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monzabee · 1 year

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this is a relationship, that i don’t think anyone saw coming – cl16

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Summary: The one where you and Charles think you are successfully fooling everyone on the grid, when in reality you are the ones being fooled.

Pairing: charles leclerc x merc!driver!reader

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: cursing, kissing, hiding a relationship (and doing it very badly), smut elements! (in one of the scenes, nothing penetrative), idiots to lovers, sexism and racism in motorsports, pop culture references (bad and many of them).

Request: “Hello! Can I request a charles leclerc imagine where the reader is a f1 driver and they try to hide their relationship from the paddock, but everyone knows and in the end they just reveal it. Thanks xx” + “this is not a request, but, can you use a dialogue from one of your favourite tv shows/series?”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! the title comes from an episode of the kardashians, but it was very popular on tiktok for a while so here you go! the request for this one was so good, and i had so much fun writing this, so i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i do. the dialogue i used for the second request/promt is from season 1 episode 9 of suits, which is one of my absolute favourite tv series of all time (even though it has too many legal inaccuracies), and you can watch the scene from here. ALSO, because i can never choose one, i decided to use another dialogue from season 1 episode 18 of gilmore girls, and i think it is the best piece of television ever written, and you can watch it from here. there are a bunch of pop culture references in there, so if you can spot them, you are a star! thank you anons for your requests, and i hope you guys enjoy this one! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

Charles is not stupid, in fact, he prides himself in being smart. However, as one of his best friends are looking at him with an unamused glare, he suddenly fears that he might have been stupid when he was getting ready before arriving at the venue for the party tonight.

“You are not dressed,” Pierre drawls, “What are you wearing?”

“A suit?” Charles asks, confused as he looks at his friend’s attire. “What are you wearing?”

Pierre points to the outfit he’s wearing, which consists of brown pants with a linen shirt and a brown vest thrown over it, an annoyed look washes over his face as he explains, “I’m Indiana Jones, this is a costume party, Charles.”

“Why would you have a costume party when you’re turning 27?” Charles’ face scrunches up in even more confusion.

“Because it’s fun, and it’s my birthday.” Pierre rolls his eyes, “We have to do something about it; Kika, I need help!” He calls out to her girlfriend, who rushes into the room in a white dress and a very voluminous blonde wig.

“What’s wrong?” Kika asks, her eyes falling on Charles’ outfits as she groans disappointedly, “Who are you supposed to be?”

“I didn’t know!” Charles argues.

“Mate,” Pierre objects, “it was on the invitation; ‘Hollywood Icons’?”

“We can fix this,” Kika tries to offer Charles a supportive smile. “You could be… Patrick Bateman?”

Charles’ eyes widen with shock, “From ‘American Psycho’?”

“Morbid, Kiks,” Pierre shakes his head.

Kika shrugs, “He’s hot. What about Brad Pitt in ‘Mr. and Mrs. Smith’?”

“Does he even wear a suit in that one?” Pierre asks, still shaking his head in thought.

Kika lets out a loud groan, “James Bond!”

“That could work–” Charles start saying at the same time Pierre objects, “The suit is not sharp enough.”

“Then give him a tie, Pierre.” Kika frowns. “God, the two of you are like children, not even the girls had this much trouble, and the two of us almost matched.”

You’re shivering when you finally arrive at the venue thanks to the thin trench coat thrown over your costume. You link your arm with Lily, who is holding Alex’s hand and the two of them are dressed up as Jack and Rose. “Why are we doing this, again?”

“Because we like Pierre, he is nice.” Lily turns to Alex to let him fix her ginger wig for her as she replies to you.

“I don’t know, I think I want to go back to the hotel.” You mumble, your hands nervously playing with the belt of your coat.

“Just give it a try, Y/N,” Alex smiles at you. “We’ll take you back if you’re still feeling nervous.”

You nod your head with a sigh as you let Lily pull you in towards the entrance of the apartment building. You’re too busy admiring the Italian architecture when you hear a squeal. “You guys made it!” Alex excuses himself to go greet some of the other drivers and you smile at Kika as she pulls you and Lily in for a hug at the same time as she chants, “I’m dying to see your guys’ costumes, show me, show me!”

You laugh softly as you take of your coat, pulling gasps from both of the girls looking over your outfit. “You both knew what my costume was going to be!” You whine, holding your coat close to your body.

“I didn’t know it was going to be –” Lily starts, looking at Kika for help.

“Tight,” Kika clears her throat, “it’s very tight, and your body looks amazing!”

“You’re literally a model, Kiks,” you mumble, “can we please focus on Lily and how historically accurate her costume is? Not to mention yours, I mean, Marilyn?”

“You look amazing, Lily.” Kika agrees, giving her a warm smile. “And thank you, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Kika,” she turns to you, “thank you, Y/N. I’m going to find Alex, meet you at the bar?”

“Sure, see you.” You tell her, smiling as she starts to walk towards the crowd.

“Let me take your coat,” Kika leans over you. “You should grab a drink before more people arrive, Pierre made sure to invite half of the city, it seems like.”

You thank her before she leaves to hang your coat, taking a deep breath as you start moving between dancing people, some of whom greet you as you make your way towards the bar. You give the bar tender a tight smile as you order yourself a gin and tonic, strawberry, of course. The first thing Charles notices about you is your hair, having memorised all the different tones mixed between your locks. His eyes travels down your body, his eyes linger particularly on your dress; the white bodice is connected to the tie dye skirt by a metal circle, and it is oh so tight, accentuating all your curves in the best way possible. His legs start to move towards you in their own volition when his eyes reach the leather thigh-high boots, his voice is thick as he approach you from your right. “Y/N.”

You look at him with your lips parted in shock, your voice coming out in a low breath. “Charles, you’re here.” You let him take one of your hands into his as you lock eyes with him. “I thought you were going to be in Monaco.”

“I was already in Italy for the car testing.” He explains, his fingers gently caress your inner wrist. “I’ve missed you. Were you back at home?”

“I’ve missed you too,” a smile takes over your face, “yes, I’m trying to get used to changing cities.”

“I’ll give you a private tour when we go back.” He offers, eliciting a giggle from you as you reach for your drink and take a sip from the straw. His breath hitches for a moment when he focuses too much on the way your red-painted lips close around the plastic, but he’s quick to shake it off. “Did you see the pictures on Twitter?”

“The ones with Frédéric?” You ask him and he nods in return. The pictures he is referring to being his new team principle giving your four-year-old niece some daisies. There is a teasing smile on your lips as you say, “Don’t worry, Charles, I’m not coming for a Ferrari seat. He was just giving Cecily some flowers when we were passing by.”

“I wish you would’ve brought her into the garage, I’ve missed her.” The pout he’s sporting lets you know that he is being genuine and not putting on a show for your attention.

“You know I couldn’t, I had to get back to my own garage before the race.” The emphasis you use makes him roll his eyes as his fingers occupy themselves with the stacked bracelets on your wrist. “Who are you supposed to be, anyway?”

“James Bond.” He replies in an unattached voice, exhaling a deep breath. “I didn’t realise it was a costume party.”

“Charles,” you laugh, head tilted to the side as you keep holding his gaze, “it was on the invitation, darling.”

He groans, “I know that, now. Pierre was not impressed when I first showed up.”

“I can imagine.” You agree in a sympathetic voice. “Maybe we should’ve thought of something before you left last week.”

“Oh, yeah, like what? Vivian?” He smirks, his eyes going over your body once more, but without any shame this time. “Do you have any idea how great you look?”

“It was the last movie we watched.” You shrug, a coy smile on your lips. “Maybe you could’ve been a ballerina, like Natalie Portman, in ‘Black Swan’.”

He lets out a hearty laugh. “Oh please, you know how good my legs would look in tights compared to yours.”

“Oh, chéri,” You tut, stepping closer to him as you rake your fingers down on his tie. “You couldn’t if you tried.”

“I would crush you.” He challenges as he lifts an eyebrow.

You shake your head. “You wouldn’t touch me.”

“Why not?” He asks, amused.

You shrug in a nonchalant manner. “Because you'd be too busy staring at me in tights.”

“No I wouldn’t,” Charles argues, shaking his head slightly.

“You’re doing it right now.” You sing in a light voice.

“You’re not wearing any.” He points out, his hands moving to rest on the bare skin of your waist, curtesy of the cut-outs your dress provides.

You tug on his tie to draw him closer to you, his lips lingering near his ear as you whisper, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

He is left speechless when you let him go, grab your drink and start walking towards your teammate, making sure to add an extra sway to your hips because you know Charles is watching you to confirm what you’ve just told him.

You have a secret, and it’s big – big, huge. And it has something to do with the Monegasque laying beneath you. Charles talks about the last few days he spent at the Ferrari factory as you listen to him, your eyes focused on the way his face moves through various expressions when he talks about the car. Your chin is placed on your hands which are placed together on his chest, giving you the perfect view of his face. His fingers are moving on the bare skin on your back, the white bed sheet pulled up only enough to cover the globe of your ass. Although you try your best to keep up with his stream of consciousness, humming where accurate and asking him questions here and there, but Charles can see the sleepy look in your eyes through your hooded eyes.

“Are you okay, mon soleil?” He asks, his chest rumbling with his voice underneath your hands.

“Sleepy,” you mumble, leaning up against him to bury your face against the side of his neck, “you’re warm, though.”

He pulls the sheet up your body; interpreting the way you shiver as you being cold, when the actual reason is the pleasure the skin to skin contact brings. “You can go back to sleep; we still have some time.” The incoherent mumbles leaving your lips makes him chuckle, which in return makes you smile against him. Your fingers trace over the edge of his five o’clock shadow, and you suddenly find yourself thanking whatever deity is up there that he forgot to shave because of all the commotion of travelling over the past few days. “What did you just say?”

“It’s just funny that you tell me I should sleep after you’ve kept me up the entire night, darling.” Your breathy chuckle hits the side of his neck as he lets out a chuckle of his own.

“I didn’t hear you complaining at any point,” he raises one of his brows, earning him a pat against his chest and you making yourself rise enough to glare at him.

You try your best to frown at him, locking your gaze with his, as you can feel the heat starting to rise up to your face at the mention of your not so innocent activities of last night. “You’re incorrigible, Charles.”

“Oh, chérie,” he coos, brushing the pad of his thumb over the swell of your cupids-bow. You’re about to give in and give him a kiss when he rises up, himself, with a frown and you in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” You ask in a worried voice, following his line of vision to your closed bedroom door.

“Does anyone else have your keys?” Charles asks, “I heard the front door open–”

Your eyes widen as you scramble to get off him, pulling the sheet up to cover your nakedness. “Charles, hide!” You hiss, while trying to force him to move.

“Y/N?” You hear your assistant, Margo, yell through the house. “I got those thermal things you wanted!”

“One second, please!” You call back to her, looking at Charles with pleading eyes. Thankfully, he manages to hide underneath the sheets just before Margo barges into the room. Even more luckily, the duvet over the sheets ends up hiding his body seamlessly. “Hi, Margo.” You give her the best smile you can muster up under the situation, your hand still clutching the bedsheet on your chest with enough force to make your hand hurt.

“Oh my god, are you naked under there?” Margo babbles, a light blush covering her cheeks. “Since when do you sleep naked?”

“Um… I heard it’s good for your circulation?” You answer her in an unsure voice, causing Charles to tighten his hands on your thighs in warning, you have no idea how he managed to squeeze between them in the first place. “Thank you for the thermals, you’re an angel.”

“N-no problem.” She smiles at you nervously, obviously stressed because of the lack of clothes on your body for the sake of professionalism. “Toto wanted me to tell you that he is meeting up with Lewis for lunch later and asked me to ask you to join them if you were free.”

“Sure, do you know wh-when?” You stutter during the last word, feeling Charles’ fingers and breath coming closer to your center.

Margo checks her watch, then looks back up at you. “Around three, at that Italian place the team went out for dinner the last time.”

You nod in acknowledgement as you try the remember the exact location of the restaurant she mentioned, gasping because Charles decides to give your clit a little lick before taking it between his lips to gently suck on it. “I’ll be there!” You rush out, hands gripping the white sheet even tighter.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Margo asks while eyeing you up with worry, “Should I take you to a doctor, or something?”

“Oh no, I’m fine, honey.” You wave her off with a nervous chuckle. “I think it’s all in your – head!”

“Um.. okay. I’ll see you later, then.” Margo mumbles as she leaves your room with red cheeks.

You throw your head back in a groan over the awkward encounter, waiting until hearing the front door open and close before pulling the sheets back and glaring at the man between your thighs, who still has his mouth on you, by the way. “You are evil, Charles, pure evil! What were you thinking?”

He draws back slightly to raise a questioning brow. “Do you want me to stop?” However, he resumes his torture when you don’t answer him, looking up at you while grinning like the devil himself as he murmurs into your skin, “That’s what I thought.”

It’s hard, being a woman in the motorsport world, and especially in F1. While some may say it’s unprecedented, and you’d agree, you also think there’s going to be misogynistic pigs in any sector you might end up working in, so why not have some fun? The article comes out the day before the race, right before the qualifying session. You’re not the one to check your phone before going on track, but an urge to do so pokes at you when you realise people are giving you worried looks in the Mercedes garage. Your jaw tightens as you read through the article, fingers tightening around your phone as you read every single sexist comment being made about the way you dress, talk, and your entire F1 career and accomplishments being discredited just because of your gender. You’re absolutely fuming as you throw your phone onto the couch in your driver’s room and grab your helmet and balaclava as you walk briskly towards the garage.

Both Toto and Lewis look at you with surprised, but worried, looks as you announce, “Make me go out first.”

“Are you sure, Y/N?” Toto asks, sharing a worried glance with Lewis. “You usually wait for a while for other people to–.”

“No, I’m sure.” You tug on your balaclava as you add, “Make sure I’m on softs, please.”

The two men watch you walk off towards your car, Lewis mumbling, “Hell hath no fury like the woman scorned.” The Austrian turns to him, eyebrows raised, which causes him to roll his eyes. “Yes, Toto, I read.”

You’re a force to be reckoned with on track during qualifying. Although having not the best start to the season, you push your Mercedes to its absolute limits, managing to outpace even the Red Bulls, and constantly asking your engineer for another lap until Toto has to ask you to retire for the day – in long story short, you are the pole sitter for the Sunday’s race. There are four people waiting for you when you get out of your car, those four people being: Toto, Susie, Lewis and Mick – though you’re pretty sure the latter was dragged into this intervention because you’re usually unable to get angry next to the reserve driver.

