calls that come through and keep him from talking to people who annoy him to the best of your ability. Occasionally, he has to speak to them; rarely, however, because you have no issue lying through your teeth for him—he gets grumpy after those calls so it’s better for him to hardly take them. 
He’s friendlier now than when you first met, and the only time you’ve seen him crack a smile is when he’s talking to you. The first and every time after he has made you feel like you’re melting—yes, you have a crush on your boss. 
Have you seen him? 
Those suits? The hair? The mustache? His shoulder-to-waist ratio? His ass? He’s gorgeous, and you don’t have a chance in hell, so you bask in the smiles he gifts only to you, and the fun, flirty conversations that aren’t leading to anything since he’s your boss, and way out of your league. 
Glancing at the watch on your wrist informs you it’s time for lunch—it’s crazy how quickly time flies when you’re working sometimes. The small stack of papers on your desk gets stapled and set off to the side and out of the way. When you pull open your bottom desk drawer, your purse is in there, along with two small paper lunch sacks. Pulling the latter out, one is set in the space the papers once occupied, and the other you carry as you roll your chair back and get up. It’s only a handful of steps to the closed door, rapping your knuckles against it twice. 
“Come in,” says a voice from inside. 
Opening the door, you make your way in, closing it behind you. Your boss is sitting at his desk sans his navy blue suit jacket, a cigarette cushioned between his plush lips, wisps of smoke rising from it as he reads over documents. 
That’s another thing about Javier—you’re pretty sure he lives on coffee and cigarettes, not buying it anytime he says he’s quitting them. 
To be annoying, you put the paper bag directly over what he’s reading. His head pops up to look at you with his big, brown puppy dog eyes, his fingers pulling the lit nicotine from his mouth and depositing it into the glass ashtray he keeps within reach.  
“I’ve told you, you don’t have to bring me lunch,” his words come out in a deep rasp. 
Crossing your arms over your chest, you can’t help but snort, noticing his gaze dropping to your bosom for a split second before it’s back on yours. 
“That’s a lie,” you reply, and he frowns. “You always forget to eat because you’re too busy working. So, the solution is for me to bring you food. That way, you can eat and keep doing all your important stuff.” 
His eyes dart away as he sighs. “Can I pay you for the lunches?” he asks. “You probably didn’t have making lunch for your helpless boss in your food budget.” 
You smile. “I didn’t, but I’m happy to make them for you. There’s no need for you to pay me for the food.” 
His eyes meet yours. “There’s gotta be some way for me to thank you.” He sits back in his chair, letting you take in the ample breadth of his shoulders in his white dress shirt, his red patterned tie running down the center of his chest. “How about I take you out for a drink tonight?” 
That causes your brain to record scratch. 
“A drink… with me?” you answer slowly. 
There’s a confused expression on his face. “Yeah? I would’ve asked you sooner, but I’m always fucking working, and tonight I’m free—this entire weekend, I am, as long as I’m not called in.” 
He would’ve asked you sooner?
“I know you are…” You are the keeper of his schedule. “It’s just a thank you drink…?” 
His hand goes to his mouth, your eyes stuck on the journey his thumb makes, swiping over his bottom lip and wondering for the thousandth time what it’d be like to kiss him. 
“Can be…” he answers, his eyes darkening when you look at them. “Or, it can be more if that’s what you want.” 
He wants to go on a date with you? 
“I like the sound of more,” you quietly reply. 
“I like the sound of more, too.” And you’re gifted with one of his smiles, this one crooked and charming. 
It makes you swallow, your skin feeling heated. “I just want to make sure I’m reading this right,” you start, feeling discombobulated. “You’re asking me out on a date, right? Me?” You point at yourself, so there’s no mistaking who you mean. 
That confused look is back on his face as he leans forward. “Yes, I am asking you—” He points at you. “—to go out with me.” He points at himself. “Why are you so surprised? I like you.” 
Your eyes widen. 
“You like me?” 
“Yes? Querida (Darling), why are you having trouble believing I’m interested in you?” 
This is so embarrassing, you have to cover your face in your hands, your voice muffled when you answer, “Because you’re extremely attractive, and I’m me, and I’ve seen the women you normally go for.” Everybody knew about his one-night stand with the woman who worked here. “I’m nowhere near as beautiful as them.” 
The sound of his chair wheels rolling met your ears, and seconds later, you jolt when big, warm hands are grabbing yours and pulling them away. A concerned look you’ve never seen is on his face, his thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands. 
“Don’t say that,” he says in a soothing tone. “Wanna know something?” 
“Sure.” 
“I find you more attractive.” You huff in disbelief. “I’m serious,” he continues. “Not only do you look beautiful—” His hand moves to cup your cheek. “—what’s inside you is beautiful, too, with how thoughtful and caring you are. You’re also funny and smart. I’ve been dying to take you out.” The sincerity in his gaze takes your breath away. 
Has hell frozen over? Are pigs flying? How in the hell is this perfect specimen of a man interested in you? He’s adamant he is, and you know he’s telling the truth, which seems insane, yet it’s exhilarating. Your love life is non-existent; you’ve never even been in a relationship, not for lack of trying; it’s just no one’s ever been interested. Now, someone is, and he’s so hot. There’s just one big glaring problem…
“You’re my boss…” you point out. “We’re not allowed to have any kind of romantic relationship due to the fact there is a major power imbalance here.” 
“The person who has all the power is you. You decide how far things go and if things should end. I’d never fire you or hurt your career in any way if you wanted nothing to do with me—I just wanna take you out for a drink, and from there, it’s all you.” 
His last sentence causes a nervous flutter in your tummy. 
“Okay, I’d like to get a drink with you. What’s your plan for us not being seen together?” 
He smiles, taking a step closer so your bodies are practically touching, smelling his spicy cologne that makes your mouth go dry. “I’ll take you to this little hole-in-a-wall place I know. Can I pick you up at seven?” 
You frown. “You know I live in a building full of people who work here—they’ll see you.” He’s occasionally driven you to and from work when the usual person you carpooled with was sick. 
“I won’t go to your door. I can park in the back of the lot and call you to come out to me.” 
“Have you put a lot of thought into this?” you ask. 
His cheeks pink up while he looks away. “Yeah…” 
The answer makes your heart pound in your chest, wondering what all he’s imagined, and something comes to mind, your curiosity getting the better of you. 
“What, um, is your plan if after the drink we want to go somewhere quieter and more… secluded?” 
His eyes are back on yours, his voice going a little deeper. “I’d take you back to my place.” 
The thought of that both excites you and makes you nervous.
“People won’t see me?” 
“No one from here—I had them put me up somewhere away from everyone else.” 
“Oh.”
“Can I kiss you?” 
“Yes,” you breathe. 
As soon as you say the word, his lips descend on yours, his hand cradling your head, his other arm wrapping around your back to pull you into him. This is a scenario you’ve daydreamed about countlessly; and the real thing? Even better than you imagined—his lips are soft and plush, the kiss tender, working his mouth against yours in a way that has something stirring low in your belly. He tastes like cigarettes and black coffee, which shouldn’t be as appealing as it is, your body feeling warm, the skin hot where he touches, your fingers digging into his shoulders. 
The moment comes when your lungs ache for breath, and he kisses you one last time, ending it with a playful nip to your bottom lip, his own lifted in another smile. You’re breathing heavily, seeing his lips had reddened, his eyes heavy–lidded. 
“Was it everything you hoped for?” he asks. 
It’s hard to think, not knowing what he’s talking about. 
“Huh?” you answer. 
He’s smiling cheekily now. 
“All the times you thought about kissing me—actually doing it, was it how you imagined?” 