“You were reckless out there, Y/N.” Toto frowns, crossing his arms over his chest (Mick copies his actions, nodding, as he does his best to give you a stern look).

“I drove the best I have in over a year,” you argue, “we are starting on P1 tomorrow because of my driving today.”

“I don’t care if we start P20, you know you shouldn’t have gone out there that angry!” Susie places a pacifying hand on your team principle’s arm when his voice gets higher.

“We know you were angry about the article,” Lewis starts, but you cut him off as you grumble,

“A very astute conversation, Lewis.” You snap, not allowing him to continue as you begin ranting, “He called me a ‘Malibu Barbie’, and suggested that I should find another career, do you know how disheartening that is?”

“They called me Ken once,” Mick mumbles with a small pout on his lips, quickly mumbling “sorry,” when you give him a scathing look.

“There will always be journalists who are against you and me,” Lewis goes on to remind you, “I told that before you signed, and before your first race.”

“I know, but–” You stop to swallow down a sob, tilting your head back to delay the tears which are threatening to come out. “They implied that I’ve slept my way up to where I am today,” you inhale a deep breath as your voice wavers, “I’m so tired of my accomplishments being reduced to this.”

“Men will always be afraid of women who have the ability to be better at their jobs than they are,” Susie smiles softly at you – soft, but not pitiful, you realise. “It doesn’t mean that we should give up, it means that we do our best to make sure they are proved wrong.”

“You could’ve hurt yourself and others today,” Toto shakes his head, “you almost collided with both of the Ferraris.”

Your entire break pauses at the mention of the red cars, mind quickly drifting to the owner of the eyes you love looking into, but you’re quick to snap yourself out, “Are they okay?”

“Both Carlos and Charles are fine,” Susie assures you.

“No more reckless driving,” Toto points a finger at you and then to Lewis, who raises his arms in surrender. “I mean it.” He pats you on the back before leaving, whispering a quick, “Good job today, kiddo.”

“Why do I get in trouble because of you?” Lewis wonders aloud, his hands on his hips.

“We haven’t been teammates for that long, Lewis.” You squint your eyes.

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Mick asks with a concerned look on his face.

You nod in thought, pointed to both of them. “I will be, but I need both of your help.”

Mick gulps, voice tentative as he asks, “We’re not doing anything illegal, are we?”

After you’re done explaining your plan to your teammates, you say goodbye to both of them and make your way towards your driver’s room. Charles gets up, quickly, from the couch as you enter, shocked expressions on both of your faces. “H-how did you get in here?”

“I had to sneak in through the back,” he explains as he gets closer to you, hands quickly cup your cheek for his thumbs to swipe under your eyes. “Chérie, did you cry?”

“I- no!” You shake your head as you try to get him off. “I’m just- ugh, I’m just so angry!”

He lets you rant in his arms, eventually giving in and shedding a few tears of frustration, but he doesn’t comment until you’re done with your thoughts, and when he does comment, it is not to undermine your feelings. He takes you back to the hotel, and before the two of you leave your garage, he sneaks a soft kiss on your lips which has you melting in his arms. Unbeknown to you, Susie, Toto and Lewis watch the interaction from the other end of the corridor, with the latter murmuring, “Love is just a word until someone comes along and gives it meaning.” Lewis gives Toto a side-eye as the team principle looks at him with the same surprised look from before, “For the last time, man, I read!”

All the eyes in the car are on you, the next morning when you, Mick and Lewis arrive to the track in the same car. “You ready to leave?” Lewis asks you, looking at you from the rear-view mirror from the passenger seat; Mick drove to the track instead of you because you told them both there was no way you were driving with the heels you wore today.

“It’s now or never,” you mutter, subconsciously fixing your hair.

“Give them hell.” Mick turns back to smile at you, and you give him a nervous smile as you exit the car.

A few people around the entrance turn to give you funny looks, you reply to some of them by offering a thin-lipped smile. The real show starts when you finally enter the racing grounds, photographers turning to snap a picture of you when they realise it’s actually you. You plaster on a plastic smile, waving at them as you do your absolute best to walk in the 6-inch heels which were definitely not the brightest idea you’ve ever had.

“Hi, Barbie!” A similar voice calls out to you, and you smile genuinely for the first time as you call back. ,

“Hi, Ken!” You turn towards Pierre, pushing your sunglasses up towards your hair as you watch the Frenchman walk towards you with Carlos and Charles behind him.

“Please tell me it’s a wig,” Carlos frowns, his eyes lingering on your suddenly platinum hair.

“I’m having fun as a blonde, Carlos.” You shrug innocently, your arms crossing over your chest, and the pink dress you’ve decided to wear for the occasion.

Pierre nods in support, “Blondes do have more fun, Carlos.”

“I- Why?” Carlos asks, not getting the joke shared between you and Pierre. “I don’t understand.”

“Fine, no soup for you, then.” You mumble rolling your eyes. However, your eyes widen when you realise he genuinely doesn’t get the reference. “Seriously- Carlos, it’s from Seinfeld.”

“I’ve never watched it.” He admits, his frown still prominent on his face.

“It’s okay, mate,” Pierre assures him taking him away to explain the joke to him, which leaves you and Charles alone.

You turn to Charles with a coy smile on your face. “You like the new look?”

“I- but, when?” He asks you, more confused then ever. “You were not blonde when I left last night.”

“Mick bought the dye for me.” You explain, trying to supress a grin. “We stayed up all night trying to bleach my hair.”

“You stayed up all night?” Charles asks, more concerned now that he learns that you didn’t have a good night’s sleep. “That’s so wrong, mon soleil, why did you do it? Is it about the article? Of course, it is.”

“Charles, calm down, darling.” You place a hand on his chest, even though you’re hyperaware of the fact that both of you are out in the open. “I’m just going to prove something, alright? I feel fine.”

“You should’ve slept.” Charles frowns, taking a deep breath. “Are you sure you feel good enough to be in a car?”

You nod excitedly. “Positive, I have a race to win. And wait until you see what Lewis and I are going to wear.”

“I can’t wait, chérie.”

Just as you promised Charles, you win the race. Your pace is even better than the previous day, but instead of being fuelled by anger, you are fuelled by determination to win. Your engineers play Aqua’s Barbie Girl as a surprise, and to make things even better, Lewis and you stand on the podium in a Mercedes 1-2 in your matching pink helmets and shoes – even Toto donned pink glasses for the occasion. Charles lets out a hearty laugh alongside you on the podium when he sees your outfits. Yeah, you decide in that moment, this one is for the girls.

You and Charles’ relationship happened so unexpectedly, but that doesn’t mean that you regret a secret moment of it. It all started when you were moving to Monte Carlo at the end of last year’s season, and Charles was the only one available to help you in the process – not that you asked him of course, he offered you to help because he is a gentleman like that. It didn’t take the both of you long enough to go on dates as you spent more and more time together, and it was a natural transition to both of you dating each other exclusively. Despite what you expected, the first time Charles actually kissed you was on a cliff overlooking the entirety of Monte Carlo, the view was beautiful, but you were still apprehensive because of your location on the cliff. So, being the gentleman he is, Charles offered to hold you, and that’s when he decided to kiss you.

Lewis comes back to the table after taking a phone call as he apologises, “Sorry, I was on the phone; long distance.”

“God?” You ask him, mockingly nodding, which makes George and Carmen laugh.

“London,” Lewis clarifies as he gives you a questioning look.

You gasp as you ask. “God lives in London?”

“No, my mother in lives in London.” Lewis replies in the calmest voice he can muster.

“You mother is God?” You ask right back, without the appearance of joking. Your small discussion grabs the attention of other drivers and couples as the two of you continue bickering.

“Y/N,” Lewis tries to warn you, but you continue on with your rant.

Leaning towards Charles, Alex and Lily who are seated close together, you announce, “So, God is a woman.”

“Y/N!” Lewis groans this time.

“And my teammates mother, it’s so cool! I’m definitely going to ask for strategy points for the next season.”

The table shares a laugh as you and Lewis continue bickering back and forth, eliciting laughs from people who watch you with amusement. Eventually, Pierre clears his throat. “Okay, what is everyone’s plans for the break?” he asks, trying to look over the long table.

“Isa and I are off to Mallorca,” Carlos announces as she presses a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“I’m going back home,” Yuki shrugs.

“I’m going to see Chloe and Scotty,” Lance mumbles, “and probably Daniel, too.”

Everyone goes around to announce their plans for the break, but when it comes to you and Charles, you are nervous as you announce, “I’m just going to stay home, get to know the city, you know?”

“Yeah, same.” Charles nods, thinking he got away with his evasive answer.

“You’re going to get to know the city you were born and raised in?” Fernando asks with a knowing smirk.

“You can always find new things if you know where to look,” Charles replies in a serious tone, trying to appear stern as he nods to strengthen his point. You’re busy squeezing his hand under the table to death.

“Yeah, like what?” Max asks, which earns him a slap on the arm from Kelly. “What? I’m curious.”

“Like, umm, like-like cafés, and bookshops, and you know those little stores which sell souvenirs but not the generic kind?” He rambles, trying to think of more examples.

“Okay that’s enough,” Lewis cuts him off, shaking his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “We all know the two of you are dating. The entire grid, and engineers, and probably most of the team principles.”

“What?” You laugh nervously, trying to shrug him off. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Yeah, we are not dating.” Charles shakes his head, his octave going up as he receives looks from people around the table. “We are not!”

“Drop the act, it’s disgusting the way you two look at each other.” Checo complains from the other side of the table.

“Yeah, and I can see him doing stuff to your hand under the table.” Lance winces.

“He is not doing stuff to my hand under the table!” You squeal, but Charles is too busy trying to contain his laughter next to you. “Is this funny to you, Charles?”

“I mean, a little bit,” Charles confirms, finally succumbing to his laugher, “we have nothing to hide now, chérie.”

“I knew it!” Pierre exclaims, “I told you I saw them together at my birthday!” He tells his girlfriend.

“Toto and I saw them kissing after quali,” Lewis shrugs.

You gasp as you turn towards him. “You did not!”

“Yes we did,” Lewis argues, “even Susie saw.”

Charles pulls you towards himself, still laughing over people arguing whether they saw you together over the past year or not, as he wraps your arms around your shoulder, you murmur to him, “I am so crashing next to him next year, Daniel style.” You take a pause to think, “No, Mazepin style.”

“Maybe not crash into your teammate for the sake of poor Toto, mon soleil.”

You let out an unsatisfied grumble as you hear Alex complain to Lily, “Why didn’t she tell me? I thought we were best friends!” You groan and look around the table at all the people around you, who are all surprisingly supportive of your relationship, you smile as you press a soft kiss to Charles’ lips.

He grins as he asks, “What was that for?”

“Nothing,” you shrug, “I just think you’re pretty cool.”

“I think you’re pretty cool, too, my love.” He mumbles and gives you another kiss despite few groans coming from around the table.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc fluff

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simp-ly-writes · 3 months

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Just a Small Crush

Ask: is there anyway that I can get a Vox x Reader oneshot (from hazbin hotel ofc) where the reader Alastors sister but has a crush on Vox and secretly still hangs out with him and also gives him information of what’s going on at the hotel.

Pairing: Vox x Alastor Sister!Reader

Warnings: light teasing and brief mentions of death.

A/N: I LOVE THIS IDEA TYSM FOR THE ASK ANON!!!!!!

Masterlist | Taglist | un-edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

↳ You were Alastor's sister, having died a few years after he did you had come to terms with the changing of technology better than he did. Adapting to smart devices and social platforms with relative ease thanks to the help from a certain bright-eyed princess

↳ From this adaptability of yours you soon became the hotels advertisement manager, creating digital ads, short video skits with the guests and posting how-to-make drink recipes with Husk at the bar.

↳ Alastor smiled at this, seeing you so lively and back to your charismatic self that he thought to be forgotten after your sudden death at a young-age. Nevertheless he never became blinded by this happiness of his- often found glaring at the electronic device super-glued to your hands or the keyboard stuck to your fingers. But he would only make side snarky reminders about the time you came from and how you should still uphold your mannerisms

↳ Flashing a quick, bright smile towards your brother you skipped away, phone in hands as you brainstormed a new caption for the radio segment you just filmed together. Your heart races when the video goes green and hundreds of likes come flooding in alongside various comments of varying enthusiasm towards the content

↳ Shutting your phone off, you head to your room for a break, settling in your bed you flick on the newest episode of Late Nights with Vox. Having worked late last night on the editing of your new television advertisement- you had missed the live airing of the show

↳ "Welcome back everyone" Vox leans his head towards the camera hands behind his back as the camera pans backwards and exposes the wooden desk that he is stationed against. You watch as he leans back against the desk, watching as his suit distorts to capture his form as you rapidly scroll through Velvettes Hell-Page, looking for any other pictures of his new suit. "Tonight we some of only hells finest joining us for exclusive interviews alongside the first viewing of our latest Vox-Tech inventions you are sure to love!" A few cheers can be heard just as you clap your hands, immersed in the show and its presenter

↳ Swiping onto your personal account, you flick Velvette over a quick text- sending your praises for Vox's new suit just as you laugh in tune to the TV's cackles in response to Valentino crashing the set and announcing a new production as the show cuts to commercials. A ping of your notifications has you stopping your conversation with Velvette and transitioning over to other Vee as your hands being to sweat.

↳ Vox has texts you, "Hey!- a certain bird tells me you are enjoying the show?" You roll your eyes into a wide smile, he has been picking up on your expressions with all the recent time you had been spending together after-hours from both your jobs.

You: "You do well every night, I don't think you need me to add to your ego..."

Vox: "but you do. "

You: "?"

Vox: "Who else can say that they are friends the radio demons sister?"

You: "you out of all people better not be going around saying that! I do quite like you- wouldn't want my brother to spoil that by spilling your guts out on to the street if we found out."

Vox: "my lips are sealed then."

↳ A few moments pass before Vox texts again, "doing anything tonight?" your face goes red as your eyes flicker over the space, ensuring that you are in fact alone before you respond. "Nope, got all my work done, would you want to come around?"

↳ Your heart races, watching as the message bubbles bounce as you lay there in wait. But just before you can check the message, Vox has travelled through the electrical wires of the buildings sign and is sitting on your windowsill, taping on the glass for you to let him in

↳ A small scream escapes you, falling off your bed as you race over to usher him in. "So..." Vox starts to say, looking around your room before his eyes fall on to you, a smile expanding across his screen as he leans towards you, matching your height as you take a step back, looking for the remote to pause the television show in the background.

↳ "Watching me again?- why need the recording? I can always remake the scenes here for you, give you a synopsis if you will?" He asks, looking at his gloves before casting you a wink. He stands up straight, walking over to your desk before twirling around in your office chair as you sit on the edge of your bed, observing his actions

↳ "I like your suit." You blurt out, eyes going wide as hands cover your mouth in shock that you just admitted that to his face and not Velvette. Vox throws a hand to his knee, repiedidly slapping it with his laughs before he turns to face you once more. He stands, capturing your chin with his hand- ushering your eyes to meet his own. "No need to get embarrassed now, Velvette did a good deal of work on it- whats not to be admired?"

↳ Now scoffing and turning your head away with his ego flaring up once again. He drops his hand from your face as you let out a breath and listen up to what he has to say next, "Anything new to report on here?" You shake your head, unlocking your phone to show him the recent cocktail you and Husk invented, "Thats about it other than Charlie getting that meeting with Adam I told you about last week..." you trail off, breath hitching as you see footsteps from underneath the door

↳ You reach upwards, smacking a head over Vox's mouth. Failing to see as his screen flickers blue for a split second at the sudden touch. You sigh out in relief as the footsteps carry down the hall after a moment, dropping your hand and turning back to watch as Vox raises an eyebrow, "If you want me to shut up, just tell me or else I will think you just don't like me anymore" He states with a teasing smile, enjoying the way your face fires up as you flip him the finger

↳ Taglist: @jtcat305 @amarokofficial

#hazbin #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #vox x you #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel x you #vox x y/n #hazbin hotel vees #simp-ly-writes #simp-ly

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raz-writes-the-thing · 6 months

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New Years (Broadchurch One-Shot)

Alec Hardy x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Neither of you have had a New Years kiss before- it's time that changed.

BROADCHURCH: @clarina04 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @yeethaw13 @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

New Years holidays had never really been your thing, to be completely honest. The booze, the drugs, the partying- and don’t even get you started on how horrible the fireworks were for the environment and the poor animals.

But this year was different. Sure, yes, you still weren’t a fan of the booze, drugs and fireworks, but this year you had Alec, who had promised to do his best for you. New Years was less a holiday for cops and more like overtime. The amount of stupidity out on the streets and driving around ensured that cops didn’t get to celebrate like everyone else. He’d had to fight for it, but he’d gotten there eventually.

But Alec had done you a solid this year and applied for the time off. It was your first year as a couple this year, and you were excited to spend it together without his phone going off to call him into the office- which was becoming increasingly common lately with the crimes stacking up in Broadchurch.

But tonight it was a no phones policy or you’d yeet it out the window into the snow never to be seen again and Alec knew it, too.

It was a nice evening cuddling in front of the TV and catching up on some of your shows together. You were several episodes behind on Mad Men and were desperate to see how that was going to end this season.

As it got closer to midnight, though, you found yourself thinking that maybe you would actually like to experience a little of that New Years energy that everyone was always going on about.

“Would you dance with me?” You asked him suddenly, interrupting his focus on the television.

Alec stumbled over his response for a moment before settling and agreeing, standing up to move out into the clearer dining area. You grinned at him and changed the channel to the local countdown. You muted the television and put some soft music on to sway too.

Alec took your hand and your waist, the warmth of his hand bleeding through your shirt.

“Bit out of the blue, love,” he said, shuffling a little closer. You shrugged and held on a little tighter.

“Yeah, I just- I’ve not really done the New Years thing before but I wanted to do something small with you. New Years kiss, some dancing, you know.”

“Truth be told, I’ve never really done the New Years thing either,” he responded, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes, feeling such an overwhelming sensation of peace. “Never saw the appeal,” he continued, twirling you around his arm softly. “But y’ken- I’ve never had someone special as you t’share it with like this.”

Your cheeks blushed the lightest shade of pink and you giggled.

“Someone special, hey?” You asked. You would have elbowed him if your hands hadn’t been in his and on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” His voice was so soft and quiet it was a wonder you even heard it.

A flash on the television behind you caught your eye. You looked over to see the one-minute countdown starting. You chewed on your lip. All of a sudden you were nervous- why were you nervous?

Alec chuckled and gave you another twirl.

“Another year ‘a this shite, eh? Who wouldn’t want t’share that wi’ y’er, darlin’?”

You had to tamp down your smile. Forty-four seconds left.

“Another year of this? Sign me up, my love,” you replied giddily, resisting the urge to kiss him right then and there. Thirty-two seconds left.

“Y’might come to regret that,” he chuckled, slowly coming to a stop and cupping your chin with his hand. The way he was looking at you was so intensely affectionate it was hard to keep eye contact with him. Thirteen seconds left.

“Never,” you replied breathily as he leaned in. A statement but also a promise. Your eyes flicked to the television briefly.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

Faint cheering could be heard from the town centre, fireworks popping in the distance. Loud music only just managing to reach Alec’s place. But your brain was drowning all of that out, focussed only on his lips on yours. A first for both of you and a promise of commitment.

A promise you both intended to keep for much longer than a meagre twelve months.

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adultswim2021 · 1 year

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Saul of the Mole Men #1: “A New Friend” | February 12, 2007 - 12:00AM | S01E01 Revised version first aired April 17, 2007 @ 12:15

Imagine you’re watching a movie. A character in the movie turns on the TV, and there’s a show that’s too stupid to REALLY exist in the real world. TV shows are already a heightened form of reality, and so are movies, so when the character watches this show, chances are it’s going to be pretty dumb by our standards. But because the movie person lives in a heightened version of reality, it only makes sense that the TV show will be a heightened version of that heightened reality. That movie character is used to this version of television. But, we as the audience watching the movie are not.

Very simply, you have what you’d refer to as a “fake show”. These usually exist so you can watch a movie character watch the show, giggle at how stupid it is, and maybe also giggle at how stupid the character is for liking it, or how notice how cool and relatable they are for not liking it. Sometimes, not often, but SOMETIMES, the show is actually fully produced to some extent and included as an extra feature on the special edition DVD. Isn’t that neat?

Fake shows exist on TV, as well, usually serving some allegorical function. “Invitation to Love” on Twin Peaks. “Terrance and Phillip” on South Park. “Pscyho Dad” on Married… With Children. That sort of thing. This blurs the concept of “Fake shows” altogether.

You’d think this was a simple concept, but it’s not. In fact, there is yet another step towards the uncanny: the “fake shows” that exist in real life. Some of them are a little less vague because they are broad genre parodies (Fernwood Tonight*, Night Stand with Dick Deitrich). But for some of them, the joke is that they exist at all. Those are the truly uncanny ones: That’s My Bush!. Let’s Bowl. And this: Saul of the Mole Men.

Saul of the Mole Men was created by a big foam mouth whose top part of its head was the word FUNNY and jaw was the word GARBAGE. I don’t really care to actually untangle the ownership here; for some reason I assumed Jimmy Kimmel was the owner of this company because I remembered he had an affinity for Josh Gardner (the titular Saul), and he supported the career of Adam De La Pena (whose Minoriteam sported this production logo). There’s some vaguely recognizable names in here, like Tom Stern and Tim Burns, who worked with Alex Winter on Idiot Box (underrated) and Freaked (one of the best comedies ever made). Oh, hey, Alex Winter is credited as a voice in this! I think that’s him as the king Mole Man?

The premise was that Saul Malone, a nerdy and anxious geologist, is one of the sole survivors of a disastrous mission involving a drill-mounted underground vehicle (is there a word for this?? I wonder!). Among the living is a rude robot who says stuff like “(slur)”, and a vapid 60s style pop star, who is in stasis on board during the first scene for some reason that isn’t explained. When their vehicle crashes and everyone on the ship winds up dead, Saul ventures into the subterranean world of the Mole Men, to go and have… serialized adventures… uh, down there.

The first episode’s plot: the craft crashes, Saul, Johnny Tambourine, and Robot need to find their locator antenna, which has landed in the Mole King’s throne room. The Mole King dutifully brings the antenna to Saul, and kindly introduces himself. Saul is freaked out by the Mole Men to such a degree that it causes him to ignore this friendly gesture and stab the king in the head with the antenna. And that all takes 11 minutes for some reason.

Okay, so the show is cheesy and crappy-looking on purpose. It’s meant to look like a Sid and Marty Krofft production from the 70s. Other references get thrown around like Doctor Who. The opening reminds me of Ark II, or any number of Saturday morning semi-serious action shows shot in the desert aimed at really stupid children. It shares something in common with Sid and Marty Krofft productions: damn, it looks really fun! But also: damn, the people shooting this really didn’t give a shit. Like at, at all.

That’s the prevailing feeling with Saul of the Molemen. The aesthetics are really pleasing, honestly. The Mole Men are really fun to look at. The opening theme sequence and credits and stuff are beautiful. It does look really fun to make. But the script and the shooting of the show? I will give props to Josh Gardner, who had a small cult following from Gerhard Reinke's Wanderlust on Comedy Central, a short-lived show that never grabbed me, but I remember a small number of people in my orbit insisted that it was “actually pretty good”. His performance is occasionally very fun, and he embodies the character well. Certain action shots are on-purposes lackluster. That’s the main joke of the show: unconvincing action and dumb jokes.

Speaking of jokes: actual written jokes are few and far between. There are maybe two lines in this that qualify as a joke: Saul’s dying crew mate thinks Saul is another guy on the team: “why do you have his cold sore?” “It’s a mustache!” “The coldest sore of them all”. It’s an okay joke, but you can’t imagine anybody in the room saying “let’s try and come up with something better”. I would bet that this show was entirely produced from first draft scripts.

That’s not entirely accurate; this episode is in fact a revision of a revision; First there was the pilot version of this, which I recall adultswim.com had clips of online (I found information that suggests the whole pilot was up, but I only remember a clip package that shared the scenes that were cut from the final version). The shot with Saul being barfed on by subterranean birds seen in the opening is derived from the original pilot. There are also many shots that seem like they were shot at different times; The costumes, Saul’s mustache, or the video quality all seem slightly different from shot-to-shot.

The version available online for viewing was actually revised a second time; later they added a gag where the show kept playing different opening sequences for different shows before settling on Saul. This version aired midway through the series and became the “final” version of the episode. I VASTLY prefer the first aired version and don’t think the additional intros opening adds much. In fact they come off too jokey and at worst tacked-on (they are in fact both of these things). What IS legitimately great though is the actual Saul of the Mole Men theme song, sung by television’s Trey Parker. It’s very catchy, and the single best thing about the show.

There is one other notable dialogue-driven joke: Robot can’t tell if the Mole Men are mongoloids or what. Johnny Tambourine says his sister was (paraphrasing) born retarded. Or was it Chinese? Actually, she was stillborn. (end joke, which ends on a lingering shot of Saul furrowing his brow as if the home audience needs to recover from laughing so hard) I’m not trying to win woke points, I swear to god, but: this joke always rubbed me the wrong way. Like there’s something really unsatisfying about it. Maybe it’s a hat on a hat kinda thing? I remember friends quoting it and I sorta was like, “yeah, I guess that’s funny.” I don’t know man. I feel like they were going for stupid-on-purpose, but the stupidity on this show has a way of leaving me cold. The writing just seems brushed-off. I often wonder if this show was a little more PG or a little more straight-faced, as though it really were children’s television, if it would be better.

It reminds me of certain producer-types I’ve talked to, whose whole attitude is that comedy is easy: you just try a bunch of dumb but novel ideas and wait for one to catch on. This one apparently caught on: I mean, it sold, didn’t it? For some reason Adult Swim greenlit 20 episodes of this thing, and it’s baffling why? Did they commission and then not even watch the pilot? I’m hazy on the details, but I remember them taking shots at this show later on in bumpers: citing it as an example of greenlighting gone-wrong.

I… (gulp) remember this being the best episode of the show, from what I saw. It’s only downhill from here. Oh no!

PS: I am going to save the Jonah Ray bashing for another write-up. This is already too many words.

*FERNWOOD TONIGHT ADDENDUM: Fernwood Tonight is typically described as a spin-off of Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, but I’m one of the few people on Earth who has actually watched every episode of Mary Hartman so I am going to use this blog to clear up the distinction: YES: there were moments in the show where characters watched a show called “Fernwood Tonight” but it did not resemble the real-life Fernwood Tonight at all and was more of a local news magazine program. In that incarnation it was just an expression of the idea of “going on TV” whenever the plot called for it. Like, if a character on the show is doing something that gets media coverage, it’s gonna happen on “Fernwood Tonight”. The Mayor needs to announce something to the whole town, it happens on “Fernwood Tonight”, etc. The concept of the show being revamped and hosted by Martin Mull as Barth Gimble (twin brother to Garth Gimble, who died on Mary Hartman) was introduced late in the series as a tease for the upcoming “spin-off”. So I don’t really count it as a show-within-a-show really at all. It’s more of a calculated extension of the Fernwood universe. Thank you. Thank you for letting me say this stuff.

MAIL BAG

Tim and Eric Awesome Show premiering on Adult Swim, THE CARTOON NETWORK, was like Bob Dylan going electric. Same feigned outrage followed by significant amounts of influence for the world of comedy. May Tim and Eric STAND the TEST of TIME!

I agree with you, even though I don’t know who Bob Dylan is. Seems like a weird guy to know about honestly. Bye.

Hacky Sack Extreme. Million Dollar Extreme. See the connection? As the late Bill Murray would say: Friend of yours?

Bill Murray recently found himself in hot water for massaging his niece Geena Davis. So back the fuck off pal

I have a friend named Connor but we call him C-Boy from time to time so its pretty cool there was a C-Boy on Tim and Eric. Shout out to him! Keep New Jersey weird dude, Jersey style!

This is a banner day for mentioning weird guys. But... I have a feeling... this C-Boy of yours is a good guy and a good friend. May the friendship STAND the TEST of TIME!

I dont like how they say "fuckin podcast" in the podcast episode. So rude! If that was the first thing I ever saw them do I may have never give them a chance. Instead I love the guys. Can life be really that precarious?

I agree, and yes. It’s like my friend who turned off the Comedy Central TV Funhouse show because an animal swore. He hated that. Even when I pointed out “that was in all the promos. You were ready for it”. He stuck to his guns. That guy died, probably.