The way your stomach drops, feeling your face heat. 
“Oh my god,” you gasp. “Was I that obvious?”
“Yeah. You don’t know how many fucking times I thought about giving you what you wanted.” 
“I am so embarrassed.” You squeeze your eyes shut. 
“Don’t be. I love it, and it gave me hope you’d agree to go out with me.” 
Looking away, you tell him, “It was better…” 
He grins, his head moving to kiss the side of your mouth, turning so your lips can meet. It’s quick, him whispering, “Yeah?” When he breaks away, nudging his nose against yours. 
This sweetness has you feeling all gooey. 
“Yes.” 
“Eat lunch with me.” 
“Is that an order from my boss or Javi?” 
He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. “It should’ve been a question from me, Javi—sorry.” 
You smile, pecking him on the lips. “In that case, my answer is yes. I’ll need to go grab my food.” 
Both of his arms hug around your middle, pressing his face into your neck. “I don’t wanna let you go yet.” 
Hugging him back, you reply, “Okay,” kissing his hair. 
Him being all touchy-feely and sweet is very unexpected but a welcome surprise. 
The blinds are all closed on the glass walls that enclose a good portion of his office, and there’s no worry of anyone stumbling upon the two of you in this embrace since they’d knock first. With how his body relaxes into yours and the way he lets out a happy sigh, it seems this hug is something he’s needed, and you’re more than willing to give him the comfort. 
“If you ever need a hug, just let me know,” you whisper. 
His arms loosen, raising his head to look at you. 
“Thanks. What, uh, if I need a kiss?” 
You giggle. “Same. Just let me know.” 
“I think I need one before you go.” 
“I will be gone for less than thirty seconds.” 
“It’s thirty seconds too long.” 
“You’re ridiculous,” you reply in exasperation. “Kiss me, you goober.” 
And he does, slotting his mouth against yours, kissing you. 
It might’ve lasted seconds or a minute, you’re not sure, with how lost you get in his lips on yours and his body pressed so close. When he finally pulls away, you chase his mouth, and he chuckles, making you frown. 
“Go get your lunch, Florecita,” he rasps. “We’ll eat, finish working, and tonight, I’ll kiss you as much as you want.” 
Opening your eyes, they’re locked on his, smiling as you reply, “I like that plan.” 
He has the same expression, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I do, too.” With that, he gives your hips one last squeeze and walks to sit behind his desk again, and you make the quick trip to get your lunch and bring it back, shutting the door behind you. 
Javier tries to get you to pull one of the chairs in front of his desk around to sit beside him; however, you give him a firm no in case someone comes by. Instead, you end up across from him, talking between bites of your sandwiches and chips. 
There are things you already know about him, such as he’s from Texas, only his father is alive, and, of course, how he helped take down Pablo Escobar. During this lunch, you learn his mother passed away five years ago; he has no siblings but a large extended family, he dearly misses his mother’s tamales, he’s still good friends with Steve Murphy, and he grew up on a cattle ranch where his father still lives. 
You finish your food, and you put all the garbage into the paper bag to throw out. 
“What are your plans for the weekend?” you ask him. “I can’t remember the last time you had one off.” 
“I haven’t.” He crumples up his trash in his own bag. “And I’m not sure yet what my plans are,” he answers with a wink, your mouth falling open. 
Clearing your throat, you quickly get up, avoiding eye contact with how hot your face feels. 
“What about you?” he asks. 
“Um, I’m not sure, either.” The original plan was to deep clean your apartment, but now, with your date tonight and Javi having the whole weekend off, things might be changing. 
“Maybe we can figure out something together tonight.” 
“Maybe,” you reply, walking backward with your garbage in your hand, still avoiding looking at him. “I have to get back to work, Mr. Peña, sir—”
“Just Javi,” he interrupts. 
“I have to get back to work, Just Javi, and pretend like I don’t know what it’s like to kiss you or think about how I’m going out with you tonight, so if you can do me a favor and not be sexy for the next—” You check your wristwatch. “—three hours and fifty-eight minutes, I’d greatly appreciate it.” 
“I’ll try…?”
Your back bumps against the door. 
“Great!” Taking a deep breath, you chance a glance at him to see he’s smiling. “Me?” you whisper in disbelief, reaching behind you to grab the door handle. “He likes me?” 
Turning, you open the door, Javier saying loud enough for you to hear, “Yes, you,” and butterflies flutter rapidly around in your belly. 
Thankfully, the rest of the day goes by quickly, the two of you staying very professional, aside from the one kiss he stole when you needed him to sign something. 
When it was time to leave, you told him goodbye from the doorway, and he made you wait so he could walk you to the car park, where you went to catch a ride with your friend, and he walked to his Jeep. 
With how nervous you were, dinner was light and quick once you got home, followed by taking your time to get all gussied up for your date—showering, getting out your cutest black dress, doing your hair and makeup, and spritzing on some perfume. 
Doubt creeps its way into your brain that maybe you imagined all that happened—Javi didn’t ask you out, Javi didn’t kiss you or hold you in his arms. It makes you think there isn’t actually going to be a date, and all the work you put into getting ready is for nothing. You try your best to push it down; becoming nervous because it all did happen, and you are going out with him, making your mind race with possibilities of what could happen that evening—what you hope will happen. 
By the time it’s five to seven, you’re so lost in thought you practically jump out of your skin when your home phone rings on the wall in the kitchen. Making your way there, you answer it on the third ring, picking up the receiver to your ear. 
“Hello?” 
“Hey, It’s me. I’m here.” 
“Okay, I’m heading down.” 
“Can’t wait to see you. Bye.” 
“Bye.” 
Hanging up the phone, you grab your purse, put on a jean jacket, and slip on some sensible, easy-to-walk-in heels as you leave, locking up your apartment tightly. 
It’s a Friday night, and you live in a large apartment complex, trying to avoid as many people as possible as you leave. 
Do you ensure no one is around as you walk into the parking lot, trying to keep to the shadows? Yes. 
The sun has already gone down, the headlights off on Javi’s Jeep, the vehicle dark at the back of the parking lot, save for the tiny orange glow of the cigarette he’s inhaling.
The overhead light doesn’t even come on when you open the passenger door and jump in, the dashboard and radio softly glowing. His window is partly down, and he tosses what he’d been smoking. 
He leans toward you, and you stop him with one palm, the other digging in your purse on your lap, relying on feeling around to get what you’re looking for, finally finding it. 
There’s a shining stick of gum between your fingers when you hold them up to him. 
“You’re the hottest man I’ve ever met,” you say, “and I’m really into you, but I’d prefer not to make out with someone who tastes like an ashtray.” 
He sighs, taking and unwrapping the gum. “I’m quitting,” he grumbles, putting it in his mouth and chewing, the wrapper getting rolled into a ball and tossed in the empty cup holder between you. 
“Uh-huh, sure, Javi. You’ve been saying that for months now,” you reply, patting his chest. 
Snatching your hand, he brings it to his lips, softly kissing each of your knuckles. 
“I’ll get some nicotine gum tomorrow, so you’ll kiss me.” 
That has you taken aback. 
“You’re going to stop smoking, so I’ll kiss you…?” 
“It’s one of the perks, and I know you fucking hate the habit.” That’s true. “Is my mouth minty enough? I wanna kiss you.” 
The fact you could smell the spearmint on his breath told you it was, your hands pulling his head toward you, smashing your lips against his. You can feel him smiling, his large palm cradling the back of your head, and allowing him to deepen the kiss when his tongue seeks entry into your mouth, unable to keep from moaning when it slides against your own. 