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #saul of the mole men

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spoilertv · 21 hours

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#SpoilerTV

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xgryffinwhore · 3 years

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Hey! Can I request a jaeden martell x reader where basically their charters are dating on a tv show and they are really really good best friends in real life and they they both go on the Jimmy fallon show and he keeps on asking if they’re dating because everyone thinks they are and when they say no he obvi doesn’t let it go lol and it ends up slipping up that jaeden did/ does have a crush on reader and they maybe end up sharing a kiss in front is Jimmy & audience & stuff😶just an idea i had 😂:)

i love this idea wow, thinking i’m going to put my own little twist on it but i think you’ll still be pleased ;)

just friends

warnings!: suggestive topics, fluff

word count: 2.1k

five

your face was being touched up with powder, the cotton pad dabbing at your nose as the white powder absorbed into any oil your face may have had.

four

you look over at jimmy, this wasn’t your first talk show, but it had been the biggest one with the most following. it was intimidating, you bounced your foot up and down and played with your hands.

three

behavior jaeden had grown to recognize. he knew you better then you knew yourself, your anxiety was worse then you put it out to be. “you ok?” he questioned, “fine, i’m fine” you painted a small smile on your face. but he wasn’t easily fooled.

two

he grabbed one of your hands and rubbed circles into your palm, this sent vibrations of relaxation down your spine.

one

his eyes locked with yours, you swore they were a different color each time you saw them. sometimes more blue, sometimes more green, sometimes dark with mystery, sometimes light and playful.

‘aaand where on air’

you wiped the hand that was interlocked with his off on your dress, it was clammy. the curtain came up fast, and your vision was soon flooded with bright lights and silhouettes of bodies.

making out the faces in the sea of people was impossible, but you knew your friends were out there. they had flown out to see you, a) they could go see new york and b) you were on national television, and they wouldn’t miss it for the world.

jimmy was talking, you knew that much, but your nerves took over and honestly you weren’t registering a damn thing he was saying. the crowd cheered, you snapped out of your daze.

“and here tonight, we have jaeden martell and y/n l/n from the new HBO tv series: turning tables”

he turned to both of us, and gave everyone time to clap. he tired to speak over the loud hands, moving on with his show, but the crowd made that difficult. eventually the clapping died out and he could continue.

“now, i’ve watched all of the episodes but, for the people who haven’t seen: can you explain what the show is about?” he looked a jaeden, you let go of a breathe you had held in.

“s-sure” jaeden turned to face the audience more, he was soft spoken and shy, so it was important he projected as much as he could.

“turning tables is a teen drama. it’s about families of poverty in the seattle washington area and how they struggle to go to school and work. my character, jennings cooper, is the main protagonist. the show is mainly from his point of view, and how he struggle to support his family.”

jimmy nods and smiles, he looks pleased with his explanation. i’m truth the show wasn’t that simple, he knew that. but, it would take so long to explain.

“and y/n, who do you play?” he knew the answer to this obviously, but you were becoming a crowd favorite. everyone loved your personality, and you were an up-and-coming a list celebrity.

“i play parker marlow, jennings girlfriend” you blushed at this statement, the crowd giggled and ‘ouuu’ed. jimmy rubbed his hands together, getting excited at the upcoming topic of discussion.

“so, your romance on season one was steamy” you thought back to the scenes you did together. all of the kissing, which felt normal at this point. he wasn’t a bad kisser, in fact- you didn’t mind it at all. your romance through the season built up to a sex scene, your mind flashed through the memories of filming it.

filming those scenes isnt half as steamy as you think it is. it’s awkward, you laugh a lot. you had never felt that exposed in your life! however watching it was different, it looked so real, so perfect.

you blurred out your thoughts, mr. fallon still speaking on the subject. “can we expect more -“ jimmy searched for your ship name, it was on the tip of his tongue. the combination of your first names on the show didn’t make an attractive combo. it was either jarker or pennings. your last names matched a little better.

“-carlow” jaeden finished for him. jimmy nodded and smiled “yes- carlow- can we expect more carlow next season?” you both looked at each other and smiled. the writers for the show already had the next four seasons laid out. you knew that carlow was a continuing relationship on the show.

“yes, you should expect more of that sort of content from us” you stated. the people in the crowd had a positive responce to this, the applause lapping until it died out once again.

“right, your characters have so much chemistry in the show. two struggling teens just trying to break even.” jaeden agreed “yes, our characters balance each other out, and being from the same background helps them associate. jennings is kind of a bad boy-as the ladies say- he’s a felon, he steels cars and sells them to counterfeit manufacturers and dealers for money. parker, y/n’s character, has a job at a diner. she shows him the light at the end of the tunnel if he chooses to go down a good path.”

“yes, parker gets jennings a job at the diner with her, and he falls for her sweet disposition even after everything she’s been through” you add.

jimmy licks his lips and pops another question: “so id imagine the chemistry in the show heightens the real life thing?” he cocked an eye brow, the group gasping at the intrusiveness.

“jaeden and i are just friends” you blurt out, your nerves working up again. it was hard, you liked jaeden ever since you had your first kiss with him.

“y-yeah” he stutters, he obviously wasn’t expecting this either “friends” jimmy shakes his head and puts his finger on his lip “recently, you both have been showing a lot of pictures of you two together on social media.”

the audience ‘awwwed’ at the photos that displayed behind you. on the screen, there were pictures of you and him that were on both of your instagrams. you two at gardens, getting food, even watching movies at each other’s houses.

“for just friends, these photos looks intimate , wouldn’t you say” a bunch of ‘yes’’s and ‘mhm’’s came from the crowd as both of your faces became red.

“we’re just best friends, honestly” jaeden laughed nervously, he fixed his hair with his hand has he always does.

“right right- can you tell me when this photo is from?” jimmy asked, the last picture flashing on the screen. it was of you both, you had just filmed your first scene together.

the first scene you filmed together was episode two, he saved you after you fell into ice cold water. it was how the characters met, and it was filmed at a cove on a windy august day.

the picture was a little blurry, but it added character. he had his arm around you, both of your hair soaked, and you share a huge towel. you remember how cold you were, your teeth chattered so rapidly. his hair was stuck to his forehead and more small pieces went up. and your lips were almost purple, half from the makeup, half because you swore that was the coldest water you had ever went in.

“that’s from when we first started filming, it was the first time we met in the show” you recited, re living the memory in your head. you remember jaeden pulling your head into his chest when the wind began blowing. you remember his thumb trying to create friction on your back to make you just a little warm.

“yes yes- you two look so adorable!” jimmy squealed, he was the most teenage-girl-grown-man you had ever met. his hand opened one of the drawers in the faux desk he sat behind, pulling out a small blue camcorder.

the camcorder.

you know how on tv shows, there is special footage? sometimes it’s just behind the scene specials but sometimes- sometimes - it’s footage the actors document when they were just having fun? yeah it was one of those camcorders.

the camcorder was brought in by the two other co hosts wyatt oleff and finn wolfhard (i know this cast is sooo original not really) they played jaedens two best friends on the show. while they weren’t filming, they’d dick around and talk about stupid stuff. you’d never seen what they filmed, but you had been featured quite a few times; their by them pranking you, or invading your personal space.

you looked over at jaeden, you watched his adam’s apple bob and a thin layer of sweat flush over his face. he bounced his leg slightly, a habit he had picked up from you.

“let’s just review our material here” jimmy teased, his tongue darting out between his teeth. the video began to play, the sound was loud; assumingely for jaeden quiet voice in the tape.

the video started with wyatts unsteady hand, him and finn were running around set, they stopped at jaeden, he was playing on his phone in his trailer.

“jaeden wesley we have come for you” finn yelled. you could see jaeden shoot up from his chair. “hey guys” he waved. they talked for around a minute, jokes and all. then finn started to giggle, wyatt zoomed in on jaedens face.

“so jaeden, how’s y/n?” he chuckled, jaeden blushed “she’s ok i guess dunno.” wyatt stopped zooming in when the only thing in frame was jaedens head. “the kiss was good hm?” wyatt asked. jaeden continued to play on his phone, he nodded. “yeah, she’s pretty cute too.”

the video cut to another segment, this was filmed after the sex scene. you knew because jaeden laid on the bed you, in the same underwear that he wore during the scene. the boys were jumping on the bed, and jaeden took the camera and talked to it.

“this is for memory and memory ONLY! h-hey y/nnn” he was talking to the camera like it was you “you’re amazing and cool” you could hear finn explode into laughter as he stole the camera back and started running “yeah! and he wants your babies and loves you so much-“ “SHUT UP FINN!!!” and jaeden chased him around.

the video was taken off the screen. your face had become close to ghostly white. it was weird, it was almost like he was dumb enough to think finn wouldn’t give jimmy this blackmail goldmine. you looked at jaeden, he hit his bottom lip until it was red, he itches his neck and laughed it off.

“yeah ok-ok jimmy, maybe i liked her back in the day” jaeden tried so hard to be casual, but jimmy hit him with a heart stopper: “but mr martell, the last clip was filmed less then a month ago!”

your mind flickered with memories and ideas of him.

your first time meeting, how good his hand felt in yours. when you wiped icecream off his chin, and him dotting icecream on to the top of your nose. the way his hair always fell perfectly above his eye brow. and SHIT how he always smelt so fucking good. how he let you fall asleep in his arms and how he never complained when you put on some stupid romcom and-

“y/n?” jimmy questioned. “huh?” you spaced, come on y/n you gotta stop doing that. “i asked how you felt about all of this.” “well, there isn’t a right word i can use.”

jaeden took this has a bad reaction, he did a small wave to the crowd and stood up to get off the stage.

you stood up, grabbed his hand, and laid one right on him. kissing him felt normal, but now that there was emotion behind it, it just felt so right.

you both stopped for air, the crowd went wild. jimmy was clapping too, you could barley hear them, your heart was pumping throughout your whole body. you swore jaeden could hear it.

after the show, you sat in your dressing room for a bit, contemplating the events of tonight, and how they were all broadcasted for your embarrassment. but it was only the beginning. only the beginning of what was to come for mr. and mrs. jaeden martell.

#jaeden martell #jaeden martell fic #jaeden martell x reader #jaeden martell fluff #jaeden wesley #jaeden lieberher #jaeden #jaeden fic #bill denbrough #bill denbrough x you #bill denbrough fanfic #it move #imagine #it fanfiction #aged up

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diamondcitydarlin · 3 years

Text

hey yall, bear in mind that even if nothing concrete happens with Nandermo tonight that absolutely does not imply that nothing romantic will ever happen, case closed, because we do after all have another season that is currently in production as I type this post, and I feel rather confident in assuming probably several more seasons after that, their dynamic has already been defined as a slow-burn / will-they-won't-they, with het examples from TV such as Sam/Diane in Cheers, Jim/Pam in The Office, Eleanor/Chidi in The Good Place, Joey/Rachel in Friends, etc, it's a very common trope, a popular choice in television writing for how it can hook viewers in for an extended, almost indefinite period of time across episodes and seasons. I of course understand the frustration in the baiting-and-switching of possible non-het couples in countless popular fandoms and titles, because yes, of course that is a thing- flirting with the possibility of representation without actually ever giving it so as to wring the fans for views/money/engagement and keep systemic prejudice among the executives, network shareholders and so forth happy, I'm not gonna even try to gaslight anyone on that as someone who moves in these entertainment worlds and has seen it firsthand.

but also, this show is different and I think out of fairness to the writers and producers, directors, y todos involved in the making of this show, it warrants keeping in mind that the writing has already gone leaps and bounds in terms of representation in comparison to most mainstream tv shows. I can't, for example, think up off the top of my head another show that has made four of the main cast openly, vividly, unashamedly pansexual in both term and lifestyle. I can't think of another show that has featured a human guy topping a BDSM vampire at a blood orgy for a good minute or so of screentime (I think everyone forgot about Jeremy and Constantine. I think they're boyfriends now and will one day go on a double-date with nandermo, mark my words. anyway, that's a different post)

so, it's definitely not like this is a show that would shy away from Nandor and Guillermo being together romantically, at least not for nefarious reasons (that I can think of). But mostly, on a personal note, I think the foreshadowing and subtext of this season has been pretty clear in terms of laying groundwork for a romantic relationship to be the payoff-

but whether it'll happen TONIGHT? Eh. I think a step forward will be taken or a boundary broken or something along those lines, but I don't and have not anticipated that they will, like, officially become boyfriends in this episode. Still think they're ultimately destined for each other though, but I've been confident of that since Guillermo's first breakdown in Citizenship tbh lol. Anyway, there's time.

But honestly like...if I HAD to choose between idk Nandermo kiss and Colin definitively coming back from the dead in this ep, I'd choose the latter. My heart is still shATTERED.

#nandermo #wwdits #if may...join the forum of discussion for a moment #here's my dissertation titled HERES HOW NANDERMO CAN STILL WIN

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parkerslatte · 3 years

Text

Someone Like Me

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Y/N has liked Spencer since she joined the BAU a few months ago. He likes her too and is surprised when she asks him out on a date.

MASTERLIST

***

It had been a couple of months since Y/N had joined the BAU. In those two months she had become close friends with every member, however she had become quite close friends with one Dr. Spencer Reid in particular. Due to their closeness in age, the two were obviously drawn to one another. Of course due to them being close friends and close in age, it came with a lot of teasing from the other team members - especially Derek Morgan.

“Hey, Spence!” Y/N greeted as she walked into work that day.

He looked up from the files on his desk and gave her a smile. Y/N stepped behind his chair before leaning down to hug him, her head resting on his shoulder. Y/N would do this everyday and Spencer wouldn’t mind. The first time she had ever done it, everyone expected the genius to awkwardly tell her that he doesn’t hug or really touch anyone for that matter. To their surprise, Spencer accepted the hug, even reaching up his own hand to wrap gently around her wrist.

Y/N unwound her arms from around Spencer and perched on the end of his desk, folding her arms across his chest, “So, the new episode of Doctor Who comes out tonight, you wanna come round and watch it with me?”

Spencer, who wasn’t normally invited to things, especially when it was a one on one thing, raised his eyebrows in surprise. Before he had the chance to answer however, Y/N spoke up again.

“If you already have plans, I completely understand.”

“No, no,” Spencer said before clearing her throat, “I mean I don’t have plans. I’d love to come.”

A wide smile stretched across Y/N’s face, “Great, you want to head back to my place after work? Unless you need to go back to yours first.”

“Um, no I don’t. Going straight to yours if perfectly fine.” Spencer replied.

Y/N stood up straight, “Good, now I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve gotta help Penelope with something.” Y/N placed her hand on Spencer’s shoulder and didn’t remove it until she was too far away.

Spencer watched her walk away until he couldn’t see her anymore before turning back to his desk to find Derek Morgan looking at him.

“What?” Spencer asked, oblivious.

“Come on kid.” Derek replied and Spencer didn’t reply, signaling to Derek that he had no idea what he was hinting. Derek sighed before continuing, “She likes you.”

“What? No she doesn’t.” Spencer replied, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Reid, you’re a profiler, how can you not tell?” Derek said, “She always goes out of her way to talk to you. She always greets you with a hug and the looks she gives you when she thinks nobody is watching? They’re clear signs she likes you. You should ask her out.”

“I’m not going to ask her out.” Spencer replied, flicking through his paperwork.

“And why’s that?”

“Because she doesn’t like me okay? Can we just drop the subject?” Spencer responded before focusing on his paperwork.

Derek, who knew that Spencer wasn’t going to talk anymore about the topic, sighed before going back to his paperwork.

***

Later that day, Y/N welcomed Spencer into her apartment. Spencer had never been to her apartment before so he couldn’t help himself but look around it. Her apartment was homely, and felt lived in. It was bright and cosy. What caught his eye however, was the many different books she had stacked around her apartment.

“Sorry about the mess. I didn’t really have time to clean last night,” Y/N apologised, “Make yourself at home. I’m just going to change into something a little more comfortable.” Spencer took a seat on her couch which was covered in many different colour blankets and waited for her to return.

A couple of minutes passed by and Y/N walked out of her bedroom in what looked like her pajamas. She slumped on the couch next to Spencer. She brought her legs up and tucked them under herself, getting comfortable. She leant forward and grabbed the remote, switching on her television. Her knee brushed his leg slightly every time she moved, causing Spencer’s focus to change from the screen to her.

Y/N noticed this and turned her head to face Spencer, “What?”

Spencer, realising that he had gotten caught, cleared his throat, “Oh, nothing. I just thought I saw something.” He lied and Y/N could see right through it. Instead of questioning it, she let the episode play.

Over the course of the episode, Y/N had found that she had gradually moved closer to Spencer due to her constant shuffling. Her shoulder brushed his and her knee was now fully pressed against his.

Spencer could barely concentrate on the episode. He had been close to Y/N before but never when the two were alone together. The feeling of her knee pressed against his and the gentle brush of her shoulder was almost enough for him to get up and leave and run away from his feelings.

The credits rolled signaling the end of the episode. Spencer was glad, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take being in close proximity to Y/N. She swung her legs and stood up, stretching her body. Spencer looked away when her t-shirt rode up to reveal a bit of her stomach.

Y/N checked the clock on the wall, “Oh my god!” She exclaimed, “It’s midnight.”

Spencer, who hadn’t realised the time, looked at the clock on the wall and sure enough it was midnight. He stood up from the couch, “I should be getting home, it’s late and we have to be at work early in the morning.”

“You can stay here for the night. It’s late and by the time you get back to your apartment it’ll be even later.” Y/N rambled.

Spencer thought about it for a moment. By the time it would take him to get home it would be about one in the morning. He was feeling tired now and he knew that by the time he would get home,he would be wide awake.

“We can leave earlier in the morning so you can pick up some clothes from your apartment.” Y/N added.

Spencer took one more moment before nodding, causing Y/N to smile, “I think I have some clothes that’ll fit you so you can sleep in something comfortable. I’ll just go and get them.”

Spencer nodded before taking a seat on her couch, he guessed that it would be his bed for the night. Not that he was complaining, the couch was comfortable. Y/N returned with a pile of folded clothes in his hand and handed them to Spencer. He went to get changed in the bathroom before returning and began walking over to the couch.

“Where are you going?” Y/N questioned.

“To the couch?” Spencer asked confused.

“No, you can share my bed. That couch may look comfortable but after a few hours of laying on it, it gives you an awful pain in the neck.” Y/N said, taking Spencer’s hand, leading him to her bedroom.

Spencer, felt his face begin to heat up at the thought of sharing a bed with Y/N. He knew that she would see it as totally platonic but he would see it a completely different way.

She laid down in the bed first and patted the space next to her. Reluctantly, Spencer climbed in the space next to her. They faced each other as they laid there. Y/N began to reach forward and Spencer recoiled slightly.

“Relax.” She muttered before pulling his glasses off his face and placing them on the nightstand. Spencer had completely forgotten he was wearing them until Y/N had taken them off.

“You have really nice eyes,” Y/N said to Spencer, “They’re kind.”

“Um, thanks.” Spencer muttered quietly, a blush forming on his face.

“Spencer, can I ask you a question?” Y/N asked.

“Of course.” Spencer replied.

“Will you go out on a date with me?”

Spencer fell into a state of shock. Y/N had asked him to go out on a date. He was confused by why Y/N would want to go out with him in the first place.

“What?” Spencer asked slowly, wondering if he misheard her.

“I asked if you wanted to go out on a date with me? It’s totally fine if you don’t want to, I understand.” Y/N rambled.

“No, of course I want to,” Spencer replied, still quite shocked, “But why?”

“Why what?” Now it was Y/N’s turn to be confused.

“Why would you want to go out on a date with me?”

Y/N’s eyes softened, “Because Spencer Reid. You are the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” Y/N started and continued to list off things that she admired about him.

Spencer was listening intently, trying to process what Y/N was saying to him. He would’ve never thought that the person he liked would be saying all this to him.

“And not to mention, he is incredibly handsome.” Y/N finished.

“W-what?” Spencer questioned.

“I said that you are incredibly handsome Dr. Reid.” Y/N replied, her hand gently coming up to caress his cheek.

Spencer couldn’t help the smile that fell onto his face as Y/N’s thumb gently ran across his cheek. Y/N had a smile on her face as well, she had felt like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders after she had asked him on a date.

“So, are you free tomorrow night?” Y/N muttered. It was only now that she had realised that she had gotten closer to him. Their bodies were nearly completely touching. Spencer had one of his arms draped over her body while the other had begun to play with the ends of her hair.

“For you Y/N, I’m free anytime.” Spencer said smiling.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler

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1kook · 4 years

Text

espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills. warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened. “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch.

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive.

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still.

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #bts smut #mine

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

I absolutely love your KUWSK snippets and had to read them all after discovering the first part on ao3! (I should also work but I'm non stop giggling instead)

May I ask for: anakin being stressed out (big deadline coming up, handling the kids, work & cooking being too much) so obi-wan wants to help him out? Like he tries to cook for the family for once but I remember you saying that he can't cook to save his life? maybe rope the twins into it as well as a nice bonding moment

hello!!!! i've been meaning to write this for ages and i kept getting side-tracked/didn't have the time to sit and write a proper ficlet, but I did today! Here's 1k now, and I'll post the whole thing tomorrow afternoon(ish) on ao3. I mis-remembered the prompt until it was too late to really change directions, but so this is more of a sick!fic than a stressed out!fic but I do promise KUWSK Obi-Wan does step in even when Anakin is not sick to help with the kids, the clean up after cooking, helping them with homework, keeping the house tidy etc etc

anyways here is the beginning of sick fic! (SET about a month before The Kiss, 2 years after Obi-Wan and Anakin and the twins move in together)

It’d be much easier to take care of Anakin when he’s sick if he would actually admit to being sick.

“Skywalkers don’t get sick,” he’d insisted just a day ago. Obi-Wan had raised a very pointed eyebrow towards the twins who are looking quite pathetic, sniffling in their beds and coughing into their fists.

“That’s their Amidala genes,” Anakin had said and then sneezed into his elbow.

Obi-Wan had known at that moment that the next few days would be very awful for everyone involved.

But Anakin is making it much worse than it has to be, he really is. Thank god it’s midterm week, so Obi-Wan can finagle his TAs into proctoring the exams. Thank god he has four TAs for his biggest lecture module, so that they can grade them all too, which means Obi-Wan just has to read through and mark up his capstone students’ midterm essays.

Which he can do from the comfort of his own house turned Emergency Skywalker Walk In Clinic.

The twins had woken up with a fever and a sore throat on Wednesday. They’d never been sick in the two or so years they had all lived together, and Obi-Wan, admittedly, had not known how to handle it.

Anakin, in a surprising twist of fate, had been much more level-headed about the whole thing. He’d called the school to let them know the twins wouldn’t be coming in, and had asked Obi-Wan to run to the pharmacy before his classes to pick up some meds for them. And perhaps a thermometer.

(“I can’t believe you’re forty-four and you don’t have a thermometer.”

“Well, that’s not fair. I have one in the kitchen.”

“That’s different and you know it--”

“Of course it's different, I was just theorizing that perhaps having a kitchen thermometer actually makes up for not having a person thermometer.”

“Yeah, and instead of giving the kids baths and changing their sheets, we can just baste them in their own fever juices too!”

“I’m going, I’m going.”)

He’d calmed down in the face of Anakin’s own composure, but then on the way to the pharmacy he’d listened to a podcast episode about devastating and lifelong effects certain illnesses can have on children, and he had managed to work himself up into a stressful tizzy by the time he parked the car.

The amount of products he’d bought, Obi-Wan can admit now, was a little over the top. Anakin had certainly laughed when he’d come back through the door, not even bothering to take his coat or shoes off--even though the no-shoes-inside rule is his rule--and started unpacking the four plastic bags worth of medical supplies.

“Well, now I’ll feel bad if the kids aren’t sick until June,” Anakin had said, picking up one of the cough syrups to examine the label.

“That kind will make them sleepy, but this kind tastes like grapes,” Obi-Wan had muttered. “And this kind is okay to give to children under four.”

“The kids are--”

“I know how old the kids are,” Obi-Wan had snapped. “This is called being prepared.”

“This is called diagnosable,” Anakin had laughed and then ducked out of the way when Obi-Wan chucks a package of band-aids--he’d panicked, okay--at his head. “Hey,” he’d said after a moment, coming forward and placing his hand on Obi-Wan’s elbow. The contact had burned through the layers of clothing he’s wearing. “They’re going to be fine, Obi-Wan, really. I’ll be home all day taking care of them, and I’ll make chicken noodle soup for dinner tonight.”

“I can make chicken noodle soup for dinner,” Obi-Wan had protested. “You don’t have to do everything.”

“Obi-Wan, they’re already sick,” Anakin had shaken his head with a grin. “The point is to try and feed them something they’d want to at least try to keep down.”

“I hate you,” Obi-Wan had sighed with a quirk of his lips.

“I love you,” Anakin had said, as if that was something he said on the regular, reaching out to take the thermometer from his hand. Obi-Wan’s grip had gone slack though, causing the thermometer to clatter to the counter. “Like a brother,” Anakin had tacked on hurriedly and then winced.

“Right,” Obi-Wan had coughed, wondering why the addendum made his chest feel tight and strange, like missing a step on the stairs. “Well. Yes. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” Anakin had said, looking even more mortified.

“Right. Ah. So. I’m. Going to campus. If the twins need anything else, please let me know. I’ll pick up whatever you need for...dinner on my way home. Just text me.”

“Will do,” Anakin had agreed, staring resolutely at the cabinets over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Bro.”

And to his credit, Anakin had texted him with a long list of things they’d need from the store.

He’d just also failed to mention his own rapidly declining health. Obi-Wan had arrived home to Anakin coughing up a storm in the dining room and the twins bundled up and bleary-eyed in front of the television.

The chicken soup had not been made that night because Obi-Wan had not allowed Anakin anywhere near the kitchen. Instead he’d fed the children toast and applesauce and let them keep watching their show until bedtime.

Anakin had been left alone for the most part, as Obi-Wan had been convinced that Anakin would see reason himself and stop working as he started feeling progressively worse.

That had, of course, been too much to expect.

“I can’t believe you’re twenty-eight and don’t know how to listen to your body when it’s trying to tell you you’re sick,” Obi-Wan had said, lowering and slowing his voice in a bad imitation of Anakin.

“I don’t sound like that!”

“You’re right, you couldn’t get through that whole sentence without coughing at the moment."

“I’m going to bed.”

“Please do. And for god sakes, Anakin, leave the laptop down here."

“Good night, Obi-Wan."

#asks #KUWSK #the rest of it is just obi-wan trying to care for all of his lil sick baby skywalkers #anakin included

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elles-archives · 2 years

Text

(Pictures are from Pinterest)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

We’ll Be There For You, Part: 3

Based on the Episode: The One Where Rachel Finds Out.

Word Count: 2434

Steve Rogers x Reader

Series Summary: Based on the television show Friends. Y/N Y/L/N comes to the city after running out on her wedding. She reunited with some old friends from high school and meets some new ones. Slowly she learns the troubles of living independently for the first time, working life, dating and complicated social lives. Used to leading the rich, spoiled life, how will Y/N cope with new love interests and judgmental families.

OCs in this Chapter: Connor

Series Masterlist | Wattpad Version | Add yourself to the Taglist

Y/N’s birthday was here so the six of them were having a barbecue to celebrate. Y/N was having drinks with a guy that she had met in the coffee house whilst Nat and Wanda were preparing the food. Just as they had finished getting everything together, Sam and Bucky came through the front door carrying the charcoal, acting like cave people.

“Men are here.” Sam started.

“We make fire. Cook meat.” Bucky continued.

“Then put out fire by peeing, no get invited back.” Sam finished with a smirk causing Nat and Wanda to cringe slightly.

They all start talking about Bucky’s new girlfriend and how things are going between them before Sam and Bucky make their way out onto the balcony to start the barbecue.

Steve suddenly comes barreling through the door carrying a suitcase.

“Hey. How long did you think this barbecue was going to last?” Wanda joked seeing his luggage

“I’m going to China”

“Jeez, you say one thing…”

“You’re going to China?” Nat questions, cutting Wanda off.

“Yeah, it’s for work. They have a sculpture, we want the sculpture, but they do not want to give us the sculpture, so I must persuade them to give us the sculpture… y’know it’s a long story but I am going for about a week. Here’s my itinerary if you need to reach me.” Steve hands a piece of paper to Nat.