Kissing, you have some experience with, not a lot, but some, so you follow his lead, and he takes your breath away. 
When he pulls back, you feel dazed with your eyes closed, heart pounding, and chest heaving. 
“You okay?” he asks.
Blinking open your eyes, you answer breathily, “Yes. You’re just really good at that—wait, why is there gum in my mouth?” you ask, chewing it. 
When did he slip it in?
In the lowlights of the radio, you can see him smiling as he laughs, and you’re almost positive this is the first time you’ve heard such a wonderful sound, determined to hear it again. 
“You’re adorable,” you say, cranking down your window, spitting out the wad, and rolling it up again. “And I’m positive you’re going to be the death of me.” 
His hand guides your chin to make you look at him, a serious look on his face. “I’m not gonna be the death of you,” he replies.
“With how much I like you, how hot you are, and the way you kiss? I’m fucked.” 
“We’re both fucked.” 
When he finally starts driving, his hand holds yours on your thigh, confirming he’s a big physical touch person, always needing to be touching you. 
It’s quiet as he takes you out of the area you’re familiar with. For you, it’s because your stomach is aflutter with nerves, and you’re trying to figure out what’s going to happen, or really what you want to happen that night. How far do you want to take things? He said you’re the one who decides. How brave are you? 
The place you end up is unfamiliar to you, Javi parking along the curb and jumping out to come around and get your door. He’s smiling as he offers you a hand to help you out that you happily take, his eyes moving up and down your body when you stand in front of him. 
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says, shutting the car door. 
It’s your turn to check him out, seeing he’s in criminally tight jeans, a maroon button-up, and a black leather jacket. 
“You’re pretty handsome yourself.” 
“Thanks. I promised you a drink.”
“Yes, you did.”
Your purse is dangling on your shoulder, Javi taking your hand as he leads you down the sidewalk, past a bakery and a little mini-mart, until you arrive at your destination. It’s a tiny neighborhood bar, the wooden sign above naming it La Sirenita.
“Is the owner a big Disney fan?” you ask before entering. 
“What?” His eyebrows scrunch together, his free hand ready to pull open the door. 
“It’s called ‘The Little Mermaid,’ like the Disney movie from a few years ago,” you explain. 
“I haven’t seen that… It’s named La Sirenita because the owner used to work on a fishing boat and swears when he fell overboard once, a mermaid saved him.” 
“That’s basically the plot of the movie…” 
His eyebrow rose. 
“Florecita, this bar has been here for twenty fucking years. He didn’t name it after some dumb kid’s cartoon.” 
“The Little Mermaid is a masterpiece of cinema, thank you very much. Now, let’s get inside.” 
As you expected, the inside has artist's renderings on the walls of mermaids, and over the bar is a fishing net. Seats line the bar top, and there are a few tables and a few booths. The place is not too terribly busy, spotting one empty two-person table in a corner. It’s not very loud, with people talking and laughing, music playing in the background at a reasonable volume. All in all, the atmosphere is lovely. 
“Do you wanna go have a seat, and I’ll grab our drinks?” he asks, nodding toward the empty table you spotted. 
“Sure,” you answer, telling him what you’d like. 
There’s no one here you recognize, which makes you breathe easily, hanging your purse on the back of your chair with your jacket, sitting down, and looking around the room. A few minutes later, Javi arrives with the drinks, not even a little surprised he got a whiskey for himself. 
He’s in the seat across from you, taking a sip while you stare into your glass. 
“I’m going to be honest with you,” you say. “This is technically my second date.” 
His hand reaches to grab yours on the table, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. 
“I don’t date either. Fuck, I’ve been in one relationship? And it was a fucking nightmare.” 
Lifting your head, you ask, “So, you’re not interested in dating or being in a relationship? It’s okay if you’re just looking for something casual without commitment.” 
You’ll take him any way you can get him. 
“Shit.” His eyes close tightly, pressing his fingers to his brow. “I already fucked up. I should’ve said, ‘I didn’t date until now,’ and I am interested in being in a relationship with someone right for me. The last person… wasn’t.” 
Hope rises in you. 
“Okay. That’s good to know.” 
His hand drops, gaze meeting yours. “Are you interested in all that? Or just wanting something casual?” 
“I’m interested in dating and a relationship. I’ve never been in one, but I think I can figure it out.” 
He smiles, his hand tightening around yours. “You can,” he replies. 
You hide your own smile by taking a drink and setting it back down after some seconds. 
“What do you want to talk about?” you ask. 
“I wanna hear your story.” 
“It’s awfully boring compared to yours.” 
“I don’t care. I wanna hear it.” 
“Fine.” 
And you give him a rundown of your family—divorced parents who remarried, and now you have a handful of younger half-siblings. Graduated from high school, went to college, and got a degree in business, and you’re in your current job because the pay and benefits are decent, and it puts you on a different continent than your family. He, of course, inquires why that’s a good thing, to which you have to explain they always need something from you—money, favors, your time, but can never help when you’re in need. Thus, you moved far away to make it so they couldn’t use you anymore. 
The glasses in front of you both become empty, so he gets each of you another drink. 
Then it’s his turn to share—he loves his family, misses his mom, and talks to his dad at least once a week; he does know how to ride a horse and does not like wearing cowboy hats but loves the boots and wears them when he’s feeling a little homesick. He doesn't bother telling you all of his history with the DEA because you pretty much know all of it. However, he does give you the details about his failed relationship with a woman named Lorraine from his hometown, who treated him like shit, and claimed to be pregnant when he tried to leave her so he’d have to marry her. Luckily, he discovered the lie the night before the wedding and left her at the altar, which he recognizes was a shitty thing to do, telling you he apologized to her the last time he was home.
Things get more lighthearted when he tells you stories about cooking with his mom growing up and her teaching him, getting flirty about his skills. 
“I make a good breakfast,” he tells you, winking as he takes a drink. 
It feels hot in the room, stifling almost, gulping while your eyes look anywhere else than at him, trying to figure out in your flustered state how to respond. 
“I bet you make a good breakfast,” is what comes out, your eyes rounding. 
“You’ll have to try it and let me know.” Your gaze latches onto his, seeing him smirking. His lips are shiny from his whiskey, and all you can think about is kissing them and tasting it on him. 
“Come here,” he says, pushing back in his chair. The second drink in your system gives you the courage to get up and walk around the table, letting him pull you down to sit across his lap with your legs dangling over the side. His arm locks around your back, his other hand stroking your cheek. 
The tip of his nose rubs against yours. 
“You wanna kiss me?” he purrs. 
“Yes,” you whisper. 
“Then do it.” 
Crushing your mouth to his, your fingers end up in his hair, surprised by the softness. The kissing heats when he presses his tongue between your lips, tasting the whiskey when it tangles with your own. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or him, or a combination of it both, but your skin feels so hot you’re wishing there were no clothes on your body. Your lungs start to ache, and his mouth moves to your jaw so you can take a deep breath. 
“What do you want?” he asks between kisses. 
“You,” you gasp. 
“You wanna get out of here?”
The throbbing you’re feeling between your legs has you answer immediately, “Yes.” 
His hand, not on your back, moves down to grab the side of your ass while he sucks on your pulse point, the sensation making you moan.
“There’s just a bit of a problem,” you force out, trying to ignore the burning arousal in your belly. 
His head rises to look you in the eyes, his mouth turned down in a frown. 
“I’ve got condoms,” he says quickly. “And I’m clean—got tested recently.” 
“That’s wonderful?” you reply, unsure how to respond. “I’m on birth control? But the problem has nothing to do with preventing babies and STDs…” 
“What’s the problem…?”