“Hey is Y/N here, I wanted to see her and wish her a ‘happy birthday’ before I left.”

“No, she is having a drink with Connor.”

“Whose Connor” Steve questioned feeling disheartened at the idea of Y/N on a date.

“She met him at the coffeehouse remember?”

“No, I don’t remember. I gonna go say goodbye to the guys.” Steve moved out of the kitchen and onto the balcony.

“Hi.” Steve greets as he finds Sam and Bucky on the balcony.

“Hey”

“Hi”

“I have to go to China”

“The country?” Bucky asks before really thinking what he is saying.

“No, the pile of dishes that was in my Mom’s breakfront.” Steve snarked back. “Does anyone know who this Connor is?”

“Let’s see Alvin, Simon, Theodore… Nope, no Connor.” Sam responded.

“Well Y/N is having drinks with him tonight.”

“Oh no, how can she do that when she has never shown any interest in you before?” Bucky commented, noticing Steve’s jealousy.

“Just forget about her.” Sam told him.

“He’s right punk, go to China, move on, eat Chinese food.” Bucky added, agreeing with Sam

“Well of course there they call it… food.”

“Yeah… Yes… I guess you are right. Just give her this yes?” Steve hands Sam a gift to give to Y/N.

“Listen, we are just looking out for ya.” Bucky said, noticing the tone Steve used and the look in his eye.

“Yeah, I know.”

“We just want you to be happy. I may have only had a couple of beers but…” Bucky wraps his arms around Steve giving him a hug. “I love you, man.”

“I have only had one and I like you in a less friendly way.” Sam gestured to how Bucky had previously wrapped his arms around Steve.

Steve left to go to China by the time that Y/N had got back from her date. Nat offered to sort everyone some burgers out when Y/N rushed across the apartment towards the presents. Y/N picked up her first gift and it was from Sam. She gave it a shake and discovered that it rattled.

“Travel Scrabble.” Y/N tries to say enthusiastically. “Thank you!” She then picks up another present. This one is from Bucky. “It’s shaped like a book… It feels like a book… And it’s a book…” Y/N said trying not to show her disappointment that Bucky had gotten her a children’s book for her birthday.

“That book helped me through some tough times.” Bucky commented. Y/N smiled at the sentiment behind the gift rather than the book itself.

Y/N then picks up a third gift asking who it is from.

“That’s from Steve.” Sam informs Y/N. She tears the wrapping paper off and then opens the box. Once she sees what is inside, she gasps.

“Oh my god. He remembered!”

“Remembered what?” Wanda asked wondering what had left her friend speechless.

“A few months ago, me and Steve were walking past this old antique store. In the window they had this bracelet. It is almost identical to the one my grandmother had when I was a little girl. I can’t believe he remembered.” Y/N was in tears from the gift Steve had gotten her.

“Oh, it is gorgeous. It must have cost him a fortune.” Wanda commented.

“I can’t believe he did this.” Nat added.

“Come on Steve? Remember when he fell in love with Peggy, and he bought her that ridiculously expensive crystal charm?” Sam asked without thinking.

“What was that?” Y/N questioned. Sam seemed to have realized what he said because he then tried to start backtracking on what he said.

“Umm… Crystal charm?”

“No, no, no… The um… The love part?” Y/N clarified.

Sam started stuttering like crazy.

“Oh… My… God.”

“Oh no, no, no, no, no.” Sam said rubbing his temples, wishing he could turn back time.

“Yeah, that’s right Sam. Keep rubbing your head. That will retract your statement.” Bucky said sarcastically.

Y/N got up from her seat and started pacing around the living room. How had she not noticed this before? “This is unbelievable.” She commented.

“I know this is huge.” Wanda agreed with her. In as much shock as Y/N.

“No, It’s not. It’s tiny. It’s small. It’s petite.” Sam was trying to fix the situation he caused, knowing Steve would kill him for telling Y/N.

“Nope, I don’t think our lives are ever going to be the same again.” Wanda answered Sam making the situation worse.

“Okay, does this woman have a mute button?” Sam commented towards Wanda.

“This is amazing. I mean you and Steve. D-did you have any idea?” Nat asked. She had known Steve for years and had no clue about his feelings for Y/N.

“No. Well, my first night in the city he mentioned something about asking me out, but it never amounted to anything, so I never thought anything of it.” Y/N answered although she was deep in thought. “I need to see him.” Y/N decided.

“H-he is in China.” Sam excused.

“His itinerary says he doesn’t leave for about forty-five minutes.” Nat responded.

“What about the time difference?”

“From here to the airport?” Nat and Sam started bickering as Y/N got ready to go.

“She won’t make it.” Nat decided to ignore Sam’s last comment turning her attention back to Y/N.

“What are you going to say to him?” Nat asked.

“I’m not sure yet.” Y/N spoke honestly.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t go.” Sam was still panicking.

“Yeah, I agree with Sam. You shouldn’t go now if you are going to break his heart.” Bucky said softly to Y/N. He could tell she was conflicted.

“But if it is good news then he needs to know now.” Nat argued.

“I think I need to see him before I know what I will say.” Y/N finally decided as she walked out the door. Before the door closed Sam ran after her.

“Y/N. I love you. Deal with me first.” Sam screamed in a final attempt to get her to stay. However, like the rest of his efforts, his words went ignored. Sam sighed in defeat and went back into Nat and Y/N’s apartment.

Steve had headphones in, trying to learn basic Chinese before he got there when Y/N came running through the airport.

“Steve! Pardon me. Excuse me.” Y/N yelled as people moved out of her way. Steve moved onto the jetway just as Y/N locked eyes on him.

She moved up to make her way on the jetway to follow her the flight attendant stopped her. “Hi, do you have your boarding pass.” She asked in an obnoxiously sweet voice.

“No, I just have to talk to my friend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you are not allowed on the jetway unless you have a boarding pass.”

“No. It’s just… He is right there. In the blue jacket”

“Sorry, Federal regulations!” The flight attendant was adamant on not letting Y/N through.”

“Fine. Can you just give him an important message? Please?”

“Alright. What’s the message?”

“Uh… I don’t know.” The attendant looked impatient.

“Just tell him its Y/N and that I loved the present. That I will see him when he gets back.” Y/N sighed defeated. She turned and walked away as the attendant made her way onto the jetway.

What Y/N didn’t know was that the flight attendant got the wrong man. She walked right past Steve and towards a random man who was on holiday with his wife.

Back at Nat and Y/N’s apartment Nat, Wanda and Y/N were finishing cleaning the rest of the wrapping paper up. There was an obvious need for Nat to find out what happened between Steve and Y/N as Y/N had barely said anything since she had gotten back.

“So, Y/N, do you wanna save this wrapping paper, it’s only a little bit ripped… or are you gonna go for it with Steve?” Nat asked, before cringing at her own actions.

“I don’t know. I don’t know…. I thought about on the way to the airport and thought about it all the way back…y’know its Steve. I mean he’s Steve. Y/N tried to explain. She had known Steve since High School and had always thought of him as Nat’s childhood friend a few grades above herself.

Nat and Wanda nodded in agreement. They knew what Y/N was saying. It was a lot of information to take in one day.

“Well, I have this initial gut feeling about it all… but I was thinking… It would be really great.” Y/N smiled.

“Oh my God me too.” Nat excitedly started. “You know what the best part is? You know everything about him already, it will be like starting out on your fifteenth date!”

“Yeah, but it would also be like staring out on your fifteenth date.” Wanda pointed out causing Nat to agree with her and Y/N to be confused.

“What do you mean.”

“Well then what happens if things don’t work out?

“Why isn’t it working out?” Nat chimed in.

“I don’t know sometimes it doesn’t” Y/N reasoned.

“Is he not cute enough for you?” Wanda now watching the conversation between the two women.

“No!”

“Does he not make enough money?”

“No. I’m just…”

“What if there is someone else?” Wanda started winding Nat up even more. Y/N shot her a look.

“Is there someone else?”

“No… There is no one else.”

“Then why the hell are you dumping my best friend?”

Y/N just helplessly sat down, unsure of what had just occurred and of Wanda’s point earlier. What if things do not work out between them. She was not sure she was ready to give up her friendship with Steve.

A week later it was time for Steve to come back from China. Y/N dressed up a bit as she had another date with Connor. She had decided that it was not a clever idea to date Steve. She had seen how invested Nat was before Y/N had even decided that was what she wanted, and Y/N realized that if she broke up with Steve then she would be breaking up with the entire group.

“Great skirt!” Nat complimented as Y/N walked out of her bedroom and into the kitchen. “Birthday present?”

“Yeah”

“From whom?”

“You. I exchanged the blouse that you got me.”

“Well, it’s the thought that counts. Hey Steve’s flight gets in, in a few hours. Isn’t it gat 27-B?” Nat knew exactly when Steve’s flight was getting in. She just wanted Y/N to be the one to pick him up.

“Uh yes, y’know Nat? I think this whole Steve thing it’s um… well it’s not a particularly clever idea.” Y/N confessed.

“Oh, why?” Nat said, obviously disappointed.

“I just feel like I wouldn’t be going out with just Steve, but I would be going out with everybody. And the pressure that we would have…”

“No pressure, no pressure!” Nat interrupted.

“Nat, nothing has even happened yet and you’re already so…”

“I’m not ‘so.’ It was a bit weird at first yes but… I will be good. I promise.” Just then the buzzer went off and Y/N went to answer it.

“It’s Connor.”

“Okay come on up.” Y/N invited him in.

“Behind my best friends back?” Y/N glared at Nat. “Is the kind of thing that you won’t be hearing from me.” Y/N just ignored her and got ready for Connor to come up to the apartment.

About an hour later, Y/N and Connor stood out on the balcony having a drink. Connor was going on about a car, but Y/N was not listening. The entire time she was thinking about Steve. Imagining that he was there with her. All she had to do was forget him. So why couldn’t she?

Connor was still going on about the same car. Y/N kept thinking. She really did like Steve. She would be lying if she said that he was not good to look at. Her reasonings for not going for it was that the rest of the group would feel weird or get in the way. But what about her and Steve.

They knew each other well at this point. They shared the same sense of humor. Steve had been in love with her for a long time and even though she had never thought about him like that before, she could not stop thinking about him like that now.

“Connor I’m sorry. I completely forgot. I have to pick a friend up at the airport.”

“But…”

“Please stay, finish your drink and mine. Thank you for this evening. Goodbye.”

Y/N left before Connor could get another word in. Rushing out of the apartment and heading towards the airport to tell Steve that she liked him too.

When Y/N arrived at the airport she stopped at an airport store to but a bunch of flowers. Quickly she maneuvered through the crowds of people waiting for the plane to land.

Steve had his arm wrapped around a woman as they got off the plane. Y/N couldn’t see this yet and was standing and waiting for Steve, completely unaware that the women Steve was walking off the plane with was anxious to meet her and to have her approval.

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adultswim2021 · 6 months

Text

The Drinky Crow Show #6: “Old Girlfriend” | December 22, 2008 - 12:15AM | S01E05

Hello, everyone! Welcome to Drinky Crow the Show. This is one of the few episodes I remember definitely watching when it was on my television circa 2008, possibly early 2009. This episode has two li’l subplots: Uncle Gabby is getting married to Captain’s Daughter and despises every second of fuss-making. I think. Look, I’ll level with you: I watched this last night thinking I’d be able to turn in a post but it didn’t happen, so I’m doing it now, and I’m remembering stuff as best I can. I don’t wanna watch it again!

Drinky Crow runs into his old girlfriend, a wedding planner who also works as a slavedriver. She just wants to have kinky sex with Drinky, and Drinky can’t handle it; he either wants her out of his life completely or in a committed relationship.

The episode ends with Claire and Drinky being abducted by aliens (the same ones from Beer Goggles). The aliens harvest emotions (using a similar method Drinky’s girlfriend does with her slaves) from Drinky and his girlfriend by having them live out a lifetime of being in a committed relationship, including all of it’s ups and downs. They have children, grandchildren, grow old together and I think they eventually pass away? Then it just cuts to them normal again, because this show utilizes an elastic cartoon reality, much like–HEY GET BACK HERE SIT DOWN AND LISTEN TO ME, GODDAMMIT.

Okay, I can tell you’re not in the mood for this tonight. I liked the concepts in this episode but I didn’t find any of the moments to be particularly inspired. I liked the final bit where Gabby show up and gets space hornet eggs laid into his spinal cord. There’s lots of stuff in this show that I can safely say I haven’t seen before in a comedy show. That’s not worth nothing! Even though I wasn’t too hot on this episode, I still remain pro-Drinky Crow.

EPHEMERA CORNER:

youtube

Venture Bros: Holiday Havoc: Wonderful Christmastime

Another Holiday Havoc song from the Venture Friends. This is a thing they do, by the way. Or, did? Will they do one last one this Christmas? Will they continue making Christmas songs every single year until it's feasible for AI to take over for them in perpetuity?

This one is a take on Paul McCartney's bad job of a song “Wonderful Christmastime”. The concept for this one is that 21 is recording a song for his podcast, making this song possibly canon?? He’s with 24; they are recording this in June of 2008 because they plan to spend Christmas together in Cancun. Unfortunately… that would never come to pass (RIP.OGG)

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #the drinky crow show #Youtube

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yikesharringrove · 4 years

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@kumathecatalyst made my brain go bbbbbrbrrrrrrrrr

Billy let his head fall back, resting against the side of the house.

He had lost track of time in his drunken haze, and was an hour past curfew.

No way his dad would let him in.

He thought about finding some girl, convince her into letting him drive her home, into letting him stay the night.

In whatever capacity that means. Rumors will only help him here, help him blend in.

He gave himself until the end of his cigarette. Then he would head inside are start sniffing at chicks.

He knew that Vicki girl was watching him earlier, and he’s pretty sure Tina is the one throwing the party. Maybe he can sweet talk his way into her bedroom. It’s beat having to go anywhere.

He stared at the dwindling cigarette.

It was cold out, but Billy was still drunk enough that it felt nice. It was too hot inside, everyone tugging at him, pushing him around, trying to cling onto him.

He took a deep breath, was about to stub out the dying cig against the side of the house when he heard humming.

A tune that nearly made his heart stop.

Harrington came around the corner, stumbling, and very drunk, holding a red cup with one hand, his stupid sunglasses with the other.

He stopped for a second, looking down at his feet, taking a shaking breath.

“It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood, a beautiful day for a neighbor, would you be mine?” He laughed bitterly, pouring out his drink. He watched the spiked punch splatter in the grass at his feet. His eyes tracked up, landing on Billy as he clumsily sang, “could you be mine?”

“Mr. Rogers, huh?” Harrington just stared. “I like that show.”

“It’s good.” Steve was slurring, just a touch. “Mr. Rogers wants to be my friend. He says so. Every episode.”

“Yeah, that’s kinda the idea of the neighborhood.”

“Wish I had a neighborhood.” Harrington threw his empty cup into the bushes.

“You do.”

“No, like, a Mr. Rogers kinda neighborhood. Where everyone was nice, and, and people liked me, and I had friends. Mr. Rogers is my only friend and he’s not even real.”

“He’s real.” Harrington huffed dramatically at Billy.

“But he lives in the t.v. He’s not here. He’s not real in my life. Or I’m not real in his.” He furrowed his brows, looked like he was getting confused.

It was cute.

And Billy suddenly realized he didn’t know Harrington’s first name.

That Tom kid just kept referring to him as Harrington.

“I’m Billy.”

“I know.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but I don’t know your name, Dumbass.” Harrington’s eyes went hollow. It was fucking creepy.

“It’s Steve. But Dumbass works too I guess.” Billy made a mental note never to call him dumbass again.

“Well, you know. Now that we know each other, we can be neighbors.” Steve’s face lit up slowly, like the words were sinking in one by one.

And then he threw himself at Billy, hugging him tightly around the middle.

And Billy realized, horrified, that Steve was sobbing into his neck.

Billy reached up, patting his back.

“Why don’t I take you home, Steve?” That was somehow the wrong thing to say, as Steve just started crying harder.

“No one takes care of me.”

“Whoa, who said anything about take care of? I was just gonna drop you off. Let your mom do all the heavy lifting.”

And then Steve’s legs seemed to give out under him.

“Mom’s not home. Never home.” A chill spread through Billy’s whole body.

“Is she, did she pass?”

“No. She just chooses not to be around me,” Steve wailed. Billy was very much in over his head.

But he may have found a place to sleep tonight.

And if Steve likes Mr. Rogers, he’s gotta have the channel at home.

Because that was the thing about moving to Hawkins. It meant leaving everything behind. Including, Mrs. Beverly down the street that let Billy come in and watch The Neighborhood with her.

She was old and kind, gave him cookies and turned a blind eye if he got choked up during an episode.

“Hey, Steve, just let me drive you home, okay?” Steve nodded into his neck.

Billy led him to his car parked far down the road. He didn’t want any assholes hitting it.

He had pounded some water before heading outside, and felt alright. Still a little hazy, but he’ll get them there in one piece.

Steve had calmed down some, just kinda had tears sliding down his face now, Which was better than his body wracking with harsh sobs.

He silently pointed at streets Billy was meant to turn down, and Billy, for once, drove slowly enough that it worked out.

Steve was still humming the theme song, his voice cracking every so often.

He pointed to a big house at the end of the street, and Billy pulled into the long drive way.

He glared at the huge fucking house. Steve made no move to get out of the car.

He was holding onto his seat belt, the car silent without his humming.

“Do you wanna come in?” His voice was tiny, like he already new the answer.

“Sure.” His head snapped up to look at Billy. Billy just killed the ignition and pulled himself out of the car.

He watched Steve, smile on his face, as he stumbled awkwardly out of the passenger seat, nearly falling over in the process.

Billy got one hand on his elbow as they walked to the front double doors.

“You wanna-I got Mr. Rogers on tape.” Steve was just holding his keys out for Billy.

There were only a few, one clearly a car key, so it was a matter of three different keys.

Steve seemed like he just didn’t wanna bother.

“I got a buncha episodes. We could watch one.”

“Sure, if you want.” Steve beamed at him. Billy just focused on getting the door open.

The second key worked and the heavy lock slid open.

Steve’s house was cold.

It was immaculately clean, like some kinda model home.

It looked like nobody lived in it.

Steve brought Billy through the entry hall to a door just off the kitchen leading into a basement.

This was better. The couch was worn and there was a blanket strewn on it like Steve had been curled up underneath it.

Billy realized this is probably where Steve spends most of his time in this empty house, the almost cozy television room downstairs.

There were shelves lined with tapes, all sorts of movies and neatly labeled television show recordings.

Steve had probably every episode of The Neighborhood in a section all on it’s own. Billy picked a random episode and hoped it wasn’t one guaranteed to make him cry.

He figured Steve’s breakdown was enough for one night.

Steve sang along to the theme song under his breath.

It was so damn cute.

He was slurring still, drunk and lazy, sitting low on the couch with the blanket pulled up to his chin.

It looked hand knit.

He had put some over Billy’s lap when he sat down.

The episode turned out to be fine.

For Billy that is.

It was an old one, one from about two years ago.

One about friendship.

And Steve seemed to be okay.

And then the story moved to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe.

The puppet people were on their way to a picnic at King Friday’s palace.

But Lady Aberlin was in a rush and forgot to get Daniel Tiger and bring him to the picnic.

And Daniel Tiger explained how hurt he felt, forgotten and left out by his friends. How they had fun without him and that made him feel bad.

And Steve was crying again.

“They, they just forgot Daniel-” Billy could barely make out what he was saying.

This was no pretty crying. This wasn’t a few dainty tears.

This was water covering Steve’s cheeks. This was snot and borderline hyperventilating.

And Billy has never felt more out of his depths.

“They don’t care about Daniel! They don’t love him!” Yeah, this was not about Daniel Tiger and the fucking picnic.

“Steve, of course they love Daniel. Lady Aberlin came back, and, and she apologized! Sometimes, you know, friends can just be shitty,” Billy offered. Steve wailed. There were tears dripping off his chin now.

“I wouldn’t know!”

“C’mon, man. Didn’t I say I was your friend?”

“You don’t even know me!”

“I’ve seen you fucking ugly cry three times tonight. I feel like I know you pretty well.” The episode was still playing, Mr. Rogers now explaining in that soft voice of his, that telling friends our feelings can help make us feel better. Billy pointed at the television. “Tell me your feelings! Mr. Rogers said it’ll help.”

“I, I, no one loves me. Nancy doesn’t love me, my old friends want fuckin’ nothing to do with me, and, and my parents don’t even like me, and I’m always left behind.”

“Wait, Nancy’s that girl, right? That Tom guy said you ditched him for her.”

“No. I ditched him because he was being a fucking asshole.”

“Them Steve, you kinda can’t complain that he wants nothing to do with you after you ditched him.”

“I tried to talk to him. Like, a month later. We were best friends since we were five, and it was one stupid fight, and I tried to talk it out, and he told me to go fuck myself.” Damn.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Steve had stopped crying by now, but his face was still wet. He was fucking covered in snot. Jesus Christ. “I tried. He just realized he was better off without me.”

“Or he was hurt and trying to protect his pride or some shit.” Steve deflated a bit.

“The Nancy thing is, that one’s real. She said she was just pretending. We’ve been together for a year. And I, I love her. And she’s just pretending.” Steve suddenly sat up, flipping the blanket down to let out his top half, scooting to sit against the armrest facing Billy.

The credits were rolling on the tape.

“Y’know, I offered to like, not go to college for her. I missed the early application deadline because my whole plan up until like two hours ago was to rot in this shitty fucking town for her. To settle down with her. To marry her. And she’s fucking pretending.” He finally wiped off his face. “I don’t even know what to do anymore. I fucking don’t.”

Billy didn’t either.

Well, he had a few suggestions, but you could always suck my cock, right here and now felt a little crass for the situation.

“You said early application. You’ve still got the regular deadlines.”

“I wanted to do early because Nancy had been helping me with my grades all fucking year. She helped me bring them up a lot last year and without her, man they’re gonna tank.”

“Nah. You got me now. I can give you a hand.”

Steve gave him a look, one eyebrow raised.

“What? I’m smarter than I look.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Billy reached out and slapped Steve’s arm. Steve pouted at him, rubbing the sore spot. “Owie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ say owie.”

“That hurt, Billy. What would Mr. Rogers say?”

“He’d agree you were being a pain in my ass.”

“Rude.”

Steve looked better. His eyes were a little bit brighter.

“So, Daniel Tiger. Did talking about your feelings help?”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, just a teeny bit.

“Yeah, it did. Thanks, King Friday.”

“Oh, you better take that back! I am not King Friday.”

Here’s a clip from the episode they watch. It’s lowkey fucking brutal. (The clip is “Daniel Feels Forgotten” under the Daniel Striped Tiger section)

#yikes writes #billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington

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dailylangdon · 4 years

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If I Die, I Die // Xavier Plympton

Warnings: Oral sex (fem receiving), face sitting, blow job (implied), mommy kink (Very lightly implied)

Word Count: 1.6k

“Babe, hurry! My scene’s about to start!”

You pulled another can of Diet Coke out of the fridge and hurried back to the living room. Xavier beamed at you from the couch and outstretched an arm. You snuggled into his chest and popped open your soda.

Xavier was a struggling actor and your boyfriend of 3 months. Sometimes he was picky about his roles. But other times, he knew he had to go for whatever was available. He worked at an aerobics studio to pay the bills and hopefully save up enough to get an agent.

It was a fickle career, and of course you had concerns. Not with Xavier. He was very talented and passionate. You worried sometimes that the fact that he wasn’t shooting to the top immediately was discouraging him. But you saw his excitement when he talked about acting. He was born to do it, and you believed in him.

It was your idea to make such a big deal out of his bit part on the new “Facts of Life” episode. Xavier sheepishly told you he was nothing more than a featured extra. But you assured him that any work is better than no work. And you were gonna help him celebrate any victory he made. No matter how small.

Your roommates were on vacation, so you invited him to your place. You popped popcorn and had plenty of sodas. The two of you huddled up on the couch in your pajamas. The only light in the living room was the glow of the television. You wanted to make an event of it, and you’d succeeded.

“Okay, here it is!” he said.

As he’d told you, he was barely in the scene at all. He was in the background of a shot in the park. But you could see his face for three whole seconds. You squeezed his thigh and gave him an encouraging smile.

The episode finished. Xavier turned off the TV and you clicked on the lamp beside the couch. When you looked up at him, you noticed a frown. But he plastered on a smile a millisecond later when his eyes met yours.

“Hey. What’s wrong?” You poked the side of his face.

He shrugged and grabbed your hand, kissing your palm. “Nothing, babe.”

“Xav, you seem totally bummed out.”

“(Y/N), do you think I’m actually meant to be an actor?”

“Of course you are. Why? Are you worried? Babe, you were just on an episode of a primetime TV show!”

He frowned. “Yeah, for like half a second. What if that’s all I ever get?”

You took his face in your hands, thumbs rubbing down the planes of his gorgeous cheekbones. “Everyone has to start somewhere, babe. You’re putting in the hard work, and it’s gonna lead to something great.”

“You really think so?” A small grin played at his full lips.

You planted a soft kiss on his mouth. “I know so.”

The two of you sat in silence, just looking at each moment before Xavier piped up again.

“But what if I get too old before I get my big break and I lose my good looks? Like when I’m...40?”

You laughed at the way he wrinkled his nose in disgust at the prospect of turning 40.

“You’re so much more than your good looks, Xav. You’re so talented. And caring. And you’ve got great instincts,” you leaned your forehead to his. “But between you and me, I don’t think you’re ever gonna grow out of your looks. You’re just gonna get sexier and sexier.”

The tenderness and compliments really struck a chord with him. He closed the gap between you, his lips caressing yours. He coaxed your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The kiss, as always, was warm and electrifying. The boy was so good at kissing. The first time you’d kissed, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. You could honestly spend hours kissing him.

But you had him all to yourself tonight. You wanted to do more than kiss. You pulled away long enough to straddle him on the couch. His blue eyes widened in bewilderment and awe before you kissed him again. His hairsprayed and teased hair was soft beneath your fingers. (Luckily it was nighttime, or he would have whined about you messing it up).

He pulled away, gasping for air. “You are so hot, babe.”

Your face warmed. You rode the high of his admiration by peeling your pajama shirt off. You were left in your sports bra. You felt a bit insecure for not having on something cuter, but Xavier’s dumbstruck face assured you all was well.

You took his shirt off for him. His muscles were creamy and flawless in the lowlight of the lamp. His neck was soft beneath your lips. You nipped and sucked right above his chest. One of your hands reached for his sweatpants to feel his growing bulge in your palm.

A moan broke from his throat and you grinned.

“H-hey, babe?” he asked.

His nervous tone made you halt your movements and pull away. Had you done something wrong? “Yeah?”

He must have sensed your apprehension. He grabbed your hand and held it to his heart. “I wanted to know if we could try something...different.”

“Oh?”

“I want you to sit on my face.”

You blinked. His bluntness and lack of shame when it came to sex was refreshing but could take you aback at times. You still were reeling from the time you were out to dinner with friends when he said during the appetizers that he wanted to fuck you in the bathroom before the main course arrived.

“What?”

He smirked. “You heard me. I’ve wanted it for a while. But I really want it now.”

The idea made wetness pool in your panties. It was tantalizing, to say the least.

“I don’t know. What if I hurt you?”

“How would you hurt me?” He seemed truly perplexed.

“Shit, I don’t know, Xav. You’re pretty good with your tongue,” you chuckled. “What if you get me going so much that I break your nose?”

His eyes widened for a moment, but he shook his head. “Still would be worth it.”

“What if my thighs, like….Smother you to death,” you half-joked. Insecurity could get the best of you.

“Babe,” he murmured. His hands slid down to the aforementioned thighs that were straddling his lap. “It would be an honor to be killed by these babies.”

You laughed and playfully shoved his shoulder. “You’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?”

His arms went around your waist, pulling you closer. His lips tickled the shell of your ear. “What do you say, babe? You gonna smother me with those thighs, or what?”

You shuddered as he nipped your earlobe with his teeth. It was hard to say no to that man. Even if you wanted to. But you never wanted to.

“Fuck, Xav, okay,” you gasped. “Let’s do it.”

He kissed you hard on the mouth. “You won’t regret it.”

You hopped off of him to let him get situated. He laid down on the powder blue carpet in front of the couch. He gestured for you with his fingers.

He put on an awful English accent, “Your throne awaits, madame.”

You laughed, nerves easing immediately. You stepped out of your sweatpants and panties. You straddled his torso first and put your hands on the couch cushions to brace yourself.