There’s no way you can look at him, so you close your eyes. 
“It’s a problem I’m really hoping you can help me with, actually, if you’re willing.” 
“What is it?” 
“I’ve, um, never had sex?” you say in a hushed voice. “And it’d be great if you could fix that…” 
There’s still chatter, laughter, and music happening around you, but in the little bubble of the two of you, it’s silent—which goes on for too long, and you open your eyes to see a gobsmacked look on Javier’s face. 
“Javi?” 
“Never?” he asks, barely above a whisper. 
“Never.” 
He must regain his bearings because he asks, “But you’ve fooled around with people, right?” 
“I’ve done some kissing and rubbing over clothes?” 
There was an almost drunken hookup in college, but you chickened out. 
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. 
“If this is too much pressure, you can tap out. I just trust you and know you’ll do it right and take care of me.” 
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, absolutely. Zero hesitation.” 
He nods his head. “Okay, I’ll do it, but if you change your mind at all, you tell me.” 
A thrill runs through you. 
“Of course.” 
“Good.” 
“One other thing…” 
“Yes?” 
“I’ve also never orgasmed…” 
That has him harshly whispering, “What?!” A look of disbelief on his face. “Don’t you touch yourself?” 
“Not really,” you reply, shrugging. “I could never really figure it out.” 
“Get up.” He pushes you to stand from his lap. “We’re leaving right now.” He gets up, pulling his wallet from his back pocket, tossing some cash onto the table while you grab your purse and jacket. His billfold is back where it belongs, and he takes your hand, pulling you out of the bar in a hurry. 
He’s driving fast once you’re both belted into his Jeep. 
“What is going on, Javier?” you ask. “Why are you being so intense about my lack of orgasms?”
His hand is gripping your thigh. 
“Because it’s not right you haven’t had one, and I need to fix that immediately.” 
“Maybe slow down, so we make it to your apartment safely?” 
He slows a tiny bit, and you count it as a win. 
His apartment building is definitely away from where you knew the other employees were housed and much nicer. He parks beneath the building in the parking garage and leads you to an elevator that requires him to enter a code in a keypad before it will work, your eyes bulging when he hits the number for the top floor. 
“I had them put me in the nicest place they could find with the budget they had for my housing,” he explains without you asking, standing beside you with his arm around your waist. “They offered me a house, but I preferred the security of this place.” There’d been a gate you had to come through to get onto the property. 
“It’s way nicer than my dingy apartment.” 
“I used to live in your apartments back in the day.”
Your eyebrow lifts. “Back in the day? It was literally, what? Maybe two or so years ago.” 
“Yeah, back in the day when I was nothing but a dumb DEA agent.” 
“Who helped take down Pablo Escobar… The Los Pepes shit was dumb, but you still made a difference.” 
“I guess.” You can hear him frowning. 
Turning your head toward him, he meets your eyes. 
“You made a difference, and now that you’re in charge, you’re gonna take out those Cali cartel fuckers, too.” 
A little smile curls up on his mouth. “Maybe.”
“You will.” 
“You have a lot of faith in me.” 
“Because you’re an amazing man who’s good at his job and actually gives a shit—you’re gonna do it, and I’ll celebrate with you when you do.” 
The elevator dings as the doors open, both of you walking out into a hallway, following as he goes to the right. 
“You’ll have a drink with me at the office?” 
“Sure, if that’s how you wanna celebrate.” 
Arriving at his door, he digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks both locks. 
“How did you imagine we’d celebrate?” he asks, stepping inside and welcoming you in. 
The front door is closed and locked behind you while you use the wall beside it for balance to take off your heels, Javi already kicking off his boots and hanging up his jacket on a nearby coat rack. 
“I don’t know,” you answer, getting one shoe off, then the other. “Aren’t celebratory blow jobs a thing?” you ask as you straighten and face him, passing him your purse and coat, which he hangs up with his jacket. 
His eyes narrow. 
“You said you’ve never fooled around with anyone?” 
“Yeah?” Your arms cross in front of you. “I haven’t—I shouldn’t know different sex acts because I’m inexperienced? I’m a virgin, not a prude, and a very curious virgin who’s watched porn.” 
“...And you didn’t touch yourself?” 
“Watching the porn? I tried. Like I said, I couldn’t figure it out. Maybe I was thinking too hard?” 
“Maybe. I’ll get you there. Come on, baby,” he says, retaking your hand and leading you through his massive apartment that has a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows in the living and dining rooms. The place is sparse in terms of decorations and sticks to neutral colors—white, beige, and black. There’s furniture, of course, and a television in the living room, along with a bookcase with some books on it that you walk past into a hallway you assume leads to the bedroom. 
“How many bedrooms do you have?” you ask. 
“Two, but I converted the guest room into an office.” 
“You work too much.” 
“You got a better idea of what I can do with my time?” he asks over his shoulder. 
“Assuming you fuck as good as you kiss, yeah.” 
He chuckles, shaking his head as he faces forward. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.” 
His bedroom is spacious, featuring another wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and also sticks to a neutral color scheme; his neatly made bed is king-size with bedside tables on either side and lamps atop them, spotting a dresser, a closet, and a door you assume leads to an en suite—the pièce de résistance that really pulls the place together are the panels of mirrors directly over the bed. 
“I like the horny—”
“They came with the apartment,” he cuts you off.
“Well, if you hate the mirror, why don’t you move the bed?” There’s enough room for him to place it somewhere else. 
Standing at the end of his massive bed, he turns to you, his dark eyes on yours. 
“Because I’d like a chance to use it.” His tongue peeks between his lips. 
“Wait, you haven’t fucked in here?” You have a hard time believing that. 
He sighs. “When would I have time?” he asks. “I’m always fucking busy or too fucking tired—I hate saying it, but I’m getting old.” 
“Javi, you’re not even forty. You’re not old.” 
“I feel old.” He pouts. 
Taking a step forward to press your body into his, you rub your hands up his chest. 
“Well, I think you’re young and sexy, and I’d love to use the mirror with you.” 
He’s crookedly smiling, his hands on your hips. 
“Yeah?” 
“Yes.” 
“Can I take off your clothes?” 
“Sure.” 
The nerves are back with a vengeance. 
Capturing your lips in a kiss, his palms move up your back, easily working down the zipper on your dress and helping to get it off your arms, where it falls, pooling around your feet. His mouth makes a wet path along your jaw while his fingers unhook your black lacy bra, where it quickly joins your dress—you’d been thankful you had one set of cute matching lingerie, Javi’s mouth moving down your neck to your chest. 
“Can I touch you?” he asks, placing a soft kiss over your thudding heart. 
“Yes,” you answer, confused about where to put your hands, so you rest them on your waist. “You can, um, touch me anywhere. I don’t mind.” 
He takes your tits into his hands, lightly massaging them while kissing the tops. When he sucks a pebbled nipple between his lips, you gasp at the shock of pleasure that shoots to your cunt—it feels so good as he sucks and nibbles at the hard bud, moving to the other to give it the same attention, your fingers ending up in his hair, unable to keep from moaning. 
You can feel your heart beating at the apex of your eyes, your panties feeling wet, and your desire thrumming in your core. 
His hot mouth continues its worship of your breasts, Javier grabbing your dominant hand and moving it down your body and under the elastic of your panties, having you slide two fingers through your wet slit. 
His lips leave you. “Feel how wet you are?” he asks, having you make another pass. 
“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes closed. 
“Does it feel good, Hermosa (beautiful)?” 
“Yes.” 
“While I suck on your gorgeous tits, I want you to rub right here.” He places two of your fingertips over your clit. “Do what feels good, but don’t be too gentle.” 