“Come on, babe,” he said. “Have a seat.”

Crawling up, you put your knees on either side of his head. Xavier’s hands went to your hips and he pulled you down to meet his face. His breath was hot on your dripping cunt.

He licked a broad stripe over your entire slit.

You moaned loudly, gripping the couch. God, you were thankful to have something to hold onto.

Xavier pulled away enough so he could speak. “Does it feel good, Mama?”

“Fuck yeah, it does, baby,” You said breathlessly.

“Good,” he said and got back to work.

His tongue explored inside of you, lapping up your juices. Savoring every inch of you. Then he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking like it was a piece of candy.

One hand remained on your hip, holding you in place. The other snuck between your legs. His middle and ring fingers slid inside you easily as he flicked your clit with his tongue.

“Xav-Xavier, I’m gonna--” you stammered.

He thrust his fingers at an even pace, curling them deep inside you, and that was all it took. You cried out, thighs shaking. You nearly collapsed, but he held you up. He gripped your hips then, continuing to lick and suck, sending you into complete overstimulation. By orgasm four or five, you had to tap out.

He released his hold and crawled down so you could face him. Your juices covered his chin. You’d feel embarrassed if you weren’t so completely fucked out. He pulled you in for a kiss and you tasted yourself on his tongue.

“That was even better than I thought it would be, babe,” he said against your mouth.

“Had a pretty good time myself,” you said. You laid your head on his chest, hearing his thundering heartbeat.

His hand rubbed absentminded circles on your back. “You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had, you know? And not just because you let me eat that amazing pussy of yours.”

You chuckled. “Thanks, baby.”

“I mean it. My exes never believed in me like you do. You’re amazing.”

“You’re definitely worth believing in, Xav.” You kissed his chest before pushing yourself up.

He looked at you, softness and adoration in his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “But, listen. Don’t get sleepy on me now.”

You crawled down, pulling at the waistband of his pants, and winked up at him. “I’m gonna give you the Hollywood treatment.”

He smiled down, and you knew that he’d always feel like a star when he was with you.

---------‐-‐-----------------------------

Taglist: @jimmlangdon @thewarriorprincessxo @prophecy-is-inevitable @sluttyyrose @michael-langdon-appreciation @bloodcoatedeclipse @matildaofoz @bigwolfjudgeshepherd @bowerskitten @blueboi-345

#xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton #ahs 1984 #ahs fanfiction #american horror story #my fics #mine

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binunus · 3 years

Text

relax | rocky (m)

a/n I’m sorry this was a little late! school is really picking up and I had to keep writing it in increments––and also because I literally went back and forth thinking about whether I wanna write this as a oneshot or as a bullet fic bc my brain literally short circuits thinking about rocky. but I hope you like it love!

{request: Hey, hope you're doing well!! If you're taking requests now can I ask for a sexy night with rocky like he is the husband and he came home exhausted and you know >.< Or you can choose whatever plot you wantI really love your writings love you alot (｡♡‿♡｡)}

→ pairing: husband!rocky x fem wife!reader

→ genre: smut

→ warnings: say it with me ladies and gents ~thigh riding~, oral (male receiving), marking/biting, light hair pulling (both!), spanking, dirty?? talk?? surprise impreg kink! oops i said it, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it everyone), rocky being sexy as fuck like do you know the love shot cover video of rockjinsan? imagine that rocky being your husband.

→ word count: 2.5k ____________________________________________

Your POV

It was just a regular night for you. You cooked a quick dinner for yourself after coming home from work, knowing that your husband probably wouldn’t be back until later. After washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen a little bit, you poured yourself a nice glass of wine and took a seat in the living room, turning on the television as you propped your feet up on the coffee table.

About one and a half glasses of wine later, you heard the jingle of keys by the front door, your head turning just as your husband walked in, slipping off his shoes and going straight to where you were on the couch. You smiled softly as he laid his head in your lap, letting out a huge sigh once he got comfortable. You quickly downed the rest of your wine, reaching over to place your glass on the table before your hands went to his hair, combing through all the tousles and knots from his hours of dancing. “Hey, love.”

“Tough day at the studio?” You asked to which he nodded. Minhyuk was a choreographer at a very famous dance studio. He’s been working there for nearly five years, and by now he’s one of the most sought out choreographers for most idol groups in the industry.

“No one was getting the choreo today, no one. Is it me? Like is my routine the problem?” He asked crossing his arms in frustration. You shook your head, immediately refuting him, “No fucking way love, you’ve been dancing ever since you could walk. Maybe they’re just having a hard time getting it because you’re too good.”

He laughed, turning his head so that he was facing the tv, kissing the skin of your lap in the corner of his mouth. The two of you begin watching the latest episode of the kdrama that was on screen, your attention switching between the the television and Minhyuk. You could tell that today particularly exhausted him, his body not even moving an inch from its position since he laid down.

At some point, you stopped paying attention to the kdrama, finding that looking at your husband was way more interesting. You always found Minhyuk the most attractive when he was dancing, and just the way he looked right now in a muscle tee and sweatpants? Your mind was straying far from innocent and fast.

Minhyuk was oblivious at first, too engrossed in the drama to take mind of your arousal. It wasn’t until you tugged just a little harder on his hair that he had an idea of what you were thinking of. He smirked just a tiny bit, waiting for you to make the first move. You tried to be subtle, easing him into the idea because you knew how tired he was, but of course he saw right through you––how he could not? you two were married.

“You know, love? You’ve been really stressed lately with this new choreography.”

He turned his body so that he was facing you, eyes meeting yours as he smirked, “yeah?”

“I think you need to relax, babe.” You said, the switch of pet names an indicator of the change in your mood. The grip you had on his hair tightened, Minhyuk practically had to stop himself from groaning out loud. But instead of playing along, he only hums, closing his eyes innocently. “You’re right love, let’s call it a night and go sleep now?”

You frown and poke his forehead, whining at his teasing as he let out a laugh. “Minhyuk, you know what I mean!”

He grinned, his smirk coming back as he opened his eyes to look at you. “How will you help me relax, baby?”

You shrug and make the movement to get up, causing Minhyuk to do so as well. You smile at him, hand ghosting past his waist as you grab your wine glass and put it in the sink. You return back to where he was on the couch, taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom. Immediately, Minhyuk sat down at the head of the bed, his back leaning against the frame as he spread his legs in waiting.

“I’ll do all the work love, just sit and enjoy.” You said, your cute smile doing nothing to hide the lust that was swimming in your eyes. Minhyuk stared at you intensely as you made your way onto his lap, barely giving you any time to situate yourself before catching your lips in a fiery kiss.

His hands are everywhere feeling your skin, riding up your shirt, grasping at the flesh of your thighs and your ass beneath the ends of your shorts. You’re not faring any better, gripping his arms, fingers running along his abs, tugging on his hair. You felt like you were on fire, the temperature of the room rising quickly.

You feel the stir of his cock underneath you, biting his bottom lip as you started to grind yourself down his lap, causing him moan into your mouth. You both remove each other’s shirts in a haste, lips only separating to pull the fabrics over your heads.

Minhyuk’s eyes briefly flickered down to your exposed chest, his hands immediately going to grope your breasts. You whined when he takes your nipples between two fingers, tweaking the buds harshly. Your kisses start to trail down his jawline, working on his neck as you continued to move your hips over his crotch.

By this point he’s fully hard, bucking his hips up to meet your movement because God he needed any sort of friction. Minhyuk groans hotly as you pull his hair to the side, your teeth simultaneously biting into the skin of his shoulder. He hands migrate from your chest to your ass, nails digging into the flesh and no doubt leaving crescent marks in its wake.

Reluctantly, you pull away from his neck, slight gasps leaving your mouth as you meet his eyes. You are both so turned on at this point and you’re positive that Minhyuk could easily slide in with no resistance. And as much as you’d rather get to the main event because the feeling of your cunt sticking to your panties was getting pretty uncomfortable, you had a job to do: this night was for your husband to relax.

You moved to get off Minhyuk’s lap and started pulling his pants down. Thank God he was wearing sweats because you know that he doesn’t wear any undergarments when he’s wearing sweatpants. As soon as you removed the confines of his pants, his cock sprang up, a light slap sounding as it made contact with his stomach. You almost drool at the sight of it, your hand immediately wrapping around the base and jerking him off.

“Fuck, baby please.”

You chuckle, man you loved hearing him beg. Still, you weren’t planning on teasing him for much longer, letting some spit fall from your lips and landing on his cock. You rubbed your thumb over the slit of his head, watching as he let out a small moan before taking him into your mouth.

Minhyuk cursed, seeing you going down on him, his cock filling up your pretty mouth was always one of his favorite sights. Debatably, he loved your mouth almost as much as your pussy. Not wasting any time, you hollowed your cheeks out, letting his cock in until your nose was buried in his pubes.

Desperately, he bunched your hair up in a makeshift ponytail, gripping it tightly in one fist as he watched you blow him. Minhyuk threw his head back in pleasure as you deep throated him, the slight burn in your scalp only a motivator to keep you in place, holding his cock snugly in your mouth as you swallowed around his length. It was in these moments that you were thankful for your lack of gag reflex.

You breathed through your nose, blinking away the tears that built up in your eyes as you started moving your mouth at a faster pace. Flickering your eyes up, you moaned at the male above you. You could tell he was getting close; the grip he had on your hair tightened, his abs were visibly contracting, his eyes screwed shut, and his moans increasing in volume.

You lived for this moment. You ignored your obvious lack of stimulation, the ache in your jaw, and the tightness in your chest from the lack of oxygen. It would all be worth it once Minhyuk reached his release.

In a sudden, your husband let go of your hair and quite literally pushed you off of him, trying to catch his breath as he looked down at you, brushing his hair out of his face. “Baby the only place I’m cumming tonight is in your pussy, c’mere.”

You pouted only briefly, really wanting to see him come undone by your mouth. But you couldn’t deny the way your core clenched at his words, already removing your shorts and panties before climbing back on his lap.

He hissed, teeth biting into his lower lip as he massaged the skin of your waist, “Fuck y/n, I can feel you dripping.”

Minhyuk moved your body slightly so that you were fully seated on one of his thighs, a whimper leaving you as he flexed his quads. “Ah Minhyuk...”

“Make yourself messy on my thigh baby, you know what to do.” He smirked, his voice raspier and several octaves lower than before. You felt a shiver run down your spine, the heat in your stomach building as you started to rub yourself on his thigh. Minhyuk flexed whenever you least expected it, the defined muscles of his quads making just the right amount of contact with your clit.

He wrapped a hand around his length, lazily running it up and down as he watched you get off in his lap. You were so fucking hot, your eyes shut in pleasure, hands gripping his shoulders as you tried to reach your orgasm. His thigh was practically soaked, your arousal dripping down to the bedsheets.

You almost lost it when he started bouncing his leg, burying your head in the crook of his neck as you let out a wrangled moan, your legs squeezing around his thigh. Minhyuk panted, easily lifting you up and back to his center, bottoming out in one go as he entered you.

The two of you let out synchronized moans. No matter how many times you’ve had sex, you could never get used to the way he filled you up so well, the burning stretch of your walls adding onto your pleasure.

“Fuck,” He cursed as you started to lift your hips, moving them up and down his length at a leisurely pace. Minhyuk tried his best not to take over, and instead kept his hands firmly on the sides of your asscheeks, squeezing the flesh as you fucked yourself on him.

His lips went straight to your neck, painting your skin with bruises as you alternated between rolling your hips and up-and-down movements. You whined, clenching your core tightly as you suddenly slammed down onto his thighs, the slap of skin resonating in the bedroom.

Minhyuk let out a loud groan at your action, unable to hold himself back as he bucked his hips and started thrusting up into you at a faster pace. You gasped, unable to keep up with his speed, eventually letting him take control as the upper half of your body leaned onto his for support.

One of the many things you loved about your husband was that he had a dancer’s hips, and he definitely made sure to use it to his advantage in times like these.

Minhyuk grunted, one of his hands coming down to give your ass a sharp slap as he rutted into you. You keened, moaning in his ear as he repeated the action. He always did that when he was close, your walls squeezing him impossibly tighter with every spank he delivered, the skin of your ass on fire.

The loud squelch of your cunt was almost embarrassing, but it only drove Minhyuk closer. Your hands fisted his hair, pulling at the ends by his nape as your felt your orgasm approach. His mouth opened in a moan, furrowing his eyebrows as one of his hands slipped in between your bodies and rubbed at your clit.

You body jolted in his hold, “Shit, Minhyuk I’m so close.”

He smiled devilishly, “Yeah? I’m gonna fuck some babies into you, love. You want that?”

You could only nod, your cheeks blushing and stomach flaring at his words. You connected your lips in a messy clash of teeth and tongue, your mind going blank as you felt the band of your orgasm snap, the vice like grip of your cunt squeezing him to his high.

Minhyuk let out a throaty moan as he painted your walls white, his thrusts starting to slow down as he kept you locked on his lap, making sure that none of his cum leaked out as you milked him of every drop.

Your body grew limp on his chest, your husband wrapping his arms around you as he rubbed your back. After a couple minutes, he laid you down gently on the bed, only now pulling out his cock which turned flaccid. You winced at the sudden empty feeling, but then let out a moan of surprise as he shoved two fingers in your entrance. “Baby! Sensitive!”

“I’m just making sure you take all of my cum, love.” He chuckled kissing your stomach, “One of my swimmers is our future baby.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “I can’t believe you said your swimmers.”

“Do you want me to say sperm?” He asked, arching an eyebrow as he delivered a particularly hard thrust of his fingers, causing you to jolt in overstimulation, “Ah.”

After keeping his fingers plugged into your hole for about a minute, Minhyuk crawled up from where he was between your legs, giving you a proper kiss as he laid down next to you.

“Thank you love, that was a good de-stressor––even if I did do most of the work at the end.”

You clicked your tongue, lightly punching his stomach as you grimaced, “I tried to do it, but you just had to take control, didn’t you?”

“I’m kidding,” He laughed, limbs draping over your body, “I couldn’t resist, you were too sexy.”

“Uh huh,” You nodded, shifting so that you were entangled in his arms. You hummed, face buried in his chest as you kissed his collarbone, “I love you.”

Minhyuk smiled, caressing your hair as he pulled you closer, feeling the most content and worry-free at this moment than he has in a while.

“I love you too, y/n.”

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2-6-21

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