“What do you mean?” 
“Here.” Slowly, he has you start circling the nub, your breath catching in your throat. “It feels good,” he says, and you agree. “But you’re being too nice. Go faster and apply more pressure—don’t be afraid to fuck it up.” With that, you do as he instructed, your fingers rubbing furiously against your bundle of nerves. 
“Oh my god,” you moan at the pleasure coiling inside you. 
“Good girl,” he purrs. “Keep doing that for me, baby.” 
His mouth goes back to your breasts, and you feel like you’re losing your mind at how amazing the combined sensations feel. An odd tightening is happening in your center, getting tighter and tighter as every second passes. 
“Something,” you gasp. “Something feels weird.” 
His lips come off you with a pop.
“That’s good, Florecita. It means you’re close. Keep going, baby. Keep rubbing that pretty little clit and make yourself come. I want you to be my good girl and come for me.” 
Whenever he calls you his ‘good girl,’ a pleasant tingle moves down your spine. 
He’s back to sucking on your nipple while he rolls the other between his fingers, and the coil in your belly is winding so tight, it feels like something is going to happen, and it does—the coil snaps, and suddenly euphoria is overtaking your body feeling it spreading out from your center to your fingers and toes, Javier having to catch you when your legs give out, hugging you against him. 
“There it is,” he murmurs in your hair. “My good fucking girl coming for me. I knew you’d do it. Fuck, you’re amazing.” 
It takes you a minute to think a coherent thought and another to remember how to speak. 
“I know this is only our first date,” your words are coming out slurred, “but I don’t wanna let you go, like ever. I really like you, and it’s not because you helped me come.” 
“I don’t wanna let you go, either.” He kisses your head, hugging you tighter. “You wanna see where this will go?” 
“You mean I can be your secret girlfriend?” 
He snorts. “I’ll take you any fucking way I can get you—if I have to, I can switch you out with someone else’s secretary, and then it won’t be an issue.” 
“You’d hate that.” 
“I’d fucking hate that.” 
“Let’s date in secret—that sounds fun. Having rendezvous’, making out in storage rooms, fucking in your office—”
“Fucking in my office?” 
“The door’s got a lock. Lunchtime quickies. Especially on days when you’re stressed.” 
“You’re perfect.” 
“I’m horny, and I’d really like to see what you can do with this.” Your palm rubs over the front of his jeans, feeling him hard and straining against the zipper. 
He groans, and the sound goes straight to your pussy. 
“Can you stand?” he asks. 
Your legs are working fine now, putting all your weight on them. 
“Yeah.” 
His arms loosen around you to meet your gaze. 
“Do you wanna undress me?” 
“Yes.” You nod. “Am I allowed to touch you?” 
“You can do any fucking thing you want to me.” 
His answer makes you smile. “How romantic.” 
It’s a little nerve-wracking having his attention on you as you work open the buttons on his shirt, his hands soothingly rubbing over your bare hips. 
“Relax,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss your cheek. His lips are at your ear as you finish unbuttoning him and untuck his button-up from his jeans. “You’re doing good.” His breath tickles your skin. “All you’re doing is getting my clothes off.”
He calms you, but now you’re trying to figure out the logistics of getting the shirt off him. 
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re ridiculously broad?”
He huffs in amusement, standing to his full height to look at your face while he smiles. 
“No one has told me that.”
Now, you’re able to push the button-up off his shoulders and pull it to fall from his arms onto the floor. 
There’s a lot of golden skin in front of you, your eyes taking in the freckles, and his soft belly with the tantalizing trail of hair below his navel leading down into his jeans. 
“I’ve always wondered what you were hiding under those suits,” you murmur, rubbing your hands along the warm skin of his shoulders, down his chest, to his stomach. “And I’m not disappointed.”
“I love how you look naked, too.”
The comment makes you duck your head, feeling heat creep up your neck. 
His fingers go under your chin, tilting your face up to see his warm expression. 
“I mean it,” he says. “You’re beautiful, and I need you to believe me.”
The truth is clear in his eyes, yet it’s hard to accept he thinks that.
“I know you’re not lying to me.” Your gaze shifts to stare over his shoulder at the bare cream-colored wall. “No one’s ever wanted me,” you say quietly. “No one ever looked at me as more than a friend. My first date? Was with this guy I was best friends with from elementary through high school. I was madly in love with him, and he saw me as nothing more than the sister he never had. We only went on the date because it was our senior prom, and neither of us had dates, so we went together. No one has ever wanted me.” 
“I want you,” he replies with conviction, so there’s no doubt. “I want you, all of you.” 
It makes you sigh. “And that honestly is insane to me.” 
“I’m not liking whatever this shit is where you think I’m too attractive for you, or whatever the fuck it is,” he says, his hands going to his belt, hearing him unbuckling it. Your eyes flick back to his, and you’re greeted with the grumpy expression you’re used to seeing at work. He pops open the button on his jeans, and you hear the teeth pull apart as he unzips them, making you gulp. 
“Are you mad at me?” you ask.
“What?” His face pinches in confusion, pushing his pants down, and you can’t help but look—he’s not wearing underwear. Bobbing between his legs is his sizable hard-on that has your eyes rounding at wondering how it would fit inside you. “No, I’m not mad at you, baby—fuck, the way you’re staring at my dick is driving me crazy.” He steps out of his jeans and does the awkward dance of getting his socks off. 
“I’m trying to figure out how you’re gonna get that thing inside me.” 
He chuckles, his bare feet planted on the floor, putting his hands on his hips. 
“I’ll tell you, and you can keep touching me if you want, but first—” He closes the distance to have your bodies practically touching, his dick pressing into your stomach, while his palms come up to hold your cheeks, your own going over his. “—creo que eres hermosa y te deseo (I think you’re beautiful and I want you). Eres muy hermosa (You’re very beautiful). Te he deseado por mucho tiempo, y no sabes lo feliz que estoy de finalmente tenerte (I’ve wanted you for a long time and you don’t know how happy I am to finally have you).” 
“¿En serio (Really)?” you ask. 
“Sí (Yes).” He nods. “Estaba chingado desde la primera vez que te vi (I was fucked from the first time I saw you.”
“No, estás mintiendo (No, you’re lying).” 
“Sabes que no lo estoy y tu también estabas igual de chingada cuando me conociste (You know I’m not and you were also just as fucked when you met me). Admítelo (Admit it).”
“Por supuesto que estaba y aparentemente fui muy obvio al respecto (Of course I was, and apparently I was very obvious about it).”
He grins, and an adorable dimple appears in his cheek. “Así era yo (So was I).” 
Your eyes narrow. “How were you obvious, Javier?” 
He gives you a look. “Remember when I had that meeting with HR, uh, a month or so ago?” 
“Yeah?” 
“Apparently, people are under the impression we’re fucking.” 
“What?” 
“Yeah, caught me off guard, too. I guess I treat you differently than everyone else and act differently.” He shrugs. “I told them we just have a close professional relationship, and I’d do nothing untoward to jeopardize it.” 
“You say with your hard dick jabbing me.” Reaching down, you wrap your fingers around him, Javi’s mouth falling open—he’s hot to the touch, hard like steel, and smooth as velvet, slowly stroking him. 
His throat works as he swallows. “Got them off my ass.” 
“Good, now tell me how you’re getting this—” You squeeze him, and he groans. “—into me.” 
“Fuck, if you’ll let me, I’ll eat your pussy and use my fingers to loosen you up. Once I think you’re ready, I’ll get some lube to make fucking you as painless as possible.” 
“You want to go down on me?” 
He’s smirking under his perfectly trimmed mustache. 
“I’d love to go down on you. I wanna see how you taste,” he answers with a wink. 
It makes arousal stir in your belly at the thought. 
“Okay. I’d like that.” 
His lips descend on yours, kissing you while his hands grab your waist to turn you both so your back is to the bed, guiding you until your legs bump into it. One moment, his mouth is on yours, and the next, it’s not when he lifts you by the thighs onto the mattress with a grunt, pushing you further onto it. 
“Head on the pillow in the middle,” he orders, tapping your hip. 
Crawling back, you do as he says, Javi climbing up after you.
He’s on his knees, the bed dipping as he moves toward you, his big hands latching around your calves to spread your legs. He picks up one, bending and turning his head to kiss your inner ankle, keeping his eyes on yours while his lips blaze a trail along your leg to your knee. It feels like electricity is under your skin where he touches, it prickling, his mustache tickling you and making you squirm a little. He brings the other leg up and makes the same journey from ankle to knee that has you biting your lip and wishing he’d touch you where you are pulsing. 
His eyes are so dark hardly any of the familiar chocolate brown remains, excitement bubbling in you when he opens your legs further apart and moves to lie between them, setting them up on his broad shoulders. You’re still wearing your lacy panties, and he shoves his beautiful nose into them, feeling as he inhales deeply and groans, his head moving side to side, nudging your clit, the sensation causing you to dig your fingers into the bedding. 
He must get to the point where he can’t wait any longer, sitting up enough to tug your underwear down and off one leg before he’s back in position. For some odd reason, you suddenly feel self-conscious, shy, and embarrassed about being completely nude, hiding your eyes behind your hands. 
Javi rubs along your sides in comfort. 
“Are you having second thoughts?” he asks gently. 
“No,” you answer. 
“Is it being naked?” 
“Yes.” 
“I love your body, and I’ve told you I think you’re beautiful. Would you be more comfortable wearing one of my shirts?”
“Um, yeah, but I want to do this naked. It’s just new...” 
“Don’t force yourself,” he replies, kissing your inner thigh. 
This tiny conversation has made you feel much better, lowering your hands. Staring at the ceiling, you can see your naked body, and Javi’s lying between your legs in the mirror. 
“I’m not.” Sitting up on your elbows, you want to look at him, a reassuring smile on your face. “Okay, I’m ready.” 
His eyes lock on yours. 
“Promise me, you’ll stop me if I do something you don’t like.” 
“I promise.” 
“Good girl,” he purrs, and you shiver. 
With two fingers, he spreads open the lips of your pussy, and looks at it with a hungry gaze, wetting his lips like he can’t wait to taste. 
“So fucking pretty,” he says. “I’m gonna make you feel good—need to get you really wet.” 
Suddenly, you watch his jaw flex, him spitting onto your clit, you gasping at the warm saliva slowly dripping down toward your entrance. A loud moan leaves you when he dives in, his tongue licking a hot stripe up through your center, feeling the vibrations of his groans. It’s different, odd, new, and you can’t get enough. He has to lock an arm over your stomach to keep you from moving as he goes to work, lapping all over your folds, tracing every bit of your sensitive skin to get all your arousal from the source. 
“You taste so good,” his words are said against your cunt. 
Heat races up your spine as he sucks your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over it with his pleasure-addled gaze on yours—it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and it’s so good, every nerve in your body alight in bliss, your belly starting to tighten. 
“Oh my god,” you gasp. “It feels so good. I think you’re gonna make me come again.” 
Your heels dig into his back, your toes curl, fisting your hands in the comforter for something to hold on to while your thighs tremble. Somehow, he just knows how to take you apart, finding a rhythm that’s turning you into a mess.  
There are a few seconds where his mouth leaves you to suck on his fingers before he goes right back to working you over; your jaw’s slack, your skin’s heated, and there’s tension in your belly that’s rapidly growing. He carefully starts pressing one thick digit inside you, your eyes snapping shut as you whimper at the new sensation, so tight he has to wiggle it in order to get all the way in—his tongue is teasingly flicking over your sensitive bundle of nerves and counteracting the slight discomfort of his finger, eliciting soft sounds from your parted lips.
It takes some time to get used to the foreign feeling, it slowly turning into pleasure and fanning the growing flames in your tummy. Sucking hard on your clit, another digit slips inside, your body jerking at the intrusion and the stretch it causes, whimpering. 
“Relax, baby,” he says. “Your pretty little pussy is taking my fingers so well.” 
His mouth is back on you, and it’s a tight fit for his fingers, but thankfully, you’re wet enough it eases in, and he languidly works them until your body relaxes, and he’s easily pumping them in and out of you. 
It’s embarrassing how he reduces you to a mewling mess with how amazing he’s making you feel. 
“You’re doing so good for me,” his muffled voice says into your pussy. 
His mouth, his fingers, your stomach is bunching up into tight knots, knowing it will not take much more to get you there—it’s insane that before today, you’d never been able to make yourself come, and here’s this man on the precipice of making you orgasm for a second time.
You’re ruined. 
He’s ruined you for anyone else. 
His fingers twist and scissor to stretch you out, making you whimper, grabbing his hand on your tummy that he squeezes back. He crooks his digits, and on the next pass, he slides against something that has your back arching and eyes blurring with stars, moaning his name loudly. 
“There it is,” he groans into your skin. “Come for me, Florecita. Give me another.” 
His arm is like a band of iron holding you down as you writhe. 
It’s all too much—what he’s doing to you, hearing the squelching of his fingers, the obscene slurping noises, and the rough sounds coming from his throat. Your body is quivering uncontrollably, and then you’re shattering, falling back onto the pillow with your arms giving out, pleasure surging through you as you come with a silent cry. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, your brain a blissful haze. 
His face comes up, his voice a rough rasp, “Good girl.” His fingers are still working inside you. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come.” 
Your eyes are closed, riding out the high, and you’re starting to believe he actually does think you’re beautiful. Was there a tiny voice in the back of your head telling you he was saying all the sweet things just to get into your pants? Yes. But you’re almost positive he genuinely has feelings for you and does find you attractive. He’s given you so many opportunities to back out and offered to let you wear one of his shirts so you’d be more comfortable—guys who only want to get laid aren’t that kind. 
Javier obviously cares about you, which has you feeling over the moon. 
You’re coming down, your body starting to relax, and your heartbeat slowing. 
“Come up here and kiss me,” you say, sounding drunk and doing grabby hands at him. 
He chuckles, his fingers slipping out of you, and he gets out from under your legs. His mouth ghosts a trail of kisses over the soft skin of your belly to your chest and along your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake until his hips are resting between your thighs and his face is over yours, smelling your musk on him. 
“You’re gonna boss me around at work and home?” he asks, kissing your chin, the question causing your heart to skip a beat.
At work and home. 
“Maybe.” You wrap your arms around him, feeling his hard cock pressing into your belly. “Someone's gotta do it.” 
“Mmm, I like it when you boss me around.” He kisses your cheek. 
“Kiss me.” 
His lips press to your other cheek, your eyes opening to glare at him. 
“I said kiss me,” you order. 
“I am kissing you.” A peck to your jaw. 
You pinch his ass, and he chuckles. “Please kiss me on the mouth.” 
He’s smiling. “I can do that.” 
His lips claim yours in a hot, open-mouthed kiss, running your fingers through his hair and moaning at tasting yourself on him. His tongue plunders your mouth, licking the edges of your teeth and tangling with your own, Javi’s hips slowly rutting into you to ease his throbbing dick leaking on your skin. There’s an ache you’re feeling deep in your core that needs to be filled, and you know he’s the only one who can ease it. 
Coming up for air, he kisses along your jaw, nibbling on your chin. 
“Javi?” his name comes out breathy. 
Immediately, his head moves into your vision with a look of concern.  
“What’s wrong?” 
“Nothing’s wrong. I want you to fuck me.” Your lip pulls between your teeth.
“Are you sure? I can finger you some more.” 
Smiling, you stroke his cheek. “Javi, please fuck me.” 
“Okay.” He nods. “Let me grab a condom and some lube.” He starts to move, and you stop him by grabbing his arm. 
“You’re clean?” you ask. 
“Yeah.” 
“I’m on birth control—it helps with my periods. I’m obviously clean, too, and okay without the condom if you are.” 
His eyes go a little wide, and he swallows hard. “You’d let me fuck you bare?” 
“I trust you and want to know what it feels like without the barrier. Is that okay?” 
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re on birth control?” 
“Yes.” You nod. “The pills are in my purse if you want proof.”
“I believe you. Shit, yeah, it’s okay. I’m kicking myself in the ass right now for not asking you out sooner.” 
“Because you could’ve been having a lot of condomless sex?” you ask with an arched brow. 
He frowns. “I care about more than sex,” he answers defensively. “You know I care about more than sex, right? I’d be happy with cuddling with you in bed or on the couch and talking if you didn’t want to fuck right now—hell, I’d be happy falling asleep with you. It’s as long as you’re with me, and I wish I would’ve asked you out sooner so I could’ve had more time with you outside of work.” 
What he says makes you feel like you’re floating—you knew his feelings were genuine. 
“Oh, I know you care about more than sex,” you reply right away. “To be honest, you’re very dreamy, Javier. Like, you make me swoon. I’ve thought about investing in a fainting couch.” He snorts. “But, seriously—” Your palm presses to his jaw. “I know you care about more than sex. I mean, there was that time you had soup delivered to my apartment when I was sick, and now that I know where you live geographically, you had to drive really out of your way to carpool with me for that one week.” When the usual person you rode with was out with a bad flu. 
“That was a good week.” He smiles, turning his head to kiss your palm. “And the flowers.” 
Your eyebrows crease. “What flowers?” 
His eyes sparkle. “The bouquet on your birthday.” 
“The mystery bouquet was you?” you ask in disbelief. 
It’d been a large, beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers whose card only wished you a happy birthday with no name or idea of who’d sent them. 
“Yeah.” 
“Javier, you ridiculously sweet man.” Sitting up, you kiss him, something tender and loving. Breaking apart, you say, “Okay, now I can see how you obviously like me. I have no idea how I missed it.” 
His lips turned down, Javi sighing. “You didn’t see it ‘cause you convinced yourself I wouldn’t be interested in you.” 
“And the whole you being my boss and figuring you wouldn’t break the rules. Now I’ve learned not to make assumptions.”
“Fuck the rules.”
“Aren’t you the rebel. What do you want to do?” 
He looks confused. “Huh?” 
“All night, you’ve been focusing on me, and I want to know what you want to do. Would you prefer cuddling naked and talking, or do you wanna have sex?” 
“Sex,” he answers immediately, making you giggle. 
“Which are you more excited about, taking my virginity or fucking me bare?” 
“Fucking without a condom. I’m happy I get to be your first so I can make sure it’s good for you, but I’m really fucking excited to be inside you with nothing on.” 
“I’m really excited to feel you inside me with nothing on, and I’m happy you’re my first, too. I wanted you to do it because I knew you’d take care of me.”
What you say makes him smile. “I am. Let me get what I need.” Quickly, he pecks you on the lips before moving off of you, the mattress jostling as he heads toward the bedside table on the left side of the bed. He’s stretching and reaching inside the drawer, returning to you with a small bottle, kneeling between your spread legs. “I’m just gonna use my fingers to make sure you’re ready,” he says, popping the cap and slicking up his digits. 
Looking in the mirror above, you watch and feel as he presses in one that goes in easily, then a second. His attention is on you, his focus alternating between his fingers buried inside your wet cunt, and the expressions your face is making as he slides in a third that stretches you more than before and really tests your limits, reveling in the burn. His other hand is rubbing your thigh. “Relax, baby,” he says, pushing them in and out and spreading them. There’s a thin layer of sweat on your skin, and it takes a second for you to do as he told you. “Do you still want me to fuck you?” he asks. 
You nod your head in answer. 
“Words, Florecita. I need to hear it.” 
“Yes, Javi. I want you.” More than anything, you leave out. 
“I think you’re ready.” He removes his hand. “If it hurts too much or you want me to stop, tell me, and I will immediately. Do you understand?” 
“Yes, Javi.” 
“Good girl.” 
The bottle being opened sounds again, seeing Javi in the mirror stroking lube onto his hard shaft, it glistening in the lights of the room. Your heart is hammering in your chest over what’s about to happen, nerves fluttering all about in your tummy so rapidly you think they might get out. 
He shuffles forward a little, rubbing the tip of his cock through the wetness between your folds. 
“Are you ready?” he asks. 
“Yes.” 
It’s sweet that he moves to have his body over yours, holding himself on one arm beside your head while the other hand notches himself at your entrance—he distracts you by pressing his soft lips against yours in a searing kiss as he slowly starts sliding into you. He has you moaning into his mouth as he fills you, your tight walls stretching around him to accommodate his girth, digging your fingernails into his shoulders. Surprisingly, there’s no pain; Instead, you’re wondering how much more of him you can take with how insanely full you already feel when he’s barely halfway in. 
When his hips finally meet yours, you can’t breathe. 
It’s almost too much for you and bordering on overwhelming. 
The kiss ends, his eyes searching yours while his words come out strained, noticing the sweat on his brow, his bangs sticking to his forehead, “Are you okay?”
Finally, you suck in air. “So big,” you gasp. 
He looks worried. “Is it too much? Do you want me to pull out?” 
“No.” You shake your head. “I just need a second.”
“Okay.” He kisses the tip of your nose, then sweetly nuzzles his face against yours. “You feel better than I imagined. I could stay like this for hours, having your tight little pussy warming my dick. You’re so fucking tight and wet, squeezing me like a goddamn vice. Once I get going, I don’t know how long I’m gonna last ‘cause this perfect cunt is gonna milk me dry.” 
Everything he’s saying has arousal thrumming in your veins, your body getting used to having him inside you to the point you need him to do something, anything at all.  
“Move,” you tell him. 
His eyes meet yours, a flush covering his cheeks. “Okay.” He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, then the other, your heels resting at the small of his back. You can feel the splay of muscle under your calves work as he does an experimental roll of his hips, the angle putting pressure on your clit, pulling a moan from your throat at the pleasure. 
“You feel so good,” his voice is breathy. “So fucking perfect.” He’s thrusting slowly, and you can tell he’s holding himself back, his face ending up in the crook of your neck. “You’re so fucking perfect and beautiful.” He groans, and the sound makes you clench, him pausing with a hiss. “Shit, don’t do that, or this will end quickly.” 
“Sorry,” you mumble.
“It’s okay.” He kisses your cheek. “Fuck, when you come, you’re probably taking me with you.” 
That has a thrill rolling through you. 
He starts back up again, going slow, languid, feeling every ridge and vein on his cock as it presses into spots of bliss you weren’t even aware existed—the beginning of an orgasm is starting to take shape in your center, your toes curled up tight and needing more to get yourself there.
“Faster,” you say.  
Gradually, he picks up speed until there’s a wet slap of skin against skin, and he’s grunting in your ear, his thrusts steady, hard, and fast, the muscles in your belly tightening. All you can do is hang onto his shoulders, your mouth open as his name spills from it in gasping moans, chanting it over and over again. He’s pushing in so deep you’re sure he’s rearranging your guts in order to make himself fit.
His dick is moving in and out of you at a punishing pace, flooding your system with pleasure, unable to think about anything else except how you’re being wrecked by the man above you. 
In the mirror on the ceiling, you can see him fucking you—the way the muscles in his back are moving just under his golden skin, the glistening layer of perspiration shining in the light, the redness on his shoulders from your nails scratching at them, and add in the sounds—the rhythmic bang of his headboard hitting the wall, the mattress springs squeaking beneath you both, the wet suck of him working his cock in and out of your pussy, his rough noises, and your softer ones; it’s all utterly obscene and rocketing you toward your release with how it turns you on. 
One time, and you’re addicted. 
You want Javi to show you more—try out different positions and teach you new things, wanting to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel right this second. This has awakened something in you that’s hungry, and you want to feed it. 
His strong arm wraps around your back, and you squeak in surprise when he rolls you both so you’re on top, keeping himself buried to the hilt in your sopping cunt. Your knees are bracketing his hips, hands on his chest for leverage, and Javi doesn’t make you think about what you need to do; his large palms grab your ass, using his strength to work you up and down his slick cock. 
Somehow, he’s deeper like this, your mouth falling open, and helping him by rising and falling on your own as you keen. 
Sweat is coating both of you, seeing drops caught in Javi’s happy trail, loving the flush that starts on his chest and moves up his neck to his cheeks, the flexed muscles in his arms defined—from the look on his face you’d think he’s in pain, his eyes glazed over in lust and shifting between watching you ride him and looking up at the mirror. It gives you the idea to lean back and hold yourself up with your hands on his thighs to give him a better view as you bounce in his lap. 
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re fucking gorgeous taking my dick so well,” he says the words through panted breaths. Your climax is near, getting closer and closer with every deep kiss of his cock inside you. “Are you gonna come for me? Are you gonna let me feel you come around my dick? You gonna take me with you? Come on, Florecita, give it to me.” 
His calloused thumb circles your clit so perfectly that it has you falling over the edge, coming with a loud moan of his name, laying forward onto him. Your inner walls tighten around him, hearing Javi groan, euphoria exploding out from your core to spread to your limbs, your mind going blissfully blank. 
Javier firmly grips your ass, grunting as his hips thrust upwards frantically to chase his own high. 
He says something you don’t register, a sharp slap to your asscheek quickly following to get your attention. 
“What?” you ask. 
“Gonna come,” he says through his teeth. “Need you to get off.” 
That made little sense to you since you discussed how you’re on the pill. 
“Come inside me.” 
A pained noise leaves him, his rhythm stuttering. “Fuck, are you sure?” 
“Yes, come inside me, Javi.” 
His orgasm must catch him off guard with how long and strained his moan is as he comes, his hands pulling you down hard and flush against him—it surprising you how you’re able to feel his cock thicken and jerk, the hot spurts of his spend filling and coating your inner depths. 
His chest is rising and falling hard beneath you, welcoming his arms that hug you close to his body, your face tucked into his neck and content on where you’re at, not wanting to move—with how your arms and legs feel like they’re made of Jell-O, there’s a chance you couldn’t move if you wanted to.
There’s no way your first time could've been better—it was perfect. 
Minutes pass as you both share in the relaxing post-coital bliss, your hand ending up in his hair where you play with the sweat-damp strands, Javi humming appreciatively. 
“How was it?” he finally asks, his voice rough. 
“Amazing,” you reply, not sounding any better.
His head turns, kissing your forehead. “Yeah?” 
“Oh, yeah. How long before you’re able to go again…?” 
A huff of air leaves his nose. “Am I in for a long night, Florecita?” 
“You’re in for a long weekend, Javier.” 
“One time, and you’re fucking insatiable,” he chuckles. 
“The one time was life-changing, and I want you to show me all the things I’ve been missing out on.” 
“Your pussy is probably gonna be sore tomorrow, and you won’t want me touching it.” 
There’s already an ache. 
“True, so tomorrow we can go over the art of sucking your dick and hand jobs?” 
He sounds amused, “We can do that, and I’ll make you breakfast.” 
“Yes, I’ve gotta have that breakfast.” 
“And I want to take you out to dinner.” 
It takes you a second to process what he said.
“Like on a date?” 
“Yes, Florecita. I want to take you out on a proper date.” 
Moving your face over his to meet his eyes, you reply, “Where will you take me so nobody from work will see us?” 
His hands rub over your back. 
“I know some places only locals go to. I can also take you to a different city if that will make you feel better.” 
“I trust you.”
A serious look came over his face, his hand coming up to slide along your cheek. 
“I’m really fucking busy with work,” he says. 
“I’m intimately aware.” 
He nods, sighing. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at being your boyfriend.” 
“Are you gonna cheat on me?” 
He looks offended. “What? No. If I’m with someone, I’m with them and them only.” 
“That’s good. When you’re not busy with work, will you want to spend time with me?” 
“Even when I'm working, I want to spend time with you.” 
“You’re so sweet,” you reply, pecking him on the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a busy man, Javi. The way I imagined this going down is we’d spend time together on lunches and breaks at work. I can either keep you company and rack up overtime at the office when you stay late, or we can come here for you to continue working, and I’ll do my best not to distract you.” 
There’s a curious expression on his face. “How would you distract me?” 
“I don’t know, maybe walk around your apartment in little to no clothing?” 
He wet his bottom lip. “I think I’ll start working after hours at home more…” 
His horniness makes you laugh. “You’re adorable. Then, on the rare occasions you actually have a night or day off, we’ll do stuff.” 
“It’s not gonna bother you we won’t have a traditional relationship?” 
“I’ve never been in one, so no,” you answer with a shrug. “I mean, we already spend basically all of our time together; this just changes our dynamic and means I can kiss you whenever I want.” 
He smiles. “Yes, you can.” His hand gently pulls you down for a kiss. Separating after some seconds, he says, “We need to get you cleaned up.” 
“Right.” You also needed to empty your bladder since that was important after sex. 
“There’s a huge fucking tub in my bathroom, so I’ll run us a bath, and afterward, I want you to drink some water and have a snack.”
“It’s surprising to me you have food here. I honestly thought you survived on coffee and cigarettes.” 
A sigh leaves him. “I usually remember to eat breakfast and dinner… The people who clean this place also buy my groceries, so yeah, I’ve got food here. I’ll make you something to eat.” 
“That’s very sweet of you,” you reply, kissing him briefly. “Thank you.” 
“And I’ll give you a tour—there’s not much, but I’ll show you everything.”
“I’d love that,” you say with a smile. 
“Then you can tell me what you want to do next.”
“I wanna rub your back.” With how tense he always is and the sounds he makes getting out of chairs, you know it has to bother him. 
His eyes get bigger. “Okay.”
“Work out some of that tension, and after, if you’re up for it, there’s this position I saw in a dirty movie where the woman was on her hands and knees, and the guy was just really giving it to her from behind and spanking her, and I wanna know what that’s like.” 
He’s staring blankly at you like his brain has stopped working. 
“Javi?”
It gets his attention. 
“When my job’s finished down here?” he says. 
“Yeah…?”
His hands cradle your face, his eyes staring deeply into yours. 
“I want you to come home with me, back to the States.” You didn’t expect him to say that. “I’ve had you by my side for months,” he continues, “and now that we’re together, I don’t want to go home without you.”  
“We just started dating…” 
“And I already know I’m going to marry you.” 
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